If you don't value the only man who is identified in all California as the leader of this gang (the man whose style and address has made it popular--yes, POPULAR, by G--d!--to every man, woman, and child who has heard of him; whose sayings and doings are quoted by the newspapers; whom people run risks to see; who has got the sympathy of the crowd, so that judges hesitate to issue warrants and constables to serve them),--if YOU don't see the use of such a man, I do.

Why, there's a column and a half in the 'Sacramento Union' about our last job, calling me the 'Claude Duval' of the Sierras, and speaking of my courtesy to a lady! A LADY!--HIS wife, by G--d! our confederate! My dear Jack, you not only don't know business values, but, 'pon my soul, you don't seem to understand humor! Ha, ha!" For all his cynical levity, for all his affected exaggeration, there was the ring of an unmistakable and even pitiable vanity in his voice, and a self-consciousness that suffused his broad cheeks and writhed his full mouth, but seemed to deepen the frown on Riggs's face.
"You know the woman hates it, and would bolt if she could,--even from you," said Riggs gloomily.

"Think what she might do if she knew her husband were here.

I tell you she holds our lives in the hollow of her hand." "That's your fault, Mr.Jack Riggs; you would bring your sister with her infernal convent innocence and simplicity into our hut in the hollow.

She was meek enough before that.