et Will Cummins, who
alighted and cordially shook hands. Miss Slocum, apparently, was
somewhat piqued because she was not introduced.

"I was hoping you would accompany us to Nevada City," Cummins said,
addressing the lady, who regarded him with affection, as Mamie thought.

"You must remember, Will," said the banker, "that Mary hasn't been up to
Moore's Flat yet to see her old flames."

"Too late!" said Cummins. "The Keystone Club gave a dinner last night,
to wish me a pleasant journey. Eighteen of the twenty-one were present.
But by this time they have scattered to the four winds."

"Never fear," cried the lady; "I shall find some of our boys at Moore's
Flat. You are the only one travelling in this direction; and the four
winds combined could not blow them over the canon of the Middle Yuba."

"I remember you think that canon deep and terrible, Mary," Will replied;
"but it is not wide, you know. Remember our walk to Chipp's Flat, the
last time you were here? Nothing left there but the old cannon. As the
boys say, everything else has been fired."

"All aboard!" shouted Mat, who felt that he was wasting time in Lake
City. And so Mary Francis, sister of Henry Francis, bade adieu to Will
Cummins, little knowing that they would never meet again, either in
California or "back home" in Pennsylvania. The stage rolled on, past a
grove of live oaks hung with mistletoe. Cummins had passed this way many
times before. He had even gathered mistletoe here to send to friends in
the East. But to-day for the first time it made his heart yearn for the
love he had missed. Mary Francis was thirty-five now. Twenty-five years
ago he was twenty and she was a little bashful girl. Her father's house
had been the rendezvous of Californians on their occasional visits in
the East. His mind traveled back over old scenes; but soon the canon of
the South Yuba burst upon his vision, thrilling him with its grandeur
and challenging his fighting instincts. For after winding down three
miles to the river, the road climbed three miles up the opposite
side--three toiling miles through the ambushes of highwaymen. There was
the scene of many a hold-up. And to-day, at his age, he simply must not
be robbed. It would break his heart. In sheer desperation he drew his
six-shooter, examined it carefully, glanced at his fellow-passengers and
sat silent, alert and grim.

Except for the Chinaman, the passengers were feeble folk. At sight of
the revolver the men