foaming in its pebbly bed at the base of the crag, under the deep, cool
shadows of the pines.

The old man threw himself from his horse, and beast and man drank
together as he held the girl in his arms, where the spray dashed down
like a holy baptismal from the very hand of God upon her hair and face.
The hands clutched, the breast heaved a little, the lips moved as if to
drink in the cool sweet water. Her eyes feebly opened. And then the old
man bore her back under the pines, and laid her on the soft bed of dry
sweet-smelling pine-quills.

Then clasping his hands above her, as he bent his face to hers, he
uttered his first prayer--the first for many and many a weary year. It
was a prayer of thanksgiving, of gratitude. The girl would live; and he
would now have something to live for--to love.

It had been a strange weird sight, that old man, his long hair in the
wind, his strong horse plunging madly ahead, all white with foam,
climbing the Sierras as the sun climbed up. The girl lay in his arms
before him, her long dark hair all down over the horse's neck, tangled
in the horse's mane, catching in the brush and the wild vines and leaves
that hung over the trail as they flew past.

And oftentime back over his shoulder the old man threw his long white
beard and looked back. He felt, he knew, that he was pursued. He fancied
he could all the time hear the sound of horses' feet.

Perhaps if his eyes had been gifted with the vision of the prophets of
old, he would indeed have seen the pursuer. That pursuer was also an old
man, and not much unlike himself; an old man with a scythe--death. Death
following fast from the hot valley of pestilence, where he, death, kept,
if possible, closer watch than the Agents, that no Indian ever returned
to his native mountains. But death gave up the pursuit, and turned back
from the moment the baptismal fountain touched the girl's fevered
forehead. At last the old man who held her in his arms, rose up, rode on
and down to his cabin in the twilight, all secure from pursuit of
Agents, death, or any one. The girl, quite conscious, opened her eyes
and looked around on the tall, nodding pine trees, that stood in long,
dusky lines, as if drawn up to welcome her return to the heart of the
Sierras.

* * * * *

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other
incon