From Sand Hill to Pine. Bret Harte
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don't understand,” he replied, struck by her manner.
“Ye ain't very complimentary, or you'd allow that other folks might be wantin' what you took just now, and might consider you was poachin',” she returned gravely. “My best and strongest holt among those men is that uncle Harry would kill the first one who tried anything like that on—and they know it. That's how I get all the liberty I want here, and can come and go alone as I like.”
Brice's face flushed quickly with genuine shame and remorse. “Do forgive me,” he said hurriedly. “I didn't think—I'm a brute and a fool!”
“Uncle Harry allowed you was either drunk or a born idiot when you was promenadin' into the valley just now,” she said, with a smile.
“And what did you think?” he asked a little uneasily.
“I thought you didn't look like a drinkin' man,” she answered audaciously.
Brice bit his lip and walked on silently, at which she cast a sidelong glance under her widely spaced heavy lashes and said demurely, “I thought last night it was mighty good for you to stand up for your frien' Yuba Bill, and then, after ye knew who I was, to let the folks see you kinder cottoned to me too. Not in the style o' that land-grabber Heckshill, nor that peart newspaper man, neither. Of course I gave them as good as they sent,” she went on, with a little laugh, but Brice could see that her sensitive lip in profile had the tremulous and resentful curve of one who was accustomed to slight and annoyance. Was it possible that this reckless, self-contained girl felt her position keenly?
“I am proud to have your good opinion,” he said, with a certain respect mingled with his admiring glance, “even if I have not your uncle's.”
“Oh, he likes you well enough, or he wouldn't have hearkened to you a minute,” she said quickly. “When you opened out about them greenbacks, I jes' clutched my cheer SO,” she illustrated her words with a gesture of her hands, and her face actually seemed to grow pale at the recollection—“and I nigh started up to stop ye; but that idea of Yuba Bill bein' robbed TWICE I think tickled him awful. But it was lucky none o' the gang heard ye or suspected anything. I reckon that's why he sent me with you—to keep them from doggin' you and askin' questions that a straight man like you would be sure to answer. But they daren't come nigh ye as long as I'm with you!” She threw back her head and rose-crested hat with a mock air of protection that, however, had a certain real pride in it.
“I am very glad of that, if it gives me the chance of having your company alone,” returned Brice, smiling, “and very grateful to your uncle, whatever were his reasons for making you my guide. But you have already been that to me,” and he told her of the footprints. “But for you,” he added, with gentle significance, “I should not have been here.”
She was silent for a moment, and he could only see the back of her head and its heavy brown coils. After a pause she asked abruptly, “Where's your handkerchief?”
He took it from his pocket; her ingenious uncle's bullet had torn rather than pierced the cambric.
“I thought so,” she said, gravely examining it, “but I kin mend it as good as new. I reckon you allow I can't sew,” she continued, “but I do heaps of mendin', as the digger squaw and Chinamen we have here do only the coarser work. I'll send it back to you, and meanwhiles you keep mine.”
She drew a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him. To his great surprise it was a delicate one, beautifully embroidered, and utterly incongruous to her station. The idea that flashed upon him, it is to be feared, showed itself momentarily in his hesitation and embarrassment.
She gave a quick laugh. “Don't be frightened. It's bought and paid for. Uncle Harry don't touch passengers' fixin's; that ain't his style. You oughter know that.” Yet in spite of her laugh, he could see the sensitive pout of her lower lip.
“I was only thinking,” he said hurriedly and sympathetically, “that it was too fine for me. But I will be proud to keep it as a souvenir of you. It's not too pretty for THAT!”
“Uncle gets me these things. He don't keer what they cost,” she went on, ignoring the compliment. “Why, I've got awfully fine gowns up there that I only wear when I go to Marysville oncet in a while.”
“Does he take you there?” asked Brice.
“No!” she answered quietly. “Not”—a little defiantly—“that he's afeard, for they can't prove anything against him; no man kin swear to him, and thar ain't an officer that keers to go for him. But he's that shy for ME he don't keer to have me mixed with him.”
“But nobody recognizes you?”
“Sometimes—but I don't keer for that.” She cocked her hat a little audaciously, but Brice noticed that her arms afterwards dropped at her side with the same weary gesture he had observed before. “Whenever I go into shops it's always 'Yes, miss,' and 'No, miss,' and 'Certainly, Miss Dimwood.' Oh, they're mighty respectful. I reckon they allow that Snapshot Harry's rifle carries far.”
Presently she faced him again, for their conversation had been carried on in profile. There was a critical, searching look in her brown eyes.
“Here I'm talkin' to you as if you were one”—Mr. Brice was positive she was going to say “one of the gang,” but she hesitated and concluded, “one of my relations—like cousin Hiram.”
“I wish you would think of me as being as true a friend,” said the young man earnestly.
She did not reply immediately, but seemed to be examining the distance. They were not far from the canyon now, and the river bank. A fringe of buckeyes hid the base of the mountain, which had begun to tower up above them to the invisible stage road overhead. “I am going to be a real guide to you now,” she said suddenly. “When we reach that buckeye corner and are out of sight, we will turn into it instead of going through the canyon. You shall go up the mountain to the stage road, from THIS side.”
“But it is impossible!” he exclaimed, in astonishment. “Your uncle said so.”
“Coming DOWN, but not going up,” she returned, with a laugh. “I found it, and no one knows it but myself.”
He glanced up at the towering cliff; its nearly perpendicular flanks were seamed with fissures, some clefts deeply set with stunted growths of thorn and “scrub,” but still sheer and forbidding, and then glanced back at her incredulously. “I will show you,” she said, answering his look with a smile of triumph. “I haven't tramped over this whole valley for nothing! But wait until we reach the river bank. They must think that we've gone through the canyon.”
“They?
“Yes—any one who is watching us,” said the girl dryly.
A few steps further on brought them to the buckeye thicket, which extended to the river bank and mouth of the canyon. The girl lingered for a moment ostentatiously before it, and then, saying “Come,” suddenly turned at right angles into the thicket. Brice followed, and the next moment they were hidden by its friendly screen from the valley. On the other side rose the mountain wall, leaving a narrow trail before them. It was composed of the rocky debris and fallen trees of the cliff, from which buckeyes and larches were now springing. It was uneven, irregular, and slowly ascending; but the young girl led the way with the free footstep of a mountaineer, and yet a grace that was akin to delicacy. Nor could he fail to notice that, after the Western girl's fashion, she was shod more elegantly and lightly than was consistent with the rude and rustic surroundings. It was the same slim shoe-print which had guided him that morning. Presently she stopped, and seemed to be gazing curiously at the cliff side. Brice followed the direction of her eyes. On a protruding bush at the edge of one of the wooded clefts of the mountain flank something was hanging, and in the freshening southerly wind was flapping heavily, like a raven's wing, or as if still saturated with the last night's rain. “That's mighty queer!” said Flo, gazing intently at the unsightly and incongruous attachment to the shrub, which had a vague, weird suggestion.