Flip and Found at Blazing Star | Page 8

his posse,
who took Joe from that self-constituted tribunal of Blazing Star and set
his face southward and toward authoritative although more cautious
justice. But not before the evidence of the previous inquest had been
read, and the incident of the ring again delivered to the public.
It is said the prisoner burst into an incredulous laugh and asked to see
this mysterious waif. It was handed to him. Standing in the very
shadow of the gallows tree--which might have been one of the pines
that sheltered the billiard room in which the Vigilance Committee held
their conclave--the prisoner gave way to a burst of merriment, so
genuine and honest that the judge and jury joined in automatic
sympathy. When silence was restored an explanation was asked by the
Judge. But there was no response from the prisoner except a subdued

chuckle.
"Did this ring belong to you?" asked the Judge, severely, the jury and
spectators craning their ears forward with an expectant smile already on
their faces. But the prisoner's eyes only sparkled maliciously as he
looked around the court.
"Tell us, Joe," said a sympathetic and laughter-loving juror, under his
breath. "Let it out and we'll make it easy for you."
"Prisoner," said the Judge, with a return of official dignity, "remember
that your life is in peril. Do you refuse?"
Joe lazily laid his arm on the back of his chair with (to quote the words
of an animated observer) "the air of having a Christian hope and a
sequence flush in his hand," and said: "Well, as I reckon I'm not up yer
for stealin' a ring that another man lets on to have found, and as fur as I
kin see, hez nothin' to do with the case, I do!" And as it was here that
the Sheriff of Calaveras made a precipitate entry into the room, the
mystery remained unsolved.
The effect of this freshly-important ridicule on the sensitive mind of
Cass might have been foretold by Blazing Star had it ever taken that
sensitiveness into consideration. He had lost the good humor and easy
pliability which had tempted him to frankness, and he had gradually
become bitter and hard. He had at first affected amusement over his
own vanished day dream--hiding his virgin disappointment in his own
breast; but when he began to turn upon his feelings he turned upon his
comrades also. Cass was for a while unpopular. There is no ingratitude
so revolting to the human mind as that of the butt who refuses to be one
any longer. The man who rejects that immunity which laughter
generally casts upon him and demands to be seriously considered
deserves no mercy.
It was under these hard conditions that Cass Beard, convicted of overt
sentimentalism, aggravated by inconsistency, stepped into the Red
Chief coach that evening. It was his habit usually to ride with the driver,
but the presence of Hornsby and Miss Porter on the box seat changed

his intention. Yet he had the satisfaction of seeing that neither had
noticed him, and as there was no other passenger inside, he stretched
himself on the cushion of the back seat and gave way to moody
reflections. He quite determined to leave Blazing Star, to settle himself
seriously to the task of money getting, and to return to his comrades,
some day, a sarcastic, cynical, successful man, and so overwhelm them
with confusion. For poor Cass had not yet reached that superiority of
knowing that success would depend upon his ability to forego his past.
Indeed, part of his boyhood had been cast among these men, and he
was not old enough to have learned that success was not to be gauged
by their standard. The moon lit up the dark interior of the coach with a
faint poetic light. The lazy swinging of the vehicle that was bearing
him away--albeit only for a night and a day--the solitude, the glimpses
from the window of great distances full of vague possibilities, made the
abused ring potent as that of Gyges. He dreamed with his eyes open.
From an Alnaschar vision he suddenly awoke. The coach had stopped.
The voices of men, one in entreaty, one in expostulation, came from the
box. Cass mechanically put his hand to his pistol pocket.
"Thank you, but I INSIST upon getting down."
It was Miss Porter's voice. This was followed by a rapid, half-
restrained interchange of words between Hornsby and the driver. Then
the latter said, gruffly,--
"If the lady wants to ride inside, let her."
Miss Porter fluttered to the ground. She was followed by Hornsby.
"Just a minit, Miss," he expostulated, half shamedly, half brusquely,
"ye don't onderstand me. I only--"
But Miss Porter had jumped into the coach.
Hornsby placed his hand on the handle