recollection, that spherical shape which could best resist those
impressions, when I perceived that the moon, riding high in the heavens,
had begun to separate the formless masses of the shadowy landscape.
Trees isolated, in clumps and assemblages, changed places before
my window. The sharp outlines of the distant hills came back, as
in daylight, but little softened in the dry, cold, dewless air of a
California summer night. I was wondering how late it was, and thinking
that if the horses of the night traveled as slowly as the team before
us, Faustus might have been spared his agonizing prayer, when a sudden
spasm of activity attacked my driver. A succession of whip-snappings,
like a pack of Chinese crackers, broke from the box before me. The stage
leaped forward, and when I could pick myself from under the seat, a long
white building had in some mysterious way rolled before my window.
It must be Slumgullion! As I descended from the stage I addressed the
driver:

"I thought you changed horses on the road?"

"So we did. Two hours ago."

"That's odd. I didn't notice it."

"Must have been asleep, sir. Hope you had a pleasant nap. Bully place
for a nice quiet snooze--empty stage, sir!"




THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT