further on they came in view of Skinner's, lying like a dingy forgotten
winter snowdrift on the mountain shelf.
It contained a post-office, tavern, blacksmith's shop, "general store,"
and express-office, scarcely a dozen buildings in all, but all
differing from Collinson's Mill in some vague suggestion of vitality,
as if the daily regular pulse of civilization still beat, albeit
languidly, in that remote extremity. There was anticipation and
accomplishment twice a day; and as Key and Collinson rode up to the
express-office, the express-wagon was standing before the door ready to
start to meet the stagecoach at the cross-roads three miles away. This
again seemed a special providence to Key. He had a brief official
communication with Skinner as registrar, and duly recorded his claim;
he had a hasty and confidential aside with Skinner as general
storekeeper, and such was the unconscious magnetism developed by this
embryo millionaire that Skinner extended the necessary credit to
Collinson on Key's word alone. That done, he rejoined Collinson in high
spirits with the news, adding cheerfully, "And I dare say, if you want
any further advances Skinner will give them to you on Parker's draft."
"You mean that bit o' paper that chap left," said Collinson gravely.
"Yes."
"I tore it up."
"You tore it up?" ejaculated Key.
"You hear me? Yes!" said Collinson.
Key stared at him. Surely it was again providential that he had not
intrusted his secret to this utterly ignorant and prejudiced man! The
slight twinges of conscience that his lie about the slippers had caused
him disappeared at once. He could not have trusted him even in that;
it would have been like this stupid fanatic to have prevented Key's
preemption of that claim, until he, Collinson, had satisfied himself of
the whereabouts of the missing proprietor. Was he quite sure that
Collinson would not revisit the spot when he had gone? But he was
ready for the emergency.
He had intended to leave his horse with Skinner as security for
Collinson's provisions, but Skinner's liberality had made this
unnecessary, and he now offered it to Collinson to use and keep for him
until called for. This would enable his companion to "pack" his goods
on the mule, and oblige him to return to the mill by the wagon-road and
"outside trail," as more commodious for the two animals.
"Ye ain't afeared o' the road agents?" suggested a bystander; "they
just swarm on galloper's Ridge, and they 'held up' the down stage only
last week."
"They're not so lively since the deputy-sheriff's got a new idea about
them, and has been lying low in the brush near Bald Top," returned
Skinner. "Anyhow, they don't stop teams nor 'packs' unless there's a
chance of their getting some fancy horseflesh by it; and I reckon thar
ain't much to tempt them thar," he added, with a satirical side glance
at his customer's cattle. But Key was already standing in the
express-wagon, giving a farewell shake to his patient companion's hand,
and this ingenuous pleasantry passed unnoticed. Nevertheless, as the
express-wagon rolled away, his active fancy began to consider this new
danger that might threaten the hidden wealth of his claim. But he
reflected that for a time, at least, only the crude ore would be taken
out and shipped to Marysville in a shape that offered no profit to the
highwaymen. Had it been a gold mine!--but here again was the
interposition of Providence!
A week later Preble Key returned to Skinner's with a foreman and ten
men, and an unlimited credit to draw upon at Marysville! Expeditions of
this kind created no surprise at Skinner's. Parties had before this
entered the wilderness gayly, none knew where or what for; the sedate
and silent woods had kept their secret while there; they had
evaporated, none knew when or where--often, alas! with an unpaid
account at Skinner's. Consequently, there was nothing in Key's party
to challenge curiosity. In another week a rambling, one-storied shed
of pine logs occupied the site of the mysterious ruins, and contained
the party; in two weeks excavations had been made, and the whole face
of the outcrop was exposed; in three weeks every vestige of former
tenancy which the fire had not consumed was trampled out by the alien
feet of these toilers of the "Sylvan Silver Hollow Company." None of
Key's former companions would have recognized the hollow in its
blackened leveling and rocky foundation; even Collinson would not have
remembered this stripped and splintered rock, with its heaps of fresh
debris, as the place where he had overtaken Key. And Key himself had
forgotten, in his triumph, everything but the chance experiment that
had led to his success.
Perhaps it was well, therefore, that one night, when the darkness had
mercifully fallen upon this scene of sylvan desolation, and its still
more incongruous and unsavory human restoration, and the low murmur of
the pines occasionally swelled up from the unscathed mountain-side, a
loud shout and the trampling of horses' feet awoke the dwellers in the
shanty. Springing to their feet, they hurriedly seized their weapons
and rushed out, only to be confronted by a dark, motionless ring of
horsemen, two flaming torches of pine knots, and a low but distinct
voice of authority. In their excitement, half-awakened suspicion, and
confusion, they were affected by its note of calm preparation and
conscious power.
"Drop those guns--hold up your hands! We've got every man of you
covered."
Key was no coward; the men, though flustered, were not cravens: but
they obeyed. "Trot out your leader! Let him stand out there, clear,
beside that torch!"
One of the gleaming pine knots disengaged itself from the dark circle
and moved to the centre, as Preble Key, cool and confident, stepped
beside it.
"That will do," said the immutable voice. "Now, we want Jack Riggs,
Sydney Jack, French Pete, and One-eyed Charley."
A vivid reminiscence of the former night scene in the hollow--of his
own and his companions voices raised in the darkness--flashed across
Key. With an instinctive premonition that this invasion had something
to do with the former tenant, he said calmly:--
"Who wants them?"
"The State of California," said the voice.
"The State of California must look further," returned Key in his old
pleasant voice; "there are no such names among my party."
"Who are you?"
"The manager of the 'Sylvan Silver Hollow Company,' and these are my
workmen."
There was a hurried movement, and the sound of whispering in the
hitherto dark and silent circle, and then the voice rose again:
"You have the papers to prove that?"
"Yes, in the cabin. And you?"
"I've a warrant to the sheriff of Sierra."
There was a pause, and the voice went on less confidently:--
"How long have you been here?"
"Three weeks. I came here the day of the fire and took up this claim."
"There was no other house here?"
"There were ruins,--you can see them still. It may have been a
burnt-up cabin."
The voice disengaged itself from the vague background and came slowly
forwards:--
"It was a den of thieves. It was the hiding-place of Jack Riggs and
his gang of road agents. I've been hunting this spot for three weeks.
And now the whole thing's up!"
There was a laugh from Key's men, but it was checked as the owner of
the voice slowly ranged up beside the burning torch and they saw his
face. It was dark and set with the defeat of a brave man.
"Won't you come in and take something?" said Key kindly.
"No. It's enough fool work for me to have routed ye out already. But I
suppose it's all in my d--d day's work! Good-night! Forward there!
Get!"
The two torches danced forwards, with the trailing off of vague shadows
in dim procession; there was a clatter over the rocks and they were
gone. Then, as Preble Key gazed after them, he felt that with them had
passed the only shadow that lay upon his great fortune; and with the
last tenant of the hollow a proscribed outlaw and fugitive, he was
henceforth forever safe in his claim and his discovery. And yet, oddly
enough, at that moment, as he turned away, for the first time in three
weeks there passed before his fancy with a stirring of reproach a
vision of the face that he had seen at the window.
CHAPTER III.
Of the great discovery in Sylvan Silver Hollow it would seem that
Collinson as yet knew nothing. In spite of Key's fears that he might
stray there on his return from Skinner's, he did not, nor did he
afterwards revisit the locality. Neither the news of the registry of
the claim nor the arrival of Key's workmen ever reached him. The few
travelers who passed his mill came from the valley to cross the Divide
on their way to Skinner's, and returned by the longer but easier detour
of the stage-road over Galloper's Ridge. He had no chance to
participate in the prosperity that flowed from the opening of the mine,
which plentifully besprinkled Skinner's settlement; he was too far away
to profit even by the chance custom of Key's Sabbath wandering workmen.
His isolation from civilization (for those who came to him from the
valley were rude Western emigrants like himself) remained undisturbed.
The return of the prospecting party to his humble hospitality that
night had been an exceptional case; in his characteristic simplicity he
did not dream that it was because they had nowhere else to go in their
penniless condition. It was an incident to be pleasantly remembered,
but whose nonrecurrence did not disturb his infinite patience. His
pork barrel and flour sack had been replenished for other travelers;
his own wants were few.
It was a day or two after the midnight visit of the sheriff to Silver
Hollow that Key galloped down the steep grade to Collinson's. He was
amused, albeit, in his new importance, a little aggrieved also, to find
that Collinson had as usual confounded his descent with that of the
generally detached boulder, and that he was obliged to add his voice to
the general uproar. This brought Collinson to his door.
"I've had your hoss hobbled out among the chickweed and clover in the
green pasture back o' the mill, and he's picked up that much that he's
lookin' fat and sassy," he said quietly, beginning to mechanically
unstrap Key's bridle, even while his guest was in the act of
dismounting. "His back's quite healed up."
Key could not restrain a shrug of impatience. It was three weeks since
they had met,--three weeks crammed with excitement, energy,
achievement, and fortune to Key; and yet this place and this man were
as stupidly unchanged as when he had left them. A momentary fancy that
this was the reality, that he himself was only awakening from some
delusive dream, came over him. But Collinson's next words were
practical.
"I reckoned that maybe you'd write from Marysville to Skinner to send
for the hoss, and forward him to ye, for I never kalkilated you'd come
back."
It was quite plain from this that Collinson had heard nothing. But it
was also awkward, as Key would now have to tell the whole story, and
reveal the fact that he had been really experimenting when Collinson
overtook him in the hollow. He evaded this by post-dating his
discovery of the richness of the ore until he had reached Marysville.
But he found some difficulty in recounting his good fortune: he was
naturally no boaster, he had no desire to impress Collinson with his
penetration, nor the undaunted energy he had displayed in getting up
his company and opening the mine, so that he was actually embarrassed
by his own understatement; and under the grave, patient eyes of his
companion, told his story at best lamely. Collinson's face betrayed
neither profound interest nor the slightest resentment. When Key had
ended his awkward recital, Collinson said slowly:--
"Then Uncle Dick and that other Parker feller ain't got no show in this
yer find."
"No," said Key quickly. "Don't you remember we broke up our
partnership that morning and went off our own ways. You don't
suppose," he added with a forced half-laugh, "that if Uncle Dick or
Parker had struck a lead after they left me, they'd have put me in it?"
"Wouldn't they?" asked Collinson gravely.
"Of course not." He laughed a little more naturally, but presently
added, with an uneasy smile, "What makes you think they would?"
"Nuthin'!" said Collinson promptly.
Nevertheless, when they were seated before the fire, with glasses in
their hands, Collinson returned patiently to the subject:
"You wuz saying they went their way, and you went yours. But your way
was back on the old way that you'd all gone together."
But Key felt himself on firmer ground here, and answered deliberately
and truthfully, "Yes, but I only went back to the hollow to satisfy
myself if there really was any house there, and if there was, to warn
the occupants of the approaching fire."
"And there was a house there," said Collinson thoughtfully.
"Only the ruins." He stopped and flushed quickly, for he remembered
that he had denied its existence at their former meeting. "That is,"
he went on hurriedly, "I found out from the sheriff, you know, that
there had been a house there. But," he added, reverting to his
stronger position, "my going back there was an accident, and my picking
up the outcrop was an accident, and had no more to do with our
