“What’s that you’re saying?” he queried, with the nervous quickness of an invalid.

“Nothing—­but that I’m going now.”  She turned her face aside to hide her moistened eyes.  “Wish me good luck, won’t you?” she asked, half sadly, half pettishly.

“Come here!”

She came and bent over him.  He suddenly raised his hands, and, drawing her face down to his own, kissed her forehead.

“Give that to him,” he whispered, “from me.”

She turned and fled, happily for her sentiment, not hearing the feeble laugh that followed, as Dunn, in sheer imbecility, again referred to the extravagant ludicrousness of the situation.  “It is about the biggest thing in the way of a sell all round,” he repeated, lying on his back, confidentially to the speck of smoke-obscured sky above him.  He pictured himself repeating it, not to Nellie—­her severe propriety might at last overlook the fact, but would not tolerate the joke—­but to her father!  It would be one of those characteristic Californian jokes Father Wynn would admire.

To his exhaustion fever presently succeeded, and he began to grow restless.  The heat too seemed to invade his retreat, and from time to time the little patch of blue sky was totally obscured by clouds of smoke.  He amused himself with watching a lizard who was investigating a folded piece of paper, whose elasticity gave the little creature lively apprehensions of its vitality.  At last he could stand the stillness of his retreat and his supine position no longer, and rolled himself out of the bed of leaves that Teresa had so carefully prepared for him.  He rose to his feet stiff and sore, and, supporting himself by the nearest tree, moved a few steps from the dead ashes of the camp-fire.  The movement frightened the lizard, who abandoned the paper and fled.  With a satirical recollection of Brace and his “ridiculous” discovery through the medium of this animal, he stooped and picked up the paper.  “Like as not,” he said to himself, with grim irony, “these yer lizards are in the discovery business.  P’r’aps this may lead to another mystery,” and he began to unfold the paper with a smile.  But the smile ceased as his eye suddenly caught his own name.

A dozen lines were written in pencil on what seemed to be a blank leaf originally torn from some book.  He trembled so that he was obliged to sit down to read these words:—­

“When you get this keep away from the woods.  Dunn and another man are in deadly pursuit of you and your companion.  I overheard their plan to surprise you in our cabin.  Don’t go there, and I will delay them and put them off the scent.  Don’t mind me.  God bless you, and if you never see me again think sometimes of

“Teresa.”