“There was another man there,” replied Sam, “but he went down through a trap door in the floor, Uncle.”
“Did he drown,” questioned Mr. Harris.
“Oh, no! The logs raised the floor of the cabin about a foot above the water. He got away between them and swam ashore. We didn’t find it out until he had made good his escape.”
It was then Mr. Thorpe addressed Mr. and Mrs. Harris. It being the first opportunity presented to perform a duty, that was clearly incumbent on him, and without further hesitation, he said: “Mr. and Mrs. Harris and Sam, who heard me abuse Mr. Corway on this ground last Wednesday night, I wish now to recall what I then said. If an entire misapprehension of facts can be an excuse for the animosity with which I then spoke, I am anxious to apologize for my behavior, as circumstances have made me aware how unjust were my aspersions. I regret that Mr. Corway is not present to receive my apology and to shake hands with him, for there is not a man in Oregon for whom I have greater respect.”
Mr. Harris was unable to conceal his gratification at the sudden ending of an unpleasant dilemma, and exclaimed: “John, I heartily congratulate you on the agreeable termination of an ugly affair.”
“Dear me! I am really delighted,” added Mrs. Harris, who, having gotten up from her chair at the first few words uttered by John Thorpe, and leaning forward on the piazza railing, stared at the men below in rapt attention. And Sam joined in the general joy by exclaiming, with a broad grin and a whirl of his hat: “Whoop! Let’s celebrate the burial of the hatchet, eh, Auntie.”
“How vulgar,” quietly remarked Mrs. Harris, as she straightened up, and with severity plainly graven on her face, said: “Sam, I desire a word with you after dinner.”
“Ya-ah! May good digestion wait on appetite, eh Auntie! I guess so,” replied Sam, with a roguish twinkle of his eye and the inimitable side movement of his head.
“Dear me,” continued Mrs. Harris, “I may as well be resigned to the inevitable, for I fear the ‘Texas brand’ will never groom out.”
“I must go home,” exclaimed Mr. Thorpe. “My impatience to meet Constance is consuming me. Mrs. Harris and gentlemen, pray pardon my haste,” and, lifting his hat, he withdrew.