Nancy Williams; everybody knew the story of her
life. At first there was terror in the camp. Could the Widow be Nancy
Williams? It was decided that that was impossible. Then all was peace.

CHAPTER VIII.

SANDY'S COURTSHIP.

Swiftly, and very sweetly for Sandy, the days went by in the Forks; down
there deep in the earth, almost in the dark of the under-world, in the
cool of the forest, in the fragrance and spice and sweetness of the fir,
and madrona, and tamarack for ever, dripping with dew, and dropping
their fragrant gums and spices on the carpeted, mossy mountain side,
filling the deep chasm with an odor found nowhere save in the heart of
the Sierras, and Sandy was happy at last.

"You will please come again. You are such good company!" Sandy had come
to think he was one of the best talkers in the world; and thinking so he
was really able to begin to talk. Such is the tact and power, for good
or ill, of woman.

Water will find its level. In this camp, in all new camps, in all new
countries, new enterprises, wars, controversies--no matter what, there
are certain men who come to the surface. These come to the front, and
men stand aside, and they take their place. They stay there, for they
belong there. They may not come immediately; but let any great question
be taken up, let it be one of enough consequence to stir up the waters,
and the waters will find their level.

No man need stilt himself up, or seek applause, or friends in high
places, or loud praise. If he belongs to the front he will get there in
time, and will remain there when he arrives. If he does not, there is
but little need for him to push and bribe and bother at all about it. He
will only stand up in the light long enough to show to the world that
some one has escaped from the woodcut of a comic almanac, or the
Zoological Gardens, and will then sink back, to end his life in
complaining of hard treatment and lack of appreciation.

Let us rather accept the situation, good or bad, play the piece out, and
look to promotion in the next great drama.

Do not despise my spicy little camp in the Sierras. It was a world of
itself. Perhaps it was as large as all Paradise was at the first; and
then it was so new, so fresh, so fragrant, sweet, and primitive.

It was something to be the first man in that camp. Caesar, if they have
written their chronicles true, would have preferred it to the second
place in Rome.

Here only the strong, clear heads