and stood ready to assist the descending goddess,
while Colonel Starbottle, of Siskiyou, took charge of her parasol and
shawl. In this multiplicity of attention there was a momentary confusion
and delay. Jack Hamlin quietly opened the OPPOSITE door of the coach,
took the lady's hand--with that decision and positiveness which a
hesitating and undecided sex know how to admire--and in an instant had
dexterously and gracefully swung her to the ground, and again lifted her
to the platform. An audible chuckle on the box, I fear, came from
that other cynic, "Yuba Bill," the driver. "Look keerfully arter that
baggage, Kernel," said the expressman, with affected concern, as he
looked after Colonel Starbottle, gloomily bringing up the rear of the
triumphant procession to the waiting-room.

Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse was already saddled, and
awaiting him. He dashed over the ford, up the gravelly hill, and
out into the dusty perspective of the Wingdam road, like one leaving
pleasant fancy behind him. The inmates of dusty cabins by the roadside
shaded their eyes with their hands and looked after him, recognizing the
man by his horse, and speculating what "was up with Comanche Jack." Yet
much of this interest centered in the horse, in a community where
the time made by "French Pete's" mare in his run from the Sheriff of
Calaveras eclipsed all concern in the ultimate fate of that worthy.

The sweating flanks of his gray at length recalled him to himself. He
checked his speed, and, turning into a by-road, sometimes used as a
cutoff, trotted leisurely along, the reins hanging listlessly from
his fingers. As he rode on, the character of the landscape changed and
became more pastoral. Openings in groves of pine and sycamore disclosed
some rude attempts at cultivation--a flowering vine trailed over the
porch of one cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe under the roses
of another. A little farther on Mr. Hamlin came upon some barelegged
children wading in the willowy creek, and so wrought upon them with a
badinage peculiar to himself that they were emboldened to climb up
his horse's legs and over his saddle, until he was fain to develop an
exaggerated ferocity of demeanor, and to escape, leaving behind some
kisses and coin. And then, advancing deeper into the woods, where all
signs of habitation failed, he began to sing--uplifting a tenor so
singularly sweet, and shaded by a pathos so subduing and tender, that I
wo