“Bridge?  No, marm,” was almost uniformly the reply to her first question in that direction.

“He was sometimes called Posey,” she would then suggest; and at last she found a man who acknowledged that he knew Posey.  “He was at the Buny Visty in Carter’s Gulch at last accounts,” this individual informed her, but he omitted to commit himself as to the nature of Posey’s occupation.  “Wife, p’r’aps?” he observed, incidentally.

“No, sir,” said Dora.

“Sister?”

“No.”

“Ah!  Well, he’s a stocky chap, that Posey, and ought to make his fortune in the mines, if anybody could.  But nobody can’t—­take my word for’t.  Look at me!”

He was a spectacle indeed.  The retrogressive Doctor Hanchett had been quite an exquisite in the matter of apparel compared with this tatterdemalion.  With Dora’s companions he was less reticent concerning the character and calling of Posey than he had been with Dora herself.  By his account it appeared that Posey had spent about a month in the mines without striking a single streak of luck to hearten him.  At the end of that time, completely discouraged, he went to the nearest village and advertised himself as willing to work for his board at anything that might offer.  The thing that offered was a situation as assistant bar-tender at the Buena Vista gambling-house.  Posey accepted this situation with ardor, and discharged the delicate duties pertaining to the place so satisfactorily that he very soon found himself promoted to the distinguished position of “stool pigeon.”  In this capacity he developed shining talents, and the Buena Vista’s gaming-tables soon became the most famous resort in all that region for those confiding birds whose favorite amusement appears to lie in being plucked.  And thus Posey went on prospering until he achieved a partnership in the concern; and his partner soon after being suddenly called to that bourne whence no traveler returns, Posey found himself sole proprietor and manager of an uncommonly flourishing concern in an uncommonly lively line of business.

All this information was carefully kept by her companions from the ears of Dora, of course; and she, having obtained the long-coveted trace by means of which she felt sure that she could not fail to find her lover, was quite cheerful and happy throughout the remainder of the seemingly endless journey.

The end neared at last, however, and as Dora recognized the familiar landmarks that told her she had almost reached the fruition of her hope deferred, her eyes brightened daily, a new flush came into her thin cheeks; and though she grew more quiet and abstracted than formerly, it was plain that her reveries had no tinge of darkness, her hope no shadow of fear, her faith no alloy of doubt.  And when the time came for her to part with the good people in whose company she had traveled so far, she bade them adieu with a light heart, and at once set out alone by stage for Carter’s Gulch.