up in the sump below the 1,700 foot level, smashed so they would have to
sew the pieces up in canvas to bring me to the surface. It is a clear
case that I am gone, and what the mischief am I going to do? Suppose I
brace up and try to win her, and fail, then I shall be done for sure
enough. The old world so far has had no particular attractions for me,
and were I to ask her to look at me, and she, like a sensible woman
that she is, should first look surprised at my assurance, and then
respectfully decline, what would there be left for me? Suppose again, I
could fool her into accepting, then what? I, a rough Nevada miner, linked
for life with a London fairy--beauty and the beast--what would I do with
her? In this babel, what could I do? What could she do on the old Jasper
farm on the hill? I have it. I won't see her again. I will go and pack my
grip, tell Jack I have received a cable which takes me home, and I will
leave to-morrow.

"But then I could not go as I came. Those steady brown eyes would follow
me; when the sunlight would turn its glint on gold and purple clouds, her
chestnut curls would be sure to flash before my eyes, and then there
would be a voice crying to me ceaselessly: 'You who prided yourself on
being brave enough to do any needed thing, you on the first real trial
lowered your flag and fled in a panic. A nice fix I have got myself into.
All my life, through all my dare-devil days, on the ranges in Texas, down
amid the swelling clay of the Comstock, everywhere, my soul has been
equal to the occasion, and I have been able to acquit myself in a way not
to attract attention to my deficiencies. But now my heart has gone back
on me; a pair of eyes have confused my vision, and a little hand has
knocked me out on the first round. I am in a deuce of a fix, surely."
So he rattled on to himself.

The driver was a garrulous whip. From time to time he had been calling