A　Phyllis　Of　The　Sierras
  by　Bret　Harte
  CHAPTER　I。
  Where　the　great　highway　of　the　Sierras　nears　the　summit；　and　the
  pines　begin　to　show　sterile　reaches　of　rock　and　waste　in　their
  drawn…up　files；　there　are　signs　of　occasional　departures　from　the
  main　road；　as　if　the　weary　traveller　had　at　times　succumbed　to　the
  long　ascent；　and　turned　aside　for　rest　and　breath　again。　　The　tired
  eyes　of　many　a　dusty　passenger　on　the　old　overland　coach　have　gazed
  wistfully　on　those　sylvan　openings；　and　imagined　recesses　of
  primeval　shade　and　virgin　wilderness　in　their　dim　perspectives。
  Had　he　descended；　however；　and　followed　one　of　these　diverging
  paths；　he　would　have　come　upon　some　rude　wagon　track；　or　〃logslide；〃
  leading　from　a　clearing　on　the　slope；　or　the　ominous　saw…mill；　half
  hidden　in　the　forest　it　was　slowly　decimating。　　The　woodland　hush
  might　have　been　broken　by　the　sound　of　water　passing　over　some
  unseen　dam　in　the　hollow；　or　the　hiss　of　escaping　steam　and　throb　of
  an　invisible　engine　in　the　covert。
  Such；　at　least；　was　the　experience　of　a　young　fellow　of　five…and…
  twenty；　who；　knapsack　on　back　and　stick　in　hand；　had　turned　aside
  from　the　highway　and　entered　the　woods　one　pleasant　afternoon　in
  July。　　But　he　was　evidently　a　deliberate　pedestrian；　and　not　a
  recent　deposit　of　the　proceeding　stage…coach；　and　although　his
  stout　walking…shoes　were　covered　with　dust；　he　had　neither　the
  habitual　slouch　and　slovenliness　of　the　tramp；　nor　the　hurried
  fatigue　and　growing　negligence　of　an　involuntary　wayfarer。　　His
  clothes；　which　were　strong　and　serviceable；　were　better　fitted　for
  their　present　usage　than　the　ordinary　garments　of　the　Californian
  travellers；　which　were　too　apt　to　be　either　above　or　below　their
  requirements。　　But　perhaps　the　stranger's　greatest　claim　to
  originality　was　the　absence　of　any　weapon　in　his　equipment。　　He
  carried　neither　rifle　nor　gun　in　his　hand；　and　his　narrow　leathern
  belt　was　empty　of　either　knife　or　revolver。
  A　half…mile　from　the　main　road；　which　seemed　to　him　to　have　dropped
  out　of　sight　the　moment　he　had　left　it；　he　came　upon　a　half…cleared
  area；　where　the　hastily…cut　stumps　of　pines；　of　irregular　height；
  bore　an　odd　resemblance　to　the　broken　columns　of　some　vast　and
  ruined　temple。　　A　few　fallen　shafts；　denuded　of　their　bark　and
  tessellated　branches；　sawn　into　symmetrical　cylinders；　lay　beside
  the　stumps；　and　lent　themselves　to　the　illusion。　　But　the　freshly…
  cut　chips；　so　damp　that　they　still　clung　in　layers　to　each　other　as
  they　had　fallen　from　the　axe；　and　the　stumps　themselves；　still　wet
  and　viscous　from　their　drained　life…blood；　were　redolent　of　an　odor
  of　youth　and　freshness。
  The　young　man　seated　himself　on　one　of　the　logs　and　deeply　inhaled
  the　sharp　balsamic　fragrancealbeit　with　a　slight　cough　and　a
  later　hurried　respiration。　　This；　and　a　certain　drawn　look　about
  his　upper　lip；　seemed　to　indicate；　in　spite　of　his　strength　and
  color；　some　pulmonary　weakness。　　He；　however；　rose　after　a　moment's
  rest　with　undiminished　energy　and　cheerfulness；　readjusted　his
  knapsack；　and　began　to　lightly　pick　his　way　across　the　fallen
  timber。　　A　few　paces　on；　the　muffled　whir　of　machinery　became　more
  audible；　with　the　lazy；　monotonous　command　of　〃Gee　thar；〃　from　some
  unseen　ox…driver。　　Presently；　the　slow；　deliberately…swaying　heads
  of　a　team　of　oxen　emerged　from　the　bushes；　followed　by　the　clanking
  chain　of　the　〃skids〃　of　sawn　planks；　which　they　were　ponderously
  dragging　with　that　ostentatious　submissiveness　peculiar　to　their
  species。　　They　had　nearly　passed　him　when　there　was　a　sudden　hitch
  in　the　procession。　　From　where　he　stood　he　could　see　that　a
  projecting　plank　had　struck　a　pile　of　chips　and　become　partly
  imbedded　in　it。　　To　run　to　the　obstruction　and；　with　a　few
  dexterous　strokes　and　the　leverage　of　his　stout　stick；　dislodge　the
  plank　was　the　work　not　only　of　the　moment　but　of　an　evidently
  energetic　hand。　　The　teamster　looked　back　and　merely　nodded　his
  appreciation；　and　with　a　〃Gee　up！　　Out　of　that；　now！〃　the　skids
  moved　on。
  〃Much　obliged；　there！〃　said　a　hearty　voice；　as　if　supplementing　the
  teamster's　imperfect　acknowledgment。
  The　stranger　looked　up。　　The　voice　came　from　the　open；　sashless；
  shutterless　window　of　a　rude　buildinga　mere　shell　of　boards　and
  beams　half　hidden　in　the　still　leafy　covert　before　him。　　He　had
  completely　overlooked　it　in　his　approach；　even　as　he　had　ignored
  the　nearer　throbbing　of　the　machinery；　which　was　so　violent　as　to
  impart　a　decided　tremor　to　the　slight　edifice；　and　to　shake　the
  speaker　so　strongly　that　he　was　obliged　while　speaking　to　steady
  himself　by　the　sashless　frame　of　the　window　at　which　he　stood。　　He
  had　a　face　of　good…natured　and　alert　intelligence；　a　master's
  independence　and　authority　of　manner；　in　spite　of　his　blue　jean
  overalls　and　flannel　shirt。
  〃Don't　mention　it；〃　said　the　stranger；　smiling　with　equal　but　more
  deliberate　good…humor。　　Then；　seeing　that　his　interlocutor　still
  lingered　a　hospitable　moment　in　spite　of　his　quick　eyes　and　the
  jarring　impatience　of　the　machinery；　he　added　hesitatingly；　〃I
  fancy　I've　wandered　off　the　track　a　bit。　　Do　you　know　a　Mr。
  Bradleysomewhere　here？〃
  The　stranger's　hesitation　seemed　to　be　more　from　some　habitual
  conscientiousness　of　statement　than　awkwardness。　　The　man　in　the
  window　replied；　〃I'm　Bradley。〃
  〃Ah！　Thank　you：　I've　a　letter　for　yousomewhere。　　Here　it　is。〃　　He
  produced　a　note　from　his　breast…pocket。　　Bradley　stooped　to　a
  sitting　posture　in　the　window。　　〃Pitch　it　up。〃　　It　was　thrown　and
  caught　cleverly。　　Bradley　opened　it；　read　it　hastily；　smiled　and
  nodded；　glanced　behind　him　as　if　to　implore　further　delay　from　the
  impatient　machinery；　leaned　perilously　from　the　window；　and　said；
  〃Look　here！　　Do　you　see　that　silver…fir　straight　ahead？〃
  〃Yes。〃
  〃A　little　to　the　left　there's　a　trail。　　Follow　it　and　skirt　along
  the　edge　of　the　canyon　until　you　see　my　house。　　Ask　for　my　wife
  that's　Mrs。　Bradleyand　give　her　your　letter。　　Stop！〃　　He　drew　a
  carpenter's　pencil　from　his　pocket；　scrawled　two　or　three　words
  across　the　open　sheet　and　tossed　it　back　to　the　stranger。　　〃See　you
  at　tea！　　Excuse　meMr。　Mainwaringwe're　short…handedandthe
  engine〃　　But　here　he　disappeared　suddenly。
  Without　glancing　at　the　note　again；　the　stranger　quietly　replaced
  it　in　his　pocket；　and　struck　out　across　the　fallen　trunks　towards
  the　silver…fir。　　He　quickly　found　the　trail　indicated　by　Bradley；
  although　it　was　faint　and　apparently　worn　by　a　single　pair　of　feet
  as　a　shorter　and　private　cut　from　some　more　travelled　path。　　It　was
  well　for　the　stranger　that　he　had　a　keen　eye　or　he　would　have　lost
  it；　it　was　equally　fortunate　that　he　had　a　mountaineering　instinct；
  for　a　sudden　profound　deepening　of　the　blue　mist　seen　dimly　through
  the　leaves　before　him　caused　him　to　slacken　his　steps。　　The　trail
  bent　abruptly　to　the　right；　a　gulf　fully　two　thousand　feet　deep　was
  at　his　feet！　　It　was　the　Great　Canyon。
  At　the　first　glance　it　seemed　so　narrow　that　a　rifle…shot　could
  have　crossed　its　tranquil　depths；　but　a　second　look　at　the
  comparative　size　of　the　trees　on　the　opposite　mountain　convinced
  him　of　his　error。　　A　nearer　survey　of　the　abyss　also　showed　him
  that　instead　of　its　walls　being　perpendicular　they　were　made　of
  successive　ledges　or　terraces　to　the　valley　below。　　Yet　the　air　was
  so　still；　and　the　outlines　so　clearly　cut；　that　they　might　have
  been　only　the　reflections　of　the　mountains　around　him　cast　upon
  the　placid　mirror　of　a　lake。　　The　spectacle　arrested　him；　as　it
  arrested　all　men；　by　some　occult　power　beyond　the　mere　attraction
  of　beauty　or　magnitude；　even　the　teamster　never　passed　it　without
  the　tribute　of　a　stone　or　broken　twig　tossed　into　its　immeasurable
  profundity。
  Reluctantly　leaving　the　spot；　the　stranger　turned　with　the　trail
  that　now　began　to　skirt　its　edge。　　This　was　no　easy　matter；　as　the
  undergrowth　was　very　thick；　and　the　foliage　dense　to　the　perilous
  brink　of　the　precipice。　　He　walked　on；　however；　wondering　why
  Bradley　had　chosen　so　circuitous　and　dangerous　a　route　to　his
  house；　which　naturally　would　be　some　distance　back　from　the　canyon。
  At　the　end　of　ten　minutes'　struggling　through　the　〃brush；〃　the
  trail　became　vague；　and；　to　all　appearances；　ended。　　Had　he
  arrived？　　The　thicket　was　as　dense　as　before；　through　the
  interstices　of　leaf　and　spray　he　could　see　the　blue　void　of　the
  canyon　at　his　side；　and　he　even　fancied　that　the　foliage　ahead　of
  him　was　more　symmetrical　and　less　irregular；　and　was　touched　here
  and　there　with　faint　bits　of　color。　　To　complete　his　utter
  mystification；　a　woman's　voice；　very　fresh；　very　youthful；　and　by
  no　means　unmusical；　rose　apparently　from　the　circumambient　air。　　He
  looked　hurriedly　to　the　right　and　left；　and　even　hopelessly　into
  the　trees　above　him。
  〃Yes；〃　said　the　voice；　as　if　renewing　a　suspended　conversation；　〃it
  was　too