When the evening meal was cleared away, he took down the guitar, and sung several ballads, the old “General” accompanying him with his rich deep bass, and Alice with her clear birdlike alto; and the sweet melody of the trio’s voices called forth round after round of rapturous applause from the road-agents camped upon the slope, and from the Utes who were lounging here and there among the flower-beds of the valley.  But of the lot, Deadwood Dick was the only one bold enough to approach the cabin, he came sauntering along and halted on the threshold, nodding to the occupants of the little apartment with a nonchalance which was not assumed.

“Good-evening!” he said, tipping his sombrero, but taking care not to let the mask slip from his face.  “I hope mine is not an intrusion.  Hearing music, I was loth to stay away, for I am a great lover of music;—­it is the one passion that appeals to my better nature.”

He seated himself on the little stone step, and motioned for Redburn to proceed.

One of those inside the cabin had been strangely affected at the sight of Dick, and that person was Anita.  She turned deathly pale, her eyes assumed an expression of affright, and she trembled violently, as she first saw him.  The Prince of the Road, however, if he saw her, noticed not her agitation; in fact, he took not the second glance at her while he remained at the cabin.  His eyes were almost constantly fastening upon the lovely face and form of Alice.

Thinking it best to humor one who might become either a powerful enemy or an influential friend, Redburn accordingly struck up a lively air, a la banjo, and in exact imitation of a minstrel, rendered “Gwine to Get a Home, Bymeby.”  And the thunders of encore that came from the outside listeners, showed how surely he had touched upon a pleasant chord.  He followed that with several modern serio-comic songs, all of which were received well and heartily applauded.

“That recalls memories of good old times,” said the road-agent, as he leaned back against the door-sill, and gazed at the mountains, grand, majestic, stupendous, and the starlit sky, azure, calm and serene.  “Recalls the days of early boyhood, that were gay, pure, and happy.  Ah! ho!”

He heaved a deep sign, and his head dropped upon his breast.

A deathlike silence pervaded the cabin; that one heartfelt sigh aroused a sensation of pity in each of the four hearts that beat within the cabin walls.

That the road-agent was a gentleman in disguise, was not to be gainsayed; all felt that, despite his outlawed calling, he was deserving of a place among them, in his better moods.

As if to accord with his mood, Alice began a sweet birdlike song, full of tender pathos, and of quieting sympathy.

It was a quaint Scottish melody,—­rich in its honeyed meaning, sweetly weird and pitiful; wonderfully soothing and nourishing to a weeping spirit.