Let me stay with youbeside you, she said imploringly.
She looked so broken, crushed, and spiritless, so unlike the woman of the morning that, albeit with an ill grace, he tacitly consented, and turned away to bring his blankets. But in the next moment she was at his side, following him like a dog, silent and wistful, and even offering to carry his burden. When he had built the fire, for which she had collected the pine-cones and broken branches near them, he sat down, folded his arms, and leaned back against the tree in reserved and deliberate silence.
Humble and submissive, she did not attempt to break in upon a reverie she could not help but feel had little kindliness to herself. As the fire snapped and sparkled, she pillowed her head upon a root, and lay still to watch it.
It rose and fell, and dying away at times to a mere lurid glow, and again, agitated by some breath scarcely perceptible to them, quickening into a roaring flame. When only the embers remained, a dead silence filled the wood. Then the first breath of morning moved the tangled canopy above, and a dozen tiny sprays and needles detached from the interlocked boughs winged their soft way noiselessly to the earth. A few fell upon the prostrate woman like a gentle benediction, and she slept. But even then, the young man, looking down, saw that the slender fingers were still aimlessly but rigidly twisted in the leather fringe of his hunting-shirt.
CHAPTER II
It was a peculiarity of the Carquinez Wood that it stood apart and distinct in its gigantic individuality. Even where the integrity of its own singular species was not entirely preserved, it admitted no inferior trees. Nor was there any diminishing fringe on its outskirts; the sentinels that guarded the few gateways of the dim trails were as monstrous as the serried ranks drawn up in the heart of the forest. Consequently, the red highway that skirted the eastern angle was bare and shadeless, until it slipped a league off into a watered valley and refreshed itself under lesser sycamores and willows. It was here the newly born city of Excelsior, still in its cradle, had, like an infant Hercules, strangled the serpentine North Fork of the American river, and turned its life current into the ditches and flumes of the Excelsior mines.
Newest of the new houses that seemed to have accidentally formed its single, straggling street was the residence of the Rev. Winslow Wynn, not unfrequently known as Father Wynn, pastor of the First Baptist church. The pastorage, as it was cheerfully called, had the glaring distinction of being built of brick, and was, as had been wickedly pointed out by idle scoffers, the only fireproof structure in town. This sarcasm was not, however, supposed to be particularly distasteful to Father Wynn, who enjoyed the reputation of being hail fellow, well met with the rough mining element, who called them by their Christian names, had been known to drink at the bar of the Polka Saloon while engaged in the conversion of a prominent citizen, and was popularly said to have no gospel starch about him. Certain conscious outcasts and transgressors were touched at this apparent unbending of the spiritual authority. The rigid tenets of Father Wynns faith were lost in the supposed catholicity of his humanity. A preacher that can jine a man when hes histin liquor into him, without jawin about it, ought to be allowed to wrestle with sinners and splash about in as much cold water as he likes, was the criticism of one of his converts. Nevertheless, it was true that Father Wynn was somewhat loud and intolerant in his tolerance. It was true that he was a little more rough, a little more frank, a little more hearty, a little more impulsive than his disciples. It was true that often the proclamation of his extreme liberality and brotherly equality partook somewhat of an apology. It is true that a few who might have been most benefited by this kind of gospel regarded him with a singular disdain. It is true that his liberality was of an ornamental, insinuating quality, accompanied with but little sacrifice; his acceptance of a collection taken up in a gambling saloon for the rebuilding of his church, destroyed by fire, gave him a popularity large enough, it must be confessed, to cover the sins of the gamblers themselves, but it was not proven that HE had ever organized any form of relief. But it was true that local history somehow accepted him as an exponent of mining Christianity, without the least reference to the opinions of the Christian miners themselves.
The Rev. Mr. Wynns liberal habits and opinions were not, however, shared by his only daughter, a motherless young lady of eighteen. Nellie Wynn was in the eye of Excelsior an unapproachable divinity, as inaccessible and cold as her father was impulsive and familiar. An atmosphere of chaste and proud virginity made itself felt even in the starched integrity of her spotless skirts, in her neatly gloved finger-tips, in her clear amber eyes, in her imperious red lips, in her sensitive nostrils. Need it be said that the youth and middle age of Excelsior were madly, because apparently hopelessly, in love with her? For the rest, she had been expensively educated, was profoundly ignorant in two languages, with a trained misunderstanding of music and painting, and a natural and faultless taste in dress.
The Rev. Mr. Wynn was engaged in a characteristic hearty parting with one of his latest converts, upon his own doorstep, with admirable al fresco effect. He had just clapped him on the shoulder. Good-by, good-by, Charley, my boy, and keep in the right path; not up, or down, or round the gulch, you knowha, ha!but straight across lots to the shining gate. He had raised his voice under the stimulus of a few admiring spectators, and backed his convert playfully against the wall. You see! were goin in to win, you bet. Good-by! Id ask you to step in and have a chat, but Ive got my work to do, and so have you. The gospel mustnt keep us from that, must it, Charley? Ha, ha!
The convert (who elsewhere was a profane expressman, and had become quite imbecile under Mr. Wynns active heartiness and brotherly horse-play before spectators) managed, however, to feebly stammer with a blush something about Miss Nellie.
Ah, Nellie. She, too, is at her taskstrimming her lampyou know, the parable of the wise virgins, continued Father Wynn hastily, fearing that the convert might take the illustration literally. There, theregood-by. Keep in the right path. And with a parting shove he dismissed Charley and entered his own house.
That wise virgin, Nellie, had evidently finished with the lamp, and was now going out to meet the bridegroom, as she was fully dressed and gloved, and had a pink parasol in her hand, as her father entered the sitting-room. His bluff heartiness seemed to fade away as he removed his soft, broad-brimmed hat and glanced across the too fresh-looking apartment. There was a smell of mortar still in the air, and a faint suggestion that at any moment green grass might appear between the interstices of the red-brick hearth. The room, yielding a little in the point of coldness, seemed to share Miss Nellies fresh virginity, and, barring the pink parasol, set her off as in a vestals cell.
I supposed you wouldnt care to see Brace, the expressman, so I got rid of him at the door, said her father, drawing one of the new chairs towards him slowly, and sitting down carefully, as if it were a hitherto untried experiment.
Miss Nellies face took a tint of interest. Then he doesnt go with the coach to Indian Spring to-day?
No; why?
I thought of going over myself to get the Burnham girls to come to choir-meeting, replied Miss Nellie carelessly, and he might have been company.
Hed go now, if he knew you were going, said her father; but its just as well he shouldnt be needlessly encouraged. I rather think that Sheriff Dunn is a little jealous of him. By the way, the sheriff is much better. I called to cheer him up to-day (Mr. Wynn had in fact tumultuously accelerated the sick mans pulse), and he talked of you, as usual. In fact, he said he had only two things to get well for. One was to catch and hang that woman Teresa, who shot him; the othercant you guess the other? he added archly, with a faint suggestion of his other manner.
Miss Nellie coldly could not.
The Rev. Mr. Wynns archness vanished. Dont be a fool, he said dryly. He wants to marry you, and you know it.
Most of the men here do, responded Miss Nellie, without the least trace of coquetry. Is the wedding or the hanging to take place first, or together, so he can officiate at both?
His share in the Union Ditch is worth a hundred thousand dollars, continued her father; and if he isnt nominated for district judge this fall, hes bound to go to the legislature, anyway. I dont think a girl with your advantages and education can afford to throw away the chance of shining in Sacramento, San Francisco, or, in good time, perhaps even Washington.
Miss Nellies eyes did not reflect entire disapproval of this suggestion, although she replied with something of her fathers practical quality.
Mr. Dunn is not out of his bed yet, and they say Teresas got away to Arizona, so there isnt any particular hurry.
Perhaps not; but see here, Nellie, Ive some important news for you. You know your young friend of the Carquinez WoodsDorman, the botanist, eh? Well, Brace knows all about him. And what do you think he is?
Miss Nellie took upon herself a few extra degrees of cold, and didnt know.
An Injin! Yes, an out-and-out Cherokee. You see he calls himself DormanLow Dorman. Thats only French for Sleeping Water, his Injin name!Low Dorman.
You mean LEau Dormante, said Nellie.
Thats what I said. The chief called him Sleeping Water when he was a boy, and one of them French Canadian trappers translated it into French when he brought him to California to school. But hes an Injin, sure. No wonder he prefers to live in the woods.
Well? said Nellie.
Well, echoed her father impatiently, hes an Injin, I tell you, and you cant of course have anything to do with him. He mustnt come here again.
But you forget, said Nellie imperturbably, that it was you who invited him here, and were so much exercised over him. You remember you introduced him to the Bishop and those Eastern clergymen as a magnificent specimen of a young Californian. You forget what an occasion you made of his coming to church on Sunday, and how you made him come in his buckskin shirt and walk down the street with you after service!
Yes, yes, said the Rev. Mr. Wynn, hurriedly.
And, continued Nellie carelessly, how you made us sing out of the same book Children of our Fathers Fold, and how you preached at him until he actually got a color!
Yes, said her father; but it wasnt known then he was an Injin, and they are frightfully unpopular with those Southwestern men among whom we labor. Indeed, I am quite convinced that when Brace said the only good Indian was a dead one his expression, though extravagant, perhaps, really voiced the sentiments of the majority. It would be only kindness to the unfortunate creature to warn him from exposing himself to their rude but conscientious antagonism.
Perhaps youd better tell him, then, in your own popular way, which they all seem to understand so well, responded the daughter. Mr. Wynn cast a quick glance at her, but there was no trace of irony in her facenothing but a half-bored indifference as she walked toward the window.
I will go with you to the coach-office, said her father, who generally gave these simple paternal duties the pronounced character of a public Christian example.
Its hardly worth while, replied Miss Nellie. Ive to stop at the Watsons, at the foot of the hill, and ask after the baby; so I shall go on to the Crossing and pick up the coach when it passes. Good-by.
Nevertheless, as soon as Nellie had departed, the Rev. Mr. Wynn proceeded to the coach-office, and publicly grasping the hand of Yuba Bill, the driver, commended his daughter to his care in the name of the universal brotherhood of man and the Christian fraternity. Carried away by his heartiness, he forgot his previous caution, and confided to the expressman Miss Nellies regrets that she was not to have that gentlemans company. The result was that Miss Nellie found the coach with its passengers awaiting her with uplifted hats and wreathed smiles at the Crossing, and the box seat (from which an unfortunate stranger, who had expensively paid for it, had been summarily ejected) at her service beside Yuba Bill, who had thrown away his cigar and donned a new pair of buckskin gloves to do her honor. But a more serious result to the young beauty was the effect of the Rev. Mr. Wynns confidences upon the impulsive heart of Jack Brace, the expressman. It has been already intimated that it was his day off. Unable to summarily reassume his usual functions beside the driver without some practical reason, and ashamed to go so palpably as a mere passenger, he was forced to let the coach proceed without him. Discomfited for the moment, he was not, however, beaten. He had lost the blissful journey by her side, which would have been his professional right, butshe was going to Indian Spring! could he not anticipate her there? Might they not meet in the most accidental manner? And what might not come from that meeting away from the prying eyes of their own town? Mr. Brace did not hesitate, but saddling his fleet Buckskin, by the time the stage-coach had passed the Crossing in the high-road he had mounted the hill and was dashing along the cutoff in the same direction, a full mile in advance. Arriving at Indian Spring, he left his horse at a Mexican posada on the confines of the settlement, and from the piled debris of a tunnel excavation awaited the slow arrival of the coach. On mature reflection he could give no reason why he had not boldly awaited it at the express office, except a certain bashful consciousness of his own folly, and a belief that it might be glaringly apparent to the bystanders. When the coach arrived and he had overcome this consciousness, it was too late. Yuba Bill had discharged his passengers for Indian Spring and driven away. Miss Nellie was in the settlement, but where? As time passed he became more desperate and bolder. He walked recklessly up and down the main street, glancing in at the open doors of shops, and even in the windows of private dwellings. It might have seemed a poor compliment to Miss Nellie, but it was an evidence of his complete preoccupation, when the sight of a female face at a window, even though it was plain or perhaps painted, caused his heart to bound, or the glancing of a skirt in the distance quickened his feet and his pulses. Had Jack contented himself with remaining at Excelsior he might have vaguely regretted, but as soon become as vaguely accustomed to, Miss Nellies absence. But it was not until his hitherto quiet and passive love took this first step of action that it fully declared itself. When he had made the tour of the town a dozen times unsuccessfully, he had perfectly made up his mind that marriage with Nellie or the speedy death of several people, including possibly himself, was the only alternative. He regretted he had not accompanied her; he regretted he had not demanded where she was going; he contemplated a course of future action that two hours ago would have filled him with bashful terror. There was clearly but one thing to doto declare his passion the instant he met her, and return with her to Excelsior an accepted suitor, or not to return at all.