CHAPTER II.

At
four o’clock Clive once more started for Yorba. He had not drunken six quarts of champagne, but he had commanded the respect of his comrades by the courage with which he had mixed his drinks. Rollins had held his head under a waterfall, in the little river, but it still felt very large. He took off his straw hat and looked at it resentfully. Why had he not worn his traveling cap? He also felt depressed, and reproached himself vehemently. What must Mary Gordon think? Doubtless she was sitting up, waiting for him, and thought him dead—murdered. Nevertheless he had enjoyed himself
[44]
thoroughly, and he found remorse more coy than he would have wished. He had an uneasy consciousness that if his head did not ache so confoundedly he would not feel remorse at all.

His thoughts wandered to Miss Belmont. “I believe I found the woman for the forest, after all. I wonder if she would fit it as well now. Perhaps, in another mood. I fancy she is a woman of many.”

The redwoods were dripping with mist, itself as motionless as the silent trees it shrouded. It filled every hollow, was banked in every aisle, lay like silver cobweb on the young redwoods and ferns. It emphasized the ghastly silence. Not a bird was awake, not a crawling thing moved. Once a panther cried far up on the mountain, but that was all.

Clive came upon the hotel an
[45]
hour later, a long rough wooden structure at the foot of the mountain, up which straggled many cottages. Hard by, across a little creek, were a saloon and billiard room. As he ascended the steps, a stout man with a red heavy face, came out of the office, stretching himself.

“You’re Mr. Clive, the Gordons’ friend, I surmise,” he said.

“I hope they haven’t sat up for me.” He devoutly hoped they had not.

“They hain’t. Miss Gordon waited till twelve, then concluded you’d fallen in with the Bohemian Club, as she knowed you’d brought a letter to Rollins. Jedging by the looks of you I should say you had. Come over to the bar and taper off. My name’s Hart and I run this hotel.”

“Thank you,” said Clive grimly, “but I’ll have no more to-night. Be
[46]
good enough to show me to my room, and be sure to have me wakened at eight. I suppose Mr. and Miss Gordon are not up before then. If they are, please give them my compliments and tell them that I did fall in with the Bohemian Club.”

[47]