crossed by a trail that ran through Madrono hollow. Perhaps because it
was a near cut-off to the settlement, perhaps from some less practical
reason, Culpepper took this trail, and in a few moments stood among the
rarely beautiful trees that gave their name to the valley. Even in that
uncertain light the weird beauty of these harlequin masqueraders was
apparent; their red trunks--a blush in the moonlight, a deep blood-stain
in the shadow--stood out against the silvery green foliage. It was as
if Nature in some gracious moment had here caught and crystallized the
gypsy memories of the transplanted Spaniard, to cheer him in his lonely
exile.

As Culpepper entered the grove he heard loud voices. As he turned toward
a clump of trees, a figure so bizarre and characteristic that it might
have been a resident Daphne--a figure over-dressed in crimson silk
and lace, with bare brown arms and shoulders, and a wreath of
honeysuckle--stepped out of the shadow. It was followed by a man.
Culpepper started. To come to the point briefly, he recognized in the
man the features of his respected uncle, Colonel Starbottle; in the
female, a lady who may be briefly described as one possessing absolutely
no claim to an introduction to the polite reader. To hurry over equally
unpleasant details, both were evidently under the influence of liquor.

From the excited conversation that ensued, Culpepper gathered that
some insult had been put upon the lady at a public ball which she had
attended that evening; that the Colonel, her escort, had failed to
resent it with the sanguinary completeness that she desired. I regret
that, even in a liberal age, I may not record the exact and even
picturesque language in which this was conveyed to her hearers. Enough
that at the close of a fiery peroration, with feminine inconsistency
she flew at the gallant Colonel, and would have visited her delayed