fierce excitement that was even now slowly burning itself out.

It was a relief at last to see the straggling houses of Devil's Ford far
below come once more into view, as they rounded the shoulder of Devil's
Spur and began the long descent. But as they entered the town a change
more ominous and startling than the desiccation of the landscape
forced itself upon them. The town was still there, but where were
the inhabitants? Four months ago they had left the straggling street
thronged with busy citizens--groups at every corner, and a chaos
of merchandise and traders in the open plaza or square beside the
Presbyterian church. Now all was changed. Only a few wayfarers lifted
their heads lazily as the coach rattled by, crossing the deserted square
littered with empty boxes, and gliding past empty cabins or vacant shop
windows, from which not only familiar faces, but even the window sashes
themselves, were gone. The great unfinished serpent-like flume, crossing
the river on gigantic trestles, had advanced as far as the town,
stooping over it like some enormous reptile that had sucked its life
blood and was gorged with its prey.

Whiskey Dick, who had left the stage on the summit to avail himself of
a shorter foot trail to the house, that would give him half an hour's
grace to make preparations, met them at the stage office with a buggy.
A glance at the young girls, perhaps, convinced him that the graces of
elegant worldly conversation were out of place with the revelation he
read on their faces. Perhaps, he, too, was a trifle indisposed. The
short journey to the house was made in profound silence.

The villa had been repainted and decorated, and it looked fresher, and
even, to their preoccupied minds, appeared more attractive than ever.
Thoughtful hands had taken care of the vines and rose-bushes on the