But Corliss did go back to see her, and before the day was out. A little bitter self-communion had not taken long to show him his childishness. The sting of loss was hard enough, but the thought, now they could be nothing to each other, that her last impressions of him should be bad, hurt almost as much, and in a way, even more. And further, putting all to the side, he was really ashamed. He had thought that he could have taken such a disappointment more manfully, especially since in advance he had not been at all sure of his footing.
So he called upon her, walked with her up to the Barracks, and on the way, with her help, managed to soften1 the awkwardness which the morning had left between them. He talked reasonably and meekly2, which she countenanced3, and would have apologized roundly had she not prevented him.
"Not the slightest bit of blame attaches to you," she said. "Had I been in your place, I should probably have done the same and behaved much more outrageously5. For you were outrageous4, you know."
"But had you been in my place, and I in yours," he answered, with a weak attempt at humor, "there would have been no need."
She smiled, glad that he was feeling less strongly about it.
"But, unhappily, our social wisdom does not permit such a reversal," he added, more with a desire to be saying something.
"Ah!" she laughed. "There's where my Jesuitism comes in. I can rise above our social wisdom."
"You don't mean to say,—that—?"
"There, shocked as usual! No, I could not be so crude as to speak outright6, but I might finesse7, as you whist-players say. Accomplish the same end, only with greater delicacy8. After all, a distinction without a difference."
"Could you?" he asked.
"I know I could,—if the occasion demanded. I am not one to let what I might deem life-happiness slip from me without a struggle. That" (judicially) "occurs only in books and among sentimentalists. As my father always says, I belong to the strugglers and fighters. That which appeared to me great and sacred, that would I battle for, though I brought heaven tumbling about my ears."
"You have made me very happy, Vance," she said at parting by the Barracks gates. "And things shall go along in the same old way. And mind, not a bit less of you than formerly9; but, rather, much more."
But Corliss, after several perfunctory visits, forgot the way which led to Jacob Welse's home, and applied10 himself savagely11 to his work. He even had the hypocrisy12, at times, to felicitate himself upon his escape, and to draw bleak13 fireside pictures of the dismal14 future which would have been had he and Frona incompatibly15 mated. But this was only at times. As a rule, the thought of her made him hungry, in a way akin16 to physical hunger; and the one thing he found to overcome it was hard work and plenty of it. But even then, what of trail and creek17, and camp and survey, he could only get away from her in his waking hours. In his sleep he was ignobly18 conquered, and Del Bishop19, who was with him much, studied his restlessness and gave a ready ear to his mumbled20 words.
The pocket-miner put two and two together, and made a correct induction21 from the different little things which came under his notice. But this did not require any great astuteness22. The simple fact that he no longer called on Frona was sufficient evidence of an unprospering suit. But Del went a step farther, and drew the corollary that St. Vincent was the cause of it all. Several times he had seen the correspondent with Frona, going one place and another, and was duly incensed23 thereat.
"I'll fix 'm yet!" he muttered in camp one evening, over on Gold Bottom.
"Whom?" Corliss queried24.
"Who? That newspaper man, that's who!"
"What for?"
"Aw—general principles. Why'n't you let me paste 'm that night at the
Opera House?"
Corliss laughed at the recollection. "Why did you strike him, Del?"
"General principles," Del snapped back and shut up.
But Del Bishop, for all his punitive25 spirit, did not neglect the main chance, and on the return trip, when they came to the forks of Eldorado and Bonanza26, he called a halt.
"Say, Corliss," he began at once, "d'you know what a hunch27 is?" His employer nodded his comprehension. "Well, I've got one. I ain't never asked favors of you before, but this once I want you to lay over here till to-morrow. Seems to me my fruit ranch28 is 'most in sight. I can damn near smell the oranges a-ripenin'."
"Certainly," Corliss agreed. "But better still, I'll run on down to
Dawson, and you can come in when you've finished hunching29."
"Say!" Del objected. "I said it was a hunch; and I want to ring you in on it, savve? You're all right, and you've learned a hell of a lot out of books. You're a regular high-roller when it comes to the laboratory, and all that; but it takes yours truly to get down and read the face of nature without spectacles. Now I've got a theory—"
Corliss threw up his hands in affected30 dismay, and the pocket-miner began to grow angry.
"That's right! Laugh! But it's built right up on your own pet theory of erosion and changed riverbeds. And I didn't pocket among the Mexicans two years for nothin'. Where d'you s'pose this Eldorado gold came from?—rough, and no signs of washin'? Eh? There's where you need your spectacles. Books have made you short-sighted. But never mind how. 'Tisn't exactly pockets, neither, but I know what I'm spelling about. I ain't been keepin' tab on traces for my health. I can tell you mining sharps more about the lay of Eldorado Creek in one minute than you could figure out in a month of Sundays. But never mind, no offence. You lay over with me till to-morrow, and you can buy a ranch 'longside of mine, sure." "Well, all right. I can rest up and look over my notes while you're hunting your ancient river-bed."
"Didn't I tell you it was a hunch?" Del reproachfully demanded.
"And haven't I agreed to stop over? What more do you want?"
"To give you a fruit ranch, that's what! Just to g............