"Well,this yer earthquake was ten years ago,just after I came.Ireckon I oughter remember it.It was a queer sort o'day in the fall,dry and hot as if thar might hev bin a fire in the woods,only thar wasn't no wind.Not a breath of air anywhar.The leaves of them alders hung straight as a plumb-line.Except for that thar stream and that thar wheel,nuthin'moved.Thar wasn't a bird on the wing over that canyon;thar wasn't a squirrel skirmishin'in the hull wood;even the lizards in the rocks stiffened like stone Chinese idols.It kept gettin'quieter and quieter,ontil I walked out on that ledge and felt as if I'd have to give a yell just to hear my own voice.Thar was a thin veil over everything,and betwixt and between everything,and the sun was rooted in the middle of it as if it couldn't move neither.Everythin'seemed to be waitin',waitin',waitin'.Then all of a suddin suthin'seemed to give somewhar!Suthin'fetched away with a queer sort of rumblin',as if the peg had slipped outer creation.I looked up and kalkilated to see half a dozen of them boulders come,lickity switch,down the grade.But,darn my skin,if one of 'em stirred!
And yet while I was looking,the whole face o'that bluff bowed over softly,as if saying 'Good-by,'and got clean away somewhar before I knowed it.Why,you see that pile agin the side o'the canyon!Well,a thousand feet under that there's trees,three hundred feet high,still upright and standin'.You know how them pines over on that far mountain-side always seem to be climbin'up,up,up,over each other's heads to the very top?Well,Mr.Key,ISAW 'EM climbin'!And when I pulled myself together and got back to the mill,everything was quiet;and,by G--d,so was the mill-wheel,and there wasn't two inches of water in the river!""And what did you think of it?"said Key,interested in spite of his impatience.
"I thought,Mr.Key--No!I mustn't say I thought,for I knowed it.I knowed that suthin'had happened to my wife!"Key did not smile,but even felt a faint superstitious thrill as he gazed at him.After a pause Collinson resumed:"I heard a month after that she had died about that time o'yaller fever in Texas with the party she was comin'with.Her folks wrote that they died like flies,and wuz all buried together,unbeknownst and promiscuous,and thar wasn't no remains.She slipped away from me like that bluff over that canyon,and that was the end of it.""But she might have escaped,"said Key quickly,forgetting himself in his eagerness.
But Collinson only shook his head."Then she'd have been here,"he said gravely.
Key moved towards the door still abstractedly,held out his hand,shook that of his companion warmly,and then,saddling his horse himself,departed.A sense of disappointment--in which a vague dissatisfaction with himself was mingled--was all that had come of his interview.He took himself severely to task for following his romantic quest so far.It was unworthy of the president of the Sylvan Silver Hollow Company,and he was not quite sure but that his confidences with Collinson might have imperiled even the interests of the company.To atone for this momentary aberration,and correct his dismal fancies,he resolved to attend to some business at Skinner's before returning,and branched off on a long detour that would intersect the traveled stage-road.But here a singular incident overtook him.As he wheeled into the turnpike,he heard the trampling hoof-beats and jingling harness of the oncoming coach behind him.He had barely time to draw up against the bank before the six galloping horses and swinging vehicle swept heavily by.He had a quick impression of the heat and steam of sweating horse-hide,the reek of varnish and leather,and the momentary vision of a female face silhouetted against the glass window of the coach!But even in that flash of perception he recognized the profile that he had seen at the window of the mysterious hut!
He halted for an instant dazed and bewildered in the dust of the departing wheels.Then,as the bulk of the vehicle reappeared,already narrowing in the distance,without a second thought he dashed after it.His disappointment,his self-criticism,his practical resolutions were forgotten.He had but one idea now--the vision was providential!The clue to the mystery was before him--he MUST follow it!
Yet he had sense enough to realize that the coach would not stop to take up a passenger between stations,and that the next station was the one three miles below Skinner's.It would not be difficult to reach this by a cut-off in time,and although the vehicle had appeared to be crowded,he could no doubt obtain a seat on top.
His eager curiosity,however,led him to put spurs to his horse,and range up alongside of the coach as if passing it,while he examined the stranger more closely.Her face was bent listlessly over a book;there was unmistakably the same profile that he had seen,but the full face was different in outline and expression.Astrange sense of disappointment that was almost a revulsion of feeling came over him;he lingered,he glanced again;she was certainly a very pretty woman:there was the beautifully rounded chin,the short straight nose,and delicately curved upper lip,that he had seen in the profile,--and yet--yet it was not the same face he had dreamt of.With an odd,provoking sense of disillusion,he swept ahead of the coach,and again slackened his speed to let it pass.This time the fair unknown raised her long lashes and gazed suddenly at this persistent horseman at her side,and an odd expression,it seemed to him almost a glance of recognition and expectation,came into her dark,languid eyes.The pupils concentrated upon him with a singular significance,that was almost,he even thought,a reply to his glance,and yet it was as utterly unintelligible.A moment later,however,it was explained.
