It was the parson who now broke in.  
“Why do we sit here, lamenting¹ that which cannot be helped? Do you mean to give up, captain, and let her go? Will you settle down to toil² in the diggings, giving her no further thought, while this pretty-faced lieutenant³ is chuckling⁴ over the clever manner by which he fooled you as well as us––”
 
“No!” fairly shouted the roused parent; “I will follow them to the ends of the earth! They shall not find a foot of ground that will protect them! She has never seen me angry, but she shall now!”
 
“We are with you,” coolly responded Brush, “but only on one condition.”
 
“What’s that?”
 
“That this account is to be settled with him alone; you musn’t speak so much as a cross word to Nellie; she will shed many a bitter tear of sorrow; she will drain the cup to its dregs; he, the cause of it all, is to be brought to judgment⁵. When do you wish to take up the pursuit?”
 
“Now!”
 
160
“And we are with you.”
 
There was something wonderful in the way Parson Brush kept control of himself. Externally he was as calm as when standing⁶ in front of the adamantine blackboard, giving instruction to Nellie Dawson, while down deep in his heart, raged a tempest such as rouses into life the darkest passions that can nerve a man to wrong doing. Believing it necessary to stir the father to action, he had done it by well chosen words, that could not have been more effective.
 
For weeks and months the shadow had brooded over him. Sometimes it seemed to lift and dissolve into unsubstantiality, only to come back more baleful than before. And the moment when he had about persuaded himself that it was but a figment of the imagination, it had sprung into being and crushed him. But he was now stern, remorseless, resolute⁷, implacable.
 
It was much the same with Wade⁸ Ruggles. He strove desperately⁹ to gain the remarkable¹⁰ control of his feelings, displayed by his comrade, and partly succeeded. But there was a restless fidgeting which caused him to move aimlessly about the room and showed itself now and then in a slight tremulousness of the voice and hands, but his eyes wore that steely glitter, which those at his side had noticed when the rumble¹¹ and grumble¹² told that the battle was on.
 
Captain Dawson went from one extreme to the other. 161 Crazed, tumultuous in his fury, and at first like a baffled tiger, he moderated his voice and manner until his companions wondered at his self-poise.
 
“They have started for Sacramento and are now well advanced over the trail,” he remarked without any evidence of excitement.
 
“When do you imagine they set out?” asked Brush.
 
“Probably about the middle of the afternoon; possibly earlier.”
 
“Then,” said Ruggles, “they have a good six hours’ start. They haven’t lost any time and must be fifteen or twenty miles away.”
 
“The trail is easy traveling for twice that distance, as I recollect¹³ it,” observed the captain; “after that it grows rougher and they will not be able to go so fast.”
 
“This must have been arranged several days ago, though it is only guesswork on our part. Of course she has taken considerable clothing with her.”
 
“I did not look into her room,” said the captain; “there’s no use; it is enough to know they made their preparations and started, accompanied by that dog Timon.”
 
No time was wasted. They knew they would encounter cold weather, for the autumn had fairly set in, and some portions of the trail carried them to an elevation¹⁴ where it was chilly¹⁵ in midsummer. Each took a thick blanket. The captain donned his military coat, 162 with the empty sleeve pinned to the breast, caught up his saddle and trappings, his Winchester and revolver, and buckled¹⁶ the cartridge¹⁷ belt around his waist. Then he was ready. Neither of the others took coat or vest. The blanket flung around the shoulders was all that was likely to be needed, in addition to the heavy flannel¹⁸ shirt worn summer and winter.
 
Thus equipped, the three stood outside the cabin, with the moon high in the sky, a gentle wind sweeping¹⁹ up the cañon and loose masses of clouds drifting in front of the orb²⁰ of night. Here and there a light twinkled from a shanty²¹ and the hum of voices sounded faintly in their ears. Further off, at the extreme end of the settlement, stood the Heavenly Bower²², with the yellow rays streaming from its two windows. They could picture the group gathered there, as it had gathered night after night during the past years, full of jest and story, and with never a thought of the tragedy that had already begun.
 
“Shall we tell them?” asked Ruggles.
 
“No,” answered Brush; “some of them might wish to go with us.”
 
“And it might be well to take them,” suggested Captain Dawson.
 
“We are enough,” was the grim response of the parson.
 
Like so many phantoms²³, the men moved toward the 163 further end of the settlement. Opposite the last shanty a man assumed form in the gloom. He had just emerged from his dwelling²⁴ and stopped abruptly²⁵ at sight of the trio of shadows gliding²⁶ past.
 
“What’s up, pards?” he called.
 
“Nothing,” was the <............