Punks, whose eyes were keen, and whose curiosity was keener, declared that they were "i l," with a "little quirl-like" between.
Punks also knew—a fact which did credit to his powers and habits of observation—that on the disk of the ring which Jim wore on his little finger were the letters "Fa."
Punks desired to know what "Fail" spelled but "fail." He further inquired "what they wanted to hev sech a doggoned mis'able word as thet on a ring fur?"
"'T'orter be 'love' or sunthin'," he added critically.
It was only after much questioning in divers places, and the exercise of a deal of patience and some finesse, that Marian learned the present whereabouts of the half-crazed hermit "all unblessed." When last seen, something less than a week before her arrival, he had been wandering through the neighboring mountains, half-clothed in wretched rags, living on berries and roots, alternately muttering and shrieking the vagaries of his unhinged mind.
They were loth to tell her, even those who knew it. Their rude externals seemed to have made their hearts softer. It hurt them to see the pink color fade from her cheeks, and the shadow of sharp pain creep over her beautiful face; so she had to learn the lesson of smiling when her heart ached worst. The two Mexicans, cattle herders, who had seen him, were eagerly questioned; but they could tell nothing that she did not know, save that they were quite sure that it was Jim, and not some other unfortunate, whom they had seen.
They gave a stupid assent when asked by Marian to secure him and bring him into town the next time that they saw him; and a "Si, Señor," considerably less stupid in a subsequent private interview with Jack, who promised them "heap money" for their labor.
Marian had the books which Jim had left in the cabin: commonplace Greek and Latin books, which might have belonged to anybody, save that on one fly leaf was written in a scrawling hand, "J. C. Wilmer," and this yellow page, and this faded ink, she covered with her kisses and baptized with her tears. And another weary week crept by.
The Doctor noticed with disapprobation strongly expressed how pale and worn-looking the pretty woman grew. Not professionally; indeed, his title was merely honorary, bestowed in recognition of his services in prescribing the "Golden Anti-bilious Pills" for Bob Jinks, which, or nature in spite of them, had effected a cure, and restored to bereft Mariposa society an efficient and valuable member.
The Doctor's interest afforded considerable amusement to the habitués of the "Grand" bar-room, and they fairly roared with sympathy when he profanely expressed his sorrow to see her wasting her beauty in tears over "another feller."