"
"Judge, I did not want to bring a swarm of squatters over our lines.
I thought to tell you alone, and you could act with secrecy. If
they stake off claims, we will have a rush on our hands."
Hardin orders the strictest silence. As he lies in the guest chamber
of Lagunitas, Philip Hardin is haunted all night by a wild unrest.
If Lagunitas were only his. There is only Valois between him and
the hidden millions in these quartz veins. Will no Yankee bullet
do its work?
The tireless brain works on, as crafty Philip Hardin slumbers
that night. Visions of violence, of hidden traps, of well-planned
crime, haunt his dreams. Only "Kaintuck" knows. Secretly, bit by
bit, he has brought in these ores. They have been smuggled out and
worked, with no trace of their real origin. No one knows but one.
Though old "Kaintuck" feels no shadow over his safety, the sweep
of the dark angel's wing is chilling his brow. He knows too much.
When Hardin returns to San Francisco he busies himself with
Lagunitas. His brow is dark as he paces the deck of the Stockton
steamer. Hortense Duval has provided him with a servant of great
discretion to care for the child. Marie Berard is the typical
French maid. Deft, neat-handed, she has an eye like a hawk.
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