modulations, rude and unmusical though they were, her heart and soul had
hung in transport or anguish. But it was a chime that had rung its last
peal to her senses as she entered the Carquinez Woods, and for the last
week had been as dead to her as a voice from the grave. It was the voice
of her lover--Dick Curson!




CHAPTER V


The wind was blowing towards the stranger, so that he was nearly upon
her when Teresa first took the alarm. He was a man over six feet in
height, strongly built, with a slight tendency to a roundness of bulk
which suggested reserved rather than impeded energy. His thick beard
and mustache were closely cropped around a small and handsome mouth that
lisped except when he was excited, but always kept fellowship with his
blue eyes in a perpetual smile of half-cynical good-humor. His dress was
superior to that of the locality; his general expression that of a
man of the world, albeit a world of San Francisco, Sacramento, and
Murderer's Bar. He advanced towards her with a laugh and an outstretched
hand.

"YOU here!" she gasped, drawing back.

Apparently neither surprised nor mortified at this reception, he
answered frankly, "Yeth. You didn't expect me, I know. But Doloreth
showed me the letter you wrote her, and--well--here I am, ready to help
you, with two men and a thpare horthe waiting outside the woodth on the