There has been no great issue ever resolved in Mariposa before the legal tribunal, which has not added its corpses to the mortuary selections lying in queer assortment on the red clay hillsides. "Justice nods in California while the pistols are being drawn." Hardin, closeted with his lawyers, suspends their eager plotting, to furtively confer in private with the judge. When the first stars sweep into the blue mountain skies, and a silver moon rises slowly over the pine-clad hills, Joseph Woods summons all his latent fascinations to appease Madame Natalie de Santos. The sturdy Missourian has had his contretemps with Sioux and Pawnee. He has faced prairie fires, stampeded buffalo herds, and met dangers by flood and field. Little personal discussions with horse thieves, some border frays, and even a chance encounter on a narrow trail with a giant grizzly, have tried his nerve. But he braces with a good stiff draught of cognac now. He fears the wily and fascinating Natalie. He is at heart a would-be lady's man. Roughness is foreign to his nature, but he will walk the grim path of duty. When he thinks of flinching, there rises on his memory the lonely grave where Peyton laid Maxime Valois to rest on the bloody field of Peachtree Creek, with the stars and bars lying lightly on his gallant breast. And he calmly enters the presence of the once famous siren. There is a mute entreaty in her eyes, as she motions him to a seat. Joseph toys nervously with the huge diamond, which is a badge "de rigueur" of his rank and grade as a bonanza king. "I do not wish to agitate or distress you, madame," begins Joe, and his voice is very kind. "I broke out a little on Hardin; all bluff, you know. Just to show him a card. Now will you trust and let me help you? I mean to bring you out all right. I can't tell you all I know. I am going to fight Hardin on another quarrel. It will be to the death. I can just as well square your little account too, if you will trust me. Will you let me handle your movements, up to the legal issue. After that you are free. I'll give you the word of an honest man, you shall not suffer. Will you trust me?" Joe's big eyes are looking very appealingly in hers. Without a word, she places her hand in his. "I am yours until that time, but spare me as much as you can--the old histories, you know," her voice falters. She is a woman, after all. "Now see here, madame! I swear to you I am the only private man in California who knows your secret, except Hardin, now. I got it in the days long past. No one shall know your identity." He fixes a keen glance on her: "Is there anyone else you wish to spare?" he softly says. "Yes." She is sobbing now. "It is my child. Don't let her know that awful past." Joseph's eyes are filled with manly sorrow. He whispers with eagerness: "Her father is"-- "Philip Hardin," falters the woman, whose stately head is now bowed in her hands.