Usuallythedentistwasslowinhismovements，butnowthealcoholhadawakenedinhimanape-likeagility。Hekepthissmalleyesuponher，andallatoncesenthisfistintothemiddleofherfacewiththesuddennessofarelaxedspring。
Besideherselfwithterror，Trinaturnedandfoughthimback；foughtforhermiserablelifewiththeexasperationandstrengthofaharassedcat；andwithsuchenergyandsuchwild，unnaturalforce，thatevenMcTeagueforthemomentdrewbackfromher。Butherresistancewastheonethingtodrivehimtothetopofhisfury。Hecamebackatheragain，hiseyesdrawntotwofinetwinklingpoints，andhisenormousfists，clenchedtilltheknuckleswhitened，raisedintheair。
Thenitbecameabominable。
Intheschoolroomoutside，behindthecoalscuttle，thecatlistenedtothesoundsofstampingandstrugglingandthemufflednoiseofblows，wildlyterrified，hiseyesbulginglikebrassknobs。Atlastthesoundsstoppedonasudden；
heheardnothingmore。ThenMcTeaguecameout，closingthedoor。Thecatfollowedhimwithdistendedeyesashecrossedtheroomanddisappearedthroughthestreetdoor。
Thedentistpausedforamomentonthesidewalk，lookingcarefullyupanddownthestreet。Itwasdesertedandquiet。Heturnedsharplytotherightandwentdownanarrowpassagethatledintothelittlecourtyardbehindtheschool。AcandlewasburninginTrina’sroom。Hewentupbytheoutsidestairwayandentered。
Thetrunkstoodlockedinonecorneroftheroom。Thedentisttookthelid-lifterfromthelittleoilstove，putitunderneaththelock-claspandwrencheditopen。
Gropingbeneathapileofdresseshefoundthechamois-skinbag，thelittlebrassmatch-box，and，attheverybottom，carefullythrustintoonecorner，thecanvassackcrammedtothemouthwithtwenty-dollargoldpieces。Heemptiedthechamois-skinbagandthematchboxintothepocketsofhistrousers。Butthecanvassackwastoobulkytohideabouthisclothes。“IguessI’lljustnaturallyhavetocarryYOU，“hemuttered。Heblewoutthecandle，closedthedoor，andgainedthestreetagain。
Thedentistcrossedthecity，goingbacktothemusicstore。
Itwasalittleaftereleveno’clock。Thenightwasmoonless，filledwithagraybluroffaintlightthatseemedtocomefromallquartersofthehorizonatonce。Fromtimetotimethereweresuddenexplosionsofasoutheastwindatthestreetcorners。McTeaguewenton，slantinghisheadagainstthegusts，tokeephiscapfromblowingoff，carryingthesackclosetohisside。Oncehelookedcriticallyatthesky。
“Ibetit’llrainto-morrow，“hemuttered，“ifthiswindworksroundtothesouth。“
Onceinhislittledenbehindthemusicstore，hewashedhishandsandforearms，andputonhisworkingclothes，blueoverallsandajumper，overcheaptrousersandvest。Thenhegottogetherhissmallbelongings——anoldcampaignhat，apairofboots，atinoftobacco，andapinchbeckbraceletwhichhehadfoundoneSundayinthePark，andwhichhebelievedtobevaluable。Hestrippedhisblanketfromhisbedandrolledupinitalltheseobjects，togetherwiththecanvassack，fasteningtherollwithahalfhitchsuchasminersuse，theinstinctsoftheold-timecar-boycomingbacktohiminhispresentconfusionofmind。Hechangedhispipeandhisknife——ahugejackknifewithayellowedbonehandle——tothepocketsofhisoveralls。
Thenatlasthestoodwithhishandonthedoor，holdingupthelampbeforeblowingitout，lookingabouttomakesurehewasreadytogo。Thewaveringlightwokehiscanary。Itstirredandbegantochitterfeebly，verysleepyandcrossatbeingawakened。McTeaguestarted，staringatit，andreflecting。Hebelievedthatitwouldbealongtimebeforeanyonecameintothatroomagain。Thecanarywouldbedayswithoutfood；itwaslikelyitwouldstarve，woulddiethere，hourbyhour，initslittlegiltprison。McTeagueresolvedtotakeitwithhim。Hetookdownthecage，touchingitgentlywithhisenormoushands，andtiedacoupleofsacksaboutittoshelterthelittlebirdfromthesharpnightwind。
Thenhewentout，lockingallthedoorsbehindhim，andturnedtowardtheferryslips。Theboatshadceasedrunninghoursago，buthetoldhimselfthatbywaitingtillfouro’clockhecouldgetacrossthebayonthetugthattookoverthemorningpapers。
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Trinalayunconscious，justasshehadfallenunderthelastofMcTeague’sblows，herbodytwitchingwithanoccasionalhiccoughthatstirredthepoolofbloodinwhichshelayfacedownward。Towardsmorningshediedwitharapidseriesofhiccoughsthatsoundedlikeapieceofclockworkrunningdown。
Thethinghadbeendoneinthecloakroomwherethekindergartenchildrenhungtheirhatsandcoats。Therewasnootherentranceexceptbygoingthroughthemainschoolroom。McTeaguegoingouthadshutthedoorofthecloakroom，buthadleftthestreetdooropen；sowhenthechildrenarrivedinthemorning，theyenteredasusual。
Abouthalf-pasteight，twoorthreefive-year-olds，onealittlecoloredgirl，cameintotheschoolroomofthekindergartenwithagreatchatterofvoices，goingacrosstothecloakroomtohanguptheirhatsandcoatsastheyhadbeentaught。
Halfwayacrosstheroomoneofthemstoppedandputhersmallnoseintheair，crying，“Um-o-o，whatafunneesmell！“Theothersbegantosnifftheairaswell，andone，thedaughterofabutcher，exclaimed，“’Tsmellslikemypa’sshop，“addinginthenextbreath，“Look，what’sthematterwiththekittee？“
Infact，thecatwasactingstrangely。Helayquiteflatonthefloor，hisnosepressedclosetothecreviceunderthedoorofthelittlecloakroom，windinghistailslowlybackandforth，excited，veryeager。Attimeshewoulddrawbackandmakeastrangelittleclackingnoisedowninhisthroat。
“Ain’thefunnee？“saidthelittlegirlagain。Thecatslunkswiftlyawayasthechildrencameup。Thenthetallestofthelittlegirlsswungthedoorofthelittlecloakroomwideopenandtheyallranin。
CHAPTER20
Thedaywasveryhot，andthesilenceofhighnoonlaycloseandthickbetweenthesteepslopesofthecanyonslikeaninvisible，mufflingfluid。Atintervalsthedroneofaninsectboredtheairandtrailedslowlytosilenceagain。
Everywherewerepungent，aromaticsmells。Thevast，movelessheatseemedtodistilcountlessodorsfromthebrush——odorsofwarmsap，ofpineneedles，andoftar-weed，andaboveallthemedicinalodorofwitchhazel。Asfarasonecouldlook，uncountedmultitudesoftreesandmanzanitabusheswerequietlyandmotionlesslygrowing，growing，growing。Atremendous，immeasurableLifepushedsteadilyheavenwardwithoutasound，withoutamotion。Atturnsoftheroad，onthehigherpoints，canyonsdisclosedthemselvesfaraway，giganticgroovesinthelandscape，deepblueinthedistance，openingoneintoanother，ocean-deep，silent，huge，andsuggestiveofcolossalprimevalforcesheldinreserve。Attheirbottomstheyweresolid，massive；ontheircreststheybrokedelicatelyintofineserratededgeswherethepinesandredwoodsoutlinedtheirmillionoftopsagainstthehighwhitehorizon。Hereandtherethemountainsliftedthemselvesoutofthenarrowriverbedsingroupslikegiantlionsrearingtheirheadsafterdrinking。Theentireregionwasuntamed。InsomeplaceseastoftheMississippinatureiscosey，intimate，small，andhomelike，likeagood-naturedhousewife。InPlacerCounty，California，sheisavast，unconqueredbruteofthePlioceneepoch，savage，sullen，andmagnificentlyindifferenttoman。
Butthereweremeninthesemountains，likeliceonmammoths’hides，fightingthemstubbornly，nowwithhydraulic“monitors，“nowwithdrillanddynamite，boringintothevitalsofthem，ortearingawaygreatyellowgravellyscarsintheflanksofthem，suckingtheirblood，extractinggold。
Hereandthereatlongdistancesuponthecanyonsidesrosetheheadgearofamine，surroundedwithitsfewunpaintedhouses，andtoppedbyitsnever-failingfeatherofblacksmoke。Onnearapproachoneheardtheprolongedthunderofthestamp-mill，thecrusher，theinsatiablemonster，gnashingtherockstopowderwithitslongironteeth，vomitingthemoutagaininathinstreamofwetgraymud。
Itsenormousmaw，fednightanddaywiththecar-boys’
loads，gorgeditselfwithgravel，andspatoutthegold，grindingtherocksbetweenitsjaws，glutted，asitwere，withtheveryentrailsoftheearth，andgrowlingoveritsendlessmeal，likesomesavageanimal，somelegendarydragon，somefabulousbeast，symbolofinordinateandmonstrousgluttony。
McTeaguehadlefttheOverlandtrainatColfax，andthesameafternoonhadriddensomeeightmilesacrossthemountainsinthestagethatconnectsColfaxwithIowaHill。IowaHillwasasmallone-streettown，theheadquartersoftheminesofthedistrict。Originallyithadbeenbuiltuponthesummitofamountain，butthesidesofthismountainhavelongsincebeen“hydrau-licked“away，sothatthetownnowclingstoamerebackbone，andtherearwindowsofthehousesonbothsidesofthestreetlookdownoversheerprecipices，intovastpitshundredsoffeetdeep。
ThedentiststayedovernightattheHill，andthenextmorningstartedoffonfootfartherintothemountains。Hestillworehisblueoverallsandjumper；hiswoollencapwaspulleddownoverhiseye；onhisfeetwerehob-
nailedbootshehadboughtatthestoreinColfax；hisblanketrollwasoverhisback；inhislefthandswungthebirdcagewrappedinsacks。
Justoutsidethetownhepaused，asifsuddenlyrememberingsomething。
“Thereoughttobeatrailjustofftheroadhere，“hemuttered。“Thereusedtobeatrail——ashortcut。“
Thenextinstant，withoutmovingfromhisposition，hesawwhereitopenedjustbeforehim。Hisinstincthadhaltedhimattheexactspot。Thetrailzigzaggeddowntheabruptdescentofthecanyon，debouchingintoagravellyriverbed。
“IndianRiver，“mutteredthedentist。“Iremember——I
remember。IoughttoheartheMorningStar’sstampsfromhere。“Hecockedhishead。Alow，sustainedroar，likeadistantcataract，cametohisearsfromacrosstheriver。
“That’sright，“hesaid，contentedly。Hecrossedtheriverandregainedtheroadbeyond。Thesloperoseunderhisfeet；alittlefartheronhepassedtheMorningStarmine，smokingandthundering。McTeaguepushedsteadilyon。Theroadrosewiththeriseofthemountain，turnedatasharpanglewhereagreatlive-oakgrew，andheldlevelfornearlyaquarterofamile。Twiceagainthedentistlefttheroadandtooktothetrailthatcutthroughdesertedhydraulicpits。Heknewexactlywheretolookforthesetrails；notoncedidhisinstinctdeceivehim。Herecognizedfamiliarpointsatonce。HerewasColdCanyon，whereinvariably，winterandsummer，achillywindwasblowing；herewaswheretheroadtoSpencer’sbranchedoff；herewasBussy’soldplace，whereatonetimethereweresomanydogs；herewasDelmue’scabin，whereunlicensedwhiskeyusedtobesold；