"No, the prisoners are safe," returned Coleman, "though they had a close enough shave, I'll admit." He laid a hand upon Benito's shoulder and there came a twinkle to his eyes. "Our young friend here had an inspiration--better than a hundred muskets. He sent Ed Baker out to charm them with his tongue."
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE RECKONING
It was June on the rancho Windham. Roses and honeysuckle climbed the pillars and lattices of the patio; lupin and golden poppies dotted the hillsides. Cloud-plumes waved across the faultless azure of a California summer sky and distant to the north and east, a million spangled flecks of sunlight danced upon the bay.
David Broderick sat on a rustic bench, his eyes on Alice Windham. He thought, with a vague stirring of unrecognized emotion that she seemed the spirit of womanhood in the body of a fay.
"A flower for your thoughts," she paraphrased and tossed him a rose. Instinctively he pressed it to his lips. He saw her color rise and turned away. For a moment neither spoke.
"My thoughts," he said at length, "have been of evil men and trickery and ambition. I realize that, always, when I come here--when I see you, Alice Windham. For a little time I am uplifted. Then I go back to my devious toiling in the dark."
A shadow crossed her eyes, but a smile quickly chased it away. "You are a fine man, David Broderick," she said, "brave and wonderful and strong. Why do you stoop to--"
"To petty politics?" his answering smile was rueful. "Because I must--to gain my ends. To climb a hill-top often one must go into a valley. That is life."