Euchre-deck Billy, working in the gulch at the crossing, never saw
Miss Folinsbee pass but that he always remarked apologetically to his
partner, that "he believed he MUST write a letter home." Even Bill
Masters, who saw her in Paris presented to the favorable criticism of
that most fastidious man, the late Emperor, said that she was stunning,
but a big discount on what she was at Madrono Hollow.

It was still early morning, but the sun, with California extravagance,
had already begun to beat hotly on the little chip hat and blue ribbons,
and Miss Jo was obliged to seek the shade of a bypath. Here she
received the timid advances of a vagabond yellow dog graciously, until,
emboldened by his success, he insisted upon accompanying her, and,
becoming slobberingly demonstrative, threatened her spotless skirt with
his dusty paws, when she drove him from her with some slight acerbity,
and a stone which haply fell within fifty feet of its destined mark.
Having thus proved her ability to defend herself, with characteristic
inconsistency she took a small panic, and, gathering her white skirts in
one hand, and holding the brim of her hat over her eyes with the other,
she ran swiftly at least a hundred yards before she stopped. Then she
began picking some ferns and a few wild-flowers still spared to the
withered fields, and then a sudden distrust of her small ankles seized
her, and she inspected them narrowly for those burrs and bugs and snakes
which are supposed to lie in wait for helpless womanhood. Then she
plucked some golden heads of wild oats, and with a sudden inspiration
placed them in her black hair, and then came quite unconsciously upon
the trail leading to Madrono Hollow.

Here she hesitated. Before her ran the little trail, vanishing at last
into the bosky depths below. The sun was very hot. She must be very far
from home. Why should she not rest awhile under the shade of a madrono?