When his footsteps had died away in the distant hall, Silvia threw herself upon her couch and wept bitterly.
CHAPTER XVI. DUVAL DUNGARVON AND BLACK BEAR AT THE LONE PINE.
The sun had just crossed the meridian, on the day set for the meeting of Duval Dungarvon and Black Bear at the Lone Pine, when Solomon Strange, in Black Bear’s disguise, emerged from the forest on the south side of the glade, and stopped beneath the Lone Pine.
He had not been there more than an hour when Duval Dungarvon emerged from the forest on the north side of the glade and advanced toward him.
“Here we are ag’in,” exclaimed Solomon Strange, quite hoarsely.
“Yes,” replied the robber-captain, looking at him in a way that made Strange flinch with uneasiness; “but what’s the matter, Brandon, you talk so hoarse?”
“Matter enuff,” returned the false Black Bear. “I catched a devil of a cold last night at the Devil’s Tarn. But come, let’s to business.”
“Now, if I tell you, Brandon, you must never breathe it to a living soul, for it is in strict violation of our laws to do so.”
“You needn’t be afraid of me tellin’, Dungarvon. Go on with your story.”
The robber-captain began, and in a few moments he had related the whole of their proceedings in initiating a man into their band of Mountain Men, or robbers, and concluded by saying:
“Can jist as well as not,” replied Strange, “though there is one thing I had forgotten to mention.”
“I shall insist on keeping my bear-skin on at the ranch.”
“Of course! We wouldn’t know that the great _Black Bear_ was in our midst unless you wore it,” returned Dungarvon.
“Then I am ready to go with you,” said the false chief.
The two arose and at once set off toward the robber’s ranch.
As they walked along, conversing on different topics, Strange finally said:
“You have never told me, Dungarvon, why it is that you hate this man Sanford so bitterly.”
“No. I tell _very_ few, because I don’t want everybody to know, for then it would be no secret, and that’s the beauty of it.”
“Yes; but tell it, tell it to me, Dungarvon,” said Strange.
“Well, to make a short story out of a long one, Sanford and I both loved the same woman, a Creole of New Orleans. She would have married me, but Sanford, curse him! told her I was the son of an Italian brigand, and so won her. In the course of time they had two children, Florence and Silvia. Wayland Sanford went to California during the gold-fever, and I followed, waiting for a chance to take his life. After a time the chance came. Sanford quarreled with a miner, and publicly threatened his life. That night the miner was killed. Of course _I_ did it, but I was detected in the act by one of Sanford’s friends. I threw the man down the shaft, and left him there. Sanford was arrested for the crime, but escaped, and flew, no one knew where. I followed, but failed to find my man.