had
washed it that very afternoon in the solitude of his own cabin, he
could not possibly iron it, but must send it "rough dried," stayed his
indignant feet.

Two or three days, a week, a fortnight even, of this hopeless
resentment filled Cass's breast. Then the news of Kanaka Joe's
acquittal in the state court momentarily revived the story of the ring,
and revamped a few stale jokes in the camp. But the interest soon
flagged; the fortunes of the little community of Blazing Star had been
for some months failing; and with early snows in the mountain and
wasted capital in fruitless schemes on the river, there was little room
for the indulgence of that lazy and original humor which belonged to
their lost youth and prosperity. Blazing Star truly, in the grim figure
of their slang, was "played out." Not dug out, worked out, or washed
out, but dissipated in a year of speculation and chance.

Against this tide of fortune Cass struggled manfully, and even evoked
the slow praise of his companions. Better still, he won a certain
praise for himself, in himself, in a consciousness of increased
strength, health, power, and self-reliance. He began to turn his quick
imagination and perception to some practical account, and made one or
two discoveries which quite startled his more experienced, but more
conservative companions. Nevertheless, Cass's discoveries and labors
were not of a kind that produced immediate pecuniary realization, and
Blazing Star, which consumed so many pounds of pork and flour daily,
did not unfortunately produce the daily equivalent in gold. Blazing
Star lost its credit. Blazing Star was hungry, dirty, and ragged.
Blazing Star was beginning to set.

Participating in the general ill-luck of the camp, Cass was not without
his own individual mischance. He had resolutely determined to forget
Miss Porter and all that tended to recall the unlucky ring, but,
cruelly enough, she was the only thing that refused to be
forgotten--whose undulating figure reclined opposite to him in the
weird moonlight of his ruined cabin, whose voice mingled with the song
of the river by whose banks he toiled, and whose eyes and touch
thrilled him in his dreams. Partly for this reason, and partly because
his clothes were beginning to be patched and torn, he avoided Red Chief
and any place where he would be likely to meet her. In spite of this
precaution he had once seen her driving in a pony carriage, but so
smartly and fashionably dre