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 blonde 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.