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  128 Pages.]      Published Semi-Monthly.      [Complete.


  BEADLE'S

  [Illustration: DIME NOVELS

  UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
  ONE
  DIME]

  No. 21.

  The Choicest Works of the Most Popular Authors.


  SYBIL CHASE;
  OR,
  THE VALLEY RANCHE.


  BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
  Author of "Malaeska," "Fashion and Famine," Etc., Etc.


  New-York and London:
  BEADLE AND COMPANY, 141 WILLIAM ST. N. Y.
  A. Williams & Co., 100 Wash. St., Boston


  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1861,
  by BEADLE AND COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States,
  for the Southern District of New York.




AN ENTICING STORY.

Beadle's Dime Novels Number 22.

Will Issue Wednesday, May First,

THE MAID OF ESOPUS;

OR, THE

TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS

OF THE REVOLUTION.

BY N. C. IRON.


The era of the American Revolution is so fraught with romance that it
ever will prove a chosen one to novelists. In this present instance
the author has selected unusually stirring historic incidents, around
whose facts he has woven a most beautiful and enticing story of love,
devotion and patriotism. Such tales fire the love of our country in the
hearts of all, old and young; while they fill, in the highest degree,
the love for romance, which _all persons_ possess. The "Maid of Esopus"
is a _purely historical_ fiction, written with a thorough knowledge of
the men and women of those times which truly tried and tempered souls,
and embodies all the interest which attaches to that most eventful era.
It will be found not only unexceptionable as a novel, but _unusually_
good in its literary merits, as well as intensely exciting and
absorbing in its narrative. It will become a household favorite.

For Sale by all News Dealers.

  BEADLE AND COMPANY, Publishers,
  141 William St., New York.

[Illustration: THE VALLEY RANCHE.]




  SYBIL CHASE;
  OR,
  THE VALLEY RANCHE.

  A TALE OF CALIFORNIA LIFE.

  BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.

  [Illustration]

  NEW YORK AND LONDON:
  BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,

  141 WILLIAM ST., CORNER OF FULTON, N. Y.
  44 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.




  Entered according to Act of Congress, In the Year 1861, by
  BEADLE AND COMPANY,
  In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
  Southern District of New York.




THE VALLEY RANCHE.




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER I. THE BRIDLE-PATH.
  CHAPTER II. A FACE FROM THE PAST.
  CHAPTER III. HUSBAND AND WIFE.
  CHAPTER IV. TWO CONFEDERATES, IN COUNCIL.
  CHAPTER V. A SHORT RIDE AND A LONG WALK.
  CHAPTER VI. THE WELCOME THAT AWAITS RALPH HINCHLEY.
  CHAPTER VII. ARRIVAL OF THE GUEST.
  CHAPTER VIII. THE GAMBLER'S FATE.
  CHAPTER IX. A CANTER AND A FALL.
  CHAPTER X. THE GAME AT CHESS.
  CHAPTER XI. THE FEMALE IAGO.
  CHAPTER XII. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
  CHAPTER XIII. HIGHCLIFF.
  CHAPTER XIV. THE JAIL.
  CHAPTER XV. THE DUEL.
  CHAPTER XVI. THE BATTERY.
  CHAPTER XVII. THE VALLEY RANCHE.




CHAPTER I.

THE BRIDLE-PATH.


A small valley cutting through a range of mountains in California--a
green oasis that looked strange and picturesque in the midst of that
savage scenery. The cliffs rose in a solid wall on one side to the
height of many hundred feet. Dwarfed fir-trees and dead cedars were
scattered along the summit, stretching up their gaunt limbs and adding
to the lonely grandeur of the scene. Great masses of broken rocks,
which, in some conflict of the elements, had been wrenched from their
bed, projected from the rifted precipices and lay in great moss-covered
boulders in the lap of the valley. On the southeastern side a break in
the heart of the cliffs was covered with thrifty verdure, and, over the
rocks that obstructed it, a mountain torrent rushed thundering into the
valley, dividing that cradle of verdure in the middle, and abruptly
disappearing through another gorge, breaking to the open country
somewhat lower down, where it plunged over a second precipice with the
sound of distant artillery.

Just above the spot where this mountain stream cut the valley in twain,
a collection of huts, tents and rickety frame houses composed one of
those new villages that are so often found in a frontier country, and
half a mile above stood a small ranche, with its long, low-roofed
dwelling half buried in heavy vines that clambered up the rude cedar
pillars of the veranda, and crept in leafy masses along the roof.
Beyond this, great oaks sheltered the dwelling, and the precipice that
loomed behind it was broken with rifts of verdure, which saved this
portion of the valley from the savage aspect of the mountains lower
down.

The sunset was streaming over this picturesque spot; great masses of
gorgeous clouds, piled up in the west, were casting their glory down
the valley, turning the waters to gold, and, flashing against the
metallic sides of the mountains, changed them into rifts and ledges of
solid gems.

Standing upon the rustic veranda, and looking down over the beautiful
valley dotted with tents and picturesque cabins, the waters singing
pleasantly, the evening wind fluttering the greenness of the trees,
that mountain pass appeared so tranquil and quiet, a stranger could
hardly have believed the repose only an occasional thing. In truth, it
is the heavenly aspect of the valley that I have given you, and that
was truly beautiful.

Only a few miles off, still higher up among the rugged mountains, the
"gold diggings" commenced, and from this point, every Saturday night
of that beautiful summer, came down crowds of wild, reckless men with
their bowie-knives, revolvers, and the gold-dust which soon changed
hands either at the liquor-bar, set up in some log-cabin, or the
gambling-table, established in an opposite shanty.

Before the gold excitement, that pretty ranche had been the abode of
a quiet family, whose cattle were fed on the luxuriant herbage of the
valley; but the reckless adventurers that crowded there soon drove
the household into less turbulent quarters, and the dwelling changed
its occupants many times. Thus its quiet walls soon became accustomed
to scenes of strife and dissipation, which destroyed its respectable,
home-like appearance entirely; and the place that had originally been
a pleasing feature in the valley shared the general aspect of the
neighborhood. Still, nature will assert her rights; and, amid the wild
riot of the valley, vines grew luxuriantly as ever, flowers blossomed
in the turf, and the water fall sounded loud and clear above the shouts
of savage men, however turbulently they might be raised.

By one of the upper windows of this dwelling stood a woman, leaning
idly against the rude sill and looking down the sweep of the valley.

Hers was no attitude of expectation; there was no eagerness in the
great eyes that wandered slowly from one object to another, nor did
the glance betray any enjoyment of the beautiful scene. The woman was
evidently lost in deep and melancholy thought; each moment the lines
about her mouth deepened, and the cold sadness of the eyes settled into
a hard, bitter expression which gave something almost repulsive to the
whole face.

She looked very unlike the sort of woman one would have expected to
find in that solitary place. She was tall and slender, and her form
would have appeared almost fragile had it not been for a certain
flexibility and force visible in every line even in that attitude of
repose.

She was young still; but from her face it would have been impossible
to guess at her real age. At one moment it looked fairly girlish; the
next the shadow of some heavy thought swept across it and appeared to
accomplish the work of years upon the features.

It was evident that her fate had been very different from that which
met most of the women who followed husbands and fortune into the
Eldorado of the New World. The hand which lay upon the window-frame was
delicate and white; the colorless pallor of the cheek bore no evidence
of hardship or exposure.

She was plainly dressed, but her garments were made in a picturesque
fashion, and the few ornaments she wore were heavy and rich. Her long,
golden hair was brushed smoothly back from her forehead and gathered in
shining bands at the back of her head, and made the chief beauty of her
person. Only those who have seen the tress of Lucretia Borgia's hair,
preserved still in a foreign gallery, can form any idea of the peculiar
color which I desire to describe. I was wrong to call it golden; it was
too pale for that. In the shadow it had the colorless tint one seldom
sees, except in the locks of very young children; but when she moved,
so that the sun struck its loose ripples, it flashed out so brightly
that it crowned her forehead like a halo.

The sunset deepened, but still the lady remained leaning out of the
window and giving herself up to that gloomy meditation, which sometimes
seemed to deepen into absolute pain.

Suddenly a new object at the upper end of the valley attracted her
attention, and she gazed with more eagerness than she had before
manifested.

Leading by the place where the mountain torrent had cleft its way
through the rocks, there ran a bridle-path, worn by the miners' feet,
from the gold diggings down the valley. It was toward that spot the
lady's eyes were directed, as a small cavalcade wound slowly down the
rocky path and took the grassy plain which led toward the ranche.

An expression of displeasure disturbed the stillness of the woman's
face. She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked eagerly toward the
advancing group; but at that distance it was impossible to distinguish
more than that it consisted of three men mounted on mules, followed by
several persons on foot.

She moved quickly from the window and passed into another room; in a
moment she returned, carrying a spyglass which she directed toward the
procession. After the first glance she drew a heavy breath and muttered:

"It is not they! I shall have an hour more to myself, at all events."

She still continued to watch the slowly approaching group, and saw
that one of the equestrians was supported in his saddle by two of
the guides, while another led the mule by the bridle. The rider had
evidently met with some accident on the road.

Slowly the party moved on; they were in recognizable distance from
the house; by the aid of her glass, the lady could distinguish the
lineaments of each face.

Suddenly she grasped the glass hard in both hands and looked steadily
at the injured man. A great change passed over her; she trembled
violently and her face grew ashen. Her fingers shook so that she was
obliged to support the glass against the window-sill. At length her
hands fell to her side and a cry broke from her lips like the angry
moan of some wounded animal.

"Oh! I must be mad!" she exclaimed. "This can not be--I fancied it!
This is one of my wild dreams!"

With a powerful effort she controlled herself sufficiently to raise the
glass once more. Nearer and nearer the group advanced; her eyes were
fastened upon it with a look of unutterable fear and agony.

"Laurence!" she exclaimed again; "Laurence in this place! Oh! I shall
go mad! They are coming to the house--they mean to spend the night
here!" The words broke unconsciously from her lips; all the while her
strained gaze was fastened upon the group. "He has been hurt--he has
fainted!"

She dropped the glass and started to her full height, striking her
forehead violently with her clenched hand, as if searching for some
plan or device, which, in her agitation and terror, she could not find.

"Fool!" she muttered, bitterly. "Is this your strength? Does it desert
you now?"

She walked hurriedly up and down the room, flinging her arms about, so
overcome that any thing like connected thought was impossible.

"He must not see me--I would rather be hurled over the precipice! He
must not stay here. Oh! mercy--mercy! if Philip should come home!"

She cast one more feverish glance through the window and hurried out of
the room, nerved to action by the near approach of pain and danger. But
directly she came back again, looking wild and frightened, like a bird
coming back to the branch where it has been wounded. She took up the
glass again, steadied it firmly. She was evidently doubtful still if
she had seen aright.




CHAPTER II.

A FACE FROM THE PAST.


The party of strangers were slowly winding their way across the plain,
and had arrived within a short distance of the house. The woman gazed
on them through her glass till the man supported on his mule became
quite visible to the naked eye; she then dropped her hand heavily, and
drew a deep breath.

"How white he is! There has been violence. He has fainted. See how his
head falls on the guide's shoulder," she murmured, sweeping a hand
across her eyes as if some dimness had come over them.

The lady was quite alone in her dwelling. The Indian women who acted
as the household servants had gone to the hills in search of berries,
and thus she was compelled to descend and open the door, when a summons
was made by the party whose approach had given her so much anxiety. At
another time, knowing, as she did, the lawless nature of the population
around, she would have allowed the besiegers to knock unanswered, and
go away at their leisure; but now she descended the stairs, trembling
violently as she went. She had thrown a black silk scarf over her
head, thus giving her dress a Spanish effect, and, unclosing the door,
stood framed in the opening--and a more remarkable picture was never
presented in the wilderness of any country. It was not that the woman
was so beautiful, in fact, but the color of her hair and the wild
anxiety in her eyes gave that to her person which no artist could ever
have caught. The guide, who had come in advance of his party, stepped
back in amazement as she presented herself, for it was seldom that the
people of the region had obtained a glimpse of her person, and her
presence took him by surprise.

The party were now within a few minutes' ride of the ranche, and a
weary, travel-soiled band it was. The mules were stained far above
their fetlocks with yellow mud, through which they had floundered
all day long; and the travelers, in their slouched hats, rude, blue
flannel shirts, and heavy boots, engulfing the nether garments to the
knees, were liberally bespattered with the same compound. The mules
were huddled close together, for one of the riders was supporting the
wounded man on his saddle; the other had dismounted when the guide left
him, and was leading the sick man's mule, while his own tired beast
followed submissively in the wake of the party.

Before the guide had recovered from his astonishment sufficiently to
address the lady, who seemed perfectly unconscious of his presence, the
party halted in front of the veranda.

The two gentlemen sprung forward to assist their companion, who lay
helpless in his saddle, his head falling upon the shoulder of the man
that supported him. With the assistance of the guides he was removed
from the mule and carried up the steps of the veranda. They laid
him upon a bench under the windows, then the two companions of the
insensible man turned toward the lady.

She had not stirred; her eyes were fastened upon the motionless figure
over which the guides were bending with rough solicitude; the strained,
eager look in her face seemed to demand an explanation which her lips
had no power to frame.

The two gentlemen moved toward her, struck, even in that moment of
anxiety, by her appearance, and saluted her with the courtesy which
proved their station and high-breeding.

"We owe you a thousand apologies, madam," said the foremost, "for this
abrupt proceeding; but our friend here had a hurt."

She started at his words, instinctively drew the folds of the mantle
more closely about her face, and said, quickly:

"No apology is necessary; in this region strangers consider themselves
at home in every house."

"I thought you'd say so, ma'am," said one of the guides, approaching
and looking curiously at her. "I s'pose Mr. Yates ain't to hum."

"No; I believe he is at the mines," she answered; then added quickly,
pointing to the injured man: "Has he fainted?"

"You see he got a fall," answered the guide, before either of the
gentlemen could speak, "a-coming over that rough pass on the mountain;
but I think he's only stunted like."

"I am afraid his arm is broken," said the elder gentleman.

The lady hurried toward the injured man; her face was turned away, so
that none of the party could see how ghastly it became. She bent over
the still form, dextrously cut open the sleeve of his coat with a pair
of scissors which she drew from her pocket, and took the injured limb
between her trembling hands.

"It is only a sprain," she said; "the agony and the shock have been too
much for him."

"He bore it very well at first," said the gentleman who had followed
her; "but fainted quite suddenly, just as we got down into the valley."

The lady made him no answer; she directed the guides where to find
water and spirits. Going into the house herself, she brought out a
large napkin, which she saturated with water, and bound upon the
wounded arm.

While she was bending over him, the man gave signs of returning
consciousness. She started back, and shrouded her face completely in
the mantle.

"Laurence," called one of his friends, stooping over him, "are you
better?"

There was a faint murmur; the injured man raised his head, but it sunk
back, and he was insensible again.

"Is there no physician near?" demanded the gentleman. "I am very
anxious. He is not strong, like the rest of us."

"You will find one at Wilson's ranche," replied the lady.

"How far is that?"

"Good seven miles," answered the guide.

"It will take so long to get him here," exclaimed the first speaker.

"Your best way will be to go there," observed the lady, coldly.

The whole party turned toward her in astonishment; hospitality is the
chief virtue of wild countries, and it was an unparalleled thing in the
experience of those old guides, to hear a woman so coolly turning a
stranger, sick or injured, from her door.

"My dear madam," pleaded the gentleman, "he can not ride; it will be
dangerous--death, perhaps."

"He will come to himself, shortly," she answered. "I assure you I have
proposed the best mode. I do not mean it unkindly. Heaven knows how
sorry I am."

The eldest guide absolutely whistled, and the men stared at each other,
while she busied herself over Laurence, although her whole frame shook
so violently that she could scarcely stand.

"Can't you give us a bed for our friend?" asked the gentleman. "The
rest of us will sleep anywhere, or go away altogether."

"No--no," she replied, hastily; "you must ride on, I say."

"Wal, I'm shot if ever I heerd the beat of that!" muttered a guide.

"The road from here is very good," she continued; "your friend will
suffer little; these men can easily make a litter and carry him."

"He's coming to," whispered the other gentleman.

The woman stepped quickly back, and when she saw the injured man open
his eyes, retreated into the room.

"How are you now, Laurence?" asked his friends, bending over him.

"Better, I think; I am dizzy, but my arm isn't so very painful. Did I
faint?"

While they answered his questions, the guides held a grumbling
consultation, and finally summoned the elder gentleman to the
conference.

"What'll we do?" they asked. "It'll be pitch dark afore long, and that
fellar can't set his horse."

"I will speak to the lady again," he answered. "I am sure she can not
turn us out."

"It's a queer house," said the head guide, "and that's the fact. There
ain't a place in Californy I wouldn't ruther stop at."

"I s'pose that's Yates's wife," said the man who had first reached the
house. "As often as I've passed here, I never seed her afore."

"'Tisn't often she shows herself," replied the leader. "But will you go
and speak to her?" he added, turning to the gentleman.

"Certainly; of course she will permit us to stay."

He went into the house, but the lady was not visible. He opened the
door of an inner room, and there she stood, wringing her hands in
wild distress. She turned at the sound of his footstep, and demanded,
angrily:

"What do you wish more? I have done all that I can for your friend."

"I have come to urge you to give us one night's lodging," he said; "it
seems impossible for us to go on--"

"You must," she said, interrupting him passionately; "you must!"

"This is very singular," he said, so startled by her manner that he
was almost inclined to believe her insane. "In the name of humanity, I
ask