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“Upon this he began, with a confused look and a slight stammer: ‘Do you know–I’m afraid you will think it rude, but I didn’t mean it for rudeness–really. Your visit has given me great pleasure–‘

“It flashed on me that he had called himself ‘a poor man.’

“‘I wasn’t proposing to doctor you,’ I put in; and it was a shameless lie. ‘You may take the tonic or not; it won’t do much harm, anyway. But a gentle walk every day among the pines here–the very gentlest, nothing to overtax your strength–will do more for you than any drugs. But if you will let me call, pretty often, and have a talk– I’m an Englishman, you know, and an English voice is good to hear–‘

“His face lit up at once. ‘Ah, if you would!’ said he; and we shook hands.”

“As I closed the front door and stepped out upon the sidewalk, a tall man lounged across to me from the doorway of a saloon across the road–a lumberer, by his dress. He wore a large soft hat, a striped flannel shirt open at the neck, a broad leathern belt, and muddy trousers tucked into muddy wading-boots. His appearance was picturesque enough without help from his dress. He had a mighty length of arm and breadth of shoulders; a handsome, but thin and almost delicately fair, face, with blue eyes, and a surprisingly well-kept beard. The colour of this beard and of his hair–which he wore pretty long–was a light auburn. Just now the folds of his raiment were full of moist sawdust; and as he came he brought the scent of the pine-woods with him.

“‘How’s the Bishop?’ asked this giant, jerking his head towards the little balcony of No. 67.

“Before I could hit on a discreet answer, he followed the question up with another:

“‘What’ll you take?’

“I saw that he had something to say, and allowed him to lead the way to a saloon a little way down the road. ‘Simpson’s Pioneers’ Symposium’ was the legend above the door. A small, pimply-faced man in seedy black–whom I guessed at once, and correctly, to be ‘Huz-and-Buz’–lounged by the bar inside; and across the counter the bar-keeper had his banjo slung, and was gently strumming the accompaniment of ‘Hey, Juliana!’

“‘Put that down,’ commanded my new acquaintance; and then, turning to Huz-and-Buz, ‘Git!’

“The architect raised the brim of his hat to me, bowed servilely, and left.

“‘Short or long?’

“I said I would take a short drink.

“‘A brandy sour?’

“‘A ‘brandy sour’ will suit me.’

“He kept his eye for a moment on the bar-tender, who began to bustle around with the bottles and glasses; then turned upon me.

“‘Now, then.’

“‘About the Bishop, as you call him?’

“He nodded.

“‘Well, you’re not to tell him so; but he’s going to die.’

“‘Quick?’

“‘I think so.’

“He nodded. ‘I knew that,’ he said, and was silent for a minute; then resumed, ‘No; he won’t be told. We take an interest in that young man.’

“‘Meaning by ‘we’?’

“‘The citizens of Eucalyptus as a body. My name’s William Anderson: Captain Bill they call me. I was one of the first settlers in Eucalyptus. I’ve seen it high, and I’ve seen it low. And I’m going to be the last man to quit; that’s the captain’s place. And when I say this or that is public opinion in Eucalyptus, it’s got to be. I drink to your health, Doctor.’

“‘Thank you,’ said I. ‘Then I may count on your silence? The poor chap is so powerfully set on crossing the Rockies and getting to close quarters with some real wickedness, that to tell him the truth might shorten the few days he has left.’

“Captain Bill smiled grimly.

“‘Wickedness? Lord love you! He couldn’t see any. He’d go through ‘Frisco, and out at the far end, without so much as guessing the place had a seamy side to it. His innocence,’ pursued the captain, ‘is unusual. I guess that’s why we’re taking so much care of him. But I must say you’ve been spry.’