Page:Scribner's Monthly, Volume 12 (May–October 1876).djvu/41

Rh suthin' by for ye. Ye was inquirin' last night about them Conroys. I thought I'd tell ye thet Gabriel hez bin yer askin' arter Lawyer Maxwell—which he's off to Sacramento—altho' one o' Sue Markle's most intymit friends and steadiest boarders!" But Mr. Ramirez had no ear for Gabriel now. "Tell to me, Mees Clark," he said, suddenly turning all his teeth on her, with gasping civility, "where is the Senor Perkins, eh?" "Thet shiny chap—ez looks like a old turned alpacker gownd!" said Sal, "thet man ez I can't abear," she continued, with a delicate maidenly suggestion that Ramirez need fear no rivalry from that quarter. "I don't mind; and don't keer to know. He hezn't bin yer since mornin'. I reckon he's up somewhar on Conroy's Hill. All I know ez thet he sent a message yer to git ready his volise to put aboard the Wingdam stage to-night. Are ye goin' with him?" "No," said Ramirez, curtly. "Axin' yer parding for the question, but seein' ez he'd got booked for two places, I tho't ez maybe ye'd got tired o' plain mounting folks and mounting ways, and waz goin' with him," and Sal threw an arch yet reproachful glance at Ramirez. "Booked for two seats," gasped Victor, "ah! for a lady, perhaps—eh, Mees Clark?—for a lady?" Sal bridled instantly at what might have seemed a suggestion of impropriety on her part. "A lady, like his imperance, indeed! I'd like to know who'd demean theirselves by goin' with the like o' he! But you're not startin' out agin without your dinner, and it waitin' ye in the oven? No? La! Mr. Ramirez ye must be in love! I've heard tell ez it do take away the appetite; not knowin' o' my own experense though it's little hez passed my lips these two days, and only when tempted." But before Sal could complete her diagnosis, Mr. Ramirez gasped a few words of hasty excuse, seized his hat, and hurried from the room.

Leaving Sal a second time to mourn over the effect of her coquettish playfulness upon the sensitive Italian nature, Victor Ramirez, toiling through the heat and fiery dust shaken from the wheels of incoming teams, once more brushed his way up the long ascent of Conroy's Hill, and did not stop until he reached its summit. Here he paused to collect his scattered thoughts, to decide upon some plan of action, to control the pulse of his beating temples, quickened by excitement and the fatigue of the ascent, and to wipe the perspiration from his streaming face. He must see her at once, but how and where? To go boldly to her house would be to meet her in the presence of Gabriel, and that was no longer an object; besides, if she were with this stranger it would probably not be there. By haunting this nearest umbrage to the house he would probably intercept them on their way to the Gulch, or overhear any other conference. By lingering here he would avoid any interference from Gabriel's cabin on the right, and yet be able to detect the approach of any one from the road. The spot that he had chosen was, singularly enough, in earlier days, Gabriel's favorite haunt for the indulgence of his noon-tide contemplation and pipe. A great pine, the largest of its fellows, towered in a little opening to the right, as if it had drawn apart for seclusion, and, obeying some mysterious attraction, Victor went toward it and seated himself on an abutting root at its base. Here a singular circumstance occurred, which at first filled him with superstitious fear. The handkerchief with which he had wiped his face—nay, his very shirt-front itself—suddenly appeared as if covered with blood. A moment later he saw that the ensanguined hue was only due to the red dust through which he had plunged, blending with the perspiration, that on the least exertion still started from every pore of his burning skin. The sun was slowly sinking. The long shadow of Reservoir Ridge fell upon Conroy's Hill and seemed to cut down the tall pine that a moment before had risen redly in the sunlight. The sounds of human labor slowly died out of the Gulch below, the faroff whistle of teamsters in the Wingdam road began to fail. One by one the red openings on the wooded hill-side opposite went out, as if Nature were putting up the shutters for the day. With the gathering twilight Ramirez became more intensely alert and watchful. Treading stealthily around the lone pine-tree with shining eyes and gleaming teeth, he might have been mistaken for some hesitating animal waiting for that boldness which should come with the coming night. Suddenly he stopped, and leaning forward peered into the increasing shadow. Coming up the trail from the town was a woman. Even at that distance, and by that uncertain light, Ramirez recognized the flapping hat and ungainly stride. It was Sal—perdition! Might the devil fly away with her! But she turned to