What transpired that night at Tuttleville is not strictly a part of this record.  Briefly I may state, however, that after Jovita had been handed over to a sleepy ostler, whom she at once kicked into unpleasant consciousness, Dick sallied out with the bar-keeper for a tour of the sleeping town.  Lights still gleamed from a few saloons and gambling-houses; but, avoiding these, they stopped before several closed shops, and by persistent tapping and judicious outcry roused the proprietors from their beds, and made them unbar the doors of their magazines and expose their wares.  Sometimes they were met by curses, but oftener by interest and some concern in their needs, and the interview was invariably concluded by a drink.  It was three o’clock before this pleasantry was given over, and with a small waterproof bag of india-rubber strapped on his shoulders Dick returned to the hotel.  But here he was waylaid by Beauty,—­Beauty opulent in charms, affluent in dress, persuasive in speech, and Spanish in accent!  In vain she repeated the invitation in “Excelsior,” happily scorned by all Alpine-climbing youth, and rejected by this child of the Sierras,—­a rejection softened in this instance by a laugh and his last gold coin.  And then he sprang to the saddle and dashed down the lonely street and out into the lonelier plain, where presently the lights, the black line of houses, the spires, and the flagstaff sank into the earth behind him again and were lost in the distance.

The storm had cleared away, the air was brisk and cold, the outlines of adjacent landmarks were distinct, but it was half past four before Dick reached the meeting-house and the crossing of the county road.  To avoid the rising grade he had taken a longer and more circuitous road, in whose viscid mud Jovita sank fetlock deep at every bound.  It was a poor preparation for a steady ascent of five miles more; but Jovita, gathering her legs under her, took it with her usual blind, unreasoning fury, and a half-hour later reached the long level that led to Rattlesnake Creek.  Another half-hour would bring him to the creek.  He threw the reins lightly upon the neck of the mare, chirruped to her, and began to sing.

Suddenly Jovita shied with a bound that would have unseated a less practised rider.  Hanging to her rein was a figure that had leaped from the bank, and at the same time from the road before her arose a shadowy horse and rider.  “Throw up your hands,” commanded this second apparition, with an oath.

Dick felt the mare tremble, quiver, and apparently sink under him.  He knew what it meant and was prepared.

“Stand aside, Jack Simpson, I know you, you d——­d thief.  Let me pass or—­”

He did not finish the sentence.  Jovita rose straight in the air with a terrific bound, throwing the figure from her bit with a single shake of her vicious head, and charged with deadly malevolence down on the impediment before her.  An oath, a pistol-shot, horse and highwayman rolled over in the road, and the next moment Jovita was a hundred yards away.  But the good right arm of her rider, shattered by a bullet, dropped helplessly at his side.