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already prejudiced mind of his fair auditors； was evidently the hero； he
stopped suddenly。
〃It's only some pack train passing the bridge on the lower trail；〃
explained Sylvester； 〃go on。〃
〃It may be my horse is a trifle oneasy in the stable；〃 said the alleged
Kearney； 〃he ain't used to boards and covering。〃 Heaven only knows
what wild and delicious revelation lay in the statement of this fact； but the
girls looked at each other with cheeks pink with excitement as Kearney
arose； and； with quiet absence of ceremony； quitted the table。
〃Ain't he just lovely？〃 said Kate； gasping for breath； 〃and so witty。〃
〃Witty！〃 said the gentle May； with just the slightest trace of defiance in
her sweet voice； 〃witty； my dear？ why； don't you see that his heart is just
breaking with pathos？ Witty； indeed； why； when he was speaking of that
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poor Mexican woman that was hung； I saw the tears gather in his eyes。
Witty； indeed！〃
〃Tears；〃 laughed the cynical Sylvester； 〃tears； idle tears。 Why； you
silly children； the man is a man of the world； a philosopher； quiet；
observant； unassuming。〃
〃Unassuming！〃 Was Sylvester intoxicated； or had the mysterious
stranger mixed the 〃insane verb〃 with the family pottage？ He returned
before I could answer this self…asked inquiry； and resumed coolly his
broken narrative。 Finding myself forgotten in the man I had so long
hesitated to introduce to my friends； I retired to rest early； only to hear；
through the thin partitions； two hours later； enthusiastic praises of the new
guest from the voluble lips of the girls； as they chatted in the next room
before retiring。
At midnight I was startled by the sound of horses' hoofs and the
jingling of spurs below。 A conversation between my host and some
mysterious personage in the darkness was carried on in such a low tone
that I could not learn its import。 As the cavalcade rode away I raised the
window。
〃What's the matter？〃
〃Nothing；〃 said Sylvester； coolly； 〃only another one of those playful
homicidal freaks peculiar to the country。 A man was shot by Cherokee
Jack over at Lagrange this morning； and that was the sheriff of Calaveras
and his posse hunting him。 I told him I'd seen nobody but you and your
friend。 By the way； I hope the cursed noise hasn't disturbed him。 The
poor fellow looked as if he wanted rest。〃
I thought so； too。 Nevertheless； I went softly to his room。 It was
empty。 My impression was that he had distanced the sheriff of Calaveras
about two hours。
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A GHOST OF THE SIERRAS
It was a vast silence of pines； redolent with balsamic breath； and
muffled with the dry dust of dead bark and matted mosses。 Lying on our
backs； we looked upward through a hundred feet of clear； unbroken
interval to the first lateral branches that formed the flat canopy above us。
Here and there the fierce sun； from whose active persecution we had just
escaped； searched for us through the woods； but its keen blade was dulled
and turned aside by intercostal boughs； and its brightness dissipated in
nebulous mists throughout the roofing of the dim； brown aisles around us。
We were in another atmosphere； under another sky； indeed； in another
world than the dazzling one we had just quitted。 The grave silence
seemed so much a part of the grateful coolness； that we hesitated to speak；
and for some moments lay quietly outstretched on the pine tassels where
we had first thrown ourselves。 Finally； a voice broke the silence：
〃Ask the old Major； he knows all about it！〃
The person here alluded to under that military title was myself。 I
hardly need explain to any Californian that it by no means followed that I
was a 〃Major；〃 or that I was 〃old；〃 or that I knew anything about 〃it；〃 or
indeed what 〃it〃 referred to。 The whole remark was merely one of the
usual conventional feelers to conversation；a kind of social preamble；
quite common to our slangy camp intercourse。 Nevertheless； as I was
always known as the Major； perhaps for no better reason than that the
speaker； an old journalist； was always called Doctor； I recognized the fact
so far as to kick aside an intervening saddle； so that I could see the
speaker's face on a level with my own； and said nothing。
〃About ghosts！〃 said the Doctor； after a pause； which nobody broke or
was expected to break。 〃Ghosts； sir！ That's what we want to know。
What are we doing here in this blanked old mausoleum of Calaveras
County； if it isn't to find out something about 'em； eh？〃
Nobody replied。
〃Thar's that haunted house at Cave City。 Can't be more than a mile or
two away； anyhow。 Used to be just off the trail。〃
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A dead silence。
The Doctor （addressing space generally） 〃Yes； sir； it WAS a mighty
queer story。〃
Still the same reposeful indifference。 We all knew the Doctor's skill
as a raconteur； we all knew that a story was coming； and we all knew that
any interruption would be fatal。 Time and time again； in our prospecting
experience； had a word of polite encouragement； a rash expression of
interest； even a too eager attitude of silent expectancy； brought the Doctor
to a sudden change of subject。 Time and time again have we seen the
unwary stranger stand amazed and bewildered between our own
indifference and the sudden termination of a promising anecdote； through
his own unlucky interference。 So we said nothing。 〃The Judge〃
another instance of arbitrary nomenclaturepretended to sleep。 Jack
began to twist a cigarrito。 Thornton bit off the ends of pine needles
reflectively。
〃Yes； sir；〃 continued the Doctor； coolly resting the back of his head on
the palms of his hands； 〃it WAS rather curious。 All except the murder。
THAT'S what gets me； for the murder had no new points； no fancy touches；
no sentiment； no mystery。 Was just one of the old style； 'sub…head'
paragraphs。 Old…fashioned miner scrubs along on hardtack and beans；
and saves up a little money to go home and see relations。 Old…fashioned
assassin sharpens up knife； old style； loads old flint…lock； brass…mounted
pistol； walks in on old… fashioned miner one dark night； sends him home to
his relations away back to several generations； and walks off with the
swag。 No mystery THERE； nothing to clear up； subsequent revelations
only impertinence。 Nothing for any ghost to dowho meant business。
More than that； over forty murders； same old kind； committed every year
in Calavera