ayfield's face and figure,
and even apparel, were constantly before him, to the exclusion of
consecutive thought. A collar she used to wear, a ribbon she had once
tied around her waist, a blue vein in her dropped eyelid, a curve in
her soft, full, bird-like throat, the arch of her in-step in her small
boots--all these were plainer to him than the future, or even the
present. But a voice in his ear, a figure before his abstracted eyes, at
last broke upon his reverie.

"Jeff Briggs!"

Jeff mechanically took the outstretched hand of a young clerk of the
Pioneer Coach Company, who had once accompanied Yuba Bill and stopped at
the "Half-way House." He endeavored to collect his thoughts; here seemed
to be an opportunity to go somewhere!

"What are you doing now?" said the young man briskly.

"Nothing," said Jeff simply.

"Oh, I see--going home!"

Home! the word stung sharply through Jeff's benumbed consciousness.

"No," he stammered, "that is--"

"Look here, Jeff," broke in the young man, "I've got a chance for you
that don't fall in a man's way every day. Wells, Fargo & Co.'s treasure
messenger from Robinson's Ferry to Mempheys has slipped out. The place
is vacant. I reckon I can get it for you."

"When?"

"Now--to-night."

"I'm ready."

"Come, then."

In ten minutes they were in the company's office, where its manager, a
man famous in those days for his boldness and shrewdness, still lingered
in the dispatch of business.

The young clerk briefly but deferentially stated certain facts. A few
questions and answers followed, of which Jeff heard only the words
"Tuolumne" and "Yuba Bill."

"Sit down, Mr. Briggs. Good-night, Roberts."

The young clerk, with an encouraging smile at Jeff, bowed himself out as
the manager seated himself at his desk and began to write.

"You know the country pretty well between the Fork and the Summit, Mr.
Briggs?" he said, without looking up.

"I lived there," said Jeff.

"That was some months ago, wasn't it?"

"Six months," said Jeff, with a sigh.

"It's changed for the worse since your house was shut up. There's a long
stretch of unsettled country infested by bad characters."

Jeff sat silent. "Briggs."

"Sir?"

"The last man but one who preceded you was shot by road agents."*

* Highway robbers.

"Yes, sir."

"We lost sixty thousand dollars up there."

"Yes?"

"Your father was Briggs of Tuolumne?"

"Yes, sir." Jeff's head dropped, but, glancing shyl