from the camp. These accoutrements, as I have before intimated,
justified any form of aimless idleness under the equally aimless title
of "prospecting." He had at the end of three hours' relaxation reached
the highway to Red Chief, half hidden by blinding clouds of dust torn
from the crumbling red road at every gust which swept down the mountain
side. The spot had a familiar aspect to Cass, although some freshly-dug
holes near the wayside, with scattered earth beside them, showed the
presence of a recent prospector. He was struggling with his memory,
when the dust was suddenly dispersed and he found himself again at the
scene of the murder. He started: he had not put foot on the road since
the inquest. There lacked only the helpless dead man and the
contrasting figure of the alert young woman to restore the picture. The
body was gone, it was true, but as he turned he beheld Miss Porter, at
a few paces distant, sitting her horse as energetic and observant as on
the first morning they had met. A superstitious thrill passed over him
and awoke his old antagonism.
She nodded to him slightly. "I came here to refresh my memory," she
said, "as Mr. Hornsby thought I might be asked to give my evidence
again at Blazing Star."
Cass carelessly struck an aimless blow with his pick against the sod
and did not reply.
"And you?" she queried.
"_I_ stumbled upon the place just now while prospecting, or I shouldn't
be here."
"Then it was _you_ made these holes?"
"No," said Cass, with ill-concealed disgust. "Nobody but a stranger
would go foolin' round such a spot."
He stopped, as the rude significance of his speech struck him, and
added surlily, "I mean--no one would dig here."
The girl laughed and showed a set of very white teeth in her square
jaw. Cass averted his face.
"Do you mean to say that every miner doesn't know that it's lucky to
dig wherever human blood has been spilt?"
Cass felt a return of his superstition, but he did not look up. "I
never heard it before," he said, severely.
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