At any rate, Mary and Miss Woppit became, to all appearances, fast friends; the wooing of Miss Woppit progressed apace, and the mystery of those Red Hoss Mountain crimes became more and—but I have already declared myself upon that point and I shall say no more thereof except so far as bears directly upon my story, which is, I repeat, of a wooing, and not of crime.
Three-fingered Hoover had every confidence in the ultimate success of the scheme to which Miss Mary had become an enthusiastic party. In occasional pessimistic moods he found himself compelled to confess to himself that the reports made by Miss Mary were not altogether such as would inspire enthusiasm in the bosom of a man less optimistic than he—Hoover—was.
To tell the truth, Mary found the task of doing Hoover's courting for him much more difficult than she had ever fancied a task of that kind could be. In spite of her unacquaintance with the artifices of the world Miss Woppit exhibited the daintiest skill at turning the drift of the conversation whenever, by the most studied tact, Mary Lackington succeeded in bringing the conversation around to a point where the virtues of Three-fingered Hoover, as a candidate for Miss Woppit's esteem, could be expatiated upon. From what Miss Woppit implied rather than said, Mary took it that Miss Woppit esteemed Mr. Hoover highly as a gentleman and as a friend—that she perhaps valued his friendship more than she did that of any other man in the world, always excepting her brother Jim, of course.
Miss Mary reported all this to Hoover much more gracefully than I have put it, for, being a woman, her sympathies would naturally exhibit themselves with peculiar tenderness when conveying to a lover certain information touching his inamorata.
There were two subjects upon which Miss Woppit seemed to love to hear Mary talk. One was Mary herself and the other was Jim Woppit. Mary regarded this as being very natural. Why should n't this women in exile pine to hear of the gay, beautiful world outside her pent horizon? So Mary told her all about the sights she had seen, the places she had been to, the people she had met, the books she had read, the dresses she—but, no, Miss Woppit cared nothing for that kind of gossip—now you 'll agree that she was a remarkable woman, not to want to hear all about the lovely dresses Mary had seen and could describe so eloquently.
Then again, as to Jim, was n't it natural that Miss Woppit, fairly wrapped up in that brother, should be anxious to hear the good opinion that other folk had of him? Did the miners like Jim, she asked—what did they say, and what did Sir Charles say? Miss Woppit was fertile in questionings of this kind, and Mary made satisfactory answers, for she was sure that everybody liked Jim, and as for her father, why, he had taken Jim right into his confidence the day he came to the camp.
Sir Charles had indeed made a confidant of Jim. One day he called him into his room at the Mears House. "Mr. City Marshal," said Sir Charles, in atone that implied secrecy, "I have given it out that I shall leave the camp for home day after to-morrow."
"Yes, I had heerd talk," answered Jim Woppit. "You are going by the stage."
"Certainly, by the stage," said Sir Charles, "but not day after to-morrow; I go to-morrow."
"To-morrow, sir?"