"Tell him to propose."

"I'll have to do it for him," replied my brother. "Uncle Jake has not the gift of tongues."

We accompanied Gloriana to San Lorenzo; as we feared to trust our friend—for so we had come to regard her—with the mule, a mischievous beast, spoiled by prosperity. Ajax drove a skittish pair of colts. Gloriana and I occupied the back seat of our big spring wagon.

"My brother is not Uncle Jake," said Ajax, as soon as the colts had settled down to business, "but he'll tell you all the pretty things the old man says about you."

"Uncle Jake is puffectly rediclous," replied Gloriana gaily. "His love is cupboard love."

"He has mired down at last."

"Nonsense! Mr. Ajax."

"He is set on matrimony. You are the one woman in the world for him. Take him, Gloriana; and then we'll all live together for ever and ever."

"Mr. Ajax, you'd sooner joke than eat."

"I'm not joking now. Uncle Jake is an honest man, with money laid by. He would make you comfortable for life, and such a marriage might pave the way to—to a better understanding with Doctor Standish."

Her face flushed at these last words, and fire flooded her eyes. Looking at her, I realised that long ago this worn woman must have been a beautiful girl.

"No," she answered steadily. "I wouldn't say Yes to the Angel Gabriel. Uncle Jake and I would make a baulky team. He's obstinate as my old mule, an' so am I. An' there's another thing: I'm most petered out, an' need a rest. Mattermony ain't rest."

My brother had tact enough to change the subject.

Descending the San Lorenzo grade, a sharp incline, Gloriana called our attention to a view panoramic and matchless beneath the glamour of sunset. Below us lay the mission town, its crude buildings aglow with rosy light; to the left was the canon, a frowning wilderness of manzanita, cactus and chaparral; to the right towered the triune peak of the Bishop, purple against an amber sky; in the distance were the shimmering waters of the Pacific. Upon the face of the landscape brooded infinite peace, and the soft shadows of evening.

"In Californy," said our passenger, "the glorious works o' the Lord air revealed. There's the Bishop: he looks fine to-night. Ye kin see the peak, but the sea fog's crawlin' in, an' shets off the main body o' the mountain. That's wher the fogs air always thickest. An' that's wher I lost my way, Mr. Ajax. Yes, sir, my feet stumbled on the dark mountain, as the prophet says, but I clumb the stony places, an' now, on the top, its clear."

"Gloriana," said Ajax, after a pause, "will you allow my brother, who is a grave and learned signor, to plead your cause with Doctor Standish? I know what lies nearest your heart."

In this impudent fashion he laid a grievous burden on me; for I have no stomach for other folk's pastry, yet the hope that glistened upon Gloriana's face whetted a strange appetite.

"I'll speak to him—if you wish it," said I.

"No," she returned, her eyes giving the lie to her lips. "It wouldn't be right."

But a woman's brain is a sorry advocate against her heart. Ajax, as I expected, put her scruples to rout. It was agreed that I should carry, as credentials, Gloriana's present—the parcel she hugged to her bosom, weighty with love and linen; that the interview should take place after dinner; that the recognition of Gloriana as Miriam's blood-relation should be not demanded but suggested with all deference due to a doctor of divinity. The Standishes boarded at the Hotel Buena Vista, where we always stayed; Gloriana was set down at a modest two- bit house, some three-quarters of a mile distant.

As the hour of meeting the Doctor approached, my courage oozed from every pore, distilling a malignant dew of mistrust that not even the optimism of Ajax could evaporate. As we sat at meat I noted with apprehension the stern features of Standish, who occupied an adjoining table. He ate sparingly, as became an old man, and drank no wine. His granddaughter, a charming girl, with eyes that reminded me of Gloriana, chattered gaily to him, but he replied in monosyllables. Doubtless he was thinking of the parting on the morrow.

Half-an-hour later he received me in his room, and asked courteously in what way he could serve me.

I laid my credentials upon the table. They were flanked, I remarked, by a Bible, and a well-worn book of prayer.

"This," I began lamely, "is a present from our housekeeper, Gloriana, to your granddaughter. She asked me to deliver it into your hands."

"I thank you, sir," he replied stiffly. "You say this—er—woman is your housekeeper?"

"Our housekeeper—and our friend."

"Indeed. Well, sir, I am obliged to you. Good-night."

"A present," said I, "demands an acknowledgment."

"An acknowledgment? You look at me very strangely, young man."

Upon this I spoke; explaining, in halting sentences, my mission. He listened attentively, a frown upon his somewhat narrow forehead.

"How dare you interfere in such matters!" he asked, in a voice that quavered with suppressed rage. "What right have you to come between me and a woman, an ignorant, immoral creature, whose very presence is contamination?"

"Ignorant, illiterate—yes; but a braver, truer, more loving spirit never breathed. I count it a privilege to know her. Surely she has suffered enough for a sister's sin!"

"My life has been poisoned," he muttered. "I was robbed at once of my son and of my profession, for I dared not preach what I could not practise—forgiveness. Leave me, sir."

"I beg your pardon," said I bitterly. "If you turn a deaf ear to this" (I touched his Bible), "and these" (I tore open the parcel, and spread Gloriana's handiwork upon the table), "how can I expect you to listen to me?"

"You are in possession of all the facts, sir. Don't presume to judge me. Go—and take these things with you. It has been the object of my life to keep my granddaughter and this woman apart. I allowed her to work for the child, but the clothes she has been sending I have given to—others. Already, despite my efforts, she suspects that there is some unhappy mystery about her birth."

* * * * *

Ajax met me on the threshold of our cheerless hotel parlour, and listened confounded to my story. As we sat smoking and talking the bell-boy ushered in Gloriana. When she caught sight of her precious parcel she gasped with satisfaction.

"I'm most choked," she panted, "in trying ter get here in time. I reckon I run most o' the way. Ever since ye set me down I've bin tryin' studyin' an' worryin'. I don't want ye," she turned an anxious face to mine, "ter speak ter Doctor Standish to-night, fer it might onsettle Miriam. Good land o' Peter, how short my breath is! Ye see ther couldn't be room in the child's heart jest now fer me an' the Professor. An' when that ther idee took aholt it seemed as if I couldn't rest till I saw ye. I'm mighty glad I was in time."

The words fell from her lips in sobs and gasps.

"It's all right," said Ajax. "Sit down, Gloriana. You deserve a scolding."

As he spoke she sank upon the couch, and tugged convulsively at the white linen band around her throat.

"She is ill," whispered Ajax. "Run for assistance—quick!"

I chanced to meet the bell-boy, and dispatched him in search of a physician. Unable to discriminate between doctors of medicine and divinity, the youth summoned in hot haste Doctor Standish. His granddaughter, learning that a woman was in sore distress, accompanied him. They entered the room together. The Doctor motioned the girl back, but she hastened forward, and, looking with infinite compassion into the poor twisted face, took Gloriana's hands in hers. Some one administered brandy and spirits of ammonia.

"How did this happen?" said the Doctor aside to me.

I spared him nothing in the recital, and his stern features softened as I emphasised Gloriana's anxiety to save Miriam from worry. As I finished, the faithful creature opened her eyes, which rested naturally upon the face of Miriam.

"Why—it's my little girl," she said faintly. Doctor Standish bent forward.

"If she mistakes you for one of her own kin, don't undeceive her. Play the part."

Miriam nodded, and kissed the frail hands that fluttered round her head.

"Gimme my parcel," she said presently, in a stronger voice. "Mercy sakes! I'm awful weak; but I'd like ter show my little girl the things I made for her."

The parcel was brought and untied. Gloriana touched the garments tenderly.

"Nothin'," she murmured, "kin come closer to ye than these pretty things, excep' the love I stitched into 'em. When you wear 'em you'll think o' me, Miss Standish."

At the sound of her name the girl started, and looked askance at her grandfather, who turned his head aside.

"Who is this woman!" she asked in a low voice.

The answer came from Gloriana, slowly and distinctly.

"I'm—nothin'—to—ye; but ye've bin the world an' all ter me. Well—I said I'd never go ter my little girl, because I wasn't fit, but I always thought that the Lord in His mercy would bring her ter me. Ye wore the clothes I sent, an' mebbee ye wondered who made 'em. 'Twas the happiness o' my life sewing on 'em, an' ter think you was wearin' them. I've worked awful hard, but I kin take it easy—now. I feel reel sleepy, too. Good-night, my pretty, good-night!"

We were quite unprepared for what happened, believing that our poor friend was merely over-wrought and weary. But as the words "good- night" fell softly upon our ears Gloriana sighed peacefully—and died.

"Who is this woman?" said Miriam for the second time, thinking that Gloriana had fallen asleep.

The Doctor was not so deceived. He pressed forward, and laid his trembling fingers upon the wrist of the dead, and then bent his head till it rested upon the breast of her he had counted a scandalous sinner. When he confronted us the tears were rolling down his face.

"May God forgive me!" he cried, falling upon his knees. "This woman, Miriam, was your mother."



V

BUMBLEPUPPY

Bumblepuppy is a synonym of whist played in defiance of certain time- honoured conventions and principles. Ajax said with reason that Johnnie Kapus, the nephew of our neighbour, old man Kapus, played the game of life in such a sorry, blundering fashion that he marvelled why his uncle gave him house-room. Ajax christened Johnnie—Bumble-puppy.

Once we hired Johnnie to work for us at the rate of half-a-dollar a day. A heavy rain-storm had just taken place, and my brother insisted that Johnnie was the right man to fill up the "wash-outs" in and about the corrals. He was strong, big, docile as a cow, and he lived within a few hundred yards of the ranch-house.

Johnnie was provided with a spade and a wheelbarrow, and led to a gaping hole beneath the barn. I explained that the rain had washed away the soil and made the hole, which must be filled up before more rain should fall.

"Wheer shall I git the dirt from?" Johnnie demanded.

"From the most convenient place," said I. Ajax and I returned to the barn an hour later. The hole was filled; but another hole, from which Johnnie had taken the dirt, as large as the first, seriously threatened the under-pinning of the building.

Ajax swore. Johnnie looked at me, as he drawled out:

"The boss told me to git the dirt wheer 'twas mos' handy."

Ajax grinned.

"I see. It was the boss' fault, not yours. Now then, Johnnie, the work must be done all over again."

"If you say so, boys, I'll do it."

As we moved away Ajax pointed out the propriety of giving explicit directions. At dinner time we came back to the barn. Johnnie had taken the earth out of the first hole and put it back again into the second!

"You star-spangled fool!" said Ajax.

"You tole me," replied Johnnie, "that the work mus' be did all over agen—an' I done it."

"Directions," I remarked, "may be made too explicit."

After this incident, we always spoke of Johnnie as Bumblepuppy.

Some six months later Alethea-Belle told us that Johnnie Kapus was doing "chores" for the widow Janssen; milking her cow, taking care of the garden, and drawing water. Upon inquiry, however, we learned that the cow was drying up, the well had caved in, and the garden produced no weeds, it is true, and no vegetables!

"Why doesn't the widow sack him?" Ajax asked.

"Mis' Janssen is kinder sorry for Johnnie," replied the schoolmistress; then she added irrelevantly, "There's no denyin' that Johnnie Kapus has the loveliest curly hair."

About a fortnight after this, when the July sun was at its zenith and the starch out of everything animate and inanimate, old man Kapus came up to the ranch-house. Johnnie, he said, disappeared during the previous night.

"And he's bin kidnapped, too," the uncle added.

"Kidnapped?"

"Yes, boys—hauled out o' winder! A man weighin' close onter two hundred pounds 'd naterally prefer to walk out o' the door, but the widder hauled Johnnie out o' winder."

"The widow?"

"Mis' Janssen. There was buggy tracks at the foot o' the melon patch, and the widder's missin'. She's put it up to marry my Johnnie. I suspicioned something, but I counted on Johnnie. I sez to myself: 'Others might be tempted by a plump, well-lookin' widder, but not Johnnie.' Ye see, boys, Johnnie ain't quite the same as you an' me."

"Not quite," said Ajax.

"Mebbee ye've wondered why I sot sech store by Johnnie. Wal—I'll tell ye. Johnnie's paw an' me was brothers an' pardners afore the war. An' after Bull Run John sez to me: 'Abram,' he sez, 'we mustn't let Ole Glory trail in the dust.' That's what he sez. 'John,' I answers, 'what kin we do to prevent it?' 'Enlist,' sez he. An' we done it. But afore we go within smellin' distance o' the rebs, yes, boys, afore we saw 'em, a bullet comes slam-bang into John's head."

The old man paused, overcome. We turned our eyes from his wrinkled, troubled face, as Ajax entreated him to say no more.

"He died in defence of his flag," I muttered.

"Ah!" exclaimed Johnnie's uncle, "I thought you'd say that. No, boys, John didn't die. A Kapus takes a heap o' killin.' John up an lived— an' married! He married my girl, too, Susie Bunker. Susie felt awful sorry for him, for that there rebel bullet had kinder made scrambled eggs with pore John's brains. I let Susie marry John, because I knew that he needed a good woman's keer. And then Johnnie was born: a whoppin' baby, but with a leetle something missin' in his purty head. Then John died, and soon enough Susie got peaked-face an' lost her relish fer food. She tuk a notion that John needed her t'otherside. Just afore she sent in her checks, she give me Johnnie, an' she ast my pardon for marryin' John instead o' me. I tole her she done right. An' I promised to look after Johnnie. Up to date, boys, I hev. But now that darned widder woman has onexpectedly kidnapped him. What kin I do?"

"The widow will look after both of you," I suggested.

"What! Share my Johnnie with her? Not much. She stole that there boy from me by force. By Jing! I'll take him from her without liftin' a finger. Ye see, Johnnie is mighty apt to disappint the widder. Sometimes—more often than not—Johnnie is—disappintin'! I allus jedge the pore boy by contrairies. Most o' men when they marry air apt to forgit them as raised 'em, but Johnnie'll pine fer me. I know it. Bless his heart, he can't git along nohow without me."

Listening to this simple talk, watching the old man's rough, honest face, my own heart grew chill with apprehension. The widow had a small income and many charms. It was certain that Johnnie's curly hair, bright blue eyes, and stalwart figure had captivated her fancy. Pity had bloomed into love. The pair must have driven—as fast as the widow's steed could travel—into San Lorenzo. By this time, high noon, the licence, doubtless, had been issued and the marriage solemnised by parson or justice of the peace. Once married, no man—not even old man Kapus—would be justified in tearing Bumblepuppy from the fond arms of his bride.

We asked Johnnie's uncle to dine with us. He thanked us warmly.

"Boys, you surmise that I'm feelin' lonesome. And I am. But I won't be lonesome long. The widder can't let that cow o' hers go without two milkin's, an' her pigs an' chickens must be fed. She'll be back in the village 'bout four or five; an' to-night, to-night, boys, my Johnnie 'll be home to supper."

Ajax discreetly descanted upon the widow's fine complexion, but old man Kapus lent him but an indifferent ear.

"She's fat an' slick," he admitted, "but Johnnie's fat an' slick, too. An' who made him so? Why—his uncle Abram. D'ye think now that I've fed him up and got him into sech fine shape that he'll leave me? No, sir. You might act that-a-way, but not my Johnnie."

After dinner, we accompanied Uncle Abram as far as the creek which flows between the village and our domain. Here stand some fine cottonwood trees and half-a-dozen lordly white-oaks. The spot is famous as a picnicking ground, and in the heat of summer is as cool a place as may be found in the county. And here, paddling in the brook like an urchin, we found Bumblepuppy. His eyes sparkled as they fell upon the face of his uncle.

"Ye've got back, Johnnie," said the old man.

"Yas. 'Twas hotter'n a red-hot stove on the road."

"Ye druv in with the widder woman?"

"Yas. I druv in with her; but I walked back. Guess I run the most o' the way, too."

"An' Mis' Janssen—wheer is she?"

"I dunno', uncle Abram."

"Is she still a widder woman, Johnnie?"

"She was when I left her," said Bumblepuppy.

He had ascended the bank. Sitting down, he began to put on his socks. I noted the admirable symmetry of calf and ankle; I thought of the lungs and muscles which had sustained the superb body during a twenty- six mile run between blazing earth and sky.

"What in thunder did ye go to town fer?" asked the old man. "Speak up, Johnnie. Give us the cold facts."

Then Bumblepuppy made the speech of his life.

"Uncle Abram, you tole me to obey Mis' Janssen, an' do what she said."

"That's so, Johnnie."

"Yesday, she tole me to fix up an' be ready to go to San Lorenzy with her. She said we'd travel by night 'cause o' the heat. An' she said I was not to 'sturb you. She said she'd come to the winder an' tap. Then I'd crawl out without 'sturbin' you. Wal—she come around about two, jest as the roosters was a'crowin 'fer the second time. I slipped out o' winder in my stockined feet. I hope I didn't 'sturb ye?"

"Ye didn't. Go on."

"In town Mis' Janssen said she'd fixed it up to marry me. She said I needed a lovin' wife, and that me an' she'd have a Fourth o' July time together. I said nothing, 'cause you'd tole me never to interrup' a lady when she was a-talkin'. She kep' on a-talkin' till we got to the Court House, where Mis' Janssen bought a licence. Then we hunted a minister. Bimeby, he ast me if I was willin' to take Sairy Anne Janssen to be my wife——"

"An' ye said NO, my own Johnnie?"

"That's what I done, Uncle Abram. And then she sez, kinder wheedlin': 'But you will marry yer Sairy Anne, Johnnie, won't ye?' And then, gittin' scared, I kinder forgot my manners, fer I said: 'No—I'm d—— d if I will!' An' I disremember what she said nex', but I found myself in the road, a-runnin' like a mad steer. Jee! that road was hotter'n a red-hot stove!"

During the recital of this adventure Bumblepuppy's face had deepened in tint till it glowed like an iron disc in the heart of a fire. As he finished speaking, he knelt down and dipped his head into the cool, bubbling creek. Lifting up his ruddy face, a ray of sunshine, filtering through the tremulous leaves of the cottonwoods, fell full upon his chestnut curls, and each drop of water on his hair became of a sudden a gem of prismatic colour and most brilliant lustre.

"Phew-w-w!" said Bumblepuppy. "I hope Mis' Janssen ain't feelin' as warm as I am."



VI

JASPERSON'S BEST GIRL

Jasperson came to the ranch at the time of the March branding, and it was well understood between the contracting parties—Ajax and I of the first part, and Jasper Jasperson of the second part, all of San Lorenzo County, in the State of California—that the said Jasperson came to us as a favour, and, so to speak, under protest. For he had never worked out before, and was possessed of money in bank and some four hundred acres of good arable land which, he carefully explained to us, he was unwilling to farm himself. Indeed, his appearance bespoke the man of independent means, for he wore a diamond collar- stud—his tie was always pulled carefully down so as not to interfere with this splendid gem—and two diamond rings. In Jasperson's hot youth he had come into violent contact with a circular saw, and the saw, as he admitted, had the best of the encounter—two fingers of his left hand being left in the pit. A man of character and originality, he insisted upon wearing the rings upon his maimed hand, both upon the index finger; and once, when Ajax suggested respectfully that the diamonds would shine to better advantage upon the right hand, he retorted reasonably enough that the mutilated member "kind of needed settin' off." He seized the opportunity to ask Ajax why we wore no jewellery, and upon my brother replying that we considered diamonds out of place upon a cattle ranch, he roundly asserted that in his opinion a "gen'leman couldn't be too dressy."

During the first month he bought in San Lorenzo a resplendent black suit, and an amazing dress shirt with an ivy pattern, worked in white silk, meandering down and up the bosom. To oblige Ajax he tried on these garments in our presence, and spoke hopefully of the future, which he said was sure to bring to his wardrobe another shirt and possibly a silk hat. We took keen interest in these important matters, and assured Jasperson that it would afford us the purest pleasure to see once more a silk hat. Then Ajax indiscreetly asked if he was about to commit matrimony.

"Boys," he replied, blushing, "I'd ought to be engaged, but I ain't. Don't give me away, but I ain't got no best girl—not a one. Surprisin', yes, sir, considerin' how I'm fixed—most surprisin'."

He took off his beautiful coat, and wrapped it carefully in tissue paper. We were sitting on the verandah after supper, and were well into our second pipes. The moonlight illumined the valley, but Jasperson's small delicate face was in shadow. From the creek hard by came the croaking of many frogs, from the cow pasture the shrilling of the crickets. A cool breeze from the Pacific was stirring the leaves of the willows and cottonwoods, and the wheat, now two feet high, murmured praise and thanksgiving for the late rains. When nature is eloquent, why should a mortal refrain from speech?

"Boys," continued Jasperson; "I'm a-goin' to tell ye something; because—well, because I feel like it. I've never had no best girl!" "Jasperson," said Ajax, "I can't believe that. What! you, a young and——"

"I ain't young," interrupted the man of independent means. "I'm nigh on to thirty-six. Don't flim-flam me, boys. I ain't young, and I ain't beautiful, but fixed up I am—dressy, an' that should count."

"It does count," said my brother, emphatically. "I've seen you, Jasperson, on Sundays, when I couldn't take my eyes off you. The girls must be crazy."

"The girls, gen'lemen, air all right; the trouble ain't with them. It's with me. Don't laugh: it ain't no laughin' matter. Boys—I'm bashful. That's what ails Jasper Jasperson. The girls," he cried scornfully; "you bet they know a soft snap when they see it, and I am a soft snap, an' don't you forget it!

"I left my own land," he continued dreamily, in a soft, melancholy voice, "because there ain't a lady within fifteen miles o' my barn, and here there's a village, and——"

"Her name, please," said Ajax, with authority; "you must tell us her name."

"Wal," he bent forward, and his face came out of the shadows; we could see that his pale blue eyes, red-rimmed and short-sighted, were suffused with tender light, and his pendulous lower lip was a-quiver with emotion; even the hair of his head—tow-coloured and worn a la Pompadour—seemed to bristle with excitement, "Wal," he whispered "it's—it's Miss Birdie Dutton!"

In the silence that followed I could see Ajax pulling his moustache. Miss Birdie Dutton! Why, in the name of the Sphinx, should Jasperson have selected out of a dozen young ladies far more eligible Miss Birdie Dutton? She was our postmistress, a tall, dark, not uncomely virgin of some thirty summers. But, alas! one of her eyes was fashioned out of glass; her nose was masculine and masterful; and her chin most positive. Jasperson's chin was equally conspicuous— negatively. Miss Birdie, be it added, was a frequent contributor to the columns of the San Lorenzo Banner, and Grand Secretary of a local temperance organisation. She boarded with the Swiggarts; and Mr. Swiggart, better known as Old Smarty, told me in confidence that "she wouldn't stand no foolishness"; and he added, reflectively, that she was something of a "bull-dozer." I knew that Old Smarty had sold his boarder an aged and foundered bronco for fifty dollars, and that within twenty-four hours the animal had been returned to him and the money refunded to Miss Birdie. Many persons had suffered grievously at the hands of Mr. Swiggart, but none, saving Miss Dutton, could boast of beating him in a horse-deal.

Presently I expressed surprise that Jasperson had the honour of Miss Dutton's unofficial acquaintance.

"I was interdooced last fall," said our friend, "at a candy-pullin' up to Mis' Swiggart's. Not that Miss Birdie was a-pullin' candy. No, sir; she ain't built that a way, but she was settin' there kind of scornful, but smilin' An' later she an' me sung some hymns together. Mebbe, gen'lemen, ye've heard Miss Birdie sing?"

I shook my head regretfully, but Ajax spoke enthusiastically of the lady's powers as a vocalist. He had previously described her voice to me as "a full choke, warranted to kill stone-dead at sixty yards."

"It is a lovely voice," sighed Jasperson, "strong, an' full, an' rich. Why, there ain't an organ in the county can down her high B!" Then, warmed by my brother's sympathy, he fumbled in his pocket, and found a sheet of note-paper. Upon this he had written a quatrain that he proposed to read to us au clair de la lune. The lines were addressed: "To My Own Blackbird."

"She's a pernounced brunette," explained the poet; "and her name is Birdie. I thought some of entitlin' the pome: 'To a Mocking Bird'; but I surmised that would sound too pussonal. She has mocked me, an' others, more'n once."

He sighed, still smarting at the memory of a gibe; then he recited the following in an effective monotone:—

"Oh! scorn not the humble worm, proud bird, As you sing i' the top o' the tree; Though doomed to squirm i' the ground, unheard. He'll make a square meal for thee."

"It ain't Shakespeare," murmured the bard, "but the idee is O.K."

My brother commended the lines as lacking neither rhyme nor reason, but he questioned the propriety of alluding to a lady's appetite, and protested strongly against the use of that abject word—worm. He told Jasperson that in comparing himself to a reptile he was slapping the cheeks of his progenitors.

"But I do feel like a worm when Miss Birdie's around," objected the man of acres. "It may be ondignified, but that there eye of hers does make me wiggle."

"It's a thousand pities," said I softly, "that Miss Dutton has only one eye."

Jasperson wouldn't agree with me. He replied, with ardour, that he would never have dared to raise his two blue orbs to Miss Dutton's brilliant black one, unless he had been conscious that his mistress, like himself, had suffered mutilation.

"I'm two fingers short," he concluded, "an' she's lackin' an eye. That, gen'lemen, makes it a stand-off. Say, shall I send her this yere pome?"

"Most certainly not," said Ajax.

"Then for the Lord's sake, post me."

I touched Ajax with my foot, and coughed discreetly; for I knew my brother's weakness. He is a spendthrift in the matter of giving advice. If Jasperson had appealed to me, the elder and more experienced, I should have begged politely, but emphatically, to be excused from interference. I hold that a man and a maid must settle their love affairs without help from a third party. Ajax, unhappily, thinks otherwise.

"Miss Dutton," he began, tentatively, "is aware, Jasperson, of your— er—passion for her?"

"She ain't no sech a thing," said the lover.

"Yet her eye," continued Ajax, "is keen—keen and penetrating."

"It's a peach," cried the enthusiastic poet. "There ain't another like it in the land, but it can't see in the dark; an', boys, I've not shown my hand—yet!"

"You've made no advances directly or indirectly?"

"Not a one. By golly! I—I dassn't. I jest didn't know how. I ain't up to the tricks. You air, of course; but I'm not."

My brother somewhat confusedly hastened to assure Jasperson that his knowledge of the sex was quite elementary, and gleaned for the most part from a profound study of light literature.

The poet grinned derisively. "You ain't no tenderfoot," he said. "I reckon that what you don't know about the girls ain't worth picklin'."

"Well, if you mean business," said Ajax didactically, "if nothing we can say or do will divert your mind from courtship and matrimony—if, my dear Jasperson, you are prepared to exchange the pleasant places, the sunny slopes, and breezy freedom of bachelor life for the thorny path that leads to the altar, and thence to—er—the cradle, if, in short, you are determined to own a best girl, why, then the first and obvious thing to do is to let her know discreetly that you're in love with her."

"As how?" said Jasperson, breathlessly. "I told ye that when she was around I felt like a worm."

"You spoke of wiggling," replied my brother; "and I suppose that heretofore you have wiggled from and not to the bird. Next time, wiggle up, my boy—as close as possible."

"You're dead right," murmured the disciple; "but look at here: when I call on Miss Birdie, she sez, 'Mister Jasperson,' or, mebbe, 'Mister Jasper, please be seated, an' let me take your hat.' Naterally, boys, I take the chair she p'ints out, an' then, dog-gone it! she takes another."

"Do you expect this young lady to sit down in your lap, sir? Maids, Jasperson, must not be lightly put to confusion. They must be stalked, and when at bay wooed with tender words and languishing glances. Now listen to me. Next Sunday, when you call upon Miss Dutton, take the chair she offers, but as soon as a suitable opportunity presents itself, ask to see the album. Thus you will cleverly betray a warm interest in her by showing a lively interest in her people. And to look over an album two persons must——"

"You bet they must," interrupted the poet. "They must nestle up. That's right! What kind of a chump am I not to have thought of that before? Yes, boys, she's got an album, a beaut', too: crimson plush an' nickel. And, of course, the pictures of her folks is inside. By gum! I'll give the homeliest of 'em sech a send-off as——"

"You will not," said Ajax. "Remember, Jasperson, that a burning black eye indicates jealousy, which you must beware of arousing. Don't praise too wantonly the beauty of Miss Dutton's sisters and cousins; but if the father is well-looking, pay your mistress the compliment of saying that the children of true lovers always take after the father. In turning the leaves of the album you might touch her hand, quite accidentally. No less an authority than Mr. Pickwick commends a respectful pressure."

"I'll do it," exclaimed Jasperson, "I'll do it, sure!"

"Has she a pretty hand?" I asked.

"Has she a pretty hand!" echoed the lover, in disdainful tones, "She has the hand of a queen! The Empress of Roosia ain't got a whiter nor a finer hand! Miss Birdie ain't done no harder work than smackin' a kid that needs it."

"I've heard," said I, "that she can smack—hard."

"An' I'd be a liar if I denied it," replied Jasperson. "Wal, gen'lemen, I'm obligated to ye. Next Sabbath I'll wade right in."

Upon the following Sunday our hero rose betimes, tubbed himself, shaved himself, perfumed his small person with bergamot, and then arrayed it in the ivy-bosomed shirt and the $75 suit of broadcloth. His toilet occupied just two hours and seventeen minutes. Ajax decorated the lapel of his coat with a handsome rosebud, and then the impatient swain tied round his neck a new white silk handkerchief, mounted his horse, and betook himself at a gallop to the village church. Ajax remarked with regret that the pace was too hot at the start, and feared that our colt would finish badly. As we walked back to the verandah, I told my brother that he had assumed a big responsibility; for I was convinced that Miss Dutton, albeit possessed of many admirable qualities, was not the woman to make little Jasperson either happy or comfortable. She, doubtless, being a wise bird, would greedily snap up this nice worm who had waxed fat in the richest soil. But how would the worm fare when swallowed up and absorbed?

At five that afternoon the amorous poet rode slowly up to the corral. As he sat limply upon his sorrel horse, smiling dismally at Ajax, we could see that the curl was out of his moustache, and out of the brim of his sombrero; upon his delicate face was inscribed failure.

"Boys," said he, throwing one leg over the horn of the saddle; "I didn't get there. I—I mired down!"

Later, he gave us some interesting details. It transpired that he had met his sweetheart, after Sabbath-school, and had sat beside her during the regular service; after church he had accepted a warm invitation from Mrs. Swiggart to join the family circle at dinner. At table he had been privileged to supply Miss Birdie with many dainties: pickled cucumbers, cup-custards, and root beer. He told us frankly that he had marked nothing amiss with the young lady's appetite, but that for his part he had made a sorry meal.

"My swaller," he said plaintively, "was in kinks before the boolyon was served."

"You say," murmured Ajax, "that Miss Dutton's appetite was good?"

"It was just grand," replied the unhappy bard. "I never seen a lady eat cup-custards with sech relish."

"We may infer, then," observed my brother, "that Miss Birdie is still in happy ignorance of your condition; otherwise pity for you would surely have tempered that craving for cup-custards."

"I dun'no', boys, about that. Me an' Miss Birdie sung out o' the same hynm book, and—and I sort o' showed down. I reckon she knows what ails Jasper Jasperson."

Ajax unwisely congratulated the lovelorn one upon this piece of news. He said that the Rubicon was now passed, and retreat impossible. We noted the absence of the rosebud, and Jasperson blushingly confessed that he had presented the flower to his best girl after dinner, an act of homage—so we presumed—in recognition of the lady's contempt of danger in mixing pickled cucumbers with cup-custards.

"After that," said Jasperson, "I thought of the album, an' 'twas then my feet begun to get cold. But I up and as't to see it, as bold as a coyote in a hen-roost. Then she sez, kind of soft an' smilin': 'Why, Mister Jasper, what d'you want to see my album for? you don't know my folks.'"

"A glorious opportunity," said Ajax. "What did you reply, my buck?"

"Dog-gone it! I'd ought to have sailed right in, but I sot there, shiverin', an' said:' Oh! because ...' jest like a school-girl. And I could see that the answer made her squirm. She must ha' thought I was the awflest fool. But to save me that's all I could stammer out—'Oh, because ...'"

"Well," said Ajax, encouragingly, "the best of us may be confounded in love and war."

"You do put heart into a man," murmured the little fellow. "Wal, sir, we sot down an' looked through the album. And on the first page was Miss Birdie's father, the mortician and arterialist."

"The what?" we exclaimed.

"Undertaker and em-bammer. He's an expert, too. Why, Miss Birdie was a-tellin' me—"

I ventured to interrupt him. "I don't think, Jasperson, I should like an undertaker for a father-in-law. Have you considered that point?"

"I have, gen'lemen. It might come in mighty handy. Wal, he was the homeliest critter I ever seen. I dassn't ring in that little song an' dance you give me. And on the nex' page was Mis' Dutton." He sighed softly and looked upward.

"The mother," said Ajax briskly. "Now, I dare swear that she's a good- looking woman. Nature attends to such matters. Beauty often marries the b—— the homely man."

"Mis' Dutton," said Jasperson solemnly, "is now a-singing in the heavenly choir, an' bein' dead I can't say nothing; but, gen'lemen, ye'll understand me when I tell ye that Miss Birdie never got her fine looks from her maw. Not on your life!"

"Doubtless," said Ajax sympathetically, "there was something in the faces of Miss Dutton's parents that outweighed the absence of mere beauty: intelligence, intellect, character."

"The old man's forehead is kind o' lumpy," admitted Jasperson, "but I didn't use that. I sot there, as I say, a-shiverin', an' never opened my face. She then showed me her cousins: daisies they were and no mistake; but I minded what you said, an' when Miss Birdie as't me if they wasn't beauties, I sez no—not even good-lookin'; an', by golly! she got mad, an' when I tetched her hand, obedient to orders, she pulled it away as if a tarantula had stung it. After that I made tracks for the barn. I tell ye, gen'lemen, I'm not put up right for love-makin'."

Ajax puffed at his pipe, deep in thought. I could see that he was affected by the miscarriage of his counsels. Presently he removed the briar from his lips, and said abruptly: "Jasperson, you assert that you showed down in church. What d'you mean by that? Tell me exactly what passed."

The man we believed to be a laggard in love answered confusedly that he and Miss Dutton had been singing that famous hymn, "We shall meet in the sweet By-and-by." The congregation were standing, but resumed their seats at the end of the hymn. Under cover of much scraping of feet and rustling of starched petticoats, Jasperson had assured his mistress that the sweet By-and-by was doubtless a very pleasant place, but that he hoped to meet her often in the immediate future. He told us that Miss Birdie had very properly taken no notice whatsoever of this communication; whereupon he had repeated it, lending emphasis to what was merely a whisper by a sly pressure of the elbow. This, too, the lady had neither approved nor resented.

Upon this Ajax assured our friend that he need not despair, and he said that the vexed question of the fair's appetite had been set at rest: a happy certainty was the sauce that had whetted her hunger. Jasperson listened with sparkling eyes.

"Say," said he; "if you'll help me out, I'll write a letter to Miss Birdie this very night."

I frowned and expostulated in vain. Within two minutes, pens, ink and paper were produced, and both Jasperson and my brother were hard at work. Between them the following composition was produced. Jasperson furnished the manner, Ajax the matter.

"To Miss Birdie Dutton.

"Dear Friend,—Since leaving you this afternoon, more abrupt than a gentleman could wish, I have taken up my pen to set forth that which is in my heart, but which cannot leave my trembling lips. Dear friend, there is too much at steak for me to be calm in your presence. When I sat by your side, and gazed with you at the noble faces of your parents, reading there, dear friend, the names of those great qualities which have been inherited by you, with queenly beauty thrown in, then it was that a sudden sinking inside robbed your lover of his powers of speech. And how could I see the loveliness of your cousins when my eyes were dwelling with rapture upon the stately form of her I trust to call my own? Be mine, dear friend, for I love you and hope to marry you, to part neither here nor in the sweet By-and-by.

"Yours respectfully,

"Jasper Jasperson.

"P.S.—Important. The ranch is four hundred and three acres, paid for. And there's money somewhere to build a nice residence, and to furnish it according to Hoyle. We'd keep a hired girl.

"P.P.S.—And a pianner. J.J.(A true lover)."

This billet-doux was sealed and despatched, and in due time brought an acceptance. The engagement was formally ratified at a banquet given by the Swiggarts, and the health of the high contracting parties was enthusiastically drunk in pink lemonade. The marriage was arranged to take place during the summer vacation, and Pacific Grove was selected as the best spot in California for the honeymoon.

Thus smoothly for a season ran the course of true love. But three weeks later, when the landscape was wearing its imperial livery of lupin and eschscholtizia, when the fields at night were white with moonflowers, when a glorious harvest was assured, and all beasts and birds and insects were garrulous of love and love's delight—upon May- day, in short—was disclosed a terrible rift within poor Jasperson's lute.

He had escorted his sweetheart to the annual picnic, and returning late at night found Ajax and me enjoying a modest nightcap before turning in. We asked him to join us, but he refused with some asperity, and upon cross-examination confessed that he had promised Miss Button to take the pledge at the next meeting of the lodge. Now, we knew that Jasperson was the pink of sobriety, but one who appreciated an occasional glass of beer, or even a mild cocktail; and we had heard him more than once denounce the doctrines of the Prohibitionists; so we were quite convinced that meek submission to the dictates of the Grand Secretary of Corona Lodge was both unnecessary and inexpedient. And we said so.

"Birdie knows I don't drink," stammered our hired man, "but she thinks I'd ought to take the pledge as an example."

"An example," echoed Ajax. "To whom? To us?"

"She said an example, gen'lemen, jest—an example."

"But she meant us," said Ajax sternly. "Our names were mentioned. Don't you deny it, Jasperson."

"They was," he admitted reluctantly. "She as't me, careless-like, if you didn't drink wine with your meals, and I said yes. I'd ought to have said no."

"What!" cried my brother, smiting the table till the decanter and glasses reeled. "You think that you ought to have lied on our account. Jasperson—I'm ashamed of you; I tremble for your future as the slave of Miss Dutton."

"Wal—I didn't lie," said Jasperson defiantly; "I up and told her the truth: that you had beer for supper, and claret wine, or mebbe sherry wine, or mebbe both for dinner, and that you took a toddy when you felt like it, an' that there was champagne down cellar, an' foreign liquors in queer bottles, an' Scotch whisky, an'—everything. She as't questions and I answered them—like an idiot! Gen'lemen, the shame you feel for me is discounted by the shame I feel for myself. I'd ought to have told Birdie that your affairs didn't concern her; I'd ought to have said that you was honnerable gen'lemen whom I'm proud to call my intimate friends; I'd ought to have said a thousand things, but I sot there, and said-nothin'!"

He was standing as he spoke, emphasising his periods with semaphoric motions of his right arm. When he had finished he sank quite overcome upon the big divan, and covered his flushed face with a pair of small hands. He was profoundly moved, and Ajax appeared less solidly complacent than usual. I reflected, not without satisfaction, that I had done what I could to keep Jasperson and the Grand Secretary apart.

"This is very serious," said Ajax, after a significant pause. "I—I feel, Jasperson, that this engagement was brought about by—me."

"It's a fact," assented our hired man. "And that's what makes me feel so mean right now. Boys, I love that woman so that I dassn't go agin her."

Ajax rose in his might and confronted the trembling figure upon the divan. My brother's nickname was given to him at school in virtue of his great size and strength. Standing now above Jasperson, his proportions seemed even larger than usual. The little dandy in his smug black garments with his diamond stud gleaming in the ivy-bosomed shirt (his rings had been given to Miss Birdie), with his features wilting like the wild pansies in the lapel of his coat, dwindled to an amorphous streak beneath the keen glance of my burly brother.

"Do you really love her?" said Ajax, in his deepest bass. "Or do you fear her, Jasperson? Answer honestly."

The small man writhed. "I dun'no'," he faltered at last. "By golly! I dun'no'."

"Then I do know," replied my brother incisively: "you've betrayed yourself, Jasperson. You're playing the worm. D'you hear? The worm! I once advised you to wiggle up to the bird, now I tell you solemnly to wiggle away, before it's too late. I've been a fool, and so have you. For the past three weeks I've had my eye on you, and I suspected that you'd fallen a victim to an ambitious and unscrupulous woman. You've lost weight, man; and you've no flesh to spare. Marry Miss Dutton, and you'll be a scarecrow within a year, and require the services of the mortician within two! I got you into this infernal scrape, and, by Heaven I I'll get you out of it."

"But what will the neighbours say?" stammered Jasperson, sitting upright. At my brother's words his pendulous nether lip had stiffened, and now his pale blue eyes were quickening with hope and vitality. He arranged his white satin tie, that had slipped to one side, and smoothed nervously the nap of the broadcloth pants, while Ajax clad in rough grey flannels took a turn up and down our sitting-room.

My brother and I had lived together for many years, years of fat kine and years of lean, but I couldn't recall a single instance when he had considered the opinion of Mrs. Grundy. In coming to California, to a rough life on a cattle ranch, we had virtually snapped our fingers beneath the dame's nose. I mention this because it sheds light upon what follows.

"The neighbours, Jasperson," replied Ajax, "will say some deuced unpleasant things. But I think I can promise you the sympathy of the men, and your ranch is fifteen miles from a petticoat."

"I dassn't break it off, gen'lemen, not by word of mouth; but—but we might write."

"And lay yourself open to a breach of promise case and heavy damages. No—I've a better plan than that. We'll make Miss Dutton release you. She shall do the writing this time."

"Boys," said Jasperson solemnly, "she'll never do it—never! Her mind is sot on merridge. I see it all now. She hypnotised me, by golly! I swear she did! That eye of hers is a corker."

"What night are you to be initiated?" asked Ajax, with seeming irrelevance.

"Next Toosday," replied the neophyte nervously.

"You have never, I believe, been on a spree?"

"Never, gen'lemen—never."

"They tell me," said Ajax softly, "that our village whisky, the sheep- herders' delight, will turn a pet lamb into a roaring lion."

"It's pizon," said Jasperson,—"jest pizon."

"You, Jasperson, need a violent stimulant. On Tuesday afternoon, my boy, you and I will go on a mild spree. I don't like sprees any more than you do, but I see no other way of cutting this knot. Now, mark me, not a word to Miss Dutton. It's late, so—good-night."

Between May-day and the following Tuesday but little transpired worth recording. Miss Dutton sent the convert a bulky package of tracts, with certain scathing passages marked—obviously for our benefit—in red ink; and we learned from Alethea-Belle that the initiation of Jasper Jasperson was to be made an occasion of much rejoicing, and that an immense attendance was expected at Corona Lodge. The storekeeper asked Ajax outright if there were truth in the rumour that we were to be decorated with the blue ribbon, and my brother hinted mysteriously that even stranger things than that might happen. Jasperson complained of insomnia, but he said several times that he would never forget what Ajax was doing on his behalf, and I don't think he ever will. For my part I maintained a strict neutrality. Ethically considered, I was sensible that my brother's actions were open to severe criticism; at the same time, I was certain that mild measures would not have prevailed.

The Grand Secretary, while I was in the post-office, invited me quite informally to participate in the opening exercises, and to assist at the banquet, the benediction, so to speak, of the secret rites. She said that other prominent gentlemen would receive invitations, and that she was certain the "work" would please and edify. She expressed much chagrin when I tendered my regret, and amazed me by affirming that Ajax had cordially consented to be present. This I considered an outrageous breach of good manners upon his part: if he kept his promise, a number of most worthy and respectable persons would consider themselves insulted; so I advised Miss Birdie not to count upon him.

"I like your big brother," she said, in her hard, metallic tones; "he is such a man: he has made quite a conquest of me; for mercy's sake don't tell him so."

I pledged myself to profound secrecy, but walking home the remembrance of an uncanny gleam in her bold black eye put to flight my misgivings. I decided that Ajax was justified in using "pizon."

Upon Tuesday afternoon I deemed it expedient to remain at the ranch- house. About five, Jasperson, arrayed in his best, accompanied Ajax to the village. The lodge was to open its doors at 7.30; and at ten my brother returned alone, breathless and red in the face, the bearer of extraordinary tidings. I shall let him tell the story in his own words.

"The whole village," said he, "has been painted by Jasperson a lovely pigeon-blood red!" Then he sat down and laughed in the most uncontrollable and exasperating manner.

"By Jupiter!" he gasped; "I knew that whisky was wonderful stuff, but I never believed it could turn a worm into a Malay running amok." Then he laughed again till the tears rolled down his cheeks.

Between the gusts and gurgles of laughter a few more details leaked out. I present them connectedly. The kind reader will understand that allowance must be made for my brother. He is a seasoned vessel, but no man can drink our village nectar with impunity.

"Of course," he began, "I knew that, this being his last day, the boys would ask Jasperson to celebrate. So, mindful, of your precious reputation—I don't care a hang about my own—I kept in the background. Upon inquiry you'll find that it is generally conceded that I did my best to prevent what has happened. And Jasperson was foxey, too. He hung back, said he was going to join the lodge, and wouldn't indulge in anything stronger than Napa Soda. He had three rounds of that. Then he was persuaded by Jake Williams to try a glass of beer, and after that a bumper of strong, fruity port—the pure juice of the Californian grape. That warmed him up! At a quarter to six he took his first drink of whisky, and then the evil spirits of all the devils who manufacture it seemed to possess him. In less than half-an-hour he was the centre of a howling crowd, and none howled louder than he. He set up the drinks again and again. I tried to drag him away, and failed miserably. I'll be hanged if he didn't get hold of a six-shooter, and threatened to fill me with lead if I interfered. He told the boys he was going to join the lodge. That was the dominant note. He was going to join the lodge. He had come to town on purpose. How they cheered him! Then that scoundrel Jake Williams was inspired by Satan to ask him if he was provided with an initiation robe. And he actually persuaded Jasperson to remove his beautiful black clothes and to array himself in a Sonora blanket. Then they striped his poor white face with black and red paint, till he looked like an Apache. Honestly, I did my level best to quash the proceedings: I might as well have tried to bale out the Pacific with a pitchfork. At a quarter-past seven the Swiggarts drove into Paradise, and I wish you could have seen the Grand Secretary's face. She had no idea, naturally, that her Jasper was the artist so busily engaged in decorating the village. But she knew there was an awful row on, and I fancy she rather gloried in her own saintliness. Presently the lodge filled up, and I could see Miss Birdie standing on the porch looking anxiously around for the candidate. Finally I felt so sorry for the girl, that I made up my mind to give her a hint, so that she could slip quietly away. She greeted me warmly, and said that she supposed Mr. Jasperson was around 'somewheres,' and I said that he was. Then she spoke about the riot, and asked if I had seen a number of brutal cowboys abusing a poor Indian. She told me that her brothers and sisters inside the lodge were very distressed about it. And as she talked the yells grew louder, and I was convinced that the candidate was about to present himself. So I tried to explain the facts. But, confound it! she was so obtuse—for I couldn't blurt the truth right out—that, before she caught on, the procession arrived. The catechumen was seated upon an empty beer-barrel, placed upon a sort of float dragged by the boys. They had with them a big drum, that terrible bassoon of Uncle Jake's, and a cornet; the noise was something terrific. Well, Miss Birdie's a good plucked one! She stood on the steps and rebuked them. That voice of hers silenced the band. Before she was through talking you might have heard a pin drop. She rated them for a quarter of an hour, and all the good people in the lodge came out to listen and applaud. I was jammed up against her, and couldn't stir. At the end she invited them to come into the lodge to see a good man—I quote her verbatim—an upright citizen, a credit to his country and an ornament to society, take the pledge. When she stopped, Jasperson began, in that soft, silky voice of his. He thanked her, and said he was glad to know that he was held in such high esteem; that he cordially hoped the boys would come in, as he was paying for the banquet, and that after supper they might expect a real sociable time!

"That's all, but it was enough for the Grand Secretary. She gave a ghastly scream, and keeled over, right into my arms."

"And where," said I, "is Jasperson?"

"Jasperson," replied Ajax soberly, "is being removed in a spring-wagon to his own ranch. To-morrow he will be a very sick man, but I think I've got him out of his scrape."



VII

FIFTEEN FAT STEERS

"Uncle Jake says," murmured Ajax, "that Laban Swiggart has been 'milking' us ever since we bought this ranch."

Laban was our neighbour. A barbed-wire fence divided his sterile hills from our fertile valleys, and emphasised sharply the difference between a Government claim and a Spanish grant. The County Assessor valued the Swiggart ranch at the rate of one, and our domain at six dollars per acre. We owned two leagues of land, our neighbours but half a section. Yet, in consequence of dry seasons and low prices, we were hardly able to pay our bills, whereas the Swiggarts confounded all laws of cause and effect by living in comparative splendour and luxury.

"Uncle Jake believes that he stole our steers," continued Ajax, puffing slowly at his pipe.

Some two years before we had lost fifteen fat steers. We had employed Laban to look for them, and he had charged us thirty dollars for labours that were in vain.

"Ajax," said I, "we have eaten the Swiggarts' salt, not to mention their fatted chicks, their pickled peaches, their jams and jellies. It's an outrage to insinuate, as you do, that these kind neighbours are common thieves."

My brother looked quite distressed. "Of course Mrs. Swiggart can know nothing about it. She is a real good sort; the best wife and mother in the county. And I'm only quoting Uncle Jake. He says that fifteen steers at $30 a head make $450. Laban built a barn that spring, and put up a tank and windmill."

With this Parthian shot my brother left me to some sorry reflections. I cordially liked and respected Laban Swiggart and his family. He had married a Skenk. No name in our county smelled sweeter than Skenk: a synonym, indeed, for piety, deportment, shell-work, and the preserving of fruits. The Widow Skenk lived in San Lorenzo, hard by the Congregational Church; and it was generally conceded that the hand of one of her daughters in marriage was a certificate of character to the groom. No Skenk had been known to wed a drunkard, a blasphemer, or an evil liver. Moreover, Laban had been the first to welcome us—two raw Englishmen—to a country where inexperience is a sin. He had helped us over many a stile; he had saved us many dollars. And he had an honest face. Broad, benignant brows surmounted a pair of keen and kindly eyes; his nose proclaimed a sense of humour; his mouth and chin were concealed by a beard almost apostolic in its silky beauty. Could such a man be a thief?

The very next day Laban rode down his steep slopes and asked us to help him and his to eat a Christmas turkey. He said something, too, about a fine ham, and a "proposition," a money-making scheme, to be submitted to us after the banquet.

"Hard times are making you rich," said Ajax.

"My God!" he exclaimed passionately, "have I not been poor long enough? Have I not seen my wife and children suffering for want of proper food and clothing? If prosperity is coming my way, boys, I've paid the price for it, and don't you forget it."

His eyes were suffused with tears, and Ajax took note of it. My brother told me later that so tender a husband and father was assuredly no cattle-thief.

Upon Christmas Day we sat at meat for nearly two hours. Mrs. Doctor Tapper, the wife of the stout dentist of San Miguelito, was present. Of the three Misses Skenk she had made the best match—from a worldly point of view. She wore diamonds; she kept two hired girls; she entertained on a handsome scale, and never failed to invite her less fortunate sisters to her large and select parties—she was, in a word, a most superior person, and a devout church-member. To this lady Ajax made himself mightily agreeable.

"Now really," said she, "I do wish the doctor was here. He does so dearly love badinage. That, and bridgework, is his forte."

"And why isn't he here?" demanded my brother.

"He's hunting our bay mare. It broke out of the barn this morning. I told him that I wouldn't disappoint Alviry for an ark full of bay mares. I knew she would count on me to help her entertain you gentlemen."

"I hope your husband will find his mare," said Ajax. "We lost fifteen fat steers once, but we never found them."

"That's so," observed Mr. Swiggart. "And I wore myself out a-hunting 'em. They was stolen—sure."

"The wickedness of some folk passes my understanding," remarked Mrs. Tapper. "Well, we're told that the triumphing of the wicked is short, but—good Land!—Job never lived in this State."

"He'd been more to home in New England," said Laban slily. The Skenks were from Massachusetts, the Swiggarts from Illinois.

"There's a pit digged for such," continued Mrs. Tapper, ignoring the interruption, "a pit full o' brimstone and fire. Yes, sister, I will take one more slice of the ham. I never ate sweeter meat. Eastern, I presume, my dear?"

"No, sister. Laban cured that ham. Pork-packing was his trade back east."

Laban added: "Boys, I hope ye like that ham. I've a reason for asking."

We assured our host that the ham was superlatively good. Mince and pumpkin pies followed, coffee, then grace. As we rose from the table, Laban said pleasantly, "Boys, here are some imported cigars. We'll smoke outside."

Having, so to speak, soaped the ways, Mr. Swiggart launched his "proposition." He wished to pack bacon. Hogs, he pointed out, were selling at two cents a pound; bacon and hams at twelve and fifteen cents. We had some two hundred and fifty hogs ready for market. These Laban wanted to buy on credit. He proposed to turn them into lard, hams, and bacon, to sell the same to local merchants (thereby saving cost of transportation), and to divide the profits with us after the original price of the hogs was paid. This seemed a one-sided bargain. He was to do all the work; we should, in any case, get the market price for the hogs, while the profits were to be divided. However, our host explained that we took all the risk. If the bacon spoiled he would not agree to pay us a cent. With the taste of that famous ham in our mouths, this contingency seemed sufficiently remote; and we said as much.

"Well, I could rob ye right and left. Ye've got to trust me, and there's a saying: 'To trust is to bust.'"

He was so candid in explaining the many ways by which an unscrupulous man might take advantage of two ignorant Britons, that Ajax, not relishing the personal flavour of the talk, rose and strolled across to the branding-corral. When he returned he was unusually silent, and, riding home, he said thoughtfully: "I saw Laban's brand this afternoon. It is 81, and the 8 is the same size as our S. His ear-mark is a crop, which obliterates our swallow-fork. Queer—eh?"

"Not at all," I replied indignantly. "It's a social crime to eat, as you did to-day, three large helpings of turkey, and then——"

"Bosh!" he interrupted. "If Laban is an honest man, no harm has been done. If he stole our steers—and, mind you, I don't say he did—three slices off the breast of a turkey will hardly offset my interest in five tons of beef. As for this packing scheme, it sounds promising; but we lack figures. To-morrow we will drive into San Lorenzo, and talk to the Children of Israel. If Ikey Rosenbaum says that bacon is likely to rise or stay where it is, we will accept Laban's proposition."

The following morning we started early. The short cut to San Lorenzo lay through the Swiggart claim, and the road passed within a few yards of the house. We saw Mrs. Swiggart on the verandah, and offered to execute any commissions that she cared to entrust to two bachelors. In reply she said that she hated to ask favours, but—if we were going to town in a two-seater, would we be so very kind as to bring back her mother, Mrs. Skenk, who was ailing, and in need of a change. "Gran'ma's hard on the springs," observed Euphemia, Mrs. Swiggart's youngest girl, "but she'll tell you more stories than you can shake a stick at; not 'bout fairies, Mr. Ajax, but reel folks." We assured Mrs. Swiggart that we should esteem it a pleasure to give her mother a lift. Ajax had met the old lady at a church social some six months before, and, finding her a bonanza of gossip, had extracted some rich and curious ore.

In San Lorenzo we duly found Isaac Rosenbaum, who proved an optimist on the subject of bacon. Indeed, he chattered so glibly of rising prices and better times that the packing scheme was immediately referred to his mature judgment; and he not only recommended it heartily, but offered to handle our "stuff" on commission, or to buy it outright if it proved marketable. According to Ikey the conjunction "if" could not be ignored. Packing bacon beneath the sunny skies of Southern California was a speculation, he said. Swiggart, he added, ought to know what good hams were, for he bought the very best Eastern brand.

"What!" we cried simultaneously, "does Mr. Swiggart buy hams?"

Yes; it seemed that only a few days previously Laban had carefully selected the choicest ham in the store.

Ajax clutched my arm, and we fled.

"We have convicted the wretch," he said presently.

"The wretches," I amended.

The use of the plural smote him in the face.

"This is awful," he groaned. "Why, when you were away last summer, and I broke my leg, she nursed me like a mother."

"Women throw such sops to a barking conscience."

I was positive now that Laban had stolen the steers, and that his wife was privy to the theft. The lie about the ham had been doubtless concocted for purposes of plunder. The kindness and hospitality of our neighbours had been, after all, but a snare for tenderfeet.

* * * * *

We found Mrs. Skenk—whom we had seen on arrival—sitting on her front porch, satchel in hand, patiently awaiting us. Ajax helped her to mount—no light task, for she was a very heavy and enfeebled woman. I drove. As we trotted down the long straggling street our passenger spoke with feeling of the changes that had taken place in the old mission town.

"I've lived here thirty years. Twenty mighty hard ones as a married woman; and ten tol'able easy ones as a widder. Mr. Skenk was a saintly man, but tryin' to live with on account o' deefness and the azmy. I never see a chicken took with the gapes but I think o' Abram Skenk. Yes, Mr. Ajax, my daughters was all born here, 'ceptin' Alviry. She was born in Massachusetts. It did make a difference to the child. As a little girl she kep' herself to herself. And though I'd rather cut out my tongue than say a single word against Laban Swiggart, I do feel that he'd no business to pick the best in the basket. Favourite? No, sir; but I've said, many a time, that if Alviry went to her long home, I could not tarry here. Most women feel that way about the first-born. I've told Alviry to her face as she'd ought to have said 'No' to Laban Swiggart. Oh, the suffering that dear child has endured! It did seem till lately as if horse-tradin', cattle-raisin', and the butcher business was industries against which the Lord had set his face. Sairy married an undertaker; Samanthy couldn't refuse Doctor Tapper. And, rain or shine, folks must have teeth if they want to eat the steaks they sell in Californy, and likewise they must have caskets when their time comes. Yes, Alviry does take after me, Mr. Ajax. You're reel clever to say so. She ain't a talker, but brainy. You've seen her wax flowers? Yes; and the shell table with 'Bless our Home' on it, in pink cowries? Mercy sakes! There's a big storm a'comin' up."

The rain began to fall as she spoke; at first lightly, then more heavily as we began to cross the mountains. Long before we came to the Salinas River it was pouring down in torrents—an inch of water to the hour.

"It's a cloud-burst," said Mrs. Skenk, from beneath a prehistoric umbrella. "This'll flush the creeks good."

I whipped up the horses, thinking of the Salinas and its treacherous waters. In California, when the ground is well sodden, a very small storm will create a very big freshet. At such times most rivers are dangerous to ford on account of quicksands.

"I'll guess we'll make it," observed the old lady. "I've crossed when it was bilin' from bank to bank. I mind me when Jim Tarburt was drowned: No 'count, Jim. He'd no more sense than a yaller dog. 'Twas a big streak o' luck for his wife and babies, for Susannah Tarburt married old man Hopping, and when he died the very next year she was left rich. Then there was that pore thin school-marm, Ireen Bunker. She—"

And Mrs. Skenk continued with a catalogue, long as that of the ships in the Iliad, of travellers who, in fording the Salinas, had crossed that other grim river which flows for ever between time and eternity. We had reached the banks before she had drained her memory of those who had perished.

"'Tis bilin'," she muttered, as she peered up and down the yellow, foam-speckled torrent that roared defiance at us; "but, good Land! we can't go around now. Keep the horses' noses upstream, young man, and use your whip."

We plunged in.

What followed took place quickly. In mid-stream the near horse floundered into a quicksand and fell, swinging round the pole, and with it the off horse. I lashed the poor struggling beasts unmercifully, but the wagon settled slowly down—inch by inch. Death grinned us in the teeth. Then I heard Mrs. Skenk say, quite collectedly: "'Tis my fault, and my weight." Then Ajax roared out: "For God's sake, sit down, ma'am, sit down. SIT DOWN!" he screamed, his voice shrill above the bellowing, booming waters. A crash behind told me that he had flung her back into her seat. At the same moment the near horse found a footing; there was a mighty pull from both the terrified animals, the harness held, and the danger was over. When we reached the bank I looked round. Mrs. Skenk was smiling; Ajax was white as chalk.

"She w-w-would have s-s-sacrificed her l-l-life," he stammered. "If I hadn't grabbed her, she would be dead this minute."

"I reckon that's so," assented our passenger. "I took a notion to jump. My weight and fool advice was like to cost three lives. Better one, thinks I, than three. You saved my life, Mr. Ajax. Yes, you did. Alviry, I reckon, will thank you."

The rest of the journey was accomplished in silence. We drove up to the Swiggarts' house, and both Laban and his wife expressed great surprise at seeing us.

"You're wet through, mother," said Mrs. Swiggart, "and all of a tremble."

"Yes, Alviry, I've had a close call. This young man saved my life."

"Nonsense," said Ajax gruffly. "I did nothing of the sort, Mrs. Skenk."

"Yes, you did," she insisted, grimly obstinate.

"Any ways," said Mrs. Swiggart, "you'll lose what has been saved, mother, if you stand there in the rain."

For five days it rained steadily. Our creek, which for eleven months in the year bleated sweetly at the foot of the garden, bellowed loudly as any bull of Bashan, and kept us prisoners in the house, where we had leisure to talk and reflect. We had been robbed and humbugged, injured in pride and pocket, but the lagging hours anointed our wounds. Philosophy touched us with healing finger.

"If we prosecute we advertise our own greenness," said Ajax. "After all, if Laban did fleece us, he kept at bay other ravening wolves. And there is Mrs. Skenk. That plucky old soul must never hear the story. It would kill her."

So we decided to charge profit and loss with five hundred dollars, and to keep our eyes peeled for the future. By this time the skies had cleared, and the cataract was a creek again. The next day Mrs. Swiggart drove up to the barn, tied her horse to the hitching-post, and walked with impressive dignity up the garden path. We had time to note that something was amiss. Her dark eyes, beneath darker brows, intensified a curious pallor—that sickly hue which is seen upon the faces of those who have suffered grievously in mind or body. Ajax opened the door, and offered her a chair, but not his hand. She did not seem to notice the discourtesy. We asked if her mother had suffered from the effects of her wetting.

"Mother has been very sick," she replied, in a lifeless voice. "She's been at death's door. For five days I've prayed to Almighty God, and I swore that if He'd see fit to spare mother, I'd come down here, and on my bended knees"—she sank on the floor—"ask for your forgiveness as well as His. Don't come near me," she entreated; "let me say what must be said in my own way. When I married Laban Swiggart I was an honest woman, though full o' pride and conceit. And he was an honest man. To- day we're thieves and liars."

"Mrs. Swiggart," said Ajax, springing forward and raising her to her feet. "You must not kneel to us. There—sit down and say no more. We know all about it, and it's blotted out so far as we're concerned."

Her sobs—the vehement, heart-breaking sobs of a man rather than of a woman—gradually ceased. She continued in a softer voice: "It began 'way back, when I was a little girl. Mother set me on a pedestal; p'r'aps I'd ought to say I set myself there. It's like me to be blaming mother. Anyways, I just thought myself a little mite cleverer and handsomer and better than the rest o' the family. I aimed to beat Sarah and Samanthy at whatever they undertook, and Satan let me do it. Well, I did one good thing. I married a poor man because I loved him. I said to myself, 'He has brains, and so have I. The dollars will come.' But they didn't come. The children came.

"Then Sarah and Samanthy married. They married men o' means, and the gall and wormwood entered into my soul, and ate it away. Laban was awful good. He laughed and worked, but we couldn't make it. Times was too hard. I'd see Samanthy trailin' silks and satins in the dust, and —and my underskirts was made o' flour sacks. Yes—flour sacks! And me a Skenk!"

She paused. Neither Ajax nor I spoke. Comedy lies lightly upon all things, like foam upon the dark waters. Beneath are tragedy and the tears of time.

"Then you gentlemen came and bought land. They said you was lords, with money to burn. I told Laban to help you in the buyin' o' horses, and cattle, and barb-wire, and groceries. He got big commissions, but he kept off the other blood-suckers. We paid some of our debts, and Laban bought me a black silk gown. I couldn't rest till Samanthy had felt of it. She'd none better. If we'd only been satisfied with that!

"Well, that black silk made everything else look dreadful mean. 'Twas then you spoke to Laban about choosin' a brand. Satan put it into my head to say—S. It scart Laban. He was butcherin' then, and he surmised what I was after; I persuaded him 'twas for the children's sake. The first steer paid for Emanuel's baby clothes and cradle. They was finer than what Sarah bought for her child. Then we killed the others—one by one. Laban let 'em through the fence and then clapped our brand a-top o' yours. They paid for the tank and windmill. After that we robbed you when and where we could. We put up that bacon scheme meanin' to ship the stuff to the city and to tell you that it had spoiled on us. We robbed none else, only you. And we actually justified ourselves. We surmised 'twas fittin' that Britishers should pay for the support o' good Americans."

"I've read some of your histories," said Ajax drily, "and can understand that point of view."

"Satan fools them as fool themselves, Mr. Ajax. But the truth struck me and Laban when we watched by mother. She was not scared o' death. And she praised me to Laban, and said that I'd chosen the better part in marryin' a poor man for love, and that money hadn't made Christian women of Sarah and Samanthy. She blamed herself, dear soul, for settin' store overly much on dollars and cents. And she said she could die easier thinking that what was good in her had passed to me, and not what was evil. And, Mr. Ajax, that talk just drove me and Laban crazy. Well, mother ain't going to die, and we ain't neither—till we've paid back the last cent, we stole from you. Laban has figgered it out, principal and interest, and he's drawn a note for fifteen hundred dollars, which we've both signed. Here it is."

She tendered us a paper. Ajax stuck his hands into his pockets, and I did the same.

She misinterpreted the action. "You ain't going to prosecute?" she faltered.

Ajax nodded to me. Upon formal occasions he expects me, being the elder, to speak. If I say more or less than he approves I am severely taken to task.

"Mrs. Swiggart," I began, lamely enough, "I am sure that your husband can cure hams——"

Ajax looked at me indignantly. With the best of motives I had given a sore heart a grievous twist.

"We bought that ham," she said sadly, "a-purpose."

"No matter. We have decided to go into this packing business with your husband. When—er—experience goes into partnership with ignorance, ignorance expects to pay a premium. We have paid our premium."

She rose, and we held out our hands.

"No, gentlemen; I won't take your hands till that debt is cancelled. The piano and the team will go some ways towards it. Good-bye, and— thank you."



VIII

AN EXPERIMENT

My brother and I had just ridden off the range, when Uncle Jake told us that a tramp was hanging about the corrals and wished to speak with us.

"He looks like hell," concluded Uncle Jake.

We found him, a minute later, curled up on a heap of straw on the shady side of our big barn. He got up as we approached, and stared at us with a curious derisive intentness of glance, slightly disconcerting.

"You are Englishmen," he said quietly.

The man's voice was charming, with that unmistakable quality which challenges attention even in Mayfair, and enthrals it in the wilderness. We nodded, and he continued easily: "It is late, and some twenty-six miles, so I hear, to the nearest town. May I spend the night in your barn. I don't smoke—in barns."

While he was speaking, we had time to examine him. His appearance was inexpressibly shocking. Dirty, with a ragged six weeks' growth of dark hair upon his face, out at heel and elbows, shirtless and shiftless, he seemed to have reached the nadir of misery and poverty. Obviously one of the "broken brigade," he had seemingly lost everything except his manners. His amazing absence of self-consciousness made a clown of me. I blurted out a gruff "All right," and turned on my heel, unable to face the derisive smile upon the thin, pale lips. As I walked towards the house, I heard Ajax following me, but he did not speak till we had reached our comfortable sitting-room. Then, as gruffly as I, he said, "Humpty Dumpty—after the fall!"

We lit our pipes in silence, sensible of an extraordinary depression in the moral atmosphere. Five minutes before we had been much elated. The spring round-up of cattle was over; we had sold our bunch of steers at the top price; the money lay in our small safe; we had been talking of a modest celebration as we rode home over the foothills. Now, to use the metaphor of a cow county, we had been brought up with a sharp turn! Our prosperity, measured by the ill-fortune of a fellow- countryman, dwindled. Ajax summed up the situation: "He made me feel cheap."

"Why?" I asked, conscious of a similar feeling. Ajax smoked and reflected.

"It's like this," he answered presently. "That chap has been to the bottom of the pit, but he bobs up with a smile. Did you notice his smile?"

I rang the bell for Quong, our Chinese servant. When he came in I told him to prepare a hot bath. Ajax whistled; but as Quong went away, looking rather cross, my brother added, "Our clothes will fit him."

The bath-house was outside. Quong carried in a couple of pails full of boiling water; we laid out shaving tackle, an old suit of grey flannel, a pair of brown shoes, and the necessary under-linen. A blue bird's-eye tie, I remember, was the last touch. Then Ajax shrugged his shoulders and said significantly, "You know what this means?"

"Rehabilitation."

"Exactly. It may be fun for us to rig out this poor devil, but we must do more than feed and clothe him. Have you thought of that?"

I had not, and said so.

"This is an experiment. First and last, we're going to try to raise a man from the dead. If we get him on to his pins, we'll have to supply some crutches. Are you prepared to do that?"

"If you are."

"Right! Of course, he may refuse our help. It wouldn't surprise me a little bit if he did refuse."

When our preparations were complete, we returned to the barn. In a few words Ajax told the stranger of what had been done.

"After supper," he concluded, "we'll talk things over. Times are rather good just now, and something can be arranged."

"You're very kind," replied the tramp; "but I think you had better leave me in the barn."

"We can't," said my brother. "It's too beastly to think of you like this."

Nevertheless, we had to argue the matter, and I ought to add that although we prevailed in the end, both Ajax and I were aware that the man's acceptance of what we offered imposed an obligation upon us rather than upon him. As he was about to enter the bath-house, he turned with the derisive smile on his lips—

"If it amuses you," he murmured, "I shall have earned my bath and supper."

When he reappeared, nobody would have recognised him. So far, the experiment had succeeded beyond expectation. A new man walked into our sitting-room and glanced with intelligent interest at our household gods. Over the mantel-piece hung an etching of the Grand Canal at Venice. He surveyed it critically, putting up a pair of thin hands, as so to shut off an excess of light.

"Jimmie Whistler taught that fellow a trick or two," he remarked.

"You knew Whistler?"

"Oh yes."

We left him with Punch and a copy of an art journal. Ajax said to me, as we went back to the barn—

"I'll bet he's an artist of sorts."

It happened that we had in our cellar some fine claret; a few magnums of Leoville, '74, a present from a millionaire friend. We never drank it except upon great occasions. Ajax suggested a bottle of this elixir, not entirely out of charity. Such tipple would warm a graven image into speech, and my brother is inordinately curious. Our guest had nothing to give to us except his confidence, and that he had withheld.

We decanted the claret very carefully. As soon as our guest tasted it, he sighed and said quietly—

"I never expected to taste that again. It's Leoville, isn't it? And in exquisite condition."

He sipped the wine in silence, while I thought of the bundle of foul rags upon our rubbish heap. Ajax was talking shop, describing with some humour our latest deal, and the present high price of fat steers. Our guest listened politely, and when Ajax paused, he said ironically—

"Yours is a gospel of hard work. I dare say you have ridden two horses to a standstill to-day? Just so. I can't ride, or plough, or dig."

Ajax opened his lips to reply, and closed them. Our guest smiled.

"You are wondering what brought me to California. As a matter of fact, a private car. No, thanks, no more claret."

Later, we hoped he might melt into confidence over tobacco and toddy. He smoked one cigar slowly, and with evident appreciation; and, as he smoked, he stroked the head of Conan, our Irish setter, an ultra- particular person, who abominated tramps and strangers.

"Conan likes you," said Ajax abruptly.

"Is that his name? 'Conan,' eh? Good Conan, good dog!" Presently, he threw away the stub of his cigar and crossed to a small mirror. With a self-possession rather surprising, he began to examine himself.

"I am renewing acquaintance," he explained gravely, "with a man I have not seen for some months."

"By what name shall we call that man?" said Ajax boldly.

There was a slight pause, and then our guest said quietly—

"Would 'Sponge' do? 'Soapy Sponge'!"

"No," said my brother.

"My father's Christian name was John. Call me 'Johnson.'"

Accordingly, we called him Johnson for the rest of the evening. While the toddies were being consumed, Johnson observed the safe, a purchase of my brother's, in which we kept our papers and accounts and any money we might have. We had bought it, second-hand, and the vendor assured us it was quite burglar-proof. Ajax mentioned this to our guest. He laughed presently.

"No safe is burglar-proof," he said; "and most certainly not that one." He continued in a slightly different tone: "I suppose you are not imprudent enough to keep money in it. I mean gold. On a big, lonely ranch like this all your money affairs should be transacted with cheques."

"We are in the wilds," said Ajax, "and it may surprise you to learn that not so very long ago the Spanish-Californians who owned most of the land kept thousands of pounds in gold slugs. In the attic over this old 'adobe,' Don Juan Soberanes, from whom we bought this ranch, kept his cash in gold dust and slugs in a clothes-basket. His nephew used to take a tile off the roof, drop a big lump of tallow attached to a cord into the basket, and scoop up what he could. The man who bought our steers yesterday has no dealings with banks. He paid us in Uncle Sam's notes."

"Did he?"

Shortly afterwards we went to bed. As our guest turned into the spare room, he said whimsically—

"Have I entertained you? You have entertained me."

Ajax held out his hand. Johnson hesitated a moment—I recalled his hesitation afterwards—and then extended his hand, a singularly slender, well-formed member.

"You have the hand of an artist," said the ever-curious Ajax.

"The most beautiful hand I ever saw," replied Johnson imperturbably, "belonged to a—thief. Good-night."

Ajax frowned, turning down the corners of his lips in exasperation.

"I am eaten up with curiosity," he growled.

* * * * *

Next morning we routed out an old kit-bag, into which we packed a few necessaries. When we insisted upon Johnson accepting this, he shrugged his shoulders and turned the palms of his hands upwards, as if to show their emptiness.

"Why do you do this?" he asked, with a certain indescribable peremptoriness.

Ajax answered simply—

"A man must have clean linen. In the town you are going to, a boiled shirt is a credential. I should like to give you a letter to the cashier of the bank. He is a Britisher, and a good fellow. You are not strong enough for such work as we might offer you, but he will find you a billet."

"You positively overwhelm me," said Johnson. "You must be lineally descended from the Good Samaritan."

Ajax wrote the letter. A neighbour was driving in to town, as we knew, and I had arranged early that morning for our guest's transportation.

"And what am I to do in return for these favours?" Johnson demanded.

"Let us hear from you," said my brother.

"You shall," he replied.

Within half an hour Johnson had vanished in a buckboard and a cloud of fine white dust.

Upon the following afternoon I made an alarming discovery. Our burglar-proof safe had been opened, and the roll of notes was missing. I sought Ajax and told him. He allowed one word only to escape his lips—

"Johnson!"

"What tenderfeet we are!" I groaned.

"Lineal descendants of the Good Samaritan. Well, he has had a long start, but we must catch him."

"If it should not be—Johnson?"

"Conan would have nailed anybody else."

This was unanswerable, for Conan guarded our safe whenever there was anything in it worth guarding. Ajax never is so happy as when he can prove himself a prophet.

"I said he was an artist," he remarked. "The truth is, we tried an experiment upon the wrong man."

A few minutes later we took the road. We had not gone very far, however, before we met the neighbour who had driven Johnson to town. He pulled up and greeted us.

"Boys," said he. "I've a note for ye from that Britisher."

We took the note, but we did not open it till our Californian friend had disappeared. We had been butchered, but as yet the abominable fact that a compatriot had skinned us was something we wished to keep to ourselves.

"Great Minneapolis!" said Ajax. "Look at this!"

I saw a bank receipt for the exact sum which represented our bunch of steers.

"Is that all?" I asked.

Ajax ought to have shouted for joy, but he answered with a groan.

"Yes; there isn't a line of explanation. He said we should hear from him."

"And we have," I replied.

We returned to the ranch very soberly. When Ajax placed the bank receipt in the safe, he kicked that solid piece of furniture.

"We'll drive in comfortably to-morrow, and find out what we can," he observed.

"I don't think we shall find Johnson," I murmured.

Nor did we. The cashier testified to receiving the roll of notes, but not the letter of introduction. We hunted high and low for Johnson; but he was not.

"How did he get away without money?" he asked.

"He had money. I stuck a twenty-dollar bill into his coat pocket."

Before leaving town, we visited our gunmaker, with the intention of ordering some cartridges. By the merest chance, he spoke of Johnson.

"A Britisher was in here yesterday: somethin' o' the cut o' you boys."

"In a grey suit with a brown sombrero?"

"Sure enough."

"Did he buy cartridges?"

"He bought a six-shooter and a few cartridges."

"Oh!" said Ajax.

We found ourselves walking towards a secluded lot at the back of the Old Mission Church. Ajax asked me for an opinion which I was too dazed to express.

"We've done a silly thing, and perhaps a wicked thing," said my brother. "If that poor devil is lying dead in the brush-hills, I shall never forgive myself. We've given a starving man too heavy a meal."

"Bosh!" said I, believing every word he uttered—the echo, indeed, of my own thoughts. "I feel in my bones we are going to see Johnson again."

Twenty-four hours later we heard of him. The Santa Barbara stage had been held up by one man. It happened, however, that a remarkably bold and fearless driver was on the box. The stage had been stopped upon the top of a hill, but not exactly on the crest of it. The driver testified that the would-be robber had leaped out of a clump of manzanita, just as the heavy, lumbering coach was beginning to roll down the steep hill in front of it. To pull up at such a moment was difficult. The driver saw his chance and took it. He lashed the leaders and charged straight at the highwayman, who jumped aside to avoid being run over, and then, being a-foot, abandoned his enterprise. He was wearing a mask fashioned out of a gunny-sack, new overalls, and brown shoes! That same night, at Los Olivos, a man wearing brown shoes was arrested by a deputy sheriff because he refused to give a proper account of himself; but, on being searched, a letter to the cashier of the San Lorenzo bank, signed (so ran the paragraph) by a well-known and responsible Englishman, was found in the pocket of his coat. Whereupon he was allowed to go his ways, with many apologies from the over-zealous official.

"Johnson!" said Ajax.

"Did he hold up the stage?" I asked.

"Of course he did" replied my brother contemptuously.

After this incident, Johnson, who for a brief time had loomed so large in our imaginations, faded into a sort of wraith. Years passed, bringing with them great changes for me. I left California and settled in England. I wrote a book which excited a certain amount of interest, and inspired some of my old school-fellows to renew acquaintance with me. By this time I had forgotten Johnson. He was part of a distant country, where the fine white dust settles thickly upon all things and persons. In England, where the expected, so to speak, comes to five o'clock tea, such surprising individuals as Johnson appear—if they ever do appear—as creatures of a disordered fancy or digestive apparatus. Once I told the story at the Scribblers' Club to a couple of journalists. They winked at each other, and said politely that I spun a good yarn, for an amateur! "I never tell a story," said the elder of my critics, "till I've worked out a climax. You leave us at the top of a confounded hill in California, bang up in the clouds."

And then the climax flitted into sight, masquerading as a barrel of claret. The claret came from Bordeaux. It was Leoville Poyferre, 1899. Not a line of explanation came with it, but all charges were prepaid. I wrote to the shippers. A Monsieur had bought the wine and ordered it to be consigned to me. Readers of this story will say that I ought to have thought of Johnson. I didn't. I thanked effusively half a dozen persons in turn, who had not sent the claret; then, hopelessly befogged, I had the wine bottled.

However, Johnson sent the wine, for he told me so. I had been passing a few days at Blois, and was staring at the Fragonard which hangs in the gallery of the chateau, when a languid voice said, "This is the best thing here."

"Hullo, Johnson!" I exclaimed.

"Hullo!" said he.

He had recognised me first, and addressed the remark about the picture to me. Nobody else was near us. We shook hands solemnly, eyeing each other, noting the changes. Johnson appeared to be prosperous, but slightly Gallicised.

"How is—Ajax?" he murmured.

"Ajax has grown fat. Can't you dine with me?"

"It's my turn. We must order a bottle of Leoville at once."

"You sent that wine," I exclaimed. There was no note of interrogation in my voice. I knew.

"Yes," he said indifferently; "it will be worth drinking in about ten years' time."

We had an admirable dinner upon a terrace overhanging the Loire, but the measure of my enjoyment was stinted by Johnson's exasperating reticence concerning himself. He talked delightfully of the chateaux in Touraine; he displayed an intimate knowledge of French history and archaeology, but I was tingling with impatience to transport myself and him to California. And he knew this—the rogue!

Finally, as the soft silvery twilight encompassed us, he told what I wanted to know.

"My father was a manufacturer who married a Frenchwoman. My brothers have trodden carefully and securely in my father's footsteps. They are all fairly prosperous—smug, respectable fellows. I resemble my mother. After Eton and Christ Church I was pitchforked into the family business. For a time it absorbed my attention. I will tell you why later. Then, having mastered the really interesting part of it, I grew bored. I wanted to study art. After several scenes with my father, I was allowed to go my own way—a pleasant way, too, but it led downhill, you understand. I spent three winters in Venice. Then my father died, and I came into a small fortune, which I squandered. My mother helped me; then she died. My brothers cut me, condemning me as a Bohemian and a vagabond. I confess that I did take a malicious pleasure in rubbing their sleek fur the wrong way. Then I crossed the Atlantic as the guest of an American millionaire. He took me on in his own car to California. I started a studio in San Francisco—and a life class. That undid me, I found myself bankrupt. Then I fell desperately ill. Each day I felt the quicksands engulfing me."

"But your friends?" I interrupted.

"My friends? Yes, I had friends; but perhaps you will understand me, having seen to what depths I fell, that I couldn't bring myself to apply to my friends. Well, I was at my last gasp when I crawled up to your barn. I mean morally, for my strength was returning. You and your brother rode up. By God! I could have killed you!"

"Killed us?"

"You looked so fit, so prosperous, and I could read you both, could see in flaming capitals your pity, your contempt,—aye, and your disgust that a fellow-Englishman should be festering before your eyes. I asked for leave to spend the night in your barn, and you said, 'All right.' All right, when everything was so cruelly, so pitilessly the other way! Then you came back, taking for granted that I must accept whatever you offered. I wanted to refuse, but the words stuck in my throat. I followed you to the bath-house. Was I grateful? Not a bit. I decided that for your own amusement, and perhaps to staunch your English pride, which I had offended, you meant to lift a poor devil out of hell, so as to drop him again into deeper depths when the comedy was over——"