GOOD OUT OF EVIL.
Harding went up to his lonely tent. Like a wounded animal, he sought his lair, and the memory of the many solitary hours he had passed there, even at this sad moment, refreshed his spirit. There he could be alone—away from men's eyes—free from their curiosity, from their comments, or, what would be worse, from their pity.
He had made himself comparatively rich; he had built up a home, as it were, in the wilderness; he had even tried, and with some success, to gain men's esteem—and what were all these worth to him now?
Such bitter thoughts as these filled Harding's mind as he arranged his coarse pallet, and then, throwing himself upon it, sought to forget his grief during the short space that remained before daylight. He was awakened, almost instantly, it seemed to him—although, in fact, three hours had passed—by the sharp crack of a rifle. Harding leaped up and ran to his door.
It was a dull, gray dawn—the sky overcast, but the air free from wind or rain. A little below Harding's tent there spread a plain about a mile wide. This extended along the bank of the river, and terminated in a clump of redwoods which grew far up the mountain beyond. Here and there on the plain were scattered a few small trees and copses of manzanita; but for the most part it was clear from the outskirts of the village up to the redwoods.
On this plain Harding now saw a remarkable sight. A man was running from tree to tree, striving always to get nearer the mountain. Perhaps three hundred yards behind him were five or six armed pursuers trying to close in on the fugitive, and occasionally firing at him. As Harding gazed, three shots were discharged in rapid succession. Yet the man still held on his way, apparently unhurt, and it looked as if he would quickly gain the cover of the forest. But there was one behind him far swifter than the rest, who ran like an Indian on the river or further side from Harding, and who threatened in a few moments to get dangerously near. It was because this man was so distant from himself that Harding did not at first recognize his own partner, Jack Storm, although he was in his usual well known Mexican dress. Now, Storm was the best rifle shot on Bullion Flat.
It appeared that the fugitive knew this. At all events, as if suddenly realizing his peril, he turned and ran straight toward Storm, resolved to draw his fire, apparently, and by confusing his aim to have a better chance of escape. Storm's ready rifle flew up to his shoulder instantly, and Harding saw the pale blue ring of smoke and heard the quick report. Still the fugitive sped on. He was plainly unscathed, or in any case not disabled; and in his hand there now flashed a bright something which Harding knew was a bowie-knife. With that, although the combatants were a mile away, Harding seized a revolver, and dashed at his highest speed down the hill. Almost at the same moment, there also started in company from Bullion Flat three figures on horseback. These were Miss Tinsel, the "Demon," Mr. Bellario, and Judge Carboy. All who were now making for the scene of the combat heard in sharp repetition five or six shots from revolvers; but after the last of these, all was still. When they got to the spot they found Jack Storm fainting from loss of blood, but hurt only with flesh wounds; and they were told that the other man, his opponent, was mortally wounded, and had been taken, by his own request, up on the mountain side, among the redwoods, to die.
With a choking cry, Miss Tinsel galloped on, and in a few moments Chester Harding and she were again face to face over the dying man's body. Ghastly white as he was, all dabbled with blood, and the foam oozing from his lips, her lover at once knew Jane's visitor of the night before. What had happened had been hurriedly revealed to Harding—in broken whispers by the bystanders—before Jane came up.
The man had robbed several rooms at the "Bella Union" during the night, and had succeeded in gathering a large sum. Among the treasures stolen were all the loose funds belonging to the "Combination Troupe," the night's winnings of Mr. Copperas's faro bank, and Miss De Montague's diamonds. But just as the robber, toward daylight, was on the point of making off in safety, he met a lion in the path in Jack Storm. It happened that Jack wanted to have a talk with his partner, Harding, and, as they were then very busy on the claim, made up his mind to compass this purpose bright and early, before getting to work. Stumbling on the marauder, the latter was secured after a struggle, and "the boys" speedily determined to make an example of him. The man begged for a chance of life, and after some debate, had been given the option of the halter or running the gauntlet, with three hundred yards' start, in the way we have described. In the subsequent struggle he had been shot through the lungs, and terribly cut with his own bowie-knife—wrested from him by Jack Storm—and his life was now fast ebbing away.
As she came up Jane sprang from her horse, and threw herself on the ground beside the dying man. They had propped his head on a hillock of turf, and some charitable soul had brought water from the river. Judge Carboy quickly put a flask of brandy to the sufferer's lips, and he opened his eyes: