“Is there anything you wish, sir?” as she would address a stranger.
Phil’s face flushed hotly, then went deadly pale. He looked at her reproachfully.
“I think not,” he replied sadly, as he turned away.
With natures such as these a tragedy may occur unobserved by the bystander.
To Phil the sun seemed to have set, all looked so dark and gloomy. As he swung off over the lonely mountain trail, the gurgling water in the brook below seemed to mock him; the scent of the springing vegetation caused a feeling of irritation, his heart was so full of bitter disappointment.
Lonely and more lonely grew the way; no life save himself, he just a dark speck upon that yellow trail crawling up the mountain side. Even his panting breath seemed to disturb the dead calm, as he paused—taking off his hat—to look up to his cabin. He shaded his eyes, and looked eagerly. Only a blackened spot marked where his home—humble, but still a home—had stood. He looked higher up the side of the mountain to where the Mollie Branscome lay; he drew his breath sharply; where he had left a windlass and bucket, a frame shafthouse arose. The sharp spurt of steam rising on the fast chilling air denoted a perfectly set valve; he saw hurrying forms of men at work; he shut his teeth hard together, a fiery red spot rising in either cheek. He felt neither fatigue nor depression now; he breathed stertoriously as he toiled up the steep trail.
Sam was the first person that he met.
Phil pointed to a name above the shafthouse door: “The New Discovery.” “What does that mean?” he demanded hoarsely.
“What’s it to you?” answered Sam derisively.
Poor Phil! His blood seemed on fire. The sneer; the taunting look; it was like letting a brilliant light shine into a dark place; he knew by that ‘sixth sense,’ intuition, all the treachery of this false friend. He knew who had sent him upon a fool’s errand; he knew who had stolen his first claim, and had some accomplice mark the stake in a false name; a memory of his systematic sponging for more than half a year goaded him to madness; many, very many acts, before unconsidered, came to his mind fraught with meaning. The veins on his forehead stood out like purple cord, and he made a wild lunge at Sam. Sam turned to run; he stepped on a rolling stone and went down helplessly; he lay there glaring up at Phil, fear and vindictive hatred strangely blent in his gaze.