The blizzard gradually subsided toward morning, but when the fall of snow ceased, it lay to the depth of several feet on the level, while the gorges were choked with vast drifts.  The cold was below zero and no work could be done in the diggings until a rise in temperature came.

It was hardly light, however, on the succeeding morning, when three of the miners accompanied Maurice Dawson in his search for the abandoned wagon and team.  There was not a trace of anything resembling a trail, the footprints of the man having been obliterated by the wind-driven snow, and the skill of the party was taxed to the utmost.  Several times they were compelled to rest, and Dawson himself suggested that the search be given up until a change in the weather; but the kind hearted men saw how deeply he grieved, and their sympathy kept them toiling until about noon when success came.

The wagon was so covered with snow that it resembled a hummock, which ordinarily would have been passed without notice.  The horses and the inanimate form within were like blocks of wood.  The slight figure was lifted tenderly from its resting place and brought to Dead Man’s Gulch.

Since the last recollection of Nellie was when she supposed her mother alive, it was deemed kinder that she should not look upon the lifeless form again.  With hard labor the picks and shovels hollowed out a shallow grave into which the form, wrapped about with a single blanket, was laid away to rest until the last day.

The father, when questioned by the little one, explained that her mother had gone on a long, long journey and there was no saying when she would be seen again.  Nellie cried a good deal and it saddened her parent’s heart, when stealing softly into her room, he saw the traces of tears on her cheeks.  Who can tell the sorrows of childhood when such a cruel affliction comes upon it?  But it is a blessed truth that time is the healer of all wounds, and after awhile the little one ceased to ask about her mother.  When the whole truth was told her, she had become old enough to bear the blow.

Maurice Dawson’s first purpose was to remain only for a week or two with the friends of himself and child.  He had set out for the Pacific coast, and, although it was still a thousand miles distant, he felt it his duty to press on, but he suffered himself to be dissuaded, when it was explained that the prospect of obtaining gold was as good at New Constantinople, whereas, if he continued his journey, he would have to make his home among strangers, who were not likely to feel the interest in him and his child that was felt by those who were the means of saving their lives.  Furthermore, since he had lost his team, he was without the means of pressing on.  None of the emigrant trains turned so far out of their course as to come to Dead Man’s Gulch, and nothing was plainer than that the citizens of that place would not give the least help in an enterprise that was to deprive them of Nellie.  It is impossible to say what would have followed, had he persisted in his first decision, for while the men might have consented to let him go, they would have rebelled had he attempted to take the child from them.

And so it came about, we repeat, that Maurice Dawson decided to make his home indefinitely in the town that had been christened New Constantinople.  With the help of his neighbors, Landlord Ortigies divided his rear room into two apartments, one of which was turned over to the parent and his child.  Nearly every miner brought some article, such as a fragment of mirror, a picture or trinket and presented it to the little one, whose room naturally became the finest in New Constantinople.

Dawson himself joined the miners at their work, all showing an eagerness to lend him a helping hand, and there was reason to hope that in time there would be a fair reward for their labor.  He was not only an educated man, but was strong and enterprising, considerate of the feelings of others, and now that his life partner was gone, he had but the little daughter to live for.  Gladly he toiled for her, for no child was ever more tenderly loved by parent than she.  His thoughts turned to the future, but for some years he believed it was better that she should remain where she was.

Nellie Dawson became the pet of the mining town.  There was not a man in the place, no matter how rough his ways, nor how dark had been his past, who was not made the better by her presence.  She touched a responsive chord in every heart.  She awoke tones that had been silent for years, and stirred into life resolves that had lain dormant for a generation.  When the weather grew milder with the approach of spring, she flitted like a bird from cabin to cabin, equally at home and dearly prized in all.  Many a time when night came, the father was unable to find her, and perhaps saw nothing of her until the next day, but he never felt any solicitude.  He knew that some of the men had persuaded her to remain with them, and he was too considerate to rob them of the pleasure of listening to her innocent prattle, while they racked their ingenuity and threw dignity to the winds in the effort to entertain her.  Each one strove to make her think more of him than the others, and it ended by her loving them all.

As a rule, Nellie ate her morning meal at home, after spending the night with her father, and then she was off for the day, returning or remaining away as her airy fancy prompted.  Her sweet influence in the mining camp was beyond the power of human calculation to fathom.  No gauge could be placed upon it.  Like the sweep of an angel’s wing, her coming seemed to have wafted nearly all the coarseness, wrong and evil from her path.

“There’s a serious question that I want to lay afore this company,” gravely remarked Wade Ruggles one night in the Heavenly Bower.  Dawson was absent with a brother miner at the lower end of the settlement, so the gathering felt at liberty to discuss him and his child.  Wade of late had fallen into the habit of taking the lead in such discussions, and Landlord Ortigies was quite willing to turn over the honors of the chairmanship to the outspoken fellow.

The remainder of the company were smoking, drinking and talking as the mood took them, and all looked inquiringly at the speaker, seeing which Wade continued with the same earnestness he had shown at first: 

“It is this:  that little angel that was tossed down here in the blizzard is growing fast; she’s larning something cute every day; she notices things that you don’t think of; fact is she’s the smartest youngster that was ever born.  Does any gent feel disposed to dispoot the aforesaid statement?” he abruptly asked, laying his hand on the butt of his revolver and looking severely around in the faces of his friends.

No one questioned the assertion.  Had it been left to them to choose the words, they would have made them stronger.

“Wal, the remark I was about to remark is that I hear some coarse observations once in awhile.  I may say that I have indulged in a few myself when the ’casion was suitable and called for ’em, but I want to give notice that the thing must stop in the presence of the angel.”

“Your suggestions generally ain’t worth listenin’ to,” observed Ike Hoe, “but there’s solid sense in them words.  I have been troubled over the same thing and was goin’ to submit a proposition.”

“You’re a purty one to do it,” commented Vose Adams scornfully; “why it’s only yesterday that I heerd you say ‘darn’ just because I happened to smash the end of your finger, with the hammer I was drivin’ a nail with.”

“Did the little one hear him?” asked Wade Ruggles, while an expression of horror settled on every countenance.

“No, sir!” declared Ike; “afore I indulged in the expression, so proper under the tryin’ circumstances, I looked round to make sartin she wasn’t in hearing distance.”

“You must have looked very quick,” said Vose; “for the horrible words was simultaneous with the flattenin’ of your big forefinger.  Howsumever, I gazed round myself and am happy to say she warn’t in sight.  If she had been, I’d smashed all your fingers.”

“A very proper Christian spirit,” commended Wade; “I hope all the rest of you will strive to emerlate it.”

Felix Brush was leaning on the end of the bar with a glass of steaming toddy, which he had partly sipped, and was now caressing with his hand.

“Gentlemen,” said he impressively, “permit me a word.  Wade has touched a subject which appeals to us all.  I have given it much thought for the past few days and feel it my duty to look after the religious instruction of the child.”

Two or three disrespectful snickers followed this declaration.  The parson instantly flared up.

“If any reprobate here feels a desire to scoff, he’s only to step outside for a few minutes and see who can get the drop on the other.”

Everybody knew that the parson was always well heeled, and no one questioned his courage.  His friends contented themselves with pitying smiles and significant glances at one another.  Felix hastily swallowed his toddy, with the evident intention of airing his emphatic views, when Wade Ruggles interposed: 

“Pards, you’re gettin’ off the track; we hain’t got to the religious racket yit; that’ll come later.  What I want to ’rive at is as to using cuss words and unproper language where the angel hears it.  It ain’t ’nough for us to agree that we won’t do it; it must be fixed so we don’t take no chances.”

This was not exactly clear and Wade was asked to be more explicit.

“I mean that there must be a penalty, such as will stop a galoot that has once offended from doing the same thing again.”

This clearly intimated that the punishment which the chairman had in mind was of a frightful nature.  The landlord begged Wade to come down to particulars.

“My idée is that whoever offends this little one by unproper language shall be filled full of bullet holes:  how does that strike you?”

“It hits me just right!” responded the landlord, with several nods of his head; “but there’s one thing in the way.”

“What’s that?” demanded Wade, showing some temper at this attack upon his scheme.

“It ‘lows a man to say the unproper words in the hearin’ of the angel, afore he’s shot; so it won’t prevent her ears from being ’fended.  Can’t we fix it some way, so that she shan’t hear ’em at all?”

“There’s no trouble about that,” solemnly remarked Budge Isham from his seat at the further end of the room; “You have only to find out when a fellow has made up his mind to use improper language in the presence of the child, and then shoot him before he can say the words.”

“But how shall we know he’s going to say ’em?” inquired the chairman, who in the earnestness of his feelings felt no suspicion of the honesty of his friend.

“You will have to judge that by the expression of his countenance.  I think when a fellow has made up his mind to swear his looks give notice of what is coming.  The rest of us must be on the alert and pick him off before the words get out of his mouth.  And yet I am sorry to say,” added Budge gravely rising to his feet, “that there is one serious drawback to my proposition.”

“The chairman is anxious to hear it.”

“There might be mistakes made.  A man’s expression is not always an index of his thoughts.  He might be suffering from some inward pain, and be in the act of uttering some expression, but his face could have so mean a look that if our law was in force, he would be shot on sight.  For instance, studying these faces all turned toward me, I should say, speaking on general principles, that all except one or two deserve, not shooting, but hanging, and if looks were to determine a man’s depth of infamy, mighty few of you would live five minutes.”

Budge sank gravely into his seat and resumed smoking, while his friends, understanding his trifling character, contemptuously refused attention to his disrespectful remarks.  In the general discussion which followed, several insisted that the only proper punishment for the grave offence was death; but the sentiment crystallized into the feeling that that penalty was somewhat severe for the first breaking of the law.  It was proper enough for the second crime, but a man who had been accustomed to picturesque and emphatic words was liable to err once at least while on the road to reformation.  The agreement finally reached was that the offender should be heavily fined, compelled to fast several days, or, more frightful than all, be deprived of the privileges of the bar for the same length of time.  When the last penalty was fixed there were several suppressed groans and a general setting of lips, with the unshakable resolve to steer clear of that appalling punishment.

Everything was serene for several days, when, as might have been anticipated, the explosion came.  Al Bidwell, in coming out of the Heavenly Bower, caught the toe of one of his boots and fell forward on his hands and knees.  Two of his friends seeing him naturally laughed, whereupon, as he picked himself up, he demanded in the name of the presiding genius of hades, what they saw to laugh at.  By way of answer, one of them pointed to Nellie Dawson, who ran forward to help him to his feet.

“Did you hurt yourself, Mr. Bidwell?  I’s so sorry.”

“You may well be, little one,” was the bitter response, as he realized his awful offence; “for this will play thunder with me ­there it goes agin!  Please don’t say another word,” he exclaimed desperately, striding down the street to save himself from piling up a mountain of unpardonable crimes.

The committee did not gather until late that evening, for Nellie was at home and it was thought advisable to wait until she was asleep, so that she should not know anything of what was in the air.  The conversation was in subdued tones until Mr. Dawson tip-toed out of the rear room, with the announcement that the little one was sunk in slumber.

“Such bein’ the case,” remarked Wade Ruggles, with becoming gravity, “this meeting will proceed to bus’ness.  Pards, a hein’us crime has been committed among us.  In the proud history of New Constantinople, we’ve had hangin’ bees; we’ve shot three Injins ’cause they was Injins; there has been any number of holes plugged inter them as was a little careless of speech, and more’n once there has been the devil to pay, but nothin’ like this, never!  Vose Adams, you was one as heard this wretch Bidwell indulge in his shocking profanity.  You’ll be good ’nough to give the partic’lars to the gents that I must warn to brace themselves fur the shock.”

Vose Adams told the story which was familiar to all.  He and Budge Isham were approaching the Heavenly Bower that forenoon, the cause being a due regard for the requirement of the laws of health, when Albert Bidwell, the accused, stubbed his toe.  Hearing a laugh, he looked up and demanded to know what the ­ they were laughing at.  While the query, though objectionable on aesthetic grounds, might have passed muster in the diggings or anywhere in New Constantinople previous to the advent of the angel at present making her home with them, yet the horror of the thing was that the aforesaid angel heard it.  She ran to the help of the villain, who added to his monumental crime by calmly remarking to her that what he had just said would play thunder with him.

This second offence was unanimously felt by those present to be more unpardonable than the first, since it was in the nature of an addendum, had nothing to do with the business proper, and worst of all, was addressed to Nellie herself.

Chairman Ruggles turned his severest frown upon the prisoner, who was sitting disconsolately on a box, and drawing at his brier wood pipe, which in the depth of his emotion, he failed to notice was unlighted.

“What has the prisoner to say fur himself?”

Bidwell shuffled to his feet, took the pipe from his mouth and looked around upon the cold, unsympathetic faces.

“Wal, pards,” he remarked, heaving a great sigh, “I don’t see that there’s anything partic’lar fur me to say.  When a thing is fairly proved onto you, you can’t make nothin’ by denyin’ of the same.  I’ve been tryin’ to walk a chalk line ever since the angel arrove among us.  Two or three times I fell over backward and bruised my head, owin’ to my tryin’ to stand up too straight.  I was just bracin’ myself to do the same as aforesaid, when comin’ out of this disgraceful place, when I took a headlong dive and struck the earth so hard, I must have made a bulge in China.  Two unmannerly ijuts that happened to see me, instead of expressin’ sorrer for my mishap, broke out laughin’, and in my righteous indignation, I asked them a emphatic question.”

“Ord’narily,” observed the Court, “your explanation would do.  In the old times, nothin’ would have been said if you’d drawed your gun and give ’em a lesson in manners, but that aint the question afore the house:  Why did you do it in the presence of the angel?”

“Didn’t see her till after the crime was committed.”

“But why didn’t you look fur her to larn whether she was in sight or was liable to hear your shocking words?”

“Didn’t think of it.”

“Your reply only aggervates the offence.  If any man feels that he must swear or bust, he must bust, purvided the little one is in sight; or he must hold in till he can climb on top of the rocks, or creep among the foothills where he’s sure of being alone.  The Court hain’t any ’bjection to your thinking all the cuss words you want to, but you mus’n’t speak ’em when she’s about.  You understand the position of the Court?”

“I’d be a fool if I didn’t,” growled the accused.

“It’s onnecessary to understand ’em in order to be a fool, Mr. Bidwell, but how ’bout your second offence, when you used the word ‘thunder,’ and addressed it to the gal herself?”

The prisoner felt that nothing could be said in palliation of this charge.

“That was bad bus’ness, I’ll confess; but I was so disgusted with myself that I didn’t know what I was doing or saying; the words come out afore I had time to pull myself together.  I was so afeard of adding something still worser that I just rushed off to git out of danger.”

“There’s where you showed the first grain of sense the Court ever knowed you to show.  If I had been in your place, I would have jumped off the rocks, into the kenyon, two thousand feet below.  If you’d done that you’d been saved the disgrace of being put on trial in this honorable Court.  Gents,” added Ruggles, glancing from the prisoner into the expectant faces, “since the man owns up, it rests with you to fix the penalty for his crime of bigamous murder.”

The prisoner resumed his seat and the chairman looked around, as an invitation for those present to express their views.  When they came to do so, a wide diversity came to the surface.  Vose Adams suggested that the criminal be compelled to go without any food for three days, but this was not favorably received, since the rough, trying life which each man had been compelled to follow at times during the past years, made the punishment much less than it appeared to be.

Ike Hoe suggested that instead of food, the accused’s liquid refreshment should be shut off for the time named.  The accused groaned.

When this had continued for some time, Felix Brush, the parson, took the floor.

“Gentlemen, it’s a principle in law to be lenient with the first offence, and, since this is the first time that Bidwell has offended and he deeply feels his disgrace, why not require him to apologize to the young lady and stand treat for the crowd, with the understanding that his next crime shall be visited with condign punishment?”

“Do you propose to let him off?” demanded the wrathful chairman.

“Yes; for this once, but never again.”

“I’ll never consent to anything of the kind!  The dignity of the Court must be preserved; the law must be executed, and any man who says ‘devil’ or ‘thunder’ in the presence of the little gal, I don’t care what the circumstances, orter to be shot, so that there wont be any delay in his going to the devil, where he belongs.”

“O, Mr. Ruggles, I heard you!”

A little figure dressed in white stood at the door leading to the rear room, and the startled auditors turning their heads, saw Nellie Dawson, with her chubby finger pointed reprovingly at the dumbfounded chairman.