“I KNOW the cause of Dawson’s trouble,” remarked Vose Adams, late one night at the Heavenly Bower.

“What is it?” asked Wade Ruggles, while the rest listened intently.

“On my last trip to Sacramento, two months ago, I brought him a thick letter: that’s what is raising the mischief with him.”

“But what was in the letter to make him act so queer?”

“How should I know? do you expect me to open and read all the letters I bring through the mountains?”

“Bein’ as you couldn’t read the big letters the parson has painted on the side of the rock a foot high,” said Al Bidwell sarcastically, “there ain’t much danger of your doin’ that, which the same is lucky for them as gits love letters like myself regular by each mail.”

“Which the same you won’t git any more onless you sling your remarks a little more keerful,” warned the mail carrier.

“And the same being that you can’t read the directions 93 writ onto them, I don’t see how you’re going to help yourself.”

“The postmaster at Sacramento is very obligin’,” was the significant comment of Vose.

Bidwell saw the dangerous ground on which he was treading, and made it safe by a jesting remark and an invitation to Adams and the rest to join him at the bar.

“We was on the subject of Dawson,” remarked Ruggles from his seat, for all had learned long before of the uselessness of inviting him to drink; “and it’s the opinion of Vose, I understand, that it was the letter that has made the change in him.”

“There ain’t any doubt about it,” said Adams; “fur the attack took him right after; I noticed the difference in him the next day. He sets by himself these evenings after the little gal has gone to bed, smoking his pipe, without any light in his shanty, and thinking hard.”

Wade smoked thoughtfully a minute and then remarked:

“I wonder whether it wouldn’t be a good idee to app’int a committee to wait on Dawson and ask him what the blazes is the matter and whether we can’t do nothin’ to make a man of him agin.”

Since Ruggles had become accustomed to act as chairman at the discussions in the Heavenly Bower, he had developed a strong faith in committees.

“That’s a piece of the most onspeakable foolishness 94 that I’ve run aginst since I settled in New Constantinople,” observed the landlord with a contemptuous sniff; “the minute the committee arrove and stated their bus’ness, Dawson would kick ’em out of his shanty and clean across the street, and he’d be lacking in the instincts of a man if he didn’t do that same thing.”

“Mr. Ortigies forgits that I didn’t mean to suggest that he was to be a member of the committee; I meant they should be gentlemen; consequently that bars him out and there wouldn’t be no trouble.”

“I understand your sarcasm, Wade, but your words would leave you off the committee likewise; but may I ask what the members would ask him when they knocked at his door?”

“Any gentleman wouldn’t be at a loss what to say, fur he would only hev to remark sorter careless like that he had observed the man was acting so queer that we was afeard he was troubled with remorse over some crime he’d committed, and about which he had got notice that the officers was lookin’ fur him, but that if he’d trust us and give a description of the officers, so there wouldn’t be any mistake, we’d watch fur ’em up the trail and pick ’em off afore they could profane New Constantinople with their presence.”

This was a prodigious sentence for Wade, and he leaned back and smoked his pipe with considerable self-complacency, 95 but it impressed none of his hearers as he expected. Parson Brush shook his head.

“It isn’t a very wise way of introducing yourself to a man by assuming that he is a fugitive from justice. In the first place, I am sure there is nothing of the kind in the case of Dawson. He has probably heard some news from the East that troubles him.”

“That’s just what I was sayin’,” broke in Ruggles.

“But not of the nature intimated by you.”

“What else can it be?”

“It might be one of a dozen things; I know you are all wrong in your guesses.”

Every eye was fixed upon the parson, for all were anxious to learn at what he was hinting. His face was unusually grave, but he stopped speaking, as if he deemed it indiscreet to say anything more. He noticed the looks and whetted the curiosity by adding:

“I have been so disturbed over the change in Dawson that I called on him last night and had a talk with him.”

“And what did you learn?” asked Budge Isham, the moment Brush showed an inclination to stop talking.

“Well, it was hard work to draw him out, but finally he told me he had received a letter from the East, which made him think he would have to leave us. That isn’t the worst.”

All were breathless, afraid to give utterance to the dread that until then was vague and indistinct in their minds.

“He thinks he must take his daughter Nellie with him.”

“What! Take her away from us? That can never be allowed.”

None felt the anguish of the announcement keener than the man who made it, but he looked calmly into the angry faces and said:

“You forget, my friends, that she is his child and he has the moral and legal right to do what he thinks is best for her.”

“But where are our rights?” demanded Wade Ruggles; “they mustn’t be forgot.”

“We haven’t any,––not a single one. But I am satisfied that one cause of Dawson’s distress of mind is the very question you have asked. He can never cease to be deeply grateful to all of us for what we have done for him and his child. He doesn’t wish to take her away for it will be as painful to her as to us. But friends,” continued the parson, with a sense of right that was creditable to him, “Dawson’s first duty is to his child. She is now twelve years old, quite a large girl and is growing fast. She has never seen girl or woman since she was brought here; she will soon be a young woman; she requires association with others of 97 her own sex; her welfare demands this; her education and proper training can never be obtained in this mining settlement.”

“Eddycation!” exclaimed Vose Adams; “what have you been doing with her all this time? She must be as far along in her studies and eddycation as me and Ruggles.”

“It is to be hoped so,” replied the parson with a smile; “I doubt whether she will meet any one of her age as proficient in book learning as herself, but there remains music, etiquette, and above all, the social customs and accomplishments which can be acquired nowhere except in the abode of civilization. There is none upon whom this blow will fall more heavily than myself, but I have no right to interpose when a man is doing his duty.”

An exploding bomb could not have caused more consternation than the news brought by the parson. Every one felt the truth of his words and respected him for their utterance, but it was like asking them to consent to the blotting of the sun from the heavens.

“I see a way out of it,” finally remarked Wade Ruggles with a brightening face; “we can compermise.”

“In what way?”

“Why, if Dawson feels that he and the gal must go, let him split the difference atween us; he can go and leave her; that will satisfy everybody.”

“It will hardly satisfy him, since the whole question is that of taking her with him. He must be left free to do whatever he chooses.”

The parson looked into the gloomy faces turned toward him.

“Boys, you have all heard the news brought by the last papers. Fort Sumter has been fired on; President Lincoln has called for volunteers; the Southern Confederacy has been declared and civil war has begun. It is the intention of Dawson to offer his services to the cause of the Union.”

“And I shall enlist too,” declared Wade Ruggles, compressing his lips, “but it will be on the other side.”

“I’m with you,” added Budge Isham; “I am from Alabama, and if she secedes, as she is sure to do, I am ready to lay down my life in her defence.”

“Sorry, pards, but that shoves me into the Union army,” remarked Al Bidwell, puffing quietly at his pipe; “we must keep the balance right, but we’ll part friends here and we’ll be friends till we shoulder our muskets. Then we’ll do all we can to kill each other.”

Further discussion disclosed that the citizens of New Constantinople were about equally divided in their allegiance, but all of them were not yet ready to take up arms in support of the cause with which they sympathized. There were eight who announced their intention of making their way to San Francisco, there to 99 find the most available route to the points necessary to reach. It was typical of that stupendous struggle, the greatest of modern times, that four of these recruits were ardent supporters of one cause and four equally eager to risk their lives for the other. They were the warmest of friends and had been for years, willing to face any danger for the sake of the remainder. It would be the same until they parted, and then, as one of them had already expressed it, they would devote every energy to trying to kill one another.

None of the volunteers faltered until Maurice Dawson decided to leave his daughter at the settlement until his return, if so be he should be permitted to return. He knew of no better or safer place for her, nor of any friends to whose care he would more cheerfully commit her, in case it should be his lot to fall on the field of battle.

It had been Parson Brush’s intention to be Dawson’s comrade in his perils, but when the father begged him to stay behind to look after his child he consented. And so the programme, so fraught with momentous consequences, was arranged.