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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/25688-8.txt b/25688-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c7c58c --- /dev/null +++ b/25688-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6660 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Transformation of Job, by Frederick Vining Fisher + +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: The Transformation of Job + A Tale of the High Sierras + +Author: Frederick Vining Fisher + +Release Date: June 3, 2008 [EBook #25688] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRANSFORMATION OF JOB *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, Karen Dalrymple +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + +THE + +TRANSFORMATION OF JOB + +A TALE OF THE HIGH SIERRAS + + +[Illustration: (portrait of author)] + + +_BY FREDERICK VINING FISHER._ + + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING COMPANY + ELGIN, ILL., AND + 36 WASHINGTON ST., CHICAGO. + + Copyright, 1900, + By David C. Cook Publishing Company. + + + + +AUTHOR'S PREFACE. + + +If one will take the trouble to tramp with staff in hand the high +Sierras, he will find not only the Yosemite, but Gold City and Pine +Tree Ranch, though perhaps they bear another name. Most of the quaint +characters of this tale still dwell among the vine-clad hills. To +introduce to you these friends that have interested the author, and to +tell anew the story of the human soul, this work is written. + +Out of love of never-to-be-forgotten memories of Pine Tree Ranch, the +author dedicates this book to him who once welcomed him to its white +porch, but who now sleeps beneath the shadow of the mountains--Andrew +Malden. + +FREDERICK VINING FISHER. + + + + +THE TRANSFORMATION OF JOB, + +A TALE OF THE HIGH SIERRAS. + +_By FREDERICK VINING FISHER._ + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE NEW ARRIVAL AT GOLD CITY. + + +The stage was late at Gold City. It always was. Everybody knew it, but +everybody pretended to expect it on time. + +Just exactly as the old court-house bell up the hill struck six, the +postmistress hurriedly opened her door and stood anxiously peering up +the street, the loafers who had been dozing on the saloon benches +shuffled out and leaned up against the posts, the old piano in the +Miners' Home began to rattle and a squeaky violin to gasp for breath, +while the pompous landlord of the "Palace Hotel," sending a Chinaman +to drive away a dozen pigs that had been in front of his door through +the day, took his post on the sidewalk to await his coming guests--who +generally never came. + +There was a time when Gold City had been a great town-- + + "In days of old, + In days of gold, + In days of forty-nine." + +The boys often hung around the saloon steps and listened with gaping +mouths while Yankee Sam and the other old men told of the golden age, +when the streets of Gold City were crowded and Tom Perry made a +fortune in one day and lost it all gambling that night; when there was +more life in Gold City than 'Frisco could shake a stick at; when the +four quarters of the globe came in on the stage and mined all day, +danced all night and went away rich. + +But Gold City, now, was neither large nor rich. The same eternal hills +surrounded her and the same great pine trees shaded her in summer's +heat and hung in white like sentinals of the past in the winter's +moonlight. But the sound of other days had died away. The creek bed +had long since yielded up its treasure and lay neglected, exposed to +the heat and frost. The old brick buildings rambling up the street +were still left, but were fast tottering to decay. Side by side with +the occupied buildings, stood half-fallen adobes and shattered blocks +filled only with the ghosts of other years. + +Up on the hill rose the court house, the perfect image of some quaint +Dutch church along the Mohawk in York State. Gray and old, changeless +it stood, looking down in silent disdain on these California buildings +hastening to an early grave. Here and there, hid by pines and vines, +up the dusty side-hill roads, one caught glimpses of pretty cottage +homes, where dwelt the few who, when the tide had turned, were left +stranded in this far-off California mining town. + +Yes, Gold City was of the past. Her glory had long since departed. Yet +somehow everyone expected its return. The old men read the 'Frisco +papers, when they could get them, and grew excited when they heard +that silver had fallen and gold had a new chance for life. The night +that news came, Yankee Sam ordered a treat for the whole crowd and +politely told the saloon-keeper that he would settle shortly, when +the boom came. Possibly some great capitalist might come in any day +and buy up the mines and things would boom. He might be on the stage +any night. That is the reason the whole town came out regularly to +meet the stage, marveled if it was late, and gambled on the +probability that a telegram from 'Frisco had held it for a special +train of "bigbugs." That is why the hotel-keeper drove the pigs away +and prepared for business. + +They had done that thing now in Gold City so long it was beginning to +be second nature; and yet deeper was getting the sleep, and the only +thing that could rouse the town was the coming of the stage with its +possibilities. + +The stage was later than usual this night. So late the old-timers were +sure Joe must have a passenger. As it was fifty miles over the plains +and foot-hills that Joe had to come, there was, of course, plenty of +chance of his being late. In fact, he never was on time. They all knew +that. But to think that Joe would be two whole hours back was a little +unusual for a town where nothing unusual ever happened. The big +colored porter at the Miners' Home was tired of holding his bell ready +to ring, the loungers on the benches in front of the corner grocery +had exhausted their yarns, when the dust up the street on the hill +caused the barefooted boys to stop their games and stand expectant in +the road to watch Joe arrive. + +With a shout and a flourish, the four horses came tearing around the +court-house corner, plunged relentlessly down the hill and dragged the +rickety old coach up to the hotel, with a jerk that nearly upset the +poor thing and brought admiration to everybody's eyes. Fortunately for +the coach, that was the only time of day the horses ever went off a +snail's pace. The dinner bell at the Miners' Home clanged vigorously, +the piano in the saloon opposite set up a clatter, the crowd hurried +around the dust-enveloped coach to see if they could discover a +passenger, while the red-faced landlord shouted, "This way to the +Palace Hotel, gentlemen!" + +To-night, when the dust cleared away, for the first time in weeks the +crowds discovered a passenger. In fact, he was out on the brick +sidewalk before they saw him. Pale-faced, blue-eyed, with delicate, +clear-cut features, clad in a neat gray coat and short trousers, which +merged into black stockings and shoes, with a black tie and soiled +white collar, all topped off with a derby hat and plenty of dust, a +wondering, trembling lad of twelve stood before them. Such a sight had +not been seen in Gold City in its history. A city lad dropped down +among these rough miners and worn-out wrecks of humanity! + +"Well, pard, who be yer?" at last asked a voice; and a dozen echoed +his query. + +With a frightened look around for some refuge, such as the deer gives +when surprised, the new-comer answered. "I am Mr. Arthur Teale's boy, +and I want to see him;" and, turning to the landlord, asked if he +would please tell Mr. Teale his boy had come. + +Not a man moved, but each glanced significantly at the other. Yankee +Sam, a sort of father to the town, who, at times, felt his +responsibility, when not too overcome by the hot stuff at the Miners' +Home, now stepped up and interviewed the lad. + +Mr. Teale's son, was he? And who was Mr. Teale, and where did he come +from, and why was he traveling alone? + +Standing there in the evening twilight, on the rough brick walk in +front of the Palace Hotel, to that group of rough-handed men in +unkempt locks and woolen shirts and overalls, to those shirt-sleeved, +well-oiled, red-faced bar-keepers, with the landlord in the center, +the passenger told his story. + +He told of a home in the far East; of how, one day long ago, his +father started away out West to make his fortune; how he patted him on +the head and said some day he should send for him and mamma--but he +never did. The little fellow faltered, as he told how his mother grew +sick and his grandfather died; and how, after a time, he and his +mother had started to find father, and over the wide prairies and high +mountains and dusty deserts, had traveled the long journey in search +of husband and father. + +The young eyes filled with tears--yes, and some older, rough ones did, +too, that had been dry for years--as he told how mother had grown +weaker and weaker; and, when they had reached the California city and +the summer's heat had climbed up the mountain side, she had died; and, +dying, had told him to go on and find Gold City and his father. So he +had come, and "Would some one please tell Mr. Teale his boy was here?" + +That night there was great excitement in Gold City. Groups of men were +talking in undertones everywhere. With a promise to try and find his +father, Yankee Sam left the boy sitting on the doorstep of the Palace; +where, hungry and tired, he fell asleep, while all the street arabs +stood at a respectful distance commenting on "the city kid what says +he's Teale's boy." No one thought to take the little wanderer in. No +one thought he was hungry. They were too excited for that. Teale's kid +was here. What should they do with him and how could they tell him? + +[Illustration: Yankee Sam interviewed the lad.--See page 6.] + +Did they know Teale? Yes, they did. Slim, pale-faced, the picture of +this boy, only taller, fuller grown, he had come to Gold City. With +ragged clothes that spoke of better days, he had tramped into town one +winter night through the snow and begged a bed at the Miners' Home. He +had struck it rich for a time down by Mormon Bar, and treated all the +boys in joy over his good luck, then lost it all over the card table +in the end. Thrice he had repeated that experience. In his better +moments he had talked of a wife and blue-eyed boy in the East, then +again he seemed to forget them. The gaming table, the drink, the crowd +he went with, ruined him. One night the boys heard cries in the hollow +back of "Monte Carlo," the worst saloon and gambling den in the +place; when morning came they found Teale and a boon companion both +dead there. Who was to blame? Nobody knew. Under the old pine trees on +the hill, just outside the graveyard gate, where the respectable dead +lay, they buried them. And now Teale's boy was come, and who should +tell him, and where should he go? + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +ANDREW MALDEN. + + +Andrew Malden was in town that night, yet no one thought of asking +him, the hardest-hearted man in Grizzly county. Rich, with acres to +spare, a mill that turned out lumber by the wholesale, horses that +could outstrip any Bucephalus in the county. Either from jealousy or +some cause, the world about Gold City, Frost Creek, Chichilla, all +hated Andy Malden. + +No one noticed how he listened to the story, how he glanced more than +once at the tired traveler, till they heard him order his horses at +moon-up, order the landlord to wake the boy and feed him. + +When, promptly at ten, he took the strange lad in his arms and put him +in his buckboard, seized the reins and drove toward Spring Creek, the +Pines and home, the whole town was more dumfounded than in years, and +the landlord said he guessed old Andy was crazy. Only Yankee Sam +seemed to understand, and the old man muttered to himself, as he +turned once more to the saloon, "Well, now! Andy thinks it is his +youngster come back again that I helped lay beneath the pines, coming +thirty years now." + +Sam was right. It was the dormant love of thirty long-gone years, all +roused again, that stirred the old man that night. The lonely, +homeless boy on the "Palace" doorstep had touched a heart that most +men thought too hard to be broken in this world or the next. + +Andrew Malden was not a bad man, if he was hard. The outward vices +which had ruined most men who had come to Gold City to gain the world +and lose their souls, never touched him. That craving for excitement, +the natural heritage of hot-headed youth, which often in that old +mining camp lasted long after the passionate days of young life and +lit the glazed eyes of age with a wild, unnatural fire, never seemed a +part of his nature. Other men fed the fires of passion with the hot +stuff of the "Monte Carlo," and the midnight gaming table, till, +tottering wrecks consumed of self, they lingered on the doorsteps of +Gold City, the ghosts of men that were. The world of appetite was a +foreign realm to him. He looked with contempt on men who lost +themselves in its meshes. But he was a hard man, the people said, and +selfishness and a cold heart were far worse vices in the eyes of the +generous-hearted, rough miners who came and went among these hills, +than what the polished, cold, calculating money-getters of the far-off +city counted as sin. So Andrew Malden was more of a sinner in the +estimation of Gold City than Yankee Sam. Perhaps the ethics of that +mining camp were truer than the world thinks. Perhaps he who sins +against society is worse than he who sins against self. + +The fact was that, though Andrew Malden had grown old in Grizzly +county, and no face was more familiar, no one knew him. He was a hard +man, but not as the people meant. There are two kinds of stern men in +this world: Those who are without hearts, who take pleasure in the +suffering of others; and those who, repulsed sometime, somewhere, have +closed the portals of their inmost souls and hid away within +themselves. Such was the "Lord of Pine Tree Mountain," as the boys +used to call him. + +Once he was a merry, happy, strong mountain lad in the old Kentucky +hills, where he had helped his father, a hardy New Englander, make a +new home. He had a heart in those old days. He loved the hills and +forests; loved the romping dogs that played around him as he drove the +logging team to the river-mill; aye, more than that, he had loved Mary +Moore. She was bright and sweet and pretty, a bewitching maid, who +seemed all out of place on the frontier. He loved to hear her talk of +Charleston Bay and the Berkshire Hills, and of the days when she +danced the minuet on Cambridge Green. Once he asked her to marry him. +It was the month the war broke out with Mexico. The frontiersmen were +slinging down their axes and swinging their guns across their +shoulders. She laughed, and said that if Andy would go and fight and +come home a hero, she would marry him--perhaps. + +So he went. Tramped over miles and miles of Mexican soil, fought at +Monterey and Buena Vista, endured and almost died--men said for love +of Yankeedom; he knew it was for Mary Moore. + +The war over, he came back a hero, and Col. Malden was named with old +Zach Taylor by tried, loyal men. But Mary Moore was gone. She had +found another hero. Gone to Massachusetts, so they said. + +That night, Andy Malden left the Kentucky hills forever. The news of +gold in California was in the air. He would join the mad procession +that, over plain and isthmus, was going hither. He would go as far +from the old life as deserts and mountains would put him. + +So he came to Gold City. With a diligence far more systematic than the +others, he had washed the gold from Frost Creek and off Mormon Bar. +Other men lost all they found in daylight over the gaming table at +midnight. He never gambled. All the others who succeeded went below to +the great city or back to the States to enjoy their gains. He cared +naught for the city, he hated the States; he never went. In a solitary +mountain spot amid immeasurable grandeur, he buried himself in his +lonely cabin. Yet he was not a hermit. He mingled with the crowd; he +sought its suffrage for public office; yet he was not of it. He was a +mystery to all. They elected him to office and continued to do so; +why, they never knew, unless it was because he could save for them +when others could not. + +At last he married a farmer's girl from the plains, who had come up +there to teach the Frost Creek school. She failed as a teacher. She +was born for the kitchen and farm. Andrew Malden saw it. She would +make him as good a helpmate as any, better than the Chinese women and +half-breeds with whom some of his neighbors consorted, so he married. + +The mines were giving out. His keen eye saw there were mines above +ground as well as below. He quietly left off placer mining, drew out +some gold from a hidden purse, and, before the world of Gold City knew +it, had nine hundred acres on Pine Tree Mountain, a big saw-mill +going, a nice ranch home, and barns like folks back in the States. + +At last a baby came--a baby boy; almost the first in Grizzly county. +The neighbors would have cheered if they dared. Judge Lawson did dare +to suggest a celebration, but the people were afraid of the stern man +on Pine Tree Mountain. + +Oh, how he loved that boy! His wife looked on with wonder, for she +thought he knew not what stuff love was made of. It was not long. A +few short years, and the lad, who seemed so strangely merry for a son +of Andy Malden, grew pale and took the fever and died; and, where the +pine trees stoop to shade the mountain flowers in hot midsummer, +strange Yankee Sam and Andy, all alone, laid him to rest. There was no +clergyman. The "Gospel Peddlers," as the miners called them, had not +yet come to the hills to stay. Just as Sam was putting the soil over +the rough box, Andy stopped him and muttered something about the boy's +prayer. He must say it for him, and he whispered in a broken voice, +"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep." + +That was the last prayer Andrew Malden had uttered. Many years had +come and gone; more and more he had lived within himself. He used to +go to the boy's grave on holidays. Now he never went. For years his +wife had lived with him and kept his house and prepared his food, and +grown, like him, silent and apart from all around. She died at last +and he gave her a high-toned funeral; had a coffin from the city and a +preacher and all that. She had died of loneliness. He did not know it. +She did not realize it. He went on as if it was a matter of course. +The old house was kept up carefully; a Chinaman, as silent as himself, +kept it for him, and a corps of men kept him busy at the mill. + +He was rich, the people said; he was mean and grinding, the men +muttered; and yet he prospered when others failed. Men envied, feared, +hated him. Now he was growing old and men were wondering who would +have his riches when he was gone. He had no kin this side the Ohio; +and, for aught he knew, nowhere. His wife's nephews and cousins, +pegging away in these hills, were beginning to build air-castles of +days when the Pine Tree mill should be theirs. + +Such was the old man who drove along in the moonlight, past Mormon Bar +and over Chichilla Hill, holding a sleeping lad in his arms; and +feeling, for the first time in years, the heart within him. + +It was nearer dawn than midnight when the tired team, which had been +slowly creeping up the mountain road for hours, turned into the lane +above the mill and waited for their owner to swing open the gate which +barred the way to the private road leading through the oak pasture to +Pine Tree Ranch and home. It was one of those matchless nights that +come only in the mountains, when the world is flooded with a soft, +silvery light and the great trees stand out transfigured against the +sky, amid a silence profound and awe-inspiring. + +It had been a long ride; aye, a long one indeed to Andrew Malden. He +had traveled across more than half a century of life since they left +Gold City. His own childhood, Mary Moore, old Kentucky, had all come +back to him. Then he had thought of that silent grave down beyond Gold +City, and of the large part of his life buried there. He turned to the +lad at his side, sleeping unconscious of life's ills and +disappointments, of which, poor boy, he had already had his share. The +sight of the innocent face thrilled the old man. In his slumbers the +boy murmured, "Mamma, papa;" and, turning, the old man did a strange +thing for him. He leaned over and kissed the lad, and whispered, +"Mamma, papa! Boy, as long as Andy Malden lives, he shall be both to +you." + +When they reached the house, he hushed the dogs to silence, bade Hans, +who stared astonished at his master's guest, to take the horses; and, +lifting the sleeping form, carried it into his room, and, gently +removing coat and shoes, laid the boy in the great bed, while he +prepared to stretch himself on a couch near by. + +That night a new life came to Andrew Malden and the Pine Tree Ranch. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE HORSE-RACE. + + +"Yer darsn't do it! Yer old Malden's slave, yer know yer are, and yer +darsn't breathe 'less he says so." + +It was in front of the Miners' Home in Gold City, and the speaker was +an overgrown, brawny, low-browed boy of some seventeen years, who, in +ragged clothes and an old slouch hat, leaned against the post that +helped support the tumble-down roof of that notorious establishment. +In front of him, barefooted and in overalls rolled up over +well-browned legs, old blue cap, astride a little black pony whose +eyes rolled appreciatively as he lovingly half leaned upon her neck, +sat Job Malden, as the store-keepers called him; or "Andy's +Tenderfoot," as the boys dubbed him. + +You would not have dreamed, had you seen him, that this brown-skinned, +tall fifteen-year-old, who rose in his saddle at this remark and spoke +out sharp and strong, was the same pale-faced city lad who had come in +the stage three years ago, homeless and friendless. The mountains had +done wonders for him; the pallor had gone from his cheeks; the sun had +tanned his shapely limbs; the wild life of nature and the still +rougher world of humanity had roused all his temper and passion. Yet, +withal, there was the touch of another world in his face. No stranger, +at second view, would have taken him for a native born. He had known a +different realm, and it had left its trace in a high brow, a fine +face, a clearer eye than one usually saw on the streets of the mining +camp. + +"Yer darsn't do it!" leered again the same contemptible fellow. "Yer a +city kid an' hain't got sand 'nuff to make an ant-hill. I hearn tell +yer get the old man to button yer clothes, and yer cry in the +dark--guess it's so, ain't it, tenderfoot?" + +At this remark the crowd of loungers around broke forth into cheers, +and Job's eyes, usually so blue, flashed fire. He sprang from Bess' +back, and, in an instant, had struck the bully a blow that sent him +reeling back into the arms of Yankee Sam. A moment, and a general +mélee seemed imminent, when Dan Dean stepped up and called a halt. He +was the smoothest, most affable, meanest fellow in town, nephew by +marriage to the lord of Pine Tree Mountain, and, as he had always +boasted, the lord that was to be. + +Job had always felt, ever since he came to Grizzly county, that Dan +was his mortal enemy, yet he had always been so sly Job had never been +able to prove him guilty of any one of the thousand petty annoyances +he was sure were instigated by him. + +Taking Job by the arm, Dan now led him off to one side, while the +crowd were laughing at the blubbering bully backing up the street and +threatening all sorts of vengeance on "that tenderfoot." + +All the trouble was over a horse-race. It was coming off next Sunday +down at Coyote Valley, four miles below town. Pete Wilkins had offered +his horse against all Grizzly county, and Dan Dean had boasted that he +had a horse, a black mare--or at least his Uncle Andy had--that could +beat any horse Pete could trot out. Pete had dared him to appear with +the mare; and Dan, well knowing he could not get her, was doing his +best to induce Job to steal away with her and run the race for him. +"Me and yer is cousins, yer know, seein' yer call the old man uncle +and he's my sure-enough uncle; so we's cousins, and we ought to be +pardners; now yer run the race, get the gold nugget the fellows at the +Yellow Jacket have put up, and I'll get Pete's bet, and my! won't we +have a lark! Fact is, yer don't want fellers to think yer a baby, I +know; and, as for its being Sunday, I say the better the day the +better the deed. Come, Job. I jest want to see the old black mare come +in across the line and you on her! My! what a hot one yer'll be! The +fellers will never call yer tenderfoot again!" + +It was a big temptation to Job, the biggest the boy had ever known--to +beat Pete; to show off Bess; to prove he was no "tenderfoot" or "kid" +any more. But--oh, that but!--how could he deceive Mr. Malden! And +then, Sunday, too! + +"Gold nugget! Whew! Such a chance!" insidious Dan still kept crying, +till Job shut his teeth together, turned from his mother's face which, +somehow, persisted in haunting him just then, laughed a sort of hollow +laugh, and said with an oath--the first he had ever uttered out +loud--that sure he would be there and show these Gold City bullies and +Pete and the whole crowd he was nobody's slave. Yet, as he said it, +there came a sort of feeling into his soul which he repelled, but +which yet came back again, that he was now indeed a slave--a slave to +Dan, a slave to the Evil One. + + * * * * * + +Coyote Valley was all alive. Vaqueros from the foot-hill ranches were +tearing up and down the dusty road along Coyote Creek from Wilkins' +ranch to the foot of the valley, buckboards loaded with Mexicans, +Joe's stage creaking beneath the weight of half the roughs of Gold +City, groups of excited miners on foot, were making their way as fast +as possible to Wilkins' old hay barn, which had been turned into a +combination of saloon and grand stand. Under the shade of an immense +live-oak just west of the barn, the big waiter at the Miners' Home was +running an opposition saloon to the one inside, with a plank on two +kegs for a bar. The center of the barn was already filled with +dark-skinned Señoritas and tall, gawky miners dancing to the music of +a squeaky violin. + +The air was filled with dust and bets and oaths, when on that strange +Sunday morning Job galloped up Coyote Valley and pulled up in time to +hear Dan's voice in high pitch cry out: + +"There she is, the best mare in Grizzly county; ten to one against the +crowd! Come in, Job; come up, boys! Let's have a drink around to the +success of the Hon. Job Malden, the slickest rider in all the hills!" + +Almost before he knew it. Job was hauled bodily up to the bar and had +a beer glass in his hand. How strange he felt! How queer it all was! +He had been in the mountains three years, but this was his first +Sunday picnic. + +Andrew Malden, though he had no religion, had always seen that Job +went to Sunday-school at the Frost Creek School. To-day he had +ostensibly started for there. But this was very different from the old +log school-house. + +How different Job looked from the rest! He wore "store clothes" and a +neck-tie. In the rush, something dropped on the floor. He looked down +and picked it up, with a quick glance around, while a great lump came +into his throat. It was a little Testament, his mother's, the one she +had given him the day she died, and there was the old temperance +pledge he had signed in a boy's scrawling hand. He was supposed to be +at Sunday-school, so he had been obliged to carry the book. + +For a moment he hesitated, then he jammed it in his pocket out of +sight. He hated it, he hated himself. The step was taken; he took the +glass, he drank with the rest. He left the bar with a proud air. He +was a man. He would win that race or die. + + * * * * * + +All day long the violin squeaked, the clattering feet resounded on the +barn floor, the kegs were emptied into throats, and races of all +kinds--fat men's races, women's races, old men's races--followed each +other. At last, the great event was called--Malden's mare against +Pete's noted plunger. The Vaqueros cleared the way, a pistol shot in +the distance announced they had started, a cloud of dust that they +were coming. It was not a trot; it was a neck-and-neck run, such as +Job had taken hundreds of times over the great pasture lot on Pine +Tree Ranch. He was perfectly at home. With arms clasped around her +neck, he urged Bess on; he sang, he coaxed, he cheered her. Bess knew +that voice, and, catching the passion of the hour, fairly flew. Faster +and faster she went, but faster and faster came Pete at her heels--now +Job felt the hot breath of the other horse on his cheek--now they fell +back--now they were close behind him. They were near the line--but a +hundred paces and the old oak would be passed. Pete was desperate; the +fire of anger was in his eyes. Job heard one of Pete's excited friends +shout, "Throw him, Pete!" The thought of awful danger flew through +Job's mind: The angry man would do it--Bess must go faster. She was +white with foam now, but go she must. He hugged her closer; he +sang--how out of place the piece seemed! 'Twas the song, though, that +always roused her, so he sang it, as so often be had sung it in the +great oak pasture of the home ranch--"Palms of victory, crowns of +glory I shall wear,"--and, singing it, dashed across the line the +victor, while the mob yelled and Dan hugged Bess and the waiter +offered a free treat to the whole crowd. Job Malden had won the race, +the gold nugget was his, but oh, how much he had lost! + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +JANE. + + + "Wait till the clouds roll by, Jennie, + Wait till the clouds roll by." + +It was the clear, high voice of a rosy-cheeked, black-eyed, +short-skirted, barefooted maiden that sang, who, with her long black +tresses blowing in the afternoon breeze, and a pail on her arm, was +gayly skipping down the narrow road that separated the fence of Pine +Tree Ranch from the endless forest that stretched away towards the big +trees and Yosemite. "'Wait till the clouds'--gracious sakes, boy! what +did you scare me for?" Jane Reed cried, as out of the dark woods, +around a sugar pine, a tall, tanned lad strode, with gun over his +shoulder, and a long-eared dog at his heels. + +"Oh, just for ducks!" said Job Malden, who, after a celebration of his +sixteenth birthday, was returning from one of his favorite quail hunts +with "Shot," his only playmate on Pine Tree Ranch. + +"Where did you get those shoes, sissy?" said the boy, looking at her +bare, bronzed feet. + +"From the Lord," quietly answered the girl. + +"Humph!" said Job with a sneer, "the only lord I know is the one of +Pine Tree Mountain, and the one that is to be--that's myself--and I'm +mighty sure he or I never made such looking things." + +At this, the girl made an unsuccessful attempt to run past him, then +sank down on the ground in a big cry. + +With the heartless, contemptuous air of a boy who scorns tears and +girls, Job stood there; and, posing dramatically, sang in a falsetto +voice: + + "Wait till the clouds roll by, Jennie, + Wait till the clouds roll by." + +I wonder, if his mother could have come back from her far-off grave by +the Sacramento, whether she would have known that insolent, rude +fellow standing there as her pretty, blue-eyed boy whom she had so +tenderly loved. + +How quickly, when a fellow starts down hill, he gets under way! That +first Sunday picnic had borne its fruit. The Sunday-school at Frost +Creek never knew him now. That little Testament was at the bottom of +his trunk. Fear of the old man had saved him from an open life of +wrong, and a certain pride made him disdain to be on a level with Dan +Dean and the Gold City gang. Andrew Malden saw the change and yet did +not understand it. He never talked with people enough to hear the +rumors afloat of the Sunday horse-races, or of the midnight revel on +the Fourth of July at the Yellow Jacket. The night that Bess came home +saddleless and riderless, with the white foam on her, and when he +searched till near morning, to at last find Job stretched in a stupor +by the wayside down the Chichilla road, he thought the boy's after +story was true--that story of a frightened runaway--and little knew it +was Pete Wilkins' whisky that had thrown him. + +Ah! it was only yesterday the old man had said, "She was a traitor, +and so is the boy. I have loved him, fed him, sheltered him, and yet +all he cares for is to get my money some day. The world's all alike!" +And Andrew Malden shut the door of his heart, which, a few short years +ago, had swung open for the homeless lad. + +It was this boy, touched, alas! not alone by the beauty and grandeur +of the mountains, but by the shame and sin of the men who dwelt among +them, that now laughed at a poor girl's feeble wrath. He laughed, and +then a spark of innate good-nature and manhood touched him, and, +picking up the pail, he muttered an apology and offered to escort the +maiden home. + +Very soon the clouds did roll by, and under the sky of twilight the +pair walked leisurely along the trail that passed out of the main +road, up across Sugar Pine Hill and down towards Blackberry Valley and +old Tom Reed's cabin, where Jane was both daughter and mistress. + +This girl was so different from the crowd he had seen at Wilkins' barn +and down at Mike's, that he could not joke her; he could only play the +gallant, and he rather liked it. + +It was a long way over the hill and many stops to rest--at Deer +Spring, Squirrel Run and the Summit--and the picking up cones made it +longer. It was just as they crossed the hill that they heard a +crackling of the branches above them, and both looked up to be struck +with terror. Climbing from one great tree to another was the low, dark +form of a mountain lion. He did not notice them. Job motioned silence +and shrunk into the bushes. The girl instinctively followed and drew +up close to him. With gun cocked and bated breath, they waited and +waited; but whether the wind was away from them, or the vicious animal +had something else in view, he slunk away in the trees and out toward +the Gulch, where he made his lair. + +For a half hour Jane and Job sat with hearts beating fast, while both +tried to make a show of being brave. How strange it seemed to Job to +be thus protecting a girl! He felt a queer interest in her; he did not +know what it was. He took her arm a little later to help her over the +rocks, down the hill. He lingered, in a bashful way, at the spring at +the foot of the path to see that she got to the cabin door safely, +then went around by the main road home, so slowly and so thoughtfully +that the moon was high when Shot barked a response to Carlo's bark as +he entered the gate. + +That was not the last time he saw Jane Reed. A something of which he +had never heard and of which he was barely conscious drew him to her. +That autumn he often walked home from school with her. When the snows +came and the logging sleds were passing every day loaded for Andrew +Malden's mill, he always managed to find Jane at Sugar Pine Hill at +all odd sorts of hours and give her a ride to the mill on the top of +the logs, and walk back with her, as he let the horses tug the old +sled slowly up the mountain. The only rival he had was Dan, his +pretended friend but certain enemy. + + * * * * * + +It was at the time of the big snow. Indian Bill, the rheumatic old +native trapper whose family had perished at the massacre of the +Yosemite some years before, and who ever since had lived in a little +cabin on the edge of the Gulch, said it was the biggest in two hundred +moons. + +When Job, shivering and chattering, looked out of the little, narrow, +cheerless upstairs room which he called his own, he found himself +apparently in the first story. He gazed on the endless drifts of snow +that rolled away in a silent sea over barn and fences, with only the +shaggy, white-bearded pines shaking their faces at him above the +limitless white. The little ravine back of the house, where the +milk-house stood, had leveled up to the rest of the world, the chicken +corral was missing, and only the loft of the old barn rose above the +snowy waves. + +What a busy day that was of shoveling tunnels, and, with the full +force of the mill men and all the logging teams, breaking a path up +the road to the logging camp! By night the whole country round was +out. Dan was there riding the leader, and reaching out to get +snowballs from the high bank to throw at Jane, who had clambered up +on the vantage point of an old shed and was watching the queer +procession, with its shouts and rattle of bells and chains, push its +way up the road. + +That night old Andy Malden gave a treat to all the hands at the mill, +with hard cider and apples and nuts a plenty, and even had Blind Dick, +the fiddler, who lived in Tom Reed's upper cabin, to help them make +merry. That is, Andy gave the treat, but his foreman was host; he +never came himself. Jane was there and Dan monopolized her. He knew +her well, so that night he never danced, never drank; but Job, poor +fellow! asked her to dance and she refused him; then he offered her +cider, and her great black eyes snapped fire and she turned from him. +He was mad with rage. He drank. He danced with the Alviso girls, the +lowest Mexicans in the county. He glared after Dan as he saw him start +off with Jane. + +The cider, the jealousy in his soul, or the evil in both, probably, +made him start after them. A something whispered to take the short-cut +across to the junction of the road and Blackberry Valley trail, and +face them and have it out. He hurried stumbling over the drifts. He +hid in the shade of a great tree. Up the road he heard them coming, +heard Dan say, "Oh, well, I was afraid Uncle Andy would be fooled when +he took that kid in. Regular chip of the old block; his father went to +the bad, and he is going fast. He came from the city slums; none of +the brave, true blood of the mountains in his veins. Steer clear of +him, Jane." Heard an indistinguishable reply in Jane's voice, felt a +blind passion rising within him, clinched his fists, started with a +bound for the dark shadows coming up the road, felt a terrible blow +on his head, and--well, it must have been a long while before he +thought again. Then he was lying down in the depths of a snow-drift, +where he had fallen when he started so angrily for Dan and had struck +his head against the limb of the old oak at the turn and been hurled +back twenty feet down through the snow on the rock of the creek bed. + +[Illustration: He hid in the shade of a tree.] + +He tried to rise, but could not. A broken limb refused to act. He +called for help, but the cry rose no higher than the snowbank. He was +in an open grave of white on the sharp rocks and bitterly cold ice of +the stream. He shivered and shook, then gradually a sort of delightful +repose began to steal over him. At first it felt pleasant, then he +realized he was freezing, freezing to death! Death! The thought struck +terror to his heart. Death! It was the last thing for which he was +ready. Memory was unnaturally active. The New England hills, the white +church, grandfather, mother, home, all came back to him. He was +mother's boy again as in those old days before hate and drink and sin +had hurt his life. For a moment the tears came. He forgot himself, he +struggled to rise. He would go to mother and put his head in her lap +and tell her he loved her still. Then the clouds crept over the stars, +the bitter wind whistled above the snow. Mother--ah! He could not go +to her; she had gone forever out of his life; never in this world +would he see her again. And then, like a knife that cut him through +and through, came the bitter consciousness that there was no hope of +seeing mother in the world to come; that long ago he had gone away +from her and the old innocent life of childhood so far that if she +could come back from her grave by the turbid Sacramento, she would not +even know her boy. + +The night chill crept over him; the tears froze on his cheeks. He +thought of Dan and Jane and the life he had lived, and love froze in +his heart. And then, alone in the snow-drift, dying, he hated Dan, he +hated Jane, he hated all the world and hated God, and waited, with the +fear of a lost soul, the outer darkness that was coming--coming nearer +and nearer. + + * * * * * + +They found him there, numb and unconscious, long after midnight, Hans +and Tony, Malden's men, who had searched for him. + + * * * * * + +The snow had melted on the hill-tops and the flowers were peeping +above the earth, when Job threw aside his crutches and whistled to +Shot that the time had come for another quail hunt. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE CAMP MEETING. + + +"It's the biggest thing out--beats a horse-race! My! it's a sight! +Don't miss it, boys. See you all down at Wilkins', sure." + +It was "Nickel John" who was speaking, the fellow that the boys said +would do any evil deed for a nickel. It was down in front of the +Miners' Home among a great crowd of the boys, in the midst of whom +stood Job as an interested listener. + +The coming event was no less than a Methodist camp-meeting down in +Coyote Valley the next Sunday. Of course he would go, said Job, as he +rode home; anything nowadays to avoid being alone with himself. Up at +the mill he told the fellows about it; and, when they dared him to be +there and go to the altar, he vowed that he would do it. + + "All hail the power of Jesus' name! + Let angels prostrate fall." + +Strong and clear, a great volume of sound, it rang out on the air that +never-to-be-forgotten Sunday morning, as Job rode Bess up the Coyote +road to Pete Wilkins' barn, now transformed into a sanctuary where the +Sierra District Camp-meeting was well under way. + + "Bring forth the royal diadem, + And crown him Lord of all." + +The rafters of the barn shook with the music, while it rolled out +through the great side and rear doors, thrown open so wide that the +old building looked like outdoors with a roof on. The big structure +was full to the doors, while around it all sorts of vehicles and nags +were hitched. To the right and left rows of tents stretched away. Just +outside, under the old oak, a portly dame was dishing out lemonade for +a nickel to late-comers, while a group of boys were playing leap-frog. +Job struggled through the outer crowd and pushed inside, only to find +himself in the center of "the gang," who greeted him with a wink and a +whisper, "The speakin' racket's next!" + + "Oh, that with yonder sacred throng + We at His feet may fall!" + +How grand it sounded! Such a host of voices were singing! Far up in +front, on a platform, surrounded by several preachers, gray-haired and +young, in varied attire, from the conventional black suit and white +tie to a farmer's outfit, was a little organ, and a familiar form was +sitting back of it and getting its old bellows to roll out the hymn. +The organist was no other than Jane, and her face flushed as she +caught Job's eye. + +Just then the music stopped and a sweet-faced old man stepped up and +said, "Brethren and sisters, we have knelt at the Lord's table; let us +now tell of the Lord's love. Let us have fifty testimonies in the next +few minutes. Let us sing, 'I love to tell the story of Jesus and his +love.'" + +The scene faded away; the music was a far-off echo, the barn was gone. +Job was back, a lad, in the old New England church; grandsir was +there, and mother, and the old, old friends, and Ned Winthrop was +poking him with a pin. That song!--how it brought them all back! + +Just then be heard a murmur behind him, and looked up to see, near the +front, a trembling old man rise and begin to speak. He told of boyhood +days; he told of a young man's sins; of how one day on the old camp +ground back in York State he had learned that God loved him and could +make a man of him. Then he faltered as he told a story of sorrows, and +how at last, alone in the world, he awaited the angels that should +bear him home. + +Job trembled. Unpleasant memories arose in his heart. He grew pale and +red, then bit his lips in excitement. He wished he was at home. +Testimony followed testimony. Love, peace and joy rang through all. At +last Jane rose--could it be possible? He hung on every word. + +"Last night, down there at the bench, the Lord converted my soul. I +have been a poor sinner, but I know Jesus loves me, and I wish--I +wish," and she looked over to the far rear, "you would let him save +you;" and she sat down in tears. + +Job was wildly angry. "The mischief take her!" he muttered. And Dan +leaned over and whispered, "See, she's gone daft, like the rest!" + +The testimonies and love-feast were over, a prayer that made Job feel +as if Some One great and good was near, had been offered, and then it +was announced that the Rev. William Pendergast of Calavero circuit +would preach. + +"What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and lose his +own soul?" + +It was a young, fresh, boyish face that looked into Job's as the +speaker uttered these words. Just such a bright, athletic, noble +fellow as every true boy secretly wishes to be. He caught Job's +attention and held it. + +This was a very different thing from what he had thought sermons to +be. The young man talked of life here, not hereafter; he showed how a +man may live in this world and yet live a lost life; have gold and +lands, and yet lose all love and hope and peace and manhood. He +pictured the man who gains wealth and grows hard and loveless, and Job +thought of Andy Malden; he told of him who plunges into dissipation +and drink, and lingers a wreck in the streets, and Job knew he meant +Yankee Sam. Aye, he pictured a young life that grasps all the world +and forgets right and God and mother's Bible and mother's prayers, and +grows selfish and the slave of hate and trembles lest death come, and +Job thought of himself and the awful night in the snow and wished he +was miles away. + +But wait! They are singing: + + "Come, ye sinners, poor and needy, + Weak and wounded, sick and sore." + +They have cleared the mourners' bench and are giving the invitation: + + "Jesus ready stands to save you, + Full of pity, love and power." + +Job trembles. Does that mean him? Tim Nolan the mill-man leans over +and whispers almost out loud: "Remember your bet, Job!" + +Poor Job would have given all the gold in the Sierras to be out of +there. All the sins of his life rose before him, all his conceit and +boasting vanished. He was ashamed of Job Malden. He longed to sink +somewhere out of sight. + +The preacher was talking again; the old, old story of the Prodigal Son +and how God's arms are always ready to take in a mother's lost boy. +The room swam before Job's eyes. The crowds were flocking to the +altar, the people were shouting, the boys were punching him and +saying. "Yer dursn't go!" Heaven, hell, sin and Christ were very real +to him all of a sudden. + + "All the fitness he requireth + Is to feel your need of him." + +How it happened he never knew, but just as Dan said, "Now, let's see +Job get religion," he rose, and, striding down the long aisle, he +rushed to the altar, and there, just where he had taken his first +drink on that awful Sunday, he threw himself in tears, a big, +heart-broken boy, with the thought of his evil life throbbing through +his brain. + +It was late that night when Job left the camp ground, flung himself +across Bess' back and started home. The stars never looked down on a +happier boy. The burden, the hate, the bitterness in his heart, were +all gone. A holy love, an exaltation of soul, an awakening of all that +is best in a manly life, stirred him. The past was gone; "old things +had passed away and all things had become new." The world was the +same. Dan, with all his meanness, was in it. The saloon doors were +open, the gamblers still sat at midnight at the Monte Carlo. Grizzly +county had not changed, but he had. A new life was his. + +As he galloped down the road, far away he heard them singing: + + "Palms of victory, crowns of glory, I shall wear," + +and a strange feeling came over him. He took up the refrain, and, +looking up at the stars, he seemed to see his mother's face afar off +among the flashing worlds. The tears stole down his cheeks, tears of +joy, as, galloping on through the night toward home, again he sang: + + "Palms of victory, crowns of glory, I shall wear." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE DEANS. + + +It was a little, long, low, unpainted shanty, with a rude doorstep, +almost hid amid a jungle of vines and overarching trees at the end of +a long lane, where Marshall Dean lived. A sallow-faced, thin +Kentuckian, he had come up here from the plains after his sister +married Andrew Malden, in the hope that being near a rich relative +would save him from unnecessary labor. Andrew Malden had given him a +good place at the mill, but he found it too hard on his muscles, and +so decided to "ranch it." Malden had then given him the old Jones +ranch and a start; but as the years drifted by he had not succeeded in +raising much except a numerous family of dirty, unkempt youngsters of +whom Dan was the oldest and the most promising specimen, the one who +had inherited his father's pride and selfishness, with a certain +natural shrewdness and sagacity that his mother's family possessed, +but of which she had failed to receive much. + +While Malden's wife lived, they managed to silently share in the +income of Pine Tree Ranch, but after she died the smuggling business +between the big place and Dean's Lane suddenly stopped. Nothing ever +cut deeper--they could never forgive her for dying. At last they +settled down to a stolid, long wait for the old man's end. The chief +theme of conversation at home was the uncertainties of life for the +"old miser," and the sure probability of their move some day on to the +big ranch, though not one of them knew what they would do with it if +they got it. Dan felt no hesitation about telling this at school, and +it was common gossip of the county. + +But alas! the night Dan came home and excitedly told the family, as +they looked up from their rough board table and bacon and mush and +molasses, that "the old man had taken Teale's kid in, sure he had," +consternation seized them. It took them weeks to rally; and, when they +did, for the first time in their history the family had an object in +life, and that was to make life miserable for Job. + +Unsuspecting and innocent, the twelve-year-old lad had gone over to +play with the Dean children, as he would at any home, till the time +when petty persecutions culminated in all the rude youngsters calling +him vile names and throwing stones at him, and the father standing by +and drawling out, "Give it to him, the ornery critter!" + +Annoyance followed annoyance. Job's pets always got hurt or +disappeared. Dick, his first pony, was accidentally lamed for life; +the big dog he romped with was found dead from poison. All the +mischief in the neighborhood was eventually laid at Job's door. For a +long time the boy systematically avoided the Deans, till by some +strange political fortune Marshall Dean was appointed postmaster for +the Pine Mountain post-office. That was a gala day in Deans' Lane. +Sally Dean had a brand-new dress on the strength of it, and Dan gave +himself more airs than ever before. After that Job was obliged to go +to the Deans' twice a week for the mail, and more than once went away +with the suspicion that Andrew Malden's mail had been well inspected +before it left the office. + +The wrath of the Dean family reached its culmination on that Sunday +night when Dan came home with the news that Job had attended the +Coyote Valley camp-meeting and had been converted; "now he would be +putting on holy airs and setting himself above folks." That night in +Dean's shanty Sally and Dan and "Pap" put their heads together to plan +how they could in some way make Job Malden backslide. + +It was toward this house that Job was making his way, on the very next +week, bound for the semi-weekly mail. As he went up the path old Dean +himself rose to meet him; and, putting up his pipe, remarked on the +"uncommon fine morning." As he pushed open the shanty door, Mrs. Dean +and fifteen-year-old Sally were all smiles. The postman had brought no +mail, the former said, but wouldn't he stay and rest? She had heard +the Methodists were having a fandango down in the valley. Queer +people, whose religion consisted in shouting and jumping. As for her, +she believed in practical religion; she paid her honest debts and +didn't set herself up above her neighbors. + +Job was just leaving, when Mrs. Dean said: + +"Oh, you mustn't go without drinking to Sally's health--she's fifteen +to-day. See what a big girl she is--what rosy cheeks and big hands! +Come, we have the finest cider out; just drink with us to Sally's +health." + +"Why, excuse me, ma'am," stammered Job, quite bewildered by this +sudden good nature and the invitation to drink. "Why--I can't drink +any more--I--" + +"Oh, my!" said Mrs. Dean. "You're all straight! This won't be too +much, if you have drank before this afternoon." + +"Oh, but--" stammered Job, "I don't mean that. I don't drink any +more--I have joined the Methodists and been converted." + +"Such a likely boy as you gone and jined the fools! Surely Andy +Malden don't know it, does he?" + +"Why--no," stammered Job. + +"Waal, now, purty feller you are, to take your bread and butter from +Andy Malden, and then go and disgrace him by joinin' the hypocrites +and never tellin' him, and then comin' round here and refusin' to +drink harmless apple juice with our Sally! Puttin' yourself up above +respectable people like us, whose parents lie in respectable graves." + +Job faltered. That speech cut. The hot blood came to his brow. A week +ago he would have lost his temper, but now he bit his lip and kept +still. + +Then the woman's mood changed. She wished him no ill luck, she said, +and surely he would be good enough if he was as good as his Master, +and she "'lowed that Christ drank wine at a wedding spread onct. +Surely he wouldn't refuse a little cider with Sally?" + +Perhaps it would be best. Perhaps he was trying to be too good. Aye, +perhaps one drink would give him a good chance to escape. So Job +thought, and he took the glass. But then came a vision of that bar at +the horse-race, of that cider at Malden's mill, and the winter night +and the snow, and his hand in his pocket touched the old temperance +pledge he had signed again on Sunday night when he got home, and up +from his heart went a silent cry for help. At that, he seemed to hear +a voice saying, "With every temptation, a way of escape," and he said +in a firm voice, as he sat down the glass: + +"Best wishes for Sally, Mrs. Dean, but I cannot drink the cider." + +Just then a shrill cry from outside sent both Sally and her mother +flying to help rescue three-year-old Ross, whose father was hauling +him out of the well. + +In the excitement, Job started home with a light heart, singing to +himself: + + "Yield not to temptation, for yielding is sin, Each victory + will help you some other to win." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE OLD MAN'S BIRTHDAY. + + +They were sitting together at Pine Tree Ranch, on the side porch of +the neat little white farmhouse, over which the vines were trained and +from which the well-kept lawn and flower-bordered walks rolled away to +the white picket fence. It was a late August evening, which had merged +from sunset into moonlight so softly and quietly that one hardly knew +when the one began and the other ended. Job, in old coat and overalls +and a broken straw hat, just as he had come in from his evening +chores, sat on the veranda's edge. Back of him, in a low-bottomed, old +cane rocker, was Andrew Malden in a rough suit of gray, his white +beard reaching far down on his breast, while his silver locks were +blowing in the breeze. + +For once, at least, he was opening his heart and memory to the lad +whom he secretly loved; the lad who often wondered why the latch +string of Pine Tree Ranch was out for him, and what matter would it be +if some day, when he and Bess went off over the Chichilla hills, they +never came back again. + +To-night the old man was talkative. It was his birthday and he was in +retrospective mood. "Seventy to-night, Job--just to think of it! +Twenty years more, perhaps, and then--well, a coffin, I suppose, and +six feet of ground--and that's all," he said. + +Job wanted to say, "And heaven," but he did not dare. And then a +thought startled him: Was this man, who had gained this world, ready +for any other? + +For an hour Andrew Malden rambled on. He talked of the Mexican war; +told of Vera Cruz and the battle of Monterey. "Bravest thing you ever +saw, boy. One of those Greasers rode square up to our line and flung a +taunt in our faces, and rode away in disdain, while all our batteries +opened on him." + +He came to the close of the war stories, when he suddenly stopped and +grew silent, puffed at an old pipe, rose and walked back and forth. He +was thinking of that day when he had come back so proudly to claim +Mary Moore, and had found the blow under which he had staggered for +nearly forty years. + +"You've heard of Lincoln, my boy--old Abe Lincoln? Well, I knew him +when we were boys," he said, as he sat down again. Then he told story +after story of the long, lean, lank Kentucky boy, who rode a raft down +the Mississippi and helped clear the frontier forests; the boy who was +one day to strike a blow for right that would shake a continent. + +Andrew Malden laughed till Job caught the contagion and laughed, too, +as story followed story. Then, after another silence, he went on +again: + +"Dead! Abe Lincoln's dead, and Zach Taylor's dead--and so the world +goes. 'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,' the Bible says. My father +used to read it to us boys, when I was your age. It's true, my boy. +Have as little to do with the world as you can, except to get an +honest living out of it--a living anyway. Don't love anybody. It don't +pay." + +The old man faltered. He got up and paced the porch again, then, +coming back, he put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and, looking into +his face, said: + +"Job, I want to tell you something; seems as if I must to-night." + +And there in the clear moonlight, interrupted only by Shot's +occasional growl, and the distant hoot of an owl or bark of a coyote, +Andrew Malden told his life story to the boy at his side, the boy who +was just passing up to young manhood. He told of Mary Moore; of the +weary tramp behind an ox-team across the prairies and Nevada desert; +of that snow-bound winter near Denver Lake; of the early days of Gold +City. He told of his son who slept beneath the graveyard pines; of his +own lonely life in the mountains; then he came to that night when he +had brought this boy home. He put his arm around the lad as he talked +of his interest in him and how he had known more of his sins and +downward life than Job ever dreamed. + +"Now," he said, "they tell me you have joined the Methodists--have got +religion or whatever you call it. Stick to it, boy. Andy Malden's too +old to ever change his views. You may be right or not, but anyway I'd +rather see you go to Methodist meetin' than Pete's saloon. You're +going to have a hard time of it, boy; these pesky Deans, who owe all +they are to me, hate you because you are mine. As long as you live +with Andy Malden, you will have to suffer. Sometimes I think it ain't +worth while--what do you care for an old man?" + +Again the voice ceased, and Job trembled, he hardly knew why. + +"Boy," up spoke the old man again, "boy, it isn't worth while! I will +give you a bag of nuggets, and you can take Bess and go to-morrow down +to the city and get some learnin' and be somethin', and be out of this +everlastin' quarrelsome world of Grizzly county, and never see the +Deans again. I will stand it; I lived alone before you came, and I +suppose I can do it again. Only a few years and I will be gone; God +knows where--if there is a God." + +By this time Job was choked with emotion. All his nature was aroused. +He fairly loved this strange old man. Looking up, he begged him not to +send him away; stay he would, whatever it cost; and he would be as +true a son to him as a strong young fellow could. + +At that, the old man rose, went into the house, and came back with +something that glittered in his hand. + +"Take this, Job, put it in your hip-pocket, and the first time any one +of the Deans, big or little, insults you, put a bullet through him." + +Job shrank back at sight of the revolver. + +"No! Oh, no! I can't take that! Down at the camp-meeting I promised +God to love my enemies, uncle. I can't take that." + +Then Job poured out his heart to Andrew Malden. He told of his +conversion, of his trust in God, and that he was no longer afraid of +the Deans or of anything. + +"Humph! humph!", said the old man. "Well, I won't argue with you, boy; +but as for me, I'd rather trust my hip-pocket when I have to deal with +the people of Grizzly county. Do as you please. But I'll keep this +revolver, and death to the man that harms a hair of Job Malden, the +only one in all the world that Andy Malden loves." + +The old man's voice trembled, and he walked into the house and shut +the door; and Job knew the talk was over for that night. + +Whistling to Shot, he and the dog stole upstairs to Job's little bare +room, where a few wood-cuts hung on the wall, and a long, narrow +bedstead, a chair, and a box that served for table, were the only +furniture. He took the little Testament from under his pillow and +lovingly kissed it; then turning, he read for his good-night lesson +from his new-found divine Friend: "Let not your heart be troubled, +neither let it be afraid. Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end +of the world." + +Kneeling a moment for a good-night prayer, he was soon in bed and +asleep, with Shot curled up on the covers at his feet, while through +the open window the sound of a guitar came where one of the mill hands +was playing the tune of + + "Hush, my child, lie still and slumber, + Holy angels guard thy bed." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +OFF TO THE BIG TREES. + + +The radical change that had come into Job's life cut him off from the +companions of other days and left him without a chum. It showed the +manliness of his nature that as he started out in the new life, +seeing quickly that he must part company with the old companions who +had nearly wrecked his life, he acted on the conviction at once. + +Perhaps it was this, perhaps the fact that his life was now almost +altogether on the ranch, that made Job and Bess boon companions. Many +a mountain trip they took together. It was on one of these that they +went to the Big Trees. That bright September morning, gayly attired +with new sombrero and red bandanna above his white outing-shirt, +astride Bess, Job rode slowly up the Chichilla mountain on his way to +visit those giant trees. Up by "Doc" Trainer's place, over the smooth, +hard county turnpike, where the toll-road, ever winding round and +round the mountain-side, climbs on through the passes of the live-oak +belt to the scraggly pines of the low hills, on to the endless giant +forests of the cloud-kissed summits, the young horseman made his way. +Now and then the road descended to a little ravine, where a mountain +torrent had torn a path to the deep cañons below: again it stretched +through a dim, royal archway of green where the great trees linked +branches as over a king's pathway; and then it turned a bend where the +steep sides sank so suddenly that even the trees had no foothold and +the bare space disclosed a view over boundless forests of dark green, +and the vast, yawning cañons and distant rolling hills, to where, +far-off, like some dream of the past, one caught glimpses of the +endless plains covered with the autumn haze and golden in the morning +sunlight. + +The grandeur of the scenery, the roar of the brook in deep cañons +below, whose echo he caught from afar, the exhilarating ride, the +fresh morning breeze, combined with the spiritual experiences of his +nature, which were daily deepening, to rouse all the poetry in Job's +soul, of which he had more than the average rough country lad who rode +over those eternal hills. He shouted, he whistled patriotic airs and +snatches of the popular songs he heard on the Gold City streets; then +the old songs of church and the heart-life came to him, and he sang +them, while he laid his head over on Bess' neck as she silently +climbed ever higher and higher. + +Suddenly Bess gave a start that nearly threw him, as the delicate form +of a deer rose behind a fallen tree. For an instant the beautiful +animal stood looking with great soft eyes in a bewildered stare at the +cause of his sudden awakening, then plunged his horns into the bushes +and leaped away down the mountain-side. + +Job quickly reached for his rifle, only to discover what he well +knew--that it was far away at home; of which he was glad as he thought +of those tender, pleading eyes, and a great love for the harmless +creature, the forests, the mountains and all the world welled up in +his soul. "My!" he said, "I'd like to hug that deer! I'd like to hug +everything, everybody! I used to hate them; I would even hug Dan. +Bess, dear old girl, I'll just love you!" and he flung his arms around +her neck and hummed away as they passed up the hill. + +Soon a turn in the road brought them to the summit, where for a moment +the trees part and one catches glimpses of the long winding road over +which one has come, and the ever-rolling forests beyond, climbing far +up to a still higher ridge that reaches toward the Yosemite and the +high Sierras. The view thrilled Job. The psalm he had learned for last +Sunday came to him. He repeated it solemnly with cap off, as he sat +still on Bess' back: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from +whence cometh my help; my help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven +and earth." + +[Illustration: "Father of the Forest," Calaveras Grove.] + +Only a moment be paused, and then started on a gallop down the hill. +The ring of Bess' feet on the hard road scared the shy gray squirrels, +which ran chattering up the tall pines, leaving their feast of nuts on +the ground beneath. + +A few minutes later and all the solemnity of his soul and the beauty +of the forests was sadly interrupted as he rode round a curve and came +out at the junction of the Signal Point and the Yosemite toll-road. + +There stood, or lay rather, half on its side, a rickety, old +two-seated structure shaded by white canvas supported by four +rough-hewn posts. It leaned far to the side on one wheel and a +splintered hub. Down the hill a broken wheel was bounding; while, on +the dusty road, four women--one tall and angular in a yellow duster, +one little and weazened, arrayed in a prim gray traveling suit, a +weeping maiden of uncertain age, and a portly dame of ponderous +proportions, dressed not in a duster but a very dusty black silk--were +pulling themselves up. Near by three little tots were howling +vigorously, yet making no impression on the poor, lone, lank white +mare which stood stock still in the shafts, with a contented air that +showed an immense satisfaction in the privilege of one good stop. + +"Mary Jane, this is awful! Every bone in me is cracked and this silk +dress is ruined--yes, is ruined! I tell yer it ain't fit for Mirandy's +little gal's doll! And my! I know my heart is broken, too; I can hear +it rattle! I'll never come with you and that horrid runaway horse +again!" + +The poor horse flapped her ears as if in appreciation of this last +remark, while Mary Jane, rising up like a yellow-draped beanpole, +retorted in a shrill voice: + +"Aunt Eliza, ain't you ashamed to be deriding me, a poor lone widder +with three helpless children! I hope ye are cracked--cracked bad! +Horse, humph! I guess my horse is the likeliest in Grizzly county! Yer +know yer made all the trouble; any decent wheel would give way when it +had a square mile of bones and stuffin's and silk above it!" + +"Now, sister Mary and Aunt Eliza," spoke up, in a thin, metallic +voice, that of the diminutive dame in gray, as she adjusted her bonnet +strings, "let us not grow unduly aggravated at the disconcerting +providence which has overwhelmed us in the journey of life. There are +compensating circumstances which should alleviate our sorrow. Our +lives are spared, and the immeasurable forests are undisturbed by the +trifling event which has overtaken us poor, insignificant creatures, +whose--" + +"Insignificant!" roared Aunt Eliza, "I guess I ain't insignificant! I +own twenty town lots down in Almedy, as purty as yer ever saw. +Insignificant! I--the mother of ten children and goodness knows how +many grandchildren! And as for them trees that yer say yer can't +measure, I'd rather see the clothes-poles in Sally's back yard!" + +"Yes," chimed in Mary Jane, "and 'trifles' yer call it, for a poor +woman that raises spuds and washes clothes for the men at the mines +for a livin', to lose her fine coach Pete built the very year he took +sick of the heart-failure and died, and left me a lone widder in a +cold and friendless world!" At which she wiped her eyes with the +yellow duster. + +"'Trifles'!" cried Aunt Eliza again. "'Trifles,' for us poor guileless +wimmen to be left here alone in the wilderness, twenty mile from a +livin' creature, and nobody knows what wild animals and awful men may +come along any minute!" + +For a moment Job halted Bess and watched the scene. An almost +uncontrollable desire to laugh possessed him; but, restraining +himself, he took the first chance he had to make his presence known, +at which Aunt Eliza groaned, "Oh, my!" and Mary Jane instinctively +grasped her yelling children, and the prim spinster curtsied and asked +if he used tobacco. At Job's surprised look and negative reply, she +said, "Very well. I never employ a male being who permeates his +environment with the noxious weed. As you do not, I will offer you +proper remuneration if you will assist us in this unforeseen +calamity." + +Assuring her that he would, without pay, do all he could, Job went to +work. It was well on in the day ere, by his repeated errands down to +the big hotel barn some distance below, he had procured enough +material to get the rickety old structure in order and help Aunt Eliza +back up its high side to the seat she had left so unceremoniously that +morning. The last he heard, as the white horse slowly pulled out of +sight through the forest, was Aunt Eliza's, "Go slow, Mary Jane, for +mercy's sake! Don't let her run away!" while the prim spinster shouted +back in a high key, "Good-by, young man! You're a great credit to your +sex;" and Mary Jane, pounding the poor mare vigorously, yelled, +"G'lang! Get up! We'll never get home!" + + * * * * * + +It was nearer sunset than it should have been when Job reached the +sign-board far up the toll-road that read, "To the Big Trees." Putting +spurs to Bess, he galloped on at a rapid pace for a mile or more, when +he became conscious that the sugar pines and cedars were giving place +to strange trees which had loomed up before him so gradually that he +was not aware the far-famed Sequoias, the giants of the forest, were +all about him. + +A dim, strange light filled the place. The twilight was coming fast in +that far, lonely spot shaded by the close ranks of the Titanic forms. +He walked Bess slowly down the shadowy corridor along the line of +those straight giants, whose tapering spires seemed lost in heaven's +blue. + +How long it took to pass a tree! Bess and he were but toys beside +them, yet he could scarcely realize their vastness till he slid off +her back, and, throwing the rein over her neck, started around one, +and lost Bess from view as he turned the corner and walked a full +hundred feet before he had encircled the monster. How ponderous the +bark, how strangely small the cones! + +Mounting Bess, he rode down through the vast aisle of these monarchs +of the mountains. A feeling of awe came over him. The world of Gold +City and strife and jealousy and struggle, the realm of Mary Jane and +Aunt Eliza, the world of petty humanity, seemed far away. He was alone +with God and the eternities. Silent he stood, with bared head, and +looked along the monster trunks that stretched far up, up, up, towards +where the soft blue of evening twilight seemed to rest on them for +support. He found himself praying--he could not help it. It was the +litany of his soul rising with Nature's silent prayer: "Our Father +which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name." All through he said it, to +the reverent "Amen," then, putting on his hat, rode on toward the +farther grove. + +[Illustration: "Grizzly Giant," Mariposa Grove.] + +On he went past "Grizzly Giant," standing lone and bare, its foliage +gone, its old age come--"Grizzly Giant," which was old before Christ +was born; on by vigorous saplings, already rivals of the biggest +pines. One time-worn veteran had succumbed to some Titanic stroke of +Nature's power and lay prostrate on the ground. Decay and many +generations of little denizens of the forest had hollowed its great +trunk like some vast tunnel. Job, looking in, could see the light in +the distance. + +It was big enough for Bess and him--he was sure it was; he would try +it. So, whispering lovingly to the horse, he rode into the gaping +monster, rode through the dark heart of the old giant, clear to the +other end and on into daylight. Enthused by his achievement, Job +hurried on down the road and around the great curve, to see looming up +before him "Wawona," far-famed Wawona, the portal of the silent +cathedral through whose wide-spreading base and under whose towering +form a coach and six can drive. + +The sun was down, the shadows were fast gathering, the great trees +were retreating one by one in the gloom, when Job found the little +one-roomed log cabin with open door where he had planned to spend the +night. Unsaddling Bess and giving her the bag of grain on the back of +the saddle, hurriedly eating a lunch, and gathering some sticks for a +fire in the old stone fireplace in case he needed one, throwing a +drink into his mouth, Indian style, from the spring just back of the +cabin, he prepared for the night. A little later, tying Bess securely +to the nearest sapling, he closed the cabin door behind him, rolled +down the old blankets he found there, and lay down to sleep. + +How dark it was! How still the world! A feeling of intense loneliness +stole over Job, and then a sense of God's nearness soothed him and he +fell asleep. + +It must have been after midnight when he awoke with a start, a feeling +of something dreadful filling him. He listened. All was still save for +Bess' occasional pawing near by. Then he heard a sound that set the +blood curdling in his veins, that sent his hair up straight, and made +his heart beat like an engine--from far off in the mountains came a +weird, heart-breaking cry as of a lost child. + +Job knew it well. It was the call of a mountain lion. Again it came, +but nearer on the other side. It was voice answering voice. Bess +snorted, pawed, and seemed crazed. What should he do? He trembled, +hesitated; then, breathing a prayer, he hurriedly opened the cabin +door, cut Bess' rope, led her in through the low portal, barred the +door behind, and, soothing her with low whispers of tenderness, tied +her to the further wall of the cabin, and crept back into bed. Then he +lay and waited breathlessly for another cry, and thought all was well, +till in a distant moan, far down the road, he heard it again. + +For a moment fear almost overpowered him; then the old Psalm +whispered, "He that keepeth thee will not slumber nor sleep." A sweet +consciousness of the absolute safety of God's children stole over the +youth; and catching, from a rift in the roof, one glimpse of the stars +struggling through the tree tops, he turned over and fell asleep as +peacefully as if in his bed at home. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CHRISTMAS SUNDAY. + + +It was Christmas Sunday when Job was received into full membership in +the quaint old Gold City Methodist church. Snow was on the ground, and +sleigh bells rang through the air. All day long the streets had been +reverberating with that essential of a California Christmas, the +fire-cracker. As the preacher came over from Hartsville, the service +was in the evening. + +The old building looked really fine in its new dress of holly berries, +mistletoe and cedar. Across the front was hung in big red and white +letters, "Unto us a Child is Born." Over the organ was suspended a +large gilt star. + +The place was crowded that night. The double fact that it was +Christmas, and that the camp-meeting converts would be baptized, +brought everybody out. + + "Joy to the world, the Lord is come!" + +sang the choir as Job, dressed in a neat new suit of gray and "store" +shirt, entered the church, making a way for Andy Malden, who, for the +first time in untold years, had crossed the threshold of the +meeting-house. The arrival, a few minutes before, of Slim Jim the +gambler, who hung around the Monte Carlo, and Col. Dick, its +proprietor, had not attracted so much attention as the entrance of +"Jedge Malden," as the politicians called him who sought his political +influence. + +The preacher, as he looked down on that audience, was amazed. He had +seen no such scene in this old church since, with faint heart, he had +first stood in its plain pulpit as pastor. The walls were lined with +all the representative characters of the town, good and bad, rich and +poor; merchants, bar-keepers, politicians and miners. In the center +the old-time church-goers sat. Up the front, filling every inch of +space, the starched and well-washed youngsters wriggled and grinned +and sang without fear, as hymn after hymn was announced. + +All soon caught the spirit of the hour, and a general feeling of +good-nature settled down on all. In fact, the place fairly trembled +with good-will, as a class of boys marched to the platform and sang: + + "The Christmas bells are ringing over land and sea, + The winter winds are bringing their merry notes to me," + +and the wee tots involuntarily turned to the rear as they ended with +almost a yell: + + "Then shout, boys, shout! + Shout with all your might; + For Merry Christmas's at the door, + He's coming here to-night!" + +On the programme went--recitations, songs, choruses, following close +after one another. A fairy-like girl, with all childhood's innocence, +told anew the old story of Bethlehem and the Christ Child. The tears +stole down some rough cheeks as the memories of long-gone childhood's +Christmas days came back to them. + +The wee tots had sung their last hymn, when the preacher began his +sermon on the angel's song that echoes still each Christmas over all +the world: "Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, good-will +toward men." For twenty minutes he talked of glory, peace, +good-will--those things so sadly lacking in many lives before him; +talked till each face grew solemn, and Slim Jim looked as if he was +far away in some distant memory-world. Andy Malden seemed to hear +Peter Cartright, as he had heard him in his father's cabin when a boy, +and remembered for the first time in years the night he had promised +the eccentric old preacher he would be a Christian--a promise that had +been drowned by the drum-beat of the old war days and the +disappointment of a lifetime. + +As the preacher finished, every man and woman there made a silent +resolution to be better-natured and pay their debts and make life a +little brighter for somebody. But, alas! resolutions are easily +broken. + +"The candidates for baptism will please come forward," said the +parson. + +Up they rose, old and young; Tim Dennis, the cobbler; aged Grandpa +Lewis; a score of both sexes. Around the altar they stood, a long +semicircle; and, as it so happened, Jane at one end, and Job, with +serious, manly air, at the other. + +Question after question of the ritual was asked. Clear and strong came +the answers. "Wilt thou renounce the devil and all his works?" Jane +nodded yes--how little she knew of the devil! Job answered loudly, "I +will"--how much he did know! "The vain pomp and glory of the world?" +continued the minister; and old Mrs. Smith, who lived alone in the +hollow back of the church and had had such a struggle of soul to give +up the flowers on her hat that she fancied were too worldly, +responded, "Yes," with a groan. "Wilt thou be baptized in this faith?" +asked the preacher at last. A unanimous chorus answered, "I will," +and, taking the bowl in his hand, he passed down the line of the now +kneeling forms and administered the sacred ordinance. Job was last. +Leaning over, the parson asked his name, then there rang out through +the church, as the eager throng leaned forward to hear and Andrew +Malden poked the floor with his cane, "Job Teale Malden, I baptize +thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. +Amen." + +The service was over. The crowds were pouring out the door, the +organist was playing "Marching Through Georgia" on the wheezy organ as +the liveliest thing she knew, the people were wishing each other +"Merry Christmas," as Job, hurrying out of the church, felt a touch on +his shoulder, and, looking up, saw Slim Jim the gambler. + +"Job, come out here. I have something to tell you," said he. + +Pushing through the throng, they crept around the church in the dark, +when Jim, putting his hand on the youth's shoulder, said: + +"Job, I remember the night you came to Gold City, what a poor, +homeless lad you were! I remember the day you won the horse-race and I +said, 'The devil's got the kid now sure.' And now I am so glad, Job, +that you've gone and done the square thing. I helped bury your father, +and I tell you he was a fine fellow--a gentleman, if he had only let +the drink and cards alone. Oh, Job, never touch them! You think it's +strange, perhaps, but I was good once, far off in old Pennsylvania. I +was a mother's boy, and went to church, and--Job, would you believe +it?--I was going to be a preacher!--I, poor Slim Jim that nobody cares +for, now. But I wanted to get rich, and I came to Gold City. I learned +to play cards, and--well, here I am. No help for me--Slim Jim's lost +this world and his soul, too. But you're on the right track, and, if +when you die and go up there where those things shine,"--and he +pointed through the pines to the starlit sky--"you meet a little, +sweet old lady with white hair and a gray dress knitting a pair of +socks, tell her that her Jamie never forgot her and would give the +best hand he ever had to feel her kiss once more and hear her say +good-night. Tell her--listen, boy!--tell her it was the cards that +ruined Jamie, but he's her Jamie still." And with tears on his face +and in his voice, the tall, pale wreck of manhood hurried off in the +darkness, leaving Job alone in the gloom. + +It was late that night when Job said his prayer by his bed at home, +but he made it long enough to put in one plea for Slim Jim. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE COVE MINE. + + +It is six miles from Pine Tree Ranch to the Cove Mine. You go over +Lookout Point, from where El Capitan and the outline of the Yosemite +can be easily seen on a clear day, down along the winding upper ridge +of the Gulch, up again over the divide near Deer Spring and down along +the zigzag trail on the steep side of Big Bear Mountain, then down to +the very waters of the south fork of the Merced; just six miles to +where, in the depth of the cañon, lies Wright's Cove Mine. In all the +far-famed Sierras there can be no more picturesque spot. If one will +take the trouble to climb the almost perpendicular ridge that rises +two thousand feet behind the old tumble-down buildings, long, low +cook-houses and superintendent's vine-covered cottage, along that +narrow, half-destroyed trail that follows the rusty tracks and cogs +and cable of an old railroad, up to the first and then on further to +the second tunnel, where a few deserted ore-cars stand waiting the +trains that never come, on still higher to the narrow ridge that +separates the south fork from the north fork of the Merced River, he +is rewarded with a view worth a long trip to see. + +Let him stand there at sunset in the early spring and he has seen a +view worthy of the land of the Jung Frau and Mt. Blanc. All around, +the white-topped peaks of the high Sierras; far away, the snow banner +waving over the Yosemite; to the left of him, far below, like a river +of gold, sending up hither a faint murmur as it rushes over giant +boulders and innumerable cataracts, the North Fork, hurrying from that +ice-bound gorge which is the wonder of the Sierras; to the right, on +the other side, dancing down from the far-off Big Trees, threading the +tangled jungles of the Gulch, coming out through the dark green forest +like a rim of molten silver, roaring down past the quaint little +mining settlement, which looks half hid in partly-melted snow banks +like some Swiss village, comes the south fork of the river, +disappearing behind the mountain on which one stands. + +The rushing stream, whose music is like some far-off echo; the strange +deserted village; the narrow line of dark rails up the mountain-side +through the snow; the gloomy, cavernous tunnels; the setting sun in +the west gilding all with its transfiguring touch--these give a scene +worthy the brush of a master-artist, who has never yet found his way +over the Pine Mountain trail to the South Fork and Wright's Cove Mine. + +It was just such a day in spring as this, as Job came whistling down +the trail, gun in hand, looking for deer-tracks, that he thought he +heard the report of a gun up in the second tunnel. He had often been +there before; had climbed the trail and the cog railroad, played +around and over the deserted buildings, and gone swimming off the iron +bridge where the torrent was deepest. Once he and Dolph Swartz, a +neighbor boy, had slept all night in the tool-house shed, waiting for +game, and had seen only what Dolph was sure was a ghost--so sure that +he hurried Job home at daybreak with a vow that he would never stay at +Wright's Cove another night. + +Job knew the place well, yet on this spring day he stopped and looked +mystified. There it was again! Who could be in the second tunnel with +a gun? Was it the spirit of some poor forty-niner come back again? He +doubled his speed, slid down through the mud and slush, grasped a +sapling and leaped down the short cut, ran up the bank and rocky sides +of the roaring torrent, walked carefully over the slippery iron rails +of the old rusty bridge, and made his way up the steep Tunnel Trail. + +Soon he was close to the tunnel, so far up that the river's noise was +lost behind him. He stopped and listened. Not a sound. Then clean and +strong the ring of a gun, and a dull echo in the dim cavern! + +All kinds of thoughts rushed through Job's head. He was not a +superstitious boy, yet this was enough to make anybody feel queer--all +alone in that deserted wilderness, with the echo of a gun coming out +of the lonely mine, unworked for years and into which no human +footstep had penetrated since the day that old Wright shot himself in +the tunnel when he found that the mine which had paid big at first and +into which he had put all his income, was a failure. Job had heard the +boys tell that Indian Bill, the trapper, said he had seen the old +fellow's skeleton marching up and down with gun in hand, two hundred +feet down the tunnel, defending it against all intruders. Perhaps that +was the ghost now! Would he dare to go? His flesh crept at the +thought. He wished Shot was with him, or at least some living thing. +Again he heard the report. His courage rose. He would face the thing, +whatever it was. + +Creeping up slowly and noiselessly, he reached the entrance to the +tunnel and looked in. All was as dark as the grave. A cold draft +rushed out over him. He could hear the drip, drip, of water from the +roof. At first he thought he saw something moving in the distance, +then he was not sure. He decided he would turn back; then curiosity +was too much for him; he began to whistle and walked boldly into the +darkness, followed the rotten ties, when, lo! he saw a flash of +light, heard a thundering report, and, involuntarily giving a yell, +started to run, when a familiar voice shouted: + +"Job, Job, come here!" + +He turned, and there loomed up before him, to his utter amazement, the +form of Andrew Malden. + +The old man was evidently disconcerted and angry at being found, while +the boy was utterly dumfounded. + +"Wait a minute, Job; I'll go home with you," said Malden, as he took +out the queerest charge Job had ever seen in a gun--a load of gold +dust, which he carefully rammed down the barrel, then, bidding Job +look out, fired into the rock. + +"Why, what are you doing that for?" stammered the boy. + +"Oh, salting the mine, just so it will keep," laughed Andrew Malden--a +strange, hoarse laugh. "But mind, Job, nobody needs to know I did it. +The mine will keep better if they don't." + +As they passed out, Job noticed that the wall of the mine glittered in +a way he had never seen before. What did it all mean? He dared ask no +more questions of Andrew Malden. Almost in silence they climbed down +the old trail, edged across the bridge, and strode with a steady pace +up the long six miles over the Point to their home. + +"What's 'salting a mine,' Tony?" asked Job of the black hostler one +day a week after. + +"Doan' know, Marse Job, unless it's doctoring the critter so you can +make somebody believe it's worth a million, when it ain't worth a +rabbit's hind foot. Tony's up to better bizness than salting mines." + +"Who owns the Cove Mine, Tony?" + +"Why, Marse Malden, I 'spec," said the surprised negro. + +That evening Job looked at his guardian with a queer feeling as they +sat down to supper, and that night he heard gun-shots in his dreams, +and awoke with a shiver and waited for something to happen. He was +conscious of impending trouble. Something was wrong. + + * * * * * + +It had been a hard winter in Grizzly county, and throughout the whole +country, for that matter; a hard winter, following a fatal summer +which closed with crops a failure on the plains, the stunted grain +fields uncut, and the whole country paralyzed. The cities were full of +men out of work. The demand for lumber had fallen off, and the Pine +Mountain Mill was idle over half the time. The pessimism that filled +the air had reached Andrew Malden, and he sat by the fire all winter +nursing it. If he could sell the Cove Mine--but what was there to +sell? And he gave it up as a futile project. Then there came news of a +rich strike of gold in Shasta county, and a little later in the far +south the deserts of the Mojave were found to glitter. A perfect +epidemic of mining excitement followed. The most unthought-of places, +the old deserted mines, were found to be bonanzas. Andy caught the +fever. He tramped all over the Pine Tree Ranch prospecting, but gave +up in despair. Then he thought once more of the Cove Mine. He made +many a secret trip there. Then he ordered a box of gold dust from the +Yellow Jacket and stole down to the Cove again and again, till +discovered by Job. + +In all those years of living for himself and to himself, Andrew Malden +had tried to be square with the world. Business was business with him. +He made no concessions to any man; pity and altruism were not in his +vocabulary. Unconsciously to himself, he had grown to be a very hard +man, and the heart within him found it difficult to make itself felt +through the calloused surface of his life. But with it all Andrew +Malden had been honest. His word was as good as his bond in all +Grizzly county. No man questioned his statements. Everyone got a +hundred cents on the dollar when Andrew Malden paid his debts. + +But no man knew that in those days of the hard spring the gray-haired +pioneer was passing through one of the greatest temptations of his +life. Men were buying up mines all about him, just at a glance; mines +fully as worthless as the Cove Mine. Anyhow, who knew the Cove Mine +was worthless? It had had a marvelous record in early days. A little +capital spent might bring immense reward. The old man sat, again and +again, alone on the front porch and turned it over in his mind. Then +he would creep off down to the mine, and feel his way in the dark +tunnel, looking for a new lead. He looked at the places he had salted, +until he almost brought himself to believe them genuine. Nobody would +know the difference, he argued. Job did not know what he was doing +when he found him. He would take the risk; he might lose the ranch +itself if he did not. And, coming home with the first stain of +dishonesty on his soul, Andrew Malden astonished Job by ordering him +to have Jack and Dave hitched up at three in the morning; he was going +to drive to the plains and the railroad station, then take a train to +the city, and would be back in a few days. + +Ten days later, Jack and Dave and the carriage, all coated with slush +and mud, drove up to the door, and Andrew Malden, with a strangely +affable smile on his face, clambered stiffly out and introduced Job to +Mr. Henry Devonshire, an Englishman traveling for his health and +profit. With a gruff greeting the stranger said: + +"We 'ad a dirty trip hup. The mud's no respecter h'of an H'english +gentleman nor h'an American millionaire, don'cher know?" and the +pompous Mr. Devonshire handed his hand-grip to Job, while he poked out +his shoes for the gray-haired lackey to wipe, with an-- + +"'Ere, you, clean these feet, bloomin' quick!" + +Job and Tony obeyed, but a significant look passed between them. + +The next few days things went lively at the Pine Tree Ranch. Some of +the mill men were ordered off to scour the mountains for deer, a new +Chinese cook came up from Gold City, and the old man and the +"H'english gentleman," as Tony called him with a contemptuous chuckle, +mounted horses and went riding over the ranch and down to the mine. It +took all the grace Job had to see the arrogant boor, with his two +hundred and fifty avoirdupois, get Tony to help him mount Bess, and, +poking her in the ribs, call out, "What a bloomin' 'orse! Cawn't h'it +go!" and ride off toward Lookout Point. + +It was astonishing, the politeness Andrew Malden assumed; how he +overlooked all the gruffness of his guest and treated him like a +prince. Job fairly stared in wonder. It capped the climax when one +night--just as, tucked up snug in his bed, Job was dreaming of his +last walk home from school with Jane--to feel a rude shake and to see +Andrew Malden with excited face standing over him, saying: + +"Jump, boy! Dress quick and saddle Bess and ride with all your might +to Gold City and catch Joe before the stage leaves. Take this +telegram, and tell him to send it as soon as he gets to the plains and +Wheatland Depot! Here, up with you!" + +It was not over fifteen minutes after that Job was galloping away on +Bess' back in the cold, night air, over the muddy roads, stiffened +somewhat in the frosty spring night, and lit only by the dim +starlight. It was a wild ride, a ride that sent a chill to his very +marrow; and if it had not been for his ever-present trust in God, it +would have struck terror to his heart. It seemed as if it grew darker +and darker. The clouds were creeping across the stars, the great trees +hung like a drapery of gloom over the roadway. Faster and faster he +rode. Now he soothed Bess as she shied at some suspicious rock that +glistened with unmelted snow, or some crackle in the bushes that broke +the stillness of the night air; then he urged her on till down the +steep Frost Creek road she fairly flew. + +It was at the dim hour of dawn, and out of the gloom the world was +creeping into view, when Job, with the white foam on Bess, and both +heated and freezing himself, rode up to the door of the old brick +Palace Hotel, where Joe, just mounting the box of the familiar ancient +coach in which Job had once years ago traveled as a passenger, was +about to snap his whip over the backs of four doubtful-looking horses +which stood pawing the ground as if anxious to be stirring in such +frosty air. + +A hurried conversation, a white paper passed into Joe's hands, and the +long whip snapped, four steeds made a desperate charge forward, an old +woman in the coach, wrapped in three big shawls, bounded into air, and +Job saw the stage vanish up the hill, with the horses settling down to +the conventional snail's pace they had maintained these long years. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +BATTLES WITH CONSCIENCE. + + +Joe evidently sent the telegram, for his stage next day brought up the +long-looked-for load of "bigbugs" that set the whole town of Gold City +wild to know why they were there. A perfect mob of street urchins, +loafers, shop-men and bar-keepers who could spare a bit of time, lined +up in front of the Palace Hotel and watched the plaid-coated, +gray-capped visitors in short knickerbockers and golf stockings puff +their pipes around the bar and call for "Porter and h'ale, 'alf and +'alf." + +Interest reached its climax when, after supper, three buckboards, +loaded with the guests heavy in more ways than one, started down +toward Mormon Bar and the Pine Mountain road. + +It was quite late when the loud barking of dogs announced their +arrival at Pine Tree Ranch, and it was still later when Job crept up +to the hay-loft over the stable to find a substitute for his cosy bed, +which he had surrendered to another "H'english gentleman," with an +emphasis on the last word. The boy was in a quandary to know what it +all meant. He felt an inward sense of disgust. He disliked such people +as these new friends of the old man's. Then he remembered that the +good Book says, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," and he was +painfully conscious that they were close neighbors now; so he breathed +a silent prayer that the Lord would make him love the unlovable, and +after a time fell asleep. + +It was the second day of the feast. Venison and quail, if not milk and +honey, had made the table groan in the big center room, now changed +into a dining-room. The parlor had been turned into a smoking-room, +and Job had seen, with indignation that stirred his deepest soul, +empty beer bottles on his bedroom floor. A whole cavalcade of horsemen +had gone down in the morning to the Cove and come galloping back at +night. Job had been to the milk-house and was coming back past the +side door in the dusk of the evening; it was ajar and the fumes of +tobacco smoke rolled out. He was tempted to peer in. Around the +cleared dining-table the crowd of red-faced guests were seated, with +Andy at the head playing the host in an awkward sort of way. On the +table were spread a big map and paper and ink. + +"Well, Mr. Malden, this 'ere nugget came from the mine, you say. +Bloomin' purty, hain't h'it, fellows?" said a voice. + +"Yes, gentlemen, I found that myself. My son Job and I were +prospecting, and we discovered it--the richest nugget ever found in +Grizzly county. Of course we kept it a secret; didn't want a rush up +here," replied Malden. + +"What a lie!" said Job to himself. "That's the very nugget Mike +Hannerry found at the Yellow Jacket! Where on earth did uncle get it?" + +"Come, Devonshire, let's buy 'er h'up and get h'out of this bloomin' +country. I want to get back to the club. The boat for Australia sails +Saturday," spoke up another voice. + +"But now I want to ask the mon a thing," said a little shrewd-faced +Scotchman. "Is he sure the thing down the hollow isn't salted? I got +one salted mine in the colonies, and--" + +"Salted!" said Andy, with an unnoticed flush on his face. "Salted! Do +you suppose, gentlemen, I would bring you here to sell you a salted +mine? You can ask anybody back in the city if my credit isn't +first-class." + +"Oh, mon," said a tall Highlander, "oh, mon, the feller's crazy. +Salted--humph! We saw the gold with our own eyes. I say take the mine. +I'll take a thousand shares at a pound. How much is the deal, did the +mon say?" + +"H'an 'undred thousand pounds. Cheap, I think," answered Devonshire. + +"H'it's a go. We'll 'ave the stuff h'at the h'inn down h'in--what's +the name of that town?" said the tall one. + +"Gold City, sir, Gold City!" spoke up the excited host. + +"Well, Gold City--that's the spot. We'll pay the cash there. My +banker'll come h'in there to-night h'in the stage." + +And as Job crept away, he heard them planning, between drinks, the +future of the "Anglo-American Gold Mining Syndicate," with main office +in London and place of operation in Grizzly county, State of +California, the United States of America. + +Job did not sleep that night. All through the dark hours he tossed on +his straw bed over the stable. Andrew Malden was going to sell the +Cove Mine for five hundred thousand dollars--and it was not worth one +cent! It was an outrageous fraud. The boy felt like going and telling +those capitalists. He felt a sense of personal guilt. Yet he almost +hated those men. What difference if they were cheated?--they would +never miss it; they deserved it. How much Uncle Andy needed the money! +And it would be his own some day. + +That thought touched Job's conscience to the center. He was a partner +in the crime! He half rose in bed, resolving that he would face the +crowd and tell all--how he had stood by and seen the old man salt the +mine. Then he hesitated. What was it to him? If he told, it would ruin +Andy. What business had he with it, anyhow? But all night long the +wind whistled in through the cracks, "Thou shalt not steal," and Job +tossed in agony of soul, wishing he had never climbed down the Pine +Mountain trail to the Cove on that spring day when Andrew Malden +salted the mine. + +The sun was well up the next morning when the procession of buckboards +was ready to start for Gold City. Andrew Malden and the shrewd fellow +had gone an hour before, the rest were off, and only the boorish +Devonshire was left to ride down with Tony. Job stood, with heart +palpitating and conscience goading him, down by the big pasture gate +to let them through. All his peace of mind was gone. A few moments and +the crime would be carried out to its end, and he would be equally +guilty with the avaricious old man who was the nearest one he had in +all the world. + +Tony and the last man, the obnoxious Devonshire, were coming. How Job +hated to tell him, of all men! The hot flashes came and went on his +cheek; he turned away; he bit his lip; he would let it go--lose his +religion and go to the bad with Andy Malden. Then the old camp-meeting +days came back to him. He heard again Slim Jim's words in the dark +behind the church that Christmas night; he remembered his vows to God +and the church. + +The horse and the buckboard had passed through the gate; the +Englishman had thrown him a dollar; he was trembling from head to +foot. He offered a quick prayer, then hurried after them, halted Tony, +and, looking up into the red face of his companion, said: + +"Sir, the mine is salted; I saw the old man do it--it's salted sure!" + +The load was gone, the consciousness of truthfulness filled his soul. +That day he played with Shot and sang about his work. + + * * * * * + +The dusky twilight had come, when Job heard the stern voice of Andrew +Malden outside, as, with an oath, he threw the reins to Hans. The boy +rose to meet him as he heard his step on the porch. The door opened, +and Job saw a white face and flashing eyes, the very incarnation of +wrath. + +"You pious fraud! What made you tell those men the mine was salted!" +hissed the old man. + +"Uncle, I am sorry, but I couldn't help it. I knew it--I had to tell +the truth," stammered Job. + +"Couldn't help it, you sneak! You owe all you are to me. I guess I am +more to you than all your religion!" + +"Uncle, I am sorry to hurt you, but I could do no less and please God. +And God is first in my life." + +"First, is he? Then go to him, and let him feed you and clothe you, +you ungrateful wretch!" And with the words the angry man struck Job +such a blow that he went reeling over, a dead-weight, on the floor. + +It was midnight when Tony, passing the door, heard the old man moan. +Peering in at the window, he saw him on his knees beside Job, who, +with white face and closed eyes, lay on a lounge near the door. Tony +stole away to whisper to Hans: + +"Guess the old man's made way with the kid! Let's lay low!" + +What a night that was for Andrew Malden! Two minutes after he had +struck the blow, all the wrath which had gathered strength on that +long mountain ride was gone. The blow struck open the door of his +heart; he saw that the boy was right and he was wrong. That blanched +face, those closed eyes--how they pierced him through and through! He +loved that boy more than all the mines and gold and ranches in the +world. The depth of his iniquity came over him. He hated himself, he +hated the Cove Mine; but that stalwart lad lying there--how he loved +him! All the hidden love of thirty years went out to him. "Job! Job!" +he cried. "Look at me! Tell me you forgive me!" + +He dashed water in the boy's face. He felt of his heart--he could +hardly feel it beat. Was he dead? Dead!--the only one he cared for? +Dead!--the poor motherless boy he had brought home one moonlight night +long ago, and promised that he would be both father and mother to him? +Dead!--aye, dead by his hand! And for what? For telling the truth; for +being honest and manly; for saving him from holding in his grasp the +ill-gotten gain that always curses a man. + +The hot tears came, the first in years. Andrew Malden knelt by the +bedside and groaned. And then he thought of Job's God and of the +Christ he talked about: thought of the little Testament he cherished. +He would call on Him, he would beg Him to spare Job. He knelt near the +lad; he started to say, "Oh, God, spare my boy! spare my boy!" when a +sense of his wickedness, his hard heart, his selfish life, his sin, +came over him; and instead he cried from the depths of his soul, "God +have mercy on me a sinner!" + +The daylight was struggling through the shutters when Job turned and +opened his eyes, to see an anxious face look into his own and to hear +a familiar voice out of which had gone all anger, say: + +"Oh, Job, my boy, I knew He'd hear me, I prayed so long! Job, God has +forgiven me! Won't you? Oh, tell me you will! I am a different man! I +read it in the Book while you lay here so still: 'Though your sins be +as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' And Job, it's true!" + +The fever stayed with Job many a day after that, and it was June +before the natural color came back into his white cheeks. But the old +ranch seemed like a new place to him; and when one morning Mr. Malden +read at family devotions, "All things work together for good to them +that love God," he broke down in the prayer he tried to make, and +rushed out of doors to hide the tears of joy that choked him, while he +heard Tony singing as he went about his toil: + + "Oh, dar's glory, yes, dar is glory, + Oh, dar is glory in my soul! + Since I touched de hem of His garment, + Oh, dar is glory in my soul." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +SQUIRE PERKINS. + + +Of all the queer families in the mountains, not one, surely, equalled +that of Squire Perkins, a real down-east Yankee, whose house was not +more than a mile west of Malden's Mill, on the Frost Creek road. A +little weazened old man, who, while he had always been staunch to his +political creed, and had been Republican supervisor of the town ever +since people could remember, yet had drifted religiously till he was +now a typical Spiritualist. The neighbor boys who used to go past his +house evenings and see him with the "Truth Seeker" in his hands, +wandering among the trees and gazing blankly into space, often took +him for a genuine ghost. + +His wife was quite unlike him. She was born in a house-boat on the +Pearl River near Canton, and, with hair plaited down her forehead and +cheeks, slanting eyes and wooden shoes and a silk robe, had landed at +San Francisco when it was still a heterogeneous trading-post, and had +come up with the miners to prattle "pigeon English," and cook, as it +turned out, for Squire Perkins. When other women came--Americans from +the States--the old man married her. Long since she had adopted +American ways and had joined the Methodist church, and not one of the +neighbors, who always sent for Squire Perkins' wife in time of +trouble, thought less of her because she was a Chinese woman. + +The long, white cottage, with its vine-covered walls, its +"hen-and-chicken" bordered walks, and its old gnarled apple tree +hugging the left side next to the stone chimney, became a still +queerer place when Widow Smith, a tall, straight, firm, black-eyed, +dark-skinned Indian woman, the descendant of a long line of natives of +these hills, but withal a refined, womanly old lady, came to board +with Squire Perkins and his wife. Widow Smith was a Presbyterian of +the straitest sort. The Squire's was surely a home of many races and +many creeds. + +It was at this house that one Tuesday evening the Methodist class met, +and Andy Malden came and confessed Christ, and all Grizzly county was +startled thereby. It was here that Job often rode up on Bess beside +the kitchen window where Aunty Perkins was making rice cakes, and +heard her say: "Job, heap good, allee samee angel cake. Have some. +Melican boy have no mother. Old Chinawoman, she take care of him." + +And she kept her word. She won the boy's heart, till he found himself +more than once going with his troubles down to Aunty Perkins', who +always ended her motherly advice with, "Be heap good, Job, heap good. +The Lord lub the motherless boy. 'He will never fail nor forslake +thee.'" + +It was here that Jane also stole with her heart burdens to the +strange, great-hearted woman who mothered the whole county. It was +here she was going one hot July afternoon, as, with blackberry pail on +her arm, she walked slowly down Sugar Pine Hill, thinking of the day +when she had first met Job on that very road. Her black hair was +smoothly braided down her back, she wore a light muslin dress tied +with a red sash, low shoes took the place of the tan and dust of other +days, a neat starched sun-bonnet enfolded her face now showing traces +of womanhood near at hand. As she turned the bend of the road, Job +stood there leaning on the fence with a far-away look. It was he who +was startled this time, as he dropped his elbows and hastened to lift +his faded sombrero. It was the most natural thing in the world for +him to walk slowly down the lane with her toward the Mill Road. The +July sun was hot, so they kept on the shady side of the way. + +Job thought enough of the girl to make him reserved. He wanted to tell +her that she was first in all his prayers, and that up in his room he +had the plans drawn for a cabin over on the corner of the ranch where +she should stand in the doorway and look for his coming. Thrice he +started to open his heart, then he shrank back abashed; talked of the +cows and how the calves grew; told her Bess was lame--couldn't ride +her this week; said that was a pretty fine sermon the parson preached +last Sunday--and turned homeward; while Jane looked after him with +wondering eyes and felt a great ache in her heart as she thought: + +"It's no use; he don't care for me!" + +She had barely passed the mill and the whiz of its machinery lulled +into a murmur that mingled with the brook along the well-shaded road, +when she heard the clatter of horse's hoofs, and, mounted on an old +white nag, Dan rode up to her side with: + +"Hello, Jane! Get on and ride!" + +Jane blushed. A year ago she would have done it; why not now, even if +she was big? No one would see her. Dan was awfully good to ask her; +Job wouldn't do it. So up she climbed on the saddle behind him, and +Dan walked the horse as they chatted away in the most easy fashion. + +She was longing to talk of religion to Dan; she felt he needed it. But +one thing was sure--Dan was sober nowadays; he had actually improved. +He was trying now to talk of love; for he was really beginning to feel +that, not only because he had made a bet to do so and defeat Job, but +because he did care, he should some day claim Jane Reed as his own. +Neither succeeded in getting the conversation just where they wanted +it before Squire Perkins' apple orchard came into view, and Dan was +obliged to halt his old nag by the horse-block built out from the +white fence and assist Jane to alight. + +She actually stood there till Aunty Perkins called: "Gal lost one +ting. Come lite in. All gone." At which Jane blushed and went in, +though all Mrs. Perkins' words could not drive out of her mind the Job +she loved and the Dan whom she wished she could love. How comely she +looked as she stood in the doorway at twilight! Any one might have +been proud of her. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +SCHOOL. + + +The next fall was Job's last term at school. He felt awkward and out +of place, for most of the boys of the country round left at sixteen, +just as they were tangled up in fractions and syntax. Now he was close +to the twenties, and the only big boy left in the Frost Creek school, +whose white walls peeped out through a grove of live-oaks where the +creek babbled merrily over the rocks. + +Yet with a pluck that had always characterized him, Job stuck to his +books and sat among the crowd of little youngsters who automatically +recited the multiplication table when the teacher was looking, and +threw paper wads when she was not. Jane was there, copying minutely in +dress and manner after Miss Bright, the new teacher, whom she greatly +admired. Job found it very pleasant to still walk home with Jane and +talk of algebra, class meeting, and the trip they must soon take to +the Yosemite--subjects which were mutually interesting. Yet somehow +the wild, natural freedom of former days was missing. Both were +painfully conscious of their awkward age and the fact that they were +no longer children. + +Charlie Lewis sat next to Job, a wee, frail little fellow, whose large +eyes looked up endlessly at his tall next neighbor, whom he secretly +worshiped, partly because Job shielded him from the rough bullies, +and partly because he had taken a fancy to the little lad and took him +along when he went up to the mountains or down to Perkins Hollow +swimming. A crowd of dark-eyed Mexicans and one small Chinese boy +filled the right corner, while over on the left were the Dixon +children and little Helen Day. Helen was a new arrival, a prim Miss of +six, who used to live on the plains, where her father was section-hand +on the railroad; which accounted, perhaps, for the fact that the time +when Father Lane, the old preacher from Merritt's Camp, called and +they sang, "Blest be the tie that binds," and the teacher asked Helen +what ties were meant, she promptly answered, "Railroad ties, ma'am." + +As pretty as a picture, always dressed in fine white, with a flower at +her throat as a brooch, and no end of wild ones on her desk, Miss +Bright sat at the head of the school room through the day, laughing +merrily now over the mistakes of some awkward boy, now singing +kindergartèn songs with a class of wee tots, and then, after the +smaller ones were dismissed, holding Jane and Job spellbound as they +stood by her desk and heard her talk of her college days and 'Frisco, +lovely 'Frisco, and the glories of entomology, and the delights of +philosophy--names which Job knew must mean something grand. He began +to wish that Jane looked like her and talked like her and had lived in +'Frisco. He began to wonder who it was that Miss Bright wrote letters +to every day, and who wrote those Dan Dean used to leave at the +school-house for her postmarked "New York." His fears were relieved, +though, when he heard her laugh merrily one day when inquisitive +Maggie Dean asked: "What man writes to you all the time, Miss Bright?" +and reply, "My brother, of course, Maggie. But little girls shouldn't +ask too many questions." + +They used to have morning prayers when the other teacher was here, but +Miss Bright said that prayer was only the expression of our longings +and we did not need to pray aloud, and she thought God knew enough to +look after us without bothering him about it every day. Job was +shocked at first, then he thought perhaps Miss Bright was right, she +was so nice and knew so much. She boarded at Jeremiah Robinson's, who +lived on the Frost Creek road. More than once Job found himself going +there at her invitation, ostensibly to study Latin and literature, +which were not in the regular curriculum. He did not care much for the +studies--he found it hard to get far beyond "Amo, amas, amat," and as +for Chaucer and his glittering knights and fair ladies, he detested +them; but those moments after the lessons, when Miss Bright chattered +away about the beauties of evolution and the loveliness of protoplasm +and the immanence of Deity in all nature--Job fairly doted on them. + +Sometimes she accepted his invitation for an evening ramble. He felt +proud to have people see him with her. He would have liked to ask her +to the class-meeting at Squire Perkins', but he was afraid to; she +would think it beneath her to go among those country folks. And then, +what would she think of Widow Green if she got one of her +crying-spells? or lame Tim, who was a little daft, but who loved to +come to class-meeting and said always, "Tim's no good; he ain't much; +but Jesus loves him. Sing, brethren, 'I am so glad that Jesus loves +me.'" So Job never invited her. In fact, he did not like to tell her +he went; and, for fear she would know it, he stayed away two weeks +when she asked him to walk with her those moonlight nights. + +Miss Bright was so good, he thought; yet there was much he could not +understand. She never went to church. She said it was too far, and +besides she thought it more helpful to worship amid the grandeur of +nature, reading the lofty thoughts of the poets. And after that Job +thought the preacher at Gold City was a little old fogyish. + +Dan Dean was not slow to observe the unconscious drifting of Job away +from the church and toward the schoolma'am. Jane did not notice it +till Dan hinted to her that the only reason Job had cared for the +church was because she went there, and now that Miss Bright had come +he had dropped her and the church both. Which was so near the truth +that Jane began to feel strange when Job was near, and to do what she +had never dreamed of doing before with a single human being--she began +to doubt the occasional kind words he now gave her, and all he had +ever uttered. With the impulse of a wounded heart, she turned to Dan. +Yet try the best she could, she could never feel the same toward him. +She pitied Dan; a philanthropic feeling animated her as she thought of +him. She would do anything to make a man of him--marry him, even, if +necessary; but to think of surrendering her life and very being to +him, following him down the tortuous path of life, "For better or for +worse, for richer or poorer," to have him as her ideal of +manhood--that thought repelled her. Often she found herself standing +behind a tree on the way home from school, waiting to catch one +glimpse of Job as he sauntered by with Miss Bright's cloak on his arm +and its owner chattering at his side. She was angry to think she did +it; she ran home by the short cut through the woods, slammed the cabin +door behind her, threw herself on the bed and had a good cry, arose +and wiped the tears away, and vowed she would marry Dan if he asked +her. + +Job unconsciously walked into the meshes that fate seemed to have +thrown around him. More and more he transferred the admiration of his +heart to the stately, proud, talented girl of the world, who found him +a convenient escort and companion in the mountain country where +friends that suited her were scarce. Job was blind; he adored her. +Later and later, daily, was his return from school. The little +Testament grew dusty on the box-table in his bedroom, his morning +prayers sounded strangely alike, and even Andy Malden wondered at the +coldness of the lad's devotion at family worship. He went to church, +but seldom to class-meeting. He devoured a book Miss Bright had loaned +him, on "The World's Saviors--Buddha, Mohammed, Christ,"--in which he +found his Master placed on a level with other great souls. He asked +her the next day if she did not think Christ was divine, and marveled +at her learned reply that "All nature is divine. Matter and men are +but the manifestations of divinity, and the Galilean Teacher was +undoubtedly a wonderful character of his day." + +One night, as he left her, she loaned him a French novel full of +skepticism and scorn of virtue and morality. He was tempted to throw +it in the fire, but it was hers. He read it and rather liked it. He +began to think he had been too narrow; he wished he could get out and +see the world, the great world of thinking people where Miss Bright +lived. The poison was in his soul. How commonplace the sermon sounded +the next Sunday on "I am determined to know nothing among you save +Jesus Christ and him crucified"! How narrow Paul must have been! It +was the Sunday night before Christmas. The fall term had ended, and +the schoolma'am was going home; no more school till spring. A year +before Job had stood in the great congregation and taken the solemn +vow to be loyal forever to Christ and his church; to-night the +Christmas service went on without him. Tony, who was there and who +half suspected something was wrong, yet did not like to have anyone +else think so, said to those who asked him: + +"Yes, Marse Job's sick; dassen't come out." + +But Job was not sick, as Tony thought. He was in the Robinson parlor, +sitting with Miss Bright before the flickering log fire, which dimly +lit the long, low room with its rag carpet and old-fashioned +furniture. They were talking over their friendship, and she was +flattering him upon his superiority to those country greenhorns who +lived up here; she always knew he had city blood in him. Job was +acting sillier than anybody would have dreamed Job Malden could act, +in his evident pride at her flattery and the strange feelings which +drew him to her. She laughed at his attempts to compliment her, and, +on his departure, followed him to the door and said how heart-broken +she was to leave the mountains and him. + +Job went home in raptures, and lay awake all night planning how to get +away from the mountains and the rude people who lived there, and down +into the city somewhere--anywhere where Fanny Bright lived. + +All that week he wandered about as if lost, cross and good for nothing +at work. His city idol had gone home. + +It was two days after Christmas that Job tore the wrapper off a +'Frisco paper and sat down to read, when, glancing over the columns, +his eyes met the following: + + "Unity Church made a brilliant scene on Christmas night at the + wedding of Miss Frances Evelyn Bright, a charming young society + lady, to Walter Graham Davis, the well-known actor. Miss Bright + had just returned from Grizzly county, where she has been for + her health, so her friends made the reception that followed one + in a double sense." + +It was a haggard, red-eyed young fellow who crept down the stairs +after dusk, stole out to the stable, and saddled Bess. All night he +rode up and down the mountain roads. He hated the ground Miss Bright +had walked over, hated the house she had lived in, hated the school, +vowed he'd never enter it again, hated himself. She was gone, Jane was +gone--long since he had let Dan have her to himself--his church was +gone, all his peace of soul, all his religion, was gone. He would ride +up on Lookout Point and plunge over into the Gulch to death and +eternity, he and Bess together. Who cared? They were all alike--all +were heartless. Poor boy! he was learning a lesson that many a one has +learned--a bitter lesson--and all the forces of evil seemed to fight +for his soul that dark night as he climbed Lookout Point on Bess. + +He had reached the top when the moon came up over El Capitan and drove +away the gloom, lighting up the white-topped peaks and the dark, black +ravine. Somehow, he thought of his mother. There had been one good +woman in the world, after all. He hesitated, then turned slowly down +the hill and toward home. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +YANKEE SAM. + + +It was a wild March night when Job Malden found his way back to God. +No one could ever forget that night. The storm tore over the mountains +till the great forests fairly creaked and groaned beneath the mad +sweep of the wind. + +At dusk that afternoon a rap startled Job as he sat by the fire +watching the logs crackle and thinking of by-gone days, while the rain +poured without. He opened the door, and saw Mike Hennessy, dripping +wet and with cap in hand. + +"Shure, Mr. Job, the top of the evenin' to yez. But Mr. Schwarzwalder, +the hotel keeper at the town, wants ye, he says, to bring the Holy +Book;" at which Mike reverently crossed himself. "A man is dyin' and +wants yez;" and the good-natured Irishman was gone in an instant, +leaving Job in blank amazement. + +Ride that awful night to Gold City--take the Bible--man dying. What +could it mean? But the lad's better nature conquered, and, the Bible +snug in his pocket, he and Bess were soon daring the storm, bound for +Gold City. + +It was a wild night. Wet to the skin, Job rode up to the Palace Hotel, +late, very late, where he found a group of solemn-faced men waiting +for him. + +"Change your clothes, Job," said the hotel-keeper; "here's a dry suit. +Hurry now! Yankee Sam is dying upstairs, and he won't have no one but +you; says you're his preacher, and he wants to hear you read out of +some book." + +[Illustration: "Listen, Job; I want to tell you."] + +Job grew white. Yankee Sam dying, and he to hear his last confession, +he the priest to shrive him, he the preacher to console him! The boy +lifted up his first true prayer for months, and followed the man +upstairs to a low garret room, where the door closed behind him and +left him alone with a weak old man lying on a low bed, his eyes +shining in the dim candle-light with an unnatural glare. + +"Oh, Job, I'm mightly glad you've come to help an old man die! Yes, I +am dying, Job; the old man's near the end. I'll no more hang around +the Miners' Home and beg a drink from the stranger. Curse the rum, +Job! It's brought me here where you find me, a good-for-nothing, dying +without a friend in the world--yes, one friend, Job; you're my friend, +ain't you?" + +Job, frightened and touched to the heart, nodded assent. + +"I thought so, Job. I take stock in you. That night you came here, a +blue-eyed, lonely boy, I took you into my heart--for Yankee Sam's got +a heart; and I felt so proud of you that night when you said, 'I +renounce the devil and all his works,' and I wished I could have stood +by you and said it, too. But Job, my boy, the devil has a big mortgage +on Yankee Sam, and he's foreclosing it to-night, and--" + +The tempest shook the building, and Job lost the next words as the old +man rose on his elbow, then sank back exhausted. The wind died down, +and Job tried to comfort him with some words that sounded weak and +hollow to himself. But the dying man roused again, and, raising his +trembling hand, said: + +"Wait, Job. Get the Book. See if it has anything in it for me." + +Job opened to those beautiful words in Isaiah: "Though your sins be as +scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like +crimson, they shall be as wool." + +The old man bent his ear to listen. "Job, let's see it. Is it in +there--'red like crimson, white as wool'? Oh, no, my sins are too red +for that! Listen, Job, I want to tell you. I am dying a poor lost +sinner, but I was not always a street loafer, kicked and cuffed by the +world. Hear me, my boy! Would you believe that I was once a mother's +blue-eyed boy in old New Hampshire? Oh, such a mother! She's up where +the angels are now. I can feel the soft touch of her hands that +smoothed my head when I was a boy. Oh, I wish she was here to-night! +But--Job, Job, I killed her!--I did! I came home with the liquor in me +and she fell in a faint, and they said afterward that she never came +to. Oh, Job, I killed her, and I didn't care! I went to the city. I +found a wife, a sweet-faced little woman; she married me for better or +for worse; and Job, it was worse--God have mercy on me!" + +The old man gasped and then went on. "The babies came, and I was so +proud of them! Then the fever broke out. I went to get medicine when +she and the little ones were so sick, and I got on a spree--I don't +remember--but when I came to, they showed me their graves in the +potter's field; they said the medicine might have saved them. Oh, Job, +I can't think! It makes me wild to think!" + +The storm burst again in its fury, and the old man's voice was +silenced. Then came a lull, and he went on, "Job, 'sins as +scarlet,'--ain't they scarlet? Well, I came West, got in the mines, +went from bad to worse and now, Job, I'm dying! And who cares?" + +"God cares," said Job. "Listen: 'For God so loved the world, that he +gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not +perish, but have everlasting life.'" + +"Oh, Job, does that mean me?--poor old Yankee Sam!" said the dying +man. + +Again Job read the words, and once again told as best he could the +story of the Father's love and of Jesus, who came to save from sin; +came to save poor lost sinners. + +The old man hung on every word. "Say it again, Job, say it again! God +loves poor Yankee Sam! Say it again!" + +Over and over Job said the words, then he sang soft and low: + + "Jesus, lover of my soul, + Let me to thy bosom fly," + +while the tempest raged without. + + "Other refuge have I none, + Hangs my helpless soul on thee." + +Just then Yankee Sam stopped him. + +"Job, that's me, that's me! Pray, Job! I am going fast!" + +Oh, how Job prayed! Prayed till he felt God close by that dying bed. + +"'As scarlet'--yet--'white--as snow.' Is that it, Job?" whispered Sam. +"Oh, yes, that's it! They're gone. Job--the devil's lost his mortgage. +Let me pray, Job. It's the prayer mother said for me when I was a +little boy; it's the prayer Andy Malden said at his lad's grave; it's +my prayer now: + + Now I lay me down to sleep, + I pray the Lord my soul to keep, + And if--if--" + +The low, quavering voice ceased, a smile came over the white face, the +wind was hushed without, the stars struggled through the clouds. +Yankee Sam was dead, and peace had come back into Job Malden's soul. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE YELLOW JACKET MINE. + + +The next fall Mr. Malden got Job the place of assistant cashier at the +Yellow Jacket Mine. His staunch character, his local fame as a student +at the Frost Creek school, and his general manly bearing, added to Mr. +Malden's influence in the county, won him the place when the former +assistant left for the East. Andrew Malden thought it would be a good +experience for a young man like Job, and perhaps would open the way to +something better than a lumber mill and a timber and stock ranch. + +The Yellow Jacket Mine was one of the oldest and most famous in the +whole country. It was the very day they sighted the ship off Telegraph +Hill that brought the news into 'Frisco Bay that California was +admitted as a State, that gold was discovered in Yellow Jacket Creek, +where, when the rush came some days later, the men said they didn't +know which was most plenty--yellow jackets in the air, or yellow +jackets in the gravel bed of the creek as it lay dry and bare in the +summer sun. + +At last the creek bed had been washed over and over till the +red-shirted miners could find not one nugget more, and the Yellow +Jacket was deserted. Then one day a poor stranded fellow, who came in +too late to make enough to get out, was digging a well, and found +quartz down deep and a streak of gold in it. That was the beginning of +the real fame of the Yellow Jacket. A company bought it up, machinery +was put in, and now, in Job Malden's day, the stamp mills and deep +tunnels of the mine kept five hundred men busy in shifts that never +ceased night or day. + +Job never forgot the first day he went there as assistant cashier. He +had seen it all before, but when one is a sort of "partner" in a firm, +it looks different to one. And so it did to Job, as, after a long ride +with Tony in the buckboard down the Frost Creek road, up past Mike +Hennessy's, down and up and across Rattlesnake Gulch, and over the +heavily timbered mountain, a bend in the road brought him in full view +of the Yellow Jacket on the bare hillside opposite. The tall +smoke-stacks belching forth their black clouds; the big buildings +about them; the great heap of waste stuff at the right; the dump-cars +running out and back; the miners' shanties bare and brown on the left, +running up the hillside, hugging the break-neck steeps; the handsome +house on the south which he knew must be the superintendent's home; +the tall, ungainly brick structure of the company's store in the heart +of things; the far-off thump, thump, and the ceaseless roar of the +machinery--all this made a deep impression on Job. + +For a year, at least, he was to live amid this scene. What a strange +life it was for Job there at the Yellow Jacket! There, in sight of the +eternal hills; there, only five miles, in an air-line, from the quiet +ranch, from Bess, the great barns, the world of nature, and home--and +yet it seemed five thousand miles away to him. Shut in that little +office behind the iron bars, bending over the great books sometimes +far into the night, looking out each pay-day through a little arched +window on grimy faces and rough-bearded men who held out toil-worn +hands to receive the week's earnings which long before another week +would find their way into some saloon-keeper's till or gambler's +pocket. + +The only out-door world he saw was between the rear door of the office +and the long, low boarding-house where the foremen and clerks lived. +One corner of the great room upstairs, where a hard bed ran up against +the roof, and one place at the long, oilcloth-covered table, he had +the privilege to call his own for the modest sum of a gold piece a +week. He had every other Sunday to himself by the extreme favor of the +"boss," on whose own calendar Sunday never came, and who could not see +why it should on any one's else. + +At first, Job left the narrow, well-worn streets, always, it seemed to +him, crowded with an endless procession of dirty, pale-faced, +muscular, rough men going to and from shifts; left them far behind and +tramped over to the Frost Creek school, redolent with peculiar +memories, to the afternoon service. But when the snows came and winter +set in, he dared not take the long tramps, but hugged the fire at his +boarding-house, read his little Testament, and tried in vain to find +one spot out of hearing of the noise of tramping feet, the roar of the +stamp-mill, and the hoarse laughter and rude stories and language of +the men ever coming and going. + +He could never get away from the sound, and only in an old, abandoned +shaft back of the office could he crawl down out of sight to pray. But +Job never forgot to pray in those days. He was learning, as never +before, what it is to be in the world and yet not of it; in its +turmoil and din, sharing its work, mingling with its strange +humanity, and yet living in the atmosphere of prayer and high +thinking; in a world of impurity, yet living a pure life; a world of +evil words, and yet never even thinking them; in the world, and yet +not of it. + +Job Malden was fast growing into manhood. It was in those long winter +days at the Yellow Jacket that the heart came back to him and somehow +he found himself thinking of Jane Reed. The bitter memory of the folly +of those days last winter at the Frost Creek school still haunted him, +and yet the hardness had gone out of his soul. He had no right to +think of Jane, he felt; he had forfeited all claim to her affection. +But somehow the old love came back, and he longed to go to her and be +forgiven. What a true girl she was!--a child of the mountains. Little +she knew of the city and its guile, of society and its masks. How +could he ever have thought her common or beneath him! She towered up +in his thought like the pines of her native mountains, as fresh and +natural and wild as they. He would not have her different. She was far +above him. Faith, and church, and simple homely virtues, and all that +is holy, were linked in Job's mind with the memory of artless, honest, +great-hearted Jane that came back to him in the lonely hours at the +mine. + +One day he started back at seeing a strangely familiar face present +itself at the pay window. + +"Oh, yer needn't be scart,' Job, because yer old pard's got a job in +the Yellow Jacket as well as yer." It was Dan's voice. "Must be mighty +nice in there handin' out the boodle to us poor, hard-worked laborers; +mighty easy to tuck a little of it in yer pocket now and then." + +Job colored, and replied that it was not his money, and he only took +his pay like the men. + +"Mighty good yet, ain't yer, Job; playin' the pious dodge still. +Thought perhaps the way that schoolma'am jilted yer would take the +big-head out of yer. Well, I don't make any pretense of bein' pious; +don't need to, as I can see--get all I want without it. Every gal in +town wants me, and a fine one that came near gettin' fooled on yer +likes me purty well. In fact, that's what's brought me over to the +mine--got to get a little stuff to fix up the house for her. When a +fellow brings a wife home, he wants the old place lookin' slick. +Good-day, Job. See yer again." + +Job made no reply, but a lump came into his throat. He stood and +stared, and then turned in an absent-minded way and bent his head over +the great ledger, though he seemed not to care which page opened. Jane +to marry Dan! Was that what he had meant? Had it come to that? Once +Job had not cared, but now the thought made him wild. Could it be +true? Jane to marry Dan Dean! Better she were dead. Job felt he could +see her carried to the grave with less sorrow than to see her Dan's +wife. + + * * * * * + +It was very strange how Job came to be the preacher at the Yellow +Jacket mine. Not that he ever put on clerical garb or deserted the +office or was anything more than a plain, every-day Christian. Yet +there came a time when in the eyes of those rough miners, with hearts +far more tender than one would think from their exterior--and not only +in their eyes, but in those of the few wives and the half-clad +children who played on the waste heap--Job came to be called "The +Reverend," and looked up to as a spiritual leader. + +It was the day that he went down to the eight-hundred-foot level that +it began. He well remembered it. Up to the left of the stamp-mill, not +far from the main office, was a square, red-painted building, up whose +steps, just as the bell in the brick store's tower struck the set +time, a procession of clean-faced miners went in and a procession of +grimy ones came out. It was at the one o'clock shift that Job went in +that day, watched the men hang their coats on what seemed to him an +endless line of pegs, take their stand one by one on the little +platform which stood in the center of the floor like a trap-door, +grasp the iron-bar above them, and at the tinkling of a bell vanish +suddenly down into darkness out of sight. + +It was the first time Job had been down the mine. The sight of the +constantly-disappearing figures on the cage that came and went did not +encourage him to go, but soon it was his turn. One of the men he knew +grasped one side of the bar of the trapeze over him, one the other, +the bell tinkled, and down he dropped with a jump that almost took his +breath; down past long, subterranean tunnels of arched rock, which, +from the heat he felt from them, and the blinding glare of the lights, +seemed to him like the furnaces of Vulcan. Further still he dropped to +the eight-hundred-foot level, where he stepped off in a narrow cavern +dimly lighted and stretching away into the distant darkness. Oh, how +hot it was! The brawny, white-chested miners had thrown off all +clothing but their trousers, and were dividing their time between +mighty blows on the great solid rocks, and the air-shaft and tub of +water, where every few minutes they had to go and bathe lungs and +face. The sound of the picks, the rattle of the ore cars bringing the +stuff to be hauled up the shaft, the steady thump, thump, of the pumps +removing the water from the lower levels, the intermittent drop and +rise of the cage, filled the weird place with strange sounds. + +Job had delivered his message to the "boss" of the tunnel and was +hurrying back to the cage, when a half-naked miner, all stained with +the ever-dripping ooze from above, stopped him and said: + +"Be ye the faither that prayed Yankee Sam t'rough?" + +"Why--yes, and no," answered Job. "I was with Yankee Sam when he died, +but I'm no priest or parson." + +"Aye, I said to Pat it was ye as ye went down, priest or not. I've +heard of ye, and the mon that could shrive Yankee Sam is a good enough +priest for any mon. Now, me boy Tim is dying, the only son of his +mother, and she in her grave. And Tim and me, we live alone in the hut +back of Finnigan's saloon. Tim's a frail lad. He would work in the +mines, and the hot air in this place and the cold air whin he wint up +gave him the lung faver, and the doctor says he's got to go. The next +shift I'm going up to him. Meet me at the pump-house. Don't tell him +yez is not a priest; it's all the same to him, and he'll die aisier if +he thinks the faither's come. Poor Tim, me only boy!" + +What could Job do but consent? What could he do late that afternoon +but meet the broken-hearted Irish father at the pump-house and climb +the steep street to Finnigan's, and go in back to the poor hut that +the miner called home? + +On a low, matted bed of straw and a torn blanket or two, in a corner +of the dismal shanty, through which the cold winds swept, lay Tim, +dying. The hectic flush was on his thin cheek, the glaze of death +seemed in his eye. He reached his wan hand to Job. A lad of sixteen he +was, but no more years of life were there for him. + +"Tim, the faither's come. Tim, me boy, confess now and get ready for +hiven." + +The boy glanced up. Perhaps Job did look like a priest, with his +smooth face and manly countenance. He hardly knew what to say or do +except to take that weak hand in his and press it with a brother's +warm clasp of sympathy. The dying boy touched his inmost heart. + +"Faither," the boy faltered, "I am so sick! I have been a bad boy +sometimes. I--I--" Then he stopped to cough, and continued, "I haven't +been to mass in a year--no chance here, faither--and I got drunk last +Fourth--may the Holy Mother forgive me!--and I have been so bad +sometimes. But--" and he faltered, "I had a good mother, and she had +me christened right early." + +"Aye, she was!" sobbed Tim's father. + +"And," Tim went on, "and I'm so sorry for the bad! When you say the +prayers, tell her I'm sorry; for, somehow I think the blessed +Jesus"--and here the boy crossed himself--"the blessed Jesus will hear +my mother's prayer for Tim as soon as he'd hear his own. Faither, is +it wrong to think so?" + +And Job, thinking of his own mother, with tears in his eyes could only +say, "No, Tim, no." + +The lad grew still; and kneeling, Job talked low of God's great love, +as he had talked to Yankee Sam, prayed as best he could, and felt as +if he had indeed committed this mother's boy into the keeping of his +God, as Tim lay still and dead before him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. + + +The news of Job's visit to the dying boy soon spread through all the +miners' shanties, and soon more than one request came to him for +sympathy and help. Preacher or priest, or only humble Job Malden--it +mattered not what they thought of him. Job went on his errands of +mercy, till, unconsciously to himself, he had won his way into the +hearts of those rough, simple-hearted people, who lived more +underground than above, at the Yellow Jacket Mine. In fact, so +generally did he become known as "The Parson," that it was sometimes +uncomfortable, especially on the occasion when Lem Jones wanted to get +married. Oh, that was amusing! + +It was in the spring. The new tri-weekly stage from Gold City was so +late that night that it was pitch dark before it drew up, with a +flourish, at the store. Job was busy at the books, and had not gone to +supper, when a man came peeping in at the window and shouted through +the glass: + +"Job, you're wanted at Finnigan's Hotel!" + +Donning his cap, and hurrying along the street and up the break-neck +stairs to Finnigan's, Job entered the room which served as parlor, +bar and office, and saw Lem Jones, one of the men at the hoisting +works, "dressed up" in a suit much too large for him, with high white +collar and red tie, while near by sat a tall, unnaturally rosy-cheeked +spinster dressed in a trailing white gown, with orange blossoms +covering a white veil hung over her hair, and an immense feather fan +in her white-gloved hand. Around the room, decorated with some +Christmas greens and lit by a red-hot stove, was gathered a group of +interested observers of all descriptions--some evidently invited +guests, some as evidently not. + +"Mr. Parson, this 'ere's my gal, come from down East. We want to get +spliced, and," with a blush, "we're waitin' for ye to do it." + +"Why, Lem, I can't!" stammered Job, quite abashed and taken aback at +the occurrence. + +"Oh, yes," interrupted Lem, "I thought of that. Here's the paper--got +it myself of the clerk. Read it. See, here it is: 'Lemuel Jones, a +native of Maine and resident of the county of Grizzly, aged +thirty-seven, and Phebe Ann Standish, a native of Massachusetts, +resident of Boston, State of Massachusetts, aged thirty-one--'" + +Quick as a flash, drowning Job's protest that he was not a preacher, +came a woman's shrill voice: + +"Thirty-one! I'd like to know who said I was thirty-one! Lem Jones, +take your pen and ink, and correct that. Anybody would know I am only +twenty-one!" + +A general laugh followed. Job finally found a chance to make the pair +understand that his performing the ceremony was out of the question, +as he had no legal authority--was not a minister. + +The wedding party broke up in confusion. The cook was filled with +wrath at Job for spoiling the dinner; "the boys" insisted that he had +kept Jones from "settin' it up," and ought to do so himself; the bride +refused to be comforted and vowed she would go back to Boston. + +It was less than a week after the wedding which did not come off, that +Job saw Dan at the pay-window beckoning to him. Going nearer, Dan +motioned him to lean over, drew him close, and whispered in his ear: + +"I'm broke, Job, but got a fine chance to clear a slick hundred. Lend +me fifty till to-morrow." + +"I can't do that, Dan," Job replied. "It's not mine, and I wouldn't +take a cent of the company's money for myself." + +"Ye're a pretty parson!" hissed Dan, "sayin' prayers over dyin' folks, +and never helpin' yer own cousin out of a tight place!" + +"But, Dan, I can't take the company's money. If I had fifty of my own +you should have it, though I suspect you want to gamble with it," +replied Job. + +"Yer won't give it to me?" said the other. + +"No, I can't, Dan," Job answered in a firm voice. + +"Yer hypocrite! Yer think yer got the cinch on me, don't yer, Job +Malden! 'It's a long lane that has no turn,' they say, and yer'll wish +some day yer'd treated Dan Dean square!" and he turned with a leer and +was gone. + +More than once after that Job felt uneasy and wretched as he thought +of the possibility of Jane's linking her life with that of Daniel +Dean. Twice he tried to write her, but he blotted the paper in his +nervousness, and at last tore the letters up. + +By a strange coincidence, it was the same week that Andrew Malden +struck a rich pocket of gold back of Lookout Point and secretly +carried it down to Gold City bank and paid off the mortgage on the +four hundred acres back of the mill, that Job Malden was held up. + +This is how it happened: Just after hours one night the superintendent +called Job into his private office and said: + +"Young man, how much will you sell yourself for?" + +Decidedly startled, Job answered: "What do you mean, sir?" + +"I mean," said the portly, gray-haired man, with his set mouth and +black eyes, all business, "Can I trust you with a large sum of money? +or will the temptation to use it for yourself be too strong?" + +"Sir," answered Job indignantly, "sir, I have no price! I want none +but honest money as mine." + +"Well, all right, my boy; I guess I can trust you," said his employer. +"Now, I have some bullion to be taken down to the Wells-Fargo office +at Gold City, to go off on the morning stage. You will find Dick, my +horse, saddled at the stable. Eat some supper, mount Dick, come around +to the rear of my house, and the bag will be waiting. Take it down to +the Wells-Fargo office, where the man will be waiting to get it. I +have sent him word. Hurry now! And mind you don't lose any of it. Will +give you a week's extra pay if you get through all right." + +With a "Thank you, sir; I'll do the best I can," Job hurried off on +his responsible errand. + +It was a beautiful moonlight evening in June. Crossing the summit of +the mountain, the fresh breeze fanned his brow, heated with the warm +day's labor, and he walked Dick along, drinking in once more with +genuine joy the grandeur of the forests robed in silver light. Just +beyond Mike Hennessy's, as he turned into the main road, clouds +obscured the moon and a somber pall fell over the road. He felt to see +that his treasure was safe, and urged Dick into a canter. + +He had not gone far when he thought he heard horse's hoofs behind him. +He stopped to listen, his heart beating a little more quickly, and +then hurried on. Again, more distinctly, he heard them coming down the +last hill. He put spurs to Dick as a strange fear came over him. Up +the hill before him he rode at a gallop, and on down the next. Faster +and louder in the dim darkness rang the hoofs of the horse behind him. +He was being pursued--there was no doubt of it now. If there had been, +the report of a pistol and the whiz of a bullet past his head would +have quickly dispelled it. Then began a wild chase. Up hill and down +hill, over rough creek-beds, down the Gold City road, they flew. How +Job wished for Bess! She could have outdistanced any horse, but Dick +was not her equal. The hoof-beats in the rear grew louder. + +Job was just going over the hill to Mormon Bar, on that narrow place +where the bank pitches down to the creek two hundred feet, when he +heard a voice, emphasized by a ringing bullet, cry: + +"Halt, you thief! I'm the sheriff of Grizzly county!" + +Whether it was because Dick stumbled and almost fell, or because his +strength failed, or because of the bullet and the strange command, Job +halted, stunned, to look into the dark barrel of a pistol and to see +the white, masked face of a slim fellow in blue jean overalls and with +a red handkerchief about his throat. + +"Hand over that boodle mighty quick! Thought I was a sheriff, did yer? +Ha! ha! None of your back talk! Give it here or swallow this!" poking +the pistol into Job's very mouth. The voice was familiar--more than +once Job had heard it. + +He sprang from Dick to run as the other held his bridle, but heard the +whiz of a bullet past him and felt a stunning blow on his head. When +he came to, the treasure was gone and he could hear a horse's hoofs +pounding faintly In the distance. On his side, with the blood oozing +from his temples, Dick--poor Dick--lay dead! + +It was a long walk back to the mine, and the first morning shift was +going to work when Job reached there. The superintendent heard his +tale, and without comment told him to get his breakfast and go to +work. Later he called Job in and asked some very strange questions. +Twice during the following day with aching head and troubled heart Job +tried to get another interview with the superintendent, but failed. + +How it came about he never knew, but before the end of the week it was +common gossip around the mine that Job had made way with the +company's bullion to clear off the mortgage on Andrew Malden's place. +Job had never heard of the mortgage, and he tried to tell the +superintendent so; but he would not listen. All he did was to tell Job +on Saturday night that they did not know who took the money, but they +would need his services no longer. + + * * * * * + +It was just as Andrew Malden was locking the doors for the night, +that--with a small bundle thrown over his shoulder, shamefaced, +discouraged, and so tired he could hardly walk another step--Job +pushed in and sat down in the old rocker. The older man was surprised +enough. What did it all mean? Job had soon told his story--the night +ride, the robbery, the long walk back to the mine, the strange +suspicion that had fallen on him, the refusal to believe his story, +the coldness of his employers, his dismissal, and the sad walk home. +He told it all through, then looking up into Andrew Malden's face, +said brokenly: + +"God knows, uncle, it's true, every word!" + +Andrew Malden never doubted the blue-eyed, homeless boy who had grown +to be the stalwart young man on whom he leaned more and more. It was a +great comfort to Job when the old man told him this, and declared he +would go over there in the morning and settle this matter; they would +believe Andrew Malden. Then he thought of the mortgage; he had paid +that, and no one knew where he got the money--and now perhaps they +would not believe him if he did tell them. Perhaps he had better not +go after all. + +Late into the night the two talked it over, till they saw how dark +things really looked for them. Well enough they knew who was the +guilty person, but who could prove it? Finally Andrew Malden took down +the old family Bible and read: "What shall separate us from the love +of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, +or nakedness, or peril, or sword?" The reader laid stress on that +word "persecution." On he read: "I am persuaded that neither death, +nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things +present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other +creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is +in Christ Jesus." + +"Amen," said Job, as the old man laid down the book. "Yes, and it says +that 'all things work together for good to them that love God.'" + +Together they knelt in prayer, and to Him who knows the secret +integrity of our hearts, as well as our secret sins, they committed +the burden that rested on their souls. + +The next day was Sunday, a lovely June Sunday. The sunbeams were +playing across his face when Job awoke, and the fragrance of roses +filled the room as they looked in at the open window. How still and +beautiful was all the world! No thumping machinery, no jangling +voices, no grimy faces passing the window! Flowers and sunshine and +the songs of birds, and--home! Oh, how happy he felt! + +He dropped on his knees the first thing, in a prayer that was almost a +psalm. He went downstairs in two jumps, and was out hugging Bess in no +time, telling her she was the best horse that ever lived. Then he went +racing Shot down to the milk-house, where he nearly upset Tony with a +pail of foaming milk. The big fellow stared and said: + +"'Pears like you done gone clean crazy. Marse Job! Guess you think +you's a kid agin!" + +When Job took the pail away from him and bore it safely in on his +head, Tony chuckled and said, "Bress de Lawd, Marse Job! You's mighty +good to me." + +Job waited for no more of Tony's praises, but hurried off, with Shot +barking at his heels. Never had the old ranch looked more beautiful to +him--the house yard, the big barns, the giant pasture lot with the +clump of live-oaks next the yard, the forests on all four sides, the +wild-flowers covering the pasture with a variegated carpet, the garden +on the side hill. Job was a boy again, and he came in panting, to +nearly run over Sing, the new Chinese cook, who was not used to such +scenes at quiet Pine Tree Ranch. + +Not long after breakfast they had prayers, at which Job insisted that +Tony and Hans and Sing should all be present. As he looked around at +the scene, the African and Mongolian sitting attentive while he read +the words, "They shall come from the east and the west, and sit down +in the kingdom of God," he thought the promise was kept that morning +at the ranch. + +After devotions, Sing surprised them all by saying, "Me Clistian. Me +go to mission in Chinatown, San Flancisco. Me say idols no good. Me +play (pray) heap. Jeso he lub Sing. Me feel heap good." + +They were overjoyed. Andy Malden shook hands heartily all around. Hans +said, "In Vaterland, Hans was sehr goot; pray for Hans, he goot here." + +That was the great love-feast at Pine Tree Ranch, which Tony loved to +tell about as long as he lived. + +The church was crowded that Sunday when Job and Andrew Malden drove up +behind the team of grays, with a lunch tucked under the seat, so they +could stay all day. It was Communion Sunday. The neat white cloth +which covered the table in front of the pulpit told the story as they +pushed their way in. The congregation was singing, "Safely through +another week, God has brought us on our way," and Job thought it was a +long, long week since he had sat in the old church and heard that +hymn. How natural it looked! The bare white walls, with here and there +a crack which had carved a not inartistic line up the sides. The stiff +wooden pulpit, almost hid to-day under the June roses. The same +preacher who had said that Christmas night, "Wilt thou be baptized in +this faith?" The little organ in the corner. The old familiar faces +looking up from the benches, and some new ones. There had been a +revival that winter in the church, and now Job could see its results. +The whole congregation was sprinkled with faces he used to see in the +saloons and on the streets, but had never hoped to see in church. Aye, +and there were some faces missing. Where was old Grandpa Reynolds, who +at that long-ago camp-meeting sang "Palms of victory, crowns of glory +I shall wear"? A strange feeling came over Job as he remembered that +he had gone Home to wear the crown of a sainted life. + + "Some of the host have crossed the flood, + And some are crossing over." + +The choir was singing the words. Job thought again of the aged saint. +He thought of Yankee Sam and that wild night when he died; of Tim, +poor Irish Tim; and then of that sweet face in the plain wooden casket +in the strange California city--his boyhood's idol--and the tears +started to his eyes. + +"Unto you therefore which believe, He is precious." That was the text. +The preacher was beginning the sermon, and Job called back his +thoughts and leaned forward to listen. + +"I think the tears were streaming down Peter's face when he uttered +these words. The memories of a lifetime crowded upon him. He was a +young man back by the Lake of Gennesaret, and looked up to see +Andrew's excited face and hear him say, 'Peter, brother, we have found +the great man; we have found the Messiah.' He was by those same waters +mending the nets, ready to push out for the day's toil, and lo! he +heard a voice--oh, how wonderful it was!--there was authority in it, +soul in it: 'Peter, come follow me,' and he dropped the nets, and went +out to life's sea to fish for men. Ah, yes, I think as Peter wrote +these words he remembered his solemn vows of loyalty, his ecstatic joy +on the Mount of Transfiguration, and then, alas! his awful sin when he +deserted Jesus in that dark terrible morning of the great trial. Oh, +those bitter hours! Peter could not forget them." + +Job trembled; he knew what the preacher meant, he knew how Peter felt. + +"But," continued the speaker, "how sweet there came back to him the +memory of another morning by the same Galilean waters, as he mused in +the twilight, and heard the Savior call, not in anger but in love, +'Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?' And back again, there where he +had first loved Him, Peter came to the old life of love and loyalty. +Memories of Pentecost, memories of life's trials and joys, ever +transformed by the spiritual presence of his Master, made Peter cry +from the depths of his soul, 'Unto you therefore which believe, he is +precious.'" + +And Job in his heart said, "Amen." + +Then the preacher went on, showing how that which endears anything in +this world to our hearts should make Jesus doubly precious. He talked +of money--of the treasure of the Sierras, and how much one thought it +would buy; but after all, how little of love and hope and faith it +could bring into a heart--those things which alone last as the years +go on. + +It was a pathetic little story he told of a baby's funeral up in one +of the lonely, forsaken, sage-bush deserts, where, alone with the +broken-hearted father amid the bitter winds and snows of a bleak March +morning, he laid the only babe of a stricken home to rest in the +frozen earth, many miles from any human habitation; of how the father +leaned over and said, as the box vanished into the ground, "Sing 'God +be with you till we meet again,'" and how, as they sang it, out +against the winter storm the light of heaven came into that man's +face. "Tell me," the minister asked, as he leaned over the pulpit, +"how much gold could buy the comfort afforded by that hymn and that +hope?" And Job, thinking of the thousands he had handled at the Yellow +Jacket, felt that that hymn was worth it all. + +Then the preacher talked of diamonds and of the preciousness of Jesus; +of the trinkets hid away in many an old trunk, precious because of +memories that clustered around them; and Job thought of his mother's +Testament. He said the life-memories that cluster around Jesus are +more precious than any other; and Job said "Amen" to that. At last he +talked of friends and how they are worth more than gold or diamonds or +relics of the past; and Job thought of Aunty Perkins--why, there she +was across the aisle, as intent as he; the sight of her face cheered +him. Then he thought of Jane--where was she? Job looked furtively +about, but could not see her. A little unrest filled his soul. + +"No gold can buy so much pleasure for your poor heart, no diamond is +rarer, no relic brings back sweeter memories, no friend sticks closer, +than Jesus. The flood of time may sweep friends beyond your reach, the +mighty Sierras may crumble to dust, old earth may sink into space, and +you be alone with the stars and eternity, but it is written, 'I will +not leave thee nor forsake thee.' Jesus will be with you for time and +eternity. 'Unto you therefore which believe, he is precious.'" + +Job heard Tony shout, "Hallelujah! Bress de Lawd!" and came very near +following his example. + + "He's the Lily of the valley, + The Bright and Morning Star," + +rang out through the church, and voice after voice took it up: + + "In sorrow He's my comfort, + In trouble He's my stay," + +and when it came to that place--he could not help it--Job did murmur +"Amen." + +For a moment an overwhelming wave of emotion passed over his soul, +then he found the congregation rising, heard like a chant the words, +"If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father," and the +Communion Service had begun. + +Just then the sun came in through a broken shutter, lighting the +sacramental table with an almost supernatural glory, and Job felt a +mighty love for the Savior fill his heart and almost unconsciously +found himself singing with the congregation: + + "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts, + Heaven and earth are full of thy glory. + Glory be to Thee, O Lord, most high! Amen." + +When a little later he knelt at the altar with bowed head, as he heard +the minister's voice saying, "The body of our Lord Jesus Christ, which +was given for thee," he resolved that from that hour, health, talent, +manhood, all he could be at his best, should be given to God and to +men. + +At the close of the service Job saw Jane in the aisle before him, and +walked to the door with her, talking as in the old days. He longed to +say more, but did not. A thrill of happiness came into Jane's heart. +Perhaps he did care for her after all, she thought. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE STRIKE. + + +"Marse Job, dar's a gemman wid a mighty fine hoss wants to hab de +pleasure ob seeing de young marse," said Tony, poking his head inside +the door on the Friday afternoon after Job came home. + +The young man grasped his cap and hurried to the gate, finding there, +to his surprise and consternation, the superintendent of the Yellow +Jacket Mine sitting in his buggy. At sight of Job, he sprang out, +extended his gloved hand to the lad, and proceeded to surprise him +still more by saying that he had come after him, as they wanted him +back; he felt sure he now knew who had taken the money, though he +could not arrest the person; he was very sorry he had so greatly +wronged Job; would raise his salary. + +Job was greatly astonished. He expressed his thanks, but finally +managed to stammer out that he really had had all he cared for of +mining life, and did not want to leave the old ranch. + +Then the man took his arm, and as they walked up and down together, he +told Job there was trouble brewing at the mine; the men were reading +all the news they could get about the great mining strike East, and a +whole crowd stood in front of the store each evening between shifts, +listening to agitators; the fellow Dean was talking strike on the sly +to all the men, and he was afraid that under the passing excitement +the best of the men would be duped by worthless leaders. So he wanted +Job back; Job knew the men, they liked him, they would hear him; the +company needed him, it must have him at any salary. + +So Job went back to the Yellow Jacket with the memory of that +home-coming to cheer him in the dark times that were to follow. When +the next day the scowling men came one by one to the pay-window at the +office, muttering about starvation wages, they looked surprised to see +Job there. Some reached out their rough hands for a shake, and said, +"Shure and it does me eyes good to see you, lad;" others only scowled +the deeper; and one looked almost as if shot, forgot his pay, and +turned and walked away muttering, "Bother the saint! He's forever in +my way!" + +It was just two weeks from that day that the storm broke at the Yellow +Jacket Mine. A deep undertone of discontent and rebellion had filled +the air during that time. Job had felt it more plainly than he had +heard it. The superintendent had kept a calm, firm face, though Job +knew he was anything but calm within. + +It was just before Job had gotten ready on Saturday to shove up the +pay-window and begin his weekly task, that a group of burly men, with +O'Donnell, the boss of the eight-hundred-foot level, as spokesman, +came in and desired to see the superintendent. Calmly that gentleman +stepped up and wished to know what was wanted. Well, nothing in +particular, was the reply; only they had a paper they wished him to +sign. He took it and read it. It was a strange document, evidently +prepared by O'Donnell himself. It read as follows: + + "The Yellow Jacket Mining Company will Pay all men That work on + the mine 20 pursent more To-day And all the time." + +The superintendent folded up the paper, and, handing it back to the +men, turned and walked into the office without a word. + +"Here, boss!" cried O'Donnell, "yez didn't plant yer name on the +paper! Ain't yez goin' to give the hands their dues?" + +Then the superintendent turned and explained to the men that he could +not sign any such agreement; had no authority to; only the directors +in San Francisco and New York could authorize it; that the mine could +not afford it; that the men had no complaint--it was only false +sympathy with distant strikes which caused them to make this demand; +that he would not sign such a document if he could. + +The men left in a rage. At the noon shift all the hands came up from +the mine; not one went down. The machinery stopped; not a wheel +turned, not even the pumps that were so necessary to keep the lower +levels from being flooded. At one o'clock the men began to come for +their pay, not one doing so in the morning. Each demanded a raise of +twenty per cent. on his wages, and, when this was refused by Job, +threw his money back on the shelf, and walked out without a word. + +Hour after hour it went on--a constant procession of determined men +looking into Job's eyes, and each face growing harder, it seemed to +him, than the one before. Some did not dare look him in the eye, but +mumbled over the same well-learned speech which someone had taught +them, and went away. They were the ones Job had befriended in +distress. + +Dan came in with head high in air, and talked as if he had never seen +Job; he demanded justice for such hard-worked fellows as himself and +his father, and gave a long harangue about the oppressed classes, till +the superintendent interposed and said: + +"Mr. Dean, if you have any personal grievance, come to me +individually. Do not blockade that window; take your money and go." + +And Dan went off in a white rage, leaving the money behind him. + +At six o'clock Job put on his coat and cap, and followed the +superintendent and cashier to the door. There they found armed +sentinels pacing all about the stone office building, and O'Donnell +and his crowd waiting. They would be obliged, they were sorry to say, +to inform them that the men had decided the "boss and his crew" should +not go home till the "twenty per cent." was paid; that some food from +the men's boarding-house would be sent them, and they would have to +stay in the office till they came to terms. + +There was no alternative. They were entrapped, and there was no +escape. Grim faces looked at them from all sides. + +Back into the office they turned and locked the doors, to open them +only when a huge quantity of poor food that looked like the remains of +the miners' dinner was handed in. Again they swung the iron doors to, +barred them, and sat down for the night, with the unpleasant fact +staring them in the face that they were besieged and helpless. +Apparently they had not a friend in all the crowd that surged to and +fro in the narrow streets. There was no way of letting the outside +world know their plight. + +What a night that was! At first the sound of excited voices and the +distant harangues of saloon-steps orators, then all quieted down; +there was not even the hum of the machinery--only the dull tramp of +the guards without, and the far-away call, "Twelve o'clock and all's +well," which told they had a picket line on the outer edge of the +town. + +Job at last fell asleep in a heap on the floor, with other sleeping +forms about him. He dreamed of home and Jane, heard Tony shout "Bress +de Lawd!" and awoke to find himself aching in every bone from the hard +floor. The light had gone out. Outside all he could hear was tramp, +tramp, tramp. Then he heard voices. They came nearer. He crept to the +key-hole and listened. + +"Let's burn the thing and kill 'em, and run the mine ourselves!" said +one voice. + +"Yer blockhead, don't yer know it's stone?" drawled another. "No, +gentlemen, we'll fix 'em if they don't give us our dues to-morrow! +We'll starve 'em out, and yer bet they'll sign mighty quick! We don't +want their lives; we want justice, and--" + +The voice died away in the distance. Job was sure it was Dan's. + +Sunday came and went with no end of the siege. It was a long day in +the office. The superintendent pored over the books, and pretended to +forget he was a prisoner. They took down only the topmost shutters. +Some of the clerks got out a pack of cards, and asked Job to take a +hand. One said contemptuously, "Oh, you're a goody-goody, parson!" +when he refused, but the others quickly silenced him in a way that +showed their respect for Job. The cards dropped from their hands +before long, and each seemed occupied with his own thoughts. Twice +during the day "the gang" and O'Donnell presented themselves at the +door with the paper, and were refused. Then all hands seemed to resign +themselves to a genuine siege. On the whole it was quiet outside, +except for the occasional jangle of voices and the sentry's pacing. + +Towards night the uproar grew louder. The saloons were doing a big +business, and the sound of rollicking songs and drunken brawls was in +the air. Job grew restless and paced the office floor. About five +o'clock a delegation came for someone to meet the men at a conference +on the waste-heap back of the quartz mill. The superintendent refused +to go, and asked Job to do so. "They dare not hurt you," he said. + +So between two armed, burly guards, Job went to look into the face of +the strangest audience he had ever seen. A solid throng they stood on +the bare, flat hill that rounded off at one end of the cañon below. +Irishmen, Swedes, Portuguese, Germans, Chinese, Yankees--all +nationalities were there, in overalls and blue jumpers, puffing at +long pipes, and wedged in a solid mass about an old ore car that +served as platform. Dan was speaking; he was talking of the starving +miners in "Colorady," and pointed to the office building, crying, +"We'll show them bloated 'ristocrats how nice it feels to starve!" +while a din of voices cried, "Hear! hear!" + +Pushing their way to the flat-car, his muscular escorts hauled Job up +and shouted: + +"The parson, lads--Mr. Job. He's goin' to talk wid yez!" + +"May the Holy Mother defind him!" cried a voice in the crowd. "He's +the praist of me Tim!" + +"The fraud!" cried another; "he's as bad as the rist! Nary a per cint. +would he give me yesterday!" + +"Hush, ye blatherskite!" hissed another. "Give the lad a chance; he's +a-talkin'!" + +Yes, Job was talking. He did his best. He expressed the utmost +sympathy with the wrongs of every man, and reminded them that they had +no truer friend in the Yellow Jacket than he. He had nursed their +sick, buried their dead, had been one of them in all the struggles of +their lives. Voice after voice in the crowd said, "That's so! Hear! +Hear!" "Hurrah fer the lad!" cried another. "Three cheers for the +little parson!" + +Then he talked to them of the strike, and said every man had a right +to quit work and the Union to strike, but no man or Union had the +right to starve their fellow-beings; he spoke of the unreasonableness +of this strike--the company here was not to blame for the troubles in +Colorado; he reminded them that the times were hard and the cities +crowded with idle men, yet the company had kept them busy and given +them full wages; he urged them, if they must demand more, to go on +with work and send a committee to present their claims to the +directors. + +Cheers and hisses grew louder and louder as he spoke. The storm grew +fiercer and fiercer. Job saw it was of no use. A dozen voices were +yelling, "On with the strike! Starve 'em out!" Someone--could it be +Dan?--shouted: + +"Hang the hypocrite!--coming here advising his betters! String him +up!" + +A loud hubbub followed. Job breathed a deep, silent prayer and stood +firm. A tall, brawny man clambered up beside him and cried, as he +brandished a pistol: + +"Death to any mon that touches the kid! May all the saints keep him!" + +Tim's father meant business. And through the angry mob he steered Job +back to the office in safety. + +When the supper was handed in at six, the men who brought it said that +would be the last food till they signed the paper; the miners had +voted to starve them out. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE RACE WITH DEATH. + + +"Job, you'll have to go. No one knows this country as you do, and no +one can do it but you." + +It was the superintendent speaking. Huddled in a group the little +company sat in the dark, looking death in the face. Surrender, death, +or outside help, were the only alternatives. They could keep from +starvation for a day more on the provisions they had. Someone must go +through the lines and get help. They had decided that it was useless +to call on the sheriff, for he could never raise a posse large enough +to cope with this mob, now armed and well prepared. Troop A was on +duty near Wawona, guarding the Yosemite Reservation. Someone must go +and notify them, and telegraph to the Secretary of War and get orders +for them to come to the relief of the besieged men. It was a +dangerous undertaking. Even if one could pass through the line around +the office, would he ever be able to get through the streets alive? +And then would he ever get past the outer picket? + +Someone must take the risk. Someone must go, and perhaps die for the +others. One of the clerks said he guessed Job was the best prepared. +The superintendent urged him to go. Finally rising, Job said he knew +both the way and the peril it meant, and he would make the attempt. + +Not even to them did he tell the route he would take and the dangers +he knew he must face. He had a plan, and if it succeeded there was +hope; if it failed, there was no getting back. One silent prayer in +the corner, and he crept softly and hastily through the half-open +door, as the sentinel went down towards the other end of his beat. + +There Job lay flat on the ground and waited to see who it was. In the +dim twilight he descried, as the sentinel turned, no other than Tim's +father. Job stole up to him, caught him before he cried "Halt!" and +said: + +"For Tim's sake, Mr. Rooney, let me through the lines. We will starve +in there!" + +"Job, me boy, is that ye!" whispered the guard. "Hiven bless ye! I +wish I could let yez t'rough, but by the saints I can't! I've sworn +that I wouldn't let a soul pass, and they said if a mon wint t'rough +the line and me here, they'd finish me!" + +Job pleaded, and the tears streamed from Pat Rooney's eyes, but he was +firm; he had given his word, and he could not break it. But after what +seemed to Job a long time, Pat said: + +"Job, if ye'll promise me no mon but the one ye go to see shall see +yez, and that ye'll come back to-morrow night and be here if the +soldier boys come, so no one will know I let yez t'rough, I'll let yez +go; and Job, I'll be at the ind of Sullivan's alley and pass yez; and +then the next shift I'll be here, and ye'll get in safe." + +Job promised. Many times afterward he wished he had not; but he made +up his mind, as he slunk through, with Pat's "Hiven bliss ye!" +following him, that only death should prevent him from keeping his +word. + +Just back of the office was the abandoned shaft where he had gone +often to pray. Once he had sounded its sides, and suspected that it +opened into the first level. If this was the case, and he could get +into that, and from that into the next lower level, Job knew that the +end of that one went clear through to the old half-finished +drainage-tunnel which ran in from the cañon back of the quartz mill. +Once in the tunnel he knew that he could reach the cañon, then get +outside the lines and away. + +It took but a moment to drop down the old shaft, which ran down but a +few hundred feet on a steep slant. Then rapping softly on the wall, he +thought he heard a hollow sound. There were voices above him. He kept +still and lay down close against the side till they passed on. Then he +dug a hole, inch by inch, till he could reach his arm through. No +doubt this was the tunnel! + +Finally, after what seemed hours--though it was not even one--Job had +the opening almost large enough to crawl through. Then he struck the +timbers--how was he to get through now? Well, just how, he never knew; +but he did. He dropped down to the floor of the level, lit a little +candle he had with him, ran along to the big shaft, and saw the ladder +reaching down to the next level. Then he bethought himself that his +light might be seen, so he blew it out. How could he get down the +ladder in the dark? One misstep and--he shuddered at the thought. But +he would dare it. + +It was slow work, step by step; but at last he found an open space +through the boards, reached out a little lower and felt the floor of +the second level, and stepped off safe. Along the wooden rails laid +for the ore-cars he felt his way, till he began to grow confused. He +must have a light; surely no one could see it. Then he thought he +again heard voices. He stood still. He could hear his heart beat. It +was only the drip of water from the roof. He lit the candle and +hurried on. The air was close and hot, but he never stopped. On down +the long, dark cavern he made his way by the flickering light of the +fast-dying candle. + +At last he reached the spot where he was sure the drainage tunnel and +the second level met. Again he dug and dug, using an old pick he found +there. He tore at the hard earth with his fingers, till he found +himself growing drowsy and faint. It was the foul air! He must get +through the wall soon, or perish where he was. The candle was gone. +Now it was a life-and-death struggle. He thought of that night in the +snow and his awful dread of death. All was so different now. A great +peace filled his soul. But he must not die; he must get through; other +lives were in his care; starving men were awaiting him; his promise to +Tim's father must be kept. At it he went again. He felt something give +way, felt a breath of fresh air that revived him, lifted a silent +thanksgiving to God, and crept through into the drainage tunnel. + +The pickets on the banks above were calling, "Three o'clock and all's +well," as Job crept silently down the cañon and made for the heavy +timber of the mountain opposite. + + * * * * * + +The bugle had just sounded "taps" at Camp Sheridan, on the flat +between the South Fork and the Yosemite Fall road, one mile east of +Wawona. The southern hills had echoed back its sweet, lingering notes. +The blue-coats had turned in. The officer of the guard was inspecting +the sentries, when the guard on Post Number Four saw a haggard, +white-faced young fellow, with hat gone, clothes torn, hands bleeding +from scratches, pull himself up the bank of the creek, and at the +sentry's "Halt!" look up with anxious appeal and ask for the captain. + +That instinct which is sometimes quicker than thought told the guard +this was no ordinary case. In two minutes the corporal was escorting +Job to the headquarters tent. What a dilapidated object he was! For +twenty long hours he had been working his way over the rear of Pine +Mountain, down the steep sides of the Gulch, up that terrible jungle +which even the red man avoids, over the great boulders and falls of +the South Fork, and up the long miles through the primeval wilderness +to where he knew the white tents of Camp Sheridan lay. + +The captain could hardly believe Job's story. The officers marveled at +the heroism of the boy. But he told it all without consciousness of +self, begged them for God's sake to lose no time, and fell over limp +and faint at the captain's feet. + +When he came to, it was dawn, the troops were in the saddle, and the +sergeant was reading this telegram: + + "Proceed at once to the Yellow Jacket Mine and quell the riot + and disorder. LAMONT." + +The horses were pawing the ground, the quartermaster was hurrying to +and fro, the captain was buckling on his saber, and Job was lying on a +cot in the surgeon's tent, while that good man was feeling his pulse. + +Quick as he could, Job started up. "Are they off?" he cried. + +"Yes, my boy; and you lie still. They'll settle those fellows over at +the mine," was the reply. + +"But, doctor, I must go! I promised Rooney! Let me go!" + +"No, young man. You're plucky, but pluck won't do any more. A day or +two here will fix you all right. Your pulse has been up to a hundred +and four. You can't stir to-day." + +Job was desperate. The bugle was sounding, the officers were shouting +orders. Through the door of the tent and the grove of trees he could +see troops forming. + +"Send for the captain, doctor, please," he pleaded. + +The captain came, heard Job's story, and shook his head. + +Job was half frantic. What would Pat Rooney say? He begged the doctor +with tears in his eyes. He beseeched the captain. At last they +yielded. But how could he cross the line in the daytime? They would +have to wait till night. Finally the captain said he would wait and +send Job with a scout at dusk, and follow with the troops at midnight. + +The bugle sounded recall, and the soldiers waited, so that Job could +keep his promise. All that summer day as he lay on the cot, listening +to the ripple of the spring, the neighing of the horses, the +bugle-calls, and the coming and going of the men, he thought of those +comrades shut in the store office without food, and waiting for relief +which it must seem would never come. + +Just at dusk, mounted behind a sturdy little trooper, and well +disguised, Job started back. They passed around Wawona by a side +trail; and, striking the main turnpike near its junction with the +Signal Peak road, galloped on in the dark, fearing no recognition, and +well prepared to meet anyone who demanded a halt. The light was +burning in Aunty Perkins' window as they passed. It was after midnight +when they crept slowly down the timber on the other side of +Rattlesnake Gulch, and Job dismounted and stole on ahead. + +A gloom rested on the Yellow Jacket. A few lights shone out of shanty +windows and in saloons. The stars seemed to rest on the top of the +smoke-stacks which rose like vast shadows in the distance. A low, +far-off murmur of voices, now rising, now dying down, stole out on the +clear night air. + +Down Job crept, now on hands and knees, to the foot of Sullivan's +alley. He heard a step. The sentry was coming. Job gave the call Pat +and he had agreed upon--the sharp bark of a coyote. In an instant he +saw a flash and heard a report, as a bullet whizzed past him. Then he +heard voices: + +"What was that, Jacob?" + +"A leetle hund, I tinks." + +"A hund? You shoot him not! You save bullets for bigger ting. See?" + +Oh, where was Pat Rooney! It was fully an hour before the sentry's +pace changed and the step sounded like Pat's. Again Job barked, and a +hoot like an owl's replied. It was Tim's father! A few minutes, and +Pat had clasped him to his heart, and told him the officers were still +in the store office; that the men were desperate--they had been +drinking heavily, and, he was afraid, before another night would burn +the whole place. Would Job go back into the mine and take his chances? + +Of course Job went. He slunk up the alley into a hidden passage-way he +knew of back of the Last Chance Saloon, and kept in between the +buildings till within a stone's throw of the office. There, wedged in +between two old shanties, he had to wait two hours for Pat to get on +the office beat. Oh, what a long night! Just ahead were the office and +the starving men. Between them and their rescuer a Chinaman stalked, +gun in hand, pig-tail bobbing in the night air, and eyes ever on the +alert to see an intruder. In the bar-room Job could hear the talking. +Dan Dean and O'Donnell were there. They were boasting that not a soul +outside knew of the strike; that a late telephone to Gold City showed +no one there knew; that the stage was still held at the stables; that +there was no hope for "the boss and the tyrants." To-morrow they would +sign that paper or take the consequences. + +Job shuddered at the thought. Then he heard Dan chuckle over him. He +"'lowed the biggest fun would be to see that pious fraud beg for +mercy." + +What if Dan knew he was listening, with only a board partition between +them! Job hardly dared to breathe. + +It was getting uncomfortably near dawn when Job heard another owl's +hoot and stole past Pat Rooney up to the rear door of the old stone +office, which opened softly in a few minutes as he gave the well-known +private tap of the clerks. What a wretched, haggard lot of men rose +excitedly to meet him! He hushed them to silence, told his story, and +bade them rest and wait a few hours. Troop A would surely be here. + + * * * * * + +It was daybreak, the dawn of the Fourth of July, when the sound of a +bugle aroused the miners of the Yellow Jacket. Some thought it was +some patriotic Yankee, but the clang, clang, of the old bell at the +stone tower, the calls of the sentries, the rush of hundreds of +half-dressed, excited men down the street, told everyone that trouble +was in the air. + +It was all done so quickly that the miners hardly knew where they +were. The guards were on the run, and a troop of cavalry, with a solid +front, stood facing the yelling, yet terrified, mob of men who +blockaded lower Main street. It was only a hundred against five +hundred men; but it was order, discipline, authority, against +disorder, tumult and a mob. All rules were forgotten, all their plans +went for naught. Dan yelled in vain. O'Donnell grew red in the face as +he screamed orders. "Forward, march!" rang out the captain's voice, +and a hundred sabers rattled and a hundred horses started, and five +hundred terror-stricken men, each forgetful of all but himself, +started in a panic to retreat. + +From the open door of the office, deserted at the first alarm by the +guards, the imprisoned officers of the company saw the mob come +surging up the street. + +Before noon the Yellow Jacket was a military camp. The miners were the +prisoners, disarmed, a helpless crowd, the larger part already ashamed +of having been influenced by such a man as O'Donnell. Before nightfall +the men had personally signed an agreement to go to work on the morrow +at the old terms, and were allowed to depart to their homes. The +saloons were emptied of their liquors and closed until military law +should be relaxed, and the ringleaders were on their way to the county +jail at Gold City. + +The strike was over without bloodshed, and when the men came to their +sober senses, went back to their tasks, and saw the folly of it +all--saw how they had been duped by demagogues--they were grateful +that somebody had dared to end the strike, and Job was the hero of the +hour. The reaction that sweeps over mob-mind swept him back into his +place as the idol of their hearts. + +We have said the leaders of the strike were taken to Gold City. No, +not all. One lay crippled and fever-stricken in Pat Rooney's shanty +back of Finnegan's. Pat had found him when the mob rushed back, borne +down by the men he was trying to stop, and trampled on by some of the +cavalcade of horsemen as they swept up the street. + +Hurried hither by Pat, Job entered the familiar hut to find himself +face to face with Dan. All that long day he sat by the side of the +delirious patient. The soldiers, when arresting the men, let Pat stay +at Job's plea. The troop surgeon came and ordered Job away. "Sick +enough yourself, without nursing this mischief-maker who's the cause +of all this bad business," said he. + +But no; Job would not go. Dan was bad. Dan was his enemy, but "Love +your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them which +despitefully use you," to Job meant watching by Dan Dean when his own +head was aching and the fever was even then creeping upon him. + +All night he sat there, bathing the head that tossed restlessly to and +fro. He heard the delirious lad mutter, "Curse the pious crank! He'll +get Jane yet!" then half rise, and say with a strange look in his +eyes, "Stand fast, boys! Stand, ye cowards! It's justice we want!" and +fall back exhausted. Yes, it was Job who stood by, praying with all +his heart, as at daylight the doctor did what seemed inevitable if +Dan's life was to be saved--amputated the crushed, broken right leg. +Never again would he roam over the Sierras as he had when a boy. For +the sins of those awful days Dan was giving part of his very life. + +Once he opened his eyes and saw Job, and as he caught the meaning of +it all, a queer look came over his face. Finally he muttered: + +"Job, go away from me! I don't deserve a thing from you! I can stand +the pain better than seein' you fixin' me!" and a hot tear stole down +the blanched, hardened face. + +But still Job stayed, as the delirium came back and the fever fought +with the doctor for the mastery. Only when the danger line seemed +past, and the noon bell was striking, Job passed out of the old +shanty, up the street by the crowds of men going to the noon shift, +heard the roar of the machinery, staggered in at the office door and +fell across the hard floor. + +They were harvesting the August hay on the Pine Tree Ranch before Job +left his invalid chair on the rose-covered porch and mounted Bess for +a dash down to the mill with some of his old-time vigor. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +"DRIFTING." + + +She stood in the cabin door, where the morning sunlight stole through +the branches and vines and played around her head. Against the +well-worn post of this plain, unpainted old hut she leaned with a +far-away look in her eyes. Nineteen years ago to-day she was born here +where the hills shut in Blackberry Valley and the trees roofed it +over. From the stream yonder she had learned the ripple of childhood's +laughter; up yonder well-worn trail she had climbed these long years, +away to the great outside world--to the Frost Creek school and the +Gold City church. It was over the same trail that, wearing shoes for +almost the first time in her life, and attired in a black calico dress +and a black straw hat which the neighbors had brought her, Jane had +taken her father's rough hand, long years ago, one summer day, and +followed her mother to the grave. Ten years she had done a woman's +work to try and keep a home for Tom Reed. + +How much longer would it be? The impulses and longings of a maiden's +heart were stirring within her. Father's rough, good-natured kindness +still cheered her lonely life, but the morning sun would kiss two +graves in God's Acre yonder some day instead of one. The father's step +was feeble and the years were going fast, and she would be alone. +Alone? Ah, no, not alone, for the loving Christ was hers. Ever since +the old Coyote Valley camp-meeting a new friendship, a new happiness, +had come into her life. No one who knew her could doubt it. It had +added to the natural frankness of her modest, unsophisticated nature a +staunchness of character, a womanliness, and a nobility of soul that +gave her the admiration and respect of all true hearts. Yet how few +knew her! Like earth's rarest flowers, Jane Reed's life blossomed in +this hidden dell unknown to the great world. She had the love of +Christ in her soul, and yet she longed, she knew not why, for some +strong human love to fill to its completeness the fullness of her +heart. + +So she stood that morning dreaming of love--the old, old dream of +life. And who should it be? One of two, of course. No others had ever +come close enough to pay court at the portal of her soul. Job or +Dan--Dan or Job? Sooner or later her life must be linked with one or +the other. Dan cared for her. How often he had said it!--almost till +it seemed commonplace. But she had never said yes; yet somehow she +enjoyed the thought that somebody cared for her, even if it was poor +Dan. She was at his bedside yesterday, down in the long, low house at +the end of Dean's Lane, where they had brought him home from the +Yellow Jacket. She had heard of it all at once--that Job was +dangerously sick at the ranch, and Dan was crippled for life at the +lane. She wanted to go to Job. Her eyes filled as they told her of his +heroism. What a brave fellow! She brushed away the dust from the +secret shrine in her heart and worshiped him anew. + +She wanted to go to him. But what would he say? How forward, how +unwomanly it would seem! Did he ever think of her? Ah! sometimes she +thought so! But he was beyond her now; she could not go to him. But +Dan would expect it. Poor Dan! He needed somebody to say a kind word. +So she had gone. She had bathed his aching head; she had told him she +was praying for him; she had left with him the blossoms picked at her +door. + +Dan or Job--which should it be? In the doorway she stood dreaming till +the sun was between the tree-tops, and looked straight down the trail. +All day at her tasks she dreamed on. Twice she took her bonnet and +thought she would go to Job; then she hung it away again. There they +stood at the doorway of her soul--Dan, crippled, helpless, selfish; a +poor, wild, wandering boy. Job, strong, brave, the soul of honor, the +manliest of men, a Christian in all that word means in a young man's +life--her ideal. + +There they stood on the threshold of her heart; and, lingering at +sundown in the same old doorway, the tears filling her eyes, she took +them both in--Dan to pity, comfort, cheer; Job to honor and to love. +Job was hers; perhaps he would never know it, but that day she gave +him the best a woman has--her first love. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +ACROSS THE MONTHS. + + +The next two years came and went in Grizzly county without any events +to be chronicled in the city press--no strikes or rich finds or +stirring deeds; yet they were years that counted much in some lives. + +Job went back to the mines, no longer behind the pay window, but as +assistant superintendent. Never had so young a man had so responsible +a place at the Yellow Jacket. The negotiations and intercourse with +the outside world, and the complicated plans of a great company, were +not his task. He was the soul of the mine. His it was to deal with the +"hands," and stand between them and that intangible, soulless thing +men call a corporation. He was the prophet of the company and priest +pleading the needs of five hundred men at the doors of the directors. +There was nothing in the laws of the company defining his position, +and he could hardly have defined it himself. He only knew that he was +there to make life a little brighter, home a little more sacred, the +friction of business a little less, the higher part of manhood more +valuable, to five hundred hard-working men of all creeds and races +that lived on the bare mountain-side about the Yellow Jacket mine. + +It was marvelous the changes that came. Personal influence and social +power told as the days went by. The saloon-keepers felt it and +grumbled, but the assistant superintendent was too great a favorite +for them to dare say much. The Sunday work ceased. Every improvement +for bettering the conditions under which the men worked was put +in--better air-pumps; a large shaft-house with dressing-rooms for the +men, to save them from going out while heated, to be exposed to +winter's cold; a hospital for the sick; lower prices at the company's +store; Finnegan's saloon enlarged and fitted up as a temperance +club-house, with not a drop of liquor, but plenty of good cheer. More +than once on Sundays Job talked to the men on eternal themes, from a +spot where, on a never-to-be-forgotten Sunday, he had once faced a +mob. + +At last the company built a large, plain, attractive church, and the +miners insisted on Job's being the "parson." But he firmly declined +the honor. Yet he had his say about that church. He felt a wee bit of +pride when, crowded to the doors with Scandinavians, Irishmen, +Mongolians, Englishmen and Americans, with the Mexican and stalwart +Indian not left out, he saw the preacher on the Frost Creek circuit +and the priest from Gold City ascend the pulpit to dedicate it. It was +to be for all faiths that point heavenward, all ethics that teach the +mastery of self, all creeds that exalt Jesus Christ, all religions +that really bind back to God. The company had said it; and the men +knew that that meant Job. + +It was a strange service. The Catholic choir sang "Adeste Fideles," +and they all bowed and said the prayer of prayers. Some said "Our +Father" and some "Paternoster," and they all meant the same. Job felt +a strange thrill in his soul as all in the great audience joined in +the last reverent "Amen." Both clergymen spoke, and when the preacher +named the Savior, the Catholics crossed themselves; and when the +priest said "Blessed Jesus," the Methodists responded "Amen." Both men +caught the spirit of the hour; bigotry, creeds, conventionalities, +were forgotten. They were face to face with hungry souls; with men who +knew little of theology and ecclesiasticism, but much of actual life. +God, sin, manhood, eternity, seemed very real to those speakers that +day, and they made it plain to the tear-stained, sin-scarred faces +that looked into theirs. When at last it was over and the priest had +said "Dominus vobiscum" and the parson said "amen," Job slipped out of +the rear door to escape the crowd and to pray for the Yellow Jacket +and its five hundred men, while a voice whispered to his soul, +"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, ye have done +it unto me." + +These years had made great changes in Andrew Malden. Since that +night-watch at Pine Tree Ranch, he had been a different man. Tony and +Hans felt it; the mill men commented on it; the world of Gold City +began to realize that the master of Pine Tree Mountain possessed a +heart. The old town had more public spirit than for years, and +everybody knew that it was "Judge" Malden, inspired by a life close to +his own, who was back of all the improvements. But not everybody was +pleased with his influence in public matters, and when the Board of +Supervisors one spring refused to renew the license of the Monte +Carlo, and passed an ordinance against gambling, all the baser element +in Gold City united in bitter hatred against the one who they knew +possessed the political power that brought these things to pass. + +From that day Grizzly county saw an immense struggle for supremacy +between righteousness and vice, in the persons of the two political +leaders, Andrew Malden and "Col. Dick." Col. Dick was the most +clerical-looking man in the community. Always dressed in immaculate +white shirt, long coat and white tie, with his smooth face and +piercing black eyes, no stranger would have dreamed, as he received +his polite bow on the street, that this was the most notorious +character in Grizzly county, the manipulator of its politics, the +proprietor of its worst haunt, the most heartless man who ever stood +behind a bar in a mining camp. But Richard Lamar--or, as all +familiarly knew him, Col. Dick, in honor of his traditional war +record--was all this. For nearly twenty years he had stood coolly +behind that bar mixing drinks and planning politics. All men feared +him. Only one man ever refused to drink with him, so far as is known, +and then everybody who could, steered clear of jury duty on that case, +and those who could not escape pronounced his death due to +heart-failure. + +The election the next year was the most hotly contested ever held in +the county. Job used all the personal influence he had in the Yellow +Jacket; Andrew Malden himself personally canvassed every house in the +county where there was the slightest hope. Tony said, "Bress de Lawd! +guess de old Marse and de gray team done gone de rounds, an' ebery dog +in de county knows 'em!" + +Dan, poor Dan, limping through the crowd on crutches, was Col. Dick's +chief lieutenant, and used with the utmost shrewdness the "cash" which +the saloon interest placed at his disposal. He knew by election day +the price of every salable vote in the county. The night before +election excitement ran high; a scurrilous sheet came out with +cartoons of Andrew Malden and "Gambler Teale's kid." All the hard +things that could be said were said. That night, before an audience +that filled the old church and hung on the windows and packed the +steps, Job made a speech which thrilled the souls of them all. He told +his life story; told of what rum had done for him and his, told of +Yankee Sam and the scene at his death, till hardened men wiped away +the tears. No cut-and-dried temperance lecture was his. He talked of +life as all knew it, of Gold City and facts no one could deny; talked +till waves of deepest emotion passed over the crowd like the wind over +grain on the far-reaching prairies. The meeting broke up with cheers +and hisses, and men went out to face a fight at the polls that was +talked of for many a long day afterward. + +The ringing of the old church bell at dark on election day, the cheers +sounding everywhere up and down the streets, the sour, scowling faces +of Col. Dick and Dan as they slunk down the alley and in back of the +Monte Carlo, told a story which thrilled the hearts of good +citizens--that righteousness and good government had won. + +That night, between midnight and dawn, Andrew Malden's lumber mill +went up in flame and smoke. Who did it? No one knew; no one doubted. +The north wind was blowing, and the mill hands worked vigorously, +worked heroically--it meant bread and butter to them--but they could +not save it. Only great heaps of ashes, twisted iron, a lone +smoke-stack and great piles of ruined machinery, were left to tell the +story, where for many years the whirl of industry had made music +beside Pine Tree Creek. + +Yet the man who had once sworn to shoot his enemy at sight uttered no +complaint or showed the least spirit of revenge. He came and stood in +the night air and watched the flames lick up the old mill, stood with +the ruddy glow lighting up his furrowed face, and with never a word +turned and went home. + +Dan was drifting further and further into the downward life; and yet, +strange to say, it had lost its charm for him. That night when the +election failed and Col. Dick scored him for not doing his best, he +parted company with the Colonel and the Monte Carlo. More and more +strongly two passions ruled his life. One was love for Jane Reed; the +love of a man conscious of his own utter badness for that holy life he +secretly envies and outwardly scorns. The other was hatred for Job +Malden, who, ever since he came upon the stage in the long ago, had +stood between Daniel Dean and all his ambitions. + +So the world moved on, the world of Grizzly county, hid away among the +grand old mountains and lofty pines of the Sierras. Impulses were +passing into deeds; actions and thoughts were crystallizing into +character--character that should endure when the pines had passed into +dust, when the mountains had tottered beneath the hand of the Creator, +when earth itself had sunk into endless space and the story of Gold +City had forever ended. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE YOSEMITE. + + +"Well, Bess, old girl, we're off now for the jolliest time out!" cried +Job as he vaulted into the saddle one June day, bound for the Yosemite +Valley, that wonderful spot of which Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote on the +old hotel register: "The only place I ever saw that came up to the +brag." + +Job had left the Yellow Jacket forever. The years were beginning to +tell on the strong man of Pine Tree Mountain and Job was needed at +home. So he had come. Standing one night on Lookout Point, watching +the setting sun gild the far-off crown of El Capitan, he had resolved +that before its glow once more set on the monarch's brow, he would +mount Bess and be off to see again the sights on which old El Capitan +had looked down for innumerable centuries. Perhaps the knowledge that +Jane was there camping with her invalid father, who fancied that a +summer in the valley would make his life easier, had something to do +with the decision. + +It was on one of those beautiful mornings in the California mountains +which come so often and yet are always a rare, glad surprise, that +Job, mounted on Bess, went singing down through the pasture gate, down +past the charred ruins of the mill, past the familiar entrance to +Dean's Lane, on toward the Frost Creek road and Wawona. It was a very +familiar road. He stopped so long to chat with Aunty Perkins, halted +Bess so long under the big live-oak at the Frost Creek school, and, +leaning on her neck, gazed wistfully at the scenes of many a boyhood +prank, that it was late in the afternoon when he passed the spot +fragrant with memories of "Aunt Eliza" and "Mary Jane," galloped down +the long hill, raced the coach and six just in from Raymond with a lot +of tourists up to the Wawona Hotel, sprang off Bess, turned her over +to a hostler and went into the office to register for the night. + +That load of tourists furnished ample amusement for Job all that +summer evening. He had read of such people, but this was the first +time he had ever met them. There was the fat man, jovial and happy, +always cracking a joke, who shook the dust off what had been that +morning, before he began a ride of more than forty miles by stage, a +respectable coat, and laughed merrily till it nearly choked him. There +was the tall dude, with wilted high collar and monocle on his right +eye, drawling about this "Bloomin' dirty country, don'cher know." +Striding up and down the veranda with a regular tread that shook the +long porch, with clerical coat buttoned up to the throat, and high +silk hat which was not made for stage travel, was Bishop Bowne. His +temper seemed unruffled by the vexations of the day as he remarked, +"Magnificent scenery. Makes me think of Lake Como, only lacks the +lake. Regular amphitheater of mountains. Reminds one of the Psalmist's +description of Jerusalem." Darting here and there, trying to get +snap-shots, were two "kodak fiends," two city girls who pointed the +thing at you, bungled over it, reset it, pressed the button, and +giggled as they flew off. They fairly bubbled over with delight as +they saw Job, and debated how much to offer to get him to sit for a +scene of rustic simplicity out by the toll-gate. + +But Job was too busy to notice. He was being systematically +interviewed by the fat, fussy woman in black who was asking him, +"S'pose you've seen Pike's Peak, the Garden of the Gods, and Colorado +Springs? Great place; we spent a whole half day there. No? Been to +Monterey, of course, round the drive? We did it! Foggy, couldn't see a +blessed thing; but it's fine; had to do it. What! never been there? +Too bad, young man. Oh, there's nothing like doing the world. I've +seen Paris, Rome, the Alps, Egypt. Oh, my! I couldn't tell how much! +Sarah Bell, she knows; she's got it down in her note-book. Dear me! I +must go and see what time we can start back for this place over +there--what do you call it? Some Cemet'ry?" + +"Yosemite," suggested Job. + +"Oh, yes, Yosemitry. We ought to go right back to-morrow. We've got to +do Alaska in this trip, or we'll never hear the end of it when we get +back East. Nothing like doing the world, young man," said she, as she +adjusted her bonnet and eye-glasses and hurried off to the office, +where he heard her an hour later lamenting, "Sarah Bell, we have got +to stay a whole precious day in that Cemet'ry before we can go back!" + +It was late when the babble of voices died away, the stars kept watch +through the tall pines of Wawona, and Job fell asleep to the piping of +the frogs in the pond back of the hotel and the pawing of horses in +the long barn across the square. + +[Illustration: Yosemite Valley from Inspiration Point] + +"Inspiration Point!" called out the driver, as Job pulled up Bess the +next day alongside the stage as it stood on the summit of that spot +where the road from Wawona, which for miles has climbed up through the +forest past Chinquapin and many a stage station, climbs still higher +through the rare air of seven thousand feet, and then hurries down +through the leaves of the trees, turns a bend and emerges in full view +of the grand Yosemite. + +There it lay in all its grandeur--the unroofed temple of God, Nature's +great cathedral. Three thousand feet down, level as the floor, sunk +beneath the surrounding mountains which stretched away to right and +left in a gigantic mass, it lay clothed in a carpet of green grass and +trees so far below that they seem to merge into one. Cut by a silvery +stream that winds lazily amid the Edenic beauty, as if loath to be +away, the valley a mile wide stretches back for nearly six miles, and +then is lost to view as it wanders around the jutting peaks of the +Three Sisters and climbs on for five more miles to the falls of the +Merced, as they come tumbling down from the region of perpetual snow +to that of perpetual beauty. + +To the left is old El Capitan, three thousand feet high, and with +width equal to height and depth to width--a mountain of solid rock. +Well did the Bishop lift his hat, and, standing in silent awe, at last +say, "The judgment throne of God." Far beyond it the silvery line of +the Yosemite Creek reached the straight edge of the cliff and shot +down twenty-six hundred feet. To the right, Bridal Veil Falls, a tiny +brooklet it seemed in the distance, winding down a mountain meadow, +looking frightened a moment at the edge of the cliff, leaping over +into spray, caught up and transfigured by the afternoon sun, as it +fell on the rocks hundreds of feet below. Beyond it, Cathedral Rocks, +the Three Sisters and a mass of jutting summits stretching ever on +till they were lost to view. Beyond and between them all, between and +back, El Capitan and the Sentinel Peak, looming up, as the Bishop +said, like "the sounding-board of the ages." From far away rose the +Half Dome, at whose feet the famous little lake mirrors again and +again the morning sun as it drives away the shadows of night from this +home of the sublime. + +Job instinctively bared his head and found himself repeating, "Before +the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the earth, +from everlasting to everlasting Thou art God." + +Just then the silence was broken by the voices in the stage. "Ain't it +pretty?" said the giggler. "Well, now, is that the Cemet'ry? Do tell! +Driver, you're sure we can go back to-day? We've seen it now!" said +the fussy woman. The practical man was asking the driver for minute +statistics and copying them down in his book, the dude was yawning and +hoping there would be a dance at the hotel, while the Bishop got out +and, walking away from the rest, stood and looked and looked and +looked, till Job heard him intoning in a voice in keeping with the +grandeur of the scene, "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker +of heaven and earth." + +Job stayed behind as the stage rattled down the side of the mountain, +tethered Bess by a big cedar, lay in a grassy nook and looked down, +down, where the Merced abutted the base of El Capitan and tumbled down +the narrow cañon that leads from the valley far below to the plains. +All the reverence of his soul, all that was noble and lofty in him, +rose as he gazed upon the scene. The littlenesses, the meannesses of +the world, were left far behind. Like Moses of old, he was in the +cleft of the mountains and the glory of Jehovah lay stretched out +before him. + +It was toward sunset when he reached the floor of the valley and +walked Bess across the three bridges that span the branches of the +Bridal Veil Creek, saw the bow of promise in the misty spray that +seemed to ever hang in mid-air against the cliffs, galloped down the +Long Meadow, past the Valley Chapel, and pulled up at the Sentinel +House for the night. + +That night the silver gleam of the Yosemite itself looked in at his +window, as the new moon shone on its waters falling from the endless +heights above, and the ripple of those waters soothed him to sleep as +they rolled past his door, under the bridge and away down the valley. + + * * * * * + +In a most romantic little spot just across the bridge near the Falls +of the Yosemite, and where the icy creek hides itself in bushes and +reappears under the bridge, stood an abandoned Indian wick-i-up, half +hid among the saplings. Here, throwing flap-jacks into the air with a +toss over a crackling camp-fire, singing merrily, Job found Jane the +next morning as he was roaming the valley in the early hours on Bess' +back. It was a genuine surprise. She was not expecting him, even if +she had dreamed of him all night. Her first impulse was to express +with childish glee her real delight, but her very joy made her +reserved. She restrained herself lest she should display her real +feelings. She was glad to see him, of course; her father was better, +and was off getting wood for the fire. Were the folks all well? Had he +seen Dan lately? (Which question cut Job deeper that he liked to +acknowledge.) Would she go up to Mirror Lake after breakfast? he +asked. Certainly, if father did not need her. + +So a little later, leaving Bess neighing behind in the camp, up the +long, dusty road Jane and Job rambled on, past the pasture and the +Royal Arches, on along the river bank, and, turning away to the left, +climbed on the rise of ground into that nook where the South Dome +seems almost to meet the Half Dome, and stood by the glassy waters of +Mirror Lake. In that early hour before the ripples had stirred the +surface, this lakelet at the foot of the Half Dome was worthy of all +its romantic fame. Nine times that morning Job and Jane saw the sun +rise over the rounded peak of the Half Dome, as they followed slowly +the shores of the lake from sun-kissed beach to shadow. Jane went into +ecstasies. Was it not beautiful! What a picture! The clear-cut rocky +mountain, its low edges fringed with trees, its top so bare, the blue +sky and passing clouds, that bright spot which rose so quickly far +back of the topmost turn of the Dome, all mirrored at their feet. + +Job's esthetic nature was stirred to its depths, and he echoed Jane's +adjectives. Before they reached camp she had yielded to his appeal for +another walk to-morrow, perhaps to Glacier Point and home by +moonlight. + +That night Job took his blankets from the hotel and stole over back of +the Reeds' camp, just beyond the Indian's "cache" on the gentle slope +of the open valley where the great wall of Eagle Peak rises four +thousand feet. Among a lot of boulders which look for all the world +like tents in the twilight, there, between two great pines, he lay +down to watch the moonlight fade from Glacier Point yonder across the +valley, and fell asleep at last to dream of the Berkshire Hills, the +winding Connecticut, and the scenes of childhood days. + +It must have been three o'clock--it was dark, very dark, though the +stars were shining brightly--when something awoke him. He roused to +find himself striking his nose on either side in a strange manner. +Fully awake, he discovered the cause. Two tribes of ants living on +opposite pine trees had completed a real estate bargain that night and +had decided to change homes. By some chance they found his face in +their pathway, but, perfectly fearless of the giant sleeping there, +had kept on their journey, passing each other on the bridge of his +nose. As he woke, the tramp of myriad feet crossed that feature, the +procession for the right marching over between his eyes; the +procession for the left, over the point. Silently, boldly, the mighty +host climbed his cheeks, surmounted the pass, and hurried down, till, +with many a desperate slap, Job at last sprang up, thoroughly awake. +Ants, ants, ants--millions of them! Ants in his shoes, ants running +off with his hat, ants in his pockets. It was an hour before the giant +had conquered the dwarfs and Job was asleep again, well out of the way +of any tree. + +[Illustration: Mirror Lake, Yosemite.] + +The sun was shining in his eyes, the Indian's little black cur had +come up and was barking at him from a respectful distance, and from +behind a tree Job heard a girl's merry laugh, when he awoke the next +morning. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +GLACIER POINT. + + +Mountains, mountains, mountains! Piled up like Titanic boulders, +snow-capped and ice-bound, tumbling down from the far-off glassy sides +of Mt. Lyell and Mt. Dana to the edge of that stupendous chasm. +Gleaming glaciers, great ice rivers, eternal snow drifts, dark, bare, +rugged peaks for a background. For a foreground, all the beauty of the +valley far below you, three thousand feet or more, as, holding your +breath, you gaze straight down the dizzy height from the projecting +table rock. El Capitan on the left, the Yosemite Falls dancing down in +three great leaps opposite; the Half Dome and Cloud's Rest off to the +right, Vernal and Nevada Falls pouring their torrent over the cliffs +at your side, the Hetchy-Hetchy Valley, the rolling plateau that +stretches back to the perpetual snow and rising peaks behind you. All +language falters here. Tongue can never describe, only the soul feels, +the awfulness, the vastness, the sublimity, the stupendousness, the +wild grandeur of the scene. Such is Glacier Point. + +Here, speechless, overawed, and with the loftiest emotions sweeping +over their souls, Job Malden and Jane Reed stood alone amid a silence +broken only by the sighing of the trees back of them. + +It was toward sunset of a June afternoon. For hours they had been +climbing up the long, steep, winding trail that picks its way along +the side of the cliff from back of the Valley Chapel toward Sentinel +Peak, over the jutting point, and over the cliff's edge to this +wonderful spot. Weary and foot-sore, they had reached it, only to have +all thought of self overwhelmed and forgotten in that vision of +visions which burst upon their eyes and souls. How long they stood +there in utter silence they knew not. Time was lost in eternity. At +last the tears began to trickle down Jane's cheeks and she sobbed, "It +is grand, it is too grand! I have seen God! I cannot look any more!" +while Job stood entranced, forgetful of Jane, forgetful of self, +utterly absorbed in the consciousness of infinite power. Then he began +to repeat in a solemn voice that favorite Psalm of his: "I will lift +up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help +cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth." + +The saucy call of a squirrel in a tall pine near, the chill of the +evening air coming down from the ice-fields, brought them at last to a +consciousness of themselves. Withdrawing to a sheltered nook away from +the dizzy cliff, and so hid among the trees that all view was shut off +except that scene of dazzling beauty, the glitter of the setting sun +on the distant Lyell glacier, Job and Jane sat down for the first real +heart-to-heart talk they had ever known in their lives. They talked of +the years gone by; of the outward story that the world may read, of +the inner story that only the heart knows. Their theme was Christ, +their mutual Friend, who had been the cheer and strength of all those +years. Memory came and turned the pages of a lifetime that night. Jane +talked of childhood days, of her mother's grave and Blackberry Valley, +and of the old camp-meeting in Pete Wilkins' barn on that +never-to-be-forgotten Saturday night, when, lonely and heart-broken, +she had knelt on the hard floor at the bench and whispered, "Just as I +am, without one plea." Then her face brightened as she looked up and +said, "Oh, Job, He came, and I was so happy! And, somehow, home has +not been so lonely since then, and--I don't know; it may seem strange +to you, Job--Jesus is just as real to me as you are. He is with me all +the time; and, when I am tired, he says, 'Come unto me, and I will +give you rest'; when father is so cross, and the tears just will come, +he whispers, 'Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be +afraid. My peace I give unto you.' And he does. It comes so sweetly, +and I feel so still, so rested! I know he is right beside me. Isn't it +grand, Job, to feel we are His and He will always love us, and that He +is so near us? It seems as if I heard His step now and He was standing +by us. I know He is. I like that hymn we sang Communion Sunday--'Fade, +fade, each earthly joy, Jesus is mine.'" + +A moment they sat in silence, while the sun transformed the far-off +glacier into a lake of glory, and then sank behind El Capitan for the +night. Then Job spoke. A long while he talked. The memories of +childhood; the sweet face that grew strangely white in the city of the +plains and left him; the early days at Pine Tree Ranch; the steps of a +downward life; that grand old camp-meeting and what it did for him--of +these he spoke, and yet did not cease. The years of youth and young +manhood, the bitter persecutions and temptations, the triumphs through +the personal presence and help of the Master, were his theme. For the +first time a human friend learned the real story of that awful night +in the second tunnel and the long, long day in the lonely Gulch. The +young man grew excited and stood up as he paid loving tribute to the +reality of religion in his life and the tender, most divine friendship +of Jesus Christ. Then he hesitated; but only for a moment. He told her +of his sins; of those days of doubt when he yielded to the tempter's +power and how near he came to losing his soul. He could not finish it, +but strode off alone. At last he came, and, sitting down, said: + +"Jane, all I am I owe to Jesus Christ. The story of his love, and what +he has been to me, is more wonderful than any story of fiction. 'More +wonderful it seems than all the golden fancies of all our golden +dreams.'" + +[Illustration: View from Glacier Point.] + +The twilight was deepening, the great mountains were fading away in +the distance, the evening star was just peering over the horizon as, +standing together by the iron rail that protects Table Rock--standing, +as it seemed, in the choir loft of the eternities, they sang +together--Job in his rich tenor, Jane in her sweet soprano: + + "All hail the power of Jesus' name, + Let angels prostrate fall. + Bring forth the royal diadem, + And crown him Lord of all." + +As the moonlight stole down from the mountain summits to the edge of +the further cliff and then plunged down to light the valley, Job and +Jane still sat and talked. Was it strange that somehow the hidden love +of long years would out that night, and, talking of life's holiest +experiences and secret longings and loftiest dreams, somehow, before +they knew it, they talked of love? Secrets locked in the heart's +deepest chambers found voice that night. The unuttered longings of the +years found language. Not as children prattle of sudden impulses, not +as Job had blushed and simpered once; but with the consciousness of +manhood and womanhood, and divinity within, they talked of how their +lives had grown together till, in all that is holy and best, they were +already one. + +At last they started down the trail. It was late. The moon had crossed +the sky dome of the valley and was hastening toward Eagle Peak. A +peace and silence that could be felt filled the world, and found a +deep response in their souls. They were going down from the Mount of +Transfiguration, one with God, one with each other. Love, pure and +holy, was master of their lives. A joy unspeakable filled their +hearts. The culmination of the years had come. With the forests and +mountains for witness, under the evening sky, with innumerable worlds +looking down, with the presence of Infinite Power all about them, Jane +Reed and Job Malden had, once for all, plighted their love to God and +each other. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE CANON TRAIL. + + +It was just four days later, the day before the Fourth, that Job, +mounted on Bess, rode up to Camp Comfort, as Jane called the little +spot where she kept house in the open air for her father, listening to +the roar of the Yosemite Falls back of her, and prepared their humble +meals over the camp-fire. Job was going home; the old man would +expect him on the Fourth, and that keen sense of duty which was ever +stronger than his longing to linger near Jane, impelled him to go. He +had come to say good-by. Old Tom Reed, sick and selfish, had been +blind to the new light in Jane's eyes and did not know the secret +which the birds and trees and sky had learned and seemed never to +cease whispering about to Jane. He did not like Job. That pride of +poverty which hates success put a gulf between him and this noble +young fellow, who looked so manly as he rode up on Bess. Tom Reed +liked Dan and thought, of course, that matters were settled between +him and his black-eyed daughter. He felt to-day like telling this +young aristocrat from the Pine Tree Ranch that it would be agreeable +to both himself and Jane if he would seek other company. Only physical +weakness kept him from following as Jane walked away by Job's side +patting Bess' neck. She would see him to the end of the valley, she +said; she did not mind the walk. Well, if she would--and what did Job +want better than that?--she must mount Bess and let him walk. How +pretty she looked on Bess' black back, with her shining hair and +flashing eyes and ruddy cheeks! Never had she looked handsomer to Job. +Close at her side he kept as Bess slowly walked down across the river +bridge, past the Sentinel House, and on close to the Bridal Veil +Falls. + +As the rainbow in the spray, with its iridescent colors, laughed at +them through the trees, Job thought of the gala day coming, when he +should claim this noble girl for his bride, and an honest pride filled +his heart. At the foot of Inspiration Point they tarried for a full +hour, it was so hard to say good-by. How he hated to take Bess from +her! At last a sudden thought came to him. She should keep Bess in the +valley till the autumn days came and Jane could return home. He would +go back over the Merced Cañon trail, only twenty-six miles to his +home; he had often wanted to try it and cross the river on Ward's +cable. He could not go that way on horseback, and he would leave +Bess. He would like to think of Jane and her as together. The girl +protested, but she felt a secret joy. It would be next to having him. +So she did not dismount, but through her tears saw Job vanish down the +cañon, along the Rapids, towards the old, almost forgotten trail that +leads for twenty miles by the river's roaring torrent, to where the +South Fork joins the North Fork. + +A sudden impulse seized her. She turned Bess' head toward the toll +road and began to climb the steep three miles to Inspiration Point. +Then she hunted for the Cliff Trail that leads away from the road out +along the great left precipice of the cañon. She knew there must be +some opening in the forest over there. She remembered it from the +valley below, the day she had gone down by the Rapids. She would find +it and catch one last glimpse of Job on the trail. She would wave to +him, and perhaps he would see her. She had Bess, and it would not take +long to return; father would not miss her. + +Just as she turned into the trail a campers' wagon climbed the hill +back of her and passed on over the road, but she did not notice it, +she was so absorbed in her own thoughts. She must hurry. Would Job see +her? Anyway she would surely see him--she would dismount and creep out +to where nothing could hide her view. + + * * * * * + +Far below Job was already on his march homeward. With a swinging gait, +and a determined will that said he must do it, though all the love in +his heart said no, Job started off through the trees and on down the +cañon trail. His eyes were misty and a lump was in his throat, as he +caught one last glimpse of Jane. On he hurried. He was off now, and +the sooner he got home the better. By rapid walking and some hard +climbing he would reach Indian Bill's old cabin, ten miles down the +river, by night. + +He had just resolved on this, leaped over a creek stealing down far +behind El Capitan, got full in sight of the roaring rapids, when he +heard a step behind him and looked up to see Indian Bill himself +coming. The old trapper was a well-known character in the mountains. +His great brown feet looking out beneath torn blue overalls, his +dark-skinned chest wrapped in a blanket of many colors, his long +straight hair falling from beneath a well-worn sombrero, formed a +familiar sight all over those mountains. Those feet had tramped every +mountain pass and rugged trail and had climbed every lofty peak for a +hundred miles about the Yosemite. + +His approach was a glad surprise to Job. He could wish no better +companion over that lonely trail which led along the precipitous sides +of the cañon, with straight walls towering above it and steep descents +reaching below to the Merced's angry waters, which dash for twenty +miles over gigantic boulders with a fury unrivaled by Niagara itself. + +Soon Indian Bill was driving away Job's gloom as, in his queer +dialect, he told one of his trapper stories while the two swung on at +regular gait, close upon each other's heels. Over the steep grades, +through the deep, shaded ravines, and along the bare cliffs on that +narrow trail, they went. They had gone a mile down the stream, when +Job noticed something moving, high on the opposite cliff. He called +his companion's attention to it, and the keen-eyed Indian said it was +a horseman mounted on a black steed. Job thought of Jane, but at once +said to himself that it could not be she--she was back at Camp Comfort +by this time. A little later, Bill said the horse was now riderless +and standing by a tree, and that a bit of something white was moving +on the face of the cliff. + +Just then they heard a terrible roar, and both forgot all else in the +queer sensation that seized them. All the world seemed to sway before +Job's eyes. The mountains below, where the river bends, seemed a thing +of life. His feet slipped on the narrow edge of a steep cliff he was +crossing, the gravel beneath gave way, and Job found himself lying at +the foot of a steep incline, while a whole fusillade of stones was +flying past him. A moment, and it was over, and the Indian said: + +"Ugh! Heap big earthquake! Great Spirit mad! Come." + +But Job could not easily come. His foot was doubled up under him and +sharp pains were darting through it. Indian Bill sprang to his +assistance, fairly carried him up the steep side of the precipice, +from whence, fortunately for him, he had fallen on soft earth, and put +him on his feet on the trail. Oh, that long walk over the jutting +points, down among the boulders, and up again on places of the trail +that seemed suspended between earth and sky! Every step brought a +groan to Job's lips. He grew feverish and thirsty. Bill parted a bunch +of almost tropical ferns which grew against the rocks, and led Job in +to a place where, through the stone roof of a dark cañon, the ice-cold +water trickled down drop by drop. It was well toward dusk when Job +dropped exhausted on the trail, and the hardy Indian slung him over +his shoulder, bore him up a narrow cañon that entered the main gorge +on the right, and laid him down on his own blankets in the little +wick-i-up made of twisted limbs and twigs that he called home. Soon +the crackling fire warmed the water, the sprained foot was bandaged, +and Job was asleep. + + * * * * * + +It was a strange scene on which Job opened his eyes the next morning. +He was lying on a bed of cedar boughs, wrapped in an old gray blanket, +and with one of many colors under him. A roof of gray and green was +over him, the forest's foliage woven into a tent. Through the parted +branches he could see the brown-skinned Indian bending over a ruddy +fire from whence the savory odor of frying trout stole in. Through an +avenue of green down the narrow cañon, he could see the morning sun +shining on the waters of the Merced which tumbled over the great +rocks. He tried to rise, but a sharp pain shot through his foot. Far +away he heard the call of a bird, and out by the fire the weird +strains of a monotonous folk-song rose in the air. Job closed his eyes +and sent up a morning prayer. In it he tried to pray for Jane, but +somehow could not. She was safe, he knew; probably at the fire, too, +in the beautiful valley from whence those rushing waters came. + +The trout breakfast was over--Bill knew where to get the beauties, +and, after he had got them, knew how to cook them--when Job learned +from the old trapper that he was to be his guest for a week; that not +before then would he be able to continue the journey home, and that +Bill would do his best to care for him till the sprained foot was well +again. At first he rebelled. He must get home, he said; Andrew Malden +was expecting him. But the Indian only grunted and sat in silence, as +Job tried to walk and fell back upon the blankets with the realization +that Bill was right. + +All day the Indian pottered about in silence, fixing his traps and +guns, and weaving a pair of moccasins for winter's use, while Job lay +half asleep, half awake, living over again the glories of the week +just closing. Toward evening the old Indian came in and sat by his +guest and began to talk. Far into the night hours, while the camp-fire +flashed and crackled without, he kept up his stories, till Job, +intensely interested, forgot his pains and his dreams. In quaint +English, shorn of all unnecessary words, Bill talked on. + +First he told bear stories, finishing each thrilling passage with a +significant "Ugh!" The one that roused Job most and held him +transfixed was of once when he suddenly met, coming out of the forest, +a giant grizzly, which rose on his monster hind feet and advanced for +the death embrace. "Me fire gun heap quick, kill him all dead, he +fall, hit Bill, arm all torn, blood come, me sick. Ugh!" And turning +back his blanket, he showed Job the scars from the grizzly's dying +blow. + +Then he told tales of adventure. Of scaling the Half Dome by means of +the iron pegs some daring climber had left there, and how finally, +reaching the summit and lying flat, he peered over and saw himself +mirrored in the lake below. He told of a wild ride down the icy slope +of the Lyell Glacier; of a night, storm-bound, in the Hetchy-Hetchy, +where he slept under the shelter of a limb drooping beneath the snow, +with a group of frightened mountain birds for bedfellows. He told of +beautiful parks far amid the solitude of the high Sierras, great +mountain meadows where shy deer grazed, of crystal lakes that lay +embowered in many a hidden mountain spot, of Mount Ritter's grandeur +and the dizzy heights of Mount Whitney, till Job's head reeled, and he +fell asleep that night dreaming of standing on the jagged, topmost +summit of a lofty peak, with all the mountains going round and round +below him, till he grew dizzy and fell and fell--and found himself +wide awake, listening to the hoot of a distant owl and the breathing +of his tawny host stretched out under the sky by the dying embers of +the camp-fire. + +During the next two days Job was much alone. Bill came and went on +many a secret, stealthy errand to where he knew the largest, most +toothsome mountain trout had their home. Busy with his own thoughts, +Job lay and dreamed the long hours away. + +"Make Bill feel bad. Want hear it? Ugh! Me tell it; me there. No +brave; little boy. Bad day, bad day!" + +It was the fourth day and Job was trying to persuade Bill to tell him +about the dreadful massacre of the Yosemite in the years gone by. The +fitful firelight played about the solemn face which showed never a +quiver as that night Bill told the story which made Job's blood run +cold. + +[Illustration: Sentinel Rock.] + +It was in the long-gone years when the miners first came into the +mountains. Living quietly in the beautiful valley to which they had +given their name, his tribe dwelt. Wild children of nature, they had +for many a century had the freedom of those hills. Far and wide on +many a hunting expedition they had roamed, and none had said nay. But +the pale-face, the greedy pale-face, came and stole the forests and +creeks yonder. Twice, enraged at their depredations, the Indians had +sallied forth from their homes and rent the hills about Gold City with +their war-cries, then retreated to the mountain fastnesses of which +the pale-face knew nothing. Once more they had gone on the war-path, +and started back, to find the whites at their heels. To the very edge +of the cliffs they had been followed, and their refuge was no longer a +secret--the world had heard the story of the giant's chasm in the +Sierras. + +When they had gone up on the great meadows back of Yosemite Falls and +El Capitan to live, there came a great temptation. The Mono Lake +Indians, far over the pass, had stolen a lot of fine horses from the +miners of Nevada. They hated the Mono Lake Indians. They watched their +chance, and, while they were off on a great hunting trip, the +Yosemites stole over the crest of the Sierras and brought a hundred +head of horses back with them. Then the aged Indian went on without a +tremor. He told how, one summer day, he was playing with the other +boys around a great tree, when he heard the wild war-whoop of the +Monos; he saw them coming in their war-paint, mounted on mad, rushing +horses; heard the whirr of arrows about him; ran and hid in a cleft of +the great rocky cliff, out of sight but not of seeing; saw his mother +scalped and thrust back into the burning tepee and his father pushed +headlong over the cliff; heard the death-cries of the Yosemites; saw +the meadow bathed in blood; saw the end of the Yosemites; and crept +down with a few survivors late that night to the valley and escaped to +the whites. "'Bloody meadow,' white man call it. Him good name. Wish +Mono come now--I kill! I kill!" and, with dramatic gesture that almost +startled Job, the old man waved his arms and was silent. + +Somehow after that the conversation drifted to religion. Bill talked +of the Great Spirit, Job talked of God. The old story of the +Incarnation--how this Great One came down to live among men and love +us all--Job told as best he could, till the hard heart of the child +of nature was touched, and he wanted to know if Job thought He loved +poor Indian Bill. It was very late, when Job came back to the awful +massacre, and tried to show Bill that the manly thing was not to cry, +"I kill, I kill," but "I forgive." + +The old man listened in silence. He walked out under the stars, then +came back and sat down by Job's side and said, "Bill heap bad. Bill +hate Mono Indian." Again and again he paced back and forth. + +Job was almost asleep, weary with watching the heart-struggles of the +wronged old man, when at last he came and said, "Boy, ask Great Spirit +forgive Bill. Bill forgive Mono Indian." And there, at midnight, the +love that transfigured Hebrew Peter, German Luther, English Wesley, +that had changed Job Malden, transformed Indian Bill. + +It was fully two weeks after the old trapper had borne him into his +humble tent that one afternoon Job walked off, strong and brave, to +finish his journey home. Bill saw him down to the river, where you +swing across on a board hung on a cable, helped pull the return ropes +that carry the novel car across, shouted as Job clambered up the other +bank, "Bill heap glad! Love Mono! Love Job! Good-by!" and was off out +of sight through the woods as swift and lithe as a deer, bound on +another of his hunting trips far back of El Capitan. + +Job saw him vanish; and, turning with a light heart and a merry song, +climbed the ridge that separates the North Fork from the South Fork, +fairly ran down past the old tunnels of the Cove Mine, skipped over +the iron bridge, and began the steady climb of six miles home. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +"GETHSEMANE." + + +It was evening and Tony was carrying the milk from the barn to the +milk-house, when Job tripped down the trail from Lookout Point, and +Shot and Carlo ran barking to meet him. A sort of momentary +consciousness that Bess was not there came to him, then something that +sounded like her neigh reached his ears. A shout to Tony--who in his +surprise dropped the milk pail and vanished--a bound, and Job was on +the veranda. He pushed open the door, and stood face to face with +Andrew Malden. + +The old man's face was white and deeply furrowed. He looked ten years +older than when Job had seen him last, and the young man felt a sharp +pang of remorse to think he had left him. Then he remembered Jane and +knew he would not have missed the trip for all the world. + +At sight of him Andrew Malden's face grew still whiter, he started +back as if shot, and fell in a faint on the couch. Job was appalled +and greatly mystified, as he dashed water into the wrinkled, haggard +face. + +At last the old man's eyes opened and he whispered hoarsely, "Oh, Job! +Job! how could you? Once I could have believed it, but I cannot now! +Oh, Job, tell me! tell me all! I'll stand by you, though you did +it--you're my boy still! Oh, Job, it is awful, awful! But I knew you +would come! Oh, Job! oh, Job!" he moaned. + +Did what? "Awful"? "Come"? Of course he had come. It was an accident, +Job explained; he did not mean to stay away. + +"An accident? Oh, yes, I told them so, Job; but they won't believe it. +They are coming to take my boy and--oh, I can't stand it! I won't +stand it!" and Andrew Malden tottered to and fro across the room. + +Was the old man insane? Had something dreadful happened? Job stood, +his face growing paler, his heart sinking with an undefined fear. Then +he caught the words, "Jane--dead--you!"--words that made every nerve +quiver, and tortured him till he sank on his knees and begged to know +the worst. + +Oh, the awful story! It burned into the depths of his soul. Now it +seemed like a dream, now dreadful reality. Jane was dead. Somebody had +found her lifeless and still on the rocks below the cliff just around +from Inspiration Point, and Bess had come home riderless. All the +country was wild with excitement. Everybody was searching for him. He +had done it, they said. Tom Reed had seen him go away with her, and +knew there was a quarrel on hand. Dan was telling that Jane had +promised to marry him, and that Job had followed her to the valley to +make her break the engagement or kill her. All the evidence was +against Job. They had buried her from the old church, buried her in +the cemetery on the hill, outside of whose gate his father lay. Yes, +Jane was dead! + +Job listened and listened--all else fell unheeded on his ear. Jane was +dead, his Jane, and lay beneath the pines far down the Gold City road! +It was all he heard--it was all he knew. He did not stop to explain; +he heard Bess neigh again, and rushed out into the shadowy night, and +mounted her with only a bridle. He heeded not the old man's cries. His +brain was on fire, his soul in agony. Only one thing he knew--Jane was +dead and he must go to her; go as fast as Bess could fly down that +road which many a dark night she had traveled. + +Men standing on the steps of the Miners' Home that evening said a dark +ghost went by like a flash--it was too swift for a flesh-and-blood +horse and rider--and they crept in by the bar and drank to quiet their +fears. + +He found it at last. The fresh earth, the uplifted pine cross with the +one word "Jane" on it, told the story. He left Bess to roam among the +white stones and the grass, flung himself across that mound, half hid +by withered flowers, and lay as if dead--dead as she who slept +beneath. At last the sobs came; the tears mingled with the flowers; +the heart of manhood was bleeding. Jane was dead! How had it happened? +Who had done this awful thing? God or man, it mattered little to him. +The dreadful fact that burned itself deeper and deeper into his soul +was--Jane was dead! + +Oh, that awful night! The stars forgot to shine; the trees moaned over +his head; the lightnings played on yonder mountains. The thunders +rolled, and he heeded them not; the rain-drops pattered now and then +on the branches above, but he never knew it. + +Gethsemane! Once it had seemed a strange, far-away place where the +heart broke and the cup was drunk to its bitter dregs. Job had +wondered what it meant. He knew now. It was here on the slopes of the +Sierras. These pines were the gnarled olive trees, this was the garden +of grief. Gethsemane--it had come into the life of Job Malden. + +At length the first great storm of grief had spent itself, and he sat +alone in the silence broken only by the far-off mutter of thunder; sat +alone with his dead and his thoughts. Again, as on far Glacier Point, +memory came and turned the pages of a lifetime. He was back in the old +boyhood days, laughing at her dusty, tanned feet--he would kneel to +kiss them now, if he could; again he was climbing Sugar Pine trail +with her; he was following her and Dan out on that bitter winter +night, maddened with jealousy and drink. Still the pages turned. He +was kneeling by her side at the Communion table, and a voice said, "As +oft as ye drink of this cup"--he was drinking of it now--the cup the +Master drank in the garden's gloom. Then the sobs overcame him. Again +he was still. The storm had spent its fury, the moon was struggling +through the rifted clouds. He remembered Glacier Point and that +immortal night, and he felt as if she was here and God was here, and +he knelt and prayed, "Thy will, not mine, be done," and the angels of +peace and rest came and ministered unto him. + +From sheer exhaustion he finally slept. It was but the passing of a +moment, and he was awake again. There in the moonlight he read, +"Jane." Could he bear it? He could see her now saying good-by. Oh, it +was forever, forever! Then, like a flash it came--forever? No; only a +little span of life, and, at the gates of pearl, he would see her +waiting to welcome him. She was there now, up where the stars were +shining and the moon had parted the clouds. Her frail body was here +perhaps--but Jane, his Jane, who that night at Glacier Point had said +she loved him--she was there. He would be brave; he would be true to +God; he would lean on the Master's arm. Jesus was left--he was with +him here in the lonely graveyard, and Jane was his still for all +eternity. + +The young man looked up from the dark earth to the clear sky, and +prayed a prayer of hope and trust and submission. Near the hour of +dawn he walked out to the gate where Bess stood waiting. He mounted +her--dear Bess! who alone knew the story of the awful tragedy. He +patted her neck; he whispered his sorrow in her ear. And then a +strange, wild thought came to him. He would not go back--he would go +away to the great, outside world, never to see the mountains again. +How could he ever climb Sugar Pine Hill, or go past the old +school-house, or enter the old church? He would go where no gleam from +sun-kissed El Capitan could reach his eye, where no associations that +would remind of a life forever past could haunt his soul. + +Then he remembered something--it seemed like a nightmare. They had +said he did it--how, when, why, he knew not. If he went away they +would think he was afraid to face them, they would believe him guilty, +and the old man would be broken-hearted. Job had forgotten him--he had +forgotten all but his awful sorrow. What of it? Go anyway, his heart +said. Go away from this world that has been full of trial after trial +for you. No matter what men think. God knows--God can take care of +the old man. + +There on Bess' back Job sat, while the bitter conflict within went on. + +It was over at last. He turned Bess' steps toward Pine Mountain and +home. He would face it all--the world's scorn, the old scenes which +seemed each one to pierce anew his heart. He had been down to +Gethsemane; he would climb Calvary. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +VIA DOLOROSA. + + +"I tell you he'll come! Don't say that about my boy! It was an +accident--he said so--I heard him! He can explain it all. He saw it! +He'll come!" were the words Job heard Andrew Malden saying as he rode +up to Pine Tree Ranch in the dim light of early morning. The sheriff +and his deputy had come for Job; and, maddened to find him gone, were +cursing the old man and the one they sought. + +Andrew Malden, quivering with excitement, tortured by a thousand +fears, wondering if he would come, was defending as best he could the +young man whom he loved, in this awful hour, more than ever before. + +Job was close beside them before they saw him. Hitching Bess, he +walked up to the door, saluted the sheriff, and calmly asked: + +"Were you looking for me?" + +The sight of that pale, manly face for a moment stilled the bluster of +the rough officer of the law, and he almost apologized as he told Job +he was under the painful necessity of taking him to the county jail to +answer to the charge of homicide--the murder of a girl named Jane +Reed. Job winced under the sting of the words. For a moment he felt +like striking the man a blow for mentioning that sacred name; then he +bit his lip, sent up a silent prayer, and said: + +"Very well, sir; I will mount my horse and follow you. I know the way +well." + +In a flash the burly sheriff whipped the hand-cuffs upon his wrists, +and said: + +"Ride! Well, I guess not! You'll play none of your games on me! You +will ride between me and my deputy, Mr. Dean!" And then Job discovered +for the first time that Marshall Dean was eying him with a malicious +grin of satisfaction. + +In a moment, seated in the buckboard between the two men, with only +time for a good-by to Bess, a shake of the old man's hand, and never a +moment to explain that the accident he had mentioned had befallen +himself, not Jane, Job Malden rode down over the Pine Tree road, +handcuffed, on his way to the county jail at Gold City. + +Past the Miners' Home and the Palace Hotel they drove at last. Bitter +faces glared into the prisoner's, friends of other days met him with +silence, and here and there a voice cried, "Lynch him!" Up past the +old church where he and Jane had gone and come together; up to the +door of the quaint white court house with square tower and green +blinds they drove, and Job passed through the rear door, and into the +narrow, dark dungeon, with only, high up, a little iron-barred window +to let in light and air--a prisoner of Grizzly county, to answer for +the killing of Jane Reed. + +Only when he heard the sound of the bolt in the door, heard the crowd +outside cheering the sheriff for his bravery in capturing the outlaw, +and, seated on the narrow cot, looked around the cheerless cell with +no other furniture, did a sense of what it all meant rush over him. +Then the hot tears came, his head sank between his hands, and he felt +that he had taken the first step up Calvary. Like a far-off murmur +there came to him the words he had said in his heart on that long-ago +Communion Sunday: + + "Where He leads me I will follow, + I'll go with Him all the way." + +All the way? Ah, he was beginning to know what that meant! Then there +came that other verse--how it soothed his troubled heart! + + "He will give me grace and glory, + And go with me all the way." + +Just then the sun stole in at the little cell window, and the +perpendicular and horizontal bars made the shadow of a cross on the +floor, all surrounded by a flood of light. A great peace came into Job +Malden's heart, as the Master whispered, "I will never leave thee nor +forsake thee." + + * * * * * + +All Gold City was stirred to its depths. Nothing had happened in forty +years to so move the hearts of men. Business was forgotten, groups of +men met and talked long on the street corners, the mining camp was +deserted. There was but one theme--the tragedy of Inspiration Point. +Up at the Yellow Jacket a great shadow rested over office, church and +the miners' shanties. On the lowest levels of the mines, grimy men +looked into each other's faces and talked in an undertone of the awful +fear which they would not have the rocks and the secret places of the +earth know; that "the parson" was in a murderer's cell, and the storm +clouds were gathering fast about him, and the worst was, he was +guilty--it must be so! + +The superintendent drove his team on a run to the court house, and +offered any amount of bail. This was refused, and he was denied even a +look at Job. Up at the ranch, Andrew Malden neither ate nor slept. A +terrible nightmare hung over him. His boy was innocent, of course he +was. But oh, it was awful! The saloons were crowded, and a furtive +chuckle passed around the bars. He was caged now, the one they hated, +and the evil element were in high glee. O'Donnell and Dan Dean, Col. +Dick and the sheriff, were the center of crowds who hung on their +words, as they told the story of the crime over and over with a new +force and new aspect that showed the utter hypocrisy, treachery and +sin of Job. + +The church was crowded. The preacher could not believe Job guilty, but +he dared not say so. Tom Reed, wild with grief, pleaded with men to +break open the jail and let him slay the murderer, slay him and avenge +his Jane--his black-eyed, great-hearted Jane. The city reporters were +busy, and the papers glowed with accounts and photographs of "the +awful wretch who was safely held behind the bars of the Gold City +jail." So the storm surged to and fro, so the days passed, to that +dark ninth of August when the trial was to begin. + +Of all the throng of men in the mountains in those days, he alone who +sat in the silence of a dungeon in the old court house, was unmoved +and at peace. Through the long hours he sat recalling memories of past +years, living again the scenes of yesterday, which seemed to belong to +another world and another life now gone forever. From his pocket he +drew again and again the little Testament still fragrant with a +mother's dying kiss, and felt himself as much a homeless, motherless +boy as upon that long-ago night when he first saw Gold City and fell +asleep on the "Palace" doorsteps. He read it over and over. It was of +Gethsemane, the Last Supper and Calvary he read most. He knew now what +they meant. Then he turned to the words, "What shall separate us from +the love of God?" and the consciousness that God was left, that Jesus +was his, was like a mighty arm bearing him up. + +They asked him for his defense. He said he had none, except the fact +that he knew nothing about the deed. They scorned that, and asked whom +he wished for a lawyer. He had no choice--cared for none. The judge +sent him a young infidel attorney, the sheriff refused him the +privilege of seeing anyone, the iron gate was double-barred, and +closer and closer the web of evidence was drawn about him ready for +the day of the trial. + +He asked for Andrew Malden, but was refused. He begged them to send +for Indian Bill; they made a pretense of doing so, but the trapper was +far from human reach, far up in the wilderness beyond El Capitan. All +Job could do was to pray and wait, little caring what the outcome +might be, little caring what might be the verdict of the world of Gold +City; knowing only two things--that Jane was dead and life could never +be the same to him; and that the God who looked down in tender +compassion on his child shut in between those dark stone walls, knew +all about it. Job had read how one like unto an angel walked in the +furnace of old with God's saints; he felt, now, that the Christ came +and sat by his side in those lonely prison hours. + + * * * * * + +It was Monday, the ninth of August. The sun's rays beat down on the +dusty streets of Gold City and glared from the white walls of the +court house. At ten o'clock the trial would commence--the great trial +of "The State vs. Job Teale Malden." The streets were thronged with +vehicles; it was like one of the old-time Sunday picnics, only saint +as well as sinner was here. The Yellow Jacket had closed down by +common consent of all, and hundreds of workingmen were pouring into +town in stages and buckboards, on horseback and on foot. The old court +house was packed to its utmost capacity; the gallery and stairs were +one mass of writhing humanity. Outside, they stood like a great +encampment, stretching away, filling the whole square. Still they came +from Mormon Bar and Wawona--the greatest throng in the history of +Grizzly county; men, women, and children in arms--all to see Job +Malden tried for his life. + +Through this crowd, Andrew Malden, leaning on his cane, passed in at +the great door by Tony's side. The crowd was silent as he passed. Some +muttered under their breath; some lifted their hats. That worn, gaunt +face startled them all. It was through this same crowd that Tom Reed, +with darkened brow, and Dan Dean, limping on his crutches, passed in +together. + +The clock in the tower struck ten. Job in his cell heard it above the +din of innumerable feet passing over his head; heard it and knelt in +an earnest prayer for grace to bear whatever might come; to suffer and +be still as his Master did of old. He had gone all over it again and +again; they knew his story of the walk down the cañon trail with +Indian Bill, but even the lawyer doubted it. If they knew of Glacier +Point and the betrothal, they might believe him. Should he tell it? +All night he had paced the cell wondering if he ought--if he could. As +he knelt in that hour, he resolved that, though it would save his +life, no human ear should ever hear that sacred secret. That hour on +Glacier Point should be unveiled to no human eye, but remain locked in +the chambers of his soul, known only to God and her who waited yonder +for his coming. + +It was near noon when the judge ascended the bench. The hubbub of +voices ceased, the case was called, the rear door opened, and, led in +by the sheriff, handcuffed and guarded, with calm, white face, yet +never faltering in step or look, Job Malden walked across the floor to +the prisoner's seat, while the crowd gazed in curiosity, that soon +changed to awe and reverence, at that grave face, so deeply marked +with scars of grief. + +It was a strange scene that met Job's gaze. All the familiar faces +were there--Aunty Perkins and Tim's father; Dean and O'Donnell glaring +at him; poor old Andrew Malden leaning on his cane; Tony and Hans and +Tom Reed and--oh, no! Jane was not there, but gone forever from Gold +City and its strange, hard life. A tear stole down the prisoner's +cheek--he wiped it away. His enemies saw it and winked. Tim's father +saw it and moaned aloud. The clock struck twelve in the high tower, +and proceedings began. + +It was two days before the trial was well under way. The quibbling of +the lawyers, the choosing of a jury, the hearing of the witnesses who +had found the wounded, silent form of Jane Reed on the rocks beneath +the famous Point, filled the hours. Morning after morning, the scenes +of that first day were repeated in the court room; the great crowds, +the intense excitement, the friends and enemies intently listening to +every word and watching every movement of the prisoner. And calm and +still, with never a sign of fear or shame on his face, Job Malden sat +in that court room hour after hour, and One unseen stood at his side. + +On the third day the prosecution began to weave its web of +circumstantial evidence about Job. How shrewd it was! How carefully +each suspicious incident was told and retold! How meanly everything +bad in his life was emphasized, everything good forgotten! They +brought the tales of long-ago years when he was a mere boy. They +proved that the passionate blood of a gambler was in his veins; that +his father before him had shot a companion. The story of the +horse-race and escapades of the reckless days of old were rehearsed by +hosts of witnesses. It was proved, by an intricate line of +cross-questions, that once before, on a bitter winter's night, young +Malden had pursued this girl and Dan Dean with the avowed intention of +harming them. The hot blood came to Job's face--he well remembered +that night. Then he seemed to hear the distant voice of Indian Bill +saying by the roaring Merced, "Bill forgive Mono Indian;" and, sitting +there with this tale pouring into the ears of the throng who looked +more and more askance at him, Job said deep in his soul, "Forgive us +our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Father, I +forgive, I forgive!" + +Closer and closer they drew the web. They made Andrew Malden--poor old +man!--confess that he had heard Job say, "It was an accident," then +showed that he had denied knowing aught of Jane's death until he +reached home. Then Tom Reed took the stand. He testified that all +Jane's preference was for Dan; that she went to him when he and Job +were both so ill; that she wrote to Dan and never wrote to Job. The +old man fairly shook with rage as on the witness-stand he took every +chance to denounce the "hypocrite and 'ristocrat." Minutely he +pictured Job's coming to the valley, the heated arguments he was sure +the two had had, and how upon that awful day when Jane left him +forever, she had walked away by the side of Job Malden. + +Daniel Dean was the next witness. The crowd hung breathless on his +words. Stumping up on his crutches, Dan took the chance of a lifetime +to vent his hatred of Job. Keen, shrewd, too wise to speak out +plainly, but wise enough to know the blighting influence of +suggestion, Dan talked, insinuated and lied till the nails were driven +one by one into poor Job's heart and the pain was almost more than he +could bear. Insidiously, indirectly, he gave them all to understand +that Jane Reed loved him and again and again by her actions had shown +preference for himself. Then down the aisle he passed, while the crowd +looked at him in pity, and Job felt as if he must rise and tell of the +night at Glacier Point, must vindicate the memory of Jane Reed. But +no! God knew all. Some things are too sacred to tell to any ear but +his. He must suffer and be still. + +When Job went back to his lonely cell that night a boy was whistling +on the street, "I'll go with Him all the way," and Job Malden took up +the words and said them with a meaning he had never known before. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +"CALVARY." + + +On the fourth day the court called for the defense. Curiosity reached +its culmination. Men fought for a chance to get within hearing +distance. Dan and his comrades sat with an indolent air of +satisfaction. Aunty Perkins crowded close to the front. Through the +door and up to the very railing which enclosed the active +participants, Andrew Malden and Tony made their way. There were only +four possible points for the defense. First, it might prove Job's +changed character; second, that it was Job, not Dan, to whom Jane Reed +was betrothed; third, that Job was far away in the Merced Cañon with +Indian Bill at the time of the death; fourth, to show by what cause +death came to the fated girl. + +The last, the defense could not prove; for the third, they had no +evidence but the prisoner's own word, and that the court would not +accept; the second, not even the lawyer or Andrew Malden knew, and no +power on earth could make Job Malden tell it; there was no defense to +make except to show the character of Job and plead the fact that +circumstantial evidence was not proof of guilt. + +He did his best, that bungling young attorney. He tried to take +advantage of technicalities, but Job utterly forbade that. If +righteousness and God could not clear him, nothing else could. The +defense was lame, but it proved that some people believed in Job and +loved him. Tim's father told, between his tears, the story of "Tim's +praist." Aunty Perkins and the preacher spoke ringing words for him. +From the Yellow Jacket men came and defended his noble life. But it +all went for naught with that jury. It was facts, not sentiment, they +wanted. All this might be true, but if Job Malden had done the awful +deed which the evidence went to show, then these things only made his +crime the blacker. + +The defense finished at noon, and the lawyers began their pleas at one +o'clock. They hardly needed to speak--Grizzly county had tried the +case and the verdict was in. Yet they spoke. How eloquently the +prosecuting attorney showed the influence of heredity--that the evil +in the father would show itself some day in the boy! How he pictured +the temporary religious change in Job's life, and then his relapse as +the old fever came back into his blood! He had relapsed before, they +all knew. He did not doubt his temporary goodness; but love is +stronger than fear and hatred than integrity, and meeting Jane in the +valley had roused all the old passion. Out on the cliff they had +walked, they had quarreled, all the old fire of his father had come +back--perhaps the boy was not to blame--and, standing there alone with +the girl who would not promise to be his wife, in his rage he had +struck her, and over the cliff she had gone, down, down, on the cruel +rocks, to her death, and he had fled over the mountains till, goaded +by conscience, haunted by awful guilt, he had come home and given +himself up. + +The crowd shuddered as he spoke. Tom Reed fainted, Andrew Malden grew +deathly white and raised his wan hand in protest, but still the +speaker kept on. Job listened as if it were of another he spoke. He +could see it all--how awful it was!--and it was Jane and he had done +it! He almost believed he had; that man who stood there, carrying the +whole throng with him, made it so clear. The voice ceased. Then Job +roused himself. The consciousness that it was all false, terribly +false, came over him, and he leaned hard on God. + +The attorney for the defense said but a word. For a moment it thrilled +the multitude. It was a strange speech. This is what he said: "Your +honor and gentlemen of the jury, the only defense I have is the +character of the young man. I can say nothing more than you have heard +to show how far beneath him is such a crime as this. I know you doubt +his word, I know you are against him; but, before these people who +know me as an infidel--before God who looks down and knows the hearts +of men--I want to say that I believe in Job Malden. What I have seen +of him in these awful days has changed my whole life. Henceforth I +believe in God." + +It was over. The judge was charging the jury, "Bring in a verdict +consistent with the facts, gentlemen; the facts, not sentiment." The +sun was setting. The jury retired for the night; they would bring in a +verdict in the morning. + +But the verdict was in. Even Andrew Malden groaned as he leaned on +Tony's arm, "Oh, Tony! Tony! How could he have done it!" As Job turned +to go back to his cell, he looked over that great crowd for one face +that trusted him, but on each seemed written, "Guilty!" He felt as if +the whole world had turned from him and the years had gone for naught. +There was no voice to whisper a loving word. "Forsaken! forsaken!" He +said it over and over. His head was hot, his pulse was feverish. He +longed for the touch of his mother's hand; he was hungry for the sound +of Jane's voice; he longed to lay his head on Andrew Malden's knee; +but he was alone--Calvary was here. The crucifixion hour had come. + +At midnight he awoke. A strong arm seemed to hold him, a voice to say, +"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; when thou +walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned." It was the +Christ. There alone on the summit of the mount of the cross, amid the +bitterness of the world, pierced to the heart, crucified in soul, Job +Malden stood with his Master. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +THE VERDICT. + + +It was Friday morning. The last day of the trial had come. The hot sun +beat down on hundreds pressing their way towards the old court house, +too excited to be weary. Never had Gold City known such a day. The +court room was crowded two hours before the judge came to the bench. A +profound silence filled the place. When Job entered one could have +felt the stillness. All knew the verdict--all dreaded to hear it. Dan +Dean shrank down behind the post when the jury filed in. Job sat with +a far-away look in his eyes. Men, gazing at him, were reminded of +pictures of the old saints. + +The preliminaries were over, and the foreman of the jury rose to give +the verdict. Men held their breath. Women grew pale and trembled. In a +clear voice he said it: "Guilty!" For a moment the hush lasted; then +Andrew Malden fainted, Tim's father cried, "My God! My God!" a storm +of tears swept over the throng, and Job sat motionless, while a look +of great peace came into his face and in his soul he murmured, "It is +finished!" + +But the judge was speaking. He was denying the motion for a new trial; +he was asking if the prisoner had aught to say why sentence should not +be pronounced against him, when a voice that startled all rang through +the great room: + +"White man, hear! Bill talk!" + +There he stood--from whence he came no one knew--his old gray blanket +wrapped about him, his long black hair falling in a mass over his +shoulders, the blue overalls still hanging about his great brown feet. +With hand outstretched, he stood for a moment in silence, while judge +and jury and throng were at his command. + +Then he spoke; brief, to the point, fiery, strong. The crowd was +spellbound. He carried bench and jury and all with him. He told of the +day in Merced Cañon; of the figure on the distant cliff; of the +earthquake and Job's fall; how he had seen what he dared not tell the +boy--the cliff give way, a white thing go down, down, out of sight. +Told of Job's many hours in his tepee, and of how the boy had brought +him to the Great Spirit, who took the hate all out of his heart. On he +talked, till Job's every statement was corroborated, till a revulsion +of feeling swept over the multitude, till they saw it all vividly: +that it was the earthquake--it was God, not man, who had called Jane +Reed from this world; that the prisoner was as innocent as the baby +yonder prattling in its mother's arms. + +Dan slunk out of the door, Tom Reed sat in silent awe, Tim's father +was in tears, Tony shouted, "Bress de Lawd!" And only Job said never a +word, as the judge, disregarding all precedent, dismissed the case. +The great trial of "The State vs. Job Malden" was ended. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +IN JANUARY AND MAY TIME. + + +The leaves on the mountain maples turned early that fall. The touch of +bitter frost brought forth their rarest colors. The snowflakes +fluttered down before November was past; fluttered down and softly +covered the furrows and brown earth with a mantle of white. + +So the days of that autumn came to Job Malden. The beauty begotten of +pain crept into his face. The mantle of silence and peace hid deep the +scars of grief. He never talked of the past--no man ever dared broach +it. The children at their play in the twilight stopped and huddled +close as they saw a dark form climb the graveyard hill, and wondered +who it could be. Yet he did not live apart from the world. Never had +Gold City seen more of him; never did children love a playmate so much +as he who took them all into his heart. Yet he was not of them--all +felt it, all saw it. He was with them, not of them. Up higher in soul +he had climbed than the world of Gold City could go. He came down to +them often, and unconsciously they poured their sorrows at his feet, +and he comforted them; but when he went back into the secret holy +place of his soul, no man dared follow. + +Up at the old ranch, the gray-haired, feeble owner sat by the fire +watching the crackling logs and the flames; sat and thought of the +years that were gone. Visions of childhood mingled with visions of +heaven; the murmur of voices long silent with the words, as Job read +them aloud: "In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare +a place for you." Tony still sang at his chores, Hans was still at the +barn, Bess still neighed in the stable, Shot still barked at the door. +But the old home could never be quite the same to the brave, manly +fellow who strode in and out across its threshold. + +It was New Year's Eve. Job sat by the old stone fireplace. The +household had gone to rest. The clock was ticking away the moments of +the dying year. Outside, the world was still and white. With head in +his hands, Job waited for the year to end. + +He was ten years older than when it had begun. He was still a boy then +in heart and years; now he was well on in manhood. Yosemite, Glacier +Point, Gethsemane, Calvary, Jane Reed's grave, were in that year. He +longed to hear its death-knell. Yet that year--how much it had meant +to his soul! The sanctifying influence of sorrow had softened and +purified his life. The abiding Christ was with him; he lived, and yet +not he--it was Christ living in him. + +He knelt and thanked Him for it all--heights of glory, depths of +tribulation; thanked Him for whatsoever Infinite Love had given in the +days of that dark, dark year now ending. The clock gave a warning +tick--it was going; a moment, and it would be gone forever. Into his +heart came a great purpose--the purpose to leave the past with the +past, and in the new year go out to a new life--a life of love for all +the world, of service for all hearts. Over his soul came a great joy. + +The clock struck twelve. Somebody down the hill fired a gun, the dogs +barked a welcome--the new year had come. The school-house bell was +ringing, and to Job it seemed to say: + + "Ring out the old, ring in the new, + Ring in the Christ that is to be." + +The young man rose from his knees. He went and opened the door. The +white world flooded with silvery light lay before him. The past was +gone. He stood with his face to the future, to the years unscarred +and waiting. Into them he would go to live for others. He closed the +doors, brushed back the embers, and crept softly up to his room, +singing in a low voice the first song for many months: + + "Oh, the good we all may do, + While the days are going by." + +All day the drums had been beating. All day the tramp of martial feet +had been heard along the Gold City streets. The soldiers from Camp +Sheridan had marched in line with the local militia, and a few +trembling veterans who knew more of real war than either. "Old Glory" +on the court house had been at half-mast, the children had scattered +flowers on a few flag-marked graves, while faltering voices of age +read the Grand Army Ritual. The public exercises in the town square +were over. + +The sun had set on Decoration Day when Job rode Bess up once more to +the old graveyard where Jane lay. Not often did he come here now--he +felt that she was up among the stars; it was only the shroud of clay +that lay under the sod--yet on this day when love scatters garlands +over its dead, he had come to place a wreath of wild-flowers on her +grave. + +He thought of that night when he had first visited this spot. How far +in the past it seemed! He could never forget it, but he could think of +it now in quiet of soul, and feel, "He doeth all things well." +Reverently he laid the wreath on the grave, knelt in silent prayer, +and tarried a moment with bowed head. Memories sweet and tender, +memories sad and bitter, came back to him. + +Just then he heard a noise, a foot-fall opposite, and looked up to see +a tall form supported by a crutch standing with bowed head. + +"Why, Dan!" Job said, startled for a moment. + +"Job!" answered a trembling voice. + +And there they stood, those two men whose lives met in the one under +the sod; stood and looked in silence. + +At last Dan spoke. But how different his voice sounded! All the +scornfulness had gone out of it. + +"Job," he said, "Job, I knew you were here. Many a night I have seen +you come, have watched you kneeling here, and hated you for it--yet +loved you for it. I knew you would come again to-night. I came to +stand beneath that old pine yonder, and watched you lay the wreath on +the grave. I could stand it no longer. I have come, Job--I have +come--" and Dan, yes, Dan Dean, faltered!--"come to be forgiven. For +years I have dogged your footsteps, hated you, persecuted you, lain in +wait to ruin you. For this alone I have lived. God only knows--you +don't--how bad I have been. But, Job, you are too much for me. The +more I harm you, the nobler you grow. I have hated religion, but +to-night I would give all I ever hope to own to have a little like +yours. If religion can do for a fellow what it has for you, there is +nothing in the world like it." + +A little nearer he came, as Job, hardly believing his ears, listened. + +"Job," he cried, "I don't deserve it, God knows! I have wronged you +beyond all hope of mercy. But I must be forgiven, or I must die. You +must forgive me. I cannot live another day with this awful feeling in +my heart. I cannot sleep--I cannot work. I don't care whether I die or +not, but I cannot go into eternity without knowing that you forgive +me!" + +At last the tears came, and Dan sank, crutch in hand, beside Jane's +grave. + +Job could not speak. For a moment, only the sound of a strong man's +sobs and the hoot of an owl filled the air, then a passionate cry +burst from Dan's lips: + +"Tell me, Job, tell me, is it possible for you to forgive?" + +For a moment Job faltered. He could see Trapper Bill pace the tepee +and say, "Bill forgive Mono Indian;" he could hear the Master saying, +"After this manner pray ye, Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive +those who trespass against us;" and, kneeling and putting his arm +about the quivering form, he whispered: + +"Dan, I forgive!" + +Long hours they stayed there, praying and talking, till Dan, grown +quiet as a child, looked up with a strange, new expression, and said: + +"You forgive and God forgives! Oh, Job, this is more than I ever hoped +for! I can hardly stand it!" + + * * * * * + +It was Children's Day when Daniel Dean was received into the Gold City +church. No one knew what was coming. Job rode down from the ranch with +the secret hid in his heart. It was a lovely June Sunday. The roses +were blossoming over the cottages, and the birds sang as if wild with +joy. The mountains were covered with green, the valleys were robed in +flowers, and golden plains stretched below. + +Old friends were greeting each other, and familiar forms passing in at +the church door, as Job led Andy Malden, leaning on his cane, to the +family pew. The church was a bower of flowers, the songs of birds rang +out from gayly bedecked cages, and the patter of children's feet was +heard in the aisle. + +It was a beautiful service. Music of voice and organ filled the air, +wee tots tripped up to the platform and down again, saying in +frightened voices little "pieces" that made mothers proud and big men +listen. The pastor brought forth a number of candles, large and +small, wax and common tallow, and put them on the pulpit, where he lit +them one by one, showing how one, lit by the flame of the largest, +could pass along and light the others; how one life lit by the fire of +Jesus' love could light all the hearts around it. And from smallest +bright-eyed boy to gray-haired Andrew Malden, all knew what he meant +by the transforming power of a transformed life. It was then that song +and service had its living illustration. + +[Illustration: From Glacier Point, Yosemite.] + +It was just as the preacher finished his sermon and asked if any had +children to be baptized, that Job arose and said there was one present +who had come as a little child to Christ, and who wished to come as a +little child into the church, and he would present him for baptism if +he might. + +The preacher gave willing consent, and the wondering congregation +waited. Job rose and passed to the rear. Every head was turned. Then +he came back, and on his arm, neatly dressed in a plain black suit, +came poor, crippled Dan Dean. + +The people who saw that scene can never agree on just what happened +then. A resurrection from the dead could scarcely have surprised them +more. It is said that they rose en masse and stood in silence as the +pair passed down the aisle. Then someone started up, "There's a +wideness in God's mercy like the wideness of the sea," and the whole +church rang. + +Some say that Dan told of his conversion and his faith in Jesus; some, +that Job told it; some, the preacher. The preacher's tears, it is +said, mingled with the baptismal waters, and the noonday sun kissed +them into gold, on that famous Sunday when Daniel Dean was baptized +and received as a little child into the Gold City church. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +SUNSET. + + +One evening soon after that memorable Sunday, Job reached home rather +late. Putting Bess in the stall, he said a tender good-night, crossed +the square to the gate, and went up to the house to find it strangely +still. He pushed the door ajar and saw the old man leaning on his cane +in his arm-chair. His white locks were gilded by the setting sun. His +spectacles lay across the open Bible on the chair at his side. Job +spoke, but there was no answer. Stepping over to see if the old man +was asleep, he found he was indeed sleeping--the sleep that knows no +waking. + +Just at sunset, as the long summer day was dying, reading that +precious Psalm, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," the weary +traveler on life's long journey had finished his course and gone to +the rest that remaineth for the children of God. Beside him, he had +laid the Book; he would need it no more--he had gone to see the Savior +"face to face." He had taken off his spectacles--the eyes that had +needed them here would not need them in that world to which he had +gone. On his staff he leaned, In the old farmhouse, the home of many +years, and gently as a little child falls asleep in its mother's arms, +he had leaned on God and gone to the better Home. + +A feeling of utter loneliness came over Job. The last strong tie was +broken. That night he walked over the old place in the dim light, and +felt that heaven was coming to be more like home than earth. + + * * * * * + +"Waal, the old man's gone," Marshall Dean said, as he drew his chair +back from the table. "Mighty long wait we've had, Sally, but now we'll +get ready to move." + +"Move!" cried his wife, "move! Marshall Dean, where is your common +sense? Don't you know the whole thing will go to that man that's no +kith nor kin of his, while we poor relations has to sit and starve!" + +"Mother," said a voice, "I think Job Malden has a better right to the +place than we. He's been a better relation to the old man than all the +Deans together, if I do say it." It was Dan who spoke. + +"Yes, that's the way! Bring up a son, and hear him talk back to his +mother!--that's the way it goes! Ever since ye got religion down there +at that gal's grave, ye've been a regular crank!" + +The hot words stung, but Dan remained silent. + +"I don't care, ma," said little Tom, "I think Job's nice, and if he's +boss I'm going up there every day." + +"Yes, and he'll kick ye out, or do the way he did with Dan at the +Yellow Jacket--set a parcel of soldiers on to ye, just as if ye was a +dog!" sharply retorted Mrs. Dean. + +Dan could keep silent no longer. "Mother, what right have you to talk +that way? I deserved all I got at the Yellow Jacket. And I shall never +forget that when my leg was hurt and the surgeon took it off, Job came +in and nursed me. No better man ever walked the earth than Job +Malden, and not one of the Dean family is worth mentioning in the +same breath." + + * * * * * + +The mother cut her bread in frowning silence, the father took his hat +and left the room, while little Ross said: + +"Job brought me a lot of the prettiest flowers once when I was sick! I +wish he owned all the flowers, he's so good to me!" + +Just then Baby Jim climbed into his mother's lap and said, "What's +'dead,' mamma? Where's Uncle Andy gone? Is you goin' there?" And the +peevish, selfish woman took the child in her arms and went out on the +sunny porch, wondering if indeed she was ever going there; whether +this something which, after all, she knew had so changed Dan for the +better, was for her. + +Down at Squire Perkins' that night, a Chinese woman, kneeling by her +kitchen chair, prayed that riches might not conquer Job Malden, who by +the grace of God had stood so many of life's tests. + +On the streets of Gold City they debated over the estate, wondering if +Andrew Malden had left anything for public charity, and whether the +new lord of Pine Tree Mountain would rebuild the mill and open the +Cove Mine. Pioneers of the hills met each other by the way and talked +of how fast changes were coming in Grizzly county--Yankee Sam gone, +Father Reynolds gone, and now Andy Malden. They shook their heads and +wondered what would become of things, with none but the youngsters +left. + +Up at the ranch, Tony crept softly across the floor and, himself +unseen, looked in where Job sat by the still form of "old Marse." + +It was over at last. Under the pines, close by his own boy and Jane, +they laid him. It was a strange funeral. Tony, Hans, Tim's father and +Sing bore the casket. A great throng was there. The man whom Grizzly +county had once hated was buried amid its tears. Job stood with bared +head as the preacher said, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," and turned +quickly away, feeling that the old days were gone forever. + +It seemed very strange that night to hear Tony say, "Marse Malden, +what's de work yo' hab for me?" He walked through the old house and +then went out again. The soul of the place was gone. + +Job wondered what the outside world looked like; what God had in store +for him. He longed to leave the dead past behind him, and be out in +the world of action and mighty purpose. But he was in the memory-world +still; and as he slept that night, there came the friends of other +days--his blue-eyed mother, Yankee Sam, black-eyed Jane, wan-faced +Tim, the old man; across his dreams they came and went. + +Last of all One came, the seamless robe enfolding Him, the dust +covering His scarred feet, the print of thorns on His brow, and He +whispered: + +"Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +"AUF WIEDERSEHEN." + + +It was two days after the funeral. Sing had set things to rights in +the old parlor; Tony brought in a bunch of flowers; and Job, leaving +Bess saddled by the fence, came in and went up to his little room. +They were coming to hear the will read. They would be here soon, the +lawyer and the relatives and the preacher--for it was announced that +the old man had left a snug sum to the church. Sing and Tony and Hans, +arrayed in their best, waited for those who were coming. + +At last they came--the preacher on horseback, in his long coat; +Marshall Dean and his wife, in their best attire, followed by the nine +young Deans of all ages. And back of all was Dan, in his neat black +suit, looking paler and more frail than ever. Into the prim little +parlor they all filed, and sat down awkwardly in a line around the +room. The preacher remarked upon the weather, Mr. Dean said it was an +uncommon warm summer, Mrs. Dean sent Tommy to get her a newspaper to +use as a fan. + +Just then a horse and cart drove up, and all looked out. It was Aunty +Perkins. Why she had come, she knew not, except that Job had sent for +her. She trotted in, and, with a little curtsey, said, "How do? Hot in +sun. All well?" Next came Tim's father, in a new brown suit and a red +tie that matched his hair. Last of all, Tom Reed looked in sheepishly, +and seated himself outside the door. All sat in embarrassed silence, +which grew painful as the moments went on. Where was the lawyer, and +where was Job? + +Finally they came--the attorney through the gate and up the path at a +brisk pace. Then, dressed in a neat black suit, with black tie and +black hat in hand, and looking for all the world as he had years +before when he came in on the stage, only older grown, Job came down +the stairs and, with a kind welcome, seated himself near the door. + +The lawyer adjusted his spectacles and broke the seal of the document +in his hand. Hans and Sing and Tony stood in the open door, a +picturesque group in the afternoon sunlight. The lawyer rose, looked +about, and cleared his throat. The anxious spectators leaned over, +breathless. It had come at last! Only a second between them and some +substantial remembrance from Andrew Malden. + +The will was in the usual form, but it was brief. Slowly, almost +haltingly, he read, so that the words fell clearly on each ear. This +is what they heard: + + "In the name of God, Amen. I, Andrew Malden, a native of + Massachusetts, a resident of Grizzly county, State of + California, being in clear mind and usual health, do hereby + make my last will and testament. I hereby bequeath all my + property, real and personal, those lands and buildings and + appurtenances thereof situated in the county of Grizzly, all + bonds and moneys deposited in the Gold City Bank, to Job Teale, + who for many years has lived under my roof and been a son to + me. All things that by the grace of God I own, I bequeath to + him and his heirs and assigns forever. + + (Signed) ANDREW MALDEN." + +A stillness almost oppressive filled the room as the last word fell +from the lawyer's lips, as the name of the last witness was read. + +It was what they had expected--what in all justice was right--but not +what they had hoped. All together they rose to go. The preacher was +saying, "Mr. Malden, we hope the Lord will bless these riches to your +good," Dan was looking as if impressed with the extreme justice of +things, when Job arose and motioned them into silence. There he stood +in the center, stood and looked into each face. + +"Wait, Mr. Lawyer," he said. "I have a word before you go. Neighbors, +friends, I have something to say. Fifteen years ago, the man whose +last will we have heard to-day carried me, a helpless orphan, across +the threshold of yonder door. From that night until now, I have called +this home. Fifteen years! What changes they have brought! Dan and I +were little boys; now we are men. The joys and sorrows of human life +have come to me in these years. This old home has been dear to me; I +love every nook and corner of it. These well-worn boards are holy +ground. Here Andrew Malden lived; by that lounge he became a changed +man; from that old rocker he went home to God. By yonder gate I first +met her whom you all knew and loved; to this home, torn and crushed by +life's troubles, I have fled like a child at dusk to its mother's +arms, and in these rooms God has comforted and strengthened my heart. +I love you all. Not always have we seen alike; you have not always +loved me; but, some day, we shall know as we are known; some day we +shall see face to face. + +"I love these old mountains. I came to them a boy; they have made a +man of me. I have roamed their forests and climbed their cliffs. Every +spot has precious memories. Yes, neighbors, I love the old hills, I +love the old home; but to-night I am going far away from them. +To-night, before the sun sets, I shall leave the old scenes forever. +Here, lawyer, are some papers. Read them when I am gone. This is my +will. + +"Parson, you will build a new church with the money, and somewhere in +it remember the ones who are gone. Tony, Hans, Reed, there is +something for all of you. Dan, the old place is yours; keep it till I +come. All I shall take is Bess and my mother's Testament. + +"Farewell, Dan. Farewell, neighbors. God bless you, Tony; and, when +you pray, don't forget me;" and, striding across the room, Job Malden +was gone. + +By the gate he tarried a moment, put his arms round Shot's shaggy neck +and kissed him, sprang on Bess' back, gave one last look at Pine Tree +Ranch, and was off. + +There, in a silent, awed group, they stood in the door-yard and +watched him go through the pasture gate. Across the hills, the sunset +and the twilight fell on forest and fields and hearts. + +That night, men say, a dark shadow stole out of the graveyard at +midnight and galloped away. Far below in the Coyote Valley, where the +road to the plains goes down from the hill, some one said that--lying +awake near the window, in the stillness which comes towards +morning--he heard the sound of horse's hoofs going by, and rider and +horse swept on far down the road. + +[Illustration: FINIS] + + + + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + +EPILOGUE. + +On Pine Tree mountain the old house still stands, its windows hidden +beneath vines. Back and forth by the barns Tony slowly moves. By the +gate an old dog lies waiting. On the porch a frail cripple sits in the +twilight and looks down the road. But the one they wait for will never +come. Across the years of busy action and world-wide service he treads +the path that leads to "palms of victory, crowns of glory." In the joy +of service he is finding the peace which the world cannot give nor +take away. In self-forgetfulness he is growing daily into His +likeness, until he shall at last awake in His image, satisfied. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + +THE TAKING IN OF MARTHA MATILDA. + +BY BELLE KELLOGG TOWNE. + + +She stood at the end of the high bridge and looked over it to where +her father was making his way along the river-bank by a path leading +to the smelter. Then she glanced up another path branching at her feet +from the road crossing the bridge and which climbed the mountain until +it reached a little adobe cottage, then stopped. She seemed undecided, +but the sweet tones of a church bell striking quickly on the clear +April air caused her to turn her face in the direction from whence the +sound came. + +It was Martha Matilda, "Graham's girl," who stood thus, with the wind +from the snow-caps blowing down fresh upon her, tossing to and fro the +slim feather in her worn hat, and making its way under the lapels of +her unbuttoned jacket--Martha Matilda Graham, aged ten, with a wistful +face that might have been sweet and dimpled had not care and +loneliness robbed it of its rightful possessions. Further back there +had been a mother who called the child "Mattie." But now there was +only "father," and with him it was straight "Martha Matilda," spoken a +little brusquely, but never unkindly. Oh, yes, up in the cottage, +certain days, was Jerusha, who did the heavy work and then went home +nights; with Jerusha it was plain "Mat." Then there was Miss Mary down +at the school which Martha Matilda had attended at the time when +loving mother-fingers "fixed her up like other girls," and Miss Mary, +when speaking to the child "running wild upon the mountain side," +always said "dear." But Martha Matilda had dropped out of the +day-school and out of the Sunday-school. Somehow she had grown tired +of trying to keep shoe-strings from breaking, and aprons from being +torn, and if she was just home with Towser, such things did not +matter; as to her going to school, her father did not seem to care. +"Guess there's no hurry 'bout filling so small a head," he would +sometimes say when Jerusha pleaded for school with Martha's eyes +assenting. + +So now, Martha Matilda stood listening to the chiming of the Easter +bells and seemed undecided as to her next move. + +"I know Miss Mary's lily is there, and it's got five blossoms on this +year; she told father so down at the store. And such a lot of +evergreen as the girls did take in yesterday!" Her face was still +turned in the direction of the church on the outskirts of the scraggly +mountain town, and whose spire pricked through the dark green piñons +surrounding it. "I ain't fixed--I ain't never fixed now." And she +glanced down along her unbuttoned jacket, over the faded delaine +dress, to her shoes tied with strings held together by countless +knots. "It seems awful lonesome to be home on Easter." + +She pulled out some brown woolen gloves from the pocket of her jacket, +and drew them on slowly. Her fingers crowded out through numerous +holes, but she pushed them back, pulling the ends of the gloves +further up, and drawing down the sleeves of the jacket in an attempt +to leave as small a part of the woolen gloves in sight as possible. +"Father wouldn't care--he never cares." She buttoned her jacket +hastily, settled her brown hat a little straighter, ran fleetly along +the road leading toward the church, and breathlessly climbed the rude +steps, together with a half-dozen other girls, just as the bell threw +down its last sweet tone. + +Some of the girls going up the church steps nodded good-humoredly to +Martha Matilda, but others pushed by too eager to notice. Martha did +not follow the girls far up the aisle of the church, but dropped down +into an empty pew near the door. How spicy and nice it did smell! She +reached up so that she might see the prettily-decorated altar over the +heads of the ones filling the church. Yes, there was Miss Mary's lily +with its five blossoms right on the stand by the pulpit. How beautiful +it looked, showing above the evergreens covering the altar-rail! And +there were Mrs. James' geraniums, a whole row of them--no one but Mrs. +James ever had geraniums worth much. And there were two little spruce +trees, one at each end of the altar-rail, with their cones all on. +Hadn't the girls worked, though! But the boys had helped. Lutty +Williams had told Martha Matilda all about it Saturday evening, going +home from the meat market, and then had awakened the first desire in +Martha to go "just for Easter" to the school she had dropped out of. + +Martha drew a long breath and was just falling back into an easier +posture after her extended survey, when a hand touched her shoulder. +"I thought, dear, you would want to see the lilies;" and there was +Miss Mary, as tall and sweet as a lily herself, with a brown straw hat +wreathed with cowslips, and a blue serge dress, neat and +close-fitting. "You can see better up with us;" and she drew the hand +with the brown woolen glove up close under her arm. + +"Oh, no, Miss Mary, I can't! I ain't fixed! I can see here." And the +little girl pulled herself back as far as Miss Mary's hold upon her +allowed. + +"Nonsense! The idea of your staying down here alone!" + +There was such sweet insistence in Miss Mary's voice that Martha stood +on her feet and allowed herself to be drawn out into the aisle. But +though for a few steps she followed with evident reluctance, a latent +dignity caused her to free her hand and walk the remainder of the way +as though of her own accord. A cluster of girls were watching for Miss +Mary's coming in a square pew near the front. + +"We've saved a place for you right here in the middle," said the girl +nearest the aisle, as their teacher came to them. And then they +shifted this way and that, so that "the place" was widened to take in +Martha Matilda as well. + +"Doesn't the church look nice, now we have it all fixed!" asked one of +the girls, as she nestled up close to Martha, reaching over her to +speak lovingly to the teacher. + +How cozy Martha felt, sitting there right in the heart of it all! How +pretty the lilies were, up near! And to think that her mamma had given +the first little bulb to Miss Mary!--Miss Mary had told her so one day +at school. + +But as Martha was reveling in the sights over which her eyes roamed, +and feeling the sweet comfort of being nestled close, a girl at the +further end of the pew broke a sturdy bit of rose geranium she held +into two pieces and, reaching over, laid one half on the brown woolen +gloves. + +Looking up, Martha met a smile and a nod from the giver. Thus +prompted, a lesson leaf was next laid upon the geranium branch by a +second girl, and a smile from another pair of eyes met Martha's. After +a little whispering and nodding between two girls near the aisle, one +of their open singing books was laid on the lesson leaf. "That's the +opening song; you'll get it after the first verse--you always do," was +whispered, and, with a nod, the giver settled back in her place, and +the one at her side passed her book along so as to make it serve for +two. + +Oh, how nice it was! And Martha drew a long breath. Then seeing that +the holes in her gloves showed, she tucked them further under the +singing book. This called to mind the broken shoe-strings, and she +moved her feet back out of sight. But even unmended gloves and untidy +shoes could not mar Martha Matilda's sweet feeling of comfort--poor +little Martha Matilda, longing so to be taken in somewhere, but hardly +knowing where or how! + +As it was Easter morning, the service was given to the children, who +had the center of the church reserved for them. The superintendent was +seated by the side of the minister, and it was he who gave out the +opening song. Martha found that after the first verse she could "catch +it" very easily, and this joining in the service made her feel all the +more one of them. The prayer that followed was a different prayer from +any that Martha had ever listened to, so low and sweet and confiding +were the words spoken, like friend talking with friend. The second +song Martha joined in at once, it being one she knew, and so forgetful +of self did she sing that more than one of the girls nodded to her +appreciatively, and even Miss Mary looked down and smiled. + +After this, there were songs and recitations by the scholars, some of +them Miss Mary's own class, and in these Martha took great pride. +Later, the older ones from the primary class graduated into the main +room, and after a few words from the superintendent, each was +presented with a diploma tied with blue ribbon, and a red Bible. How +happy the children looked as they went down, not to their old places, +but to seats reserved for them among the main-school scholars! + +The services closed by a short sermon to the children from the +minister--at least he called it a sermon, but to Martha it seemed just +a tender little talk from a big brother who loved his little brothers +and sisters so that he could not keep his love from showing, and who +loved the dear Jesus more than he loved them. Martha had never been +talked to like this. She sat forgetful of everything, even the woolen +gloves, and at times the minister turned her way and it seemed as +though he looked straight into her heart. Occasionally he touched the +lilies at his side, showing how one may grow like a lily, expanding to +take in Jesus' love as the lilies do the sunshine. + +Martha went home as though treading on air. She held the rather wilted +spray of rose geranium, and the lesson leaf, and with them was one of +Miss Mary's calla lilies, broken off clear down to the ground--"the +loveliest of the whole five," the girls said; and Miss Mary had smiled +so lovingly when giving it! And then the minister had come up and, +laying his hand on Martha's shoulder, had said, "It seems to me this +is the little girl who helped me preach to-day by paying such good +attention." Then Miss Mary spoke her name, and the minister said, "You +must come again, my dear." Oh, it was all like a beautiful dream, only +nicer! + +Reaching the little home up where the path terminated, Martha opened +the unlocked door and passed in. The sunshine made a warm mat on the +floor, and the cat was curled contentedly upon it. Martha took a +yellow and red vase down from the clock-shelf and, filling it with +water, put her lily and geranium branch into it, and placed it on the +table covered by a red table cloth, and partly set for dinner. The +effect was not quite as pleasing as she expected, but perhaps the rose +geranium would lose its droopy look after a while. + +Before taking off her hat, she opened the dampers of the stove, tilted +the cover above the chicken simmering in its gravy and pulled the +kettle further back, then opened the oven door to find it just right +for the potatoes Jerusha had in waiting. All this done, she removed +her hat and hung her jacket on a nail. As she did so, she caught a +glimpse of herself in the little glass over the bureau. It was not +pleasing to her. How grimy her face looked, compared with the other +girls'! And their dresses had lace around the neck, or broad collars, +or something. + +Martha whirled around and, lifting the hand basin from its hook by the +sink, she poured some warm water from the tea-kettle into it, carried +it carefully to the sink, loosened her dress and set about giving her +face and neck and hands a thorough scrubbing. This done, she drew a +long breath. "Guess that fixes that!" she said. Then she took off the +bit of soiled ribbon confining her braids, and taking down a comb from +the comb-case near, dipped it into water and drew it carefully through +her hair, after which she divided it into six strands and, giving each +a little twirl, stood for a moment by the radiating stove. Presto! Six +ropy curls danced up and down as their owner moved to and fro across +the room, and as the sunshine fell over them their beauty lifted the +little girl from out her plain surroundings. + +She laughed as, brushing the short hair up around her face, and +dampening it before the glass, little ringlets nodded around the +forehead, modifying its squareness. + +"It's 'most too fixed-up to wear that way every day. But Lutty +Williams fusses with a hot iron to get hers so." + +Then, a new idea striking her, she opened the bureau drawer and took +out a white apron with sleeves and long strings. It was a trifle +difficult to get on, and still more so to button, but at last this was +done, and the strings made into a very respectable bow at the back. +Smoothing it carefully down in front, Martha was disappointed to see +that it did not reach nearly so far over the brown delaine dress as +she had expected. She took no thought of Jerusha's having let out a +tuck in her dress since the apron was last worn. + +Martha's gaze now reached to her shoes. She turned to the clock, and, +taking out a pair of shoe-strings, sat down by the stove and, removing +her shoes, threw the bits of broken strings into the fire and threaded +in the new lacings, tying them snugly. Lutty Williams' shoes were +black as well as her lacings!--again there was a feeling of +disappointment. + +But the dinner needed her attention, so she turned to finish setting +the table, which Jerusha had arranged in part, before going home. A +second time a thought seemed to strike her, and now she reached to the +top drawer of the bureau and drew forth a white table-cloth. Carefully +she placed the vase on the window-sill, and, taking off the dishes and +putting them back in the cupboard, removed the red table-cloth, folded +it and placed that, too, in the cupboard. Jerusha did not think much +of white tablecloths, but it was Easter, and Easter, the minister had +said, should show loving touches throughout the home, just as Jesus +left his loving touch through the world. + +With great care Martha draped the table with the white linen, and +replaced the lily. How beautiful it looked now in its new +surroundings!--too beautiful for the hacked white dishes Jerusha used. +So a chair was placed in front of the green cupboard, and with +precision in every movement the "sprigged" dishes were gotten down. + +"Oh, if only it could be that way all the time!" Martha Matilda +sighed, standing beside her carefully-arranged table with shining +eyes. But the potatoes were brown and puffy, and the hand of the clock +reached to just half-past one. She gave a glance around the room, +grabbed her hat, and was off; it was time for her to meet her father +at the bridge, as she always met him Sundays, when dinner was ready. +No matter how much John Graham might enjoy lolling in the sun by the +smelter door with "the boys," he never forgot the time when the brown +hat was to be met down by the bridge. "A little close," was often said +of John Graham. "A trifle sharp in getting the best of a bargain, but +to be depended upon every time." + +Martha saw her father's faded felt hat bobbing up over the further +abutment, and she flew across the bridge. "Oh, I am so glad to see +you!" she said, catching hold of one of his big hands and covering it +with both of her small ones, as she danced along beside him. + +"One'd 'most think I'd been to Ingy," said the man in what would have +seemed a gruff voice to some. Then he glanced at the little figure by +his side, and said in just the same every-day tone, out of which he +was seldom drawn, "Might'ly fixed up, seems to me." + +"It's Easter, you know, pa. I went to Sunday-school. Miss Mary's lily +was there, and there was lots of evergreen, and the minister said I +helped him preach. And oh, pa, you don't know how the girls did take +me in! They sat up just as close!" + +"Take you in! And why shouldn't they?" + +"But you know, pa, they fix up so. And--" The little girl stopped, +seeming to feel it somewhat difficult to make her father understand +the situation. + +"So it's fine feathers, is it?" And now there was a decided gruffness +in his voice. + +But they had reached the door of the cottage, and the cat jumped down +from the chair and brushed against the legs of her master. There was +tea to be made, and the chicken to be dished; but the father did the +latter, after having washed carefully. The potatoes were given the +place of honor and the two sat down to do the meal justice. + +"We might have had some eggs, seeing it's Easter," said the man, +passing one of the largest potatoes to the little girl. + +"Lutty Williams' mother colored hers. Lutty said I might have one of +them, if I'd come over for it." + +"Guess I wouldn't go to Lutty Williams' for no eggs, if I was in your +place!" said the father. + +This somewhat dampened the little girl's ardor, and the rest of the +meal was partaken of in silence. + +The dishes were cleared away and the red table-cloth replaced. "No use +in Jerusha's being bothered," the wise Martha reasoned, as she +replaced the white linen in the drawer. Then she unbuttoned the big +gingham apron she had put on over the white one, and felt inclined to +send the white apron after the table-cloth. But something kept her +from doing this. "It's Easter anyhow." + +Her father had taken the cat on his lap, and in a chair tipped back +against the wall, with a broom splint between his teeth, sat reading +the county paper. + +Martha stood on the doorstep looking off to the mountains, and there +was the old wistful look on her face again. The April sun had clouded +in, and so had the bright spirit of the child. She tried to draw to +her the warmth that had been holding her close, but instead there +rested upon her a dreary sense of loneliness. Jerusha wouldn't wash +white aprons every day, even if she fussed to put them on. In the +morning her father would be off to the smelter. The same old life +waited for her. She stood for a long time there in the door. Then her +father reached around and took hold of her. + +"What's the matter?" He had heard a sob. And though the little girl +drew back he pulled her to him. "You ain't cryin'? Hoity-toity! A +white apron, and hair all fixed, and the girls taking her right in, +and--crying!" + +"But, pa, I can't make it stay. Jerusha won't wash white aprons, and +there ain't enough, anyway--and--it's so lonesome here with just +Jerusha! All the rest of the girls have some one standing close--as +close as that to them." And the little girl clutched at her father's +coat-sleeve to demonstrate the closeness of relationship, while the +sobs came thick and fast. + +"Nobody but Jerusha!" The father brought his chair down from the wall, +and all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his face. "Nobody +standing close! Where be I standing? What am I going to the smelter +for, putting two days into one, if it ain't standing close?" + +The man spoke impetuously, the words tumbling recklessly one over the +other, and the little girl's sobs were tumbling in the same way; +neither seemed inclined to stop the other. + +"What'd I stand in front of Simonses show-window last night for, +looking at them posies they've got for Easter, if 'twasn't because I'd +liked to have brought the hull lot home? And why didn't I bring 'em +home? Just so as I could slip more money this month in under the +little bank winder. And what am I slippin' money into the bank for? +Why'd I buy them Jersey cows, and that bit o' mountain park, if +'twasn't because I knowed Jerusha was the best butter-maker in town, +and butter meant money, and money meant an easy time for you by and +by? Standin' close!" + +The man's voice broke. The little girl had ceased crying and was +standing with wide, strained eyes fastened on her father. What did it +all mean? + +But the father did not say what it meant. As one suddenly overtaken, +he pushed the cat from off his lap, rose, drew a long breath, and +reached for his hat. + +Had Martha Matilda been older, she would have tried to detain the one +she had wounded. For he was wounded, just as are we all when suddenly +there comes to us knowledge of long-continued effort being +unappreciated. What was the use of all this struggling, beginning with +the day and closing only when it was ended! He pulled an oat straw +from a stack near, and then leaned on the bars of the cow-yard. Far +beyond him were the snow-caps, now pink with the setting sun--the glow +which the one gone from him had so loved to catch. His throat ached +with suppressed emotion. He had striven so to stand true, to make the +life of the child she had left easier than hers had been, just as he +had promised! + +The cows crowded up restlessly against the bars. It was milking time. +Mechanically he returned to the kitchen, brought back with him the +pails, placed a stool and sent the tinkling streams against the shiny +pail. Pail after pail was filled and set aside, then with a gentle pat +for the last meek-eyed Jersey, he brought the milk back to the house, +strained it carefully, filled a saucer for the cat at his feet, rinsed +the pails, and after the cows had been cared for for the night, went +back and hung his hat on its accustomed nail. He crossed to the window +where Martha sat stiff and uncomfortable in the big rocking-chair. +Sitting down in front of her, he tilted his chair forward and, lifting +her hands, stroked them gently. + +"I have been thinking it all out down by the cows. It ain't right." He +did not look at the face of the little girl, only at the hands he was +stroking. "It wasn't because I wanted to break my promise to your +ma--it wasn't a bit of that. You see the road was too hard for your +ma; it is always go down or go up here in the mountains, and then it +was always a little more money needed than we had. And when you came +she couldn't bear to have the strain touch you, and almost the last +thing she said was, 'You'll make it easier for her, she's such a +little tot.' It wasn't because I meant to wriggle out of my promise +that made me pretend not to see when your shoes gave out and your +dresses got old and things in the house didn't run straight; it wasn't +that." + +There was a great sob in the voice now, and Martha, hearing it, looked +up to find her father's rugged face wet with tears. + +"Oh, pa, don't!" and the child's arm reached around her father's neck +and she put her face close against his cheek. + +But the man shook himself partially free, as he brushed the tears from +his face. + +"And you think as how there ain't been any love in it, when it's been +all love! You see, the trouble's here: In trying to make an easier +road for you than your mother had, I looked all the time at the +further end instead of the nigh end. And I was so afraid that when you +got further on there'd be no backing for you, that I left you without +a backing now. But we will start right over new. I haven't just kept +my promise, 'cause your mother meant it to be at this end and right +straight on. And that's how it should be. We'll start over new. It +ain't ever too late to stop robbing Peter to pay Paul. You go straight +down to Simonses to-morrow morning, Martha Matilda." + +The little girl was looking at him now with cheeks flushed with eager +attention. She go down to Simonses! But her father's words held her +again. + +"And you buy just as many of them posies as you want, and you get +enough to make a bunch for every one of them girls as took you in, and +you take 'em to them, and tell them that's your Easter gift." + +"But pa--" + +"There ain't no 'but pa' about it! And you fix a bigger bunch for Miss +Mary, and get a shiny ribbon and tie round it--that's the way your +mother fixed posies when she wanted them nice--and you tell Miss Mary +that's for her Easter. And then you go to the minister's--" + +Martha clapped her hands over her lips to keep back a cry of surprise. +She go to the minister's! + +"Your mother always went to the minister when anything was wanted. And +you tell him John Graham wants that pew that he had when the church +was first built--Number 25, on the east side, by the second +window--the one that looks out on the mountains. Your mother and I put +a sight of work and good hard money into the building of that church, +and I ought to have stood right by it all along and not dropped out +just because Sunday clothes cost." + +"Oh, pa, did you help build that church?" + +"Guess there's plenty round as would tell you so, if you asked, though +this minister don't know, 'cause he's new." + +"Say, pa, can't I have a red Bible? Of course it wouldn't be just like +getting into Sunday-school regular, like the primaries, but I would +like a red Bible." + +"There it is again! All wrong. There's your mother's Bible; I hain't +meant not to give it to you, only I was a-keepin' it till the further +end of the road came when you'd 'preciate it better." + +John Graham got up, and taking down a half-filled lamp, lighted it, +the little girl keeping close at his side. From that same upper bureau +drawer he took out a small package and, undoing the handkerchief +wrapped around it, brought to view a Bible with a gilt clasp. + +"It ain't a red Bible, but it's a Bible that has been read," he said. +"And here's your name, just as your mother wrote it for you, almost +the last time she handled it." + +He opened the fly-leaf, and little Martha, drawing up close to his +arm, read: + +[Illustration: (handwritten) Martha Matilda Graham from her Mother. Be +a good girl, Mattie.] + +"Oh, pa, how I am being taken into things!" said the little girl, the +tears toppling over her eyes, and her cheeks bright and rosy. + +And then the father took Martha on his lap and talked to her of her +mother--of the life she had lived, and of the Bible she read, and of +the God she loved; talked to her as he had never talked in all her ten +years. When he had ended, she put her arms around his neck and held +him close. The clock struck eight and the father arose, lighted the +little girl's candle, and she mounted the crooked stairs to the small +room above. Setting down the candle, she made herself ready for bed, +buttoning on the little white night-dress made of flour-sacks and with +blue XX's on the back, but which "looked all right in front," as +Jerusha said. This done, she blew out the light and, drawing aside the +bit of muslin curtain, gazed out on the clear Colorado night, with the +stars glimmering through. A moment she stood thus, then she pressed +her hands over her face, and bowing her head said, soft and low: + +"Be a good girl, Mattie." + +How sweet the words were when voiced! + +"I will be a good girl--I will," she murmured, and her voice was +tender but strong of purpose. As she laid her head down upon the +pillow she whispered, "How I be taken into things!" + +And Martha Matilda never knew that down in the big chair the one she +had left sat with his hand covering his bronzed face, motionless. The +ticking of the clock was the only sound heard. When he arose, the lamp +had burned itself out, and the room stood in darkness. But he failed +to sense it. Within him had been kindled a light brighter than an +Easter dawn. John Graham was ready to take up life anew. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Transformation of Job, by +Frederick Vining Fisher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRANSFORMATION OF JOB *** + +***** This file should be named 25688-8.txt or 25688-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/6/8/25688/ + +Produced by Mark C. 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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: The Transformation of Job + A Tale of the High Sierras + +Author: Frederick Vining Fisher + +Release Date: June 3, 2008 [EBook #25688] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRANSFORMATION OF JOB *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, Karen Dalrymple +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + + +<h1> +<small>THE</small><br /> + +<span class="smcap">Transformation of Job</span><br /> + +<small>A TALE OF THE HIGH SIERRAS</small><br /> +</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 310px;"> +<img src="images/illus001a.jpg" width="310" height="350" alt="(portrait of author)" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="center"><i><span class="smcap">By</span> FREDERICK VINING FISHER.</i></div> + +<br /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 27px;"> +<img src="images/illus001b.jpg" width="27" height="41" alt="(decoration)" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="quarter" /> + +<div class="center"> +<span class="smcap"><big>David C. Cook Publishing Company</big></span><br /> +ELGIN, ILL., AND<br /> +36 WASHINGTON ST., CHICAGO. +</div> + +<hr style="quarter" /> + +<div class="center"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1900,<br /> +By David C. Cook Publishing Company.<br /></span> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="AUTHORS_PREFACE" id="AUTHORS_PREFACE"></a>AUTHOR'S PREFACE.</h2> + + +<p>If one will take the trouble to tramp with staff in hand the high +Sierras, he will find not only the Yosemite, but Gold City and Pine +Tree Ranch, though perhaps they bear another name. Most of the quaint +characters of this tale still dwell among the vine-clad hills. To +introduce to you these friends that have interested the author, and to +tell anew the story of the human soul, this work is written.</p> + +<p>Out of love of never-to-be-forgotten memories of Pine Tree Ranch, the +author dedicates this book to him who once welcomed him to its white +porch, but who now sleeps beneath the shadow of the mountains—Andrew +Malden.</p> + +<div class="right">FREDERICK VINING FISHER.</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> +<br /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><span class="smcap"><big>The Transformation of Job,</big></span><br /> +<small>A TALE OF THE HIGH SIERRAS.</small></h2> + +<h3><i>By FREDERICK VINING FISHER.</i></h3> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW ARRIVAL AT GOLD CITY.</h3> + + +<p>The stage was late at Gold City. It always was. Everybody knew it, but +everybody pretended to expect it on time.</p> + +<p>Just exactly as the old court-house bell up the hill struck six, the +postmistress hurriedly opened her door and stood anxiously peering up +the street, the loafers who had been dozing on the saloon benches +shuffled out and leaned up against the posts, the old piano in the +Miners' Home began to rattle and a squeaky violin to gasp for breath, +while the pompous landlord of the "Palace Hotel," sending a Chinaman +to drive away a dozen pigs that had been in front of his door through +the day, took his post on the sidewalk to await his coming guests—who +generally never came.</p> + +<p>There was a time when Gold City had been a great town—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"In days of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> In days of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> In days of forty-nine."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The boys often hung around the saloon steps and listened with gaping +mouths while Yankee Sam and the other old men told of the golden age, +when the streets of Gold City were crowded and Tom Perry made a +fortune in one day and lost it all gambling that night; when there was +more life in Gold City than 'Frisco could shake a stick at; when the +four quarters of the globe came in on the stage and mined all day, +danced all night and went away rich.</p> + +<p>But Gold City, now, was neither large nor rich. The same eternal hills +surrounded her and the same great pine trees shaded her in summer's +heat and hung in white like sentinals of the past in the winter's +moonlight. But the sound of other days had died away. The creek bed +had long since yielded up its treasure and lay neglected, exposed to +the heat and frost. The old brick buildings rambling up the street +were still left, but were fast tottering to decay. Side by side with +the occupied buildings, stood half-fallen adobes and shattered blocks +filled only with the ghosts of other years.</p> + +<p>Up on the hill rose the court house, the perfect image of some quaint +Dutch church along the Mohawk in York State. Gray and old, changeless +it stood, looking down in silent disdain on these California buildings +hastening to an early grave. Here and there, hid by pines and vines, +up the dusty side-hill roads, one caught glimpses of pretty cottage +homes, where dwelt the few who, when the tide had turned, were left +stranded in this far-off California mining town.</p> + +<p>Yes, Gold City was of the past. Her glory had long since departed. Yet +somehow everyone expected its return. The old men read the 'Frisco +papers, when they could get them, and grew excited when they heard +that silver had fallen and gold had a new chance for life. The night +that news came, Yankee Sam ordered a treat for the whole crowd and +politely told the saloon-keeper that he would settle shortly, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +the boom came. Possibly some great capitalist might come in any day +and buy up the mines and things would boom. He might be on the stage +any night. That is the reason the whole town came out regularly to +meet the stage, marveled if it was late, and gambled on the +probability that a telegram from 'Frisco had held it for a special +train of "bigbugs." That is why the hotel-keeper drove the pigs away +and prepared for business.</p> + +<p>They had done that thing now in Gold City so long it was beginning to +be second nature; and yet deeper was getting the sleep, and the only +thing that could rouse the town was the coming of the stage with its +possibilities.</p> + +<p>The stage was later than usual this night. So late the old-timers were +sure Joe must have a passenger. As it was fifty miles over the plains +and foot-hills that Joe had to come, there was, of course, plenty of +chance of his being late. In fact, he never was on time. They all knew +that. But to think that Joe would be two whole hours back was a little +unusual for a town where nothing unusual ever happened. The big +colored porter at the Miners' Home was tired of holding his bell ready +to ring, the loungers on the benches in front of the corner grocery +had exhausted their yarns, when the dust up the street on the hill +caused the barefooted boys to stop their games and stand expectant in +the road to watch Joe arrive.</p> + +<p>With a shout and a flourish, the four horses came tearing around the +court-house corner, plunged relentlessly down the hill and dragged the +rickety old coach up to the hotel, with a jerk that nearly upset the +poor thing and brought admiration to everybody's eyes. Fortunately for +the coach, that was the only time of day the horses ever went off a +snail's pace. The dinner bell at the Miners' Home clanged vigorously, +the piano in the saloon opposite set up a clatter, the crowd hurried +around the dust-enveloped coach to see if they could discover a +passenger, while the red-faced landlord shouted, "This way to the +Palace Hotel, gentlemen!"</p> + +<p>To-night, when the dust cleared away, for the first time in weeks the +crowds discovered a passenger. In fact, he was out on the brick +sidewalk before they saw him. Pale-faced, blue-eyed, with delicate, +clear-cut features, clad in a neat gray coat and short trousers, which +merged into black stockings and shoes, with a black tie and soiled +white collar, all topped off with a derby hat and plenty of dust, a +wondering, trembling lad of twelve stood before them. Such a sight had +not been seen in Gold City in its history. A city lad dropped down +among these rough miners and worn-out wrecks of humanity!</p> + +<p>"Well, pard, who be yer?" at last asked a voice; and a dozen echoed +his query.</p> + +<p>With a frightened look around for some refuge, such as the deer gives +when surprised, the new-comer answered. "I am Mr. Arthur Teale's boy, +and I want to see him;" and, turning to the landlord, asked if he +would please tell Mr. Teale his boy had come.</p> + +<p>Not a man moved, but each glanced significantly at the other. Yankee +Sam, a sort of father to the town, who, at times, felt his +responsibility, when not too overcome by the hot stuff at the Miners' +Home, now stepped up and interviewed the lad.</p> + +<p>Mr. Teale's son, was he? And who was Mr. Teale, and where did he come +from, and why was he traveling alone?</p> + +<p>Standing there in the evening twilight, on the rough brick walk in +front of the Palace Hotel, to that group of rough-handed men in +unkempt locks and woolen shirts and overalls, to those shirt-sleeved, +well-oiled, red-faced bar-keepers, with the landlord in the center, +the passenger told his story.</p> + +<p>He told of a home in the far East; of how, one day long ago, his +father started away out West to make his fortune; how he patted him on +the head and said some day he should send for him and mamma—but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +never did. The little fellow faltered, as he told how his mother grew +sick and his grandfather died; and how, after a time, he and his +mother had started to find father, and over the wide prairies and high +mountains and dusty deserts, had traveled the long journey in search +of husband and father.</p> + +<p>The young eyes filled with tears—yes, and some older, rough ones did, +too, that had been dry for years—as he told how mother had grown +weaker and weaker; and, when they had reached the California city and +the summer's heat had climbed up the mountain side, she had died; and, +dying, had told him to go on and find Gold City and his father. So he +had come, and "Would some one please tell Mr. Teale his boy was here?"</p> + +<p>That night there was great excitement in Gold City. Groups of men were +talking in undertones everywhere. With a promise to try and find his +father, Yankee Sam left the boy sitting on the doorstep of the Palace; +where, hungry and tired, he fell asleep, while all the street arabs +stood at a respectful distance commenting on "the city kid what says +he's Teale's boy." No one thought to take the little wanderer in. No +one thought he was hungry. They were too excited for that. Teale's kid +was here. What should they do with him and how could they tell him?</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 333px;"> +<img src="images/illus007.jpg" width="333" height="525" alt="Yankee Sam interviewed the lad.—See page 6." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Yankee Sam interviewed the lad.—See <a href="#Page_6">page 6</a>.</span> +</div> + +<p>Did they know Teale? Yes, they did. Slim, pale-faced, the picture of +this boy, only taller, fuller grown, he had come to Gold City. With +ragged clothes that spoke of better days, he had tramped into town one +winter night through the snow and begged a bed at the Miners' Home. He +had struck it rich for a time down by Mormon Bar, and treated all the +boys in joy over his good luck, then lost it all over the card table +in the end. Thrice he had repeated that experience. In his better +moments he had talked of a wife and blue-eyed boy in the East, then +again he seemed to forget them. The gaming table, the drink, the crowd +he went with, ruined him. One night the boys heard cries in the hollow +back of "Monte Carlo," the worst saloon and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>gambling den in the +place; when morning came they found Teale and a boon companion both +dead there. Who was to blame? Nobody knew. Under the old pine trees on +the hill, just outside the graveyard gate, where the respectable dead +lay, they buried them. And now Teale's boy was come, and who should +tell him, and where should he go?</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>ANDREW MALDEN.</h3> + + +<p>Andrew Malden was in town that night, yet no one thought of asking +him, the hardest-hearted man in Grizzly county. Rich, with acres to +spare, a mill that turned out lumber by the wholesale, horses that +could outstrip any Bucephalus in the county. Either from jealousy or +some cause, the world about Gold City, Frost Creek, Chichilla, all +hated Andy Malden.</p> + +<p>No one noticed how he listened to the story, how he glanced more than +once at the tired traveler, till they heard him order his horses at +moon-up, order the landlord to wake the boy and feed him.</p> + +<p>When, promptly at ten, he took the strange lad in his arms and put him +in his buckboard, seized the reins and drove toward Spring Creek, the +Pines and home, the whole town was more dumfounded than in years, and +the landlord said he guessed old Andy was crazy. Only Yankee Sam +seemed to understand, and the old man muttered to himself, as he +turned once more to the saloon, "Well, now! Andy thinks it is his +youngster come back again that I helped lay beneath the pines, coming +thirty years now."</p> + +<p>Sam was right. It was the dormant love of thirty long-gone years, all +roused again, that stirred the old man that night. The lonely, +homeless boy on the "Palace" doorstep had touched a heart that most +men thought too hard to be broken in this world or the next.</p> + +<p>Andrew Malden was not a bad man, if he was hard. The outward vices +which had ruined most men who had come to Gold City to gain the world +and lose their souls, never touched him. That craving for excitement, +the natural heritage of hot-headed youth, which often in that old +mining camp lasted long after the passionate days of young life and +lit the glazed eyes of age with a wild, unnatural fire, never seemed a +part of his nature. Other men fed the fires of passion with the hot +stuff of the "Monte Carlo," and the midnight gaming table, till, +tottering wrecks consumed of self, they lingered on the doorsteps of +Gold City, the ghosts of men that were. The world of appetite was a +foreign realm to him. He looked with contempt on men who lost +themselves in its meshes. But he was a hard man, the people said, and +selfishness and a cold heart were far worse vices in the eyes of the +generous-hearted, rough miners who came and went among these hills, +than what the polished, cold, calculating money-getters of the far-off +city counted as sin. So Andrew Malden was more of a sinner in the +estimation of Gold City than Yankee Sam. Perhaps the ethics of that +mining camp were truer than the world thinks. Perhaps he who sins +against society is worse than he who sins against self.</p> + +<p>The fact was that, though Andrew Malden had grown old in Grizzly +county, and no face was more familiar, no one knew him. He was a hard +man, but not as the people meant. There are two kinds of stern men in +this world: Those who are without hearts, who take pleasure in the +suffering of others; and those who, repulsed sometime, somewhere, have +closed the portals of their inmost souls and hid away within +themselves. Such was the "Lord of Pine Tree Mountain," as the boys +used to call him.</p> + +<p>Once he was a merry, happy, strong mountain lad in the old Kentucky +hills, where he had helped his father, a hardy New Englander, make a +new home. He had a heart in those old days. He loved the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> hills and +forests; loved the romping dogs that played around him as he drove the +logging team to the river-mill; aye, more than that, he had loved Mary +Moore. She was bright and sweet and pretty, a bewitching maid, who +seemed all out of place on the frontier. He loved to hear her talk of +Charleston Bay and the Berkshire Hills, and of the days when she +danced the minuet on Cambridge Green. Once he asked her to marry him. +It was the month the war broke out with Mexico. The frontiersmen were +slinging down their axes and swinging their guns across their +shoulders. She laughed, and said that if Andy would go and fight and +come home a hero, she would marry him—perhaps.</p> + +<p>So he went. Tramped over miles and miles of Mexican soil, fought at +Monterey and Buena Vista, endured and almost died—men said for love +of Yankeedom; he knew it was for Mary Moore.</p> + +<p>The war over, he came back a hero, and Col. Malden was named with old +Zach Taylor by tried, loyal men. But Mary Moore was gone. She had +found another hero. Gone to Massachusetts, so they said.</p> + +<p>That night, Andy Malden left the Kentucky hills forever. The news of +gold in California was in the air. He would join the mad procession +that, over plain and isthmus, was going hither. He would go as far +from the old life as deserts and mountains would put him.</p> + +<p>So he came to Gold City. With a diligence far more systematic than the +others, he had washed the gold from Frost Creek and off Mormon Bar. +Other men lost all they found in daylight over the gaming table at +midnight. He never gambled. All the others who succeeded went below to +the great city or back to the States to enjoy their gains. He cared +naught for the city, he hated the States; he never went. In a solitary +mountain spot amid immeasurable grandeur, he buried himself in his +lonely cabin. Yet he was not a hermit. He mingled with the crowd; he +sought its suffrage for public office; yet he was not of it. He was a +mystery to all. They elected him to office and continued to do so; +why, they never knew, unless it was because he could save for them +when others could not.</p> + +<p>At last he married a farmer's girl from the plains, who had come up +there to teach the Frost Creek school. She failed as a teacher. She +was born for the kitchen and farm. Andrew Malden saw it. She would +make him as good a helpmate as any, better than the Chinese women and +half-breeds with whom some of his neighbors consorted, so he married.</p> + +<p>The mines were giving out. His keen eye saw there were mines above +ground as well as below. He quietly left off placer mining, drew out +some gold from a hidden purse, and, before the world of Gold City knew +it, had nine hundred acres on Pine Tree Mountain, a big saw-mill +going, a nice ranch home, and barns like folks back in the States.</p> + +<p>At last a baby came—a baby boy; almost the first in Grizzly county. +The neighbors would have cheered if they dared. Judge Lawson did dare +to suggest a celebration, but the people were afraid of the stern man +on Pine Tree Mountain.</p> + +<p>Oh, how he loved that boy! His wife looked on with wonder, for she +thought he knew not what stuff love was made of. It was not long. A +few short years, and the lad, who seemed so strangely merry for a son +of Andy Malden, grew pale and took the fever and died; and, where the +pine trees stoop to shade the mountain flowers in hot midsummer, +strange Yankee Sam and Andy, all alone, laid him to rest. There was no +clergyman. The "Gospel Peddlers," as the miners called them, had not +yet come to the hills to stay. Just as Sam was putting the soil over +the rough box, Andy stopped him and muttered something about the boy's +prayer. He must say it for him, and he whispered in a broken voice, +"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + +<p>That was the last prayer Andrew Malden had uttered. Many years had +come and gone; more and more he had lived within himself. He used to +go to the boy's grave on holidays. Now he never went. For years his +wife had lived with him and kept his house and prepared his food, and +grown, like him, silent and apart from all around. She died at last +and he gave her a high-toned funeral; had a coffin from the city and a +preacher and all that. She had died of loneliness. He did not know it. +She did not realize it. He went on as if it was a matter of course. +The old house was kept up carefully; a Chinaman, as silent as himself, +kept it for him, and a corps of men kept him busy at the mill.</p> + +<p>He was rich, the people said; he was mean and grinding, the men +muttered; and yet he prospered when others failed. Men envied, feared, +hated him. Now he was growing old and men were wondering who would +have his riches when he was gone. He had no kin this side the Ohio; +and, for aught he knew, nowhere. His wife's nephews and cousins, +pegging away in these hills, were beginning to build air-castles of +days when the Pine Tree mill should be theirs.</p> + +<p>Such was the old man who drove along in the moonlight, past Mormon Bar +and over Chichilla Hill, holding a sleeping lad in his arms; and +feeling, for the first time in years, the heart within him.</p> + +<p>It was nearer dawn than midnight when the tired team, which had been +slowly creeping up the mountain road for hours, turned into the lane +above the mill and waited for their owner to swing open the gate which +barred the way to the private road leading through the oak pasture to +Pine Tree Ranch and home. It was one of those matchless nights that +come only in the mountains, when the world is flooded with a soft, +silvery light and the great trees stand out transfigured against the +sky, amid a silence profound and awe-inspiring.</p> + +<p>It had been a long ride; aye, a long one indeed to Andrew Malden. He +had traveled across more than half a century of life since they left +Gold City. His own childhood, Mary Moore, old Kentucky, had all come +back to him. Then he had thought of that silent grave down beyond Gold +City, and of the large part of his life buried there. He turned to the +lad at his side, sleeping unconscious of life's ills and +disappointments, of which, poor boy, he had already had his share. The +sight of the innocent face thrilled the old man. In his slumbers the +boy murmured, "Mamma, papa;" and, turning, the old man did a strange +thing for him. He leaned over and kissed the lad, and whispered, +"Mamma, papa! Boy, as long as Andy Malden lives, he shall be both to +you."</p> + +<p>When they reached the house, he hushed the dogs to silence, bade Hans, +who stared astonished at his master's guest, to take the horses; and, +lifting the sleeping form, carried it into his room, and, gently +removing coat and shoes, laid the boy in the great bed, while he +prepared to stretch himself on a couch near by.</p> + +<p>That night a new life came to Andrew Malden and the Pine Tree Ranch.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>THE HORSE-RACE.</h3> + + +<p>"Yer darsn't do it! Yer old Malden's slave, yer know yer are, and yer +darsn't breathe 'less he says so."</p> + +<p>It was in front of the Miners' Home in Gold City, and the speaker was +an overgrown, brawny, low-browed boy of some seventeen years, who, in +ragged clothes and an old slouch hat, leaned against the post that +helped support the tumble-down roof of that notorious establishment. +In front of him, barefooted and in overalls rolled up over +well-browned legs, old blue cap, astride a little black pony whose +eyes rolled appreciatively as he lovingly half leaned upon her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> neck, +sat Job Malden, as the store-keepers called him; or "Andy's +Tenderfoot," as the boys dubbed him.</p> + +<p>You would not have dreamed, had you seen him, that this brown-skinned, +tall fifteen-year-old, who rose in his saddle at this remark and spoke +out sharp and strong, was the same pale-faced city lad who had come in +the stage three years ago, homeless and friendless. The mountains had +done wonders for him; the pallor had gone from his cheeks; the sun had +tanned his shapely limbs; the wild life of nature and the still +rougher world of humanity had roused all his temper and passion. Yet, +withal, there was the touch of another world in his face. No stranger, +at second view, would have taken him for a native born. He had known a +different realm, and it had left its trace in a high brow, a fine +face, a clearer eye than one usually saw on the streets of the mining +camp.</p> + +<p>"Yer darsn't do it!" leered again the same contemptible fellow. "Yer a +city kid an' hain't got sand 'nuff to make an ant-hill. I hearn tell +yer get the old man to button yer clothes, and yer cry in the +dark—guess it's so, ain't it, tenderfoot?"</p> + +<p>At this remark the crowd of loungers around broke forth into cheers, +and Job's eyes, usually so blue, flashed fire. He sprang from Bess' +back, and, in an instant, had struck the bully a blow that sent him +reeling back into the arms of Yankee Sam. A moment, and a general +mélee seemed imminent, when Dan Dean stepped up and called a halt. He +was the smoothest, most affable, meanest fellow in town, nephew by +marriage to the lord of Pine Tree Mountain, and, as he had always +boasted, the lord that was to be.</p> + +<p>Job had always felt, ever since he came to Grizzly county, that Dan +was his mortal enemy, yet he had always been so sly Job had never been +able to prove him guilty of any one of the thousand petty annoyances +he was sure were instigated by him.</p> + +<p>Taking Job by the arm, Dan now led him off to one side, while the +crowd were laughing at the blubbering bully backing up the street and +threatening all sorts of vengeance on "that tenderfoot."</p> + +<p>All the trouble was over a horse-race. It was coming off next Sunday +down at Coyote Valley, four miles below town. Pete Wilkins had offered +his horse against all Grizzly county, and Dan Dean had boasted that he +had a horse, a black mare—or at least his Uncle Andy had—that could +beat any horse Pete could trot out. Pete had dared him to appear with +the mare; and Dan, well knowing he could not get her, was doing his +best to induce Job to steal away with her and run the race for him. +"Me and yer is cousins, yer know, seein' yer call the old man uncle +and he's my sure-enough uncle; so we's cousins, and we ought to be +pardners; now yer run the race, get the gold nugget the fellows at the +Yellow Jacket have put up, and I'll get Pete's bet, and my! won't we +have a lark! Fact is, yer don't want fellers to think yer a baby, I +know; and, as for its being Sunday, I say the better the day the +better the deed. Come, Job. I jest want to see the old black mare come +in across the line and you on her! My! what a hot one yer'll be! The +fellers will never call yer tenderfoot again!"</p> + +<p>It was a big temptation to Job, the biggest the boy had ever known—to +beat Pete; to show off Bess; to prove he was no "tenderfoot" or "kid" +any more. But—oh, that but!—how could he deceive Mr. Malden! And +then, Sunday, too!</p> + +<p>"Gold nugget! Whew! Such a chance!" insidious Dan still kept crying, +till Job shut his teeth together, turned from his mother's face which, +somehow, persisted in haunting him just then, laughed a sort of hollow +laugh, and said with an oath—the first he had ever uttered out +loud—that sure he would be there and show these Gold City bullies and +Pete and the whole crowd he was nobody's slave. Yet, as he said it, +there came a sort of feeling into his soul which he repelled, but +which yet came back again,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> that he was now indeed a slave—a slave to +Dan, a slave to the Evil One.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>Coyote Valley was all alive. Vaqueros from the foot-hill ranches were +tearing up and down the dusty road along Coyote Creek from Wilkins' +ranch to the foot of the valley, buckboards loaded with Mexicans, +Joe's stage creaking beneath the weight of half the roughs of Gold +City, groups of excited miners on foot, were making their way as fast +as possible to Wilkins' old hay barn, which had been turned into a +combination of saloon and grand stand. Under the shade of an immense +live-oak just west of the barn, the big waiter at the Miners' Home was +running an opposition saloon to the one inside, with a plank on two +kegs for a bar. The center of the barn was already filled with +dark-skinned Señoritas and tall, gawky miners dancing to the music of +a squeaky violin.</p> + +<p>The air was filled with dust and bets and oaths, when on that strange +Sunday morning Job galloped up Coyote Valley and pulled up in time to +hear Dan's voice in high pitch cry out:</p> + +<p>"There she is, the best mare in Grizzly county; ten to one against the +crowd! Come in, Job; come up, boys! Let's have a drink around to the +success of the Hon. Job Malden, the slickest rider in all the hills!"</p> + +<p>Almost before he knew it. Job was hauled bodily up to the bar and had +a beer glass in his hand. How strange he felt! How queer it all was! +He had been in the mountains three years, but this was his first +Sunday picnic.</p> + +<p>Andrew Malden, though he had no religion, had always seen that Job +went to Sunday-school at the Frost Creek School. To-day he had +ostensibly started for there. But this was very different from the old +log school-house.</p> + +<p>How different Job looked from the rest! He wore "store clothes" and a +neck-tie. In the rush, something dropped on the floor. He looked down +and picked it up, with a quick glance around, while a great lump came +into his throat. It was a little Testament, his mother's, the one she +had given him the day she died, and there was the old temperance +pledge he had signed in a boy's scrawling hand. He was supposed to be +at Sunday-school, so he had been obliged to carry the book.</p> + +<p>For a moment he hesitated, then he jammed it in his pocket out of +sight. He hated it, he hated himself. The step was taken; he took the +glass, he drank with the rest. He left the bar with a proud air. He +was a man. He would win that race or die.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>All day long the violin squeaked, the clattering feet resounded on the +barn floor, the kegs were emptied into throats, and races of all +kinds—fat men's races, women's races, old men's races—followed each +other. At last, the great event was called—Malden's mare against +Pete's noted plunger. The Vaqueros cleared the way, a pistol shot in +the distance announced they had started, a cloud of dust that they +were coming. It was not a trot; it was a neck-and-neck run, such as +Job had taken hundreds of times over the great pasture lot on Pine +Tree Ranch. He was perfectly at home. With arms clasped around her +neck, he urged Bess on; he sang, he coaxed, he cheered her. Bess knew +that voice, and, catching the passion of the hour, fairly flew. Faster +and faster she went, but faster and faster came Pete at her heels—now +Job felt the hot breath of the other horse on his cheek—now they fell +back—now they were close behind him. They were near the line—but a +hundred paces and the old oak would be passed. Pete was desperate; the +fire of anger was in his eyes. Job heard one of Pete's excited friends +shout, "Throw him, Pete!" The thought of awful danger flew through +Job's mind: The angry man would do it—Bess must go faster. She was +white with foam now, but go she must. He hugged her closer; he +sang—how out of place the piece<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> seemed! 'Twas the song, though, that +always roused her, so he sang it, as so often be had sung it in the +great oak pasture of the home ranch—"Palms of victory, crowns of +glory I shall wear,"—and, singing it, dashed across the line the +victor, while the mob yelled and Dan hugged Bess and the waiter +offered a free treat to the whole crowd. Job Malden had won the race, +the gold nugget was his, but oh, how much he had lost!</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>JANE.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wait till the clouds roll by, Jennie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Wait till the clouds roll by."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was the clear, high voice of a rosy-cheeked, black-eyed, +short-skirted, barefooted maiden that sang, who, with her long black +tresses blowing in the afternoon breeze, and a pail on her arm, was +gayly skipping down the narrow road that separated the fence of Pine +Tree Ranch from the endless forest that stretched away towards the big +trees and Yosemite. "'Wait till the clouds'—gracious sakes, boy! what +did you scare me for?" Jane Reed cried, as out of the dark woods, +around a sugar pine, a tall, tanned lad strode, with gun over his +shoulder, and a long-eared dog at his heels.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just for ducks!" said Job Malden, who, after a celebration of his +sixteenth birthday, was returning from one of his favorite quail hunts +with "Shot," his only playmate on Pine Tree Ranch.</p> + +<p>"Where did you get those shoes, sissy?" said the boy, looking at her +bare, bronzed feet.</p> + +<p>"From the Lord," quietly answered the girl.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Job with a sneer, "the only lord I know is the one of +Pine Tree Mountain, and the one that is to be—that's myself—and I'm +mighty sure he or I never made such looking things."</p> + +<p>At this, the girl made an unsuccessful attempt to run past him, then +sank down on the ground in a big cry.</p> + +<p>With the heartless, contemptuous air of a boy who scorns tears and +girls, Job stood there; and, posing dramatically, sang in a falsetto +voice:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wait till the clouds roll by, Jennie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Wait till the clouds roll by."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I wonder, if his mother could have come back from her far-off grave by +the Sacramento, whether she would have known that insolent, rude +fellow standing there as her pretty, blue-eyed boy whom she had so +tenderly loved.</p> + +<p>How quickly, when a fellow starts down hill, he gets under way! That +first Sunday picnic had borne its fruit. The Sunday-school at Frost +Creek never knew him now. That little Testament was at the bottom of +his trunk. Fear of the old man had saved him from an open life of +wrong, and a certain pride made him disdain to be on a level with Dan +Dean and the Gold City gang. Andrew Malden saw the change and yet did +not understand it. He never talked with people enough to hear the +rumors afloat of the Sunday horse-races, or of the midnight revel on +the Fourth of July at the Yellow Jacket. The night that Bess came home +saddleless and riderless, with the white foam on her, and when he +searched till near morning, to at last find Job stretched in a stupor +by the wayside down the Chichilla road, he thought the boy's after +story was true—that story of a frightened runaway—and little knew it +was Pete Wilkins' whisky that had thrown him.</p> + +<p>Ah! it was only yesterday the old man had said, "She was a traitor, +and so is the boy. I have loved him, fed him, sheltered him, and yet +all he cares for is to get my money some day. The world's all alike!" +And Andrew Malden shut the door of his heart, which, a few short years +ago, had swung open for the homeless lad.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was this boy, touched, alas! not alone by the beauty and grandeur +of the mountains, but by the shame and sin of the men who dwelt among +them, that now laughed at a poor girl's feeble wrath. He laughed, and +then a spark of innate good-nature and manhood touched him, and, +picking up the pail, he muttered an apology and offered to escort the +maiden home.</p> + +<p>Very soon the clouds did roll by, and under the sky of twilight the +pair walked leisurely along the trail that passed out of the main +road, up across Sugar Pine Hill and down towards Blackberry Valley and +old Tom Reed's cabin, where Jane was both daughter and mistress.</p> + +<p>This girl was so different from the crowd he had seen at Wilkins' barn +and down at Mike's, that he could not joke her; he could only play the +gallant, and he rather liked it.</p> + +<p>It was a long way over the hill and many stops to rest—at Deer +Spring, Squirrel Run and the Summit—and the picking up cones made it +longer. It was just as they crossed the hill that they heard a +crackling of the branches above them, and both looked up to be struck +with terror. Climbing from one great tree to another was the low, dark +form of a mountain lion. He did not notice them. Job motioned silence +and shrunk into the bushes. The girl instinctively followed and drew +up close to him. With gun cocked and bated breath, they waited and +waited; but whether the wind was away from them, or the vicious animal +had something else in view, he slunk away in the trees and out toward +the Gulch, where he made his lair.</p> + +<p>For a half hour Jane and Job sat with hearts beating fast, while both +tried to make a show of being brave. How strange it seemed to Job to +be thus protecting a girl! He felt a queer interest in her; he did not +know what it was. He took her arm a little later to help her over the +rocks, down the hill. He lingered, in a bashful way, at the spring at +the foot of the path to see that she got to the cabin door safely, +then went around by the main road home, so slowly and so thoughtfully +that the moon was high when Shot barked a response to Carlo's bark as +he entered the gate.</p> + +<p>That was not the last time he saw Jane Reed. A something of which he +had never heard and of which he was barely conscious drew him to her. +That autumn he often walked home from school with her. When the snows +came and the logging sleds were passing every day loaded for Andrew +Malden's mill, he always managed to find Jane at Sugar Pine Hill at +all odd sorts of hours and give her a ride to the mill on the top of +the logs, and walk back with her, as he let the horses tug the old +sled slowly up the mountain. The only rival he had was Dan, his +pretended friend but certain enemy.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>It was at the time of the big snow. Indian Bill, the rheumatic old +native trapper whose family had perished at the massacre of the +Yosemite some years before, and who ever since had lived in a little +cabin on the edge of the Gulch, said it was the biggest in two hundred +moons.</p> + +<p>When Job, shivering and chattering, looked out of the little, narrow, +cheerless upstairs room which he called his own, he found himself +apparently in the first story. He gazed on the endless drifts of snow +that rolled away in a silent sea over barn and fences, with only the +shaggy, white-bearded pines shaking their faces at him above the +limitless white. The little ravine back of the house, where the +milk-house stood, had leveled up to the rest of the world, the chicken +corral was missing, and only the loft of the old barn rose above the +snowy waves.</p> + +<p>What a busy day that was of shoveling tunnels, and, with the full +force of the mill men and all the logging teams, breaking a path up +the road to the logging camp! By night the whole country round was +out. Dan was there riding the leader, and reaching out to get +snowballs from the high bank to throw at Jane, who had clambered up +on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> the vantage point of an old shed and was watching the queer +procession, with its shouts and rattle of bells and chains, push its +way up the road.</p> + +<p>That night old Andy Malden gave a treat to all the hands at the mill, +with hard cider and apples and nuts a plenty, and even had Blind Dick, +the fiddler, who lived in Tom Reed's upper cabin, to help them make +merry. That is, Andy gave the treat, but his foreman was host; he +never came himself. Jane was there and Dan monopolized her. He knew +her well, so that night he never danced, never drank; but Job, poor +fellow! asked her to dance and she refused him; then he offered her +cider, and her great black eyes snapped fire and she turned from him. +He was mad with rage. He drank. He danced with the Alviso girls, the +lowest Mexicans in the county. He glared after Dan as he saw him start +off with Jane.</p> + +<p>The cider, the jealousy in his soul, or the evil in both, probably, +made him start after them. A something whispered to take the short-cut +across to the junction of the road and Blackberry Valley trail, and +face them and have it out. He hurried stumbling over the drifts. He +hid in the shade of a great tree. Up the road he heard them coming, +heard Dan say, "Oh, well, I was afraid Uncle Andy would be fooled when +he took that kid in. Regular chip of the old block; his father went to +the bad, and he is going fast. He came from the city slums; none of +the brave, true blood of the mountains in his veins. Steer clear of +him, Jane." Heard an indistinguishable reply in Jane's voice, felt a +blind passion rising within him, clinched his fists, started with a +bound for the dark shadows coming up the road, felt a terrible blow +on his head, and—well, it must have been a long while before he +thought again. Then he was lying down in the depths of a snow-drift, +where he had fallen when he started so angrily for Dan and had struck +his head against the limb of the old oak at the turn and been hurled +back twenty feet down through the snow on the rock of the creek bed.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 358px;"> +<img src="images/illus015.jpg" width="358" height="500" alt="He hid in the shade of a tree." title="" /> +<span class="caption">He hid in the shade of a tree.</span> +</div> + +<p>He tried to rise, but could not. A broken limb refused to act. He +called for help, but the cry rose no higher than the snowbank. He was +in an open grave of white on the sharp rocks and bitterly cold ice of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +the stream. He shivered and shook, then gradually a sort of delightful +repose began to steal over him. At first it felt pleasant, then he +realized he was freezing, freezing to death! Death! The thought struck +terror to his heart. Death! It was the last thing for which he was +ready. Memory was unnaturally active. The New England hills, the white +church, grandfather, mother, home, all came back to him. He was +mother's boy again as in those old days before hate and drink and sin +had hurt his life. For a moment the tears came. He forgot himself, he +struggled to rise. He would go to mother and put his head in her lap +and tell her he loved her still. Then the clouds crept over the stars, +the bitter wind whistled above the snow. Mother—ah! He could not go +to her; she had gone forever out of his life; never in this world +would he see her again. And then, like a knife that cut him through +and through, came the bitter consciousness that there was no hope of +seeing mother in the world to come; that long ago he had gone away +from her and the old innocent life of childhood so far that if she +could come back from her grave by the turbid Sacramento, she would not +even know her boy.</p> + +<p>The night chill crept over him; the tears froze on his cheeks. He +thought of Dan and Jane and the life he had lived, and love froze in +his heart. And then, alone in the snow-drift, dying, he hated Dan, he +hated Jane, he hated all the world and hated God, and waited, with the +fear of a lost soul, the outer darkness that was coming—coming nearer +and nearer.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>They found him there, numb and unconscious, long after midnight, Hans +and Tony, Malden's men, who had searched for him.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>The snow had melted on the hill-tops and the flowers were peeping +above the earth, when Job threw aside his crutches and whistled to +Shot that the time had come for another quail hunt.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>THE CAMP MEETING.</h3> + + +<p>"It's the biggest thing out—beats a horse-race! My! it's a sight! +Don't miss it, boys. See you all down at Wilkins', sure."</p> + +<p>It was "Nickel John" who was speaking, the fellow that the boys said +would do any evil deed for a nickel. It was down in front of the +Miners' Home among a great crowd of the boys, in the midst of whom +stood Job as an interested listener.</p> + +<p>The coming event was no less than a Methodist camp-meeting down in +Coyote Valley the next Sunday. Of course he would go, said Job, as he +rode home; anything nowadays to avoid being alone with himself. Up at +the mill he told the fellows about it; and, when they dared him to be +there and go to the altar, he vowed that he would do it.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All hail the power of Jesus' name!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let angels prostrate fall."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Strong and clear, a great volume of sound, it rang out on the air that +never-to-be-forgotten Sunday morning, as Job rode Bess up the Coyote +road to Pete Wilkins' barn, now transformed into a sanctuary where the +Sierra District Camp-meeting was well under way.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Bring forth the royal diadem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And crown him Lord of all."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The rafters of the barn shook with the music, while it rolled out +through the great side and rear doors, thrown open so wide that the +old building looked like outdoors with a roof on. The big structure +was full to the doors, while around it all sorts of vehicles and nags +were hitched. To the right and left rows of tents stretched away. Just +outside, under the old oak, a portly dame was dishing out lemonade for +a nickel to late-comers, while a group of boys were playing leap-frog. +Job struggled through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> the outer crowd and pushed inside, only to find +himself in the center of "the gang," who greeted him with a wink and a +whisper, "The speakin' racket's next!"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, that with yonder sacred throng<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We at His feet may fall!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>How grand it sounded! Such a host of voices were singing! Far up in +front, on a platform, surrounded by several preachers, gray-haired and +young, in varied attire, from the conventional black suit and white +tie to a farmer's outfit, was a little organ, and a familiar form was +sitting back of it and getting its old bellows to roll out the hymn. +The organist was no other than Jane, and her face flushed as she +caught Job's eye.</p> + +<p>Just then the music stopped and a sweet-faced old man stepped up and +said, "Brethren and sisters, we have knelt at the Lord's table; let us +now tell of the Lord's love. Let us have fifty testimonies in the next +few minutes. Let us sing, 'I love to tell the story of Jesus and his +love.'"</p> + +<p>The scene faded away; the music was a far-off echo, the barn was gone. +Job was back, a lad, in the old New England church; grandsir was +there, and mother, and the old, old friends, and Ned Winthrop was +poking him with a pin. That song!—how it brought them all back!</p> + +<p>Just then be heard a murmur behind him, and looked up to see, near the +front, a trembling old man rise and begin to speak. He told of boyhood +days; he told of a young man's sins; of how one day on the old camp +ground back in York State he had learned that God loved him and could +make a man of him. Then he faltered as he told a story of sorrows, and +how at last, alone in the world, he awaited the angels that should +bear him home.</p> + +<p>Job trembled. Unpleasant memories arose in his heart. He grew pale and +red, then bit his lips in excitement. He wished he was at home. +Testimony followed testimony. Love, peace and joy rang through all. At +last Jane rose—could it be possible? He hung on every word.</p> + +<p>"Last night, down there at the bench, the Lord converted my soul. I +have been a poor sinner, but I know Jesus loves me, and I wish—I +wish," and she looked over to the far rear, "you would let him save +you;" and she sat down in tears.</p> + +<p>Job was wildly angry. "The mischief take her!" he muttered. And Dan +leaned over and whispered, "See, she's gone daft, like the rest!"</p> + +<p>The testimonies and love-feast were over, a prayer that made Job feel +as if Some One great and good was near, had been offered, and then it +was announced that the Rev. William Pendergast of Calavero circuit +would preach.</p> + +<p>"What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and lose his +own soul?"</p> + +<p>It was a young, fresh, boyish face that looked into Job's as the +speaker uttered these words. Just such a bright, athletic, noble +fellow as every true boy secretly wishes to be. He caught Job's +attention and held it.</p> + +<p>This was a very different thing from what he had thought sermons to +be. The young man talked of life here, not hereafter; he showed how a +man may live in this world and yet live a lost life; have gold and +lands, and yet lose all love and hope and peace and manhood. He +pictured the man who gains wealth and grows hard and loveless, and Job +thought of Andy Malden; he told of him who plunges into dissipation +and drink, and lingers a wreck in the streets, and Job knew he meant +Yankee Sam. Aye, he pictured a young life that grasps all the world +and forgets right and God and mother's Bible and mother's prayers, and +grows selfish and the slave of hate and trembles lest death come, and +Job thought of himself and the awful night in the snow and wished he +was miles away.</p> + +<p>But wait! They are singing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Weak and wounded, sick and sore."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> +<p>They have cleared the mourners' bench and are giving the invitation:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Jesus ready stands to save you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full of pity, love and power."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Job trembles. Does that mean him? Tim Nolan the mill-man leans over +and whispers almost out loud: "Remember your bet, Job!"</p> + +<p>Poor Job would have given all the gold in the Sierras to be out of +there. All the sins of his life rose before him, all his conceit and +boasting vanished. He was ashamed of Job Malden. He longed to sink +somewhere out of sight.</p> + +<p>The preacher was talking again; the old, old story of the Prodigal Son +and how God's arms are always ready to take in a mother's lost boy. +The room swam before Job's eyes. The crowds were flocking to the +altar, the people were shouting, the boys were punching him and +saying. "Yer dursn't go!" Heaven, hell, sin and Christ were very real +to him all of a sudden.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All the fitness he requireth<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Is to feel your need of him."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>How it happened he never knew, but just as Dan said, "Now, let's see +Job get religion," he rose, and, striding down the long aisle, he +rushed to the altar, and there, just where he had taken his first +drink on that awful Sunday, he threw himself in tears, a big, +heart-broken boy, with the thought of his evil life throbbing through +his brain.</p> + +<p>It was late that night when Job left the camp ground, flung himself +across Bess' back and started home. The stars never looked down on a +happier boy. The burden, the hate, the bitterness in his heart, were +all gone. A holy love, an exaltation of soul, an awakening of all that +is best in a manly life, stirred him. The past was gone; "old things +had passed away and all things had become new." The world was the +same. Dan, with all his meanness, was in it. The saloon doors were +open, the gamblers still sat at midnight at the Monte Carlo. Grizzly +county had not changed, but he had. A new life was his.</p> + +<p>As he galloped down the road, far away he heard them singing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Palms of victory, crowns of glory, I shall wear,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and a strange feeling came over him. He took up the refrain, and, +looking up at the stars, he seemed to see his mother's face afar off +among the flashing worlds. The tears stole down his cheeks, tears of +joy, as, galloping on through the night toward home, again he sang:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Palms of victory, crowns of glory, I shall wear."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>THE DEANS.</h3> + + +<p>It was a little, long, low, unpainted shanty, with a rude doorstep, +almost hid amid a jungle of vines and overarching trees at the end of +a long lane, where Marshall Dean lived. A sallow-faced, thin +Kentuckian, he had come up here from the plains after his sister +married Andrew Malden, in the hope that being near a rich relative +would save him from unnecessary labor. Andrew Malden had given him a +good place at the mill, but he found it too hard on his muscles, and +so decided to "ranch it." Malden had then given him the old Jones +ranch and a start; but as the years drifted by he had not succeeded in +raising much except a numerous family of dirty, unkempt youngsters of +whom Dan was the oldest and the most promising specimen, the one who +had inherited his father's pride and selfishness, with a certain +natural shrewdness and sagacity that his mother's family possessed, +but of which she had failed to receive much.</p> + +<p>While Malden's wife lived, they managed to silently share in the +income of Pine Tree Ranch, but after she died the smuggling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> business +between the big place and Dean's Lane suddenly stopped. Nothing ever +cut deeper—they could never forgive her for dying. At last they +settled down to a stolid, long wait for the old man's end. The chief +theme of conversation at home was the uncertainties of life for the +"old miser," and the sure probability of their move some day on to the +big ranch, though not one of them knew what they would do with it if +they got it. Dan felt no hesitation about telling this at school, and +it was common gossip of the county.</p> + +<p>But alas! the night Dan came home and excitedly told the family, as +they looked up from their rough board table and bacon and mush and +molasses, that "the old man had taken Teale's kid in, sure he had," +consternation seized them. It took them weeks to rally; and, when they +did, for the first time in their history the family had an object in +life, and that was to make life miserable for Job.</p> + +<p>Unsuspecting and innocent, the twelve-year-old lad had gone over to +play with the Dean children, as he would at any home, till the time +when petty persecutions culminated in all the rude youngsters calling +him vile names and throwing stones at him, and the father standing by +and drawling out, "Give it to him, the ornery critter!"</p> + +<p>Annoyance followed annoyance. Job's pets always got hurt or +disappeared. Dick, his first pony, was accidentally lamed for life; +the big dog he romped with was found dead from poison. All the +mischief in the neighborhood was eventually laid at Job's door. For a +long time the boy systematically avoided the Deans, till by some +strange political fortune Marshall Dean was appointed postmaster for +the Pine Mountain post-office. That was a gala day in Deans' Lane. +Sally Dean had a brand-new dress on the strength of it, and Dan gave +himself more airs than ever before. After that Job was obliged to go +to the Deans' twice a week for the mail, and more than once went away +with the suspicion that Andrew Malden's mail had been well inspected +before it left the office.</p> + +<p>The wrath of the Dean family reached its culmination on that Sunday +night when Dan came home with the news that Job had attended the +Coyote Valley camp-meeting and had been converted; "now he would be +putting on holy airs and setting himself above folks." That night in +Dean's shanty Sally and Dan and "Pap" put their heads together to plan +how they could in some way make Job Malden backslide.</p> + +<p>It was toward this house that Job was making his way, on the very next +week, bound for the semi-weekly mail. As he went up the path old Dean +himself rose to meet him; and, putting up his pipe, remarked on the +"uncommon fine morning." As he pushed open the shanty door, Mrs. Dean +and fifteen-year-old Sally were all smiles. The postman had brought no +mail, the former said, but wouldn't he stay and rest? She had heard +the Methodists were having a fandango down in the valley. Queer +people, whose religion consisted in shouting and jumping. As for her, +she believed in practical religion; she paid her honest debts and +didn't set herself up above her neighbors.</p> + +<p>Job was just leaving, when Mrs. Dean said:</p> + +<p>"Oh, you mustn't go without drinking to Sally's health—she's fifteen +to-day. See what a big girl she is—what rosy cheeks and big hands! +Come, we have the finest cider out; just drink with us to Sally's +health."</p> + +<p>"Why, excuse me, ma'am," stammered Job, quite bewildered by this +sudden good nature and the invitation to drink. "Why—I can't drink +any more—I—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my!" said Mrs. Dean. "You're all straight! This won't be too +much, if you have drank before this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but—" stammered Job, "I don't mean that. I don't drink any +more—I have joined the Methodists and been converted."</p> + +<p>"Such a likely boy as you gone and jined<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> the fools! Surely Andy +Malden don't know it, does he?"</p> + +<p>"Why—no," stammered Job.</p> + +<p>"Waal, now, purty feller you are, to take your bread and butter from +Andy Malden, and then go and disgrace him by joinin' the hypocrites +and never tellin' him, and then comin' round here and refusin' to +drink harmless apple juice with our Sally! Puttin' yourself up above +respectable people like us, whose parents lie in respectable graves."</p> + +<p>Job faltered. That speech cut. The hot blood came to his brow. A week +ago he would have lost his temper, but now he bit his lip and kept +still.</p> + +<p>Then the woman's mood changed. She wished him no ill luck, she said, +and surely he would be good enough if he was as good as his Master, +and she "'lowed that Christ drank wine at a wedding spread onct. +Surely he wouldn't refuse a little cider with Sally?"</p> + +<p>Perhaps it would be best. Perhaps he was trying to be too good. Aye, +perhaps one drink would give him a good chance to escape. So Job +thought, and he took the glass. But then came a vision of that bar at +the horse-race, of that cider at Malden's mill, and the winter night +and the snow, and his hand in his pocket touched the old temperance +pledge he had signed again on Sunday night when he got home, and up +from his heart went a silent cry for help. At that, he seemed to hear +a voice saying, "With every temptation, a way of escape," and he said +in a firm voice, as he sat down the glass:</p> + +<p>"Best wishes for Sally, Mrs. Dean, but I cannot drink the cider."</p> + +<p>Just then a shrill cry from outside sent both Sally and her mother +flying to help rescue three-year-old Ross, whose father was hauling +him out of the well.</p> + +<p>In the excitement, Job started home with a light heart, singing to +himself:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Yield not to temptation, for yielding is sin, Each victory +will help you some other to win."</p></div> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>THE OLD MAN'S BIRTHDAY.</h3> + + +<p>They were sitting together at Pine Tree Ranch, on the side porch of +the neat little white farmhouse, over which the vines were trained and +from which the well-kept lawn and flower-bordered walks rolled away to +the white picket fence. It was a late August evening, which had merged +from sunset into moonlight so softly and quietly that one hardly knew +when the one began and the other ended. Job, in old coat and overalls +and a broken straw hat, just as he had come in from his evening +chores, sat on the veranda's edge. Back of him, in a low-bottomed, old +cane rocker, was Andrew Malden in a rough suit of gray, his white +beard reaching far down on his breast, while his silver locks were +blowing in the breeze.</p> + +<p>For once, at least, he was opening his heart and memory to the lad +whom he secretly loved; the lad who often wondered why the latch +string of Pine Tree Ranch was out for him, and what matter would it be +if some day, when he and Bess went off over the Chichilla hills, they +never came back again.</p> + +<p>To-night the old man was talkative. It was his birthday and he was in +retrospective mood. "Seventy to-night, Job—just to think of it! +Twenty years more, perhaps, and then—well, a coffin, I suppose, and +six feet of ground—and that's all," he said.</p> + +<p>Job wanted to say, "And heaven," but he did not dare. And then a +thought startled him: Was this man, who had gained this world, ready +for any other?</p> + +<p>For an hour Andrew Malden rambled on. He talked of the Mexican war; +told of Vera Cruz and the battle of Monterey. "Bravest thing you ever +saw, boy. One of those Greasers rode square up to our line and flung a +taunt in our faces, and rode away in disdain, while all our batteries +opened on him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>He came to the close of the war stories, when he suddenly stopped and +grew silent, puffed at an old pipe, rose and walked back and forth. He +was thinking of that day when he had come back so proudly to claim +Mary Moore, and had found the blow under which he had staggered for +nearly forty years.</p> + +<p>"You've heard of Lincoln, my boy—old Abe Lincoln? Well, I knew him +when we were boys," he said, as he sat down again. Then he told story +after story of the long, lean, lank Kentucky boy, who rode a raft down +the Mississippi and helped clear the frontier forests; the boy who was +one day to strike a blow for right that would shake a continent.</p> + +<p>Andrew Malden laughed till Job caught the contagion and laughed, too, +as story followed story. Then, after another silence, he went on +again:</p> + +<p>"Dead! Abe Lincoln's dead, and Zach Taylor's dead—and so the world +goes. 'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,' the Bible says. My father +used to read it to us boys, when I was your age. It's true, my boy. +Have as little to do with the world as you can, except to get an +honest living out of it—a living anyway. Don't love anybody. It don't +pay."</p> + +<p>The old man faltered. He got up and paced the porch again, then, +coming back, he put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and, looking into +his face, said:</p> + +<p>"Job, I want to tell you something; seems as if I must to-night."</p> + +<p>And there in the clear moonlight, interrupted only by Shot's +occasional growl, and the distant hoot of an owl or bark of a coyote, +Andrew Malden told his life story to the boy at his side, the boy who +was just passing up to young manhood. He told of Mary Moore; of the +weary tramp behind an ox-team across the prairies and Nevada desert; +of that snow-bound winter near Denver Lake; of the early days of Gold +City. He told of his son who slept beneath the graveyard pines; of his +own lonely life in the mountains; then he came to that night when he +had brought this boy home. He put his arm around the lad as he talked +of his interest in him and how he had known more of his sins and +downward life than Job ever dreamed.</p> + +<p>"Now," he said, "they tell me you have joined the Methodists—have got +religion or whatever you call it. Stick to it, boy. Andy Malden's too +old to ever change his views. You may be right or not, but anyway I'd +rather see you go to Methodist meetin' than Pete's saloon. You're +going to have a hard time of it, boy; these pesky Deans, who owe all +they are to me, hate you because you are mine. As long as you live +with Andy Malden, you will have to suffer. Sometimes I think it ain't +worth while—what do you care for an old man?"</p> + +<p>Again the voice ceased, and Job trembled, he hardly knew why.</p> + +<p>"Boy," up spoke the old man again, "boy, it isn't worth while! I will +give you a bag of nuggets, and you can take Bess and go to-morrow down +to the city and get some learnin' and be somethin', and be out of this +everlastin' quarrelsome world of Grizzly county, and never see the +Deans again. I will stand it; I lived alone before you came, and I +suppose I can do it again. Only a few years and I will be gone; God +knows where—if there is a God."</p> + +<p>By this time Job was choked with emotion. All his nature was aroused. +He fairly loved this strange old man. Looking up, he begged him not to +send him away; stay he would, whatever it cost; and he would be as +true a son to him as a strong young fellow could.</p> + +<p>At that, the old man rose, went into the house, and came back with +something that glittered in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Take this, Job, put it in your hip-pocket, and the first time any one +of the Deans, big or little, insults you, put a bullet through him."</p> + +<p>Job shrank back at sight of the revolver.</p> + +<p>"No! Oh, no! I can't take that! Down at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> the camp-meeting I promised +God to love my enemies, uncle. I can't take that."</p> + +<p>Then Job poured out his heart to Andrew Malden. He told of his +conversion, of his trust in God, and that he was no longer afraid of +the Deans or of anything.</p> + +<p>"Humph! humph!", said the old man. "Well, I won't argue with you, boy; +but as for me, I'd rather trust my hip-pocket when I have to deal with +the people of Grizzly county. Do as you please. But I'll keep this +revolver, and death to the man that harms a hair of Job Malden, the +only one in all the world that Andy Malden loves."</p> + +<p>The old man's voice trembled, and he walked into the house and shut +the door; and Job knew the talk was over for that night.</p> + +<p>Whistling to Shot, he and the dog stole upstairs to Job's little bare +room, where a few wood-cuts hung on the wall, and a long, narrow +bedstead, a chair, and a box that served for table, were the only +furniture. He took the little Testament from under his pillow and +lovingly kissed it; then turning, he read for his good-night lesson +from his new-found divine Friend: "Let not your heart be troubled, +neither let it be afraid. Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end +of the world."</p> + +<p>Kneeling a moment for a good-night prayer, he was soon in bed and +asleep, with Shot curled up on the covers at his feet, while through +the open window the sound of a guitar came where one of the mill hands +was playing the tune of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hush, my child, lie still and slumber,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Holy angels guard thy bed."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>OFF TO THE BIG TREES.</h3> + + +<p>The radical change that had come into Job's life cut him off from the +companions of other days and left him without a chum. It showed the +manliness of his nature that as he started out in the new life, +seeing quickly that he must part company with the old companions who +had nearly wrecked his life, he acted on the conviction at once.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was this, perhaps the fact that his life was now almost +altogether on the ranch, that made Job and Bess boon companions. Many +a mountain trip they took together. It was on one of these that they +went to the Big Trees. That bright September morning, gayly attired +with new sombrero and red bandanna above his white outing-shirt, +astride Bess, Job rode slowly up the Chichilla mountain on his way to +visit those giant trees. Up by "Doc" Trainer's place, over the smooth, +hard county turnpike, where the toll-road, ever winding round and +round the mountain-side, climbs on through the passes of the live-oak +belt to the scraggly pines of the low hills, on to the endless giant +forests of the cloud-kissed summits, the young horseman made his way. +Now and then the road descended to a little ravine, where a mountain +torrent had torn a path to the deep cañons below: again it stretched +through a dim, royal archway of green where the great trees linked +branches as over a king's pathway; and then it turned a bend where the +steep sides sank so suddenly that even the trees had no foothold and +the bare space disclosed a view over boundless forests of dark green, +and the vast, yawning cañons and distant rolling hills, to where, +far-off, like some dream of the past, one caught glimpses of the +endless plains covered with the autumn haze and golden in the morning +sunlight.</p> + +<p>The grandeur of the scenery, the roar of the brook in deep cañons +below, whose echo he caught from afar, the exhilarating ride, the +fresh morning breeze, combined with the spiritual experiences of his +nature, which were daily deepening, to rouse all the poetry in Job's +soul, of which he had more than the average rough country lad who rode +over those eternal hills. He shouted, he whistled patriotic airs and +snatches of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> popular songs he heard on the Gold City streets; then +the old songs of church and the heart-life came to him, and he sang +them, while he laid his head over on Bess' neck as she silently +climbed ever higher and higher.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Bess gave a start that nearly threw him, as the delicate form +of a deer rose behind a fallen tree. For an instant the beautiful +animal stood looking with great soft eyes in a bewildered stare at the +cause of his sudden awakening, then plunged his horns into the bushes +and leaped away down the mountain-side.</p> + +<p>Job quickly reached for his rifle, only to discover what he well +knew—that it was far away at home; of which he was glad as he thought +of those tender, pleading eyes, and a great love for the harmless +creature, the forests, the mountains and all the world welled up in +his soul. "My!" he said, "I'd like to hug that deer! I'd like to hug +everything, everybody! I used to hate them; I would even hug Dan. +Bess, dear old girl, I'll just love you!" and he flung his arms around +her neck and hummed away as they passed up the hill.</p> + +<p>Soon a turn in the road brought them to the summit, where for a moment +the trees part and one catches glimpses of the long winding road over +which one has come, and the ever-rolling forests beyond, climbing far +up to a still higher ridge that reaches toward the Yosemite and the +high Sierras. The view thrilled Job. The psalm he had learned for last +Sunday came to him. He repeated it solemnly with cap off, as he sat +still on Bess' back: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from +whence cometh my help; my help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven +and earth."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus023.jpg" width="600" height="493" alt=""Father of the Forest," Calaveras Grove." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Father of the Forest," Calaveras Grove.</span> +</div> + +<p>Only a moment be paused, and then started on a gallop down the hill. +The ring of Bess' feet on the hard road scared the shy gray squirrels, +which ran chattering up the tall pines, leaving their feast of nuts on +the ground beneath.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later and all the solemnity of his soul and the beauty +of the forests was sadly interrupted as he rode round a curve and came +out at the junction of the Signal Point and the Yosemite toll-road.</p> + +<p>There stood, or lay rather, half on its side, a rickety, old +two-seated structure shaded by white canvas supported by four +rough-hewn posts. It leaned far to the side on one wheel and a +splintered hub. Down the hill a broken wheel was bounding; while, on +the dusty road, four women—one tall and angular in a yellow duster, +one little and weazened, arrayed in a prim gray traveling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> suit, a +weeping maiden of uncertain age, and a portly dame of ponderous +proportions, dressed not in a duster but a very dusty black silk—were +pulling themselves up. Near by three little tots were howling +vigorously, yet making no impression on the poor, lone, lank white +mare which stood stock still in the shafts, with a contented air that +showed an immense satisfaction in the privilege of one good stop.</p> + +<p>"Mary Jane, this is awful! Every bone in me is cracked and this silk +dress is ruined—yes, is ruined! I tell yer it ain't fit for Mirandy's +little gal's doll! And my! I know my heart is broken, too; I can hear +it rattle! I'll never come with you and that horrid runaway horse +again!"</p> + +<p>The poor horse flapped her ears as if in appreciation of this last +remark, while Mary Jane, rising up like a yellow-draped beanpole, +retorted in a shrill voice:</p> + +<p>"Aunt Eliza, ain't you ashamed to be deriding me, a poor lone widder +with three helpless children! I hope ye are cracked—cracked bad! +Horse, humph! I guess my horse is the likeliest in Grizzly county! Yer +know yer made all the trouble; any decent wheel would give way when it +had a square mile of bones and stuffin's and silk above it!"</p> + +<p>"Now, sister Mary and Aunt Eliza," spoke up, in a thin, metallic +voice, that of the diminutive dame in gray, as she adjusted her bonnet +strings, "let us not grow unduly aggravated at the disconcerting +providence which has overwhelmed us in the journey of life. There are +compensating circumstances which should alleviate our sorrow. Our +lives are spared, and the immeasurable forests are undisturbed by the +trifling event which has overtaken us poor, insignificant creatures, +whose—"</p> + +<p>"Insignificant!" roared Aunt Eliza, "I guess I ain't insignificant! I +own twenty town lots down in Almedy, as purty as yer ever saw. +Insignificant! I—the mother of ten children and goodness knows how +many grandchildren! And as for them trees that yer say yer can't +measure, I'd rather see the clothes-poles in Sally's back yard!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," chimed in Mary Jane, "and 'trifles' yer call it, for a poor +woman that raises spuds and washes clothes for the men at the mines +for a livin', to lose her fine coach Pete built the very year he took +sick of the heart-failure and died, and left me a lone widder in a +cold and friendless world!" At which she wiped her eyes with the +yellow duster.</p> + +<p>"'Trifles'!" cried Aunt Eliza again. "'Trifles,' for us poor guileless +wimmen to be left here alone in the wilderness, twenty mile from a +livin' creature, and nobody knows what wild animals and awful men may +come along any minute!"</p> + +<p>For a moment Job halted Bess and watched the scene. An almost +uncontrollable desire to laugh possessed him; but, restraining +himself, he took the first chance he had to make his presence known, +at which Aunt Eliza groaned, "Oh, my!" and Mary Jane instinctively +grasped her yelling children, and the prim spinster curtsied and asked +if he used tobacco. At Job's surprised look and negative reply, she +said, "Very well. I never employ a male being who permeates his +environment with the noxious weed. As you do not, I will offer you +proper remuneration if you will assist us in this unforeseen +calamity."</p> + +<p>Assuring her that he would, without pay, do all he could, Job went to +work. It was well on in the day ere, by his repeated errands down to +the big hotel barn some distance below, he had procured enough +material to get the rickety old structure in order and help Aunt Eliza +back up its high side to the seat she had left so unceremoniously that +morning. The last he heard, as the white horse slowly pulled out of +sight through the forest, was Aunt Eliza's, "Go slow, Mary Jane, for +mercy's sake! Don't let her run away!" while the prim spinster shouted +back in a high key, "Good-by, young man! You're a great credit to your +sex;" and Mary Jane, pounding the poor mare <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>vigorously, yelled, +"G'lang! Get up! We'll never get home!"</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>It was nearer sunset than it should have been when Job reached the +sign-board far up the toll-road that read, "To the Big Trees." Putting +spurs to Bess, he galloped on at a rapid pace for a mile or more, when +he became conscious that the sugar pines and cedars were giving place +to strange trees which had loomed up before him so gradually that he +was not aware the far-famed Sequoias, the giants of the forest, were +all about him.</p> + +<p>A dim, strange light filled the place. The twilight was coming fast in +that far, lonely spot shaded by the close ranks of the Titanic forms. +He walked Bess slowly down the shadowy corridor along the line of +those straight giants, whose tapering spires seemed lost in heaven's +blue.</p> + +<p>How long it took to pass a tree! Bess and he were but toys beside +them, yet he could scarcely realize their vastness till he slid off +her back, and, throwing the rein over her neck, started around one, +and lost Bess from view as he turned the corner and walked a full +hundred feet before he had encircled the monster. How ponderous the +bark, how strangely small the cones!</p> + +<p>Mounting Bess, he rode down through the vast aisle of these monarchs +of the mountains. A feeling of awe came over him. The world of Gold +City and strife and jealousy and struggle, the realm of Mary Jane and +Aunt Eliza, the world of petty humanity, seemed far away. He was alone +with God and the eternities. Silent he stood, with bared head, and +looked along the monster trunks that stretched far up, up, up, towards +where the soft blue of evening twilight seemed to rest on them for +support. He found himself praying—he could not help it. It was the +litany of his soul rising with Nature's silent prayer: "Our Father +which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name." All through he said it, to +the reverent "Amen," then, putting on his hat, rode on toward the +farther grove.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 301px;"> +<img src="images/illus025.jpg" width="301" height="500" alt=""Grizzly Giant," Mariposa Grove." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Grizzly Giant," Mariposa Grove.</span> +</div> + +<p>On he went past "Grizzly Giant," standing lone and bare, its foliage +gone, its old age come—"Grizzly Giant," which was old before Christ +was born; on by vigorous saplings, already rivals of the biggest +pines. One time-worn veteran had succumbed to some Titanic stroke of +Nature's power and lay prostrate on the ground. Decay and many +generations of little denizens of the forest had hollowed its great +trunk like some vast tunnel. Job, looking in, could see the light in +the distance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was big enough for Bess and him—he was sure it was; he would try +it. So, whispering lovingly to the horse, he rode into the gaping +monster, rode through the dark heart of the old giant, clear to the +other end and on into daylight. Enthused by his achievement, Job +hurried on down the road and around the great curve, to see looming up +before him "Wawona," far-famed Wawona, the portal of the silent +cathedral through whose wide-spreading base and under whose towering +form a coach and six can drive.</p> + +<p>The sun was down, the shadows were fast gathering, the great trees +were retreating one by one in the gloom, when Job found the little +one-roomed log cabin with open door where he had planned to spend the +night. Unsaddling Bess and giving her the bag of grain on the back of +the saddle, hurriedly eating a lunch, and gathering some sticks for a +fire in the old stone fireplace in case he needed one, throwing a +drink into his mouth, Indian style, from the spring just back of the +cabin, he prepared for the night. A little later, tying Bess securely +to the nearest sapling, he closed the cabin door behind him, rolled +down the old blankets he found there, and lay down to sleep.</p> + +<p>How dark it was! How still the world! A feeling of intense loneliness +stole over Job, and then a sense of God's nearness soothed him and he +fell asleep.</p> + +<p>It must have been after midnight when he awoke with a start, a feeling +of something dreadful filling him. He listened. All was still save for +Bess' occasional pawing near by. Then he heard a sound that set the +blood curdling in his veins, that sent his hair up straight, and made +his heart beat like an engine—from far off in the mountains came a +weird, heart-breaking cry as of a lost child.</p> + +<p>Job knew it well. It was the call of a mountain lion. Again it came, +but nearer on the other side. It was voice answering voice. Bess +snorted, pawed, and seemed crazed. What should he do? He trembled, +hesitated; then, breathing a prayer, he hurriedly opened the cabin +door, cut Bess' rope, led her in through the low portal, barred the +door behind, and, soothing her with low whispers of tenderness, tied +her to the further wall of the cabin, and crept back into bed. Then he +lay and waited breathlessly for another cry, and thought all was well, +till in a distant moan, far down the road, he heard it again.</p> + +<p>For a moment fear almost overpowered him; then the old Psalm +whispered, "He that keepeth thee will not slumber nor sleep." A sweet +consciousness of the absolute safety of God's children stole over the +youth; and catching, from a rift in the roof, one glimpse of the stars +struggling through the tree tops, he turned over and fell asleep as +peacefully as if in his bed at home.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>CHRISTMAS SUNDAY.</h3> + + +<p>It was Christmas Sunday when Job was received into full membership in +the quaint old Gold City Methodist church. Snow was on the ground, and +sleigh bells rang through the air. All day long the streets had been +reverberating with that essential of a California Christmas, the +fire-cracker. As the preacher came over from Hartsville, the service +was in the evening.</p> + +<p>The old building looked really fine in its new dress of holly berries, +mistletoe and cedar. Across the front was hung in big red and white +letters, "Unto us a Child is Born." Over the organ was suspended a +large gilt star.</p> + +<p>The place was crowded that night. The double fact that it was +Christmas, and that the camp-meeting converts would be baptized, +brought everybody out.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Joy to the world, the Lord is come!"</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> +<p>sang the choir as Job, dressed in a neat new suit of gray and "store" +shirt, entered the church, making a way for Andy Malden, who, for the +first time in untold years, had crossed the threshold of the +meeting-house. The arrival, a few minutes before, of Slim Jim the +gambler, who hung around the Monte Carlo, and Col. Dick, its +proprietor, had not attracted so much attention as the entrance of +"Jedge Malden," as the politicians called him who sought his political +influence.</p> + +<p>The preacher, as he looked down on that audience, was amazed. He had +seen no such scene in this old church since, with faint heart, he had +first stood in its plain pulpit as pastor. The walls were lined with +all the representative characters of the town, good and bad, rich and +poor; merchants, bar-keepers, politicians and miners. In the center +the old-time church-goers sat. Up the front, filling every inch of +space, the starched and well-washed youngsters wriggled and grinned +and sang without fear, as hymn after hymn was announced.</p> + +<p>All soon caught the spirit of the hour, and a general feeling of +good-nature settled down on all. In fact, the place fairly trembled +with good-will, as a class of boys marched to the platform and sang:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The Christmas bells are ringing over land and sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> The winter winds are bringing their merry notes to me,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and the wee tots involuntarily turned to the rear as they ended with +almost a yell:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Then shout, boys, shout!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shout with all your might;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Merry Christmas's at the door,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's coming here to-night!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>On the programme went—recitations, songs, choruses, following close +after one another. A fairy-like girl, with all childhood's innocence, +told anew the old story of Bethlehem and the Christ Child. The tears +stole down some rough cheeks as the memories of long-gone childhood's +Christmas days came back to them.</p> + +<p>The wee tots had sung their last hymn, when the preacher began his +sermon on the angel's song that echoes still each Christmas over all +the world: "Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, good-will +toward men." For twenty minutes he talked of glory, peace, +good-will—those things so sadly lacking in many lives before him; +talked till each face grew solemn, and Slim Jim looked as if he was +far away in some distant memory-world. Andy Malden seemed to hear +Peter Cartright, as he had heard him in his father's cabin when a boy, +and remembered for the first time in years the night he had promised +the eccentric old preacher he would be a Christian—a promise that had +been drowned by the drum-beat of the old war days and the +disappointment of a lifetime.</p> + +<p>As the preacher finished, every man and woman there made a silent +resolution to be better-natured and pay their debts and make life a +little brighter for somebody. But, alas! resolutions are easily +broken.</p> + +<p>"The candidates for baptism will please come forward," said the +parson.</p> + +<p>Up they rose, old and young; Tim Dennis, the cobbler; aged Grandpa +Lewis; a score of both sexes. Around the altar they stood, a long +semicircle; and, as it so happened, Jane at one end, and Job, with +serious, manly air, at the other.</p> + +<p>Question after question of the ritual was asked. Clear and strong came +the answers. "Wilt thou renounce the devil and all his works?" Jane +nodded yes—how little she knew of the devil! Job answered loudly, "I +will"—how much he did know! "The vain pomp and glory of the world?" +continued the minister; and old Mrs. Smith, who lived alone in the +hollow back of the church and had had such a struggle of soul to give +up the flowers on her hat that she fancied were too worldly, +responded, "Yes," with a groan. "Wilt thou be baptized in this faith?" +asked the preacher at last. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> unanimous chorus answered, "I will," +and, taking the bowl in his hand, he passed down the line of the now +kneeling forms and administered the sacred ordinance. Job was last. +Leaning over, the parson asked his name, then there rang out through +the church, as the eager throng leaned forward to hear and Andrew +Malden poked the floor with his cane, "Job Teale Malden, I baptize +thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. +Amen."</p> + +<p>The service was over. The crowds were pouring out the door, the +organist was playing "Marching Through Georgia" on the wheezy organ as +the liveliest thing she knew, the people were wishing each other +"Merry Christmas," as Job, hurrying out of the church, felt a touch on +his shoulder, and, looking up, saw Slim Jim the gambler.</p> + +<p>"Job, come out here. I have something to tell you," said he.</p> + +<p>Pushing through the throng, they crept around the church in the dark, +when Jim, putting his hand on the youth's shoulder, said:</p> + +<p>"Job, I remember the night you came to Gold City, what a poor, +homeless lad you were! I remember the day you won the horse-race and I +said, 'The devil's got the kid now sure.' And now I am so glad, Job, +that you've gone and done the square thing. I helped bury your father, +and I tell you he was a fine fellow—a gentleman, if he had only let +the drink and cards alone. Oh, Job, never touch them! You think it's +strange, perhaps, but I was good once, far off in old Pennsylvania. I +was a mother's boy, and went to church, and—Job, would you believe +it?—I was going to be a preacher!—I, poor Slim Jim that nobody cares +for, now. But I wanted to get rich, and I came to Gold City. I learned +to play cards, and—well, here I am. No help for me—Slim Jim's lost +this world and his soul, too. But you're on the right track, and, if +when you die and go up there where those things shine,"—and he +pointed through the pines to the starlit sky—"you meet a little, +sweet old lady with white hair and a gray dress knitting a pair of +socks, tell her that her Jamie never forgot her and would give the +best hand he ever had to feel her kiss once more and hear her say +good-night. Tell her—listen, boy!—tell her it was the cards that +ruined Jamie, but he's her Jamie still." And with tears on his face +and in his voice, the tall, pale wreck of manhood hurried off in the +darkness, leaving Job alone in the gloom.</p> + +<p>It was late that night when Job said his prayer by his bed at home, +but he made it long enough to put in one plea for Slim Jim.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>THE COVE MINE.</h3> + + +<p>It is six miles from Pine Tree Ranch to the Cove Mine. You go over +Lookout Point, from where El Capitan and the outline of the Yosemite +can be easily seen on a clear day, down along the winding upper ridge +of the Gulch, up again over the divide near Deer Spring and down along +the zigzag trail on the steep side of Big Bear Mountain, then down to +the very waters of the south fork of the Merced; just six miles to +where, in the depth of the cañon, lies Wright's Cove Mine. In all the +far-famed Sierras there can be no more picturesque spot. If one will +take the trouble to climb the almost perpendicular ridge that rises +two thousand feet behind the old tumble-down buildings, long, low +cook-houses and superintendent's vine-covered cottage, along that +narrow, half-destroyed trail that follows the rusty tracks and cogs +and cable of an old railroad, up to the first and then on further to +the second tunnel, where a few deserted ore-cars stand waiting the +trains that never come, on still higher to the narrow ridge that +separates the south fork from the north fork of the Merced River, he +is rewarded with a view worth a long trip to see.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>Let him stand there at sunset in the early spring and he has seen a +view worthy of the land of the Jung Frau and Mt. Blanc. All around, +the white-topped peaks of the high Sierras; far away, the snow banner +waving over the Yosemite; to the left of him, far below, like a river +of gold, sending up hither a faint murmur as it rushes over giant +boulders and innumerable cataracts, the North Fork, hurrying from that +ice-bound gorge which is the wonder of the Sierras; to the right, on +the other side, dancing down from the far-off Big Trees, threading the +tangled jungles of the Gulch, coming out through the dark green forest +like a rim of molten silver, roaring down past the quaint little +mining settlement, which looks half hid in partly-melted snow banks +like some Swiss village, comes the south fork of the river, +disappearing behind the mountain on which one stands.</p> + +<p>The rushing stream, whose music is like some far-off echo; the strange +deserted village; the narrow line of dark rails up the mountain-side +through the snow; the gloomy, cavernous tunnels; the setting sun in +the west gilding all with its transfiguring touch—these give a scene +worthy the brush of a master-artist, who has never yet found his way +over the Pine Mountain trail to the South Fork and Wright's Cove Mine.</p> + +<p>It was just such a day in spring as this, as Job came whistling down +the trail, gun in hand, looking for deer-tracks, that he thought he +heard the report of a gun up in the second tunnel. He had often been +there before; had climbed the trail and the cog railroad, played +around and over the deserted buildings, and gone swimming off the iron +bridge where the torrent was deepest. Once he and Dolph Swartz, a +neighbor boy, had slept all night in the tool-house shed, waiting for +game, and had seen only what Dolph was sure was a ghost—so sure that +he hurried Job home at daybreak with a vow that he would never stay at +Wright's Cove another night.</p> + +<p>Job knew the place well, yet on this spring day he stopped and looked +mystified. There it was again! Who could be in the second tunnel with +a gun? Was it the spirit of some poor forty-niner come back again? He +doubled his speed, slid down through the mud and slush, grasped a +sapling and leaped down the short cut, ran up the bank and rocky sides +of the roaring torrent, walked carefully over the slippery iron rails +of the old rusty bridge, and made his way up the steep Tunnel Trail.</p> + +<p>Soon he was close to the tunnel, so far up that the river's noise was +lost behind him. He stopped and listened. Not a sound. Then clean and +strong the ring of a gun, and a dull echo in the dim cavern!</p> + +<p>All kinds of thoughts rushed through Job's head. He was not a +superstitious boy, yet this was enough to make anybody feel queer—all +alone in that deserted wilderness, with the echo of a gun coming out +of the lonely mine, unworked for years and into which no human +footstep had penetrated since the day that old Wright shot himself in +the tunnel when he found that the mine which had paid big at first and +into which he had put all his income, was a failure. Job had heard the +boys tell that Indian Bill, the trapper, said he had seen the old +fellow's skeleton marching up and down with gun in hand, two hundred +feet down the tunnel, defending it against all intruders. Perhaps that +was the ghost now! Would he dare to go? His flesh crept at the +thought. He wished Shot was with him, or at least some living thing. +Again he heard the report. His courage rose. He would face the thing, +whatever it was.</p> + +<p>Creeping up slowly and noiselessly, he reached the entrance to the +tunnel and looked in. All was as dark as the grave. A cold draft +rushed out over him. He could hear the drip, drip, of water from the +roof. At first he thought he saw something moving in the distance, +then he was not sure. He decided he would turn back; then curiosity +was too much for him; he began to whistle and walked boldly into the +darkness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> followed the rotten ties, when, lo! he saw a flash of +light, heard a thundering report, and, involuntarily giving a yell, +started to run, when a familiar voice shouted:</p> + +<p>"Job, Job, come here!"</p> + +<p>He turned, and there loomed up before him, to his utter amazement, the +form of Andrew Malden.</p> + +<p>The old man was evidently disconcerted and angry at being found, while +the boy was utterly dumfounded.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute, Job; I'll go home with you," said Malden, as he took +out the queerest charge Job had ever seen in a gun—a load of gold +dust, which he carefully rammed down the barrel, then, bidding Job +look out, fired into the rock.</p> + +<p>"Why, what are you doing that for?" stammered the boy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, salting the mine, just so it will keep," laughed Andrew Malden—a +strange, hoarse laugh. "But mind, Job, nobody needs to know I did it. +The mine will keep better if they don't."</p> + +<p>As they passed out, Job noticed that the wall of the mine glittered in +a way he had never seen before. What did it all mean? He dared ask no +more questions of Andrew Malden. Almost in silence they climbed down +the old trail, edged across the bridge, and strode with a steady pace +up the long six miles over the Point to their home.</p> + +<p>"What's 'salting a mine,' Tony?" asked Job of the black hostler one +day a week after.</p> + +<p>"Doan' know, Marse Job, unless it's doctoring the critter so you can +make somebody believe it's worth a million, when it ain't worth a +rabbit's hind foot. Tony's up to better bizness than salting mines."</p> + +<p>"Who owns the Cove Mine, Tony?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Marse Malden, I 'spec," said the surprised negro.</p> + +<p>That evening Job looked at his guardian with a queer feeling as they +sat down to supper, and that night he heard gun-shots in his dreams, +and awoke with a shiver and waited for something to happen. He was +conscious of impending trouble. Something was wrong.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>It had been a hard winter in Grizzly county, and throughout the whole +country, for that matter; a hard winter, following a fatal summer +which closed with crops a failure on the plains, the stunted grain +fields uncut, and the whole country paralyzed. The cities were full of +men out of work. The demand for lumber had fallen off, and the Pine +Mountain Mill was idle over half the time. The pessimism that filled +the air had reached Andrew Malden, and he sat by the fire all winter +nursing it. If he could sell the Cove Mine—but what was there to +sell? And he gave it up as a futile project. Then there came news of a +rich strike of gold in Shasta county, and a little later in the far +south the deserts of the Mojave were found to glitter. A perfect +epidemic of mining excitement followed. The most unthought-of places, +the old deserted mines, were found to be bonanzas. Andy caught the +fever. He tramped all over the Pine Tree Ranch prospecting, but gave +up in despair. Then he thought once more of the Cove Mine. He made +many a secret trip there. Then he ordered a box of gold dust from the +Yellow Jacket and stole down to the Cove again and again, till +discovered by Job.</p> + +<p>In all those years of living for himself and to himself, Andrew Malden +had tried to be square with the world. Business was business with him. +He made no concessions to any man; pity and altruism were not in his +vocabulary. Unconsciously to himself, he had grown to be a very hard +man, and the heart within him found it difficult to make itself felt +through the calloused surface of his life. But with it all Andrew +Malden had been honest. His word was as good as his bond in all +Grizzly county. No man questioned his statements. Everyone got a +hundred cents on the dollar when Andrew Malden paid his debts.</p> + +<p>But no man knew that in those days of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> hard spring the gray-haired +pioneer was passing through one of the greatest temptations of his +life. Men were buying up mines all about him, just at a glance; mines +fully as worthless as the Cove Mine. Anyhow, who knew the Cove Mine +was worthless? It had had a marvelous record in early days. A little +capital spent might bring immense reward. The old man sat, again and +again, alone on the front porch and turned it over in his mind. Then +he would creep off down to the mine, and feel his way in the dark +tunnel, looking for a new lead. He looked at the places he had salted, +until he almost brought himself to believe them genuine. Nobody would +know the difference, he argued. Job did not know what he was doing +when he found him. He would take the risk; he might lose the ranch +itself if he did not. And, coming home with the first stain of +dishonesty on his soul, Andrew Malden astonished Job by ordering him +to have Jack and Dave hitched up at three in the morning; he was going +to drive to the plains and the railroad station, then take a train to +the city, and would be back in a few days.</p> + +<p>Ten days later, Jack and Dave and the carriage, all coated with slush +and mud, drove up to the door, and Andrew Malden, with a strangely +affable smile on his face, clambered stiffly out and introduced Job to +Mr. Henry Devonshire, an Englishman traveling for his health and +profit. With a gruff greeting the stranger said:</p> + +<p>"We 'ad a dirty trip hup. The mud's no respecter h'of an H'english +gentleman nor h'an American millionaire, don'cher know?" and the +pompous Mr. Devonshire handed his hand-grip to Job, while he poked out +his shoes for the gray-haired lackey to wipe, with an—</p> + +<p>"'Ere, you, clean these feet, bloomin' quick!"</p> + +<p>Job and Tony obeyed, but a significant look passed between them.</p> + +<p>The next few days things went lively at the Pine Tree Ranch. Some of +the mill men were ordered off to scour the mountains for deer, a new +Chinese cook came up from Gold City, and the old man and the +"H'english gentleman," as Tony called him with a contemptuous chuckle, +mounted horses and went riding over the ranch and down to the mine. It +took all the grace Job had to see the arrogant boor, with his two +hundred and fifty avoirdupois, get Tony to help him mount Bess, and, +poking her in the ribs, call out, "What a bloomin' 'orse! Cawn't h'it +go!" and ride off toward Lookout Point.</p> + +<p>It was astonishing, the politeness Andrew Malden assumed; how he +overlooked all the gruffness of his guest and treated him like a +prince. Job fairly stared in wonder. It capped the climax when one +night—just as, tucked up snug in his bed, Job was dreaming of his +last walk home from school with Jane—to feel a rude shake and to see +Andrew Malden with excited face standing over him, saying:</p> + +<p>"Jump, boy! Dress quick and saddle Bess and ride with all your might +to Gold City and catch Joe before the stage leaves. Take this +telegram, and tell him to send it as soon as he gets to the plains and +Wheatland Depot! Here, up with you!"</p> + +<p>It was not over fifteen minutes after that Job was galloping away on +Bess' back in the cold, night air, over the muddy roads, stiffened +somewhat in the frosty spring night, and lit only by the dim +starlight. It was a wild ride, a ride that sent a chill to his very +marrow; and if it had not been for his ever-present trust in God, it +would have struck terror to his heart. It seemed as if it grew darker +and darker. The clouds were creeping across the stars, the great trees +hung like a drapery of gloom over the roadway. Faster and faster he +rode. Now he soothed Bess as she shied at some suspicious rock that +glistened with unmelted snow, or some crackle in the bushes that broke +the stillness of the night air; then he urged her on till down the +steep Frost Creek road she fairly flew.</p> + +<p>It was at the dim hour of dawn, and out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> of the gloom the world was +creeping into view, when Job, with the white foam on Bess, and both +heated and freezing himself, rode up to the door of the old brick +Palace Hotel, where Joe, just mounting the box of the familiar ancient +coach in which Job had once years ago traveled as a passenger, was +about to snap his whip over the backs of four doubtful-looking horses +which stood pawing the ground as if anxious to be stirring in such +frosty air.</p> + +<p>A hurried conversation, a white paper passed into Joe's hands, and the +long whip snapped, four steeds made a desperate charge forward, an old +woman in the coach, wrapped in three big shawls, bounded into air, and +Job saw the stage vanish up the hill, with the horses settling down to +the conventional snail's pace they had maintained these long years.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>BATTLES WITH CONSCIENCE.</h3> + + +<p>Joe evidently sent the telegram, for his stage next day brought up the +long-looked-for load of "bigbugs" that set the whole town of Gold City +wild to know why they were there. A perfect mob of street urchins, +loafers, shop-men and bar-keepers who could spare a bit of time, lined +up in front of the Palace Hotel and watched the plaid-coated, +gray-capped visitors in short knickerbockers and golf stockings puff +their pipes around the bar and call for "Porter and h'ale, 'alf and +'alf."</p> + +<p>Interest reached its climax when, after supper, three buckboards, +loaded with the guests heavy in more ways than one, started down +toward Mormon Bar and the Pine Mountain road.</p> + +<p>It was quite late when the loud barking of dogs announced their +arrival at Pine Tree Ranch, and it was still later when Job crept up +to the hay-loft over the stable to find a substitute for his cosy bed, +which he had surrendered to another "H'english gentleman," with an +emphasis on the last word. The boy was in a quandary to know what it +all meant. He felt an inward sense of disgust. He disliked such people +as these new friends of the old man's. Then he remembered that the +good Book says, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," and he was +painfully conscious that they were close neighbors now; so he breathed +a silent prayer that the Lord would make him love the unlovable, and +after a time fell asleep.</p> + +<p>It was the second day of the feast. Venison and quail, if not milk and +honey, had made the table groan in the big center room, now changed +into a dining-room. The parlor had been turned into a smoking-room, +and Job had seen, with indignation that stirred his deepest soul, +empty beer bottles on his bedroom floor. A whole cavalcade of horsemen +had gone down in the morning to the Cove and come galloping back at +night. Job had been to the milk-house and was coming back past the +side door in the dusk of the evening; it was ajar and the fumes of +tobacco smoke rolled out. He was tempted to peer in. Around the +cleared dining-table the crowd of red-faced guests were seated, with +Andy at the head playing the host in an awkward sort of way. On the +table were spread a big map and paper and ink.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Malden, this 'ere nugget came from the mine, you say. +Bloomin' purty, hain't h'it, fellows?" said a voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, gentlemen, I found that myself. My son Job and I were +prospecting, and we discovered it—the richest nugget ever found in +Grizzly county. Of course we kept it a secret; didn't want a rush up +here," replied Malden.</p> + +<p>"What a lie!" said Job to himself. "That's the very nugget Mike +Hannerry found at the Yellow Jacket! Where on earth did uncle get it?"</p> + +<p>"Come, Devonshire, let's buy 'er h'up and get h'out of this bloomin' +country. I want to get back to the club. The boat for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>Australia sails +Saturday," spoke up another voice.</p> + +<p>"But now I want to ask the mon a thing," said a little shrewd-faced +Scotchman. "Is he sure the thing down the hollow isn't salted? I got +one salted mine in the colonies, and—"</p> + +<p>"Salted!" said Andy, with an unnoticed flush on his face. "Salted! Do +you suppose, gentlemen, I would bring you here to sell you a salted +mine? You can ask anybody back in the city if my credit isn't +first-class."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mon," said a tall Highlander, "oh, mon, the feller's crazy. +Salted—humph! We saw the gold with our own eyes. I say take the mine. +I'll take a thousand shares at a pound. How much is the deal, did the +mon say?"</p> + +<p>"H'an 'undred thousand pounds. Cheap, I think," answered Devonshire.</p> + +<p>"H'it's a go. We'll 'ave the stuff h'at the h'inn down h'in—what's +the name of that town?" said the tall one.</p> + +<p>"Gold City, sir, Gold City!" spoke up the excited host.</p> + +<p>"Well, Gold City—that's the spot. We'll pay the cash there. My +banker'll come h'in there to-night h'in the stage."</p> + +<p>And as Job crept away, he heard them planning, between drinks, the +future of the "Anglo-American Gold Mining Syndicate," with main office +in London and place of operation in Grizzly county, State of +California, the United States of America.</p> + +<p>Job did not sleep that night. All through the dark hours he tossed on +his straw bed over the stable. Andrew Malden was going to sell the +Cove Mine for five hundred thousand dollars—and it was not worth one +cent! It was an outrageous fraud. The boy felt like going and telling +those capitalists. He felt a sense of personal guilt. Yet he almost +hated those men. What difference if they were cheated?—they would +never miss it; they deserved it. How much Uncle Andy needed the money! +And it would be his own some day.</p> + +<p>That thought touched Job's conscience to the center. He was a partner +in the crime! He half rose in bed, resolving that he would face the +crowd and tell all—how he had stood by and seen the old man salt the +mine. Then he hesitated. What was it to him? If he told, it would ruin +Andy. What business had he with it, anyhow? But all night long the +wind whistled in through the cracks, "Thou shalt not steal," and Job +tossed in agony of soul, wishing he had never climbed down the Pine +Mountain trail to the Cove on that spring day when Andrew Malden +salted the mine.</p> + +<p>The sun was well up the next morning when the procession of buckboards +was ready to start for Gold City. Andrew Malden and the shrewd fellow +had gone an hour before, the rest were off, and only the boorish +Devonshire was left to ride down with Tony. Job stood, with heart +palpitating and conscience goading him, down by the big pasture gate +to let them through. All his peace of mind was gone. A few moments and +the crime would be carried out to its end, and he would be equally +guilty with the avaricious old man who was the nearest one he had in +all the world.</p> + +<p>Tony and the last man, the obnoxious Devonshire, were coming. How Job +hated to tell him, of all men! The hot flashes came and went on his +cheek; he turned away; he bit his lip; he would let it go—lose his +religion and go to the bad with Andy Malden. Then the old camp-meeting +days came back to him. He heard again Slim Jim's words in the dark +behind the church that Christmas night; he remembered his vows to God +and the church.</p> + +<p>The horse and the buckboard had passed through the gate; the +Englishman had thrown him a dollar; he was trembling from head to +foot. He offered a quick prayer, then hurried after them, halted Tony, +and, looking up into the red face of his companion, said:</p> + +<p>"Sir, the mine is salted; I saw the old man do it—it's salted sure!"</p> + +<p>The load was gone, the consciousness of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> truthfulness filled his soul. +That day he played with Shot and sang about his work.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>The dusky twilight had come, when Job heard the stern voice of Andrew +Malden outside, as, with an oath, he threw the reins to Hans. The boy +rose to meet him as he heard his step on the porch. The door opened, +and Job saw a white face and flashing eyes, the very incarnation of +wrath.</p> + +<p>"You pious fraud! What made you tell those men the mine was salted!" +hissed the old man.</p> + +<p>"Uncle, I am sorry, but I couldn't help it. I knew it—I had to tell +the truth," stammered Job.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't help it, you sneak! You owe all you are to me. I guess I am +more to you than all your religion!"</p> + +<p>"Uncle, I am sorry to hurt you, but I could do no less and please God. +And God is first in my life."</p> + +<p>"First, is he? Then go to him, and let him feed you and clothe you, +you ungrateful wretch!" And with the words the angry man struck Job +such a blow that he went reeling over, a dead-weight, on the floor.</p> + +<p>It was midnight when Tony, passing the door, heard the old man moan. +Peering in at the window, he saw him on his knees beside Job, who, +with white face and closed eyes, lay on a lounge near the door. Tony +stole away to whisper to Hans:</p> + +<p>"Guess the old man's made way with the kid! Let's lay low!"</p> + +<p>What a night that was for Andrew Malden! Two minutes after he had +struck the blow, all the wrath which had gathered strength on that +long mountain ride was gone. The blow struck open the door of his +heart; he saw that the boy was right and he was wrong. That blanched +face, those closed eyes—how they pierced him through and through! He +loved that boy more than all the mines and gold and ranches in the +world. The depth of his iniquity came over him. He hated himself, he +hated the Cove Mine; but that stalwart lad lying there—how he loved +him! All the hidden love of thirty years went out to him. "Job! Job!" +he cried. "Look at me! Tell me you forgive me!"</p> + +<p>He dashed water in the boy's face. He felt of his heart—he could +hardly feel it beat. Was he dead? Dead!—the only one he cared for? +Dead!—the poor motherless boy he had brought home one moonlight night +long ago, and promised that he would be both father and mother to him? +Dead!—aye, dead by his hand! And for what? For telling the truth; for +being honest and manly; for saving him from holding in his grasp the +ill-gotten gain that always curses a man.</p> + +<p>The hot tears came, the first in years. Andrew Malden knelt by the +bedside and groaned. And then he thought of Job's God and of the +Christ he talked about: thought of the little Testament he cherished. +He would call on Him, he would beg Him to spare Job. He knelt near the +lad; he started to say, "Oh, God, spare my boy! spare my boy!" when a +sense of his wickedness, his hard heart, his selfish life, his sin, +came over him; and instead he cried from the depths of his soul, "God +have mercy on me a sinner!"</p> + +<p>The daylight was struggling through the shutters when Job turned and +opened his eyes, to see an anxious face look into his own and to hear +a familiar voice out of which had gone all anger, say:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Job, my boy, I knew He'd hear me, I prayed so long! Job, God has +forgiven me! Won't you? Oh, tell me you will! I am a different man! I +read it in the Book while you lay here so still: 'Though your sins be +as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' And Job, it's true!"</p> + +<p>The fever stayed with Job many a day after that, and it was June +before the natural color came back into his white cheeks. But the old +ranch seemed like a new place to him; and when one morning Mr. Malden +read at family devotions, "All things work together for good to them +that love God,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> he broke down in the prayer he tried to make, and +rushed out of doors to hide the tears of joy that choked him, while he +heard Tony singing as he went about his toil:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, dar's glory, yes, dar is glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, dar is glory in my soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since I touched de hem of His garment,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, dar is glory in my soul."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>SQUIRE PERKINS.</h3> + + +<p>Of all the queer families in the mountains, not one, surely, equalled +that of Squire Perkins, a real down-east Yankee, whose house was not +more than a mile west of Malden's Mill, on the Frost Creek road. A +little weazened old man, who, while he had always been staunch to his +political creed, and had been Republican supervisor of the town ever +since people could remember, yet had drifted religiously till he was +now a typical Spiritualist. The neighbor boys who used to go past his +house evenings and see him with the "Truth Seeker" in his hands, +wandering among the trees and gazing blankly into space, often took +him for a genuine ghost.</p> + +<p>His wife was quite unlike him. She was born in a house-boat on the +Pearl River near Canton, and, with hair plaited down her forehead and +cheeks, slanting eyes and wooden shoes and a silk robe, had landed at +San Francisco when it was still a heterogeneous trading-post, and had +come up with the miners to prattle "pigeon English," and cook, as it +turned out, for Squire Perkins. When other women came—Americans from +the States—the old man married her. Long since she had adopted +American ways and had joined the Methodist church, and not one of the +neighbors, who always sent for Squire Perkins' wife in time of +trouble, thought less of her because she was a Chinese woman.</p> + +<p>The long, white cottage, with its vine-covered walls, its +"hen-and-chicken" bordered walks, and its old gnarled apple tree +hugging the left side next to the stone chimney, became a still +queerer place when Widow Smith, a tall, straight, firm, black-eyed, +dark-skinned Indian woman, the descendant of a long line of natives of +these hills, but withal a refined, womanly old lady, came to board +with Squire Perkins and his wife. Widow Smith was a Presbyterian of +the straitest sort. The Squire's was surely a home of many races and +many creeds.</p> + +<p>It was at this house that one Tuesday evening the Methodist class met, +and Andy Malden came and confessed Christ, and all Grizzly county was +startled thereby. It was here that Job often rode up on Bess beside +the kitchen window where Aunty Perkins was making rice cakes, and +heard her say: "Job, heap good, allee samee angel cake. Have some. +Melican boy have no mother. Old Chinawoman, she take care of him."</p> + +<p>And she kept her word. She won the boy's heart, till he found himself +more than once going with his troubles down to Aunty Perkins', who +always ended her motherly advice with, "Be heap good, Job, heap good. +The Lord lub the motherless boy. 'He will never fail nor forslake +thee.'"</p> + +<p>It was here that Jane also stole with her heart burdens to the +strange, great-hearted woman who mothered the whole county. It was +here she was going one hot July afternoon, as, with blackberry pail on +her arm, she walked slowly down Sugar Pine Hill, thinking of the day +when she had first met Job on that very road. Her black hair was +smoothly braided down her back, she wore a light muslin dress tied +with a red sash, low shoes took the place of the tan and dust of other +days, a neat starched sun-bonnet enfolded her face now showing traces +of womanhood near at hand. As she turned the bend of the road, Job +stood there leaning on the fence with a far-away look. It was he who +was startled this time, as he dropped his elbows and hastened to lift +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> faded sombrero. It was the most natural thing in the world for +him to walk slowly down the lane with her toward the Mill Road. The +July sun was hot, so they kept on the shady side of the way.</p> + +<p>Job thought enough of the girl to make him reserved. He wanted to tell +her that she was first in all his prayers, and that up in his room he +had the plans drawn for a cabin over on the corner of the ranch where +she should stand in the doorway and look for his coming. Thrice he +started to open his heart, then he shrank back abashed; talked of the +cows and how the calves grew; told her Bess was lame—couldn't ride +her this week; said that was a pretty fine sermon the parson preached +last Sunday—and turned homeward; while Jane looked after him with +wondering eyes and felt a great ache in her heart as she thought:</p> + +<p>"It's no use; he don't care for me!"</p> + +<p>She had barely passed the mill and the whiz of its machinery lulled +into a murmur that mingled with the brook along the well-shaded road, +when she heard the clatter of horse's hoofs, and, mounted on an old +white nag, Dan rode up to her side with:</p> + +<p>"Hello, Jane! Get on and ride!"</p> + +<p>Jane blushed. A year ago she would have done it; why not now, even if +she was big? No one would see her. Dan was awfully good to ask her; +Job wouldn't do it. So up she climbed on the saddle behind him, and +Dan walked the horse as they chatted away in the most easy fashion.</p> + +<p>She was longing to talk of religion to Dan; she felt he needed it. But +one thing was sure—Dan was sober nowadays; he had actually improved. +He was trying now to talk of love; for he was really beginning to feel +that, not only because he had made a bet to do so and defeat Job, but +because he did care, he should some day claim Jane Reed as his own. +Neither succeeded in getting the conversation just where they wanted +it before Squire Perkins' apple orchard came into view, and Dan was +obliged to halt his old nag by the horse-block built out from the +white fence and assist Jane to alight.</p> + +<p>She actually stood there till Aunty Perkins called: "Gal lost one +ting. Come lite in. All gone." At which Jane blushed and went in, +though all Mrs. Perkins' words could not drive out of her mind the Job +she loved and the Dan whom she wished she could love. How comely she +looked as she stood in the doorway at twilight! Any one might have +been proud of her.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>SCHOOL.</h3> + + +<p>The next fall was Job's last term at school. He felt awkward and out +of place, for most of the boys of the country round left at sixteen, +just as they were tangled up in fractions and syntax. Now he was close +to the twenties, and the only big boy left in the Frost Creek school, +whose white walls peeped out through a grove of live-oaks where the +creek babbled merrily over the rocks.</p> + +<p>Yet with a pluck that had always characterized him, Job stuck to his +books and sat among the crowd of little youngsters who automatically +recited the multiplication table when the teacher was looking, and +threw paper wads when she was not. Jane was there, copying minutely in +dress and manner after Miss Bright, the new teacher, whom she greatly +admired. Job found it very pleasant to still walk home with Jane and +talk of algebra, class meeting, and the trip they must soon take to +the Yosemite—subjects which were mutually interesting. Yet somehow +the wild, natural freedom of former days was missing. Both were +painfully conscious of their awkward age and the fact that they were +no longer children.</p> + +<p>Charlie Lewis sat next to Job, a wee, frail little fellow, whose large +eyes looked up endlessly at his tall next neighbor, whom he secretly +worshiped, partly because Job<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> shielded him from the rough bullies, +and partly because he had taken a fancy to the little lad and took him +along when he went up to the mountains or down to Perkins Hollow +swimming. A crowd of dark-eyed Mexicans and one small Chinese boy +filled the right corner, while over on the left were the Dixon +children and little Helen Day. Helen was a new arrival, a prim Miss of +six, who used to live on the plains, where her father was section-hand +on the railroad; which accounted, perhaps, for the fact that the time +when Father Lane, the old preacher from Merritt's Camp, called and +they sang, "Blest be the tie that binds," and the teacher asked Helen +what ties were meant, she promptly answered, "Railroad ties, ma'am."</p> + +<p>As pretty as a picture, always dressed in fine white, with a flower at +her throat as a brooch, and no end of wild ones on her desk, Miss +Bright sat at the head of the school room through the day, laughing +merrily now over the mistakes of some awkward boy, now singing +kindergartèn songs with a class of wee tots, and then, after the +smaller ones were dismissed, holding Jane and Job spellbound as they +stood by her desk and heard her talk of her college days and 'Frisco, +lovely 'Frisco, and the glories of entomology, and the delights of +philosophy—names which Job knew must mean something grand. He began +to wish that Jane looked like her and talked like her and had lived in +'Frisco. He began to wonder who it was that Miss Bright wrote letters +to every day, and who wrote those Dan Dean used to leave at the +school-house for her postmarked "New York." His fears were relieved, +though, when he heard her laugh merrily one day when inquisitive +Maggie Dean asked: "What man writes to you all the time, Miss Bright?" +and reply, "My brother, of course, Maggie. But little girls shouldn't +ask too many questions."</p> + +<p>They used to have morning prayers when the other teacher was here, but +Miss Bright said that prayer was only the expression of our longings +and we did not need to pray aloud, and she thought God knew enough to +look after us without bothering him about it every day. Job was +shocked at first, then he thought perhaps Miss Bright was right, she +was so nice and knew so much. She boarded at Jeremiah Robinson's, who +lived on the Frost Creek road. More than once Job found himself going +there at her invitation, ostensibly to study Latin and literature, +which were not in the regular curriculum. He did not care much for the +studies—he found it hard to get far beyond "Amo, amas, amat," and as +for Chaucer and his glittering knights and fair ladies, he detested +them; but those moments after the lessons, when Miss Bright chattered +away about the beauties of evolution and the loveliness of protoplasm +and the immanence of Deity in all nature—Job fairly doted on them.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she accepted his invitation for an evening ramble. He felt +proud to have people see him with her. He would have liked to ask her +to the class-meeting at Squire Perkins', but he was afraid to; she +would think it beneath her to go among those country folks. And then, +what would she think of Widow Green if she got one of her +crying-spells? or lame Tim, who was a little daft, but who loved to +come to class-meeting and said always, "Tim's no good; he ain't much; +but Jesus loves him. Sing, brethren, 'I am so glad that Jesus loves +me.'" So Job never invited her. In fact, he did not like to tell her +he went; and, for fear she would know it, he stayed away two weeks +when she asked him to walk with her those moonlight nights.</p> + +<p>Miss Bright was so good, he thought; yet there was much he could not +understand. She never went to church. She said it was too far, and +besides she thought it more helpful to worship amid the grandeur of +nature, reading the lofty thoughts of the poets. And after that Job +thought the preacher at Gold City was a little old fogyish.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dan Dean was not slow to observe the unconscious drifting of Job away +from the church and toward the schoolma'am. Jane did not notice it +till Dan hinted to her that the only reason Job had cared for the +church was because she went there, and now that Miss Bright had come +he had dropped her and the church both. Which was so near the truth +that Jane began to feel strange when Job was near, and to do what she +had never dreamed of doing before with a single human being—she began +to doubt the occasional kind words he now gave her, and all he had +ever uttered. With the impulse of a wounded heart, she turned to Dan. +Yet try the best she could, she could never feel the same toward him. +She pitied Dan; a philanthropic feeling animated her as she thought of +him. She would do anything to make a man of him—marry him, even, if +necessary; but to think of surrendering her life and very being to +him, following him down the tortuous path of life, "For better or for +worse, for richer or poorer," to have him as her ideal of +manhood—that thought repelled her. Often she found herself standing +behind a tree on the way home from school, waiting to catch one +glimpse of Job as he sauntered by with Miss Bright's cloak on his arm +and its owner chattering at his side. She was angry to think she did +it; she ran home by the short cut through the woods, slammed the cabin +door behind her, threw herself on the bed and had a good cry, arose +and wiped the tears away, and vowed she would marry Dan if he asked +her.</p> + +<p>Job unconsciously walked into the meshes that fate seemed to have +thrown around him. More and more he transferred the admiration of his +heart to the stately, proud, talented girl of the world, who found him +a convenient escort and companion in the mountain country where +friends that suited her were scarce. Job was blind; he adored her. +Later and later, daily, was his return from school. The little +Testament grew dusty on the box-table in his bedroom, his morning +prayers sounded strangely alike, and even Andy Malden wondered at the +coldness of the lad's devotion at family worship. He went to church, +but seldom to class-meeting. He devoured a book Miss Bright had loaned +him, on "The World's Saviors—Buddha, Mohammed, Christ,"—in which he +found his Master placed on a level with other great souls. He asked +her the next day if she did not think Christ was divine, and marveled +at her learned reply that "All nature is divine. Matter and men are +but the manifestations of divinity, and the Galilean Teacher was +undoubtedly a wonderful character of his day."</p> + +<p>One night, as he left her, she loaned him a French novel full of +skepticism and scorn of virtue and morality. He was tempted to throw +it in the fire, but it was hers. He read it and rather liked it. He +began to think he had been too narrow; he wished he could get out and +see the world, the great world of thinking people where Miss Bright +lived. The poison was in his soul. How commonplace the sermon sounded +the next Sunday on "I am determined to know nothing among you save +Jesus Christ and him crucified"! How narrow Paul must have been! It +was the Sunday night before Christmas. The fall term had ended, and +the schoolma'am was going home; no more school till spring. A year +before Job had stood in the great congregation and taken the solemn +vow to be loyal forever to Christ and his church; to-night the +Christmas service went on without him. Tony, who was there and who +half suspected something was wrong, yet did not like to have anyone +else think so, said to those who asked him:</p> + +<p>"Yes, Marse Job's sick; dassen't come out."</p> + +<p>But Job was not sick, as Tony thought. He was in the Robinson parlor, +sitting with Miss Bright before the flickering log fire, which dimly +lit the long, low room with its rag carpet and old-fashioned +furniture. They were talking over their friendship, and she was +flattering him upon his superiority<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> to those country greenhorns who +lived up here; she always knew he had city blood in him. Job was +acting sillier than anybody would have dreamed Job Malden could act, +in his evident pride at her flattery and the strange feelings which +drew him to her. She laughed at his attempts to compliment her, and, +on his departure, followed him to the door and said how heart-broken +she was to leave the mountains and him.</p> + +<p>Job went home in raptures, and lay awake all night planning how to get +away from the mountains and the rude people who lived there, and down +into the city somewhere—anywhere where Fanny Bright lived.</p> + +<p>All that week he wandered about as if lost, cross and good for nothing +at work. His city idol had gone home.</p> + +<p>It was two days after Christmas that Job tore the wrapper off a +'Frisco paper and sat down to read, when, glancing over the columns, +his eyes met the following:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Unity Church made a brilliant scene on Christmas night at the +wedding of Miss Frances Evelyn Bright, a charming young society +lady, to Walter Graham Davis, the well-known actor. Miss Bright +had just returned from Grizzly county, where she has been for +her health, so her friends made the reception that followed one +in a double sense."</p></div> + +<p>It was a haggard, red-eyed young fellow who crept down the stairs +after dusk, stole out to the stable, and saddled Bess. All night he +rode up and down the mountain roads. He hated the ground Miss Bright +had walked over, hated the house she had lived in, hated the school, +vowed he'd never enter it again, hated himself. She was gone, Jane was +gone—long since he had let Dan have her to himself—his church was +gone, all his peace of soul, all his religion, was gone. He would ride +up on Lookout Point and plunge over into the Gulch to death and +eternity, he and Bess together. Who cared? They were all alike—all +were heartless. Poor boy! he was learning a lesson that many a one has +learned—a bitter lesson—and all the forces of evil seemed to fight +for his soul that dark night as he climbed Lookout Point on Bess.</p> + +<p>He had reached the top when the moon came up over El Capitan and drove +away the gloom, lighting up the white-topped peaks and the dark, black +ravine. Somehow, he thought of his mother. There had been one good +woman in the world, after all. He hesitated, then turned slowly down +the hill and toward home.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>YANKEE SAM.</h3> + + +<p>It was a wild March night when Job Malden found his way back to God. +No one could ever forget that night. The storm tore over the mountains +till the great forests fairly creaked and groaned beneath the mad +sweep of the wind.</p> + +<p>At dusk that afternoon a rap startled Job as he sat by the fire +watching the logs crackle and thinking of by-gone days, while the rain +poured without. He opened the door, and saw Mike Hennessy, dripping +wet and with cap in hand.</p> + +<p>"Shure, Mr. Job, the top of the evenin' to yez. But Mr. Schwarzwalder, +the hotel keeper at the town, wants ye, he says, to bring the Holy +Book;" at which Mike reverently crossed himself. "A man is dyin' and +wants yez;" and the good-natured Irishman was gone in an instant, +leaving Job in blank amazement.</p> + +<p>Ride that awful night to Gold City—take the Bible—man dying. What +could it mean? But the lad's better nature conquered, and, the Bible +snug in his pocket, he and Bess were soon daring the storm, bound for +Gold City.</p> + +<p>It was a wild night. Wet to the skin, Job rode up to the Palace Hotel, +late, very late, where he found a group of solemn-faced men waiting +for him.</p> + +<p>"Change your clothes, Job," said the hotel-keeper; "here's a dry suit. +Hurry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> now! Yankee Sam is dying upstairs, and he won't have no one but +you; says you're his preacher, and he wants to hear you read out of +some book."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus040.jpg" width="600" height="434" alt=""Listen, Job; I want to tell you."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Listen, Job; I want to tell you."</span> +</div> + +<p>Job grew white. Yankee Sam dying, and he to hear his last confession, +he the priest to shrive him, he the preacher to console him! The boy +lifted up his first true prayer for months, and followed the man +upstairs to a low garret room, where the door closed behind him and +left him alone with a weak old man lying on a low bed, his eyes +shining in the dim candle-light with an unnatural glare.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Job, I'm mightly glad you've come to help an old man die! Yes, I +am dying, Job; the old man's near the end. I'll no more hang around +the Miners' Home and beg a drink from the stranger. Curse the rum, +Job! It's brought me here where you find me, a good-for-nothing, dying +without a friend in the world—yes, one friend, Job; you're my friend, +ain't you?"</p> + +<p>Job, frightened and touched to the heart, nodded assent.</p> + +<p>"I thought so, Job. I take stock in you. That night you came here, a +blue-eyed, lonely boy, I took you into my heart—for Yankee Sam's got +a heart; and I felt so proud of you that night when you said, 'I +renounce the devil and all his works,' and I wished I could have stood +by you and said it, too. But Job, my boy, the devil has a big mortgage +on Yankee Sam, and he's foreclosing it to-night, and—"</p> + +<p>The tempest shook the building, and Job lost the next words as the old +man rose on his elbow, then sank back exhausted. The wind died down, +and Job tried to comfort him with some words that sounded weak and +hollow to himself. But the dying man roused again, and, raising his +trembling hand, said:</p> + +<p>"Wait, Job. Get the Book. See if it has anything in it for me."</p> + +<p>Job opened to those beautiful words in Isaiah: "Though your sins be as +scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like +crimson, they shall be as wool."</p> + +<p>The old man bent his ear to listen. "Job, let's see it. Is it in +there—'red like crimson, white as wool'? Oh, no, my sins are too red +for that! Listen, Job, I want to tell you. I am dying a poor lost +sinner, but I was not always a street loafer, kicked and cuffed by the +world. Hear me, my boy! Would you believe that I was once a mother's +blue-eyed boy in old New Hampshire? Oh, such a mother! She's up where +the angels are now. I can feel the soft touch of her hands that +smoothed my head when I was a boy. Oh, I wish she was here to-night! +But—Job, Job, I killed her!—I did! I came home with the liquor in me +and she fell in a faint, and they said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> afterward that she never came +to. Oh, Job, I killed her, and I didn't care! I went to the city. I +found a wife, a sweet-faced little woman; she married me for better or +for worse; and Job, it was worse—God have mercy on me!"</p> + +<p>The old man gasped and then went on. "The babies came, and I was so +proud of them! Then the fever broke out. I went to get medicine when +she and the little ones were so sick, and I got on a spree—I don't +remember—but when I came to, they showed me their graves in the +potter's field; they said the medicine might have saved them. Oh, Job, +I can't think! It makes me wild to think!"</p> + +<p>The storm burst again in its fury, and the old man's voice was +silenced. Then came a lull, and he went on, "Job, 'sins as +scarlet,'—ain't they scarlet? Well, I came West, got in the mines, +went from bad to worse and now, Job, I'm dying! And who cares?"</p> + +<p>"God cares," said Job. "Listen: 'For God so loved the world, that he +gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not +perish, but have everlasting life.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Job, does that mean me?—poor old Yankee Sam!" said the dying +man.</p> + +<p>Again Job read the words, and once again told as best he could the +story of the Father's love and of Jesus, who came to save from sin; +came to save poor lost sinners.</p> + +<p>The old man hung on every word. "Say it again, Job, say it again! God +loves poor Yankee Sam! Say it again!"</p> + +<p>Over and over Job said the words, then he sang soft and low:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Jesus, lover of my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let me to thy bosom fly,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>while the tempest raged without.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Other refuge have I none,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hangs my helpless soul on thee."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Just then Yankee Sam stopped him.</p> + +<p>"Job, that's me, that's me! Pray, Job! I am going fast!"</p> + +<p>Oh, how Job prayed! Prayed till he felt God close by that dying bed.</p> + +<p>"'As scarlet'—yet—'white—as snow.' Is that it, Job?" whispered Sam. +"Oh, yes, that's it! They're gone. Job—the devil's lost his mortgage. +Let me pray, Job. It's the prayer mother said for me when I was a +little boy; it's the prayer Andy Malden said at his lad's grave; it's +my prayer now:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now I lay me down to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> I pray the Lord my soul to keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And if—if—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The low, quavering voice ceased, a smile came over the white face, the +wind was hushed without, the stars struggled through the clouds. +Yankee Sam was dead, and peace had come back into Job Malden's soul.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>THE YELLOW JACKET MINE.</h3> + + +<p>The next fall Mr. Malden got Job the place of assistant cashier at the +Yellow Jacket Mine. His staunch character, his local fame as a student +at the Frost Creek school, and his general manly bearing, added to Mr. +Malden's influence in the county, won him the place when the former +assistant left for the East. Andrew Malden thought it would be a good +experience for a young man like Job, and perhaps would open the way to +something better than a lumber mill and a timber and stock ranch.</p> + +<p>The Yellow Jacket Mine was one of the oldest and most famous in the +whole country. It was the very day they sighted the ship off Telegraph +Hill that brought the news into 'Frisco Bay that California was +admitted as a State, that gold was discovered in Yellow Jacket Creek, +where, when the rush came some days later, the men said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> they didn't +know which was most plenty—yellow jackets in the air, or yellow +jackets in the gravel bed of the creek as it lay dry and bare in the +summer sun.</p> + +<p>At last the creek bed had been washed over and over till the +red-shirted miners could find not one nugget more, and the Yellow +Jacket was deserted. Then one day a poor stranded fellow, who came in +too late to make enough to get out, was digging a well, and found +quartz down deep and a streak of gold in it. That was the beginning of +the real fame of the Yellow Jacket. A company bought it up, machinery +was put in, and now, in Job Malden's day, the stamp mills and deep +tunnels of the mine kept five hundred men busy in shifts that never +ceased night or day.</p> + +<p>Job never forgot the first day he went there as assistant cashier. He +had seen it all before, but when one is a sort of "partner" in a firm, +it looks different to one. And so it did to Job, as, after a long ride +with Tony in the buckboard down the Frost Creek road, up past Mike +Hennessy's, down and up and across Rattlesnake Gulch, and over the +heavily timbered mountain, a bend in the road brought him in full view +of the Yellow Jacket on the bare hillside opposite. The tall +smoke-stacks belching forth their black clouds; the big buildings +about them; the great heap of waste stuff at the right; the dump-cars +running out and back; the miners' shanties bare and brown on the left, +running up the hillside, hugging the break-neck steeps; the handsome +house on the south which he knew must be the superintendent's home; +the tall, ungainly brick structure of the company's store in the heart +of things; the far-off thump, thump, and the ceaseless roar of the +machinery—all this made a deep impression on Job.</p> + +<p>For a year, at least, he was to live amid this scene. What a strange +life it was for Job there at the Yellow Jacket! There, in sight of the +eternal hills; there, only five miles, in an air-line, from the quiet +ranch, from Bess, the great barns, the world of nature, and home—and +yet it seemed five thousand miles away to him. Shut in that little +office behind the iron bars, bending over the great books sometimes +far into the night, looking out each pay-day through a little arched +window on grimy faces and rough-bearded men who held out toil-worn +hands to receive the week's earnings which long before another week +would find their way into some saloon-keeper's till or gambler's +pocket.</p> + +<p>The only out-door world he saw was between the rear door of the office +and the long, low boarding-house where the foremen and clerks lived. +One corner of the great room upstairs, where a hard bed ran up against +the roof, and one place at the long, oilcloth-covered table, he had +the privilege to call his own for the modest sum of a gold piece a +week. He had every other Sunday to himself by the extreme favor of the +"boss," on whose own calendar Sunday never came, and who could not see +why it should on any one's else.</p> + +<p>At first, Job left the narrow, well-worn streets, always, it seemed to +him, crowded with an endless procession of dirty, pale-faced, +muscular, rough men going to and from shifts; left them far behind and +tramped over to the Frost Creek school, redolent with peculiar +memories, to the afternoon service. But when the snows came and winter +set in, he dared not take the long tramps, but hugged the fire at his +boarding-house, read his little Testament, and tried in vain to find +one spot out of hearing of the noise of tramping feet, the roar of the +stamp-mill, and the hoarse laughter and rude stories and language of +the men ever coming and going.</p> + +<p>He could never get away from the sound, and only in an old, abandoned +shaft back of the office could he crawl down out of sight to pray. But +Job never forgot to pray in those days. He was learning, as never +before, what it is to be in the world and yet not of it; in its +turmoil and din, sharing its work, mingling with its strange +humanity,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> and yet living in the atmosphere of prayer and high +thinking; in a world of impurity, yet living a pure life; a world of +evil words, and yet never even thinking them; in the world, and yet +not of it.</p> + +<p>Job Malden was fast growing into manhood. It was in those long winter +days at the Yellow Jacket that the heart came back to him and somehow +he found himself thinking of Jane Reed. The bitter memory of the folly +of those days last winter at the Frost Creek school still haunted him, +and yet the hardness had gone out of his soul. He had no right to +think of Jane, he felt; he had forfeited all claim to her affection. +But somehow the old love came back, and he longed to go to her and be +forgiven. What a true girl she was!—a child of the mountains. Little +she knew of the city and its guile, of society and its masks. How +could he ever have thought her common or beneath him! She towered up +in his thought like the pines of her native mountains, as fresh and +natural and wild as they. He would not have her different. She was far +above him. Faith, and church, and simple homely virtues, and all that +is holy, were linked in Job's mind with the memory of artless, honest, +great-hearted Jane that came back to him in the lonely hours at the +mine.</p> + +<p>One day he started back at seeing a strangely familiar face present +itself at the pay window.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yer needn't be scart,' Job, because yer old pard's got a job in +the Yellow Jacket as well as yer." It was Dan's voice. "Must be mighty +nice in there handin' out the boodle to us poor, hard-worked laborers; +mighty easy to tuck a little of it in yer pocket now and then."</p> + +<p>Job colored, and replied that it was not his money, and he only took +his pay like the men.</p> + +<p>"Mighty good yet, ain't yer, Job; playin' the pious dodge still. +Thought perhaps the way that schoolma'am jilted yer would take the +big-head out of yer. Well, I don't make any pretense of bein' pious; +don't need to, as I can see—get all I want without it. Every gal in +town wants me, and a fine one that came near gettin' fooled on yer +likes me purty well. In fact, that's what's brought me over to the +mine—got to get a little stuff to fix up the house for her. When a +fellow brings a wife home, he wants the old place lookin' slick. +Good-day, Job. See yer again."</p> + +<p>Job made no reply, but a lump came into his throat. He stood and +stared, and then turned in an absent-minded way and bent his head over +the great ledger, though he seemed not to care which page opened. Jane +to marry Dan! Was that what he had meant? Had it come to that? Once +Job had not cared, but now the thought made him wild. Could it be +true? Jane to marry Dan Dean! Better she were dead. Job felt he could +see her carried to the grave with less sorrow than to see her Dan's +wife.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>It was very strange how Job came to be the preacher at the Yellow +Jacket mine. Not that he ever put on clerical garb or deserted the +office or was anything more than a plain, every-day Christian. Yet +there came a time when in the eyes of those rough miners, with hearts +far more tender than one would think from their exterior—and not only +in their eyes, but in those of the few wives and the half-clad +children who played on the waste heap—Job came to be called "The +Reverend," and looked up to as a spiritual leader.</p> + +<p>It was the day that he went down to the eight-hundred-foot level that +it began. He well remembered it. Up to the left of the stamp-mill, not +far from the main office, was a square, red-painted building, up whose +steps, just as the bell in the brick store's tower struck the set +time, a procession of clean-faced miners went in and a procession of +grimy ones came out. It was at the one o'clock shift that Job went in +that day, watched the men hang their coats on what seemed to him an +endless line of pegs, take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> their stand one by one on the little +platform which stood in the center of the floor like a trap-door, +grasp the iron-bar above them, and at the tinkling of a bell vanish +suddenly down into darkness out of sight.</p> + +<p>It was the first time Job had been down the mine. The sight of the +constantly-disappearing figures on the cage that came and went did not +encourage him to go, but soon it was his turn. One of the men he knew +grasped one side of the bar of the trapeze over him, one the other, +the bell tinkled, and down he dropped with a jump that almost took his +breath; down past long, subterranean tunnels of arched rock, which, +from the heat he felt from them, and the blinding glare of the lights, +seemed to him like the furnaces of Vulcan. Further still he dropped to +the eight-hundred-foot level, where he stepped off in a narrow cavern +dimly lighted and stretching away into the distant darkness. Oh, how +hot it was! The brawny, white-chested miners had thrown off all +clothing but their trousers, and were dividing their time between +mighty blows on the great solid rocks, and the air-shaft and tub of +water, where every few minutes they had to go and bathe lungs and +face. The sound of the picks, the rattle of the ore cars bringing the +stuff to be hauled up the shaft, the steady thump, thump, of the pumps +removing the water from the lower levels, the intermittent drop and +rise of the cage, filled the weird place with strange sounds.</p> + +<p>Job had delivered his message to the "boss" of the tunnel and was +hurrying back to the cage, when a half-naked miner, all stained with +the ever-dripping ooze from above, stopped him and said:</p> + +<p>"Be ye the faither that prayed Yankee Sam t'rough?"</p> + +<p>"Why—yes, and no," answered Job. "I was with Yankee Sam when he died, +but I'm no priest or parson."</p> + +<p>"Aye, I said to Pat it was ye as ye went down, priest or not. I've +heard of ye, and the mon that could shrive Yankee Sam is a good enough +priest for any mon. Now, me boy Tim is dying, the only son of his +mother, and she in her grave. And Tim and me, we live alone in the hut +back of Finnigan's saloon. Tim's a frail lad. He would work in the +mines, and the hot air in this place and the cold air whin he wint up +gave him the lung faver, and the doctor says he's got to go. The next +shift I'm going up to him. Meet me at the pump-house. Don't tell him +yez is not a priest; it's all the same to him, and he'll die aisier if +he thinks the faither's come. Poor Tim, me only boy!"</p> + +<p>What could Job do but consent? What could he do late that afternoon +but meet the broken-hearted Irish father at the pump-house and climb +the steep street to Finnigan's, and go in back to the poor hut that +the miner called home?</p> + +<p>On a low, matted bed of straw and a torn blanket or two, in a corner +of the dismal shanty, through which the cold winds swept, lay Tim, +dying. The hectic flush was on his thin cheek, the glaze of death +seemed in his eye. He reached his wan hand to Job. A lad of sixteen he +was, but no more years of life were there for him.</p> + +<p>"Tim, the faither's come. Tim, me boy, confess now and get ready for +hiven."</p> + +<p>The boy glanced up. Perhaps Job did look like a priest, with his +smooth face and manly countenance. He hardly knew what to say or do +except to take that weak hand in his and press it with a brother's +warm clasp of sympathy. The dying boy touched his inmost heart.</p> + +<p>"Faither," the boy faltered, "I am so sick! I have been a bad boy +sometimes. I—I—" Then he stopped to cough, and continued, "I haven't +been to mass in a year—no chance here, faither—and I got drunk last +Fourth—may the Holy Mother forgive me!—and I have been so bad +sometimes. But—" and he faltered, "I had a good mother, and she had +me christened right early."</p> + +<p>"Aye, she was!" sobbed Tim's father.</p> + +<p>"And," Tim went on, "and I'm so sorry for the bad! When you say the +prayers, tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> her I'm sorry; for, somehow I think the blessed +Jesus"—and here the boy crossed himself—"the blessed Jesus will hear +my mother's prayer for Tim as soon as he'd hear his own. Faither, is +it wrong to think so?"</p> + +<p>And Job, thinking of his own mother, with tears in his eyes could only +say, "No, Tim, no."</p> + +<p>The lad grew still; and kneeling, Job talked low of God's great love, +as he had talked to Yankee Sam, prayed as best he could, and felt as +if he had indeed committed this mother's boy into the keeping of his +God, as Tim lay still and dead before him.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.</h3> + + +<p>The news of Job's visit to the dying boy soon spread through all the +miners' shanties, and soon more than one request came to him for +sympathy and help. Preacher or priest, or only humble Job Malden—it +mattered not what they thought of him. Job went on his errands of +mercy, till, unconsciously to himself, he had won his way into the +hearts of those rough, simple-hearted people, who lived more +underground than above, at the Yellow Jacket Mine. In fact, so +generally did he become known as "The Parson," that it was sometimes +uncomfortable, especially on the occasion when Lem Jones wanted to get +married. Oh, that was amusing!</p> + +<p>It was in the spring. The new tri-weekly stage from Gold City was so +late that night that it was pitch dark before it drew up, with a +flourish, at the store. Job was busy at the books, and had not gone to +supper, when a man came peeping in at the window and shouted through +the glass:</p> + +<p>"Job, you're wanted at Finnigan's Hotel!"</p> + +<p>Donning his cap, and hurrying along the street and up the break-neck +stairs to Finnigan's, Job entered the room which served as parlor, +bar and office, and saw Lem Jones, one of the men at the hoisting +works, "dressed up" in a suit much too large for him, with high white +collar and red tie, while near by sat a tall, unnaturally rosy-cheeked +spinster dressed in a trailing white gown, with orange blossoms +covering a white veil hung over her hair, and an immense feather fan +in her white-gloved hand. Around the room, decorated with some +Christmas greens and lit by a red-hot stove, was gathered a group of +interested observers of all descriptions—some evidently invited +guests, some as evidently not.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Parson, this 'ere's my gal, come from down East. We want to get +spliced, and," with a blush, "we're waitin' for ye to do it."</p> + +<p>"Why, Lem, I can't!" stammered Job, quite abashed and taken aback at +the occurrence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," interrupted Lem, "I thought of that. Here's the paper—got +it myself of the clerk. Read it. See, here it is: 'Lemuel Jones, a +native of Maine and resident of the county of Grizzly, aged +thirty-seven, and Phebe Ann Standish, a native of Massachusetts, +resident of Boston, State of Massachusetts, aged thirty-one—'"</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash, drowning Job's protest that he was not a preacher, +came a woman's shrill voice:</p> + +<p>"Thirty-one! I'd like to know who said I was thirty-one! Lem Jones, +take your pen and ink, and correct that. Anybody would know I am only +twenty-one!"</p> + +<p>A general laugh followed. Job finally found a chance to make the pair +understand that his performing the ceremony was out of the question, +as he had no legal authority—was not a minister.</p> + +<p>The wedding party broke up in confusion. The cook was filled with +wrath at Job for spoiling the dinner; "the boys" insisted that he had +kept Jones from "settin' it up," and ought to do so himself; the bride +refused to be comforted and vowed she would go back to Boston.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was less than a week after the wedding which did not come off, that +Job saw Dan at the pay-window beckoning to him. Going nearer, Dan +motioned him to lean over, drew him close, and whispered in his ear:</p> + +<p>"I'm broke, Job, but got a fine chance to clear a slick hundred. Lend +me fifty till to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I can't do that, Dan," Job replied. "It's not mine, and I wouldn't +take a cent of the company's money for myself."</p> + +<p>"Ye're a pretty parson!" hissed Dan, "sayin' prayers over dyin' folks, +and never helpin' yer own cousin out of a tight place!"</p> + +<p>"But, Dan, I can't take the company's money. If I had fifty of my own +you should have it, though I suspect you want to gamble with it," +replied Job.</p> + +<p>"Yer won't give it to me?" said the other.</p> + +<p>"No, I can't, Dan," Job answered in a firm voice.</p> + +<p>"Yer hypocrite! Yer think yer got the cinch on me, don't yer, Job +Malden! 'It's a long lane that has no turn,' they say, and yer'll wish +some day yer'd treated Dan Dean square!" and he turned with a leer and +was gone.</p> + +<p>More than once after that Job felt uneasy and wretched as he thought +of the possibility of Jane's linking her life with that of Daniel +Dean. Twice he tried to write her, but he blotted the paper in his +nervousness, and at last tore the letters up.</p> + +<p>By a strange coincidence, it was the same week that Andrew Malden +struck a rich pocket of gold back of Lookout Point and secretly +carried it down to Gold City bank and paid off the mortgage on the +four hundred acres back of the mill, that Job Malden was held up.</p> + +<p>This is how it happened: Just after hours one night the superintendent +called Job into his private office and said:</p> + +<p>"Young man, how much will you sell yourself for?"</p> + +<p>Decidedly startled, Job answered: "What do you mean, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I mean," said the portly, gray-haired man, with his set mouth and +black eyes, all business, "Can I trust you with a large sum of money? +or will the temptation to use it for yourself be too strong?"</p> + +<p>"Sir," answered Job indignantly, "sir, I have no price! I want none +but honest money as mine."</p> + +<p>"Well, all right, my boy; I guess I can trust you," said his employer. +"Now, I have some bullion to be taken down to the Wells-Fargo office +at Gold City, to go off on the morning stage. You will find Dick, my +horse, saddled at the stable. Eat some supper, mount Dick, come around +to the rear of my house, and the bag will be waiting. Take it down to +the Wells-Fargo office, where the man will be waiting to get it. I +have sent him word. Hurry now! And mind you don't lose any of it. Will +give you a week's extra pay if you get through all right."</p> + +<p>With a "Thank you, sir; I'll do the best I can," Job hurried off on +his responsible errand.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful moonlight evening in June. Crossing the summit of +the mountain, the fresh breeze fanned his brow, heated with the warm +day's labor, and he walked Dick along, drinking in once more with +genuine joy the grandeur of the forests robed in silver light. Just +beyond Mike Hennessy's, as he turned into the main road, clouds +obscured the moon and a somber pall fell over the road. He felt to see +that his treasure was safe, and urged Dick into a canter.</p> + +<p>He had not gone far when he thought he heard horse's hoofs behind him. +He stopped to listen, his heart beating a little more quickly, and +then hurried on. Again, more distinctly, he heard them coming down the +last hill. He put spurs to Dick as a strange fear came over him. Up +the hill before him he rode at a gallop, and on down the next. Faster +and louder in the dim darkness rang the hoofs of the horse behind him. +He was being pursued—there was no doubt of it now. If there had been, +the report of a pistol and the whiz of a bullet past his head<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> would +have quickly dispelled it. Then began a wild chase. Up hill and down +hill, over rough creek-beds, down the Gold City road, they flew. How +Job wished for Bess! She could have outdistanced any horse, but Dick +was not her equal. The hoof-beats in the rear grew louder.</p> + +<p>Job was just going over the hill to Mormon Bar, on that narrow place +where the bank pitches down to the creek two hundred feet, when he +heard a voice, emphasized by a ringing bullet, cry:</p> + +<p>"Halt, you thief! I'm the sheriff of Grizzly county!"</p> + +<p>Whether it was because Dick stumbled and almost fell, or because his +strength failed, or because of the bullet and the strange command, Job +halted, stunned, to look into the dark barrel of a pistol and to see +the white, masked face of a slim fellow in blue jean overalls and with +a red handkerchief about his throat.</p> + +<p>"Hand over that boodle mighty quick! Thought I was a sheriff, did yer? +Ha! ha! None of your back talk! Give it here or swallow this!" poking +the pistol into Job's very mouth. The voice was familiar—more than +once Job had heard it.</p> + +<p>He sprang from Dick to run as the other held his bridle, but heard the +whiz of a bullet past him and felt a stunning blow on his head. When +he came to, the treasure was gone and he could hear a horse's hoofs +pounding faintly In the distance. On his side, with the blood oozing +from his temples, Dick—poor Dick—lay dead!</p> + +<p>It was a long walk back to the mine, and the first morning shift was +going to work when Job reached there. The superintendent heard his +tale, and without comment told him to get his breakfast and go to +work. Later he called Job in and asked some very strange questions. +Twice during the following day with aching head and troubled heart Job +tried to get another interview with the superintendent, but failed.</p> + +<p>How it came about he never knew, but before the end of the week it was +common gossip around the mine that Job had made way with the +company's bullion to clear off the mortgage on Andrew Malden's place. +Job had never heard of the mortgage, and he tried to tell the +superintendent so; but he would not listen. All he did was to tell Job +on Saturday night that they did not know who took the money, but they +would need his services no longer.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>It was just as Andrew Malden was locking the doors for the night, +that—with a small bundle thrown over his shoulder, shamefaced, +discouraged, and so tired he could hardly walk another step—Job +pushed in and sat down in the old rocker. The older man was surprised +enough. What did it all mean? Job had soon told his story—the night +ride, the robbery, the long walk back to the mine, the strange +suspicion that had fallen on him, the refusal to believe his story, +the coldness of his employers, his dismissal, and the sad walk home. +He told it all through, then looking up into Andrew Malden's face, +said brokenly:</p> + +<p>"God knows, uncle, it's true, every word!"</p> + +<p>Andrew Malden never doubted the blue-eyed, homeless boy who had grown +to be the stalwart young man on whom he leaned more and more. It was a +great comfort to Job when the old man told him this, and declared he +would go over there in the morning and settle this matter; they would +believe Andrew Malden. Then he thought of the mortgage; he had paid +that, and no one knew where he got the money—and now perhaps they +would not believe him if he did tell them. Perhaps he had better not +go after all.</p> + +<p>Late into the night the two talked it over, till they saw how dark +things really looked for them. Well enough they knew who was the +guilty person, but who could prove it? Finally Andrew Malden took down +the old family Bible and read: "What shall separate us from the love +of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, +or nakedness, or peril, or sword?" The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> reader laid stress on that +word "persecution." On he read: "I am persuaded that neither death, +nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things +present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other +creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is +in Christ Jesus."</p> + +<p>"Amen," said Job, as the old man laid down the book. "Yes, and it says +that 'all things work together for good to them that love God.'"</p> + +<p>Together they knelt in prayer, and to Him who knows the secret +integrity of our hearts, as well as our secret sins, they committed +the burden that rested on their souls.</p> + +<p>The next day was Sunday, a lovely June Sunday. The sunbeams were +playing across his face when Job awoke, and the fragrance of roses +filled the room as they looked in at the open window. How still and +beautiful was all the world! No thumping machinery, no jangling +voices, no grimy faces passing the window! Flowers and sunshine and +the songs of birds, and—home! Oh, how happy he felt!</p> + +<p>He dropped on his knees the first thing, in a prayer that was almost a +psalm. He went downstairs in two jumps, and was out hugging Bess in no +time, telling her she was the best horse that ever lived. Then he went +racing Shot down to the milk-house, where he nearly upset Tony with a +pail of foaming milk. The big fellow stared and said:</p> + +<p>"'Pears like you done gone clean crazy. Marse Job! Guess you think +you's a kid agin!"</p> + +<p>When Job took the pail away from him and bore it safely in on his +head, Tony chuckled and said, "Bress de Lawd, Marse Job! You's mighty +good to me."</p> + +<p>Job waited for no more of Tony's praises, but hurried off, with Shot +barking at his heels. Never had the old ranch looked more beautiful to +him—the house yard, the big barns, the giant pasture lot with the +clump of live-oaks next the yard, the forests on all four sides, the +wild-flowers covering the pasture with a variegated carpet, the garden +on the side hill. Job was a boy again, and he came in panting, to +nearly run over Sing, the new Chinese cook, who was not used to such +scenes at quiet Pine Tree Ranch.</p> + +<p>Not long after breakfast they had prayers, at which Job insisted that +Tony and Hans and Sing should all be present. As he looked around at +the scene, the African and Mongolian sitting attentive while he read +the words, "They shall come from the east and the west, and sit down +in the kingdom of God," he thought the promise was kept that morning +at the ranch.</p> + +<p>After devotions, Sing surprised them all by saying, "Me Clistian. Me +go to mission in Chinatown, San Flancisco. Me say idols no good. Me +play (pray) heap. Jeso he lub Sing. Me feel heap good."</p> + +<p>They were overjoyed. Andy Malden shook hands heartily all around. Hans +said, "In Vaterland, Hans was sehr goot; pray for Hans, he goot here."</p> + +<p>That was the great love-feast at Pine Tree Ranch, which Tony loved to +tell about as long as he lived.</p> + +<p>The church was crowded that Sunday when Job and Andrew Malden drove up +behind the team of grays, with a lunch tucked under the seat, so they +could stay all day. It was Communion Sunday. The neat white cloth +which covered the table in front of the pulpit told the story as they +pushed their way in. The congregation was singing, "Safely through +another week, God has brought us on our way," and Job thought it was a +long, long week since he had sat in the old church and heard that +hymn. How natural it looked! The bare white walls, with here and there +a crack which had carved a not inartistic line up the sides. The stiff +wooden pulpit, almost hid to-day under the June roses. The same +preacher who had said that Christmas night, "Wilt thou be baptized in +this faith?" The little organ in the corner. The old familiar faces +looking up from the benches, and some new<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> ones. There had been a +revival that winter in the church, and now Job could see its results. +The whole congregation was sprinkled with faces he used to see in the +saloons and on the streets, but had never hoped to see in church. Aye, +and there were some faces missing. Where was old Grandpa Reynolds, who +at that long-ago camp-meeting sang "Palms of victory, crowns of glory +I shall wear"? A strange feeling came over Job as he remembered that +he had gone Home to wear the crown of a sainted life.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Some of the host have crossed the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And some are crossing over."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The choir was singing the words. Job thought again of the aged saint. +He thought of Yankee Sam and that wild night when he died; of Tim, +poor Irish Tim; and then of that sweet face in the plain wooden casket +in the strange California city—his boyhood's idol—and the tears +started to his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Unto you therefore which believe, He is precious." That was the text. +The preacher was beginning the sermon, and Job called back his +thoughts and leaned forward to listen.</p> + +<p>"I think the tears were streaming down Peter's face when he uttered +these words. The memories of a lifetime crowded upon him. He was a +young man back by the Lake of Gennesaret, and looked up to see +Andrew's excited face and hear him say, 'Peter, brother, we have found +the great man; we have found the Messiah.' He was by those same waters +mending the nets, ready to push out for the day's toil, and lo! he +heard a voice—oh, how wonderful it was!—there was authority in it, +soul in it: 'Peter, come follow me,' and he dropped the nets, and went +out to life's sea to fish for men. Ah, yes, I think as Peter wrote +these words he remembered his solemn vows of loyalty, his ecstatic joy +on the Mount of Transfiguration, and then, alas! his awful sin when he +deserted Jesus in that dark terrible morning of the great trial. Oh, +those bitter hours! Peter could not forget them."</p> + +<p>Job trembled; he knew what the preacher meant, he knew how Peter felt.</p> + +<p>"But," continued the speaker, "how sweet there came back to him the +memory of another morning by the same Galilean waters, as he mused in +the twilight, and heard the Savior call, not in anger but in love, +'Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?' And back again, there where he +had first loved Him, Peter came to the old life of love and loyalty. +Memories of Pentecost, memories of life's trials and joys, ever +transformed by the spiritual presence of his Master, made Peter cry +from the depths of his soul, 'Unto you therefore which believe, he is +precious.'"</p> + +<p>And Job in his heart said, "Amen."</p> + +<p>Then the preacher went on, showing how that which endears anything in +this world to our hearts should make Jesus doubly precious. He talked +of money—of the treasure of the Sierras, and how much one thought it +would buy; but after all, how little of love and hope and faith it +could bring into a heart—those things which alone last as the years +go on.</p> + +<p>It was a pathetic little story he told of a baby's funeral up in one +of the lonely, forsaken, sage-bush deserts, where, alone with the +broken-hearted father amid the bitter winds and snows of a bleak March +morning, he laid the only babe of a stricken home to rest in the +frozen earth, many miles from any human habitation; of how the father +leaned over and said, as the box vanished into the ground, "Sing 'God +be with you till we meet again,'" and how, as they sang it, out +against the winter storm the light of heaven came into that man's +face. "Tell me," the minister asked, as he leaned over the pulpit, +"how much gold could buy the comfort afforded by that hymn and that +hope?" And Job, thinking of the thousands he had handled at the Yellow +Jacket, felt that that hymn was worth it all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then the preacher talked of diamonds and of the preciousness of Jesus; +of the trinkets hid away in many an old trunk, precious because of +memories that clustered around them; and Job thought of his mother's +Testament. He said the life-memories that cluster around Jesus are +more precious than any other; and Job said "Amen" to that. At last he +talked of friends and how they are worth more than gold or diamonds or +relics of the past; and Job thought of Aunty Perkins—why, there she +was across the aisle, as intent as he; the sight of her face cheered +him. Then he thought of Jane—where was she? Job looked furtively +about, but could not see her. A little unrest filled his soul.</p> + +<p>"No gold can buy so much pleasure for your poor heart, no diamond is +rarer, no relic brings back sweeter memories, no friend sticks closer, +than Jesus. The flood of time may sweep friends beyond your reach, the +mighty Sierras may crumble to dust, old earth may sink into space, and +you be alone with the stars and eternity, but it is written, 'I will +not leave thee nor forsake thee.' Jesus will be with you for time and +eternity. 'Unto you therefore which believe, he is precious.'"</p> + +<p>Job heard Tony shout, "Hallelujah! Bress de Lawd!" and came very near +following his example.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He's the Lily of the valley,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Bright and Morning Star,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>rang out through the church, and voice after voice took it up:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"In sorrow He's my comfort,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In trouble He's my stay,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and when it came to that place—he could not help it—Job did murmur +"Amen."</p> + +<p>For a moment an overwhelming wave of emotion passed over his soul, +then he found the congregation rising, heard like a chant the words, +"If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father," and the +Communion Service had begun.</p> + +<p>Just then the sun came in through a broken shutter, lighting the +sacramental table with an almost supernatural glory, and Job felt a +mighty love for the Savior fill his heart and almost unconsciously +found himself singing with the congregation:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Heaven and earth are full of thy glory.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Glory be to Thee, O Lord, most high! Amen."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>When a little later he knelt at the altar with bowed head, as he heard +the minister's voice saying, "The body of our Lord Jesus Christ, which +was given for thee," he resolved that from that hour, health, talent, +manhood, all he could be at his best, should be given to God and to +men.</p> + +<p>At the close of the service Job saw Jane in the aisle before him, and +walked to the door with her, talking as in the old days. He longed to +say more, but did not. A thrill of happiness came into Jane's heart. +Perhaps he did care for her after all, she thought.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>THE STRIKE.</h3> + + +<p>"Marse Job, dar's a gemman wid a mighty fine hoss wants to hab de +pleasure ob seeing de young marse," said Tony, poking his head inside +the door on the Friday afternoon after Job came home.</p> + +<p>The young man grasped his cap and hurried to the gate, finding there, +to his surprise and consternation, the superintendent of the Yellow +Jacket Mine sitting in his buggy. At sight of Job, he sprang out, +extended his gloved hand to the lad, and proceeded to surprise him +still more by saying that he had come after him, as they wanted him +back; he felt sure he now knew who had taken the money, though he +could not arrest the person; he was very sorry he had so greatly +wronged Job; would raise his salary.</p> + +<p>Job was greatly astonished. He expressed his thanks, but finally +managed to stammer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> out that he really had had all he cared for of +mining life, and did not want to leave the old ranch.</p> + +<p>Then the man took his arm, and as they walked up and down together, he +told Job there was trouble brewing at the mine; the men were reading +all the news they could get about the great mining strike East, and a +whole crowd stood in front of the store each evening between shifts, +listening to agitators; the fellow Dean was talking strike on the sly +to all the men, and he was afraid that under the passing excitement +the best of the men would be duped by worthless leaders. So he wanted +Job back; Job knew the men, they liked him, they would hear him; the +company needed him, it must have him at any salary.</p> + +<p>So Job went back to the Yellow Jacket with the memory of that +home-coming to cheer him in the dark times that were to follow. When +the next day the scowling men came one by one to the pay-window at the +office, muttering about starvation wages, they looked surprised to see +Job there. Some reached out their rough hands for a shake, and said, +"Shure and it does me eyes good to see you, lad;" others only scowled +the deeper; and one looked almost as if shot, forgot his pay, and +turned and walked away muttering, "Bother the saint! He's forever in +my way!"</p> + +<p>It was just two weeks from that day that the storm broke at the Yellow +Jacket Mine. A deep undertone of discontent and rebellion had filled +the air during that time. Job had felt it more plainly than he had +heard it. The superintendent had kept a calm, firm face, though Job +knew he was anything but calm within.</p> + +<p>It was just before Job had gotten ready on Saturday to shove up the +pay-window and begin his weekly task, that a group of burly men, with +O'Donnell, the boss of the eight-hundred-foot level, as spokesman, +came in and desired to see the superintendent. Calmly that gentleman +stepped up and wished to know what was wanted. Well, nothing in +particular, was the reply; only they had a paper they wished him to +sign. He took it and read it. It was a strange document, evidently +prepared by O'Donnell himself. It read as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The Yellow Jacket Mining Company will Pay all men That work on +the mine 20 pursent more To-day And all the time."</p></div> + +<p>The superintendent folded up the paper, and, handing it back to the +men, turned and walked into the office without a word.</p> + +<p>"Here, boss!" cried O'Donnell, "yez didn't plant yer name on the +paper! Ain't yez goin' to give the hands their dues?"</p> + +<p>Then the superintendent turned and explained to the men that he could +not sign any such agreement; had no authority to; only the directors +in San Francisco and New York could authorize it; that the mine could +not afford it; that the men had no complaint—it was only false +sympathy with distant strikes which caused them to make this demand; +that he would not sign such a document if he could.</p> + +<p>The men left in a rage. At the noon shift all the hands came up from +the mine; not one went down. The machinery stopped; not a wheel +turned, not even the pumps that were so necessary to keep the lower +levels from being flooded. At one o'clock the men began to come for +their pay, not one doing so in the morning. Each demanded a raise of +twenty per cent. on his wages, and, when this was refused by Job, +threw his money back on the shelf, and walked out without a word.</p> + +<p>Hour after hour it went on—a constant procession of determined men +looking into Job's eyes, and each face growing harder, it seemed to +him, than the one before. Some did not dare look him in the eye, but +mumbled over the same well-learned speech which someone had taught +them, and went away. They were the ones Job had befriended in +distress.</p> + +<p>Dan came in with head high in air, and talked as if he had never seen +Job; he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>demanded justice for such hard-worked fellows as himself and +his father, and gave a long harangue about the oppressed classes, till +the superintendent interposed and said:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Dean, if you have any personal grievance, come to me +individually. Do not blockade that window; take your money and go."</p> + +<p>And Dan went off in a white rage, leaving the money behind him.</p> + +<p>At six o'clock Job put on his coat and cap, and followed the +superintendent and cashier to the door. There they found armed +sentinels pacing all about the stone office building, and O'Donnell +and his crowd waiting. They would be obliged, they were sorry to say, +to inform them that the men had decided the "boss and his crew" should +not go home till the "twenty per cent." was paid; that some food from +the men's boarding-house would be sent them, and they would have to +stay in the office till they came to terms.</p> + +<p>There was no alternative. They were entrapped, and there was no +escape. Grim faces looked at them from all sides.</p> + +<p>Back into the office they turned and locked the doors, to open them +only when a huge quantity of poor food that looked like the remains of +the miners' dinner was handed in. Again they swung the iron doors to, +barred them, and sat down for the night, with the unpleasant fact +staring them in the face that they were besieged and helpless. +Apparently they had not a friend in all the crowd that surged to and +fro in the narrow streets. There was no way of letting the outside +world know their plight.</p> + +<p>What a night that was! At first the sound of excited voices and the +distant harangues of saloon-steps orators, then all quieted down; +there was not even the hum of the machinery—only the dull tramp of +the guards without, and the far-away call, "Twelve o'clock and all's +well," which told they had a picket line on the outer edge of the +town.</p> + +<p>Job at last fell asleep in a heap on the floor, with other sleeping +forms about him. He dreamed of home and Jane, heard Tony shout "Bress +de Lawd!" and awoke to find himself aching in every bone from the hard +floor. The light had gone out. Outside all he could hear was tramp, +tramp, tramp. Then he heard voices. They came nearer. He crept to the +key-hole and listened.</p> + +<p>"Let's burn the thing and kill 'em, and run the mine ourselves!" said +one voice.</p> + +<p>"Yer blockhead, don't yer know it's stone?" drawled another. "No, +gentlemen, we'll fix 'em if they don't give us our dues to-morrow! +We'll starve 'em out, and yer bet they'll sign mighty quick! We don't +want their lives; we want justice, and—"</p> + +<p>The voice died away in the distance. Job was sure it was Dan's.</p> + +<p>Sunday came and went with no end of the siege. It was a long day in +the office. The superintendent pored over the books, and pretended to +forget he was a prisoner. They took down only the topmost shutters. +Some of the clerks got out a pack of cards, and asked Job to take a +hand. One said contemptuously, "Oh, you're a goody-goody, parson!" +when he refused, but the others quickly silenced him in a way that +showed their respect for Job. The cards dropped from their hands +before long, and each seemed occupied with his own thoughts. Twice +during the day "the gang" and O'Donnell presented themselves at the +door with the paper, and were refused. Then all hands seemed to resign +themselves to a genuine siege. On the whole it was quiet outside, +except for the occasional jangle of voices and the sentry's pacing.</p> + +<p>Towards night the uproar grew louder. The saloons were doing a big +business, and the sound of rollicking songs and drunken brawls was in +the air. Job grew restless and paced the office floor. About five +o'clock a delegation came for someone to meet the men at a conference +on the waste-heap back of the quartz mill. The superintendent refused +to go, and asked Job to do so. "They dare not hurt you," he said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>So between two armed, burly guards, Job went to look into the face of +the strangest audience he had ever seen. A solid throng they stood on +the bare, flat hill that rounded off at one end of the cañon below. +Irishmen, Swedes, Portuguese, Germans, Chinese, Yankees—all +nationalities were there, in overalls and blue jumpers, puffing at +long pipes, and wedged in a solid mass about an old ore car that +served as platform. Dan was speaking; he was talking of the starving +miners in "Colorady," and pointed to the office building, crying, +"We'll show them bloated 'ristocrats how nice it feels to starve!" +while a din of voices cried, "Hear! hear!"</p> + +<p>Pushing their way to the flat-car, his muscular escorts hauled Job up +and shouted:</p> + +<p>"The parson, lads—Mr. Job. He's goin' to talk wid yez!"</p> + +<p>"May the Holy Mother defind him!" cried a voice in the crowd. "He's +the praist of me Tim!"</p> + +<p>"The fraud!" cried another; "he's as bad as the rist! Nary a per cint. +would he give me yesterday!"</p> + +<p>"Hush, ye blatherskite!" hissed another. "Give the lad a chance; he's +a-talkin'!"</p> + +<p>Yes, Job was talking. He did his best. He expressed the utmost +sympathy with the wrongs of every man, and reminded them that they had +no truer friend in the Yellow Jacket than he. He had nursed their +sick, buried their dead, had been one of them in all the struggles of +their lives. Voice after voice in the crowd said, "That's so! Hear! +Hear!" "Hurrah fer the lad!" cried another. "Three cheers for the +little parson!"</p> + +<p>Then he talked to them of the strike, and said every man had a right +to quit work and the Union to strike, but no man or Union had the +right to starve their fellow-beings; he spoke of the unreasonableness +of this strike—the company here was not to blame for the troubles in +Colorado; he reminded them that the times were hard and the cities +crowded with idle men, yet the company had kept them busy and given +them full wages; he urged them, if they must demand more, to go on +with work and send a committee to present their claims to the +directors.</p> + +<p>Cheers and hisses grew louder and louder as he spoke. The storm grew +fiercer and fiercer. Job saw it was of no use. A dozen voices were +yelling, "On with the strike! Starve 'em out!" Someone—could it be +Dan?—shouted:</p> + +<p>"Hang the hypocrite!—coming here advising his betters! String him +up!"</p> + +<p>A loud hubbub followed. Job breathed a deep, silent prayer and stood +firm. A tall, brawny man clambered up beside him and cried, as he +brandished a pistol:</p> + +<p>"Death to any mon that touches the kid! May all the saints keep him!"</p> + +<p>Tim's father meant business. And through the angry mob he steered Job +back to the office in safety.</p> + +<p>When the supper was handed in at six, the men who brought it said that +would be the last food till they signed the paper; the miners had +voted to starve them out.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE RACE WITH DEATH.</h3> + + +<p>"Job, you'll have to go. No one knows this country as you do, and no +one can do it but you."</p> + +<p>It was the superintendent speaking. Huddled in a group the little +company sat in the dark, looking death in the face. Surrender, death, +or outside help, were the only alternatives. They could keep from +starvation for a day more on the provisions they had. Someone must go +through the lines and get help. They had decided that it was useless +to call on the sheriff, for he could never raise a posse large enough +to cope with this mob, now armed and well prepared. Troop A was on +duty near Wawona, guarding the Yosemite Reservation. Someone must go +and notify them, and telegraph to the Secretary of War and get orders +for them to come to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> the relief of the besieged men. It was a +dangerous undertaking. Even if one could pass through the line around +the office, would he ever be able to get through the streets alive? +And then would he ever get past the outer picket?</p> + +<p>Someone must take the risk. Someone must go, and perhaps die for the +others. One of the clerks said he guessed Job was the best prepared. +The superintendent urged him to go. Finally rising, Job said he knew +both the way and the peril it meant, and he would make the attempt.</p> + +<p>Not even to them did he tell the route he would take and the dangers +he knew he must face. He had a plan, and if it succeeded there was +hope; if it failed, there was no getting back. One silent prayer in +the corner, and he crept softly and hastily through the half-open +door, as the sentinel went down towards the other end of his beat.</p> + +<p>There Job lay flat on the ground and waited to see who it was. In the +dim twilight he descried, as the sentinel turned, no other than Tim's +father. Job stole up to him, caught him before he cried "Halt!" and +said:</p> + +<p>"For Tim's sake, Mr. Rooney, let me through the lines. We will starve +in there!"</p> + +<p>"Job, me boy, is that ye!" whispered the guard. "Hiven bless ye! I +wish I could let yez t'rough, but by the saints I can't! I've sworn +that I wouldn't let a soul pass, and they said if a mon wint t'rough +the line and me here, they'd finish me!"</p> + +<p>Job pleaded, and the tears streamed from Pat Rooney's eyes, but he was +firm; he had given his word, and he could not break it. But after what +seemed to Job a long time, Pat said:</p> + +<p>"Job, if ye'll promise me no mon but the one ye go to see shall see +yez, and that ye'll come back to-morrow night and be here if the +soldier boys come, so no one will know I let yez t'rough, I'll let yez +go; and Job, I'll be at the ind of Sullivan's alley and pass yez; and +then the next shift I'll be here, and ye'll get in safe."</p> + +<p>Job promised. Many times afterward he wished he had not; but he made +up his mind, as he slunk through, with Pat's "Hiven bliss ye!" +following him, that only death should prevent him from keeping his +word.</p> + +<p>Just back of the office was the abandoned shaft where he had gone +often to pray. Once he had sounded its sides, and suspected that it +opened into the first level. If this was the case, and he could get +into that, and from that into the next lower level, Job knew that the +end of that one went clear through to the old half-finished +drainage-tunnel which ran in from the cañon back of the quartz mill. +Once in the tunnel he knew that he could reach the cañon, then get +outside the lines and away.</p> + +<p>It took but a moment to drop down the old shaft, which ran down but a +few hundred feet on a steep slant. Then rapping softly on the wall, he +thought he heard a hollow sound. There were voices above him. He kept +still and lay down close against the side till they passed on. Then he +dug a hole, inch by inch, till he could reach his arm through. No +doubt this was the tunnel!</p> + +<p>Finally, after what seemed hours—though it was not even one—Job had +the opening almost large enough to crawl through. Then he struck the +timbers—how was he to get through now? Well, just how, he never knew; +but he did. He dropped down to the floor of the level, lit a little +candle he had with him, ran along to the big shaft, and saw the ladder +reaching down to the next level. Then he bethought himself that his +light might be seen, so he blew it out. How could he get down the +ladder in the dark? One misstep and—he shuddered at the thought. But +he would dare it.</p> + +<p>It was slow work, step by step; but at last he found an open space +through the boards, reached out a little lower and felt the floor of +the second level, and stepped off safe. Along the wooden rails laid +for the ore-cars<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> he felt his way, till he began to grow confused. He +must have a light; surely no one could see it. Then he thought he +again heard voices. He stood still. He could hear his heart beat. It +was only the drip of water from the roof. He lit the candle and +hurried on. The air was close and hot, but he never stopped. On down +the long, dark cavern he made his way by the flickering light of the +fast-dying candle.</p> + +<p>At last he reached the spot where he was sure the drainage tunnel and +the second level met. Again he dug and dug, using an old pick he found +there. He tore at the hard earth with his fingers, till he found +himself growing drowsy and faint. It was the foul air! He must get +through the wall soon, or perish where he was. The candle was gone. +Now it was a life-and-death struggle. He thought of that night in the +snow and his awful dread of death. All was so different now. A great +peace filled his soul. But he must not die; he must get through; other +lives were in his care; starving men were awaiting him; his promise to +Tim's father must be kept. At it he went again. He felt something give +way, felt a breath of fresh air that revived him, lifted a silent +thanksgiving to God, and crept through into the drainage tunnel.</p> + +<p>The pickets on the banks above were calling, "Three o'clock and all's +well," as Job crept silently down the cañon and made for the heavy +timber of the mountain opposite.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>The bugle had just sounded "taps" at Camp Sheridan, on the flat +between the South Fork and the Yosemite Fall road, one mile east of +Wawona. The southern hills had echoed back its sweet, lingering notes. +The blue-coats had turned in. The officer of the guard was inspecting +the sentries, when the guard on Post Number Four saw a haggard, +white-faced young fellow, with hat gone, clothes torn, hands bleeding +from scratches, pull himself up the bank of the creek, and at the +sentry's "Halt!" look up with anxious appeal and ask for the captain.</p> + +<p>That instinct which is sometimes quicker than thought told the guard +this was no ordinary case. In two minutes the corporal was escorting +Job to the headquarters tent. What a dilapidated object he was! For +twenty long hours he had been working his way over the rear of Pine +Mountain, down the steep sides of the Gulch, up that terrible jungle +which even the red man avoids, over the great boulders and falls of +the South Fork, and up the long miles through the primeval wilderness +to where he knew the white tents of Camp Sheridan lay.</p> + +<p>The captain could hardly believe Job's story. The officers marveled at +the heroism of the boy. But he told it all without consciousness of +self, begged them for God's sake to lose no time, and fell over limp +and faint at the captain's feet.</p> + +<p>When he came to, it was dawn, the troops were in the saddle, and the +sergeant was reading this telegram:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Proceed at once to the Yellow Jacket Mine and quell the riot +and disorder. <span class="smcap">Lamont</span>."</p></div> + +<p>The horses were pawing the ground, the quartermaster was hurrying to +and fro, the captain was buckling on his saber, and Job was lying on a +cot in the surgeon's tent, while that good man was feeling his pulse.</p> + +<p>Quick as he could, Job started up. "Are they off?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my boy; and you lie still. They'll settle those fellows over at +the mine," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"But, doctor, I must go! I promised Rooney! Let me go!"</p> + +<p>"No, young man. You're plucky, but pluck won't do any more. A day or +two here will fix you all right. Your pulse has been up to a hundred +and four. You can't stir to-day."</p> + +<p>Job was desperate. The bugle was sounding, the officers were shouting +orders. Through the door of the tent and the grove of trees he could +see troops forming.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Send for the captain, doctor, please," he pleaded.</p> + +<p>The captain came, heard Job's story, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>Job was half frantic. What would Pat Rooney say? He begged the doctor +with tears in his eyes. He beseeched the captain. At last they +yielded. But how could he cross the line in the daytime? They would +have to wait till night. Finally the captain said he would wait and +send Job with a scout at dusk, and follow with the troops at midnight.</p> + +<p>The bugle sounded recall, and the soldiers waited, so that Job could +keep his promise. All that summer day as he lay on the cot, listening +to the ripple of the spring, the neighing of the horses, the +bugle-calls, and the coming and going of the men, he thought of those +comrades shut in the store office without food, and waiting for relief +which it must seem would never come.</p> + +<p>Just at dusk, mounted behind a sturdy little trooper, and well +disguised, Job started back. They passed around Wawona by a side +trail; and, striking the main turnpike near its junction with the +Signal Peak road, galloped on in the dark, fearing no recognition, and +well prepared to meet anyone who demanded a halt. The light was +burning in Aunty Perkins' window as they passed. It was after midnight +when they crept slowly down the timber on the other side of +Rattlesnake Gulch, and Job dismounted and stole on ahead.</p> + +<p>A gloom rested on the Yellow Jacket. A few lights shone out of shanty +windows and in saloons. The stars seemed to rest on the top of the +smoke-stacks which rose like vast shadows in the distance. A low, +far-off murmur of voices, now rising, now dying down, stole out on the +clear night air.</p> + +<p>Down Job crept, now on hands and knees, to the foot of Sullivan's +alley. He heard a step. The sentry was coming. Job gave the call Pat +and he had agreed upon—the sharp bark of a coyote. In an instant he +saw a flash and heard a report, as a bullet whizzed past him. Then he +heard voices:</p> + +<p>"What was that, Jacob?"</p> + +<p>"A leetle hund, I tinks."</p> + +<p>"A hund? You shoot him not! You save bullets for bigger ting. See?"</p> + +<p>Oh, where was Pat Rooney! It was fully an hour before the sentry's +pace changed and the step sounded like Pat's. Again Job barked, and a +hoot like an owl's replied. It was Tim's father! A few minutes, and +Pat had clasped him to his heart, and told him the officers were still +in the store office; that the men were desperate—they had been +drinking heavily, and, he was afraid, before another night would burn +the whole place. Would Job go back into the mine and take his chances?</p> + +<p>Of course Job went. He slunk up the alley into a hidden passage-way he +knew of back of the Last Chance Saloon, and kept in between the +buildings till within a stone's throw of the office. There, wedged in +between two old shanties, he had to wait two hours for Pat to get on +the office beat. Oh, what a long night! Just ahead were the office and +the starving men. Between them and their rescuer a Chinaman stalked, +gun in hand, pig-tail bobbing in the night air, and eyes ever on the +alert to see an intruder. In the bar-room Job could hear the talking. +Dan Dean and O'Donnell were there. They were boasting that not a soul +outside knew of the strike; that a late telephone to Gold City showed +no one there knew; that the stage was still held at the stables; that +there was no hope for "the boss and the tyrants." To-morrow they would +sign that paper or take the consequences.</p> + +<p>Job shuddered at the thought. Then he heard Dan chuckle over him. He +"'lowed the biggest fun would be to see that pious fraud beg for +mercy."</p> + +<p>What if Dan knew he was listening, with only a board partition between +them! Job hardly dared to breathe.</p> + +<p>It was getting uncomfortably near dawn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> when Job heard another owl's +hoot and stole past Pat Rooney up to the rear door of the old stone +office, which opened softly in a few minutes as he gave the well-known +private tap of the clerks. What a wretched, haggard lot of men rose +excitedly to meet him! He hushed them to silence, told his story, and +bade them rest and wait a few hours. Troop A would surely be here.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>It was daybreak, the dawn of the Fourth of July, when the sound of a +bugle aroused the miners of the Yellow Jacket. Some thought it was +some patriotic Yankee, but the clang, clang, of the old bell at the +stone tower, the calls of the sentries, the rush of hundreds of +half-dressed, excited men down the street, told everyone that trouble +was in the air.</p> + +<p>It was all done so quickly that the miners hardly knew where they +were. The guards were on the run, and a troop of cavalry, with a solid +front, stood facing the yelling, yet terrified, mob of men who +blockaded lower Main street. It was only a hundred against five +hundred men; but it was order, discipline, authority, against +disorder, tumult and a mob. All rules were forgotten, all their plans +went for naught. Dan yelled in vain. O'Donnell grew red in the face as +he screamed orders. "Forward, march!" rang out the captain's voice, +and a hundred sabers rattled and a hundred horses started, and five +hundred terror-stricken men, each forgetful of all but himself, +started in a panic to retreat.</p> + +<p>From the open door of the office, deserted at the first alarm by the +guards, the imprisoned officers of the company saw the mob come +surging up the street.</p> + +<p>Before noon the Yellow Jacket was a military camp. The miners were the +prisoners, disarmed, a helpless crowd, the larger part already ashamed +of having been influenced by such a man as O'Donnell. Before nightfall +the men had personally signed an agreement to go to work on the morrow +at the old terms, and were allowed to depart to their homes. The +saloons were emptied of their liquors and closed until military law +should be relaxed, and the ringleaders were on their way to the county +jail at Gold City.</p> + +<p>The strike was over without bloodshed, and when the men came to their +sober senses, went back to their tasks, and saw the folly of it +all—saw how they had been duped by demagogues—they were grateful +that somebody had dared to end the strike, and Job was the hero of the +hour. The reaction that sweeps over mob-mind swept him back into his +place as the idol of their hearts.</p> + +<p>We have said the leaders of the strike were taken to Gold City. No, +not all. One lay crippled and fever-stricken in Pat Rooney's shanty +back of Finnegan's. Pat had found him when the mob rushed back, borne +down by the men he was trying to stop, and trampled on by some of the +cavalcade of horsemen as they swept up the street.</p> + +<p>Hurried hither by Pat, Job entered the familiar hut to find himself +face to face with Dan. All that long day he sat by the side of the +delirious patient. The soldiers, when arresting the men, let Pat stay +at Job's plea. The troop surgeon came and ordered Job away. "Sick +enough yourself, without nursing this mischief-maker who's the cause +of all this bad business," said he.</p> + +<p>But no; Job would not go. Dan was bad. Dan was his enemy, but "Love +your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them which +despitefully use you," to Job meant watching by Dan Dean when his own +head was aching and the fever was even then creeping upon him.</p> + +<p>All night he sat there, bathing the head that tossed restlessly to and +fro. He heard the delirious lad mutter, "Curse the pious crank! He'll +get Jane yet!" then half rise, and say with a strange look in his +eyes, "Stand fast, boys! Stand, ye cowards! It's justice we want!" and +fall back exhausted. Yes, it was Job who stood by, praying with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> all +his heart, as at daylight the doctor did what seemed inevitable if +Dan's life was to be saved—amputated the crushed, broken right leg. +Never again would he roam over the Sierras as he had when a boy. For +the sins of those awful days Dan was giving part of his very life.</p> + +<p>Once he opened his eyes and saw Job, and as he caught the meaning of +it all, a queer look came over his face. Finally he muttered:</p> + +<p>"Job, go away from me! I don't deserve a thing from you! I can stand +the pain better than seein' you fixin' me!" and a hot tear stole down +the blanched, hardened face.</p> + +<p>But still Job stayed, as the delirium came back and the fever fought +with the doctor for the mastery. Only when the danger line seemed +past, and the noon bell was striking, Job passed out of the old +shanty, up the street by the crowds of men going to the noon shift, +heard the roar of the machinery, staggered in at the office door and +fell across the hard floor.</p> + +<p>They were harvesting the August hay on the Pine Tree Ranch before Job +left his invalid chair on the rose-covered porch and mounted Bess for +a dash down to the mill with some of his old-time vigor.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>"DRIFTING."</h3> + + +<p>She stood in the cabin door, where the morning sunlight stole through +the branches and vines and played around her head. Against the +well-worn post of this plain, unpainted old hut she leaned with a +far-away look in her eyes. Nineteen years ago to-day she was born here +where the hills shut in Blackberry Valley and the trees roofed it +over. From the stream yonder she had learned the ripple of childhood's +laughter; up yonder well-worn trail she had climbed these long years, +away to the great outside world—to the Frost Creek school and the +Gold City church. It was over the same trail that, wearing shoes for +almost the first time in her life, and attired in a black calico dress +and a black straw hat which the neighbors had brought her, Jane had +taken her father's rough hand, long years ago, one summer day, and +followed her mother to the grave. Ten years she had done a woman's +work to try and keep a home for Tom Reed.</p> + +<p>How much longer would it be? The impulses and longings of a maiden's +heart were stirring within her. Father's rough, good-natured kindness +still cheered her lonely life, but the morning sun would kiss two +graves in God's Acre yonder some day instead of one. The father's step +was feeble and the years were going fast, and she would be alone. +Alone? Ah, no, not alone, for the loving Christ was hers. Ever since +the old Coyote Valley camp-meeting a new friendship, a new happiness, +had come into her life. No one who knew her could doubt it. It had +added to the natural frankness of her modest, unsophisticated nature a +staunchness of character, a womanliness, and a nobility of soul that +gave her the admiration and respect of all true hearts. Yet how few +knew her! Like earth's rarest flowers, Jane Reed's life blossomed in +this hidden dell unknown to the great world. She had the love of +Christ in her soul, and yet she longed, she knew not why, for some +strong human love to fill to its completeness the fullness of her +heart.</p> + +<p>So she stood that morning dreaming of love—the old, old dream of +life. And who should it be? One of two, of course. No others had ever +come close enough to pay court at the portal of her soul. Job or +Dan—Dan or Job? Sooner or later her life must be linked with one or +the other. Dan cared for her. How often he had said it!—almost till +it seemed commonplace. But she had never said yes; yet somehow she +enjoyed the thought that somebody cared for her, even if it was poor +Dan. She was at his bedside yesterday, down in the long, low<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> house at +the end of Dean's Lane, where they had brought him home from the +Yellow Jacket. She had heard of it all at once—that Job was +dangerously sick at the ranch, and Dan was crippled for life at the +lane. She wanted to go to Job. Her eyes filled as they told her of his +heroism. What a brave fellow! She brushed away the dust from the +secret shrine in her heart and worshiped him anew.</p> + +<p>She wanted to go to him. But what would he say? How forward, how +unwomanly it would seem! Did he ever think of her? Ah! sometimes she +thought so! But he was beyond her now; she could not go to him. But +Dan would expect it. Poor Dan! He needed somebody to say a kind word. +So she had gone. She had bathed his aching head; she had told him she +was praying for him; she had left with him the blossoms picked at her +door.</p> + +<p>Dan or Job—which should it be? In the doorway she stood dreaming till +the sun was between the tree-tops, and looked straight down the trail. +All day at her tasks she dreamed on. Twice she took her bonnet and +thought she would go to Job; then she hung it away again. There they +stood at the doorway of her soul—Dan, crippled, helpless, selfish; a +poor, wild, wandering boy. Job, strong, brave, the soul of honor, the +manliest of men, a Christian in all that word means in a young man's +life—her ideal.</p> + +<p>There they stood on the threshold of her heart; and, lingering at +sundown in the same old doorway, the tears filling her eyes, she took +them both in—Dan to pity, comfort, cheer; Job to honor and to love. +Job was hers; perhaps he would never know it, but that day she gave +him the best a woman has—her first love.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus059.jpg" width="400" height="115" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>ACROSS THE MONTHS.</h3> + + +<p>The next two years came and went in Grizzly county without any events +to be chronicled in the city press—no strikes or rich finds or +stirring deeds; yet they were years that counted much in some lives.</p> + +<p>Job went back to the mines, no longer behind the pay window, but as +assistant superintendent. Never had so young a man had so responsible +a place at the Yellow Jacket. The negotiations and intercourse with +the outside world, and the complicated plans of a great company, were +not his task. He was the soul of the mine. His it was to deal with the +"hands," and stand between them and that intangible, soulless thing +men call a corporation. He was the prophet of the company and priest +pleading the needs of five hundred men at the doors of the directors. +There was nothing in the laws of the company defining his position, +and he could hardly have defined it himself. He only knew that he was +there to make life a little brighter, home a little more sacred, the +friction of business a little less, the higher part of manhood more +valuable, to five hundred hard-working men of all creeds and races +that lived on the bare mountain-side about the Yellow Jacket mine.</p> + +<p>It was marvelous the changes that came. Personal influence and social +power told as the days went by. The saloon-keepers felt it and +grumbled, but the assistant superintendent was too great a favorite +for them to dare say much. The Sunday work ceased. Every improvement +for bettering the conditions under which the men worked was put +in—better air-pumps; a large shaft-house with dressing-rooms for the +men, to save them from going out while heated, to be exposed to +winter's cold; a hospital for the sick; lower prices at the company's +store; Finnegan's saloon enlarged and fitted up as a temperance +club-house, with not a drop of liquor, but plenty of good cheer. More<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +than once on Sundays Job talked to the men on eternal themes, from a +spot where, on a never-to-be-forgotten Sunday, he had once faced a +mob.</p> + +<p>At last the company built a large, plain, attractive church, and the +miners insisted on Job's being the "parson." But he firmly declined +the honor. Yet he had his say about that church. He felt a wee bit of +pride when, crowded to the doors with Scandinavians, Irishmen, +Mongolians, Englishmen and Americans, with the Mexican and stalwart +Indian not left out, he saw the preacher on the Frost Creek circuit +and the priest from Gold City ascend the pulpit to dedicate it. It was +to be for all faiths that point heavenward, all ethics that teach the +mastery of self, all creeds that exalt Jesus Christ, all religions +that really bind back to God. The company had said it; and the men +knew that that meant Job.</p> + +<p>It was a strange service. The Catholic choir sang "Adeste Fideles," +and they all bowed and said the prayer of prayers. Some said "Our +Father" and some "Paternoster," and they all meant the same. Job felt +a strange thrill in his soul as all in the great audience joined in +the last reverent "Amen." Both clergymen spoke, and when the preacher +named the Savior, the Catholics crossed themselves; and when the +priest said "Blessed Jesus," the Methodists responded "Amen." Both men +caught the spirit of the hour; bigotry, creeds, conventionalities, +were forgotten. They were face to face with hungry souls; with men who +knew little of theology and ecclesiasticism, but much of actual life. +God, sin, manhood, eternity, seemed very real to those speakers that +day, and they made it plain to the tear-stained, sin-scarred faces +that looked into theirs. When at last it was over and the priest had +said "Dominus vobiscum" and the parson said "amen," Job slipped out of +the rear door to escape the crowd and to pray for the Yellow Jacket +and its five hundred men, while a voice whispered to his soul, +"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, ye have done +it unto me."</p> + +<p>These years had made great changes in Andrew Malden. Since that +night-watch at Pine Tree Ranch, he had been a different man. Tony and +Hans felt it; the mill men commented on it; the world of Gold City +began to realize that the master of Pine Tree Mountain possessed a +heart. The old town had more public spirit than for years, and +everybody knew that it was "Judge" Malden, inspired by a life close to +his own, who was back of all the improvements. But not everybody was +pleased with his influence in public matters, and when the Board of +Supervisors one spring refused to renew the license of the Monte +Carlo, and passed an ordinance against gambling, all the baser element +in Gold City united in bitter hatred against the one who they knew +possessed the political power that brought these things to pass.</p> + +<p>From that day Grizzly county saw an immense struggle for supremacy +between righteousness and vice, in the persons of the two political +leaders, Andrew Malden and "Col. Dick." Col. Dick was the most +clerical-looking man in the community. Always dressed in immaculate +white shirt, long coat and white tie, with his smooth face and +piercing black eyes, no stranger would have dreamed, as he received +his polite bow on the street, that this was the most notorious +character in Grizzly county, the manipulator of its politics, the +proprietor of its worst haunt, the most heartless man who ever stood +behind a bar in a mining camp. But Richard Lamar—or, as all +familiarly knew him, Col. Dick, in honor of his traditional war +record—was all this. For nearly twenty years he had stood coolly +behind that bar mixing drinks and planning politics. All men feared +him. Only one man ever refused to drink with him, so far as is known, +and then everybody who could, steered clear of jury duty on that case, +and those who could not escape pronounced his death due to +heart-failure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>The election the next year was the most hotly contested ever held in +the county. Job used all the personal influence he had in the Yellow +Jacket; Andrew Malden himself personally canvassed every house in the +county where there was the slightest hope. Tony said, "Bress de Lawd! +guess de old Marse and de gray team done gone de rounds, an' ebery dog +in de county knows 'em!"</p> + +<p>Dan, poor Dan, limping through the crowd on crutches, was Col. Dick's +chief lieutenant, and used with the utmost shrewdness the "cash" which +the saloon interest placed at his disposal. He knew by election day +the price of every salable vote in the county. The night before +election excitement ran high; a scurrilous sheet came out with +cartoons of Andrew Malden and "Gambler Teale's kid." All the hard +things that could be said were said. That night, before an audience +that filled the old church and hung on the windows and packed the +steps, Job made a speech which thrilled the souls of them all. He told +his life story; told of what rum had done for him and his, told of +Yankee Sam and the scene at his death, till hardened men wiped away +the tears. No cut-and-dried temperance lecture was his. He talked of +life as all knew it, of Gold City and facts no one could deny; talked +till waves of deepest emotion passed over the crowd like the wind over +grain on the far-reaching prairies. The meeting broke up with cheers +and hisses, and men went out to face a fight at the polls that was +talked of for many a long day afterward.</p> + +<p>The ringing of the old church bell at dark on election day, the cheers +sounding everywhere up and down the streets, the sour, scowling faces +of Col. Dick and Dan as they slunk down the alley and in back of the +Monte Carlo, told a story which thrilled the hearts of good +citizens—that righteousness and good government had won.</p> + +<p>That night, between midnight and dawn, Andrew Malden's lumber mill +went up in flame and smoke. Who did it? No one knew; no one doubted. +The north wind was blowing, and the mill hands worked vigorously, +worked heroically—it meant bread and butter to them—but they could +not save it. Only great heaps of ashes, twisted iron, a lone +smoke-stack and great piles of ruined machinery, were left to tell the +story, where for many years the whirl of industry had made music +beside Pine Tree Creek.</p> + +<p>Yet the man who had once sworn to shoot his enemy at sight uttered no +complaint or showed the least spirit of revenge. He came and stood in +the night air and watched the flames lick up the old mill, stood with +the ruddy glow lighting up his furrowed face, and with never a word +turned and went home.</p> + +<p>Dan was drifting further and further into the downward life; and yet, +strange to say, it had lost its charm for him. That night when the +election failed and Col. Dick scored him for not doing his best, he +parted company with the Colonel and the Monte Carlo. More and more +strongly two passions ruled his life. One was love for Jane Reed; the +love of a man conscious of his own utter badness for that holy life he +secretly envies and outwardly scorns. The other was hatred for Job +Malden, who, ever since he came upon the stage in the long ago, had +stood between Daniel Dean and all his ambitions.</p> + +<p>So the world moved on, the world of Grizzly county, hid away among the +grand old mountains and lofty pines of the Sierras. Impulses were +passing into deeds; actions and thoughts were crystallizing into +character—character that should endure when the pines had passed into +dust, when the mountains had tottered beneath the hand of the Creator, +when earth itself had sunk into endless space and the story of Gold +City had forever ended.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus061.jpg" width="400" height="106" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>THE YOSEMITE.</h3> + + +<p>"Well, Bess, old girl, we're off now for the jolliest time out!" cried +Job as he vaulted into the saddle one June day, bound for the Yosemite +Valley, that wonderful spot of which Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote on the +old hotel register: "The only place I ever saw that came up to the +brag."</p> + +<p>Job had left the Yellow Jacket forever. The years were beginning to +tell on the strong man of Pine Tree Mountain and Job was needed at +home. So he had come. Standing one night on Lookout Point, watching +the setting sun gild the far-off crown of El Capitan, he had resolved +that before its glow once more set on the monarch's brow, he would +mount Bess and be off to see again the sights on which old El Capitan +had looked down for innumerable centuries. Perhaps the knowledge that +Jane was there camping with her invalid father, who fancied that a +summer in the valley would make his life easier, had something to do +with the decision.</p> + +<p>It was on one of those beautiful mornings in the California mountains +which come so often and yet are always a rare, glad surprise, that +Job, mounted on Bess, went singing down through the pasture gate, down +past the charred ruins of the mill, past the familiar entrance to +Dean's Lane, on toward the Frost Creek road and Wawona. It was a very +familiar road. He stopped so long to chat with Aunty Perkins, halted +Bess so long under the big live-oak at the Frost Creek school, and, +leaning on her neck, gazed wistfully at the scenes of many a boyhood +prank, that it was late in the afternoon when he passed the spot +fragrant with memories of "Aunt Eliza" and "Mary Jane," galloped down +the long hill, raced the coach and six just in from Raymond with a lot +of tourists up to the Wawona Hotel, sprang off Bess, turned her over +to a hostler and went into the office to register for the night.</p> + +<p>That load of tourists furnished ample amusement for Job all that +summer evening. He had read of such people, but this was the first +time he had ever met them. There was the fat man, jovial and happy, +always cracking a joke, who shook the dust off what had been that +morning, before he began a ride of more than forty miles by stage, a +respectable coat, and laughed merrily till it nearly choked him. There +was the tall dude, with wilted high collar and monocle on his right +eye, drawling about this "Bloomin' dirty country, don'cher know." +Striding up and down the veranda with a regular tread that shook the +long porch, with clerical coat buttoned up to the throat, and high +silk hat which was not made for stage travel, was Bishop Bowne. His +temper seemed unruffled by the vexations of the day as he remarked, +"Magnificent scenery. Makes me think of Lake Como, only lacks the +lake. Regular amphitheater of mountains. Reminds one of the Psalmist's +description of Jerusalem." Darting here and there, trying to get +snap-shots, were two "kodak fiends," two city girls who pointed the +thing at you, bungled over it, reset it, pressed the button, and +giggled as they flew off. They fairly bubbled over with delight as +they saw Job, and debated how much to offer to get him to sit for a +scene of rustic simplicity out by the toll-gate.</p> + +<p>But Job was too busy to notice. He was being systematically +interviewed by the fat, fussy woman in black who was asking him, +"S'pose you've seen Pike's Peak, the Garden of the Gods, and Colorado +Springs? Great place; we spent a whole half day there. No? Been to +Monterey, of course, round the drive? We did it! Foggy, couldn't see a +blessed thing; but it's fine; had to do it. What! never been there? +Too bad, young man. Oh, there's nothing like doing the world. I've +seen Paris, Rome, the Alps, Egypt. Oh, my! I couldn't tell how much! +Sarah Bell, she knows; she's got it down in her note-book. Dear me! I +must go and see what time we can start back for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> this place over +there—what do you call it? Some Cemet'ry?"</p> + +<p>"Yosemite," suggested Job.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Yosemitry. We ought to go right back to-morrow. We've got to +do Alaska in this trip, or we'll never hear the end of it when we get +back East. Nothing like doing the world, young man," said she, as she +adjusted her bonnet and eye-glasses and hurried off to the office, +where he heard her an hour later lamenting, "Sarah Bell, we have got +to stay a whole precious day in that Cemet'ry before we can go back!"</p> + +<p>It was late when the babble of voices died away, the stars kept watch +through the tall pines of Wawona, and Job fell asleep to the piping of +the frogs in the pond back of the hotel and the pawing of horses in +the long barn across the square.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus063.jpg" width="600" height="494" alt="Yosemite Valley from Inspiration Point" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Yosemite Valley from Inspiration Point</span> +</div> + +<p>"Inspiration Point!" called out the driver, as Job pulled up Bess the +next day alongside the stage as it stood on the summit of that spot +where the road from Wawona, which for miles has climbed up through the +forest past Chinquapin and many a stage station, climbs still higher +through the rare air of seven thousand feet, and then hurries down +through the leaves of the trees, turns a bend and emerges in full view +of the grand Yosemite.</p> + +<p>There it lay in all its grandeur—the unroofed temple of God, Nature's +great cathedral. Three thousand feet down, level as the floor, sunk +beneath the surrounding mountains which stretched away to right and +left in a gigantic mass, it lay clothed in a carpet of green grass and +trees so far below that they seem to merge into one. Cut by a silvery +stream that winds lazily amid the Edenic beauty, as if loath to be +away, the valley a mile wide stretches back for nearly six miles, and +then is lost to view as it wanders around the jutting peaks of the +Three Sisters and climbs on for five more miles to the falls of the +Merced, as they come tumbling down from the region of perpetual snow +to that of perpetual beauty.</p> + +<p>To the left is old El Capitan, three thousand feet high, and with +width equal to height and depth to width—a mountain of solid rock. +Well did the Bishop lift his hat, and, standing in silent awe, at last +say, "The judgment throne of God." Far beyond it the silvery line of +the Yosemite Creek reached the straight edge of the cliff and shot +down twenty-six hundred feet. To the right, Bridal Veil Falls, a tiny +brooklet it seemed in the distance, winding down a mountain meadow, +looking frightened a moment at the edge of the cliff, leaping over +into spray, caught up and transfigured by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> the afternoon sun, as it +fell on the rocks hundreds of feet below. Beyond it, Cathedral Rocks, +the Three Sisters and a mass of jutting summits stretching ever on +till they were lost to view. Beyond and between them all, between and +back, El Capitan and the Sentinel Peak, looming up, as the Bishop +said, like "the sounding-board of the ages." From far away rose the +Half Dome, at whose feet the famous little lake mirrors again and +again the morning sun as it drives away the shadows of night from this +home of the sublime.</p> + +<p>Job instinctively bared his head and found himself repeating, "Before +the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the earth, +from everlasting to everlasting Thou art God."</p> + +<p>Just then the silence was broken by the voices in the stage. "Ain't it +pretty?" said the giggler. "Well, now, is that the Cemet'ry? Do tell! +Driver, you're sure we can go back to-day? We've seen it now!" said +the fussy woman. The practical man was asking the driver for minute +statistics and copying them down in his book, the dude was yawning and +hoping there would be a dance at the hotel, while the Bishop got out +and, walking away from the rest, stood and looked and looked and +looked, till Job heard him intoning in a voice in keeping with the +grandeur of the scene, "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker +of heaven and earth."</p> + +<p>Job stayed behind as the stage rattled down the side of the mountain, +tethered Bess by a big cedar, lay in a grassy nook and looked down, +down, where the Merced abutted the base of El Capitan and tumbled down +the narrow cañon that leads from the valley far below to the plains. +All the reverence of his soul, all that was noble and lofty in him, +rose as he gazed upon the scene. The littlenesses, the meannesses of +the world, were left far behind. Like Moses of old, he was in the +cleft of the mountains and the glory of Jehovah lay stretched out +before him.</p> + +<p>It was toward sunset when he reached the floor of the valley and +walked Bess across the three bridges that span the branches of the +Bridal Veil Creek, saw the bow of promise in the misty spray that +seemed to ever hang in mid-air against the cliffs, galloped down the +Long Meadow, past the Valley Chapel, and pulled up at the Sentinel +House for the night.</p> + +<p>That night the silver gleam of the Yosemite itself looked in at his +window, as the new moon shone on its waters falling from the endless +heights above, and the ripple of those waters soothed him to sleep as +they rolled past his door, under the bridge and away down the valley.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>In a most romantic little spot just across the bridge near the Falls +of the Yosemite, and where the icy creek hides itself in bushes and +reappears under the bridge, stood an abandoned Indian wick-i-up, half +hid among the saplings. Here, throwing flap-jacks into the air with a +toss over a crackling camp-fire, singing merrily, Job found Jane the +next morning as he was roaming the valley in the early hours on Bess' +back. It was a genuine surprise. She was not expecting him, even if +she had dreamed of him all night. Her first impulse was to express +with childish glee her real delight, but her very joy made her +reserved. She restrained herself lest she should display her real +feelings. She was glad to see him, of course; her father was better, +and was off getting wood for the fire. Were the folks all well? Had he +seen Dan lately? (Which question cut Job deeper that he liked to +acknowledge.) Would she go up to Mirror Lake after breakfast? he +asked. Certainly, if father did not need her.</p> + +<p>So a little later, leaving Bess neighing behind in the camp, up the +long, dusty road Jane and Job rambled on, past the pasture and the +Royal Arches, on along the river bank, and, turning away to the left, +climbed on the rise of ground into that nook where the South Dome +seems almost to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> meet the Half Dome, and stood by the glassy waters of +Mirror Lake. In that early hour before the ripples had stirred the +surface, this lakelet at the foot of the Half Dome was worthy of all +its romantic fame. Nine times that morning Job and Jane saw the sun +rise over the rounded peak of the Half Dome, as they followed slowly +the shores of the lake from sun-kissed beach to shadow. Jane went into +ecstasies. Was it not beautiful! What a picture! The clear-cut rocky +mountain, its low edges fringed with trees, its top so bare, the blue +sky and passing clouds, that bright spot which rose so quickly far +back of the topmost turn of the Dome, all mirrored at their feet.</p> + +<p>Job's esthetic nature was stirred to its depths, and he echoed Jane's +adjectives. Before they reached camp she had yielded to his appeal for +another walk to-morrow, perhaps to Glacier Point and home by +moonlight.</p> + +<p>That night Job took his blankets from the hotel and stole over back of +the Reeds' camp, just beyond the Indian's "cache" on the gentle slope +of the open valley where the great wall of Eagle Peak rises four +thousand feet. Among a lot of boulders which look for all the world +like tents in the twilight, there, between two great pines, he lay +down to watch the moonlight fade from Glacier Point yonder across the +valley, and fell asleep at last to dream of the Berkshire Hills, the +winding Connecticut, and the scenes of childhood days.</p> + +<p>It must have been three o'clock—it was dark, very dark, though the +stars were shining brightly—when something awoke him. He roused to +find himself striking his nose on either side in a strange manner. +Fully awake, he discovered the cause. Two tribes of ants living on +opposite pine trees had completed a real estate bargain that night and +had decided to change homes. By some chance they found his face in +their pathway, but, perfectly fearless of the giant sleeping there, +had kept on their journey, passing each other on the bridge of his +nose. As he woke, the tramp of myriad feet crossed that feature, the +procession for the right marching over between his eyes; the +procession for the left, over the point. Silently, boldly, the mighty +host climbed his cheeks, surmounted the pass, and hurried down, till, +with many a desperate slap, Job at last sprang up, thoroughly awake. +Ants, ants, ants—millions of them! Ants in his shoes, ants running +off with his hat, ants in his pockets. It was an hour before the giant +had conquered the dwarfs and Job was asleep again, well out of the way +of any tree.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus065.jpg" width="600" height="490" alt="Mirror Lake, Yosemite." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Mirror Lake, Yosemite.</span> +</div> + +<p>The sun was shining in his eyes, the In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>dian's little black cur had +come up and was barking at him from a respectful distance, and from +behind a tree Job heard a girl's merry laugh, when he awoke the next +morning.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3>GLACIER POINT.</h3> + + +<p>Mountains, mountains, mountains! Piled up like Titanic boulders, +snow-capped and ice-bound, tumbling down from the far-off glassy sides +of Mt. Lyell and Mt. Dana to the edge of that stupendous chasm. +Gleaming glaciers, great ice rivers, eternal snow drifts, dark, bare, +rugged peaks for a background. For a foreground, all the beauty of the +valley far below you, three thousand feet or more, as, holding your +breath, you gaze straight down the dizzy height from the projecting +table rock. El Capitan on the left, the Yosemite Falls dancing down in +three great leaps opposite; the Half Dome and Cloud's Rest off to the +right, Vernal and Nevada Falls pouring their torrent over the cliffs +at your side, the Hetchy-Hetchy Valley, the rolling plateau that +stretches back to the perpetual snow and rising peaks behind you. All +language falters here. Tongue can never describe, only the soul feels, +the awfulness, the vastness, the sublimity, the stupendousness, the +wild grandeur of the scene. Such is Glacier Point.</p> + +<p>Here, speechless, overawed, and with the loftiest emotions sweeping +over their souls, Job Malden and Jane Reed stood alone amid a silence +broken only by the sighing of the trees back of them.</p> + +<p>It was toward sunset of a June afternoon. For hours they had been +climbing up the long, steep, winding trail that picks its way along +the side of the cliff from back of the Valley Chapel toward Sentinel +Peak, over the jutting point, and over the cliff's edge to this +wonderful spot. Weary and foot-sore, they had reached it, only to have +all thought of self overwhelmed and forgotten in that vision of +visions which burst upon their eyes and souls. How long they stood +there in utter silence they knew not. Time was lost in eternity. At +last the tears began to trickle down Jane's cheeks and she sobbed, "It +is grand, it is too grand! I have seen God! I cannot look any more!" +while Job stood entranced, forgetful of Jane, forgetful of self, +utterly absorbed in the consciousness of infinite power. Then he began +to repeat in a solemn voice that favorite Psalm of his: "I will lift +up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help +cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth."</p> + +<p>The saucy call of a squirrel in a tall pine near, the chill of the +evening air coming down from the ice-fields, brought them at last to a +consciousness of themselves. Withdrawing to a sheltered nook away from +the dizzy cliff, and so hid among the trees that all view was shut off +except that scene of dazzling beauty, the glitter of the setting sun +on the distant Lyell glacier, Job and Jane sat down for the first real +heart-to-heart talk they had ever known in their lives. They talked of +the years gone by; of the outward story that the world may read, of +the inner story that only the heart knows. Their theme was Christ, +their mutual Friend, who had been the cheer and strength of all those +years. Memory came and turned the pages of a lifetime that night. Jane +talked of childhood days, of her mother's grave and Blackberry Valley, +and of the old camp-meeting in Pete Wilkins' barn on that +never-to-be-forgotten Saturday night, when, lonely and heart-broken, +she had knelt on the hard floor at the bench and whispered, "Just as I +am, without one plea." Then her face brightened as she looked up and +said, "Oh, Job, He came, and I was so happy! And, somehow, home has +not been so lonely since then, and—I don't know; it may seem strange +to you, Job—Jesus is just as real to me as you are. He is with me all +the time; and, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> I am tired, he says, 'Come unto me, and I will +give you rest'; when father is so cross, and the tears just will come, +he whispers, 'Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be +afraid. My peace I give unto you.' And he does. It comes so sweetly, +and I feel so still, so rested! I know he is right beside me. Isn't it +grand, Job, to feel we are His and He will always love us, and that He +is so near us? It seems as if I heard His step now and He was standing +by us. I know He is. I like that hymn we sang Communion Sunday—'Fade, +fade, each earthly joy, Jesus is mine.'"</p> + +<p>A moment they sat in silence, while the sun transformed the far-off +glacier into a lake of glory, and then sank behind El Capitan for the +night. Then Job spoke. A long while he talked. The memories of +childhood; the sweet face that grew strangely white in the city of the +plains and left him; the early days at Pine Tree Ranch; the steps of a +downward life; that grand old camp-meeting and what it did for him—of +these he spoke, and yet did not cease. The years of youth and young +manhood, the bitter persecutions and temptations, the triumphs through +the personal presence and help of the Master, were his theme. For the +first time a human friend learned the real story of that awful night +in the second tunnel and the long, long day in the lonely Gulch. The +young man grew excited and stood up as he paid loving tribute to the +reality of religion in his life and the tender, most divine friendship +of Jesus Christ. Then he hesitated; but only for a moment. He told her +of his sins; of those days of doubt when he yielded to the tempter's +power and how near he came to losing his soul. He could not finish it, +but strode off alone. At last he came, and, sitting down, said:</p> + +<p>"Jane, all I am I owe to Jesus Christ. The story of his love, and what +he has been to me, is more wonderful than any story of fiction. 'More +wonderful it seems than all the golden fancies of all our golden +dreams.'"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 296px;"> +<img src="images/illus067.jpg" width="296" height="500" alt="View from Glacier Point." title="" /> +<span class="caption">View from Glacier Point.</span> +</div> + +<p>The twilight was deepening, the great mountains were fading away in +the distance, the evening star was just peering over the horizon as, +standing together by the iron rail that protects Table Rock—standing, +as it seemed, in the choir loft of the eternities, they sang +together—Job in his rich tenor, Jane in her sweet soprano:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All hail the power of Jesus' name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let angels prostrate fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring forth the royal diadem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And crown him Lord of all."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>As the moonlight stole down from the mountain summits to the edge of +the further<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> cliff and then plunged down to light the valley, Job and +Jane still sat and talked. Was it strange that somehow the hidden love +of long years would out that night, and, talking of life's holiest +experiences and secret longings and loftiest dreams, somehow, before +they knew it, they talked of love? Secrets locked in the heart's +deepest chambers found voice that night. The unuttered longings of the +years found language. Not as children prattle of sudden impulses, not +as Job had blushed and simpered once; but with the consciousness of +manhood and womanhood, and divinity within, they talked of how their +lives had grown together till, in all that is holy and best, they were +already one.</p> + +<p>At last they started down the trail. It was late. The moon had crossed +the sky dome of the valley and was hastening toward Eagle Peak. A +peace and silence that could be felt filled the world, and found a +deep response in their souls. They were going down from the Mount of +Transfiguration, one with God, one with each other. Love, pure and +holy, was master of their lives. A joy unspeakable filled their +hearts. The culmination of the years had come. With the forests and +mountains for witness, under the evening sky, with innumerable worlds +looking down, with the presence of Infinite Power all about them, Jane +Reed and Job Malden had, once for all, plighted their love to God and +each other.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE CANON TRAIL.</h3> + + +<p>It was just four days later, the day before the Fourth, that Job, +mounted on Bess, rode up to Camp Comfort, as Jane called the little +spot where she kept house in the open air for her father, listening to +the roar of the Yosemite Falls back of her, and prepared their humble +meals over the camp-fire. Job was going home; the old man would +expect him on the Fourth, and that keen sense of duty which was ever +stronger than his longing to linger near Jane, impelled him to go. He +had come to say good-by. Old Tom Reed, sick and selfish, had been +blind to the new light in Jane's eyes and did not know the secret +which the birds and trees and sky had learned and seemed never to +cease whispering about to Jane. He did not like Job. That pride of +poverty which hates success put a gulf between him and this noble +young fellow, who looked so manly as he rode up on Bess. Tom Reed +liked Dan and thought, of course, that matters were settled between +him and his black-eyed daughter. He felt to-day like telling this +young aristocrat from the Pine Tree Ranch that it would be agreeable +to both himself and Jane if he would seek other company. Only physical +weakness kept him from following as Jane walked away by Job's side +patting Bess' neck. She would see him to the end of the valley, she +said; she did not mind the walk. Well, if she would—and what did Job +want better than that?—she must mount Bess and let him walk. How +pretty she looked on Bess' black back, with her shining hair and +flashing eyes and ruddy cheeks! Never had she looked handsomer to Job. +Close at her side he kept as Bess slowly walked down across the river +bridge, past the Sentinel House, and on close to the Bridal Veil +Falls.</p> + +<p>As the rainbow in the spray, with its iridescent colors, laughed at +them through the trees, Job thought of the gala day coming, when he +should claim this noble girl for his bride, and an honest pride filled +his heart. At the foot of Inspiration Point they tarried for a full +hour, it was so hard to say good-by. How he hated to take Bess from +her! At last a sudden thought came to him. She should keep Bess in the +valley till the autumn days came and Jane could return home. He would +go back over the Merced Cañon trail, only twenty-six miles to his +home; he had often wanted to try it and cross the river on Ward's +cable. He could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> not go that way on horseback, and he would leave +Bess. He would like to think of Jane and her as together. The girl +protested, but she felt a secret joy. It would be next to having him. +So she did not dismount, but through her tears saw Job vanish down the +cañon, along the Rapids, towards the old, almost forgotten trail that +leads for twenty miles by the river's roaring torrent, to where the +South Fork joins the North Fork.</p> + +<p>A sudden impulse seized her. She turned Bess' head toward the toll +road and began to climb the steep three miles to Inspiration Point. +Then she hunted for the Cliff Trail that leads away from the road out +along the great left precipice of the cañon. She knew there must be +some opening in the forest over there. She remembered it from the +valley below, the day she had gone down by the Rapids. She would find +it and catch one last glimpse of Job on the trail. She would wave to +him, and perhaps he would see her. She had Bess, and it would not take +long to return; father would not miss her.</p> + +<p>Just as she turned into the trail a campers' wagon climbed the hill +back of her and passed on over the road, but she did not notice it, +she was so absorbed in her own thoughts. She must hurry. Would Job see +her? Anyway she would surely see him—she would dismount and creep out +to where nothing could hide her view.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>Far below Job was already on his march homeward. With a swinging gait, +and a determined will that said he must do it, though all the love in +his heart said no, Job started off through the trees and on down the +cañon trail. His eyes were misty and a lump was in his throat, as he +caught one last glimpse of Jane. On he hurried. He was off now, and +the sooner he got home the better. By rapid walking and some hard +climbing he would reach Indian Bill's old cabin, ten miles down the +river, by night.</p> + +<p>He had just resolved on this, leaped over a creek stealing down far +behind El Capitan, got full in sight of the roaring rapids, when he +heard a step behind him and looked up to see Indian Bill himself +coming. The old trapper was a well-known character in the mountains. +His great brown feet looking out beneath torn blue overalls, his +dark-skinned chest wrapped in a blanket of many colors, his long +straight hair falling from beneath a well-worn sombrero, formed a +familiar sight all over those mountains. Those feet had tramped every +mountain pass and rugged trail and had climbed every lofty peak for a +hundred miles about the Yosemite.</p> + +<p>His approach was a glad surprise to Job. He could wish no better +companion over that lonely trail which led along the precipitous sides +of the cañon, with straight walls towering above it and steep descents +reaching below to the Merced's angry waters, which dash for twenty +miles over gigantic boulders with a fury unrivaled by Niagara itself.</p> + +<p>Soon Indian Bill was driving away Job's gloom as, in his queer +dialect, he told one of his trapper stories while the two swung on at +regular gait, close upon each other's heels. Over the steep grades, +through the deep, shaded ravines, and along the bare cliffs on that +narrow trail, they went. They had gone a mile down the stream, when +Job noticed something moving, high on the opposite cliff. He called +his companion's attention to it, and the keen-eyed Indian said it was +a horseman mounted on a black steed. Job thought of Jane, but at once +said to himself that it could not be she—she was back at Camp Comfort +by this time. A little later, Bill said the horse was now riderless +and standing by a tree, and that a bit of something white was moving +on the face of the cliff.</p> + +<p>Just then they heard a terrible roar, and both forgot all else in the +queer sensation that seized them. All the world seemed to sway before +Job's eyes. The mountains below, where the river bends, seemed a thing +of life. His feet slipped on the narrow edge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> of a steep cliff he was +crossing, the gravel beneath gave way, and Job found himself lying at +the foot of a steep incline, while a whole fusillade of stones was +flying past him. A moment, and it was over, and the Indian said:</p> + +<p>"Ugh! Heap big earthquake! Great Spirit mad! Come."</p> + +<p>But Job could not easily come. His foot was doubled up under him and +sharp pains were darting through it. Indian Bill sprang to his +assistance, fairly carried him up the steep side of the precipice, +from whence, fortunately for him, he had fallen on soft earth, and put +him on his feet on the trail. Oh, that long walk over the jutting +points, down among the boulders, and up again on places of the trail +that seemed suspended between earth and sky! Every step brought a +groan to Job's lips. He grew feverish and thirsty. Bill parted a bunch +of almost tropical ferns which grew against the rocks, and led Job in +to a place where, through the stone roof of a dark cañon, the ice-cold +water trickled down drop by drop. It was well toward dusk when Job +dropped exhausted on the trail, and the hardy Indian slung him over +his shoulder, bore him up a narrow cañon that entered the main gorge +on the right, and laid him down on his own blankets in the little +wick-i-up made of twisted limbs and twigs that he called home. Soon +the crackling fire warmed the water, the sprained foot was bandaged, +and Job was asleep.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>It was a strange scene on which Job opened his eyes the next morning. +He was lying on a bed of cedar boughs, wrapped in an old gray blanket, +and with one of many colors under him. A roof of gray and green was +over him, the forest's foliage woven into a tent. Through the parted +branches he could see the brown-skinned Indian bending over a ruddy +fire from whence the savory odor of frying trout stole in. Through an +avenue of green down the narrow cañon, he could see the morning sun +shining on the waters of the Merced which tumbled over the great +rocks. He tried to rise, but a sharp pain shot through his foot. Far +away he heard the call of a bird, and out by the fire the weird +strains of a monotonous folk-song rose in the air. Job closed his eyes +and sent up a morning prayer. In it he tried to pray for Jane, but +somehow could not. She was safe, he knew; probably at the fire, too, +in the beautiful valley from whence those rushing waters came.</p> + +<p>The trout breakfast was over—Bill knew where to get the beauties, +and, after he had got them, knew how to cook them—when Job learned +from the old trapper that he was to be his guest for a week; that not +before then would he be able to continue the journey home, and that +Bill would do his best to care for him till the sprained foot was well +again. At first he rebelled. He must get home, he said; Andrew Malden +was expecting him. But the Indian only grunted and sat in silence, as +Job tried to walk and fell back upon the blankets with the realization +that Bill was right.</p> + +<p>All day the Indian pottered about in silence, fixing his traps and +guns, and weaving a pair of moccasins for winter's use, while Job lay +half asleep, half awake, living over again the glories of the week +just closing. Toward evening the old Indian came in and sat by his +guest and began to talk. Far into the night hours, while the camp-fire +flashed and crackled without, he kept up his stories, till Job, +intensely interested, forgot his pains and his dreams. In quaint +English, shorn of all unnecessary words, Bill talked on.</p> + +<p>First he told bear stories, finishing each thrilling passage with a +significant "Ugh!" The one that roused Job most and held him +transfixed was of once when he suddenly met, coming out of the forest, +a giant grizzly, which rose on his monster hind feet and advanced for +the death embrace. "Me fire gun heap quick, kill him all dead, he +fall, hit Bill, arm all torn, blood come, me sick. Ugh!" And turning +back his blanket, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> showed Job the scars from the grizzly's dying +blow.</p> + +<p>Then he told tales of adventure. Of scaling the Half Dome by means of +the iron pegs some daring climber had left there, and how finally, +reaching the summit and lying flat, he peered over and saw himself +mirrored in the lake below. He told of a wild ride down the icy slope +of the Lyell Glacier; of a night, storm-bound, in the Hetchy-Hetchy, +where he slept under the shelter of a limb drooping beneath the snow, +with a group of frightened mountain birds for bedfellows. He told of +beautiful parks far amid the solitude of the high Sierras, great +mountain meadows where shy deer grazed, of crystal lakes that lay +embowered in many a hidden mountain spot, of Mount Ritter's grandeur +and the dizzy heights of Mount Whitney, till Job's head reeled, and he +fell asleep that night dreaming of standing on the jagged, topmost +summit of a lofty peak, with all the mountains going round and round +below him, till he grew dizzy and fell and fell—and found himself +wide awake, listening to the hoot of a distant owl and the breathing +of his tawny host stretched out under the sky by the dying embers of +the camp-fire.</p> + +<p>During the next two days Job was much alone. Bill came and went on +many a secret, stealthy errand to where he knew the largest, most +toothsome mountain trout had their home. Busy with his own thoughts, +Job lay and dreamed the long hours away.</p> + +<p>"Make Bill feel bad. Want hear it? Ugh! Me tell it; me there. No +brave; little boy. Bad day, bad day!"</p> + +<p>It was the fourth day and Job was trying to persuade Bill to tell him +about the dreadful massacre of the Yosemite in the years gone by. The +fitful firelight played about the solemn face which showed never a +quiver as that night Bill told the story which made Job's blood run +cold.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 373px;"> +<img src="images/illus071.jpg" width="373" height="500" alt="Sentinel Rock." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Sentinel Rock.</span> +</div> + +<p>It was in the long-gone years when the miners first came into the +mountains. Living quietly in the beautiful valley to which they had +given their name, his tribe dwelt. Wild children of nature, they had +for many a century had the freedom of those hills. Far and wide on +many a hunting expedition they had roamed, and none had said nay. But +the pale-face, the greedy pale-face, came and stole the forests and +creeks <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>yonder. Twice, enraged at their depredations, the Indians had +sallied forth from their homes and rent the hills about Gold City with +their war-cries, then retreated to the mountain fastnesses of which +the pale-face knew nothing. Once more they had gone on the war-path, +and started back, to find the whites at their heels. To the very edge +of the cliffs they had been followed, and their refuge was no longer a +secret—the world had heard the story of the giant's chasm in the +Sierras.</p> + +<p>When they had gone up on the great meadows back of Yosemite Falls and +El Capitan to live, there came a great temptation. The Mono Lake +Indians, far over the pass, had stolen a lot of fine horses from the +miners of Nevada. They hated the Mono Lake Indians. They watched their +chance, and, while they were off on a great hunting trip, the +Yosemites stole over the crest of the Sierras and brought a hundred +head of horses back with them. Then the aged Indian went on without a +tremor. He told how, one summer day, he was playing with the other +boys around a great tree, when he heard the wild war-whoop of the +Monos; he saw them coming in their war-paint, mounted on mad, rushing +horses; heard the whirr of arrows about him; ran and hid in a cleft of +the great rocky cliff, out of sight but not of seeing; saw his mother +scalped and thrust back into the burning tepee and his father pushed +headlong over the cliff; heard the death-cries of the Yosemites; saw +the meadow bathed in blood; saw the end of the Yosemites; and crept +down with a few survivors late that night to the valley and escaped to +the whites. "'Bloody meadow,' white man call it. Him good name. Wish +Mono come now—I kill! I kill!" and, with dramatic gesture that almost +startled Job, the old man waved his arms and was silent.</p> + +<p>Somehow after that the conversation drifted to religion. Bill talked +of the Great Spirit, Job talked of God. The old story of the +Incarnation—how this Great One came down to live among men and love +us all—Job told as best he could, till the hard heart of the child +of nature was touched, and he wanted to know if Job thought He loved +poor Indian Bill. It was very late, when Job came back to the awful +massacre, and tried to show Bill that the manly thing was not to cry, +"I kill, I kill," but "I forgive."</p> + +<p>The old man listened in silence. He walked out under the stars, then +came back and sat down by Job's side and said, "Bill heap bad. Bill +hate Mono Indian." Again and again he paced back and forth.</p> + +<p>Job was almost asleep, weary with watching the heart-struggles of the +wronged old man, when at last he came and said, "Boy, ask Great Spirit +forgive Bill. Bill forgive Mono Indian." And there, at midnight, the +love that transfigured Hebrew Peter, German Luther, English Wesley, +that had changed Job Malden, transformed Indian Bill.</p> + +<p>It was fully two weeks after the old trapper had borne him into his +humble tent that one afternoon Job walked off, strong and brave, to +finish his journey home. Bill saw him down to the river, where you +swing across on a board hung on a cable, helped pull the return ropes +that carry the novel car across, shouted as Job clambered up the other +bank, "Bill heap glad! Love Mono! Love Job! Good-by!" and was off out +of sight through the woods as swift and lithe as a deer, bound on +another of his hunting trips far back of El Capitan.</p> + +<p>Job saw him vanish; and, turning with a light heart and a merry song, +climbed the ridge that separates the North Fork from the South Fork, +fairly ran down past the old tunnels of the Cove Mine, skipped over +the iron bridge, and began the steady climb of six miles home.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus072.jpg" width="400" height="160" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h3>"GETHSEMANE."</h3> + + +<p>It was evening and Tony was carrying the milk from the barn to the +milk-house, when Job tripped down the trail from Lookout Point, and +Shot and Carlo ran barking to meet him. A sort of momentary +consciousness that Bess was not there came to him, then something that +sounded like her neigh reached his ears. A shout to Tony—who in his +surprise dropped the milk pail and vanished—a bound, and Job was on +the veranda. He pushed open the door, and stood face to face with +Andrew Malden.</p> + +<p>The old man's face was white and deeply furrowed. He looked ten years +older than when Job had seen him last, and the young man felt a sharp +pang of remorse to think he had left him. Then he remembered Jane and +knew he would not have missed the trip for all the world.</p> + +<p>At sight of him Andrew Malden's face grew still whiter, he started +back as if shot, and fell in a faint on the couch. Job was appalled +and greatly mystified, as he dashed water into the wrinkled, haggard +face.</p> + +<p>At last the old man's eyes opened and he whispered hoarsely, "Oh, Job! +Job! how could you? Once I could have believed it, but I cannot now! +Oh, Job, tell me! tell me all! I'll stand by you, though you did +it—you're my boy still! Oh, Job, it is awful, awful! But I knew you +would come! Oh, Job! oh, Job!" he moaned.</p> + +<p>Did what? "Awful"? "Come"? Of course he had come. It was an accident, +Job explained; he did not mean to stay away.</p> + +<p>"An accident? Oh, yes, I told them so, Job; but they won't believe it. +They are coming to take my boy and—oh, I can't stand it! I won't +stand it!" and Andrew Malden tottered to and fro across the room.</p> + +<p>Was the old man insane? Had something dreadful happened? Job stood, +his face growing paler, his heart sinking with an undefined fear. Then +he caught the words, "Jane—dead—you!"—words that made every nerve +quiver, and tortured him till he sank on his knees and begged to know +the worst.</p> + +<p>Oh, the awful story! It burned into the depths of his soul. Now it +seemed like a dream, now dreadful reality. Jane was dead. Somebody had +found her lifeless and still on the rocks below the cliff just around +from Inspiration Point, and Bess had come home riderless. All the +country was wild with excitement. Everybody was searching for him. He +had done it, they said. Tom Reed had seen him go away with her, and +knew there was a quarrel on hand. Dan was telling that Jane had +promised to marry him, and that Job had followed her to the valley to +make her break the engagement or kill her. All the evidence was +against Job. They had buried her from the old church, buried her in +the cemetery on the hill, outside of whose gate his father lay. Yes, +Jane was dead!</p> + +<p>Job listened and listened—all else fell unheeded on his ear. Jane was +dead, his Jane, and lay beneath the pines far down the Gold City road! +It was all he heard—it was all he knew. He did not stop to explain; +he heard Bess neigh again, and rushed out into the shadowy night, and +mounted her with only a bridle. He heeded not the old man's cries. His +brain was on fire, his soul in agony. Only one thing he knew—Jane was +dead and he must go to her; go as fast as Bess could fly down that +road which many a dark night she had traveled.</p> + +<p>Men standing on the steps of the Miners' Home that evening said a dark +ghost went by like a flash—it was too swift for a flesh-and-blood +horse and rider—and they crept in by the bar and drank to quiet their +fears.</p> + +<p>He found it at last. The fresh earth, the uplifted pine cross with the +one word "Jane" on it, told the story. He left Bess to roam among the +white stones and the grass, flung himself across that mound, half hid +by withered flowers, and lay as if dead—dead as she who slept +beneath. At last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> the sobs came; the tears mingled with the flowers; +the heart of manhood was bleeding. Jane was dead! How had it happened? +Who had done this awful thing? God or man, it mattered little to him. +The dreadful fact that burned itself deeper and deeper into his soul +was—Jane was dead!</p> + +<p>Oh, that awful night! The stars forgot to shine; the trees moaned over +his head; the lightnings played on yonder mountains. The thunders +rolled, and he heeded them not; the rain-drops pattered now and then +on the branches above, but he never knew it.</p> + +<p>Gethsemane! Once it had seemed a strange, far-away place where the +heart broke and the cup was drunk to its bitter dregs. Job had +wondered what it meant. He knew now. It was here on the slopes of the +Sierras. These pines were the gnarled olive trees, this was the garden +of grief. Gethsemane—it had come into the life of Job Malden.</p> + +<p>At length the first great storm of grief had spent itself, and he sat +alone in the silence broken only by the far-off mutter of thunder; sat +alone with his dead and his thoughts. Again, as on far Glacier Point, +memory came and turned the pages of a lifetime. He was back in the old +boyhood days, laughing at her dusty, tanned feet—he would kneel to +kiss them now, if he could; again he was climbing Sugar Pine trail +with her; he was following her and Dan out on that bitter winter +night, maddened with jealousy and drink. Still the pages turned. He +was kneeling by her side at the Communion table, and a voice said, "As +oft as ye drink of this cup"—he was drinking of it now—the cup the +Master drank in the garden's gloom. Then the sobs overcame him. Again +he was still. The storm had spent its fury, the moon was struggling +through the rifted clouds. He remembered Glacier Point and that +immortal night, and he felt as if she was here and God was here, and +he knelt and prayed, "Thy will, not mine, be done," and the angels of +peace and rest came and ministered unto him.</p> + +<p>From sheer exhaustion he finally slept. It was but the passing of a +moment, and he was awake again. There in the moonlight he read, +"Jane." Could he bear it? He could see her now saying good-by. Oh, it +was forever, forever! Then, like a flash it came—forever? No; only a +little span of life, and, at the gates of pearl, he would see her +waiting to welcome him. She was there now, up where the stars were +shining and the moon had parted the clouds. Her frail body was here +perhaps—but Jane, his Jane, who that night at Glacier Point had said +she loved him—she was there. He would be brave; he would be true to +God; he would lean on the Master's arm. Jesus was left—he was with +him here in the lonely graveyard, and Jane was his still for all +eternity.</p> + +<p>The young man looked up from the dark earth to the clear sky, and +prayed a prayer of hope and trust and submission. Near the hour of +dawn he walked out to the gate where Bess stood waiting. He mounted +her—dear Bess! who alone knew the story of the awful tragedy. He +patted her neck; he whispered his sorrow in her ear. And then a +strange, wild thought came to him. He would not go back—he would go +away to the great, outside world, never to see the mountains again. +How could he ever climb Sugar Pine Hill, or go past the old +school-house, or enter the old church? He would go where no gleam from +sun-kissed El Capitan could reach his eye, where no associations that +would remind of a life forever past could haunt his soul.</p> + +<p>Then he remembered something—it seemed like a nightmare. They had +said he did it—how, when, why, he knew not. If he went away they +would think he was afraid to face them, they would believe him guilty, +and the old man would be broken-hearted. Job had forgotten him—he had +forgotten all but his awful sorrow. What of it? Go anyway, his heart +said. Go away from this world that has been full of trial after trial +for you. No matter what men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> think. God knows—God can take care of +the old man.</p> + +<p>There on Bess' back Job sat, while the bitter conflict within went on.</p> + +<p>It was over at last. He turned Bess' steps toward Pine Mountain and +home. He would face it all—the world's scorn, the old scenes which +seemed each one to pierce anew his heart. He had been down to +Gethsemane; he would climb Calvary.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h3>VIA DOLOROSA.</h3> + + +<p>"I tell you he'll come! Don't say that about my boy! It was an +accident—he said so—I heard him! He can explain it all. He saw it! +He'll come!" were the words Job heard Andrew Malden saying as he rode +up to Pine Tree Ranch in the dim light of early morning. The sheriff +and his deputy had come for Job; and, maddened to find him gone, were +cursing the old man and the one they sought.</p> + +<p>Andrew Malden, quivering with excitement, tortured by a thousand +fears, wondering if he would come, was defending as best he could the +young man whom he loved, in this awful hour, more than ever before.</p> + +<p>Job was close beside them before they saw him. Hitching Bess, he +walked up to the door, saluted the sheriff, and calmly asked:</p> + +<p>"Were you looking for me?"</p> + +<p>The sight of that pale, manly face for a moment stilled the bluster of +the rough officer of the law, and he almost apologized as he told Job +he was under the painful necessity of taking him to the county jail to +answer to the charge of homicide—the murder of a girl named Jane +Reed. Job winced under the sting of the words. For a moment he felt +like striking the man a blow for mentioning that sacred name; then he +bit his lip, sent up a silent prayer, and said:</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir; I will mount my horse and follow you. I know the way +well."</p> + +<p>In a flash the burly sheriff whipped the hand-cuffs upon his wrists, +and said:</p> + +<p>"Ride! Well, I guess not! You'll play none of your games on me! You +will ride between me and my deputy, Mr. Dean!" And then Job discovered +for the first time that Marshall Dean was eying him with a malicious +grin of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>In a moment, seated in the buckboard between the two men, with only +time for a good-by to Bess, a shake of the old man's hand, and never a +moment to explain that the accident he had mentioned had befallen +himself, not Jane, Job Malden rode down over the Pine Tree road, +handcuffed, on his way to the county jail at Gold City.</p> + +<p>Past the Miners' Home and the Palace Hotel they drove at last. Bitter +faces glared into the prisoner's, friends of other days met him with +silence, and here and there a voice cried, "Lynch him!" Up past the +old church where he and Jane had gone and come together; up to the +door of the quaint white court house with square tower and green +blinds they drove, and Job passed through the rear door, and into the +narrow, dark dungeon, with only, high up, a little iron-barred window +to let in light and air—a prisoner of Grizzly county, to answer for +the killing of Jane Reed.</p> + +<p>Only when he heard the sound of the bolt in the door, heard the crowd +outside cheering the sheriff for his bravery in capturing the outlaw, +and, seated on the narrow cot, looked around the cheerless cell with +no other furniture, did a sense of what it all meant rush over him. +Then the hot tears came, his head sank between his hands, and he felt +that he had taken the first step up Calvary. Like a far-off murmur +there came to him the words he had said in his heart on that long-ago +Communion Sunday:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where He leads me I will follow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> I'll go with Him all the way."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> +<p>All the way? Ah, he was beginning to know what that meant! Then there +came that other verse—how it soothed his troubled heart!</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He will give me grace and glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And go with me all the way."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Just then the sun stole in at the little cell window, and the +perpendicular and horizontal bars made the shadow of a cross on the +floor, all surrounded by a flood of light. A great peace came into Job +Malden's heart, as the Master whispered, "I will never leave thee nor +forsake thee."</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>All Gold City was stirred to its depths. Nothing had happened in forty +years to so move the hearts of men. Business was forgotten, groups of +men met and talked long on the street corners, the mining camp was +deserted. There was but one theme—the tragedy of Inspiration Point. +Up at the Yellow Jacket a great shadow rested over office, church and +the miners' shanties. On the lowest levels of the mines, grimy men +looked into each other's faces and talked in an undertone of the awful +fear which they would not have the rocks and the secret places of the +earth know; that "the parson" was in a murderer's cell, and the storm +clouds were gathering fast about him, and the worst was, he was +guilty—it must be so!</p> + +<p>The superintendent drove his team on a run to the court house, and +offered any amount of bail. This was refused, and he was denied even a +look at Job. Up at the ranch, Andrew Malden neither ate nor slept. A +terrible nightmare hung over him. His boy was innocent, of course he +was. But oh, it was awful! The saloons were crowded, and a furtive +chuckle passed around the bars. He was caged now, the one they hated, +and the evil element were in high glee. O'Donnell and Dan Dean, Col. +Dick and the sheriff, were the center of crowds who hung on their +words, as they told the story of the crime over and over with a new +force and new aspect that showed the utter hypocrisy, treachery and +sin of Job.</p> + +<p>The church was crowded. The preacher could not believe Job guilty, but +he dared not say so. Tom Reed, wild with grief, pleaded with men to +break open the jail and let him slay the murderer, slay him and avenge +his Jane—his black-eyed, great-hearted Jane. The city reporters were +busy, and the papers glowed with accounts and photographs of "the +awful wretch who was safely held behind the bars of the Gold City +jail." So the storm surged to and fro, so the days passed, to that +dark ninth of August when the trial was to begin.</p> + +<p>Of all the throng of men in the mountains in those days, he alone who +sat in the silence of a dungeon in the old court house, was unmoved +and at peace. Through the long hours he sat recalling memories of past +years, living again the scenes of yesterday, which seemed to belong to +another world and another life now gone forever. From his pocket he +drew again and again the little Testament still fragrant with a +mother's dying kiss, and felt himself as much a homeless, motherless +boy as upon that long-ago night when he first saw Gold City and fell +asleep on the "Palace" doorsteps. He read it over and over. It was of +Gethsemane, the Last Supper and Calvary he read most. He knew now what +they meant. Then he turned to the words, "What shall separate us from +the love of God?" and the consciousness that God was left, that Jesus +was his, was like a mighty arm bearing him up.</p> + +<p>They asked him for his defense. He said he had none, except the fact +that he knew nothing about the deed. They scorned that, and asked whom +he wished for a lawyer. He had no choice—cared for none. The judge +sent him a young infidel attorney, the sheriff refused him the +privilege of seeing anyone, the iron gate was double-barred, and +closer and closer the web of evidence was drawn about him ready for +the day of the trial.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<p>He asked for Andrew Malden, but was refused. He begged them to send +for Indian Bill; they made a pretense of doing so, but the trapper was +far from human reach, far up in the wilderness beyond El Capitan. All +Job could do was to pray and wait, little caring what the outcome +might be, little caring what might be the verdict of the world of Gold +City; knowing only two things—that Jane was dead and life could never +be the same to him; and that the God who looked down in tender +compassion on his child shut in between those dark stone walls, knew +all about it. Job had read how one like unto an angel walked in the +furnace of old with God's saints; he felt, now, that the Christ came +and sat by his side in those lonely prison hours.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>It was Monday, the ninth of August. The sun's rays beat down on the +dusty streets of Gold City and glared from the white walls of the +court house. At ten o'clock the trial would commence—the great trial +of "The State vs. Job Teale Malden." The streets were thronged with +vehicles; it was like one of the old-time Sunday picnics, only saint +as well as sinner was here. The Yellow Jacket had closed down by +common consent of all, and hundreds of workingmen were pouring into +town in stages and buckboards, on horseback and on foot. The old court +house was packed to its utmost capacity; the gallery and stairs were +one mass of writhing humanity. Outside, they stood like a great +encampment, stretching away, filling the whole square. Still they came +from Mormon Bar and Wawona—the greatest throng in the history of +Grizzly county; men, women, and children in arms—all to see Job +Malden tried for his life.</p> + +<p>Through this crowd, Andrew Malden, leaning on his cane, passed in at +the great door by Tony's side. The crowd was silent as he passed. Some +muttered under their breath; some lifted their hats. That worn, gaunt +face startled them all. It was through this same crowd that Tom Reed, +with darkened brow, and Dan Dean, limping on his crutches, passed in +together.</p> + +<p>The clock in the tower struck ten. Job in his cell heard it above the +din of innumerable feet passing over his head; heard it and knelt in +an earnest prayer for grace to bear whatever might come; to suffer and +be still as his Master did of old. He had gone all over it again and +again; they knew his story of the walk down the cañon trail with +Indian Bill, but even the lawyer doubted it. If they knew of Glacier +Point and the betrothal, they might believe him. Should he tell it? +All night he had paced the cell wondering if he ought—if he could. As +he knelt in that hour, he resolved that, though it would save his +life, no human ear should ever hear that sacred secret. That hour on +Glacier Point should be unveiled to no human eye, but remain locked in +the chambers of his soul, known only to God and her who waited yonder +for his coming.</p> + +<p>It was near noon when the judge ascended the bench. The hubbub of +voices ceased, the case was called, the rear door opened, and, led in +by the sheriff, handcuffed and guarded, with calm, white face, yet +never faltering in step or look, Job Malden walked across the floor to +the prisoner's seat, while the crowd gazed in curiosity, that soon +changed to awe and reverence, at that grave face, so deeply marked +with scars of grief.</p> + +<p>It was a strange scene that met Job's gaze. All the familiar faces +were there—Aunty Perkins and Tim's father; Dean and O'Donnell glaring +at him; poor old Andrew Malden leaning on his cane; Tony and Hans and +Tom Reed and—oh, no! Jane was not there, but gone forever from Gold +City and its strange, hard life. A tear stole down the prisoner's +cheek—he wiped it away. His enemies saw it and winked. Tim's father +saw it and moaned aloud. The clock struck twelve in the high tower, +and proceedings began.</p> + +<p>It was two days before the trial was well under way. The quibbling of +the lawyers, the choosing of a jury, the hearing of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> witnesses who +had found the wounded, silent form of Jane Reed on the rocks beneath +the famous Point, filled the hours. Morning after morning, the scenes +of that first day were repeated in the court room; the great crowds, +the intense excitement, the friends and enemies intently listening to +every word and watching every movement of the prisoner. And calm and +still, with never a sign of fear or shame on his face, Job Malden sat +in that court room hour after hour, and One unseen stood at his side.</p> + +<p>On the third day the prosecution began to weave its web of +circumstantial evidence about Job. How shrewd it was! How carefully +each suspicious incident was told and retold! How meanly everything +bad in his life was emphasized, everything good forgotten! They +brought the tales of long-ago years when he was a mere boy. They +proved that the passionate blood of a gambler was in his veins; that +his father before him had shot a companion. The story of the +horse-race and escapades of the reckless days of old were rehearsed by +hosts of witnesses. It was proved, by an intricate line of +cross-questions, that once before, on a bitter winter's night, young +Malden had pursued this girl and Dan Dean with the avowed intention of +harming them. The hot blood came to Job's face—he well remembered +that night. Then he seemed to hear the distant voice of Indian Bill +saying by the roaring Merced, "Bill forgive Mono Indian;" and, sitting +there with this tale pouring into the ears of the throng who looked +more and more askance at him, Job said deep in his soul, "Forgive us +our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Father, I +forgive, I forgive!"</p> + +<p>Closer and closer they drew the web. They made Andrew Malden—poor old +man!—confess that he had heard Job say, "It was an accident," then +showed that he had denied knowing aught of Jane's death until he +reached home. Then Tom Reed took the stand. He testified that all +Jane's preference was for Dan; that she went to him when he and Job +were both so ill; that she wrote to Dan and never wrote to Job. The +old man fairly shook with rage as on the witness-stand he took every +chance to denounce the "hypocrite and 'ristocrat." Minutely he +pictured Job's coming to the valley, the heated arguments he was sure +the two had had, and how upon that awful day when Jane left him +forever, she had walked away by the side of Job Malden.</p> + +<p>Daniel Dean was the next witness. The crowd hung breathless on his +words. Stumping up on his crutches, Dan took the chance of a lifetime +to vent his hatred of Job. Keen, shrewd, too wise to speak out +plainly, but wise enough to know the blighting influence of +suggestion, Dan talked, insinuated and lied till the nails were driven +one by one into poor Job's heart and the pain was almost more than he +could bear. Insidiously, indirectly, he gave them all to understand +that Jane Reed loved him and again and again by her actions had shown +preference for himself. Then down the aisle he passed, while the crowd +looked at him in pity, and Job felt as if he must rise and tell of the +night at Glacier Point, must vindicate the memory of Jane Reed. But +no! God knew all. Some things are too sacred to tell to any ear but +his. He must suffer and be still.</p> + +<p>When Job went back to his lonely cell that night a boy was whistling +on the street, "I'll go with Him all the way," and Job Malden took up +the words and said them with a meaning he had never known before.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h3>"CALVARY."</h3> + + +<p>On the fourth day the court called for the defense. Curiosity reached +its culmination. Men fought for a chance to get within hearing +distance. Dan and his comrades sat with an indolent air of +satisfaction. Aunty Perkins crowded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> close to the front. Through the +door and up to the very railing which enclosed the active +participants, Andrew Malden and Tony made their way. There were only +four possible points for the defense. First, it might prove Job's +changed character; second, that it was Job, not Dan, to whom Jane Reed +was betrothed; third, that Job was far away in the Merced Cañon with +Indian Bill at the time of the death; fourth, to show by what cause +death came to the fated girl.</p> + +<p>The last, the defense could not prove; for the third, they had no +evidence but the prisoner's own word, and that the court would not +accept; the second, not even the lawyer or Andrew Malden knew, and no +power on earth could make Job Malden tell it; there was no defense to +make except to show the character of Job and plead the fact that +circumstantial evidence was not proof of guilt.</p> + +<p>He did his best, that bungling young attorney. He tried to take +advantage of technicalities, but Job utterly forbade that. If +righteousness and God could not clear him, nothing else could. The +defense was lame, but it proved that some people believed in Job and +loved him. Tim's father told, between his tears, the story of "Tim's +praist." Aunty Perkins and the preacher spoke ringing words for him. +From the Yellow Jacket men came and defended his noble life. But it +all went for naught with that jury. It was facts, not sentiment, they +wanted. All this might be true, but if Job Malden had done the awful +deed which the evidence went to show, then these things only made his +crime the blacker.</p> + +<p>The defense finished at noon, and the lawyers began their pleas at one +o'clock. They hardly needed to speak—Grizzly county had tried the +case and the verdict was in. Yet they spoke. How eloquently the +prosecuting attorney showed the influence of heredity—that the evil +in the father would show itself some day in the boy! How he pictured +the temporary religious change in Job's life, and then his relapse as +the old fever came back into his blood! He had relapsed before, they +all knew. He did not doubt his temporary goodness; but love is +stronger than fear and hatred than integrity, and meeting Jane in the +valley had roused all the old passion. Out on the cliff they had +walked, they had quarreled, all the old fire of his father had come +back—perhaps the boy was not to blame—and, standing there alone with +the girl who would not promise to be his wife, in his rage he had +struck her, and over the cliff she had gone, down, down, on the cruel +rocks, to her death, and he had fled over the mountains till, goaded +by conscience, haunted by awful guilt, he had come home and given +himself up.</p> + +<p>The crowd shuddered as he spoke. Tom Reed fainted, Andrew Malden grew +deathly white and raised his wan hand in protest, but still the +speaker kept on. Job listened as if it were of another he spoke. He +could see it all—how awful it was!—and it was Jane and he had done +it! He almost believed he had; that man who stood there, carrying the +whole throng with him, made it so clear. The voice ceased. Then Job +roused himself. The consciousness that it was all false, terribly +false, came over him, and he leaned hard on God.</p> + +<p>The attorney for the defense said but a word. For a moment it thrilled +the multitude. It was a strange speech. This is what he said: "Your +honor and gentlemen of the jury, the only defense I have is the +character of the young man. I can say nothing more than you have heard +to show how far beneath him is such a crime as this. I know you doubt +his word, I know you are against him; but, before these people who +know me as an infidel—before God who looks down and knows the hearts +of men—I want to say that I believe in Job Malden. What I have seen +of him in these awful days has changed my whole life. Henceforth I +believe in God."</p> + +<p>It was over. The judge was charging the jury, "Bring in a verdict +consistent with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> the facts, gentlemen; the facts, not sentiment." The +sun was setting. The jury retired for the night; they would bring in a +verdict in the morning.</p> + +<p>But the verdict was in. Even Andrew Malden groaned as he leaned on +Tony's arm, "Oh, Tony! Tony! How could he have done it!" As Job turned +to go back to his cell, he looked over that great crowd for one face +that trusted him, but on each seemed written, "Guilty!" He felt as if +the whole world had turned from him and the years had gone for naught. +There was no voice to whisper a loving word. "Forsaken! forsaken!" He +said it over and over. His head was hot, his pulse was feverish. He +longed for the touch of his mother's hand; he was hungry for the sound +of Jane's voice; he longed to lay his head on Andrew Malden's knee; +but he was alone—Calvary was here. The crucifixion hour had come.</p> + +<p>At midnight he awoke. A strong arm seemed to hold him, a voice to say, +"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; when thou +walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned." It was the +Christ. There alone on the summit of the mount of the cross, amid the +bitterness of the world, pierced to the heart, crucified in soul, Job +Malden stood with his Master.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h3>THE VERDICT.</h3> + + +<p>It was Friday morning. The last day of the trial had come. The hot sun +beat down on hundreds pressing their way towards the old court house, +too excited to be weary. Never had Gold City known such a day. The +court room was crowded two hours before the judge came to the bench. A +profound silence filled the place. When Job entered one could have +felt the stillness. All knew the verdict—all dreaded to hear it. Dan +Dean shrank down behind the post when the jury filed in. Job sat with +a far-away look in his eyes. Men, gazing at him, were reminded of +pictures of the old saints.</p> + +<p>The preliminaries were over, and the foreman of the jury rose to give +the verdict. Men held their breath. Women grew pale and trembled. In a +clear voice he said it: "Guilty!" For a moment the hush lasted; then +Andrew Malden fainted, Tim's father cried, "My God! My God!" a storm +of tears swept over the throng, and Job sat motionless, while a look +of great peace came into his face and in his soul he murmured, "It is +finished!"</p> + +<p>But the judge was speaking. He was denying the motion for a new trial; +he was asking if the prisoner had aught to say why sentence should not +be pronounced against him, when a voice that startled all rang through +the great room:</p> + +<p>"White man, hear! Bill talk!"</p> + +<p>There he stood—from whence he came no one knew—his old gray blanket +wrapped about him, his long black hair falling in a mass over his +shoulders, the blue overalls still hanging about his great brown feet. +With hand outstretched, he stood for a moment in silence, while judge +and jury and throng were at his command.</p> + +<p>Then he spoke; brief, to the point, fiery, strong. The crowd was +spellbound. He carried bench and jury and all with him. He told of the +day in Merced Cañon; of the figure on the distant cliff; of the +earthquake and Job's fall; how he had seen what he dared not tell the +boy—the cliff give way, a white thing go down, down, out of sight. +Told of Job's many hours in his tepee, and of how the boy had brought +him to the Great Spirit, who took the hate all out of his heart. On he +talked, till Job's every statement was corroborated, till a revulsion +of feeling swept over the multitude, till they saw it all vividly: +that it was the earthquake—it was God, not man, who had called Jane +Reed from this world; that the prisoner was as innocent as the baby +yonder prattling in its mother's arms.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dan slunk out of the door, Tom Reed sat in silent awe, Tim's father +was in tears, Tony shouted, "Bress de Lawd!" And only Job said never a +word, as the judge, disregarding all precedent, dismissed the case. +The great trial of "The State vs. Job Malden" was ended.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>IN JANUARY AND MAY TIME.</h3> + + +<p>The leaves on the mountain maples turned early that fall. The touch of +bitter frost brought forth their rarest colors. The snowflakes +fluttered down before November was past; fluttered down and softly +covered the furrows and brown earth with a mantle of white.</p> + +<p>So the days of that autumn came to Job Malden. The beauty begotten of +pain crept into his face. The mantle of silence and peace hid deep the +scars of grief. He never talked of the past—no man ever dared broach +it. The children at their play in the twilight stopped and huddled +close as they saw a dark form climb the graveyard hill, and wondered +who it could be. Yet he did not live apart from the world. Never had +Gold City seen more of him; never did children love a playmate so much +as he who took them all into his heart. Yet he was not of them—all +felt it, all saw it. He was with them, not of them. Up higher in soul +he had climbed than the world of Gold City could go. He came down to +them often, and unconsciously they poured their sorrows at his feet, +and he comforted them; but when he went back into the secret holy +place of his soul, no man dared follow.</p> + +<p>Up at the old ranch, the gray-haired, feeble owner sat by the fire +watching the crackling logs and the flames; sat and thought of the +years that were gone. Visions of childhood mingled with visions of +heaven; the murmur of voices long silent with the words, as Job read +them aloud: "In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare +a place for you." Tony still sang at his chores, Hans was still at the +barn, Bess still neighed in the stable, Shot still barked at the door. +But the old home could never be quite the same to the brave, manly +fellow who strode in and out across its threshold.</p> + +<p>It was New Year's Eve. Job sat by the old stone fireplace. The +household had gone to rest. The clock was ticking away the moments of +the dying year. Outside, the world was still and white. With head in +his hands, Job waited for the year to end.</p> + +<p>He was ten years older than when it had begun. He was still a boy then +in heart and years; now he was well on in manhood. Yosemite, Glacier +Point, Gethsemane, Calvary, Jane Reed's grave, were in that year. He +longed to hear its death-knell. Yet that year—how much it had meant +to his soul! The sanctifying influence of sorrow had softened and +purified his life. The abiding Christ was with him; he lived, and yet +not he—it was Christ living in him.</p> + +<p>He knelt and thanked Him for it all—heights of glory, depths of +tribulation; thanked Him for whatsoever Infinite Love had given in the +days of that dark, dark year now ending. The clock gave a warning +tick—it was going; a moment, and it would be gone forever. Into his +heart came a great purpose—the purpose to leave the past with the +past, and in the new year go out to a new life—a life of love for all +the world, of service for all hearts. Over his soul came a great joy.</p> + +<p>The clock struck twelve. Somebody down the hill fired a gun, the dogs +barked a welcome—the new year had come. The school-house bell was +ringing, and to Job it seemed to say:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ring out the old, ring in the new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Ring in the Christ that is to be."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The young man rose from his knees. He went and opened the door. The +white world flooded with silvery light lay before him. The past was +gone. He stood with his face<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> to the future, to the years unscarred +and waiting. Into them he would go to live for others. He closed the +doors, brushed back the embers, and crept softly up to his room, +singing in a low voice the first song for many months:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, the good we all may do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> While the days are going by."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>All day the drums had been beating. All day the tramp of martial feet +had been heard along the Gold City streets. The soldiers from Camp +Sheridan had marched in line with the local militia, and a few +trembling veterans who knew more of real war than either. "Old Glory" +on the court house had been at half-mast, the children had scattered +flowers on a few flag-marked graves, while faltering voices of age +read the Grand Army Ritual. The public exercises in the town square +were over.</p> + +<p>The sun had set on Decoration Day when Job rode Bess up once more to +the old graveyard where Jane lay. Not often did he come here now—he +felt that she was up among the stars; it was only the shroud of clay +that lay under the sod—yet on this day when love scatters garlands +over its dead, he had come to place a wreath of wild-flowers on her +grave.</p> + +<p>He thought of that night when he had first visited this spot. How far +in the past it seemed! He could never forget it, but he could think of +it now in quiet of soul, and feel, "He doeth all things well." +Reverently he laid the wreath on the grave, knelt in silent prayer, +and tarried a moment with bowed head. Memories sweet and tender, +memories sad and bitter, came back to him.</p> + +<p>Just then he heard a noise, a foot-fall opposite, and looked up to see +a tall form supported by a crutch standing with bowed head.</p> + +<p>"Why, Dan!" Job said, startled for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Job!" answered a trembling voice.</p> + +<p>And there they stood, those two men whose lives met in the one under +the sod; stood and looked in silence.</p> + +<p>At last Dan spoke. But how different his voice sounded! All the +scornfulness had gone out of it.</p> + +<p>"Job," he said, "Job, I knew you were here. Many a night I have seen +you come, have watched you kneeling here, and hated you for it—yet +loved you for it. I knew you would come again to-night. I came to +stand beneath that old pine yonder, and watched you lay the wreath on +the grave. I could stand it no longer. I have come, Job—I have +come—" and Dan, yes, Dan Dean, faltered!—"come to be forgiven. For +years I have dogged your footsteps, hated you, persecuted you, lain in +wait to ruin you. For this alone I have lived. God only knows—you +don't—how bad I have been. But, Job, you are too much for me. The +more I harm you, the nobler you grow. I have hated religion, but +to-night I would give all I ever hope to own to have a little like +yours. If religion can do for a fellow what it has for you, there is +nothing in the world like it."</p> + +<p>A little nearer he came, as Job, hardly believing his ears, listened.</p> + +<p>"Job," he cried, "I don't deserve it, God knows! I have wronged you +beyond all hope of mercy. But I must be forgiven, or I must die. You +must forgive me. I cannot live another day with this awful feeling in +my heart. I cannot sleep—I cannot work. I don't care whether I die or +not, but I cannot go into eternity without knowing that you forgive +me!"</p> + +<p>At last the tears came, and Dan sank, crutch in hand, beside Jane's +grave.</p> + +<p>Job could not speak. For a moment, only the sound of a strong man's +sobs and the hoot of an owl filled the air, then a passionate cry +burst from Dan's lips:</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Job, tell me, is it possible for you to forgive?"</p> + +<p>For a moment Job faltered. He could see Trapper Bill pace the tepee +and say, "Bill forgive Mono Indian;" he could hear the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> Master saying, +"After this manner pray ye, Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive +those who trespass against us;" and, kneeling and putting his arm +about the quivering form, he whispered:</p> + +<p>"Dan, I forgive!"</p> + +<p>Long hours they stayed there, praying and talking, till Dan, grown +quiet as a child, looked up with a strange, new expression, and said:</p> + +<p>"You forgive and God forgives! Oh, Job, this is more than I ever hoped +for! I can hardly stand it!"</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>It was Children's Day when Daniel Dean was received into the Gold City +church. No one knew what was coming. Job rode down from the ranch with +the secret hid in his heart. It was a lovely June Sunday. The roses +were blossoming over the cottages, and the birds sang as if wild with +joy. The mountains were covered with green, the valleys were robed in +flowers, and golden plains stretched below.</p> + +<p>Old friends were greeting each other, and familiar forms passing in at +the church door, as Job led Andy Malden, leaning on his cane, to the +family pew. The church was a bower of flowers, the songs of birds rang +out from gayly bedecked cages, and the patter of children's feet was +heard in the aisle.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful service. Music of voice and organ filled the air, +wee tots tripped up to the platform and down again, saying in +frightened voices little "pieces" that made mothers proud and big men +listen. The pastor brought forth a number of candles, large and +small, wax and common tallow, and put them on the pulpit, where he lit +them one by one, showing how one, lit by the flame of the largest, +could pass along and light the others; how one life lit by the fire of +Jesus' love could light all the hearts around it. And from smallest +bright-eyed boy to gray-haired Andrew Malden, all knew what he meant +by the transforming power of a transformed life. It was then that song +and service had its living illustration.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus083.jpg" width="600" height="491" alt="From Glacier Point, Yosemite." title="" /> +<span class="caption">From Glacier Point, Yosemite.</span> +</div> + +<p>It was just as the preacher finished his sermon and asked if any had +children to be baptized, that Job arose and said there was one present +who had come as a little child to Christ, and who wished to come as a +little child into the church, and he would present him for baptism if +he might.</p> + +<p>The preacher gave willing consent, and the wondering congregation +waited. Job rose and passed to the rear. Every head was turned. Then +he came back, and on his arm, neatly dressed in a plain black suit, +came poor, crippled Dan Dean.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>The people who saw that scene can never agree on just what happened +then. A resurrection from the dead could scarcely have surprised them +more. It is said that they rose en masse and stood in silence as the +pair passed down the aisle. Then someone started up, "There's a +wideness in God's mercy like the wideness of the sea," and the whole +church rang.</p> + +<p>Some say that Dan told of his conversion and his faith in Jesus; some, +that Job told it; some, the preacher. The preacher's tears, it is +said, mingled with the baptismal waters, and the noonday sun kissed +them into gold, on that famous Sunday when Daniel Dean was baptized +and received as a little child into the Gold City church.</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h3>SUNSET.</h3> + + +<p>One evening soon after that memorable Sunday, Job reached home rather +late. Putting Bess in the stall, he said a tender good-night, crossed +the square to the gate, and went up to the house to find it strangely +still. He pushed the door ajar and saw the old man leaning on his cane +in his arm-chair. His white locks were gilded by the setting sun. His +spectacles lay across the open Bible on the chair at his side. Job +spoke, but there was no answer. Stepping over to see if the old man +was asleep, he found he was indeed sleeping—the sleep that knows no +waking.</p> + +<p>Just at sunset, as the long summer day was dying, reading that +precious Psalm, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," the weary +traveler on life's long journey had finished his course and gone to +the rest that remaineth for the children of God. Beside him, he had +laid the Book; he would need it no more—he had gone to see the Savior +"face to face." He had taken off his spectacles—the eyes that had +needed them here would not need them in that world to which he had +gone. On his staff he leaned, In the old farmhouse, the home of many +years, and gently as a little child falls asleep in its mother's arms, +he had leaned on God and gone to the better Home.</p> + +<p>A feeling of utter loneliness came over Job. The last strong tie was +broken. That night he walked over the old place in the dim light, and +felt that heaven was coming to be more like home than earth.</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>"Waal, the old man's gone," Marshall Dean said, as he drew his chair +back from the table. "Mighty long wait we've had, Sally, but now we'll +get ready to move."</p> + +<p>"Move!" cried his wife, "move! Marshall Dean, where is your common +sense? Don't you know the whole thing will go to that man that's no +kith nor kin of his, while we poor relations has to sit and starve!"</p> + +<p>"Mother," said a voice, "I think Job Malden has a better right to the +place than we. He's been a better relation to the old man than all the +Deans together, if I do say it." It was Dan who spoke.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the way! Bring up a son, and hear him talk back to his +mother!—that's the way it goes! Ever since ye got religion down there +at that gal's grave, ye've been a regular crank!"</p> + +<p>The hot words stung, but Dan remained silent.</p> + +<p>"I don't care, ma," said little Tom, "I think Job's nice, and if he's +boss I'm going up there every day."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and he'll kick ye out, or do the way he did with Dan at the +Yellow Jacket—set a parcel of soldiers on to ye, just as if ye was a +dog!" sharply retorted Mrs. Dean.</p> + +<p>Dan could keep silent no longer. "Mother, what right have you to talk +that way? I deserved all I got at the Yellow Jacket. And I shall never +forget that when my leg was hurt and the surgeon took it off, Job came +in and nursed me. No better man ever walked the earth than Job +Malden,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> and not one of the Dean family is worth mentioning in the +same breath."</p> + +<hr style="tb" /> + +<p>The mother cut her bread in frowning silence, the father took his hat +and left the room, while little Ross said:</p> + +<p>"Job brought me a lot of the prettiest flowers once when I was sick! I +wish he owned all the flowers, he's so good to me!"</p> + +<p>Just then Baby Jim climbed into his mother's lap and said, "What's +'dead,' mamma? Where's Uncle Andy gone? Is you goin' there?" And the +peevish, selfish woman took the child in her arms and went out on the +sunny porch, wondering if indeed she was ever going there; whether +this something which, after all, she knew had so changed Dan for the +better, was for her.</p> + +<p>Down at Squire Perkins' that night, a Chinese woman, kneeling by her +kitchen chair, prayed that riches might not conquer Job Malden, who by +the grace of God had stood so many of life's tests.</p> + +<p>On the streets of Gold City they debated over the estate, wondering if +Andrew Malden had left anything for public charity, and whether the +new lord of Pine Tree Mountain would rebuild the mill and open the +Cove Mine. Pioneers of the hills met each other by the way and talked +of how fast changes were coming in Grizzly county—Yankee Sam gone, +Father Reynolds gone, and now Andy Malden. They shook their heads and +wondered what would become of things, with none but the youngsters +left.</p> + +<p>Up at the ranch, Tony crept softly across the floor and, himself +unseen, looked in where Job sat by the still form of "old Marse."</p> + +<p>It was over at last. Under the pines, close by his own boy and Jane, +they laid him. It was a strange funeral. Tony, Hans, Tim's father and +Sing bore the casket. A great throng was there. The man whom Grizzly +county had once hated was buried amid its tears. Job stood with bared +head as the preacher said, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," and turned +quickly away, feeling that the old days were gone forever.</p> + +<p>It seemed very strange that night to hear Tony say, "Marse Malden, +what's de work yo' hab for me?" He walked through the old house and +then went out again. The soul of the place was gone.</p> + +<p>Job wondered what the outside world looked like; what God had in store +for him. He longed to leave the dead past behind him, and be out in +the world of action and mighty purpose. But he was in the memory-world +still; and as he slept that night, there came the friends of other +days—his blue-eyed mother, Yankee Sam, black-eyed Jane, wan-faced +Tim, the old man; across his dreams they came and went.</p> + +<p>Last of all One came, the seamless robe enfolding Him, the dust +covering His scarred feet, the print of thorns on His brow, and He +whispered:</p> + +<p>"Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world."</p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h3>"AUF WIEDERSEHEN."</h3> + + +<p>It was two days after the funeral. Sing had set things to rights in +the old parlor; Tony brought in a bunch of flowers; and Job, leaving +Bess saddled by the fence, came in and went up to his little room. +They were coming to hear the will read. They would be here soon, the +lawyer and the relatives and the preacher—for it was announced that +the old man had left a snug sum to the church. Sing and Tony and Hans, +arrayed in their best, waited for those who were coming.</p> + +<p>At last they came—the preacher on horseback, in his long coat; +Marshall Dean and his wife, in their best attire, followed by the nine +young Deans of all ages. And back of all was Dan, in his neat black +suit, looking paler and more frail than ever. Into the prim little +parlor they all filed, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> sat down awkwardly in a line around the +room. The preacher remarked upon the weather, Mr. Dean said it was an +uncommon warm summer, Mrs. Dean sent Tommy to get her a newspaper to +use as a fan.</p> + +<p>Just then a horse and cart drove up, and all looked out. It was Aunty +Perkins. Why she had come, she knew not, except that Job had sent for +her. She trotted in, and, with a little curtsey, said, "How do? Hot in +sun. All well?" Next came Tim's father, in a new brown suit and a red +tie that matched his hair. Last of all, Tom Reed looked in sheepishly, +and seated himself outside the door. All sat in embarrassed silence, +which grew painful as the moments went on. Where was the lawyer, and +where was Job?</p> + +<p>Finally they came—the attorney through the gate and up the path at a +brisk pace. Then, dressed in a neat black suit, with black tie and +black hat in hand, and looking for all the world as he had years +before when he came in on the stage, only older grown, Job came down +the stairs and, with a kind welcome, seated himself near the door.</p> + +<p>The lawyer adjusted his spectacles and broke the seal of the document +in his hand. Hans and Sing and Tony stood in the open door, a +picturesque group in the afternoon sunlight. The lawyer rose, looked +about, and cleared his throat. The anxious spectators leaned over, +breathless. It had come at last! Only a second between them and some +substantial remembrance from Andrew Malden.</p> + +<p>The will was in the usual form, but it was brief. Slowly, almost +haltingly, he read, so that the words fell clearly on each ear. This +is what they heard:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"In the name of God, Amen. I, Andrew Malden, a native of +Massachusetts, a resident of Grizzly county, State of +California, being in clear mind and usual health, do hereby +make my last will and testament. I hereby bequeath all my +property, real and personal, those lands and buildings and +appurtenances thereof situated in the county of Grizzly, all +bonds and moneys deposited in the Gold City Bank, to Job Teale, +who for many years has lived under my roof and been a son to +me. All things that by the grace of God I own, I bequeath to +him and his heirs and assigns forever.<br /> + +<span class="right">(Signed) <span class="smcap">Andrew Malden</span>."</span> +</p></div> + +<p>A stillness almost oppressive filled the room as the last word fell +from the lawyer's lips, as the name of the last witness was read.</p> + +<p>It was what they had expected—what in all justice was right—but not +what they had hoped. All together they rose to go. The preacher was +saying, "Mr. Malden, we hope the Lord will bless these riches to your +good," Dan was looking as if impressed with the extreme justice of +things, when Job arose and motioned them into silence. There he stood +in the center, stood and looked into each face.</p> + +<p>"Wait, Mr. Lawyer," he said. "I have a word before you go. Neighbors, +friends, I have something to say. Fifteen years ago, the man whose +last will we have heard to-day carried me, a helpless orphan, across +the threshold of yonder door. From that night until now, I have called +this home. Fifteen years! What changes they have brought! Dan and I +were little boys; now we are men. The joys and sorrows of human life +have come to me in these years. This old home has been dear to me; I +love every nook and corner of it. These well-worn boards are holy +ground. Here Andrew Malden lived; by that lounge he became a changed +man; from that old rocker he went home to God. By yonder gate I first +met her whom you all knew and loved; to this home, torn and crushed by +life's troubles, I have fled like a child at dusk to its mother's +arms, and in these rooms God has comforted and strengthened my heart. +I love you all. Not always have we seen alike; you have not always +loved me; but, some day, we shall know as we are known; some day we +shall see face to face.</p> + +<p>"I love these old mountains. I came to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> them a boy; they have made a +man of me. I have roamed their forests and climbed their cliffs. Every +spot has precious memories. Yes, neighbors, I love the old hills, I +love the old home; but to-night I am going far away from them. +To-night, before the sun sets, I shall leave the old scenes forever. +Here, lawyer, are some papers. Read them when I am gone. This is my +will.</p> + +<p>"Parson, you will build a new church with the money, and somewhere in +it remember the ones who are gone. Tony, Hans, Reed, there is +something for all of you. Dan, the old place is yours; keep it till I +come. All I shall take is Bess and my mother's Testament.</p> + +<p>"Farewell, Dan. Farewell, neighbors. God bless you, Tony; and, when +you pray, don't forget me;" and, striding across the room, Job Malden +was gone.</p> + +<p>By the gate he tarried a moment, put his arms round Shot's shaggy neck +and kissed him, sprang on Bess' back, gave one last look at Pine Tree +Ranch, and was off.</p> + +<p>There, in a silent, awed group, they stood in the door-yard and +watched him go through the pasture gate. Across the hills, the sunset +and the twilight fell on forest and fields and hearts.</p> + +<p>That night, men say, a dark shadow stole out of the graveyard at +midnight and galloped away. Far below in the Coyote Valley, where the +road to the plains goes down from the hill, some one said that—lying +awake near the window, in the stillness which comes towards +morning—he heard the sound of horse's hoofs going by, and rider and +horse swept on far down the road.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus087.jpg" width="400" height="437" alt="FINIS" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="Illustration_decoration" id="Illustration_decoration"></a> +<img src="images/illus088a.jpg" width="400" height="74" alt="(decoration)" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><span class="smcap">Epilogue.</span></h2> + +<p>On Pine Tree mountain the old house still stands, its windows hidden +beneath vines. Back and forth by the barns Tony slowly moves. By the +gate an old dog lies waiting. On the porch a frail cripple sits in the +twilight and looks down the road. But the one they wait for will never +come. Across the years of busy action and world-wide service he treads +the path that leads to "palms of victory, crowns of glory." In the joy +of service he is finding the peace which the world cannot give nor +take away. In self-forgetfulness he is growing daily into His +likeness, until he shall at last awake in His image, satisfied.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus088b.jpg" width="400" height="68" alt="(decoration)" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr class="chapter" /> +<h2><a name="THE_TAKING_IN_OF_MARTHA_MATILDA" id="THE_TAKING_IN_OF_MARTHA_MATILDA"></a>THE TAKING IN OF MARTHA MATILDA.</h2> + +<h3>BY BELLE KELLOGG TOWNE.</h3> + + +<p>She stood at the end of the high bridge and looked over it to where +her father was making his way along the river-bank by a path leading +to the smelter. Then she glanced up another path branching at her feet +from the road crossing the bridge and which climbed the mountain until +it reached a little adobe cottage, then stopped. She seemed undecided, +but the sweet tones of a church bell striking quickly on the clear +April air caused her to turn her face in the direction from whence the +sound came.</p> + +<p>It was Martha Matilda, "Graham's girl," who stood thus, with the wind +from the snow-caps blowing down fresh upon her, tossing to and fro the +slim feather in her worn hat, and making its way under the lapels of +her unbuttoned jacket—Martha Matilda Graham, aged ten, with a wistful +face that might have been sweet and dimpled had not care and +loneliness robbed it of its rightful possessions. Further back there +had been a mother who called the child "Mattie." But now there was +only "father," and with him it was straight "Martha Matilda," spoken a +little brusquely, but never unkindly. Oh, yes, up in the cottage, +certain days, was Jerusha, who did the heavy work and then went home +nights; with Jerusha it was plain "Mat." Then there was Miss Mary down +at the school which Martha Matilda had attended at the time when +loving mother-fingers "fixed her up like other girls," and Miss Mary, +when speaking to the child "running wild upon the mountain side," +always said "dear." But Martha Matilda had dropped out of the +day-school and out of the Sunday-school. Somehow she had grown tired +of trying to keep shoe-strings from breaking, and aprons from being +torn, and if she was just home with Towser, such things did not +matter; as to her going to school, her father did not seem to care. +"Guess there's no hurry 'bout filling so small a head," he would +sometimes say when Jerusha pleaded for school with Martha's eyes +assenting.</p> + +<p>So now, Martha Matilda stood listening to the chiming of the Easter +bells and seemed undecided as to her next move.</p> + +<p>"I know Miss Mary's lily is there, and it's got five blossoms on this +year; she told father so down at the store. And such a lot of +evergreen as the girls did take in yesterday!" Her face was still +turned in the direction of the church on the outskirts of the scraggly +mountain town, and whose spire pricked through the dark green piñons +surrounding it. "I ain't fixed—I ain't never fixed now." And she +glanced down along her unbuttoned jacket, over the faded delaine +dress, to her shoes tied with strings held together by countless +knots. "It seems awful lonesome to be home on Easter."</p> + +<p>She pulled out some brown woolen gloves from the pocket of her jacket, +and drew them on slowly. Her fingers crowded out through numerous +holes, but she pushed them back, pulling the ends of the gloves +further up, and drawing down the sleeves of the jacket in an attempt +to leave as small a part of the woolen gloves in sight as possible. +"Father wouldn't care—he never cares." She buttoned her jacket +hastily, settled her brown hat a little straighter, ran fleetly along +the road leading toward the church, and breathlessly climbed the rude<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +steps, together with a half-dozen other girls, just as the bell threw +down its last sweet tone.</p> + +<p>Some of the girls going up the church steps nodded good-humoredly to +Martha Matilda, but others pushed by too eager to notice. Martha did +not follow the girls far up the aisle of the church, but dropped down +into an empty pew near the door. How spicy and nice it did smell! She +reached up so that she might see the prettily-decorated altar over the +heads of the ones filling the church. Yes, there was Miss Mary's lily +with its five blossoms right on the stand by the pulpit. How beautiful +it looked, showing above the evergreens covering the altar-rail! And +there were Mrs. James' geraniums, a whole row of them—no one but Mrs. +James ever had geraniums worth much. And there were two little spruce +trees, one at each end of the altar-rail, with their cones all on. +Hadn't the girls worked, though! But the boys had helped. Lutty +Williams had told Martha Matilda all about it Saturday evening, going +home from the meat market, and then had awakened the first desire in +Martha to go "just for Easter" to the school she had dropped out of.</p> + +<p>Martha drew a long breath and was just falling back into an easier +posture after her extended survey, when a hand touched her shoulder. +"I thought, dear, you would want to see the lilies;" and there was +Miss Mary, as tall and sweet as a lily herself, with a brown straw hat +wreathed with cowslips, and a blue serge dress, neat and +close-fitting. "You can see better up with us;" and she drew the hand +with the brown woolen glove up close under her arm.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Miss Mary, I can't! I ain't fixed! I can see here." And the +little girl pulled herself back as far as Miss Mary's hold upon her +allowed.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! The idea of your staying down here alone!"</p> + +<p>There was such sweet insistence in Miss Mary's voice that Martha stood +on her feet and allowed herself to be drawn out into the aisle. But +though for a few steps she followed with evident reluctance, a latent +dignity caused her to free her hand and walk the remainder of the way +as though of her own accord. A cluster of girls were watching for Miss +Mary's coming in a square pew near the front.</p> + +<p>"We've saved a place for you right here in the middle," said the girl +nearest the aisle, as their teacher came to them. And then they +shifted this way and that, so that "the place" was widened to take in +Martha Matilda as well.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't the church look nice, now we have it all fixed!" asked one of +the girls, as she nestled up close to Martha, reaching over her to +speak lovingly to the teacher.</p> + +<p>How cozy Martha felt, sitting there right in the heart of it all! How +pretty the lilies were, up near! And to think that her mamma had given +the first little bulb to Miss Mary!—Miss Mary had told her so one day +at school.</p> + +<p>But as Martha was reveling in the sights over which her eyes roamed, +and feeling the sweet comfort of being nestled close, a girl at the +further end of the pew broke a sturdy bit of rose geranium she held +into two pieces and, reaching over, laid one half on the brown woolen +gloves.</p> + +<p>Looking up, Martha met a smile and a nod from the giver. Thus +prompted, a lesson leaf was next laid upon the geranium branch by a +second girl, and a smile from another pair of eyes met Martha's. After +a little whispering and nodding between two girls near the aisle, one +of their open singing books was laid on the lesson leaf. "That's the +opening song; you'll get it after the first verse—you always do," was +whispered, and, with a nod, the giver settled back in her place, and +the one at her side passed her book along so as to make it serve for +two.</p> + +<p>Oh, how nice it was! And Martha drew a long breath. Then seeing that +the holes in her gloves showed, she tucked them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> further under the +singing book. This called to mind the broken shoe-strings, and she +moved her feet back out of sight. But even unmended gloves and untidy +shoes could not mar Martha Matilda's sweet feeling of comfort—poor +little Martha Matilda, longing so to be taken in somewhere, but hardly +knowing where or how!</p> + +<p>As it was Easter morning, the service was given to the children, who +had the center of the church reserved for them. The superintendent was +seated by the side of the minister, and it was he who gave out the +opening song. Martha found that after the first verse she could "catch +it" very easily, and this joining in the service made her feel all the +more one of them. The prayer that followed was a different prayer from +any that Martha had ever listened to, so low and sweet and confiding +were the words spoken, like friend talking with friend. The second +song Martha joined in at once, it being one she knew, and so forgetful +of self did she sing that more than one of the girls nodded to her +appreciatively, and even Miss Mary looked down and smiled.</p> + +<p>After this, there were songs and recitations by the scholars, some of +them Miss Mary's own class, and in these Martha took great pride. +Later, the older ones from the primary class graduated into the main +room, and after a few words from the superintendent, each was +presented with a diploma tied with blue ribbon, and a red Bible. How +happy the children looked as they went down, not to their old places, +but to seats reserved for them among the main-school scholars!</p> + +<p>The services closed by a short sermon to the children from the +minister—at least he called it a sermon, but to Martha it seemed just +a tender little talk from a big brother who loved his little brothers +and sisters so that he could not keep his love from showing, and who +loved the dear Jesus more than he loved them. Martha had never been +talked to like this. She sat forgetful of everything, even the woolen +gloves, and at times the minister turned her way and it seemed as +though he looked straight into her heart. Occasionally he touched the +lilies at his side, showing how one may grow like a lily, expanding to +take in Jesus' love as the lilies do the sunshine.</p> + +<p>Martha went home as though treading on air. She held the rather wilted +spray of rose geranium, and the lesson leaf, and with them was one of +Miss Mary's calla lilies, broken off clear down to the ground—"the +loveliest of the whole five," the girls said; and Miss Mary had smiled +so lovingly when giving it! And then the minister had come up and, +laying his hand on Martha's shoulder, had said, "It seems to me this +is the little girl who helped me preach to-day by paying such good +attention." Then Miss Mary spoke her name, and the minister said, "You +must come again, my dear." Oh, it was all like a beautiful dream, only +nicer!</p> + +<p>Reaching the little home up where the path terminated, Martha opened +the unlocked door and passed in. The sunshine made a warm mat on the +floor, and the cat was curled contentedly upon it. Martha took a +yellow and red vase down from the clock-shelf and, filling it with +water, put her lily and geranium branch into it, and placed it on the +table covered by a red table cloth, and partly set for dinner. The +effect was not quite as pleasing as she expected, but perhaps the rose +geranium would lose its droopy look after a while.</p> + +<p>Before taking off her hat, she opened the dampers of the stove, tilted +the cover above the chicken simmering in its gravy and pulled the +kettle further back, then opened the oven door to find it just right +for the potatoes Jerusha had in waiting. All this done, she removed +her hat and hung her jacket on a nail. As she did so, she caught a +glimpse of herself in the little glass over the bureau. It was not +pleasing to her. How grimy her face looked, compared with the other +girls'! And their dresses had lace<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> around the neck, or broad collars, +or something.</p> + +<p>Martha whirled around and, lifting the hand basin from its hook by the +sink, she poured some warm water from the tea-kettle into it, carried +it carefully to the sink, loosened her dress and set about giving her +face and neck and hands a thorough scrubbing. This done, she drew a +long breath. "Guess that fixes that!" she said. Then she took off the +bit of soiled ribbon confining her braids, and taking down a comb from +the comb-case near, dipped it into water and drew it carefully through +her hair, after which she divided it into six strands and, giving each +a little twirl, stood for a moment by the radiating stove. Presto! Six +ropy curls danced up and down as their owner moved to and fro across +the room, and as the sunshine fell over them their beauty lifted the +little girl from out her plain surroundings.</p> + +<p>She laughed as, brushing the short hair up around her face, and +dampening it before the glass, little ringlets nodded around the +forehead, modifying its squareness.</p> + +<p>"It's 'most too fixed-up to wear that way every day. But Lutty +Williams fusses with a hot iron to get hers so."</p> + +<p>Then, a new idea striking her, she opened the bureau drawer and took +out a white apron with sleeves and long strings. It was a trifle +difficult to get on, and still more so to button, but at last this was +done, and the strings made into a very respectable bow at the back. +Smoothing it carefully down in front, Martha was disappointed to see +that it did not reach nearly so far over the brown delaine dress as +she had expected. She took no thought of Jerusha's having let out a +tuck in her dress since the apron was last worn.</p> + +<p>Martha's gaze now reached to her shoes. She turned to the clock, and, +taking out a pair of shoe-strings, sat down by the stove and, removing +her shoes, threw the bits of broken strings into the fire and threaded +in the new lacings, tying them snugly. Lutty Williams' shoes were +black as well as her lacings!—again there was a feeling of +disappointment.</p> + +<p>But the dinner needed her attention, so she turned to finish setting +the table, which Jerusha had arranged in part, before going home. A +second time a thought seemed to strike her, and now she reached to the +top drawer of the bureau and drew forth a white table-cloth. Carefully +she placed the vase on the window-sill, and, taking off the dishes and +putting them back in the cupboard, removed the red table-cloth, folded +it and placed that, too, in the cupboard. Jerusha did not think much +of white tablecloths, but it was Easter, and Easter, the minister had +said, should show loving touches throughout the home, just as Jesus +left his loving touch through the world.</p> + +<p>With great care Martha draped the table with the white linen, and +replaced the lily. How beautiful it looked now in its new +surroundings!—too beautiful for the hacked white dishes Jerusha used. +So a chair was placed in front of the green cupboard, and with +precision in every movement the "sprigged" dishes were gotten down.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if only it could be that way all the time!" Martha Matilda +sighed, standing beside her carefully-arranged table with shining +eyes. But the potatoes were brown and puffy, and the hand of the clock +reached to just half-past one. She gave a glance around the room, +grabbed her hat, and was off; it was time for her to meet her father +at the bridge, as she always met him Sundays, when dinner was ready. +No matter how much John Graham might enjoy lolling in the sun by the +smelter door with "the boys," he never forgot the time when the brown +hat was to be met down by the bridge. "A little close," was often said +of John Graham. "A trifle sharp in getting the best of a bargain, but +to be depended upon every time."</p> + +<p>Martha saw her father's faded felt hat bobbing up over the further +abutment, and she flew across the bridge. "Oh, I am so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> glad to see +you!" she said, catching hold of one of his big hands and covering it +with both of her small ones, as she danced along beside him.</p> + +<p>"One'd 'most think I'd been to Ingy," said the man in what would have +seemed a gruff voice to some. Then he glanced at the little figure by +his side, and said in just the same every-day tone, out of which he +was seldom drawn, "Might'ly fixed up, seems to me."</p> + +<p>"It's Easter, you know, pa. I went to Sunday-school. Miss Mary's lily +was there, and there was lots of evergreen, and the minister said I +helped him preach. And oh, pa, you don't know how the girls did take +me in! They sat up just as close!"</p> + +<p>"Take you in! And why shouldn't they?"</p> + +<p>"But you know, pa, they fix up so. And—" The little girl stopped, +seeming to feel it somewhat difficult to make her father understand +the situation.</p> + +<p>"So it's fine feathers, is it?" And now there was a decided gruffness +in his voice.</p> + +<p>But they had reached the door of the cottage, and the cat jumped down +from the chair and brushed against the legs of her master. There was +tea to be made, and the chicken to be dished; but the father did the +latter, after having washed carefully. The potatoes were given the +place of honor and the two sat down to do the meal justice.</p> + +<p>"We might have had some eggs, seeing it's Easter," said the man, +passing one of the largest potatoes to the little girl.</p> + +<p>"Lutty Williams' mother colored hers. Lutty said I might have one of +them, if I'd come over for it."</p> + +<p>"Guess I wouldn't go to Lutty Williams' for no eggs, if I was in your +place!" said the father.</p> + +<p>This somewhat dampened the little girl's ardor, and the rest of the +meal was partaken of in silence.</p> + +<p>The dishes were cleared away and the red table-cloth replaced. "No use +in Jerusha's being bothered," the wise Martha reasoned, as she +replaced the white linen in the drawer. Then she unbuttoned the big +gingham apron she had put on over the white one, and felt inclined to +send the white apron after the table-cloth. But something kept her +from doing this. "It's Easter anyhow."</p> + +<p>Her father had taken the cat on his lap, and in a chair tipped back +against the wall, with a broom splint between his teeth, sat reading +the county paper.</p> + +<p>Martha stood on the doorstep looking off to the mountains, and there +was the old wistful look on her face again. The April sun had clouded +in, and so had the bright spirit of the child. She tried to draw to +her the warmth that had been holding her close, but instead there +rested upon her a dreary sense of loneliness. Jerusha wouldn't wash +white aprons every day, even if she fussed to put them on. In the +morning her father would be off to the smelter. The same old life +waited for her. She stood for a long time there in the door. Then her +father reached around and took hold of her.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" He had heard a sob. And though the little girl +drew back he pulled her to him. "You ain't cryin'? Hoity-toity! A +white apron, and hair all fixed, and the girls taking her right in, +and—crying!"</p> + +<p>"But, pa, I can't make it stay. Jerusha won't wash white aprons, and +there ain't enough, anyway—and—it's so lonesome here with just +Jerusha! All the rest of the girls have some one standing close—as +close as that to them." And the little girl clutched at her father's +coat-sleeve to demonstrate the closeness of relationship, while the +sobs came thick and fast.</p> + +<p>"Nobody but Jerusha!" The father brought his chair down from the wall, +and all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his face. "Nobody +standing close! Where be I standing? What am I going to the smelter +for, putting two days into one, if it ain't standing close?"</p> + +<p>The man spoke impetuously, the words tumbling recklessly one over the +other, and the little girl's sobs were tumbling in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> same way; +neither seemed inclined to stop the other.</p> + +<p>"What'd I stand in front of Simonses show-window last night for, +looking at them posies they've got for Easter, if 'twasn't because I'd +liked to have brought the hull lot home? And why didn't I bring 'em +home? Just so as I could slip more money this month in under the +little bank winder. And what am I slippin' money into the bank for? +Why'd I buy them Jersey cows, and that bit o' mountain park, if +'twasn't because I knowed Jerusha was the best butter-maker in town, +and butter meant money, and money meant an easy time for you by and +by? Standin' close!"</p> + +<p>The man's voice broke. The little girl had ceased crying and was +standing with wide, strained eyes fastened on her father. What did it +all mean?</p> + +<p>But the father did not say what it meant. As one suddenly overtaken, +he pushed the cat from off his lap, rose, drew a long breath, and +reached for his hat.</p> + +<p>Had Martha Matilda been older, she would have tried to detain the one +she had wounded. For he was wounded, just as are we all when suddenly +there comes to us knowledge of long-continued effort being +unappreciated. What was the use of all this struggling, beginning with +the day and closing only when it was ended! He pulled an oat straw +from a stack near, and then leaned on the bars of the cow-yard. Far +beyond him were the snow-caps, now pink with the setting sun—the glow +which the one gone from him had so loved to catch. His throat ached +with suppressed emotion. He had striven so to stand true, to make the +life of the child she had left easier than hers had been, just as he +had promised!</p> + +<p>The cows crowded up restlessly against the bars. It was milking time. +Mechanically he returned to the kitchen, brought back with him the +pails, placed a stool and sent the tinkling streams against the shiny +pail. Pail after pail was filled and set aside, then with a gentle pat +for the last meek-eyed Jersey, he brought the milk back to the house, +strained it carefully, filled a saucer for the cat at his feet, rinsed +the pails, and after the cows had been cared for for the night, went +back and hung his hat on its accustomed nail. He crossed to the window +where Martha sat stiff and uncomfortable in the big rocking-chair. +Sitting down in front of her, he tilted his chair forward and, lifting +her hands, stroked them gently.</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking it all out down by the cows. It ain't right." He +did not look at the face of the little girl, only at the hands he was +stroking. "It wasn't because I wanted to break my promise to your +ma—it wasn't a bit of that. You see the road was too hard for your +ma; it is always go down or go up here in the mountains, and then it +was always a little more money needed than we had. And when you came +she couldn't bear to have the strain touch you, and almost the last +thing she said was, 'You'll make it easier for her, she's such a +little tot.' It wasn't because I meant to wriggle out of my promise +that made me pretend not to see when your shoes gave out and your +dresses got old and things in the house didn't run straight; it wasn't +that."</p> + +<p>There was a great sob in the voice now, and Martha, hearing it, looked +up to find her father's rugged face wet with tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, pa, don't!" and the child's arm reached around her father's neck +and she put her face close against his cheek.</p> + +<p>But the man shook himself partially free, as he brushed the tears from +his face.</p> + +<p>"And you think as how there ain't been any love in it, when it's been +all love! You see, the trouble's here: In trying to make an easier +road for you than your mother had, I looked all the time at the +further end instead of the nigh end. And I was so afraid that when you +got further on there'd be no backing for you, that I left you without +a backing now. But we will start right over new. I haven't just kept +my promise, 'cause your mother meant it to be at this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> end and right +straight on. And that's how it should be. We'll start over new. It +ain't ever too late to stop robbing Peter to pay Paul. You go straight +down to Simonses to-morrow morning, Martha Matilda."</p> + +<p>The little girl was looking at him now with cheeks flushed with eager +attention. She go down to Simonses! But her father's words held her +again.</p> + +<p>"And you buy just as many of them posies as you want, and you get +enough to make a bunch for every one of them girls as took you in, and +you take 'em to them, and tell them that's your Easter gift."</p> + +<p>"But pa—"</p> + +<p>"There ain't no 'but pa' about it! And you fix a bigger bunch for Miss +Mary, and get a shiny ribbon and tie round it—that's the way your +mother fixed posies when she wanted them nice—and you tell Miss Mary +that's for her Easter. And then you go to the minister's—"</p> + +<p>Martha clapped her hands over her lips to keep back a cry of surprise. +She go to the minister's!</p> + +<p>"Your mother always went to the minister when anything was wanted. And +you tell him John Graham wants that pew that he had when the church +was first built—Number 25, on the east side, by the second +window—the one that looks out on the mountains. Your mother and I put +a sight of work and good hard money into the building of that church, +and I ought to have stood right by it all along and not dropped out +just because Sunday clothes cost."</p> + +<p>"Oh, pa, did you help build that church?"</p> + +<p>"Guess there's plenty round as would tell you so, if you asked, though +this minister don't know, 'cause he's new."</p> + +<p>"Say, pa, can't I have a red Bible? Of course it wouldn't be just like +getting into Sunday-school regular, like the primaries, but I would +like a red Bible."</p> + +<p>"There it is again! All wrong. There's your mother's Bible; I hain't +meant not to give it to you, only I was a-keepin' it till the further +end of the road came when you'd 'preciate it better."</p> + +<p>John Graham got up, and taking down a half-filled lamp, lighted it, +the little girl keeping close at his side. From that same upper bureau +drawer he took out a small package and, undoing the handkerchief +wrapped around it, brought to view a Bible with a gilt clasp.</p> + +<p>"It ain't a red Bible, but it's a Bible that has been read," he said. +"And here's your name, just as your mother wrote it for you, almost +the last time she handled it."</p> + +<p>He opened the fly-leaf, and little Martha, drawing up close to his +arm, read:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus095.jpg" width="450" height="142" alt="(handwritten) Martha Matilda Graham from her Mother. Be +a good girl, Mattie." title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Oh, pa, how I am being taken into things!" said the little girl, the +tears toppling over her eyes, and her cheeks bright and rosy.</p> + +<p>And then the father took Martha on his lap and talked to her of her +mother—of the life she had lived, and of the Bible she read, and of +the God she loved; talked to her as he had never talked in all her ten +years. When he had ended, she put her arms around his neck and held +him close. The clock struck eight and the father arose, lighted the +little girl's candle, and she mounted the crooked stairs to the small +room above. Setting down the candle, she made herself ready for bed, +buttoning on the little white night-dress made of flour-sacks and with +blue XX's on the back, but which "looked all right in front," as +Jerusha said. This done, she blew out the light and, drawing aside the +bit of muslin curtain, gazed out on the clear Colorado night, with the +stars glimmering through. A moment she stood thus, then she pressed +her hands over her face, and bowing her head said, soft and low:</p> + +<p>"Be a good girl, Mattie."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>How sweet the words were when voiced!</p> + +<p>"I will be a good girl—I will," she murmured, and her voice was +tender but strong of purpose. As she laid her head down upon the +pillow she whispered, "How I be taken into things!"</p> + +<p>And Martha Matilda never knew that down in the big chair the one she +had left sat with his hand covering his bronzed face, motionless. The +ticking of the clock was the only sound heard. When he arose, the lamp +had burned itself out, and the room stood in darkness. But he failed +to sense it. Within him had been kindled a light brighter than an +Easter dawn. John Graham was ready to take up life anew.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus096.jpg" width="400" height="215" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Transformation of Job, by +Frederick Vining Fisher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRANSFORMATION OF JOB *** + +***** This file should be named 25688-h.htm or 25688-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/6/8/25688/ + +Produced by Mark C. 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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: The Transformation of Job + A Tale of the High Sierras + +Author: Frederick Vining Fisher + +Release Date: June 3, 2008 [EBook #25688] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRANSFORMATION OF JOB *** + + + + +Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, Karen Dalrymple +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + +THE + +TRANSFORMATION OF JOB + +A TALE OF THE HIGH SIERRAS + + +[Illustration: (portrait of author)] + + +_BY FREDERICK VINING FISHER._ + + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING COMPANY + ELGIN, ILL., AND + 36 WASHINGTON ST., CHICAGO. + + Copyright, 1900, + By David C. Cook Publishing Company. + + + + +AUTHOR'S PREFACE. + + +If one will take the trouble to tramp with staff in hand the high +Sierras, he will find not only the Yosemite, but Gold City and Pine +Tree Ranch, though perhaps they bear another name. Most of the quaint +characters of this tale still dwell among the vine-clad hills. To +introduce to you these friends that have interested the author, and to +tell anew the story of the human soul, this work is written. + +Out of love of never-to-be-forgotten memories of Pine Tree Ranch, the +author dedicates this book to him who once welcomed him to its white +porch, but who now sleeps beneath the shadow of the mountains--Andrew +Malden. + +FREDERICK VINING FISHER. + + + + +THE TRANSFORMATION OF JOB, + +A TALE OF THE HIGH SIERRAS. + +_By FREDERICK VINING FISHER._ + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE NEW ARRIVAL AT GOLD CITY. + + +The stage was late at Gold City. It always was. Everybody knew it, but +everybody pretended to expect it on time. + +Just exactly as the old court-house bell up the hill struck six, the +postmistress hurriedly opened her door and stood anxiously peering up +the street, the loafers who had been dozing on the saloon benches +shuffled out and leaned up against the posts, the old piano in the +Miners' Home began to rattle and a squeaky violin to gasp for breath, +while the pompous landlord of the "Palace Hotel," sending a Chinaman +to drive away a dozen pigs that had been in front of his door through +the day, took his post on the sidewalk to await his coming guests--who +generally never came. + +There was a time when Gold City had been a great town-- + + "In days of old, + In days of gold, + In days of forty-nine." + +The boys often hung around the saloon steps and listened with gaping +mouths while Yankee Sam and the other old men told of the golden age, +when the streets of Gold City were crowded and Tom Perry made a +fortune in one day and lost it all gambling that night; when there was +more life in Gold City than 'Frisco could shake a stick at; when the +four quarters of the globe came in on the stage and mined all day, +danced all night and went away rich. + +But Gold City, now, was neither large nor rich. The same eternal hills +surrounded her and the same great pine trees shaded her in summer's +heat and hung in white like sentinals of the past in the winter's +moonlight. But the sound of other days had died away. The creek bed +had long since yielded up its treasure and lay neglected, exposed to +the heat and frost. The old brick buildings rambling up the street +were still left, but were fast tottering to decay. Side by side with +the occupied buildings, stood half-fallen adobes and shattered blocks +filled only with the ghosts of other years. + +Up on the hill rose the court house, the perfect image of some quaint +Dutch church along the Mohawk in York State. Gray and old, changeless +it stood, looking down in silent disdain on these California buildings +hastening to an early grave. Here and there, hid by pines and vines, +up the dusty side-hill roads, one caught glimpses of pretty cottage +homes, where dwelt the few who, when the tide had turned, were left +stranded in this far-off California mining town. + +Yes, Gold City was of the past. Her glory had long since departed. Yet +somehow everyone expected its return. The old men read the 'Frisco +papers, when they could get them, and grew excited when they heard +that silver had fallen and gold had a new chance for life. The night +that news came, Yankee Sam ordered a treat for the whole crowd and +politely told the saloon-keeper that he would settle shortly, when +the boom came. Possibly some great capitalist might come in any day +and buy up the mines and things would boom. He might be on the stage +any night. That is the reason the whole town came out regularly to +meet the stage, marveled if it was late, and gambled on the +probability that a telegram from 'Frisco had held it for a special +train of "bigbugs." That is why the hotel-keeper drove the pigs away +and prepared for business. + +They had done that thing now in Gold City so long it was beginning to +be second nature; and yet deeper was getting the sleep, and the only +thing that could rouse the town was the coming of the stage with its +possibilities. + +The stage was later than usual this night. So late the old-timers were +sure Joe must have a passenger. As it was fifty miles over the plains +and foot-hills that Joe had to come, there was, of course, plenty of +chance of his being late. In fact, he never was on time. They all knew +that. But to think that Joe would be two whole hours back was a little +unusual for a town where nothing unusual ever happened. The big +colored porter at the Miners' Home was tired of holding his bell ready +to ring, the loungers on the benches in front of the corner grocery +had exhausted their yarns, when the dust up the street on the hill +caused the barefooted boys to stop their games and stand expectant in +the road to watch Joe arrive. + +With a shout and a flourish, the four horses came tearing around the +court-house corner, plunged relentlessly down the hill and dragged the +rickety old coach up to the hotel, with a jerk that nearly upset the +poor thing and brought admiration to everybody's eyes. Fortunately for +the coach, that was the only time of day the horses ever went off a +snail's pace. The dinner bell at the Miners' Home clanged vigorously, +the piano in the saloon opposite set up a clatter, the crowd hurried +around the dust-enveloped coach to see if they could discover a +passenger, while the red-faced landlord shouted, "This way to the +Palace Hotel, gentlemen!" + +To-night, when the dust cleared away, for the first time in weeks the +crowds discovered a passenger. In fact, he was out on the brick +sidewalk before they saw him. Pale-faced, blue-eyed, with delicate, +clear-cut features, clad in a neat gray coat and short trousers, which +merged into black stockings and shoes, with a black tie and soiled +white collar, all topped off with a derby hat and plenty of dust, a +wondering, trembling lad of twelve stood before them. Such a sight had +not been seen in Gold City in its history. A city lad dropped down +among these rough miners and worn-out wrecks of humanity! + +"Well, pard, who be yer?" at last asked a voice; and a dozen echoed +his query. + +With a frightened look around for some refuge, such as the deer gives +when surprised, the new-comer answered. "I am Mr. Arthur Teale's boy, +and I want to see him;" and, turning to the landlord, asked if he +would please tell Mr. Teale his boy had come. + +Not a man moved, but each glanced significantly at the other. Yankee +Sam, a sort of father to the town, who, at times, felt his +responsibility, when not too overcome by the hot stuff at the Miners' +Home, now stepped up and interviewed the lad. + +Mr. Teale's son, was he? And who was Mr. Teale, and where did he come +from, and why was he traveling alone? + +Standing there in the evening twilight, on the rough brick walk in +front of the Palace Hotel, to that group of rough-handed men in +unkempt locks and woolen shirts and overalls, to those shirt-sleeved, +well-oiled, red-faced bar-keepers, with the landlord in the center, +the passenger told his story. + +He told of a home in the far East; of how, one day long ago, his +father started away out West to make his fortune; how he patted him on +the head and said some day he should send for him and mamma--but he +never did. The little fellow faltered, as he told how his mother grew +sick and his grandfather died; and how, after a time, he and his +mother had started to find father, and over the wide prairies and high +mountains and dusty deserts, had traveled the long journey in search +of husband and father. + +The young eyes filled with tears--yes, and some older, rough ones did, +too, that had been dry for years--as he told how mother had grown +weaker and weaker; and, when they had reached the California city and +the summer's heat had climbed up the mountain side, she had died; and, +dying, had told him to go on and find Gold City and his father. So he +had come, and "Would some one please tell Mr. Teale his boy was here?" + +That night there was great excitement in Gold City. Groups of men were +talking in undertones everywhere. With a promise to try and find his +father, Yankee Sam left the boy sitting on the doorstep of the Palace; +where, hungry and tired, he fell asleep, while all the street arabs +stood at a respectful distance commenting on "the city kid what says +he's Teale's boy." No one thought to take the little wanderer in. No +one thought he was hungry. They were too excited for that. Teale's kid +was here. What should they do with him and how could they tell him? + +[Illustration: Yankee Sam interviewed the lad.--See page 6.] + +Did they know Teale? Yes, they did. Slim, pale-faced, the picture of +this boy, only taller, fuller grown, he had come to Gold City. With +ragged clothes that spoke of better days, he had tramped into town one +winter night through the snow and begged a bed at the Miners' Home. He +had struck it rich for a time down by Mormon Bar, and treated all the +boys in joy over his good luck, then lost it all over the card table +in the end. Thrice he had repeated that experience. In his better +moments he had talked of a wife and blue-eyed boy in the East, then +again he seemed to forget them. The gaming table, the drink, the crowd +he went with, ruined him. One night the boys heard cries in the hollow +back of "Monte Carlo," the worst saloon and gambling den in the +place; when morning came they found Teale and a boon companion both +dead there. Who was to blame? Nobody knew. Under the old pine trees on +the hill, just outside the graveyard gate, where the respectable dead +lay, they buried them. And now Teale's boy was come, and who should +tell him, and where should he go? + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +ANDREW MALDEN. + + +Andrew Malden was in town that night, yet no one thought of asking +him, the hardest-hearted man in Grizzly county. Rich, with acres to +spare, a mill that turned out lumber by the wholesale, horses that +could outstrip any Bucephalus in the county. Either from jealousy or +some cause, the world about Gold City, Frost Creek, Chichilla, all +hated Andy Malden. + +No one noticed how he listened to the story, how he glanced more than +once at the tired traveler, till they heard him order his horses at +moon-up, order the landlord to wake the boy and feed him. + +When, promptly at ten, he took the strange lad in his arms and put him +in his buckboard, seized the reins and drove toward Spring Creek, the +Pines and home, the whole town was more dumfounded than in years, and +the landlord said he guessed old Andy was crazy. Only Yankee Sam +seemed to understand, and the old man muttered to himself, as he +turned once more to the saloon, "Well, now! Andy thinks it is his +youngster come back again that I helped lay beneath the pines, coming +thirty years now." + +Sam was right. It was the dormant love of thirty long-gone years, all +roused again, that stirred the old man that night. The lonely, +homeless boy on the "Palace" doorstep had touched a heart that most +men thought too hard to be broken in this world or the next. + +Andrew Malden was not a bad man, if he was hard. The outward vices +which had ruined most men who had come to Gold City to gain the world +and lose their souls, never touched him. That craving for excitement, +the natural heritage of hot-headed youth, which often in that old +mining camp lasted long after the passionate days of young life and +lit the glazed eyes of age with a wild, unnatural fire, never seemed a +part of his nature. Other men fed the fires of passion with the hot +stuff of the "Monte Carlo," and the midnight gaming table, till, +tottering wrecks consumed of self, they lingered on the doorsteps of +Gold City, the ghosts of men that were. The world of appetite was a +foreign realm to him. He looked with contempt on men who lost +themselves in its meshes. But he was a hard man, the people said, and +selfishness and a cold heart were far worse vices in the eyes of the +generous-hearted, rough miners who came and went among these hills, +than what the polished, cold, calculating money-getters of the far-off +city counted as sin. So Andrew Malden was more of a sinner in the +estimation of Gold City than Yankee Sam. Perhaps the ethics of that +mining camp were truer than the world thinks. Perhaps he who sins +against society is worse than he who sins against self. + +The fact was that, though Andrew Malden had grown old in Grizzly +county, and no face was more familiar, no one knew him. He was a hard +man, but not as the people meant. There are two kinds of stern men in +this world: Those who are without hearts, who take pleasure in the +suffering of others; and those who, repulsed sometime, somewhere, have +closed the portals of their inmost souls and hid away within +themselves. Such was the "Lord of Pine Tree Mountain," as the boys +used to call him. + +Once he was a merry, happy, strong mountain lad in the old Kentucky +hills, where he had helped his father, a hardy New Englander, make a +new home. He had a heart in those old days. He loved the hills and +forests; loved the romping dogs that played around him as he drove the +logging team to the river-mill; aye, more than that, he had loved Mary +Moore. She was bright and sweet and pretty, a bewitching maid, who +seemed all out of place on the frontier. He loved to hear her talk of +Charleston Bay and the Berkshire Hills, and of the days when she +danced the minuet on Cambridge Green. Once he asked her to marry him. +It was the month the war broke out with Mexico. The frontiersmen were +slinging down their axes and swinging their guns across their +shoulders. She laughed, and said that if Andy would go and fight and +come home a hero, she would marry him--perhaps. + +So he went. Tramped over miles and miles of Mexican soil, fought at +Monterey and Buena Vista, endured and almost died--men said for love +of Yankeedom; he knew it was for Mary Moore. + +The war over, he came back a hero, and Col. Malden was named with old +Zach Taylor by tried, loyal men. But Mary Moore was gone. She had +found another hero. Gone to Massachusetts, so they said. + +That night, Andy Malden left the Kentucky hills forever. The news of +gold in California was in the air. He would join the mad procession +that, over plain and isthmus, was going hither. He would go as far +from the old life as deserts and mountains would put him. + +So he came to Gold City. With a diligence far more systematic than the +others, he had washed the gold from Frost Creek and off Mormon Bar. +Other men lost all they found in daylight over the gaming table at +midnight. He never gambled. All the others who succeeded went below to +the great city or back to the States to enjoy their gains. He cared +naught for the city, he hated the States; he never went. In a solitary +mountain spot amid immeasurable grandeur, he buried himself in his +lonely cabin. Yet he was not a hermit. He mingled with the crowd; he +sought its suffrage for public office; yet he was not of it. He was a +mystery to all. They elected him to office and continued to do so; +why, they never knew, unless it was because he could save for them +when others could not. + +At last he married a farmer's girl from the plains, who had come up +there to teach the Frost Creek school. She failed as a teacher. She +was born for the kitchen and farm. Andrew Malden saw it. She would +make him as good a helpmate as any, better than the Chinese women and +half-breeds with whom some of his neighbors consorted, so he married. + +The mines were giving out. His keen eye saw there were mines above +ground as well as below. He quietly left off placer mining, drew out +some gold from a hidden purse, and, before the world of Gold City knew +it, had nine hundred acres on Pine Tree Mountain, a big saw-mill +going, a nice ranch home, and barns like folks back in the States. + +At last a baby came--a baby boy; almost the first in Grizzly county. +The neighbors would have cheered if they dared. Judge Lawson did dare +to suggest a celebration, but the people were afraid of the stern man +on Pine Tree Mountain. + +Oh, how he loved that boy! His wife looked on with wonder, for she +thought he knew not what stuff love was made of. It was not long. A +few short years, and the lad, who seemed so strangely merry for a son +of Andy Malden, grew pale and took the fever and died; and, where the +pine trees stoop to shade the mountain flowers in hot midsummer, +strange Yankee Sam and Andy, all alone, laid him to rest. There was no +clergyman. The "Gospel Peddlers," as the miners called them, had not +yet come to the hills to stay. Just as Sam was putting the soil over +the rough box, Andy stopped him and muttered something about the boy's +prayer. He must say it for him, and he whispered in a broken voice, +"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep." + +That was the last prayer Andrew Malden had uttered. Many years had +come and gone; more and more he had lived within himself. He used to +go to the boy's grave on holidays. Now he never went. For years his +wife had lived with him and kept his house and prepared his food, and +grown, like him, silent and apart from all around. She died at last +and he gave her a high-toned funeral; had a coffin from the city and a +preacher and all that. She had died of loneliness. He did not know it. +She did not realize it. He went on as if it was a matter of course. +The old house was kept up carefully; a Chinaman, as silent as himself, +kept it for him, and a corps of men kept him busy at the mill. + +He was rich, the people said; he was mean and grinding, the men +muttered; and yet he prospered when others failed. Men envied, feared, +hated him. Now he was growing old and men were wondering who would +have his riches when he was gone. He had no kin this side the Ohio; +and, for aught he knew, nowhere. His wife's nephews and cousins, +pegging away in these hills, were beginning to build air-castles of +days when the Pine Tree mill should be theirs. + +Such was the old man who drove along in the moonlight, past Mormon Bar +and over Chichilla Hill, holding a sleeping lad in his arms; and +feeling, for the first time in years, the heart within him. + +It was nearer dawn than midnight when the tired team, which had been +slowly creeping up the mountain road for hours, turned into the lane +above the mill and waited for their owner to swing open the gate which +barred the way to the private road leading through the oak pasture to +Pine Tree Ranch and home. It was one of those matchless nights that +come only in the mountains, when the world is flooded with a soft, +silvery light and the great trees stand out transfigured against the +sky, amid a silence profound and awe-inspiring. + +It had been a long ride; aye, a long one indeed to Andrew Malden. He +had traveled across more than half a century of life since they left +Gold City. His own childhood, Mary Moore, old Kentucky, had all come +back to him. Then he had thought of that silent grave down beyond Gold +City, and of the large part of his life buried there. He turned to the +lad at his side, sleeping unconscious of life's ills and +disappointments, of which, poor boy, he had already had his share. The +sight of the innocent face thrilled the old man. In his slumbers the +boy murmured, "Mamma, papa;" and, turning, the old man did a strange +thing for him. He leaned over and kissed the lad, and whispered, +"Mamma, papa! Boy, as long as Andy Malden lives, he shall be both to +you." + +When they reached the house, he hushed the dogs to silence, bade Hans, +who stared astonished at his master's guest, to take the horses; and, +lifting the sleeping form, carried it into his room, and, gently +removing coat and shoes, laid the boy in the great bed, while he +prepared to stretch himself on a couch near by. + +That night a new life came to Andrew Malden and the Pine Tree Ranch. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE HORSE-RACE. + + +"Yer darsn't do it! Yer old Malden's slave, yer know yer are, and yer +darsn't breathe 'less he says so." + +It was in front of the Miners' Home in Gold City, and the speaker was +an overgrown, brawny, low-browed boy of some seventeen years, who, in +ragged clothes and an old slouch hat, leaned against the post that +helped support the tumble-down roof of that notorious establishment. +In front of him, barefooted and in overalls rolled up over +well-browned legs, old blue cap, astride a little black pony whose +eyes rolled appreciatively as he lovingly half leaned upon her neck, +sat Job Malden, as the store-keepers called him; or "Andy's +Tenderfoot," as the boys dubbed him. + +You would not have dreamed, had you seen him, that this brown-skinned, +tall fifteen-year-old, who rose in his saddle at this remark and spoke +out sharp and strong, was the same pale-faced city lad who had come in +the stage three years ago, homeless and friendless. The mountains had +done wonders for him; the pallor had gone from his cheeks; the sun had +tanned his shapely limbs; the wild life of nature and the still +rougher world of humanity had roused all his temper and passion. Yet, +withal, there was the touch of another world in his face. No stranger, +at second view, would have taken him for a native born. He had known a +different realm, and it had left its trace in a high brow, a fine +face, a clearer eye than one usually saw on the streets of the mining +camp. + +"Yer darsn't do it!" leered again the same contemptible fellow. "Yer a +city kid an' hain't got sand 'nuff to make an ant-hill. I hearn tell +yer get the old man to button yer clothes, and yer cry in the +dark--guess it's so, ain't it, tenderfoot?" + +At this remark the crowd of loungers around broke forth into cheers, +and Job's eyes, usually so blue, flashed fire. He sprang from Bess' +back, and, in an instant, had struck the bully a blow that sent him +reeling back into the arms of Yankee Sam. A moment, and a general +melee seemed imminent, when Dan Dean stepped up and called a halt. He +was the smoothest, most affable, meanest fellow in town, nephew by +marriage to the lord of Pine Tree Mountain, and, as he had always +boasted, the lord that was to be. + +Job had always felt, ever since he came to Grizzly county, that Dan +was his mortal enemy, yet he had always been so sly Job had never been +able to prove him guilty of any one of the thousand petty annoyances +he was sure were instigated by him. + +Taking Job by the arm, Dan now led him off to one side, while the +crowd were laughing at the blubbering bully backing up the street and +threatening all sorts of vengeance on "that tenderfoot." + +All the trouble was over a horse-race. It was coming off next Sunday +down at Coyote Valley, four miles below town. Pete Wilkins had offered +his horse against all Grizzly county, and Dan Dean had boasted that he +had a horse, a black mare--or at least his Uncle Andy had--that could +beat any horse Pete could trot out. Pete had dared him to appear with +the mare; and Dan, well knowing he could not get her, was doing his +best to induce Job to steal away with her and run the race for him. +"Me and yer is cousins, yer know, seein' yer call the old man uncle +and he's my sure-enough uncle; so we's cousins, and we ought to be +pardners; now yer run the race, get the gold nugget the fellows at the +Yellow Jacket have put up, and I'll get Pete's bet, and my! won't we +have a lark! Fact is, yer don't want fellers to think yer a baby, I +know; and, as for its being Sunday, I say the better the day the +better the deed. Come, Job. I jest want to see the old black mare come +in across the line and you on her! My! what a hot one yer'll be! The +fellers will never call yer tenderfoot again!" + +It was a big temptation to Job, the biggest the boy had ever known--to +beat Pete; to show off Bess; to prove he was no "tenderfoot" or "kid" +any more. But--oh, that but!--how could he deceive Mr. Malden! And +then, Sunday, too! + +"Gold nugget! Whew! Such a chance!" insidious Dan still kept crying, +till Job shut his teeth together, turned from his mother's face which, +somehow, persisted in haunting him just then, laughed a sort of hollow +laugh, and said with an oath--the first he had ever uttered out +loud--that sure he would be there and show these Gold City bullies and +Pete and the whole crowd he was nobody's slave. Yet, as he said it, +there came a sort of feeling into his soul which he repelled, but +which yet came back again, that he was now indeed a slave--a slave to +Dan, a slave to the Evil One. + + * * * * * + +Coyote Valley was all alive. Vaqueros from the foot-hill ranches were +tearing up and down the dusty road along Coyote Creek from Wilkins' +ranch to the foot of the valley, buckboards loaded with Mexicans, +Joe's stage creaking beneath the weight of half the roughs of Gold +City, groups of excited miners on foot, were making their way as fast +as possible to Wilkins' old hay barn, which had been turned into a +combination of saloon and grand stand. Under the shade of an immense +live-oak just west of the barn, the big waiter at the Miners' Home was +running an opposition saloon to the one inside, with a plank on two +kegs for a bar. The center of the barn was already filled with +dark-skinned Senoritas and tall, gawky miners dancing to the music of +a squeaky violin. + +The air was filled with dust and bets and oaths, when on that strange +Sunday morning Job galloped up Coyote Valley and pulled up in time to +hear Dan's voice in high pitch cry out: + +"There she is, the best mare in Grizzly county; ten to one against the +crowd! Come in, Job; come up, boys! Let's have a drink around to the +success of the Hon. Job Malden, the slickest rider in all the hills!" + +Almost before he knew it. Job was hauled bodily up to the bar and had +a beer glass in his hand. How strange he felt! How queer it all was! +He had been in the mountains three years, but this was his first +Sunday picnic. + +Andrew Malden, though he had no religion, had always seen that Job +went to Sunday-school at the Frost Creek School. To-day he had +ostensibly started for there. But this was very different from the old +log school-house. + +How different Job looked from the rest! He wore "store clothes" and a +neck-tie. In the rush, something dropped on the floor. He looked down +and picked it up, with a quick glance around, while a great lump came +into his throat. It was a little Testament, his mother's, the one she +had given him the day she died, and there was the old temperance +pledge he had signed in a boy's scrawling hand. He was supposed to be +at Sunday-school, so he had been obliged to carry the book. + +For a moment he hesitated, then he jammed it in his pocket out of +sight. He hated it, he hated himself. The step was taken; he took the +glass, he drank with the rest. He left the bar with a proud air. He +was a man. He would win that race or die. + + * * * * * + +All day long the violin squeaked, the clattering feet resounded on the +barn floor, the kegs were emptied into throats, and races of all +kinds--fat men's races, women's races, old men's races--followed each +other. At last, the great event was called--Malden's mare against +Pete's noted plunger. The Vaqueros cleared the way, a pistol shot in +the distance announced they had started, a cloud of dust that they +were coming. It was not a trot; it was a neck-and-neck run, such as +Job had taken hundreds of times over the great pasture lot on Pine +Tree Ranch. He was perfectly at home. With arms clasped around her +neck, he urged Bess on; he sang, he coaxed, he cheered her. Bess knew +that voice, and, catching the passion of the hour, fairly flew. Faster +and faster she went, but faster and faster came Pete at her heels--now +Job felt the hot breath of the other horse on his cheek--now they fell +back--now they were close behind him. They were near the line--but a +hundred paces and the old oak would be passed. Pete was desperate; the +fire of anger was in his eyes. Job heard one of Pete's excited friends +shout, "Throw him, Pete!" The thought of awful danger flew through +Job's mind: The angry man would do it--Bess must go faster. She was +white with foam now, but go she must. He hugged her closer; he +sang--how out of place the piece seemed! 'Twas the song, though, that +always roused her, so he sang it, as so often be had sung it in the +great oak pasture of the home ranch--"Palms of victory, crowns of +glory I shall wear,"--and, singing it, dashed across the line the +victor, while the mob yelled and Dan hugged Bess and the waiter +offered a free treat to the whole crowd. Job Malden had won the race, +the gold nugget was his, but oh, how much he had lost! + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +JANE. + + + "Wait till the clouds roll by, Jennie, + Wait till the clouds roll by." + +It was the clear, high voice of a rosy-cheeked, black-eyed, +short-skirted, barefooted maiden that sang, who, with her long black +tresses blowing in the afternoon breeze, and a pail on her arm, was +gayly skipping down the narrow road that separated the fence of Pine +Tree Ranch from the endless forest that stretched away towards the big +trees and Yosemite. "'Wait till the clouds'--gracious sakes, boy! what +did you scare me for?" Jane Reed cried, as out of the dark woods, +around a sugar pine, a tall, tanned lad strode, with gun over his +shoulder, and a long-eared dog at his heels. + +"Oh, just for ducks!" said Job Malden, who, after a celebration of his +sixteenth birthday, was returning from one of his favorite quail hunts +with "Shot," his only playmate on Pine Tree Ranch. + +"Where did you get those shoes, sissy?" said the boy, looking at her +bare, bronzed feet. + +"From the Lord," quietly answered the girl. + +"Humph!" said Job with a sneer, "the only lord I know is the one of +Pine Tree Mountain, and the one that is to be--that's myself--and I'm +mighty sure he or I never made such looking things." + +At this, the girl made an unsuccessful attempt to run past him, then +sank down on the ground in a big cry. + +With the heartless, contemptuous air of a boy who scorns tears and +girls, Job stood there; and, posing dramatically, sang in a falsetto +voice: + + "Wait till the clouds roll by, Jennie, + Wait till the clouds roll by." + +I wonder, if his mother could have come back from her far-off grave by +the Sacramento, whether she would have known that insolent, rude +fellow standing there as her pretty, blue-eyed boy whom she had so +tenderly loved. + +How quickly, when a fellow starts down hill, he gets under way! That +first Sunday picnic had borne its fruit. The Sunday-school at Frost +Creek never knew him now. That little Testament was at the bottom of +his trunk. Fear of the old man had saved him from an open life of +wrong, and a certain pride made him disdain to be on a level with Dan +Dean and the Gold City gang. Andrew Malden saw the change and yet did +not understand it. He never talked with people enough to hear the +rumors afloat of the Sunday horse-races, or of the midnight revel on +the Fourth of July at the Yellow Jacket. The night that Bess came home +saddleless and riderless, with the white foam on her, and when he +searched till near morning, to at last find Job stretched in a stupor +by the wayside down the Chichilla road, he thought the boy's after +story was true--that story of a frightened runaway--and little knew it +was Pete Wilkins' whisky that had thrown him. + +Ah! it was only yesterday the old man had said, "She was a traitor, +and so is the boy. I have loved him, fed him, sheltered him, and yet +all he cares for is to get my money some day. The world's all alike!" +And Andrew Malden shut the door of his heart, which, a few short years +ago, had swung open for the homeless lad. + +It was this boy, touched, alas! not alone by the beauty and grandeur +of the mountains, but by the shame and sin of the men who dwelt among +them, that now laughed at a poor girl's feeble wrath. He laughed, and +then a spark of innate good-nature and manhood touched him, and, +picking up the pail, he muttered an apology and offered to escort the +maiden home. + +Very soon the clouds did roll by, and under the sky of twilight the +pair walked leisurely along the trail that passed out of the main +road, up across Sugar Pine Hill and down towards Blackberry Valley and +old Tom Reed's cabin, where Jane was both daughter and mistress. + +This girl was so different from the crowd he had seen at Wilkins' barn +and down at Mike's, that he could not joke her; he could only play the +gallant, and he rather liked it. + +It was a long way over the hill and many stops to rest--at Deer +Spring, Squirrel Run and the Summit--and the picking up cones made it +longer. It was just as they crossed the hill that they heard a +crackling of the branches above them, and both looked up to be struck +with terror. Climbing from one great tree to another was the low, dark +form of a mountain lion. He did not notice them. Job motioned silence +and shrunk into the bushes. The girl instinctively followed and drew +up close to him. With gun cocked and bated breath, they waited and +waited; but whether the wind was away from them, or the vicious animal +had something else in view, he slunk away in the trees and out toward +the Gulch, where he made his lair. + +For a half hour Jane and Job sat with hearts beating fast, while both +tried to make a show of being brave. How strange it seemed to Job to +be thus protecting a girl! He felt a queer interest in her; he did not +know what it was. He took her arm a little later to help her over the +rocks, down the hill. He lingered, in a bashful way, at the spring at +the foot of the path to see that she got to the cabin door safely, +then went around by the main road home, so slowly and so thoughtfully +that the moon was high when Shot barked a response to Carlo's bark as +he entered the gate. + +That was not the last time he saw Jane Reed. A something of which he +had never heard and of which he was barely conscious drew him to her. +That autumn he often walked home from school with her. When the snows +came and the logging sleds were passing every day loaded for Andrew +Malden's mill, he always managed to find Jane at Sugar Pine Hill at +all odd sorts of hours and give her a ride to the mill on the top of +the logs, and walk back with her, as he let the horses tug the old +sled slowly up the mountain. The only rival he had was Dan, his +pretended friend but certain enemy. + + * * * * * + +It was at the time of the big snow. Indian Bill, the rheumatic old +native trapper whose family had perished at the massacre of the +Yosemite some years before, and who ever since had lived in a little +cabin on the edge of the Gulch, said it was the biggest in two hundred +moons. + +When Job, shivering and chattering, looked out of the little, narrow, +cheerless upstairs room which he called his own, he found himself +apparently in the first story. He gazed on the endless drifts of snow +that rolled away in a silent sea over barn and fences, with only the +shaggy, white-bearded pines shaking their faces at him above the +limitless white. The little ravine back of the house, where the +milk-house stood, had leveled up to the rest of the world, the chicken +corral was missing, and only the loft of the old barn rose above the +snowy waves. + +What a busy day that was of shoveling tunnels, and, with the full +force of the mill men and all the logging teams, breaking a path up +the road to the logging camp! By night the whole country round was +out. Dan was there riding the leader, and reaching out to get +snowballs from the high bank to throw at Jane, who had clambered up +on the vantage point of an old shed and was watching the queer +procession, with its shouts and rattle of bells and chains, push its +way up the road. + +That night old Andy Malden gave a treat to all the hands at the mill, +with hard cider and apples and nuts a plenty, and even had Blind Dick, +the fiddler, who lived in Tom Reed's upper cabin, to help them make +merry. That is, Andy gave the treat, but his foreman was host; he +never came himself. Jane was there and Dan monopolized her. He knew +her well, so that night he never danced, never drank; but Job, poor +fellow! asked her to dance and she refused him; then he offered her +cider, and her great black eyes snapped fire and she turned from him. +He was mad with rage. He drank. He danced with the Alviso girls, the +lowest Mexicans in the county. He glared after Dan as he saw him start +off with Jane. + +The cider, the jealousy in his soul, or the evil in both, probably, +made him start after them. A something whispered to take the short-cut +across to the junction of the road and Blackberry Valley trail, and +face them and have it out. He hurried stumbling over the drifts. He +hid in the shade of a great tree. Up the road he heard them coming, +heard Dan say, "Oh, well, I was afraid Uncle Andy would be fooled when +he took that kid in. Regular chip of the old block; his father went to +the bad, and he is going fast. He came from the city slums; none of +the brave, true blood of the mountains in his veins. Steer clear of +him, Jane." Heard an indistinguishable reply in Jane's voice, felt a +blind passion rising within him, clinched his fists, started with a +bound for the dark shadows coming up the road, felt a terrible blow +on his head, and--well, it must have been a long while before he +thought again. Then he was lying down in the depths of a snow-drift, +where he had fallen when he started so angrily for Dan and had struck +his head against the limb of the old oak at the turn and been hurled +back twenty feet down through the snow on the rock of the creek bed. + +[Illustration: He hid in the shade of a tree.] + +He tried to rise, but could not. A broken limb refused to act. He +called for help, but the cry rose no higher than the snowbank. He was +in an open grave of white on the sharp rocks and bitterly cold ice of +the stream. He shivered and shook, then gradually a sort of delightful +repose began to steal over him. At first it felt pleasant, then he +realized he was freezing, freezing to death! Death! The thought struck +terror to his heart. Death! It was the last thing for which he was +ready. Memory was unnaturally active. The New England hills, the white +church, grandfather, mother, home, all came back to him. He was +mother's boy again as in those old days before hate and drink and sin +had hurt his life. For a moment the tears came. He forgot himself, he +struggled to rise. He would go to mother and put his head in her lap +and tell her he loved her still. Then the clouds crept over the stars, +the bitter wind whistled above the snow. Mother--ah! He could not go +to her; she had gone forever out of his life; never in this world +would he see her again. And then, like a knife that cut him through +and through, came the bitter consciousness that there was no hope of +seeing mother in the world to come; that long ago he had gone away +from her and the old innocent life of childhood so far that if she +could come back from her grave by the turbid Sacramento, she would not +even know her boy. + +The night chill crept over him; the tears froze on his cheeks. He +thought of Dan and Jane and the life he had lived, and love froze in +his heart. And then, alone in the snow-drift, dying, he hated Dan, he +hated Jane, he hated all the world and hated God, and waited, with the +fear of a lost soul, the outer darkness that was coming--coming nearer +and nearer. + + * * * * * + +They found him there, numb and unconscious, long after midnight, Hans +and Tony, Malden's men, who had searched for him. + + * * * * * + +The snow had melted on the hill-tops and the flowers were peeping +above the earth, when Job threw aside his crutches and whistled to +Shot that the time had come for another quail hunt. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE CAMP MEETING. + + +"It's the biggest thing out--beats a horse-race! My! it's a sight! +Don't miss it, boys. See you all down at Wilkins', sure." + +It was "Nickel John" who was speaking, the fellow that the boys said +would do any evil deed for a nickel. It was down in front of the +Miners' Home among a great crowd of the boys, in the midst of whom +stood Job as an interested listener. + +The coming event was no less than a Methodist camp-meeting down in +Coyote Valley the next Sunday. Of course he would go, said Job, as he +rode home; anything nowadays to avoid being alone with himself. Up at +the mill he told the fellows about it; and, when they dared him to be +there and go to the altar, he vowed that he would do it. + + "All hail the power of Jesus' name! + Let angels prostrate fall." + +Strong and clear, a great volume of sound, it rang out on the air that +never-to-be-forgotten Sunday morning, as Job rode Bess up the Coyote +road to Pete Wilkins' barn, now transformed into a sanctuary where the +Sierra District Camp-meeting was well under way. + + "Bring forth the royal diadem, + And crown him Lord of all." + +The rafters of the barn shook with the music, while it rolled out +through the great side and rear doors, thrown open so wide that the +old building looked like outdoors with a roof on. The big structure +was full to the doors, while around it all sorts of vehicles and nags +were hitched. To the right and left rows of tents stretched away. Just +outside, under the old oak, a portly dame was dishing out lemonade for +a nickel to late-comers, while a group of boys were playing leap-frog. +Job struggled through the outer crowd and pushed inside, only to find +himself in the center of "the gang," who greeted him with a wink and a +whisper, "The speakin' racket's next!" + + "Oh, that with yonder sacred throng + We at His feet may fall!" + +How grand it sounded! Such a host of voices were singing! Far up in +front, on a platform, surrounded by several preachers, gray-haired and +young, in varied attire, from the conventional black suit and white +tie to a farmer's outfit, was a little organ, and a familiar form was +sitting back of it and getting its old bellows to roll out the hymn. +The organist was no other than Jane, and her face flushed as she +caught Job's eye. + +Just then the music stopped and a sweet-faced old man stepped up and +said, "Brethren and sisters, we have knelt at the Lord's table; let us +now tell of the Lord's love. Let us have fifty testimonies in the next +few minutes. Let us sing, 'I love to tell the story of Jesus and his +love.'" + +The scene faded away; the music was a far-off echo, the barn was gone. +Job was back, a lad, in the old New England church; grandsir was +there, and mother, and the old, old friends, and Ned Winthrop was +poking him with a pin. That song!--how it brought them all back! + +Just then be heard a murmur behind him, and looked up to see, near the +front, a trembling old man rise and begin to speak. He told of boyhood +days; he told of a young man's sins; of how one day on the old camp +ground back in York State he had learned that God loved him and could +make a man of him. Then he faltered as he told a story of sorrows, and +how at last, alone in the world, he awaited the angels that should +bear him home. + +Job trembled. Unpleasant memories arose in his heart. He grew pale and +red, then bit his lips in excitement. He wished he was at home. +Testimony followed testimony. Love, peace and joy rang through all. At +last Jane rose--could it be possible? He hung on every word. + +"Last night, down there at the bench, the Lord converted my soul. I +have been a poor sinner, but I know Jesus loves me, and I wish--I +wish," and she looked over to the far rear, "you would let him save +you;" and she sat down in tears. + +Job was wildly angry. "The mischief take her!" he muttered. And Dan +leaned over and whispered, "See, she's gone daft, like the rest!" + +The testimonies and love-feast were over, a prayer that made Job feel +as if Some One great and good was near, had been offered, and then it +was announced that the Rev. William Pendergast of Calavero circuit +would preach. + +"What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and lose his +own soul?" + +It was a young, fresh, boyish face that looked into Job's as the +speaker uttered these words. Just such a bright, athletic, noble +fellow as every true boy secretly wishes to be. He caught Job's +attention and held it. + +This was a very different thing from what he had thought sermons to +be. The young man talked of life here, not hereafter; he showed how a +man may live in this world and yet live a lost life; have gold and +lands, and yet lose all love and hope and peace and manhood. He +pictured the man who gains wealth and grows hard and loveless, and Job +thought of Andy Malden; he told of him who plunges into dissipation +and drink, and lingers a wreck in the streets, and Job knew he meant +Yankee Sam. Aye, he pictured a young life that grasps all the world +and forgets right and God and mother's Bible and mother's prayers, and +grows selfish and the slave of hate and trembles lest death come, and +Job thought of himself and the awful night in the snow and wished he +was miles away. + +But wait! They are singing: + + "Come, ye sinners, poor and needy, + Weak and wounded, sick and sore." + +They have cleared the mourners' bench and are giving the invitation: + + "Jesus ready stands to save you, + Full of pity, love and power." + +Job trembles. Does that mean him? Tim Nolan the mill-man leans over +and whispers almost out loud: "Remember your bet, Job!" + +Poor Job would have given all the gold in the Sierras to be out of +there. All the sins of his life rose before him, all his conceit and +boasting vanished. He was ashamed of Job Malden. He longed to sink +somewhere out of sight. + +The preacher was talking again; the old, old story of the Prodigal Son +and how God's arms are always ready to take in a mother's lost boy. +The room swam before Job's eyes. The crowds were flocking to the +altar, the people were shouting, the boys were punching him and +saying. "Yer dursn't go!" Heaven, hell, sin and Christ were very real +to him all of a sudden. + + "All the fitness he requireth + Is to feel your need of him." + +How it happened he never knew, but just as Dan said, "Now, let's see +Job get religion," he rose, and, striding down the long aisle, he +rushed to the altar, and there, just where he had taken his first +drink on that awful Sunday, he threw himself in tears, a big, +heart-broken boy, with the thought of his evil life throbbing through +his brain. + +It was late that night when Job left the camp ground, flung himself +across Bess' back and started home. The stars never looked down on a +happier boy. The burden, the hate, the bitterness in his heart, were +all gone. A holy love, an exaltation of soul, an awakening of all that +is best in a manly life, stirred him. The past was gone; "old things +had passed away and all things had become new." The world was the +same. Dan, with all his meanness, was in it. The saloon doors were +open, the gamblers still sat at midnight at the Monte Carlo. Grizzly +county had not changed, but he had. A new life was his. + +As he galloped down the road, far away he heard them singing: + + "Palms of victory, crowns of glory, I shall wear," + +and a strange feeling came over him. He took up the refrain, and, +looking up at the stars, he seemed to see his mother's face afar off +among the flashing worlds. The tears stole down his cheeks, tears of +joy, as, galloping on through the night toward home, again he sang: + + "Palms of victory, crowns of glory, I shall wear." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE DEANS. + + +It was a little, long, low, unpainted shanty, with a rude doorstep, +almost hid amid a jungle of vines and overarching trees at the end of +a long lane, where Marshall Dean lived. A sallow-faced, thin +Kentuckian, he had come up here from the plains after his sister +married Andrew Malden, in the hope that being near a rich relative +would save him from unnecessary labor. Andrew Malden had given him a +good place at the mill, but he found it too hard on his muscles, and +so decided to "ranch it." Malden had then given him the old Jones +ranch and a start; but as the years drifted by he had not succeeded in +raising much except a numerous family of dirty, unkempt youngsters of +whom Dan was the oldest and the most promising specimen, the one who +had inherited his father's pride and selfishness, with a certain +natural shrewdness and sagacity that his mother's family possessed, +but of which she had failed to receive much. + +While Malden's wife lived, they managed to silently share in the +income of Pine Tree Ranch, but after she died the smuggling business +between the big place and Dean's Lane suddenly stopped. Nothing ever +cut deeper--they could never forgive her for dying. At last they +settled down to a stolid, long wait for the old man's end. The chief +theme of conversation at home was the uncertainties of life for the +"old miser," and the sure probability of their move some day on to the +big ranch, though not one of them knew what they would do with it if +they got it. Dan felt no hesitation about telling this at school, and +it was common gossip of the county. + +But alas! the night Dan came home and excitedly told the family, as +they looked up from their rough board table and bacon and mush and +molasses, that "the old man had taken Teale's kid in, sure he had," +consternation seized them. It took them weeks to rally; and, when they +did, for the first time in their history the family had an object in +life, and that was to make life miserable for Job. + +Unsuspecting and innocent, the twelve-year-old lad had gone over to +play with the Dean children, as he would at any home, till the time +when petty persecutions culminated in all the rude youngsters calling +him vile names and throwing stones at him, and the father standing by +and drawling out, "Give it to him, the ornery critter!" + +Annoyance followed annoyance. Job's pets always got hurt or +disappeared. Dick, his first pony, was accidentally lamed for life; +the big dog he romped with was found dead from poison. All the +mischief in the neighborhood was eventually laid at Job's door. For a +long time the boy systematically avoided the Deans, till by some +strange political fortune Marshall Dean was appointed postmaster for +the Pine Mountain post-office. That was a gala day in Deans' Lane. +Sally Dean had a brand-new dress on the strength of it, and Dan gave +himself more airs than ever before. After that Job was obliged to go +to the Deans' twice a week for the mail, and more than once went away +with the suspicion that Andrew Malden's mail had been well inspected +before it left the office. + +The wrath of the Dean family reached its culmination on that Sunday +night when Dan came home with the news that Job had attended the +Coyote Valley camp-meeting and had been converted; "now he would be +putting on holy airs and setting himself above folks." That night in +Dean's shanty Sally and Dan and "Pap" put their heads together to plan +how they could in some way make Job Malden backslide. + +It was toward this house that Job was making his way, on the very next +week, bound for the semi-weekly mail. As he went up the path old Dean +himself rose to meet him; and, putting up his pipe, remarked on the +"uncommon fine morning." As he pushed open the shanty door, Mrs. Dean +and fifteen-year-old Sally were all smiles. The postman had brought no +mail, the former said, but wouldn't he stay and rest? She had heard +the Methodists were having a fandango down in the valley. Queer +people, whose religion consisted in shouting and jumping. As for her, +she believed in practical religion; she paid her honest debts and +didn't set herself up above her neighbors. + +Job was just leaving, when Mrs. Dean said: + +"Oh, you mustn't go without drinking to Sally's health--she's fifteen +to-day. See what a big girl she is--what rosy cheeks and big hands! +Come, we have the finest cider out; just drink with us to Sally's +health." + +"Why, excuse me, ma'am," stammered Job, quite bewildered by this +sudden good nature and the invitation to drink. "Why--I can't drink +any more--I--" + +"Oh, my!" said Mrs. Dean. "You're all straight! This won't be too +much, if you have drank before this afternoon." + +"Oh, but--" stammered Job, "I don't mean that. I don't drink any +more--I have joined the Methodists and been converted." + +"Such a likely boy as you gone and jined the fools! Surely Andy +Malden don't know it, does he?" + +"Why--no," stammered Job. + +"Waal, now, purty feller you are, to take your bread and butter from +Andy Malden, and then go and disgrace him by joinin' the hypocrites +and never tellin' him, and then comin' round here and refusin' to +drink harmless apple juice with our Sally! Puttin' yourself up above +respectable people like us, whose parents lie in respectable graves." + +Job faltered. That speech cut. The hot blood came to his brow. A week +ago he would have lost his temper, but now he bit his lip and kept +still. + +Then the woman's mood changed. She wished him no ill luck, she said, +and surely he would be good enough if he was as good as his Master, +and she "'lowed that Christ drank wine at a wedding spread onct. +Surely he wouldn't refuse a little cider with Sally?" + +Perhaps it would be best. Perhaps he was trying to be too good. Aye, +perhaps one drink would give him a good chance to escape. So Job +thought, and he took the glass. But then came a vision of that bar at +the horse-race, of that cider at Malden's mill, and the winter night +and the snow, and his hand in his pocket touched the old temperance +pledge he had signed again on Sunday night when he got home, and up +from his heart went a silent cry for help. At that, he seemed to hear +a voice saying, "With every temptation, a way of escape," and he said +in a firm voice, as he sat down the glass: + +"Best wishes for Sally, Mrs. Dean, but I cannot drink the cider." + +Just then a shrill cry from outside sent both Sally and her mother +flying to help rescue three-year-old Ross, whose father was hauling +him out of the well. + +In the excitement, Job started home with a light heart, singing to +himself: + + "Yield not to temptation, for yielding is sin, Each victory + will help you some other to win." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE OLD MAN'S BIRTHDAY. + + +They were sitting together at Pine Tree Ranch, on the side porch of +the neat little white farmhouse, over which the vines were trained and +from which the well-kept lawn and flower-bordered walks rolled away to +the white picket fence. It was a late August evening, which had merged +from sunset into moonlight so softly and quietly that one hardly knew +when the one began and the other ended. Job, in old coat and overalls +and a broken straw hat, just as he had come in from his evening +chores, sat on the veranda's edge. Back of him, in a low-bottomed, old +cane rocker, was Andrew Malden in a rough suit of gray, his white +beard reaching far down on his breast, while his silver locks were +blowing in the breeze. + +For once, at least, he was opening his heart and memory to the lad +whom he secretly loved; the lad who often wondered why the latch +string of Pine Tree Ranch was out for him, and what matter would it be +if some day, when he and Bess went off over the Chichilla hills, they +never came back again. + +To-night the old man was talkative. It was his birthday and he was in +retrospective mood. "Seventy to-night, Job--just to think of it! +Twenty years more, perhaps, and then--well, a coffin, I suppose, and +six feet of ground--and that's all," he said. + +Job wanted to say, "And heaven," but he did not dare. And then a +thought startled him: Was this man, who had gained this world, ready +for any other? + +For an hour Andrew Malden rambled on. He talked of the Mexican war; +told of Vera Cruz and the battle of Monterey. "Bravest thing you ever +saw, boy. One of those Greasers rode square up to our line and flung a +taunt in our faces, and rode away in disdain, while all our batteries +opened on him." + +He came to the close of the war stories, when he suddenly stopped and +grew silent, puffed at an old pipe, rose and walked back and forth. He +was thinking of that day when he had come back so proudly to claim +Mary Moore, and had found the blow under which he had staggered for +nearly forty years. + +"You've heard of Lincoln, my boy--old Abe Lincoln? Well, I knew him +when we were boys," he said, as he sat down again. Then he told story +after story of the long, lean, lank Kentucky boy, who rode a raft down +the Mississippi and helped clear the frontier forests; the boy who was +one day to strike a blow for right that would shake a continent. + +Andrew Malden laughed till Job caught the contagion and laughed, too, +as story followed story. Then, after another silence, he went on +again: + +"Dead! Abe Lincoln's dead, and Zach Taylor's dead--and so the world +goes. 'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity,' the Bible says. My father +used to read it to us boys, when I was your age. It's true, my boy. +Have as little to do with the world as you can, except to get an +honest living out of it--a living anyway. Don't love anybody. It don't +pay." + +The old man faltered. He got up and paced the porch again, then, +coming back, he put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and, looking into +his face, said: + +"Job, I want to tell you something; seems as if I must to-night." + +And there in the clear moonlight, interrupted only by Shot's +occasional growl, and the distant hoot of an owl or bark of a coyote, +Andrew Malden told his life story to the boy at his side, the boy who +was just passing up to young manhood. He told of Mary Moore; of the +weary tramp behind an ox-team across the prairies and Nevada desert; +of that snow-bound winter near Denver Lake; of the early days of Gold +City. He told of his son who slept beneath the graveyard pines; of his +own lonely life in the mountains; then he came to that night when he +had brought this boy home. He put his arm around the lad as he talked +of his interest in him and how he had known more of his sins and +downward life than Job ever dreamed. + +"Now," he said, "they tell me you have joined the Methodists--have got +religion or whatever you call it. Stick to it, boy. Andy Malden's too +old to ever change his views. You may be right or not, but anyway I'd +rather see you go to Methodist meetin' than Pete's saloon. You're +going to have a hard time of it, boy; these pesky Deans, who owe all +they are to me, hate you because you are mine. As long as you live +with Andy Malden, you will have to suffer. Sometimes I think it ain't +worth while--what do you care for an old man?" + +Again the voice ceased, and Job trembled, he hardly knew why. + +"Boy," up spoke the old man again, "boy, it isn't worth while! I will +give you a bag of nuggets, and you can take Bess and go to-morrow down +to the city and get some learnin' and be somethin', and be out of this +everlastin' quarrelsome world of Grizzly county, and never see the +Deans again. I will stand it; I lived alone before you came, and I +suppose I can do it again. Only a few years and I will be gone; God +knows where--if there is a God." + +By this time Job was choked with emotion. All his nature was aroused. +He fairly loved this strange old man. Looking up, he begged him not to +send him away; stay he would, whatever it cost; and he would be as +true a son to him as a strong young fellow could. + +At that, the old man rose, went into the house, and came back with +something that glittered in his hand. + +"Take this, Job, put it in your hip-pocket, and the first time any one +of the Deans, big or little, insults you, put a bullet through him." + +Job shrank back at sight of the revolver. + +"No! Oh, no! I can't take that! Down at the camp-meeting I promised +God to love my enemies, uncle. I can't take that." + +Then Job poured out his heart to Andrew Malden. He told of his +conversion, of his trust in God, and that he was no longer afraid of +the Deans or of anything. + +"Humph! humph!", said the old man. "Well, I won't argue with you, boy; +but as for me, I'd rather trust my hip-pocket when I have to deal with +the people of Grizzly county. Do as you please. But I'll keep this +revolver, and death to the man that harms a hair of Job Malden, the +only one in all the world that Andy Malden loves." + +The old man's voice trembled, and he walked into the house and shut +the door; and Job knew the talk was over for that night. + +Whistling to Shot, he and the dog stole upstairs to Job's little bare +room, where a few wood-cuts hung on the wall, and a long, narrow +bedstead, a chair, and a box that served for table, were the only +furniture. He took the little Testament from under his pillow and +lovingly kissed it; then turning, he read for his good-night lesson +from his new-found divine Friend: "Let not your heart be troubled, +neither let it be afraid. Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end +of the world." + +Kneeling a moment for a good-night prayer, he was soon in bed and +asleep, with Shot curled up on the covers at his feet, while through +the open window the sound of a guitar came where one of the mill hands +was playing the tune of + + "Hush, my child, lie still and slumber, + Holy angels guard thy bed." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +OFF TO THE BIG TREES. + + +The radical change that had come into Job's life cut him off from the +companions of other days and left him without a chum. It showed the +manliness of his nature that as he started out in the new life, +seeing quickly that he must part company with the old companions who +had nearly wrecked his life, he acted on the conviction at once. + +Perhaps it was this, perhaps the fact that his life was now almost +altogether on the ranch, that made Job and Bess boon companions. Many +a mountain trip they took together. It was on one of these that they +went to the Big Trees. That bright September morning, gayly attired +with new sombrero and red bandanna above his white outing-shirt, +astride Bess, Job rode slowly up the Chichilla mountain on his way to +visit those giant trees. Up by "Doc" Trainer's place, over the smooth, +hard county turnpike, where the toll-road, ever winding round and +round the mountain-side, climbs on through the passes of the live-oak +belt to the scraggly pines of the low hills, on to the endless giant +forests of the cloud-kissed summits, the young horseman made his way. +Now and then the road descended to a little ravine, where a mountain +torrent had torn a path to the deep canyons below: again it stretched +through a dim, royal archway of green where the great trees linked +branches as over a king's pathway; and then it turned a bend where the +steep sides sank so suddenly that even the trees had no foothold and +the bare space disclosed a view over boundless forests of dark green, +and the vast, yawning canyons and distant rolling hills, to where, +far-off, like some dream of the past, one caught glimpses of the +endless plains covered with the autumn haze and golden in the morning +sunlight. + +The grandeur of the scenery, the roar of the brook in deep canyons +below, whose echo he caught from afar, the exhilarating ride, the +fresh morning breeze, combined with the spiritual experiences of his +nature, which were daily deepening, to rouse all the poetry in Job's +soul, of which he had more than the average rough country lad who rode +over those eternal hills. He shouted, he whistled patriotic airs and +snatches of the popular songs he heard on the Gold City streets; then +the old songs of church and the heart-life came to him, and he sang +them, while he laid his head over on Bess' neck as she silently +climbed ever higher and higher. + +Suddenly Bess gave a start that nearly threw him, as the delicate form +of a deer rose behind a fallen tree. For an instant the beautiful +animal stood looking with great soft eyes in a bewildered stare at the +cause of his sudden awakening, then plunged his horns into the bushes +and leaped away down the mountain-side. + +Job quickly reached for his rifle, only to discover what he well +knew--that it was far away at home; of which he was glad as he thought +of those tender, pleading eyes, and a great love for the harmless +creature, the forests, the mountains and all the world welled up in +his soul. "My!" he said, "I'd like to hug that deer! I'd like to hug +everything, everybody! I used to hate them; I would even hug Dan. +Bess, dear old girl, I'll just love you!" and he flung his arms around +her neck and hummed away as they passed up the hill. + +Soon a turn in the road brought them to the summit, where for a moment +the trees part and one catches glimpses of the long winding road over +which one has come, and the ever-rolling forests beyond, climbing far +up to a still higher ridge that reaches toward the Yosemite and the +high Sierras. The view thrilled Job. The psalm he had learned for last +Sunday came to him. He repeated it solemnly with cap off, as he sat +still on Bess' back: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from +whence cometh my help; my help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven +and earth." + +[Illustration: "Father of the Forest," Calaveras Grove.] + +Only a moment be paused, and then started on a gallop down the hill. +The ring of Bess' feet on the hard road scared the shy gray squirrels, +which ran chattering up the tall pines, leaving their feast of nuts on +the ground beneath. + +A few minutes later and all the solemnity of his soul and the beauty +of the forests was sadly interrupted as he rode round a curve and came +out at the junction of the Signal Point and the Yosemite toll-road. + +There stood, or lay rather, half on its side, a rickety, old +two-seated structure shaded by white canvas supported by four +rough-hewn posts. It leaned far to the side on one wheel and a +splintered hub. Down the hill a broken wheel was bounding; while, on +the dusty road, four women--one tall and angular in a yellow duster, +one little and weazened, arrayed in a prim gray traveling suit, a +weeping maiden of uncertain age, and a portly dame of ponderous +proportions, dressed not in a duster but a very dusty black silk--were +pulling themselves up. Near by three little tots were howling +vigorously, yet making no impression on the poor, lone, lank white +mare which stood stock still in the shafts, with a contented air that +showed an immense satisfaction in the privilege of one good stop. + +"Mary Jane, this is awful! Every bone in me is cracked and this silk +dress is ruined--yes, is ruined! I tell yer it ain't fit for Mirandy's +little gal's doll! And my! I know my heart is broken, too; I can hear +it rattle! I'll never come with you and that horrid runaway horse +again!" + +The poor horse flapped her ears as if in appreciation of this last +remark, while Mary Jane, rising up like a yellow-draped beanpole, +retorted in a shrill voice: + +"Aunt Eliza, ain't you ashamed to be deriding me, a poor lone widder +with three helpless children! I hope ye are cracked--cracked bad! +Horse, humph! I guess my horse is the likeliest in Grizzly county! Yer +know yer made all the trouble; any decent wheel would give way when it +had a square mile of bones and stuffin's and silk above it!" + +"Now, sister Mary and Aunt Eliza," spoke up, in a thin, metallic +voice, that of the diminutive dame in gray, as she adjusted her bonnet +strings, "let us not grow unduly aggravated at the disconcerting +providence which has overwhelmed us in the journey of life. There are +compensating circumstances which should alleviate our sorrow. Our +lives are spared, and the immeasurable forests are undisturbed by the +trifling event which has overtaken us poor, insignificant creatures, +whose--" + +"Insignificant!" roared Aunt Eliza, "I guess I ain't insignificant! I +own twenty town lots down in Almedy, as purty as yer ever saw. +Insignificant! I--the mother of ten children and goodness knows how +many grandchildren! And as for them trees that yer say yer can't +measure, I'd rather see the clothes-poles in Sally's back yard!" + +"Yes," chimed in Mary Jane, "and 'trifles' yer call it, for a poor +woman that raises spuds and washes clothes for the men at the mines +for a livin', to lose her fine coach Pete built the very year he took +sick of the heart-failure and died, and left me a lone widder in a +cold and friendless world!" At which she wiped her eyes with the +yellow duster. + +"'Trifles'!" cried Aunt Eliza again. "'Trifles,' for us poor guileless +wimmen to be left here alone in the wilderness, twenty mile from a +livin' creature, and nobody knows what wild animals and awful men may +come along any minute!" + +For a moment Job halted Bess and watched the scene. An almost +uncontrollable desire to laugh possessed him; but, restraining +himself, he took the first chance he had to make his presence known, +at which Aunt Eliza groaned, "Oh, my!" and Mary Jane instinctively +grasped her yelling children, and the prim spinster curtsied and asked +if he used tobacco. At Job's surprised look and negative reply, she +said, "Very well. I never employ a male being who permeates his +environment with the noxious weed. As you do not, I will offer you +proper remuneration if you will assist us in this unforeseen +calamity." + +Assuring her that he would, without pay, do all he could, Job went to +work. It was well on in the day ere, by his repeated errands down to +the big hotel barn some distance below, he had procured enough +material to get the rickety old structure in order and help Aunt Eliza +back up its high side to the seat she had left so unceremoniously that +morning. The last he heard, as the white horse slowly pulled out of +sight through the forest, was Aunt Eliza's, "Go slow, Mary Jane, for +mercy's sake! Don't let her run away!" while the prim spinster shouted +back in a high key, "Good-by, young man! You're a great credit to your +sex;" and Mary Jane, pounding the poor mare vigorously, yelled, +"G'lang! Get up! We'll never get home!" + + * * * * * + +It was nearer sunset than it should have been when Job reached the +sign-board far up the toll-road that read, "To the Big Trees." Putting +spurs to Bess, he galloped on at a rapid pace for a mile or more, when +he became conscious that the sugar pines and cedars were giving place +to strange trees which had loomed up before him so gradually that he +was not aware the far-famed Sequoias, the giants of the forest, were +all about him. + +A dim, strange light filled the place. The twilight was coming fast in +that far, lonely spot shaded by the close ranks of the Titanic forms. +He walked Bess slowly down the shadowy corridor along the line of +those straight giants, whose tapering spires seemed lost in heaven's +blue. + +How long it took to pass a tree! Bess and he were but toys beside +them, yet he could scarcely realize their vastness till he slid off +her back, and, throwing the rein over her neck, started around one, +and lost Bess from view as he turned the corner and walked a full +hundred feet before he had encircled the monster. How ponderous the +bark, how strangely small the cones! + +Mounting Bess, he rode down through the vast aisle of these monarchs +of the mountains. A feeling of awe came over him. The world of Gold +City and strife and jealousy and struggle, the realm of Mary Jane and +Aunt Eliza, the world of petty humanity, seemed far away. He was alone +with God and the eternities. Silent he stood, with bared head, and +looked along the monster trunks that stretched far up, up, up, towards +where the soft blue of evening twilight seemed to rest on them for +support. He found himself praying--he could not help it. It was the +litany of his soul rising with Nature's silent prayer: "Our Father +which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name." All through he said it, to +the reverent "Amen," then, putting on his hat, rode on toward the +farther grove. + +[Illustration: "Grizzly Giant," Mariposa Grove.] + +On he went past "Grizzly Giant," standing lone and bare, its foliage +gone, its old age come--"Grizzly Giant," which was old before Christ +was born; on by vigorous saplings, already rivals of the biggest +pines. One time-worn veteran had succumbed to some Titanic stroke of +Nature's power and lay prostrate on the ground. Decay and many +generations of little denizens of the forest had hollowed its great +trunk like some vast tunnel. Job, looking in, could see the light in +the distance. + +It was big enough for Bess and him--he was sure it was; he would try +it. So, whispering lovingly to the horse, he rode into the gaping +monster, rode through the dark heart of the old giant, clear to the +other end and on into daylight. Enthused by his achievement, Job +hurried on down the road and around the great curve, to see looming up +before him "Wawona," far-famed Wawona, the portal of the silent +cathedral through whose wide-spreading base and under whose towering +form a coach and six can drive. + +The sun was down, the shadows were fast gathering, the great trees +were retreating one by one in the gloom, when Job found the little +one-roomed log cabin with open door where he had planned to spend the +night. Unsaddling Bess and giving her the bag of grain on the back of +the saddle, hurriedly eating a lunch, and gathering some sticks for a +fire in the old stone fireplace in case he needed one, throwing a +drink into his mouth, Indian style, from the spring just back of the +cabin, he prepared for the night. A little later, tying Bess securely +to the nearest sapling, he closed the cabin door behind him, rolled +down the old blankets he found there, and lay down to sleep. + +How dark it was! How still the world! A feeling of intense loneliness +stole over Job, and then a sense of God's nearness soothed him and he +fell asleep. + +It must have been after midnight when he awoke with a start, a feeling +of something dreadful filling him. He listened. All was still save for +Bess' occasional pawing near by. Then he heard a sound that set the +blood curdling in his veins, that sent his hair up straight, and made +his heart beat like an engine--from far off in the mountains came a +weird, heart-breaking cry as of a lost child. + +Job knew it well. It was the call of a mountain lion. Again it came, +but nearer on the other side. It was voice answering voice. Bess +snorted, pawed, and seemed crazed. What should he do? He trembled, +hesitated; then, breathing a prayer, he hurriedly opened the cabin +door, cut Bess' rope, led her in through the low portal, barred the +door behind, and, soothing her with low whispers of tenderness, tied +her to the further wall of the cabin, and crept back into bed. Then he +lay and waited breathlessly for another cry, and thought all was well, +till in a distant moan, far down the road, he heard it again. + +For a moment fear almost overpowered him; then the old Psalm +whispered, "He that keepeth thee will not slumber nor sleep." A sweet +consciousness of the absolute safety of God's children stole over the +youth; and catching, from a rift in the roof, one glimpse of the stars +struggling through the tree tops, he turned over and fell asleep as +peacefully as if in his bed at home. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CHRISTMAS SUNDAY. + + +It was Christmas Sunday when Job was received into full membership in +the quaint old Gold City Methodist church. Snow was on the ground, and +sleigh bells rang through the air. All day long the streets had been +reverberating with that essential of a California Christmas, the +fire-cracker. As the preacher came over from Hartsville, the service +was in the evening. + +The old building looked really fine in its new dress of holly berries, +mistletoe and cedar. Across the front was hung in big red and white +letters, "Unto us a Child is Born." Over the organ was suspended a +large gilt star. + +The place was crowded that night. The double fact that it was +Christmas, and that the camp-meeting converts would be baptized, +brought everybody out. + + "Joy to the world, the Lord is come!" + +sang the choir as Job, dressed in a neat new suit of gray and "store" +shirt, entered the church, making a way for Andy Malden, who, for the +first time in untold years, had crossed the threshold of the +meeting-house. The arrival, a few minutes before, of Slim Jim the +gambler, who hung around the Monte Carlo, and Col. Dick, its +proprietor, had not attracted so much attention as the entrance of +"Jedge Malden," as the politicians called him who sought his political +influence. + +The preacher, as he looked down on that audience, was amazed. He had +seen no such scene in this old church since, with faint heart, he had +first stood in its plain pulpit as pastor. The walls were lined with +all the representative characters of the town, good and bad, rich and +poor; merchants, bar-keepers, politicians and miners. In the center +the old-time church-goers sat. Up the front, filling every inch of +space, the starched and well-washed youngsters wriggled and grinned +and sang without fear, as hymn after hymn was announced. + +All soon caught the spirit of the hour, and a general feeling of +good-nature settled down on all. In fact, the place fairly trembled +with good-will, as a class of boys marched to the platform and sang: + + "The Christmas bells are ringing over land and sea, + The winter winds are bringing their merry notes to me," + +and the wee tots involuntarily turned to the rear as they ended with +almost a yell: + + "Then shout, boys, shout! + Shout with all your might; + For Merry Christmas's at the door, + He's coming here to-night!" + +On the programme went--recitations, songs, choruses, following close +after one another. A fairy-like girl, with all childhood's innocence, +told anew the old story of Bethlehem and the Christ Child. The tears +stole down some rough cheeks as the memories of long-gone childhood's +Christmas days came back to them. + +The wee tots had sung their last hymn, when the preacher began his +sermon on the angel's song that echoes still each Christmas over all +the world: "Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, good-will +toward men." For twenty minutes he talked of glory, peace, +good-will--those things so sadly lacking in many lives before him; +talked till each face grew solemn, and Slim Jim looked as if he was +far away in some distant memory-world. Andy Malden seemed to hear +Peter Cartright, as he had heard him in his father's cabin when a boy, +and remembered for the first time in years the night he had promised +the eccentric old preacher he would be a Christian--a promise that had +been drowned by the drum-beat of the old war days and the +disappointment of a lifetime. + +As the preacher finished, every man and woman there made a silent +resolution to be better-natured and pay their debts and make life a +little brighter for somebody. But, alas! resolutions are easily +broken. + +"The candidates for baptism will please come forward," said the +parson. + +Up they rose, old and young; Tim Dennis, the cobbler; aged Grandpa +Lewis; a score of both sexes. Around the altar they stood, a long +semicircle; and, as it so happened, Jane at one end, and Job, with +serious, manly air, at the other. + +Question after question of the ritual was asked. Clear and strong came +the answers. "Wilt thou renounce the devil and all his works?" Jane +nodded yes--how little she knew of the devil! Job answered loudly, "I +will"--how much he did know! "The vain pomp and glory of the world?" +continued the minister; and old Mrs. Smith, who lived alone in the +hollow back of the church and had had such a struggle of soul to give +up the flowers on her hat that she fancied were too worldly, +responded, "Yes," with a groan. "Wilt thou be baptized in this faith?" +asked the preacher at last. A unanimous chorus answered, "I will," +and, taking the bowl in his hand, he passed down the line of the now +kneeling forms and administered the sacred ordinance. Job was last. +Leaning over, the parson asked his name, then there rang out through +the church, as the eager throng leaned forward to hear and Andrew +Malden poked the floor with his cane, "Job Teale Malden, I baptize +thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. +Amen." + +The service was over. The crowds were pouring out the door, the +organist was playing "Marching Through Georgia" on the wheezy organ as +the liveliest thing she knew, the people were wishing each other +"Merry Christmas," as Job, hurrying out of the church, felt a touch on +his shoulder, and, looking up, saw Slim Jim the gambler. + +"Job, come out here. I have something to tell you," said he. + +Pushing through the throng, they crept around the church in the dark, +when Jim, putting his hand on the youth's shoulder, said: + +"Job, I remember the night you came to Gold City, what a poor, +homeless lad you were! I remember the day you won the horse-race and I +said, 'The devil's got the kid now sure.' And now I am so glad, Job, +that you've gone and done the square thing. I helped bury your father, +and I tell you he was a fine fellow--a gentleman, if he had only let +the drink and cards alone. Oh, Job, never touch them! You think it's +strange, perhaps, but I was good once, far off in old Pennsylvania. I +was a mother's boy, and went to church, and--Job, would you believe +it?--I was going to be a preacher!--I, poor Slim Jim that nobody cares +for, now. But I wanted to get rich, and I came to Gold City. I learned +to play cards, and--well, here I am. No help for me--Slim Jim's lost +this world and his soul, too. But you're on the right track, and, if +when you die and go up there where those things shine,"--and he +pointed through the pines to the starlit sky--"you meet a little, +sweet old lady with white hair and a gray dress knitting a pair of +socks, tell her that her Jamie never forgot her and would give the +best hand he ever had to feel her kiss once more and hear her say +good-night. Tell her--listen, boy!--tell her it was the cards that +ruined Jamie, but he's her Jamie still." And with tears on his face +and in his voice, the tall, pale wreck of manhood hurried off in the +darkness, leaving Job alone in the gloom. + +It was late that night when Job said his prayer by his bed at home, +but he made it long enough to put in one plea for Slim Jim. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE COVE MINE. + + +It is six miles from Pine Tree Ranch to the Cove Mine. You go over +Lookout Point, from where El Capitan and the outline of the Yosemite +can be easily seen on a clear day, down along the winding upper ridge +of the Gulch, up again over the divide near Deer Spring and down along +the zigzag trail on the steep side of Big Bear Mountain, then down to +the very waters of the south fork of the Merced; just six miles to +where, in the depth of the canyon, lies Wright's Cove Mine. In all the +far-famed Sierras there can be no more picturesque spot. If one will +take the trouble to climb the almost perpendicular ridge that rises +two thousand feet behind the old tumble-down buildings, long, low +cook-houses and superintendent's vine-covered cottage, along that +narrow, half-destroyed trail that follows the rusty tracks and cogs +and cable of an old railroad, up to the first and then on further to +the second tunnel, where a few deserted ore-cars stand waiting the +trains that never come, on still higher to the narrow ridge that +separates the south fork from the north fork of the Merced River, he +is rewarded with a view worth a long trip to see. + +Let him stand there at sunset in the early spring and he has seen a +view worthy of the land of the Jung Frau and Mt. Blanc. All around, +the white-topped peaks of the high Sierras; far away, the snow banner +waving over the Yosemite; to the left of him, far below, like a river +of gold, sending up hither a faint murmur as it rushes over giant +boulders and innumerable cataracts, the North Fork, hurrying from that +ice-bound gorge which is the wonder of the Sierras; to the right, on +the other side, dancing down from the far-off Big Trees, threading the +tangled jungles of the Gulch, coming out through the dark green forest +like a rim of molten silver, roaring down past the quaint little +mining settlement, which looks half hid in partly-melted snow banks +like some Swiss village, comes the south fork of the river, +disappearing behind the mountain on which one stands. + +The rushing stream, whose music is like some far-off echo; the strange +deserted village; the narrow line of dark rails up the mountain-side +through the snow; the gloomy, cavernous tunnels; the setting sun in +the west gilding all with its transfiguring touch--these give a scene +worthy the brush of a master-artist, who has never yet found his way +over the Pine Mountain trail to the South Fork and Wright's Cove Mine. + +It was just such a day in spring as this, as Job came whistling down +the trail, gun in hand, looking for deer-tracks, that he thought he +heard the report of a gun up in the second tunnel. He had often been +there before; had climbed the trail and the cog railroad, played +around and over the deserted buildings, and gone swimming off the iron +bridge where the torrent was deepest. Once he and Dolph Swartz, a +neighbor boy, had slept all night in the tool-house shed, waiting for +game, and had seen only what Dolph was sure was a ghost--so sure that +he hurried Job home at daybreak with a vow that he would never stay at +Wright's Cove another night. + +Job knew the place well, yet on this spring day he stopped and looked +mystified. There it was again! Who could be in the second tunnel with +a gun? Was it the spirit of some poor forty-niner come back again? He +doubled his speed, slid down through the mud and slush, grasped a +sapling and leaped down the short cut, ran up the bank and rocky sides +of the roaring torrent, walked carefully over the slippery iron rails +of the old rusty bridge, and made his way up the steep Tunnel Trail. + +Soon he was close to the tunnel, so far up that the river's noise was +lost behind him. He stopped and listened. Not a sound. Then clean and +strong the ring of a gun, and a dull echo in the dim cavern! + +All kinds of thoughts rushed through Job's head. He was not a +superstitious boy, yet this was enough to make anybody feel queer--all +alone in that deserted wilderness, with the echo of a gun coming out +of the lonely mine, unworked for years and into which no human +footstep had penetrated since the day that old Wright shot himself in +the tunnel when he found that the mine which had paid big at first and +into which he had put all his income, was a failure. Job had heard the +boys tell that Indian Bill, the trapper, said he had seen the old +fellow's skeleton marching up and down with gun in hand, two hundred +feet down the tunnel, defending it against all intruders. Perhaps that +was the ghost now! Would he dare to go? His flesh crept at the +thought. He wished Shot was with him, or at least some living thing. +Again he heard the report. His courage rose. He would face the thing, +whatever it was. + +Creeping up slowly and noiselessly, he reached the entrance to the +tunnel and looked in. All was as dark as the grave. A cold draft +rushed out over him. He could hear the drip, drip, of water from the +roof. At first he thought he saw something moving in the distance, +then he was not sure. He decided he would turn back; then curiosity +was too much for him; he began to whistle and walked boldly into the +darkness, followed the rotten ties, when, lo! he saw a flash of +light, heard a thundering report, and, involuntarily giving a yell, +started to run, when a familiar voice shouted: + +"Job, Job, come here!" + +He turned, and there loomed up before him, to his utter amazement, the +form of Andrew Malden. + +The old man was evidently disconcerted and angry at being found, while +the boy was utterly dumfounded. + +"Wait a minute, Job; I'll go home with you," said Malden, as he took +out the queerest charge Job had ever seen in a gun--a load of gold +dust, which he carefully rammed down the barrel, then, bidding Job +look out, fired into the rock. + +"Why, what are you doing that for?" stammered the boy. + +"Oh, salting the mine, just so it will keep," laughed Andrew Malden--a +strange, hoarse laugh. "But mind, Job, nobody needs to know I did it. +The mine will keep better if they don't." + +As they passed out, Job noticed that the wall of the mine glittered in +a way he had never seen before. What did it all mean? He dared ask no +more questions of Andrew Malden. Almost in silence they climbed down +the old trail, edged across the bridge, and strode with a steady pace +up the long six miles over the Point to their home. + +"What's 'salting a mine,' Tony?" asked Job of the black hostler one +day a week after. + +"Doan' know, Marse Job, unless it's doctoring the critter so you can +make somebody believe it's worth a million, when it ain't worth a +rabbit's hind foot. Tony's up to better bizness than salting mines." + +"Who owns the Cove Mine, Tony?" + +"Why, Marse Malden, I 'spec," said the surprised negro. + +That evening Job looked at his guardian with a queer feeling as they +sat down to supper, and that night he heard gun-shots in his dreams, +and awoke with a shiver and waited for something to happen. He was +conscious of impending trouble. Something was wrong. + + * * * * * + +It had been a hard winter in Grizzly county, and throughout the whole +country, for that matter; a hard winter, following a fatal summer +which closed with crops a failure on the plains, the stunted grain +fields uncut, and the whole country paralyzed. The cities were full of +men out of work. The demand for lumber had fallen off, and the Pine +Mountain Mill was idle over half the time. The pessimism that filled +the air had reached Andrew Malden, and he sat by the fire all winter +nursing it. If he could sell the Cove Mine--but what was there to +sell? And he gave it up as a futile project. Then there came news of a +rich strike of gold in Shasta county, and a little later in the far +south the deserts of the Mojave were found to glitter. A perfect +epidemic of mining excitement followed. The most unthought-of places, +the old deserted mines, were found to be bonanzas. Andy caught the +fever. He tramped all over the Pine Tree Ranch prospecting, but gave +up in despair. Then he thought once more of the Cove Mine. He made +many a secret trip there. Then he ordered a box of gold dust from the +Yellow Jacket and stole down to the Cove again and again, till +discovered by Job. + +In all those years of living for himself and to himself, Andrew Malden +had tried to be square with the world. Business was business with him. +He made no concessions to any man; pity and altruism were not in his +vocabulary. Unconsciously to himself, he had grown to be a very hard +man, and the heart within him found it difficult to make itself felt +through the calloused surface of his life. But with it all Andrew +Malden had been honest. His word was as good as his bond in all +Grizzly county. No man questioned his statements. Everyone got a +hundred cents on the dollar when Andrew Malden paid his debts. + +But no man knew that in those days of the hard spring the gray-haired +pioneer was passing through one of the greatest temptations of his +life. Men were buying up mines all about him, just at a glance; mines +fully as worthless as the Cove Mine. Anyhow, who knew the Cove Mine +was worthless? It had had a marvelous record in early days. A little +capital spent might bring immense reward. The old man sat, again and +again, alone on the front porch and turned it over in his mind. Then +he would creep off down to the mine, and feel his way in the dark +tunnel, looking for a new lead. He looked at the places he had salted, +until he almost brought himself to believe them genuine. Nobody would +know the difference, he argued. Job did not know what he was doing +when he found him. He would take the risk; he might lose the ranch +itself if he did not. And, coming home with the first stain of +dishonesty on his soul, Andrew Malden astonished Job by ordering him +to have Jack and Dave hitched up at three in the morning; he was going +to drive to the plains and the railroad station, then take a train to +the city, and would be back in a few days. + +Ten days later, Jack and Dave and the carriage, all coated with slush +and mud, drove up to the door, and Andrew Malden, with a strangely +affable smile on his face, clambered stiffly out and introduced Job to +Mr. Henry Devonshire, an Englishman traveling for his health and +profit. With a gruff greeting the stranger said: + +"We 'ad a dirty trip hup. The mud's no respecter h'of an H'english +gentleman nor h'an American millionaire, don'cher know?" and the +pompous Mr. Devonshire handed his hand-grip to Job, while he poked out +his shoes for the gray-haired lackey to wipe, with an-- + +"'Ere, you, clean these feet, bloomin' quick!" + +Job and Tony obeyed, but a significant look passed between them. + +The next few days things went lively at the Pine Tree Ranch. Some of +the mill men were ordered off to scour the mountains for deer, a new +Chinese cook came up from Gold City, and the old man and the +"H'english gentleman," as Tony called him with a contemptuous chuckle, +mounted horses and went riding over the ranch and down to the mine. It +took all the grace Job had to see the arrogant boor, with his two +hundred and fifty avoirdupois, get Tony to help him mount Bess, and, +poking her in the ribs, call out, "What a bloomin' 'orse! Cawn't h'it +go!" and ride off toward Lookout Point. + +It was astonishing, the politeness Andrew Malden assumed; how he +overlooked all the gruffness of his guest and treated him like a +prince. Job fairly stared in wonder. It capped the climax when one +night--just as, tucked up snug in his bed, Job was dreaming of his +last walk home from school with Jane--to feel a rude shake and to see +Andrew Malden with excited face standing over him, saying: + +"Jump, boy! Dress quick and saddle Bess and ride with all your might +to Gold City and catch Joe before the stage leaves. Take this +telegram, and tell him to send it as soon as he gets to the plains and +Wheatland Depot! Here, up with you!" + +It was not over fifteen minutes after that Job was galloping away on +Bess' back in the cold, night air, over the muddy roads, stiffened +somewhat in the frosty spring night, and lit only by the dim +starlight. It was a wild ride, a ride that sent a chill to his very +marrow; and if it had not been for his ever-present trust in God, it +would have struck terror to his heart. It seemed as if it grew darker +and darker. The clouds were creeping across the stars, the great trees +hung like a drapery of gloom over the roadway. Faster and faster he +rode. Now he soothed Bess as she shied at some suspicious rock that +glistened with unmelted snow, or some crackle in the bushes that broke +the stillness of the night air; then he urged her on till down the +steep Frost Creek road she fairly flew. + +It was at the dim hour of dawn, and out of the gloom the world was +creeping into view, when Job, with the white foam on Bess, and both +heated and freezing himself, rode up to the door of the old brick +Palace Hotel, where Joe, just mounting the box of the familiar ancient +coach in which Job had once years ago traveled as a passenger, was +about to snap his whip over the backs of four doubtful-looking horses +which stood pawing the ground as if anxious to be stirring in such +frosty air. + +A hurried conversation, a white paper passed into Joe's hands, and the +long whip snapped, four steeds made a desperate charge forward, an old +woman in the coach, wrapped in three big shawls, bounded into air, and +Job saw the stage vanish up the hill, with the horses settling down to +the conventional snail's pace they had maintained these long years. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +BATTLES WITH CONSCIENCE. + + +Joe evidently sent the telegram, for his stage next day brought up the +long-looked-for load of "bigbugs" that set the whole town of Gold City +wild to know why they were there. A perfect mob of street urchins, +loafers, shop-men and bar-keepers who could spare a bit of time, lined +up in front of the Palace Hotel and watched the plaid-coated, +gray-capped visitors in short knickerbockers and golf stockings puff +their pipes around the bar and call for "Porter and h'ale, 'alf and +'alf." + +Interest reached its climax when, after supper, three buckboards, +loaded with the guests heavy in more ways than one, started down +toward Mormon Bar and the Pine Mountain road. + +It was quite late when the loud barking of dogs announced their +arrival at Pine Tree Ranch, and it was still later when Job crept up +to the hay-loft over the stable to find a substitute for his cosy bed, +which he had surrendered to another "H'english gentleman," with an +emphasis on the last word. The boy was in a quandary to know what it +all meant. He felt an inward sense of disgust. He disliked such people +as these new friends of the old man's. Then he remembered that the +good Book says, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," and he was +painfully conscious that they were close neighbors now; so he breathed +a silent prayer that the Lord would make him love the unlovable, and +after a time fell asleep. + +It was the second day of the feast. Venison and quail, if not milk and +honey, had made the table groan in the big center room, now changed +into a dining-room. The parlor had been turned into a smoking-room, +and Job had seen, with indignation that stirred his deepest soul, +empty beer bottles on his bedroom floor. A whole cavalcade of horsemen +had gone down in the morning to the Cove and come galloping back at +night. Job had been to the milk-house and was coming back past the +side door in the dusk of the evening; it was ajar and the fumes of +tobacco smoke rolled out. He was tempted to peer in. Around the +cleared dining-table the crowd of red-faced guests were seated, with +Andy at the head playing the host in an awkward sort of way. On the +table were spread a big map and paper and ink. + +"Well, Mr. Malden, this 'ere nugget came from the mine, you say. +Bloomin' purty, hain't h'it, fellows?" said a voice. + +"Yes, gentlemen, I found that myself. My son Job and I were +prospecting, and we discovered it--the richest nugget ever found in +Grizzly county. Of course we kept it a secret; didn't want a rush up +here," replied Malden. + +"What a lie!" said Job to himself. "That's the very nugget Mike +Hannerry found at the Yellow Jacket! Where on earth did uncle get it?" + +"Come, Devonshire, let's buy 'er h'up and get h'out of this bloomin' +country. I want to get back to the club. The boat for Australia sails +Saturday," spoke up another voice. + +"But now I want to ask the mon a thing," said a little shrewd-faced +Scotchman. "Is he sure the thing down the hollow isn't salted? I got +one salted mine in the colonies, and--" + +"Salted!" said Andy, with an unnoticed flush on his face. "Salted! Do +you suppose, gentlemen, I would bring you here to sell you a salted +mine? You can ask anybody back in the city if my credit isn't +first-class." + +"Oh, mon," said a tall Highlander, "oh, mon, the feller's crazy. +Salted--humph! We saw the gold with our own eyes. I say take the mine. +I'll take a thousand shares at a pound. How much is the deal, did the +mon say?" + +"H'an 'undred thousand pounds. Cheap, I think," answered Devonshire. + +"H'it's a go. We'll 'ave the stuff h'at the h'inn down h'in--what's +the name of that town?" said the tall one. + +"Gold City, sir, Gold City!" spoke up the excited host. + +"Well, Gold City--that's the spot. We'll pay the cash there. My +banker'll come h'in there to-night h'in the stage." + +And as Job crept away, he heard them planning, between drinks, the +future of the "Anglo-American Gold Mining Syndicate," with main office +in London and place of operation in Grizzly county, State of +California, the United States of America. + +Job did not sleep that night. All through the dark hours he tossed on +his straw bed over the stable. Andrew Malden was going to sell the +Cove Mine for five hundred thousand dollars--and it was not worth one +cent! It was an outrageous fraud. The boy felt like going and telling +those capitalists. He felt a sense of personal guilt. Yet he almost +hated those men. What difference if they were cheated?--they would +never miss it; they deserved it. How much Uncle Andy needed the money! +And it would be his own some day. + +That thought touched Job's conscience to the center. He was a partner +in the crime! He half rose in bed, resolving that he would face the +crowd and tell all--how he had stood by and seen the old man salt the +mine. Then he hesitated. What was it to him? If he told, it would ruin +Andy. What business had he with it, anyhow? But all night long the +wind whistled in through the cracks, "Thou shalt not steal," and Job +tossed in agony of soul, wishing he had never climbed down the Pine +Mountain trail to the Cove on that spring day when Andrew Malden +salted the mine. + +The sun was well up the next morning when the procession of buckboards +was ready to start for Gold City. Andrew Malden and the shrewd fellow +had gone an hour before, the rest were off, and only the boorish +Devonshire was left to ride down with Tony. Job stood, with heart +palpitating and conscience goading him, down by the big pasture gate +to let them through. All his peace of mind was gone. A few moments and +the crime would be carried out to its end, and he would be equally +guilty with the avaricious old man who was the nearest one he had in +all the world. + +Tony and the last man, the obnoxious Devonshire, were coming. How Job +hated to tell him, of all men! The hot flashes came and went on his +cheek; he turned away; he bit his lip; he would let it go--lose his +religion and go to the bad with Andy Malden. Then the old camp-meeting +days came back to him. He heard again Slim Jim's words in the dark +behind the church that Christmas night; he remembered his vows to God +and the church. + +The horse and the buckboard had passed through the gate; the +Englishman had thrown him a dollar; he was trembling from head to +foot. He offered a quick prayer, then hurried after them, halted Tony, +and, looking up into the red face of his companion, said: + +"Sir, the mine is salted; I saw the old man do it--it's salted sure!" + +The load was gone, the consciousness of truthfulness filled his soul. +That day he played with Shot and sang about his work. + + * * * * * + +The dusky twilight had come, when Job heard the stern voice of Andrew +Malden outside, as, with an oath, he threw the reins to Hans. The boy +rose to meet him as he heard his step on the porch. The door opened, +and Job saw a white face and flashing eyes, the very incarnation of +wrath. + +"You pious fraud! What made you tell those men the mine was salted!" +hissed the old man. + +"Uncle, I am sorry, but I couldn't help it. I knew it--I had to tell +the truth," stammered Job. + +"Couldn't help it, you sneak! You owe all you are to me. I guess I am +more to you than all your religion!" + +"Uncle, I am sorry to hurt you, but I could do no less and please God. +And God is first in my life." + +"First, is he? Then go to him, and let him feed you and clothe you, +you ungrateful wretch!" And with the words the angry man struck Job +such a blow that he went reeling over, a dead-weight, on the floor. + +It was midnight when Tony, passing the door, heard the old man moan. +Peering in at the window, he saw him on his knees beside Job, who, +with white face and closed eyes, lay on a lounge near the door. Tony +stole away to whisper to Hans: + +"Guess the old man's made way with the kid! Let's lay low!" + +What a night that was for Andrew Malden! Two minutes after he had +struck the blow, all the wrath which had gathered strength on that +long mountain ride was gone. The blow struck open the door of his +heart; he saw that the boy was right and he was wrong. That blanched +face, those closed eyes--how they pierced him through and through! He +loved that boy more than all the mines and gold and ranches in the +world. The depth of his iniquity came over him. He hated himself, he +hated the Cove Mine; but that stalwart lad lying there--how he loved +him! All the hidden love of thirty years went out to him. "Job! Job!" +he cried. "Look at me! Tell me you forgive me!" + +He dashed water in the boy's face. He felt of his heart--he could +hardly feel it beat. Was he dead? Dead!--the only one he cared for? +Dead!--the poor motherless boy he had brought home one moonlight night +long ago, and promised that he would be both father and mother to him? +Dead!--aye, dead by his hand! And for what? For telling the truth; for +being honest and manly; for saving him from holding in his grasp the +ill-gotten gain that always curses a man. + +The hot tears came, the first in years. Andrew Malden knelt by the +bedside and groaned. And then he thought of Job's God and of the +Christ he talked about: thought of the little Testament he cherished. +He would call on Him, he would beg Him to spare Job. He knelt near the +lad; he started to say, "Oh, God, spare my boy! spare my boy!" when a +sense of his wickedness, his hard heart, his selfish life, his sin, +came over him; and instead he cried from the depths of his soul, "God +have mercy on me a sinner!" + +The daylight was struggling through the shutters when Job turned and +opened his eyes, to see an anxious face look into his own and to hear +a familiar voice out of which had gone all anger, say: + +"Oh, Job, my boy, I knew He'd hear me, I prayed so long! Job, God has +forgiven me! Won't you? Oh, tell me you will! I am a different man! I +read it in the Book while you lay here so still: 'Though your sins be +as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' And Job, it's true!" + +The fever stayed with Job many a day after that, and it was June +before the natural color came back into his white cheeks. But the old +ranch seemed like a new place to him; and when one morning Mr. Malden +read at family devotions, "All things work together for good to them +that love God," he broke down in the prayer he tried to make, and +rushed out of doors to hide the tears of joy that choked him, while he +heard Tony singing as he went about his toil: + + "Oh, dar's glory, yes, dar is glory, + Oh, dar is glory in my soul! + Since I touched de hem of His garment, + Oh, dar is glory in my soul." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +SQUIRE PERKINS. + + +Of all the queer families in the mountains, not one, surely, equalled +that of Squire Perkins, a real down-east Yankee, whose house was not +more than a mile west of Malden's Mill, on the Frost Creek road. A +little weazened old man, who, while he had always been staunch to his +political creed, and had been Republican supervisor of the town ever +since people could remember, yet had drifted religiously till he was +now a typical Spiritualist. The neighbor boys who used to go past his +house evenings and see him with the "Truth Seeker" in his hands, +wandering among the trees and gazing blankly into space, often took +him for a genuine ghost. + +His wife was quite unlike him. She was born in a house-boat on the +Pearl River near Canton, and, with hair plaited down her forehead and +cheeks, slanting eyes and wooden shoes and a silk robe, had landed at +San Francisco when it was still a heterogeneous trading-post, and had +come up with the miners to prattle "pigeon English," and cook, as it +turned out, for Squire Perkins. When other women came--Americans from +the States--the old man married her. Long since she had adopted +American ways and had joined the Methodist church, and not one of the +neighbors, who always sent for Squire Perkins' wife in time of +trouble, thought less of her because she was a Chinese woman. + +The long, white cottage, with its vine-covered walls, its +"hen-and-chicken" bordered walks, and its old gnarled apple tree +hugging the left side next to the stone chimney, became a still +queerer place when Widow Smith, a tall, straight, firm, black-eyed, +dark-skinned Indian woman, the descendant of a long line of natives of +these hills, but withal a refined, womanly old lady, came to board +with Squire Perkins and his wife. Widow Smith was a Presbyterian of +the straitest sort. The Squire's was surely a home of many races and +many creeds. + +It was at this house that one Tuesday evening the Methodist class met, +and Andy Malden came and confessed Christ, and all Grizzly county was +startled thereby. It was here that Job often rode up on Bess beside +the kitchen window where Aunty Perkins was making rice cakes, and +heard her say: "Job, heap good, allee samee angel cake. Have some. +Melican boy have no mother. Old Chinawoman, she take care of him." + +And she kept her word. She won the boy's heart, till he found himself +more than once going with his troubles down to Aunty Perkins', who +always ended her motherly advice with, "Be heap good, Job, heap good. +The Lord lub the motherless boy. 'He will never fail nor forslake +thee.'" + +It was here that Jane also stole with her heart burdens to the +strange, great-hearted woman who mothered the whole county. It was +here she was going one hot July afternoon, as, with blackberry pail on +her arm, she walked slowly down Sugar Pine Hill, thinking of the day +when she had first met Job on that very road. Her black hair was +smoothly braided down her back, she wore a light muslin dress tied +with a red sash, low shoes took the place of the tan and dust of other +days, a neat starched sun-bonnet enfolded her face now showing traces +of womanhood near at hand. As she turned the bend of the road, Job +stood there leaning on the fence with a far-away look. It was he who +was startled this time, as he dropped his elbows and hastened to lift +his faded sombrero. It was the most natural thing in the world for +him to walk slowly down the lane with her toward the Mill Road. The +July sun was hot, so they kept on the shady side of the way. + +Job thought enough of the girl to make him reserved. He wanted to tell +her that she was first in all his prayers, and that up in his room he +had the plans drawn for a cabin over on the corner of the ranch where +she should stand in the doorway and look for his coming. Thrice he +started to open his heart, then he shrank back abashed; talked of the +cows and how the calves grew; told her Bess was lame--couldn't ride +her this week; said that was a pretty fine sermon the parson preached +last Sunday--and turned homeward; while Jane looked after him with +wondering eyes and felt a great ache in her heart as she thought: + +"It's no use; he don't care for me!" + +She had barely passed the mill and the whiz of its machinery lulled +into a murmur that mingled with the brook along the well-shaded road, +when she heard the clatter of horse's hoofs, and, mounted on an old +white nag, Dan rode up to her side with: + +"Hello, Jane! Get on and ride!" + +Jane blushed. A year ago she would have done it; why not now, even if +she was big? No one would see her. Dan was awfully good to ask her; +Job wouldn't do it. So up she climbed on the saddle behind him, and +Dan walked the horse as they chatted away in the most easy fashion. + +She was longing to talk of religion to Dan; she felt he needed it. But +one thing was sure--Dan was sober nowadays; he had actually improved. +He was trying now to talk of love; for he was really beginning to feel +that, not only because he had made a bet to do so and defeat Job, but +because he did care, he should some day claim Jane Reed as his own. +Neither succeeded in getting the conversation just where they wanted +it before Squire Perkins' apple orchard came into view, and Dan was +obliged to halt his old nag by the horse-block built out from the +white fence and assist Jane to alight. + +She actually stood there till Aunty Perkins called: "Gal lost one +ting. Come lite in. All gone." At which Jane blushed and went in, +though all Mrs. Perkins' words could not drive out of her mind the Job +she loved and the Dan whom she wished she could love. How comely she +looked as she stood in the doorway at twilight! Any one might have +been proud of her. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +SCHOOL. + + +The next fall was Job's last term at school. He felt awkward and out +of place, for most of the boys of the country round left at sixteen, +just as they were tangled up in fractions and syntax. Now he was close +to the twenties, and the only big boy left in the Frost Creek school, +whose white walls peeped out through a grove of live-oaks where the +creek babbled merrily over the rocks. + +Yet with a pluck that had always characterized him, Job stuck to his +books and sat among the crowd of little youngsters who automatically +recited the multiplication table when the teacher was looking, and +threw paper wads when she was not. Jane was there, copying minutely in +dress and manner after Miss Bright, the new teacher, whom she greatly +admired. Job found it very pleasant to still walk home with Jane and +talk of algebra, class meeting, and the trip they must soon take to +the Yosemite--subjects which were mutually interesting. Yet somehow +the wild, natural freedom of former days was missing. Both were +painfully conscious of their awkward age and the fact that they were +no longer children. + +Charlie Lewis sat next to Job, a wee, frail little fellow, whose large +eyes looked up endlessly at his tall next neighbor, whom he secretly +worshiped, partly because Job shielded him from the rough bullies, +and partly because he had taken a fancy to the little lad and took him +along when he went up to the mountains or down to Perkins Hollow +swimming. A crowd of dark-eyed Mexicans and one small Chinese boy +filled the right corner, while over on the left were the Dixon +children and little Helen Day. Helen was a new arrival, a prim Miss of +six, who used to live on the plains, where her father was section-hand +on the railroad; which accounted, perhaps, for the fact that the time +when Father Lane, the old preacher from Merritt's Camp, called and +they sang, "Blest be the tie that binds," and the teacher asked Helen +what ties were meant, she promptly answered, "Railroad ties, ma'am." + +As pretty as a picture, always dressed in fine white, with a flower at +her throat as a brooch, and no end of wild ones on her desk, Miss +Bright sat at the head of the school room through the day, laughing +merrily now over the mistakes of some awkward boy, now singing +kindergarten songs with a class of wee tots, and then, after the +smaller ones were dismissed, holding Jane and Job spellbound as they +stood by her desk and heard her talk of her college days and 'Frisco, +lovely 'Frisco, and the glories of entomology, and the delights of +philosophy--names which Job knew must mean something grand. He began +to wish that Jane looked like her and talked like her and had lived in +'Frisco. He began to wonder who it was that Miss Bright wrote letters +to every day, and who wrote those Dan Dean used to leave at the +school-house for her postmarked "New York." His fears were relieved, +though, when he heard her laugh merrily one day when inquisitive +Maggie Dean asked: "What man writes to you all the time, Miss Bright?" +and reply, "My brother, of course, Maggie. But little girls shouldn't +ask too many questions." + +They used to have morning prayers when the other teacher was here, but +Miss Bright said that prayer was only the expression of our longings +and we did not need to pray aloud, and she thought God knew enough to +look after us without bothering him about it every day. Job was +shocked at first, then he thought perhaps Miss Bright was right, she +was so nice and knew so much. She boarded at Jeremiah Robinson's, who +lived on the Frost Creek road. More than once Job found himself going +there at her invitation, ostensibly to study Latin and literature, +which were not in the regular curriculum. He did not care much for the +studies--he found it hard to get far beyond "Amo, amas, amat," and as +for Chaucer and his glittering knights and fair ladies, he detested +them; but those moments after the lessons, when Miss Bright chattered +away about the beauties of evolution and the loveliness of protoplasm +and the immanence of Deity in all nature--Job fairly doted on them. + +Sometimes she accepted his invitation for an evening ramble. He felt +proud to have people see him with her. He would have liked to ask her +to the class-meeting at Squire Perkins', but he was afraid to; she +would think it beneath her to go among those country folks. And then, +what would she think of Widow Green if she got one of her +crying-spells? or lame Tim, who was a little daft, but who loved to +come to class-meeting and said always, "Tim's no good; he ain't much; +but Jesus loves him. Sing, brethren, 'I am so glad that Jesus loves +me.'" So Job never invited her. In fact, he did not like to tell her +he went; and, for fear she would know it, he stayed away two weeks +when she asked him to walk with her those moonlight nights. + +Miss Bright was so good, he thought; yet there was much he could not +understand. She never went to church. She said it was too far, and +besides she thought it more helpful to worship amid the grandeur of +nature, reading the lofty thoughts of the poets. And after that Job +thought the preacher at Gold City was a little old fogyish. + +Dan Dean was not slow to observe the unconscious drifting of Job away +from the church and toward the schoolma'am. Jane did not notice it +till Dan hinted to her that the only reason Job had cared for the +church was because she went there, and now that Miss Bright had come +he had dropped her and the church both. Which was so near the truth +that Jane began to feel strange when Job was near, and to do what she +had never dreamed of doing before with a single human being--she began +to doubt the occasional kind words he now gave her, and all he had +ever uttered. With the impulse of a wounded heart, she turned to Dan. +Yet try the best she could, she could never feel the same toward him. +She pitied Dan; a philanthropic feeling animated her as she thought of +him. She would do anything to make a man of him--marry him, even, if +necessary; but to think of surrendering her life and very being to +him, following him down the tortuous path of life, "For better or for +worse, for richer or poorer," to have him as her ideal of +manhood--that thought repelled her. Often she found herself standing +behind a tree on the way home from school, waiting to catch one +glimpse of Job as he sauntered by with Miss Bright's cloak on his arm +and its owner chattering at his side. She was angry to think she did +it; she ran home by the short cut through the woods, slammed the cabin +door behind her, threw herself on the bed and had a good cry, arose +and wiped the tears away, and vowed she would marry Dan if he asked +her. + +Job unconsciously walked into the meshes that fate seemed to have +thrown around him. More and more he transferred the admiration of his +heart to the stately, proud, talented girl of the world, who found him +a convenient escort and companion in the mountain country where +friends that suited her were scarce. Job was blind; he adored her. +Later and later, daily, was his return from school. The little +Testament grew dusty on the box-table in his bedroom, his morning +prayers sounded strangely alike, and even Andy Malden wondered at the +coldness of the lad's devotion at family worship. He went to church, +but seldom to class-meeting. He devoured a book Miss Bright had loaned +him, on "The World's Saviors--Buddha, Mohammed, Christ,"--in which he +found his Master placed on a level with other great souls. He asked +her the next day if she did not think Christ was divine, and marveled +at her learned reply that "All nature is divine. Matter and men are +but the manifestations of divinity, and the Galilean Teacher was +undoubtedly a wonderful character of his day." + +One night, as he left her, she loaned him a French novel full of +skepticism and scorn of virtue and morality. He was tempted to throw +it in the fire, but it was hers. He read it and rather liked it. He +began to think he had been too narrow; he wished he could get out and +see the world, the great world of thinking people where Miss Bright +lived. The poison was in his soul. How commonplace the sermon sounded +the next Sunday on "I am determined to know nothing among you save +Jesus Christ and him crucified"! How narrow Paul must have been! It +was the Sunday night before Christmas. The fall term had ended, and +the schoolma'am was going home; no more school till spring. A year +before Job had stood in the great congregation and taken the solemn +vow to be loyal forever to Christ and his church; to-night the +Christmas service went on without him. Tony, who was there and who +half suspected something was wrong, yet did not like to have anyone +else think so, said to those who asked him: + +"Yes, Marse Job's sick; dassen't come out." + +But Job was not sick, as Tony thought. He was in the Robinson parlor, +sitting with Miss Bright before the flickering log fire, which dimly +lit the long, low room with its rag carpet and old-fashioned +furniture. They were talking over their friendship, and she was +flattering him upon his superiority to those country greenhorns who +lived up here; she always knew he had city blood in him. Job was +acting sillier than anybody would have dreamed Job Malden could act, +in his evident pride at her flattery and the strange feelings which +drew him to her. She laughed at his attempts to compliment her, and, +on his departure, followed him to the door and said how heart-broken +she was to leave the mountains and him. + +Job went home in raptures, and lay awake all night planning how to get +away from the mountains and the rude people who lived there, and down +into the city somewhere--anywhere where Fanny Bright lived. + +All that week he wandered about as if lost, cross and good for nothing +at work. His city idol had gone home. + +It was two days after Christmas that Job tore the wrapper off a +'Frisco paper and sat down to read, when, glancing over the columns, +his eyes met the following: + + "Unity Church made a brilliant scene on Christmas night at the + wedding of Miss Frances Evelyn Bright, a charming young society + lady, to Walter Graham Davis, the well-known actor. Miss Bright + had just returned from Grizzly county, where she has been for + her health, so her friends made the reception that followed one + in a double sense." + +It was a haggard, red-eyed young fellow who crept down the stairs +after dusk, stole out to the stable, and saddled Bess. All night he +rode up and down the mountain roads. He hated the ground Miss Bright +had walked over, hated the house she had lived in, hated the school, +vowed he'd never enter it again, hated himself. She was gone, Jane was +gone--long since he had let Dan have her to himself--his church was +gone, all his peace of soul, all his religion, was gone. He would ride +up on Lookout Point and plunge over into the Gulch to death and +eternity, he and Bess together. Who cared? They were all alike--all +were heartless. Poor boy! he was learning a lesson that many a one has +learned--a bitter lesson--and all the forces of evil seemed to fight +for his soul that dark night as he climbed Lookout Point on Bess. + +He had reached the top when the moon came up over El Capitan and drove +away the gloom, lighting up the white-topped peaks and the dark, black +ravine. Somehow, he thought of his mother. There had been one good +woman in the world, after all. He hesitated, then turned slowly down +the hill and toward home. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +YANKEE SAM. + + +It was a wild March night when Job Malden found his way back to God. +No one could ever forget that night. The storm tore over the mountains +till the great forests fairly creaked and groaned beneath the mad +sweep of the wind. + +At dusk that afternoon a rap startled Job as he sat by the fire +watching the logs crackle and thinking of by-gone days, while the rain +poured without. He opened the door, and saw Mike Hennessy, dripping +wet and with cap in hand. + +"Shure, Mr. Job, the top of the evenin' to yez. But Mr. Schwarzwalder, +the hotel keeper at the town, wants ye, he says, to bring the Holy +Book;" at which Mike reverently crossed himself. "A man is dyin' and +wants yez;" and the good-natured Irishman was gone in an instant, +leaving Job in blank amazement. + +Ride that awful night to Gold City--take the Bible--man dying. What +could it mean? But the lad's better nature conquered, and, the Bible +snug in his pocket, he and Bess were soon daring the storm, bound for +Gold City. + +It was a wild night. Wet to the skin, Job rode up to the Palace Hotel, +late, very late, where he found a group of solemn-faced men waiting +for him. + +"Change your clothes, Job," said the hotel-keeper; "here's a dry suit. +Hurry now! Yankee Sam is dying upstairs, and he won't have no one but +you; says you're his preacher, and he wants to hear you read out of +some book." + +[Illustration: "Listen, Job; I want to tell you."] + +Job grew white. Yankee Sam dying, and he to hear his last confession, +he the priest to shrive him, he the preacher to console him! The boy +lifted up his first true prayer for months, and followed the man +upstairs to a low garret room, where the door closed behind him and +left him alone with a weak old man lying on a low bed, his eyes +shining in the dim candle-light with an unnatural glare. + +"Oh, Job, I'm mightly glad you've come to help an old man die! Yes, I +am dying, Job; the old man's near the end. I'll no more hang around +the Miners' Home and beg a drink from the stranger. Curse the rum, +Job! It's brought me here where you find me, a good-for-nothing, dying +without a friend in the world--yes, one friend, Job; you're my friend, +ain't you?" + +Job, frightened and touched to the heart, nodded assent. + +"I thought so, Job. I take stock in you. That night you came here, a +blue-eyed, lonely boy, I took you into my heart--for Yankee Sam's got +a heart; and I felt so proud of you that night when you said, 'I +renounce the devil and all his works,' and I wished I could have stood +by you and said it, too. But Job, my boy, the devil has a big mortgage +on Yankee Sam, and he's foreclosing it to-night, and--" + +The tempest shook the building, and Job lost the next words as the old +man rose on his elbow, then sank back exhausted. The wind died down, +and Job tried to comfort him with some words that sounded weak and +hollow to himself. But the dying man roused again, and, raising his +trembling hand, said: + +"Wait, Job. Get the Book. See if it has anything in it for me." + +Job opened to those beautiful words in Isaiah: "Though your sins be as +scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like +crimson, they shall be as wool." + +The old man bent his ear to listen. "Job, let's see it. Is it in +there--'red like crimson, white as wool'? Oh, no, my sins are too red +for that! Listen, Job, I want to tell you. I am dying a poor lost +sinner, but I was not always a street loafer, kicked and cuffed by the +world. Hear me, my boy! Would you believe that I was once a mother's +blue-eyed boy in old New Hampshire? Oh, such a mother! She's up where +the angels are now. I can feel the soft touch of her hands that +smoothed my head when I was a boy. Oh, I wish she was here to-night! +But--Job, Job, I killed her!--I did! I came home with the liquor in me +and she fell in a faint, and they said afterward that she never came +to. Oh, Job, I killed her, and I didn't care! I went to the city. I +found a wife, a sweet-faced little woman; she married me for better or +for worse; and Job, it was worse--God have mercy on me!" + +The old man gasped and then went on. "The babies came, and I was so +proud of them! Then the fever broke out. I went to get medicine when +she and the little ones were so sick, and I got on a spree--I don't +remember--but when I came to, they showed me their graves in the +potter's field; they said the medicine might have saved them. Oh, Job, +I can't think! It makes me wild to think!" + +The storm burst again in its fury, and the old man's voice was +silenced. Then came a lull, and he went on, "Job, 'sins as +scarlet,'--ain't they scarlet? Well, I came West, got in the mines, +went from bad to worse and now, Job, I'm dying! And who cares?" + +"God cares," said Job. "Listen: 'For God so loved the world, that he +gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not +perish, but have everlasting life.'" + +"Oh, Job, does that mean me?--poor old Yankee Sam!" said the dying +man. + +Again Job read the words, and once again told as best he could the +story of the Father's love and of Jesus, who came to save from sin; +came to save poor lost sinners. + +The old man hung on every word. "Say it again, Job, say it again! God +loves poor Yankee Sam! Say it again!" + +Over and over Job said the words, then he sang soft and low: + + "Jesus, lover of my soul, + Let me to thy bosom fly," + +while the tempest raged without. + + "Other refuge have I none, + Hangs my helpless soul on thee." + +Just then Yankee Sam stopped him. + +"Job, that's me, that's me! Pray, Job! I am going fast!" + +Oh, how Job prayed! Prayed till he felt God close by that dying bed. + +"'As scarlet'--yet--'white--as snow.' Is that it, Job?" whispered Sam. +"Oh, yes, that's it! They're gone. Job--the devil's lost his mortgage. +Let me pray, Job. It's the prayer mother said for me when I was a +little boy; it's the prayer Andy Malden said at his lad's grave; it's +my prayer now: + + Now I lay me down to sleep, + I pray the Lord my soul to keep, + And if--if--" + +The low, quavering voice ceased, a smile came over the white face, the +wind was hushed without, the stars struggled through the clouds. +Yankee Sam was dead, and peace had come back into Job Malden's soul. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE YELLOW JACKET MINE. + + +The next fall Mr. Malden got Job the place of assistant cashier at the +Yellow Jacket Mine. His staunch character, his local fame as a student +at the Frost Creek school, and his general manly bearing, added to Mr. +Malden's influence in the county, won him the place when the former +assistant left for the East. Andrew Malden thought it would be a good +experience for a young man like Job, and perhaps would open the way to +something better than a lumber mill and a timber and stock ranch. + +The Yellow Jacket Mine was one of the oldest and most famous in the +whole country. It was the very day they sighted the ship off Telegraph +Hill that brought the news into 'Frisco Bay that California was +admitted as a State, that gold was discovered in Yellow Jacket Creek, +where, when the rush came some days later, the men said they didn't +know which was most plenty--yellow jackets in the air, or yellow +jackets in the gravel bed of the creek as it lay dry and bare in the +summer sun. + +At last the creek bed had been washed over and over till the +red-shirted miners could find not one nugget more, and the Yellow +Jacket was deserted. Then one day a poor stranded fellow, who came in +too late to make enough to get out, was digging a well, and found +quartz down deep and a streak of gold in it. That was the beginning of +the real fame of the Yellow Jacket. A company bought it up, machinery +was put in, and now, in Job Malden's day, the stamp mills and deep +tunnels of the mine kept five hundred men busy in shifts that never +ceased night or day. + +Job never forgot the first day he went there as assistant cashier. He +had seen it all before, but when one is a sort of "partner" in a firm, +it looks different to one. And so it did to Job, as, after a long ride +with Tony in the buckboard down the Frost Creek road, up past Mike +Hennessy's, down and up and across Rattlesnake Gulch, and over the +heavily timbered mountain, a bend in the road brought him in full view +of the Yellow Jacket on the bare hillside opposite. The tall +smoke-stacks belching forth their black clouds; the big buildings +about them; the great heap of waste stuff at the right; the dump-cars +running out and back; the miners' shanties bare and brown on the left, +running up the hillside, hugging the break-neck steeps; the handsome +house on the south which he knew must be the superintendent's home; +the tall, ungainly brick structure of the company's store in the heart +of things; the far-off thump, thump, and the ceaseless roar of the +machinery--all this made a deep impression on Job. + +For a year, at least, he was to live amid this scene. What a strange +life it was for Job there at the Yellow Jacket! There, in sight of the +eternal hills; there, only five miles, in an air-line, from the quiet +ranch, from Bess, the great barns, the world of nature, and home--and +yet it seemed five thousand miles away to him. Shut in that little +office behind the iron bars, bending over the great books sometimes +far into the night, looking out each pay-day through a little arched +window on grimy faces and rough-bearded men who held out toil-worn +hands to receive the week's earnings which long before another week +would find their way into some saloon-keeper's till or gambler's +pocket. + +The only out-door world he saw was between the rear door of the office +and the long, low boarding-house where the foremen and clerks lived. +One corner of the great room upstairs, where a hard bed ran up against +the roof, and one place at the long, oilcloth-covered table, he had +the privilege to call his own for the modest sum of a gold piece a +week. He had every other Sunday to himself by the extreme favor of the +"boss," on whose own calendar Sunday never came, and who could not see +why it should on any one's else. + +At first, Job left the narrow, well-worn streets, always, it seemed to +him, crowded with an endless procession of dirty, pale-faced, +muscular, rough men going to and from shifts; left them far behind and +tramped over to the Frost Creek school, redolent with peculiar +memories, to the afternoon service. But when the snows came and winter +set in, he dared not take the long tramps, but hugged the fire at his +boarding-house, read his little Testament, and tried in vain to find +one spot out of hearing of the noise of tramping feet, the roar of the +stamp-mill, and the hoarse laughter and rude stories and language of +the men ever coming and going. + +He could never get away from the sound, and only in an old, abandoned +shaft back of the office could he crawl down out of sight to pray. But +Job never forgot to pray in those days. He was learning, as never +before, what it is to be in the world and yet not of it; in its +turmoil and din, sharing its work, mingling with its strange +humanity, and yet living in the atmosphere of prayer and high +thinking; in a world of impurity, yet living a pure life; a world of +evil words, and yet never even thinking them; in the world, and yet +not of it. + +Job Malden was fast growing into manhood. It was in those long winter +days at the Yellow Jacket that the heart came back to him and somehow +he found himself thinking of Jane Reed. The bitter memory of the folly +of those days last winter at the Frost Creek school still haunted him, +and yet the hardness had gone out of his soul. He had no right to +think of Jane, he felt; he had forfeited all claim to her affection. +But somehow the old love came back, and he longed to go to her and be +forgiven. What a true girl she was!--a child of the mountains. Little +she knew of the city and its guile, of society and its masks. How +could he ever have thought her common or beneath him! She towered up +in his thought like the pines of her native mountains, as fresh and +natural and wild as they. He would not have her different. She was far +above him. Faith, and church, and simple homely virtues, and all that +is holy, were linked in Job's mind with the memory of artless, honest, +great-hearted Jane that came back to him in the lonely hours at the +mine. + +One day he started back at seeing a strangely familiar face present +itself at the pay window. + +"Oh, yer needn't be scart,' Job, because yer old pard's got a job in +the Yellow Jacket as well as yer." It was Dan's voice. "Must be mighty +nice in there handin' out the boodle to us poor, hard-worked laborers; +mighty easy to tuck a little of it in yer pocket now and then." + +Job colored, and replied that it was not his money, and he only took +his pay like the men. + +"Mighty good yet, ain't yer, Job; playin' the pious dodge still. +Thought perhaps the way that schoolma'am jilted yer would take the +big-head out of yer. Well, I don't make any pretense of bein' pious; +don't need to, as I can see--get all I want without it. Every gal in +town wants me, and a fine one that came near gettin' fooled on yer +likes me purty well. In fact, that's what's brought me over to the +mine--got to get a little stuff to fix up the house for her. When a +fellow brings a wife home, he wants the old place lookin' slick. +Good-day, Job. See yer again." + +Job made no reply, but a lump came into his throat. He stood and +stared, and then turned in an absent-minded way and bent his head over +the great ledger, though he seemed not to care which page opened. Jane +to marry Dan! Was that what he had meant? Had it come to that? Once +Job had not cared, but now the thought made him wild. Could it be +true? Jane to marry Dan Dean! Better she were dead. Job felt he could +see her carried to the grave with less sorrow than to see her Dan's +wife. + + * * * * * + +It was very strange how Job came to be the preacher at the Yellow +Jacket mine. Not that he ever put on clerical garb or deserted the +office or was anything more than a plain, every-day Christian. Yet +there came a time when in the eyes of those rough miners, with hearts +far more tender than one would think from their exterior--and not only +in their eyes, but in those of the few wives and the half-clad +children who played on the waste heap--Job came to be called "The +Reverend," and looked up to as a spiritual leader. + +It was the day that he went down to the eight-hundred-foot level that +it began. He well remembered it. Up to the left of the stamp-mill, not +far from the main office, was a square, red-painted building, up whose +steps, just as the bell in the brick store's tower struck the set +time, a procession of clean-faced miners went in and a procession of +grimy ones came out. It was at the one o'clock shift that Job went in +that day, watched the men hang their coats on what seemed to him an +endless line of pegs, take their stand one by one on the little +platform which stood in the center of the floor like a trap-door, +grasp the iron-bar above them, and at the tinkling of a bell vanish +suddenly down into darkness out of sight. + +It was the first time Job had been down the mine. The sight of the +constantly-disappearing figures on the cage that came and went did not +encourage him to go, but soon it was his turn. One of the men he knew +grasped one side of the bar of the trapeze over him, one the other, +the bell tinkled, and down he dropped with a jump that almost took his +breath; down past long, subterranean tunnels of arched rock, which, +from the heat he felt from them, and the blinding glare of the lights, +seemed to him like the furnaces of Vulcan. Further still he dropped to +the eight-hundred-foot level, where he stepped off in a narrow cavern +dimly lighted and stretching away into the distant darkness. Oh, how +hot it was! The brawny, white-chested miners had thrown off all +clothing but their trousers, and were dividing their time between +mighty blows on the great solid rocks, and the air-shaft and tub of +water, where every few minutes they had to go and bathe lungs and +face. The sound of the picks, the rattle of the ore cars bringing the +stuff to be hauled up the shaft, the steady thump, thump, of the pumps +removing the water from the lower levels, the intermittent drop and +rise of the cage, filled the weird place with strange sounds. + +Job had delivered his message to the "boss" of the tunnel and was +hurrying back to the cage, when a half-naked miner, all stained with +the ever-dripping ooze from above, stopped him and said: + +"Be ye the faither that prayed Yankee Sam t'rough?" + +"Why--yes, and no," answered Job. "I was with Yankee Sam when he died, +but I'm no priest or parson." + +"Aye, I said to Pat it was ye as ye went down, priest or not. I've +heard of ye, and the mon that could shrive Yankee Sam is a good enough +priest for any mon. Now, me boy Tim is dying, the only son of his +mother, and she in her grave. And Tim and me, we live alone in the hut +back of Finnigan's saloon. Tim's a frail lad. He would work in the +mines, and the hot air in this place and the cold air whin he wint up +gave him the lung faver, and the doctor says he's got to go. The next +shift I'm going up to him. Meet me at the pump-house. Don't tell him +yez is not a priest; it's all the same to him, and he'll die aisier if +he thinks the faither's come. Poor Tim, me only boy!" + +What could Job do but consent? What could he do late that afternoon +but meet the broken-hearted Irish father at the pump-house and climb +the steep street to Finnigan's, and go in back to the poor hut that +the miner called home? + +On a low, matted bed of straw and a torn blanket or two, in a corner +of the dismal shanty, through which the cold winds swept, lay Tim, +dying. The hectic flush was on his thin cheek, the glaze of death +seemed in his eye. He reached his wan hand to Job. A lad of sixteen he +was, but no more years of life were there for him. + +"Tim, the faither's come. Tim, me boy, confess now and get ready for +hiven." + +The boy glanced up. Perhaps Job did look like a priest, with his +smooth face and manly countenance. He hardly knew what to say or do +except to take that weak hand in his and press it with a brother's +warm clasp of sympathy. The dying boy touched his inmost heart. + +"Faither," the boy faltered, "I am so sick! I have been a bad boy +sometimes. I--I--" Then he stopped to cough, and continued, "I haven't +been to mass in a year--no chance here, faither--and I got drunk last +Fourth--may the Holy Mother forgive me!--and I have been so bad +sometimes. But--" and he faltered, "I had a good mother, and she had +me christened right early." + +"Aye, she was!" sobbed Tim's father. + +"And," Tim went on, "and I'm so sorry for the bad! When you say the +prayers, tell her I'm sorry; for, somehow I think the blessed +Jesus"--and here the boy crossed himself--"the blessed Jesus will hear +my mother's prayer for Tim as soon as he'd hear his own. Faither, is +it wrong to think so?" + +And Job, thinking of his own mother, with tears in his eyes could only +say, "No, Tim, no." + +The lad grew still; and kneeling, Job talked low of God's great love, +as he had talked to Yankee Sam, prayed as best he could, and felt as +if he had indeed committed this mother's boy into the keeping of his +God, as Tim lay still and dead before him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. + + +The news of Job's visit to the dying boy soon spread through all the +miners' shanties, and soon more than one request came to him for +sympathy and help. Preacher or priest, or only humble Job Malden--it +mattered not what they thought of him. Job went on his errands of +mercy, till, unconsciously to himself, he had won his way into the +hearts of those rough, simple-hearted people, who lived more +underground than above, at the Yellow Jacket Mine. In fact, so +generally did he become known as "The Parson," that it was sometimes +uncomfortable, especially on the occasion when Lem Jones wanted to get +married. Oh, that was amusing! + +It was in the spring. The new tri-weekly stage from Gold City was so +late that night that it was pitch dark before it drew up, with a +flourish, at the store. Job was busy at the books, and had not gone to +supper, when a man came peeping in at the window and shouted through +the glass: + +"Job, you're wanted at Finnigan's Hotel!" + +Donning his cap, and hurrying along the street and up the break-neck +stairs to Finnigan's, Job entered the room which served as parlor, +bar and office, and saw Lem Jones, one of the men at the hoisting +works, "dressed up" in a suit much too large for him, with high white +collar and red tie, while near by sat a tall, unnaturally rosy-cheeked +spinster dressed in a trailing white gown, with orange blossoms +covering a white veil hung over her hair, and an immense feather fan +in her white-gloved hand. Around the room, decorated with some +Christmas greens and lit by a red-hot stove, was gathered a group of +interested observers of all descriptions--some evidently invited +guests, some as evidently not. + +"Mr. Parson, this 'ere's my gal, come from down East. We want to get +spliced, and," with a blush, "we're waitin' for ye to do it." + +"Why, Lem, I can't!" stammered Job, quite abashed and taken aback at +the occurrence. + +"Oh, yes," interrupted Lem, "I thought of that. Here's the paper--got +it myself of the clerk. Read it. See, here it is: 'Lemuel Jones, a +native of Maine and resident of the county of Grizzly, aged +thirty-seven, and Phebe Ann Standish, a native of Massachusetts, +resident of Boston, State of Massachusetts, aged thirty-one--'" + +Quick as a flash, drowning Job's protest that he was not a preacher, +came a woman's shrill voice: + +"Thirty-one! I'd like to know who said I was thirty-one! Lem Jones, +take your pen and ink, and correct that. Anybody would know I am only +twenty-one!" + +A general laugh followed. Job finally found a chance to make the pair +understand that his performing the ceremony was out of the question, +as he had no legal authority--was not a minister. + +The wedding party broke up in confusion. The cook was filled with +wrath at Job for spoiling the dinner; "the boys" insisted that he had +kept Jones from "settin' it up," and ought to do so himself; the bride +refused to be comforted and vowed she would go back to Boston. + +It was less than a week after the wedding which did not come off, that +Job saw Dan at the pay-window beckoning to him. Going nearer, Dan +motioned him to lean over, drew him close, and whispered in his ear: + +"I'm broke, Job, but got a fine chance to clear a slick hundred. Lend +me fifty till to-morrow." + +"I can't do that, Dan," Job replied. "It's not mine, and I wouldn't +take a cent of the company's money for myself." + +"Ye're a pretty parson!" hissed Dan, "sayin' prayers over dyin' folks, +and never helpin' yer own cousin out of a tight place!" + +"But, Dan, I can't take the company's money. If I had fifty of my own +you should have it, though I suspect you want to gamble with it," +replied Job. + +"Yer won't give it to me?" said the other. + +"No, I can't, Dan," Job answered in a firm voice. + +"Yer hypocrite! Yer think yer got the cinch on me, don't yer, Job +Malden! 'It's a long lane that has no turn,' they say, and yer'll wish +some day yer'd treated Dan Dean square!" and he turned with a leer and +was gone. + +More than once after that Job felt uneasy and wretched as he thought +of the possibility of Jane's linking her life with that of Daniel +Dean. Twice he tried to write her, but he blotted the paper in his +nervousness, and at last tore the letters up. + +By a strange coincidence, it was the same week that Andrew Malden +struck a rich pocket of gold back of Lookout Point and secretly +carried it down to Gold City bank and paid off the mortgage on the +four hundred acres back of the mill, that Job Malden was held up. + +This is how it happened: Just after hours one night the superintendent +called Job into his private office and said: + +"Young man, how much will you sell yourself for?" + +Decidedly startled, Job answered: "What do you mean, sir?" + +"I mean," said the portly, gray-haired man, with his set mouth and +black eyes, all business, "Can I trust you with a large sum of money? +or will the temptation to use it for yourself be too strong?" + +"Sir," answered Job indignantly, "sir, I have no price! I want none +but honest money as mine." + +"Well, all right, my boy; I guess I can trust you," said his employer. +"Now, I have some bullion to be taken down to the Wells-Fargo office +at Gold City, to go off on the morning stage. You will find Dick, my +horse, saddled at the stable. Eat some supper, mount Dick, come around +to the rear of my house, and the bag will be waiting. Take it down to +the Wells-Fargo office, where the man will be waiting to get it. I +have sent him word. Hurry now! And mind you don't lose any of it. Will +give you a week's extra pay if you get through all right." + +With a "Thank you, sir; I'll do the best I can," Job hurried off on +his responsible errand. + +It was a beautiful moonlight evening in June. Crossing the summit of +the mountain, the fresh breeze fanned his brow, heated with the warm +day's labor, and he walked Dick along, drinking in once more with +genuine joy the grandeur of the forests robed in silver light. Just +beyond Mike Hennessy's, as he turned into the main road, clouds +obscured the moon and a somber pall fell over the road. He felt to see +that his treasure was safe, and urged Dick into a canter. + +He had not gone far when he thought he heard horse's hoofs behind him. +He stopped to listen, his heart beating a little more quickly, and +then hurried on. Again, more distinctly, he heard them coming down the +last hill. He put spurs to Dick as a strange fear came over him. Up +the hill before him he rode at a gallop, and on down the next. Faster +and louder in the dim darkness rang the hoofs of the horse behind him. +He was being pursued--there was no doubt of it now. If there had been, +the report of a pistol and the whiz of a bullet past his head would +have quickly dispelled it. Then began a wild chase. Up hill and down +hill, over rough creek-beds, down the Gold City road, they flew. How +Job wished for Bess! She could have outdistanced any horse, but Dick +was not her equal. The hoof-beats in the rear grew louder. + +Job was just going over the hill to Mormon Bar, on that narrow place +where the bank pitches down to the creek two hundred feet, when he +heard a voice, emphasized by a ringing bullet, cry: + +"Halt, you thief! I'm the sheriff of Grizzly county!" + +Whether it was because Dick stumbled and almost fell, or because his +strength failed, or because of the bullet and the strange command, Job +halted, stunned, to look into the dark barrel of a pistol and to see +the white, masked face of a slim fellow in blue jean overalls and with +a red handkerchief about his throat. + +"Hand over that boodle mighty quick! Thought I was a sheriff, did yer? +Ha! ha! None of your back talk! Give it here or swallow this!" poking +the pistol into Job's very mouth. The voice was familiar--more than +once Job had heard it. + +He sprang from Dick to run as the other held his bridle, but heard the +whiz of a bullet past him and felt a stunning blow on his head. When +he came to, the treasure was gone and he could hear a horse's hoofs +pounding faintly In the distance. On his side, with the blood oozing +from his temples, Dick--poor Dick--lay dead! + +It was a long walk back to the mine, and the first morning shift was +going to work when Job reached there. The superintendent heard his +tale, and without comment told him to get his breakfast and go to +work. Later he called Job in and asked some very strange questions. +Twice during the following day with aching head and troubled heart Job +tried to get another interview with the superintendent, but failed. + +How it came about he never knew, but before the end of the week it was +common gossip around the mine that Job had made way with the +company's bullion to clear off the mortgage on Andrew Malden's place. +Job had never heard of the mortgage, and he tried to tell the +superintendent so; but he would not listen. All he did was to tell Job +on Saturday night that they did not know who took the money, but they +would need his services no longer. + + * * * * * + +It was just as Andrew Malden was locking the doors for the night, +that--with a small bundle thrown over his shoulder, shamefaced, +discouraged, and so tired he could hardly walk another step--Job +pushed in and sat down in the old rocker. The older man was surprised +enough. What did it all mean? Job had soon told his story--the night +ride, the robbery, the long walk back to the mine, the strange +suspicion that had fallen on him, the refusal to believe his story, +the coldness of his employers, his dismissal, and the sad walk home. +He told it all through, then looking up into Andrew Malden's face, +said brokenly: + +"God knows, uncle, it's true, every word!" + +Andrew Malden never doubted the blue-eyed, homeless boy who had grown +to be the stalwart young man on whom he leaned more and more. It was a +great comfort to Job when the old man told him this, and declared he +would go over there in the morning and settle this matter; they would +believe Andrew Malden. Then he thought of the mortgage; he had paid +that, and no one knew where he got the money--and now perhaps they +would not believe him if he did tell them. Perhaps he had better not +go after all. + +Late into the night the two talked it over, till they saw how dark +things really looked for them. Well enough they knew who was the +guilty person, but who could prove it? Finally Andrew Malden took down +the old family Bible and read: "What shall separate us from the love +of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, +or nakedness, or peril, or sword?" The reader laid stress on that +word "persecution." On he read: "I am persuaded that neither death, +nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things +present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other +creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is +in Christ Jesus." + +"Amen," said Job, as the old man laid down the book. "Yes, and it says +that 'all things work together for good to them that love God.'" + +Together they knelt in prayer, and to Him who knows the secret +integrity of our hearts, as well as our secret sins, they committed +the burden that rested on their souls. + +The next day was Sunday, a lovely June Sunday. The sunbeams were +playing across his face when Job awoke, and the fragrance of roses +filled the room as they looked in at the open window. How still and +beautiful was all the world! No thumping machinery, no jangling +voices, no grimy faces passing the window! Flowers and sunshine and +the songs of birds, and--home! Oh, how happy he felt! + +He dropped on his knees the first thing, in a prayer that was almost a +psalm. He went downstairs in two jumps, and was out hugging Bess in no +time, telling her she was the best horse that ever lived. Then he went +racing Shot down to the milk-house, where he nearly upset Tony with a +pail of foaming milk. The big fellow stared and said: + +"'Pears like you done gone clean crazy. Marse Job! Guess you think +you's a kid agin!" + +When Job took the pail away from him and bore it safely in on his +head, Tony chuckled and said, "Bress de Lawd, Marse Job! You's mighty +good to me." + +Job waited for no more of Tony's praises, but hurried off, with Shot +barking at his heels. Never had the old ranch looked more beautiful to +him--the house yard, the big barns, the giant pasture lot with the +clump of live-oaks next the yard, the forests on all four sides, the +wild-flowers covering the pasture with a variegated carpet, the garden +on the side hill. Job was a boy again, and he came in panting, to +nearly run over Sing, the new Chinese cook, who was not used to such +scenes at quiet Pine Tree Ranch. + +Not long after breakfast they had prayers, at which Job insisted that +Tony and Hans and Sing should all be present. As he looked around at +the scene, the African and Mongolian sitting attentive while he read +the words, "They shall come from the east and the west, and sit down +in the kingdom of God," he thought the promise was kept that morning +at the ranch. + +After devotions, Sing surprised them all by saying, "Me Clistian. Me +go to mission in Chinatown, San Flancisco. Me say idols no good. Me +play (pray) heap. Jeso he lub Sing. Me feel heap good." + +They were overjoyed. Andy Malden shook hands heartily all around. Hans +said, "In Vaterland, Hans was sehr goot; pray for Hans, he goot here." + +That was the great love-feast at Pine Tree Ranch, which Tony loved to +tell about as long as he lived. + +The church was crowded that Sunday when Job and Andrew Malden drove up +behind the team of grays, with a lunch tucked under the seat, so they +could stay all day. It was Communion Sunday. The neat white cloth +which covered the table in front of the pulpit told the story as they +pushed their way in. The congregation was singing, "Safely through +another week, God has brought us on our way," and Job thought it was a +long, long week since he had sat in the old church and heard that +hymn. How natural it looked! The bare white walls, with here and there +a crack which had carved a not inartistic line up the sides. The stiff +wooden pulpit, almost hid to-day under the June roses. The same +preacher who had said that Christmas night, "Wilt thou be baptized in +this faith?" The little organ in the corner. The old familiar faces +looking up from the benches, and some new ones. There had been a +revival that winter in the church, and now Job could see its results. +The whole congregation was sprinkled with faces he used to see in the +saloons and on the streets, but had never hoped to see in church. Aye, +and there were some faces missing. Where was old Grandpa Reynolds, who +at that long-ago camp-meeting sang "Palms of victory, crowns of glory +I shall wear"? A strange feeling came over Job as he remembered that +he had gone Home to wear the crown of a sainted life. + + "Some of the host have crossed the flood, + And some are crossing over." + +The choir was singing the words. Job thought again of the aged saint. +He thought of Yankee Sam and that wild night when he died; of Tim, +poor Irish Tim; and then of that sweet face in the plain wooden casket +in the strange California city--his boyhood's idol--and the tears +started to his eyes. + +"Unto you therefore which believe, He is precious." That was the text. +The preacher was beginning the sermon, and Job called back his +thoughts and leaned forward to listen. + +"I think the tears were streaming down Peter's face when he uttered +these words. The memories of a lifetime crowded upon him. He was a +young man back by the Lake of Gennesaret, and looked up to see +Andrew's excited face and hear him say, 'Peter, brother, we have found +the great man; we have found the Messiah.' He was by those same waters +mending the nets, ready to push out for the day's toil, and lo! he +heard a voice--oh, how wonderful it was!--there was authority in it, +soul in it: 'Peter, come follow me,' and he dropped the nets, and went +out to life's sea to fish for men. Ah, yes, I think as Peter wrote +these words he remembered his solemn vows of loyalty, his ecstatic joy +on the Mount of Transfiguration, and then, alas! his awful sin when he +deserted Jesus in that dark terrible morning of the great trial. Oh, +those bitter hours! Peter could not forget them." + +Job trembled; he knew what the preacher meant, he knew how Peter felt. + +"But," continued the speaker, "how sweet there came back to him the +memory of another morning by the same Galilean waters, as he mused in +the twilight, and heard the Savior call, not in anger but in love, +'Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?' And back again, there where he +had first loved Him, Peter came to the old life of love and loyalty. +Memories of Pentecost, memories of life's trials and joys, ever +transformed by the spiritual presence of his Master, made Peter cry +from the depths of his soul, 'Unto you therefore which believe, he is +precious.'" + +And Job in his heart said, "Amen." + +Then the preacher went on, showing how that which endears anything in +this world to our hearts should make Jesus doubly precious. He talked +of money--of the treasure of the Sierras, and how much one thought it +would buy; but after all, how little of love and hope and faith it +could bring into a heart--those things which alone last as the years +go on. + +It was a pathetic little story he told of a baby's funeral up in one +of the lonely, forsaken, sage-bush deserts, where, alone with the +broken-hearted father amid the bitter winds and snows of a bleak March +morning, he laid the only babe of a stricken home to rest in the +frozen earth, many miles from any human habitation; of how the father +leaned over and said, as the box vanished into the ground, "Sing 'God +be with you till we meet again,'" and how, as they sang it, out +against the winter storm the light of heaven came into that man's +face. "Tell me," the minister asked, as he leaned over the pulpit, +"how much gold could buy the comfort afforded by that hymn and that +hope?" And Job, thinking of the thousands he had handled at the Yellow +Jacket, felt that that hymn was worth it all. + +Then the preacher talked of diamonds and of the preciousness of Jesus; +of the trinkets hid away in many an old trunk, precious because of +memories that clustered around them; and Job thought of his mother's +Testament. He said the life-memories that cluster around Jesus are +more precious than any other; and Job said "Amen" to that. At last he +talked of friends and how they are worth more than gold or diamonds or +relics of the past; and Job thought of Aunty Perkins--why, there she +was across the aisle, as intent as he; the sight of her face cheered +him. Then he thought of Jane--where was she? Job looked furtively +about, but could not see her. A little unrest filled his soul. + +"No gold can buy so much pleasure for your poor heart, no diamond is +rarer, no relic brings back sweeter memories, no friend sticks closer, +than Jesus. The flood of time may sweep friends beyond your reach, the +mighty Sierras may crumble to dust, old earth may sink into space, and +you be alone with the stars and eternity, but it is written, 'I will +not leave thee nor forsake thee.' Jesus will be with you for time and +eternity. 'Unto you therefore which believe, he is precious.'" + +Job heard Tony shout, "Hallelujah! Bress de Lawd!" and came very near +following his example. + + "He's the Lily of the valley, + The Bright and Morning Star," + +rang out through the church, and voice after voice took it up: + + "In sorrow He's my comfort, + In trouble He's my stay," + +and when it came to that place--he could not help it--Job did murmur +"Amen." + +For a moment an overwhelming wave of emotion passed over his soul, +then he found the congregation rising, heard like a chant the words, +"If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father," and the +Communion Service had begun. + +Just then the sun came in through a broken shutter, lighting the +sacramental table with an almost supernatural glory, and Job felt a +mighty love for the Savior fill his heart and almost unconsciously +found himself singing with the congregation: + + "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts, + Heaven and earth are full of thy glory. + Glory be to Thee, O Lord, most high! Amen." + +When a little later he knelt at the altar with bowed head, as he heard +the minister's voice saying, "The body of our Lord Jesus Christ, which +was given for thee," he resolved that from that hour, health, talent, +manhood, all he could be at his best, should be given to God and to +men. + +At the close of the service Job saw Jane in the aisle before him, and +walked to the door with her, talking as in the old days. He longed to +say more, but did not. A thrill of happiness came into Jane's heart. +Perhaps he did care for her after all, she thought. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE STRIKE. + + +"Marse Job, dar's a gemman wid a mighty fine hoss wants to hab de +pleasure ob seeing de young marse," said Tony, poking his head inside +the door on the Friday afternoon after Job came home. + +The young man grasped his cap and hurried to the gate, finding there, +to his surprise and consternation, the superintendent of the Yellow +Jacket Mine sitting in his buggy. At sight of Job, he sprang out, +extended his gloved hand to the lad, and proceeded to surprise him +still more by saying that he had come after him, as they wanted him +back; he felt sure he now knew who had taken the money, though he +could not arrest the person; he was very sorry he had so greatly +wronged Job; would raise his salary. + +Job was greatly astonished. He expressed his thanks, but finally +managed to stammer out that he really had had all he cared for of +mining life, and did not want to leave the old ranch. + +Then the man took his arm, and as they walked up and down together, he +told Job there was trouble brewing at the mine; the men were reading +all the news they could get about the great mining strike East, and a +whole crowd stood in front of the store each evening between shifts, +listening to agitators; the fellow Dean was talking strike on the sly +to all the men, and he was afraid that under the passing excitement +the best of the men would be duped by worthless leaders. So he wanted +Job back; Job knew the men, they liked him, they would hear him; the +company needed him, it must have him at any salary. + +So Job went back to the Yellow Jacket with the memory of that +home-coming to cheer him in the dark times that were to follow. When +the next day the scowling men came one by one to the pay-window at the +office, muttering about starvation wages, they looked surprised to see +Job there. Some reached out their rough hands for a shake, and said, +"Shure and it does me eyes good to see you, lad;" others only scowled +the deeper; and one looked almost as if shot, forgot his pay, and +turned and walked away muttering, "Bother the saint! He's forever in +my way!" + +It was just two weeks from that day that the storm broke at the Yellow +Jacket Mine. A deep undertone of discontent and rebellion had filled +the air during that time. Job had felt it more plainly than he had +heard it. The superintendent had kept a calm, firm face, though Job +knew he was anything but calm within. + +It was just before Job had gotten ready on Saturday to shove up the +pay-window and begin his weekly task, that a group of burly men, with +O'Donnell, the boss of the eight-hundred-foot level, as spokesman, +came in and desired to see the superintendent. Calmly that gentleman +stepped up and wished to know what was wanted. Well, nothing in +particular, was the reply; only they had a paper they wished him to +sign. He took it and read it. It was a strange document, evidently +prepared by O'Donnell himself. It read as follows: + + "The Yellow Jacket Mining Company will Pay all men That work on + the mine 20 pursent more To-day And all the time." + +The superintendent folded up the paper, and, handing it back to the +men, turned and walked into the office without a word. + +"Here, boss!" cried O'Donnell, "yez didn't plant yer name on the +paper! Ain't yez goin' to give the hands their dues?" + +Then the superintendent turned and explained to the men that he could +not sign any such agreement; had no authority to; only the directors +in San Francisco and New York could authorize it; that the mine could +not afford it; that the men had no complaint--it was only false +sympathy with distant strikes which caused them to make this demand; +that he would not sign such a document if he could. + +The men left in a rage. At the noon shift all the hands came up from +the mine; not one went down. The machinery stopped; not a wheel +turned, not even the pumps that were so necessary to keep the lower +levels from being flooded. At one o'clock the men began to come for +their pay, not one doing so in the morning. Each demanded a raise of +twenty per cent. on his wages, and, when this was refused by Job, +threw his money back on the shelf, and walked out without a word. + +Hour after hour it went on--a constant procession of determined men +looking into Job's eyes, and each face growing harder, it seemed to +him, than the one before. Some did not dare look him in the eye, but +mumbled over the same well-learned speech which someone had taught +them, and went away. They were the ones Job had befriended in +distress. + +Dan came in with head high in air, and talked as if he had never seen +Job; he demanded justice for such hard-worked fellows as himself and +his father, and gave a long harangue about the oppressed classes, till +the superintendent interposed and said: + +"Mr. Dean, if you have any personal grievance, come to me +individually. Do not blockade that window; take your money and go." + +And Dan went off in a white rage, leaving the money behind him. + +At six o'clock Job put on his coat and cap, and followed the +superintendent and cashier to the door. There they found armed +sentinels pacing all about the stone office building, and O'Donnell +and his crowd waiting. They would be obliged, they were sorry to say, +to inform them that the men had decided the "boss and his crew" should +not go home till the "twenty per cent." was paid; that some food from +the men's boarding-house would be sent them, and they would have to +stay in the office till they came to terms. + +There was no alternative. They were entrapped, and there was no +escape. Grim faces looked at them from all sides. + +Back into the office they turned and locked the doors, to open them +only when a huge quantity of poor food that looked like the remains of +the miners' dinner was handed in. Again they swung the iron doors to, +barred them, and sat down for the night, with the unpleasant fact +staring them in the face that they were besieged and helpless. +Apparently they had not a friend in all the crowd that surged to and +fro in the narrow streets. There was no way of letting the outside +world know their plight. + +What a night that was! At first the sound of excited voices and the +distant harangues of saloon-steps orators, then all quieted down; +there was not even the hum of the machinery--only the dull tramp of +the guards without, and the far-away call, "Twelve o'clock and all's +well," which told they had a picket line on the outer edge of the +town. + +Job at last fell asleep in a heap on the floor, with other sleeping +forms about him. He dreamed of home and Jane, heard Tony shout "Bress +de Lawd!" and awoke to find himself aching in every bone from the hard +floor. The light had gone out. Outside all he could hear was tramp, +tramp, tramp. Then he heard voices. They came nearer. He crept to the +key-hole and listened. + +"Let's burn the thing and kill 'em, and run the mine ourselves!" said +one voice. + +"Yer blockhead, don't yer know it's stone?" drawled another. "No, +gentlemen, we'll fix 'em if they don't give us our dues to-morrow! +We'll starve 'em out, and yer bet they'll sign mighty quick! We don't +want their lives; we want justice, and--" + +The voice died away in the distance. Job was sure it was Dan's. + +Sunday came and went with no end of the siege. It was a long day in +the office. The superintendent pored over the books, and pretended to +forget he was a prisoner. They took down only the topmost shutters. +Some of the clerks got out a pack of cards, and asked Job to take a +hand. One said contemptuously, "Oh, you're a goody-goody, parson!" +when he refused, but the others quickly silenced him in a way that +showed their respect for Job. The cards dropped from their hands +before long, and each seemed occupied with his own thoughts. Twice +during the day "the gang" and O'Donnell presented themselves at the +door with the paper, and were refused. Then all hands seemed to resign +themselves to a genuine siege. On the whole it was quiet outside, +except for the occasional jangle of voices and the sentry's pacing. + +Towards night the uproar grew louder. The saloons were doing a big +business, and the sound of rollicking songs and drunken brawls was in +the air. Job grew restless and paced the office floor. About five +o'clock a delegation came for someone to meet the men at a conference +on the waste-heap back of the quartz mill. The superintendent refused +to go, and asked Job to do so. "They dare not hurt you," he said. + +So between two armed, burly guards, Job went to look into the face of +the strangest audience he had ever seen. A solid throng they stood on +the bare, flat hill that rounded off at one end of the canyon below. +Irishmen, Swedes, Portuguese, Germans, Chinese, Yankees--all +nationalities were there, in overalls and blue jumpers, puffing at +long pipes, and wedged in a solid mass about an old ore car that +served as platform. Dan was speaking; he was talking of the starving +miners in "Colorady," and pointed to the office building, crying, +"We'll show them bloated 'ristocrats how nice it feels to starve!" +while a din of voices cried, "Hear! hear!" + +Pushing their way to the flat-car, his muscular escorts hauled Job up +and shouted: + +"The parson, lads--Mr. Job. He's goin' to talk wid yez!" + +"May the Holy Mother defind him!" cried a voice in the crowd. "He's +the praist of me Tim!" + +"The fraud!" cried another; "he's as bad as the rist! Nary a per cint. +would he give me yesterday!" + +"Hush, ye blatherskite!" hissed another. "Give the lad a chance; he's +a-talkin'!" + +Yes, Job was talking. He did his best. He expressed the utmost +sympathy with the wrongs of every man, and reminded them that they had +no truer friend in the Yellow Jacket than he. He had nursed their +sick, buried their dead, had been one of them in all the struggles of +their lives. Voice after voice in the crowd said, "That's so! Hear! +Hear!" "Hurrah fer the lad!" cried another. "Three cheers for the +little parson!" + +Then he talked to them of the strike, and said every man had a right +to quit work and the Union to strike, but no man or Union had the +right to starve their fellow-beings; he spoke of the unreasonableness +of this strike--the company here was not to blame for the troubles in +Colorado; he reminded them that the times were hard and the cities +crowded with idle men, yet the company had kept them busy and given +them full wages; he urged them, if they must demand more, to go on +with work and send a committee to present their claims to the +directors. + +Cheers and hisses grew louder and louder as he spoke. The storm grew +fiercer and fiercer. Job saw it was of no use. A dozen voices were +yelling, "On with the strike! Starve 'em out!" Someone--could it be +Dan?--shouted: + +"Hang the hypocrite!--coming here advising his betters! String him +up!" + +A loud hubbub followed. Job breathed a deep, silent prayer and stood +firm. A tall, brawny man clambered up beside him and cried, as he +brandished a pistol: + +"Death to any mon that touches the kid! May all the saints keep him!" + +Tim's father meant business. And through the angry mob he steered Job +back to the office in safety. + +When the supper was handed in at six, the men who brought it said that +would be the last food till they signed the paper; the miners had +voted to starve them out. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THE RACE WITH DEATH. + + +"Job, you'll have to go. No one knows this country as you do, and no +one can do it but you." + +It was the superintendent speaking. Huddled in a group the little +company sat in the dark, looking death in the face. Surrender, death, +or outside help, were the only alternatives. They could keep from +starvation for a day more on the provisions they had. Someone must go +through the lines and get help. They had decided that it was useless +to call on the sheriff, for he could never raise a posse large enough +to cope with this mob, now armed and well prepared. Troop A was on +duty near Wawona, guarding the Yosemite Reservation. Someone must go +and notify them, and telegraph to the Secretary of War and get orders +for them to come to the relief of the besieged men. It was a +dangerous undertaking. Even if one could pass through the line around +the office, would he ever be able to get through the streets alive? +And then would he ever get past the outer picket? + +Someone must take the risk. Someone must go, and perhaps die for the +others. One of the clerks said he guessed Job was the best prepared. +The superintendent urged him to go. Finally rising, Job said he knew +both the way and the peril it meant, and he would make the attempt. + +Not even to them did he tell the route he would take and the dangers +he knew he must face. He had a plan, and if it succeeded there was +hope; if it failed, there was no getting back. One silent prayer in +the corner, and he crept softly and hastily through the half-open +door, as the sentinel went down towards the other end of his beat. + +There Job lay flat on the ground and waited to see who it was. In the +dim twilight he descried, as the sentinel turned, no other than Tim's +father. Job stole up to him, caught him before he cried "Halt!" and +said: + +"For Tim's sake, Mr. Rooney, let me through the lines. We will starve +in there!" + +"Job, me boy, is that ye!" whispered the guard. "Hiven bless ye! I +wish I could let yez t'rough, but by the saints I can't! I've sworn +that I wouldn't let a soul pass, and they said if a mon wint t'rough +the line and me here, they'd finish me!" + +Job pleaded, and the tears streamed from Pat Rooney's eyes, but he was +firm; he had given his word, and he could not break it. But after what +seemed to Job a long time, Pat said: + +"Job, if ye'll promise me no mon but the one ye go to see shall see +yez, and that ye'll come back to-morrow night and be here if the +soldier boys come, so no one will know I let yez t'rough, I'll let yez +go; and Job, I'll be at the ind of Sullivan's alley and pass yez; and +then the next shift I'll be here, and ye'll get in safe." + +Job promised. Many times afterward he wished he had not; but he made +up his mind, as he slunk through, with Pat's "Hiven bliss ye!" +following him, that only death should prevent him from keeping his +word. + +Just back of the office was the abandoned shaft where he had gone +often to pray. Once he had sounded its sides, and suspected that it +opened into the first level. If this was the case, and he could get +into that, and from that into the next lower level, Job knew that the +end of that one went clear through to the old half-finished +drainage-tunnel which ran in from the canyon back of the quartz mill. +Once in the tunnel he knew that he could reach the canyon, then get +outside the lines and away. + +It took but a moment to drop down the old shaft, which ran down but a +few hundred feet on a steep slant. Then rapping softly on the wall, he +thought he heard a hollow sound. There were voices above him. He kept +still and lay down close against the side till they passed on. Then he +dug a hole, inch by inch, till he could reach his arm through. No +doubt this was the tunnel! + +Finally, after what seemed hours--though it was not even one--Job had +the opening almost large enough to crawl through. Then he struck the +timbers--how was he to get through now? Well, just how, he never knew; +but he did. He dropped down to the floor of the level, lit a little +candle he had with him, ran along to the big shaft, and saw the ladder +reaching down to the next level. Then he bethought himself that his +light might be seen, so he blew it out. How could he get down the +ladder in the dark? One misstep and--he shuddered at the thought. But +he would dare it. + +It was slow work, step by step; but at last he found an open space +through the boards, reached out a little lower and felt the floor of +the second level, and stepped off safe. Along the wooden rails laid +for the ore-cars he felt his way, till he began to grow confused. He +must have a light; surely no one could see it. Then he thought he +again heard voices. He stood still. He could hear his heart beat. It +was only the drip of water from the roof. He lit the candle and +hurried on. The air was close and hot, but he never stopped. On down +the long, dark cavern he made his way by the flickering light of the +fast-dying candle. + +At last he reached the spot where he was sure the drainage tunnel and +the second level met. Again he dug and dug, using an old pick he found +there. He tore at the hard earth with his fingers, till he found +himself growing drowsy and faint. It was the foul air! He must get +through the wall soon, or perish where he was. The candle was gone. +Now it was a life-and-death struggle. He thought of that night in the +snow and his awful dread of death. All was so different now. A great +peace filled his soul. But he must not die; he must get through; other +lives were in his care; starving men were awaiting him; his promise to +Tim's father must be kept. At it he went again. He felt something give +way, felt a breath of fresh air that revived him, lifted a silent +thanksgiving to God, and crept through into the drainage tunnel. + +The pickets on the banks above were calling, "Three o'clock and all's +well," as Job crept silently down the canyon and made for the heavy +timber of the mountain opposite. + + * * * * * + +The bugle had just sounded "taps" at Camp Sheridan, on the flat +between the South Fork and the Yosemite Fall road, one mile east of +Wawona. The southern hills had echoed back its sweet, lingering notes. +The blue-coats had turned in. The officer of the guard was inspecting +the sentries, when the guard on Post Number Four saw a haggard, +white-faced young fellow, with hat gone, clothes torn, hands bleeding +from scratches, pull himself up the bank of the creek, and at the +sentry's "Halt!" look up with anxious appeal and ask for the captain. + +That instinct which is sometimes quicker than thought told the guard +this was no ordinary case. In two minutes the corporal was escorting +Job to the headquarters tent. What a dilapidated object he was! For +twenty long hours he had been working his way over the rear of Pine +Mountain, down the steep sides of the Gulch, up that terrible jungle +which even the red man avoids, over the great boulders and falls of +the South Fork, and up the long miles through the primeval wilderness +to where he knew the white tents of Camp Sheridan lay. + +The captain could hardly believe Job's story. The officers marveled at +the heroism of the boy. But he told it all without consciousness of +self, begged them for God's sake to lose no time, and fell over limp +and faint at the captain's feet. + +When he came to, it was dawn, the troops were in the saddle, and the +sergeant was reading this telegram: + + "Proceed at once to the Yellow Jacket Mine and quell the riot + and disorder. LAMONT." + +The horses were pawing the ground, the quartermaster was hurrying to +and fro, the captain was buckling on his saber, and Job was lying on a +cot in the surgeon's tent, while that good man was feeling his pulse. + +Quick as he could, Job started up. "Are they off?" he cried. + +"Yes, my boy; and you lie still. They'll settle those fellows over at +the mine," was the reply. + +"But, doctor, I must go! I promised Rooney! Let me go!" + +"No, young man. You're plucky, but pluck won't do any more. A day or +two here will fix you all right. Your pulse has been up to a hundred +and four. You can't stir to-day." + +Job was desperate. The bugle was sounding, the officers were shouting +orders. Through the door of the tent and the grove of trees he could +see troops forming. + +"Send for the captain, doctor, please," he pleaded. + +The captain came, heard Job's story, and shook his head. + +Job was half frantic. What would Pat Rooney say? He begged the doctor +with tears in his eyes. He beseeched the captain. At last they +yielded. But how could he cross the line in the daytime? They would +have to wait till night. Finally the captain said he would wait and +send Job with a scout at dusk, and follow with the troops at midnight. + +The bugle sounded recall, and the soldiers waited, so that Job could +keep his promise. All that summer day as he lay on the cot, listening +to the ripple of the spring, the neighing of the horses, the +bugle-calls, and the coming and going of the men, he thought of those +comrades shut in the store office without food, and waiting for relief +which it must seem would never come. + +Just at dusk, mounted behind a sturdy little trooper, and well +disguised, Job started back. They passed around Wawona by a side +trail; and, striking the main turnpike near its junction with the +Signal Peak road, galloped on in the dark, fearing no recognition, and +well prepared to meet anyone who demanded a halt. The light was +burning in Aunty Perkins' window as they passed. It was after midnight +when they crept slowly down the timber on the other side of +Rattlesnake Gulch, and Job dismounted and stole on ahead. + +A gloom rested on the Yellow Jacket. A few lights shone out of shanty +windows and in saloons. The stars seemed to rest on the top of the +smoke-stacks which rose like vast shadows in the distance. A low, +far-off murmur of voices, now rising, now dying down, stole out on the +clear night air. + +Down Job crept, now on hands and knees, to the foot of Sullivan's +alley. He heard a step. The sentry was coming. Job gave the call Pat +and he had agreed upon--the sharp bark of a coyote. In an instant he +saw a flash and heard a report, as a bullet whizzed past him. Then he +heard voices: + +"What was that, Jacob?" + +"A leetle hund, I tinks." + +"A hund? You shoot him not! You save bullets for bigger ting. See?" + +Oh, where was Pat Rooney! It was fully an hour before the sentry's +pace changed and the step sounded like Pat's. Again Job barked, and a +hoot like an owl's replied. It was Tim's father! A few minutes, and +Pat had clasped him to his heart, and told him the officers were still +in the store office; that the men were desperate--they had been +drinking heavily, and, he was afraid, before another night would burn +the whole place. Would Job go back into the mine and take his chances? + +Of course Job went. He slunk up the alley into a hidden passage-way he +knew of back of the Last Chance Saloon, and kept in between the +buildings till within a stone's throw of the office. There, wedged in +between two old shanties, he had to wait two hours for Pat to get on +the office beat. Oh, what a long night! Just ahead were the office and +the starving men. Between them and their rescuer a Chinaman stalked, +gun in hand, pig-tail bobbing in the night air, and eyes ever on the +alert to see an intruder. In the bar-room Job could hear the talking. +Dan Dean and O'Donnell were there. They were boasting that not a soul +outside knew of the strike; that a late telephone to Gold City showed +no one there knew; that the stage was still held at the stables; that +there was no hope for "the boss and the tyrants." To-morrow they would +sign that paper or take the consequences. + +Job shuddered at the thought. Then he heard Dan chuckle over him. He +"'lowed the biggest fun would be to see that pious fraud beg for +mercy." + +What if Dan knew he was listening, with only a board partition between +them! Job hardly dared to breathe. + +It was getting uncomfortably near dawn when Job heard another owl's +hoot and stole past Pat Rooney up to the rear door of the old stone +office, which opened softly in a few minutes as he gave the well-known +private tap of the clerks. What a wretched, haggard lot of men rose +excitedly to meet him! He hushed them to silence, told his story, and +bade them rest and wait a few hours. Troop A would surely be here. + + * * * * * + +It was daybreak, the dawn of the Fourth of July, when the sound of a +bugle aroused the miners of the Yellow Jacket. Some thought it was +some patriotic Yankee, but the clang, clang, of the old bell at the +stone tower, the calls of the sentries, the rush of hundreds of +half-dressed, excited men down the street, told everyone that trouble +was in the air. + +It was all done so quickly that the miners hardly knew where they +were. The guards were on the run, and a troop of cavalry, with a solid +front, stood facing the yelling, yet terrified, mob of men who +blockaded lower Main street. It was only a hundred against five +hundred men; but it was order, discipline, authority, against +disorder, tumult and a mob. All rules were forgotten, all their plans +went for naught. Dan yelled in vain. O'Donnell grew red in the face as +he screamed orders. "Forward, march!" rang out the captain's voice, +and a hundred sabers rattled and a hundred horses started, and five +hundred terror-stricken men, each forgetful of all but himself, +started in a panic to retreat. + +From the open door of the office, deserted at the first alarm by the +guards, the imprisoned officers of the company saw the mob come +surging up the street. + +Before noon the Yellow Jacket was a military camp. The miners were the +prisoners, disarmed, a helpless crowd, the larger part already ashamed +of having been influenced by such a man as O'Donnell. Before nightfall +the men had personally signed an agreement to go to work on the morrow +at the old terms, and were allowed to depart to their homes. The +saloons were emptied of their liquors and closed until military law +should be relaxed, and the ringleaders were on their way to the county +jail at Gold City. + +The strike was over without bloodshed, and when the men came to their +sober senses, went back to their tasks, and saw the folly of it +all--saw how they had been duped by demagogues--they were grateful +that somebody had dared to end the strike, and Job was the hero of the +hour. The reaction that sweeps over mob-mind swept him back into his +place as the idol of their hearts. + +We have said the leaders of the strike were taken to Gold City. No, +not all. One lay crippled and fever-stricken in Pat Rooney's shanty +back of Finnegan's. Pat had found him when the mob rushed back, borne +down by the men he was trying to stop, and trampled on by some of the +cavalcade of horsemen as they swept up the street. + +Hurried hither by Pat, Job entered the familiar hut to find himself +face to face with Dan. All that long day he sat by the side of the +delirious patient. The soldiers, when arresting the men, let Pat stay +at Job's plea. The troop surgeon came and ordered Job away. "Sick +enough yourself, without nursing this mischief-maker who's the cause +of all this bad business," said he. + +But no; Job would not go. Dan was bad. Dan was his enemy, but "Love +your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them which +despitefully use you," to Job meant watching by Dan Dean when his own +head was aching and the fever was even then creeping upon him. + +All night he sat there, bathing the head that tossed restlessly to and +fro. He heard the delirious lad mutter, "Curse the pious crank! He'll +get Jane yet!" then half rise, and say with a strange look in his +eyes, "Stand fast, boys! Stand, ye cowards! It's justice we want!" and +fall back exhausted. Yes, it was Job who stood by, praying with all +his heart, as at daylight the doctor did what seemed inevitable if +Dan's life was to be saved--amputated the crushed, broken right leg. +Never again would he roam over the Sierras as he had when a boy. For +the sins of those awful days Dan was giving part of his very life. + +Once he opened his eyes and saw Job, and as he caught the meaning of +it all, a queer look came over his face. Finally he muttered: + +"Job, go away from me! I don't deserve a thing from you! I can stand +the pain better than seein' you fixin' me!" and a hot tear stole down +the blanched, hardened face. + +But still Job stayed, as the delirium came back and the fever fought +with the doctor for the mastery. Only when the danger line seemed +past, and the noon bell was striking, Job passed out of the old +shanty, up the street by the crowds of men going to the noon shift, +heard the roar of the machinery, staggered in at the office door and +fell across the hard floor. + +They were harvesting the August hay on the Pine Tree Ranch before Job +left his invalid chair on the rose-covered porch and mounted Bess for +a dash down to the mill with some of his old-time vigor. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +"DRIFTING." + + +She stood in the cabin door, where the morning sunlight stole through +the branches and vines and played around her head. Against the +well-worn post of this plain, unpainted old hut she leaned with a +far-away look in her eyes. Nineteen years ago to-day she was born here +where the hills shut in Blackberry Valley and the trees roofed it +over. From the stream yonder she had learned the ripple of childhood's +laughter; up yonder well-worn trail she had climbed these long years, +away to the great outside world--to the Frost Creek school and the +Gold City church. It was over the same trail that, wearing shoes for +almost the first time in her life, and attired in a black calico dress +and a black straw hat which the neighbors had brought her, Jane had +taken her father's rough hand, long years ago, one summer day, and +followed her mother to the grave. Ten years she had done a woman's +work to try and keep a home for Tom Reed. + +How much longer would it be? The impulses and longings of a maiden's +heart were stirring within her. Father's rough, good-natured kindness +still cheered her lonely life, but the morning sun would kiss two +graves in God's Acre yonder some day instead of one. The father's step +was feeble and the years were going fast, and she would be alone. +Alone? Ah, no, not alone, for the loving Christ was hers. Ever since +the old Coyote Valley camp-meeting a new friendship, a new happiness, +had come into her life. No one who knew her could doubt it. It had +added to the natural frankness of her modest, unsophisticated nature a +staunchness of character, a womanliness, and a nobility of soul that +gave her the admiration and respect of all true hearts. Yet how few +knew her! Like earth's rarest flowers, Jane Reed's life blossomed in +this hidden dell unknown to the great world. She had the love of +Christ in her soul, and yet she longed, she knew not why, for some +strong human love to fill to its completeness the fullness of her +heart. + +So she stood that morning dreaming of love--the old, old dream of +life. And who should it be? One of two, of course. No others had ever +come close enough to pay court at the portal of her soul. Job or +Dan--Dan or Job? Sooner or later her life must be linked with one or +the other. Dan cared for her. How often he had said it!--almost till +it seemed commonplace. But she had never said yes; yet somehow she +enjoyed the thought that somebody cared for her, even if it was poor +Dan. She was at his bedside yesterday, down in the long, low house at +the end of Dean's Lane, where they had brought him home from the +Yellow Jacket. She had heard of it all at once--that Job was +dangerously sick at the ranch, and Dan was crippled for life at the +lane. She wanted to go to Job. Her eyes filled as they told her of his +heroism. What a brave fellow! She brushed away the dust from the +secret shrine in her heart and worshiped him anew. + +She wanted to go to him. But what would he say? How forward, how +unwomanly it would seem! Did he ever think of her? Ah! sometimes she +thought so! But he was beyond her now; she could not go to him. But +Dan would expect it. Poor Dan! He needed somebody to say a kind word. +So she had gone. She had bathed his aching head; she had told him she +was praying for him; she had left with him the blossoms picked at her +door. + +Dan or Job--which should it be? In the doorway she stood dreaming till +the sun was between the tree-tops, and looked straight down the trail. +All day at her tasks she dreamed on. Twice she took her bonnet and +thought she would go to Job; then she hung it away again. There they +stood at the doorway of her soul--Dan, crippled, helpless, selfish; a +poor, wild, wandering boy. Job, strong, brave, the soul of honor, the +manliest of men, a Christian in all that word means in a young man's +life--her ideal. + +There they stood on the threshold of her heart; and, lingering at +sundown in the same old doorway, the tears filling her eyes, she took +them both in--Dan to pity, comfort, cheer; Job to honor and to love. +Job was hers; perhaps he would never know it, but that day she gave +him the best a woman has--her first love. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +ACROSS THE MONTHS. + + +The next two years came and went in Grizzly county without any events +to be chronicled in the city press--no strikes or rich finds or +stirring deeds; yet they were years that counted much in some lives. + +Job went back to the mines, no longer behind the pay window, but as +assistant superintendent. Never had so young a man had so responsible +a place at the Yellow Jacket. The negotiations and intercourse with +the outside world, and the complicated plans of a great company, were +not his task. He was the soul of the mine. His it was to deal with the +"hands," and stand between them and that intangible, soulless thing +men call a corporation. He was the prophet of the company and priest +pleading the needs of five hundred men at the doors of the directors. +There was nothing in the laws of the company defining his position, +and he could hardly have defined it himself. He only knew that he was +there to make life a little brighter, home a little more sacred, the +friction of business a little less, the higher part of manhood more +valuable, to five hundred hard-working men of all creeds and races +that lived on the bare mountain-side about the Yellow Jacket mine. + +It was marvelous the changes that came. Personal influence and social +power told as the days went by. The saloon-keepers felt it and +grumbled, but the assistant superintendent was too great a favorite +for them to dare say much. The Sunday work ceased. Every improvement +for bettering the conditions under which the men worked was put +in--better air-pumps; a large shaft-house with dressing-rooms for the +men, to save them from going out while heated, to be exposed to +winter's cold; a hospital for the sick; lower prices at the company's +store; Finnegan's saloon enlarged and fitted up as a temperance +club-house, with not a drop of liquor, but plenty of good cheer. More +than once on Sundays Job talked to the men on eternal themes, from a +spot where, on a never-to-be-forgotten Sunday, he had once faced a +mob. + +At last the company built a large, plain, attractive church, and the +miners insisted on Job's being the "parson." But he firmly declined +the honor. Yet he had his say about that church. He felt a wee bit of +pride when, crowded to the doors with Scandinavians, Irishmen, +Mongolians, Englishmen and Americans, with the Mexican and stalwart +Indian not left out, he saw the preacher on the Frost Creek circuit +and the priest from Gold City ascend the pulpit to dedicate it. It was +to be for all faiths that point heavenward, all ethics that teach the +mastery of self, all creeds that exalt Jesus Christ, all religions +that really bind back to God. The company had said it; and the men +knew that that meant Job. + +It was a strange service. The Catholic choir sang "Adeste Fideles," +and they all bowed and said the prayer of prayers. Some said "Our +Father" and some "Paternoster," and they all meant the same. Job felt +a strange thrill in his soul as all in the great audience joined in +the last reverent "Amen." Both clergymen spoke, and when the preacher +named the Savior, the Catholics crossed themselves; and when the +priest said "Blessed Jesus," the Methodists responded "Amen." Both men +caught the spirit of the hour; bigotry, creeds, conventionalities, +were forgotten. They were face to face with hungry souls; with men who +knew little of theology and ecclesiasticism, but much of actual life. +God, sin, manhood, eternity, seemed very real to those speakers that +day, and they made it plain to the tear-stained, sin-scarred faces +that looked into theirs. When at last it was over and the priest had +said "Dominus vobiscum" and the parson said "amen," Job slipped out of +the rear door to escape the crowd and to pray for the Yellow Jacket +and its five hundred men, while a voice whispered to his soul, +"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, ye have done +it unto me." + +These years had made great changes in Andrew Malden. Since that +night-watch at Pine Tree Ranch, he had been a different man. Tony and +Hans felt it; the mill men commented on it; the world of Gold City +began to realize that the master of Pine Tree Mountain possessed a +heart. The old town had more public spirit than for years, and +everybody knew that it was "Judge" Malden, inspired by a life close to +his own, who was back of all the improvements. But not everybody was +pleased with his influence in public matters, and when the Board of +Supervisors one spring refused to renew the license of the Monte +Carlo, and passed an ordinance against gambling, all the baser element +in Gold City united in bitter hatred against the one who they knew +possessed the political power that brought these things to pass. + +From that day Grizzly county saw an immense struggle for supremacy +between righteousness and vice, in the persons of the two political +leaders, Andrew Malden and "Col. Dick." Col. Dick was the most +clerical-looking man in the community. Always dressed in immaculate +white shirt, long coat and white tie, with his smooth face and +piercing black eyes, no stranger would have dreamed, as he received +his polite bow on the street, that this was the most notorious +character in Grizzly county, the manipulator of its politics, the +proprietor of its worst haunt, the most heartless man who ever stood +behind a bar in a mining camp. But Richard Lamar--or, as all +familiarly knew him, Col. Dick, in honor of his traditional war +record--was all this. For nearly twenty years he had stood coolly +behind that bar mixing drinks and planning politics. All men feared +him. Only one man ever refused to drink with him, so far as is known, +and then everybody who could, steered clear of jury duty on that case, +and those who could not escape pronounced his death due to +heart-failure. + +The election the next year was the most hotly contested ever held in +the county. Job used all the personal influence he had in the Yellow +Jacket; Andrew Malden himself personally canvassed every house in the +county where there was the slightest hope. Tony said, "Bress de Lawd! +guess de old Marse and de gray team done gone de rounds, an' ebery dog +in de county knows 'em!" + +Dan, poor Dan, limping through the crowd on crutches, was Col. Dick's +chief lieutenant, and used with the utmost shrewdness the "cash" which +the saloon interest placed at his disposal. He knew by election day +the price of every salable vote in the county. The night before +election excitement ran high; a scurrilous sheet came out with +cartoons of Andrew Malden and "Gambler Teale's kid." All the hard +things that could be said were said. That night, before an audience +that filled the old church and hung on the windows and packed the +steps, Job made a speech which thrilled the souls of them all. He told +his life story; told of what rum had done for him and his, told of +Yankee Sam and the scene at his death, till hardened men wiped away +the tears. No cut-and-dried temperance lecture was his. He talked of +life as all knew it, of Gold City and facts no one could deny; talked +till waves of deepest emotion passed over the crowd like the wind over +grain on the far-reaching prairies. The meeting broke up with cheers +and hisses, and men went out to face a fight at the polls that was +talked of for many a long day afterward. + +The ringing of the old church bell at dark on election day, the cheers +sounding everywhere up and down the streets, the sour, scowling faces +of Col. Dick and Dan as they slunk down the alley and in back of the +Monte Carlo, told a story which thrilled the hearts of good +citizens--that righteousness and good government had won. + +That night, between midnight and dawn, Andrew Malden's lumber mill +went up in flame and smoke. Who did it? No one knew; no one doubted. +The north wind was blowing, and the mill hands worked vigorously, +worked heroically--it meant bread and butter to them--but they could +not save it. Only great heaps of ashes, twisted iron, a lone +smoke-stack and great piles of ruined machinery, were left to tell the +story, where for many years the whirl of industry had made music +beside Pine Tree Creek. + +Yet the man who had once sworn to shoot his enemy at sight uttered no +complaint or showed the least spirit of revenge. He came and stood in +the night air and watched the flames lick up the old mill, stood with +the ruddy glow lighting up his furrowed face, and with never a word +turned and went home. + +Dan was drifting further and further into the downward life; and yet, +strange to say, it had lost its charm for him. That night when the +election failed and Col. Dick scored him for not doing his best, he +parted company with the Colonel and the Monte Carlo. More and more +strongly two passions ruled his life. One was love for Jane Reed; the +love of a man conscious of his own utter badness for that holy life he +secretly envies and outwardly scorns. The other was hatred for Job +Malden, who, ever since he came upon the stage in the long ago, had +stood between Daniel Dean and all his ambitions. + +So the world moved on, the world of Grizzly county, hid away among the +grand old mountains and lofty pines of the Sierras. Impulses were +passing into deeds; actions and thoughts were crystallizing into +character--character that should endure when the pines had passed into +dust, when the mountains had tottered beneath the hand of the Creator, +when earth itself had sunk into endless space and the story of Gold +City had forever ended. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE YOSEMITE. + + +"Well, Bess, old girl, we're off now for the jolliest time out!" cried +Job as he vaulted into the saddle one June day, bound for the Yosemite +Valley, that wonderful spot of which Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote on the +old hotel register: "The only place I ever saw that came up to the +brag." + +Job had left the Yellow Jacket forever. The years were beginning to +tell on the strong man of Pine Tree Mountain and Job was needed at +home. So he had come. Standing one night on Lookout Point, watching +the setting sun gild the far-off crown of El Capitan, he had resolved +that before its glow once more set on the monarch's brow, he would +mount Bess and be off to see again the sights on which old El Capitan +had looked down for innumerable centuries. Perhaps the knowledge that +Jane was there camping with her invalid father, who fancied that a +summer in the valley would make his life easier, had something to do +with the decision. + +It was on one of those beautiful mornings in the California mountains +which come so often and yet are always a rare, glad surprise, that +Job, mounted on Bess, went singing down through the pasture gate, down +past the charred ruins of the mill, past the familiar entrance to +Dean's Lane, on toward the Frost Creek road and Wawona. It was a very +familiar road. He stopped so long to chat with Aunty Perkins, halted +Bess so long under the big live-oak at the Frost Creek school, and, +leaning on her neck, gazed wistfully at the scenes of many a boyhood +prank, that it was late in the afternoon when he passed the spot +fragrant with memories of "Aunt Eliza" and "Mary Jane," galloped down +the long hill, raced the coach and six just in from Raymond with a lot +of tourists up to the Wawona Hotel, sprang off Bess, turned her over +to a hostler and went into the office to register for the night. + +That load of tourists furnished ample amusement for Job all that +summer evening. He had read of such people, but this was the first +time he had ever met them. There was the fat man, jovial and happy, +always cracking a joke, who shook the dust off what had been that +morning, before he began a ride of more than forty miles by stage, a +respectable coat, and laughed merrily till it nearly choked him. There +was the tall dude, with wilted high collar and monocle on his right +eye, drawling about this "Bloomin' dirty country, don'cher know." +Striding up and down the veranda with a regular tread that shook the +long porch, with clerical coat buttoned up to the throat, and high +silk hat which was not made for stage travel, was Bishop Bowne. His +temper seemed unruffled by the vexations of the day as he remarked, +"Magnificent scenery. Makes me think of Lake Como, only lacks the +lake. Regular amphitheater of mountains. Reminds one of the Psalmist's +description of Jerusalem." Darting here and there, trying to get +snap-shots, were two "kodak fiends," two city girls who pointed the +thing at you, bungled over it, reset it, pressed the button, and +giggled as they flew off. They fairly bubbled over with delight as +they saw Job, and debated how much to offer to get him to sit for a +scene of rustic simplicity out by the toll-gate. + +But Job was too busy to notice. He was being systematically +interviewed by the fat, fussy woman in black who was asking him, +"S'pose you've seen Pike's Peak, the Garden of the Gods, and Colorado +Springs? Great place; we spent a whole half day there. No? Been to +Monterey, of course, round the drive? We did it! Foggy, couldn't see a +blessed thing; but it's fine; had to do it. What! never been there? +Too bad, young man. Oh, there's nothing like doing the world. I've +seen Paris, Rome, the Alps, Egypt. Oh, my! I couldn't tell how much! +Sarah Bell, she knows; she's got it down in her note-book. Dear me! I +must go and see what time we can start back for this place over +there--what do you call it? Some Cemet'ry?" + +"Yosemite," suggested Job. + +"Oh, yes, Yosemitry. We ought to go right back to-morrow. We've got to +do Alaska in this trip, or we'll never hear the end of it when we get +back East. Nothing like doing the world, young man," said she, as she +adjusted her bonnet and eye-glasses and hurried off to the office, +where he heard her an hour later lamenting, "Sarah Bell, we have got +to stay a whole precious day in that Cemet'ry before we can go back!" + +It was late when the babble of voices died away, the stars kept watch +through the tall pines of Wawona, and Job fell asleep to the piping of +the frogs in the pond back of the hotel and the pawing of horses in +the long barn across the square. + +[Illustration: Yosemite Valley from Inspiration Point] + +"Inspiration Point!" called out the driver, as Job pulled up Bess the +next day alongside the stage as it stood on the summit of that spot +where the road from Wawona, which for miles has climbed up through the +forest past Chinquapin and many a stage station, climbs still higher +through the rare air of seven thousand feet, and then hurries down +through the leaves of the trees, turns a bend and emerges in full view +of the grand Yosemite. + +There it lay in all its grandeur--the unroofed temple of God, Nature's +great cathedral. Three thousand feet down, level as the floor, sunk +beneath the surrounding mountains which stretched away to right and +left in a gigantic mass, it lay clothed in a carpet of green grass and +trees so far below that they seem to merge into one. Cut by a silvery +stream that winds lazily amid the Edenic beauty, as if loath to be +away, the valley a mile wide stretches back for nearly six miles, and +then is lost to view as it wanders around the jutting peaks of the +Three Sisters and climbs on for five more miles to the falls of the +Merced, as they come tumbling down from the region of perpetual snow +to that of perpetual beauty. + +To the left is old El Capitan, three thousand feet high, and with +width equal to height and depth to width--a mountain of solid rock. +Well did the Bishop lift his hat, and, standing in silent awe, at last +say, "The judgment throne of God." Far beyond it the silvery line of +the Yosemite Creek reached the straight edge of the cliff and shot +down twenty-six hundred feet. To the right, Bridal Veil Falls, a tiny +brooklet it seemed in the distance, winding down a mountain meadow, +looking frightened a moment at the edge of the cliff, leaping over +into spray, caught up and transfigured by the afternoon sun, as it +fell on the rocks hundreds of feet below. Beyond it, Cathedral Rocks, +the Three Sisters and a mass of jutting summits stretching ever on +till they were lost to view. Beyond and between them all, between and +back, El Capitan and the Sentinel Peak, looming up, as the Bishop +said, like "the sounding-board of the ages." From far away rose the +Half Dome, at whose feet the famous little lake mirrors again and +again the morning sun as it drives away the shadows of night from this +home of the sublime. + +Job instinctively bared his head and found himself repeating, "Before +the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the earth, +from everlasting to everlasting Thou art God." + +Just then the silence was broken by the voices in the stage. "Ain't it +pretty?" said the giggler. "Well, now, is that the Cemet'ry? Do tell! +Driver, you're sure we can go back to-day? We've seen it now!" said +the fussy woman. The practical man was asking the driver for minute +statistics and copying them down in his book, the dude was yawning and +hoping there would be a dance at the hotel, while the Bishop got out +and, walking away from the rest, stood and looked and looked and +looked, till Job heard him intoning in a voice in keeping with the +grandeur of the scene, "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker +of heaven and earth." + +Job stayed behind as the stage rattled down the side of the mountain, +tethered Bess by a big cedar, lay in a grassy nook and looked down, +down, where the Merced abutted the base of El Capitan and tumbled down +the narrow canyon that leads from the valley far below to the plains. +All the reverence of his soul, all that was noble and lofty in him, +rose as he gazed upon the scene. The littlenesses, the meannesses of +the world, were left far behind. Like Moses of old, he was in the +cleft of the mountains and the glory of Jehovah lay stretched out +before him. + +It was toward sunset when he reached the floor of the valley and +walked Bess across the three bridges that span the branches of the +Bridal Veil Creek, saw the bow of promise in the misty spray that +seemed to ever hang in mid-air against the cliffs, galloped down the +Long Meadow, past the Valley Chapel, and pulled up at the Sentinel +House for the night. + +That night the silver gleam of the Yosemite itself looked in at his +window, as the new moon shone on its waters falling from the endless +heights above, and the ripple of those waters soothed him to sleep as +they rolled past his door, under the bridge and away down the valley. + + * * * * * + +In a most romantic little spot just across the bridge near the Falls +of the Yosemite, and where the icy creek hides itself in bushes and +reappears under the bridge, stood an abandoned Indian wick-i-up, half +hid among the saplings. Here, throwing flap-jacks into the air with a +toss over a crackling camp-fire, singing merrily, Job found Jane the +next morning as he was roaming the valley in the early hours on Bess' +back. It was a genuine surprise. She was not expecting him, even if +she had dreamed of him all night. Her first impulse was to express +with childish glee her real delight, but her very joy made her +reserved. She restrained herself lest she should display her real +feelings. She was glad to see him, of course; her father was better, +and was off getting wood for the fire. Were the folks all well? Had he +seen Dan lately? (Which question cut Job deeper that he liked to +acknowledge.) Would she go up to Mirror Lake after breakfast? he +asked. Certainly, if father did not need her. + +So a little later, leaving Bess neighing behind in the camp, up the +long, dusty road Jane and Job rambled on, past the pasture and the +Royal Arches, on along the river bank, and, turning away to the left, +climbed on the rise of ground into that nook where the South Dome +seems almost to meet the Half Dome, and stood by the glassy waters of +Mirror Lake. In that early hour before the ripples had stirred the +surface, this lakelet at the foot of the Half Dome was worthy of all +its romantic fame. Nine times that morning Job and Jane saw the sun +rise over the rounded peak of the Half Dome, as they followed slowly +the shores of the lake from sun-kissed beach to shadow. Jane went into +ecstasies. Was it not beautiful! What a picture! The clear-cut rocky +mountain, its low edges fringed with trees, its top so bare, the blue +sky and passing clouds, that bright spot which rose so quickly far +back of the topmost turn of the Dome, all mirrored at their feet. + +Job's esthetic nature was stirred to its depths, and he echoed Jane's +adjectives. Before they reached camp she had yielded to his appeal for +another walk to-morrow, perhaps to Glacier Point and home by +moonlight. + +That night Job took his blankets from the hotel and stole over back of +the Reeds' camp, just beyond the Indian's "cache" on the gentle slope +of the open valley where the great wall of Eagle Peak rises four +thousand feet. Among a lot of boulders which look for all the world +like tents in the twilight, there, between two great pines, he lay +down to watch the moonlight fade from Glacier Point yonder across the +valley, and fell asleep at last to dream of the Berkshire Hills, the +winding Connecticut, and the scenes of childhood days. + +It must have been three o'clock--it was dark, very dark, though the +stars were shining brightly--when something awoke him. He roused to +find himself striking his nose on either side in a strange manner. +Fully awake, he discovered the cause. Two tribes of ants living on +opposite pine trees had completed a real estate bargain that night and +had decided to change homes. By some chance they found his face in +their pathway, but, perfectly fearless of the giant sleeping there, +had kept on their journey, passing each other on the bridge of his +nose. As he woke, the tramp of myriad feet crossed that feature, the +procession for the right marching over between his eyes; the +procession for the left, over the point. Silently, boldly, the mighty +host climbed his cheeks, surmounted the pass, and hurried down, till, +with many a desperate slap, Job at last sprang up, thoroughly awake. +Ants, ants, ants--millions of them! Ants in his shoes, ants running +off with his hat, ants in his pockets. It was an hour before the giant +had conquered the dwarfs and Job was asleep again, well out of the way +of any tree. + +[Illustration: Mirror Lake, Yosemite.] + +The sun was shining in his eyes, the Indian's little black cur had +come up and was barking at him from a respectful distance, and from +behind a tree Job heard a girl's merry laugh, when he awoke the next +morning. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +GLACIER POINT. + + +Mountains, mountains, mountains! Piled up like Titanic boulders, +snow-capped and ice-bound, tumbling down from the far-off glassy sides +of Mt. Lyell and Mt. Dana to the edge of that stupendous chasm. +Gleaming glaciers, great ice rivers, eternal snow drifts, dark, bare, +rugged peaks for a background. For a foreground, all the beauty of the +valley far below you, three thousand feet or more, as, holding your +breath, you gaze straight down the dizzy height from the projecting +table rock. El Capitan on the left, the Yosemite Falls dancing down in +three great leaps opposite; the Half Dome and Cloud's Rest off to the +right, Vernal and Nevada Falls pouring their torrent over the cliffs +at your side, the Hetchy-Hetchy Valley, the rolling plateau that +stretches back to the perpetual snow and rising peaks behind you. All +language falters here. Tongue can never describe, only the soul feels, +the awfulness, the vastness, the sublimity, the stupendousness, the +wild grandeur of the scene. Such is Glacier Point. + +Here, speechless, overawed, and with the loftiest emotions sweeping +over their souls, Job Malden and Jane Reed stood alone amid a silence +broken only by the sighing of the trees back of them. + +It was toward sunset of a June afternoon. For hours they had been +climbing up the long, steep, winding trail that picks its way along +the side of the cliff from back of the Valley Chapel toward Sentinel +Peak, over the jutting point, and over the cliff's edge to this +wonderful spot. Weary and foot-sore, they had reached it, only to have +all thought of self overwhelmed and forgotten in that vision of +visions which burst upon their eyes and souls. How long they stood +there in utter silence they knew not. Time was lost in eternity. At +last the tears began to trickle down Jane's cheeks and she sobbed, "It +is grand, it is too grand! I have seen God! I cannot look any more!" +while Job stood entranced, forgetful of Jane, forgetful of self, +utterly absorbed in the consciousness of infinite power. Then he began +to repeat in a solemn voice that favorite Psalm of his: "I will lift +up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help +cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth." + +The saucy call of a squirrel in a tall pine near, the chill of the +evening air coming down from the ice-fields, brought them at last to a +consciousness of themselves. Withdrawing to a sheltered nook away from +the dizzy cliff, and so hid among the trees that all view was shut off +except that scene of dazzling beauty, the glitter of the setting sun +on the distant Lyell glacier, Job and Jane sat down for the first real +heart-to-heart talk they had ever known in their lives. They talked of +the years gone by; of the outward story that the world may read, of +the inner story that only the heart knows. Their theme was Christ, +their mutual Friend, who had been the cheer and strength of all those +years. Memory came and turned the pages of a lifetime that night. Jane +talked of childhood days, of her mother's grave and Blackberry Valley, +and of the old camp-meeting in Pete Wilkins' barn on that +never-to-be-forgotten Saturday night, when, lonely and heart-broken, +she had knelt on the hard floor at the bench and whispered, "Just as I +am, without one plea." Then her face brightened as she looked up and +said, "Oh, Job, He came, and I was so happy! And, somehow, home has +not been so lonely since then, and--I don't know; it may seem strange +to you, Job--Jesus is just as real to me as you are. He is with me all +the time; and, when I am tired, he says, 'Come unto me, and I will +give you rest'; when father is so cross, and the tears just will come, +he whispers, 'Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be +afraid. My peace I give unto you.' And he does. It comes so sweetly, +and I feel so still, so rested! I know he is right beside me. Isn't it +grand, Job, to feel we are His and He will always love us, and that He +is so near us? It seems as if I heard His step now and He was standing +by us. I know He is. I like that hymn we sang Communion Sunday--'Fade, +fade, each earthly joy, Jesus is mine.'" + +A moment they sat in silence, while the sun transformed the far-off +glacier into a lake of glory, and then sank behind El Capitan for the +night. Then Job spoke. A long while he talked. The memories of +childhood; the sweet face that grew strangely white in the city of the +plains and left him; the early days at Pine Tree Ranch; the steps of a +downward life; that grand old camp-meeting and what it did for him--of +these he spoke, and yet did not cease. The years of youth and young +manhood, the bitter persecutions and temptations, the triumphs through +the personal presence and help of the Master, were his theme. For the +first time a human friend learned the real story of that awful night +in the second tunnel and the long, long day in the lonely Gulch. The +young man grew excited and stood up as he paid loving tribute to the +reality of religion in his life and the tender, most divine friendship +of Jesus Christ. Then he hesitated; but only for a moment. He told her +of his sins; of those days of doubt when he yielded to the tempter's +power and how near he came to losing his soul. He could not finish it, +but strode off alone. At last he came, and, sitting down, said: + +"Jane, all I am I owe to Jesus Christ. The story of his love, and what +he has been to me, is more wonderful than any story of fiction. 'More +wonderful it seems than all the golden fancies of all our golden +dreams.'" + +[Illustration: View from Glacier Point.] + +The twilight was deepening, the great mountains were fading away in +the distance, the evening star was just peering over the horizon as, +standing together by the iron rail that protects Table Rock--standing, +as it seemed, in the choir loft of the eternities, they sang +together--Job in his rich tenor, Jane in her sweet soprano: + + "All hail the power of Jesus' name, + Let angels prostrate fall. + Bring forth the royal diadem, + And crown him Lord of all." + +As the moonlight stole down from the mountain summits to the edge of +the further cliff and then plunged down to light the valley, Job and +Jane still sat and talked. Was it strange that somehow the hidden love +of long years would out that night, and, talking of life's holiest +experiences and secret longings and loftiest dreams, somehow, before +they knew it, they talked of love? Secrets locked in the heart's +deepest chambers found voice that night. The unuttered longings of the +years found language. Not as children prattle of sudden impulses, not +as Job had blushed and simpered once; but with the consciousness of +manhood and womanhood, and divinity within, they talked of how their +lives had grown together till, in all that is holy and best, they were +already one. + +At last they started down the trail. It was late. The moon had crossed +the sky dome of the valley and was hastening toward Eagle Peak. A +peace and silence that could be felt filled the world, and found a +deep response in their souls. They were going down from the Mount of +Transfiguration, one with God, one with each other. Love, pure and +holy, was master of their lives. A joy unspeakable filled their +hearts. The culmination of the years had come. With the forests and +mountains for witness, under the evening sky, with innumerable worlds +looking down, with the presence of Infinite Power all about them, Jane +Reed and Job Malden had, once for all, plighted their love to God and +each other. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE canyon TRAIL. + + +It was just four days later, the day before the Fourth, that Job, +mounted on Bess, rode up to Camp Comfort, as Jane called the little +spot where she kept house in the open air for her father, listening to +the roar of the Yosemite Falls back of her, and prepared their humble +meals over the camp-fire. Job was going home; the old man would +expect him on the Fourth, and that keen sense of duty which was ever +stronger than his longing to linger near Jane, impelled him to go. He +had come to say good-by. Old Tom Reed, sick and selfish, had been +blind to the new light in Jane's eyes and did not know the secret +which the birds and trees and sky had learned and seemed never to +cease whispering about to Jane. He did not like Job. That pride of +poverty which hates success put a gulf between him and this noble +young fellow, who looked so manly as he rode up on Bess. Tom Reed +liked Dan and thought, of course, that matters were settled between +him and his black-eyed daughter. He felt to-day like telling this +young aristocrat from the Pine Tree Ranch that it would be agreeable +to both himself and Jane if he would seek other company. Only physical +weakness kept him from following as Jane walked away by Job's side +patting Bess' neck. She would see him to the end of the valley, she +said; she did not mind the walk. Well, if she would--and what did Job +want better than that?--she must mount Bess and let him walk. How +pretty she looked on Bess' black back, with her shining hair and +flashing eyes and ruddy cheeks! Never had she looked handsomer to Job. +Close at her side he kept as Bess slowly walked down across the river +bridge, past the Sentinel House, and on close to the Bridal Veil +Falls. + +As the rainbow in the spray, with its iridescent colors, laughed at +them through the trees, Job thought of the gala day coming, when he +should claim this noble girl for his bride, and an honest pride filled +his heart. At the foot of Inspiration Point they tarried for a full +hour, it was so hard to say good-by. How he hated to take Bess from +her! At last a sudden thought came to him. She should keep Bess in the +valley till the autumn days came and Jane could return home. He would +go back over the Merced canyon trail, only twenty-six miles to his +home; he had often wanted to try it and cross the river on Ward's +cable. He could not go that way on horseback, and he would leave +Bess. He would like to think of Jane and her as together. The girl +protested, but she felt a secret joy. It would be next to having him. +So she did not dismount, but through her tears saw Job vanish down the +canyon, along the Rapids, towards the old, almost forgotten trail that +leads for twenty miles by the river's roaring torrent, to where the +South Fork joins the North Fork. + +A sudden impulse seized her. She turned Bess' head toward the toll +road and began to climb the steep three miles to Inspiration Point. +Then she hunted for the Cliff Trail that leads away from the road out +along the great left precipice of the canyon. She knew there must be +some opening in the forest over there. She remembered it from the +valley below, the day she had gone down by the Rapids. She would find +it and catch one last glimpse of Job on the trail. She would wave to +him, and perhaps he would see her. She had Bess, and it would not take +long to return; father would not miss her. + +Just as she turned into the trail a campers' wagon climbed the hill +back of her and passed on over the road, but she did not notice it, +she was so absorbed in her own thoughts. She must hurry. Would Job see +her? Anyway she would surely see him--she would dismount and creep out +to where nothing could hide her view. + + * * * * * + +Far below Job was already on his march homeward. With a swinging gait, +and a determined will that said he must do it, though all the love in +his heart said no, Job started off through the trees and on down the +canyon trail. His eyes were misty and a lump was in his throat, as he +caught one last glimpse of Jane. On he hurried. He was off now, and +the sooner he got home the better. By rapid walking and some hard +climbing he would reach Indian Bill's old cabin, ten miles down the +river, by night. + +He had just resolved on this, leaped over a creek stealing down far +behind El Capitan, got full in sight of the roaring rapids, when he +heard a step behind him and looked up to see Indian Bill himself +coming. The old trapper was a well-known character in the mountains. +His great brown feet looking out beneath torn blue overalls, his +dark-skinned chest wrapped in a blanket of many colors, his long +straight hair falling from beneath a well-worn sombrero, formed a +familiar sight all over those mountains. Those feet had tramped every +mountain pass and rugged trail and had climbed every lofty peak for a +hundred miles about the Yosemite. + +His approach was a glad surprise to Job. He could wish no better +companion over that lonely trail which led along the precipitous sides +of the canyon, with straight walls towering above it and steep descents +reaching below to the Merced's angry waters, which dash for twenty +miles over gigantic boulders with a fury unrivaled by Niagara itself. + +Soon Indian Bill was driving away Job's gloom as, in his queer +dialect, he told one of his trapper stories while the two swung on at +regular gait, close upon each other's heels. Over the steep grades, +through the deep, shaded ravines, and along the bare cliffs on that +narrow trail, they went. They had gone a mile down the stream, when +Job noticed something moving, high on the opposite cliff. He called +his companion's attention to it, and the keen-eyed Indian said it was +a horseman mounted on a black steed. Job thought of Jane, but at once +said to himself that it could not be she--she was back at Camp Comfort +by this time. A little later, Bill said the horse was now riderless +and standing by a tree, and that a bit of something white was moving +on the face of the cliff. + +Just then they heard a terrible roar, and both forgot all else in the +queer sensation that seized them. All the world seemed to sway before +Job's eyes. The mountains below, where the river bends, seemed a thing +of life. His feet slipped on the narrow edge of a steep cliff he was +crossing, the gravel beneath gave way, and Job found himself lying at +the foot of a steep incline, while a whole fusillade of stones was +flying past him. A moment, and it was over, and the Indian said: + +"Ugh! Heap big earthquake! Great Spirit mad! Come." + +But Job could not easily come. His foot was doubled up under him and +sharp pains were darting through it. Indian Bill sprang to his +assistance, fairly carried him up the steep side of the precipice, +from whence, fortunately for him, he had fallen on soft earth, and put +him on his feet on the trail. Oh, that long walk over the jutting +points, down among the boulders, and up again on places of the trail +that seemed suspended between earth and sky! Every step brought a +groan to Job's lips. He grew feverish and thirsty. Bill parted a bunch +of almost tropical ferns which grew against the rocks, and led Job in +to a place where, through the stone roof of a dark canyon, the ice-cold +water trickled down drop by drop. It was well toward dusk when Job +dropped exhausted on the trail, and the hardy Indian slung him over +his shoulder, bore him up a narrow canyon that entered the main gorge +on the right, and laid him down on his own blankets in the little +wick-i-up made of twisted limbs and twigs that he called home. Soon +the crackling fire warmed the water, the sprained foot was bandaged, +and Job was asleep. + + * * * * * + +It was a strange scene on which Job opened his eyes the next morning. +He was lying on a bed of cedar boughs, wrapped in an old gray blanket, +and with one of many colors under him. A roof of gray and green was +over him, the forest's foliage woven into a tent. Through the parted +branches he could see the brown-skinned Indian bending over a ruddy +fire from whence the savory odor of frying trout stole in. Through an +avenue of green down the narrow canyon, he could see the morning sun +shining on the waters of the Merced which tumbled over the great +rocks. He tried to rise, but a sharp pain shot through his foot. Far +away he heard the call of a bird, and out by the fire the weird +strains of a monotonous folk-song rose in the air. Job closed his eyes +and sent up a morning prayer. In it he tried to pray for Jane, but +somehow could not. She was safe, he knew; probably at the fire, too, +in the beautiful valley from whence those rushing waters came. + +The trout breakfast was over--Bill knew where to get the beauties, +and, after he had got them, knew how to cook them--when Job learned +from the old trapper that he was to be his guest for a week; that not +before then would he be able to continue the journey home, and that +Bill would do his best to care for him till the sprained foot was well +again. At first he rebelled. He must get home, he said; Andrew Malden +was expecting him. But the Indian only grunted and sat in silence, as +Job tried to walk and fell back upon the blankets with the realization +that Bill was right. + +All day the Indian pottered about in silence, fixing his traps and +guns, and weaving a pair of moccasins for winter's use, while Job lay +half asleep, half awake, living over again the glories of the week +just closing. Toward evening the old Indian came in and sat by his +guest and began to talk. Far into the night hours, while the camp-fire +flashed and crackled without, he kept up his stories, till Job, +intensely interested, forgot his pains and his dreams. In quaint +English, shorn of all unnecessary words, Bill talked on. + +First he told bear stories, finishing each thrilling passage with a +significant "Ugh!" The one that roused Job most and held him +transfixed was of once when he suddenly met, coming out of the forest, +a giant grizzly, which rose on his monster hind feet and advanced for +the death embrace. "Me fire gun heap quick, kill him all dead, he +fall, hit Bill, arm all torn, blood come, me sick. Ugh!" And turning +back his blanket, he showed Job the scars from the grizzly's dying +blow. + +Then he told tales of adventure. Of scaling the Half Dome by means of +the iron pegs some daring climber had left there, and how finally, +reaching the summit and lying flat, he peered over and saw himself +mirrored in the lake below. He told of a wild ride down the icy slope +of the Lyell Glacier; of a night, storm-bound, in the Hetchy-Hetchy, +where he slept under the shelter of a limb drooping beneath the snow, +with a group of frightened mountain birds for bedfellows. He told of +beautiful parks far amid the solitude of the high Sierras, great +mountain meadows where shy deer grazed, of crystal lakes that lay +embowered in many a hidden mountain spot, of Mount Ritter's grandeur +and the dizzy heights of Mount Whitney, till Job's head reeled, and he +fell asleep that night dreaming of standing on the jagged, topmost +summit of a lofty peak, with all the mountains going round and round +below him, till he grew dizzy and fell and fell--and found himself +wide awake, listening to the hoot of a distant owl and the breathing +of his tawny host stretched out under the sky by the dying embers of +the camp-fire. + +During the next two days Job was much alone. Bill came and went on +many a secret, stealthy errand to where he knew the largest, most +toothsome mountain trout had their home. Busy with his own thoughts, +Job lay and dreamed the long hours away. + +"Make Bill feel bad. Want hear it? Ugh! Me tell it; me there. No +brave; little boy. Bad day, bad day!" + +It was the fourth day and Job was trying to persuade Bill to tell him +about the dreadful massacre of the Yosemite in the years gone by. The +fitful firelight played about the solemn face which showed never a +quiver as that night Bill told the story which made Job's blood run +cold. + +[Illustration: Sentinel Rock.] + +It was in the long-gone years when the miners first came into the +mountains. Living quietly in the beautiful valley to which they had +given their name, his tribe dwelt. Wild children of nature, they had +for many a century had the freedom of those hills. Far and wide on +many a hunting expedition they had roamed, and none had said nay. But +the pale-face, the greedy pale-face, came and stole the forests and +creeks yonder. Twice, enraged at their depredations, the Indians had +sallied forth from their homes and rent the hills about Gold City with +their war-cries, then retreated to the mountain fastnesses of which +the pale-face knew nothing. Once more they had gone on the war-path, +and started back, to find the whites at their heels. To the very edge +of the cliffs they had been followed, and their refuge was no longer a +secret--the world had heard the story of the giant's chasm in the +Sierras. + +When they had gone up on the great meadows back of Yosemite Falls and +El Capitan to live, there came a great temptation. The Mono Lake +Indians, far over the pass, had stolen a lot of fine horses from the +miners of Nevada. They hated the Mono Lake Indians. They watched their +chance, and, while they were off on a great hunting trip, the +Yosemites stole over the crest of the Sierras and brought a hundred +head of horses back with them. Then the aged Indian went on without a +tremor. He told how, one summer day, he was playing with the other +boys around a great tree, when he heard the wild war-whoop of the +Monos; he saw them coming in their war-paint, mounted on mad, rushing +horses; heard the whirr of arrows about him; ran and hid in a cleft of +the great rocky cliff, out of sight but not of seeing; saw his mother +scalped and thrust back into the burning tepee and his father pushed +headlong over the cliff; heard the death-cries of the Yosemites; saw +the meadow bathed in blood; saw the end of the Yosemites; and crept +down with a few survivors late that night to the valley and escaped to +the whites. "'Bloody meadow,' white man call it. Him good name. Wish +Mono come now--I kill! I kill!" and, with dramatic gesture that almost +startled Job, the old man waved his arms and was silent. + +Somehow after that the conversation drifted to religion. Bill talked +of the Great Spirit, Job talked of God. The old story of the +Incarnation--how this Great One came down to live among men and love +us all--Job told as best he could, till the hard heart of the child +of nature was touched, and he wanted to know if Job thought He loved +poor Indian Bill. It was very late, when Job came back to the awful +massacre, and tried to show Bill that the manly thing was not to cry, +"I kill, I kill," but "I forgive." + +The old man listened in silence. He walked out under the stars, then +came back and sat down by Job's side and said, "Bill heap bad. Bill +hate Mono Indian." Again and again he paced back and forth. + +Job was almost asleep, weary with watching the heart-struggles of the +wronged old man, when at last he came and said, "Boy, ask Great Spirit +forgive Bill. Bill forgive Mono Indian." And there, at midnight, the +love that transfigured Hebrew Peter, German Luther, English Wesley, +that had changed Job Malden, transformed Indian Bill. + +It was fully two weeks after the old trapper had borne him into his +humble tent that one afternoon Job walked off, strong and brave, to +finish his journey home. Bill saw him down to the river, where you +swing across on a board hung on a cable, helped pull the return ropes +that carry the novel car across, shouted as Job clambered up the other +bank, "Bill heap glad! Love Mono! Love Job! Good-by!" and was off out +of sight through the woods as swift and lithe as a deer, bound on +another of his hunting trips far back of El Capitan. + +Job saw him vanish; and, turning with a light heart and a merry song, +climbed the ridge that separates the North Fork from the South Fork, +fairly ran down past the old tunnels of the Cove Mine, skipped over +the iron bridge, and began the steady climb of six miles home. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +"GETHSEMANE." + + +It was evening and Tony was carrying the milk from the barn to the +milk-house, when Job tripped down the trail from Lookout Point, and +Shot and Carlo ran barking to meet him. A sort of momentary +consciousness that Bess was not there came to him, then something that +sounded like her neigh reached his ears. A shout to Tony--who in his +surprise dropped the milk pail and vanished--a bound, and Job was on +the veranda. He pushed open the door, and stood face to face with +Andrew Malden. + +The old man's face was white and deeply furrowed. He looked ten years +older than when Job had seen him last, and the young man felt a sharp +pang of remorse to think he had left him. Then he remembered Jane and +knew he would not have missed the trip for all the world. + +At sight of him Andrew Malden's face grew still whiter, he started +back as if shot, and fell in a faint on the couch. Job was appalled +and greatly mystified, as he dashed water into the wrinkled, haggard +face. + +At last the old man's eyes opened and he whispered hoarsely, "Oh, Job! +Job! how could you? Once I could have believed it, but I cannot now! +Oh, Job, tell me! tell me all! I'll stand by you, though you did +it--you're my boy still! Oh, Job, it is awful, awful! But I knew you +would come! Oh, Job! oh, Job!" he moaned. + +Did what? "Awful"? "Come"? Of course he had come. It was an accident, +Job explained; he did not mean to stay away. + +"An accident? Oh, yes, I told them so, Job; but they won't believe it. +They are coming to take my boy and--oh, I can't stand it! I won't +stand it!" and Andrew Malden tottered to and fro across the room. + +Was the old man insane? Had something dreadful happened? Job stood, +his face growing paler, his heart sinking with an undefined fear. Then +he caught the words, "Jane--dead--you!"--words that made every nerve +quiver, and tortured him till he sank on his knees and begged to know +the worst. + +Oh, the awful story! It burned into the depths of his soul. Now it +seemed like a dream, now dreadful reality. Jane was dead. Somebody had +found her lifeless and still on the rocks below the cliff just around +from Inspiration Point, and Bess had come home riderless. All the +country was wild with excitement. Everybody was searching for him. He +had done it, they said. Tom Reed had seen him go away with her, and +knew there was a quarrel on hand. Dan was telling that Jane had +promised to marry him, and that Job had followed her to the valley to +make her break the engagement or kill her. All the evidence was +against Job. They had buried her from the old church, buried her in +the cemetery on the hill, outside of whose gate his father lay. Yes, +Jane was dead! + +Job listened and listened--all else fell unheeded on his ear. Jane was +dead, his Jane, and lay beneath the pines far down the Gold City road! +It was all he heard--it was all he knew. He did not stop to explain; +he heard Bess neigh again, and rushed out into the shadowy night, and +mounted her with only a bridle. He heeded not the old man's cries. His +brain was on fire, his soul in agony. Only one thing he knew--Jane was +dead and he must go to her; go as fast as Bess could fly down that +road which many a dark night she had traveled. + +Men standing on the steps of the Miners' Home that evening said a dark +ghost went by like a flash--it was too swift for a flesh-and-blood +horse and rider--and they crept in by the bar and drank to quiet their +fears. + +He found it at last. The fresh earth, the uplifted pine cross with the +one word "Jane" on it, told the story. He left Bess to roam among the +white stones and the grass, flung himself across that mound, half hid +by withered flowers, and lay as if dead--dead as she who slept +beneath. At last the sobs came; the tears mingled with the flowers; +the heart of manhood was bleeding. Jane was dead! How had it happened? +Who had done this awful thing? God or man, it mattered little to him. +The dreadful fact that burned itself deeper and deeper into his soul +was--Jane was dead! + +Oh, that awful night! The stars forgot to shine; the trees moaned over +his head; the lightnings played on yonder mountains. The thunders +rolled, and he heeded them not; the rain-drops pattered now and then +on the branches above, but he never knew it. + +Gethsemane! Once it had seemed a strange, far-away place where the +heart broke and the cup was drunk to its bitter dregs. Job had +wondered what it meant. He knew now. It was here on the slopes of the +Sierras. These pines were the gnarled olive trees, this was the garden +of grief. Gethsemane--it had come into the life of Job Malden. + +At length the first great storm of grief had spent itself, and he sat +alone in the silence broken only by the far-off mutter of thunder; sat +alone with his dead and his thoughts. Again, as on far Glacier Point, +memory came and turned the pages of a lifetime. He was back in the old +boyhood days, laughing at her dusty, tanned feet--he would kneel to +kiss them now, if he could; again he was climbing Sugar Pine trail +with her; he was following her and Dan out on that bitter winter +night, maddened with jealousy and drink. Still the pages turned. He +was kneeling by her side at the Communion table, and a voice said, "As +oft as ye drink of this cup"--he was drinking of it now--the cup the +Master drank in the garden's gloom. Then the sobs overcame him. Again +he was still. The storm had spent its fury, the moon was struggling +through the rifted clouds. He remembered Glacier Point and that +immortal night, and he felt as if she was here and God was here, and +he knelt and prayed, "Thy will, not mine, be done," and the angels of +peace and rest came and ministered unto him. + +From sheer exhaustion he finally slept. It was but the passing of a +moment, and he was awake again. There in the moonlight he read, +"Jane." Could he bear it? He could see her now saying good-by. Oh, it +was forever, forever! Then, like a flash it came--forever? No; only a +little span of life, and, at the gates of pearl, he would see her +waiting to welcome him. She was there now, up where the stars were +shining and the moon had parted the clouds. Her frail body was here +perhaps--but Jane, his Jane, who that night at Glacier Point had said +she loved him--she was there. He would be brave; he would be true to +God; he would lean on the Master's arm. Jesus was left--he was with +him here in the lonely graveyard, and Jane was his still for all +eternity. + +The young man looked up from the dark earth to the clear sky, and +prayed a prayer of hope and trust and submission. Near the hour of +dawn he walked out to the gate where Bess stood waiting. He mounted +her--dear Bess! who alone knew the story of the awful tragedy. He +patted her neck; he whispered his sorrow in her ear. And then a +strange, wild thought came to him. He would not go back--he would go +away to the great, outside world, never to see the mountains again. +How could he ever climb Sugar Pine Hill, or go past the old +school-house, or enter the old church? He would go where no gleam from +sun-kissed El Capitan could reach his eye, where no associations that +would remind of a life forever past could haunt his soul. + +Then he remembered something--it seemed like a nightmare. They had +said he did it--how, when, why, he knew not. If he went away they +would think he was afraid to face them, they would believe him guilty, +and the old man would be broken-hearted. Job had forgotten him--he had +forgotten all but his awful sorrow. What of it? Go anyway, his heart +said. Go away from this world that has been full of trial after trial +for you. No matter what men think. God knows--God can take care of +the old man. + +There on Bess' back Job sat, while the bitter conflict within went on. + +It was over at last. He turned Bess' steps toward Pine Mountain and +home. He would face it all--the world's scorn, the old scenes which +seemed each one to pierce anew his heart. He had been down to +Gethsemane; he would climb Calvary. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +VIA DOLOROSA. + + +"I tell you he'll come! Don't say that about my boy! It was an +accident--he said so--I heard him! He can explain it all. He saw it! +He'll come!" were the words Job heard Andrew Malden saying as he rode +up to Pine Tree Ranch in the dim light of early morning. The sheriff +and his deputy had come for Job; and, maddened to find him gone, were +cursing the old man and the one they sought. + +Andrew Malden, quivering with excitement, tortured by a thousand +fears, wondering if he would come, was defending as best he could the +young man whom he loved, in this awful hour, more than ever before. + +Job was close beside them before they saw him. Hitching Bess, he +walked up to the door, saluted the sheriff, and calmly asked: + +"Were you looking for me?" + +The sight of that pale, manly face for a moment stilled the bluster of +the rough officer of the law, and he almost apologized as he told Job +he was under the painful necessity of taking him to the county jail to +answer to the charge of homicide--the murder of a girl named Jane +Reed. Job winced under the sting of the words. For a moment he felt +like striking the man a blow for mentioning that sacred name; then he +bit his lip, sent up a silent prayer, and said: + +"Very well, sir; I will mount my horse and follow you. I know the way +well." + +In a flash the burly sheriff whipped the hand-cuffs upon his wrists, +and said: + +"Ride! Well, I guess not! You'll play none of your games on me! You +will ride between me and my deputy, Mr. Dean!" And then Job discovered +for the first time that Marshall Dean was eying him with a malicious +grin of satisfaction. + +In a moment, seated in the buckboard between the two men, with only +time for a good-by to Bess, a shake of the old man's hand, and never a +moment to explain that the accident he had mentioned had befallen +himself, not Jane, Job Malden rode down over the Pine Tree road, +handcuffed, on his way to the county jail at Gold City. + +Past the Miners' Home and the Palace Hotel they drove at last. Bitter +faces glared into the prisoner's, friends of other days met him with +silence, and here and there a voice cried, "Lynch him!" Up past the +old church where he and Jane had gone and come together; up to the +door of the quaint white court house with square tower and green +blinds they drove, and Job passed through the rear door, and into the +narrow, dark dungeon, with only, high up, a little iron-barred window +to let in light and air--a prisoner of Grizzly county, to answer for +the killing of Jane Reed. + +Only when he heard the sound of the bolt in the door, heard the crowd +outside cheering the sheriff for his bravery in capturing the outlaw, +and, seated on the narrow cot, looked around the cheerless cell with +no other furniture, did a sense of what it all meant rush over him. +Then the hot tears came, his head sank between his hands, and he felt +that he had taken the first step up Calvary. Like a far-off murmur +there came to him the words he had said in his heart on that long-ago +Communion Sunday: + + "Where He leads me I will follow, + I'll go with Him all the way." + +All the way? Ah, he was beginning to know what that meant! Then there +came that other verse--how it soothed his troubled heart! + + "He will give me grace and glory, + And go with me all the way." + +Just then the sun stole in at the little cell window, and the +perpendicular and horizontal bars made the shadow of a cross on the +floor, all surrounded by a flood of light. A great peace came into Job +Malden's heart, as the Master whispered, "I will never leave thee nor +forsake thee." + + * * * * * + +All Gold City was stirred to its depths. Nothing had happened in forty +years to so move the hearts of men. Business was forgotten, groups of +men met and talked long on the street corners, the mining camp was +deserted. There was but one theme--the tragedy of Inspiration Point. +Up at the Yellow Jacket a great shadow rested over office, church and +the miners' shanties. On the lowest levels of the mines, grimy men +looked into each other's faces and talked in an undertone of the awful +fear which they would not have the rocks and the secret places of the +earth know; that "the parson" was in a murderer's cell, and the storm +clouds were gathering fast about him, and the worst was, he was +guilty--it must be so! + +The superintendent drove his team on a run to the court house, and +offered any amount of bail. This was refused, and he was denied even a +look at Job. Up at the ranch, Andrew Malden neither ate nor slept. A +terrible nightmare hung over him. His boy was innocent, of course he +was. But oh, it was awful! The saloons were crowded, and a furtive +chuckle passed around the bars. He was caged now, the one they hated, +and the evil element were in high glee. O'Donnell and Dan Dean, Col. +Dick and the sheriff, were the center of crowds who hung on their +words, as they told the story of the crime over and over with a new +force and new aspect that showed the utter hypocrisy, treachery and +sin of Job. + +The church was crowded. The preacher could not believe Job guilty, but +he dared not say so. Tom Reed, wild with grief, pleaded with men to +break open the jail and let him slay the murderer, slay him and avenge +his Jane--his black-eyed, great-hearted Jane. The city reporters were +busy, and the papers glowed with accounts and photographs of "the +awful wretch who was safely held behind the bars of the Gold City +jail." So the storm surged to and fro, so the days passed, to that +dark ninth of August when the trial was to begin. + +Of all the throng of men in the mountains in those days, he alone who +sat in the silence of a dungeon in the old court house, was unmoved +and at peace. Through the long hours he sat recalling memories of past +years, living again the scenes of yesterday, which seemed to belong to +another world and another life now gone forever. From his pocket he +drew again and again the little Testament still fragrant with a +mother's dying kiss, and felt himself as much a homeless, motherless +boy as upon that long-ago night when he first saw Gold City and fell +asleep on the "Palace" doorsteps. He read it over and over. It was of +Gethsemane, the Last Supper and Calvary he read most. He knew now what +they meant. Then he turned to the words, "What shall separate us from +the love of God?" and the consciousness that God was left, that Jesus +was his, was like a mighty arm bearing him up. + +They asked him for his defense. He said he had none, except the fact +that he knew nothing about the deed. They scorned that, and asked whom +he wished for a lawyer. He had no choice--cared for none. The judge +sent him a young infidel attorney, the sheriff refused him the +privilege of seeing anyone, the iron gate was double-barred, and +closer and closer the web of evidence was drawn about him ready for +the day of the trial. + +He asked for Andrew Malden, but was refused. He begged them to send +for Indian Bill; they made a pretense of doing so, but the trapper was +far from human reach, far up in the wilderness beyond El Capitan. All +Job could do was to pray and wait, little caring what the outcome +might be, little caring what might be the verdict of the world of Gold +City; knowing only two things--that Jane was dead and life could never +be the same to him; and that the God who looked down in tender +compassion on his child shut in between those dark stone walls, knew +all about it. Job had read how one like unto an angel walked in the +furnace of old with God's saints; he felt, now, that the Christ came +and sat by his side in those lonely prison hours. + + * * * * * + +It was Monday, the ninth of August. The sun's rays beat down on the +dusty streets of Gold City and glared from the white walls of the +court house. At ten o'clock the trial would commence--the great trial +of "The State vs. Job Teale Malden." The streets were thronged with +vehicles; it was like one of the old-time Sunday picnics, only saint +as well as sinner was here. The Yellow Jacket had closed down by +common consent of all, and hundreds of workingmen were pouring into +town in stages and buckboards, on horseback and on foot. The old court +house was packed to its utmost capacity; the gallery and stairs were +one mass of writhing humanity. Outside, they stood like a great +encampment, stretching away, filling the whole square. Still they came +from Mormon Bar and Wawona--the greatest throng in the history of +Grizzly county; men, women, and children in arms--all to see Job +Malden tried for his life. + +Through this crowd, Andrew Malden, leaning on his cane, passed in at +the great door by Tony's side. The crowd was silent as he passed. Some +muttered under their breath; some lifted their hats. That worn, gaunt +face startled them all. It was through this same crowd that Tom Reed, +with darkened brow, and Dan Dean, limping on his crutches, passed in +together. + +The clock in the tower struck ten. Job in his cell heard it above the +din of innumerable feet passing over his head; heard it and knelt in +an earnest prayer for grace to bear whatever might come; to suffer and +be still as his Master did of old. He had gone all over it again and +again; they knew his story of the walk down the canyon trail with +Indian Bill, but even the lawyer doubted it. If they knew of Glacier +Point and the betrothal, they might believe him. Should he tell it? +All night he had paced the cell wondering if he ought--if he could. As +he knelt in that hour, he resolved that, though it would save his +life, no human ear should ever hear that sacred secret. That hour on +Glacier Point should be unveiled to no human eye, but remain locked in +the chambers of his soul, known only to God and her who waited yonder +for his coming. + +It was near noon when the judge ascended the bench. The hubbub of +voices ceased, the case was called, the rear door opened, and, led in +by the sheriff, handcuffed and guarded, with calm, white face, yet +never faltering in step or look, Job Malden walked across the floor to +the prisoner's seat, while the crowd gazed in curiosity, that soon +changed to awe and reverence, at that grave face, so deeply marked +with scars of grief. + +It was a strange scene that met Job's gaze. All the familiar faces +were there--Aunty Perkins and Tim's father; Dean and O'Donnell glaring +at him; poor old Andrew Malden leaning on his cane; Tony and Hans and +Tom Reed and--oh, no! Jane was not there, but gone forever from Gold +City and its strange, hard life. A tear stole down the prisoner's +cheek--he wiped it away. His enemies saw it and winked. Tim's father +saw it and moaned aloud. The clock struck twelve in the high tower, +and proceedings began. + +It was two days before the trial was well under way. The quibbling of +the lawyers, the choosing of a jury, the hearing of the witnesses who +had found the wounded, silent form of Jane Reed on the rocks beneath +the famous Point, filled the hours. Morning after morning, the scenes +of that first day were repeated in the court room; the great crowds, +the intense excitement, the friends and enemies intently listening to +every word and watching every movement of the prisoner. And calm and +still, with never a sign of fear or shame on his face, Job Malden sat +in that court room hour after hour, and One unseen stood at his side. + +On the third day the prosecution began to weave its web of +circumstantial evidence about Job. How shrewd it was! How carefully +each suspicious incident was told and retold! How meanly everything +bad in his life was emphasized, everything good forgotten! They +brought the tales of long-ago years when he was a mere boy. They +proved that the passionate blood of a gambler was in his veins; that +his father before him had shot a companion. The story of the +horse-race and escapades of the reckless days of old were rehearsed by +hosts of witnesses. It was proved, by an intricate line of +cross-questions, that once before, on a bitter winter's night, young +Malden had pursued this girl and Dan Dean with the avowed intention of +harming them. The hot blood came to Job's face--he well remembered +that night. Then he seemed to hear the distant voice of Indian Bill +saying by the roaring Merced, "Bill forgive Mono Indian;" and, sitting +there with this tale pouring into the ears of the throng who looked +more and more askance at him, Job said deep in his soul, "Forgive us +our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Father, I +forgive, I forgive!" + +Closer and closer they drew the web. They made Andrew Malden--poor old +man!--confess that he had heard Job say, "It was an accident," then +showed that he had denied knowing aught of Jane's death until he +reached home. Then Tom Reed took the stand. He testified that all +Jane's preference was for Dan; that she went to him when he and Job +were both so ill; that she wrote to Dan and never wrote to Job. The +old man fairly shook with rage as on the witness-stand he took every +chance to denounce the "hypocrite and 'ristocrat." Minutely he +pictured Job's coming to the valley, the heated arguments he was sure +the two had had, and how upon that awful day when Jane left him +forever, she had walked away by the side of Job Malden. + +Daniel Dean was the next witness. The crowd hung breathless on his +words. Stumping up on his crutches, Dan took the chance of a lifetime +to vent his hatred of Job. Keen, shrewd, too wise to speak out +plainly, but wise enough to know the blighting influence of +suggestion, Dan talked, insinuated and lied till the nails were driven +one by one into poor Job's heart and the pain was almost more than he +could bear. Insidiously, indirectly, he gave them all to understand +that Jane Reed loved him and again and again by her actions had shown +preference for himself. Then down the aisle he passed, while the crowd +looked at him in pity, and Job felt as if he must rise and tell of the +night at Glacier Point, must vindicate the memory of Jane Reed. But +no! God knew all. Some things are too sacred to tell to any ear but +his. He must suffer and be still. + +When Job went back to his lonely cell that night a boy was whistling +on the street, "I'll go with Him all the way," and Job Malden took up +the words and said them with a meaning he had never known before. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +"CALVARY." + + +On the fourth day the court called for the defense. Curiosity reached +its culmination. Men fought for a chance to get within hearing +distance. Dan and his comrades sat with an indolent air of +satisfaction. Aunty Perkins crowded close to the front. Through the +door and up to the very railing which enclosed the active +participants, Andrew Malden and Tony made their way. There were only +four possible points for the defense. First, it might prove Job's +changed character; second, that it was Job, not Dan, to whom Jane Reed +was betrothed; third, that Job was far away in the Merced canyon with +Indian Bill at the time of the death; fourth, to show by what cause +death came to the fated girl. + +The last, the defense could not prove; for the third, they had no +evidence but the prisoner's own word, and that the court would not +accept; the second, not even the lawyer or Andrew Malden knew, and no +power on earth could make Job Malden tell it; there was no defense to +make except to show the character of Job and plead the fact that +circumstantial evidence was not proof of guilt. + +He did his best, that bungling young attorney. He tried to take +advantage of technicalities, but Job utterly forbade that. If +righteousness and God could not clear him, nothing else could. The +defense was lame, but it proved that some people believed in Job and +loved him. Tim's father told, between his tears, the story of "Tim's +praist." Aunty Perkins and the preacher spoke ringing words for him. +From the Yellow Jacket men came and defended his noble life. But it +all went for naught with that jury. It was facts, not sentiment, they +wanted. All this might be true, but if Job Malden had done the awful +deed which the evidence went to show, then these things only made his +crime the blacker. + +The defense finished at noon, and the lawyers began their pleas at one +o'clock. They hardly needed to speak--Grizzly county had tried the +case and the verdict was in. Yet they spoke. How eloquently the +prosecuting attorney showed the influence of heredity--that the evil +in the father would show itself some day in the boy! How he pictured +the temporary religious change in Job's life, and then his relapse as +the old fever came back into his blood! He had relapsed before, they +all knew. He did not doubt his temporary goodness; but love is +stronger than fear and hatred than integrity, and meeting Jane in the +valley had roused all the old passion. Out on the cliff they had +walked, they had quarreled, all the old fire of his father had come +back--perhaps the boy was not to blame--and, standing there alone with +the girl who would not promise to be his wife, in his rage he had +struck her, and over the cliff she had gone, down, down, on the cruel +rocks, to her death, and he had fled over the mountains till, goaded +by conscience, haunted by awful guilt, he had come home and given +himself up. + +The crowd shuddered as he spoke. Tom Reed fainted, Andrew Malden grew +deathly white and raised his wan hand in protest, but still the +speaker kept on. Job listened as if it were of another he spoke. He +could see it all--how awful it was!--and it was Jane and he had done +it! He almost believed he had; that man who stood there, carrying the +whole throng with him, made it so clear. The voice ceased. Then Job +roused himself. The consciousness that it was all false, terribly +false, came over him, and he leaned hard on God. + +The attorney for the defense said but a word. For a moment it thrilled +the multitude. It was a strange speech. This is what he said: "Your +honor and gentlemen of the jury, the only defense I have is the +character of the young man. I can say nothing more than you have heard +to show how far beneath him is such a crime as this. I know you doubt +his word, I know you are against him; but, before these people who +know me as an infidel--before God who looks down and knows the hearts +of men--I want to say that I believe in Job Malden. What I have seen +of him in these awful days has changed my whole life. Henceforth I +believe in God." + +It was over. The judge was charging the jury, "Bring in a verdict +consistent with the facts, gentlemen; the facts, not sentiment." The +sun was setting. The jury retired for the night; they would bring in a +verdict in the morning. + +But the verdict was in. Even Andrew Malden groaned as he leaned on +Tony's arm, "Oh, Tony! Tony! How could he have done it!" As Job turned +to go back to his cell, he looked over that great crowd for one face +that trusted him, but on each seemed written, "Guilty!" He felt as if +the whole world had turned from him and the years had gone for naught. +There was no voice to whisper a loving word. "Forsaken! forsaken!" He +said it over and over. His head was hot, his pulse was feverish. He +longed for the touch of his mother's hand; he was hungry for the sound +of Jane's voice; he longed to lay his head on Andrew Malden's knee; +but he was alone--Calvary was here. The crucifixion hour had come. + +At midnight he awoke. A strong arm seemed to hold him, a voice to say, +"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; when thou +walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned." It was the +Christ. There alone on the summit of the mount of the cross, amid the +bitterness of the world, pierced to the heart, crucified in soul, Job +Malden stood with his Master. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +THE VERDICT. + + +It was Friday morning. The last day of the trial had come. The hot sun +beat down on hundreds pressing their way towards the old court house, +too excited to be weary. Never had Gold City known such a day. The +court room was crowded two hours before the judge came to the bench. A +profound silence filled the place. When Job entered one could have +felt the stillness. All knew the verdict--all dreaded to hear it. Dan +Dean shrank down behind the post when the jury filed in. Job sat with +a far-away look in his eyes. Men, gazing at him, were reminded of +pictures of the old saints. + +The preliminaries were over, and the foreman of the jury rose to give +the verdict. Men held their breath. Women grew pale and trembled. In a +clear voice he said it: "Guilty!" For a moment the hush lasted; then +Andrew Malden fainted, Tim's father cried, "My God! My God!" a storm +of tears swept over the throng, and Job sat motionless, while a look +of great peace came into his face and in his soul he murmured, "It is +finished!" + +But the judge was speaking. He was denying the motion for a new trial; +he was asking if the prisoner had aught to say why sentence should not +be pronounced against him, when a voice that startled all rang through +the great room: + +"White man, hear! Bill talk!" + +There he stood--from whence he came no one knew--his old gray blanket +wrapped about him, his long black hair falling in a mass over his +shoulders, the blue overalls still hanging about his great brown feet. +With hand outstretched, he stood for a moment in silence, while judge +and jury and throng were at his command. + +Then he spoke; brief, to the point, fiery, strong. The crowd was +spellbound. He carried bench and jury and all with him. He told of the +day in Merced canyon; of the figure on the distant cliff; of the +earthquake and Job's fall; how he had seen what he dared not tell the +boy--the cliff give way, a white thing go down, down, out of sight. +Told of Job's many hours in his tepee, and of how the boy had brought +him to the Great Spirit, who took the hate all out of his heart. On he +talked, till Job's every statement was corroborated, till a revulsion +of feeling swept over the multitude, till they saw it all vividly: +that it was the earthquake--it was God, not man, who had called Jane +Reed from this world; that the prisoner was as innocent as the baby +yonder prattling in its mother's arms. + +Dan slunk out of the door, Tom Reed sat in silent awe, Tim's father +was in tears, Tony shouted, "Bress de Lawd!" And only Job said never a +word, as the judge, disregarding all precedent, dismissed the case. +The great trial of "The State vs. Job Malden" was ended. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +IN JANUARY AND MAY TIME. + + +The leaves on the mountain maples turned early that fall. The touch of +bitter frost brought forth their rarest colors. The snowflakes +fluttered down before November was past; fluttered down and softly +covered the furrows and brown earth with a mantle of white. + +So the days of that autumn came to Job Malden. The beauty begotten of +pain crept into his face. The mantle of silence and peace hid deep the +scars of grief. He never talked of the past--no man ever dared broach +it. The children at their play in the twilight stopped and huddled +close as they saw a dark form climb the graveyard hill, and wondered +who it could be. Yet he did not live apart from the world. Never had +Gold City seen more of him; never did children love a playmate so much +as he who took them all into his heart. Yet he was not of them--all +felt it, all saw it. He was with them, not of them. Up higher in soul +he had climbed than the world of Gold City could go. He came down to +them often, and unconsciously they poured their sorrows at his feet, +and he comforted them; but when he went back into the secret holy +place of his soul, no man dared follow. + +Up at the old ranch, the gray-haired, feeble owner sat by the fire +watching the crackling logs and the flames; sat and thought of the +years that were gone. Visions of childhood mingled with visions of +heaven; the murmur of voices long silent with the words, as Job read +them aloud: "In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare +a place for you." Tony still sang at his chores, Hans was still at the +barn, Bess still neighed in the stable, Shot still barked at the door. +But the old home could never be quite the same to the brave, manly +fellow who strode in and out across its threshold. + +It was New Year's Eve. Job sat by the old stone fireplace. The +household had gone to rest. The clock was ticking away the moments of +the dying year. Outside, the world was still and white. With head in +his hands, Job waited for the year to end. + +He was ten years older than when it had begun. He was still a boy then +in heart and years; now he was well on in manhood. Yosemite, Glacier +Point, Gethsemane, Calvary, Jane Reed's grave, were in that year. He +longed to hear its death-knell. Yet that year--how much it had meant +to his soul! The sanctifying influence of sorrow had softened and +purified his life. The abiding Christ was with him; he lived, and yet +not he--it was Christ living in him. + +He knelt and thanked Him for it all--heights of glory, depths of +tribulation; thanked Him for whatsoever Infinite Love had given in the +days of that dark, dark year now ending. The clock gave a warning +tick--it was going; a moment, and it would be gone forever. Into his +heart came a great purpose--the purpose to leave the past with the +past, and in the new year go out to a new life--a life of love for all +the world, of service for all hearts. Over his soul came a great joy. + +The clock struck twelve. Somebody down the hill fired a gun, the dogs +barked a welcome--the new year had come. The school-house bell was +ringing, and to Job it seemed to say: + + "Ring out the old, ring in the new, + Ring in the Christ that is to be." + +The young man rose from his knees. He went and opened the door. The +white world flooded with silvery light lay before him. The past was +gone. He stood with his face to the future, to the years unscarred +and waiting. Into them he would go to live for others. He closed the +doors, brushed back the embers, and crept softly up to his room, +singing in a low voice the first song for many months: + + "Oh, the good we all may do, + While the days are going by." + +All day the drums had been beating. All day the tramp of martial feet +had been heard along the Gold City streets. The soldiers from Camp +Sheridan had marched in line with the local militia, and a few +trembling veterans who knew more of real war than either. "Old Glory" +on the court house had been at half-mast, the children had scattered +flowers on a few flag-marked graves, while faltering voices of age +read the Grand Army Ritual. The public exercises in the town square +were over. + +The sun had set on Decoration Day when Job rode Bess up once more to +the old graveyard where Jane lay. Not often did he come here now--he +felt that she was up among the stars; it was only the shroud of clay +that lay under the sod--yet on this day when love scatters garlands +over its dead, he had come to place a wreath of wild-flowers on her +grave. + +He thought of that night when he had first visited this spot. How far +in the past it seemed! He could never forget it, but he could think of +it now in quiet of soul, and feel, "He doeth all things well." +Reverently he laid the wreath on the grave, knelt in silent prayer, +and tarried a moment with bowed head. Memories sweet and tender, +memories sad and bitter, came back to him. + +Just then he heard a noise, a foot-fall opposite, and looked up to see +a tall form supported by a crutch standing with bowed head. + +"Why, Dan!" Job said, startled for a moment. + +"Job!" answered a trembling voice. + +And there they stood, those two men whose lives met in the one under +the sod; stood and looked in silence. + +At last Dan spoke. But how different his voice sounded! All the +scornfulness had gone out of it. + +"Job," he said, "Job, I knew you were here. Many a night I have seen +you come, have watched you kneeling here, and hated you for it--yet +loved you for it. I knew you would come again to-night. I came to +stand beneath that old pine yonder, and watched you lay the wreath on +the grave. I could stand it no longer. I have come, Job--I have +come--" and Dan, yes, Dan Dean, faltered!--"come to be forgiven. For +years I have dogged your footsteps, hated you, persecuted you, lain in +wait to ruin you. For this alone I have lived. God only knows--you +don't--how bad I have been. But, Job, you are too much for me. The +more I harm you, the nobler you grow. I have hated religion, but +to-night I would give all I ever hope to own to have a little like +yours. If religion can do for a fellow what it has for you, there is +nothing in the world like it." + +A little nearer he came, as Job, hardly believing his ears, listened. + +"Job," he cried, "I don't deserve it, God knows! I have wronged you +beyond all hope of mercy. But I must be forgiven, or I must die. You +must forgive me. I cannot live another day with this awful feeling in +my heart. I cannot sleep--I cannot work. I don't care whether I die or +not, but I cannot go into eternity without knowing that you forgive +me!" + +At last the tears came, and Dan sank, crutch in hand, beside Jane's +grave. + +Job could not speak. For a moment, only the sound of a strong man's +sobs and the hoot of an owl filled the air, then a passionate cry +burst from Dan's lips: + +"Tell me, Job, tell me, is it possible for you to forgive?" + +For a moment Job faltered. He could see Trapper Bill pace the tepee +and say, "Bill forgive Mono Indian;" he could hear the Master saying, +"After this manner pray ye, Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive +those who trespass against us;" and, kneeling and putting his arm +about the quivering form, he whispered: + +"Dan, I forgive!" + +Long hours they stayed there, praying and talking, till Dan, grown +quiet as a child, looked up with a strange, new expression, and said: + +"You forgive and God forgives! Oh, Job, this is more than I ever hoped +for! I can hardly stand it!" + + * * * * * + +It was Children's Day when Daniel Dean was received into the Gold City +church. No one knew what was coming. Job rode down from the ranch with +the secret hid in his heart. It was a lovely June Sunday. The roses +were blossoming over the cottages, and the birds sang as if wild with +joy. The mountains were covered with green, the valleys were robed in +flowers, and golden plains stretched below. + +Old friends were greeting each other, and familiar forms passing in at +the church door, as Job led Andy Malden, leaning on his cane, to the +family pew. The church was a bower of flowers, the songs of birds rang +out from gayly bedecked cages, and the patter of children's feet was +heard in the aisle. + +It was a beautiful service. Music of voice and organ filled the air, +wee tots tripped up to the platform and down again, saying in +frightened voices little "pieces" that made mothers proud and big men +listen. The pastor brought forth a number of candles, large and +small, wax and common tallow, and put them on the pulpit, where he lit +them one by one, showing how one, lit by the flame of the largest, +could pass along and light the others; how one life lit by the fire of +Jesus' love could light all the hearts around it. And from smallest +bright-eyed boy to gray-haired Andrew Malden, all knew what he meant +by the transforming power of a transformed life. It was then that song +and service had its living illustration. + +[Illustration: From Glacier Point, Yosemite.] + +It was just as the preacher finished his sermon and asked if any had +children to be baptized, that Job arose and said there was one present +who had come as a little child to Christ, and who wished to come as a +little child into the church, and he would present him for baptism if +he might. + +The preacher gave willing consent, and the wondering congregation +waited. Job rose and passed to the rear. Every head was turned. Then +he came back, and on his arm, neatly dressed in a plain black suit, +came poor, crippled Dan Dean. + +The people who saw that scene can never agree on just what happened +then. A resurrection from the dead could scarcely have surprised them +more. It is said that they rose en masse and stood in silence as the +pair passed down the aisle. Then someone started up, "There's a +wideness in God's mercy like the wideness of the sea," and the whole +church rang. + +Some say that Dan told of his conversion and his faith in Jesus; some, +that Job told it; some, the preacher. The preacher's tears, it is +said, mingled with the baptismal waters, and the noonday sun kissed +them into gold, on that famous Sunday when Daniel Dean was baptized +and received as a little child into the Gold City church. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +SUNSET. + + +One evening soon after that memorable Sunday, Job reached home rather +late. Putting Bess in the stall, he said a tender good-night, crossed +the square to the gate, and went up to the house to find it strangely +still. He pushed the door ajar and saw the old man leaning on his cane +in his arm-chair. His white locks were gilded by the setting sun. His +spectacles lay across the open Bible on the chair at his side. Job +spoke, but there was no answer. Stepping over to see if the old man +was asleep, he found he was indeed sleeping--the sleep that knows no +waking. + +Just at sunset, as the long summer day was dying, reading that +precious Psalm, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," the weary +traveler on life's long journey had finished his course and gone to +the rest that remaineth for the children of God. Beside him, he had +laid the Book; he would need it no more--he had gone to see the Savior +"face to face." He had taken off his spectacles--the eyes that had +needed them here would not need them in that world to which he had +gone. On his staff he leaned, In the old farmhouse, the home of many +years, and gently as a little child falls asleep in its mother's arms, +he had leaned on God and gone to the better Home. + +A feeling of utter loneliness came over Job. The last strong tie was +broken. That night he walked over the old place in the dim light, and +felt that heaven was coming to be more like home than earth. + + * * * * * + +"Waal, the old man's gone," Marshall Dean said, as he drew his chair +back from the table. "Mighty long wait we've had, Sally, but now we'll +get ready to move." + +"Move!" cried his wife, "move! Marshall Dean, where is your common +sense? Don't you know the whole thing will go to that man that's no +kith nor kin of his, while we poor relations has to sit and starve!" + +"Mother," said a voice, "I think Job Malden has a better right to the +place than we. He's been a better relation to the old man than all the +Deans together, if I do say it." It was Dan who spoke. + +"Yes, that's the way! Bring up a son, and hear him talk back to his +mother!--that's the way it goes! Ever since ye got religion down there +at that gal's grave, ye've been a regular crank!" + +The hot words stung, but Dan remained silent. + +"I don't care, ma," said little Tom, "I think Job's nice, and if he's +boss I'm going up there every day." + +"Yes, and he'll kick ye out, or do the way he did with Dan at the +Yellow Jacket--set a parcel of soldiers on to ye, just as if ye was a +dog!" sharply retorted Mrs. Dean. + +Dan could keep silent no longer. "Mother, what right have you to talk +that way? I deserved all I got at the Yellow Jacket. And I shall never +forget that when my leg was hurt and the surgeon took it off, Job came +in and nursed me. No better man ever walked the earth than Job +Malden, and not one of the Dean family is worth mentioning in the +same breath." + + * * * * * + +The mother cut her bread in frowning silence, the father took his hat +and left the room, while little Ross said: + +"Job brought me a lot of the prettiest flowers once when I was sick! I +wish he owned all the flowers, he's so good to me!" + +Just then Baby Jim climbed into his mother's lap and said, "What's +'dead,' mamma? Where's Uncle Andy gone? Is you goin' there?" And the +peevish, selfish woman took the child in her arms and went out on the +sunny porch, wondering if indeed she was ever going there; whether +this something which, after all, she knew had so changed Dan for the +better, was for her. + +Down at Squire Perkins' that night, a Chinese woman, kneeling by her +kitchen chair, prayed that riches might not conquer Job Malden, who by +the grace of God had stood so many of life's tests. + +On the streets of Gold City they debated over the estate, wondering if +Andrew Malden had left anything for public charity, and whether the +new lord of Pine Tree Mountain would rebuild the mill and open the +Cove Mine. Pioneers of the hills met each other by the way and talked +of how fast changes were coming in Grizzly county--Yankee Sam gone, +Father Reynolds gone, and now Andy Malden. They shook their heads and +wondered what would become of things, with none but the youngsters +left. + +Up at the ranch, Tony crept softly across the floor and, himself +unseen, looked in where Job sat by the still form of "old Marse." + +It was over at last. Under the pines, close by his own boy and Jane, +they laid him. It was a strange funeral. Tony, Hans, Tim's father and +Sing bore the casket. A great throng was there. The man whom Grizzly +county had once hated was buried amid its tears. Job stood with bared +head as the preacher said, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," and turned +quickly away, feeling that the old days were gone forever. + +It seemed very strange that night to hear Tony say, "Marse Malden, +what's de work yo' hab for me?" He walked through the old house and +then went out again. The soul of the place was gone. + +Job wondered what the outside world looked like; what God had in store +for him. He longed to leave the dead past behind him, and be out in +the world of action and mighty purpose. But he was in the memory-world +still; and as he slept that night, there came the friends of other +days--his blue-eyed mother, Yankee Sam, black-eyed Jane, wan-faced +Tim, the old man; across his dreams they came and went. + +Last of all One came, the seamless robe enfolding Him, the dust +covering His scarred feet, the print of thorns on His brow, and He +whispered: + +"Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +"AUF WIEDERSEHEN." + + +It was two days after the funeral. Sing had set things to rights in +the old parlor; Tony brought in a bunch of flowers; and Job, leaving +Bess saddled by the fence, came in and went up to his little room. +They were coming to hear the will read. They would be here soon, the +lawyer and the relatives and the preacher--for it was announced that +the old man had left a snug sum to the church. Sing and Tony and Hans, +arrayed in their best, waited for those who were coming. + +At last they came--the preacher on horseback, in his long coat; +Marshall Dean and his wife, in their best attire, followed by the nine +young Deans of all ages. And back of all was Dan, in his neat black +suit, looking paler and more frail than ever. Into the prim little +parlor they all filed, and sat down awkwardly in a line around the +room. The preacher remarked upon the weather, Mr. Dean said it was an +uncommon warm summer, Mrs. Dean sent Tommy to get her a newspaper to +use as a fan. + +Just then a horse and cart drove up, and all looked out. It was Aunty +Perkins. Why she had come, she knew not, except that Job had sent for +her. She trotted in, and, with a little curtsey, said, "How do? Hot in +sun. All well?" Next came Tim's father, in a new brown suit and a red +tie that matched his hair. Last of all, Tom Reed looked in sheepishly, +and seated himself outside the door. All sat in embarrassed silence, +which grew painful as the moments went on. Where was the lawyer, and +where was Job? + +Finally they came--the attorney through the gate and up the path at a +brisk pace. Then, dressed in a neat black suit, with black tie and +black hat in hand, and looking for all the world as he had years +before when he came in on the stage, only older grown, Job came down +the stairs and, with a kind welcome, seated himself near the door. + +The lawyer adjusted his spectacles and broke the seal of the document +in his hand. Hans and Sing and Tony stood in the open door, a +picturesque group in the afternoon sunlight. The lawyer rose, looked +about, and cleared his throat. The anxious spectators leaned over, +breathless. It had come at last! Only a second between them and some +substantial remembrance from Andrew Malden. + +The will was in the usual form, but it was brief. Slowly, almost +haltingly, he read, so that the words fell clearly on each ear. This +is what they heard: + + "In the name of God, Amen. I, Andrew Malden, a native of + Massachusetts, a resident of Grizzly county, State of + California, being in clear mind and usual health, do hereby + make my last will and testament. I hereby bequeath all my + property, real and personal, those lands and buildings and + appurtenances thereof situated in the county of Grizzly, all + bonds and moneys deposited in the Gold City Bank, to Job Teale, + who for many years has lived under my roof and been a son to + me. All things that by the grace of God I own, I bequeath to + him and his heirs and assigns forever. + + (Signed) ANDREW MALDEN." + +A stillness almost oppressive filled the room as the last word fell +from the lawyer's lips, as the name of the last witness was read. + +It was what they had expected--what in all justice was right--but not +what they had hoped. All together they rose to go. The preacher was +saying, "Mr. Malden, we hope the Lord will bless these riches to your +good," Dan was looking as if impressed with the extreme justice of +things, when Job arose and motioned them into silence. There he stood +in the center, stood and looked into each face. + +"Wait, Mr. Lawyer," he said. "I have a word before you go. Neighbors, +friends, I have something to say. Fifteen years ago, the man whose +last will we have heard to-day carried me, a helpless orphan, across +the threshold of yonder door. From that night until now, I have called +this home. Fifteen years! What changes they have brought! Dan and I +were little boys; now we are men. The joys and sorrows of human life +have come to me in these years. This old home has been dear to me; I +love every nook and corner of it. These well-worn boards are holy +ground. Here Andrew Malden lived; by that lounge he became a changed +man; from that old rocker he went home to God. By yonder gate I first +met her whom you all knew and loved; to this home, torn and crushed by +life's troubles, I have fled like a child at dusk to its mother's +arms, and in these rooms God has comforted and strengthened my heart. +I love you all. Not always have we seen alike; you have not always +loved me; but, some day, we shall know as we are known; some day we +shall see face to face. + +"I love these old mountains. I came to them a boy; they have made a +man of me. I have roamed their forests and climbed their cliffs. Every +spot has precious memories. Yes, neighbors, I love the old hills, I +love the old home; but to-night I am going far away from them. +To-night, before the sun sets, I shall leave the old scenes forever. +Here, lawyer, are some papers. Read them when I am gone. This is my +will. + +"Parson, you will build a new church with the money, and somewhere in +it remember the ones who are gone. Tony, Hans, Reed, there is +something for all of you. Dan, the old place is yours; keep it till I +come. All I shall take is Bess and my mother's Testament. + +"Farewell, Dan. Farewell, neighbors. God bless you, Tony; and, when +you pray, don't forget me;" and, striding across the room, Job Malden +was gone. + +By the gate he tarried a moment, put his arms round Shot's shaggy neck +and kissed him, sprang on Bess' back, gave one last look at Pine Tree +Ranch, and was off. + +There, in a silent, awed group, they stood in the door-yard and +watched him go through the pasture gate. Across the hills, the sunset +and the twilight fell on forest and fields and hearts. + +That night, men say, a dark shadow stole out of the graveyard at +midnight and galloped away. Far below in the Coyote Valley, where the +road to the plains goes down from the hill, some one said that--lying +awake near the window, in the stillness which comes towards +morning--he heard the sound of horse's hoofs going by, and rider and +horse swept on far down the road. + +[Illustration: FINIS] + + + + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + +EPILOGUE. + +On Pine Tree mountain the old house still stands, its windows hidden +beneath vines. Back and forth by the barns Tony slowly moves. By the +gate an old dog lies waiting. On the porch a frail cripple sits in the +twilight and looks down the road. But the one they wait for will never +come. Across the years of busy action and world-wide service he treads +the path that leads to "palms of victory, crowns of glory." In the joy +of service he is finding the peace which the world cannot give nor +take away. In self-forgetfulness he is growing daily into His +likeness, until he shall at last awake in His image, satisfied. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + +THE TAKING IN OF MARTHA MATILDA. + +BY BELLE KELLOGG TOWNE. + + +She stood at the end of the high bridge and looked over it to where +her father was making his way along the river-bank by a path leading +to the smelter. Then she glanced up another path branching at her feet +from the road crossing the bridge and which climbed the mountain until +it reached a little adobe cottage, then stopped. She seemed undecided, +but the sweet tones of a church bell striking quickly on the clear +April air caused her to turn her face in the direction from whence the +sound came. + +It was Martha Matilda, "Graham's girl," who stood thus, with the wind +from the snow-caps blowing down fresh upon her, tossing to and fro the +slim feather in her worn hat, and making its way under the lapels of +her unbuttoned jacket--Martha Matilda Graham, aged ten, with a wistful +face that might have been sweet and dimpled had not care and +loneliness robbed it of its rightful possessions. Further back there +had been a mother who called the child "Mattie." But now there was +only "father," and with him it was straight "Martha Matilda," spoken a +little brusquely, but never unkindly. Oh, yes, up in the cottage, +certain days, was Jerusha, who did the heavy work and then went home +nights; with Jerusha it was plain "Mat." Then there was Miss Mary down +at the school which Martha Matilda had attended at the time when +loving mother-fingers "fixed her up like other girls," and Miss Mary, +when speaking to the child "running wild upon the mountain side," +always said "dear." But Martha Matilda had dropped out of the +day-school and out of the Sunday-school. Somehow she had grown tired +of trying to keep shoe-strings from breaking, and aprons from being +torn, and if she was just home with Towser, such things did not +matter; as to her going to school, her father did not seem to care. +"Guess there's no hurry 'bout filling so small a head," he would +sometimes say when Jerusha pleaded for school with Martha's eyes +assenting. + +So now, Martha Matilda stood listening to the chiming of the Easter +bells and seemed undecided as to her next move. + +"I know Miss Mary's lily is there, and it's got five blossoms on this +year; she told father so down at the store. And such a lot of +evergreen as the girls did take in yesterday!" Her face was still +turned in the direction of the church on the outskirts of the scraggly +mountain town, and whose spire pricked through the dark green pinons +surrounding it. "I ain't fixed--I ain't never fixed now." And she +glanced down along her unbuttoned jacket, over the faded delaine +dress, to her shoes tied with strings held together by countless +knots. "It seems awful lonesome to be home on Easter." + +She pulled out some brown woolen gloves from the pocket of her jacket, +and drew them on slowly. Her fingers crowded out through numerous +holes, but she pushed them back, pulling the ends of the gloves +further up, and drawing down the sleeves of the jacket in an attempt +to leave as small a part of the woolen gloves in sight as possible. +"Father wouldn't care--he never cares." She buttoned her jacket +hastily, settled her brown hat a little straighter, ran fleetly along +the road leading toward the church, and breathlessly climbed the rude +steps, together with a half-dozen other girls, just as the bell threw +down its last sweet tone. + +Some of the girls going up the church steps nodded good-humoredly to +Martha Matilda, but others pushed by too eager to notice. Martha did +not follow the girls far up the aisle of the church, but dropped down +into an empty pew near the door. How spicy and nice it did smell! She +reached up so that she might see the prettily-decorated altar over the +heads of the ones filling the church. Yes, there was Miss Mary's lily +with its five blossoms right on the stand by the pulpit. How beautiful +it looked, showing above the evergreens covering the altar-rail! And +there were Mrs. James' geraniums, a whole row of them--no one but Mrs. +James ever had geraniums worth much. And there were two little spruce +trees, one at each end of the altar-rail, with their cones all on. +Hadn't the girls worked, though! But the boys had helped. Lutty +Williams had told Martha Matilda all about it Saturday evening, going +home from the meat market, and then had awakened the first desire in +Martha to go "just for Easter" to the school she had dropped out of. + +Martha drew a long breath and was just falling back into an easier +posture after her extended survey, when a hand touched her shoulder. +"I thought, dear, you would want to see the lilies;" and there was +Miss Mary, as tall and sweet as a lily herself, with a brown straw hat +wreathed with cowslips, and a blue serge dress, neat and +close-fitting. "You can see better up with us;" and she drew the hand +with the brown woolen glove up close under her arm. + +"Oh, no, Miss Mary, I can't! I ain't fixed! I can see here." And the +little girl pulled herself back as far as Miss Mary's hold upon her +allowed. + +"Nonsense! The idea of your staying down here alone!" + +There was such sweet insistence in Miss Mary's voice that Martha stood +on her feet and allowed herself to be drawn out into the aisle. But +though for a few steps she followed with evident reluctance, a latent +dignity caused her to free her hand and walk the remainder of the way +as though of her own accord. A cluster of girls were watching for Miss +Mary's coming in a square pew near the front. + +"We've saved a place for you right here in the middle," said the girl +nearest the aisle, as their teacher came to them. And then they +shifted this way and that, so that "the place" was widened to take in +Martha Matilda as well. + +"Doesn't the church look nice, now we have it all fixed!" asked one of +the girls, as she nestled up close to Martha, reaching over her to +speak lovingly to the teacher. + +How cozy Martha felt, sitting there right in the heart of it all! How +pretty the lilies were, up near! And to think that her mamma had given +the first little bulb to Miss Mary!--Miss Mary had told her so one day +at school. + +But as Martha was reveling in the sights over which her eyes roamed, +and feeling the sweet comfort of being nestled close, a girl at the +further end of the pew broke a sturdy bit of rose geranium she held +into two pieces and, reaching over, laid one half on the brown woolen +gloves. + +Looking up, Martha met a smile and a nod from the giver. Thus +prompted, a lesson leaf was next laid upon the geranium branch by a +second girl, and a smile from another pair of eyes met Martha's. After +a little whispering and nodding between two girls near the aisle, one +of their open singing books was laid on the lesson leaf. "That's the +opening song; you'll get it after the first verse--you always do," was +whispered, and, with a nod, the giver settled back in her place, and +the one at her side passed her book along so as to make it serve for +two. + +Oh, how nice it was! And Martha drew a long breath. Then seeing that +the holes in her gloves showed, she tucked them further under the +singing book. This called to mind the broken shoe-strings, and she +moved her feet back out of sight. But even unmended gloves and untidy +shoes could not mar Martha Matilda's sweet feeling of comfort--poor +little Martha Matilda, longing so to be taken in somewhere, but hardly +knowing where or how! + +As it was Easter morning, the service was given to the children, who +had the center of the church reserved for them. The superintendent was +seated by the side of the minister, and it was he who gave out the +opening song. Martha found that after the first verse she could "catch +it" very easily, and this joining in the service made her feel all the +more one of them. The prayer that followed was a different prayer from +any that Martha had ever listened to, so low and sweet and confiding +were the words spoken, like friend talking with friend. The second +song Martha joined in at once, it being one she knew, and so forgetful +of self did she sing that more than one of the girls nodded to her +appreciatively, and even Miss Mary looked down and smiled. + +After this, there were songs and recitations by the scholars, some of +them Miss Mary's own class, and in these Martha took great pride. +Later, the older ones from the primary class graduated into the main +room, and after a few words from the superintendent, each was +presented with a diploma tied with blue ribbon, and a red Bible. How +happy the children looked as they went down, not to their old places, +but to seats reserved for them among the main-school scholars! + +The services closed by a short sermon to the children from the +minister--at least he called it a sermon, but to Martha it seemed just +a tender little talk from a big brother who loved his little brothers +and sisters so that he could not keep his love from showing, and who +loved the dear Jesus more than he loved them. Martha had never been +talked to like this. She sat forgetful of everything, even the woolen +gloves, and at times the minister turned her way and it seemed as +though he looked straight into her heart. Occasionally he touched the +lilies at his side, showing how one may grow like a lily, expanding to +take in Jesus' love as the lilies do the sunshine. + +Martha went home as though treading on air. She held the rather wilted +spray of rose geranium, and the lesson leaf, and with them was one of +Miss Mary's calla lilies, broken off clear down to the ground--"the +loveliest of the whole five," the girls said; and Miss Mary had smiled +so lovingly when giving it! And then the minister had come up and, +laying his hand on Martha's shoulder, had said, "It seems to me this +is the little girl who helped me preach to-day by paying such good +attention." Then Miss Mary spoke her name, and the minister said, "You +must come again, my dear." Oh, it was all like a beautiful dream, only +nicer! + +Reaching the little home up where the path terminated, Martha opened +the unlocked door and passed in. The sunshine made a warm mat on the +floor, and the cat was curled contentedly upon it. Martha took a +yellow and red vase down from the clock-shelf and, filling it with +water, put her lily and geranium branch into it, and placed it on the +table covered by a red table cloth, and partly set for dinner. The +effect was not quite as pleasing as she expected, but perhaps the rose +geranium would lose its droopy look after a while. + +Before taking off her hat, she opened the dampers of the stove, tilted +the cover above the chicken simmering in its gravy and pulled the +kettle further back, then opened the oven door to find it just right +for the potatoes Jerusha had in waiting. All this done, she removed +her hat and hung her jacket on a nail. As she did so, she caught a +glimpse of herself in the little glass over the bureau. It was not +pleasing to her. How grimy her face looked, compared with the other +girls'! And their dresses had lace around the neck, or broad collars, +or something. + +Martha whirled around and, lifting the hand basin from its hook by the +sink, she poured some warm water from the tea-kettle into it, carried +it carefully to the sink, loosened her dress and set about giving her +face and neck and hands a thorough scrubbing. This done, she drew a +long breath. "Guess that fixes that!" she said. Then she took off the +bit of soiled ribbon confining her braids, and taking down a comb from +the comb-case near, dipped it into water and drew it carefully through +her hair, after which she divided it into six strands and, giving each +a little twirl, stood for a moment by the radiating stove. Presto! Six +ropy curls danced up and down as their owner moved to and fro across +the room, and as the sunshine fell over them their beauty lifted the +little girl from out her plain surroundings. + +She laughed as, brushing the short hair up around her face, and +dampening it before the glass, little ringlets nodded around the +forehead, modifying its squareness. + +"It's 'most too fixed-up to wear that way every day. But Lutty +Williams fusses with a hot iron to get hers so." + +Then, a new idea striking her, she opened the bureau drawer and took +out a white apron with sleeves and long strings. It was a trifle +difficult to get on, and still more so to button, but at last this was +done, and the strings made into a very respectable bow at the back. +Smoothing it carefully down in front, Martha was disappointed to see +that it did not reach nearly so far over the brown delaine dress as +she had expected. She took no thought of Jerusha's having let out a +tuck in her dress since the apron was last worn. + +Martha's gaze now reached to her shoes. She turned to the clock, and, +taking out a pair of shoe-strings, sat down by the stove and, removing +her shoes, threw the bits of broken strings into the fire and threaded +in the new lacings, tying them snugly. Lutty Williams' shoes were +black as well as her lacings!--again there was a feeling of +disappointment. + +But the dinner needed her attention, so she turned to finish setting +the table, which Jerusha had arranged in part, before going home. A +second time a thought seemed to strike her, and now she reached to the +top drawer of the bureau and drew forth a white table-cloth. Carefully +she placed the vase on the window-sill, and, taking off the dishes and +putting them back in the cupboard, removed the red table-cloth, folded +it and placed that, too, in the cupboard. Jerusha did not think much +of white tablecloths, but it was Easter, and Easter, the minister had +said, should show loving touches throughout the home, just as Jesus +left his loving touch through the world. + +With great care Martha draped the table with the white linen, and +replaced the lily. How beautiful it looked now in its new +surroundings!--too beautiful for the hacked white dishes Jerusha used. +So a chair was placed in front of the green cupboard, and with +precision in every movement the "sprigged" dishes were gotten down. + +"Oh, if only it could be that way all the time!" Martha Matilda +sighed, standing beside her carefully-arranged table with shining +eyes. But the potatoes were brown and puffy, and the hand of the clock +reached to just half-past one. She gave a glance around the room, +grabbed her hat, and was off; it was time for her to meet her father +at the bridge, as she always met him Sundays, when dinner was ready. +No matter how much John Graham might enjoy lolling in the sun by the +smelter door with "the boys," he never forgot the time when the brown +hat was to be met down by the bridge. "A little close," was often said +of John Graham. "A trifle sharp in getting the best of a bargain, but +to be depended upon every time." + +Martha saw her father's faded felt hat bobbing up over the further +abutment, and she flew across the bridge. "Oh, I am so glad to see +you!" she said, catching hold of one of his big hands and covering it +with both of her small ones, as she danced along beside him. + +"One'd 'most think I'd been to Ingy," said the man in what would have +seemed a gruff voice to some. Then he glanced at the little figure by +his side, and said in just the same every-day tone, out of which he +was seldom drawn, "Might'ly fixed up, seems to me." + +"It's Easter, you know, pa. I went to Sunday-school. Miss Mary's lily +was there, and there was lots of evergreen, and the minister said I +helped him preach. And oh, pa, you don't know how the girls did take +me in! They sat up just as close!" + +"Take you in! And why shouldn't they?" + +"But you know, pa, they fix up so. And--" The little girl stopped, +seeming to feel it somewhat difficult to make her father understand +the situation. + +"So it's fine feathers, is it?" And now there was a decided gruffness +in his voice. + +But they had reached the door of the cottage, and the cat jumped down +from the chair and brushed against the legs of her master. There was +tea to be made, and the chicken to be dished; but the father did the +latter, after having washed carefully. The potatoes were given the +place of honor and the two sat down to do the meal justice. + +"We might have had some eggs, seeing it's Easter," said the man, +passing one of the largest potatoes to the little girl. + +"Lutty Williams' mother colored hers. Lutty said I might have one of +them, if I'd come over for it." + +"Guess I wouldn't go to Lutty Williams' for no eggs, if I was in your +place!" said the father. + +This somewhat dampened the little girl's ardor, and the rest of the +meal was partaken of in silence. + +The dishes were cleared away and the red table-cloth replaced. "No use +in Jerusha's being bothered," the wise Martha reasoned, as she +replaced the white linen in the drawer. Then she unbuttoned the big +gingham apron she had put on over the white one, and felt inclined to +send the white apron after the table-cloth. But something kept her +from doing this. "It's Easter anyhow." + +Her father had taken the cat on his lap, and in a chair tipped back +against the wall, with a broom splint between his teeth, sat reading +the county paper. + +Martha stood on the doorstep looking off to the mountains, and there +was the old wistful look on her face again. The April sun had clouded +in, and so had the bright spirit of the child. She tried to draw to +her the warmth that had been holding her close, but instead there +rested upon her a dreary sense of loneliness. Jerusha wouldn't wash +white aprons every day, even if she fussed to put them on. In the +morning her father would be off to the smelter. The same old life +waited for her. She stood for a long time there in the door. Then her +father reached around and took hold of her. + +"What's the matter?" He had heard a sob. And though the little girl +drew back he pulled her to him. "You ain't cryin'? Hoity-toity! A +white apron, and hair all fixed, and the girls taking her right in, +and--crying!" + +"But, pa, I can't make it stay. Jerusha won't wash white aprons, and +there ain't enough, anyway--and--it's so lonesome here with just +Jerusha! All the rest of the girls have some one standing close--as +close as that to them." And the little girl clutched at her father's +coat-sleeve to demonstrate the closeness of relationship, while the +sobs came thick and fast. + +"Nobody but Jerusha!" The father brought his chair down from the wall, +and all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his face. "Nobody +standing close! Where be I standing? What am I going to the smelter +for, putting two days into one, if it ain't standing close?" + +The man spoke impetuously, the words tumbling recklessly one over the +other, and the little girl's sobs were tumbling in the same way; +neither seemed inclined to stop the other. + +"What'd I stand in front of Simonses show-window last night for, +looking at them posies they've got for Easter, if 'twasn't because I'd +liked to have brought the hull lot home? And why didn't I bring 'em +home? Just so as I could slip more money this month in under the +little bank winder. And what am I slippin' money into the bank for? +Why'd I buy them Jersey cows, and that bit o' mountain park, if +'twasn't because I knowed Jerusha was the best butter-maker in town, +and butter meant money, and money meant an easy time for you by and +by? Standin' close!" + +The man's voice broke. The little girl had ceased crying and was +standing with wide, strained eyes fastened on her father. What did it +all mean? + +But the father did not say what it meant. As one suddenly overtaken, +he pushed the cat from off his lap, rose, drew a long breath, and +reached for his hat. + +Had Martha Matilda been older, she would have tried to detain the one +she had wounded. For he was wounded, just as are we all when suddenly +there comes to us knowledge of long-continued effort being +unappreciated. What was the use of all this struggling, beginning with +the day and closing only when it was ended! He pulled an oat straw +from a stack near, and then leaned on the bars of the cow-yard. Far +beyond him were the snow-caps, now pink with the setting sun--the glow +which the one gone from him had so loved to catch. His throat ached +with suppressed emotion. He had striven so to stand true, to make the +life of the child she had left easier than hers had been, just as he +had promised! + +The cows crowded up restlessly against the bars. It was milking time. +Mechanically he returned to the kitchen, brought back with him the +pails, placed a stool and sent the tinkling streams against the shiny +pail. Pail after pail was filled and set aside, then with a gentle pat +for the last meek-eyed Jersey, he brought the milk back to the house, +strained it carefully, filled a saucer for the cat at his feet, rinsed +the pails, and after the cows had been cared for for the night, went +back and hung his hat on its accustomed nail. He crossed to the window +where Martha sat stiff and uncomfortable in the big rocking-chair. +Sitting down in front of her, he tilted his chair forward and, lifting +her hands, stroked them gently. + +"I have been thinking it all out down by the cows. It ain't right." He +did not look at the face of the little girl, only at the hands he was +stroking. "It wasn't because I wanted to break my promise to your +ma--it wasn't a bit of that. You see the road was too hard for your +ma; it is always go down or go up here in the mountains, and then it +was always a little more money needed than we had. And when you came +she couldn't bear to have the strain touch you, and almost the last +thing she said was, 'You'll make it easier for her, she's such a +little tot.' It wasn't because I meant to wriggle out of my promise +that made me pretend not to see when your shoes gave out and your +dresses got old and things in the house didn't run straight; it wasn't +that." + +There was a great sob in the voice now, and Martha, hearing it, looked +up to find her father's rugged face wet with tears. + +"Oh, pa, don't!" and the child's arm reached around her father's neck +and she put her face close against his cheek. + +But the man shook himself partially free, as he brushed the tears from +his face. + +"And you think as how there ain't been any love in it, when it's been +all love! You see, the trouble's here: In trying to make an easier +road for you than your mother had, I looked all the time at the +further end instead of the nigh end. And I was so afraid that when you +got further on there'd be no backing for you, that I left you without +a backing now. But we will start right over new. I haven't just kept +my promise, 'cause your mother meant it to be at this end and right +straight on. And that's how it should be. We'll start over new. It +ain't ever too late to stop robbing Peter to pay Paul. You go straight +down to Simonses to-morrow morning, Martha Matilda." + +The little girl was looking at him now with cheeks flushed with eager +attention. She go down to Simonses! But her father's words held her +again. + +"And you buy just as many of them posies as you want, and you get +enough to make a bunch for every one of them girls as took you in, and +you take 'em to them, and tell them that's your Easter gift." + +"But pa--" + +"There ain't no 'but pa' about it! And you fix a bigger bunch for Miss +Mary, and get a shiny ribbon and tie round it--that's the way your +mother fixed posies when she wanted them nice--and you tell Miss Mary +that's for her Easter. And then you go to the minister's--" + +Martha clapped her hands over her lips to keep back a cry of surprise. +She go to the minister's! + +"Your mother always went to the minister when anything was wanted. And +you tell him John Graham wants that pew that he had when the church +was first built--Number 25, on the east side, by the second +window--the one that looks out on the mountains. Your mother and I put +a sight of work and good hard money into the building of that church, +and I ought to have stood right by it all along and not dropped out +just because Sunday clothes cost." + +"Oh, pa, did you help build that church?" + +"Guess there's plenty round as would tell you so, if you asked, though +this minister don't know, 'cause he's new." + +"Say, pa, can't I have a red Bible? Of course it wouldn't be just like +getting into Sunday-school regular, like the primaries, but I would +like a red Bible." + +"There it is again! All wrong. There's your mother's Bible; I hain't +meant not to give it to you, only I was a-keepin' it till the further +end of the road came when you'd 'preciate it better." + +John Graham got up, and taking down a half-filled lamp, lighted it, +the little girl keeping close at his side. From that same upper bureau +drawer he took out a small package and, undoing the handkerchief +wrapped around it, brought to view a Bible with a gilt clasp. + +"It ain't a red Bible, but it's a Bible that has been read," he said. +"And here's your name, just as your mother wrote it for you, almost +the last time she handled it." + +He opened the fly-leaf, and little Martha, drawing up close to his +arm, read: + +[Illustration: (handwritten) Martha Matilda Graham from her Mother. Be +a good girl, Mattie.] + +"Oh, pa, how I am being taken into things!" said the little girl, the +tears toppling over her eyes, and her cheeks bright and rosy. + +And then the father took Martha on his lap and talked to her of her +mother--of the life she had lived, and of the Bible she read, and of +the God she loved; talked to her as he had never talked in all her ten +years. When he had ended, she put her arms around his neck and held +him close. The clock struck eight and the father arose, lighted the +little girl's candle, and she mounted the crooked stairs to the small +room above. Setting down the candle, she made herself ready for bed, +buttoning on the little white night-dress made of flour-sacks and with +blue XX's on the back, but which "looked all right in front," as +Jerusha said. This done, she blew out the light and, drawing aside the +bit of muslin curtain, gazed out on the clear Colorado night, with the +stars glimmering through. A moment she stood thus, then she pressed +her hands over her face, and bowing her head said, soft and low: + +"Be a good girl, Mattie." + +How sweet the words were when voiced! + +"I will be a good girl--I will," she murmured, and her voice was +tender but strong of purpose. As she laid her head down upon the +pillow she whispered, "How I be taken into things!" + +And Martha Matilda never knew that down in the big chair the one she +had left sat with his hand covering his bronzed face, motionless. The +ticking of the clock was the only sound heard. When he arose, the lamp +had burned itself out, and the room stood in darkness. But he failed +to sense it. Within him had been kindled a light brighter than an +Easter dawn. John Graham was ready to take up life anew. + +[Illustration: (decoration)] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Transformation of Job, by +Frederick Vining Fisher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRANSFORMATION OF JOB *** + +***** This file should be named 25688.txt or 25688.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/6/8/25688/ + +Produced by Mark C. 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