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masquerade of dust and grime and tatters； still less would any
passing stranger have recognized in this blond faun the possible
outcast and murderer。 And； when with a swirl of his spattering
sleeve； he drove back the gopher in a shower of spray and leaped to
the bank； he seemed to have accepted his felonious hiding…place as a
mere picnicking bower。
A slight breeze was unmistakably permeating the wood from the west。
Looking in that direction； Lance imagined that the shadow was less
dark； and although the undergrowth was denser； he struck off
carelessly toward it。 As he went on； the wood became lighter and
lighter； branches； and presently leaves； were painted against the
vivid blue of the sky。 He knew he must be near the summit；
stopped； felt for his revolver； and then lightly put the few
remaining branches aside。
The full glare of the noonday sun at first blinded him。 When he
could see more clearly； he found himself on the open western slope
of the mountain； which in the Coast Range was seldom wooded。 The
spiced thicket stretched between him and the summit； and again
between him and the stage road that plunges from the terrace； like
forked lightning into the valley below。 He could command all the
approaches without being seen。 Not that this seemed to occupy his
thoughts or cause him any anxiety。 His first act was to disencumber
himself of his tattered coat； he then filled and lighted his pipe；
and stretched himself full…length on the open hillside； as if to
bleach in the fierce sun。 While smoking he carelessly perused the
fragment of a newspaper which had enveloped his tobacco； and being
struck with some amusing paragraph； read it half aloud again to some
imaginary auditor； emphasizing its humor with an hilarious slap upon
his leg。
Possibly from the relaxation of fatigue and the bath； which had
become a vapor one as he alternately rolled and dried himself in
the baking grass； his eyes closed dreamily。 He was awakened by
the sound of voices。 They were distant； they were vague； they
approached no nearer。 He rolled himself to the verge of the first
precipitous grassy descent。 There was another bank or plateau
below him； and then a confused depth of olive shadows； pierced here
and there by the spiked helmets of pines。
There was no trace of habitation； yet the voices were those of some
monotonous occupation； and Lance distinctly heard through them the
click of crockery and the ring of some household utensil。 It
appeared to be the interjectional； half listless； half perfunctory；
domestic dialogue of an old man and a girl； of which the words were
unintelligible。 Their voices indicated the solitude of the
mountain； but without sadness； they were mysterious without being
awe…inspiring。 They might have uttered the dreariest commonplaces；
but； in their vast isolation； they seemed musical and eloquent。
Lance drew his first sigh；they had suggested dinner。
Careless as his nature was； he was too cautious to risk detection
in broad daylight。 He contented himself for the present with
endeavoring to locate that particular part of the depths from which
the voices seemed to rise。 It was more difficult； however； to
select some other way of penetrating it than by the stage road。
〃They're bound to have a fire or show a light when it's dark；〃 he
reasoned； and； satisfied with that reflection； lay down again。
Presently he began to amuse himself by tossing some silver coins in
the air。 Then his attention was directed to a spur of the Coast
Range which had been sharply silhouetted against the cloudless
western sky。 Something intensely white； something so small that it
was scarcely larger than the silver coin in his hand； was appearing
in a slight cleft of the range。
While he looked it gradually filled and obliterated the cleft。 In
another moment the whole serrated line of mountain had disappeared。
The dense； dazzling white； encompassing host began to pour over and
down every ravine and pass of the coast。 Lance recognized the sea…
fog； and knew that scarcely twenty miles away lay the oceanand
safety！ The drooping sun was now caught and hidden in its soft
embraces。 A sudden chill breathed over the mountain。 He shivered；
rose； and plunged again for very warmth into the spice…laden
thicket。 The heated balsamic air began to affect him like a
powerful sedative； his hunger was forgotten in the languor of
fatigue； he slumbered。 When he awoke it was dark。 He groped his
way through the thicket。 A few stars were shining directly above
him； but beyond and below； everything was lost in the soft； white；
fleecy veil of fog。 Whatever light or fire might have betokened
human habitation was hidden。 To push on blindly would be madness；
he could only wait for morning。 It suited the outcast's lazy
philosophy。 He crept back again to his bed in the hollow and
slept。 In that profound silence and shadow； shut out from human
association and sympathy by the ghostly fog； what torturing visions
conjured up by remorse and fear should have pursued him？ What
spirit passed before him； or slowly shaped itself out of the
infinite blackness of the wood？ None。 As he slipped gently into
that blackness he remembered with a slight regret； some biscuits
that were dropped from the coach by a careless luncheon…consuming
passenger。 That pang over； he slept as sweetly； as profoundly； as
divinely； as a child。
CHAPTER II。
He awoke with the aroma of the woods still steeping his senses。
His first instinct was that of all young animals； he seized a few
of the young； tender green leaves of the yerba buena vine that
crept over his mossy pillow and ate them； being rewarded by a half
berry…like flavor that seemed to soothe the cravings of his
appetite。 The languor of sleep being still upon him； he lazily
watched the quivering of a sunbeam that was caught in the canopying
boughs above。 Then he dozed again。 Hovering between sleeping and
waking； he became conscious of a slight movement among the dead
leaves on the bank beside the hollow in which he lay。 The movement
appeared to be intelligent； and directed toward his revolver； which
glittered on the bank。 Amused at this evident return of his
larcenous friend of the previous day； he lay perfectly still。 The
movement and rustle continued； but it now seemed long and
undulating。 Lance's eyes suddenly became set； he was intensely；
keenly awake。 It was not a snake； but the hand of a human arm；
half hidden in the moss； groping for the weapon。 In that flash of
perception he saw that it was small； bare； and deeply freckled。 In
an instant he grasped it firmly； and rose to his feet； dragging to
his own level as he did so； the struggling figure of a young girl。
〃Leave me go！〃 she said； more ashamed than frightened。
Lance looked at her。 She was scarcely more than fifteen； slight
and lithe； with a boyish flatness of breast and back。 Her flushed
face and bar