eft in those great heroics
of nature before him. Those enormous trees were no woods for fauns or
dryads; they had their own godlike majesty of bulk and height, and as he
at last climbed the summit and saw the dark-helmeted head of Black Spur
before him, and beyond it the pallid, spiritual cloud of the Sierras, he
did not think of Olympus. Yet for a moment he was startled, as he turned
to the right, by the Doric-columned facade of a temple painted by the
moonbeams and framed in an opening of the dark woods before him. It
was not until he had reached it that he saw that it was the new wooden
post-office of Heavy Tree Hill.

And now the buildings of the new settlement began to faintly appear. But
the obscurity of the shadow and the equally disturbing unreality of the
moonlight confused him in his attempts to recognize the old landmarks.
A broad and well-kept winding road had taken the place of the old
steep, but direct trail to his cabin. He had walked for some moments in
uncertainty, when a sudden sweep of the road brought the full crest
of the hill above and before him, crowned with a tiara of lights,
overtopping a long base of flashing windows. That was all that was left
of Heavy Tree Hill. The old foreground of buckeye and odorous ceanothus
was gone. Even the great grove of pines behind it had vanished.

There was already a stir of life in the road, and he could see figures
moving slowly along a kind of sterile, formal terrace spread with a few
dreary marble vases and plaster statues which had replaced the natural
slope and the great quartz buttresses of outcrop that supported it.
Presently he entered a gate, and soon found himself in the carriage
drive leading to the hotel veranda. A number of fair promenaders were
facing the keen mountain night wind in wraps and furs. Demorest had
replaced his coat, but his boots were red with dust, and as he ascended
the steps he could see that he was eyed with some superciliousness by
the guests and with considerable suspicion by the servants. One of the
latter was approaching him with an insolent smile when a figure darted
from the vestibule, and, brushing the waiter aside, seized Demorest's
two hands in his and held him at arm's length.

"Demorest, old man!"

"Stacy, old chap!"

"But where's your team? I've had all the spare hostlers and hall-boys
listening for you at the gate. And where's Barker? When he found you'd
given the dead-cut to the railroad--HIS railroad, you know