known to me under--er--er--another name. But honor--Miss Morris,
honor!--seals the lips of Col. Starbottle. (Aside.) If she should
know he was a menial! No. The position of the man you have
challenged, Star, must be equal to your own. (Aloud.) Anything,
Miss Morris, but--er--that!

Miss Mary (smiling). Be it so. Adios, Col. Starbottle.

Col. Starbottle (gallantly). Au revoir, Miss Morris. [Exit,
impressively, L.

Miss Mary. So! Sandy conceals another name, which he withholds
from Red Gulch. Well! Pshaw! What is that to me? The camp is
made up of refugees,--men who perhaps have good reason to hide a
name that may be infamous, the name that would publish a crime.
Nonsense! Crime and Sandy! No, shame and guilt do not hide
themselves in those honest but occasionally somewhat bloodshot
eyes. Besides, goodness knows! the poor fellow's weakness is
palpable enough. No, that is not the reason. It is no guilt that
keeps his name hidden,--at least, not his. (Seating herself, and
arranging flowers in her lap.) Poor Sandy! he must have climbed
the eastern summit to get this. See, the rosy sunrise still
lingers in its very petals; the dew is fresh upon it. Dear little
mountain baby! I really believe that fellow got up before
daylight, to climb that giddy height and secure its virgin
freshness. And to think, in a moment of spite, I'd have given it
to that bombastic warrior! (Pause.) That was a fine offer you
refused just now, Miss Mary. Think of it: a home of luxury, a
position of assured respect and homage; the life I once led, with
all its difficulties smoothed away, its uncertainty dispelled,--