The Colonel darted a fat forefinger at his host and then drew back, and
settled his purpled chin and wattled cheeks conclusively in his enormous
shirt collar. Mr. Dumphy sank back in his chair at the contact as if the
finger of Fate had touched him.
CHAPTER V.
MRS. CONROY HAS AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.
The hot weather had not been confined to San Francisco. San Pablo Bay
had glittered, and the yellow currents of the San Joaquin and Sacramento
glowed sullenly with a dull sluggish lava-like flow. No breeze stirred
the wild oats that drooped on the western slope of the Contra Costa
hills; the smoke of burning woods on the eastern hillsides rose silently
and steadily; the great wheat fields of the intermediate valleys clothed
themselves humbly in dust and ashes. A column of red dust accompanied
the Wingdam and One Horse Gulch stage-coach, a pillar of fire by day as
well as by night, and made the fainting passengers look longingly toward
the snow-patched Sierras beyond. It was hot in California; few had ever
seen the like, and those who had were looked upon as enemies of their
race. A rashly scientific man of Murphy's Camp who had a theory of his
own, and upon that had prophesied a continuance of the probable
recurrence of the earthquake shock, concluded he had better leave the
settlement until the principles of meteorology were better recognised
and established.
It was hot in One Horse Gulch--in the oven-like Gulch, on the burning
sands and scorching bars of the river. It was hot even on Conroy's Hill,
among the calm shadows of the dark-green pines--on the deep verandahs of
the Conroy _cottage orné_. Perhaps this was the reason why Mrs. Gabriel
Conroy, early that morning after the departure of her husband for the
mill, had evaded the varnished and white-leaded heats of her own house
and sought the more fragrant odours of the sedate pines beyond the
hilltop. I fear, however, that something was due to a mysterious note
which had reached her clandestinely the evening before, and which,
seated on the trunk of a prostrate pine, she was now reperusing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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