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+Project Gutenberg's The Heritage of the Hills, by Arthur P. Hankins
+
+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: The Heritage of the Hills
+
+Author: Arthur P. Hankins
+
+Release Date: November 30, 2010 [EBook #34507]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Darleen Dove, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                       THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS
+
+                         BY ARTHUR P. HANKINS
+
+                  Author of "THE JUBILEE GIRL," Etc.
+
+
+    NEW YORK
+    DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
+    1922
+
+    COPYRIGHT, 1921, 1922
+    BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.
+
+    PRINTED IN U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+I AT HONEYMOON FLAT
+
+II PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE
+
+III B FOR BOLIVIO
+
+IV THE FIRST CALLER
+
+V "AND I'LL HELP YOU!"
+
+VI ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS
+
+VII LILAC SPODUMENE
+
+VIII POISON OAK RANCH
+
+IX NANCY FIELD'S WINDFALL
+
+X JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD
+
+XI CONCERNING SPRINGS AND SHOWUT POCHE-DAKA
+
+XII THE POISON OAKERS RIDE
+
+XIII SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS
+
+XIV HIGH POWER
+
+XV THE FIRE DANCE
+
+XVI A GUEST AT THE RANCHO
+
+XVII THE GIRL IN RED
+
+XVIII SPIES
+
+XIX CONTENTIONS
+
+XX "WAIT!"
+
+XXI "WHEN WE MEET AGAIN!"
+
+XXII THE WATCHMAN OF THE DEAD
+
+XXIII THE QUESTION
+
+XXIV IN THE DEER PATH
+
+XXV THE ANSWER
+
+
+
+
+The Heritage of the Hills
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+AT HALFMOON FLAT
+
+
+The road wound ever upward through pines and spruce and several
+varieties of oak. Some of the latter were straight, some sprawling, all
+massive. Now and then a break in the timber revealed wooded hills beyond
+green pasture lands, and other hills covered with dense growths of
+buckhorn and manzanita. Poison oak grew everywhere, and, at this time of
+year--early spring--was most prolific, most beautiful in its dark rich
+green, most poisonous.
+
+Occasionally the lone horseman crossed a riotous stream, plunging down
+from the snow-topped Sierras in the far distance. Rail fences, for the
+most part in a tumbledown condition, paralleled the dirt road here and
+there.
+
+At long intervals they passed tall, old-fashioned ranch houses, with
+their accompanying stables, deciduous orchards and still dormant
+vineyards, wandering turkeys and mud-incrusted pigs. An air of decay and
+haphazard ambition pervaded all these evidences of the dwelling places
+of men.
+
+"Well, Poche," remarked Oliver Drew, "it's been a long, hard trip, but
+we're getting close to home." The man spoke the word "home" with a touch
+of bitterness.
+
+The rangy bay saddler slanted his left ear back at Oliver Drew and
+quickened his walking-trot.
+
+"No, no!" laughed Oliver, tightening the reins. "All the more reason we
+should take it easy today, old horse. Don't you ever tire?"
+
+For an hour Poche climbed steadily. Now he topped the summit of the
+miniature mountain, and Oliver stopped him to gaze down fifteen hundred
+feet into the timbered caņon of the American River. Even the cow-pony
+seemed enthralled with the grandeur of the scene--the wooded hills
+climbing shelf by shelf to the faraway mist-hung mountains; the green
+river winding its serpentine course far below. Far up the river a gold
+dredger was at work, the low rumble of its machinery carried on the soft
+morning breeze.
+
+Half an hour later Poche ambled briskly into the little town of Halfmoon
+Flat, snuggled away in the pines and spruces, sunflecked, indolent,
+content. It suited Oliver's mood, this lazy old-fashioned Halfmoon Flat,
+with its one shady "business" street, its false-front, one-story shops
+and stores, redolent still of the glamorous days of '49.
+
+He drew up before a saloon to inquire after the road he should take out
+of town to reach his destination. The loungers about the door of the
+place all proved to be French- or Spanish-Basque sheep herders; and
+their agglutinative language was as a closed book to the traveler. So he
+dropped the reins from Poche's neck and entered the dark, low-ceiled
+bar-room, with its many decorations of dusty deer antlers on fly-specked
+walls.
+
+All was strangely quiet within. There were no patrons, no bartender
+behind the black, stained bar. He saw this white-aproned personage,
+however, a fat, wide, sandy-haired man, standing framed by the rear
+door, his back toward the front. Through a dirty rear window Oliver saw
+men in the back yard--silent, motionless men, with faces intent on
+something of captivating interest, some silent, muscle-tensing event.
+
+With awakened wonder he walked to the fat bartender's back and looked
+out over his shoulder. Strange indeed was the scene that was revealed.
+
+Perhaps twenty men were in an unfenced portion of the lot behind the
+saloon. Some of them had been pitching horseshoes, for two stood with
+the iron semicircles still in hand. Every man there gazed with silent
+intensity at two central figures, who furnished the drama.
+
+The first, a squat, dark, slit-eyed man of about twenty-five, lazed in a
+big Western saddle on a lean roan horse. His left spurred heel stood
+straight out at right angles to the direction in which his horse faced.
+He hung in the saddle by the bend in his right leg, the foot out of the
+stirrup, the motionless man facing to the right, a leering grin on his
+face, half whimsical, half sardonic. That he was a fatalist was
+evidenced by every line on his swarthy, hairless face; for he looked
+sneering indifference into the wavering muzzle of a Colt .45, in the
+hand of the other actor in the pantomime. His own Colt lay passive
+against his hip. His right forearm rested across his thigh, the hand far
+from the butt of the weapon. A cigarette drooped lazily from his
+grinning lips. Yet for all his indifferent calm, there was in his
+glittering, Mongolic eyes an eagle watchfulness that bespoke the fires
+of hatred within him.
+
+The dismounted man who had the drop on him was of another type. Tall,
+angular, countrified, he personified the popular conception of a
+Connecticut yankee. He boiled with silent rage as he stood, with long
+body bent forward, threatening the other with his enormous gun. Despite
+the present superiority of his position, there was something of pathos
+in his lean, bronzed face, something of a nature downtrodden, of the
+worm suddenly turned.
+
+For seconds that seemed like ages the two statuesque figures confronted
+each other. Men breathed in short inhalations, as if fearful of breaking
+the spell. Then the threatened man in the saddle puffed out a cloud of
+cigarette smoke, and drawled sarcastically:
+
+"Well, why don't you shoot, ol'-timer? You got the drop."
+
+Complete indifference to his fate marked the squat man's tone and
+attitude. Only those small black eyes, gleaming like points of jet from
+under the lowered Chinamanlike lids, proclaimed that the other had
+better make a thorough piece of work of this thing that he had started.
+
+The lank man found his tongue at the sound of the other's voice.
+
+"Why don't I shoot, you coyote whelp! Why don't I shoot! You know why!
+Because they's a law in this land, that's why! I oughta kill ye, an'
+everybody here knows it, but I'd hang for it."
+
+The man on the roan blew another puff of smoke. "You oughta thought o'
+that when you threw down on me," he lazily reminded the other. "_You_
+ain't got no license packin' a gun, pardner."
+
+The expression that crossed his antagonist's face was one of torture,
+bafflement. It proved that he knew the mounted man had spoken truth. He
+was no killer. In a fit of rage he had drawn his weapon and got the drop
+on his enemy, only to shrink from the thought of taking a human life and
+from the consequences of such an act. But he essayed to bluster his way
+out of the situation in which his uncontrollable wrath had inveigled
+him.
+
+"I can't shoot ye in cold blood!" he hotly cried. "I'm not the skunk
+that you are. I'm too much of a man. I'll let ye go this time. But mind
+me--if you or any o' your thievin' gang pesters me ag'in, I'll--I'll
+kill ye!"
+
+"Better attend to that little business right now, pardner," came the
+fatalist's smooth admonition.
+
+"Don't rile me too far!" fumed the other. "God knows I could kill ye an'
+never fear for the hereafter. But I'm a law-abidin' man, an'"--the
+six-shooter in his hand was wavering--"an' I'm a law-abidin' man," he
+repeated, floundering. "So this time I'll let ye--"
+
+A fierce clatter of hoofs interrupted him. Down the street, across the
+board sidewalk, into the lot back of the saloon dashed a white horse, a
+black-haired girl astride in the saddle. She reined her horse to its
+haunches, scattering spectators right and left.
+
+"Don't lower that gun!" she shrieked. "Shoot! Kill him!"
+
+Her warning came too late. It may have been, even, that instead of a
+warning it was a knell. For a loud report sent the echoes galloping
+through the sleepy little town. The man on the ground, who had half
+lowered his gun as the girl raced in, threw up both hands, and went
+reeling about drunkenly. Another shot rang out. The squat man still
+lolled in his saddle, facing to the right. The gun that he had drawn in
+a flash when the other's indecision had reached a climax was levelled
+rigidly from his hip, the muzzle slowly following his staggering,
+twice-wounded enemy.
+
+In horror the watchers gazed, silent. The stricken man reeled against
+the legs of the girl's horse, strove to clasp them. The animal snorted
+at the smell of blood and reared. His temporary support removed, the man
+collapsed, face downward, on the ground, turned over once, lay still.
+
+The squat man slowly holstered his gun. Then the first sound to break
+the silence since the shots was his voice as he spoke to the girl.
+
+"Much obliged, Jess'my," he said; then straightened in his saddle,
+spurred the roan, and dashed across the sidewalk to disappear around the
+corner of the building. A longdrawn, derisive "Hi-yi!" floated back, and
+the clatter of the roan's hoofbeats died away.
+
+The girl had sprung from her mare and was bending over the fallen man.
+The others crowded about her now, all talking at once. She lifted a
+white, tragic face to them, a face so wildly beautiful that, even under
+the stress of the moment, Oliver Drew felt that sudden fierce pang of
+desire which the first startled sight of "the one woman" brings to a
+healthy, manly man.
+
+"He's dead! I've killed him!" she cried.
+
+"No, no, no, Miss Jessamy," protested a hoarse voice quickly. "You
+wasn't to blame."
+
+"O' course not!" chorused a dozen.
+
+"He'd 'a' lowered that gun," went on her first consoler. "He was backin'
+out when you come, Miss Jessamy. An' as sure as he'd took his gun off
+Digger Foss, Digger'd 'a' killed 'im. It was a fool business from the
+start, Miss Jessamy."
+
+"Then why didn't some of you warn this man?" she flamed. "You cowards!
+Are you afraid of Digger Foss? Oh, I--"
+
+"Now, looky-here, Miss Jessamy," soothed the spokesman, "bein' afraid o'
+Digger Foss ain't got anything to do with it. It wasn't our fight. We
+had no call to butt in. Men don't do that in a gun country, Miss
+Jessamy--you know that. This fella pulled on Digger, then lost his
+nerve. What you told 'im to do, Miss Jessamy, was right. Man ain't got
+no call to throw down on another one unless he intends to shoot. You
+know that, Miss Jessamy--you as much as said so."
+
+For answer the girl burst into tears. She rose, and the silent men stood
+back for her. She mounted and rode away without another word, wiping
+fiercely at her eyes with a handkerchief.
+
+Four men carried the dead man away. The rest, obviously in need of a
+stimulant, crowded in and up to the black bar. Oliver joined them. The
+weird sight that he had witnessed had left him weak and sick at the
+stomach.
+
+Silently the fat, blond bartender set out whisky glasses, then looked
+hesitatingly at the stranger.
+
+"Go ahead, Swede," encouraged a big fellow at Oliver's left. "He needs
+one, too. He saw it."
+
+The bartender shrugged, thumped a glass toward Oliver, and broke the
+laws of the land.
+
+"What was it all about?" Oliver, encouraged by this confidence, asked of
+the big, goodnatured man who had vouched for him on sight.
+
+The other looked him over. "This fella Dodd," he said, "started
+something he couldn't finish--that's all. Dodd's had it in for Digger
+Foss and the Selden boys and some more of 'em for a year. Selden was
+runnin' cattle on Dodd's land, and Dodd claimed they cut fences to _get_
+'em on. I don't know what all was between 'em. There's always bad blood
+between Old Man Selden and his boys and the rest o' the Poison Oakers,
+and somebody.
+
+"Anyway," he went on, "this mornin' Henry Dodd comes in and gets the
+drop on Digger Foss, who's thick with the Seldens, and is one o' the
+Poison Oakers; and then Dodd ain't got the nerve to shoot. You saw what
+it cost him. Fill 'em up again, boys."
+
+"I can't understand that girl," Oliver remarked. "Why, she rode in and
+told the man to shoot--to kill."
+
+"And wasn't she right?"
+
+"None of the rest of you did it, as she pointed out to you."
+
+"No--men wouldn't do that, I reckon. But a woman's different. They butt
+in for what they think's right, regardless. But I look at it like this,
+pardner: Dodd's a grown man and is packin' a hip gun. Why's he packin'
+it if he don't mean to use it? Only a kid ought to be excused from
+flourishin' iron like he did. He was just lettin' off steam. But he
+picked the wrong man to relieve himself on. If he'd 'a' killed Digger,
+as Miss Jessamy told him to, maybe he'd a hung for it. But he'd a had a
+chance with a jury. Where if he took his gat offen Digger Foss, it was
+sure death. I knew it; all of us knew it. And I knew he was goin' to
+lower it after he'd painted pictures in the air with it and thought he'd
+convinced all of us he was a bad man, and all that. He'd never pulled
+the trigger, and Digger Foss knew it."
+
+"Then if this Digger Foss knew he was only bluffing, he--why, he
+practically shot the man in cold blood!" cried Oliver.
+
+"Not practically but ab-so-lutely. Digger knew he was within the law, as
+they say. While he knew Dodd wouldn't shoot, no prosecutin' attorney can
+_prove_ that he knew it. Dodd had held a gun on him and threatened to
+kill 'im. When Digger gets the chance he takes it--makes his lightin'
+draw and kills Dodd. On the face of it it's self-defence, pure and
+simple, and Digger'll be acquitted. He'll be in tonight and give himself
+up to the constable. He knows just where he stands."
+
+Oliver's informant tossed off his liquor.
+
+"And Miss Jessamy knew all this--see?" he continued. "She savvies
+gunmen. She ought to, bein' a Selden. At least she calls herself a
+Selden, but her right name's Lomax. Old Man Selden married a widow, and
+this girl's her daughter. Well, she rides in and tells Dodd to shoot.
+She knew it was his life or Digger's, after he'd made that crack. But
+the poor fool!--Well, you saw what happened. Don't belong about here, do
+you, pardner?"
+
+"I do now," Oliver returned. "I'm just moving in, as it were. I own
+forty acres down on Clinker Creek. I came in here to inquire the way,
+and stumbled onto this tragedy."
+
+"On Clinker Creek! What forty?"
+
+"It's called the Old Tabor Ivison Place."
+
+"Heavens above! You own the Old Tabor Ivison Place?"
+
+"So the recorder's office says--or ought to."
+
+For fully ten seconds the big fellow faced Oliver, his blue eyes
+studying him carefully, appraisingly.
+
+"Well, by thunder!" he muttered at last. "Tell me about it, pardner. My
+name's Damon Tamroy."
+
+"Mine is Oliver Drew," said Oliver, offering his hand.
+
+"Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated Tamroy in a low voice, his eyes, wide
+with curiosity, devouring Oliver. "The Old Ivison Place!"
+
+"You seem surprised."
+
+"Surprised! Hump! Say--le'me tell you right here, pardner; don't _you_
+ever pull a gun on any o' the Poison Oakers and act like Henry Dodd did.
+Maybe it's well you saw what was pulled off today--if you'll only
+remember when you get down there on the Tabor Ivison Place."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE
+
+
+"I'll take a seegar," Mr. Damon Tamroy replied in response to Oliver's
+invitation.
+
+They lighted up and sat at a card-table against one wall of the gloomy
+saloon.
+
+"You speak of this as a gun country," remarked Oliver.
+
+"Well, it's at least got traditions," returned Mr. Tamroy, adding the
+unlettered man's apology for his little fanciful flight, "'as the fella
+says.' Like father like son, you know. The Seldens are gunmen. Old Adam
+Selden's dad was a 'Forty-niner; and Adam Selden--the Old Man Selden of
+today--was born right close to here when his dad was about twenty-five
+years old. Le's see--that makes Old Adam 'round about seventy. But he's
+spry and full o' pep, and one o' the best rifle shots in the country.
+
+"He takes after the old man, who was a bad actor in the days o'
+'Forty-nine, and his boys take after him. They're a bad outfit, takin'
+'em all in all. The boys are Hurlock, Moffat, Bolar, and Winthrop--four
+of 'em. All gunmen. Then there's Jessamy Selden--the only girl--who
+ain't rightly a Selden at all. None o' the old man's blood in Jessamy,
+o' course. Mis' Selden--she was an Ivison before she married
+Lomax--Myrtle Ivison was her name--she's a fine lady. But she won't
+leave the old man for all his wickedness, and Miss Jessamy won't leave
+her mother. So there you are!"
+
+"I see," said Oliver musingly, not at all displeased with the present
+subject of conversation.
+
+"Now, here's this Digger Foss," Tamroy went on. "He's half-American,
+quarter-Chinaman, and quarter-Digger-Indian. The last's what gives him
+his name. There's a tribe o' Digger Indians close to here. He's killed
+two men and got away with it. Now he's added a third to his list, and
+likely he'll get away with that. The rest o' the Poison Oakers are Obed
+Pence, Ed Buchanan, Jay Muenster, and Chuck Allegan--ten in all."
+
+"Just what are the Poison Oakers?" Oliver asked as Damon Tamroy paused
+reflectively.
+
+"Well, _anybody_ who lives in this country is called a Poison Oaker.
+You're one now. The woods about this country are full o' poison oak, and
+that's where we get the name. That's what outsiders call us. But when we
+ourselves speak of Poison Oakers we mean Old Man Selden's gang--him, his
+four sons, and the hombres I just mentioned--a regular old back-country
+gang o' rowdies, toughs, would-be bad men. You know what I mean.
+
+"They just drifted together by natural instinct, I reckon. Old Man
+Selden shot a man up around Willow Twig, and come clean at the trial.
+Obed Pence is a thief, and did a stretch for cattle rustlin' here about
+three years ago. Chuck and Ed have both done something to make 'em
+eligible--knife fightin' at country dances, and the like. And the Selden
+boys are chips off the old block."
+
+"But what is the gang's particular purpose?"
+
+"Meanness, s'far's I c'n see! Just meanness! Old Man Selden owns a ranch
+down your way that you can get to only by a trail. No wheeled vehicle
+can get in. All the boys live there with him. Kind of a colony, for two
+o' the boys are married. The other Poison Oakers live here and there
+about the country, on ranches. Ambition don't worry none of 'em much.
+Old Man Selden's said to distil jackass brandy, but it's never been
+proved."
+
+"Now about the Old Tabor Ivison Place?" said Oliver.
+
+"Well, it's there yet, I reckon; but I ain't been down that way for
+years. Now and then a deer hunt leads me into Clinker Creek Caņon, but
+not often.
+
+"It's a lonely, deserted place, and the road to it is fierce. Several
+families lived down in there thirty years ago; but the places have been
+abandoned long since, and all the folks gone God knows where. It's a
+pretty country if a fella likes trees and rocks and things, and wild and
+rough; but down in that caņon it's too cold for pears and such
+fruit--and that's about all we raise on these rocky hills.
+
+"Old Tabor Ivison homesteaded your place. He's been dead matter o'
+fifteen years. Died down there. For years he'd lived there all by
+'imself. Good old man. Asked for little in life--and got it.
+
+"But for years now all that country's been abandoned. There's pretty
+good pickin's down in there; and Old Man Selden and some more o' the
+Poison Oakers have been runnin' cattle on all of it."
+
+"I'm glad there's pasture," Oliver interposed.
+
+"Oh, pasture's all right. But Selden's outfit has looked at that land as
+theirs for so long that you won't find it particularly congenial. You're
+bound to have trouble with the Poison Oakers, Mr. Drew, and I'd consider
+the land not worth it. Why, I can buy a thousan' acres down in there for
+two and a half an acre! You'll starve to death if you have to depend on
+that forty for a livin'. How come you to own the place?"
+
+"My father willed it to me," Oliver replied.
+
+"Your father?"
+
+"Yes, Peter Drew. Have you ever heard of him?"
+
+"No," returned Damon Tamroy. "I reckon he was here before my time. How'd
+he come by the place? I thought one o' the Ivison girls--Nancy--still
+owned it."
+
+"I'm sure I can't tell you how Dad came to own it," Oliver made answer.
+"I haven't an abstract of title. I know, though, that Dad owned it for
+some time before his death."
+
+"Well, well!" Damon Tamroy's eyes roved curiously over the young man
+once more. They steadied themselves on the silver-mounted Spanish spurs
+on Oliver's riding boots. "Travellin' horseback?" he wanted to know, and
+his look of puzzlement deepened.
+
+"Yes," said Oliver a little bitterly. "I'm riding about all that I
+possess in this world, since you have pronounced the Old Tabor Ivison
+Place next to worthless." He grew thoughtful. "You're puzzled over me,"
+he smiled at last. "Frankly, though, you're no more puzzled over me than
+I am over myself and my rather odd situation. I'm a man of mystery." He
+laughed. "I think I'll tell you all about it.
+
+"As far back as I can remember, my home has been on a cow ranch in the
+southern part of the state. I can't remember my mother, who died when I
+was very young. I always thought my father wealthy until he died, two
+weeks ago, and his will was read to me. He had orange and lemon groves
+besides the cattle ranch, and was a stockholder in a substantial country
+bank. I was graduated at the State University, and went from there to
+France. Since, I've been resting up and sort of managing Dad's property.
+
+"My father was a peculiar man, and was never overly confidential with
+me. He was uneducated, as the term is understood today--a
+rough-and-ready old Westerner who had made his strike and settled down
+to peaceful days--or so I always imagined. But two weeks ago he died
+suddenly from a stroke of apoplexy; and when his will was read to me I
+got a jolt from which I haven't yet recovered.
+
+"The home ranch and the other real estate, together with all livestock
+and appurtenances--with one exception, which I shall mention later--were
+willed to the Catholic Church, to be handled as they saw fit. It seemed
+that there was little else to be disposed of. I was left five hundred
+dollars in cash, a saddle horse named Poche, a silver-mounted bridle and
+saddle and martingales, the old Spanish spurs you see on my feet, and
+the Old Tabor Ivison Place, in Chaparral County, of which I knew almost
+nothing. That was all--with the exception of the written instructions in
+my father's handwriting that were given me by his lawyers. Maybe you can
+throw some light on the matter, Mr. Tamroy. Would you care to hear my
+father's last message to me?"
+
+Tamroy evinced his eagerness by scraping forward his chair.
+
+Oliver took from a leather billbook a folded piece of paper. "I don't
+know that I ought to," he smiled, "but, after all, I'll never learn the
+mystery of it if I keep the matter from people about here. So here goes:
+
+     "'_My dear son Oliver_:
+
+     "'As you know perfectly well, I am an ignorant old Westerner.
+     There is no use mincing matters in regard to this. When I was
+     young I didn't have much of a chance to get an education; but
+     when I grew up and married, and you was born, I said you'd
+     never be allowed to grow up in ignorance like I did. So I tried
+     to give you an education, and you didn't fail me.'
+
+     "'I did this for a double purpose, Oliver. I knew that I was
+     going to die someday, and that then you'd have to settle a
+     little matter that's bothered me since before you was born. For
+     pretty near thirty years, Oliver, I've had a problem to fight;
+     and I never knew how to settle the matter because I wasn't
+     educated. So I let it rest and waited for you to grow up, and
+     go through college. And now that's happened; and you're
+     educated and fit to answer the question that's bothered me for
+     nearly half my life. The answer is either Yes or No, and you've
+     got to find out which is right.'
+
+     "'I'm leaving you Poche, the best cow horse in Southern
+     California, my old silver-mounted saddle that's carried me
+     thousands of miles, the martingales, and my old silver-mounted
+     bridle, which same three things made me the envy of all the
+     vaqueros of the Clinker Creek Country over thirty years ago,
+     and my Spanish spurs that go along with the outfit. These
+     things, Oliver, and five hundred dollars in Cash, and forty
+     acres of land on Clinker Creek, in Chaparral county, called the
+     Old Tabor Ivison Place.'
+
+     "'They are all you'll need to find the answer to the question
+     that's bothered me for thirty years. Buckle on the spurs, throw
+     the saddle on Poche, bridle him, put the five hundred dollars
+     and the deed to the Old Tabor Ivison Place in your jeans, and
+     hit the trail for Clinker Creek. Stay there till you know
+     whether the answer is Yes or No. Then go to my lawyers and tell
+     them which it is. And the God of your mother go with you!'
+
+     "'Your affectionate father,'
+
+     "'PETER DREW.'
+
+     "'In his seventy-third year.'"
+
+Oliver folded the paper. Damon Tamroy only sat and stared at him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+B FOR BOLIVIO
+
+
+"Boy," said the kindly Mr. Tamroy, leaning forward toward Oliver Drew,
+"those are the queerest last words of a father to his son that I ever
+listened to. What on earth you goin' to do?"
+
+Oliver shrugged and spread his hands. "Keep on obeying instructions," he
+said. "I've followed them to the letter so far. I'm only a few miles
+from my destination, and I've ridden in the silver-mounted saddle on
+Poche's back the entire five hundred miles and over. My father was not a
+fool. He was of sound mind, I fully believe, when he wrote that message
+for me. There's some deep meaning underlying all this. I must simply
+stay on the Old Tabor Ivison Place till I know what puzzled old Dad all
+those years, and find out whether the answer is Yes or No."
+
+"Heavens above!" muttered Mr. Tamroy. "But how you goin' to live?
+What're you goin' to do down in there? Gonta get a job? It's too far
+away from everything for you to go and come to a job, Mr. Drew."
+
+"I'll tell you," said Oliver. "At the University I took an agricultural
+course. Since my graduation I have written not a few articles and sold
+them to leading farm journals. If the Old Tabor Ivison Place is of any
+value at all, I want to experiment in raising all sorts of things on a
+small scale, and write articles about my results. I'll have a few stands
+of bees, and maybe a cow. I'll try all sorts of things, get a
+second-hand typewriter, and go to it. I think I can live while I'm
+waiting for my father's big question to crop up."
+
+"You can raise a garden all right, I reckon," Oliver's new friend told
+him, following him as he rose to continue his journey. "But you got to
+irrigate, and there ain't the water in Clinker Creek there used to be.
+Folks up near the headwaters use nearly all of it, and in the hot months
+what they turn back will all go up in evaporation before it gets down to
+you. There's a good spring, though, but it strikes me it don't flow
+anything like it did when Old Tabor Ivison lived on the land."
+
+"Is there a house on the place?"
+
+"Only an old cabin. At least there was last time I chased a buck down in
+there. And something of a fence, if I remember right. But fifteen years
+is a long time--I reckon everything left is next to worthless."
+
+They came to a pause at the edge of the sidewalk beside an aged
+villager, who stood leaning on his crooked manzanita cane as he gazed at
+Poche and his silver-mounted trappings.
+
+"That's Old Dad Sloan," whispered Damon Tamroy. "He's one o' the last of
+the 'Forty-niners. Just hobbles about on his cane, livin' off the
+county, and waitin' to die. Never saw him take much interest in anything
+before, but that outfit o' yours has caught his eye. Little wonder, by
+golly!"
+
+Oliver stepped into the street and lifted the hair-tassled reins of the
+famous bridle. He turned to find the watery blue eyes of the patriarch
+fixed on him intently. With a trembling left hand the old man brushed
+back his long grey hair, then the fingers shakily caressed a grizzled
+beard, flaring and wiry as excelsior. A long finger at length pointed to
+the horse.
+
+"Where'd you get that outfit, young feller?" came the quavering tones.
+
+Mr. Tamroy winked knowingly at Oliver.
+
+"It was my father's," said Oliver in eager tones.
+
+The 'Forty-niner cupped a hand back of his ear. "Hey?" he shrilled.
+
+Oliver lifted his voice and repeated.
+
+"Yer papy's hey?" He tottered into the street and fingered the heavily
+silvered Spanish halfbreed bit, which, Oliver had been told, was very
+valuable intrinsically and as a relic. Then the knotty fingers travelled
+up an intricately plaited cheekstrap to one of the glittering
+silver-bordered _conchas_. The old fellow fumbled for his glasses,
+placed them on his nose, and studied the last named conceit with
+careful, lengthy scrutiny. "Is that there glass, young feller?" he
+croaked at last, pointing to the setting of the _concha_, a lilac-hued
+crystal about two inches in diameter.
+
+"I think it is," Oliver shouted.
+
+The old man shook his head. "I can't see well any more," he quavered.
+"But this don't look like glass to me."
+
+"I've never had it examined," Oliver told him. "I supposed the settings
+of the _conchas_ to be glass or some sort of quartz."
+
+"Quartz?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+The grey head slowly shook back and forth. "Young man," came the piping
+tones, "is they a 'B' cut in the metal that holds them stones in place?"
+
+Oliver's eyes widened. "There is," he said. "On the inside of each one."
+
+The old man stared at him, and his bearded lips trembled. "Bolivio!" he
+croaked weirdly.
+
+"I don't understand," said Oliver.
+
+"Bolivio made them _conchas_, young feller. Bolivio made that bit.
+Bolivio plaited that bridle. Bolivio made them martingales."
+
+"And who is Bolivio?" puzzled the stranger.
+
+"Dead and gone--dead and gone!" crooned the ancient. "That outfit's
+maybe a hundred years old, young feller--part of it, 'tleast. And that
+ain't glass in there--and it ain't quartz in in there--and there's only
+one man ever in this country ever had a bridle like that."
+
+"And who was he?" asked Oliver almost breathlessly.
+
+"Dan Smeed--that's who! Dan Smeed--outlaw, highwayman, squawman! Dan
+Smeed--gone these thirty years and more. That's his bridle--that's his
+saddle--all made by Bolivio, maybe a hundred years ago. And them stones
+in them _conchas_ are gems from the lost mine o' Bolivio. The lost gems
+o' Bolivio, young feller!"
+
+Oliver and Tamroy stared into each other's eyes as the old man tottered
+back to the sidewalk.
+
+"Tell me more!" cried Oliver, as the ancient began tapping his crooked
+cane along the street.
+
+There was no answer.
+
+"He didn't hear," said Tamroy. "We'll get at him again sometime. Maybe
+he'll tell what he knows and maybe he won't. He's awful childish--awful
+headstrong. For days at a time he won't speak to a soul."
+
+Oliver stood in deep thought, mystified beyond measure, yet thrilled
+with the thought that he was nearing the beginning of the trail to the
+mysterious question. He roused himself at length.
+
+"Well, I must be getting along," he said. "I'll go right down to Clinker
+Creek now, if you'll point the way. I've enough grub behind my saddle
+for tonight and tomorrow morning. There's grass for the horse at
+present?"
+
+"Oh, yes--horse'll get along all right."
+
+"Then I'll go down and give my property the once-over, and be up
+tomorrow to get what I need."
+
+Damon Tamroy showed him the road and shook hands with him. "Ride up and
+get acquainted regular someday," he invited. "I got a little ranch up
+the line--pears and apples and things. Give you some cherries a little
+later on. Well, so-long. Remember the Poison Oakers!"
+
+Oliver galloped away, his flashing equipment the target of all eyes, on
+the road that led to the Old Tabor Ivison Place, his brain in a whirl of
+excitement.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE FIRST CALLER
+
+
+Toward noon Poche was carefully feeling his way down the rocky caņon of
+Clinker Creek, over a forgotten road. Oliver walked, for Poche needs
+must scramble over huge boulders, fallen pines, and tangles of
+driftwood. The road followed the course of the creek for the most part,
+and in many places the creek had broken through and washed great gaps.
+
+But the country was delightful. Wild grapevines grew in profusion at the
+creekside, gracefully festooned from overhanging buckeye limbs. Odorous
+alders, several varieties of willow, and white oak also followed the
+watercourse; and up on the hills on either side were black oaks and live
+oaks, together with yellow and sugar and digger pines, and spruce.
+Everywhere grew the now significant poison oak.
+
+Finally Poche scraped through chaparral that almost hid the road and
+came out in a clearing. Oliver at last stood looking at his future home.
+
+A quaint old cabin, with a high peaked roof, apparently in better repair
+than he had expected, stood on a little rise above the creek. The caņon
+widened here, and narrowed again farther down. The creek bowed and
+followed the base of the steep hills to the west. A level strip of land
+comprising about an acre paralleled the creek, and invited tillage. All
+about the clearing, perhaps fifteen acres in area, stood tall pines and
+spruce, and magnificent oaks rose above the cabin, their great limbs
+sprawled over it protectingly. Acres and acres of heavy, impenetrable
+chaparral covered both steep slopes beyond the conifers.
+
+For several minutes Oliver drank in the beauty of it, then heaved
+himself into the saddle and galloped to the cabin over the unobstructed
+land.
+
+He loosed Poche when the saddle and bridle were off, and the horse
+eagerly buried his muzzle in the tall green grass. Up in the branches
+paired California linnets, red breasted for their love season, went over
+plans and specifications for nest-building with much conversation and
+flit-flit of feathered wings. Wild canaries engaged in a like pursuit.
+Overhead in the heavens an eagle sailed. From the sunny chaparral came
+the scolding quit-quit-quit of mother quail, while the pompous cocks
+perched themselves at the tops of manzanita bushes and whistled, "Cut
+that out! Cut that out!" All Nature was home-building; and Oliver forgot
+the loss of the fortune he had expected at his father's death and caught
+the spirit.
+
+He collected oak limbs and built a fire. He carried water from the creek
+and set it on to boil. While waiting for this he strolled about,
+revelling in the soft spring air, fragrant with the smell of wild
+flowers.
+
+That the cabin had been occupied often by hunters and other wanderers in
+the caņon was evidenced by the many carvings on the door and signs of
+bygone campfires all about. He stepped upon the rotting porch and
+studied the monograms, initials, and flippant messages of the lonely men
+who had passed that way.
+
+"All hope abandon, ye who enter here" was carved in ancient letters just
+under the lintel of the door. Next he was informed that "Fools names,
+like their faces, are always seen in public places." "Only a sucker
+would live here" was the parting decision of some disgruntled guest.
+"Home, Sweet Home" adorned the bottom of the door. One panel had proved
+an excellent target, and no less than twenty bullet holes had made a
+sieve of it. "Welcome, Wanderer!" and "Dew Drop Inn" and "Though lost to
+sight to memory dear" occupied conspicuous places. Then on the
+right-hand frame he noticed this:
+
+[Illustration: Beware]
+
+The carving was neatly executed. The leaves represented were
+indisputably those of the poison oak.
+
+Had some one carved this in a jocular effort to warn chance visitors to
+the place of the danger of the poison weed? Or did the carving represent
+the emblem of the Poison Oakers?
+
+Oliver smiled grimly and opened the door.
+
+He passed through the three small rooms of the house and investigated
+the loft. The structure seemed solid. A new roof would be necessary, and
+new windows and frames and a new porch; and as Oliver was no mean
+carpenter, he thought he could make the cabin snug and tight for
+seventy-five dollars.
+
+The front door had closed of itself, he found, when he started back to
+his campfire. He stopped in the main room, and a smile, slightly bitter,
+flickered across his lips. As neatly carved as was the symbol of the
+Poison Oakers outside--if that was what it was--and evidently executed
+by the same hand, was this, on the inside of the door:
+
+    JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART
+
+Oliver went on out and squatted over his fire, peeling potatoes. His
+blue eyes grew studious. In the flickering blaze he saw the picture of a
+black-eyed, black-haired girl on a white horse crouched on its haunches.
+
+"Great Scott!" he muttered. "I'll have to forget that!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the month that followed, Oliver Drew, spurred by feverish enthusiasm,
+worked miracles on the Old Tabor Ivison Place. He repaired the line
+fences and rehabilitated the cabin; bought a burro and pack-saddle and
+packed in lumber and tools and household necessities; fenced off his
+experimental garden on the level land with rabbit-tight netting; cleaned
+and boxed the spring; and early in May was following the spading up of
+his garden plot by planting vegetable seed.
+
+With all this behind him, he went at the clearing of the road that
+connected him with his kind. Today as he laboured with pick and shovel
+and bar he was cheerful, though his thoughts clung to the subject of his
+father's death and the odd situation in which it had left him. He had
+fully expected to inherit properties and money to the extent of a
+hundred thousand dollars. He was not particularly resentful because this
+had not come to pass, for he never had been a pampered young man; but
+the mystery of his father's last message puzzled and chagrined him.
+
+He would always remember Peter Drew as a peculiar man. He had been a
+kindly father, but a reticent one. There were many pages in his past
+that never had been opened to his son. Oliver was the child of Peter
+Drew's second wife. About the queer old Westerner's former marriage he
+had been told practically nothing.
+
+Believing his father to have been of sound mind when he penned that last
+strange communication, Oliver could not hold that the situation which it
+imposed was not for the best. Surely old Peter Drew had had some wise
+reason for his act, and in the end Oliver would know what it was. He had
+been told to seek the Clinker Creek Country to learn the question that
+had puzzled his father for thirty years, to decide whether the proper
+answer was Yes or No, and communicate his decision to his father's
+lawyers. That was all. When in the wisdom which his father had supposed
+would be the natural result of his son's university training he had made
+his decision and placed it before these legal gentlemen, what would
+happen? Speculation over this led nowhere.
+
+At first it had seemed to Oliver that the mission with which he had been
+intrusted was more or less a secret matter, and that he must keep still
+about it. Then as the staunch cow-pony bore him nearer and nearer to the
+Clinker Creek Country it gradually dawned upon him that, by so doing, he
+might stand a poor chance of even finding out what had puzzled his sire.
+To say nothing of the answer which he was to seek. It was then he
+decided that he had nothing to hide and must place his situation before
+the people of the country who would likely be able to help him. Hence
+his confidences to Mr. Damon Tamroy.
+
+Tamroy had aided him not at all; but the 'Forty-niner, Old Dad Sloan,
+knew something. Dan Smeed, outlaw, highwayman, had owned a saddle and
+bridle like Oliver's. The old man had mysteriously mentioned the lost
+mine of Bolivio, and had said the settings in Oliver's _conchas_ were
+gems. If only the old man could be made to talk!
+
+The muffled thud of a horse's hoofs came between the strokes of Oliver's
+pick. With an odd and unfamiliar sensation he glimpsed a white horse and
+rider approaching through the pines.
+
+It was she--Jessamy Selden--the black-haired, black-eyed girl of whom he
+reluctantly had thought so often since his first day in the Clinker
+Creek Country.
+
+She was riding straight down the caņon, the white mare gingerly picking
+her way between boulders and snarls of driftwood. The girl looked up.
+Oliver felt that she saw him. Her ears could not have been insensible to
+the ring of his pick on the flinty stones. She did not leave the trail,
+however, but continued on in his direction.
+
+He rested on the handle of his tool and waited.
+
+"Good morning," he ventured, sweeping off his battered hat, as the mare
+stopped without pressure on the reins and gravely contemplated him.
+
+The girl smiled and returned his greeting brightly.
+
+"If you had waited a few days longer for your ride down here," said
+Oliver, "I'd have had a better trail for you."
+
+"Oh, I don't know that I want it any better," she laughed. "I like
+things pretty much as they are, when Old Mother Nature has built them. I
+ride down this way frequently."
+
+She was no fragile reed, this girl. She was rather more substantially
+built than most members of her sex. Her figure was straight and tall and
+rounded, and her strong, graceful neck upreared itself proudly between
+sturdy shoulders. Grace and strength, rather than purely feminine
+beauty, predominated in the impression she created in Oliver. She wore a
+man's Stetson hat over her lavish crown of coal-black hair, a man's
+flannel shirt, a whipcord divided skirt, and dark-russet riding boots.
+The saddle that she rode in had not been built for a woman to handle,
+and, with its long, pointed tapaderos, must have weighed close to fifty
+pounds. The steady, friendly, confident gaze of her large black eyes was
+thrilling. A man instinctively felt that, if he could win this woman, he
+would have acquired a wife among a thousand, a loyal friend and comrade,
+and a partner who could and would shoulder more than a woman's share of
+their load.
+
+Still, Oliver knew nothing at all about her. What he had heard of her
+was not exactly of the best. Yet he felt that she was gloriously all
+right, and did not try to argue otherwise.
+
+"Well, I suppose I must introduce myself first," she was saying in her
+full, ringing tones. "I'm Jessamy Selden. My name is not Selden, though,
+but Lomax. When my mother married Adam Selden I took her new name. I
+heard somebody had moved onto the Old Ivison Place, and I deliberately
+rode down to get acquainted."
+
+"You waited a month, I notice," Oliver laughingly reproached. "My name
+is Oliver Drew. If you'll get off your horse I'll tell you what a
+wonderful man I am."
+
+She swung to the ground and held out a strong, brown, ungloved hand.
+
+"I'll walk to your cabin with you," she said, "if you'll invite me. I'd
+like to see how you've been improving your time since your arrival."
+
+Scarce able to find words with which to meet such delightful frankness,
+Oliver walked beside her, the white mare following and nosing at his
+pockets to prove that she was a privileged character.
+
+The girl loosed her within the inclosure, and let her drag her reins.
+Poche trotted up to make the white's acquaintance, followed by the new
+mouse-coloured burro, Smith, who long since had assumed a "where thou
+goest I will go" affection for the bay saddler.
+
+Jessamy Selden came to a stop before the cabin, her black eyes dancing.
+
+"Who would have thought," she said in low tones, "that the Clinker Creek
+people ever would see the old Ivison cabin rebuilt and inhabited once
+more! How sturdily it must have been built to stand up against wind and
+storm all these years. Are you going to invite me in and show me
+around?" She levelled that direct glance at him and showed her white
+teeth in a smile.
+
+Oliver was thinking of the carving on the inside of the old door,
+"Jessamy, My Sweetheart." He had not replaced the door with a new one,
+for every penny counted. It still was serviceable; and, besides, there
+seemed to be a sort of companionship about the carved observations of
+the unknowns who had been sheltered by the old cabin during the past
+fifteen years.
+
+"You've been in the house often, I suppose?" He made it a question.
+
+"Oh, yes," she said. "I've lunched in it many a time, and have run in
+out of the rain during winter months. I slept in it all night once."
+
+"You seem to be an independent sort of young woman," suggested Oliver.
+
+"I'm a rather lonely sort of woman, if that's what you mean," she
+replied. "Yes, I ride about lots alone. I like it. Don't you want me to
+go in?"
+
+"Er--why, certainly," he stammered. "Please don't think me inhospitable.
+Come on."
+
+He led the way, and stood back for her at the door. He would leave the
+door open, swung back into the corner, he thought, so that she would not
+see the carving. She had been in the cabin many times. Did she know the
+carving to be there? Of course it might have been executed since her
+last visit, though it did not seem very fresh. Who had carved the words?
+Oliver could imagine any of the young Clinker Creek swains as being
+secretly in love with this marvellous girl, and pouring out his tortured
+soul through the blade of his jack-knife when securely hidden from
+profane eyes in this vast wilderness.
+
+She passed complimentary remarks about his practically built home-made
+furniture, and the neatness and necessary simplicity of everything.
+
+"What an old maid you are for one so young!" she laughed. "And, please,
+what's the typewriter for--if I'm not too bold?"
+
+"Well," said Oliver, "it occurred to me that I must make a living down
+here. I'm a graduate of the State College of Agriculture, and I like to
+farm and write about it. I've sold several articles to agricultural
+papers. I'm going to experiment here, and try to make a living by
+writing up the results!"
+
+"Why, how perfectly fine!" she cried enthusiastically. "I couldn't
+imagine anything more engrossing. I'm a State University girl."
+
+"You don't say!"
+
+And this furnished a topic for ten minutes' conversation.
+
+"If you're as good a writer and farmer as you are tinker and carpenter,"
+she observed, passing into the front room again, "you'll do splendidly."
+She was standing, straight as a young spruce, hands on hips, looking
+with twinkling eyes at the open door. "The old door still hangs, I see,"
+she murmured. "Now just why didn't you replace it, Mr. Drew?"
+
+Oliver looked apprehensive. "Well," he replied hesitatingly, "for
+several reasons. First, a new door costs money, and so would the lumber
+with which to make one--and I haven't much of that article. Second, I
+get some amusement from looking at those old carvings and speculating on
+the possible personalities of the carvers. For all I know, some great
+celebrities' ideas may be among those expressed there--some future great
+man, at any rate. The boy one meets in the street may one day be
+president, you know. Then there's a sort of companionship about those
+names and monograms and quotations. The fellow that informs me that only
+suckers live here I'd like to meet. He was so blunt about it, so sure.
+He--er--"
+
+Smiling, she had stepped to the door and, arms still akimbo, allowed her
+glance to travel from one design to another. She raised an arm and
+levelled a finger.
+
+"What do you think of that one?" she asked.
+
+"Well," said Oliver, "that's a rather well executed poison oak leaf. The
+hills are covered with the plant. I imagine that some wanderer not
+immune from the poison came into contact with it, and, though his eyes
+were swelled half shut and his fingers itched and tingled, his right
+hand had not lost its cunning. So he took out his trusty blade and
+carved a warning for all future pilgrims who chanced this way to beware
+of this tree that is in the midst of the garden, and to not touch it
+lest they--"
+
+"Itch," Jessamy gravely put in. "Quite pretty and poetic," she
+supplemented. "But you are entirely wrong, Mr. Drew. That carving is,
+first of all, a copy of the brand of Old Man Selden, and you'll find it
+on all his cows. All but the word 'Beware,' of course, you understand.
+Second, it represents the silly symbol of a gang that infests this
+country known as the Poison Oakers. Oh, you've heard of them!" she had
+turned suddenly and surprised the look on his face.
+
+"It sounds very bloodthirsty," he laughed confusedly.
+
+"I'll tell you more, then, when I know you better," she said. "No, I'll
+tell you today," she added quickly.
+
+Then before he could make a move she had closed the door to examine what
+might be carved on the inner side.
+
+"Tell me now," said Oliver quickly. "Try this chair here by the window.
+I'm rather proud of this one. It's my first attempt at a morris ch--"
+
+"Come here, please," she commanded, standing with her back to him.
+
+"Don't act so like a boy," she reproved as he dutifully stepped up
+behind her. "Anybody would know you are clumsily trying to detract my
+attention from--that."
+
+The brown finger was pointing straight at JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART.
+
+She turned and levelled her frank, unabashed eyes straight at his.
+
+"So that's why you hesitated about inviting me in," she stated, her lips
+twitching and dimples appearing and disappearing in her cheeks.
+
+"Frankly, yes," he told her gravely.
+
+Her glance did not leave him. "Mr. Tamroy told me he had mentioned me to
+you," she said. "So of course you knew, when you saw this carving, that
+I was the subject of the raving. And when you saw me you wished to spare
+me embarrassment. Thank you. But you see I'm not at all embarrassed. I
+have never before seen this masterpiece in wood, and imagine it has been
+done since I was in the cabin last. Let's see--I doubt if I've been
+inside for a year or more. I think perhaps Mr. Digger Foss is the one
+who tried to make his emotions deathless by this work of art. 'Jessamy,
+My Sweetheart,' eh?" She threw back her glorious head and laughed till
+two tears streamed down her tanned cheeks. "Poor Digger!" she said
+soberly at last. "I suppose he does love me."
+
+"Who wouldn't," thought Oliver, but bit his lips instead of speaking.
+
+"You may leave that, Mr. Drew," she told him, "until you get ready to
+replace the old door with a new one. I would not have the irrefutable
+evidence of at least one conquest blotted out for worlds. Now let's go
+out in that glorious sunlight, and I'll tell you about Old Man Selden
+and the Poison Oakers."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+"AND I'LL HELP YOU!"
+
+
+What Jessamy Selden told Oliver Drew of the Poison Oakers was about the
+same as he had heard from Damon Tamroy.
+
+She used his sawbuck for a seat, and sat with one booted ankle resting
+on a knee, idly spinning the rowel of her spur as she talked. Oliver
+listened without interruption until she finished and once more levelled
+that straightforward glance at him.
+
+"The cows have been down below on winter pasture," she added. "Adam
+Selden and the boys rode out yesterday to start the spring drive into
+the foothills. You'll awake some morning soon to find red cattle all
+about you, and they'll be here till August."
+
+"Well," he said, "I don't know that I shall mind them. My fence is
+pretty fair, and with a little more repairing will turn them, I think."
+
+She twirled her rowel in silence for a time, her eyes fixed on it. Then
+she said:
+
+"It isn't that, Mr. Drew. I may as well tell you right now what I came
+down here purposely to tell you. You're not wanted here. All of this
+land has been abandoned so long that Adam Selden and the gang have come
+to consider it their property--or at least free range."
+
+"But they'll respect my right of ownership."
+
+"I don't know--I don't know. I'm afraid they won't. They're a law unto
+themselves down in here. They'll try to run you out."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Any way--every way. If nothing else occurs to them, they'll begin a
+studied system of persecution with the idea of making you so sick of
+your bargain that you'll pull stakes and hit the trail. That poor man
+Dodd! Mr. Tamroy told me you happened into the saloon in time to see the
+shooting. Wasn't it terrible! And how they persecuted him--fairly drove
+him into the rash act that cost him his life!"
+
+She lifted her glance again. "Mr. Tamroy tells me that you were shocked
+at me that day."
+
+"I guess I didn't fully understand the circumstances."
+
+"I did," she firmly declared, her lips setting in what would have been a
+grim smile but for the dimples that came with it. "I understood the
+situation," she went on. "Digger Foss had been waiting for just that
+chance. There's just enough Indian and Chinese blood in him to make him
+a fatalist. He's therefore deadly. Has no fear of death. He's cruel,
+merciless. I knew when I saw Henry Dodd covering him with that gun that,
+if he didn't finish what he'd started, he was a dead man. He couldn't
+even have backed off gracefully, keeping Digger covered, and got away
+alive. Digger is so quick on the draw, and his aim is so deadly. He's a
+master gunman. Even had Dodd succeeded in getting away then, he would
+have been a marked man. He had thrown down on Digger Foss. Digger would
+have got the drop on him next time they met and killed him as you would
+a coyote. So in my excitement I rushed in with my well meant warning,
+and--Oh, it was horrible!"
+
+"And you meant actually for Dodd to kill Foss?"
+
+Her black eyes dilated, and an angry flush blended with the tan on her
+cheeks.
+
+"It was one or the other of them," she told him coldly. "Mr. Dodd was an
+honest, plodding man--a good citizen. Foss is a renegade. Was I so very
+bloodthirsty in trying to make the best of a bad situation by choosing,
+on the spur of the moment, which man ought to live on? I'm not the
+fainting kind of woman, Mr. Drew. One must be practical, if he can, even
+over matters like that."
+
+"I'm not condemning," he said. "I'm only wondering that a woman could be
+so practical in such a situation."
+
+"Digger Foss hasn't seen me since then," she observed. "He's in jail,
+awaiting trial, at the county seat. He'll be acquitted, of course. I'm
+wondering what he'll have to say to me when he is free again."
+
+Oliver said nothing to this.
+
+"I must be going," she declared, rising suddenly. "As I said, I came
+down to warn you to be on your guard against the Poison Oakers."
+
+He caught her pony and led it to her. She swung into the saddle, then
+slued toward him, leaned an elbow on the horn and rested her chin in the
+palm of her hand. Once more that direct gaze of her frank black eyes
+looked him through and through.
+
+"Well," she asked, "will the Poison Oakers run you off?"
+
+"Oh, I think not," he laughed lightly.
+
+"They'll be ten against one, Mr. Drew."
+
+"There's law in the land."
+
+"Yes, there's law," she mused. "But it's so easy for unscrupulous people
+to get around the law. They can subject you to no end of persecution,
+and you won't even be able to prove that one of them is behind it."
+
+She looked him over deliberately.
+
+"I'm glad you've come," she said. "You're an educated man, and blessed
+with a higher order of character than has been anybody else who stood to
+cross the Poison Oakers. Somehow, I feel that you are destined to be
+their undoing. They must be corralled and their atrocities brought to an
+end. You must be the one to put the quietus on that gang. And I'll help
+you. Good-bye!"
+
+She lifted the white mare into a lope, opened the gate, rode through and
+closed it without leaving the saddle, then, waving back at him,
+disappeared in the chaparral.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS
+
+
+Oliver Drew had found a bee tree on the backbone of the ridge between
+the Old Ivison Place and the American River. He stood contemplating it,
+watching the busy little workers winging their way to and from the hole
+in the hollow trunk, planning to change their quarters and put them to
+work for him.
+
+Far below him, down a precipitous pine-studded slope, the green American
+River raced toward the ocean. There had been a week of late rains, and
+good grass for the summer was assured.
+
+Away through the tall trees below him he saw red cows filtering along,
+cropping eagerly at the lush growth after a long dusty trip from the
+drying lowlands. Now and then he saw a horseman galloping along a mile
+distant. He heard an occasional faint shout, borne upward on the soft
+spring wind. The Seldens were ending the drive of their cattle to summer
+pastures.
+
+He turned suddenly as he heard the tramp of hoofs. Six horsemen were
+approaching, along the backbone of the ridge, winding in and out between
+clumps of the sparse chaparral.
+
+In the lead, straight and sturdy as some ancient oak, rode a tall man
+with grey hair that hung below his ears and a flowing grey beard. He
+wore the conventional cowpuncher garb, from black-silk neckerchief, held
+in place by a poker chip with holes bored in it, to high-heeled boots
+and chaps. He rode a gaunt grey horse. His tapaderos flapped loosely
+against the undergrowth, and, so long were the man's legs, they seemed
+almost to scrape the ground. A holstered Colt hung at the rider's side.
+
+Silent, stern of face, this old man rode like the wraith of some ancient
+chieftain at the head of his hard-riding warriors.
+
+Those who followed him were younger men, plainly _vaqueros_. They lolled
+in their saddles, and smoked and bantered. But Oliver's eyes were alone
+for the stalwart figure in the lead, who neither spoke nor smiled nor
+paid any attention to his band, but rode on grimly as if heading an
+expedition into dangerous and unknown lands.
+
+Undoubtedly this was Old Man Selden and his four sons, together with
+other members of the Poison Oakers Gang. They had left the cows to
+themselves and were making their way homeward after the drive. Oliver's
+first impulse was to hide behind a tree and watch, for he felt that he
+should forego no chance of a strategic advantage. Then he decided that
+it was not for him to begin manoeuvring, and stood boldly in full
+view, wondering whether the riders would pass without observing him.
+
+They did not. He heard a sharp word or two from some follower of the old
+man, and for the first time the leader showed signs of knowing that he
+was not riding alone. He slued about in his saddle. A hand pointed in
+Oliver's direction. The old man reined in his grey horse and looked
+toward Oliver and the bee tree. The other horsemen drew up around him.
+There was a short consultation, then all of them leaned to the right in
+their saddles and galloped over the uneven land.
+
+They reined in close to the lone man, and a dusty, sweaty, hard-looking
+clan they were. Keen, curious eyes studied him, and there was no
+mistaking the insolent and bullying attitude of their owners.
+
+A quick glance Oliver gave the five, then his interest settled on their
+leader.
+
+Adam Selden was a powerful man. His nose was of the Bourbon type, large
+and deeply pitted. His eyes were blue and strong and dominating.
+
+"Howdy?" boomed a deep bass voice.
+
+Oliver smiled. "How do you do?" he replied.
+
+Then silence fell, while old Adam Selden sat rolling a quid of tobacco
+in his mouth and studying the stranger with inscrutable cold blue eyes.
+
+"I've found a bee tree," said Oliver when the tensity grew almost
+unbearable. "I was just figuring on the best way to hive the little
+rascals."
+
+Selden slowly nodded his great head up and down with exasperating
+exaggeration.
+
+"Stranger about here, ain't ye?" he asked.
+
+"Well, I've been here over a month," Oliver answered. "I own the Old
+Tabor Ivison Place, down there in the valley. My name is Oliver Drew,
+and I guess you're Mr. Selden."
+
+Another long pause, then--
+
+"Yes, I'm Selden. Them's my cows ye see down there moseyin' up the river
+bottom and over the hills. I been runnin' cows in here summers for a
+good many years. Just so!"
+
+"I see," said Oliver, not knowing what else to say.
+
+"Three o' these men are my boys," Selden drawled on. "The rest are
+friends o' ours. Has anybody told ye about the poison oak that grows
+'round here?"
+
+"I'm familiar with it," Oliver told him.
+
+"Ain't scared o' poison oak, then?"
+
+"Not at all. I'm immune."
+
+"It's a pesterin' plant. You'll chafe under it and chafe under it, and
+think it's gone; then here she comes back again, redder and lumpier and
+itchier than ever."
+
+"I'm quite familiar with its persistence," Oliver gravely stated.
+
+"And still ye ain't afraid o' poison oak?"
+
+"Not in the least."
+
+The gang was grinning, but the chief of the
+
+Poison Oakers maintained a straight face.
+
+"Ain't scared of it, then," he drawled on. "Well, now, that's handy. I
+like to meet a man that ain't scared o' poison oak. Got yer place
+fenced, I reckon?"
+
+"Yes, I've repaired the fence."
+
+"That's right. That's always the best way. O' course the law says we got
+to see that our stock don't get on your prop'ty. Whether that there's a
+good and just law or not I ain't prepared to say right now. But we got
+to obey it, and we always try to keep our cows offen other folks'
+pasture. But it's best to fence, whether ye got stock o' yer own or not.
+Pays in the long run, and keeps a fella outa trouble with his
+neighbours. But the best o' fencin' won't keep out the poison oak. O'
+course, though, you know that. Now what're ye gonta do down there on the
+Old Ivison Place?--if I ain't too bold in askin'."
+
+"Have a little garden, and maybe get a cow later on. Put a few stands of
+bees to work for me, if I can find enough swarms in the woods. I have a
+saddle horse and a burro to keep the grass down now. I don't intend to
+do a great deal in the way of farming."
+
+"I'd think not," Selden drawled. "Land about here's good fer nothin' but
+grazin' a few months outa the year. Man would be a fool to try and farm
+down where you're at. How ye gonta make a livin'?--if I'm not too bold
+in askin'."
+
+"I intend to write for agricultural papers for my living," said Oliver.
+
+Silence greeted this. So far as their experience was concerned, Oliver
+might as well have stated that he was contemplating the manufacture of
+tortoise-shell side combs to keep soul and body to their accustomed
+partnership.
+
+"How long ye owned this forty?" Old Man Selden asked.
+
+"Only since my father's death, this year."
+
+"Yer father, eh? Who was yer father?"
+
+"Peter Drew, of the southern part of the state."
+
+"How long'd he own that prop'ty before he died?"
+
+"He owned it for some time, I understand," said Oliver patiently.
+
+The grey head shook slowly from side to side. "I can show ye, down to
+the county seat, that Nancy Fleet--who was an Ivison and sister o' the
+woman I married here about four year ago--owned that land up until the
+first o' the year, anyway. It was left to her by old Tabor Ivison when
+he died. That was fifteen year ago, and I've paid the taxes on it ever
+since for Nancy Fleet, for the privilege o' runnin' stock on it. I paid
+the taxes last year. What 'a' ye got to say to that?"
+
+Oliver Drew had absolutely nothing to say to it. He could only stare at
+the gaunt old man.
+
+"But I have the deed!" he burst out at last.
+
+"And I've got last year's tax receipts," drawled Adam Selden. "Ye better
+go down to the county seat and have a look at the records," he added,
+swinging his horse about. "Then when ye've done that, I'd like a talk
+with ye. Just so! Just so!"
+
+He rode off without another word, the gang following.
+
+Early next morning Oliver was in the saddle. As Poche picked his way out
+of the caņon Oliver espied Jessamy Selden on her white mare, standing
+still in the county road.
+
+"Good morning," said the girl. "You're late. I've been waiting for you
+ten minutes."
+
+Oliver's lips parted in surprise, and she laughed good-naturedly.
+
+"I thought you'd be riding out early this morning," she explained, "so I
+rode down to meet you. I feel as if a long ride in the saddle would
+benefit me today. Do you mind if I travel with you to the county seat?"
+
+He had ridden close to her by this time, and offered his hand.
+
+"You like to surprise people, don't you?" he accused. "The answer to
+your question is, I do not mind if you travel with me to the county
+seat. But let me tell you--you'll have to travel. This is a horse that
+I'm riding."
+
+She turned up her nose at him. "I like to have a man talk that way to
+me," she said. "Don't ever dare to hold my stirrup for me, or slow down
+when you think the pace is getting pretty brisk, or anything like that."
+
+"I wouldn't think of such discourtesy," he told her seriously. "You
+noticed that I let you mount unaided the other day. I might have walked
+ahead, though, and opened the gate for you if you hadn't loped off."
+
+"That's why I did it," she demurely confessed. "I'm rather proud of
+being able to take care of myself. And as for that wonderful horse of
+yours, he does look leggy and capable. But, then, White Ann has a point
+or two herself. Let's go!"
+
+Their ponies took up the walking-trot of the cattle country side by side
+toward Halfmoon Flat.
+
+"Well," Oliver began, "of course my meeting you means that you know I've
+had an encounter with Adam Selden, and that he has told you he doubts if
+I am the rightful owner of the Tabor Ivison Place."
+
+"Yes, I overheard his conversation with Hurlock last night," she told
+him. "So I thought I'd ride down with you, sensing that you would be
+worried and would hit the trail this morning."
+
+"I am worried," he said. "I can't imagine why your step-father made that
+statement."
+
+"Just call him Adam or Old Man Selden when you're speaking of him to
+me," she prompted. "Even the 'step' in front of 'father' does not take
+away the bad taste. And you might at least _think_ of me as Jessamy
+Lomax. I will lie in the bed I made when I espoused the name of Selden,
+for it would be stupid to go about now notifying people that I have gone
+back to Lomax again. My case is not altogether hopeless, however. You
+are witness that I have a fair chance of some day acquiring the name of
+Foss, at any rate. So you are worried about the land tangle?"
+
+"What can it mean?" he puzzled.
+
+"This probably is not the first instance in which a deed has not been
+recorded promptly," she ventured. "That won't affect your ownership.
+Personally I know that Aunt Nancy Fleet's name appears in the records
+down at the county seat as the owner of the property. She sold it to
+your father, doubtless, and the transfer never was recorded. Where is
+your deed?"
+
+He slapped his breast.
+
+"See that you keep it there," she said significantly.
+
+"You say you know that your Aunt Nancy Fleet is named as owner of the
+property in the county records?"
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Then she has allowed Adam Selden to believe that she still owns it!" he
+cried. "And this is proved by reason of her having allowed him to pay
+the taxes for the right to run stock on the land."
+
+She nodded again.
+
+He wrinkled his brows. "It would seem to be a sort of conspiracy against
+Adam Selden by your Aunt Nancy and--" He paused.
+
+"And who?"
+
+"Well, it's not like my father's business methods to allow a deed to go
+unrecorded for fifteen years," he told her. "Not at all like Dad. So I
+must name him as a party to this conspiracy against old Adam. But what
+is the meaning of it, Miss Selden?"
+
+"I'm sure I am not in a position to say," she replied lightly. "Some
+day, when you've got things to running smoothly down there, I'll take
+you to see Aunt Nancy. She lives up in Calamity Gap--about ten miles to
+the north of Halfmoon Flat. Maybe she can and will explain."
+
+He regarded her steadily; but for once her eyes did not meet his, though
+he could not say that this was intentional on her part.
+
+"By George, I believe _you_ can explain it!" he accused.
+
+"I?"
+
+"You heard me the first time."
+
+"Did you learn that expression at the University of California or in
+France?"
+
+"I stick to my statement," he grumbled.
+
+"Do so, by all means. Just the same, I am not in a position to enlighten
+you. But I promise to take you to Aunt Nancy whenever you're ready to
+go. There's an Indian reservation up near where she lives. You'll want
+to visit that. We can make quite a vacation of the trip. You'll see a
+riding outfit or two that will run close seconds to yours for decoration
+and elaborate workmanship. My! What a saddle and bridle you have! I've
+been unable to keep my eyes off them from the first; but you were so
+busy with your land puzzle that I couldn't mention them. I've seen some
+pretty elaborate rigs in my day, but nothing to compare with yours. It's
+old, too. Where did you get it?"
+
+"They were Dad's," he told her. "He left them and Poche to me at his
+death. I must tell you of something that happened when I first showed up
+in Halfmoon Flat in all my grandeur. Do you know Old Dad Sloan, the
+'Forty-niner?"
+
+She nodded, her glance still on the heavy, chased silver of his saddle.
+
+Then Oliver told her of the queer old man's mysterious words when he saw
+the saddle and bridle and martingales, and the stones that were set in
+the silver _conchas_.
+
+She was strangely silent when he had finished. Then she said musingly:
+
+"The lost mine of Bolivio. Certainly that sounds interesting. And Dan
+Smeed, squawman, highwayman, and outlaw. The days of old, the days of
+gold--the days of 'Forty-nine! Thought of them always thrills me. Tell
+me more, Mr. Drew. I know there is much more to be told."
+
+"I'll do it," he said; and out came the strange story of Peter Drew and
+his last message to his son.
+
+Her wide eyes gazed at him throughout the recital and while he read the
+message aloud. They were sparkling as he concluded and looked across at
+her.
+
+"Oh, that dear, delightful, romantic old father of yours!" she cried.
+"You're a man of mystery--a knight on a secret quest! Oh, if I could
+only help you! Will you let me try?"
+
+"I'd be only too glad to shift half the burden of finding the question
+and its correct answer to your strong shoulders," he said.
+
+"Then we'll begin just as soon as you're ready," she declared. "I have a
+plan for the first step. Wait! I'll help you!"
+
+Shortly before noon they dropped rein before the court house and sought
+the county recorder's office. Oliver gave the legal description of his
+land, and soon the two were pouring over a cumbersome book, heads close
+together.
+
+To his vast surprise, Oliver found that his deed had been recorded the
+second day after his father's death, and that, up until that recent
+date, the land had appeared in the records as the property of Nancy
+Fleet.
+
+"Dad's lawyers did this directly after his death," he said to Jessamy.
+"They sent the deed up here and had it recorded just before turning it
+over to me. Adam Selden hasn't seen it yet. Say, this is growing mighty
+mysterious, Miss Selden."
+
+"Delightfully so," she agreed. "Now as you weren't expecting me to come
+along, have you enough money for lunch for two? If not, I have. We'd
+better eat and be starting back."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+LILAC SPODUMENE
+
+
+Once more Oliver Drew rode out of Clinker Creek Caņon to find Jessamy
+Selden, straight and strong and dependable looking, waiting for him in
+her saddle. On this occasion he joined her by appointment.
+
+She looked especially fresh and contrasty today. Her black hair and eyes
+and her red lips and olive skin, with the red of perfect health so
+subtly blended into the tan, always made her beauty rather startling.
+This morning she had plaited her hair in two long, heavy braids that
+hung to the bottom of her saddle skirts on either side.
+
+Oliver's gaze at her was one of frank admiration.
+
+"How do you do it?" he laughed.
+
+"Do what?"
+
+"Make yourself so spectacular and--er--outstanding, without leaving any
+traces of art?"
+
+"Am I spectacular?"
+
+"Rather. Different, anyway--to use a badly overworked expression. But
+what puzzles me is what makes you look like that. You seem perfectly
+normal, and nothing could be plainer than the clothes you wear. You're
+not beautiful, and you're too big both physically and mentally to be
+pretty. But I'll bet my hat you're the most popular young woman in this
+section!"
+
+She regarded him soberly. "Are you through?" she asked.
+
+"I've exhausted my stock of descriptive words, anyway," he told her.
+
+"Then we'd better be riding," she said.
+
+He swung Poche to the side of White Ann, and they moved off along the
+road, knee and knee.
+
+"You're not offended?" he asked.
+
+She threw back her head and laughed till Oliver thought of meadow larks,
+and robins calling before a shower.
+
+"Offended! You must think me some sort of freak. Who ever heard of a
+woman being offended when a man admires her? I like it immensely, Mr.
+Oliver Drew. And if you can beat that for square shooting, there's no
+truth in me. But if you'll analyse my 'difference' you'll find it's only
+because I'm big and strong and healthy, and try always to shoot straight
+from the shoulder and look folks straight in the eye. That's all. Let's
+let 'em out!"
+
+They broke into a smart gallop, and continued it up and down
+pine-toothed hills till they clattered into Halfmoon Flat.
+
+Curious eyes met them, old men stopped in their tracks and leaned on
+their canes to watch, and folks came to windows and doors as they loped
+through the village.
+
+"'Whispering tongues can poison truth,'" Jessamy quoted as they turned a
+corner and cantered up a hill toward a grove of pines on the outskirts
+of the town. "It seems odd that Adam Selden has not mentioned you to me.
+Surely some one has seen us together who would tell some one else who
+would tell Old Man Selden all about it. But not a cheep from him as
+yet."
+
+"Have you any bosom friends in the Clinker Creek district?" he asked,
+not altogether irrelevantly.
+
+"No, none at all. But I'm friends with everybody, though I have nothing
+in common with any one. I don't consider myself superior to the natives
+here about, but, just the same, they don't interest me. I'm speaking of
+the women. I like most of the men. I guess I'm what they call a man's
+woman. I can't sit and talk about clothes and dances, and gossip, and
+what one did on one's vacation last summer. It all bores me stiff, so I
+don't pretend it doesn't. Men, now--they can talk about horses and
+saddles and cows and cutting wood and prizefights and poker games and
+election--"
+
+"And women and Fords," he interrupted.
+
+She laughed and led the way into a little trail that snaked on up the
+hill between lilacs and buckeye trees to a little cabin half-hidden in
+the foliage.
+
+They dismounted at the door and loosed their horses. Jessamy tapped
+vigorously on the panels. Again and again--and then there was heard a
+shuffling, unsteady step inside, and a cane thumped hollowly. Presently
+the door opened, and Old Dad Sloan bleared out at them from behind his
+flaring, mattress-stuffing hair and whiskers.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Sloan!" cried Jessamy almost at the top of her
+voice.
+
+A veined hand shook its way to form a cup behind the ancient's ear.
+
+"Hey?" he squealed.
+
+Jessamy filled her sturdy lungs with air and tried again.
+
+"I say--How do you do!" The effort left her neck red but for a blue
+outstanding artery.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Dad Sloan, with a look of relief. "Why, howdy?"
+
+Jessamy ascended a step to the door, took him by both shoulders, and
+placed her satin lips close to the ear that he inclined her way.
+
+"We've come to make you a call," she announced. "I want you to meet a
+friend of mine; and we want to ask you some questions."
+
+The grey head nodded slowly up and down, more to indicate that its owner
+heard and understood than to signify acquiescence. But he tottered back
+and held the door wide open; and Jessamy and Oliver went into the cabin.
+
+Dad Sloan managed to live all alone in this sequestered little nook by
+reason of the county's generosity. He was old and feeble, and at times
+irritatingly childish and petulant. Jessamy Selden often brought him
+cakes, fried chicken, and the like; and, provided he was in the right
+mood, he would be more likely to be confidential with her than with
+anybody else in the country.
+
+But the girl's task was difficult. The old man shook hands listlessly
+with Oliver at her bidding, but seemed entirely to have forgotten their
+previous meeting. They sat in the uncomfortable straight-backed,
+thong-bottom chairs while Jessamy shrieked the conversation into the
+desired channel. The old eyes gathered a more intelligent look as she
+spoke of the lost mine of Bolivio.
+
+Pieced together, the fragments that fell from the bearded lips of Old
+Dad Sloan made some such narrative as follows:
+
+Bolivio had been a Portuguese or a Spaniard, or some "black furriner,"
+who had been in the country in the memorable days of '49 and afterward.
+His knowledge of some tongue based on the Latin had made it easy for him
+to communicate with the Pauba Indians that inhabited the country, as
+some of them had learned Spanish from the Franciscan Fathers down at the
+coast. Bolivio mingled with the tribe, and finally became a squawman.
+
+One day he appeared at the Clinker Creek bar and exhibited a beautiful
+stone. A gold miner who was present had once followed mining in South
+Africa, and knew something of diamonds. He examined Bolivio's stone, and
+gave it such simple tests as were at his command, then advised the owner
+to send it to New York to find out if it was possessed of value.
+
+It required months in those days to communicate with the Atlantic
+seaboard. Bolivio's stone was started on its long journey around the
+Horn. He hinted that there were more of the stones where he had found
+this one, and created the impression that his Indian brethren had showed
+them to him.
+
+More they could not get out of him. Nor did anybody try very hard to
+learn his secret, for no one imagined the find of much intrinsic value.
+
+Bolivio was a saddler, and was skilled in the art of the silversmith.
+Gold dust was plentiful in the country in that day, and the foreigner
+found ready buyers for his masterpieces in leather and precious metals.
+The finest equestrian outfit that he made was finally acquired from the
+Indians by Dan Smeed, a miner who afterward turned highwayman, married
+an Indian girl, became an outlaw, and finally disappeared altogether. In
+the _conchas_ with which the plaited bridle was adorned Bolivio had set
+two large stones from his secret store, which he himself had crudely
+polished.
+
+One day, a month or more before word came from New York regarding the
+stone, Bolivio was found dead in the forest. A knife had been plunged
+into his heart. The secret of the brilliant stones had died with him.
+
+Then came the answer. The stone was said to be spodumene, of a very high
+class, and had a a lilac tint theretofore unknown. It was the finest of
+its kind ever to have been reported as found in the United States. The
+finder was offered a thousand dollars for the sample sent; one hundred
+dollars a pound was offered for all stones that would grade up to the
+sample.
+
+But Bolivio was dead, and no one knew from whence the stone had come.
+
+Efforts were made, of course, to find the source of this wealth. The
+Indians were tried time and again, but not one word would they speak
+regarding the matter. The new quest was finally dropped; for those were
+the days of gold, gold, gold, and so frenzied were men and women to find
+it that other precious minerals were cast aside as worthless. None had
+time to seek for stones worth a hundred dollars a pound, with gold worth
+more than twice as much. So the lost mine of Bolivio became only a
+memory.
+
+Years later this same stone was discovered six hundred miles farther
+south. It is now on the market as kunzite, and a cut stone of one karat
+in weight sells for fifty dollars and more. The San Diego County
+discovery was supposed to mark the introduction of the stone in the
+United States, for the lost mine of Bolivio was all but forgotten.
+
+Old Dad Sloan thumped out at Jessamy's request and once again critically
+examined Oliver's saddle and bridle and the brilliants in the _conchas_.
+
+"It's the same fine outfit Bolivio made, and that afterwards belonged to
+Dan Smeed, outlaw, highwayman, and squawman," he pronounced. "They never
+was another outfit like it in this country."
+
+"Tell us more about Dan Smeed!" screamed the girl.
+
+The patriarch shook his head. "Bad egg; bad egg!" he said sonorously.
+"He married a squaw, and that's how come it he got the grandest saddle
+and bridle Bolivio ever made. Bolivio's squaw kep' it after Bolivio was
+knifed. And by and by along come this Dan Smeed and his partner to this
+country. And when Dan Smeed married into the tribe he got the saddle and
+bridle and martingales somehow. That was later--years later. Bolivio's
+been dead over seventy year."
+
+"Have you ever heard the name Peter Drew?" Oliver asked him.
+
+But the old eyes remained blank, and the grey head shook slowly from
+side to side. "I recollect clear as day what happened sixty to seventy
+year ago, but I can't recollect what I did last week or where I went,"
+Dad Sloan said pathetically. "If I'd ever heard o' Peter Drew in the
+days o' forty-nine to seventy, I'd recollect it."
+
+"You mentioned Dan Smeed's partner," prompted Jessamy. "Can you recall
+his name?"
+
+"Yes, Dan Smeed had a partner," mused Dad Sloan. "Bad egg, Dan Smeed.
+Squawman, highwayman, outlaw. Disappeared with his fine saddle and
+bridle and martingales and the stones from the lost mine o' Bolivio."
+
+"But his partner's name?" the girl persisted.
+
+The old mind seemed to be wandering once more. "Bad eggs--both of 'em.
+Bad eggs," was the only answer she could get.
+
+"Well, we're progressing slowly," Jessamy observed as they rode away.
+"Our next step must be to visit the Indians. I know a number of them.
+Filipe Maquaquish, for instance, and Chupurosa are as old or older than
+Old Dad Sloan. Chupurosa's face is a pattern in crinkled leather. When
+we go to see Aunt Nancy Fleet we'll visit the Indian village. And that
+will be--when?"
+
+"Tomorrow, if you say so," Oliver replied. "I meant to irrigate my
+garden tomorrow, but it can wait a day."
+
+"By the way," she asked, "have you written that letter to Mr. Selden,
+telling him what we found out down at the county seat?"
+
+"I have it in my pocket," he told her.
+
+"Give it to me," she ordered. "I'll hand it in at the post office, get
+them to stamp the postmark on it, and take it home with me when I go."
+
+"Will you dare do that? Won't the post-master scent a conspiracy against
+Old Man Selden?"
+
+"Let him scent!" said Jessamy. "I'm dying to see Selden's face when he
+reads that letter."
+
+They parted at the headwaters of Clinker Creek, with the understanding
+that she would meet him in the county road next morning for the ride to
+her aunt's and the Indian reservation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+POISON OAK RANCH
+
+
+The trail that meandered down Clinker Creek Caņon extended at right
+angles to the one that led to the Selden ranch. The latter climbed a
+baldpate hill; then, winding its narrow way through dense locked
+chaparral higher than horse and rider, dipped down precipitously into
+the deep caņon of the American River.
+
+Jessamy waved good-bye to her new friend at the parting of the ways and
+lifted White Ann into her long lope to the summit of the denuded hill.
+For a little, as they crossed the topmost part of it, the deep, rugged
+scar that marked the course of the river was visible. Ragged and rocky
+and covered with trees and chaparral, the caņonside slanted down dizzily
+for over fifteen hundred feet. At the bottom the deep green river rushed
+pell-mell to the lower levels. A moment and the view was lost to the
+girl, as White Ann entered the thick chaparral and started the swift
+descent.
+
+At last they reached the bottom, forded the swirling stream, and began
+clambering up a trail as steep as the first on the other side. Soon the
+river was lost to view again, for once more the trail had been cut
+through a seemingly impenetrable chaparral of buckthorn, manzanita and
+scrub oak. Around and about tributary caņons they wound their way, and
+at last reached the end of the steep climb. For a quarter of a mile now
+the trail followed the backbone of a ridge, then entered a caņon that
+eventually spread out into a pine-bordered plateau on the mountainside.
+Just ahead lay Poison Oak Ranch. Beyond, the deep, dark forest extended
+in miles numbered by hundreds to the snow-mantled peaks of the Sierra
+Nevada range.
+
+While it was possible to reach Poison Oak Ranch from this side of the
+river, the journey on Shank's mare would have taken on something of the
+nature of an exploring expedition into unmapped lands. Occasionally
+hunters wandered to or past the ranch on this side; but for the most
+part any one who fancied that he had business at Poison Oak Ranch came
+over the narrow trail that connected the spot with outside civilization.
+Few entertained such a fancy, however, for Poison Oak Ranch, secluded,
+hidden from sight, tucked away in the Hills of Nowhere, and difficult of
+access, was owned and controlled by a clannish family that had little in
+common with the world.
+
+There was a large log house that Adam Selden's father had built in the
+days of '49, in which the Old Man Selden of today had first opened his
+eyes on life. There were several lesser cabins in the mountainside cup,
+two of which were occupied by Hurlock Selden and Winthrop Selden and
+their families. The remaining two boys, Moffat and Bolar, lived in the
+big house with Jessamy, her mother, and the wicked Old Man of the Hills.
+
+There was an extensive garden, watered by a generous spring that gushed
+picturesquely from under a gigantic boulder set in the hillside. There
+were perhaps ten acres of pasture, and a small deciduous orchard. Little
+more in the way of agricultural land. The Seldens merely made this place
+their home and headquarters--their cattle ranged the hills outside, and
+most of their activities toward a livelihood were carried on away from
+home. Selden owned a thousand acres over in the Clinker Creek Country
+and a winter range a trifle larger fifty miles below the foothills. He
+moved his herds three times in a year--from the winter pastures to the
+Clinker Creek Country for the spring grass, keeping them there till
+August, when they were driven to government mountain ranges at an
+altitude of six thousand feet; and from thence, in October, to winter
+range once more. The Clinker Creek range, however, was comprised of
+several thousand acres beside the thousand owned by Selden. This
+represented lands long since deserted by their owners as useless for
+agricultural purposes, and upon which Selden kept up the taxes, or
+appropriated without negotiations, as conditions demanded. Oliver Drew's
+forty had been a part of this until Oliver's inopportune arrival.
+
+Jessamy rode into the rail corral and unsaddled her mare. Then she
+hurried to the house to help her mother, a tired looking, once comely
+woman of fifty-eight.
+
+Mrs. Selden had been an Ivison--a sister of Old Tabor Ivison, who had
+homesteaded Oliver's forty acres thirty years before. As a girl she had
+married Herman Lomax, a country youth with ambitions for the city. He
+had done fairly well in the mercantile business in San Francisco, and
+Jessamy, the only child, was born to them. The girl had been raised to
+young womanhood and attended the State University. Then her father had
+died, leaving his business in an involved condition; and in the end the
+widow and her daughter found there was little left for them.
+
+They returned to the scene of Mrs. Lomax's girlhood, where they tried
+without success to farm the old home place, to which, in the interim,
+the widow had fallen heir. Then to the surprise of every one--Jessamy
+most of all--Mrs. Lomax consented to marry Old Adam Selden, the father
+of four strapping sons and "the meanest man in the country." At the time
+Jessamy had not known this last, but she knew it now.
+
+However, such an independent young woman as Jessamy would not consent to
+suffer a great deal at the hands of a step-father. She stayed on with
+the family for her mother's sake, but she had her own neat living room
+and bedroom and went her own way entirely. It must end someday. Old Adam
+Selden, though hard and tough as a time-battered oak, could not live for
+ever. Her mother would not divorce him. So Jessamy stayed and waited,
+and rode over the hills alone, unafraid and independent.
+
+She was helping her mother to get supper in the commodious kitchen, with
+its black log walls and immense stone fireplace, which room served as
+dining room and living room as well, when Adam Selden, Bolar, and Moffat
+rode in from the trail and corraled their horses. Supper was ready as
+the three clanked to the house in spurs and chaps, and washed noisily in
+basins under a gigantic liveoak at the cabin door. Then Jessamy took
+Oliver Drew's letter from her bosom and propped it against old Adam's
+coffee cup.
+
+Selden's bushy brows came down as he scraped his chair to the table.
+Mail for any Selden was an unusual occurrence.
+
+"What's this here?" Adam's thick fingers held the envelope before his
+eyes, and the beetling grey brows strained lower.
+
+"Mail," indifferently answered Jessamy, setting a pan of steaming
+biscuits, covered with a spotless cloth, on the table.
+
+"Fer me?"
+
+"'Adam Selden, Esquire,'" she quoted.
+
+"'Esquire,' eh? Who's she from?"
+
+"It's generally customary to open a letter and read who it is from,"
+said Jessamy lightly. "In this instance, however, you will find a
+notation on the flap of the envelope that reads: 'From Oliver Drew,
+Halfmoon Flat, California.'"
+
+"Huh!" Selden raised his shaggy head and bent a condemnatory glance on
+the girl.
+
+"D'he give it to ye?"
+
+"It is postmarked Halfmoon Flat," said Jessamy, taking her seat beside
+Bolar, who, indifferent to his father's difficulties, had already
+consumed three fluffy biscuits spread with butter and wild honey.
+
+"Ye got her out o' the office, then?" The cold blue eyes were
+challenging.
+
+"Oh, certainly, certainly!" Jessamy chirruped impatiently. "One might
+imagine you'd never received a letter before."
+
+Adam fingered it thoughtfully. "Yes," he said deliberatingly at last,
+reverting to his customary drawl, "I got letters before now. But I was
+just wonderin' if this Drew fella give thisun to you to give to me."
+
+Jessamy's round left shoulder gave a little shrug of indifference.
+"Coffee, Moffat?" she asked.
+
+"Sure Mike," said Moffat.
+
+"Did he?" Selden's tones descended to the deep bass boom which marked
+certain moods.
+
+"Oh, dear!" Jessamy complained good-naturedly. "What's the use? Can't
+you see the postmark and the cancelled stamp, Mr. Selden?"
+
+Selden contemplated them. "Yes, I see 'em," he admitted; "I see 'em. But
+I thought, s' long's ye was with that young Drew fella today, he might
+'a' saved his stamp and sent her to me by you."
+
+"That being satisfactorily decided," chirped Jessamy, "let us now open
+the missive and learn what Mr. Drew has to communicate."
+
+"Heaven's sake, Pap, open it and shut up!" growled Moffat, his mouth
+full of potato.
+
+"I'll take a quirt to you if ye tell me to shut up ag'in!" thundered
+Selden.
+
+Thereupon he tore the envelope and leaned out from his chair so that the
+light from a window flooded the single sheet which the envelope
+contained.
+
+He read silently, slowly, craggy brows drawn down. His cold blue eyes
+widened, and the large nostrils of his pitted Bourbon nose spread
+angrily.
+
+"Moffat, listen here!" he boomed at last. "You, too, Bolar."
+
+"Yes, be sure to listen, Bolar," laughed Jessamy. "But if you don't wish
+to, go down into the caņon of the American."
+
+"'Adam Selden, Esquire,'" Selden boomed on, unheeding the girl's
+bantering. "'Poison Oak Ranch, Halfmoon Flat, Californy:'
+
+"'My dear Mr. Selden.' Get that, Moffat! 'My dear Mr. Selden!' Say,
+who's that Ike think he's writin' to? His gal? Huh! 'My _dear_ Mr.
+Selden:'
+
+"'I rode to the county seat on Wednesday, this week, and looked over the
+records in the office of the recorder of deeds. I found that you are
+entirely mistaken in the matter that you brought to my attention on
+Tuesday. The forty acres known as the Old Ivison Place are recorded in
+my name, the date of the recording being January fifth, this year. It
+appears that Nancy Fleet sold the place years ago to my father, but that
+the transfer was not placed on record until the date I have mentioned.'
+
+"'With kindest regards,'
+
+"'Yours sincerely, Oliver Drew.'"
+
+Selden came to an ominous pause and glared about the table. "Writ with a
+typewriter, all but his name," he announced impressively. "And he's a
+liar by the clock!"
+
+Jessamy threw back her head in that whole-souled laughter that made
+every one who heard her laugh.
+
+"He's crazy," complacently mumbled Bolar, still at war on the biscuits.
+
+"Jess'my"--Selden's eyes were fixed sternly on his
+step-daughter--"What're ye laughin' at?"
+
+"At humanity's infinite variety," answered Jessamy.
+
+"Does that mean me?"
+
+"Me, too, Pete!" she rippled.
+
+"Looky-here"--he leaned toward her--"there's some funny business goin'
+on 'round here. Two times ye been seen ridin' with that new fella down
+on the Old Ivison Place."
+
+"Two times is right," she slangily agreed.
+
+"And ye rode with 'im to the county seat when he went to see the
+records. Just so!"
+
+"Your informer is accurate," taunted the girl.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"What for?" She levelled her disconcerting gaze at him. "Well, I like
+that, Mr. Selden! Because I wanted to, if you must pry into my affairs."
+
+"Ye wanted to, eh? Ye _wanted_ to! Did ye see the records?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"Is this here letter a lie?" He spanked the table with it.
+
+"It is not."
+
+He rose from his chair and bent over her. "D'ye mean to tell me yer
+maw's sister don't own that prop'ty?"
+
+"Exactly. It belongs to Mr. Oliver Drew, according to the recorder's
+office. May I suggest that I am rather proud of my biscuits tonight, and
+that they're growing cold as lumps of clay?"
+
+"It's a lie!" roared Selden.
+
+"Now, just a moment," said Jessamy coolly. "Do I gather that you are
+calling me a liar, Mr. Selden? Because if you are, I'll get a cattle
+whip and do my utmost to make you swallow it. I'll probably get the
+worst of it, but--"
+
+"Shut up!" bawled Selden. "Ye know what I mean, right enough! The whole
+dam' thing's a lie!"
+
+"Tell it to the county recorder, then," Jessamy advised serenely. "Have
+another piece of steak, Mother."
+
+"I'll ride right up to Nancy Fleet's tomorrow. I'll get to the bottom o'
+this business. And you keep yer young nose outa my affairs, Jess'my!"
+
+"Oh, I'll do that--gladly. That's easy."
+
+"Just so! Then keep her outa this fella Drew's, too!"
+
+"That's another matter entirely," she told him. "And I may as well add
+right here, while we're on the subject, that I wish you to keep your
+nose out of _my_ affairs. There, now--we've ruined our digestions by
+quarrelling at meal-time. Bolar hasn't, though--I'm glad somebody
+appreciates my biscuits."
+
+Bolar grinned, and his face grew red. Bolar was deeply in love with his
+step-sister, four years his senior; but a day in the saddle, with a
+sharp spring wind in one's face, will scarce permit the tender passion
+to interfere with a lover's appetite.
+
+Old Adam enveloped himself in his customary brooding silence. He was a
+holy terror when aroused, and would then spout torrents of words; but
+ordinarily he was morosely quiet, taciturn. He would not have hesitated
+to apply his quirt to his twenty-six-year-old son Moffat, as he had
+threatened to do, had not that young man possessed the wisdom born of
+experience to refrain from defying him. But with his step-daughter it
+was different. For some inexplicable reason he "took more sass" from her
+than from any other person living. Deep down in his scarred old heart,
+perhaps, there was hidden a deferential respect and fatherly admiration
+for this breezy, strong-minded girl with whom a strange fortune had
+placed him in daily contact.
+
+"Please eat your supper, Mr. Selden," Jessamy at last sincerely pleaded,
+when the old man's frowning abstraction had continued for minutes.
+
+Dutifully, without a word, he scraped his chair closer to the table and
+fell to noisily. But he did not join in the conversation, which now
+became general.
+
+It was a custom in the House of Selden for each diner to leave the table
+when he had finished eating--a custom antedating Jessamy's advent in the
+family, which she never had been able to correct. Bolar had long since
+bolted the last morsel of food that his tough young stomach would
+permit, and had hurried to a half-completed rawhide lariat. Moffat soon
+followed him out. Then Jessamy's mother arose and left the room. This
+left together at the table the deliberate eater, Jessamy, and the old
+man, who had not yet caught up with the time he had given to the letter.
+
+He too finished before the girl, having completed his supper in the same
+untalkative mood. Now, however, he spoke to her as he pushed back his
+chair and rose.
+
+"Jess'my," he said in a moderate tone, "I want to tell ye one thing. Ye
+know that I shoot straight from the shoulder, or straight from the hip,
+whichever's handiest--and I don't shoot to scare."
+
+He waited.
+
+Jessamy nodded. "I'll have to admit that," she said. "I think it's the
+thing I like most about you."
+
+He pondered over this, and again his brows came down above his pitted
+nose. "I didn't know they was anything ye liked about me," he at length
+said bluntly.
+
+"Oh, yes," she remarked, levelling that straightforward look of hers at
+him. "I like your height and the breadth of your chest, and the way you
+sit in your saddle when your horse is on the dead run--and the other
+thing I mentioned before."
+
+Again he grew thoughtful. "Well, that's _somethin'_," he finally
+chuckled. "Ye like my way o' sayin' what I think, then. Well, get this:
+I'm the boss o' this country, from Red Mountain to the Gap. I been the
+boss of her since my pap died and turned her over to me. So it's the
+boss o' the Poison Oak Country that's talkin'. And he says this: That
+new fella Drew that's made camp down on the Old Tabor Ivison Place can't
+make a livin' there, can't raise nothin', don't belong there. And if by
+some funny business, that I'm gonta look into right away, he's got
+a-holt o' that forty, he's got to hit the trail."
+
+"Why, how ridiculous!" laughed the girl. "Where do you think you are,
+Mr. Selden? In Russia--Germany? King Selden Second, Czar of all the
+Poison Oak Provinces! Mr. Drew, owning that land in his own right, must
+hit the trail and leave it for you simply because you say so!"
+
+"Ye heard what I said, Jess'my"--and he clanked out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL
+
+
+Jessamy Selden stood before the cheap soft-wood dresser in her bedroom,
+in a wing of the old log house, and completed the braiding of the two
+long, thick strands of cold-black hair. Then in the cozy little sitting
+room, which adjoined the bedroom and was hers alone, she slipped on her
+morocco-top riding boots and buckled spur straps over her insteps.
+
+The sun had not yet climbed the wooded ridges beyond Poison Oak Ranch.
+The night before the girl had prepared a cold breakfast for herself; and
+with this wrapped in paper she left the sitting room by its outside door
+and ran to the corral. The family was at breakfast in the vast room.
+Hurlock's and Winthrop's families were likewise engaged in their
+respective houses. So no one was about to disturb or even see Jessamy as
+she hastily threw the saddle on White Ann, leaped into it, and rode
+away.
+
+When she had left the clearing, and the noise of rapid hoofbeats would
+not be heard, she lifted the mare into a gallop. At this reckless speed
+they swung into the trail and plunged hazardously down the mountainside
+along the serpentine trail. They forded the river, took the trail on the
+other side, and raced madly up it until compassion for her labouring
+mount forced the rider to rein in. Now she ate her breakfast of cold
+baked apple and cold fried mush in the saddle as the mare clambered
+upward.
+
+At sunrise they topped the ridge and took up the lope again toward the
+headwaters of Clinker Creek. Long before she reached it Jessamy saw a
+bay horse and its rider at rest, with the early sunlight playing on the
+flashing silver of the famous saddle and bridle of Oliver Drew.
+
+"Let's go!" she cried merrily as White Ann, convinced that some
+devilment was afoot, cavorted and humped her back and shied from side to
+side while she bore down swiftly on the waiting pair.
+
+For answer Oliver Drew pressed his calves against Poche's ribs, and the
+bay leaped to White Ann's side with a snort that showed he had caught
+the spirit of the coming adventure, whatever it might prove to be. At a
+gallop they swung into the county road, Poche producing a challenging
+metallic rattle by rolling the wheel of his halfbreed bit with his
+tongue, straining at the reins, and bidding the equally defiant white to
+do that of which "angels could do no more."
+
+"Good morning!" cried Oliver. "What's the rush?"
+
+"Old Man Selden is riding to Aunt Nancy's today," she shouted back.
+"Good morning!"
+
+"Oh! In that case, if that white crowbait you're riding hadn't already
+come three miles, we'd find out whether she can run. She's telling the
+world she can."
+
+Jessamy made a face at him and, leaning forward, caressed the mare's
+smooth neck. White Ann evidently considered this a sign of abetment, for
+she plunged and reared and cast fiery looks of scorn at her pseudo
+rival.
+
+"There, there, honey!" soothed the girl. "We could leave that old
+flea-bitten relic so far behind it would be cruelty to animals to do it.
+Just wait till we're coming back, after we've rested and have an even
+chance; for I really believe the man wants to be fair."
+
+Oliver's eyes were filled with her as her strong, sinewy figure followed
+every unexpected movement of the plunging mare as if a magnet held her
+in the saddle. The dew of the morning was on her lips; the flush of it
+on her cheeks. Her long black braids whipped about in the wind like
+streamers from the gown of a classic dancer. The picture she made was
+the most engrossing one he had ever looked on.
+
+They slowed to a walk after a mile of it.
+
+"Well," said Jessamy, "I delivered your letter."
+
+"Yes? Go on. That's a good start."
+
+"It created quite a scene. Old Adam simply won't--can't--believe that
+you own the Old Ivison Place. So that's why he's fogging it up to Aunt
+Nancy's today. I think we'll be an hour ahead of him, though, and can be
+at the reservation by the time he reaches the house."
+
+"Is he angry?"
+
+"Ever try to convince a wasp that you have more right on earth than he
+has?" Her white teeth gleamed against the background of red lips and
+sunburned skin.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"He says that, whether you own the place or not, you'll have to leave."
+
+"M'm-m! That's serious talk. In some places I've visited it would be
+called fighting talk."
+
+"Number this place among them, Mr. Drew," she said soberly, turning her
+dark, serious eyes upon him.
+
+"But I didn't come up here to fight!"
+
+"Neither did the President of the United States take his seat in
+Washington to fight," she pointed out, keeping that level glance fixed
+on his face.
+
+"Oh, as to that," mused Oliver after a thoughtful pause, "I guess I
+_can_ fight. They didn't send me back from France as entirely useless.
+But it strikes me as a very stupid proceeding. Look here, Miss
+Selden--how many acres of grass does your step--er--Old Man Selden run
+cows on for the summer grazing?--how many acres in the Clinker Creek
+Country, in short?"
+
+Jessamy pursed her lips. "Perhaps four thousand," she decided after
+thought.
+
+"Uh-huh. And on my forty there's about fifteen acres, all told, that
+represents grass land. The rest is timber and chaparral. Now, fifteen
+acres added to four thousand makes four thousand fifteen acres. The
+addition would take care of perhaps five additional animals for the
+three months or more that his stock remains in that locality. Do you
+mean to tell me that Adam Selden would attempt to run a man out of the
+country for that?"
+
+She closed her eyes and nodded her head slowly up and down in a
+childlike fashion that always amused him. It meant "Just that!"
+
+He gave a short laugh of unbelief.
+
+"Listen," she cautioned: "Don't make the fatal mistake of taking this
+matter too lightly, Mr. Drew."
+
+"But heavens!" he cried. "A man who would attempt to dispossess another
+for such a slight gain as that would rob a blind beggar of the pennies
+in his cup! I've had a short interview with Old Man Selden. Corrupt he
+may be, but he struck me as an old sinner who would be corrupt on a big
+scale. I couldn't think of the masterful old reprobate I talked with as
+a piker."
+
+Jessamy locked a leg about her saddle horn. "You've got him about
+right," she informed her companion. "One simply is obliged to think of
+him as big in many ways."
+
+Oliver's leg now crooked itself toward her, and he slouched down
+comfortably. "Say," he said, "I don't get you at all."
+
+"Don't get me?" She was not looking at him now.
+
+"No, I don't. One moment you said he would put the skids under me for
+the slight benefit from my fifteen acres of grass. Next moment you
+maintain that he is not a piker."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Oliver rolled a cigarette. Not until it was alight did he say:
+
+"Well, you haven't explained yet."
+
+She was silent, her eyes on the glittering snow of the far-off Sierras.
+For the first time since he had met her he found her strangely at a loss
+for words. And had her direct gaze faltered? Were her eyes evading his?
+And was the rich colour of her skin a trifle heightened, or was it the
+glow from the sun, ever reddening as it climbed its ancient ladder in
+the sky?
+
+She turned to him then--suddenly. There was in her eyes a look partly of
+amusement, partly of chagrin, partly of shame.
+
+"I can't answer you," she stated simply. "I blundered, that's all.
+Opened my mouth and put my foot in it."
+
+"But can't you tell me how you did that even?"
+
+"I talk too much," was her explanation. "Like poor old Henry Dodd, I
+went too far on dangerous ground."
+
+Oliver tilted his Stetson over one eye and scratched the nape of his
+neck. "I pass," he said.
+
+"That reminds me," was her quick return, "I sat in at a dandy game of
+draw last night. There was--"
+
+"Wh-_what_!"
+
+"And now I have both feet in my mouth," she cried. "And you'll have to
+admit that comes under the heading, 'Some Stunt.' I thought I saw a
+chance to brilliantly change the subject, but I see that I'm worse off
+than before. For now you're not only mystified but terribly shocked."
+
+He gave this thirty seconds of study.
+
+"I'll have to admit that you jolted me," he laughed, his face a little
+redder. "I'm not accustomed to hearing young ladies say, 'I sat in at a
+dandy little game of draw'--just like that. But I'm sure I went too far
+when I showed surprise."
+
+"And what's your final opinion on the matter?" She was amused--Not
+worried, not defiant.
+
+"Well, I--I don't just know. I've never given such a matter a great deal
+of thought."
+
+"Do so now, please."
+
+Obediently he tried as they rode along.
+
+"One thing certain," he said at last, "it's your own business."
+
+"Oh, you haven't thought at all! Keep on."
+
+A minute later he asked: "Do you like to play poker?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"For--er--money?"
+
+"'For--er--money.' What d'ye suppose--crochet needles?"
+
+Then he took up his studies once more.
+
+Finally he roused himself, removed his leg from the horn, and
+straightened in the saddle.
+
+"Settled at last!" she cried. "And the answer is...?"
+
+"The answer is, I don't give a whoop if you do."
+
+"You approve, then?"
+
+"Of everything you do."
+
+"Well, I don't approve of that," she told him. "I don't, and I do. But
+listen here: One of the few quotations that I think I spout accurately
+is 'When in Rome do as the Romans do.' I'm 'way off there in the hills.
+I'm a pretty lonely person, as I once before informed you. Yet I'm a
+gregarious creature. We have no piano, few books--not even a phonograph.
+Bolar Selden squeezes a North-Sea piano--in other words an accordion. Of
+late years accordion playing has been elevated to a place among the
+arts; but if you could hear Bolar you'd be convinced that he hasn't kept
+pace with progress. He plays 'The Cowboy's Lament' and something about
+'Says the wee-do to the law-yer, O spare my only che-ild!' Ugh! He gives
+me the jim-jams.
+
+"So the one and only indoor pastime of Seldenvilla is draw poker. Now,
+if you were in my place, would you be a piker and a spoilsport and a
+pink little prude, or would you be human and take out a stack?"
+
+"I understand," he told her. "I think I'd take out a stack."
+
+"And besides," she added mischievously, "I won nine dollars and thirty
+cents last night."
+
+"That makes it right and proper," he chuckled. "But we've wandered far
+afield. Why did you say that Selden would try to run me off my toy ranch
+in one breath, and that he is wicked only in a big way in the next?"
+
+"I'd prefer to quarrel over poker playing," she said. "Please, I
+blundered--and I can't answer that question. But maybe you'll learn the
+answer to it today. We'll see. Be patient."
+
+"But I'll not learn from you direct."
+
+"I'm afraid not."
+
+"I think I understand--partly," he said after another intermission. "It
+must be that there's another--a bigger--reason why he wants me out of
+Clinker Creek Caņon."
+
+"You've guessed it. I may as well own up to that much. But I can't tell
+you more--now. Don't ask me to."
+
+After this there was nothing for the man to do but to keep silent on the
+subject. So they talked of other things till their horses jogged into
+Calamity Gap.
+
+Here was a town as picturesque as Halfmoon Flat, and wrapped in the same
+traditions. Jessamy's Aunt Nancy Fleet lived in a little shake-covered
+cottage on the hillside, overlooking the drowsy hamlet and the railroad
+tracks.
+
+It appeared that all of the Ivison girls had been unfortunate in
+marrying short-lived men. Nancy Fleet was a widow, and two other sisters
+besides Jessamy's mother had likewise lost husbands.
+
+Nancy Fleet was a still comely woman of sixty, with snow-white hair and
+Jessamy's black eyes. She greeted her niece joyously, and soon the three
+were seated in her stuffy little parlour.
+
+Oliver opened up the topic that had brought him there. Mrs. Fleet, after
+stating that she did so because he was Oliver Drew, readily made answer
+to his questions.
+
+Yes, she had sold the Old Ivison Place to a Mr. Peter Drew something
+like fifteen years before. She had never met him till he called on her,
+and no one else at Calamity Gap had known anything about him.
+
+He told that he had made inquiry concerning her, and that this had
+resulted in his becoming satisfied that she was a woman who would keep
+her word and might be trusted implicitly. This being so, he told her
+that he would relieve her of the Old Ivison Place, if she would agree to
+keep silent regarding the transfer until he or his son had assured her
+that secrecy was no longer necessary. For her consideration of his
+wishes in this connection he told her that he was willing to pay a good
+price for the land.
+
+As there seemed to be no rascality coupled with the request, she gave
+consent. For years she had been trying to dispose of the property for
+five hundred dollars. Now Peter Drew fairly took her breath away by
+offering twenty-five hundred. He could well afford to pay this amount,
+he claimed, and was willing to do so to gain her co-operation in the
+matter of secrecy. She had accepted. The transfer of the property was
+made under the seal of a notary public at the county seat, and the money
+was promptly paid.
+
+Then Peter Drew had gone away with his deed, and for fifteen years she
+had made the inhabitants of the country think that she still owned the
+Old Ivison Place simply by saying nothing to the contrary. She had been
+told to accept any rentals that she might be able to derive from it--to
+use it as her own. For several years Peter Drew had regularly forwarded
+her a bank draft to cover the taxes. Then Adam Selden had offered to pay
+the taxes for the use of the land, and she had written Peter Drew to
+that effect and told him to send no more tax money until further notice.
+Since that date she had heard no more from the mysterious purchaser of
+the land.
+
+She was surprised to learn that the transfer had at last been recorded,
+but could throw no light whatever on the proceedings.
+
+She took a motherly interest in Oliver because of his father, whose
+generosity had greatly benefited her. In fact, she said, she couldn't
+for the life of her tell how she'd got along without that money.
+
+"And whatever shall I say, dearie, when Adam Selden comes to me today?"
+she asked her niece. "I'm afraid of the man--just afraid of him."
+
+"Pooh!" Jessamy deprecated. "He's only a man. Oliver Drew's coming, and
+the fact that the transfer has at last been placed on record leaves you
+free to tell all you know. So just tell Old Adam what you've told Mr.
+Drew, and say you know nothing more about it. But whatever else you say,
+don't cheep that we've been here, Auntie."
+
+"Well, I hope and trust he'll believe me," she sighed as she showed her
+callers out.
+
+"Now," said Jessamy, as they remounted, "we'll ride away and be at the
+reservation by the time Old Adam arrives here. What do you think of your
+mystery by now, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"It grows deeper and deeper," Oliver mused.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD
+
+
+A steep, tall mountain, heavily wooded, reared itself above the Indian
+reservation. A creek tumbled over the boulders in the mountainside and
+raced through the village of huts; and the combined millions of all the
+irrigation and power companies in the West could not have bought a drop
+of its water until Uncle Sam's charges had finished with it and set it
+free again.
+
+It was a picturesque spot. Huge liveoaks, centuries old, sprawled over
+the cabins. Tiny gardens dotted the sunny land. Horses and dogs were
+anything but scarce, and up the mountainside goats and burros browsed
+off the chaparral. Wrinkled old squaws washed clothes at the creekside,
+or pounded last season's acorns into _bellota_--the native dish--in
+mortars hollowed in solid stone. Some made earthen _ollas_ of red clay;
+some weaved baskets. Over all hung that weird, indescribable odour which
+only Indians or their much-handled belongings can produce.
+
+"This is peace," smiled Oliver to Jessamy, as their horses leaped the
+stream side by side and cantered toward the cluster of dark, squat huts.
+"What do they call this reservation?"
+
+"It is named after an age-old dweller in our midst whom, since you are a
+Westerner, you must have often met."
+
+"Who is that?"
+
+"Mr. Rattlesnake."
+
+"Oh, certainly. I've met him on many occasions--mostly to his sorrow, I
+fancy. Rattlesnake Reservation, eh?"
+
+"Well, that would be it in English. But in the Pauba tongue Mr.
+Rattlesnake becomes Showut Poche-daka."
+
+"What's that!" Oliver turned quickly in his saddle to find her dark wide
+eyes fixed on him intently. "Say that again, please."
+
+"Showut Poche-daka," she repeated slowly.
+
+"M'm-m! Strikes me as something of a coincidence--a part of that name."
+
+"Showut is one word," she said, still watching him. "Poche and daka are
+two words hyphenated."
+
+"And how do the English-speaking people spell the second word, Poche?"
+he asked.
+
+"P-o-c-h-e," she spelled distinctly. "Long o, accent on the first
+syllable."
+
+Oliver reined in. "Stop a second," he ordered crisply. "Why, that's the
+way my horse's name is spelled. Say, that's funny!"
+
+"Is your trail growing plainer?"
+
+He looked at her earnestly. "Look here," he said bluntly. "I distinctly
+remember telling you the other day that my horse's name is Poche. Didn't
+you connect it with the name of the reservation at the time?"
+
+"I did."
+
+He looked at her in silence. "You did, eh?" he remarked finally. "I
+don't even know what my horse's name means. Dad bought him while I was
+away at college. I understood the horse was named that when Dad got hold
+of him, and that he merely hadn't changed it. Now, I won't say that Dad
+told me as much outright, but I gathered that impression somehow. I knew
+it was an Indian name, but had no idea of the meaning."
+
+"Literally Poche means bob-tailed--short-tailed. That's why it occurs in
+the title of our friend Mr. Rattlesnake. While your Poche-horse is not
+bob-tailed, his tail is rather heavy and short, you'll admit. Has
+nothing of the length and graceful sweep of White Ann's tail, if you'll
+pardon me."
+
+"You can't lead me into joshing just now, young lady. Answer this: Why
+didn't you tell me, when I told you my _caballo's_ name, that you knew
+what it meant? Most everybody asks me what it means when I tell 'em his
+name; but you did not even show surprise over the oddity of it--and I
+wondered. And before, when you spoke of this tribe of Indians, you
+called them the Paubas."
+
+"Certainly I showed no surprise, for I am familiar with the word poche
+and have just proved that I know its meaning. And I'm not very clever at
+simulating an emotion that I don't feel. I didn't tell you, moreover,
+because I wanted you to find out for yourself. I thought you'd do so
+here. Yes--and I deliberately called these people the Paubas. They _are_
+Paubas--a branch of the Pauba tribe."
+
+"I thought you were to help me," he grumbled. "You're adding to the
+mystery, it seems to me."
+
+"Not at all. I'm showing you the trail. You must follow it yourself.
+Knowing the country, I see bits here and there that tell me where to go
+to help you out. Poche's name is one of them. Keep your eyes and ears
+open while I'm steering you around."
+
+"All right," he agreed after a pause. "Lead on!"
+
+"Then we'll make a call on Chupurosa Hatchinguish," she proposed.
+"Chupurosa means hummingbird, as you doubtless know, since it is
+Spanish. And if my Chupurosa isn't a bird and also a hummer, I never
+hope to see one."
+
+Oliver's riding outfit created a sensation as the two entered the
+village. Faces appeared in doorways. Squat, dark men, their black-felt
+hats invariably two sizes too large, came from nowhere, it seemed, to
+gaze silently. Dogs barked. Women ceased their simple activities and
+chattered noisily to one another.
+
+Jessamy reined in before a black low door presently, and left the
+saddle. Oliver followed her. Through a profusion of morning-glories the
+girl led the way to the door and knocked.
+
+From within came a guttural response, and, with a smile at her
+companion, she passed through the entrance.
+
+It was so dark within that for a little Oliver, coming from the bright
+sunlight, could see almost nothing. Then the light filtering in through
+the vines that covered the hut grew brighter.
+
+The floor was of earth, beaten brick-hard by the padding of tough bare
+feet. In the centre was a fireplace--little more than a circle of
+blackened stones--from which the smoke was sucked out through a hole in
+the roof, presumably after it had considerately asphyxiated the
+occupants of the dwelling. Red earthenware and beautifully woven baskets
+represented the household utensils. There were a few old splint-bottom
+chairs, a pack-saddle hanging on the wall, a bed of green willow boughs
+in one corner.
+
+These simple items he noticed later, and one by one. For the time being
+his interested attention was demanded by the figure that sat humped over
+the fire, smoking a black clay pipe.
+
+Chupurosa Hatchinguish, headman of the Showut Poche-dakas and a
+prominent figure in the fiestas and yearly councils of the Pauba tribes,
+was a treasure for anthropologists. Years beyond the ken of most human
+beings had wrought their fabric in his face. It was cross-hatched,
+tattooed, pitted, knurled, and wrinkled till one was reminded of the
+surface of some strange, intricately veined leaf killed and mummified by
+the frost. From this crunched-leather frame two little jet-black eyes
+blazed out with the unquenched fires of youth and all the wisdom in the
+world. A black felt hat, set straight on his iron-grey hair and almost
+touching ears and eyebrows, faded-blue overalls, and a dingy flannel
+shirt completed his garb, as he wore nothing on his feet.
+
+"Hello, my Hummingbird!" Jessamy cried merrily in the Spanish tongue.
+
+Chupurosa seemed not to be the stoic, "How-Ugh!" sort of Indian with
+which fiction has made the world familiar. All the tragedy and
+unsolvable mystery of his race was written in his face, but he could
+smile and laugh and talk, and seemed to enjoy life hugely.
+
+His leathery face now parted in a grin, and, though he did not rise, he
+extended a rawhide hand and made his callers welcome. Then he waved them
+to seats.
+
+Much as any other human being would do, he politely inquired after the
+girl's health and that of her family. Asked as to his own, he shook his
+head and made a rheumatic grimace.
+
+"I've brought a friend to see you, Chupurosa," said Jessamy at last, as,
+for some reason or other, she had not yet exactly introduced Oliver.
+
+Chupurosa looked at the man inquiringly and waited.
+
+"This is Oliver Drew," said the girl in what Oliver thought were
+unnatural, rather tense tones. He saw Jessamy's lips part slightly after
+his name, and that she was watching the old man intently.
+
+Chupurosa nodded in an exaggerated way, and extended a hand, though the
+two had already gone through the handshake formality. Oliver arose and
+did his part again, then stood a bit awkwardly before their host.
+
+He heard a half-sigh escape the girl. "Seņor Drew has not been in our
+country long," she informed the old man. "He comes from the southern
+part of the state--from San Bernardino County."
+
+Again the exaggerated nodding on the part of Chupurosa.
+
+Then there was a pause, which the girl at length broke--
+
+"Did you catch the name, Chupurosa? _Oliver Drew_."
+
+Chupurosa politely but haltingly repeated it, and grinned
+accommodatingly.
+
+Jessamy tried again. "Do you know a piece of land down in Clinker Creek
+Caņon that is called the Old Ivison Place, Chupurosa?"
+
+His nod this time was thoughtful.
+
+"Seņor Drew now owns that, and lives there," she added.
+
+Both Jessamy and Oliver were watching him keenly. It seemed to Oliver
+that there was the faintest suggestion of dilation of the eye-pupils as
+this last bit of information was imparted. Still, it may have meant
+nothing.
+
+The Indian crumbled natural-leaf with heel of hand and palm, and
+refilled his terrible pipe.
+
+"Any friend of yours is welcome to this country and to my hospitality,"
+he said.
+
+"Seņor Drew rode all the way up here horseback," the girl pushed on.
+"You like good horses, Chupurosa. Seņor Drew has a fine one. His name is
+Poche."
+
+For the fraction of a second the match that Oliver had handed Chupurosa
+stood stationary on its trip to the tobacco in his pipe. Chupurosa
+nodded in his slow way again, and the match completed its mission and
+fell between the blackened stones.
+
+"And you like saddles and bridles, too, I know. You should see Seņor
+Drew's equipment, Chupurosa."
+
+Several thoughtful puffs. Then--
+
+"Is it here, Seņorita?"
+
+"Yes," said the girl breathlessly. "Will you go out and look at it?"
+
+This time the headman puffed for nearly a minute; then suddenly he rose
+with surprising briskness.
+
+"I will look at this horse called Poche," he announced, and stalked out
+ahead of them.
+
+A number of Indians, old and young, had gathered about the horses
+outside the little gate. They were silent but for a low, seemingly
+guarded word to one another now and then. Every black eye there was
+fixed on the gorgeous saddle and bridle of Poche in awe and admiration.
+
+Then came Chupurosa, tall, dignified as the distant mountain peaks, and
+they backed off instantly. At his heels were Oliver and the girl, whose
+cheeks now glowed like sunset clouds and whose eyes spoke volumes.
+
+Thrice in absolute silence the headman walked round the horse.
+Completing the third trip, he stepped to Poche's head and stood
+attentively looking at the left-hand _concha_ with its glistening stone.
+Then Chupurosa lifted his hands, slipped the chased-silver keeper that
+held the throatlatch in place, and let the throatlatch drop. Both hands
+grasped the cheekstrap near the brow-band, and turned this part of the
+bridle inside out.
+
+Oliver felt a slight trembling, it was all so weird, so portentous. He
+almost knew that the jet eyes were searching for the "B" chiselled into
+the silver on the inside of the _concha_, knew positively by the quick
+dilation of the pupils when they found it.
+
+At once the old man released the bridle and readjusted the throatlatch.
+He turned to them then, and silently motioned toward the hut. Jessamy
+cast a triumphant glance at Oliver as they followed him inside.
+
+To Oliver's surprise he closed the door after them. Then, though it was
+now so dark inside that Oliver could scarce see at all, Chupurosa stood
+directly before him and looked him up and down.
+
+He spoke now in the melodious Spanish.
+
+"Seņor," he asked, "is there in the middle of your body, on the left
+side, the scar of a wound like a man's eye?"
+
+Oliver caught his breath. "Yes," he replied. "I brought it back from
+France. A bayonet wound."
+
+Up and down went the iron-grey head of the sage. "I have never seen the
+weapon nor the sort of wound it makes," he informed Oliver gravely.
+"Take off your shirt."
+
+"Oh, Chupu-_ro_-sa!" screamed Jessamy as she threw open the door and
+slammed it after her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+CONCERNING SPRINGS AND SHOWUT POCHE-DAKA
+
+
+It was evident to Oliver Drew that Clinker Creek was lowering fast, as
+Damon Tamroy had predicted that it would do. He feared that it would go
+entirely dry just when certain vegetables would need it most. Again,
+also following Tamroy's prophecy, the flow from his spring proved
+insufficient to keep all of his plantings alive, even though he had
+impounded the surplus in a small clay-lined reservoir.
+
+He stood with hands on hips today, frowning at the tinkling stream of
+water running from the rusty length of pipe into the reservoir.
+
+"There's just one thing to do," he remarked to it, "and that's to see if
+I can't increase your putter-putter. I want to write an article on
+making the most of a flow of spring water, anyway; and I guess I'll use
+you for a foundation."
+
+Whereupon he secured pick and shovel and sledge and set about removing
+the box he had so carefully set in the ground to hold his domestic
+water.
+
+When the box was out he enlarged the hole, and, when the water had
+cleared, studied the flow. It seeped out from a fissure in the
+bedrock--or what he supposed was the bedrock--and it seemed a difficult
+matter to "get at it." However, he began digging above the point of
+egress in the resistant blue clay, and late that afternoon was down to
+bedrock again.
+
+And now when he had washed off the rock he discovered a strange thing.
+This was that the supposed bedrock was not bedrock at all, but a wall of
+large stones built by the hand of man. Through a crevice in this wall
+the water seeped, and when he had gouged out the puttylike blue clay the
+flow increased fivefold.
+
+He sat down and puzzled over it, expecting the flow to return to normal
+after some tiny unseen reservoir had been drained of its surplus. But it
+did not lessen, and had not lessened when night came.
+
+At midnight, thinking about it in bed and unable to sleep, he arose,
+lighted a lantern, and went down to the spring. The water was flowing
+just the same as when he had left it.
+
+He was not surprised to find the work of human hands in and about his
+spring, but this wall of stones was highly irregular. It appeared that,
+instead of having been built to conserve the water, it was designed to
+dam up the flow entirely. The old flow was merely seepage through the
+wall.
+
+He was at it again early next morning, and soon had torn down the wall
+entirely and thrown out the stones. At least five times as much water
+was running still. He recalled that Damon Tamroy had said the spring had
+given more water in Tabor Ivison's day than now.
+
+There was but one answer to the puzzle. For some strange reason somebody
+since Tabor Ivison's day had seen fit to try to stop the flow from the
+spring altogether. But who would go to such pains to do this, and hide
+the results of his work, as these had been hidden? And, above all, why?
+
+It is useless to deny that Oliver Drew at once thought of the Poison
+Oakers. But what excuse could they produce for such an act? Surely, with
+the creek dry and the American River several miles away, they would
+encourage the flow of water everywhere in the Clinker Creek Country for
+their cattle to drink.
+
+It was beyond him then and he gave it up. He laid more pipe and covered
+it all to the land level again, and viewed with satisfaction the
+increased supply of water for the dry summer months to come. And it was
+not until a week later that Jessamy Selden unconsciously gave him an
+answer to the question.
+
+He was scrambling up the hill to the west of the cabin that day to
+another bee tree that he had discovered, when he heard her shrill
+shouting down below. He turned and saw her and the white mare before the
+cabin, and the girl was looking about for him.
+
+He returned her shout, and stood on a blackened stump in the chaparral,
+waving his hat above the foliage.
+
+"I get you!" she shrilled at last. "Stay there! I'm coming up!"
+
+Fifteen minutes later, panting, now on hands and knees, now crawling
+flat, she drew near to him. A bird can go through California "locked"
+chaparral if it will be content to hop from twig to twig, but the
+ponderous human animal must emulate Nebuchadnezzar if he or she would
+penetrate its mysteries.
+
+"What a delightful route you chose for your morning crawl," she puffed,
+as at last she lay gasping at the foot of the stump on which he sat and
+laughed at her.
+
+Oliver lighted a cigarette and inhaled indolently as he watched her
+lying there with heaving breast, her arms thrown wide. She did
+everything as naturally as does a child. She wore fringed leather chaps
+today, and remarked, when she sat up and dusted the trash from her hair,
+that she was glad she had done so since he had made her come crawling to
+his feet.
+
+"And that reminds me of something that I've decided to ask you," she
+added. "Has it occurred to you that I am throwing myself at you?" She
+looked straight into his face as she put the naïve question to him.
+
+"Why do you ask that?" he countered, eyes on the tip of his cigarette.
+
+"I'll tell you why when you've answered."
+
+"Then of course not."
+
+"I suppose I _am_ a bit crude," she mused. "At least it must look that
+way to the natives here-about. I was fairly confident, though, that you
+wouldn't think me unmaidenly. I sought you out deliberately. I was
+lonely and wanted a friend. I had heard that you were a University man.
+You told Mr. Tamroy, you know. It's perfectly proper deliberately to try
+and make a friend of a person, isn't it?--if you think both of you may
+be benefited. And does it make a great deal of difference if the subject
+chances to be of the other sex?"
+
+"I'm more than satisfied, so far as I come in on the deal," Oliver
+assured her.
+
+"I thank you, sir. And now I've been accused to my face of throwing
+myself at you--which expression means a lot and which you doubtless
+fully understand."
+
+"Who is your accuser?"
+
+"The author of 'Jessamy, My Sweetheart.'"
+
+"Digger Foss, eh?"
+
+She closed both eyes tightly and bobbed her head up and down several
+times, then opened her eyes. "He's a free man again--tried and
+acquitted."
+
+"No!"
+
+"Didn't I tell you how it would be?"
+
+He puffed his cigarette meditatively. "Doesn't it strike you as strange
+that you and I were not subpoenaed as witnesses?"
+
+"I've been expecting that from you. No, sir--it doesn't. Digger's
+counsel didn't want you and me as witnesses."
+
+"But the prosecuting attorney."
+
+"_He_ didn't want us either."
+
+"Then there's corruption."
+
+"If I could think of a worse word than corruption I'd correct you, so
+I'll let that stand. Digger Foss is Old Man Selden's right hand; and Old
+Man Selden is Pythias to the prosecuting attorney of this man's county."
+
+Oliver's eyes widened.
+
+"Elmer Standard is the gentleman in question. What connection there can
+be between him and Adam Selden is too many for me; but Selden goes to
+see him whenever he rides to the county seat. Only the right witnesses
+were allowed to take the stand, you may be confident. I knew the
+halfbreed's acquittal was a foregone conclusion before the smoke from
+his gat had cleared."
+
+Both were silent for a time, then she said: "Elmer Standard runs things
+down at the county seat. I've heard that he allows open gambling, and
+that he personally finances three saloons and several gaming places."
+
+"But there are no saloons now."
+
+"Indeed!" she said with mock innocence. "I didn't know. I never have
+frequented them, so you'll overlook my ignorance. Anyway, Digger Foss is
+as free as the day he was born; and Henry Dodd, the man he murdered,
+lies in the little cemetery in the pines near Halfmoon Flat. But there's
+another piece of news: Adam Selden has--"
+
+"Pardon my interrupting you," he put in, "but you haven't finished with
+Digger Foss."
+
+"Oh, that! Well, I met him on the trail between Clinker Creek and the
+American yesterday. He accused me of being untrue to him while he was in
+jail."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"I admitted my guilt. Never having had the slightest inclination to be
+true to him, I told him, it naturally followed that I was untrue to
+him--and wasn't it a glorious day? How on earth the boy ever got the
+idea that he has the right to consider me in the light that he does is
+beyond me. I don't scold him, and I don't send him packing--nor do I
+give him the least encouragement. I simply treat him civilly when he
+approaches me on a commonplace matter, and ignore him when he tries to
+get funny. And he's probably so dense that all this encourages him. How
+can he be so stupid! I haven't been superior enough with him--but I hate
+to be superior, even to a halfbreed. And he's quarter Chinaman. Heavens,
+what am I coming to!"
+
+"How did the meeting end?" queried Oliver.
+
+"Well, we both went a little further this time than ever before. He
+attempted to kiss me, and I attempted to cut his face open with my
+quirt. Both of us missed by about six inches, I'm thankful to say. And
+the grand climax took the form of a dire threat against you. By the way,
+I've never seen you pack a gun, Mr. Drew."
+
+He shrugged. "I used to down on the cow ranch in San Bernardino County,
+but I think I grew up over in France."
+
+"You have one, of course."
+
+"Yes--a 'forty-five."
+
+"Can you handle a gun fairly well?"
+
+"I know which end to look into to see if it's loaded."
+
+"Can you spin a dollar in air with your left hand, draw, and hit it
+before it strikes the ground?"
+
+"Aw, let's be sensible!" he cried. "I'm after another colony of bees.
+Come on up and look at 'em."
+
+"Sit still," she ordered. "Can you do what I asked about?"
+
+"I don't know--I've never tried."
+
+"Digger Foss can," she claimed.
+
+"Well, that's shooting."
+
+"It is. I'd strap that gun on if I were you and practice up a bit."
+
+"Cartridges are too high-priced," he laughed. "What's the rest of the
+news?"
+
+"The store up at Cliffbert, about fourteen miles from here and off the
+railroad, was broken into three days ago and robbed of cutlery,
+revolvers, and other things to the tune of several hundred dollars."
+
+"M'm-m! Do they have any idea who did it?"
+
+"Oh, yes. The Poison Oakers."
+
+"They know it?"
+
+"Of course--everybody knows it. But it can't be proved. It's nothing
+new."
+
+"I didn't know the gang ever went to such a limit."
+
+"Humph!" she sniffed significantly. "And the next piece of news is that
+Sulphur Spring has gone dry for the first time in many years. And here
+it's only May!"
+
+"Where is Sulphur Spring?"
+
+"About a mile below your south line, in this caņon. I heard Old Man
+Selden complaining about it last night, and thought I'd ride around that
+way this morning. It's as he said--entirely dry, so far as new water
+running into the basin is concerned."
+
+"Well," said Oliver, "my piece of news is just the opposite of that. My
+spring is running a stream five times as large as heretofore--"
+
+She straightened. "What caused that?" she demanded quickly.
+
+He explained in detail.
+
+"So!" she murmured. "So! I understand. Listen: I have heard the menfolks
+at the ranch say that all these caņon springs are connected. That is,
+they all are outbreaks from one large vein that follows the caņon. If
+you shut off one, then, you may increase the flow of the next one below
+it. And if you open one up and increase its output, the next below it
+may go entirely dry. The flow from yours has been cut off in time gone
+by to increase the flow of Sulphur Spring. And now that you've taken
+away the obstruction, your spring gets all the water, while Sulphur
+Spring gets none."
+
+"I believe you're right," asserted Oliver. "And do you think it might
+have been the Poison Oakers who closed my spring to increase the flow
+down there?"
+
+"Undoubtedly."
+
+"But why? They were running cows on my land, too, before I came.
+Wouldn't it be handier to have a good flow of water in both places?"
+
+"No doubt of that," she answered. "And I can't enlighten you, I'm sorry
+to say. All I know is that Old Man Selden is hopping mad--angrier than
+the situation seems to call for, as springs are by no means scarce in
+Clinker Caņon."
+
+Jessamy's disclosures had ended now, so they scrambled on up the hill
+toward the bee tree.
+
+The colony had settled in a dead hollow white-oak. The tree had been
+broken off close to the ground by high winds after the colony had taken
+up residence therein. The hole by which they made entrance to the hollow
+trunk, however, was left uppermost after the fall, and apparently the
+little zealots had not been seriously disturbed.
+
+Anyway, here they were still winging their way to and from the prostrate
+tree, the sentries keeping watch at the entrance to their increasing
+store of honey.
+
+Oliver had found the tree two weeks before, purely by accident. At that
+time the hole at which the workers entered had been unobstructed. Now,
+though, tall weeds had grown up about the tree, making a screen before
+the hole and preventing the nectar-laden insects from entering readily.
+
+"This won't do at-all-at-all," he said to Jessamy, as she took her seat
+on a limb of the bee tree. "There must be nothing to obstruct them in
+entering, for sometimes they drop with their loads when they have
+difficulty in winging directly in, and can't get up again."
+
+"Uh-huh," she concurred.
+
+She had unlaid one of her black braids and was replaiting it again after
+the havoc wrought by the prickly bushes.
+
+Oliver lighted his bee-smoker and sent several soft puffs into the hole
+to quiet the bees. Then without gloves or veil, which the experienced
+beeman seldom uses, he laid hold of the tall weeds and began uprooting
+them. Thus engaged, he kneeled down and reached under the tree trunk to
+get at the roots of certain obstinate plants; and in that instant he
+felt a sharp sting in the fleshy part of his wrist.
+
+"Ouch! Holy Moses!" he croaked. "I didn't expect to find a bee under
+there!"
+
+"Get stung?"
+
+"Did I! Mother of Mike! I've been stung many times, but that lady must
+have been the grandmother of--Why, I'm getting sick--dizzy!--"
+
+He came to a pause, swayed on his knees, and closed his eyes. Then came
+that heart-chilling sound which, once heard, will never be forgotten,
+and will ever bring cold terror to mankind--the rattlebone
+_whir-r-r-r-r_ of the diamond-back rattlesnake.
+
+Oliver caught himself, licked dry lips, and was gazing in horror at two
+bleeding, jagged incisions in his wrist. The girl, with a scream of
+comprehension, darted toward him. He balanced himself and smiled grimly
+as she grabbed his arm with shaking hands.
+
+"Got me," he said, "the son-of-a-gun! And I'd have stuck my hand right
+back for another dose if he hadn't rattled."
+
+Jessamy grabbed him by both shoulders and tried to force him to the
+ground.
+
+"Sit down and keep quiet!" she ordered, sternly, her nerves now firm and
+steady, her face white and determined. "No, not that way!"
+
+She grasped him under the arms and with the strength of a young Amazon
+slued him about as if he had been a sack of flour.
+
+Deftly she bound his handkerchief about his arm, drawing it taut with
+all her strength. Something found its way into his left hand.
+
+"Drink that!" she commanded. "All of it. Pour it down!"
+
+Then her lips sought the flaming wound; and she clamped her white teeth
+in his flesh and began sucking out the poison.
+
+At intervals she raised her head for breath and to spit out the deadly
+fluid.
+
+"Drink!" she would urge then. "And don't worry. Not a chance in the
+world of your being any the worse after I get through with you."
+
+Oliver obeyed her without question, taking great swallows from the flask
+of fiery liquor and closing his eyes after each. His senses swam and he
+felt weak and delirious, though he could not tell whether this last was
+because of the poison or the liquor he had consumed.
+
+At last Jessamy leaned back and fumbled in a pocket of her chaps. She
+produced a tiny round box, from which she took a bottle of dry
+permanganate of potash and a small lancet. With the keen instrument she
+hacked a deep x in his arm, just over the wound. Then she wet the red
+powder with saliva and worked a paste into the cuts with the lancet.
+
+This done, she sat back and regarded her patient complacently.
+
+"Just take it easy," she counselled. "And, whatever you do, don't worry.
+You won't know you were bitten in an hour. Sip that whisky now and then.
+It won't kill the poison, as some folks seem to believe, but it will
+make you light-hearted and you'll forget to worry. That's the part it
+plays in a case like this. Now if I can trust you to keep quiet and
+serene, I'll seek revenge."
+
+He nodded weakly.
+
+She arose, and presently again came that sickening _whir-r-r-r-r-r_
+miscalled a rattle, followed immediately by a vicious _thud-thud-thud_.
+
+"There, you horrid creature!" he heard in a low, triumphant tone. "You
+thought I was afraid of you, did you? Bring total collapse on all your
+fictitious traditions and bite before you rattle, will you! _Requiescat
+in pace_, Mr. Showut Poche-daka!"
+
+Half an hour afterward Oliver Drew was on his feet, but he staggered
+drunkenly. To this day he is not just sure whether he was intoxicated or
+raving from the effects of the snakebite. Anyway, as Jessamy took hold
+of him to steady him, his reason left him, and he swept her into his
+arms and kissed her lips time and again, though she struggled valiantly
+to free herself.
+
+Ultimately she ducked under his arms and sprang away from him backward,
+her face crimson, her bosom heaving.
+
+"Sit down again!" she ordered chokingly. "Shame on you, to take
+advantage of me like that!"
+
+"Won't sit down!" he babbled, reaching about for her blindly. "I love
+you an' I'm gonta have you!"
+
+"You're out of your head! Sit down again! Please, now." Her tone changed
+to a soothing note. "You're--I'm afraid you're drunk."
+
+He was groping for her, staggering toward a threatening outcropping of
+rock. With a rapid leap she closed in on him unexpectedly, heaved
+desperately to the right and left, and threw him flat on his back. Then
+she scrambled on top of his knees as he strove to rise again.
+
+"Now, looky-here, mister," she warned, "you've gone just about far
+enough! In a second I'll get that bee-smoker and put you out of
+business. Please--please, now, be good!"
+
+He seemed partially stunned by the fall, for he lay now without a move,
+eyes closed, his mind wandering dreamily. And thus he lay for half an
+hour longer, when he suddenly raised his head and looked at her, still
+propped up on his knees, with eyes that were sane.
+
+"Golly!" he breathed.
+
+"Golly is right," she agreed drolly. "Were you drunk or crazy?"
+
+"Both, I guess. I'm--mighty sorry." His face was red as fire.
+
+"Do you wish to get up?"
+
+"If you please."
+
+He stood on his feet. He was still weak and pale and dizzy.
+
+"Heavens! That liquor!" he panted. "What is it? Where did you get it?"
+
+"At home. Old Adam gave me the flask over a year ago. It's only whisky.
+I always carry a flask for just such an emergency as this. And I never
+go a step out of the house in the summer without my snakebite kit.
+Nobody ought to in the West."
+
+He shook his head. "That's not whisky," he said. "I'm not exactly a
+stranger to the taste of whisky. That's brimstone!"
+
+"I was told it was whisky," she replied. "I know nothing about whisky.
+I've never even tasted it."
+
+He held the flask to the sun, but it was leather-covered and no light
+shone through. He unscrewed the metal cap and poured some of the liquor
+into it.
+
+It was colourless as water.
+
+"Moonshine!" he cried. "And I know now why the flow from my spring was
+cut off. A still calls for running water!"
+
+"You may be right," she said without excitement. "You will remember that
+I told you there is another reason besides Selden's covetousness of your
+grass land why you are wanted out of the Clinker Creek Country."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE POISON OAKERS RIDE
+
+
+A red-headed, red-breasted male linnet sat on the topmost branch of the
+old, gnarled liveoak near Oliver's window and tried to burst his throat
+to the accompaniment of Oliver's typewriter. When the keys ceased their
+clicking the singer finished a bar and waited, till once more the
+dicelike rattle encouraged him to another ecstatic burst of melody.
+
+"Well, I like to be accommodating," remarked Oliver, leaning back from
+his machine, "but I can't accompany you all day; and it happens that I'm
+through right now."
+
+He surveyed the last typewritten sheet of his manuscript on the cleaning
+of springs for the enlarging of their flow; but, the article completed,
+his mind was no longer engrossed by it.
+
+Other and bigger matters claimed his thoughts, and he sat in the soft
+spring air wondering about old Chupurosa Hatchinguish and his strange
+behaviour on seeing the gem-mounted _conchas_ stamped with the letter B.
+
+When Oliver had stripped off his shirt in the hut that day the scar that
+a German bayonet had left in his side had carefully been examined by the
+ancient chief. Oliver fancied there had been a strange new look in his
+inscrutable eyes as he silently motioned for him to put on his shirt
+again. He had made no comment whatever, though, and said nothing at all
+until the young man had finished dressing. Then he had stepped to the
+door and opened it, rather impolitely suggesting that his guest's
+presence in the hut was no longer necessary. As Oliver passed out he had
+spoken:
+
+"When next the moon is full," he said, "the Showut Poche-dakas will
+observe the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio, as taught them years ago
+by the padres who came from Spain. Then will the Showut Poche-dakas
+dance the fire dance, which is according to the laws laid down by the
+wise men of their ancestors. Ride here to the Fiesta de Santa Maria de
+Refugio on the first night that the moon is full. _Adios, amigo!_"
+
+That was all; and Oliver had passed out into the bright sunlight and
+found Jessamy Selden.
+
+The two had talked over the circumstances often since that day, but
+neither could throw any light on the matter. But the first night of the
+full moon was not far distant now, and Oliver and the girl were awaiting
+it impatiently. Oliver felt that at the fiesta he would in some way gain
+an inkling of the mysterious question that had puzzled his father for
+thirty years, and which eventually had brought his son into this country
+to find out whether its answer was Yes or No.
+
+Oliver tilted back his chair and lighted his briar pipe. Out in the
+liveoak tree the linnet waited, head on one side, chirping plaintively
+occasionally, for the renewed clicking of the typewriter keys. But
+Oliver's thoughts were far from his work.
+
+That burning, colourless liquor that had so fiercely fired his brain was
+undoubtedly moonshine--and redistilled at that, no doubt. Jessamy had
+told him further that she had not so much as unscrewed the cap since old
+Adam had given her the flask, at her request, and had had no idea that
+the flask had not contained amber-coloured whisky. Was this in reality
+the reason why the Poison Oakers wished him to be gone? Had they been
+distilling moonshine whisky down at Sulphur Spring to supply the blind
+pigs controlled by the prosecuting attorney at the county seat? And had
+his inadvertent shutting off of Sulphur Spring's supply of water stopped
+their illicit activities? They had known, perhaps, that eventually he
+would discover that his own spring had been choked by some one and would
+rectify the condition. Whereupon Sulphur Spring would cease to flow and
+automatically cut off one of their sources of revenue. Oliver decided to
+look for Sulphur Spring at his earliest opportunity.
+
+His brows came together as he recalled the episode on the hill, when
+either the fiery raw liquor or the poison from the diamond-back's
+fangs--or both--had deprived him of his senses.
+
+He remembered perfectly what he had said--what he had done. He had heard
+sometime that a man always tells the truth when he is drunk. But had he
+been drunk, or rabid from the hypodermic injections of Showut
+Poche-daka? Or, again--both? One thing he knew--that he thrilled yet at
+remembrance of those satin lips which he had pressed again and again.
+
+Had he told the truth? Had he said that day what he would not have
+revealed for anything--at that time?
+
+His brows contracted more and more, and a grim smile twitched his lips.
+His teeth gripped the amber stem of his pipe. Had he told the truth?
+
+He rose suddenly and went through a boyish practice that had clung to
+him to the years of his young manhood. He stalked to the cheap
+rectangular mirror on the wall and gazed at his wavy reflection in the
+flawed glass. Blue eye into blue eye he gazed, and once more asked the
+question:
+
+"Did I tell the truth when I said I loved her?"
+
+His eyes answered him. He knew that he had told the truth.
+
+Then if this was true--and he knew it to be true--what of the halfbreed,
+Digger Foss? He remembered a gaunt man, stricken to his death, reeling
+against the legs of a snorting white mare and clutching at them blindly
+for support--remembered the gloating grin of the mounted man, the muzzle
+of whose gun followed the movements of his wounded enemy as a cobra's
+head sways back and forth to the charmer's music--remembered the cruel
+insolence of the Mongolic eyes, mere slits.
+
+He swung about suddenly from the mirror and caught sight of a knothole
+in the cabin wall, which so far he had neglected to patch with tin. He
+noted it as he swung about and dived at the pillow on his bed. He hurled
+the pillow one side, swept up the ivory-handled '45 that lay there,
+wheeled, and fired at the knothole. There had been no appreciable pause
+between his grasping of the weapon and the trigger pull, yet he saw no
+bullet hole in the cabin boards when the smoke had cleared away.
+
+He chuckled grimly. "I might get out my army medals for marksmanship and
+pin 'em on my breast for a target," he said.
+
+Then to his vast confusion there came a voice from the front of the
+house.
+
+"Ain't committed soothin' syrup, have ye?" it boomed.
+
+There was no mistaking the deep-lunged tones. It was Old Man Selden who
+had called to him.
+
+Oliver tossed the gun on the bed and walked through to the front door,
+which always stood open these days, inviting the countless little
+lizards that his invasion of the place had not disturbed to enter and
+make themselves at home.
+
+The gaunt old boss of the Clinker Creek Country stood, with
+chap-protected legs wide apart, on Oliver's little porch. His
+broad-brimmed black hat was set at an angle on his iron-grey hair, and
+his cold blue eyes were piercing and direct, as always. In his hands he
+held the reins of his horse's bridle. Back of the grey seven men lounged
+in their saddles, grinning at the old man's sally. Digger Foss was not
+among the number.
+
+"How d'ye do, Mr. Selden," said Oliver in cordial tones, thrusting forth
+a strong brown hand.
+
+Selden did not accept the hand, and made no effort to pretend that he
+had not noticed it. Oliver quickly withdrew it, and two little lumps
+showed over the hinges of his jaws.
+
+He changed his tone immediately. "Well, what can I do for you
+gentlemen?" he inquired brusquely.
+
+"We was ridin' through an' thought we heard a shot," said Selden. "So I
+dropped off to see if ye wasn't hurt."
+
+"I beg your pardon," Oliver returned, "but you must have been dismounted
+when I fired. This being the case, you already had decided to call on
+me. So, once more, how can I be of service to you?"
+
+The grins of the men who rode with Adam Selden disappeared. There was no
+mistaking the businesslike hostility of Oliver's attitude.
+
+"Peeved about somethin' this mornin'," one of them drawled to the rider
+whose knee pressed his.
+
+Oliver looked straight at Old Man Selden, and to him he spoke.
+
+"I am not peeved about anything," he said. "But when a man comes to my
+door, and I come and offer him my hand, and he ignores it, my inference
+is that the call isn't a friendly one. So if you have any business to
+transact with me, let's get it off our chests."
+
+Oliver noted with a certain amount of satisfaction the quick, surprised
+looks that were flashed among the Poison Oakers. Apparently they had met
+a tougher customer than they had expected.
+
+All this time the cold blue eyes of Adam Selden had been looking over
+the pitted Bourbon nose at Oliver. Selden's tones were unruffled as he
+said:
+
+"Thought maybe the poison oak had got too many for ye, an' ye'd shot
+yerself."
+
+"I don't care to listen to subtle threats," Oliver returned promptly.
+"Poison oak does not trouble me at all--neither the vegetable variety
+nor the other variety. I'm never in favour of bandying words. If I have
+anything to say I try to say it in the best American-English at my
+command. So I'll make no pretence, Mr. Selden, that I have not heard you
+don't want me here in the caņon. And I'll add that I am here, on my own
+land, and intend to do my best to remain till I see fit to leave."
+
+Selden's craggy brows came down, and the scrutiny that he gave the young
+man was not without an element of admiration. No anger showed in his
+voice as he said:
+
+"Just so! Just so! I wanted to tell ye that I been down to the
+recorder's office and up to see Nancy Fleet, my wife's sister. Seems
+that you're right about this prop'ty standin' in your name an' all; but
+I thought, so long's we was ridin' along this way, I'd drop off an' have
+a word with ye."
+
+"I'm waiting to hear it."
+
+"No use gettin' riled, now, because--"
+
+"If you had accepted my hand you'd not find me adopting the tone that I
+have."
+
+"Just so!" Selden drawled. "Well, then, I'll accept her now--if I ain't
+too bold."
+
+"You will not," clicked Oliver. "Will you please state your business and
+ride on?"
+
+"Friendly cuss, ain't he, Dad?" remarked one of the Selden boys--which
+one Oliver did not know.
+
+"You close yer face!" admonished Selden smoothly, in his deep bass.
+"Well, Mr. Drew, if ye want to stay here an' starve to death, that's
+none o' my concern. And if ye got money to live on comin' from
+somewheres else, that's none o' my concern either. But when ye stop the
+run o' water from a spring that I'm dependin' on to water my critters in
+dry months, it _is_ my concern--an' that's why I dropped off for a word
+with ye."
+
+"How do you know I have done that?" Oliver asked.
+
+"Well, 'tain't likely that a spring like Sulphur Spring would go dry the
+last o' May. Most o' these springs along here are fed from the same
+vein. You move in, and Sulphur Spring goes dry. So that's what I dropped
+off to talk to ye about. Just so!"
+
+"I suppose," said Oliver, "that the work I did on my spring has in
+reality stopped the flow of Sulphur Spring. But--"
+
+"Ye do? What _makes_ ye suppose so?--if I ain't too bold in askin'."
+
+Oliver's lips straightened. Plainly Selden suspected that Jessamy had
+told him of the peculiarity of the caņon springs, and was trying to make
+him implicate her. But the old man was not the crafty intriguer he
+seemed to fancy himself to be. He already had said too much if he wished
+to make Oliver drag the girl's name into the quarrel.
+
+"Why, what you have just told me, added to my knowledge of what I did to
+clean out my spring, leads to that supposition," he replied. "But, as I
+was about to remark when you interrupted me, I can't see that that is
+any concern of mine. That's putting it rather bluntly, perhaps; but I am
+entirely within my rights in developing all the water that I can on my
+land, regardless of how it may affect land that lies below me."
+
+"Right there's the point," retorted Selden. "I'm a pretty good friend o'
+the prosecutin' attorney down at the county seat. He tells me ye can't
+take my water away from me like that."
+
+"Then I should say that your legal friend is not very well posted on the
+laws governing the development and disposition of water in this state,"
+Oliver promptly told him.
+
+"I wrote him," said Selden, "an' I'll show ye the letter if ye'll invite
+me in."
+
+For the first time Oliver hesitated. Why did Selden wish to enter the
+cabin? Could not the letter be produced and read on the porch? It
+flashed through his mind that the old fox wished to get him inside so
+that some of his gang might investigate the spring and find out the
+volume of the water that was flowing, and what had been done to increase
+it. This only added to his belief that the Poison Oakers were
+responsible for the wall of stones that had choked the stream. Well, why
+not let them find out all that they wished to know in this regard?
+
+"Certainly," he invited. "Come in." And he stood back from the door.
+
+Selden clanked his spur rowels across the threshold. At the same time he
+was reaching into his shirtfront for the letter.
+
+Then an odd thing occurred. He was about to take the chair that Oliver
+had pushed forward when his blue eyes fell upon the saddle and bridle
+which had come to stand for so much in Oliver's life, hanging from a
+thong in one corner of the room.
+
+The old Poison Oaker's eyes grew wide, and, as was their way when he was
+moved out of his customary brooding mood, his thick nostrils began
+dilating. But almost instantly he was his cold, insolent self again.
+
+"I heard some of 'em gassin' about that rig o' yours," he remarked.
+"Said she was a hummer all 'round. That it there? Mind if I look her
+over?"
+
+"Not at all." Oliver was quick to grasp at any chance that might lead to
+the big question and its answer.
+
+Old Man Selden's leather chaps whistled his legs to the corner, where he
+stood, long arms at his sides, gazing at the saddle, the bridle, and the
+martingales. His deep breathing was the only sound in the room. Outside,
+Oliver heard foot-steps, and suspected that the investigation of his
+spring was on.
+
+At last Adam Selden made a move. He changed his position so that his
+spacious back was turned toward Oliver. Quietly Oliver leaned to one
+side in his chair, and he saw the cowman's big hand outstretched toward
+the gem-mounted _concha_ on the left-hand side of the bridle--saw thumb
+and fingers turn that part of the bridle inside-out.
+
+Again the room was soundless. Then Selden turned from the exhibit, and
+Oliver grew tense as he noted the strange pallor that had come on the
+old man's face.
+
+"That's a han'some rig," was all he said, as he sank to his chair and
+laid a letter on the oilcloth-covered table.
+
+The letter contained the information that its recipient had claimed, and
+was signed Elmer Standard. Oliver quickly passed it back, remarking:
+
+"He's entirely wrong, and ought to know it. I have had occasion to look
+into the legal aspect of water rights in California quite thoroughly,
+and fortunately am better posted than most laymen are on the subject."
+
+But the chief of the Poison Oakers was scarce listening. In his blue
+eyes was a faraway look, and that weird grey pallor had not left his
+face.
+
+Suddenly he jerked himself from reverie, and, to Oliver's surprise, a
+smile crossed his bearded lips.
+
+"Just so! Just so! I judge ye're right, Mr. Drew--I judge ye're right,"
+he said almost genially. "Anyway you an' me'd be out-an'-out fools to
+fuss over a matter like that. There's plenty water fer the cows, an' I
+oughtn't to butted in. But us ol'-timers, ye know, we--Well, I guess we
+oughta be shot an' drug out fer the cy-otes to gnaw on. I won't trouble
+ye again, Mr. Drew. An' I'll be ridin' now with the boys, I reckon. Ye
+might ride up and get acquainted with my wife an' step-daughter--but I
+guess ye've already met Jess'my. I've heard her mention ye. Ride up some
+day--they'll be glad to see ye."
+
+And Oliver Drew was more at a loss how to act in showing him out than
+when he had first faced him on the porch.
+
+The Poison Oakers, with Old Man Selden at their head, rode away up the
+caņon. Oliver Drew was throwing the saddle on Poche's back two minutes
+after they had vanished in the trees. He mounted and galloped in the
+opposite direction, opening the wire "Indian" gate when he reached the
+south line of his property.
+
+An hour later he was searching the obscure hills and caņons for Sulphur
+Spring, but two hours had elapsed before he found it.
+
+It was hidden away in a little wooded caņon, with high hills all about,
+and wild grapevines, buckeyes, and bays almost completely screened it.
+While cattle might drink from the overflow that ran down beyond the
+heavy growth, they could not have reached the basin which had been
+designed to hold the water as it flowed directly from the spring.
+Moreover, it was doubtful if, during the hot summer months, the rapid
+evaporating would leave any water for cattle in the tiny course below
+the bushes.
+
+Oliver parted the foliage and crawled in to the clay basin. Cold water
+remained in the bottom of it, but the inflow had ceased entirely.
+
+He bent down and submerged his hand, feeling along the sides of the
+basin. Almost at once his fingers closed over the end of a piece of
+three-quarter-inch iron pipe.
+
+Then in the pool before his face there came a sudden _chug_, and a
+little geyser of water spurted up into his eyes. Oliver drew back
+instinctively. His face blanched, and his muscles tightened.
+
+Then from somewhere up in the timbered hills came the crash of a
+heavy-calibre rifle.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS
+
+
+White Ann and Poche bore their riders slowly along the backbone of the
+ridge that upreared itself between Clinker Creek Caņon and the American.
+Occasionally they came upon groups of red and roan and spotted longhorn
+steers, each branded with the insignia of the Poison Oakers. Once a deer
+crashed away through thick chaparral. Young jackrabbits went leaping
+over the grassy knolls at their approach. Down the timbered hillsides
+grey squirrels scolded in lofty pines and spruces. Next day would mark
+the beginning of the full-moon period for the month of June.
+
+Jessamy Selden was in a thoughtful mood this morning. Her hat lay over
+her saddle horn. Her black hair now was parted from forehead to the nape
+of her neck, and twisted into two huge rosettes, one over each ear,
+after the constant fashion of the Indian girls. So far Oliver Drew had
+not discovered that he disliked any of the many ways in which she did
+her hair.
+
+"What are your views on religion?" was her sudden and unexpected
+question.
+
+"So we're going to be heavy this morning, eh?"
+
+"Oh, no--not particularly. There's usually a smattering of method in my
+madness. You haven't answered."
+
+"Seems to me you've given me a pretty big contract all in one question.
+If you could narrow down a bit--be more specific--"
+
+"Well, then, do you believe in that?" She raised her arm sharply and
+pointed down the precipitous slopes to the green American rushing
+pell-mell down its rugged caņon.
+
+They had just come in sight of the gold dredger, whose great shovels
+were tearing down the banks, leaving a long serpentine line of débris
+behind the craft in the middle of the river.
+
+"That dredge?" he asked. "What's it to do with religion?"
+
+"To me it personifies the greed of all mankind," she replied. "It makes
+me wild to think that a great, lumbering, manmade toy should come up
+that river and destroy its natural beauty for the sake of the tiny
+particles of gold in the earth and rocks. Ugh! I detest the sight of the
+thing. The gold they get will buy diamond necklaces for fat, foolish old
+women, and not a stone among them can compare with the dewdrop flashing
+there in that filaree blossom! It will buy silk gowns, and any spider
+can weave a fabric with which they can't begin to compete. It will build
+tall skyscrapers, and which of them will be as imposing as one of these
+majestic oaks which that machine may uproot? Bah, I hate the sight of
+the thing!"
+
+"Gold also buys food and simple clothing," he reminded her.
+
+"I suppose so," she sighed. "We've gotten to a point where gold is
+necessary. But, oh, how unnecessary it is, after all, if we were only as
+God intended us to be! I detest anything utilitarian. I hate orchards
+because they supplant the trees and chaparral that Nature has planted. I
+hate the irrigating systems, because the dams and reservoirs that they
+demand ruin rugged caņons and valleys. I hate railroads, because their
+hideous old trains go screeching through God's peaceful solitudes. I
+hate automobiles, because they bring irreverent unbelievers into God's
+chapels."
+
+"But they also take cramped-up city folks out into the country," he
+said. "And all of them are not irreverent."
+
+"Oh, yes--I know. I'm selfish there. And I'm not at all practical. But I
+do hate 'em!"
+
+"And what _do_ you like in life?" he asked amusedly.
+
+"Well, I have no particular objection to horned toads, for one thing,"
+she laughed. "But I'm only halfway approaching my subject. Do you like
+missionaries?"
+
+"I think I've never eaten any," he told her gravely.
+
+But she would not laugh. "I don't like 'em," she claimed. "I don't
+believe in the practice of sending apostles into other countries to
+force--if necessary--the believers in other religions to trample under
+foot their ancient teachings, and espouse ours. All peoples, it seems to
+me, believe in a creator. That's enough. Let 'em alone in their various
+creeds and doctrines and methods of expressing their faith and devotion.
+Are you with me there?"
+
+"I think so. Only extreme bigotry and egotism can be responsible for the
+zeal that sends a believer in one faith to the believers in another to
+try and bend them to his way of thinking."
+
+"I respect all religions--all beliefs," she said. "But those who go
+preaching into other lands can have no respect at all for the other
+fellow's faith. And that's not Christlike in the first place."
+
+He knew that she had something on her mind that she would in good time
+disclose, but he wondered not a little at her trend of thought this
+morning.
+
+"The Showut Poche-dakas are deeply religious," she declared suddenly.
+"Long years ago they inhabited the coast country, but were gradually
+pushed back up here. Down there, though, they came under the influence
+of the old Spanish padres; and today their religion is a mixture of
+Catholicism and ancient tribal teachings. They are sincere and devout. I
+have as much reverence for a bareheaded Indian girl on her knees to the
+Sun God as I have for a hooded nun counting her beads. They believe in a
+supreme being; that's enough for me. You'll be interested at the fiesta
+tomorrow night. I rode up there the other day. Everything is in
+readiness. The _ramadas_ are all built, and the dance floor is up, and
+Indians are drifting in from other reservations a hundred miles away."
+
+"Will you ride up with me tomorrow afternoon?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, I think so--that is, since I heard what Old Man Selden had to say
+about you the day after he called. I'll tell you about that later. Yes,
+all the whites attend the _fiestas_. The California Indian is crude and
+not very picturesque, compared with other Indians, but the _fiestas_ are
+fascinating. Especially the dances. They defy interpretation; but
+they're interesting, even if they don't show a great deal of
+imagination. By the way, I bought you a present at Halfmoon Flat the
+other day."
+
+She unbuttoned the flap on a pocket of her _chaparejos_, and handed him
+a small parcel wrapped in sky-blue paper.
+
+"Am I to open it now or wait till Christmas?" he asked.
+
+"Now," she said.
+
+The paper contained a half-dozen small bottles of liquid courtplaster.
+
+"Oh, I'm perfectly sane!" she laughed in her ringing tones as he turned
+a blank face to her.
+
+"Tomorrow," she went on, "you are to smear yourself with that liquid
+courtplaster, from the soles of your feet to your knees. When one coat
+dries, apply another; and continue doing so until the supply is
+exhausted."
+
+She threw back her head and her whole-souled laughter awoke the echoes.
+
+"It's merely a crazy idea of mine," she explained. "I had a bottle of
+the stuff and was reading the printed directions that came with it. It
+seems to be good for anything, from gluing the straps of a décolletté
+ballgown to a woman's shoulders to the protection of stenographer's
+fingers and harvesters' hands at husking time. It's almost invisible
+when it has dried on one's skin; and I thought it might be of benefit to
+you in the fire dance."
+
+"Say," he said, "you're in up to your neck, while I've barely got my
+feet wet. Come across!"
+
+"Well, I'm not positive," she told him, "but I'm strongly of the opinion
+that you're going to dance the fire dance at the Fiesta de Santa Maria
+de Refugio tomorrow night."
+
+"I? I dance the fire dance? Oh, no, Miss--you have the wrong number. I
+don't dance the fire dance at all."
+
+"I think you will tomorrow night, and I thought that liquid courtplaster
+might help protect your feet and legs. I put some on my second finger
+and let it dry, then put my finger on the cookstove."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Well, I took it off again. But, honestly, the finger that had none on
+at all felt a little hotter, I imagined. I'm sure it did, and I only had
+two coats on. I know you'll be glad you tried it, and the Indians will
+never know it's there."
+
+"I'm getting just a bit interested," he remarked.
+
+"Well," she said, "after what passed between you and Chupurosa
+Hatchinguish that day, I'm almost positive that tomorrow night you are
+to be extended the honour of becoming a member of the tribe. And I know
+the fire dance is a ceremony connected with admitting an outsider to
+membership. White men who have married Indian women are about the only
+ones that are ever made tribal brothers by the Showut Poche-dakas; so in
+your case it is a distinct honour.
+
+"I have seen this fire dance. While a white person cannot accurately
+interpret its significance, it seems that the fire is emblematical of
+all the forces which naturally would be pitted against you in your
+endeavour to ally yourself with the Showut Poche-dakas.
+
+"For instance, there's your white skin and your love for your own
+people, the difference in the life you have led as compared with theirs,
+what you have been taught--and, oh, everything that might be against the
+alliance. All this, I say, is represented by the fire. And in the fire
+dance, my dear friend, you must stamp out these objections with your
+bare feet if you would become brother to the Showut Poche-dakas."
+
+"With my bare feet? Stamp out these objections?"
+
+"Yes--as represented by the fire."
+
+"You mean I must stamp out a _fire_ with my bare feet? _Actually?_"
+
+"Actually--literally--honest-to-goodnessly!"
+
+"Good night!" cried Oliver. "I'll cleave to my kith and kin."
+
+"And never learn the question that puzzled your idealistic father for
+thirty years? Nor whether the correct answer is Yes or No?"
+
+"But, heavens, I don't put out a fire that way!"
+
+"It's not so dreadful as it sounds," she consoled. "You join the tribe,
+and you all go marching and stamping about a big bonfire for hours and
+hours and hours, till the fire is conveniently low. Then the one who is
+to be admitted to brotherhood and a chosen member of the tribe--the
+champion fire-dancer, in short--jump on what is left of the fire and
+stamp it out. Of course there are objections to you from the view-point
+of the Showut Poche-dakas, and they must be overcome by a representative
+of them. If the fire proves too much for your bare feet the objections
+are too strong to be overcome, and you never will be an honourary Showut
+Poche-daka. But if the two of you conquer the fire with your bare feet
+the ceremony is over, and you're It. And when the other Indians see that
+you two Indians"--her eyes twinkled--"are getting the better of the
+fire, they'll jump in and help you."
+
+"A very entertaining ceremony--for the grandstand," was Oliver's dry
+opinion.
+
+"Of course the Indian's feet are tough as leather, and they have it on
+you there. Hence this liquid courtplaster. It's worth a trial. Honestly,
+I held my finger on the stove--oh, ever so long! A full second, I'd
+say."
+
+Back went her glorious head, and her teeth flashed in the sunlight as,
+drunk with the wine of youth and health, she sent her rollicking
+laughter out over the hills and caņons.
+
+"I'll be there watching and rooting for you," she assured him at last.
+"I can do so openly now--since you've won the heart of Adam Selden. What
+do you think? He told me to invite you over sometime! But all this
+doesn't fit in quite logically with the ivory-handled Colt I see on your
+hip today for the first time. Explain both, please."
+
+"Well," he said, "Selden seemed ready to cut my throat till he examined
+Poche's bridle and saw the B on the back of a _concha_."
+
+"Ah!" she breathed, drawing in her lips.
+
+"And then he grew nice as pie--and that's all there is to that."
+
+"And the six?"
+
+"Well, I buckled it on this morning, thinking I might practice up a bit,
+as you advised."
+
+"So far so good. Now amend it and tell the truth."
+
+"I went down to Sulphur Spring after the Poison Oakers left me, and as I
+was examining the water a bullet plunked into it from the hills and I
+got my eyebrows wet. As I don't like to have anybody but myself wet my
+eyebrows, I'm totin' a six. And I rather like the weight of it against
+my leg again. It reminds me!"
+
+"Who shot at you?"
+
+He shrugged.
+
+"_At_ you, do you think?--or into the water to frighten you?"
+
+"Whoever fired could not see me, but knew I was in the bushes about the
+spring. Took a rather long chance, if he merely wished to give me a
+touch of highlife, don't you think?"
+
+"I wonder if the bullet is still in the basin."
+
+"I never thought of that. I ducked for cover at once, of course, and, as
+nobody showed up, rode back home."
+
+She lifted White Ann to her hind legs and spun her about in her tracks.
+"We'll ride to Sulphur Spring and look for that bullet," she announced.
+
+"And be ambushed," he added, as Poche followed White Ann's lead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+HIGH POWER
+
+
+Jessamy and Oliver had wheeled their horses with such unexpected
+suddenness that the man who was trailing them was caught off his guard.
+He stood plainly revealed for a moment in the open; then he found his
+wits and plunged indiscriminately into the shielding chaparral.
+
+"Oh-ho!" cried Jessamy in a low tone. "The plot thickens! Did you see
+him?"
+
+"I'm going after him," declared her companion.
+
+"Stop!" she commanded, as he lifted Poche for a leap toward the
+skulker's vanishing point.
+
+He reined in quickly. "Why?"
+
+"What good will come of it? Why try to nose him out? We may be ahead in
+the end if we play the game as they do. We have more chance of finding
+out what they're up to by leaving them alone, I'd say."
+
+"Play the game, eh?" he repeated. "So there's a game being played. I
+didn't just know. Thought all that's afoot was the big idea of chasing
+me over the hills and far away. And from Selden's latest attitude, it
+looks as if that had been abandoned. Game, eh?"
+
+"That's what I'd call it. Quite evidently the man was spying on us."
+
+"Did you recognize him?"
+
+"I can't make sure."
+
+"But you think you know him," he said with conviction.
+
+"Yes. I imagined it was Digger Foss. But he got to cover pretty
+quickly."
+
+"His horse can't be far away. Maybe we can locate him somewhere along
+the back trail. I'd know that rawboned roan."
+
+"So should I. Let's send 'em along a little faster."
+
+They had by this time reached the opening in the chaparral into which
+their shadow had dodged. By common consent they passed it without
+looking to right or left.
+
+"He may imagine we didn't see him," whispered Jessamy. "I hope he does."
+
+There was an open stretch ahead of them, and across it they galloped,
+the girl piercing the thickets on the right in search of a saddle horse,
+Oliver sweeping the slopes that descended to the river. But neither saw
+a horse, and in the trail were no hoofprints not made by their own
+mounts.
+
+"He has been afoot from the start," decided Jessamy. "I wish I knew
+whether or not it was Digger Foss."
+
+They wound their way down to Sulphur Spring presently, and came to a
+halt in the ravine below it.
+
+"Now," said Oliver, "who knows but that my sniper is not hidden up there
+in the hills?"
+
+"I'll look for that bullet," she purposed, and swung out of her saddle.
+
+"Oh, no you won't!" His foot touched the ground with hers.
+
+"Yes--listen! No one would shoot at me. But they might take another crack
+at you, even with me along to witness it. If they were hidden and could
+get away unseen, you know. But they'd not shoot at me."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Well, I'm one of them--after a fashion. They all like me--and at least
+one of them wants to gather me to his manly breast and fly with me."
+
+"But things are different since I came. You've taken sides with me. If
+any one looks for that slug, I'm the one that'll do it."
+
+He started toward the spring.
+
+"Stop!" she ordered, and grasped his shirt-sleeves. "Listen here: I'd
+bet a dollar against a saddle string that that was Digger Foss we saw up
+on the ridge."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"He's afoot. He can't have had time to get down here and guard Sulphur
+Spring."
+
+"All right. Well?"
+
+"And I know positively that Adam Selden and the boys are up north today
+after a bunch of drifters. So none of them can be here. That eliminates
+six of the Poison Oakers. There would be left only Obed Pence, Ed
+Buchanan, Chuck Allegan, and Jay Muenster--all privates, next to
+outsiders. None of them would shoot at me, and--" She came to a full
+stop and eyed him speculatively. "And I'm going to look for that
+bullet," she finished limpingly.
+
+Oliver looked her over thoughtfully. "I can't say that I get what you're
+driving at at all," he observed. "But it seems to me that you're trying
+to convey that, with the Seldens and Digger Foss eliminated, there is no
+danger."
+
+She closed her eyes and gave him several vigorous, exaggerated nods.
+
+"But aren't all of the Poison Oakers concerned in my speedy removal from
+this country?"
+
+"Well--yes"--hesitatingly. "That's right. But the four will not molest
+me. I know. Please let's not argue about what I _know_ is right!"
+
+His lips twitched amusedly. "But one of the four _might_ take a pot-shot
+at me. Is that it?"
+
+Again the series of nods, eyes closed. "You see," she said, "only the
+Seldens and Digger Foss accuse me of being on your side. So if any one
+of the other four were to see me go to the spring he'd think I was
+merely after water, or something. But if you were to go, why--why, it
+might be different."
+
+Saying which she unexpectedly darted away from him up the ravine, left
+the shelter of the trees, and walked boldly to the spring.
+
+She parted the bushes and disappeared from sight.
+
+Oliver stole quickly to the edge of the cover and hid behind a tree, his
+Colt unholstered and hanging in his hand. His eyes scoured the timbered
+hills on both sides of the spring, but not a movement did he see.
+
+He puzzled over Jessamy's speech as he watched for evidences of a
+hostile demonstration.
+
+"It smacks of a counter-plot," he mused. "All of the Poison Oakers want
+me out of here, but only the Seldens and the halfbreed are aware that
+Jessamy is friendly with me. But these four _must_ know it--everybody in
+the country does by now. It would look as if Old Man Selden and his
+chosen five are the only ones who suspect her of having an interest in
+me beyond pure friendship, then. That's it! She said there was another
+reason other than the grazing matter why Old Man Selden wants me away.
+And that can't be moonshining, after all; for if Pense and the others
+are likely to shoot me at the spring, they're in on that. But now
+apparently Selden wants to appear friendly. I can't get it! Jessamy's
+not playing just fair with me. She's keeping something back. She's too
+honest and straightforward to be a good dissembler; she's bungling all
+the way."
+
+She was returning swiftly down the ravine before he had reached the end
+of his conclusions. She held up something between dripping fingers as
+she entered the concealment of the trees.
+
+"It's perfect still," she announced. "I thought it wouldn't be flattened
+or bent, since it struck the water."
+
+Oliver took the small, soft-pointed, steel-banded projectile from her
+hands and studied it.
+
+"M'm-m!" he muttered. "What's this? Looks no larger than a twenty-two."
+
+She nodded. "So I'd say. A twenty-two high-power--wicked little pill."
+
+"And which of the Poison Oakers packs a twenty-two high-power rifle? Do
+you know?"
+
+"It happens that I do. I've taken the pains to acquaint myself
+with the various guns of the Poison Oakers. Most of them use
+twenty-five-thirty-fives. Old Man Selden, Bolar, and Jay Muenster use
+thirty-thirties. There's one twenty-two high-power Savage in the gang,
+and it's a new one. They say it's a devilish weapon."
+
+"Who owns it?"
+
+"Digger Foss."
+
+"Then it was Foss who shot?"
+
+"Yes--and it's he who was following us today. You see, Digger lives
+closer to this part of the country than any of the rest. He'd be the
+only one likely to come in afoot."
+
+"Do you think he tried to lay me out?"
+
+She looked off through the trees, and her face was troubled. "I'm afraid
+he did," she replied in a strained, hushed key. "Had you been in sight,
+we might determine that he had shot at the water before your face to put
+the fear of the Poison Oakers into your heart. But he couldn't see you,
+in there hidden by the dense growth. It was a fifty-fifty chance whether
+he got you or not. If he'd merely wished to bully you, he'd never taken
+the chance of killing you by firing into the growth."
+
+"I guess that's right," he said. "And now what's to be done? I'll never
+be able to forget the picture of Henry Dodd clutching at White Ann's
+legs for support in his death struggle. The situation is graver than I
+thought. I expected to be bullied and tormented; but I didn't expect a
+deliberate attempt on my life."
+
+With an impetuous movement she threw her bare forearm horizontally
+against a tree trunk, and hid her eyes against it.
+
+"Oh, I wish you hadn't come!" she half sobbed. "But you had to--you had
+to! And now you can't leave because that would be running away. And
+you're as good as dead if this side-winder gets the right chance at you.
+What _can_ we do!"
+
+Oliver was silent in the face of her distress. What could he do indeed!
+All the chances were against him, with his enemies ready and willing to
+take any unfair advantage, while his manliness would not let him stoop
+to the use of such tactics. They probably would avoid an out-and-out
+quarrel, where the chances would be even for a quick draw and quick
+trigger work. They would ambush him, as the halfbreed had attempted to
+do. He believed now that only the density of the growth about Sulphur
+Spring had stood between him and death, for Digger Foss was accounted an
+expert shot.
+
+He gently pulled Jessamy Selden from the tree.
+
+"There, there!" he soothed. "Let's not borrow trouble. They haven't got
+me yet. Let's ride on. And I think you'd better give me a little more of
+your confidence. I feel that you're keeping me in the dark about some
+phases of the deal."
+
+She mounted in silence, and they turned up Clinker Creek toward Oliver's
+cabin.
+
+"I'd never make a successful vamp, even if I were beautiful," she smiled
+at last. "I can't hide things. I give myself away. I'm always bungling.
+But I can play poker, just the same!" she added triumphantly.
+
+"Don't try to hide things, then," he pleaded. "Tell me all that's
+troubling you."
+
+She shook her head. "That's the greatest difficulty," she complained. "I
+shouldn't have let you know that I have a secret, but I bungled and let
+it out. And I must keep it. But just the same, I'm with you heart and
+soul. I'm on your side from start to finish, and I want you to believe
+it."
+
+"I do," he said simply.
+
+As they reached the cabin he asked: "Did you feel the end of the pipe
+under the water in the spring?"
+
+She nodded. Then with the promise to meet him next morning for their
+ride to the fiesta, she moved her mare slowly up the caņon and
+disappeared in the trees.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE FIRE DANCE
+
+
+The round moon looked down upon a scene so weird and compelling that
+Oliver Drew vaguely wondered if it all were real, or one of those
+strange dreams that leave in the mind of the dreamer the impression that
+ages ago he has looked upon the things which his sleeping fancy
+pictured.
+
+The moon rode low in the heavens. The night was waning. Tall pines and
+spruce stood black and bar-like against the silver radiance. Away in the
+distance coyotes lifted their yodel, half jocular, half mournful, as a
+maudlin drunkard sings dolefully a merry tune.
+
+In a cup of the hills, surrounded by acres and acres of almost
+impenetrable chaparral and timber, a hundred or more human beings were
+clustered about a blazing fire. Horses stamped in the corrals. Now and
+then an Indian dog cast back a vicious challenge at the wild dogs on the
+hill. White men and women and Indian men and women stood about the fire
+in a great circle, silent, intent on what was taking place at the fire's
+edge.
+
+Within this outer circle of spectators revolved another smaller circle
+of brown-skinned men and women. But one of this number was white, and in
+the flickering light of the fire his skin glowed in odd contrast to the
+skins of those who danced with him.
+
+For Oliver Drew was stripped but for a breechcloth about his loins, and
+directly opposite him in the circle, always across the fire from him as
+the human snake revolved about the flames, was a stalwart young Indian,
+likewise nearly nude. He it was who at the proper moment would dash upon
+the fire with this white man, when, with hands clasped over it, they two
+would strive to beat it to ashes with naked feet.
+
+Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pressed into the circle like canned
+fish, the fire dancers circled the leaping flames. Sweat streamed from
+their bodies, for the fire was a huge one and roared and crackled and
+leaped at them incessantly.
+
+For two solid hours the dance had been in progress. Now and then an old
+squaw, faint from the heat of the fire and the nerve strain which only
+the fanatic knows, dropped wearily out and staggered away. Then the rank
+would close and fill the vacancy; and this automatically made the circle
+smaller and brought the dancers closer to the flames, for they must
+touch each other always as they circled slowly.
+
+Round about them hobbled Chupurosa, adorned with eagle feathers dyed red
+and yellow and black. In his uplifted hand he held a small turtle shell,
+with a wooden handle bound to it by a rawhide thong. In the shell, whose
+ends were closed with skin, were cherry stones. The incessant rattling
+of them accompanied the dancers' elephantine tread. It was the toy of
+childhood, and those who danced to its croaking music were children of
+the hills and caņons, simple-minded and serene.
+
+Slowly as moves a sluggish reptile in early spring the dancers circled
+the fire, times without number. Guttural grunts accompanied the constant
+thud of tough bare feet on the beaten earth. Now and then they broke
+into chanting--a weird, uncanny wailing that sent shivers along the
+spine and made one think of heathen sacrifices and outlandish, cruel
+heathen rites. Straight downward, almost, the dancers planted their
+feet. When their feet came down three inches had not been gained over
+the last stamping step. It required many long minutes for the entire
+circle to complete the trip around the fire; and this continued on and
+on till the brain of Oliver Drew swam and the fire in reality took on
+the aspect of a tormenting, threatening ogre which this rite must crush.
+
+Occasionally some fanatic would spring from the line and rush upon the
+fire, striking at it with his feet, slapping at it with his hands,
+growling at it and threatening it in his guttural tongue. Then the dance
+would grow fiercer, and the chanting would break out anew, while always
+the cherry stones rattled dismally and urged the zealots on.
+
+When would it end? There was fresh, clean pitch in the great logs that
+blazed; and it seemed to Oliver that the exorcism must continue to the
+end of time.
+
+At first he had felt like an utter fool when he was led from the tent,
+almost nude, to face the curious eyes of thirty or more white people.
+His simple instructions had been given him by Chupurosa in the hut where
+he had been kept virtually a prisoner since his arrival. Then he had
+been led forth and pressed into his place in the circle, across from the
+other nearly naked man who swam so dizzily before his eyes. Then the
+slow ordeal had begun, and round and round they went till he thought he
+must surely lose his reason.
+
+On his feet and legs was the liquid courtplaster, and Chupurosa had not
+observed it. Coat after coat he had applied, and had a certain feeling
+of being fortified. Yet he doubted if, when the moment came for him to
+leap upon the fire and clasp hands with the man opposite, any of the
+mucilaginous substance would be left on the soles of his already burning
+feet.
+
+He had seen Jessamy's face beyond the fire. She had smiled at him
+encouragingly. But now her face had blended with the other faces that
+danced confusedly before his eyes, and he could not separate it as the
+circle went slowly round and round.
+
+An old man dropped, face down, on the earth, completely overcome. From
+beyond the circle of dancers a pair of arms reached through and dragged
+him out by the heels. The dance went on, and the dancers now were closer
+to the fire by the breadth of one human body.
+
+Weirdly rose the chant to the moonlit night. Coyotes answered with
+doleful ribaldry. A woman pitched forward on her face--a young woman.
+She lay quite still, breathing heavily. Oliver stepped over her body as
+they dragged her out to resuscitate her, and it seemed as he did so that
+he scarce could lift his feet so high.
+
+Now one by one they dropped, exhausted, reeking with sweat caused by the
+intensity of the heat from the burning pitch logs. Two fell at once--one
+inward, the other back. Up rose the chant as they were dragged away;
+fiercer grew the stamping; frenziedly the cherry stones clicked in the
+turtle shell.
+
+Lower and lower rode the radiant moon. Blacker and blacker grew the
+outlined woods. The coyotes ceased their insane laughter and scurried
+off to where jackrabbits played on moonlit pasturelands. And still the
+passionate exorcism went on and on, with men and women dropping every
+minute and the circle narrowing about the fire and closing in.
+
+The blaze was lower now. The pitch in the logs no longer sputtered and
+dripped blazing to the ground. But the heat was still intense, and the
+white man's tender flesh was seared as the giving out of some dancer
+forced the circle nearer and nearer to the flames.
+
+But into his heart had come a fierce purpose born of the fanaticism
+responsible for this ordeal. He was a man of destiny, he felt, though
+obliged to "carry on" with blinded eyes. Something of the fierce, dogged
+nature of these wild people of the woods entered his soul. He was dying
+by inches, it seemed, but the fire, glowing and spitting hatred at him,
+became a real enemy to be conquered by grit and stern endurance: and,
+held up by the bodies that pressed against his on either side, he
+stamped on crazily, his teeth set, the ridiculous side of his plight
+forgotten.
+
+And now the circle was pitiably small; and those who formed it staggered
+and reeled, and scarce found breath to chant or revile their dying
+enemy. But still the cherry stones rattled on while that old oak of a
+Chupurosa moved round and about, tireless as an engine.
+
+Oliver dragged his feet now; he thought he could not lift them. His
+brain was a dull, dead thing except for that passionate hatred of the
+fire that the weird chanting and the strangeness of it all had brought
+about. And now the fire grew lower, lower. Back of the ragged hills the
+moon slipped down and left the wilderness in blackness. Only the fire
+gleamed.
+
+Then suddenly the rattling of the cherry stones was quieted. Now the
+only sounds were the weary thud-thud of tough bare heels and the
+stentorian breathing of the zealous worshippers, an occasional
+heartrending grunt.
+
+On and on--round and round. The very air grew tense. Dawn was at hand.
+Its cold breath crept down from the snow-capped peaks. A glimmer of grey
+showed in the eastern sky.
+
+Only fifteen of the Showut Poche-dakas plodded now about the failing
+fire, by this time smouldering at their very feet. Fifteen Showut
+Poche-dakas--and Oliver Drew! All were men, young men in life's full
+vigour. Yet they swayed and reeled and staggered drunkenly as the
+dizzying ordeal went on through the grey silence of dawn.
+
+Now dawn came fast and spread its inchoate light over the silent
+assemblage in the hills. Then like a burst of sound disturbing a weary
+sleeper, the cherry stones resumed their rattling.
+
+At once, back of the circle of tottering dancers, a weird chant arose
+till it drummed in Oliver's ears and seemed to be lulling him to sleep.
+
+Out of the void taut fingers came and clasped his own. His hands were
+jerked high over his head. Something stung his feet and legs, and he
+thought of the rattler on the hill. The chant rose to a riotous
+shouting. The air was filled with imprecations, wailings, shrieks, and
+spiteful challenges. Now Oliver realized that his fingers were locked
+with those of the nude Indian who had danced opposite him; that they two
+were over the waning fire, fighting it with their feet.
+
+How long it lasted he never knew. Life came back to his mistreated
+muscles, and with his feet he fought this thing that stung him and
+seared him and filled his heart with burning wrath. Then came a long,
+concerted shout. In rushed the Showut Poche-dakas to the fighters' aid.
+Bare feet by twenty-fives and fifties slapped at the fire, and a herd of
+dark forms trampled over it and beat it to extinction.
+
+A long shout of triumph that sped away on swift wings toward the coming
+dawn and the distant mountain! And then a single voice lifted high in
+words which in English are these:
+
+"The evil fire god has been defeated. No barrier stands between the
+white man and the Showut Poche-dakas. From this hour to the end of time
+he who has danced the fire dance tonight and conquered the evil spirit
+shall be brother to the Showut Poche-dakas!"
+
+Then just before Oliver fainted in some one's arms he heard in English:
+
+"Seven hours and twenty minutes--the longest fire dance in the history
+of the tribe!"
+
+And the new brother of the Showut Poche-dakas heard no more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A GUEST AT THE RANCHO
+
+
+Then there was feasting and racing and dancing and much ado. Dice
+clicked; cards sputtered; the pawn passed in the ancient _peon_ game.
+There was a barbecued steer, athletic contests, and competitions in
+markmanship. The Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio was to continue
+throughout the entire period of the full moon, and there must be
+diversion for every day and every night.
+
+Oliver Drew awoke the next day after the fire dance in the _ramada_
+which had been assigned to him. He felt as if he had been passed through
+a stamp mill, so sore were his muscles and so burned and blistered were
+feet and legs. He had been carried to his bed of green willow boughs
+directly after the dance, where he had slept until nearly nightfall.
+Then he had been awakened and given food. After eating he fell asleep
+once more, and slept all night, his head in the silver-mounted saddle
+that Bolivio had made.
+
+He dragged himself from the shakedown and went and sat at an opening in
+the booth. The _ramada_ of the California Indian is merely an arbourlike
+structure built of newly cut limbs of trees, their still unwithered
+leaves serving to screen the occupants from outside eyes.
+
+The birds were singing. Up the steep mountainside back of the
+reservation the goats and burros of the Showut Poche-dakas browsed
+contentedly on buckthorn and manzanita bushes. There was the smell of
+flowers in the drowsy air, mingling strangely with that indescribable
+odour that permeates an Indian village.
+
+It was noticeably quiet outside. Doubtless the Indians were enjoying an
+early-morning siesta after some grilling orgy of the night before.
+Oliver groaned with the movements necessary to searching his pockets for
+cigarette materials. His groan was mimicked by a familiar voice in the
+doorway.
+
+Jessamy Selden entered.
+
+"I've been listening for a sound from you," she chirruped. "My, how you
+slept! All in?"
+
+"Pretty nearly," he said.
+
+She came and sat beside him on a box.
+
+"Are you badly burned?"
+
+"Oh, no. I guess your courtplaster helped some. But I'm terribly sore.
+And, worst of all, I feel like an utter ass!"
+
+"Why, how so?"
+
+He snorted indignantly. "I went nutty," he laughed shortly. "I have lost
+the supreme contempt which I have always had for people who go batty in
+any sort of fanatical demonstration, like that last night. I've seen
+supposedly intelligent white folks go absolutely wild at religious camp
+meetings in the South, and I always marvelled at their loss of control.
+Now I guess I understand. Hour after hour of what I went through the
+other night, with the chanting and wailing and the constant rattle of
+those confounded cherry stones, and the terrible heat, and men and women
+giving out all about me, and the perpetual thud-thud of bare feet--ugh!
+I wouldn't go through it again for ten thousand dollars."
+
+"I thought it best not to warn you of the severity of it beforehand,"
+she announced complacently. "Very few white men have ever danced the
+fire dance, and only one or two have held out to the end. Of course
+failure to do so signifies that the powers working against the
+affiliation are too strong to be overcome. These men who failed, then,
+did not become brothers of the Showut Poche-dakas."
+
+"Lucky devils!"
+
+"Here, here!" she cried. "Don't talk that way. You're glad, aren't you?"
+
+"I'm tickled half to death."
+
+"Is it possible that you do not take this seriously, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"Look here," he said: "why didn't you tell me more of what I might
+expect at this fool performance?"
+
+"I was afraid you might look at the matter much as you're looking at it
+now," she answered. "I knew you'd go through with it, though, if you
+once got started. I knew it to be a terrible ordeal, but I was confident
+that you would win."
+
+"I thank you, I'm sure. Win what, though? The reputation of being a
+half-baked simpleton?"
+
+"Do you imagine that the white people who saw you are ridiculing you?"
+
+"Aren't they?"
+
+"Absolutely nothing of the sort! You're the hero of the hour. People
+about here always attend the fiestas, and you'll be surprised to note
+the seriousness and lack of levity that they show in regard to the rites
+and ceremonies of the Showut Poche-dakas. It's an inheritance from the
+old days, I suppose, when the few white men who were here found it
+decidedly to their advantage to be friendly with the Indians. They glory
+in your grit, and everybody is talking about you. You should have heard
+Old Man Selden. 'There's a regular man,' he loudly informed every one
+after the dance. And folks about here listen to what Old Man Selden
+says, for one reason or another."
+
+"But it was such an asinine proceeding!"
+
+"Was it? I thought you respected the other fellow's beliefs and
+religious practices."
+
+"Was that a religious dance?"
+
+"Decidedly. All of their dances are religious at bottom. You were trying
+to overcome the evil spirit, represented by the fire, that stood between
+you and your union with the Showut Poche-dakas. You are one of the few
+who have weathered this ordeal and won. And now you're a recognized
+member of the tribe."
+
+"And is that an enviable distinction?"
+
+"What do _you_ think about that?"
+
+Oliver was silent a time. "Tell the truth," he said at last, "I've been
+thinking more of my sore muscles and scorched legs, and of the
+ridiculous figure I supposed I had cut the other night. I suppose,
+though, that when a hundred or more fellow creatures unanimously admit a
+rank outsider to the plane of brotherhood, one would be shallow minded
+indeed to look upon it too lightly."
+
+"Exactly. Just what I wanted to hear you say. And the more simple
+natured and trusting they are, the more it devolves upon you to treat
+their brotherhood with respect and reverence. You are now brother to the
+Showut Poche-dakas; and you'll be a wiser man before you're older by
+many days. In this little village you have always a refuge, no matter
+what the world outside may do to you. Nothing that you could do against
+your own race can make you an utter outcast, for here are your brothers,
+always eager to shelter you. If you owned a cow and lost it, a word from
+you would send fifty mounted men scouring the hills till the cow had
+been found and restored to you. Will the people of your own race do
+that? If the forest was burning throughout the country, rest assured
+your property would be made safe before your brothers turned their
+efforts to protecting the homes of other white men. Is it trivial, my
+friend?"
+
+"No," said Oliver shortly.
+
+"You have been greatly honoured," she concluded. "You are the first
+white man on record who has been adopted by the Showut Poche-dakas
+without first marrying an Indian girl. And even then they must win out
+in the fire dance. If they fail, their brides must go away with them,
+ostracized from their people for ever."
+
+"How many white men have been honoured with membership?" he asked.
+
+"Very few. Old Dad Sloan was over and saw the dance. He always attends
+fiestas if some one will give him a ride. He said after the dance that
+he knew of only three white men before you who had won brotherhood,
+though he had seen a dozen or more try for it."
+
+"Did he mention any names?"
+
+"Yes," she said. "He mentioned Old Man Selden, for one."
+
+"Does he belong to the tribe?" cried Oliver.
+
+"No, he fell down in the fire dance. He had married an Indian woman, and
+after the dance he took his bride away with him. She died six months
+afterward--pining for her people, it was supposed."
+
+"And who else did he speak about?"
+
+"You remember the name of Dan Smeed, of course."
+
+"'Outlaw, highwayman, squawman,'" quoted Oliver, trying to imitate the
+old '49er's quavery tones.
+
+"Yes," she said. "He conquered the fire and was admitted to full
+brotherhood."
+
+"And got gems for his bridle _conchas_," Oliver added.
+
+Jessamy nodded. "And in some mysterious manner paved the way for you to
+become adopted thirty years later."
+
+He turned and looked her directly in the eyes. "Was Dan Smeed my
+father?" he asked abruptly.
+
+Her eyes did not evade his, but a slow flush mounted to her cheeks.
+
+"I think we may safely assume that that is the case," she told him
+softly.
+
+Oliver stared at the beaten ground under his feet.
+"Outlaw--highwayman--squawman!" he muttered.
+
+Quickly she rose and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't! Don't!" she
+pleaded sympathetically. "Don't think of that! Wait!"
+
+"Wait? Wait for what?"
+
+"Wait till the Showut Poche-dakas have taken you into full confidence.
+Wait for my Hummingbird to speak."
+
+Oliver said nothing.
+
+She waited a little, then resumed her seat and said:
+
+"And the next man that Old Dad Sloan mentioned as having tried the fire
+dance was--guess who?"
+
+"The mysterious Bolivio."
+
+She nodded vigorously, both eyes closed.
+
+"He succeeded?"
+
+"He did."
+
+"And the third man to succeed before me?"
+
+"I forget the name. It is of no consequence so far as our mystery is
+concerned."
+
+"_Your_ mystery, you mean," he laughed. "I'm beginning to believe you
+know all about it--all about me, about my father and his young-manhood
+days."
+
+"Oh, no!" she quickly protested.
+
+"But you know more than I do. And you see fit to make mystery of it to
+my confusion."
+
+"Silly! I'm doing nothing of the sort. I've positively told you all I
+can."
+
+"Be careful, now! Can, will, or may?"
+
+"Don't pin me down. You know I'm a feeble dissembler."
+
+"You've told me all you _may_, then," he said with conviction.
+
+"Have it that way if you choose. How about some breakfast?--and then
+your triumphal entry into the festivities?"
+
+"I hate to show myself--actually."
+
+"Pooh! I'm disappointed in you. Come on--I've ordered breakfast for us
+in the restaurant booth. Red-hot chili dishes and _bellota_. It should
+be ready by now."
+
+The Showut Poche-dakas, at least, paid very little attention to Oliver
+as he limped from the _ramada_ at Jessamy's side. But he was
+congratulated by white men on every hand, among them Mr. Damon Tamroy,
+the first friend he had made in the country.
+
+"I wish you could 'a' heard what Old Dad Sloan had to say after the
+dance," was Tamroy's greeting. "The dance got the old man started, and
+he opened up a little. Selden wasn't about at the time, and Dad said
+that once, years ago, Selden married a squaw and made a try at the fire
+dance. There was two dances that night, Old Dad said. Selden's partner,
+too, married an Indian girl, and both of 'em danced. Selden's partner
+won out, and was made a member o' the tribe; but Selden fell down."
+
+"Did you get this partner's name?" asked Oliver.
+
+"Le's see--what was the name Dad said?"
+
+"Smeed?" asked Oliver.
+
+"That's it. Dave Smeed. No--Dan Smeed. This Smeed lived with the tribe
+afterwards, it seems, but Selden and his girl beat it, accordin' to the
+rules, and--"
+
+"Sh!" warned Oliver. "Here comes Old Man Selden now."
+
+The old monarch of the hills strode straight up to them, rowels
+whirring, chaps whistling.
+
+"Howdy, Mr. Drew--howdy!" he boomed. "Howdy, Tamroy." He extended a
+horny hand to each.
+
+"Some dance, as they say--some dance," he went on admiringly, and there
+was almost a smile on his stern features. "The boys was bettin' on how
+it would come out. The odds was ag'in ye, Mr. Drew. But I told 'em ye'd
+hold out. I been through the mill myself. Might as well own up, since
+everybody knows it now--and that I danced to a fare-you-well, but fell
+down hard. When ye gonta' pull yer freight, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"I thought of riding home today," said Oliver.
+
+"I was just talkin' to Jess'my," Selden continued. "Her and me concluded
+this here'd be a good time to invite ye over to get acquainted. Can't ye
+ride to Poison Oak Ranch with us just as well as ye can ride on home?"
+He tried to grin, but the effort seemed to cause pain.
+
+Toward them Oliver saw Jessamy walking. He always had admired her long,
+confident stride, and he watched her throughout the brief space allowed
+him by courtesy to study his answer to her step-father. Then he caught
+her eye. She began nodding vigorously.
+
+"I should have watered my garden before coming to the fiesta," he told
+the old man. "I'm afraid it will suffer if I don't get back to it
+directly. But--"
+
+"Oh, she'll stand it another day. Folks irrigate too much, anyway. Ride
+home with us today and stay all night."
+
+"I thank you, I'm sure," said Oliver.
+
+"Yes, do come, Mr. Drew," put in Jessamy as she reached the group.
+
+"Just so!" added Selden.
+
+And so it was arranged.
+
+The four stood in conversation. Over the girl's shoulder Oliver now saw
+Digger Foss and two of the men who had ridden with Selden the day he
+called at the cabin. They were staring at their chief and Jessamy. A
+glowering look was on the face of at least one of them, and that one was
+the halfbreed, Digger Foss.
+
+He stood with feet planted far apart, his fists on his hips--squat, his
+bullet head juked forward aggressively, his Mongolic black eyes
+glittering. A sneer curled his lips. He nodded now and then as one or
+the other of his companions spoke to him, but he did not reply and did
+not remove his steadfast glance from the group of which Oliver made one.
+
+"They's a hoss race comin' off in a little," Selden was saying. "We'll
+stay for that, then throw on the saddles and cut the dust for the
+rancho."
+
+Here Foss, with a shrug of his wide, strong shoulders, turned away and
+disappeared in the crowd, his companions following at his heels.
+
+Presently Selden and Tamroy left Jessamy and Oliver together.
+
+"What's the idea?" Oliver asked her.
+
+"It's quite apparent that he wants to be friendly with you," she pointed
+out.
+
+"It's just as well, of course," said he. "But I can't fathom it. And at
+least one of the Poison Oakers doesn't approve. I just saw Digger Foss
+glowering at us from behind Old Man Selden's back."
+
+Jessamy elevated her dark eyebrows. "No, he wouldn't approve," she
+declared. "That's merely because of me, I guess. Well, we can't help
+that. It's your part to play up to Old Man Selden and find out what is
+the cause of his sudden change of heart toward you."
+
+"It's my riding outfit," he averred. "That, and the fact that I've
+danced the fire dance. I'm gradually picking up a thread here and there.
+By the way, you neglected to tell me this morning, when we were on the
+subject, that Dan Smeed's partner was none other than Old Man Selden."
+
+She glanced at him quickly. "I see that Mr. Damon Tamroy is in character
+today. He does love to talk, doesn't he?"
+
+"You knew it, then?"
+
+She hesitated. "Yes--Old Dad Sloan let it out last night," she admitted.
+"I think he would have told me as much the day you and I called on him
+if he hadn't thought it might hurt my feelings. I don't think it was his
+forgetfulness that made him trip over the subject that day."
+
+"But if he mentioned it in your presence after the fire dance, he must
+have forgotten that you are vitally interested."
+
+Her long black lashes hid her eyes for an instant. "That's true," she
+admitted.
+
+Oliver smiled grimly to himself. A lover would have small excuse for
+distrusting this girl, he thought, for deception was not in her. A
+little later he left her and sought out Damon Tamroy again.
+
+"Just a question," he began: "You know I'm seeking information of a
+peculiar character in this country; so don't think me impertinent. You
+said that Old Man Selden wasn't about when Dad Sloan spoke of him as
+having been the partner of Dan Smeed."
+
+Tamroy nodded. "He'd gone to bed in one o' the _ramadas_," he said.
+
+"Did Jessamy Selden overhear Old Dad Sloan when he told that?"
+
+"No, she wasn't there either," replied Tamroy. "I reckon she'd gone to
+bed too."
+
+"Thank you," Oliver returned.
+
+He knew now that Jessamy Selden had merely been repeating some one
+else's version of Dad Sloan's disclosures. He knew that she had been
+aware all along that Dan Smeed, his father, had been the partner of Adam
+Selden. Had she known it, though, the day she questioned the patriarch?
+It had seemed that she was trying her utmost to make him mention the
+name of Dan Smeed's partner. Perhaps she had felt safe in the belief
+that, out of consideration for her feelings, Dad Sloan would not couple
+her step-father's name with that of a "highwayman, outlaw, and squawman"
+who, he had said, was a "bad egg."
+
+Oliver was beginning to believe that Jessamy Selden at that very moment
+knew the question that had puzzled Peter Drew for thirty years, and what
+the answer to it should be. He believed that Jessamy had known just who
+he was, and why he had come into the Clinker Creek Country, the day she
+rode down to make his acquaintance. It seemed that she had considered it
+a part of her life's work to seek him out. Later, she had worried a
+little for fear he might think her bold in riding to his cabin as she
+had done.
+
+She had not been seeking his companionship because she liked him, then.
+There was some ulterior motive that was governing her actions. In him
+personally, perhaps, she had no interest whatever. There was some secret
+connected with Old Man Selden, and it dated back to the days when Selden
+and Oliver Drew's father were partners, and had both married Indian
+girls. Jessamy had stumbled on this, and when Oliver came she had known
+the reason that brought him, and had made haste to ally herself with him
+in order to carry out whatever she had in mind. It was this that had
+kept her in such close touch with him--not friendship for Oliver
+himself.
+
+Oliver brooded. The thought hurt him. The damage had been done. He had
+learned all this too late. He loved her now, and wanted her more than he
+wanted anything else in life. She knew he loved her. She must know that
+he was not the sort to tell her what he had told her if he had not meant
+it, and to grasp her in his arms and kiss her, even under the strange
+condition in which the scene had occurred. Not a word had passed between
+them regarding that episode since he had blushingly apologized for his
+behaviour. She had taken it quite serenely, as she seemed to take most
+things in life, and had displayed no confusion when next they met.
+
+"You look so funny," she remarked when he at last sought her out after
+the pony race. "Is anything the matter?"
+
+"Nothing at all," he told her. "I'm going for our _caballos_ now. Selden
+and the boys are saddling up. I suppose we'll all ride together."
+
+A little later he shook the withered hand of Chupurosa Hatchinguish and
+bade him good-bye in Spanish. The chief of the Showut Poche-dakas called
+him brother, and patted his back in a fatherly manner as he followed him
+to the door of his hovel. But he made no mention of a future meeting,
+and said nothing more than "brother" to indicate that a new relation
+existed between them.
+
+Oliver led Poche and White Ann to Jessamy, and they swung into the
+saddles and galloped to where Old Man Selden, Hurlock, and Bolar were
+awaiting them in the dusty road.
+
+Hours later the little party of five rode over the baldpate hill, then
+in single-file formation descended by the steep trail to the bed of the
+American River. A half-hour afterward they entered the cup in the
+mountainside, and Oliver Drew looked for the first time upon the
+headquarters of the Poison Oakers.
+
+The girl, Selden, and Oliver left their saddles at the door, and the
+boys rode on and led their horses to the corrals. Oliver was conducted
+into the immense main room of the old log house, where he was presented
+by the girl to her mother.
+
+The afternoon was nearly gone, and the two women at once began preparing
+supper, while Old Man Selden and his guest sat and smoked near a window
+flooded with the reflection of the sunset glow on fleecy clouds above
+the caņon.
+
+Selden's talk was of cows and grazing conditions and allied topics.
+Oliver Drew, half listening and putting in a stray comment now and then,
+watched Jessamy in a rôle which was new to him.
+
+She had put on a spotless red-checkered gingham dress that fitted
+perfectly, and revealed slim, rounded, womanly outlines which are the
+heritage of strength and perfect health. Her black hair was coiled
+loosely on top of her head, and a large red rose looked as if Nature had
+designed it to splash its vivid colour against that ebony background.
+With long, sure strides this girl of the mountains moved silently about
+from the great glossy range to the work table, washing crisp lettuce,
+deftly beheading snappy radishes, her slim fingers now white with dough
+and flour, or stirring with a large spoon in some steaming utensil over
+the fire. An extra fine dinner was in progress of preparation in honour
+of the Seldens' guest; yet the girl worked serenely and swiftly, with
+not a false move, not a flutter of excitement, never gathering so much
+as a spot on her crisp, stiff dress, always sure of herself, master of
+her diversified tasks. Was this the girl that an hour before he had seen
+so gracefully astride in a fifty-pound California saddle, her slim legs
+covered by scarred, fringed chaps, her black hair streaming to the
+bottom of her saddle skirts in two long, thick braids? There was a
+desperate tugging at the heart-strings of Oliver Drew. He knew now that
+if he failed to win this girl it were better for him had he not been
+born. And again and again she had sought him out for some obscure reason
+in no way connected with a desire for his companionship. He thought
+again of the episode on the hill after the rattlesnake bite, and he grew
+sick at heart at remembrance of the feel of those soft, firm lips.
+
+When they arose from the bounteous meal Selden said to his guest:
+
+"It's still light outdoors. Wanta look over the ranch a bit?"
+
+They two strolled out to the stables and talked horses and saddles. They
+looked perfunctorily over the green young fruit in the orchard, and
+Selden showed Oliver the new pipe line which now carried spring water
+into all three of the living houses. They killed time till late
+twilight, and as one by one the stars came out the old man led the way
+to a prostrate pine at the edge of a fern patch. On it they seated
+themselves.
+
+"They was little matter I wanted to talk to you about," said Selden half
+apologetically. "Le's have a smoke and see if we can't come to an
+understandin'. Just so! Just so!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE GIRL IN RED
+
+
+Jessamy Selden finished washing and drying the supper dishes. Then she
+hurried to her room and slipped into a red-silk dress, by no means out
+of date, silk stockings, and high-heeled pumps with large shell buckles.
+A few deft pats and her rich hair suited her, and the red rose glowed
+against the black distractingly. She spun round and round before the
+mirror of her plain little dresser, one set of knuckles at her waist,
+like a Spanish dancer, her face trained over her shoulder at her
+reflection in the glass. There was a mischievous gleam in her jetty eyes
+as she reached the conclusion that she was all right. Just a hint of
+heightened colour showed in her cheeks when she started for the living
+room.
+
+Old Man Selden had not yet returned with the guest of the house. The
+trace of a pucker of disappointment came between her eyes, then she was
+serene again as she lighted coal-oil lamps and sat down with a book. She
+was alone in the great rough-walled room, like a gorgeous flower in a
+weather-beaten box. Her mother was dressing--one dressed after dinner
+instead of _for_ dinner in the House of Selden. Bolar and Moffat
+presumably had gone to sit and look at their saddles while daylight
+lasted, since coming night forbade them to mount and ride.
+
+Minutes passed. Jessamy stared at the open book in her hands, but had
+not read a word. Why was Old Man Selden keeping their guest out there in
+the night? A girlish pout which might have surprised Oliver Drew, had he
+seen it, puckered her lips. The girl looked down at her red-silk dress
+and the natty buckles on her French-heel pumps, and the pout grew more
+pronounced.
+
+She went out doors, but no sound came to her save the intimate night
+sounds of the wilderness.
+
+"_Darn_ the luck!" she cried in exasperation, her serenity for once
+completely unavailing.
+
+Five minutes later she stepped from the gorgeous dress with a sigh of
+resignation. She kicked off the pumps and pulled on her morocco-top
+riding boots. She donned shirt and riding skirt, and slipped out by her
+own door into the young night.
+
+Cautiously she approached the stables and corrals, but found nobody.
+Lights gleamed in the windows of Hurlock's and Winthrop's cabins, and
+from the latter came the doleful strains of Bolar's accordion. She
+doubted if Selden and Oliver were in either of these houses.
+
+She walked up the hill toward the spring, and presently heard the bass
+boom of Old Man Selden's voice.
+
+A little later, flat on the ground, she was wriggling her way through
+tall ferns toward two indistinct figures seated on a fallen pine. Like
+an Indian she crept on silently, till by and by she lay quite still,
+close enough to hear every word that passed between the men who sat in
+front of her. And her conscience seemed not to trouble her at all.
+
+It had been practicable to come to a pause at some little distance from
+the two, for their voices carried a long way through the tranquil
+wilderness night. Behind her and up the hill the frogs were croaking at
+the spring. Their horse-fiddling ceased abruptly, as if they had been
+suddenly disturbed, and it was not immediately continued. Trained to
+read a meaning in Nature's signs, she wondered at this; then presently
+she heard a stealthy step between her and the spring.
+
+Lifting her head and shoulders above the fronded plants, she saw a dark,
+crouched shape approaching warily. Some one had walked past the spring
+and disturbed the croaking choir. She ducked low and waited
+breathlessly, hoping that this second would-be eavesdropper, whoever he
+might be, would not come upon her engaged in a like pursuit. At the same
+time she was trying to hear what Selden was saying to Oliver Drew.
+
+It seemed from Old Adam's slightly hesitating manner that he was as yet
+not well launched on the subject that had caused him to pilot Oliver to
+this lonely spot. He said:
+
+"I reckon they told ye ye wouldn't be welcome down on the Old Ivison
+Place. Didn't some of 'em say, now, that a gang called the Poison Oakers
+might try to drive ye out?--if I'm not too bold in askin'."
+
+"Yes," said the voice of Oliver Drew.
+
+"Uh-huh! I thought as much. Well, Mr. Drew, ye got to make allowances
+for ol'-timers in the hills. We get set in our ways, as the fella says;
+and I reckon we _don't_ like outsiders to come in any too well.
+
+"But anybody with any savvy oughta know its different in a case like
+yours. Why, what little feed we'd get offen your little piece, if you
+wasn't there, wouldn't amount to the price of a saddle string. It was
+plumb loco for any one to tell ye we'd raise a rumpus 'bout ye bein'
+down there."
+
+"I thought about the same," observed Oliver Drew quietly.
+
+There came a distinct pause in the dialogue. Once more Jessamy
+straightened her arms and pushed head and shoulders above the ferns. The
+person who had disturbed the frogs was nowhere to be seen. He too,
+perhaps, had taken up a lizardlike progress through the ferns, and was
+now listening to all that was being said by Oliver and Selden.
+
+She flattened herself again, and held one hand behind her ear to catch
+every word.
+
+"Yes, sir, plumb loco," Old Man Selden reiterated. "And they ain't no
+reason on earth why you and us can't be the best o' friends. That's what
+we oughta be, seein' we're pretty near neighbours."
+
+"I'm sure I'm perfectly willing to be friendly, Mr. Selden."
+
+"Course ye are. Just so! An' so are we. And listen here, Mr. Drew: Don't
+ye put too much stock in that there Poison Oaker racket."
+
+"I don't know that I understand that."
+
+"Well," drawled Selden, "they ain't any such thing as a Poison Oaker
+Gang. That there's all hot air. It's true that Obed Pence and Jay
+Muenster and Buchanan and Allegan and Foss run what cows they got with
+ourn, and they're pretty good friends o' my boys an' me. But as fer us
+bein' a gang--why, they's nothin' to it. Nothin' to it a-tall! Just
+because we use a poison-oak leaf for our brand--why, that's what got 'em
+to callin' us the Poison Oakers. And when anything mean is done in this
+country, why, they gotta hang it onto somebody--and as a lot of 'em
+don't like me and my friends, why, they hang it onto us and call us the
+Poison Oakers. Now that there ain't right and just, is it, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"When you put it that way," Oliver evaded, "I should say that it is
+not."
+
+"No, sir, it ain't--not a-tall! An' I'm glad ye understand and ain't got
+no hard feelin's."
+
+There was another long pause. Fragrant tobacco smoke floated to
+Jessamy's nostrils.
+
+"If I ain't too bold in askin', Mr. Drew--what was ol' Damon Tamroy
+fillin' yer ear with about me today?"
+
+"He was telling me how Old Dad Sloan had spoken of your having once
+danced the fire dance."
+
+"Uh-huh! Just so! Some o' my friends overheard Old Dad spoutin' about it
+after I'd hit the feathers. Well, I don't reckon I care any. It's
+nothin' to try to hide. Was that all Tamroy had to say?"
+
+Jessamy could imagine on Oliver Drew's lips the grave, half-whimsical
+smile that she had seen twitching them so often. She waited eagerly for
+his reply.
+
+"I think that the subject you mention is all that he talked to me
+about," it came at last.
+
+"Just so! Just so!" muttered Selden. "But didn't he say as how others
+had danced the fire dance besides me and you?"
+
+"Yes, he mentioned others."
+
+"Just so! And who, now--if I ain't too bold in askin'."
+
+"Let me see," said Oliver after a pause. "Some other man's name was
+mentioned. A short name, if I remember correctly."
+
+"Uh-huh! Plumb forget her, eh?"
+
+"It seems to me it was Smeed, or something like that. Yes--Dan Smeed."
+
+Silence. Again tobacco smoke was wafted over the ferns.
+
+"Dan Smeed, eh?" ruminated Selden finally. "Mr. Drew, did ye ever hear
+that name before Damon Tamroy said it to ye?"
+
+Another thoughtful intermission; then--
+
+"Yes, I had heard it before."
+
+"Just so! Just so! And if I ain't too bold in askin'--just where, Mr.
+Drew?"
+
+"Why, I heard it first from Old Dad Sloan himself. Miss Selden and I
+rode over to his cabin one morning, and we got him to talking of the
+days of 'Forty-nine. He can be quite interesting when he doesn't
+wander."
+
+"Uh-huh! And ye say ye heard the name Dan Smeed over to Old Dad Sloan's
+fer the first time?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"_The first time in yer life, Mr. Drew?_"
+
+"Yes. I had never heard of it until then."
+
+A short, low snort from Selden. Jessamy knew it well. It signified: "I
+don't believe you!"
+
+Said Selden presently: "Well, then, I'm gonta put another question to
+ye, Mr. Drew. I don't want ye to think I'm tryin' to butt in, as the
+fella says. But s'long's Tamroy was talkin' about me, I reckon it's
+right an' just that I should be interested. Now, what did Tamroy tell ye
+Old Dad Sloan had to say 'bout this here Dan Smeed and _me_?"
+
+"He said that you and Dan Smeed were one time partners."
+
+"Oh! Uh-huh! Just so! Partners, eh? And was that the first time ye ever
+heard that, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"Yes, the first time," said Oliver patiently.
+
+Again that peculiar little snort of Selden.
+
+"How ye gettin' along down to the Old Ivison Place, Mr. Drew?" was
+Selden's abrupt shift of the conversation.
+
+"Oh, my garden is fine. And I have two colonies of bees storing up honey
+for me. Besides, I've located another colony up in the hills, and will
+get them as soon as I can get around to it."
+
+"But ye can't live on garden truck an' honey!"
+
+"I suppose I should have some locusts to go along with them," laughed
+Oliver; but his flight was lost on Old Man Selden. "You forget, though,"
+the speaker added, "that I am writing for farm journals. I've sold three
+little articles since I settled down there. I'll get along, if my luck
+holds out."
+
+"Oh, yes--ye'll get along. I ain't worryin' 'bout that. I'll bet ye
+could draw a check right this minute that'd pay fer every acre o' land
+'tween here an' Calamity Gap."
+
+"I'll bet I couldn't!" Oliver positively denied.
+
+Old Man Selden chuckled craftily. "Ye're pretty foxy, Mr. Drew--pretty
+foxy!" He had lowered his deep tones until Jessamy could barely
+distinguish words. "Yes, sir--_mighty_ foxy! A garden an' bees an'
+writin' for a story paper, eh? Oh, ye'll get along. I'll tell a man
+ye'll get along!"
+
+"I really have no other source of revenue, Mr. Selden."
+
+"Just so! I understand. Well, Mr. Drew, maybe I been a mite too bold;
+but I'll step in another inch or two and say this: When ye need any help
+down there on the Old Ivison Place, just send word to Dan Smeed's
+partner. D'ye understand?"
+
+"I thank you, I'm sure," Oliver told him dryly. "But really I don't
+think I'll need any help. My garden is so small that--"
+
+"Just so! Still, ye never can tell when a foxy fella like you'll need
+help. And Dan Smeed's partner'll be always ready to help. Just remember
+that."
+
+"Help with what?" asked Oliver testingly.
+
+"In watchin' the dead," was Selden's surprising answer, spoken in a
+crafty half-whisper.
+
+"In watching the dead!" cried his listener. "Why, I--"
+
+"Le's go in to the womenfolks now," interrupted Selden. "And keep
+thinkin' over this, Mr. Drew. Always ready to help--d'ye savvy? And
+don't ye pay no attention to that there supposed gang that they call the
+Poison Oakers. They ain't no such gang. But if anybody does try to
+bother ye, tell me. Get me? Tell Dan Smeed's partner. He'll help ye
+watch the dead."
+
+"You're talking in riddles," Oliver snorted. "I don't understand--"
+
+"Oh, yes, ye do! Ye savvy, all right. Ye're foxy, Mr. Drew. I'll say no
+more just now. But when ye need my help...."
+
+Their voices trailed off.
+
+Once again the girl's supple body rose from the hips, and she searched
+the ferns on every side. For several minutes she lay quite still in the
+same position. Then, perhaps fifty feet on her left, a head rose above
+the tall fronds, and then a body followed it. Next instant a dark figure
+was hurrying back toward the spring.
+
+Jessamy waited until sight and sound of it were no more, then rose and
+ran with all her might toward the house.
+
+She slipped in at her private door, hustled out of her clothes, and
+began donning her gorgeous red dress again.
+
+"So Old Man Selden always shoots straight from the shoulder,
+eh?" she muttered. "Piffle! When he wants to be he's a regular
+Barkis-is-willin'!"
+
+In the midst of her dressing her mother tapped.
+
+"Jessamy, where have you been?" she asked. "Mr. Selden and Mr. Drew are
+in the living room now. I've knocked twice, but you didn't answer."
+
+"I was outdoors," Jessamy replied. "I'm dressing now. I'll be right
+out."
+
+And a minute or two later Oliver Drew gasped and his blue eyes grew wide
+as a silk-garbed figure, with a red rose in her raven hair, glided
+toward him.
+
+Yea, even as the girl in red had planned that he should gasp!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+SPIES
+
+
+Smith, the shaggy, mouse-coloured burro, lifted his voice in that
+sobbing wail of welcome which has caused his kind to be designated as
+desert canaries, as Oliver rode into the pasture. Smith's was a
+gregarious soul. To be left entirely alone was torture. His ears were
+twelve inches long, and the protuberances over his eyes were so craggy
+that Oliver had hesitated between the names of Smith and William Cullen
+Bryant. On the whole, though, "Smith" had seemed more companionable.
+
+Oliver loosed Poche to console the lonesome heart of Smith and went at
+the irrigating of his garden. When a stream of water was trickling along
+every hoed furrow he put on heavy hobnailed laced-boots and went into
+the hills in search of his third bee tree.
+
+It seems illogical to set down that one could live for nearly two months
+on forty acres of land without having explored every square foot of it.
+But Oliver had not trod upon at least two thirds of his property. Locked
+chaparral presents many difficulties. Farmers detest it, and artists go
+wild over it. But farmers are obliged to sprawl flat and crawl through
+it occasionally, while artists sit on their stools at a distance from it
+that brings out all the alluring browns and yellows and greens and
+olives of which it is capable under the magic of the changing sunlight.
+
+Oliver had seen bees darting like arrows from the flowers in the
+creekbed in a westerly direction, up over the thickest of the chaparral.
+Up there somewhere was another colony of winged misers and their hoarded
+wealth of honey. Honey was bringing a good price just then, and a
+merchant at Halfmoon Flat would buy it. So now the beeman climbed the
+hill and crawled into the chaparral in the direction the insects had
+flown.
+
+Scattered here and there through the dense thicket were pines and spruce
+and black oak. In one of these trees the bees must have their home; and
+his task of finding it was not entirely a haphazard quest. When he
+crawled to an opening in the bushes he would climb into the crotch of
+one of them and locate the nearest tree. Then, flattening himself once
+more, he would crawl to this tree and look for a hollow for the bees.
+Finding none, he would locate another tree and crawl to it.
+
+Thus wearisomely engaged he crawled into a depression three feet deep in
+the earth beneath him. This allowed him to sit erect for the first time
+in minutes, and he availed himself of the chance, industriously mopping
+his brow.
+
+Now, Oliver Drew was not a miner, but he was a son of the outdoor West
+and knew at once that he was seated in an ancient prospect hole. About
+the excavation were piled the dirt and stones that had been shovelled
+out.
+
+He speculated over it. For all he knew, it might date back to the
+fascinating days of '49. A great forest of pines might have stood here
+then. Or maybe the pines had been burned away, and a forest of gigantic
+oaks had followed the conifers, to rear themselves majestically above
+the pigmies that delved, oftimes impotently, for the glittering yellow
+treasure at their roots. Or, again, the prospect hole might have been
+dug years later, after the oaks had disappeared and the chaparral had
+claimed the land. There was no way of telling, for every decade or so
+forest fires swept the country almost clean, and some new growth
+superseded the old in Nature's endless cycle.
+
+Fifty feet farther on he plopped into a second prospect hole, and a
+little beyond that he found a third.
+
+He noted now that in all cases no chaparral grew up through the muck
+that had been thrown out. This would seem to signify that the work had
+been done in recent years, while the bushes that now claimed the land
+still grew there. He found a fourth hole soon, and near it were
+manzanita stumps, the tops of which had been cut off with an ax.
+
+This settled it. While the soil might show evidences of the work of man
+for an interminable length of time, the roots of the lopped-off
+manzanitas would rot in a decade, perhaps, and freezing weather would
+loosen the stumps from their moorings. But this wood was still sound.
+The prospecting had been done not many years before. And who had been
+prospecting thus on patented land?
+
+When he had wormed his way to the crest of a hill he had passed about
+twenty of these shallow holes. Now, at the top, the earth had been
+literally gophered. The workings here looked newer still; and presently
+he came upon evidence that proved work had been done not longer than a
+year before, for dry leaves still clung to the tops of manzanita bushes
+that had been chopped off and pitched to one side.
+
+It has been stated that he was not a miner. Still, having been born and
+raised in a mining country, he knew something of the geological
+formations in which gold ordinarily is found. He was in a gold producing
+country now, yet the specimens that he picked up near the prospect holes
+proved that only a rank tenderfoot would have searched so persistently
+in this locality.
+
+He picked up a bit of white substance and gave it study. It resembled
+lithia. The water of his spring contained a trace of lithium salts,
+according to the analysis furnished him by the State Agricultural
+College, to which he had mailed a sample. He pocketed the specimen for
+future reference.
+
+As he sat on the edge of this hole, with his feet in it, he heard a
+rustling in the bushes close at hand. At first he thought it might be
+caused by a jackrabbit; but soon it became certain that some heavier,
+larger body was making its way slowly through the chaparral.
+
+A coyote? A bobcat? A deer?
+
+He carried no gun today, and the swift thought of a mountain lion was a
+bit unpleasant.
+
+He quickly slid from his seat and stretched himself on the ground in the
+shallow excavation. Oliver was an ardent student of nature, and he liked
+nothing better than secretly to watch some wild thing as it moved about
+it its customary routine, unconscious of the gaze of human eyes. Once he
+had hidden in wild grapevines and watched a skunk searching for bugs
+along a creekbed, until suddenly the moist bank crumbled beneath him,
+and he fell, and--But what followed is what might be called an unsavory
+story.
+
+The crackling, scraping sounds drew nearer, but whatever was making them
+was not moving directly toward him. They ceased abruptly, and then he
+knew that the man or animal had reached the open space in the brush in
+which the prospect holes were situated.
+
+As the noises were not continued, he began raising himself slowly, until
+he was able to look over the edge of the hole.
+
+It was not a browsing deer nor a hunting coyote upon which he gazed. A
+squat, dark man, with chaps and spurs and Stetson, was making his way
+across the open space to the continuation of the chaparral beyond it.
+His eyes were mere slits, black, Mongolic.
+
+He was Digger Foss, the half-white, right-hand man of Adam Selden.
+
+The progress of the gunman was not stealthy, for undoubtedly he
+considered himself particularly safe from observation up here in the
+wilderness of chaparral. He slouched bow-leggedly across the break in
+the thicket, and dropped to hands and knees when he reached the edge of
+it. He disappeared in the chaparral.
+
+The general direction that he was pursuing was straight toward Oliver's
+cabin. Oliver lay quite still and listened to the renewed sounds of his
+progress through the prickly bushes.
+
+Then once more they stopped suddenly. Oliver knew that in the short
+space of time elapsed Digger Foss could not have crawled beyond the
+reach of his hearing. He had paused again.
+
+For perhaps five minutes he listened, but could hear no further sounds.
+Then from not far distant there came the familiar clatter of a dry pine
+cone in the manzanita tops.
+
+A moment more and Oliver was smiling grimly. For Foss had suddenly
+appeared above the tops of the chaparral. He was climbing a giant digger
+pine, which only a short time before Oliver had investigated as the
+possible home of the bees he was striving to find. There in plain sight
+the halfbreed was climbing like a bear from limb to limb, keeping the
+trunk of the tree between his chunky body and the cabin in the valley.
+
+Presently he settled astride a horizontal bough on Oliver's side, his
+back toward the watcher. He adjusted himself as comfortably as possible,
+and then there appeared in his hands a pair of binoculars. Leaning
+around the tree trunk, screened by the digger pine's long,
+smoke-coloured needles, he focused the glasses on the cabin down below.
+
+It looked to Oliver Drew as if this were not the first time that the
+gunman had perched himself up there to watch proceedings in the caņon.
+There had been no hesitancy in his selection of a tree which stood in
+such a position that other trees would not obstruct his view from its
+branches, no studying over which limb he might occupy to the best
+advantage.
+
+Vaguely Oliver wondered how many times he had laboured and moved about
+down below, with the keen, black, Chinese eyes fixed on him. It was not
+a comfortable feeling, by any means.
+
+Now, though, his thoughts were taken up by the problem of getting away
+unobserved by the spyglass man. Digger Foss was not a hundred feet from
+where Oliver lay and watched him. If he should turn for an instant he
+would see Oliver there, flat on his face in the excavation, for the
+halfbreed's perch was twenty feet above the tops of the chaparral.
+
+Oliver had decided to make a try at crawling on up the hill as
+noiselessly as possible, when new and far slighter sounds came to his
+ears. So slight they were indeed that, if he had not been close to the
+earth, he might not have detected them at all.
+
+But no bird or small animal could be responsible for them, for they were
+continuous and dragging. Once again he hugged the ground while he
+watched and waited.
+
+The sounds came on--sounds that seemed to be the result of some one's
+dragging something carefully over the shattered leaves on the ground.
+And presently there hove into view another human being.
+
+He was an Indian--a Showut Poche-daka. Oliver remembered his swarthy
+face, his inscrutable eyes. He had been pointed out to him at the fiesta
+by Jessamy as the champion trailer of all the Paubas, of which the
+Showut Poche-daka Tribe was a sort of branch. Often, Jessamy had said,
+this Indian, who was known by the odd and laughable name of Tommy My-Ma,
+had been employed by the sheriff of the county in tracking down escaped
+prisoners or fleeing transgressors against the law.
+
+He wore no hat. He was barefooted. His only covering seemed to be a pair
+of faded-blue overalls and a colourless flannel shirt. Neither did he
+carry any weapon, so far as Oliver could see.
+
+His progress was now soundless as he came from the chaparral, flat on
+his belly, wriggling along like a lizard with surprising speed. His
+black, glittering eyes were unquestionably fixed with rapt intentness on
+the man aloft in the digger pine; and by reason of this alone he did not
+see Oliver Drew.
+
+His movements commenced to be extraordinary. He wriggled himself
+speedily over the unlittered earth and made no sound. There was a pile
+of dry brush at one edge of the clearing, the tops of the bushes that
+had been cut off to facilitate the sinking of the prospect holes. Toward
+this Tommy My-Ma glided; and when he reached it he passed out of sight
+on the other side.
+
+Then suddenly he reappeared again. Instantly he lowered his head to the
+ground at the edge of the pile of brush; then swiftly the head and
+shoulders disappeared, the trunk and legs following. For a second Oliver
+saw the bare brown feet, then they too went out of sight.
+
+Oliver understood the disappearing act of Tommy My-Ma, he thought. The
+pile of brush covered another of the prospect holes, and into the hole
+the Showut Poche-daka had snaked himself. It seemed that he too had
+sought a hiding place often frequented. In there he perhaps could sit
+erect and, screened by the pile of brush, would be entirely hidden,
+while he himself could watch the spy in the branches of the digger pine.
+For that he was in turn spying on the man who was watching Oliver's
+cabin Oliver did not for a moment doubt.
+
+But why? That was another matter!
+
+He was quite aware of his own unprotected position; and with Tommy My-Ma
+now hidden in the brush scarce fifty feet away from him, he dared not
+get out of his hole and try to crawl away.
+
+The situation struck him as ridiculous in the extreme. Foss trying to
+spy on him; Tommy My-Ma spying on Foss--the object of all this intrigue,
+Oliver himself, spying on both of them!
+
+And how long must it continue?
+
+The only sounds now were the soft moaning of the wind through the
+needles of the pines, and from afar, occasionally, the clear, cool call
+of a valley quail: "Cut that out! Cut that out!" The sun was hot on the
+resinous needles of the pines, and the smell of them filled the air.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+CONTENTIONS
+
+
+Two horsemen met on the backbone of the ridge that separated Clinker
+Creek and the green American.
+
+Obed Pence was a tall individual with a small mouth, a great Roman nose,
+close-set black eyes over which black brows met so that they formed a
+continuous line, and large, tangled front teeth.
+
+The man who met him in the trail--a boy who had just turned
+twenty-one--was sandy-haired, freckled, snub-nosed, and blue-eyed. His
+face was too boyish to show marked wickedness, but Chuck Allegan was not
+the least important member of the Poison Oaker Gang.
+
+"Howdy, Pencie?" he drawled, crooking his leg about his saddle horn as
+his black horse stopped to rub noses with the bay that the other rode.
+
+"Where you headin' for?" asked Obed Pence.
+
+"Down toward Lime Rock. There's some cows o' mine and a bunch o' calves
+down there. That breechy old roan devil steered 'em up thataway. She's
+always wanderin' off with a bunch like that. Come on down with me--I
+want to move 'em up with the rest o' the bunch. Soil's thin down
+thataway, an' grass's already gettin' brown."
+
+"Any o' mine in that bunch?"
+
+"I dunno. Like's not. Come on--you ain't got nothin' to do."
+
+"Maybe I have and maybe I ain't," retorted Pence half truculently.
+
+"What you doin', then?"
+
+"Watchin' out for that fella Drew."
+
+"Who told you to? Old Man?"
+
+Pence spat a stream of tobacco juice. "Not a-tall," he replied. "I guess
+you ain't heard what's new."
+
+"I ain't heard nothin' new. Spring it!"
+
+"Foss is the one told me to keep my eye on Drew. Said for me to keep to
+this ridge over here and try to get a line on what he's up to if he come
+up this way. Digger's over in the hills on the other side o' the caņon,
+watchin'. He's got glasses."
+
+"What's the good o' watchin' this guy? Why don't we get in and fire 'im
+out o' the country, like we said we was goin' to do?"
+
+Obed Pence's irregular teeth twisted off another chew of tobacco.
+
+"That's the funny part of it," he observed. "Digger's workin' alone, it
+seems. Old Man tells him not to bother Drew at all. Says he'll tend to
+'im 'imself, when he gets 'round to it. First time I ever saw Old Man
+Selden hang back on puttin' a bur under anybody's tail when he wanted to
+get rid of 'im. An' now he passes the word for nobody to bother Drew
+till he says to. Digger don't like it. He's sore on the old man."
+
+"What'd Digger say?"
+
+"I just know mostly by the way he acts. There's somethin' funny goin'
+on. Ever since that day we all rode down to Drew's cabin and heard the
+shot inside, Old Man's been actin' funny. Digger an' me was wonderin'
+what them two was talkin' about in the cabin, that made the old man
+change the way he done. Why, say, he went down there to scare the ticks
+outa Drew that day. And after that, you know, we had it all made up to
+turn cows in on Drew's garden when he was away, an' let 'em get at his
+spring. Then Jay Muenster was goin' to slip in sometime and put a live
+rattlesnake in Drew's bed. And if all that didn't start 'im, we was
+gonta begin plunkin' at him from the chaparral, you know--just drop a
+few bullets at his feet when he was workin' in his garden. Wasn't that
+right?"
+
+"Sure was, Pencie."
+
+"An' we rode down there to start things goin'," Pence continued. "And
+when Old Man come outa the cabin he was bowin' and scrapin', and this
+and that and the other, like him and Drew had been pals all their lives.
+There's somethin' funny. Digger don't like it a-tall!"
+
+"Does Ed know anything?" asked Chuck after a pause.
+
+"No, he don't," answered Obed Pence. "It was Ed told Old Man 'bout
+Digger takin' a crack at Drew when he was monkeyin' 'round Sulphur
+Spring. And Old Man told Ed to tell Digger to cut it out, and that he
+was runnin' the gang and would tell anybody when he wanted 'em to throw
+down on Drew."
+
+"I know."
+
+"And Digger asks 'im when he sees 'im did he want Drew monkeyin' about
+the spring and gettin' onto the pipe that took water to the still. And
+Old Man says to hell with the still; he was gonta cut out makin' booze,
+anyway."
+
+"Cut it out?"
+
+"That's what he told Digger Foss."
+
+"Hell, he makes more money sellin' monkey rum to Standard than outa
+anything else! And it's always been safe. Pro'bition didn't cut no ice
+with us--just give us ten times the profit!"
+
+Pence shrugged his ridgy shoulders. "I'm just tellin' you how things are
+goin'. Drew made us loose the Sulphur Spring water to run the still
+with, and Old Man didn't seem to give a whoop about it. Drew finds the
+pipe, like as not, and that don't seem like it worried the boss. Just
+says he'll cut out distillin'. Why, he's layin' right down to this fella
+Drew. Drew's got Old Man buffaloed!"
+
+"Not a-tall," disagreed Chuck Allegan. "You know better'n that, Pencie.
+Man don't live that c'n buffalo Old Man Selden. He's double-crossin'
+us--that's what! There's somethin' behind all this. What's Digger
+watchin' Drew for? Is that any way to run a man outa the country? I'm
+askin' you!"
+
+"That runnin'-out-o'-the-country business has got to be an old gag.
+Le'me tell you somethin': I wasn't goin' to, but I will. Digger said not
+to mention it. But listen! You know Old Man took Drew home with 'im
+after the fiesta."
+
+Chuck nodded his boyish head.
+
+"Well, Digger wasn't asleep at the switch. When it got dark he rides
+across the river and into the ranch to see if he c'n find out what's
+stirrin'. He ain't liked the way things 'a' been goin' since he got outa
+jail. Course it's Jess'my that's got his goat. Drew's cuttin' 'im out;
+and since the day we rode into Drew's Digger thinks Old Man's ag'in 'im,
+an's helpin' Drew get Jess'my.
+
+"Anyway, whatever's the reason, Digger leaves his horse in the chaparral
+and sneaks in and sees 'em at supper. And he sticks 'round till supper's
+over and Old Man steers Drew out to the corrals for a talk. They set
+down on that old felled pine in the ferns below the spring, and Digger
+snakes up through the ferns and hears 'em talkin'."
+
+"What'd he say they said?" Chuck asked eagerly.
+
+"Didn't have any too much to say about it," Pence replied. "Just said
+Old Man and Drew was nice as pie to each other; and Old Man told Drew
+there wasn't any use him bein' scared o' the Poison Oakers, 'cause there
+wasn't no such outfit."
+
+"Said there wasn't no such outfit?"
+
+"That's what I said!"
+
+"And Digger wouldn't tell no more?"
+
+"No, he wouldn't. And I'll bet you there was a lot more to tell. I
+savvied Digger wasn't springin' all he heard. But he don't like it."
+
+"Maybe they was talkin' 'bout Jess'my. Then he wouldn't have nothin' to
+say, you can bet yer life!"
+
+"I got my doubts," Pence ruminated. "No, there was somethin' else. I
+know that shifty little bullet eye o' Digger's. He was keepin' somethin'
+back that he ought to told the rest of us. I don't like the way things
+are goin'. Since this Drew showed up, seems like we all got somethin' to
+keep from one another. Old Man's tryin' to double-cross the gang
+someway. Foss is tryin' to get in on it, or else he's aimin' to
+double-cross us an' Old Man, too, all on his lonesome. An' we can't make
+any more booze 'cause o' Drew; an' Old Man says, We sh'd worry! A hell
+of a mess! We're due for a big bust-up, I'm thinkin'. What's Foss
+sneakin' about watchin' Drew for? Huh! Answer me that? An' why'd he tell
+me to watch up here an' trail 'im if I saw 'im, without tellin' me why?
+I'm gettin' about sick o' the whole dam' deal! I ain't takin' orders
+from Digger Foss!"
+
+"Me, too," agreed Allegan. "And that fire dance--that's 'at gets me!
+Funny about this guy Drew, comin' here a stranger, an' dancin' the fire
+dance right away. Somethin' funny, all right! Most folks thought maybe
+he'd hooked up with a squaw, but it ain't that. Gets _my_ goat! But how
+'bout the Selden boys?"
+
+"They ain't said a word. I reckon they're in with Old Man, whatever he's
+got on his chest. If we come to a split-up, that'll make Old Man and the
+four boys on one side, and me an' you an' Ed Buchanan and Jay Muenster
+on the other side. Five to four."
+
+"But how 'bout Digger? He's always been strong with Old Man Selden.
+He'll stick with him."
+
+"Maybe--maybe. He won't be with us, though. An' I'm doubtin' if he'll be
+with Selden, either. He's out fer Foss!"
+
+"Fer Jess'my, ye mean!"
+
+"'Sall the same," shrugged Obed Pence. "Le's ride down an' get a couple
+o' drinks, an' then I'll fog it down to Lime Rock with ye. T'hell with
+Digger Foss an' his orderin' me 'round!"
+
+They rode away in silence, winding their way down into Clinker Creek
+Caņon when a mile or more below the forty acres of Oliver Drew. They
+dismounted at Sulphur Spring and pushed through the growth surrounding
+it.
+
+Only a little water now remained in the clay-lined reservoir. The
+protruding end of the three-quarter-inch pipe was now plainly visible,
+eight inches above the surface of the tiny pool.
+
+"Just think," Obed Pence observed: "That pipe's took water down the
+caņon for us for years; and s'long's the pool was full o' water nobody
+ever found the end of it here. At least they never let on they did. An'
+now comes this Drew an' puts the kibosh on everything! I'll tell a man
+I'm gettin' sore about it, Chuck. I want my booze, and I want my share
+o' what we could get out of it. I'm bettin' Standard'll be wild when he
+learns Old Man won't distil any more."
+
+"Can't," corrected Chuck.
+
+"Can't, eh? Who's stoppin' 'im? Drew, that's who, and nobody else! And
+he won't send Drew over the hills talkin' to 'imself, like he's done to
+many a better man before 'im. I'm sore, I tell you. And I'm gonta find
+out what's doin', or know the reason why."
+
+"Le's get clay an' cover the end o' the pipe," suggested Chuck. "Some
+deer hunter's likely to see it if we don't, now that the water's pretty
+near gone."
+
+They solemnly administered this rite in remembrance of dead days, and
+rode on down the caņon single-file.
+
+Over three-quarters of a mile from the spring they left their horses in
+the creek bottom and clambered up a steep slope, slipping on the
+polished pine needles underfoot. Near the summit the trees thinned, and
+heavy chaparral usurped the land. On hands and knees they plunged into
+it, and presently were crawling on their stomachs over an unmarked
+route.
+
+In the heart of the chaparral they came suddenly upon a circular opening
+made by the hand of man. Here was a high ledge of schist, and under it a
+small cave. Grass grew here, for the spot marked the other end of the
+pipe line from Sulphur Spring, and the water that had represented the
+spring's overflow had trickled out to cool the copper coil of the Poison
+Oakers' still, incidentally refreshing the barren land.
+
+The pipe line represented a great amount of toil and patience, but, as
+the pipe had been stolen from a railroad shipment, no great outlay of
+funds. Clinker Creek Caņon dipped so steadily below Sulphur Spring that
+it had been possible to lay the pipe to this hidden spot in the heart of
+the chaparral, far up on the hillside, and still maintain a goodly fall
+for the flow of water.
+
+Only by crawling flat on his face could one reach this secluded
+rendezvous; and in all the years that they had made molasses rum here
+the Poison Oakers had not been disturbed. Not even a hunter would find
+it necessary to penetrate this fastness. Men would have laughed if told
+that water was flowing up here on the dry, rocky eminence.
+
+Before the cave's mouth was an adobe furnace for the fire, and over it
+the now dry end of the pipe hung uselessly. The still was removable, and
+was now in the cave, together with distilled stock on hand and kegs of
+molasses that had been packed into the caņon on burros' backs, then
+trundled laboriously up into the chaparral.
+
+Chuck and Obed entered the open cave and sat themselves down beside a
+barrel with a wooden spigot. They found glasses and wiped soil and
+cobwebs from them with their thumbs, and soon the water-coloured liquor
+flowed to the temporary gladdening of their hearts.
+
+But as it flowed again and again they began renewing their grievances,
+and shook their heads over "the good old days," and mouthed vague
+threats, and forgot all about Lime Rock and the breachy cow.
+
+In the midst of their maudlin conversation Obed Pence heard a sound,
+despite his rum-dulled sensibilities.
+
+"Cut it out!" he husked. "Somebody's beatin' it in here."
+
+He lay flat in the mouth of the cave and looked down the hillside under
+the chaparral.
+
+"Old Man and Bolar," he announced.
+
+"Le's get out an' beat it over the hill, and back down to our
+_caballos_--and they won't know we been here," Chuck suggested.
+
+"Huh! Not me!" retorted Pence. "They already seen our horses, I'll bet.
+Anyway, I'm liquored up just right to tell Old Man how the war broke
+out. I'm glad he's comin'. I'm gonta know what's what right pronto!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+"WAIT!"
+
+
+For over an hour Oliver Drew was obliged to lie flat at the bottom of
+the shallow prospect hole, while Foss remained astride the limb of the
+digger pine and Tommy My-Ma kept hidden under the pile of brush.
+
+There was no chance to steal out and crawl away through the chaparral,
+for, while Digger's back was always toward him, he could not tell which
+way the brush-screened Showut Poche-daka was looking.
+
+At last, though, the man on lookout began to show signs of vast
+uneasiness. His position was uncomfortable, and down at the cabin there
+was, of course, no movement to arouse his interest and relieve the
+tedium of his watch. He squirmed incessantly for a time; and then
+apparently he decided that the object of his espionage had left the
+ranch, for he thrust his glasses in his shirt front and began monkeying
+to the ground.
+
+Oliver's security now was in the hands of chance. If the halfbreed left
+his observation post by a route which passed near the prospect hole,
+Oliver would be discovered. If he decided to leave the thicket by
+crawling downhill, Oliver would be safe from detection.
+
+It was rather a breathless minute that followed, and then he heard the
+gunman moving off through the chaparral in the direction of the
+caņon--the least difficult route by far. Apparently he had not come
+mounted, else he would have retraced his course back to where he would
+have left his horse.
+
+Gradually the sounds of his retreat died away. Still there was no
+movement in the pile of brush, so far as Oliver's ears were able to
+detect. He dared not look up over the edge of the prospect hole that hid
+him.
+
+Minutes passed. Quail called coolly from afar. Still not the slightest
+sound from the brush pile.
+
+For half an hour longer Oliver lay motionless and silent. Had Tommy
+My-Ma slipped out noiselessly and followed Foss? Or was he for some
+obscure reason still hiding under the dry manzanita tops? At the end of
+this period Oliver decided that the Indian must have gone. Anyway, he
+did not purpose to remain in that hole till nightfall.
+
+So he elevated his nose to the land level and peered about cautiously.
+
+Everything remained as he had seen it last. He rose to his feet, left
+the hole, and walked boldly to the brush pile.
+
+A swift examination of the ground showed that Tommy My-Ma had left his
+place of concealment, perhaps long since. There was a plainly marked
+trail through the shattered leaves that led in the same direction taken
+by the departing halfbreed.
+
+Oliver studied the brush pile, and found that the facilities for hiding
+were as he had deduced. Pine limbs had been laid across the hole like
+rafters, and the brush heaped on top of them. Beneath was a space deep
+enough for a man to sit erect; and he might thrust his head up into the
+brush and peer out in all directions. Loose brush concealed the
+entrance, and it had been replaced when the Indian took his leave.
+
+What was the meaning of it all? Foss, of course, had reason to hate him;
+but what could he gain by secretly watching him from cover? And why was
+the Indian watching Foss in turn? All indications pointed to the belief
+that Foss had occupied his observation tree often, and that his shadow
+had as frequently trailed him and spied on him from a prearranged hiding
+place.
+
+What strange, mysterious intrigue had enveloped his life because of the
+unanswered question with which old Peter Drew had struggled for over
+thirty years? When would he face the question? Would the answer be Yes
+or No? Would his college education prove a safeguard against his reading
+the answer wrong, as his poor, unlettered old father had hoped? And
+Jessamy! Would she figure in the answer? Somehow he felt that hope and
+life and Jessamy hung on whether his answer would be Yes or No. His dead
+father's hand seemed to be weaving the warp and woof of his destiny.
+
+Oliver gave up further search for the bees that day. By a circuitous
+route he returned to his irrigating of the garden.
+
+June days passed after this, and July days began. The poison oak had
+turned from green to brilliant red, and now was dark-green once more.
+The air was hot; the grass was sear and yellow; the creek was dry but
+for a deep pool abreast the cabin. But Oliver did not worry much now
+about the creek, except for the loss of its low, comforting murmur and
+the greenness with which it had endowed its banks, because the enlarged
+flow from his spring was ample for his needs.
+
+No longer did linnets sit near his cabin window and sing to the
+accompaniment of his typewriter keys. Their season of love was over; the
+young birds were feathered out and had left their nests. The wild
+canaries still were with him, and hovered about the rambling willow over
+the spring. Eagles soared aloft in the clear, hot skies. Lizards basked
+lazily about the cabin, and blinked up contentedly when he tickled their
+sides with a broomstraw, or dangled pre-swatted flies before their
+grinning lips.
+
+For a week now he had seen no member of the Poison Oaker Gang. The cows
+bearing their brand were all about him, but gave him no trouble, and he
+thought it strange that he chanced to meet no one riding to look after
+them. He had not been bothered. Whether Digger Foss spent his idle hours
+watching him from the branches of his lookout pine he did not know or
+care. He had not seen Jessamy since the morning he left Poison Oak
+Ranch, and all his worriment and discontent found vent in this.
+
+Why had she not ridden down to him, as of old? Had he offended her in
+any way? The thought was unbelievable, for he could recall not the
+slightest hint of any misunderstanding.
+
+He brooded and moped over it, and loved her more and more--realized,
+because of her absence, just how deeply he desired her. He experienced
+all the tortures of first love; and then one day he found his senses.
+
+Then he laughed loud and long, and ran for Poche, and threw the
+silver-mounted saddle on his back. She had come to him when he could not
+go to her. Now her step-father had invited him to her home, and if he
+wished her companionship he must take the male's part and seek it. What
+an utter ass he had been indeed!
+
+It was one o'clock when Poche bore him into the cup in the mountains
+that cradled Poison Oak Ranch. At once the longed-for sight of her
+gladdened his heart once more, for she apparently had seen him coming
+and was walking from the house to meet him.
+
+How her sturdy, womanly figure thrilled his soul! Black as night was the
+hair that was now coiled loosely on her head, in which a red rose blazed
+as when he had seen her last. The confident poise of her head, the warm
+tints of that strong column that was her neck, the brave carriage of her
+shoulders, her swinging stride, the long black lashes that seemed to be
+etched by an Oriental artist--they set his heart to pounding until he
+felt faint; the yearning, hopeless void of love tormented him.
+
+And then with his senses awhirl he leaned from the saddle and felt her
+warm, soft hand in his, and gazed dizzily into the unsounded depths of
+the trout pools shaded by grapevines, to which his fancy had likened her
+eyes. His hand shook and his heart leaped, and his soul cried out for
+her; and all that he could say was:
+
+"How do you do, Miss Selden!"
+
+He saddled White Ann, and over the hills they rode together.
+Commonplaces passed between them until the wilderness enveloped them.
+Then as they sat their horses and gazed down a precipitous slope to the
+river, she asked:
+
+"Just why have you kept away from us all these weeks?"
+
+He reddened. "I'll tell you frankly," he said: "I was a fool. I was
+moping because you had not ridden to see me. You had come so often
+before. And I woke up only today. Today for the first time I realized
+that, since Old Man Selden has opened his door to me, it is my place to
+go to you."
+
+"Of course," she said demurely.
+
+He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
+
+"Some time ago," he told her, "I realized that you sought me out in the
+first place for a purpose."
+
+He paused, and the look he cast at her was eager, though guarded
+carefully.
+
+"Yes?" she questioned.
+
+"Yes," he went on. "I realized that. And also that you _continued_ to
+come because that purpose was not yet fulfilled, and because conditions
+made it necessary for you to look me up."
+
+"Yes, I understand--" as he had come to a stop, rather helplessly.
+
+"Well, just that," he floundered. "And then Selden changed his tactics,
+and I could go to you. So you--you didn't come to me any more."
+
+"Fairly well elucidated," she laughed, "if repetition makes for
+clearness. Well, you understand now--so let's forget it."
+
+"I want you to understand that it wasn't because I didn't wish to come.
+It was just thick-headedness."
+
+"So you have said. Yes, I understand."
+
+The gaze of her black eyes was far away--far away over the deep, rugged
+caņon, over the hills that climbed shelf after shelf to the mystic
+snow-topped mountains, far away into a country that is not of the earth
+earthy. Under her drab flannel shirt her full bosom rose and fell with
+the regularity of her perfect breathing. Her man's hat lay over her
+saddle horn. Like some reigning goddess of the wilderness she sat and
+overlooked the domain that was hers unchallenged; and the profile of her
+brow, and the long, black, drooping lashes, tore at the heart-strings of
+the man until he suffered.
+
+"I can't stand that!" he cried out in his soul; and a pressure of the
+reins brought Poche close to White Ann's side. "Jessamy!" said the man
+huskily. "Jessamy!"
+
+He could say no more, for his voice failed him, and a haze swam before
+his eyes as when he had lost control of himself on the hillside.
+
+"Jessamy!" he managed to cry again; and then, for lack of words, he
+spread his arms out toward her.
+
+The black lashes flicked downward once, but she did not turn her face to
+him. The colour deepened in her throat and mounted to her cheeks, and
+her bosom rose and fell more rapidly.
+
+Then slowly she turned her face to his, and her level gaze searched him,
+unafraid. But not for long this time. Down drooped the black lashes till
+they seemed to have been drawn with pen and India ink on her smooth
+brown cheeks; and they screened a light that caused his heart to bound
+with expectation that was half of hope.
+
+Her red lips moved. "Wait!" she whispered.
+
+His arms fell to his sides. "You--you won't hear me!"
+
+"No--not now."
+
+"You know what I'm trying so hard to say. It means so much to me. It's
+hard for a man to say the one word which he knows will make him or break
+him for all time to come. He'd rather--he'd rather just hope on blindly,
+I guess, than to speak when he can't guess how the woman feels.
+Must--must I say it--right out, Jessamy?"
+
+"No, my friend, don't say it."
+
+"Is there anything that stands between us?"
+
+"Yes. But don't ask what."
+
+"Then you don't love me!"
+
+Her red lips quivered. "I said for you to wait," she told him softly.
+
+"Why should I wait? For what? I know myself. I'm grown. I know that I--"
+
+"Don't!" she interrupted. "Wait!" And she leaned in the saddle and swung
+White Ann away from him.
+
+"Let's ride back home," she said. "You'll stay to supper? The moon will
+be bright for your ride home later. I'll make you a cherry pie!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+"WHEN WE MEET AGAIN!"
+
+
+It will be necessary to return to the day that Chuck Allegan and Obed
+Pence met on the ridge beyond the Old Ivison Place, and rode together to
+the hiding place of the Poison Oakers' moonshine still.
+
+Obed Pence continued to lie prone in the mouth of the cave, while his
+close-set eyes angrily watched the progress of Old Man Selden and his
+son Bolar through the chaparral.
+
+As the continued crawling of the coming pair brought them nearer to the
+retreat Obed Pence withdrew his lank figure into the shadowy cave; and
+he and his companion endeavoured to appear innocent and unconcerned.
+
+Then when Old Man Selden and the boy reached the opening and stood
+erect, Obed appeared at the mouth again and greeted them with a
+matter-of-fact:
+
+"Hello, there!"
+
+"Why, howdy, Obed," returned Adam Selden. "Didn't know ye was here.
+Who's with ye?"
+
+"I reckon you see our horses down in Clinker Caņon," returned Obed in
+trouble-hunting tones. "And you know every horse between Red Mountain
+an' the Gap."
+
+"Yea, me and Bolar thought we saw a couple o' animals through the trees.
+But we hit the ground farther up the creekbed, and come in slonchways.
+Thought maybe one o' the brutes was Chuck's."
+
+Obed Pence snorted softly, but did not add more fuel to an argument
+along this line.
+
+"Me an' the kid was packin' a sack o' salt on a burro down toward the
+river," Adam observed, approaching the cave, "an' thought we'd belly up
+an' have a little smile. Cows need salt. Hello there, Chuck!"--as the
+round, boyish face of Allegan shone like a small moon from the dark
+interior.
+
+"Hello, Old Man!" replied the youth. He was apprehensive over Pence's
+glowering silence, and, to hide his feelings, quickly opened the spigot
+over a glass and passed the water-white drink to his chief.
+
+Adam Selden sat down with it, and Bolar came into the cave and was also
+given a drink by Chuck.
+
+"How early you gonta start the drive for the mountains this year, Old
+Man?" asked the self-appointed host, nervously filling glasses for
+himself and the glowering Pence, who stood with arms folded Napoleonlike
+across his breast, scowlingly regarding the newcomers.
+
+"Well, grass's holdin' out _muy bueno_," said Selden thoughtfully. "Late
+rains done it. I don't think we'll have cause to move 'em any earlier
+than common. The filaree down in the river bottom is--"
+
+But here Napoleon broke his moody silence. "I got somethin' to talk
+about outside o' grass," snapped Obed Pence.
+
+A tense stillness ensued, during which Old
+
+Man Selden deliberately drained his glass and passed it back to Chuck to
+be refilled.
+
+"Well, Obed," he drawled lazily, "got anything important to say, just
+say her."
+
+"Oh, I'll say her!" cried Pence, and tossed off his drink of burning
+liquor by way of fortification.
+
+"Ain't been settin' here by that bar'l a mite too long, have ye,
+Obed?--if I ain't too bold in askin'," was Selden's remark, spoken in
+the tone which turneth away wrath.
+
+"No, I ain't been here too long," Pence told his captain. "And I'm glad
+you've come, Old Man. I want to talk to you about this fella Drew, and
+the way things 'a' been a-goin'."
+
+"Shoot!" invited the old man's booming voice.
+
+Obed came directly to the point. "Well, why ain't we runnin' Drew out?"
+
+Old Man Selden balanced his glass on one peaked knee while he reached
+into a pocket of his _chaparejos_ for a plug of tobacco. He was
+deliberate as he replied:
+
+"Well, Obed, I was waitin' a spell 'count of a little matter that's on
+my mind just at present. I'd advise ye not to be worryin' about Drew.
+I'll tend to him when it's the proper time."
+
+"Yes, you will!" sniffed Pence sarcastically. "But, allowin' that you
+will, I want my booze in the meantime."
+
+"There's the bar'l," said Old Man Selden.
+
+"That ain't gonta last forever!"
+
+"Just so! But time she gets low, we'll be makin' more ag'in. Time Drew's
+gone and we get water runnin' from Sulphur Spring ag'in."
+
+"And I'm wantin' my profit from what we could sell," Pence added,
+unmollified. "I got no money, and won't have none till killin' time,
+'less the still's runnin'. 'Tain't worryin' you none. You got all you
+want without makin' monkey rum. But it ain't like that with me. Why, we
+was makin' five gallon a day--at twenty-five bucks a gallon! And now
+nary a drop. I need the money."
+
+"Well, Obed, they's money all about ye," the old man boomed. "And they's
+things that can be turned into money layin' 'round loose everywhere."
+
+"And there's a county jail, too!" snapped Pence.
+
+"And also federal prisons," Adam added, nodding toward the still and the
+crude fermentation vats.
+
+"Rats! Pro'bition sneaks ain't got me scared! But bustin' into
+somebody's store's a different matter. And while we're talkin' about it,
+Old Man, I don't see as you're so keen for a little job like that as you
+was some months ago."
+
+"Gettin' old, Obed--gettin' old, as the fella says. Squirt another shot
+into her, Chuck." He passed his glass again. "I'll leave all that to you
+kids in future, I'm thinkin'."
+
+"But take your share, o' course," sneered Pence.
+
+"Oh, I reckon not, Obed--I reckon not. I got enough to die on--that's
+all I need. Just putter 'round with a few critters for my remainin'
+years, then turn up my toes peaceful-like. I'm gettin' old, Obed--just
+so!"
+
+There was another prolonged, strained silence. Pence emptied his glass
+twice while it lasted, and his Dutch courage grew apace.
+
+"Looky-here, Old Man," he said at last, "Le's get down to tacks: You're
+double-crossin' us, an' we're dead onto it. For some reason you don't
+wanta drive Drew outa Clinker Creek Caņon. It's got somethin' to do with
+that fire dance. There's more in it for you if you leave Drew alone than
+if you put a burr under his tail. That's all right so far's it goes. But
+you're tryin' to hog it. You're squeezin' the rest o' the Poison Oakers
+out--all but your four kids. Ed and Digger and Chuck here and Jey and
+me's left out in the cold. That's what! And we don't like it, and ain't
+gonta stand for it. If there's more profit in it to leave Drew alone,
+leave 'im alone. But le's all get our share o' this big profit, like we
+always did."
+
+"Couple o' more shots and ye'll be weepin' about her, Pencie," dryly
+observed old Adam.
+
+"Never mind that! I c'n handle my booze. You come across."
+
+"I've known ye about thirteen year, Obed," said Adam in tones
+dangerously purring, "and I've never heard ye talk to me thataway
+before. I wouldn't now, if I was you."
+
+"And I've never seen you act like you're doin' in those thirteen years!"
+cried Pence. "Before now there wasn't no need to bawl you out. But
+you're turnin' crooked."
+
+Adam rose and placed an enormous hand on Obed's shoulder.
+
+"Just so! Just so!" he purred. "Now, you ramble down an' get in yer
+saddle an' ride on home, Pencie. Ye've had enough liquor for today. An'
+when ye're sober we'll all talk about her. Just so! That's best. Go on
+now--yer blood's hot!"
+
+Pence jerked his shoulder away and backed farther into the gloom of the
+cave. Old Man Selden quickly moved so that his body was not silhouetted
+against the light streaming in at the mouth.
+
+"I don't want none o' yer dam' fatherly advice," growled Pence. "I just
+want a square deal. If there's a reason why Drew oughta be left alone I
+want to know it. And I want to know it now!"
+
+"Just so! Are ye really mad, now, Pencie?"
+
+"I am mad!"
+
+"_And_ sober?"
+
+"Yes, sober. Shoot her out!"
+
+The eagle eyes of Old Man Selden were fixed intently on the face showing
+from the gloom. Every muscle was tense, every faculty alert. His
+beetling grey brows came down and hid his eyes from the younger man, but
+those cold blue eyes saw everything.
+
+"Bein's ye're sober, Obed," the old man drawled, "I'll be obliged to
+tell ye that no Poison Oaker ner any other man ever talked to me like
+you been doin' and got away with it. Just so! And, bein's ye're sober,
+I'll say that my business is my own, an' I'll keep her to myself till I
+get ready to tell her. Furthermore, I'm still runnin' the Poison Oakers,
+and what I say goes now same as a couple months ago. I know what's good
+for us boys better'n any o' the rest o' ye, and I'm doin' it."
+
+"You're a dam' liar!" shouted Pence.
+
+Old Man Selden's gun hand leaped to his hip. "Come a-shootin', kid!" he
+bellowed.
+
+He whipped out his Colt, shot from the hip. The roar of his big gun
+filled the cave. Screened by the smoke of it, Old Man Selden sprang
+nimbly to the deeper shadows.
+
+There he crouched, his cavernous eyes peering out through the dense,
+confined smoke like a lynx posing to spring upon a burrowing gopher.
+
+Obed Pence had not been slow. He too had leaped the instant the old
+man's hand dropped to his holster. He had ducked into deeper shadows
+still, and had not been hit. Now he fired through the smoke wreaths in
+the direction he supposed the old man had darted. A report from Adam's
+gun roared on the heels of his own, and rocks and earth rattled down a
+foot from his shoulder.
+
+The cave extended to right and to left of the opening. Each of the
+fighters was hidden by the darkness of his particular end, and now the
+smoke of the three shots hung in a heavy blanket between them directly
+opposite the door. Under cover of this Chuck and Bolar, sprawling flat,
+had wriggled frantically out of the cave. Each from his own nook, the
+belligerents leaned cautiously forward, guns ready, breath held in, and
+tried to pierce the rack of smoke and the obscurity of the other's
+hiding place.
+
+It seemed to the younger men, gazing in, that the situation meant a
+deadlock. Neither gunman could see the other, and, with no breath of air
+stirring in the cave, the smoke lay between them like a solid wall.
+
+Five minutes passed without a sound inside. Then Bolar drew nearer to
+the cave and shouted in:
+
+"What you gonta do? Neither o' you c'n see the other. You can't shoot.
+What you gonta do?"
+
+Complete silence answered him. Then he realized that neither his father
+nor Obed Pence would dare to speak lest the sound of his voice reveal
+his whereabouts and call forth a shot from the other end of the cave.
+
+"You got to give it up for now!" he shouted in again. "I'll count
+one-two-three; and when I say three, both o' ye throw yer guns in front
+o' the mouth. I'll ask if ye'll do this. Both o' you answer at once.
+Ready!... Will you?"
+
+"Yes," came the smothered replies of both men in the cave.
+
+"All right now. Get ready! One ... two ... _three_!"
+
+At the word "three" two heavy-calibre Colts clattered on the dirt floor
+before the entrance and lay not a foot apart, proving that there was a
+recognized code of honour among the Poison Oakers. Bolar stooped and
+entered, gathering them in his hands.
+
+"All set," he announced. "Come out an' begin all over ag'in."
+
+Old Man Selden was the first to come out. Pence quickly followed him.
+Bolar had emptied both weapons of cartridges, and now he silently passed
+each his gun.
+
+"What'll it be, Pencie?" asked Old Man Selden, bending his fiery glance
+on his dark, slim enemy. "Shall we draw when we meet ag'in, er forget it
+entirely--or see who c'n load an' shoot quickest right here an' now?"
+
+"It's up to you, Old Man."
+
+"Forget it," advised Bolar. "For now, anyway."
+
+"Shall we go our ways now, an' draw when we come together ag'in?" It was
+Old Adam's question.
+
+"Why can't you come across an' do the square thing now?" Pence growled.
+"Then ever'thing's settled."
+
+"Just so! But y're answerin' my question with another'n. Do we draw when
+we meet ag'in?"
+
+"You won't be square?"
+
+"I'll tell ye nothin'. Ye called me a dam' liar, so you couldn't believe
+it if I had anything to say to ye."
+
+Pence shrugged indifferently and turned away. "When we meet ag'in," he
+said lightly.
+
+"Just so!" drawled Old Man Selden. "Just so!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+THE WATCHMAN OF THE DEAD
+
+
+Oliver Drew knew that the Mona Fiesta would be held by the Showut
+Poche-dakas when the July moon was full. The Mona Fiesta was the tribal
+"Feast of the Dead." It was purely an Indian rite, unmixed with any
+ceremonies incident to the feast days of the Catholic saints, as were
+most other celebrations. Consequently, while the whites were not
+definitely prohibited from being spectators, they were not invited to
+attend. They often went out of curiosity, Oliver had been told by
+Jessamy, but always they observed from a respectful distance and went
+unnoticed by the worshippers.
+
+The underlying principle of the Feast of the Dead was ancestor worship,
+in which all of the Pauba Tribes were particularly devout. Jessamy told
+Oliver that she had witnessed the ceremony once from a distance, but
+that, as it occurred at night, she had seen little of what was taking
+place.
+
+Oliver had wondered that he had received no message from old Chupurosa
+Hatchinguish after the night of the fire dance. He was now a member of
+the tribe, he supposed, but all actual contact with his new-found
+brethren seemed to have ceased when he rode away from the fiesta. The
+mystery of why he was in this country hung on his connection with the
+Showut Poche-dakas. He was impatient to get in closer touch with the
+wrinkled old chief and bring matters to a head.
+
+And now another feast day was close at hand. In two more nights a full
+moon would shower its radiance over the land of the Poison Oakers. He
+had received no word, no intimation that he would be wanted at the
+reservation for the Mona Fiesta. Whites were excluded, he knew; but,
+then, he was now a brother of the Showut Poche-dakas, and he hoped
+against hope that he would be commanded to appear.
+
+But the two intervening days went by, and the evening of the celebration
+was at hand, with no one having arrived to bid him come.
+
+He was seated on his little porch that evening, listening to the night
+sounds of chaparral and forest, as the moon edged its big round face
+over the hill and smiled at him. He was thinking half of Jessamy, half
+of an article that he had planned to write. Two fair-sized checks for
+previous work had reached him that week, and he was beginning to have
+visions of a future.
+
+In a pine tree close at hand an owl asked: "Who? Who? Who--o-o-o?" in
+doleful tones. From a distant hilltop came the derisive, outlaw laughter
+of coyotes. A big toad hopped on the porch, blinked at the man in the
+moonlight, and then started ponderously for his door. Oliver rose and
+with his foot turned him twice, but the toad corrected his course
+immediately and seemed determined to enter the house willy-nilly.
+
+"But I don't want you in there," Oliver protested boyishly. "I might
+step on you in the dark, or accidentally put my hand on your old cold
+back."
+
+He closed the door, and the toad hopped on the threshold, as if resolved
+to await his chance for a strategic entrance.
+
+"All right," said Oliver. "Sit there! When I'm ready to go in I'll climb
+through a window. You are not going into that house!"
+
+He laughed at himself. His was a lonesome life when he was not with
+Jessamy; and, always a lover of every living thing that God has created,
+he had made friends with the wild life that moved about his cabin, so
+that toads and lizards, birds and squirrels looked to him for food and
+had no fear of him.
+
+He sat puffing at his pipe and giving the obstinate toad blink for
+blink, when there came to his ears strange sounds from up the lonely
+caņon.
+
+At first he imagined they were made by roving cattle, then he recognized
+the ring of shod hoofs on the stones in the trail. Then voices. And
+presently he knew that many horsemen were riding toward the cabin--a
+veritable cavalcade.
+
+He rose from his chair and stood listening, not without a feeling of
+apprehension. As the concerted thudding of many hoofs drew closer and
+closer he ran into the cabin and strapped on his six-shooter. He had
+been at a complete loss to interpret Old Man Selden's later attitude
+toward him, and was wary of a trap. The sounds he heard could mean
+nothing to him except that the Poison Oakers were at last riding upon
+him to begin their raid.
+
+Suddenly from the other direction came the clattering hoofbeats of a
+single galloping horse. Silvery under the magic light of the moon, a
+white horse burst into view, galloping over a little rise to the south.
+It carried a rider. Now came a familiar "Who-hoo!" And Jessamy Selden
+soon was bending from her saddle at the cabin door.
+
+"Thank goodness, I'm in time!" she said. "I didn't know when they would
+start, and I waited too long."
+
+"What in the mischief are you doing in the saddle this time of night?"
+he demanded.
+
+"Oh, that's nothing! I get out of bed sometimes and saddle up for a
+moonlight ride. I love it."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Here they come! I wanted to get here ahead of them and warn you to
+pretend you were expecting them. You're--you're supposed to know."
+
+"I'm supposed to know what?"
+
+"About the Mona Fiesta. It's to be observed here on the Old Ivison
+Place. It always is. And--and you're supposed to know it."
+
+"How explicit you aren't! Well, what--"
+
+"Sh! There they are! I can't explain now."
+
+Oliver's thoughts were moving swiftly, and he did not put them aside
+even when he saw his gate being opened to a large company of horsemen.
+
+"I've got you," he said. "Your little attempt at subterfuge has failed
+again. Those are the Showut Poche-dakas coming?"
+
+She nodded in her slow, emphatic manner.
+
+"Uh-huh! I see. And you might have told me many days ago that they would
+come. And if that isn't so, you could have got here much earlier tonight
+to warn me in time. But that would have given me an opportunity to
+question you, and this you didn't want. So you waited till they were
+almost upon me, then made a Sheridan dash to warn me, when there would
+be no time to answer embarrassing questions. Pretty clever, sister! But
+you see I'm dead on to your little game."
+
+Her laugh was as near to a giggle as he had ever heard from her.
+
+"You're a master analyst," she praised. "I'll 'fess up. It's just as you
+say. You know my nature makes it necessary for me to dodge direct
+issues, where your mystery is concerned. But they're right on us--go out
+and meet 'em."
+
+"You'll wait?"
+
+"Sure."
+
+The foremost riders of the long cavalcade were now abreast the cabin,
+and Oliver Drew stepped toward them as they halted their ponies.
+
+The strong light of the full moon was sufficient to reveal the
+wrinkled-leather skin of old Chupurosa Hatchinguish, who rode in the
+lead, sitting his blanketed horse as straight as a buck of twenty years.
+Oliver reached him and held out a hand.
+
+"Welcome to the Hummingbird," he said in Spanish.
+
+"Greetings," returned the old man, solemnly taking the offered hand.
+"The July moon is in the full, brother, and I have brought the Showut
+Poche-dakas for the yearly Mona Fiesta to the spot where our fathers
+worshipped since a time when no man can remember."
+
+"Thou art welcome," said Oliver again, entirely lost as to just what was
+expected of him.
+
+Chupurosa left the blanket which he used as a saddle. It was the signal
+for all to dismount, and like a troop of cavalry the Showut Poche-dakas
+left their horses. They tied them to fenceposts and trees out of respect
+for the landowner's rights in the matter of grass.
+
+"Is all in readiness?" asked the ancient chief.
+
+"Er--" Oliver paused.
+
+A hand gripped his arm. "Yes," Jessamy's voice breathed in his ear.
+
+"All is in readiness," said Oliver promptly.
+
+Jessamy then stepped forward and offered her hand to Chupurosa.
+
+"Hello, my Hummingbird!" she caroled mischievously in English.
+
+"The light of the moon takes nothing from the Seņorita's loveliness,"
+said the old man gallantly.
+
+By this time the Showut Poche-dakas had formed a semicircle before the
+cabin.
+
+"Let us proceed to the Mona Fiesta," said Chupurosa. "Let the son of Dan
+Smeed lead the way."
+
+Over this strange new designation Oliver was given no time for thought;
+for instantly Jessamy laid a firm grip above his elbow and led him to
+the pasture gate. The Showut Poche-dakas followed at the heels of
+Jessamy's mare.
+
+"Don't worry," the girl whispered into Oliver's ear. "Nothing much will
+be required of you. Just try to appear as if you know all about it, and
+had attended to the preliminaries yourself."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Oliver dazedly, his mind now in a whirl.
+
+She led him across the pasture in the direction from which she had
+ridden so unexpectedly to the cabin. They reached a little _arroyo_, and
+down it they turned to the creekbed. They crossed the watercourse and
+turned down it. Presently they entered a cluster of pines and spruce
+trees, which was close to what Oliver called The Four Pools.
+
+In succession, four deep depressions in the bedrock of the creekbed were
+ranged, and each held clear, cool water, fed by an undiscovered spring,
+though the creek proper was now entirely dry. In the bedrock about these
+pools Oliver had previously noted several round holes the size of a
+half-bushel measure. These were _morteros_, he knew--the mortars in
+which the California Indians pound acorns in the making of the dish
+_bellota_. He had often speculated on the probable antiquity of these
+_morteros_, and had dreamed of early-day scenes enacted there and about
+them.
+
+There was a circular open space in the midst of the tall, whispering
+trees. Just above this spot, up the steep hillside, he had lain in the
+prospect hole and watched Digger Foss spying on the cabin down below,
+while Tommy My-Ma hid under the brush and spied on him. Into the open
+space in the trees the fearless girl led the way, and there in the
+centre of it the moonlight streaming through the branches revealed a
+huge pile of brush and wood, arranged as if for a great fire.
+
+She pressed his arm, and they came to a halt. Behind them the Showut
+Poche-dakas halted. To Oliver's side stepped Chupurosa, and spoke in the
+tongue of the Paubas to a man at his right hand.
+
+This man stepped to the pile of brush and wood and fired it.
+
+As the flames leaped up and licked at the sun-dried fuel the Indians
+closed in, and now the light of the fire showed Oliver that there were
+women among their number. At the edge of the trees they formed a circle
+about the fire, then all of them save Chupurosa squatted on the ground.
+
+And now the firelight brought something else to view. It was nothing
+more mysterious than a wooden drygoods box at the foot of one of the
+pines, and beside it stood a large red earthen _olla_. What these held
+Oliver could not see. He was puzzling over the fact that these simple
+arrangements had been made on his land while he sat on his porch two
+hundred yards away and smoked, for he had passed this spot early that
+evening and it had been as usual then.
+
+The dark-skinned men and women squatted there silently about the fire,
+their serious black eyes blinking into it. There was something pathetic
+about it all. They were always so serious, so intent, so devout; and
+their poor, ragged clothes and bare feet were so evident.
+
+"Join the circle," whispered Jessamy.
+
+Oliver obeyed.
+
+Then Jessamy stepped to Chupurosa, who had been gazing at her silently.
+
+"Good-night, my Hummingbird," she said, and smiled at him.
+
+An answering smile lighted the withered features, and once more the old
+man took the girl's slim hand in his.
+
+He dropped it. She turned and vaulted into her saddle. The mare leaped
+away over the moonlit pasture. For a time the thudety-thud of her
+galloping hoofs floated back, and then came silence.
+
+Amid a continuation of this stillness Chupurosa stepped close to the
+fire, now leaping high, and stretched forth his brown, wrinkled hands.
+He threw back his head and began speaking softly, directing his voice
+aloft. Not a word of what he said was known to Oliver. Gradually his
+voice rose, and his tones were guttural, growling. His body swayed from
+right to left, but he kept his withered hands outstretched. Presently
+tears began trickling down his cheeks, but he continued his prayer, or
+address, or invocation, his tears unheeded.
+
+Now one by one his silent listeners began to weep. They wept silently,
+and, but for their tears, Oliver would not have realized their deep
+emotion. Sometimes they rocked from side to side, but always they
+maintained silence and kept their tear-dimmed eyes focused on the
+speaker.
+
+Abruptly Chupurosa came to a full stop, backed from the fire, and
+squatted on the ground inside the circle. No applause, not a word, no
+sign of any nature followed the cessation of his harangue.
+
+Now two young Indians led forth an old, old man. Each of them held one
+of his arms. He was stooped and trembly, and his feet dragged pitiably;
+and as he neared the fire Oliver saw that he was totally blind.
+
+Never before in his life had the white man seen age so plainly stamped
+on human countenance. Oliver had thought Chupurosa old, but he appeared
+as a man in the prime of life in comparison with this blind patriarch.
+His long hair was white as snow, and this in itself was a mark of
+antiquity seldom seen in the race. It was not until long afterward that
+Oliver found out that this man was a notable among the Pauba Tribes,
+Maquaquish by name--the oldest man among them, a seer, counsellor, and
+medicine man whose prophesies and prognostications were forceful in the
+regulation of a great portion of the Paubas' lives. He was bareheaded,
+barefooted, and wore only blue overalls, a cloth girdle, and a coarse
+yellow shirt.
+
+When at a comfortable distance from the fire the trio came to a stop.
+The two conductors of the pathetic blind figure knelt promptly on one
+knee, one on each side of him. With their bent knees touching behind
+him, they gently lowered him until he found the seat which their sinewy
+thighs had made for him. There was a few moments' silence, and then he
+lifted his trembling hands and began to speak.
+
+Oliver carried no watch, and would not have had the discourtesy to
+consult it if he had; but he believed that Maquaquish spoke for two
+solid hours without pause. And all this time the two who upheld him on
+their knees and steadied him with their hands seemed not to move a
+muscle. And not a sound came from the audience beyond an occasional
+uncontrollable sob. Maquaquish spoke in hushed tones that blended
+strangely with the night sounds of the forest. His physical attitude and
+his delivery were those of a story-teller rather than an orator or
+preacher; and his listeners hung on every word, their black bead eyes
+fixed constantly on his face.
+
+Oliver Drew was dreaming dreams. He would have given all that he had to
+be able to interpret what Maquaquish was saying. What strange traditions
+was he recalling to their minds? What hidden chapters in the bygone
+history of this ancient race? Never was congregation more wrapped up in
+a speaker's words. Never were religious zealots more devout. Strange
+thoughts filled the white man's mind.
+
+He was roused from his dreaming with a start. Maquaquish had ceased
+speaking, and a low chanting sounded about the fire. It grew in volume
+as the blind man's escort led him back to his place in the circle. It
+grew louder, weirder still, as the two who had aided the seer stepped to
+the drygoods box and carried it between them past the fire. As they
+walked with it beyond the circle every Indian rose to his feet and
+followed slowly. Oliver did likewise, not knowing what else to do.
+
+On the brink of one of the pools the assemblage halted, the firelight
+playing over them. From the box its custodians removed bolts of cheap
+new calico cloth of many colours. Two of these they unwound, and laid
+along the ground, leading away from the edge of the chosen pool.
+
+Then the two slipped out of their clothes and stepped naked into the
+water to their waists, where each laid hold of an end of a strip of
+calico and stood motionless.
+
+To the edge of the moonlit pool stepped Chupurosa. He extended his hands
+over the water and spoke a few sonorous words. As his hands came down
+the chanting broke out anew, and now the men in the water began
+gathering in the strips of calico, washing the cloth in the water as
+they reeled it to them.
+
+At last they finished. The chanting ceased. The two nude men carried the
+dripping cloth from the water in bundles. The assemblage filed back to
+the dying fire, all but the two who had washed the cloth.
+
+When the Showut Poche-dakas were once more squatting in a circle about
+the blaze, one of the two, now dressed, entered the circle with the red
+_olla_ filled with water from the pool. This was passed from hand to
+hand around the circle, and each one drank from it. When it came to
+Oliver he solemnly acted his part, and passed the _olla_ to his
+left-hand neighbour.
+
+As the _olla_ finished its round, into the circle danced the two who had
+washed the cloth. In their arms they held bolts of dry cloth; and amid
+shouts and laughter they threw them into the air, while the feminine
+element of the tribe clutched up eagerly at them.
+
+When the last bolt of calico had been thrown and had been captured and
+claimed by some delighted squaw, the assemblage, talking and laughing in
+an everyday manner, left the Four Pools and started back to their
+horses.
+
+The Mona Fiesta was over. Symbolically the clothes of the dead had been
+washed. The Showut Poche-dakas had drunk of the water that had cleansed
+them. And this was about all that Oliver Drew ever learned of the
+significance of the ceremony.
+
+At the cabin Chupurosa waited on his horse until his tribesmen had all
+ridden through the gate. Then he leaned over and spoke to Oliver.
+
+"When a year has passed," he said, "and the same moon which we see
+tonight again looks down upon us, the Showut Poche-dakas will once more
+wash the clothes of the dead and drink of the water. I enjoin thee,
+Watchman of the Dead, to have all in readiness once more, as thou hadst
+tonight. _Adios_, Watchman of the Dead!"
+
+And he rode off slowly through the moonlight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+THE QUESTION
+
+
+The morning following the Feast of the Dead, Oliver Drew rode Poche out
+of Clinker Creek Caņon, driving Smith ahead of them, on the way to
+Halfmoon Flat for supplies. Over the hills above the American River he
+saw a white horse galloping toward him.
+
+This was to be a chance meeting with Jessamy. He had an idea she would
+not be anxious to face him, after her attempted subterfuge of the night
+before; so he slipped from the saddle, captured Smith, and led the two
+animals back into the woods.
+
+Then he hurried to a tree on the outskirts and hid behind it.
+
+On galloped White Ann, with the straight, sturdy figure in the saddle.
+As they came closer Oliver knew by her face that Jessamy had not seen
+him; and as they came abreast he stepped out quickly and shouted.
+
+Jessamy turned red, reined in, and faced him, her lips twitching.
+
+"Good morning, my Star of Destiny!" he said.
+
+A flutter of bafflement showed in her black lashes, but the lips
+continued to twitch mischievously.
+
+"_Buenos dias_, Watchman of the Dead!" she shot back at him.
+
+Oliver's eyes widened.
+
+"Got under your guard with that one, eh, ol'-timer? Just so!--if you'll
+permit a Seldenism. Tit for tat, as the fella says! Your move again."
+
+And then she threw back her head and laughed to the skies above her.
+
+"Where are you going?" he asked.
+
+"Ridin'."
+
+"You weren't headed for the Old Ivison Place."
+
+"No, not this morning. I was not seeking you. But since I've met you,
+and the worst is over, I'll not avoid you."
+
+"Help me pack a load of grub down the caņon; then I'll go 'ridin' with
+you."
+
+She nodded assent.
+
+"I thought so," she observed, as he led Poche and Smith from hiding.
+
+"I thought you'd turn back, or turn off, if you saw me here ahead of
+you," he made confession.
+
+"I might have done that," she told him as they herded Smith into the
+road and followed him.
+
+They said nothing more about what had taken place the night before until
+the bags had been filled and diamond-hitched, and Smith was rolling his
+pack from side to side on the homeward trail. Then Oliver asked
+abruptly:
+
+"Who laid that fire, and put the box of cloth and the _olla_ at The Four
+Pools yesterday?"
+
+"Please, sir, I done it," she replied.
+
+"When?"
+
+"Just before I rode to your cabin last evening."
+
+"Uh-huh!" he grunted, and fell silent again.
+
+At the cabin she helped him throw off the diamond-hitch and unload the
+packbags. Then the shaggy Smith was left to his own devices--much to his
+loudly voiced disapproval--and Jessamy and Oliver rode off into the
+hills.
+
+"Which way?" he asked as they topped the ridge.
+
+"Lime Rock," she replied.
+
+Tracing cow paths single-file, they wound through and about chaparral
+patches and rocky caņons till they reached the old trail that led to
+Lime Rock.
+
+Lime Rock upreared itself on the lip of a thousand-foot precipice that
+overhung the river. It was three hundred feet in height, a gigantic
+white pencil pointing toward the sky. At its base was a small level
+space, large enough for a wagon and team to turn, but the remainder of
+the land about and above it was hillside, too steep for cows to climb.
+And from the edge of the level land the caņonside dropped straight
+downward, a mass of craggy rocks and ill-nourished growth. The trail
+that led to Lime Rock wound its way over a shelf four feet in width,
+hacked in the hillside. One false step on this trail and details of what
+must inevitably ensue would be hideous.
+
+Oliver led the way when they reached the beginning of the trail. Both
+Poche and White Ann were mountain bred animals, sure-footed and
+unconcerned over Nature's threatening eccentricities. For a quarter of a
+mile the bay and the white threaded the narrow path, their riders
+silent. Then they came to Lime Rock and the security of the level land
+about it.
+
+Here Oliver and Jessamy sat their horses and gazed down the dizzy
+precipice at the rushing river, and up the steep, rocky wall on the
+other side.
+
+"Do you know who owns the land on which our horses are standing?"
+Jessamy finally asked.
+
+"I've never given it a thought," said Oliver.
+
+"It belongs to Damon Tamroy."
+
+"That so? I didn't know he owned anything over this way."
+
+"Yes, Damon owns it. But I have an option on it."
+
+"You! Have an option on it!"
+
+"Yes, a year's option. It was rather an underhanded trick that I played
+on old Damon, but he's not very angry about it. It's my first business
+venture.
+
+"You see, I learned through a letter from a girl friend in San Francisco
+that a big cement company was thinking of invading this country. She
+wrote it merely as a bit of entertaining news, but I looked at it
+differently.
+
+"I knew where they'd begin their invasion. Right here! That magnificent
+monument there is solid limestone, and the hills back of it are the
+same, though covered by a thin layer of soil. So I went to the owner of
+the land, Damon Tamroy, and got a year's option on it for twenty-five
+dollars--a hundred and sixty acres.
+
+"How Damon laughed at me! I told him outright why I wanted to buy the
+land, if ever I could scrape enough together. He didn't consider it very
+valuable, and it may become mine any day this year that I can pungle up
+four hundred and seventy-five bucks more. When he quizzed me, I told him
+frankly that I was doing it in an effort to preserve Lime Rock for
+posterity, and he laughed louder than ever.
+
+"But he changed his tune when a representative of the cement company
+approached him with an offer of fifteen dollars an acre. He took his
+loss good-naturedly enough, but accused me of putting over a slick
+little business deal on him. I had done so, in a way, and admitted it;
+and ever since I've been talking myself blue in the face when I meet
+him, trying to convince him that it's not the money I'm after at all.
+
+"Think of an old hog of a cement company coming in here and erecting a
+rumbling old plant, with the noon whistle deriding the reverential calm
+of this magnificent caņon, and their old drills and dynamite and things
+ripping Lime Rock from its throne! Bah! I'm going to San Francisco soon
+to get a job. I may decide to go this week. It will keep me hustling to
+put away four hundred and seventy-five dollars between now and the day
+my option expires."
+
+Oliver sat looking gravely at the young idealist, suppressing his
+disappointment over the possibility of her early departure.
+
+"But we have to have cement," he pointed out.
+
+"Do we? Maybe so. But there's lots of limestone in the west. Men don't
+need to search out such spots as this in which to get it. There are less
+picturesque places, which will yield enough cement material for all our
+needs. Sometimes I think these big money-grabbers just love to ruin
+Nature with their old picks and powder. You may agree with me or not--I
+don't care. I'm not utilitarian, and don't care who knows it. The
+world's against me in my big fight to keep the money hogs from robbing
+life of all its poetry; but it's a fight to the last ditch! I'll save
+Lime Rock, anyway, if I have to beg and borrow."
+
+"I don't know that I disagree with you at all," he told her softly.
+"Money doesn't mean a great deal to me. I've shed no idle tears over my
+failure to inherit the money that I expected would be mine at Dad's
+death. I hold no ill will toward Dad. There's too much wampum in the
+world today. It won't buy much. The more people have the more they want.
+The so-called 'standard of living' continues to rise, and with it the
+ills of our civilization steadily increase. Luxuries ruin health.
+Automobiles make our muscles sluggish. Moving pictures clog our thinking
+apparatus. Telephones make us lazy. Phonographs and piano-players reduce
+our appreciation of the technique of music, which can come only by study
+and practice. What flying machines will do to us remains to be seen, but
+they'll never carry us to heaven!
+
+"No, money means little enough to me. Give me the big outdoors and a
+regular horse, a keen zest in life, and true appreciation of every
+creature and rock and tree and blade that God has created, and I'll
+struggle along."
+
+As he talked the colour had been mounting to her face. When he ceased
+she turned starry eyes upon him, her white teeth showing between
+slightly parted lips.
+
+"Oliver Drew," she said, "you have made me very happy. I--"
+
+A rush of blood throbbed suddenly at Oliver's temples, and once again he
+swung his horse close to hers.
+
+"I'll try to make you happy always," he said low-voiced. "Jessamy--"
+Again he opened his arms for her, but as before she drew herself away
+from him.
+
+"Don't! Not--not now! Wait--Oliver!"
+
+"Wait! Always wait! Why?"
+
+"I--I must tell you something first. I can tell you now--after--after
+last night."
+
+"Then tell me quickly," he demanded.
+
+She rested both hands on her saddle horn and rose in her stirrups. For a
+long time her black eyes gazed down the precipice below them, while the
+wind whipped wisps of hair about her forehead. Oliver waited, drunk with
+the thought of his nearness to her.
+
+"Watchman of the Dead!" she murmured at last.
+
+Oliver started.
+
+"Two years ago," she went on softly, "I met the second Watchman of the
+Dead. You are the third. The first was murdered in this forest. His name
+was Bolivio, and he made silver-mounted saddles and hair-tasseled
+bridles."
+
+Oliver scarce dared to breathe for fear of breaking the spell that
+seemed to have come over her. She did not look at him. She continued to
+gaze into her beloved caņon and at her beloved hills beyond.
+
+"Oh, where shall I begin!" she cried at last. "Where is the beginning? A
+man would begin at the first, I suppose, but a woman just can't! But I
+won't be true to the feminine method and begin at the end. I won't be a
+copy-cat. I'll begin in the middle, anyway."
+
+A smile flickered across her red lips; but still she gazed away from
+him.
+
+"Two years ago," she said, "I met the dearest man."
+
+Oliver straightened, and lumps shuttled at the hinges of his jaws.
+
+"I was riding White Ann on one of my lonely wanderings through the
+woods. I met him on the ridge above the Old Ivison Place and the river.
+
+"After that I met him many times, in the forest and elsewhere; and the
+more I talked with him the more I liked him. He was my idea of a man."
+
+Oliver, too, was now gazing into the caņon, but he saw neither crags nor
+trees nor rushing green river.
+
+"And he grew to like me," her low tones continued. "We talked on many
+subjects, but mostly of what we've been talking about today.
+
+"He was an idealist, this man. He was comparatively wealthy, but there
+are things in life that he placed above money and its accumulation. By
+and by he grew to like me more and more, and finally he told me point
+blank that I was his ideal woman; and then he grew confidential and told
+me all about himself--his past, present, and what he hoped for in the
+future. And in my hands he placed a trust. Please God, I have tried to
+keep the faith!"
+
+She threw back her head and followed the flight of an eagle soaring
+serenely over Lime Rock. And with her eyes thus lifted she softly said:
+
+"That man was Peter Drew--your father."
+
+Oliver's breast heaved, but he made no sound. Once more her eyes were
+sweeping the abyss.
+
+"That's the middle," she said. "Now I'll go back to the beginning and
+tell you what Peter Drew entrusted to my keeping.
+
+"Thirty years ago Peter Drew, who then called himself Dan Smeed, was the
+partner of Adam Selden. They mined and hunted and trapped together
+throughout this country.
+
+"There were other activities, too, which I shall not mention. You
+understand. Your father told me all about it, kept nothing back.
+Remember that I said he was my idea of a man; and if in his youth he had
+been wild and--well, seemed criminally inclined--I found that easy to
+forget. Certainly the manliness and sacrifice of his later years wiped
+out all this a thousand times.
+
+"Well, to proceed: Peter Drew and Adam Selden married Indian girls.
+Peter Drew won out in the fire dance and became a member of the Showut
+Poche-dakas. Adam Selden failed, and, according to the custom, took his
+wife from the tribe and lived with her elsewhere. Six months afterward
+the wife of Selden died.
+
+"Peter Drew, however, having become a recognized member of the tribe,
+was taken into their full confidence. According to their simple belief,
+he had conquered all obstacles that stood between him and this
+affiliation; therefore the gods had ordained that full trust should be
+placed in him. And with their beautiful faith and simplicity they did
+not question his honesty. So according to an old, old tradition of the
+tribe the white man was appointed Watchman of the Dead.
+
+"I know little of this story. All of the traditions of the Showut
+Poche-dakas are clouded, so far as our interpretation of them goes. But
+it appears, from what your father told me, that ages ago a white-skinned
+chief had been Watchman of the Dead. Mercy knows where he came from,
+for, so far as history goes, the whites had not then invaded the
+country. But after him, whenever a white-skinned man conquered the evil
+spirits of the fire and became a member, he was appointed Watchman of
+the Dead. So in the natural order of things the honour came to Peter
+Drew.
+
+"Up to this time the only other Watchman of the Dead remembered by even
+old Maquaquish and Chupurosa was the man called Bolivio. Holding this
+simple office, it seems that Bolivio had stumbled upon the secret so
+jealously guarded by the Showut Poche-dakas. He tried to turn this
+secret information to his own advantage, and in so doing he broke faith
+with the tribe that had adopted him as a brother. Found dead in the
+forest with a knife in his heart, is the abrupt climax of his tale of
+treachery. And so the tradition of the lost mine of Bolivio had its
+birth.
+
+"Centuries ago, no doubt, the Showut Poche-dakas discovered the
+spodumene gems which were responsible for the fiction concerning the
+lost mine of Bolivio. They polished them crudely and worshipped them.
+Spodumene gems always are found in pockets in the rock, and they are
+always hidden in wet clay in these pockets. Solid stone will be all
+about them, with no trace of disintegrated matter, until a pocket is
+struck. Therein will be found separate stones of varying sizes, always
+sealed in a natural vacuum, which in some way forever retains moisture
+in the clay.
+
+"This peculiarity appealed to the superstitious natures of the Showut
+Poche-dakas. It is their age-old custom to bury their dead in pockets
+hacked in cliffs of solid stones, sealing them with a cement of clay and
+pulverized granite. One can readily see how the discovery of these
+beautiful gems, sealed in pockets as they sealed their dead, might
+affect them. They determined that the glittering stones represented the
+bodies of their ancestors, and from that time on the lilac-tinted gems
+became something to be worshipped and guarded faithfully.
+
+"Doubtless when Bolivio was appointed Watchman of the Dead he was told
+this secret, and learned where the stones were to be found. He got some
+of them, and sent them East to find out whether they were valuable. He
+polished two, and placed them in bridle _conchas_. Then before word came
+from New York the Indians stabbed him for his deceit.
+
+"His elaborate equestrian outfit remained with the tribe, and your
+father acquired it when he became Watchman of the Dead. For some reason
+unknown to him, the stones were allowed to remain in the _conchas_; and
+he told me that he always imagined them to be a symbol of his office.
+Anyway, you, Oliver Drew, are the Watchman of the Dead, and your right
+to own and use that gem-mounted bridle goes unchallenged by the Showut
+Poche-dakas."
+
+She paused reflectively.
+
+"All this your father told me," she presently continued. "He told me,
+too, that the secret place where the gems are to be found is on the Old
+Ivison Place. It was unclaimed land then, and your father camped there
+with his Indian wife, as was demanded of the Watchman of the Dead.
+Before his time, Bolivio had camped there. Later, Old Man Ivison
+homesteaded the place, knowing nothing of its strange history. He was a
+kindly old man, liked by everybody; and each year he allowed the Indians
+to hold their Mona Fiesta at The Four Pools. Though he had no idea why
+they held it in this exact spot each time--that up the slope above them
+was a hidden treasure that would have made the struggling homesteader
+rich for life.
+
+"Then your father told me the worst part of it all. He and Selden, it
+seems, had found out more of the story of Bolivio than is to be
+unravelled today, with most of the old-timers dead and gone and the
+Indians always closemouthed. Anyway, they two found out about the secret
+gems and the significance of the fire dance. So they had planned
+deliberately to marry Indian girls to further their knowledge of this
+matter.
+
+"It was understood between them that Adam Selden would intentionally
+fail to win out in the fire dance, and that Peter Drew, who was a
+Hercules for endurance and strength, would win if he could, and thus
+become Watchman of the Dead and learn the whereabouts of the brilliants.
+This scheme they carried out, and Peter Drew took up residence with his
+brown-skinned bride on what is today the Old Ivison Place.
+
+"Then he redeemed himself by falling in love with his wife. In time he
+found out where the gem pockets were situated. But when Selden came to
+him to see if he'd stumbled on to the secret, he put him off and said,
+'Not yet.'
+
+"From the date of the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio until the night
+of the Mona Fiesta he remained undecided what to do. Somehow or other,
+he told me, though he had been a highwayman and was then protected from
+the flimsy law of that day only by his Indian brothers, he could not
+bring himself to break faith with them.
+
+"Then came the night of the first Mona Fiesta since he became Watchman
+of the Dead; and that night temporarily decided him.
+
+"When he squatted in the circle about the fire and saw the rapt,
+tear-stained, brown faces of these people who had placed absolute faith
+in him, he fell under the spell of their simplicity, and swore that so
+long as he lived he would not betray their trust.
+
+"And he lived up to it, with his partner, Adam Selden importuning him
+daily to get the stones and skip the country. And finally to be rid of
+Selden and the double game he was obliged to play, Peter Drew left with
+his wife one night and did not return for fifteen years.
+
+"And since then there has been no Watchman of the Dead until the night
+you defeated the evil spirits in the fire dance.
+
+"Out in the world of white men Peter Drew settled down to ranching. His
+Indian wife had died two years after he left this country. With her
+gone, and the new order of things all about him, he began to wonder if
+he had not been a fool.
+
+"Up here in the lonesome hills was wealth untold, so far as he knew, and
+he renounced it for an ideal. To secure those gems he had only to show
+ingratitude to the Showut Poche-dakas, had only to break faith with a
+handful of ignorant, simple-minded Indians. What did they and their
+ridiculous beliefs amount to in this great scheme of life as he now saw
+it? Each day men on every hand were breaking faith to become wealthy,
+were trampling traditions and ideals underfoot to gain their golden
+ends. Business was business--money was money! Had he not been a fool?
+Was he not still a fool--to renounce a fortune that was his for the
+taking?
+
+"He called himself an ignorant man. He told himself--and truly,
+too--that countless men whom he knew, who had read a thousand books to
+one merely opened by him--men of education, men of affairs--would laugh
+at him, and themselves would have wrested the treasure from its hiding
+place without a qualm of conscience. Civilization was stalking on in its
+unconquerable march. Should a handful of uncouth Indians, a
+superstitious, dwindling tribe of near-savages, be permitted to handicap
+his part in this triumphal march? No--never!
+
+"But always, when he made ready to return to the scenes of his young
+manhood, there came before him the picture of brown, tear-stained faces
+about a fire, and of an old blind man speaking softly as if telling a
+story to eager children. Highwayman Peter Drew had been, but never in
+his life had he broken faith with a friend. Loyalty was the very
+backbone of my idealist, and he turned away from temptation and doggedly
+followed his plough.
+
+"For thirty years and more the question faced him. Should he get the
+gems and be wealthy, and break faith with those who had entrusted him
+with the greatest thing in their lives--these people who had called him
+brother, whose last remnant of food or shelter was his for the asking?
+Or should he remain an idealist, a poor man, but loyal to his trust? The
+answer was No or Yes!
+
+"Can't your imagination place you in his shoes? Unlettered, not sure of
+himself, ashamed of what he doubtless termed his chicken-heartedness.
+Don't you know that all of us are constantly ashamed of our secret
+ideals--ashamed of the best that is in us? We fear the ridicule of
+coarser minds, and hide what is Godlike in our hearts. And on top of
+this, your father was ignorant, according to present day standards, and
+knew it. But for thirty years, Oliver Drew, he prospered while his
+idealism fought the battle against the lust for wealth. Idealism won,
+but Peter Drew died not knowing whether he had been a wise man or a
+fool. He died a conqueror. Give us more of such ignorance!
+
+"And he educated you, left you penniless, and placed his momentous
+question in your keeping.
+
+"Fifteen years ago he bought the Old Ivison Place, though the Indians do
+not know it. Adam Selden has searched for the gems without result ever
+since Peter Drew left the country; and it was because of him that your
+father kept his purchase a secret. Two years ago, while you were in
+France, Peter Drew came here, met me and liked me, and told me all that
+I have told you.
+
+"He knew that when you rode into this country with the saddle and bridle
+of Bolivio that the Showut Poche-dakas would know who you were, and
+would take you in and make you Watchman of the Dead. Peter Drew wanted
+you to be penniless, as he had been when he first faced the question. He
+gave me money with which to help along the cause. So far I've only had
+to use it for liquid courtplaster, an _olla_, and a few bolts of calico.
+You were to learn nothing of the story from my lips. You were to face
+the question blindly, with no other influences about you save those that
+he had experienced.
+
+"I have done my best to carry out his wishes. You are the Watchman of
+the Dead. You own the land on which the treasure lies. You are brother
+of the Showut Poche-dakas. The treasure is yours almost for the lifting
+of a hand. You are almost penniless.
+
+"There's your question, Oliver Drew. Say Yes and the gems are yours. Say
+No, and you have forty acres of almost worthless land, a saddle horse
+and outfit, and youth and health, and the lifetime office of Watchman of
+the Dead!"
+
+She ceased speaking. There were tears in her great black eyes as she
+looked at him levelly.
+
+"But--but--" Oliver floundered. "I don't know where the gems are. Selden
+has hunted them for thirty years, and has failed to find them. I've seen
+many evidences of his search. Will the Showut Poche-dakas tell me where
+they are?"
+
+"Your father thought that perhaps, after what has passed in connection
+with former Watchmen of the Dead, you might not be told the exact
+location. So he made provision for that."
+
+She reached in her bosom and handed him an envelope sealed with wax.
+
+On it he read in his father's hand:
+
+"Map showing exact location of what is known as the lost mine of
+Bolivio."
+
+"If you open it," she said, "your answer probably will be No, and you
+become owner of the gems. If you destroy it unopened, your answer is
+Yes, and you are a poor man. Yes or No, Oliver Drew? Think over it
+tonight, and I'll meet you here tomorrow at noon."
+
+"What do _you_ want my answer to be?" he asked.
+
+"I have no right to express my wishes in the matter," she said. "And
+your answer is not to be told to me, you must remember, but to your
+father's lawyers."
+
+Then she turned White Ann into the narrow trail that led from Lime Rock.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+IN THE DEER PATH
+
+
+The morning following the trip to Lime Rock, Oliver Drew sat at his
+little home-made desk, his mind not on the work before him. Tilted
+against the ink bottle stood the long, tough envelope that Jessamy had
+given him, its black-wax seals still unbroken. He stared at it with
+unseeing eyes.
+
+After they had left Lime Rock, Jessamy had given him a little more
+information on the subject which now loomed so big in his life.
+
+She thought, she had said, that for years the Showut Poche-dakas had
+suspected Old Man Selden of knowing something of their secret. They
+could not have missed seeing the gophering that the old man had done on
+the hillside above The Four Pools. She knew positively that the Indians
+had kept a watchful eye on him, and it could be for no other reason.
+
+The episode concerning Oliver's bayonet wound had come as a complete
+surprise to her. It seemed now, she said, that Peter Drew had
+communicated with Chupurosa not long before his death, and after
+Oliver's return from France, and had told him to be prepared for the
+coming of his son and how to make sure that he was genuine. She had not
+known that Peter Drew had been in the Poison Oak Country again, since he
+left after entrusting her with a hand in guiding Oliver's future.
+
+She told of having overheard Adam Selden and Oliver's conversation that
+night at Poison Oak Ranch, and of the other eavesdropper who had stolen
+down from the spring. She was almost sure, she told him, that this man
+was Digger Foss; but whether or not Foss knew of the treasure she could
+not determine. Apparently, though, he suspected something of the kind,
+and had been looking out for his own interests that night.
+
+Yes, it was the bridle and saddle and the gem-mounted _conchas_ that had
+changed Selden's attitude toward Oliver. The underlying reason for his
+wishing Oliver off the Old Ivison Place had been the fear that the
+search for the gems, which he had carried on intermittently for so long,
+would be interrupted. But to his gang he had pretended that it was sheer
+deviltry that caused him to contemplate driving the newcomer out.
+
+Then a sight of the gem-mounted _conchas_ of his old partner, and the
+fact that Oliver was at once taken into brotherhood by the Showut
+Poche-dakas changed his plans. Oliver knew of the gems and had come to
+seek them. He either was Dan Smeed's son, or had been taken into Dan
+Smeed's confidence. Oliver would become Watchman of the Dead. If he did
+not already know the location of the stones, he soon might learn it from
+the Indians. His friendship must be cultivated by all means, so that
+Selden might have the better chance of obtaining what he considered his
+rightful share of the treasure.
+
+Oliver had then told Jessamy of the prospect holes on the hillside, of
+Digger Foss's spying on the cabin, of Tommy My-Ma's strange actions, and
+of the lithia he had found.
+
+"Yes, lithia is an indication of gems," she had told him. "And it would
+appear that Digger knows of the treasure, after all. Perhaps sometime
+Selden confided in him in a careless moment, to enlist his aid in the
+search. They're pretty confidential. Digger was watching your movements,
+to see if you had any definite idea of the location of the stones or
+were searching for them blindly. That's it! He knows! But still he's
+suspicious of Old Man Selden. All of the Poison Oakers are now. They
+think he's double-crossing them some way, since he made friends with
+you.
+
+"As for Tommy My-Ma trailing Digger, I'm not surprised. No doubt the
+Showut Poche-dakas are watching Old Man Selden and his gang as respects
+their attitude toward the new Watchman of the Dead. If the Poison Oakers
+had tried actually to molest you, I have an idea they'd have found
+they'd bitten off a chunk. I think they would have had fifty Showut
+Poche-dakas on their backs before they had gone very far."
+
+All this passed through Oliver's mind again and again this morning, as
+he sat there with pipe gone out and idle pencil in his fingers.
+
+What a romance that old father had woven about the life of his son! How
+skilfully and craftily he had planned so that Oliver would be thrown on
+his own resources for an answer when he came face to face with the
+question! How cleverly Jessamy had carried out the part entrusted to
+her, despite her aversion to intrigues and plottings! Step by step she
+had led him on till at last the question confronted him, just as it had
+confronted his father before him.
+
+To gain possession of the gems would be a simple matter. They were on
+his land somewhere--were his by every right in law. He had but to invoke
+the protection of the keepers of the peace against the Indians, break
+the seals of the long envelope, and dig in the place indicated by the
+map this envelope contained.
+
+But there was one thing which doubtless Peter Drew had not foreseen in
+his careful planning. He could not have known that his son was to fall
+desperately in love with the guiding star that he had appointed for him.
+And Oliver Drew knew in his heart that if he robbed the Indians of these
+gems, which were to them only a symbol and had no meaning connected with
+worldly wealth, he would lose the girl. The only thing that stood
+between Jessamy and him, he now believed, was her uncertainty of what
+his answer to the question would be. In her staunch heart she respected
+the belief of the Showut Poche-dakas, and to her the gems as a symbol
+were as worthy of her reverence as the Sacred Book of the Christians. "I
+have as much reverence for a bareheaded Indian girl on her knees to the
+Sun God as for a hooded nun counting her beads," she had said.
+
+Oliver stared at the inside of the cabin door, scarred and carved and
+full of bullet holes--at JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART.
+
+Peter Drew could not have foreseen this phase of the situation. In
+securing the gems Oliver Drew not only would lose his self-respect and
+make his father's thirty years of sacrifice a mockery, but he would lose
+the girl he loved.
+
+So Oliver took small credit to himself when he rose from his desk at
+eleven o'clock, his mind made up.
+
+He placed the letter unopened in his shirt front, and went out and
+saddled Poche. Then he rode to the backbone and wormed his way along it
+toward Lime Rock.
+
+Jessamy was there ahead of him, sitting erect on White Ann's back,
+gazing upon the rugged objects of her daily adoration.
+
+"Well," she said, "you've come," and her level eyes searched him through
+and through.
+
+"Yes," he replied, riding to her side, "I've come; and my mind's made
+up."
+
+She raised her dark brows in an attempt to betoken a mild struggle
+between politeness and indifference; but the hand on her saddle horn
+trembled, and the red had gone out of her cheeks.
+
+"I must get out of here tomorrow," he said, "and go to Los Angeles. I've
+just about enough money to take me there and back; but I have the
+unbounded faith of an amateur in several farm articles now in editors'
+hands."
+
+She lowered black lashes over her eyes and nodded slowly up and down.
+
+"Exactly," she said. "You must carry out Peter Drew's instructions to
+the letter."
+
+"But I can tell _you_ what my answer to Dad's lawyers is going to be.
+I--"
+
+"Don't!" she cried, raising a protesting hand. "Not a word to me. My
+responsibility ceased when I placed the envelope in your hands. I'm no
+longer concerned in the matter. That is--" she hesitated.
+
+"Yes, go on."
+
+"Until after you have made your report to the attorneys," she added.
+"Then, of course, I'll--I'll be sort of curious to know what your answer
+is."
+
+"Then I'll come straight back to tell you," he promised. "And--Why,
+what's the matter!"
+
+She had leaned forward suddenly in her saddle, and with wide eyes was
+looking down the precipice. Then before she could answer there came to
+Oliver's hearing the sound of a distant shot from the caņon.
+
+Now he saw a puff of white smoke above the willows on the river bank, a
+thousand feet below them. Then a second, and by and by another ringing
+report reached them, and the echoes of it went loping from wall to wall
+of the caņon.
+
+"Merciful heavens!" cried Jessamy. "It's Old Man Selden! He's shot! Look
+at him reel in his saddle! Oh, horrors!... There he goes down on the
+ground!... But he's not killed! There--he's on his feet and shooting!"
+
+Oliver, with open mouth, was staring down at the tragedy that had
+suddenly been staged for them in the river bed. Now several puffs of
+white smoke hung over the trees, and riders rode hither and thither like
+pigmies on pigmy horses. Now and then a stream of flame spurted
+horizontally, and at once another answered it. Then up barked the
+reports, followed by their mocking echoes.
+
+"It's come! It's come!" wailed Jessamy. "Obed Pence, likely as not, has
+opened fire on Old Man Selden, and the boys are after him. Look--there's
+Chuck and Bolar and Jay and Winthrop--and, oh, most all of them! It's a
+general fight. Oh, I knew it would come! I knew it! Obed Pence has been
+so nasty of late. They were all drunk last night. Poor mother! Oh, what
+shall we do, Oliver? What can we do? We can't get down to them!"
+
+"And could do nothing if we did," he said tensely.
+
+Down below six-shooters still popped, and the balls of smoke continued
+to grow in number over the willows. Horsemen dashed madly about,
+shouting, firing. The two watchers learned later that Obed Pence,
+supported by Muenster, Allegan, and Buchanan--all drunk for two days on
+the fiery monkey rum--had lain in wait for Old Man Selden, and Pence had
+ridden out and confronted him as he rode down the river trail,
+supposedly alone. But the Selden boys for days had been hovering in the
+background, to see that their father got a square deal when he and Obed
+Pence next met. Pence and Adam Selden had drawn simultaneously; but the
+hammer of the old man's Colt had caught in the fringe of his chaps, and
+Obed had shot him through the left lung. Knowing their father to be a
+master gunman, his sons, who had not been close enough to witness the
+encounter, had jumped to the conclusion that Pence had fired from
+ambush. They charged in accordingly, and opened fire on Pence, killing
+him instantly. Then Pence's supporters had ridden forth in turn, and the
+general gun fight was on.
+
+"I can't sit here and see them murdering one another!" Jessamy sobbed
+piteously. "They--they all may need killing, but--but I've lived with
+the old man and the boys, and--and--My mother!" The tears streamed down
+her cheeks as she made a trumpet of her hands and shouted down the
+precipice:
+
+"Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!"
+
+Only the echoes of her piercing cry made answer, and she wrung her hands
+and beat her breast in anguish.
+
+"I'm going for help!" she cried abruptly. "They'll get behind trees
+pretty soon, and fight from cover. I'll ride to Halfmoon Flat for the
+constable and a posse to put a stop to this. Can't--can't you ride up
+the trail and find a way down to them, Oliver? Old Man Selden maybe will
+listen to you. Oh, maybe you can patch up peace between them!"
+
+"I'll try," said Oliver grimly.
+
+She wheeled White Ann and entered the narrow trail. Oliver followed.
+Recklessly she moved her mare at her rolling singlefoot along the
+dangerous trail, and eventually came out on the hillside. At once White
+Ann leaped forward and sped over the hills, a streak of silver in the
+noonday sun.
+
+Oliver loped Poche to an obscure deer path that led down to the river,
+and as swiftly as possible began negotiating it.
+
+He had not progressed twenty yards when the chaparral before him
+suddenly parted, and Digger Foss confronted him, his wicked Colt held
+waist-high and levelled.
+
+"Stick 'em up!" he growled. "Be quick!"
+
+Thoroughly surprised, Oliver reined in, and Poche began to dance.
+Mechanically Oliver raised his hands above his head, then almost
+regretted that he had not tried to draw. But the picture of Henry Dodd
+reeling against the legs of Jessamy's mare had been with him since his
+first day in the Poison Oakers' country. He knew that the halfbreed's
+aim was sure, and that his heart was a reservoir of venom.
+
+The first shock passed, his composure returned in a measure. There stood
+the halfbreed, spread-legged in the path. The lids of his Mongolic eyes
+were lowered, and the beads of jet glittered wickedly from under them.
+He was drunk as a lord, Oliver knew quite well from the augmented
+insolence of his cruel lips; but Oliver knew that he might be all the
+more deadly, and that some drunken gunmen can shoot better than when
+sober.
+
+"What is this?--a holdup?" he asked, and bit his lip as he noted the
+tremble in his tones.
+
+"A holdup is right," said Foss. "A holdup, an' a little business matter
+you and me's got to attend to."
+
+"Well, let's get at it!" Oliver snapped.
+
+"I'm gonta kill you after our business is settled," Foss told him in a
+matter-of-fact tone.
+
+A cold chill ran along Oliver's spine. Should he make a dive for his
+gun? Foss had every advantage, but--
+
+Foss was stepping lazily nearer, his eyes intent on the horseman, his
+six-shooter ready.
+
+"Down there by the river they're fightin' it out all because o' you
+buttin' into this country, where you ain't wanted." Foss had come to a
+stop, and was leering up at him. "You've made trouble ever since you
+come here. Old Man won't get rid o' you, but I'm goin' to today. But
+first, where's them gems?"
+
+"I can't tell you," said Oliver.
+
+"You're a liar!"
+
+"Thank you. You have the advantage of me, you know. Slip your gun in the
+holster, and then call me a liar. I'll draw with you. My hands are
+up--you'll still have the advantage of having your hand closer to your
+gun butt."
+
+"D'ye think you could draw with me?"
+
+"I know it. And before you. Try it and see!"
+
+Foss studied over this. "Maybe--maybe!" he said. "I never did throw down
+on a man without givin' 'im a chance. But you got no chance with me,
+kid. They don't make 'em that can get the drop on Digger Foss!"
+
+"I'll take a chance," said Oliver quietly.
+
+"We'll see about that later. But where's them stones?"
+
+"I don't know, I tell you."
+
+"What did you come up in this country for?"
+
+"On matters that concern me alone."
+
+"No doubt o' that--or so you think. But they're interestin' to me, too.
+What's in that letter Jess'my handed you at Lime Rock yesterday?"
+
+"Oh, you were sneaking about and saw that, were you! Through your
+glasses, I suppose. Well, I haven't opened it, and don't know what's in
+it. If I did I wouldn't tell you. My arms are growing a little tired.
+Will you holster your gun and give me a chance before my arms play out?"
+
+"I will if you come across with what you know about the gems. You might
+as well. If I kill you, you won't be worryin' about gems. And if you
+croak me, why, what if you did tell me?--I'm dead, ain't I?"
+
+"There's sound logic in that," said Oliver grimly. "I'll take you up.
+Put your gun in its holster and drop your hands to your sides. Then
+we'll draw, with your gun hand three feet nearer your gun than mine will
+be. Come! I've got business down below."
+
+The halfbreed's eyes widened in unbelief. "D'ye really mean it, kid? You
+saw me shoot Henry Dodd--d'ye really wanta draw with me?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"But then you'll be dead, and I won't know nothin' about the gems.
+Unless that letter tells?"
+
+"Perhaps. You mustn't expect me to take _all_ the chances, you know."
+
+"Does the letter tell?"
+
+"I haven't opened it, I say."
+
+Foss studied in drunken seriousness. "And if you should happen to get
+me, why--why, where am I at again?" he puzzled.
+
+Oliver laughed outright. "You're an amusing creature," he said. "I don't
+believe you're half the badman that you imagine you are." He believed
+nothing of the sort, but his arms were growing desperately weary and he
+must goad the drunken gunman into immediate action.
+
+"There's just one thing that's the matter with you," he gibed on, ready
+to descend to any speech that would cut the killer and break his deadly
+calm. "That's my getting your girl away from you! It's not the gems;
+it's that that hurts you. Why, say, do you think she'd wipe her feet on
+you!"
+
+Into the eyes of the halfbreed came a viperish light that almost stilled
+Oliver's heartbeats. For an instant he feared that he had gone too far,
+that Foss was about to shoot him down in cold blood.
+
+Foss stood spread-legged in the path, as before, his face twisting with
+anger, the fingers of his left hand clinching and unclinching
+themselves. Then Oliver almost ceased to breathe as a silent, dark
+figure slipped wraithlike from the chaparral and began stealing toward
+the back of Digger Foss.
+
+"That settles it," said Foss. "I'll kill you for that, gems or no gems!
+Get ready! If you let down a hand while I'm puttin' up my gun I'll kill
+you like that!" He snapped the fingers of his left hand.
+
+"I'll stick by my bargain," Oliver assured him, his glance struggling
+between Foss and that silent figure slinking in his rear.
+
+What should he do? There was murder in the black eyes of the man who
+stole so stealthily upon the gunman's back. Should he shout to Foss? His
+sense of fair play cried out that he should. But Foss might misinterpret
+the meaning of his upraised voice, and fire. Should he--
+
+"Here goes! I'm puttin' up my gun. Get ready, kid! When I--"
+
+There was a leap, a flash of steel in the sunlight, a scream of
+agonizing pain.
+
+Oliver's gun was out and levelled; but Foss was staggering from side to
+side, his arms limp before him, his head lopped forward as if he
+searched for something on the ground. He collapsed and lay there gasping
+hideously in the path, in a growing pool of blood.
+
+The chaparral opened and closed again; and then only Oliver and the man
+in his death throes were remaining.
+
+Even as Bolivio had died, so died Digger Foss, in a path in the
+wilderness, with the knife of a Showut Poche-daka in his back.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+THE ANSWER
+
+
+Two weeks had passed since the battle of the Poison Oakers. That
+organization was now no more. Jessamy's efforts to mobilize a posse to
+stop the fight had proved fruitless. Only the constable and Damon Tamroy
+rode back with her with first aid packages, for Halfmoon Flat had voiced
+its indifference in a single sentence--"Let 'em fight it out!" Those
+whom the constable would have deputized promptly made themselves scarce.
+
+So the Poison Oakers had fought it out, and in so doing appended "Finis"
+to the annals of their gang. Old Man Selden died two days after the
+battle. Winthrop was killed outright, and Moffat was seriously wounded,
+but might recover. Obed Pence was dead; Digger Foss was dead. Jay
+Muenster was dead. Thus half of their numbers were wiped out, and among
+them the controlling genius of the gang, Old Man Selden. And without him
+those remaining, already split into two factions, were as a ship without
+a rudder.
+
+And all because of Oliver Drew!
+
+Oliver stepped from the train at Halfmoon Flat this afternoon, two weeks
+after the fight. He had helped Jessamy and her mother through the
+difficulties arising from the tragedy, had appeared as witness at the
+inquest, and had then hurried to Los Angeles with his sealed envelope.
+Now, returning, he caught Poche in a pasture close to the village and
+saddled him.
+
+It was one o'clock in the afternoon. He had lunched on the diner, so at
+once he lifted Poche into his mile-devouring lope and headed straight
+for Poison Oak Ranch.
+
+What changes had taken place since first he galloped along that road,
+barely four months before! Few with whom he had come in contact were
+still pursuing the even tenor of their ways, as then. He thought of the
+fight and of the spectacular death of Digger Foss. At the inquest he had
+been unable to throw any light on the identity of the halfbreed's
+murderer. He was an Indian--beyond this Oliver could say no more. The
+coroner had quizzed him sharply. Whereupon Oliver had asked that
+official if he himself thought it likely that he could have looked into
+the muzzle of a Colt revolver in the hands of Digger Foss, and at the
+same time make sure of the identity of a man stealing up behind him. The
+coroner had scratched his head. "I reckon I'd 'a' been tol'able
+int'rested in that gun o' Digger's," was his confession.
+
+And Oliver had told the truth. To this day he does not know who killed
+the gunman--but he knows that in all probability his own life was saved
+when it occurred, and that it was a Showut Poche-daka who struck the
+blow.
+
+At Poison Oak Ranch he found Jessamy awaiting him. He had sent her a
+wire the day before, telling her he was coming, and the hour he would
+arrive.
+
+They shook hands soberly, and after a short conversation with Mrs.
+Selden, Oliver saddled White Ann for Jessamy and they rode away into the
+hills. They were for the most part silent as their horses jogged along
+manzanita-bordered trails. Instinctively they avoided Lime Rock and its
+vicinity, and made toward the north, up over the hog-back hills, now
+sear and yellow, which climbed in interminable ranks to the snowy peaks.
+They came to a ledge that overlooked the river, and here they halted
+while the girl gazed down on scenes that never wearied her.
+
+They dismounted presently and seated themselves on two great grey
+stones. Jessamy rested her round chin in her hand, and from under long
+lashes watched the green river winding about its serpentine curves
+below.
+
+The tragedy of death had left its mark on her face. There was a sober,
+half-pathetic droop to the red lips. The comradely black eyes were
+thoughtful. But the self-reliant poise of the sturdy shoulders still was
+hers, and the sense of strength that she exhaled was not impaired.
+
+Her dress today was not rugged, as was ordinarily the case when she rode
+into the hills. She wore a black divided skirt, and a low-neck
+yellow-silk waist, trimmed with black, and a black-silk sailor's
+neckerchief. To further this effect a yellow rose nestled in her
+night-black hair. She looked like a gorgeous California oriole, so trim
+was her figure, so like that bird's were the contrast of colours she
+displayed. And her voice when she spoke, low and clear and throbbing
+melodiously, reminded him of the notes of this same sweet songster at
+nesting time.
+
+Oliver sat looking at the profile of her face, with the wind-whipped
+hair about it. More fully than ever now he realized that she was
+everything in life to him. And today--now!--smilingly, unabashed.
+
+"Well, Jessamy," he began, "I have seen Dad's lawyers." She turned her
+face toward him, but still rested her elbow on her knee, one cheek now
+cupped by her hand.
+
+"Yes," she said softly. "Tell me all about it."
+
+"And I gave them my answer to the question."
+
+For several moments her level glance searched his face, a little smile
+on her lips.
+
+"And what is your answer?" she asked.
+
+He rose and moved to the stone on which she sat, seating himself beside
+her.
+
+"Don't you know what my answer is?" he asked softly.
+
+She continued to look at him fearlessly, smilingly, unabashed.
+
+"I think I know," she said. "But tell me."
+
+"My answer," he said, "is the same that dear old Dad kept repeating for
+thirty years. I shall not enrich myself by sacrificing the confidence
+placed in me. I shall remain loyal to my simple trust. I am the Watchman
+of the Dead."
+
+Her lips quivered and her eyes glowed warmly, and two tears trickled
+down her cheeks. Oliver took from his shirt the envelope and showed her
+the black seals, still unbroken. Then on a flat rock before them he made
+a tiny fire of grass and twigs, and placed the envelope on top of it.
+Then he lighted a match.
+
+"The funeral pyre of my worldly fortune!" he apostrophized. "The lost
+mine of Bolivio will be lost indeed when the map has burned."
+
+Together they watched the tiny fire in silence, till the black wax
+sputtered and dripped down on the stone, and the eager flames crinkled
+the envelope and its contents and reduced them to ashes.
+
+"And now?" said Oliver.
+
+"And now!" echoed Jessamy.
+
+He slowly placed both arms about her and lifted her, unresisting, to her
+feet. He drew her close, brushed back her hair, and looked deep into
+eyes from which tears streamed unrestrained. Then she threw her arms
+about his shoulders, and, with a glad laugh, half hysterical, she drew
+his head down and kissed him time and again.
+
+His hour had come. Oliver Drew had captured the star that had led him on
+and on--his Star of Destiny. Warm were her lips and tremulous--glowing
+were her eyes for love of him. His pulse leaped madly as she gave
+herself to him in absolute surrender.
+
+"There's another matter," he said five minutes later, as she lay silent
+in his arms, with the fragrance of her hair in his nostrils. "Old
+Danforth, the head of the firm of attorneys that attended to Dad's
+affairs, looked at me keenly from under shaggy brows when I gave my
+answer.
+
+"'So it's No, is it, young man?' he said.
+
+"'No it is,' I told him.
+
+"'In that case,' he said, 'you are to come with me.'
+
+"He took me to a bank and opened a safe-deposit box in the vaults. He
+showed me bonds totalling over a hundred thousand dollars, and cash that
+represented the interest coupons the firm had been clipping since Dad
+died.
+
+"'Here's the key,' he told me. 'If your answer had been yes, these
+bonds, too, would have gone to the church. For then you would have had
+the gems. Your father didn't mean to leave you penniless. You would have
+been fairly well off, I imagine, whether your answer had been Yes or No.
+Your father wanted his question answered by a man of education, and I
+think he would be pleased at your decision.'"
+
+Jessamy had straightened and twisted in his arms till her face was close
+to his.
+
+"Peter Drew never hinted at that to me!" she cried. "I--I suppose you'd
+have nothing but the Old Ivison Place if you answered No. Oh, my
+romantic Old Peter Drew! God rest his soul! I'm so glad."
+
+"Glad, eh?" He smiled whimsically at her, and she quickly interpreted
+his thoughts.
+
+"Oh, but, Oliver--you don't understand! It's not that you're wealthy,
+after all--but now you can give Damon Tamroy just what the cement
+company would have paid him for Lime Rock!"
+
+"Lime Rock shall be your wedding gift," he laughed.
+
+"Oh, Oliver! And--and when we're--married, you won't take me away from
+the Poison Oak Country, will you, dear! I'll go anywhere you say--but
+these hills, and the river, and Lime Rock, and Old Dad Sloan, and--my
+Hummingbird--and the perfume of the manzanita blossoms in
+spring--and--oh, I love my country next to you, dear heart! And in my
+dreams I loved you even before you came riding to me in the
+silver-mounted saddle of Bolivio, like a knight out of the past. This is
+my country--and if we must go, I'll pine for it--and maybe die like the
+Indian bride. I want to stay here, Oliver dear--with you--down on the
+dear Old Ivison Place!"
+
+Oliver tenderly kissed his Star of Destiny. "I have no other plans," he
+whispered into her ear. "My place is there.... I am the Watchman of the
+Dead!"
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Heritage of the Hills, by Arthur P. Hankins
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+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's The Heritage of the Hills, by Arthur P. Hankins
+
+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: The Heritage of the Hills
+
+Author: Arthur P. Hankins
+
+Release Date: November 30, 2010 [EBook #34507]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Darleen Dove, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1>THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS</h1>
+
+<h2>BY ARTHUR P. HANKINS</h2>
+
+<h3>Author of "<span class="smcap">The Jubilee Girl</span>," Etc.</h3>
+
+
+<h3>NEW YORK<br />
+DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br />
+1922</h3>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1921, 1922<br />
+<span class="smcap">By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.</span></h3>
+
+<h3>PRINTED IN U. S. A.</h3>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. -->
+<p>
+<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. <span class="smcap">At Honeymoon Flat</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. <span class="smcap">Peter Drew's Last Message</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. <span class="smcap">B For Bolivio</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. <span class="smcap">The First Caller</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. "<span class="smcap">And I'll Help You!</span>"</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. <span class="smcap">According to the Records</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. <span class="smcap">Lilac Spodumene</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. <span class="smcap">Poison Oak Ranch</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. <span class="smcap">Nancy Field's Windfall</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. <span class="smcap">Jessamy's Hummingbird</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. <span class="smcap">Concerning Springs and Showut Poche-Daka</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. <span class="smcap">The Poison Oakers Ride</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII. <span class="smcap">Shinplaster and Creeds</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV. <span class="smcap">High Power</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV. <span class="smcap">The Fire Dance</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI. <span class="smcap">A Guest at the Rancho</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII. <span class="smcap">The Girl in Red</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII. <span class="smcap">Spies</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX. <span class="smcap">Contentions</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX. "<span class="smcap">Wait!</span>"</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI. "<span class="smcap">When We Meet Again!</span>"</a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII. <span class="smcap">The Watchman of the Dead</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII. <span class="smcap">The Question</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV. <span class="smcap">In the Deer Path</span></a><br />
+<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV. <span class="smcap">The Answer</span></a><br />
+</p>
+<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. -->
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>The Heritage of the Hills</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<h3>AT HALFMOON FLAT</h3>
+
+
+<p>The road wound ever upward through pines and spruce and several
+varieties of oak. Some of the latter were straight, some sprawling, all
+massive. Now and then a break in the timber revealed wooded hills beyond
+green pasture lands, and other hills covered with dense growths of
+buckhorn and manzanita. Poison oak grew everywhere, and, at this time of
+year&mdash;early spring&mdash;was most prolific, most beautiful in its dark rich
+green, most poisonous.</p>
+
+<p>Occasionally the lone horseman crossed a riotous stream, plunging down
+from the snow-topped Sierras in the far distance. Rail fences, for the
+most part in a tumbledown condition, paralleled the dirt road here and
+there.</p>
+
+<p>At long intervals they passed tall, old-fashioned ranch houses, with
+their accompanying stables, deciduous orchards and still dormant
+vineyards, wandering turkeys and mud-incrusted pigs. An air of decay and
+haphazard ambition pervaded all these evidences of the dwelling places
+of men.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Poche," remarked Oliver Drew, "it's been a long, hard trip, but
+we're getting close to home." The man spoke the word "home" with a touch
+of bitterness.</p>
+
+<p>The rangy bay saddler slanted his left ear back at Oliver Drew and
+quickened his walking-trot.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" laughed Oliver, tightening the reins. "All the more reason we
+should take it easy today, old horse. Don't you ever tire?"</p>
+
+<p>For an hour Poche climbed steadily. Now he topped the summit of the
+miniature mountain, and Oliver stopped him to gaze down fifteen hundred
+feet into the timbered caņon of the American River. Even the cow-pony
+seemed enthralled with the grandeur of the scene&mdash;the wooded hills
+climbing shelf by shelf to the faraway mist-hung mountains; the green
+river winding its serpentine course far below. Far up the river a gold
+dredger was at work, the low rumble of its machinery carried on the soft
+morning breeze.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later Poche ambled briskly into the little town of Halfmoon
+Flat, snuggled away in the pines and spruces, sunflecked, indolent,
+content. It suited Oliver's mood, this lazy old-fashioned Halfmoon Flat,
+with its one shady "business" street, its false-front, one-story shops
+and stores, redolent still of the glamorous days of '49.</p>
+
+<p>He drew up before a saloon to inquire after the road he should take out
+of town to reach his destination. The loungers about the door of the
+place all proved to be French- or Spanish-Basque sheep herders; and
+their agglutinative language was as a closed book to the traveler. So he
+dropped the reins from Poche's neck and entered the dark, low-ceiled
+bar-room, with its many decorations of dusty deer antlers on fly-specked
+walls.</p>
+
+<p>All was strangely quiet within. There were no patrons, no bartender
+behind the black, stained bar. He saw this white-aproned personage,
+however, a fat, wide, sandy-haired man, standing framed by the rear
+door, his back toward the front. Through a dirty rear window Oliver saw
+men in the back yard&mdash;silent, motionless men, with faces intent on
+something of captivating interest, some silent, muscle-tensing event.</p>
+
+<p>With awakened wonder he walked to the fat bartender's back and looked
+out over his shoulder. Strange indeed was the scene that was revealed.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps twenty men were in an unfenced portion of the lot behind the
+saloon. Some of them had been pitching horseshoes, for two stood with
+the iron semicircles still in hand. Every man there gazed with silent
+intensity at two central figures, who furnished the drama.</p>
+
+<p>The first, a squat, dark, slit-eyed man of about twenty-five, lazed in a
+big Western saddle on a lean roan horse. His left spurred heel stood
+straight out at right angles to the direction in which his horse faced.
+He hung in the saddle by the bend in his right leg, the foot out of the
+stirrup, the motionless man facing to the right, a leering grin on his
+face, half whimsical, half sardonic. That he was a fatalist was
+evidenced by every line on his swarthy, hairless face; for he looked
+sneering indifference into the wavering muzzle of a Colt .45, in the
+hand of the other actor in the pantomime. His own Colt lay passive
+against his hip. His right forearm rested across his thigh, the hand far
+from the butt of the weapon. A cigarette drooped lazily from his
+grinning lips. Yet for all his indifferent calm, there was in his
+glittering, Mongolic eyes an eagle watchfulness that bespoke the fires
+of hatred within him.</p>
+
+<p>The dismounted man who had the drop on him was of another type. Tall,
+angular, countrified, he personified the popular conception of a
+Connecticut yankee. He boiled with silent rage as he stood, with long
+body bent forward, threatening the other with his enormous gun. Despite
+the present superiority of his position, there was something of pathos
+in his lean, bronzed face, something of a nature downtrodden, of the
+worm suddenly turned.</p>
+
+<p>For seconds that seemed like ages the two statuesque figures confronted
+each other. Men breathed in short inhalations, as if fearful of breaking
+the spell. Then the threatened man in the saddle puffed out a cloud of
+cigarette smoke, and drawled sarcastically:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, why don't you shoot, ol'-timer? You got the drop."</p>
+
+<p>Complete indifference to his fate marked the squat man's tone and
+attitude. Only those small black eyes, gleaming like points of jet from
+under the lowered Chinamanlike lids, proclaimed that the other had
+better make a thorough piece of work of this thing that he had started.</p>
+
+<p>The lank man found his tongue at the sound of the other's voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't I shoot, you coyote whelp! Why don't I shoot! You know why!
+Because they's a law in this land, that's why! I oughta kill ye, an'
+everybody here knows it, but I'd hang for it."</p>
+
+<p>The man on the roan blew another puff of smoke. "You oughta thought o'
+that when you threw down on me," he lazily reminded the other. "<i>You</i>
+ain't got no license packin' a gun, pardner."</p>
+
+<p>The expression that crossed his antagonist's face was one of torture,
+bafflement. It proved that he knew the mounted man had spoken truth. He
+was no killer. In a fit of rage he had drawn his weapon and got the drop
+on his enemy, only to shrink from the thought of taking a human life and
+from the consequences of such an act. But he essayed to bluster his way
+out of the situation in which his uncontrollable wrath had inveigled
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't shoot ye in cold blood!" he hotly cried. "I'm not the skunk
+that you are. I'm too much of a man. I'll let ye go this time. But mind
+me&mdash;if you or any o' your thievin' gang pesters me ag'in, I'll&mdash;I'll
+kill ye!"</p>
+
+<p>"Better attend to that little business right now, pardner," came the
+fatalist's smooth admonition.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't rile me too far!" fumed the other. "God knows I could kill ye an'
+never fear for the hereafter. But I'm a law-abidin' man, an'"&mdash;the
+six-shooter in his hand was wavering&mdash;"an' I'm a law-abidin' man," he
+repeated, floundering. "So this time I'll let ye&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A fierce clatter of hoofs interrupted him. Down the street, across the
+board sidewalk, into the lot back of the saloon dashed a white horse, a
+black-haired girl astride in the saddle. She reined her horse to its
+haunches, scattering spectators right and left.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't lower that gun!" she shrieked. "Shoot! Kill him!"</p>
+
+<p>Her warning came too late. It may have been, even, that instead of a
+warning it was a knell. For a loud report sent the echoes galloping
+through the sleepy little town. The man on the ground, who had half
+lowered his gun as the girl raced in, threw up both hands, and went
+reeling about drunkenly. Another shot rang out. The squat man still
+lolled in his saddle, facing to the right. The gun that he had drawn in
+a flash when the other's indecision had reached a climax was levelled
+rigidly from his hip, the muzzle slowly following his staggering,
+twice-wounded enemy.</p>
+
+<p>In horror the watchers gazed, silent. The stricken man reeled against
+the legs of the girl's horse, strove to clasp them. The animal snorted
+at the smell of blood and reared. His temporary support removed, the man
+collapsed, face downward, on the ground, turned over once, lay still.</p>
+
+<p>The squat man slowly holstered his gun. Then the first sound to break
+the silence since the shots was his voice as he spoke to the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Much obliged, Jess'my," he said; then straightened in his saddle,
+spurred the roan, and dashed across the sidewalk to disappear around the
+corner of the building. A longdrawn, derisive "Hi-yi!" floated back, and
+the clatter of the roan's hoofbeats died away.</p>
+
+<p>The girl had sprung from her mare and was bending over the fallen man.
+The others crowded about her now, all talking at once. She lifted a
+white, tragic face to them, a face so wildly beautiful that, even under
+the stress of the moment, Oliver Drew felt that sudden fierce pang of
+desire which the first startled sight of "the one woman" brings to a
+healthy, manly man.</p>
+
+<p>"He's dead! I've killed him!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no, Miss Jessamy," protested a hoarse voice quickly. "You
+wasn't to blame."</p>
+
+<p>"O' course not!" chorused a dozen.</p>
+
+<p>"He'd 'a' lowered that gun," went on her first consoler. "He was backin'
+out when you come, Miss Jessamy. An' as sure as he'd took his gun off
+Digger Foss, Digger'd 'a' killed 'im. It was a fool business from the
+start, Miss Jessamy."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why didn't some of you warn this man?" she flamed. "You cowards!
+Are you afraid of Digger Foss? Oh, I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now, looky-here, Miss Jessamy," soothed the spokesman, "bein' afraid o'
+Digger Foss ain't got anything to do with it. It wasn't our fight. We
+had no call to butt in. Men don't do that in a gun country, Miss
+Jessamy&mdash;you know that. This fella pulled on Digger, then lost his
+nerve. What you told 'im to do, Miss Jessamy, was right. Man ain't got
+no call to throw down on another one unless he intends to shoot. You
+know that, Miss Jessamy&mdash;you as much as said so."</p>
+
+<p>For answer the girl burst into tears. She rose, and the silent men stood
+back for her. She mounted and rode away without another word, wiping
+fiercely at her eyes with a handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p>Four men carried the dead man away. The rest, obviously in need of a
+stimulant, crowded in and up to the black bar. Oliver joined them. The
+weird sight that he had witnessed had left him weak and sick at the
+stomach.</p>
+
+<p>Silently the fat, blond bartender set out whisky glasses, then looked
+hesitatingly at the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>"Go ahead, Swede," encouraged a big fellow at Oliver's left. "He needs
+one, too. He saw it."</p>
+
+<p>The bartender shrugged, thumped a glass toward Oliver, and broke the
+laws of the land.</p>
+
+<p>"What was it all about?" Oliver, encouraged by this confidence, asked of
+the big, goodnatured man who had vouched for him on sight.</p>
+
+<p>The other looked him over. "This fella Dodd," he said, "started
+something he couldn't finish&mdash;that's all. Dodd's had it in for Digger
+Foss and the Selden boys and some more of 'em for a year. Selden was
+runnin' cattle on Dodd's land, and Dodd claimed they cut fences to <i>get</i>
+'em on. I don't know what all was between 'em. There's always bad blood
+between Old Man Selden and his boys and the rest o' the Poison Oakers,
+and somebody.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyway," he went on, "this mornin' Henry Dodd comes in and gets the
+drop on Digger Foss, who's thick with the Seldens, and is one o' the
+Poison Oakers; and then Dodd ain't got the nerve to shoot. You saw what
+it cost him. Fill 'em up again, boys."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't understand that girl," Oliver remarked. "Why, she rode in and
+told the man to shoot&mdash;to kill."</p>
+
+<p>"And wasn't she right?"</p>
+
+<p>"None of the rest of you did it, as she pointed out to you."</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;men wouldn't do that, I reckon. But a woman's different. They butt
+in for what they think's right, regardless. But I look at it like this,
+pardner: Dodd's a grown man and is packin' a hip gun. Why's he packin'
+it if he don't mean to use it? Only a kid ought to be excused from
+flourishin' iron like he did. He was just lettin' off steam. But he
+picked the wrong man to relieve himself on. If he'd 'a' killed Digger,
+as Miss Jessamy told him to, maybe he'd a hung for it. But he'd a had a
+chance with a jury. Where if he took his gat offen Digger Foss, it was
+sure death. I knew it; all of us knew it. And I knew he was goin' to
+lower it after he'd painted pictures in the air with it and thought he'd
+convinced all of us he was a bad man, and all that. He'd never pulled
+the trigger, and Digger Foss knew it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then if this Digger Foss knew he was only bluffing, he&mdash;why, he
+practically shot the man in cold blood!" cried Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"Not practically but ab-so-lutely. Digger knew he was within the law, as
+they say. While he knew Dodd wouldn't shoot, no prosecutin' attorney can
+<i>prove</i> that he knew it. Dodd had held a gun on him and threatened to
+kill 'im. When Digger gets the chance he takes it&mdash;makes his lightin'
+draw and kills Dodd. On the face of it it's self-defence, pure and
+simple, and Digger'll be acquitted. He'll be in tonight and give himself
+up to the constable. He knows just where he stands."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's informant tossed off his liquor.</p>
+
+<p>"And Miss Jessamy knew all this&mdash;see?" he continued. "She savvies
+gunmen. She ought to, bein' a Selden. At least she calls herself a
+Selden, but her right name's Lomax. Old Man Selden married a widow, and
+this girl's her daughter. Well, she rides in and tells Dodd to shoot.
+She knew it was his life or Digger's, after he'd made that crack. But
+the poor fool!&mdash;Well, you saw what happened. Don't belong about here, do
+you, pardner?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do now," Oliver returned. "I'm just moving in, as it were. I own
+forty acres down on Clinker Creek. I came in here to inquire the way,
+and stumbled onto this tragedy."</p>
+
+<p>"On Clinker Creek! What forty?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's called the Old Tabor Ivison Place."</p>
+
+<p>"Heavens above! You own the Old Tabor Ivison Place?"</p>
+
+<p>"So the recorder's office says&mdash;or ought to."</p>
+
+<p>For fully ten seconds the big fellow faced Oliver, his blue eyes
+studying him carefully, appraisingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, by thunder!" he muttered at last. "Tell me about it, pardner. My
+name's Damon Tamroy."</p>
+
+<p>"Mine is Oliver Drew," said Oliver, offering his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated Tamroy in a low voice, his eyes, wide
+with curiosity, devouring Oliver. "The Old Ivison Place!"</p>
+
+<p>"You seem surprised."</p>
+
+<p>"Surprised! Hump! Say&mdash;le'me tell you right here, pardner; don't <i>you</i>
+ever pull a gun on any o' the Poison Oakers and act like Henry Dodd did.
+Maybe it's well you saw what was pulled off today&mdash;if you'll only
+remember when you get down there on the Tabor Ivison Place."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<h3>PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE</h3>
+
+
+<p>"I'll take a seegar," Mr. Damon Tamroy replied in response to Oliver's
+invitation.</p>
+
+<p>They lighted up and sat at a card-table against one wall of the gloomy
+saloon.</p>
+
+<p>"You speak of this as a gun country," remarked Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's at least got traditions," returned Mr. Tamroy, adding the
+unlettered man's apology for his little fanciful flight, "'as the fella
+says.' Like father like son, you know. The Seldens are gunmen. Old Adam
+Selden's dad was a 'Forty-niner; and Adam Selden&mdash;the Old Man Selden of
+today&mdash;was born right close to here when his dad was about twenty-five
+years old. Le's see&mdash;that makes Old Adam 'round about seventy. But he's
+spry and full o' pep, and one o' the best rifle shots in the country.</p>
+
+<p>"He takes after the old man, who was a bad actor in the days o'
+'Forty-nine, and his boys take after him. They're a bad outfit, takin'
+'em all in all. The boys are Hurlock, Moffat, Bolar, and Winthrop&mdash;four
+of 'em. All gunmen. Then there's Jessamy Selden&mdash;the only girl&mdash;who
+ain't rightly a Selden at all. None o' the old man's blood in Jessamy,
+o' course. Mis' Selden&mdash;she was an Ivison before she married
+Lomax&mdash;Myrtle Ivison was her name&mdash;she's a fine lady. But she won't
+leave the old man for all his wickedness, and Miss Jessamy won't leave
+her mother. So there you are!"</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said Oliver musingly, not at all displeased with the present
+subject of conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, here's this Digger Foss," Tamroy went on. "He's half-American,
+quarter-Chinaman, and quarter-Digger-Indian. The last's what gives him
+his name. There's a tribe o' Digger Indians close to here. He's killed
+two men and got away with it. Now he's added a third to his list, and
+likely he'll get away with that. The rest o' the Poison Oakers are Obed
+Pence, Ed Buchanan, Jay Muenster, and Chuck Allegan&mdash;ten in all."</p>
+
+<p>"Just what are the Poison Oakers?" Oliver asked as Damon Tamroy paused
+reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, <i>anybody</i> who lives in this country is called a Poison Oaker.
+You're one now. The woods about this country are full o' poison oak, and
+that's where we get the name. That's what outsiders call us. But when we
+ourselves speak of Poison Oakers we mean Old Man Selden's gang&mdash;him, his
+four sons, and the hombres I just mentioned&mdash;a regular old back-country
+gang o' rowdies, toughs, would-be bad men. You know what I mean.</p>
+
+<p>"They just drifted together by natural instinct, I reckon. Old Man
+Selden shot a man up around Willow Twig, and come clean at the trial.
+Obed Pence is a thief, and did a stretch for cattle rustlin' here about
+three years ago. Chuck and Ed have both done something to make 'em
+eligible&mdash;knife fightin' at country dances, and the like. And the Selden
+boys are chips off the old block."</p>
+
+<p>"But what is the gang's particular purpose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Meanness, s'far's I c'n see! Just meanness! Old Man Selden owns a ranch
+down your way that you can get to only by a trail. No wheeled vehicle
+can get in. All the boys live there with him. Kind of a colony, for two
+o' the boys are married. The other Poison Oakers live here and there
+about the country, on ranches. Ambition don't worry none of 'em much.
+Old Man Selden's said to distil jackass brandy, but it's never been
+proved."</p>
+
+<p>"Now about the Old Tabor Ivison Place?" said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's there yet, I reckon; but I ain't been down that way for
+years. Now and then a deer hunt leads me into Clinker Creek Caņon, but
+not often.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a lonely, deserted place, and the road to it is fierce. Several
+families lived down in there thirty years ago; but the places have been
+abandoned long since, and all the folks gone God knows where. It's a
+pretty country if a fella likes trees and rocks and things, and wild and
+rough; but down in that caņon it's too cold for pears and such
+fruit&mdash;and that's about all we raise on these rocky hills.</p>
+
+<p>"Old Tabor Ivison homesteaded your place. He's been dead matter o'
+fifteen years. Died down there. For years he'd lived there all by
+'imself. Good old man. Asked for little in life&mdash;and got it.</p>
+
+<p>"But for years now all that country's been abandoned. There's pretty
+good pickin's down in there; and Old Man Selden and some more o' the
+Poison Oakers have been runnin' cattle on all of it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad there's pasture," Oliver interposed.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, pasture's all right. But Selden's outfit has looked at that land as
+theirs for so long that you won't find it particularly congenial. You're
+bound to have trouble with the Poison Oakers, Mr. Drew, and I'd consider
+the land not worth it. Why, I can buy a thousan' acres down in there for
+two and a half an acre! You'll starve to death if you have to depend on
+that forty for a livin'. How come you to own the place?"</p>
+
+<p>"My father willed it to me," Oliver replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Your father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Peter Drew. Have you ever heard of him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," returned Damon Tamroy. "I reckon he was here before my time. How'd
+he come by the place? I thought one o' the Ivison girls&mdash;Nancy&mdash;still
+owned it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I can't tell you how Dad came to own it," Oliver made answer.
+"I haven't an abstract of title. I know, though, that Dad owned it for
+some time before his death."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well!" Damon Tamroy's eyes roved curiously over the young man
+once more. They steadied themselves on the silver-mounted Spanish spurs
+on Oliver's riding boots. "Travellin' horseback?" he wanted to know, and
+his look of puzzlement deepened.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Oliver a little bitterly. "I'm riding about all that I
+possess in this world, since you have pronounced the Old Tabor Ivison
+Place next to worthless." He grew thoughtful. "You're puzzled over me,"
+he smiled at last. "Frankly, though, you're no more puzzled over me than
+I am over myself and my rather odd situation. I'm a man of mystery." He
+laughed. "I think I'll tell you all about it.</p>
+
+<p>"As far back as I can remember, my home has been on a cow ranch in the
+southern part of the state. I can't remember my mother, who died when I
+was very young. I always thought my father wealthy until he died, two
+weeks ago, and his will was read to me. He had orange and lemon groves
+besides the cattle ranch, and was a stockholder in a substantial country
+bank. I was graduated at the State University, and went from there to
+France. Since, I've been resting up and sort of managing Dad's property.</p>
+
+<p>"My father was a peculiar man, and was never overly confidential with
+me. He was uneducated, as the term is understood today&mdash;a
+rough-and-ready old Westerner who had made his strike and settled down
+to peaceful days&mdash;or so I always imagined. But two weeks ago he died
+suddenly from a stroke of apoplexy; and when his will was read to me I
+got a jolt from which I haven't yet recovered.</p>
+
+<p>"The home ranch and the other real estate, together with all livestock
+and appurtenances&mdash;with one exception, which I shall mention later&mdash;were
+willed to the Catholic Church, to be handled as they saw fit. It seemed
+that there was little else to be disposed of. I was left five hundred
+dollars in cash, a saddle horse named Poche, a silver-mounted bridle and
+saddle and martingales, the old Spanish spurs you see on my feet, and
+the Old Tabor Ivison Place, in Chaparral County, of which I knew almost
+nothing. That was all&mdash;with the exception of the written instructions in
+my father's handwriting that were given me by his lawyers. Maybe you can
+throw some light on the matter, Mr. Tamroy. Would you care to hear my
+father's last message to me?"</p>
+
+<p>Tamroy evinced his eagerness by scraping forward his chair.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver took from a leather billbook a folded piece of paper. "I don't
+know that I ought to," he smiled, "but, after all, I'll never learn the
+mystery of it if I keep the matter from people about here. So here goes:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"'<i>My dear son Oliver</i>:</p>
+
+<p>"'As you know perfectly well, I am an ignorant old Westerner.
+There is no use mincing matters in regard to this. When I was
+young I didn't have much of a chance to get an education; but
+when I grew up and married, and you was born, I said you'd
+never be allowed to grow up in ignorance like I did. So I tried
+to give you an education, and you didn't fail me.'</p>
+
+<p>"'I did this for a double purpose, Oliver. I knew that I was
+going to die someday, and that then you'd have to settle a
+little matter that's bothered me since before you was born. For
+pretty near thirty years, Oliver, I've had a problem to fight;
+and I never knew how to settle the matter because I wasn't
+educated. So I let it rest and waited for you to grow up, and
+go through college. And now that's happened; and you're
+educated and fit to answer the question that's bothered me for
+nearly half my life. The answer is either Yes or No, and you've
+got to find out which is right.'</p>
+
+<p>"'I'm leaving you Poche, the best cow horse in Southern
+California, my old silver-mounted saddle that's carried me
+thousands of miles, the martingales, and my old silver-mounted
+bridle, which same three things made me the envy of all the
+vaqueros of the Clinker Creek Country over thirty years ago,
+and my Spanish spurs that go along with the outfit. These
+things, Oliver, and five hundred dollars in Cash, and forty
+acres of land on Clinker Creek, in Chaparral county, called the
+Old Tabor Ivison Place.'</p>
+
+<p>"'They are all you'll need to find the answer to the question
+that's bothered me for thirty years. Buckle on the spurs, throw
+the saddle on Poche, bridle him, put the five hundred dollars
+and the deed to the Old Tabor Ivison Place in your jeans, and
+hit the trail for Clinker Creek. Stay there till you know
+whether the answer is Yes or No. Then go to my lawyers and tell
+them which it is. And the God of your mother go with you!'</p>
+
+<p>"'Your affectionate father,'</p>
+
+<p>"'<span class="smcap">Peter Drew.</span>'</p>
+
+<p>"'In his seventy-third year.'"</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Oliver folded the paper. Damon Tamroy only sat and stared at him.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<h3>B FOR BOLIVIO</h3>
+
+
+<p>"Boy," said the kindly Mr. Tamroy, leaning forward toward Oliver Drew,
+"those are the queerest last words of a father to his son that I ever
+listened to. What on earth you goin' to do?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver shrugged and spread his hands. "Keep on obeying instructions," he
+said. "I've followed them to the letter so far. I'm only a few miles
+from my destination, and I've ridden in the silver-mounted saddle on
+Poche's back the entire five hundred miles and over. My father was not a
+fool. He was of sound mind, I fully believe, when he wrote that message
+for me. There's some deep meaning underlying all this. I must simply
+stay on the Old Tabor Ivison Place till I know what puzzled old Dad all
+those years, and find out whether the answer is Yes or No."</p>
+
+<p>"Heavens above!" muttered Mr. Tamroy. "But how you goin' to live?
+What're you goin' to do down in there? Gonta get a job? It's too far
+away from everything for you to go and come to a job, Mr. Drew."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you," said Oliver. "At the University I took an agricultural
+course. Since my graduation I have written not a few articles and sold
+them to leading farm journals. If the Old Tabor Ivison Place is of any
+value at all, I want to experiment in raising all sorts of things on a
+small scale, and write articles about my results. I'll have a few stands
+of bees, and maybe a cow. I'll try all sorts of things, get a
+second-hand typewriter, and go to it. I think I can live while I'm
+waiting for my father's big question to crop up."</p>
+
+<p>"You can raise a garden all right, I reckon," Oliver's new friend told
+him, following him as he rose to continue his journey. "But you got to
+irrigate, and there ain't the water in Clinker Creek there used to be.
+Folks up near the headwaters use nearly all of it, and in the hot months
+what they turn back will all go up in evaporation before it gets down to
+you. There's a good spring, though, but it strikes me it don't flow
+anything like it did when Old Tabor Ivison lived on the land."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there a house on the place?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only an old cabin. At least there was last time I chased a buck down in
+there. And something of a fence, if I remember right. But fifteen years
+is a long time&mdash;I reckon everything left is next to worthless."</p>
+
+<p>They came to a pause at the edge of the sidewalk beside an aged
+villager, who stood leaning on his crooked manzanita cane as he gazed at
+Poche and his silver-mounted trappings.</p>
+
+<p>"That's Old Dad Sloan," whispered Damon Tamroy. "He's one o' the last of
+the 'Forty-niners. Just hobbles about on his cane, livin' off the
+county, and waitin' to die. Never saw him take much interest in anything
+before, but that outfit o' yours has caught his eye. Little wonder, by
+golly!"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver stepped into the street and lifted the hair-tassled reins of the
+famous bridle. He turned to find the watery blue eyes of the patriarch
+fixed on him intently. With a trembling left hand the old man brushed
+back his long grey hair, then the fingers shakily caressed a grizzled
+beard, flaring and wiry as excelsior. A long finger at length pointed to
+the horse.</p>
+
+<p>"Where'd you get that outfit, young feller?" came the quavering tones.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Tamroy winked knowingly at Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"It was my father's," said Oliver in eager tones.</p>
+
+<p>The 'Forty-niner cupped a hand back of his ear. "Hey?" he shrilled.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver lifted his voice and repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Yer papy's hey?" He tottered into the street and fingered the heavily
+silvered Spanish halfbreed bit, which, Oliver had been told, was very
+valuable intrinsically and as a relic. Then the knotty fingers travelled
+up an intricately plaited cheekstrap to one of the glittering
+silver-bordered <i>conchas</i>. The old fellow fumbled for his glasses,
+placed them on his nose, and studied the last named conceit with
+careful, lengthy scrutiny. "Is that there glass, young feller?" he
+croaked at last, pointing to the setting of the <i>concha</i>, a lilac-hued
+crystal about two inches in diameter.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it is," Oliver shouted.</p>
+
+<p>The old man shook his head. "I can't see well any more," he quavered.
+"But this don't look like glass to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I've never had it examined," Oliver told him. "I supposed the settings
+of the <i>conchas</i> to be glass or some sort of quartz."</p>
+
+<p>"Quartz?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>The grey head slowly shook back and forth. "Young man," came the piping
+tones, "is they a 'B' cut in the metal that holds them stones in place?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's eyes widened. "There is," he said. "On the inside of each one."</p>
+
+<p>The old man stared at him, and his bearded lips trembled. "Bolivio!" he
+croaked weirdly.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"Bolivio made them <i>conchas</i>, young feller. Bolivio made that bit.
+Bolivio plaited that bridle. Bolivio made them martingales."</p>
+
+<p>"And who is Bolivio?" puzzled the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>"Dead and gone&mdash;dead and gone!" crooned the ancient. "That outfit's
+maybe a hundred years old, young feller&mdash;part of it, 'tleast. And that
+ain't glass in there&mdash;and it ain't quartz in in there&mdash;and there's only
+one man ever in this country ever had a bridle like that."</p>
+
+<p>"And who was he?" asked Oliver almost breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Dan Smeed&mdash;that's who! Dan Smeed&mdash;outlaw, highwayman, squawman! Dan
+Smeed&mdash;gone these thirty years and more. That's his bridle&mdash;that's his
+saddle&mdash;all made by Bolivio, maybe a hundred years ago. And them stones
+in them <i>conchas</i> are gems from the lost mine o' Bolivio. The lost gems
+o' Bolivio, young feller!"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver and Tamroy stared into each other's eyes as the old man tottered
+back to the sidewalk.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me more!" cried Oliver, as the ancient began tapping his crooked
+cane along the street.</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't hear," said Tamroy. "We'll get at him again sometime. Maybe
+he'll tell what he knows and maybe he won't. He's awful childish&mdash;awful
+headstrong. For days at a time he won't speak to a soul."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver stood in deep thought, mystified beyond measure, yet thrilled
+with the thought that he was nearing the beginning of the trail to the
+mysterious question. He roused himself at length.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I must be getting along," he said. "I'll go right down to Clinker
+Creek now, if you'll point the way. I've enough grub behind my saddle
+for tonight and tomorrow morning. There's grass for the horse at
+present?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes&mdash;horse'll get along all right."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll go down and give my property the once-over, and be up
+tomorrow to get what I need."</p>
+
+<p>Damon Tamroy showed him the road and shook hands with him. "Ride up and
+get acquainted regular someday," he invited. "I got a little ranch up
+the line&mdash;pears and apples and things. Give you some cherries a little
+later on. Well, so-long. Remember the Poison Oakers!"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver galloped away, his flashing equipment the target of all eyes, on
+the road that led to the Old Tabor Ivison Place, his brain in a whirl of
+excitement.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FIRST CALLER</h3>
+
+
+<p>Toward noon Poche was carefully feeling his way down the rocky caņon of
+Clinker Creek, over a forgotten road. Oliver walked, for Poche needs
+must scramble over huge boulders, fallen pines, and tangles of
+driftwood. The road followed the course of the creek for the most part,
+and in many places the creek had broken through and washed great gaps.</p>
+
+<p>But the country was delightful. Wild grapevines grew in profusion at the
+creekside, gracefully festooned from overhanging buckeye limbs. Odorous
+alders, several varieties of willow, and white oak also followed the
+watercourse; and up on the hills on either side were black oaks and live
+oaks, together with yellow and sugar and digger pines, and spruce.
+Everywhere grew the now significant poison oak.</p>
+
+<p>Finally Poche scraped through chaparral that almost hid the road and
+came out in a clearing. Oliver at last stood looking at his future home.</p>
+
+<p>A quaint old cabin, with a high peaked roof, apparently in better repair
+than he had expected, stood on a little rise above the creek. The caņon
+widened here, and narrowed again farther down. The creek bowed and
+followed the base of the steep hills to the west. A level strip of land
+comprising about an acre paralleled the creek, and invited tillage. All
+about the clearing, perhaps fifteen acres in area, stood tall pines and
+spruce, and magnificent oaks rose above the cabin, their great limbs
+sprawled over it protectingly. Acres and acres of heavy, impenetrable
+chaparral covered both steep slopes beyond the conifers.</p>
+
+<p>For several minutes Oliver drank in the beauty of it, then heaved
+himself into the saddle and galloped to the cabin over the unobstructed
+land.</p>
+
+<p>He loosed Poche when the saddle and bridle were off, and the horse
+eagerly buried his muzzle in the tall green grass. Up in the branches
+paired California linnets, red breasted for their love season, went over
+plans and specifications for nest-building with much conversation and
+flit-flit of feathered wings. Wild canaries engaged in a like pursuit.
+Overhead in the heavens an eagle sailed. From the sunny chaparral came
+the scolding quit-quit-quit of mother quail, while the pompous cocks
+perched themselves at the tops of manzanita bushes and whistled, "Cut
+that out! Cut that out!" All Nature was home-building; and Oliver forgot
+the loss of the fortune he had expected at his father's death and caught
+the spirit.</p>
+
+<p>He collected oak limbs and built a fire. He carried water from the creek
+and set it on to boil. While waiting for this he strolled about,
+revelling in the soft spring air, fragrant with the smell of wild
+flowers.</p>
+
+<p>That the cabin had been occupied often by hunters and other wanderers in
+the caņon was evidenced by the many carvings on the door and signs of
+bygone campfires all about. He stepped upon the rotting porch and
+studied the monograms, initials, and flippant messages of the lonely men
+who had passed that way.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figright">
+<img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/>
+</div>
+
+<p>"All hope abandon, ye who enter here" was carved in ancient letters just
+under the lintel of the door. Next he was informed that "Fools names,
+like their faces, are always seen in public places." "Only a sucker
+would live here" was the parting decision of some disgruntled guest.
+"Home, Sweet Home" adorned the bottom of the door. One panel had proved
+an excellent target, and no less than twenty bullet holes had made a
+sieve of it. "Welcome, Wanderer!" and "Dew Drop Inn" and "Though lost to
+sight to memory dear" occupied conspicuous places. Then on the
+right-hand frame he noticed this:</p>
+
+
+
+<p>The carving was neatly executed. The leaves represented were
+indisputably those of the poison oak.</p>
+
+<p>Had some one carved this in a jocular effort to warn chance visitors to
+the place of the danger of the poison weed? Or did the carving represent
+the emblem of the Poison Oakers?</p>
+
+<p>Oliver smiled grimly and opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>He passed through the three small rooms of the house and investigated
+the loft. The structure seemed solid. A new roof would be necessary, and
+new windows and frames and a new porch; and as Oliver was no mean
+carpenter, he thought he could make the cabin snug and tight for
+seventy-five dollars.</p>
+
+<p>The front door had closed of itself, he found, when he started back to
+his campfire. He stopped in the main room, and a smile, slightly bitter,
+flickered across his lips. As neatly carved as was the symbol of the
+Poison Oakers outside&mdash;if that was what it was&mdash;and evidently executed
+by the same hand, was this, on the inside of the door:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Oliver went on out and squatted over his fire, peeling potatoes. His
+blue eyes grew studious. In the flickering blaze he saw the picture of a
+black-eyed, black-haired girl on a white horse crouched on its haunches.</p>
+
+<p>"Great Scott!" he muttered. "I'll have to forget that!"</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p>In the month that followed, Oliver Drew, spurred by feverish enthusiasm,
+worked miracles on the Old Tabor Ivison Place. He repaired the line
+fences and rehabilitated the cabin; bought a burro and pack-saddle and
+packed in lumber and tools and household necessities; fenced off his
+experimental garden on the level land with rabbit-tight netting; cleaned
+and boxed the spring; and early in May was following the spading up of
+his garden plot by planting vegetable seed.</p>
+
+<p>With all this behind him, he went at the clearing of the road that
+connected him with his kind. Today as he laboured with pick and shovel
+and bar he was cheerful, though his thoughts clung to the subject of his
+father's death and the odd situation in which it had left him. He had
+fully expected to inherit properties and money to the extent of a
+hundred thousand dollars. He was not particularly resentful because this
+had not come to pass, for he never had been a pampered young man; but
+the mystery of his father's last message puzzled and chagrined him.</p>
+
+<p>He would always remember Peter Drew as a peculiar man. He had been a
+kindly father, but a reticent one. There were many pages in his past
+that never had been opened to his son. Oliver was the child of Peter
+Drew's second wife. About the queer old Westerner's former marriage he
+had been told practically nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Believing his father to have been of sound mind when he penned that last
+strange communication, Oliver could not hold that the situation which it
+imposed was not for the best. Surely old Peter Drew had had some wise
+reason for his act, and in the end Oliver would know what it was. He had
+been told to seek the Clinker Creek Country to learn the question that
+had puzzled his father for thirty years, to decide whether the proper
+answer was Yes or No, and communicate his decision to his father's
+lawyers. That was all. When in the wisdom which his father had supposed
+would be the natural result of his son's university training he had made
+his decision and placed it before these legal gentlemen, what would
+happen? Speculation over this led nowhere.</p>
+
+<p>At first it had seemed to Oliver that the mission with which he had been
+intrusted was more or less a secret matter, and that he must keep still
+about it. Then as the staunch cow-pony bore him nearer and nearer to the
+Clinker Creek Country it gradually dawned upon him that, by so doing, he
+might stand a poor chance of even finding out what had puzzled his sire.
+To say nothing of the answer which he was to seek. It was then he
+decided that he had nothing to hide and must place his situation before
+the people of the country who would likely be able to help him. Hence
+his confidences to Mr. Damon Tamroy.</p>
+
+<p>Tamroy had aided him not at all; but the 'Forty-niner, Old Dad Sloan,
+knew something. Dan Smeed, outlaw, highwayman, had owned a saddle and
+bridle like Oliver's. The old man had mysteriously mentioned the lost
+mine of Bolivio, and had said the settings in Oliver's <i>conchas</i> were
+gems. If only the old man could be made to talk!</p>
+
+<p>The muffled thud of a horse's hoofs came between the strokes of Oliver's
+pick. With an odd and unfamiliar sensation he glimpsed a white horse and
+rider approaching through the pines.</p>
+
+<p>It was she&mdash;Jessamy Selden&mdash;the black-haired, black-eyed girl of whom he
+reluctantly had thought so often since his first day in the Clinker
+Creek Country.</p>
+
+<p>She was riding straight down the caņon, the white mare gingerly picking
+her way between boulders and snarls of driftwood. The girl looked up.
+Oliver felt that she saw him. Her ears could not have been insensible to
+the ring of his pick on the flinty stones. She did not leave the trail,
+however, but continued on in his direction.</p>
+
+<p>He rested on the handle of his tool and waited.</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning," he ventured, sweeping off his battered hat, as the mare
+stopped without pressure on the reins and gravely contemplated him.</p>
+
+<p>The girl smiled and returned his greeting brightly.</p>
+
+<p>"If you had waited a few days longer for your ride down here," said
+Oliver, "I'd have had a better trail for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know that I want it any better," she laughed. "I like
+things pretty much as they are, when Old Mother Nature has built them. I
+ride down this way frequently."</p>
+
+<p>She was no fragile reed, this girl. She was rather more substantially
+built than most members of her sex. Her figure was straight and tall and
+rounded, and her strong, graceful neck upreared itself proudly between
+sturdy shoulders. Grace and strength, rather than purely feminine
+beauty, predominated in the impression she created in Oliver. She wore a
+man's Stetson hat over her lavish crown of coal-black hair, a man's
+flannel shirt, a whipcord divided skirt, and dark-russet riding boots.
+The saddle that she rode in had not been built for a woman to handle,
+and, with its long, pointed tapaderos, must have weighed close to fifty
+pounds. The steady, friendly, confident gaze of her large black eyes was
+thrilling. A man instinctively felt that, if he could win this woman, he
+would have acquired a wife among a thousand, a loyal friend and comrade,
+and a partner who could and would shoulder more than a woman's share of
+their load.</p>
+
+<p>Still, Oliver knew nothing at all about her. What he had heard of her
+was not exactly of the best. Yet he felt that she was gloriously all
+right, and did not try to argue otherwise.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I suppose I must introduce myself first," she was saying in her
+full, ringing tones. "I'm Jessamy Selden. My name is not Selden, though,
+but Lomax. When my mother married Adam Selden I took her new name. I
+heard somebody had moved onto the Old Ivison Place, and I deliberately
+rode down to get acquainted."</p>
+
+<p>"You waited a month, I notice," Oliver laughingly reproached. "My name
+is Oliver Drew. If you'll get off your horse I'll tell you what a
+wonderful man I am."</p>
+
+<p>She swung to the ground and held out a strong, brown, ungloved hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll walk to your cabin with you," she said, "if you'll invite me. I'd
+like to see how you've been improving your time since your arrival."</p>
+
+<p>Scarce able to find words with which to meet such delightful frankness,
+Oliver walked beside her, the white mare following and nosing at his
+pockets to prove that she was a privileged character.</p>
+
+<p>The girl loosed her within the inclosure, and let her drag her reins.
+Poche trotted up to make the white's acquaintance, followed by the new
+mouse-coloured burro, Smith, who long since had assumed a "where thou
+goest I will go" affection for the bay saddler.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy Selden came to a stop before the cabin, her black eyes dancing.</p>
+
+<p>"Who would have thought," she said in low tones, "that the Clinker Creek
+people ever would see the old Ivison cabin rebuilt and inhabited once
+more! How sturdily it must have been built to stand up against wind and
+storm all these years. Are you going to invite me in and show me
+around?" She levelled that direct glance at him and showed her white
+teeth in a smile.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was thinking of the carving on the inside of the old door,
+"Jessamy, My Sweetheart." He had not replaced the door with a new one,
+for every penny counted. It still was serviceable; and, besides, there
+seemed to be a sort of companionship about the carved observations of
+the unknowns who had been sheltered by the old cabin during the past
+fifteen years.</p>
+
+<p>"You've been in the house often, I suppose?" He made it a question.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," she said. "I've lunched in it many a time, and have run in
+out of the rain during winter months. I slept in it all night once."</p>
+
+<p>"You seem to be an independent sort of young woman," suggested Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a rather lonely sort of woman, if that's what you mean," she
+replied. "Yes, I ride about lots alone. I like it. Don't you want me to
+go in?"</p>
+
+<p>"Er&mdash;why, certainly," he stammered. "Please don't think me inhospitable.
+Come on."</p>
+
+<p>He led the way, and stood back for her at the door. He would leave the
+door open, swung back into the corner, he thought, so that she would not
+see the carving. She had been in the cabin many times. Did she know the
+carving to be there? Of course it might have been executed since her
+last visit, though it did not seem very fresh. Who had carved the words?
+Oliver could imagine any of the young Clinker Creek swains as being
+secretly in love with this marvellous girl, and pouring out his tortured
+soul through the blade of his jack-knife when securely hidden from
+profane eyes in this vast wilderness.</p>
+
+<p>She passed complimentary remarks about his practically built home-made
+furniture, and the neatness and necessary simplicity of everything.</p>
+
+<p>"What an old maid you are for one so young!" she laughed. "And, please,
+what's the typewriter for&mdash;if I'm not too bold?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Oliver, "it occurred to me that I must make a living down
+here. I'm a graduate of the State College of Agriculture, and I like to
+farm and write about it. I've sold several articles to agricultural
+papers. I'm going to experiment here, and try to make a living by
+writing up the results!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, how perfectly fine!" she cried enthusiastically. "I couldn't
+imagine anything more engrossing. I'm a State University girl."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say!"</p>
+
+<p>And this furnished a topic for ten minutes' conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"If you're as good a writer and farmer as you are tinker and carpenter,"
+she observed, passing into the front room again, "you'll do splendidly."
+She was standing, straight as a young spruce, hands on hips, looking
+with twinkling eyes at the open door. "The old door still hangs, I see,"
+she murmured. "Now just why didn't you replace it, Mr. Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver looked apprehensive. "Well," he replied hesitatingly, "for
+several reasons. First, a new door costs money, and so would the lumber
+with which to make one&mdash;and I haven't much of that article. Second, I
+get some amusement from looking at those old carvings and speculating on
+the possible personalities of the carvers. For all I know, some great
+celebrities' ideas may be among those expressed there&mdash;some future great
+man, at any rate. The boy one meets in the street may one day be
+president, you know. Then there's a sort of companionship about those
+names and monograms and quotations. The fellow that informs me that only
+suckers live here I'd like to meet. He was so blunt about it, so sure.
+He&mdash;er&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Smiling, she had stepped to the door and, arms still akimbo, allowed her
+glance to travel from one design to another. She raised an arm and
+levelled a finger.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of that one?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Oliver, "that's a rather well executed poison oak leaf. The
+hills are covered with the plant. I imagine that some wanderer not
+immune from the poison came into contact with it, and, though his eyes
+were swelled half shut and his fingers itched and tingled, his right
+hand had not lost its cunning. So he took out his trusty blade and
+carved a warning for all future pilgrims who chanced this way to beware
+of this tree that is in the midst of the garden, and to not touch it
+lest they&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Itch," Jessamy gravely put in. "Quite pretty and poetic," she
+supplemented. "But you are entirely wrong, Mr. Drew. That carving is,
+first of all, a copy of the brand of Old Man Selden, and you'll find it
+on all his cows. All but the word 'Beware,' of course, you understand.
+Second, it represents the silly symbol of a gang that infests this
+country known as the Poison Oakers. Oh, you've heard of them!" she had
+turned suddenly and surprised the look on his face.</p>
+
+<p>"It sounds very bloodthirsty," he laughed confusedly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you more, then, when I know you better," she said. "No, I'll
+tell you today," she added quickly.</p>
+
+<p>Then before he could make a move she had closed the door to examine what
+might be carved on the inner side.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me now," said Oliver quickly. "Try this chair here by the window.
+I'm rather proud of this one. It's my first attempt at a morris ch&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Come here, please," she commanded, standing with her back to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't act so like a boy," she reproved as he dutifully stepped up
+behind her. "Anybody would know you are clumsily trying to detract my
+attention from&mdash;that."</p>
+
+<p>The brown finger was pointing straight at JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART.</p>
+
+<p>She turned and levelled her frank, unabashed eyes straight at his.</p>
+
+<p>"So that's why you hesitated about inviting me in," she stated, her lips
+twitching and dimples appearing and disappearing in her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Frankly, yes," he told her gravely.</p>
+
+<p>Her glance did not leave him. "Mr. Tamroy told me he had mentioned me to
+you," she said. "So of course you knew, when you saw this carving, that
+I was the subject of the raving. And when you saw me you wished to spare
+me embarrassment. Thank you. But you see I'm not at all embarrassed. I
+have never before seen this masterpiece in wood, and imagine it has been
+done since I was in the cabin last. Let's see&mdash;I doubt if I've been
+inside for a year or more. I think perhaps Mr. Digger Foss is the one
+who tried to make his emotions deathless by this work of art. 'Jessamy,
+My Sweetheart,' eh?" She threw back her glorious head and laughed till
+two tears streamed down her tanned cheeks. "Poor Digger!" she said
+soberly at last. "I suppose he does love me."</p>
+
+<p>"Who wouldn't," thought Oliver, but bit his lips instead of speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"You may leave that, Mr. Drew," she told him, "until you get ready to
+replace the old door with a new one. I would not have the irrefutable
+evidence of at least one conquest blotted out for worlds. Now let's go
+out in that glorious sunlight, and I'll tell you about Old Man Selden
+and the Poison Oakers."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<h3>"AND I'LL HELP YOU!"</h3>
+
+
+<p>What Jessamy Selden told Oliver Drew of the Poison Oakers was about the
+same as he had heard from Damon Tamroy.</p>
+
+<p>She used his sawbuck for a seat, and sat with one booted ankle resting
+on a knee, idly spinning the rowel of her spur as she talked. Oliver
+listened without interruption until she finished and once more levelled
+that straightforward glance at him.</p>
+
+<p>"The cows have been down below on winter pasture," she added. "Adam
+Selden and the boys rode out yesterday to start the spring drive into
+the foothills. You'll awake some morning soon to find red cattle all
+about you, and they'll be here till August."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he said, "I don't know that I shall mind them. My fence is
+pretty fair, and with a little more repairing will turn them, I think."</p>
+
+<p>She twirled her rowel in silence for a time, her eyes fixed on it. Then
+she said:</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't that, Mr. Drew. I may as well tell you right now what I came
+down here purposely to tell you. You're not wanted here. All of this
+land has been abandoned so long that Adam Selden and the gang have come
+to consider it their property&mdash;or at least free range."</p>
+
+<p>"But they'll respect my right of ownership."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know&mdash;I don't know. I'm afraid they won't. They're a law unto
+themselves down in here. They'll try to run you out."</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"Any way&mdash;every way. If nothing else occurs to them, they'll begin a
+studied system of persecution with the idea of making you so sick of
+your bargain that you'll pull stakes and hit the trail. That poor man
+Dodd! Mr. Tamroy told me you happened into the saloon in time to see the
+shooting. Wasn't it terrible! And how they persecuted him&mdash;fairly drove
+him into the rash act that cost him his life!"</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her glance again. "Mr. Tamroy tells me that you were shocked
+at me that day."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess I didn't fully understand the circumstances."</p>
+
+<p>"I did," she firmly declared, her lips setting in what would have been a
+grim smile but for the dimples that came with it. "I understood the
+situation," she went on. "Digger Foss had been waiting for just that
+chance. There's just enough Indian and Chinese blood in him to make him
+a fatalist. He's therefore deadly. Has no fear of death. He's cruel,
+merciless. I knew when I saw Henry Dodd covering him with that gun that,
+if he didn't finish what he'd started, he was a dead man. He couldn't
+even have backed off gracefully, keeping Digger covered, and got away
+alive. Digger is so quick on the draw, and his aim is so deadly. He's a
+master gunman. Even had Dodd succeeded in getting away then, he would
+have been a marked man. He had thrown down on Digger Foss. Digger would
+have got the drop on him next time they met and killed him as you would
+a coyote. So in my excitement I rushed in with my well meant warning,
+and&mdash;Oh, it was horrible!"</p>
+
+<p>"And you meant actually for Dodd to kill Foss?"</p>
+
+<p>Her black eyes dilated, and an angry flush blended with the tan on her
+cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"It was one or the other of them," she told him coldly. "Mr. Dodd was an
+honest, plodding man&mdash;a good citizen. Foss is a renegade. Was I so very
+bloodthirsty in trying to make the best of a bad situation by choosing,
+on the spur of the moment, which man ought to live on? I'm not the
+fainting kind of woman, Mr. Drew. One must be practical, if he can, even
+over matters like that."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not condemning," he said. "I'm only wondering that a woman could be
+so practical in such a situation."</p>
+
+<p>"Digger Foss hasn't seen me since then," she observed. "He's in jail,
+awaiting trial, at the county seat. He'll be acquitted, of course. I'm
+wondering what he'll have to say to me when he is free again."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver said nothing to this.</p>
+
+<p>"I must be going," she declared, rising suddenly. "As I said, I came
+down to warn you to be on your guard against the Poison Oakers."</p>
+
+<p>He caught her pony and led it to her. She swung into the saddle, then
+slued toward him, leaned an elbow on the horn and rested her chin in the
+palm of her hand. Once more that direct gaze of her frank black eyes
+looked him through and through.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," she asked, "will the Poison Oakers run you off?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I think not," he laughed lightly.</p>
+
+<p>"They'll be ten against one, Mr. Drew."</p>
+
+<p>"There's law in the land."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, there's law," she mused. "But it's so easy for unscrupulous people
+to get around the law. They can subject you to no end of persecution,
+and you won't even be able to prove that one of them is behind it."</p>
+
+<p>She looked him over deliberately.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad you've come," she said. "You're an educated man, and blessed
+with a higher order of character than has been anybody else who stood to
+cross the Poison Oakers. Somehow, I feel that you are destined to be
+their undoing. They must be corralled and their atrocities brought to an
+end. You must be the one to put the quietus on that gang. And I'll help
+you. Good-bye!"</p>
+
+<p>She lifted the white mare into a lope, opened the gate, rode through and
+closed it without leaving the saddle, then, waving back at him,
+disappeared in the chaparral.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<h3>ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS</h3>
+
+
+<p>Oliver Drew had found a bee tree on the backbone of the ridge between
+the Old Ivison Place and the American River. He stood contemplating it,
+watching the busy little workers winging their way to and from the hole
+in the hollow trunk, planning to change their quarters and put them to
+work for him.</p>
+
+<p>Far below him, down a precipitous pine-studded slope, the green American
+River raced toward the ocean. There had been a week of late rains, and
+good grass for the summer was assured.</p>
+
+<p>Away through the tall trees below him he saw red cows filtering along,
+cropping eagerly at the lush growth after a long dusty trip from the
+drying lowlands. Now and then he saw a horseman galloping along a mile
+distant. He heard an occasional faint shout, borne upward on the soft
+spring wind. The Seldens were ending the drive of their cattle to summer
+pastures.</p>
+
+<p>He turned suddenly as he heard the tramp of hoofs. Six horsemen were
+approaching, along the backbone of the ridge, winding in and out between
+clumps of the sparse chaparral.</p>
+
+<p>In the lead, straight and sturdy as some ancient oak, rode a tall man
+with grey hair that hung below his ears and a flowing grey beard. He
+wore the conventional cowpuncher garb, from black-silk neckerchief, held
+in place by a poker chip with holes bored in it, to high-heeled boots
+and chaps. He rode a gaunt grey horse. His tapaderos flapped loosely
+against the undergrowth, and, so long were the man's legs, they seemed
+almost to scrape the ground. A holstered Colt hung at the rider's side.</p>
+
+<p>Silent, stern of face, this old man rode like the wraith of some ancient
+chieftain at the head of his hard-riding warriors.</p>
+
+<p>Those who followed him were younger men, plainly <i>vaqueros</i>. They lolled
+in their saddles, and smoked and bantered. But Oliver's eyes were alone
+for the stalwart figure in the lead, who neither spoke nor smiled nor
+paid any attention to his band, but rode on grimly as if heading an
+expedition into dangerous and unknown lands.</p>
+
+<p>Undoubtedly this was Old Man Selden and his four sons, together with
+other members of the Poison Oakers Gang. They had left the cows to
+themselves and were making their way homeward after the drive. Oliver's
+first impulse was to hide behind a tree and watch, for he felt that he
+should forego no chance of a strategic advantage. Then he decided that
+it was not for him to begin man&oelig;uvring, and stood boldly in full
+view, wondering whether the riders would pass without observing him.</p>
+
+<p>They did not. He heard a sharp word or two from some follower of the old
+man, and for the first time the leader showed signs of knowing that he
+was not riding alone. He slued about in his saddle. A hand pointed in
+Oliver's direction. The old man reined in his grey horse and looked
+toward Oliver and the bee tree. The other horsemen drew up around him.
+There was a short consultation, then all of them leaned to the right in
+their saddles and galloped over the uneven land.</p>
+
+<p>They reined in close to the lone man, and a dusty, sweaty, hard-looking
+clan they were. Keen, curious eyes studied him, and there was no
+mistaking the insolent and bullying attitude of their owners.</p>
+
+<p>A quick glance Oliver gave the five, then his interest settled on their
+leader.</p>
+
+<p>Adam Selden was a powerful man. His nose was of the Bourbon type, large
+and deeply pitted. His eyes were blue and strong and dominating.</p>
+
+<p>"Howdy?" boomed a deep bass voice.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver smiled. "How do you do?" he replied.</p>
+
+<p>Then silence fell, while old Adam Selden sat rolling a quid of tobacco
+in his mouth and studying the stranger with inscrutable cold blue eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I've found a bee tree," said Oliver when the tensity grew almost
+unbearable. "I was just figuring on the best way to hive the little
+rascals."</p>
+
+<p>Selden slowly nodded his great head up and down with exasperating
+exaggeration.</p>
+
+<p>"Stranger about here, ain't ye?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I've been here over a month," Oliver answered. "I own the Old
+Tabor Ivison Place, down there in the valley. My name is Oliver Drew,
+and I guess you're Mr. Selden."</p>
+
+<p>Another long pause, then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'm Selden. Them's my cows ye see down there moseyin' up the river
+bottom and over the hills. I been runnin' cows in here summers for a
+good many years. Just so!"</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said Oliver, not knowing what else to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Three o' these men are my boys," Selden drawled on. "The rest are
+friends o' ours. Has anybody told ye about the poison oak that grows
+'round here?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm familiar with it," Oliver told him.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't scared o' poison oak, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all. I'm immune."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a pesterin' plant. You'll chafe under it and chafe under it, and
+think it's gone; then here she comes back again, redder and lumpier and
+itchier than ever."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm quite familiar with its persistence," Oliver gravely stated.</p>
+
+<p>"And still ye ain't afraid o' poison oak?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not in the least."</p>
+
+<p>The gang was grinning, but the chief of the</p>
+
+<p>Poison Oakers maintained a straight face.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't scared of it, then," he drawled on. "Well, now, that's handy. I
+like to meet a man that ain't scared o' poison oak. Got yer place
+fenced, I reckon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I've repaired the fence."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right. That's always the best way. O' course the law says we got
+to see that our stock don't get on your prop'ty. Whether that there's a
+good and just law or not I ain't prepared to say right now. But we got
+to obey it, and we always try to keep our cows offen other folks'
+pasture. But it's best to fence, whether ye got stock o' yer own or not.
+Pays in the long run, and keeps a fella outa trouble with his
+neighbours. But the best o' fencin' won't keep out the poison oak. O'
+course, though, you know that. Now what're ye gonta do down there on the
+Old Ivison Place?&mdash;if I ain't too bold in askin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Have a little garden, and maybe get a cow later on. Put a few stands of
+bees to work for me, if I can find enough swarms in the woods. I have a
+saddle horse and a burro to keep the grass down now. I don't intend to
+do a great deal in the way of farming."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd think not," Selden drawled. "Land about here's good fer nothin' but
+grazin' a few months outa the year. Man would be a fool to try and farm
+down where you're at. How ye gonta make a livin'?&mdash;if I'm not too bold
+in askin'."</p>
+
+<p>"I intend to write for agricultural papers for my living," said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>Silence greeted this. So far as their experience was concerned, Oliver
+might as well have stated that he was contemplating the manufacture of
+tortoise-shell side combs to keep soul and body to their accustomed
+partnership.</p>
+
+<p>"How long ye owned this forty?" Old Man Selden asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Only since my father's death, this year."</p>
+
+<p>"Yer father, eh? Who was yer father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Peter Drew, of the southern part of the state."</p>
+
+<p>"How long'd he own that prop'ty before he died?"</p>
+
+<p>"He owned it for some time, I understand," said Oliver patiently.</p>
+
+<p>The grey head shook slowly from side to side. "I can show ye, down to
+the county seat, that Nancy Fleet&mdash;who was an Ivison and sister o' the
+woman I married here about four year ago&mdash;owned that land up until the
+first o' the year, anyway. It was left to her by old Tabor Ivison when
+he died. That was fifteen year ago, and I've paid the taxes on it ever
+since for Nancy Fleet, for the privilege o' runnin' stock on it. I paid
+the taxes last year. What 'a' ye got to say to that?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver Drew had absolutely nothing to say to it. He could only stare at
+the gaunt old man.</p>
+
+<p>"But I have the deed!" he burst out at last.</p>
+
+<p>"And I've got last year's tax receipts," drawled Adam Selden. "Ye better
+go down to the county seat and have a look at the records," he added,
+swinging his horse about. "Then when ye've done that, I'd like a talk
+with ye. Just so! Just so!"</p>
+
+<p>He rode off without another word, the gang following.</p>
+
+<p>Early next morning Oliver was in the saddle. As Poche picked his way out
+of the caņon Oliver espied Jessamy Selden on her white mare, standing
+still in the county road.</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning," said the girl. "You're late. I've been waiting for you
+ten minutes."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's lips parted in surprise, and she laughed good-naturedly.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you'd be riding out early this morning," she explained, "so I
+rode down to meet you. I feel as if a long ride in the saddle would
+benefit me today. Do you mind if I travel with you to the county seat?"</p>
+
+<p>He had ridden close to her by this time, and offered his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"You like to surprise people, don't you?" he accused. "The answer to
+your question is, I do not mind if you travel with me to the county
+seat. But let me tell you&mdash;you'll have to travel. This is a horse that
+I'm riding."</p>
+
+<p>She turned up her nose at him. "I like to have a man talk that way to
+me," she said. "Don't ever dare to hold my stirrup for me, or slow down
+when you think the pace is getting pretty brisk, or anything like that."</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't think of such discourtesy," he told her seriously. "You
+noticed that I let you mount unaided the other day. I might have walked
+ahead, though, and opened the gate for you if you hadn't loped off."</p>
+
+<p>"That's why I did it," she demurely confessed. "I'm rather proud of
+being able to take care of myself. And as for that wonderful horse of
+yours, he does look leggy and capable. But, then, White Ann has a point
+or two herself. Let's go!"</p>
+
+<p>Their ponies took up the walking-trot of the cattle country side by side
+toward Halfmoon Flat.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," Oliver began, "of course my meeting you means that you know I've
+had an encounter with Adam Selden, and that he has told you he doubts if
+I am the rightful owner of the Tabor Ivison Place."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I overheard his conversation with Hurlock last night," she told
+him. "So I thought I'd ride down with you, sensing that you would be
+worried and would hit the trail this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"I am worried," he said. "I can't imagine why your step-father made that
+statement."</p>
+
+<p>"Just call him Adam or Old Man Selden when you're speaking of him to
+me," she prompted. "Even the 'step' in front of 'father' does not take
+away the bad taste. And you might at least <i>think</i> of me as Jessamy
+Lomax. I will lie in the bed I made when I espoused the name of Selden,
+for it would be stupid to go about now notifying people that I have gone
+back to Lomax again. My case is not altogether hopeless, however. You
+are witness that I have a fair chance of some day acquiring the name of
+Foss, at any rate. So you are worried about the land tangle?"</p>
+
+<p>"What can it mean?" he puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"This probably is not the first instance in which a deed has not been
+recorded promptly," she ventured. "That won't affect your ownership.
+Personally I know that Aunt Nancy Fleet's name appears in the records
+down at the county seat as the owner of the property. She sold it to
+your father, doubtless, and the transfer never was recorded. Where is
+your deed?"</p>
+
+<p>He slapped his breast.</p>
+
+<p>"See that you keep it there," she said significantly.</p>
+
+<p>"You say you know that your Aunt Nancy Fleet is named as owner of the
+property in the county records?"</p>
+
+<p>She nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Then she has allowed Adam Selden to believe that she still owns it!" he
+cried. "And this is proved by reason of her having allowed him to pay
+the taxes for the right to run stock on the land."</p>
+
+<p>She nodded again.</p>
+
+<p>He wrinkled his brows. "It would seem to be a sort of conspiracy against
+Adam Selden by your Aunt Nancy and&mdash;" He paused.</p>
+
+<p>"And who?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's not like my father's business methods to allow a deed to go
+unrecorded for fifteen years," he told her. "Not at all like Dad. So I
+must name him as a party to this conspiracy against old Adam. But what
+is the meaning of it, Miss Selden?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I am not in a position to say," she replied lightly. "Some
+day, when you've got things to running smoothly down there, I'll take
+you to see Aunt Nancy. She lives up in Calamity Gap&mdash;about ten miles to
+the north of Halfmoon Flat. Maybe she can and will explain."</p>
+
+<p>He regarded her steadily; but for once her eyes did not meet his, though
+he could not say that this was intentional on her part.</p>
+
+<p>"By George, I believe <i>you</i> can explain it!" he accused.</p>
+
+<p>"I?"</p>
+
+<p>"You heard me the first time."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you learn that expression at the University of California or in
+France?"</p>
+
+<p>"I stick to my statement," he grumbled.</p>
+
+<p>"Do so, by all means. Just the same, I am not in a position to enlighten
+you. But I promise to take you to Aunt Nancy whenever you're ready to
+go. There's an Indian reservation up near where she lives. You'll want
+to visit that. We can make quite a vacation of the trip. You'll see a
+riding outfit or two that will run close seconds to yours for decoration
+and elaborate workmanship. My! What a saddle and bridle you have! I've
+been unable to keep my eyes off them from the first; but you were so
+busy with your land puzzle that I couldn't mention them. I've seen some
+pretty elaborate rigs in my day, but nothing to compare with yours. It's
+old, too. Where did you get it?"</p>
+
+<p>"They were Dad's," he told her. "He left them and Poche to me at his
+death. I must tell you of something that happened when I first showed up
+in Halfmoon Flat in all my grandeur. Do you know Old Dad Sloan, the
+'Forty-niner?"</p>
+
+<p>She nodded, her glance still on the heavy, chased silver of his saddle.</p>
+
+<p>Then Oliver told her of the queer old man's mysterious words when he saw
+the saddle and bridle and martingales, and the stones that were set in
+the silver <i>conchas</i>.</p>
+
+<p>She was strangely silent when he had finished. Then she said musingly:</p>
+
+<p>"The lost mine of Bolivio. Certainly that sounds interesting. And Dan
+Smeed, squawman, highwayman, and outlaw. The days of old, the days of
+gold&mdash;the days of 'Forty-nine! Thought of them always thrills me. Tell
+me more, Mr. Drew. I know there is much more to be told."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do it," he said; and out came the strange story of Peter Drew and
+his last message to his son.</p>
+
+<p>Her wide eyes gazed at him throughout the recital and while he read the
+message aloud. They were sparkling as he concluded and looked across at
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that dear, delightful, romantic old father of yours!" she cried.
+"You're a man of mystery&mdash;a knight on a secret quest! Oh, if I could
+only help you! Will you let me try?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd be only too glad to shift half the burden of finding the question
+and its correct answer to your strong shoulders," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Then we'll begin just as soon as you're ready," she declared. "I have a
+plan for the first step. Wait! I'll help you!"</p>
+
+<p>Shortly before noon they dropped rein before the court house and sought
+the county recorder's office. Oliver gave the legal description of his
+land, and soon the two were pouring over a cumbersome book, heads close
+together.</p>
+
+<p>To his vast surprise, Oliver found that his deed had been recorded the
+second day after his father's death, and that, up until that recent
+date, the land had appeared in the records as the property of Nancy
+Fleet.</p>
+
+<p>"Dad's lawyers did this directly after his death," he said to Jessamy.
+"They sent the deed up here and had it recorded just before turning it
+over to me. Adam Selden hasn't seen it yet. Say, this is growing mighty
+mysterious, Miss Selden."</p>
+
+<p>"Delightfully so," she agreed. "Now as you weren't expecting me to come
+along, have you enough money for lunch for two? If not, I have. We'd
+better eat and be starting back."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h3>LILAC SPODUMENE</h3>
+
+
+<p>Once more Oliver Drew rode out of Clinker Creek Caņon to find Jessamy
+Selden, straight and strong and dependable looking, waiting for him in
+her saddle. On this occasion he joined her by appointment.</p>
+
+<p>She looked especially fresh and contrasty today. Her black hair and eyes
+and her red lips and olive skin, with the red of perfect health so
+subtly blended into the tan, always made her beauty rather startling.
+This morning she had plaited her hair in two long, heavy braids that
+hung to the bottom of her saddle skirts on either side.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's gaze at her was one of frank admiration.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you do it?" he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Do what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Make yourself so spectacular and&mdash;er&mdash;outstanding, without leaving any
+traces of art?"</p>
+
+<p>"Am I spectacular?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rather. Different, anyway&mdash;to use a badly overworked expression. But
+what puzzles me is what makes you look like that. You seem perfectly
+normal, and nothing could be plainer than the clothes you wear. You're
+not beautiful, and you're too big both physically and mentally to be
+pretty. But I'll bet my hat you're the most popular young woman in this
+section!"</p>
+
+<p>She regarded him soberly. "Are you through?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I've exhausted my stock of descriptive words, anyway," he told her.</p>
+
+<p>"Then we'd better be riding," she said.</p>
+
+<p>He swung Poche to the side of White Ann, and they moved off along the
+road, knee and knee.</p>
+
+<p>"You're not offended?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>She threw back her head and laughed till Oliver thought of meadow larks,
+and robins calling before a shower.</p>
+
+<p>"Offended! You must think me some sort of freak. Who ever heard of a
+woman being offended when a man admires her? I like it immensely, Mr.
+Oliver Drew. And if you can beat that for square shooting, there's no
+truth in me. But if you'll analyse my 'difference' you'll find it's only
+because I'm big and strong and healthy, and try always to shoot straight
+from the shoulder and look folks straight in the eye. That's all. Let's
+let 'em out!"</p>
+
+<p>They broke into a smart gallop, and continued it up and down
+pine-toothed hills till they clattered into Halfmoon Flat.</p>
+
+<p>Curious eyes met them, old men stopped in their tracks and leaned on
+their canes to watch, and folks came to windows and doors as they loped
+through the village.</p>
+
+<p>"'Whispering tongues can poison truth,'" Jessamy quoted as they turned a
+corner and cantered up a hill toward a grove of pines on the outskirts
+of the town. "It seems odd that Adam Selden has not mentioned you to me.
+Surely some one has seen us together who would tell some one else who
+would tell Old Man Selden all about it. But not a cheep from him as
+yet."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you any bosom friends in the Clinker Creek district?" he asked,
+not altogether irrelevantly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, none at all. But I'm friends with everybody, though I have nothing
+in common with any one. I don't consider myself superior to the natives
+here about, but, just the same, they don't interest me. I'm speaking of
+the women. I like most of the men. I guess I'm what they call a man's
+woman. I can't sit and talk about clothes and dances, and gossip, and
+what one did on one's vacation last summer. It all bores me stiff, so I
+don't pretend it doesn't. Men, now&mdash;they can talk about horses and
+saddles and cows and cutting wood and prizefights and poker games and
+election&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And women and Fords," he interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed and led the way into a little trail that snaked on up the
+hill between lilacs and buckeye trees to a little cabin half-hidden in
+the foliage.</p>
+
+<p>They dismounted at the door and loosed their horses. Jessamy tapped
+vigorously on the panels. Again and again&mdash;and then there was heard a
+shuffling, unsteady step inside, and a cane thumped hollowly. Presently
+the door opened, and Old Dad Sloan bleared out at them from behind his
+flaring, mattress-stuffing hair and whiskers.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you do, Mr. Sloan!" cried Jessamy almost at the top of her
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>A veined hand shook its way to form a cup behind the ancient's ear.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey?" he squealed.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy filled her sturdy lungs with air and tried again.</p>
+
+<p>"I say&mdash;How do you do!" The effort left her neck red but for a blue
+outstanding artery.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Dad Sloan, with a look of relief. "Why, howdy?"</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy ascended a step to the door, took him by both shoulders, and
+placed her satin lips close to the ear that he inclined her way.</p>
+
+<p>"We've come to make you a call," she announced. "I want you to meet a
+friend of mine; and we want to ask you some questions."</p>
+
+<p>The grey head nodded slowly up and down, more to indicate that its owner
+heard and understood than to signify acquiescence. But he tottered back
+and held the door wide open; and Jessamy and Oliver went into the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>Dad Sloan managed to live all alone in this sequestered little nook by
+reason of the county's generosity. He was old and feeble, and at times
+irritatingly childish and petulant. Jessamy Selden often brought him
+cakes, fried chicken, and the like; and, provided he was in the right
+mood, he would be more likely to be confidential with her than with
+anybody else in the country.</p>
+
+<p>But the girl's task was difficult. The old man shook hands listlessly
+with Oliver at her bidding, but seemed entirely to have forgotten their
+previous meeting. They sat in the uncomfortable straight-backed,
+thong-bottom chairs while Jessamy shrieked the conversation into the
+desired channel. The old eyes gathered a more intelligent look as she
+spoke of the lost mine of Bolivio.</p>
+
+<p>Pieced together, the fragments that fell from the bearded lips of Old
+Dad Sloan made some such narrative as follows:</p>
+
+<p>Bolivio had been a Portuguese or a Spaniard, or some "black furriner,"
+who had been in the country in the memorable days of '49 and afterward.
+His knowledge of some tongue based on the Latin had made it easy for him
+to communicate with the Pauba Indians that inhabited the country, as
+some of them had learned Spanish from the Franciscan Fathers down at the
+coast. Bolivio mingled with the tribe, and finally became a squawman.</p>
+
+<p>One day he appeared at the Clinker Creek bar and exhibited a beautiful
+stone. A gold miner who was present had once followed mining in South
+Africa, and knew something of diamonds. He examined Bolivio's stone, and
+gave it such simple tests as were at his command, then advised the owner
+to send it to New York to find out if it was possessed of value.</p>
+
+<p>It required months in those days to communicate with the Atlantic
+seaboard. Bolivio's stone was started on its long journey around the
+Horn. He hinted that there were more of the stones where he had found
+this one, and created the impression that his Indian brethren had showed
+them to him.</p>
+
+<p>More they could not get out of him. Nor did anybody try very hard to
+learn his secret, for no one imagined the find of much intrinsic value.</p>
+
+<p>Bolivio was a saddler, and was skilled in the art of the silversmith.
+Gold dust was plentiful in the country in that day, and the foreigner
+found ready buyers for his masterpieces in leather and precious metals.
+The finest equestrian outfit that he made was finally acquired from the
+Indians by Dan Smeed, a miner who afterward turned highwayman, married
+an Indian girl, became an outlaw, and finally disappeared altogether. In
+the <i>conchas</i> with which the plaited bridle was adorned Bolivio had set
+two large stones from his secret store, which he himself had crudely
+polished.</p>
+
+<p>One day, a month or more before word came from New York regarding the
+stone, Bolivio was found dead in the forest. A knife had been plunged
+into his heart. The secret of the brilliant stones had died with him.</p>
+
+<p>Then came the answer. The stone was said to be spodumene, of a very high
+class, and had a a lilac tint theretofore unknown. It was the finest of
+its kind ever to have been reported as found in the United States. The
+finder was offered a thousand dollars for the sample sent; one hundred
+dollars a pound was offered for all stones that would grade up to the
+sample.</p>
+
+<p>But Bolivio was dead, and no one knew from whence the stone had come.</p>
+
+<p>Efforts were made, of course, to find the source of this wealth. The
+Indians were tried time and again, but not one word would they speak
+regarding the matter. The new quest was finally dropped; for those were
+the days of gold, gold, gold, and so frenzied were men and women to find
+it that other precious minerals were cast aside as worthless. None had
+time to seek for stones worth a hundred dollars a pound, with gold worth
+more than twice as much. So the lost mine of Bolivio became only a
+memory.</p>
+
+<p>Years later this same stone was discovered six hundred miles farther
+south. It is now on the market as kunzite, and a cut stone of one karat
+in weight sells for fifty dollars and more. The San Diego County
+discovery was supposed to mark the introduction of the stone in the
+United States, for the lost mine of Bolivio was all but forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>Old Dad Sloan thumped out at Jessamy's request and once again critically
+examined Oliver's saddle and bridle and the brilliants in the <i>conchas</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the same fine outfit Bolivio made, and that afterwards belonged to
+Dan Smeed, outlaw, highwayman, and squawman," he pronounced. "They never
+was another outfit like it in this country."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell us more about Dan Smeed!" screamed the girl.</p>
+
+<p>The patriarch shook his head. "Bad egg; bad egg!" he said sonorously.
+"He married a squaw, and that's how come it he got the grandest saddle
+and bridle Bolivio ever made. Bolivio's squaw kep' it after Bolivio was
+knifed. And by and by along come this Dan Smeed and his partner to this
+country. And when Dan Smeed married into the tribe he got the saddle and
+bridle and martingales somehow. That was later&mdash;years later. Bolivio's
+been dead over seventy year."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever heard the name Peter Drew?" Oliver asked him.</p>
+
+<p>But the old eyes remained blank, and the grey head shook slowly from
+side to side. "I recollect clear as day what happened sixty to seventy
+year ago, but I can't recollect what I did last week or where I went,"
+Dad Sloan said pathetically. "If I'd ever heard o' Peter Drew in the
+days o' forty-nine to seventy, I'd recollect it."</p>
+
+<p>"You mentioned Dan Smeed's partner," prompted Jessamy. "Can you recall
+his name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Dan Smeed had a partner," mused Dad Sloan. "Bad egg, Dan Smeed.
+Squawman, highwayman, outlaw. Disappeared with his fine saddle and
+bridle and martingales and the stones from the lost mine o' Bolivio."</p>
+
+<p>"But his partner's name?" the girl persisted.</p>
+
+<p>The old mind seemed to be wandering once more. "Bad eggs&mdash;both of 'em.
+Bad eggs," was the only answer she could get.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we're progressing slowly," Jessamy observed as they rode away.
+"Our next step must be to visit the Indians. I know a number of them.
+Filipe Maquaquish, for instance, and Chupurosa are as old or older than
+Old Dad Sloan. Chupurosa's face is a pattern in crinkled leather. When
+we go to see Aunt Nancy Fleet we'll visit the Indian village. And that
+will be&mdash;when?"</p>
+
+<p>"Tomorrow, if you say so," Oliver replied. "I meant to irrigate my
+garden tomorrow, but it can wait a day."</p>
+
+<p>"By the way," she asked, "have you written that letter to Mr. Selden,
+telling him what we found out down at the county seat?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have it in my pocket," he told her.</p>
+
+<p>"Give it to me," she ordered. "I'll hand it in at the post office, get
+them to stamp the postmark on it, and take it home with me when I go."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you dare do that? Won't the post-master scent a conspiracy against
+Old Man Selden?"</p>
+
+<p>"Let him scent!" said Jessamy. "I'm dying to see Selden's face when he
+reads that letter."</p>
+
+<p>They parted at the headwaters of Clinker Creek, with the understanding
+that she would meet him in the county road next morning for the ride to
+her aunt's and the Indian reservation.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>POISON OAK RANCH</h3>
+
+
+<p>The trail that meandered down Clinker Creek Caņon extended at right
+angles to the one that led to the Selden ranch. The latter climbed a
+baldpate hill; then, winding its narrow way through dense locked
+chaparral higher than horse and rider, dipped down precipitously into
+the deep caņon of the American River.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy waved good-bye to her new friend at the parting of the ways and
+lifted White Ann into her long lope to the summit of the denuded hill.
+For a little, as they crossed the topmost part of it, the deep, rugged
+scar that marked the course of the river was visible. Ragged and rocky
+and covered with trees and chaparral, the caņonside slanted down dizzily
+for over fifteen hundred feet. At the bottom the deep green river rushed
+pell-mell to the lower levels. A moment and the view was lost to the
+girl, as White Ann entered the thick chaparral and started the swift
+descent.</p>
+
+<p>At last they reached the bottom, forded the swirling stream, and began
+clambering up a trail as steep as the first on the other side. Soon the
+river was lost to view again, for once more the trail had been cut
+through a seemingly impenetrable chaparral of buckthorn, manzanita and
+scrub oak. Around and about tributary caņons they wound their way, and
+at last reached the end of the steep climb. For a quarter of a mile now
+the trail followed the backbone of a ridge, then entered a caņon that
+eventually spread out into a pine-bordered plateau on the mountainside.
+Just ahead lay Poison Oak Ranch. Beyond, the deep, dark forest extended
+in miles numbered by hundreds to the snow-mantled peaks of the Sierra
+Nevada range.</p>
+
+<p>While it was possible to reach Poison Oak Ranch from this side of the
+river, the journey on Shank's mare would have taken on something of the
+nature of an exploring expedition into unmapped lands. Occasionally
+hunters wandered to or past the ranch on this side; but for the most
+part any one who fancied that he had business at Poison Oak Ranch came
+over the narrow trail that connected the spot with outside civilization.
+Few entertained such a fancy, however, for Poison Oak Ranch, secluded,
+hidden from sight, tucked away in the Hills of Nowhere, and difficult of
+access, was owned and controlled by a clannish family that had little in
+common with the world.</p>
+
+<p>There was a large log house that Adam Selden's father had built in the
+days of '49, in which the Old Man Selden of today had first opened his
+eyes on life. There were several lesser cabins in the mountainside cup,
+two of which were occupied by Hurlock Selden and Winthrop Selden and
+their families. The remaining two boys, Moffat and Bolar, lived in the
+big house with Jessamy, her mother, and the wicked Old Man of the Hills.</p>
+
+<p>There was an extensive garden, watered by a generous spring that gushed
+picturesquely from under a gigantic boulder set in the hillside. There
+were perhaps ten acres of pasture, and a small deciduous orchard. Little
+more in the way of agricultural land. The Seldens merely made this place
+their home and headquarters&mdash;their cattle ranged the hills outside, and
+most of their activities toward a livelihood were carried on away from
+home. Selden owned a thousand acres over in the Clinker Creek Country
+and a winter range a trifle larger fifty miles below the foothills. He
+moved his herds three times in a year&mdash;from the winter pastures to the
+Clinker Creek Country for the spring grass, keeping them there till
+August, when they were driven to government mountain ranges at an
+altitude of six thousand feet; and from thence, in October, to winter
+range once more. The Clinker Creek range, however, was comprised of
+several thousand acres beside the thousand owned by Selden. This
+represented lands long since deserted by their owners as useless for
+agricultural purposes, and upon which Selden kept up the taxes, or
+appropriated without negotiations, as conditions demanded. Oliver Drew's
+forty had been a part of this until Oliver's inopportune arrival.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy rode into the rail corral and unsaddled her mare. Then she
+hurried to the house to help her mother, a tired looking, once comely
+woman of fifty-eight.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Selden had been an Ivison&mdash;a sister of Old Tabor Ivison, who had
+homesteaded Oliver's forty acres thirty years before. As a girl she had
+married Herman Lomax, a country youth with ambitions for the city. He
+had done fairly well in the mercantile business in San Francisco, and
+Jessamy, the only child, was born to them. The girl had been raised to
+young womanhood and attended the State University. Then her father had
+died, leaving his business in an involved condition; and in the end the
+widow and her daughter found there was little left for them.</p>
+
+<p>They returned to the scene of Mrs. Lomax's girlhood, where they tried
+without success to farm the old home place, to which, in the interim,
+the widow had fallen heir. Then to the surprise of every one&mdash;Jessamy
+most of all&mdash;Mrs. Lomax consented to marry Old Adam Selden, the father
+of four strapping sons and "the meanest man in the country." At the time
+Jessamy had not known this last, but she knew it now.</p>
+
+<p>However, such an independent young woman as Jessamy would not consent to
+suffer a great deal at the hands of a step-father. She stayed on with
+the family for her mother's sake, but she had her own neat living room
+and bedroom and went her own way entirely. It must end someday. Old Adam
+Selden, though hard and tough as a time-battered oak, could not live for
+ever. Her mother would not divorce him. So Jessamy stayed and waited,
+and rode over the hills alone, unafraid and independent.</p>
+
+<p>She was helping her mother to get supper in the commodious kitchen, with
+its black log walls and immense stone fireplace, which room served as
+dining room and living room as well, when Adam Selden, Bolar, and Moffat
+rode in from the trail and corraled their horses. Supper was ready as
+the three clanked to the house in spurs and chaps, and washed noisily in
+basins under a gigantic liveoak at the cabin door. Then Jessamy took
+Oliver Drew's letter from her bosom and propped it against old Adam's
+coffee cup.</p>
+
+<p>Selden's bushy brows came down as he scraped his chair to the table.
+Mail for any Selden was an unusual occurrence.</p>
+
+<p>"What's this here?" Adam's thick fingers held the envelope before his
+eyes, and the beetling grey brows strained lower.</p>
+
+<p>"Mail," indifferently answered Jessamy, setting a pan of steaming
+biscuits, covered with a spotless cloth, on the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Fer me?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Adam Selden, Esquire,'" she quoted.</p>
+
+<p>"'Esquire,' eh? Who's she from?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's generally customary to open a letter and read who it is from,"
+said Jessamy lightly. "In this instance, however, you will find a
+notation on the flap of the envelope that reads: 'From Oliver Drew,
+Halfmoon Flat, California.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Huh!" Selden raised his shaggy head and bent a condemnatory glance on
+the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"D'he give it to ye?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is postmarked Halfmoon Flat," said Jessamy, taking her seat beside
+Bolar, who, indifferent to his father's difficulties, had already
+consumed three fluffy biscuits spread with butter and wild honey.</p>
+
+<p>"Ye got her out o' the office, then?" The cold blue eyes were
+challenging.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, certainly, certainly!" Jessamy chirruped impatiently. "One might
+imagine you'd never received a letter before."</p>
+
+<p>Adam fingered it thoughtfully. "Yes," he said deliberatingly at last,
+reverting to his customary drawl, "I got letters before now. But I was
+just wonderin' if this Drew fella give thisun to you to give to me."</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy's round left shoulder gave a little shrug of indifference.
+"Coffee, Moffat?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure Mike," said Moffat.</p>
+
+<p>"Did he?" Selden's tones descended to the deep bass boom which marked
+certain moods.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dear!" Jessamy complained good-naturedly. "What's the use? Can't
+you see the postmark and the cancelled stamp, Mr. Selden?"</p>
+
+<p>Selden contemplated them. "Yes, I see 'em," he admitted; "I see 'em. But
+I thought, s' long's ye was with that young Drew fella today, he might
+'a' saved his stamp and sent her to me by you."</p>
+
+<p>"That being satisfactorily decided," chirped Jessamy, "let us now open
+the missive and learn what Mr. Drew has to communicate."</p>
+
+<p>"Heaven's sake, Pap, open it and shut up!" growled Moffat, his mouth
+full of potato.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take a quirt to you if ye tell me to shut up ag'in!" thundered
+Selden.</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon he tore the envelope and leaned out from his chair so that the
+light from a window flooded the single sheet which the envelope
+contained.</p>
+
+<p>He read silently, slowly, craggy brows drawn down. His cold blue eyes
+widened, and the large nostrils of his pitted Bourbon nose spread
+angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"Moffat, listen here!" he boomed at last. "You, too, Bolar."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, be sure to listen, Bolar," laughed Jessamy. "But if you don't wish
+to, go down into the caņon of the American."</p>
+
+<p>"'Adam Selden, Esquire,'" Selden boomed on, unheeding the girl's
+bantering. "'Poison Oak Ranch, Halfmoon Flat, Californy:'</p>
+
+<p>"'My dear Mr. Selden.' Get that, Moffat! 'My dear Mr. Selden!' Say,
+who's that Ike think he's writin' to? His gal? Huh! 'My <i>dear</i> Mr.
+Selden:'</p>
+
+<p>"'I rode to the county seat on Wednesday, this week, and looked over the
+records in the office of the recorder of deeds. I found that you are
+entirely mistaken in the matter that you brought to my attention on
+Tuesday. The forty acres known as the Old Ivison Place are recorded in
+my name, the date of the recording being January fifth, this year. It
+appears that Nancy Fleet sold the place years ago to my father, but that
+the transfer was not placed on record until the date I have mentioned.'</p>
+
+<p>"'With kindest regards,'</p>
+
+<p>"'Yours sincerely, Oliver Drew.'"</p>
+
+<p>Selden came to an ominous pause and glared about the table. "Writ with a
+typewriter, all but his name," he announced impressively. "And he's a
+liar by the clock!"</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy threw back her head in that whole-souled laughter that made
+every one who heard her laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"He's crazy," complacently mumbled Bolar, still at war on the biscuits.</p>
+
+<p>"Jess'my"&mdash;Selden's eyes were fixed sternly on his
+step-daughter&mdash;"What're ye laughin' at?"</p>
+
+<p>"At humanity's infinite variety," answered Jessamy.</p>
+
+<p>"Does that mean me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Me, too, Pete!" she rippled.</p>
+
+<p>"Looky-here"&mdash;he leaned toward her&mdash;"there's some funny business goin'
+on 'round here. Two times ye been seen ridin' with that new fella down
+on the Old Ivison Place."</p>
+
+<p>"Two times is right," she slangily agreed.</p>
+
+<p>"And ye rode with 'im to the county seat when he went to see the
+records. Just so!"</p>
+
+<p>"Your informer is accurate," taunted the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"What for?"</p>
+
+<p>"What for?" She levelled her disconcerting gaze at him. "Well, I like
+that, Mr. Selden! Because I wanted to, if you must pry into my affairs."</p>
+
+<p>"Ye wanted to, eh? Ye <i>wanted</i> to! Did ye see the records?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did."</p>
+
+<p>"Is this here letter a lie?" He spanked the table with it.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not."</p>
+
+<p>He rose from his chair and bent over her. "D'ye mean to tell me yer
+maw's sister don't own that prop'ty?"</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. It belongs to Mr. Oliver Drew, according to the recorder's
+office. May I suggest that I am rather proud of my biscuits tonight, and
+that they're growing cold as lumps of clay?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a lie!" roared Selden.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, just a moment," said Jessamy coolly. "Do I gather that you are
+calling me a liar, Mr. Selden? Because if you are, I'll get a cattle
+whip and do my utmost to make you swallow it. I'll probably get the
+worst of it, but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Shut up!" bawled Selden. "Ye know what I mean, right enough! The whole
+dam' thing's a lie!"</p>
+
+<p>"Tell it to the county recorder, then," Jessamy advised serenely. "Have
+another piece of steak, Mother."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll ride right up to Nancy Fleet's tomorrow. I'll get to the bottom o'
+this business. And you keep yer young nose outa my affairs, Jess'my!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'll do that&mdash;gladly. That's easy."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! Then keep her outa this fella Drew's, too!"</p>
+
+<p>"That's another matter entirely," she told him. "And I may as well add
+right here, while we're on the subject, that I wish you to keep your
+nose out of <i>my</i> affairs. There, now&mdash;we've ruined our digestions by
+quarrelling at meal-time. Bolar hasn't, though&mdash;I'm glad somebody
+appreciates my biscuits."</p>
+
+<p>Bolar grinned, and his face grew red. Bolar was deeply in love with his
+step-sister, four years his senior; but a day in the saddle, with a
+sharp spring wind in one's face, will scarce permit the tender passion
+to interfere with a lover's appetite.</p>
+
+<p>Old Adam enveloped himself in his customary brooding silence. He was a
+holy terror when aroused, and would then spout torrents of words; but
+ordinarily he was morosely quiet, taciturn. He would not have hesitated
+to apply his quirt to his twenty-six-year-old son Moffat, as he had
+threatened to do, had not that young man possessed the wisdom born of
+experience to refrain from defying him. But with his step-daughter it
+was different. For some inexplicable reason he "took more sass" from her
+than from any other person living. Deep down in his scarred old heart,
+perhaps, there was hidden a deferential respect and fatherly admiration
+for this breezy, strong-minded girl with whom a strange fortune had
+placed him in daily contact.</p>
+
+<p>"Please eat your supper, Mr. Selden," Jessamy at last sincerely pleaded,
+when the old man's frowning abstraction had continued for minutes.</p>
+
+<p>Dutifully, without a word, he scraped his chair closer to the table and
+fell to noisily. But he did not join in the conversation, which now
+became general.</p>
+
+<p>It was a custom in the House of Selden for each diner to leave the table
+when he had finished eating&mdash;a custom antedating Jessamy's advent in the
+family, which she never had been able to correct. Bolar had long since
+bolted the last morsel of food that his tough young stomach would
+permit, and had hurried to a half-completed rawhide lariat. Moffat soon
+followed him out. Then Jessamy's mother arose and left the room. This
+left together at the table the deliberate eater, Jessamy, and the old
+man, who had not yet caught up with the time he had given to the letter.</p>
+
+<p>He too finished before the girl, having completed his supper in the same
+untalkative mood. Now, however, he spoke to her as he pushed back his
+chair and rose.</p>
+
+<p>"Jess'my," he said in a moderate tone, "I want to tell ye one thing. Ye
+know that I shoot straight from the shoulder, or straight from the hip,
+whichever's handiest&mdash;and I don't shoot to scare."</p>
+
+<p>He waited.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy nodded. "I'll have to admit that," she said. "I think it's the
+thing I like most about you."</p>
+
+<p>He pondered over this, and again his brows came down above his pitted
+nose. "I didn't know they was anything ye liked about me," he at length
+said bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," she remarked, levelling that straightforward look of hers at
+him. "I like your height and the breadth of your chest, and the way you
+sit in your saddle when your horse is on the dead run&mdash;and the other
+thing I mentioned before."</p>
+
+<p>Again he grew thoughtful. "Well, that's <i>somethin'</i>," he finally
+chuckled. "Ye like my way o' sayin' what I think, then. Well, get this:
+I'm the boss o' this country, from Red Mountain to the Gap. I been the
+boss of her since my pap died and turned her over to me. So it's the
+boss o' the Poison Oak Country that's talkin'. And he says this: That
+new fella Drew that's made camp down on the Old Tabor Ivison Place can't
+make a livin' there, can't raise nothin', don't belong there. And if by
+some funny business, that I'm gonta look into right away, he's got
+a-holt o' that forty, he's got to hit the trail."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, how ridiculous!" laughed the girl. "Where do you think you are,
+Mr. Selden? In Russia&mdash;Germany? King Selden Second, Czar of all the
+Poison Oak Provinces! Mr. Drew, owning that land in his own right, must
+hit the trail and leave it for you simply because you say so!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ye heard what I said, Jess'my"&mdash;and he clanked out of the room.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<h3>NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL</h3>
+
+
+<p>Jessamy Selden stood before the cheap soft-wood dresser in her bedroom,
+in a wing of the old log house, and completed the braiding of the two
+long, thick strands of cold-black hair. Then in the cozy little sitting
+room, which adjoined the bedroom and was hers alone, she slipped on her
+morocco-top riding boots and buckled spur straps over her insteps.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had not yet climbed the wooded ridges beyond Poison Oak Ranch.
+The night before the girl had prepared a cold breakfast for herself; and
+with this wrapped in paper she left the sitting room by its outside door
+and ran to the corral. The family was at breakfast in the vast room.
+Hurlock's and Winthrop's families were likewise engaged in their
+respective houses. So no one was about to disturb or even see Jessamy as
+she hastily threw the saddle on White Ann, leaped into it, and rode
+away.</p>
+
+<p>When she had left the clearing, and the noise of rapid hoofbeats would
+not be heard, she lifted the mare into a gallop. At this reckless speed
+they swung into the trail and plunged hazardously down the mountainside
+along the serpentine trail. They forded the river, took the trail on the
+other side, and raced madly up it until compassion for her labouring
+mount forced the rider to rein in. Now she ate her breakfast of cold
+baked apple and cold fried mush in the saddle as the mare clambered
+upward.</p>
+
+<p>At sunrise they topped the ridge and took up the lope again toward the
+headwaters of Clinker Creek. Long before she reached it Jessamy saw a
+bay horse and its rider at rest, with the early sunlight playing on the
+flashing silver of the famous saddle and bridle of Oliver Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go!" she cried merrily as White Ann, convinced that some
+devilment was afoot, cavorted and humped her back and shied from side to
+side while she bore down swiftly on the waiting pair.</p>
+
+<p>For answer Oliver Drew pressed his calves against Poche's ribs, and the
+bay leaped to White Ann's side with a snort that showed he had caught
+the spirit of the coming adventure, whatever it might prove to be. At a
+gallop they swung into the county road, Poche producing a challenging
+metallic rattle by rolling the wheel of his halfbreed bit with his
+tongue, straining at the reins, and bidding the equally defiant white to
+do that of which "angels could do no more."</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning!" cried Oliver. "What's the rush?"</p>
+
+<p>"Old Man Selden is riding to Aunt Nancy's today," she shouted back.
+"Good morning!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! In that case, if that white crowbait you're riding hadn't already
+come three miles, we'd find out whether she can run. She's telling the
+world she can."</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy made a face at him and, leaning forward, caressed the mare's
+smooth neck. White Ann evidently considered this a sign of abetment, for
+she plunged and reared and cast fiery looks of scorn at her pseudo
+rival.</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, honey!" soothed the girl. "We could leave that old
+flea-bitten relic so far behind it would be cruelty to animals to do it.
+Just wait till we're coming back, after we've rested and have an even
+chance; for I really believe the man wants to be fair."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's eyes were filled with her as her strong, sinewy figure followed
+every unexpected movement of the plunging mare as if a magnet held her
+in the saddle. The dew of the morning was on her lips; the flush of it
+on her cheeks. Her long black braids whipped about in the wind like
+streamers from the gown of a classic dancer. The picture she made was
+the most engrossing one he had ever looked on.</p>
+
+<p>They slowed to a walk after a mile of it.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Jessamy, "I delivered your letter."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes? Go on. That's a good start."</p>
+
+<p>"It created quite a scene. Old Adam simply won't&mdash;can't&mdash;believe that
+you own the Old Ivison Place. So that's why he's fogging it up to Aunt
+Nancy's today. I think we'll be an hour ahead of him, though, and can be
+at the reservation by the time he reaches the house."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he angry?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ever try to convince a wasp that you have more right on earth than he
+has?" Her white teeth gleamed against the background of red lips and
+sunburned skin.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"He says that, whether you own the place or not, you'll have to leave."</p>
+
+<p>"M'm-m! That's serious talk. In some places I've visited it would be
+called fighting talk."</p>
+
+<p>"Number this place among them, Mr. Drew," she said soberly, turning her
+dark, serious eyes upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"But I didn't come up here to fight!"</p>
+
+<p>"Neither did the President of the United States take his seat in
+Washington to fight," she pointed out, keeping that level glance fixed
+on his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, as to that," mused Oliver after a thoughtful pause, "I guess I
+<i>can</i> fight. They didn't send me back from France as entirely useless.
+But it strikes me as a very stupid proceeding. Look here, Miss
+Selden&mdash;how many acres of grass does your step&mdash;er&mdash;Old Man Selden run
+cows on for the summer grazing?&mdash;how many acres in the Clinker Creek
+Country, in short?"</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy pursed her lips. "Perhaps four thousand," she decided after
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>"Uh-huh. And on my forty there's about fifteen acres, all told, that
+represents grass land. The rest is timber and chaparral. Now, fifteen
+acres added to four thousand makes four thousand fifteen acres. The
+addition would take care of perhaps five additional animals for the
+three months or more that his stock remains in that locality. Do you
+mean to tell me that Adam Selden would attempt to run a man out of the
+country for that?"</p>
+
+<p>She closed her eyes and nodded her head slowly up and down in a
+childlike fashion that always amused him. It meant "Just that!"</p>
+
+<p>He gave a short laugh of unbelief.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen," she cautioned: "Don't make the fatal mistake of taking this
+matter too lightly, Mr. Drew."</p>
+
+<p>"But heavens!" he cried. "A man who would attempt to dispossess another
+for such a slight gain as that would rob a blind beggar of the pennies
+in his cup! I've had a short interview with Old Man Selden. Corrupt he
+may be, but he struck me as an old sinner who would be corrupt on a big
+scale. I couldn't think of the masterful old reprobate I talked with as
+a piker."</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy locked a leg about her saddle horn. "You've got him about
+right," she informed her companion. "One simply is obliged to think of
+him as big in many ways."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's leg now crooked itself toward her, and he slouched down
+comfortably. "Say," he said, "I don't get you at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't get me?" She was not looking at him now.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't. One moment you said he would put the skids under me for
+the slight benefit from my fifteen acres of grass. Next moment you
+maintain that he is not a piker."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver rolled a cigarette. Not until it was alight did he say:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you haven't explained yet."</p>
+
+<p>She was silent, her eyes on the glittering snow of the far-off Sierras.
+For the first time since he had met her he found her strangely at a loss
+for words. And had her direct gaze faltered? Were her eyes evading his?
+And was the rich colour of her skin a trifle heightened, or was it the
+glow from the sun, ever reddening as it climbed its ancient ladder in
+the sky?</p>
+
+<p>She turned to him then&mdash;suddenly. There was in her eyes a look partly of
+amusement, partly of chagrin, partly of shame.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't answer you," she stated simply. "I blundered, that's all.
+Opened my mouth and put my foot in it."</p>
+
+<p>"But can't you tell me how you did that even?"</p>
+
+<p>"I talk too much," was her explanation. "Like poor old Henry Dodd, I
+went too far on dangerous ground."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver tilted his Stetson over one eye and scratched the nape of his
+neck. "I pass," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"That reminds me," was her quick return, "I sat in at a dandy game of
+draw last night. There was&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Wh-<i>what</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"And now I have both feet in my mouth," she cried. "And you'll have to
+admit that comes under the heading, 'Some Stunt.' I thought I saw a
+chance to brilliantly change the subject, but I see that I'm worse off
+than before. For now you're not only mystified but terribly shocked."</p>
+
+<p>He gave this thirty seconds of study.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll have to admit that you jolted me," he laughed, his face a little
+redder. "I'm not accustomed to hearing young ladies say, 'I sat in at a
+dandy little game of draw'&mdash;just like that. But I'm sure I went too far
+when I showed surprise."</p>
+
+<p>"And what's your final opinion on the matter?" She was amused&mdash;Not
+worried, not defiant.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I&mdash;I don't just know. I've never given such a matter a great deal
+of thought."</p>
+
+<p>"Do so now, please."</p>
+
+<p>Obediently he tried as they rode along.</p>
+
+<p>"One thing certain," he said at last, "it's your own business."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you haven't thought at all! Keep on."</p>
+
+<p>A minute later he asked: "Do you like to play poker?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"For&mdash;er&mdash;money?"</p>
+
+<p>"'For&mdash;er&mdash;money.' What d'ye suppose&mdash;crochet needles?"</p>
+
+<p>Then he took up his studies once more.</p>
+
+<p>Finally he roused himself, removed his leg from the horn, and
+straightened in the saddle.</p>
+
+<p>"Settled at last!" she cried. "And the answer is...?"</p>
+
+<p>"The answer is, I don't give a whoop if you do."</p>
+
+<p>"You approve, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of everything you do."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't approve of that," she told him. "I don't, and I do. But
+listen here: One of the few quotations that I think I spout accurately
+is 'When in Rome do as the Romans do.' I'm 'way off there in the hills.
+I'm a pretty lonely person, as I once before informed you. Yet I'm a
+gregarious creature. We have no piano, few books&mdash;not even a phonograph.
+Bolar Selden squeezes a North-Sea piano&mdash;in other words an accordion. Of
+late years accordion playing has been elevated to a place among the
+arts; but if you could hear Bolar you'd be convinced that he hasn't kept
+pace with progress. He plays 'The Cowboy's Lament' and something about
+'Says the wee-do to the law-yer, O spare my only che-ild!' Ugh! He gives
+me the jim-jams.</p>
+
+<p>"So the one and only indoor pastime of Seldenvilla is draw poker. Now,
+if you were in my place, would you be a piker and a spoilsport and a
+pink little prude, or would you be human and take out a stack?"</p>
+
+<p>"I understand," he told her. "I think I'd take out a stack."</p>
+
+<p>"And besides," she added mischievously, "I won nine dollars and thirty
+cents last night."</p>
+
+<p>"That makes it right and proper," he chuckled. "But we've wandered far
+afield. Why did you say that Selden would try to run me off my toy ranch
+in one breath, and that he is wicked only in a big way in the next?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd prefer to quarrel over poker playing," she said. "Please, I
+blundered&mdash;and I can't answer that question. But maybe you'll learn the
+answer to it today. We'll see. Be patient."</p>
+
+<p>"But I'll not learn from you direct."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid not."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I understand&mdash;partly," he said after another intermission. "It
+must be that there's another&mdash;a bigger&mdash;reason why he wants me out of
+Clinker Creek Caņon."</p>
+
+<p>"You've guessed it. I may as well own up to that much. But I can't tell
+you more&mdash;now. Don't ask me to."</p>
+
+<p>After this there was nothing for the man to do but to keep silent on the
+subject. So they talked of other things till their horses jogged into
+Calamity Gap.</p>
+
+<p>Here was a town as picturesque as Halfmoon Flat, and wrapped in the same
+traditions. Jessamy's Aunt Nancy Fleet lived in a little shake-covered
+cottage on the hillside, overlooking the drowsy hamlet and the railroad
+tracks.</p>
+
+<p>It appeared that all of the Ivison girls had been unfortunate in
+marrying short-lived men. Nancy Fleet was a widow, and two other sisters
+besides Jessamy's mother had likewise lost husbands.</p>
+
+<p>Nancy Fleet was a still comely woman of sixty, with snow-white hair and
+Jessamy's black eyes. She greeted her niece joyously, and soon the three
+were seated in her stuffy little parlour.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver opened up the topic that had brought him there. Mrs. Fleet, after
+stating that she did so because he was Oliver Drew, readily made answer
+to his questions.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, she had sold the Old Ivison Place to a Mr. Peter Drew something
+like fifteen years before. She had never met him till he called on her,
+and no one else at Calamity Gap had known anything about him.</p>
+
+<p>He told that he had made inquiry concerning her, and that this had
+resulted in his becoming satisfied that she was a woman who would keep
+her word and might be trusted implicitly. This being so, he told her
+that he would relieve her of the Old Ivison Place, if she would agree to
+keep silent regarding the transfer until he or his son had assured her
+that secrecy was no longer necessary. For her consideration of his
+wishes in this connection he told her that he was willing to pay a good
+price for the land.</p>
+
+<p>As there seemed to be no rascality coupled with the request, she gave
+consent. For years she had been trying to dispose of the property for
+five hundred dollars. Now Peter Drew fairly took her breath away by
+offering twenty-five hundred. He could well afford to pay this amount,
+he claimed, and was willing to do so to gain her co-operation in the
+matter of secrecy. She had accepted. The transfer of the property was
+made under the seal of a notary public at the county seat, and the money
+was promptly paid.</p>
+
+<p>Then Peter Drew had gone away with his deed, and for fifteen years she
+had made the inhabitants of the country think that she still owned the
+Old Ivison Place simply by saying nothing to the contrary. She had been
+told to accept any rentals that she might be able to derive from it&mdash;to
+use it as her own. For several years Peter Drew had regularly forwarded
+her a bank draft to cover the taxes. Then Adam Selden had offered to pay
+the taxes for the use of the land, and she had written Peter Drew to
+that effect and told him to send no more tax money until further notice.
+Since that date she had heard no more from the mysterious purchaser of
+the land.</p>
+
+<p>She was surprised to learn that the transfer had at last been recorded,
+but could throw no light whatever on the proceedings.</p>
+
+<p>She took a motherly interest in Oliver because of his father, whose
+generosity had greatly benefited her. In fact, she said, she couldn't
+for the life of her tell how she'd got along without that money.</p>
+
+<p>"And whatever shall I say, dearie, when Adam Selden comes to me today?"
+she asked her niece. "I'm afraid of the man&mdash;just afraid of him."</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh!" Jessamy deprecated. "He's only a man. Oliver Drew's coming, and
+the fact that the transfer has at last been placed on record leaves you
+free to tell all you know. So just tell Old Adam what you've told Mr.
+Drew, and say you know nothing more about it. But whatever else you say,
+don't cheep that we've been here, Auntie."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I hope and trust he'll believe me," she sighed as she showed her
+callers out.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," said Jessamy, as they remounted, "we'll ride away and be at the
+reservation by the time Old Adam arrives here. What do you think of your
+mystery by now, Mr. Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>"It grows deeper and deeper," Oliver mused.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<h3>JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD</h3>
+
+
+<p>A steep, tall mountain, heavily wooded, reared itself above the Indian
+reservation. A creek tumbled over the boulders in the mountainside and
+raced through the village of huts; and the combined millions of all the
+irrigation and power companies in the West could not have bought a drop
+of its water until Uncle Sam's charges had finished with it and set it
+free again.</p>
+
+<p>It was a picturesque spot. Huge liveoaks, centuries old, sprawled over
+the cabins. Tiny gardens dotted the sunny land. Horses and dogs were
+anything but scarce, and up the mountainside goats and burros browsed
+off the chaparral. Wrinkled old squaws washed clothes at the creekside,
+or pounded last season's acorns into <i>bellota</i>&mdash;the native dish&mdash;in
+mortars hollowed in solid stone. Some made earthen <i>ollas</i> of red clay;
+some weaved baskets. Over all hung that weird, indescribable odour which
+only Indians or their much-handled belongings can produce.</p>
+
+<p>"This is peace," smiled Oliver to Jessamy, as their horses leaped the
+stream side by side and cantered toward the cluster of dark, squat huts.
+"What do they call this reservation?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is named after an age-old dweller in our midst whom, since you are a
+Westerner, you must have often met."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Rattlesnake."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, certainly. I've met him on many occasions&mdash;mostly to his sorrow, I
+fancy. Rattlesnake Reservation, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that would be it in English. But in the Pauba tongue Mr.
+Rattlesnake becomes Showut Poche-daka."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that!" Oliver turned quickly in his saddle to find her dark wide
+eyes fixed on him intently. "Say that again, please."</p>
+
+<p>"Showut Poche-daka," she repeated slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"M'm-m! Strikes me as something of a coincidence&mdash;a part of that name."</p>
+
+<p>"Showut is one word," she said, still watching him. "Poche and daka are
+two words hyphenated."</p>
+
+<p>"And how do the English-speaking people spell the second word, Poche?"
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"P-o-c-h-e," she spelled distinctly. "Long o, accent on the first
+syllable."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver reined in. "Stop a second," he ordered crisply. "Why, that's the
+way my horse's name is spelled. Say, that's funny!"</p>
+
+<p>"Is your trail growing plainer?"</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her earnestly. "Look here," he said bluntly. "I distinctly
+remember telling you the other day that my horse's name is Poche. Didn't
+you connect it with the name of the reservation at the time?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her in silence. "You did, eh?" he remarked finally. "I
+don't even know what my horse's name means. Dad bought him while I was
+away at college. I understood the horse was named that when Dad got hold
+of him, and that he merely hadn't changed it. Now, I won't say that Dad
+told me as much outright, but I gathered that impression somehow. I knew
+it was an Indian name, but had no idea of the meaning."</p>
+
+<p>"Literally Poche means bob-tailed&mdash;short-tailed. That's why it occurs in
+the title of our friend Mr. Rattlesnake. While your Poche-horse is not
+bob-tailed, his tail is rather heavy and short, you'll admit. Has
+nothing of the length and graceful sweep of White Ann's tail, if you'll
+pardon me."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't lead me into joshing just now, young lady. Answer this: Why
+didn't you tell me, when I told you my <i>caballo's</i> name, that you knew
+what it meant? Most everybody asks me what it means when I tell 'em his
+name; but you did not even show surprise over the oddity of it&mdash;and I
+wondered. And before, when you spoke of this tribe of Indians, you
+called them the Paubas."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly I showed no surprise, for I am familiar with the word poche
+and have just proved that I know its meaning. And I'm not very clever at
+simulating an emotion that I don't feel. I didn't tell you, moreover,
+because I wanted you to find out for yourself. I thought you'd do so
+here. Yes&mdash;and I deliberately called these people the Paubas. They <i>are</i>
+Paubas&mdash;a branch of the Pauba tribe."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were to help me," he grumbled. "You're adding to the
+mystery, it seems to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all. I'm showing you the trail. You must follow it yourself.
+Knowing the country, I see bits here and there that tell me where to go
+to help you out. Poche's name is one of them. Keep your eyes and ears
+open while I'm steering you around."</p>
+
+<p>"All right," he agreed after a pause. "Lead on!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then we'll make a call on Chupurosa Hatchinguish," she proposed.
+"Chupurosa means hummingbird, as you doubtless know, since it is
+Spanish. And if my Chupurosa isn't a bird and also a hummer, I never
+hope to see one."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's riding outfit created a sensation as the two entered the
+village. Faces appeared in doorways. Squat, dark men, their black-felt
+hats invariably two sizes too large, came from nowhere, it seemed, to
+gaze silently. Dogs barked. Women ceased their simple activities and
+chattered noisily to one another.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy reined in before a black low door presently, and left the
+saddle. Oliver followed her. Through a profusion of morning-glories the
+girl led the way to the door and knocked.</p>
+
+<p>From within came a guttural response, and, with a smile at her
+companion, she passed through the entrance.</p>
+
+<p>It was so dark within that for a little Oliver, coming from the bright
+sunlight, could see almost nothing. Then the light filtering in through
+the vines that covered the hut grew brighter.</p>
+
+<p>The floor was of earth, beaten brick-hard by the padding of tough bare
+feet. In the centre was a fireplace&mdash;little more than a circle of
+blackened stones&mdash;from which the smoke was sucked out through a hole in
+the roof, presumably after it had considerately asphyxiated the
+occupants of the dwelling. Red earthenware and beautifully woven baskets
+represented the household utensils. There were a few old splint-bottom
+chairs, a pack-saddle hanging on the wall, a bed of green willow boughs
+in one corner.</p>
+
+<p>These simple items he noticed later, and one by one. For the time being
+his interested attention was demanded by the figure that sat humped over
+the fire, smoking a black clay pipe.</p>
+
+<p>Chupurosa Hatchinguish, headman of the Showut Poche-dakas and a
+prominent figure in the fiestas and yearly councils of the Pauba tribes,
+was a treasure for anthropologists. Years beyond the ken of most human
+beings had wrought their fabric in his face. It was cross-hatched,
+tattooed, pitted, knurled, and wrinkled till one was reminded of the
+surface of some strange, intricately veined leaf killed and mummified by
+the frost. From this crunched-leather frame two little jet-black eyes
+blazed out with the unquenched fires of youth and all the wisdom in the
+world. A black felt hat, set straight on his iron-grey hair and almost
+touching ears and eyebrows, faded-blue overalls, and a dingy flannel
+shirt completed his garb, as he wore nothing on his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, my Hummingbird!" Jessamy cried merrily in the Spanish tongue.</p>
+
+<p>Chupurosa seemed not to be the stoic, "How-Ugh!" sort of Indian with
+which fiction has made the world familiar. All the tragedy and
+unsolvable mystery of his race was written in his face, but he could
+smile and laugh and talk, and seemed to enjoy life hugely.</p>
+
+<p>His leathery face now parted in a grin, and, though he did not rise, he
+extended a rawhide hand and made his callers welcome. Then he waved them
+to seats.</p>
+
+<p>Much as any other human being would do, he politely inquired after the
+girl's health and that of her family. Asked as to his own, he shook his
+head and made a rheumatic grimace.</p>
+
+<p>"I've brought a friend to see you, Chupurosa," said Jessamy at last, as,
+for some reason or other, she had not yet exactly introduced Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>Chupurosa looked at the man inquiringly and waited.</p>
+
+<p>"This is Oliver Drew," said the girl in what Oliver thought were
+unnatural, rather tense tones. He saw Jessamy's lips part slightly after
+his name, and that she was watching the old man intently.</p>
+
+<p>Chupurosa nodded in an exaggerated way, and extended a hand, though the
+two had already gone through the handshake formality. Oliver arose and
+did his part again, then stood a bit awkwardly before their host.</p>
+
+<p>He heard a half-sigh escape the girl. "Seņor Drew has not been in our
+country long," she informed the old man. "He comes from the southern
+part of the state&mdash;from San Bernardino County."</p>
+
+<p>Again the exaggerated nodding on the part of Chupurosa.</p>
+
+<p>Then there was a pause, which the girl at length broke&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Did you catch the name, Chupurosa? <i>Oliver Drew</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Chupurosa politely but haltingly repeated it, and grinned
+accommodatingly.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy tried again. "Do you know a piece of land down in Clinker Creek
+Caņon that is called the Old Ivison Place, Chupurosa?"</p>
+
+<p>His nod this time was thoughtful.</p>
+
+<p>"Seņor Drew now owns that, and lives there," she added.</p>
+
+<p>Both Jessamy and Oliver were watching him keenly. It seemed to Oliver
+that there was the faintest suggestion of dilation of the eye-pupils as
+this last bit of information was imparted. Still, it may have meant
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p>The Indian crumbled natural-leaf with heel of hand and palm, and
+refilled his terrible pipe.</p>
+
+<p>"Any friend of yours is welcome to this country and to my hospitality,"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Seņor Drew rode all the way up here horseback," the girl pushed on.
+"You like good horses, Chupurosa. Seņor Drew has a fine one. His name is
+Poche."</p>
+
+<p>For the fraction of a second the match that Oliver had handed Chupurosa
+stood stationary on its trip to the tobacco in his pipe. Chupurosa
+nodded in his slow way again, and the match completed its mission and
+fell between the blackened stones.</p>
+
+<p>"And you like saddles and bridles, too, I know. You should see Seņor
+Drew's equipment, Chupurosa."</p>
+
+<p>Several thoughtful puffs. Then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Is it here, Seņorita?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the girl breathlessly. "Will you go out and look at it?"</p>
+
+<p>This time the headman puffed for nearly a minute; then suddenly he rose
+with surprising briskness.</p>
+
+<p>"I will look at this horse called Poche," he announced, and stalked out
+ahead of them.</p>
+
+<p>A number of Indians, old and young, had gathered about the horses
+outside the little gate. They were silent but for a low, seemingly
+guarded word to one another now and then. Every black eye there was
+fixed on the gorgeous saddle and bridle of Poche in awe and admiration.</p>
+
+<p>Then came Chupurosa, tall, dignified as the distant mountain peaks, and
+they backed off instantly. At his heels were Oliver and the girl, whose
+cheeks now glowed like sunset clouds and whose eyes spoke volumes.</p>
+
+<p>Thrice in absolute silence the headman walked round the horse.
+Completing the third trip, he stepped to Poche's head and stood
+attentively looking at the left-hand <i>concha</i> with its glistening stone.
+Then Chupurosa lifted his hands, slipped the chased-silver keeper that
+held the throatlatch in place, and let the throatlatch drop. Both hands
+grasped the cheekstrap near the brow-band, and turned this part of the
+bridle inside out.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver felt a slight trembling, it was all so weird, so portentous. He
+almost knew that the jet eyes were searching for the "B" chiselled into
+the silver on the inside of the <i>concha</i>, knew positively by the quick
+dilation of the pupils when they found it.</p>
+
+<p>At once the old man released the bridle and readjusted the throatlatch.
+He turned to them then, and silently motioned toward the hut. Jessamy
+cast a triumphant glance at Oliver as they followed him inside.</p>
+
+<p>To Oliver's surprise he closed the door after them. Then, though it was
+now so dark inside that Oliver could scarce see at all, Chupurosa stood
+directly before him and looked him up and down.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke now in the melodious Spanish.</p>
+
+<p>"Seņor," he asked, "is there in the middle of your body, on the left
+side, the scar of a wound like a man's eye?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver caught his breath. "Yes," he replied. "I brought it back from
+France. A bayonet wound."</p>
+
+<p>Up and down went the iron-grey head of the sage. "I have never seen the
+weapon nor the sort of wound it makes," he informed Oliver gravely.
+"Take off your shirt."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Chupu-<i>ro</i>-sa!" screamed Jessamy as she threw open the door and
+slammed it after her.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<h3>CONCERNING SPRINGS AND SHOWUT POCHE-DAKA</h3>
+
+
+<p>It was evident to Oliver Drew that Clinker Creek was lowering fast, as
+Damon Tamroy had predicted that it would do. He feared that it would go
+entirely dry just when certain vegetables would need it most. Again,
+also following Tamroy's prophecy, the flow from his spring proved
+insufficient to keep all of his plantings alive, even though he had
+impounded the surplus in a small clay-lined reservoir.</p>
+
+<p>He stood with hands on hips today, frowning at the tinkling stream of
+water running from the rusty length of pipe into the reservoir.</p>
+
+<p>"There's just one thing to do," he remarked to it, "and that's to see if
+I can't increase your putter-putter. I want to write an article on
+making the most of a flow of spring water, anyway; and I guess I'll use
+you for a foundation."</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon he secured pick and shovel and sledge and set about removing
+the box he had so carefully set in the ground to hold his domestic
+water.</p>
+
+<p>When the box was out he enlarged the hole, and, when the water had
+cleared, studied the flow. It seeped out from a fissure in the
+bedrock&mdash;or what he supposed was the bedrock&mdash;and it seemed a difficult
+matter to "get at it." However, he began digging above the point of
+egress in the resistant blue clay, and late that afternoon was down to
+bedrock again.</p>
+
+<p>And now when he had washed off the rock he discovered a strange thing.
+This was that the supposed bedrock was not bedrock at all, but a wall of
+large stones built by the hand of man. Through a crevice in this wall
+the water seeped, and when he had gouged out the puttylike blue clay the
+flow increased fivefold.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down and puzzled over it, expecting the flow to return to normal
+after some tiny unseen reservoir had been drained of its surplus. But it
+did not lessen, and had not lessened when night came.</p>
+
+<p>At midnight, thinking about it in bed and unable to sleep, he arose,
+lighted a lantern, and went down to the spring. The water was flowing
+just the same as when he had left it.</p>
+
+<p>He was not surprised to find the work of human hands in and about his
+spring, but this wall of stones was highly irregular. It appeared that,
+instead of having been built to conserve the water, it was designed to
+dam up the flow entirely. The old flow was merely seepage through the
+wall.</p>
+
+<p>He was at it again early next morning, and soon had torn down the wall
+entirely and thrown out the stones. At least five times as much water
+was running still. He recalled that Damon Tamroy had said the spring had
+given more water in Tabor Ivison's day than now.</p>
+
+<p>There was but one answer to the puzzle. For some strange reason somebody
+since Tabor Ivison's day had seen fit to try to stop the flow from the
+spring altogether. But who would go to such pains to do this, and hide
+the results of his work, as these had been hidden? And, above all, why?</p>
+
+<p>It is useless to deny that Oliver Drew at once thought of the Poison
+Oakers. But what excuse could they produce for such an act? Surely, with
+the creek dry and the American River several miles away, they would
+encourage the flow of water everywhere in the Clinker Creek Country for
+their cattle to drink.</p>
+
+<p>It was beyond him then and he gave it up. He laid more pipe and covered
+it all to the land level again, and viewed with satisfaction the
+increased supply of water for the dry summer months to come. And it was
+not until a week later that Jessamy Selden unconsciously gave him an
+answer to the question.</p>
+
+<p>He was scrambling up the hill to the west of the cabin that day to
+another bee tree that he had discovered, when he heard her shrill
+shouting down below. He turned and saw her and the white mare before the
+cabin, and the girl was looking about for him.</p>
+
+<p>He returned her shout, and stood on a blackened stump in the chaparral,
+waving his hat above the foliage.</p>
+
+<p>"I get you!" she shrilled at last. "Stay there! I'm coming up!"</p>
+
+<p>Fifteen minutes later, panting, now on hands and knees, now crawling
+flat, she drew near to him. A bird can go through California "locked"
+chaparral if it will be content to hop from twig to twig, but the
+ponderous human animal must emulate Nebuchadnezzar if he or she would
+penetrate its mysteries.</p>
+
+<p>"What a delightful route you chose for your morning crawl," she puffed,
+as at last she lay gasping at the foot of the stump on which he sat and
+laughed at her.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver lighted a cigarette and inhaled indolently as he watched her
+lying there with heaving breast, her arms thrown wide. She did
+everything as naturally as does a child. She wore fringed leather chaps
+today, and remarked, when she sat up and dusted the trash from her hair,
+that she was glad she had done so since he had made her come crawling to
+his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"And that reminds me of something that I've decided to ask you," she
+added. "Has it occurred to you that I am throwing myself at you?" She
+looked straight into his face as she put the naïve question to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you ask that?" he countered, eyes on the tip of his cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you why when you've answered."</p>
+
+<p>"Then of course not."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I <i>am</i> a bit crude," she mused. "At least it must look that
+way to the natives here-about. I was fairly confident, though, that you
+wouldn't think me unmaidenly. I sought you out deliberately. I was
+lonely and wanted a friend. I had heard that you were a University man.
+You told Mr. Tamroy, you know. It's perfectly proper deliberately to try
+and make a friend of a person, isn't it?&mdash;if you think both of you may
+be benefited. And does it make a great deal of difference if the subject
+chances to be of the other sex?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm more than satisfied, so far as I come in on the deal," Oliver
+assured her.</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you, sir. And now I've been accused to my face of throwing
+myself at you&mdash;which expression means a lot and which you doubtless
+fully understand."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is your accuser?"</p>
+
+<p>"The author of 'Jessamy, My Sweetheart.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Digger Foss, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>She closed both eyes tightly and bobbed her head up and down several
+times, then opened her eyes. "He's a free man again&mdash;tried and
+acquitted."</p>
+
+<p>"No!"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't I tell you how it would be?"</p>
+
+<p>He puffed his cigarette meditatively. "Doesn't it strike you as strange
+that you and I were not subpoenaed as witnesses?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've been expecting that from you. No, sir&mdash;it doesn't. Digger's
+counsel didn't want you and me as witnesses."</p>
+
+<p>"But the prosecuting attorney."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>He</i> didn't want us either."</p>
+
+<p>"Then there's corruption."</p>
+
+<p>"If I could think of a worse word than corruption I'd correct you, so
+I'll let that stand. Digger Foss is Old Man Selden's right hand; and Old
+Man Selden is Pythias to the prosecuting attorney of this man's county."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's eyes widened.</p>
+
+<p>"Elmer Standard is the gentleman in question. What connection there can
+be between him and Adam Selden is too many for me; but Selden goes to
+see him whenever he rides to the county seat. Only the right witnesses
+were allowed to take the stand, you may be confident. I knew the
+halfbreed's acquittal was a foregone conclusion before the smoke from
+his gat had cleared."</p>
+
+<p>Both were silent for a time, then she said: "Elmer Standard runs things
+down at the county seat. I've heard that he allows open gambling, and
+that he personally finances three saloons and several gaming places."</p>
+
+<p>"But there are no saloons now."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed!" she said with mock innocence. "I didn't know. I never have
+frequented them, so you'll overlook my ignorance. Anyway, Digger Foss is
+as free as the day he was born; and Henry Dodd, the man he murdered,
+lies in the little cemetery in the pines near Halfmoon Flat. But there's
+another piece of news: Adam Selden has&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon my interrupting you," he put in, "but you haven't finished with
+Digger Foss."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that! Well, I met him on the trail between Clinker Creek and the
+American yesterday. He accused me of being untrue to him while he was in
+jail."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"I admitted my guilt. Never having had the slightest inclination to be
+true to him, I told him, it naturally followed that I was untrue to
+him&mdash;and wasn't it a glorious day? How on earth the boy ever got the
+idea that he has the right to consider me in the light that he does is
+beyond me. I don't scold him, and I don't send him packing&mdash;nor do I
+give him the least encouragement. I simply treat him civilly when he
+approaches me on a commonplace matter, and ignore him when he tries to
+get funny. And he's probably so dense that all this encourages him. How
+can he be so stupid! I haven't been superior enough with him&mdash;but I hate
+to be superior, even to a halfbreed. And he's quarter Chinaman. Heavens,
+what am I coming to!"</p>
+
+<p>"How did the meeting end?" queried Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we both went a little further this time than ever before. He
+attempted to kiss me, and I attempted to cut his face open with my
+quirt. Both of us missed by about six inches, I'm thankful to say. And
+the grand climax took the form of a dire threat against you. By the way,
+I've never seen you pack a gun, Mr. Drew."</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged. "I used to down on the cow ranch in San Bernardino County,
+but I think I grew up over in France."</p>
+
+<p>"You have one, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;a 'forty-five."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you handle a gun fairly well?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know which end to look into to see if it's loaded."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you spin a dollar in air with your left hand, draw, and hit it
+before it strikes the ground?"</p>
+
+<p>"Aw, let's be sensible!" he cried. "I'm after another colony of bees.
+Come on up and look at 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Sit still," she ordered. "Can you do what I asked about?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know&mdash;I've never tried."</p>
+
+<p>"Digger Foss can," she claimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that's shooting."</p>
+
+<p>"It is. I'd strap that gun on if I were you and practice up a bit."</p>
+
+<p>"Cartridges are too high-priced," he laughed. "What's the rest of the
+news?"</p>
+
+<p>"The store up at Cliffbert, about fourteen miles from here and off the
+railroad, was broken into three days ago and robbed of cutlery,
+revolvers, and other things to the tune of several hundred dollars."</p>
+
+<p>"M'm-m! Do they have any idea who did it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. The Poison Oakers."</p>
+
+<p>"They know it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course&mdash;everybody knows it. But it can't be proved. It's nothing
+new."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't know the gang ever went to such a limit."</p>
+
+<p>"Humph!" she sniffed significantly. "And the next piece of news is that
+Sulphur Spring has gone dry for the first time in many years. And here
+it's only May!"</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Sulphur Spring?"</p>
+
+<p>"About a mile below your south line, in this caņon. I heard Old Man
+Selden complaining about it last night, and thought I'd ride around that
+way this morning. It's as he said&mdash;entirely dry, so far as new water
+running into the basin is concerned."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Oliver, "my piece of news is just the opposite of that. My
+spring is running a stream five times as large as heretofore&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She straightened. "What caused that?" she demanded quickly.</p>
+
+<p>He explained in detail.</p>
+
+<p>"So!" she murmured. "So! I understand. Listen: I have heard the menfolks
+at the ranch say that all these caņon springs are connected. That is,
+they all are outbreaks from one large vein that follows the caņon. If
+you shut off one, then, you may increase the flow of the next one below
+it. And if you open one up and increase its output, the next below it
+may go entirely dry. The flow from yours has been cut off in time gone
+by to increase the flow of Sulphur Spring. And now that you've taken
+away the obstruction, your spring gets all the water, while Sulphur
+Spring gets none."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you're right," asserted Oliver. "And do you think it might
+have been the Poison Oakers who closed my spring to increase the flow
+down there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Undoubtedly."</p>
+
+<p>"But why? They were running cows on my land, too, before I came.
+Wouldn't it be handier to have a good flow of water in both places?"</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt of that," she answered. "And I can't enlighten you, I'm sorry
+to say. All I know is that Old Man Selden is hopping mad&mdash;angrier than
+the situation seems to call for, as springs are by no means scarce in
+Clinker Caņon."</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy's disclosures had ended now, so they scrambled on up the hill
+toward the bee tree.</p>
+
+<p>The colony had settled in a dead hollow white-oak. The tree had been
+broken off close to the ground by high winds after the colony had taken
+up residence therein. The hole by which they made entrance to the hollow
+trunk, however, was left uppermost after the fall, and apparently the
+little zealots had not been seriously disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>Anyway, here they were still winging their way to and from the prostrate
+tree, the sentries keeping watch at the entrance to their increasing
+store of honey.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver had found the tree two weeks before, purely by accident. At that
+time the hole at which the workers entered had been unobstructed. Now,
+though, tall weeds had grown up about the tree, making a screen before
+the hole and preventing the nectar-laden insects from entering readily.</p>
+
+<p>"This won't do at-all-at-all," he said to Jessamy, as she took her seat
+on a limb of the bee tree. "There must be nothing to obstruct them in
+entering, for sometimes they drop with their loads when they have
+difficulty in winging directly in, and can't get up again."</p>
+
+<p>"Uh-huh," she concurred.</p>
+
+<p>She had unlaid one of her black braids and was replaiting it again after
+the havoc wrought by the prickly bushes.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver lighted his bee-smoker and sent several soft puffs into the hole
+to quiet the bees. Then without gloves or veil, which the experienced
+beeman seldom uses, he laid hold of the tall weeds and began uprooting
+them. Thus engaged, he kneeled down and reached under the tree trunk to
+get at the roots of certain obstinate plants; and in that instant he
+felt a sharp sting in the fleshy part of his wrist.</p>
+
+<p>"Ouch! Holy Moses!" he croaked. "I didn't expect to find a bee under
+there!"</p>
+
+<p>"Get stung?"</p>
+
+<p>"Did I! Mother of Mike! I've been stung many times, but that lady must
+have been the grandmother of&mdash;Why, I'm getting sick&mdash;dizzy!&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He came to a pause, swayed on his knees, and closed his eyes. Then came
+that heart-chilling sound which, once heard, will never be forgotten,
+and will ever bring cold terror to mankind&mdash;the rattlebone
+<i>whir-r-r-r-r</i> of the diamond-back rattlesnake.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver caught himself, licked dry lips, and was gazing in horror at two
+bleeding, jagged incisions in his wrist. The girl, with a scream of
+comprehension, darted toward him. He balanced himself and smiled grimly
+as she grabbed his arm with shaking hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Got me," he said, "the son-of-a-gun! And I'd have stuck my hand right
+back for another dose if he hadn't rattled."</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy grabbed him by both shoulders and tried to force him to the
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down and keep quiet!" she ordered, sternly, her nerves now firm and
+steady, her face white and determined. "No, not that way!"</p>
+
+<p>She grasped him under the arms and with the strength of a young Amazon
+slued him about as if he had been a sack of flour.</p>
+
+<p>Deftly she bound his handkerchief about his arm, drawing it taut with
+all her strength. Something found its way into his left hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink that!" she commanded. "All of it. Pour it down!"</p>
+
+<p>Then her lips sought the flaming wound; and she clamped her white teeth
+in his flesh and began sucking out the poison.</p>
+
+<p>At intervals she raised her head for breath and to spit out the deadly
+fluid.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink!" she would urge then. "And don't worry. Not a chance in the
+world of your being any the worse after I get through with you."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver obeyed her without question, taking great swallows from the flask
+of fiery liquor and closing his eyes after each. His senses swam and he
+felt weak and delirious, though he could not tell whether this last was
+because of the poison or the liquor he had consumed.</p>
+
+<p>At last Jessamy leaned back and fumbled in a pocket of her chaps. She
+produced a tiny round box, from which she took a bottle of dry
+permanganate of potash and a small lancet. With the keen instrument she
+hacked a deep x in his arm, just over the wound. Then she wet the red
+powder with saliva and worked a paste into the cuts with the lancet.</p>
+
+<p>This done, she sat back and regarded her patient complacently.</p>
+
+<p>"Just take it easy," she counselled. "And, whatever you do, don't worry.
+You won't know you were bitten in an hour. Sip that whisky now and then.
+It won't kill the poison, as some folks seem to believe, but it will
+make you light-hearted and you'll forget to worry. That's the part it
+plays in a case like this. Now if I can trust you to keep quiet and
+serene, I'll seek revenge."</p>
+
+<p>He nodded weakly.</p>
+
+<p>She arose, and presently again came that sickening <i>whir-r-r-r-r-r</i>
+miscalled a rattle, followed immediately by a vicious <i>thud-thud-thud</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"There, you horrid creature!" he heard in a low, triumphant tone. "You
+thought I was afraid of you, did you? Bring total collapse on all your
+fictitious traditions and bite before you rattle, will you! <i>Requiescat
+in pace</i>, Mr. Showut Poche-daka!"</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour afterward Oliver Drew was on his feet, but he staggered
+drunkenly. To this day he is not just sure whether he was intoxicated or
+raving from the effects of the snakebite. Anyway, as Jessamy took hold
+of him to steady him, his reason left him, and he swept her into his
+arms and kissed her lips time and again, though she struggled valiantly
+to free herself.</p>
+
+<p>Ultimately she ducked under his arms and sprang away from him backward,
+her face crimson, her bosom heaving.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down again!" she ordered chokingly. "Shame on you, to take
+advantage of me like that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Won't sit down!" he babbled, reaching about for her blindly. "I love
+you an' I'm gonta have you!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're out of your head! Sit down again! Please, now." Her tone changed
+to a soothing note. "You're&mdash;I'm afraid you're drunk."</p>
+
+<p>He was groping for her, staggering toward a threatening outcropping of
+rock. With a rapid leap she closed in on him unexpectedly, heaved
+desperately to the right and left, and threw him flat on his back. Then
+she scrambled on top of his knees as he strove to rise again.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, looky-here, mister," she warned, "you've gone just about far
+enough! In a second I'll get that bee-smoker and put you out of
+business. Please&mdash;please, now, be good!"</p>
+
+<p>He seemed partially stunned by the fall, for he lay now without a move,
+eyes closed, his mind wandering dreamily. And thus he lay for half an
+hour longer, when he suddenly raised his head and looked at her, still
+propped up on his knees, with eyes that were sane.</p>
+
+<p>"Golly!" he breathed.</p>
+
+<p>"Golly is right," she agreed drolly. "Were you drunk or crazy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Both, I guess. I'm&mdash;mighty sorry." His face was red as fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you wish to get up?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you please."</p>
+
+<p>He stood on his feet. He was still weak and pale and dizzy.</p>
+
+<p>"Heavens! That liquor!" he panted. "What is it? Where did you get it?"</p>
+
+<p>"At home. Old Adam gave me the flask over a year ago. It's only whisky.
+I always carry a flask for just such an emergency as this. And I never
+go a step out of the house in the summer without my snakebite kit.
+Nobody ought to in the West."</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head. "That's not whisky," he said. "I'm not exactly a
+stranger to the taste of whisky. That's brimstone!"</p>
+
+<p>"I was told it was whisky," she replied. "I know nothing about whisky.
+I've never even tasted it."</p>
+
+<p>He held the flask to the sun, but it was leather-covered and no light
+shone through. He unscrewed the metal cap and poured some of the liquor
+into it.</p>
+
+<p>It was colourless as water.</p>
+
+<p>"Moonshine!" he cried. "And I know now why the flow from my spring was
+cut off. A still calls for running water!"</p>
+
+<p>"You may be right," she said without excitement. "You will remember that
+I told you there is another reason besides Selden's covetousness of your
+grass land why you are wanted out of the Clinker Creek Country."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE POISON OAKERS RIDE</h3>
+
+
+<p>A red-headed, red-breasted male linnet sat on the topmost branch of the
+old, gnarled liveoak near Oliver's window and tried to burst his throat
+to the accompaniment of Oliver's typewriter. When the keys ceased their
+clicking the singer finished a bar and waited, till once more the
+dicelike rattle encouraged him to another ecstatic burst of melody.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I like to be accommodating," remarked Oliver, leaning back from
+his machine, "but I can't accompany you all day; and it happens that I'm
+through right now."</p>
+
+<p>He surveyed the last typewritten sheet of his manuscript on the cleaning
+of springs for the enlarging of their flow; but, the article completed,
+his mind was no longer engrossed by it.</p>
+
+<p>Other and bigger matters claimed his thoughts, and he sat in the soft
+spring air wondering about old Chupurosa Hatchinguish and his strange
+behaviour on seeing the gem-mounted <i>conchas</i> stamped with the letter B.</p>
+
+<p>When Oliver had stripped off his shirt in the hut that day the scar that
+a German bayonet had left in his side had carefully been examined by the
+ancient chief. Oliver fancied there had been a strange new look in his
+inscrutable eyes as he silently motioned for him to put on his shirt
+again. He had made no comment whatever, though, and said nothing at all
+until the young man had finished dressing. Then he had stepped to the
+door and opened it, rather impolitely suggesting that his guest's
+presence in the hut was no longer necessary. As Oliver passed out he had
+spoken:</p>
+
+<p>"When next the moon is full," he said, "the Showut Poche-dakas will
+observe the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio, as taught them years ago
+by the padres who came from Spain. Then will the Showut Poche-dakas
+dance the fire dance, which is according to the laws laid down by the
+wise men of their ancestors. Ride here to the Fiesta de Santa Maria de
+Refugio on the first night that the moon is full. <i>Adios, amigo!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>That was all; and Oliver had passed out into the bright sunlight and
+found Jessamy Selden.</p>
+
+<p>The two had talked over the circumstances often since that day, but
+neither could throw any light on the matter. But the first night of the
+full moon was not far distant now, and Oliver and the girl were awaiting
+it impatiently. Oliver felt that at the fiesta he would in some way gain
+an inkling of the mysterious question that had puzzled his father for
+thirty years, and which eventually had brought his son into this country
+to find out whether its answer was Yes or No.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver tilted back his chair and lighted his briar pipe. Out in the
+liveoak tree the linnet waited, head on one side, chirping plaintively
+occasionally, for the renewed clicking of the typewriter keys. But
+Oliver's thoughts were far from his work.</p>
+
+<p>That burning, colourless liquor that had so fiercely fired his brain was
+undoubtedly moonshine&mdash;and redistilled at that, no doubt. Jessamy had
+told him further that she had not so much as unscrewed the cap since old
+Adam had given her the flask, at her request, and had had no idea that
+the flask had not contained amber-coloured whisky. Was this in reality
+the reason why the Poison Oakers wished him to be gone? Had they been
+distilling moonshine whisky down at Sulphur Spring to supply the blind
+pigs controlled by the prosecuting attorney at the county seat? And had
+his inadvertent shutting off of Sulphur Spring's supply of water stopped
+their illicit activities? They had known, perhaps, that eventually he
+would discover that his own spring had been choked by some one and would
+rectify the condition. Whereupon Sulphur Spring would cease to flow and
+automatically cut off one of their sources of revenue. Oliver decided to
+look for Sulphur Spring at his earliest opportunity.</p>
+
+<p>His brows came together as he recalled the episode on the hill, when
+either the fiery raw liquor or the poison from the diamond-back's
+fangs&mdash;or both&mdash;had deprived him of his senses.</p>
+
+<p>He remembered perfectly what he had said&mdash;what he had done. He had heard
+sometime that a man always tells the truth when he is drunk. But had he
+been drunk, or rabid from the hypodermic injections of Showut
+Poche-daka? Or, again&mdash;both? One thing he knew&mdash;that he thrilled yet at
+remembrance of those satin lips which he had pressed again and again.</p>
+
+<p>Had he told the truth? Had he said that day what he would not have
+revealed for anything&mdash;at that time?</p>
+
+<p>His brows contracted more and more, and a grim smile twitched his lips.
+His teeth gripped the amber stem of his pipe. Had he told the truth?</p>
+
+<p>He rose suddenly and went through a boyish practice that had clung to
+him to the years of his young manhood. He stalked to the cheap
+rectangular mirror on the wall and gazed at his wavy reflection in the
+flawed glass. Blue eye into blue eye he gazed, and once more asked the
+question:</p>
+
+<p>"Did I tell the truth when I said I loved her?"</p>
+
+<p>His eyes answered him. He knew that he had told the truth.</p>
+
+<p>Then if this was true&mdash;and he knew it to be true&mdash;what of the halfbreed,
+Digger Foss? He remembered a gaunt man, stricken to his death, reeling
+against the legs of a snorting white mare and clutching at them blindly
+for support&mdash;remembered the gloating grin of the mounted man, the muzzle
+of whose gun followed the movements of his wounded enemy as a cobra's
+head sways back and forth to the charmer's music&mdash;remembered the cruel
+insolence of the Mongolic eyes, mere slits.</p>
+
+<p>He swung about suddenly from the mirror and caught sight of a knothole
+in the cabin wall, which so far he had neglected to patch with tin. He
+noted it as he swung about and dived at the pillow on his bed. He hurled
+the pillow one side, swept up the ivory-handled '45 that lay there,
+wheeled, and fired at the knothole. There had been no appreciable pause
+between his grasping of the weapon and the trigger pull, yet he saw no
+bullet hole in the cabin boards when the smoke had cleared away.</p>
+
+<p>He chuckled grimly. "I might get out my army medals for marksmanship and
+pin 'em on my breast for a target," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Then to his vast confusion there came a voice from the front of the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't committed soothin' syrup, have ye?" it boomed.</p>
+
+<p>There was no mistaking the deep-lunged tones. It was Old Man Selden who
+had called to him.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver tossed the gun on the bed and walked through to the front door,
+which always stood open these days, inviting the countless little
+lizards that his invasion of the place had not disturbed to enter and
+make themselves at home.</p>
+
+<p>The gaunt old boss of the Clinker Creek Country stood, with
+chap-protected legs wide apart, on Oliver's little porch. His
+broad-brimmed black hat was set at an angle on his iron-grey hair, and
+his cold blue eyes were piercing and direct, as always. In his hands he
+held the reins of his horse's bridle. Back of the grey seven men lounged
+in their saddles, grinning at the old man's sally. Digger Foss was not
+among the number.</p>
+
+<p>"How d'ye do, Mr. Selden," said Oliver in cordial tones, thrusting forth
+a strong brown hand.</p>
+
+<p>Selden did not accept the hand, and made no effort to pretend that he
+had not noticed it. Oliver quickly withdrew it, and two little lumps
+showed over the hinges of his jaws.</p>
+
+<p>He changed his tone immediately. "Well, what can I do for you
+gentlemen?" he inquired brusquely.</p>
+
+<p>"We was ridin' through an' thought we heard a shot," said Selden. "So I
+dropped off to see if ye wasn't hurt."</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon," Oliver returned, "but you must have been dismounted
+when I fired. This being the case, you already had decided to call on
+me. So, once more, how can I be of service to you?"</p>
+
+<p>The grins of the men who rode with Adam Selden disappeared. There was no
+mistaking the businesslike hostility of Oliver's attitude.</p>
+
+<p>"Peeved about somethin' this mornin'," one of them drawled to the rider
+whose knee pressed his.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver looked straight at Old Man Selden, and to him he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not peeved about anything," he said. "But when a man comes to my
+door, and I come and offer him my hand, and he ignores it, my inference
+is that the call isn't a friendly one. So if you have any business to
+transact with me, let's get it off our chests."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver noted with a certain amount of satisfaction the quick, surprised
+looks that were flashed among the Poison Oakers. Apparently they had met
+a tougher customer than they had expected.</p>
+
+<p>All this time the cold blue eyes of Adam Selden had been looking over
+the pitted Bourbon nose at Oliver. Selden's tones were unruffled as he
+said:</p>
+
+<p>"Thought maybe the poison oak had got too many for ye, an' ye'd shot
+yerself."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care to listen to subtle threats," Oliver returned promptly.
+"Poison oak does not trouble me at all&mdash;neither the vegetable variety
+nor the other variety. I'm never in favour of bandying words. If I have
+anything to say I try to say it in the best American-English at my
+command. So I'll make no pretence, Mr. Selden, that I have not heard you
+don't want me here in the caņon. And I'll add that I am here, on my own
+land, and intend to do my best to remain till I see fit to leave."</p>
+
+<p>Selden's craggy brows came down, and the scrutiny that he gave the young
+man was not without an element of admiration. No anger showed in his
+voice as he said:</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! Just so! I wanted to tell ye that I been down to the
+recorder's office and up to see Nancy Fleet, my wife's sister. Seems
+that you're right about this prop'ty standin' in your name an' all; but
+I thought, so long's we was ridin' along this way, I'd drop off an' have
+a word with ye."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm waiting to hear it."</p>
+
+<p>"No use gettin' riled, now, because&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If you had accepted my hand you'd not find me adopting the tone that I
+have."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so!" Selden drawled. "Well, then, I'll accept her now&mdash;if I ain't
+too bold."</p>
+
+<p>"You will not," clicked Oliver. "Will you please state your business and
+ride on?"</p>
+
+<p>"Friendly cuss, ain't he, Dad?" remarked one of the Selden boys&mdash;which
+one Oliver did not know.</p>
+
+<p>"You close yer face!" admonished Selden smoothly, in his deep bass.
+"Well, Mr. Drew, if ye want to stay here an' starve to death, that's
+none o' my concern. And if ye got money to live on comin' from
+somewheres else, that's none o' my concern either. But when ye stop the
+run o' water from a spring that I'm dependin' on to water my critters in
+dry months, it <i>is</i> my concern&mdash;an' that's why I dropped off for a word
+with ye."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know I have done that?" Oliver asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, 'tain't likely that a spring like Sulphur Spring would go dry the
+last o' May. Most o' these springs along here are fed from the same
+vein. You move in, and Sulphur Spring goes dry. So that's what I dropped
+off to talk to ye about. Just so!"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," said Oliver, "that the work I did on my spring has in
+reality stopped the flow of Sulphur Spring. But&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ye do? What <i>makes</i> ye suppose so?&mdash;if I ain't too bold in askin'."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's lips straightened. Plainly Selden suspected that Jessamy had
+told him of the peculiarity of the caņon springs, and was trying to make
+him implicate her. But the old man was not the crafty intriguer he
+seemed to fancy himself to be. He already had said too much if he wished
+to make Oliver drag the girl's name into the quarrel.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what you have just told me, added to my knowledge of what I did to
+clean out my spring, leads to that supposition," he replied. "But, as I
+was about to remark when you interrupted me, I can't see that that is
+any concern of mine. That's putting it rather bluntly, perhaps; but I am
+entirely within my rights in developing all the water that I can on my
+land, regardless of how it may affect land that lies below me."</p>
+
+<p>"Right there's the point," retorted Selden. "I'm a pretty good friend o'
+the prosecutin' attorney down at the county seat. He tells me ye can't
+take my water away from me like that."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I should say that your legal friend is not very well posted on the
+laws governing the development and disposition of water in this state,"
+Oliver promptly told him.</p>
+
+<p>"I wrote him," said Selden, "an' I'll show ye the letter if ye'll invite
+me in."</p>
+
+<p>For the first time Oliver hesitated. Why did Selden wish to enter the
+cabin? Could not the letter be produced and read on the porch? It
+flashed through his mind that the old fox wished to get him inside so
+that some of his gang might investigate the spring and find out the
+volume of the water that was flowing, and what had been done to increase
+it. This only added to his belief that the Poison Oakers were
+responsible for the wall of stones that had choked the stream. Well, why
+not let them find out all that they wished to know in this regard?</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," he invited. "Come in." And he stood back from the door.</p>
+
+<p>Selden clanked his spur rowels across the threshold. At the same time he
+was reaching into his shirtfront for the letter.</p>
+
+<p>Then an odd thing occurred. He was about to take the chair that Oliver
+had pushed forward when his blue eyes fell upon the saddle and bridle
+which had come to stand for so much in Oliver's life, hanging from a
+thong in one corner of the room.</p>
+
+<p>The old Poison Oaker's eyes grew wide, and, as was their way when he was
+moved out of his customary brooding mood, his thick nostrils began
+dilating. But almost instantly he was his cold, insolent self again.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard some of 'em gassin' about that rig o' yours," he remarked.
+"Said she was a hummer all 'round. That it there? Mind if I look her
+over?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all." Oliver was quick to grasp at any chance that might lead to
+the big question and its answer.</p>
+
+<p>Old Man Selden's leather chaps whistled his legs to the corner, where he
+stood, long arms at his sides, gazing at the saddle, the bridle, and the
+martingales. His deep breathing was the only sound in the room. Outside,
+Oliver heard foot-steps, and suspected that the investigation of his
+spring was on.</p>
+
+<p>At last Adam Selden made a move. He changed his position so that his
+spacious back was turned toward Oliver. Quietly Oliver leaned to one
+side in his chair, and he saw the cowman's big hand outstretched toward
+the gem-mounted <i>concha</i> on the left-hand side of the bridle&mdash;saw thumb
+and fingers turn that part of the bridle inside-out.</p>
+
+<p>Again the room was soundless. Then Selden turned from the exhibit, and
+Oliver grew tense as he noted the strange pallor that had come on the
+old man's face.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a han'some rig," was all he said, as he sank to his chair and
+laid a letter on the oilcloth-covered table.</p>
+
+<p>The letter contained the information that its recipient had claimed, and
+was signed Elmer Standard. Oliver quickly passed it back, remarking:</p>
+
+<p>"He's entirely wrong, and ought to know it. I have had occasion to look
+into the legal aspect of water rights in California quite thoroughly,
+and fortunately am better posted than most laymen are on the subject."</p>
+
+<p>But the chief of the Poison Oakers was scarce listening. In his blue
+eyes was a faraway look, and that weird grey pallor had not left his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he jerked himself from reverie, and, to Oliver's surprise, a
+smile crossed his bearded lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! Just so! I judge ye're right, Mr. Drew&mdash;I judge ye're right,"
+he said almost genially. "Anyway you an' me'd be out-an'-out fools to
+fuss over a matter like that. There's plenty water fer the cows, an' I
+oughtn't to butted in. But us ol'-timers, ye know, we&mdash;Well, I guess we
+oughta be shot an' drug out fer the cy-otes to gnaw on. I won't trouble
+ye again, Mr. Drew. An' I'll be ridin' now with the boys, I reckon. Ye
+might ride up and get acquainted with my wife an' step-daughter&mdash;but I
+guess ye've already met Jess'my. I've heard her mention ye. Ride up some
+day&mdash;they'll be glad to see ye."</p>
+
+<p>And Oliver Drew was more at a loss how to act in showing him out than
+when he had first faced him on the porch.</p>
+
+<p>The Poison Oakers, with Old Man Selden at their head, rode away up the
+caņon. Oliver Drew was throwing the saddle on Poche's back two minutes
+after they had vanished in the trees. He mounted and galloped in the
+opposite direction, opening the wire "Indian" gate when he reached the
+south line of his property.</p>
+
+<p>An hour later he was searching the obscure hills and caņons for Sulphur
+Spring, but two hours had elapsed before he found it.</p>
+
+<p>It was hidden away in a little wooded caņon, with high hills all about,
+and wild grapevines, buckeyes, and bays almost completely screened it.
+While cattle might drink from the overflow that ran down beyond the
+heavy growth, they could not have reached the basin which had been
+designed to hold the water as it flowed directly from the spring.
+Moreover, it was doubtful if, during the hot summer months, the rapid
+evaporating would leave any water for cattle in the tiny course below
+the bushes.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver parted the foliage and crawled in to the clay basin. Cold water
+remained in the bottom of it, but the inflow had ceased entirely.</p>
+
+<p>He bent down and submerged his hand, feeling along the sides of the
+basin. Almost at once his fingers closed over the end of a piece of
+three-quarter-inch iron pipe.</p>
+
+<p>Then in the pool before his face there came a sudden <i>chug</i>, and a
+little geyser of water spurted up into his eyes. Oliver drew back
+instinctively. His face blanched, and his muscles tightened.</p>
+
+<p>Then from somewhere up in the timbered hills came the crash of a
+heavy-calibre rifle.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<h3>SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS</h3>
+
+
+<p>White Ann and Poche bore their riders slowly along the backbone of the
+ridge that upreared itself between Clinker Creek Caņon and the American.
+Occasionally they came upon groups of red and roan and spotted longhorn
+steers, each branded with the insignia of the Poison Oakers. Once a deer
+crashed away through thick chaparral. Young jackrabbits went leaping
+over the grassy knolls at their approach. Down the timbered hillsides
+grey squirrels scolded in lofty pines and spruces. Next day would mark
+the beginning of the full-moon period for the month of June.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy Selden was in a thoughtful mood this morning. Her hat lay over
+her saddle horn. Her black hair now was parted from forehead to the nape
+of her neck, and twisted into two huge rosettes, one over each ear,
+after the constant fashion of the Indian girls. So far Oliver Drew had
+not discovered that he disliked any of the many ways in which she did
+her hair.</p>
+
+<p>"What are your views on religion?" was her sudden and unexpected
+question.</p>
+
+<p>"So we're going to be heavy this morning, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no&mdash;not particularly. There's usually a smattering of method in my
+madness. You haven't answered."</p>
+
+<p>"Seems to me you've given me a pretty big contract all in one question.
+If you could narrow down a bit&mdash;be more specific&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, do you believe in that?" She raised her arm sharply and
+pointed down the precipitous slopes to the green American rushing
+pell-mell down its rugged caņon.</p>
+
+<p>They had just come in sight of the gold dredger, whose great shovels
+were tearing down the banks, leaving a long serpentine line of débris
+behind the craft in the middle of the river.</p>
+
+<p>"That dredge?" he asked. "What's it to do with religion?"</p>
+
+<p>"To me it personifies the greed of all mankind," she replied. "It makes
+me wild to think that a great, lumbering, manmade toy should come up
+that river and destroy its natural beauty for the sake of the tiny
+particles of gold in the earth and rocks. Ugh! I detest the sight of the
+thing. The gold they get will buy diamond necklaces for fat, foolish old
+women, and not a stone among them can compare with the dewdrop flashing
+there in that filaree blossom! It will buy silk gowns, and any spider
+can weave a fabric with which they can't begin to compete. It will build
+tall skyscrapers, and which of them will be as imposing as one of these
+majestic oaks which that machine may uproot? Bah, I hate the sight of
+the thing!"</p>
+
+<p>"Gold also buys food and simple clothing," he reminded her.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so," she sighed. "We've gotten to a point where gold is
+necessary. But, oh, how unnecessary it is, after all, if we were only as
+God intended us to be! I detest anything utilitarian. I hate orchards
+because they supplant the trees and chaparral that Nature has planted. I
+hate the irrigating systems, because the dams and reservoirs that they
+demand ruin rugged caņons and valleys. I hate railroads, because their
+hideous old trains go screeching through God's peaceful solitudes. I
+hate automobiles, because they bring irreverent unbelievers into God's
+chapels."</p>
+
+<p>"But they also take cramped-up city folks out into the country," he
+said. "And all of them are not irreverent."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes&mdash;I know. I'm selfish there. And I'm not at all practical. But I
+do hate 'em!"</p>
+
+<p>"And what <i>do</i> you like in life?" he asked amusedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I have no particular objection to horned toads, for one thing,"
+she laughed. "But I'm only halfway approaching my subject. Do you like
+missionaries?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think I've never eaten any," he told her gravely.</p>
+
+<p>But she would not laugh. "I don't like 'em," she claimed. "I don't
+believe in the practice of sending apostles into other countries to
+force&mdash;if necessary&mdash;the believers in other religions to trample under
+foot their ancient teachings, and espouse ours. All peoples, it seems to
+me, believe in a creator. That's enough. Let 'em alone in their various
+creeds and doctrines and methods of expressing their faith and devotion.
+Are you with me there?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so. Only extreme bigotry and egotism can be responsible for the
+zeal that sends a believer in one faith to the believers in another to
+try and bend them to his way of thinking."</p>
+
+<p>"I respect all religions&mdash;all beliefs," she said. "But those who go
+preaching into other lands can have no respect at all for the other
+fellow's faith. And that's not Christlike in the first place."</p>
+
+<p>He knew that she had something on her mind that she would in good time
+disclose, but he wondered not a little at her trend of thought this
+morning.</p>
+
+<p>"The Showut Poche-dakas are deeply religious," she declared suddenly.
+"Long years ago they inhabited the coast country, but were gradually
+pushed back up here. Down there, though, they came under the influence
+of the old Spanish padres; and today their religion is a mixture of
+Catholicism and ancient tribal teachings. They are sincere and devout. I
+have as much reverence for a bareheaded Indian girl on her knees to the
+Sun God as I have for a hooded nun counting her beads. They believe in a
+supreme being; that's enough for me. You'll be interested at the fiesta
+tomorrow night. I rode up there the other day. Everything is in
+readiness. The <i>ramadas</i> are all built, and the dance floor is up, and
+Indians are drifting in from other reservations a hundred miles away."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you ride up with me tomorrow afternoon?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think so&mdash;that is, since I heard what Old Man Selden had to say
+about you the day after he called. I'll tell you about that later. Yes,
+all the whites attend the <i>fiestas</i>. The California Indian is crude and
+not very picturesque, compared with other Indians, but the <i>fiestas</i> are
+fascinating. Especially the dances. They defy interpretation; but
+they're interesting, even if they don't show a great deal of
+imagination. By the way, I bought you a present at Halfmoon Flat the
+other day."</p>
+
+<p>She unbuttoned the flap on a pocket of her <i>chaparejos</i>, and handed him
+a small parcel wrapped in sky-blue paper.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I to open it now or wait till Christmas?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," she said.</p>
+
+<p>The paper contained a half-dozen small bottles of liquid courtplaster.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm perfectly sane!" she laughed in her ringing tones as he turned
+a blank face to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Tomorrow," she went on, "you are to smear yourself with that liquid
+courtplaster, from the soles of your feet to your knees. When one coat
+dries, apply another; and continue doing so until the supply is
+exhausted."</p>
+
+<p>She threw back her head and her whole-souled laughter awoke the echoes.</p>
+
+<p>"It's merely a crazy idea of mine," she explained. "I had a bottle of
+the stuff and was reading the printed directions that came with it. It
+seems to be good for anything, from gluing the straps of a décolletté
+ballgown to a woman's shoulders to the protection of stenographer's
+fingers and harvesters' hands at husking time. It's almost invisible
+when it has dried on one's skin; and I thought it might be of benefit to
+you in the fire dance."</p>
+
+<p>"Say," he said, "you're in up to your neck, while I've barely got my
+feet wet. Come across!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm not positive," she told him, "but I'm strongly of the opinion
+that you're going to dance the fire dance at the Fiesta de Santa Maria
+de Refugio tomorrow night."</p>
+
+<p>"I? I dance the fire dance? Oh, no, Miss&mdash;you have the wrong number. I
+don't dance the fire dance at all."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you will tomorrow night, and I thought that liquid courtplaster
+might help protect your feet and legs. I put some on my second finger
+and let it dry, then put my finger on the cookstove."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I took it off again. But, honestly, the finger that had none on
+at all felt a little hotter, I imagined. I'm sure it did, and I only had
+two coats on. I know you'll be glad you tried it, and the Indians will
+never know it's there."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm getting just a bit interested," he remarked.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," she said, "after what passed between you and Chupurosa
+Hatchinguish that day, I'm almost positive that tomorrow night you are
+to be extended the honour of becoming a member of the tribe. And I know
+the fire dance is a ceremony connected with admitting an outsider to
+membership. White men who have married Indian women are about the only
+ones that are ever made tribal brothers by the Showut Poche-dakas; so in
+your case it is a distinct honour.</p>
+
+<p>"I have seen this fire dance. While a white person cannot accurately
+interpret its significance, it seems that the fire is emblematical of
+all the forces which naturally would be pitted against you in your
+endeavour to ally yourself with the Showut Poche-dakas.</p>
+
+<p>"For instance, there's your white skin and your love for your own
+people, the difference in the life you have led as compared with theirs,
+what you have been taught&mdash;and, oh, everything that might be against the
+alliance. All this, I say, is represented by the fire. And in the fire
+dance, my dear friend, you must stamp out these objections with your
+bare feet if you would become brother to the Showut Poche-dakas."</p>
+
+<p>"With my bare feet? Stamp out these objections?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;as represented by the fire."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean I must stamp out a <i>fire</i> with my bare feet? <i>Actually?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Actually&mdash;literally&mdash;honest-to-goodnessly!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good night!" cried Oliver. "I'll cleave to my kith and kin."</p>
+
+<p>"And never learn the question that puzzled your idealistic father for
+thirty years? Nor whether the correct answer is Yes or No?"</p>
+
+<p>"But, heavens, I don't put out a fire that way!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not so dreadful as it sounds," she consoled. "You join the tribe,
+and you all go marching and stamping about a big bonfire for hours and
+hours and hours, till the fire is conveniently low. Then the one who is
+to be admitted to brotherhood and a chosen member of the tribe&mdash;the
+champion fire-dancer, in short&mdash;jump on what is left of the fire and
+stamp it out. Of course there are objections to you from the view-point
+of the Showut Poche-dakas, and they must be overcome by a representative
+of them. If the fire proves too much for your bare feet the objections
+are too strong to be overcome, and you never will be an honourary Showut
+Poche-daka. But if the two of you conquer the fire with your bare feet
+the ceremony is over, and you're It. And when the other Indians see that
+you two Indians"&mdash;her eyes twinkled&mdash;"are getting the better of the
+fire, they'll jump in and help you."</p>
+
+<p>"A very entertaining ceremony&mdash;for the grandstand," was Oliver's dry
+opinion.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course the Indian's feet are tough as leather, and they have it on
+you there. Hence this liquid courtplaster. It's worth a trial. Honestly,
+I held my finger on the stove&mdash;oh, ever so long! A full second, I'd
+say."</p>
+
+<p>Back went her glorious head, and her teeth flashed in the sunlight as,
+drunk with the wine of youth and health, she sent her rollicking
+laughter out over the hills and caņons.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be there watching and rooting for you," she assured him at last.
+"I can do so openly now&mdash;since you've won the heart of Adam Selden. What
+do you think? He told me to invite you over sometime! But all this
+doesn't fit in quite logically with the ivory-handled Colt I see on your
+hip today for the first time. Explain both, please."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he said, "Selden seemed ready to cut my throat till he examined
+Poche's bridle and saw the B on the back of a <i>concha</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" she breathed, drawing in her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"And then he grew nice as pie&mdash;and that's all there is to that."</p>
+
+<p>"And the six?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I buckled it on this morning, thinking I might practice up a bit,
+as you advised."</p>
+
+<p>"So far so good. Now amend it and tell the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"I went down to Sulphur Spring after the Poison Oakers left me, and as I
+was examining the water a bullet plunked into it from the hills and I
+got my eyebrows wet. As I don't like to have anybody but myself wet my
+eyebrows, I'm totin' a six. And I rather like the weight of it against
+my leg again. It reminds me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Who shot at you?"</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>At</i> you, do you think?&mdash;or into the water to frighten you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Whoever fired could not see me, but knew I was in the bushes about the
+spring. Took a rather long chance, if he merely wished to give me a
+touch of highlife, don't you think?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if the bullet is still in the basin."</p>
+
+<p>"I never thought of that. I ducked for cover at once, of course, and, as
+nobody showed up, rode back home."</p>
+
+<p>She lifted White Ann to her hind legs and spun her about in her tracks.
+"We'll ride to Sulphur Spring and look for that bullet," she announced.</p>
+
+<p>"And be ambushed," he added, as Poche followed White Ann's lead.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<h3>HIGH POWER</h3>
+
+
+<p>Jessamy and Oliver had wheeled their horses with such unexpected
+suddenness that the man who was trailing them was caught off his guard.
+He stood plainly revealed for a moment in the open; then he found his
+wits and plunged indiscriminately into the shielding chaparral.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh-ho!" cried Jessamy in a low tone. "The plot thickens! Did you see
+him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going after him," declared her companion.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!" she commanded, as he lifted Poche for a leap toward the
+skulker's vanishing point.</p>
+
+<p>He reined in quickly. "Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"What good will come of it? Why try to nose him out? We may be ahead in
+the end if we play the game as they do. We have more chance of finding
+out what they're up to by leaving them alone, I'd say."</p>
+
+<p>"Play the game, eh?" he repeated. "So there's a game being played. I
+didn't just know. Thought all that's afoot was the big idea of chasing
+me over the hills and far away. And from Selden's latest attitude, it
+looks as if that had been abandoned. Game, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I'd call it. Quite evidently the man was spying on us."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you recognize him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't make sure."</p>
+
+<p>"But you think you know him," he said with conviction.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I imagined it was Digger Foss. But he got to cover pretty
+quickly."</p>
+
+<p>"His horse can't be far away. Maybe we can locate him somewhere along
+the back trail. I'd know that rawboned roan."</p>
+
+<p>"So should I. Let's send 'em along a little faster."</p>
+
+<p>They had by this time reached the opening in the chaparral into which
+their shadow had dodged. By common consent they passed it without
+looking to right or left.</p>
+
+<p>"He may imagine we didn't see him," whispered Jessamy. "I hope he does."</p>
+
+<p>There was an open stretch ahead of them, and across it they galloped,
+the girl piercing the thickets on the right in search of a saddle horse,
+Oliver sweeping the slopes that descended to the river. But neither saw
+a horse, and in the trail were no hoofprints not made by their own
+mounts.</p>
+
+<p>"He has been afoot from the start," decided Jessamy. "I wish I knew
+whether or not it was Digger Foss."</p>
+
+<p>They wound their way down to Sulphur Spring presently, and came to a
+halt in the ravine below it.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," said Oliver, "who knows but that my sniper is not hidden up there
+in the hills?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll look for that bullet," she purposed, and swung out of her saddle.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no you won't!" His foot touched the ground with hers.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;listen! No one would shoot at me. But they might take another crack
+at you, even with me along to witness it. If they were hidden and could
+get away unseen, you know. But they'd not shoot at me."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm one of them&mdash;after a fashion. They all like me&mdash;and at least
+one of them wants to gather me to his manly breast and fly with me."</p>
+
+<p>"But things are different since I came. You've taken sides with me. If
+any one looks for that slug, I'm the one that'll do it."</p>
+
+<p>He started toward the spring.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop!" she ordered, and grasped his shirt-sleeves. "Listen here: I'd
+bet a dollar against a saddle string that that was Digger Foss we saw up
+on the ridge."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's afoot. He can't have had time to get down here and guard Sulphur
+Spring."</p>
+
+<p>"All right. Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"And I know positively that Adam Selden and the boys are up north today
+after a bunch of drifters. So none of them can be here. That eliminates
+six of the Poison Oakers. There would be left only Obed Pence, Ed
+Buchanan, Chuck Allegan, and Jay Muenster&mdash;all privates, next to
+outsiders. None of them would shoot at me, and&mdash;" She came to a full
+stop and eyed him speculatively. "And I'm going to look for that
+bullet," she finished limpingly.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver looked her over thoughtfully. "I can't say that I get what you're
+driving at at all," he observed. "But it seems to me that you're trying
+to convey that, with the Seldens and Digger Foss eliminated, there is no
+danger."</p>
+
+<p>She closed her eyes and gave him several vigorous, exaggerated nods.</p>
+
+<p>"But aren't all of the Poison Oakers concerned in my speedy removal from
+this country?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well&mdash;yes"&mdash;hesitatingly. "That's right. But the four will not molest
+me. I know. Please let's not argue about what I <i>know</i> is right!"</p>
+
+<p>His lips twitched amusedly. "But one of the four <i>might</i> take a pot-shot
+at me. Is that it?"</p>
+
+<p>Again the series of nods, eyes closed. "You see," she said, "only the
+Seldens and Digger Foss accuse me of being on your side. So if any one
+of the other four were to see me go to the spring he'd think I was
+merely after water, or something. But if you were to go, why&mdash;why, it
+might be different."</p>
+
+<p>Saying which she unexpectedly darted away from him up the ravine, left
+the shelter of the trees, and walked boldly to the spring.</p>
+
+<p>She parted the bushes and disappeared from sight.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver stole quickly to the edge of the cover and hid behind a tree, his
+Colt unholstered and hanging in his hand. His eyes scoured the timbered
+hills on both sides of the spring, but not a movement did he see.</p>
+
+<p>He puzzled over Jessamy's speech as he watched for evidences of a
+hostile demonstration.</p>
+
+<p>"It smacks of a counter-plot," he mused. "All of the Poison Oakers want
+me out of here, but only the Seldens and the halfbreed are aware that
+Jessamy is friendly with me. But these four <i>must</i> know it&mdash;everybody in
+the country does by now. It would look as if Old Man Selden and his
+chosen five are the only ones who suspect her of having an interest in
+me beyond pure friendship, then. That's it! She said there was another
+reason other than the grazing matter why Old Man Selden wants me away.
+And that can't be moonshining, after all; for if Pense and the others
+are likely to shoot me at the spring, they're in on that. But now
+apparently Selden wants to appear friendly. I can't get it! Jessamy's
+not playing just fair with me. She's keeping something back. She's too
+honest and straightforward to be a good dissembler; she's bungling all
+the way."</p>
+
+<p>She was returning swiftly down the ravine before he had reached the end
+of his conclusions. She held up something between dripping fingers as
+she entered the concealment of the trees.</p>
+
+<p>"It's perfect still," she announced. "I thought it wouldn't be flattened
+or bent, since it struck the water."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver took the small, soft-pointed, steel-banded projectile from her
+hands and studied it.</p>
+
+<p>"M'm-m!" he muttered. "What's this? Looks no larger than a twenty-two."</p>
+
+<p>She nodded. "So I'd say. A twenty-two high-power&mdash;wicked little pill."</p>
+
+<p>"And which of the Poison Oakers packs a twenty-two high-power rifle? Do
+you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"It happens that I do. I've taken the pains to acquaint myself
+with the various guns of the Poison Oakers. Most of them use
+twenty-five-thirty-fives. Old Man Selden, Bolar, and Jay Muenster use
+thirty-thirties. There's one twenty-two high-power Savage in the gang,
+and it's a new one. They say it's a devilish weapon."</p>
+
+<p>"Who owns it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Digger Foss."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it was Foss who shot?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;and it's he who was following us today. You see, Digger lives
+closer to this part of the country than any of the rest. He'd be the
+only one likely to come in afoot."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think he tried to lay me out?"</p>
+
+<p>She looked off through the trees, and her face was troubled. "I'm afraid
+he did," she replied in a strained, hushed key. "Had you been in sight,
+we might determine that he had shot at the water before your face to put
+the fear of the Poison Oakers into your heart. But he couldn't see you,
+in there hidden by the dense growth. It was a fifty-fifty chance whether
+he got you or not. If he'd merely wished to bully you, he'd never taken
+the chance of killing you by firing into the growth."</p>
+
+<p>"I guess that's right," he said. "And now what's to be done? I'll never
+be able to forget the picture of Henry Dodd clutching at White Ann's
+legs for support in his death struggle. The situation is graver than I
+thought. I expected to be bullied and tormented; but I didn't expect a
+deliberate attempt on my life."</p>
+
+<p>With an impetuous movement she threw her bare forearm horizontally
+against a tree trunk, and hid her eyes against it.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I wish you hadn't come!" she half sobbed. "But you had to&mdash;you had
+to! And now you can't leave because that would be running away. And
+you're as good as dead if this side-winder gets the right chance at you.
+What <i>can</i> we do!"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was silent in the face of her distress. What could he do indeed!
+All the chances were against him, with his enemies ready and willing to
+take any unfair advantage, while his manliness would not let him stoop
+to the use of such tactics. They probably would avoid an out-and-out
+quarrel, where the chances would be even for a quick draw and quick
+trigger work. They would ambush him, as the halfbreed had attempted to
+do. He believed now that only the density of the growth about Sulphur
+Spring had stood between him and death, for Digger Foss was accounted an
+expert shot.</p>
+
+<p>He gently pulled Jessamy Selden from the tree.</p>
+
+<p>"There, there!" he soothed. "Let's not borrow trouble. They haven't got
+me yet. Let's ride on. And I think you'd better give me a little more of
+your confidence. I feel that you're keeping me in the dark about some
+phases of the deal."</p>
+
+<p>She mounted in silence, and they turned up Clinker Creek toward Oliver's
+cabin.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd never make a successful vamp, even if I were beautiful," she smiled
+at last. "I can't hide things. I give myself away. I'm always bungling.
+But I can play poker, just the same!" she added triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't try to hide things, then," he pleaded. "Tell me all that's
+troubling you."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. "That's the greatest difficulty," she complained. "I
+shouldn't have let you know that I have a secret, but I bungled and let
+it out. And I must keep it. But just the same, I'm with you heart and
+soul. I'm on your side from start to finish, and I want you to believe
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"I do," he said simply.</p>
+
+<p>As they reached the cabin he asked: "Did you feel the end of the pipe
+under the water in the spring?"</p>
+
+<p>She nodded. Then with the promise to meet him next morning for their
+ride to the fiesta, she moved her mare slowly up the caņon and
+disappeared in the trees.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FIRE DANCE</h3>
+
+
+<p>The round moon looked down upon a scene so weird and compelling that
+Oliver Drew vaguely wondered if it all were real, or one of those
+strange dreams that leave in the mind of the dreamer the impression that
+ages ago he has looked upon the things which his sleeping fancy
+pictured.</p>
+
+<p>The moon rode low in the heavens. The night was waning. Tall pines and
+spruce stood black and bar-like against the silver radiance. Away in the
+distance coyotes lifted their yodel, half jocular, half mournful, as a
+maudlin drunkard sings dolefully a merry tune.</p>
+
+<p>In a cup of the hills, surrounded by acres and acres of almost
+impenetrable chaparral and timber, a hundred or more human beings were
+clustered about a blazing fire. Horses stamped in the corrals. Now and
+then an Indian dog cast back a vicious challenge at the wild dogs on the
+hill. White men and women and Indian men and women stood about the fire
+in a great circle, silent, intent on what was taking place at the fire's
+edge.</p>
+
+<p>Within this outer circle of spectators revolved another smaller circle
+of brown-skinned men and women. But one of this number was white, and in
+the flickering light of the fire his skin glowed in odd contrast to the
+skins of those who danced with him.</p>
+
+<p>For Oliver Drew was stripped but for a breechcloth about his loins, and
+directly opposite him in the circle, always across the fire from him as
+the human snake revolved about the flames, was a stalwart young Indian,
+likewise nearly nude. He it was who at the proper moment would dash upon
+the fire with this white man, when, with hands clasped over it, they two
+would strive to beat it to ashes with naked feet.</p>
+
+<p>Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pressed into the circle like canned
+fish, the fire dancers circled the leaping flames. Sweat streamed from
+their bodies, for the fire was a huge one and roared and crackled and
+leaped at them incessantly.</p>
+
+<p>For two solid hours the dance had been in progress. Now and then an old
+squaw, faint from the heat of the fire and the nerve strain which only
+the fanatic knows, dropped wearily out and staggered away. Then the rank
+would close and fill the vacancy; and this automatically made the circle
+smaller and brought the dancers closer to the flames, for they must
+touch each other always as they circled slowly.</p>
+
+<p>Round about them hobbled Chupurosa, adorned with eagle feathers dyed red
+and yellow and black. In his uplifted hand he held a small turtle shell,
+with a wooden handle bound to it by a rawhide thong. In the shell, whose
+ends were closed with skin, were cherry stones. The incessant rattling
+of them accompanied the dancers' elephantine tread. It was the toy of
+childhood, and those who danced to its croaking music were children of
+the hills and caņons, simple-minded and serene.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly as moves a sluggish reptile in early spring the dancers circled
+the fire, times without number. Guttural grunts accompanied the constant
+thud of tough bare feet on the beaten earth. Now and then they broke
+into chanting&mdash;a weird, uncanny wailing that sent shivers along the
+spine and made one think of heathen sacrifices and outlandish, cruel
+heathen rites. Straight downward, almost, the dancers planted their
+feet. When their feet came down three inches had not been gained over
+the last stamping step. It required many long minutes for the entire
+circle to complete the trip around the fire; and this continued on and
+on till the brain of Oliver Drew swam and the fire in reality took on
+the aspect of a tormenting, threatening ogre which this rite must crush.</p>
+
+<p>Occasionally some fanatic would spring from the line and rush upon the
+fire, striking at it with his feet, slapping at it with his hands,
+growling at it and threatening it in his guttural tongue. Then the dance
+would grow fiercer, and the chanting would break out anew, while always
+the cherry stones rattled dismally and urged the zealots on.</p>
+
+<p>When would it end? There was fresh, clean pitch in the great logs that
+blazed; and it seemed to Oliver that the exorcism must continue to the
+end of time.</p>
+
+<p>At first he had felt like an utter fool when he was led from the tent,
+almost nude, to face the curious eyes of thirty or more white people.
+His simple instructions had been given him by Chupurosa in the hut where
+he had been kept virtually a prisoner since his arrival. Then he had
+been led forth and pressed into his place in the circle, across from the
+other nearly naked man who swam so dizzily before his eyes. Then the
+slow ordeal had begun, and round and round they went till he thought he
+must surely lose his reason.</p>
+
+<p>On his feet and legs was the liquid courtplaster, and Chupurosa had not
+observed it. Coat after coat he had applied, and had a certain feeling
+of being fortified. Yet he doubted if, when the moment came for him to
+leap upon the fire and clasp hands with the man opposite, any of the
+mucilaginous substance would be left on the soles of his already burning
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>He had seen Jessamy's face beyond the fire. She had smiled at him
+encouragingly. But now her face had blended with the other faces that
+danced confusedly before his eyes, and he could not separate it as the
+circle went slowly round and round.</p>
+
+<p>An old man dropped, face down, on the earth, completely overcome. From
+beyond the circle of dancers a pair of arms reached through and dragged
+him out by the heels. The dance went on, and the dancers now were closer
+to the fire by the breadth of one human body.</p>
+
+<p>Weirdly rose the chant to the moonlit night. Coyotes answered with
+doleful ribaldry. A woman pitched forward on her face&mdash;a young woman.
+She lay quite still, breathing heavily. Oliver stepped over her body as
+they dragged her out to resuscitate her, and it seemed as he did so that
+he scarce could lift his feet so high.</p>
+
+<p>Now one by one they dropped, exhausted, reeking with sweat caused by the
+intensity of the heat from the burning pitch logs. Two fell at once&mdash;one
+inward, the other back. Up rose the chant as they were dragged away;
+fiercer grew the stamping; frenziedly the cherry stones clicked in the
+turtle shell.</p>
+
+<p>Lower and lower rode the radiant moon. Blacker and blacker grew the
+outlined woods. The coyotes ceased their insane laughter and scurried
+off to where jackrabbits played on moonlit pasturelands. And still the
+passionate exorcism went on and on, with men and women dropping every
+minute and the circle narrowing about the fire and closing in.</p>
+
+<p>The blaze was lower now. The pitch in the logs no longer sputtered and
+dripped blazing to the ground. But the heat was still intense, and the
+white man's tender flesh was seared as the giving out of some dancer
+forced the circle nearer and nearer to the flames.</p>
+
+<p>But into his heart had come a fierce purpose born of the fanaticism
+responsible for this ordeal. He was a man of destiny, he felt, though
+obliged to "carry on" with blinded eyes. Something of the fierce, dogged
+nature of these wild people of the woods entered his soul. He was dying
+by inches, it seemed, but the fire, glowing and spitting hatred at him,
+became a real enemy to be conquered by grit and stern endurance: and,
+held up by the bodies that pressed against his on either side, he
+stamped on crazily, his teeth set, the ridiculous side of his plight
+forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>And now the circle was pitiably small; and those who formed it staggered
+and reeled, and scarce found breath to chant or revile their dying
+enemy. But still the cherry stones rattled on while that old oak of a
+Chupurosa moved round and about, tireless as an engine.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver dragged his feet now; he thought he could not lift them. His
+brain was a dull, dead thing except for that passionate hatred of the
+fire that the weird chanting and the strangeness of it all had brought
+about. And now the fire grew lower, lower. Back of the ragged hills the
+moon slipped down and left the wilderness in blackness. Only the fire
+gleamed.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly the rattling of the cherry stones was quieted. Now the
+only sounds were the weary thud-thud of tough bare heels and the
+stentorian breathing of the zealous worshippers, an occasional
+heartrending grunt.</p>
+
+<p>On and on&mdash;round and round. The very air grew tense. Dawn was at hand.
+Its cold breath crept down from the snow-capped peaks. A glimmer of grey
+showed in the eastern sky.</p>
+
+<p>Only fifteen of the Showut Poche-dakas plodded now about the failing
+fire, by this time smouldering at their very feet. Fifteen Showut
+Poche-dakas&mdash;and Oliver Drew! All were men, young men in life's full
+vigour. Yet they swayed and reeled and staggered drunkenly as the
+dizzying ordeal went on through the grey silence of dawn.</p>
+
+<p>Now dawn came fast and spread its inchoate light over the silent
+assemblage in the hills. Then like a burst of sound disturbing a weary
+sleeper, the cherry stones resumed their rattling.</p>
+
+<p>At once, back of the circle of tottering dancers, a weird chant arose
+till it drummed in Oliver's ears and seemed to be lulling him to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Out of the void taut fingers came and clasped his own. His hands were
+jerked high over his head. Something stung his feet and legs, and he
+thought of the rattler on the hill. The chant rose to a riotous
+shouting. The air was filled with imprecations, wailings, shrieks, and
+spiteful challenges. Now Oliver realized that his fingers were locked
+with those of the nude Indian who had danced opposite him; that they two
+were over the waning fire, fighting it with their feet.</p>
+
+<p>How long it lasted he never knew. Life came back to his mistreated
+muscles, and with his feet he fought this thing that stung him and
+seared him and filled his heart with burning wrath. Then came a long,
+concerted shout. In rushed the Showut Poche-dakas to the fighters' aid.
+Bare feet by twenty-fives and fifties slapped at the fire, and a herd of
+dark forms trampled over it and beat it to extinction.</p>
+
+<p>A long shout of triumph that sped away on swift wings toward the coming
+dawn and the distant mountain! And then a single voice lifted high in
+words which in English are these:</p>
+
+<p>"The evil fire god has been defeated. No barrier stands between the
+white man and the Showut Poche-dakas. From this hour to the end of time
+he who has danced the fire dance tonight and conquered the evil spirit
+shall be brother to the Showut Poche-dakas!"</p>
+
+<p>Then just before Oliver fainted in some one's arms he heard in English:</p>
+
+<p>"Seven hours and twenty minutes&mdash;the longest fire dance in the history
+of the tribe!"</p>
+
+<p>And the new brother of the Showut Poche-dakas heard no more.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<h3>A GUEST AT THE RANCHO</h3>
+
+
+<p>Then there was feasting and racing and dancing and much ado. Dice
+clicked; cards sputtered; the pawn passed in the ancient <i>peon</i> game.
+There was a barbecued steer, athletic contests, and competitions in
+markmanship. The Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio was to continue
+throughout the entire period of the full moon, and there must be
+diversion for every day and every night.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver Drew awoke the next day after the fire dance in the <i>ramada</i>
+which had been assigned to him. He felt as if he had been passed through
+a stamp mill, so sore were his muscles and so burned and blistered were
+feet and legs. He had been carried to his bed of green willow boughs
+directly after the dance, where he had slept until nearly nightfall.
+Then he had been awakened and given food. After eating he fell asleep
+once more, and slept all night, his head in the silver-mounted saddle
+that Bolivio had made.</p>
+
+<p>He dragged himself from the shakedown and went and sat at an opening in
+the booth. The <i>ramada</i> of the California Indian is merely an arbourlike
+structure built of newly cut limbs of trees, their still unwithered
+leaves serving to screen the occupants from outside eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The birds were singing. Up the steep mountainside back of the
+reservation the goats and burros of the Showut Poche-dakas browsed
+contentedly on buckthorn and manzanita bushes. There was the smell of
+flowers in the drowsy air, mingling strangely with that indescribable
+odour that permeates an Indian village.</p>
+
+<p>It was noticeably quiet outside. Doubtless the Indians were enjoying an
+early-morning siesta after some grilling orgy of the night before.
+Oliver groaned with the movements necessary to searching his pockets for
+cigarette materials. His groan was mimicked by a familiar voice in the
+doorway.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy Selden entered.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been listening for a sound from you," she chirruped. "My, how you
+slept! All in?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty nearly," he said.</p>
+
+<p>She came and sat beside him on a box.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you badly burned?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. I guess your courtplaster helped some. But I'm terribly sore.
+And, worst of all, I feel like an utter ass!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, how so?"</p>
+
+<p>He snorted indignantly. "I went nutty," he laughed shortly. "I have lost
+the supreme contempt which I have always had for people who go batty in
+any sort of fanatical demonstration, like that last night. I've seen
+supposedly intelligent white folks go absolutely wild at religious camp
+meetings in the South, and I always marvelled at their loss of control.
+Now I guess I understand. Hour after hour of what I went through the
+other night, with the chanting and wailing and the constant rattle of
+those confounded cherry stones, and the terrible heat, and men and women
+giving out all about me, and the perpetual thud-thud of bare feet&mdash;ugh!
+I wouldn't go through it again for ten thousand dollars."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it best not to warn you of the severity of it beforehand,"
+she announced complacently. "Very few white men have ever danced the
+fire dance, and only one or two have held out to the end. Of course
+failure to do so signifies that the powers working against the
+affiliation are too strong to be overcome. These men who failed, then,
+did not become brothers of the Showut Poche-dakas."</p>
+
+<p>"Lucky devils!"</p>
+
+<p>"Here, here!" she cried. "Don't talk that way. You're glad, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm tickled half to death."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it possible that you do not take this seriously, Mr. Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look here," he said: "why didn't you tell me more of what I might
+expect at this fool performance?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was afraid you might look at the matter much as you're looking at it
+now," she answered. "I knew you'd go through with it, though, if you
+once got started. I knew it to be a terrible ordeal, but I was confident
+that you would win."</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you, I'm sure. Win what, though? The reputation of being a
+half-baked simpleton?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you imagine that the white people who saw you are ridiculing you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Absolutely nothing of the sort! You're the hero of the hour. People
+about here always attend the fiestas, and you'll be surprised to note
+the seriousness and lack of levity that they show in regard to the rites
+and ceremonies of the Showut Poche-dakas. It's an inheritance from the
+old days, I suppose, when the few white men who were here found it
+decidedly to their advantage to be friendly with the Indians. They glory
+in your grit, and everybody is talking about you. You should have heard
+Old Man Selden. 'There's a regular man,' he loudly informed every one
+after the dance. And folks about here listen to what Old Man Selden
+says, for one reason or another."</p>
+
+<p>"But it was such an asinine proceeding!"</p>
+
+<p>"Was it? I thought you respected the other fellow's beliefs and
+religious practices."</p>
+
+<p>"Was that a religious dance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Decidedly. All of their dances are religious at bottom. You were trying
+to overcome the evil spirit, represented by the fire, that stood between
+you and your union with the Showut Poche-dakas. You are one of the few
+who have weathered this ordeal and won. And now you're a recognized
+member of the tribe."</p>
+
+<p>"And is that an enviable distinction?"</p>
+
+<p>"What do <i>you</i> think about that?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was silent a time. "Tell the truth," he said at last, "I've been
+thinking more of my sore muscles and scorched legs, and of the
+ridiculous figure I supposed I had cut the other night. I suppose,
+though, that when a hundred or more fellow creatures unanimously admit a
+rank outsider to the plane of brotherhood, one would be shallow minded
+indeed to look upon it too lightly."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. Just what I wanted to hear you say. And the more simple
+natured and trusting they are, the more it devolves upon you to treat
+their brotherhood with respect and reverence. You are now brother to the
+Showut Poche-dakas; and you'll be a wiser man before you're older by
+many days. In this little village you have always a refuge, no matter
+what the world outside may do to you. Nothing that you could do against
+your own race can make you an utter outcast, for here are your brothers,
+always eager to shelter you. If you owned a cow and lost it, a word from
+you would send fifty mounted men scouring the hills till the cow had
+been found and restored to you. Will the people of your own race do
+that? If the forest was burning throughout the country, rest assured
+your property would be made safe before your brothers turned their
+efforts to protecting the homes of other white men. Is it trivial, my
+friend?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Oliver shortly.</p>
+
+<p>"You have been greatly honoured," she concluded. "You are the first
+white man on record who has been adopted by the Showut Poche-dakas
+without first marrying an Indian girl. And even then they must win out
+in the fire dance. If they fail, their brides must go away with them,
+ostracized from their people for ever."</p>
+
+<p>"How many white men have been honoured with membership?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Very few. Old Dad Sloan was over and saw the dance. He always attends
+fiestas if some one will give him a ride. He said after the dance that
+he knew of only three white men before you who had won brotherhood,
+though he had seen a dozen or more try for it."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he mention any names?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said. "He mentioned Old Man Selden, for one."</p>
+
+<p>"Does he belong to the tribe?" cried Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"No, he fell down in the fire dance. He had married an Indian woman, and
+after the dance he took his bride away with him. She died six months
+afterward&mdash;pining for her people, it was supposed."</p>
+
+<p>"And who else did he speak about?"</p>
+
+<p>"You remember the name of Dan Smeed, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"'Outlaw, highwayman, squawman,'" quoted Oliver, trying to imitate the
+old '49er's quavery tones.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said. "He conquered the fire and was admitted to full
+brotherhood."</p>
+
+<p>"And got gems for his bridle <i>conchas</i>," Oliver added.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy nodded. "And in some mysterious manner paved the way for you to
+become adopted thirty years later."</p>
+
+<p>He turned and looked her directly in the eyes. "Was Dan Smeed my
+father?" he asked abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes did not evade his, but a slow flush mounted to her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"I think we may safely assume that that is the case," she told him
+softly.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver stared at the beaten ground under his feet.
+"Outlaw&mdash;highwayman&mdash;squawman!" he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>Quickly she rose and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't! Don't!" she
+pleaded sympathetically. "Don't think of that! Wait!"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait? Wait for what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait till the Showut Poche-dakas have taken you into full confidence.
+Wait for my Hummingbird to speak."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>She waited a little, then resumed her seat and said:</p>
+
+<p>"And the next man that Old Dad Sloan mentioned as having tried the fire
+dance was&mdash;guess who?"</p>
+
+<p>"The mysterious Bolivio."</p>
+
+<p>She nodded vigorously, both eyes closed.</p>
+
+<p>"He succeeded?"</p>
+
+<p>"He did."</p>
+
+<p>"And the third man to succeed before me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I forget the name. It is of no consequence so far as our mystery is
+concerned."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Your</i> mystery, you mean," he laughed. "I'm beginning to believe you
+know all about it&mdash;all about me, about my father and his young-manhood
+days."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no!" she quickly protested.</p>
+
+<p>"But you know more than I do. And you see fit to make mystery of it to
+my confusion."</p>
+
+<p>"Silly! I'm doing nothing of the sort. I've positively told you all I
+can."</p>
+
+<p>"Be careful, now! Can, will, or may?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't pin me down. You know I'm a feeble dissembler."</p>
+
+<p>"You've told me all you <i>may</i>, then," he said with conviction.</p>
+
+<p>"Have it that way if you choose. How about some breakfast?&mdash;and then
+your triumphal entry into the festivities?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hate to show myself&mdash;actually."</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh! I'm disappointed in you. Come on&mdash;I've ordered breakfast for us
+in the restaurant booth. Red-hot chili dishes and <i>bellota</i>. It should
+be ready by now."</p>
+
+<p>The Showut Poche-dakas, at least, paid very little attention to Oliver
+as he limped from the <i>ramada</i> at Jessamy's side. But he was
+congratulated by white men on every hand, among them Mr. Damon Tamroy,
+the first friend he had made in the country.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you could 'a' heard what Old Dad Sloan had to say after the
+dance," was Tamroy's greeting. "The dance got the old man started, and
+he opened up a little. Selden wasn't about at the time, and Dad said
+that once, years ago, Selden married a squaw and made a try at the fire
+dance. There was two dances that night, Old Dad said. Selden's partner,
+too, married an Indian girl, and both of 'em danced. Selden's partner
+won out, and was made a member o' the tribe; but Selden fell down."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you get this partner's name?" asked Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"Le's see&mdash;what was the name Dad said?"</p>
+
+<p>"Smeed?" asked Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"That's it. Dave Smeed. No&mdash;Dan Smeed. This Smeed lived with the tribe
+afterwards, it seems, but Selden and his girl beat it, accordin' to the
+rules, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sh!" warned Oliver. "Here comes Old Man Selden now."</p>
+
+<p>The old monarch of the hills strode straight up to them, rowels
+whirring, chaps whistling.</p>
+
+<p>"Howdy, Mr. Drew&mdash;howdy!" he boomed. "Howdy, Tamroy." He extended a
+horny hand to each.</p>
+
+<p>"Some dance, as they say&mdash;some dance," he went on admiringly, and there
+was almost a smile on his stern features. "The boys was bettin' on how
+it would come out. The odds was ag'in ye, Mr. Drew. But I told 'em ye'd
+hold out. I been through the mill myself. Might as well own up, since
+everybody knows it now&mdash;and that I danced to a fare-you-well, but fell
+down hard. When ye gonta' pull yer freight, Mr. Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought of riding home today," said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"I was just talkin' to Jess'my," Selden continued. "Her and me concluded
+this here'd be a good time to invite ye over to get acquainted. Can't ye
+ride to Poison Oak Ranch with us just as well as ye can ride on home?"
+He tried to grin, but the effort seemed to cause pain.</p>
+
+<p>Toward them Oliver saw Jessamy walking. He always had admired her long,
+confident stride, and he watched her throughout the brief space allowed
+him by courtesy to study his answer to her step-father. Then he caught
+her eye. She began nodding vigorously.</p>
+
+<p>"I should have watered my garden before coming to the fiesta," he told
+the old man. "I'm afraid it will suffer if I don't get back to it
+directly. But&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, she'll stand it another day. Folks irrigate too much, anyway. Ride
+home with us today and stay all night."</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you, I'm sure," said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, do come, Mr. Drew," put in Jessamy as she reached the group.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so!" added Selden.</p>
+
+<p>And so it was arranged.</p>
+
+<p>The four stood in conversation. Over the girl's shoulder Oliver now saw
+Digger Foss and two of the men who had ridden with Selden the day he
+called at the cabin. They were staring at their chief and Jessamy. A
+glowering look was on the face of at least one of them, and that one was
+the halfbreed, Digger Foss.</p>
+
+<p>He stood with feet planted far apart, his fists on his hips&mdash;squat, his
+bullet head juked forward aggressively, his Mongolic black eyes
+glittering. A sneer curled his lips. He nodded now and then as one or
+the other of his companions spoke to him, but he did not reply and did
+not remove his steadfast glance from the group of which Oliver made one.</p>
+
+<p>"They's a hoss race comin' off in a little," Selden was saying. "We'll
+stay for that, then throw on the saddles and cut the dust for the
+rancho."</p>
+
+<p>Here Foss, with a shrug of his wide, strong shoulders, turned away and
+disappeared in the crowd, his companions following at his heels.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Selden and Tamroy left Jessamy and Oliver together.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the idea?" Oliver asked her.</p>
+
+<p>"It's quite apparent that he wants to be friendly with you," she pointed
+out.</p>
+
+<p>"It's just as well, of course," said he. "But I can't fathom it. And at
+least one of the Poison Oakers doesn't approve. I just saw Digger Foss
+glowering at us from behind Old Man Selden's back."</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy elevated her dark eyebrows. "No, he wouldn't approve," she
+declared. "That's merely because of me, I guess. Well, we can't help
+that. It's your part to play up to Old Man Selden and find out what is
+the cause of his sudden change of heart toward you."</p>
+
+<p>"It's my riding outfit," he averred. "That, and the fact that I've
+danced the fire dance. I'm gradually picking up a thread here and there.
+By the way, you neglected to tell me this morning, when we were on the
+subject, that Dan Smeed's partner was none other than Old Man Selden."</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at him quickly. "I see that Mr. Damon Tamroy is in character
+today. He does love to talk, doesn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"You knew it, then?"</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated. "Yes&mdash;Old Dad Sloan let it out last night," she admitted.
+"I think he would have told me as much the day you and I called on him
+if he hadn't thought it might hurt my feelings. I don't think it was his
+forgetfulness that made him trip over the subject that day."</p>
+
+<p>"But if he mentioned it in your presence after the fire dance, he must
+have forgotten that you are vitally interested."</p>
+
+<p>Her long black lashes hid her eyes for an instant. "That's true," she
+admitted.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver smiled grimly to himself. A lover would have small excuse for
+distrusting this girl, he thought, for deception was not in her. A
+little later he left her and sought out Damon Tamroy again.</p>
+
+<p>"Just a question," he began: "You know I'm seeking information of a
+peculiar character in this country; so don't think me impertinent. You
+said that Old Man Selden wasn't about when Dad Sloan spoke of him as
+having been the partner of Dan Smeed."</p>
+
+<p>Tamroy nodded. "He'd gone to bed in one o' the <i>ramadas</i>," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Did Jessamy Selden overhear Old Dad Sloan when he told that?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, she wasn't there either," replied Tamroy. "I reckon she'd gone to
+bed too."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," Oliver returned.</p>
+
+<p>He knew now that Jessamy Selden had merely been repeating some one
+else's version of Dad Sloan's disclosures. He knew that she had been
+aware all along that Dan Smeed, his father, had been the partner of Adam
+Selden. Had she known it, though, the day she questioned the patriarch?
+It had seemed that she was trying her utmost to make him mention the
+name of Dan Smeed's partner. Perhaps she had felt safe in the belief
+that, out of consideration for her feelings, Dad Sloan would not couple
+her step-father's name with that of a "highwayman, outlaw, and squawman"
+who, he had said, was a "bad egg."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was beginning to believe that Jessamy Selden at that very moment
+knew the question that had puzzled Peter Drew for thirty years, and what
+the answer to it should be. He believed that Jessamy had known just who
+he was, and why he had come into the Clinker Creek Country, the day she
+rode down to make his acquaintance. It seemed that she had considered it
+a part of her life's work to seek him out. Later, she had worried a
+little for fear he might think her bold in riding to his cabin as she
+had done.</p>
+
+<p>She had not been seeking his companionship because she liked him, then.
+There was some ulterior motive that was governing her actions. In him
+personally, perhaps, she had no interest whatever. There was some secret
+connected with Old Man Selden, and it dated back to the days when Selden
+and Oliver Drew's father were partners, and had both married Indian
+girls. Jessamy had stumbled on this, and when Oliver came she had known
+the reason that brought him, and had made haste to ally herself with him
+in order to carry out whatever she had in mind. It was this that had
+kept her in such close touch with him&mdash;not friendship for Oliver
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver brooded. The thought hurt him. The damage had been done. He had
+learned all this too late. He loved her now, and wanted her more than he
+wanted anything else in life. She knew he loved her. She must know that
+he was not the sort to tell her what he had told her if he had not meant
+it, and to grasp her in his arms and kiss her, even under the strange
+condition in which the scene had occurred. Not a word had passed between
+them regarding that episode since he had blushingly apologized for his
+behaviour. She had taken it quite serenely, as she seemed to take most
+things in life, and had displayed no confusion when next they met.</p>
+
+<p>"You look so funny," she remarked when he at last sought her out after
+the pony race. "Is anything the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing at all," he told her. "I'm going for our <i>caballos</i> now. Selden
+and the boys are saddling up. I suppose we'll all ride together."</p>
+
+<p>A little later he shook the withered hand of Chupurosa Hatchinguish and
+bade him good-bye in Spanish. The chief of the Showut Poche-dakas called
+him brother, and patted his back in a fatherly manner as he followed him
+to the door of his hovel. But he made no mention of a future meeting,
+and said nothing more than "brother" to indicate that a new relation
+existed between them.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver led Poche and White Ann to Jessamy, and they swung into the
+saddles and galloped to where Old Man Selden, Hurlock, and Bolar were
+awaiting them in the dusty road.</p>
+
+<p>Hours later the little party of five rode over the baldpate hill, then
+in single-file formation descended by the steep trail to the bed of the
+American River. A half-hour afterward they entered the cup in the
+mountainside, and Oliver Drew looked for the first time upon the
+headquarters of the Poison Oakers.</p>
+
+<p>The girl, Selden, and Oliver left their saddles at the door, and the
+boys rode on and led their horses to the corrals. Oliver was conducted
+into the immense main room of the old log house, where he was presented
+by the girl to her mother.</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon was nearly gone, and the two women at once began preparing
+supper, while Old Man Selden and his guest sat and smoked near a window
+flooded with the reflection of the sunset glow on fleecy clouds above
+the caņon.</p>
+
+<p>Selden's talk was of cows and grazing conditions and allied topics.
+Oliver Drew, half listening and putting in a stray comment now and then,
+watched Jessamy in a rôle which was new to him.</p>
+
+<p>She had put on a spotless red-checkered gingham dress that fitted
+perfectly, and revealed slim, rounded, womanly outlines which are the
+heritage of strength and perfect health. Her black hair was coiled
+loosely on top of her head, and a large red rose looked as if Nature had
+designed it to splash its vivid colour against that ebony background.
+With long, sure strides this girl of the mountains moved silently about
+from the great glossy range to the work table, washing crisp lettuce,
+deftly beheading snappy radishes, her slim fingers now white with dough
+and flour, or stirring with a large spoon in some steaming utensil over
+the fire. An extra fine dinner was in progress of preparation in honour
+of the Seldens' guest; yet the girl worked serenely and swiftly, with
+not a false move, not a flutter of excitement, never gathering so much
+as a spot on her crisp, stiff dress, always sure of herself, master of
+her diversified tasks. Was this the girl that an hour before he had seen
+so gracefully astride in a fifty-pound California saddle, her slim legs
+covered by scarred, fringed chaps, her black hair streaming to the
+bottom of her saddle skirts in two long, thick braids? There was a
+desperate tugging at the heart-strings of Oliver Drew. He knew now that
+if he failed to win this girl it were better for him had he not been
+born. And again and again she had sought him out for some obscure reason
+in no way connected with a desire for his companionship. He thought
+again of the episode on the hill after the rattlesnake bite, and he grew
+sick at heart at remembrance of the feel of those soft, firm lips.</p>
+
+<p>When they arose from the bounteous meal Selden said to his guest:</p>
+
+<p>"It's still light outdoors. Wanta look over the ranch a bit?"</p>
+
+<p>They two strolled out to the stables and talked horses and saddles. They
+looked perfunctorily over the green young fruit in the orchard, and
+Selden showed Oliver the new pipe line which now carried spring water
+into all three of the living houses. They killed time till late
+twilight, and as one by one the stars came out the old man led the way
+to a prostrate pine at the edge of a fern patch. On it they seated
+themselves.</p>
+
+<p>"They was little matter I wanted to talk to you about," said Selden half
+apologetically. "Le's have a smoke and see if we can't come to an
+understandin'. Just so! Just so!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE GIRL IN RED</h3>
+
+
+<p>Jessamy Selden finished washing and drying the supper dishes. Then she
+hurried to her room and slipped into a red-silk dress, by no means out
+of date, silk stockings, and high-heeled pumps with large shell buckles.
+A few deft pats and her rich hair suited her, and the red rose glowed
+against the black distractingly. She spun round and round before the
+mirror of her plain little dresser, one set of knuckles at her waist,
+like a Spanish dancer, her face trained over her shoulder at her
+reflection in the glass. There was a mischievous gleam in her jetty eyes
+as she reached the conclusion that she was all right. Just a hint of
+heightened colour showed in her cheeks when she started for the living
+room.</p>
+
+<p>Old Man Selden had not yet returned with the guest of the house. The
+trace of a pucker of disappointment came between her eyes, then she was
+serene again as she lighted coal-oil lamps and sat down with a book. She
+was alone in the great rough-walled room, like a gorgeous flower in a
+weather-beaten box. Her mother was dressing&mdash;one dressed after dinner
+instead of <i>for</i> dinner in the House of Selden. Bolar and Moffat
+presumably had gone to sit and look at their saddles while daylight
+lasted, since coming night forbade them to mount and ride.</p>
+
+<p>Minutes passed. Jessamy stared at the open book in her hands, but had
+not read a word. Why was Old Man Selden keeping their guest out there in
+the night? A girlish pout which might have surprised Oliver Drew, had he
+seen it, puckered her lips. The girl looked down at her red-silk dress
+and the natty buckles on her French-heel pumps, and the pout grew more
+pronounced.</p>
+
+<p>She went out doors, but no sound came to her save the intimate night
+sounds of the wilderness.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Darn</i> the luck!" she cried in exasperation, her serenity for once
+completely unavailing.</p>
+
+<p>Five minutes later she stepped from the gorgeous dress with a sigh of
+resignation. She kicked off the pumps and pulled on her morocco-top
+riding boots. She donned shirt and riding skirt, and slipped out by her
+own door into the young night.</p>
+
+<p>Cautiously she approached the stables and corrals, but found nobody.
+Lights gleamed in the windows of Hurlock's and Winthrop's cabins, and
+from the latter came the doleful strains of Bolar's accordion. She
+doubted if Selden and Oliver were in either of these houses.</p>
+
+<p>She walked up the hill toward the spring, and presently heard the bass
+boom of Old Man Selden's voice.</p>
+
+<p>A little later, flat on the ground, she was wriggling her way through
+tall ferns toward two indistinct figures seated on a fallen pine. Like
+an Indian she crept on silently, till by and by she lay quite still,
+close enough to hear every word that passed between the men who sat in
+front of her. And her conscience seemed not to trouble her at all.</p>
+
+<p>It had been practicable to come to a pause at some little distance from
+the two, for their voices carried a long way through the tranquil
+wilderness night. Behind her and up the hill the frogs were croaking at
+the spring. Their horse-fiddling ceased abruptly, as if they had been
+suddenly disturbed, and it was not immediately continued. Trained to
+read a meaning in Nature's signs, she wondered at this; then presently
+she heard a stealthy step between her and the spring.</p>
+
+<p>Lifting her head and shoulders above the fronded plants, she saw a dark,
+crouched shape approaching warily. Some one had walked past the spring
+and disturbed the croaking choir. She ducked low and waited
+breathlessly, hoping that this second would-be eavesdropper, whoever he
+might be, would not come upon her engaged in a like pursuit. At the same
+time she was trying to hear what Selden was saying to Oliver Drew.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed from Old Adam's slightly hesitating manner that he was as yet
+not well launched on the subject that had caused him to pilot Oliver to
+this lonely spot. He said:</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon they told ye ye wouldn't be welcome down on the Old Ivison
+Place. Didn't some of 'em say, now, that a gang called the Poison Oakers
+might try to drive ye out?&mdash;if I'm not too bold in askin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the voice of Oliver Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"Uh-huh! I thought as much. Well, Mr. Drew, ye got to make allowances
+for ol'-timers in the hills. We get set in our ways, as the fella says;
+and I reckon we <i>don't</i> like outsiders to come in any too well.</p>
+
+<p>"But anybody with any savvy oughta know its different in a case like
+yours. Why, what little feed we'd get offen your little piece, if you
+wasn't there, wouldn't amount to the price of a saddle string. It was
+plumb loco for any one to tell ye we'd raise a rumpus 'bout ye bein'
+down there."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought about the same," observed Oliver Drew quietly.</p>
+
+<p>There came a distinct pause in the dialogue. Once more Jessamy
+straightened her arms and pushed head and shoulders above the ferns. The
+person who had disturbed the frogs was nowhere to be seen. He too,
+perhaps, had taken up a lizardlike progress through the ferns, and was
+now listening to all that was being said by Oliver and Selden.</p>
+
+<p>She flattened herself again, and held one hand behind her ear to catch
+every word.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, plumb loco," Old Man Selden reiterated. "And they ain't no
+reason on earth why you and us can't be the best o' friends. That's what
+we oughta be, seein' we're pretty near neighbours."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I'm perfectly willing to be friendly, Mr. Selden."</p>
+
+<p>"Course ye are. Just so! An' so are we. And listen here, Mr. Drew: Don't
+ye put too much stock in that there Poison Oaker racket."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that I understand that."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," drawled Selden, "they ain't any such thing as a Poison Oaker
+Gang. That there's all hot air. It's true that Obed Pence and Jay
+Muenster and Buchanan and Allegan and Foss run what cows they got with
+ourn, and they're pretty good friends o' my boys an' me. But as fer us
+bein' a gang&mdash;why, they's nothin' to it. Nothin' to it a-tall! Just
+because we use a poison-oak leaf for our brand&mdash;why, that's what got 'em
+to callin' us the Poison Oakers. And when anything mean is done in this
+country, why, they gotta hang it onto somebody&mdash;and as a lot of 'em
+don't like me and my friends, why, they hang it onto us and call us the
+Poison Oakers. Now that there ain't right and just, is it, Mr. Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>"When you put it that way," Oliver evaded, "I should say that it is
+not."</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, it ain't&mdash;not a-tall! An' I'm glad ye understand and ain't got
+no hard feelin's."</p>
+
+<p>There was another long pause. Fragrant tobacco smoke floated to
+Jessamy's nostrils.</p>
+
+<p>"If I ain't too bold in askin', Mr. Drew&mdash;what was ol' Damon Tamroy
+fillin' yer ear with about me today?"</p>
+
+<p>"He was telling me how Old Dad Sloan had spoken of your having once
+danced the fire dance."</p>
+
+<p>"Uh-huh! Just so! Some o' my friends overheard Old Dad spoutin' about it
+after I'd hit the feathers. Well, I don't reckon I care any. It's
+nothin' to try to hide. Was that all Tamroy had to say?"</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy could imagine on Oliver Drew's lips the grave, half-whimsical
+smile that she had seen twitching them so often. She waited eagerly for
+his reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I think that the subject you mention is all that he talked to me
+about," it came at last.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! Just so!" muttered Selden. "But didn't he say as how others
+had danced the fire dance besides me and you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he mentioned others."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! And who, now&mdash;if I ain't too bold in askin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see," said Oliver after a pause. "Some other man's name was
+mentioned. A short name, if I remember correctly."</p>
+
+<p>"Uh-huh! Plumb forget her, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"It seems to me it was Smeed, or something like that. Yes&mdash;Dan Smeed."</p>
+
+<p>Silence. Again tobacco smoke was wafted over the ferns.</p>
+
+<p>"Dan Smeed, eh?" ruminated Selden finally. "Mr. Drew, did ye ever hear
+that name before Damon Tamroy said it to ye?"</p>
+
+<p>Another thoughtful intermission; then&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I had heard it before."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! Just so! And if I ain't too bold in askin'&mdash;just where, Mr.
+Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I heard it first from Old Dad Sloan himself. Miss Selden and I
+rode over to his cabin one morning, and we got him to talking of the
+days of 'Forty-nine. He can be quite interesting when he doesn't
+wander."</p>
+
+<p>"Uh-huh! And ye say ye heard the name Dan Smeed over to Old Dad Sloan's
+fer the first time?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>The first time in yer life, Mr. Drew?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I had never heard of it until then."</p>
+
+<p>A short, low snort from Selden. Jessamy knew it well. It signified: "I
+don't believe you!"</p>
+
+<p>Said Selden presently: "Well, then, I'm gonta put another question to
+ye, Mr. Drew. I don't want ye to think I'm tryin' to butt in, as the
+fella says. But s'long's Tamroy was talkin' about me, I reckon it's
+right an' just that I should be interested. Now, what did Tamroy tell ye
+Old Dad Sloan had to say 'bout this here Dan Smeed and <i>me</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"He said that you and Dan Smeed were one time partners."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Uh-huh! Just so! Partners, eh? And was that the first time ye ever
+heard that, Mr. Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, the first time," said Oliver patiently.</p>
+
+<p>Again that peculiar little snort of Selden.</p>
+
+<p>"How ye gettin' along down to the Old Ivison Place, Mr. Drew?" was
+Selden's abrupt shift of the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my garden is fine. And I have two colonies of bees storing up honey
+for me. Besides, I've located another colony up in the hills, and will
+get them as soon as I can get around to it."</p>
+
+<p>"But ye can't live on garden truck an' honey!"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I should have some locusts to go along with them," laughed
+Oliver; but his flight was lost on Old Man Selden. "You forget, though,"
+the speaker added, "that I am writing for farm journals. I've sold three
+little articles since I settled down there. I'll get along, if my luck
+holds out."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes&mdash;ye'll get along. I ain't worryin' 'bout that. I'll bet ye
+could draw a check right this minute that'd pay fer every acre o' land
+'tween here an' Calamity Gap."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll bet I couldn't!" Oliver positively denied.</p>
+
+<p>Old Man Selden chuckled craftily. "Ye're pretty foxy, Mr. Drew&mdash;pretty
+foxy!" He had lowered his deep tones until Jessamy could barely
+distinguish words. "Yes, sir&mdash;<i>mighty</i> foxy! A garden an' bees an'
+writin' for a story paper, eh? Oh, ye'll get along. I'll tell a man
+ye'll get along!"</p>
+
+<p>"I really have no other source of revenue, Mr. Selden."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! I understand. Well, Mr. Drew, maybe I been a mite too bold;
+but I'll step in another inch or two and say this: When ye need any help
+down there on the Old Ivison Place, just send word to Dan Smeed's
+partner. D'ye understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you, I'm sure," Oliver told him dryly. "But really I don't
+think I'll need any help. My garden is so small that&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! Still, ye never can tell when a foxy fella like you'll need
+help. And Dan Smeed's partner'll be always ready to help. Just remember
+that."</p>
+
+<p>"Help with what?" asked Oliver testingly.</p>
+
+<p>"In watchin' the dead," was Selden's surprising answer, spoken in a
+crafty half-whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"In watching the dead!" cried his listener. "Why, I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Le's go in to the womenfolks now," interrupted Selden. "And keep
+thinkin' over this, Mr. Drew. Always ready to help&mdash;d'ye savvy? And
+don't ye pay no attention to that there supposed gang that they call the
+Poison Oakers. They ain't no such gang. But if anybody does try to
+bother ye, tell me. Get me? Tell Dan Smeed's partner. He'll help ye
+watch the dead."</p>
+
+<p>"You're talking in riddles," Oliver snorted. "I don't understand&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, ye do! Ye savvy, all right. Ye're foxy, Mr. Drew. I'll say no
+more just now. But when ye need my help...."</p>
+
+<p>Their voices trailed off.</p>
+
+<p>Once again the girl's supple body rose from the hips, and she searched
+the ferns on every side. For several minutes she lay quite still in the
+same position. Then, perhaps fifty feet on her left, a head rose above
+the tall fronds, and then a body followed it. Next instant a dark figure
+was hurrying back toward the spring.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy waited until sight and sound of it were no more, then rose and
+ran with all her might toward the house.</p>
+
+<p>She slipped in at her private door, hustled out of her clothes, and
+began donning her gorgeous red dress again.</p>
+
+<p>"So Old Man Selden always shoots straight from the shoulder,
+eh?" she muttered. "Piffle! When he wants to be he's a regular
+Barkis-is-willin'!"</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of her dressing her mother tapped.</p>
+
+<p>"Jessamy, where have you been?" she asked. "Mr. Selden and Mr. Drew are
+in the living room now. I've knocked twice, but you didn't answer."</p>
+
+<p>"I was outdoors," Jessamy replied. "I'm dressing now. I'll be right
+out."</p>
+
+<p>And a minute or two later Oliver Drew gasped and his blue eyes grew wide
+as a silk-garbed figure, with a red rose in her raven hair, glided
+toward him.</p>
+
+<p>Yea, even as the girl in red had planned that he should gasp!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>SPIES</h3>
+
+
+<p>Smith, the shaggy, mouse-coloured burro, lifted his voice in that
+sobbing wail of welcome which has caused his kind to be designated as
+desert canaries, as Oliver rode into the pasture. Smith's was a
+gregarious soul. To be left entirely alone was torture. His ears were
+twelve inches long, and the protuberances over his eyes were so craggy
+that Oliver had hesitated between the names of Smith and William Cullen
+Bryant. On the whole, though, "Smith" had seemed more companionable.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver loosed Poche to console the lonesome heart of Smith and went at
+the irrigating of his garden. When a stream of water was trickling along
+every hoed furrow he put on heavy hobnailed laced-boots and went into
+the hills in search of his third bee tree.</p>
+
+<p>It seems illogical to set down that one could live for nearly two months
+on forty acres of land without having explored every square foot of it.
+But Oliver had not trod upon at least two thirds of his property. Locked
+chaparral presents many difficulties. Farmers detest it, and artists go
+wild over it. But farmers are obliged to sprawl flat and crawl through
+it occasionally, while artists sit on their stools at a distance from it
+that brings out all the alluring browns and yellows and greens and
+olives of which it is capable under the magic of the changing sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver had seen bees darting like arrows from the flowers in the
+creekbed in a westerly direction, up over the thickest of the chaparral.
+Up there somewhere was another colony of winged misers and their hoarded
+wealth of honey. Honey was bringing a good price just then, and a
+merchant at Halfmoon Flat would buy it. So now the beeman climbed the
+hill and crawled into the chaparral in the direction the insects had
+flown.</p>
+
+<p>Scattered here and there through the dense thicket were pines and spruce
+and black oak. In one of these trees the bees must have their home; and
+his task of finding it was not entirely a haphazard quest. When he
+crawled to an opening in the bushes he would climb into the crotch of
+one of them and locate the nearest tree. Then, flattening himself once
+more, he would crawl to this tree and look for a hollow for the bees.
+Finding none, he would locate another tree and crawl to it.</p>
+
+<p>Thus wearisomely engaged he crawled into a depression three feet deep in
+the earth beneath him. This allowed him to sit erect for the first time
+in minutes, and he availed himself of the chance, industriously mopping
+his brow.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Oliver Drew was not a miner, but he was a son of the outdoor West
+and knew at once that he was seated in an ancient prospect hole. About
+the excavation were piled the dirt and stones that had been shovelled
+out.</p>
+
+<p>He speculated over it. For all he knew, it might date back to the
+fascinating days of '49. A great forest of pines might have stood here
+then. Or maybe the pines had been burned away, and a forest of gigantic
+oaks had followed the conifers, to rear themselves majestically above
+the pigmies that delved, oftimes impotently, for the glittering yellow
+treasure at their roots. Or, again, the prospect hole might have been
+dug years later, after the oaks had disappeared and the chaparral had
+claimed the land. There was no way of telling, for every decade or so
+forest fires swept the country almost clean, and some new growth
+superseded the old in Nature's endless cycle.</p>
+
+<p>Fifty feet farther on he plopped into a second prospect hole, and a
+little beyond that he found a third.</p>
+
+<p>He noted now that in all cases no chaparral grew up through the muck
+that had been thrown out. This would seem to signify that the work had
+been done in recent years, while the bushes that now claimed the land
+still grew there. He found a fourth hole soon, and near it were
+manzanita stumps, the tops of which had been cut off with an ax.</p>
+
+<p>This settled it. While the soil might show evidences of the work of man
+for an interminable length of time, the roots of the lopped-off
+manzanitas would rot in a decade, perhaps, and freezing weather would
+loosen the stumps from their moorings. But this wood was still sound.
+The prospecting had been done not many years before. And who had been
+prospecting thus on patented land?</p>
+
+<p>When he had wormed his way to the crest of a hill he had passed about
+twenty of these shallow holes. Now, at the top, the earth had been
+literally gophered. The workings here looked newer still; and presently
+he came upon evidence that proved work had been done not longer than a
+year before, for dry leaves still clung to the tops of manzanita bushes
+that had been chopped off and pitched to one side.</p>
+
+<p>It has been stated that he was not a miner. Still, having been born and
+raised in a mining country, he knew something of the geological
+formations in which gold ordinarily is found. He was in a gold producing
+country now, yet the specimens that he picked up near the prospect holes
+proved that only a rank tenderfoot would have searched so persistently
+in this locality.</p>
+
+<p>He picked up a bit of white substance and gave it study. It resembled
+lithia. The water of his spring contained a trace of lithium salts,
+according to the analysis furnished him by the State Agricultural
+College, to which he had mailed a sample. He pocketed the specimen for
+future reference.</p>
+
+<p>As he sat on the edge of this hole, with his feet in it, he heard a
+rustling in the bushes close at hand. At first he thought it might be
+caused by a jackrabbit; but soon it became certain that some heavier,
+larger body was making its way slowly through the chaparral.</p>
+
+<p>A coyote? A bobcat? A deer?</p>
+
+<p>He carried no gun today, and the swift thought of a mountain lion was a
+bit unpleasant.</p>
+
+<p>He quickly slid from his seat and stretched himself on the ground in the
+shallow excavation. Oliver was an ardent student of nature, and he liked
+nothing better than secretly to watch some wild thing as it moved about
+it its customary routine, unconscious of the gaze of human eyes. Once he
+had hidden in wild grapevines and watched a skunk searching for bugs
+along a creekbed, until suddenly the moist bank crumbled beneath him,
+and he fell, and&mdash;But what followed is what might be called an unsavory
+story.</p>
+
+<p>The crackling, scraping sounds drew nearer, but whatever was making them
+was not moving directly toward him. They ceased abruptly, and then he
+knew that the man or animal had reached the open space in the brush in
+which the prospect holes were situated.</p>
+
+<p>As the noises were not continued, he began raising himself slowly, until
+he was able to look over the edge of the hole.</p>
+
+<p>It was not a browsing deer nor a hunting coyote upon which he gazed. A
+squat, dark man, with chaps and spurs and Stetson, was making his way
+across the open space to the continuation of the chaparral beyond it.
+His eyes were mere slits, black, Mongolic.</p>
+
+<p>He was Digger Foss, the half-white, right-hand man of Adam Selden.</p>
+
+<p>The progress of the gunman was not stealthy, for undoubtedly he
+considered himself particularly safe from observation up here in the
+wilderness of chaparral. He slouched bow-leggedly across the break in
+the thicket, and dropped to hands and knees when he reached the edge of
+it. He disappeared in the chaparral.</p>
+
+<p>The general direction that he was pursuing was straight toward Oliver's
+cabin. Oliver lay quite still and listened to the renewed sounds of his
+progress through the prickly bushes.</p>
+
+<p>Then once more they stopped suddenly. Oliver knew that in the short
+space of time elapsed Digger Foss could not have crawled beyond the
+reach of his hearing. He had paused again.</p>
+
+<p>For perhaps five minutes he listened, but could hear no further sounds.
+Then from not far distant there came the familiar clatter of a dry pine
+cone in the manzanita tops.</p>
+
+<p>A moment more and Oliver was smiling grimly. For Foss had suddenly
+appeared above the tops of the chaparral. He was climbing a giant digger
+pine, which only a short time before Oliver had investigated as the
+possible home of the bees he was striving to find. There in plain sight
+the halfbreed was climbing like a bear from limb to limb, keeping the
+trunk of the tree between his chunky body and the cabin in the valley.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he settled astride a horizontal bough on Oliver's side, his
+back toward the watcher. He adjusted himself as comfortably as possible,
+and then there appeared in his hands a pair of binoculars. Leaning
+around the tree trunk, screened by the digger pine's long,
+smoke-coloured needles, he focused the glasses on the cabin down below.</p>
+
+<p>It looked to Oliver Drew as if this were not the first time that the
+gunman had perched himself up there to watch proceedings in the caņon.
+There had been no hesitancy in his selection of a tree which stood in
+such a position that other trees would not obstruct his view from its
+branches, no studying over which limb he might occupy to the best
+advantage.</p>
+
+<p>Vaguely Oliver wondered how many times he had laboured and moved about
+down below, with the keen, black, Chinese eyes fixed on him. It was not
+a comfortable feeling, by any means.</p>
+
+<p>Now, though, his thoughts were taken up by the problem of getting away
+unobserved by the spyglass man. Digger Foss was not a hundred feet from
+where Oliver lay and watched him. If he should turn for an instant he
+would see Oliver there, flat on his face in the excavation, for the
+halfbreed's perch was twenty feet above the tops of the chaparral.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver had decided to make a try at crawling on up the hill as
+noiselessly as possible, when new and far slighter sounds came to his
+ears. So slight they were indeed that, if he had not been close to the
+earth, he might not have detected them at all.</p>
+
+<p>But no bird or small animal could be responsible for them, for they were
+continuous and dragging. Once again he hugged the ground while he
+watched and waited.</p>
+
+<p>The sounds came on&mdash;sounds that seemed to be the result of some one's
+dragging something carefully over the shattered leaves on the ground.
+And presently there hove into view another human being.</p>
+
+<p>He was an Indian&mdash;a Showut Poche-daka. Oliver remembered his swarthy
+face, his inscrutable eyes. He had been pointed out to him at the fiesta
+by Jessamy as the champion trailer of all the Paubas, of which the
+Showut Poche-daka Tribe was a sort of branch. Often, Jessamy had said,
+this Indian, who was known by the odd and laughable name of Tommy My-Ma,
+had been employed by the sheriff of the county in tracking down escaped
+prisoners or fleeing transgressors against the law.</p>
+
+<p>He wore no hat. He was barefooted. His only covering seemed to be a pair
+of faded-blue overalls and a colourless flannel shirt. Neither did he
+carry any weapon, so far as Oliver could see.</p>
+
+<p>His progress was now soundless as he came from the chaparral, flat on
+his belly, wriggling along like a lizard with surprising speed. His
+black, glittering eyes were unquestionably fixed with rapt intentness on
+the man aloft in the digger pine; and by reason of this alone he did not
+see Oliver Drew.</p>
+
+<p>His movements commenced to be extraordinary. He wriggled himself
+speedily over the unlittered earth and made no sound. There was a pile
+of dry brush at one edge of the clearing, the tops of the bushes that
+had been cut off to facilitate the sinking of the prospect holes. Toward
+this Tommy My-Ma glided; and when he reached it he passed out of sight
+on the other side.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly he reappeared again. Instantly he lowered his head to the
+ground at the edge of the pile of brush; then swiftly the head and
+shoulders disappeared, the trunk and legs following. For a second Oliver
+saw the bare brown feet, then they too went out of sight.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver understood the disappearing act of Tommy My-Ma, he thought. The
+pile of brush covered another of the prospect holes, and into the hole
+the Showut Poche-daka had snaked himself. It seemed that he too had
+sought a hiding place often frequented. In there he perhaps could sit
+erect and, screened by the pile of brush, would be entirely hidden,
+while he himself could watch the spy in the branches of the digger pine.
+For that he was in turn spying on the man who was watching Oliver's
+cabin Oliver did not for a moment doubt.</p>
+
+<p>But why? That was another matter!</p>
+
+<p>He was quite aware of his own unprotected position; and with Tommy My-Ma
+now hidden in the brush scarce fifty feet away from him, he dared not
+get out of his hole and try to crawl away.</p>
+
+<p>The situation struck him as ridiculous in the extreme. Foss trying to
+spy on him; Tommy My-Ma spying on Foss&mdash;the object of all this intrigue,
+Oliver himself, spying on both of them!</p>
+
+<p>And how long must it continue?</p>
+
+<p>The only sounds now were the soft moaning of the wind through the
+needles of the pines, and from afar, occasionally, the clear, cool call
+of a valley quail: "Cut that out! Cut that out!" The sun was hot on the
+resinous needles of the pines, and the smell of them filled the air.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<h3>CONTENTIONS</h3>
+
+
+<p>Two horsemen met on the backbone of the ridge that separated Clinker
+Creek and the green American.</p>
+
+<p>Obed Pence was a tall individual with a small mouth, a great Roman nose,
+close-set black eyes over which black brows met so that they formed a
+continuous line, and large, tangled front teeth.</p>
+
+<p>The man who met him in the trail&mdash;a boy who had just turned
+twenty-one&mdash;was sandy-haired, freckled, snub-nosed, and blue-eyed. His
+face was too boyish to show marked wickedness, but Chuck Allegan was not
+the least important member of the Poison Oaker Gang.</p>
+
+<p>"Howdy, Pencie?" he drawled, crooking his leg about his saddle horn as
+his black horse stopped to rub noses with the bay that the other rode.</p>
+
+<p>"Where you headin' for?" asked Obed Pence.</p>
+
+<p>"Down toward Lime Rock. There's some cows o' mine and a bunch o' calves
+down there. That breechy old roan devil steered 'em up thataway. She's
+always wanderin' off with a bunch like that. Come on down with me&mdash;I
+want to move 'em up with the rest o' the bunch. Soil's thin down
+thataway, an' grass's already gettin' brown."</p>
+
+<p>"Any o' mine in that bunch?"</p>
+
+<p>"I dunno. Like's not. Come on&mdash;you ain't got nothin' to do."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe I have and maybe I ain't," retorted Pence half truculently.</p>
+
+<p>"What you doin', then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Watchin' out for that fella Drew."</p>
+
+<p>"Who told you to? Old Man?"</p>
+
+<p>Pence spat a stream of tobacco juice. "Not a-tall," he replied. "I guess
+you ain't heard what's new."</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't heard nothin' new. Spring it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Foss is the one told me to keep my eye on Drew. Said for me to keep to
+this ridge over here and try to get a line on what he's up to if he come
+up this way. Digger's over in the hills on the other side o' the caņon,
+watchin'. He's got glasses."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the good o' watchin' this guy? Why don't we get in and fire 'im
+out o' the country, like we said we was goin' to do?"</p>
+
+<p>Obed Pence's irregular teeth twisted off another chew of tobacco.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the funny part of it," he observed. "Digger's workin' alone, it
+seems. Old Man tells him not to bother Drew at all. Says he'll tend to
+'im 'imself, when he gets 'round to it. First time I ever saw Old Man
+Selden hang back on puttin' a bur under anybody's tail when he wanted to
+get rid of 'im. An' now he passes the word for nobody to bother Drew
+till he says to. Digger don't like it. He's sore on the old man."</p>
+
+<p>"What'd Digger say?"</p>
+
+<p>"I just know mostly by the way he acts. There's somethin' funny goin'
+on. Ever since that day we all rode down to Drew's cabin and heard the
+shot inside, Old Man's been actin' funny. Digger an' me was wonderin'
+what them two was talkin' about in the cabin, that made the old man
+change the way he done. Why, say, he went down there to scare the ticks
+outa Drew that day. And after that, you know, we had it all made up to
+turn cows in on Drew's garden when he was away, an' let 'em get at his
+spring. Then Jay Muenster was goin' to slip in sometime and put a live
+rattlesnake in Drew's bed. And if all that didn't start 'im, we was
+gonta begin plunkin' at him from the chaparral, you know&mdash;just drop a
+few bullets at his feet when he was workin' in his garden. Wasn't that
+right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure was, Pencie."</p>
+
+<p>"An' we rode down there to start things goin'," Pence continued. "And
+when Old Man come outa the cabin he was bowin' and scrapin', and this
+and that and the other, like him and Drew had been pals all their lives.
+There's somethin' funny. Digger don't like it a-tall!"</p>
+
+<p>"Does Ed know anything?" asked Chuck after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"No, he don't," answered Obed Pence. "It was Ed told Old Man 'bout
+Digger takin' a crack at Drew when he was monkeyin' 'round Sulphur
+Spring. And Old Man told Ed to tell Digger to cut it out, and that he
+was runnin' the gang and would tell anybody when he wanted 'em to throw
+down on Drew."</p>
+
+<p>"I know."</p>
+
+<p>"And Digger asks 'im when he sees 'im did he want Drew monkeyin' about
+the spring and gettin' onto the pipe that took water to the still. And
+Old Man says to hell with the still; he was gonta cut out makin' booze,
+anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"Cut it out?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what he told Digger Foss."</p>
+
+<p>"Hell, he makes more money sellin' monkey rum to Standard than outa
+anything else! And it's always been safe. Pro'bition didn't cut no ice
+with us&mdash;just give us ten times the profit!"</p>
+
+<p>Pence shrugged his ridgy shoulders. "I'm just tellin' you how things are
+goin'. Drew made us loose the Sulphur Spring water to run the still
+with, and Old Man didn't seem to give a whoop about it. Drew finds the
+pipe, like as not, and that don't seem like it worried the boss. Just
+says he'll cut out distillin'. Why, he's layin' right down to this fella
+Drew. Drew's got Old Man buffaloed!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a-tall," disagreed Chuck Allegan. "You know better'n that, Pencie.
+Man don't live that c'n buffalo Old Man Selden. He's double-crossin'
+us&mdash;that's what! There's somethin' behind all this. What's Digger
+watchin' Drew for? Is that any way to run a man outa the country? I'm
+askin' you!"</p>
+
+<p>"That runnin'-out-o'-the-country business has got to be an old gag.
+Le'me tell you somethin': I wasn't goin' to, but I will. Digger said not
+to mention it. But listen! You know Old Man took Drew home with 'im
+after the fiesta."</p>
+
+<p>Chuck nodded his boyish head.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Digger wasn't asleep at the switch. When it got dark he rides
+across the river and into the ranch to see if he c'n find out what's
+stirrin'. He ain't liked the way things 'a' been goin' since he got outa
+jail. Course it's Jess'my that's got his goat. Drew's cuttin' 'im out;
+and since the day we rode into Drew's Digger thinks Old Man's ag'in 'im,
+an's helpin' Drew get Jess'my.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyway, whatever's the reason, Digger leaves his horse in the chaparral
+and sneaks in and sees 'em at supper. And he sticks 'round till supper's
+over and Old Man steers Drew out to the corrals for a talk. They set
+down on that old felled pine in the ferns below the spring, and Digger
+snakes up through the ferns and hears 'em talkin'."</p>
+
+<p>"What'd he say they said?" Chuck asked eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't have any too much to say about it," Pence replied. "Just said
+Old Man and Drew was nice as pie to each other; and Old Man told Drew
+there wasn't any use him bein' scared o' the Poison Oakers, 'cause there
+wasn't no such outfit."</p>
+
+<p>"Said there wasn't no such outfit?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I said!"</p>
+
+<p>"And Digger wouldn't tell no more?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, he wouldn't. And I'll bet you there was a lot more to tell. I
+savvied Digger wasn't springin' all he heard. But he don't like it."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe they was talkin' 'bout Jess'my. Then he wouldn't have nothin' to
+say, you can bet yer life!"</p>
+
+<p>"I got my doubts," Pence ruminated. "No, there was somethin' else. I
+know that shifty little bullet eye o' Digger's. He was keepin' somethin'
+back that he ought to told the rest of us. I don't like the way things
+are goin'. Since this Drew showed up, seems like we all got somethin' to
+keep from one another. Old Man's tryin' to double-cross the gang
+someway. Foss is tryin' to get in on it, or else he's aimin' to
+double-cross us an' Old Man, too, all on his lonesome. An' we can't make
+any more booze 'cause o' Drew; an' Old Man says, We sh'd worry! A hell
+of a mess! We're due for a big bust-up, I'm thinkin'. What's Foss
+sneakin' about watchin' Drew for? Huh! Answer me that? An' why'd he tell
+me to watch up here an' trail 'im if I saw 'im, without tellin' me why?
+I'm gettin' about sick o' the whole dam' deal! I ain't takin' orders
+from Digger Foss!"</p>
+
+<p>"Me, too," agreed Allegan. "And that fire dance&mdash;that's 'at gets me!
+Funny about this guy Drew, comin' here a stranger, an' dancin' the fire
+dance right away. Somethin' funny, all right! Most folks thought maybe
+he'd hooked up with a squaw, but it ain't that. Gets <i>my</i> goat! But how
+'bout the Selden boys?"</p>
+
+<p>"They ain't said a word. I reckon they're in with Old Man, whatever he's
+got on his chest. If we come to a split-up, that'll make Old Man and the
+four boys on one side, and me an' you an' Ed Buchanan and Jay Muenster
+on the other side. Five to four."</p>
+
+<p>"But how 'bout Digger? He's always been strong with Old Man Selden.
+He'll stick with him."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe&mdash;maybe. He won't be with us, though. An' I'm doubtin' if he'll be
+with Selden, either. He's out fer Foss!"</p>
+
+<p>"Fer Jess'my, ye mean!"</p>
+
+<p>"'Sall the same," shrugged Obed Pence. "Le's ride down an' get a couple
+o' drinks, an' then I'll fog it down to Lime Rock with ye. T'hell with
+Digger Foss an' his orderin' me 'round!"</p>
+
+<p>They rode away in silence, winding their way down into Clinker Creek
+Caņon when a mile or more below the forty acres of Oliver Drew. They
+dismounted at Sulphur Spring and pushed through the growth surrounding
+it.</p>
+
+<p>Only a little water now remained in the clay-lined reservoir. The
+protruding end of the three-quarter-inch pipe was now plainly visible,
+eight inches above the surface of the tiny pool.</p>
+
+<p>"Just think," Obed Pence observed: "That pipe's took water down the
+caņon for us for years; and s'long's the pool was full o' water nobody
+ever found the end of it here. At least they never let on they did. An'
+now comes this Drew an' puts the kibosh on everything! I'll tell a man
+I'm gettin' sore about it, Chuck. I want my booze, and I want my share
+o' what we could get out of it. I'm bettin' Standard'll be wild when he
+learns Old Man won't distil any more."</p>
+
+<p>"Can't," corrected Chuck.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't, eh? Who's stoppin' 'im? Drew, that's who, and nobody else! And
+he won't send Drew over the hills talkin' to 'imself, like he's done to
+many a better man before 'im. I'm sore, I tell you. And I'm gonta find
+out what's doin', or know the reason why."</p>
+
+<p>"Le's get clay an' cover the end o' the pipe," suggested Chuck. "Some
+deer hunter's likely to see it if we don't, now that the water's pretty
+near gone."</p>
+
+<p>They solemnly administered this rite in remembrance of dead days, and
+rode on down the caņon single-file.</p>
+
+<p>Over three-quarters of a mile from the spring they left their horses in
+the creek bottom and clambered up a steep slope, slipping on the
+polished pine needles underfoot. Near the summit the trees thinned, and
+heavy chaparral usurped the land. On hands and knees they plunged into
+it, and presently were crawling on their stomachs over an unmarked
+route.</p>
+
+<p>In the heart of the chaparral they came suddenly upon a circular opening
+made by the hand of man. Here was a high ledge of schist, and under it a
+small cave. Grass grew here, for the spot marked the other end of the
+pipe line from Sulphur Spring, and the water that had represented the
+spring's overflow had trickled out to cool the copper coil of the Poison
+Oakers' still, incidentally refreshing the barren land.</p>
+
+<p>The pipe line represented a great amount of toil and patience, but, as
+the pipe had been stolen from a railroad shipment, no great outlay of
+funds. Clinker Creek Caņon dipped so steadily below Sulphur Spring that
+it had been possible to lay the pipe to this hidden spot in the heart of
+the chaparral, far up on the hillside, and still maintain a goodly fall
+for the flow of water.</p>
+
+<p>Only by crawling flat on his face could one reach this secluded
+rendezvous; and in all the years that they had made molasses rum here
+the Poison Oakers had not been disturbed. Not even a hunter would find
+it necessary to penetrate this fastness. Men would have laughed if told
+that water was flowing up here on the dry, rocky eminence.</p>
+
+<p>Before the cave's mouth was an adobe furnace for the fire, and over it
+the now dry end of the pipe hung uselessly. The still was removable, and
+was now in the cave, together with distilled stock on hand and kegs of
+molasses that had been packed into the caņon on burros' backs, then
+trundled laboriously up into the chaparral.</p>
+
+<p>Chuck and Obed entered the open cave and sat themselves down beside a
+barrel with a wooden spigot. They found glasses and wiped soil and
+cobwebs from them with their thumbs, and soon the water-coloured liquor
+flowed to the temporary gladdening of their hearts.</p>
+
+<p>But as it flowed again and again they began renewing their grievances,
+and shook their heads over "the good old days," and mouthed vague
+threats, and forgot all about Lime Rock and the breachy cow.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of their maudlin conversation Obed Pence heard a sound,
+despite his rum-dulled sensibilities.</p>
+
+<p>"Cut it out!" he husked. "Somebody's beatin' it in here."</p>
+
+<p>He lay flat in the mouth of the cave and looked down the hillside under
+the chaparral.</p>
+
+<p>"Old Man and Bolar," he announced.</p>
+
+<p>"Le's get out an' beat it over the hill, and back down to our
+<i>caballos</i>&mdash;and they won't know we been here," Chuck suggested.</p>
+
+<p>"Huh! Not me!" retorted Pence. "They already seen our horses, I'll bet.
+Anyway, I'm liquored up just right to tell Old Man how the war broke
+out. I'm glad he's comin'. I'm gonta know what's what right pronto!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<h3>"WAIT!"</h3>
+
+
+<p>For over an hour Oliver Drew was obliged to lie flat at the bottom of
+the shallow prospect hole, while Foss remained astride the limb of the
+digger pine and Tommy My-Ma kept hidden under the pile of brush.</p>
+
+<p>There was no chance to steal out and crawl away through the chaparral,
+for, while Digger's back was always toward him, he could not tell which
+way the brush-screened Showut Poche-daka was looking.</p>
+
+<p>At last, though, the man on lookout began to show signs of vast
+uneasiness. His position was uncomfortable, and down at the cabin there
+was, of course, no movement to arouse his interest and relieve the
+tedium of his watch. He squirmed incessantly for a time; and then
+apparently he decided that the object of his espionage had left the
+ranch, for he thrust his glasses in his shirt front and began monkeying
+to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's security now was in the hands of chance. If the halfbreed left
+his observation post by a route which passed near the prospect hole,
+Oliver would be discovered. If he decided to leave the thicket by
+crawling downhill, Oliver would be safe from detection.</p>
+
+<p>It was rather a breathless minute that followed, and then he heard the
+gunman moving off through the chaparral in the direction of the
+caņon&mdash;the least difficult route by far. Apparently he had not come
+mounted, else he would have retraced his course back to where he would
+have left his horse.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually the sounds of his retreat died away. Still there was no
+movement in the pile of brush, so far as Oliver's ears were able to
+detect. He dared not look up over the edge of the prospect hole that hid
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Minutes passed. Quail called coolly from afar. Still not the slightest
+sound from the brush pile.</p>
+
+<p>For half an hour longer Oliver lay motionless and silent. Had Tommy
+My-Ma slipped out noiselessly and followed Foss? Or was he for some
+obscure reason still hiding under the dry manzanita tops? At the end of
+this period Oliver decided that the Indian must have gone. Anyway, he
+did not purpose to remain in that hole till nightfall.</p>
+
+<p>So he elevated his nose to the land level and peered about cautiously.</p>
+
+<p>Everything remained as he had seen it last. He rose to his feet, left
+the hole, and walked boldly to the brush pile.</p>
+
+<p>A swift examination of the ground showed that Tommy My-Ma had left his
+place of concealment, perhaps long since. There was a plainly marked
+trail through the shattered leaves that led in the same direction taken
+by the departing halfbreed.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver studied the brush pile, and found that the facilities for hiding
+were as he had deduced. Pine limbs had been laid across the hole like
+rafters, and the brush heaped on top of them. Beneath was a space deep
+enough for a man to sit erect; and he might thrust his head up into the
+brush and peer out in all directions. Loose brush concealed the
+entrance, and it had been replaced when the Indian took his leave.</p>
+
+<p>What was the meaning of it all? Foss, of course, had reason to hate him;
+but what could he gain by secretly watching him from cover? And why was
+the Indian watching Foss in turn? All indications pointed to the belief
+that Foss had occupied his observation tree often, and that his shadow
+had as frequently trailed him and spied on him from a prearranged hiding
+place.</p>
+
+<p>What strange, mysterious intrigue had enveloped his life because of the
+unanswered question with which old Peter Drew had struggled for over
+thirty years? When would he face the question? Would the answer be Yes
+or No? Would his college education prove a safeguard against his reading
+the answer wrong, as his poor, unlettered old father had hoped? And
+Jessamy! Would she figure in the answer? Somehow he felt that hope and
+life and Jessamy hung on whether his answer would be Yes or No. His dead
+father's hand seemed to be weaving the warp and woof of his destiny.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver gave up further search for the bees that day. By a circuitous
+route he returned to his irrigating of the garden.</p>
+
+<p>June days passed after this, and July days began. The poison oak had
+turned from green to brilliant red, and now was dark-green once more.
+The air was hot; the grass was sear and yellow; the creek was dry but
+for a deep pool abreast the cabin. But Oliver did not worry much now
+about the creek, except for the loss of its low, comforting murmur and
+the greenness with which it had endowed its banks, because the enlarged
+flow from his spring was ample for his needs.</p>
+
+<p>No longer did linnets sit near his cabin window and sing to the
+accompaniment of his typewriter keys. Their season of love was over; the
+young birds were feathered out and had left their nests. The wild
+canaries still were with him, and hovered about the rambling willow over
+the spring. Eagles soared aloft in the clear, hot skies. Lizards basked
+lazily about the cabin, and blinked up contentedly when he tickled their
+sides with a broomstraw, or dangled pre-swatted flies before their
+grinning lips.</p>
+
+<p>For a week now he had seen no member of the Poison Oaker Gang. The cows
+bearing their brand were all about him, but gave him no trouble, and he
+thought it strange that he chanced to meet no one riding to look after
+them. He had not been bothered. Whether Digger Foss spent his idle hours
+watching him from the branches of his lookout pine he did not know or
+care. He had not seen Jessamy since the morning he left Poison Oak
+Ranch, and all his worriment and discontent found vent in this.</p>
+
+<p>Why had she not ridden down to him, as of old? Had he offended her in
+any way? The thought was unbelievable, for he could recall not the
+slightest hint of any misunderstanding.</p>
+
+<p>He brooded and moped over it, and loved her more and more&mdash;realized,
+because of her absence, just how deeply he desired her. He experienced
+all the tortures of first love; and then one day he found his senses.</p>
+
+<p>Then he laughed loud and long, and ran for Poche, and threw the
+silver-mounted saddle on his back. She had come to him when he could not
+go to her. Now her step-father had invited him to her home, and if he
+wished her companionship he must take the male's part and seek it. What
+an utter ass he had been indeed!</p>
+
+<p>It was one o'clock when Poche bore him into the cup in the mountains
+that cradled Poison Oak Ranch. At once the longed-for sight of her
+gladdened his heart once more, for she apparently had seen him coming
+and was walking from the house to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>How her sturdy, womanly figure thrilled his soul! Black as night was the
+hair that was now coiled loosely on her head, in which a red rose blazed
+as when he had seen her last. The confident poise of her head, the warm
+tints of that strong column that was her neck, the brave carriage of her
+shoulders, her swinging stride, the long black lashes that seemed to be
+etched by an Oriental artist&mdash;they set his heart to pounding until he
+felt faint; the yearning, hopeless void of love tormented him.</p>
+
+<p>And then with his senses awhirl he leaned from the saddle and felt her
+warm, soft hand in his, and gazed dizzily into the unsounded depths of
+the trout pools shaded by grapevines, to which his fancy had likened her
+eyes. His hand shook and his heart leaped, and his soul cried out for
+her; and all that he could say was:</p>
+
+<p>"How do you do, Miss Selden!"</p>
+
+<p>He saddled White Ann, and over the hills they rode together.
+Commonplaces passed between them until the wilderness enveloped them.
+Then as they sat their horses and gazed down a precipitous slope to the
+river, she asked:</p>
+
+<p>"Just why have you kept away from us all these weeks?"</p>
+
+<p>He reddened. "I'll tell you frankly," he said: "I was a fool. I was
+moping because you had not ridden to see me. You had come so often
+before. And I woke up only today. Today for the first time I realized
+that, since Old Man Selden has opened his door to me, it is my place to
+go to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," she said demurely.</p>
+
+<p>He cleared his throat uncomfortably.</p>
+
+<p>"Some time ago," he told her, "I realized that you sought me out in the
+first place for a purpose."</p>
+
+<p>He paused, and the look he cast at her was eager, though guarded
+carefully.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?" she questioned.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he went on. "I realized that. And also that you <i>continued</i> to
+come because that purpose was not yet fulfilled, and because conditions
+made it necessary for you to look me up."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I understand&mdash;" as he had come to a stop, rather helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, just that," he floundered. "And then Selden changed his tactics,
+and I could go to you. So you&mdash;you didn't come to me any more."</p>
+
+<p>"Fairly well elucidated," she laughed, "if repetition makes for
+clearness. Well, you understand now&mdash;so let's forget it."</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to understand that it wasn't because I didn't wish to come.
+It was just thick-headedness."</p>
+
+<p>"So you have said. Yes, I understand."</p>
+
+<p>The gaze of her black eyes was far away&mdash;far away over the deep, rugged
+caņon, over the hills that climbed shelf after shelf to the mystic
+snow-topped mountains, far away into a country that is not of the earth
+earthy. Under her drab flannel shirt her full bosom rose and fell with
+the regularity of her perfect breathing. Her man's hat lay over her
+saddle horn. Like some reigning goddess of the wilderness she sat and
+overlooked the domain that was hers unchallenged; and the profile of her
+brow, and the long, black, drooping lashes, tore at the heart-strings of
+the man until he suffered.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't stand that!" he cried out in his soul; and a pressure of the
+reins brought Poche close to White Ann's side. "Jessamy!" said the man
+huskily. "Jessamy!"</p>
+
+<p>He could say no more, for his voice failed him, and a haze swam before
+his eyes as when he had lost control of himself on the hillside.</p>
+
+<p>"Jessamy!" he managed to cry again; and then, for lack of words, he
+spread his arms out toward her.</p>
+
+<p>The black lashes flicked downward once, but she did not turn her face to
+him. The colour deepened in her throat and mounted to her cheeks, and
+her bosom rose and fell more rapidly.</p>
+
+<p>Then slowly she turned her face to his, and her level gaze searched him,
+unafraid. But not for long this time. Down drooped the black lashes till
+they seemed to have been drawn with pen and India ink on her smooth
+brown cheeks; and they screened a light that caused his heart to bound
+with expectation that was half of hope.</p>
+
+<p>Her red lips moved. "Wait!" she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>His arms fell to his sides. "You&mdash;you won't hear me!"</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;not now."</p>
+
+<p>"You know what I'm trying so hard to say. It means so much to me. It's
+hard for a man to say the one word which he knows will make him or break
+him for all time to come. He'd rather&mdash;he'd rather just hope on blindly,
+I guess, than to speak when he can't guess how the woman feels.
+Must&mdash;must I say it&mdash;right out, Jessamy?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, my friend, don't say it."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there anything that stands between us?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. But don't ask what."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you don't love me!"</p>
+
+<p>Her red lips quivered. "I said for you to wait," she told him softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I wait? For what? I know myself. I'm grown. I know that I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't!" she interrupted. "Wait!" And she leaned in the saddle and swung
+White Ann away from him.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's ride back home," she said. "You'll stay to supper? The moon will
+be bright for your ride home later. I'll make you a cherry pie!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<h3>"WHEN WE MEET AGAIN!"</h3>
+
+
+<p>It will be necessary to return to the day that Chuck Allegan and Obed
+Pence met on the ridge beyond the Old Ivison Place, and rode together to
+the hiding place of the Poison Oakers' moonshine still.</p>
+
+<p>Obed Pence continued to lie prone in the mouth of the cave, while his
+close-set eyes angrily watched the progress of Old Man Selden and his
+son Bolar through the chaparral.</p>
+
+<p>As the continued crawling of the coming pair brought them nearer to the
+retreat Obed Pence withdrew his lank figure into the shadowy cave; and
+he and his companion endeavoured to appear innocent and unconcerned.</p>
+
+<p>Then when Old Man Selden and the boy reached the opening and stood
+erect, Obed appeared at the mouth again and greeted them with a
+matter-of-fact:</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, there!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, howdy, Obed," returned Adam Selden. "Didn't know ye was here.
+Who's with ye?"</p>
+
+<p>"I reckon you see our horses down in Clinker Caņon," returned Obed in
+trouble-hunting tones. "And you know every horse between Red Mountain
+an' the Gap."</p>
+
+<p>"Yea, me and Bolar thought we saw a couple o' animals through the trees.
+But we hit the ground farther up the creekbed, and come in slonchways.
+Thought maybe one o' the brutes was Chuck's."</p>
+
+<p>Obed Pence snorted softly, but did not add more fuel to an argument
+along this line.</p>
+
+<p>"Me an' the kid was packin' a sack o' salt on a burro down toward the
+river," Adam observed, approaching the cave, "an' thought we'd belly up
+an' have a little smile. Cows need salt. Hello there, Chuck!"&mdash;as the
+round, boyish face of Allegan shone like a small moon from the dark
+interior.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Old Man!" replied the youth. He was apprehensive over Pence's
+glowering silence, and, to hide his feelings, quickly opened the spigot
+over a glass and passed the water-white drink to his chief.</p>
+
+<p>Adam Selden sat down with it, and Bolar came into the cave and was also
+given a drink by Chuck.</p>
+
+<p>"How early you gonta start the drive for the mountains this year, Old
+Man?" asked the self-appointed host, nervously filling glasses for
+himself and the glowering Pence, who stood with arms folded Napoleonlike
+across his breast, scowlingly regarding the newcomers.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, grass's holdin' out <i>muy bueno</i>," said Selden thoughtfully. "Late
+rains done it. I don't think we'll have cause to move 'em any earlier
+than common. The filaree down in the river bottom is&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But here Napoleon broke his moody silence. "I got somethin' to talk
+about outside o' grass," snapped Obed Pence.</p>
+
+<p>A tense stillness ensued, during which Old</p>
+
+<p>Man Selden deliberately drained his glass and passed it back to Chuck to
+be refilled.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Obed," he drawled lazily, "got anything important to say, just
+say her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'll say her!" cried Pence, and tossed off his drink of burning
+liquor by way of fortification.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't been settin' here by that bar'l a mite too long, have ye,
+Obed?&mdash;if I ain't too bold in askin'," was Selden's remark, spoken in
+the tone which turneth away wrath.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I ain't been here too long," Pence told his captain. "And I'm glad
+you've come, Old Man. I want to talk to you about this fella Drew, and
+the way things 'a' been a-goin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Shoot!" invited the old man's booming voice.</p>
+
+<p>Obed came directly to the point. "Well, why ain't we runnin' Drew out?"</p>
+
+<p>Old Man Selden balanced his glass on one peaked knee while he reached
+into a pocket of his <i>chaparejos</i> for a plug of tobacco. He was
+deliberate as he replied:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Obed, I was waitin' a spell 'count of a little matter that's on
+my mind just at present. I'd advise ye not to be worryin' about Drew.
+I'll tend to him when it's the proper time."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you will!" sniffed Pence sarcastically. "But, allowin' that you
+will, I want my booze in the meantime."</p>
+
+<p>"There's the bar'l," said Old Man Selden.</p>
+
+<p>"That ain't gonta last forever!"</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! But time she gets low, we'll be makin' more ag'in. Time Drew's
+gone and we get water runnin' from Sulphur Spring ag'in."</p>
+
+<p>"And I'm wantin' my profit from what we could sell," Pence added,
+unmollified. "I got no money, and won't have none till killin' time,
+'less the still's runnin'. 'Tain't worryin' you none. You got all you
+want without makin' monkey rum. But it ain't like that with me. Why, we
+was makin' five gallon a day&mdash;at twenty-five bucks a gallon! And now
+nary a drop. I need the money."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Obed, they's money all about ye," the old man boomed. "And they's
+things that can be turned into money layin' 'round loose everywhere."</p>
+
+<p>"And there's a county jail, too!" snapped Pence.</p>
+
+<p>"And also federal prisons," Adam added, nodding toward the still and the
+crude fermentation vats.</p>
+
+<p>"Rats! Pro'bition sneaks ain't got me scared! But bustin' into
+somebody's store's a different matter. And while we're talkin' about it,
+Old Man, I don't see as you're so keen for a little job like that as you
+was some months ago."</p>
+
+<p>"Gettin' old, Obed&mdash;gettin' old, as the fella says. Squirt another shot
+into her, Chuck." He passed his glass again. "I'll leave all that to you
+kids in future, I'm thinkin'."</p>
+
+<p>"But take your share, o' course," sneered Pence.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I reckon not, Obed&mdash;I reckon not. I got enough to die on&mdash;that's
+all I need. Just putter 'round with a few critters for my remainin'
+years, then turn up my toes peaceful-like. I'm gettin' old, Obed&mdash;just
+so!"</p>
+
+<p>There was another prolonged, strained silence. Pence emptied his glass
+twice while it lasted, and his Dutch courage grew apace.</p>
+
+<p>"Looky-here, Old Man," he said at last, "Le's get down to tacks: You're
+double-crossin' us, an' we're dead onto it. For some reason you don't
+wanta drive Drew outa Clinker Creek Caņon. It's got somethin' to do with
+that fire dance. There's more in it for you if you leave Drew alone than
+if you put a burr under his tail. That's all right so far's it goes. But
+you're tryin' to hog it. You're squeezin' the rest o' the Poison Oakers
+out&mdash;all but your four kids. Ed and Digger and Chuck here and Jey and
+me's left out in the cold. That's what! And we don't like it, and ain't
+gonta stand for it. If there's more profit in it to leave Drew alone,
+leave 'im alone. But le's all get our share o' this big profit, like we
+always did."</p>
+
+<p>"Couple o' more shots and ye'll be weepin' about her, Pencie," dryly
+observed old Adam.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind that! I c'n handle my booze. You come across."</p>
+
+<p>"I've known ye about thirteen year, Obed," said Adam in tones
+dangerously purring, "and I've never heard ye talk to me thataway
+before. I wouldn't now, if I was you."</p>
+
+<p>"And I've never seen you act like you're doin' in those thirteen years!"
+cried Pence. "Before now there wasn't no need to bawl you out. But
+you're turnin' crooked."</p>
+
+<p>Adam rose and placed an enormous hand on Obed's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! Just so!" he purred. "Now, you ramble down an' get in yer
+saddle an' ride on home, Pencie. Ye've had enough liquor for today. An'
+when ye're sober we'll all talk about her. Just so! That's best. Go on
+now&mdash;yer blood's hot!"</p>
+
+<p>Pence jerked his shoulder away and backed farther into the gloom of the
+cave. Old Man Selden quickly moved so that his body was not silhouetted
+against the light streaming in at the mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want none o' yer dam' fatherly advice," growled Pence. "I just
+want a square deal. If there's a reason why Drew oughta be left alone I
+want to know it. And I want to know it now!"</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! Are ye really mad, now, Pencie?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am mad!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>And</i> sober?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sober. Shoot her out!"</p>
+
+<p>The eagle eyes of Old Man Selden were fixed intently on the face showing
+from the gloom. Every muscle was tense, every faculty alert. His
+beetling grey brows came down and hid his eyes from the younger man, but
+those cold blue eyes saw everything.</p>
+
+<p>"Bein's ye're sober, Obed," the old man drawled, "I'll be obliged to
+tell ye that no Poison Oaker ner any other man ever talked to me like
+you been doin' and got away with it. Just so! And, bein's ye're sober,
+I'll say that my business is my own, an' I'll keep her to myself till I
+get ready to tell her. Furthermore, I'm still runnin' the Poison Oakers,
+and what I say goes now same as a couple months ago. I know what's good
+for us boys better'n any o' the rest o' ye, and I'm doin' it."</p>
+
+<p>"You're a dam' liar!" shouted Pence.</p>
+
+<p>Old Man Selden's gun hand leaped to his hip. "Come a-shootin', kid!" he
+bellowed.</p>
+
+<p>He whipped out his Colt, shot from the hip. The roar of his big gun
+filled the cave. Screened by the smoke of it, Old Man Selden sprang
+nimbly to the deeper shadows.</p>
+
+<p>There he crouched, his cavernous eyes peering out through the dense,
+confined smoke like a lynx posing to spring upon a burrowing gopher.</p>
+
+<p>Obed Pence had not been slow. He too had leaped the instant the old
+man's hand dropped to his holster. He had ducked into deeper shadows
+still, and had not been hit. Now he fired through the smoke wreaths in
+the direction he supposed the old man had darted. A report from Adam's
+gun roared on the heels of his own, and rocks and earth rattled down a
+foot from his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>The cave extended to right and to left of the opening. Each of the
+fighters was hidden by the darkness of his particular end, and now the
+smoke of the three shots hung in a heavy blanket between them directly
+opposite the door. Under cover of this Chuck and Bolar, sprawling flat,
+had wriggled frantically out of the cave. Each from his own nook, the
+belligerents leaned cautiously forward, guns ready, breath held in, and
+tried to pierce the rack of smoke and the obscurity of the other's
+hiding place.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to the younger men, gazing in, that the situation meant a
+deadlock. Neither gunman could see the other, and, with no breath of air
+stirring in the cave, the smoke lay between them like a solid wall.</p>
+
+<p>Five minutes passed without a sound inside. Then Bolar drew nearer to
+the cave and shouted in:</p>
+
+<p>"What you gonta do? Neither o' you c'n see the other. You can't shoot.
+What you gonta do?"</p>
+
+<p>Complete silence answered him. Then he realized that neither his father
+nor Obed Pence would dare to speak lest the sound of his voice reveal
+his whereabouts and call forth a shot from the other end of the cave.</p>
+
+<p>"You got to give it up for now!" he shouted in again. "I'll count
+one-two-three; and when I say three, both o' ye throw yer guns in front
+o' the mouth. I'll ask if ye'll do this. Both o' you answer at once.
+Ready!... Will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," came the smothered replies of both men in the cave.</p>
+
+<p>"All right now. Get ready! One ... two ... <i>three</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>At the word "three" two heavy-calibre Colts clattered on the dirt floor
+before the entrance and lay not a foot apart, proving that there was a
+recognized code of honour among the Poison Oakers. Bolar stooped and
+entered, gathering them in his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"All set," he announced. "Come out an' begin all over ag'in."</p>
+
+<p>Old Man Selden was the first to come out. Pence quickly followed him.
+Bolar had emptied both weapons of cartridges, and now he silently passed
+each his gun.</p>
+
+<p>"What'll it be, Pencie?" asked Old Man Selden, bending his fiery glance
+on his dark, slim enemy. "Shall we draw when we meet ag'in, er forget it
+entirely&mdash;or see who c'n load an' shoot quickest right here an' now?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's up to you, Old Man."</p>
+
+<p>"Forget it," advised Bolar. "For now, anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we go our ways now, an' draw when we come together ag'in?" It was
+Old Adam's question.</p>
+
+<p>"Why can't you come across an' do the square thing now?" Pence growled.
+"Then ever'thing's settled."</p>
+
+<p>"Just so! But y're answerin' my question with another'n. Do we draw when
+we meet ag'in?"</p>
+
+<p>"You won't be square?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell ye nothin'. Ye called me a dam' liar, so you couldn't believe
+it if I had anything to say to ye."</p>
+
+<p>Pence shrugged indifferently and turned away. "When we meet ag'in," he
+said lightly.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so!" drawled Old Man Selden. "Just so!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE WATCHMAN OF THE DEAD</h3>
+
+
+<p>Oliver Drew knew that the Mona Fiesta would be held by the Showut
+Poche-dakas when the July moon was full. The Mona Fiesta was the tribal
+"Feast of the Dead." It was purely an Indian rite, unmixed with any
+ceremonies incident to the feast days of the Catholic saints, as were
+most other celebrations. Consequently, while the whites were not
+definitely prohibited from being spectators, they were not invited to
+attend. They often went out of curiosity, Oliver had been told by
+Jessamy, but always they observed from a respectful distance and went
+unnoticed by the worshippers.</p>
+
+<p>The underlying principle of the Feast of the Dead was ancestor worship,
+in which all of the Pauba Tribes were particularly devout. Jessamy told
+Oliver that she had witnessed the ceremony once from a distance, but
+that, as it occurred at night, she had seen little of what was taking
+place.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver had wondered that he had received no message from old Chupurosa
+Hatchinguish after the night of the fire dance. He was now a member of
+the tribe, he supposed, but all actual contact with his new-found
+brethren seemed to have ceased when he rode away from the fiesta. The
+mystery of why he was in this country hung on his connection with the
+Showut Poche-dakas. He was impatient to get in closer touch with the
+wrinkled old chief and bring matters to a head.</p>
+
+<p>And now another feast day was close at hand. In two more nights a full
+moon would shower its radiance over the land of the Poison Oakers. He
+had received no word, no intimation that he would be wanted at the
+reservation for the Mona Fiesta. Whites were excluded, he knew; but,
+then, he was now a brother of the Showut Poche-dakas, and he hoped
+against hope that he would be commanded to appear.</p>
+
+<p>But the two intervening days went by, and the evening of the celebration
+was at hand, with no one having arrived to bid him come.</p>
+
+<p>He was seated on his little porch that evening, listening to the night
+sounds of chaparral and forest, as the moon edged its big round face
+over the hill and smiled at him. He was thinking half of Jessamy, half
+of an article that he had planned to write. Two fair-sized checks for
+previous work had reached him that week, and he was beginning to have
+visions of a future.</p>
+
+<p>In a pine tree close at hand an owl asked: "Who? Who? Who&mdash;o-o-o?" in
+doleful tones. From a distant hilltop came the derisive, outlaw laughter
+of coyotes. A big toad hopped on the porch, blinked at the man in the
+moonlight, and then started ponderously for his door. Oliver rose and
+with his foot turned him twice, but the toad corrected his course
+immediately and seemed determined to enter the house willy-nilly.</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't want you in there," Oliver protested boyishly. "I might
+step on you in the dark, or accidentally put my hand on your old cold
+back."</p>
+
+<p>He closed the door, and the toad hopped on the threshold, as if resolved
+to await his chance for a strategic entrance.</p>
+
+<p>"All right," said Oliver. "Sit there! When I'm ready to go in I'll climb
+through a window. You are not going into that house!"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed at himself. His was a lonesome life when he was not with
+Jessamy; and, always a lover of every living thing that God has created,
+he had made friends with the wild life that moved about his cabin, so
+that toads and lizards, birds and squirrels looked to him for food and
+had no fear of him.</p>
+
+<p>He sat puffing at his pipe and giving the obstinate toad blink for
+blink, when there came to his ears strange sounds from up the lonely
+caņon.</p>
+
+<p>At first he imagined they were made by roving cattle, then he recognized
+the ring of shod hoofs on the stones in the trail. Then voices. And
+presently he knew that many horsemen were riding toward the cabin&mdash;a
+veritable cavalcade.</p>
+
+<p>He rose from his chair and stood listening, not without a feeling of
+apprehension. As the concerted thudding of many hoofs drew closer and
+closer he ran into the cabin and strapped on his six-shooter. He had
+been at a complete loss to interpret Old Man Selden's later attitude
+toward him, and was wary of a trap. The sounds he heard could mean
+nothing to him except that the Poison Oakers were at last riding upon
+him to begin their raid.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly from the other direction came the clattering hoofbeats of a
+single galloping horse. Silvery under the magic light of the moon, a
+white horse burst into view, galloping over a little rise to the south.
+It carried a rider. Now came a familiar "Who-hoo!" And Jessamy Selden
+soon was bending from her saddle at the cabin door.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank goodness, I'm in time!" she said. "I didn't know when they would
+start, and I waited too long."</p>
+
+<p>"What in the mischief are you doing in the saddle this time of night?"
+he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's nothing! I get out of bed sometimes and saddle up for a
+moonlight ride. I love it."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Here they come! I wanted to get here ahead of them and warn you to
+pretend you were expecting them. You're&mdash;you're supposed to know."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm supposed to know what?"</p>
+
+<p>"About the Mona Fiesta. It's to be observed here on the Old Ivison
+Place. It always is. And&mdash;and you're supposed to know it."</p>
+
+<p>"How explicit you aren't! Well, what&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sh! There they are! I can't explain now."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's thoughts were moving swiftly, and he did not put them aside
+even when he saw his gate being opened to a large company of horsemen.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got you," he said. "Your little attempt at subterfuge has failed
+again. Those are the Showut Poche-dakas coming?"</p>
+
+<p>She nodded in her slow, emphatic manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Uh-huh! I see. And you might have told me many days ago that they would
+come. And if that isn't so, you could have got here much earlier tonight
+to warn me in time. But that would have given me an opportunity to
+question you, and this you didn't want. So you waited till they were
+almost upon me, then made a Sheridan dash to warn me, when there would
+be no time to answer embarrassing questions. Pretty clever, sister! But
+you see I'm dead on to your little game."</p>
+
+<p>Her laugh was as near to a giggle as he had ever heard from her.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a master analyst," she praised. "I'll 'fess up. It's just as you
+say. You know my nature makes it necessary for me to dodge direct
+issues, where your mystery is concerned. But they're right on us&mdash;go out
+and meet 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll wait?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure."</p>
+
+<p>The foremost riders of the long cavalcade were now abreast the cabin,
+and Oliver Drew stepped toward them as they halted their ponies.</p>
+
+<p>The strong light of the full moon was sufficient to reveal the
+wrinkled-leather skin of old Chupurosa Hatchinguish, who rode in the
+lead, sitting his blanketed horse as straight as a buck of twenty years.
+Oliver reached him and held out a hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Welcome to the Hummingbird," he said in Spanish.</p>
+
+<p>"Greetings," returned the old man, solemnly taking the offered hand.
+"The July moon is in the full, brother, and I have brought the Showut
+Poche-dakas for the yearly Mona Fiesta to the spot where our fathers
+worshipped since a time when no man can remember."</p>
+
+<p>"Thou art welcome," said Oliver again, entirely lost as to just what was
+expected of him.</p>
+
+<p>Chupurosa left the blanket which he used as a saddle. It was the signal
+for all to dismount, and like a troop of cavalry the Showut Poche-dakas
+left their horses. They tied them to fenceposts and trees out of respect
+for the landowner's rights in the matter of grass.</p>
+
+<p>"Is all in readiness?" asked the ancient chief.</p>
+
+<p>"Er&mdash;" Oliver paused.</p>
+
+<p>A hand gripped his arm. "Yes," Jessamy's voice breathed in his ear.</p>
+
+<p>"All is in readiness," said Oliver promptly.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy then stepped forward and offered her hand to Chupurosa.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, my Hummingbird!" she caroled mischievously in English.</p>
+
+<p>"The light of the moon takes nothing from the Seņorita's loveliness,"
+said the old man gallantly.</p>
+
+<p>By this time the Showut Poche-dakas had formed a semicircle before the
+cabin.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us proceed to the Mona Fiesta," said Chupurosa. "Let the son of Dan
+Smeed lead the way."</p>
+
+<p>Over this strange new designation Oliver was given no time for thought;
+for instantly Jessamy laid a firm grip above his elbow and led him to
+the pasture gate. The Showut Poche-dakas followed at the heels of
+Jessamy's mare.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry," the girl whispered into Oliver's ear. "Nothing much will
+be required of you. Just try to appear as if you know all about it, and
+had attended to the preliminaries yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," said Oliver dazedly, his mind now in a whirl.</p>
+
+<p>She led him across the pasture in the direction from which she had
+ridden so unexpectedly to the cabin. They reached a little <i>arroyo</i>, and
+down it they turned to the creekbed. They crossed the watercourse and
+turned down it. Presently they entered a cluster of pines and spruce
+trees, which was close to what Oliver called The Four Pools.</p>
+
+<p>In succession, four deep depressions in the bedrock of the creekbed were
+ranged, and each held clear, cool water, fed by an undiscovered spring,
+though the creek proper was now entirely dry. In the bedrock about these
+pools Oliver had previously noted several round holes the size of a
+half-bushel measure. These were <i>morteros</i>, he knew&mdash;the mortars in
+which the California Indians pound acorns in the making of the dish
+<i>bellota</i>. He had often speculated on the probable antiquity of these
+<i>morteros</i>, and had dreamed of early-day scenes enacted there and about
+them.</p>
+
+<p>There was a circular open space in the midst of the tall, whispering
+trees. Just above this spot, up the steep hillside, he had lain in the
+prospect hole and watched Digger Foss spying on the cabin down below,
+while Tommy My-Ma hid under the brush and spied on him. Into the open
+space in the trees the fearless girl led the way, and there in the
+centre of it the moonlight streaming through the branches revealed a
+huge pile of brush and wood, arranged as if for a great fire.</p>
+
+<p>She pressed his arm, and they came to a halt. Behind them the Showut
+Poche-dakas halted. To Oliver's side stepped Chupurosa, and spoke in the
+tongue of the Paubas to a man at his right hand.</p>
+
+<p>This man stepped to the pile of brush and wood and fired it.</p>
+
+<p>As the flames leaped up and licked at the sun-dried fuel the Indians
+closed in, and now the light of the fire showed Oliver that there were
+women among their number. At the edge of the trees they formed a circle
+about the fire, then all of them save Chupurosa squatted on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>And now the firelight brought something else to view. It was nothing
+more mysterious than a wooden drygoods box at the foot of one of the
+pines, and beside it stood a large red earthen <i>olla</i>. What these held
+Oliver could not see. He was puzzling over the fact that these simple
+arrangements had been made on his land while he sat on his porch two
+hundred yards away and smoked, for he had passed this spot early that
+evening and it had been as usual then.</p>
+
+<p>The dark-skinned men and women squatted there silently about the fire,
+their serious black eyes blinking into it. There was something pathetic
+about it all. They were always so serious, so intent, so devout; and
+their poor, ragged clothes and bare feet were so evident.</p>
+
+<p>"Join the circle," whispered Jessamy.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>Then Jessamy stepped to Chupurosa, who had been gazing at her silently.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night, my Hummingbird," she said, and smiled at him.</p>
+
+<p>An answering smile lighted the withered features, and once more the old
+man took the girl's slim hand in his.</p>
+
+<p>He dropped it. She turned and vaulted into her saddle. The mare leaped
+away over the moonlit pasture. For a time the thudety-thud of her
+galloping hoofs floated back, and then came silence.</p>
+
+<p>Amid a continuation of this stillness Chupurosa stepped close to the
+fire, now leaping high, and stretched forth his brown, wrinkled hands.
+He threw back his head and began speaking softly, directing his voice
+aloft. Not a word of what he said was known to Oliver. Gradually his
+voice rose, and his tones were guttural, growling. His body swayed from
+right to left, but he kept his withered hands outstretched. Presently
+tears began trickling down his cheeks, but he continued his prayer, or
+address, or invocation, his tears unheeded.</p>
+
+<p>Now one by one his silent listeners began to weep. They wept silently,
+and, but for their tears, Oliver would not have realized their deep
+emotion. Sometimes they rocked from side to side, but always they
+maintained silence and kept their tear-dimmed eyes focused on the
+speaker.</p>
+
+<p>Abruptly Chupurosa came to a full stop, backed from the fire, and
+squatted on the ground inside the circle. No applause, not a word, no
+sign of any nature followed the cessation of his harangue.</p>
+
+<p>Now two young Indians led forth an old, old man. Each of them held one
+of his arms. He was stooped and trembly, and his feet dragged pitiably;
+and as he neared the fire Oliver saw that he was totally blind.</p>
+
+<p>Never before in his life had the white man seen age so plainly stamped
+on human countenance. Oliver had thought Chupurosa old, but he appeared
+as a man in the prime of life in comparison with this blind patriarch.
+His long hair was white as snow, and this in itself was a mark of
+antiquity seldom seen in the race. It was not until long afterward that
+Oliver found out that this man was a notable among the Pauba Tribes,
+Maquaquish by name&mdash;the oldest man among them, a seer, counsellor, and
+medicine man whose prophesies and prognostications were forceful in the
+regulation of a great portion of the Paubas' lives. He was bareheaded,
+barefooted, and wore only blue overalls, a cloth girdle, and a coarse
+yellow shirt.</p>
+
+<p>When at a comfortable distance from the fire the trio came to a stop.
+The two conductors of the pathetic blind figure knelt promptly on one
+knee, one on each side of him. With their bent knees touching behind
+him, they gently lowered him until he found the seat which their sinewy
+thighs had made for him. There was a few moments' silence, and then he
+lifted his trembling hands and began to speak.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver carried no watch, and would not have had the discourtesy to
+consult it if he had; but he believed that Maquaquish spoke for two
+solid hours without pause. And all this time the two who upheld him on
+their knees and steadied him with their hands seemed not to move a
+muscle. And not a sound came from the audience beyond an occasional
+uncontrollable sob. Maquaquish spoke in hushed tones that blended
+strangely with the night sounds of the forest. His physical attitude and
+his delivery were those of a story-teller rather than an orator or
+preacher; and his listeners hung on every word, their black bead eyes
+fixed constantly on his face.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver Drew was dreaming dreams. He would have given all that he had to
+be able to interpret what Maquaquish was saying. What strange traditions
+was he recalling to their minds? What hidden chapters in the bygone
+history of this ancient race? Never was congregation more wrapped up in
+a speaker's words. Never were religious zealots more devout. Strange
+thoughts filled the white man's mind.</p>
+
+<p>He was roused from his dreaming with a start. Maquaquish had ceased
+speaking, and a low chanting sounded about the fire. It grew in volume
+as the blind man's escort led him back to his place in the circle. It
+grew louder, weirder still, as the two who had aided the seer stepped to
+the drygoods box and carried it between them past the fire. As they
+walked with it beyond the circle every Indian rose to his feet and
+followed slowly. Oliver did likewise, not knowing what else to do.</p>
+
+<p>On the brink of one of the pools the assemblage halted, the firelight
+playing over them. From the box its custodians removed bolts of cheap
+new calico cloth of many colours. Two of these they unwound, and laid
+along the ground, leading away from the edge of the chosen pool.</p>
+
+<p>Then the two slipped out of their clothes and stepped naked into the
+water to their waists, where each laid hold of an end of a strip of
+calico and stood motionless.</p>
+
+<p>To the edge of the moonlit pool stepped Chupurosa. He extended his hands
+over the water and spoke a few sonorous words. As his hands came down
+the chanting broke out anew, and now the men in the water began
+gathering in the strips of calico, washing the cloth in the water as
+they reeled it to them.</p>
+
+<p>At last they finished. The chanting ceased. The two nude men carried the
+dripping cloth from the water in bundles. The assemblage filed back to
+the dying fire, all but the two who had washed the cloth.</p>
+
+<p>When the Showut Poche-dakas were once more squatting in a circle about
+the blaze, one of the two, now dressed, entered the circle with the red
+<i>olla</i> filled with water from the pool. This was passed from hand to
+hand around the circle, and each one drank from it. When it came to
+Oliver he solemnly acted his part, and passed the <i>olla</i> to his
+left-hand neighbour.</p>
+
+<p>As the <i>olla</i> finished its round, into the circle danced the two who had
+washed the cloth. In their arms they held bolts of dry cloth; and amid
+shouts and laughter they threw them into the air, while the feminine
+element of the tribe clutched up eagerly at them.</p>
+
+<p>When the last bolt of calico had been thrown and had been captured and
+claimed by some delighted squaw, the assemblage, talking and laughing in
+an everyday manner, left the Four Pools and started back to their
+horses.</p>
+
+<p>The Mona Fiesta was over. Symbolically the clothes of the dead had been
+washed. The Showut Poche-dakas had drunk of the water that had cleansed
+them. And this was about all that Oliver Drew ever learned of the
+significance of the ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>At the cabin Chupurosa waited on his horse until his tribesmen had all
+ridden through the gate. Then he leaned over and spoke to Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"When a year has passed," he said, "and the same moon which we see
+tonight again looks down upon us, the Showut Poche-dakas will once more
+wash the clothes of the dead and drink of the water. I enjoin thee,
+Watchman of the Dead, to have all in readiness once more, as thou hadst
+tonight. <i>Adios</i>, Watchman of the Dead!"</p>
+
+<p>And he rode off slowly through the moonlight.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE QUESTION</h3>
+
+
+<p>The morning following the Feast of the Dead, Oliver Drew rode Poche out
+of Clinker Creek Caņon, driving Smith ahead of them, on the way to
+Halfmoon Flat for supplies. Over the hills above the American River he
+saw a white horse galloping toward him.</p>
+
+<p>This was to be a chance meeting with Jessamy. He had an idea she would
+not be anxious to face him, after her attempted subterfuge of the night
+before; so he slipped from the saddle, captured Smith, and led the two
+animals back into the woods.</p>
+
+<p>Then he hurried to a tree on the outskirts and hid behind it.</p>
+
+<p>On galloped White Ann, with the straight, sturdy figure in the saddle.
+As they came closer Oliver knew by her face that Jessamy had not seen
+him; and as they came abreast he stepped out quickly and shouted.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy turned red, reined in, and faced him, her lips twitching.</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning, my Star of Destiny!" he said.</p>
+
+<p>A flutter of bafflement showed in her black lashes, but the lips
+continued to twitch mischievously.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Buenos dias</i>, Watchman of the Dead!" she shot back at him.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's eyes widened.</p>
+
+<p>"Got under your guard with that one, eh, ol'-timer? Just so!&mdash;if you'll
+permit a Seldenism. Tit for tat, as the fella says! Your move again."</p>
+
+<p>And then she threw back her head and laughed to the skies above her.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Ridin'."</p>
+
+<p>"You weren't headed for the Old Ivison Place."</p>
+
+<p>"No, not this morning. I was not seeking you. But since I've met you,
+and the worst is over, I'll not avoid you."</p>
+
+<p>"Help me pack a load of grub down the caņon; then I'll go 'ridin' with
+you."</p>
+
+<p>She nodded assent.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so," she observed, as he led Poche and Smith from hiding.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you'd turn back, or turn off, if you saw me here ahead of
+you," he made confession.</p>
+
+<p>"I might have done that," she told him as they herded Smith into the
+road and followed him.</p>
+
+<p>They said nothing more about what had taken place the night before until
+the bags had been filled and diamond-hitched, and Smith was rolling his
+pack from side to side on the homeward trail. Then Oliver asked
+abruptly:</p>
+
+<p>"Who laid that fire, and put the box of cloth and the <i>olla</i> at The Four
+Pools yesterday?"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, sir, I done it," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"When?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just before I rode to your cabin last evening."</p>
+
+<p>"Uh-huh!" he grunted, and fell silent again.</p>
+
+<p>At the cabin she helped him throw off the diamond-hitch and unload the
+packbags. Then the shaggy Smith was left to his own devices&mdash;much to his
+loudly voiced disapproval&mdash;and Jessamy and Oliver rode off into the
+hills.</p>
+
+<p>"Which way?" he asked as they topped the ridge.</p>
+
+<p>"Lime Rock," she replied.</p>
+
+<p>Tracing cow paths single-file, they wound through and about chaparral
+patches and rocky caņons till they reached the old trail that led to
+Lime Rock.</p>
+
+<p>Lime Rock upreared itself on the lip of a thousand-foot precipice that
+overhung the river. It was three hundred feet in height, a gigantic
+white pencil pointing toward the sky. At its base was a small level
+space, large enough for a wagon and team to turn, but the remainder of
+the land about and above it was hillside, too steep for cows to climb.
+And from the edge of the level land the caņonside dropped straight
+downward, a mass of craggy rocks and ill-nourished growth. The trail
+that led to Lime Rock wound its way over a shelf four feet in width,
+hacked in the hillside. One false step on this trail and details of what
+must inevitably ensue would be hideous.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver led the way when they reached the beginning of the trail. Both
+Poche and White Ann were mountain bred animals, sure-footed and
+unconcerned over Nature's threatening eccentricities. For a quarter of a
+mile the bay and the white threaded the narrow path, their riders
+silent. Then they came to Lime Rock and the security of the level land
+about it.</p>
+
+<p>Here Oliver and Jessamy sat their horses and gazed down the dizzy
+precipice at the rushing river, and up the steep, rocky wall on the
+other side.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know who owns the land on which our horses are standing?"
+Jessamy finally asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I've never given it a thought," said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"It belongs to Damon Tamroy."</p>
+
+<p>"That so? I didn't know he owned anything over this way."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Damon owns it. But I have an option on it."</p>
+
+<p>"You! Have an option on it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a year's option. It was rather an underhanded trick that I played
+on old Damon, but he's not very angry about it. It's my first business
+venture.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, I learned through a letter from a girl friend in San Francisco
+that a big cement company was thinking of invading this country. She
+wrote it merely as a bit of entertaining news, but I looked at it
+differently.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew where they'd begin their invasion. Right here! That magnificent
+monument there is solid limestone, and the hills back of it are the
+same, though covered by a thin layer of soil. So I went to the owner of
+the land, Damon Tamroy, and got a year's option on it for twenty-five
+dollars&mdash;a hundred and sixty acres.</p>
+
+<p>"How Damon laughed at me! I told him outright why I wanted to buy the
+land, if ever I could scrape enough together. He didn't consider it very
+valuable, and it may become mine any day this year that I can pungle up
+four hundred and seventy-five bucks more. When he quizzed me, I told him
+frankly that I was doing it in an effort to preserve Lime Rock for
+posterity, and he laughed louder than ever.</p>
+
+<p>"But he changed his tune when a representative of the cement company
+approached him with an offer of fifteen dollars an acre. He took his
+loss good-naturedly enough, but accused me of putting over a slick
+little business deal on him. I had done so, in a way, and admitted it;
+and ever since I've been talking myself blue in the face when I meet
+him, trying to convince him that it's not the money I'm after at all.</p>
+
+<p>"Think of an old hog of a cement company coming in here and erecting a
+rumbling old plant, with the noon whistle deriding the reverential calm
+of this magnificent caņon, and their old drills and dynamite and things
+ripping Lime Rock from its throne! Bah! I'm going to San Francisco soon
+to get a job. I may decide to go this week. It will keep me hustling to
+put away four hundred and seventy-five dollars between now and the day
+my option expires."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver sat looking gravely at the young idealist, suppressing his
+disappointment over the possibility of her early departure.</p>
+
+<p>"But we have to have cement," he pointed out.</p>
+
+<p>"Do we? Maybe so. But there's lots of limestone in the west. Men don't
+need to search out such spots as this in which to get it. There are less
+picturesque places, which will yield enough cement material for all our
+needs. Sometimes I think these big money-grabbers just love to ruin
+Nature with their old picks and powder. You may agree with me or not&mdash;I
+don't care. I'm not utilitarian, and don't care who knows it. The
+world's against me in my big fight to keep the money hogs from robbing
+life of all its poetry; but it's a fight to the last ditch! I'll save
+Lime Rock, anyway, if I have to beg and borrow."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that I disagree with you at all," he told her softly.
+"Money doesn't mean a great deal to me. I've shed no idle tears over my
+failure to inherit the money that I expected would be mine at Dad's
+death. I hold no ill will toward Dad. There's too much wampum in the
+world today. It won't buy much. The more people have the more they want.
+The so-called 'standard of living' continues to rise, and with it the
+ills of our civilization steadily increase. Luxuries ruin health.
+Automobiles make our muscles sluggish. Moving pictures clog our thinking
+apparatus. Telephones make us lazy. Phonographs and piano-players reduce
+our appreciation of the technique of music, which can come only by study
+and practice. What flying machines will do to us remains to be seen, but
+they'll never carry us to heaven!</p>
+
+<p>"No, money means little enough to me. Give me the big outdoors and a
+regular horse, a keen zest in life, and true appreciation of every
+creature and rock and tree and blade that God has created, and I'll
+struggle along."</p>
+
+<p>As he talked the colour had been mounting to her face. When he ceased
+she turned starry eyes upon him, her white teeth showing between
+slightly parted lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Oliver Drew," she said, "you have made me very happy. I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A rush of blood throbbed suddenly at Oliver's temples, and once again he
+swung his horse close to hers.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try to make you happy always," he said low-voiced. "Jessamy&mdash;"
+Again he opened his arms for her, but as before she drew herself away
+from him.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't! Not&mdash;not now! Wait&mdash;Oliver!"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait! Always wait! Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I must tell you something first. I can tell you now&mdash;after&mdash;after
+last night."</p>
+
+<p>"Then tell me quickly," he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>She rested both hands on her saddle horn and rose in her stirrups. For a
+long time her black eyes gazed down the precipice below them, while the
+wind whipped wisps of hair about her forehead. Oliver waited, drunk with
+the thought of his nearness to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Watchman of the Dead!" she murmured at last.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver started.</p>
+
+<p>"Two years ago," she went on softly, "I met the second Watchman of the
+Dead. You are the third. The first was murdered in this forest. His name
+was Bolivio, and he made silver-mounted saddles and hair-tasseled
+bridles."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver scarce dared to breathe for fear of breaking the spell that
+seemed to have come over her. She did not look at him. She continued to
+gaze into her beloved caņon and at her beloved hills beyond.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, where shall I begin!" she cried at last. "Where is the beginning? A
+man would begin at the first, I suppose, but a woman just can't! But I
+won't be true to the feminine method and begin at the end. I won't be a
+copy-cat. I'll begin in the middle, anyway."</p>
+
+<p>A smile flickered across her red lips; but still she gazed away from
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Two years ago," she said, "I met the dearest man."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver straightened, and lumps shuttled at the hinges of his jaws.</p>
+
+<p>"I was riding White Ann on one of my lonely wanderings through the
+woods. I met him on the ridge above the Old Ivison Place and the river.</p>
+
+<p>"After that I met him many times, in the forest and elsewhere; and the
+more I talked with him the more I liked him. He was my idea of a man."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver, too, was now gazing into the caņon, but he saw neither crags nor
+trees nor rushing green river.</p>
+
+<p>"And he grew to like me," her low tones continued. "We talked on many
+subjects, but mostly of what we've been talking about today.</p>
+
+<p>"He was an idealist, this man. He was comparatively wealthy, but there
+are things in life that he placed above money and its accumulation. By
+and by he grew to like me more and more, and finally he told me point
+blank that I was his ideal woman; and then he grew confidential and told
+me all about himself&mdash;his past, present, and what he hoped for in the
+future. And in my hands he placed a trust. Please God, I have tried to
+keep the faith!"</p>
+
+<p>She threw back her head and followed the flight of an eagle soaring
+serenely over Lime Rock. And with her eyes thus lifted she softly said:</p>
+
+<p>"That man was Peter Drew&mdash;your father."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's breast heaved, but he made no sound. Once more her eyes were
+sweeping the abyss.</p>
+
+<p>"That's the middle," she said. "Now I'll go back to the beginning and
+tell you what Peter Drew entrusted to my keeping.</p>
+
+<p>"Thirty years ago Peter Drew, who then called himself Dan Smeed, was the
+partner of Adam Selden. They mined and hunted and trapped together
+throughout this country.</p>
+
+<p>"There were other activities, too, which I shall not mention. You
+understand. Your father told me all about it, kept nothing back.
+Remember that I said he was my idea of a man; and if in his youth he had
+been wild and&mdash;well, seemed criminally inclined&mdash;I found that easy to
+forget. Certainly the manliness and sacrifice of his later years wiped
+out all this a thousand times.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, to proceed: Peter Drew and Adam Selden married Indian girls.
+Peter Drew won out in the fire dance and became a member of the Showut
+Poche-dakas. Adam Selden failed, and, according to the custom, took his
+wife from the tribe and lived with her elsewhere. Six months afterward
+the wife of Selden died.</p>
+
+<p>"Peter Drew, however, having become a recognized member of the tribe,
+was taken into their full confidence. According to their simple belief,
+he had conquered all obstacles that stood between him and this
+affiliation; therefore the gods had ordained that full trust should be
+placed in him. And with their beautiful faith and simplicity they did
+not question his honesty. So according to an old, old tradition of the
+tribe the white man was appointed Watchman of the Dead.</p>
+
+<p>"I know little of this story. All of the traditions of the Showut
+Poche-dakas are clouded, so far as our interpretation of them goes. But
+it appears, from what your father told me, that ages ago a white-skinned
+chief had been Watchman of the Dead. Mercy knows where he came from,
+for, so far as history goes, the whites had not then invaded the
+country. But after him, whenever a white-skinned man conquered the evil
+spirits of the fire and became a member, he was appointed Watchman of
+the Dead. So in the natural order of things the honour came to Peter
+Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"Up to this time the only other Watchman of the Dead remembered by even
+old Maquaquish and Chupurosa was the man called Bolivio. Holding this
+simple office, it seems that Bolivio had stumbled upon the secret so
+jealously guarded by the Showut Poche-dakas. He tried to turn this
+secret information to his own advantage, and in so doing he broke faith
+with the tribe that had adopted him as a brother. Found dead in the
+forest with a knife in his heart, is the abrupt climax of his tale of
+treachery. And so the tradition of the lost mine of Bolivio had its
+birth.</p>
+
+<p>"Centuries ago, no doubt, the Showut Poche-dakas discovered the
+spodumene gems which were responsible for the fiction concerning the
+lost mine of Bolivio. They polished them crudely and worshipped them.
+Spodumene gems always are found in pockets in the rock, and they are
+always hidden in wet clay in these pockets. Solid stone will be all
+about them, with no trace of disintegrated matter, until a pocket is
+struck. Therein will be found separate stones of varying sizes, always
+sealed in a natural vacuum, which in some way forever retains moisture
+in the clay.</p>
+
+<p>"This peculiarity appealed to the superstitious natures of the Showut
+Poche-dakas. It is their age-old custom to bury their dead in pockets
+hacked in cliffs of solid stones, sealing them with a cement of clay and
+pulverized granite. One can readily see how the discovery of these
+beautiful gems, sealed in pockets as they sealed their dead, might
+affect them. They determined that the glittering stones represented the
+bodies of their ancestors, and from that time on the lilac-tinted gems
+became something to be worshipped and guarded faithfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Doubtless when Bolivio was appointed Watchman of the Dead he was told
+this secret, and learned where the stones were to be found. He got some
+of them, and sent them East to find out whether they were valuable. He
+polished two, and placed them in bridle <i>conchas</i>. Then before word came
+from New York the Indians stabbed him for his deceit.</p>
+
+<p>"His elaborate equestrian outfit remained with the tribe, and your
+father acquired it when he became Watchman of the Dead. For some reason
+unknown to him, the stones were allowed to remain in the <i>conchas</i>; and
+he told me that he always imagined them to be a symbol of his office.
+Anyway, you, Oliver Drew, are the Watchman of the Dead, and your right
+to own and use that gem-mounted bridle goes unchallenged by the Showut
+Poche-dakas."</p>
+
+<p>She paused reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>"All this your father told me," she presently continued. "He told me,
+too, that the secret place where the gems are to be found is on the Old
+Ivison Place. It was unclaimed land then, and your father camped there
+with his Indian wife, as was demanded of the Watchman of the Dead.
+Before his time, Bolivio had camped there. Later, Old Man Ivison
+homesteaded the place, knowing nothing of its strange history. He was a
+kindly old man, liked by everybody; and each year he allowed the Indians
+to hold their Mona Fiesta at The Four Pools. Though he had no idea why
+they held it in this exact spot each time&mdash;that up the slope above them
+was a hidden treasure that would have made the struggling homesteader
+rich for life.</p>
+
+<p>"Then your father told me the worst part of it all. He and Selden, it
+seems, had found out more of the story of Bolivio than is to be
+unravelled today, with most of the old-timers dead and gone and the
+Indians always closemouthed. Anyway, they two found out about the secret
+gems and the significance of the fire dance. So they had planned
+deliberately to marry Indian girls to further their knowledge of this
+matter.</p>
+
+<p>"It was understood between them that Adam Selden would intentionally
+fail to win out in the fire dance, and that Peter Drew, who was a
+Hercules for endurance and strength, would win if he could, and thus
+become Watchman of the Dead and learn the whereabouts of the brilliants.
+This scheme they carried out, and Peter Drew took up residence with his
+brown-skinned bride on what is today the Old Ivison Place.</p>
+
+<p>"Then he redeemed himself by falling in love with his wife. In time he
+found out where the gem pockets were situated. But when Selden came to
+him to see if he'd stumbled on to the secret, he put him off and said,
+'Not yet.'</p>
+
+<p>"From the date of the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio until the night
+of the Mona Fiesta he remained undecided what to do. Somehow or other,
+he told me, though he had been a highwayman and was then protected from
+the flimsy law of that day only by his Indian brothers, he could not
+bring himself to break faith with them.</p>
+
+<p>"Then came the night of the first Mona Fiesta since he became Watchman
+of the Dead; and that night temporarily decided him.</p>
+
+<p>"When he squatted in the circle about the fire and saw the rapt,
+tear-stained, brown faces of these people who had placed absolute faith
+in him, he fell under the spell of their simplicity, and swore that so
+long as he lived he would not betray their trust.</p>
+
+<p>"And he lived up to it, with his partner, Adam Selden importuning him
+daily to get the stones and skip the country. And finally to be rid of
+Selden and the double game he was obliged to play, Peter Drew left with
+his wife one night and did not return for fifteen years.</p>
+
+<p>"And since then there has been no Watchman of the Dead until the night
+you defeated the evil spirits in the fire dance.</p>
+
+<p>"Out in the world of white men Peter Drew settled down to ranching. His
+Indian wife had died two years after he left this country. With her
+gone, and the new order of things all about him, he began to wonder if
+he had not been a fool.</p>
+
+<p>"Up here in the lonesome hills was wealth untold, so far as he knew, and
+he renounced it for an ideal. To secure those gems he had only to show
+ingratitude to the Showut Poche-dakas, had only to break faith with a
+handful of ignorant, simple-minded Indians. What did they and their
+ridiculous beliefs amount to in this great scheme of life as he now saw
+it? Each day men on every hand were breaking faith to become wealthy,
+were trampling traditions and ideals underfoot to gain their golden
+ends. Business was business&mdash;money was money! Had he not been a fool?
+Was he not still a fool&mdash;to renounce a fortune that was his for the
+taking?</p>
+
+<p>"He called himself an ignorant man. He told himself&mdash;and truly,
+too&mdash;that countless men whom he knew, who had read a thousand books to
+one merely opened by him&mdash;men of education, men of affairs&mdash;would laugh
+at him, and themselves would have wrested the treasure from its hiding
+place without a qualm of conscience. Civilization was stalking on in its
+unconquerable march. Should a handful of uncouth Indians, a
+superstitious, dwindling tribe of near-savages, be permitted to handicap
+his part in this triumphal march? No&mdash;never!</p>
+
+<p>"But always, when he made ready to return to the scenes of his young
+manhood, there came before him the picture of brown, tear-stained faces
+about a fire, and of an old blind man speaking softly as if telling a
+story to eager children. Highwayman Peter Drew had been, but never in
+his life had he broken faith with a friend. Loyalty was the very
+backbone of my idealist, and he turned away from temptation and doggedly
+followed his plough.</p>
+
+<p>"For thirty years and more the question faced him. Should he get the
+gems and be wealthy, and break faith with those who had entrusted him
+with the greatest thing in their lives&mdash;these people who had called him
+brother, whose last remnant of food or shelter was his for the asking?
+Or should he remain an idealist, a poor man, but loyal to his trust? The
+answer was No or Yes!</p>
+
+<p>"Can't your imagination place you in his shoes? Unlettered, not sure of
+himself, ashamed of what he doubtless termed his chicken-heartedness.
+Don't you know that all of us are constantly ashamed of our secret
+ideals&mdash;ashamed of the best that is in us? We fear the ridicule of
+coarser minds, and hide what is Godlike in our hearts. And on top of
+this, your father was ignorant, according to present day standards, and
+knew it. But for thirty years, Oliver Drew, he prospered while his
+idealism fought the battle against the lust for wealth. Idealism won,
+but Peter Drew died not knowing whether he had been a wise man or a
+fool. He died a conqueror. Give us more of such ignorance!</p>
+
+<p>"And he educated you, left you penniless, and placed his momentous
+question in your keeping.</p>
+
+<p>"Fifteen years ago he bought the Old Ivison Place, though the Indians do
+not know it. Adam Selden has searched for the gems without result ever
+since Peter Drew left the country; and it was because of him that your
+father kept his purchase a secret. Two years ago, while you were in
+France, Peter Drew came here, met me and liked me, and told me all that
+I have told you.</p>
+
+<p>"He knew that when you rode into this country with the saddle and bridle
+of Bolivio that the Showut Poche-dakas would know who you were, and
+would take you in and make you Watchman of the Dead. Peter Drew wanted
+you to be penniless, as he had been when he first faced the question. He
+gave me money with which to help along the cause. So far I've only had
+to use it for liquid courtplaster, an <i>olla</i>, and a few bolts of calico.
+You were to learn nothing of the story from my lips. You were to face
+the question blindly, with no other influences about you save those that
+he had experienced.</p>
+
+<p>"I have done my best to carry out his wishes. You are the Watchman of
+the Dead. You own the land on which the treasure lies. You are brother
+of the Showut Poche-dakas. The treasure is yours almost for the lifting
+of a hand. You are almost penniless.</p>
+
+<p>"There's your question, Oliver Drew. Say Yes and the gems are yours. Say
+No, and you have forty acres of almost worthless land, a saddle horse
+and outfit, and youth and health, and the lifetime office of Watchman of
+the Dead!"</p>
+
+<p>She ceased speaking. There were tears in her great black eyes as she
+looked at him levelly.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;but&mdash;" Oliver floundered. "I don't know where the gems are. Selden
+has hunted them for thirty years, and has failed to find them. I've seen
+many evidences of his search. Will the Showut Poche-dakas tell me where
+they are?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your father thought that perhaps, after what has passed in connection
+with former Watchmen of the Dead, you might not be told the exact
+location. So he made provision for that."</p>
+
+<p>She reached in her bosom and handed him an envelope sealed with wax.</p>
+
+<p>On it he read in his father's hand:</p>
+
+<p>"Map showing exact location of what is known as the lost mine of
+Bolivio."</p>
+
+<p>"If you open it," she said, "your answer probably will be No, and you
+become owner of the gems. If you destroy it unopened, your answer is
+Yes, and you are a poor man. Yes or No, Oliver Drew? Think over it
+tonight, and I'll meet you here tomorrow at noon."</p>
+
+<p>"What do <i>you</i> want my answer to be?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I have no right to express my wishes in the matter," she said. "And
+your answer is not to be told to me, you must remember, but to your
+father's lawyers."</p>
+
+<p>Then she turned White Ann into the narrow trail that led from Lime Rock.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
+
+<h3>IN THE DEER PATH</h3>
+
+
+<p>The morning following the trip to Lime Rock, Oliver Drew sat at his
+little home-made desk, his mind not on the work before him. Tilted
+against the ink bottle stood the long, tough envelope that Jessamy had
+given him, its black-wax seals still unbroken. He stared at it with
+unseeing eyes.</p>
+
+<p>After they had left Lime Rock, Jessamy had given him a little more
+information on the subject which now loomed so big in his life.</p>
+
+<p>She thought, she had said, that for years the Showut Poche-dakas had
+suspected Old Man Selden of knowing something of their secret. They
+could not have missed seeing the gophering that the old man had done on
+the hillside above The Four Pools. She knew positively that the Indians
+had kept a watchful eye on him, and it could be for no other reason.</p>
+
+<p>The episode concerning Oliver's bayonet wound had come as a complete
+surprise to her. It seemed now, she said, that Peter Drew had
+communicated with Chupurosa not long before his death, and after
+Oliver's return from France, and had told him to be prepared for the
+coming of his son and how to make sure that he was genuine. She had not
+known that Peter Drew had been in the Poison Oak Country again, since he
+left after entrusting her with a hand in guiding Oliver's future.</p>
+
+<p>She told of having overheard Adam Selden and Oliver's conversation that
+night at Poison Oak Ranch, and of the other eavesdropper who had stolen
+down from the spring. She was almost sure, she told him, that this man
+was Digger Foss; but whether or not Foss knew of the treasure she could
+not determine. Apparently, though, he suspected something of the kind,
+and had been looking out for his own interests that night.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, it was the bridle and saddle and the gem-mounted <i>conchas</i> that had
+changed Selden's attitude toward Oliver. The underlying reason for his
+wishing Oliver off the Old Ivison Place had been the fear that the
+search for the gems, which he had carried on intermittently for so long,
+would be interrupted. But to his gang he had pretended that it was sheer
+deviltry that caused him to contemplate driving the newcomer out.</p>
+
+<p>Then a sight of the gem-mounted <i>conchas</i> of his old partner, and the
+fact that Oliver was at once taken into brotherhood by the Showut
+Poche-dakas changed his plans. Oliver knew of the gems and had come to
+seek them. He either was Dan Smeed's son, or had been taken into Dan
+Smeed's confidence. Oliver would become Watchman of the Dead. If he did
+not already know the location of the stones, he soon might learn it from
+the Indians. His friendship must be cultivated by all means, so that
+Selden might have the better chance of obtaining what he considered his
+rightful share of the treasure.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver had then told Jessamy of the prospect holes on the hillside, of
+Digger Foss's spying on the cabin, of Tommy My-Ma's strange actions, and
+of the lithia he had found.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, lithia is an indication of gems," she had told him. "And it would
+appear that Digger knows of the treasure, after all. Perhaps sometime
+Selden confided in him in a careless moment, to enlist his aid in the
+search. They're pretty confidential. Digger was watching your movements,
+to see if you had any definite idea of the location of the stones or
+were searching for them blindly. That's it! He knows! But still he's
+suspicious of Old Man Selden. All of the Poison Oakers are now. They
+think he's double-crossing them some way, since he made friends with
+you.</p>
+
+<p>"As for Tommy My-Ma trailing Digger, I'm not surprised. No doubt the
+Showut Poche-dakas are watching Old Man Selden and his gang as respects
+their attitude toward the new Watchman of the Dead. If the Poison Oakers
+had tried actually to molest you, I have an idea they'd have found
+they'd bitten off a chunk. I think they would have had fifty Showut
+Poche-dakas on their backs before they had gone very far."</p>
+
+<p>All this passed through Oliver's mind again and again this morning, as
+he sat there with pipe gone out and idle pencil in his fingers.</p>
+
+<p>What a romance that old father had woven about the life of his son! How
+skilfully and craftily he had planned so that Oliver would be thrown on
+his own resources for an answer when he came face to face with the
+question! How cleverly Jessamy had carried out the part entrusted to
+her, despite her aversion to intrigues and plottings! Step by step she
+had led him on till at last the question confronted him, just as it had
+confronted his father before him.</p>
+
+<p>To gain possession of the gems would be a simple matter. They were on
+his land somewhere&mdash;were his by every right in law. He had but to invoke
+the protection of the keepers of the peace against the Indians, break
+the seals of the long envelope, and dig in the place indicated by the
+map this envelope contained.</p>
+
+<p>But there was one thing which doubtless Peter Drew had not foreseen in
+his careful planning. He could not have known that his son was to fall
+desperately in love with the guiding star that he had appointed for him.
+And Oliver Drew knew in his heart that if he robbed the Indians of these
+gems, which were to them only a symbol and had no meaning connected with
+worldly wealth, he would lose the girl. The only thing that stood
+between Jessamy and him, he now believed, was her uncertainty of what
+his answer to the question would be. In her staunch heart she respected
+the belief of the Showut Poche-dakas, and to her the gems as a symbol
+were as worthy of her reverence as the Sacred Book of the Christians. "I
+have as much reverence for a bareheaded Indian girl on her knees to the
+Sun God as for a hooded nun counting her beads," she had said.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver stared at the inside of the cabin door, scarred and carved and
+full of bullet holes&mdash;at JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Drew could not have foreseen this phase of the situation. In
+securing the gems Oliver Drew not only would lose his self-respect and
+make his father's thirty years of sacrifice a mockery, but he would lose
+the girl he loved.</p>
+
+<p>So Oliver took small credit to himself when he rose from his desk at
+eleven o'clock, his mind made up.</p>
+
+<p>He placed the letter unopened in his shirt front, and went out and
+saddled Poche. Then he rode to the backbone and wormed his way along it
+toward Lime Rock.</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy was there ahead of him, sitting erect on White Ann's back,
+gazing upon the rugged objects of her daily adoration.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," she said, "you've come," and her level eyes searched him through
+and through.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he replied, riding to her side, "I've come; and my mind's made
+up."</p>
+
+<p>She raised her dark brows in an attempt to betoken a mild struggle
+between politeness and indifference; but the hand on her saddle horn
+trembled, and the red had gone out of her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"I must get out of here tomorrow," he said, "and go to Los Angeles. I've
+just about enough money to take me there and back; but I have the
+unbounded faith of an amateur in several farm articles now in editors'
+hands."</p>
+
+<p>She lowered black lashes over her eyes and nodded slowly up and down.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly," she said. "You must carry out Peter Drew's instructions to
+the letter."</p>
+
+<p>"But I can tell <i>you</i> what my answer to Dad's lawyers is going to be.
+I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't!" she cried, raising a protesting hand. "Not a word to me. My
+responsibility ceased when I placed the envelope in your hands. I'm no
+longer concerned in the matter. That is&mdash;" she hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, go on."</p>
+
+<p>"Until after you have made your report to the attorneys," she added.
+"Then, of course, I'll&mdash;I'll be sort of curious to know what your answer
+is."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll come straight back to tell you," he promised. "And&mdash;Why,
+what's the matter!"</p>
+
+<p>She had leaned forward suddenly in her saddle, and with wide eyes was
+looking down the precipice. Then before she could answer there came to
+Oliver's hearing the sound of a distant shot from the caņon.</p>
+
+<p>Now he saw a puff of white smoke above the willows on the river bank, a
+thousand feet below them. Then a second, and by and by another ringing
+report reached them, and the echoes of it went loping from wall to wall
+of the caņon.</p>
+
+<p>"Merciful heavens!" cried Jessamy. "It's Old Man Selden! He's shot! Look
+at him reel in his saddle! Oh, horrors!... There he goes down on the
+ground!... But he's not killed! There&mdash;he's on his feet and shooting!"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver, with open mouth, was staring down at the tragedy that had
+suddenly been staged for them in the river bed. Now several puffs of
+white smoke hung over the trees, and riders rode hither and thither like
+pigmies on pigmy horses. Now and then a stream of flame spurted
+horizontally, and at once another answered it. Then up barked the
+reports, followed by their mocking echoes.</p>
+
+<p>"It's come! It's come!" wailed Jessamy. "Obed Pence, likely as not, has
+opened fire on Old Man Selden, and the boys are after him. Look&mdash;there's
+Chuck and Bolar and Jay and Winthrop&mdash;and, oh, most all of them! It's a
+general fight. Oh, I knew it would come! I knew it! Obed Pence has been
+so nasty of late. They were all drunk last night. Poor mother! Oh, what
+shall we do, Oliver? What can we do? We can't get down to them!"</p>
+
+<p>"And could do nothing if we did," he said tensely.</p>
+
+<p>Down below six-shooters still popped, and the balls of smoke continued
+to grow in number over the willows. Horsemen dashed madly about,
+shouting, firing. The two watchers learned later that Obed Pence,
+supported by Muenster, Allegan, and Buchanan&mdash;all drunk for two days on
+the fiery monkey rum&mdash;had lain in wait for Old Man Selden, and Pence had
+ridden out and confronted him as he rode down the river trail,
+supposedly alone. But the Selden boys for days had been hovering in the
+background, to see that their father got a square deal when he and Obed
+Pence next met. Pence and Adam Selden had drawn simultaneously; but the
+hammer of the old man's Colt had caught in the fringe of his chaps, and
+Obed had shot him through the left lung. Knowing their father to be a
+master gunman, his sons, who had not been close enough to witness the
+encounter, had jumped to the conclusion that Pence had fired from
+ambush. They charged in accordingly, and opened fire on Pence, killing
+him instantly. Then Pence's supporters had ridden forth in turn, and the
+general gun fight was on.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't sit here and see them murdering one another!" Jessamy sobbed
+piteously. "They&mdash;they all may need killing, but&mdash;but I've lived with
+the old man and the boys, and&mdash;and&mdash;My mother!" The tears streamed down
+her cheeks as she made a trumpet of her hands and shouted down the
+precipice:</p>
+
+<p>"Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!"</p>
+
+<p>Only the echoes of her piercing cry made answer, and she wrung her hands
+and beat her breast in anguish.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going for help!" she cried abruptly. "They'll get behind trees
+pretty soon, and fight from cover. I'll ride to Halfmoon Flat for the
+constable and a posse to put a stop to this. Can't&mdash;can't you ride up
+the trail and find a way down to them, Oliver? Old Man Selden maybe will
+listen to you. Oh, maybe you can patch up peace between them!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try," said Oliver grimly.</p>
+
+<p>She wheeled White Ann and entered the narrow trail. Oliver followed.
+Recklessly she moved her mare at her rolling singlefoot along the
+dangerous trail, and eventually came out on the hillside. At once White
+Ann leaped forward and sped over the hills, a streak of silver in the
+noonday sun.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver loped Poche to an obscure deer path that led down to the river,
+and as swiftly as possible began negotiating it.</p>
+
+<p>He had not progressed twenty yards when the chaparral before him
+suddenly parted, and Digger Foss confronted him, his wicked Colt held
+waist-high and levelled.</p>
+
+<p>"Stick 'em up!" he growled. "Be quick!"</p>
+
+<p>Thoroughly surprised, Oliver reined in, and Poche began to dance.
+Mechanically Oliver raised his hands above his head, then almost
+regretted that he had not tried to draw. But the picture of Henry Dodd
+reeling against the legs of Jessamy's mare had been with him since his
+first day in the Poison Oakers' country. He knew that the halfbreed's
+aim was sure, and that his heart was a reservoir of venom.</p>
+
+<p>The first shock passed, his composure returned in a measure. There stood
+the halfbreed, spread-legged in the path. The lids of his Mongolic eyes
+were lowered, and the beads of jet glittered wickedly from under them.
+He was drunk as a lord, Oliver knew quite well from the augmented
+insolence of his cruel lips; but Oliver knew that he might be all the
+more deadly, and that some drunken gunmen can shoot better than when
+sober.</p>
+
+<p>"What is this?&mdash;a holdup?" he asked, and bit his lip as he noted the
+tremble in his tones.</p>
+
+<p>"A holdup is right," said Foss. "A holdup, an' a little business matter
+you and me's got to attend to."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, let's get at it!" Oliver snapped.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm gonta kill you after our business is settled," Foss told him in a
+matter-of-fact tone.</p>
+
+<p>A cold chill ran along Oliver's spine. Should he make a dive for his
+gun? Foss had every advantage, but&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Foss was stepping lazily nearer, his eyes intent on the horseman, his
+six-shooter ready.</p>
+
+<p>"Down there by the river they're fightin' it out all because o' you
+buttin' into this country, where you ain't wanted." Foss had come to a
+stop, and was leering up at him. "You've made trouble ever since you
+come here. Old Man won't get rid o' you, but I'm goin' to today. But
+first, where's them gems?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't tell you," said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a liar!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you. You have the advantage of me, you know. Slip your gun in the
+holster, and then call me a liar. I'll draw with you. My hands are
+up&mdash;you'll still have the advantage of having your hand closer to your
+gun butt."</p>
+
+<p>"D'ye think you could draw with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know it. And before you. Try it and see!"</p>
+
+<p>Foss studied over this. "Maybe&mdash;maybe!" he said. "I never did throw down
+on a man without givin' 'im a chance. But you got no chance with me,
+kid. They don't make 'em that can get the drop on Digger Foss!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take a chance," said Oliver quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll see about that later. But where's them stones?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, I tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"What did you come up in this country for?"</p>
+
+<p>"On matters that concern me alone."</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt o' that&mdash;or so you think. But they're interestin' to me, too.
+What's in that letter Jess'my handed you at Lime Rock yesterday?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you were sneaking about and saw that, were you! Through your
+glasses, I suppose. Well, I haven't opened it, and don't know what's in
+it. If I did I wouldn't tell you. My arms are growing a little tired.
+Will you holster your gun and give me a chance before my arms play out?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will if you come across with what you know about the gems. You might
+as well. If I kill you, you won't be worryin' about gems. And if you
+croak me, why, what if you did tell me?&mdash;I'm dead, ain't I?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's sound logic in that," said Oliver grimly. "I'll take you up.
+Put your gun in its holster and drop your hands to your sides. Then
+we'll draw, with your gun hand three feet nearer your gun than mine will
+be. Come! I've got business down below."</p>
+
+<p>The halfbreed's eyes widened in unbelief. "D'ye really mean it, kid? You
+saw me shoot Henry Dodd&mdash;d'ye really wanta draw with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do."</p>
+
+<p>"But then you'll be dead, and I won't know nothin' about the gems.
+Unless that letter tells?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps. You mustn't expect me to take <i>all</i> the chances, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Does the letter tell?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't opened it, I say."</p>
+
+<p>Foss studied in drunken seriousness. "And if you should happen to get
+me, why&mdash;why, where am I at again?" he puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver laughed outright. "You're an amusing creature," he said. "I don't
+believe you're half the badman that you imagine you are." He believed
+nothing of the sort, but his arms were growing desperately weary and he
+must goad the drunken gunman into immediate action.</p>
+
+<p>"There's just one thing that's the matter with you," he gibed on, ready
+to descend to any speech that would cut the killer and break his deadly
+calm. "That's my getting your girl away from you! It's not the gems;
+it's that that hurts you. Why, say, do you think she'd wipe her feet on
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>Into the eyes of the halfbreed came a viperish light that almost stilled
+Oliver's heartbeats. For an instant he feared that he had gone too far,
+that Foss was about to shoot him down in cold blood.</p>
+
+<p>Foss stood spread-legged in the path, as before, his face twisting with
+anger, the fingers of his left hand clinching and unclinching
+themselves. Then Oliver almost ceased to breathe as a silent, dark
+figure slipped wraithlike from the chaparral and began stealing toward
+the back of Digger Foss.</p>
+
+<p>"That settles it," said Foss. "I'll kill you for that, gems or no gems!
+Get ready! If you let down a hand while I'm puttin' up my gun I'll kill
+you like that!" He snapped the fingers of his left hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll stick by my bargain," Oliver assured him, his glance struggling
+between Foss and that silent figure slinking in his rear.</p>
+
+<p>What should he do? There was murder in the black eyes of the man who
+stole so stealthily upon the gunman's back. Should he shout to Foss? His
+sense of fair play cried out that he should. But Foss might misinterpret
+the meaning of his upraised voice, and fire. Should he&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Here goes! I'm puttin' up my gun. Get ready, kid! When I&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>There was a leap, a flash of steel in the sunlight, a scream of
+agonizing pain.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's gun was out and levelled; but Foss was staggering from side to
+side, his arms limp before him, his head lopped forward as if he
+searched for something on the ground. He collapsed and lay there gasping
+hideously in the path, in a growing pool of blood.</p>
+
+<p>The chaparral opened and closed again; and then only Oliver and the man
+in his death throes were remaining.</p>
+
+<p>Even as Bolivio had died, so died Digger Foss, in a path in the
+wilderness, with the knife of a Showut Poche-daka in his back.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE ANSWER</h3>
+
+
+<p>Two weeks had passed since the battle of the Poison Oakers. That
+organization was now no more. Jessamy's efforts to mobilize a posse to
+stop the fight had proved fruitless. Only the constable and Damon Tamroy
+rode back with her with first aid packages, for Halfmoon Flat had voiced
+its indifference in a single sentence&mdash;"Let 'em fight it out!" Those
+whom the constable would have deputized promptly made themselves scarce.</p>
+
+<p>So the Poison Oakers had fought it out, and in so doing appended "Finis"
+to the annals of their gang. Old Man Selden died two days after the
+battle. Winthrop was killed outright, and Moffat was seriously wounded,
+but might recover. Obed Pence was dead; Digger Foss was dead. Jay
+Muenster was dead. Thus half of their numbers were wiped out, and among
+them the controlling genius of the gang, Old Man Selden. And without him
+those remaining, already split into two factions, were as a ship without
+a rudder.</p>
+
+<p>And all because of Oliver Drew!</p>
+
+<p>Oliver stepped from the train at Halfmoon Flat this afternoon, two weeks
+after the fight. He had helped Jessamy and her mother through the
+difficulties arising from the tragedy, had appeared as witness at the
+inquest, and had then hurried to Los Angeles with his sealed envelope.
+Now, returning, he caught Poche in a pasture close to the village and
+saddled him.</p>
+
+<p>It was one o'clock in the afternoon. He had lunched on the diner, so at
+once he lifted Poche into his mile-devouring lope and headed straight
+for Poison Oak Ranch.</p>
+
+<p>What changes had taken place since first he galloped along that road,
+barely four months before! Few with whom he had come in contact were
+still pursuing the even tenor of their ways, as then. He thought of the
+fight and of the spectacular death of Digger Foss. At the inquest he had
+been unable to throw any light on the identity of the halfbreed's
+murderer. He was an Indian&mdash;beyond this Oliver could say no more. The
+coroner had quizzed him sharply. Whereupon Oliver had asked that
+official if he himself thought it likely that he could have looked into
+the muzzle of a Colt revolver in the hands of Digger Foss, and at the
+same time make sure of the identity of a man stealing up behind him. The
+coroner had scratched his head. "I reckon I'd 'a' been tol'able
+int'rested in that gun o' Digger's," was his confession.</p>
+
+<p>And Oliver had told the truth. To this day he does not know who killed
+the gunman&mdash;but he knows that in all probability his own life was saved
+when it occurred, and that it was a Showut Poche-daka who struck the
+blow.</p>
+
+<p>At Poison Oak Ranch he found Jessamy awaiting him. He had sent her a
+wire the day before, telling her he was coming, and the hour he would
+arrive.</p>
+
+<p>They shook hands soberly, and after a short conversation with Mrs.
+Selden, Oliver saddled White Ann for Jessamy and they rode away into the
+hills. They were for the most part silent as their horses jogged along
+manzanita-bordered trails. Instinctively they avoided Lime Rock and its
+vicinity, and made toward the north, up over the hog-back hills, now
+sear and yellow, which climbed in interminable ranks to the snowy peaks.
+They came to a ledge that overlooked the river, and here they halted
+while the girl gazed down on scenes that never wearied her.</p>
+
+<p>They dismounted presently and seated themselves on two great grey
+stones. Jessamy rested her round chin in her hand, and from under long
+lashes watched the green river winding about its serpentine curves
+below.</p>
+
+<p>The tragedy of death had left its mark on her face. There was a sober,
+half-pathetic droop to the red lips. The comradely black eyes were
+thoughtful. But the self-reliant poise of the sturdy shoulders still was
+hers, and the sense of strength that she exhaled was not impaired.</p>
+
+<p>Her dress today was not rugged, as was ordinarily the case when she rode
+into the hills. She wore a black divided skirt, and a low-neck
+yellow-silk waist, trimmed with black, and a black-silk sailor's
+neckerchief. To further this effect a yellow rose nestled in her
+night-black hair. She looked like a gorgeous California oriole, so trim
+was her figure, so like that bird's were the contrast of colours she
+displayed. And her voice when she spoke, low and clear and throbbing
+melodiously, reminded him of the notes of this same sweet songster at
+nesting time.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver sat looking at the profile of her face, with the wind-whipped
+hair about it. More fully than ever now he realized that she was
+everything in life to him. And today&mdash;now!&mdash;smilingly, unabashed.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Jessamy," he began, "I have seen Dad's lawyers." She turned her
+face toward him, but still rested her elbow on her knee, one cheek now
+cupped by her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said softly. "Tell me all about it."</p>
+
+<p>"And I gave them my answer to the question."</p>
+
+<p>For several moments her level glance searched his face, a little smile
+on her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"And what is your answer?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>He rose and moved to the stone on which she sat, seating himself beside
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you know what my answer is?" he asked softly.</p>
+
+<p>She continued to look at him fearlessly, smilingly, unabashed.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I know," she said. "But tell me."</p>
+
+<p>"My answer," he said, "is the same that dear old Dad kept repeating for
+thirty years. I shall not enrich myself by sacrificing the confidence
+placed in me. I shall remain loyal to my simple trust. I am the Watchman
+of the Dead."</p>
+
+<p>Her lips quivered and her eyes glowed warmly, and two tears trickled
+down her cheeks. Oliver took from his shirt the envelope and showed her
+the black seals, still unbroken. Then on a flat rock before them he made
+a tiny fire of grass and twigs, and placed the envelope on top of it.
+Then he lighted a match.</p>
+
+<p>"The funeral pyre of my worldly fortune!" he apostrophized. "The lost
+mine of Bolivio will be lost indeed when the map has burned."</p>
+
+<p>Together they watched the tiny fire in silence, till the black wax
+sputtered and dripped down on the stone, and the eager flames crinkled
+the envelope and its contents and reduced them to ashes.</p>
+
+<p>"And now?" said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"And now!" echoed Jessamy.</p>
+
+<p>He slowly placed both arms about her and lifted her, unresisting, to her
+feet. He drew her close, brushed back her hair, and looked deep into
+eyes from which tears streamed unrestrained. Then she threw her arms
+about his shoulders, and, with a glad laugh, half hysterical, she drew
+his head down and kissed him time and again.</p>
+
+<p>His hour had come. Oliver Drew had captured the star that had led him on
+and on&mdash;his Star of Destiny. Warm were her lips and tremulous&mdash;glowing
+were her eyes for love of him. His pulse leaped madly as she gave
+herself to him in absolute surrender.</p>
+
+<p>"There's another matter," he said five minutes later, as she lay silent
+in his arms, with the fragrance of her hair in his nostrils. "Old
+Danforth, the head of the firm of attorneys that attended to Dad's
+affairs, looked at me keenly from under shaggy brows when I gave my
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>"'So it's No, is it, young man?' he said.</p>
+
+<p>"'No it is,' I told him.</p>
+
+<p>"'In that case,' he said, 'you are to come with me.'</p>
+
+<p>"He took me to a bank and opened a safe-deposit box in the vaults. He
+showed me bonds totalling over a hundred thousand dollars, and cash that
+represented the interest coupons the firm had been clipping since Dad
+died.</p>
+
+<p>"'Here's the key,' he told me. 'If your answer had been yes, these
+bonds, too, would have gone to the church. For then you would have had
+the gems. Your father didn't mean to leave you penniless. You would have
+been fairly well off, I imagine, whether your answer had been Yes or No.
+Your father wanted his question answered by a man of education, and I
+think he would be pleased at your decision.'"</p>
+
+<p>Jessamy had straightened and twisted in his arms till her face was close
+to his.</p>
+
+<p>"Peter Drew never hinted at that to me!" she cried. "I&mdash;I suppose you'd
+have nothing but the Old Ivison Place if you answered No. Oh, my
+romantic Old Peter Drew! God rest his soul! I'm so glad."</p>
+
+<p>"Glad, eh?" He smiled whimsically at her, and she quickly interpreted
+his thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but, Oliver&mdash;you don't understand! It's not that you're wealthy,
+after all&mdash;but now you can give Damon Tamroy just what the cement
+company would have paid him for Lime Rock!"</p>
+
+<p>"Lime Rock shall be your wedding gift," he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Oliver! And&mdash;and when we're&mdash;married, you won't take me away from
+the Poison Oak Country, will you, dear! I'll go anywhere you say&mdash;but
+these hills, and the river, and Lime Rock, and Old Dad Sloan, and&mdash;my
+Hummingbird&mdash;and the perfume of the manzanita blossoms in
+spring&mdash;and&mdash;oh, I love my country next to you, dear heart! And in my
+dreams I loved you even before you came riding to me in the
+silver-mounted saddle of Bolivio, like a knight out of the past. This is
+my country&mdash;and if we must go, I'll pine for it&mdash;and maybe die like the
+Indian bride. I want to stay here, Oliver dear&mdash;with you&mdash;down on the
+dear Old Ivison Place!"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver tenderly kissed his Star of Destiny. "I have no other plans," he
+whispered into her ear. "My place is there.... I am the Watchman of the
+Dead!"</p>
+
+
+<h3>THE END</h3>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Heritage of the Hills, by Arthur P. Hankins
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+Project Gutenberg's The Heritage of the Hills, by Arthur P. Hankins
+
+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: The Heritage of the Hills
+
+Author: Arthur P. Hankins
+
+Release Date: November 30, 2010 [EBook #34507]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Darleen Dove, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                       THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS
+
+                         BY ARTHUR P. HANKINS
+
+                  Author of "THE JUBILEE GIRL," Etc.
+
+
+    NEW YORK
+    DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
+    1922
+
+    COPYRIGHT, 1921, 1922
+    BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.
+
+    PRINTED IN U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+I AT HONEYMOON FLAT
+
+II PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE
+
+III B FOR BOLIVIO
+
+IV THE FIRST CALLER
+
+V "AND I'LL HELP YOU!"
+
+VI ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS
+
+VII LILAC SPODUMENE
+
+VIII POISON OAK RANCH
+
+IX NANCY FIELD'S WINDFALL
+
+X JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD
+
+XI CONCERNING SPRINGS AND SHOWUT POCHE-DAKA
+
+XII THE POISON OAKERS RIDE
+
+XIII SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS
+
+XIV HIGH POWER
+
+XV THE FIRE DANCE
+
+XVI A GUEST AT THE RANCHO
+
+XVII THE GIRL IN RED
+
+XVIII SPIES
+
+XIX CONTENTIONS
+
+XX "WAIT!"
+
+XXI "WHEN WE MEET AGAIN!"
+
+XXII THE WATCHMAN OF THE DEAD
+
+XXIII THE QUESTION
+
+XXIV IN THE DEER PATH
+
+XXV THE ANSWER
+
+
+
+
+The Heritage of the Hills
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+AT HALFMOON FLAT
+
+
+The road wound ever upward through pines and spruce and several
+varieties of oak. Some of the latter were straight, some sprawling, all
+massive. Now and then a break in the timber revealed wooded hills beyond
+green pasture lands, and other hills covered with dense growths of
+buckhorn and manzanita. Poison oak grew everywhere, and, at this time of
+year--early spring--was most prolific, most beautiful in its dark rich
+green, most poisonous.
+
+Occasionally the lone horseman crossed a riotous stream, plunging down
+from the snow-topped Sierras in the far distance. Rail fences, for the
+most part in a tumbledown condition, paralleled the dirt road here and
+there.
+
+At long intervals they passed tall, old-fashioned ranch houses, with
+their accompanying stables, deciduous orchards and still dormant
+vineyards, wandering turkeys and mud-incrusted pigs. An air of decay and
+haphazard ambition pervaded all these evidences of the dwelling places
+of men.
+
+"Well, Poche," remarked Oliver Drew, "it's been a long, hard trip, but
+we're getting close to home." The man spoke the word "home" with a touch
+of bitterness.
+
+The rangy bay saddler slanted his left ear back at Oliver Drew and
+quickened his walking-trot.
+
+"No, no!" laughed Oliver, tightening the reins. "All the more reason we
+should take it easy today, old horse. Don't you ever tire?"
+
+For an hour Poche climbed steadily. Now he topped the summit of the
+miniature mountain, and Oliver stopped him to gaze down fifteen hundred
+feet into the timbered canyon of the American River. Even the cow-pony
+seemed enthralled with the grandeur of the scene--the wooded hills
+climbing shelf by shelf to the faraway mist-hung mountains; the green
+river winding its serpentine course far below. Far up the river a gold
+dredger was at work, the low rumble of its machinery carried on the soft
+morning breeze.
+
+Half an hour later Poche ambled briskly into the little town of Halfmoon
+Flat, snuggled away in the pines and spruces, sunflecked, indolent,
+content. It suited Oliver's mood, this lazy old-fashioned Halfmoon Flat,
+with its one shady "business" street, its false-front, one-story shops
+and stores, redolent still of the glamorous days of '49.
+
+He drew up before a saloon to inquire after the road he should take out
+of town to reach his destination. The loungers about the door of the
+place all proved to be French- or Spanish-Basque sheep herders; and
+their agglutinative language was as a closed book to the traveler. So he
+dropped the reins from Poche's neck and entered the dark, low-ceiled
+bar-room, with its many decorations of dusty deer antlers on fly-specked
+walls.
+
+All was strangely quiet within. There were no patrons, no bartender
+behind the black, stained bar. He saw this white-aproned personage,
+however, a fat, wide, sandy-haired man, standing framed by the rear
+door, his back toward the front. Through a dirty rear window Oliver saw
+men in the back yard--silent, motionless men, with faces intent on
+something of captivating interest, some silent, muscle-tensing event.
+
+With awakened wonder he walked to the fat bartender's back and looked
+out over his shoulder. Strange indeed was the scene that was revealed.
+
+Perhaps twenty men were in an unfenced portion of the lot behind the
+saloon. Some of them had been pitching horseshoes, for two stood with
+the iron semicircles still in hand. Every man there gazed with silent
+intensity at two central figures, who furnished the drama.
+
+The first, a squat, dark, slit-eyed man of about twenty-five, lazed in a
+big Western saddle on a lean roan horse. His left spurred heel stood
+straight out at right angles to the direction in which his horse faced.
+He hung in the saddle by the bend in his right leg, the foot out of the
+stirrup, the motionless man facing to the right, a leering grin on his
+face, half whimsical, half sardonic. That he was a fatalist was
+evidenced by every line on his swarthy, hairless face; for he looked
+sneering indifference into the wavering muzzle of a Colt .45, in the
+hand of the other actor in the pantomime. His own Colt lay passive
+against his hip. His right forearm rested across his thigh, the hand far
+from the butt of the weapon. A cigarette drooped lazily from his
+grinning lips. Yet for all his indifferent calm, there was in his
+glittering, Mongolic eyes an eagle watchfulness that bespoke the fires
+of hatred within him.
+
+The dismounted man who had the drop on him was of another type. Tall,
+angular, countrified, he personified the popular conception of a
+Connecticut yankee. He boiled with silent rage as he stood, with long
+body bent forward, threatening the other with his enormous gun. Despite
+the present superiority of his position, there was something of pathos
+in his lean, bronzed face, something of a nature downtrodden, of the
+worm suddenly turned.
+
+For seconds that seemed like ages the two statuesque figures confronted
+each other. Men breathed in short inhalations, as if fearful of breaking
+the spell. Then the threatened man in the saddle puffed out a cloud of
+cigarette smoke, and drawled sarcastically:
+
+"Well, why don't you shoot, ol'-timer? You got the drop."
+
+Complete indifference to his fate marked the squat man's tone and
+attitude. Only those small black eyes, gleaming like points of jet from
+under the lowered Chinamanlike lids, proclaimed that the other had
+better make a thorough piece of work of this thing that he had started.
+
+The lank man found his tongue at the sound of the other's voice.
+
+"Why don't I shoot, you coyote whelp! Why don't I shoot! You know why!
+Because they's a law in this land, that's why! I oughta kill ye, an'
+everybody here knows it, but I'd hang for it."
+
+The man on the roan blew another puff of smoke. "You oughta thought o'
+that when you threw down on me," he lazily reminded the other. "_You_
+ain't got no license packin' a gun, pardner."
+
+The expression that crossed his antagonist's face was one of torture,
+bafflement. It proved that he knew the mounted man had spoken truth. He
+was no killer. In a fit of rage he had drawn his weapon and got the drop
+on his enemy, only to shrink from the thought of taking a human life and
+from the consequences of such an act. But he essayed to bluster his way
+out of the situation in which his uncontrollable wrath had inveigled
+him.
+
+"I can't shoot ye in cold blood!" he hotly cried. "I'm not the skunk
+that you are. I'm too much of a man. I'll let ye go this time. But mind
+me--if you or any o' your thievin' gang pesters me ag'in, I'll--I'll
+kill ye!"
+
+"Better attend to that little business right now, pardner," came the
+fatalist's smooth admonition.
+
+"Don't rile me too far!" fumed the other. "God knows I could kill ye an'
+never fear for the hereafter. But I'm a law-abidin' man, an'"--the
+six-shooter in his hand was wavering--"an' I'm a law-abidin' man," he
+repeated, floundering. "So this time I'll let ye--"
+
+A fierce clatter of hoofs interrupted him. Down the street, across the
+board sidewalk, into the lot back of the saloon dashed a white horse, a
+black-haired girl astride in the saddle. She reined her horse to its
+haunches, scattering spectators right and left.
+
+"Don't lower that gun!" she shrieked. "Shoot! Kill him!"
+
+Her warning came too late. It may have been, even, that instead of a
+warning it was a knell. For a loud report sent the echoes galloping
+through the sleepy little town. The man on the ground, who had half
+lowered his gun as the girl raced in, threw up both hands, and went
+reeling about drunkenly. Another shot rang out. The squat man still
+lolled in his saddle, facing to the right. The gun that he had drawn in
+a flash when the other's indecision had reached a climax was levelled
+rigidly from his hip, the muzzle slowly following his staggering,
+twice-wounded enemy.
+
+In horror the watchers gazed, silent. The stricken man reeled against
+the legs of the girl's horse, strove to clasp them. The animal snorted
+at the smell of blood and reared. His temporary support removed, the man
+collapsed, face downward, on the ground, turned over once, lay still.
+
+The squat man slowly holstered his gun. Then the first sound to break
+the silence since the shots was his voice as he spoke to the girl.
+
+"Much obliged, Jess'my," he said; then straightened in his saddle,
+spurred the roan, and dashed across the sidewalk to disappear around the
+corner of the building. A longdrawn, derisive "Hi-yi!" floated back, and
+the clatter of the roan's hoofbeats died away.
+
+The girl had sprung from her mare and was bending over the fallen man.
+The others crowded about her now, all talking at once. She lifted a
+white, tragic face to them, a face so wildly beautiful that, even under
+the stress of the moment, Oliver Drew felt that sudden fierce pang of
+desire which the first startled sight of "the one woman" brings to a
+healthy, manly man.
+
+"He's dead! I've killed him!" she cried.
+
+"No, no, no, Miss Jessamy," protested a hoarse voice quickly. "You
+wasn't to blame."
+
+"O' course not!" chorused a dozen.
+
+"He'd 'a' lowered that gun," went on her first consoler. "He was backin'
+out when you come, Miss Jessamy. An' as sure as he'd took his gun off
+Digger Foss, Digger'd 'a' killed 'im. It was a fool business from the
+start, Miss Jessamy."
+
+"Then why didn't some of you warn this man?" she flamed. "You cowards!
+Are you afraid of Digger Foss? Oh, I--"
+
+"Now, looky-here, Miss Jessamy," soothed the spokesman, "bein' afraid o'
+Digger Foss ain't got anything to do with it. It wasn't our fight. We
+had no call to butt in. Men don't do that in a gun country, Miss
+Jessamy--you know that. This fella pulled on Digger, then lost his
+nerve. What you told 'im to do, Miss Jessamy, was right. Man ain't got
+no call to throw down on another one unless he intends to shoot. You
+know that, Miss Jessamy--you as much as said so."
+
+For answer the girl burst into tears. She rose, and the silent men stood
+back for her. She mounted and rode away without another word, wiping
+fiercely at her eyes with a handkerchief.
+
+Four men carried the dead man away. The rest, obviously in need of a
+stimulant, crowded in and up to the black bar. Oliver joined them. The
+weird sight that he had witnessed had left him weak and sick at the
+stomach.
+
+Silently the fat, blond bartender set out whisky glasses, then looked
+hesitatingly at the stranger.
+
+"Go ahead, Swede," encouraged a big fellow at Oliver's left. "He needs
+one, too. He saw it."
+
+The bartender shrugged, thumped a glass toward Oliver, and broke the
+laws of the land.
+
+"What was it all about?" Oliver, encouraged by this confidence, asked of
+the big, goodnatured man who had vouched for him on sight.
+
+The other looked him over. "This fella Dodd," he said, "started
+something he couldn't finish--that's all. Dodd's had it in for Digger
+Foss and the Selden boys and some more of 'em for a year. Selden was
+runnin' cattle on Dodd's land, and Dodd claimed they cut fences to _get_
+'em on. I don't know what all was between 'em. There's always bad blood
+between Old Man Selden and his boys and the rest o' the Poison Oakers,
+and somebody.
+
+"Anyway," he went on, "this mornin' Henry Dodd comes in and gets the
+drop on Digger Foss, who's thick with the Seldens, and is one o' the
+Poison Oakers; and then Dodd ain't got the nerve to shoot. You saw what
+it cost him. Fill 'em up again, boys."
+
+"I can't understand that girl," Oliver remarked. "Why, she rode in and
+told the man to shoot--to kill."
+
+"And wasn't she right?"
+
+"None of the rest of you did it, as she pointed out to you."
+
+"No--men wouldn't do that, I reckon. But a woman's different. They butt
+in for what they think's right, regardless. But I look at it like this,
+pardner: Dodd's a grown man and is packin' a hip gun. Why's he packin'
+it if he don't mean to use it? Only a kid ought to be excused from
+flourishin' iron like he did. He was just lettin' off steam. But he
+picked the wrong man to relieve himself on. If he'd 'a' killed Digger,
+as Miss Jessamy told him to, maybe he'd a hung for it. But he'd a had a
+chance with a jury. Where if he took his gat offen Digger Foss, it was
+sure death. I knew it; all of us knew it. And I knew he was goin' to
+lower it after he'd painted pictures in the air with it and thought he'd
+convinced all of us he was a bad man, and all that. He'd never pulled
+the trigger, and Digger Foss knew it."
+
+"Then if this Digger Foss knew he was only bluffing, he--why, he
+practically shot the man in cold blood!" cried Oliver.
+
+"Not practically but ab-so-lutely. Digger knew he was within the law, as
+they say. While he knew Dodd wouldn't shoot, no prosecutin' attorney can
+_prove_ that he knew it. Dodd had held a gun on him and threatened to
+kill 'im. When Digger gets the chance he takes it--makes his lightin'
+draw and kills Dodd. On the face of it it's self-defence, pure and
+simple, and Digger'll be acquitted. He'll be in tonight and give himself
+up to the constable. He knows just where he stands."
+
+Oliver's informant tossed off his liquor.
+
+"And Miss Jessamy knew all this--see?" he continued. "She savvies
+gunmen. She ought to, bein' a Selden. At least she calls herself a
+Selden, but her right name's Lomax. Old Man Selden married a widow, and
+this girl's her daughter. Well, she rides in and tells Dodd to shoot.
+She knew it was his life or Digger's, after he'd made that crack. But
+the poor fool!--Well, you saw what happened. Don't belong about here, do
+you, pardner?"
+
+"I do now," Oliver returned. "I'm just moving in, as it were. I own
+forty acres down on Clinker Creek. I came in here to inquire the way,
+and stumbled onto this tragedy."
+
+"On Clinker Creek! What forty?"
+
+"It's called the Old Tabor Ivison Place."
+
+"Heavens above! You own the Old Tabor Ivison Place?"
+
+"So the recorder's office says--or ought to."
+
+For fully ten seconds the big fellow faced Oliver, his blue eyes
+studying him carefully, appraisingly.
+
+"Well, by thunder!" he muttered at last. "Tell me about it, pardner. My
+name's Damon Tamroy."
+
+"Mine is Oliver Drew," said Oliver, offering his hand.
+
+"Well, I'll be damned!" ejaculated Tamroy in a low voice, his eyes, wide
+with curiosity, devouring Oliver. "The Old Ivison Place!"
+
+"You seem surprised."
+
+"Surprised! Hump! Say--le'me tell you right here, pardner; don't _you_
+ever pull a gun on any o' the Poison Oakers and act like Henry Dodd did.
+Maybe it's well you saw what was pulled off today--if you'll only
+remember when you get down there on the Tabor Ivison Place."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+PETER DREW'S LAST MESSAGE
+
+
+"I'll take a seegar," Mr. Damon Tamroy replied in response to Oliver's
+invitation.
+
+They lighted up and sat at a card-table against one wall of the gloomy
+saloon.
+
+"You speak of this as a gun country," remarked Oliver.
+
+"Well, it's at least got traditions," returned Mr. Tamroy, adding the
+unlettered man's apology for his little fanciful flight, "'as the fella
+says.' Like father like son, you know. The Seldens are gunmen. Old Adam
+Selden's dad was a 'Forty-niner; and Adam Selden--the Old Man Selden of
+today--was born right close to here when his dad was about twenty-five
+years old. Le's see--that makes Old Adam 'round about seventy. But he's
+spry and full o' pep, and one o' the best rifle shots in the country.
+
+"He takes after the old man, who was a bad actor in the days o'
+'Forty-nine, and his boys take after him. They're a bad outfit, takin'
+'em all in all. The boys are Hurlock, Moffat, Bolar, and Winthrop--four
+of 'em. All gunmen. Then there's Jessamy Selden--the only girl--who
+ain't rightly a Selden at all. None o' the old man's blood in Jessamy,
+o' course. Mis' Selden--she was an Ivison before she married
+Lomax--Myrtle Ivison was her name--she's a fine lady. But she won't
+leave the old man for all his wickedness, and Miss Jessamy won't leave
+her mother. So there you are!"
+
+"I see," said Oliver musingly, not at all displeased with the present
+subject of conversation.
+
+"Now, here's this Digger Foss," Tamroy went on. "He's half-American,
+quarter-Chinaman, and quarter-Digger-Indian. The last's what gives him
+his name. There's a tribe o' Digger Indians close to here. He's killed
+two men and got away with it. Now he's added a third to his list, and
+likely he'll get away with that. The rest o' the Poison Oakers are Obed
+Pence, Ed Buchanan, Jay Muenster, and Chuck Allegan--ten in all."
+
+"Just what are the Poison Oakers?" Oliver asked as Damon Tamroy paused
+reflectively.
+
+"Well, _anybody_ who lives in this country is called a Poison Oaker.
+You're one now. The woods about this country are full o' poison oak, and
+that's where we get the name. That's what outsiders call us. But when we
+ourselves speak of Poison Oakers we mean Old Man Selden's gang--him, his
+four sons, and the hombres I just mentioned--a regular old back-country
+gang o' rowdies, toughs, would-be bad men. You know what I mean.
+
+"They just drifted together by natural instinct, I reckon. Old Man
+Selden shot a man up around Willow Twig, and come clean at the trial.
+Obed Pence is a thief, and did a stretch for cattle rustlin' here about
+three years ago. Chuck and Ed have both done something to make 'em
+eligible--knife fightin' at country dances, and the like. And the Selden
+boys are chips off the old block."
+
+"But what is the gang's particular purpose?"
+
+"Meanness, s'far's I c'n see! Just meanness! Old Man Selden owns a ranch
+down your way that you can get to only by a trail. No wheeled vehicle
+can get in. All the boys live there with him. Kind of a colony, for two
+o' the boys are married. The other Poison Oakers live here and there
+about the country, on ranches. Ambition don't worry none of 'em much.
+Old Man Selden's said to distil jackass brandy, but it's never been
+proved."
+
+"Now about the Old Tabor Ivison Place?" said Oliver.
+
+"Well, it's there yet, I reckon; but I ain't been down that way for
+years. Now and then a deer hunt leads me into Clinker Creek Canyon, but
+not often.
+
+"It's a lonely, deserted place, and the road to it is fierce. Several
+families lived down in there thirty years ago; but the places have been
+abandoned long since, and all the folks gone God knows where. It's a
+pretty country if a fella likes trees and rocks and things, and wild and
+rough; but down in that canyon it's too cold for pears and such
+fruit--and that's about all we raise on these rocky hills.
+
+"Old Tabor Ivison homesteaded your place. He's been dead matter o'
+fifteen years. Died down there. For years he'd lived there all by
+'imself. Good old man. Asked for little in life--and got it.
+
+"But for years now all that country's been abandoned. There's pretty
+good pickin's down in there; and Old Man Selden and some more o' the
+Poison Oakers have been runnin' cattle on all of it."
+
+"I'm glad there's pasture," Oliver interposed.
+
+"Oh, pasture's all right. But Selden's outfit has looked at that land as
+theirs for so long that you won't find it particularly congenial. You're
+bound to have trouble with the Poison Oakers, Mr. Drew, and I'd consider
+the land not worth it. Why, I can buy a thousan' acres down in there for
+two and a half an acre! You'll starve to death if you have to depend on
+that forty for a livin'. How come you to own the place?"
+
+"My father willed it to me," Oliver replied.
+
+"Your father?"
+
+"Yes, Peter Drew. Have you ever heard of him?"
+
+"No," returned Damon Tamroy. "I reckon he was here before my time. How'd
+he come by the place? I thought one o' the Ivison girls--Nancy--still
+owned it."
+
+"I'm sure I can't tell you how Dad came to own it," Oliver made answer.
+"I haven't an abstract of title. I know, though, that Dad owned it for
+some time before his death."
+
+"Well, well!" Damon Tamroy's eyes roved curiously over the young man
+once more. They steadied themselves on the silver-mounted Spanish spurs
+on Oliver's riding boots. "Travellin' horseback?" he wanted to know, and
+his look of puzzlement deepened.
+
+"Yes," said Oliver a little bitterly. "I'm riding about all that I
+possess in this world, since you have pronounced the Old Tabor Ivison
+Place next to worthless." He grew thoughtful. "You're puzzled over me,"
+he smiled at last. "Frankly, though, you're no more puzzled over me than
+I am over myself and my rather odd situation. I'm a man of mystery." He
+laughed. "I think I'll tell you all about it.
+
+"As far back as I can remember, my home has been on a cow ranch in the
+southern part of the state. I can't remember my mother, who died when I
+was very young. I always thought my father wealthy until he died, two
+weeks ago, and his will was read to me. He had orange and lemon groves
+besides the cattle ranch, and was a stockholder in a substantial country
+bank. I was graduated at the State University, and went from there to
+France. Since, I've been resting up and sort of managing Dad's property.
+
+"My father was a peculiar man, and was never overly confidential with
+me. He was uneducated, as the term is understood today--a
+rough-and-ready old Westerner who had made his strike and settled down
+to peaceful days--or so I always imagined. But two weeks ago he died
+suddenly from a stroke of apoplexy; and when his will was read to me I
+got a jolt from which I haven't yet recovered.
+
+"The home ranch and the other real estate, together with all livestock
+and appurtenances--with one exception, which I shall mention later--were
+willed to the Catholic Church, to be handled as they saw fit. It seemed
+that there was little else to be disposed of. I was left five hundred
+dollars in cash, a saddle horse named Poche, a silver-mounted bridle and
+saddle and martingales, the old Spanish spurs you see on my feet, and
+the Old Tabor Ivison Place, in Chaparral County, of which I knew almost
+nothing. That was all--with the exception of the written instructions in
+my father's handwriting that were given me by his lawyers. Maybe you can
+throw some light on the matter, Mr. Tamroy. Would you care to hear my
+father's last message to me?"
+
+Tamroy evinced his eagerness by scraping forward his chair.
+
+Oliver took from a leather billbook a folded piece of paper. "I don't
+know that I ought to," he smiled, "but, after all, I'll never learn the
+mystery of it if I keep the matter from people about here. So here goes:
+
+     "'_My dear son Oliver_:
+
+     "'As you know perfectly well, I am an ignorant old Westerner.
+     There is no use mincing matters in regard to this. When I was
+     young I didn't have much of a chance to get an education; but
+     when I grew up and married, and you was born, I said you'd
+     never be allowed to grow up in ignorance like I did. So I tried
+     to give you an education, and you didn't fail me.'
+
+     "'I did this for a double purpose, Oliver. I knew that I was
+     going to die someday, and that then you'd have to settle a
+     little matter that's bothered me since before you was born. For
+     pretty near thirty years, Oliver, I've had a problem to fight;
+     and I never knew how to settle the matter because I wasn't
+     educated. So I let it rest and waited for you to grow up, and
+     go through college. And now that's happened; and you're
+     educated and fit to answer the question that's bothered me for
+     nearly half my life. The answer is either Yes or No, and you've
+     got to find out which is right.'
+
+     "'I'm leaving you Poche, the best cow horse in Southern
+     California, my old silver-mounted saddle that's carried me
+     thousands of miles, the martingales, and my old silver-mounted
+     bridle, which same three things made me the envy of all the
+     vaqueros of the Clinker Creek Country over thirty years ago,
+     and my Spanish spurs that go along with the outfit. These
+     things, Oliver, and five hundred dollars in Cash, and forty
+     acres of land on Clinker Creek, in Chaparral county, called the
+     Old Tabor Ivison Place.'
+
+     "'They are all you'll need to find the answer to the question
+     that's bothered me for thirty years. Buckle on the spurs, throw
+     the saddle on Poche, bridle him, put the five hundred dollars
+     and the deed to the Old Tabor Ivison Place in your jeans, and
+     hit the trail for Clinker Creek. Stay there till you know
+     whether the answer is Yes or No. Then go to my lawyers and tell
+     them which it is. And the God of your mother go with you!'
+
+     "'Your affectionate father,'
+
+     "'PETER DREW.'
+
+     "'In his seventy-third year.'"
+
+Oliver folded the paper. Damon Tamroy only sat and stared at him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+B FOR BOLIVIO
+
+
+"Boy," said the kindly Mr. Tamroy, leaning forward toward Oliver Drew,
+"those are the queerest last words of a father to his son that I ever
+listened to. What on earth you goin' to do?"
+
+Oliver shrugged and spread his hands. "Keep on obeying instructions," he
+said. "I've followed them to the letter so far. I'm only a few miles
+from my destination, and I've ridden in the silver-mounted saddle on
+Poche's back the entire five hundred miles and over. My father was not a
+fool. He was of sound mind, I fully believe, when he wrote that message
+for me. There's some deep meaning underlying all this. I must simply
+stay on the Old Tabor Ivison Place till I know what puzzled old Dad all
+those years, and find out whether the answer is Yes or No."
+
+"Heavens above!" muttered Mr. Tamroy. "But how you goin' to live?
+What're you goin' to do down in there? Gonta get a job? It's too far
+away from everything for you to go and come to a job, Mr. Drew."
+
+"I'll tell you," said Oliver. "At the University I took an agricultural
+course. Since my graduation I have written not a few articles and sold
+them to leading farm journals. If the Old Tabor Ivison Place is of any
+value at all, I want to experiment in raising all sorts of things on a
+small scale, and write articles about my results. I'll have a few stands
+of bees, and maybe a cow. I'll try all sorts of things, get a
+second-hand typewriter, and go to it. I think I can live while I'm
+waiting for my father's big question to crop up."
+
+"You can raise a garden all right, I reckon," Oliver's new friend told
+him, following him as he rose to continue his journey. "But you got to
+irrigate, and there ain't the water in Clinker Creek there used to be.
+Folks up near the headwaters use nearly all of it, and in the hot months
+what they turn back will all go up in evaporation before it gets down to
+you. There's a good spring, though, but it strikes me it don't flow
+anything like it did when Old Tabor Ivison lived on the land."
+
+"Is there a house on the place?"
+
+"Only an old cabin. At least there was last time I chased a buck down in
+there. And something of a fence, if I remember right. But fifteen years
+is a long time--I reckon everything left is next to worthless."
+
+They came to a pause at the edge of the sidewalk beside an aged
+villager, who stood leaning on his crooked manzanita cane as he gazed at
+Poche and his silver-mounted trappings.
+
+"That's Old Dad Sloan," whispered Damon Tamroy. "He's one o' the last of
+the 'Forty-niners. Just hobbles about on his cane, livin' off the
+county, and waitin' to die. Never saw him take much interest in anything
+before, but that outfit o' yours has caught his eye. Little wonder, by
+golly!"
+
+Oliver stepped into the street and lifted the hair-tassled reins of the
+famous bridle. He turned to find the watery blue eyes of the patriarch
+fixed on him intently. With a trembling left hand the old man brushed
+back his long grey hair, then the fingers shakily caressed a grizzled
+beard, flaring and wiry as excelsior. A long finger at length pointed to
+the horse.
+
+"Where'd you get that outfit, young feller?" came the quavering tones.
+
+Mr. Tamroy winked knowingly at Oliver.
+
+"It was my father's," said Oliver in eager tones.
+
+The 'Forty-niner cupped a hand back of his ear. "Hey?" he shrilled.
+
+Oliver lifted his voice and repeated.
+
+"Yer papy's hey?" He tottered into the street and fingered the heavily
+silvered Spanish halfbreed bit, which, Oliver had been told, was very
+valuable intrinsically and as a relic. Then the knotty fingers travelled
+up an intricately plaited cheekstrap to one of the glittering
+silver-bordered _conchas_. The old fellow fumbled for his glasses,
+placed them on his nose, and studied the last named conceit with
+careful, lengthy scrutiny. "Is that there glass, young feller?" he
+croaked at last, pointing to the setting of the _concha_, a lilac-hued
+crystal about two inches in diameter.
+
+"I think it is," Oliver shouted.
+
+The old man shook his head. "I can't see well any more," he quavered.
+"But this don't look like glass to me."
+
+"I've never had it examined," Oliver told him. "I supposed the settings
+of the _conchas_ to be glass or some sort of quartz."
+
+"Quartz?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+The grey head slowly shook back and forth. "Young man," came the piping
+tones, "is they a 'B' cut in the metal that holds them stones in place?"
+
+Oliver's eyes widened. "There is," he said. "On the inside of each one."
+
+The old man stared at him, and his bearded lips trembled. "Bolivio!" he
+croaked weirdly.
+
+"I don't understand," said Oliver.
+
+"Bolivio made them _conchas_, young feller. Bolivio made that bit.
+Bolivio plaited that bridle. Bolivio made them martingales."
+
+"And who is Bolivio?" puzzled the stranger.
+
+"Dead and gone--dead and gone!" crooned the ancient. "That outfit's
+maybe a hundred years old, young feller--part of it, 'tleast. And that
+ain't glass in there--and it ain't quartz in in there--and there's only
+one man ever in this country ever had a bridle like that."
+
+"And who was he?" asked Oliver almost breathlessly.
+
+"Dan Smeed--that's who! Dan Smeed--outlaw, highwayman, squawman! Dan
+Smeed--gone these thirty years and more. That's his bridle--that's his
+saddle--all made by Bolivio, maybe a hundred years ago. And them stones
+in them _conchas_ are gems from the lost mine o' Bolivio. The lost gems
+o' Bolivio, young feller!"
+
+Oliver and Tamroy stared into each other's eyes as the old man tottered
+back to the sidewalk.
+
+"Tell me more!" cried Oliver, as the ancient began tapping his crooked
+cane along the street.
+
+There was no answer.
+
+"He didn't hear," said Tamroy. "We'll get at him again sometime. Maybe
+he'll tell what he knows and maybe he won't. He's awful childish--awful
+headstrong. For days at a time he won't speak to a soul."
+
+Oliver stood in deep thought, mystified beyond measure, yet thrilled
+with the thought that he was nearing the beginning of the trail to the
+mysterious question. He roused himself at length.
+
+"Well, I must be getting along," he said. "I'll go right down to Clinker
+Creek now, if you'll point the way. I've enough grub behind my saddle
+for tonight and tomorrow morning. There's grass for the horse at
+present?"
+
+"Oh, yes--horse'll get along all right."
+
+"Then I'll go down and give my property the once-over, and be up
+tomorrow to get what I need."
+
+Damon Tamroy showed him the road and shook hands with him. "Ride up and
+get acquainted regular someday," he invited. "I got a little ranch up
+the line--pears and apples and things. Give you some cherries a little
+later on. Well, so-long. Remember the Poison Oakers!"
+
+Oliver galloped away, his flashing equipment the target of all eyes, on
+the road that led to the Old Tabor Ivison Place, his brain in a whirl of
+excitement.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE FIRST CALLER
+
+
+Toward noon Poche was carefully feeling his way down the rocky canyon of
+Clinker Creek, over a forgotten road. Oliver walked, for Poche needs
+must scramble over huge boulders, fallen pines, and tangles of
+driftwood. The road followed the course of the creek for the most part,
+and in many places the creek had broken through and washed great gaps.
+
+But the country was delightful. Wild grapevines grew in profusion at the
+creekside, gracefully festooned from overhanging buckeye limbs. Odorous
+alders, several varieties of willow, and white oak also followed the
+watercourse; and up on the hills on either side were black oaks and live
+oaks, together with yellow and sugar and digger pines, and spruce.
+Everywhere grew the now significant poison oak.
+
+Finally Poche scraped through chaparral that almost hid the road and
+came out in a clearing. Oliver at last stood looking at his future home.
+
+A quaint old cabin, with a high peaked roof, apparently in better repair
+than he had expected, stood on a little rise above the creek. The canyon
+widened here, and narrowed again farther down. The creek bowed and
+followed the base of the steep hills to the west. A level strip of land
+comprising about an acre paralleled the creek, and invited tillage. All
+about the clearing, perhaps fifteen acres in area, stood tall pines and
+spruce, and magnificent oaks rose above the cabin, their great limbs
+sprawled over it protectingly. Acres and acres of heavy, impenetrable
+chaparral covered both steep slopes beyond the conifers.
+
+For several minutes Oliver drank in the beauty of it, then heaved
+himself into the saddle and galloped to the cabin over the unobstructed
+land.
+
+He loosed Poche when the saddle and bridle were off, and the horse
+eagerly buried his muzzle in the tall green grass. Up in the branches
+paired California linnets, red breasted for their love season, went over
+plans and specifications for nest-building with much conversation and
+flit-flit of feathered wings. Wild canaries engaged in a like pursuit.
+Overhead in the heavens an eagle sailed. From the sunny chaparral came
+the scolding quit-quit-quit of mother quail, while the pompous cocks
+perched themselves at the tops of manzanita bushes and whistled, "Cut
+that out! Cut that out!" All Nature was home-building; and Oliver forgot
+the loss of the fortune he had expected at his father's death and caught
+the spirit.
+
+He collected oak limbs and built a fire. He carried water from the creek
+and set it on to boil. While waiting for this he strolled about,
+revelling in the soft spring air, fragrant with the smell of wild
+flowers.
+
+That the cabin had been occupied often by hunters and other wanderers in
+the canyon was evidenced by the many carvings on the door and signs of
+bygone campfires all about. He stepped upon the rotting porch and
+studied the monograms, initials, and flippant messages of the lonely men
+who had passed that way.
+
+"All hope abandon, ye who enter here" was carved in ancient letters just
+under the lintel of the door. Next he was informed that "Fools names,
+like their faces, are always seen in public places." "Only a sucker
+would live here" was the parting decision of some disgruntled guest.
+"Home, Sweet Home" adorned the bottom of the door. One panel had proved
+an excellent target, and no less than twenty bullet holes had made a
+sieve of it. "Welcome, Wanderer!" and "Dew Drop Inn" and "Though lost to
+sight to memory dear" occupied conspicuous places. Then on the
+right-hand frame he noticed this:
+
+[Illustration: Beware]
+
+The carving was neatly executed. The leaves represented were
+indisputably those of the poison oak.
+
+Had some one carved this in a jocular effort to warn chance visitors to
+the place of the danger of the poison weed? Or did the carving represent
+the emblem of the Poison Oakers?
+
+Oliver smiled grimly and opened the door.
+
+He passed through the three small rooms of the house and investigated
+the loft. The structure seemed solid. A new roof would be necessary, and
+new windows and frames and a new porch; and as Oliver was no mean
+carpenter, he thought he could make the cabin snug and tight for
+seventy-five dollars.
+
+The front door had closed of itself, he found, when he started back to
+his campfire. He stopped in the main room, and a smile, slightly bitter,
+flickered across his lips. As neatly carved as was the symbol of the
+Poison Oakers outside--if that was what it was--and evidently executed
+by the same hand, was this, on the inside of the door:
+
+    JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART
+
+Oliver went on out and squatted over his fire, peeling potatoes. His
+blue eyes grew studious. In the flickering blaze he saw the picture of a
+black-eyed, black-haired girl on a white horse crouched on its haunches.
+
+"Great Scott!" he muttered. "I'll have to forget that!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the month that followed, Oliver Drew, spurred by feverish enthusiasm,
+worked miracles on the Old Tabor Ivison Place. He repaired the line
+fences and rehabilitated the cabin; bought a burro and pack-saddle and
+packed in lumber and tools and household necessities; fenced off his
+experimental garden on the level land with rabbit-tight netting; cleaned
+and boxed the spring; and early in May was following the spading up of
+his garden plot by planting vegetable seed.
+
+With all this behind him, he went at the clearing of the road that
+connected him with his kind. Today as he laboured with pick and shovel
+and bar he was cheerful, though his thoughts clung to the subject of his
+father's death and the odd situation in which it had left him. He had
+fully expected to inherit properties and money to the extent of a
+hundred thousand dollars. He was not particularly resentful because this
+had not come to pass, for he never had been a pampered young man; but
+the mystery of his father's last message puzzled and chagrined him.
+
+He would always remember Peter Drew as a peculiar man. He had been a
+kindly father, but a reticent one. There were many pages in his past
+that never had been opened to his son. Oliver was the child of Peter
+Drew's second wife. About the queer old Westerner's former marriage he
+had been told practically nothing.
+
+Believing his father to have been of sound mind when he penned that last
+strange communication, Oliver could not hold that the situation which it
+imposed was not for the best. Surely old Peter Drew had had some wise
+reason for his act, and in the end Oliver would know what it was. He had
+been told to seek the Clinker Creek Country to learn the question that
+had puzzled his father for thirty years, to decide whether the proper
+answer was Yes or No, and communicate his decision to his father's
+lawyers. That was all. When in the wisdom which his father had supposed
+would be the natural result of his son's university training he had made
+his decision and placed it before these legal gentlemen, what would
+happen? Speculation over this led nowhere.
+
+At first it had seemed to Oliver that the mission with which he had been
+intrusted was more or less a secret matter, and that he must keep still
+about it. Then as the staunch cow-pony bore him nearer and nearer to the
+Clinker Creek Country it gradually dawned upon him that, by so doing, he
+might stand a poor chance of even finding out what had puzzled his sire.
+To say nothing of the answer which he was to seek. It was then he
+decided that he had nothing to hide and must place his situation before
+the people of the country who would likely be able to help him. Hence
+his confidences to Mr. Damon Tamroy.
+
+Tamroy had aided him not at all; but the 'Forty-niner, Old Dad Sloan,
+knew something. Dan Smeed, outlaw, highwayman, had owned a saddle and
+bridle like Oliver's. The old man had mysteriously mentioned the lost
+mine of Bolivio, and had said the settings in Oliver's _conchas_ were
+gems. If only the old man could be made to talk!
+
+The muffled thud of a horse's hoofs came between the strokes of Oliver's
+pick. With an odd and unfamiliar sensation he glimpsed a white horse and
+rider approaching through the pines.
+
+It was she--Jessamy Selden--the black-haired, black-eyed girl of whom he
+reluctantly had thought so often since his first day in the Clinker
+Creek Country.
+
+She was riding straight down the canyon, the white mare gingerly picking
+her way between boulders and snarls of driftwood. The girl looked up.
+Oliver felt that she saw him. Her ears could not have been insensible to
+the ring of his pick on the flinty stones. She did not leave the trail,
+however, but continued on in his direction.
+
+He rested on the handle of his tool and waited.
+
+"Good morning," he ventured, sweeping off his battered hat, as the mare
+stopped without pressure on the reins and gravely contemplated him.
+
+The girl smiled and returned his greeting brightly.
+
+"If you had waited a few days longer for your ride down here," said
+Oliver, "I'd have had a better trail for you."
+
+"Oh, I don't know that I want it any better," she laughed. "I like
+things pretty much as they are, when Old Mother Nature has built them. I
+ride down this way frequently."
+
+She was no fragile reed, this girl. She was rather more substantially
+built than most members of her sex. Her figure was straight and tall and
+rounded, and her strong, graceful neck upreared itself proudly between
+sturdy shoulders. Grace and strength, rather than purely feminine
+beauty, predominated in the impression she created in Oliver. She wore a
+man's Stetson hat over her lavish crown of coal-black hair, a man's
+flannel shirt, a whipcord divided skirt, and dark-russet riding boots.
+The saddle that she rode in had not been built for a woman to handle,
+and, with its long, pointed tapaderos, must have weighed close to fifty
+pounds. The steady, friendly, confident gaze of her large black eyes was
+thrilling. A man instinctively felt that, if he could win this woman, he
+would have acquired a wife among a thousand, a loyal friend and comrade,
+and a partner who could and would shoulder more than a woman's share of
+their load.
+
+Still, Oliver knew nothing at all about her. What he had heard of her
+was not exactly of the best. Yet he felt that she was gloriously all
+right, and did not try to argue otherwise.
+
+"Well, I suppose I must introduce myself first," she was saying in her
+full, ringing tones. "I'm Jessamy Selden. My name is not Selden, though,
+but Lomax. When my mother married Adam Selden I took her new name. I
+heard somebody had moved onto the Old Ivison Place, and I deliberately
+rode down to get acquainted."
+
+"You waited a month, I notice," Oliver laughingly reproached. "My name
+is Oliver Drew. If you'll get off your horse I'll tell you what a
+wonderful man I am."
+
+She swung to the ground and held out a strong, brown, ungloved hand.
+
+"I'll walk to your cabin with you," she said, "if you'll invite me. I'd
+like to see how you've been improving your time since your arrival."
+
+Scarce able to find words with which to meet such delightful frankness,
+Oliver walked beside her, the white mare following and nosing at his
+pockets to prove that she was a privileged character.
+
+The girl loosed her within the inclosure, and let her drag her reins.
+Poche trotted up to make the white's acquaintance, followed by the new
+mouse-coloured burro, Smith, who long since had assumed a "where thou
+goest I will go" affection for the bay saddler.
+
+Jessamy Selden came to a stop before the cabin, her black eyes dancing.
+
+"Who would have thought," she said in low tones, "that the Clinker Creek
+people ever would see the old Ivison cabin rebuilt and inhabited once
+more! How sturdily it must have been built to stand up against wind and
+storm all these years. Are you going to invite me in and show me
+around?" She levelled that direct glance at him and showed her white
+teeth in a smile.
+
+Oliver was thinking of the carving on the inside of the old door,
+"Jessamy, My Sweetheart." He had not replaced the door with a new one,
+for every penny counted. It still was serviceable; and, besides, there
+seemed to be a sort of companionship about the carved observations of
+the unknowns who had been sheltered by the old cabin during the past
+fifteen years.
+
+"You've been in the house often, I suppose?" He made it a question.
+
+"Oh, yes," she said. "I've lunched in it many a time, and have run in
+out of the rain during winter months. I slept in it all night once."
+
+"You seem to be an independent sort of young woman," suggested Oliver.
+
+"I'm a rather lonely sort of woman, if that's what you mean," she
+replied. "Yes, I ride about lots alone. I like it. Don't you want me to
+go in?"
+
+"Er--why, certainly," he stammered. "Please don't think me inhospitable.
+Come on."
+
+He led the way, and stood back for her at the door. He would leave the
+door open, swung back into the corner, he thought, so that she would not
+see the carving. She had been in the cabin many times. Did she know the
+carving to be there? Of course it might have been executed since her
+last visit, though it did not seem very fresh. Who had carved the words?
+Oliver could imagine any of the young Clinker Creek swains as being
+secretly in love with this marvellous girl, and pouring out his tortured
+soul through the blade of his jack-knife when securely hidden from
+profane eyes in this vast wilderness.
+
+She passed complimentary remarks about his practically built home-made
+furniture, and the neatness and necessary simplicity of everything.
+
+"What an old maid you are for one so young!" she laughed. "And, please,
+what's the typewriter for--if I'm not too bold?"
+
+"Well," said Oliver, "it occurred to me that I must make a living down
+here. I'm a graduate of the State College of Agriculture, and I like to
+farm and write about it. I've sold several articles to agricultural
+papers. I'm going to experiment here, and try to make a living by
+writing up the results!"
+
+"Why, how perfectly fine!" she cried enthusiastically. "I couldn't
+imagine anything more engrossing. I'm a State University girl."
+
+"You don't say!"
+
+And this furnished a topic for ten minutes' conversation.
+
+"If you're as good a writer and farmer as you are tinker and carpenter,"
+she observed, passing into the front room again, "you'll do splendidly."
+She was standing, straight as a young spruce, hands on hips, looking
+with twinkling eyes at the open door. "The old door still hangs, I see,"
+she murmured. "Now just why didn't you replace it, Mr. Drew?"
+
+Oliver looked apprehensive. "Well," he replied hesitatingly, "for
+several reasons. First, a new door costs money, and so would the lumber
+with which to make one--and I haven't much of that article. Second, I
+get some amusement from looking at those old carvings and speculating on
+the possible personalities of the carvers. For all I know, some great
+celebrities' ideas may be among those expressed there--some future great
+man, at any rate. The boy one meets in the street may one day be
+president, you know. Then there's a sort of companionship about those
+names and monograms and quotations. The fellow that informs me that only
+suckers live here I'd like to meet. He was so blunt about it, so sure.
+He--er--"
+
+Smiling, she had stepped to the door and, arms still akimbo, allowed her
+glance to travel from one design to another. She raised an arm and
+levelled a finger.
+
+"What do you think of that one?" she asked.
+
+"Well," said Oliver, "that's a rather well executed poison oak leaf. The
+hills are covered with the plant. I imagine that some wanderer not
+immune from the poison came into contact with it, and, though his eyes
+were swelled half shut and his fingers itched and tingled, his right
+hand had not lost its cunning. So he took out his trusty blade and
+carved a warning for all future pilgrims who chanced this way to beware
+of this tree that is in the midst of the garden, and to not touch it
+lest they--"
+
+"Itch," Jessamy gravely put in. "Quite pretty and poetic," she
+supplemented. "But you are entirely wrong, Mr. Drew. That carving is,
+first of all, a copy of the brand of Old Man Selden, and you'll find it
+on all his cows. All but the word 'Beware,' of course, you understand.
+Second, it represents the silly symbol of a gang that infests this
+country known as the Poison Oakers. Oh, you've heard of them!" she had
+turned suddenly and surprised the look on his face.
+
+"It sounds very bloodthirsty," he laughed confusedly.
+
+"I'll tell you more, then, when I know you better," she said. "No, I'll
+tell you today," she added quickly.
+
+Then before he could make a move she had closed the door to examine what
+might be carved on the inner side.
+
+"Tell me now," said Oliver quickly. "Try this chair here by the window.
+I'm rather proud of this one. It's my first attempt at a morris ch--"
+
+"Come here, please," she commanded, standing with her back to him.
+
+"Don't act so like a boy," she reproved as he dutifully stepped up
+behind her. "Anybody would know you are clumsily trying to detract my
+attention from--that."
+
+The brown finger was pointing straight at JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART.
+
+She turned and levelled her frank, unabashed eyes straight at his.
+
+"So that's why you hesitated about inviting me in," she stated, her lips
+twitching and dimples appearing and disappearing in her cheeks.
+
+"Frankly, yes," he told her gravely.
+
+Her glance did not leave him. "Mr. Tamroy told me he had mentioned me to
+you," she said. "So of course you knew, when you saw this carving, that
+I was the subject of the raving. And when you saw me you wished to spare
+me embarrassment. Thank you. But you see I'm not at all embarrassed. I
+have never before seen this masterpiece in wood, and imagine it has been
+done since I was in the cabin last. Let's see--I doubt if I've been
+inside for a year or more. I think perhaps Mr. Digger Foss is the one
+who tried to make his emotions deathless by this work of art. 'Jessamy,
+My Sweetheart,' eh?" She threw back her glorious head and laughed till
+two tears streamed down her tanned cheeks. "Poor Digger!" she said
+soberly at last. "I suppose he does love me."
+
+"Who wouldn't," thought Oliver, but bit his lips instead of speaking.
+
+"You may leave that, Mr. Drew," she told him, "until you get ready to
+replace the old door with a new one. I would not have the irrefutable
+evidence of at least one conquest blotted out for worlds. Now let's go
+out in that glorious sunlight, and I'll tell you about Old Man Selden
+and the Poison Oakers."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+"AND I'LL HELP YOU!"
+
+
+What Jessamy Selden told Oliver Drew of the Poison Oakers was about the
+same as he had heard from Damon Tamroy.
+
+She used his sawbuck for a seat, and sat with one booted ankle resting
+on a knee, idly spinning the rowel of her spur as she talked. Oliver
+listened without interruption until she finished and once more levelled
+that straightforward glance at him.
+
+"The cows have been down below on winter pasture," she added. "Adam
+Selden and the boys rode out yesterday to start the spring drive into
+the foothills. You'll awake some morning soon to find red cattle all
+about you, and they'll be here till August."
+
+"Well," he said, "I don't know that I shall mind them. My fence is
+pretty fair, and with a little more repairing will turn them, I think."
+
+She twirled her rowel in silence for a time, her eyes fixed on it. Then
+she said:
+
+"It isn't that, Mr. Drew. I may as well tell you right now what I came
+down here purposely to tell you. You're not wanted here. All of this
+land has been abandoned so long that Adam Selden and the gang have come
+to consider it their property--or at least free range."
+
+"But they'll respect my right of ownership."
+
+"I don't know--I don't know. I'm afraid they won't. They're a law unto
+themselves down in here. They'll try to run you out."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Any way--every way. If nothing else occurs to them, they'll begin a
+studied system of persecution with the idea of making you so sick of
+your bargain that you'll pull stakes and hit the trail. That poor man
+Dodd! Mr. Tamroy told me you happened into the saloon in time to see the
+shooting. Wasn't it terrible! And how they persecuted him--fairly drove
+him into the rash act that cost him his life!"
+
+She lifted her glance again. "Mr. Tamroy tells me that you were shocked
+at me that day."
+
+"I guess I didn't fully understand the circumstances."
+
+"I did," she firmly declared, her lips setting in what would have been a
+grim smile but for the dimples that came with it. "I understood the
+situation," she went on. "Digger Foss had been waiting for just that
+chance. There's just enough Indian and Chinese blood in him to make him
+a fatalist. He's therefore deadly. Has no fear of death. He's cruel,
+merciless. I knew when I saw Henry Dodd covering him with that gun that,
+if he didn't finish what he'd started, he was a dead man. He couldn't
+even have backed off gracefully, keeping Digger covered, and got away
+alive. Digger is so quick on the draw, and his aim is so deadly. He's a
+master gunman. Even had Dodd succeeded in getting away then, he would
+have been a marked man. He had thrown down on Digger Foss. Digger would
+have got the drop on him next time they met and killed him as you would
+a coyote. So in my excitement I rushed in with my well meant warning,
+and--Oh, it was horrible!"
+
+"And you meant actually for Dodd to kill Foss?"
+
+Her black eyes dilated, and an angry flush blended with the tan on her
+cheeks.
+
+"It was one or the other of them," she told him coldly. "Mr. Dodd was an
+honest, plodding man--a good citizen. Foss is a renegade. Was I so very
+bloodthirsty in trying to make the best of a bad situation by choosing,
+on the spur of the moment, which man ought to live on? I'm not the
+fainting kind of woman, Mr. Drew. One must be practical, if he can, even
+over matters like that."
+
+"I'm not condemning," he said. "I'm only wondering that a woman could be
+so practical in such a situation."
+
+"Digger Foss hasn't seen me since then," she observed. "He's in jail,
+awaiting trial, at the county seat. He'll be acquitted, of course. I'm
+wondering what he'll have to say to me when he is free again."
+
+Oliver said nothing to this.
+
+"I must be going," she declared, rising suddenly. "As I said, I came
+down to warn you to be on your guard against the Poison Oakers."
+
+He caught her pony and led it to her. She swung into the saddle, then
+slued toward him, leaned an elbow on the horn and rested her chin in the
+palm of her hand. Once more that direct gaze of her frank black eyes
+looked him through and through.
+
+"Well," she asked, "will the Poison Oakers run you off?"
+
+"Oh, I think not," he laughed lightly.
+
+"They'll be ten against one, Mr. Drew."
+
+"There's law in the land."
+
+"Yes, there's law," she mused. "But it's so easy for unscrupulous people
+to get around the law. They can subject you to no end of persecution,
+and you won't even be able to prove that one of them is behind it."
+
+She looked him over deliberately.
+
+"I'm glad you've come," she said. "You're an educated man, and blessed
+with a higher order of character than has been anybody else who stood to
+cross the Poison Oakers. Somehow, I feel that you are destined to be
+their undoing. They must be corralled and their atrocities brought to an
+end. You must be the one to put the quietus on that gang. And I'll help
+you. Good-bye!"
+
+She lifted the white mare into a lope, opened the gate, rode through and
+closed it without leaving the saddle, then, waving back at him,
+disappeared in the chaparral.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS
+
+
+Oliver Drew had found a bee tree on the backbone of the ridge between
+the Old Ivison Place and the American River. He stood contemplating it,
+watching the busy little workers winging their way to and from the hole
+in the hollow trunk, planning to change their quarters and put them to
+work for him.
+
+Far below him, down a precipitous pine-studded slope, the green American
+River raced toward the ocean. There had been a week of late rains, and
+good grass for the summer was assured.
+
+Away through the tall trees below him he saw red cows filtering along,
+cropping eagerly at the lush growth after a long dusty trip from the
+drying lowlands. Now and then he saw a horseman galloping along a mile
+distant. He heard an occasional faint shout, borne upward on the soft
+spring wind. The Seldens were ending the drive of their cattle to summer
+pastures.
+
+He turned suddenly as he heard the tramp of hoofs. Six horsemen were
+approaching, along the backbone of the ridge, winding in and out between
+clumps of the sparse chaparral.
+
+In the lead, straight and sturdy as some ancient oak, rode a tall man
+with grey hair that hung below his ears and a flowing grey beard. He
+wore the conventional cowpuncher garb, from black-silk neckerchief, held
+in place by a poker chip with holes bored in it, to high-heeled boots
+and chaps. He rode a gaunt grey horse. His tapaderos flapped loosely
+against the undergrowth, and, so long were the man's legs, they seemed
+almost to scrape the ground. A holstered Colt hung at the rider's side.
+
+Silent, stern of face, this old man rode like the wraith of some ancient
+chieftain at the head of his hard-riding warriors.
+
+Those who followed him were younger men, plainly _vaqueros_. They lolled
+in their saddles, and smoked and bantered. But Oliver's eyes were alone
+for the stalwart figure in the lead, who neither spoke nor smiled nor
+paid any attention to his band, but rode on grimly as if heading an
+expedition into dangerous and unknown lands.
+
+Undoubtedly this was Old Man Selden and his four sons, together with
+other members of the Poison Oakers Gang. They had left the cows to
+themselves and were making their way homeward after the drive. Oliver's
+first impulse was to hide behind a tree and watch, for he felt that he
+should forego no chance of a strategic advantage. Then he decided that
+it was not for him to begin manoeuvring, and stood boldly in full
+view, wondering whether the riders would pass without observing him.
+
+They did not. He heard a sharp word or two from some follower of the old
+man, and for the first time the leader showed signs of knowing that he
+was not riding alone. He slued about in his saddle. A hand pointed in
+Oliver's direction. The old man reined in his grey horse and looked
+toward Oliver and the bee tree. The other horsemen drew up around him.
+There was a short consultation, then all of them leaned to the right in
+their saddles and galloped over the uneven land.
+
+They reined in close to the lone man, and a dusty, sweaty, hard-looking
+clan they were. Keen, curious eyes studied him, and there was no
+mistaking the insolent and bullying attitude of their owners.
+
+A quick glance Oliver gave the five, then his interest settled on their
+leader.
+
+Adam Selden was a powerful man. His nose was of the Bourbon type, large
+and deeply pitted. His eyes were blue and strong and dominating.
+
+"Howdy?" boomed a deep bass voice.
+
+Oliver smiled. "How do you do?" he replied.
+
+Then silence fell, while old Adam Selden sat rolling a quid of tobacco
+in his mouth and studying the stranger with inscrutable cold blue eyes.
+
+"I've found a bee tree," said Oliver when the tensity grew almost
+unbearable. "I was just figuring on the best way to hive the little
+rascals."
+
+Selden slowly nodded his great head up and down with exasperating
+exaggeration.
+
+"Stranger about here, ain't ye?" he asked.
+
+"Well, I've been here over a month," Oliver answered. "I own the Old
+Tabor Ivison Place, down there in the valley. My name is Oliver Drew,
+and I guess you're Mr. Selden."
+
+Another long pause, then--
+
+"Yes, I'm Selden. Them's my cows ye see down there moseyin' up the river
+bottom and over the hills. I been runnin' cows in here summers for a
+good many years. Just so!"
+
+"I see," said Oliver, not knowing what else to say.
+
+"Three o' these men are my boys," Selden drawled on. "The rest are
+friends o' ours. Has anybody told ye about the poison oak that grows
+'round here?"
+
+"I'm familiar with it," Oliver told him.
+
+"Ain't scared o' poison oak, then?"
+
+"Not at all. I'm immune."
+
+"It's a pesterin' plant. You'll chafe under it and chafe under it, and
+think it's gone; then here she comes back again, redder and lumpier and
+itchier than ever."
+
+"I'm quite familiar with its persistence," Oliver gravely stated.
+
+"And still ye ain't afraid o' poison oak?"
+
+"Not in the least."
+
+The gang was grinning, but the chief of the
+
+Poison Oakers maintained a straight face.
+
+"Ain't scared of it, then," he drawled on. "Well, now, that's handy. I
+like to meet a man that ain't scared o' poison oak. Got yer place
+fenced, I reckon?"
+
+"Yes, I've repaired the fence."
+
+"That's right. That's always the best way. O' course the law says we got
+to see that our stock don't get on your prop'ty. Whether that there's a
+good and just law or not I ain't prepared to say right now. But we got
+to obey it, and we always try to keep our cows offen other folks'
+pasture. But it's best to fence, whether ye got stock o' yer own or not.
+Pays in the long run, and keeps a fella outa trouble with his
+neighbours. But the best o' fencin' won't keep out the poison oak. O'
+course, though, you know that. Now what're ye gonta do down there on the
+Old Ivison Place?--if I ain't too bold in askin'."
+
+"Have a little garden, and maybe get a cow later on. Put a few stands of
+bees to work for me, if I can find enough swarms in the woods. I have a
+saddle horse and a burro to keep the grass down now. I don't intend to
+do a great deal in the way of farming."
+
+"I'd think not," Selden drawled. "Land about here's good fer nothin' but
+grazin' a few months outa the year. Man would be a fool to try and farm
+down where you're at. How ye gonta make a livin'?--if I'm not too bold
+in askin'."
+
+"I intend to write for agricultural papers for my living," said Oliver.
+
+Silence greeted this. So far as their experience was concerned, Oliver
+might as well have stated that he was contemplating the manufacture of
+tortoise-shell side combs to keep soul and body to their accustomed
+partnership.
+
+"How long ye owned this forty?" Old Man Selden asked.
+
+"Only since my father's death, this year."
+
+"Yer father, eh? Who was yer father?"
+
+"Peter Drew, of the southern part of the state."
+
+"How long'd he own that prop'ty before he died?"
+
+"He owned it for some time, I understand," said Oliver patiently.
+
+The grey head shook slowly from side to side. "I can show ye, down to
+the county seat, that Nancy Fleet--who was an Ivison and sister o' the
+woman I married here about four year ago--owned that land up until the
+first o' the year, anyway. It was left to her by old Tabor Ivison when
+he died. That was fifteen year ago, and I've paid the taxes on it ever
+since for Nancy Fleet, for the privilege o' runnin' stock on it. I paid
+the taxes last year. What 'a' ye got to say to that?"
+
+Oliver Drew had absolutely nothing to say to it. He could only stare at
+the gaunt old man.
+
+"But I have the deed!" he burst out at last.
+
+"And I've got last year's tax receipts," drawled Adam Selden. "Ye better
+go down to the county seat and have a look at the records," he added,
+swinging his horse about. "Then when ye've done that, I'd like a talk
+with ye. Just so! Just so!"
+
+He rode off without another word, the gang following.
+
+Early next morning Oliver was in the saddle. As Poche picked his way out
+of the canyon Oliver espied Jessamy Selden on her white mare, standing
+still in the county road.
+
+"Good morning," said the girl. "You're late. I've been waiting for you
+ten minutes."
+
+Oliver's lips parted in surprise, and she laughed good-naturedly.
+
+"I thought you'd be riding out early this morning," she explained, "so I
+rode down to meet you. I feel as if a long ride in the saddle would
+benefit me today. Do you mind if I travel with you to the county seat?"
+
+He had ridden close to her by this time, and offered his hand.
+
+"You like to surprise people, don't you?" he accused. "The answer to
+your question is, I do not mind if you travel with me to the county
+seat. But let me tell you--you'll have to travel. This is a horse that
+I'm riding."
+
+She turned up her nose at him. "I like to have a man talk that way to
+me," she said. "Don't ever dare to hold my stirrup for me, or slow down
+when you think the pace is getting pretty brisk, or anything like that."
+
+"I wouldn't think of such discourtesy," he told her seriously. "You
+noticed that I let you mount unaided the other day. I might have walked
+ahead, though, and opened the gate for you if you hadn't loped off."
+
+"That's why I did it," she demurely confessed. "I'm rather proud of
+being able to take care of myself. And as for that wonderful horse of
+yours, he does look leggy and capable. But, then, White Ann has a point
+or two herself. Let's go!"
+
+Their ponies took up the walking-trot of the cattle country side by side
+toward Halfmoon Flat.
+
+"Well," Oliver began, "of course my meeting you means that you know I've
+had an encounter with Adam Selden, and that he has told you he doubts if
+I am the rightful owner of the Tabor Ivison Place."
+
+"Yes, I overheard his conversation with Hurlock last night," she told
+him. "So I thought I'd ride down with you, sensing that you would be
+worried and would hit the trail this morning."
+
+"I am worried," he said. "I can't imagine why your step-father made that
+statement."
+
+"Just call him Adam or Old Man Selden when you're speaking of him to
+me," she prompted. "Even the 'step' in front of 'father' does not take
+away the bad taste. And you might at least _think_ of me as Jessamy
+Lomax. I will lie in the bed I made when I espoused the name of Selden,
+for it would be stupid to go about now notifying people that I have gone
+back to Lomax again. My case is not altogether hopeless, however. You
+are witness that I have a fair chance of some day acquiring the name of
+Foss, at any rate. So you are worried about the land tangle?"
+
+"What can it mean?" he puzzled.
+
+"This probably is not the first instance in which a deed has not been
+recorded promptly," she ventured. "That won't affect your ownership.
+Personally I know that Aunt Nancy Fleet's name appears in the records
+down at the county seat as the owner of the property. She sold it to
+your father, doubtless, and the transfer never was recorded. Where is
+your deed?"
+
+He slapped his breast.
+
+"See that you keep it there," she said significantly.
+
+"You say you know that your Aunt Nancy Fleet is named as owner of the
+property in the county records?"
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Then she has allowed Adam Selden to believe that she still owns it!" he
+cried. "And this is proved by reason of her having allowed him to pay
+the taxes for the right to run stock on the land."
+
+She nodded again.
+
+He wrinkled his brows. "It would seem to be a sort of conspiracy against
+Adam Selden by your Aunt Nancy and--" He paused.
+
+"And who?"
+
+"Well, it's not like my father's business methods to allow a deed to go
+unrecorded for fifteen years," he told her. "Not at all like Dad. So I
+must name him as a party to this conspiracy against old Adam. But what
+is the meaning of it, Miss Selden?"
+
+"I'm sure I am not in a position to say," she replied lightly. "Some
+day, when you've got things to running smoothly down there, I'll take
+you to see Aunt Nancy. She lives up in Calamity Gap--about ten miles to
+the north of Halfmoon Flat. Maybe she can and will explain."
+
+He regarded her steadily; but for once her eyes did not meet his, though
+he could not say that this was intentional on her part.
+
+"By George, I believe _you_ can explain it!" he accused.
+
+"I?"
+
+"You heard me the first time."
+
+"Did you learn that expression at the University of California or in
+France?"
+
+"I stick to my statement," he grumbled.
+
+"Do so, by all means. Just the same, I am not in a position to enlighten
+you. But I promise to take you to Aunt Nancy whenever you're ready to
+go. There's an Indian reservation up near where she lives. You'll want
+to visit that. We can make quite a vacation of the trip. You'll see a
+riding outfit or two that will run close seconds to yours for decoration
+and elaborate workmanship. My! What a saddle and bridle you have! I've
+been unable to keep my eyes off them from the first; but you were so
+busy with your land puzzle that I couldn't mention them. I've seen some
+pretty elaborate rigs in my day, but nothing to compare with yours. It's
+old, too. Where did you get it?"
+
+"They were Dad's," he told her. "He left them and Poche to me at his
+death. I must tell you of something that happened when I first showed up
+in Halfmoon Flat in all my grandeur. Do you know Old Dad Sloan, the
+'Forty-niner?"
+
+She nodded, her glance still on the heavy, chased silver of his saddle.
+
+Then Oliver told her of the queer old man's mysterious words when he saw
+the saddle and bridle and martingales, and the stones that were set in
+the silver _conchas_.
+
+She was strangely silent when he had finished. Then she said musingly:
+
+"The lost mine of Bolivio. Certainly that sounds interesting. And Dan
+Smeed, squawman, highwayman, and outlaw. The days of old, the days of
+gold--the days of 'Forty-nine! Thought of them always thrills me. Tell
+me more, Mr. Drew. I know there is much more to be told."
+
+"I'll do it," he said; and out came the strange story of Peter Drew and
+his last message to his son.
+
+Her wide eyes gazed at him throughout the recital and while he read the
+message aloud. They were sparkling as he concluded and looked across at
+her.
+
+"Oh, that dear, delightful, romantic old father of yours!" she cried.
+"You're a man of mystery--a knight on a secret quest! Oh, if I could
+only help you! Will you let me try?"
+
+"I'd be only too glad to shift half the burden of finding the question
+and its correct answer to your strong shoulders," he said.
+
+"Then we'll begin just as soon as you're ready," she declared. "I have a
+plan for the first step. Wait! I'll help you!"
+
+Shortly before noon they dropped rein before the court house and sought
+the county recorder's office. Oliver gave the legal description of his
+land, and soon the two were pouring over a cumbersome book, heads close
+together.
+
+To his vast surprise, Oliver found that his deed had been recorded the
+second day after his father's death, and that, up until that recent
+date, the land had appeared in the records as the property of Nancy
+Fleet.
+
+"Dad's lawyers did this directly after his death," he said to Jessamy.
+"They sent the deed up here and had it recorded just before turning it
+over to me. Adam Selden hasn't seen it yet. Say, this is growing mighty
+mysterious, Miss Selden."
+
+"Delightfully so," she agreed. "Now as you weren't expecting me to come
+along, have you enough money for lunch for two? If not, I have. We'd
+better eat and be starting back."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+LILAC SPODUMENE
+
+
+Once more Oliver Drew rode out of Clinker Creek Canyon to find Jessamy
+Selden, straight and strong and dependable looking, waiting for him in
+her saddle. On this occasion he joined her by appointment.
+
+She looked especially fresh and contrasty today. Her black hair and eyes
+and her red lips and olive skin, with the red of perfect health so
+subtly blended into the tan, always made her beauty rather startling.
+This morning she had plaited her hair in two long, heavy braids that
+hung to the bottom of her saddle skirts on either side.
+
+Oliver's gaze at her was one of frank admiration.
+
+"How do you do it?" he laughed.
+
+"Do what?"
+
+"Make yourself so spectacular and--er--outstanding, without leaving any
+traces of art?"
+
+"Am I spectacular?"
+
+"Rather. Different, anyway--to use a badly overworked expression. But
+what puzzles me is what makes you look like that. You seem perfectly
+normal, and nothing could be plainer than the clothes you wear. You're
+not beautiful, and you're too big both physically and mentally to be
+pretty. But I'll bet my hat you're the most popular young woman in this
+section!"
+
+She regarded him soberly. "Are you through?" she asked.
+
+"I've exhausted my stock of descriptive words, anyway," he told her.
+
+"Then we'd better be riding," she said.
+
+He swung Poche to the side of White Ann, and they moved off along the
+road, knee and knee.
+
+"You're not offended?" he asked.
+
+She threw back her head and laughed till Oliver thought of meadow larks,
+and robins calling before a shower.
+
+"Offended! You must think me some sort of freak. Who ever heard of a
+woman being offended when a man admires her? I like it immensely, Mr.
+Oliver Drew. And if you can beat that for square shooting, there's no
+truth in me. But if you'll analyse my 'difference' you'll find it's only
+because I'm big and strong and healthy, and try always to shoot straight
+from the shoulder and look folks straight in the eye. That's all. Let's
+let 'em out!"
+
+They broke into a smart gallop, and continued it up and down
+pine-toothed hills till they clattered into Halfmoon Flat.
+
+Curious eyes met them, old men stopped in their tracks and leaned on
+their canes to watch, and folks came to windows and doors as they loped
+through the village.
+
+"'Whispering tongues can poison truth,'" Jessamy quoted as they turned a
+corner and cantered up a hill toward a grove of pines on the outskirts
+of the town. "It seems odd that Adam Selden has not mentioned you to me.
+Surely some one has seen us together who would tell some one else who
+would tell Old Man Selden all about it. But not a cheep from him as
+yet."
+
+"Have you any bosom friends in the Clinker Creek district?" he asked,
+not altogether irrelevantly.
+
+"No, none at all. But I'm friends with everybody, though I have nothing
+in common with any one. I don't consider myself superior to the natives
+here about, but, just the same, they don't interest me. I'm speaking of
+the women. I like most of the men. I guess I'm what they call a man's
+woman. I can't sit and talk about clothes and dances, and gossip, and
+what one did on one's vacation last summer. It all bores me stiff, so I
+don't pretend it doesn't. Men, now--they can talk about horses and
+saddles and cows and cutting wood and prizefights and poker games and
+election--"
+
+"And women and Fords," he interrupted.
+
+She laughed and led the way into a little trail that snaked on up the
+hill between lilacs and buckeye trees to a little cabin half-hidden in
+the foliage.
+
+They dismounted at the door and loosed their horses. Jessamy tapped
+vigorously on the panels. Again and again--and then there was heard a
+shuffling, unsteady step inside, and a cane thumped hollowly. Presently
+the door opened, and Old Dad Sloan bleared out at them from behind his
+flaring, mattress-stuffing hair and whiskers.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Sloan!" cried Jessamy almost at the top of her
+voice.
+
+A veined hand shook its way to form a cup behind the ancient's ear.
+
+"Hey?" he squealed.
+
+Jessamy filled her sturdy lungs with air and tried again.
+
+"I say--How do you do!" The effort left her neck red but for a blue
+outstanding artery.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Dad Sloan, with a look of relief. "Why, howdy?"
+
+Jessamy ascended a step to the door, took him by both shoulders, and
+placed her satin lips close to the ear that he inclined her way.
+
+"We've come to make you a call," she announced. "I want you to meet a
+friend of mine; and we want to ask you some questions."
+
+The grey head nodded slowly up and down, more to indicate that its owner
+heard and understood than to signify acquiescence. But he tottered back
+and held the door wide open; and Jessamy and Oliver went into the cabin.
+
+Dad Sloan managed to live all alone in this sequestered little nook by
+reason of the county's generosity. He was old and feeble, and at times
+irritatingly childish and petulant. Jessamy Selden often brought him
+cakes, fried chicken, and the like; and, provided he was in the right
+mood, he would be more likely to be confidential with her than with
+anybody else in the country.
+
+But the girl's task was difficult. The old man shook hands listlessly
+with Oliver at her bidding, but seemed entirely to have forgotten their
+previous meeting. They sat in the uncomfortable straight-backed,
+thong-bottom chairs while Jessamy shrieked the conversation into the
+desired channel. The old eyes gathered a more intelligent look as she
+spoke of the lost mine of Bolivio.
+
+Pieced together, the fragments that fell from the bearded lips of Old
+Dad Sloan made some such narrative as follows:
+
+Bolivio had been a Portuguese or a Spaniard, or some "black furriner,"
+who had been in the country in the memorable days of '49 and afterward.
+His knowledge of some tongue based on the Latin had made it easy for him
+to communicate with the Pauba Indians that inhabited the country, as
+some of them had learned Spanish from the Franciscan Fathers down at the
+coast. Bolivio mingled with the tribe, and finally became a squawman.
+
+One day he appeared at the Clinker Creek bar and exhibited a beautiful
+stone. A gold miner who was present had once followed mining in South
+Africa, and knew something of diamonds. He examined Bolivio's stone, and
+gave it such simple tests as were at his command, then advised the owner
+to send it to New York to find out if it was possessed of value.
+
+It required months in those days to communicate with the Atlantic
+seaboard. Bolivio's stone was started on its long journey around the
+Horn. He hinted that there were more of the stones where he had found
+this one, and created the impression that his Indian brethren had showed
+them to him.
+
+More they could not get out of him. Nor did anybody try very hard to
+learn his secret, for no one imagined the find of much intrinsic value.
+
+Bolivio was a saddler, and was skilled in the art of the silversmith.
+Gold dust was plentiful in the country in that day, and the foreigner
+found ready buyers for his masterpieces in leather and precious metals.
+The finest equestrian outfit that he made was finally acquired from the
+Indians by Dan Smeed, a miner who afterward turned highwayman, married
+an Indian girl, became an outlaw, and finally disappeared altogether. In
+the _conchas_ with which the plaited bridle was adorned Bolivio had set
+two large stones from his secret store, which he himself had crudely
+polished.
+
+One day, a month or more before word came from New York regarding the
+stone, Bolivio was found dead in the forest. A knife had been plunged
+into his heart. The secret of the brilliant stones had died with him.
+
+Then came the answer. The stone was said to be spodumene, of a very high
+class, and had a a lilac tint theretofore unknown. It was the finest of
+its kind ever to have been reported as found in the United States. The
+finder was offered a thousand dollars for the sample sent; one hundred
+dollars a pound was offered for all stones that would grade up to the
+sample.
+
+But Bolivio was dead, and no one knew from whence the stone had come.
+
+Efforts were made, of course, to find the source of this wealth. The
+Indians were tried time and again, but not one word would they speak
+regarding the matter. The new quest was finally dropped; for those were
+the days of gold, gold, gold, and so frenzied were men and women to find
+it that other precious minerals were cast aside as worthless. None had
+time to seek for stones worth a hundred dollars a pound, with gold worth
+more than twice as much. So the lost mine of Bolivio became only a
+memory.
+
+Years later this same stone was discovered six hundred miles farther
+south. It is now on the market as kunzite, and a cut stone of one karat
+in weight sells for fifty dollars and more. The San Diego County
+discovery was supposed to mark the introduction of the stone in the
+United States, for the lost mine of Bolivio was all but forgotten.
+
+Old Dad Sloan thumped out at Jessamy's request and once again critically
+examined Oliver's saddle and bridle and the brilliants in the _conchas_.
+
+"It's the same fine outfit Bolivio made, and that afterwards belonged to
+Dan Smeed, outlaw, highwayman, and squawman," he pronounced. "They never
+was another outfit like it in this country."
+
+"Tell us more about Dan Smeed!" screamed the girl.
+
+The patriarch shook his head. "Bad egg; bad egg!" he said sonorously.
+"He married a squaw, and that's how come it he got the grandest saddle
+and bridle Bolivio ever made. Bolivio's squaw kep' it after Bolivio was
+knifed. And by and by along come this Dan Smeed and his partner to this
+country. And when Dan Smeed married into the tribe he got the saddle and
+bridle and martingales somehow. That was later--years later. Bolivio's
+been dead over seventy year."
+
+"Have you ever heard the name Peter Drew?" Oliver asked him.
+
+But the old eyes remained blank, and the grey head shook slowly from
+side to side. "I recollect clear as day what happened sixty to seventy
+year ago, but I can't recollect what I did last week or where I went,"
+Dad Sloan said pathetically. "If I'd ever heard o' Peter Drew in the
+days o' forty-nine to seventy, I'd recollect it."
+
+"You mentioned Dan Smeed's partner," prompted Jessamy. "Can you recall
+his name?"
+
+"Yes, Dan Smeed had a partner," mused Dad Sloan. "Bad egg, Dan Smeed.
+Squawman, highwayman, outlaw. Disappeared with his fine saddle and
+bridle and martingales and the stones from the lost mine o' Bolivio."
+
+"But his partner's name?" the girl persisted.
+
+The old mind seemed to be wandering once more. "Bad eggs--both of 'em.
+Bad eggs," was the only answer she could get.
+
+"Well, we're progressing slowly," Jessamy observed as they rode away.
+"Our next step must be to visit the Indians. I know a number of them.
+Filipe Maquaquish, for instance, and Chupurosa are as old or older than
+Old Dad Sloan. Chupurosa's face is a pattern in crinkled leather. When
+we go to see Aunt Nancy Fleet we'll visit the Indian village. And that
+will be--when?"
+
+"Tomorrow, if you say so," Oliver replied. "I meant to irrigate my
+garden tomorrow, but it can wait a day."
+
+"By the way," she asked, "have you written that letter to Mr. Selden,
+telling him what we found out down at the county seat?"
+
+"I have it in my pocket," he told her.
+
+"Give it to me," she ordered. "I'll hand it in at the post office, get
+them to stamp the postmark on it, and take it home with me when I go."
+
+"Will you dare do that? Won't the post-master scent a conspiracy against
+Old Man Selden?"
+
+"Let him scent!" said Jessamy. "I'm dying to see Selden's face when he
+reads that letter."
+
+They parted at the headwaters of Clinker Creek, with the understanding
+that she would meet him in the county road next morning for the ride to
+her aunt's and the Indian reservation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+POISON OAK RANCH
+
+
+The trail that meandered down Clinker Creek Canyon extended at right
+angles to the one that led to the Selden ranch. The latter climbed a
+baldpate hill; then, winding its narrow way through dense locked
+chaparral higher than horse and rider, dipped down precipitously into
+the deep canyon of the American River.
+
+Jessamy waved good-bye to her new friend at the parting of the ways and
+lifted White Ann into her long lope to the summit of the denuded hill.
+For a little, as they crossed the topmost part of it, the deep, rugged
+scar that marked the course of the river was visible. Ragged and rocky
+and covered with trees and chaparral, the canyonside slanted down dizzily
+for over fifteen hundred feet. At the bottom the deep green river rushed
+pell-mell to the lower levels. A moment and the view was lost to the
+girl, as White Ann entered the thick chaparral and started the swift
+descent.
+
+At last they reached the bottom, forded the swirling stream, and began
+clambering up a trail as steep as the first on the other side. Soon the
+river was lost to view again, for once more the trail had been cut
+through a seemingly impenetrable chaparral of buckthorn, manzanita and
+scrub oak. Around and about tributary canyons they wound their way, and
+at last reached the end of the steep climb. For a quarter of a mile now
+the trail followed the backbone of a ridge, then entered a canyon that
+eventually spread out into a pine-bordered plateau on the mountainside.
+Just ahead lay Poison Oak Ranch. Beyond, the deep, dark forest extended
+in miles numbered by hundreds to the snow-mantled peaks of the Sierra
+Nevada range.
+
+While it was possible to reach Poison Oak Ranch from this side of the
+river, the journey on Shank's mare would have taken on something of the
+nature of an exploring expedition into unmapped lands. Occasionally
+hunters wandered to or past the ranch on this side; but for the most
+part any one who fancied that he had business at Poison Oak Ranch came
+over the narrow trail that connected the spot with outside civilization.
+Few entertained such a fancy, however, for Poison Oak Ranch, secluded,
+hidden from sight, tucked away in the Hills of Nowhere, and difficult of
+access, was owned and controlled by a clannish family that had little in
+common with the world.
+
+There was a large log house that Adam Selden's father had built in the
+days of '49, in which the Old Man Selden of today had first opened his
+eyes on life. There were several lesser cabins in the mountainside cup,
+two of which were occupied by Hurlock Selden and Winthrop Selden and
+their families. The remaining two boys, Moffat and Bolar, lived in the
+big house with Jessamy, her mother, and the wicked Old Man of the Hills.
+
+There was an extensive garden, watered by a generous spring that gushed
+picturesquely from under a gigantic boulder set in the hillside. There
+were perhaps ten acres of pasture, and a small deciduous orchard. Little
+more in the way of agricultural land. The Seldens merely made this place
+their home and headquarters--their cattle ranged the hills outside, and
+most of their activities toward a livelihood were carried on away from
+home. Selden owned a thousand acres over in the Clinker Creek Country
+and a winter range a trifle larger fifty miles below the foothills. He
+moved his herds three times in a year--from the winter pastures to the
+Clinker Creek Country for the spring grass, keeping them there till
+August, when they were driven to government mountain ranges at an
+altitude of six thousand feet; and from thence, in October, to winter
+range once more. The Clinker Creek range, however, was comprised of
+several thousand acres beside the thousand owned by Selden. This
+represented lands long since deserted by their owners as useless for
+agricultural purposes, and upon which Selden kept up the taxes, or
+appropriated without negotiations, as conditions demanded. Oliver Drew's
+forty had been a part of this until Oliver's inopportune arrival.
+
+Jessamy rode into the rail corral and unsaddled her mare. Then she
+hurried to the house to help her mother, a tired looking, once comely
+woman of fifty-eight.
+
+Mrs. Selden had been an Ivison--a sister of Old Tabor Ivison, who had
+homesteaded Oliver's forty acres thirty years before. As a girl she had
+married Herman Lomax, a country youth with ambitions for the city. He
+had done fairly well in the mercantile business in San Francisco, and
+Jessamy, the only child, was born to them. The girl had been raised to
+young womanhood and attended the State University. Then her father had
+died, leaving his business in an involved condition; and in the end the
+widow and her daughter found there was little left for them.
+
+They returned to the scene of Mrs. Lomax's girlhood, where they tried
+without success to farm the old home place, to which, in the interim,
+the widow had fallen heir. Then to the surprise of every one--Jessamy
+most of all--Mrs. Lomax consented to marry Old Adam Selden, the father
+of four strapping sons and "the meanest man in the country." At the time
+Jessamy had not known this last, but she knew it now.
+
+However, such an independent young woman as Jessamy would not consent to
+suffer a great deal at the hands of a step-father. She stayed on with
+the family for her mother's sake, but she had her own neat living room
+and bedroom and went her own way entirely. It must end someday. Old Adam
+Selden, though hard and tough as a time-battered oak, could not live for
+ever. Her mother would not divorce him. So Jessamy stayed and waited,
+and rode over the hills alone, unafraid and independent.
+
+She was helping her mother to get supper in the commodious kitchen, with
+its black log walls and immense stone fireplace, which room served as
+dining room and living room as well, when Adam Selden, Bolar, and Moffat
+rode in from the trail and corraled their horses. Supper was ready as
+the three clanked to the house in spurs and chaps, and washed noisily in
+basins under a gigantic liveoak at the cabin door. Then Jessamy took
+Oliver Drew's letter from her bosom and propped it against old Adam's
+coffee cup.
+
+Selden's bushy brows came down as he scraped his chair to the table.
+Mail for any Selden was an unusual occurrence.
+
+"What's this here?" Adam's thick fingers held the envelope before his
+eyes, and the beetling grey brows strained lower.
+
+"Mail," indifferently answered Jessamy, setting a pan of steaming
+biscuits, covered with a spotless cloth, on the table.
+
+"Fer me?"
+
+"'Adam Selden, Esquire,'" she quoted.
+
+"'Esquire,' eh? Who's she from?"
+
+"It's generally customary to open a letter and read who it is from,"
+said Jessamy lightly. "In this instance, however, you will find a
+notation on the flap of the envelope that reads: 'From Oliver Drew,
+Halfmoon Flat, California.'"
+
+"Huh!" Selden raised his shaggy head and bent a condemnatory glance on
+the girl.
+
+"D'he give it to ye?"
+
+"It is postmarked Halfmoon Flat," said Jessamy, taking her seat beside
+Bolar, who, indifferent to his father's difficulties, had already
+consumed three fluffy biscuits spread with butter and wild honey.
+
+"Ye got her out o' the office, then?" The cold blue eyes were
+challenging.
+
+"Oh, certainly, certainly!" Jessamy chirruped impatiently. "One might
+imagine you'd never received a letter before."
+
+Adam fingered it thoughtfully. "Yes," he said deliberatingly at last,
+reverting to his customary drawl, "I got letters before now. But I was
+just wonderin' if this Drew fella give thisun to you to give to me."
+
+Jessamy's round left shoulder gave a little shrug of indifference.
+"Coffee, Moffat?" she asked.
+
+"Sure Mike," said Moffat.
+
+"Did he?" Selden's tones descended to the deep bass boom which marked
+certain moods.
+
+"Oh, dear!" Jessamy complained good-naturedly. "What's the use? Can't
+you see the postmark and the cancelled stamp, Mr. Selden?"
+
+Selden contemplated them. "Yes, I see 'em," he admitted; "I see 'em. But
+I thought, s' long's ye was with that young Drew fella today, he might
+'a' saved his stamp and sent her to me by you."
+
+"That being satisfactorily decided," chirped Jessamy, "let us now open
+the missive and learn what Mr. Drew has to communicate."
+
+"Heaven's sake, Pap, open it and shut up!" growled Moffat, his mouth
+full of potato.
+
+"I'll take a quirt to you if ye tell me to shut up ag'in!" thundered
+Selden.
+
+Thereupon he tore the envelope and leaned out from his chair so that the
+light from a window flooded the single sheet which the envelope
+contained.
+
+He read silently, slowly, craggy brows drawn down. His cold blue eyes
+widened, and the large nostrils of his pitted Bourbon nose spread
+angrily.
+
+"Moffat, listen here!" he boomed at last. "You, too, Bolar."
+
+"Yes, be sure to listen, Bolar," laughed Jessamy. "But if you don't wish
+to, go down into the canyon of the American."
+
+"'Adam Selden, Esquire,'" Selden boomed on, unheeding the girl's
+bantering. "'Poison Oak Ranch, Halfmoon Flat, Californy:'
+
+"'My dear Mr. Selden.' Get that, Moffat! 'My dear Mr. Selden!' Say,
+who's that Ike think he's writin' to? His gal? Huh! 'My _dear_ Mr.
+Selden:'
+
+"'I rode to the county seat on Wednesday, this week, and looked over the
+records in the office of the recorder of deeds. I found that you are
+entirely mistaken in the matter that you brought to my attention on
+Tuesday. The forty acres known as the Old Ivison Place are recorded in
+my name, the date of the recording being January fifth, this year. It
+appears that Nancy Fleet sold the place years ago to my father, but that
+the transfer was not placed on record until the date I have mentioned.'
+
+"'With kindest regards,'
+
+"'Yours sincerely, Oliver Drew.'"
+
+Selden came to an ominous pause and glared about the table. "Writ with a
+typewriter, all but his name," he announced impressively. "And he's a
+liar by the clock!"
+
+Jessamy threw back her head in that whole-souled laughter that made
+every one who heard her laugh.
+
+"He's crazy," complacently mumbled Bolar, still at war on the biscuits.
+
+"Jess'my"--Selden's eyes were fixed sternly on his
+step-daughter--"What're ye laughin' at?"
+
+"At humanity's infinite variety," answered Jessamy.
+
+"Does that mean me?"
+
+"Me, too, Pete!" she rippled.
+
+"Looky-here"--he leaned toward her--"there's some funny business goin'
+on 'round here. Two times ye been seen ridin' with that new fella down
+on the Old Ivison Place."
+
+"Two times is right," she slangily agreed.
+
+"And ye rode with 'im to the county seat when he went to see the
+records. Just so!"
+
+"Your informer is accurate," taunted the girl.
+
+"What for?"
+
+"What for?" She levelled her disconcerting gaze at him. "Well, I like
+that, Mr. Selden! Because I wanted to, if you must pry into my affairs."
+
+"Ye wanted to, eh? Ye _wanted_ to! Did ye see the records?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"Is this here letter a lie?" He spanked the table with it.
+
+"It is not."
+
+He rose from his chair and bent over her. "D'ye mean to tell me yer
+maw's sister don't own that prop'ty?"
+
+"Exactly. It belongs to Mr. Oliver Drew, according to the recorder's
+office. May I suggest that I am rather proud of my biscuits tonight, and
+that they're growing cold as lumps of clay?"
+
+"It's a lie!" roared Selden.
+
+"Now, just a moment," said Jessamy coolly. "Do I gather that you are
+calling me a liar, Mr. Selden? Because if you are, I'll get a cattle
+whip and do my utmost to make you swallow it. I'll probably get the
+worst of it, but--"
+
+"Shut up!" bawled Selden. "Ye know what I mean, right enough! The whole
+dam' thing's a lie!"
+
+"Tell it to the county recorder, then," Jessamy advised serenely. "Have
+another piece of steak, Mother."
+
+"I'll ride right up to Nancy Fleet's tomorrow. I'll get to the bottom o'
+this business. And you keep yer young nose outa my affairs, Jess'my!"
+
+"Oh, I'll do that--gladly. That's easy."
+
+"Just so! Then keep her outa this fella Drew's, too!"
+
+"That's another matter entirely," she told him. "And I may as well add
+right here, while we're on the subject, that I wish you to keep your
+nose out of _my_ affairs. There, now--we've ruined our digestions by
+quarrelling at meal-time. Bolar hasn't, though--I'm glad somebody
+appreciates my biscuits."
+
+Bolar grinned, and his face grew red. Bolar was deeply in love with his
+step-sister, four years his senior; but a day in the saddle, with a
+sharp spring wind in one's face, will scarce permit the tender passion
+to interfere with a lover's appetite.
+
+Old Adam enveloped himself in his customary brooding silence. He was a
+holy terror when aroused, and would then spout torrents of words; but
+ordinarily he was morosely quiet, taciturn. He would not have hesitated
+to apply his quirt to his twenty-six-year-old son Moffat, as he had
+threatened to do, had not that young man possessed the wisdom born of
+experience to refrain from defying him. But with his step-daughter it
+was different. For some inexplicable reason he "took more sass" from her
+than from any other person living. Deep down in his scarred old heart,
+perhaps, there was hidden a deferential respect and fatherly admiration
+for this breezy, strong-minded girl with whom a strange fortune had
+placed him in daily contact.
+
+"Please eat your supper, Mr. Selden," Jessamy at last sincerely pleaded,
+when the old man's frowning abstraction had continued for minutes.
+
+Dutifully, without a word, he scraped his chair closer to the table and
+fell to noisily. But he did not join in the conversation, which now
+became general.
+
+It was a custom in the House of Selden for each diner to leave the table
+when he had finished eating--a custom antedating Jessamy's advent in the
+family, which she never had been able to correct. Bolar had long since
+bolted the last morsel of food that his tough young stomach would
+permit, and had hurried to a half-completed rawhide lariat. Moffat soon
+followed him out. Then Jessamy's mother arose and left the room. This
+left together at the table the deliberate eater, Jessamy, and the old
+man, who had not yet caught up with the time he had given to the letter.
+
+He too finished before the girl, having completed his supper in the same
+untalkative mood. Now, however, he spoke to her as he pushed back his
+chair and rose.
+
+"Jess'my," he said in a moderate tone, "I want to tell ye one thing. Ye
+know that I shoot straight from the shoulder, or straight from the hip,
+whichever's handiest--and I don't shoot to scare."
+
+He waited.
+
+Jessamy nodded. "I'll have to admit that," she said. "I think it's the
+thing I like most about you."
+
+He pondered over this, and again his brows came down above his pitted
+nose. "I didn't know they was anything ye liked about me," he at length
+said bluntly.
+
+"Oh, yes," she remarked, levelling that straightforward look of hers at
+him. "I like your height and the breadth of your chest, and the way you
+sit in your saddle when your horse is on the dead run--and the other
+thing I mentioned before."
+
+Again he grew thoughtful. "Well, that's _somethin'_," he finally
+chuckled. "Ye like my way o' sayin' what I think, then. Well, get this:
+I'm the boss o' this country, from Red Mountain to the Gap. I been the
+boss of her since my pap died and turned her over to me. So it's the
+boss o' the Poison Oak Country that's talkin'. And he says this: That
+new fella Drew that's made camp down on the Old Tabor Ivison Place can't
+make a livin' there, can't raise nothin', don't belong there. And if by
+some funny business, that I'm gonta look into right away, he's got
+a-holt o' that forty, he's got to hit the trail."
+
+"Why, how ridiculous!" laughed the girl. "Where do you think you are,
+Mr. Selden? In Russia--Germany? King Selden Second, Czar of all the
+Poison Oak Provinces! Mr. Drew, owning that land in his own right, must
+hit the trail and leave it for you simply because you say so!"
+
+"Ye heard what I said, Jess'my"--and he clanked out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+NANCY FLEET'S WINDFALL
+
+
+Jessamy Selden stood before the cheap soft-wood dresser in her bedroom,
+in a wing of the old log house, and completed the braiding of the two
+long, thick strands of cold-black hair. Then in the cozy little sitting
+room, which adjoined the bedroom and was hers alone, she slipped on her
+morocco-top riding boots and buckled spur straps over her insteps.
+
+The sun had not yet climbed the wooded ridges beyond Poison Oak Ranch.
+The night before the girl had prepared a cold breakfast for herself; and
+with this wrapped in paper she left the sitting room by its outside door
+and ran to the corral. The family was at breakfast in the vast room.
+Hurlock's and Winthrop's families were likewise engaged in their
+respective houses. So no one was about to disturb or even see Jessamy as
+she hastily threw the saddle on White Ann, leaped into it, and rode
+away.
+
+When she had left the clearing, and the noise of rapid hoofbeats would
+not be heard, she lifted the mare into a gallop. At this reckless speed
+they swung into the trail and plunged hazardously down the mountainside
+along the serpentine trail. They forded the river, took the trail on the
+other side, and raced madly up it until compassion for her labouring
+mount forced the rider to rein in. Now she ate her breakfast of cold
+baked apple and cold fried mush in the saddle as the mare clambered
+upward.
+
+At sunrise they topped the ridge and took up the lope again toward the
+headwaters of Clinker Creek. Long before she reached it Jessamy saw a
+bay horse and its rider at rest, with the early sunlight playing on the
+flashing silver of the famous saddle and bridle of Oliver Drew.
+
+"Let's go!" she cried merrily as White Ann, convinced that some
+devilment was afoot, cavorted and humped her back and shied from side to
+side while she bore down swiftly on the waiting pair.
+
+For answer Oliver Drew pressed his calves against Poche's ribs, and the
+bay leaped to White Ann's side with a snort that showed he had caught
+the spirit of the coming adventure, whatever it might prove to be. At a
+gallop they swung into the county road, Poche producing a challenging
+metallic rattle by rolling the wheel of his halfbreed bit with his
+tongue, straining at the reins, and bidding the equally defiant white to
+do that of which "angels could do no more."
+
+"Good morning!" cried Oliver. "What's the rush?"
+
+"Old Man Selden is riding to Aunt Nancy's today," she shouted back.
+"Good morning!"
+
+"Oh! In that case, if that white crowbait you're riding hadn't already
+come three miles, we'd find out whether she can run. She's telling the
+world she can."
+
+Jessamy made a face at him and, leaning forward, caressed the mare's
+smooth neck. White Ann evidently considered this a sign of abetment, for
+she plunged and reared and cast fiery looks of scorn at her pseudo
+rival.
+
+"There, there, honey!" soothed the girl. "We could leave that old
+flea-bitten relic so far behind it would be cruelty to animals to do it.
+Just wait till we're coming back, after we've rested and have an even
+chance; for I really believe the man wants to be fair."
+
+Oliver's eyes were filled with her as her strong, sinewy figure followed
+every unexpected movement of the plunging mare as if a magnet held her
+in the saddle. The dew of the morning was on her lips; the flush of it
+on her cheeks. Her long black braids whipped about in the wind like
+streamers from the gown of a classic dancer. The picture she made was
+the most engrossing one he had ever looked on.
+
+They slowed to a walk after a mile of it.
+
+"Well," said Jessamy, "I delivered your letter."
+
+"Yes? Go on. That's a good start."
+
+"It created quite a scene. Old Adam simply won't--can't--believe that
+you own the Old Ivison Place. So that's why he's fogging it up to Aunt
+Nancy's today. I think we'll be an hour ahead of him, though, and can be
+at the reservation by the time he reaches the house."
+
+"Is he angry?"
+
+"Ever try to convince a wasp that you have more right on earth than he
+has?" Her white teeth gleamed against the background of red lips and
+sunburned skin.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"He says that, whether you own the place or not, you'll have to leave."
+
+"M'm-m! That's serious talk. In some places I've visited it would be
+called fighting talk."
+
+"Number this place among them, Mr. Drew," she said soberly, turning her
+dark, serious eyes upon him.
+
+"But I didn't come up here to fight!"
+
+"Neither did the President of the United States take his seat in
+Washington to fight," she pointed out, keeping that level glance fixed
+on his face.
+
+"Oh, as to that," mused Oliver after a thoughtful pause, "I guess I
+_can_ fight. They didn't send me back from France as entirely useless.
+But it strikes me as a very stupid proceeding. Look here, Miss
+Selden--how many acres of grass does your step--er--Old Man Selden run
+cows on for the summer grazing?--how many acres in the Clinker Creek
+Country, in short?"
+
+Jessamy pursed her lips. "Perhaps four thousand," she decided after
+thought.
+
+"Uh-huh. And on my forty there's about fifteen acres, all told, that
+represents grass land. The rest is timber and chaparral. Now, fifteen
+acres added to four thousand makes four thousand fifteen acres. The
+addition would take care of perhaps five additional animals for the
+three months or more that his stock remains in that locality. Do you
+mean to tell me that Adam Selden would attempt to run a man out of the
+country for that?"
+
+She closed her eyes and nodded her head slowly up and down in a
+childlike fashion that always amused him. It meant "Just that!"
+
+He gave a short laugh of unbelief.
+
+"Listen," she cautioned: "Don't make the fatal mistake of taking this
+matter too lightly, Mr. Drew."
+
+"But heavens!" he cried. "A man who would attempt to dispossess another
+for such a slight gain as that would rob a blind beggar of the pennies
+in his cup! I've had a short interview with Old Man Selden. Corrupt he
+may be, but he struck me as an old sinner who would be corrupt on a big
+scale. I couldn't think of the masterful old reprobate I talked with as
+a piker."
+
+Jessamy locked a leg about her saddle horn. "You've got him about
+right," she informed her companion. "One simply is obliged to think of
+him as big in many ways."
+
+Oliver's leg now crooked itself toward her, and he slouched down
+comfortably. "Say," he said, "I don't get you at all."
+
+"Don't get me?" She was not looking at him now.
+
+"No, I don't. One moment you said he would put the skids under me for
+the slight benefit from my fifteen acres of grass. Next moment you
+maintain that he is not a piker."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Oliver rolled a cigarette. Not until it was alight did he say:
+
+"Well, you haven't explained yet."
+
+She was silent, her eyes on the glittering snow of the far-off Sierras.
+For the first time since he had met her he found her strangely at a loss
+for words. And had her direct gaze faltered? Were her eyes evading his?
+And was the rich colour of her skin a trifle heightened, or was it the
+glow from the sun, ever reddening as it climbed its ancient ladder in
+the sky?
+
+She turned to him then--suddenly. There was in her eyes a look partly of
+amusement, partly of chagrin, partly of shame.
+
+"I can't answer you," she stated simply. "I blundered, that's all.
+Opened my mouth and put my foot in it."
+
+"But can't you tell me how you did that even?"
+
+"I talk too much," was her explanation. "Like poor old Henry Dodd, I
+went too far on dangerous ground."
+
+Oliver tilted his Stetson over one eye and scratched the nape of his
+neck. "I pass," he said.
+
+"That reminds me," was her quick return, "I sat in at a dandy game of
+draw last night. There was--"
+
+"Wh-_what_!"
+
+"And now I have both feet in my mouth," she cried. "And you'll have to
+admit that comes under the heading, 'Some Stunt.' I thought I saw a
+chance to brilliantly change the subject, but I see that I'm worse off
+than before. For now you're not only mystified but terribly shocked."
+
+He gave this thirty seconds of study.
+
+"I'll have to admit that you jolted me," he laughed, his face a little
+redder. "I'm not accustomed to hearing young ladies say, 'I sat in at a
+dandy little game of draw'--just like that. But I'm sure I went too far
+when I showed surprise."
+
+"And what's your final opinion on the matter?" She was amused--Not
+worried, not defiant.
+
+"Well, I--I don't just know. I've never given such a matter a great deal
+of thought."
+
+"Do so now, please."
+
+Obediently he tried as they rode along.
+
+"One thing certain," he said at last, "it's your own business."
+
+"Oh, you haven't thought at all! Keep on."
+
+A minute later he asked: "Do you like to play poker?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"For--er--money?"
+
+"'For--er--money.' What d'ye suppose--crochet needles?"
+
+Then he took up his studies once more.
+
+Finally he roused himself, removed his leg from the horn, and
+straightened in the saddle.
+
+"Settled at last!" she cried. "And the answer is...?"
+
+"The answer is, I don't give a whoop if you do."
+
+"You approve, then?"
+
+"Of everything you do."
+
+"Well, I don't approve of that," she told him. "I don't, and I do. But
+listen here: One of the few quotations that I think I spout accurately
+is 'When in Rome do as the Romans do.' I'm 'way off there in the hills.
+I'm a pretty lonely person, as I once before informed you. Yet I'm a
+gregarious creature. We have no piano, few books--not even a phonograph.
+Bolar Selden squeezes a North-Sea piano--in other words an accordion. Of
+late years accordion playing has been elevated to a place among the
+arts; but if you could hear Bolar you'd be convinced that he hasn't kept
+pace with progress. He plays 'The Cowboy's Lament' and something about
+'Says the wee-do to the law-yer, O spare my only che-ild!' Ugh! He gives
+me the jim-jams.
+
+"So the one and only indoor pastime of Seldenvilla is draw poker. Now,
+if you were in my place, would you be a piker and a spoilsport and a
+pink little prude, or would you be human and take out a stack?"
+
+"I understand," he told her. "I think I'd take out a stack."
+
+"And besides," she added mischievously, "I won nine dollars and thirty
+cents last night."
+
+"That makes it right and proper," he chuckled. "But we've wandered far
+afield. Why did you say that Selden would try to run me off my toy ranch
+in one breath, and that he is wicked only in a big way in the next?"
+
+"I'd prefer to quarrel over poker playing," she said. "Please, I
+blundered--and I can't answer that question. But maybe you'll learn the
+answer to it today. We'll see. Be patient."
+
+"But I'll not learn from you direct."
+
+"I'm afraid not."
+
+"I think I understand--partly," he said after another intermission. "It
+must be that there's another--a bigger--reason why he wants me out of
+Clinker Creek Canyon."
+
+"You've guessed it. I may as well own up to that much. But I can't tell
+you more--now. Don't ask me to."
+
+After this there was nothing for the man to do but to keep silent on the
+subject. So they talked of other things till their horses jogged into
+Calamity Gap.
+
+Here was a town as picturesque as Halfmoon Flat, and wrapped in the same
+traditions. Jessamy's Aunt Nancy Fleet lived in a little shake-covered
+cottage on the hillside, overlooking the drowsy hamlet and the railroad
+tracks.
+
+It appeared that all of the Ivison girls had been unfortunate in
+marrying short-lived men. Nancy Fleet was a widow, and two other sisters
+besides Jessamy's mother had likewise lost husbands.
+
+Nancy Fleet was a still comely woman of sixty, with snow-white hair and
+Jessamy's black eyes. She greeted her niece joyously, and soon the three
+were seated in her stuffy little parlour.
+
+Oliver opened up the topic that had brought him there. Mrs. Fleet, after
+stating that she did so because he was Oliver Drew, readily made answer
+to his questions.
+
+Yes, she had sold the Old Ivison Place to a Mr. Peter Drew something
+like fifteen years before. She had never met him till he called on her,
+and no one else at Calamity Gap had known anything about him.
+
+He told that he had made inquiry concerning her, and that this had
+resulted in his becoming satisfied that she was a woman who would keep
+her word and might be trusted implicitly. This being so, he told her
+that he would relieve her of the Old Ivison Place, if she would agree to
+keep silent regarding the transfer until he or his son had assured her
+that secrecy was no longer necessary. For her consideration of his
+wishes in this connection he told her that he was willing to pay a good
+price for the land.
+
+As there seemed to be no rascality coupled with the request, she gave
+consent. For years she had been trying to dispose of the property for
+five hundred dollars. Now Peter Drew fairly took her breath away by
+offering twenty-five hundred. He could well afford to pay this amount,
+he claimed, and was willing to do so to gain her co-operation in the
+matter of secrecy. She had accepted. The transfer of the property was
+made under the seal of a notary public at the county seat, and the money
+was promptly paid.
+
+Then Peter Drew had gone away with his deed, and for fifteen years she
+had made the inhabitants of the country think that she still owned the
+Old Ivison Place simply by saying nothing to the contrary. She had been
+told to accept any rentals that she might be able to derive from it--to
+use it as her own. For several years Peter Drew had regularly forwarded
+her a bank draft to cover the taxes. Then Adam Selden had offered to pay
+the taxes for the use of the land, and she had written Peter Drew to
+that effect and told him to send no more tax money until further notice.
+Since that date she had heard no more from the mysterious purchaser of
+the land.
+
+She was surprised to learn that the transfer had at last been recorded,
+but could throw no light whatever on the proceedings.
+
+She took a motherly interest in Oliver because of his father, whose
+generosity had greatly benefited her. In fact, she said, she couldn't
+for the life of her tell how she'd got along without that money.
+
+"And whatever shall I say, dearie, when Adam Selden comes to me today?"
+she asked her niece. "I'm afraid of the man--just afraid of him."
+
+"Pooh!" Jessamy deprecated. "He's only a man. Oliver Drew's coming, and
+the fact that the transfer has at last been placed on record leaves you
+free to tell all you know. So just tell Old Adam what you've told Mr.
+Drew, and say you know nothing more about it. But whatever else you say,
+don't cheep that we've been here, Auntie."
+
+"Well, I hope and trust he'll believe me," she sighed as she showed her
+callers out.
+
+"Now," said Jessamy, as they remounted, "we'll ride away and be at the
+reservation by the time Old Adam arrives here. What do you think of your
+mystery by now, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"It grows deeper and deeper," Oliver mused.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+JESSAMY'S HUMMINGBIRD
+
+
+A steep, tall mountain, heavily wooded, reared itself above the Indian
+reservation. A creek tumbled over the boulders in the mountainside and
+raced through the village of huts; and the combined millions of all the
+irrigation and power companies in the West could not have bought a drop
+of its water until Uncle Sam's charges had finished with it and set it
+free again.
+
+It was a picturesque spot. Huge liveoaks, centuries old, sprawled over
+the cabins. Tiny gardens dotted the sunny land. Horses and dogs were
+anything but scarce, and up the mountainside goats and burros browsed
+off the chaparral. Wrinkled old squaws washed clothes at the creekside,
+or pounded last season's acorns into _bellota_--the native dish--in
+mortars hollowed in solid stone. Some made earthen _ollas_ of red clay;
+some weaved baskets. Over all hung that weird, indescribable odour which
+only Indians or their much-handled belongings can produce.
+
+"This is peace," smiled Oliver to Jessamy, as their horses leaped the
+stream side by side and cantered toward the cluster of dark, squat huts.
+"What do they call this reservation?"
+
+"It is named after an age-old dweller in our midst whom, since you are a
+Westerner, you must have often met."
+
+"Who is that?"
+
+"Mr. Rattlesnake."
+
+"Oh, certainly. I've met him on many occasions--mostly to his sorrow, I
+fancy. Rattlesnake Reservation, eh?"
+
+"Well, that would be it in English. But in the Pauba tongue Mr.
+Rattlesnake becomes Showut Poche-daka."
+
+"What's that!" Oliver turned quickly in his saddle to find her dark wide
+eyes fixed on him intently. "Say that again, please."
+
+"Showut Poche-daka," she repeated slowly.
+
+"M'm-m! Strikes me as something of a coincidence--a part of that name."
+
+"Showut is one word," she said, still watching him. "Poche and daka are
+two words hyphenated."
+
+"And how do the English-speaking people spell the second word, Poche?"
+he asked.
+
+"P-o-c-h-e," she spelled distinctly. "Long o, accent on the first
+syllable."
+
+Oliver reined in. "Stop a second," he ordered crisply. "Why, that's the
+way my horse's name is spelled. Say, that's funny!"
+
+"Is your trail growing plainer?"
+
+He looked at her earnestly. "Look here," he said bluntly. "I distinctly
+remember telling you the other day that my horse's name is Poche. Didn't
+you connect it with the name of the reservation at the time?"
+
+"I did."
+
+He looked at her in silence. "You did, eh?" he remarked finally. "I
+don't even know what my horse's name means. Dad bought him while I was
+away at college. I understood the horse was named that when Dad got hold
+of him, and that he merely hadn't changed it. Now, I won't say that Dad
+told me as much outright, but I gathered that impression somehow. I knew
+it was an Indian name, but had no idea of the meaning."
+
+"Literally Poche means bob-tailed--short-tailed. That's why it occurs in
+the title of our friend Mr. Rattlesnake. While your Poche-horse is not
+bob-tailed, his tail is rather heavy and short, you'll admit. Has
+nothing of the length and graceful sweep of White Ann's tail, if you'll
+pardon me."
+
+"You can't lead me into joshing just now, young lady. Answer this: Why
+didn't you tell me, when I told you my _caballo's_ name, that you knew
+what it meant? Most everybody asks me what it means when I tell 'em his
+name; but you did not even show surprise over the oddity of it--and I
+wondered. And before, when you spoke of this tribe of Indians, you
+called them the Paubas."
+
+"Certainly I showed no surprise, for I am familiar with the word poche
+and have just proved that I know its meaning. And I'm not very clever at
+simulating an emotion that I don't feel. I didn't tell you, moreover,
+because I wanted you to find out for yourself. I thought you'd do so
+here. Yes--and I deliberately called these people the Paubas. They _are_
+Paubas--a branch of the Pauba tribe."
+
+"I thought you were to help me," he grumbled. "You're adding to the
+mystery, it seems to me."
+
+"Not at all. I'm showing you the trail. You must follow it yourself.
+Knowing the country, I see bits here and there that tell me where to go
+to help you out. Poche's name is one of them. Keep your eyes and ears
+open while I'm steering you around."
+
+"All right," he agreed after a pause. "Lead on!"
+
+"Then we'll make a call on Chupurosa Hatchinguish," she proposed.
+"Chupurosa means hummingbird, as you doubtless know, since it is
+Spanish. And if my Chupurosa isn't a bird and also a hummer, I never
+hope to see one."
+
+Oliver's riding outfit created a sensation as the two entered the
+village. Faces appeared in doorways. Squat, dark men, their black-felt
+hats invariably two sizes too large, came from nowhere, it seemed, to
+gaze silently. Dogs barked. Women ceased their simple activities and
+chattered noisily to one another.
+
+Jessamy reined in before a black low door presently, and left the
+saddle. Oliver followed her. Through a profusion of morning-glories the
+girl led the way to the door and knocked.
+
+From within came a guttural response, and, with a smile at her
+companion, she passed through the entrance.
+
+It was so dark within that for a little Oliver, coming from the bright
+sunlight, could see almost nothing. Then the light filtering in through
+the vines that covered the hut grew brighter.
+
+The floor was of earth, beaten brick-hard by the padding of tough bare
+feet. In the centre was a fireplace--little more than a circle of
+blackened stones--from which the smoke was sucked out through a hole in
+the roof, presumably after it had considerately asphyxiated the
+occupants of the dwelling. Red earthenware and beautifully woven baskets
+represented the household utensils. There were a few old splint-bottom
+chairs, a pack-saddle hanging on the wall, a bed of green willow boughs
+in one corner.
+
+These simple items he noticed later, and one by one. For the time being
+his interested attention was demanded by the figure that sat humped over
+the fire, smoking a black clay pipe.
+
+Chupurosa Hatchinguish, headman of the Showut Poche-dakas and a
+prominent figure in the fiestas and yearly councils of the Pauba tribes,
+was a treasure for anthropologists. Years beyond the ken of most human
+beings had wrought their fabric in his face. It was cross-hatched,
+tattooed, pitted, knurled, and wrinkled till one was reminded of the
+surface of some strange, intricately veined leaf killed and mummified by
+the frost. From this crunched-leather frame two little jet-black eyes
+blazed out with the unquenched fires of youth and all the wisdom in the
+world. A black felt hat, set straight on his iron-grey hair and almost
+touching ears and eyebrows, faded-blue overalls, and a dingy flannel
+shirt completed his garb, as he wore nothing on his feet.
+
+"Hello, my Hummingbird!" Jessamy cried merrily in the Spanish tongue.
+
+Chupurosa seemed not to be the stoic, "How-Ugh!" sort of Indian with
+which fiction has made the world familiar. All the tragedy and
+unsolvable mystery of his race was written in his face, but he could
+smile and laugh and talk, and seemed to enjoy life hugely.
+
+His leathery face now parted in a grin, and, though he did not rise, he
+extended a rawhide hand and made his callers welcome. Then he waved them
+to seats.
+
+Much as any other human being would do, he politely inquired after the
+girl's health and that of her family. Asked as to his own, he shook his
+head and made a rheumatic grimace.
+
+"I've brought a friend to see you, Chupurosa," said Jessamy at last, as,
+for some reason or other, she had not yet exactly introduced Oliver.
+
+Chupurosa looked at the man inquiringly and waited.
+
+"This is Oliver Drew," said the girl in what Oliver thought were
+unnatural, rather tense tones. He saw Jessamy's lips part slightly after
+his name, and that she was watching the old man intently.
+
+Chupurosa nodded in an exaggerated way, and extended a hand, though the
+two had already gone through the handshake formality. Oliver arose and
+did his part again, then stood a bit awkwardly before their host.
+
+He heard a half-sigh escape the girl. "Senor Drew has not been in our
+country long," she informed the old man. "He comes from the southern
+part of the state--from San Bernardino County."
+
+Again the exaggerated nodding on the part of Chupurosa.
+
+Then there was a pause, which the girl at length broke--
+
+"Did you catch the name, Chupurosa? _Oliver Drew_."
+
+Chupurosa politely but haltingly repeated it, and grinned
+accommodatingly.
+
+Jessamy tried again. "Do you know a piece of land down in Clinker Creek
+Canyon that is called the Old Ivison Place, Chupurosa?"
+
+His nod this time was thoughtful.
+
+"Senor Drew now owns that, and lives there," she added.
+
+Both Jessamy and Oliver were watching him keenly. It seemed to Oliver
+that there was the faintest suggestion of dilation of the eye-pupils as
+this last bit of information was imparted. Still, it may have meant
+nothing.
+
+The Indian crumbled natural-leaf with heel of hand and palm, and
+refilled his terrible pipe.
+
+"Any friend of yours is welcome to this country and to my hospitality,"
+he said.
+
+"Senor Drew rode all the way up here horseback," the girl pushed on.
+"You like good horses, Chupurosa. Senor Drew has a fine one. His name is
+Poche."
+
+For the fraction of a second the match that Oliver had handed Chupurosa
+stood stationary on its trip to the tobacco in his pipe. Chupurosa
+nodded in his slow way again, and the match completed its mission and
+fell between the blackened stones.
+
+"And you like saddles and bridles, too, I know. You should see Senor
+Drew's equipment, Chupurosa."
+
+Several thoughtful puffs. Then--
+
+"Is it here, Senorita?"
+
+"Yes," said the girl breathlessly. "Will you go out and look at it?"
+
+This time the headman puffed for nearly a minute; then suddenly he rose
+with surprising briskness.
+
+"I will look at this horse called Poche," he announced, and stalked out
+ahead of them.
+
+A number of Indians, old and young, had gathered about the horses
+outside the little gate. They were silent but for a low, seemingly
+guarded word to one another now and then. Every black eye there was
+fixed on the gorgeous saddle and bridle of Poche in awe and admiration.
+
+Then came Chupurosa, tall, dignified as the distant mountain peaks, and
+they backed off instantly. At his heels were Oliver and the girl, whose
+cheeks now glowed like sunset clouds and whose eyes spoke volumes.
+
+Thrice in absolute silence the headman walked round the horse.
+Completing the third trip, he stepped to Poche's head and stood
+attentively looking at the left-hand _concha_ with its glistening stone.
+Then Chupurosa lifted his hands, slipped the chased-silver keeper that
+held the throatlatch in place, and let the throatlatch drop. Both hands
+grasped the cheekstrap near the brow-band, and turned this part of the
+bridle inside out.
+
+Oliver felt a slight trembling, it was all so weird, so portentous. He
+almost knew that the jet eyes were searching for the "B" chiselled into
+the silver on the inside of the _concha_, knew positively by the quick
+dilation of the pupils when they found it.
+
+At once the old man released the bridle and readjusted the throatlatch.
+He turned to them then, and silently motioned toward the hut. Jessamy
+cast a triumphant glance at Oliver as they followed him inside.
+
+To Oliver's surprise he closed the door after them. Then, though it was
+now so dark inside that Oliver could scarce see at all, Chupurosa stood
+directly before him and looked him up and down.
+
+He spoke now in the melodious Spanish.
+
+"Senor," he asked, "is there in the middle of your body, on the left
+side, the scar of a wound like a man's eye?"
+
+Oliver caught his breath. "Yes," he replied. "I brought it back from
+France. A bayonet wound."
+
+Up and down went the iron-grey head of the sage. "I have never seen the
+weapon nor the sort of wound it makes," he informed Oliver gravely.
+"Take off your shirt."
+
+"Oh, Chupu-_ro_-sa!" screamed Jessamy as she threw open the door and
+slammed it after her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+CONCERNING SPRINGS AND SHOWUT POCHE-DAKA
+
+
+It was evident to Oliver Drew that Clinker Creek was lowering fast, as
+Damon Tamroy had predicted that it would do. He feared that it would go
+entirely dry just when certain vegetables would need it most. Again,
+also following Tamroy's prophecy, the flow from his spring proved
+insufficient to keep all of his plantings alive, even though he had
+impounded the surplus in a small clay-lined reservoir.
+
+He stood with hands on hips today, frowning at the tinkling stream of
+water running from the rusty length of pipe into the reservoir.
+
+"There's just one thing to do," he remarked to it, "and that's to see if
+I can't increase your putter-putter. I want to write an article on
+making the most of a flow of spring water, anyway; and I guess I'll use
+you for a foundation."
+
+Whereupon he secured pick and shovel and sledge and set about removing
+the box he had so carefully set in the ground to hold his domestic
+water.
+
+When the box was out he enlarged the hole, and, when the water had
+cleared, studied the flow. It seeped out from a fissure in the
+bedrock--or what he supposed was the bedrock--and it seemed a difficult
+matter to "get at it." However, he began digging above the point of
+egress in the resistant blue clay, and late that afternoon was down to
+bedrock again.
+
+And now when he had washed off the rock he discovered a strange thing.
+This was that the supposed bedrock was not bedrock at all, but a wall of
+large stones built by the hand of man. Through a crevice in this wall
+the water seeped, and when he had gouged out the puttylike blue clay the
+flow increased fivefold.
+
+He sat down and puzzled over it, expecting the flow to return to normal
+after some tiny unseen reservoir had been drained of its surplus. But it
+did not lessen, and had not lessened when night came.
+
+At midnight, thinking about it in bed and unable to sleep, he arose,
+lighted a lantern, and went down to the spring. The water was flowing
+just the same as when he had left it.
+
+He was not surprised to find the work of human hands in and about his
+spring, but this wall of stones was highly irregular. It appeared that,
+instead of having been built to conserve the water, it was designed to
+dam up the flow entirely. The old flow was merely seepage through the
+wall.
+
+He was at it again early next morning, and soon had torn down the wall
+entirely and thrown out the stones. At least five times as much water
+was running still. He recalled that Damon Tamroy had said the spring had
+given more water in Tabor Ivison's day than now.
+
+There was but one answer to the puzzle. For some strange reason somebody
+since Tabor Ivison's day had seen fit to try to stop the flow from the
+spring altogether. But who would go to such pains to do this, and hide
+the results of his work, as these had been hidden? And, above all, why?
+
+It is useless to deny that Oliver Drew at once thought of the Poison
+Oakers. But what excuse could they produce for such an act? Surely, with
+the creek dry and the American River several miles away, they would
+encourage the flow of water everywhere in the Clinker Creek Country for
+their cattle to drink.
+
+It was beyond him then and he gave it up. He laid more pipe and covered
+it all to the land level again, and viewed with satisfaction the
+increased supply of water for the dry summer months to come. And it was
+not until a week later that Jessamy Selden unconsciously gave him an
+answer to the question.
+
+He was scrambling up the hill to the west of the cabin that day to
+another bee tree that he had discovered, when he heard her shrill
+shouting down below. He turned and saw her and the white mare before the
+cabin, and the girl was looking about for him.
+
+He returned her shout, and stood on a blackened stump in the chaparral,
+waving his hat above the foliage.
+
+"I get you!" she shrilled at last. "Stay there! I'm coming up!"
+
+Fifteen minutes later, panting, now on hands and knees, now crawling
+flat, she drew near to him. A bird can go through California "locked"
+chaparral if it will be content to hop from twig to twig, but the
+ponderous human animal must emulate Nebuchadnezzar if he or she would
+penetrate its mysteries.
+
+"What a delightful route you chose for your morning crawl," she puffed,
+as at last she lay gasping at the foot of the stump on which he sat and
+laughed at her.
+
+Oliver lighted a cigarette and inhaled indolently as he watched her
+lying there with heaving breast, her arms thrown wide. She did
+everything as naturally as does a child. She wore fringed leather chaps
+today, and remarked, when she sat up and dusted the trash from her hair,
+that she was glad she had done so since he had made her come crawling to
+his feet.
+
+"And that reminds me of something that I've decided to ask you," she
+added. "Has it occurred to you that I am throwing myself at you?" She
+looked straight into his face as she put the naive question to him.
+
+"Why do you ask that?" he countered, eyes on the tip of his cigarette.
+
+"I'll tell you why when you've answered."
+
+"Then of course not."
+
+"I suppose I _am_ a bit crude," she mused. "At least it must look that
+way to the natives here-about. I was fairly confident, though, that you
+wouldn't think me unmaidenly. I sought you out deliberately. I was
+lonely and wanted a friend. I had heard that you were a University man.
+You told Mr. Tamroy, you know. It's perfectly proper deliberately to try
+and make a friend of a person, isn't it?--if you think both of you may
+be benefited. And does it make a great deal of difference if the subject
+chances to be of the other sex?"
+
+"I'm more than satisfied, so far as I come in on the deal," Oliver
+assured her.
+
+"I thank you, sir. And now I've been accused to my face of throwing
+myself at you--which expression means a lot and which you doubtless
+fully understand."
+
+"Who is your accuser?"
+
+"The author of 'Jessamy, My Sweetheart.'"
+
+"Digger Foss, eh?"
+
+She closed both eyes tightly and bobbed her head up and down several
+times, then opened her eyes. "He's a free man again--tried and
+acquitted."
+
+"No!"
+
+"Didn't I tell you how it would be?"
+
+He puffed his cigarette meditatively. "Doesn't it strike you as strange
+that you and I were not subpoenaed as witnesses?"
+
+"I've been expecting that from you. No, sir--it doesn't. Digger's
+counsel didn't want you and me as witnesses."
+
+"But the prosecuting attorney."
+
+"_He_ didn't want us either."
+
+"Then there's corruption."
+
+"If I could think of a worse word than corruption I'd correct you, so
+I'll let that stand. Digger Foss is Old Man Selden's right hand; and Old
+Man Selden is Pythias to the prosecuting attorney of this man's county."
+
+Oliver's eyes widened.
+
+"Elmer Standard is the gentleman in question. What connection there can
+be between him and Adam Selden is too many for me; but Selden goes to
+see him whenever he rides to the county seat. Only the right witnesses
+were allowed to take the stand, you may be confident. I knew the
+halfbreed's acquittal was a foregone conclusion before the smoke from
+his gat had cleared."
+
+Both were silent for a time, then she said: "Elmer Standard runs things
+down at the county seat. I've heard that he allows open gambling, and
+that he personally finances three saloons and several gaming places."
+
+"But there are no saloons now."
+
+"Indeed!" she said with mock innocence. "I didn't know. I never have
+frequented them, so you'll overlook my ignorance. Anyway, Digger Foss is
+as free as the day he was born; and Henry Dodd, the man he murdered,
+lies in the little cemetery in the pines near Halfmoon Flat. But there's
+another piece of news: Adam Selden has--"
+
+"Pardon my interrupting you," he put in, "but you haven't finished with
+Digger Foss."
+
+"Oh, that! Well, I met him on the trail between Clinker Creek and the
+American yesterday. He accused me of being untrue to him while he was in
+jail."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"I admitted my guilt. Never having had the slightest inclination to be
+true to him, I told him, it naturally followed that I was untrue to
+him--and wasn't it a glorious day? How on earth the boy ever got the
+idea that he has the right to consider me in the light that he does is
+beyond me. I don't scold him, and I don't send him packing--nor do I
+give him the least encouragement. I simply treat him civilly when he
+approaches me on a commonplace matter, and ignore him when he tries to
+get funny. And he's probably so dense that all this encourages him. How
+can he be so stupid! I haven't been superior enough with him--but I hate
+to be superior, even to a halfbreed. And he's quarter Chinaman. Heavens,
+what am I coming to!"
+
+"How did the meeting end?" queried Oliver.
+
+"Well, we both went a little further this time than ever before. He
+attempted to kiss me, and I attempted to cut his face open with my
+quirt. Both of us missed by about six inches, I'm thankful to say. And
+the grand climax took the form of a dire threat against you. By the way,
+I've never seen you pack a gun, Mr. Drew."
+
+He shrugged. "I used to down on the cow ranch in San Bernardino County,
+but I think I grew up over in France."
+
+"You have one, of course."
+
+"Yes--a 'forty-five."
+
+"Can you handle a gun fairly well?"
+
+"I know which end to look into to see if it's loaded."
+
+"Can you spin a dollar in air with your left hand, draw, and hit it
+before it strikes the ground?"
+
+"Aw, let's be sensible!" he cried. "I'm after another colony of bees.
+Come on up and look at 'em."
+
+"Sit still," she ordered. "Can you do what I asked about?"
+
+"I don't know--I've never tried."
+
+"Digger Foss can," she claimed.
+
+"Well, that's shooting."
+
+"It is. I'd strap that gun on if I were you and practice up a bit."
+
+"Cartridges are too high-priced," he laughed. "What's the rest of the
+news?"
+
+"The store up at Cliffbert, about fourteen miles from here and off the
+railroad, was broken into three days ago and robbed of cutlery,
+revolvers, and other things to the tune of several hundred dollars."
+
+"M'm-m! Do they have any idea who did it?"
+
+"Oh, yes. The Poison Oakers."
+
+"They know it?"
+
+"Of course--everybody knows it. But it can't be proved. It's nothing
+new."
+
+"I didn't know the gang ever went to such a limit."
+
+"Humph!" she sniffed significantly. "And the next piece of news is that
+Sulphur Spring has gone dry for the first time in many years. And here
+it's only May!"
+
+"Where is Sulphur Spring?"
+
+"About a mile below your south line, in this canyon. I heard Old Man
+Selden complaining about it last night, and thought I'd ride around that
+way this morning. It's as he said--entirely dry, so far as new water
+running into the basin is concerned."
+
+"Well," said Oliver, "my piece of news is just the opposite of that. My
+spring is running a stream five times as large as heretofore--"
+
+She straightened. "What caused that?" she demanded quickly.
+
+He explained in detail.
+
+"So!" she murmured. "So! I understand. Listen: I have heard the menfolks
+at the ranch say that all these canyon springs are connected. That is,
+they all are outbreaks from one large vein that follows the canyon. If
+you shut off one, then, you may increase the flow of the next one below
+it. And if you open one up and increase its output, the next below it
+may go entirely dry. The flow from yours has been cut off in time gone
+by to increase the flow of Sulphur Spring. And now that you've taken
+away the obstruction, your spring gets all the water, while Sulphur
+Spring gets none."
+
+"I believe you're right," asserted Oliver. "And do you think it might
+have been the Poison Oakers who closed my spring to increase the flow
+down there?"
+
+"Undoubtedly."
+
+"But why? They were running cows on my land, too, before I came.
+Wouldn't it be handier to have a good flow of water in both places?"
+
+"No doubt of that," she answered. "And I can't enlighten you, I'm sorry
+to say. All I know is that Old Man Selden is hopping mad--angrier than
+the situation seems to call for, as springs are by no means scarce in
+Clinker Canyon."
+
+Jessamy's disclosures had ended now, so they scrambled on up the hill
+toward the bee tree.
+
+The colony had settled in a dead hollow white-oak. The tree had been
+broken off close to the ground by high winds after the colony had taken
+up residence therein. The hole by which they made entrance to the hollow
+trunk, however, was left uppermost after the fall, and apparently the
+little zealots had not been seriously disturbed.
+
+Anyway, here they were still winging their way to and from the prostrate
+tree, the sentries keeping watch at the entrance to their increasing
+store of honey.
+
+Oliver had found the tree two weeks before, purely by accident. At that
+time the hole at which the workers entered had been unobstructed. Now,
+though, tall weeds had grown up about the tree, making a screen before
+the hole and preventing the nectar-laden insects from entering readily.
+
+"This won't do at-all-at-all," he said to Jessamy, as she took her seat
+on a limb of the bee tree. "There must be nothing to obstruct them in
+entering, for sometimes they drop with their loads when they have
+difficulty in winging directly in, and can't get up again."
+
+"Uh-huh," she concurred.
+
+She had unlaid one of her black braids and was replaiting it again after
+the havoc wrought by the prickly bushes.
+
+Oliver lighted his bee-smoker and sent several soft puffs into the hole
+to quiet the bees. Then without gloves or veil, which the experienced
+beeman seldom uses, he laid hold of the tall weeds and began uprooting
+them. Thus engaged, he kneeled down and reached under the tree trunk to
+get at the roots of certain obstinate plants; and in that instant he
+felt a sharp sting in the fleshy part of his wrist.
+
+"Ouch! Holy Moses!" he croaked. "I didn't expect to find a bee under
+there!"
+
+"Get stung?"
+
+"Did I! Mother of Mike! I've been stung many times, but that lady must
+have been the grandmother of--Why, I'm getting sick--dizzy!--"
+
+He came to a pause, swayed on his knees, and closed his eyes. Then came
+that heart-chilling sound which, once heard, will never be forgotten,
+and will ever bring cold terror to mankind--the rattlebone
+_whir-r-r-r-r_ of the diamond-back rattlesnake.
+
+Oliver caught himself, licked dry lips, and was gazing in horror at two
+bleeding, jagged incisions in his wrist. The girl, with a scream of
+comprehension, darted toward him. He balanced himself and smiled grimly
+as she grabbed his arm with shaking hands.
+
+"Got me," he said, "the son-of-a-gun! And I'd have stuck my hand right
+back for another dose if he hadn't rattled."
+
+Jessamy grabbed him by both shoulders and tried to force him to the
+ground.
+
+"Sit down and keep quiet!" she ordered, sternly, her nerves now firm and
+steady, her face white and determined. "No, not that way!"
+
+She grasped him under the arms and with the strength of a young Amazon
+slued him about as if he had been a sack of flour.
+
+Deftly she bound his handkerchief about his arm, drawing it taut with
+all her strength. Something found its way into his left hand.
+
+"Drink that!" she commanded. "All of it. Pour it down!"
+
+Then her lips sought the flaming wound; and she clamped her white teeth
+in his flesh and began sucking out the poison.
+
+At intervals she raised her head for breath and to spit out the deadly
+fluid.
+
+"Drink!" she would urge then. "And don't worry. Not a chance in the
+world of your being any the worse after I get through with you."
+
+Oliver obeyed her without question, taking great swallows from the flask
+of fiery liquor and closing his eyes after each. His senses swam and he
+felt weak and delirious, though he could not tell whether this last was
+because of the poison or the liquor he had consumed.
+
+At last Jessamy leaned back and fumbled in a pocket of her chaps. She
+produced a tiny round box, from which she took a bottle of dry
+permanganate of potash and a small lancet. With the keen instrument she
+hacked a deep x in his arm, just over the wound. Then she wet the red
+powder with saliva and worked a paste into the cuts with the lancet.
+
+This done, she sat back and regarded her patient complacently.
+
+"Just take it easy," she counselled. "And, whatever you do, don't worry.
+You won't know you were bitten in an hour. Sip that whisky now and then.
+It won't kill the poison, as some folks seem to believe, but it will
+make you light-hearted and you'll forget to worry. That's the part it
+plays in a case like this. Now if I can trust you to keep quiet and
+serene, I'll seek revenge."
+
+He nodded weakly.
+
+She arose, and presently again came that sickening _whir-r-r-r-r-r_
+miscalled a rattle, followed immediately by a vicious _thud-thud-thud_.
+
+"There, you horrid creature!" he heard in a low, triumphant tone. "You
+thought I was afraid of you, did you? Bring total collapse on all your
+fictitious traditions and bite before you rattle, will you! _Requiescat
+in pace_, Mr. Showut Poche-daka!"
+
+Half an hour afterward Oliver Drew was on his feet, but he staggered
+drunkenly. To this day he is not just sure whether he was intoxicated or
+raving from the effects of the snakebite. Anyway, as Jessamy took hold
+of him to steady him, his reason left him, and he swept her into his
+arms and kissed her lips time and again, though she struggled valiantly
+to free herself.
+
+Ultimately she ducked under his arms and sprang away from him backward,
+her face crimson, her bosom heaving.
+
+"Sit down again!" she ordered chokingly. "Shame on you, to take
+advantage of me like that!"
+
+"Won't sit down!" he babbled, reaching about for her blindly. "I love
+you an' I'm gonta have you!"
+
+"You're out of your head! Sit down again! Please, now." Her tone changed
+to a soothing note. "You're--I'm afraid you're drunk."
+
+He was groping for her, staggering toward a threatening outcropping of
+rock. With a rapid leap she closed in on him unexpectedly, heaved
+desperately to the right and left, and threw him flat on his back. Then
+she scrambled on top of his knees as he strove to rise again.
+
+"Now, looky-here, mister," she warned, "you've gone just about far
+enough! In a second I'll get that bee-smoker and put you out of
+business. Please--please, now, be good!"
+
+He seemed partially stunned by the fall, for he lay now without a move,
+eyes closed, his mind wandering dreamily. And thus he lay for half an
+hour longer, when he suddenly raised his head and looked at her, still
+propped up on his knees, with eyes that were sane.
+
+"Golly!" he breathed.
+
+"Golly is right," she agreed drolly. "Were you drunk or crazy?"
+
+"Both, I guess. I'm--mighty sorry." His face was red as fire.
+
+"Do you wish to get up?"
+
+"If you please."
+
+He stood on his feet. He was still weak and pale and dizzy.
+
+"Heavens! That liquor!" he panted. "What is it? Where did you get it?"
+
+"At home. Old Adam gave me the flask over a year ago. It's only whisky.
+I always carry a flask for just such an emergency as this. And I never
+go a step out of the house in the summer without my snakebite kit.
+Nobody ought to in the West."
+
+He shook his head. "That's not whisky," he said. "I'm not exactly a
+stranger to the taste of whisky. That's brimstone!"
+
+"I was told it was whisky," she replied. "I know nothing about whisky.
+I've never even tasted it."
+
+He held the flask to the sun, but it was leather-covered and no light
+shone through. He unscrewed the metal cap and poured some of the liquor
+into it.
+
+It was colourless as water.
+
+"Moonshine!" he cried. "And I know now why the flow from my spring was
+cut off. A still calls for running water!"
+
+"You may be right," she said without excitement. "You will remember that
+I told you there is another reason besides Selden's covetousness of your
+grass land why you are wanted out of the Clinker Creek Country."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE POISON OAKERS RIDE
+
+
+A red-headed, red-breasted male linnet sat on the topmost branch of the
+old, gnarled liveoak near Oliver's window and tried to burst his throat
+to the accompaniment of Oliver's typewriter. When the keys ceased their
+clicking the singer finished a bar and waited, till once more the
+dicelike rattle encouraged him to another ecstatic burst of melody.
+
+"Well, I like to be accommodating," remarked Oliver, leaning back from
+his machine, "but I can't accompany you all day; and it happens that I'm
+through right now."
+
+He surveyed the last typewritten sheet of his manuscript on the cleaning
+of springs for the enlarging of their flow; but, the article completed,
+his mind was no longer engrossed by it.
+
+Other and bigger matters claimed his thoughts, and he sat in the soft
+spring air wondering about old Chupurosa Hatchinguish and his strange
+behaviour on seeing the gem-mounted _conchas_ stamped with the letter B.
+
+When Oliver had stripped off his shirt in the hut that day the scar that
+a German bayonet had left in his side had carefully been examined by the
+ancient chief. Oliver fancied there had been a strange new look in his
+inscrutable eyes as he silently motioned for him to put on his shirt
+again. He had made no comment whatever, though, and said nothing at all
+until the young man had finished dressing. Then he had stepped to the
+door and opened it, rather impolitely suggesting that his guest's
+presence in the hut was no longer necessary. As Oliver passed out he had
+spoken:
+
+"When next the moon is full," he said, "the Showut Poche-dakas will
+observe the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio, as taught them years ago
+by the padres who came from Spain. Then will the Showut Poche-dakas
+dance the fire dance, which is according to the laws laid down by the
+wise men of their ancestors. Ride here to the Fiesta de Santa Maria de
+Refugio on the first night that the moon is full. _Adios, amigo!_"
+
+That was all; and Oliver had passed out into the bright sunlight and
+found Jessamy Selden.
+
+The two had talked over the circumstances often since that day, but
+neither could throw any light on the matter. But the first night of the
+full moon was not far distant now, and Oliver and the girl were awaiting
+it impatiently. Oliver felt that at the fiesta he would in some way gain
+an inkling of the mysterious question that had puzzled his father for
+thirty years, and which eventually had brought his son into this country
+to find out whether its answer was Yes or No.
+
+Oliver tilted back his chair and lighted his briar pipe. Out in the
+liveoak tree the linnet waited, head on one side, chirping plaintively
+occasionally, for the renewed clicking of the typewriter keys. But
+Oliver's thoughts were far from his work.
+
+That burning, colourless liquor that had so fiercely fired his brain was
+undoubtedly moonshine--and redistilled at that, no doubt. Jessamy had
+told him further that she had not so much as unscrewed the cap since old
+Adam had given her the flask, at her request, and had had no idea that
+the flask had not contained amber-coloured whisky. Was this in reality
+the reason why the Poison Oakers wished him to be gone? Had they been
+distilling moonshine whisky down at Sulphur Spring to supply the blind
+pigs controlled by the prosecuting attorney at the county seat? And had
+his inadvertent shutting off of Sulphur Spring's supply of water stopped
+their illicit activities? They had known, perhaps, that eventually he
+would discover that his own spring had been choked by some one and would
+rectify the condition. Whereupon Sulphur Spring would cease to flow and
+automatically cut off one of their sources of revenue. Oliver decided to
+look for Sulphur Spring at his earliest opportunity.
+
+His brows came together as he recalled the episode on the hill, when
+either the fiery raw liquor or the poison from the diamond-back's
+fangs--or both--had deprived him of his senses.
+
+He remembered perfectly what he had said--what he had done. He had heard
+sometime that a man always tells the truth when he is drunk. But had he
+been drunk, or rabid from the hypodermic injections of Showut
+Poche-daka? Or, again--both? One thing he knew--that he thrilled yet at
+remembrance of those satin lips which he had pressed again and again.
+
+Had he told the truth? Had he said that day what he would not have
+revealed for anything--at that time?
+
+His brows contracted more and more, and a grim smile twitched his lips.
+His teeth gripped the amber stem of his pipe. Had he told the truth?
+
+He rose suddenly and went through a boyish practice that had clung to
+him to the years of his young manhood. He stalked to the cheap
+rectangular mirror on the wall and gazed at his wavy reflection in the
+flawed glass. Blue eye into blue eye he gazed, and once more asked the
+question:
+
+"Did I tell the truth when I said I loved her?"
+
+His eyes answered him. He knew that he had told the truth.
+
+Then if this was true--and he knew it to be true--what of the halfbreed,
+Digger Foss? He remembered a gaunt man, stricken to his death, reeling
+against the legs of a snorting white mare and clutching at them blindly
+for support--remembered the gloating grin of the mounted man, the muzzle
+of whose gun followed the movements of his wounded enemy as a cobra's
+head sways back and forth to the charmer's music--remembered the cruel
+insolence of the Mongolic eyes, mere slits.
+
+He swung about suddenly from the mirror and caught sight of a knothole
+in the cabin wall, which so far he had neglected to patch with tin. He
+noted it as he swung about and dived at the pillow on his bed. He hurled
+the pillow one side, swept up the ivory-handled '45 that lay there,
+wheeled, and fired at the knothole. There had been no appreciable pause
+between his grasping of the weapon and the trigger pull, yet he saw no
+bullet hole in the cabin boards when the smoke had cleared away.
+
+He chuckled grimly. "I might get out my army medals for marksmanship and
+pin 'em on my breast for a target," he said.
+
+Then to his vast confusion there came a voice from the front of the
+house.
+
+"Ain't committed soothin' syrup, have ye?" it boomed.
+
+There was no mistaking the deep-lunged tones. It was Old Man Selden who
+had called to him.
+
+Oliver tossed the gun on the bed and walked through to the front door,
+which always stood open these days, inviting the countless little
+lizards that his invasion of the place had not disturbed to enter and
+make themselves at home.
+
+The gaunt old boss of the Clinker Creek Country stood, with
+chap-protected legs wide apart, on Oliver's little porch. His
+broad-brimmed black hat was set at an angle on his iron-grey hair, and
+his cold blue eyes were piercing and direct, as always. In his hands he
+held the reins of his horse's bridle. Back of the grey seven men lounged
+in their saddles, grinning at the old man's sally. Digger Foss was not
+among the number.
+
+"How d'ye do, Mr. Selden," said Oliver in cordial tones, thrusting forth
+a strong brown hand.
+
+Selden did not accept the hand, and made no effort to pretend that he
+had not noticed it. Oliver quickly withdrew it, and two little lumps
+showed over the hinges of his jaws.
+
+He changed his tone immediately. "Well, what can I do for you
+gentlemen?" he inquired brusquely.
+
+"We was ridin' through an' thought we heard a shot," said Selden. "So I
+dropped off to see if ye wasn't hurt."
+
+"I beg your pardon," Oliver returned, "but you must have been dismounted
+when I fired. This being the case, you already had decided to call on
+me. So, once more, how can I be of service to you?"
+
+The grins of the men who rode with Adam Selden disappeared. There was no
+mistaking the businesslike hostility of Oliver's attitude.
+
+"Peeved about somethin' this mornin'," one of them drawled to the rider
+whose knee pressed his.
+
+Oliver looked straight at Old Man Selden, and to him he spoke.
+
+"I am not peeved about anything," he said. "But when a man comes to my
+door, and I come and offer him my hand, and he ignores it, my inference
+is that the call isn't a friendly one. So if you have any business to
+transact with me, let's get it off our chests."
+
+Oliver noted with a certain amount of satisfaction the quick, surprised
+looks that were flashed among the Poison Oakers. Apparently they had met
+a tougher customer than they had expected.
+
+All this time the cold blue eyes of Adam Selden had been looking over
+the pitted Bourbon nose at Oliver. Selden's tones were unruffled as he
+said:
+
+"Thought maybe the poison oak had got too many for ye, an' ye'd shot
+yerself."
+
+"I don't care to listen to subtle threats," Oliver returned promptly.
+"Poison oak does not trouble me at all--neither the vegetable variety
+nor the other variety. I'm never in favour of bandying words. If I have
+anything to say I try to say it in the best American-English at my
+command. So I'll make no pretence, Mr. Selden, that I have not heard you
+don't want me here in the canyon. And I'll add that I am here, on my own
+land, and intend to do my best to remain till I see fit to leave."
+
+Selden's craggy brows came down, and the scrutiny that he gave the young
+man was not without an element of admiration. No anger showed in his
+voice as he said:
+
+"Just so! Just so! I wanted to tell ye that I been down to the
+recorder's office and up to see Nancy Fleet, my wife's sister. Seems
+that you're right about this prop'ty standin' in your name an' all; but
+I thought, so long's we was ridin' along this way, I'd drop off an' have
+a word with ye."
+
+"I'm waiting to hear it."
+
+"No use gettin' riled, now, because--"
+
+"If you had accepted my hand you'd not find me adopting the tone that I
+have."
+
+"Just so!" Selden drawled. "Well, then, I'll accept her now--if I ain't
+too bold."
+
+"You will not," clicked Oliver. "Will you please state your business and
+ride on?"
+
+"Friendly cuss, ain't he, Dad?" remarked one of the Selden boys--which
+one Oliver did not know.
+
+"You close yer face!" admonished Selden smoothly, in his deep bass.
+"Well, Mr. Drew, if ye want to stay here an' starve to death, that's
+none o' my concern. And if ye got money to live on comin' from
+somewheres else, that's none o' my concern either. But when ye stop the
+run o' water from a spring that I'm dependin' on to water my critters in
+dry months, it _is_ my concern--an' that's why I dropped off for a word
+with ye."
+
+"How do you know I have done that?" Oliver asked.
+
+"Well, 'tain't likely that a spring like Sulphur Spring would go dry the
+last o' May. Most o' these springs along here are fed from the same
+vein. You move in, and Sulphur Spring goes dry. So that's what I dropped
+off to talk to ye about. Just so!"
+
+"I suppose," said Oliver, "that the work I did on my spring has in
+reality stopped the flow of Sulphur Spring. But--"
+
+"Ye do? What _makes_ ye suppose so?--if I ain't too bold in askin'."
+
+Oliver's lips straightened. Plainly Selden suspected that Jessamy had
+told him of the peculiarity of the canyon springs, and was trying to make
+him implicate her. But the old man was not the crafty intriguer he
+seemed to fancy himself to be. He already had said too much if he wished
+to make Oliver drag the girl's name into the quarrel.
+
+"Why, what you have just told me, added to my knowledge of what I did to
+clean out my spring, leads to that supposition," he replied. "But, as I
+was about to remark when you interrupted me, I can't see that that is
+any concern of mine. That's putting it rather bluntly, perhaps; but I am
+entirely within my rights in developing all the water that I can on my
+land, regardless of how it may affect land that lies below me."
+
+"Right there's the point," retorted Selden. "I'm a pretty good friend o'
+the prosecutin' attorney down at the county seat. He tells me ye can't
+take my water away from me like that."
+
+"Then I should say that your legal friend is not very well posted on the
+laws governing the development and disposition of water in this state,"
+Oliver promptly told him.
+
+"I wrote him," said Selden, "an' I'll show ye the letter if ye'll invite
+me in."
+
+For the first time Oliver hesitated. Why did Selden wish to enter the
+cabin? Could not the letter be produced and read on the porch? It
+flashed through his mind that the old fox wished to get him inside so
+that some of his gang might investigate the spring and find out the
+volume of the water that was flowing, and what had been done to increase
+it. This only added to his belief that the Poison Oakers were
+responsible for the wall of stones that had choked the stream. Well, why
+not let them find out all that they wished to know in this regard?
+
+"Certainly," he invited. "Come in." And he stood back from the door.
+
+Selden clanked his spur rowels across the threshold. At the same time he
+was reaching into his shirtfront for the letter.
+
+Then an odd thing occurred. He was about to take the chair that Oliver
+had pushed forward when his blue eyes fell upon the saddle and bridle
+which had come to stand for so much in Oliver's life, hanging from a
+thong in one corner of the room.
+
+The old Poison Oaker's eyes grew wide, and, as was their way when he was
+moved out of his customary brooding mood, his thick nostrils began
+dilating. But almost instantly he was his cold, insolent self again.
+
+"I heard some of 'em gassin' about that rig o' yours," he remarked.
+"Said she was a hummer all 'round. That it there? Mind if I look her
+over?"
+
+"Not at all." Oliver was quick to grasp at any chance that might lead to
+the big question and its answer.
+
+Old Man Selden's leather chaps whistled his legs to the corner, where he
+stood, long arms at his sides, gazing at the saddle, the bridle, and the
+martingales. His deep breathing was the only sound in the room. Outside,
+Oliver heard foot-steps, and suspected that the investigation of his
+spring was on.
+
+At last Adam Selden made a move. He changed his position so that his
+spacious back was turned toward Oliver. Quietly Oliver leaned to one
+side in his chair, and he saw the cowman's big hand outstretched toward
+the gem-mounted _concha_ on the left-hand side of the bridle--saw thumb
+and fingers turn that part of the bridle inside-out.
+
+Again the room was soundless. Then Selden turned from the exhibit, and
+Oliver grew tense as he noted the strange pallor that had come on the
+old man's face.
+
+"That's a han'some rig," was all he said, as he sank to his chair and
+laid a letter on the oilcloth-covered table.
+
+The letter contained the information that its recipient had claimed, and
+was signed Elmer Standard. Oliver quickly passed it back, remarking:
+
+"He's entirely wrong, and ought to know it. I have had occasion to look
+into the legal aspect of water rights in California quite thoroughly,
+and fortunately am better posted than most laymen are on the subject."
+
+But the chief of the Poison Oakers was scarce listening. In his blue
+eyes was a faraway look, and that weird grey pallor had not left his
+face.
+
+Suddenly he jerked himself from reverie, and, to Oliver's surprise, a
+smile crossed his bearded lips.
+
+"Just so! Just so! I judge ye're right, Mr. Drew--I judge ye're right,"
+he said almost genially. "Anyway you an' me'd be out-an'-out fools to
+fuss over a matter like that. There's plenty water fer the cows, an' I
+oughtn't to butted in. But us ol'-timers, ye know, we--Well, I guess we
+oughta be shot an' drug out fer the cy-otes to gnaw on. I won't trouble
+ye again, Mr. Drew. An' I'll be ridin' now with the boys, I reckon. Ye
+might ride up and get acquainted with my wife an' step-daughter--but I
+guess ye've already met Jess'my. I've heard her mention ye. Ride up some
+day--they'll be glad to see ye."
+
+And Oliver Drew was more at a loss how to act in showing him out than
+when he had first faced him on the porch.
+
+The Poison Oakers, with Old Man Selden at their head, rode away up the
+canyon. Oliver Drew was throwing the saddle on Poche's back two minutes
+after they had vanished in the trees. He mounted and galloped in the
+opposite direction, opening the wire "Indian" gate when he reached the
+south line of his property.
+
+An hour later he was searching the obscure hills and canyons for Sulphur
+Spring, but two hours had elapsed before he found it.
+
+It was hidden away in a little wooded canyon, with high hills all about,
+and wild grapevines, buckeyes, and bays almost completely screened it.
+While cattle might drink from the overflow that ran down beyond the
+heavy growth, they could not have reached the basin which had been
+designed to hold the water as it flowed directly from the spring.
+Moreover, it was doubtful if, during the hot summer months, the rapid
+evaporating would leave any water for cattle in the tiny course below
+the bushes.
+
+Oliver parted the foliage and crawled in to the clay basin. Cold water
+remained in the bottom of it, but the inflow had ceased entirely.
+
+He bent down and submerged his hand, feeling along the sides of the
+basin. Almost at once his fingers closed over the end of a piece of
+three-quarter-inch iron pipe.
+
+Then in the pool before his face there came a sudden _chug_, and a
+little geyser of water spurted up into his eyes. Oliver drew back
+instinctively. His face blanched, and his muscles tightened.
+
+Then from somewhere up in the timbered hills came the crash of a
+heavy-calibre rifle.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+SHINPLASTER AND CREEDS
+
+
+White Ann and Poche bore their riders slowly along the backbone of the
+ridge that upreared itself between Clinker Creek Canyon and the American.
+Occasionally they came upon groups of red and roan and spotted longhorn
+steers, each branded with the insignia of the Poison Oakers. Once a deer
+crashed away through thick chaparral. Young jackrabbits went leaping
+over the grassy knolls at their approach. Down the timbered hillsides
+grey squirrels scolded in lofty pines and spruces. Next day would mark
+the beginning of the full-moon period for the month of June.
+
+Jessamy Selden was in a thoughtful mood this morning. Her hat lay over
+her saddle horn. Her black hair now was parted from forehead to the nape
+of her neck, and twisted into two huge rosettes, one over each ear,
+after the constant fashion of the Indian girls. So far Oliver Drew had
+not discovered that he disliked any of the many ways in which she did
+her hair.
+
+"What are your views on religion?" was her sudden and unexpected
+question.
+
+"So we're going to be heavy this morning, eh?"
+
+"Oh, no--not particularly. There's usually a smattering of method in my
+madness. You haven't answered."
+
+"Seems to me you've given me a pretty big contract all in one question.
+If you could narrow down a bit--be more specific--"
+
+"Well, then, do you believe in that?" She raised her arm sharply and
+pointed down the precipitous slopes to the green American rushing
+pell-mell down its rugged canyon.
+
+They had just come in sight of the gold dredger, whose great shovels
+were tearing down the banks, leaving a long serpentine line of debris
+behind the craft in the middle of the river.
+
+"That dredge?" he asked. "What's it to do with religion?"
+
+"To me it personifies the greed of all mankind," she replied. "It makes
+me wild to think that a great, lumbering, manmade toy should come up
+that river and destroy its natural beauty for the sake of the tiny
+particles of gold in the earth and rocks. Ugh! I detest the sight of the
+thing. The gold they get will buy diamond necklaces for fat, foolish old
+women, and not a stone among them can compare with the dewdrop flashing
+there in that filaree blossom! It will buy silk gowns, and any spider
+can weave a fabric with which they can't begin to compete. It will build
+tall skyscrapers, and which of them will be as imposing as one of these
+majestic oaks which that machine may uproot? Bah, I hate the sight of
+the thing!"
+
+"Gold also buys food and simple clothing," he reminded her.
+
+"I suppose so," she sighed. "We've gotten to a point where gold is
+necessary. But, oh, how unnecessary it is, after all, if we were only as
+God intended us to be! I detest anything utilitarian. I hate orchards
+because they supplant the trees and chaparral that Nature has planted. I
+hate the irrigating systems, because the dams and reservoirs that they
+demand ruin rugged canyons and valleys. I hate railroads, because their
+hideous old trains go screeching through God's peaceful solitudes. I
+hate automobiles, because they bring irreverent unbelievers into God's
+chapels."
+
+"But they also take cramped-up city folks out into the country," he
+said. "And all of them are not irreverent."
+
+"Oh, yes--I know. I'm selfish there. And I'm not at all practical. But I
+do hate 'em!"
+
+"And what _do_ you like in life?" he asked amusedly.
+
+"Well, I have no particular objection to horned toads, for one thing,"
+she laughed. "But I'm only halfway approaching my subject. Do you like
+missionaries?"
+
+"I think I've never eaten any," he told her gravely.
+
+But she would not laugh. "I don't like 'em," she claimed. "I don't
+believe in the practice of sending apostles into other countries to
+force--if necessary--the believers in other religions to trample under
+foot their ancient teachings, and espouse ours. All peoples, it seems to
+me, believe in a creator. That's enough. Let 'em alone in their various
+creeds and doctrines and methods of expressing their faith and devotion.
+Are you with me there?"
+
+"I think so. Only extreme bigotry and egotism can be responsible for the
+zeal that sends a believer in one faith to the believers in another to
+try and bend them to his way of thinking."
+
+"I respect all religions--all beliefs," she said. "But those who go
+preaching into other lands can have no respect at all for the other
+fellow's faith. And that's not Christlike in the first place."
+
+He knew that she had something on her mind that she would in good time
+disclose, but he wondered not a little at her trend of thought this
+morning.
+
+"The Showut Poche-dakas are deeply religious," she declared suddenly.
+"Long years ago they inhabited the coast country, but were gradually
+pushed back up here. Down there, though, they came under the influence
+of the old Spanish padres; and today their religion is a mixture of
+Catholicism and ancient tribal teachings. They are sincere and devout. I
+have as much reverence for a bareheaded Indian girl on her knees to the
+Sun God as I have for a hooded nun counting her beads. They believe in a
+supreme being; that's enough for me. You'll be interested at the fiesta
+tomorrow night. I rode up there the other day. Everything is in
+readiness. The _ramadas_ are all built, and the dance floor is up, and
+Indians are drifting in from other reservations a hundred miles away."
+
+"Will you ride up with me tomorrow afternoon?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, I think so--that is, since I heard what Old Man Selden had to say
+about you the day after he called. I'll tell you about that later. Yes,
+all the whites attend the _fiestas_. The California Indian is crude and
+not very picturesque, compared with other Indians, but the _fiestas_ are
+fascinating. Especially the dances. They defy interpretation; but
+they're interesting, even if they don't show a great deal of
+imagination. By the way, I bought you a present at Halfmoon Flat the
+other day."
+
+She unbuttoned the flap on a pocket of her _chaparejos_, and handed him
+a small parcel wrapped in sky-blue paper.
+
+"Am I to open it now or wait till Christmas?" he asked.
+
+"Now," she said.
+
+The paper contained a half-dozen small bottles of liquid courtplaster.
+
+"Oh, I'm perfectly sane!" she laughed in her ringing tones as he turned
+a blank face to her.
+
+"Tomorrow," she went on, "you are to smear yourself with that liquid
+courtplaster, from the soles of your feet to your knees. When one coat
+dries, apply another; and continue doing so until the supply is
+exhausted."
+
+She threw back her head and her whole-souled laughter awoke the echoes.
+
+"It's merely a crazy idea of mine," she explained. "I had a bottle of
+the stuff and was reading the printed directions that came with it. It
+seems to be good for anything, from gluing the straps of a decollette
+ballgown to a woman's shoulders to the protection of stenographer's
+fingers and harvesters' hands at husking time. It's almost invisible
+when it has dried on one's skin; and I thought it might be of benefit to
+you in the fire dance."
+
+"Say," he said, "you're in up to your neck, while I've barely got my
+feet wet. Come across!"
+
+"Well, I'm not positive," she told him, "but I'm strongly of the opinion
+that you're going to dance the fire dance at the Fiesta de Santa Maria
+de Refugio tomorrow night."
+
+"I? I dance the fire dance? Oh, no, Miss--you have the wrong number. I
+don't dance the fire dance at all."
+
+"I think you will tomorrow night, and I thought that liquid courtplaster
+might help protect your feet and legs. I put some on my second finger
+and let it dry, then put my finger on the cookstove."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Well, I took it off again. But, honestly, the finger that had none on
+at all felt a little hotter, I imagined. I'm sure it did, and I only had
+two coats on. I know you'll be glad you tried it, and the Indians will
+never know it's there."
+
+"I'm getting just a bit interested," he remarked.
+
+"Well," she said, "after what passed between you and Chupurosa
+Hatchinguish that day, I'm almost positive that tomorrow night you are
+to be extended the honour of becoming a member of the tribe. And I know
+the fire dance is a ceremony connected with admitting an outsider to
+membership. White men who have married Indian women are about the only
+ones that are ever made tribal brothers by the Showut Poche-dakas; so in
+your case it is a distinct honour.
+
+"I have seen this fire dance. While a white person cannot accurately
+interpret its significance, it seems that the fire is emblematical of
+all the forces which naturally would be pitted against you in your
+endeavour to ally yourself with the Showut Poche-dakas.
+
+"For instance, there's your white skin and your love for your own
+people, the difference in the life you have led as compared with theirs,
+what you have been taught--and, oh, everything that might be against the
+alliance. All this, I say, is represented by the fire. And in the fire
+dance, my dear friend, you must stamp out these objections with your
+bare feet if you would become brother to the Showut Poche-dakas."
+
+"With my bare feet? Stamp out these objections?"
+
+"Yes--as represented by the fire."
+
+"You mean I must stamp out a _fire_ with my bare feet? _Actually?_"
+
+"Actually--literally--honest-to-goodnessly!"
+
+"Good night!" cried Oliver. "I'll cleave to my kith and kin."
+
+"And never learn the question that puzzled your idealistic father for
+thirty years? Nor whether the correct answer is Yes or No?"
+
+"But, heavens, I don't put out a fire that way!"
+
+"It's not so dreadful as it sounds," she consoled. "You join the tribe,
+and you all go marching and stamping about a big bonfire for hours and
+hours and hours, till the fire is conveniently low. Then the one who is
+to be admitted to brotherhood and a chosen member of the tribe--the
+champion fire-dancer, in short--jump on what is left of the fire and
+stamp it out. Of course there are objections to you from the view-point
+of the Showut Poche-dakas, and they must be overcome by a representative
+of them. If the fire proves too much for your bare feet the objections
+are too strong to be overcome, and you never will be an honourary Showut
+Poche-daka. But if the two of you conquer the fire with your bare feet
+the ceremony is over, and you're It. And when the other Indians see that
+you two Indians"--her eyes twinkled--"are getting the better of the
+fire, they'll jump in and help you."
+
+"A very entertaining ceremony--for the grandstand," was Oliver's dry
+opinion.
+
+"Of course the Indian's feet are tough as leather, and they have it on
+you there. Hence this liquid courtplaster. It's worth a trial. Honestly,
+I held my finger on the stove--oh, ever so long! A full second, I'd
+say."
+
+Back went her glorious head, and her teeth flashed in the sunlight as,
+drunk with the wine of youth and health, she sent her rollicking
+laughter out over the hills and canyons.
+
+"I'll be there watching and rooting for you," she assured him at last.
+"I can do so openly now--since you've won the heart of Adam Selden. What
+do you think? He told me to invite you over sometime! But all this
+doesn't fit in quite logically with the ivory-handled Colt I see on your
+hip today for the first time. Explain both, please."
+
+"Well," he said, "Selden seemed ready to cut my throat till he examined
+Poche's bridle and saw the B on the back of a _concha_."
+
+"Ah!" she breathed, drawing in her lips.
+
+"And then he grew nice as pie--and that's all there is to that."
+
+"And the six?"
+
+"Well, I buckled it on this morning, thinking I might practice up a bit,
+as you advised."
+
+"So far so good. Now amend it and tell the truth."
+
+"I went down to Sulphur Spring after the Poison Oakers left me, and as I
+was examining the water a bullet plunked into it from the hills and I
+got my eyebrows wet. As I don't like to have anybody but myself wet my
+eyebrows, I'm totin' a six. And I rather like the weight of it against
+my leg again. It reminds me!"
+
+"Who shot at you?"
+
+He shrugged.
+
+"_At_ you, do you think?--or into the water to frighten you?"
+
+"Whoever fired could not see me, but knew I was in the bushes about the
+spring. Took a rather long chance, if he merely wished to give me a
+touch of highlife, don't you think?"
+
+"I wonder if the bullet is still in the basin."
+
+"I never thought of that. I ducked for cover at once, of course, and, as
+nobody showed up, rode back home."
+
+She lifted White Ann to her hind legs and spun her about in her tracks.
+"We'll ride to Sulphur Spring and look for that bullet," she announced.
+
+"And be ambushed," he added, as Poche followed White Ann's lead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+HIGH POWER
+
+
+Jessamy and Oliver had wheeled their horses with such unexpected
+suddenness that the man who was trailing them was caught off his guard.
+He stood plainly revealed for a moment in the open; then he found his
+wits and plunged indiscriminately into the shielding chaparral.
+
+"Oh-ho!" cried Jessamy in a low tone. "The plot thickens! Did you see
+him?"
+
+"I'm going after him," declared her companion.
+
+"Stop!" she commanded, as he lifted Poche for a leap toward the
+skulker's vanishing point.
+
+He reined in quickly. "Why?"
+
+"What good will come of it? Why try to nose him out? We may be ahead in
+the end if we play the game as they do. We have more chance of finding
+out what they're up to by leaving them alone, I'd say."
+
+"Play the game, eh?" he repeated. "So there's a game being played. I
+didn't just know. Thought all that's afoot was the big idea of chasing
+me over the hills and far away. And from Selden's latest attitude, it
+looks as if that had been abandoned. Game, eh?"
+
+"That's what I'd call it. Quite evidently the man was spying on us."
+
+"Did you recognize him?"
+
+"I can't make sure."
+
+"But you think you know him," he said with conviction.
+
+"Yes. I imagined it was Digger Foss. But he got to cover pretty
+quickly."
+
+"His horse can't be far away. Maybe we can locate him somewhere along
+the back trail. I'd know that rawboned roan."
+
+"So should I. Let's send 'em along a little faster."
+
+They had by this time reached the opening in the chaparral into which
+their shadow had dodged. By common consent they passed it without
+looking to right or left.
+
+"He may imagine we didn't see him," whispered Jessamy. "I hope he does."
+
+There was an open stretch ahead of them, and across it they galloped,
+the girl piercing the thickets on the right in search of a saddle horse,
+Oliver sweeping the slopes that descended to the river. But neither saw
+a horse, and in the trail were no hoofprints not made by their own
+mounts.
+
+"He has been afoot from the start," decided Jessamy. "I wish I knew
+whether or not it was Digger Foss."
+
+They wound their way down to Sulphur Spring presently, and came to a
+halt in the ravine below it.
+
+"Now," said Oliver, "who knows but that my sniper is not hidden up there
+in the hills?"
+
+"I'll look for that bullet," she purposed, and swung out of her saddle.
+
+"Oh, no you won't!" His foot touched the ground with hers.
+
+"Yes--listen! No one would shoot at me. But they might take another crack
+at you, even with me along to witness it. If they were hidden and could
+get away unseen, you know. But they'd not shoot at me."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Well, I'm one of them--after a fashion. They all like me--and at least
+one of them wants to gather me to his manly breast and fly with me."
+
+"But things are different since I came. You've taken sides with me. If
+any one looks for that slug, I'm the one that'll do it."
+
+He started toward the spring.
+
+"Stop!" she ordered, and grasped his shirt-sleeves. "Listen here: I'd
+bet a dollar against a saddle string that that was Digger Foss we saw up
+on the ridge."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"He's afoot. He can't have had time to get down here and guard Sulphur
+Spring."
+
+"All right. Well?"
+
+"And I know positively that Adam Selden and the boys are up north today
+after a bunch of drifters. So none of them can be here. That eliminates
+six of the Poison Oakers. There would be left only Obed Pence, Ed
+Buchanan, Chuck Allegan, and Jay Muenster--all privates, next to
+outsiders. None of them would shoot at me, and--" She came to a full
+stop and eyed him speculatively. "And I'm going to look for that
+bullet," she finished limpingly.
+
+Oliver looked her over thoughtfully. "I can't say that I get what you're
+driving at at all," he observed. "But it seems to me that you're trying
+to convey that, with the Seldens and Digger Foss eliminated, there is no
+danger."
+
+She closed her eyes and gave him several vigorous, exaggerated nods.
+
+"But aren't all of the Poison Oakers concerned in my speedy removal from
+this country?"
+
+"Well--yes"--hesitatingly. "That's right. But the four will not molest
+me. I know. Please let's not argue about what I _know_ is right!"
+
+His lips twitched amusedly. "But one of the four _might_ take a pot-shot
+at me. Is that it?"
+
+Again the series of nods, eyes closed. "You see," she said, "only the
+Seldens and Digger Foss accuse me of being on your side. So if any one
+of the other four were to see me go to the spring he'd think I was
+merely after water, or something. But if you were to go, why--why, it
+might be different."
+
+Saying which she unexpectedly darted away from him up the ravine, left
+the shelter of the trees, and walked boldly to the spring.
+
+She parted the bushes and disappeared from sight.
+
+Oliver stole quickly to the edge of the cover and hid behind a tree, his
+Colt unholstered and hanging in his hand. His eyes scoured the timbered
+hills on both sides of the spring, but not a movement did he see.
+
+He puzzled over Jessamy's speech as he watched for evidences of a
+hostile demonstration.
+
+"It smacks of a counter-plot," he mused. "All of the Poison Oakers want
+me out of here, but only the Seldens and the halfbreed are aware that
+Jessamy is friendly with me. But these four _must_ know it--everybody in
+the country does by now. It would look as if Old Man Selden and his
+chosen five are the only ones who suspect her of having an interest in
+me beyond pure friendship, then. That's it! She said there was another
+reason other than the grazing matter why Old Man Selden wants me away.
+And that can't be moonshining, after all; for if Pense and the others
+are likely to shoot me at the spring, they're in on that. But now
+apparently Selden wants to appear friendly. I can't get it! Jessamy's
+not playing just fair with me. She's keeping something back. She's too
+honest and straightforward to be a good dissembler; she's bungling all
+the way."
+
+She was returning swiftly down the ravine before he had reached the end
+of his conclusions. She held up something between dripping fingers as
+she entered the concealment of the trees.
+
+"It's perfect still," she announced. "I thought it wouldn't be flattened
+or bent, since it struck the water."
+
+Oliver took the small, soft-pointed, steel-banded projectile from her
+hands and studied it.
+
+"M'm-m!" he muttered. "What's this? Looks no larger than a twenty-two."
+
+She nodded. "So I'd say. A twenty-two high-power--wicked little pill."
+
+"And which of the Poison Oakers packs a twenty-two high-power rifle? Do
+you know?"
+
+"It happens that I do. I've taken the pains to acquaint myself
+with the various guns of the Poison Oakers. Most of them use
+twenty-five-thirty-fives. Old Man Selden, Bolar, and Jay Muenster use
+thirty-thirties. There's one twenty-two high-power Savage in the gang,
+and it's a new one. They say it's a devilish weapon."
+
+"Who owns it?"
+
+"Digger Foss."
+
+"Then it was Foss who shot?"
+
+"Yes--and it's he who was following us today. You see, Digger lives
+closer to this part of the country than any of the rest. He'd be the
+only one likely to come in afoot."
+
+"Do you think he tried to lay me out?"
+
+She looked off through the trees, and her face was troubled. "I'm afraid
+he did," she replied in a strained, hushed key. "Had you been in sight,
+we might determine that he had shot at the water before your face to put
+the fear of the Poison Oakers into your heart. But he couldn't see you,
+in there hidden by the dense growth. It was a fifty-fifty chance whether
+he got you or not. If he'd merely wished to bully you, he'd never taken
+the chance of killing you by firing into the growth."
+
+"I guess that's right," he said. "And now what's to be done? I'll never
+be able to forget the picture of Henry Dodd clutching at White Ann's
+legs for support in his death struggle. The situation is graver than I
+thought. I expected to be bullied and tormented; but I didn't expect a
+deliberate attempt on my life."
+
+With an impetuous movement she threw her bare forearm horizontally
+against a tree trunk, and hid her eyes against it.
+
+"Oh, I wish you hadn't come!" she half sobbed. "But you had to--you had
+to! And now you can't leave because that would be running away. And
+you're as good as dead if this side-winder gets the right chance at you.
+What _can_ we do!"
+
+Oliver was silent in the face of her distress. What could he do indeed!
+All the chances were against him, with his enemies ready and willing to
+take any unfair advantage, while his manliness would not let him stoop
+to the use of such tactics. They probably would avoid an out-and-out
+quarrel, where the chances would be even for a quick draw and quick
+trigger work. They would ambush him, as the halfbreed had attempted to
+do. He believed now that only the density of the growth about Sulphur
+Spring had stood between him and death, for Digger Foss was accounted an
+expert shot.
+
+He gently pulled Jessamy Selden from the tree.
+
+"There, there!" he soothed. "Let's not borrow trouble. They haven't got
+me yet. Let's ride on. And I think you'd better give me a little more of
+your confidence. I feel that you're keeping me in the dark about some
+phases of the deal."
+
+She mounted in silence, and they turned up Clinker Creek toward Oliver's
+cabin.
+
+"I'd never make a successful vamp, even if I were beautiful," she smiled
+at last. "I can't hide things. I give myself away. I'm always bungling.
+But I can play poker, just the same!" she added triumphantly.
+
+"Don't try to hide things, then," he pleaded. "Tell me all that's
+troubling you."
+
+She shook her head. "That's the greatest difficulty," she complained. "I
+shouldn't have let you know that I have a secret, but I bungled and let
+it out. And I must keep it. But just the same, I'm with you heart and
+soul. I'm on your side from start to finish, and I want you to believe
+it."
+
+"I do," he said simply.
+
+As they reached the cabin he asked: "Did you feel the end of the pipe
+under the water in the spring?"
+
+She nodded. Then with the promise to meet him next morning for their
+ride to the fiesta, she moved her mare slowly up the canyon and
+disappeared in the trees.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE FIRE DANCE
+
+
+The round moon looked down upon a scene so weird and compelling that
+Oliver Drew vaguely wondered if it all were real, or one of those
+strange dreams that leave in the mind of the dreamer the impression that
+ages ago he has looked upon the things which his sleeping fancy
+pictured.
+
+The moon rode low in the heavens. The night was waning. Tall pines and
+spruce stood black and bar-like against the silver radiance. Away in the
+distance coyotes lifted their yodel, half jocular, half mournful, as a
+maudlin drunkard sings dolefully a merry tune.
+
+In a cup of the hills, surrounded by acres and acres of almost
+impenetrable chaparral and timber, a hundred or more human beings were
+clustered about a blazing fire. Horses stamped in the corrals. Now and
+then an Indian dog cast back a vicious challenge at the wild dogs on the
+hill. White men and women and Indian men and women stood about the fire
+in a great circle, silent, intent on what was taking place at the fire's
+edge.
+
+Within this outer circle of spectators revolved another smaller circle
+of brown-skinned men and women. But one of this number was white, and in
+the flickering light of the fire his skin glowed in odd contrast to the
+skins of those who danced with him.
+
+For Oliver Drew was stripped but for a breechcloth about his loins, and
+directly opposite him in the circle, always across the fire from him as
+the human snake revolved about the flames, was a stalwart young Indian,
+likewise nearly nude. He it was who at the proper moment would dash upon
+the fire with this white man, when, with hands clasped over it, they two
+would strive to beat it to ashes with naked feet.
+
+Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pressed into the circle like canned
+fish, the fire dancers circled the leaping flames. Sweat streamed from
+their bodies, for the fire was a huge one and roared and crackled and
+leaped at them incessantly.
+
+For two solid hours the dance had been in progress. Now and then an old
+squaw, faint from the heat of the fire and the nerve strain which only
+the fanatic knows, dropped wearily out and staggered away. Then the rank
+would close and fill the vacancy; and this automatically made the circle
+smaller and brought the dancers closer to the flames, for they must
+touch each other always as they circled slowly.
+
+Round about them hobbled Chupurosa, adorned with eagle feathers dyed red
+and yellow and black. In his uplifted hand he held a small turtle shell,
+with a wooden handle bound to it by a rawhide thong. In the shell, whose
+ends were closed with skin, were cherry stones. The incessant rattling
+of them accompanied the dancers' elephantine tread. It was the toy of
+childhood, and those who danced to its croaking music were children of
+the hills and canyons, simple-minded and serene.
+
+Slowly as moves a sluggish reptile in early spring the dancers circled
+the fire, times without number. Guttural grunts accompanied the constant
+thud of tough bare feet on the beaten earth. Now and then they broke
+into chanting--a weird, uncanny wailing that sent shivers along the
+spine and made one think of heathen sacrifices and outlandish, cruel
+heathen rites. Straight downward, almost, the dancers planted their
+feet. When their feet came down three inches had not been gained over
+the last stamping step. It required many long minutes for the entire
+circle to complete the trip around the fire; and this continued on and
+on till the brain of Oliver Drew swam and the fire in reality took on
+the aspect of a tormenting, threatening ogre which this rite must crush.
+
+Occasionally some fanatic would spring from the line and rush upon the
+fire, striking at it with his feet, slapping at it with his hands,
+growling at it and threatening it in his guttural tongue. Then the dance
+would grow fiercer, and the chanting would break out anew, while always
+the cherry stones rattled dismally and urged the zealots on.
+
+When would it end? There was fresh, clean pitch in the great logs that
+blazed; and it seemed to Oliver that the exorcism must continue to the
+end of time.
+
+At first he had felt like an utter fool when he was led from the tent,
+almost nude, to face the curious eyes of thirty or more white people.
+His simple instructions had been given him by Chupurosa in the hut where
+he had been kept virtually a prisoner since his arrival. Then he had
+been led forth and pressed into his place in the circle, across from the
+other nearly naked man who swam so dizzily before his eyes. Then the
+slow ordeal had begun, and round and round they went till he thought he
+must surely lose his reason.
+
+On his feet and legs was the liquid courtplaster, and Chupurosa had not
+observed it. Coat after coat he had applied, and had a certain feeling
+of being fortified. Yet he doubted if, when the moment came for him to
+leap upon the fire and clasp hands with the man opposite, any of the
+mucilaginous substance would be left on the soles of his already burning
+feet.
+
+He had seen Jessamy's face beyond the fire. She had smiled at him
+encouragingly. But now her face had blended with the other faces that
+danced confusedly before his eyes, and he could not separate it as the
+circle went slowly round and round.
+
+An old man dropped, face down, on the earth, completely overcome. From
+beyond the circle of dancers a pair of arms reached through and dragged
+him out by the heels. The dance went on, and the dancers now were closer
+to the fire by the breadth of one human body.
+
+Weirdly rose the chant to the moonlit night. Coyotes answered with
+doleful ribaldry. A woman pitched forward on her face--a young woman.
+She lay quite still, breathing heavily. Oliver stepped over her body as
+they dragged her out to resuscitate her, and it seemed as he did so that
+he scarce could lift his feet so high.
+
+Now one by one they dropped, exhausted, reeking with sweat caused by the
+intensity of the heat from the burning pitch logs. Two fell at once--one
+inward, the other back. Up rose the chant as they were dragged away;
+fiercer grew the stamping; frenziedly the cherry stones clicked in the
+turtle shell.
+
+Lower and lower rode the radiant moon. Blacker and blacker grew the
+outlined woods. The coyotes ceased their insane laughter and scurried
+off to where jackrabbits played on moonlit pasturelands. And still the
+passionate exorcism went on and on, with men and women dropping every
+minute and the circle narrowing about the fire and closing in.
+
+The blaze was lower now. The pitch in the logs no longer sputtered and
+dripped blazing to the ground. But the heat was still intense, and the
+white man's tender flesh was seared as the giving out of some dancer
+forced the circle nearer and nearer to the flames.
+
+But into his heart had come a fierce purpose born of the fanaticism
+responsible for this ordeal. He was a man of destiny, he felt, though
+obliged to "carry on" with blinded eyes. Something of the fierce, dogged
+nature of these wild people of the woods entered his soul. He was dying
+by inches, it seemed, but the fire, glowing and spitting hatred at him,
+became a real enemy to be conquered by grit and stern endurance: and,
+held up by the bodies that pressed against his on either side, he
+stamped on crazily, his teeth set, the ridiculous side of his plight
+forgotten.
+
+And now the circle was pitiably small; and those who formed it staggered
+and reeled, and scarce found breath to chant or revile their dying
+enemy. But still the cherry stones rattled on while that old oak of a
+Chupurosa moved round and about, tireless as an engine.
+
+Oliver dragged his feet now; he thought he could not lift them. His
+brain was a dull, dead thing except for that passionate hatred of the
+fire that the weird chanting and the strangeness of it all had brought
+about. And now the fire grew lower, lower. Back of the ragged hills the
+moon slipped down and left the wilderness in blackness. Only the fire
+gleamed.
+
+Then suddenly the rattling of the cherry stones was quieted. Now the
+only sounds were the weary thud-thud of tough bare heels and the
+stentorian breathing of the zealous worshippers, an occasional
+heartrending grunt.
+
+On and on--round and round. The very air grew tense. Dawn was at hand.
+Its cold breath crept down from the snow-capped peaks. A glimmer of grey
+showed in the eastern sky.
+
+Only fifteen of the Showut Poche-dakas plodded now about the failing
+fire, by this time smouldering at their very feet. Fifteen Showut
+Poche-dakas--and Oliver Drew! All were men, young men in life's full
+vigour. Yet they swayed and reeled and staggered drunkenly as the
+dizzying ordeal went on through the grey silence of dawn.
+
+Now dawn came fast and spread its inchoate light over the silent
+assemblage in the hills. Then like a burst of sound disturbing a weary
+sleeper, the cherry stones resumed their rattling.
+
+At once, back of the circle of tottering dancers, a weird chant arose
+till it drummed in Oliver's ears and seemed to be lulling him to sleep.
+
+Out of the void taut fingers came and clasped his own. His hands were
+jerked high over his head. Something stung his feet and legs, and he
+thought of the rattler on the hill. The chant rose to a riotous
+shouting. The air was filled with imprecations, wailings, shrieks, and
+spiteful challenges. Now Oliver realized that his fingers were locked
+with those of the nude Indian who had danced opposite him; that they two
+were over the waning fire, fighting it with their feet.
+
+How long it lasted he never knew. Life came back to his mistreated
+muscles, and with his feet he fought this thing that stung him and
+seared him and filled his heart with burning wrath. Then came a long,
+concerted shout. In rushed the Showut Poche-dakas to the fighters' aid.
+Bare feet by twenty-fives and fifties slapped at the fire, and a herd of
+dark forms trampled over it and beat it to extinction.
+
+A long shout of triumph that sped away on swift wings toward the coming
+dawn and the distant mountain! And then a single voice lifted high in
+words which in English are these:
+
+"The evil fire god has been defeated. No barrier stands between the
+white man and the Showut Poche-dakas. From this hour to the end of time
+he who has danced the fire dance tonight and conquered the evil spirit
+shall be brother to the Showut Poche-dakas!"
+
+Then just before Oliver fainted in some one's arms he heard in English:
+
+"Seven hours and twenty minutes--the longest fire dance in the history
+of the tribe!"
+
+And the new brother of the Showut Poche-dakas heard no more.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A GUEST AT THE RANCHO
+
+
+Then there was feasting and racing and dancing and much ado. Dice
+clicked; cards sputtered; the pawn passed in the ancient _peon_ game.
+There was a barbecued steer, athletic contests, and competitions in
+markmanship. The Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio was to continue
+throughout the entire period of the full moon, and there must be
+diversion for every day and every night.
+
+Oliver Drew awoke the next day after the fire dance in the _ramada_
+which had been assigned to him. He felt as if he had been passed through
+a stamp mill, so sore were his muscles and so burned and blistered were
+feet and legs. He had been carried to his bed of green willow boughs
+directly after the dance, where he had slept until nearly nightfall.
+Then he had been awakened and given food. After eating he fell asleep
+once more, and slept all night, his head in the silver-mounted saddle
+that Bolivio had made.
+
+He dragged himself from the shakedown and went and sat at an opening in
+the booth. The _ramada_ of the California Indian is merely an arbourlike
+structure built of newly cut limbs of trees, their still unwithered
+leaves serving to screen the occupants from outside eyes.
+
+The birds were singing. Up the steep mountainside back of the
+reservation the goats and burros of the Showut Poche-dakas browsed
+contentedly on buckthorn and manzanita bushes. There was the smell of
+flowers in the drowsy air, mingling strangely with that indescribable
+odour that permeates an Indian village.
+
+It was noticeably quiet outside. Doubtless the Indians were enjoying an
+early-morning siesta after some grilling orgy of the night before.
+Oliver groaned with the movements necessary to searching his pockets for
+cigarette materials. His groan was mimicked by a familiar voice in the
+doorway.
+
+Jessamy Selden entered.
+
+"I've been listening for a sound from you," she chirruped. "My, how you
+slept! All in?"
+
+"Pretty nearly," he said.
+
+She came and sat beside him on a box.
+
+"Are you badly burned?"
+
+"Oh, no. I guess your courtplaster helped some. But I'm terribly sore.
+And, worst of all, I feel like an utter ass!"
+
+"Why, how so?"
+
+He snorted indignantly. "I went nutty," he laughed shortly. "I have lost
+the supreme contempt which I have always had for people who go batty in
+any sort of fanatical demonstration, like that last night. I've seen
+supposedly intelligent white folks go absolutely wild at religious camp
+meetings in the South, and I always marvelled at their loss of control.
+Now I guess I understand. Hour after hour of what I went through the
+other night, with the chanting and wailing and the constant rattle of
+those confounded cherry stones, and the terrible heat, and men and women
+giving out all about me, and the perpetual thud-thud of bare feet--ugh!
+I wouldn't go through it again for ten thousand dollars."
+
+"I thought it best not to warn you of the severity of it beforehand,"
+she announced complacently. "Very few white men have ever danced the
+fire dance, and only one or two have held out to the end. Of course
+failure to do so signifies that the powers working against the
+affiliation are too strong to be overcome. These men who failed, then,
+did not become brothers of the Showut Poche-dakas."
+
+"Lucky devils!"
+
+"Here, here!" she cried. "Don't talk that way. You're glad, aren't you?"
+
+"I'm tickled half to death."
+
+"Is it possible that you do not take this seriously, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"Look here," he said: "why didn't you tell me more of what I might
+expect at this fool performance?"
+
+"I was afraid you might look at the matter much as you're looking at it
+now," she answered. "I knew you'd go through with it, though, if you
+once got started. I knew it to be a terrible ordeal, but I was confident
+that you would win."
+
+"I thank you, I'm sure. Win what, though? The reputation of being a
+half-baked simpleton?"
+
+"Do you imagine that the white people who saw you are ridiculing you?"
+
+"Aren't they?"
+
+"Absolutely nothing of the sort! You're the hero of the hour. People
+about here always attend the fiestas, and you'll be surprised to note
+the seriousness and lack of levity that they show in regard to the rites
+and ceremonies of the Showut Poche-dakas. It's an inheritance from the
+old days, I suppose, when the few white men who were here found it
+decidedly to their advantage to be friendly with the Indians. They glory
+in your grit, and everybody is talking about you. You should have heard
+Old Man Selden. 'There's a regular man,' he loudly informed every one
+after the dance. And folks about here listen to what Old Man Selden
+says, for one reason or another."
+
+"But it was such an asinine proceeding!"
+
+"Was it? I thought you respected the other fellow's beliefs and
+religious practices."
+
+"Was that a religious dance?"
+
+"Decidedly. All of their dances are religious at bottom. You were trying
+to overcome the evil spirit, represented by the fire, that stood between
+you and your union with the Showut Poche-dakas. You are one of the few
+who have weathered this ordeal and won. And now you're a recognized
+member of the tribe."
+
+"And is that an enviable distinction?"
+
+"What do _you_ think about that?"
+
+Oliver was silent a time. "Tell the truth," he said at last, "I've been
+thinking more of my sore muscles and scorched legs, and of the
+ridiculous figure I supposed I had cut the other night. I suppose,
+though, that when a hundred or more fellow creatures unanimously admit a
+rank outsider to the plane of brotherhood, one would be shallow minded
+indeed to look upon it too lightly."
+
+"Exactly. Just what I wanted to hear you say. And the more simple
+natured and trusting they are, the more it devolves upon you to treat
+their brotherhood with respect and reverence. You are now brother to the
+Showut Poche-dakas; and you'll be a wiser man before you're older by
+many days. In this little village you have always a refuge, no matter
+what the world outside may do to you. Nothing that you could do against
+your own race can make you an utter outcast, for here are your brothers,
+always eager to shelter you. If you owned a cow and lost it, a word from
+you would send fifty mounted men scouring the hills till the cow had
+been found and restored to you. Will the people of your own race do
+that? If the forest was burning throughout the country, rest assured
+your property would be made safe before your brothers turned their
+efforts to protecting the homes of other white men. Is it trivial, my
+friend?"
+
+"No," said Oliver shortly.
+
+"You have been greatly honoured," she concluded. "You are the first
+white man on record who has been adopted by the Showut Poche-dakas
+without first marrying an Indian girl. And even then they must win out
+in the fire dance. If they fail, their brides must go away with them,
+ostracized from their people for ever."
+
+"How many white men have been honoured with membership?" he asked.
+
+"Very few. Old Dad Sloan was over and saw the dance. He always attends
+fiestas if some one will give him a ride. He said after the dance that
+he knew of only three white men before you who had won brotherhood,
+though he had seen a dozen or more try for it."
+
+"Did he mention any names?"
+
+"Yes," she said. "He mentioned Old Man Selden, for one."
+
+"Does he belong to the tribe?" cried Oliver.
+
+"No, he fell down in the fire dance. He had married an Indian woman, and
+after the dance he took his bride away with him. She died six months
+afterward--pining for her people, it was supposed."
+
+"And who else did he speak about?"
+
+"You remember the name of Dan Smeed, of course."
+
+"'Outlaw, highwayman, squawman,'" quoted Oliver, trying to imitate the
+old '49er's quavery tones.
+
+"Yes," she said. "He conquered the fire and was admitted to full
+brotherhood."
+
+"And got gems for his bridle _conchas_," Oliver added.
+
+Jessamy nodded. "And in some mysterious manner paved the way for you to
+become adopted thirty years later."
+
+He turned and looked her directly in the eyes. "Was Dan Smeed my
+father?" he asked abruptly.
+
+Her eyes did not evade his, but a slow flush mounted to her cheeks.
+
+"I think we may safely assume that that is the case," she told him
+softly.
+
+Oliver stared at the beaten ground under his feet.
+"Outlaw--highwayman--squawman!" he muttered.
+
+Quickly she rose and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't! Don't!" she
+pleaded sympathetically. "Don't think of that! Wait!"
+
+"Wait? Wait for what?"
+
+"Wait till the Showut Poche-dakas have taken you into full confidence.
+Wait for my Hummingbird to speak."
+
+Oliver said nothing.
+
+She waited a little, then resumed her seat and said:
+
+"And the next man that Old Dad Sloan mentioned as having tried the fire
+dance was--guess who?"
+
+"The mysterious Bolivio."
+
+She nodded vigorously, both eyes closed.
+
+"He succeeded?"
+
+"He did."
+
+"And the third man to succeed before me?"
+
+"I forget the name. It is of no consequence so far as our mystery is
+concerned."
+
+"_Your_ mystery, you mean," he laughed. "I'm beginning to believe you
+know all about it--all about me, about my father and his young-manhood
+days."
+
+"Oh, no!" she quickly protested.
+
+"But you know more than I do. And you see fit to make mystery of it to
+my confusion."
+
+"Silly! I'm doing nothing of the sort. I've positively told you all I
+can."
+
+"Be careful, now! Can, will, or may?"
+
+"Don't pin me down. You know I'm a feeble dissembler."
+
+"You've told me all you _may_, then," he said with conviction.
+
+"Have it that way if you choose. How about some breakfast?--and then
+your triumphal entry into the festivities?"
+
+"I hate to show myself--actually."
+
+"Pooh! I'm disappointed in you. Come on--I've ordered breakfast for us
+in the restaurant booth. Red-hot chili dishes and _bellota_. It should
+be ready by now."
+
+The Showut Poche-dakas, at least, paid very little attention to Oliver
+as he limped from the _ramada_ at Jessamy's side. But he was
+congratulated by white men on every hand, among them Mr. Damon Tamroy,
+the first friend he had made in the country.
+
+"I wish you could 'a' heard what Old Dad Sloan had to say after the
+dance," was Tamroy's greeting. "The dance got the old man started, and
+he opened up a little. Selden wasn't about at the time, and Dad said
+that once, years ago, Selden married a squaw and made a try at the fire
+dance. There was two dances that night, Old Dad said. Selden's partner,
+too, married an Indian girl, and both of 'em danced. Selden's partner
+won out, and was made a member o' the tribe; but Selden fell down."
+
+"Did you get this partner's name?" asked Oliver.
+
+"Le's see--what was the name Dad said?"
+
+"Smeed?" asked Oliver.
+
+"That's it. Dave Smeed. No--Dan Smeed. This Smeed lived with the tribe
+afterwards, it seems, but Selden and his girl beat it, accordin' to the
+rules, and--"
+
+"Sh!" warned Oliver. "Here comes Old Man Selden now."
+
+The old monarch of the hills strode straight up to them, rowels
+whirring, chaps whistling.
+
+"Howdy, Mr. Drew--howdy!" he boomed. "Howdy, Tamroy." He extended a
+horny hand to each.
+
+"Some dance, as they say--some dance," he went on admiringly, and there
+was almost a smile on his stern features. "The boys was bettin' on how
+it would come out. The odds was ag'in ye, Mr. Drew. But I told 'em ye'd
+hold out. I been through the mill myself. Might as well own up, since
+everybody knows it now--and that I danced to a fare-you-well, but fell
+down hard. When ye gonta' pull yer freight, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"I thought of riding home today," said Oliver.
+
+"I was just talkin' to Jess'my," Selden continued. "Her and me concluded
+this here'd be a good time to invite ye over to get acquainted. Can't ye
+ride to Poison Oak Ranch with us just as well as ye can ride on home?"
+He tried to grin, but the effort seemed to cause pain.
+
+Toward them Oliver saw Jessamy walking. He always had admired her long,
+confident stride, and he watched her throughout the brief space allowed
+him by courtesy to study his answer to her step-father. Then he caught
+her eye. She began nodding vigorously.
+
+"I should have watered my garden before coming to the fiesta," he told
+the old man. "I'm afraid it will suffer if I don't get back to it
+directly. But--"
+
+"Oh, she'll stand it another day. Folks irrigate too much, anyway. Ride
+home with us today and stay all night."
+
+"I thank you, I'm sure," said Oliver.
+
+"Yes, do come, Mr. Drew," put in Jessamy as she reached the group.
+
+"Just so!" added Selden.
+
+And so it was arranged.
+
+The four stood in conversation. Over the girl's shoulder Oliver now saw
+Digger Foss and two of the men who had ridden with Selden the day he
+called at the cabin. They were staring at their chief and Jessamy. A
+glowering look was on the face of at least one of them, and that one was
+the halfbreed, Digger Foss.
+
+He stood with feet planted far apart, his fists on his hips--squat, his
+bullet head juked forward aggressively, his Mongolic black eyes
+glittering. A sneer curled his lips. He nodded now and then as one or
+the other of his companions spoke to him, but he did not reply and did
+not remove his steadfast glance from the group of which Oliver made one.
+
+"They's a hoss race comin' off in a little," Selden was saying. "We'll
+stay for that, then throw on the saddles and cut the dust for the
+rancho."
+
+Here Foss, with a shrug of his wide, strong shoulders, turned away and
+disappeared in the crowd, his companions following at his heels.
+
+Presently Selden and Tamroy left Jessamy and Oliver together.
+
+"What's the idea?" Oliver asked her.
+
+"It's quite apparent that he wants to be friendly with you," she pointed
+out.
+
+"It's just as well, of course," said he. "But I can't fathom it. And at
+least one of the Poison Oakers doesn't approve. I just saw Digger Foss
+glowering at us from behind Old Man Selden's back."
+
+Jessamy elevated her dark eyebrows. "No, he wouldn't approve," she
+declared. "That's merely because of me, I guess. Well, we can't help
+that. It's your part to play up to Old Man Selden and find out what is
+the cause of his sudden change of heart toward you."
+
+"It's my riding outfit," he averred. "That, and the fact that I've
+danced the fire dance. I'm gradually picking up a thread here and there.
+By the way, you neglected to tell me this morning, when we were on the
+subject, that Dan Smeed's partner was none other than Old Man Selden."
+
+She glanced at him quickly. "I see that Mr. Damon Tamroy is in character
+today. He does love to talk, doesn't he?"
+
+"You knew it, then?"
+
+She hesitated. "Yes--Old Dad Sloan let it out last night," she admitted.
+"I think he would have told me as much the day you and I called on him
+if he hadn't thought it might hurt my feelings. I don't think it was his
+forgetfulness that made him trip over the subject that day."
+
+"But if he mentioned it in your presence after the fire dance, he must
+have forgotten that you are vitally interested."
+
+Her long black lashes hid her eyes for an instant. "That's true," she
+admitted.
+
+Oliver smiled grimly to himself. A lover would have small excuse for
+distrusting this girl, he thought, for deception was not in her. A
+little later he left her and sought out Damon Tamroy again.
+
+"Just a question," he began: "You know I'm seeking information of a
+peculiar character in this country; so don't think me impertinent. You
+said that Old Man Selden wasn't about when Dad Sloan spoke of him as
+having been the partner of Dan Smeed."
+
+Tamroy nodded. "He'd gone to bed in one o' the _ramadas_," he said.
+
+"Did Jessamy Selden overhear Old Dad Sloan when he told that?"
+
+"No, she wasn't there either," replied Tamroy. "I reckon she'd gone to
+bed too."
+
+"Thank you," Oliver returned.
+
+He knew now that Jessamy Selden had merely been repeating some one
+else's version of Dad Sloan's disclosures. He knew that she had been
+aware all along that Dan Smeed, his father, had been the partner of Adam
+Selden. Had she known it, though, the day she questioned the patriarch?
+It had seemed that she was trying her utmost to make him mention the
+name of Dan Smeed's partner. Perhaps she had felt safe in the belief
+that, out of consideration for her feelings, Dad Sloan would not couple
+her step-father's name with that of a "highwayman, outlaw, and squawman"
+who, he had said, was a "bad egg."
+
+Oliver was beginning to believe that Jessamy Selden at that very moment
+knew the question that had puzzled Peter Drew for thirty years, and what
+the answer to it should be. He believed that Jessamy had known just who
+he was, and why he had come into the Clinker Creek Country, the day she
+rode down to make his acquaintance. It seemed that she had considered it
+a part of her life's work to seek him out. Later, she had worried a
+little for fear he might think her bold in riding to his cabin as she
+had done.
+
+She had not been seeking his companionship because she liked him, then.
+There was some ulterior motive that was governing her actions. In him
+personally, perhaps, she had no interest whatever. There was some secret
+connected with Old Man Selden, and it dated back to the days when Selden
+and Oliver Drew's father were partners, and had both married Indian
+girls. Jessamy had stumbled on this, and when Oliver came she had known
+the reason that brought him, and had made haste to ally herself with him
+in order to carry out whatever she had in mind. It was this that had
+kept her in such close touch with him--not friendship for Oliver
+himself.
+
+Oliver brooded. The thought hurt him. The damage had been done. He had
+learned all this too late. He loved her now, and wanted her more than he
+wanted anything else in life. She knew he loved her. She must know that
+he was not the sort to tell her what he had told her if he had not meant
+it, and to grasp her in his arms and kiss her, even under the strange
+condition in which the scene had occurred. Not a word had passed between
+them regarding that episode since he had blushingly apologized for his
+behaviour. She had taken it quite serenely, as she seemed to take most
+things in life, and had displayed no confusion when next they met.
+
+"You look so funny," she remarked when he at last sought her out after
+the pony race. "Is anything the matter?"
+
+"Nothing at all," he told her. "I'm going for our _caballos_ now. Selden
+and the boys are saddling up. I suppose we'll all ride together."
+
+A little later he shook the withered hand of Chupurosa Hatchinguish and
+bade him good-bye in Spanish. The chief of the Showut Poche-dakas called
+him brother, and patted his back in a fatherly manner as he followed him
+to the door of his hovel. But he made no mention of a future meeting,
+and said nothing more than "brother" to indicate that a new relation
+existed between them.
+
+Oliver led Poche and White Ann to Jessamy, and they swung into the
+saddles and galloped to where Old Man Selden, Hurlock, and Bolar were
+awaiting them in the dusty road.
+
+Hours later the little party of five rode over the baldpate hill, then
+in single-file formation descended by the steep trail to the bed of the
+American River. A half-hour afterward they entered the cup in the
+mountainside, and Oliver Drew looked for the first time upon the
+headquarters of the Poison Oakers.
+
+The girl, Selden, and Oliver left their saddles at the door, and the
+boys rode on and led their horses to the corrals. Oliver was conducted
+into the immense main room of the old log house, where he was presented
+by the girl to her mother.
+
+The afternoon was nearly gone, and the two women at once began preparing
+supper, while Old Man Selden and his guest sat and smoked near a window
+flooded with the reflection of the sunset glow on fleecy clouds above
+the canyon.
+
+Selden's talk was of cows and grazing conditions and allied topics.
+Oliver Drew, half listening and putting in a stray comment now and then,
+watched Jessamy in a role which was new to him.
+
+She had put on a spotless red-checkered gingham dress that fitted
+perfectly, and revealed slim, rounded, womanly outlines which are the
+heritage of strength and perfect health. Her black hair was coiled
+loosely on top of her head, and a large red rose looked as if Nature had
+designed it to splash its vivid colour against that ebony background.
+With long, sure strides this girl of the mountains moved silently about
+from the great glossy range to the work table, washing crisp lettuce,
+deftly beheading snappy radishes, her slim fingers now white with dough
+and flour, or stirring with a large spoon in some steaming utensil over
+the fire. An extra fine dinner was in progress of preparation in honour
+of the Seldens' guest; yet the girl worked serenely and swiftly, with
+not a false move, not a flutter of excitement, never gathering so much
+as a spot on her crisp, stiff dress, always sure of herself, master of
+her diversified tasks. Was this the girl that an hour before he had seen
+so gracefully astride in a fifty-pound California saddle, her slim legs
+covered by scarred, fringed chaps, her black hair streaming to the
+bottom of her saddle skirts in two long, thick braids? There was a
+desperate tugging at the heart-strings of Oliver Drew. He knew now that
+if he failed to win this girl it were better for him had he not been
+born. And again and again she had sought him out for some obscure reason
+in no way connected with a desire for his companionship. He thought
+again of the episode on the hill after the rattlesnake bite, and he grew
+sick at heart at remembrance of the feel of those soft, firm lips.
+
+When they arose from the bounteous meal Selden said to his guest:
+
+"It's still light outdoors. Wanta look over the ranch a bit?"
+
+They two strolled out to the stables and talked horses and saddles. They
+looked perfunctorily over the green young fruit in the orchard, and
+Selden showed Oliver the new pipe line which now carried spring water
+into all three of the living houses. They killed time till late
+twilight, and as one by one the stars came out the old man led the way
+to a prostrate pine at the edge of a fern patch. On it they seated
+themselves.
+
+"They was little matter I wanted to talk to you about," said Selden half
+apologetically. "Le's have a smoke and see if we can't come to an
+understandin'. Just so! Just so!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE GIRL IN RED
+
+
+Jessamy Selden finished washing and drying the supper dishes. Then she
+hurried to her room and slipped into a red-silk dress, by no means out
+of date, silk stockings, and high-heeled pumps with large shell buckles.
+A few deft pats and her rich hair suited her, and the red rose glowed
+against the black distractingly. She spun round and round before the
+mirror of her plain little dresser, one set of knuckles at her waist,
+like a Spanish dancer, her face trained over her shoulder at her
+reflection in the glass. There was a mischievous gleam in her jetty eyes
+as she reached the conclusion that she was all right. Just a hint of
+heightened colour showed in her cheeks when she started for the living
+room.
+
+Old Man Selden had not yet returned with the guest of the house. The
+trace of a pucker of disappointment came between her eyes, then she was
+serene again as she lighted coal-oil lamps and sat down with a book. She
+was alone in the great rough-walled room, like a gorgeous flower in a
+weather-beaten box. Her mother was dressing--one dressed after dinner
+instead of _for_ dinner in the House of Selden. Bolar and Moffat
+presumably had gone to sit and look at their saddles while daylight
+lasted, since coming night forbade them to mount and ride.
+
+Minutes passed. Jessamy stared at the open book in her hands, but had
+not read a word. Why was Old Man Selden keeping their guest out there in
+the night? A girlish pout which might have surprised Oliver Drew, had he
+seen it, puckered her lips. The girl looked down at her red-silk dress
+and the natty buckles on her French-heel pumps, and the pout grew more
+pronounced.
+
+She went out doors, but no sound came to her save the intimate night
+sounds of the wilderness.
+
+"_Darn_ the luck!" she cried in exasperation, her serenity for once
+completely unavailing.
+
+Five minutes later she stepped from the gorgeous dress with a sigh of
+resignation. She kicked off the pumps and pulled on her morocco-top
+riding boots. She donned shirt and riding skirt, and slipped out by her
+own door into the young night.
+
+Cautiously she approached the stables and corrals, but found nobody.
+Lights gleamed in the windows of Hurlock's and Winthrop's cabins, and
+from the latter came the doleful strains of Bolar's accordion. She
+doubted if Selden and Oliver were in either of these houses.
+
+She walked up the hill toward the spring, and presently heard the bass
+boom of Old Man Selden's voice.
+
+A little later, flat on the ground, she was wriggling her way through
+tall ferns toward two indistinct figures seated on a fallen pine. Like
+an Indian she crept on silently, till by and by she lay quite still,
+close enough to hear every word that passed between the men who sat in
+front of her. And her conscience seemed not to trouble her at all.
+
+It had been practicable to come to a pause at some little distance from
+the two, for their voices carried a long way through the tranquil
+wilderness night. Behind her and up the hill the frogs were croaking at
+the spring. Their horse-fiddling ceased abruptly, as if they had been
+suddenly disturbed, and it was not immediately continued. Trained to
+read a meaning in Nature's signs, she wondered at this; then presently
+she heard a stealthy step between her and the spring.
+
+Lifting her head and shoulders above the fronded plants, she saw a dark,
+crouched shape approaching warily. Some one had walked past the spring
+and disturbed the croaking choir. She ducked low and waited
+breathlessly, hoping that this second would-be eavesdropper, whoever he
+might be, would not come upon her engaged in a like pursuit. At the same
+time she was trying to hear what Selden was saying to Oliver Drew.
+
+It seemed from Old Adam's slightly hesitating manner that he was as yet
+not well launched on the subject that had caused him to pilot Oliver to
+this lonely spot. He said:
+
+"I reckon they told ye ye wouldn't be welcome down on the Old Ivison
+Place. Didn't some of 'em say, now, that a gang called the Poison Oakers
+might try to drive ye out?--if I'm not too bold in askin'."
+
+"Yes," said the voice of Oliver Drew.
+
+"Uh-huh! I thought as much. Well, Mr. Drew, ye got to make allowances
+for ol'-timers in the hills. We get set in our ways, as the fella says;
+and I reckon we _don't_ like outsiders to come in any too well.
+
+"But anybody with any savvy oughta know its different in a case like
+yours. Why, what little feed we'd get offen your little piece, if you
+wasn't there, wouldn't amount to the price of a saddle string. It was
+plumb loco for any one to tell ye we'd raise a rumpus 'bout ye bein'
+down there."
+
+"I thought about the same," observed Oliver Drew quietly.
+
+There came a distinct pause in the dialogue. Once more Jessamy
+straightened her arms and pushed head and shoulders above the ferns. The
+person who had disturbed the frogs was nowhere to be seen. He too,
+perhaps, had taken up a lizardlike progress through the ferns, and was
+now listening to all that was being said by Oliver and Selden.
+
+She flattened herself again, and held one hand behind her ear to catch
+every word.
+
+"Yes, sir, plumb loco," Old Man Selden reiterated. "And they ain't no
+reason on earth why you and us can't be the best o' friends. That's what
+we oughta be, seein' we're pretty near neighbours."
+
+"I'm sure I'm perfectly willing to be friendly, Mr. Selden."
+
+"Course ye are. Just so! An' so are we. And listen here, Mr. Drew: Don't
+ye put too much stock in that there Poison Oaker racket."
+
+"I don't know that I understand that."
+
+"Well," drawled Selden, "they ain't any such thing as a Poison Oaker
+Gang. That there's all hot air. It's true that Obed Pence and Jay
+Muenster and Buchanan and Allegan and Foss run what cows they got with
+ourn, and they're pretty good friends o' my boys an' me. But as fer us
+bein' a gang--why, they's nothin' to it. Nothin' to it a-tall! Just
+because we use a poison-oak leaf for our brand--why, that's what got 'em
+to callin' us the Poison Oakers. And when anything mean is done in this
+country, why, they gotta hang it onto somebody--and as a lot of 'em
+don't like me and my friends, why, they hang it onto us and call us the
+Poison Oakers. Now that there ain't right and just, is it, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"When you put it that way," Oliver evaded, "I should say that it is
+not."
+
+"No, sir, it ain't--not a-tall! An' I'm glad ye understand and ain't got
+no hard feelin's."
+
+There was another long pause. Fragrant tobacco smoke floated to
+Jessamy's nostrils.
+
+"If I ain't too bold in askin', Mr. Drew--what was ol' Damon Tamroy
+fillin' yer ear with about me today?"
+
+"He was telling me how Old Dad Sloan had spoken of your having once
+danced the fire dance."
+
+"Uh-huh! Just so! Some o' my friends overheard Old Dad spoutin' about it
+after I'd hit the feathers. Well, I don't reckon I care any. It's
+nothin' to try to hide. Was that all Tamroy had to say?"
+
+Jessamy could imagine on Oliver Drew's lips the grave, half-whimsical
+smile that she had seen twitching them so often. She waited eagerly for
+his reply.
+
+"I think that the subject you mention is all that he talked to me
+about," it came at last.
+
+"Just so! Just so!" muttered Selden. "But didn't he say as how others
+had danced the fire dance besides me and you?"
+
+"Yes, he mentioned others."
+
+"Just so! And who, now--if I ain't too bold in askin'."
+
+"Let me see," said Oliver after a pause. "Some other man's name was
+mentioned. A short name, if I remember correctly."
+
+"Uh-huh! Plumb forget her, eh?"
+
+"It seems to me it was Smeed, or something like that. Yes--Dan Smeed."
+
+Silence. Again tobacco smoke was wafted over the ferns.
+
+"Dan Smeed, eh?" ruminated Selden finally. "Mr. Drew, did ye ever hear
+that name before Damon Tamroy said it to ye?"
+
+Another thoughtful intermission; then--
+
+"Yes, I had heard it before."
+
+"Just so! Just so! And if I ain't too bold in askin'--just where, Mr.
+Drew?"
+
+"Why, I heard it first from Old Dad Sloan himself. Miss Selden and I
+rode over to his cabin one morning, and we got him to talking of the
+days of 'Forty-nine. He can be quite interesting when he doesn't
+wander."
+
+"Uh-huh! And ye say ye heard the name Dan Smeed over to Old Dad Sloan's
+fer the first time?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"_The first time in yer life, Mr. Drew?_"
+
+"Yes. I had never heard of it until then."
+
+A short, low snort from Selden. Jessamy knew it well. It signified: "I
+don't believe you!"
+
+Said Selden presently: "Well, then, I'm gonta put another question to
+ye, Mr. Drew. I don't want ye to think I'm tryin' to butt in, as the
+fella says. But s'long's Tamroy was talkin' about me, I reckon it's
+right an' just that I should be interested. Now, what did Tamroy tell ye
+Old Dad Sloan had to say 'bout this here Dan Smeed and _me_?"
+
+"He said that you and Dan Smeed were one time partners."
+
+"Oh! Uh-huh! Just so! Partners, eh? And was that the first time ye ever
+heard that, Mr. Drew?"
+
+"Yes, the first time," said Oliver patiently.
+
+Again that peculiar little snort of Selden.
+
+"How ye gettin' along down to the Old Ivison Place, Mr. Drew?" was
+Selden's abrupt shift of the conversation.
+
+"Oh, my garden is fine. And I have two colonies of bees storing up honey
+for me. Besides, I've located another colony up in the hills, and will
+get them as soon as I can get around to it."
+
+"But ye can't live on garden truck an' honey!"
+
+"I suppose I should have some locusts to go along with them," laughed
+Oliver; but his flight was lost on Old Man Selden. "You forget, though,"
+the speaker added, "that I am writing for farm journals. I've sold three
+little articles since I settled down there. I'll get along, if my luck
+holds out."
+
+"Oh, yes--ye'll get along. I ain't worryin' 'bout that. I'll bet ye
+could draw a check right this minute that'd pay fer every acre o' land
+'tween here an' Calamity Gap."
+
+"I'll bet I couldn't!" Oliver positively denied.
+
+Old Man Selden chuckled craftily. "Ye're pretty foxy, Mr. Drew--pretty
+foxy!" He had lowered his deep tones until Jessamy could barely
+distinguish words. "Yes, sir--_mighty_ foxy! A garden an' bees an'
+writin' for a story paper, eh? Oh, ye'll get along. I'll tell a man
+ye'll get along!"
+
+"I really have no other source of revenue, Mr. Selden."
+
+"Just so! I understand. Well, Mr. Drew, maybe I been a mite too bold;
+but I'll step in another inch or two and say this: When ye need any help
+down there on the Old Ivison Place, just send word to Dan Smeed's
+partner. D'ye understand?"
+
+"I thank you, I'm sure," Oliver told him dryly. "But really I don't
+think I'll need any help. My garden is so small that--"
+
+"Just so! Still, ye never can tell when a foxy fella like you'll need
+help. And Dan Smeed's partner'll be always ready to help. Just remember
+that."
+
+"Help with what?" asked Oliver testingly.
+
+"In watchin' the dead," was Selden's surprising answer, spoken in a
+crafty half-whisper.
+
+"In watching the dead!" cried his listener. "Why, I--"
+
+"Le's go in to the womenfolks now," interrupted Selden. "And keep
+thinkin' over this, Mr. Drew. Always ready to help--d'ye savvy? And
+don't ye pay no attention to that there supposed gang that they call the
+Poison Oakers. They ain't no such gang. But if anybody does try to
+bother ye, tell me. Get me? Tell Dan Smeed's partner. He'll help ye
+watch the dead."
+
+"You're talking in riddles," Oliver snorted. "I don't understand--"
+
+"Oh, yes, ye do! Ye savvy, all right. Ye're foxy, Mr. Drew. I'll say no
+more just now. But when ye need my help...."
+
+Their voices trailed off.
+
+Once again the girl's supple body rose from the hips, and she searched
+the ferns on every side. For several minutes she lay quite still in the
+same position. Then, perhaps fifty feet on her left, a head rose above
+the tall fronds, and then a body followed it. Next instant a dark figure
+was hurrying back toward the spring.
+
+Jessamy waited until sight and sound of it were no more, then rose and
+ran with all her might toward the house.
+
+She slipped in at her private door, hustled out of her clothes, and
+began donning her gorgeous red dress again.
+
+"So Old Man Selden always shoots straight from the shoulder,
+eh?" she muttered. "Piffle! When he wants to be he's a regular
+Barkis-is-willin'!"
+
+In the midst of her dressing her mother tapped.
+
+"Jessamy, where have you been?" she asked. "Mr. Selden and Mr. Drew are
+in the living room now. I've knocked twice, but you didn't answer."
+
+"I was outdoors," Jessamy replied. "I'm dressing now. I'll be right
+out."
+
+And a minute or two later Oliver Drew gasped and his blue eyes grew wide
+as a silk-garbed figure, with a red rose in her raven hair, glided
+toward him.
+
+Yea, even as the girl in red had planned that he should gasp!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+SPIES
+
+
+Smith, the shaggy, mouse-coloured burro, lifted his voice in that
+sobbing wail of welcome which has caused his kind to be designated as
+desert canaries, as Oliver rode into the pasture. Smith's was a
+gregarious soul. To be left entirely alone was torture. His ears were
+twelve inches long, and the protuberances over his eyes were so craggy
+that Oliver had hesitated between the names of Smith and William Cullen
+Bryant. On the whole, though, "Smith" had seemed more companionable.
+
+Oliver loosed Poche to console the lonesome heart of Smith and went at
+the irrigating of his garden. When a stream of water was trickling along
+every hoed furrow he put on heavy hobnailed laced-boots and went into
+the hills in search of his third bee tree.
+
+It seems illogical to set down that one could live for nearly two months
+on forty acres of land without having explored every square foot of it.
+But Oliver had not trod upon at least two thirds of his property. Locked
+chaparral presents many difficulties. Farmers detest it, and artists go
+wild over it. But farmers are obliged to sprawl flat and crawl through
+it occasionally, while artists sit on their stools at a distance from it
+that brings out all the alluring browns and yellows and greens and
+olives of which it is capable under the magic of the changing sunlight.
+
+Oliver had seen bees darting like arrows from the flowers in the
+creekbed in a westerly direction, up over the thickest of the chaparral.
+Up there somewhere was another colony of winged misers and their hoarded
+wealth of honey. Honey was bringing a good price just then, and a
+merchant at Halfmoon Flat would buy it. So now the beeman climbed the
+hill and crawled into the chaparral in the direction the insects had
+flown.
+
+Scattered here and there through the dense thicket were pines and spruce
+and black oak. In one of these trees the bees must have their home; and
+his task of finding it was not entirely a haphazard quest. When he
+crawled to an opening in the bushes he would climb into the crotch of
+one of them and locate the nearest tree. Then, flattening himself once
+more, he would crawl to this tree and look for a hollow for the bees.
+Finding none, he would locate another tree and crawl to it.
+
+Thus wearisomely engaged he crawled into a depression three feet deep in
+the earth beneath him. This allowed him to sit erect for the first time
+in minutes, and he availed himself of the chance, industriously mopping
+his brow.
+
+Now, Oliver Drew was not a miner, but he was a son of the outdoor West
+and knew at once that he was seated in an ancient prospect hole. About
+the excavation were piled the dirt and stones that had been shovelled
+out.
+
+He speculated over it. For all he knew, it might date back to the
+fascinating days of '49. A great forest of pines might have stood here
+then. Or maybe the pines had been burned away, and a forest of gigantic
+oaks had followed the conifers, to rear themselves majestically above
+the pigmies that delved, oftimes impotently, for the glittering yellow
+treasure at their roots. Or, again, the prospect hole might have been
+dug years later, after the oaks had disappeared and the chaparral had
+claimed the land. There was no way of telling, for every decade or so
+forest fires swept the country almost clean, and some new growth
+superseded the old in Nature's endless cycle.
+
+Fifty feet farther on he plopped into a second prospect hole, and a
+little beyond that he found a third.
+
+He noted now that in all cases no chaparral grew up through the muck
+that had been thrown out. This would seem to signify that the work had
+been done in recent years, while the bushes that now claimed the land
+still grew there. He found a fourth hole soon, and near it were
+manzanita stumps, the tops of which had been cut off with an ax.
+
+This settled it. While the soil might show evidences of the work of man
+for an interminable length of time, the roots of the lopped-off
+manzanitas would rot in a decade, perhaps, and freezing weather would
+loosen the stumps from their moorings. But this wood was still sound.
+The prospecting had been done not many years before. And who had been
+prospecting thus on patented land?
+
+When he had wormed his way to the crest of a hill he had passed about
+twenty of these shallow holes. Now, at the top, the earth had been
+literally gophered. The workings here looked newer still; and presently
+he came upon evidence that proved work had been done not longer than a
+year before, for dry leaves still clung to the tops of manzanita bushes
+that had been chopped off and pitched to one side.
+
+It has been stated that he was not a miner. Still, having been born and
+raised in a mining country, he knew something of the geological
+formations in which gold ordinarily is found. He was in a gold producing
+country now, yet the specimens that he picked up near the prospect holes
+proved that only a rank tenderfoot would have searched so persistently
+in this locality.
+
+He picked up a bit of white substance and gave it study. It resembled
+lithia. The water of his spring contained a trace of lithium salts,
+according to the analysis furnished him by the State Agricultural
+College, to which he had mailed a sample. He pocketed the specimen for
+future reference.
+
+As he sat on the edge of this hole, with his feet in it, he heard a
+rustling in the bushes close at hand. At first he thought it might be
+caused by a jackrabbit; but soon it became certain that some heavier,
+larger body was making its way slowly through the chaparral.
+
+A coyote? A bobcat? A deer?
+
+He carried no gun today, and the swift thought of a mountain lion was a
+bit unpleasant.
+
+He quickly slid from his seat and stretched himself on the ground in the
+shallow excavation. Oliver was an ardent student of nature, and he liked
+nothing better than secretly to watch some wild thing as it moved about
+it its customary routine, unconscious of the gaze of human eyes. Once he
+had hidden in wild grapevines and watched a skunk searching for bugs
+along a creekbed, until suddenly the moist bank crumbled beneath him,
+and he fell, and--But what followed is what might be called an unsavory
+story.
+
+The crackling, scraping sounds drew nearer, but whatever was making them
+was not moving directly toward him. They ceased abruptly, and then he
+knew that the man or animal had reached the open space in the brush in
+which the prospect holes were situated.
+
+As the noises were not continued, he began raising himself slowly, until
+he was able to look over the edge of the hole.
+
+It was not a browsing deer nor a hunting coyote upon which he gazed. A
+squat, dark man, with chaps and spurs and Stetson, was making his way
+across the open space to the continuation of the chaparral beyond it.
+His eyes were mere slits, black, Mongolic.
+
+He was Digger Foss, the half-white, right-hand man of Adam Selden.
+
+The progress of the gunman was not stealthy, for undoubtedly he
+considered himself particularly safe from observation up here in the
+wilderness of chaparral. He slouched bow-leggedly across the break in
+the thicket, and dropped to hands and knees when he reached the edge of
+it. He disappeared in the chaparral.
+
+The general direction that he was pursuing was straight toward Oliver's
+cabin. Oliver lay quite still and listened to the renewed sounds of his
+progress through the prickly bushes.
+
+Then once more they stopped suddenly. Oliver knew that in the short
+space of time elapsed Digger Foss could not have crawled beyond the
+reach of his hearing. He had paused again.
+
+For perhaps five minutes he listened, but could hear no further sounds.
+Then from not far distant there came the familiar clatter of a dry pine
+cone in the manzanita tops.
+
+A moment more and Oliver was smiling grimly. For Foss had suddenly
+appeared above the tops of the chaparral. He was climbing a giant digger
+pine, which only a short time before Oliver had investigated as the
+possible home of the bees he was striving to find. There in plain sight
+the halfbreed was climbing like a bear from limb to limb, keeping the
+trunk of the tree between his chunky body and the cabin in the valley.
+
+Presently he settled astride a horizontal bough on Oliver's side, his
+back toward the watcher. He adjusted himself as comfortably as possible,
+and then there appeared in his hands a pair of binoculars. Leaning
+around the tree trunk, screened by the digger pine's long,
+smoke-coloured needles, he focused the glasses on the cabin down below.
+
+It looked to Oliver Drew as if this were not the first time that the
+gunman had perched himself up there to watch proceedings in the canyon.
+There had been no hesitancy in his selection of a tree which stood in
+such a position that other trees would not obstruct his view from its
+branches, no studying over which limb he might occupy to the best
+advantage.
+
+Vaguely Oliver wondered how many times he had laboured and moved about
+down below, with the keen, black, Chinese eyes fixed on him. It was not
+a comfortable feeling, by any means.
+
+Now, though, his thoughts were taken up by the problem of getting away
+unobserved by the spyglass man. Digger Foss was not a hundred feet from
+where Oliver lay and watched him. If he should turn for an instant he
+would see Oliver there, flat on his face in the excavation, for the
+halfbreed's perch was twenty feet above the tops of the chaparral.
+
+Oliver had decided to make a try at crawling on up the hill as
+noiselessly as possible, when new and far slighter sounds came to his
+ears. So slight they were indeed that, if he had not been close to the
+earth, he might not have detected them at all.
+
+But no bird or small animal could be responsible for them, for they were
+continuous and dragging. Once again he hugged the ground while he
+watched and waited.
+
+The sounds came on--sounds that seemed to be the result of some one's
+dragging something carefully over the shattered leaves on the ground.
+And presently there hove into view another human being.
+
+He was an Indian--a Showut Poche-daka. Oliver remembered his swarthy
+face, his inscrutable eyes. He had been pointed out to him at the fiesta
+by Jessamy as the champion trailer of all the Paubas, of which the
+Showut Poche-daka Tribe was a sort of branch. Often, Jessamy had said,
+this Indian, who was known by the odd and laughable name of Tommy My-Ma,
+had been employed by the sheriff of the county in tracking down escaped
+prisoners or fleeing transgressors against the law.
+
+He wore no hat. He was barefooted. His only covering seemed to be a pair
+of faded-blue overalls and a colourless flannel shirt. Neither did he
+carry any weapon, so far as Oliver could see.
+
+His progress was now soundless as he came from the chaparral, flat on
+his belly, wriggling along like a lizard with surprising speed. His
+black, glittering eyes were unquestionably fixed with rapt intentness on
+the man aloft in the digger pine; and by reason of this alone he did not
+see Oliver Drew.
+
+His movements commenced to be extraordinary. He wriggled himself
+speedily over the unlittered earth and made no sound. There was a pile
+of dry brush at one edge of the clearing, the tops of the bushes that
+had been cut off to facilitate the sinking of the prospect holes. Toward
+this Tommy My-Ma glided; and when he reached it he passed out of sight
+on the other side.
+
+Then suddenly he reappeared again. Instantly he lowered his head to the
+ground at the edge of the pile of brush; then swiftly the head and
+shoulders disappeared, the trunk and legs following. For a second Oliver
+saw the bare brown feet, then they too went out of sight.
+
+Oliver understood the disappearing act of Tommy My-Ma, he thought. The
+pile of brush covered another of the prospect holes, and into the hole
+the Showut Poche-daka had snaked himself. It seemed that he too had
+sought a hiding place often frequented. In there he perhaps could sit
+erect and, screened by the pile of brush, would be entirely hidden,
+while he himself could watch the spy in the branches of the digger pine.
+For that he was in turn spying on the man who was watching Oliver's
+cabin Oliver did not for a moment doubt.
+
+But why? That was another matter!
+
+He was quite aware of his own unprotected position; and with Tommy My-Ma
+now hidden in the brush scarce fifty feet away from him, he dared not
+get out of his hole and try to crawl away.
+
+The situation struck him as ridiculous in the extreme. Foss trying to
+spy on him; Tommy My-Ma spying on Foss--the object of all this intrigue,
+Oliver himself, spying on both of them!
+
+And how long must it continue?
+
+The only sounds now were the soft moaning of the wind through the
+needles of the pines, and from afar, occasionally, the clear, cool call
+of a valley quail: "Cut that out! Cut that out!" The sun was hot on the
+resinous needles of the pines, and the smell of them filled the air.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+CONTENTIONS
+
+
+Two horsemen met on the backbone of the ridge that separated Clinker
+Creek and the green American.
+
+Obed Pence was a tall individual with a small mouth, a great Roman nose,
+close-set black eyes over which black brows met so that they formed a
+continuous line, and large, tangled front teeth.
+
+The man who met him in the trail--a boy who had just turned
+twenty-one--was sandy-haired, freckled, snub-nosed, and blue-eyed. His
+face was too boyish to show marked wickedness, but Chuck Allegan was not
+the least important member of the Poison Oaker Gang.
+
+"Howdy, Pencie?" he drawled, crooking his leg about his saddle horn as
+his black horse stopped to rub noses with the bay that the other rode.
+
+"Where you headin' for?" asked Obed Pence.
+
+"Down toward Lime Rock. There's some cows o' mine and a bunch o' calves
+down there. That breechy old roan devil steered 'em up thataway. She's
+always wanderin' off with a bunch like that. Come on down with me--I
+want to move 'em up with the rest o' the bunch. Soil's thin down
+thataway, an' grass's already gettin' brown."
+
+"Any o' mine in that bunch?"
+
+"I dunno. Like's not. Come on--you ain't got nothin' to do."
+
+"Maybe I have and maybe I ain't," retorted Pence half truculently.
+
+"What you doin', then?"
+
+"Watchin' out for that fella Drew."
+
+"Who told you to? Old Man?"
+
+Pence spat a stream of tobacco juice. "Not a-tall," he replied. "I guess
+you ain't heard what's new."
+
+"I ain't heard nothin' new. Spring it!"
+
+"Foss is the one told me to keep my eye on Drew. Said for me to keep to
+this ridge over here and try to get a line on what he's up to if he come
+up this way. Digger's over in the hills on the other side o' the canyon,
+watchin'. He's got glasses."
+
+"What's the good o' watchin' this guy? Why don't we get in and fire 'im
+out o' the country, like we said we was goin' to do?"
+
+Obed Pence's irregular teeth twisted off another chew of tobacco.
+
+"That's the funny part of it," he observed. "Digger's workin' alone, it
+seems. Old Man tells him not to bother Drew at all. Says he'll tend to
+'im 'imself, when he gets 'round to it. First time I ever saw Old Man
+Selden hang back on puttin' a bur under anybody's tail when he wanted to
+get rid of 'im. An' now he passes the word for nobody to bother Drew
+till he says to. Digger don't like it. He's sore on the old man."
+
+"What'd Digger say?"
+
+"I just know mostly by the way he acts. There's somethin' funny goin'
+on. Ever since that day we all rode down to Drew's cabin and heard the
+shot inside, Old Man's been actin' funny. Digger an' me was wonderin'
+what them two was talkin' about in the cabin, that made the old man
+change the way he done. Why, say, he went down there to scare the ticks
+outa Drew that day. And after that, you know, we had it all made up to
+turn cows in on Drew's garden when he was away, an' let 'em get at his
+spring. Then Jay Muenster was goin' to slip in sometime and put a live
+rattlesnake in Drew's bed. And if all that didn't start 'im, we was
+gonta begin plunkin' at him from the chaparral, you know--just drop a
+few bullets at his feet when he was workin' in his garden. Wasn't that
+right?"
+
+"Sure was, Pencie."
+
+"An' we rode down there to start things goin'," Pence continued. "And
+when Old Man come outa the cabin he was bowin' and scrapin', and this
+and that and the other, like him and Drew had been pals all their lives.
+There's somethin' funny. Digger don't like it a-tall!"
+
+"Does Ed know anything?" asked Chuck after a pause.
+
+"No, he don't," answered Obed Pence. "It was Ed told Old Man 'bout
+Digger takin' a crack at Drew when he was monkeyin' 'round Sulphur
+Spring. And Old Man told Ed to tell Digger to cut it out, and that he
+was runnin' the gang and would tell anybody when he wanted 'em to throw
+down on Drew."
+
+"I know."
+
+"And Digger asks 'im when he sees 'im did he want Drew monkeyin' about
+the spring and gettin' onto the pipe that took water to the still. And
+Old Man says to hell with the still; he was gonta cut out makin' booze,
+anyway."
+
+"Cut it out?"
+
+"That's what he told Digger Foss."
+
+"Hell, he makes more money sellin' monkey rum to Standard than outa
+anything else! And it's always been safe. Pro'bition didn't cut no ice
+with us--just give us ten times the profit!"
+
+Pence shrugged his ridgy shoulders. "I'm just tellin' you how things are
+goin'. Drew made us loose the Sulphur Spring water to run the still
+with, and Old Man didn't seem to give a whoop about it. Drew finds the
+pipe, like as not, and that don't seem like it worried the boss. Just
+says he'll cut out distillin'. Why, he's layin' right down to this fella
+Drew. Drew's got Old Man buffaloed!"
+
+"Not a-tall," disagreed Chuck Allegan. "You know better'n that, Pencie.
+Man don't live that c'n buffalo Old Man Selden. He's double-crossin'
+us--that's what! There's somethin' behind all this. What's Digger
+watchin' Drew for? Is that any way to run a man outa the country? I'm
+askin' you!"
+
+"That runnin'-out-o'-the-country business has got to be an old gag.
+Le'me tell you somethin': I wasn't goin' to, but I will. Digger said not
+to mention it. But listen! You know Old Man took Drew home with 'im
+after the fiesta."
+
+Chuck nodded his boyish head.
+
+"Well, Digger wasn't asleep at the switch. When it got dark he rides
+across the river and into the ranch to see if he c'n find out what's
+stirrin'. He ain't liked the way things 'a' been goin' since he got outa
+jail. Course it's Jess'my that's got his goat. Drew's cuttin' 'im out;
+and since the day we rode into Drew's Digger thinks Old Man's ag'in 'im,
+an's helpin' Drew get Jess'my.
+
+"Anyway, whatever's the reason, Digger leaves his horse in the chaparral
+and sneaks in and sees 'em at supper. And he sticks 'round till supper's
+over and Old Man steers Drew out to the corrals for a talk. They set
+down on that old felled pine in the ferns below the spring, and Digger
+snakes up through the ferns and hears 'em talkin'."
+
+"What'd he say they said?" Chuck asked eagerly.
+
+"Didn't have any too much to say about it," Pence replied. "Just said
+Old Man and Drew was nice as pie to each other; and Old Man told Drew
+there wasn't any use him bein' scared o' the Poison Oakers, 'cause there
+wasn't no such outfit."
+
+"Said there wasn't no such outfit?"
+
+"That's what I said!"
+
+"And Digger wouldn't tell no more?"
+
+"No, he wouldn't. And I'll bet you there was a lot more to tell. I
+savvied Digger wasn't springin' all he heard. But he don't like it."
+
+"Maybe they was talkin' 'bout Jess'my. Then he wouldn't have nothin' to
+say, you can bet yer life!"
+
+"I got my doubts," Pence ruminated. "No, there was somethin' else. I
+know that shifty little bullet eye o' Digger's. He was keepin' somethin'
+back that he ought to told the rest of us. I don't like the way things
+are goin'. Since this Drew showed up, seems like we all got somethin' to
+keep from one another. Old Man's tryin' to double-cross the gang
+someway. Foss is tryin' to get in on it, or else he's aimin' to
+double-cross us an' Old Man, too, all on his lonesome. An' we can't make
+any more booze 'cause o' Drew; an' Old Man says, We sh'd worry! A hell
+of a mess! We're due for a big bust-up, I'm thinkin'. What's Foss
+sneakin' about watchin' Drew for? Huh! Answer me that? An' why'd he tell
+me to watch up here an' trail 'im if I saw 'im, without tellin' me why?
+I'm gettin' about sick o' the whole dam' deal! I ain't takin' orders
+from Digger Foss!"
+
+"Me, too," agreed Allegan. "And that fire dance--that's 'at gets me!
+Funny about this guy Drew, comin' here a stranger, an' dancin' the fire
+dance right away. Somethin' funny, all right! Most folks thought maybe
+he'd hooked up with a squaw, but it ain't that. Gets _my_ goat! But how
+'bout the Selden boys?"
+
+"They ain't said a word. I reckon they're in with Old Man, whatever he's
+got on his chest. If we come to a split-up, that'll make Old Man and the
+four boys on one side, and me an' you an' Ed Buchanan and Jay Muenster
+on the other side. Five to four."
+
+"But how 'bout Digger? He's always been strong with Old Man Selden.
+He'll stick with him."
+
+"Maybe--maybe. He won't be with us, though. An' I'm doubtin' if he'll be
+with Selden, either. He's out fer Foss!"
+
+"Fer Jess'my, ye mean!"
+
+"'Sall the same," shrugged Obed Pence. "Le's ride down an' get a couple
+o' drinks, an' then I'll fog it down to Lime Rock with ye. T'hell with
+Digger Foss an' his orderin' me 'round!"
+
+They rode away in silence, winding their way down into Clinker Creek
+Canyon when a mile or more below the forty acres of Oliver Drew. They
+dismounted at Sulphur Spring and pushed through the growth surrounding
+it.
+
+Only a little water now remained in the clay-lined reservoir. The
+protruding end of the three-quarter-inch pipe was now plainly visible,
+eight inches above the surface of the tiny pool.
+
+"Just think," Obed Pence observed: "That pipe's took water down the
+canyon for us for years; and s'long's the pool was full o' water nobody
+ever found the end of it here. At least they never let on they did. An'
+now comes this Drew an' puts the kibosh on everything! I'll tell a man
+I'm gettin' sore about it, Chuck. I want my booze, and I want my share
+o' what we could get out of it. I'm bettin' Standard'll be wild when he
+learns Old Man won't distil any more."
+
+"Can't," corrected Chuck.
+
+"Can't, eh? Who's stoppin' 'im? Drew, that's who, and nobody else! And
+he won't send Drew over the hills talkin' to 'imself, like he's done to
+many a better man before 'im. I'm sore, I tell you. And I'm gonta find
+out what's doin', or know the reason why."
+
+"Le's get clay an' cover the end o' the pipe," suggested Chuck. "Some
+deer hunter's likely to see it if we don't, now that the water's pretty
+near gone."
+
+They solemnly administered this rite in remembrance of dead days, and
+rode on down the canyon single-file.
+
+Over three-quarters of a mile from the spring they left their horses in
+the creek bottom and clambered up a steep slope, slipping on the
+polished pine needles underfoot. Near the summit the trees thinned, and
+heavy chaparral usurped the land. On hands and knees they plunged into
+it, and presently were crawling on their stomachs over an unmarked
+route.
+
+In the heart of the chaparral they came suddenly upon a circular opening
+made by the hand of man. Here was a high ledge of schist, and under it a
+small cave. Grass grew here, for the spot marked the other end of the
+pipe line from Sulphur Spring, and the water that had represented the
+spring's overflow had trickled out to cool the copper coil of the Poison
+Oakers' still, incidentally refreshing the barren land.
+
+The pipe line represented a great amount of toil and patience, but, as
+the pipe had been stolen from a railroad shipment, no great outlay of
+funds. Clinker Creek Canyon dipped so steadily below Sulphur Spring that
+it had been possible to lay the pipe to this hidden spot in the heart of
+the chaparral, far up on the hillside, and still maintain a goodly fall
+for the flow of water.
+
+Only by crawling flat on his face could one reach this secluded
+rendezvous; and in all the years that they had made molasses rum here
+the Poison Oakers had not been disturbed. Not even a hunter would find
+it necessary to penetrate this fastness. Men would have laughed if told
+that water was flowing up here on the dry, rocky eminence.
+
+Before the cave's mouth was an adobe furnace for the fire, and over it
+the now dry end of the pipe hung uselessly. The still was removable, and
+was now in the cave, together with distilled stock on hand and kegs of
+molasses that had been packed into the canyon on burros' backs, then
+trundled laboriously up into the chaparral.
+
+Chuck and Obed entered the open cave and sat themselves down beside a
+barrel with a wooden spigot. They found glasses and wiped soil and
+cobwebs from them with their thumbs, and soon the water-coloured liquor
+flowed to the temporary gladdening of their hearts.
+
+But as it flowed again and again they began renewing their grievances,
+and shook their heads over "the good old days," and mouthed vague
+threats, and forgot all about Lime Rock and the breachy cow.
+
+In the midst of their maudlin conversation Obed Pence heard a sound,
+despite his rum-dulled sensibilities.
+
+"Cut it out!" he husked. "Somebody's beatin' it in here."
+
+He lay flat in the mouth of the cave and looked down the hillside under
+the chaparral.
+
+"Old Man and Bolar," he announced.
+
+"Le's get out an' beat it over the hill, and back down to our
+_caballos_--and they won't know we been here," Chuck suggested.
+
+"Huh! Not me!" retorted Pence. "They already seen our horses, I'll bet.
+Anyway, I'm liquored up just right to tell Old Man how the war broke
+out. I'm glad he's comin'. I'm gonta know what's what right pronto!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+"WAIT!"
+
+
+For over an hour Oliver Drew was obliged to lie flat at the bottom of
+the shallow prospect hole, while Foss remained astride the limb of the
+digger pine and Tommy My-Ma kept hidden under the pile of brush.
+
+There was no chance to steal out and crawl away through the chaparral,
+for, while Digger's back was always toward him, he could not tell which
+way the brush-screened Showut Poche-daka was looking.
+
+At last, though, the man on lookout began to show signs of vast
+uneasiness. His position was uncomfortable, and down at the cabin there
+was, of course, no movement to arouse his interest and relieve the
+tedium of his watch. He squirmed incessantly for a time; and then
+apparently he decided that the object of his espionage had left the
+ranch, for he thrust his glasses in his shirt front and began monkeying
+to the ground.
+
+Oliver's security now was in the hands of chance. If the halfbreed left
+his observation post by a route which passed near the prospect hole,
+Oliver would be discovered. If he decided to leave the thicket by
+crawling downhill, Oliver would be safe from detection.
+
+It was rather a breathless minute that followed, and then he heard the
+gunman moving off through the chaparral in the direction of the
+canyon--the least difficult route by far. Apparently he had not come
+mounted, else he would have retraced his course back to where he would
+have left his horse.
+
+Gradually the sounds of his retreat died away. Still there was no
+movement in the pile of brush, so far as Oliver's ears were able to
+detect. He dared not look up over the edge of the prospect hole that hid
+him.
+
+Minutes passed. Quail called coolly from afar. Still not the slightest
+sound from the brush pile.
+
+For half an hour longer Oliver lay motionless and silent. Had Tommy
+My-Ma slipped out noiselessly and followed Foss? Or was he for some
+obscure reason still hiding under the dry manzanita tops? At the end of
+this period Oliver decided that the Indian must have gone. Anyway, he
+did not purpose to remain in that hole till nightfall.
+
+So he elevated his nose to the land level and peered about cautiously.
+
+Everything remained as he had seen it last. He rose to his feet, left
+the hole, and walked boldly to the brush pile.
+
+A swift examination of the ground showed that Tommy My-Ma had left his
+place of concealment, perhaps long since. There was a plainly marked
+trail through the shattered leaves that led in the same direction taken
+by the departing halfbreed.
+
+Oliver studied the brush pile, and found that the facilities for hiding
+were as he had deduced. Pine limbs had been laid across the hole like
+rafters, and the brush heaped on top of them. Beneath was a space deep
+enough for a man to sit erect; and he might thrust his head up into the
+brush and peer out in all directions. Loose brush concealed the
+entrance, and it had been replaced when the Indian took his leave.
+
+What was the meaning of it all? Foss, of course, had reason to hate him;
+but what could he gain by secretly watching him from cover? And why was
+the Indian watching Foss in turn? All indications pointed to the belief
+that Foss had occupied his observation tree often, and that his shadow
+had as frequently trailed him and spied on him from a prearranged hiding
+place.
+
+What strange, mysterious intrigue had enveloped his life because of the
+unanswered question with which old Peter Drew had struggled for over
+thirty years? When would he face the question? Would the answer be Yes
+or No? Would his college education prove a safeguard against his reading
+the answer wrong, as his poor, unlettered old father had hoped? And
+Jessamy! Would she figure in the answer? Somehow he felt that hope and
+life and Jessamy hung on whether his answer would be Yes or No. His dead
+father's hand seemed to be weaving the warp and woof of his destiny.
+
+Oliver gave up further search for the bees that day. By a circuitous
+route he returned to his irrigating of the garden.
+
+June days passed after this, and July days began. The poison oak had
+turned from green to brilliant red, and now was dark-green once more.
+The air was hot; the grass was sear and yellow; the creek was dry but
+for a deep pool abreast the cabin. But Oliver did not worry much now
+about the creek, except for the loss of its low, comforting murmur and
+the greenness with which it had endowed its banks, because the enlarged
+flow from his spring was ample for his needs.
+
+No longer did linnets sit near his cabin window and sing to the
+accompaniment of his typewriter keys. Their season of love was over; the
+young birds were feathered out and had left their nests. The wild
+canaries still were with him, and hovered about the rambling willow over
+the spring. Eagles soared aloft in the clear, hot skies. Lizards basked
+lazily about the cabin, and blinked up contentedly when he tickled their
+sides with a broomstraw, or dangled pre-swatted flies before their
+grinning lips.
+
+For a week now he had seen no member of the Poison Oaker Gang. The cows
+bearing their brand were all about him, but gave him no trouble, and he
+thought it strange that he chanced to meet no one riding to look after
+them. He had not been bothered. Whether Digger Foss spent his idle hours
+watching him from the branches of his lookout pine he did not know or
+care. He had not seen Jessamy since the morning he left Poison Oak
+Ranch, and all his worriment and discontent found vent in this.
+
+Why had she not ridden down to him, as of old? Had he offended her in
+any way? The thought was unbelievable, for he could recall not the
+slightest hint of any misunderstanding.
+
+He brooded and moped over it, and loved her more and more--realized,
+because of her absence, just how deeply he desired her. He experienced
+all the tortures of first love; and then one day he found his senses.
+
+Then he laughed loud and long, and ran for Poche, and threw the
+silver-mounted saddle on his back. She had come to him when he could not
+go to her. Now her step-father had invited him to her home, and if he
+wished her companionship he must take the male's part and seek it. What
+an utter ass he had been indeed!
+
+It was one o'clock when Poche bore him into the cup in the mountains
+that cradled Poison Oak Ranch. At once the longed-for sight of her
+gladdened his heart once more, for she apparently had seen him coming
+and was walking from the house to meet him.
+
+How her sturdy, womanly figure thrilled his soul! Black as night was the
+hair that was now coiled loosely on her head, in which a red rose blazed
+as when he had seen her last. The confident poise of her head, the warm
+tints of that strong column that was her neck, the brave carriage of her
+shoulders, her swinging stride, the long black lashes that seemed to be
+etched by an Oriental artist--they set his heart to pounding until he
+felt faint; the yearning, hopeless void of love tormented him.
+
+And then with his senses awhirl he leaned from the saddle and felt her
+warm, soft hand in his, and gazed dizzily into the unsounded depths of
+the trout pools shaded by grapevines, to which his fancy had likened her
+eyes. His hand shook and his heart leaped, and his soul cried out for
+her; and all that he could say was:
+
+"How do you do, Miss Selden!"
+
+He saddled White Ann, and over the hills they rode together.
+Commonplaces passed between them until the wilderness enveloped them.
+Then as they sat their horses and gazed down a precipitous slope to the
+river, she asked:
+
+"Just why have you kept away from us all these weeks?"
+
+He reddened. "I'll tell you frankly," he said: "I was a fool. I was
+moping because you had not ridden to see me. You had come so often
+before. And I woke up only today. Today for the first time I realized
+that, since Old Man Selden has opened his door to me, it is my place to
+go to you."
+
+"Of course," she said demurely.
+
+He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
+
+"Some time ago," he told her, "I realized that you sought me out in the
+first place for a purpose."
+
+He paused, and the look he cast at her was eager, though guarded
+carefully.
+
+"Yes?" she questioned.
+
+"Yes," he went on. "I realized that. And also that you _continued_ to
+come because that purpose was not yet fulfilled, and because conditions
+made it necessary for you to look me up."
+
+"Yes, I understand--" as he had come to a stop, rather helplessly.
+
+"Well, just that," he floundered. "And then Selden changed his tactics,
+and I could go to you. So you--you didn't come to me any more."
+
+"Fairly well elucidated," she laughed, "if repetition makes for
+clearness. Well, you understand now--so let's forget it."
+
+"I want you to understand that it wasn't because I didn't wish to come.
+It was just thick-headedness."
+
+"So you have said. Yes, I understand."
+
+The gaze of her black eyes was far away--far away over the deep, rugged
+canyon, over the hills that climbed shelf after shelf to the mystic
+snow-topped mountains, far away into a country that is not of the earth
+earthy. Under her drab flannel shirt her full bosom rose and fell with
+the regularity of her perfect breathing. Her man's hat lay over her
+saddle horn. Like some reigning goddess of the wilderness she sat and
+overlooked the domain that was hers unchallenged; and the profile of her
+brow, and the long, black, drooping lashes, tore at the heart-strings of
+the man until he suffered.
+
+"I can't stand that!" he cried out in his soul; and a pressure of the
+reins brought Poche close to White Ann's side. "Jessamy!" said the man
+huskily. "Jessamy!"
+
+He could say no more, for his voice failed him, and a haze swam before
+his eyes as when he had lost control of himself on the hillside.
+
+"Jessamy!" he managed to cry again; and then, for lack of words, he
+spread his arms out toward her.
+
+The black lashes flicked downward once, but she did not turn her face to
+him. The colour deepened in her throat and mounted to her cheeks, and
+her bosom rose and fell more rapidly.
+
+Then slowly she turned her face to his, and her level gaze searched him,
+unafraid. But not for long this time. Down drooped the black lashes till
+they seemed to have been drawn with pen and India ink on her smooth
+brown cheeks; and they screened a light that caused his heart to bound
+with expectation that was half of hope.
+
+Her red lips moved. "Wait!" she whispered.
+
+His arms fell to his sides. "You--you won't hear me!"
+
+"No--not now."
+
+"You know what I'm trying so hard to say. It means so much to me. It's
+hard for a man to say the one word which he knows will make him or break
+him for all time to come. He'd rather--he'd rather just hope on blindly,
+I guess, than to speak when he can't guess how the woman feels.
+Must--must I say it--right out, Jessamy?"
+
+"No, my friend, don't say it."
+
+"Is there anything that stands between us?"
+
+"Yes. But don't ask what."
+
+"Then you don't love me!"
+
+Her red lips quivered. "I said for you to wait," she told him softly.
+
+"Why should I wait? For what? I know myself. I'm grown. I know that I--"
+
+"Don't!" she interrupted. "Wait!" And she leaned in the saddle and swung
+White Ann away from him.
+
+"Let's ride back home," she said. "You'll stay to supper? The moon will
+be bright for your ride home later. I'll make you a cherry pie!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+"WHEN WE MEET AGAIN!"
+
+
+It will be necessary to return to the day that Chuck Allegan and Obed
+Pence met on the ridge beyond the Old Ivison Place, and rode together to
+the hiding place of the Poison Oakers' moonshine still.
+
+Obed Pence continued to lie prone in the mouth of the cave, while his
+close-set eyes angrily watched the progress of Old Man Selden and his
+son Bolar through the chaparral.
+
+As the continued crawling of the coming pair brought them nearer to the
+retreat Obed Pence withdrew his lank figure into the shadowy cave; and
+he and his companion endeavoured to appear innocent and unconcerned.
+
+Then when Old Man Selden and the boy reached the opening and stood
+erect, Obed appeared at the mouth again and greeted them with a
+matter-of-fact:
+
+"Hello, there!"
+
+"Why, howdy, Obed," returned Adam Selden. "Didn't know ye was here.
+Who's with ye?"
+
+"I reckon you see our horses down in Clinker Canyon," returned Obed in
+trouble-hunting tones. "And you know every horse between Red Mountain
+an' the Gap."
+
+"Yea, me and Bolar thought we saw a couple o' animals through the trees.
+But we hit the ground farther up the creekbed, and come in slonchways.
+Thought maybe one o' the brutes was Chuck's."
+
+Obed Pence snorted softly, but did not add more fuel to an argument
+along this line.
+
+"Me an' the kid was packin' a sack o' salt on a burro down toward the
+river," Adam observed, approaching the cave, "an' thought we'd belly up
+an' have a little smile. Cows need salt. Hello there, Chuck!"--as the
+round, boyish face of Allegan shone like a small moon from the dark
+interior.
+
+"Hello, Old Man!" replied the youth. He was apprehensive over Pence's
+glowering silence, and, to hide his feelings, quickly opened the spigot
+over a glass and passed the water-white drink to his chief.
+
+Adam Selden sat down with it, and Bolar came into the cave and was also
+given a drink by Chuck.
+
+"How early you gonta start the drive for the mountains this year, Old
+Man?" asked the self-appointed host, nervously filling glasses for
+himself and the glowering Pence, who stood with arms folded Napoleonlike
+across his breast, scowlingly regarding the newcomers.
+
+"Well, grass's holdin' out _muy bueno_," said Selden thoughtfully. "Late
+rains done it. I don't think we'll have cause to move 'em any earlier
+than common. The filaree down in the river bottom is--"
+
+But here Napoleon broke his moody silence. "I got somethin' to talk
+about outside o' grass," snapped Obed Pence.
+
+A tense stillness ensued, during which Old
+
+Man Selden deliberately drained his glass and passed it back to Chuck to
+be refilled.
+
+"Well, Obed," he drawled lazily, "got anything important to say, just
+say her."
+
+"Oh, I'll say her!" cried Pence, and tossed off his drink of burning
+liquor by way of fortification.
+
+"Ain't been settin' here by that bar'l a mite too long, have ye,
+Obed?--if I ain't too bold in askin'," was Selden's remark, spoken in
+the tone which turneth away wrath.
+
+"No, I ain't been here too long," Pence told his captain. "And I'm glad
+you've come, Old Man. I want to talk to you about this fella Drew, and
+the way things 'a' been a-goin'."
+
+"Shoot!" invited the old man's booming voice.
+
+Obed came directly to the point. "Well, why ain't we runnin' Drew out?"
+
+Old Man Selden balanced his glass on one peaked knee while he reached
+into a pocket of his _chaparejos_ for a plug of tobacco. He was
+deliberate as he replied:
+
+"Well, Obed, I was waitin' a spell 'count of a little matter that's on
+my mind just at present. I'd advise ye not to be worryin' about Drew.
+I'll tend to him when it's the proper time."
+
+"Yes, you will!" sniffed Pence sarcastically. "But, allowin' that you
+will, I want my booze in the meantime."
+
+"There's the bar'l," said Old Man Selden.
+
+"That ain't gonta last forever!"
+
+"Just so! But time she gets low, we'll be makin' more ag'in. Time Drew's
+gone and we get water runnin' from Sulphur Spring ag'in."
+
+"And I'm wantin' my profit from what we could sell," Pence added,
+unmollified. "I got no money, and won't have none till killin' time,
+'less the still's runnin'. 'Tain't worryin' you none. You got all you
+want without makin' monkey rum. But it ain't like that with me. Why, we
+was makin' five gallon a day--at twenty-five bucks a gallon! And now
+nary a drop. I need the money."
+
+"Well, Obed, they's money all about ye," the old man boomed. "And they's
+things that can be turned into money layin' 'round loose everywhere."
+
+"And there's a county jail, too!" snapped Pence.
+
+"And also federal prisons," Adam added, nodding toward the still and the
+crude fermentation vats.
+
+"Rats! Pro'bition sneaks ain't got me scared! But bustin' into
+somebody's store's a different matter. And while we're talkin' about it,
+Old Man, I don't see as you're so keen for a little job like that as you
+was some months ago."
+
+"Gettin' old, Obed--gettin' old, as the fella says. Squirt another shot
+into her, Chuck." He passed his glass again. "I'll leave all that to you
+kids in future, I'm thinkin'."
+
+"But take your share, o' course," sneered Pence.
+
+"Oh, I reckon not, Obed--I reckon not. I got enough to die on--that's
+all I need. Just putter 'round with a few critters for my remainin'
+years, then turn up my toes peaceful-like. I'm gettin' old, Obed--just
+so!"
+
+There was another prolonged, strained silence. Pence emptied his glass
+twice while it lasted, and his Dutch courage grew apace.
+
+"Looky-here, Old Man," he said at last, "Le's get down to tacks: You're
+double-crossin' us, an' we're dead onto it. For some reason you don't
+wanta drive Drew outa Clinker Creek Canyon. It's got somethin' to do with
+that fire dance. There's more in it for you if you leave Drew alone than
+if you put a burr under his tail. That's all right so far's it goes. But
+you're tryin' to hog it. You're squeezin' the rest o' the Poison Oakers
+out--all but your four kids. Ed and Digger and Chuck here and Jey and
+me's left out in the cold. That's what! And we don't like it, and ain't
+gonta stand for it. If there's more profit in it to leave Drew alone,
+leave 'im alone. But le's all get our share o' this big profit, like we
+always did."
+
+"Couple o' more shots and ye'll be weepin' about her, Pencie," dryly
+observed old Adam.
+
+"Never mind that! I c'n handle my booze. You come across."
+
+"I've known ye about thirteen year, Obed," said Adam in tones
+dangerously purring, "and I've never heard ye talk to me thataway
+before. I wouldn't now, if I was you."
+
+"And I've never seen you act like you're doin' in those thirteen years!"
+cried Pence. "Before now there wasn't no need to bawl you out. But
+you're turnin' crooked."
+
+Adam rose and placed an enormous hand on Obed's shoulder.
+
+"Just so! Just so!" he purred. "Now, you ramble down an' get in yer
+saddle an' ride on home, Pencie. Ye've had enough liquor for today. An'
+when ye're sober we'll all talk about her. Just so! That's best. Go on
+now--yer blood's hot!"
+
+Pence jerked his shoulder away and backed farther into the gloom of the
+cave. Old Man Selden quickly moved so that his body was not silhouetted
+against the light streaming in at the mouth.
+
+"I don't want none o' yer dam' fatherly advice," growled Pence. "I just
+want a square deal. If there's a reason why Drew oughta be left alone I
+want to know it. And I want to know it now!"
+
+"Just so! Are ye really mad, now, Pencie?"
+
+"I am mad!"
+
+"_And_ sober?"
+
+"Yes, sober. Shoot her out!"
+
+The eagle eyes of Old Man Selden were fixed intently on the face showing
+from the gloom. Every muscle was tense, every faculty alert. His
+beetling grey brows came down and hid his eyes from the younger man, but
+those cold blue eyes saw everything.
+
+"Bein's ye're sober, Obed," the old man drawled, "I'll be obliged to
+tell ye that no Poison Oaker ner any other man ever talked to me like
+you been doin' and got away with it. Just so! And, bein's ye're sober,
+I'll say that my business is my own, an' I'll keep her to myself till I
+get ready to tell her. Furthermore, I'm still runnin' the Poison Oakers,
+and what I say goes now same as a couple months ago. I know what's good
+for us boys better'n any o' the rest o' ye, and I'm doin' it."
+
+"You're a dam' liar!" shouted Pence.
+
+Old Man Selden's gun hand leaped to his hip. "Come a-shootin', kid!" he
+bellowed.
+
+He whipped out his Colt, shot from the hip. The roar of his big gun
+filled the cave. Screened by the smoke of it, Old Man Selden sprang
+nimbly to the deeper shadows.
+
+There he crouched, his cavernous eyes peering out through the dense,
+confined smoke like a lynx posing to spring upon a burrowing gopher.
+
+Obed Pence had not been slow. He too had leaped the instant the old
+man's hand dropped to his holster. He had ducked into deeper shadows
+still, and had not been hit. Now he fired through the smoke wreaths in
+the direction he supposed the old man had darted. A report from Adam's
+gun roared on the heels of his own, and rocks and earth rattled down a
+foot from his shoulder.
+
+The cave extended to right and to left of the opening. Each of the
+fighters was hidden by the darkness of his particular end, and now the
+smoke of the three shots hung in a heavy blanket between them directly
+opposite the door. Under cover of this Chuck and Bolar, sprawling flat,
+had wriggled frantically out of the cave. Each from his own nook, the
+belligerents leaned cautiously forward, guns ready, breath held in, and
+tried to pierce the rack of smoke and the obscurity of the other's
+hiding place.
+
+It seemed to the younger men, gazing in, that the situation meant a
+deadlock. Neither gunman could see the other, and, with no breath of air
+stirring in the cave, the smoke lay between them like a solid wall.
+
+Five minutes passed without a sound inside. Then Bolar drew nearer to
+the cave and shouted in:
+
+"What you gonta do? Neither o' you c'n see the other. You can't shoot.
+What you gonta do?"
+
+Complete silence answered him. Then he realized that neither his father
+nor Obed Pence would dare to speak lest the sound of his voice reveal
+his whereabouts and call forth a shot from the other end of the cave.
+
+"You got to give it up for now!" he shouted in again. "I'll count
+one-two-three; and when I say three, both o' ye throw yer guns in front
+o' the mouth. I'll ask if ye'll do this. Both o' you answer at once.
+Ready!... Will you?"
+
+"Yes," came the smothered replies of both men in the cave.
+
+"All right now. Get ready! One ... two ... _three_!"
+
+At the word "three" two heavy-calibre Colts clattered on the dirt floor
+before the entrance and lay not a foot apart, proving that there was a
+recognized code of honour among the Poison Oakers. Bolar stooped and
+entered, gathering them in his hands.
+
+"All set," he announced. "Come out an' begin all over ag'in."
+
+Old Man Selden was the first to come out. Pence quickly followed him.
+Bolar had emptied both weapons of cartridges, and now he silently passed
+each his gun.
+
+"What'll it be, Pencie?" asked Old Man Selden, bending his fiery glance
+on his dark, slim enemy. "Shall we draw when we meet ag'in, er forget it
+entirely--or see who c'n load an' shoot quickest right here an' now?"
+
+"It's up to you, Old Man."
+
+"Forget it," advised Bolar. "For now, anyway."
+
+"Shall we go our ways now, an' draw when we come together ag'in?" It was
+Old Adam's question.
+
+"Why can't you come across an' do the square thing now?" Pence growled.
+"Then ever'thing's settled."
+
+"Just so! But y're answerin' my question with another'n. Do we draw when
+we meet ag'in?"
+
+"You won't be square?"
+
+"I'll tell ye nothin'. Ye called me a dam' liar, so you couldn't believe
+it if I had anything to say to ye."
+
+Pence shrugged indifferently and turned away. "When we meet ag'in," he
+said lightly.
+
+"Just so!" drawled Old Man Selden. "Just so!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+THE WATCHMAN OF THE DEAD
+
+
+Oliver Drew knew that the Mona Fiesta would be held by the Showut
+Poche-dakas when the July moon was full. The Mona Fiesta was the tribal
+"Feast of the Dead." It was purely an Indian rite, unmixed with any
+ceremonies incident to the feast days of the Catholic saints, as were
+most other celebrations. Consequently, while the whites were not
+definitely prohibited from being spectators, they were not invited to
+attend. They often went out of curiosity, Oliver had been told by
+Jessamy, but always they observed from a respectful distance and went
+unnoticed by the worshippers.
+
+The underlying principle of the Feast of the Dead was ancestor worship,
+in which all of the Pauba Tribes were particularly devout. Jessamy told
+Oliver that she had witnessed the ceremony once from a distance, but
+that, as it occurred at night, she had seen little of what was taking
+place.
+
+Oliver had wondered that he had received no message from old Chupurosa
+Hatchinguish after the night of the fire dance. He was now a member of
+the tribe, he supposed, but all actual contact with his new-found
+brethren seemed to have ceased when he rode away from the fiesta. The
+mystery of why he was in this country hung on his connection with the
+Showut Poche-dakas. He was impatient to get in closer touch with the
+wrinkled old chief and bring matters to a head.
+
+And now another feast day was close at hand. In two more nights a full
+moon would shower its radiance over the land of the Poison Oakers. He
+had received no word, no intimation that he would be wanted at the
+reservation for the Mona Fiesta. Whites were excluded, he knew; but,
+then, he was now a brother of the Showut Poche-dakas, and he hoped
+against hope that he would be commanded to appear.
+
+But the two intervening days went by, and the evening of the celebration
+was at hand, with no one having arrived to bid him come.
+
+He was seated on his little porch that evening, listening to the night
+sounds of chaparral and forest, as the moon edged its big round face
+over the hill and smiled at him. He was thinking half of Jessamy, half
+of an article that he had planned to write. Two fair-sized checks for
+previous work had reached him that week, and he was beginning to have
+visions of a future.
+
+In a pine tree close at hand an owl asked: "Who? Who? Who--o-o-o?" in
+doleful tones. From a distant hilltop came the derisive, outlaw laughter
+of coyotes. A big toad hopped on the porch, blinked at the man in the
+moonlight, and then started ponderously for his door. Oliver rose and
+with his foot turned him twice, but the toad corrected his course
+immediately and seemed determined to enter the house willy-nilly.
+
+"But I don't want you in there," Oliver protested boyishly. "I might
+step on you in the dark, or accidentally put my hand on your old cold
+back."
+
+He closed the door, and the toad hopped on the threshold, as if resolved
+to await his chance for a strategic entrance.
+
+"All right," said Oliver. "Sit there! When I'm ready to go in I'll climb
+through a window. You are not going into that house!"
+
+He laughed at himself. His was a lonesome life when he was not with
+Jessamy; and, always a lover of every living thing that God has created,
+he had made friends with the wild life that moved about his cabin, so
+that toads and lizards, birds and squirrels looked to him for food and
+had no fear of him.
+
+He sat puffing at his pipe and giving the obstinate toad blink for
+blink, when there came to his ears strange sounds from up the lonely
+canyon.
+
+At first he imagined they were made by roving cattle, then he recognized
+the ring of shod hoofs on the stones in the trail. Then voices. And
+presently he knew that many horsemen were riding toward the cabin--a
+veritable cavalcade.
+
+He rose from his chair and stood listening, not without a feeling of
+apprehension. As the concerted thudding of many hoofs drew closer and
+closer he ran into the cabin and strapped on his six-shooter. He had
+been at a complete loss to interpret Old Man Selden's later attitude
+toward him, and was wary of a trap. The sounds he heard could mean
+nothing to him except that the Poison Oakers were at last riding upon
+him to begin their raid.
+
+Suddenly from the other direction came the clattering hoofbeats of a
+single galloping horse. Silvery under the magic light of the moon, a
+white horse burst into view, galloping over a little rise to the south.
+It carried a rider. Now came a familiar "Who-hoo!" And Jessamy Selden
+soon was bending from her saddle at the cabin door.
+
+"Thank goodness, I'm in time!" she said. "I didn't know when they would
+start, and I waited too long."
+
+"What in the mischief are you doing in the saddle this time of night?"
+he demanded.
+
+"Oh, that's nothing! I get out of bed sometimes and saddle up for a
+moonlight ride. I love it."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Here they come! I wanted to get here ahead of them and warn you to
+pretend you were expecting them. You're--you're supposed to know."
+
+"I'm supposed to know what?"
+
+"About the Mona Fiesta. It's to be observed here on the Old Ivison
+Place. It always is. And--and you're supposed to know it."
+
+"How explicit you aren't! Well, what--"
+
+"Sh! There they are! I can't explain now."
+
+Oliver's thoughts were moving swiftly, and he did not put them aside
+even when he saw his gate being opened to a large company of horsemen.
+
+"I've got you," he said. "Your little attempt at subterfuge has failed
+again. Those are the Showut Poche-dakas coming?"
+
+She nodded in her slow, emphatic manner.
+
+"Uh-huh! I see. And you might have told me many days ago that they would
+come. And if that isn't so, you could have got here much earlier tonight
+to warn me in time. But that would have given me an opportunity to
+question you, and this you didn't want. So you waited till they were
+almost upon me, then made a Sheridan dash to warn me, when there would
+be no time to answer embarrassing questions. Pretty clever, sister! But
+you see I'm dead on to your little game."
+
+Her laugh was as near to a giggle as he had ever heard from her.
+
+"You're a master analyst," she praised. "I'll 'fess up. It's just as you
+say. You know my nature makes it necessary for me to dodge direct
+issues, where your mystery is concerned. But they're right on us--go out
+and meet 'em."
+
+"You'll wait?"
+
+"Sure."
+
+The foremost riders of the long cavalcade were now abreast the cabin,
+and Oliver Drew stepped toward them as they halted their ponies.
+
+The strong light of the full moon was sufficient to reveal the
+wrinkled-leather skin of old Chupurosa Hatchinguish, who rode in the
+lead, sitting his blanketed horse as straight as a buck of twenty years.
+Oliver reached him and held out a hand.
+
+"Welcome to the Hummingbird," he said in Spanish.
+
+"Greetings," returned the old man, solemnly taking the offered hand.
+"The July moon is in the full, brother, and I have brought the Showut
+Poche-dakas for the yearly Mona Fiesta to the spot where our fathers
+worshipped since a time when no man can remember."
+
+"Thou art welcome," said Oliver again, entirely lost as to just what was
+expected of him.
+
+Chupurosa left the blanket which he used as a saddle. It was the signal
+for all to dismount, and like a troop of cavalry the Showut Poche-dakas
+left their horses. They tied them to fenceposts and trees out of respect
+for the landowner's rights in the matter of grass.
+
+"Is all in readiness?" asked the ancient chief.
+
+"Er--" Oliver paused.
+
+A hand gripped his arm. "Yes," Jessamy's voice breathed in his ear.
+
+"All is in readiness," said Oliver promptly.
+
+Jessamy then stepped forward and offered her hand to Chupurosa.
+
+"Hello, my Hummingbird!" she caroled mischievously in English.
+
+"The light of the moon takes nothing from the Senorita's loveliness,"
+said the old man gallantly.
+
+By this time the Showut Poche-dakas had formed a semicircle before the
+cabin.
+
+"Let us proceed to the Mona Fiesta," said Chupurosa. "Let the son of Dan
+Smeed lead the way."
+
+Over this strange new designation Oliver was given no time for thought;
+for instantly Jessamy laid a firm grip above his elbow and led him to
+the pasture gate. The Showut Poche-dakas followed at the heels of
+Jessamy's mare.
+
+"Don't worry," the girl whispered into Oliver's ear. "Nothing much will
+be required of you. Just try to appear as if you know all about it, and
+had attended to the preliminaries yourself."
+
+"Yes, yes," said Oliver dazedly, his mind now in a whirl.
+
+She led him across the pasture in the direction from which she had
+ridden so unexpectedly to the cabin. They reached a little _arroyo_, and
+down it they turned to the creekbed. They crossed the watercourse and
+turned down it. Presently they entered a cluster of pines and spruce
+trees, which was close to what Oliver called The Four Pools.
+
+In succession, four deep depressions in the bedrock of the creekbed were
+ranged, and each held clear, cool water, fed by an undiscovered spring,
+though the creek proper was now entirely dry. In the bedrock about these
+pools Oliver had previously noted several round holes the size of a
+half-bushel measure. These were _morteros_, he knew--the mortars in
+which the California Indians pound acorns in the making of the dish
+_bellota_. He had often speculated on the probable antiquity of these
+_morteros_, and had dreamed of early-day scenes enacted there and about
+them.
+
+There was a circular open space in the midst of the tall, whispering
+trees. Just above this spot, up the steep hillside, he had lain in the
+prospect hole and watched Digger Foss spying on the cabin down below,
+while Tommy My-Ma hid under the brush and spied on him. Into the open
+space in the trees the fearless girl led the way, and there in the
+centre of it the moonlight streaming through the branches revealed a
+huge pile of brush and wood, arranged as if for a great fire.
+
+She pressed his arm, and they came to a halt. Behind them the Showut
+Poche-dakas halted. To Oliver's side stepped Chupurosa, and spoke in the
+tongue of the Paubas to a man at his right hand.
+
+This man stepped to the pile of brush and wood and fired it.
+
+As the flames leaped up and licked at the sun-dried fuel the Indians
+closed in, and now the light of the fire showed Oliver that there were
+women among their number. At the edge of the trees they formed a circle
+about the fire, then all of them save Chupurosa squatted on the ground.
+
+And now the firelight brought something else to view. It was nothing
+more mysterious than a wooden drygoods box at the foot of one of the
+pines, and beside it stood a large red earthen _olla_. What these held
+Oliver could not see. He was puzzling over the fact that these simple
+arrangements had been made on his land while he sat on his porch two
+hundred yards away and smoked, for he had passed this spot early that
+evening and it had been as usual then.
+
+The dark-skinned men and women squatted there silently about the fire,
+their serious black eyes blinking into it. There was something pathetic
+about it all. They were always so serious, so intent, so devout; and
+their poor, ragged clothes and bare feet were so evident.
+
+"Join the circle," whispered Jessamy.
+
+Oliver obeyed.
+
+Then Jessamy stepped to Chupurosa, who had been gazing at her silently.
+
+"Good-night, my Hummingbird," she said, and smiled at him.
+
+An answering smile lighted the withered features, and once more the old
+man took the girl's slim hand in his.
+
+He dropped it. She turned and vaulted into her saddle. The mare leaped
+away over the moonlit pasture. For a time the thudety-thud of her
+galloping hoofs floated back, and then came silence.
+
+Amid a continuation of this stillness Chupurosa stepped close to the
+fire, now leaping high, and stretched forth his brown, wrinkled hands.
+He threw back his head and began speaking softly, directing his voice
+aloft. Not a word of what he said was known to Oliver. Gradually his
+voice rose, and his tones were guttural, growling. His body swayed from
+right to left, but he kept his withered hands outstretched. Presently
+tears began trickling down his cheeks, but he continued his prayer, or
+address, or invocation, his tears unheeded.
+
+Now one by one his silent listeners began to weep. They wept silently,
+and, but for their tears, Oliver would not have realized their deep
+emotion. Sometimes they rocked from side to side, but always they
+maintained silence and kept their tear-dimmed eyes focused on the
+speaker.
+
+Abruptly Chupurosa came to a full stop, backed from the fire, and
+squatted on the ground inside the circle. No applause, not a word, no
+sign of any nature followed the cessation of his harangue.
+
+Now two young Indians led forth an old, old man. Each of them held one
+of his arms. He was stooped and trembly, and his feet dragged pitiably;
+and as he neared the fire Oliver saw that he was totally blind.
+
+Never before in his life had the white man seen age so plainly stamped
+on human countenance. Oliver had thought Chupurosa old, but he appeared
+as a man in the prime of life in comparison with this blind patriarch.
+His long hair was white as snow, and this in itself was a mark of
+antiquity seldom seen in the race. It was not until long afterward that
+Oliver found out that this man was a notable among the Pauba Tribes,
+Maquaquish by name--the oldest man among them, a seer, counsellor, and
+medicine man whose prophesies and prognostications were forceful in the
+regulation of a great portion of the Paubas' lives. He was bareheaded,
+barefooted, and wore only blue overalls, a cloth girdle, and a coarse
+yellow shirt.
+
+When at a comfortable distance from the fire the trio came to a stop.
+The two conductors of the pathetic blind figure knelt promptly on one
+knee, one on each side of him. With their bent knees touching behind
+him, they gently lowered him until he found the seat which their sinewy
+thighs had made for him. There was a few moments' silence, and then he
+lifted his trembling hands and began to speak.
+
+Oliver carried no watch, and would not have had the discourtesy to
+consult it if he had; but he believed that Maquaquish spoke for two
+solid hours without pause. And all this time the two who upheld him on
+their knees and steadied him with their hands seemed not to move a
+muscle. And not a sound came from the audience beyond an occasional
+uncontrollable sob. Maquaquish spoke in hushed tones that blended
+strangely with the night sounds of the forest. His physical attitude and
+his delivery were those of a story-teller rather than an orator or
+preacher; and his listeners hung on every word, their black bead eyes
+fixed constantly on his face.
+
+Oliver Drew was dreaming dreams. He would have given all that he had to
+be able to interpret what Maquaquish was saying. What strange traditions
+was he recalling to their minds? What hidden chapters in the bygone
+history of this ancient race? Never was congregation more wrapped up in
+a speaker's words. Never were religious zealots more devout. Strange
+thoughts filled the white man's mind.
+
+He was roused from his dreaming with a start. Maquaquish had ceased
+speaking, and a low chanting sounded about the fire. It grew in volume
+as the blind man's escort led him back to his place in the circle. It
+grew louder, weirder still, as the two who had aided the seer stepped to
+the drygoods box and carried it between them past the fire. As they
+walked with it beyond the circle every Indian rose to his feet and
+followed slowly. Oliver did likewise, not knowing what else to do.
+
+On the brink of one of the pools the assemblage halted, the firelight
+playing over them. From the box its custodians removed bolts of cheap
+new calico cloth of many colours. Two of these they unwound, and laid
+along the ground, leading away from the edge of the chosen pool.
+
+Then the two slipped out of their clothes and stepped naked into the
+water to their waists, where each laid hold of an end of a strip of
+calico and stood motionless.
+
+To the edge of the moonlit pool stepped Chupurosa. He extended his hands
+over the water and spoke a few sonorous words. As his hands came down
+the chanting broke out anew, and now the men in the water began
+gathering in the strips of calico, washing the cloth in the water as
+they reeled it to them.
+
+At last they finished. The chanting ceased. The two nude men carried the
+dripping cloth from the water in bundles. The assemblage filed back to
+the dying fire, all but the two who had washed the cloth.
+
+When the Showut Poche-dakas were once more squatting in a circle about
+the blaze, one of the two, now dressed, entered the circle with the red
+_olla_ filled with water from the pool. This was passed from hand to
+hand around the circle, and each one drank from it. When it came to
+Oliver he solemnly acted his part, and passed the _olla_ to his
+left-hand neighbour.
+
+As the _olla_ finished its round, into the circle danced the two who had
+washed the cloth. In their arms they held bolts of dry cloth; and amid
+shouts and laughter they threw them into the air, while the feminine
+element of the tribe clutched up eagerly at them.
+
+When the last bolt of calico had been thrown and had been captured and
+claimed by some delighted squaw, the assemblage, talking and laughing in
+an everyday manner, left the Four Pools and started back to their
+horses.
+
+The Mona Fiesta was over. Symbolically the clothes of the dead had been
+washed. The Showut Poche-dakas had drunk of the water that had cleansed
+them. And this was about all that Oliver Drew ever learned of the
+significance of the ceremony.
+
+At the cabin Chupurosa waited on his horse until his tribesmen had all
+ridden through the gate. Then he leaned over and spoke to Oliver.
+
+"When a year has passed," he said, "and the same moon which we see
+tonight again looks down upon us, the Showut Poche-dakas will once more
+wash the clothes of the dead and drink of the water. I enjoin thee,
+Watchman of the Dead, to have all in readiness once more, as thou hadst
+tonight. _Adios_, Watchman of the Dead!"
+
+And he rode off slowly through the moonlight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+THE QUESTION
+
+
+The morning following the Feast of the Dead, Oliver Drew rode Poche out
+of Clinker Creek Canyon, driving Smith ahead of them, on the way to
+Halfmoon Flat for supplies. Over the hills above the American River he
+saw a white horse galloping toward him.
+
+This was to be a chance meeting with Jessamy. He had an idea she would
+not be anxious to face him, after her attempted subterfuge of the night
+before; so he slipped from the saddle, captured Smith, and led the two
+animals back into the woods.
+
+Then he hurried to a tree on the outskirts and hid behind it.
+
+On galloped White Ann, with the straight, sturdy figure in the saddle.
+As they came closer Oliver knew by her face that Jessamy had not seen
+him; and as they came abreast he stepped out quickly and shouted.
+
+Jessamy turned red, reined in, and faced him, her lips twitching.
+
+"Good morning, my Star of Destiny!" he said.
+
+A flutter of bafflement showed in her black lashes, but the lips
+continued to twitch mischievously.
+
+"_Buenos dias_, Watchman of the Dead!" she shot back at him.
+
+Oliver's eyes widened.
+
+"Got under your guard with that one, eh, ol'-timer? Just so!--if you'll
+permit a Seldenism. Tit for tat, as the fella says! Your move again."
+
+And then she threw back her head and laughed to the skies above her.
+
+"Where are you going?" he asked.
+
+"Ridin'."
+
+"You weren't headed for the Old Ivison Place."
+
+"No, not this morning. I was not seeking you. But since I've met you,
+and the worst is over, I'll not avoid you."
+
+"Help me pack a load of grub down the canyon; then I'll go 'ridin' with
+you."
+
+She nodded assent.
+
+"I thought so," she observed, as he led Poche and Smith from hiding.
+
+"I thought you'd turn back, or turn off, if you saw me here ahead of
+you," he made confession.
+
+"I might have done that," she told him as they herded Smith into the
+road and followed him.
+
+They said nothing more about what had taken place the night before until
+the bags had been filled and diamond-hitched, and Smith was rolling his
+pack from side to side on the homeward trail. Then Oliver asked
+abruptly:
+
+"Who laid that fire, and put the box of cloth and the _olla_ at The Four
+Pools yesterday?"
+
+"Please, sir, I done it," she replied.
+
+"When?"
+
+"Just before I rode to your cabin last evening."
+
+"Uh-huh!" he grunted, and fell silent again.
+
+At the cabin she helped him throw off the diamond-hitch and unload the
+packbags. Then the shaggy Smith was left to his own devices--much to his
+loudly voiced disapproval--and Jessamy and Oliver rode off into the
+hills.
+
+"Which way?" he asked as they topped the ridge.
+
+"Lime Rock," she replied.
+
+Tracing cow paths single-file, they wound through and about chaparral
+patches and rocky canyons till they reached the old trail that led to
+Lime Rock.
+
+Lime Rock upreared itself on the lip of a thousand-foot precipice that
+overhung the river. It was three hundred feet in height, a gigantic
+white pencil pointing toward the sky. At its base was a small level
+space, large enough for a wagon and team to turn, but the remainder of
+the land about and above it was hillside, too steep for cows to climb.
+And from the edge of the level land the canyonside dropped straight
+downward, a mass of craggy rocks and ill-nourished growth. The trail
+that led to Lime Rock wound its way over a shelf four feet in width,
+hacked in the hillside. One false step on this trail and details of what
+must inevitably ensue would be hideous.
+
+Oliver led the way when they reached the beginning of the trail. Both
+Poche and White Ann were mountain bred animals, sure-footed and
+unconcerned over Nature's threatening eccentricities. For a quarter of a
+mile the bay and the white threaded the narrow path, their riders
+silent. Then they came to Lime Rock and the security of the level land
+about it.
+
+Here Oliver and Jessamy sat their horses and gazed down the dizzy
+precipice at the rushing river, and up the steep, rocky wall on the
+other side.
+
+"Do you know who owns the land on which our horses are standing?"
+Jessamy finally asked.
+
+"I've never given it a thought," said Oliver.
+
+"It belongs to Damon Tamroy."
+
+"That so? I didn't know he owned anything over this way."
+
+"Yes, Damon owns it. But I have an option on it."
+
+"You! Have an option on it!"
+
+"Yes, a year's option. It was rather an underhanded trick that I played
+on old Damon, but he's not very angry about it. It's my first business
+venture.
+
+"You see, I learned through a letter from a girl friend in San Francisco
+that a big cement company was thinking of invading this country. She
+wrote it merely as a bit of entertaining news, but I looked at it
+differently.
+
+"I knew where they'd begin their invasion. Right here! That magnificent
+monument there is solid limestone, and the hills back of it are the
+same, though covered by a thin layer of soil. So I went to the owner of
+the land, Damon Tamroy, and got a year's option on it for twenty-five
+dollars--a hundred and sixty acres.
+
+"How Damon laughed at me! I told him outright why I wanted to buy the
+land, if ever I could scrape enough together. He didn't consider it very
+valuable, and it may become mine any day this year that I can pungle up
+four hundred and seventy-five bucks more. When he quizzed me, I told him
+frankly that I was doing it in an effort to preserve Lime Rock for
+posterity, and he laughed louder than ever.
+
+"But he changed his tune when a representative of the cement company
+approached him with an offer of fifteen dollars an acre. He took his
+loss good-naturedly enough, but accused me of putting over a slick
+little business deal on him. I had done so, in a way, and admitted it;
+and ever since I've been talking myself blue in the face when I meet
+him, trying to convince him that it's not the money I'm after at all.
+
+"Think of an old hog of a cement company coming in here and erecting a
+rumbling old plant, with the noon whistle deriding the reverential calm
+of this magnificent canyon, and their old drills and dynamite and things
+ripping Lime Rock from its throne! Bah! I'm going to San Francisco soon
+to get a job. I may decide to go this week. It will keep me hustling to
+put away four hundred and seventy-five dollars between now and the day
+my option expires."
+
+Oliver sat looking gravely at the young idealist, suppressing his
+disappointment over the possibility of her early departure.
+
+"But we have to have cement," he pointed out.
+
+"Do we? Maybe so. But there's lots of limestone in the west. Men don't
+need to search out such spots as this in which to get it. There are less
+picturesque places, which will yield enough cement material for all our
+needs. Sometimes I think these big money-grabbers just love to ruin
+Nature with their old picks and powder. You may agree with me or not--I
+don't care. I'm not utilitarian, and don't care who knows it. The
+world's against me in my big fight to keep the money hogs from robbing
+life of all its poetry; but it's a fight to the last ditch! I'll save
+Lime Rock, anyway, if I have to beg and borrow."
+
+"I don't know that I disagree with you at all," he told her softly.
+"Money doesn't mean a great deal to me. I've shed no idle tears over my
+failure to inherit the money that I expected would be mine at Dad's
+death. I hold no ill will toward Dad. There's too much wampum in the
+world today. It won't buy much. The more people have the more they want.
+The so-called 'standard of living' continues to rise, and with it the
+ills of our civilization steadily increase. Luxuries ruin health.
+Automobiles make our muscles sluggish. Moving pictures clog our thinking
+apparatus. Telephones make us lazy. Phonographs and piano-players reduce
+our appreciation of the technique of music, which can come only by study
+and practice. What flying machines will do to us remains to be seen, but
+they'll never carry us to heaven!
+
+"No, money means little enough to me. Give me the big outdoors and a
+regular horse, a keen zest in life, and true appreciation of every
+creature and rock and tree and blade that God has created, and I'll
+struggle along."
+
+As he talked the colour had been mounting to her face. When he ceased
+she turned starry eyes upon him, her white teeth showing between
+slightly parted lips.
+
+"Oliver Drew," she said, "you have made me very happy. I--"
+
+A rush of blood throbbed suddenly at Oliver's temples, and once again he
+swung his horse close to hers.
+
+"I'll try to make you happy always," he said low-voiced. "Jessamy--"
+Again he opened his arms for her, but as before she drew herself away
+from him.
+
+"Don't! Not--not now! Wait--Oliver!"
+
+"Wait! Always wait! Why?"
+
+"I--I must tell you something first. I can tell you now--after--after
+last night."
+
+"Then tell me quickly," he demanded.
+
+She rested both hands on her saddle horn and rose in her stirrups. For a
+long time her black eyes gazed down the precipice below them, while the
+wind whipped wisps of hair about her forehead. Oliver waited, drunk with
+the thought of his nearness to her.
+
+"Watchman of the Dead!" she murmured at last.
+
+Oliver started.
+
+"Two years ago," she went on softly, "I met the second Watchman of the
+Dead. You are the third. The first was murdered in this forest. His name
+was Bolivio, and he made silver-mounted saddles and hair-tasseled
+bridles."
+
+Oliver scarce dared to breathe for fear of breaking the spell that
+seemed to have come over her. She did not look at him. She continued to
+gaze into her beloved canyon and at her beloved hills beyond.
+
+"Oh, where shall I begin!" she cried at last. "Where is the beginning? A
+man would begin at the first, I suppose, but a woman just can't! But I
+won't be true to the feminine method and begin at the end. I won't be a
+copy-cat. I'll begin in the middle, anyway."
+
+A smile flickered across her red lips; but still she gazed away from
+him.
+
+"Two years ago," she said, "I met the dearest man."
+
+Oliver straightened, and lumps shuttled at the hinges of his jaws.
+
+"I was riding White Ann on one of my lonely wanderings through the
+woods. I met him on the ridge above the Old Ivison Place and the river.
+
+"After that I met him many times, in the forest and elsewhere; and the
+more I talked with him the more I liked him. He was my idea of a man."
+
+Oliver, too, was now gazing into the canyon, but he saw neither crags nor
+trees nor rushing green river.
+
+"And he grew to like me," her low tones continued. "We talked on many
+subjects, but mostly of what we've been talking about today.
+
+"He was an idealist, this man. He was comparatively wealthy, but there
+are things in life that he placed above money and its accumulation. By
+and by he grew to like me more and more, and finally he told me point
+blank that I was his ideal woman; and then he grew confidential and told
+me all about himself--his past, present, and what he hoped for in the
+future. And in my hands he placed a trust. Please God, I have tried to
+keep the faith!"
+
+She threw back her head and followed the flight of an eagle soaring
+serenely over Lime Rock. And with her eyes thus lifted she softly said:
+
+"That man was Peter Drew--your father."
+
+Oliver's breast heaved, but he made no sound. Once more her eyes were
+sweeping the abyss.
+
+"That's the middle," she said. "Now I'll go back to the beginning and
+tell you what Peter Drew entrusted to my keeping.
+
+"Thirty years ago Peter Drew, who then called himself Dan Smeed, was the
+partner of Adam Selden. They mined and hunted and trapped together
+throughout this country.
+
+"There were other activities, too, which I shall not mention. You
+understand. Your father told me all about it, kept nothing back.
+Remember that I said he was my idea of a man; and if in his youth he had
+been wild and--well, seemed criminally inclined--I found that easy to
+forget. Certainly the manliness and sacrifice of his later years wiped
+out all this a thousand times.
+
+"Well, to proceed: Peter Drew and Adam Selden married Indian girls.
+Peter Drew won out in the fire dance and became a member of the Showut
+Poche-dakas. Adam Selden failed, and, according to the custom, took his
+wife from the tribe and lived with her elsewhere. Six months afterward
+the wife of Selden died.
+
+"Peter Drew, however, having become a recognized member of the tribe,
+was taken into their full confidence. According to their simple belief,
+he had conquered all obstacles that stood between him and this
+affiliation; therefore the gods had ordained that full trust should be
+placed in him. And with their beautiful faith and simplicity they did
+not question his honesty. So according to an old, old tradition of the
+tribe the white man was appointed Watchman of the Dead.
+
+"I know little of this story. All of the traditions of the Showut
+Poche-dakas are clouded, so far as our interpretation of them goes. But
+it appears, from what your father told me, that ages ago a white-skinned
+chief had been Watchman of the Dead. Mercy knows where he came from,
+for, so far as history goes, the whites had not then invaded the
+country. But after him, whenever a white-skinned man conquered the evil
+spirits of the fire and became a member, he was appointed Watchman of
+the Dead. So in the natural order of things the honour came to Peter
+Drew.
+
+"Up to this time the only other Watchman of the Dead remembered by even
+old Maquaquish and Chupurosa was the man called Bolivio. Holding this
+simple office, it seems that Bolivio had stumbled upon the secret so
+jealously guarded by the Showut Poche-dakas. He tried to turn this
+secret information to his own advantage, and in so doing he broke faith
+with the tribe that had adopted him as a brother. Found dead in the
+forest with a knife in his heart, is the abrupt climax of his tale of
+treachery. And so the tradition of the lost mine of Bolivio had its
+birth.
+
+"Centuries ago, no doubt, the Showut Poche-dakas discovered the
+spodumene gems which were responsible for the fiction concerning the
+lost mine of Bolivio. They polished them crudely and worshipped them.
+Spodumene gems always are found in pockets in the rock, and they are
+always hidden in wet clay in these pockets. Solid stone will be all
+about them, with no trace of disintegrated matter, until a pocket is
+struck. Therein will be found separate stones of varying sizes, always
+sealed in a natural vacuum, which in some way forever retains moisture
+in the clay.
+
+"This peculiarity appealed to the superstitious natures of the Showut
+Poche-dakas. It is their age-old custom to bury their dead in pockets
+hacked in cliffs of solid stones, sealing them with a cement of clay and
+pulverized granite. One can readily see how the discovery of these
+beautiful gems, sealed in pockets as they sealed their dead, might
+affect them. They determined that the glittering stones represented the
+bodies of their ancestors, and from that time on the lilac-tinted gems
+became something to be worshipped and guarded faithfully.
+
+"Doubtless when Bolivio was appointed Watchman of the Dead he was told
+this secret, and learned where the stones were to be found. He got some
+of them, and sent them East to find out whether they were valuable. He
+polished two, and placed them in bridle _conchas_. Then before word came
+from New York the Indians stabbed him for his deceit.
+
+"His elaborate equestrian outfit remained with the tribe, and your
+father acquired it when he became Watchman of the Dead. For some reason
+unknown to him, the stones were allowed to remain in the _conchas_; and
+he told me that he always imagined them to be a symbol of his office.
+Anyway, you, Oliver Drew, are the Watchman of the Dead, and your right
+to own and use that gem-mounted bridle goes unchallenged by the Showut
+Poche-dakas."
+
+She paused reflectively.
+
+"All this your father told me," she presently continued. "He told me,
+too, that the secret place where the gems are to be found is on the Old
+Ivison Place. It was unclaimed land then, and your father camped there
+with his Indian wife, as was demanded of the Watchman of the Dead.
+Before his time, Bolivio had camped there. Later, Old Man Ivison
+homesteaded the place, knowing nothing of its strange history. He was a
+kindly old man, liked by everybody; and each year he allowed the Indians
+to hold their Mona Fiesta at The Four Pools. Though he had no idea why
+they held it in this exact spot each time--that up the slope above them
+was a hidden treasure that would have made the struggling homesteader
+rich for life.
+
+"Then your father told me the worst part of it all. He and Selden, it
+seems, had found out more of the story of Bolivio than is to be
+unravelled today, with most of the old-timers dead and gone and the
+Indians always closemouthed. Anyway, they two found out about the secret
+gems and the significance of the fire dance. So they had planned
+deliberately to marry Indian girls to further their knowledge of this
+matter.
+
+"It was understood between them that Adam Selden would intentionally
+fail to win out in the fire dance, and that Peter Drew, who was a
+Hercules for endurance and strength, would win if he could, and thus
+become Watchman of the Dead and learn the whereabouts of the brilliants.
+This scheme they carried out, and Peter Drew took up residence with his
+brown-skinned bride on what is today the Old Ivison Place.
+
+"Then he redeemed himself by falling in love with his wife. In time he
+found out where the gem pockets were situated. But when Selden came to
+him to see if he'd stumbled on to the secret, he put him off and said,
+'Not yet.'
+
+"From the date of the Fiesta de Santa Maria de Refugio until the night
+of the Mona Fiesta he remained undecided what to do. Somehow or other,
+he told me, though he had been a highwayman and was then protected from
+the flimsy law of that day only by his Indian brothers, he could not
+bring himself to break faith with them.
+
+"Then came the night of the first Mona Fiesta since he became Watchman
+of the Dead; and that night temporarily decided him.
+
+"When he squatted in the circle about the fire and saw the rapt,
+tear-stained, brown faces of these people who had placed absolute faith
+in him, he fell under the spell of their simplicity, and swore that so
+long as he lived he would not betray their trust.
+
+"And he lived up to it, with his partner, Adam Selden importuning him
+daily to get the stones and skip the country. And finally to be rid of
+Selden and the double game he was obliged to play, Peter Drew left with
+his wife one night and did not return for fifteen years.
+
+"And since then there has been no Watchman of the Dead until the night
+you defeated the evil spirits in the fire dance.
+
+"Out in the world of white men Peter Drew settled down to ranching. His
+Indian wife had died two years after he left this country. With her
+gone, and the new order of things all about him, he began to wonder if
+he had not been a fool.
+
+"Up here in the lonesome hills was wealth untold, so far as he knew, and
+he renounced it for an ideal. To secure those gems he had only to show
+ingratitude to the Showut Poche-dakas, had only to break faith with a
+handful of ignorant, simple-minded Indians. What did they and their
+ridiculous beliefs amount to in this great scheme of life as he now saw
+it? Each day men on every hand were breaking faith to become wealthy,
+were trampling traditions and ideals underfoot to gain their golden
+ends. Business was business--money was money! Had he not been a fool?
+Was he not still a fool--to renounce a fortune that was his for the
+taking?
+
+"He called himself an ignorant man. He told himself--and truly,
+too--that countless men whom he knew, who had read a thousand books to
+one merely opened by him--men of education, men of affairs--would laugh
+at him, and themselves would have wrested the treasure from its hiding
+place without a qualm of conscience. Civilization was stalking on in its
+unconquerable march. Should a handful of uncouth Indians, a
+superstitious, dwindling tribe of near-savages, be permitted to handicap
+his part in this triumphal march? No--never!
+
+"But always, when he made ready to return to the scenes of his young
+manhood, there came before him the picture of brown, tear-stained faces
+about a fire, and of an old blind man speaking softly as if telling a
+story to eager children. Highwayman Peter Drew had been, but never in
+his life had he broken faith with a friend. Loyalty was the very
+backbone of my idealist, and he turned away from temptation and doggedly
+followed his plough.
+
+"For thirty years and more the question faced him. Should he get the
+gems and be wealthy, and break faith with those who had entrusted him
+with the greatest thing in their lives--these people who had called him
+brother, whose last remnant of food or shelter was his for the asking?
+Or should he remain an idealist, a poor man, but loyal to his trust? The
+answer was No or Yes!
+
+"Can't your imagination place you in his shoes? Unlettered, not sure of
+himself, ashamed of what he doubtless termed his chicken-heartedness.
+Don't you know that all of us are constantly ashamed of our secret
+ideals--ashamed of the best that is in us? We fear the ridicule of
+coarser minds, and hide what is Godlike in our hearts. And on top of
+this, your father was ignorant, according to present day standards, and
+knew it. But for thirty years, Oliver Drew, he prospered while his
+idealism fought the battle against the lust for wealth. Idealism won,
+but Peter Drew died not knowing whether he had been a wise man or a
+fool. He died a conqueror. Give us more of such ignorance!
+
+"And he educated you, left you penniless, and placed his momentous
+question in your keeping.
+
+"Fifteen years ago he bought the Old Ivison Place, though the Indians do
+not know it. Adam Selden has searched for the gems without result ever
+since Peter Drew left the country; and it was because of him that your
+father kept his purchase a secret. Two years ago, while you were in
+France, Peter Drew came here, met me and liked me, and told me all that
+I have told you.
+
+"He knew that when you rode into this country with the saddle and bridle
+of Bolivio that the Showut Poche-dakas would know who you were, and
+would take you in and make you Watchman of the Dead. Peter Drew wanted
+you to be penniless, as he had been when he first faced the question. He
+gave me money with which to help along the cause. So far I've only had
+to use it for liquid courtplaster, an _olla_, and a few bolts of calico.
+You were to learn nothing of the story from my lips. You were to face
+the question blindly, with no other influences about you save those that
+he had experienced.
+
+"I have done my best to carry out his wishes. You are the Watchman of
+the Dead. You own the land on which the treasure lies. You are brother
+of the Showut Poche-dakas. The treasure is yours almost for the lifting
+of a hand. You are almost penniless.
+
+"There's your question, Oliver Drew. Say Yes and the gems are yours. Say
+No, and you have forty acres of almost worthless land, a saddle horse
+and outfit, and youth and health, and the lifetime office of Watchman of
+the Dead!"
+
+She ceased speaking. There were tears in her great black eyes as she
+looked at him levelly.
+
+"But--but--" Oliver floundered. "I don't know where the gems are. Selden
+has hunted them for thirty years, and has failed to find them. I've seen
+many evidences of his search. Will the Showut Poche-dakas tell me where
+they are?"
+
+"Your father thought that perhaps, after what has passed in connection
+with former Watchmen of the Dead, you might not be told the exact
+location. So he made provision for that."
+
+She reached in her bosom and handed him an envelope sealed with wax.
+
+On it he read in his father's hand:
+
+"Map showing exact location of what is known as the lost mine of
+Bolivio."
+
+"If you open it," she said, "your answer probably will be No, and you
+become owner of the gems. If you destroy it unopened, your answer is
+Yes, and you are a poor man. Yes or No, Oliver Drew? Think over it
+tonight, and I'll meet you here tomorrow at noon."
+
+"What do _you_ want my answer to be?" he asked.
+
+"I have no right to express my wishes in the matter," she said. "And
+your answer is not to be told to me, you must remember, but to your
+father's lawyers."
+
+Then she turned White Ann into the narrow trail that led from Lime Rock.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+IN THE DEER PATH
+
+
+The morning following the trip to Lime Rock, Oliver Drew sat at his
+little home-made desk, his mind not on the work before him. Tilted
+against the ink bottle stood the long, tough envelope that Jessamy had
+given him, its black-wax seals still unbroken. He stared at it with
+unseeing eyes.
+
+After they had left Lime Rock, Jessamy had given him a little more
+information on the subject which now loomed so big in his life.
+
+She thought, she had said, that for years the Showut Poche-dakas had
+suspected Old Man Selden of knowing something of their secret. They
+could not have missed seeing the gophering that the old man had done on
+the hillside above The Four Pools. She knew positively that the Indians
+had kept a watchful eye on him, and it could be for no other reason.
+
+The episode concerning Oliver's bayonet wound had come as a complete
+surprise to her. It seemed now, she said, that Peter Drew had
+communicated with Chupurosa not long before his death, and after
+Oliver's return from France, and had told him to be prepared for the
+coming of his son and how to make sure that he was genuine. She had not
+known that Peter Drew had been in the Poison Oak Country again, since he
+left after entrusting her with a hand in guiding Oliver's future.
+
+She told of having overheard Adam Selden and Oliver's conversation that
+night at Poison Oak Ranch, and of the other eavesdropper who had stolen
+down from the spring. She was almost sure, she told him, that this man
+was Digger Foss; but whether or not Foss knew of the treasure she could
+not determine. Apparently, though, he suspected something of the kind,
+and had been looking out for his own interests that night.
+
+Yes, it was the bridle and saddle and the gem-mounted _conchas_ that had
+changed Selden's attitude toward Oliver. The underlying reason for his
+wishing Oliver off the Old Ivison Place had been the fear that the
+search for the gems, which he had carried on intermittently for so long,
+would be interrupted. But to his gang he had pretended that it was sheer
+deviltry that caused him to contemplate driving the newcomer out.
+
+Then a sight of the gem-mounted _conchas_ of his old partner, and the
+fact that Oliver was at once taken into brotherhood by the Showut
+Poche-dakas changed his plans. Oliver knew of the gems and had come to
+seek them. He either was Dan Smeed's son, or had been taken into Dan
+Smeed's confidence. Oliver would become Watchman of the Dead. If he did
+not already know the location of the stones, he soon might learn it from
+the Indians. His friendship must be cultivated by all means, so that
+Selden might have the better chance of obtaining what he considered his
+rightful share of the treasure.
+
+Oliver had then told Jessamy of the prospect holes on the hillside, of
+Digger Foss's spying on the cabin, of Tommy My-Ma's strange actions, and
+of the lithia he had found.
+
+"Yes, lithia is an indication of gems," she had told him. "And it would
+appear that Digger knows of the treasure, after all. Perhaps sometime
+Selden confided in him in a careless moment, to enlist his aid in the
+search. They're pretty confidential. Digger was watching your movements,
+to see if you had any definite idea of the location of the stones or
+were searching for them blindly. That's it! He knows! But still he's
+suspicious of Old Man Selden. All of the Poison Oakers are now. They
+think he's double-crossing them some way, since he made friends with
+you.
+
+"As for Tommy My-Ma trailing Digger, I'm not surprised. No doubt the
+Showut Poche-dakas are watching Old Man Selden and his gang as respects
+their attitude toward the new Watchman of the Dead. If the Poison Oakers
+had tried actually to molest you, I have an idea they'd have found
+they'd bitten off a chunk. I think they would have had fifty Showut
+Poche-dakas on their backs before they had gone very far."
+
+All this passed through Oliver's mind again and again this morning, as
+he sat there with pipe gone out and idle pencil in his fingers.
+
+What a romance that old father had woven about the life of his son! How
+skilfully and craftily he had planned so that Oliver would be thrown on
+his own resources for an answer when he came face to face with the
+question! How cleverly Jessamy had carried out the part entrusted to
+her, despite her aversion to intrigues and plottings! Step by step she
+had led him on till at last the question confronted him, just as it had
+confronted his father before him.
+
+To gain possession of the gems would be a simple matter. They were on
+his land somewhere--were his by every right in law. He had but to invoke
+the protection of the keepers of the peace against the Indians, break
+the seals of the long envelope, and dig in the place indicated by the
+map this envelope contained.
+
+But there was one thing which doubtless Peter Drew had not foreseen in
+his careful planning. He could not have known that his son was to fall
+desperately in love with the guiding star that he had appointed for him.
+And Oliver Drew knew in his heart that if he robbed the Indians of these
+gems, which were to them only a symbol and had no meaning connected with
+worldly wealth, he would lose the girl. The only thing that stood
+between Jessamy and him, he now believed, was her uncertainty of what
+his answer to the question would be. In her staunch heart she respected
+the belief of the Showut Poche-dakas, and to her the gems as a symbol
+were as worthy of her reverence as the Sacred Book of the Christians. "I
+have as much reverence for a bareheaded Indian girl on her knees to the
+Sun God as for a hooded nun counting her beads," she had said.
+
+Oliver stared at the inside of the cabin door, scarred and carved and
+full of bullet holes--at JESSAMY, MY SWEETHEART.
+
+Peter Drew could not have foreseen this phase of the situation. In
+securing the gems Oliver Drew not only would lose his self-respect and
+make his father's thirty years of sacrifice a mockery, but he would lose
+the girl he loved.
+
+So Oliver took small credit to himself when he rose from his desk at
+eleven o'clock, his mind made up.
+
+He placed the letter unopened in his shirt front, and went out and
+saddled Poche. Then he rode to the backbone and wormed his way along it
+toward Lime Rock.
+
+Jessamy was there ahead of him, sitting erect on White Ann's back,
+gazing upon the rugged objects of her daily adoration.
+
+"Well," she said, "you've come," and her level eyes searched him through
+and through.
+
+"Yes," he replied, riding to her side, "I've come; and my mind's made
+up."
+
+She raised her dark brows in an attempt to betoken a mild struggle
+between politeness and indifference; but the hand on her saddle horn
+trembled, and the red had gone out of her cheeks.
+
+"I must get out of here tomorrow," he said, "and go to Los Angeles. I've
+just about enough money to take me there and back; but I have the
+unbounded faith of an amateur in several farm articles now in editors'
+hands."
+
+She lowered black lashes over her eyes and nodded slowly up and down.
+
+"Exactly," she said. "You must carry out Peter Drew's instructions to
+the letter."
+
+"But I can tell _you_ what my answer to Dad's lawyers is going to be.
+I--"
+
+"Don't!" she cried, raising a protesting hand. "Not a word to me. My
+responsibility ceased when I placed the envelope in your hands. I'm no
+longer concerned in the matter. That is--" she hesitated.
+
+"Yes, go on."
+
+"Until after you have made your report to the attorneys," she added.
+"Then, of course, I'll--I'll be sort of curious to know what your answer
+is."
+
+"Then I'll come straight back to tell you," he promised. "And--Why,
+what's the matter!"
+
+She had leaned forward suddenly in her saddle, and with wide eyes was
+looking down the precipice. Then before she could answer there came to
+Oliver's hearing the sound of a distant shot from the canyon.
+
+Now he saw a puff of white smoke above the willows on the river bank, a
+thousand feet below them. Then a second, and by and by another ringing
+report reached them, and the echoes of it went loping from wall to wall
+of the canyon.
+
+"Merciful heavens!" cried Jessamy. "It's Old Man Selden! He's shot! Look
+at him reel in his saddle! Oh, horrors!... There he goes down on the
+ground!... But he's not killed! There--he's on his feet and shooting!"
+
+Oliver, with open mouth, was staring down at the tragedy that had
+suddenly been staged for them in the river bed. Now several puffs of
+white smoke hung over the trees, and riders rode hither and thither like
+pigmies on pigmy horses. Now and then a stream of flame spurted
+horizontally, and at once another answered it. Then up barked the
+reports, followed by their mocking echoes.
+
+"It's come! It's come!" wailed Jessamy. "Obed Pence, likely as not, has
+opened fire on Old Man Selden, and the boys are after him. Look--there's
+Chuck and Bolar and Jay and Winthrop--and, oh, most all of them! It's a
+general fight. Oh, I knew it would come! I knew it! Obed Pence has been
+so nasty of late. They were all drunk last night. Poor mother! Oh, what
+shall we do, Oliver? What can we do? We can't get down to them!"
+
+"And could do nothing if we did," he said tensely.
+
+Down below six-shooters still popped, and the balls of smoke continued
+to grow in number over the willows. Horsemen dashed madly about,
+shouting, firing. The two watchers learned later that Obed Pence,
+supported by Muenster, Allegan, and Buchanan--all drunk for two days on
+the fiery monkey rum--had lain in wait for Old Man Selden, and Pence had
+ridden out and confronted him as he rode down the river trail,
+supposedly alone. But the Selden boys for days had been hovering in the
+background, to see that their father got a square deal when he and Obed
+Pence next met. Pence and Adam Selden had drawn simultaneously; but the
+hammer of the old man's Colt had caught in the fringe of his chaps, and
+Obed had shot him through the left lung. Knowing their father to be a
+master gunman, his sons, who had not been close enough to witness the
+encounter, had jumped to the conclusion that Pence had fired from
+ambush. They charged in accordingly, and opened fire on Pence, killing
+him instantly. Then Pence's supporters had ridden forth in turn, and the
+general gun fight was on.
+
+"I can't sit here and see them murdering one another!" Jessamy sobbed
+piteously. "They--they all may need killing, but--but I've lived with
+the old man and the boys, and--and--My mother!" The tears streamed down
+her cheeks as she made a trumpet of her hands and shouted down the
+precipice:
+
+"Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!"
+
+Only the echoes of her piercing cry made answer, and she wrung her hands
+and beat her breast in anguish.
+
+"I'm going for help!" she cried abruptly. "They'll get behind trees
+pretty soon, and fight from cover. I'll ride to Halfmoon Flat for the
+constable and a posse to put a stop to this. Can't--can't you ride up
+the trail and find a way down to them, Oliver? Old Man Selden maybe will
+listen to you. Oh, maybe you can patch up peace between them!"
+
+"I'll try," said Oliver grimly.
+
+She wheeled White Ann and entered the narrow trail. Oliver followed.
+Recklessly she moved her mare at her rolling singlefoot along the
+dangerous trail, and eventually came out on the hillside. At once White
+Ann leaped forward and sped over the hills, a streak of silver in the
+noonday sun.
+
+Oliver loped Poche to an obscure deer path that led down to the river,
+and as swiftly as possible began negotiating it.
+
+He had not progressed twenty yards when the chaparral before him
+suddenly parted, and Digger Foss confronted him, his wicked Colt held
+waist-high and levelled.
+
+"Stick 'em up!" he growled. "Be quick!"
+
+Thoroughly surprised, Oliver reined in, and Poche began to dance.
+Mechanically Oliver raised his hands above his head, then almost
+regretted that he had not tried to draw. But the picture of Henry Dodd
+reeling against the legs of Jessamy's mare had been with him since his
+first day in the Poison Oakers' country. He knew that the halfbreed's
+aim was sure, and that his heart was a reservoir of venom.
+
+The first shock passed, his composure returned in a measure. There stood
+the halfbreed, spread-legged in the path. The lids of his Mongolic eyes
+were lowered, and the beads of jet glittered wickedly from under them.
+He was drunk as a lord, Oliver knew quite well from the augmented
+insolence of his cruel lips; but Oliver knew that he might be all the
+more deadly, and that some drunken gunmen can shoot better than when
+sober.
+
+"What is this?--a holdup?" he asked, and bit his lip as he noted the
+tremble in his tones.
+
+"A holdup is right," said Foss. "A holdup, an' a little business matter
+you and me's got to attend to."
+
+"Well, let's get at it!" Oliver snapped.
+
+"I'm gonta kill you after our business is settled," Foss told him in a
+matter-of-fact tone.
+
+A cold chill ran along Oliver's spine. Should he make a dive for his
+gun? Foss had every advantage, but--
+
+Foss was stepping lazily nearer, his eyes intent on the horseman, his
+six-shooter ready.
+
+"Down there by the river they're fightin' it out all because o' you
+buttin' into this country, where you ain't wanted." Foss had come to a
+stop, and was leering up at him. "You've made trouble ever since you
+come here. Old Man won't get rid o' you, but I'm goin' to today. But
+first, where's them gems?"
+
+"I can't tell you," said Oliver.
+
+"You're a liar!"
+
+"Thank you. You have the advantage of me, you know. Slip your gun in the
+holster, and then call me a liar. I'll draw with you. My hands are
+up--you'll still have the advantage of having your hand closer to your
+gun butt."
+
+"D'ye think you could draw with me?"
+
+"I know it. And before you. Try it and see!"
+
+Foss studied over this. "Maybe--maybe!" he said. "I never did throw down
+on a man without givin' 'im a chance. But you got no chance with me,
+kid. They don't make 'em that can get the drop on Digger Foss!"
+
+"I'll take a chance," said Oliver quietly.
+
+"We'll see about that later. But where's them stones?"
+
+"I don't know, I tell you."
+
+"What did you come up in this country for?"
+
+"On matters that concern me alone."
+
+"No doubt o' that--or so you think. But they're interestin' to me, too.
+What's in that letter Jess'my handed you at Lime Rock yesterday?"
+
+"Oh, you were sneaking about and saw that, were you! Through your
+glasses, I suppose. Well, I haven't opened it, and don't know what's in
+it. If I did I wouldn't tell you. My arms are growing a little tired.
+Will you holster your gun and give me a chance before my arms play out?"
+
+"I will if you come across with what you know about the gems. You might
+as well. If I kill you, you won't be worryin' about gems. And if you
+croak me, why, what if you did tell me?--I'm dead, ain't I?"
+
+"There's sound logic in that," said Oliver grimly. "I'll take you up.
+Put your gun in its holster and drop your hands to your sides. Then
+we'll draw, with your gun hand three feet nearer your gun than mine will
+be. Come! I've got business down below."
+
+The halfbreed's eyes widened in unbelief. "D'ye really mean it, kid? You
+saw me shoot Henry Dodd--d'ye really wanta draw with me?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"But then you'll be dead, and I won't know nothin' about the gems.
+Unless that letter tells?"
+
+"Perhaps. You mustn't expect me to take _all_ the chances, you know."
+
+"Does the letter tell?"
+
+"I haven't opened it, I say."
+
+Foss studied in drunken seriousness. "And if you should happen to get
+me, why--why, where am I at again?" he puzzled.
+
+Oliver laughed outright. "You're an amusing creature," he said. "I don't
+believe you're half the badman that you imagine you are." He believed
+nothing of the sort, but his arms were growing desperately weary and he
+must goad the drunken gunman into immediate action.
+
+"There's just one thing that's the matter with you," he gibed on, ready
+to descend to any speech that would cut the killer and break his deadly
+calm. "That's my getting your girl away from you! It's not the gems;
+it's that that hurts you. Why, say, do you think she'd wipe her feet on
+you!"
+
+Into the eyes of the halfbreed came a viperish light that almost stilled
+Oliver's heartbeats. For an instant he feared that he had gone too far,
+that Foss was about to shoot him down in cold blood.
+
+Foss stood spread-legged in the path, as before, his face twisting with
+anger, the fingers of his left hand clinching and unclinching
+themselves. Then Oliver almost ceased to breathe as a silent, dark
+figure slipped wraithlike from the chaparral and began stealing toward
+the back of Digger Foss.
+
+"That settles it," said Foss. "I'll kill you for that, gems or no gems!
+Get ready! If you let down a hand while I'm puttin' up my gun I'll kill
+you like that!" He snapped the fingers of his left hand.
+
+"I'll stick by my bargain," Oliver assured him, his glance struggling
+between Foss and that silent figure slinking in his rear.
+
+What should he do? There was murder in the black eyes of the man who
+stole so stealthily upon the gunman's back. Should he shout to Foss? His
+sense of fair play cried out that he should. But Foss might misinterpret
+the meaning of his upraised voice, and fire. Should he--
+
+"Here goes! I'm puttin' up my gun. Get ready, kid! When I--"
+
+There was a leap, a flash of steel in the sunlight, a scream of
+agonizing pain.
+
+Oliver's gun was out and levelled; but Foss was staggering from side to
+side, his arms limp before him, his head lopped forward as if he
+searched for something on the ground. He collapsed and lay there gasping
+hideously in the path, in a growing pool of blood.
+
+The chaparral opened and closed again; and then only Oliver and the man
+in his death throes were remaining.
+
+Even as Bolivio had died, so died Digger Foss, in a path in the
+wilderness, with the knife of a Showut Poche-daka in his back.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+THE ANSWER
+
+
+Two weeks had passed since the battle of the Poison Oakers. That
+organization was now no more. Jessamy's efforts to mobilize a posse to
+stop the fight had proved fruitless. Only the constable and Damon Tamroy
+rode back with her with first aid packages, for Halfmoon Flat had voiced
+its indifference in a single sentence--"Let 'em fight it out!" Those
+whom the constable would have deputized promptly made themselves scarce.
+
+So the Poison Oakers had fought it out, and in so doing appended "Finis"
+to the annals of their gang. Old Man Selden died two days after the
+battle. Winthrop was killed outright, and Moffat was seriously wounded,
+but might recover. Obed Pence was dead; Digger Foss was dead. Jay
+Muenster was dead. Thus half of their numbers were wiped out, and among
+them the controlling genius of the gang, Old Man Selden. And without him
+those remaining, already split into two factions, were as a ship without
+a rudder.
+
+And all because of Oliver Drew!
+
+Oliver stepped from the train at Halfmoon Flat this afternoon, two weeks
+after the fight. He had helped Jessamy and her mother through the
+difficulties arising from the tragedy, had appeared as witness at the
+inquest, and had then hurried to Los Angeles with his sealed envelope.
+Now, returning, he caught Poche in a pasture close to the village and
+saddled him.
+
+It was one o'clock in the afternoon. He had lunched on the diner, so at
+once he lifted Poche into his mile-devouring lope and headed straight
+for Poison Oak Ranch.
+
+What changes had taken place since first he galloped along that road,
+barely four months before! Few with whom he had come in contact were
+still pursuing the even tenor of their ways, as then. He thought of the
+fight and of the spectacular death of Digger Foss. At the inquest he had
+been unable to throw any light on the identity of the halfbreed's
+murderer. He was an Indian--beyond this Oliver could say no more. The
+coroner had quizzed him sharply. Whereupon Oliver had asked that
+official if he himself thought it likely that he could have looked into
+the muzzle of a Colt revolver in the hands of Digger Foss, and at the
+same time make sure of the identity of a man stealing up behind him. The
+coroner had scratched his head. "I reckon I'd 'a' been tol'able
+int'rested in that gun o' Digger's," was his confession.
+
+And Oliver had told the truth. To this day he does not know who killed
+the gunman--but he knows that in all probability his own life was saved
+when it occurred, and that it was a Showut Poche-daka who struck the
+blow.
+
+At Poison Oak Ranch he found Jessamy awaiting him. He had sent her a
+wire the day before, telling her he was coming, and the hour he would
+arrive.
+
+They shook hands soberly, and after a short conversation with Mrs.
+Selden, Oliver saddled White Ann for Jessamy and they rode away into the
+hills. They were for the most part silent as their horses jogged along
+manzanita-bordered trails. Instinctively they avoided Lime Rock and its
+vicinity, and made toward the north, up over the hog-back hills, now
+sear and yellow, which climbed in interminable ranks to the snowy peaks.
+They came to a ledge that overlooked the river, and here they halted
+while the girl gazed down on scenes that never wearied her.
+
+They dismounted presently and seated themselves on two great grey
+stones. Jessamy rested her round chin in her hand, and from under long
+lashes watched the green river winding about its serpentine curves
+below.
+
+The tragedy of death had left its mark on her face. There was a sober,
+half-pathetic droop to the red lips. The comradely black eyes were
+thoughtful. But the self-reliant poise of the sturdy shoulders still was
+hers, and the sense of strength that she exhaled was not impaired.
+
+Her dress today was not rugged, as was ordinarily the case when she rode
+into the hills. She wore a black divided skirt, and a low-neck
+yellow-silk waist, trimmed with black, and a black-silk sailor's
+neckerchief. To further this effect a yellow rose nestled in her
+night-black hair. She looked like a gorgeous California oriole, so trim
+was her figure, so like that bird's were the contrast of colours she
+displayed. And her voice when she spoke, low and clear and throbbing
+melodiously, reminded him of the notes of this same sweet songster at
+nesting time.
+
+Oliver sat looking at the profile of her face, with the wind-whipped
+hair about it. More fully than ever now he realized that she was
+everything in life to him. And today--now!--smilingly, unabashed.
+
+"Well, Jessamy," he began, "I have seen Dad's lawyers." She turned her
+face toward him, but still rested her elbow on her knee, one cheek now
+cupped by her hand.
+
+"Yes," she said softly. "Tell me all about it."
+
+"And I gave them my answer to the question."
+
+For several moments her level glance searched his face, a little smile
+on her lips.
+
+"And what is your answer?" she asked.
+
+He rose and moved to the stone on which she sat, seating himself beside
+her.
+
+"Don't you know what my answer is?" he asked softly.
+
+She continued to look at him fearlessly, smilingly, unabashed.
+
+"I think I know," she said. "But tell me."
+
+"My answer," he said, "is the same that dear old Dad kept repeating for
+thirty years. I shall not enrich myself by sacrificing the confidence
+placed in me. I shall remain loyal to my simple trust. I am the Watchman
+of the Dead."
+
+Her lips quivered and her eyes glowed warmly, and two tears trickled
+down her cheeks. Oliver took from his shirt the envelope and showed her
+the black seals, still unbroken. Then on a flat rock before them he made
+a tiny fire of grass and twigs, and placed the envelope on top of it.
+Then he lighted a match.
+
+"The funeral pyre of my worldly fortune!" he apostrophized. "The lost
+mine of Bolivio will be lost indeed when the map has burned."
+
+Together they watched the tiny fire in silence, till the black wax
+sputtered and dripped down on the stone, and the eager flames crinkled
+the envelope and its contents and reduced them to ashes.
+
+"And now?" said Oliver.
+
+"And now!" echoed Jessamy.
+
+He slowly placed both arms about her and lifted her, unresisting, to her
+feet. He drew her close, brushed back her hair, and looked deep into
+eyes from which tears streamed unrestrained. Then she threw her arms
+about his shoulders, and, with a glad laugh, half hysterical, she drew
+his head down and kissed him time and again.
+
+His hour had come. Oliver Drew had captured the star that had led him on
+and on--his Star of Destiny. Warm were her lips and tremulous--glowing
+were her eyes for love of him. His pulse leaped madly as she gave
+herself to him in absolute surrender.
+
+"There's another matter," he said five minutes later, as she lay silent
+in his arms, with the fragrance of her hair in his nostrils. "Old
+Danforth, the head of the firm of attorneys that attended to Dad's
+affairs, looked at me keenly from under shaggy brows when I gave my
+answer.
+
+"'So it's No, is it, young man?' he said.
+
+"'No it is,' I told him.
+
+"'In that case,' he said, 'you are to come with me.'
+
+"He took me to a bank and opened a safe-deposit box in the vaults. He
+showed me bonds totalling over a hundred thousand dollars, and cash that
+represented the interest coupons the firm had been clipping since Dad
+died.
+
+"'Here's the key,' he told me. 'If your answer had been yes, these
+bonds, too, would have gone to the church. For then you would have had
+the gems. Your father didn't mean to leave you penniless. You would have
+been fairly well off, I imagine, whether your answer had been Yes or No.
+Your father wanted his question answered by a man of education, and I
+think he would be pleased at your decision.'"
+
+Jessamy had straightened and twisted in his arms till her face was close
+to his.
+
+"Peter Drew never hinted at that to me!" she cried. "I--I suppose you'd
+have nothing but the Old Ivison Place if you answered No. Oh, my
+romantic Old Peter Drew! God rest his soul! I'm so glad."
+
+"Glad, eh?" He smiled whimsically at her, and she quickly interpreted
+his thoughts.
+
+"Oh, but, Oliver--you don't understand! It's not that you're wealthy,
+after all--but now you can give Damon Tamroy just what the cement
+company would have paid him for Lime Rock!"
+
+"Lime Rock shall be your wedding gift," he laughed.
+
+"Oh, Oliver! And--and when we're--married, you won't take me away from
+the Poison Oak Country, will you, dear! I'll go anywhere you say--but
+these hills, and the river, and Lime Rock, and Old Dad Sloan, and--my
+Hummingbird--and the perfume of the manzanita blossoms in
+spring--and--oh, I love my country next to you, dear heart! And in my
+dreams I loved you even before you came riding to me in the
+silver-mounted saddle of Bolivio, like a knight out of the past. This is
+my country--and if we must go, I'll pine for it--and maybe die like the
+Indian bride. I want to stay here, Oliver dear--with you--down on the
+dear Old Ivison Place!"
+
+Oliver tenderly kissed his Star of Destiny. "I have no other plans," he
+whispered into her ear. "My place is there.... I am the Watchman of the
+Dead!"
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Heritage of the Hills, by Arthur P. Hankins
+
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