g
over night with a friend.

"Whar?"

I hesitated. The friend was an eccentric Eastern man, well known in
the locality for his fastidiousness and his habits as a recluse. A
misanthrope, of ample family and ample means, he had chosen a secluded
but picturesque valley in the Sierras where he could rail against the
world without opposition. "Lone Valley," or "Boston Ranch," as it was
familiarly called, was the one spot that the average miner both
respected and feared. Mr. Sylvester, its proprietor, had never
affiliated with "the boys," nor had he ever lost their respect by any
active opposition to their ideas. If seclusion had been his object, he
certainly was gratified. Nevertheless, in the darkening shadows of the
night, and on a lonely and unknown trail, I hesitated a little at
repeating his name to a stranger of whom I knew so little. But my
mysterious companion took the matter out of my hands.

"Look yar," he said, suddenly, "thar ain't but one place twixt yer and
Indian Spring whar ye can stop, and that is Sylvester's."

I assented, a little sullenly.

"Well," said the stranger, quietly, and with a slight suggestion of
conferring a favor on me, "ef yer pointed for Sylvester's--why--I DON'T
MIND STOPPING THAR WITH YE. It's a little off the road--I'll lose some
time--but taking it by and large, I don't much mind."

I stated, as rapidly and as strongly as I could, that my acquaintance
with Mr. Sylvester did not justify the introduction of a stranger to
his hospitality; that he was unlike most of the people here,--in short,
that he was a queer man, etc., etc.

To my surprise my companion answered quietly: "Oh, that's all right.
I've heerd of him. Ef you don't feel like checking me through, or if
you'd rather put 'C. O. D.' on my back, why it's all the same to me.
I'll play it alone. Only you just count me in. Say 'Sylvester' all the
time. That's me!"

What could I oppose to this man's quiet assurance? I felt myself
growing red with anger and nervous with embarrassment. What would the
correct Sylvester say to me? What would the girls,--I was a young man
then, and had won an entree to their domestic circle by my
reserve,--known by a less complimentary adjective among "the
boys,"--what would they say to my new acquaintance? Yet I certainly
could not object to his assuming all risks on his own personal
recognizances, nor could I resist a certain feeling of shame at my
embarrassment.

We were beginni