Mr. Ryder was as good as his word. A day or two later he entered Mrs. Rightbody's parlor at the Chrysopolis Hotel in Stockton, with the information that he had seen the mysterious senders of the despatch, and that they were now in the office of the hotel waiting her pleasure. Mr. Ryder further informed her that these gentlemen had only stipulated that they should not reveal their real names, and that they be introduced to her simply as the respective “Seventy-Four” and “Seventy-Five” who had signed the despatch sent to the late Mr. Rightbody.

Mrs. Rightbody at first demurred to this; but, on the assurance from Mr. Ryder that this was the only condition on which an interview would be granted, finally consented.

“You will find them square men, even if they are a little rough, ma'am. But, if you'd like me to be present, I'll stop; though I reckon, if ye'd calkilated on that, you'd have had me take care o' your business by proxy, and not come yourself three thousand miles to do it.”

Mrs. Rightbody believed it better to see them alone.

“All right, ma'am. I'll hang round out here; and ef ye should happen to have a ticklin' in your throat, and a bad spell o' coughin', I'll drop in, careless like, to see if you don't want them drops. Sabe?”

And with an exceedingly arch wink, and a slight familiar tap on Mrs. Rightbody's shoulder, which might have caused the late Mr. Rightbody to burst his sepulchre, he withdrew.

A very timid, hesitating tap on the door was followed by the entrance of two men, both of whom, in general size, strength, and uncouthness, were ludicrously inconsistent with their diffident announcement. They proceeded in Indian file to the centre of the room, faced Mrs. Rightbody, acknowledged her deep courtesy by a strong shake of the hand, and, drawing two chairs opposite to her, sat down side by side.

“I presume I have the pleasure of addressing—” began Mrs. Rightbody.

The man directly opposite Mrs. Rightbody turned to the other inquiringly.

The other man nodded his head, and replied,—

“Seventy-Four.”

“Seventy-Five,” promptly followed the other.

Mrs. Rightbody paused, a little confused.

“I have sent for you,” she began again, “to learn something more of the circumstances under which you gentlemen sent a despatch to my late husband.”

“The circumstances,” replied Seventy-Four quietly, with a side-glance at his companion, “panned out about in this yer style. We hung a man named Josh Silsbie, down at Deadwood, for hoss-stealin'. When I say WE, I speak for Seventy-Five yer as is present, as well as representin', so to speak, seventy-two other gents as is scattered. We hung Josh Silsbie on squar, pretty squar, evidence. Afore he was strung up, Seventy-Five yer axed him, accordin' to custom, ef ther was enny thing he had to say, or enny request that he allowed to make of us. He turns to Seventy-Five yer, and—”

Here he paused suddenly, looking at his companion.

“He sez, sez he,” began Seventy-Five, taking up the narrative,—“he sez, 'Kin I write a letter?' sez he. Sez I, 'Not much, ole man: ye've got no time.' Sez he, 'Kin I send a despatch by telegraph?' I sez, 'Heave ahead.' He sez,—these is his dientikal words,—'Send to Adam Rightbody, Boston. Tell him to remember his sacred compack with me thirty years ago.'”

“'His sacred compack with me thirty years ago,'” echoed Seventy-Four,—“his dientikal words.”

“What was the compact?” asked Mrs. Rightbody anxiously.

Seventy-Four looked at Seventy-Five, and then both arose, and retired to the corner of the parlor, where they engaged in a slow but whispered deliberation. Presently they returned, and sat down again.

“We allow,” said Seventy-Four, quietly but decidedly, “that YOU know what that sacred compact was.”

Mrs. Rightbody lost her temper and her truthfulness together. “Of course,” she said hurriedly, “I know. But do you mean to say that you gave this poor man no further chance to explain before you murdered him?”

Seventy-Four and Seventy-Five both rose again slowly, and retired. When they returned again, and sat down, Seventy-Five, who by this time, through some subtile magnetism, Mrs. Rightbody began to recognize as the superior power, said gravely,—

“We wish to say, regarding this yer murder, that Seventy-Four and me is equally responsible; that we reckon also to represent, so to speak, seventy-two other gentlemen as is scattered; that we are ready, Seventy-Four and me, to take and holt that responsibility, now and at any time, afore every man or men as kin be fetched agin us. We wish to say that this yer say of ours holds good yer in Californy, or in any part of these United States.”

“Or in Canady,” suggested Seventy-Four.

“Or in Canady. We wouldn't agree to cross the water, or go to furrin parts, unless absolutely necessary. We leaves the chise of weppings to your principal, ma'am, or being a lady, ma'am, and interested, to any one you may fetch to act for him. An advertisement in any of the Sacramento papers, or a playcard or handbill stuck unto a tree near Deadwood, saying that Seventy-Four or Seventy-Five will communicate with this yer principal or agent of yours, will fetch us—allers.”

Mrs. Rightbody, a little alarmed and desperate, saw her blunder. “I mean nothing of the kind,” she said hastily. “I only expected that you might have some further details of this interview with Silsbie; that perhaps you could tell me—” a bold, bright thought crossed Mrs. Rightbody's mind—“something more about HER.”

The two men looked at each other.

“I suppose your society have no objection to giving me information about HER,” said Mrs. Rightbody eagerly.

Another quiet conversation in the corner, and the return of both men.

“We want to say that we've no objection.”

Mrs. Rightbody's heart beat high. Her boldness had made her penetration good. Yet she felt she must not alarm the men heedlessly.

“Will you inform me to what extent Mr. Rightbody, my late husband, was interested in her?”

This time it seemed an age to Mrs. Rightbody before the men returned from their solemn consultation in the corner. She could both hear and feel that their discussion was more animated than their previous conferences. She was a little mortified, however, when they sat down, to hear Seventy-Four say slowly,—

“We wish to say that we don't allow to say HOW much.”

“Do you not think that the 'sacred compact' between Mr. Rightbody and Mr. Silsbie referred to her?”

“We reckon it do.”

Mrs. Rightbody, flushed and animated, would have given worlds had her daughter been present to hear this undoubted confirmation of her theory. Yet she felt a little nervous and uncomfortable even on this threshold of discovery.

“Is she here now?”

“She's in Tuolumne,” said Seventy-Four.

“A little better looked arter than formerly,” added Seventy-Five.

“I see. Then Mr. Silsbie ENTICED her away?”

“Well, ma'am, it WAS allowed as she runned away. But it wasn't proved, and it generally wasn't her style.”

Mrs. Rightbody trifled with her next question.

“She was pretty, of course?”

The eyes of both men brightened.

“She was THAT!” said Seventy-Four emphatically.

“It would have done you good to see her!” added Seventy-Five.

Mrs. Rightbody inwardly doubted it; but, before she could ask another question, the two men again retired to the corner for consultation. When they came back, there was a shade more of kindliness and confidence in their manner; and Seventy-Four opened his mind more freely.

“We wish to say, ma'am, looking at the thing, by and large, in a far-minded way, that, ez YOU seem interested, and ez Mr. Rightbody was interested, and was, according to all accounts, deceived and led away by Silsbie, that we don't mind listening to any proposition YOU might make, as a lady—allowin' you was ekally interested.”

“I understand,” said Mrs. Rightbody quickly. “And you will furnish me with any papers?”

The two men again consulted.

“We wish to say, ma'am, that we think she's got papers, but—”

“I MUST have them, you understand,” interrupted Mrs. Rightbody, “at any price.

“We was about to say, ma'am,” said Seventy-Four slowly, “that, considerin' all things,—and you being a lady—you kin have HER, papers, pedigree, and guaranty, for twelve hundred dollars.”

It has been alleged that Mrs. Rightbody asked only one question more, and then fainted. It is known, however, that by the next day it was understood in Deadwood that Mrs. Rightbody had confessed to the Vigilance Committee that her husband, a celebrated Boston millionaire, anxious to gain possession of Abner Springer's well-known sorrel mare, had incited the unfortunate Josh Silsbie to steal it; and that finally, failing in this, the widow of the deceased Boston millionaire was now in personal negotiation with the owners.

Howbeit, Miss Alice, returning home that afternoon, found her mother with a violent headache.

“We will leave here by the next steamer,” said Mrs. Rightbody languidly. “Mr. Ryder has promised to accompany us.”

“But, mother—”

“The climate, Alice, is over-rated. My nerves are already suffering from it. The associations are unfit for you, and Mr. Marvin is naturally impatient.”

Miss Alice colored slightly.

“But your quest, mother?”

“I've abandoned it.”

“But I have not,” said Alice quietly. “Do you remember my guide at the Yo Semite,—Stanislaus Joe? Well, Stanislaus Joe is—who do you think?”

Mrs. Rightbody was languidly indifferent.

“Well, Stanislaus Joe is the son of Joshua Silsbie.”

Mrs. Rightbody sat upright in astonishment

“Yes. But mother, he knows nothing of what we know. His father treated him shamefully, and set him cruelly adrift years ago; and, when he was hung, the poor fellow, in sheer disgrace, changed his name.”

“But, if he knows nothing of his father's compact, of what interest is this?”

“Oh, nothing! Only I thought it might lead to something.”

Mrs. Rightbody suspected that “something,” and asked sharply, “And pray how did YOU find it out? You did not speak of it in the valley.”

“Oh! I didn't find it out till to-day,” said Miss Alice, walking to the window. “He happened to be here, and—told me.”