“Oh, yes,” he replied. “The police have taken the affair up, and there has been an inquest on the two men and an inquiry; but, as usual, it has come to nothing. Simon and the others who were engaged have cleared out, and the rest of Dog’s Ear swears that it knows nothing about it. The police have had a hunt after Simon, but they are not likely to catch him; they never do. Dog’s Ear gave the two men a public funeral, and I’m given to understand that they did me the honor to burn me in effigy after the ceremony.”
“They are very quiet about it,” she said.
“Yes; rather too quiet,” said Varley, languidly. “When Dog’s Ear is quiet it’s generally planning some meanness or other. Taffy suggests that it would be rather a good thing to turn the whole crew out and burn the place; but that seems to me rather an extreme measure, and I don’t know how the government would like it. You know, I suppose, that I received a letter from the secretary?” he added, more languidly than before.
“No,” said Esmeralda. “You didn’t tell me, Varley. What was it?”
“Oh, didn’t I?” he said, modestly. “It was a very nice letter, in the most beau-ti-ful language, intimating that I and Taffy, and the rest of us, were the saviors of our country, or something to that effect. MacGrath wanted to have it framed and stuck up in the Eldorado, and so I took it away from him and put it where it couldn’t do any damage—in the fire. The boys are quite vain enough already; if that letter were left lying around they’d want to build a church, or a jail, or some highfalutin institution of that kind.”
Esmeralda laughed, and they rode home.
The days passed calmly and peacefully; Esmeralda’s strength increased, and her hands grew still browner, but the far-away look did not leave her eyes, and often still in the middle of a ride she would pull up suddenly and seem lost in thought; and sometimes, when she was clearing away the things after a meal, she would stop and set down the plates or cups and look before her vacantly, as if she had quite forgotten where she was and what she was doing. At such times she was thinking of Varley’s words, and wondering why no search had been made for her. One evening she was standing thus, a cup in her hand, her eyes fixed, when a voice outside the door called her name. She was alone in the hut, for Mother Melinda had gone down to the store, but quite unsuspectingly she set down the cup and went to the door.
There was no one in sight, and thinking she must have been mistaken, she turned to re-enter the hut again, when suddenly a cloth of some kind was thrown over her head, and she was seized in a rough grasp. She struggled and tried to tear the cloth from her head, but the man held her tight.
“Keep quiet,” he said, with an oath, “or it will be worse for you.”
She felt that she was powerless, and keeping up her heart as best she could, ceased to struggle.