f his
head and jaws in her hands and swaying him back and forth.

"Be careful, madam," Jacob Henderson warned. "He is a very sour dog; and
he don't let people take such liberties."

"He does me," she laughed, half-hysterically. "Because he knows me. . . .
Harley!" She broke off as the great idea dawned on her. "I have a
test. Listen! Remember, Jerry was a nigger-chaser before we got him.
And Michael was a nigger-chaser. You talk in beche-de-mer. Appear angry
with some black boy, and see how it will affect him."

"I'll have to remember hard to resurrect any beche-de-mer," Harley said,
nodding approval of the suggestion.

"At the same time I'll distract him," she rushed on.

Sitting down and bending forward to Michael so that his head was buried
in her arms and breast, she began swaying him and crooning to him as was
her wont with Jerry. Nor did he resent the liberty she took, and, like
Jerry, he yielded to her crooning and softly began to croon with her. She
signalled Harley with her eyes.

"My word!" he began in tones of wrath. "What name you fella boy stop 'm
along this fella place? You make 'm me cross along you any amount!"

And at the words Michael bristled, dragged himself clear of the woman's
detaining hands, and, with a snarl, whirled about to get a look at the
black boy who must have just then entered the room and aroused the white
god's ire. But there was no black boy. He looked on, still bristling,
to the door. Harley transferred his own gaze to the door, and Michael
knew, beyond all doubt, that outside the door was standing a Solomons
nigger.

"Hey! Michael!" Harley shouted. "Chase 'm that black fella boy
overside!"

With a roaring snarl, Michael flung himself at the door. Such was the
fury and weight of his onslaught that the latch flew loose and the door
swung open. The emptiness of the space which he had expected to see
occupied, was appalling, and he shrank down, sick and dizzy with the
baffling apparitional past that thus vexed his consciousness.

"And now," said Harley to Jacob Henderson, "we will talk business . . . "

CHAPTER XXXV

When the train arrived at Glen Ellen, in the Valley of the Moon, it was
Harley Kennan himself, at the side-door of the baggage-car, who caught
hold of Michael and swung him to the ground. For the first time Michael
had performed a railroad journey uncrated. Merely with collar and chain
had he travelled up from Oakland. In the wait