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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24006-h.zip b/24006-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dbb5700 --- /dev/null +++ b/24006-h.zip diff --git a/24006-h/24006-h.htm b/24006-h/24006-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..484bb32 --- /dev/null +++ b/24006-h/24006-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4356 @@ +<!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" xml:lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Shadows Of Shasta, by Joaquin Miller. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + + + +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + + ins.correction {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: thin dotted red;} + + .trans_note {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; font-size: 0.9em; border: solid 2px; + padding-bottom: .2em; padding-top: .2em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .cpoem {width: 70%; margin: 0 auto;} + + .cpoems {width: 40%; margin: 0 auto;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i14 {display: block; margin-left: 14em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i36 {display: block; margin-left: 36em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shadows of Shasta, by Joaquin Miller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Shadows of Shasta + +Author: Joaquin Miller + +Release Date: December 24, 2007 [EBook #24006] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHADOWS OF SHASTA *** + + + + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/American +Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="trans_note"> +<p class="center"><big>Transcriber's Note</big></p> +<p> + + Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as + possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other + inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to correct an + obvious error by the publisher is marked with a + <ins class="correction" title="The original word would be shown here.">"hover note."</ins> + +</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + +<h1>SHADOWS OF SHASTA.</h1> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1, 2]</a></span></p> + + + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>JOAQUIN MILLER,</h2> + +<h5>AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF THE SIERRAS," +"THE DANITES IN THE SIERRAS," ETC.</h5> + +<p class="center">CHICAGO:<br /> +JANSEN, McCLURG & COMPANY.<br /> +1881.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT.</p> + +<p class="center">JANSEN, McCLURG & COMPANY.<br /> +A. D. 1881.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>All rights of Dramatization reserved to the Author.</i></p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h4>TO</h4> + +<h4>WHITELAW REID.</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> + +<a href="#SHADOWS_OF_SHASTA"><b>SHADOWS OF SHASTA.: <span class="smcap">Introductory,</span></b></a> 7<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I.: <span class="smcap">Mount Shasta,</span></b></a> 17<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II.: <span class="smcap">Twenty Carats Fine,</span></b></a> 49<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III.: <span class="smcap">Man-Hunters,</span></b></a> 81<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV.: <span class="smcap">The Old Gold-Hunter,</span></b></a> 108<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V.: <span class="smcap">The Capture,</span></b></a> 122<br /> +<br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI.: <span class="smcap">The Escape,</span></b></a> 150<br /> +<br /> +</div></div> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="SHADOWS_OF_SHASTA" id="SHADOWS_OF_SHASTA"></a>SHADOWS OF SHASTA.</h2> + +<h3>INTRODUCTORY.</h3> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>With vast foundations seamed and knit,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And wrought and bound by golden bars,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Sierra's peaks serenely sit</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And challenge heaven's sentry-stars.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p>Why this book? Because last year, in the heart of the Sierras, I saw +women and children chained together and marched down from their cool, +healthy homes to degradation and death on the Reservation. At the side +of this long, chained line, urged on and kept in order by bayonets, rode +a young officer, splendid in gold and brass, and newly burnished, from +that now famous charity-school on the Hudson. These women and children +were guilty of no crime; they were not even accused of wrong. But their +fathers and brothers lay dead in battle-harness, on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> mountain +heights and in the lava beds; and these few silent survivors, like +Israel of old, were being led into captivity—but, unlike the chosen +children, never to return to the beloved heart of their mountains.</p> + +<p>Do you doubt these statements about the treatment of the Indians? Then +read this, from the man—the fiend in the form of man—who for years, +and until recently, had charge of all the Indians in the United States:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"From reports and testimony before me, I find that Indians +removed to the Reservation or Indian Territory, die off so +rapidly that the race must soon become extinct if they are so +removed. <i>In this connection, I recommend the early removal of +all the Indians to the Indian Territory.</i>"</p></div> + +<p>The above coarse attempt at second-hand wit is quoted from memory. But +if the exact words are not given, the substance is there; and, indeed, +the idea and expression is not at all new.</p> + +<p>I know if you contemplate the Indian from the railroad platform, as you +cross the plains, you will almost conclude, from the dreadful specimens +there seen, that the Indian Commis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>sioner was not so widely out of the +way in that brutal desire. But the real Indian is not there. The Special +Correspondent will not find him, though he travel ten thousand miles. He +is in the mountains, a free man yet; not a beggar, not a thief, but the +brightest, bravest, truest man alive. Every few years, the soldiers find +him; and they do not despise him when found. Think of Captain Jack, with +his sixty braves, holding the whole army at bay for half a year! Think +of Chief Joseph, to whose valor and virtues the brave and brilliant +soldiers sent to fight him bear immortal testimony. Seamed with scars of +battle, and bloody from the fight of the deadly day and the night +preceding; his wife dying from a bullet; his boy lying dead at his feet; +his command decimated; bullets flying thick as hail; this Indian walked +right into the camp of his enemy, gun in hand, and then—not like a +beaten man, not like a captive, but like a king—demanded to know the +terms upon which his few remaining people could be allowed to live. When +a brave man beats a brave man in battle, he likes to treat him well—as +witness Grant and Lee; and so Generals Howard and Miles made fair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> terms +with the conquered chief. The action of the Government which followed +makes one sick at heart. Let us in charity call it <i>imbecility</i>. But +before whose door shall we lay the dead? Months after the surrender, +this brave but now heart-broken chief, cried out:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Give my people water, or they will die. This is mud and slime +that we have to drink here on this Reservation. More than half +are dead already. Give us the water of our mountains. And will +you not give us back just one mountain too? There are not many +of us left now. We will not want much now. Give us back just one +mountain, so that these women and children may live. Take all +the valleys. But you cannot plow the mountains. Give us back +just one little mountain, with cool, clear water, and then these +children can live."</p></div> + +<p>And think of Standing Bear and his people, taken by fraud and force from +their lands to the Indian Territory Reservation, and after the usual +hardships and wrongs incident to such removals, with no hope from a +Government which neither kept its promises nor listened to their +appeals, setting out to try to get back to Omaha. Think of these men, +stealing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> away in the night, leaving their little children, their wives +and parents, prostrate, dying, destitute! They were told that they could +not leave—that they must stay there; that they would be followed and +shot if they attempted to go away. They had no money; they had no food. +They were sick and faint. They were on foot, and but poorly clad. Yet +they struggled on through the snow day after day, week after week, +leaving a bloody trail where they passed; leaving their dead in the snow +where they passed. And this awful journey lasted for more than fifty +days! And what happened to these poor Indians after that fearful +journey? They did not go to the white man for help. They did not go back +to their old homes. They troubled no one. They went to a neighboring +friendly tribe. This tribe gave them a little land, and they instantly +went to work to make homes and prepare a place for the few of their +number still alive whom they had left behind. Then came the order from +Washington, and the Chief was arrested while plowing in the field. In a +speech made by him after the arrest, and when he was about to be taken +back, the Chief said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I wanted to go back to my old place north. I wanted to save +myself and my tribe. I built a good stable. I raised cattle and +hogs and all kinds of stock. I broke land. All these things I +lost by some bad man. Any one knows to take a man from a cold +climate and put him in the hot sun, down in the south, it would +kill him. We refused to go down there. We afterwards went down +to see our friends, and see how they liked it. Brothers, I come +home now. I took my brothers and friends and came back here. We +went to work. I had hold of the handles of my plow. Eight days +ago I was at work on my farm, which the Omahas gave me. I had +sowed some spring wheat, and wished to sow some more. I was +living peaceably with all men. I have never committed any crime. +I was arrested and brought back as a prisoner. Does your law do +that? I have been told, since the great war all men were free +men, and that no man can be made a prisoner unless he does +wrong. I have done no wrong, and yet I am here a prisoner. Have +you a law for white men, and a different law for those who are +not white?</p> + +<p>"I have been going around for three years. I have lost all my +property. My constant thought is, 'What man has done this?' Of +course I know I cannot say 'no.' Whatever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> they say I must do, I +must do it. I know you have an order to send me to the Indian +Territory, and we must obey it."</p></div> + +<p>Afterwards, speaking of the terrible days at the Reservation, this +Indian said to an officer:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"We counted our dead for awhile, but when all my children and +half the tribe were dead, we did not take any notice of anything +much. When my son was dying, he begged me to take his bones back +to the old home, if ever I got away. In that little box are the +bones of my son; I have tried to take them back to be buried +with our fathers."</p></div> + +<p>I may here add, that in the meantime the brother of this Indian, who was +left in charge of the tribe, was accused of trying to get away also. He +protested his innocence, but the agent had him arrested and brought +before him. Then he ordered him to be ironed. The proud, free savage +begged not to be put in irons, but the brutal agent persisted. The +Indian resisted, <i>and was shot dead on the spot</i>.</p> + +<p>Think of the Cheyennes last year. They, too, had tried to escape from +the Reservation, and reach their homes through the deep snow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> This was +their only offense. No man had ever accused them of any other crime than +this love of their native haunts, this longing for home. They were dying +there on the Reservation; more than half had already died. And now, when +taken, they refused to go back. The officer attempted to starve them +into submission. They were shut up in a pen without food, naked, +starving, the snow whistling through the pen, children freezing to death +in their mother's arms! But they would not submit. Knowing now that they +must die, they determined to die in action rather than freeze and +starve, like beasts in a pen. At a concerted signal, they attempted to +break through the soldiers and reach the open plain. An old man was +carried on the back of his tottering son; a mounted soldier pursued +them, and hacked father and son to pieces with the same sabre-cuts. A +mother was seen flying over the snow with two children clinging about +her neck. The wretched savages separated and ran in all directions. But +the mounted men cut them down in the snow. No one asked, or even would +accept, quarter. They fought with sticks, stones, fists, their teeth, +like wild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> beasts. They wanted to die. One little group escaped to a +ravine. There they were found killing each other with a sort of knife +made from an old piece of hoop.</p> + +<p>And yet you believe man-hunting is over in America!</p> + +<p>It is impossible to write with composure or evenness on this subject. +One wants to rise up and crush things.</p> + +<p>I have mentioned two tribes near at hand, whose histories are not +unfamiliar to the public ear. But what if I should recite the wrongs of +tribes far away—far beyond the Rocky Mountains—where the Indian Agent +has to answer to no one? You would not believe one-tenth part told you. +The terrible stories of the Cheyennes and the Poncas are very mild +chapters in the history of our Indian policy.</p> + +<p>Under the stars and stripes, these scenes are repeated year after year; +and they will be continued until they are made impossible by the +civilization and sense of justice which righted that other though far +less terrible wrong.</p> + +<p>As that greatest man has said, "We are making history in America." This +is a con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>spicuous fact, that no one who would be remembered in this +century should forget. We are making dreadful history, dreadfully fast. +How terrible it will all read when the writer and reader of these lines +are long since forgotten! Ages may roll by. We may build a city over +every dead tribe's bones. We may bury the last Indian deep as the +eternal gulf. But these records will remain, and will rise up in +testimony against us to the last day of our race.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">J. M.<br /></span> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></div></div> + + +<h3>MOUNT SHASTA.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>To lord all Godland! lift the brow</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Familiar to the moon, to top</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The universal world, to prop</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The hollow heavens up, to vow</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Stern constancy with stars, to keep</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Eternal watch while eons sleep;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To tower proudly up and touch</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>God's purple garment-hems that sweep</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The cold blue north! Oh, this were much!</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Where storm-born shadows hide and hunt</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I knew thee, in thy glorious youth,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And loved thy vast face, white as truth;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I stood where thunderbolts were wont</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To smite thy Titan-fashioned front,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And heard dark mountains rock and roll;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I saw the lightning's gleaming rod</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Reach forth and write on heaven's scroll</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The awful autograph of God!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>And what a mighty heart these Sierras have! Kissing the purple of heaven +now, and now in their awful deeps hiding the shrinking form of darkness +from the sun.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<p>The shaggy monsters that prowl there, the mountains of gold that lie +waiting there, the mystery and the splendor! Oh keep with me, my friend, +for a little while in the Sierras; breathe their balm and health, see +their sublimity, feel their might and their majesty; step upward, as on +stepping stairs to heaven; and my word for it, you will be none the +worse.</p> + +<p>In a canyon here, deep, deep, away down in the darkness, where night +seems to have an abiding place, where the sun sifts through the +pine-tops timidly, where the loftiest trees tip-toe up and seem to +strive to reach out of the edge of the chasm, there gurgles a little +muddy stream among the boulders, about the miners' legs, as they bend +their backs wearily and toil for gold.</p> + +<p>Here the smoke curls up from a low log cabin; there a squirrel barks a +nut on the roof of a ruined and deserted miner's home, and away up +yonder, where the deep gorge is so narrow you can almost leap across it, +the wild beasts prowl as if it were really night, and great owls beat +their wings against the boughs of the dense wood in everlasting +darkness. But high over gorge and wilderness, gleaming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> against the cold +blue sky, towers Mount Shasta, the monarch of the Sierras.</p> + +<p>Here, where the canyon debouches into the little valley, once stood a +populous mining camp; and a little further on, where the sun fell in +full splendor, a few farms of a primitive kind, tended by broken-down +old miners, lay.</p> + +<p>The old glory of the camp was gone, and only a few battered and crippled +men were left. It was as if there had been a great battle of the giants, +and the victorious and successful had gone away with all the fruits of +victory, and left the wounded, the helpless, the half-hearted behind. +The mining camp at the mouth of the great canyon had been worked out, so +far as the placer mines went, and these few broken men who remained, as +a rule, were turning their attention to other things. Here one had +planted a little garden on the hillside, on a spot that had once been a +graveyard. There, an old lawyer had grown grape-vines all over and about +the door and chimney of his cabin, till men said it looked like a +spider-web.</p> + +<p>But old Forty-nine only bored deeper and deeper into the spur of the +mountain, and paid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> but little attention to any of the changes that went +on around him. He had been working in that tunnel alone for nearly +twenty-five years. He was a man with a history—men said a murderer. He +shunned men, and men shunned him. Was he rich? He professed to be very +poor; men said he must be worth a million. Would a man work on +twenty-five years in one tunnel, and all alone, for nothing? But if +rich, why did he remain?</p> + +<p>Still further down, and quite on the edge of the valley, stood another +cabin. And this was quite overgrown with vines, and was quite hidden +away in a growth of pines that gathered over it. Then there was an +undergrowth of fruit trees that grew inside the fence and about the +lonely porch. On this porch had sat, for years and years, a tawny, +silent old woman. She was sickly—had neither wealth, wit nor +beauty—and so, so far as the world went, was left quite alone.</p> + +<p>But there was another and an all-sufficient reason why neither man or +woman came that way. She was an Indian. Do not imagine this a wild +Indian woman. Indian she was; but remember, the Catholics had more than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +half civilized nearly all the native Californians long before we +undertook to kill them.</p> + +<p>This Indian woman would have been called by strangers a Mexican woman. +She was very religious, and had imbued her boy with all her beautiful +faith and simple piety.</p> + +<p>I know that the spectacle of an old Indian woman and her "half-breed" +son, represented as the morality and religion of a camp made up of +"civilized" Saxons, will seem somewhat novel to you. But I knew this +Indian boy and his mother well, and know every foot of the ground I +intend to go over, and every fact I propose to narrate. And if you are +not prepared to receive this as truth, I prefer you to close this page +right here.</p> + +<p>To make a moment's digression, with your permission, let me state +briefly and frankly, once for all, that the only really religious, +unquestioning and absolutely devout Christians I ever met in America are +the Indians. I know of no other people so faithful and so blindly true +to their belief, outside of the peasantry of Italy. Be their beautiful +faith born of ignorance or what, I do not say. I simply assert that it +exists. There is no devotion so true as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> that of a converted Indian. +Maybe it is the devotion of idolatry, the faith of superstition. But I +repeat, it is sincere. And let me further say, it seems to me whatever +is worth believing at all, is worth believing utterly and entirely—just +as these simple children of the wilderness believe, without doubt or +question.</p> + +<p>I know nothing so beautiful—may I say picturesque?—as the Ummatilla +Indians of Oregon at worship on Sunday. Not a man, woman or child of all +the tribe absent. Not one voice silent when the hymns are given out, in +all that vast, gaily colored and singular assemblage.</p> + +<p>This is the tribe of which the white settlers asked and received +protection last year when the Shoshonees ravaged the country, beat off +the soldiers, and slew some of the settlers. And yet there is a bill +before Congress to-day to take away the few remaining acres from this +tribe and open up the place to white settlers. Indeed, it seems that +every member of Congress from Oregon has just this one mission; for the +first, and almost the only thing he does while there, is to introduce +and urge the passage of this bill, whereby the red man is to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> turned +out of his well-tilled fields, and the white man turned into them.</p> + +<p>In truth, these very fields have long been staked off and claimed by +bold, bad white men, who hover about the borders of this Reservation, +waiting for the long-promised law which is to take this land from the +owners and give it to them. They nominate their members of Congress on +his pledge and bond, and constant promise, to take this land from the +Indian. They vote for and elect the only member of Congress from this +State on that promise, certain that their absolute ownership of this +graveyard of the Indian is only a question of time. Year by year the +graveyard grows broader; the fields grow narrower; they grow less in +number; for now and then an Indian is found wandering away from the +Reservation to his former hunting-grounds and ancient graves of his +fathers. He seldom comes back. Sometimes his murderers trouble +themselves to throw the body in the brush or some gorge or canyon. But +most frequently it is left where it falls. To say that all the people or +the best people of this brave young State approve of this, would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +unfair—untrue. Yet this does not save the Indian, who is doing his best +to fit into the new order of things around him. He is shot down, and +neither grand or petit jury can be found to punish his murderer.</p> + +<p>But to the story. This little piece of land where the old Indian woman +had lived and brought up her boy, was rich and valuable. It was +therefore coveted by the white man. At first men had said: "She will die +soon; the boy will then sell the hut for a song, gamble off the money, +and then go the way of all who are stained with the dark and tawny blood +of the savage—death in a ditch from some unknown rifle, or death by the +fever in the new Reservation." But the old woman still lived on; and the +boy, by his industry, sobriety, duty and devotion to his mother, put to +shame the very best among the new generation of white men in the +mountains. The singular manhood of John Logan was the subject of remark +by all who knew him. With the few true men on this savage edge of the +world it made him fast friends; with the many outlaws and evil natures +it made him the subject of envy and bitter hatred.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>What power behind this boy had lifted him up and led him on? Surely no +Indian woman, wholly unlettered in the ways of the white man, good and +true as she may have been, had brought him up to this high place on +which he now stood. Who was his father? and what strong hand had reached +out all these years and kept his mother there in that little hut with +her boy, while her tribe perished or passed away to the hated and +horrible Reservation down toward the sea?</p> + +<p>Who was his father? The Camp had asked this a thousand times. The boy +himself had looked into the deep, pathetic eyes of his mother, and asked +the question in his heart for many and many a year; but he never opened +his lips to ask her. It was too sad, too sacred a subject, and he would +not ask of her what she would not freely give. And now she lay dying +there alone on the porch, as her boy stopped to talk with the two +children, "the babes in the wood," and her secret hidden in her own +heart.</p> + +<p>And who were the "babes in the wood?" Little waifs, fugitives, hiding +from the man-hunters. As a rule in early days, when the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> settlers killed +off the adult Indians in their forays, they took the children and +brought them up in slavery. But the girl—the eldest, stronger and +lither of these two dark little creatures—darting, hiding, stealing +about this ruined old camp, was so wild and spirited, even from the +first, that no one wanted her. And then she was dangerously bright, and +above all, she did not quite look the Indian; men doubted if she really +were an Indian or no, sometimes. But I remember hearing old +Leather-Nose, as he sat on a barrel one night in the grocery, and +squirted amber at the back-log, say: "I guess, by gol, she's Injun: +She's devilish enough. She don't look the Injun, I know; but its the +cussedness that makes me know she's Injun."</p> + +<p>"And when did she come to the camp?" asked a respectable stranger.</p> + +<p>"Don't know. That's it. Nobody don't know, and nobody don't care, I +guess."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't you know where she came from? Children don't come down, you +know, like rain or snow. There were about fifty little children left in +the Mountain-meadow massacre. They are somewhere. These may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> be some of +them. Don't you know who brought them here, or how they came?" asked the +honest stranger, leaning forward and looking into the faces of the +wrinkled and hairy old miners.</p> + +<p>An old miner turned his quid again and again, and at last feeling scant +interest in the ragged little sister who led her little brother about by +the hand, and stood between him and peril as she kept their +liberty—drily answered, along with his fellows, as follows: "Some said +an old Indian that died had her; but I don't know. Forty-nine knows most +about her. When he's short of grub, and that's pretty often now, I +guess, why she has to do the best she can."</p> + +<p>"O, it was a sick looking thing at first. Why, it wasn't that high, and +was all hair and bones," growled out an old gray miner, in reply to the +man.</p> + +<p>"Yes; and don't you know when we called it the 'baby,' and it used to +beg around about the cabins? The poor little barefooted brat."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and when the 'baby' nearly starved, and eat some raw turnips that +made it sick."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and got the colic—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, and Gambler Jake got on his mule and started for the doctor."</p> + +<p>"Yes, an' got in a poker game at Mariposa, and didn't get back for four +days."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and the doctor didn't come; and so the baby got well."</p> + +<p>"Yes, just so, just so." And old Col. Billy bobbed his head, and fell to +thinking of other days.</p> + +<p>This little piece of land where the old Indian woman had lived so long, +and about which she had built a fence, was very valuable indeed. Valley +land was scarce here in the mountains; and there was a young orchard, +the only thing of the kind in the country. And then the roads forked +there, and two little rivers ran together there, and that meant that a +town would spring up there as the country became settled, farms opened, +and the Indians were swept away. Evil-minded men are never without +resources. The laws are made to restrain such men; but on the border +there is no law enforced. So you see how powerful are the wicked there; +how powerless the weak, though never so well disposed.</p> + +<p>In the far West, if an Indian is in your way,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> you have only to report +him to the Agent of the Indian Reservation. That is all you have to do. +He disappears, or dies. This Indian Agent is only too anxious to fill up +his wasting ranks of Indians. They are dying every day. And if they all +should die, sooner or later the fact may be known at Washington, and in +the course of a few years the Reservation and office would be abolished +together. And then each additional Indian contributes greatly to the +Agent's income, for each Indian must be fed and clothed—or at least, +the Agent is permitted to draw clothing, blankets and food for every +Indian brought upon the Reservation. As to the Indians receiving these +things, that is quite another affair.</p> + +<p>Well, here were men wanting this land. Down yonder, far away to the +scorching South, at the edge of the level alkali lands, in a tule swamp, +where the Indians taken from the mountains were penned up and dying like +sheep in a corral, was a bold, enterprising Indian Agent who was +gathering in, under orders of his Government, all the Indians of +Northern California. He could appoint a hun<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>dred deputies, and authorize +them to bring in the Indians wherever found.</p> + +<p>The two children—"the babes in the wood"—had been taken to the +Reservation; but being bold and active, they contrived to soon escape +and return to the mountains. Men whispered that the girl owed her escape +to the great and growing favor in which she was held by one of the +deputy agents, who, with his partner, a rough and coarse-grained man, +had their homes in this camp. The cabin of these two deputy agents, +Dosson and Emens, stood not far from that of old Forty-Nine. But so far +as I can remember, the old man and the newly appointed deputy agents had +always been at enmity.</p> + +<p>This Dosson was certainly a bad man. He was in every sense of the word a +desperado, and so was his partner; just the men most wanted by the head +agent at the Reservation to capture and bring in Indians.</p> + +<p>But whether this girl owed her escape or not to this ruffian, Dosson, +certain it is that on her return she avoided his cabin, and when not in +the woods, hovered about that of old Forty-Nine. This enraged Dosson +beyond<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> degree. To add to his anger, she now began to show a particular +preference for John Logan. The idea of having an Indian for a rival was +more than this ignorant and brutal Deputy Agent could well bear, and he +set to work at once to rid himself of the object of his hatred.</p> + +<p>The hard and merciless man-hunter almost shouted with delight at a new +idea which now came upon him with the light and suddeness of a +revelation. He ran at once to his partner, and told him of his +determination.</p> + +<p>Then these two men sat down and talked a long time together. They made +marks in the sand with sticks. They set up little stakes in the sand, +and seemed delighted as they reached their heads out and looked down +from the mouth of their tunnel toward the Indian farm.</p> + +<p>That night these two men stole down together, and set up stakes and made +corner marks about John Logan's land while he slept, and then rolled +themselves in their blankets, and spent the night inside the limits of +their new location. Having done this, and sent a notice of their +pre-emption to the Surveyor General, to be filed as their declaration of +claim to the little farm with the orchard, they en<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>tered complaint +against John Logan, and so sat down to await results.</p> + +<p>Meantime, this old woman sat alone, with a great dog by her side, sick +and desolate, waiting her sun of life to set, piously waiting, dark +browed, thoughtful; while her tall handsome boy, meek, obedient, with +the awful curse of Cain upon his brow, the mark of Indian blood, was +toiling on up in the canyon alone.</p> + +<p>You had better be a negro—you had better be ten times a negro, were it +possible—than be one-tenth part an Indian in the West. The Indian will +have little to do with one who is part Indian. And as for the white man, +unless the Indian is willing to be his slave, do him homage and service, +he would sooner take a leper in his house or to his heart.</p> + +<p>Up and above the Indian woman's house, in the dense wood and on the spur +of the mountain, wound an old Indian trail. Along this trail, above the +hidden house, stole two little creatures—tawny, sunburnt, ragged, +wretched, yet full of affection for each other. These were the two +wretched children escaped from the Reservation. They were now being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +harbored by old Forty-nine. For this he was liable to be arrested and +punished. Knowing this, he kept his gun loaded and standing in the +corner of his cabin, where the children slept at night.</p> + +<p>How strange that this one man, the most despised and miserable, should +be the only one to reach a hand to help these little waifs of the woods! +And who knew or who cared from where they came? They did not look the +Indian, though they acted it to perfection. They would run away and hide +from the face of man. Yet the girl, under the passionate California sun, +was almost blossoming into womanhood. They were called brother and +sister. God knows if they were or no. Break up tribes, families, as +these had been broken up—fire into a flock of young quails all day—and +who knows how soon or where the few that escape may gather together +again, or if they will know each other when they meet, years after in +the woods?</p> + +<p>Children are so impressionable. They had heard some one in the camp call +the old Indian woman who sat forever on the porch in the dense foliage, +with the big dog beside her,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> a witch. They did not know what that +meant. But they knew it was something dreadful, and they shunned and +abhorred her accordingly. Yet the girl knew John Logan, her tall +handsome son, well, and liked him, too.</p> + +<p>As they stole along the dim old Indian trail, their necks were stretched +toward the old Indian woman's hut below. They were as noiseless as two +panthers. At last the girl stopped, stood still, pointed and half pushed +the boy before and in through the thicket, past an occasional lonely +cabin, toward the widow's woody home.</p> + +<p>This old woman had long been ailing. She was now very ill. You are +surprised to learn of sickness in the heart of the Sierras? I tell you +that if you were to wash down mountains and uproot forests in the +moon—were such a thing possible—the ague would <ins class="correction" title="Text reads 'sieze'">seize</ins> hold of you and +shake you for it. Nature is revengeful. But to return to the wilderness.</p> + +<p>What a wilderness this was! Only here and there, at long intervals, a +little cabin down in the deep, dense wood; these cabins scattered as if +the hand of some mighty sower had reached out over the wilderness, and +had sown and strown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> them there, to take root and grow to some great +harvest of civilization. The narrow Indian trail wound along, almost +entirely hidden by overhanging woods—a trail that turned and twisted at +every little obstacle; here it was the prostrate form of some patriarch +tree, or here it curved and cork-screwed in and out through mighty +forest-kings, that stood like comrades in ranks of battle.</p> + +<p>Where did this little Indian trail lead to? Where did it begin? How many +a love-tale had been told in the shadow of those mighty trees that +reached their long, strong arms out over the heads of all passers-by, in +a sort of priestly benediction?</p> + +<p>Where did the Indian trail lead to? To the West. But leaves were strewn +thick along it now. The Indian had gone, to come back no more. Ever to +the West points the Indian's path. Ever down to the great gold shore of +the vast west sea leads the Indian's path. And there the waves sweep in +and obliterate his foot-prints forever.</p> + +<p>The two half-wild children who had disappeared down the dim trail a few +moments before, now suddenly re-appear. They are eager<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> and excited. +This boy cannot be above ten years old; yet he looks old as a man. The +girl may be twelve, fifteen, or even sixteen. Age at such a period is a +matter of either blood or climate. She has a shock of unkempt hair; she +wears a tattered dress of as many colors as Jacob's coat. She has one +toeless boot on one foot; on the other she wears a shoe so big that it +might hold both her feet. Down over this shoe rolls a large red woolen +stocking, leaving her shapely little ankle bleeding from +brier-scratches. In her hand she swings a large, coarse straw hat by its +broad red ribbons. Her every limb is full of force and fire; her voice +is firm and resolute, but not rapid. Hers is a splendid energy, needing +but proper direction.</p> + +<p>Her brother, who puffs and pants at her side, is named Johnny; but the +wild West, which has a habit of naming things because they look it, has +dubbed him "Stumps," since he is short and fat. He is half-clad in a +pair of tattered pants, a great straw hat, and a full, stuffy, check +shirt, which is held in subjection by a pair of hand-made woolen +suspenders—the work of his sister.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>Both are out of breath—both are looking back wildly; but Stumps huddles +up again and again close under his sister's arm, as if he fears he might +be followed, and looks to her for protection. She draws him close to +her, and then looking back, and then down into his upturned face, says +breathlessly:</p> + +<p>"Stumps! Oh, Stumps, did you get 'em, Stumps?"</p> + +<p>The boy shrinks closer to his sister, and again looking back, and then +seeing for a certainty that he is not followed, he grows bolder and +says:</p> + +<p>"Git 'em, Carats? Look there! And that 'un is your'n, Carats; and you +can have both of 'em if you want 'em, for I don't feel hungry now, +Carats," and here he hitches up his pants, and wipes his nose on his +sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Why, Stumps, don't you feel hungry now?" Then suddenly beholding two +upheld ruddy peaches, she catches her breath, and says: "Oh, oh!" and +she starts back and throws up her hands. "Oh, the pretty, pretty +peaches!"</p> + +<p>"Here, take 'em both, Carrie—I ain't hungry now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I don't want but one, Stumps—one 's enough. Why, how you tore your +pants; and your shin 's a bleeding, too. Why, poor Stumps!"</p> + +<p>Stumps, looking back, cries:</p> + +<p>"Shoo! Thar war a dog—yes, thar war a dog! And what do you think! Shoo! +I thought I heard somethin' a comin'. Carats, old Miss Logan, the Injun +woman, seed me!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Stumps! No?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she did. When I clim' the fence, and slid down that sapling in the +yard, there she laid on the porch on her shuck-bed a-shaking with the +ager. And, Carats, she was a-looking right straight at me—yes, she was; +so help me, she was."</p> + +<p>"Why, Stumps; and what did she do! Didn't she holler, and say 'Seek 'em, +Bose?'"</p> + +<p>"Carats, she didn't; and that's what's the matter—and that's why I +don't want to eat any peaches, Carats. Carats, I wish she had—I do, I +do, so help me. Let's not eat 'em—let's take 'em back—Carrie, sister +Carrie, let's take 'em back."</p> + +<p>Carrie thoughtfully and tenderly gazes in his face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Let's take 'em to old Forty-nine, Johnny. There ain't nothing he can +eat, you know; an' then he's been a-shakin' since melon-time,—an' +Johnny, I don't think we are very good to him, anyhow."</p> + +<p>Stumps, scratching his bleeding shin with his foot, exclaims:</p> + +<p>"I've barked my shin, and I've tore'd my pants, an' I don't care! But I +won't take him a peach that I've stoled. Why, what would he think, +Carats? He'd die dead, he would, if he thought I'd stoled them peaches +from the poor old sick Injun woman; yes he would, Carats."</p> + +<p>"Johnny, I'll tell him we found 'em," as Stumps looks doubtingly at her, +"tell him we found 'em in a tree, Stumps. Yes tell him we found 'em away +up in the top of a cedar tree."</p> + +<p>"But I don't want to tell no lie, nor do nothin' bad no more, and I want +to go home, I do."</p> + +<p>"Well, Stumps—Johnny, brother Johnny, what will we do with them? We +can't stand here all day. I want to go home, too. Oh, this hateful, +hateful peach! I want to go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> right off!" and the girl, hiding her face +in her hands, begins to weep.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sister Carrie—sister, don't, don't; sister, don't, don't!"</p> + +<p>"Then let's eat 'em."</p> + +<p>"I don't like peaches."</p> + +<p>"I don't like peaches either!" cries Carrie, throwing back her hair, +wiping her eyes, and trying to be bright and cheerful. "I never could +eat peaches. I like pine-nuts, and cowcumbers, and tomatuses, +and—pine-nuts. Oh, I'm very fond of pine-nuts. I like pine-nuts +roasted, and tomatuses, an' I like chestnuts raw, an' tomatuses. Don't +you like pine-nuts and tomatuses, Johnny, and cowcumbers."</p> + +<p>"I don't like nothin' any more."</p> + +<p>"Then, Johnny, take 'em back."</p> + +<p>"I—I—I take 'em back by myself? I take 'em back, an' hear old Bose +growl, and look into her holler eyes?" Here the boy shudders, and +looking around timidly, he creeps closer to his sister and says, as he +again gazes back in the direction of the Indian woman's cabin: "I'd be +afraid she might be dead, Carats, an' there'd be nobody to hold the +dog.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> Oh, I see her holler eyes looking at me all the time. If she'd +only let the dog come. Confound her! If she'd only let the dog come!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Johnny, Johnny—brother Johnny, come, lets go home! Shoo! There's +somebody coming. It's John Logan, coming home from his work."</p> + +<p>As the girl speaks, John Logan, the sick woman's son, a strong handsome +man, only brown as if browned by the sun, with a pick on his shoulder +and a gold-pan slanting under his arm, comes whistling along the trail. +Seeing the children, he stops and says:</p> + +<p>"Why, children, good evening! What are you running away for? Come, come +now, don't be so shy, my little neighbors, and don't give the trail all +to me because I happen to be a man, and the strongest. Come, Johnny, +give me your hand. There! an honest, chubby little fist it is. Why, what +have you got in your other hand? Been gathering nuts, hey? You little +squirrel! Give me a nut, won't you."</p> + +<p>Carrie approaches, dives her hand into her ragged pocket and reaches the +man a heaped handful of nuts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There, if you'll have nuts I'll bring you nuts; I'll bring you lots of +nuts, I will; I'll bring you a bushel of nuts, an'—some tomatuses."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are too kind. But now I must hasten home to mother. Come, shake +hands again, and say good-bye." The girl gives her left hand. "No your +right hand."</p> + +<p>Carrie is bothered, and slips the peach in her left hand behind, and, +with a lifted face, full of glow and enthusiasm, says:</p> + +<p>"I'll bring you a whole bag full of nuts, I will," and she reaches him +her hand eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Oh Carrie, I have a nice little surprise for you, and if you won't tell +I'll let you into the secret. You won't tell?"</p> + +<p>He comes close to her, sits down his gold-pan, and resting his pick on +the ground, with his two hands on the top of the handle, leans toward +her and looks into her innocent uplifted face.</p> + +<p>The girl's eyes brighten, and she seems to grow tall and beautiful under +his earnest gaze.</p> + +<p>"I won't tell, sir. Oh, please to trust me, sir—I won't tell, Mr. John +Logan!"</p> + +<p>The boy eagerly comes forward also.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I won't tell, neither. I won't tell neither; so help me!"</p> + +<p>"Well, then, come close to me, Johnny, come close up here, and look in +my face—there! Why, I declare the pleasure I now have, telling you +this, is more than gold! And I need money sadly enough."</p> + +<p>"You're awful poor, ain't you?" asked Stumps, hitching up his pants.</p> + +<p>"Been workin' all day and ain't got much in the pan," says Carrie, +looking sidewise at the few colors of gold in the bottom edge of the +pan.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, Carrie. Look at my hands—hard and rough as the bark of a +tree; but I don't mind that, Carrie, I was born here, I was born poor, I +shall live poor and die poor. But I don't mind it, Carrie. I have my +mother to love and look after, and while she lives I am content."</p> + +<p>The girl looks at the woods, looks at the man, and then once more at the +woods, and at last in her helplessness to solve the problem, falls to +eating nuts, as usual; while the man continues, as if talking to +himself:</p> + +<p>"This is the peace of Paradise; and see the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> burning bush! Now I can +well understand that Moses saw the face of God in the bush of fire."</p> + +<p>"Oh," the girl says to herself, "if he only would be cross! If he only +would say something rough to us! If he only would cuss."</p> + +<p>She resolves to say or do something to break the spell. She asks +eagerly:</p> + +<p>"Are you going to give something to Stumps and me?—I mean Johnny and +me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, to-morrow evening, after my work is done. And now I am going +to tell you and Johnny what it is. It ain't much; it's the least little +thing in the world; but I don't deserve any credit for even that—it's +my poor dear old mother's idea. She has laid there, day after day, on +the porch, and she has been thinking, not all the time of her own +sickness and sorrow, but of others, as well; and she has thought much of +you."</p> + +<p>The boy stands far aside, and at mention of this he jerks himself into a +knot, his head drops down between his shoulders, his mouth puckers up, +and he exclaims "Oh, hoka!"</p> + +<p>"Thought of me?" says Carrie.</p> + +<p>"Of you, Carrie. And listen; I must tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> you a little story. When I was +a very young man, and killed my first grizzly bear, I bought a little +peach-tree and planted it in the corner of the yard, as people sometimes +plant trees to remember things. Well, my mother, she had the ague that +day powerful, for it was after melon-time, and she sat on the porch and +shook, and shook, and shook, and watched me plant it, and when I got +done, my mother she cried. I don't know why she cried, Carrie, but she +did. She cried and she cried, and when I went up to her, and put my arms +around her neck and kissed her, she only cried the more, for she was +sort of hysteric-like, you know, and she said she knew she'd never live +to eat any fruit off of that tree."</p> + +<p>Carrie stops eating nuts a moment.</p> + +<p>"But she will—she will get well, Mr. John Logan—she will get well, +won't she?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, indeed, I believe she will get well, but whether she ever gets +right well or not, she certainly will live to eat peaches from that +tree. Carrie, we've talked it all over, and what do you think? Why, now +listen, I will tell you. This tree that I planted, and that my poor sick +mother was afraid she would not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> live to eat the fruit from—this tree +was a peach tree."</p> + +<p>Carrie again takes out a handful of nuts from her pocket, as if she +would like to eat them. She looks at them a second, throws them away, +and hastens to one side.</p> + +<p>"I want to go home," cries Stumps. "I don't like peaches, Mr. John +Logan. I don't—I don't—so help me," and the boy jerks at his pants +wildly.</p> + +<p>John Logan turns to him kindly. "Why, you never had a peach in your +little hand in your life." Then turning to Carrie: "Yes, Carrie, there +has grown this year, high up in the sun on that tree, side by side, +two—and only two—red, ripe peaches. Why, children, don't run away! +Wait one moment, and I will go a little way with you. As I was about to +say, these two peaches are at last ripe. I own I was the least bit +afraid, even after I saw them there on that bough one Summer morning, +that even then my mother might die before they became fully ripe. But +now they are ripe, and this evening I shall pull them. And to-morrow, +after my day's work<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> is done, my sick mother shall eat one, and you two +shall eat the other."</p> + +<p>Carrie puts up her hand and backs away.</p> + +<p>"Don't—don't—don't call me Carrie; call me +Carats—Carats—Carats—like the others do!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Carrie! What in the world is the matter with you?"</p> + +<p>"If a body steals, Mr. John Logan—if a body steals—what had a body +better do?"</p> + +<p>"Why, the Preacher says a body should confess—confess it, feel sorry, +and be forgiven."</p> + +<p>"I can't—I can't confess, and I can't be forgiven!"</p> + +<p>John Logan starts!</p> + +<p>"You—you, Carrie; is it you? Then you have already confessed, and He +will forgive you!"</p> + +<p>"But such stealing as this nobody—nothing—can forgive," falling on her +knees. "I—I made my little brother steal your peaches!"</p> + +<p>"You!—you made him steal my two peaches that I wanted for my sick +mother? You—<i>you</i>, Carrie?"</p> + +<p>Stumps rushed forward.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No—No! I done it myself! I done it all myself—I did, so help me!"</p> + +<p>"But I made him do it!" cries Carrie. "I am the biggest, and I knew +better—I knew better. But we couldn't eat 'em. Here they are—oh I am +so glad we couldn't eat 'em!" And they fall on their knees at his feet +together; four little hands reach out the peaches to him eagerly, +earnestly, as if in prayer to Heaven.</p> + +<p>The man takes their little hands, and, choking with tears, says, in a +voice full of pathos and pity, and uncovering his head, with lifted +face, as he remembers something of the story the good Priest so often +read to his mother: "and there was more joy in Heaven over the one that +was found, than over the ninety-and-nine that went not astray."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>TWENTY CARATS FINE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>A land that man has newly trod,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>A land that only God has known,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Through all the soundless cycles flown.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Yet perfect blossoms bless the sod,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And perfect birds illume the trees,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And perfect unheard harmonies</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Pour out eternally to God.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>A thousand miles of mighty wood</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Where thunder-storms stride fire-shod;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>A thousand flowers every rod,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A stately tree on every rood;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ten thousand leaves on every tree,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And each a miracle to me;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And yet there be men who question God!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>At just what time these two waifs of the woods appeared in camp even +Forty-nine could not tell. They were first seen with the Indian woman +who went about among the miners, picking up bread and bits of coin by +dancing, singing and telling fortunes. These two Indian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> women were +great liars, and rogues altogether. I need not add that they were partly +civilized.</p> + +<p>The little girl had been taught to dance and sing, and was quite a +source of revenue to the two Indian women, who had perhaps bought or +stolen the children. As for the boy—poor stunted, starved little +thing—he hung on to his sister's tattered dress all the time with his +little red hand, wherever she went and whatever she did. He was her +shadow; and he was at that time little more than a shadow in any way.</p> + +<p>Sometimes men pitied the little girl, and gave very liberally. They +tried to find out something about her past life; for although she was +quite the color of the Indian, she had regular features, and at times +her poor pinched face was positively beautiful. The two children looked +as if they had been literally stunted in their growth from starvation +and hardship.</p> + +<p>Once a good-hearted old miner had bribed the squaws to let the children +come to his cabin and get something to eat. They came, and while they +were gorging themselves, the boy sitting close up to the girl all the +time, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> looking about and back over his shoulder and holding on to +her dress, this man questioned her about her life and history. She did +not like to talk; indeed, she talked with difficulty at first, and her +few English words fell from her lips in broken bits and in strange +confusion. But at length she began to speak more clearly as she +proceeded with her story, and became excited in its narration. Then she +would stop and seem to forget it all. Then she went on, as if she was +telling a dream. Then there would be another long pause, and confusion, +and she would stammer on in the most wild and incoherent fashion, till +the old miner became quite impatient, and thought her as big an imposter +as the Indian woman whom she called her mother. He finally gave them +each a loaf of bread, and told them they could go back to their lodge. +This lodge consisted of a few poles set up in wigwam fashion, and +covered with skins and old blankets and birch. A foul, ugly place it +was, but in this wigwam lived two Indian women and these two children.</p> + +<p>Men, or rather beasts—no, beasts are decent creatures; well then, +monsters, full of bad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> rum, would prowl about this wretched lodge at +night, and their howls, mixed with those of the savages, whom they had +made also drunk, kept up a state of things frightful to think of in +connection with these two sensitive, starving little waifs of the woods.</p> + +<p>Who were they, and where did they come from? Sometimes these children +would start up and fly from the lodge at night, and hide away in the +brush like hunted things, and only steal back at morning when all was +still. At such times the girl would wrap her little brother (if he was +her brother) in her own scant rags, and hold him in her arms as he +slept.</p> + +<p>One night, while some strange Indians were lodging there, a still more +terrible scene transpired in this dreadful little den than had yet been +conceived. The two children fled as usual into the darkness, back into +the deep woods. Shots were heard, and then a death-yell that echoed far +up and down the canyon. Then there were cries, shrieks of women, as if +they were being seized and borne away. Fainter and fainter grew their +cries; further and further, down on the high ledge of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> canyon in the +darkness, into the deep wood, they seemed to be borne. And at last their +cries died away altogether.</p> + +<p>The next morning a dead Indian was found at the door of the empty lodge. +But the women and the children were nowhere to be seen. Some said the +Indian Agent's men had come to take the Indians away, and that the man +resisting had been shot, while the women and children were taken to the +Reservation, where they belonged. But there was a darker story, and told +under the breath, and not spoken loud. Let it be told under the breath, +and briefly here, also. Some drunken wretches had shot the Indians, +carried the women down to the dark woods above the deep swollen river, +and then, after the most awful orgies ever chronicled, murdered them and +sunk their bodies in the muddy river.</p> + +<p>It was nearly a week after that the two children stole down from the +wooded hill-side into the trail, where old Forty-nine found them on his +return from work. They were so weak they could not speak or cry out for +help. They could only reach their little hands and implore help, as, +timid and frightened, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> tottered towards this first human being they +had dared to face for a whole week.</p> + +<p>The strong man hesitated a moment; they looked so frightful he wanted to +escape from their presence. But his grand, noble nature came to the +surface in a second; and dropping his pick and pan in the trail, he +caught up the two children, and in a moment more was, with one in each +arm, rushing down the trail to his cabin. He met some men, and passed +others. They all looked at him with wonder. One even laughed at him.</p> + +<p>And it is hard to comprehend this. There were good men—good in a +measure; men who would have gallantly died to save a woman—men who were +true men on points of honor; yet men who could not think of even being +civil to an Indian, or any one with a bit of Indian blood in his veins. +Is our government responsible for this? I do not say so. I only know +that it exists; a hatred, a prejudice, more deeply seated and +unreasonable than ever was that of the old slave-dealer for the black +man.</p> + +<p>Forty-nine did not return to his tunnel the next day, nor yet the next. +This cabin,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> wretched as it became in after years when he had fallen +into evil habits, had then plenty to eat, and there the starved little +beings ate as they had never eaten before.</p> + +<p>At first the little boy would steal and hide away bread while he ate at +the table. The first night, after eating all he could, he slept with +both his pockets full and a chunk up his sleeve besides.</p> + +<p>This boy was never a favorite. He was so weak, so dependent on his +sister. It seemed as if he had been at one time frightened almost to +death, and had never quite gotten over it. And so Forty-nine took most +kindly to the girl, and they were soon fast friends. Yet ever and always +her shadow, the little boy, whom Forty-nine named Johnny, kept at her +side—as I have said before; his little red hand reached out and +clutching at her tattered dress.</p> + +<p>After a few weeks the girl began to tell strange, wild stories to the +old man. But observing that Forty-nine doubted these, as the other man +had, she called them dreams, and so would tell him these wild and +terrible dreams of the desert, of blood, of murder and massa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>cre, till +the old man himself, as the girl shrank up to him in terror, became +almost frightened. He did not like to hear these dreams, and she soon +learned not to repeat them.</p> + +<p>One evening a passing miner stopped, placed a broad hand on either +door-jamb, and putting his great head in at the open door, asked how the +little "copper-colored pets" got on.</p> + +<p>"Pard," answered Forty-nine, kindly, and with a nod of the head back +toward the children playing in the corner, "they are not coppers; no, +they are not. I tell you that girl is not copper, but gold. Yes she is, +Pard; she is twenty carats.<ins class="correction" title="added close quote">"</ins></p> + +<p>"Twenty carats gold! Well, Twenty Carats, come here! Come here, Carats," +called out the big head at the door.</p> + +<p>The girl came forward, and a big hand fell down from the door-jamb on +her bushy head of hair, and the man was pleased as he looked down into +the uplifted face. And so he called her "Carats," and that became her +name.</p> + +<p>Other passing miners stopped to look in at the open door where the big +head had looked and talked to the timid girl, and misunder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>standing the +name, they called her Carrie; and Carrie she was called ever afterwards.</p> + +<p>But the boy who had been so thin, soon grew so fat and chubby that some +one named him "Stumps." There was no good trying to get rid of that +name. He looked as though his name ought to be Stumps, and Stumps it +was, in spite of the persistent efforts of old Forty-nine to keep the +name in use which he had given him. And this was all that Forty-nine or +any one could tell of these two children.</p> + +<p>And now, how beautiful Carrie had grown by the time the leaves turned +brown! Often Dosson saw her hovering about the cabin of old Forty-nine, +flitting through the woods with her brother, or walking leisurely with +Logan on the hill down the dim old Indian trail.</p> + +<p>Mother Nature has her golden wedding once a year, and all the world is +invited. She has many gala days, too, besides, and she celebrates them +with songs and dances of delight. In the full bosomed, teeming, jocund +Spring, I have seen the trees lean together and rustle their leaves in +whisperings of love. I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> seen them reach their long strong arms to +each other, and intertwine them as if in fond affection, as the bland, +warm winds, coming up from the South, blew over them and warmed their +hearts of oak—old trees, too, gnarled and knotted—old fellows that had +bobbed their heads together through many and many a Spring; that had +leaned their lofty and storm-stained tops together through many and many +a Winter; that had stood, like mighty soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, in +friendships knit through many centuries. The birds sing and flutter, fly +in and out of the dark deep canopies of green, build nests, and make +love in myriads. How the squirrels run and chatter and frisk, and fly +from branch to branch, with their bushy tails tossing in the warm wind! +Under foot, ten thousand tall strange flowers and weeds and long +spindled grasses grow, and reach up and up, as if to try to touch the +sunlight above the tops of the oak and ash and pine and fir and cedar +and maple and cherry and sycamore and spruce and tamarack, and all these +that grow in common confusion here and shut out the sun from the earth +as perfectly as if all things dwelt forever in cloudland.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>The cabin of old Forty-nine was very modest; it hid away in the canyon +as if it did not wish to be seen at all. And it was right; for verily it +was scarcely presentable. It was an old cabin, too, almost as old as +little "Carats," if indeed any one could tell how old she was. But it, +unlike herself, seemed to be growing tired and weary of the world. She +had been growing up as it had been growing down. The moss was gathering +all over the round, rough logs on the outside, and the weeds and wild +vines each year grew still more ambitious to get quite to the top of the +cabin, and peep down into the mysterious crater of a chimney that +forever smoked in a mournful and monotonous sort of way, as if watchers +were there—Vestal virgins, who dared not let their fires perish, on +penalty of death.</p> + +<p>"Drunken, wretched, cracked and crazy old Forty-nine," the camp said, +"he can never build a new cabin, for he can't stay sober long enough to +cut down a tree." And the camp told the ugly truth.</p> + +<p>"Why don't Forty-nine build a new cabin?" asked Gar Dosson one day, as +he passed that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> way, with a string of fish in his hand and a coon on his +back.</p> + +<p>"Poor dear Forty-nine's got the shakes so he can't get time. It takes +him all the time to shake, and it takes all his money to buy his ager +medicine. Poor dear old Forty-nine!" and the girl seemed to get a cinder +or something in her eye. * * * * *</p> + +<p>As the sun settled low, one afternoon, and cast long, creeping shadows +over the flowery land—shadows that lay upon and crept along the ground, +as if they were weary of the day, and would like to lie there and sleep, +and sleep, forever—the stealthy step of a man was heard approaching the +old cabin. There was something of the tiger in the man's movements, and +it was clear that his mission, whatever it was, was not a mission of +peace. * * * * *</p> + +<p>The man stands out in the clearing of the land before the cabin, and +peers right and left up the trail and down the trail, and then leans and +listens. Then he takes a glance back over his shoulder at his companion +and follower, Gar Dosson, and being sure that he too is on the alert and +close on his heels, he steps forward. Again the man leans and listens,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +but seeing no signs of life and hearing no sound, he straightens up, +walks close to the cabin, and calls out:</p> + +<p>"Hello, the house!" at the same time he looks to the priming of his gun, +and then fixes his eye on the door as it slowly opens. He drops the +breech hastily to the ground as the face of Carrie peers forth.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, Carrie, my girl! Is it only you miss? Beg pardon—but we +are lookin' for a gentleman—a young gentleman, John Logan."</p> + +<p>The man is terribly embarrassed as the girl looks him straight in the +face, and his companion falls back into the woods until almost hidden +from view.</p> + +<p>"Well, and why do you come here, skulking like Indians?"</p> + +<p>The man falls back; but recovering, he says, over his shoulder, as he +turns to go:</p> + +<p>"Yes, skulking around your cabin, like that other Injun, John Logan!"</p> + +<p>The man jerks the coon-skin cap up on his left ear as he says this, and, +tossing his head, steps back into the thick woods and is gone.</p> + +<p>Later in the evening, John Logan, gun in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> hand, passes slowly and +dreamily down the trail, close to old Forty-nine's cabin. Stumps and +Carrie are at play in the wood close at hand, and come forth at a bound.</p> + +<p>"Booh!" cries Carrie, darting around from behind a tree. "Booh! Mr. John +Logan," continues the girl, and then with her two dimpled brown hands +she throws back the glorious storm of black abundant hair, that all the +time tumbles about her beautiful face.</p> + +<p>"Why, Carrie, is that you? and Stumps, too? I am glad to see you. I—I +was feeling awful lonesome."</p> + +<p>"Been down to Squire Fields' again, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>The girl has reached one hand out against a tree, and half leaning on it +swings her right foot to and fro. John Logan starts just a little, looks +at her, sighs, sets the breech of his gun on the ground, and as his eyes +turn to hers, she sees he is very sad.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Carrie, I—I am lonesome at my cabin since—since mother died. All +the time, Carrie, I see her as I saw her that night, when I got home, +sitting there on the porch, looking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> straight out at the gate, waiting +for me, her hand on the dog's head, as if to hold him."</p> + +<p>As he says this, poor little Stumps stands up close against a tree, +draws his head down, and pulls up his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Yes, her long bony fingers resting on his head, holding him—and the +faithful dog never moving for fear he would disturb her—for she was +dead."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. John Logan, don't tell me about it—don't!" and the girl's +apron is again raised to her face as she shudders.</p> + +<p>"Poor old woman with the holler eyes," says Stumps to himself, in a tone +that is scarcely audible.</p> + +<p>"But there, never mind." The strong, handsome fellow brushes a tear +aside, and taking up his gun again, tries to be cheerful, and shake off +the care that encompasses him.</p> + +<p>"And you got lonesome, and went down to see Sylvia Fields, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>Again the girl's foot swings, and she looks askance from under her dark, +heavy hair, at John Logan.</p> + +<p>"Carrie, listen to me. Ever since I can remember, my mother waited and +watched for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> my coming at my cabin door. But now, only think how lonely +it is to live there. I can't go away. I have no fortune, no friends, no +people. What would people say to me and of me out in the great world? +Well, I went to Squire Fields, and I had a long talk with Sylvia."</p> + +<p>The girl starts, and almost chokes.</p> + +<p>"Been to see Sylvia Fields!" and with her booted foot she kicks the bark +of a tree with all her might. "Had a long talk with her!" Then she +whirls around, plunges her hand in her pocket, and swings her dress and +says, as she pouts out her mouth,</p> + +<p>"Oh, I feel just awful!"</p> + +<p>John Logan approaches her.</p> + +<p>"Why, Carrie, what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>Carrie still swings herself, and turns her back to the man as she says, +half savagely,</p> + +<p>"I don't know what's the matter, and I don't care what's the matter; but +I feel just awful, I do! I feel just like the dickens!"</p> + +<p>"But, Carrie, you ought to be very, very happy, with all this beautiful +scenery, and the sweet air in your hair and on your rosy face. And then +what a lady you have grown to be!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> Now don't look cross at me like that! +You ought to be as happy as a bird."</p> + +<p>"But I ain't happy; I ain't happy a bit, I ain't!" Then, after a pause +she continues:</p> + +<p>"I don't like that Gar Dosson. He was here looking for you."</p> + +<p>"Here? Looking for me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and he called old Forty-nine Old Blossom-nose. I just hate him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, Carrie, you know Forty-nine does drink dreadfully, and you +know he has got a dreadful red face."</p> + +<p>"Mr. John Logan," cries Carrie, hotly, "Forty-nine don't drink +dreadfully. He don't drink dreadfully at all. He does take something for +his ager, but he don't drink."</p> + +<p>"Well, his face is dreadful red, anyway," answers John Logan.</p> + +<p>Carrie, swinging her foot and thoughtfully looking up at the trees, +says, after a pause:</p> + +<p>"Do the trees drink? Do the trees and the bushes drink, John Logan? +Their faces get awfully red in the fall, too."</p> + +<p>"Carrie, you are cross to-day."</p> + +<p>Carrie, shrugging her shoulders and shak<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>ing her dress as if she would +shake it off her, snaps: "I ain't cross."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are," and the tawny man comes up to her and speaks in a kindly +tone: "But come. Many a pleasant walk we have had in these woods +together, and many a pleasant time we will have together still."</p> + +<p>"We won't!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, but we will! Come, you must not be so cross!"</p> + +<p>The girl leans her forehead against the tree on her lifted arm, and +swings her other foot. She looks down at the rounded ankle, and says, +almost savagely, to herself; "She's got bigger feet than I have. She's +got nearly twice as big feet, she has."</p> + +<p>John Logan looks at the girl with a profound tenderness, as she stands +there, pouting and swinging her foot. He attempts to approach her, but +she still holds her brow bowed to the tree upon her arm, and seems not +to see him. He shoulders his gun and walks past her, and says, kindly,</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Carrie."</p> + +<p>But the girl's eyes are following him, although she would not be willing +to admit it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> even to herself. As he is about to disappear, she thrusts +her hand madly through her hair, and pulls it down all in a heap. Still +looking at him under her brows, still swinging her foot wildly, she +says:</p> + +<p>"Do you think red hair is so awful ugly?"</p> + +<p>And what a wondrous glory of hair it was! It was so intensely black; and +then it had that singular fringe of fire, or touch of Titian color, +which seen in the sunset made it almost red.</p> + +<p>The man stops, turns, comes back a step or two, as she continues:</p> + +<p>"I do—I do! Oh, I wish to Moses I had tow hair, I do, like Sylvia +Fields."</p> + +<p>The man is standing close beside her now. He is looking down into her +face and she feels his presence. The foot does not swing so violently +now, and the girl has cautiously, and, as she believes, unseen, lifted +the edge of her tattered sleeve to her eyes. "Why Carrie, your hair is +not red." And he speaks very tenderly. "Carrie, you are going to be +beautiful. You are beautiful now. You are very beautiful!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>Carrie is not so angry now. The foot stops altogether, and she lifts her +face and says:</p> + +<p>"No I ain't—I ain't beautiful! Don't you try to humbug me. I am ugly, +and I know it! For, last winter, when I went down to the grocery to +fetch Forty-nine—he'd gone down there to get medicine for his ager, Mr. +John Logan—I heard a man say, 'She is ugly as a mud fence.' Oh, I went +for him! I made the fur fly! But that didn't make me pretty. I was ugly +all the same. No, I'm not pretty—I'm ugly, and I know it!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you're not. You are beautiful, and getting lovelier every day." +Carrie softens and approaches him.</p> + +<p>"Am I, John Logan? And you really don't think red hair is the ugliest +thing in the world?"</p> + +<p>"Do I really not think red hair is the ugliest thing in the world? Why, +Carrie?"</p> + +<p>Carrie, starting back, looks in his face and says, bitterly: "You do. +You do think red hair is the ugliest thing in all this born world, and I +just dare you to deny it. Sylvia Fields—she's got white hair, she has, +and you like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> white hair, you do. I despise her; I despise her so much +that I almost choke."</p> + +<p>"Why, now, Carrie, what makes you despise Sylvia Fields?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know; I don't know why I despise her, but I do. I despise her +with all my might and soul and body. And I tell you, Mr. John Logan, +that"—here the lips begin to quiver, and she is about to burst into +tears—"I tell you, Mr. John Logan, that I do hope she likes ripe +bananas; and I do hope that if she does like ripe bananas, that when +bananas come to camp this fall, that she will take a ripe banana and try +for to suck it; and I do hope she will suck a ripe banana down her +throat, and get choked to death on it, I do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Carrie, this is very wicked!" cries John Logan, reproachfully, "and +I must leave you if you talk that way. Good-bye," and the man shoulders +his gun and again turns away.</p> + +<p>"Well, do you think red hair is the ugliest thing in the world? Do you? +Do you now?"</p> + +<p>"Carrie, don't you know I love the beautiful, red woods of autumn?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is the May-day of the maiden's life; the May shower is over again, +and the girl lifts her beautiful face, and says lightly, almost laughing +through her tears,</p> + +<p>"And, oh, you did like the red bush, didn't you, Mr. John Logan? And, +oh, you did say that Moses saw the face of God in the burning bush, +didn't you, Mr. John Logan?"</p> + +<p>"I want you to tell me a story, I do," interposes Stumps. The boy had +stood there a long time, first on one foot, then on the other, swinging +his squirrel, pouting out his mouth, and waiting.</p> + +<p>"Yes, tell us a story," urges Carrie.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, tell us a story about a coon—no, about a panther—no, a bear. +Oh, yes, about a bear! about a bear!" cries the boy, "about a bear!"</p> + +<p>"Poor, half-wild children!" sighs John Logan. "Nothing to divert them, +their little minds go out, curiously seeking something new and strange, +just, I fancy as older and abler people's do in larger ways. Yes, I will +tell you a story about a bear. And let us sit down; my long walk has +tired my legs;" and he looks about for a resting place.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, here, this mossy log!" cries Stumps; "it's as soft as silk. You +will sit there, and I here, and sister there."</p> + +<p>John Logan leans his gun against a tree, hanging his pouch on the gun.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will sit here—and you, Carrie?"</p> + +<p>"Here. Oh, John Logan, I just fit in."</p> + +<p>One of Logan's arms falls loosely around Carrie, the other more loosely +around Stumps.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a nice fit, Carrie—couldn't be better if cut out by a +tailor."</p> + +<p>Carrie, swinging her feet, and looking in his face, very happy, +exclaims:</p> + +<p>"Oh, John Logan! Don't hold me too tight—you might hurt me!"</p> + +<p>Stumps laughs. "He don't hold me tight enough to hurt me a bit." Then +looking up in his face, says, "I want a bear story, I do."</p> + +<p>"Well, I will tell you a story out of the Bible. Once upon a time there +was a great, good man—a very good and a very earnest man. Well, this +very good old man, who was very bald headed, took a walk one evening; +and the very good old man passed by a lot of very bad boys. And these +very bad boys saw the very bald head of the very good man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> and they +said, 'Go up, old bald head! Go up, old bald head!' And it made this +good man very mad; and he turned, and he called a she-bear out of the +woods, and she ate up about forty."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cries Stumps, aghast.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" adds Carrie. "And he wasn't a very good man. He might have been a +very bald-headed man, but he wasn't a very good man to have her eat all +the children, Mr. John Logan."</p> + +<p>Stumps, nursing his squirrel, with his head on one side, says:</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't believe it, no how—I don't! What was his name—the old, +bald-head?"</p> + +<p>"His name was Elijah, sir."</p> + +<p>"Elijah! The bald-headed Elijah! Oh, I do believe it, then; for I know +when Forty-nine and the curly-headed grocery-keeper were playing poker, +at ten cents ante and pass the buck—when Forty-nine went down to get +his ager medicine, sister—Forty-nine, he went a blind; and the +curly-headed grocery-keeper he straddled it, and then Forty-nine seed +him, he did. And so help me! he raked in the pot on a Jack full. And +then the curly-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>headed grocery-keeper jumped up, and struck his fist on +the table, and he said, 'By the bald-headed Elijah!'"</p> + +<p>Carrie nestles closer, and in a half whisper, mutters,</p> + +<p>"I believe I'm getting a little chilly."</p> + +<p>Stumps hears this, and says,</p> + +<p>"Why, Carrie, I'm just a sweatin', and—"</p> + +<p>"Shoo! What noise was that? There is some one stealing through the +bush!"</p> + +<p>John Logan, as he spoke, rose up softly and cautiously, and half bent +forward as he put the two children aside and reached his gun. He looked +at the cap, ran an eye along the barrel, and then twisted his belt about +so that a pistol was just visible beneath his coat. The man had had an +intimation of trouble. Indeed, his gun had been at hand all this time, +but he did not care to frighten the two happy waifs of the woods with +any thought of what might happen to him, and even to them.</p> + +<p>These children had but one thing to dread. There was but one terrible +word to them in the language. It was not hunger, not starvation,—no, +not even death. It was the <i>Reservation</i>! That one word meant to them, +as it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> means to all who are liable to be carried there, captivity, +slavery, degradation, and finally death, in its most dreadful form.</p> + +<p>And why should it be so dreaded? Make the case your own, if you are a +lover of liberty, and you can understand.</p> + +<p>Statistics show that more than three-fourths of all Indians removed to +Reservations of late years, die before becoming accustomed to the new +order of things.</p> + +<p>Yet Indians do not really fear death. But they do dread captivity. They +are so fond of their roving life, their vast liberty—room! An Indian is +too brave to commit suicide, save in the most rare and desperate cases. +But his heart breaks from home-sickness, and he dies there in despair. +And then to see his helpless little children die, one by one, with the +burning fever, which always overtakes the poor captives!</p> + +<p>"How many of us died? I do not know. We counted them at first. But when +there were dead women and children in every house and not men enough to +bury them, I did not count any more," said one of the survivors when +questioned.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>In earlier times, some of these Reservations were well chosen—the one +on the Ummatilla, Oregon, for example. But of late years it would seem +as if the most deadly locations had been selected. Perhaps this is +thought best by those in authority, as the land is soon wanted by the +whites if it is at all fit for their use. And the Indians in such cases +are sooner or later made to move on.</p> + +<p>This particular Reservation in California, however, never has been and +never will be required or used by any man, except for a grave.</p> + +<p>Why, in the name of humanity, such things are left to the choice and +discretion of strangers, new men, men who know nothing about Indians and +care nothing for them, except so far as they can coin their blood, is +incomprehensible. It is a crime. Way out yonder, in the heart of a +burning plain, by the side of an alkali lake that fairly reeked with +malaria, where even reptiles died, where wild fowl never were found; a +place that even beasts knew better than to frequent, without wood or +water, save stunted sage and juniper and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> slimy alkali, in the very +valley of death—this Reservation had been established.</p> + +<p>"Ah, just the place. A place where we can use our cavalry when they +attempt to escape," said the young sprig of an officer, when some men +with a spark of humanity dared to protest.</p> + +<p>And that was the reason for removing it so far from the sweet, pure air +and water of the Sierras, and setting these poor captives down in the +valley of death.</p> + +<p>When they try to escape! Did it never occur to the United States to make +a Reservation pleasant and healthy enough for an Indian to be content +in? My word for it, if you will give him a place fit to live in, he will +be willing to make his home there.</p> + +<p>I know nothing in history so dark and dreadful as the story of the +Indians in this dreaded and deadly Reservation of the valley. The +Indians surrendered on condition that they should be taken to good homes +and taught the ways of the white man. Once in the white man's power, the +chains began to tighten, tighten at every step. Once there, they were +divided into lots, families torn apart,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> and put to work under guard; +men stood over them with loaded muskets. The land was full of malaria. +These men of the mountains began to sicken, to die; to die by +degrees,—to die, as the hot weather came on, by hundreds. At last a few +of the strongest, the few still able to stand, broke away and found +their way back to the mountains. They were like living skeletons, skin +and bone only, hollow-eyed and horrible to look upon. Toward the last, +these poor Indians had crawled on their hands and knees to get back. +They were followed by the soldiers, and taken wherever they could be +found; taken back to certain death. One, a young man, still possessed of +a little strength, fought with sticks and stones with all his might as +he lay in the trail where he had fallen in his flight. He lifted his two +bony hands between the foe and his dying old father. The two were taken +and chained together. That night the young man with an old pair of +scissors, which he had borrowed on pretense of wanting to trim his hair, +killed the old man by pushing one of the points into his heart. You +could see by the marks of blood on the young man's hand next morn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>ing, +that he had felt more than once to see if the old man was quite dead. +Then he drove the point of the scissors in his own heart, and crawled +upon the old man's body, embraced it and died there. And yet all this +had been done so quietly that the two guards who marched back and forth +only a few feet distant, did not know till next morning that anything of +the kind had been. Sometimes these wretches would beg, and even steal, +on their way back from the dreadful Reservation. They were frightful, +terrible, at such times. They sometimes stood far off outside the gate, +and begged with outstretched hands. Their appearances were so against +them, hungry, dying; and then this traditional hatred of four hundred +years.</p> + +<p>But this is too much digression. John Logan knew all the wrongs of his +people only too well. He sympathized with them. And this meant his own +ruin. A few Indians had made their way back of late, and John Logan had +harbored them while the authorities were in pursuit. This was enough. An +order had been sent to bring in John Logan.</p> + +<p>He knew of this, and that was why he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> now stood all alert and on fire, +as these two men came stealing through the bush and straight for him. +Should he fire? To shoot, to shoot at, to even point a gun at a white +man, is death to the Indian. A slave of the South had been ten-fold more +safe in striking his master in the old days of slavery, than is an +Indian on the border in defending his person against a white man.</p> + +<p>The two children, like frightened pheasants, when the old one gives +signs of danger, darted down behind him, quick as thought, still as +death. Their desperate and destitute existence in that savage land had +made them savages in their cunning and caution. They said no word, made +no sign. Their eyes were fixed on his every step and motion. He signaled +them back. They darted like squirrels behind trees, and up and on +through the thicket, toward the steep and inaccessible bluffs above. The +two men saw the retreating children. They wanted Carrie. They darted +forward; one of them jerked out and held up a paper in the face of John +Logan.</p> + +<p>"We want you at the Reservation. Come!"</p> + +<p>Phin Emens stood full before Logan. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> shook the paper in his face. The +man did not move. Carrie was fast climbing up the mountain. She was +about to escape. Gar Dosson was furious. He attempted to pass, to climb +the mountain, and to get at the girl. Still Logan kept himself between +as he slowly retreated.</p> + +<p>"Stand aside, and let me get that girl. I must take <i>her</i>, too!" shouted +Dosson. Still Logan kept the man back. And now the children had escaped. +Wild with rage, Dosson caught Logan by the shoulder and shouted, "Come!" +With a blow that might have felled an ox, the Indian brought the man to +the ground. Then, grasping his rifle in his right hand, he darted +through the thicket after the retreating children, up the mountain, +while Phin Emens stooped over his fallen friend.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>MAN-HUNTERS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>He caused the dry land to appear.</i><ins class="correction" title="added close quote">"</ins><span class="smcap">—Bible.</span><br /></span><br /> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The mountains from that fearful first</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Named day were God's own house. Behold,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>'Twas here dread Sinai's thunders burst</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And showed His face. 'Twas here of old</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His prophets dwelt. Lo, it was here</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The Christ did come when death drew near.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Give me God's wondrous upper world</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That makes familiar with the moon</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>These stony altars they have hurled</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Oppression back, have kept the boon</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of liberty. Behold, how free</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The mountains stand, and eternally.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Success makes us selfish. The history of the world chronicles no +prosperity like that of ours; and so, thinking of only ourselves and our +success, we forget others. It is easy, indeed, to forget the misery of +others; and we hate to be told of it, too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>On a high mountain side overlooking the valley, hung a little camp like +a bird's nest. It was hidden there in the densest wood, yet it looked +out over the whole land. No bird, indeed no mother of her young, ever +chose a deeper or wilder retreat, or a place more utterly apart from the +paths and approaches of mankind.</p> + +<p>Certainly the little party had stood in imminent peril of capture, and +had prized freedom dearly indeed, to climb these crags and confront the +very snow-peaks in their effort to make certain their safety.</p> + +<p>And a little party, too, it must have been; for you could have passed +within ten feet of the camp and not discovered it by day. And by night? +Well, certainly by night no man would peril his life by an uncertain +footing on the high cliffs here, only partly concealed by the thick +growth of chaparral, topt by tall fir and pine and cedar and tamarack. +And so a little fire was allowed to burn at night, for it was near the +snow and always cold. And it was this fire, perhaps, that first betrayed +the presence of the fugitives to the man-hunters.</p> + +<p>Very poor and wretched were they, too. If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> they had had more blankets +they might not have so needed the fire. So poor were they, in fact, that +you might have stood in the very heart of the little camp and not +discovered any property at all without looking twice. A little heap of +ashes in the center sending up a half-smothered smoke, two or three +loose California lion-skins, thrown here and there over the rocks, a +pair of moccasins or two, a tomahawk—and that was almost all. No +cooking utensils had they—for what had they to cook? No eating +utensils—for what had they to eat?</p> + +<p>Great gnarled and knotty trees clung to the mountain side beyond, and a +little to the left a long, thin cataract, which, from the valley far +below, looked like a snowy plume, came pitching down through the tree +tops. It had just been let loose from the hand of God—this sheen of +shining water. Back and beyond all this, a peak of snow, a great pyramid +and shining shaft of snow, with a crown of clouds, pierced heaven.</p> + +<p>Stealthily, and on tip-toe, two armed men, both deeply disguised in +great black beards, and in good clothes, stepped into this empty little +camp. Bending low, looking right, look<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>ing left, guns in hand and hand +on trigger, they stopped in the centre of the little camp, and looked +cautiously up, down, and all around. Seeing no one, hearing nothing, +they looked in each others' eyes, straightened up, and, standing their +guns against a tree, breathed more freely in the gray twilight. Wicked, +beastly-looking men were they, as they stood there loosening their +collars, taking in their breath as if they had just had a hard climb, +and looking about cautiously; hard, cruel and cunning, they seemed as if +they partook something of the ferocity of the wild beasts that prowled +there at night.</p> + +<p>These two large animal-looking men were armed with pistols also. But at +the belt of each hung and clanked and rattled something more terrible +than any implement of death.</p> + +<p>These were manacles! Irons! Chains for human hands!</p> + +<p>Did it never occur to you as a little remarkable, that man only forges +chains and manacles for his fellow-man? A cage will do for a wild beast, +cattle are put in pens, bears in a pit, but man must be chained. Men +carry these manacles with them only when they set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> out to take their +fellow-man. These two men were man-hunters.</p> + +<p>Standing there, manacles in hand, half beast and half devil, they were +in the employment of the United States. They were sent to take John +Logan, Carrie and Johnny, to the Reservation—the place most hated, +dreaded, abhorred of all earthly places, the Reservation! Back of these +two men lay a deeper, a more damning motive for the capture of the girl +than the United States was really responsible for; for the girl, as we +have seen, was very beautiful. This rare wild flower had now almost +matured in the hot summer sun just past. But remember, it was all being +done in the name of and under the direction of, and, in fact, by, the +United States Government.</p> + +<p>To say nothing of the desire of agents and their deputies to capture and +possess beautiful girls, it is very important to any Indian agent that +each victim, even though he be half or three-quarters, or even entirely, +white, be kept on the Reservation; for every captive is so much money in +the hands of the Indian agent. He must have Indians, as said before, to +report to the Government in order to draw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> blankets, provisions, +clothes, and farming utensils for them. True, the Indians do not get a +tithe of these things, but he must be on the Reservation roll-call in +order that the agent may draw them in his name.</p> + +<p>This agency had become remarkably thin of Indians. The mountain Indians, +accustomed to pure water and fresh air, could not live long in the hot, +fever-stricken valley. They died by hundreds. And then, as if utterly +regardless of the profits of the agents of the Reservation, they hung +themselves in their prison-pens, with their own chains. Two, father and +son, killed themselves with the same knife one night while chained +together.</p> + +<p>There was just a little bit of the old Roman in these liberty-loving +natures, it seemed to me. See the father giving himself the death-wound, +and then handing the knife to his son! The two chained apart, but still +able to grasp each other's hands; grasping hands and dying so! Very +antique that, it seems to me, in its savage valor—love of liberty, and +lofty contempt of death. But then it was only Indians, and happened so +recently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is true, Gar Dosson wanted revenge and the girl; and the two men +wanted the little farm. Yet do not forget that back of all this lay that +granite and immovable mountain of fact, that other propelling principle +to compel them on to the hunt, the order, the sanction—the gold—of the +government. Let it be told with bowed head, with eyes to the ground, and +cheeks crimson with shame! Think of one of these hunted human beings—a +beautiful young girl, just at that sweet and tender, almost holy period +of life, the verge of womanhood, when every man of the land should start +up with a noble impulse to throw the arm of protection about her!</p> + +<p>"Shoo! they must be close about," began the shorter of the two ruffians, +reaching back for his gun, as if he had heard something.</p> + +<p>"No. Didn't you see that squirrel shucking a hazel nut on that rock +there, just afore we came in?" said the other.</p> + +<p>"A bushy-tailed gray? Yes, seed him scamper up a saplin."</p> + +<p>"Wal, don't you know that if they had a bin hereabouts, a squirrel +wouldn't a sot down there to shuck a nut?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Right! You've been among Injins so long that you know more about them +than they do themselves."</p> + +<p>"Wal, what I don't know about an Injin no one don't know. They've gone +for grub, and will come back at sun-down."</p> + +<p>"Come back here at sun-down?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you see the skins there? Whar kin they sleep? They'll come afore +dark, for even an Injin can't climb these rocks after dark. And when the +gal's in camp, and that feller fixed—eh? eh?" And he tapped and rattled +the manacles.</p> + +<p>"Eh? eh? old Toppy?" and the two men poked each other in the ribs, and +looked the very <ins class="correction" title="Text reads 'villians'">villains</ins> that they were.</p> + +<p>"But let's see what they've got here. Two tiger-skins, an old moccasin +and a tomahawk;" he looked at the handle and read the name, <span class="smcap">John Logan</span>; +"Guess I'll hide that," said the agent, as he kicked the skins about, +and then stuck the tomahawk up under his belt. "Guess that's about all."</p> + +<p>"Guess that's about all!" sneered the other; "that's about all you know +about Injuns. Allers got your nose to the ground, too. Look<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> here!" And +the man, who had been walking about and looking up in the trees, here +drew down a bundle from the boughs of a fir.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll swar! ef you can't find things where a coon dog couldn't!"</p> + +<p>"Find things!" exclaimed the other, as he prepared to examine the +contents of the bundle; "all you've got to do is to look into a fir-tree +in an Injun's camp. You see, bugs and things won't climb a fir gum; +nothing but a red-bellied squirrel will go up a fir gum, for fear of +sticking in the wax; and even a squirrel won't, if there is a string +tied around, for fear of a trap. Wal, there is the string. So you see an +Injun's <i>cache</i> is as safe up a fir-tree as under lock and key. Ah, +they're awful short of grub. Look thar! Been gnawing that bone, and +they've put that away for their suppers, I swar!"</p> + +<p>"Wal, the grub is short, eh? They'll be rather thin, I'm thinking."</p> + +<p>The other did not notice this remark, but throwing the bundle aside, he +rose up and went back to the tree.</p> + +<p>"By the beardy Moses! Look thar!" and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> the man looked about as if half +frightened, and then held up a bottle.</p> + +<p>"Whisky?" asked the other, springing eagerly forward.</p> + +<p>"No," answered the man, contemptuously, after smelling the bottle.</p> + +<p>"Water, eh?" queried the other, with disgust.</p> + +<p>"Wine! And look here. Do you know what that means? It means a white man! +Yes, it does. No Injin ever left a cork in a bottle. Now, you look +sharp. There will be a white man to tackle."</p> + +<p>"Wal, I guess he won't be much of a white man, or he'd have whisky."</p> + +<p>"Shoo! I heard a bird fly down the canyon. Somebody's a comin' up thar."</p> + +<p>"We better git, eh?" said the other, getting his gun; "lay for 'em."</p> + +<p>"Lay low and watch our chance. Maybe we'll come in on 'em friendly like, +if there's white men. We're cattle men, you know; men hunting cattle," +says the other, getting his gun and leading off behind the crags in the +rear. "Leave me to do the talking. I'll tell a thing, and you'll swear +to it. Wait, let's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> see," and he approaches the edge of the rocks, and, +leaning over, looked below.</p> + +<p>"See 'em?"</p> + +<p>"Shoo! Look down there. The gal! She's a fawn. She's as pretty as a +tiger-lily. Ah, my beauty!"</p> + +<p>The other man stood up, shook his head thoughtfully, and seemed to +hesitate. The watcher still kept peering down; then he turned and said: +"The white man is old Forty-nine. He comes a bobbin' and a limpin' along +with a keg on his back, and a climbin' up the mountain sidewise, like a +crab."</p> + +<p>"Whoop! I have it. It's wine, and they'll get drunk. Forty-nine will get +drunk, don't you see, and then?"</p> + +<p>"You're a wise 'un! Shake!" And they grasped hands.</p> + +<p>"You bet! Now this is the little game. The gal and Logan, and the boy, +will get here long first. Well, now, maybe we will go for the gal and +the boy. But if we don't, we just lay low till all get sot down, and at +that keg the old man's got, and then we just come in. Cattle-men, back +in the mountains, eh?"</p> + +<p>"That's the game. But here they come!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> Shoo!" and with his finger to his +lip the leader stole behind the rocks, both looking back over their +shoulders, as Carrie entered the camp.</p> + +<p>Her pretty face was flushed from exertion, and brown as a berry where +not protected by the shock of black hair. She swung a broad straw hat in +her hand, and tossed her head as if she had never worn and never would +wear any other covering for it than that so bountifully supplied by +nature. She danced gaily, and swung her hat as she flew about the little +camp, and called at her chubby cherub of a brother over her shoulder. At +last, puffing and blowing, and wiping his forehead, he entered camp and +threw himself on one of the rocks.</p> + +<p>"Why, you ain't tired, are you Johnny?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh, oh,—no, I—I—I ain't tired a bit!" and he wiped his brow, and +puffed and blowed, in spite of all his efforts to restrain himself.</p> + +<p>"Why you like to climb the mountains, Johnny. Don't you know you said +you liked to climb the mountains better than to eat?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, yes—I—I like to climb a mountain. That is, I like to climb +one mountain at a time. But when there are two or three mountains all +piled up on top of one another, Oh, oh, oh!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Johnny! You to go to bragging about climbing mountains! You can't +climb mountains!" And again the girl, with shoes that would hardly hold +together, a dress in ribbons, and a face not unfamiliar with the dirt of +the earth, danced back and forth before him and sung snatches of a +mountain song. "Oh, I'm so happy up here, Johnny. I always sing like a +bird up here." Then, looking in his face, she saw that he was very +thoughtful; and stepping back, and then forward, she said: "Why, what +makes you so serious? They won't never come up here, will they, Johnny? +Not even if somebody at the Reservation wanted me awful bad, and +somebody gave somebody lots of money to take me back, they couldn't +never come up here, could they, Johnny?" And the girl looked eagerly +about.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Carrie, you are safe here. Why, you are as safe here as in a +fort."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This mountain is God's fort, John Logan says, Johnny. It is for the +eagles to live in and the free people to fly to; for my people to climb +up out of danger and talk to the Great Spirit that inhabits it." The +girl clasped her hands and looked up reverently as she said this. "But +come, now, Johnny, don't be serious, and I will sing you the nicest song +I know till Forty-nine comes up the mountain; and I will dance for you, +Johnny, and I will do all that a little girl can do to make you glad and +happy as I am, Johnny."</p> + +<p>Here John Logan came up the hill, and the girl stopped and said, very +seriously,</p> + +<p>"And you are right sure, John Logan, nobody will get after us +again?—nobody follow us away up here, jam up, nearly against Heaven?"</p> + +<p>Here the two men looked out.</p> + +<p>"No, Carrie, nobody will ever climb this high for you,—nobody, except +<i>somebody</i> that loves you very much, and loves you very truly."</p> + +<p>"Injins might, but white men won't, I guess; too stiff in the jints!"</p> + +<p>And again the girl whirled and danced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> about, as if she had not heard +one word he said. Yet she had heard every word, and heeded, too, for her +eyes sparkled, and she danced even lighter than before; for her heart +was light, and the wretched little outcast was—for a rare thing in her +miserable life—very, very happy.</p> + +<p>"I ain't stiff in the jints, am I, Johnny?" and she tapped her ankles.</p> + +<p>"Carrie, sing me that other song of yours, and that will make my heart +lighter," said Johnny.</p> + +<p>"Why, Johnny, we haven't even got the clouds to overshadow us here; +we're above the clouds, and everything else. But I'll sing for you if I +can only make you glad as you was before they got after us." And +throwing back her hair and twisting herself about, looking back over her +shoulder and laughing, looking down at her ragged feet, and making +faces, she began.</p> + +<p>Like the song of a bird, her voice rang out on the coming night; for it +was now full twilight, and the leaves quivered overhead; and far up and +down the mountains the melody floated in a strange, sweet strain, and +with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> touch of tenderness that moved her companions to tears. Logan +stood aside, looking down for Forty-nine a moment, then went to bring +wood for the fire.</p> + +<p>As her song ended, Carrie turned to the boy; but in doing so her eyes +rested on the empty bottle left by the side of a stone spread with a +tiger skin, by the two men. The boy had his head down, as if still +listening, and did not observe her. She stopped suddenly, started back, +looked to see if observed by her brother, and seeing that he was still +absorbed she advanced, took up the bottle and held it up, glancing back +and up the tree.</p> + +<p>"Somebody's been here! Somebody's been here, and it's been white men; +the bottle's empty."</p> + +<p>She hastily hid the bottle, and stepping back and looking up where her +little store had been hidden, she only put her finger to her lip, shook +her head on seeing what had happened, and then went and stood by her +little brother. Very thoughtful and full of care was she now. All her +merriment had gone. She stood there as one suddenly grown old.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you, Carrie. It's a pretty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> song. But what can keep +Forty-nine so long?"</p> + +<p>The boy rose as he said this, and turning aside looked down the mountain +into the gathering darkness. The girl stood close beside him, as if +afraid.</p> + +<p>"He is coming. Far down, I hear Forty-nine's boots on the bowlders."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so glad! And I'm so glad he's got pistols!" said the girl, +eagerly. The two men, who had stepped out, looked at each other as she +said this and made signs.</p> + +<p>"Why, Carrie, are you afraid here! You are all of a tremble!" said the +boy, as she clung close to him, when they turned back.</p> + +<p>"Johnny," said the girl eagerly, almost wildly, as she looked around, +"if men were to come to take us to that Reservation, what would you do?"</p> + +<p>"What would I do? I would kill 'em! Kill 'em dead, Carrie. I would hold +you to my heart so, with this arm, and with this I would draw my pistol +so, and kill 'em dead."</p> + +<p>The two heads of the man-hunters disappeared behind the rocks. The boy +pushed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> back the girl's black, tumbled stream of hair from her brow, and +kissing her very tenderly, he went aside and sat down; for he was very, +very weary.</p> + +<p>A twilight squirrel stole out from the thicket into the clearing and +then darted back as if it saw something only partly concealed beyond. +The two children saw this, and looked at each other half alarmed. Then +the girl, as if to calm the boy—who had grown almost a man in the past +few weeks—began to talk and chatter as if she had seen nothing, +suspected nothing.</p> + +<p>"When the Winter comes, Johnny, we can't stay here; we would starve."</p> + +<p>"Carrie, do the birds starve? Do the squirrels starve? What did God make +us for if we are to starve?"</p> + +<p>All this time the two men had been stealing out from their hiding-place, +as if resolved to pounce upon and seize the girl before Forty-nine +arrived. The leader had signaled and made signs to his companion back +there in the gloaming, for they dared not speak lest they should be +heard; and now they advanced stealthily, guns in hand, and now they +fell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> back to wait a better chance; and just as they were about to +spring upon the two from behind, the snowy white head of old Forty-nine +blossomed above the rocks, and his red face, like a great opening +flower, beamed in upon the little party, while the good-natured old man +puffed and blowed as he fanned himself with his hat and sat down his keg +of provisions. And still he puffed and blowed, as if he would never +again be able to get his breath. The two men stole back.</p> + +<p>"And Forty-nine likes to climb the mountains too, don't he? Good for his +health. See, what a color he's got! And see how fat he is! Good for your +health, ain't it, papa Forty-nine?"</p> + +<p>But the good old miner was too hot and puffy to answer, as the merry +little girl danced with delight around him.</p> + +<p>"Why, it makes you blow, don't it? Strange how a little hill like that +could make a man blow," said Johnny, winking at Carrie.</p> + +<p>But old Forty-nine only drew a long, thin wild flower through his hand, +and looked up now and then to the girl. He beckoned her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> to approach, +and she came dancing across to where he sat.</p> + +<p>"It's a sad looking flower, and it's a small one. But, my girl, the +smallest flower is a miracle. And, Carrie, sometimes the sweetest +flowers grows closest to the ground."</p> + +<p>The man handed her the flower, and was again silent. His face had for a +moment been almost beautiful. Here Logan came up with a little wood.</p> + +<p>"Oh, John Logan, what a pretty flower for your button-hole!" and the +fond girl bounded across and eagerly placed it in the young man's +breast.</p> + +<p>The old man on the keg saw this, and his face grew dark. His hands +twisted nervously, and he could hardly keep his seat on his keg. Then he +hitched up his pants right and left, sat down more resolutely on the keg +than before, but said nothing for a long time.</p> + +<p>At last the old man hitched about on his keg, and said sharply, over his +shoulder: "I saw a track, a boot-track, coming up. On the watch, there!"</p> + +<p>The others looked about as if alarmed. It was now dark. Suddenly the two +men ap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>peared, looking right and left, and smiling villainously. They +came as if they had followed Forty-nine, and not from behind the rocks, +where they had been secreted.</p> + +<p>"Good evenin', sir! good evenin', sir! Going to rain, eh? Heard it +thunder, and thought best to get shelter. Cattle-men—we're cattle-men, +pard and I. Seed your camp-fire, and as it was thunderin,' we came right +in. All right, boss? All right, eh? All right?" And the man, cap in +hand, bowed from one to the other, as not knowing who was the leader, or +whom he should address.</p> + +<p>"All right," answered Logan. "You're very welcome. Stand your guns +there. You're as welcome under these trees as the birds—eh, +Forty-nine?"</p> + +<p>But Forty-nine was now silent and thoughtful. He was still breathless, +and he only puffed and blowed his answer, and sat down on his keg again +with all his might.</p> + +<p>"You must be hungry," said the girl kindly, approaching the men.</p> + +<p>"Heaps of provisions," puffed Forty-nine, and again he half arose and +then sat down on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> his keg, tighter and harder, if possible, than before.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, gents, thank you. It's hungry we are—eh, pard?"</p> + +<p>"We'll have a spread right off," answered the good hearted Logan, now +spreading a rock, which served for a table, with the food; when he +observed the two men look at the girl and make signs. He looked straight +and hard at the man-hunters for a moment, and seeing them exchange +glances and nod their ill-looking heads at each other he suddenly +dropped his handful of things and started forward. He caught the leader +by the shoulder, and whirling him about as he stood there with his +companion leering at the girl, he cried out:</p> + +<p>"Hunting cattle, are you? What's your brand? What's the brand of your +cattle, I say? I know every brand in Shasta. Now what is your brand?"</p> + +<p>Johnny had strode up angrily toward the two men, and followed them up as +they retreated. Old Forty-nine, who now was on the alert, and had his +sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows from the first, had not been +indifferent, but was reaching his tremendous fist<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> towards the +retreating nose of Dosson. Yet it was too dark to distinguish friend +from foe.</p> + +<p>"Why, we are not rich men, stranger. We are poor men, and have but few +cattle, and so, so we have no brand—eh? pardner—eh?"</p> + +<p>"No. We got no brand. Poor men, poor men."</p> + +<p>"We are poor men, with a few cattle that have gone astray. We are +hungry, tired poor men, that have lost their way in the night. Poor men +that's hungry, and now you want to drive us out into the storm."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Forty-nine,—John Logan,—they're poor hungry men!" interposed +Carrie.</p> + +<p>"There, there's my hand!" cried impulsive, honest old Forty-nine. +"That's enough. You're hungry. Sit down there. And quick, Carrie, pour +us the California wine. Here's a gourd, there's a yeast powder can, and +there's a tin cup. Thank you. Here's to you. Ah, that sets a fellow all +right. It warms the heart; and, I beg your pardon—it's mean to be +suspicious. Here, fill us up again. Ah, that's gone just to the spot! +Eh, fellows?"</p> + +<p>"To the right spot! Keep him a drinkin',<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> and the others, too," +whispered Dosson to Emens.</p> + +<p>"That's the game!" And the two villains winked at each other, and +slapped Forty-nine on the back, and laughed, and pretended to be the +best friend he had in the world.</p> + +<p>The two men now sat at the table, and Carrie and Johnny bustled about +and helped them as they ate and drank. Meantime Logan went for more wood +to make a light.</p> + +<p>"And here's the bread, and here's the meat, and—and—that's about all +there is," said the girl at last. Then she stood by and with alarm saw +the men swallow the last mouthful, and feel about over the table and +look up to her for more in the dark.</p> + +<p>"All there is? All gone?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and to-morrow, Johnny?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, Carrie?" called out Forty-nine, who was now almost drunk: +"We've had a good supper, let to-morrow take care of itself. Eh! Let +to-morrow take care of itself! That's my motto—hic—divide the troubles +of the year up into three hundred and sixty-five parts, and take the +pieces one at a time. Live one day at a time. That's my philosophy." And +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> poor old man, Forty-nine, held his hat high in the air, and began +to hiccough and hold his neck unsteadily.</p> + +<p>The girl saw this with alarm. As if by accident she placed herself +between the men and their guns. Meantime, the two men were trying in +vain to get at the pistols of Forty-nine. They would almost succeed, and +then, just as they were about to get hold of them, the drunken man would +roll over to the other side or change position. All the time Carrie kept +wishing so devoutly that Logan would come.</p> + +<p>"Take a drink," said one of the men to the girl, reaching out his cup, +after glancing at his companion. But the girl only shook her head, and +stepped further back. "Thought you said she was civilized?" "She, she is +civilized; but isn't quite civilized enough to get drunk yet," +hiccoughed Forty-nine, as he battered his tin-cup on the table, and +again foiled the hand just reached for his pistol. The boy saw this, and +stole back through the dark behind his sister. To remove the cap and +touch his tongue to the tubes of the guns was the work only of a second, +and again he was back by the side of the men. Eagerly all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> the time the +girl kept looking over her shoulders into the dark, deep woods, for +Logan. The thunder rolled, and it began to grow very dark. She went up +to Forty-nine, on pretense of helping him to more wine, and whispered +sharply in his ear.</p> + +<p>The old man only stared at her in helpless wonder. His head rolled from +one side to the other like that of an idiot. His wits were utterly under +water.</p> + +<p>And now, as the darkness thickened and the men's actions could hardly be +observed, one of them pushed the drunken man over, clutched his pistols, +and the two sprang up together.</p> + +<p>"I've got 'em, Gar," cried Emens, and the two started back for their +guns. The girl stood in the way, and Dosson threw his massive body upon +her and bore her to the earth, while the other, awkwardly holding the +two pistols in one hand, groped in the dark for their guns.</p> + +<p>The storm began to beat terribly. The mountains fairly trembled from the +rolling thunder. As the man was about to clutch the guns, he felt rather +than saw that a tall figure stood between. That instant a flash<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> of +lightning showed John Logan standing there, the boy by his side, and two +ugly pistols thrust forward. The man-hunters were unmasked in the fiery +light of heaven, and Logan knew them for the first time.</p> + +<p>"I will not kill you." He said this with look and action that was grand +and terrible. "Take your guns and go! Out into the storm! If God can +spare you, I can spare you. Go!"</p> + +<p>And by the lightning's light, the two men, with two ugly pistol-nozzles +in their faces, took their guns and groped and backed down the mountain +into the darkness, where they belonged.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>THE OLD GOLD-HUNTER.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>For the Right! as God has given</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Man to see the Maiden Right!"</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>For the Right, through thickest night,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Till the man-brute Wrong be driven</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>From high places; till the Right</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Shall lift like some grand beacon light.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>For the Right! Love, Right and duty;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Lift the world up, though you fall</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Heaped with dead before the wall;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>God can find a soul of beauty</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Where it falls, as gems of worth</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Are found by miners dark in earth.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Old Forty-nine had not cast his life and lot with John Logan at all. Yet +this singular and contradictory old man stood ready to lay down his +seemingly worthless life at a moment's notice for this boy whom he had +almost brought up from childhood. But he was not living with him in the +mountains. He had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> done all he could to protect him, to shelter and feed +him, all the time. But now the pursuit was so hot and desperate that the +old man, in his sober moments—rare enough, I admit—began to doubt if +it would be possible to save this young man much longer from the +clutches of the Agents. Indeed, it was only by the sweet persuasion of +Carrie that he had this time been induced to go with her and Johnny up +on the spur of the mountain, and there meet John Logan with some +provisions. From there he was persuaded to go with him to his +hiding-place, high up the mountain, where we left him in the last +chapter.</p> + +<p>But the poor old man's head was soon under water again, as we have seen. +That keg of California wine and the few bits of bread and meat, which so +suddenly disappeared in the hands of Dosson and Emens, were all he +happened to have in the cabin when the two children came in at dusk. But +these he had snatched up at once and ran with them to Logan.</p> + +<p>But the next morning, when his head was once more above water, and he +had been told all that had happened, he pulled his long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> white beard to +the right and to left, and at last rose up and took the two children and +led them back down the steep and stupendous mountain to his cabin. He +knew that John Logan was now a doomed man. Had he been alone, had there +been no one but himself and this hunted man, he would have stayed by his +side. As it was, it made the old man a year older to decide. And it was +like tearing his heart out by the roots, when he rose up, choking with +agony, grasped Logan's hand, bade him farewell, and led the children +hurriedly away. Once, twice, the old man stopped and turned suddenly +about, and looked sharply and almost savagely up the mountains, as if to +return. And then, each time he sighed, shook his head, and hurried on +down the hill. He held tightly on to the little brown hands of the +children, as if he feared that they, too, like himself, might let their +better natures master them, and so turn back and join the desolate and +hunted man.</p> + +<p>That evening, after the old man had returned from his tunnel, and while +he prepared a meager meal from a few potatoes and a heel of bacon found +back in the corner of a shelf, and so hard that even the wood-rats had +re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>fused to eat it, a passing fellow-miner put his heavy head and +shoulders in at the half open cabin and shouted out that a barn had been +burned in the valley, a house fired into, and the tomahawk of John Logan +found hard by. The children glanced at each other by the low fire-light. +But old Forty-nine only went on with his work as the head withdrew and +passed on, but he said never a word. He was very thoughtful all the +evening. He was now perfectly certain that his course had been the wise +one, the only prudent one in fact. Logan he knew was now beyond help. He +must use all his art and address to keep the children from further +peril. He made them promise to remain in his cabin, to never attempt to +reach Logan. He told them that their presence with him would only +greatly embarrass him in his flight; that they might be followed if they +attempted to reach him, and that he and they would then be taken and +sent to the Reservation together. But he told them further—and their +black eyes flashed like fire as he spoke in a voice tremulous with +emotion and earnestness—that if ever Logan came to that cabin hungry, +or for help of any kind, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> should help him with every means in their +power.</p> + +<p>And so the old man went back to work in his tunnel; and as the autumn +wore away and winter drew on, the children kept close about the little +old cabin, waiting, waiting, waiting; looking up toward the now white, +cold mountain, yet obeying Forty-nine to the letter.</p> + +<p>Meantime the man-hunt went on; although the children knew nothing for a +long time of the deadly energy with which it was conducted.</p> + +<p>What a strange place for two bright, budding children was this old, old +cabin, with its old, old man, and its dark and miserable interior! How +people shunned the lonely old place, and how it sank down into the earth +and among the weeds and willows, and long strong yellow tangled grass, +as if it wanted to be shunned!</p> + +<p>On a dirty old shelf near the fire-place lay a torn and tattered book. +It was thumbed and thrumbed all to pieces from long and patient use. +When the wind blew through the chinks of the cabin, this old book seemed +to have life. It fluttered there like a wounded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> bird. Its leaves +literally whispered. This old book was a Bible.</p> + +<p>More houses had been burned in the little valley, and the crime laid to +John Logan. He had now been proclaimed an outlaw in effect by every +settler. Those two men had made him so odious that many settlers had +vowed to shoot him on sight. Dosson at last went before a magistrate and +swore that John Logan had shot at him while in the performance of his +duty as a sub-agent of the Reservation. By this means he procured a +warrant for his arrest by the civil authorities, to be placed in the +hands of the newly elected sheriff of the newly organized and sparsely +settled country. Things looked desperate indeed. To add to the agony of +the crisis, a sharp and bitter winter now wrapped the whole world in +snow and ice. It was no longer possible for any one to subsist in the +mountains, or survive at all without fire and fire-arms. These the +hunted man did not dare use. They were witnesses that would betray his +presence, and must not be thought of.</p> + +<p>All this time the old man and the children<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> could do nothing. The +children hovered over the fire in the wretched old cabin. And what a +cold, cheerless place it was!</p> + +<p>But if the interior of this old cabin was gloomy, that of the old tunnel +was simply terrible. Yet in this dark and dreadful place the old man had +spent nearly a quarter of a century.</p> + +<p>I wonder if the glad, gay world knows where it gets its gold? Does that +fair woman, or well-clad, well-fed man, know anything about the life of +the gold-hunter? When the gold is brought to the light and given to the +commerce of the world, we see it shining in the sun. It is now a part of +the wealth of the nation. But do not forget that every piece of gold you +touch or see, or stand credited with at your bank, cost some brave man +blood, life!</p> + +<p>This old Forty-nine, years before, when the camp was young, had found a +piece of gold-bearing quartz in a ledge on the top of a high, sharp +ridge, that pointed down into the canyon. This was before quartz mining +had been thought of. But the shrewd, thoughtful man saw that from this +source came all the gold in the placer. He could see that it was from +this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> vein that all the fine gold in the camp had been fed. He resolved +to strike at the fountain head. It was by accident he had made his +discovery. The high, sharp and narrow ridge was densely timbered, and +now that the miners had settled in the canyon below, the annual fires +would not be allowed to sweep over the country, and the woods would soon +be almost impenetrable. So argued Forty-nine. For all his mind was bent +on keeping his secret till he could pierce the mountains from the +canyon-level below, and strike the ledge in the heart of the great +high-backed ridge, where he felt certain the gold must lay in great +heaps and flakes and wedges. And so it was with a full heart and a +strong arm that he had begun his low, dark tunnel—all alone at the +bottom of the ridge.</p> + +<p>He had begun his tunnel in a secluded place, under a tuft of dense wood, +on the steep hillside. He made the mouth of the tunnel very low and +narrow. At first he wheeled out the dirt in his wheelbarrow only when +the water in the canyon was high enough to carry off the earth which he +excavated. He worked very hard and kept very sober for a long time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> Day +after day he expected to strike the ledge.</p> + +<p>But day after day, week after week, month after month, stole away +between his fingers, and still no sign of the ledge. A year went by. +Then he struck a hard wall of granite. This required drills, +fuse-powder, and all the appliance of the quarry. He had to stop work +now and then and wash in the fast failing placers, to get money enough +to continue his tunnel. Besides, he now could make only a few inches +headway each week. Sometimes he would be a whole month making the length +of his pick-handle.</p> + +<p>All this was discouraging. The man began to grow heart-sick. Who was +there at home waiting and waiting all this time? No one in the camp +could say. In fact, no one in the camp knew any thing at all about this +silent man, who seemed so superior to them all; and as the camp knew +nothing at all of the man, either his past or his present, as is usually +the case, it made a history of its own for him. And you may be certain +it was not at all complimentary to this exclusive and silent man of the +tunnel.</p> + +<p>Two, three, four, five years passed. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> camp had declined; miners had +either gone back to the States, gone to new mines, or gone up on the +little hill out of the canyon to rest together; and yet this man held on +to his tunnel. He was a little bit bent now from long stooping, waiting, +toiling, and there were ugly crows-feet about his eyes—eyes that had +grown dim and blood-shot from the five years glare of the single candle +in that tunnel.</p> + +<p>And the man was not so exclusive now. The tunnel was now no secret. It +was spoken of now with derision, only to be laughed at.</p> + +<p>Six, seven, eight, nine, ten years! The man has grown old. He is bent +and gray. But his faith, which the few remaining miners call a madness, +is still unbroken. Yet it is not in human nature to endure all this +agony of suspense, all this hope deferred from day to day, week to week, +month to month, year to year, and still be human. The man has, in some +sense, become a brute. He now is seen to reel and totter to his cabin, +late at night oftentimes. He has at last fallen into the habit of the +camp. He can drink, gamble, carouse, as late as the latest.</p> + +<p>Now and then, it is true, he has his sober<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> spells, and all the good of +his great nature is to the surface. Now he takes up a map and diagram +which is hidden under the broad stone of the hearth, and examines it, +measures and makes calculations by the hour at night, when all the camp +is, or ought to be, asleep.</p> + +<p>Maybe it is the placing and displacing of this great stone that has +given rise to the story in the camp that the old man is not so poor as +he pretends. Maybe some of the rough men who hang about the camp have +watched him through the chink-holes in the wretched cabin some night, +and decided that it is gold which he keeps concealed under the great +hearthstone.</p> + +<p>Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen years! The man's hair is +long and hangs in strings. It is growing gray, almost white. Some men +have been trying to get into the bent old man's cabin at night to find +the buried treasure. The old man's double-barreled shot-gun has barked +in their faces; and there has been a thinly attended funeral. The camp +is low, miserable. The tide is out. Wrecks of rockers, toms, sluices, +flumes, der<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>ricks, battered pans, tom-irons, cradles, old cabin, strew +the sandy strand.</p> + +<p>This last act has left the old man utterly alone; yet he is seen even +more frequently than before at the "Deadfall." Is he trying to forget +that man had died at his hand?</p> + +<p>Now and then you see him leading a tawny boy about, and talking in a +low, tender way of better things than his life and appearance would +indicate. The man is still on the down grade. And yet how long he has +been on this decline! One would say he should be at the bottom by this +time.</p> + +<p>When we reflect how very far a man can fall, we can estimate something +of the height in which he stands when fresh from his Maker's hand.</p> + +<p>Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one years! The +iron-gray hair is white as the snow on the mountain-tops that environ +him. The tall man is bent as a tree is bent when the winter snow lies +heavily on its branches. The tawny boy is grown a man now. This is John +Logan, the fugitive. The two homeless children have long since taken his +place.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>And still the pick clangs on in that dark, damp tunnel that is always +dripping, dripping, dripping, where it looks out at the glaring day, as +if in eternal tears for the wasted life within. Yet now there is hope.</p> + +<p>New life has been infused into this old camp of late years. The tide is +flowing in. The placer mines have perished and passed into history. But +there is a new industry discovered. It is quartz mining—the very thing +that this old man has given his life to establish. And it is this that +has kept the old man up, alive, for the past few years. He is now +certain that he will strike it yet.</p> + +<p>Is there some one waiting still, far away? We do not know. He does not +know now. Years and years ago, utterly discouraged, yet mechanically +keeping on, he ceased to write.</p> + +<p>But now these two new lives here have ran into his. If he could only +strike it now! If he could only strike it for them!</p> + +<p>It is mid-winter. The three are almost starving. Old Forty-nine has been +prudent, cautious, careful of the two helpless waifs thrown into his +hands. Could he, old, broken, destitute, friendless, stand up boldly +between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> the man-hunters and these children? Impossible. And so it is +that Dosson and Emens are not strangers at the old man's cabin now, +hateful as is their presence there to all. They are allowed to come and +go. And Dosson pays court to Carrie. They ply the old man with drink. +The poor, broken, brave old miner, still dreams and hopes that he will +strike it yet—and then! Sometimes he starts up in his sleep and strikes +out with his bony hands—as if to expel them from his cabin and keep +Carrie safe, sacred, pure. Then he sinks back with a groan, and Carrie +bends over him and her great eyes fill with tears.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>THE CAPTURE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>O, the mockery of pity!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Weep with fragrant handkerchief,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In pompous luxury of grief,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Selfish, hollow-hearted city?</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>O these money-getting times!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>What's a heart for? What's a hand,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But to seize and shake the land,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Till it tremble for its crimes?</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Midnight, and the mighty trees knock their naked arms together, and +creak and cry wildly in the wind. In Forty-nine's cabin, by a flickering +log-fire, Carrie sits alone. The wind howls horribly, the door creaks, +and the fire snaps wickedly; the wind roars—now the roar of a far-off +sea, and now it smites the cabin in shocks, and sifts and shakes the +snow through the shingle. The girl draws her tattered blanket tighter +about her, and sits a little closer to the fire. Now there is a sudden, +savage gust<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> of wind, wilder, fiercer than before, and a sheet of snow +sifts in through a crack in the door, and dances over the floor.</p> + +<p>"What a storm!" exclaims the girl, as she rises up, looks about, and +then takes the blanket from her shoulders and stuffs it in the crack by +the door.</p> + +<p>She listens, looks about again, and then, going up to the little glass +tacked beside the fire-place, carefully arranges her splendid hair that +droops down over her shoulders in the careless, perfect fashion of +Evangeline.</p> + +<p>"Heaven help any one who is out in this storm to-night!"</p> + +<p>Then she takes another stick from the corner and places it on the fire.</p> + +<p>"Forty-nine will be here soon, and Johnny; Johnny with news about +him—about poor John Logan."</p> + +<p>She shakes her head and clasps her hands.</p> + +<p>"It is nearly half a year since that night. They can't take him—they +dare not take him. They are hunting him—hunting him in this +storm—hunting him as if he were a wild beast. He hides with the cattle +in the sheds, with the very hogs in their pens. They come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> upon him +there; he starts from his sleep and dashes away, while they follow, and +track him by the blood of his feet in the snow. Oh, how terrible it is! +I must not think of it; I will go mad."</p> + +<p>She turns to the door and listens. She draws back the ragged curtains +from the window and tries to look out into the storm. She can hear and +see nothing, and she walks back again to the fire. "I must set them +their supper." As she says this, she goes to a little cupboard and takes +a piece of bread, puts it on a plate and sets it on the table. Then she +places two plates and two cups of water. "They will be here soon, and +they must have their suppers. Oh, that grocery!" She shudders as she +says this. "And Johnny will bring me news of him—of John Logan. What's +that?"</p> + +<p>She springs to the door, lifts the latch, and Stumps steals in, brushing +the snow from his neck and shoulders. He has a club in his hand, and +looks back and about him as he shuts the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sister, its awful! I tell you its too awful!"</p> + +<p>"Brother—brother! What has happened?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> What is awful? What is it, +Johnny? And he, John Logan?"</p> + +<p>"He's been there!" The boy shivers and points in a half-frightened +manner toward the little hill. "Yes, he has; he's been up on the hill by +his mother's grave; and he's been to 'Squire Field's house—yes, he has; +and he couldn't get in, for they had a big dog tied to the gate, and now +they have got another dog tied to the gate. Yes, and they tracked him +all around by the blood in the snow!"</p> + +<p>"Oh brother! don't, don't!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid, sister; he has gone away now. Oh, if he would only go +away and stay away—far away, and they couldn't catch him, I'd be just +as glad as I could be! Yes, I would; so help me, I would."</p> + +<p>"And he has been up there, and in this storm!"</p> + +<p>She speaks this to herself, as she goes to the window and attempts to +look out.</p> + +<p>"Poor, poor John Logan!" sighs the boy. "I wish his mother was alive; I +do, so help me. She was a good woman, she was; she didn't sick Bose on +me, she didn't."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>As the boy says this he stands his club in the corner, and looks with +his sister for a moment sadly into the fire, and then suddenly says:</p> + +<p>"I'm hungry. Sister, ain't you got something to eat. Forty-nine, he's +down to the grocery, and Phin Emens he's down to the grocery, too, and +he swears awfully about John Logan, and he says it's the Injun that's in +him that makes him so bad. Do you think it's the Injun that's in him, +sister?"</p> + +<p>As the boy says this, the girl turns silently to the little table and +pushes it toward him.</p> + +<p>"There, Johnny, that's all there is. You must leave some for +Forty-nine."</p> + +<p>"Poor, poor John Logan!"</p> + +<p>He eats greedily for a moment, then stops suddenly and looks into the +fire.</p> + +<p>Carrie, also looking into the fire, murmurs:</p> + +<p>"And Sylvia Fields let them tie a dog there to keep him away! I would +have killed that dog first. If John Logan should come here, I would open +that door—I would open that door to him!"—There is a dark and +terrified face at the window—"And I would give him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> bread to eat, and +let him sit by this fire and get warm!"</p> + +<p>"And I would, too—so help me, I would!" The boy pushes back his bread, +and rises and goes up to his sister. "Yes, I would. I don't care what +Phin Emens, or anybody says; for his mother didn't sick 'Bose' at me, +she didn't!"</p> + +<p>The pale and pitiful face at the window begins to brighten. There is +snow in the long matted black locks that fall to his shoulders. For +nearly half a year this man has fled from his fellow-man, a hunted +grizzly, a hunted tiger of the jungle.</p> + +<p>What wonder that his step is stealthy as he lifts the latch and enters? +What wonder that his eyes have an uncommon glare as he looks around, +looks back over his shoulder as he shuts the door noiselessly behind +him? What wonder that his clothes hang in shreds about him, and his feet +and legs are bound in thongs; that his arms are almost bare; that his +bloodless face is half hidden in black and shaggy beard?</p> + +<p>"Carrie, I have come to you. Yours is the only door that will open to me +now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>"John Logan!" She starts; the boy, too, utters a low, stifled cry. Then +they draw near the miserable man. For they are bred of the woods, and +have nerves of iron, and they know the need and the power of silence, +too.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> here, John Logan?" Carrie whispers, with a shudder.</p> + +<p>"Ay, I am here—starving, dying!"</p> + +<p>The boy takes up the bread he had dropped, and places it on the table +before Logan. The hunted outcast sits down wearily and begins to eat +with the greediness of a starved beast. The girl timidly brushes the +snow from his hair, and takes a pin from her breast and begins to pin up +a great rent in his shirt that shows his naked shoulder.</p> + +<p>The boy is glad and full of heart, and of indescribable delight that he +has given his bread to the starving man. He stands up, brightly, with +his back to the fire for a moment, and then goes back and brushes off +the snow from the man's matted hair, then back to the fire.</p> + +<p>"I'm awful glad to see you eat, Mr. John Logan," says Stumps; "I wish +there was more, I do," and he rocks on his foot and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> wags his head from +shoulder to shoulder gleefully. "It ain't much—it ain't much, Mr. John +Logan; but it is all there is."</p> + +<p>"All there is, and they were eating it." The man says this aside to +himself, and he hides his face for a moment, as if he would conceal a +tear. Then, after a time he seems to recover himself, and he lays the +bread down on the table, tenderly, silently, carefully indeed, as if it +were the most delicate and precious thing on earth. Then, lifting his +face, looks at them with an effort to be cheerful, and says:</p> + +<p>"I—I forgot; I—I am not hungry. I have had my dinner. I—I, oh yes; I +have been eating a great deal. Oh, no, no, no; I'm not hungry—not +hungry!"</p> + +<p>As the man says this he rises and stands between the others at the fire. +He puts his hands over their heads, and looks alternately in their +uplifted faces. There is a long silence. "Carrie, they have tied a dog +to that door, over yonder."</p> + +<p>"There is no dog tied to this door, John Logan."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>Low and tender with love, yet very firm and earnest is her voice. And +her eyes are lifted to his. He looks down into her soul, and there is an +understanding between them. There is a conversation of the eyes too +refined for words; too subtle, too sweet, too swift for words.</p> + +<p>They stand together but a moment there, soul flowing into soul and +tiding forth, and to and fro; but it was as if they had talked together +for hours. He leans his head, kisses her lifted and unresisting lips, +and says, "God bless you," and that is all.</p> + +<p>It is her first kiss, the imprint, the mint-mark on this virgin gold. +This maiden of a moment since, is a woman now.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that they are after you?" The girl says this in a sort of +wild whisper, as she looks toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Do I know that they are after me? Father in Heaven, who should know it +better than I?" The man throws up his arms, and totters back and falls +into a seat from very weakness. "Do I know that they are after me? For +more than half a year I have fled; night and day, and day and night I +have fled, hidden away;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> starting up at midnight from down among the +cattle, where I had crept to keep warm; and then on, on and on, out into +the snow, the storm, over the frozen ground, to the deep canyon and dark +woods, where, naked and bleeding, I disputed with the bear for his bed +in the hollow tree."</p> + +<p>The boy springs to the door. Is it the storm that is tugging and +rattling at the latch?</p> + +<p>But the girl seems to see, to heed, to hear only John Logan. She +clutches his hand in both her own and covers it with kisses and with +tears.</p> + +<p>"John Logan, I pity you! I—I—" she had almost said, "I love you."</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven! Thank Heaven for one true heart, and one true hand when +all the world is against me! Carrie, I could die now content. The +bitterness of my heart passes away, and the wild, mad nature that made +me an Ishmaelite, with every man's hand against me, and my hand against +all, is gone. I am another being. I could die now content;" and he bows +his head.</p> + +<p>"But you must not, you shall not die! You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> must go—go far away; why +hover about this place?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. But yonder lies the only being who ever befriended me; +and somehow I get lonesome when I get far away from her grave. And I go +round and round, like the sun around the world, and come back to where I +started from."</p> + +<p>"But you must go—go far away—go now."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what you are saying? I was never outside of this. All would +be strange. I would be lost, lost there. And then, do you not imagine +they are waiting for me there—everywhere? Look at my face! This tinge +of Indian blood, that all men abhor and fear, and call treacherous and +bloody. Across my brow at my birth was drawn a brand that marks me +forever—a brand—a brand as if it were the brand of Cain."</p> + +<p>The man bows his head, and turns away.</p> + +<p>Slowly and timidly Carrie approaches him, and she lays her hand on his +arm and looks in his face. The boy still watches by the door.</p> + +<p>"But you will fly from here?"</p> + +<p>His arm drops over her hair, down to her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> shoulder, and he draws her to +his breast, as she looks up tenderly in his face, and pleads:</p> + +<p>"You will go now—at once? For you will die here."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I will die here." He says this with a calm and dogged +determination. "Carrie, I have one wish, one request—only one. I know +you are weak and helpless yourself, and can't do much, and I ought not +to ask you to do anything."</p> + +<p>Stumps has left the door as he hears the man mention that there is +something to be done, and stands by their side.</p> + +<p>"Whatever it is you ask, John Logan, we will do it—we will do it."</p> + +<p>The girl says this with a firmness that convinces him that it will be +done.</p> + +<p>"We will do it! we will do it! so help me, we will do it!" blubbers +Stumps.</p> + +<p>"What is it, John Logan, we can do?"</p> + +<p>"I will not fly from here." He looks down tenderly into their faces. +Then he lifts his face. It is dark and terrible, and his lips are set +with resolution. "I will die here. It may be to-night, it may be +to-morrow. It may be as I turn to go out at that door they will send<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +their bullets through my heart; it may be while I kneel in the snow at +my mother's grave. But, sooner or later, it will come—it will come!"</p> + +<p>"But please, John Logan, what is it we can do?"</p> + +<p>Her voice is tremulous, and her eyes stream with tears.</p> + +<p>"Carrie, I am a man—a strong man—and ought not to ask anything of a +helpless girl. But I have no other friend. I have had no friends. All +the days of my life have been dark and lonely. And now I am about to +die, Carrie, I want you to see that I am buried by my mother yonder. I +am so weary, and I could rest there. And then she, poor broken-hearted +mother, she might not be so lonesome then. Do you promise?"</p> + +<p>"I do promise!" and the boy echoes this scarcely audible but determined +answer.</p> + +<p>"Thank you—thank you! And now good night. I must be going, lest I draw +suspicion on you. Good night, good night; God bless you, Carrie!"</p> + +<p>He presses her to his heart, hastily embraces her, and tearing himself +away, stoops and kisses<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> the boy as he passes to the door. Drawing his +tattered shirt closer about his shoulders, and turning his face as if to +conceal his emotion, he lays his hand upon the latch to suddenly dart +forth.</p> + +<p>Two dark figures pass the window, and in a moment more the latch-string +is clutched by a rough, unsteady hand from without.</p> + +<p>"Here, here!" cries the girl, as she springs back to the dingy curtain +that divides off a portion of the cabin into a bed-room. "Here! in here! +Quick! quick!" as she draws the curtain aside, and lets it fall over the +retreating fugitive. Forty-nine and Gar Dosson enter. The former is +drunk, and therefore dignified and silent. His companion is drunk, and +therefore garrulous and familiar. Wine floats a man's real nature nearly +to the surface.</p> + +<p>Forty-nine lifts his hat, bows politely and respectfully to the +children, brushes his hat with his elbow as he meanders across the floor +to the peg in the wall, but cannot quite trust himself to speak.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Carats!" cries Gar Dosson, as he chucks her under the chin. +"Knowed I was coming, didn't you? Got yourself fixed up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> Pretty, ain't +she?" and he winks a blood-shot eye toward Stumps. "And when is it going +to be my Carats? Pretty soon, now, eh?" and he walks, or rather totters, +aside.</p> + +<p>"Umph! I have got 'em again, Carrie. Fly around and get us something to +eat. Fly around, Carrie, fly around! Oh, I've got the shakes again!" +groans Forty-nine.</p> + +<p>"Poor old boy!" and she brushes the snow from his beard and his tattered +coat. "Why, Forty-nine, you're shaking like a leaf."</p> + +<p>"He's drunk—that's what's the matter with him." Gar Dosson growls this +out between his teeth as he sets his gun in the corner.</p> + +<p>"He's not drunk! Its the ager!" retorts Stumps fiercely.</p> + +<p>Gar Dosson, glaring at the boy, steadies himself on his right leg, and +diving deep in his left hand pocket, draws forth a large bill or poster. +With both hands he manages to spread this out, and swaggering up to the +wall near the window he hangs it on two pegs that are there to receive +coats or hats.</p> + +<p>"Look at that!" and he crookedly points with his crooked fingers at the +large letters, and reads: "One thousand dollars (hic) dol<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>lars reward +for the capture of John Logan! What do you say to that, Carats? That's a +fine fellow to have for a lover, now, ain't it?—a waluable lover, now, +ain't it? Worth a thousand dollars! Oh, don't I wish he was a-hanging +around here now! Wouldn't I sell him, and get a thousand dollars, eh? +Yes, I would. I just want that thousand dollars. And I'm the man that's +going to get it, too! Eh, old Blossom-nose?" Forty-nine jerks back his +dignified head as the bully gesticulates violently.</p> + +<p>"You will, will you? Well, may-be you will (hic), but if you get a cent +of that money (hic) for catching that man you don't enter that door +again; no, you don't lift that latch-string again as long as old +Forty-nine has a fist to lift!" and he thrusts his doubled hand hard +into the boaster's face.</p> + +<p>"Good for you!" cries Carrie. "Dear, good, brave old Forty-nine; I like +you—I love you!" and the girl embraces him, while the boy flourishes +his club at the back of the bully.</p> + +<p>"No, don't you hit a man when he's down, sah," continues Forty-nine. +"That's the true<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> doctrine of a gentleman—the true doctrine of a +gentleman, sah." He flourishes his hand, totters forward, totters back, +and hesitates—"The true doctrine of a gentleman, sah. The little horse +in the horse-race, sah—the bottom dog in the dog-fight, sah. The—"</p> + +<p>And the poor old man totters back and falls helplessly in the great, +home-made chair near the corner, where stands the gun. His head is under +water.</p> + +<p>"The true doctrines of a gentleman," snaps Dosson; and he throws out a +big hand toward the drooping head. "Old Blossom-nose!" Then turning to +Carrie. "The sheriff's a coming; he gave me that 'ere bill—yes, he did. +He's down to the grocery, now. He's going around to all the cabins, and +a-swearing 'em in a book, that they don't know nothing about John Logan. +The sheriff, he's a comin' here, Carats, right off."</p> + +<p>There is a rift in the curtain, and the pitiful face of the fugitive +peers forth.</p> + +<p>"The sheriff coming here!" He turns, feels the wall, and tries the logs +with his hands. Not a door, not a window. Solid as the solid earth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Coming here? But what is he coming here for?" demands Carrie.</p> + +<p>"Coming here to find out what you know about John Logan. Oh, he's close +after him."</p> + +<p>"Close after me!" gasps Logan. The man feels for something to lay hand +upon by which to defend himself. "I will not be taken alive; I will die +here!" He clutches at last, above the bed, a gun. "Saved, saved!" He +holds it tenderly, as if a child, or something dearly loved. He takes it +to the light and looks at the lock; he blows in the barrel; he +mournfully shakes his head. "It is not loaded! Well, no matter; I can +but die," and he clubs the gun and prepares for mortal battle.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, Carats," cries Gar Dosson, "let's have a little frolic before +the sheriff comes—a kiss, eh? Come, my beauty!"</p> + +<p>The rough man has all this time been stealing up, as nearly as he could +to the girl, and now throws his arm about her neck.</p> + +<p>"Shall I brain him—be a murderer, indeed?"</p> + +<p>All the Indian is again aroused, and John Logan seems more terrible, and +more determined to save her than to defend his own life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stand back!" shouts the Girl to Dosson. She attempts to throw him off, +but his powerful arm is about her neck. "Forty-nine! Help!" but the old +man is unconscious. John Logan is about to start from his corner.</p> + +<p>"Take that, you brute! and that!" and Stumps whirls his club and +thunders against the ribs of the ruffian.</p> + +<p>"You devil! you brat! what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Mad with disappointment and pain, he throws the girl from him, and turns +upon the boy. He clutches him by the back of the neck as he starts to +escape, and bears him to the ground.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, do you know what I'm going to do with you? I'm going to +break your back across my knee! yes, I am!" and he glares about +terribly.</p> + +<p>Carrie shrinks back to the side of Forty-nine.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Help! He will murder him! He will kill him!"</p> + +<p>"No, I won't murder you, you brat, but I'll chuck you out in that snow +and let you cool off, while I have your sister all to myself. Come here; +give me your ear!" and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> great, strong ruffian seizes his ear and +fairly carries him along by it toward the door. "Give me your ear!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sister, sister! He will kill me!" howls Stumps.</p> + +<p>"Forty-nine! save us! We will be murdered!"</p> + +<p>"Come, I say, give me your ear!" thunders the brute, as he fairly draws +the boy still toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Stop that, or die!"</p> + +<p>The frenzied girl, failing to arouse Forty-nine, has caught up the gun +from the corner, and brought the muzzle to the ruffian's breast. He +totters back, and throws up his arms.</p> + +<p>"Go back there and sit down, or I will kill you!"</p> + +<p>"Give me your ear! Come!" roars Stumps. It is now his turn. "Give me +your ear!" He reaches up and takes that red organ in his hand, and +nearly wrenches it from the brute's head, as he leads him back, with +many twists and gyrations, slowly to a low seat at the other side of the +cabin.</p> + +<p>Still holding the gun in level, and in dangerous proximity to the man's +breast, Carrie cries:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now if you attempt to move you are a dead man!" "Give me your ear!" and +Stumps wrenches it again, as he sits the man firmly on his low stool, +with his red face making mad distortions from the pain. "John Logan, +come!" calls the girl. "No, don't you start, Gar Dosson. Don't you lift +a finger; if you do, you die!"</p> + +<p>The curtains are parted, and John Logan starts forth. "Go, go! There's +not a moment to lose. The sheriff will be here; they are coming! Quick! +Go at once! I hear—I hear them coming!"</p> + +<p>The man springs to the door; the latch is lifted; a moment more and he +will be free—safe, at least for the night. Out into the friendly +darkness, where man and beast, where pursuer and pursued, are equal, and +equally helpless.</p> + +<p>There is a crushing of snow, a stamping of feet, and one, two, three, +four, five—five forms hurriedly pass the window. The latch is lifted, +and as John Logan again darts back under cover, the party, brushing the +snow from their coats and grizzled beards, hastily enter the cabin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Fly around, Carrie, fly around! fix yourself up!" The fresh gust of +wind and storm from the door just opened, fans the glimmering spark of +consciousness into sudden flame, and Forty-nine springs up, perfectly +erect, perfectly dignified. "Fly around, Carrie, fly around; fix +yourself up. The sheriff is coming—fly around!"</p> + +<p>The girl drops the gun in the corner where she had found it, and stands +before Forty-nine, smoothing down her apron, and letting her eyes fall +on the floor timidly and in a childlike way, as if these little hands of +hers had never known a harder task than their present employment of +smoothing down her apron.</p> + +<p>Dosson springs up before the sheriff. He rubs his eyes, and he looks +about as if he had just been startled from some bad, ugly dream. He +wonders, indeed, if he has seen John Logan at all. Again he rubs his +eyes, and then, looking at his knuckle, says, in a deep, guttural +fashion, to himself, "Jim-jams, by gol! I thought I'd seed John Logan!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Forty-nine," says the sheriff, "sorry to disturb you, and your +Miss; and good evening to you, sir; and good evening to you;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> and the +honest sheriff bows to each, and brushes the snow from his fur cap as he +speaks.</p> + +<p>Gar Dosson advances to his partner, Phin Emens, who has just entered, +with that stealthy old tiger-step so familiar to them both, and laying +his hand on his shoulder, they move aside.</p> + +<p>"Then it's not the jim-jams," mutters he. "I've not got 'em, then."</p> + +<p>He stops, pinches himself, looks at his hands, and mutters to himself. +Then he lifts his hand to his ear.</p> + +<p>"Look at it again!" Phin Emens looks at the ear. "It's red, ain't it? +Oh, it feels red; it feels like fire. Then I've not got 'em, and he is +here. Hist! Come here! We want that thousand dollars all to ourselves."</p> + +<p>He plucks his companion further to one side. They talk and gesticulate +together, while now and then a big red rough hand is thrust out savagely +toward the curtain.</p> + +<p>"Sorry indeed to disturb you, Miss," observes the sheriff; "but you see, +I've been searching and swearing of 'em all, and its only fair to serve +all alike."</p> + +<p>"He is not here. Upon the honor of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> gentleman, he is not here," says +Forty-nine, emphatically.</p> + +<p>"He is here!" howls Dosson; and the tremendous man, with the tremendous +voice and tremendous manner, bolts up before the sheriff. "He is here; +and I, as an honest man am going to earn a thousand dollars, for the +sake of justice. I have found him—found him all by myself; and these +fellers can't have no hand in my find." And he holds up John Logan's +cap, which had been knocked from his head in his hasty retreat to cover, +and he rolls his red eyes toward the bed, takes a step in that +direction, reaches a hand, lays hold of the curtain, and is about to +dash it aside.</p> + +<p>"John Logan is there!" shouts Dosson, and again the curtain is clutched.</p> + +<p>Does he dream of what is beyond? If he could only see the panting, +breathless wretch that leans there eagerly, with lifted gun, ready to +brain him—waiting, waiting for him to come, even wishing that he only +would come—he would start back with terror to the other side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He is here! I have found him! Come!"</p> + +<p>Carrie, springing forward from her posture of anxiety and terror, grasps +a powder horn from over the mantel piece, jerks out the stopple with her +teeth, and holding it over the fire, cries, with desperation:</p> + +<p>"Do it, if you dare! This horn is full of powder, and if any man here +dares to move that curtain, I'll blow you all into burning hell!" The +man loosens his hold on the curtain, and totters back. He is sober +enough to know how terrible is the situation, and he knows her well +enough to believe she will do precisely what she says she will do. "Yes, +I will! We will all go to the next world together; and now let us see +who is best ready to die!"</p> + +<p>"Bravo!" shouts Forty-nine.</p> + +<p>The sheriff and his men have been moving back slowly from the inspired +girl, standing there by the door of death.</p> + +<p>Gar Dosson at last steals around by the sheriff. "But he is here, Mr. +Sheriff," he says. "I tell you he is here in this house. There! For here +is his cap. I found it. I found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> him, and I want him and I want that +thousand dollars. Search!"</p> + +<p>"And I tell you he is not here!" cries the girl, "and you shall not +search, 'less—"</p> + +<p>And the horn is lifted menacingly over the fire. "Won't you take my +word?"</p> + +<p>"You shall take <i>my</i> word!" shouts Dosson.</p> + +<p>"I will take your single word, Miss, against a thousand such men."</p> + +<p>And the sheriff puts on his cap, turns, and is about to go.</p> + +<p>"But he is here! The thousand dollars, Mr. Sheriff!" cries Dosson.</p> + +<p>"Miss, officers sometimes have duties that are more unpleasant to them +than to the parties most concerned. You say he is not here?"</p> + +<p>"He is not here, Mr. Sheriff—he is not here!" cries Carrie.</p> + +<p>The sheriff twists his cap on his head. "And you will be sworn, as the +others were?" says the sheriff. "So much the better; and that will be +quite satisfactory. Ah, here is the Bible at hand."</p> + +<p>And he takes from the little shelf the tattered book. The girl stands +still as stone,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> with the engine of death in her hand. The officer bows, +smiles, reaches the book with his left hand, lays his cap on the table, +and lifts his right hand in the air. Her little fingers reach out +firmly, fearlessly, and rest on the book. Her eyes are looking straight +into his.</p> + +<p>"It may be my duty, Miss, to search the house, after what that 'un has +said, and, Miss, I expect it is my duty. But, Miss, I is not the man to +expose you before a man as might like to see you exposed. And then that +poor devil that come back here, Miss, on bleeding feet—crawling back +here on his hands and knees, to die by his mother's grave."</p> + +<p>The voice is tremulous; the hand that is raised in the air comes down. +Then lifting it again he says resolutely, "Swear, Miss!"</p> + +<p>All are looking—leaning—with the profoundest interest. There is a dark +strange face peering through a rift in the half-opened curtain. "God +bless her! God bless her! She can, and she will!" mutters Forty-nine.</p> + +<p>"She can't!" cries Dosson. "She believes the book and, by gol, she +can't!" The man says this over his shoulder, and in a husky whisper as +the girl seems to pause.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hold your hand on the book, and swear as I shall tell you," says the +sheriff.</p> + +<p>She only holds more firmly to the book; her eyes are fixed more steadily +on his.</p> + +<p>"Say it as I say it. I do solemnly swear—"</p> + +<p>"I do solemnly swear—"</p> + +<p>"That John Logan—"</p> + +<p>"That John Logan—"</p> + +<p>"Is not here."</p> + +<p>"Is—"</p> + +<p>"Is <i>here</i>!" The curtain is thrown back, and the fugitive dashes into +their midst. The book falls from the sheriff's hand, and there is a +murmur of amazement.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my girl!" And there is the stillness of a Sabbath +morning over all. "God bless you; and God will reward you for this, for +I cannot. You have made me another being, Carrie. I have lost my life, +but you have saved my soul!" and turning cheerfully to the sheriff he +reaches his hands. "Now, sir, I am ready."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>THE ESCAPE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>O tranquil moon! O pitying moon!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Put forth thy cool, protecting palms,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And cool their eyes with cooling alms,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Against the burning tears of noon.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>O saintly, noiseless-footed nun!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>O sad-browed patient mother, keep</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Thy homeless children while they sleep,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And kiss them, weeping, every one.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>At first there was a loud demonstration against Logan by the mob, that +always gathers about where a man is captured by his fellows—the wolves +that come up when the wounded buffalo falls. There was talk of a +vigilance committee and of lynching.</p> + +<p>But when the stout, resolute sheriff led the man in chains down the +trail through the deep snow, and turned him over to the officer in +charge of a little squad of soldiers at the other side of the valley, no +man interfered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> further. Indeed, Dosson and Emens were too anxious about +the promised reward to make any demonstration against this man's life +now. He was worth to them a thousand dollars.</p> + +<p>A lawyer reading this, will smile here at the loose way in which the law +was administered there in the outer edge of the world at that time. Here +is a sheriff, with a warrant in his pocket, made returnable to a +magistrate. The sheriff arrests the man on this warrant and takes him +directly to the military authorities, which have been so long seeking +him, utterly unconscious that he is doing aught but the proper thing. +And yet, after all, it was the shortest and best course to take.</p> + +<p>I shall not forget the face of the prisoner as we stood beside the trail +in the snow, while he was led past down the mouth of the canyon toward +the other side of the valley. It was grand!</p> + +<p>Some strangers, standing in the street, spoke of the majesty of the +man's bearing. They openly dared to admire his lifted face, and to speak +with derision of his captors as the party passed on. This made the low +element, out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> of which mobs are always created, a little bit timid. +Possibly it was this that saved the prisoner. But most likely it was the +resolute face of the honest sheriff. For, say what you will, there is +nothing so cowardly as a mob. Throw what romance you please over the +actions of the Vigilantes of California, they were murderers—coarse, +cowardly and brutal; murderers, legally and morally, every one of them. +It is to be admitted that they did good work at first. But their +example, followed even down to this day, has been fruitful of the +darkest crimes.</p> + +<p>When Forty-nine awoke next morning from his long drunken slumber, the +children were not there. Dosson called, arrayed in his best; but Carrie +was not to be seen. Forty-nine could give no account of her. This day of +triumph for Dosson did not yield him so much as he had all the night +before fancied. He was furious.</p> + +<p>Forty-nine, as usual, after a spree, meekly took up his pick, after a +breakfast on a piece of bread and the drawings of coffee grounds that +had been thrice boiled over, and stumbled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> away towards his tunnel, and +was soon lost in the deeps of the earth.</p> + +<p>You may be certain that this desperate character, just taken after so +much trouble and cost, was securely ironed at the little military camp +across the valley. An old log cabin was made a temporary prison, and +soldiers strode up and down on the four sides of it day and night.</p> + +<p>And yet there was hardly need of such heavy irons. True, the soldiers +outside, as they walked up and down at night and shifted their muskets +from side to side, and slapped their shoulders with their arms and hands +to keep from freezing, heard the chains grate and toss and rattle, often +and often, as if some one was trying to tear and loosen them. But it was +only the man tossing his arms in delirium as he lay on the fir boughs in +the corner.</p> + +<p>Dosson, after much inquiry, and many day's watching about Forty-nine's +cabin, called and was admitted to see the prisoner, who by this time, +though weak and worn to a skeleton, was convalescing. The coarse and +insolent intruder started back with dismay. There sat the girl he so +hoped and longed to possess, talk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>ing to him tenderly, soothing him, +giving her life for his.</p> + +<p>Long and brutal would be the story of the agent's endeavors to tear this +girl away from the bedside of the sufferer—if such a place could be +called a bedside. The girl would not leave John Logan, and the timid boy +who sat shivering back in the corner of the cabin, would not leave the +girl. The three were bound together by a chain stronger than that which +bound the wrists of the prisoner; aye, ten thousand times stronger, for +man had fashioned the one—God the other.</p> + +<p>Sudden and swift arrives summer in California. The trail was opened to +the Reservation down the mountain, and the officer collected his few +Indians together in a long, single line, all chained to a long heavy +cable, and prepared to march. About the middle of the chain stood John +Logan, now strong enough to walk. At the front were placed a few +miserable, spiritless Indians, who had been found loafing about the +miners's cabins—the drunkards, thieves, vagabonds of their tribe, such +as all tribes have, such as we have, citizen-reader<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>—while the rear was +brought up by a boy and girl, Carrie and Johnny, a pitiful sight!</p> + +<p>Do not be surprised. When you have learned to know the absolute, the +utterly unlimited power and authority of an Indian Agent or sub-Agent, +you have only to ask the capability for villainy he may possess in order +to find the limit of his actions.</p> + +<p>Could you have seen the lofty disdain of this girl for her suitor at +that first and every subsequent meeting, as she kept at the bedside of +John Logan, you could have guessed what might follow. The man's love was +turned to rage. He resolved to send her back to the Reservation also. It +is true, the soldiers had learned to respect and to pity her. It is +true, the little Lieutenant said, with a soldierly oath, as she was +being chained, that she was whiter than the man who was having it done. +Yet the soldiers, and their officer as well, had their orders; and a +soldier's duties, as you know, are all bound up in one word.</p> + +<p>As for the wretched boy, he might have escaped. He was a negative sort +of a being at best; and no one, save Logan and the girl, either hated +him or loved him greatly, tender and true<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> as he was. They both implored +him to slip between the fingers of the soldiers and not go to the +Reservation. But he would not think of being separated from his sister. +Poor, stunted, starved little thing! There were wrinkles about his face; +his hands were black, short, and hard, from digging roots from the +frosty ground. It is not probable the lad had ever had enough to eat +since he could remember. And so he was a dwarf, a dwarf in body and in +soul; and instead of showing some spirit and standing up now and helping +the girl, as he should, he leaned on her utterly, and left her to be the +man of the two. The little spark of fire that had twice or thrice +flashed up in the last few years, seemed now to die out entirely, and he +stood there chained, looking back now and then over his shoulder at the +soldiers, looking forward trying to catch a glance from his sister now +and then, but never once making any murmur or complaint.</p> + +<p>It was a hot, sultry day, such as suddenly enters and takes possession +of canyons in the Sierras, when the little party of prisoners were +marched through the little camp at the end of the canyon on their way to +the Reservation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>And the camp all came out to see, but the camp was silent. It was not a +pleasant sight. A soldier with a bayonet on his loaded musket walking by +the side of a woman with her hands in chains, is not an inspiring +spectacle. With all respect for your superior judgments, Mr. President, +Commander-in-Chief, and Captains of the army, I say there is a nobler +use for the army than this.</p> + +<p>Let us hasten on from this subject and this scene. But do not imagine +that the miner, the settler, or even the most hardened about the camp, +felt ennobled at this sight. I tell you there was a murmur of +indignation and disgust heard all up and down the canyon. The newer and +better element of the camp was furious. One man even went so far as to +write a letter to a country paper on the subject.</p> + +<p>But when the editor responded in a heavy leader, and assured the camp of +its deadly peril from these prowling savages, and proclaimed that the +Indians were being taken where they would have good medicine, care, food +and clothing, and be educated and taught the arts of agriculture, the +case really did not look so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> bad; and in less than a week the whole +affair had been forgotten by all the camp. Aye, all, save old +Forty-nine.</p> + +<p>By the express order of sub-Agent Dosson, the old man, who had been +declared a dangerous character by him, was not permitted to see the girl +from the first day he discovered that she still clung to Logan. But the +old man had worked on and waited. He had kept constantly sober. He would +see and would save this girl at all hazards.</p> + +<p>And now, as the sorrowful remnant of a once great tribe was being taken, +like Israel into captivity, he rushed forward to meet her, to hold her +hands, to press her to his heart, and bid her be strong and hopeful.</p> + +<p>The agent saw the old man and shouted to the officer; the officer called +to the soldiers—the line moved forward, the bayonets crossed the old +man's breast as the prisoners passed on down the mountain, and he saw +the sad, pitiful face no more.</p> + +<p>Keep the picture before you: Chained together in long lines, marched +always on foot in single file, under the stars and stripes, officers in +uniforms, clanking swords—the uniform<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> of the Union, riding bravely +along the lines! The two men who had done so much to get this desperate +Indian out of the way, remained behind to keep possession of his house +and land. They had not even the decency to build a new cabin. They only +broke down the door, put up a new one with stouter hinges and latch; and +the long-coveted land was theirs.</p> + +<p>As for old Forty-nine, all the light had left the mountain and the +valley now. Carrie, whom he had cared for from the first almost, little +Stumps, whom he had found with her, hardly big enough to toddle +about—both were gone. All three gone. John Logan, whom he had taught to +read and taught a thousand things at his own cabin-fire in the long +snowy winters—all these gone together. It was as if the sun had gone +down for Forty-nine forever. There was no sun or moon or stars, or any +thing that shines in the mountains any more for him. His had been a +desolate life all the long years he had delved away into the mountain at +his tunnel. No man had taken his hand in friendship for many and many a +year.</p> + +<p>The man now nailed up his cabin door—an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> idle task, perhaps, for men +instinctively avoided it, and the trail of late took a cut across the +spur of the hill rather than pass by his door. But somehow the old man +felt that he might not be back soon. And as men had kept away from that +cabin while he was there, he did not feel that they should enter it in +his absence.</p> + +<p>One evening in the hot, sultry summer, old Forty-nine rode down from the +mountain into the great valley, following the trail taken by the lines +of chained captives, and set his face for the Reservation.</p> + +<p>At a risk of repetition, let us look at this Reservation. The government +had ordered a United States officer, of the rank of lieutenant, to set +apart a Reservation for the Indians on land not acquired and not likely +to be desired by the white settlers, and to gather the Indians together +there and keep them there by force, if force should be required. This +young man established a Reservation on the border of a tule lake, shut +in by a crescent of low sage-brush hills. The Indian camp was laid out +on the very edge of this alkali lake. The crescent of sage-brush hills +of a mile in cir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>cuit, reaching back and almost around the Reservation, +was mounted at three points by cannon, ready to sweep the camp below. On +this circuit of hills, healthy and pleasant enough the officers and +soldiers had their quarters. Down in the damp, deadly valley, on the +edge of the alkali lake, the newly appointed Indian Agent, with a +tremendous appropriation to be expended in building houses and +establishing the Indians in their new homes, built the village. It was +made up of two rows of low, one-story, one-room huts. Two big lamps hung +in the one street; and from lamp to lamp before the doors of the little +huts with earthen floors and turf-covered roofs, paced soldiers night +and day.</p> + +<p>These houses were damp and dismal from the first. Soon they began to be +mouldy; fungi and toadstools and the like began to grow up in the +corners and out of the logs. Little shiny reptiles, in the long hot +rainy days that followed, and worms and all sorts of hideous vermin, +began to creep and crawl through these dreadful dens of death, over the +sick and dying Indians. Long slimy, unnamed, and un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>known worms crawled +up out of the earth, as if they could not wait for the victims to die.</p> + +<p>The Indians were dying off by hundreds. They went to the officers and +complained. The officers ordered a double guard to be set. And that was +all.</p> + +<p>You marvel that these young lieutenants could be so imperious and cruel? +It does seem past belief. But pardon just one paragraph of digression +while we recall the conduct of a younger class only last year on the +Hudson. To me the real question before the courts in the Whitaker case +is not whether this quiet stranger, with a tinge of black man's blood in +his veins, mutilated himself, or no. But the real question is, did they +or did they not, by their determined and persistent persecutions and +insults, drive him in a fit of desperation to do this in the hope of +pulling down ruin on the heads of all? This seems probable to me, and to +me is far more monstrous than if they had, in sudden anger, cut his +ears, or even cut his throat; and if these young bloods could so treat a +stranger there, standing at such a manifest disadvantage, what would +they not be capable of when they are,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> for the first time, clothed with +a little brief authority, away out on the savage edge of the world?</p> + +<p>The water here, as the hot season came on, was something dreadful. It +was slimy with alkali. Little black worms knotted and twisted themselves +together at the bottom of the cup, like bunches of witch-woven +horse-hair. The Indians were dying of malaria. They were burning up with +the fever. And this was the only water these people, who had been used +to the fresh sweet snow-water of the Sierras, could have.</p> + +<p>What could they do? They appealed to the officers. They were answered +with insult: "You must get used to it. You must get civilized."</p> + +<p>These dying Indians began to fight and quarrel among themselves. Ah, +they were very wicked. They were quarrelsome as dogs; almost as +quarrelsome as Christians!</p> + +<p>This was a small Paris in siege. It was Jerusalem surrounded by Titus. +Down there, dying as they were, a savage Simon and a degenerate John, as +in Jerusalem of old, led their followers against each other, even +across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> their dead that lay unburied in the mouldy death-pens and about +their dark and narrow doors, and slew each other as did God's chosen +people when <ins class="correction" title="Text reads 'beseiged'">besieged</ins> by the son of Vespasian.</p> + +<p>Then the men in brass and blue turned the cannon loose on the howling +savages, and shot them into silence and submission.</p> + +<p>John Logan, Carrie and little Stumps, about this time had been brought +with others from the mountains to the Reservation. Logan insisted on +keeping the two children at his side and under his protection. He was +laughed at by agents, and sub-agents.</p> + +<p>He was kept chained. He was assigned to a strong hut with gratings +across the window—or rather the little loop-hole which let in the +light. The guards were kept constantly at his door. He was entered on +the books as a very desperate character, a barn-burner, and possible +murderer. And so night and day he was kept under the constant watch of +the soldiers with fixed bayonets. True, he was soon too weak to lift his +manacled hands in strife. But nevertheless he was kept chained and +doubly guarded in the little hut with gratings at the loop-hole.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>Would he attempt to escape?</p> + +<p>There were many broken fragments of many broken tribes here. Tribes that +had fought each other to the death—fought as Germans and French have +fought. And why not, pray? Has not a heathen as good a right to fight a +heathen as has a Christian to fight a Christian? The only difference is, +we preach and profess peace; they, war.</p> + +<p>Logan was alone in this damp hut and deadly pen. He could hear the tramp +of the soldiers; he could see the long thin silver beams of the moon +reach through the gratings, reach on and on, around and over and across +the damp, mouldy floor, as if reaching out, like God's white fingers, to +touch his face, to cool his fever, and comfort him. But he could see, +hear nothing more. He was so utterly alone! They would send an +unfriendly Indian in with his breakfast, foul and unfit for even a well +man, and a tin cup of water in the morning. Soon after the doctor would +call around, also. Then he would see no face again till evening, when +more food and water would be brought. At last the food was brought only +in the morning. This did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> at all affect Logan; for from the first +the old pan containing his food had been taken away untouched. The man +was certainly dying. The guard and garrison on the hill were waiting for +this desperate character, whose capture had cost so much time and money, +to attempt to escape.</p> + +<p>From the first, even in the face of the blunt refusal, John Logan had +begged for the boy to be brought him. He was certain the little fellow +was dying—dying of desolation and a broken heart.</p> + +<p>About the sixth day, the man chanced to hear from an Indian that the boy +had quite broken down, and, refusing all food, lay moaning in his corner +all the time, and all the time crying for John Logan or Carrie. The man +now entreated more persistently than ever before. He promised the Doctor +to eat, to get well, if only the boy could be brought to him and be +permitted to spend his time there. For he knew from what the Doctor said +that he must soon die if things kept on as they were. The weather was +growing hotter and hotter; the water and the food, if possible, more +repulsive than ever. Logan could no longer walk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> across the pen in which +he was confined. He was so weak that he could not raise his heavily +manacled hands to his face.</p> + +<p>After the usual diplomacy and delay, the Doctor reported his condition, +and also his earnest desire for the boy, to the Indian Agent.</p> + +<p>There was a consultation. Would this crafty and desperate Indian attempt +to escape? Was not all this a ruse on his part? Would not the United +States imperil its peace and security if this boy and this man were to +be allowed together? This mighty question oppressed the mind of the +agent in charge for a whole day. Then, after the Doctor again urged the +prisoner's request—for man and boy both seemed to be dying—this man +reluctantly consented. Would Logan now escape after all? Could he ever +get through these iron bars and past the four soldiers pacing up and +down outside? Would he escape from the Reservation at last?</p> + +<p>And now, at the close of the hottest and most dreadful day they had +endured, an old Indian woman, bent almost double, came shuffling in by +permission of the guard, and laid something on a pile of rushes and +willows in a corner of the pen across from where John Logan lay.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>The man heard a noise as of some one breathing heavily, and attempted to +rise. He could hardly move his head. But in trying to support himself to +a sitting posture, he moved his hands, and so rattled his manacles. This +frightened the superstitious old woman, and she ran away. She had laid a +little skeleton on the rushes in the corner.</p> + +<p>Logan with great effort managed to sit up and look across into the +corner that was now being slowly illuminated by a beam of bright, white +moonlight, that stole down the wall toward the little heap lying there, +like some holy, white-hooded and noiseless-footed nun. At last he saw +the face. It was that of little Stumps. The man sank back where he +lay<ins class="correction" title="replaced comma with period">.</ins> The sight was so pitiful, so dreadful to see, +that he forgot his own misery and was all in tears for the little fellow +who lay dying before him. He forgot his own fearful condition at the +sight, and again attempted to rise and reach the little heap that lay +moaning in the corner. It was impossible; he could not rise.</p> + +<p>And how fared Carrie all this time? Little better than the others. She +was no longer beautiful. And so she was left, along with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> a score or +more of other dying and desperate creatures, in another part of the +Reservation. She was not permitted to see the boy. Least of all was she +permitted to see, or even hear from, John Logan. Day by day she drooped +and sank slowly but surely down toward the grave.</p> + +<p>But she did not fear death. She had faced it in all forms before. And +even now death walked the place night and day, and she was not afraid. +She lay down at night with death. She knew no fear at all. She +constantly asked for and wanted to see the helpless little boy, in the +hope that she might help or cheer him. But no one listened to anything +she had to say. Once, after a very hot and horrible day, two of her +companions in captivity were found to be dead. The guard who paced up +and down between the huts was told of it. But he said it was too late to +have them carted away that night. And so this girl lay there all night +by the side of the dead, and was not afraid. Nay, she even wished that +she too, when the cart came in the morning, might be found silent and at +peace. And then she thought of those whom she loved, and reproached +herself for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> being so selfish as to want to die when she still might be +of use to them.</p> + +<p>Let us escape from these dreadful scenes as soon as possible. They are +like a nightmare to me.</p> + +<p>And yet the mind turns back constantly to John Logan lying there; the +little heap of bones in the corner; the pure white moonlight creeping +softly down the wall, as if to look into the little fellow's eyes, yet +as if half afraid of wakening him.</p> + +<p>Could Logan escape? Chains, double guards, death—all these at his door +holding him back, waiting to take him if he ever passed out at that +door. Mould on the floor, mould on the walls, mould on the very +blankets. The man was burning to death with the fever; the boy, too, +lying over there. The boy moaned now and then. Once Logan heard him cry +for water. That warm, slimy, wormy water! O, for one, just one draught +of cool, sweet water from the mountains—their dearly loved native +mountains—and die!</p> + +<p>The moon rose higher still, round and white and large; and at last, +wheeling over the camp of death, seemed to pause in pity and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> look full +in upon those two dying captives. It seemed to soothe them both.</p> + +<p>The little boy saw the moonbeam on the wall, and was pacified. It looked +like the face of an old friend. It brought back the old time; the life, +the woods, the water—above all, the cool sweet waters of the mountains. +He seemed to know where he was. He lay still a long time, and then felt +stronger. He called to John Logan. No answer. Then the feeble, piping +little voice lifted up and called as loud as it could. No answer still. +The boy crawled from off the little pallet and tried to rise. He sank +down on the damp floor, and then tried to crawl to John Logan. He tried +to call again, as he began to slowly crawl towards the other corner. But +the poor little voice was no louder than a whisper. Very weak and very +wild, and almost quite delirious, the boy kept on as best he could. He +at last touched the blankets, the breast, and he drew himself up just as +the moon looked down on the pale upturned face. Then, with a moan, a +wild, pitiful cry, the little fellow fell back on the damp mouldy floor.</p> + +<p>John Logan was dead! Despite the chains,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> the bars at the window, the +double guard at the door, the man had escaped at last!</p> + +<p>The pitying moon did not hasten to go. It lingered there, reached down +along the damp, mouldy floor to a little form of skin and bone; and +then, as if this moon-beam were the Savior's mantle spreading out to +cover the white and stainless soul, it covered the pinched and pitiful +little face. For the boy, too, lay dead.</p> + +<p>Here was the end of two lives that had known only the long dark shadows, +only the deep solitude and solemnity of the forest. Like tall weeds that +sometimes shoot up in dark and unfrequented places, and that put forth +strange, sweet flowers, these two lives had sprung up there, put forth +after their fashion the best that is in man, and then perished in +darkness, unnamed, unknown.</p> + +<p>Who were they? John Logan, it is now whispered, was the son of an +officer made famous in the war annals of the world. The officer had been +stationed here in early manhood, gave his heart as she believed to a +daughter of a brave and powerful chief, whose lands lay near where he +was stationed for a summer, and then? The old, old tale of be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>trayal and +desertion. The woman was disgraced before her people. And so when they +retreated before the encroachments of the whites, she, being despised +and cast off by her people, remained behind waiting the promised return +of her lover. He? He did not even acknowledge his child. This General, +who had taken the lives of a thousand men, had not the moral courage to +reach out a hand to this one little waif which he had called into +existence.</p> + +<p>Do you know, there never was a dog drowned in the pound so base and low +that he would not fight? Yet this brute-valor is largely admired, even +to this day, by Christian people. This man could kill men, could risk +his own life, but he could not give this innocent child his name.</p> + +<p>And so it was, the boy, after he had learned to read, by the help of +Forty-nine, and an occasional missionary who sometimes preached to the +miners, and spent the pleasant summer months in the mountains—this boy, +I say, who at last had heard all the story of his father's weakness and +wickedness from Forty-nine's lips disdained to use his name, but chose +one fa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>mous in the annals of the Indians. And this brief sketch is about +all there is to tell of the young man who lay dead in chains, in the +prison-pen of the Reservation.</p> + +<p>"Civilization kills the Indian," said the Doctor that morning in his +daily round, after he had examined the dead bodies.</p> + +<p>"He does not look so desperate, after all," said an officer, as he held +his nose with his thumb and finger, and leaned forward to look at the +dead Indian, while his other hand held his sword gracefully at his side. +And then this officer, after making certain that this desperate +character was quite dead, drew forth his cigar-case, struck a light, and +climbing upon his horse, galloped back to his quarters on the hill.</p> + +<p>The Doctor, now left alone, stooped and put back the long silken hair +from the thin baby-face of the boy, as the body was brought out and +being carried to the cart made to receive the dead, and remarked that it +was not at all like that of the other Indians. Another young officer +came by as the Doctor did this, and his attention was called to the +fact. The officer tapped his sword-hilt a little, looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> curiously at +the pitiful, pinched little face, and then ordering the soldiers to move +on with their burden, he turned to the Doctor and remarked, as the two +went back together to their quarters on the hill, that "no doubt it was +the effect of the few days of civilization on the Reservation that had +made the boy so white; pity he had died so soon; a year on the +Reservation, and he would have been quite white."</p> + +<p>Unlike other parts of the Union, here the races are much mixed. Creoles, +Kanakas, Mexicans, Malays, whites, and blacks, have intermixed with the +natives, till the color line is not clearly drawn. And in one case at +least some orphan children of white parentage were sent to the +Reservation by parties who wanted their property. Though I do not know +that the fact of white children being found on a Reservation makes the +sufferings of the savages less or their wrongs more outrageous. I only +mention it as a frozen fact.</p> + +<p>Carrie did not know of the desolation which death had made in her life, +till old Forty-nine, who arrived too late to attend the burial of his +dead, told her. She did not weep. She did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> not even answer. She only +turned her face to the wall as she lay in her wretched bed, burning up +with the fever, but made no sign. There was nothing more for her to +bear. She had felt all that human nature can feel. She was dull, dazed, +indifferent, now to all that might occur.</p> + +<p>To turn back for the space of a paragraph, I am bound to admit that +these dying Indians often behaved very foolishly, and, in their +superstitions brought much of the fatality upon themselves. For example, +they had a horror of the white man's remedies, and refused to take the +medicines administered to them. Brought down from the cool, fresh +mountains, where they lived under the trees in the purest air and in the +most beautiful places, they at once fell ready victims to malarial +fevers. The white man, by a liberal use of quinine and whisky, as well +as by careful diet, lived very well at the Reservation, and suffered but +little, yet had he been forced to live in a pen, crowded together like +pigs in a sty, with the bad air, on the damp, mouldy ground, he had died +too, as fast perhaps as the Indian died.</p> + +<p>The old man could do but little for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> dying girl. He was in bad odor +with the officers; they treated him with as little consideration almost +as if he too had been a savage. But he was constant at her side; he +brought a lemon which he had begged, on his knees, as it were, and tried +to make her a cool drink of the slimy, wormy water. But the girl could +not drink it. She turned her face once more to the wall, and this time, +it seemed, to die.</p> + +<p>One morning, before the sun rose, she recovered her wandering mind and +called old Forty-nine to her side. She was surely dying; but her mind +was clear, and she understood perfectly all she said or did. Her dark +eyes were sunken deep in their places, and her long, sun-browned hands +were only skin and bone. They fell down across her heaving little +breast, as if they were the hands of a skeleton. Little wonder that her +persecutors had turned away with horror, perhaps with fear, from those +deep, hollow eyes, and the pitiful emaciated frame, that could no longer +lift itself where it lay.</p> + +<p>The old man fell down on his knees beside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> her and reached his face +across to hers. With great effort she lifted her two naked long, arms, +and wound them about the old man's neck. He seemed to know that death +was near, as he reached his face over hers. Over his cheeks and down his +long white beard the tears ran like rain and fell on her face and +breast.</p> + +<p>"Forty-nine, father! Let me call you father; may I? I never had any +father but you," said the girl feebly, as the tears fell fast on her +face.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, call me father. Call me father, Carrie, my Carrie; my poor, +dear, dear little Carrie,—do call me father, for of all the world I +have only you to love and live for," sobbed the old man as if his heart +would break.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, father, when I die take me back, take me back to the +mountains. I want to hear the water—the cool, sweet, clear water, where +I lie; and the wind in the trees—the cool, pure wind in the trees, +father. And you know the three trees just above the old cabin on the +hill by the water-fall? Bury me, bury me there. Yes, there, where I can +hear the cool water all the time, and the wind in the trees. And—and +won't you please cut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> my name on the tree by the water? My name, +Carrie—just Carrie, that's all. I have no other name—just Carrie. Will +you? Will you do this for me?"</p> + +<p>"As there is a God—as I live, I will!" and the old man lifted his face +as he bared his head, and looked toward heaven.</p> + +<p>The girl's mind wandered now. She spoke incoherently for a few moments, +and then was silent. Her form was convulsed, her breast heaved just a +little, her helpless hands reached about the old man's neck as if they +would hold him from passing from her presence; they fell away, and then +all was still. It was now gray dawn.</p> + +<p>This man's heart was bursting with rage and a savage sorrow. He was now +stung with a sense of awful injustice. His heart was swelling with +indignation. He took up the form before him; up in his arms, as if it +had been that of an infant. He threw his handkerchief across the face as +he passed out, stooping low through the dark and narrow doorway, and +strode in great, long and hurried steps down the street and over toward +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> hills beyond, where his horse was tethered in the long, brown +grass.</p> + +<p>As the old man passed the post on the hill, where the officers slept +under the protection of loaded cannon, the guard stopped him with his +bayonet.</p> + +<p>"Halt! Where are you going? And what have you there? Come, where are you +going?<ins class="correction" title="added close quote">"</ins></p> + +<p>The old man threw back the handkerchief as the guard approached, and the +new sunlight fell on the girl's face.</p> + +<p>"I am going to bury my dead."</p> + +<p>The guard started back. He almost dropped his gun as he saw that face; +then, recovering himself, he bared his head, bowed his face reverently, +and motioned the old man on.</p> + +<p>Forty-nine reached his horse in the brown grass, laid his burden down, +threw on the saddle, drew the girth with sudden strength and energy, as +if for a long and desperate ride. Then resuming his load, tenderly, as +if it were a sleeping infant, he vaulted into the saddle and dashed away +for the Sierras, that lay before him, and lifted like a city of snowy +temples, reared to the worship of the Eternal.</p> + +<p>It was a desperate ride for life. The girl's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> long soft black hair was +in the wind. The air was purer, sweeter here; there was a sense of +liberty, of life, in this ride, right in the face of the rising sun as +it streamed down over the snowy summits of the Sierras. Every plunge of +the strong swift mustang, brought them nearer to home, +to hope, to life. The horse seemed to know that now was his day of +mighty enterprise. Perhaps he was glad to get away and up and out of +that awful valley of death; for he forged ahead as horse never plunged +before, with his strange double burthen, that had frightened many a +better trained mustang than he.</p> + +<p>At last they began to climb the chapparal hills. Then they touched the +hills of pine, and the breath of balsam had a sense of health and +healing in it that only the invalid who is dying for his mountain home +can appreciate.</p> + +<p>The horse was in a foam; the day was hot; the old man was fainting in +the saddle.</p> + +<p>Water! Water at last! Down a steep, mossy crag, hung with brier and +blossom, came tumbling, with loud laughter like merry girls at play, a +little mountain stream. Cool<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> as the snow, sweet as the blossom, it fell +foaming in its pebbly bed at the base of the crag, under the deep, cool +shadows of the pines.</p> + +<p>The old man threw himself from his horse, and beast and man drank +together as he held the girl in his arms, where the spray dashed down +like a holy baptismal from the very hand of God upon her hair and face. +The hands clutched, the breast heaved a little, the lips moved as if to +drink in the cool sweet water. Her eyes feebly opened. And then the old +man bore her back under the pines, and laid her on the soft bed of dry +sweet-smelling pine-quills.</p> + +<p>Then clasping his hands above her, as he bent his face to hers, he +uttered his first prayer—the first for many and many a weary year. It +was a prayer of thanksgiving, of gratitude. The girl would live; and he +would now have something to live for—to love.</p> + +<p>It had been a strange weird sight, that old man, his long hair in the +wind, his strong horse plunging madly ahead, all white with foam, +climbing the Sierras as the sun climbed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> up. The girl lay in his arms +before him, her long dark hair all down over the horse's neck, tangled +in the horse's mane, catching in the brush and the wild vines and leaves +that hung over the trail as they flew past.</p> + +<p>And oftentime back over his shoulder the old man threw his long white +beard and looked back. He felt, he knew, that he was pursued. He fancied +he could all the time hear the sound of horses' feet.</p> + +<p>Perhaps if his eyes had been gifted with the vision of the prophets of +old, he would indeed have seen the pursuer. That pursuer was also an old +man, and not much unlike himself; an old man with a scythe—death. Death +following fast from the hot valley of pestilence, where he, death, kept, +if possible, closer watch than the Agents, that no Indian ever returned +to his native mountains. But death gave up the pursuit, and turned back +from the moment the baptismal fountain touched the girl's fevered +forehead. At last the old man who held her in his arms, rose up, rode on +and down to his cabin in the twilight, all secure from pursuit of +Agents, death, or any one. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> girl, quite conscious, opened her eyes +and looked around on the tall, nodding pine trees, that stood in long, +dusky lines, as if drawn up to welcome her return to the heart of the +Sierras.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shadows of Shasta, by Joaquin Miller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHADOWS OF SHASTA *** + +***** This file should be named 24006-h.htm or 24006-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/0/0/24006/ + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/American +Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Shadows of Shasta + +Author: Joaquin Miller + +Release Date: December 24, 2007 [EBook #24006] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHADOWS OF SHASTA *** + + + + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/American +Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + +SHADOWS OF SHASTA. + +BY + +JOAQUIN MILLER, + +AUTHOR OF "SONGS OF THE SIERRAS," +"THE DANITES IN THE SIERRAS," ETC. + +CHICAGO: +JANSEN, McCLURG & COMPANY. +1881. + + + + +COPYRIGHT. + +JANSEN, McCLURG & COMPANY. +A. D. 1881. + +_All rights of Dramatization reserved to the Author._ + + + + +TO + +WHITELAW REID. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + +INTRODUCTORY 7 + +MOUNT SHASTA 17 + +TWENTY CARATS FINE 49 + +MAN-HUNTERS 81 + +THE OLD GOLD-HUNTER 108 + +THE CAPTURE 122 + +THE ESCAPE 150 + + + + +SHADOWS OF SHASTA. + +INTRODUCTORY. + + _With vast foundations seamed and knit, + And wrought and bound by golden bars, + Sierra's peaks serenely sit + And challenge heaven's sentry-stars._ + + +Why this book? Because last year, in the heart of the Sierras, I saw +women and children chained together and marched down from their cool, +healthy homes to degradation and death on the Reservation. At the side +of this long, chained line, urged on and kept in order by bayonets, rode +a young officer, splendid in gold and brass, and newly burnished, from +that now famous charity-school on the Hudson. These women and children +were guilty of no crime; they were not even accused of wrong. But their +fathers and brothers lay dead in battle-harness, on the mountain +heights and in the lava beds; and these few silent survivors, like +Israel of old, were being led into captivity--but, unlike the chosen +children, never to return to the beloved heart of their mountains. + +Do you doubt these statements about the treatment of the Indians? Then +read this, from the man--the fiend in the form of man--who for years, +and until recently, had charge of all the Indians in the United States: + + "From reports and testimony before me, I find that Indians + removed to the Reservation or Indian Territory, die off so + rapidly that the race must soon become extinct if they are so + removed. _In this connection, I recommend the early removal of + all the Indians to the Indian Territory._" + +The above coarse attempt at second-hand wit is quoted from memory. But +if the exact words are not given, the substance is there; and, indeed, +the idea and expression is not at all new. + +I know if you contemplate the Indian from the railroad platform, as you +cross the plains, you will almost conclude, from the dreadful specimens +there seen, that the Indian Commissioner was not so widely out of the +way in that brutal desire. But the real Indian is not there. The Special +Correspondent will not find him, though he travel ten thousand miles. He +is in the mountains, a free man yet; not a beggar, not a thief, but the +brightest, bravest, truest man alive. Every few years, the soldiers find +him; and they do not despise him when found. Think of Captain Jack, with +his sixty braves, holding the whole army at bay for half a year! Think +of Chief Joseph, to whose valor and virtues the brave and brilliant +soldiers sent to fight him bear immortal testimony. Seamed with scars of +battle, and bloody from the fight of the deadly day and the night +preceding; his wife dying from a bullet; his boy lying dead at his feet; +his command decimated; bullets flying thick as hail; this Indian walked +right into the camp of his enemy, gun in hand, and then--not like a +beaten man, not like a captive, but like a king--demanded to know the +terms upon which his few remaining people could be allowed to live. When +a brave man beats a brave man in battle, he likes to treat him well--as +witness Grant and Lee; and so Generals Howard and Miles made fair terms +with the conquered chief. The action of the Government which followed +makes one sick at heart. Let us in charity call it _imbecility_. But +before whose door shall we lay the dead? Months after the surrender, +this brave but now heart-broken chief, cried out: + + "Give my people water, or they will die. This is mud and slime + that we have to drink here on this Reservation. More than half + are dead already. Give us the water of our mountains. And will + you not give us back just one mountain too? There are not many + of us left now. We will not want much now. Give us back just one + mountain, so that these women and children may live. Take all + the valleys. But you cannot plow the mountains. Give us back + just one little mountain, with cool, clear water, and then these + children can live." + +And think of Standing Bear and his people, taken by fraud and force from +their lands to the Indian Territory Reservation, and after the usual +hardships and wrongs incident to such removals, with no hope from a +Government which neither kept its promises nor listened to their +appeals, setting out to try to get back to Omaha. Think of these men, +stealing away in the night, leaving their little children, their wives +and parents, prostrate, dying, destitute! They were told that they could +not leave--that they must stay there; that they would be followed and +shot if they attempted to go away. They had no money; they had no food. +They were sick and faint. They were on foot, and but poorly clad. Yet +they struggled on through the snow day after day, week after week, +leaving a bloody trail where they passed; leaving their dead in the snow +where they passed. And this awful journey lasted for more than fifty +days! And what happened to these poor Indians after that fearful +journey? They did not go to the white man for help. They did not go back +to their old homes. They troubled no one. They went to a neighboring +friendly tribe. This tribe gave them a little land, and they instantly +went to work to make homes and prepare a place for the few of their +number still alive whom they had left behind. Then came the order from +Washington, and the Chief was arrested while plowing in the field. In a +speech made by him after the arrest, and when he was about to be taken +back, the Chief said: + + "I wanted to go back to my old place north. I wanted to save + myself and my tribe. I built a good stable. I raised cattle and + hogs and all kinds of stock. I broke land. All these things I + lost by some bad man. Any one knows to take a man from a cold + climate and put him in the hot sun, down in the south, it would + kill him. We refused to go down there. We afterwards went down + to see our friends, and see how they liked it. Brothers, I come + home now. I took my brothers and friends and came back here. We + went to work. I had hold of the handles of my plow. Eight days + ago I was at work on my farm, which the Omahas gave me. I had + sowed some spring wheat, and wished to sow some more. I was + living peaceably with all men. I have never committed any crime. + I was arrested and brought back as a prisoner. Does your law do + that? I have been told, since the great war all men were free + men, and that no man can be made a prisoner unless he does + wrong. I have done no wrong, and yet I am here a prisoner. Have + you a law for white men, and a different law for those who are + not white? + + "I have been going around for three years. I have lost all my + property. My constant thought is, 'What man has done this?' Of + course I know I cannot say 'no.' Whatever they say I must do, I + must do it. I know you have an order to send me to the Indian + Territory, and we must obey it." + +Afterwards, speaking of the terrible days at the Reservation, this +Indian said to an officer: + + "We counted our dead for awhile, but when all my children and + half the tribe were dead, we did not take any notice of anything + much. When my son was dying, he begged me to take his bones back + to the old home, if ever I got away. In that little box are the + bones of my son; I have tried to take them back to be buried + with our fathers." + +I may here add, that in the meantime the brother of this Indian, who was +left in charge of the tribe, was accused of trying to get away also. He +protested his innocence, but the agent had him arrested and brought +before him. Then he ordered him to be ironed. The proud, free savage +begged not to be put in irons, but the brutal agent persisted. The +Indian resisted, _and was shot dead on the spot_. + +Think of the Cheyennes last year. They, too, had tried to escape from +the Reservation, and reach their homes through the deep snow. This was +their only offense. No man had ever accused them of any other crime than +this love of their native haunts, this longing for home. They were dying +there on the Reservation; more than half had already died. And now, when +taken, they refused to go back. The officer attempted to starve them +into submission. They were shut up in a pen without food, naked, +starving, the snow whistling through the pen, children freezing to death +in their mother's arms! But they would not submit. Knowing now that they +must die, they determined to die in action rather than freeze and +starve, like beasts in a pen. At a concerted signal, they attempted to +break through the soldiers and reach the open plain. An old man was +carried on the back of his tottering son; a mounted soldier pursued +them, and hacked father and son to pieces with the same sabre-cuts. A +mother was seen flying over the snow with two children clinging about +her neck. The wretched savages separated and ran in all directions. But +the mounted men cut them down in the snow. No one asked, or even would +accept, quarter. They fought with sticks, stones, fists, their teeth, +like wild beasts. They wanted to die. One little group escaped to a +ravine. There they were found killing each other with a sort of knife +made from an old piece of hoop. + +And yet you believe man-hunting is over in America! + +It is impossible to write with composure or evenness on this subject. +One wants to rise up and crush things. + +I have mentioned two tribes near at hand, whose histories are not +unfamiliar to the public ear. But what if I should recite the wrongs of +tribes far away--far beyond the Rocky Mountains--where the Indian Agent +has to answer to no one? You would not believe one-tenth part told you. +The terrible stories of the Cheyennes and the Poncas are very mild +chapters in the history of our Indian policy. + +Under the stars and stripes, these scenes are repeated year after year; +and they will be continued until they are made impossible by the +civilization and sense of justice which righted that other though far +less terrible wrong. + +As that greatest man has said, "We are making history in America." This +is a conspicuous fact, that no one who would be remembered in this +century should forget. We are making dreadful history, dreadfully fast. +How terrible it will all read when the writer and reader of these lines +are long since forgotten! Ages may roll by. We may build a city over +every dead tribe's bones. We may bury the last Indian deep as the +eternal gulf. But these records will remain, and will rise up in +testimony against us to the last day of our race. + + J. M. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +MOUNT SHASTA. + + _To lord all Godland! lift the brow + Familiar to the moon, to top + The universal world, to prop + The hollow heavens up, to vow + Stern constancy with stars, to keep + Eternal watch while eons sleep; + To tower proudly up and touch + God's purple garment-hems that sweep + The cold blue north! Oh, this were much!_ + + _Where storm-born shadows hide and hunt + I knew thee, in thy glorious youth, + And loved thy vast face, white as truth; + I stood where thunderbolts were wont + To smite thy Titan-fashioned front, + And heard dark mountains rock and roll; + I saw the lightning's gleaming rod + Reach forth and write on heaven's scroll + The awful autograph of God!_ + + +And what a mighty heart these Sierras have! Kissing the purple of heaven +now, and now in their awful deeps hiding the shrinking form of darkness +from the sun. + +The shaggy monsters that prowl there, the mountains of gold that lie +waiting there, the mystery and the splendor! Oh keep with me, my friend, +for a little while in the Sierras; breathe their balm and health, see +their sublimity, feel their might and their majesty; step upward, as on +stepping stairs to heaven; and my word for it, you will be none the +worse. + +In a canyon here, deep, deep, away down in the darkness, where night +seems to have an abiding place, where the sun sifts through the +pine-tops timidly, where the loftiest trees tip-toe up and seem to +strive to reach out of the edge of the chasm, there gurgles a little +muddy stream among the boulders, about the miners' legs, as they bend +their backs wearily and toil for gold. + +Here the smoke curls up from a low log cabin; there a squirrel barks a +nut on the roof of a ruined and deserted miner's home, and away up +yonder, where the deep gorge is so narrow you can almost leap across it, +the wild beasts prowl as if it were really night, and great owls beat +their wings against the boughs of the dense wood in everlasting +darkness. But high over gorge and wilderness, gleaming against the cold +blue sky, towers Mount Shasta, the monarch of the Sierras. + +Here, where the canyon debouches into the little valley, once stood a +populous mining camp; and a little further on, where the sun fell in +full splendor, a few farms of a primitive kind, tended by broken-down +old miners, lay. + +The old glory of the camp was gone, and only a few battered and crippled +men were left. It was as if there had been a great battle of the giants, +and the victorious and successful had gone away with all the fruits of +victory, and left the wounded, the helpless, the half-hearted behind. +The mining camp at the mouth of the great canyon had been worked out, so +far as the placer mines went, and these few broken men who remained, as +a rule, were turning their attention to other things. Here one had +planted a little garden on the hillside, on a spot that had once been a +graveyard. There, an old lawyer had grown grape-vines all over and about +the door and chimney of his cabin, till men said it looked like a +spider-web. + +But old Forty-nine only bored deeper and deeper into the spur of the +mountain, and paid but little attention to any of the changes that went +on around him. He had been working in that tunnel alone for nearly +twenty-five years. He was a man with a history--men said a murderer. He +shunned men, and men shunned him. Was he rich? He professed to be very +poor; men said he must be worth a million. Would a man work on +twenty-five years in one tunnel, and all alone, for nothing? But if +rich, why did he remain? + +Still further down, and quite on the edge of the valley, stood another +cabin. And this was quite overgrown with vines, and was quite hidden +away in a growth of pines that gathered over it. Then there was an +undergrowth of fruit trees that grew inside the fence and about the +lonely porch. On this porch had sat, for years and years, a tawny, +silent old woman. She was sickly--had neither wealth, wit nor +beauty--and so, so far as the world went, was left quite alone. + +But there was another and an all-sufficient reason why neither man or +woman came that way. She was an Indian. Do not imagine this a wild +Indian woman. Indian she was; but remember, the Catholics had more than +half civilized nearly all the native Californians long before we +undertook to kill them. + +This Indian woman would have been called by strangers a Mexican woman. +She was very religious, and had imbued her boy with all her beautiful +faith and simple piety. + +I know that the spectacle of an old Indian woman and her "half-breed" +son, represented as the morality and religion of a camp made up of +"civilized" Saxons, will seem somewhat novel to you. But I knew this +Indian boy and his mother well, and know every foot of the ground I +intend to go over, and every fact I propose to narrate. And if you are +not prepared to receive this as truth, I prefer you to close this page +right here. + +To make a moment's digression, with your permission, let me state +briefly and frankly, once for all, that the only really religious, +unquestioning and absolutely devout Christians I ever met in America are +the Indians. I know of no other people so faithful and so blindly true +to their belief, outside of the peasantry of Italy. Be their beautiful +faith born of ignorance or what, I do not say. I simply assert that it +exists. There is no devotion so true as that of a converted Indian. +Maybe it is the devotion of idolatry, the faith of superstition. But I +repeat, it is sincere. And let me further say, it seems to me whatever +is worth believing at all, is worth believing utterly and entirely--just +as these simple children of the wilderness believe, without doubt or +question. + +I know nothing so beautiful--may I say picturesque?--as the Ummatilla +Indians of Oregon at worship on Sunday. Not a man, woman or child of all +the tribe absent. Not one voice silent when the hymns are given out, in +all that vast, gaily colored and singular assemblage. + +This is the tribe of which the white settlers asked and received +protection last year when the Shoshonees ravaged the country, beat off +the soldiers, and slew some of the settlers. And yet there is a bill +before Congress to-day to take away the few remaining acres from this +tribe and open up the place to white settlers. Indeed, it seems that +every member of Congress from Oregon has just this one mission; for the +first, and almost the only thing he does while there, is to introduce +and urge the passage of this bill, whereby the red man is to be turned +out of his well-tilled fields, and the white man turned into them. + +In truth, these very fields have long been staked off and claimed by +bold, bad white men, who hover about the borders of this Reservation, +waiting for the long-promised law which is to take this land from the +owners and give it to them. They nominate their members of Congress on +his pledge and bond, and constant promise, to take this land from the +Indian. They vote for and elect the only member of Congress from this +State on that promise, certain that their absolute ownership of this +graveyard of the Indian is only a question of time. Year by year the +graveyard grows broader; the fields grow narrower; they grow less in +number; for now and then an Indian is found wandering away from the +Reservation to his former hunting-grounds and ancient graves of his +fathers. He seldom comes back. Sometimes his murderers trouble +themselves to throw the body in the brush or some gorge or canyon. But +most frequently it is left where it falls. To say that all the people or +the best people of this brave young State approve of this, would be +unfair--untrue. Yet this does not save the Indian, who is doing his best +to fit into the new order of things around him. He is shot down, and +neither grand or petit jury can be found to punish his murderer. + +But to the story. This little piece of land where the old Indian woman +had lived and brought up her boy, was rich and valuable. It was +therefore coveted by the white man. At first men had said: "She will die +soon; the boy will then sell the hut for a song, gamble off the money, +and then go the way of all who are stained with the dark and tawny blood +of the savage--death in a ditch from some unknown rifle, or death by the +fever in the new Reservation." But the old woman still lived on; and the +boy, by his industry, sobriety, duty and devotion to his mother, put to +shame the very best among the new generation of white men in the +mountains. The singular manhood of John Logan was the subject of remark +by all who knew him. With the few true men on this savage edge of the +world it made him fast friends; with the many outlaws and evil natures +it made him the subject of envy and bitter hatred. + +What power behind this boy had lifted him up and led him on? Surely no +Indian woman, wholly unlettered in the ways of the white man, good and +true as she may have been, had brought him up to this high place on +which he now stood. Who was his father? and what strong hand had reached +out all these years and kept his mother there in that little hut with +her boy, while her tribe perished or passed away to the hated and +horrible Reservation down toward the sea? + +Who was his father? The Camp had asked this a thousand times. The boy +himself had looked into the deep, pathetic eyes of his mother, and asked +the question in his heart for many and many a year; but he never opened +his lips to ask her. It was too sad, too sacred a subject, and he would +not ask of her what she would not freely give. And now she lay dying +there alone on the porch, as her boy stopped to talk with the two +children, "the babes in the wood," and her secret hidden in her own +heart. + +And who were the "babes in the wood?" Little waifs, fugitives, hiding +from the man-hunters. As a rule in early days, when the settlers killed +off the adult Indians in their forays, they took the children and +brought them up in slavery. But the girl--the eldest, stronger and +lither of these two dark little creatures--darting, hiding, stealing +about this ruined old camp, was so wild and spirited, even from the +first, that no one wanted her. And then she was dangerously bright, and +above all, she did not quite look the Indian; men doubted if she really +were an Indian or no, sometimes. But I remember hearing old +Leather-Nose, as he sat on a barrel one night in the grocery, and +squirted amber at the back-log, say: "I guess, by gol, she's Injun: +She's devilish enough. She don't look the Injun, I know; but its the +cussedness that makes me know she's Injun." + +"And when did she come to the camp?" asked a respectable stranger. + +"Don't know. That's it. Nobody don't know, and nobody don't care, I +guess." + +"Well, don't you know where she came from? Children don't come down, you +know, like rain or snow. There were about fifty little children left in +the Mountain-meadow massacre. They are somewhere. These may be some of +them. Don't you know who brought them here, or how they came?" asked the +honest stranger, leaning forward and looking into the faces of the +wrinkled and hairy old miners. + +An old miner turned his quid again and again, and at last feeling scant +interest in the ragged little sister who led her little brother about by +the hand, and stood between him and peril as she kept their +liberty--drily answered, along with his fellows, as follows: "Some said +an old Indian that died had her; but I don't know. Forty-nine knows most +about her. When he's short of grub, and that's pretty often now, I +guess, why she has to do the best she can." + +"O, it was a sick looking thing at first. Why, it wasn't that high, and +was all hair and bones," growled out an old gray miner, in reply to the +man. + +"Yes; and don't you know when we called it the 'baby,' and it used to +beg around about the cabins? The poor little barefooted brat." + +"Yes, and when the 'baby' nearly starved, and eat some raw turnips that +made it sick." + +"Yes, and got the colic--" + +"Yes, and Gambler Jake got on his mule and started for the doctor." + +"Yes, an' got in a poker game at Mariposa, and didn't get back for four +days." + +"Yes, and the doctor didn't come; and so the baby got well." + +"Yes, just so, just so." And old Col. Billy bobbed his head, and fell to +thinking of other days. + +This little piece of land where the old Indian woman had lived so long, +and about which she had built a fence, was very valuable indeed. Valley +land was scarce here in the mountains; and there was a young orchard, +the only thing of the kind in the country. And then the roads forked +there, and two little rivers ran together there, and that meant that a +town would spring up there as the country became settled, farms opened, +and the Indians were swept away. Evil-minded men are never without +resources. The laws are made to restrain such men; but on the border +there is no law enforced. So you see how powerful are the wicked there; +how powerless the weak, though never so well disposed. + +In the far West, if an Indian is in your way, you have only to report +him to the Agent of the Indian Reservation. That is all you have to do. +He disappears, or dies. This Indian Agent is only too anxious to fill up +his wasting ranks of Indians. They are dying every day. And if they all +should die, sooner or later the fact may be known at Washington, and in +the course of a few years the Reservation and office would be abolished +together. And then each additional Indian contributes greatly to the +Agent's income, for each Indian must be fed and clothed--or at least, +the Agent is permitted to draw clothing, blankets and food for every +Indian brought upon the Reservation. As to the Indians receiving these +things, that is quite another affair. + +Well, here were men wanting this land. Down yonder, far away to the +scorching South, at the edge of the level alkali lands, in a tule swamp, +where the Indians taken from the mountains were penned up and dying like +sheep in a corral, was a bold, enterprising Indian Agent who was +gathering in, under orders of his Government, all the Indians of +Northern California. He could appoint a hundred deputies, and authorize +them to bring in the Indians wherever found. + +The two children--"the babes in the wood"--had been taken to the +Reservation; but being bold and active, they contrived to soon escape +and return to the mountains. Men whispered that the girl owed her escape +to the great and growing favor in which she was held by one of the +deputy agents, who, with his partner, a rough and coarse-grained man, +had their homes in this camp. The cabin of these two deputy agents, +Dosson and Emens, stood not far from that of old Forty-Nine. But so far +as I can remember, the old man and the newly appointed deputy agents had +always been at enmity. + +This Dosson was certainly a bad man. He was in every sense of the word a +desperado, and so was his partner; just the men most wanted by the head +agent at the Reservation to capture and bring in Indians. + +But whether this girl owed her escape or not to this ruffian, Dosson, +certain it is that on her return she avoided his cabin, and when not in +the woods, hovered about that of old Forty-Nine. This enraged Dosson +beyond degree. To add to his anger, she now began to show a particular +preference for John Logan. The idea of having an Indian for a rival was +more than this ignorant and brutal Deputy Agent could well bear, and he +set to work at once to rid himself of the object of his hatred. + +The hard and merciless man-hunter almost shouted with delight at a new +idea which now came upon him with the light and suddeness of a +revelation. He ran at once to his partner, and told him of his +determination. + +Then these two men sat down and talked a long time together. They made +marks in the sand with sticks. They set up little stakes in the sand, +and seemed delighted as they reached their heads out and looked down +from the mouth of their tunnel toward the Indian farm. + +That night these two men stole down together, and set up stakes and made +corner marks about John Logan's land while he slept, and then rolled +themselves in their blankets, and spent the night inside the limits of +their new location. Having done this, and sent a notice of their +pre-emption to the Surveyor General, to be filed as their declaration of +claim to the little farm with the orchard, they entered complaint +against John Logan, and so sat down to await results. + +Meantime, this old woman sat alone, with a great dog by her side, sick +and desolate, waiting her sun of life to set, piously waiting, dark +browed, thoughtful; while her tall handsome boy, meek, obedient, with +the awful curse of Cain upon his brow, the mark of Indian blood, was +toiling on up in the canyon alone. + +You had better be a negro--you had better be ten times a negro, were it +possible--than be one-tenth part an Indian in the West. The Indian will +have little to do with one who is part Indian. And as for the white man, +unless the Indian is willing to be his slave, do him homage and service, +he would sooner take a leper in his house or to his heart. + +Up and above the Indian woman's house, in the dense wood and on the spur +of the mountain, wound an old Indian trail. Along this trail, above the +hidden house, stole two little creatures--tawny, sunburnt, ragged, +wretched, yet full of affection for each other. These were the two +wretched children escaped from the Reservation. They were now being +harbored by old Forty-nine. For this he was liable to be arrested and +punished. Knowing this, he kept his gun loaded and standing in the +corner of his cabin, where the children slept at night. + +How strange that this one man, the most despised and miserable, should +be the only one to reach a hand to help these little waifs of the woods! +And who knew or who cared from where they came? They did not look the +Indian, though they acted it to perfection. They would run away and hide +from the face of man. Yet the girl, under the passionate California sun, +was almost blossoming into womanhood. They were called brother and +sister. God knows if they were or no. Break up tribes, families, as +these had been broken up--fire into a flock of young quails all day--and +who knows how soon or where the few that escape may gather together +again, or if they will know each other when they meet, years after in +the woods? + +Children are so impressionable. They had heard some one in the camp call +the old Indian woman who sat forever on the porch in the dense foliage, +with the big dog beside her, a witch. They did not know what that +meant. But they knew it was something dreadful, and they shunned and +abhorred her accordingly. Yet the girl knew John Logan, her tall +handsome son, well, and liked him, too. + +As they stole along the dim old Indian trail, their necks were stretched +toward the old Indian woman's hut below. They were as noiseless as two +panthers. At last the girl stopped, stood still, pointed and half pushed +the boy before and in through the thicket, past an occasional lonely +cabin, toward the widow's woody home. + +This old woman had long been ailing. She was now very ill. You are +surprised to learn of sickness in the heart of the Sierras? I tell you +that if you were to wash down mountains and uproot forests in the +moon--were such a thing possible--the ague would seize hold of you +and shake you for it. Nature is revengeful. But to return to the +wilderness. + +What a wilderness this was! Only here and there, at long intervals, a +little cabin down in the deep, dense wood; these cabins scattered as if +the hand of some mighty sower had reached out over the wilderness, and +had sown and strown them there, to take root and grow to some great +harvest of civilization. The narrow Indian trail wound along, almost +entirely hidden by overhanging woods--a trail that turned and twisted at +every little obstacle; here it was the prostrate form of some patriarch +tree, or here it curved and cork-screwed in and out through mighty +forest-kings, that stood like comrades in ranks of battle. + +Where did this little Indian trail lead to? Where did it begin? How many +a love-tale had been told in the shadow of those mighty trees that +reached their long, strong arms out over the heads of all passers-by, in +a sort of priestly benediction? + +Where did the Indian trail lead to? To the West. But leaves were strewn +thick along it now. The Indian had gone, to come back no more. Ever to +the West points the Indian's path. Ever down to the great gold shore of +the vast west sea leads the Indian's path. And there the waves sweep in +and obliterate his foot-prints forever. + +The two half-wild children who had disappeared down the dim trail a few +moments before, now suddenly re-appear. They are eager and excited. +This boy cannot be above ten years old; yet he looks old as a man. The +girl may be twelve, fifteen, or even sixteen. Age at such a period is a +matter of either blood or climate. She has a shock of unkempt hair; she +wears a tattered dress of as many colors as Jacob's coat. She has one +toeless boot on one foot; on the other she wears a shoe so big that it +might hold both her feet. Down over this shoe rolls a large red woolen +stocking, leaving her shapely little ankle bleeding from +brier-scratches. In her hand she swings a large, coarse straw hat by its +broad red ribbons. Her every limb is full of force and fire; her voice +is firm and resolute, but not rapid. Hers is a splendid energy, needing +but proper direction. + +Her brother, who puffs and pants at her side, is named Johnny; but the +wild West, which has a habit of naming things because they look it, has +dubbed him "Stumps," since he is short and fat. He is half-clad in a +pair of tattered pants, a great straw hat, and a full, stuffy, check +shirt, which is held in subjection by a pair of hand-made woolen +suspenders--the work of his sister. + +Both are out of breath--both are looking back wildly; but Stumps huddles +up again and again close under his sister's arm, as if he fears he might +be followed, and looks to her for protection. She draws him close to +her, and then looking back, and then down into his upturned face, says +breathlessly: + +"Stumps! Oh, Stumps, did you get 'em, Stumps?" + +The boy shrinks closer to his sister, and again looking back, and then +seeing for a certainty that he is not followed, he grows bolder and +says: + +"Git 'em, Carats? Look there! And that 'un is your'n, Carats; and you +can have both of 'em if you want 'em, for I don't feel hungry now, +Carats," and here he hitches up his pants, and wipes his nose on his +sleeve. + +"Why, Stumps, don't you feel hungry now?" Then suddenly beholding two +upheld ruddy peaches, she catches her breath, and says: "Oh, oh!" and +she starts back and throws up her hands. "Oh, the pretty, pretty +peaches!" + +"Here, take 'em both, Carrie--I ain't hungry now." + +"No, I don't want but one, Stumps--one 's enough. Why, how you tore your +pants; and your shin 's a bleeding, too. Why, poor Stumps!" + +Stumps, looking back, cries: + +"Shoo! Thar war a dog--yes, thar war a dog! And what do you think! Shoo! +I thought I heard somethin' a comin'. Carats, old Miss Logan, the Injun +woman, seed me!" + +"Why, Stumps! No?" + +"Yes, she did. When I clim' the fence, and slid down that sapling in the +yard, there she laid on the porch on her shuck-bed a-shaking with the +ager. And, Carats, she was a-looking right straight at me--yes, she was; +so help me, she was." + +"Why, Stumps; and what did she do! Didn't she holler, and say 'Seek 'em, +Bose?'" + +"Carats, she didn't; and that's what's the matter--and that's why I +don't want to eat any peaches, Carats. Carats, I wish she had--I do, I +do, so help me. Let's not eat 'em--let's take 'em back--Carrie, sister +Carrie, let's take 'em back." + +Carrie thoughtfully and tenderly gazes in his face. + +"Let's take 'em to old Forty-nine, Johnny. There ain't nothing he can +eat, you know; an' then he's been a-shakin' since melon-time,--an' +Johnny, I don't think we are very good to him, anyhow." + +Stumps, scratching his bleeding shin with his foot, exclaims: + +"I've barked my shin, and I've tore'd my pants, an' I don't care! But I +won't take him a peach that I've stoled. Why, what would he think, +Carats? He'd die dead, he would, if he thought I'd stoled them peaches +from the poor old sick Injun woman; yes he would, Carats." + +"Johnny, I'll tell him we found 'em," as Stumps looks doubtingly at her, +"tell him we found 'em in a tree, Stumps. Yes tell him we found 'em away +up in the top of a cedar tree." + +"But I don't want to tell no lie, nor do nothin' bad no more, and I want +to go home, I do." + +"Well, Stumps--Johnny, brother Johnny, what will we do with them? We +can't stand here all day. I want to go home, too. Oh, this hateful, +hateful peach! I want to go right off!" and the girl, hiding her face +in her hands, begins to weep. + +"Oh, sister Carrie--sister, don't, don't; sister, don't, don't!" + +"Then let's eat 'em." + +"I don't like peaches." + +"I don't like peaches either!" cries Carrie, throwing back her hair, +wiping her eyes, and trying to be bright and cheerful. "I never could +eat peaches. I like pine-nuts, and cowcumbers, and tomatuses, +and--pine-nuts. Oh, I'm very fond of pine-nuts. I like pine-nuts +roasted, and tomatuses, an' I like chestnuts raw, an' tomatuses. Don't +you like pine-nuts and tomatuses, Johnny, and cowcumbers." + +"I don't like nothin' any more." + +"Then, Johnny, take 'em back." + +"I--I--I take 'em back by myself? I take 'em back, an' hear old Bose +growl, and look into her holler eyes?" Here the boy shudders, and +looking around timidly, he creeps closer to his sister and says, as he +again gazes back in the direction of the Indian woman's cabin: "I'd be +afraid she might be dead, Carats, an' there'd be nobody to hold the +dog. Oh, I see her holler eyes looking at me all the time. If she'd +only let the dog come. Confound her! If she'd only let the dog come!" + +"Oh, Johnny, Johnny--brother Johnny, come, lets go home! Shoo! There's +somebody coming. It's John Logan, coming home from his work." + +As the girl speaks, John Logan, the sick woman's son, a strong handsome +man, only brown as if browned by the sun, with a pick on his shoulder +and a gold-pan slanting under his arm, comes whistling along the trail. +Seeing the children, he stops and says: + +"Why, children, good evening! What are you running away for? Come, come +now, don't be so shy, my little neighbors, and don't give the trail all +to me because I happen to be a man, and the strongest. Come, Johnny, +give me your hand. There! an honest, chubby little fist it is. Why, what +have you got in your other hand? Been gathering nuts, hey? You little +squirrel! Give me a nut, won't you." + +Carrie approaches, dives her hand into her ragged pocket and reaches the +man a heaped handful of nuts. + +"There, if you'll have nuts I'll bring you nuts; I'll bring you lots of +nuts, I will; I'll bring you a bushel of nuts, an'--some tomatuses." + +"Oh, you are too kind. But now I must hasten home to mother. Come, shake +hands again, and say good-bye." The girl gives her left hand. "No your +right hand." + +Carrie is bothered, and slips the peach in her left hand behind, and, +with a lifted face, full of glow and enthusiasm, says: + +"I'll bring you a whole bag full of nuts, I will," and she reaches him +her hand eagerly. + +"Oh Carrie, I have a nice little surprise for you, and if you won't tell +I'll let you into the secret. You won't tell?" + +He comes close to her, sits down his gold-pan, and resting his pick on +the ground, with his two hands on the top of the handle, leans toward +her and looks into her innocent uplifted face. + +The girl's eyes brighten, and she seems to grow tall and beautiful under +his earnest gaze. + +"I won't tell, sir. Oh, please to trust me, sir--I won't tell, Mr. John +Logan!" + +The boy eagerly comes forward also. + +"I won't tell, neither. I won't tell neither; so help me!" + +"Well, then, come close to me, Johnny, come close up here, and look in +my face--there! Why, I declare the pleasure I now have, telling you +this, is more than gold! And I need money sadly enough." + +"You're awful poor, ain't you?" asked Stumps, hitching up his pants. + +"Been workin' all day and ain't got much in the pan," says Carrie, +looking sidewise at the few colors of gold in the bottom edge of the +pan. + +"Ah, yes, Carrie. Look at my hands--hard and rough as the bark of a +tree; but I don't mind that, Carrie, I was born here, I was born poor, I +shall live poor and die poor. But I don't mind it, Carrie. I have my +mother to love and look after, and while she lives I am content." + +The girl looks at the woods, looks at the man, and then once more at the +woods, and at last in her helplessness to solve the problem, falls to +eating nuts, as usual; while the man continues, as if talking to +himself: + +"This is the peace of Paradise; and see the burning bush! Now I can +well understand that Moses saw the face of God in the bush of fire." + +"Oh," the girl says to herself, "if he only would be cross! If he only +would say something rough to us! If he only would cuss." + +She resolves to say or do something to break the spell. She asks +eagerly: + +"Are you going to give something to Stumps and me?--I mean Johnny and +me?" + +"Yes, yes, to-morrow evening, after my work is done. And now I am going +to tell you and Johnny what it is. It ain't much; it's the least little +thing in the world; but I don't deserve any credit for even that--it's +my poor dear old mother's idea. She has laid there, day after day, on +the porch, and she has been thinking, not all the time of her own +sickness and sorrow, but of others, as well; and she has thought much of +you." + +The boy stands far aside, and at mention of this he jerks himself into a +knot, his head drops down between his shoulders, his mouth puckers up, +and he exclaims "Oh, hoka!" + +"Thought of me?" says Carrie. + +"Of you, Carrie. And listen; I must tell you a little story. When I was +a very young man, and killed my first grizzly bear, I bought a little +peach-tree and planted it in the corner of the yard, as people sometimes +plant trees to remember things. Well, my mother, she had the ague that +day powerful, for it was after melon-time, and she sat on the porch and +shook, and shook, and shook, and watched me plant it, and when I got +done, my mother she cried. I don't know why she cried, Carrie, but she +did. She cried and she cried, and when I went up to her, and put my arms +around her neck and kissed her, she only cried the more, for she was +sort of hysteric-like, you know, and she said she knew she'd never live +to eat any fruit off of that tree." + +Carrie stops eating nuts a moment. + +"But she will--she will get well, Mr. John Logan--she will get well, +won't she?" + +"Ah, indeed, I believe she will get well, but whether she ever gets +right well or not, she certainly will live to eat peaches from that +tree. Carrie, we've talked it all over, and what do you think? Why, now +listen, I will tell you. This tree that I planted, and that my poor sick +mother was afraid she would not live to eat the fruit from--this tree +was a peach tree." + +Carrie again takes out a handful of nuts from her pocket, as if she +would like to eat them. She looks at them a second, throws them away, +and hastens to one side. + +"I want to go home," cries Stumps. "I don't like peaches, Mr. John +Logan. I don't--I don't--so help me," and the boy jerks at his pants +wildly. + +John Logan turns to him kindly. "Why, you never had a peach in your +little hand in your life." Then turning to Carrie: "Yes, Carrie, there +has grown this year, high up in the sun on that tree, side by side, +two--and only two--red, ripe peaches. Why, children, don't run away! +Wait one moment, and I will go a little way with you. As I was about to +say, these two peaches are at last ripe. I own I was the least bit +afraid, even after I saw them there on that bough one Summer morning, +that even then my mother might die before they became fully ripe. But +now they are ripe, and this evening I shall pull them. And to-morrow, +after my day's work is done, my sick mother shall eat one, and you two +shall eat the other." + +Carrie puts up her hand and backs away. + +"Don't--don't--don't call me Carrie; call me +Carats--Carats--Carats--like the others do!" + +"Why, Carrie! What in the world is the matter with you?" + +"If a body steals, Mr. John Logan--if a body steals--what had a body +better do?" + +"Why, the Preacher says a body should confess--confess it, feel sorry, +and be forgiven." + +"I can't--I can't confess, and I can't be forgiven!" + +John Logan starts! + +"You--you, Carrie; is it you? Then you have already confessed, and He +will forgive you!" + +"But such stealing as this nobody--nothing--can forgive," falling on her +knees. "I--I made my little brother steal your peaches!" + +"You!--you made him steal my two peaches that I wanted for my sick +mother? You--_you_, Carrie?" + +Stumps rushed forward. + +"No--No! I done it myself! I done it all myself--I did, so help me!" + +"But I made him do it!" cries Carrie. "I am the biggest, and I knew +better--I knew better. But we couldn't eat 'em. Here they are--oh I am +so glad we couldn't eat 'em!" And they fall on their knees at his feet +together; four little hands reach out the peaches to him eagerly, +earnestly, as if in prayer to Heaven. + +The man takes their little hands, and, choking with tears, says, in a +voice full of pathos and pity, and uncovering his head, with lifted +face, as he remembers something of the story the good Priest so often +read to his mother: "and there was more joy in Heaven over the one that +was found, than over the ninety-and-nine that went not astray." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +TWENTY CARATS FINE. + + _A land that man has newly trod, + A land that only God has known, + Through all the soundless cycles flown. + Yet perfect blossoms bless the sod, + And perfect birds illume the trees, + And perfect unheard harmonies + Pour out eternally to God._ + + _A thousand miles of mighty wood + Where thunder-storms stride fire-shod; + A thousand flowers every rod, + A stately tree on every rood; + Ten thousand leaves on every tree, + And each a miracle to me; + And yet there be men who question God!_ + +At just what time these two waifs of the woods appeared in camp even +Forty-nine could not tell. They were first seen with the Indian woman +who went about among the miners, picking up bread and bits of coin by +dancing, singing and telling fortunes. These two Indian women were +great liars, and rogues altogether. I need not add that they were partly +civilized. + +The little girl had been taught to dance and sing, and was quite a +source of revenue to the two Indian women, who had perhaps bought or +stolen the children. As for the boy--poor stunted, starved little +thing--he hung on to his sister's tattered dress all the time with his +little red hand, wherever she went and whatever she did. He was her +shadow; and he was at that time little more than a shadow in any way. + +Sometimes men pitied the little girl, and gave very liberally. They +tried to find out something about her past life; for although she was +quite the color of the Indian, she had regular features, and at times +her poor pinched face was positively beautiful. The two children looked +as if they had been literally stunted in their growth from starvation +and hardship. + +Once a good-hearted old miner had bribed the squaws to let the children +come to his cabin and get something to eat. They came, and while they +were gorging themselves, the boy sitting close up to the girl all the +time, and looking about and back over his shoulder and holding on to +her dress, this man questioned her about her life and history. She did +not like to talk; indeed, she talked with difficulty at first, and her +few English words fell from her lips in broken bits and in strange +confusion. But at length she began to speak more clearly as she +proceeded with her story, and became excited in its narration. Then she +would stop and seem to forget it all. Then she went on, as if she was +telling a dream. Then there would be another long pause, and confusion, +and she would stammer on in the most wild and incoherent fashion, till +the old miner became quite impatient, and thought her as big an imposter +as the Indian woman whom she called her mother. He finally gave them +each a loaf of bread, and told them they could go back to their lodge. +This lodge consisted of a few poles set up in wigwam fashion, and +covered with skins and old blankets and birch. A foul, ugly place it +was, but in this wigwam lived two Indian women and these two children. + +Men, or rather beasts--no, beasts are decent creatures; well then, +monsters, full of bad rum, would prowl about this wretched lodge at +night, and their howls, mixed with those of the savages, whom they had +made also drunk, kept up a state of things frightful to think of in +connection with these two sensitive, starving little waifs of the woods. + +Who were they, and where did they come from? Sometimes these children +would start up and fly from the lodge at night, and hide away in the +brush like hunted things, and only steal back at morning when all was +still. At such times the girl would wrap her little brother (if he was +her brother) in her own scant rags, and hold him in her arms as he +slept. + +One night, while some strange Indians were lodging there, a still more +terrible scene transpired in this dreadful little den than had yet been +conceived. The two children fled as usual into the darkness, back into +the deep woods. Shots were heard, and then a death-yell that echoed far +up and down the canyon. Then there were cries, shrieks of women, as if +they were being seized and borne away. Fainter and fainter grew their +cries; further and further, down on the high ledge of the canyon in the +darkness, into the deep wood, they seemed to be borne. And at last their +cries died away altogether. + +The next morning a dead Indian was found at the door of the empty lodge. +But the women and the children were nowhere to be seen. Some said the +Indian Agent's men had come to take the Indians away, and that the man +resisting had been shot, while the women and children were taken to the +Reservation, where they belonged. But there was a darker story, and told +under the breath, and not spoken loud. Let it be told under the breath, +and briefly here, also. Some drunken wretches had shot the Indians, +carried the women down to the dark woods above the deep swollen river, +and then, after the most awful orgies ever chronicled, murdered them and +sunk their bodies in the muddy river. + +It was nearly a week after that the two children stole down from the +wooded hill-side into the trail, where old Forty-nine found them on his +return from work. They were so weak they could not speak or cry out for +help. They could only reach their little hands and implore help, as, +timid and frightened, they tottered towards this first human being they +had dared to face for a whole week. + +The strong man hesitated a moment; they looked so frightful he wanted to +escape from their presence. But his grand, noble nature came to the +surface in a second; and dropping his pick and pan in the trail, he +caught up the two children, and in a moment more was, with one in each +arm, rushing down the trail to his cabin. He met some men, and passed +others. They all looked at him with wonder. One even laughed at him. + +And it is hard to comprehend this. There were good men--good in a +measure; men who would have gallantly died to save a woman--men who were +true men on points of honor; yet men who could not think of even being +civil to an Indian, or any one with a bit of Indian blood in his veins. +Is our government responsible for this? I do not say so. I only know +that it exists; a hatred, a prejudice, more deeply seated and +unreasonable than ever was that of the old slave-dealer for the black +man. + +Forty-nine did not return to his tunnel the next day, nor yet the next. +This cabin, wretched as it became in after years when he had fallen +into evil habits, had then plenty to eat, and there the starved little +beings ate as they had never eaten before. + +At first the little boy would steal and hide away bread while he ate at +the table. The first night, after eating all he could, he slept with +both his pockets full and a chunk up his sleeve besides. + +This boy was never a favorite. He was so weak, so dependent on his +sister. It seemed as if he had been at one time frightened almost to +death, and had never quite gotten over it. And so Forty-nine took most +kindly to the girl, and they were soon fast friends. Yet ever and always +her shadow, the little boy, whom Forty-nine named Johnny, kept at her +side--as I have said before; his little red hand reached out and +clutching at her tattered dress. + +After a few weeks the girl began to tell strange, wild stories to the +old man. But observing that Forty-nine doubted these, as the other man +had, she called them dreams, and so would tell him these wild and +terrible dreams of the desert, of blood, of murder and massacre, till +the old man himself, as the girl shrank up to him in terror, became +almost frightened. He did not like to hear these dreams, and she soon +learned not to repeat them. + +One evening a passing miner stopped, placed a broad hand on either +door-jamb, and putting his great head in at the open door, asked how the +little "copper-colored pets" got on. + +"Pard," answered Forty-nine, kindly, and with a nod of the head back +toward the children playing in the corner, "they are not coppers; no, +they are not. I tell you that girl is not copper, but gold. Yes she is, +Pard; she is twenty carats." + +"Twenty carats gold! Well, Twenty Carats, come here! Come here, Carats," +called out the big head at the door. + +The girl came forward, and a big hand fell down from the door-jamb on +her bushy head of hair, and the man was pleased as he looked down into +the uplifted face. And so he called her "Carats," and that became her +name. + +Other passing miners stopped to look in at the open door where the big +head had looked and talked to the timid girl, and misunderstanding the +name, they called her Carrie; and Carrie she was called ever afterwards. + +But the boy who had been so thin, soon grew so fat and chubby that some +one named him "Stumps." There was no good trying to get rid of that +name. He looked as though his name ought to be Stumps, and Stumps it +was, in spite of the persistent efforts of old Forty-nine to keep the +name in use which he had given him. And this was all that Forty-nine or +any one could tell of these two children. + +And now, how beautiful Carrie had grown by the time the leaves turned +brown! Often Dosson saw her hovering about the cabin of old Forty-nine, +flitting through the woods with her brother, or walking leisurely with +Logan on the hill down the dim old Indian trail. + +Mother Nature has her golden wedding once a year, and all the world is +invited. She has many gala days, too, besides, and she celebrates them +with songs and dances of delight. In the full bosomed, teeming, jocund +Spring, I have seen the trees lean together and rustle their leaves in +whisperings of love. I have seen them reach their long strong arms to +each other, and intertwine them as if in fond affection, as the bland, +warm winds, coming up from the South, blew over them and warmed their +hearts of oak--old trees, too, gnarled and knotted--old fellows that had +bobbed their heads together through many and many a Spring; that had +leaned their lofty and storm-stained tops together through many and many +a Winter; that had stood, like mighty soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, in +friendships knit through many centuries. The birds sing and flutter, fly +in and out of the dark deep canopies of green, build nests, and make +love in myriads. How the squirrels run and chatter and frisk, and fly +from branch to branch, with their bushy tails tossing in the warm wind! +Under foot, ten thousand tall strange flowers and weeds and long +spindled grasses grow, and reach up and up, as if to try to touch the +sunlight above the tops of the oak and ash and pine and fir and cedar +and maple and cherry and sycamore and spruce and tamarack, and all these +that grow in common confusion here and shut out the sun from the earth +as perfectly as if all things dwelt forever in cloudland. + +The cabin of old Forty-nine was very modest; it hid away in the canyon +as if it did not wish to be seen at all. And it was right; for verily it +was scarcely presentable. It was an old cabin, too, almost as old as +little "Carats," if indeed any one could tell how old she was. But it, +unlike herself, seemed to be growing tired and weary of the world. She +had been growing up as it had been growing down. The moss was gathering +all over the round, rough logs on the outside, and the weeds and wild +vines each year grew still more ambitious to get quite to the top of the +cabin, and peep down into the mysterious crater of a chimney that +forever smoked in a mournful and monotonous sort of way, as if watchers +were there--Vestal virgins, who dared not let their fires perish, on +penalty of death. + +"Drunken, wretched, cracked and crazy old Forty-nine," the camp said, +"he can never build a new cabin, for he can't stay sober long enough to +cut down a tree." And the camp told the ugly truth. + +"Why don't Forty-nine build a new cabin?" asked Gar Dosson one day, as +he passed that way, with a string of fish in his hand and a coon on his +back. + +"Poor dear Forty-nine's got the shakes so he can't get time. It takes +him all the time to shake, and it takes all his money to buy his ager +medicine. Poor dear old Forty-nine!" and the girl seemed to get a cinder +or something in her eye.***** + +As the sun settled low, one afternoon, and cast long, creeping shadows +over the flowery land--shadows that lay upon and crept along the ground, +as if they were weary of the day, and would like to lie there and sleep, +and sleep, forever--the stealthy step of a man was heard approaching the +old cabin. There was something of the tiger in the man's movements, and +it was clear that his mission, whatever it was, was not a mission of +peace.***** + +The man stands out in the clearing of the land before the cabin, and +peers right and left up the trail and down the trail, and then leans and +listens. Then he takes a glance back over his shoulder at his companion +and follower, Gar Dosson, and being sure that he too is on the alert and +close on his heels, he steps forward. Again the man leans and listens, +but seeing no signs of life and hearing no sound, he straightens up, +walks close to the cabin, and calls out: + +"Hello, the house!" at the same time he looks to the priming of his gun, +and then fixes his eye on the door as it slowly opens. He drops the +breech hastily to the ground as the face of Carrie peers forth. + +"Beg pardon, Carrie, my girl! Is it only you miss? Beg pardon--but we +are lookin' for a gentleman--a young gentleman, John Logan." + +The man is terribly embarrassed as the girl looks him straight in the +face, and his companion falls back into the woods until almost hidden +from view. + +"Well, and why do you come here, skulking like Indians?" + +The man falls back; but recovering, he says, over his shoulder, as he +turns to go: + +"Yes, skulking around your cabin, like that other Injun, John Logan!" + +The man jerks the coon-skin cap up on his left ear as he says this, and, +tossing his head, steps back into the thick woods and is gone. + +Later in the evening, John Logan, gun in hand, passes slowly and +dreamily down the trail, close to old Forty-nine's cabin. Stumps and +Carrie are at play in the wood close at hand, and come forth at a bound. + +"Booh!" cries Carrie, darting around from behind a tree. "Booh! Mr. John +Logan," continues the girl, and then with her two dimpled brown hands +she throws back the glorious storm of black abundant hair, that all the +time tumbles about her beautiful face. + +"Why, Carrie, is that you? and Stumps, too? I am glad to see you. I--I +was feeling awful lonesome." + +"Been down to Squire Fields' again, haven't you?" + +The girl has reached one hand out against a tree, and half leaning on it +swings her right foot to and fro. John Logan starts just a little, looks +at her, sighs, sets the breech of his gun on the ground, and as his eyes +turn to hers, she sees he is very sad. + +"Yes, Carrie, I--I am lonesome at my cabin since--since mother died. All +the time, Carrie, I see her as I saw her that night, when I got home, +sitting there on the porch, looking straight out at the gate, waiting +for me, her hand on the dog's head, as if to hold him." + +As he says this, poor little Stumps stands up close against a tree, +draws his head down, and pulls up his shoulders. + +"Yes, her long bony fingers resting on his head, holding him--and the +faithful dog never moving for fear he would disturb her--for she was +dead." + +"Oh, Mr. John Logan, don't tell me about it--don't!" and the girl's +apron is again raised to her face as she shudders. + +"Poor old woman with the holler eyes," says Stumps to himself, in a tone +that is scarcely audible. + +"But there, never mind." The strong, handsome fellow brushes a tear +aside, and taking up his gun again, tries to be cheerful, and shake off +the care that encompasses him. + +"And you got lonesome, and went down to see Sylvia Fields, didn't you?" + +Again the girl's foot swings, and she looks askance from under her dark, +heavy hair, at John Logan. + +"Carrie, listen to me. Ever since I can remember, my mother waited and +watched for my coming at my cabin door. But now, only think how lonely +it is to live there. I can't go away. I have no fortune, no friends, no +people. What would people say to me and of me out in the great world? +Well, I went to Squire Fields, and I had a long talk with Sylvia." + +The girl starts, and almost chokes. + +"Been to see Sylvia Fields!" and with her booted foot she kicks the bark +of a tree with all her might. "Had a long talk with her!" Then she +whirls around, plunges her hand in her pocket, and swings her dress and +says, as she pouts out her mouth, + +"Oh, I feel just awful!" + +John Logan approaches her. + +"Why, Carrie, what's the matter?" + +Carrie still swings herself, and turns her back to the man as she says, +half savagely, + +"I don't know what's the matter, and I don't care what's the matter; but +I feel just awful, I do! I feel just like the dickens!" + +"But, Carrie, you ought to be very, very happy, with all this beautiful +scenery, and the sweet air in your hair and on your rosy face. And then +what a lady you have grown to be! Now don't look cross at me like that! +You ought to be as happy as a bird." + +"But I ain't happy; I ain't happy a bit, I ain't!" Then, after a pause +she continues: + +"I don't like that Gar Dosson. He was here looking for you." + +"Here? Looking for me?" + +"Yes, and he called old Forty-nine Old Blossom-nose. I just hate him." + +"Oh, well, Carrie, you know Forty-nine does drink dreadfully, and you +know he has got a dreadful red face." + +"Mr. John Logan," cries Carrie, hotly, "Forty-nine don't drink +dreadfully. He don't drink dreadfully at all. He does take something for +his ager, but he don't drink." + +"Well, his face is dreadful red, anyway," answers John Logan. + +Carrie, swinging her foot and thoughtfully looking up at the trees, +says, after a pause: + +"Do the trees drink? Do the trees and the bushes drink, John Logan? +Their faces get awfully red in the fall, too." + +"Carrie, you are cross to-day." + +Carrie, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her dress as if she would +shake it off her, snaps: "I ain't cross." + +"Yes, you are," and the tawny man comes up to her and speaks in a kindly +tone: "But come. Many a pleasant walk we have had in these woods +together, and many a pleasant time we will have together still." + +"We won't!" + +"Ah, but we will! Come, you must not be so cross!" + +The girl leans her forehead against the tree on her lifted arm, and +swings her other foot. She looks down at the rounded ankle, and says, +almost savagely, to herself; "She's got bigger feet than I have. She's +got nearly twice as big feet, she has." + +John Logan looks at the girl with a profound tenderness, as she stands +there, pouting and swinging her foot. He attempts to approach her, but +she still holds her brow bowed to the tree upon her arm, and seems not +to see him. He shoulders his gun and walks past her, and says, kindly, + +"Good-bye, Carrie." + +But the girl's eyes are following him, although she would not be willing +to admit it, even to herself. As he is about to disappear, she thrusts +her hand madly through her hair, and pulls it down all in a heap. Still +looking at him under her brows, still swinging her foot wildly, she +says: + +"Do you think red hair is so awful ugly?" + +And what a wondrous glory of hair it was! It was so intensely black; and +then it had that singular fringe of fire, or touch of Titian color, +which seen in the sunset made it almost red. + +The man stops, turns, comes back a step or two, as she continues: + +"I do--I do! Oh, I wish to Moses I had tow hair, I do, like Sylvia +Fields." + +The man is standing close beside her now. He is looking down into her +face and she feels his presence. The foot does not swing so violently +now, and the girl has cautiously, and, as she believes, unseen, lifted +the edge of her tattered sleeve to her eyes. "Why Carrie, your hair is +not red." And he speaks very tenderly. "Carrie, you are going to be +beautiful. You are beautiful now. You are very beautiful!" + +Carrie is not so angry now. The foot stops altogether, and she lifts her +face and says: + +"No I ain't--I ain't beautiful! Don't you try to humbug me. I am ugly, +and I know it! For, last winter, when I went down to the grocery to +fetch Forty-nine--he'd gone down there to get medicine for his ager, Mr. +John Logan--I heard a man say, 'She is ugly as a mud fence.' Oh, I went +for him! I made the fur fly! But that didn't make me pretty. I was ugly +all the same. No, I'm not pretty--I'm ugly, and I know it!" + +"Oh, no, you're not. You are beautiful, and getting lovelier every day." +Carrie softens and approaches him. + +"Am I, John Logan? And you really don't think red hair is the ugliest +thing in the world?" + +"Do I really not think red hair is the ugliest thing in the world? Why, +Carrie?" + +Carrie, starting back, looks in his face and says, bitterly: "You do. +You do think red hair is the ugliest thing in all this born world, and I +just dare you to deny it. Sylvia Fields--she's got white hair, she has, +and you like white hair, you do. I despise her; I despise her so much +that I almost choke." + +"Why, now, Carrie, what makes you despise Sylvia Fields?" + +"I don't know; I don't know why I despise her, but I do. I despise her +with all my might and soul and body. And I tell you, Mr. John Logan, +that"--here the lips begin to quiver, and she is about to burst into +tears--"I tell you, Mr. John Logan, that I do hope she likes ripe +bananas; and I do hope that if she does like ripe bananas, that when +bananas come to camp this fall, that she will take a ripe banana and try +for to suck it; and I do hope she will suck a ripe banana down her +throat, and get choked to death on it, I do." + +"Oh, Carrie, this is very wicked!" cries John Logan, reproachfully, "and +I must leave you if you talk that way. Good-bye," and the man shoulders +his gun and again turns away. + +"Well, do you think red hair is the ugliest thing in the world? Do you? +Do you now?" + +"Carrie, don't you know I love the beautiful, red woods of autumn?" + +It is the May-day of the maiden's life; the May shower is over again, +and the girl lifts her beautiful face, and says lightly, almost laughing +through her tears, + +"And, oh, you did like the red bush, didn't you, Mr. John Logan? And, +oh, you did say that Moses saw the face of God in the burning bush, +didn't you, Mr. John Logan?" + +"I want you to tell me a story, I do," interposes Stumps. The boy had +stood there a long time, first on one foot, then on the other, swinging +his squirrel, pouting out his mouth, and waiting. + +"Yes, tell us a story," urges Carrie. + +"Oh, yes, tell us a story about a coon--no, about a panther--no, a bear. +Oh, yes, about a bear! about a bear!" cries the boy, "about a bear!" + +"Poor, half-wild children!" sighs John Logan. "Nothing to divert them, +their little minds go out, curiously seeking something new and strange, +just, I fancy as older and abler people's do in larger ways. Yes, I will +tell you a story about a bear. And let us sit down; my long walk has +tired my legs;" and he looks about for a resting place. + +"Oh, here, this mossy log!" cries Stumps; "it's as soft as silk. You +will sit there, and I here, and sister there." + +John Logan leans his gun against a tree, hanging his pouch on the gun. + +"Yes, I will sit here--and you, Carrie?" + +"Here. Oh, John Logan, I just fit in." + +One of Logan's arms falls loosely around Carrie, the other more loosely +around Stumps. + +"Yes, it's a nice fit, Carrie--couldn't be better if cut out by a +tailor." + +Carrie, swinging her feet, and looking in his face, very happy, +exclaims: + +"Oh, John Logan! Don't hold me too tight--you might hurt me!" + +Stumps laughs. "He don't hold me tight enough to hurt me a bit." Then +looking up in his face, says, "I want a bear story, I do." + +"Well, I will tell you a story out of the Bible. Once upon a time there +was a great, good man--a very good and a very earnest man. Well, this +very good old man, who was very bald headed, took a walk one evening; +and the very good old man passed by a lot of very bad boys. And these +very bad boys saw the very bald head of the very good man and they +said, 'Go up, old bald head! Go up, old bald head!' And it made this +good man very mad; and he turned, and he called a she-bear out of the +woods, and she ate up about forty." + +"Oh!" cries Stumps, aghast. + +"Oh!" adds Carrie. "And he wasn't a very good man. He might have been a +very bald-headed man, but he wasn't a very good man to have her eat all +the children, Mr. John Logan." + +Stumps, nursing his squirrel, with his head on one side, says: + +"Well, I don't believe it, no how--I don't! What was his name--the old, +bald-head?" + +"His name was Elijah, sir." + +"Elijah! The bald-headed Elijah! Oh, I do believe it, then; for I know +when Forty-nine and the curly-headed grocery-keeper were playing poker, +at ten cents ante and pass the buck--when Forty-nine went down to get +his ager medicine, sister--Forty-nine, he went a blind; and the +curly-headed grocery-keeper he straddled it, and then Forty-nine seed +him, he did. And so help me! he raked in the pot on a Jack full. And +then the curly-headed grocery-keeper jumped up, and struck his fist on +the table, and he said, 'By the bald-headed Elijah!'" + +Carrie nestles closer, and in a half whisper, mutters, + +"I believe I'm getting a little chilly." + +Stumps hears this, and says, + +"Why, Carrie, I'm just a sweatin', and--" + +"Shoo! What noise was that? There is some one stealing through the +bush!" + +John Logan, as he spoke, rose up softly and cautiously, and half bent +forward as he put the two children aside and reached his gun. He looked +at the cap, ran an eye along the barrel, and then twisted his belt about +so that a pistol was just visible beneath his coat. The man had had an +intimation of trouble. Indeed, his gun had been at hand all this time, +but he did not care to frighten the two happy waifs of the woods with +any thought of what might happen to him, and even to them. + +These children had but one thing to dread. There was but one terrible +word to them in the language. It was not hunger, not starvation,--no, +not even death. It was the _Reservation_! That one word meant to them, +as it means to all who are liable to be carried there, captivity, +slavery, degradation, and finally death, in its most dreadful form. + +And why should it be so dreaded? Make the case your own, if you are a +lover of liberty, and you can understand. + +Statistics show that more than three-fourths of all Indians removed to +Reservations of late years, die before becoming accustomed to the new +order of things. + +Yet Indians do not really fear death. But they do dread captivity. They +are so fond of their roving life, their vast liberty--room! An Indian is +too brave to commit suicide, save in the most rare and desperate cases. +But his heart breaks from home-sickness, and he dies there in despair. +And then to see his helpless little children die, one by one, with the +burning fever, which always overtakes the poor captives! + +"How many of us died? I do not know. We counted them at first. But when +there were dead women and children in every house and not men enough to +bury them, I did not count any more," said one of the survivors when +questioned. + +In earlier times, some of these Reservations were well chosen--the one +on the Ummatilla, Oregon, for example. But of late years it would seem +as if the most deadly locations had been selected. Perhaps this is +thought best by those in authority, as the land is soon wanted by the +whites if it is at all fit for their use. And the Indians in such cases +are sooner or later made to move on. + +This particular Reservation in California, however, never has been and +never will be required or used by any man, except for a grave. + +Why, in the name of humanity, such things are left to the choice and +discretion of strangers, new men, men who know nothing about Indians and +care nothing for them, except so far as they can coin their blood, is +incomprehensible. It is a crime. Way out yonder, in the heart of a +burning plain, by the side of an alkali lake that fairly reeked with +malaria, where even reptiles died, where wild fowl never were found; a +place that even beasts knew better than to frequent, without wood or +water, save stunted sage and juniper and slimy alkali, in the very +valley of death--this Reservation had been established. + +"Ah, just the place. A place where we can use our cavalry when they +attempt to escape," said the young sprig of an officer, when some men +with a spark of humanity dared to protest. + +And that was the reason for removing it so far from the sweet, pure air +and water of the Sierras, and setting these poor captives down in the +valley of death. + +When they try to escape! Did it never occur to the United States to make +a Reservation pleasant and healthy enough for an Indian to be content +in? My word for it, if you will give him a place fit to live in, he will +be willing to make his home there. + +I know nothing in history so dark and dreadful as the story of the +Indians in this dreaded and deadly Reservation of the valley. The +Indians surrendered on condition that they should be taken to good homes +and taught the ways of the white man. Once in the white man's power, the +chains began to tighten, tighten at every step. Once there, they were +divided into lots, families torn apart, and put to work under guard; +men stood over them with loaded muskets. The land was full of malaria. +These men of the mountains began to sicken, to die; to die by +degrees,--to die, as the hot weather came on, by hundreds. At last a few +of the strongest, the few still able to stand, broke away and found +their way back to the mountains. They were like living skeletons, skin +and bone only, hollow-eyed and horrible to look upon. Toward the last, +these poor Indians had crawled on their hands and knees to get back. +They were followed by the soldiers, and taken wherever they could be +found; taken back to certain death. One, a young man, still possessed of +a little strength, fought with sticks and stones with all his might as +he lay in the trail where he had fallen in his flight. He lifted his two +bony hands between the foe and his dying old father. The two were taken +and chained together. That night the young man with an old pair of +scissors, which he had borrowed on pretense of wanting to trim his hair, +killed the old man by pushing one of the points into his heart. You +could see by the marks of blood on the young man's hand next morning, +that he had felt more than once to see if the old man was quite dead. +Then he drove the point of the scissors in his own heart, and crawled +upon the old man's body, embraced it and died there. And yet all this +had been done so quietly that the two guards who marched back and forth +only a few feet distant, did not know till next morning that anything of +the kind had been. Sometimes these wretches would beg, and even steal, +on their way back from the dreadful Reservation. They were frightful, +terrible, at such times. They sometimes stood far off outside the gate, +and begged with outstretched hands. Their appearances were so against +them, hungry, dying; and then this traditional hatred of four hundred +years. + +But this is too much digression. John Logan knew all the wrongs of his +people only too well. He sympathized with them. And this meant his own +ruin. A few Indians had made their way back of late, and John Logan had +harbored them while the authorities were in pursuit. This was enough. An +order had been sent to bring in John Logan. + +He knew of this, and that was why he now stood all alert and on fire, +as these two men came stealing through the bush and straight for him. +Should he fire? To shoot, to shoot at, to even point a gun at a white +man, is death to the Indian. A slave of the South had been ten-fold more +safe in striking his master in the old days of slavery, than is an +Indian on the border in defending his person against a white man. + +The two children, like frightened pheasants, when the old one gives +signs of danger, darted down behind him, quick as thought, still as +death. Their desperate and destitute existence in that savage land had +made them savages in their cunning and caution. They said no word, made +no sign. Their eyes were fixed on his every step and motion. He signaled +them back. They darted like squirrels behind trees, and up and on +through the thicket, toward the steep and inaccessible bluffs above. The +two men saw the retreating children. They wanted Carrie. They darted +forward; one of them jerked out and held up a paper in the face of John +Logan. + +"We want you at the Reservation. Come!" + +Phin Emens stood full before Logan. He shook the paper in his face. The +man did not move. Carrie was fast climbing up the mountain. She was +about to escape. Gar Dosson was furious. He attempted to pass, to climb +the mountain, and to get at the girl. Still Logan kept himself between +as he slowly retreated. + +"Stand aside, and let me get that girl. I must take _her_, too!" shouted +Dosson. Still Logan kept the man back. And now the children had escaped. +Wild with rage, Dosson caught Logan by the shoulder and shouted, "Come!" +With a blow that might have felled an ox, the Indian brought the man to +the ground. Then, grasping his rifle in his right hand, he darted +through the thicket after the retreating children, up the mountain, +while Phin Emens stooped over his fallen friend. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MAN-HUNTERS. + + "_He caused the dry land to appear._" + --BIBLE. + + + _The mountains from that fearful first + Named day were God's own house. Behold, + 'Twas here dread Sinai's thunders burst + And showed His face. 'Twas here of old + His prophets dwelt. Lo, it was here + The Christ did come when death drew near._ + + _Give me God's wondrous upper world + That makes familiar with the moon + These stony altars they have hurled + Oppression back, have kept the boon + Of liberty. Behold, how free + The mountains stand, and eternally._ + + +Success makes us selfish. The history of the world chronicles no +prosperity like that of ours; and so, thinking of only ourselves and our +success, we forget others. It is easy, indeed, to forget the misery of +others; and we hate to be told of it, too. + +On a high mountain side overlooking the valley, hung a little camp like +a bird's nest. It was hidden there in the densest wood, yet it looked +out over the whole land. No bird, indeed no mother of her young, ever +chose a deeper or wilder retreat, or a place more utterly apart from the +paths and approaches of mankind. + +Certainly the little party had stood in imminent peril of capture, and +had prized freedom dearly indeed, to climb these crags and confront the +very snow-peaks in their effort to make certain their safety. + +And a little party, too, it must have been; for you could have passed +within ten feet of the camp and not discovered it by day. And by night? +Well, certainly by night no man would peril his life by an uncertain +footing on the high cliffs here, only partly concealed by the thick +growth of chaparral, topt by tall fir and pine and cedar and tamarack. +And so a little fire was allowed to burn at night, for it was near the +snow and always cold. And it was this fire, perhaps, that first betrayed +the presence of the fugitives to the man-hunters. + +Very poor and wretched were they, too. If they had had more blankets +they might not have so needed the fire. So poor were they, in fact, that +you might have stood in the very heart of the little camp and not +discovered any property at all without looking twice. A little heap of +ashes in the center sending up a half-smothered smoke, two or three +loose California lion-skins, thrown here and there over the rocks, a +pair of moccasins or two, a tomahawk--and that was almost all. No +cooking utensils had they--for what had they to cook? No eating +utensils--for what had they to eat? + +Great gnarled and knotty trees clung to the mountain side beyond, and a +little to the left a long, thin cataract, which, from the valley far +below, looked like a snowy plume, came pitching down through the tree +tops. It had just been let loose from the hand of God--this sheen of +shining water. Back and beyond all this, a peak of snow, a great pyramid +and shining shaft of snow, with a crown of clouds, pierced heaven. + +Stealthily, and on tip-toe, two armed men, both deeply disguised in +great black beards, and in good clothes, stepped into this empty little +camp. Bending low, looking right, looking left, guns in hand and hand +on trigger, they stopped in the centre of the little camp, and looked +cautiously up, down, and all around. Seeing no one, hearing nothing, +they looked in each others' eyes, straightened up, and, standing their +guns against a tree, breathed more freely in the gray twilight. Wicked, +beastly-looking men were they, as they stood there loosening their +collars, taking in their breath as if they had just had a hard climb, +and looking about cautiously; hard, cruel and cunning, they seemed as if +they partook something of the ferocity of the wild beasts that prowled +there at night. + +These two large animal-looking men were armed with pistols also. But at +the belt of each hung and clanked and rattled something more terrible +than any implement of death. + +These were manacles! Irons! Chains for human hands! + +Did it never occur to you as a little remarkable, that man only forges +chains and manacles for his fellow-man? A cage will do for a wild beast, +cattle are put in pens, bears in a pit, but man must be chained. Men +carry these manacles with them only when they set out to take their +fellow-man. These two men were man-hunters. + +Standing there, manacles in hand, half beast and half devil, they were +in the employment of the United States. They were sent to take John +Logan, Carrie and Johnny, to the Reservation--the place most hated, +dreaded, abhorred of all earthly places, the Reservation! Back of these +two men lay a deeper, a more damning motive for the capture of the girl +than the United States was really responsible for; for the girl, as we +have seen, was very beautiful. This rare wild flower had now almost +matured in the hot summer sun just past. But remember, it was all being +done in the name of and under the direction of, and, in fact, by, the +United States Government. + +To say nothing of the desire of agents and their deputies to capture and +possess beautiful girls, it is very important to any Indian agent that +each victim, even though he be half or three-quarters, or even entirely, +white, be kept on the Reservation; for every captive is so much money in +the hands of the Indian agent. He must have Indians, as said before, to +report to the Government in order to draw blankets, provisions, +clothes, and farming utensils for them. True, the Indians do not get a +tithe of these things, but he must be on the Reservation roll-call in +order that the agent may draw them in his name. + +This agency had become remarkably thin of Indians. The mountain Indians, +accustomed to pure water and fresh air, could not live long in the hot, +fever-stricken valley. They died by hundreds. And then, as if utterly +regardless of the profits of the agents of the Reservation, they hung +themselves in their prison-pens, with their own chains. Two, father and +son, killed themselves with the same knife one night while chained +together. + +There was just a little bit of the old Roman in these liberty-loving +natures, it seemed to me. See the father giving himself the death-wound, +and then handing the knife to his son! The two chained apart, but still +able to grasp each other's hands; grasping hands and dying so! Very +antique that, it seems to me, in its savage valor--love of liberty, and +lofty contempt of death. But then it was only Indians, and happened so +recently. + +It is true, Gar Dosson wanted revenge and the girl; and the two men +wanted the little farm. Yet do not forget that back of all this lay that +granite and immovable mountain of fact, that other propelling principle +to compel them on to the hunt, the order, the sanction--the gold--of the +government. Let it be told with bowed head, with eyes to the ground, and +cheeks crimson with shame! Think of one of these hunted human beings--a +beautiful young girl, just at that sweet and tender, almost holy period +of life, the verge of womanhood, when every man of the land should start +up with a noble impulse to throw the arm of protection about her! + +"Shoo! they must be close about," began the shorter of the two ruffians, +reaching back for his gun, as if he had heard something. + +"No. Didn't you see that squirrel shucking a hazel nut on that rock +there, just afore we came in?" said the other. + +"A bushy-tailed gray? Yes, seed him scamper up a saplin." + +"Wal, don't you know that if they had a bin hereabouts, a squirrel +wouldn't a sot down there to shuck a nut?" + +"Right! You've been among Injins so long that you know more about them +than they do themselves." + +"Wal, what I don't know about an Injin no one don't know. They've gone +for grub, and will come back at sun-down." + +"Come back here at sun-down?" + +"Don't you see the skins there? Whar kin they sleep? They'll come afore +dark, for even an Injin can't climb these rocks after dark. And when the +gal's in camp, and that feller fixed--eh? eh?" And he tapped and rattled +the manacles. + +"Eh? eh? old Toppy?" and the two men poked each other in the ribs, and +looked the very villains that they were. + +"But let's see what they've got here. Two tiger-skins, an old moccasin +and a tomahawk;" he looked at the handle and read the name, JOHN LOGAN; +"Guess I'll hide that," said the agent, as he kicked the skins about, +and then stuck the tomahawk up under his belt. "Guess that's about all." + +"Guess that's about all!" sneered the other; "that's about all you know +about Injuns. Allers got your nose to the ground, too. Look here!" And +the man, who had been walking about and looking up in the trees, here +drew down a bundle from the boughs of a fir. + +"Well, I'll swar! ef you can't find things where a coon dog couldn't!" + +"Find things!" exclaimed the other, as he prepared to examine the +contents of the bundle; "all you've got to do is to look into a fir-tree +in an Injun's camp. You see, bugs and things won't climb a fir gum; +nothing but a red-bellied squirrel will go up a fir gum, for fear of +sticking in the wax; and even a squirrel won't, if there is a string +tied around, for fear of a trap. Wal, there is the string. So you see an +Injun's _cache_ is as safe up a fir-tree as under lock and key. Ah, +they're awful short of grub. Look thar! Been gnawing that bone, and +they've put that away for their suppers, I swar!" + +"Wal, the grub is short, eh? They'll be rather thin, I'm thinking." + +The other did not notice this remark, but throwing the bundle aside, he +rose up and went back to the tree. + +"By the beardy Moses! Look thar!" and the man looked about as if half +frightened, and then held up a bottle. + +"Whisky?" asked the other, springing eagerly forward. + +"No," answered the man, contemptuously, after smelling the bottle. + +"Water, eh?" queried the other, with disgust. + +"Wine! And look here. Do you know what that means? It means a white man! +Yes, it does. No Injin ever left a cork in a bottle. Now, you look +sharp. There will be a white man to tackle." + +"Wal, I guess he won't be much of a white man, or he'd have whisky." + +"Shoo! I heard a bird fly down the canyon. Somebody's a comin' up thar." + +"We better git, eh?" said the other, getting his gun; "lay for 'em." + +"Lay low and watch our chance. Maybe we'll come in on 'em friendly like, +if there's white men. We're cattle men, you know; men hunting cattle," +says the other, getting his gun and leading off behind the crags in the +rear. "Leave me to do the talking. I'll tell a thing, and you'll swear +to it. Wait, let's see," and he approaches the edge of the rocks, and, +leaning over, looked below. + +"See 'em?" + +"Shoo! Look down there. The gal! She's a fawn. She's as pretty as a +tiger-lily. Ah, my beauty!" + +The other man stood up, shook his head thoughtfully, and seemed to +hesitate. The watcher still kept peering down; then he turned and said: +"The white man is old Forty-nine. He comes a bobbin' and a limpin' along +with a keg on his back, and a climbin' up the mountain sidewise, like a +crab." + +"Whoop! I have it. It's wine, and they'll get drunk. Forty-nine will get +drunk, don't you see, and then?" + +"You're a wise 'un! Shake!" And they grasped hands. + +"You bet! Now this is the little game. The gal and Logan, and the boy, +will get here long first. Well, now, maybe we will go for the gal and +the boy. But if we don't, we just lay low till all get sot down, and at +that keg the old man's got, and then we just come in. Cattle-men, back +in the mountains, eh?" + +"That's the game. But here they come! Shoo!" and with his finger to his +lip the leader stole behind the rocks, both looking back over their +shoulders, as Carrie entered the camp. + +Her pretty face was flushed from exertion, and brown as a berry where +not protected by the shock of black hair. She swung a broad straw hat in +her hand, and tossed her head as if she had never worn and never would +wear any other covering for it than that so bountifully supplied by +nature. She danced gaily, and swung her hat as she flew about the little +camp, and called at her chubby cherub of a brother over her shoulder. At +last, puffing and blowing, and wiping his forehead, he entered camp and +threw himself on one of the rocks. + +"Why, you ain't tired, are you Johnny?" + +"Oh, oh, oh,--no, I--I--I ain't tired a bit!" and he wiped his brow, and +puffed and blowed, in spite of all his efforts to restrain himself. + +"Why you like to climb the mountains, Johnny. Don't you know you said +you liked to climb the mountains better than to eat?" + +"Oh, yes, yes--I--I like to climb a mountain. That is, I like to climb +one mountain at a time. But when there are two or three mountains all +piled up on top of one another, Oh, oh, oh!" + +"Oh, Johnny! You to go to bragging about climbing mountains! You can't +climb mountains!" And again the girl, with shoes that would hardly hold +together, a dress in ribbons, and a face not unfamiliar with the dirt of +the earth, danced back and forth before him and sung snatches of a +mountain song. "Oh, I'm so happy up here, Johnny. I always sing like a +bird up here." Then, looking in his face, she saw that he was very +thoughtful; and stepping back, and then forward, she said: "Why, what +makes you so serious? They won't never come up here, will they, Johnny? +Not even if somebody at the Reservation wanted me awful bad, and +somebody gave somebody lots of money to take me back, they couldn't +never come up here, could they, Johnny?" And the girl looked eagerly +about. + +"Oh, no, Carrie, you are safe here. Why, you are as safe here as in a +fort." + +"This mountain is God's fort, John Logan says, Johnny. It is for the +eagles to live in and the free people to fly to; for my people to climb +up out of danger and talk to the Great Spirit that inhabits it." The +girl clasped her hands and looked up reverently as she said this. "But +come, now, Johnny, don't be serious, and I will sing you the nicest song +I know till Forty-nine comes up the mountain; and I will dance for you, +Johnny, and I will do all that a little girl can do to make you glad and +happy as I am, Johnny." + +Here John Logan came up the hill, and the girl stopped and said, very +seriously, + +"And you are right sure, John Logan, nobody will get after us +again?--nobody follow us away up here, jam up, nearly against Heaven?" + +Here the two men looked out. + +"No, Carrie, nobody will ever climb this high for you,--nobody, except +_somebody_ that loves you very much, and loves you very truly." + +"Injins might, but white men won't, I guess; too stiff in the jints!" + +And again the girl whirled and danced about, as if she had not heard +one word he said. Yet she had heard every word, and heeded, too, for her +eyes sparkled, and she danced even lighter than before; for her heart +was light, and the wretched little outcast was--for a rare thing in her +miserable life--very, very happy. + +"I ain't stiff in the jints, am I, Johnny?" and she tapped her ankles. + +"Carrie, sing me that other song of yours, and that will make my heart +lighter," said Johnny. + +"Why, Johnny, we haven't even got the clouds to overshadow us here; +we're above the clouds, and everything else. But I'll sing for you if I +can only make you glad as you was before they got after us." And +throwing back her hair and twisting herself about, looking back over her +shoulder and laughing, looking down at her ragged feet, and making +faces, she began. + +Like the song of a bird, her voice rang out on the coming night; for it +was now full twilight, and the leaves quivered overhead; and far up and +down the mountains the melody floated in a strange, sweet strain, and +with a touch of tenderness that moved her companions to tears. Logan +stood aside, looking down for Forty-nine a moment, then went to bring +wood for the fire. + +As her song ended, Carrie turned to the boy; but in doing so her eyes +rested on the empty bottle left by the side of a stone spread with a +tiger skin, by the two men. The boy had his head down, as if still +listening, and did not observe her. She stopped suddenly, started back, +looked to see if observed by her brother, and seeing that he was still +absorbed she advanced, took up the bottle and held it up, glancing back +and up the tree. + +"Somebody's been here! Somebody's been here, and it's been white men; +the bottle's empty." + +She hastily hid the bottle, and stepping back and looking up where her +little store had been hidden, she only put her finger to her lip, shook +her head on seeing what had happened, and then went and stood by her +little brother. Very thoughtful and full of care was she now. All her +merriment had gone. She stood there as one suddenly grown old. + +"Oh, thank you, Carrie. It's a pretty song. But what can keep +Forty-nine so long?" + +The boy rose as he said this, and turning aside looked down the mountain +into the gathering darkness. The girl stood close beside him, as if +afraid. + +"He is coming. Far down, I hear Forty-nine's boots on the bowlders." + +"Oh, I'm so glad! And I'm so glad he's got pistols!" said the girl, +eagerly. The two men, who had stepped out, looked at each other as she +said this and made signs. + +"Why, Carrie, are you afraid here! You are all of a tremble!" said the +boy, as she clung close to him, when they turned back. + +"Johnny," said the girl eagerly, almost wildly, as she looked around, +"if men were to come to take us to that Reservation, what would you do?" + +"What would I do? I would kill 'em! Kill 'em dead, Carrie. I would hold +you to my heart so, with this arm, and with this I would draw my pistol +so, and kill 'em dead." + +The two heads of the man-hunters disappeared behind the rocks. The boy +pushed back the girl's black, tumbled stream of hair from her brow, and +kissing her very tenderly, he went aside and sat down; for he was very, +very weary. + +A twilight squirrel stole out from the thicket into the clearing and +then darted back as if it saw something only partly concealed beyond. +The two children saw this, and looked at each other half alarmed. Then +the girl, as if to calm the boy--who had grown almost a man in the past +few weeks--began to talk and chatter as if she had seen nothing, +suspected nothing. + +"When the Winter comes, Johnny, we can't stay here; we would starve." + +"Carrie, do the birds starve? Do the squirrels starve? What did God make +us for if we are to starve?" + +All this time the two men had been stealing out from their hiding-place, +as if resolved to pounce upon and seize the girl before Forty-nine +arrived. The leader had signaled and made signs to his companion back +there in the gloaming, for they dared not speak lest they should be +heard; and now they advanced stealthily, guns in hand, and now they +fell back to wait a better chance; and just as they were about to +spring upon the two from behind, the snowy white head of old Forty-nine +blossomed above the rocks, and his red face, like a great opening +flower, beamed in upon the little party, while the good-natured old man +puffed and blowed as he fanned himself with his hat and sat down his keg +of provisions. And still he puffed and blowed, as if he would never +again be able to get his breath. The two men stole back. + +"And Forty-nine likes to climb the mountains too, don't he? Good for his +health. See, what a color he's got! And see how fat he is! Good for your +health, ain't it, papa Forty-nine?" + +But the good old miner was too hot and puffy to answer, as the merry +little girl danced with delight around him. + +"Why, it makes you blow, don't it? Strange how a little hill like that +could make a man blow," said Johnny, winking at Carrie. + +But old Forty-nine only drew a long, thin wild flower through his hand, +and looked up now and then to the girl. He beckoned her to approach, +and she came dancing across to where he sat. + +"It's a sad looking flower, and it's a small one. But, my girl, the +smallest flower is a miracle. And, Carrie, sometimes the sweetest +flowers grows closest to the ground." + +The man handed her the flower, and was again silent. His face had for a +moment been almost beautiful. Here Logan came up with a little wood. + +"Oh, John Logan, what a pretty flower for your button-hole!" and the +fond girl bounded across and eagerly placed it in the young man's +breast. + +The old man on the keg saw this, and his face grew dark. His hands +twisted nervously, and he could hardly keep his seat on his keg. Then he +hitched up his pants right and left, sat down more resolutely on the keg +than before, but said nothing for a long time. + +At last the old man hitched about on his keg, and said sharply, over his +shoulder: "I saw a track, a boot-track, coming up. On the watch, there!" + +The others looked about as if alarmed. It was now dark. Suddenly the two +men appeared, looking right and left, and smiling villainously. They +came as if they had followed Forty-nine, and not from behind the rocks, +where they had been secreted. + +"Good evenin', sir! good evenin', sir! Going to rain, eh? Heard it +thunder, and thought best to get shelter. Cattle-men--we're cattle-men, +pard and I. Seed your camp-fire, and as it was thunderin,' we came right +in. All right, boss? All right, eh? All right?" And the man, cap in +hand, bowed from one to the other, as not knowing who was the leader, or +whom he should address. + +"All right," answered Logan. "You're very welcome. Stand your guns +there. You're as welcome under these trees as the birds--eh, +Forty-nine?" + +But Forty-nine was now silent and thoughtful. He was still breathless, +and he only puffed and blowed his answer, and sat down on his keg again +with all his might. + +"You must be hungry," said the girl kindly, approaching the men. + +"Heaps of provisions," puffed Forty-nine, and again he half arose and +then sat down on his keg, tighter and harder, if possible, than before. + +"Thank you, gents, thank you. It's hungry we are--eh, pard?" + +"We'll have a spread right off," answered the good hearted Logan, now +spreading a rock, which served for a table, with the food; when he +observed the two men look at the girl and make signs. He looked straight +and hard at the man-hunters for a moment, and seeing them exchange +glances and nod their ill-looking heads at each other he suddenly +dropped his handful of things and started forward. He caught the leader +by the shoulder, and whirling him about as he stood there with his +companion leering at the girl, he cried out: + +"Hunting cattle, are you? What's your brand? What's the brand of your +cattle, I say? I know every brand in Shasta. Now what is your brand?" + +Johnny had strode up angrily toward the two men, and followed them up as +they retreated. Old Forty-nine, who now was on the alert, and had his +sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows from the first, had not been +indifferent, but was reaching his tremendous fist towards the +retreating nose of Dosson. Yet it was too dark to distinguish friend +from foe. + +"Why, we are not rich men, stranger. We are poor men, and have but few +cattle, and so, so we have no brand--eh? pardner--eh?" + +"No. We got no brand. Poor men, poor men." + +"We are poor men, with a few cattle that have gone astray. We are +hungry, tired poor men, that have lost their way in the night. Poor men +that's hungry, and now you want to drive us out into the storm." + +"Oh, Forty-nine,--John Logan,--they're poor hungry men!" interposed +Carrie. + +"There, there's my hand!" cried impulsive, honest old Forty-nine. +"That's enough. You're hungry. Sit down there. And quick, Carrie, pour +us the California wine. Here's a gourd, there's a yeast powder can, and +there's a tin cup. Thank you. Here's to you. Ah, that sets a fellow all +right. It warms the heart; and, I beg your pardon--it's mean to be +suspicious. Here, fill us up again. Ah, that's gone just to the spot! +Eh, fellows?" + +"To the right spot! Keep him a drinkin', and the others, too," +whispered Dosson to Emens. + +"That's the game!" And the two villains winked at each other, and +slapped Forty-nine on the back, and laughed, and pretended to be the +best friend he had in the world. + +The two men now sat at the table, and Carrie and Johnny bustled about +and helped them as they ate and drank. Meantime Logan went for more wood +to make a light. + +"And here's the bread, and here's the meat, and--and--that's about all +there is," said the girl at last. Then she stood by and with alarm saw +the men swallow the last mouthful, and feel about over the table and +look up to her for more in the dark. + +"All there is? All gone?" + +"Yes, and to-morrow, Johnny?" + +"To-morrow, Carrie?" called out Forty-nine, who was now almost drunk: +"We've had a good supper, let to-morrow take care of itself. Eh! Let +to-morrow take care of itself! That's my motto--hic--divide the troubles +of the year up into three hundred and sixty-five parts, and take the +pieces one at a time. Live one day at a time. That's my philosophy." And +the poor old man, Forty-nine, held his hat high in the air, and began +to hiccough and hold his neck unsteadily. + +The girl saw this with alarm. As if by accident she placed herself +between the men and their guns. Meantime, the two men were trying in +vain to get at the pistols of Forty-nine. They would almost succeed, and +then, just as they were about to get hold of them, the drunken man would +roll over to the other side or change position. All the time Carrie kept +wishing so devoutly that Logan would come. + +"Take a drink," said one of the men to the girl, reaching out his cup, +after glancing at his companion. But the girl only shook her head, and +stepped further back. "Thought you said she was civilized?" "She, she is +civilized; but isn't quite civilized enough to get drunk yet," +hiccoughed Forty-nine, as he battered his tin-cup on the table, and +again foiled the hand just reached for his pistol. The boy saw this, and +stole back through the dark behind his sister. To remove the cap and +touch his tongue to the tubes of the guns was the work only of a second, +and again he was back by the side of the men. Eagerly all the time the +girl kept looking over her shoulders into the dark, deep woods, for +Logan. The thunder rolled, and it began to grow very dark. She went up +to Forty-nine, on pretense of helping him to more wine, and whispered +sharply in his ear. + +The old man only stared at her in helpless wonder. His head rolled from +one side to the other like that of an idiot. His wits were utterly under +water. + +And now, as the darkness thickened and the men's actions could hardly be +observed, one of them pushed the drunken man over, clutched his pistols, +and the two sprang up together. + +"I've got 'em, Gar," cried Emens, and the two started back for their +guns. The girl stood in the way, and Dosson threw his massive body upon +her and bore her to the earth, while the other, awkwardly holding the +two pistols in one hand, groped in the dark for their guns. + +The storm began to beat terribly. The mountains fairly trembled from the +rolling thunder. As the man was about to clutch the guns, he felt rather +than saw that a tall figure stood between. That instant a flash of +lightning showed John Logan standing there, the boy by his side, and two +ugly pistols thrust forward. The man-hunters were unmasked in the fiery +light of heaven, and Logan knew them for the first time. + +"I will not kill you." He said this with look and action that was grand +and terrible. "Take your guns and go! Out into the storm! If God can +spare you, I can spare you. Go!" + +And by the lightning's light, the two men, with two ugly pistol-nozzles +in their faces, took their guns and groped and backed down the mountain +into the darkness, where they belonged. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE OLD GOLD-HUNTER. + + + "_For the Right! as God has given + Man to see the Maiden Right!" + For the Right, through thickest night, + Till the man-brute Wrong be driven + From high places; till the Right + Shall lift like some grand beacon light._ + + _For the Right! Love, Right and duty; + Lift the world up, though you fall + Heaped with dead before the wall; + God can find a soul of beauty + Where it falls, as gems of worth + Are found by miners dark in earth._ + + +Old Forty-nine had not cast his life and lot with John Logan at all. Yet +this singular and contradictory old man stood ready to lay down his +seemingly worthless life at a moment's notice for this boy whom he had +almost brought up from childhood. But he was not living with him in the +mountains. He had done all he could to protect him, to shelter and feed +him, all the time. But now the pursuit was so hot and desperate that the +old man, in his sober moments--rare enough, I admit--began to doubt if +it would be possible to save this young man much longer from the +clutches of the Agents. Indeed, it was only by the sweet persuasion of +Carrie that he had this time been induced to go with her and Johnny up +on the spur of the mountain, and there meet John Logan with some +provisions. From there he was persuaded to go with him to his +hiding-place, high up the mountain, where we left him in the last +chapter. + +But the poor old man's head was soon under water again, as we have seen. +That keg of California wine and the few bits of bread and meat, which so +suddenly disappeared in the hands of Dosson and Emens, were all he +happened to have in the cabin when the two children came in at dusk. But +these he had snatched up at once and ran with them to Logan. + +But the next morning, when his head was once more above water, and he +had been told all that had happened, he pulled his long white beard to +the right and to left, and at last rose up and took the two children and +led them back down the steep and stupendous mountain to his cabin. He +knew that John Logan was now a doomed man. Had he been alone, had there +been no one but himself and this hunted man, he would have stayed by his +side. As it was, it made the old man a year older to decide. And it was +like tearing his heart out by the roots, when he rose up, choking with +agony, grasped Logan's hand, bade him farewell, and led the children +hurriedly away. Once, twice, the old man stopped and turned suddenly +about, and looked sharply and almost savagely up the mountains, as if to +return. And then, each time he sighed, shook his head, and hurried on +down the hill. He held tightly on to the little brown hands of the +children, as if he feared that they, too, like himself, might let their +better natures master them, and so turn back and join the desolate and +hunted man. + +That evening, after the old man had returned from his tunnel, and while +he prepared a meager meal from a few potatoes and a heel of bacon found +back in the corner of a shelf, and so hard that even the wood-rats had +refused to eat it, a passing fellow-miner put his heavy head and +shoulders in at the half open cabin and shouted out that a barn had been +burned in the valley, a house fired into, and the tomahawk of John Logan +found hard by. The children glanced at each other by the low fire-light. +But old Forty-nine only went on with his work as the head withdrew and +passed on, but he said never a word. He was very thoughtful all the +evening. He was now perfectly certain that his course had been the wise +one, the only prudent one in fact. Logan he knew was now beyond help. He +must use all his art and address to keep the children from further +peril. He made them promise to remain in his cabin, to never attempt to +reach Logan. He told them that their presence with him would only +greatly embarrass him in his flight; that they might be followed if they +attempted to reach him, and that he and they would then be taken and +sent to the Reservation together. But he told them further--and their +black eyes flashed like fire as he spoke in a voice tremulous with +emotion and earnestness--that if ever Logan came to that cabin hungry, +or for help of any kind, they should help him with every means in their +power. + +And so the old man went back to work in his tunnel; and as the autumn +wore away and winter drew on, the children kept close about the little +old cabin, waiting, waiting, waiting; looking up toward the now white, +cold mountain, yet obeying Forty-nine to the letter. + +Meantime the man-hunt went on; although the children knew nothing for a +long time of the deadly energy with which it was conducted. + +What a strange place for two bright, budding children was this old, old +cabin, with its old, old man, and its dark and miserable interior! How +people shunned the lonely old place, and how it sank down into the earth +and among the weeds and willows, and long strong yellow tangled grass, +as if it wanted to be shunned! + +On a dirty old shelf near the fire-place lay a torn and tattered book. +It was thumbed and thrumbed all to pieces from long and patient use. +When the wind blew through the chinks of the cabin, this old book seemed +to have life. It fluttered there like a wounded bird. Its leaves +literally whispered. This old book was a Bible. + +More houses had been burned in the little valley, and the crime laid to +John Logan. He had now been proclaimed an outlaw in effect by every +settler. Those two men had made him so odious that many settlers had +vowed to shoot him on sight. Dosson at last went before a magistrate and +swore that John Logan had shot at him while in the performance of his +duty as a sub-agent of the Reservation. By this means he procured a +warrant for his arrest by the civil authorities, to be placed in the +hands of the newly elected sheriff of the newly organized and sparsely +settled country. Things looked desperate indeed. To add to the agony of +the crisis, a sharp and bitter winter now wrapped the whole world in +snow and ice. It was no longer possible for any one to subsist in the +mountains, or survive at all without fire and fire-arms. These the +hunted man did not dare use. They were witnesses that would betray his +presence, and must not be thought of. + +All this time the old man and the children could do nothing. The +children hovered over the fire in the wretched old cabin. And what a +cold, cheerless place it was! + +But if the interior of this old cabin was gloomy, that of the old tunnel +was simply terrible. Yet in this dark and dreadful place the old man had +spent nearly a quarter of a century. + +I wonder if the glad, gay world knows where it gets its gold? Does that +fair woman, or well-clad, well-fed man, know anything about the life of +the gold-hunter? When the gold is brought to the light and given to the +commerce of the world, we see it shining in the sun. It is now a part of +the wealth of the nation. But do not forget that every piece of gold you +touch or see, or stand credited with at your bank, cost some brave man +blood, life! + +This old Forty-nine, years before, when the camp was young, had found a +piece of gold-bearing quartz in a ledge on the top of a high, sharp +ridge, that pointed down into the canyon. This was before quartz mining +had been thought of. But the shrewd, thoughtful man saw that from this +source came all the gold in the placer. He could see that it was from +this vein that all the fine gold in the camp had been fed. He resolved +to strike at the fountain head. It was by accident he had made his +discovery. The high, sharp and narrow ridge was densely timbered, and +now that the miners had settled in the canyon below, the annual fires +would not be allowed to sweep over the country, and the woods would soon +be almost impenetrable. So argued Forty-nine. For all his mind was bent +on keeping his secret till he could pierce the mountains from the +canyon-level below, and strike the ledge in the heart of the great +high-backed ridge, where he felt certain the gold must lay in great +heaps and flakes and wedges. And so it was with a full heart and a +strong arm that he had begun his low, dark tunnel--all alone at the +bottom of the ridge. + +He had begun his tunnel in a secluded place, under a tuft of dense wood, +on the steep hillside. He made the mouth of the tunnel very low and +narrow. At first he wheeled out the dirt in his wheelbarrow only when +the water in the canyon was high enough to carry off the earth which he +excavated. He worked very hard and kept very sober for a long time. Day +after day he expected to strike the ledge. + +But day after day, week after week, month after month, stole away +between his fingers, and still no sign of the ledge. A year went by. +Then he struck a hard wall of granite. This required drills, +fuse-powder, and all the appliance of the quarry. He had to stop work +now and then and wash in the fast failing placers, to get money enough +to continue his tunnel. Besides, he now could make only a few inches +headway each week. Sometimes he would be a whole month making the length +of his pick-handle. + +All this was discouraging. The man began to grow heart-sick. Who was +there at home waiting and waiting all this time? No one in the camp +could say. In fact, no one in the camp knew any thing at all about this +silent man, who seemed so superior to them all; and as the camp knew +nothing at all of the man, either his past or his present, as is usually +the case, it made a history of its own for him. And you may be certain +it was not at all complimentary to this exclusive and silent man of the +tunnel. + +Two, three, four, five years passed. The camp had declined; miners had +either gone back to the States, gone to new mines, or gone up on the +little hill out of the canyon to rest together; and yet this man held on +to his tunnel. He was a little bit bent now from long stooping, waiting, +toiling, and there were ugly crows-feet about his eyes--eyes that had +grown dim and blood-shot from the five years glare of the single candle +in that tunnel. + +And the man was not so exclusive now. The tunnel was now no secret. It +was spoken of now with derision, only to be laughed at. + +Six, seven, eight, nine, ten years! The man has grown old. He is bent +and gray. But his faith, which the few remaining miners call a madness, +is still unbroken. Yet it is not in human nature to endure all this +agony of suspense, all this hope deferred from day to day, week to week, +month to month, year to year, and still be human. The man has, in some +sense, become a brute. He now is seen to reel and totter to his cabin, +late at night oftentimes. He has at last fallen into the habit of the +camp. He can drink, gamble, carouse, as late as the latest. + +Now and then, it is true, he has his sober spells, and all the good of +his great nature is to the surface. Now he takes up a map and diagram +which is hidden under the broad stone of the hearth, and examines it, +measures and makes calculations by the hour at night, when all the camp +is, or ought to be, asleep. + +Maybe it is the placing and displacing of this great stone that has +given rise to the story in the camp that the old man is not so poor as +he pretends. Maybe some of the rough men who hang about the camp have +watched him through the chink-holes in the wretched cabin some night, +and decided that it is gold which he keeps concealed under the great +hearthstone. + +Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen years! The man's hair is +long and hangs in strings. It is growing gray, almost white. Some men +have been trying to get into the bent old man's cabin at night to find +the buried treasure. The old man's double-barreled shot-gun has barked +in their faces; and there has been a thinly attended funeral. The camp +is low, miserable. The tide is out. Wrecks of rockers, toms, sluices, +flumes, derricks, battered pans, tom-irons, cradles, old cabin, strew +the sandy strand. + +This last act has left the old man utterly alone; yet he is seen even +more frequently than before at the "Deadfall." Is he trying to forget +that man had died at his hand? + +Now and then you see him leading a tawny boy about, and talking in a +low, tender way of better things than his life and appearance would +indicate. The man is still on the down grade. And yet how long he has +been on this decline! One would say he should be at the bottom by this +time. + +When we reflect how very far a man can fall, we can estimate something +of the height in which he stands when fresh from his Maker's hand. + +Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one years! The +iron-gray hair is white as the snow on the mountain-tops that environ +him. The tall man is bent as a tree is bent when the winter snow lies +heavily on its branches. The tawny boy is grown a man now. This is John +Logan, the fugitive. The two homeless children have long since taken his +place. + +And still the pick clangs on in that dark, damp tunnel that is always +dripping, dripping, dripping, where it looks out at the glaring day, as +if in eternal tears for the wasted life within. Yet now there is hope. + +New life has been infused into this old camp of late years. The tide is +flowing in. The placer mines have perished and passed into history. But +there is a new industry discovered. It is quartz mining--the very thing +that this old man has given his life to establish. And it is this that +has kept the old man up, alive, for the past few years. He is now +certain that he will strike it yet. + +Is there some one waiting still, far away? We do not know. He does not +know now. Years and years ago, utterly discouraged, yet mechanically +keeping on, he ceased to write. + +But now these two new lives here have ran into his. If he could only +strike it now! If he could only strike it for them! + +It is mid-winter. The three are almost starving. Old Forty-nine has been +prudent, cautious, careful of the two helpless waifs thrown into his +hands. Could he, old, broken, destitute, friendless, stand up boldly +between the man-hunters and these children? Impossible. And so it is +that Dosson and Emens are not strangers at the old man's cabin now, +hateful as is their presence there to all. They are allowed to come and +go. And Dosson pays court to Carrie. They ply the old man with drink. +The poor, broken, brave old miner, still dreams and hopes that he will +strike it yet--and then! Sometimes he starts up in his sleep and strikes +out with his bony hands--as if to expel them from his cabin and keep +Carrie safe, sacred, pure. Then he sinks back with a groan, and Carrie +bends over him and her great eyes fill with tears. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE CAPTURE. + + _O, the mockery of pity! + Weep with fragrant handkerchief, + In pompous luxury of grief, + Selfish, hollow-hearted city?_ + + _O these money-getting times! + What's a heart for? What's a hand, + But to seize and shake the land, + Till it tremble for its crimes?_ + + +Midnight, and the mighty trees knock their naked arms together, and +creak and cry wildly in the wind. In Forty-nine's cabin, by a flickering +log-fire, Carrie sits alone. The wind howls horribly, the door creaks, +and the fire snaps wickedly; the wind roars--now the roar of a far-off +sea, and now it smites the cabin in shocks, and sifts and shakes the +snow through the shingle. The girl draws her tattered blanket tighter +about her, and sits a little closer to the fire. Now there is a sudden, +savage gust of wind, wilder, fiercer than before, and a sheet of snow +sifts in through a crack in the door, and dances over the floor. + +"What a storm!" exclaims the girl, as she rises up, looks about, and +then takes the blanket from her shoulders and stuffs it in the crack by +the door. + +She listens, looks about again, and then, going up to the little glass +tacked beside the fire-place, carefully arranges her splendid hair that +droops down over her shoulders in the careless, perfect fashion of +Evangeline. + +"Heaven help any one who is out in this storm to-night!" + +Then she takes another stick from the corner and places it on the fire. + +"Forty-nine will be here soon, and Johnny; Johnny with news about +him--about poor John Logan." + +She shakes her head and clasps her hands. + +"It is nearly half a year since that night. They can't take him--they +dare not take him. They are hunting him--hunting him in this +storm--hunting him as if he were a wild beast. He hides with the cattle +in the sheds, with the very hogs in their pens. They come upon him +there; he starts from his sleep and dashes away, while they follow, and +track him by the blood of his feet in the snow. Oh, how terrible it is! +I must not think of it; I will go mad." + +She turns to the door and listens. She draws back the ragged curtains +from the window and tries to look out into the storm. She can hear and +see nothing, and she walks back again to the fire. "I must set them +their supper." As she says this, she goes to a little cupboard and takes +a piece of bread, puts it on a plate and sets it on the table. Then she +places two plates and two cups of water. "They will be here soon, and +they must have their suppers. Oh, that grocery!" She shudders as she +says this. "And Johnny will bring me news of him--of John Logan. What's +that?" + +She springs to the door, lifts the latch, and Stumps steals in, brushing +the snow from his neck and shoulders. He has a club in his hand, and +looks back and about him as he shuts the door. + +"Oh, sister, its awful! I tell you its too awful!" + +"Brother--brother! What has happened? What is awful? What is it, +Johnny? And he, John Logan?" + +"He's been there!" The boy shivers and points in a half-frightened +manner toward the little hill. "Yes, he has; he's been up on the hill by +his mother's grave; and he's been to 'Squire Field's house--yes, he has; +and he couldn't get in, for they had a big dog tied to the gate, and now +they have got another dog tied to the gate. Yes, and they tracked him +all around by the blood in the snow!" + +"Oh brother! don't, don't!" + +"Don't be afraid, sister; he has gone away now. Oh, if he would only go +away and stay away--far away, and they couldn't catch him, I'd be just +as glad as I could be! Yes, I would; so help me, I would." + +"And he has been up there, and in this storm!" + +She speaks this to herself, as she goes to the window and attempts to +look out. + +"Poor, poor John Logan!" sighs the boy. "I wish his mother was alive; I +do, so help me. She was a good woman, she was; she didn't sick Bose on +me, she didn't." + +As the boy says this he stands his club in the corner, and looks with +his sister for a moment sadly into the fire, and then suddenly says: + +"I'm hungry. Sister, ain't you got something to eat. Forty-nine, he's +down to the grocery, and Phin Emens he's down to the grocery, too, and +he swears awfully about John Logan, and he says it's the Injun that's in +him that makes him so bad. Do you think it's the Injun that's in him, +sister?" + +As the boy says this, the girl turns silently to the little table and +pushes it toward him. + +"There, Johnny, that's all there is. You must leave some for +Forty-nine." + +"Poor, poor John Logan!" + +He eats greedily for a moment, then stops suddenly and looks into the +fire. + +Carrie, also looking into the fire, murmurs: + +"And Sylvia Fields let them tie a dog there to keep him away! I would +have killed that dog first. If John Logan should come here, I would open +that door--I would open that door to him!"--There is a dark and +terrified face at the window--"And I would give him bread to eat, and +let him sit by this fire and get warm!" + +"And I would, too--so help me, I would!" The boy pushes back his bread, +and rises and goes up to his sister. "Yes, I would. I don't care what +Phin Emens, or anybody says; for his mother didn't sick 'Bose' at me, +she didn't!" + +The pale and pitiful face at the window begins to brighten. There is +snow in the long matted black locks that fall to his shoulders. For +nearly half a year this man has fled from his fellow-man, a hunted +grizzly, a hunted tiger of the jungle. + +What wonder that his step is stealthy as he lifts the latch and enters? +What wonder that his eyes have an uncommon glare as he looks around, +looks back over his shoulder as he shuts the door noiselessly behind +him? What wonder that his clothes hang in shreds about him, and his feet +and legs are bound in thongs; that his arms are almost bare; that his +bloodless face is half hidden in black and shaggy beard? + +"Carrie, I have come to you. Yours is the only door that will open to me +now." + +"John Logan!" She starts; the boy, too, utters a low, stifled cry. Then +they draw near the miserable man. For they are bred of the woods, and +have nerves of iron, and they know the need and the power of silence, +too. + +"_You_ here, John Logan?" Carrie whispers, with a shudder. + +"Ay, I am here--starving, dying!" + +The boy takes up the bread he had dropped, and places it on the table +before Logan. The hunted outcast sits down wearily and begins to eat +with the greediness of a starved beast. The girl timidly brushes the +snow from his hair, and takes a pin from her breast and begins to pin up +a great rent in his shirt that shows his naked shoulder. + +The boy is glad and full of heart, and of indescribable delight that he +has given his bread to the starving man. He stands up, brightly, with +his back to the fire for a moment, and then goes back and brushes off +the snow from the man's matted hair, then back to the fire. + +"I'm awful glad to see you eat, Mr. John Logan," says Stumps; "I wish +there was more, I do," and he rocks on his foot and wags his head from +shoulder to shoulder gleefully. "It ain't much--it ain't much, Mr. John +Logan; but it is all there is." + +"All there is, and they were eating it." The man says this aside to +himself, and he hides his face for a moment, as if he would conceal a +tear. Then, after a time he seems to recover himself, and he lays the +bread down on the table, tenderly, silently, carefully indeed, as if it +were the most delicate and precious thing on earth. Then, lifting his +face, looks at them with an effort to be cheerful, and says: + +"I--I forgot; I--I am not hungry. I have had my dinner. I--I, oh yes; I +have been eating a great deal. Oh, no, no, no; I'm not hungry--not +hungry!" + +As the man says this he rises and stands between the others at the fire. +He puts his hands over their heads, and looks alternately in their +uplifted faces. There is a long silence. "Carrie, they have tied a dog +to that door, over yonder." + +"There is no dog tied to this door, John Logan." + +Low and tender with love, yet very firm and earnest is her voice. And +her eyes are lifted to his. He looks down into her soul, and there is an +understanding between them. There is a conversation of the eyes too +refined for words; too subtle, too sweet, too swift for words. + +They stand together but a moment there, soul flowing into soul and +tiding forth, and to and fro; but it was as if they had talked together +for hours. He leans his head, kisses her lifted and unresisting lips, +and says, "God bless you," and that is all. + +It is her first kiss, the imprint, the mint-mark on this virgin gold. +This maiden of a moment since, is a woman now. + +"Do you know that they are after you?" The girl says this in a sort of +wild whisper, as she looks toward the door. + +"Do I know that they are after me? Father in Heaven, who should know it +better than I?" The man throws up his arms, and totters back and falls +into a seat from very weakness. "Do I know that they are after me? For +more than half a year I have fled; night and day, and day and night I +have fled, hidden away; starting up at midnight from down among the +cattle, where I had crept to keep warm; and then on, on and on, out into +the snow, the storm, over the frozen ground, to the deep canyon and dark +woods, where, naked and bleeding, I disputed with the bear for his bed +in the hollow tree." + +The boy springs to the door. Is it the storm that is tugging and +rattling at the latch? + +But the girl seems to see, to heed, to hear only John Logan. She +clutches his hand in both her own and covers it with kisses and with +tears. + +"John Logan, I pity you! I--I--" she had almost said, "I love you." + +"Thank Heaven! Thank Heaven for one true heart, and one true hand when +all the world is against me! Carrie, I could die now content. The +bitterness of my heart passes away, and the wild, mad nature that made +me an Ishmaelite, with every man's hand against me, and my hand against +all, is gone. I am another being. I could die now content;" and he bows +his head. + +"But you must not, you shall not die! You must go--go far away; why +hover about this place?" + +"I do not know. But yonder lies the only being who ever befriended me; +and somehow I get lonesome when I get far away from her grave. And I go +round and round, like the sun around the world, and come back to where I +started from." + +"But you must go--go far away--go now." + +"Do you know what you are saying? I was never outside of this. All would +be strange. I would be lost, lost there. And then, do you not imagine +they are waiting for me there--everywhere? Look at my face! This tinge +of Indian blood, that all men abhor and fear, and call treacherous and +bloody. Across my brow at my birth was drawn a brand that marks me +forever--a brand--a brand as if it were the brand of Cain." + +The man bows his head, and turns away. + +Slowly and timidly Carrie approaches him, and she lays her hand on his +arm and looks in his face. The boy still watches by the door. + +"But you will fly from here?" + +His arm drops over her hair, down to her shoulder, and he draws her to +his breast, as she looks up tenderly in his face, and pleads: + +"You will go now--at once? For you will die here." + +"Ah, I will die here." He says this with a calm and dogged +determination. "Carrie, I have one wish, one request--only one. I know +you are weak and helpless yourself, and can't do much, and I ought not +to ask you to do anything." + +Stumps has left the door as he hears the man mention that there is +something to be done, and stands by their side. + +"Whatever it is you ask, John Logan, we will do it--we will do it." + +The girl says this with a firmness that convinces him that it will be +done. + +"We will do it! we will do it! so help me, we will do it!" blubbers +Stumps. + +"What is it, John Logan, we can do?" + +"I will not fly from here." He looks down tenderly into their faces. +Then he lifts his face. It is dark and terrible, and his lips are set +with resolution. "I will die here. It may be to-night, it may be +to-morrow. It may be as I turn to go out at that door they will send +their bullets through my heart; it may be while I kneel in the snow at +my mother's grave. But, sooner or later, it will come--it will come!" + +"But please, John Logan, what is it we can do?" + +Her voice is tremulous, and her eyes stream with tears. + +"Carrie, I am a man--a strong man--and ought not to ask anything of a +helpless girl. But I have no other friend. I have had no friends. All +the days of my life have been dark and lonely. And now I am about to +die, Carrie, I want you to see that I am buried by my mother yonder. I +am so weary, and I could rest there. And then she, poor broken-hearted +mother, she might not be so lonesome then. Do you promise?" + +"I do promise!" and the boy echoes this scarcely audible but determined +answer. + +"Thank you--thank you! And now good night. I must be going, lest I draw +suspicion on you. Good night, good night; God bless you, Carrie!" + +He presses her to his heart, hastily embraces her, and tearing himself +away, stoops and kisses the boy as he passes to the door. Drawing his +tattered shirt closer about his shoulders, and turning his face as if to +conceal his emotion, he lays his hand upon the latch to suddenly dart +forth. + +Two dark figures pass the window, and in a moment more the latch-string +is clutched by a rough, unsteady hand from without. + +"Here, here!" cries the girl, as she springs back to the dingy curtain +that divides off a portion of the cabin into a bed-room. "Here! in here! +Quick! quick!" as she draws the curtain aside, and lets it fall over the +retreating fugitive. Forty-nine and Gar Dosson enter. The former is +drunk, and therefore dignified and silent. His companion is drunk, and +therefore garrulous and familiar. Wine floats a man's real nature nearly +to the surface. + +Forty-nine lifts his hat, bows politely and respectfully to the +children, brushes his hat with his elbow as he meanders across the floor +to the peg in the wall, but cannot quite trust himself to speak. + +"Hullo, Carats!" cries Gar Dosson, as he chucks her under the chin. +"Knowed I was coming, didn't you? Got yourself fixed up. Pretty, ain't +she?" and he winks a blood-shot eye toward Stumps. "And when is it going +to be my Carats? Pretty soon, now, eh?" and he walks, or rather totters, +aside. + +"Umph! I have got 'em again, Carrie. Fly around and get us something to +eat. Fly around, Carrie, fly around! Oh, I've got the shakes again!" +groans Forty-nine. + +"Poor old boy!" and she brushes the snow from his beard and his tattered +coat. "Why, Forty-nine, you're shaking like a leaf." + +"He's drunk--that's what's the matter with him." Gar Dosson growls this +out between his teeth as he sets his gun in the corner. + +"He's not drunk! Its the ager!" retorts Stumps fiercely. + +Gar Dosson, glaring at the boy, steadies himself on his right leg, and +diving deep in his left hand pocket, draws forth a large bill or poster. +With both hands he manages to spread this out, and swaggering up to the +wall near the window he hangs it on two pegs that are there to receive +coats or hats. + +"Look at that!" and he crookedly points with his crooked fingers at the +large letters, and reads: "One thousand dollars (hic) dollars reward +for the capture of John Logan! What do you say to that, Carats? That's a +fine fellow to have for a lover, now, ain't it?--a waluable lover, now, +ain't it? Worth a thousand dollars! Oh, don't I wish he was a-hanging +around here now! Wouldn't I sell him, and get a thousand dollars, eh? +Yes, I would. I just want that thousand dollars. And I'm the man that's +going to get it, too! Eh, old Blossom-nose?" Forty-nine jerks back his +dignified head as the bully gesticulates violently. + +"You will, will you? Well, may-be you will (hic), but if you get a cent +of that money (hic) for catching that man you don't enter that door +again; no, you don't lift that latch-string again as long as old +Forty-nine has a fist to lift!" and he thrusts his doubled hand hard +into the boaster's face. + +"Good for you!" cries Carrie. "Dear, good, brave old Forty-nine; I like +you--I love you!" and the girl embraces him, while the boy flourishes +his club at the back of the bully. + +"No, don't you hit a man when he's down, sah," continues Forty-nine. +"That's the true doctrine of a gentleman--the true doctrine of a +gentleman, sah." He flourishes his hand, totters forward, totters back, +and hesitates--"The true doctrine of a gentleman, sah. The little horse +in the horse-race, sah--the bottom dog in the dog-fight, sah. The--" + +And the poor old man totters back and falls helplessly in the great, +home-made chair near the corner, where stands the gun. His head is under +water. + +"The true doctrines of a gentleman," snaps Dosson; and he throws out a +big hand toward the drooping head. "Old Blossom-nose!" Then turning to +Carrie. "The sheriff's a coming; he gave me that 'ere bill--yes, he did. +He's down to the grocery, now. He's going around to all the cabins, and +a-swearing 'em in a book, that they don't know nothing about John Logan. +The sheriff, he's a comin' here, Carats, right off." + +There is a rift in the curtain, and the pitiful face of the fugitive +peers forth. + +"The sheriff coming here!" He turns, feels the wall, and tries the logs +with his hands. Not a door, not a window. Solid as the solid earth. + +"Coming here? But what is he coming here for?" demands Carrie. + +"Coming here to find out what you know about John Logan. Oh, he's close +after him." + +"Close after me!" gasps Logan. The man feels for something to lay hand +upon by which to defend himself. "I will not be taken alive; I will die +here!" He clutches at last, above the bed, a gun. "Saved, saved!" He +holds it tenderly, as if a child, or something dearly loved. He takes it +to the light and looks at the lock; he blows in the barrel; he +mournfully shakes his head. "It is not loaded! Well, no matter; I can +but die," and he clubs the gun and prepares for mortal battle. + +"Oh, come, Carats," cries Gar Dosson, "let's have a little frolic before +the sheriff comes--a kiss, eh? Come, my beauty!" + +The rough man has all this time been stealing up, as nearly as he could +to the girl, and now throws his arm about her neck. + +"Shall I brain him--be a murderer, indeed?" + +All the Indian is again aroused, and John Logan seems more terrible, and +more determined to save her than to defend his own life. + +"Stand back!" shouts the Girl to Dosson. She attempts to throw him off, +but his powerful arm is about her neck. "Forty-nine! Help!" but the old +man is unconscious. John Logan is about to start from his corner. + +"Take that, you brute! and that!" and Stumps whirls his club and +thunders against the ribs of the ruffian. + +"You devil! you brat! what do you mean?" + +Mad with disappointment and pain, he throws the girl from him, and turns +upon the boy. He clutches him by the back of the neck as he starts to +escape, and bears him to the ground. + +"Look 'ere, do you know what I'm going to do with you? I'm going to +break your back across my knee! yes, I am!" and he glares about +terribly. + +Carrie shrinks back to the side of Forty-nine. + +"Oh! Help! He will murder him! He will kill him!" + +"No, I won't murder you, you brat, but I'll chuck you out in that snow +and let you cool off, while I have your sister all to myself. Come here; +give me your ear!" and the great, strong ruffian seizes his ear and +fairly carries him along by it toward the door. "Give me your ear!" + +"Oh, sister, sister! He will kill me!" howls Stumps. + +"Forty-nine! save us! We will be murdered!" + +"Come, I say, give me your ear!" thunders the brute, as he fairly draws +the boy still toward the door. + +"Stop that, or die!" + +The frenzied girl, failing to arouse Forty-nine, has caught up the gun +from the corner, and brought the muzzle to the ruffian's breast. He +totters back, and throws up his arms. + +"Go back there and sit down, or I will kill you!" + +"Give me your ear! Come!" roars Stumps. It is now his turn. "Give me +your ear!" He reaches up and takes that red organ in his hand, and +nearly wrenches it from the brute's head, as he leads him back, with +many twists and gyrations, slowly to a low seat at the other side of the +cabin. + +Still holding the gun in level, and in dangerous proximity to the man's +breast, Carrie cries: + +"Now if you attempt to move you are a dead man!" "Give me your ear!" and +Stumps wrenches it again, as he sits the man firmly on his low stool, +with his red face making mad distortions from the pain. "John Logan, +come!" calls the girl. "No, don't you start, Gar Dosson. Don't you lift +a finger; if you do, you die!" + +The curtains are parted, and John Logan starts forth. "Go, go! There's +not a moment to lose. The sheriff will be here; they are coming! Quick! +Go at once! I hear--I hear them coming!" + +The man springs to the door; the latch is lifted; a moment more and he +will be free--safe, at least for the night. Out into the friendly +darkness, where man and beast, where pursuer and pursued, are equal, and +equally helpless. + +There is a crushing of snow, a stamping of feet, and one, two, three, +four, five--five forms hurriedly pass the window. The latch is lifted, +and as John Logan again darts back under cover, the party, brushing the +snow from their coats and grizzled beards, hastily enter the cabin. + +"Fly around, Carrie, fly around! fix yourself up!" The fresh gust of +wind and storm from the door just opened, fans the glimmering spark of +consciousness into sudden flame, and Forty-nine springs up, perfectly +erect, perfectly dignified. "Fly around, Carrie, fly around; fix +yourself up. The sheriff is coming--fly around!" + +The girl drops the gun in the corner where she had found it, and stands +before Forty-nine, smoothing down her apron, and letting her eyes fall +on the floor timidly and in a childlike way, as if these little hands of +hers had never known a harder task than their present employment of +smoothing down her apron. + +Dosson springs up before the sheriff. He rubs his eyes, and he looks +about as if he had just been startled from some bad, ugly dream. He +wonders, indeed, if he has seen John Logan at all. Again he rubs his +eyes, and then, looking at his knuckle, says, in a deep, guttural +fashion, to himself, "Jim-jams, by gol! I thought I'd seed John Logan!" + +"Ah, Forty-nine," says the sheriff, "sorry to disturb you, and your +Miss; and good evening to you, sir; and good evening to you;" and the +honest sheriff bows to each, and brushes the snow from his fur cap as he +speaks. + +Gar Dosson advances to his partner, Phin Emens, who has just entered, +with that stealthy old tiger-step so familiar to them both, and laying +his hand on his shoulder, they move aside. + +"Then it's not the jim-jams," mutters he. "I've not got 'em, then." + +He stops, pinches himself, looks at his hands, and mutters to himself. +Then he lifts his hand to his ear. + +"Look at it again!" Phin Emens looks at the ear. "It's red, ain't it? +Oh, it feels red; it feels like fire. Then I've not got 'em, and he is +here. Hist! Come here! We want that thousand dollars all to ourselves." + +He plucks his companion further to one side. They talk and gesticulate +together, while now and then a big red rough hand is thrust out savagely +toward the curtain. + +"Sorry indeed to disturb you, Miss," observes the sheriff; "but you see, +I've been searching and swearing of 'em all, and its only fair to serve +all alike." + +"He is not here. Upon the honor of a gentleman, he is not here," says +Forty-nine, emphatically. + +"He is here!" howls Dosson; and the tremendous man, with the tremendous +voice and tremendous manner, bolts up before the sheriff. "He is here; +and I, as an honest man am going to earn a thousand dollars, for the +sake of justice. I have found him--found him all by myself; and these +fellers can't have no hand in my find." And he holds up John Logan's +cap, which had been knocked from his head in his hasty retreat to cover, +and he rolls his red eyes toward the bed, takes a step in that +direction, reaches a hand, lays hold of the curtain, and is about to +dash it aside. + +"John Logan is there!" shouts Dosson, and again the curtain is clutched. + +Does he dream of what is beyond? If he could only see the panting, +breathless wretch that leans there eagerly, with lifted gun, ready to +brain him--waiting, waiting for him to come, even wishing that he only +would come--he would start back with terror to the other side. + +"He is here! I have found him! Come!" + +Carrie, springing forward from her posture of anxiety and terror, grasps +a powder horn from over the mantel piece, jerks out the stopple with her +teeth, and holding it over the fire, cries, with desperation: + +"Do it, if you dare! This horn is full of powder, and if any man here +dares to move that curtain, I'll blow you all into burning hell!" The +man loosens his hold on the curtain, and totters back. He is sober +enough to know how terrible is the situation, and he knows her well +enough to believe she will do precisely what she says she will do. "Yes, +I will! We will all go to the next world together; and now let us see +who is best ready to die!" + +"Bravo!" shouts Forty-nine. + +The sheriff and his men have been moving back slowly from the inspired +girl, standing there by the door of death. + +Gar Dosson at last steals around by the sheriff. "But he is here, Mr. +Sheriff," he says. "I tell you he is here in this house. There! For here +is his cap. I found it. I found him, and I want him and I want that +thousand dollars. Search!" + +"And I tell you he is not here!" cries the girl, "and you shall not +search, 'less--" + +And the horn is lifted menacingly over the fire. "Won't you take my +word?" + +"You shall take _my_ word!" shouts Dosson. + +"I will take your single word, Miss, against a thousand such men." + +And the sheriff puts on his cap, turns, and is about to go. + +"But he is here! The thousand dollars, Mr. Sheriff!" cries Dosson. + +"Miss, officers sometimes have duties that are more unpleasant to them +than to the parties most concerned. You say he is not here?" + +"He is not here, Mr. Sheriff--he is not here!" cries Carrie. + +The sheriff twists his cap on his head. "And you will be sworn, as the +others were?" says the sheriff. "So much the better; and that will be +quite satisfactory. Ah, here is the Bible at hand." + +And he takes from the little shelf the tattered book. The girl stands +still as stone, with the engine of death in her hand. The officer bows, +smiles, reaches the book with his left hand, lays his cap on the table, +and lifts his right hand in the air. Her little fingers reach out +firmly, fearlessly, and rest on the book. Her eyes are looking straight +into his. + +"It may be my duty, Miss, to search the house, after what that 'un has +said, and, Miss, I expect it is my duty. But, Miss, I is not the man to +expose you before a man as might like to see you exposed. And then that +poor devil that come back here, Miss, on bleeding feet--crawling back +here on his hands and knees, to die by his mother's grave." + +The voice is tremulous; the hand that is raised in the air comes down. +Then lifting it again he says resolutely, "Swear, Miss!" + +All are looking--leaning--with the profoundest interest. There is a dark +strange face peering through a rift in the half-opened curtain. "God +bless her! God bless her! She can, and she will!" mutters Forty-nine. + +"She can't!" cries Dosson. "She believes the book and, by gol, she +can't!" The man says this over his shoulder, and in a husky whisper as +the girl seems to pause. + +"Hold your hand on the book, and swear as I shall tell you," says the +sheriff. + +She only holds more firmly to the book; her eyes are fixed more steadily +on his. + +"Say it as I say it. I do solemnly swear--" + +"I do solemnly swear--" + +"That John Logan--" + +"That John Logan--" + +"Is not here." + +"Is--" + +"Is _here_!" The curtain is thrown back, and the fugitive dashes into +their midst. The book falls from the sheriff's hand, and there is a +murmur of amazement. + +"God bless you, my girl!" And there is the stillness of a Sabbath +morning over all. "God bless you; and God will reward you for this, for +I cannot. You have made me another being, Carrie. I have lost my life, +but you have saved my soul!" and turning cheerfully to the sheriff he +reaches his hands. "Now, sir, I am ready." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE ESCAPE. + + _O tranquil moon! O pitying moon! + Put forth thy cool, protecting palms, + And cool their eyes with cooling alms, + Against the burning tears of noon._ + + _O saintly, noiseless-footed nun! + O sad-browed patient mother, keep + Thy homeless children while they sleep, + And kiss them, weeping, every one._ + + +At first there was a loud demonstration against Logan by the mob, that +always gathers about where a man is captured by his fellows--the wolves +that come up when the wounded buffalo falls. There was talk of a +vigilance committee and of lynching. + +But when the stout, resolute sheriff led the man in chains down the +trail through the deep snow, and turned him over to the officer in +charge of a little squad of soldiers at the other side of the valley, no +man interfered further. Indeed, Dosson and Emens were too anxious about +the promised reward to make any demonstration against this man's life +now. He was worth to them a thousand dollars. + +A lawyer reading this, will smile here at the loose way in which the law +was administered there in the outer edge of the world at that time. Here +is a sheriff, with a warrant in his pocket, made returnable to a +magistrate. The sheriff arrests the man on this warrant and takes him +directly to the military authorities, which have been so long seeking +him, utterly unconscious that he is doing aught but the proper thing. +And yet, after all, it was the shortest and best course to take. + +I shall not forget the face of the prisoner as we stood beside the trail +in the snow, while he was led past down the mouth of the canyon toward +the other side of the valley. It was grand! + +Some strangers, standing in the street, spoke of the majesty of the +man's bearing. They openly dared to admire his lifted face, and to speak +with derision of his captors as the party passed on. This made the low +element, out of which mobs are always created, a little bit timid. +Possibly it was this that saved the prisoner. But most likely it was the +resolute face of the honest sheriff. For, say what you will, there is +nothing so cowardly as a mob. Throw what romance you please over the +actions of the Vigilantes of California, they were murderers--coarse, +cowardly and brutal; murderers, legally and morally, every one of them. +It is to be admitted that they did good work at first. But their +example, followed even down to this day, has been fruitful of the +darkest crimes. + +When Forty-nine awoke next morning from his long drunken slumber, the +children were not there. Dosson called, arrayed in his best; but Carrie +was not to be seen. Forty-nine could give no account of her. This day of +triumph for Dosson did not yield him so much as he had all the night +before fancied. He was furious. + +Forty-nine, as usual, after a spree, meekly took up his pick, after a +breakfast on a piece of bread and the drawings of coffee grounds that +had been thrice boiled over, and stumbled away towards his tunnel, and +was soon lost in the deeps of the earth. + +You may be certain that this desperate character, just taken after so +much trouble and cost, was securely ironed at the little military camp +across the valley. An old log cabin was made a temporary prison, and +soldiers strode up and down on the four sides of it day and night. + +And yet there was hardly need of such heavy irons. True, the soldiers +outside, as they walked up and down at night and shifted their muskets +from side to side, and slapped their shoulders with their arms and hands +to keep from freezing, heard the chains grate and toss and rattle, often +and often, as if some one was trying to tear and loosen them. But it was +only the man tossing his arms in delirium as he lay on the fir boughs in +the corner. + +Dosson, after much inquiry, and many day's watching about Forty-nine's +cabin, called and was admitted to see the prisoner, who by this time, +though weak and worn to a skeleton, was convalescing. The coarse and +insolent intruder started back with dismay. There sat the girl he so +hoped and longed to possess, talking to him tenderly, soothing him, +giving her life for his. + +Long and brutal would be the story of the agent's endeavors to tear this +girl away from the bedside of the sufferer--if such a place could be +called a bedside. The girl would not leave John Logan, and the timid boy +who sat shivering back in the corner of the cabin, would not leave the +girl. The three were bound together by a chain stronger than that which +bound the wrists of the prisoner; aye, ten thousand times stronger, for +man had fashioned the one--God the other. + +Sudden and swift arrives summer in California. The trail was opened to +the Reservation down the mountain, and the officer collected his few +Indians together in a long, single line, all chained to a long heavy +cable, and prepared to march. About the middle of the chain stood John +Logan, now strong enough to walk. At the front were placed a few +miserable, spiritless Indians, who had been found loafing about the +miners's cabins--the drunkards, thieves, vagabonds of their tribe, such +as all tribes have, such as we have, citizen-reader--while the rear was +brought up by a boy and girl, Carrie and Johnny, a pitiful sight! + +Do not be surprised. When you have learned to know the absolute, the +utterly unlimited power and authority of an Indian Agent or sub-Agent, +you have only to ask the capability for villainy he may possess in order +to find the limit of his actions. + +Could you have seen the lofty disdain of this girl for her suitor at +that first and every subsequent meeting, as she kept at the bedside of +John Logan, you could have guessed what might follow. The man's love was +turned to rage. He resolved to send her back to the Reservation also. It +is true, the soldiers had learned to respect and to pity her. It is +true, the little Lieutenant said, with a soldierly oath, as she was +being chained, that she was whiter than the man who was having it done. +Yet the soldiers, and their officer as well, had their orders; and a +soldier's duties, as you know, are all bound up in one word. + +As for the wretched boy, he might have escaped. He was a negative sort +of a being at best; and no one, save Logan and the girl, either hated +him or loved him greatly, tender and true as he was. They both implored +him to slip between the fingers of the soldiers and not go to the +Reservation. But he would not think of being separated from his sister. +Poor, stunted, starved little thing! There were wrinkles about his face; +his hands were black, short, and hard, from digging roots from the +frosty ground. It is not probable the lad had ever had enough to eat +since he could remember. And so he was a dwarf, a dwarf in body and in +soul; and instead of showing some spirit and standing up now and helping +the girl, as he should, he leaned on her utterly, and left her to be the +man of the two. The little spark of fire that had twice or thrice +flashed up in the last few years, seemed now to die out entirely, and he +stood there chained, looking back now and then over his shoulder at the +soldiers, looking forward trying to catch a glance from his sister now +and then, but never once making any murmur or complaint. + +It was a hot, sultry day, such as suddenly enters and takes possession +of canyons in the Sierras, when the little party of prisoners were +marched through the little camp at the end of the canyon on their way to +the Reservation. + +And the camp all came out to see, but the camp was silent. It was not a +pleasant sight. A soldier with a bayonet on his loaded musket walking by +the side of a woman with her hands in chains, is not an inspiring +spectacle. With all respect for your superior judgments, Mr. President, +Commander-in-Chief, and Captains of the army, I say there is a nobler +use for the army than this. + +Let us hasten on from this subject and this scene. But do not imagine +that the miner, the settler, or even the most hardened about the camp, +felt ennobled at this sight. I tell you there was a murmur of +indignation and disgust heard all up and down the canyon. The newer and +better element of the camp was furious. One man even went so far as to +write a letter to a country paper on the subject. + +But when the editor responded in a heavy leader, and assured the camp of +its deadly peril from these prowling savages, and proclaimed that the +Indians were being taken where they would have good medicine, care, food +and clothing, and be educated and taught the arts of agriculture, the +case really did not look so bad; and in less than a week the whole +affair had been forgotten by all the camp. Aye, all, save old +Forty-nine. + +By the express order of sub-Agent Dosson, the old man, who had been +declared a dangerous character by him, was not permitted to see the girl +from the first day he discovered that she still clung to Logan. But the +old man had worked on and waited. He had kept constantly sober. He would +see and would save this girl at all hazards. + +And now, as the sorrowful remnant of a once great tribe was being taken, +like Israel into captivity, he rushed forward to meet her, to hold her +hands, to press her to his heart, and bid her be strong and hopeful. + +The agent saw the old man and shouted to the officer; the officer called +to the soldiers--the line moved forward, the bayonets crossed the old +man's breast as the prisoners passed on down the mountain, and he saw +the sad, pitiful face no more. + +Keep the picture before you: Chained together in long lines, marched +always on foot in single file, under the stars and stripes, officers in +uniforms, clanking swords--the uniform of the Union, riding bravely +along the lines! The two men who had done so much to get this desperate +Indian out of the way, remained behind to keep possession of his house +and land. They had not even the decency to build a new cabin. They only +broke down the door, put up a new one with stouter hinges and latch; and +the long-coveted land was theirs. + +As for old Forty-nine, all the light had left the mountain and the +valley now. Carrie, whom he had cared for from the first almost, little +Stumps, whom he had found with her, hardly big enough to toddle +about--both were gone. All three gone. John Logan, whom he had taught to +read and taught a thousand things at his own cabin-fire in the long +snowy winters--all these gone together. It was as if the sun had gone +down for Forty-nine forever. There was no sun or moon or stars, or any +thing that shines in the mountains any more for him. His had been a +desolate life all the long years he had delved away into the mountain at +his tunnel. No man had taken his hand in friendship for many and many a +year. + +The man now nailed up his cabin door--an idle task, perhaps, for men +instinctively avoided it, and the trail of late took a cut across the +spur of the hill rather than pass by his door. But somehow the old man +felt that he might not be back soon. And as men had kept away from that +cabin while he was there, he did not feel that they should enter it in +his absence. + +One evening in the hot, sultry summer, old Forty-nine rode down from the +mountain into the great valley, following the trail taken by the lines +of chained captives, and set his face for the Reservation. + +At a risk of repetition, let us look at this Reservation. The government +had ordered a United States officer, of the rank of lieutenant, to set +apart a Reservation for the Indians on land not acquired and not likely +to be desired by the white settlers, and to gather the Indians together +there and keep them there by force, if force should be required. This +young man established a Reservation on the border of a tule lake, shut +in by a crescent of low sage-brush hills. The Indian camp was laid out +on the very edge of this alkali lake. The crescent of sage-brush hills +of a mile in circuit, reaching back and almost around the Reservation, +was mounted at three points by cannon, ready to sweep the camp below. On +this circuit of hills, healthy and pleasant enough the officers and +soldiers had their quarters. Down in the damp, deadly valley, on the +edge of the alkali lake, the newly appointed Indian Agent, with a +tremendous appropriation to be expended in building houses and +establishing the Indians in their new homes, built the village. It was +made up of two rows of low, one-story, one-room huts. Two big lamps hung +in the one street; and from lamp to lamp before the doors of the little +huts with earthen floors and turf-covered roofs, paced soldiers night +and day. + +These houses were damp and dismal from the first. Soon they began to be +mouldy; fungi and toadstools and the like began to grow up in the +corners and out of the logs. Little shiny reptiles, in the long hot +rainy days that followed, and worms and all sorts of hideous vermin, +began to creep and crawl through these dreadful dens of death, over the +sick and dying Indians. Long slimy, unnamed, and unknown worms crawled +up out of the earth, as if they could not wait for the victims to die. + +The Indians were dying off by hundreds. They went to the officers and +complained. The officers ordered a double guard to be set. And that was +all. + +You marvel that these young lieutenants could be so imperious and cruel? +It does seem past belief. But pardon just one paragraph of digression +while we recall the conduct of a younger class only last year on the +Hudson. To me the real question before the courts in the Whitaker case +is not whether this quiet stranger, with a tinge of black man's blood in +his veins, mutilated himself, or no. But the real question is, did they +or did they not, by their determined and persistent persecutions and +insults, drive him in a fit of desperation to do this in the hope of +pulling down ruin on the heads of all? This seems probable to me, and to +me is far more monstrous than if they had, in sudden anger, cut his +ears, or even cut his throat; and if these young bloods could so treat a +stranger there, standing at such a manifest disadvantage, what would +they not be capable of when they are, for the first time, clothed with +a little brief authority, away out on the savage edge of the world? + +The water here, as the hot season came on, was something dreadful. It +was slimy with alkali. Little black worms knotted and twisted themselves +together at the bottom of the cup, like bunches of witch-woven +horse-hair. The Indians were dying of malaria. They were burning up with +the fever. And this was the only water these people, who had been used +to the fresh sweet snow-water of the Sierras, could have. + +What could they do? They appealed to the officers. They were answered +with insult: "You must get used to it. You must get civilized." + +These dying Indians began to fight and quarrel among themselves. Ah, +they were very wicked. They were quarrelsome as dogs; almost as +quarrelsome as Christians! + +This was a small Paris in siege. It was Jerusalem surrounded by Titus. +Down there, dying as they were, a savage Simon and a degenerate John, as +in Jerusalem of old, led their followers against each other, even +across their dead that lay unburied in the mouldy death-pens and about +their dark and narrow doors, and slew each other as did God's chosen +people when besieged by the son of Vespasian. + +Then the men in brass and blue turned the cannon loose on the howling +savages, and shot them into silence and submission. + +John Logan, Carrie and little Stumps, about this time had been brought +with others from the mountains to the Reservation. Logan insisted on +keeping the two children at his side and under his protection. He was +laughed at by agents, and sub-agents. + +He was kept chained. He was assigned to a strong hut with gratings +across the window--or rather the little loop-hole which let in the +light. The guards were kept constantly at his door. He was entered on +the books as a very desperate character, a barn-burner, and possible +murderer. And so night and day he was kept under the constant watch of +the soldiers with fixed bayonets. True, he was soon too weak to lift his +manacled hands in strife. But nevertheless he was kept chained and +doubly guarded in the little hut with gratings at the loop-hole. + +Would he attempt to escape? + +There were many broken fragments of many broken tribes here. Tribes that +had fought each other to the death--fought as Germans and French have +fought. And why not, pray? Has not a heathen as good a right to fight a +heathen as has a Christian to fight a Christian? The only difference is, +we preach and profess peace; they, war. + +Logan was alone in this damp hut and deadly pen. He could hear the tramp +of the soldiers; he could see the long thin silver beams of the moon +reach through the gratings, reach on and on, around and over and across +the damp, mouldy floor, as if reaching out, like God's white fingers, to +touch his face, to cool his fever, and comfort him. But he could see, +hear nothing more. He was so utterly alone! They would send an +unfriendly Indian in with his breakfast, foul and unfit for even a well +man, and a tin cup of water in the morning. Soon after the doctor would +call around, also. Then he would see no face again till evening, when +more food and water would be brought. At last the food was brought only +in the morning. This did not at all affect Logan; for from the first +the old pan containing his food had been taken away untouched. The man +was certainly dying. The guard and garrison on the hill were waiting for +this desperate character, whose capture had cost so much time and money, +to attempt to escape. + +From the first, even in the face of the blunt refusal, John Logan had +begged for the boy to be brought him. He was certain the little fellow +was dying--dying of desolation and a broken heart. + +About the sixth day, the man chanced to hear from an Indian that the boy +had quite broken down, and, refusing all food, lay moaning in his corner +all the time, and all the time crying for John Logan or Carrie. The man +now entreated more persistently than ever before. He promised the Doctor +to eat, to get well, if only the boy could be brought to him and be +permitted to spend his time there. For he knew from what the Doctor said +that he must soon die if things kept on as they were. The weather was +growing hotter and hotter; the water and the food, if possible, more +repulsive than ever. Logan could no longer walk across the pen in which +he was confined. He was so weak that he could not raise his heavily +manacled hands to his face. + +After the usual diplomacy and delay, the Doctor reported his condition, +and also his earnest desire for the boy, to the Indian Agent. + +There was a consultation. Would this crafty and desperate Indian attempt +to escape? Was not all this a ruse on his part? Would not the United +States imperil its peace and security if this boy and this man were to +be allowed together? This mighty question oppressed the mind of the +agent in charge for a whole day. Then, after the Doctor again urged the +prisoner's request--for man and boy both seemed to be dying--this man +reluctantly consented. Would Logan now escape after all? Could he ever +get through these iron bars and past the four soldiers pacing up and +down outside? Would he escape from the Reservation at last? + +And now, at the close of the hottest and most dreadful day they had +endured, an old Indian woman, bent almost double, came shuffling in by +permission of the guard, and laid something on a pile of rushes and +willows in a corner of the pen across from where John Logan lay. + +The man heard a noise as of some one breathing heavily, and attempted to +rise. He could hardly move his head. But in trying to support himself to +a sitting posture, he moved his hands, and so rattled his manacles. This +frightened the superstitious old woman, and she ran away. She had laid a +little skeleton on the rushes in the corner. + +Logan with great effort managed to sit up and look across into the +corner that was now being slowly illuminated by a beam of bright, white +moonlight, that stole down the wall toward the little heap lying there, +like some holy, white-hooded and noiseless-footed nun. At last he saw +the face. It was that of little Stumps. The man sank back where he lay. +The sight was so pitiful, so dreadful to see, that he forgot his own +misery and was all in tears for the little fellow who lay dying before +him. He forgot his own fearful condition at the sight, and again +attempted to rise and reach the little heap that lay moaning in the +corner. It was impossible; he could not rise. + +And how fared Carrie all this time? Little better than the others. She +was no longer beautiful. And so she was left, along with a score or +more of other dying and desperate creatures, in another part of the +Reservation. She was not permitted to see the boy. Least of all was she +permitted to see, or even hear from, John Logan. Day by day she drooped +and sank slowly but surely down toward the grave. + +But she did not fear death. She had faced it in all forms before. And +even now death walked the place night and day, and she was not afraid. +She lay down at night with death. She knew no fear at all. She +constantly asked for and wanted to see the helpless little boy, in the +hope that she might help or cheer him. But no one listened to anything +she had to say. Once, after a very hot and horrible day, two of her +companions in captivity were found to be dead. The guard who paced up +and down between the huts was told of it. But he said it was too late to +have them carted away that night. And so this girl lay there all night +by the side of the dead, and was not afraid. Nay, she even wished that +she too, when the cart came in the morning, might be found silent and at +peace. And then she thought of those whom she loved, and reproached +herself for being so selfish as to want to die when she still might be +of use to them. + +Let us escape from these dreadful scenes as soon as possible. They are +like a nightmare to me. + +And yet the mind turns back constantly to John Logan lying there; the +little heap of bones in the corner; the pure white moonlight creeping +softly down the wall, as if to look into the little fellow's eyes, yet +as if half afraid of wakening him. + +Could Logan escape? Chains, double guards, death--all these at his door +holding him back, waiting to take him if he ever passed out at that +door. Mould on the floor, mould on the walls, mould on the very +blankets. The man was burning to death with the fever; the boy, too, +lying over there. The boy moaned now and then. Once Logan heard him cry +for water. That warm, slimy, wormy water! O, for one, just one draught +of cool, sweet water from the mountains--their dearly loved native +mountains--and die! + +The moon rose higher still, round and white and large; and at last, +wheeling over the camp of death, seemed to pause in pity and look full +in upon those two dying captives. It seemed to soothe them both. + +The little boy saw the moonbeam on the wall, and was pacified. It looked +like the face of an old friend. It brought back the old time; the life, +the woods, the water--above all, the cool sweet waters of the mountains. +He seemed to know where he was. He lay still a long time, and then felt +stronger. He called to John Logan. No answer. Then the feeble, piping +little voice lifted up and called as loud as it could. No answer still. +The boy crawled from off the little pallet and tried to rise. He sank +down on the damp floor, and then tried to crawl to John Logan. He tried +to call again, as he began to slowly crawl towards the other corner. But +the poor little voice was no louder than a whisper. Very weak and very +wild, and almost quite delirious, the boy kept on as best he could. He +at last touched the blankets, the breast, and he drew himself up just as +the moon looked down on the pale upturned face. Then, with a moan, a +wild, pitiful cry, the little fellow fell back on the damp mouldy floor. + +John Logan was dead! Despite the chains, the bars at the window, the +double guard at the door, the man had escaped at last! + +The pitying moon did not hasten to go. It lingered there, reached down +along the damp, mouldy floor to a little form of skin and bone; and +then, as if this moon-beam were the Savior's mantle spreading out to +cover the white and stainless soul, it covered the pinched and pitiful +little face. For the boy, too, lay dead. + +Here was the end of two lives that had known only the long dark shadows, +only the deep solitude and solemnity of the forest. Like tall weeds that +sometimes shoot up in dark and unfrequented places, and that put forth +strange, sweet flowers, these two lives had sprung up there, put forth +after their fashion the best that is in man, and then perished in +darkness, unnamed, unknown. + +Who were they? John Logan, it is now whispered, was the son of an +officer made famous in the war annals of the world. The officer had been +stationed here in early manhood, gave his heart as she believed to a +daughter of a brave and powerful chief, whose lands lay near where he +was stationed for a summer, and then? The old, old tale of betrayal and +desertion. The woman was disgraced before her people. And so when they +retreated before the encroachments of the whites, she, being despised +and cast off by her people, remained behind waiting the promised return +of her lover. He? He did not even acknowledge his child. This General, +who had taken the lives of a thousand men, had not the moral courage to +reach out a hand to this one little waif which he had called into +existence. + +Do you know, there never was a dog drowned in the pound so base and low +that he would not fight? Yet this brute-valor is largely admired, even +to this day, by Christian people. This man could kill men, could risk +his own life, but he could not give this innocent child his name. + +And so it was, the boy, after he had learned to read, by the help of +Forty-nine, and an occasional missionary who sometimes preached to the +miners, and spent the pleasant summer months in the mountains--this boy, +I say, who at last had heard all the story of his father's weakness and +wickedness from Forty-nine's lips disdained to use his name, but chose +one famous in the annals of the Indians. And this brief sketch is about +all there is to tell of the young man who lay dead in chains, in the +prison-pen of the Reservation. + +"Civilization kills the Indian," said the Doctor that morning in his +daily round, after he had examined the dead bodies. + +"He does not look so desperate, after all," said an officer, as he held +his nose with his thumb and finger, and leaned forward to look at the +dead Indian, while his other hand held his sword gracefully at his side. +And then this officer, after making certain that this desperate +character was quite dead, drew forth his cigar-case, struck a light, and +climbing upon his horse, galloped back to his quarters on the hill. + +The Doctor, now left alone, stooped and put back the long silken hair +from the thin baby-face of the boy, as the body was brought out and +being carried to the cart made to receive the dead, and remarked that it +was not at all like that of the other Indians. Another young officer +came by as the Doctor did this, and his attention was called to the +fact. The officer tapped his sword-hilt a little, looked curiously at +the pitiful, pinched little face, and then ordering the soldiers to move +on with their burden, he turned to the Doctor and remarked, as the two +went back together to their quarters on the hill, that "no doubt it was +the effect of the few days of civilization on the Reservation that had +made the boy so white; pity he had died so soon; a year on the +Reservation, and he would have been quite white." + +Unlike other parts of the Union, here the races are much mixed. Creoles, +Kanakas, Mexicans, Malays, whites, and blacks, have intermixed with the +natives, till the color line is not clearly drawn. And in one case at +least some orphan children of white parentage were sent to the +Reservation by parties who wanted their property. Though I do not know +that the fact of white children being found on a Reservation makes the +sufferings of the savages less or their wrongs more outrageous. I only +mention it as a frozen fact. + +Carrie did not know of the desolation which death had made in her life, +till old Forty-nine, who arrived too late to attend the burial of his +dead, told her. She did not weep. She did not even answer. She only +turned her face to the wall as she lay in her wretched bed, burning up +with the fever, but made no sign. There was nothing more for her to +bear. She had felt all that human nature can feel. She was dull, dazed, +indifferent, now to all that might occur. + +To turn back for the space of a paragraph, I am bound to admit that +these dying Indians often behaved very foolishly, and, in their +superstitions brought much of the fatality upon themselves. For example, +they had a horror of the white man's remedies, and refused to take the +medicines administered to them. Brought down from the cool, fresh +mountains, where they lived under the trees in the purest air and in the +most beautiful places, they at once fell ready victims to malarial +fevers. The white man, by a liberal use of quinine and whisky, as well +as by careful diet, lived very well at the Reservation, and suffered but +little, yet had he been forced to live in a pen, crowded together like +pigs in a sty, with the bad air, on the damp, mouldy ground, he had died +too, as fast perhaps as the Indian died. + +The old man could do but little for the dying girl. He was in bad odor +with the officers; they treated him with as little consideration almost +as if he too had been a savage. But he was constant at her side; he +brought a lemon which he had begged, on his knees, as it were, and tried +to make her a cool drink of the slimy, wormy water. But the girl could +not drink it. She turned her face once more to the wall, and this time, +it seemed, to die. + +One morning, before the sun rose, she recovered her wandering mind and +called old Forty-nine to her side. She was surely dying; but her mind +was clear, and she understood perfectly all she said or did. Her dark +eyes were sunken deep in their places, and her long, sun-browned hands +were only skin and bone. They fell down across her heaving little +breast, as if they were the hands of a skeleton. Little wonder that her +persecutors had turned away with horror, perhaps with fear, from those +deep, hollow eyes, and the pitiful emaciated frame, that could no longer +lift itself where it lay. + +The old man fell down on his knees beside her and reached his face +across to hers. With great effort she lifted her two naked long, arms, +and wound them about the old man's neck. He seemed to know that death +was near, as he reached his face over hers. Over his cheeks and down his +long white beard the tears ran like rain and fell on her face and +breast. + +"Forty-nine, father! Let me call you father; may I? I never had any +father but you," said the girl feebly, as the tears fell fast on her +face. + +"Yes, yes, call me father. Call me father, Carrie, my Carrie; my poor, +dear, dear little Carrie,--do call me father, for of all the world I +have only you to love and live for," sobbed the old man as if his heart +would break. + +"Well, then, father, when I die take me back, take me back to the +mountains. I want to hear the water--the cool, sweet, clear water, where +I lie; and the wind in the trees--the cool, pure wind in the trees, +father. And you know the three trees just above the old cabin on the +hill by the water-fall? Bury me, bury me there. Yes, there, where I can +hear the cool water all the time, and the wind in the trees. And--and +won't you please cut my name on the tree by the water? My name, +Carrie--just Carrie, that's all. I have no other name--just Carrie. Will +you? Will you do this for me?" + +"As there is a God--as I live, I will!" and the old man lifted his face +as he bared his head, and looked toward heaven. + +The girl's mind wandered now. She spoke incoherently for a few moments, +and then was silent. Her form was convulsed, her breast heaved just a +little, her helpless hands reached about the old man's neck as if they +would hold him from passing from her presence; they fell away, and then +all was still. It was now gray dawn. + +This man's heart was bursting with rage and a savage sorrow. He was now +stung with a sense of awful injustice. His heart was swelling with +indignation. He took up the form before him; up in his arms, as if it +had been that of an infant. He threw his handkerchief across the face as +he passed out, stooping low through the dark and narrow doorway, and +strode in great, long and hurried steps down the street and over toward +the hills beyond, where his horse was tethered in the long, brown +grass. + +As the old man passed the post on the hill, where the officers slept +under the protection of loaded cannon, the guard stopped him with his +bayonet. + +"Halt! Where are you going? And what have you there? Come, where are you +going?" + +The old man threw back the handkerchief as the guard approached, and the +new sunlight fell on the girl's face. + +"I am going to bury my dead." + +The guard started back. He almost dropped his gun as he saw that face; +then, recovering himself, he bared his head, bowed his face reverently, +and motioned the old man on. + +Forty-nine reached his horse in the brown grass, laid his burden down, +threw on the saddle, drew the girth with sudden strength and energy, as +if for a long and desperate ride. Then resuming his load, tenderly, as +if it were a sleeping infant, he vaulted into the saddle and dashed away +for the Sierras, that lay before him, and lifted like a city of snowy +temples, reared to the worship of the Eternal. + +It was a desperate ride for life. The girl's long soft black hair was +in the wind. The air was purer, sweeter here; there was a sense of +liberty, of life, in this ride, right in the face of the rising sun as +it streamed down over the snowy summits of the Sierras. Every plunge of +the strong swift mustang, brought them nearer to home, to hope, to life. +The horse seemed to know that now was his day of mighty enterprise. +Perhaps he was glad to get away and up and out of that awful valley of +death; for he forged ahead as horse never plunged before, with his +strange double burthen, that had frightened many a better trained +mustang than he. + +At last they began to climb the chapparal hills. Then they touched the +hills of pine, and the breath of balsam had a sense of health and +healing in it that only the invalid who is dying for his mountain home +can appreciate. + +The horse was in a foam; the day was hot; the old man was fainting in +the saddle. + +Water! Water at last! Down a steep, mossy crag, hung with brier and +blossom, came tumbling, with loud laughter like merry girls at play, a +little mountain stream. Cool as the snow, sweet as the blossom, it fell +foaming in its pebbly bed at the base of the crag, under the deep, cool +shadows of the pines. + +The old man threw himself from his horse, and beast and man drank +together as he held the girl in his arms, where the spray dashed down +like a holy baptismal from the very hand of God upon her hair and face. +The hands clutched, the breast heaved a little, the lips moved as if to +drink in the cool sweet water. Her eyes feebly opened. And then the old +man bore her back under the pines, and laid her on the soft bed of dry +sweet-smelling pine-quills. + +Then clasping his hands above her, as he bent his face to hers, he +uttered his first prayer--the first for many and many a weary year. It +was a prayer of thanksgiving, of gratitude. The girl would live; and he +would now have something to live for--to love. + +It had been a strange weird sight, that old man, his long hair in the +wind, his strong horse plunging madly ahead, all white with foam, +climbing the Sierras as the sun climbed up. The girl lay in his arms +before him, her long dark hair all down over the horse's neck, tangled +in the horse's mane, catching in the brush and the wild vines and leaves +that hung over the trail as they flew past. + +And oftentime back over his shoulder the old man threw his long white +beard and looked back. He felt, he knew, that he was pursued. He fancied +he could all the time hear the sound of horses' feet. + +Perhaps if his eyes had been gifted with the vision of the prophets of +old, he would indeed have seen the pursuer. That pursuer was also an old +man, and not much unlike himself; an old man with a scythe--death. Death +following fast from the hot valley of pestilence, where he, death, kept, +if possible, closer watch than the Agents, that no Indian ever returned +to his native mountains. But death gave up the pursuit, and turned back +from the moment the baptismal fountain touched the girl's fevered +forehead. At last the old man who held her in his arms, rose up, rode on +and down to his cabin in the twilight, all secure from pursuit of +Agents, death, or any one. The girl, quite conscious, opened her eyes +and looked around on the tall, nodding pine trees, that stood in long, +dusky lines, as if drawn up to welcome her return to the heart of the +Sierras. + + * * * * * + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as +possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other +inconsistencies. Corrections in the text are noted below: + +Page 34: Typo corrected; replaced "sieze" with "seize": + + "I tell you that if you were to wash down mountains and uproot + forests in the moon--were such a thing possible--the ague would + seize... + +Page 56: Added close quote: + + "Pard," answered Forty-nine, kindly, and with a nod of the head + back toward the children playing in the corner, "they are not + coppers; no, they are not. I tell you that girl is not copper, + but gold. Yes she is, Pard; she is twenty carats." + +Page 81: Added close quote: + + "_He caused the dry land to appear._" + --BIBLE. + +Page 88: Typo corrected; replaced "villians" with "villains": + + "Eh? eh? old Toppy?" and the two men poked each other in the + ribs, and looked the very villains that they were. + +Page 164: Typo corrected; replaced "beseiged" with "besieged": + + their dark and narrow doors, and slew each other as did God's + chosen people when besieged by the son of Vespasian. + +Page 168: Replaced period with comma at end of sentence after "lay": + + The man sank back where he lay. The sight was so pitiful, so + dreadful to see + +Page 180: Added close quote: + + "Halt! Where are you going? And what have you there? Come, where + are you going?" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shadows of Shasta, by Joaquin Miller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHADOWS OF SHASTA *** + +***** This file should be named 24006.txt or 24006.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/0/0/24006/ + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive/American +Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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