nd, and he was inclined to curse his luck. Had he
only known it, no better fortune could have fallen him. The news came
down the line that the stage he would have taken had been held up by a
lone highwayman just at the top of Flour Gold grade. As the vehicle
carried only an assortment of perishable fruit and three Italian
labourers, for the dam, the profits from the transaction were not
extraordinary. The sheriff and a posse at once set out in pursuit. Their
efforts at overtaking the highwayman were unavailing, for the trail soon
ran out over the rocky and brushy ledges, and the fugitive had been
clever enough to sprinkle some of his tracks liberally with red pepper
to baffle the dogs. The sheriff made a hard push of it, however, and for
one day held closely enough on the trail. Bob's journey to Sycamore
Flats took place on this one day--during which Saleratus Bill was too
busy dodging his pursuers to resume a purpose which Bob's delay had
frustrated.

On arriving at Auntie Belle's, Bob resolved to push on up the mountain
that very night, instead of waiting as usual until the following
morning. Accordingly, after supper, he saddled his horse, collected the
camp mail, and set himself in motion up the steep road.

Before he had passed Fern Falls, the twilight was falling. Hermit
thrushes sang down through the cooling forest. From the side hill,
exposed all the afternoon to the California summer sun, rose tepid
odours of bear-clover and snowbush, which exhaled out into space, giving
way to the wandering, faint perfumes of night. Bob took off his hat, and
breathed deep, greatly refreshed after the long, hot stage ride of the
day. Darkness fell. In the forest the strengthening moonlight laid its
wand upon familiar scenes to transform them. New aisles opened down the
woodlands, aisles at the end of which stood silvered, ghostly trees thus
distinguished by the moonbeams from their unnumbered brethren. The whole
landscape became ghostly, full of depths and shadows, mysteries and
allurements, heights and spaces unknown to the more prosaic day.
Landmarks were lost in the velvet dark; new features sprang into
prominence. Were it not for the wagon trail, Bob felt that in this
strange, enchanted, unfamiliar land he might easily have become lost.
His horse plodded mechanically on. One by one he passed the homely
roadside landmarks, exempt from the necromancies of the moon--the pile
of old cedar posts, split heaven knows when, by hea