But, more singular
still, a few paces before her a large goat, with its neck roughly
wreathed with flowers and vines, was taking ungainly bounds and leaps
in imitation of its companion. The wild background of the Sierras, the
pastoral hollow, the incongruousness of the figures, and the vivid color
of the girl's red flannel petticoat showing beneath her calico skirt,
that had been pinned around her waist, made a striking picture, which
by this time had attracted all eyes. Perhaps the dancing of the girl
suggested a negro "break-down" rather than any known sylvan measure; but
all this, and even the clatter of the bones, was made gracious by the
distance.
"Esmeralda! by the living Harry!" shouted the excited passenger on the
box.
Yuba Bill took his feet off the brake, and turned a look of deep scorn
upon his companion as he gathered the reins again.
"It's that blanked goat, outer Rocky Canyon beyond, and Polly Harkness!
How did she ever come to take up with HIM?"
Nevertheless, as soon as the coach reached Rocky Canyon, the story was
quickly told by the passengers, corroborated by Yuba Bill, and highly
colored by the observer on the box-seat.
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