They call it Cruel to keep a Secret from a Woman.  If so, I have been Cruel, though only in Poor pay for your Cruelty to me.  I have had a Secret—­and this is it:  I have left for California from this Point and shall not go to Oregon.  I have learned of Gold in the State of California, and have departed to that State in the hope of early Success in Achieving a Fortune.  So far as I know, I am the First to have this news of Gold, unless a certain man whose name and thought I execrate has by his Usual dishonesty fallen on the same information.  If so, we two may meet where none can Interfear.

I do not know how long I may be in California, but be Sure I go for but the one purpose of amassing a Fortune for the Woman I love.  I never have given you Up and never shall.  Your promise is mine and our Engagement never has been Broken, and the Mere fact that accident for the time Prevented our Nuptials by no means shall ever mean that we shall not find Happy Consumation of our most Cherished Desire at some later Time.

I confidently Hope to arrive in Oregon a rich man not later than one or two years from Now.  Wait for me.  I am mad without you and shall count the Minutes until then when I can take you in my Arms and Kiss you a thousand Times.  Forgive me; I have not Heretofore told you of these Plans, but it was best not and it was for You.  Indeed you are so much in my Thought, my Darling, that each and Everything I do is for You and You only.

No more at present then, but should Opportunity offer I shall get word to you addressed to Oregon City which your father said was his general Desstination, it being my own present purpose Ultimately to engage in the Practise of law either at that Point or the settlement of Portland which I understand is not far Below.  With my Means, we should soon be Handsomely Settled.

     May God guard you on the Way Thither and believe me, Darling, with
     more Love than I shall be ever able to Tell and a Thousand Kisses.

  Your Affianced and Impatient Lover,
  SAM’L.  PAYSON WOODHULL.

The little sagebrush fire flared up brightly for an instant as Molly Wingate dropped one of her letters on the embers.

CHAPTER XXXVII

JIM BRIDGER FORGETS

“What’s wrong with the people, Cale?” demanded Jesse Wingate of his stouthearted associate, Caleb Price.  The sun was two hours high, but not all the breakfast fires were going.  Men were moody, truculent, taciturn, as they went about their duties.

Caleb Price bit into his yellow beard as he gazed down the irregular lines of the encampment.

“Do you want me to tell you the truth, Jesse?”

“Why, yes!”

“Well, then, it seems to me the truth is that this train has lost focus.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t know that I’m right—­don’t know I can make my guess plain.  Of course, every day we lay up, the whole train goes to pieces.  The thing to do is to go a little way each day—­get into the habit.  You can’t wear out a road as long as this one by spurts—­it’s steady does it.