She started to her feet, and so did Darrell, for the report of a rifle rang loud and distinct in the evening air.

"That is William's rifle. I hope he did not fire it," she said.

Darrell went to the door to listen for another shot, but none was heard, so he came back and resumed his seat.

"Three times I have taken that very rifle from William. He was going to shoot cattle, he said, and I had to remind him that the cattle now belong to your son."

Steps were heard now, and Mathew's face peered through the window. Miss Mathews gave a half-suppressed shriek, and dropped her sewing. Her brother's face looked so ghastly pale that it frightened her. He pushed the door and came in.

"What makes the old maid shriek like a fool?" said he.

"Your death-like face," Darrell replied.

"Nonsense!" he said, going to a side-table to pour out whisky from a demijohn he took from under it.

"Oh, William! for pity's sake! don't drink more," she begged. "It will make you crazy, I am sure."

"Anybody might suppose I have drank a river, to hear the old hag talk like that," he snarled.

"You have not said good evening to Mr. Darrell."

"You don't give me a chance, with your infernal chatter. Mr. Darrell knows he is welcome," he said, without looking at him.

"Where is your rifle, William?" she asked.

With an oath he turned and glared at her, with distorted features.

"It is none of your business where it is. Have I to give you an account of everything?"

"I thought you might have loaned it to somebody, for we heard it fired a little while ago."

"Is there no rifle but mine in this valley?"

"I am sorry to say there are plenty, but I know the report of yours. I never mistake it for any other."

Mathews became so enraged, hearing this, and so violent and abusive in his language, that Darrell had to interfere to silence him.

"If you talk like that to your sister, I would advise her not to stay alone in this house with you," Darrell said; "her life might be in danger."

"I wish the devil would take the old hag," he retorted. "She torments my life. I hate her."

"What is the matter with you, Billy?" Darrell asked. "Why are you so excited?"

"It makes me mad to hear her nonsense," he said, in a calmer voice, but still much agitated, and he again went to pour himself another drink.

Miss Mathews whispered hurriedly to Darrell: "Take away his rifle."

"Neighbor Mathews," said Darrell, "I want to send my rifle to have it fixed, will you lend me yours for a few days?"

"Take it," said he gruffly, then folding his arms on the table and leaning his head upon them, immediately sunk into a heavy sleep.

"Take the rifle with you now, Mr. Darrell, he might change his mind when he awakes. I'll bring it directly," said Miss Mathews, hurrying out of the room. Presently she returned, and in her dejected countenance keen disappointment was depicted. Dropping into her seat she whispered: "The rifle is not in the house. Somebody has taken it and fired it. I am sure that was the shot we heard. I know the ring of it."

"I'll go and see. Perhaps I'll find out who fired it," Darrell said, walking towards the front door, followed by Miss Mathews, who preferred to make a few parting suggestions outside, not sure of Billy's soundness of sleep.

As both stepped outside the first object that met their eyes was Billy's rifle, peacefully reclining against the window.

Darrell took it up and looked at Miss Mathews perplexed. She was looking at him aghast.

The undefined fears that neither one expressed were only too well founded. The rifle had been fired, and fired by Mathews with murderous intent. For several weeks, instigated by Roper and bad whisky, Mathews had been watching an opportunity to shoot George, because he had the appeal dismissed. This evening he at last saw his chance when George was walking the porch caressing his baby. He could not take good aim while he was walking, but when Elvira at last took the baby away and George walked into the library, then, as he went to put the window down, Mathews aimed at his heart and fired. Fortunately the ball struck the window sash, deflected and glanced down, striking the hip-bone instead of the heart.

Darrell and Miss Mathews were still looking at the rifle, as if expecting that by a close examination they might guess who fired it, when they were startled by Mathews uttering frightful curses and smashing the furniture. The noise brought two hired men, who were smoking their pipes by the kitchen fire, and they helped Darrell to grapple with the maniac and pinion his arms, tying him to a chair.

Miss Mathews was greatly shocked to see her brother crazy, but she had been expecting it. She quietly consented to have him taken to an insane asylum.

CHAPTER XXXI.-_A Snow Storm._

George Mechlin's wound was not mortal, but it made it necessary to convey him to town to have medical attendance near at hand, and no doubt it would be of a long and painful convalescence, with the danger, almost a certainty, of leaving him lame for life. This danger was to him far more terrible than death, but he concealed in the deepest recesses of his heart the horror he felt at being a cripple, for he knew the keen anguish that Elvira suffered at the thought of such a probability. Her lovely black eyes would fill with tears, and her lips would tremble and turn white, when he or any one else spoke of the possibility of his being lame. So he had to be consoler, and soothe her grief, and be the one to speak of hope and courage.

There was no possibility of his being able to return to his duties at their bank in New York at present, and he, to cheer Elvira's desponding heart, would say that he could attend to a bank in San Diego.

"Don't be despondent, my pet," he said one day, when she looked very sad; "things will not be so bad, after all, for in the spring I will be well enough to attend to bank business here, even if I cannot stand the trip to New York. With the money that Clarence sent, and with what I will put in myself, we can start quite a solid bank. Gabriel will have learned a good deal by that time, and though I will not walk much, I can be a very majestic President, and give my directions from my arm-chair.

All we want is the success of the Texas Pacific-and my uncle writes that Tom Scott is very confident, and working hard."

"But will he succeed?" Elvira asked.

"He has powerful enemies, but his cause is good. The construction of the Texas Pacific ought to be advocated by every honest man in the United States, for it is the thing that will help the exhausted South to get back its strength and vitality."

"Will it really help the South so much?"

"Certainly. Don't we see here in our little town of San Diego how everything is depending on the success of this road? Look at all the business of the town, all the farming of this county, all the industries of Southern California-everything is at a stand-still, waiting for Congress to aid the Texas Pacific. Well, the poor South is in pretty much the same fix that we are. I am sure that there are many homes in the Southern States whose peace and happiness depend upon the construction of the Texas Pacific. Look at our two families. All the future prosperity of the Alamares and Mechlins is entirely based upon the success of this road. If it is built, we will be well off, we will have comfortable homes and a sure income to live upon. But if the Texas Pacific fails, then we will be financially wrecked. That is, my father will, and Don Mariano will be sadly crippled, for he has invested heavily in town property. For my part, I'll lose a great deal, but I have my bank stock in New York to fall back upon. So my poor father and yours will be the worst sufferers. Many other poor fellows will suffer like them-for almost the entire San Diego is in the same boat with us.

It all depends on Congress."

"But why should Congress refuse to aid the Texas Pacific, knowing how necessary the road is to the South? It would be wicked, George, downright injustice, to refuse aid."

"And so it would, but if rumors are true, the bribes of the Central Pacific monopolists have more power with some Congressmen than the sense of justice or the rights of communities. The preamble and resolution which Luttrell introduced last session were a 'flash in the pan,' that was soon forgotten, as it seems. In that document it was clearly shown that the managers of the Central Pacific Railroad Company were guilty of undeniable and open frauds. Enough was said by Luttrell to prove those proud railroad magnates most culpable, and yet with their record still extant, their power in Congress seems greater every year. Still, uncle writes that Tom Scott is to make a big fight this winter, and that his chances are good. I am bound to hope that he'll win."

"But why has he to _fight_? What right have those men of the Central Pacific to oppose his getting Congressional aid? Does the money of the American people belong to those men, that they should have so much to say about how it should be used? Is it not very audacious, outrageous, to come forward and oppose aid being given, only _because they don't want to have competition_? Isn't that their reason?"

"That's all. They have not an earthly _right_ to oppose the Texas Pacific, and all their motive is that they _don't want competition_ to their Central Pacific Railroad. They have already made millions out of this road, but they want no one else to make a single dollar. They want to grab every cent that might be made out of the traffic between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and they don't care how many people are ruined or how many homes are made desolate in the South or in California."

"Oh, George, but this is awful! If those men are so very rapacious and cruel, what hope have we? They will certainly sacrifice San Diego if their influence in Congress is so great! Poor San Diego! my poor, little, native town, to be sacrificed to the heartless greed of four or five men."

"And what claim have these men upon the American people? Think of that!