By this time the sun had left the burning ledge of the Eureka Company, and the stage road was also in shadow, so that his return through its heavy dust was less difficult.  And when he at last reached the camp, he found to his relief that his prolonged absence had been overlooked by his thirsty companions in a larger excitement and disappointment; for it appeared that a well-known San Francisco capitalist, whom the foreman had persuaded to visit their claim with a view to advance and investment, had actually come over from Red Dog for that purpose, and had got as far as the summit when he was stopped by an accident, and delayed so long that he was obliged to go on to Sacramento without making his examination.

“That was only his excuse—­mere flap-doodle!” interrupted the pessimistic Jerrold.  “He was foolin’ you; he’d heard of suthin better!  The idea of calling that affair an ‘accident,’ or one that would stop any man who meant business!”

Bray had become uneasily conscious.  “What was the accident?” he asked.

“A d——­d fool woman’s accident,” broke in the misogynist Parkhurst, “and it’s true!  That’s what makes it so cussed mean.  For there’s allus a woman at the bottom of such things—­bet your life!  Think of ’em comin’ here.  Thar ought to be a law agin it.”

“But what was it?” persisted Bray, becoming more apprehensive.

“Why, what does that blasted fool of a capitalist do but bring with him his daughter and auntie to ’see the wonderful scenery with popa dear!’ as if it was a cheap Sunday-school panorama!  And what do these chuckle-headed women do but get off the coach and go to wanderin’ about, and playin’ ‘here we go round the mulberry bush’ until one of ’em tumbles down a ravine.  And then there’s a great to do! and ‘dear popa’ was up and down the road yellin’ ‘Me cheyld! me cheyld!’ And then there was camphor and sal volatile and eau de cologne to be got, and the coach goes off, and ‘popa dear’ gets left, and then has to hurry off in a buggy to catch it.  So we get left too, just because that God-forsaken fool, Neworth, brings his women here.”

Under this recital poor Bray sat as completely crushed as when the fair daughter of Neworth had descended upon his shoulders at the spring.  He saw it all!  His was the fault.  It was his delay and dalliance with her that had checked Neworth’s visit; worse than that, it was his subsequent audacity and her defense of him that would probably prevent any renewal of the negotiations.  He had shipwrecked his partners’ prospects in his absurd vanity and pride!  He did not dare to raise his eyes to their dejected faces.  He would have confessed everything to them, but the same feeling of delicacy for her which had determined him to keep her adventures to himself now forever sealed his lips.  How might they not misconstrue his conduct—­and hers!  Perhaps something of this was visible in his face.

“Come, old man,” said the cheerful misogynist, with perfect innocence, “don’t take it so hard.  Some time in a man’s life a woman’s sure to get the drop on him, as I said afore, and this yer woman’s got the drop on five of us!  But—­hallo, Ned, old man—­what’s the matter with your head?” He laid his hand gently on the matted temple of his younger partner.