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diff --git a/1390-h/1390-h.htm b/1390-h/1390-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8be2dc4 --- /dev/null +++ b/1390-h/1390-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8740 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Jimmyjohn Boss and Other Stories, by Owen Wister + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1390 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE JIMMYJOHN BOSS AND OTHER STORIES + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Owen Wister + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Contents + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> Preface </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> The Jimmyjohn Boss </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A Kinsman of Red Cloud </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> Sharon's Choice </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> Napoleon Shave-Tail </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> Twenty Minutes for Refreshments </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> The Promised Land </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> Hank's Woman </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> Padre Ignazio </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + To Messrs. Harper & Bothers and Henry Mills Alden whose friendliness + and fair dealing I am glad of this chance to record + </p> + <p> + Owen Wister + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Preface + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It's very plain that if a thing's the fashion— + Too much the fashion—if the people leap + To do it, or to be it, in a passion + Of haste and crowding, like a herd of sheep, + + Why then that thing becomes through imitation + Vulgar, excessive, obvious, and cheap. + + No gentleman desires to be pursuing + + What every Tom and Dick and Harry's doing. + + Stranger, do you write books? I ask the question, + Because I'm told that everybody writes + That what with scribbling, eating, and digestion, + And proper slumber, all our days and nights + + Are wholly filled. It seems an odd suggestion— + But if you do write, stop it, leave the masses, + Read me, and join the small selected classes. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Jimmyjohn Boss + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + One day at Nampa, which is in Idaho, a ruddy old massive jovial man stood + by the Silver City stage, patting his beard with his left hand, and with + his right the shoulder of a boy who stood beside him. He had come with the + boy on the branch train from Boise, because he was a careful German and + liked to say everything twice—twice at least when it was a matter of + business. This was a matter of very particular business, and the German + had repeated himself for nineteen miles. Presently the east-bound on the + main line would arrive from Portland; then the Silver City stage would + take the boy south on his new mission, and the man would journey by the + branch train back to Boise. From Boise no one could say where he might not + go, west or east. He was a great and pervasive cattle man in Oregon, + California, and other places. Vogel and Lex—even to-day you may hear + the two ranch partners spoken of. So the veteran Vogel was now once more + going over his notions and commands to his youthful deputy during the last + precious minutes until the east-bound should arrive. + </p> + <p> + “Und if only you haf someding like dis,” said the old man, as he tapped + his beard and patted the boy, “it would be five hoondert more dollars + salary in your liddle pants.” + </p> + <p> + The boy winked up at his employer. He had a gray, humorous eye; he was + slim and alert, like a sparrow-hawk—the sort of boy his father + openly rejoices in and his mother is secretly in prayer over. Only, this + boy had neither father nor mother. Since the age of twelve he had looked + out for himself, never quite without bread, sometimes attaining champagne, + getting along in his American way variously, on horse or afoot, across + regions of wide plains and mountains, through towns where not a soul knew + his name. He closed one of his gray eyes at his employer, and beyond this + made no remark. + </p> + <p> + “Vat you mean by dat vink, anyhow?” demanded the elder. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” said the boy, confidentially—“honest now. How about you and + me? Five hundred dollars if I had your beard. You've got a record and I've + got a future. And my bloom's on me rich, without a scratch. How many + dollars you gif me for dat bloom?” The sparrow-hawk sailed into a freakish + imitation of his master. + </p> + <p> + “You are a liddle rascal!” cried the master, shaking with entertainment. + “Und if der peoples vas to hear you sass old Max Vogel in dis style they + would say, 'Poor old Max, he lose his gr-rip.' But I don't lose it.” His + great hand closed suddenly on the boy's shoulder, his voice cut clean and + heavy as an axe, and then no more joking about him. “Haf you understand + that?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “How old are you, son?” + </p> + <p> + “Nineteen, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh my, that is offle young for the job I gif you. Some of dose man you go + to boss might be your father. Und how much do you weigh?” + </p> + <p> + “About a hundred and thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “Too light, too light. Und I haf keep my eye on you in Boise. You are not + so goot a boy as you might be.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I guess not.” + </p> + <p> + “But you was not so bad a boy as you might be, neider. You don't lie about + it. Now it must be farewell to all that foolishness. Haf you understand? + You go to set an example where one is needed very bad. If those men see + you drink a liddle, they drink a big lot. You forbid them, they laugh at + you. You must not allow one drop of whiskey at the whole place. Haf you + well understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Me and whiskey are not necessary to each other's happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not you, it is them. How are you mit your gun?” + </p> + <p> + Vogel took the boy's pistol from its holster and aimed at an empty bottle + which was sticking in the thin Deceiver snow. “Can you do this?” he said, + carelessly, and fired. The snow struck the bottle, but the unharming + bullet was buried half an inch to the left. + </p> + <p> + The boy took his pistol with solemnity. “No,” he said. “Guess I can't do + that.” He fired, and the glass splintered into shapelessness. “Told you I + couldn't miss as close as you did,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “You are a darling,” said Mr. Vogel. “Gif me dat lofely weapon.” + </p> + <p> + A fortunate store of bottles lay, leaned, or stood about in the white snow + of Nampa, and Mr. Vogel began at them. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask if anything is the matter?” inquired a mild voice from the + stage. + </p> + <p> + “Stick that lily head in-doors,” shouted Vogel; and the face and + eye-glasses withdrew again into the stage. “The school-teacher he will be + beautifool virtuous company for you at Malheur Agency,” continued Vogel, + shooting again; and presently the large old German destroyed a bottle with + a crashing smack. “Ah!” said he, in unison with the smack. “Ah-ha! No von + shall say der old Max lose his gr-rip. I shoot it efry time now, but the + train she whistle. I hear her.” + </p> + <p> + The boy affected to listen earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Bah! I tell you I hear de whistle coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say there was a whistle?” ventured the occupant of the stage. The + snow shone white on his glasses as he peered out. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody whistle for you,” returned the robust Vogel. “You listen to me,” + he continued to the boy. “You are offle yoong. But I watch you plenty this + long time. I see you work mit my stock on the Owyhee and the Malheur; I + see you mit my oder men. My men they say always more and more, 'Yoong + Drake he is a goot one,' und I think you are a goot one mine own self. I + am the biggest cattle man on the Pacific slope, und I am also an old + devil. I have think a lot, und I like you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm obliged to you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut oop. I like you, und therefore I make you my new sooperintendent at + my Malheur Agency r-ranch, mit a bigger salary as you don't get before. If + you are a sookcess, I r-raise you some more.” + </p> + <p> + “I am satisfied now, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! Never do you tell any goot business man you are satisfied mit vat he + gif you, for eider he don't believe you or else he think you are a fool. + Und eider ways you go down in his estimation. You make those men at + Malheur Agency behave themselves und I r-raise you. Only I do vish, I do + certainly vish you had some beard on that yoong chin.” + </p> + <p> + The boy glanced at his pistol. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no, my son,” said the sharp old German. “I don't want gunpowder + in dis affair. You must act kviet und decisif und keep your liddle shirt + on. What you accomplish shootin'? You kill somebody, und then, pop! + somebody kills you. What goot is all that nonsense to me?” + </p> + <p> + “It would annoy me some, too,” retorted the boy, eyeing the capitalist. + “Don't leave me out of the proposition.” + </p> + <p> + “Broposition! Broposition! Now you get hot mit old Max for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “If you didn't contemplate trouble,” pursued the boy, “what was your point + just now in sampling my marksmanship?” He kicked some snow in the + direction of the shattered bottle. “It's understood no whiskey comes on + that ranch. But if no gunpowder goes along with me, either, let's call the + deal off. Buy some other fool.” + </p> + <p> + “You haf not understand, my boy. Und you get very hot because I happen to + make that liddle joke about somebody killing you. Was you thinking maybe + old Max not care what happen to you?” + </p> + <p> + A moment of silence passed before the answer came: “Suppose we talk + business?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, very well. Only notice this thing. When oder peoples talk oop + to me like you haf done many times, it is not they who does the getting + hot. It is me—old Max. Und when old Max gets hot he slings them out + of his road anywheres. Some haf been very sorry they get so slung. You + invite me to buy some oder fool? Oh, my boy, I will buy no oder fool + except you, for that was just like me when I was yoong Max!” Again the + ruddy and grizzled magnate put his hand on the shoulder of the boy, who + stood looking away at the bottles, at the railroad track, at anything save + his employer. + </p> + <p> + The employer proceeded: “I was afraid of nobody und noding in those days. + You are afraid of nobody and noding. But those days was different. No + Pullman sleepers, no railroad at all. We come oop the Columbia in the + steamboat, we travel hoonderts of miles by team, we sleep, we eat nowheres + in particular mit many unexpected interooptions. There was Indians, there + was offle bad white men, und if you was not offle yourself you vanished + quickly. Therefore in those days was Max Vogel hell und repeat.” + </p> + <p> + The magnate smiled a broad fond smile over the past which he had kicked, + driven, shot, bled, and battled through to present power; and the boy + winked up at him again now. + </p> + <p> + “I don't propose to vanish, myself,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Ah-ha! you was no longer mad mit der old Max! Of coorse I care what + happens to you. I was alone in the world myself in those lofely wicked + days.” + </p> + <p> + Reserve again made flinty the boy's face. + </p> + <p> + “Neider did I talk about my feelings,” continued Max Vogel, “but I nefer + show them too quick. If I was injured I wait, and I strike to kill. We all + paddles our own dugout, eh? We ask no favors from nobody; we must win our + spurs! Not so? Now I talk business with you where you interroopt me. If + cow-boys was not so offle scarce in the country, I would long ago haf + bounce the lot of those drunken fellows. But they cannot be spared; we + must get along so. I cannot send Brock, he is needed at Harper's. The dumb + fellow at Alvord Lake is too dumb; he is not quickly courageous. They + would play high jinks mit him. Therefore I send you. Brock he say to me + you haf joodgement. I watch, and I say to myself also, this boy haf goot + joodgement. And when you look at your pistol so quick, I tell you quick I + don't send you to kill men when they are so scarce already! My boy, it is + ever the moral, the say-noding strength what gets there—mit always + the liddle pistol behind, in case—joost in case. Haf you understand? + I ask you to shoot. I see you know how, as Brock told me. I recommend you + to let them see that aggomplishment in a friendly way. Maybe a + shooting-match mit prizes—I pay for them—pretty soon after you + come. Und joodgement—und joodgement. Here comes that train. Haf you + well understand?” + </p> + <p> + Upon this the two shook hands, looking square friendship in each other's + eyes. The east-bound, long quiet and dark beneath its flowing clots of + smoke, slowed to a halt. A few valises and legs descended, ascended, + herding and hurrying; a few trunks were thrown resoundingly in and out of + the train; a woolly, crooked old man came with a box and a bandanna bundle + from the second-class car; the travellers of a thousand miles looked + torpidly at him through the dim, dusty windows of their Pullman, and + settled again for a thousand miles more. Then the east-bound, shooting + heavier clots of smoke laboriously into the air, drew its slow length out + of Nampa, and away. + </p> + <p> + “Where's that stage?” shrilled the woolly old man. “That's what I'm + after.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, hello!” shouted Vogel. “Hello, Uncle Pasco! I heard you was dead.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Pasco blinked his small eyes to see who hailed him. “Oh!” said he, + in his light, crusty voice. “Dutchy Vogel. No, I ain't dead. You guessed + wrong. Not dead. Help me up, Dutchy.” + </p> + <p> + A tolerant smile broadened Vogel's face. “It was ten years since I see + you,” said he, carrying the old man's box. + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't wonder. Maybe it'll be another ten till you see me next.” He + stopped by the stage step, and wheeling nimbly, surveyed his old-time + acquaintance, noting the good hat, the prosperous watch-chain, the big, + well-blacked boots. “Not seen me for ten years. Hee-hee! No. Usen't to + have a cent more than me. Twins in poverty. That's how Dutchy and me + started. If we was buried to-morrow they'd mark him 'Pecunious' and me + 'Impecunious.' That's what. Twins in poverty.” + </p> + <p> + “I stick to von business at a time, Uncle,” said good-natured, successful + Max. + </p> + <p> + A flicker of aberration lighted in the old man's eye. “H'm, yes,” said he, + pondering. “Stuck to one business. So you did. H'm.” Then, suddenly sly, + he chirped: “But I've struck it rich now.” He tapped his box. “Jewelry,” + he half-whispered. “Miners and cow-boys.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Vogel. “Those poor, deluded fellows, they buy such stuff.” And + he laughed at the seedy visionary who had begun frontier life with him on + the bottom rung and would end it there. “Do you play that concertina yet, + Uncle?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. I always play. It's in here with my tooth-brush and socks.” + Uncle Pasco held up the bandanna. “Well, he's getting ready to start. I + guess I'll be climbing inside. Holy Gertrude!” + </p> + <p> + This shrill comment was at sight of the school-master, patient within the + stage. “What business are you in?” demanded Uncle Pasco. + </p> + <p> + “I am in the spelling business,” replied the teacher, and smiled, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Hell!” piped Uncle Pasco. “Take this.” + </p> + <p> + He handed in his bandanna to the traveller, who received it politely. Max + Vogel lifted the box of cheap jewelry; and both he and the boy came behind + to boost the old man up on the stage step. But with a nettled look he + leaped up to evade them, tottered half-way, and then, light as a husk of + grain, got himself to his seat and scowled at the schoolmaster. + </p> + <p> + After a brief inspection of that pale, spectacled face, “Dutchy,” he + called out of the door, “this country is not what it was.” + </p> + <p> + But old Max Vogel was inattentive. He was speaking to the boy, Dean Drake, + and held a flask in his hand. He reached the flask to his new + superintendent. “Drink hearty,” said he. “There, son! Don't be shy. Haf + you forgot it is forbidden fruit after now?” + </p> + <p> + “Kid sworn off?” inquired Uncle Pasco of the school-master. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” replied this person, “that Mr. Vogel will not allow his + cow-boys at the Malheur Agency to have any whiskey brought there. + Personally, I feel gratified.” And Mr. Bolles, the new school-master, gave + his faint smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” muttered Uncle Pasco. “Forbidden to bring whiskey on the ranch? + H'm.” His eyes wandered to the jewelry-box. “H'm,” said he again; and + becoming thoughtful, he laid back his moth-eaten sly head, and spoke no + further with Mr. Bolles. + </p> + <p> + Dean Drake climbed into the stage and the vehicle started. + </p> + <p> + “Goot luck, goot luck, my son!” shouted the hearty Max, and opened and + waved both his big arms at the departing boy: He stood looking after the + stage. “I hope he come back,” said he. “I think he come back. If he come I + r-raise him fifty dollars without any beard.” + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + The stage had not trundled so far on its Silver City road but that a + whistle from Nampa station reached its three occupants. This was the + branch train starting back to Boise with Max Vogel aboard; and the boy + looked out at the locomotive with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Only five days of town,” he murmured. “Six months more wilderness now.” + </p> + <p> + “My life has been too much town,” said the new school-master. “I am + looking forward to a little wilderness for a change.” + </p> + <p> + Old Uncle Pasco, leaning back, said nothing; he kept his eyes shut and his + ears open. + </p> + <p> + “Change is what I don't get,” sighed Dean Drake. In a few miles, however, + before they had come to the ferry over Snake River, the recent + leave-taking and his employer's kind but dominating repression lifted from + the boy's spirit. His gray eye wakened keen again, and he began to whistle + light opera tunes, looking about him alertly, like the sparrow-hawk that + he was. “Ever see Jeannie Winston in 'Fatinitza'?” he inquired of Mr. + Bolles. + </p> + <p> + The school-master, with a startled, thankful countenance, stated that he + had never. + </p> + <p> + “Ought to,” said Drake. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “You a man? that can't be true! + Men have never eyes like you.” + </pre> + <p> + “That's what the girls in the harem sing in the second act. Golly whiz!” + The boy gleamed over the memory of that evening. + </p> + <p> + “You have a hard job before you,” said the school-master, changing the + subject. + </p> + <p> + “Yep. Hard.” The wary Drake shook his head warningly at Mr. Bolles to keep + off that subject, and he glanced in the direction of slumbering Uncle + Pasco. Uncle Pasco was quite aware of all this. “I wouldn't take another + lonesome job so soon,” pursued Drake, “but I want the money. I've been + working eleven months along the Owyhee as a sort of junior boss, and I'd + earned my vacation. Just got it started hot in Portland, when biff! old + Vogel telegraphs me. Well, I'll be saving instead of squandering. But it + feels so good to squander!” + </p> + <p> + “I have never had anything to squander,” said Bolles, rather sadly. + </p> + <p> + “You don't say! Well, old man, I hope you will. It gives a man a lot he'll + never get out of spelling-books. Are you cold? Here.” And despite the + school-master's protest, Dean Drake tucked his buffalo coat round and over + him. “Some day, when I'm old,” he went on, “I mean to live respectable + under my own cabin and vine. Wife and everything. But not, anyway, till + I'm thirty-five.” + </p> + <p> + He dropped into his opera tunes for a while; but evidently it was not + “Fatinitza” and his vanished holiday over which he was chiefly meditating, + for presently he exclaimed: “I'll give them a shooting-match in the + morning. You shoot?” + </p> + <p> + Bolles hoped he was going to learn in this country, and exhibited a Smith + & Wesson revolver. + </p> + <p> + Drake grieved over it. “Wrap it up warm,” said he. “I'll lend you a real + one when we get to the Malheur Agency. But you can eat, anyhow. Christmas + being next week, you see, my programme is, shoot all A.M. and eat all P.M. + I wish you could light on a notion what prizes to give my buccaroos.” + </p> + <p> + “Buccaroos?” said Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “Yep. Cow-punchers. Vaqueros. Buccaroos in Oregon. Bastard Spanish word, + you see, drifted up from Mexico. Vogel would not care to have me give 'em + money as prizes.” + </p> + <p> + At this Uncle Pasco opened an eye. + </p> + <p> + “How many buccaroos will there be?” Bolles inquired. + </p> + <p> + “At the Malheur Agency? It's the headquarters of five of our ranches. + There ought to be quite a crowd. A dozen, probably, at this time of year.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Pasco opened his other eye. “Here, you!” he said, dragging at his + box under the seat. “Pull it, can't you? There. Just what you're after. + There's your prizes.” Querulous and watchful, like some aged, rickety ape, + the old man drew out his trinkets in shallow shelves. + </p> + <p> + “Sooner give 'em nothing,” said Dean Drake. + </p> + <p> + “What's that? What's the matter with them?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess the boys have had all the brass rings and glass diamonds they + want.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all you know, then. I sold that box clean empty through the + Palouse country last week, 'cept the bottom drawer, and an outfit on + Meacham's hill took that. Shows all you know. I'm going clean through your + country after I've quit Silver City. I'll start in by Baker City again, + and I'll strike Harney, and maybe I'll go to Linkville. I know what + buccaroos want. I'll go to Fort Rinehart, and I'll go to the Island Ranch, + and first thing you'll be seeing your boys wearing my stuff all over their + fingers and Sunday shirts, and giving their girls my stuff right in Harney + City. That's what.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Uncle. It's a free country.” + </p> + <p> + “Shaw! Guess it is. I was in it before you was, too. You were wet behind + the ears when I was jammin' all around here. How many are they up at your + place, did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I said about twelve. If you're coming our way, stop and eat with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I will and maybe I won't.” Uncle Pasco crossly shoved his box back. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Uncle. It's a free country,” repeated Drake. + </p> + <p> + Not much was said after this. Uncle Pasco unwrapped his concertina from + the red handkerchief and played nimbly for his own benefit. At Silver City + he disappeared, and, finding he had stolen nothing from them, they did not + regret him. Dean Drake had some affairs to see to here before starting for + Harper's ranch, and it was pleasant to Bolles to find how Drake was + esteemed through this country. The school-master was to board at the + Malheur Agency, and had come this way round because the new superintendent + must so travel. They were scarcely birds of a feather, Drake and Bolles, + yet since one remote roof was to cover them, the in-door man was glad this + boy-host had won so much good-will from high and low. That the shrewd old + Vogel should trust so much in a nineteen-year-old was proof enough at + least of his character; but when Brock, the foreman from Harper's, came + for them at Silver City, Bolles witnessed the affection that the rougher + man held for Drake. Brock shook the boy's hand with that serious quietness + and absence of words which shows the Western heart is speaking. After a + look at Bolles and a silent bestowing of the baggage aboard the team, he + cracked his long whip and the three rattled happily away through the dips + of an open country where clear streams ran blue beneath the winter air. + They followed the Jordan (that Idaho Jordan) west towards Oregon and the + Owyhee, Brock often turning in his driver's seat so as to speak with + Drake. He had a long, gradual chapter of confidences and events; through + miles he unburdened these to his favorite: + </p> + <p> + The California mare was coring well in harness. The eagle over at + Whitehorse ranch had fought the cat most terrible. Gilbert had got a + mule-kick in the stomach, but was eating his three meals. They had a new + boy who played the guitar. He used maple-syrup an his meat, and claimed he + was from Alabama. Brock guessed things were about as usual in most ways. + The new well had caved in again. Then, in the midst of his gossip, the + thing he had wanted to say all along came out: “We're pleased about your + promotion,” said he; and, blushing, shook Drake's hand again. + </p> + <p> + Warmth kindled the boy's face, and next, with a sudden severity, he said: + “You're keeping back something.” + </p> + <p> + The honest Brock looked blank, then labored in his memory. + </p> + <p> + “Has the sorrel girl in Harney married you yet?” said Drake. Brock slapped + his leg, and the horses jumped at his mirth. He was mostly grave-mannered, + but when his boy superintendent joked, he rejoiced with the same pride + that he took in all of Drake's excellences. + </p> + <p> + “The boys in this country will back you up,” said he, next day; and Drake + inquired: “What news from the Malheur Agency?” + </p> + <p> + “Since the new Chinaman has been cooking for them,” said Brock, “they have + been peaceful as a man could wish.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll approve of me, then,” Drake answered. “I'm feeding 'em hyas + Christmas muck-a-muck.” + </p> + <p> + “And what may that be?” asked the schoolmaster. + </p> + <p> + “You no kumtux Chinook?” inquired Drake. “Travel with me and you'll learn + all sorts of languages. It means just a big feed. All whiskey is barred,” + he added to Brock. + </p> + <p> + “It's the only way,” said the foreman. “They've got those Pennsylvania men + up there.” + </p> + <p> + Drake had not encountered these. + </p> + <p> + “The three brothers Drinker,” said Brock. “Full, Half-past Full, and Drunk + are what they call them. Them's the names; they've brought them from + Klamath and Rogue River.” + </p> + <p> + “I should not think a Chinaman would enjoy such comrades,” ventured Mr. + Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “Chinamen don't have comrades in this country,” said Brock, briefly. “They + like his cooking. It's a lonesome section up there, and a Chinaman could + hardly quit it, not if he was expected to stay. Suppose they kick about + the whiskey rule?” he suggested to Drake. + </p> + <p> + “Can't help what they do. Oh, I'll give each boy his turn in Harney City + when he gets anxious. It's the whole united lot I don't propose to have + cut up on me.” + </p> + <p> + A look of concern for the boy came over the face of foreman Brock. Several + times again before their parting did he thus look at his favorite. They + paused at Harper's for a day to attend to some matters, and when Drake was + leaving this place one of the men said to him: “We'll stand by you.” But + from his blithe appearance and talk as the slim boy journeyed to the + Malheur River and Headquarter ranch, nothing seemed to be on his mind. + Oregon twinkled with sun and fine white snow. They crossed through a world + of pines and creviced streams and exhilarating silence. The little waters + fell tinkling through icicles in the loneliness of the woods, and snowshoe + rabbits dived into the brush. East Oregon, the Owyhee and the Malheur + country, the old trails of General Crook, the willows by the streams, the + open swales, the high woods where once Buffalo Horn and Chief E-egante and + O-its the medicine-man prospered, through this domain of war and memories + went Bolles the school-master with Dean Drake and Brock. The third noon + from Harper's they came leisurely down to the old Malheur Agency, where + once the hostile Indians had drawn pictures on the door, and where Castle + Rock frowned down unchanged. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I was going to stay here with you,” said Brock to Drake. “By + Indian Creek you can send word to me quicker than we've come.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you're an old bat!” said the boy to his foreman, and clapped him + farewell on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Brock drove away, thoughtful. He was not a large man. His face was + clean-cut, almost delicate. He had a well-trimmed, yellow mustache, and it + was chiefly in his blue eye and lean cheek-bone that the frontiersman + showed. He loved Dean Drake more than he would ever tell, even to himself. + </p> + <p> + The young superintendent set at work to ranch-work this afternoon of + Brock's leaving, and the buccaroos made his acquaintance one by one and + stared at him. Villany did not sit outwardly upon their faces; they were + not villains; but they stared at the boy sent to control them, and they + spoke together, laughing. Drake took the head of the table at supper, with + Bolles on his right. Down the table some silence, some staring, much + laughing went on—the rich brute laugh of the belly untroubled by the + brain. Sam, the Chinaman, rapid and noiseless, served the dishes. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said a buccaroo. + </p> + <p> + “Can it bite?” said another. + </p> + <p> + “If you guess what it is, you can have it,” said a third. + </p> + <p> + “It's meat,” remarked Drake, incisively, helping himself; “and tougher + than it looks.” + </p> + <p> + The brute laugh rose from the crowd and fell into surprised silence; but + no rejoinder came, and they ate their supper somewhat thoughtfully. The + Chinaman's quick, soft eye had glanced at Dean Drake when they laughed. He + served his dinner solicitously. In his kitchen that evening he and Bolles + unpacked the good things—the olives, the dried fruits, the cigars—brought + by the new superintendent for Christmas; and finding Bolles harmless, like + his gentle Asiatic self, Sam looked cautiously about and spoke: + </p> + <p> + “You not know why they laugh,” said he. “They not talk about my meat then. + They mean new boss, Misser Dlake. He velly young boss.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Bolles, “Mr. Drake understood their meaning, Sam. I have + noticed that at times he expresses himself peculiarly. I also think they + understood his meaning.” + </p> + <p> + The Oriental pondered. “Me like Misser Dlake,” said he. And drawing quite + close, he observed, “They not nice man velly much.” + </p> + <p> + Next day and every day “Misser Dlake” went gayly about his business, at + his desk or on his horse, vigilant, near and far, with no sign save a + steadier keenness in his eye. For the Christmas dinner he provided still + further sending to the Grande Ronde country for turkeys and other things. + He won the heart of Bolles by lending him a good horse; but the buccaroos, + though they were boisterous over the coming Christmas joy, did not seem + especially grateful. Drake, however, kept his worries to himself. + </p> + <p> + “This thing happens anywhere,” he said one night in the office to Bolles, + puffing a cigar. “I've seen a troop of cavalry demoralize itself by a sort + of contagion from two or three men.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it was wicked to send you here by yourself,” blurted Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “Poppycock! It's the chance of my life, and I'll jam her through or bust.” + </p> + <p> + “I think they have decided you are getting turkeys because you are afraid + of them,” said Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course! But d' you figure I'm the man to abandon my Christmas + turkey because my motives for eating it are misconstrued?” + </p> + <p> + Dean Drake smoked for a while; then a knock came at the door. Five + buccaroos entered and stood close, as is the way with the guilty who feel + uncertain. + </p> + <p> + “We were thinking as maybe you'd let us go over to town,” said Half-past + Full, the spokesman. + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, any day along this week.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't spare you till after Christmas.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you'll not object to one of us goin'?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll each have your turn after this week.” + </p> + <p> + A slight pause followed. Then Half-past Full said: “What would you do if I + went, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't imagine,” Drake answered, easily. “Go, and I'll be in a position to + inform you.” + </p> + <p> + The buccaroo dropped his stolid bull eyes, but raised them again and + grinned. “Well, I'm not particular about goin' this week, boss.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not my name,” said Drake, “but it's what I am.” + </p> + <p> + They stood a moment. Then they shuffled out. It was an orderly retreat—almost. + </p> + <p> + Drake winked over to Bolles. “That was a graze,” said he, and smoked for a + while. “They'll not go this time. Question is, will they go next?” + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + Drake took a fresh cigar, and threw his legs over the chair arm. + </p> + <p> + “I think you smoke too much,” said Bolles, whom three days had made + familiar and friendly. + </p> + <p> + “Yep. Have to just now. That's what! as Uncle Pasco would say. They are a + half-breed lot, though,” the boy continued, returning to the buccaroos and + their recent visit. “Weaken in the face of a straight bluff, you see, + unless they get whiskey-courageous. And I've called 'em down on that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Bolles, comprehending. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you see that was their game? But he will not go after it.” + </p> + <p> + “The flesh is all they seem to understand,” murmured Bolles. + </p> + <p> + Half-past Full did not go to Harney City for the tabooed whiskey, nor did + any one. Drake read his buccaroos like the children that they were. After + the late encounter of grit, the atmosphere was relieved of storm. The + children, the primitive, pagan, dangerous children, forgot all about + whiskey, and lusted joyously for Christmas. Christmas was coming! No work! + A shooting-match! A big feed! Cheerfulness bubbled at the Malheur Agency. + The weather itself was in tune. Castle Rock seemed no longer to frown, but + rose into the shining air, a mass of friendly strength. Except when a rare + sledge or horseman passed, Mr. Bolles's journeys to the school were all to + show it was not some pioneer colony in a new, white, silent world that + heard only the playful shouts and songs of the buccaroos. The sun overhead + and the hard-crushing snow underfoot filled every one with a crisp, + tingling hilarity. + </p> + <p> + Before the sun first touched Castle Rock on the morning of the feast they + were up and in high feather over at the bunk-house. They raced across to + see what Sam was cooking; they begged and joyfully swallowed lumps of his + raw plum-pudding. “Merry Christmas!” they wished him, and “Melly Clismas!” + said he to them. They played leap-frog over by the stable, they put snow + down each other's backs. Their shouts rang round corners; it was like boys + let out of school. When Drake gathered them for the shooting-match, they + cheered him; when he told them there were no prizes, what did they care + for prizes? When he beat them all the first round, they cheered him again. + Pity he hadn't offered prizes! He wasn't a good business man, after all! + </p> + <p> + The rounds at the target proceeded through the forenoon, Drake the + acclaimed leader; and the Christmas sun drew to mid-sky. But as its + splendor in the heavens increased, the happy shoutings on earth began to + wane. The body was all that the buccaroos knew; well, the flesh comes + pretty natural to all of us—and who had ever taught these men about + the spirit? The further they were from breakfast the nearer they were to + dinner; yet the happy shootings waned! The spirit is a strange thing. + Often it dwells dumb in human clay, then unexpectedly speaks out of the + clay's darkness. + </p> + <p> + It was no longer a crowd Drake had at the target. He became aware that + quietness had been gradually coming over the buccaroos. He looked, and saw + a man wandering by himself in the lane. Another leaned by the stable + corner, with a vacant face. Through the windows of the bunk-house he could + see two or three on their beds. The children were tired of shouting. Drake + went in-doors and threw a great log on the fire. It blazed up high with + sparks, and he watched it, although the sun shown bright on the + window-sill. Presently he noticed that a man had come in and taken a + chair. It was Half-past Full, and with his boots stretched to the warmth, + he sat gazing into the fire. The door opened and another buckaroo entered + and sat off in a corner. He had a bundle of old letters, smeared sheets + tied trite a twisted old ribbon. While his large, top-toughened fingers + softly loosened the ribbon, he sat with his back to the room and presently + began to read the letters over, one by one. Most of the men came in before + long, and silently joined the watchers round the treat fireplace. Drake + threw another log on, and in a short time this, too, broke into ample + flame. The silence was long; a slice of shadow had fallen across the + window-sill, when a young man spoke, addressing the logs: + </p> + <p> + “I skinned a coon in San Saba, Texas, this day a year.” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of a voice, some of their eyes turned on the speaker, but + turned back to the fire again. The spirit had spoken from the clay, aloud; + and the clay was uncomfortable at hearing it. + </p> + <p> + After some more minutes a neighbor whispered to a neighbor, “Play you a + game of crib.” + </p> + <p> + The man nodded, stole over to where the board was, and brought it across + the floor on creaking tip-toe. They set it between them, and now and then + the cards made a light sound in the room. + </p> + <p> + “I treed that coon on Honey,” said the young man, after a while—“Honey + Creek, San Saba. Kind o' dry creek. Used to flow into Big Brady when it + rained.” + </p> + <p> + The flames crackled on, the neighbors still played their cribbage. Still + was the day bright, but the shrinking wedge of sun had gone entirely from + the window-sill. Half-past Full had drawn from his pocket a mouthorgan, + breathing half-tunes upon it; in the middle of “Suwanee River” the man who + sat in the corner laid the letter he was beginning upon the heap on his + knees and read no more. The great genial logs lay glowing, burning; from + the fresher one the flames flowed and forked; along the embered surface of + the others ran red and blue shivers of iridescence. With legs and arms + crooked and sprawled, the buccaroos brooded, staring into the glow with + seldom-winking eyes, while deep inside the clay the spirit spoke quietly. + Christmas Day was passing, but the sun shone still two good hours high. + Outside, over the snow and pines, it was only in the deeper folds of the + hills that the blue shadows had come; the rest of the world was gold and + silver; and from far across that silence into this silence by the fire + came a tinkling stir of sound. Sleighbells it was, steadily coming, too + early for Bolles to be back from his school festival. + </p> + <p> + The toy-thrill of the jingling grew clear and sweet, a spirit of + enchantment that did not wake the stillness, but cast it into a deeper + dream. The bells came near the door and stopped, and then Drake opened it. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Uncle Pasco!” said he. “Thought you were Santa Claus.” + </p> + <p> + “Santa Claus! H'm. Yes. That's what. Told you maybe I'd come.” + </p> + <p> + “So you did. Turkey is due in—let's see—ninety minutes. Here, + boys! some of you take Uncle Pasco's horse.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I won't. You leave me alone. I ain't stoppin' here. I ain't + hungry. I just grubbed at the school. Sleepin' at Missouri Pete's + to-night. Got to make the railroad tomorrow.” The old man stopped his + precipitate statements. He sat in his sledge deeply muffled, blinking at + Drake and the buccaroos, who had strolled out to look at him, “Done a big + business this trip,” said he. “Told you I would. Now if you was only + givin' your children a Christmas-tree like that I seen that feller yer + schoolmarm doin' just now—hee-hee!” From his blankets he revealed + the well-known case. “Them things would shine on a tree,” concluded Uncle + Pasco. + </p> + <p> + “Hang 'em in the woods, then,” said Drake. + </p> + <p> + “Jewelry, is it?” inquired the young Texas man. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Pasco whipped open his case. “There you are,” said he. “All what's + left. That ring'll cost you a dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “I've a dollar somewheres,” said the young man, fumbling. + </p> + <p> + Half-past Full, on the other side of the sleigh, stood visibly fascinated + by the wares he was given a skilful glimpse of down among the blankets. He + peered and he pondered while Uncle Pasco glibly spoke to him. + </p> + <p> + “Scatter your truck out plain!” the buccaroo exclaimed, suddenly. “I'm not + buying in the dark. Come over to the bunk-house and scatter.” + </p> + <p> + “Brass will look just the same anywhere,” said Drake. + </p> + <p> + “Brass!” screamed Uncle. “Brass your eye!” + </p> + <p> + But the buccaroos, plainly glad for distraction, took the woolly old + scolding man with them. Drake shouted that if getting cheated cheered + them, by all means to invest heavily, and he returned alone to his fire, + where Bolles soon joined him. They waited, accordingly, and by-and-by the + sleigh-bells jingled again. As they had come out of the silence, so did + they go into it, their little silvery tinkle dancing away in the distance, + faint and fainter, then, like a breath, gone. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Pasco's trinkets had audibly raised the men's spirits. They remained + in the bunkhouse, their laughter reaching Drake and Bolles more and more. + Sometimes they would scuffle and laugh loudly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you imagine it's more leap-frog?” inquired the school-master. + </p> + <p> + “Gambling,” said Drake. “They'll keep at it now till one of them wins + everything the rest have bought.” + </p> + <p> + “Have they been lively ever since morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Had a reaction about noon,” said Drake. “Regular home-sick spell. I felt + sorry for 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “They seem full of reaction,” said Bolles. “Listen to that!” + </p> + <p> + It was now near four o'clock, and Sam came in, announcing dinner. + </p> + <p> + “All ready,” said the smiling Chinaman. + </p> + <p> + “Pass the good word to the bunk-house,” said Drake, “if they can hear + you.” + </p> + <p> + Sam went across, and the shouting stopped. Then arose a thick volley of + screams and cheers. + </p> + <p> + “That don't sound right,” said Drake, leaping to his feet. In the next + instant the Chinaman, terrified, returned through the open door. Behind + him lurched Half-past Full, and stumbled into the room. His boot caught, + and he pitched, but saved himself and stood swaying, heavily looking at + Drake. The hair curled dense over his bull head, his mustache was spread + with his grin, the light of cloddish humor and destruction burned in his + big eye. The clay had buried the spirit like a caving pit. + </p> + <p> + “Twas false jewelry all right!” he roared, at the top of his voice. “A + good old jimmyjohn full, boss. Say, boss, goin' to run our jimmyjohn off + the ranch? Try it on, kid. Come over and try it on!” The bull beat on the + table. + </p> + <p> + Dean Drake had sat quickly down in his chair, his gray eye upon the + hulking buccaroo. Small and dauntless he sat, a sparrow-hawk caught in a + trap, and game to the end—whatever end. + </p> + <p> + “It's a trifle tardy to outline any policy about your demijohn,” said he, + seriously. “You folks had better come in and eat before you're beyond + appreciating.” + </p> + <p> + “Ho, we'll eat your grub, boss. Sam's cooking goes.” The buccaroo lurched + out and away to the bunk-house, where new bellowing was set up. + </p> + <p> + “I've got to carve this turkey, friend,” said the boy to Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “I'll do my best to help eat it,” returned the school-master, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Misser Dlake,” said poor Sam, “I solly you. I velly solly you.” + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + “Reserve your sorrow, Sam,” said Dean Drake. “Give us your soup for a + starter. Come,” he said to Bolles. “Quick.” + </p> + <p> + He went into the dining-room, prompt in his seat at the head of the table, + with the school-master next to him. + </p> + <p> + “Nice man, Uncle Pasco,” he continued. “But his time is not now. We have + nothing to do for the present but sit like every day and act perfectly + natural.” + </p> + <p> + “I have known simpler tasks,” said Mr. Bolles, “but I'll begin by + spreading this excellently clean napkin.” + </p> + <p> + “You're no schoolmarm!” exclaimed Drake; “you please me.” + </p> + <p> + “The worst of a bad thing,” said the mild Bolles, “is having time to think + about it, and we have been spared that.” + </p> + <p> + “Here they come,” said Drake. + </p> + <p> + They did come. But Drake's alert strategy served the end he had tried for. + The drunken buccaroos swarmed disorderly to the door and halted. Once more + the new superintendent's ways took them aback. Here was the decent table + with lights serenely burning, with unwonted good things arranged upon it—the + olives, the oranges, the preserves. Neat as parade drill were the men's + places, all the cups and forks symmetrical along the white cloth. There, + waiting his guests at the far end, sat the slim young boss talking with + his boarder, Mr. Bolles, the parts in their smooth hair going with all the + rest of this propriety. Even the daily tin dishes were banished in favor + of crockery. + </p> + <p> + “Bashful of Sam's napkins, boys?” said the boss. “Or is it the bald-headed + china?” + </p> + <p> + At this bidding they came in uncertainly. Their whiskey was ashamed + inside. They took their seats, glancing across at each other in a + transient silence, drawing their chairs gingerly beneath them. Thus + ceremony fell unexpected upon the gathering, and for a while they + swallowed in awkwardness what the swift, noiseless Sam brought them. He in + a long white apron passed and re-passed with his things from his kitchen, + doubly efficient and civil under stress of anxiety for his young master. + In the pauses of his serving he watched from the background, with a face + that presently caught the notice of one of them. + </p> + <p> + “Smile, you almond-eyed highbinder,” said the buccaroo. And the Chinaman + smiled his best. + </p> + <p> + “I've forgot something,” said Half-past Full, rising. “Don't let 'em skip + a course on me.” Half-past left the room. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I have been hoping for,” said Drake to Bolles. + </p> + <p> + Half-past returned presently and caught Drake's look of expectancy. “Oh + no, boss,” said the buccaroo, instantly, from the door. “You're on to me, + but I'm on to you.” He slammed the door with ostentation and dropped with + a loud laugh into his seat. + </p> + <p> + “First smart thing I've known him do,” said Drake to Bolles. “I am + disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + Two buccaroos next left the room together. + </p> + <p> + “They may get lost in the snow,” said the humorous Half-past. “I'll just + show 'em the trail.” Once more he rose from the dinner and went out. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he knew too much to bring it in here,” said Drake to Bolles. “He + knew none but two or three would dare drink, with me looking on.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think he is afraid to bring it in the same room with you at + all?” Bolles suggested. + </p> + <p> + “And me temperance this season? Now, Bolles, that's unkind.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, that is not at all what—” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you meant, Bolles. I was only just making a little merry over + this casualty. No, he don't mind me to that extent, except when he's + sober. Look at him!” + </p> + <p> + Half-past was returning with his friends. Quite evidently they had all + found the trail. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Pasco is a nice old man!” pursued Drake. “I haven't got my gun on. + Have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bolles, but with a sheepish swerve of the eye. + </p> + <p> + Drake guessed at once. “Not Baby Bunting? Oh, Lord! and I promised to give + you an adult weapon!—the kind they're wearing now by way of + full-dress.” + </p> + <p> + “Talkin' secrets, boss?” said Half-past Full. + </p> + <p> + The well-meaning Sam filled his cup, and this proceeding shifted the + buccaroo's truculent attention. + </p> + <p> + “What's that mud?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Coffee,” said Sam, politely. + </p> + <p> + The buccaroo swept his cup to the ground, and the next man howled dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Burn your poor legs?” said Half-past. He poured his glass over the + victim. They wrestled, the company pounded the table, betting hoarsely, + until Half-past went to the floor, and his plate with him. + </p> + <p> + “Go easy,” said Drake. “You're smashing the company's property.” + </p> + <p> + “Bald-headed china for sure, boss!” said a second of the brothers Drinker, + and dropped a dish. + </p> + <p> + “I'll merely tell you,” said Drake, “that the company don't pay for this + china twice.” + </p> + <p> + “Not twice?” said Half-past Full, smashing some more. “How about thrice?” + </p> + <p> + “Want your money now?” another inquired. + </p> + <p> + A riot of banter seized upon all of them, and they began to laugh and + destroy. + </p> + <p> + “How much did this cost?” said one, prying askew his three-tined fork. + </p> + <p> + “How much did you cost yourself?” said another to Drake. + </p> + <p> + “What, our kid boss? Two bits, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Hyas markook. Too dear!” + </p> + <p> + They bawled at their own jokes, loud and ominous; threat sounded beneath + their lightest word, the new crashes of china that they threw on the floor + struck sharply through the foreboding din of their mirth. The spirit that + Drake since his arrival had kept under in them day by day, but not + quelled, rose visibly each few succeeding minutes, swelling upward as the + tide does. Buoyed up on the whiskey, it glittered in their eyes and yelled + mutinously in their voices. + </p> + <p> + “I'm waiting all orders,” said Bolles to Drake. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't any,” said Drake. “New ones, that is. We've sat down to see + this meal out. Got to keep sitting.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned back, eating deliberately, saying no more to the buccaroos; thus + they saw he would never leave the room till they did. As he had taken his + chair the first, so was the boy bound to quit it the last. The game of + prying fork-tines staled on them one by one, and they took to songs, + mostly of love and parting. With the red whiskey in their eyes they + shouted plaintively of sweethearts, and vows, and lips, and meeting in the + wild wood. From these they went to ballads of the cattle-trail and the + Yuba River, and so inevitably worked to the old coast song, made of three + languages, with its verses rhymed on each year since the first beginning. + Tradition laid it heavy upon each singer in his turn to keep the pot + a-boiling by memory or by new invention, and the chant went forward with + hypnotic cadence to a tune of larkish, ripping gayety. He who had read + over his old stained letters in the homesick afternoon had waked from such + dreaming and now sang: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Once jes' onced in the year o' 49, + I met a fancy thing by the name o' Keroline; + I never could persuade her for to leave me be; + She went and she took and she married me.” + </pre> + <p> + His neighbor was ready with an original contribution: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Once, once again in the year o' '64, + By the city of Whatcom down along the shore— + I never could persuade them for to leave me be— + A Siwash squaw went and took and married me.” + </pre> + <p> + “What was you doin' between all them years?” called Half-past Full. + </p> + <p> + “Shut yer mouth,” said the next singer: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Once, once again in the year o' 71 + ('Twas the suddenest deed that I ever done)— + I never could persuade them for to leave me be— + A rich banker's daughter she took and married me.” + </pre> + <p> + “This is looking better,” said Bolles to Drake. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you believe it,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + Ten or a dozen years were thus sung. + </p> + <p> + “I never could persuade them for to leave me be” tempestuously brought + down the chorus and the fists, until the drunkards could sit no more, but + stood up to sing, tramping the tune heavily together. Then, just as the + turn came round to Drake himself, they dashed their chairs down and herded + out of the room behind Half-past Full, slamming the door. + </p> + <p> + Drake sat a moment at the head of his Christmas dinner, the fallen chairs, + the lumpy wreck. Blood charged his face from his hair to his collar. + “Let's smoke,” said he. They went from the dinner through the room of the + great fireplace to his office beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Have a mild one?” he said to the schoolmaster. + </p> + <p> + “No, a strong one to-night, if you please.” And Bolles gave his mild + smile. + </p> + <p> + “You do me good now and then,” said Drake. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me,” said the teacher, “I have found it the other way.” + </p> + <p> + All the rooms fronted on the road with doors—the old-time agency + doors, where the hostiles had drawn their pictures in the days before + peace had come to reign over this country. Drake looked out, because the + singing had stopped and they were very quiet in the bunk-house. He saw the + Chinaman steal from his kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Sam is tired of us,” he said to Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “Tired?” + </p> + <p> + “Running away, I guess. I'd prefer a new situation myself. That's where + you're deficient, Bolles. Only got sense enough to stay where you happen + to be. Hello. What is he up to?” + </p> + <p> + Sam had gone beside a window of the bunkhouse and was listening there, + flat like a shadow. Suddenly he crouched, and was gone among the sheds. + Out of the bunk-house immediately came a procession, the buccaroos still + quiet, a careful, gradual body. + </p> + <p> + Drake closed his door and sat in the chair again. “They're escorting that + jug over here,” said he. “A new move, and a big one.” + </p> + <p> + He and Bolles heard them enter the next room, always without much noise or + talk—the loudest sound was the jug when they set it on the floor. + Then they seemed to sit, talking little. + </p> + <p> + “Bolles,” said Drake, “the sun has set. If you want to take after Sam—” + </p> + <p> + But the door of the sitting-room opened and the Chinaman himself came in. + He left the door a-swing and spoke clearly. “Misser Dlake,” said he, + “slove bloke” (stove broke). + </p> + <p> + The superintendent came out of his office, following Sam to the kitchen. + He gave no look or word to the buccaroos with their demijohn; he merely + held his cigar sidewise in his teeth and walked with no hurry through the + sitting-room. Sam took him through to the kitchen and round to a hind + corner of the stove, pointing. + </p> + <p> + “Misser Dlake,” said he, “slove no bloke. I hear them inside. They going + kill you.” + </p> + <p> + “That's about the way I was figuring it,” mused Dean Drake. + </p> + <p> + “Misser Dlake,” said the Chinaman, with appealing eyes, “I velly solly + you. They no hurtee me. Me cook.” + </p> + <p> + “Sam, there is much meat in your words. Condensed beef don't class with + you. But reserve your sorrows yet a while. Now what's my policy?” he + debated, tapping the stove here and there for appearances; somebody might + look in. “Shall I go back to my office and get my guns?” + </p> + <p> + “You not goin' run now?” said the Chinaman, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, Sam. But I like my gun travelling. Keeps me kind of warm. Now if + they should get a sight of me arming—no, she's got to stay here till + I come back for her. So long, Sam! See you later. And I'll have time to + thank you then.” + </p> + <p> + Drake went to the corral in a strolling manner. There he roped the + strongest of the horses, and also the school-master's. In the midst of his + saddling, Bolles came down. + </p> + <p> + “Can I help you in any way?” said Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “You've done it. Saved me a bothering touch-and-go play to get you out + here and seem innocent. I'm going to drift.” + </p> + <p> + “Drift?” + </p> + <p> + “There are times to stay and times to leave, Bolles; and this is a case of + the latter. Have you a real gun on now?” + </p> + <p> + Poor Bolles brought out guiltily his.22 Smith & Wesson. “I don't seem + to think of things,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up,” said Drake. “How could you thought-read me? Hide Baby Bunting, + though. Now we're off. Quietly, at the start. As if we were merely jogging + to pasture.” + </p> + <p> + Sam stood at his kitchen door, mutely wishing them well. The horses were + walking without noise, but Half-past Full looked out of the window. + </p> + <p> + “We're by, anyhow,” said Drake. “Quick now. Burn the earth.” The horse + sprang at his spurs. “Dust, you son of a gun! Rattle your hocks! Brindle! + Vamoose!” Each shouted word was a lash with his quirt. “Duck!” he called + to Bolles. + </p> + <p> + Bolles ducked, and bullets grooved the spraying snow. They rounded a + corner and saw the crowd jumping into the corral, and Sam's door empty of + that prudent Celestial. + </p> + <p> + “He's a very wise Chinaman!” shouted Drake, as they rushed. + </p> + <p> + “What?” screamed Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “Very wise Chinaman. He'll break that stove now to prove his innocence.” + </p> + <p> + “Who did you say was innocent?” screamed Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I said you were,” yelled Drake, disgusted; and he gave over this + effort at conversation as their horses rushed along. + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + It was a dim, wide stretch of winter into which Drake and Bolles galloped + from the howling pursuit. Twilight already veiled the base of Castle Rock, + and as they forged heavily up a ridge through the caking snow, and the + yells came after them, Bolles looked seriously at Dean Drake; but that + youth wore an expression of rising merriment. Bolles looked back at the + dusk from which the yells were sounding, then forward to the spreading + skein of night where the trail was taking him and the boy, and in neither + direction could he discern cause for gayety. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask where we are going?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Away,” Drake answered. “Just away, Bolles. It's a healthy resort.” + </p> + <p> + Ten miles were travelled before either spoke again. The drunken buccaroos + yelled hot on their heels at first, holding more obstinately to this chase + than sober ruffians would have attempted. Ten cold, dark miles across the + hills it took to cure them; but when their shootings, that had followed + over heights where the pines grew and down through the open swales + between, dropped off, and died finally away among the willows along the + south fork of the Malheur, Drake reined in his horse with a jerk. + </p> + <p> + “Now isn't that too bad!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “It is all very bad,” said Bolles, sorry to hear the boy's tone of + disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think they'd fool me again,” continued Drake, jumping down. + </p> + <p> + “Again?” inquired the interested Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “Why, they've gone home!” said the boy, in disgust. + </p> + <p> + “I was hoping so,” said the school-master. + </p> + <p> + “Hoping? Why, it's sad, Bolles. Four miles farther and I'd have had them + lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Bolles. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted them to keep after us,” complained Drake. “Soon as we had a good + lead I coaxed them. Coaxed them along on purpose by a trail they knew, and + four miles from here I'd have swung south into the mountains they don't + know. There they'd have been good and far from home in the snow without + supper, like you and me, Bolles. But after all my trouble they've gone + back snug to that fireside. Well, let us be as cosey as we can.” + </p> + <p> + He built a bright fire, and he whistled as he kicked the snow from his + boots, busying over the horses and the blankets. “Take a rest,” he said to + Bolles. “One man's enough to do the work. Be with you soon to share our + little cottage.” Presently Bolles heard him reciting confidentially to his + horse, “Twas the night after Christmas, and all in the house—only we + are not all in the house!” He slapped the belly of his horse Tyee, who + gambolled away to the limit of his picket-rope. + </p> + <p> + “Appreciating the moon, Bolles?” said he, returning at length to the fire. + “What are you so gazeful about, father?” + </p> + <p> + “This is all my own doing,” lamented the school-master. + </p> + <p> + “What, the moon is?” + </p> + <p> + “It has just come over me,” Bolles continued. “It was before you got in + the stage at Nampa. I was talking. I told Uncle Pasco that I was glad no + whiskey was to be allowed on the ranch. It all comes from my folly!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you hungry old New England conscience!” cried the boy, clapping him + on the shoulder. “How in the world could you foresee the crookedness of + that hoary Beelzebub?” + </p> + <p> + “That's all very well,” said Bolles, miserably. “You would never have + mentioned it yourself to him.” + </p> + <p> + “You and I, Bolles, are different. I was raised on miscellaneous + wickedness. A look at my insides would be liable to make you say your + prayers.” + </p> + <p> + The school-master smiled. “If I said any prayers,” he replied, “you would + be in them.” + </p> + <p> + Drake looked moodily at the fire. “The Lord helps those who help + themselves,” said he. “I've prospered. For a nineteen-year-old I've hooked + my claw fairly deep here and there. As for to-day—why, that's in the + game too. It was their deal. Could they have won it on their own play? A + joker dropped into their hand. It's my deal now, and I have some jokers + myself. Go to sleep, Bolles. We've a ride ahead of us.” + </p> + <p> + The boy rolled himself in his blanket skillfully. Bolles heard him say + once or twice in a sort of judicial conversation with the blanket—“and + all in the house—but we were not all in the house. Not all. Not a + full house—” His tones drowsed comfortably into murmur, and then to + quiet breathing. Bolles fed the fire, thatched the unneeded wind-break + (for the calm, dry night was breathless), and for a long while watched the + moon and a tuft of the sleeping boy's hair. + </p> + <p> + “If he is blamed,” said the school-master, “I'll never forgive myself. + I'll never forgive myself anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + A paternal, or rather maternal, expression came over Bolles's face, and he + removed his large, serious glasses. He did not sleep very well. + </p> + <p> + The boy did. “I'm feeling like a bird,” said he, as they crossed through + the mountains next morning on a short cut to the Owybee. “Breakfast will + brace you up, Bolles. There'll be a cabin pretty soon after we strike the + other road. Keep thinking hard about coffee.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could,” said poor Bolles. He was forgiving himself less and + less. + </p> + <p> + Their start had been very early; as Drake bid the school-master observe, + to have nothing to detain you, nothing to eat and nothing to pack, is a + great help in journeys of haste. The warming day, and Indian Creek well + behind them, brought Drake to whistling again, but depression sat upon the + self-accusing Bolles. Even when they sighted the Owyhee road below them, + no cheerfulness waked in him; not at the nearing coffee, nor yet at the + companionable tinkle of sleigh-bells dancing faintly upward through the + bright, silent air. + </p> + <p> + “Why, if it ain't Uncle Pasco!” said Drake, peering down through a gap in + the foot-hill. “We'll get breakfast sooner than I expected. Quick! Give me + Baby Bunting!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to kill him?” whispered the school-master, with a beaming + countenance. And he scuffled with his pocket to hand over his hitherto + belittled weapon. + </p> + <p> + Drake considered him. “Bolles, Bolles,” said he, “you have got the New + England conscience rank. Plymouth Rock is a pudding to your heart. Remind + me to pray for you first spare minute I get. Now follow me close. He'll be + much more useful to us alive.” + </p> + <p> + They slipped from their horses, stole swiftly down a shoulder of the hill, + and waited among some brush. The bells jingled unsuspectingly onward to + this ambush. + </p> + <p> + “Only hear 'em!” said Drake. “All full of silver and Merry Christmas. + Don't gaze at me like that, Bolles, or I'll laugh and give the whole snap + away. See him come! The old man's breath streams out so calm. He's not + worried with New England conscience. One, two, three” Just before the + sleigh came opposite, Dean Drake stepped out. “Morning, Uncle!” said he. + “Throw up your hands!” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Pasco stopped dead, his eyes blinking. Then he stood up in the + sleigh among his blankets. “H'm,” said he, “the kid.” + </p> + <p> + “Throw up your hands! Quit fooling with that blanket!” Drake spoke + dangerously now. “Bolles,” he continued, “pitch everything out of the + sleigh while I cover him. He's got a shot-gun under that blanket. Sling it + out.” + </p> + <p> + It was slung. The wraps followed. Uncle Pasco stepped obediently down, and + soon the chattels of the emptied sleigh littered the snow. The old + gentleman was invited to undress until they reached the six-shooter that + Drake suspected. Then they ate his lunch, drank some whiskey that he had + not sold to the buccaroos, told him to repack the sleigh, allowed him to + wrap up again, bade him take the reins, and they would use his six-shooter + and shot-gun to point out the road to him. + </p> + <p> + He had said very little, had Uncle Pasco, but stood blinking, obedient and + malignant. “H'm,” said he now, “goin' to ride with me, are you?” + </p> + <p> + He was told yes, that for the present he was their coachman. Their horses + were tired and would follow, tied behind. “We're weary, too,” said Drake, + getting in. “Take your legs out of my way or I'll kick off your shins. + Bolles, are you fixed warm and comfortable? Now start her up for Harper + ranch, Uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you proposing to do with me?” inquired Uncle Pasco. + </p> + <p> + “Not going to wring your neck, and that's enough for the present. Faster, + Uncle. Get a gait on. Bolles, here's Baby Bunting. Much obliged to you for + the loan of it, old man.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Pasco's eye fell on the 22-caliber pistol. “Did you hold me up with + that lemonade straw?” he asked, huskily. + </p> + <p> + “Yep,” said Drake. “That's what.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hell!” murmured Uncle Pasco. And for the first time he seemed + dispirited. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle, you're not making time,” said Drake after a few miles. “I'll thank + you for the reins. Open your bandanna and get your concertina. Jerk the + bellows for us.” + </p> + <p> + “That I'll not!” screamed Uncle Pasco. + </p> + <p> + “It's music or walk home,” said the boy. “Take your choice.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Pasco took his choice, opening with the melody of “The Last Rose of + Summer.” The sleigh whirled up the Owyhee by the winter willows, and the + levels, and the meadow pools, bright frozen under the blue sky. Late in + this day the amazed Brock by his corrals at Harper's beheld arrive his + favorite, his boy superintendent, driving in with the schoolmaster staring + through his glasses, and Uncle Pasco throwing out active strains upon his + concertina. The old man had been bidden to bellows away for his neck. + </p> + <p> + Drake was not long in explaining his need to the men. “This thing must be + worked quick,” said he. “Who'll stand by me?” + </p> + <p> + All of them would, and he took ten, with the faithful Brock. Brock would + not allow Gilbert to go, because he had received another mule-kick in the + stomach. Nor was Bolles permitted to be of the expedition. To all his + protests, Drake had but the single word: “This is not your fight, old man. + You've done your share with Baby Bunting.” + </p> + <p> + Thus was the school-master in sorrow compelled to see them start back to + Indian Creek and the Malheur without him. With him Uncle Pasco would have + joyfully exchanged. He was taken along with the avengers. They would not + wring his neck, but they would play cat and mouse with him and his + concertina; and they did. But the conscience of Bolles still toiled. When + Drake and the men were safe away, he got on the wagon going for the mail, + thus making his way next morning to the railroad and Boise, where Max + Vogel listened to him; and together this couple hastily took train and + team for the Malheur Agency. + </p> + <p> + The avengers reached Indian Creek duly, and the fourth day after his + Christmas dinner Drake came once more in sight of Castle Rock. + </p> + <p> + “I am doing this thing myself, understand,” he said to Brock. “I am + responsible.” + </p> + <p> + “We're here to take your orders,” returned the foreman. But as the agency + buildings grew plain and the time for action was coming, Brock's anxious + heart spoke out of its fulness. “If they start in to—to—they + might—I wish you'd let me get in front,” he begged, all at once. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you thought better of me,” said Drake. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” said the man. Then presently: “I don't see how anybody could + 'a' told he'd smuggle whiskey that way. If the old man [Brock meant Max + Vogel] goes to blame you, I'll give him my opinion straight.” + </p> + <p> + “The old man's got no use for opinions,” said Drake. “He goes on results. + He trusted me with this job, and we're going to have results now.” + </p> + <p> + The drunkards were sitting round outside the ranch house. It was evening. + They cast a sullen inspection on the new-comers, who returned them no + inspection whatever. Drake had his men together and took them to the + stable first, a shed with mangers. Here he had them unsaddle. “Because,” + he mentioned to Brock, “in case of trouble we'll be sure of their all + staying. I'm taking no chances now.” + </p> + <p> + Soon the drunkards strolled over, saying good-day, hazarding a few + comments on the weather and like topics, and meeting sufficient answers. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a good horse you've got.” + </p> + <p> + “Fair.” + </p> + <p> + But Sam was the blithest spirit at the Malheur Agency. “Hiyah!” he + exclaimed. “Misser Dlake! How fashion you come quick so?” And the + excellent Chinaman took pride in the meal of welcome that he prepared. + </p> + <p> + “Supper's now,” said Drake to his men. “Sit anywhere you feel like. Don't + mind whose chair you're taking—and we'll keep our guns on.” + </p> + <p> + Thus they followed him, and sat. The boy took his customary perch at the + head of the table, with Brock at his right. “I miss old Bolles,” he told + his foreman. “You don't appreciate Bolles.” + </p> + <p> + “From what you tell of him,” said Brock, “I'll examine him more careful.” + </p> + <p> + Seeing their boss, the sparrow-hawk, back in his place, flanked with + supporters, and his gray eye indifferently upon them, the buccaroos grew + polite to oppressiveness. While Sam handed his dishes to Drake and the + new-comers, and the new-comers eat what was good before the old + inhabitants got a taste, these latter grew more and more solicitous. They + offered sugar to the strangers, they offered their beds; Half-past Full + urged them to sit companionably in the room where the fire was burning. + But when the meal was over, the visitors went to another room with their + arms, and lighted their own fire. They brought blankets from their + saddles, and after a little concertina they permitted the nearly perished + Uncle Pasco to slumber. Soon they slumbered themselves, with the door left + open, and Drake watching. He would not even share vigil with Brock, and + all night he heard the voices of the buccaroos, holding grand, unending + council. + </p> + <p> + When the relentless morning came, and breakfast with the visitors again in + their seats unapproachable, the drunkards felt the crisis to be a strain + upon their sobered nerves. They glanced up from their plates, and down; + along to Dean Drake eating his hearty porridge, and back at one another, + and at the hungry, well-occupied strangers. + </p> + <p> + “Say, we don't want trouble,” they began to the strangers. + </p> + <p> + “Course you don't. Breakfast's what you're after.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, you'd have got gay. A man gets gay.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Drake,” said Half-past Full, sweating with his effort, “we were sorry + while we was a-fogging you up.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Drake. “You must have been just overcome by contrition.” + </p> + <p> + A large laugh went up from the visitors, and the meal was finished without + further diplomacy. + </p> + <p> + “One matter, Mr. Drake,” stammered Half-past Full, as the party rose. “Our + jobs. We're glad to pay for any things what got sort of broke.” + </p> + <p> + “Sort of broke,” repeated the boy, eyeing him. “So you want to hold your + jobs?” + </p> + <p> + “If—” began the buccaroo, and halted. + </p> + <p> + “Fact is, you're a set of cowards,” said Drake, briefly. “I notice you've + forgot to remove that whiskey jug.” The demijohn still stood by the great + fireplace. Drake entered and laid hold of it, the crowd standing back and + watching. He took it out, with what remained in its capacious bottom, set + it on a stump, stepped back, levelled his gun, and shattered the vessel to + pieces. The whiskey drained down, wetting the stump, creeping to the + ground. + </p> + <p> + Much potency lies in the object-lesson, and a grin was on the faces of all + present, save Uncle Pasco's. It had been his demijohn, and when the shot + struck it he blinked nervously. + </p> + <p> + “You ornery old mink!” said Drake, looking at him. “You keep to the + jewelry business hereafter.” + </p> + <p> + The buccaroos grinned again. It was reassuring to witness wrath turn upon + another. + </p> + <p> + “You want to hold your jobs?” Drake resumed to them. “You can trust + yourselves?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Half-past Full. + </p> + <p> + “But I don't trust you,” stated Drake, genially; and the buccaroos' + hopeful eyes dropped. “I'm going to divide you,” pursued the new + superintendent. “Split you far and wide among the company's ranches. Stir + you in with decenter blood. You'll go to White-horse ranch, just across + the line of Nevada,” he said to Half-past Full. “I'm tired of the brothers + Drinker. You'll go—let's see—” + </p> + <p> + Drake paused in his apportionment, and a sleigh came swiftly round the + turn, the horse loping and lathery. + </p> + <p> + “What vas dat shooting I hear joost now?” shouted Max Vogel, before he + could arrive. He did not wait for any answer. “Thank the good God!” he + exclaimed, at seeing the boy Dean Drake unharmed, standing with a gun. And + to their amazement he sped past them, never slacking his horse's lope + until he reached the corral. There he tossed the reins to the placid + Bolles, and springing out like a surefooted elephant, counted his + saddle-horses; for he was a general. Satisfied, he strode back to the + crowd by the demijohn. “When dem men get restless,” he explained to Drake + at once, “always look out. Somebody might steal a horse.” + </p> + <p> + The boy closed one gray, confidential eye at his employer. “Just my idea,” + said he, “when I counted 'em before breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “You liddle r-rascal,” said Max, fondly, “What you shoot at?” + </p> + <p> + Drake pointed at the demijohn. “It was bigger than those bottles at + Nampa,” said he. “Guess you could have hit it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Max's great belly shook. He took in the situation. It had a flavor that he + liked. He paused to relish it a little more in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Und you have killed noding else?” said he, looking at Uncle Pasco, who + blinked copiously. “Mine old friend, you never get rich if you change your + business so frequent. I tell you that thirty years now.” Max's hand found + Drake's shoulder, but he addressed Brock. “He is all what you tell me,” + said he to the foreman. “He have joodgement.” + </p> + <p> + Thus the huge, jovial Teuton took command, but found Drake had left little + for him to do. The buccaroos were dispersed at Harper's, at Fort Rinehart, + at Alvord Lake, towards Stein's peak, and at the Island Ranch by Harney + Lake. And if you know east Oregon, or the land where Chief E-egante helped + out Specimen Jones, his white soldier friend, when the hostile Bannocks + were planning his immediate death as a spy, you will know what wide + regions separated the buccaroos. Bolles was taken into Max Vogel's esteem; + also was Chinese Sam. But Max sat smoking in the office with his boy + superintendent, in particular satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “You are a liddle r-rascal,” said he. “Und I r-raise you fifty dollars.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A Kinsman of Red Cloud + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + It was thirty minutes before a June sundown at the post, and the first + call had sounded for parade. Over in the barracks the two companies and + the single troop lounged a moment longer, then laid their police + literature down, and lifted their stocking feet from the beds to get + ready. In the officers' quarters the captain rose regretfully from + after-dinner digestion, and the three lieutenants sought their helmets + with a sigh. Lieutenant Balwin had been dining an unconventional and + impressive guest at the mess, and he now interrupted the anecdote which + the guest was achieving with frontier deliberation. + </p> + <p> + “Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “I'll have to hear the rest about + the half-breed when I get back.” + </p> + <p> + “There ain't no more—yet. He got my cash with his private poker deck + that onced, and I'm fixing for to get his'n.” + </p> + <p> + Second call sounded; the lines filed out and formed, the sergeant of the + guard and two privates took their station by the flag, and when battalion + was formed the commanding officer, towering steeple-stiff beneath his + plumes, received the adjutant's salute, ordered him to his post, and began + drill. At all this the unconventional guest looked on comfortably from + Lieutenant Balwin's porch. + </p> + <p> + “I doubt if I could put up with that there discipline all the week,” he + mused. “Carry—arms! Present—Arms! I guess that's all I know of + it.” The winking white line of gloves stirred his approval. “Pretty good + that. Gosh, see the sun on them bayonets!” + </p> + <p> + The last note of retreat merged in the sonorous gun, and the flag shining + in the light of evening slid down and rested upon the earth. The blue + ranks marched to a single bugle—the post was short of men and + officers—and the captain, with the released lieutenants, again + sought digestion and cigars. Balwin returned to his guest, and together + they watched the day forsake the plain. Presently the guest rose to take + his leave. He looked old enough to be the father of the young officer, but + he was a civilian, and the military man proceeded to give him excellent + advice. + </p> + <p> + “Now don't get into trouble, Cutler.” + </p> + <p> + The slouch-shouldered scout rolled his quid gently, and smiled at his + superior with indulgent regard. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Cutler, you have a highly unoccupied look about you this + evening. I've been studying the customs of this population, and I've noted + a fact or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Let 'em loose on me, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Fact one: When any male inhabitant of Fort Laramie has a few spare + moments, he hunts up a game of cards.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, you've called the turn on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Fact two: At Fort Laramie a game of cards frequently ends in discussion.” + </p> + <p> + “Fact three: Mr. Calvin, in them discussions Jarvis Cutler has the last + word. You put that in your census report alongside the other two.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Cutler, if somebody's gun should happen to beat yours in an + argument, I should have to hunt another wagon-master.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not forget that. When was you expecting to pull out north?” + </p> + <p> + “Whenever the other companies get here. May be three days—may be + three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will have plenty time for a game to-night.” + </p> + <p> + With this slight dig of his civilian independence into the lieutenant's + military ribs, the scout walked away, his long, lugubrious frockcoat (worn + in honor of the mess) occasionally flapping open in the breeze, and giving + a view of a belt richly fluted with cartridges, and the ivory handle of a + pistol looking out of its holster. He got on his horse, crossed the flat, + and struck out for the cabin of his sociable friends, Loomis and Kelley, + on the hill. The open door and a light inside showed the company, and + Cutler gave a grunt, for sitting on the table was the half-breed, the + winner of his unavenged dollars. He rode slower, in order to think, and + arriving at the corral below the cabin, tied his horse to the stump of a + cottonwood. A few steps towards the door, and he wheeled on a sudden + thought, and under cover of the night did a crafty something which to the + pony was altogether unaccountable. He unloosed both front and rear cinch + of his saddle, so they hung entirely free in wide bands beneath the pony's + belly. He tested their slackness with his hand several times, stopping + instantly when the more and more surprised pony turned his head to see + what new thing in his experience might be going on, and, seeing, gave a + delicate bounce with his hind-quarters. + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind, Duster,” muttered the scout. “Did you ever see a + skunk-trap? Oughts is for mush-rats, and number ones is mostly used for + 'coons and 'possums, and I guess they'd do for a skunk. But you and we'll + call this here trap a number two, Duster, for the skunk I'm after is a big + one. All you've to do is to act natural.” + </p> + <p> + Cutler took the rope off the stump by which Duster had been tied securely, + wound and strapped it to the tilted saddle, and instead of this former + tether, made a weak knot in the reins, and tossed them over the stump. He + entered the cabin with a countenance sweeter than honey. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, boys,” he said. “Why, Toussaint, how do you do?” + </p> + <p> + The hand of Toussaint had made a slight, a very slight, movement towards + his hip, but at sight of Cutler's mellow smile resumed its clasp upon his + knee. + </p> + <p> + “Golly, but you're gay-like this evening,” said Kelley. + </p> + <p> + “Blamed if I knowed he could look so frisky,” added Loomis. + </p> + <p> + “Sporting his onced-a-year coat,” Kelley pursued. “That ain't for our + benefit, Joole.” + </p> + <p> + “No, we're not that high in society.” Both these cheerful waifs had + drifted from the Atlantic coast westward. + </p> + <p> + Cutler looked from them to his costume, and then amiably surveyed the + half-breed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, boys, I'm in big luck, I am. How's yourn nowadays, Toussaint?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good sometime. Sometime heap hell.” The voice of the half-breed + came as near heartiness as its singularly false quality would allow, and + as he smiled he watched Cutler with the inside of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The scout watched nobody and nothing with great care, looked about him + pleasantly, inquired for the whiskey, threw aside hat and gloves, sat + down, leaning the chair back against the wall, and talked with artful + candor. “Them sprigs of lieutenants down there,” said he, “they're a + surprising lot for learning virtue to a man. You take Balwin. Why, he + ain't been out of the Academy only two years, and he's been telling me how + card-playing ain't good for you. And what do you suppose he's been and + offered Jarvis Cutler for a job? I'm to be wagon-master.” He paused, and + the half-breed's attention to his next words increased. “Wagon-master, and + good pay, too. Clean up to the Black Hills; and the troops'll move soon as + ever them reinforcements come. Drinks on it, boys! Set 'em up, Joole + Loomis. My contract's sealed with some of Uncle Sam's cash, and I'm going + to play it right here. Hello! Somebody coming to join us? He's in a + hurry.” + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of lashing straps and hoofs beating the ground, and + Cutler looked out of the door. As he had calculated, the saddle had + gradually turned with Duster's movements and set the pony bucking. + </p> + <p> + “Stampeded!” said the scout, and swore the proper amount called for by + such circumstances. “Some o' you boys help me stop the durned fool.” + </p> + <p> + Loomis and Kelley ran. Duster had jerked the prepared reins from the + cottonwood, and was lurching down a small dry gulch, with the saddle + bouncing between his belly and the stones. + </p> + <p> + Cutler cast a backward eye at the cabin where Toussaint had stayed behind + alone. “Head him off below, boys, and I'll head him off above,” the scout + sang out. He left his companions, and quickly circled round behind the + cabin, stumbling once heavily, and hurrying on, anxious lest the noise had + reached the lurking half-breed. But the ivory-handled pistol, jostled from + its holster, lay unheeded among the stones where he had stumbled. He + advanced over the rough ground, came close to the logs, and craftily + peered in at the small window in the back of the cabin. It was evident + that he had not been heard. The sinister figure within still sat on the + table, but was crouched, listening like an animal to the shouts that were + coming from a safe distance down in the gulch. Cutler, outside of the + window, could not see the face of Toussaint, but he saw one long brown + hand sliding up and down the man's leg, and its movement put him in mind + of the tail of a cat. The hand stopped to pull out a pistol, into which + fresh cartridges were slipped. Cutler had already done this same thing + after dismounting, and he now felt confident that his weapon needed no + further examination. He did not put his hand to his holster. The figure + rose from the table, and crossed the room to a set of shelves in front of + which hung a little yellow curtain. Behind it were cups, cans, bottles, a + pistol, counters, red, white, and blue, and two fresh packs of cards, blue + and pink, side by side. Seeing these, Toussaint drew a handkerchief from + his pocket, and unwrapped two further packs, both blue; and at this + Cutler's intent face grew into plain shape close to the window, but + receded again into uncertain dimness. From down in the gulch came shouts + that the runaway horse was captured. Toussaint listened, ran to the door, + and quickly returning, put the blue pack from the shelf into his pocket, + leaving in exchange one of his own. He hesitated about altering the + position of the cards on the shelf, but Kelley and Loomis were unobservant + young men, and the half-breed placed the pink cards on top of his blue + ones. The little yellow curtain again hung innocently over the shelves, + and Toussaint, pouring himself a drink of whiskey, faced round, and for + the first time saw the window that had been behind his back. He was at it + in an instant, wrenching its rusty pin, that did not give, but stuck + motionless in the wood. Cursing, he turned and hurried out of the door and + round the cabin. No one was there. Some hundred yards away the noiseless + Cutler crawled farther among the thickets that filled the head of the + gulch. Toussaint whipped out a match, and had it against his trousers to + strike and look if there were footprints, when second thoughts warned him + this might be seen, and was not worth risking suspicion over, since so + many feet came and went by this cabin. He told himself no one could have + been there to see him, and slowly returned inside, with a mind that fell a + hair's breadth short of conviction. + </p> + <p> + The boys, coming up with the horse, met Cutler, who listened to how Duster + had stood still as soon as he had kicked free of his saddle, making no + objection to being caught. They suggested that he would not have broken + loose had he been tied with a rope; and hearing this, Cutler bit off a + piece of tobacco, and told them they were quite right: a horse should + never be tied by his bridle. For a savory moment the scout cuddled his + secret, and turned it over like the tobacco lump under his tongue. Then he + explained, and received serenely the amazement of Loomis and Kelley. + </p> + <p> + “When you kids have travelled this Western country awhile you'll keep your + cards locked,” said he. “He's going to let us win first. You'll see, he'll + play a poor game with the pink deck. Then, if we don't call for fresh + cards, why, he'll call for 'em himself. But, just for the fun of the + thing, if any of us loses steady, why, we'll call. Then, when he gets hold + of his strippers, watch out. When he makes his big play, and is stretchin' + for to rake the counters in, you grab 'em, Joole; for by then I'll have my + gun on him, and if he makes any trouble we'll feed him to the coyotes. I + expect that must have been it, boys,” he continued, in a new tone, as they + came within possible ear-shot of the half-breed in the cabin. “A coyote + come around him where he was tied. The fool horse has seen enough of 'em + to git used to 'em, you'd think, but he don't. There; that'll hold him. I + guess he'll have to pull the world along with him if he starts to run + again.” + </p> + <p> + The lamp was placed on the window-shelf, and the four took seats, Cutler + to the left of Toussaint, with Kelley opposite. The pink cards fell + harmless, and for a while the game was a dull one to see. Holding a pair + of kings, Cutler won a little from Toussaint, who remarked that luck must + go with the money of Uncle Sam. After a few hands, the half-breed began to + bet with ostentatious folly, and, losing to one man and another, was joked + upon the falling off of his game. In an hour's time his blue chips had + been twice reinforced, and twice melted from the neat often-counted pile + in which he arranged them; moreover, he had lost a horse from his string + down on Chug Water. + </p> + <p> + “Lend me ten dollar,” he said to Cutler. “You rich man now.” + </p> + <p> + In the next few deals Kelley became poor. “I'm sick of this luck,” said + he. + </p> + <p> + “Then change it, why don't you? Let's have a new deck.” And Loomis rose. + </p> + <p> + “Joole, you always are for something new,” said Cutler. “Now I'm doing + pretty well with these pink cards. But I'm no hog. Fetch on your fresh + ones.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the half-breed swerved to the yellow curtain. He was by a + French trapper from Canada out of a Sioux squaw, one of Red Cloud's + sisters, and his heart beat hot with the evil of two races, and none of + their good. He was at this moment irrationally angry with the men who had + won from him through his own devices, and malice undisguised shone in his + lean flat face. At sight of the blue cards falling in the first deal, + silence came over the company, and from the distant parade-ground the + bugle sounded the melancholy strain of taps. Faint, far, solemn, + melodious, the music travelled unhindered across the empty night. + </p> + <p> + “Them men are being checked off in their bunks now,” said Cutler. + </p> + <p> + “What you bet this game?” demanded Toussaint. + </p> + <p> + “I've heard 'em play that same music over a soldier's grave,” said Kelley. + </p> + <p> + “You goin' to bet?” Toussaint repeated. + </p> + <p> + Cutler pushed forward the two necessary white chips. No one's hand was + high, and Loomis made a slight winning. The deal went its round several + times, and once, when it was Toussaint's, Cutler suspected that special + cards had been thrown to him by the half-breed as an experiment. He + therefore played the gull to a nicety, betting gently upon his three + kings; but when he stepped out boldly and bet the limit, it was not + Toussaint but Kelley who held the higher hand, winning with three aces. + Why the coup should be held off longer puzzled the scout, unless it was + that Toussaint was carefully testing the edges of his marked cards to see + if he controlled them to a certainty. So Cutler played on calmly. + Presently two aces came to him in Toussaint's deal, and he wondered how + many more would be in his three-card draw. Very pretty! One only, and he + lost to Loomis, who had drawn three, and held four kings. The hands were + getting higher, they said. The game had “something to it now.” But + Toussaint grumbled, for his luck was bad all this year, he said. Cutler + had now made sure that the aces and kings went where the half-breed + wished, and could be slid undetected from the top or the middle or the + bottom of the pack; but he had no test yet how far down the scale the + marking went. At Toussaint's next deal Cutler judged the time had come, + and at the second round of betting he knew it. The three white men played + their parts, raising each other without pause, and again there was total + silence in the cabin. Every face bent to the table, watching the turn + repeat its circle with obstinate increase, until new chips and more new + chips had been brought to keep on with, and the heap in the middle had + mounted high in the hundreds, while in front of Toussaint lay his knife + and a match-box—pledges of two more horses which he had staked. He + had drawn three cards, while the others took two, except Cutler, who had a + pair of kings again, and drawing three, picked up two more. Kelley dropped + out, remarking he had bet more than his hand was worth, which was true, + and Loomis followed him. Their persistence had surprised Toussaint a + little. He had not given every one suspicious hands: Cutler's four kings + were enough. He bet once more, was raised by the scout, called, and threw + down his four aces. + </p> + <p> + “That beats me,” said Cutler, quietly, and his hand moved under his + frock-coat, as the half-breed, eyeing the central pile of counters in + triumph, closed his fingers over it. They were dashed off by Kelley, who + looked expectantly across at Cutler, and seeing the scout's face wither + into sudden old age, cried out, “For God's sake, Jarvis, where's your + gun?” Kelley sprang for the yellow curtain, and reeled backward at the + shot of Toussaint. His arm thrashed along the window-sill as he fell, + sweeping over the lamp, and flaring channels of oil ran over his body and + spread on the ground. But these could no longer hurt him. The half-breed + had leaped outside the cabin, enraged that Cutler should have got out + during the moment he had been dealing with Kelley. The scout was groping + for his ivory-handled pistol off in the darkness. He found it, and hurried + to the little window at a second shot he heard inside. Loomis, beating the + rising flame away, had seized the pistol from the shelf, and aimlessly + fired into the night at Toussaint. He fired again, running to the door + from the scorching heat. Cutler got round the house to save him if he + could, and saw the half-breed's weapon flash, and the body pitch out + across the threshold. Toussaint, gaining his horse, shot three times and + missed Cutler, whom he could not clearly see; and he heard the scout's + bullets sing past him as his horse bore him rushing away. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Jarvis Cutler lifted the dead Loomis out of the cabin. He made a try for + Kelley's body, but the room had become a cave of flame, and he was driven + from the door. He wrung his hands, giving himself bitter blame aloud, as + he covered Loomis with his saddle-blanket, and jumped bareback upon Duster + to go to the post. He had not been riding a minute when several men met + him. They had seen the fire from below, and on their way up the half-breed + had passed them at a run. + </p> + <p> + “Here's our point,” said Cutler. “Will he hide with the Sioux, or will he + take to the railroad? Well, that's my business more than being + wagon-master. I'll get a warrant. You tell Lieutenant Balwin—and + somebody give me a fresh horse.” + </p> + <p> + A short while later, as Cutler, with the warrant in his pocket, rode out + of Fort Laramie, the call of the sentinels came across the night: “Number + One. Twelve o'clock, and all's well.” A moment, and the refrain sounded + more distant, given by Number Two. When the fourth took it up, far away + along the line, the words were lost, leaving something like the faint echo + of a song. The half-breed had crossed the Platte, as if he were making for + his kindred tribe, but the scout did not believe in this too plain trail. + </p> + <p> + “There's Chug Water lying right the other way from where he went, and I + guess it's there Mr. Toussaint is aiming for.” With this idea Cutler swung + from north to southwest along the Laramie. He went slowly over his + shortcut, not to leave the widely circling Toussaint too much in his rear. + The fugitive would keep himself carefully far on the other side of the + Laramie, and very likely not cross it until the forks of Chug Water. Dawn + had ceased to be gray, and the doves were cooing incessantly among the + river thickets, when Cutler, reaching the forks, found a bottom where the + sage-brush grew seven and eight feet high, and buried himself and his + horse in its cover. Here was comfort; here both rivers could be safely + watched. It seemed a good leisure-time for a little fire and some + breakfast. He eased his horse of the saddle, sliced some bacon, and put a + match to his pile of small sticks. As the flame caught, he stood up to + enjoy the cool of a breeze that was passing through the stillness, and he + suddenly stamped his fire out. The smell of another fire had come across + Chug Water on the wind. It was incredible that Toussaint should be there + already. There was no seeing from this bottom, and if Cutler walked up out + of it the other man would see too. If it were Toussaint, he would not stay + long in the vast exposed plain across Chug Water, but would go on after + his meal. In twenty minutes it would be the thing to swim or wade the + stream, and crawl up the mud bank to take a look. Meanwhile, Cutler dipped + in water some old bread that he had and sucked it down, while the little + breeze from opposite hook the cottonwood leaves and brought over the smell + of cooking meat. The sun grew warmer, and the doves ceased. Cutler opened + his big watch, and clapped it shut as the sound of mud heavily slopping + into the other river reached him. He crawled to where he could look at the + Laramie from among his sagebrush, and there was Toussaint leading his + horse down to the water. The half-breed gave a shrill call, and waved his + hat. His call was answered, and as he crossed the Laramie, three Sioux + appeared, riding to the bank. They waited till he gained their level, when + all four rode up the Chug Water, and went out of sight opposite the + watching Cutler. The scout threw off some of his clothes, for the water + was still high, and when he had crossed, and drawn himself to a level with + the plain, there were the four squatted among the sage-brush beside a + fire. They sat talking and eating for some time. One of them rose at last, + pointed south, and mounting his horse, dwindled to a dot, blurred, and + evaporated in the heated, trembling distance. Cutler at the edge of the + bank still watched the other three, who sat on the ground. A faint shot + came, and they rose at once, mounted, and vanished southward. There was no + following them now in this exposed country, and Cutler, feeling sure that + the signal had meant something about Toussaint's horses, made his fire, + watered his own horse, and letting him drag a rope where the feed was + green, ate his breakfast in ease. Toussaint would get a fresh mount, and + proceed to the railroad. With the comfort of certainty and tobacco, the + scout lolled by the river under the cottonwood, and even slept. In the + cool of the afternoon he reached the cabin of an acquaintance twenty miles + south, and changed his horse. A man had passed by, he was told. Looked as + if bound for Cheyenne. “No,” Cutler said, “he's known there”; and he went + on, watching Toussaint's tracks. Within ten miles they veered away from + Cheyenne to the southeast, and Cutler struck out on a trail of his own + more freely. By midnight he was on Lodge-Pole Creek, sleeping sound among + the last trees that he would pass. He slept twelve hours, having gone to + bed knowing he must not come into town by daylight. About nine o'clock he + arrived, and went to the railroad station; there the operator knew him. + The lowest haunt in the town had a tent south of the Union Pacific tracks; + and Cutler, getting his irons, and a man from the saloon, went there, and + stepped in, covering the room with his pistol. The fiddle stopped, the + shrieking women scattered, and Toussaint, who had a glass in his hand, let + it fly at Cutler's head, for he was drunk. There were two customers + besides himself. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody shall get hurt here,” said Cutler, above the bedlam that was now + set up. “Only that man's wanted. The quieter I get him, the quieter it'll + be for others.” + </p> + <p> + Toussaint had dived for his pistol, but the proprietor of the dance-hall, + scenting law, struck the half-breed with the butt of another, and he + rolled over, and was harmless for some minutes. Then he got on his legs, + and was led out of the entertainment, which resumed more gayly than ever. + Feet shuffled, the fiddle whined, and truculent treble laughter sounded + through the canvas walls as Toussaint walked between Cutler and the + saloon-man to jail. He was duly indicted, and upon the scout's deposition + committed to trial for the murder of Loomis and Kelley. Cutler, hoping + still to be wagon-master, wrote to Lieutenant Balwin, hearing in reply + that the reinforcements would not arrive for two months. The session of + the court came in one, and Cutler was the Territory's only witness. He + gave his name and age, and hesitated over his occupation. + </p> + <p> + “Call it poker-dealer,” sneered Toussaint's attorney. + </p> + <p> + “I would, but I'm such a fool one,” observed the witness. “Put me down as + wagon-master to the military outfit that's going to White River.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your residence?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I reside in the section that lies between the Missouri River and + the Pacific Ocean.” + </p> + <p> + “A pleasant neighborhood,” said the judge, who knew Cutler perfectly, and + precisely how well he could deal poker hands. + </p> + <p> + “It's not a pleasant neighborhood for some.” And Cutler looked at + Toussaint. + </p> + <p> + “You think you done with me?” Toussaint inquired, upon which silence was + ordered in the court. + </p> + <p> + Upon Cutler's testimony the half-breed was found guilty, and sentenced to + be hanged in six weeks from that day. Hearing this, he looked at the + witness. “I see you one day agin,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The scout returned to Fort Laramie, and soon the expected troops arrived, + and the expedition started for White River to join Captain Brent. The + captain was stationed there to impress Red Cloud, and had written to + headquarters that this chief did not seem impressed very deeply, and that + the lives of the settlers were insecure. Reinforcements were accordingly + sent to him. On the evening before these soldiers left Laramie, news came + from the south. Toussaint had escaped from jail. The country was full of + roving, dubious Indians, and with the authentic news went a rumor that the + jailer had received various messages. These were to the effect that the + Sioux nation did not desire Toussaint to be killed by the white man, that + Toussaint's mother was the sister of Red Cloud, and that many friends of + Toussaint often passed the jailer's house. Perhaps he did get such + messages. They are not a nice sort to receive. However all this may have + been, the prisoner was gone. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + Fort Robinson, on the White River, is backed by yellow bluffs that break + out of the foot-hills in turret and toadstool shapes, with stunt pines + starving between their torrid bastions. In front of the fort the land + slants away into the flat unfeatured desert, and in summer the sky is a + blue-steel covet that each day shuts the sun and the earth and mankind + into one box together, while it lifts at night to let in the cool of the + stars. The White River, which is not wide, runs in a curve, and around + this curve below the fort some distance was the agency, and beyond it a + stockade, inside which in those days dwelt the settlers. All this was + strung out on one side of the White River, outside of the curve; and at a + point near the agency a foot-bridge of two cottonwood trunks crossed to + the concave of the river's bend—a bottom of some extent, filled with + growing cottonwoods, and the tepees of many Sioux families. Along the + river and on the plain other tepees stood. + </p> + <p> + One morning, after Lieutenant Balwin had become established at Fort + Robinson, he was talking with his friend Lieutenant Powell, when Cutler + knocked at the wire door. The wagon-master was a privileged character, and + he sat down and commented irrelevantly upon the lieutenant's pictures, + Indian curiosities, and other well-meant attempts to conceal the walk: + </p> + <p> + “What's the trouble, Cutler?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know as there's any trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to your point, man; you're not a scout now.” + </p> + <p> + “Toussaint's here.” + </p> + <p> + “What! in camp?” + </p> + <p> + “Hiding with the Sioux. Two Knives heard about it.” (Two Knives was a + friendly Indian.) “He's laying for me,” Cutler added. + </p> + <p> + “You've seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I want to quit my job and go after him.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Powell. + </p> + <p> + “You can't, Cutler,” said Balwin. “I can't spare you.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be having to fill my place, then, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to go without permission?” said Powell, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, no! He'll shoot me. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + The two lieutenants pondered. + </p> + <p> + “And it's to-day,” continued Cutler, plaintively, “that he should be + gettin' hanged in Cheyenne.” + </p> + <p> + Still the lieutenants pondered, while the wagon-master inspected a + photograph of Marie Rose as Marguerite. + </p> + <p> + “I have it!” exclaimed Powell. “Let's kill him.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the commanding officer?” + </p> + <p> + “He'd back us—but we'll tell him afterwards. Cutler, can you find + Toussaint?” + </p> + <p> + “If I get the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, you're off duty till you do. Then report to me at once.” + </p> + <p> + Just after guard-mounting two days later, Cutler came in without knocking. + Toussaint was found. He was down on the river now, beyond the stockade. In + ten minutes the wagon-master and the two lieutenants were rattling down to + the agency in an ambulance, behind four tall blue government mules. These + were handily driven by a seventeen-year-old boy whom Balwin had picked up, + liking his sterling American ways. He had come West to be a cow-boy, but a + chance of helping to impress Red Cloud had seemed still dearer to his + heart. They drew up at the agency store, and all went in, leaving the boy + nearly out of his mind with curiosity, and pretending to be absorbed with + the reins. Presently they came out, Balwin with field-glasses. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said he, “where?” + </p> + <p> + “You see the stockade, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Powell, sticking his chin on Cutler's shoulder to look along + his arm as he pouted. But the scout proposed to be deliberate. + </p> + <p> + “Now the gate of the stockade is this way, ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well?” + </p> + <p> + “You start there and follow the fence to the corner—the left corner, + towards the river. Then you follow the side that's nearest the river down + to the other corner. Now that corner is about a hundred yards from the + bank. You take a bee-line to the bank and go down stream, maybe thirty + yards. No; it'll be forty yards, I guess. There's a lone pine-tree right + agin the edge.” The wagon-master stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I see all that,” said Lieutenant Balwin, screwing the field-glasses. + “There's a buck and a squaw lying under the tree.” + </p> + <p> + “Naw, sir,” drawled Cutler, “that ain't no buck. That's him lying in his + Injun blanket and chinnin' a squaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that man's an Indian, Cutler. I tell you I can see his braids.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's rigged up Injun fashion, fust rate, sir. But them braids of his + ain't his'n. False hair.” + </p> + <p> + The lieutenants passed each other the fieldglasses three times, and glared + at the lone pine and the two figures in blankets. The boy on the ambulance + was unable to pretend any longer, and leaned off his seat till he nearly + fell. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Balwin, “I never saw anything look more like a buck Sioux. + Look at his paint. Take the glasses yourself, Cutler.” + </p> + <p> + But Cutler refused. “He's like an Injun,” he said. “But that's just what + he wants to be.” The scout's conviction bore down their doubt. + </p> + <p> + They were persuaded. “You can't come with us, Cutler,” said Powell. “You + must wait for us here.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, sir; he'd spot us, sure. But it ain't right. I started this whole + business with my poker scheme at that cabin, and I ought to stay with it + clear through.” + </p> + <p> + The officers went into the agency store and took down two rifles hanging + at the entrance, always ready for use. “We're going to kill a man,” they + explained, and the owner was entirely satisfied. They left the rueful + Cutler inside, and proceeded to the gate of the stockade, turning there to + the right, away from the river, and following the paling round the corner + down to the farther right-hand corner. Looking from behind it, the lone + pine-tree stood near, and plain against the sky. The striped figures lay + still in their blankets, talking, with their faces to the river. Here and + there across the stream the smoke-stained peak of a tepee showed among the + green leaves. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see a more genuine Indian?” inquired Baldwin. + </p> + <p> + “We must let her rip now, anyhow,” said Powell, and they stepped out into + the open. They walked towards the pine till it was a hundred yards from + them, and the two beneath it lay talking all the while. Balwin covered the + man with his rifle and called. The man turned his head, and seeing the + rifle, sat up in his blanket. The squaw sat up also. Again the officer + called, keeping his rifle steadily pointed, and the man dived like a frog + over the bank. Like magic his blanket had left his limbs and painted body + naked, except for the breech-clout. Balwin's tardy bullet threw earth over + the squaw, who went flapping and screeching down the river. Balwin and + Powell ran to the edge, which dropped six abrupt feet of clay to a trail, + then shelved into the swift little stream. The red figure was making up + the trail to the foot-bridge that led to the Indian houses, and both + officers fired. The man continued his limber flight, and they jumped down + and followed, firing. They heard a yell on the plain above, and an answer + to it, and then confused yells above and below, gathering all the while. + The figure ran on above the river trail below the bank, and their bullets + whizzed after it. + </p> + <p> + “Indian!” asserted Balwin, panting. + </p> + <p> + “Ran away, though,” said Powell. + </p> + <p> + “So'd you run. Think any Sioux'd stay when an army officer comes gunning + for him?” + </p> + <p> + “Shoot!” said Powell. “'S getting near bridge,” and they went on, running + and firing. The yells all over the plain were thickening. The air seemed + like a substance of solid flashing sound. The naked runner came round the + river curve into view of the people at the agency store. + </p> + <p> + “Where's a rifle?” said Cutler to the agent. + </p> + <p> + “Officers got 'em,” the agent explained. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can't stand this,” said the scout, and away he went. + </p> + <p> + “That man's crazy,” said the agent. + </p> + <p> + “You bet he ain't!” remarked the ambulance boy. + </p> + <p> + Cutler was much nearer to the bridge than was the man in the breech-clout, + and reaching the bank, he took half a minute's keen pleasure in watching + the race come up the trail. When the figure was within ten yards Cutler + slowly drew an ivory-handled pistol. The lieutenants below saw the man + leap to the middle of the bridge, sway suddenly with arms thrown up, and + topple into White River. The current swept the body down, and as it came + it alternately lifted and turned and sank as the stream played with it. + Sometimes it struck submerged stumps or shallows, and bounded half out of + water, then drew under with nothing but the back of the head in sight, + turning round and round. The din of Indians increased, and from the tepees + in the cottonwoods the red Sioux began to boil, swarming on the opposite + bank, but uncertain what had happened. The man rolling in the water was + close to the officers. + </p> + <p> + “It's not our man,” said Balwin. “Did you or I hit him?” + </p> + <p> + “We're gone, anyhow,” said Powell, quietly. “Look!” + </p> + <p> + A dozen rifles were pointing at their heads on the bank above. The Indians + still hesitated, for there was Two Knives telling them these officers were + not enemies, and had hurt no Sioux. Suddenly Cutler pushed among the + rifles, dashing up the nearest two with his arm, and their explosion rang + in the ears of the lieutenants. Powell stood grinning at the general + complication of matters that had passed beyond his control, and Balwin + made a grab as the head of the man in the river washed by. The false braid + came off in his hand! + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” shouted Cutler from the bank. “Shove him up here!” + </p> + <p> + Two Knives redoubled his harangue, and the Indians stood puzzled, while + the lieutenants pulled Toussaint out, not dead, but shot through the hip. + They dragged him over the clay and hoisted him, till Cutler caught hold + and jerked him to the level, as a new noise of rattling descended on the + crowd, and the four blue mules wheeled up and halted. The boy had done it + himself. Massing the officers' need, he had pelted down among the Sioux, + heedless of their yells, and keeping his gray eyes on his team. In got the + three, pushing Toussaint in front, and scoured away for the post as the + squaw arrived to shriek the truth to her tribe—what Red Cloud's + relation had been the victim. + </p> + <p> + Cutler sat smiling as the ambulance swung along. “I told you I belonged in + this here affair,” he said. And when they reached the fort he was saying + it still, occasionally. + </p> + <p> + Captain Brent considered it neatly done. “But that boy put the finishing + touches,” he said. “Let's have him in.” + </p> + <p> + The boy was had in, and ate a dinner with the officers in glum + embarrassment, smoking a cigar after it without joy. Toussaint was given + into the doctor's hands, and his wounds carefully dressed. + </p> + <p> + “This will probably cost an Indian outbreak,” said Captain Brent, looking + down at the plain. Blanketed riders galloped over it, and yelling filled + the air. But Toussaint was not destined to cause this further harm. An + unexpected influence intervened. + </p> + <p> + All afternoon the cries and galloping went on, and next morning (worse + sign) there seemed to be no Indians in the world. The horizon was empty, + the air was silent, the smoking tepees were vanished from the cottonwoods, + and where those in the plain had been lay the lodge-poles, and the fires + were circles of white, cold ashes. By noon an interpreter came from Red + Cloud. Red Cloud would like to have Toussaint. If the white man was not + willing, it should be war. + </p> + <p> + Captain Brent told the story of Loomis and Kelley. “Say to Red Cloud,” he + ended, “that when a white man does such things among us, he is killed. Ask + Red Cloud if Toussaint should live. If he thinks yes, let him come and + take Toussaint.” + </p> + <p> + The next day with ceremony and feathers of state, Red Cloud came, bringing + his interpreter, and after listening until every word had been told him + again, requested to see the half-breed. He was taken to the hospital. A + sentry stood on post outside the tent, and inside lay Toussaint, with whom + Cutler and the ambulance-boy were playing whiskey-poker. While the patient + was waiting to be hanged, he might as well enjoy himself within reason. + Such was Cutler's frontier philosophy. We should always do what we can for + the sick. At sight of Red Cloud looming in the doorway, gorgeous and grim + as Fate, the game was suspended. The Indian took no notice of the white + men, and walked to the bed. Toussaint clutched at his relation's fringe, + but Red Cloud looked at him. Then the mongrel strain of blood told, and + the half-breed poured out a chattering appeal, while Red Cloud by the + bedside waited till it had spent itself. Then he grunted, and left the + room. He had not spoken, and his crest of long feathers as it turned the + corner was the last vision of him that the card-players had. + </p> + <p> + Red Cloud came back to the officers, and in their presence formally spoke + to his interpreter, who delivered the message: “Red Cloud says Toussaint + heap no good. No Injun, anyhow. He not want him. White man hunt pretty + hard for him. Can keep him.” + </p> + <p> + Thus was Toussaint twice sentenced. He improved under treatment, played + many games of whiskey-poker, and was conveyed to Cheyenne and hanged. + </p> + <p> + These things happened in the early seventies; but there are Sioux still + living who remember the two lieutenants, and how they pulled the + half-breed out of White River by his false hair. It makes them laugh to + this day. Almost any Indian is full of talk when he chooses, and when he + gets hold of a joke he never lets go. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Sharon's Choice + </h2> + <p> + Under Providence, a man may achieve the making of many things—ships, + books, fortunes, himself even, quite often enough to encourage others; but + let him beware of creating a town. Towns mostly happen. No real-estate + operator decided that Rome should be. Sharon was an intended town; a one + man's piece of deliberate manufacture; his whim, his pet, his monument, + his device for immortally continuing above ground. He planned its avenues, + gave it his middle name, fed it with his railroad. But he had reckoned + without the inhabitants (to say nothing of nature), and one day they + displeased him. Whenever you wish, you can see Sharon and what it has come + to as I saw it when, as a visitor without local prejudices, they asked me + to serve with the telegraph-operator and the ticket-agent and the + hotel-manager on the literary committee of judges at the school festival. + There would be a stage, and flags, and elocution, and parents assembled, + and afterwards ice-cream with strawberries from El Paso. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever awarded prizes for school speaking?” inquired the + telegraph-operator, Stuart. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I told him. “At Concord in New Hampshire.” + </p> + <p> + “Ever have a chat afterwards with a mother whose girl did not get the + prize?” + </p> + <p> + “It was boys,” I replied. “And parents had no say in it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's boys and girls in Sharon,” said he. “Parents have no say in it here, + either. But that don't seem to occur to them at the moment. We'll all + stick together, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I had best resign.” said I. “You would find me no hand at + pacifying a mother.” + </p> + <p> + “There are fathers also,” said Stuart. “But individual parents are small + trouble compared with a big split in public opinion. We've missed that so + far, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why have judges? Why not a popular vote?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go back on us,” said Stuart. “We are so few here. And you know + education can't be democratic or where will good taste find itself? + Eastman knows that much, at least.” And Stuart explained that Eastman was + the head of the school and chairman of our committee. “He is from + Massachusetts, and his taste is good, but he is total abstinence. Won't + allow any literature with the least smell of a drink in it, not even in + the singing-class. Would not have 'Here's a health to King Charles' inside + the door. Narrowing, that; as many of the finest classics speak of wine + freely. Eastman is useful, but a crank. Now take 'Lochinvar.' We are to + have it on strawberry night; but say! Eastman kicked about it. Told the + kid to speak something else. Kid came to me, and I—” + </p> + <p> + A smile lurked for one instant in the corner of Stuart's eye, and + disappeared again. Then he drew his arm through mine as we walked. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“You have never seen anything in your days like Sharon,” said he. “You +could not sit down by yourself and make such a thing up. Shakespeare +might have, but he would have strained himself doing it. Well, Eastman +says 'Lochinvar' will go in my expurgated version. Too bad Sir Walter +cannot know. Ever read his Familiar Letters, Great grief! but he was a +good man. Eastman stuck about that mention of wine. Remember? + + 'So now am I come with this lost love of mine + To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.' +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'Well,' thought I, 'Eastman would agree to water. Water and daughter +would go, but is frequently used, and spoils the meter.' So I fiddled +with my pencil down in the telegraph office, and I fixed the thing up. +How's this? + + 'So now am I come with this beautiful maid + To lead but one measure, drink one lemonade.' +</pre> + <p> + Eastman accepts that. Says it's purer. Oh, it's not all sadness here!” + </p> + <p> + “How did you come to be in Sharon?” I asked my exotic acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, how did I? How did all our crowd at the railroad? Somebody has got to + sell tickets, somebody has got to run that hotel, and telegraphs have got + to exist here. That's how we foreigners came. Many travellers change cars + here, and one train usually misses the other, because the two companies do + not love each other. You hear lots of language, especially in December. + Eastern consumptives bound for southern California get left here, and + drummers are also thick. Remarks range from 'How provoking!' to things I + would not even say myself. So that big hotel and depot has to be kept + running, and we fellows get a laugh now and then. Our lot is better than + these people's.” He made a general gesture at Sharon. + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought it was worse,” said I. “No, for we'll be + transferred some day. These poor folks are shipwrecked. Though it is their + own foolishness, all this.” + </p> + <p> + Again my eye followed as he indicated the town with a sweep of his hand; + and from the town I looked to the four quarters of heaven. I may have seen + across into Old Mexico. No sign labels the boundary; the vacuum of + continent goes on, you might think, to Patagonia. Symptoms of neighboring + Mexico basked on the sand heaps along Sharon's spacious avenues—little + torpid, indecent gnomes in sashes and open rags, with crowning-steeple + straw hats, and murder dozing in their small black eyes. They might have + crawled from holes in the sand, or hatched out of brown cracked pods on + some weeds that trailed through the broken bottles, the old shoes, and the + wire fences. Outside these ramparts began the vacuum, white, gray, indigo, + florescent, where all the year the sun shines. Not the semblance of any + tree dances in the heat; only rocks and lumps of higher sand waver and + dissolve and reappear in the shaking crystal of mirage. Not the scar of + any river-bed furrows the void. A river there is, flowing somewhere out of + the shiny violet mountains to the north, but it dies subterraneously on + its way to Sharon, misses the town, and emerges thirty miles south across + the sunlight in a shallow, futile lake, a cienaga, called Las Palomas. + Then it evaporates into the ceaseless blue sky. + </p> + <p> + The water you get in Sharon is dragged by a herd of wind-wheels from the + bowels of the sand. Over the town they turn and turn—Sharon's upper + story—a filmy colony of slats. In some of the homes beneath them you + may go up-stairs—in the American homes, not in the adobe Mexican + caves of song, woman, and knives; and brick and stone edifices occur. + Monuments of perished trade, these rise among their flatter neighbors + cubical and stark; under-shirts, fire-arms, and groceries for sale in the + ground-floor, blind dust-windows above. Most of the mansions, however, + squat ephemerally upon the soil, no cellar to them, and no staircase, the + total fragile box ready to bounce and caracole should the wind drive hard + enough. Inside them, eating, mending, the newspaper, and more babies, eke + out the twelvemonth; outside, the citizens loiter to their errands along + the brief wide avenues of Sharon that empty into space. Men, women, and + children move about in the town, sparse and casual, and over their heads + in a white tribe the wind-wheels on their rudders veer to the breeze and + indolently revolve above the gaping obsoleteness. Through the dumb town + the locomotive bell tolls pervadingly when a train of freight or + passengers trundles in from the horizon or out along the dwindling fence + of telegraph poles. No matter where you are, you can hear it come and go, + leaving Sharon behind, an airy carcass, bleached and ventilated, sitting + on the sand, with the sun and the hot wind pouring through its bones. + </p> + <p> + This town was the magnate's child, the thing that was to keep his memory + green; and as I took it in on that first walk of discovery, Stuart told me + its story: how the magnate had decreed the railroad shops should be here; + how, at that, corner lots grew in a night; how horsemen galloped the + streets, shooting for joy, and the hasty tents rose while the houses were + hammered together; how they had song, dance, cards, whiskey, license, + murder, marriage, opera—the whole usual thing—regular as the + clock in our West, in Australia, in Africa, in every virgin corner of the + world where the Anglo-Saxon rushes to spend his animal spirits—regular + as the clock, and in Sharon's case about fifteen minutes long. For they + became greedy, the corner-lot people. They ran up prices for land which + the railroad, the breath of their nostrils, wanted. They grew ugly, + forgetting they were dealing with a magnate, and that a railroad from + ocean to ocean can take its shops somewhere else with appalling ease. Thus + did the corner lots become sand again in a night. “And in the words of the + poet,” concluded Stuart, “Sharon has an immense future behind it.” + </p> + <p> + Our talk was changed by the sight of a lady leaning and calling over a + fence. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Jeffries,” said she. “Oh, Mrs. Jeffries!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” called a voice next door. + </p> + <p> + “I want to send Leola and Arvasita into your yard.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” the voice repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Our tool-house blew over into your yard last night. It's jammed behind + your tank.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + A window in the next house was opened, a head put out, and this occasioned + my presentation to both ladies. They were Mrs. Mattern and Mrs. Jeffries, + and they fell instantly into a stiff caution of deportment; but they + speedily found I was not worth being cautious over. Stuart whispered to me + that they were widows of high standing, and mothers of competing favorites + for the elocution prize; and I hastened to court their esteem. Mrs. + Mattern was in body more ample, standing high and yellow and fluffy; but + Mrs. Jeffries was smooth and small, and behind her spectacles she had an + eye. + </p> + <p> + “You must not let us interrupt you, ladies,” said I, after some + civilities. “Did I understand that something was to be carried somewhere?” + </p> + <p> + “You did,” said Mrs. Jeffries (she had come out of her house); “and I am + pleased to notice no damage has been done to our fence—this time.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been fixed right up at my expense, as always, Mrs. + Jeffries,” retorted her neighbor, and started to keep abreast of Mrs. + Jeffries as that lady walked and inspected the fence. Thus the two marched + parallel along the frontier to the rear of their respective territories. + </p> + <p> + “You'll not resign?” said Stuart to me. “It is 'yours till death,' ain't + it?” + </p> + <p> + I told him that it was. + </p> + <p> + “About once a month I can expect this,” said Mrs. Jeffries, returning + along her frontier. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's not the only case in Sharon, Mrs. Jeffries,” said Mrs. + Mattern. “I'll remind you of them three coops when you kept poultry, and + they got away across the railroad, along with the barber's shop.” + </p> + <p> + “But cannot we help you get it out?” said I, with a zealous wish for + peace. + </p> + <p> + “You are very accommodating, sir,” said Mrs. Mattern. + </p> + <p> + “One of the prize-awarding committee,” said Stuart. “An elegant judge of + oratory. Has decided many contests at Concord, the home of Emerson.” + </p> + <p> + “Concord, New Hampshire,” I corrected; but neither lady heard me. + </p> + <p> + “How splendid for Leola!” cried Mrs. Mattern, instantly. “Leola! Oh, + Leola! Come right out here!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jeffries has been more prompt. She was already in her house, and now + came from it, bringing a pleasant-looking boy of sixteen, it might be. The + youth grinned at me as he stood awkwardly, brought in shirtsleeves from + the performance of some household work. + </p> + <p> + “This is Guy,” said his mother. “Guy took the prize last year. Guy hopes—” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, mother,” said Guy, with entire sweetness. “I don't hope twice—” + </p> + <p> + “Twice or a dozen times should raise no hard feelings if my son is + Sharon's best speaker,” cried Mrs. Jeffries, and looked across the fence + viciously. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, mother; I ain't,” said Guy. + </p> + <p> + “He is a master of humor recitations,” his mother now said to me. “Perhaps + you know, or perhaps you do not know, how high up that is reckoned.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, mother, Leola can speak all around me. She can,” Guy added to me, + nodding his head confidentially. + </p> + <p> + I did not believe him, I think because I preferred his name to that of + Leola. + </p> + <p> + “Leola will study in Paris, France,” announced Mrs. Mattern, arriving with + her child. “She has no advantages here. This is the gentleman, Leola.” + </p> + <p> + But before I had more than noted a dark-eyed maiden who would not look at + me, but stood in skirts too young for her figure, black stockings, and a + dangle of hair that should have been up, her large parent had thrust into + my hand a scrap-book. + </p> + <p> + “Here is what the Santa Fe Observer says;” and when I would have read, she + read aloud for me. “The next is the Los Angeles Christian Home. And here's + what they wrote about her in El Paso: 'Her histrionic genius for one so + young'—it commences below that picture. That's Leola.” I now + recognized the black stockings and the hair. “Here's what a literary lady + in Lordsburg thinks,” pursued Mrs. Mattern. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that,” murmured Leola. + </p> + <p> + “I shall.” And the mother read the letter to me. “Leola has spoke in five + cultured cities,” she went on. “Arvasita can depict how she was encored at + Albuquerque last Easter-Monday.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, three recalls,” said Arvasita, arriving at our group by the + fence. An elder sister, she was, evidently. “Are you acquainted with + 'Camill'?” she asked me, with a trifle of sternness; and upon my + hesitating, “the celebrated French drayma of 'Camill',” she repeated, with + a trifle more of sternness. “Camill is the lady in it who dies of + consumption. Leola recites the letter-and-coughing scene, Act Third. Mr. + Patterson of Coloraydo Springs pronounces it superior to Modjeska.” + </p> + <p> + “That is Leola again,” said Mrs. Mattern, showing me another newspaper cut—hair, + stockings, and a candle this time. + </p> + <p> + “Sleep-walking scene, 'Macbeth,'” said Arvasita. “Leola's great night at + the church fair and bazar, El Paso, in Shakespeare's acknowledged + masterpiece. Leola's repetwar likewise includes 'Catherine the Queen + before her Judges,' 'Quality of Mercy is not Strained,' 'Death of Little + Nell,' 'Death of Paul Dombey,' 'Death of the Old Year,' 'Burial of Sir + John Moore,' and other standard gems suitable for ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “Leola,” said her mother, “recite 'When the British Warrior Queen' to the + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “No, momma, please not,” said Leola, and her voice made me look at her; + something of appeal sounded in it. + </p> + <p> + “Leola is that young you must excuse her,” said her mother—and I + thought the girl winced. + </p> + <p> + “Come away, Guy,” suddenly snapped little Mrs. Jeffries. “We are wasting + the gentleman's time. You are no infant prodigy, and we have no pictures + of your calves to show him in the papers.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, mother!” cried the boy, and he gave a brotherly look to Leola. + </p> + <p> + But the girl, scarlet and upset, now ran inside the house. + </p> + <p> + “As for wasting time, madam,” said I, with indignation, “you are wasting + yours in attempting to prejudice the judges.” + </p> + <p> + “There!” said Guy. + </p> + <p> + “And, Mrs. Mattern,” continued, “if I may say so without offense, the age + (real or imaginary) of the speakers may make a difference in Albuquerque, + but with our committee not the slightest.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I'm sure,” said Mrs. Mattern, bridling. + </p> + <p> + “Eastern ideas are ever welcome in Sharon,” said Mrs. Jeffries. + “Good-morning.” And she removed Guy and herself into her house, while Mrs. + Mattern and Arvasita, stiffly ignoring me, passed into their own door. + </p> + <p> + “Come have a drink,” said Stuart to me. “I am glad you said it. Old Mother + Mattern will let down those prodigy skirts. The poor girl has been ashamed + of them these two years, but momma has bulldozed her into staying young + for stage effect. The girl's not conceited, for a wonder, and she speaks + well. It is even betting which of the two widows you have made the + maddest.” + </p> + <p> + Close by the saloon we were impeded by a rush of small boys. They ran + before and behind us suddenly from barrels and unforeseen places, and + wedging and bumping between us, they shouted: “Chicken-legs! Ah, look at + the chicken-legs!” + </p> + <p> + For a sensitive moment I feared they were speaking of me; but the folding + slat-doors of the saloon burst open outward, and a giant barkeeper came + among the boys and caught and shook them to silence. + </p> + <p> + “You want to behave,” was his single remark; and they dispersed like a + Sunday-school. + </p> + <p> + I did not see why they should thus describe him. He stood and nodded to + us, and jerked big thumb towards the departing flock. “Funny how a boy + will never think,” said he, with amiability. “But they'll grow up to be + about as good as the rest of us, I guess. Don't you let them monkey with + you, Josey!” he called. + </p> + <p> + “Naw, I won't,” said a voice. I turned and saw, by a barrel, a youth in + knee-breeches glowering down the street at his routed enemies. He was + possibly eight, and one hand was bound in a grimy rag. This was + Chickenlegs. + </p> + <p> + “Did they harm you, Josey?” asked the giant. + </p> + <p> + “Naw, they didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Not troubled your hand any?” + </p> + <p> + “Naw, they didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don't you let them touch you. We'll see you through.” And as we + followed him in towards our drink through his folding slat-doors he + continued discoursing to me, the newcomer. “I am against interfering with + kids. I like to leave 'em fight and fool just as much as they see fit. Now + them boys ain't malicious, but they're young, you see, they're young, and + misfortune don't appeal to them. Josey lost his father last spring, and + his mother died last month. Last week he played with a freight car and + left two of his fingers with it. Now you might think that was enough + hardship.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed yes,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “But the little stake he inherited was gambled away by his stinking old + aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “So we're seeing him through.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet,” said a citizen in boots and pistol, who was playing billiards. + </p> + <p> + “This town is not going to permit any man to fool with Josey,” stated his + opponent in the game. + </p> + <p> + “Or women either,” added a lounger by the bar, shaggy-bearded and also + with a pistol. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Abe Hanson,” said the barkeeper, presenting me to him. “Josey's + father's partner. He's took the boy from the aunt and is going to see him + through.” + </p> + <p> + “How 'r' ye?” said Mr. Hanson, hoarsely, and without enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “A member of the prize-awarding committee,” explained Stuart, and waved a + hand at me. + </p> + <p> + They all brightened up and came round me. + </p> + <p> + “Heard my boy speak?” inquired one. “Reub Gadsden's his name.” + </p> + <p> + I told him I had heard no speaker thus far; and I mentioned Leola and Guy. + </p> + <p> + “Hope the boy'll give us 'The Jumping Frog' again,” said one. “I near + bust.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the heifer speakin' this trip?” another inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! Her!” said a third. + </p> + <p> + “You'll talk different, maybe, this time,” retorted the other. + </p> + <p> + “Not agin 'The Jumping Frog,' he won't,” the first insisted. “I near + bust,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like for you to know my boy Reub,” said Mr. Gadsden to me, + insinuatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Quit fixing' the judge, Al,” said Leola's backer. “Reub forgets his + words, an' says 'em over, an' balks, an' mires down, an' backs out, an + starts fresh, en' it's confusin' to foller him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to see you take so much interest, gentlemen,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we're apt to see it through,” said the barkeeper. And Stuart and I + bade them a good-morning. + </p> + <p> + As we neared the school-master's house, where Stuart was next taking me, + we came again upon the boys with Josey, and no barkeeper at hand to “see + him through.” But Josey made it needless. At the word “Chicken-legs” he + flew in a limber manner upon the nearest, and knocking him immediately + flat, turned with spirit upon a second and kicked him. At this they set up + a screeching and fell all together, and the school-master came out of his + door. + </p> + <p> + “Boys, boys!” said he. “And the Sabbath too!” + </p> + <p> + As this did not immediately affect them, Mr. Eastman made a charge, and + they fled from him then. A long stocking of Josey's was torn, and hung in + two streamers round his ankles; and his dangling shoe-laces were trodden + to fringe. + </p> + <p> + “If you want your hand to get well for strawberry night—” began Mr. + Eastman. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, bother strawberry night!” said Josey, and hopped at one of his + playmates. But Mr. Eastman caught him skilfully by the collar. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad his misfortunes have not crushed him altogether,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Josey Yeatts is an anxious case, sir,” returned the teacher. “Several + influences threaten his welfare. Yesterday I found tobacco on him. + Chewing, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Just you hurt me,” said Josey, “and I'll tell Abe.” + </p> + <p> + “Abe!” exclaimed Mr. Eastman, lifting his brow. “He means a man old enough + to be his father, sir. I endeavor to instill him with some few notions of + respect, but the town spoils him. Indulges him completely, I may say. And + when Sharon's sympathies are stirred sir, it will espouse a cause very + warmly—Give me that!” broke off the schoolmaster, and there followed + a brief wrestle. “Chewing again to-day, sir,” he added to me. + </p> + <p> + “Abe lemme have it,” shrieked Josey. “Lemme go, or he'll come over and fix + you.” + </p> + <p> + But the calm, chilly Eastman had ground the tobacco under his heel. “You + can understand how my hands are tied,” he said to me. + </p> + <p> + “Readily,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “The men give Josey his way in everything. He has a—I may say an + unworthy aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I. “So I have gathered.” + </p> + <p> + At this point Josey ducked and slid free, and the united flock vanished + with jeers at us. Josey forgot they had insulted him, they forgot he had + beaten them; against a common enemy was their friendship cemented. + </p> + <p> + “You spoke of Sharon's warm way of espousing causes,” said I to Eastman. + </p> + <p> + “I did, sir. No one could live here long without noticing it.” + </p> + <p> + “Sharon is a quiet town, but sudden,” remarked Stuart. “Apt to be sudden. + They're beginning about strawberry night,” he said to Eastman. “Wanted to + know about things down in the saloon.” + </p> + <p> + “How does their taste in elocution chiefly lie?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + Eastman smiled. He was young, totally bald, the moral dome of his skull + rising white above visionary eyes and a serious auburn beard. He was + clothed in a bleak, smooth slate-gray suit, and at any climax of emphasis + he lifted slightly upon his toes and relaxed again, shutting his lips + tight on the finished sentence. “Your question,” said he, “has often + perplexed me. Sometimes they seem to prefer verse; sometimes prose stirs + them greatly. We shall have a liberal crop of both this year. I am proud + to tell you I have augmented our number of strawberry speakers by nearly + fifty per cent.” + </p> + <p> + “How many will there be?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Eleven. You might wish some could be excused. But I let them speak to + stimulate their interest in culture. Will you not take dinner with me, + gentlemen? I was just sitting down when little Josey Yeatts brought me + out.” + </p> + <p> + We were glad to do this, and he opened another can of corned beef for us. + “I cannot offer you wine, sir,” said he to me, “though I am aware it is a + general habit in luxurious homes.” And he tightened his lips. + </p> + <p> + “General habit wherever they don't prefer whiskey,” said Stuart. + </p> + <p> + “I fear so,” the school-master replied, smiling. “That poison shall never + enter my house, gentlemen, any more than tobacco. And as I cannot reform + the adults of Sharon, I am doing what I can for their children. Little + Hugh Straight is going to say his 'Lochinvar' very pleasingly, Mr. Stuart. + I went over it with him last night. I like them to be word perfect,” he + continued to me, “as failures on exhibition night elicit unfavorable + comment.” + </p> + <p> + “And are we to expect failures also?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Reuben Gadsden is likely to mortify us. He is an earnest boy, but + nervous; and one or two others. But I have limited their length. Reuben + Gadsden's father declined to have his boy cut short, and he will give us a + speech of Burke's; but I hope for the best. It narrows down, it narrows + down. Guy Jeffries and Leola Mattern are the two.” + </p> + <p> + “The parents seem to take keen interest,” said I. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Eastman smiled at Stuart. “We have no reason to suppose they have + changed since last year,” said he. “Why, sir,” he suddenly exclaimed, “if + I did not feel I was doing something for the young generation here, I + should leave Sharon to-morrow! One is not appreciated, not appreciated.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke fervently of various local enterprises, his failures, his hopes, + his achievements; and I left his house honoring him, but amazed—his + heart was so wide and his head so narrow; a man who would purify with + simultaneous austerity the morals of Lochinvar and of Sharon. + </p> + <p> + “About once a month,” said Stuart, “I run against a new side he is blind + on. Take his puzzlement as to whether they prefer verse or prose. Queer + and dumb of him that, you see. Sharon does not know the difference between + verse and prose.” + </p> + <p> + “That's going too far,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “They don't,” he repeated, “when it comes to strawberry night. If the + piece is about something they understand, rhymes do not help or hinder. + And of course sex is apt to settle the question.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I should have thought Leola—” I began. + </p> + <p> + “Not the sex of the speaker. It's the listeners. Now you take women. Women + generally prefer something that will give them a good cry. We men want to + laugh mostly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I; “I would rather laugh myself, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd know you'd rather if you had to live in Sharon. The laugh is one of + the big differences between women and men, and I would give you my views + about it, only my Sunday-off time is up, and I've got to go to + telegraphing.” + </p> + <p> + “Our ways are together,” said I. “I'm going back to the railroad hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “There's Guy,” continued Stuart. “He took the prize on 'The Jumping Frog.' + Spoke better than Leola, anyhow. She spoke 'The Wreck of the Hesperus.' + But Guy had the back benches—that's where the men sit—pretty + well useless. Guess if there had been a fire, some of the fellows would + have been scorched before they'd have got strength sufficient to run out. + But the ladies did not laugh much. Said they saw nothing much in jumping a + frog. And if Leola had made 'em cry good and hard that night, the + committee's decision would have kicked up more of a fuss than it did. As + it was, Mrs. Mattern got me alone; but I worked us around to where Mrs. + Jeffries was having her ice-cream, and I left them to argue it out.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us adhere to that policy,” I said to Stuart; and he replied nothing, + but into the corner of his eye wandered that lurking smile which revealed + that life brought him compensations. + </p> + <p> + He went to telegraphing, and I to revery concerning strawberry night. I + found myself wishing now that there could have been two prizes; I desired + both Leola and Guy to be happy; and presently I found the matter would be + very close, so far at least as my judgment went. For boy and girl both + brought me their selections, begging I would coach them, and this I had + plenty of leisure to do. I preferred Guy's choice—the story of that + blue-jay who dropped nuts through the hole in a roof, expecting to fill + it, and his friends came to look on and discovered the hole went into the + entire house. It is better even than “The Jumping Frog”—better than + anything, I think—and young Guy told it well. But Leola brought a + potent rival on the tearful side of things. “The Death of Paul Dombey” is + plated pathos, not wholly sterling; but Sharon could not know this; and + while Leola most prettily recited it to me I would lose my recent opinion + in favor of Guy, and acknowledge the value of her performance. Guy might + have the men strong for him, but this time the women were going to cry. I + got also a certain other sort of entertainment out of the competing + mothers. Mrs. Jeffries and Mrs. Mattern had a way of being in the hotel + office at hours when I passed through to meals. They never came together, + and always were taken by surprise at meeting me. + </p> + <p> + “Leola is ever so grateful to you,” Mrs. Mattern would say. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” I would answer, “do not speak of it. Have you ever heard Guy's + 'Blue-Jay' story?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if it's anything like that frog business, I don't want to.” And the + lady would leave me. + </p> + <p> + “Guy tells me you are helping him so kindly,” said Mrs. Jeffries. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I'm severe,”' I answered, brightly. “I let nothing pass. I only + wish I was as careful with Leola. But as soon as she begins 'Paul had + never risen from his little bed,' I just lose myself listening to her.” + </p> + <p> + On the whole, there were also compensations for me in these mothers, and I + thought it as well to secure them in advance. + </p> + <p> + When the train arrived from El Paso, and I saw our strawberries and our + ice-cream taken out, I felt the hour to be at hand, and that whatever our + decision, no bias could be laid to me. According to his prudent habit, + Eastman had the speakers follow each other alphabetically. This happened + to place Leola after Guy, and perhaps might give her the last word, as it + were, with the people; but our committee was there, and superior to such + accidents. The flags and the bunting hung gay around the draped stage. + While the audience rustled or resoundingly trod to its chairs, and seated + neighbors conferred solemnly together over the programme, Stuart, behind + the bunting, played “Silver Threads among the Gold” upon a melodeon. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good this,” he said to me, pumping his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Tune. Sharon is for free silver.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think they will catch your allusion?” I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “No. But I have a way of enjoying a thing by myself.” And he pumped away, + playing with tasteful variations until the hall was full and the + singing-class assembled in gloves and ribbons. + </p> + <p> + They opened the ceremonies for us by rendering “Sweet and Low” very + happily; and I trusted it was an omen. + </p> + <p> + Sharon was hearty, and we had “Sweet and Low” twice. Then the speaking + began, and the speakers were welcomed, coming and going, with mild and + friendly demonstrations. Nothing that one would especially mark went wrong + until Reuben Gadsden. He strode to the middle of the boards, and they + creaked beneath his tread. He stood a moment in large glittering boots and + with hair flat and prominently watered. As he straightened from his bow + his suspender-buttons came into view, and remained so for some singular + internal reason, while he sent his right hand down into the nearest pocket + and began his oratory. + </p> + <p> + “It is sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France,” he + said, impressively, and stopped. + </p> + <p> + We waited, and presently he resumed: + </p> + <p> + “It is sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France.” He + took the right hand out and put the left hand in. + </p> + <p> + “It is sixteen or seventeen years,” said he, and stared frowning at his + boots. + </p> + <p> + I found the silence was getting on my nerves. I felt as if it were myself + who was drifting to idiocy, and tremulous empty sensations began to occur + in my stomach. Had I been able to recall the next sentence, I should have + prompted him. + </p> + <p> + “It is sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France,” said + the orator, rapidly. + </p> + <p> + And down deep back among the men came a voice, “Well, I guess it must be, + Reub.” + </p> + <p> + This snapped the tension. I saw Reuben's boots march away; Mr. Eastman + came from behind the bunting and spoke (I suppose) words of protest. I + could not hear them, but in a minute, or perhaps two, we grew calm, and + the speaking continued. + </p> + <p> + There was no question what they thought of Guy and Leola. He conquered the + back of the room. They called his name, they blessed him with endearing + audible oaths, and even the ladies smiled at his pleasant, honest face—the + ladies, except Mrs. Mattern. She sat near Mrs. Jeffries, and throughout + Guy's “Blue-Jay” fanned herself, exhibiting a well-sustained inattention. + She might have foreseen that Mrs. Jeffries would have her turn. When the + “Death of Paul Dombey” came, and handkerchiefs began to twinkle out among + the audience, and various noises of grief were rising around us, and the + men themselves murmured in sympathy, Mrs. Jeffries not only preserved a + suppressed-hilarity countenance, but managed to cough twice with a cough + that visibly bit into Mrs. Mattern's soul. + </p> + <p> + But Leola's appealing cadences moved me also. When Paul was dead, she made + her pretty little bow, and we sat spellbound, then gave her applause + surpassing Guy's. Unexpectedly I found embarrassment of choice dazing me, + and I sat without attending to the later speakers. Was not successful + humor more difficult than pathos? Were not tears more cheaply raised than + laughter? Yet, on the other hand, Guy had one prize, and where merit was + so even—I sat, I say, forgetful of the rest of the speakers, when + suddenly I was aware of louder shouts of welcome, and I awaked to Josey + Yeatts bowing at us. + </p> + <p> + “Spit it out, Josey!” a large encouraging voice was crying in the back of + the hall. “We'll see you through.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be scared, Josey!” yelled another. + </p> + <p> + Then Josey opened his mouth and rhythmically rattled the following: + </p> + <p> + “I love little pussy her coat is so warm And if I don't hurt her she'll do + me no harm I'll sit by the fi-yer and give her some food And pussy will + love me because I am good.” + </p> + <p> + That was all. It had come without falter or pause, even for breath. Josey + stood, and the room rose to him. + </p> + <p> + “Again! again!” they roared. “He ain't a bit scared!” “Go it, Josey!” “You + don't forgit yer piece!” And a great deal more, while they pounded with + their boots. + </p> + <p> + “I love little pussy,” began Josey. + </p> + <p> + “Poor darling!” said a lady next me. “No mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll sit by the fi-yer.” + </p> + <p> + Josey was continuing. But nobody heard him finish. The room was a Babel. + </p> + <p> + “Look at his little hand!” “Only three fingers inside them rags!” “Nobody + to mend his clothes any more.” They all talked to each other, and clapped + and cheered, while Josey stood, one leg slightly advanced and proudly + stiff, somewhat after the manner of those military engravings where some + general is seen erect upon an eminence at the moment of victory. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Eastman again appeared from the bunting, and was telling us, I have no + doubt, something of importance; but the giant barkeeper now shouted above + the din, “Who says Josey Yeatts ain't the speaker for this night?” + </p> + <p> + At that striking of the common chord I saw them heave, promiscuous and + unanimous, up the steps to the stage. Josey was set upon Abe Hanson's + shoulder, while ladies wept around him. What the literary committee might + have done I do not know, for we had not the time even to resign. Guy and + Leola now appeared, bearing the prize between them—a picture of + Washington handing the Bible out of clouds to Abraham Lincoln—and + very immediately I found myself part of a procession. Men and women we + were, marching about Sharon. The barkeeper led; four of Sharon's fathers + followed him, escorting Josey borne aloft on Abe Hanson's shoulder, and + rigid and military in his bearing. Leola and Guy followed with the + picture; Stuart walked with me, whistling melodies of the war—Dixie + and others. Eastman was not with us. When the ladies found themselves + conducted to the saloon, they discreetly withdrew back to the + entertainment we had broken out from. Josey saw them go, and shrilly spoke + his first word: + </p> + <p> + “Ain't I going to have any ice-cream?” + </p> + <p> + This presently caused us to return to the ladies, and we finished the + evening with entire unity of sentiment. Eastman alone took the incident to + heart; inquired how he was to accomplish anything with hands tied, and + murmured his constant burden once more: “One is not appreciated, not + appreciated.” + </p> + <p> + I do not stop over in Sharon any more. My ranch friend, whose presence + there brought me to visit him, is gone away. But such was my virgin + experience of the place; and in later days fate led me to be concerned + with two more local competitions—one military and one civil—which + greatly stirred the population. So that I never pass Sharon on my long + travels without affectionately surveying the sandy, quivering, bleached + town, unshaded by its twinkling forest of wind-wheels. Surely the heart + always remembers a spot where it has been merry! And one thing I should + like to know—shall know, perhaps: what sort of citizen in our + republic Josey will grow to be. For whom will he vote? May he not himself + come to sit in Washington and make laws for us? Universal suffrage holds + so many possibilities. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Napoleon Shave-Tail + </h2> + <p> + Augustus Albumblatt, young and new and sleek with the latest + book-knowledge of war, reported to his first troop commander at Fort + Brown. The ladies had watched for him, because he would increase the + number of men, the officers because he would lessen the number of duties; + and he joined at a crisis favorable to becoming speedily known by them + all. Upon that same day had household servants become an extinct race. The + last one, the commanding officer's cook, had told the commanding officer's + wife that she was used to living where she could see the cars. She added + that there was no society here “fit for man or baste at all.” This opinion + was formed on the preceding afternoon when Casey, a sergeant of roguish + attractions in G troop, had told her that he was not a marrying man. Three + hours later she wedded a gambler, and this morning at six they had taken + the stage for Green River, two hundred miles south, the nearest point + where the bride could see the cars. + </p> + <p> + “Frank,” said the commanding officer's wife, “send over to H troop for + York.” + </p> + <p> + “Catherine,” he answered, “my dear, our statesmen at Washington say it's + wicked to hire the free American soldier to cook for you. It's too menial + for his manhood.” + </p> + <p> + “Frank, stuff!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, my love. Therefore York must be spared the insult of twenty more + dollars a month, our statesmen must be re-elected, and you and I, + Catherine, being cookless, must join the general mess.” + </p> + <p> + Thus did all separate housekeeping end, and the garrison began unitedly to + eat three times a day what a Chinaman set before them, when the + long-expected Albumblatt stepped into their midst, just in time for + supper. + </p> + <p> + This youth was spic-and-span from the Military Academy, with a + top-dressing of three months' thoughtful travel in Germany. “I was deeply + impressed with the modernity of their scientific attitude,” he pleasantly + remarked to the commanding officer. For Captain Duane, silent usually, + talked at this first meal to make the boy welcome in this forlorn + two-company post. + </p> + <p> + “We're cut off from all that sort of thing here,” said he. “I've not been + east of the Missouri since '69. But we've got the railroad across, and + we've killed some Indians, and we've had some fun, and we're glad we're + alive—eh, Mrs. Starr?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so,” said the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Especially now we've got a bachelor at the post!” said Mrs. Bainbridge. + “That has been the one drawback, Mr. Albumblatt.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you for the compliment,” said Augustus, bending solemnly from his + hips; and Mrs. Starr looked at him and then at Mrs. Bainbridge. + </p> + <p> + “We're not over-gay, I fear,” the Captain continued; “but the flat's full + of antelope, and there's good shooting up both canyons.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you followed the recent target experiments at Metz?” inquired the + traveller. “I refer to the flattened trajectory and the obus controversy.” + </p> + <p> + “We have not heard the reports,” answered the commandant, with becoming + gravity. “But we own a mountain howitzer.” + </p> + <p> + “The modernity of German ordnance—” began Augustus. + </p> + <p> + “Do you dance, Mr. Albumblatt?” asked Mrs. Starr. + </p> + <p> + “For we'll have a hop and all be your partners,” Mrs. Bainbridge + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I will be pleased to accommodate you, ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “It's anything for variety's sake with us, you see,” said Mrs. Starr, + smoothly smiling; and once again Augustus bent blandly from his hips. + </p> + <p> + But the commanding officer wished leniency. “You see us all,” he hastened + to say. “Commissioned officers and dancing-men. Pretty shabby—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Captain!” said a lady. + </p> + <p> + “And pretty old.” + </p> + <p> + “Captain!” said another lady. + </p> + <p> + “But alive and kicking. Captain Starr, Mr. Bainbridge, the Doctor and me. + We are seven.” + </p> + <p> + Augustus looked accurately about him. “Do I understand seven, Captain?” + </p> + <p> + “We are seven,” the senior officer repeated. + </p> + <p> + Again Mr. Albumblatt counted heads. “I imagine you include the ladies, + Captain? Ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + “Seven commissioned males, sir. Our Major is on sick-leave, and two of our + Lieutenants are related to the President's wife. She can't bear them to be + exposed. None of us in the church-yard lie—but we are seven.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha, Captain! That's an elegant double entendre on Wordsworth's poem + and the War Department. Only, if I may correct your addition—ha! ha!—our + total, including myself, is eight.” And Augustus grew as hilarious as a + wooden nutmeg. + </p> + <p> + The commanding officer rolled an intimate eye at his wife. + </p> + <p> + The lady was sitting big with rage, but her words were cordial still: + “Indeed, Mr. Albumblatt, the way officers who have influence in Washington + shirk duty here and get details East is something I can't laugh about. At + one time the Captain was his own adjutant and quartermaster. There are + more officers at this table to-night than I've seen in three years. So we + are doubly glad to welcome you at Fort Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “I am fortunate to be on duty where my services are so required, though I + could object to calling it Fort Brown.” And Augustus exhaled a new smile. + </p> + <p> + “Prefer Smith?” said Captain Starr. + </p> + <p> + “You misunderstand me. When we say Fort Brown. Fort Russell, Fort Et + Cetera, we are inexact. They are not fortified.” + </p> + <p> + “Cantonment Et Cetera would be a trifle lengthy, wouldn't it?” put in the + Doctor, his endurance on the wane. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps; but technically descriptive of our Western posts. The Germans + criticise these military laxities.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Duane now ceased talking, but urbanely listened; and from time to + time his eye would scan Augustus, and then a certain sublimated laugh, to + his wife well known; would seize him for a single voiceless spasm, and + pass. The experienced Albumblatt meanwhile continued, “By-the-way, Doctor, + you know the Charite, of course?” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Guild had visited that great hospital, but being now a goaded man + he stuck his nose in his plate, and said, unwisely: “Sharrity? What's + that?” For then Augustus told him what and where it was, and that + Krankenhaus is German for hospital, and that he had been deeply impressed + with the modernity of the ventilation. “Thirty-five cubic metres to a bed + in new wards,” he stated. “How many do you allow, Doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “None,” answered the surgeon. + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand none, Doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “You do, sir. My patients breathe in cubic feet, and swallow their doses + in grains, and have their inflation measured in inches.” + </p> + <p> + “Now there again!” exclaimed Augustus, cheerily. “More antiquity to be + swept away! And people say we young officers have no work cut out for us!” + </p> + <p> + “Patients don't die then under the metric system?” said the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder Europe's overcrowded,” said Starr. + </p> + <p> + But the student's mind inhabited heights above such trifling. “Death,” he + said, “occurs in ratios not differentiated from our statistics.” And he + told them much more while they booked at him over their plates. He managed + to say 'modernity' and 'differentiate' again, for he came from our middle + West, where they encounter education too suddenly, and it would take three + generations of him to speak clean English. But with all his polysyllabic + wallowing, he showed himself keen-minded, pat with authorities, a spruce + young graduate among these dingy Rocky Mountain campaigners. They had + fought and thirsted and frozen; the books that he knew were not written + when they went to school; and so far as war is to be mastered on paper, + his equipment was full and polished while theirs was meagre and rusty. + </p> + <p> + And yet, if you know things that other and older men do not, it is as well + not to mention them too hastily. These soldiers wished that they could + have been taught what he knew; but they watched young Augustus unfolding + himself with a gaze that might have seemed chill to a less highly abstract + thinker. He, however, rose from the table pleasantly edified by himself, + and hopeful for them. And as he left them, “Good-night, ladies and + gentlemen,” he said; “we shall meet again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” said the Doctor. “Again and again.” + </p> + <p> + “He's given me indigestion,” said Bainbridge. + </p> + <p> + “Take some metric system,” said Starr. + </p> + <p> + “And lie flat on your trajectory,” said the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “I hate hair parted in the middle for a man,” said Mrs. Guild. + </p> + <p> + “And his superior eye-glasses,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. + </p> + <p> + “His staring conceited teeth,” hissed Mrs. Starr. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like children slopping their knowledge all over me,” said the + Doctor's wife. + </p> + <p> + “He's well brushed, though,” said Mrs. Duane, seeking the bright side. + “He'll wipe his feet on the mat when he comes to call.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd rather have mud on my carpet than that bandbox in any of my chairs,” + said Mrs. Starr. + </p> + <p> + “He's no fool,” mused the Doctor. “But, kingdom come, what an ass!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen,” said the commanding officer (and they perceived a + flavor of the official in his tone), “Mr. Albumblatt is just twenty-one. I + don't know about you; but I'll never have that excuse again.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Captain, we'll be good,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. + </p> + <p> + “And gr-r-ateful,” said Mrs. Starr, rolling her eyes piously. “I prophecy + he'll entertain us.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain's demeanor remained slightly official; but walking home, his + Catherine by his side in the dark was twice aware of that laugh of his, + twinkling in the recesses of his opinions. And later, going to bed, a + little joke took him so unready that it got out before he could suppress + it. “My love,” said he, “my Second Lieutenant is grievously mislaid in the + cavalry. Providence designed him for the artillery.” + </p> + <p> + It was wifely but not right in Catherine to repeat this strict confidence + in strictest confidence to her neighbor, Mrs. Bainbridge, over the fence + next morning before breakfast. At breakfast Mrs. Bainbridge spoke of + artillery reinforcing the post, and her husband giggled girlishly and + looked at the puzzled Duane; and at dinner Mrs. Starr asked Albumblatt, + would not artillery strengthen the garrison? + </p> + <p> + “Even a light battery,” pronounced Augustus, promptly, “would be absurd + and useless.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon the mess rattled knives, sneezed, and became variously + disturbed. So they called him Albumbattery, and then Blattery, which is + more condensed; and Captain Duane's official tone availed him nothing in + this matter. But he made no more little military jokes; he disliked + garrison personalities. Civilized by birth and ripe from weather-beaten + years of men and observing, he looked his Second Lieutenant over, and + remembered to have seen worse than this. He had no quarrel with the metric + system (truly the most sensible), and thinking to leaven it with a little + rule of thumb, he made Augustus his acting quartermaster. But he presently + indulged his wife with the soldier-cook she wanted at home, so they no + longer had to eat their meals in Albumblatt's society; and Mrs. Starr said + that this showed her husband dreaded his quartermaster worse than the + Secretary of War. + </p> + <p> + Alas for the Quartermaster's sergeant, Johannes Schmoll, that routined and + clock-work German! He found Augustus so much more German than he had ever + been himself, that he went speechless for three days. Upon his lists, his + red ink, and his ciphering, Augustus swooped like a bird of prey, and all + his fond red-tape devices were shredded to the winds. Augustus set going + new quadratic ones of his own, with an index and cross-references. It was + then that Schmoll recovered his speech and walked alone, saying, “Mein + Gott!” And often thereafter, wandering among the piled stores and apparel, + he would fling both arms heavenward and repeat the exclamation. He had + rated himself the unique human soul at Fort Brown able to count and + arrange underclothing. Augustus rejected his laborious tally, and together + they vigiled after hours, verifying socks and drawers. Next, Augustus + found more horseshoes than his papers called for. + </p> + <p> + “That man gif me der stomach pain efry day,” wailed Schmoll to Sergeant + Casey. “I tell him, 'Lieutenant, dose horseshoes is expendable. We don't + acgount for efry shoe like they was men's shoes, und oder dings dot is + issued.' 'I prefer to cake them cop!' says Baby Bismarck. Und he smile mit + his two beaver teeth.” + </p> + <p> + “Baby Bismarck!” cried, joyfully, the rosy-faced Casey. “Yo-hanny, take a + drink.” + </p> + <p> + “Und so,” continued the outraged Schmoll, “he haf a Board of Soorvey on + dree-pound horseshoes, und I haf der stomach pain.” + </p> + <p> + “It was buckles the next month. The allowance exceeded the expenditure, + Augustus's arithmetic came out wrong, and another board sat on buckles. + </p> + <p> + “Yo-hanny, you're lookin' jaded under Colonel Safetypin.” said Casey. + “Have something?” + </p> + <p> + “Safetypin is my treat,” said Schmoll; “und very apt.” + </p> + <p> + But Augustus found leisure to pervade the post with his modernity. He set + himself military problems, and solved them; he wrote an essay on “The + Contact Squadron”; he corrected Bainbridge for saying “throw back the left + flank” instead of “refuse the left flank”; he had reading-room ideas, + canteen' ideas, ideas for the Indians and the Agency, and recruit-drill + ideas, which he presented to Sergeant Casey. Casey gave him, in exchange, + the name of Napoleon Shave-Tail, and had his whiskey again paid for by the + sympathetic Schmoll. + </p> + <p> + “But bless his educated heart,” said Casey, “he don't learn me nothing + that'll soil my innercence!” + </p> + <p> + Thus did the sunny-humored Sergeant take it, but not thus the mess. Had + Augustus seen himself as they saw him, could he have heard Mrs. Starr—But + he did not; the youth was impervious, and to remove his complacency would + require (so Mrs. Starr said) an operation, probably fatal. The commanding + officer held always aloof from gibing, yet often when Augustus passed him + his gray eye would dwell upon the Lieutenant's back, and his voiceless + laugh would possess him. That is the picture I retain of these days—the + unending golden sun, the wide, gentle-colored plain, the splendid + mountains, the Indians ambling through the flat, clear distance; and here, + close along the parade-ground, eye-glassed Augustus, neatly hastening, + with the Captain on his porch, asleep you might suppose. + </p> + <p> + One early morning the agent, with two Indian chiefs, waited on the + commanding officer, and after their departure his wife found him + breakfasting in solitary mirth. + </p> + <p> + “Without me,” she chided, sitting down. “And I know you've had some good + news.” + </p> + <p> + “The best, my love. Providence has been tempted at last. The wholesome + irony of life is about to function.” + </p> + <p> + “Frank, don't tease so! And where are you rushing now before the cakes?” + </p> + <p> + “To set our Augustus a little military problem, dearest. Plain living for + to-day, and high thinking be jolly well—” + </p> + <p> + “Frank, you're going to swear, and I must know!” + </p> + <p> + But Frank had sworn and hurried out to the right to the Adjutant's office, + while his Catherine flew to the left to the fence. + </p> + <p> + “Ella!” she cried. “Oh, Ella!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bainbridge, instantly on the other side of the fence, brought scanty + light. A telegram had come, she knew, from the Crow Agency in Montana. Her + husband had admitted this three nights ago; and Captain Duane (she knew) + had given him some orders about something; and could it be the Crows? + “Ella, I don't know,” said Catherine. “Frank talked all about Providence + in his incurable way, and it may be anything.” So the two ladies wondered + together over the fence, until Mrs. Duane, seeing the Captain return, ran + to him and asked, were the Crows on the war-path? Then her Frank told her + yes, and that he had detailed Albumblatt to vanquish them and escort them + to Carlisle School to learn German and Beethoven's sonatas. + </p> + <p> + “Stuff, stuff, stuff! Why, there he does go!” cried the unsettled + Catherine. “It's something at the Agency!” But Captain Duane was gone into + the house for a cigar. + </p> + <p> + Albumblatt, with Sergeant Casey and a detail of six men, was in truth + hastening over that broad mile which opens between Fort Brown and the + Agency. On either side of them the level plain stretched, gray with its + sage, buff with intervening grass, hay-cocked with the smoky, + mellow-stained, meerschaum-like canvas tepees of the Indians, quiet as a + painting; far eastward lay long, low, rose-red hills, half dissolved in + the trembling mystery of sun and distance; and westward, close at hand and + high, shone the great pale-blue serene mountains through the vaster + serenity of the air. The sounding hoofs of the troops brought the Indians + out of their tepees to see. When Albumblatt reached the Agency, there + waited the agent and his two chiefs, who pointed to one lodge standing + apart some three hundred yards, and said, “He is there.” So then Augustus + beheld his problem, the military duty fallen to him from Providence and + Captain Duane. + </p> + <p> + It seems elementary for him who has written of “The Contact Squadron.” It + was to arrest one Indian. This man, Ute Jack, had done a murder among the + Crows, and fled south for shelter. The telegram heralded him, but with + boundless miles for hiding he had stolen in under the cover of night. No + welcome met him. These Fort Brown Indians were not his friends at any + time, and less so now, when he arrived wild drunk among their families. + Hounded out, he sought this empty lodge, and here he was, at bay, his hand + against every man's, counting his own life worthless except for destroying + others before he must himself die. + </p> + <p> + “Is he armed?” Albumblatt inquired, and was told yes. + </p> + <p> + Augustus considered the peaked cone tent. The opening was on this side, + but a canvas drop closed it. Not much of a problem—one man inside a + sack with eight outside to catch him! But the books gave no rule for this + combination, and Augustus had met with nothing of the sort in Germany. He + considered at some length. Smoke began to rise through the meeting poles + of the tepee, leisurely and natural, and one of the chiefs said: + </p> + <p> + “Maybe Ute Jack cooking. He hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “This is not a laughing matter,” said Augustus to the by-standers, who + were swiftly gathering. “Tell him that I command him to surrender,” he + added to the agent, who shouted this forthwith; and silence followed. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him I say he must come out at once,” said Augustus then; and + received further silence. + </p> + <p> + “He eat now,” observed the chief. “Can't talk much.” + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant Casey,” bellowed Albumblatt, “go over there and take him out!” + </p> + <p> + “The Lootenant understands,” said Casey, slowly, “that Ute Jack has got + the drop on us, and there ain't no getting any drop on him.” + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant, you will execute your orders without further comment.” + </p> + <p> + At this amazing step the silence fell cold indeed; but Augustus was in + command. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I take any men along, sir?” said Casey in his soldier's machine + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Er—yes. Er—no. Er—do as you please.” + </p> + <p> + The six troopers stepped forward to go, for they loved Casey; but he + ordered them sharply to fall back. Then, looking in their eyes, he + whispered, “Good-bye, boys, if it's to be that way,” and walked to the + lodge, lifted the flap, and fell, shot instantly dead through the heart. + “Two bullets into him,” muttered a trooper, heavily breathing as the + sounds rang. “He's down,” another spoke to himself with fixed eyes; and a + sigh they did not know of passed among them. The two chiefs looked at + Augustus and grunted short talk together; and one, with a sweeping lift of + his hand out towards the tepee and the dead man by it, said, “Maybe Ute + Jack only got three—four—cartridges—so!” (his fingers + counted it). “After he kill three—four—men, you get him pretty + good.” The Indian took the white man's death thus; but the white men could + not yet be even saturnine. + </p> + <p> + “This will require reinforcement,” said Augustus to the audience. “The + place must be attacked by a front and flank movement. It must be knocked + down. I tell you I must have it knocked down. How are you to see where he + is, I'd like to know, if it's not knocked down?” Augustus's voice was + getting high. + </p> + <p> + “I want the howitzer,” he screeched generally. + </p> + <p> + A soldier saluted, and Augustus chattered at him. + </p> + <p> + “The howitzer, the mountain howitzer, I tell you. Don't you hear me? To + knock the cursed thing he's in down. Go to Captain Duane and give him my + compliments, and—no, I'll go myself. Where's my horse? My horse, I + tell you! It's got to be knocked down.” + </p> + <p> + “If you please, Lieutenant,” said the trooper, “may we have the Red Cross + ambulance?” + </p> + <p> + “Red Cross? What's that for? What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant Casey, sir. He's a-lyin' there.” + </p> + <p> + “Ambulance? Certainly. The howitzer—perhaps they're only flesh + wounds. I hope they are only flesh wounds. I must have more men—you'll + come with me.” + </p> + <p> + From his porch Duane viewed both Augustus approach and the man stop at the + hospital, and having expected a bungle, sat to hear; but at Albumblatt's + mottled face he stood up quickly and said, “What's the matter?” And + hearing, burst out: “Casey! Why, he was worth fifty of—Go on, Mr. + Albumblatt. What next did you achieve, sir?” And as the tale was told he + cooled, bitter, but official. + </p> + <p> + “Reinforcements is it, Mr. Albumblatt?” + </p> + <p> + “The howitzer, Captain.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. And G troop?” + </p> + <p> + “For my double flank movement I—” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'd like H troop as reserve?” + </p> + <p> + “Not reserve, Captain. I should establish—” + </p> + <p> + “This is your duty, Mr. Albumblatt. Perform it as you can, with what force + you need.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir. It is not exactly a battle, but with a, so-to-speak, + intrenched—” + </p> + <p> + “Take your troops and go, sir, and report to me when you have arrested + your man.” + </p> + <p> + Then Duane went to the hospital, and out with the ambulance, hoping that + the soldier might not be dead. But the wholesome irony of life reckons + beyond our calculations; and the unreproachful, sunny face of his Sergeant + evoked in Duane's memory many marches through long heat and cold, back in + the rough, good times. + </p> + <p> + “Hit twice, I thought they told me,” said he; and the steward surmised + that one had missed. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” mused Duane. “And perhaps it went as intended, too. What's all + that fuss?” + </p> + <p> + He turned sharply, having lost Augustus among his sadder thoughts; and + here were the operations going briskly. Powder-smoke in three directions + at once! Here were pickets far out-lying, and a double line of skirmishers + deployed in extended order, and a mounted reserve, and men standing to + horse—a command of near a hundred, a pudding of pompous, + incompetent, callow bosh, with Augustus by his howitzer, scientifically + raising and lowering it to bear on the lone white tepee that shone in the + plain. Four races were assembled to look on—the mess Chinaman, two + black laundresses, all the whites in the place (on horse and foot, some + with their hats left behind), and several hundred Indians in blankets. + Duane had a thought to go away and leave this galling farce under the eye + of Starr for the officers were at hand also. But his second thought bade + him remain; and looking at Augustus and the howitzer, his laugh would have + returned to him; but his heart was sore for Casey. + </p> + <p> + It was an hour of strategy and cannonade, a humiliating hour, which Fort + Brown tells of to this day; and the tepee lived through it all. For it + stood upon fifteen slender poles, not speedily to be chopped down by + shooting lead from afar. When low bullets drilled the canvas, the chief + suggested to Augustus that Ute Jack had climbed up; and when the bullets + flew high, then Ute Jack was doubtless in a hole. Nor did Augustus + contrive to drop a shell from the howitzer upon Ute Jack and explode him—a + shrewd and deadly conception; the shells went beyond, except one, that + ripped through the canvas, somewhat near the ground; and Augustus, + dripping, turned at length, and saying, “It won't go down,” stood vacantly + wiping his white face. Then the two chiefs got his leave to stretch a rope + between their horses and ride hard against the tepee. It was military + neither in essence nor to see, but it prevailed. The tepee sank, a huge + umbrella wreck along the earth, and there lay Ute Jack across the fire's + slight hollow, his knee-cap gone with the howitzer shell. But no blood had + flown from that; blood will not run, you know, when a man has been dead + some time. One single other shot had struck him—one through his own + heart. It had singed the flesh. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Mr. Albumblatt,” said Duane, in the whole crowd's hearing, “he + killed himself directly after killing Casey. A very rare act for an + Indian, as you are doubtless aware. But if your manoeuvres with his corpse + have taught you anything you did not know before, we shall all be + gainers.” + </p> + <p> + “Captain,” said Mrs. Starr, on a later day, “you and Ute Jack have ended + our fun. Since the Court of Inquiry let Mr. Albumblatt off, he has not + said Germany once—and that's three months to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Twenty Minutes for Refreshments + </h2> + <p> + Upon turning over again my diary of that excursion to the Pacific, I find + that I set out from Atlantic waters on the 30th day of a backward and + forlorn April, which had come and done nothing towards making its share of + spring, but had gone, missing its chance, leaving the trees as bare as it + had received them from the winds of March. It was not bleak weather alone, + but care, that I sought to escape by a change of sky; and I hoped for some + fellow-traveller who might begin to interest my thoughts at once. No such + person met me in the several Pullmans which I inhabited from that + afternoon until the forenoon of the following Friday. Through that long + distance, though I had slanted southwestward across a multitude of States + and vegetations, and the Mississippi lay eleven hundred miles to my rear, + the single event is my purchasing some cat's-eyes of the news-agent at + Sierra Blanca. Save this, my diary contains only neat additions of daily + expenses, and moral reflections of a delicate and restrained melancholy. + They were Pecos cat's-eyes, he told me, obtained in the rocky canyons of + that stream, and destined to be worth little until fashion turned from + foreign jewels to become aware of these fine native stones. And I, glad to + possess the jewels of my country, chose two bracelets and a necklace of + them, paying but twenty dollars for fifteen or sixteen cat's-eyes, and + resolved to give them a setting worthy of their beauty. The diary + continues with moral reflections upon the servility of our taste before + anything European, and the handwriting is clear and deliberate. It + abruptly becomes hurried, and at length well-nigh illegible. It is best, I + think, that you should have this portion as it comes, unpolished, + unamended, unarranged—hot, so to speak, from my immediate pencil, + instead of cold from my subsequent pen. I shall disguise certain names, + but that is all. + </p> + <p> + Friday forenoon, May 5.—I don't have to gaze at my cat's-eyes to + kill time any more. I'm not the only passenger any more. There's a lady. + She got in at El Paso. She has taken the drawing-room, but sits outside + reading newspaper cuttings and writing letters. She is sixty, I should + say, and has a cap and one gray curl. This comes down over her left ear as + far as a purple ribbon which suspends a medallion at her throat. She came + in wearing a sage-green duster of pongee silk, pretty nice, only the + buttons are as big as those largest mint-drops. “You porter,” she said, + “brush this.” He put down her many things and received it. Her dress was + sage green, and pretty nice too. “You porter,” said she, “open every + window. Why, they are, I declare! What's the thermometer in this car?” + “Ninety-five, ma'am. Folks mostly travelling—” “That will do, + porter. Now you go make me a pitcher of lemonade right quick.” She went + into the state-room and shut the door. When she came out she was dressed + in what appeared to be chintz bedroom curtains. They hang and flow loosely + about her, and are covered with a pattern of pink peonies. She has + slippers—Turkish—that stare up in the air, pretty handsome and + comfortable. But I never before saw any one travel with fly-paper. It must + be hard to pack. But it's quite an idea in this train. Fully a dozen flies + have stuck to it already; and she reads her clippings, and writes away, + and sips another glass of lemonade, all with the most extreme appearance + of leisure, not to say sloth. I can't imagine how she manages to produce + this atmosphere of indolence when in reality she is steadily occupied. + Possibly the way she sits. But I think it's partly the bedroom curtains. + </p> + <p> + These notes were interrupted by the entrance of the new conductor. “If you + folks have chartered a private car, just say so,” he shouted instantly at + the sight of us. He stood still at the extreme end and removed his hat, + which was acknowledged by the lady. “Travel is surely very light, + Gadsden,” she assented, and went on with her writing. But he remained + standing still, and shouting like an orator: “Sprinkle the floor of this + car, Julius, and let the pore passengers get a breath of cool. My lands!” + He fanned himself sweepingly with his hat. He seemed but little larger + than a red squirrel, and precisely that color. Sorrel hair, sorrel + eyebrows, sorrel freckles, light sorrel mustache, thin aggressive nose, + receding chin, and black, attentive, prominent eyes. He approached, and I + gave him my ticket, which is as long as a neck-tie, and has my height, the + color of my eyes and hair, and my general description, punched in the + margin. “Why, you ain't middle-aged!” he shouted, and a singular croak + sounded behind me. But the lady was writing. “I have been growing younger + since I bought that ticket,” I explained. “That's it, that's it,” he sang; + “a man's always as old as he feels, and a woman—is ever young,” he + finished. “I see you are true to the old teachings and the old-time + chivalry, Gadsden,” said the lady, continuously busy. “Yes, ma'am. Jacob + served seven years for Leah and seven more for Rachel.” “Such men are + raised today in every worthy Louisiana home, Gadsden, be it ever so + humble.” “Yes, ma'am. Give a fresh sprinkle to the floor, Julius, soon as + it goes to get dry. Excuse me, but do you shave yourself, sir?” I told him + that I did, but without excusing him. “You will see that I have a reason + for asking,” he consequently pursued, and took out of his coat-tails a + round tin box handsomely labelled “Nat. Fly Paper Co.,” so that I supposed + it was thus, of course, that the lady came by her fly-paper. But this was + pure coincidence, and the conductor explained: “That company's me and a + man at Shreveport, but he dissatisfies me right frequently. You know what + heaven a good razor is for a man, and what you feel about a bad one. + Vaseline and ground shells,” he said, opening the box, “and I'm not saying + anything except it will last your lifetime and never hardens. Rub the size + of a pea on the fine side of your strop, spread it to an inch with your + thumb. May I beg a favor on so short a meeting? Join me in the gentlemen's + lavatory with your razorstrop in five minutes. I have to attend to a + corpse in the baggage-car, and will return at once.” “Anybody's corpse I + know, Gadsden?” said the lady. “No, ma'am. Just a corpse.” + </p> + <p> + When I joined him, for I was now willing to do anything, he was apologetic + again. “'Tis a short acquaintance,” he said, “but may I also beg your + razor? Quick as I get out of the National Fly I am going to register my + new label. First there will be Uncle Sam embracing the world, signifying + this mixture is universal, then my name, then the word Stropine, which is + a novelty and carries copyright, and I shall win comfort and doubtless + luxury. The post barber at Fort Bayard took a dozen off me at sight to + retail to the niggers of the Twenty-fourth, and as he did not happen to + have the requisite cash on his person I charged him two roosters and fifty + cents, and both of us done well. He's after more Stropine, and I got + Pullman prices for my roosters, the buffet-car being out of chicken a la + Marengo. There is your razor, sir, and I appreciate your courtesy.” It was + beautifully sharpened, and I bought a box of the Stropine and asked him + who the lady was. “Mrs. Porcher Brewton!” he exclaimed. “Have you never + met her socially? Why she—why she is the most intellectual lady in + Bee Bayou.” “Indeed!” I said. “Why she visits New Orleans, and Charleston, + and all the principal centres of refinement, and is welcomed in + Washington. She converses freely with our statesmen and is considered a + queen of learning. Why she writes po'try, sir, and is strong-minded. But a + man wouldn't want to pick her up for a fool, all the samey.” “I shouldn't; + I don't,” said I. “Don't you do it, sir. She's run her plantation all + alone since the Colonel was killed in sixty-two. She taught me + Sunday-school when I was a lad, and she used to catch me at her + pecan-trees 'most every time in Bee Bayou.” + </p> + <p> + He went forward, and I went back with the Stropine in my pocket. The lady + was sipping the last of the lemonade and looking haughtily over the top of + her glass into (I suppose) the world of her thoughts. Her eyes met mine, + however. “Has Gadsden—yes, I perceive he has been telling about me,” + she said, in her languid, formidable voice. She set her glass down and + reclined among the folds of the bedroom curtains, considering me. “Gadsden + has always been lavish,” she mused, caressingly. “He seems destined to + succeed in life,” I hazarded. “ah n—a!” she sighed, with decision. + “He will fail.” As she said no more and as I began to resent the manner in + which she surveyed me, I remarked, “You seem rather sure of his failure.” + “I am old enough to be his mother, and yours,” said Mrs. Porcher Brewton + among her curtains. “He is a noble-hearted fellow, and would have been a + high-souled Southern gentleman if born to that station. But what should a + conductor earning $103.50 a month be dispersing his attention on silly + patents for? Many's the time I've told him what I think; but Gadsden will + always be flighty.” No further observations occurring to me, I took up my + necklace and bracelets from the seat and put them in my pocket. “Will you + permit a meddlesome old woman to inquire what made you buy those + cat's-eyes?” said Mrs. Brewton. “Why—” I dubiously began. “Never + mind,” she cried, archly. “If you were thinking of some one in your + Northern home, they will be prized because the thought, at any rate, was + beautiful and genuine. 'Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, my heart, + untravelled, fondly turns to thee.' Now don't you be embarrassed by an old + woman!” I desired to inform her that I disliked her, but one can never do + those things; and, anxious to learn what was the matter with the + cat's-eyes, I spoke amiably and politely to her. “Twenty dollars!” she + murmured. “And he told you they came from the Pecos!” She gave that single + melodious croak I had heard once before. Then she sat up with her back as + straight as if she was twenty. “My dear young fellow, never do you buy + trash in these trains. Here you are with your coat full of—what's + Gadsden's absurd razor concoctions—strut—strop—bother! + And Chinese paste buttons. Last summer, on the Northern Pacific, the man + offered your cat's-eyes to me as native gems found exclusively in Dakota. + But I just sat and mentioned to him that I was on my way home from a + holiday in China, and he went right out of the car. The last day I was in + Canton I bought a box of those cat's-eyes at eight cents a dozen.” After + this we spoke a little on other subjects, and now she's busy writing + again. She's on business in California, but will read a paper at Los + Angeles at the annual meeting of the Golden Daughters of the West. The + meal station is coming, but we have agreed to— + </p> + <p> + Later, Friday afternoon.—I have been interrupted again. Gadsden + entered, removed his hat, and shouted: “Sharon. Twenty minutes for + dinner.” I was calling the porter to order a buffet lunch in the car when + there tramped in upon us three large men of such appearance that a flash + of thankfulness went through me at having so little ready-money and only a + silver watch. Mrs. Brewton looked at them and said, “Well, gentlemen?” and + they took off their embroidered Mexican hats. “We've got a baby show + here,” said one of them, slowly, looking at me, “and we'd be kind of + obliged if you'd hold the box.” “There's lunch put up in a basket for you + to take along,” said the next, “and a bottle of wine—champagne. So + losing your dinner won't lose you nothing.” “We're looking for somebody + raised East and without local prejudice,” said the third. “So we come to + the Pullman.” I now saw that so far from purposing to rob us they were in + a great and honest distress of mind. “But I am no judge of a baby,” said + I; “not being mar—” “You don't have to be,” broke in the first, more + slowly and earnestly. “It's a fair and secret ballot we're striving for. + The votes is wrote out and ready, and all we're shy of is a stranger + without family ties or business interests to hold the box and do the + counting.” His deep tones ceased, and he wiped heavy drops from his + forehead with his shirt sleeve. “We'd be kind of awful obliged to you,” he + urged. “The town would be liable to make it two bottles,” said the second. + The third brought his fist down on the back of a seat and said, “I'll make + it that now.” “But, gentlemen,” said I, “five, six, and seven years ago I + was not a stranger in Sharon. If my friend Dean Drake was still here—” + “But he ain't. Now you might as well help folks, and eat later. This town + will trust you. And if you quit us—” Once more he wiped the heavy + drops away, while in a voice full of appeal his friend finished his + thought: “If we lose you, we'll likely have to wait till this train comes + in to-morrow for a man satisfactory to this town. And the show is costing + us a heap.” A light hand tapped my arm, and here was Mrs. Brewton saying: + “For shame! Show your enterprise.” “I'll hold this yere train,” shouted + Gadsden, “if necessary.” Mrs. Brewton rose alertly, and they all hurried + me out. “My slippers will stay right on when I'm down the steps,” said + Mrs. Brewton, and Gadsden helped her descend into the blazing dust and sun + of Sharon. “Gracious!” said she, “what a place! But I make it a point to + see everything as I go.” Nothing had changed. There, as of old, lay the + flat litter of the town—sheds, stores, and dwellings, a shapeless + congregation in the desert, gaping wide everywhere to the glassy, + quivering immensity; and there, above the roofs, turned the slatted + wind-wheels. But close to the tracks, opposite the hotel, was an edifice, + a sort of tent of bunting, from which brass music issued, while about a + hundred pink and blue sun-bonnets moved and mixed near the entrance. + Little black Mexicans, like charred toys, lounged and lay staring among + the ungraded dunes of sand. “Gracious!” said Mrs. Brewton again. Her eye + lost nothing; and as she made for the tent the chintz peonies flowed + around her, and her step was surprisingly light. We passed through the + sunbonnets and entered where the music played. “The precious blessed + darlings!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. “This will do for the Golden + Daughters,” she rapidly added; “yes, this will distinctly do.” And she + hastened away from me into the throng. + </p> + <p> + I had no time to look at much this first general minute. I could see there + were booths, each containing a separate baby. I passed a whole section of + naked babies, and one baby farther along had on golden wings and a crown, + and was bawling frightfully. Their names were over the booths, and I + noticed Lucille, Erskine Wales, Banquo Lick Nolin, Cuba, Manilla, + Ellabelle, Bosco Grady, James J. Corbett Nash, and Aqua Marine. There was + a great sign at the end, painted “Mrs. Eden's Manna in the Wilderness,” + and another sign, labelled “Shot-gun Smith's twins.” In the midst of these + first few impressions I found myself seated behind a bare table raised + three feet or so, with two boxes on it, and a quantity of blank paper and + pencils, while one of the men was explaining me the rules and facts. I + can't remember them all now, because I couldn't understand them all then, + and Mrs. Brewton was distant among the sun-bonnets, talking to a gathering + crowd and feeling in the mouths of babies that were being snatched out of + the booths and brought to her. The man was instructing me steadily all the + while, and it occurred to me to nod silently and coldly now and then, as + if I was doing this sort of thing every day. But I insisted that some one + should help me count, and they gave me Gadsden. + </p> + <p> + Now these facts I do remember very clearly, and shall never forget them. + The babies came from two towns—Sharon, and Rincon its neighbor. + Alone, neither had enough for a good show, though in both it was every + family's pride to have a baby every year. The babies were in three + classes: Six months and under, one prize offered; eighteen months, two + prizes; three years, two prizes. A three-fourths vote of all cast was + necessary to a choice. No one entitled to vote unless of immediate family + of a competing baby. No one entitled to cast more than one vote. There + were rules of entry and fees, but I forget them, except that no one could + have two exhibits in the same class. When I read this I asked, how about + twins? “Well, we didn't kind of foresee that,” muttered my instructor, + painfully; “what would be your idea?” “Look here, you sir,” interposed + Mrs. Brewton, “he came in to count votes.” I was very glad to have her + back. “That's right, ma'am,” admitted the man; “he needn't to say a thing. + We've only got one twins entered,” he pursued, “which we're glad of. + Shot-gun—“, “Where is this Mr. Smith?” interrupted Mrs. Brewton. + “Uptown, drinking, ma'am.” “And who may Mr. Smith be?” “Most popular + citizen of Rincon, ma'am. We had to accept his twins because—well, + he come down here himself, and most of Rincon come with him, and as we + aimed to have everything pass off pleasant-like—” “I quite + comprehend,” said Mrs. Brewton. “And I should consider twins within the + rule; or any number born at one time. But little Aqua Marine is the finest + single child in that six months class. I told her mother she ought to take + that splurgy ring off the poor little thing's thumb. It's most unsafe. But + I should vote for that child myself.” “Thank you for your valuable + endorsement,” said a spruce, slim young man. “But the public is not + allowed to vote here,” he added. He was standing on the floor and resting + his elbows on the table. Mrs. Brewton stared down at him. “Are you the + father of the child?” she inquired. “Oh no! I am the agent. I—” + “Aqua Marine's agent?” said Mrs. Brewton, sharply. “Ha, ha!” went the + young man. “Ha, ha! Well, that's good too. She's part of our exhibit. I'm + in charge of the manna-feds, don't you know?” “I don't know,” said Mrs. + Brewton. “Why, Mrs. Eden's Manna in the Wilderness! Nourishes, + strengthens, and makes no unhealthy fat. Take a circular, and welcome. I'm + travelling for the manna. I organized this show. I've conducted + twenty-eight similar shows in two years. We hold them in every State and + Territory. Second of last March I gave Denver—you heard of it, + probably?” “I did not,” said Mrs. Brewton. “Well! Ha, ha! I thought every + person up to date had heard of Denver's Olympic Offspring Olio.” “Is it up + to date to loll your elbows on the table when you're speaking to a lady?” + inquired Mrs. Brewton. He jumped, and then grew scarlet with rage. “I + didn't expect to learn manners in New Mexico,” said he. “I doubt if you + will,” said Mrs. Brewton, and turned her back on him. He was white now; + but better instincts, or else business, prevailed in his injured bosom. + “Well,” said he, “I had no bad intentions. I was going to say you'd have + seen ten thousand people and five hundred babies at Denver. And our + manna-feds won out to beat the band. Three first medals, and all + exclusively manna-fed. We took the costume prize also. Of course here in + Sharon I've simplified. No special medal for weight, beauty, costume, or + decorated perambulator. Well, I must go back to our exhibit. Glad to have + you give us a call up there and see the medals we're offering, and our + fifteen manna-feds, and take a package away with you.” He was gone. + </p> + <p> + The voters had been now voting in my two boxes for some time, and I found + myself hoping the manna would not win, whoever did; but it seemed this + agent was a very capable person. To begin with, every family entering a + baby drew a package of the manna free, and one package contained a diamond + ring. Then, he had managed to have the finest babies of all classes in his + own exhibit. This was incontestable, Mrs. Brewton admitted, after + returning from a general inspection; and it seemed to us extraordinary. + “That's easy, ma'am,” said Gadsden; “he came around here a month ago. + Don't you see?” I did not see, but Mrs. Brewton saw at once. He had made a + quiet selection of babies beforehand, and then introduced the manna into + those homes. And everybody in the room was remarking that his show was + very superior, taken as a whole they all added, “taken as a whole”; I + heard them as they came up to vote for the 3-year and the 18-month + classes. The 6-month was to wait till last, because the third box had been + accidentally smashed by Mr. Smith. Gadsden caught several trying to vote + twice. “No, you don't!” he would shout. “I know faces. I'm not a conductor + for nothing.” And the victim would fall back amid jeers from the + sun-bonnets. Once the passengers sent over to know when the train was + going. “Tell them to step over here and they'll not feel so lonesome!” + shouted Gadsden; and I think a good many came. The band was playing “White + Wings,” with quite a number singing it, when Gadsden noticed the voting + had ceased, and announced this ballot closed. The music paused for him, + and we could suddenly hear how many babies were in distress; but for a + moment only; as we began our counting, “White Wings” resumed, and the + sun-bonnets outsang their progeny. There was something quite singular in + the way they had voted. Here are some of the 3-year-old tickets: “First + choice, Ulysses Grant Blum; 2d choice, Lewis Hendricks.” “First choice, + James Redfield; 2d, Lewis Hendricks.” “First, Elk Chester; 2d, Lewis + Hendricks.” “Can it be?” said the excited Gadsden. “Finish these quick. + I'll open the 18-monthers.” But he swung round to me at once. “See there!” + he cried. “Read that! and that!” He plunged among more, and I read: “First + choice, Lawrence Nepton Ford, Jr.; 2d, Iona Judd.” “First choice, Mary + Louise Kenton; 2d, Iona Judd.” “Hurry up!” said Gadsden; “that's it!” And + as we counted, Mrs. Brewton looked over my shoulder and uttered her + melodious croak, for which I saw no reason. “That young whipper-snapper + will go far,” she observed; nor did I understand this. But when they + stopped the band for me to announce the returns, one fact did dawn on me + even while I was reading: “Three-year-olds: Whole number of votes cast, + 300; necessary to a choice, 225. Second prize, Lewis Hendricks, receiving + 300. First prize, largest number of votes cast, 11, for Salvisa van Meter. + No award. Eighteen-month class: Whole number of votes cast, 300; necessary + to a choice, 225. Second prize, Iona Judd, receiving 300. Lillian Brown + gets 15 for 1st prize. None awarded.” There was a very feeble applause, + and then silence for a second, and then the sun-bonnets rushed together, + rushed away to others, rushed back; and talk swept like hail through the + place. Yes, that is what they had done. They had all voted for Lewis + Hendricks and Iona Judd for second prize, and every family had voted the + first prize to its own baby. The Browns and van Meters happened to be the + largest families present. “He'll go far! he'll go far!” repeated Mrs. + Brewton. Sport glittered in her eye. She gathered her curtains, and was + among the sun-bonnets in a moment. Then it fully dawned on me. The agent + for Mrs. Eden's Manna in the Wilderness was indeed a shrewd strategist, + and knew his people to the roots of the grass. They had never seen a + baby-show. They were innocent. He came among them. He gave away packages + of manna and a diamond ring. He offered the prizes. But he proposed to win + some. Therefore he made that rule about only the immediate families + voting. He foresaw what they would do; and now they had done it. Whatever + happened, two prizes went to his manna-feds. “They don't see through it in + the least, which is just as well,” said Mrs. Brewton, returning. “And it's + little matter that only second prizes go to the best babies. But what's to + be done now?” I had no idea; but it was not necessary that I should. + </p> + <p> + “You folks of Rincon and Sharon,” spoke a deep voice. It was the first man + in the Pullman, and drops were rolling from his forehead, and his eyes + were the eyes of a beleaguered ox. “You fathers and mothers,” he said, and + took another breath. They grew quiet. “I'm a father myself, as is well + known.” They applauded this. “Salvisa is mine, and she got my vote. The + father that will not support his own child is not—does not—is + worse than if they were orphans.” He breathed again, while they loudly + applauded. “But, folks, I've got to get home to Rincon. I've got to. And + I'll give up Salvisa if I'm met fair.” “Yes, yes, you'll be met,” said + voices of men. “Well, here's my proposition: Mrs. Eden's manna has took + two, and I'm satisfied it should. We voted, and will stay voted.” “Yes, + yes!” “Well, now, here's Sharon and Rincon, two of the finest towns in + this section, and I say Sharon and Rincon has equal rights to get + something out of this, and drop private feelings, and everybody back their + town. And I say let this lady and gentleman, who will act elegant and on + the square, take a view and nominate the finest Rincon 3-year-old and the + finest Sharon 18-month they can cut out of the herd. And I say let's vote + unanimous on their pick, and let each town hold a first prize and go home + in friendship, feeling it has been treated right.” + </p> + <p> + Universal cheers endorsed him, and he got down panting. The band played + “Union Forever,” and I accompanied Mrs. Brewton to the booths. “You'll + remember!” shouted the orator urgently after us; “one apiece.” We nodded. + “Don't get mixed,” he appealingly insisted. We shook our heads, and out of + the booths rushed two women, and simultaneously dashed their infants in + our faces. “You'll never pass Cuba by!” entreated one. “This is Bosco + Grady,” said the other. Cuba wore an immense garment made of the American + flag, but her mother whirled her out of it in a second. “See them dimples; + see them knees!” she said. “See them feet! Only feel of her toes!” “Look + at his arms!” screamed the mother of Bosco. “Doubled his weight in four + months.” “Did he indeed, ma'am?” said Cuba's mother; “well, he hadn't much + to double.” “Didn't he, then? Didn't he indeed?” “No at you; he didn't + indeed and indeed! I guess Cuba is known to Sharon. I guess Sharon'll not + let Cuba be slighted.” “Well, and I guess Rincon'll see that Bosco Grady + gets his rights.” “Ladies,” said Mrs. Brewton, towering but poetical with + her curl, “I am a mother myself, and raised five noble boys and two sweet + peerless girls.” This stopped them immediately; they stared at her and her + chintz peonies as she put the curl gently away from her medallion and + proceeded: “But never did I think of myself in those dark weary days of + the long ago. I thought of my country and the Lost Cause.” They stared at + her, fascinated. “Yes, m'm,” whispered they, quite humbly. “Now,” said + Mrs. Brewton, “what is more sacred than an American mother's love? + Therefore let her not shame it with anger and strife. All little boys and + girls are precious gems to me and to you. What is a cold, lifeless medal + compared to one of them? Though I would that all could get the prize! But + they can't, you know.” “No, m'm.” Many mothers, with their children in + their arms, were now dumbly watching Mrs. Brewton, who held them with a + honeyed, convincing smile. “If I choose only one in this beautiful and + encouraging harvest, it is because I have no other choice. Thank you so + much for letting me see that little hero and that lovely angel,” she + added, with a yet sweeter glance to the mothers of Bosco and Cuba. “And I + wish them all luck when their turn comes. I've no say about the 6-month + class, you know. And now a little room, please.” + </p> + <p> + The mothers fell back. But my head swam slightly. The 6-month class, to be + sure! The orator had forgotten all about it. In the general joy over his + wise and fair proposition, nobody had thought of it. But they would pretty + soon. Cuba and Bosco were likely to remind them. Then we should still be + face to face with a state of things that—I cast a glance behind at + those two mothers of Sharon and Rincon following us, and I asked Mrs. + Brewton to look at them. “Don't think about it now,” said she, “it will + only mix you. I always like to take a thing when it comes, and not + before.” We now reached the 18-month class. They were the naked ones. The + 6-month had stayed nicely in people's arms; these were crawling hastily + everywhere, like crabs upset in the market, and they screamed fiercely + when taken upon the lap. The mother of Thomas Jefferson Brayin Lucas + showed us a framed letter from the statesman for whom her child was + called. The letter reeked with gratitude, and said that offspring was + man's proudest privilege; that a souvenir sixteen-to-one spoon would have + been cheerfully sent, but 428 babies had been named after Mr. Brayin since + January. It congratulated the swelling army of the People's Cause. But + there was nothing eminent about little Thomas except the letter; and we + selected Reese Moran, a vigorous Sharon baby, who, when they attempted to + set him down and pacify him, stiffened his legs, dashed his candy to the + floor, and burst into lamentation. We were soon on our way to the 3-year + class, for Mrs. Brewton was rapid and thorough. As we went by the Manna + Exhibit, the agent among his packages and babies invited us in. He was + loudly declaring that he would vote for Bosco if he could. But when he + examined Cuba, he became sure that Denver had nothing finer than that. + Mrs. Brewton took no notice of him, but bade me admire Aqua Marine as far + surpassing any other 6-month child. I proclaimed her splendid (she was a + wide-eyed, contented thing, with a head shaped like a croquet mallet), and + the agent smiled modestly and told the mothers that as for his babies two + prizes was luck enough for them; they didn't want the earth. “If that + thing happened to be brass,” said Mrs. Brewton, bending over the ring that + Aqua was still sucking; and again remonstrating with the mother for this + imprudence, she passed on. The three-year-olds were, many of them, in + costume, with extraordinary arrangements of hair; and here was the child + with gold wings and a crown I had seen on arriving. Her name was Verbena + M., and she personated Faith. She had colored slippers, and was drinking + tea from her mother's cup. Another child, named Broderick McGowan, + represented Columbus, and joyfully shouted “Ki-yi!” every half-minute. One + child was attired as a prominent admiral; another as a prominent general; + and one stood in a boat and was Washington. As Mrs. Brewton examined them + and dealt with the mothers, the names struck me afresh—not so much + the boys; Ulysses Grant and James J. Corbett explained themselves; but I + read the names of five adjacent girls—Lula, Ocilla, Nila, Cusseta, + and Maylene. And I asked Mrs. Brewton how they got them. “From romances,” + she told me, “in papers that we of the upper classes never see.” In + choosing Horace Boyd, of Rincon, for his hair, his full set of front teeth + well cared for, and his general beauty, I think both of us were also + influenced by his good sensible name, and his good clean sensible clothes. + With both our selections, once they were settled, were Sharon and Rincon + satisfied. We were turning back to the table to announce our choice when a + sudden clamor arose behind us, and we saw confusion in the Manna + Department. Women were running and shrieking, and I hastened after Mrs. + Brewton to see what was the matter. Aqua Marine had swallowed the ring on + her thumb. “It was gold! it was pure gold!” wailed the mother, clutching + Mrs. Brewton. “It cost a whole dollar in El Paso.” “She must have white of + egg instantly,” said Mrs. Brewton, handing me her purse. “Run to the hotel—” + “Save your money,” said the agent, springing forward with some eggs in a + bowl. “Lord! you don't catch us without all the appliances handy. We'd run + behind the trade in no time. There, now, there,” he added, comfortingly to + the mother. “Will you make her swallow it? Better let me—better let + me—And here's the emetic. Lord! why, we had three swallowed rings at + the Denver Olio, and I got 'em all safe back within ten minutes after time + of swallowing.” “You go away,” said Mrs. Brewton to me, “and tell them our + nominations.” The mothers sympathetically surrounded poor little Aqua, + saying to each other: “She's a beautiful child!” “Sure indeed she is!” + “But the manna-feds has had their turn.” “Sure indeed they've been + recognized,” and so forth, while I was glad to retire to the voting table. + The music paused for me, and as the crowd cheered my small speech, some + one said, “And now what are you going to do about me?” It was Bosco Grady + back again, and close behind him Cuba. They had escaped from Mrs. + Brewton's eye and had got me alone. But I pretended in the noise and + cheering not to see these mothers. I noticed a woman hurrying out of the + tent, and hoped Aqua was not in further trouble—she was still + surrounded, I could see. Then the orator made some silence, thanked us in + the names of Sharon and Rincon, and proposed our candidates be voted on by + acclamation. This was done. Rincon voted for Sharon and Reese Moran in a + solid roar, and Sharon voted for Rincon and Horace Boyd in a roar equally + solid. So now each had a prize, and the whole place was applauding + happily, and the band was beginning again, when the mothers with Cuba and + Bosco jumped up beside me on the platform, and the sight of them produced + immediate silence. + </p> + <p> + “There's a good many here has a right to feel satisfied,” said Mrs. Grady, + looking about, “and they're welcome to their feelings. But if this meeting + thinks it is through with its business, I can tell it that it ain't—not + if it acts honorable, it ain't. Does those that have had their chance and + those that can take home their prizes expect us 6-month mothers come here + for nothing? Do they expect I brought my Bosco from Rincon to be insulted, + and him the pride of the town?” “Cuba is known to Sharon,” spoke the other + lady. “I'll say no more.” “Jumping Jeans!” murmured the orator to himself. + “I can't hold this train much longer,” said Gadsden; “she's due at + Lordsburg now.” “You'll have made it up by Tucson, Gadsden,” spoke Mrs. + Brewton, quietly, across the whole assembly from the Manna Department. “As + for towns,” continued Mrs. Grady, “that think anything of a baby that's + only got three teeth—” “Ha! Ha!” laughed Cuba's mother, shrilly. + “Teeth! Well, we're not proud of bald babies in Sharon.” Bosco was + certainly bald. All the men were looking wretched, and all the women were + growing more and more like eagles. Moreover, they were separating into two + bands and taking their husbands with them—Sharon and Rincon drawing + to opposite parts of the tent—and what was coming I cannot say; for + we all had to think of something else. A third woman, bringing a man, + mounted the platform. It was she I had seen hurry out. “My name's Shot-gun + Smith,” said the man, very carefully, “and I'm told you've reached my + case.” He was extremely good-looking, with a blue eye and a blond + mustache, not above thirty, and was trying hard to be sober, holding + himself with dignity. “Are you the judge?” said he to me. “Hell—” I + began. “N-not guilty, your honor,” said he. At this his wife looked + anxious. “S-self-defence,” he slowly continued; “told you once already.” + “Why, Rolfe!” exclaimed his wife, touching his elbow. “Don't you cry, + little woman,” said he; “this'll come out all right. Where 're the + witnesses?” “Why, Rolfe! Rolfe!” She shook him as you shake a sleepy + child. “Now see here,” said he, and wagged a finger at her affectionately, + “you promised me you'd not cry if I let you come.” “Rolfe, dear, it's not + that to-day; it's the twins.” “It's your twins, Shot-gun, this time,” said + many men's voices. “We acquitted you all right last month.” “Justifiable + homicide,” said Gadsden. “Don't you remember?” “Twins?” said Shotgun, + drowsily. “Oh yes, mine. Why—” He opened on us his blue eyes that + looked about as innocent as Aqua Marine's, and he grew more awake. Then he + blushed deeply, face and forehead. “I was not coming to this kind of + thing,” he explained. “But she wanted the twins to get something.” He put + his hand on her shoulder and straightened himself. “I done a heap of + prospecting before I struck this claim,” said he, patting her shoulder. + “We got married last March a year. It's our first—first—first”—he + turned to me with a confiding smile—“it's our first dividend, + judge.” “Rolfe! I never! You come right down.” “And now let's go get a + prize,” he declared, with his confiding pleasantness. “I remember now! I + remember! They claimed twins was barred. And I kicked down the bars. Take + me to those twins. They're not named yet, judge. After they get the prize + we'll name them fine names, as good as any they got anywhere—Europe, + Asia, Africa—anywhere. My gracious! I wish they was boys. Come on, + judge! You and me'll go give 'em a prize, and then we'll drink to 'em.” He + hugged me suddenly and affectionately, and we half fell down the steps. + But Gadsden as suddenly caught him and righted him, and we proceeded to + the twins. Mrs. Smith looked at me helplessly, saying: “I'm that sorry, + sir! I had no idea he was going to be that gamesome.” “Not at all,” I + said; “not at all!” Under many circumstances I should have delighted in + Shot-gun's society. He seemed so utterly sure that, now he had explained + himself, everybody would rejoice to give the remaining-medal to his little + girls. But Bosco and Cuba had not been idle. Shotgun did not notice the + spread of whispers, nor feel the divided and jealous currents in the air + as he sat, and, in expanding good-will, talked himself almost sober. To + entice him out there was no way. Several of his friends had tried it. But + beneath his innocence there seemed to lurk something wary, and I grew + apprehensive about holding the box this last time. But Gadsden relieved me + as our count began. “Shot-gun is a splendid man,” said he, “and he has + trailed more train-robbers than any deputy in New Mexico. But he has seen + too many friends to-day, and is not quite himself. So when he fell down + that time I just took this off him.” He opened the drawer, and there lay a + six-shooter. “It was touch and go,” said Gadsden; “but he's thinking that + hard about his twins that he's not missed it yet. 'Twould have been the + act of an enemy to leave that on him to-day.—Well, d'you say!” he + broke off. “Well, well, well!” It was the tickets we took out of the box + that set him exclaiming. I began to read them, and saw that the agent was + no mere politician, but a statesman. His Aqua Marine had a solid vote. I + remembered his extreme praise of both Bosco and Cuba. This had set Rincon + and Sharon bitterly against each other. I remembered his modesty about + Aqua Marine. Of course. Each town, unable to bear the idea of the other's + beating it, had voted for the manna-fed, who had 299 votes. Shot-gun and + his wife had voted for their twins. I looked towards the Manna Department, + and could see that Aqua Marine was placid once more, and Mrs. Brewton was + dancing the ring before her eyes. I hope I announced the returns in a firm + voice. “What!” said Shot-gun Smith; and at that sound Mrs. Brewton stopped + dancing the ring. He strode to our table. “There's the winner,” said + Gadsden, quickly pointing to the Manna Exhibit. “What!” shouted Smith + again; “and they quit me for that hammer-headed son-of-a-gun?” He whirled + around. The men stood ready, and the women fled shrieking and cowering to + their infants in the booths. “Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” cried Gadsden, “don't + hurt him! Look here!” And from the drawer he displayed Shot-gun's weapon. + They understood in a second, and calmly watched the enraged and + disappointed Shot-gun. But he was a man. He saw how he had frightened the + women, and he stood in the middle of the floor with eyes that did not at + all resemble Aqua Marine's at present. “I'm all right now, boys,” he said. + “I hope I've harmed no one. Ladies, will you try and forget about me + making such a break? It got ahead of me, I guess; for I had promised the + little woman—” He stopped himself; and then his eye fell upon the + Manna Department. “I guess I don't like one thing much now. I'm not after + prizes. I'd not accept one from a gold-bug-combine-trust that comes + sneaking around stuffing wholesale concoctions into our children's + systems. My twins are not manna-fed. My twins are raised as nature + intended. Perhaps if they were swelled out with trash that acts like + baking-powder, they would have a medal too—for I notice he has made + you vote his way pretty often this afternoon.” I saw the agent at the end + of the room look very queer. “That's so!” said several. “I think I'll + clear out his boxes,” said Shot-gun, with rising joy. “I feel like I've + got to do something before I go home. Come on, judge!” He swooped towards + the manna with a yell, and the men swooped with him, and Gadsden and I + were swooped with them. Again the women shrieked. But Mrs. Brewton stood + out before the boxes with her curl and her chintz. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Smith,” said she, “you are not going to do anything like that. You + are going to behave yourself like the gentleman you are, and not like the + wild beast that's inside you.” Never in his life before, probably, had + Shot-gun been addressed in such a manner, and he too became hypnotized, + fixing his blue eyes upon the strange lady. “I do not believe in patent + foods for children,” said Mrs. Brewton. “We agree on that, Mr. Smith, and + I am a grandmother, and I attend to what my grandchildren eat. But this + highly adroit young man has done you no harm. If he has the prizes, whose + doing is that, please? And who paid for them? Will you tell me, please? + Ah, you are all silent!” And she croaked melodiously. “Now let him and his + manna go along. But I have enjoyed meeting you all, and I shall not forget + you soon. And, Mr. Smith, I want you to remember me. Will you, please?” + She walked to Mrs. Smith and the twins, and Shot-gun followed her, + entirely hypnotized. She beckoned to me. “Your judge and I,” she said, + “consider not only your beautiful twins worthy of a prize, but also the + mother and father that can so proudly claim them.” She put her hand in my + pocket. “These cat's-eyes,” she said, “you will wear, and think of me and + the judge who presents them.” She placed a bracelet on each twin, and the + necklace upon Mrs. Smith's neck. “Give him Gadsden's stuff,” she whispered + to me. “Do you shave yourself, sir?” said I, taking out the Stropine. + “Vaseline and ground shells, and will last your life. Rub the size of a + pea on your strop and spread it to an inch.” I placed the box in + Shot-gun's motionless hand. “And now, Gadsden, we'll take the train,” said + Mrs. Brewton. “Here's your lunch! Here's your wine!” said the orator, + forcing a basket upon me. “I don't know what we'd have done without you + and your mother.” A flash of indignation crossed Mrs. Brewton's face, but + changed to a smile. “You've forgot to name my girls!” exclaimed Shot-gun, + suddenly finding his voice. “Suppose you try that,” said Mrs. Brewton to + me, a trifle viciously. “Thank you,” I said to Smith. “Thank you. I—” + “Something handsome,” he urged. “How would Cynthia do for one?” I + suggested. “Shucks, no! I've known two Cynthias. You don't want that?” he + asked Mrs. Smith; and she did not at all. “Something extra, something + fine, something not stale,” said he. I looked about the room. There was no + time for thought, but my eye fell once more upon Cuba. This reminded me of + Spain, and the Spanish; and my brain leaped. “I have them!” I cried. + “'Armada' and 'Loyola.'” “That's what they're named!” said Shot-gun; + “write it for us.” And I did. Once more the band played, and we left them, + all calling, “Good-bye, ma'am. Good-bye, judge,” happy as possible. The + train was soon going sixty miles an hour through the desert. We had passed + Lordsburg, San Simon, and were nearly at Benson before Mrs. Brewton and + Gadsden (whom she made sit down with us) and I finished the lunch and + champagne. “I wonder how long he'll remember me?” mused Mrs. Brewton at + Tucson, where we were on time. “That woman is not worth one of his boots.” + </p> + <p> + Saturday afternoon, May 6.—Near Los Angeles. I have been writing all + day, to be sure and get everything in, and now Sharon is twenty-four hours + ago, and here there are roses, gardens, and many nice houses at the + way-stations. Oh, George Washington, father of your country, what a + brindled litter have you sired! + </p> + <p> + But here the moral reflections begin again, and I copy no more diary. Mrs. + Brewton liked my names for the twins. “They'll pronounce it Loyo'la,” she + said, “and that sounds right lovely.” Later she sent me her paper for the + Golden Daughters. It is full of poetry and sentiment and all the things I + have missed. She wrote that if she had been sure the agent had helped Aqua + Marine to swallow the ring, she would have let them smash his boxes. And I + think she was a little in love with Shot-gun Smith. But what a pity we + shall soon have no more Mrs. Brewtons! The causes that produced her—slavery, + isolation, literary tendencies, adversity, game blood—that + combination is broken forever. I shall speak to Mr. Howells about her. She + ought to be recorded. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + The Promised Land + </h2> + <p> + Perhaps there were ten of them—these galloping dots were hard to + count—down in the distant bottom across the river. Their swiftly + moving dust hung with them close, thinning to a yellow veil when they + halted short. They clustered a moment, then parted like beads, and went + wide asunder on the plain. They veered singly over the level, merged in + twos and threes, apparently racing, shrank together like elastic, and + broke ranks again to swerve over the stretching waste. From this visioned + pantomime presently came a sound, a tiny shot. The figures were too far + for discerning which fired it. It evidently did no harm, and was repeated + at once. A babel of diminutive explosions followed, while the horsemen + galloped on in unexpected circles. Soon, for no visible reason, the dots + ran together, bunching compactly. The shooting stopped, the dust rose + thick again from the crowded hoofs, cloaking the group, and so passed back + and was lost among the silent barren hills. + </p> + <p> + Four emigrants had watched this from the high bleak rim of the Big Bend. + They stood where the flat of the desert broke and tilted down in grooves + and bulges deep to the lurking Columbia. Empty levels lay opposite, + narrowing up into the high country. + </p> + <p> + “That's the Colville Reservation across the river from us,” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “Another!” sighed his wife. + </p> + <p> + “The last Indians we'll strike. Our trail to the Okanagon goes over a + corner of it.” + </p> + <p> + “We're going to those hills?” The mother looked at her little girl and + back where the cloud had gone. + </p> + <p> + “Only a corner, Liza. The ferry puts us over on it, and we've got to go by + the ferry or stay this side of the Columbia. You wouldn't want to start a + home here?” + </p> + <p> + They had driven twenty-one hundred miles at a walk. Standing by them were + the six horses with the wagon, and its tunneled roof of canvas shone + duskily on the empty verge of the wilderness. A dry windless air hung over + the table-land of the Big Bend, but a sound rose from somewhere, floating + voluminous upon the silence, and sank again. + </p> + <p> + “Rapids!” The man pointed far up the giant rut of the stream to where a + streak of white water twinkled at the foot of the hills. “We've struck the + river too high,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Then we don't cross here?” said the woman, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “No. By what they told me the cabin and the ferry ought to be five miles + down.” + </p> + <p> + Her face fell. “Only five miles! I was wondering, John—Wouldn't + there be a way round for the children to—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, mother,” interrupted the husband, “that ain't like you. We've + crossed plenty Indian reservations this trip already.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to go round,” the little girl said. “Father, don't make me + go round.” + </p> + <p> + Mart, the boy, with a loose hook of hair hanging down to his eyes from his + hat, did not trouble to speak. He had been disappointed in the westward + journey to find all the Indians peaceful. He knew which way he should go + now, and he went to the wagon to look once again down the clean barrel of + his rifle. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Nancy, you don't like Indians?” said her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. I like chiefs.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clallam looked across the river. “It was so strange, John, the way + they acted. It seems to get stranger, thinking about it.” + </p> + <p> + “They didn't see us. They didn't have a notion—” + </p> + <p> + “But if we're going right over?” + </p> + <p> + “We're not going over there, Liza. That quick water's the Mahkin Rapids, + and our ferry's clear down below from this place.” + </p> + <p> + “What could they have been after, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Those chaps? Oh, nothing, I guess. They weren't killing anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Playing cross-tag,” said Mart. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to know, John, how you know they weren't killing anybody. They + might have been trying to.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we're perfectly safe, Liza. We can set and let 'em kill us all day.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't think it's any kind of way to behave, running around + shooting right off your horse.” + </p> + <p> + “And Fourth of July over too,” said Mart from the wagon. He was putting + cartridges into the magazine of his Winchester. His common-sense told him + that those horsemen would not cross the river, but the notion of a night + attack pleased the imagination of young sixteen. + </p> + <p> + “It was the children,” said Mrs. Clallam. “And nobody's getting me any + wood. How am I going to cook supper? Stir yourselves!” + </p> + <p> + They had carried water in the wagon, and father and son went for wood. + Some way down the hill they came upon a gully with some dead brush, and + climbed back with this. Supper was eaten on the ground, the horses were + watered, given grain, and turned loose to find what pickings they might in + the lean growth; and dusk had not turned to dark when the emigrants were + in their beds on the soft dust. The noise of the rapids dominated the air + with distant sonority, and the children slept at once, the boy with his + rifle along his blanket's edge. John Clallam lay till the moon rose hard + and brilliant, and then quietly, lest his wife should hear from her bed by + the wagon, went to look across the river. Where the downward slope began + he came upon her. She had been watching for some time. They were the only + objects in that bald moonlight. No shrub grew anywhere that reached to the + waist, and the two figures drew together on the lonely hill. They stood + hand in hand and motionless, except that the man bent over the woman and + kissed her. When she spoke of Iowa they had left, he talked of the new + region of their hopes, the country that lay behind the void hills + opposite, where it would not be a struggle to live. He dwelt on the home + they would make, and her mood followed his at last, till husband and wife + were building distant plans together. The Dipper had swung low when he + remarked that they were a couple of fools, and they went back to their + beds. Cold came over the ground, and their musings turned to dreams. Next + morning both were ashamed of their fears. + </p> + <p> + By four the wagon was on the move. Inside, Nancy's voice was heard + discussing with her mother whether the school-teacher where they were + going to live now would have a black dog with a white tail, that could + swim with a basket in his mouth. They crawled along the edge of the vast + descent, making slow progress, for at times the valley widened and they + receded far from the river, and then circuitously drew close again where + the slant sank abruptly. When the ferryman's cabin came in sight, the + canvas interior of the wagon was hot in the long-risen sun. The lay of the + land had brought them close above the stream, but no one seemed to be at + the cabin on the other side, nor was there any sign of a ferry. Groves of + trees lay in the narrow folds of the valley, and the water swept black + between untenanted shores. Nothing living could be seen along the scant + levels of the bottom-land. Yet there stood the cabin as they had been + told, the only one between the rapids and the Okanagon; and bright in the + sun the Colville Reservation confronted them. They came upon tracks going + down over the hill, marks of wagons and horses, plain in the soil, and + charred sticks, with empty cans, lying where camps had been. Heartened by + this proof that they were on the right road, John Clallam turned his + horses over the brink. The slant steepened suddenly in a hundred yards, + tilting the wagon so no brake or shoe would hold it if it moved farther. + </p> + <p> + “All out!” said Clallam. “Either folks travel light in this country or + they unpack.” He went down a little way. “That's the trail too,” he said. + “Wheel marks down there, and the little bushes are snapped off.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy slipped out. “I'm unpacked,” said she. “Oh, what a splendid hill to + go down! We'll go like anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that surely is the trail,” Clallam pursued. “I can see away down + where somebody's left a wheel among them big stones. But where does he + keep his ferry-boat? And where does he keep himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, John, if it's here we're to go down, don't you get to studying over + something else. It'll be time enough after we're at the bottom. Nancy, + here's your chair.” Mrs. Clallam began lifting the lighter things from the + wagon. + </p> + <p> + “Mart,” said the father, “we'll have to chain lock the wheels after we're + empty. I guess we'll start with the worst. You and me'll take the stove + apart and get her down somehow. We're in luck to have open country and no + timber to work through. Drop that bedding mother! Yourself is all you're + going to carry. We'll pack that truck on the horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Then pack it now and let me start first. I'll make two trips while you're + at the stove.” + </p> + <p> + “There's the man!” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + A man—a white man—was riding up the other side of the river. + Near the cabin he leaned to see something on the ground. Ten yards more + and he was off the horse and picked up something and threw it away. He + loitered along, picking up and throwing till he was at the door. He pushed + it open and took a survey of the interior. Then he went to his horse, and + when they saw him going away on the road he had come, they set up a + shouting, and Mart fired a signal. The rider dived from his saddle and + made headlong into the cabin, where the door clapped to like a trap. + Nothing happened further, and the horse stood on the bank. + </p> + <p> + “That's the funniest man I ever saw,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “They're all funny over there,” said Mart. “I'll signal him again.” But + the cabin remained shut, and the deserted horse turned, took a few first + steels of freedom, then trotted briskly down the river. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, he don't belong there at all,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, child, till we know something about it.” + </p> + <p> + “She's liable to be right, Liza. The horse, anyway, don't belong, or he'd + not run off. That's good judgment, Nancy. Right good for a little girl.” + </p> + <p> + “I am six years old,” said Nancy, “and I know lots more than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let's get mother and the bedding started down. It'll be noon before + we know it.” + </p> + <p> + There were two pack-saddles in the wagon, ready against such straits as + this. The rolls were made, balanced as side packs, and circled with the + swing-ropes, loose cloths, clothes, frying-pans, the lantern, and the axe + tossed in to fill the gap in the middle, canvas flung over the whole, and + the diamond-hitch hauled taut on the first pack, when a second rider + appeared across the river. He came out of a space between the opposite + hills, into which the trail seemed to turn, and he was leading the first + man's horse. The heavy work before them was forgotten, and the Clallams + sat down in a row to watch. + </p> + <p> + “He's stealing it,” said Mrs. Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “Then the other man will come out and catch him,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + Mart corrected them. “A man never steals horses that way. He drives them + up in the mountains, where the owner don't travel much.” + </p> + <p> + The new rider had arrived at the bank and came steadily along till + opposite the door, where he paused and looked up and down the river. + </p> + <p> + “See him stoop,” said Clallam the father. “He's seen the tracks don't go + further.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he's after the other one,” added Clallam the son. + </p> + <p> + “Which of them is the ferry-man?” said Mrs. Clallam. + </p> + <p> + The man had got off and gone straight inside the cabin. In the black of + the doorway appeared immediately the first man, dangling in the grip of + the other, who kicked him along to the horse. There the victim mounted his + own animal and rode back down the river. The chastiser was returning to + the cabin, when Mart fired his rifle. The man stopped short, saw the + emigrants, and waved his hand. He dismounted and came to the edge of the + water. They could hear he was shouting to them, but it was too far for the + words to carry. From a certain reiterated cadence, he seemed to be saying + one thing. John and Mart tried to show they did not understand, and + indicated their wagon, walking to it and getting aboard. On that the + stranger redoubled his signs and shootings, ran to the cabin, where he + opened and shut the door several times, came back, and pointed to the + hills. + </p> + <p> + “He's going away, and can't ferry us over,” said Mrs. Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “And the other man thought he'd gone,” said Nancy, “and he came and caught + him in his house.” + </p> + <p> + “This don't suit me,” Clallam remarked. “Mart, we'll go to the shore and + talk to him.” + </p> + <p> + When the man saw them descending the hill, he got on his horse and swam + the stream. It carried him below, but he was waiting for them when they + reached the level. He was tall, shambling, and bony, and roved over them + with a pleasant, restless eye. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning,” said he. “Fine weather. I was baptized Edward Wilson, but + you inquire for Wild-Goose Jake. Them other names are retired and + pensioned. I expect you seen me kick him?” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't help seeing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I ain't blamin' you, son, not a bit, I ain't. He can't bile water + without burnin' it, and his toes turns in, and he's blurry round the + finger-nails. He's jest kultus, he is. Hev some?” With a furtive smile + that often ran across his lips, he pulled out a flat bottle, and all took + an acquaintanceship swallow, while the Clallams explained their journey. + “How many air there of yu' slidin' down the hill?” he inquired, shifting + his eye to the wagon. + </p> + <p> + “I've got my wife and little girl up there. That's all of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Ladies along! Then I'll step behind this bush.” He was dragging his feet + from his waterlogged boots. “Hear them suck now?” he commented. “Didn't + hev to think about a wetting onced. But I ain't young any more. There, I + guess I ain't caught a chill.” He had whipped his breeches off and spread + them on the sand. “Now you arrive down this here hill from Ioway, and says + you: 'Where's that ferry? 'Ain't we hit the right spot?' Well, that's what + you hev hit. You're all right, and the spot is hunky-dory, and it's the + durned old boat hez made the mistake, begosh! A cloud busted in this + country, and she tore out fer the coast, and the joke's on her! You'd + ought to hev heerd her cable snap! Whoosh, if that wire didn't screech! + Jest last week it was, and the river come round the corner on us in a wave + four feet high, same as a wall. I was up here on business, and seen the + whole thing. So the ferry she up and bid us good-bye, and lit out for + Astoria with her cargo. Beggin' pardon, hev you tobacco, for mine's in my + wet pants? Twenty-four hogs and the driver, and two Sheeny drummers bound + to the mines with brass jew'lry, all gone to hell, for they didn't near + git to Astoria. They sank in the sight of all, as we run along the bank. I + seen their arms wave, and them hogs rolling over like 'taters bilin' round + in the kettle.” Wild-Goose Jake's words came slow and went more slowly as + he looked at the river and spoke, but rather to himself. “It warn't long, + though. I expect it warn't three minutes till the water was all there was + left there. My stars, what a lot of it! And I might hev been part of that + cargo, easy as not. Freight behind time was all that come between me and + them that went. So, we'd hev gone bobbin' down that flood, me and my + piah-chuck.” + </p> + <p> + “Your piah-chuck?” Mart inquired. + </p> + <p> + The man faced the boy like a rat, but the alertness faded instantly from + his eye, and his lip slackened into a slipshod smile. “Why, yes, sonny, me + and my grub-stake. You've been to school, I'll bet, but they didn't learn + yu' Chinook, now, did they? Chinook's the lingo us white folks trade in + with the Siwashes, and we kinder falls into it, talking along. I was + thinkin' how but for delay me and my grubstake—provisions, ye know—that + was consigned to me clear away at Spokane, might hev been drownded along + with them hogs and Hebrews. That's what the good folks calls a + dispensation of the Sauklee Tyee!—Providence, ye know, in Chinook. + 'One shall be taken and the other left.' And that's what beats me—they + got left; and I'm a bigger sinner than them drummers, for I'm ten years + older than they was. And the poor hogs was better than any of us. That + can't be gainsaid. Oh no! oh no!” + </p> + <p> + Mart laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I mean it, son. Some day such thoughts will come to you.” He stared at + the river unsteadily with his light gray eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if the ferry's gone,” said John Clallam, getting on his legs, + “we'll go on down to the next one.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on! hold on! Did you never hear tell of a raft? I'll put you folks + over this river. Wait till I git my pants on,” said he, stalking nimbly to + where they lay. + </p> + <p> + “It's just this way,” Clallam continued; “we're bound for the upper + Okanagon country, and we must get in there to build our cabin before cold + weather.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry about that. It'll take you three days to the next ferry, + while you and me and the boy kin build a raft right here by to-morrow + noon. You hev an axe, I expect? Well, here is timber close, and your trail + takes over to my place on the Okanagon, where you've got another crossin' + to make. And all this time we're keeping the ladies waitin' up the hill! + We'll talk business as we go along; and, see here, if I don't suit yu', or + fail in my bargain, you needn't to pay me a cent.” + </p> + <p> + He began climbing, and on the way they came to an agreement. Wild-Goose + Jake bowed low to Mrs. Clallam, and as low to Nancy, who held her mother's + dress and said nothing, keeping one finger in her mouth. All began + emptying the wagon quickly, and tins of baking-powder, with rocking-chairs + and flowered quilts, lay on the hill. Wild-Goose Jake worked hard, and + sustained a pleasant talk by himself. His fluency was of an eagerness that + parried interruption or inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “So you've come acrosst the Big Bend! Ain't it a cosey place? Reminds me + of them medicine pictures, 'Before and After Using.' The Big Bend's the + way this world looked before using—before the Bible fixed it up, ye + know. Ever seen specimens of Big Bend produce, ma'am? They send 'em East. + Grain and plums and such. The feller that gathered them curiosities hed + hunt forty square miles apiece for 'em. But it's good-payin' policy, and + it fetches lots of settlers to the Territory. They come here hummin' and + walks around the wilderness, and 'Where's the plums?' says they. 'Can't + you see I'm busy?' says the land agent; and out they goes. But you needn't + to worry, ma'am. The country where you're goin' ain't like that. There's + water and timber and rich soil and mines. Billy Moon has gone there—he's + the man run the ferry. When she wrecked, he pulled his freight for the new + mines at Loop Loop.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the man live in the little house?” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Right there, miss. And nobody lives there any more, so you take it if + you're wantin' a place of your own.” + </p> + <p> + “What made you kick the other man if it wasn't your house?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, if it ain't a good one on him to hev you see that! I'll tell + him a little girl seen that, and maybe he'll feel the disgrace. Only he's + no account, and don't take any experience the reg'lar way. He's nigh onto + thirty, and you'll not believe me, I know, but he ain't never even learned + to spit right.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he yours?” inquired Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Gosh! no, miss—beggin' pardon. He's jest workin' for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he know you were coming to kick him when he hid?” + </p> + <p> + “Hid? What's that?” The man's eyes narrowed again into points. “You folks + seen him hide?” he said to Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course; didn't he say anything?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't get much chance,” muttered Jake. “What did he hide at?” + </p> + <p> + “Us.” + </p> + <p> + “You, begosh!” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” said Mart. “We took him for the ferry-man, and when he + couldn't hear us—” + </p> + <p> + “What was he doin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Just riding along. And so I fired to signal him, and he flew into the + door.” + </p> + <p> + “So you fired, and he flew into the door. Oh, h'm.” Jake continued to pack + the second horse, attending carefully to the ropes. “I never knowed he was + that weak in the upper story,” he said, in about five minutes. “Knew his + brains was tenas, but didn't suspect he were that weak in the upper story. + You're sure he didn't go in till he heerd your gun?” + </p> + <p> + “He'd taken a look and was going away,” said Mart. + </p> + <p> + “Now ain't some people jest odd! Now you follow me, and I'll tell you + folks what I'd figured he'd been at. Billy Moon he lived in that cabin, + yu' see. And he had his stuff there, yu, see, and run the ferry, and a + kind of a store. He kept coffee and canned goods and star-plug and this + and that to supply the prospectin' outfits that come acrosst on his ferry + on the trail to the mines. Then a cloud-burst hits his boat and his job's + spoiled on the river, and he quits for the mines, takin' his stuff along—do + you follow me? But he hed to leave some, and he give me the key, and I was + to send the balance after him next freight team that come along my way. + Leander—that's him I was kickin'—he knowed about it, and he'll + steal a hot stove he's that dumb. He knowed there was stuff here of Billy + Moon's. Well, last night we hed some horses stray, and I says to him, + 'Andy, you get up by daylight and find them.' And he gits. But by seven + the horses come in all right of theirselves, and Mr. Leander he was + missin'; and says I to myself, 'I'll ketch you, yu' blamed hobo.' And I + thought I had ketched him, yu' see. Weren't that reasonable of me? + Wouldn't any of you folks hev drawed that conclusion?” The man had fallen + into a wheedling tone as he studied their faces. “Jest put yourselves in + my place,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Then what was he after?” said Mart. + </p> + <p> + “Stealin'. But he figured he'd come again.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't like my gun much.” + </p> + <p> + “Guns always skeers him when he don't know the parties shootin'. That's + his dumbness. Maybe he thought I was after him; he's jest that + distrustful. Begosh! we'll have the laugh on him when he finds he run from + a little girl.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't wait to see who he was running from,” said Mart. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he didn't. Andy hears your gun and he don't inquire further, + but hits the first hole he kin crawl into. That's Andy! That's the kind of + boy I hev to work for me. All the good ones goes where you're goin', where + the grain grows without irrigation and the blacktail deer comes out on the + hill and asks yu' to shoot 'em for dinner. Who's ready for the bottom? If + I stay talkin' the sun'll go down on us. Don't yu' let me get started + agin. Just you shet me off twiced anyway each twenty-four hours.” + </p> + <p> + He began to descend with his pack-horse and the first load. All afternoon + they went up and down over the hot bare face of the hill, until the + baggage, heavy and light, was transported and dropped piecemeal on the + shore. The torn-out insides of their home littered the stones with + familiar shapes and colors, and Nancy played among them, visiting each + parcel and folded thing. + </p> + <p> + “There's the red table-cover!” she exclaimed, “and the big coffee-grinder. + And there's our table, and the hole Mart burned in it.” She took a long + look at this. “Oh, how I wish I could see our pump!” she said, and began + to cry. + </p> + <p> + “You talk to her, mother,” said Clallam. “She's tuckered out.” + </p> + <p> + The men returned to bring the wagon. With chain-locked wheels, and tilted + half over by the cross slant of the mountain, it came heavily down, + reeling and sliding on the slippery yellow weeds, and grinding deep ruts + across the faces of the shelving beds of gravel. Jake guided it as he + could, straining back on the bits of the two hunched horses when their + hoofs glanced from the stones that rolled to the bottom; and the others + leaned their weight on a pole lodged between the spokes, making a balance + to the wagon, for it leaned the other way so far that at any jolt the two + wheels left the ground. When it was safe at the level of the stream, dusk + had come and a white flat of mist lay along the river, striping its course + among the gaunt hills. They slept without moving, and rose early to cut + logs, which the horses dragged to the shore. The outside trunks were + nailed and lashed with ropes, and sank almost below the surface with the + weight of the wood fastened crosswise on top. But the whole floated dry + with its cargo, and crossed clumsily on the quick-wrinkled current. Then + it brought the wagon; and the six horses swam. The force of the river had + landed them below the cabin, and when they had repacked there was too + little left of day to go on. Clallam suggested it was a good time to take + Moon's leavings over to the Okanagon, but Wild-Goose Jake said at once + that their load was heavy enough; and about this they could not change his + mind. He made a journey to the cabin by himself, and returned saying that + he had managed to lock the door. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Mart, as they were harnessing next day, “I've been up + there. I went awful early. There's no lock to the door, and the cabin's + empty.” + </p> + <p> + “I guessed that might be.” + </p> + <p> + “There has been a lock pried off pretty lately. There was a lot of broken + bottles around everywheres, inside and out.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you make out of it?” said Mart. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing yet. He wants to get us away, and I'm with him there. I want to + get up the Okanagon as soon as we can.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm takin' yu' the soonest way,” said Wild-Goose Jake, behind them. + From his casual smile there was no telling what he had heard. “I'll put + your stuff acrosst the Okanagon to-morrow mornin'. But to-night + yourselves'll all be over, and the ladies kin sleep in my room.” + </p> + <p> + The wagon made good time. The trail crossed easy valleys and over the + yellow grass of the hills, while now and then their guide took a + short-cut. He wished to get home, he said, since there could be no + estimating what Leander might be doing. While the sun was still well up in + the sky they came over a round knob and saw the Okanagon, blue in the + bright afternoon, and the cabin on its further bank. This was a roomier + building to see than common, and a hay-field was by it, and a bit of green + pasture, fenced in. Saddle-horses were tied in front, heads hanging and + feet knuckled askew with long waiting, and from inside an uneven, riotous + din whiffled lightly across the river and intervening meadow to the hill. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll excuse me,” said Jake, “I'll jest git along ahead, and see what + game them folks is puttin' up on Andy. Likely as not he's weighin' 'em out + flour at two cents, with it costin' me two and a half on freightin' alone. + I'll hev supper ready time you ketch up.” + </p> + <p> + He was gone at once, getting away at a sharp pace, till presently they + could see him swimming the stream. When he was in the cabin the sounds + changed, dropping off to one at a time, and expired. But when the riders + came out into the air, they leaned and collided at random, whirled their + arms, and, screaming till they gathered heart, charged with wavering + menace at the door. The foremost was flung from the sill, and he shot + along toppling and scraped his length in the dust, while the owner of the + cabin stood in the entrance. The Indian picked himself up, and at some + word of Jake's which the emigrants could half follow by the fierce lift of + his arm, all got on their horses and set up a wailing, like vultures + driven off. They went up the river a little and crossed, but did not come + down this side, and Mrs. Clallam was thankful when their evil noise had + died away up the valley. They had seen the wagon coming, but gave it no + attention. A man soon came over the river from the cabin, and was lounging + against a tree when the emigrants drew up at the margin. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you know,” he whined defiantly from the tree, “but I'm + goin' to Cornwall, Connecticut, and I don't care who knows it.” He sent a + cowed look at the cabin across the river. + </p> + <p> + “Get out of the wagon, Nancy,” said Clallam. “Mart, help her down.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going back,” said the man, blinking like a scolded dog. “I ain't + stayin' here for nobody. You can tell him I said so, too.” Again his eye + slunk sidewise towards the cabin, and instantly back. + </p> + <p> + “While you're staying,” said Mart, “you might as well give a hand here.” + </p> + <p> + He came with alacrity, and made a shift of unhitching the horses. “I was + better off coupling freight cars on the Housatonic,” he soon remarked. His + voice came shallow, from no deeper than his throat, and a peevish + apprehension rattled through it. “That was a good job. And I've had + better, too; forty, fifty, sixty dollars better.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we unpack the wagon?” Clallam inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. You ever been to New Milford? I sold shoes there. + Thirty-five dollars and board.” + </p> + <p> + The emigrants attended to their affairs, watering the horses and driving + picket stakes. Leander uselessly followed behind them with conversation, + blinking and with lower lip sagged, showing a couple of teeth. “My + brother's in business in Pittsfield, Massachusetts,” said he, “and I can + get a salary in Bridgeport any day I say so. That a Marlin?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mart. “It's a Winchester.” + </p> + <p> + “I had a Marlin. He's took it from me. I'll bet you never got shot at.” + </p> + <p> + “Anybody want to shoot you?” Mart inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Well and I guess you'll believe they did day before yesterday” + </p> + <p> + “If you're talking about up at that cabin, it was me.” + </p> + <p> + Leander gave Mart a leer. “That won't do,” said he. “He's put you up to + telling me that, and I'm going to Cornwall, Connecticut. I know what's + good for me, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you we were looking for the ferry, and I signalled you across the + river.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Leander. “I never seen you in my life. Don't you be like + him and take me for a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Why did they want to murder you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said the man, shrilly. “Why? Hadn't they broke in and filled + themselves up on his piah-chuck till they were crazy-drunk? And when I + came along didn't they—” + </p> + <p> + “When you came along they were nowhere near there,” said Mart. + </p> + <p> + “Now you're going to claim it was me drunk it and scattered all them + bottles of his,” screamed Leander, backing away. “I tell you I didn't. I + told him I didn't, and he knowed it well, too. But he's just that mean + when he's mad he likes to put a thing on me whether or no, when he never + seen me touch a drop of whiskey, nor any one else, neither. They were + riding and shooting loose over the country like they always do on a drunk. + And I'm glad they stole his stuff. What business had he to keep it at + Billy Moon's old cabin and send me away up there to see it was all right? + Let him do his own dirty work. I ain't going to break the laws on the + salary he pays me.” + </p> + <p> + The Clallam family had gathered round Leander, who was stricken with + volubility. “It ain't once in a while, but it's every day and every week,” + he went on, always in a woolly scream. “And the longer he ain't caught the + bolder he gets, and puts everything that goes wrong on to me. Was it me + traded them for that liquor this afternoon? It was his squaw, Big Tracks, + and he knowed it well. He lets that mud-faced baboon run the house when + he's off, and I don't have the keys nor nothing, and never did have. But + of course he had to come in and say it was me just because he was mad + about having you see them Siwashes hollering around. And he come and shook + me where I was sittin', and oh, my, he knowed well the lie he was acting. + I bet I've got the marks on my neck now. See any red marks?” Leander + exhibited the back of his head, but the violence done him had evidently + been fleeting. “He'll be awful good to you, for he's that scared—” + </p> + <p> + Leander stood tremulously straight in silence, his lip sagging, as + Wild-Goose Jake called pleasantly from the other bank. “Come to supper, + you folks,” said he. “Why, Andy, I told you to bring them across, and + you've let them picket their horses. Was you expectin' Mrs. Clallam to + take your arm and ford six feet of water?” For some reason his voice + sounded kind as he spoke to his assistant. + </p> + <p> + “Well, mother?” said Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “If it was not for Nancy, John—” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know. Out on the shore here on this side would be a pleasanter + bedroom for you, but” (he looked up the valley) “I guess our friend's plan + is more sensible to-night.” + </p> + <p> + So they decided to leave the wagon behind and cross to the cabin. The + horses put them with not much wetting to the other bank, where Jake, most + eager and friendly, hovered to meet his party, and when they were safe + ashore pervaded his premises in their behalf. + </p> + <p> + “Turn them horses into the pasture, Andy,” said he, “and first feed 'em a + couple of quarts.” It may have been hearing himself say this, but tone and + voice dropped to the confidential and his sentences came with a chuckle. + “Quarts to the horses and quarts to the Siwashes and a skookum pack of + trouble all round, Mrs. Clallam! If I hedn't a-came to stop it a while + ago, why about all the spirits that's in stock jest now was bein' traded + off for some blamed ponies the bears hev let hobble on the range + unswallered ever since I settled here. A store on a trail like this here, + ye see, it hez to keep spirits, of course; and—well, well! here's my + room; you ladies'll excuse, and make yourselves at home as well as you + can.” + </p> + <p> + It was of a surprising neatness, due all to him, they presently saw; the + log walls covered with a sort of bunting that was also stretched across to + make a ceiling below the shingles of the roof; fresh soap and towels, + china service, a clean floor and bed, on the wall a print of some white + and red village among elms, with a covered bridge and the water running + over an apron-dam just above; and a rich smell of whiskey everywhere. “Fix + up as comfortable as yu' can,” the host repeated, “and I'll see how Mrs. + Jake's tossin' the flapjacks. She's Injun, yu' know, and five years of + married life hadn't learned her to toss flapjacks. Now if I was you” (he + was lingering in the doorway) “I wouldn't shet that winder so quick. It + don't smell nice yet for ladies in here, and I'd hev liked to git the time + to do better for ye; but them Siwashes—well, of course, you folks + see how it is. Maybe it ain't always and only white men that patronizes + our goods. Uncle Sam is a long way off, and I don't say we'd ought to, but + when the cat's away, why the mice will, ye know—they most always + will.” + </p> + <p> + There was a rattle of boards outside, at which he shut the door quickly, + and they heard him run. A light muttering came in at the window, and the + mother, peeping out, saw Andy fallen among a rubbish of crates and empty + cans, where he lay staring, while his two fists beat up and down like a + disordered toy. Wild-Goose Jake came, and having lifted him with great + tenderness, was laying him flat as Elizabeth Clallam hurried to his help. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am,” he sighed, “you can't do nothing, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Just let me go over and get our medicines.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am,” said Jake, and the pain on his face was miserable to + see; “there ain't no medicine. We're kind of used to this, Andy and me. + Maybe, if you wouldn't mind stayin' till he comes to—Why, a sick man + takes comfort at the sight of a lady.” + </p> + <p> + When the fit had passed they helped him to his feet, and Jake led him + away. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Jake made her first appearance upon the guests sitting down to their + meal, when she waited on table, passing busily forth from the kitchen with + her dishes. She had but three or four English words, and her best years + were plainly behind her; but her cooking was good, fried and boiled with + sticks of her own chopping, and she served with industry. Indeed, a squaw + is one of the few species of the domestic wife that survive today upon our + continent. Andy seemed now to keep all his dislike for her, and followed + her with a scowling eye, while he frequented Jake, drawing a chair to sit + next him when he smoked by the wall after supper, and sometimes watching + him with a sort of clouded affection upon his face. He did not talk, and + the seizure had evidently jarred his mind as well as his frame. When the + squaw was about lighting a lamp he brushed her arm in a childish way so + that the match went out, and set him laughing. She poured out a harangue + in Chinook, showing the dead match to Jake, who rose and gravely lighted + the lamp himself, Andy laughing more than ever. When Mrs. Clallam had + taken Nancy with her to bed, Jake walked John Clallam to the river-bank, + and looking up and down, spoke a little of his real mind. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you see how it is with me. Anyway, I don't commonly hev use for + stranger-folks in this house. But that little girl of yourn started cryin' + about not havin' the pump along that she'd been used to seein' in the yard + at home. And I says to myself, 'Look a-here, Jake, I don't care if they do + ketch on to you and yer blamed whiskey business. They're not the sort to + tell on you.' Gee! but that about the pump got me! And I says, 'Jake, + you're goin' to give them the best you hev got.' Why, that Big Bend desert + and lonesome valley of the Columbia hez chilled my heart in the days that + are gone when I weren't used to things; and the little girl hed came so + fur! And I knowed how she was a-feelin'.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and seemed to be turning matters over. + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obliged to you,” said Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “And your wife was jest beautiful about Andy. You've saw me wicked to + Andy. I am, and often, for I rile turruble quick, and God forgive me! But + when that boy gits at his meanness—yu've seen jest a touch of it—there's + scarcely livin' with him. It seems like he got reg'lar inspired. Some days + he'll lie—make up big lies to the fust man comes in at the door. + They ain't harmless, his lies ain't. Then he'll trick my woman, that's + real good to him; and I believe he'd lick whiskey up off the dirt. And + every drop is poison for him with his complaint. But I'd ought to + remember. You'd surely think I could remember, and forbear. Most likely he + made a big talk to you about that cabin.” + </p> + <p> + John Clallam told him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's all true, for onced. I did think he'd been up to stealin' + that whiskey gradual, 'stead of fishin', the times he was out all day. And + the salary I give him”—Jake laughed a little—“ain't enough to + justify a man's breaking the law. I did take his rifle away when he tried + to shoot my woman. I guess it was Siwashes bruck into that cabin.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm pretty certain of it,” said Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “You? What makes you?” + </p> + <p> + John began the tale of the galloping dots, and Jake stopped walking to + listen the harder. “Yes,” he said; “that's bad. That's jest bad. They hev + carried a lot off to drink. That's the worst.” + </p> + <p> + He had little to say after this, but talked under his tongue as they went + to the house, where he offered a bed to Clallam and Mart. They would not + turn him out, so he showed them over to a haystack, where they crawled in + and went to sleep. + </p> + <p> + Most white men know when they have had enough whiskey. Most Indians do + not. This is a difference between the races of which government has taken + notice. Government says that “no ardent spirits shall be introduced under + any presence into the Indian country.” It also says that the white man who + attempts to break this law “shall be punished by imprisonment for not more + than two years and by a fine of not more than three hundred dollars.” It + further says that if any superintendent of Indian affairs has reason to + suspect a man, he may cause the “boats, stores, packages, wagons, sleds, + and places of deposit” of such person to be searched, and if ardent + spirits be found it shall be forfeit, together with the boats and all + other substances with it connected, one half to the informer and the other + half to the use of the United States. The courts and all legal machines + necessary for trial and punishment of offenders are oiled and ready; two + years is a long while in jail; three hundred dollars and confiscation + sounds heavy; altogether the penalty looks severe on the printed page—and + all the while there's no brisker success in our far West than selling + whiskey to Indians. Very few people know what the whiskey is made of, and + the Indian does not care. He drinks till he drops senseless. If he has + killed nobody and nobody him during the process, it is a good thing, for + then the matter ends with his getting sober and going home to his tent + till such happy time when he can put his hand on some further possession + to trade away. The white offender is caught now and then; but Okanagon + County lies pretty snug from the arm of the law. It's against Canada to + the north, and the empty county of Stevens to the east; south of it rushes + the Columbia, with the naked horrible Big Bend beyond, and to its west + rises a domain of unfooted mountains. There is law up in the top of it at + Conconully sometimes, but not much even to-day, for that is still a new + country, where flow the Methow, the Ashinola, and the Similikameen. + </p> + <p> + Consequently a cabin like Wild-Goose Jake's was a holiday place. The + blanketed denizens of the reservation crossed to it, and the citizens who + had neighboring cabins along the trail repaired here to spend what money + they had. As Mrs. Clallam lay in her bed she heard customers arrive. Two + or three loud voices spoke in English, and several Indians and squaws + seemed to be with the party, bantering in Chinook. The visitors were in + too strong force for Jake's word about coming some other night to be of + any avail. + </p> + <p> + “Open your cellar and quit your talk,” Elizabeth heard, and next she heard + some door that stuck, pulled open with a shriek of the warped timber. Next + they were gambling, and made not much noise over it at first; but the + Indians in due time began to lose to the soberer whites, becoming + quarrelsome, and raising a clumsy disturbance, though it was plain the + whites had their own way and were feared. The voices rose, and soon there + was no moment that several were not shouting curses at once, till Mrs. + Clallam stopped her ears. She was still for a time, hearing only in a + muffled way, when all at once the smell of drink and tobacco, that had + sifted only a little through the cracks, grew heavy in the room, and she + felt Nancy shrink close to her side. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, mother,” the child whispered, “what's that?” + </p> + <p> + It had gone beyond card-playing with the company in the saloon; they + seemed now to be having a savage horse-play, those on their feet tramping + in their scuffles upon others on the floor, who bellowed incoherently. + Elizabeth Clallam took Nancy in her arms and told her that nobody would + come where they were. + </p> + <p> + But the child was shaking. “Yes, they will,” she whispered, in terror. + “They are!” And she began a tearless sobbing, holding her mother with her + whole strength. + </p> + <p> + A little sound came close by the bed, and Elizabeth's senses stopped so + that for half a minute she could not stir. She stayed rigid beneath the + quilt, and Nancy clung to her. Something was moving over the floor. It + came quite near, but turned, and its slight rustle crawled away towards + the window. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that?” demanded Mrs. Clallam, sitting up. + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, but the slow creeping continued, always close along + the floor, like the folds of stuff rubbing, and hands feeling their way in + short slides against the boards. She had no way to find where her husband + was sleeping, and while she thought of this and whether or not to rush out + at the door, the table was gently shaken, there was a drawer opened, and + some object fell. + </p> + <p> + “Only a thief,” she said to herself, and in a sort of sharp joy cried out + her question again. + </p> + <p> + The singular broken voice of a woman answered, seemingly in fear. + “Match-es,” it said; and “Match-es” said a second voice, pronouncing with + difficulty, like the first. She knew it was some of the squaws, and sprang + from the bed, asking what they were doing there. “Match-es,” they + murmured; and when she had struck a light she saw how the two were + cringing, their blankets huddled round them. Their motionless black eyes + looked up at her from the floor where they lay sprawled, making no offer + to get up. It was clear to her from the pleading fear in the one word they + answered to whatever she said, that they had come here to hide from the + fury of the next room; and as she stood listening to this she would have + let them remain, but their escape had been noticed. A man burst into the + room, and at sight of her and Nancy stopped, and was blundering excuses, + when Jake caught his arm and had dragged him almost out, but he saw the + two on the floor; at this, getting himself free, he half swept the + crouching figures with his boot as they fled out of the room, and the door + was swung shut. Mrs. Clallam heard his violent words to the squaws for + daring to disturb the strangers, and there followed the heavy lashing of a + quirt, with screams and lamenting. No trouble came from the Indian + husbands, for they were stupefied on the ground, and when their + intelligences quickened enough for them to move, the punishment was long + over and no one in the house awake but Elizabeth and Nancy, seated + together in their bed, watching for the day. Mother and daughter heard + them rise to go out one by one, and the hoof-beats of their horses grew + distant up and down the river. As the rustling trees lighted and turned + transparent in the rising sun, Jake roused those that remained and got + them away. Later he knocked at the door. + </p> + <p> + “I hev a little raft fixed this morning,” said he, “and I guess we can + swim the wagon over here.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever's quickest to take us from this place,” Elizabeth answered. + </p> + <p> + “Breakfast'll be ready, ma'am, whenever you say.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready now. I shall want to start ferrying our things—Where's + Mr. Clallam? Tell him to come here.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, ma'am. I'm sorry—” + </p> + <p> + “Tell Mr. Clallam to come here, please.” + </p> + <p> + John had slept sound in his haystack, and heard nothing. “Well,” he said, + after comforting his wife and Nancy, “you were better off in the room, + anyway. I'd not blame him so, Liza. How was he going to help it?” + </p> + <p> + But Elizabeth was a woman, and just now saw one thing alone: if selling + whiskey led to such things in this country, the man who sold it was much + worse than any mere law-breaker. John Clallam, being now a long time + married, made no argument. He was looking absently at the open drawer of a + table. “That's queer,” he said, and picked up a tintype. + </p> + <p> + She had no curiosity for anything in that room, and he laid it in the + drawer again, his thoughts being taken up with the next step of their + journey, and what might be coming to them all. + </p> + <p> + During breakfast Jake was humble about the fright the ladies had received + in his house, explaining how he thought he had acted for the best; at + which Clallam and Mart said that in a rough country folks must look for + rough doings, and get along as well as they can; but Elizabeth said + nothing. The little raft took all but Nancy over the river to the wagon, + where they set about dividing their belongings in loads that could be + floated back, one at a time, and Jake returned to repair some of the + disorder that remained from the night at the cabin. John and Mart poled + the first cargo across, and while they were on the other side, Elizabeth + looked out of the wagon, where she was working alone, and saw five Indian + riders coming down the valley. The dust hung in the air they had rushed + through, and they swung apart and closed again as she had seen before; so + she looked for a rifle; but the firearms had gone over the Okanagon with + the first load. She got down and stood at the front wheel of the wagon, + confronting the riders when they pulled up their horses. One climbed + unsteadily from his saddle and swayed towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Drink!” said he, half friendly, and held out a bottle. + </p> + <p> + Elizabeth shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Drink,” he grunted again, pushing the bottle at her. “Piah-chuck! + Skookurn!” He had a slugglish animal grin, and when she drew back, tipped + the bottle into his mouth, and directly choked, so that his friends on + their horses laughed loud as he stood coughing. “Heap good,” he remarked, + looking at Elizabeth, who watched his eyes swim with the plot of the + drink. “Where you come back?” he inquired, touching the wagon. “You cross + Okanagon? Me cross you; cross horses; cross all. Heap cheap. What yes?” + </p> + <p> + The others nodded. “Heap cheap,” they said. + </p> + <p> + “We don't want you,” said Elizabeth. + </p> + <p> + “No cross? Maybe he going cross you? What yes?” + </p> + <p> + Again Elizabeth nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe he Jake?” pursued the Indian. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is. We don't want you.” + </p> + <p> + “We cross you all same. He not.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian spoke loud and thick, and Elizabeth looked over the river where + her husband was running with a rifle, and Jake behind him, holding a + warning hand on his arm. Jake called across to the Indians, who listened + sullenly, but got on their horses and went up the river. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Jake to Clallam, “they ain't gone. Get your wife over here so + she kin set in my room till I see what kin be done.” + </p> + <p> + John left him at once, and crossed on the raft. His wife was stepping on + it, when the noise and flight of riders descended along the other bank, + where Jake was waiting. They went in a circle, with hoarse shouts, round + the cabin as Mart with Nancy came from the pasture. The boy no sooner saw + them than he caught his sister up and carried her quickly away among the + corrals and sheds, where the two went out of sight. + </p> + <p> + “You stay here, Liza,” her husband said. “I'll go back over.” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Clallam laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Get ashore,” he cried to her. “Quick!” + </p> + <p> + “Where you go, I go, John.” + </p> + <p> + “What good, what good, in the name—” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll get myself over,” said she. And he seized her as she would have + jumped into the stream. + </p> + <p> + While they crossed, the Indians had tied their horses and rambled into the + cabin. Jake came from it to stop the Clallams. + </p> + <p> + “They're after your contract,” said he, quietly. “They say they're going + to have the job of takin' the balance of your stuff that's left acrosst + the Okanagon over to this side.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” asked Mrs. Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “I set 'em up drinks to gain time.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want me there?” said Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “Begosh, no! That would mix things worse.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you make them go away?” Elizabeth inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Me and them, ye see, ma'am, we hev a sort of bargain they're to git + certain ferryin'. I can't make 'em savvy how I took charge of you. If you + want them—” He paused. + </p> + <p> + “We want them!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “If you're joking, it's a poor joke.” + </p> + <p> + “It ain't no joke at all, ma'am.” Jake's face grew brooding. “Of course + folks kin say who they'll be ferried by. And you may believe I'd rather do + it. I didn't look for jest this complication; but maybe I kin steer + through; and it's myself I've got to thank. Of course, if them Siwashes + did git your job, they'd sober up gittin' ready. And—” + </p> + <p> + The emigrants waited, but he did not go on with what was in his mind. + “It's all right,” said he, in a brisk tone. “Whatever's a-comin's + a-comin'.” He turned abruptly towards the door. “Keep yerselves away jest + now,” he added, and went inside. + </p> + <p> + The parents sought their children, finding Mart had concealed Nancy in the + haystack. They put Mrs. Clallam also in a protected place, as a loud + altercation seemed to be rising at the cabin; this grew as they listened, + and Jake's squaw came running to hide herself. She could tell them + nothing, nor make them understand more than they knew; but she touched + John's rifle, signing to know if it were loaded, and was greatly relieved + when he showed her the magazine full of cartridges. The quarrelling had + fallen silent, but rose in a new gust of fierceness, sounding as if in the + open air and coming their way. No Indian appeared, however, and the noise + passed to the river, where the emigrants soon could hear wood being split + in pieces. + </p> + <p> + John risked a survey. “It's the raft,” he said. “They're smashing it. Now + they're going back. Stay with the children, Liza.” + </p> + <p> + “You're never going to that cabin?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “He's in a scrape, mother.” + </p> + <p> + John started away, heedless of his wife's despair. At his coming the + Indians shouted and surrounded him, while he heard Jake say, “Drop your + gun and drink with them.” + </p> + <p> + “Drink!” said Andy, laughing with the same screech he had made at the + match going out. “We re all going to Canaan, Connecticut.” + </p> + <p> + Each Indian held a tin cup, and at the instant these were emptied they + were thrust towards Jake, who filled them again, going and coming through + a door that led a step or two down into a dark place which was half + underground. Once he was not quick, or was imagined to be refusing, for an + Indian raised his cup and drunkenly dashed it on Jake's head. Jake laughed + good-humoredly, and filled the cup. + </p> + <p> + “It's our one chance,” said he to John as the Indian, propping himself by + a hand on the wall, offered the whiskey to Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “We cross you Okanagon,” he said. “What yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you say no?” said another, pressing the emigrant to the wall. + </p> + <p> + A third interfered, saying something in their language, at which the other + two disagreed. They talked a moment with threatening rage till suddenly + all drew pistols. At this the two remaining stumbled among the group, and + a shot went into the roof. Jake was there in one step with a keg, that + they no sooner saw than they fell upon it, and the liquor jetted out as + they clinched, wrestling over the room till one lay on his back with his + mouth at the open bung. It was wrenched from him, and directly there was + not a drop more in it. They tilted it, and when none ran out, flung the + keg out of doors and crowded to the door of the dark place, where Jake + barred the way. “Don't take to that yet!” he said to Clallam, for John was + lifting his rifle. + </p> + <p> + “Piah-chuck!” yelled the Indians, scarcely able to stand. All other + thought had left them, and a new thought came to Jake. He reached for a + fresh keg, while they held their tin cups in the left hand and pistols in + the right, pushing so it was a slow matter to get the keg opened. They + were fast nearing the sodden stage, and one sank on the floor. Jake + glanced in at the door behind him, and filled the cups once again. While + all were drinking he went in the store-room and set more liquor open, + beckoning them to come as they looked up from the rims to which their lips + had been glued. They moved round behind the table, grasping it to keep on + their feet, with the one on the floor crawling among the legs of the rest. + When they were all inside, Jake leaped out and locked the door. + </p> + <p> + “They kin sleep now,” said he. “Gunpowder won't be needed. Keep wide away + from in front.” + </p> + <p> + There was a minute of stillness within, and then a groveling noise and + struggle. A couple of bullets came harmless through the door. Those inside + fought together as well as they could, while those outside listened as it + grew less, the bodies falling stupefied without further sound of rising. + One or two, still active, began striking at the boards with what heavy + thing they could find, until suddenly the blade of an axe crashed through. + </p> + <p> + “Keep away!” cried Jake. But Andy had leaped insanely in front of the + door, and fell dead with a bullet through him. With a terrible scream, + Jake flung himself at the place, and poured six shots through the panel; + then, as Clallam caught him, wrenched at the lock, and they saw inside. + Whiskey and blood dripped together, and no one was moving there. It was + liquor with some, and death with others, and all of it lay upon the guilty + soul of Jake. + </p> + <p> + “You deserve killing yourself,” said Clallam. + </p> + <p> + “That's been attended to,” replied Jake, and he reeled, for during his + fire some Indian had shot once more. + </p> + <p> + Clallam supported him to the room where his wife and Nancy had passed the + night, and laid him on the bed. “I'll get Mrs. Clallam,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “If she'll be willin' to see me,” said the wounded man, humbly. + </p> + <p> + She came, dazed beyond feeling any horror, or even any joy, and she did + what she could. + </p> + <p> + “It was seein' 'em hit Andy,” said Jake. “Is Andy gone? Yes, I kin tell + he's gone from your face.” He shut his eyes, and lay still so long a time + that they thought he might be dying now; but he moved at length, and + looked slowly round the wall till he saw the print of the village among + the elms and the covered bridge. His hand lifted to show them this. + “That's the road,” said he. “Andy and me used to go fishin' acrosst that + bridge. Did you ever see the Housatonic River? I've fished a lot there. + Cornwall, Connecticut. The hills are pretty there. Then Andy got worse. + You look in that drawer.” John remembered, and when he got out the + tintype, Jake stretched for it eagerly. “His mother and him, age ten,” he + explained to Elizabeth, and held it for her to see, then studied the faces + in silence. “You kin tell it's Andy, can't yu'?” She told him yes. “That + was before we knowed he weren't—weren't goin' to grow up like the + other boys he played with. So after a while, when she was gone, I got + ashamed seein' Andy's friends makin' their way when he couldn't seem to, + and so I took him away where nobody hed ever been acquainted with us. I + was layin' money by to get him the best doctor in Europe. I 'ain't been a + good man.” + </p> + <p> + A faintness mastered him, and Elizabeth would have put the picture on the + table, but his hand closed round it. They let him lie so, and Elizabeth + sat there, while John, with Mart, kept Nancy away till the horror in the + outer room was made invisible. They came and went quietly, and Jake seemed + in a deepening torpor, once only rousing suddenly to call his son's name, + and then, upon looking from one to the other, he recollected, and his eyes + closed again. His mind wandered, but very little, for torpor seemed to be + overcoming him. The squaw had stolen in, and sat cowering and useless. + Towards sundown John's heart sickened at the sound of more horsemen; but + it was only two white men, a sheriff and his deputy. + </p> + <p> + “Go easy,” said John. “He's not going to resist.” + </p> + <p> + “What's up here, anyway? Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + Clallam explained, and was evidently not so much as half believed. + </p> + <p> + “If there are Indians killed,” said the sheriff, “there's still another + matter for the law to settle with him. We're sent to search for whiskey. + The county's about tired of him.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll find him pretty sick,” said John. + </p> + <p> + “People I find always are pretty sick,” said the sheriff, and pushed his + way in, stopping at sight of Mrs. Clallam and the figure on the bed. “I'm + arresting that man, madam,” he said, with a shade of apology. “The county + court wants him.” + </p> + <p> + Jake sat up and knew the sheriff. “You're a little late, Proctor,” said + he. “The Supreme Court's a-goin' to call my case.” Then he fell back, for + his case had been called. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Hank's Woman + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + Many fish were still in the pool; and though luck seemed to have left me, + still I stood at the end of the point, casting and casting my vain line, + while the Virginian lay and watched. Noonday's extreme brightness had left + the river and the plain in cooling shadow, but spread and glowed over the + yet undimmed mountains. Westward, the Tetons lifted their peaks pale and + keen as steel through the high, radiant air. Deep down between the blue + gashes of their canons the sun sank long shafts of light, and the glazed + laps of their snow-fields shone separate and white upon their lofty + vastness, like handkerchiefs laid out to dry. Opposite, above the valley, + rose that other range, the Continental Divide, not sharp, but long and + ample. It was bare in some high places, and below these it stretched + everywhere, high and low, in brown and yellow parks, or in purple miles of + pine a world of serene undulations, a great sweet country of silence. + </p> + <p> + A passing band of antelope stood herded suddenly together at sight of us; + then a little breeze blew for a moment from us to them, and they drifted + like phantoms away, and were lost in the levels of the sage-brush. + </p> + <p> + “If humans could do like that,” said the Virginian, watching them go. + </p> + <p> + “Run, you mean?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Tell a foe by the smell of him,” explained the cow-puncher; “at fifty + yards—or a mile.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said; “men would be hard to catch.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman needs it most,” he murmured. He lay down again in his lounging + sprawl, with his grave eyes intently fixed upon my fly-casting. + </p> + <p> + The gradual day mounted up the hills farther from the floor of earth. Warm + airs eddied in its wake slowly, stirring the scents of the plain together. + I looked at the Southerner; and there was no guessing what his thoughts + might be at work upon behind that drowsy glance. Then for a moment a trout + rose, but only to look and whip down again into the pool that wedged its + calm into the riffle from below. + </p> + <p> + “Second thoughts,” mused the Virginian; and as the trout came no more, + “Second thoughts,” he repeated; “and even a fish will have them sooner + than folks has them in this mighty hasty country.” And he rolled over into + a new position of ease. + </p> + <p> + At whom or what was he aiming these shafts of truth? Or did he moralize + merely because health and the weather had steeped him in that serenity + which lifts us among the spheres? Well, sometimes he went on from these + beginnings and told me wonderful things. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon,” said he, presently, “that knowing when to change your mind + would be pretty near knowledge enough for plain people.” + </p> + <p> + Since my acquaintance with him—this was the second summer of it—I + had come to understand him enough to know that he was unfathomable. Still, + for a moment it crossed my thoughts that perhaps now he was discoursing + about himself. He had allowed a jealous foreman to fall out with him at + Sunk Creek ranch in the spring, during Judge Henry's absence. The man, + having a brief authority, parted with him. The Southerner had chosen that + this should be the means of ultimately getting the foreman dismissed and + himself recalled. It was strategic. As he put it to me: “When I am gone, + it will be right easy for the Judge to see which of us two he wants. And + I'll not have done any talking.” All of which duly befell in the autumn as + he had planned: the foreman was sent off, his assistant promoted, and the + Virginian again hired. But this was meanwhile. He was indulging himself in + a several months' drifting, and while thus drifting he had written to me. + That is how we two came to be on our way from the railroad to hunt the elk + and the mountain-sheep, and were pausing to fish where Buffalo Fork joins + its waters with Snake River. In those days the antelope still ran there in + hundreds, the Yellowstone Park was a new thing, and mankind lived very far + away. Since meeting me with the horses in Idaho the Virginian had been + silent, even for him. So now I stood casting my fly, and trusting that he + was not troubled with second thoughts over his strategy. + </p> + <p> + “Have yu' studded much about marriage?” he now inquired. His serious eyes + met mine as he lay stretched along the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Not much,” I said; “not very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's swim,” he said. “They have changed their minds.” + </p> + <p> + Forthwith we shook off our boots and dropped our few clothes, and heedless + of what fish we might now drive away, we went into the cool, slow, deep + breadth of backwater which the bend makes just there. As he came up near + me, shaking his head of black hair, the cowpuncher was smiling a little. + </p> + <p> + “Not that any number of baths,” he remarked, “would conceal a man's + objectionableness from an antelope—not even a she-one.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went under water, and came up again a long way off. + </p> + <p> + We dried before the fire, without haste. To need no clothes is better than + purple and fine linen. Then he tossed the flap-jacks, and I served the + trout, and after this we lay on our backs upon a buffalo-hide to smoke and + watch the Tetons grow more solemn, as the large stars opened out over the + sky. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care if I never go home,” said I. + </p> + <p> + The Virginian nodded. “It gives all the peace o' being asleep with all the + pleasure o' feeling the widest kind of awake,” said he. “Yu' might say the + whole year's strength flows hearty in every waggle of your thumb.” We lay + still for a while. “How many things surprise yu' any more?” he next asked. + </p> + <p> + I began considering; but his silence had at length worked round to speech. + </p> + <p> + “Inventions, of course,” said he, “these hyeh telephones an' truck yu' see + so much about in the papers—but I ain't speaking o' such things of + the brain. It is just the common things I mean. The things that a livin', + noticin' man is liable to see and maybe sample for himself. How many o' + them kind can surprise yu' still?” + </p> + <p> + I still considered. + </p> + <p> + “Most everything surprised me onced,” the cow-puncher continued, in his + gentle Southern voice. “I must have been a mighty green boy. Till I was + fourteen or fifteen I expect I was astonished by ten o'clock every + morning. But a man begins to ketch on to folks and things after a while. I + don't consideh that when—that afteh a man is, say twenty-five, it is + creditable he should get astonished too easy. And so yu've not examined + yourself that-away?” + </p> + <p> + I had not. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's two things anyway—I know them for sure—that I + expect will always get me—don't care if I live to thirty-five, or + forty-five, or eighty. And one's the ways lightning can strike.” He + paused. Then he got up and kicked the fire, and stood by it, staring at + me. “And the other is the people that other people will marry.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped again; and I said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “The people that other people will marry,” he repeated. “That will + surprise me till I die.” + </p> + <p> + “If my sympathy—” I began. + </p> + <p> + But the brief sound that he gave was answer enough, and more than enough + cure for my levity. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, reflectively; “not any such thing as a fam'ly for me, yet. + Never, it may be. Not till I can't help it. And that woman has not come + along so far. But I have been sorry for a woman lately. I keep thinking + what she will do. For she will have to do something. Do yu' know + Austrians? Are they quick in their feelings, like I-talians? Or are they + apt to be sluggish, same as Norwegians and them other Dutch-speakin' + races?” + </p> + <p> + I told him what little I knew about Austrians. + </p> + <p> + “This woman is the first I have ever saw of 'em,” he continued. “Of course + men will stampede into marriage in this hyeh Western country, where a + woman is a scanty thing. It ain't what Hank has done that surprises me. + And it is not on him that the sorrow will fall. For she is good. She is + very good. Do yu' remember little black Hank? From Texas he claims he is. + He was working on the main ditch over at Sunk Creek last summer when that + Em'ly hen was around. Well, seh, yu' would not have pleasured in his + company. And this year Hank is placer-mining on Galena Creek, where we'll + likely go for sheep. There's Honey Wiggin and a young fello' named Lin + McLean, and some others along with the outfit. But Hank's woman will not + look at any of them, though the McLean boy is a likely hand. I have seen + that; for I have done a right smart o' business that-a-way myself, here + and there. She will mend their clothes for them, and she will cook lunches + for them any time o' day, and her conduct gave them hopes at the start. + But I reckon Austrians have good religion.” + </p> + <p> + “No better than Americans,” said I. + </p> + <p> + But the Virginian shook his head. “Better'n what I've saw any Americans + have. Of course I am not judging a whole nation by one citizen, and + especially her a woman. And of course in them big Austrian towns the folks + has shook their virtuous sayin's loose from their daily doin's, same as we + have. I expect selling yourself brings the quickest returns to man or + woman all the world over. But I am speakin' not of towns, but of the back + country, where folks don't just merely arrive on the cyars, but come into + the world the natural way, and grow up slow. Onced a week anyway they see + the bunch of old grave-stones that marks their fam'ly. Their blood and + name are knowed about in the neighborhood, and it's not often one of such + will sell themselves. But their religion ain't to them like this woman's. + They can be rip-snortin' or'tn'ary in ways. Now she is getting naught but + hindrance and temptation and meanness from her husband and every livin' + thing around her—yet she keeps right along, nor does she mostly bear + any signs in her face. She has cert'nly come from where they are used to + believing in God and a hereafter mighty hard, and all day long. She has + got one o' them crucifixes, and Hank can't make her quit prayin' to it. + But what is she going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “He will probably leave her,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Virginian—“leave her. Alone; her money all spent; + knowin' maybe twenty words of English; and thousands of miles away from + everything she can understand. For our words and ways is all alike strange + to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did he want such a person?” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + There was surprise in the grave glance which the cow-puncher gave me. + “Why, any man would,” he answered. “I wanted her myself, till I found she + was good.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at this son of the wilderness, standing thoughtful and splendid + by the fire, and unconscious of his own religion that had unexpectedly + shone forth in these last words. But I said nothing; for words too + intimate, especially words of esteem, put him invariably to silence. + </p> + <p> + “I had forgot to mention her looks to yu'.” he pursued, simply. “She is + fit for a man.” He stopped again. + </p> + <p> + “Then there was her wages that Hank saw paid to her,” he resumed. “And so + marriage was but a little thing to Hank—agaynst such a heap of + advantages. As for her idea in takin' such as him—maybe it was that + he was small and she was big; tall and big. Or maybe it was just his white + teeth. Them ridiculous reasons will bring a woman to a man, haven't yu' + noticed? But maybe it was just her sorrowful, helpless state, left + stranded as she was, and him keeping himself near her and sober for a + week. + </p> + <p> + “I had been seein' this hyeh Yellowstone Park, takin' in its geysers, and + this and that, for my enjoyment; and when I found what they claimed about + its strange sights to be pretty near so, I landed up at Galena Creek to + watch the boys prospectin'. Honey Wiggin, yu' know, and McLean, and the + rest. And so they got me to go down with Hank to Gardner for flour and + sugar and truck, which we had to wait for. We lay around the Mammoth + Springs and Gardner for three days, playin' cyards with friends. And I got + plumb interested in them tourists. For I had partly forgot about Eastern + people. And hyeh they came fresh every day to remind a man of the great + size of his country. Most always they would talk to yu' if yu' gave 'em + the chance; and I did. I have come mighty nigh regrettin' that I did not + keep a tally of the questions them folks asked me. And as they seemed + genu-winely anxious to believe anything at all, and the worser the thing + the believinger they'd grow, why I—well, there's times when I have + got to lie to keep in good health. + </p> + <p> + “So I fooled and I fooled. And one noon I was on the front poach of the + big hotel they have opened at the Mammoth Springs for tourists, and the + hotel kid, bein' on the watchout, he sees the dust comin' up the hill, and + he yells out, 'Stage!' + </p> + <p> + “Yu've not saw that hotel yet, seh? Well, when the kid says 'Stage,' the + consequences is most sudden. About as conspicuous, yu' may say, as when + Old Faithful Geyser lets loose. Yu' see, one batch o' tourists pulls out + right after breakfast for Norris Basin, leavin' things empty and yawnin'. + By noon the whole hotel outfit has been slumberin' in its chairs steady + for three hours. Maybe yu' might hear a fly buzz, but maybe not. + Everything's liable to be restin', barrin' the kid. He's a-watchin' out. + Then he sees the dust, and he says 'Stage!' and it touches the folks off + like a hot pokeh. The Syndicate manager he lopes to a lookin'glass, and + then organizes himself behind the book; and the young photograph chap + bounces out o' his private door like one o' them cuckoo clocks; and the + fossil man claws his specimens and curiosities into shape, and the porters + line up same as parade, and away goes the piano and fiddles up-stairs. It + is mighty conspicuous. So Hank he come rennin' out from somewheres too, + and the stage drives up. + </p> + <p> + “Then out gets a tall woman, and I noticed her yello' hair. She was kind + o' dumb-eyed, yet fine to see. I reckon Hank noticed her too, right away. + And right away her trouble begins. For she was a lady's maid, and her lady + was out of the stage and roundin' her up quick. And it's 'Where have you + put the keys, Willomene?' The lady was rich and stinkin' lookin', and had + come from New Yawk in her husband's private cyar. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Willomene fussed around in her pockets, and them keys was not + there. So she started explaining in tanglefoot English to her lady how her + lady must have took them from her before leavin' the cyar. But the lady + seemed to relish hustlin' herself into a rage. She got tolerable + conspicuous, too. And after a heap o' words, 'You are discharged,' she + says; and off she struts. Soon her husband came out to Willomene, still + standin' like statuary, and he pays her a good sum of cash, and he goes + away, and she keeps a standing yet for a spell. Then all of a sudden she + says something I reckon was 'O, Jesus,' and sits down and starts a cryin'. + </p> + <p> + “I would like to have given her comfort. But we all stood around on the + hotel poach, and the right thing would not come into my haid. Then the + baggage-wagon came in from Cinnabar, and they had picked the keys up on + the road between Cinnabar and Gardner. So the lady and her toilet was + rescued, but that did no good to Willomene. They stood her trunk down + along with the rest—a brass-nailed little old concern—and + there was Willomene out of a job and afoot a long, long ways from her own + range; and so she kept sitting, and onced in a while she'd cry some more. + We got her a room in the cheap hotel where the Park drivers sleeps when + they're in at the Springs, and she acted grateful like, thanking the boys + in her tanglefoot English. Next mawnin' her folks druv off in a private + team to Norris Basin, and she seemed dazed. For I talked with her then, + and questioned her as to her wishes, but she could not say what she + wished, nor if it was East or West she would go; and I reckon she was too + stricken to have wishes. + </p> + <p> + “Our stuff for Galena Creek delayed on the railroad, and I got to know + her, and then I quit givin' Hank cause for jealousy. I kept myself with + the boys, and I played more cyards, while Hank he sca'cely played at all. + One night I came on them—Hank and Willomene—walkin' among the + pines where the road goes down the hill. Yu' should have saw that pair o' + lovers. Her big shape was plain and kind o' steadfast in the moon, and + alongside of her little black Hank! And there it was. Of course it ain't + nothing to be surprised at that a mean and triflin' man tries to seem what + he is not when he wants to please a good woman. But why does she get + fooled, when it's so plain to other folks that are not givin' it any + special thought? All the rest of the men and women at the Mammoth + understood Hank. They knowed he was a worthless proposition. And I + cert'nly relied on his gettin' back to his whiskey and openin' her eyes + that way. But he did not. I met them next evening again by the Liberty + Cap. Supposin' I'd been her brother or her mother, what use was it me + warning her? Brothers and mothers don't get believed. + </p> + <p> + “The railroad brought the stuff for Galena Creek, and Hank would not look + at it on account of his courtin'. I took it alone myself by Yancey's and + the second bridge and Miller Creek to the camp, nor I didn't tell + Willomene good-bye, for I had got disgusted at her blindness.” + </p> + <p> + The Virginian shifted his position, and jerked his overalls to a more + comfortable fit. Then he continued: + </p> + <p> + “They was married the Tuesday after at Livingston, and Hank must have been + pow'ful pleased at himself. For he gave Willomene a wedding present, with + the balance of his cash, spending his last nickel on buying her a + red-tailed parrot they had for sale at the First National Bank. The + son-of-a-gun hollad so freely at the bank, the president awde'd the + cashier to get shed of the out-ragious bird, or he would wring its neck. + </p> + <p> + “So Hank and Willomene stayed a week up in Livingston on her money, and + then he fetched her back to Gardner, and bought their grub, and bride and + groom came up to the camp we had on Galena Creek. + </p> + <p> + “She had never slep' out before. She had never been on a hawss, neither. + And she mighty near rolled off down into Pitchstone Canyon, comin' up by + the cut-off trail. Why, seh, I would not willingly take you through that + place, except yu' promised me yu' would lead your hawss when I said to. + But Hank takes the woman he had married, and he takes heavy-loaded + pack-hawsses. 'Tis the first time such a thing has been known of in the + country. Yu' remember them big tall grass-topped mountains over in the + Hoodoo country, and how they descends slam down through the cross-timber + that yu' can't scatcely work through afoot, till they pitches over into + lots an' lots o' little canyons, with maybe two inches of water runnin' in + the bottom? All that is East Fork water, and over the divide is Clark's + Fork, or Stinkin' Water, if yu' take the country yondeh to the southeast. + But any place yu' go is them undesirable steep slopes, and the cut-off + trail takes along about the worst in the business. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Hank he got his outfit over it somehow, and, gentlemen, hush! but + yu'd ought t've seen him and that poor girl pull into our camp. Yu'd + cert'nly never have conjectured them two was a weddin' journey. He was + leadin', but skewed around in his saddle to jaw back at Willomene for + riding so ignorant. Suppose it was a thing she was responsible for, yu'd + not have talked to her that-a-way even in private; and hyeh was the camp + a-lookin', and a-listenin', and some of us ashamed. She was setting + straddleways like a mountain, and between him and her went the three + packanimals, plumb shiverin' played out, and the flour—they had two + hundred pounds—tilted over hellwards, with the red-tailed parrot + shoutin' landslides in his cage tied on top o' the leanin' sacks. + </p> + <p> + “It was that mean to see, that shameless and unkind, that even a + thoughtless kid like the McLean boy felt offended, and favorable to some + sort of remonstrance. 'The son-of-a—!' he said to me. 'The son-of-a—! + If he don't stop, let's stop him.' And I reckon we might have. + </p> + <p> + “But Hank he quit. 'Twas plain to see he'd got a genu-wine scare comin' + through Pitchstone Canyon, and it turned him sour, so he'd hardly talk to + us, but just mumbled 'How!' kind o' gruff, when the boys come up to + congratulate him as to his marriage. + </p> + <p> + “But Willomene, she says when she saw me, 'Oh, I am so glad!' and we shook + hands right friendly. And I wished I'd told her good-bye that day at the + Mammoth. For she bore no spite, and maybe I had forgot her feelings in + thinkin' of my own. I had talked to her down at the Mammoth at first, yu' + know, and she said a word about old friends. Our friendship was three + weeks old that day, but I expect her new experiences looked like years to + her. And she told me how near she come to gettin' killed. + </p> + <p> + “Yu' ain't ever been over that trail, seh? Yu' cert'nly must see + Pitchstone Canyon. But we'll not go there with packs. And we will get off + our hawsses a good ways back. For many animals feels that there's + something the matter with that place, and they act very strange about it. + </p> + <p> + “The Grand Canyon is grand, and makes yu' feel good to look at it, and a + geyser is grand and all right, too. But this hyeh Pitchstone hole, if + Willomene had went down into that—well, I'll tell yu', that you may + judge. + </p> + <p> + “She seen the trail a-drawin' nearer and nearer the aidge, between the + timber and the jumpin'-off place, and she seen how them little loose + stones and the crumble stuff would slide and slide away under the hawss's + feet. She could hear the stuff rattlin' continually from his steps, and + when she turned her haid to look, she seen it goin' down close beside her, + but into what it went she could not see. Only, there was a queer steam + would come up now and agayn, and her hawss trembled. So she tried to get + off and walk without sayin' nothin' to Hank. He kep' on ahaid, and her + hawss she had pulled up started to follo' as she was half off him, and + that gave her a tumble, but there was an old crooked dead tree. It growed + right out o' the aidge. There she hung. + </p> + <p> + “Down below is a little green water tricklin', green as the stuff that + gets on brass, and tricklin' along over soft cream-colored formation, like + pie. And it ain't so far to fall but what a man might not be too much hurt + for crawlin' out. But there ain't no crawlin' out o' Pitchstone Canyon, + they say. Down in there is caves that yu' cannot see. 'Tis them that + coughs up the stream now and agayn. With the wind yu' can smell 'em a mile + away, and in the night I have been layin' quiet and heard 'em. Not that + it's a big noise, even when a man is close up. It's a fluffy kind of a + sigh. But it sounds as if some awful thing was a-makin' it deep down in + the guts of the world. They claim there's poison air comes out o' the + caves and lays low along the water. They claim if a bear or an elk strays + in from below, and the caves sets up their coughin', which they don't + regular every day, the animals die. I have seen it come in two seconds. + And when it comes that-a-way risin' upon yu' with that fluffy kind of a + sigh, yu' feel mighty lonesome, seh. + </p> + <p> + “So Hank he happened to look back and see Willomene hangin' at the aidge + o' them black rocks. And his scare made him mad. And his mad stayed with + him till they come into camp. She looked around, and when she seen Hank's + tent that him and her was to sleep in she showed surprise. And he showed + surprise when he see the bread she cooked. + </p> + <p> + “'What kind of a Dutch woman are yu',' says he, strainin' for a joke, 'if + yu' can't use a Dutch-oven?' + </p> + <p> + “'You say to me you have a house to live in,' says Willomene. 'Where is + that house?' + </p> + <p> + “'I did not figure on gettin' a woman when I left camp,' says Hank, + grinnin', but not pleasant, 'or I'd have hurried up with the shack I'm a + buildin'.' + </p> + <p> + “He was buildin' one. When I left Galena Creek and come away from that + country to meet you, the house was finished enough for the couple to move + in. I hefted her brass-nailed trunk up the hill from their tent myself, + and I watched her take out her crucifix. But she would not let me help her + with that. She'd not let me touch it. She'd fixed it up agaynst the wall + her own self her own way. But she accepted some flowers I picked, and set + them in a can front of the crucifix. Then Hank he come in, and seein', + says to me, 'Are you one of the kind that squats before them silly dolls?' + 'I would tell yu', I answered him; 'but it would not inter-est yu'.' And I + cleared out, and left him and Willomene to begin their housekeepin'. + </p> + <p> + “Already they had quit havin' much to say to each other down in their + tent. The only steady talkin' done in that house was done by the parrot. + I've never saw any go ahaid of that bird. I have told yu' about Hank, and + how when he'd come home and see her prayin' to that crucifix he'd always + get riled up. He would mention it freely to the boys. Not that she + neglected him, yu' know. She done her part, workin' mighty hard, for she + was a willin' woman. But he could not make her quit her religion; and + Willomene she had got to bein' very silent before I come away. She used to + talk to me some at first, but she dropped it. I don't know why. I expect + maybe it was hard for her to have us that close in camp, witnessin' her + troubles every day, and she a foreigner. I reckon if she got any comfort, + it would be when we was off prospectin' or huntin', and she could shut the + cabin door and be alone.” + </p> + <p> + The Virginian stopped for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “It will soon be a month since I left Galena Creek,” he resumed. “But I + cannot get the business out o' my haid. I keep a studyin' over it.” + </p> + <p> + His talk was done. He had unburdened his mind. Night lay deep and quiet + around us, with no sound far or near, save Buffalo Fork plashing over its + riffle. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + We left Snake River. We went up Pacific Creek, and through Two Ocean Pass, + and down among the watery willow-bottoms and beaverdams of the Upper + Yellowstone. We fished; we enjoyed existence along the lake. Then we went + over Pelican Creek trail and came steeply down into the giant country of + grasstopped mountains. At dawn and dusk the elk had begun to call across + the stillness. And one morning in the Hoodoo country, where we were + looking for sheep, we came round a jut of the strange, organ-pipe + formation upon a longlegged boy of about nineteen, also hunting. + </p> + <p> + “Still hyeh?” said the Virginian, without emotion. + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” returned the boy, equally matter-of-fact. “Yu' seem to be + around yourself,” he added. + </p> + <p> + They might have been next-door neighbors, meeting in a town street for the + second time in the same day. + </p> + <p> + The Virginian made me known to Mr. Lin McLean, who gave me a brief nod. + </p> + <p> + “Any luck?” he inquired, but not of me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” drawled the Virginian, “luck enough.” + </p> + <p> + Knowing the ways of the country, I said no word. It was bootless to + interrupt their own methods of getting at what was really in both their + minds. + </p> + <p> + The boy fixed his wide-open hazel eyes upon me. “Fine weather,” he + mentioned. + </p> + <p> + “Very fine,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I seen your horses a while ago,” he said. “Camp far from here?” he asked + the Virginian. + </p> + <p> + “Not specially. Stay and eat with us. We've got elk meat.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I'm after for camp,” said McLean. “All of us is out on a hunt + to-day—except him.” + </p> + <p> + “How many are yu' now?” + </p> + <p> + “The whole six.” + </p> + <p> + “Makin' money?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, some days the gold washes out good in the pan, and others it's that + fine it'll float off without settlin'.” + </p> + <p> + “So Hank ain't huntin' to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Huntin'! We left him layin' out in that clump o'brush below their cabin. + Been drinkin' all night.” + </p> + <p> + The Virginian broke off a piece of the Hoodoo mud-rock from the weird + eroded pillar that we stood beside. He threw it into a bank of last year's + snow. We all watched it as if it were important. Up through the mountain + silence pierced the long quivering whistle of a bull-elk. It was like an + unearthly singer practising an unearthly scale. + </p> + <p> + “First time she heard that,” said McLean, “she was scared.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin' maybe to resemble it in Austria,” said the Virginian. + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” said McLean. “That's so, you bet! Nothin' just like Hank over + there, neither.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, flesh is mostly flesh in all lands, I reckon,” said the Virginian. + “I expect yu' can be drunk and disorderly in every language. But an + Austrian Hank would be liable to respect her crucifix.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so!” + </p> + <p> + “He ain't made her quit it yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Not him. But he's got meaner.” + </p> + <p> + “Drunk this mawnin', yu' say?” + </p> + <p> + “That's his most harmless condition now.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody's in camp but them two? Her and him alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he dassent touch her.” + </p> + <p> + “Who did he tell that to?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the camp is backin' her. The camp has explained that to him several + times, you bet! And what's more, she has got the upper hand of him + herself. She has him beat.” + </p> + <p> + “How beat?” + </p> + <p> + “She has downed him with her eye. Just by endurin' him peacefully; and + with her eye. I've saw it. Things changed some after yu' pulled out. We + had a good crowd still, and it was pleasant, and not too lively nor yet + too slow. And Willomene, she come more among us. She'd not stay shut + in-doors, like she done at first. I'd have like to've showed her how to + punish Hank.” + </p> + <p> + “Afteh she had downed yu' with her eye?” inquired the Virginian. + </p> + <p> + Young McLean reddened, and threw a furtive look upon me, the stranger, the + outsider. “Oh, well,” he said, “I done nothing onusual. But that's all + different now. All of us likes her and respects her, and makes allowances + for her bein' Dutch. Yu' can't help but respect her. And she shows she + knows.” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon maybe she knows how to deal with Hank,” said the Virginian. + </p> + <p> + “Shucks!” said McLean, scornfully. “And her so big and him so puny! She'd + ought to lift him off the earth with one arm and lam him with a baste or + two with the other, and he'd improve.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe that's why she don't,” mused the Virginian, slowly; “because she is + so big. Big in the spirit, I mean. She'd not stoop to his level. Don't yu' + see she is kind o' way up above him and camp and everything—just her + and her crucifix?” + </p> + <p> + “Her and her crucifix!” repeated young Lin McLean, staring at this + interpretation, which was beyond his lively understanding. “Her and her + crucifix. Turruble lonesome company! Well, them are things yu' don't know + about. I kind o' laughed myself the first time I seen her at it. Hank, he + says to me soft, 'Come here, Lin,' and I peeped in where she was + a-prayin'. She seen us two, but she didn't quit. So I quit, and Hank came + with me, sayin' tough words about it. Yes, them are things yu' sure don't + know about. What's the matter with you camping with us boys tonight?” + </p> + <p> + We had been going to visit them the next day. We made it to-day, instead. + And Mr. McLean helped us with our packs, and we carried our welcome in the + shape of elk meat. So we turned our faces down the grass-topped mountains + towards Galena Creek. Once, far through an open gap away below us, we + sighted the cabin with the help of our field-glasses. + </p> + <p> + “Pity we can't make out Hank sleepin' in that brush,” said McLean. + </p> + <p> + “He has probably gone into the cabin by now,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Not him! He prefers the brush all day when he's that drunk, you bet!” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—oneasy in her presence. Not that she's liable to be in there + now. She don't stay inside nowadays so much. She's been comin' round the + ditch, silent-like but friendly. And she'll watch us workin' for a spell, + and then she's apt to move off alone into the woods, singin' them Dutch + songs of hern that ain't got no toon. I've met her walkin' that way, tall + and earnest, lots of times. But she don't want your company, though she'll + patch your overalls and give yu' lunch always. Nor she won't take pay.” + </p> + <p> + Thus we proceeded down from the open summits into the close pines; and + while we made our way among the cross-timber and over the little streams, + McLean told us of various days and nights at the camp, and how Hank had + come to venting his cowardice upon his wife's faith. + </p> + <p> + “Why, he informed her one day when he was goin' take his dust to town, + that if he come back and found that thing in the house, he'd do it up for + her. 'So yu' better pack off your wooden dummy somewheres,' says he. And + she just looked at him kind o' stone-like and solemn. For she don't care + for his words no more. + </p> + <p> + “And while he was away she'd have us all in to supper up at the shack, and + look at us eatin' while she'd walk around puttin' grub on your plate. Day + time she'd come around the ditch, watchin' for a while, and move off slow, + singin' her Dutch songs. And when Hank comes back from spendin' his dust, + he sees the crucifix same as always, and he says, 'Didn't I tell yu' to + take that down?' 'You did,' says Willomene, lookin' at him very quiet. And + he quit. + </p> + <p> + “And Honey Wiggin says to him, 'Hank, leave her alone.' And Hank, bein' + all trembly from spreein' in town, he says, 'You're all agin me!' like as + if he were a baby.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you would run him out of camp,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we've studied over that some,” McLean answered. “But what's to be + done with Willomene?” + </p> + <p> + I did not know. None of us seemed to know. + </p> + <p> + “The boys got together night before last,” continued McLean, “and after + holdin' a unanimous meetin', we visited her and spoke to her about goin' + back to her home. She was slow in corrallin' our idea on account of her + bein' no English scholar. But when she did, after three of us takin' their + turn at puttin' the proposition to her, she would not accept any of our + dust. And though she started to thank us the handsomest she knowed how, it + seemed to grieve her, for she cried. So we thought we'd better get out. + She's tried to tell us the name of her home, but yu' can't pronounce such + outlandishness.” + </p> + <p> + As we went down the mountains, we talked of other things, but always came + back to this; and we were turning it over still when the sun had departed + from the narrow cleft that we were following, and shone only on the + distant grassy tops which rose round us into an upper world of light. + </p> + <p> + “We'll all soon have to move out of this camp, anyway,” said McLean, + unstrapping his coat from his saddle and drawing it on. “It gets chill now + in the afternoons. D' yu' see the quakin'-asps all turned yello', and the + leaves keeps fallin' without no wind to blow 'em down? We're liable to get + snowed in on short notice in this mountain country. If the water goes to + freeze on us we'll have to quit workin'. There's camp.” + </p> + <p> + We had rounded a corner, and once more sighted the cabin. I suppose it may + have been still half a mile away, upon the further side of a ravine into + which our little valley opened. But field-glasses were not needed now to + make out the cabin clearly, windows and door. Smoke rose from it; for + supper-time was nearing, and we stopped to survey the scene. As we were + looking, another hunter joined us, coming from the deep woods to the edge + of the pines where we were standing. This was Honey Wiggin. He had killed + a deer, and he surmised that all the boys would be back soon. Others had + met luck besides himself; he had left one dressing an elk over the next + ridge. Nobody seemed to have got in yet, from appearances. Didn't the camp + look lonesome? + </p> + <p> + “There's somebody, though,” said McLean. + </p> + <p> + The Virginian took the glasses. “I reckon—yes, that's Hank. The cold + has woke him up, and he's comin' in out o' the brush.” + </p> + <p> + Each of us took the glasses in turn; and I watched the figure go up the + hill to the door of the cabin. It seemed to pause and diverge to the + window. At the window it stood still, head bent, looking in. Then it + returned quickly to the door. It was too far to discern, even through the + glasses, what the figure was doing. Whether the door was locked, whether + he was knocking or fumbling with a key, or whether he spoke through the + door to the person within—I cannot tell what it was that came + through the glasses straight to my nerves, so that I jumped at a sudden + sound; and it was only the distant shrill call of an elk. I was handing + the glasses to the Virginian for him to see when the figure opened the + door and disappeared in the dark interior. As I watched the square of + darkness which the door's opening made, something seemed to happen there—or + else it was a spark, a flash, in my own straining eyes. + </p> + <p> + But at that same instant the Virginian dashed forward upon his horse, + leaving the glasses in my hand. And with the contagion of his act the rest + of us followed him, leaving the pack animals to follow us as they should + choose. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” cried McLean. “He's not shot her.” + </p> + <p> + I saw the tall figure of a woman rush out of the door and pass quickly + round the house. + </p> + <p> + “He's missed her!” cried McLean, again. “She's savin' herself.” + </p> + <p> + But the man's figure did not appear in pursuit. Instead of this, the woman + returned as quickly as she had gone, and entered the dark interior. + </p> + <p> + “She had something,” said Wiggin. “What would that be?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it's all right, after all,” said McLean. “She went out to get + wood.” + </p> + <p> + The rough steepness of our trail had brought us down to a walk, and as we + continued to press forward at this pace as fast as we could, we compared a + few notes. McLean did not think he saw any flash. Wiggin thought that he + had heard a sound, but it was at the moment when the Virginian's horse had + noisily started away. + </p> + <p> + Our trail had now taken us down where we could no longer look across and + see the cabin. And the half-mile proved a long one over this ground. At + length we reached and crossed the rocky ford, overtaking the Virginian + there. + </p> + <p> + “These hawsses,” said he, “are played out. We'll climb up to camp afoot. + And just keep behind me for the present.” + </p> + <p> + We obeyed our natural leader, and made ready for whatever we might be + going into. We passed up the steep bank and came again in sight of the + door. It was still wide open. We stood, and felt a sort of silence which + the approach of two new-comers could not break. They joined us. They had + been coming home from hunting, and had plainly heard a shot here. We stood + for a moment more after learning this, and then one of the men called out + the names of Hank and Willomene. Again we—or I at least—felt + that same silence, which to my disturbed imagination seemed to be rising + round us as mists rise from water. + </p> + <p> + “There's nobody in there,” stated the Virginian. “Nobody that's alive,” he + added. And he crossed the cabin and walked into the door. + </p> + <p> + Though he made no gesture, I saw astonishment pass through his body, as he + stopped still; and all of us came after him. There hung the crucifix, with + a round hole through the middle of it. One of the men went to it and took + it down; and behind it, sunk in the log, was the bullet. The cabin was but + a single room, and every object that it contained could be seen at a + glance; nor was there hiding-room for anything. On the floor lay the axe + from the wood-pile; but I will not tell of its appearance. So he had shot + her crucifix, her Rock of Ages, the thing which enabled her to bear her + life, and that lifted her above life; and she—but there was the axe + to show what she had done then. Was this cabin really empty? I looked more + slowly about, half dreading to find that I had overlooked something. But + it was as the Virginian had said; nobody was there. + </p> + <p> + As we were wondering, there was a noise above our heads, and I was not the + only one who started and stared. It was the parrot; and we stood away in a + circle, looking up at his cage. Crouching flat on the floor of the cage, + his wings huddled tight to his body, he was swinging his head from side to + side; and when he saw that we watched him, he began a low croaking and + monotonous utterance, which never changed, but remained rapid and + continuous. I heard McLean whisper to the Virginian, “You bet he knows.” + </p> + <p> + The Virginian stepped to the door, and then he bent to the gravel and + beckoned us to come and see. Among the recent footprints at the threshold + the man's boot-heel was plain, as well as the woman's broad tread. But + while the man's steps led into the cabin, they did not lead away from it. + We tracked his course just as we had seen it through the glasses: up the + hill from the brush to the window, and then to the door. But he had never + walked out again. Yet in the cabin he was not; we tore up the half-floor + that it had. There was no use to dig in the earth. And all the while that + we were at this search the parrot remained crouched in the bottom of his + cage, his black eye fixed upon our movements. + </p> + <p> + “She has carried him,” said the Virginian. “We must follow up Willomene.” + </p> + <p> + The latest heavy set of footprints led us from the door along the ditch, + where they sank deep in the softer soil; then they turned off sharply into + the mountains. + </p> + <p> + “This is the cut-off trail,” said McLean to me. “The same he brought her + in by.” + </p> + <p> + The tracks were very clear, and evidently had been made by a person moving + slowly. Whatever theories our various minds were now shaping, no one spoke + a word to his neighbor, but we went along with a hush over us. + </p> + <p> + After some walking, Wiggin suddenly stopped and pointed. + </p> + <p> + We had come to the edge of the timber, where a narrow black canyon began, + and ahead of us the trail drew near a slanting ledge, where the footing + was of small loose stones. I recognized the odor, the volcanic whiff, that + so often prowls and meets one in the lonely woods of that region, but at + first I failed to make out what had set us all running. + </p> + <p> + “Is he looking down into the hole himself?” some one asked; and then I did + see a figure, the figure I had looked at through the glasses, leaning + strangely over the edge of Pitchstone Canyon, as if indeed he was peering + to watch what might be in the bottom. + </p> + <p> + We came near. But those eyes were sightless, and in the skull the story of + the axe was carved. By a piece of his clothing he was hooked in the + twisted roots of a dead tree, and hung there at the extreme verge. I went + to look over, and Lin McLean caught me as I staggered at the sight I saw. + He would have lost his own foothold in saving me had not one of the others + held him from above. + </p> + <p> + She was there below; Hank's woman, brought from Austria to the New World. + The vision of that brown bundle lying in the water will never leave me, I + think. She had carried the body to this point; but had she intended this + end? Or was some part of it an accident? Had she meant to take him with + her? Had she meant to stay behind herself? No word came from these dead to + answer us. But as we stood speaking there, a giant puff of breath rose up + to us between the black walls. + </p> + <p> + “There's that fluffy sigh I told yu' about,” said the Virginian. + </p> + <p> + “He's talkin' to her! I tell yu' he's talkin' to her!” burst out McLean, + suddenly, in such a voice that we stared as he pointed at the man in the + tree. “See him lean over! He's sayin', 'I have yu' beat after all.'” And + McLean fell to whimpering. + </p> + <p> + Wiggin took the boy's arm kindly and walked him along the trail. He did + not seem twenty yet. Life had not shown this side of itself to him so + plainly before. + </p> + <p> + “Let's get out of here,” said the Virginian. + </p> + <p> + It seemed one more pitiful straw that the lonely bundle should be left in + such a vault of doom, with no last touches of care from its fellow-beings, + and no heap of kind earth to hide it. But whether the place is deadly or + not, man dares not venture into it. So they took Hank from the tree that + night, and early next morning they buried him near camp on the top of a + little mound. + </p> + <p> + But the thought of Willomene lying in Pitchstone Canyon had kept sleep + from me through that whole night, nor did I wish to attend Hank's burial. + I rose very early, while the sunshine had still a long way to come down to + us from the mountain-tops, and I walked back along the cut-off trail. I + was moved to look once more upon that frightful place. And as I came to + the edge of the timber, there was the Virginian. He did not expect any + one. He had set up the crucifix as near the dead tree as it could be + firmly planted. + </p> + <p> + “It belongs to her, anyway,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + Some lines of verse came into my memory, and with a change or two I wrote + them as deep as I could with my pencil upon a small board that he smoothed + for me. + </p> + <p> + “Call for the robin redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they + hover, And with flowers and leaves do cover The friendless bodies of + unburied men. Call to this funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the + mole To rear her hillocks that shall keep her warm. + </p> + <p> + “That kind o' quaint language reminds me of a play I seen onced in Saynt + Paul,” said the Virginian. “About young Prince Henry.” + </p> + <p> + I told him that another poet was the author. + </p> + <p> + “They are both good writers,” said the Virginian. And as he was finishing + the monument that we had made, young Lin McLean joined us. He was a little + ashamed of the feelings that he had shown yesterday, a little anxious to + cover those feelings with brass. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, taking an offish, man-of-the-world tone, “all this fuss + just because a woman believed in God.” + </p> + <p> + “You have put it down wrong,” said the Virginian; “it's just because a man + didn't.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Padre Ignazio + </h2> + <p> + At Santa Ysabel del Mar the season was at one of its moments when the air + hangs quiet over land and sea. The old breezes had gone; the new ones were + not yet risen. The flowers in the mission garden opened wide, for no wind + came by day or night to shake the loose petals from their stems. Along the + basking, silent, many-colored shore gathered and lingered the crisp odors + of the mountains. The dust floated golden and motionless long after the + rider was behind the hill, and the Pacific lay like a floor of sapphire, + on which to walk beyond the setting sun into the East. One white sail + shone there. Instead of an hour, it had been from dawn till afternoon in + sight between the short headlands; and the padre had hoped that it might + be his ship. But it had slowly passed. Now from an arch in his garden + cloisters he was watching the last of it. Presently it was gone, and the + great ocean lay empty. The padre put his glasses in his lap. For a short + while he read in his breviary, but soon forgot it again. He looked at the + flowers and sunny ridges, then at the huge blue triangle of sea which the + opening of the hills let into sight. “Paradise,” he murmured, “need not + hold more beauty and peace. But I think I would exchange all my remaining + years of this for one sight again of Paris or Seville. May God forgive me + such a thought!” + </p> + <p> + Across the unstirred fragrance of oleanders the bell for vespers began to + ring. Its tones passed over the padre as he watched the sea in his garden. + They reached his parishioners in their adobe dwellings near by. The gentle + circles of sound floated outward upon the smooth immense silence—over + the vines and pear-trees; down the avenues of the olives; into the planted + fields, whence women and children began to return; then out of the lap of + the valley along the yellow uplands, where the men that rode among the + cattle paused, looking down like birds at the map of their home. Then the + sound widened, faint, unbroken, until it met Temptation riding towards the + padre from the south, and cheered the steps of Temptation's jaded horse. + </p> + <p> + “For a day, one single day of Paris!” repeated the padre, gazing through + his cloisters at the empty sea. + </p> + <p> + Once in the year the mother-world remembered him. Once in the year a + barkentine came sailing with news and tokens from Spain. It was in 1685 + that a galleon had begun such voyages up to the lower country from + Acapulco, where she loaded the cargo that had come across Tehuantepec on + mules from Vera Cruz. By 1768 she had added the new mission of San Diego + to her ports. In the year that we, a thin strip of colonists away over on + the Atlantic edge of the continent, declared ourselves an independent + nation, that Spanish ship, in the name of Saint Francis, was unloading the + centuries of her own civilization at the Golden Gate. Then, slowly, as + mission after mission was planted along the soft coast wilderness, she + made new stops—at Santa Barbara, for instance; and by Point San Luis + for San Luis Obispo, that lay inland a little way up the gorge where it + opened among the hills. Thus the world reached these places by water; + while on land, through the mountains, a road came to lead to them, and + also to many more that were too distant behind the hills for ships to + serve—a long, lonely, rough road, punctuated with church towers and + gardens. For the fathers gradually so stationed their settlements that the + traveller might each morning ride out from one mission and by evening of a + day's fair journey ride into the next. A long, rough road; and in its way + pretty to think of now. + </p> + <p> + So there, by-and-by, was our continent, with the locomotive whistling from + Savannah to Boston along its eastern edge, and on the other the scattered + chimes of Spain ringing among the unpeopled mountains. Thus grew the two + sorts of civilization—not equally. We know what has happened since. + To-day the locomotive is whistling also from the Golden Gate to San Diego; + but the old mission road goes through the mountains still, and on it the + steps of vanished Spain are marked with roses, and white cloisters, and + the crucifix. + </p> + <p> + But this was 1855. Only the barkentine brought the world that he loved to + the padre. As for the new world which was making a rude noise to the + northward, he trusted that it might keep away from Santa Ysabel, and he + waited for the vessel that was overdue with its package containing his + single worldly indulgence. + </p> + <p> + As the little, ancient bronze bell continued its swinging in the tower, + its plaintive call reached something in the padre's memory. Without + knowing, he began to sing. He took up the slow strain not quite correctly, + and dropped it, and took it up again, always in cadence with the bell: + </p> + <p> + [Musical Score Appears Here] + </p> + <p> + At length he heard himself, and glancing at the belfry, smiled a little. + “It is a pretty tune,” he said, “and it always made me sorry for poor Fra + Diavolo. Auber himself confessed to me that he had made it sad and put the + hermitage bell to go with it because he too was grieved at having to kill + his villain, and wanted him to die, if possible, in a religious frame of + mind. And Auber touched glasses with me and said—how well I remember + it!—'Is it the good Lord, or is it merely the devil, that makes me + always have a weakness for rascals?' I told him it was the devil. I was + not a priest then. I could not be so sure with my answer now.” And then + Padre Ignazio repeated Auber's remark in French: “'Est-ce le bon Dieu, on + est-ce bien le diable, qui me fait tonjours aimer les coquins?' I don't + know! I don't know! I wonder if Auber has composed anything lately? I + wonder who is singing Zerlina now?” + </p> + <p> + He cast a farewell look at the ocean, and took his steps between the + monastic herbs and the oleanders to the sacristy. “At least,” he said, “if + we cannot carry with us into exile the friends and the places that we have + loved, music will go where we go, even to such an end of the world as + this. Felipe!” he called to his organist. “Can they sing the music I + taught them for the Dixit Dominus to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we will have that. And, Felipe—” The padre crossed the chancel + to the small shabby organ. “Rise, my child, and listen. Here is something + you can learn. Why, see now if you cannot learn it with a single hearing.” + </p> + <p> + The swarthy boy of sixteen stood watching his master's fingers, delicate + and white, as they played. So of his own accord he had begun to watch them + when a child of six; and the padre had taken the wild, half-scared, + spellbound creature and made a musician of him. + </p> + <p> + “There, Felipe!” he said now. “Can you do it? Slower, and more softly, + muchacho. It is about the death of a man, and it should go with our bell.” + </p> + <p> + The boy listened. “Then the father has played it a tone too low,” said he; + “for our bell rings the note of sol, or something very near it, as the + father must surely know.” He placed the melody in the right key—an + easy thing for him; but the padre was delighted. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my Felipe,” he exclaimed, “what could you and I not do if we had a + better organ! Only a little better! See! above this row of keys would be a + second row, and many more stops. Then we would make such music as has + never been heard in California yet. But my people are so poor and so few! + And some day I shall have passed from them, and it will be too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” ventured Felipe, “the Americanos—” + </p> + <p> + “They care nothing for us, Felipe. They are not of our religion—or + of any religion, from what I can hear. Don't forget my Dixit Dominus.” And + the padre retired once more to the sacristy, while the horse that carried + Temptation came over the hill. + </p> + <p> + The hour of service drew near; and as he waited, the padre once again + stepped out for a look at the ocean; but the blue triangle of water lay + like a picture in its frame of land, empty as the sky. “I think, from the + color, though,” said he, “that a little more wind must have begun out + there.” + </p> + <p> + The bell rang a last short summons to prayer. Along the road from the + south a young rider, leading one pack-animal, ambled into the mission and + dismounted. Church was not so much in his thoughts as food and, in due + time after that, a bed; but the doors stood open, and as everybody was + going into them, more variety was to be gained by joining this company + than by waiting outside alone until they should return from their + devotions. So he seated himself at the back, and after a brief, jaunty + glance at the sunburnt, shaggy congregation, made himself as comfortable + as might be. He had not seen a face worth keeping his eyes open for. The + simple choir and simple fold gathered for even-song, and paid him no + attention on their part—a rough American bound for the mines was no + longer anything but an object of aversion to them. + </p> + <p> + The padre, of course, had been instantly aware of the stranger's presence. + For this is the sixth sense with vicars of every creed and heresy; and if + the parish is lonely and the worshippers few and seldom varying, a + newcomer will gleam out like a new book to be read. And a trained priest + learns to read shrewdly the faces of those who assemble to worship under + his guidance. But American vagrants, with no thoughts save of + gold-digging, and an overweening illiterate jargon for their speech, had + long ceased to interest this priest, even in his starvation for company + and talk from the outside world; and therefore after the intoning, he sat + with his homesick thoughts unchanged, to draw both pain and enjoyment from + the music that he had set to the Dixit Dominus. He listened to the tender + chorus that opens “William Tell”; and as the Latin psalm proceeded, + pictures of the past rose between him and the altar. One after another + came these strains which he had taken from the operas famous in their day, + until at length the padre was murmuring to some music seldom long out of + his heart—not the Latin verse which the choir sang, but the original + French words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah, voile man envie, + Voila mon seul desir: + Rendez moi ma patrie, + Ou laissez moi mourir.” + </pre> + <p> + Which may be rendered: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But one wish I implore, + One wish is all my cry: + Give back my native land once more, + Give back, or let me die. +</pre> + <p> + Then it happened that he saw the stranger in the back of the church again, + and forgot his Dixit Dominus straightway. The face of the young man was no + longer hidden by the slouching position he had at first taken. “I only + noticed his clothes before,” thought the padre. Restlessness was plain + upon the handsome brow, and in the mouth there was violence; but Padre + Ignazio liked the eyes. “He is not saying any prayers,” he surmised, + presently. “I doubt if he has said any for a long while. And he knows my + music. He is of educated people. He cannot be American. And now—yes, + he has taken—I think it must be a flower, from his pocket. I shall + have him to dine with me.” And vespers ended with rosy clouds of eagerness + drifting across the padre's brain. + </p> + <p> + But the stranger made his own beginning. As the priest came from the + church, the rebellious young figure was waiting. “Your organist tells me,” + he said, impetuously, “that it is you who—” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask with whom I have the great pleasure of speaking?” said the + padre, putting formality to the front and his pleasure out of sight. + </p> + <p> + The stranger reddened, and became aware of the padre's features, moulded + by refinement and the world. “I beg your lenience,” said he, with a + graceful and confident utterance, as of equal to equal. “My name is Gaston + Villere, and it was time I should be reminded of my manners.” + </p> + <p> + The padre's hand waved a polite negative. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed yes, padre. But your music has astonished me to pieces. If you + carried such associations as—Ah! the days and the nights!” he broke + off. “To come down a California mountain,” he resumed, “and find Paris at + the bottom! 'The Huguenots,' Rossini, Herold—I was waiting for 'Il + Trovatore.”' + </p> + <p> + “Is that something new?” said the padre, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + The young man gave an exclamation. “The whole world is ringing with it,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “But Santa Ysabel del Mar is a long way from the whole world,” said Padre + Ignazio. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it would not appear to be so,” returned young Gaston. “I think the + Comedie Francaise must be round the corner.” + </p> + <p> + A thrill went through the priest at the theatre's name. “And have you been + long in America?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, always—except two years of foreign travel after college.” + </p> + <p> + “An American!” said the surprised padre, with perhaps a flavor of + disappointment in his voice. “But no Americans who have yet come this way + have been—have been”—he veiled the too blunt expression of his + thought—“have been familiar with 'The Huguenots,'” he finished, + making a slight bow. + </p> + <p> + Villere took his under-meaning. “I come from New Orleans,” he returned. + “And in New Orleans there live many of us who can recognize a—who + can recognize good music wherever we meet it.” And he made a slight bow in + his turn. + </p> + <p> + The padre laughed outright with pleasure, and laid his hand upon the young + man's arm. “You have no intention of going away tomorrow, I trust?” said + he. + </p> + <p> + “With your leave,” answered Gaston, “I will have such an intention no + longer.” + </p> + <p> + It was with the air and gait of mutual understanding that the two now + walked on together towards the padre's door. The guest was twenty-five, + the host sixty. + </p> + <p> + “And have you been in America long?” inquired Gaston. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty years.” + </p> + <p> + “And at Santa Ysabel how long?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty years.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought,” said Gaston, looking lightly at the empty + mountains, “that now and again you might have wished to travel.” + </p> + <p> + “Were I your age,” murmured Padre Ignazio, “it might be so.” + </p> + <p> + The evening had now ripened to the long after-glow of sunset. The sea was + the purple of grapes, and wine colored hues flowed among the high + shoulders of the mountains. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen a sight like this,” said Gaston, “between Granada and + Malaga.” + </p> + <p> + “So you know Spain!” said the padre. + </p> + <p> + Often he had thought of this resemblance, but never heard it told to him + before. The courtly proprietor of San Fernando, and the other patriarchal + rancheros with whom he occasionally exchanged visits across the + wilderness, knew hospitality and inherited gentle manners, sending to + Europe for silks and laces to give their daughters; but their eyes had not + looked upon Granada, and their ears had never listened to “William Tell.” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite singular,” pursued Gaston, “how one nook in the world will + suddenly remind you of another nook that may be thousands of miles away. + One morning, behind the Quai Voltaire, an old yellow house with rusty + balconies made me almost homesick for New Orleans.” + </p> + <p> + “The Quai Voltaire!” said the padre. + </p> + <p> + “I heard Rachel in 'Valerie' that night,” the young man went on. “Did you + know that she could sing too? She sang several verses by an astonishing + little Jew musician that has come up over there.” + </p> + <p> + The padre gazed down at his blithe guest. “To see somebody, somebody, once + again,” he said, “is very pleasant to a hermit.” + </p> + <p> + “It cannot be more pleasant than arriving at an oasis,” returned Gaston. + </p> + <p> + They had delayed on the threshold to look at the beauty of the evening, + and now the priest watched his parishioners come and go. “How can one make + companions—” he began; then, checking himself, he said: “Their souls + are as sacred and immortal as mine, and God helps me to help them. But in + this world it is not immortal souls that we choose for companions; it is + kindred tastes, intelligences, and—and so I and my books are growing + old together, you see,” he added, more lightly. “You will find my volumes + as behind the times as myself.” + </p> + <p> + He had fallen into talk more intimate than he wished; and while the guest + was uttering something polite about the nobility of missionary work, he + placed him in an easy-chair and sought aguardiente for his immediate + refreshment. Since the year's beginning there had been no guest for him to + bring into his rooms, or to sit beside him in the high seats at table, set + apart for the gente fina. + </p> + <p> + Such another library was not then in California; and though Gaston + Villere, in leaving Harvard College, had shut Horace and Sophocles forever + at the earliest instant possible under academic requirements, he knew the + Greek and Latin names that he now saw as well as he knew those of + Shakespeare, Dante, Moliere, and Cervantes. These were here also; nor + could it be precisely said of them, either, that they made a part of the + young man's daily reading. As he surveyed the padre's august shelves, it + was with a touch of the florid Southern gravity which his Northern + education had not wholly schooled out of him that he said: + </p> + <p> + “I fear that I am no scholar, sir. But I know what writers every gentleman + ought to respect.” + </p> + <p> + The subtle padre bowed gravely to this compliment. + </p> + <p> + It was when his eyes caught sight of the music that the young man felt + again at ease, and his vivacity returned to him. Leaving his chair, he + began enthusiastically to examine the tall piles that filled one side of + the room. The volumes lay richly everywhere, making a pleasant disorder; + and as perfume comes out of a flower, memories of singers and chandeliers + rose bright from the printed names. “Norma,” “Tancredi,” “Don Pasquale,” + “La Vestale”—dim lights in the fashions of to-day—sparkled + upon the exploring Gaston, conjuring the radiant halls of Europe before + him. “'The Barber of Seville!'” he presently exclaimed. “And I happened to + hear it in Seville.” + </p> + <p> + But Seville's name brought over the padre a new rush of home thoughts. “Is + not Andalusia beautiful?” he said. “Did you see it in April, when the + flowers come?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Gaston, among the music. “I was at Cordova then.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Cordova!” murmured the padre. + </p> + <p> + “'Semiramide!'” cried Gaston, lighting upon that opera. “That was a week! + I should like to live it over, every day and night of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you reach Malaga from Marseilles or Gibraltar?” said the padre, + wistfully. + </p> + <p> + “From Marseilles. Down from Paris through the Rhone Valley, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you saw Provence! And did you go, perhaps, from Avignon to Nismes by + the Pont du Gard? There is a place I have made here—a little, little + place—with olive-trees. And now they have grown, and it looks + something like that country, if you stand in a particular position. I will + take you there to-morrow. I think you will understand what I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Another resemblance!” said the volatile and happy Gaston. “We both seem + to have an eye for them. But, believe me, padre, I could never stay here + planting olives. I should go back and see the original ones—and then + I'd hasten up to Paris.” And, with a volume of Meyerbeer open in his hand, + Gaston hummed: “'Robert, Robert, toi que j'aime.' Why, padre, I think that + your library contains none of the masses and all of the operas in the + world!” + </p> + <p> + “I will make you a little confession,” said Padre Ignazio, “and then you + shall give me a little absolution.” + </p> + <p> + “With a penance,” said Gaston. “You must play over some of these things to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that I could not permit myself this indulgence,” began the + padre, pointing to his operas; “and teach these to my choir, if the people + had any worldly associations with the music. But I have reasoned that the + music cannot do them harm—” + </p> + <p> + The ringing of a bell here interrupted him. “In fifteen minutes,” he said, + “our poor meal will be ready for you.” The good padre was not quite + sincere when he spoke of a poor meal. While getting the aguardiente for + his guest he had given orders, and he knew how well such orders could be + carried out. He lived alone, and generally supped simply enough, but not + even the ample table at San Fernando could surpass his own on occasions. + And this was for him an occasion indeed! + </p> + <p> + “Your half-breeds will think I am one of themselves,” said Gaston, showing + his dusty clothes. “I am not fit to be seated with you.” He, too, was not + more sincere than his host. In his pack, which an Indian had brought from + his horse, he carried some garments of civilization. And presently, after + fresh water and not a little painstaking with brush and scarf, there came + back to the padre a young guest whose elegance and bearing and ease of the + great world were to the exiled priest as sweet as was his traveled + conversation. + </p> + <p> + They repaired to the hall and took their seats at the head of the long + table. For the stately Spanish centuries of custom lived at Santa Ysabel + del Mar, inviolate, feudal, remote. + </p> + <p> + They were the only persons of quality present; and between themselves and + the gente de razon a space intervened. Behind the padre's chair stood an + Indian to wait upon him, and another stood behind the chair of Gaston + Villere. Each of these servants wore one single white garment, and offered + the many dishes to the gente fina and refilled their glasses. At the lower + end of the table a general attendant waited upon the mesclados—the + half-breeds. There was meat with spices, and roasted quail, with various + cakes and other preparations of grain; also the black fresh olives, and + grapes, with several sorts of figs and plums, and preserved fruits, and + white and red wine—the white fifty years old. Beneath the quiet + shining of candles, fresh-cut flowers leaned from vessels of old Mexican + and Spanish make. + </p> + <p> + There at one end of this feast sat the wild, pastoral, gaudy company, + speaking little over their food; and there at the other the pale padre, + questioning his visitor about Rachel. The mere name of a street would + bring memories crowding to his lips; and when his guest would tell him of + a new play, he was ready with old quotations from the same author. Alfred + de Vigny they had, and Victor Hugo, whom the padre disliked. Long after + the dulce, or sweet dish, when it was the custom for the vaqueros and the + rest of the retainers to rise and leave the gente fina to themselves, the + host sat on in the empty hall, fondly telling the guest of his bygone + Paris, and fondly learning of the Paris that was to-day. And thus the two + lingered, exchanging their fervors, while the candles waned, and the + long-haired Indians stood silent behind the chairs. + </p> + <p> + “But we must go to my piano,” the host exclaimed. For at length they had + come to a lusty difference of opinion. The padre, with ears critically + deaf, and with smiling, unconvinced eyes, was shaking his head, while + young Gaston sang “Trovatore” at him, and beat upon the table with a fork. + </p> + <p> + “Come and convert me, then,” said Padre Ignazio, and he led the way. + “Donizetti I have always admitted. There, at least, is refinement. If the + world has taken to this Verdi, with his street-band music—But there, + now! Sit down and convert me. Only don't crush my poor little Erard with + Verdi's hoofs. I brought it when I came. It is behind the times too. And, + oh, my dear boy, our organ is still worse. So old, so old! To get a proper + one I would sacrifice even this piano of mine in a moment—only the + tinkling thing is not worth a sou to anybody except its master. But there! + Are you quite comfortable?” And having seen to his guest's needs, and + placed spirits and cigars and an ash-tray within his reach, the padre sat + himself luxuriously in his chair to hear and expose the false doctrine of + “Il Trovatore.” + </p> + <p> + By midnight all of the opera that Gaston could recall had been played and + sung twice. The convert sat in his chair no longer, but stood singing by + the piano. The potent swing and flow of tunes, the torrid, copious + inspiration of the South, mastered him. “Verdi has grown,” he cried. + “Verdi has become a giant.” And he swayed to the beat of the melodies, and + waved an enthusiastic arm. He demanded every crumb. Why did not Gaston + remember it all? But if the barkentine would arrive and bring the whole + music, then they would have it right! And he made Gaston teach him what + words he knew. “'Non ti scordar,”' he sang—“'non ti scordar di me.' + That is genius. But one sees how the world; moves when one is out of it. + 'A nostri monti ritorneremo'; home to our mountains. Ah, yes, there is + genius again.” And the exile sighed and his spirit went to distant places, + while Gaston continued brilliantly with the music of the final scene. + </p> + <p> + Then the host remembered his guest. “I am ashamed of my selfishness,” he + said. “It is already to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I have sat later in less good company,” answered the pleasant Gaston. + “And I shall sleep all the sounder for making a convert.” + </p> + <p> + “You have dispensed roadside alms,” said the padre, smiling. “And that + should win excellent dreams.” + </p> + <p> + Thus, with courtesies more elaborate than the world has time for at the + present day, they bade each other good-night and parted, bearing their + late candles along the quiet halls of the mission. To young Gaston in his + bed easy sleep came without waiting, and no dreams at all. Outside his + open window was the quiet, serene darkness, where the stars shone clear, + and tranquil perfumes hung in the cloisters. And while the guest lay + sleeping all night in unchanged position like a child, up and down between + the oleanders went Padre Ignazio, walking until dawn. + </p> + <p> + Day showed the ocean's surface no longer glassy, but lying like a mirror + breathed upon; and there between the short headlands came a sail, gray and + plain against the flat water. The priest watched through his glasses, and + saw the gradual sun grow strong upon the canvas of the barkentine. The + message from his world was at hand, yet to-day he scarcely cared so much. + Sitting in his garden yesterday he could never have imagined such a + change. But his heart did not hail the barkentine as usual. Books, music, + pale paper, and print—this was all that was coming to him, and some + of its savor had gone; for the siren voice of life had been speaking with + him face to face, and in his spirit, deep down, the love of the world was + restlessly answering that call. Young Gaston showed more eagerness than + the padre over this arrival of the vessel that might be bringing + “Trovatore” in the nick of time. Now he would have the chance, before he + took his leave, to help rehearse the new music with the choir. He would be + a missionary too. A perfectly new experience. + </p> + <p> + “And you still forgive Verdi the sins of his youth?” he said to his host. + “I wonder if you could forgive mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Verdi has left his behind him,” retorted the padre. + </p> + <p> + “But I am only twenty-five,” explained Gaston, pathetically. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don't go away soon!” pleaded the exile. It was the plainest burst + that had escaped him, and he felt instant shame. + </p> + <p> + But Gaston was too much elated with the enjoyment of each new day to + understand. The shafts of another's pain might scarcely pierce the bright + armor of his gayety. He mistook the priest's exclamation for anxiety about + his own happy soul. + </p> + <p> + “Stay here under your care?” he said. “It would do me no good, padre. + Temptation sticks closer to me than a brother!” and he gave that laugh of + his which disarmed severer judges than his host. “By next week I should + have introduced some sin or other into your beautiful Garden of Ignorance + here. It will be much safer for your flock if I go and join the other + serpents at San Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after breakfast the padre had his two mules saddled, and he and his + guest set forth down the hills together to the shore. And beneath the + spell and confidence of pleasant, slow riding, and the loveliness of + everything, the young man talked freely of himself. + </p> + <p> + “And, seriously,” said he, “if I missed nothing else at Santa Ysabel, I + should long to hear the birds. At home our gardens are full of them, and + one smells the jasmine, and they sing and sing! When our ship from the + Isthmus put into San Diego, I decided to go on by land and see California. + Then, after the first days, I began to miss something. All that beauty + seemed empty, in a way. And suddenly I found it was the birds. For these + little scampering quail are nothing. There seems a sort of death in the + air where no birds ever sing.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not find any birds at San Francisco,” said the padre. + </p> + <p> + “I shall find life!” exclaimed Gaston. “And my fortune at the mines, I + hope. I am not a bad fellow, father. You can easily guess all the things + that I do. I have never, to my knowledge, harmed any one. I did not even + try to kill my adversary in an affair of honor. I gave him a mere flesh + wound, and by this time he must be quite recovered. He was my friend. But + as he came between me—” + </p> + <p> + Gaston stopped; and the padre, looking keenly at him, saw the violence + that he had noticed in church pass like a flame over the young man's + handsome face. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing dishonorable,” said Gaston, answering the priest's look. + </p> + <p> + “I have not thought so, my son.” + </p> + <p> + “I did what every gentleman would do,” said Gaston. + </p> + <p> + “And that is often wrong!” cried the padre. “But I'm not your confessor.” + </p> + <p> + “I've nothing to confess,” said Gaston, frankly. “I left New Orleans at + once, and have travelled an innocent journey straight to you. And when I + make my fortune I shall be in a position to return and—” + </p> + <p> + “Claim the pressed flower!” put in the padre, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you remember how those things are!” said Gaston; and he laughed also + and blushed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the padre, looking at the anchored barkentine, “I remember how + those things are.” And for a while the vessel and its cargo and the landed + men and various business and conversations occupied them. But the freight + for the mission once seen to, there was not much else to hang about here + for. + </p> + <p> + The barkentine was only a coaster like many others which now had begun to + fill the sea a little more of late years, and presently host and guest + were riding homeward. And guessing at the two men from their outsides, any + one would have got them precisely wrong; for within the turbulent young + figure of Gaston dwelt a spirit that could not be more at ease, while + revolt was steadily smouldering beneath the schooled and placid mask of + the padre. + </p> + <p> + Yet still the strangeness of his being at such a place came back as a + marvel into the young man's lively mind. Twenty years in prison, he + thought, and hardly aware of it! And he glanced at the silent priest. A + man so evidently fond of music, of theatres, of the world, to whom pressed + flowers had meant something once—and now contented to bleach upon + these wastes! Not even desirous of a brief holiday, but finding an old + organ and some old operas enough recreation! “It is his age, I suppose,” + thought Gaston. And then the notion of himself when he should be sixty + occurred to him, and he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, I do not believe,” said he, “that I should ever reach such + contentment as yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will,” said Padre Ignazio, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Never!” declared the youth. “It comes only to the few, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Only to the few,” murmured the padre. + </p> + <p> + “I am certain that it must be a great possession,” Gaston continued; “and + yet—and yet—dear me! life is a splendid thing!” + </p> + <p> + “There are several sorts of it,” said the padre. + </p> + <p> + “Only one for me!” cried Gaston. “Action, men, women, things—to be + there, to be known, to play a part, to sit in the front seats; to have + people tell each other, 'There goes Gaston Villere!' and to deserve one's + prominence. Why, if I were Padre of Santa Ysabel del Mar for twenty years—no! + for one year—do you know what I should have done? Some day it would + have been too much for me. I should have left these savages to a pastor + nearer their own level, and I should have ridden down this canyon upon my + mule, and stepped on board the barkentine, and gone back to my proper + sphere. You will understand, sir, that I am far from venturing to make any + personal comment. I am only thinking what a world of difference lies + between men's natures who can feel alike as we do upon so many subjects. + Why, not since leaving New Orleans have I met any one with whom I could + talk, except of the weather and the brute interests common to us all. That + such a one as you should be here is like a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is not a dream,” said the padre. + </p> + <p> + “And, sir—pardon me if I do say this—are you not wasted at + Santa Ysabel del Mar? I have seen the priests at the other missions They + are—the sort of good men that I expected. But are you needed to save + such souls as these?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no aristocracy of souls,” said the padre, almost whispering now. + </p> + <p> + “But the body and the mind!” cried Gaston. “My God, are they nothing? Do + you think that they are given to us for nothing but a trap? You cannot + teach such a doctrine with your library there. And how about all the + cultivated men and women away from whose quickening society the brightest + of us grow numb? You have held out. But will it be for long? Do you not + owe yourself to the saving of higher game henceforth? Are not twenty years + of mesclados enough? No, no!” finished young Gaston, hot with his + unforeseen eloquence; “I should ride down some morning and take the + barkentine.” + </p> + <p> + Padre Ignazio was silent for a space. + </p> + <p> + “I have not offended you?” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “No. Anything but that. You are surprised that I should—choose—to + stay here. Perhaps you may have wondered how I came to be here at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I had not intended any impertinent—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. Put such an idea out of your head, my son. You may remember that I + was going to make you a confession about my operas. Let us sit down in + this shade.” + </p> + <p> + So they picketed the mules near the stream and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “You have seen,” began Padre Ignazio, “what sort of a man I—was + once. Indeed, it seems very strange to myself that you should have been + here not twenty-four hours yet, and know so much of me. For there has come + no one else at all”—the padre paused a moment and mastered the + unsteadiness that he had felt approaching in his voice—“there has + been no one else to whom I have talked so freely. In my early days I had + no thought of being a priest. My parents destined me for a diplomatic + career. There was plenty of money and—and all the rest of it; for by + inheritance came to me the acquaintance of many people whose names you + would be likely to have heard of. Cities, people of fashion, artists—the + whole of it was my element and my choice; and by-and-by I married, not + only where it was desirable, but where I loved. Then for the first time + Death laid his staff upon my enchantment, and I understood many things + that had been only words to me hitherto. Looking back, it seemed to me + that I had never done anything except for myself all my days. I left the + world. In due time I became a priest and lived in my own country. But my + worldly experience and my secular education had given to my opinions a + turn too liberal for the place where my work was laid. I was soon advised + concerning this by those in authority over me. And since they could not + change me and I could not change them, yet wished to work and to teach, + the New World was suggested, and I volunteered to give the rest of my life + to missions. It was soon found that some one was needed here, and for this + little place I sailed, and to these humble people I have dedicated my + service. They are pastoral creatures of the soil. Their vineyard and + cattle days are apt to be like the sun and storm around them—strong + alike in their evil and in their good. All their years they live as + children—children with men's passions given to them like deadly + weapons, unable to measure the harm their impulses may bring. Hence, even + in their crimes, their hearts will generally open soon to the one great + key of love, while civilization makes locks which that key cannot always + fit at the first turn. And coming to know this,” said Padre Ignazio, + fixing his eyes steadily upon Gaston, “you will understand how great a + privilege it is to help such people, and hour the sense of something + accomplished—under God—should bring contentment with + renunciation.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Gaston Villere. Then, thinking of himself, “I can understand + it in a man like you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not speak of me at all!” exclaimed the padre, almost passionately. + “But pray Heaven that you may find the thing yourself some day —contentment + with renunciation—and never let it go.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen!” said Gaston, strangely moved. + </p> + <p> + “That is the whole of my story,” the priest continued, with no more of the + recent stress in his voice. “And now I have talked to you about myself + quite enough. But you must have my confession.” He had now resumed + entirely his half-playful tone. “I was just a little mistaken, you see too + self-reliant, perhaps—when I supposed, in my first missionary ardor, + that I could get on without any remembrance of the world at all. I found + that I could not. And so I have taught the old operas to my choir—such + parts of them as are within our compass and suitable for worship. And + certain of my friends still alive at home are good enough to remember this + taste of mine, and to send me each year some of the new music that I + should never hear of otherwise. Then we study these things also. And + although our organ is a miserable affair, Felipe manages very cleverly to + make it do. And while the voices are singing these operas, especially the + old ones, what harm is there if sometimes the priest is thinking of + something else? So there's my confession! And now, whether 'Trovatore' has + come or not, I shall not allow you to leave us until you have taught all + you know of it to Felipe.” + </p> + <p> + The new opera, however, had duly arrived. And as he turned its pages Padre + Ignazio was quick to seize at once upon the music that could be taken into + his church. Some of it was ready fitted. By that afternoon Felipe and his + choir could have rendered “Ah! se l'error t' ingombra” without slip or + falter. + </p> + <p> + Those were strange rehearsals of “Il Trovatore” upon this California + shore. For the padre looked to Gaston to say when they went too fast or + too slow, and to correct their emphasis. And since it was hot, the little + Erard piano was carried each day out into the mission garden. There, in + the cloisters among the oleanders, in the presence of the tall yellow + hills and the blue triangle of sea, the “Miserere” was slowly learned. The + Mexicans and Indians gathered, swarthy and black-haired, around the + tinkling instrument that Felipe played; and presiding over them were young + Gaston and the pale padre, walking up and down the paths, beating time, or + singing now one part and now another. And so it was that the wild cattle + on the uplands would hear “Trovatore” hummed by a passing vaquero, while + the same melody was filling the streets of the far-off world. + </p> + <p> + For three days Gaston Villere remained at Santa Ysabel del Mar; and though + not a word of the sort came from him, his host could read San Francisco + and the gold-mines in his countenance. No, the young man could not have + stayed here for twenty years! And the padre forbore urging his guest to + extend his visit. + </p> + <p> + “But the world is small,” the guest declared at parting. “Some day it will + not be able to spare you any longer. And then we are sure to meet. And you + shall hear from me soon, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + Again, as upon the first evening, the two exchanged a few courtesies, more + graceful and particular than we, who have not time, and fight no duels, + find worth a man's while at the present day. For duels are gone, which is + a very good thing, and with them a certain careful politeness, which is a + pity; but that is the way in the general profit and loss. So young Gaston + rode northward out of the mission, back to the world and his fortune; and + the padre stood watching the dust after the rider had passed from sight. + Then he went into his room with a drawn face. But appearances at least had + been kept up to the end; the youth would never know of the old man's + discontent. + </p> + <p> + Temptation had arrived with Gaston, but was going to make a longer stay at + Santa Ysabel del Mar. Yet it was something like a week before the priest + knew what guest he had in his house now. The guest was not always present—made + himself scarce quite often. + </p> + <p> + Sail away on the barkentine? That was a wild notion, to be sure, although + fit enough to enter the brain of such a young scapegrace. The padre shook + his head and smiled affectionately when he thought of Gaston Villere. The + youth's handsome, reckless countenance would come before him, and he + repeated Auber's old remark, “Is it the good Lord, or is it merely the + devil, that always makes me have a weakness for rascals?” + </p> + <p> + Sail away on the barkentine! Imagine taking leave of the people here—of + Felipe! In what words should he tell the boy to go on industriously with + his music? No, this could not be imagined. The mere parting alone would + make it forever impossible that he should think of such a thing. “And + then,” he said to himself each new morning, when he looked out at the + ocean, “I have given my life to them. One does not take back a gift.” + </p> + <p> + Pictures of his departure began to shine and melt in his drifting fancy. + He saw himself explaining to Felipe that now his presence was wanted + elsewhere; that there would come a successor to take care of Santa Ysabel—a + younger man, more useful, and able to visit sick people at a distance. + “For I am old now. I should not be long here in any case.” He stopped and + pressed his hands together; he had caught his temptation in the very act. + Now he sat staring at his temptation's face, close to him, while there in + the triangle two ships went sailing by. + </p> + <p> + One morning Felipe told him that the barkentine was here on its return + voyage south. “Indeed?” said the padre, coldly. “The things are ready to + go, I think.” For the vessel called for mail and certain boxes that the + mission sent away. Felipe left the room, in wonder at the padre's manner. + But the priest was laughing alone inside to see how little it was to him + where the barkentine was, or whether it should be coming or going. But in + the afternoon, at his piano, he found himself saying, “Other ships call + here, at any rate.” And then for the first time he prayed to be delivered + from his thoughts. Yet presently he left his seat and looked out of the + window for a sight of the barkentine; but it was gone. + </p> + <p> + The season of the wine-making passed, and the putting up of all the fruits + that the mission fields grew. Lotions and medicines were distilled from + the garden herbs. Perfume was manufactured from the petals of the flowers + and certain spices, and presents of it despatched to San Fernando and + Ventura, and to friends at other places; for the padre had a special + receipt. As the time ran on, two or three visitors passed a night with + him; and presently there was a word at various missions that Padre Ignazio + had begun to show his years. At Santa Ysabel del Mar they whispered, “The + padre is getting sick.” Yet he rode a great deal over the hills by + himself, and down the canyon very often, stopping where he had sat with + Gaston, to sit alone and look up and down, now at the hills above, and now + at the ocean below. Among his parishioners he had certain troubles to + soothe, certain wounds to heal; a home from which he was able to drive + jealousy; a girl whom he bade her lover set right. But all said, “The + padre is sick.” And Felipe told them that the music seemed nothing to him + any more; he never asked for his Dixit Dominus nowadays. Then for a short + time he was really in bed, feverish with the two voices that spoke to him + without ceasing. “You have given your life,” said one voice. “And + therefore,” said the other, “have earned the right to go home and die.” + “You are winning better rewards in the service of God,” said the first + voice. “God can be served in other places than this,” answered the second. + As he lay listening he saw Seville again, and the trees of Aranhal, where + he had been born. The wind was blowing through them; and in their branches + he could hear the nightingales. “Empty! Empty!” he said, aloud. “He was + right about the birds. Death does live in the air where they never sing.” + And he lay for two days and nights hearing the wind and the nightingales + in the trees of Aranhal. But Felipe, watching, heard only the padre crying + through the hours: “Empty! Empty!” + </p> + <p> + Then the wind in the trees died down, and the padre could get out of bed, + and soon could be in the garden. But the voices within him still talked + all the while as he sat watching the sails when they passed between the + headlands. Their words, falling forever the same way, beat his spirit + sore, like bruised flesh. If he could only change what they said, he could + rest. + </p> + <p> + “Has the padre any mail for Santa Barbara?” said Felipe. “The ship bound + southward should be here to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I will attend to it,” said the priest, not moving. And Felipe stole away. + </p> + <p> + At Felipe's words the voices had stopped, a clock done striking. Silence, + strained like expectation, filled the padre's soul. But in place of the + voices came old sights of home again, the waving trees at Aranhal; then + would be Rachel for a moment, declaiming tragedy while a houseful of faces + that he knew by name watched her; and through all the panorama rang the + pleasant laugh of Gaston. For a while in the evening the padre sat at his + Erard playing “Trovatore.” Later, in his sleepless bed he lay, saying now + a then: “To die at home! Surely I may granted at least this.” And he + listened for the inner voices. But they were not speaking any more, and + the black hole of silence grew more dreadful to him than their arguments. + Then the dawn came in at his window, and he lay watching its gray grow + warm into color, us suddenly he sprang from his bed and looked the sea. + The southbound ship was coming. People were on board who in a few weeks + would be sailing the Atlantic, while he would stand here looking out of + the same window. “Merciful God!” he cried, sinking on knees. “Heavenly + Father, Thou seest this evil in my heart. Thou knowest that my weak hand + cannot pluck it out. My strength is breaking, and still Thou makest my + burden heavier than I can bear.” He stopped, breathless and trembling. The + same visions were flitting across his closed eyes; the same silence gaped + like a dry crater in his soul. “There is no help in earth or heaven,” he + said, very quietly; and he dressed himself. + </p> + <p> + It was so early still that none but a few of the Indians were stirring, + and one of them saddled the padre's mule. Felipe was not yet awake, and + for a moment it came in the priest's mind to open the boy's door softly, + look at him once more, and come away. But this he did not do, nor even + take a farewell glance at the church and organ. He bade nothing farewell, + but, turning his back upon his room and his garden, rode down the caution. + </p> + <p> + The vessel lay at anchor, and some one had landed from her and was talking + with other men on the shore. Seeing the priest slowly coming, this + stranger approached to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “You are connected with the mission here?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I—am.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it is with you that Gaston Villere stopped?” + </p> + <p> + “The young man from New Orleans? Yes. I am Padre Ignazio.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will save me a journey. I promised him to deliver these into + your own hands.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger gave them to him. + </p> + <p> + “A bag of gold-dust,” he explained, “and a letter. I wrote it from his + dictation while he was dying. He lived scarcely an hour afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger bowed his head at the stricken cry which his news elicited + from the priest, who, after a few moments vain effort to speak, opened the + letter and read: + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR FRIEND,—It is through no man's fault but mine that I have + come to this. I have had plenty of luck, and lately have been counting the + days until I should return home. But last night heavy news from New + Orleans reached me, and I tore the pressed flower to pieces. Under the + first smart and humiliation of broken faith I was rendered desperate, and + picked a needless quarrel. Thank God, it is I who have the punishment. My + dear friend, as I lie here, leaving a world that no man ever loved more, I + have come to understand you. For you and your mission have been much in my + thoughts. It is strange how good can be done, not at the time when it is + intended, but afterwards; and you have done this good to me. I say over + your words, Contentment with renunciation, and believe that at this last + hour I have gained something like what you would wish me to feel. For I do + not think that I desire it otherwise now. My life would never have been of + service, I am afraid. You are the last person in this world who has spoken + serious words to me, and I want you to know that now at length I value the + peace of Santa Ysabel as I could never have done but for seeing your + wisdom and goodness. You spoke of a new organ for your church. Take the + gold-dust that will reach you with this, and do what you will with it. Let + me at least in dying have helped some one. And since there is no + aristocracy in souls—you said that to me; do you remember?—perhaps + you will say a mass for this departing soul of mine. I only wish, since my + body must go underground in a strange country, that it might have been at + Santa Ysabel del Mar, where your feet would often pass.” + </p> + <p> + “'At Santa Ysabel del Mar, where your feet would often pass.'” The priest + repeated this final sentence aloud, without being aware of it. + </p> + <p> + “Those are the last words he ever spoke,” said the stranger, “except + bidding good-bye to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You knew him well, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No; not until after he was hurt. I'm the man he quarrelled with.” + </p> + <p> + The priest looked at the ship that would sail onward this afternoon. Then + a smile of great beauty passed over his face, and he addressed the + stranger. “I thank you,” said he. “You will never know what you have done + for me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing,” answered the stranger, awkwardly. “He told me you set + great store on a new organ.” + </p> + <p> + Padre Ignazio turned away from the ship and rode back through the gorge. + When he reached the shady place where once he had sat with Gaston Villere, + he dismounted and again sat there, alone by the stream, for many hours. + Long rides and outings had been lately so much his custom, that no one + thought twice of his absence; and when he returned to the mission in the + afternoon, the Indian took his mule, and he went to his seat in the + garden. But it was with another look that he watched the sea; and + presently the sail moved across the blue triangle, and soon it had rounded + the headland. Gaston's first coming was in the padre's mind; and as the + vespers bell began to ring in the cloistered silence, a fragment of + Auber's plaintive tune passed like a sigh across his memory: + </p> + <p> + [Musical Score Appears Here] + </p> + <p> + But for the repose of Gaston's soul they sang all that he had taught them + of “Il Trovatore.” + </p> + <p> + Thus it happened that Padre Ignazio never went home, but remained cheerful + master of the desires to do so that sometimes visited him, until the day + came when he was called altogether away from this world, and “passed + beyond these voices, where is peace.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1390 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |