Flip and Found at Blazing Star | Page 7

altitudes was stayed a moment and
hesitated, for the victim was clearly the mysterious unknown. Curiosity
got the better of an extempore judge and jury.
"It was a fair fight," said the accused, not without some human vanity,
feeling that the camp hung upon his words, "and was settled by the man
az was peartest and liveliest with his weapon. We had a sort of
unpleasantness over at Lagrange the night afore, along of our both
hevin' a monotony of four aces. We had a clinch and a stamp around,
and when we was separated it was only a question of shootin' on sight.
He left Lagrange at sun up the next morning, and I struck across a bit o'
buckeye and underbrush and came upon him, accidental like, on the
Red Chief Road. I drawed when I sighted him, and called out. He
slipped from his mare and covered himself with her flanks, reaching for
his holster, but she rared and backed down on him across the road and
into the grass, where I got in another shot and fetched him."
"And you stole his mare?" suggested the Judge.
"I got away," said the gambler, simply.
Further questioning only elicited the fact that Joe did not know the
name or condition of his victim. He was a stranger in Lagrange.
It was a breezy afternoon, with some turbulency in the camp, and much
windy discussion over this unwonted delay of justice. The suggestion
that Joe should be first hanged for horse stealing and then tried for
murder was angrily discussed, but milder counsels were offered--that
the fact of the killing should be admitted only as proof of the theft. A
large party from Red Chief had come over to assist in judgment, among
them the coroner.
Cass Beard had avoided these proceedings, which only recalled an
unpleasant experience, and was wandering with pick, pan, and wallet
far from the camp. These accoutrements, as I have before intimated,
justified any form of aimless idleness under the equally aimless title of

"prospecting." He had at the end of three hours' relaxation reached the
highway to Red Chief, half hidden by blinding clouds of dust torn from
the crumbling red road at every gust which swept down the mountain
side. The spot had a familiar aspect to Cass, although some freshly-dug
holes near the wayside, with scattered earth beside them, showed the
presence of a recent prospector. He was struggling with his memory,
when the dust was suddenly dispersed and he found himself again at
the scene of the murder. He started: he had not put foot on the road
since the inquest. There lacked only the helpless dead man and the
contrasting figure of the alert young woman to restore the picture. The
body was gone, it was true, but as he turned he beheld Miss Porter, at a
few paces distant, sitting on her horse as energetic and observant as on
the first morning they had met. A superstitious thrill passed over him
and awoke his old antagonism.
She nodded to him slightly. "I came here to refresh my memory," she
said, "as Mr. Hornsby thought I might be asked to give my evidence
again at Blazing Star."
Cass carelessly struck an aimless blow with his pick against the sod and
did not reply.
"And you?" she queried.
"I stumbled upon the place just now while prospecting, or I shouldn't be
here."
"Then it was YOU made these holes?"
"No," said Cass, with ill-concealed disgust. "Nobody but a stranger
would go foolin' round such a spot."
He stopped, as the rude significance of his speech struck him, and
added surlily, "I mean--no one would dig here."
The girl laughed and showed a set of very white teeth in her square jaw.
Cass averted his face.

"Do you mean to say that every miner doesn't know that it's lucky to
dig wherever human blood has been spilt?"
Cass felt a return of his superstition, but he did not look up. "I never
heard it before," he said, severely.
"And you call yourself a California miner?"
"I do."
It was impossible for Miss Porter to misunderstand his curt speech and
unsocial manner. She stared at him and colored slightly. Lifting her
reins lightly, she said: "You certainly do not seem like most of the
miners I have met."
"Nor you like any girl from the East I ever met," he responded.
"What do you mean?" she asked, checking her horse.
"What I say," he answered, doggedly. Reasonable as this reply was, it
immediately struck him that it was scarcely dignified or manly. But
before he could explain himself Miss Porter was gone.
He met her again that very evening. The trial had been summarily
suspended by the appearance of the Sheriff of Calaveras and