Flip：　A　California　Romance
  by　Bret　Harte
  CHAPTER　I
  Just　where　the　track　of　the　Los　Gatos　road　streams　on　and　upward
  like　the　sinuous　trail　of　a　fiery　rocket　until　it　is　extinguished
  in　the　blue　shadows　of　the　Coast　Range；　there　is　an　embayed　terrace
  near　the　summit；　hedged　by　dwarf　firs。　　At　every　bend　of　the　heat…
  laden　road　the　eye　rested　upon　it　wistfully；　all　along　the　flank　of
  the　mountain；　which　seemed　to　pant　and　quiver　in　the　oven…like　air；
  through　rising　dust；　the　slow　creaking　of　dragging　wheels；　the
  monotonous　cry　of　tired　springs；　and　the　muffled　beat　of　plunging
  hoofs；　it　held　out　a　promise　of　sheltered　coolness　and　green
  silences　beyond。　　Sunburned　and　anxious　faces　yearned　toward　it
  from　the　dizzy；　swaying　tops　of　stagecoaches；　from　lagging　teams
  far　below；　from　the　blinding　white　canvas　covers　of　〃mountain
  schooners；〃　and　from　scorching　saddles　that　seemed　to　weigh　down
  the　scrambling；　sweating　animals　beneath。　　But　it　would　seem　that
  the　hope　was　vain；　the　promise　illusive。　　When　the　terrace　was
  reached　it　appeared　not　only　to　have　caught　and　gathered　all　the
  heat　of　the　valley　below；　but　to　have　evolved　a　fire　of　its　own
  from　some　hidden　crater…like　source　unknown。　　Nevertheless；　instead
  of　prostrating　and　enervating　man　and　beast；　it　was　said　to　have
  induced　the　wildest　exaltation。　　The　heated　air　was　filled　and
  stifling　with　resinous　exhalations。　　The　delirious　spices　of　balm；
  bay；　spruce；　juniper；　yerba　buena；　wild　syringa；　and　strange
  aromatic　herbs　as　yet　unclassified；　distilled　and　evaporated　in
  that　mighty　heat；　and　seemed　to　fire　with　a　midsummer　madness　all
  who　breathed　their　fumes。　　They　stung；　smarted；　stimulated；
  intoxicated。　　It　was　said　that　the　most　jaded　and　foot…sore　horses
  became　furious　and　ungovernable　under　their　influence；　wearied
  teamsters　and　muleteers；　who　had　exhausted　their　profanity　in　the
  ascent；　drank　fresh　draughts　of　inspiration　in　this　fiery　air；
  extended　their　vocabulary；　and　created　new　and　startling　forms　of
  objurgation。　　It　is　recorded　that　one　bibulous　stage…driver
  exhausted　description　and　condensed　its　virtues　in　a　single　phrase：
  〃Gin　and　ginger。〃　　This　felicitous　epithet；　flung　out　in　a　generous
  comparison　with　his　favorite　drink；　〃rum　and　gum；〃　clung　to　it　ever
  after。
  Such　was　the　current　comment　on　this　vale　of　spices。　　Like　most
  human　criticism　it　was　hasty　and　superficial。　　No　one　yet　had　been
  known　to　have　penetrated　deeply　its　mysterious　recesses。　　It　was
  still　far　below　the　summit　and　its　wayside　inn。　　It　had　escaped　the
  intruding　foot　of　hunter　and　prospector；　and　the　inquisitive　patrol
  of　the　county　surveyor　had　only　skirted　its　boundary。　　It　remained
  for　Mr。　Lance　Harriott　to　complete　its　exploration。　　His　reasons
  for　so　doing　were　simple。　　He　had　made　the　journey　thither
  underneath　the　stage…coach；　and　clinging　to　its　axle。　　He　had
  chosen　this　hazardous　mode　of　conveyance　at　night；　as　the　coach
  crept　by　his　place　of　concealment　in　the　wayside　brush；　to　elude
  the　sheriff　of　Monterey　County　and　his　posse；　who　were　after　him。
  He　had　not　made　himself　known　to　his　fellow…passengers　as　they
  already　knew　him　as　a　gambler；　an　outlaw；　and　a　desperado；　he
  deemed　it　unwise　to　present　himself　in　a　newer　reputation　of　a　man
  who　had　just　slain　a　brother　gambler　in　a　quarrel；　and　for　whom　a
  reward　was　offered。　　He　slipped　from　the　axle　as　the　stage…coach
  swirled　past　the　brushing　branches　of　fir；　and　for　an　instant　lay
  unnoticed；　a　scarcely　distinguishable　mound　of　dust　in　the　broken
  furrows　of　the　road。　　Then；　more　like　a　beast　than　a　man；　he　crept
  on　his　hands　and　knees　into　the　steaming　underbrush。　　Here　he　lay
  still　until　the　clatter　of　harness　and　the　sound　of　voices　faded　in
  the　distance。　　Had　he　been　followed；　it　would　have　been　difficult
  to　detect　in　that　inert　mass　of　rags　any　semblance　to　a　known　form
  or　figure。　　A　hideous　reddish　mask　of　dust　and　clay　obliterated　his
  face；　his　hands　were　shapeless　stumps　exaggerated　in　his　trailing
  sleeves。　　And　when　he　rose；　staggering　like　a　drunken　man；　and
  plunged　wildly　into　the　recesses　of　the　wood；　a　cloud　of　dust
  followed　him；　and　pieces　and　patches　of　his　frayed　and　rotten
  garments　clung　to　the　impeding　branches。　　Twice　he　fell；　but；
  maddened　and　upheld　by　the　smarting　spices　and　stimulating　aroma
  of　the　air；　he　kept　on　his　course。
  Gradually　the　heat　became　less　oppressive；　once　when　he　stopped　and
  leaned　exhaustedly　against　a　sapling；　he　fancied　he　saw　the　zephyr
  he　could　not　yet　feel　in　the　glittering　and　trembling　of　leaves　in
  the　distance　before　him。　　Again　the　deep　stillness　was　moved　with　a
  faint　sighing　rustle；　and　he　knew　he　must　be　nearing　the　edge　of
  the　thicket。　　The　spell　of　silence　thus　broken　was　followed　by　a
  fainter；　more　musical　interruptionthe　glassy　tinkle　of　water！　　A
  step　further　his　foot　trembled　on　the　verge　of　a　slight　ravine；
  still　closely　canopied　by　the　interlacing　boughs　overhead。　　A　tiny
  stream　that　he　could　have　dammed　with　his　hand　yet　lingered　in
  this　parched　red　gash　in　the　hillside　and　trickled　into　a　deep；
  irregular；　well…like　cavity；　that　again　overflowed　and　sent　its
  slight　surplus　on。　　It　had　been　the　luxurious　retreat　of　many　a
  spotted　trout；　it　was　to　be　the　bath　of　Lance　Harriott。　　Without　a
  moment's　hesitation；　without　removing　a　single　garment；　he　slipped
  cautiously　into　it；　as　if　fearful　of　losing　a　single　drop。　　His
  head　disappeared　from　the　level　of　the　bank；　the　solitude　was　again
  unbroken。　　Only　two　objects　remained　upon　the　edge　of　the　ravine；
  his　revolver　and　tobacco　pouch。
  A　few　minutes　elapsed。　　A　fearless　blue　jay　alighted　on　the　bank
  and　made　a　prospecting　peck　at　the　tobacco　pouch。　　It　yielded　in
  favor　of　a　gopher；　who　endeavored　to　draw　it　toward　his　hole；　but
  in　turn　gave　way　to　a　red　squirrel；　whose　attention　was　divided；
  however；　between　the　pouch　and　the　revolver；　which　he　regarded　with
  mischievous　fascination。　　Then　there　was　a　splash；　a　grunt；　a
  sudden　dispersion　of　animated　nature；　and　the　head　of　Mr。　Lance
  Harriott　appeared　above　the　bank。　　It　was　a　startling　transformation。
  Not　only　that　he　had；　by　this　wholesale　process；　washed　himself　and
  his　light　〃drill〃　garments　entirely　clean；　but　that　he　had；
  apparently　by　the　same　operation；　morally　cleansed　HIMSELF；　and　left
  every　stain　and　ugly　blot　of　his　late　misdeeds　and　reputation　in　his
  bath。　　His　face；　albeit　scratched　here　and　there；　was　rosy；　round；
  shining　with　irrepressible　good　humor　and　youthful　levity。　　His
  large　blue　eyes　were　infantine　in　their　innocent　surprise　and
  thoughtlessness。　　Dripping　yet　with　water；　and　panting；　he　rested
  his　elbows　lazily　on　the　bank；　and　became　instantly　absorbed　with　a
  boy's　delight　in　the　movements　of　the　gopher；　who；　after　the　first
  alarm；　returned　cautiously　to　abduct　the　tobacco　pouch。　　If　any
  familiar　had　failed　to　detect　Lance　Harriott　in　this　hideous
  masquerade　of　dust　and　grime　and　tatters；　still　less　would　any
  passing　stranger　have　recognized　in　this　blond　faun　the　possible
  outcast　and　murderer。　　And；　when　with　a　swirl　of　his　spattering
  sleeve；　he　drove　back　the　gopher　in　a　shower　of　spray　and　leaped　to
  the　bank；　he　seemed　to　have　accepted　his　felonious　hiding…place　as　a
  mere　picnicking　bower。
  A　slight　breeze　was　unmistakably　permeating　the　wood　from　the　west。
  Looking　in　that　direction；　Lance　imagined　that　the　shadow　was　less
  dark；　and　although　the　undergrowth　was　denser；　he　struck　off
  carelessly　toward　it。　　As　he　went　on；　the　wood　became　lighter　and
  lighter；　branches；　and　presently　leaves；　were　painted　against　the
  vivid　blue　of　the　sky。　　He　knew　he　must　be　near　the　summit；
  stopped；　felt　for　his　revolver；　and　then　lightly　put　the　few
  remaining　branches　aside。
  The　full　glare　of　the　noonday　sun　at　first　blinded　him。　　When　he
  could　see　more　clearly；　he　found　himself　on　the　open　western　slope
  of　the　mountain；　which　in　the　Coast　Range　was　seldom　wooded。　　The
  spiced　thicket　stretched　between　him　and　the　summit；　and　again
  between　him　and　the　stage　road　that　plunges　from　the　terrace；　like
  forked　lightning　into　the　valley　below。　　He　could　command　all　the
  approaches　without　being　seen。　　Not　that　this　seemed　to　occupy　his
  thoughts　or　cause　him　any　anxiety。　　His　first　act　was　to　disencumber
  himself　of　his　tattered　coat；　he　then　filled　and　lighted　his　pipe；
  and　stretched　himself　full…length　on　the　open　hillside；　as　if　to
  bleach　in　the　fierce　sun。　　While　smoking　he　carelessly　perused　the
  fragment　of　a　newspaper　which　had　enveloped　his　tobacco；　and　being
  struck　with　some　amusing　paragraph；　read　it　half　aloud　again　to　some
  imaginary　auditor；　emphasizing　its　humor　with　an　hilarious　slap　upon
  his　leg。
  Possibly　from　the　relaxation　of　fatigue　and　the　bath；　which　had
  become　a　vapor　one　as　he　alternately　rolled　and　dried　himself　in
  the　baking　grass；　his　eyes　closed　dreamily。　　He　was　awakened　by
  the　sound　of　voices。　　Th