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diff --git a/2661-h/2661-h.htm b/2661-h/2661-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..121f91c --- /dev/null +++ b/2661-h/2661-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5742 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Story of a Mine, by Bret Harte + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of a Mine, by Bret Harte + +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 Story of a Mine + +Author: Bret Harte + +Release Date: May 21, 2006 [EBook #2661] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A MINE *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson; An Anonymous Volunteer; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE STORY OF A MINE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Bret Harte + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + UDO BRACHVOGEL, Esq., <br /> <br /> Whose clever translations of my + writings have helped to introduce me to the favor of his countrymen, + both here and in Germany, this little volume is heartily dedicated. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BRET HARTE. <br /> New York, December, 1877. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>THE STORY OF A MINE</b></big> + </a><br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>PART—I.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>PART II.—IN THE COURTS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> <b>PART III.—IN CONGRESS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE STORY OF A MINE + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART—I. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + WHO SOUGHT IT + </h3> + <p> + It was a steep trail leading over the Monterey Coast Range. Concho was + very tired, Concho was very dusty, Concho was very much disgusted. To + Concho's mind there was but one relief for these insurmountable + difficulties, and that lay in a leathern bottle slung over the machillas + of his saddle. Concho raised the bottle to his lips, took a long draught, + made a wry face, and ejaculated: + </p> + <p> + “Carajo!” + </p> + <p> + It appeared that the bottle did not contain aguardiente, but had lately + been filled in a tavern near Tres Pinos by an Irishman who sold had + American whisky under that pleasing Castilian title. Nevertheless Concho + had already nearly emptied the bottle, and it fell back against the saddle + as yellow and flaccid as his own cheeks. Thus reinforced Concho turned to + look at the valley behind him, from which he had climbed since noon. It + was a sterile waste bordered here and there by arable fringes and valdas + of meadow land, but in the main, dusty, dry, and forbidding. His eye + rested for a moment on a low white cloud line on the eastern horizon, but + so mocking and unsubstantial that it seemed to come and go as he gazed. + Concho struck his forehead and winked his hot eyelids. Was it the Sierras + or the cursed American whisky? + </p> + <p> + Again he recommenced the ascent. At times the half-worn, half-visible + trail became utterly lost in the bare black outcrop of the ridge, but his + sagacious mule soon found it again, until, stepping upon a loose boulder, + she slipped and fell. In vain Concho tried to lift her from out the ruin + of camp kettles, prospecting pans, and picks; she remained quietly + recumbent, occasionally raising her head as if to contemplatively glance + over the arid plain below. Then he had recourse to useless blows. Then he + essayed profanity of a secular kind, such as “Assassin,” “Thief,” “Beast + with a pig's head,” “Food for the Bull's Horns,” but with no effect. + </p> + <p> + Then he had recourse to the curse ecclesiastic: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Judas Iscariot! is it thus, renegade and traitor, thou leavest me, + thy master, a league from camp and supper waiting? Stealer of the + Sacrament, get up!” + </p> + <p> + Still no effect. Concho began to feel uneasy; never before had a mule of + pious lineage failed to respond to this kind of exhortation. He made one + more desperate attempt: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, defiler of the altar! lie not there! Look!” he threw his hand into + the air, extending the fingers suddenly. “Behold, fiend! I exorcise thee! + Ha! tremblest! Look but a little now,—see! Apostate! I—I—excommunicate + thee,—Mula!” + </p> + <p> + “What are you kicking up such a devil of row down there for?” said a gruff + voice from the rocks above. + </p> + <p> + Concho shuddered. Could it be that the devil was really going to fly away + with his mule? He dared not look up. + </p> + <p> + “Come now,” continued the voice, “you just let up on that mule, you d——d + old Greaser. Don't you see she's slipped her shoulder?” + </p> + <p> + Alarmed as Concho was at the information, he could not help feeling to a + certain extent relieved. She was lamed, but had not lost her standing as a + good Catholic. + </p> + <p> + He ventured to lift his eyes. A stranger—an Americano from his dress + and accent—was descending the rocks toward him. He was a + slight-built man with a dark, smooth face, that would have been quite + commonplace and inexpressive but for his left eye, in which all that was + villainous in him apparently centered. Shut that eye, and you had the + features and expression of an ordinary man; cover up those features, and + the eye shone out like Eblis's own. Nature had apparently observed this + too, and had, by a paralysis of the nerve, ironically dropped the corner + of the upper lid over it like a curtain, laughed at her handiwork, and + turned him loose to prey upon a credulous world. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here?” said the stranger after he had assisted Concho + in bringing the mule to her feet, and a helpless halt. + </p> + <p> + “Prospecting, Senor.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger turned his respectable right eye toward Concho, while his + left looked unutterable scorn and wickedness over the landscape. + </p> + <p> + “Prospecting, what for?” + </p> + <p> + “Gold and silver, Senor,—yet for silver most.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Of us there are four.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked around. + </p> + <p> + “In camp,—a league beyond,” explained the Mexican. + </p> + <p> + “Found anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Of this—much.” Concho took from his saddle bags a lump of greyish + iron ore, studded here and there with star points of pyrites. The stranger + said nothing, but his eye looked a diabolical suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “You are lucky, friend Greaser.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It IS silver.” + </p> + <p> + “How know you this?” + </p> + <p> + “It is my business. I'm a metallurgist.” + </p> + <p> + “And you can say what shall be silver and what is not.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—see here!” The stranger took from his saddle bags a little + leather case containing some half dozen phials. One, enwrapped in + dark-blue paper, he held up to Concho. + </p> + <p> + “This contains a preparation of silver.” + </p> + <p> + Concho's eyes sparkled, but he looked doubtingly at the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Get me some water in your pan.” + </p> + <p> + Concho emptied his water bottle in his prospecting pan and handed it to + the stranger. He dipped a dried blade of grass in the bottle and then let + a drop fall from its tip in the water. The water remained unchanged. + </p> + <p> + “Now throw a little salt in the water,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + Concho did so. Instantly a white film appeared on the surface, and + presently the whole mass assumed a milky hue. + </p> + <p> + Concho crossed himself hastily, “Mother of God, it is magic!” + </p> + <p> + “It is chloride of silver, you darned fool.” + </p> + <p> + Not content with this cheap experiment, the stranger then took Concho's + breath away by reddening some litmus paper with the nitrate, and then + completely knocked over the simple Mexican by restoring its color by + dipping it in the salt water. + </p> + <p> + “You shall try me this,” said Concho, offering his iron ore to the + stranger;—“you shall use the silver and the salt.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so fast my friend,” answered the stranger; “in the first place this + ore must be melted, and then a chip taken and put in shape like this,—and + that is worth something, my Greaser cherub. No, sir, a man don't spend all + his youth at Freiburg and Heidelburg to throw away his science + gratuitously on the first Greaser he meets.” + </p> + <p> + “It will cost—eh—how much?” said the Mexican eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should say it would take about a hundred dollars and expenses to—to—find + silver in that ore. But once you've got it there—you're all right + for tons of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have it,” said the now excited Mexican. “You shall have it of + us,—the four! You shall come to our camp and shall melt it,—and + show the silver, and—enough! Come!” and in his feverishness he + clutched the hand of his companion as if to lead him forth at once. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do with your mule?” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “True, Holy Mother,—what, indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “Look yer,” said the stranger, with a grim smile, “she won't stray far, + I'll be bound. I've an extra pack mule above here; you can ride on her, + and lead me into camp, and to-morrow come back for your beast.” + </p> + <p> + Poor honest Concho's heart sickened at the prospect of leaving behind the + tired servant he had objurgated so strongly a moment before, but the love + of gold was uppermost. “I will come back to thee, little one, to-morrow, a + rich man. Meanwhile, wait thou here, patient one,—Adios!—thou + smallest of mules,—Adios!” + </p> + <p> + And, seizing the stranger's hand, he clambered up the rocky ledge until + they reached the summit. Then the stranger turned and gave one sweep of + his malevolent eye over the valley. + </p> + <p> + Wherefore, in after years, when their story was related, with the devotion + of true Catholic pioneers, they named the mountain “La Canada de la + Visitacion del Diablo,” “The Gulch of the Visitation of the Devil,” the + same being now the boundary lines of one of the famous Mexican land + grants. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + WHO FOUND IT + </h3> + <p> + Concho was so impatient to reach the camp and deliver his good news to his + companions that more than once the stranger was obliged to command him to + slacken his pace. “Is it not enough, you infernal Greaser, that you lame + your own mule, but you must try your hand on mine? Or am I to put Jinny + down among the expenses?” he added with a grin and a slight lifting of his + baleful eyelid. + </p> + <p> + When they had ridden a mile along the ridge, they began to descend again + toward the valley. Vegetation now sparingly bordered the trail, clumps of + chemisal, an occasional manzanita bush, and one or two dwarfed “buckeyes” + rooted their way between the interstices of the black-gray rock. Now and + then, in crossing some dry gully, worn by the overflow of winter torrents + from above, the grayish rock gloom was relieved by dull red and brown + masses of color, and almost every overhanging rock bore the mark of a + miner's pick. Presently, as they rounded the curving flank of the + mountain, from a rocky bench below them, a thin ghost-like stream of smoke + seemed to be steadily drawn by invisible hands into the invisible ether. + “It is the camp,” said Concho, gleefully; “I will myself forward to + prepare them for the stranger,” and before his companion could detain him, + he had disappeared at a sharp canter around the curve of the trail. + </p> + <p> + Left to himself, the stranger took a more leisurely pace, which left him + ample time for reflection. Scamp as he was, there was something in the + simple credulity of poor Concho that made him uneasy. Not that his moral + consciousness was touched, but he feared that Concho's companions might, + knowing Concho's simplicity, instantly suspect him of trading upon it. He + rode on in a deep study. Was he reviewing his past life? A vagabond by + birth and education, a swindler by profession, an outcast by reputation, + without absolutely turning his back upon respectability, he had trembled + on the perilous edge of criminality ever since his boyhood. He did not + scruple to cheat these Mexicans,—they were a degraded race,—and + for a moment he felt almost an accredited agent of progress and + civilization. We never really understand the meaning of enlightenment + until we begin to use it aggressively. + </p> + <p> + A few paces further on four figures appeared in the now gathering darkness + of the trail. The stranger quickly recognized the beaming smile of Concho, + foremost of the party. A quick glance at the faces of the others satisfied + him that while they lacked Concho's good humor, they certainly did not + surpass him in intellect. “Pedro” was a stout vaquero. “Manuel” was a slim + half-breed and ex-convert of the Mission of San Carmel, and “Miguel” a + recent butcher of Monterey. Under the benign influences of Concho that + suspicion with which the ignorant regard strangers died away, and the + whole party escorted the stranger—who had given his name as Mr. + Joseph Wiles—to their camp-fire. So anxious were they to begin their + experiments that even the instincts of hospitality were forgotten, and it + was not until Mr. Wiles—now known as “Don Jose”—sharply + reminded them that he wanted some “grub,” that they came to their senses. + When the frugal meal of tortillas, frijoles, salt pork, and chocolate was + over, an oven was built of the dark-red rock brought from the ledge before + them, and an earthenware jar, glazed by some peculiar local process, + tightly fitted over it, and packed with clay and sods. A fire was speedily + built of pine boughs continually brought from a wooded ravine below, and + in a few moments the furnace was in full blast. Mr. Wiles did not + participate in these active preparations, except to give occasional + directions between his teeth, which were contemplatively fixed over a clay + pipe as he lay comfortably on his back on the ground. Whatever enjoyment + the rascal may have had in their useless labors he did not show it, but it + was observed that his left eye often followed the broad figure of the + ex-vaquero, Pedro, and often dwelt on that worthy's beetling brows and + half-savage face. Meeting that baleful glance once, Pedro growled out an + oath, but could not resist a hideous fascination that caused him again and + again to seek it. + </p> + <p> + The scene was weird enough without Wiles's eye to add to its wild + picturesqueness. The mountain towered above,—a heavy Rembrandtish + mass of black shadow,—sharply cut here and there against a sky so + inconceivably remote that the world-sick soul must have despaired of ever + reaching so far, or of climbing its steel-blue walls. The stars were + large, keen, and brilliant, but cold and steadfast. They did not dance nor + twinkle in their adamantine setting. The furnace fire painted the faces of + the men an Indian red, glanced on brightly colored blanket and serape, but + was eventually caught and absorbed in the waiting shadows of the black + mountain, scarcely twenty feet from the furnace door. The low, half-sung, + half-whispered foreign speech of the group, the roaring of the furnace, + and the quick, sharp yelp of a coyote on the plain below were the only + sounds that broke the awful silence of the hills. + </p> + <p> + It was almost dawn when it was announced that the ore had fused. And it + was high time, for the pot was slowly sinking into the fast-crumbling + oven. Concho uttered a jubilant “God and Liberty,” but Don Jose Wiles bade + him be silent and bring stakes to support the pot. Then Don Jose bent over + the seething mass. It was for a moment only. But in that moment this + accomplished metallurgist, Mr. Joseph Wiles, had quietly dropped a silver + half dollar into the pot! + </p> + <p> + Then he charged them to keep up the fires and went to sleep—all but + one eye. + </p> + <p> + Dawn came with dull beacon fires on the near hill tops, and, far in the + East, roses over the Sierran snow. Birds twittering in the alder fringes a + mile below, and the creaking of wagon wheels,—the wagon itself a + mere cloud of dust in the distant road,—were heard distinctly. Then + the melting pot was solemnly broken by Don Jose, and the glowing + incandescent mass turned into the road to cool. + </p> + <p> + And then the metallurgist chipped a small fragment from the mass and + pounded it, and chipped another smaller piece and pounded that, and then + subjected it to acid, and then treated it to a salt bath which became at + once milky,—and at last produced a white something,—mirabile + dictu!—two cents' worth of silver! + </p> + <p> + Concho shouted with joy; the rest gazed at each other doubtingly and + distrustfully; companions in poverty, they began to diverge and suspect + each other in prosperity. Wiles's left eye glanced ironically from the one + to the other. + </p> + <p> + “Here is the hundred dollars, Don Jose,” said Pedro, handing the gold to + Wiles with a decidedly brusque intimation that the services and presence + of a stranger were no longer required. + </p> + <p> + Wiles took the money with a gracious smile and a wink that sent Pedro's + heart into his boots, and was turning away, when a cry from Manuel stopped + him. “The pot,—the pot,—it has leaked! look! behold! see!” + </p> + <p> + He had been cleaning away the crumbled fragments of the furnace to get + ready for breakfast, and had disclosed a shining pool of QUICKSILVER! + </p> + <p> + Wiles started, cast a rapid glance around the group, saw in a flash that + the metal was unknown to them,—and then said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “It is not silver.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, Senor, it is, and still molten.” Wiles stooped and ran his + fingers through the shining metal. + </p> + <p> + “Mother of God,—what is it then?—magic?” + </p> + <p> + “No, only base metal.” But here, Concho, emboldened by Wiles's experiment, + attempted to seize a handful of the glistening mass, that instantly broke + through his fingers in a thousand tiny spherules, and even sent a few + globules up his shirt sleeves, until he danced around in mingled fear and + childish pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “And it is not worth the taking?” queried Pedro of Wiles. + </p> + <p> + Wiles's right eye and bland face were turned toward the speaker, but his + malevolent left was glancing at the dull red-brown rock on the hill side. + </p> + <p> + “No!”—and turning abruptly away, he proceeded to saddle his mule. + </p> + <p> + Manuel, Miguel, and Pedro, left to themselves, began talking earnestly + together, while Concho, now mindful of his crippled mule, made his way + back to the trail where he had left her. But she was no longer there. + Constant to her master through beatings and bullyings, she could not stand + incivility and inattention. There are certain qualities of the sex that + belong to all animated nature. + </p> + <p> + Inconsolable, footsore, and remorseful, Concho returned to the camp and + furnace, three miles across the rocky ridge. But what was his astonishment + on arriving to find the place deserted of man, mule, and camp equipage. + Concho called aloud. Only the echoing rocks grimly answered him. Was it a + trick? Concho tried to laugh. Ah—yes—a good one,—a joke,—no—no—they + HAD deserted him. And then poor Concho bowed his head to the ground, and + falling on his face, cried as if his honest heart would break. + </p> + <p> + The tempest passed in a moment; it was not Concho's nature to suffer long + nor brood over an injury. As he raised his head again his eye caught the + shimmer of the quicksilver,—that pool of merry antic metal that had + so delighted him an hour before. In a few moments Concho was again + disporting with it; chasing it here and there, rolling it in his palms and + laughing with boy-like glee at its elusive freaks and fancies. “Ah, + sprightly one,—skipjack,—there thou goest,—come here. + This way,—now I have thee, little one,—come, muchacha,—come + and kiss me,” until he had quite forgotten the defection of his + companions. And even when he shouldered his sorry pack, he was fain to + carry his playmate away with him in his empty leathern flask. + </p> + <p> + And yet I fancy the sun looked kindly on him as he strode cheerily down + the black mountain side, and his step was none the less free nor light + that he carried with him neither the brilliant prospects nor the crime of + his late comrades. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + WHO CLAIMED IT + </h3> + <p> + The fog had already closed in on Monterey, and was now rolling, a white, + billowy sea above, that soon shut out the blue breakers below. Once or + twice in descending the mountain Concho had overhung the cliff and looked + down upon the curving horse-shoe of a bay below him,—distant yet + many miles. Earlier in the afternoon he had seen the gilt cross on the + white-faced Mission flare in the sunlight, but now all was gone. By the + time he reached the highway of the town it was quite dark, and he plunged + into the first fonda at the wayside, and endeavored to forget his woes and + his weariness in aguardiente. But Concho's head ached, and his back ached, + and he was so generally distressed that he bethought him of a medico,—an + American doctor,—lately come into the town, who had once treated + Concho and his mule with apparently the same medicine, and after the same + heroic fashion. Concho reasoned, not illogically, that if he were to be + physicked at all he ought to get the worth of his money. The grotesque + extravagance of life, of fruit and vegetables, in California was + inconsistent with infinitesimal doses. In Concho's previous illness the + doctor had given him a dozen 4 grain quinine powders. + </p> + <p> + The following day the grateful Mexican walked into the Doctor's office—cured. + The Doctor was gratified until, on examination, it appeared that to save + trouble, and because his memory was poor, Concho had taken all the powders + in one dose. The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and—altered his + practice. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Dr. Guild, as Concho sank down exhaustedly in one of the + Doctor's two chairs, “what now? Have you been sleeping again in the tule + marshes, or are you upset with commissary whisky? Come, have it out.” + </p> + <p> + But Concho declared that the devil was in his stomach, that Judas Iscariot + had possessed himself of his spine, that imps were in his forehead, and + that his feet had been scourged by Pontius Pilate. + </p> + <p> + “That means 'blue mass,'” said the Doctor. And gave it to him,—a + bolus as large as a musket ball, and as heavy. + </p> + <p> + Concho took it on the spot, and turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “I have no money, Senor Medico.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. It's only a dollar, the price of the medicine.” + </p> + <p> + Concho looked guilty at having gulped down so much cash. Then he said + timidly: + </p> + <p> + “I have no money, but I have got here what is fine and jolly. It is + yours.” And he handed over the contents of the precious tin can he had + brought with him. + </p> + <p> + The Doctor took it, looked at the shivering volatile mass and said, “Why + this is quicksilver!” + </p> + <p> + Concho laughed, “Yes, very quick silver, so!” and he snapped his fingers + to show its sprightliness. + </p> + <p> + The Doctor's face grew earnest; “Where did you get this, Concho?” he + finally asked. + </p> + <p> + “It ran from the pot in the mountains beyond.” + </p> + <p> + The Doctor looked incredulous. Then Concho related the whole story. + </p> + <p> + “Could you find that spot again?” + </p> + <p> + “Madre de Dios, yes,—I have a mule there; may the devil fly away + with her!” + </p> + <p> + “And you say your comrades saw this?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “And you say they afterwards left you,—deserted you?” + </p> + <p> + “They did, ingrates!” + </p> + <p> + The Doctor arose and shut his office door. “Hark ye, Concho,” he said, + “that bit of medicine I gave you just now was worth a dollar, it was worth + a dollar because the material of which it was composed was made from the + stuff you have in that can,—quicksilver or mercury. It is one of the + most valuable of metals, especially in a gold-mining country. My good + fellow, if you know where to find enough of it, your fortune is made.” + </p> + <p> + Concho rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, was the rock you built your furnace of red?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, Senor.” + </p> + <p> + “And brown?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, Senor.” + </p> + <p> + “And crumbled under the heat?” + </p> + <p> + “As to nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And did you see much of this red rock?” + </p> + <p> + “The mountain mother is in travail with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure that your comrades have not taken possession of the mountain + mother?” + </p> + <p> + “As how?” + </p> + <p> + “By claiming its discovery under the mining laws, or by pre-emption?” + </p> + <p> + “They shall not.” + </p> + <p> + “But how will you, single-handed, fight the four; for I doubt not your + scientific friend has a hand in it?” + </p> + <p> + “I will fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my Concho, but suppose I take the fight off your hands. Now, here's + a proposition: I will get half a dozen Americanos to go in with you. You + will have to get money to work the mine,—you will need funds. You + shall share half with them. They will take the risk, raise the money, and + protect you.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Concho, nodding his head and winking his eyes rapidly. + “Bueno!” + </p> + <p> + “I will return in ten minutes,” said the Doctor, taking his hat. + </p> + <p> + He was as good as his word. In ten minutes he returned with six original + locaters, a board of directors, a president, secretary, and a deed of + incorporation of the 'Blue Mass Quicksilver Mining Co.' This latter was a + delicate compliment to the Doctor, who was popular. The President added to + these necessary articles a revolver. + </p> + <p> + “Take it,” he said, handing over the weapon to Concho. “Take it; my horse + is outside; take that, ride like h—l and hang on to the claim until + we come!” + </p> + <p> + In another moment Concho was in the saddle. Then the mining director + lapsed into the physician. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know,” said Dr. Guild, doubtfully, “if in your present condition + you ought to travel. You have just taken a powerful medicine,” and the + Doctor looked hypocritically concerned. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,—the devil!” laughed Concho, “what is the quicksilver that is IN + to that which is OUT? Hoopa, la Mula!” and, with a clatter of hoofs and + jingle of spurs, was presently lost in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “You were none too soon, gentlemen,” said the American Alcalde, as he drew + up before the Doctor's door. “Another company has just been incorporated + for the same location, I reckon.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Three Mexicans,—Pedro, Manuel, and Miguel, headed by that d——d + cock-eyed Sydney Duck, Wiles.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they here?” + </p> + <p> + “Manuel and Miguel, only. The others are over at Tres Pinos lally-gaging + Roscommon and trying to rope him in to pay off their whisky bills at his + grocery.” + </p> + <p> + “If that's so we needn't start before sunrise, for they're sure to get + roaring drunk.” + </p> + <p> + And this legitimate successor of the grave Mexican Alcaldes, having thus + delivered his impartial opinion, rode away. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Concho the redoubtable, Concho the fortunate, spared neither + riata nor spur. The way was dark, the trail obscure and at times even + dangerous, and Concho, familiar as he was with these mountain fastnesses, + often regretted his sure-footed Francisquita. “Care not, O Concho,” he + would say to himself, “'tis but a little while, only a little while, and + thou shalt have another Francisquita to bless thee. Eh, skipjack, there + was a fine music to thy dancing. A dollar for an ounce,—'tis as good + as silver, and merrier.” Yet for all his good spirits he kept a sharp + lookout at certain bends of the mountain trail; not for assassins or + brigands, for Concho was physically courageous, but for the Evil One, who, + in various forms, was said to lurk in the Santa Cruz Range, to the great + discomfort of all true Catholics. He recalled the incident of Ignacio, a + muleteer of the Franciscan Friars, who, stopping at the Angelus to repeat + the Credo, saw Luzbel plainly in the likeness of a monstrous grizzly bear, + mocking him by sitting on his haunches and lifting his paws, clasped + together, as if in prayer. Nevertheless, with one hand grasping his reins + and his rosary, and the other clutching his whisky flask and revolver, he + fared on so rapidly that he reached the summit as the earlier streaks of + dawn were outlining the far-off Sierran peaks. Tethering his horse on a + strip of tableland, he descended cautiously afoot until he reached the + bench, the wall of red rock and the crumbled and dismantled furnace. It + was as he had left it that morning; there was no trace of recent human + visitation. Revolver in hand, Concho examined every cave, gully, and + recess, peered behind trees, penetrated copses of buckeye and manzanita, + and listened. There was no sound but the faint soughing of the wind over + the pines below him. For a while he paced backward and forward with a + vague sense of being a sentinel, but his mercurial nature soon rebelled + against this monotony, and soon the fatigues of the day began to tell upon + him. Recourse to his whisky flask only made him the drowsier, until at + last he was fain to lie down and roll himself up tightly in his blanket. + The next moment he was sound asleep. + </p> + <p> + His horse neighed twice from the summit, but Concho heard him not. Then + the brush crackled on the ledge above him, a small fragment of rock rolled + near his feet, but he stirred not. And then two black figures were + outlined on the crags beyond. + </p> + <p> + “St-t-t!” whispered a voice. “There is one lying beside the furnace.” The + speech was Spanish, but the voice was Wiles's. + </p> + <p> + The other figure crept cautiously to the edge of the crag and looked over. + “It is Concho, the imbecile,” said Pedro, contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “But if he should not be alone, or if he should waken?” + </p> + <p> + “I will watch and wait. Go you and affix the notification.” + </p> + <p> + Wiles disappeared. Pedro began to creep down the face of the rocky ledge, + supporting himself by chemisal and brush-wood. + </p> + <p> + The next moment Pedro stood beside the unconscious man. Then he looked + cautiously around. The figure of his companion was lost in the shadow of + the rocks above; only a slight crackle of brush betrayed his whereabouts. + Suddenly Pedro flung his serape over the sleeper's head, and then threw + his powerful frame and tremendous weight full upon Concho's upturned face, + while his strong arms clasped the blanket-pinioned limbs of his victim. + There was a momentary upheaval, a spasm, and a struggle; but the + tightly-rolled blanket clung to the unfortunate man like cerements. + </p> + <p> + There was no noise, no outcry, no sound of struggle. There was nothing to + be seen but the peaceful, prostrate figures of the two men darkly outlined + on the ledge. They might have been sleeping in each other's arms. In the + black silence the stealthy tread of Wiles in the brush above was + distinctly audible. + </p> + <p> + Gradually the struggles grew fainter. Then a whisper from the crags: + </p> + <p> + “I can't see you. What are you doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Watching!” + </p> + <p> + “Sleeps he?” + </p> + <p> + “He sleeps!” + </p> + <p> + “Soundly?” + </p> + <p> + “Soundly.” + </p> + <p> + “After the manner of the dead?” + </p> + <p> + “After the fashion of the dead!” + </p> + <p> + The last tremor had ceased. Pedro rose as Wiles descended. + </p> + <p> + “All is ready,” said Wiles; “you are a witness of my placing the + notifications?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a witness.” + </p> + <p> + “But of this one?” pointing to Concho. “Shall we leave him here?” + </p> + <p> + “A drunken imbecile,—why not?” + </p> + <p> + Wiles turned his left eye on the speaker. They chanced to be standing + nearly in the same attitude they had stood the preceding night. Pedro + uttered a cry and an imprecation, “Carramba! Take your devil's eye from + me! What see you? Eh,—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, good Pedro,” said Wiles, turning his bland right cheek to Pedro. + The infuriated and half-frightened ex-vaquero returned the long knife he + had half-drawn from its sheath, and growled surlily: “Go on then! But keep + thou on that side, and I will on this.” And so, side by side, listening, + watching, distrustful of all things, but mainly of each other, they stole + back and up into those shadows from which they might like evil spirits + have been poetically evoked. + </p> + <p> + A half hour passed, in which the east brightened, flashed, and again + melted into gold. And then the sun came up haughtily, and a fog that had + stolen across the summit in the night arose and fled up the mountain side, + tearing its white robes in its guilty haste, and leaving them fluttering + from tree and crag and scar. A thousand tiny blades, nestling in the + crevices of rocks, nurtured in storms and rocked by the trade winds, + stretched their wan and feeble arms toward Him; but Concho the strong, + Concho the brave, Concho the light-hearted spake not nor stirred. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + WHO TOOK IT + </h3> + <p> + There was persistent neighing on the summit. Concho's horse wanted his + breakfast. + </p> + <p> + This protestation reached the ears of a party ascending the mountain from + its western face. To one of the party it was familiar. + </p> + <p> + “Why, blank it all, that's Chiquita. That d——d Mexican's lying + drunk somewhere,” said the President of the B. M. Co. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like the look of this at all,” said Dr. Guild, as they rode up + beside the indignant animal. “If it had been an American, it might have + been carelessness, but no Mexican ever forgets his beast. Drive ahead, + boys; we may be too late.” + </p> + <p> + In half an hour they came in sight of the ledge below, the crumbled + furnace, and the motionless figure of Concho, wrapped in a blanket, lying + prone in the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + “I told you so,—drunk!” said the President. + </p> + <p> + The Doctor looked grave, but did not speak. They dismounted and picketed + their horses. Then crept on all fours to the ledge above the furnace. + There was a cry from Secretary Gibbs, “Look yer. Some fellar has been + jumping us, boys. See these notices.” + </p> + <p> + There were two notices on canvas affixed to the rock, claiming the ground, + and signed by Pedro, Manuel, Miguel, Wiles, and Roscommon. + </p> + <p> + “This was done, Doctor, while your trustworthy Greaser locater,—d—n + him,—lay there drunk. What's to be done now?” + </p> + <p> + But the Doctor was making his way to the unfortunate cause of their + defeat, lying there quite mute to their reproaches. The others followed + him. + </p> + <p> + The Doctor knelt beside Concho, unrolled him, placed his hand upon his + wrist, his ear over his heart, and then said: + </p> + <p> + “Dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. He got medicine of you last night. This comes of your d——d + heroic practice.” + </p> + <p> + But the Doctor was too much occupied to heed the speaker's raillery. He + had peered into Concho's protuberant eye, opened his mouth, and gazed at + the swollen tongue, and then suddenly rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Tear down those notices, boys, but keep them. Put up your own. Don't be + alarmed, you will not be interfered with, for here is murder added to + robbery.” + </p> + <p> + “Murder?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Doctor, excitedly, “I'll take my oath on any inquest that + this man was strangled to death. He was surprised while asleep. Look + here.” He pointed to the revolver still in Concho's stiffening hand, which + the murdered man had instantly cocked, but could not use in the struggle. + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” said the President, “no man goes to sleep with a cocked + revolver. What's to be done?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” said the Doctor. “This deed was committed within the last + two hours; the body is still warm. The murderer did not come our way, or + we should have met him on the trail. He is, if anywhere, between here and + Tres Pinos.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said the President, with a slight preparatory and half + judicial cough, “two of you will stay here and stick! The others will + follow me to Tres Pinos. The law has been outraged. You understand the + Court!” + </p> + <p> + By some odd influence the little group of half-cynical, half-trifling, and + wholly reckless men had become suddenly sober, earnest citizens. They + said, “Go on,” nodded their heads, and betook themselves to their horses. + </p> + <p> + “Had we not better wait for the inquest and swear out a warrant?” said the + Secretary, cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “How many men have we?” + </p> + <p> + “Five!” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the President, summing up the Revised Statutes of the State + of California in one strong sentence; “then we don't want no d——d + warrant.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + WHO HAD A LIEN ON IT + </h3> + <p> + It was high noon at Tres Pinos. The three pines from which it gained its + name, in the dusty road and hot air, seemed to smoke from their balsamic + spires. There was a glare from the road, a glare from the sky, a glare + from the rocks, a glare from the white canvas roofs of the few shanties + and cabins which made up the village. There was even a glare from the + unpainted red-wood boards of Roscommon's grocery and tavern, and a + tendency of the warping floor of the veranda to curl up beneath the feet + of the intruder. A few mules, near the watering trough, had shrunk within + the scant shadow of the corral. + </p> + <p> + The grocery business of Mr. Roscommon, although adequate and sufficient + for the village, was not exhausting nor overtaxing to the proprietor; the + refilling of the pork and flour barrel of the average miner was the work + of a brief hour on Saturday nights, but the daily replenishment of the + average miner with whisky was arduous and incessant. Roscommon spent more + time behind his bar than his grocer's counter. Add to this the fact that a + long shed-like extension or wing bore the legend, “Cosmopolitan Hotel, + Board or Lodging by the Day or Week. M. Roscommon,” and you got an idea of + the variety of the proprietor's functions. The “hotel,” however, was more + directly under the charge of Mrs. Roscommon, a lady of thirty years, + strong, truculent, and good-hearted. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roscommon had early adopted the theory that most of his customers were + insane, and were to be alternately bullied or placated, as the case might + be. Nothing that occurred, no extravagance of speech nor act, ever ruffled + his equilibrium, which was as dogged and stubborn as it was outwardly + calm. When not serving liquor, or in the interval while it was being + drank, he was always wiping his counter with an exceedingly dirty towel,—or + indeed anything that came handy. Miners, noticing this purely perfunctory + habit, occasionally supplied him slily with articles inconsistent with + their service,—fragments of their shirts and underclothing, flour + sacking, tow, and once with a flannel petticoat of his wife's, stolen from + the line in the back-yard. Roscommon would continue his wiping without + looking up, but yet conscious of the presence of each customer. “And it's + not another dhrop ye'll git, Jack Brown, until ye've wiped out the black + score that stands agin ye.” “And it's there ye are, darlint, and it's + here's the bottle that's been lukin' for ye sins Saturday.” “And fwhot hev + you done with the last I sent ye, ye divil of a McCorkle, and here's me + back that's bruk entoirely wid dipping intil the pork barl to giv ye the + best sides, and ye spending yur last cint on a tare into Gilroy. Whist! + and if it's fer foighting ye are, boys, there's an illigant bit of sod + beyant the corral, and it may be meself'll come out with a shtick and be + sociable.” + </p> + <p> + On this particular day, however, Mr. Roscommon was not in his usual + spirits, and when the clatter of horses' hoofs before the door announced + the approach of strangers, he absolutely ceased wiping his counter and + looked up as Dr. Guild, the President, and Secretary of the new Company + strode into the shop. + </p> + <p> + “We are looking,” said the President, “for a man by the name of Wiles, and + three Mexicans known as Pedro, Manuel, and Miguel.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye are?” + </p> + <p> + “We are!” + </p> + <p> + “Faix, and I hope ye'll foind 'em. And if ye'll git from 'em the score + I've got agin 'em, darlint, I'll add a blessing to it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a laugh at this from the bystanders, who, somehow, resented the + intrusion of these strangers. + </p> + <p> + “I fear you will find it no laughing matter, gentlemen,” said Dr. Guild, a + little stiffly, “when I tell you that a murder has been committed, and the + men I am seeking within an hour of that murder put up that notice signed + by their names,” and Dr. Guild displayed the paper. + </p> + <p> + There was a breathless silence among the crowd as they eagerly pressed + around the Doctor. Only Roscommon kept on wiping his counter. + </p> + <p> + “You will observe, gentlemen, that the name of Roscommon also appears on + this paper as one of the original beaters.” + </p> + <p> + “And sure, darlint,” said Roscommon, without looking up, “if ye've no + better ividince agin them boys then you have forninst me, it's home ye'd + bether be riding to wanst. For it's meself as hasn't sturred fut out of + the store the day and noight,—more betoken as the boys I've sarved + kin testify.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so, Ross, right,” chorused the crowd, “We've been running the old + man all night.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how comes your name on this paper?” + </p> + <p> + “O murdher! will ye listen to him, boys? As if every felly that owed me a + whisky bill didn't come to me and say, 'Ah, Misther Roscommon,' or + 'Moike,' as the case moight be, sure it's an illigant sthrike I've made + this day, and it's meself that has put down your name as an original + locater, and yer fortune's made, Mr. Roscommon, and will yer fill me up + another quart for the good luck betune you and me. Ah, but ask Jack Brown + over yar if it isn't sick that I am of his original locations.” + </p> + <p> + The laugh that followed this speech, and its practical application, + convinced the party that they had blundered, that they could obtain no + clue to the real culprits here, and that any attempt by threats would meet + violent opposition. Nevertheless the Doctor was persistent: + </p> + <p> + “When did you see these men last?” + </p> + <p> + “When did I see them, is it? Bedad, what with sarvin up the liquor and + keeping me counters dry and swate, I never see them at all.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so, Ross,” chorused the crowd again, to whom the whole proceeding + was delightfully farcical. + </p> + <p> + “Then I can tell you, gentlemen,” said the Doctor, stiffly, “that they + were in Monterey last night, that they did not return on that trail this + morning, and that they must have passed here at daybreak.” + </p> + <p> + With these words, which the Doctor regretted as soon as delivered, the + party rode away. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roscommon resumed his service and counter wiping. But late that night, + when the bar was closed and the last loiterer was summarily ejected, Mr. + Roscommon, in the conjugal privacy of his chamber, produced a + legal-looking paper. “Read it, Maggie, darlint, for it's meself never had + the larning nor the parts.” + </p> + <p> + Mistress Roscommon took the paper: + </p> + <p> + “Shure, it's law papers, making over some property to yis. O Moike! ye + havn't been spekilating!” + </p> + <p> + “Whist! and fwhotz that durty gray paper wid the sales and flourishes?” + </p> + <p> + “Faix, it bothers me intoirely. Shure it oin't in English.” + </p> + <p> + “Whist! Maggie, it's a Spanish grant!” + </p> + <p> + “A Spanish grant? O Moike, and what did ye giv for it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Roscommon laid his finger beside his nose and said softly, “Whishky!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II.—IN THE COURTS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + HOW A GRANT WAS GOT FOR IT + </h3> + <p> + While the Blue Mass Company, with more zeal than discretion, were actively + pursuing Pedro and Wiles over the road to Tres Pinos, Senors Miguel and + Manuel were comfortably seated in a fonda at Monterey, smoking cigarritos + and discussing their late discovery. But they were in no better mood than + their late companions, and it appeared from their conversation that in an + evil moment they had sold out their interest in the alleged silver mine to + Wiles and Pedro for a few hundred dollars,—succumbing to what they + were assured would be an active opposition on the part of the Americanos. + The astute reader will easily understand that the accomplished Mr. Wiles + did not inform them of its value as a quicksilver mine, although he was + obliged to impart his secret to Pedro as a necessary accomplice and + reckless coadjutor. That Pedro felt no qualms of conscience in thus + betraying his two comrades may be inferred from his recent direct and + sincere treatment of Concho, and that he would, if occasion offered or + policy made it expedient, as calmly obliterate Mr. Wiles, that gentleman + himself never for a moment doubted. + </p> + <p> + “If we had waited but a little he would have given more,—this + cock-eye!” regretted Manuel querulously. + </p> + <p> + “Not a peso,” said Miguel, firmly. + </p> + <p> + “And why, my Miguel? Thou knowest we could have worked the mine + ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Good, and lost even that labor. Look you, little brother. Show to me now + the Mexican that has ever made a real of a mine in California. How many, + eh? None! Not a one. Who owns the Mexican's mine, eh? Americanos! Who + takes the money from the Mexican's mine? Americanos! Thou rememberest + Briones, who spent a gold mine to make a silver one? Who has the lands and + house of Briones? Americanos! Who has the cattle of Briones? Americanos! + Who has the mine of Briones? Americanos! Who has the silver Briones never + found? Americanos! Always the same! Forever! Ah! carramba!” + </p> + <p> + Then the Evil One evidently took it into his head and horns to worry and + toss these men—comparatively innocent as they were—still + further, for a purpose. For presently to them appeared one Victor Garcia, + whilom a clerk of the Ayuntamiento, who rallied them over aguardiente, and + told them the story of the quicksilver discovery, and the two mining + claims taken out that night by Concho and Wiles. Whereat Manuel exploded + with profanity and burnt blue with sulphurous malediction; but Miguel, the + recent ecclesiastic, sat livid and thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + Finally came a pause in Manuel's bombardment, and something like this + conversation took place between the cooler actors: + </p> + <p> + Miguel (thoughtfully). “When was it thou didst petition for lands in the + valley, friend Victor?” + </p> + <p> + Victor (amazedly). “Never! It is a sterile waste. Am I a fool?” + </p> + <p> + Miguel (softly). “Thou didst. Of thy Governor, Micheltorena. I have seen + the application.” + </p> + <p> + Victor (beginning to appreciate a rodential odor). “Si! I had forgotten. + Art thou sure it was in the valley?” + </p> + <p> + Miguel (persuasively). “In the valley and up the falda.” * + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Falda, or valda, i. e., that part of the skirt of a + woman's robe that breaks upon the ground, and is also + applied to the final slope of a hill, from the angle that it + makes upon the level plain. +</pre> + <p> + Victor (with decision). “Certainly. Of a verity,—the falda + likewise.” + </p> + <p> + Miguel (eying Victor). “And yet thou hadst not the grant. Painful is it + that it should have been burned with the destruction of the other + archives, by the Americanos at Monterey.” + </p> + <p> + Victor (cautiously feeling his way). “Possiblemente.” + </p> + <p> + Miguel. “It might be wise to look into it.” + </p> + <p> + Victor (bluntly). “As why?” + </p> + <p> + Miguel. “For our good and thine, friend Victor. We bring thee a discovery; + thou bringest us thy skill, thy experience, thy government knowledge,—thy + Custom House paper.” * + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Grants, applications, and official notifications, under + the Spanish Government, were drawn on a stamped paper known + as custom House paper. +</pre> + <p> + Manuel (breaking in drunkenly). “But for what? We are Mexicans. Are we not + fated? We shall lose. Who shall keep the Americanos off?” + </p> + <p> + Miguel. “We shall take ONE American in! Ha! seest thou? This American + comrade shall bribe his courts, his corregidores. After a little he shall + supply the men who invent the machine of steam, the mill, the furnace, + eh?” + </p> + <p> + Victor. “But who is he,—not to steal?” + </p> + <p> + Miguel. “He is that man of Ireland, a good Catholic, at Tres Pinos.” + </p> + <p> + Victor and Manuel (omnes). “Roscommon?” + </p> + <p> + Miguel. “Of the same. We shall give him a share for the provisions, for + the tools, for the aguardiente. It is of the Irish that the Americanos + have great fear. It is of them that the votes are made,—that the + President is chosen. It is of him that they make the Alcalde in San + Francisco. And we are of the Church like him.” + </p> + <p> + They said “Bueno” altogether, and for the moment appeared to be upheld by + a religious enthusiasm,—a joint confession of faith that meant + death, destruction, and possibly forgery, as against the men who thought + otherwise. + </p> + <p> + This spiritual harmony did away with all practical consideration and + doubt. “I have a little niece,” said Victor, “whose work with the pen is + marvellous. If one says to her, 'Carmen, copy me this, or the other one,'—even + if it be copper-plate,—look you it is done, and you cannot know of + which is the original. Madre de Dios! the other day she makes me a rubric* + of the Governor, Pio Pico, the same, identical. Thou knowest her, Miguel. + She asked concerning thee yesterday.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * The Spanish “rubric” is the complicated flourish attached + to a signature, and is as individual and characteristic as + the handwriting. +</pre> + <p> + With the embarrassment of an underbred man, Miguel tried to appear + unconcerned, but failed dismally. Indeed, I fear that the black eyes of + Carmen had already done their perfect and accepted work, and had partly + induced the application for Victor's aid. He, however, dissembled so far + as to ask: + </p> + <p> + “But will she not know?” + </p> + <p> + “She is a child.” + </p> + <p> + “But will she not talk?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I say nay, and if thou—eh, Miguel?” + </p> + <p> + This bit of flattery (which, by the way, was a lie, for Victor's niece did + not incline favorably to Miguel), had its effect. They shook hands over + the table. “But,” said Miguel, “what is to be done must be done now.” “At + the moment,” said Victor, “and thou shalt see it done. Eh? Does it content + thee? then come!” + </p> + <p> + Miguel nodded to Manuel. “We will return in an hour; wait thou here.” + </p> + <p> + They filed out into the dark, irregular street. Fate led them to pass the + office of Dr. Guild at the moment that Concho mounted his horse. The + shadows concealed them from their rival, but they overheard the last + injunctions of the President to the unlucky Concho. + </p> + <p> + “Thou hearest?” said Miguel, clutching his companion's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Victor. “But let him ride, my friend; in one hour we shall + have that that shall arrive YEARS before him,” and with a complacent + chuckle they passed unseen and unheard until, abruptly turning a corner, + they stopped before a low adobe house. + </p> + <p> + It had once been a somewhat pretentious dwelling, but had evidently + followed the fortunes of its late owner, Don Juan Briones, who had offered + it as a last sop to the three-headed Cerberus that guarded the El Refugio + Plutonean treasures, and who had swallowed it in a single gulp. It was in + very bad case. The furrows of its red-tiled roof looked as if they were + the results of age and decrepitude. Its best room had a musty smell; there + was the dampness of deliquescence in its slow decay, but the Spanish + Californians were sensible architects, and its massive walls and + partitions defied the earthquake thrill, and all the year round kept an + even temperature within. + </p> + <p> + Victor led Miguel through a low anteroom into a plainly-furnished chamber, + where Carmen sat painting. + </p> + <p> + Now Mistress Carmen was a bit of a painter, in a pretty little way, with + all the vague longings of an artist, but without, I fear, the artist's + steadfast soul. She recognized beauty and form as a child might, without + understanding their meaning, and somehow failed to make them even + interpret her woman's moods, which surely were nature's too. So she + painted everything with this innocent lust of the eye,—flowers, + birds, insects, landscapes, and figures,—with a joyous fidelity, but + no particular poetry. The bird never sang to her but one song, the flowers + or trees spake but one language, and her skies never brightened except in + color. She came out strong on the Catholic saints, and would toss you up a + cleanly-shaven Aloysius, sweetly destitute of expression, or a dropsical, + lethargic Madonna that you couldn't have told from an old master, so bad + it was. Her faculty of faithful reproduction even showed itself in + fanciful lettering,—and latterly in the imitation of fabrics and + signatures. Indeed, with her eye for beauty of form, she had always + excelled in penmanship at the Convent,—an accomplishment which the + good sisters held in great repute. + </p> + <p> + In person she was petite, with a still unformed girlish figure, perhaps a + little too flat across the back, and with possibly a too great tendency to + a boyish stride in walking. Her brow, covered by blue-black hair, was low + and frank and honest; her eyes, a very dark hazel, were not particularly + large, but rather heavily freighted in their melancholy lids with sleeping + passion; her nose was of that unimportant character which no man + remembers; her mouth was small and straight; her teeth, white and regular. + The whole expression of her face was piquancy that might be subdued by + tenderness or made malevolent by anger. At present it was a salad in which + the oil and vinegar were deftly combined. The astute feminine reader will + of course understand that this is the ordinary superficial masculine + criticism, and at once make up her mind both as to the character of the + young lady and the competency of the critic. I only know that I rather + liked her. And her functions are somewhat important in this veracious + history. + </p> + <p> + She looked up, started to her feet, leveled her black brows at the + intruder, but, at a sign from her uncle, showed her white teeth and spake. + </p> + <p> + It was only a sentence, and a rather common-place one at that; but if she + could have put her voice upon her canvas, she might have retrieved the + Garcia fortunes. For it was so musical, so tender, so sympathizing, so + melodious, so replete with the graciousness of womanhood, that she seemed + to have invented the language. And yet that sentence was only an + exaggerated form of the 'How d'ye do,' whined out, doled out, lisped out, + or shot out from the pretty mouths of my fair countrywomen. + </p> + <p> + Miguel admired the paintings. He was struck particularly with a crayon + drawing of a mule. “Mother of God, it is the mule itself! observe how it + will not go.” Then the crafty Victor broke in with, “But it is nothing to + her writing; look, you shall tell to me which is the handwriting of Pio + Pico;” and, from a drawer in the secretary, he drew forth two signatures. + One was affixed to a yellowish paper, the other drawn on plain white + foolscap. Of course Miguel took the more modern one with lover-like + gallantry. “It is this is genuine!” Victor laughed triumphantly; Carmen + echoed the laugh melodiously in child-like glee, and added, with a slight + toss of her piquant head, “It is mine!” The best of the sex will not + refuse a just and overdue compliment from even the man they dislike. It's + the principle they're after, not the sentiment. + </p> + <p> + But Victor was not satisfied with this proof of his niece's skill. “Say to + her,” he demanded of Miguel, “what name thou likest, and it shall be done + before thee here.” Miguel was not so much in love but he perceived the + drift of Victor's suggestion, and remarked that the rubric of Governor + Micheltorena was exceedingly complicated and difficult. “She shall do it!” + responded Victor, with decision. + </p> + <p> + From a file of old departmental papers the Governor's signature and that + involved rubric, which must have cost his late Excellency many youthful + days of anxiety, was produced and laid before Carmen. + </p> + <p> + Carmen took her pen in her hand, looked at the brownish-looking document, + and then at the virgin whiteness of the foolscap before her. “But,” she + said, pouting prettily, “I should have to first paint this white paper + brown. And it will absorb the ink more quickly than that. When I painted + the San Antonio of the Mission San Gabriel for Father Acolti, I had to put + the decay in with my oils and brushes before the good Padre would accept + it.” + </p> + <p> + The two scamps looked at each other. It was their supreme moment. “I think + I have,” said Victor, with assumed carelessness, “I think I have some of + the old Custom-House paper.” He produced from the secretary a sheet of + brown paper with a stamp. “Try it on that.” + </p> + <p> + Carmen smiled with childish delight, tried it, and produced a marvel! “It + is as magic,” said Miguel, feigning to cross himself. + </p> + <p> + Victor's role was more serious. He affected to be deeply touched, took the + paper, folded it, and placed it in his breast. “I shall make a good fool + of Don Jose Castro,” he said; “he will declare it is the Governor's own + signature, for he was his friend; but have a care, Carmen! that you spoil + it not by the opening of your red lips. When he is fooled, I will tell him + of this marvel,—this niece of mine, and he shall buy her pictures. + Eh, little one?” and he gave her the avuncular caress, i. e., a pat of the + hand on either cheek, and a kiss. Miguel envied him, but cupidity + outgeneraled Cupid, and presently the conversation flagged, until a + convenient recollection of Victor's—that himself and comrade were + due at the Posada del Toros at 10 o'clock—gave them the opportunity + to retire. But not without a chance shot from Carmen. “Tell to me,” she + said, half to Victor and half to Miguel, “what has chanced with Concho? He + was ever ready to bring to me flowers from the mountain, and insects and + birds. Thou knowest how he would sit, oh, my uncle, and talk to me of the + rare rocks he had seen, and the bears and the evil spirits, and now he + comes no longer, my Concho! How is this? Nothing evil has befallen him, + surely?” and her drooping lids closed half-pathetically. + </p> + <p> + Miguel's jealousy took fire. “He is drunk, Senorita, doubtless, and has + forgotten not only thee but, mayhap, his mule and pack! It is his custom, + ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + The red died out of Carmen's ripe lips, and she shut them together with a + snap like a steel purse. The dove had suddenly changed to a hawk; the + child-girl into an antique virago; the spirit hitherto dimly outlined in + her face, of some shrewish Garcia ancestress, came to the fore. She darted + a quick look at her uncle, and then, with her little hands on her rigid + lips, strode with two steps up to Miguel. + </p> + <p> + “Possibly, O Senor Miguel Dominguez Perez (a profound courtesy here), it + is as thou sayest. Drunkard Concho may be; but, drunk or sober, he never + turned his back on his friend—or—(the words grated a little + here)—his enemy.” + </p> + <p> + Miguel would have replied, but Victor was ready. “Fool,” he said, pinching + his arm, “'tis an old friend. And—and—the application is still + to be filled up. Are you crazy?” + </p> + <p> + But on this point Miguel was not, and with the revenge of a rival added to + his other instincts, he permitted Victor to lead him away. + </p> + <p> + On their return to the fonda, they found Master Manuel too far gone with + aguardiente, and a general animosity to the average Americano, to be of + any service. So they worked alone, with pen, ink, and paper, in the + stuffy, cigarrito-clouded back room of the fonda. It was midnight, two + hours after Concho had started, that Miguel clapped spurs to his horse for + the village of Tres Pinos, with an application to Governor Micheltorena + for a grant to the “Rancho of the Red Rocks” comfortably bestowed in his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + WHO PLEAD FOR IT + </h3> + <p> + There can be little doubt the coroner's jury of Fresno would have returned + a verdict of “death from alcoholism,” as the result of their inquest into + the cause of Concho's death, had not Dr. Guild fought nobly in support of + the law and his own convictions. A majority of the jury objected to there + being any inquest at all. A sincere juryman thought it hard that whenever + a Greaser pegged out in a sneakin' kind o' way, American citizens should + be taken from their business to find out what ailed him. “S'pose he was + killed,” said another, “thar ain't no time this thirty year he weren't, so + to speak, just sufferin' for it, ez his nat'ral right ez a Mexican.” The + jury at last compromised by bringing in a verdict of homicide against + certain parties unknown. Yet it was understood tacitly that these unknown + parties were severally Wiles and Pedro; Manuel, Miguel, and Roscommon + proving an unmistakable alibi. Wiles and Pedro had fled to lower + California, and Manuel, Miguel, and Roscommon deemed it advisable, in the + then excited state of the public mind, to withhold the forged application + and claim from the courts and the public comment. So that for a year after + the murder of Concho and the flight of his assassins “The Blue Mass Mining + Company” remained in undisturbed and actual possession of the mine, and + reigned in their stead. + </p> + <p> + But the spirit of the murdered Concho would not down any more than that of + the murdered Banquo, and so wrought, no doubt, in a quiet, Concho-like + way, sore trouble with the “Blue Mass Company.” For a great Capitalist and + Master of Avarice came down to the mine and found it fair, and taking one + of the Company aside, offered to lend his name and a certain amount of + coin for a controlling interest, accompanying the generous offer with a + suggestion that if it were not acceded to he would be compelled to buy up + various Mexican mines and flood the market with quicksilver to the great + detriment of the “Blue Mass Company,” which thoughtful suggestion, offered + by a man frequently alluded to as one of “California's great mining + princes,” and as one who had “done much to develop the resources of the + State,” was not to be lightly considered; and so, after a cautious + non-consultation with the Company, and a commendable secrecy, the + stockholder sold out. Whereat it was speedily spread abroad that the great + Capitalist had taken hold of “Blue Mass,” and the stock went up, and the + other stockholders rejoiced—until the great Capitalist found that it + was necessary to put up expensive mills, to employ a high salaried + Superintendent, in fact, to develop the mine by the spending of its + earnings, so that the stock quoted at 112 was finally saddled with an + assessment of $50 per share. Another assessment of $50 to enable the + Superintendent to proceed to Russia and Spain and examine into the + workings of the quicksilver mines there, and also a general commission to + the gifted and scientific Pillageman to examine into the various component + parts of quicksilver, and report if it could not be manufactured from + ordinary sand-stone by steam or electricity, speedily brought the other + stockholders to their senses. It was at this time the good fellow “Tom,” + the serious-minded “Dick,” and the speculative but fortunate “Harry,” + brokers of the Great Capitalist, found it convenient to buy up, for the + Great Capitalist aforesaid, the various other shares at great sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + I fear that I have bored my readers in thus giving the tiresome details of + that ingenuous American pastime which my countrymen dismiss in their + epigrammatic way as the “freezing-out process.” And lest any reader should + question the ethics of the proceeding, I beg him to remember that one + gentleman accomplished in this art was always a sincere and direct + opponent of the late Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler. + </p> + <p> + But for once the Great Master of Avarice had not taken into sufficient + account the avarice of others, and was suddenly and virtuously shocked to + learn that an application for a patent for certain lands, known as the + “Red-Rock Rancho,” was about to be offered before the United States Land + Commission. This claim covered his mining property. But the information + came quietly and secretly, as all of the Great Master's information was + obtained, and he took the opportunity to sell out his clouded title and + his proprietorship to the only remaining member of the original “Blue Mass + Company,” a young fellow of pith, before many-tongued rumor had voiced the + news far and wide. The blow was a heavy one to the party left in + possession. Saddled by the enormous debts and expenses of the Great + Capitalist, with a credit now further injured by the defection of this + lucky magnate, who was admired for his skill in anticipating a loss, and + whose relinquishment of any project meant ruin to it, the single-handed, + impoverished possessor of the mine, whose title was contested, and whose + reputation was yet to be made,—poor Biggs, first secretary and only + remaining officer of the “Blue Mass Company,” looked ruefully over his + books and his last transfer, and sighed. But I have before intimated that + he was built of good stuff, and that he believed in his work,—which + was well,—and in himself, which was better; and so, having faith + even as a grain of mustard seed, I doubt not he would have been able to + remove that mountain of quicksilver beyond the overlapping of fraudulent + grants. And, again, Providence—having disposed of these several + scamps—raised up to him a friend. But that friend is of sufficient + importance to this veracious history to deserve a paragraph to himself. + </p> + <p> + The Pylades of this Orestes was known of ordinary mortals as Royal + Thatcher. His genealogy, birth, and education are, I take it, of little + account to this chronicle, which is only concerned with his friendship for + Biggs and the result thereof. He had known Biggs a year or two previously; + they had shared each other's purses, bunks, cabins, provisions, and often + friends, with that perfect freedom from obligation which belonged to the + pioneer life. The varying tide of fortune had just then stranded Thatcher + on a desert sand hill in San Francisco, with an uninsured cargo of + Expectations, while to Thatcher's active but not curious fancy it had + apparently lifted his friend's bark over the bar in the Monterey mountains + into an open quicksilver sea. So that he was considerably surprised on + receiving a note from Biggs to this purport: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR ROY—Run down here and help a fellow. I've too much of a load + for one. Maybe we can make a team and pull 'Blue Mass' out yet. BIGGSEY.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher, sitting in his scantily furnished lodgings, doubtful of his next + meal and in arrears for rent, heard this Macedonian cry as St. Paul did. + He wrote a promissory and soothing note to his landlady, but fearing the + “sweet sorrow” of personal parting, let his collapsed valise down from his + window by a cord, and, by means of an economical combination of stage + riding and pedestrianism, he presented himself, at the close of the third + day, at Biggs's door. In a few moments he was in possession of the story; + half an hour later in possession of half the mine, its infelix past and + its doubtful future, equally with his friend. + </p> + <p> + Business over, Biggs turned to look at his partner. “You've aged some + since I saw you last,” he said. “Starvation luck, I s'pose. I'd know your + eyes, old fellow, if I saw them among ten thousand; but your lips are + parched, and your mouth's grimmer than it used to be.” Thatcher smiled to + show that he could still do so, but did not say, as he might have said, + that self-control, suppressed resentment, disappointment, and occasional + hunger had done something in the way of correcting Nature's obvious + mistakes, and shutting up a kindly mouth. He only took off his threadbare + coat, rolled up his sleeves, and saying, “We've got lots of work and some + fighting before us,” pitched into the “affairs” of the “Blue Mass Company” + on the instant. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + OF COUNSEL FOR IT + </h3> + <p> + Meanwhile Roscommon had waited. Then, in Garcia's name, and backed by him, + he laid his case before the Land Commissioner, filing the application + (with forged indorsements) to Governor Micheltorena, and alleging that the + original grant was destroyed by fire. And why? + </p> + <p> + It seemed there was a limit to Miss Carmen's imitative talent. Admirable + as it was, it did not reach to the reproduction of that official seal, + which would have been a necessary appendage to the Governor's grant. But + there were letters written on stamped paper by Governor Micheltorena to + himself, Garcia, and to Miguel, and to Manuel's father, all of which were + duly signed by the sign manual and rubric of + Mrs.-Governor-Micheltorena-Carmen-de-Haro. And then there was “parol” + evidence, and plenty of it; witnesses who remembered everything about it,—namely, + Manuel, Miguel, and the all-recollecting De Haro; here were details, + poetical and suggestive; and Dame-Quicklyish, as when his late Excellency, + sitting not “by a sea-coal fire,” but with aguardiente and cigarros, had + sworn to him, the ex-ecclesiastic Miguel, that he should grant, and had + granted, Garcia's request. There were clouds of witnesses, conversations, + letters, and records, glib and pat to the occasion. In brief, there was + nothing wanted but the seal of his Excellency. The only copy of that was + in the possession of a rival school of renaissant art and the restoration + of antiques, then doing business before the Land Commission. + </p> + <p> + And yet the claim was rejected! Having lately recommended two separate + claimants to a patent for the same land, the Land Commission became + cautious and conservative. + </p> + <p> + Roscommon was at first astounded, then indignant, and then warlike,—he + was for an “appale to onst!” + </p> + <p> + With the reader's previous knowledge of Roscommon's disposition this may + seem somewhat inconsistent; but there are certain natures to whom + litigation has all the excitement of gambling, and it should be borne in + mind that this was his first lawsuit. So that his lawyer, Mr. Saponaceous + Wood, found him in that belligerent mood to which counsel are obliged to + hypocritically bring all the sophistries of their profession. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you have your right to an appeal, but calm yourself, my dear + sir, and consider. The case was presented strongly, the evidence + overwhelming on our side, but we happened to be fighting previous + decisions of the Land Commission that had brought them into trouble; so + that if Micheltorena had himself appeared in Court and testified to his + giving you the grant, it would have made no difference,—no Spanish + grant had a show then, nor will it have for the next six months. You see, + my dear sir, the Government sent out one of its big Washington lawyers to + look into this business, and he reported frauds, sir, frauds, in a + majority of the Spanish claims. And why, sir? why? He was bought, sir, + bought—body and soul—by the Ring!” + </p> + <p> + “And fwhot's the Ring?” asked his client sharply. + </p> + <p> + “The Ring is—ahem! a combination of unprincipled but wealthy persons + to defeat the ends of justice.” + </p> + <p> + “And sure, fwhot's the Ring to do wid me grant as that thaving Mexican + gave me as the collatherals for the bourd he was owin' me? Eh, mind that + now!” + </p> + <p> + “The Ring, my dear sir, is the other side. It is—ahem! always the + Other Side.” + </p> + <p> + “And why the divel haven't we a Ring too? And ain't I payin' ye five + hundred dollars,—and the divel of Ring ye have, at all, at all? + Fwhot am I payin' ye fur, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “That a judicious expenditure of money,” began Mr. Wood, “outside of + actual disbursements, may not be of infinite service to you I am not + prepared to deny,—but—” + </p> + <p> + “Look ye, Mr. Sappy Wood, it's the 'appale' I want, and the grant I'll + have, more betoken as the old woman's har-rut and me own is set on it + entoirely. Get me the land and I'll give ye the half of it,—and it's + a bargain!” + </p> + <p> + “But my dear sir, there are some rules in our profession,—technical + though they may be—” + </p> + <p> + “The divel fly away wid yer profession. Sure is it better nor me own? If + I've risked me provisions and me whisky, that cost me solid goold in + Frisco, on that thafe Garcia's claim, bedad! the loikes of ye can risk yer + law.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Wood, with an awkward smile, “I suppose that a deed for one + half, on the consideration of friendship, my dear sir, and a dollar in + hand paid by me, might be reconcilable.” + </p> + <p> + “Now it's talkin' ye are. But who's the felly we're foighten, that's got + the Ring?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear sir, it's the United States,” said the lawyer with gravity. + </p> + <p> + “The States! the Government is it? And is't that ye're afeared of? Sure + it's the Government that I fought in me own counthree, it was the + Government that druv me to Ameriky, and is it now that I'm going back on + me principles?” + </p> + <p> + “Your political sentiments do you great credit,” began Mr. Wood. + </p> + <p> + “But fwhot's the Government to do wid the appale?” + </p> + <p> + “The Government,” said Mr. Wood significantly, “will be represented by the + District Attorney.” + </p> + <p> + “And who's the spalpeen?” + </p> + <p> + “It is rumored,” said Mr. Wood, slowly, “that a new one is to be + appointed. I, myself, have had some ambition that way.” + </p> + <p> + His client bent a pair of cunning but not over-wise grey eyes on his + American lawyer. But he only said, “Ye have, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Wood, answering the look boldly; “and if I had the support of + a number of your prominent countrymen, who are so powerful with ALL + parties,—men like YOU, my dear sir,—why, I think you might in + time become a conservative, at least more resigned to the Government.” + </p> + <p> + Then the lesser and the greater scamp looked at each other, and for a + moment or two felt a warm, sympathetic, friendly emotion for each other, + and quietly shook hands. + </p> + <p> + Depend upon it there is a great deal more kindly human sympathy between + two openly-confessed scamps than there is in that calm, respectable + recognition that you and I, dear reader, exhibit when we happen to oppose + each other with our respective virtues. + </p> + <p> + “And ye'll get the appale?” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + And he DID! And by a singular coincidence got the District Attorneyship + also. And with a deed for one half of the “Red-Rock Rancho” in his pocket, + sent a brother lawyer in court to appear for his client, the United + States, as against HIMSELF, Roscommon, Garcia, et al. Wild horses could + not have torn him from this noble resolution. There is an indescribable + delicacy in the legal profession which we literary folk ought to imitate. + </p> + <p> + The United States lost! Which meant ruin and destruction to the “Blue Mass + Company,” who had bought from a paternal and beneficent Government lands + which didn't belong to it. The Mexican grant, of course, antedated the + occupation of the mine by Concho, Wiles, Pedro, et al., as well as by the + “Blue Mass Company,” and the solitary partners, Biggs and Thatcher. More + than that, it swallowed up their improvements. It made Biggs and Thatcher + responsible to Garcia for all the money the Grand Master of Avarice had + made out of it. Mr. District Attorney was apparently distressed, but + resigned. Messrs. Biggs and Thatcher were really distressed and combative. + </p> + <p> + And then, to advance a few years in this chronicle, began real litigation + with earnestness, vigor, courage, zeal, and belief on the part of Biggs + and Thatcher, and technicalities, delay, equivocation, and a general + Fabian-like policy on the part of Garcia, Roscommon, et al. Of all these + tedious processes I note but one, which for originality and audacity of + conception appears to me to indicate more clearly the temper and + civilization of the epoch. A subordinate officer of the District Court + refused to obey the mandate ordering a transcript of the record to be sent + up to the United States Supreme Court. It is to be regretted that the name + of this Ephesian youth, who thus fired the dome of our constitutional + liberties, should have been otherwise so unimportant as to be confined to + the dusty records of that doubtful court of which he was a doubtful + servitor, and that his claim to immortality ceased with his double-feed + service. But there still stands on record a letter by this young + gentleman, arraigning the legal wisdom of the land, which is not entirely + devoid of amusement or even instruction to young men desirous of obtaining + publicity and capital. Howbeit, the Supreme Court was obliged to protect + itself by procuring the legislation of his functions out of his local + fingers into the larger palm of its own attorney. + </p> + <p> + These various processes of law and equity, which, when exercised + practically in the affairs of ordinary business, might have occupied a few + months' time, dragged, clung, retrograded, or advanced slowly during a + period of eight or nine years. But the strong arms of Biggs and Thatcher + held POSSESSION, and possibly, by the same tactics employed on the other + side, arrested or delayed ejectment, and so made and sold quicksilver, + while their opponents were spending gold, until Biggs, sorely hit in the + interlacings of his armor, fell in the lists, his cheek growing waxen and + his strong arm feeble, and finding himself in this sore condition, and + passing, as it were, made over his share in trust to his comrade, and + died. Whereat, from that time henceforward, Royal Thatcher reigned in his + stead. + </p> + <p> + And so, having anticipated the legal record, we will go back to the + various human interests that helped to make it up. + </p> + <p> + To begin with Roscommon: To do justice to his later conduct and + expressions, it must be remembered that when he accepted the claim for the + “Red-Rock Rancho,” yet unquestioned, from the hands of Garcia, he was + careless, or at least unsuspicious of fraud. It was not until he had + experienced the intoxication of litigation that he felt, somehow, that he + was a wronged and defrauded man, but with the obstinacy of defrauded men, + preferred to arraign some one fact or individual as the impelling cause of + his wrong, rather than the various circumstances that led to it. To his + simple mind it was made patent that the “Blue Mass Company” were making + money out of a mine which he claimed, and which was not yet adjudged to + them. Every dollar they took out was a fresh count in this general + indictment. Every delay towards this adjustment of rights—although + made by his own lawyer—was a personal wrong. The mere fact that + there never was nor had been any quid pro quo for this immense property—that + it had fallen to him for a mere song—only added zest to his + struggle. The possibility of his losing this mere speculation affected him + more strongly than if he had already paid down the million he expected to + get from the mine. I don't know that I have indicated as plainly as I + might that universal preference on the part of mankind to get something + from nothing, and to acquire the largest return for the least possible + expenditure, but I question my right to say that Roscommon was much more + reprehensible than his fellows. + </p> + <p> + But it told upon him as it did upon all over whom the spirit of the + murdered Concho brooded,—upon all whom avarice alternately flattered + and tortured. From his quiet gains in his legitimate business, from the + little capital accumulated through industry and economy, he lavished + thousands on this chimera of his fancy. He grew grizzled and worn over his + self-imposed delusion; he no longer jested with his customers, regardless + of quality or station or importance; he had cliques to mollify, enemies to + placate, friends to reward. The grocery suffered; through giving food and + lodgment to clouds of unimpeachable witnesses before the Land Commission + and the District Court, “Mrs. Ros.” found herself losing money. Even the + bar failed; there was a party of “Blue Mass” employees who drank at the + opposite fonda, and cursed the Roscommon claim over the liquor. The calm, + mechanical indifference with which Roscommon had served his customers was + gone. The towel was no longer used after its perfunctory fashion; the + counter remained unwiped; the disks of countless glasses marked its + surface, and indicated other preoccupation on the part of the proprietor. + The keen grey eyes of the claimant of the “Red-Rock Rancho” were always on + the lookout for friend or enemy. + </p> + <p> + Garcia comes next. That gentleman's inborn talent for historic + misrepresentation culminated unpleasantly through a defective memory; a + year or two after he had sworn in his application for the “Rancho,” being + engaged in another case, some trifling inconsistency was discovered in his + statements, which had the effect of throwing the weight of evidence to the + party who had paid him most, but was instantly detected by the weaker + party. Garcia's preeminence as a witness, an expert and general historian + began to decline. He was obliged to be corroborated, and this required a + liberal outlay of his fee. With the loss of his credibility as a witness + bad habits supervened. He was frequently drunk, he lost his position, he + lost his house, and Carmen, removed to San Francisco, supported him with + her brush. + </p> + <p> + And this brings us once more to that pretty painter and innocent forger + whose unconscious act bore such baleful fruit on the barren hill-sides of + the “Red-Rock Rancho,” and also to a later blossom of her life, that + opened, however, in kindlier sunshine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT THE FAIR HAD TO DO ABOUT IT + </h3> + <p> + The house that Royal Thatcher so informally quitted in his exodus to the + promised land of Biggs was one of those oversized, under-calculated + dwellings conceived and erected in the extravagance of the San Francisco + builder's hopes, and occupied finally in his despair. Intended originally + as the palace of some inchoate California Aladdin, it usually ended as a + lodging house in which some helpless widow or hopeless spinster managed to + combine respectability with the hard task of bread getting. + </p> + <p> + Thatcher's landlady was one of the former class. She had unfortunately + survived not only her husband but his property, and, living in some + deserted chamber, had, after the fashion of the Italian nobility, let out + the rest of the ruin. A tendency to dwell upon these facts gave her + conversation a peculiar significance on the first of each month. Thatcher + had noticed this with the sensitiveness of an impoverished gentleman. But + when, a few days after her lodger's sudden disappearance, a note came from + him containing a draft in noble excess of all arrears and charges, the + widow's heart was lifted, and the rock smitten with the golden wand gushed + beneficence that shone in a new gown for the widow and a new suit for + “Johnny,” her son, a new oil cloth in the hall, better service to the + lodgers, and, let us be thankful, a kindlier consideration for the poor + little black-eyed painter from Monterey, then dreadfully behind in her + room rent. For, to tell the truth, the calls upon Miss De Haro's scant + purse by her uncle had lately been frequent, perjury having declined in + the Monterey market, through excessive and injudicious supply, until the + line of demarcation between it and absolute verity was so finely drawn + that Victor Garcia had remarked that “he might as well tell the truth at + once and save his soul, since the devil was in the market.” + </p> + <p> + Mistress Plodgitt, the landlady, could not resist the desire to acquaint + Carmen De Haro with her good fortune. “He was always a friend of yours, my + dear,—and I know him to be a gentleman that would never let a poor + widow suffer; and see what he says about you!” Here she produced + Thatcher's note and read: “Tell my little neighbor that I shall come back + soon to carry her and her sketching tools off by force, and I shall not + let her return until she has caught the black mountains and the red rocks + she used to talk about, and put the 'Blue Mass' mill in the foreground of + the picture I shall order.” + </p> + <p> + What is this, little one? Surely, Carmen, thou needst not blush at this, + thy first grand offer. Holy Virgin! is it of a necessity that thou + shouldst stick the wrong end of thy brush in thy mouth, and then drop it + in thy lap? Or was it taught thee by the good Sisters at the convent to + stride in that boyish fashion to the side of thy elders and snatch from + their hands the missive thou wouldst read? More of this we would know, O + Carmen,—smallest of brunettes,—speak, little one, even in + thine own melodious speech, that I may commend thee and thy rare + discretion to my own fair countrywomen. + </p> + <p> + Alas, neither the present chronicler nor Mistress Plodgitt got any further + information from the prudent Carmen, and must fain speculate upon certain + facts that were already known. + </p> + <p> + Mistress Carmen's little room was opposite to Thatcher's, and once or + twice, the doors being open, Thatcher had a glimpse across the passage of + a black-haired and a sturdy, boyish little figure in a great blue apron, + perched on a stool before an easel, and on the other hand, Carmen had + often been conscious of the fumes of a tobacco pipe penetrating her + cloistered seclusion, and had seen across the passage, vaguely enveloped + in the same nicotine cloud, an American Olympian, in a rocking chair, with + his feet on the mantel shelf. They had once or twice met on the staircase, + on which occasion Thatcher had greeted her with a word or two of + respectful yet half-humorous courtesy,—a courtesy which never really + offends a true woman, although it often piques her self-aplomb by the + slight assumption of superiority in the humorist. A woman is quick to + recognize the fact that the great and more dangerous passions are always + SERIOUS, and may be excused if in self-respect she is often induced to try + if there be not somewhere under the skin of this laughing Mercutio the + flesh and blood of a Romeo. Thatcher was by nature a defender and + protector; weakness, and weakness alone, stirred the depths of his + tenderness,—often, I fear, only through its half-humorous aspects,—and + on this plane he was pleased to place women and children. I mention this + fact for the benefit of the more youthful members of my species, and am + satisfied that an unconditional surrender and the complete laying down at + the feet of Beauty of all strong masculinity is a cheap Gallicism that is + untranslatable to most women worthy the winning. For a woman MUST always + look up to the man she truly loves,—even if she has to go down on + her knees to do it. + </p> + <p> + Only the masculine reader will infer from this that Carmen was in love + with Thatcher; the more critical and analytical feminine eye will see + nothing herein that might not have happened consistently with friendship. + For Thatcher was no sentimentalist; he had hardly paid a compliment to the + girl,—even in the unspoken but most delicate form of attention. + There were days when his room door was closed; there were days succeeding + these blanks when he met her as frankly and naturally as if he had seen + her yesterday. Indeed, on those days following his flight the + simple-minded Carmen, being aware—heaven knows how—that he had + not opened his door during that period, and fearing sickness, sudden + death, or perhaps suicide, by her appeals to the landlady, assisted + unwittingly in discovering his flight and defection. As she was for a few + moments as indignant as Mrs. Plodgitt, it is evident that she had but + little sympathy with the delinquent. And besides, hitherto she had known + only Concho, her earliest friend, and was true to his memory, as against + all Americanos, whom she firmly believed to be his murderers. + </p> + <p> + So she dismissed the offer and the man from her mind, and went back to her + painting,—a fancy portrait of the good Padre Junipero Serra, a great + missionary, who, haply for the integrity of his bones and character, died + some hundred years before the Americans took possession of California. The + picture was fair but unsaleable, and she began to think seriously of sign + painting, which was then much more popular and marketable. An unfinished + head of San Juan de Bautista, artificially framed in clouds, she disposed + of to a prominent druggist for $50, where it did good service as + exhibiting the effect of four bottles of “Jones's Freckle Eradicator,” and + in a pleasant and unobtrusive way revived the memory of the saint. Still, + she felt weary and was growing despondent, and had a longing for the good + Sisters and the blameless lethargy of conventual life, and then— + </p> + <p> + He came! + </p> + <p> + But not as the Prince should come, on a white charger, to carry away this + cruelly-abused and enchanted damsel. He was sunburned, he was bearded like + “the pard”; he was a little careless as to his dress, and pre-occupied in + his ways. But his mouth and eyes were the same; and when he repeated in + his old frank, half-mischievous way the invitation of his letter, poor + little Carmen could only hesitate and blush. + </p> + <p> + A thought struck him and sent the color to his face. Your gentleman born + is always as modest as a woman. He ran down stairs, and seizing the + widowed Plodgitt, said hastily: + </p> + <p> + “You're just killing yourself here. Take a change. Come down to Monterey + for a day or two with me, and bring miss De Haro with you for company.” + </p> + <p> + The old lady recognized the situation. Thatcher was now a man of vast + possibilities. In all maternal daughters of Eve there is the slightest bit + of the chaperone and match-maker. It is the last way of reviving the past. + </p> + <p> + She consented, and Carmen De Haro could not well refuse. + </p> + <p> + The ladies found the “Blue Mass” mills very much as Thatcher had + previously delivered it to them, “a trifle rough and mannish.” But he made + over to them the one tenement reserved for himself, and slept with his + men, or more likely under the trees. At first Mrs. Plodgitt missed gas and + running water, and these several conveniences of civilization, among which + I fear may be mentioned sheets and pillow cases; but the balsam of the + mountain air soothed her neuralgia and her temper. As for Carmen, she + rioted in the unlimited license of her absolute freedom from conventional + restraint and the indulgence of her child-like impulses. She scoured the + ledges far and wide alone; she dipped into dark copses, and scrambled over + sterile patches of chemisal, and came back laden with the spoil of buckeye + blossoms, manzanita berries and laurel. But she would not make a sketch of + the “Blue Mass Company's” mills on a Mercator's projection—something + that could be afterwards lithographed or chromoed, with the mills turning + out tons of quicksilver through the energies of a happy and picturesque + assemblage of miners—even to please her padrone, Don Royal Thatcher. + On the contrary, she made a study of the ruins of the crumbled and decayed + red-rock furnace, with the black mountain above it, and the light of a + dying camp fire shining upon it, and the dull-red excavations in the + ledge. But even this did not satisfy her until she had made some + alterations; and when she finally brought her finished study to Don Royal, + she looked at him a little defiantly. Thatcher admired honestly, and then + criticised a little humorously and dishonestly. “But couldn't you, for a + consideration, put up a sign-board on that rock with the inscription, + 'Road to the Blue Mass Company's new mills to the right,' and combine + business with art? That's the fault of you geniuses. But what's this + blanketed figure doing here, lying before the furnace? You never saw one + of my miners there,—and a Mexican, too, by his serape.” “That,” + quoth Mistress Carmen, coolly, “was put in to fill up the foreground,—I + wanted something there to balance the picture.” “But,” continued Thatcher, + dropping into unconscious admiration again, “it's drawn to the life. Tell + me, Miss De Haro, before I ask the aid and counsel of Mrs. Plodgitt, who + is my hated rival, and your lay figure and model?” “Oh,” said Carmen, with + a little sigh, “It's only poor Coucho.” “And where is Concho?” (a little + impatiently.) “He's dead, Don Royal.” “Dead?” “Of a verity,—very + dead,—murdered by your countrymen.” “I see,—and you know him?” + “He was my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Truly.” + </p> + <p> + “But” (wickedly), “isn't this a rather ghastly advertisement—outside + of an illustrated newspaper—of my property?” + </p> + <p> + “Ghastly, Don Royal. Look you, he sleeps.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay” (in Spanish), “as the dead.” + </p> + <p> + Carmen (crossing herself hastily), “After the fashion of the dead.” + </p> + <p> + They were both feeling uncomfortable. Carmen was shivering. But, being a + woman, and tactful, she recovered her head first. “It is a study for + myself, Don Royal; I shall make you another.” + </p> + <p> + And she slipped away, as she thought, out of the subject and his presence. + </p> + <p> + But she was mistaken; in the evening he renewed the conversation. Carmen + began to fence, not from cowardice or deceit, as the masculine reader + would readily infer, but from some wonderful feminine instinct that told + her to be cautious. But he got from her the fact, to him before unknown, + that she was the niece of his main antagonist, and, being a gentleman, so + redoubled his attentions and his courtesy that Mrs. Plodgitt made up her + mind that it was a foregone conclusion, and seriously reflected as to what + she should wear on the momentous occasion. But that night poor Carmen + cried herself to sleep, resolving that she would hereafter cast aside her + wicked uncle for this good-hearted Americano, yet never once connected her + innocent penmanship with the deadly feud between them. Women—the + best of them—are strong as to collateral facts, swift of deduction, + but vague as children are to the exact statement or recognition of + premises. It is hardly necessary to say that Carmen had never thought of + connecting any act of hers with the claims of her uncle, and the + circumstance of the signature she had totally forgotten. + </p> + <p> + The masculine reader will now understand Carmen's confusion and blushes, + and believe himself an ass to have thought them a confession of original + affection. The feminine reader will, by this time, become satisfied that + the deceitful minx's sole idea was to gain the affections of Thatcher. And + really I don't know who is right. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless she painted a sketch of Thatcher,—which now adorns the + Company's office in San Francisco,—in which the property is laid out + in pleasing geometrical lines, and the rosy promise of the future instinct + in every touch of the brush. Then, having earned her “wage,” as she + believed, she became somewhat cold and shy to Thatcher. Whereat that + gentleman redoubled his attentions, seeing only in her presence a certain + meprise, which concerned her more than himself. The niece of his enemy + meant nothing more to him than an interesting girl,—to be protected + always,—to be feared, never. But even suspicion may be insidiously + placed in noble minds. + </p> + <p> + Mistress Plodgitt, thus early estopped of matchmaking, of course put the + blame on her own sex, and went over to the stronger side—the man's. + </p> + <p> + “It's a great pity gals should be so curious,” she said, sotto voce, to + Thatcher, when Carmen was in one of her sullen moods. “Yet I s'pose it's + in her blood. Them Spaniards is always revengeful,—like the + Eyetalians.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher honestly looked his surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you see, she's thinking how all these lands might have been + her uncle's but for you. And instead of trying to be sweet and—” + here she stopped to cough. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” said Thatcher in great concern, “I never thought of that.” He + stopped for a moment, and then added with decision, “I can't believe it; + it isn't like her.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. P. was piqued. She walked away, delivering, however, this Parthian + arrow: “Well, I hope 'TAINT NOTHING WORSE.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher chuckled, then felt uneasy. When he next met Carmen, she found + his grey eyes fixed on hers with a curious, half-inquisitorial look she + had never noticed before. This only added fuel to the fire. Forgetting + their relations of host and guest, she was absolutely rude. Thatcher was + quiet but watchful; got the Plodgitt to bed early, and, under cover of + showing a moonlight view of the “Lost Chance Mill,” decoyed Carmen out of + ear-shot, as far as the dismantled furnace. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Miss De Haro; have I offended you?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Carmen was not aware that anything was the matter. If Don Royal + preferred old friends, whose loyalty of course he knew, and who were above + speaking ill against a gentleman in his adversity—(oh, Carmen! fie!) + if he preferred THEIR company to LATER FRIENDS—why—(the + masculine reader will observe this tremendous climax and tremble)—why + she didn't know why HE should blame HER. + </p> + <p> + They turned and faced each other. The conditions for a perfect + misunderstanding could not have been better arranged between two people. + Thatcher was a masculine reasoner, Carmen a feminine feeler,—if I + may be pardoned the expression. Thatcher wanted to get at certain facts, + and argue therefrom. Carmen wanted to get at certain feelings, and then + fit the facts to THEM. + </p> + <p> + “But I am NOT blaming you, Miss Carmen,” he said gravely. “It WAS stupid + in me to confront you here with the property claimed by your uncle and + occupied by me, but it was a mistake,—no!” he added hastily, “it was + not a mistake. You knew it, and I didn't. You overlooked it before you + came, and I was too glad to overlook it after you were here.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Carmen pettishly, “I am the only one to be blamed. It's + like you MEN!” (Mem. She was just fifteen, and uttered this awful 'resume' + of experience just as if it hadn't been taught to her in her cradle.) + </p> + <p> + Feminine generalities always stagger a man. Thatcher said nothing. Carmen + became more enraged. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you want to take Uncle Victor's property, then?” she asked + triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that it is your uncle's property.” + </p> + <p> + “You—don't—know? Have you seen the application with Governor + Micheltorena's indorsement? Have you heard the witnesses?” she said + passionately. + </p> + <p> + “Signatures may be forged and witnesses lie,” said Thatcher quietly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it you call 'forged'?” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher instantly recalled the fact that the Spanish language held no + synonym for “forgery.” The act was apparently an invention of el Diablo + Americano. So he said, with a slight smile in his kindly eyes: + </p> + <p> + “Anybody wicked enough and dexterous enough can imitate another's + handwriting. When this is used to benefit fraud, we call it 'forgery.' I + beg your pardon,—Miss De Haro, Miss Carmen,—what is the + matter?” + </p> + <p> + She had suddenly lapsed against a tree, quite helpless, nerveless, and + with staring eyes fixed on his. As yet an embryo woman, inexperienced and + ignorant, the sex's instinct was potential; she had in one plunge fathomed + all that his reason had been years groping for. + </p> + <p> + Thatcher saw only that she was pained, that she was helpless: that was + enough. “It is possible that your uncle may have been deceived,” he began; + “many honest men have been fooled by clever but deceitful tricksters, men + and women—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! Madre de Dios! WILL YOU STOP?” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher for an instant recoiled from the flashing eyes and white face of + the little figure that had, with menacing and clenched baby fingers, + strode to his side. He stopped. “Where is this application,—this + forgery?” she asked. “Show it to me!” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher felt relieved, and smiled the superior smile of our sex over + feminine ignorance. “You could hardly expect me to be trusted with your + uncle's vouchers. His papers of course are in the hands of his counsel.” + </p> + <p> + “And when can I leave this place?” she asked passionately. + </p> + <p> + “If you consult my wishes you will stay, if only long enough to forgive + me. But if I have offended you unknowingly, and you are implacable—” + </p> + <p> + “I can go to-morrow at sunrise if I like?” + </p> + <p> + “As you will,” returned Thatcher gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Gracias, Senor.” + </p> + <p> + They walked slowly back to the house, Thatcher with a masculine sense of + being unreasonably afflicted, Carmen with a woman's instinct of being + hopelessly crushed. No word was spoken until they reached the door. Then + Carmen suddenly, in her old, impulsive way, and in a childlike treble, + sang out merrily, “Good night, O Don Royal, and pleasant dreams. Hasta + manana.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher stood dumb and astounded at this capricious girl. She saw his + mystification instantly. “It is for the old Cat!” she whispered, jerking + her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the sleeping Mrs. P. “Good + night,—go!” + </p> + <p> + He went to give orders for a peon to attend the ladies and their equipage + the next day. He awoke to find Miss De Haro gone, with her escort, towards + Monterey. And without the Plodgitt. + </p> + <p> + He could not conceal his surprise from the latter lady. She, left alone,—a + not altogether unavailable victim to the wiles of our sex,—was + embarrassed. But not so much that she could not say to Thatcher: “I told + you so,—gone to her uncle. . . . To tell him ALL!” + </p> + <p> + “All. D—n it, WHAT can she tell him?” roared Thatcher, stung out of + his self-control. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, I hope, that she should not,” said Mrs. P., and chastely + retired. + </p> + <p> + She was right. Miss Carmen posted to Monterey, running her horse nearly + off its legs to do it, and then sent back her beast and escort, saying she + would rejoin Mrs. Plodgitt by steamer at San Francisco. Then she went + boldly to the law office of Saponaceous Wood, District Attorney and whilom + solicitor of her uncle. + </p> + <p> + With the majority of masculine Monterey Miss Carmen was known and + respectfully admired, despite the infelix reputation of her kinsman. Mr. + Wood was glad to see her, and awkwardly gallant. Miss Carmen was cool and + business-like; she had come from her uncle to “regard” the papers in the + “Red-Rock Rancho” case. They were instantly produced. Carmen turned to the + application for the grant. Her cheek paled slightly. With her clear memory + and wonderful fidelity of perception she could not be mistaken. THE + SIGNATURE OF MICHELTORENA WAS IN HER OWN HANDWRITING! + </p> + <p> + Yet she looked up to the lawyer with a smile: “May I take these papers for + an hour to my uncle?” + </p> + <p> + Even an older and better man than the District Attorney could not have + resisted those drooping lids and that gentle voice. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “I will return them in an hour.” + </p> + <p> + She was as good as her word, and within the hour dropped the papers and a + little courtesy to her uncle's legal advocate, and that night took the + steamer to San Francisco. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Victor Garcia, a little the worse for the previous + night's dissipation, reeled into Wood's office. “I have fears for my niece + Carmen. She is with the enemy,” he said thickly. “Look you at this.” + </p> + <p> + It was an anonymous letter (in Mrs. Plodgitt's own awkward fist) advising + him of the fact that his niece was bought by the enemy, and cautioning him + against her. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” said the lawyer; “it was only last week she sent thee $50.” + </p> + <p> + Victor blushed, even through his ensanguined cheeks, and made an impatient + gesture with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” added the lawyer coolly, “she has been here to examine the + papers at thy request, and returned them of yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Victor gasped: “And-you-you-gave them to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” + </p> + <p> + “All? Even the application and the signature?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,—you sent her.” + </p> + <p> + “Sent her? The devil's own daughter?” shrieked Garcia. “No! A hundred + million times, no! Quick, before it is too late. Give to me the papers.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wood reproduced the file. Garcia ran over it with trembling fingers + until at last he clutched the fateful document. Not content with opening + it and glancing at its text and signature, he took it to the window. + </p> + <p> + “It is the same,” he muttered with a sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is,” said Mr. Wood sharply. “The papers are all there. + You're a fool, Victor Garcia!” + </p> + <p> + And so he was. And, for the matter of that, so was Mr. Saponaceous Wood, + of counsel. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Miss De Haro returned to San Francisco and resumed her work. A + day or two later she was joined by her landlady. Mrs. P. had too large a + nature to permit an anonymous letter, written by her own hand, to stand + between her and her demeanor to her little lodger. So she coddled her and + flattered her and depicted in slightly exaggerated colors the grief of Don + Royal at her sudden departure. All of which Miss Carmen received in a + demure, kitten-like way, but still kept quietly at her work. In due time + Don Royal's order was completed; still she had leisure and inclination + enough to add certain touches to her ghastly sketch of the crumbling + furnace. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, as Don Royal did not return, through excess of business, + Mrs. Plodgitt turned an honest penny by letting his room, temporarily, to + two quiet Mexicans, who, but for a beastly habit of cigarrito smoking + which tainted the whole house, were fair enough lodgers. If they failed in + making the acquaintance of their fair countrywoman, Miss De Haro, it was + through the lady's pre-occupation in her own work, and not through their + ostentatious endeavors. + </p> + <p> + “Miss De Haro is peculiar,” explained the politic Mrs. Plodgitt to her + guests; “she makes no acquaintances, which I consider bad for her + business. If it had not been for me, she would not have known Royal + Thatcher, the great quicksilver miner,—and had his order for a + picture of his mine!” + </p> + <p> + The two foreign gentlemen exchanged glances. One said, “Ah, God! this is + bad,” and the other, “It is not possible;” and then, when the landlady's + back was turned, introduced themselves with a skeleton key into the then + vacant bedroom and studio of their fair countrywoman, who was absent + sketching. “Thou observest,” said Mr. Pedro, refugee, to Miguel, + ex-ecclesiastic, “that this Americano is all-powerful, and that this + Victor, drunkard as he is, is right in his suspicions.” + </p> + <p> + “Of a verity, yes,” replied Miguel, “thou dost remember it was Jovita + Castro who, for her Americano lover, betrayed the Sobriente claim. It is + only with us, my Pedro, that the Mexican spirit, the real God and Liberty, + yet lives!” + </p> + <p> + They shook hands nobly and with sentimental fervor, and then went to work, + i. e., the rummaging over the trunks, drawers, and portmanteaus of the + poor little painter, Carmen de Haro, and even ripped up the mattress of + her virginal cot. But they found not what they sought. + </p> + <p> + “What is that yonder on the easel, covered with a cloth?” said Miguel: “it + is a trick of these artists to put their valuables together.” + </p> + <p> + Pedro strode to the easel and tore away the muslin curtain that veiled it; + then uttered a shriek that appalled his comrade and brought him to his + side. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of God,” said Miguel hastily, “are you trying to alarm the + house?” + </p> + <p> + The ex-vaquero was trembling like a child. “Look,” he said hoarsely, + “look, do you see? It is the hand of God,” and fainted on the floor! + </p> + <p> + Miguel looked. It was Carmen's partly-finished sketch of the deserted + furnace. The figure of Concho, thrown out strongly by the camp fire, + occupied the left foreground. But to balance her picture she had evidently + been obliged to introduce another,—the face and figure of Pedro, on + all fours, creeping towards the sleeping man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III.—IN CONGRESS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + WHO LOBBIED FOR IT + </h3> + <p> + It was a midsummer's day in Washington. Even at early morning, while the + sun was yet level with the faces of pedestrians in its broad, shadeless + avenues, it was insufferably hot. Later the avenues themselves shone like + the diverging rays of another sun,—the Capitol,—a thing to be + feared by the naked eye. Later yet it grew hotter, and then a mist arose + from the Potomac, and blotted out the blazing arch above, and presently + piled up along the horizon delusive thunder clouds, that spent their + strength and substance elsewhere, and left it hotter than before. Towards + evening the sun came out invigorated, having cleared the heavenly brow of + perspiration, but leaving its fever unabated. + </p> + <p> + The city was deserted. The few who remained apparently buried themselves + from the garish light of day in some dim, cloistered recess of shop, + hotel, or restaurant; and the perspiring stranger, dazed by the outer + glare, who broke in upon their quiet, sequestered repose, confronted + collarless and coatless specters of the past, with fans in their hands, + who, after dreamily going through some perfunctory business, immediately + retired to sleep after the stranger had gone. Congressmen and Senators had + long since returned to their several constituencies with the various + information that the country was going to ruin, or that the outlook never + was more hopeful and cheering, as the tastes of their constituency + indicated. A few Cabinet officers still lingered, having by this time + become convinced that they could do nothing their own way, or indeed in + any way but the old way, and getting gloomily resigned to their situation. + A body of learned, cultivated men, representing the highest legal tribunal + in the land, still lingered in a vague idea of earning the scant salary + bestowed upon them by the economical founders of the Government, and + listened patiently to the arguments of counsel, whose fees for advocacy of + claims before them would have paid the life income of half the bench. + There was Mr. Attorney-General and his assistants still protecting the + Government's millions from rapacious hands, and drawing the yearly public + pittance that their wealthier private antagonists would have scarce given + as a retainer to their junior counsel. The little standing army of + departmental employes,—the helpless victims of the most senseless + and idiotic form of discipline the world has known,—a discipline so + made up of caprice, expediency, cowardice, and tyranny that its reform + meant revolution, not to be tolerated by legislators and lawgivers, or a + despotism in which half a dozen accidentally-chosen men interpreted their + prejudices or preferences as being that Reform. Administration after + administration and Party after Party had persisted in their desperate + attempts to fit the youthful colonial garments, made by our Fathers after + a by-gone fashion, over the expanded limits and generous outline of a + matured nation. There were patches here and there; there were grievous + rents and holes here and there; there were ludicrous and painful exposures + of growing limbs everywhere; and the Party in Power and the Party out of + Power could do nothing but mend and patch, and revamp and cleanse and + scour, and occasionally, in the wildness of despair, suggest even the + cutting off the rebellious limbs that persisted in growing beyond the + swaddling clothes of its infancy. + </p> + <p> + It was a capital of Contradictions and Inconsistencies. At one end of the + Avenue sat the responsible High Keeper of the military honor, valor, and + war-like prestige of a great nation, without the power to pay his own + troops their legal dues until some selfish quarrel between Party and Party + was settled. Hard by sat another Secretary, whose established functions + seemed to be the misrepresentation of the nation abroad by the least + characteristic of its classes, the politicians,—and only then when + they had been defeated as politicians, and when their constituents had + declared them no longer worthy to be even THEIR representatives. This + National Absurdity was only equaled by another, wherein an ex-Politician + was for four years expected to uphold the honor of a flag of a great + nation over an ocean he had never tempted, with a discipline the rudiments + of which he could scarcely acquire before he was removed, or his term of + office expired, receiving his orders from a superior officer as ignorant + of his special duties as himself, and subjected to the revision of a + Congress cognizant of him only as a politician. At the farther end of the + Avenue was another department so vast in its extent and so varied in its + functions that few of the really great practical workers of the land would + have accepted its responsibility for ten times its salary, but which the + most perfect constitution in the world handed over to men who were obliged + to make it a stepping stone to future preferment. There was another + department, more suggestive of its financial functions from the occasional + extravagances or economies exhibited in its payrolls,—successive + Congresses having taken other matters out of its hands,—presided + over by an official who bore the title and responsibility of the Custodian + and Disburser of the Nation's Purse, and received a salary that a + bank-President would have sniffed at. For it was part of this + Constitutional Inconsistency and Administrative Absurdity that in the + matter of honor, justice, fidelity to trust, and even business integrity, + the official was always expected to be the superior of the Government he + represented. Yet the crowning Inconsistency was that, from time to time, + it was submitted to the sovereign people to declare if these various + Inconsistencies were not really the perfect expression of the most perfect + Government the world had known. And it is to be recorded that the + unanimous voices of Representative, Orator, and Unfettered Poetry were + that it was! + </p> + <p> + Even the public press lent itself to the Great Inconsistency. It was as + clear as crystal to the journal on one side of the Avenue that the country + was going to the dogs unless the SPIRIT of the Fathers once more + reanimated the public; it was equally clear to the journal on the other + side of the Avenue that only a rigid adherence to the LETTER of the + Fathers would save the nation from decline. It was obvious to the + first-named journal that the “letter” meant Government patronage to the + other journal; it was patent to that journal that the “shekels” of Senator + X really animated the spirit of the Fathers. Yet all agreed it was a great + and good and perfect government,—subject only to the predatory + incursions of a Hydra-headed monster known as a “Ring.” The Ring's origin + was wrapped in secrecy, its fecundity was alarming; but although its + rapacity was preternatural, its digestion was perfect and easy. It + circumvolved all affairs in an atmosphere of mystery; it clouded all + things with the dust and ashes of distrust. All disappointment of place, + of avarice, of incompetency or ambition, was clearly attributable to it. + It even permeated private and social life; there were Rings in our kitchen + and household service; in our public schools, that kept the active + intelligences of our children passive; there were Rings of engaging, + handsome, dissolute young fellows, who kept us moral but unengaging + seniors from the favors of the fair; there were subtle, conspiring Rings + among our creditors, which sent us into bankruptcy and restricted our + credit. In fact it would not be hazardous to say that all that was + calamitous in public and private experience was clearly traceable to that + combination of power in a minority over weakness in a majority—known + as a Ring. + </p> + <p> + Haply there was a body of demigods, as yet uninvoked, who should speedily + settle all that. When Smith of Minnesota, Robinson of Vermont, and Jones + of Georgia returned to Congress from these rural seclusions so potent with + information and so freed from local prejudices, it was understood, + vaguely, that great things would be done. This was always understood. + There never was a time in the history of American politics when, to use + the expression of the journals before alluded to, “the present session of + Congress” did not “bid fair to be the most momentous in our history,” and + did not, as far as the facts go, leave a vast amount of unfinished + important business lying hopelessly upon its desks, having “bolted” the + rest as rashly and with as little regard to digestion or assimilation as + the American traveller has for his railway refreshment. + </p> + <p> + In this capital, on this languid midsummer day, in an upper room of one of + its second-rate hotels, the Honorable Pratt C. Gashwiler sat at his + writing-table. There are certain large, fleshy men with whom the omission + of even a necktie or collar has all the effect of an indecent exposure. + The Hon. Mr. Gashwiler, in his trousers and shirt, was a sight to be + avoided by the modest eye. There were such palpable suggestions of vast + extents of unctuous flesh in the slight glimpse offered by his open throat + that his dishabille should have been as private as his business. + Nevertheless, when there was a knock at his door he unhesitatingly said, + “Come in!”—pushing away a goblet crowned with a certain aromatic + herb with his right hand, while he drew towards him with his left a few + proof slips of his forthcoming speech. The Gashwiler brow became, as it + were, intelligently abstracted. + </p> + <p> + The intruder regarded Gashwiler with a glance of familiar recognition from + his right eye, while his left took in a rapid survey of the papers on the + table, and gleamed sardonically. + </p> + <p> + “You are at work, I see,” he said apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the Congressman, with an air of perfunctory weariness,—“one + of my speeches. Those d——d printers make such a mess of it; I + suppose I don't write a very fine hand.” + </p> + <p> + If the gifted Gashwiler had added that he did not write a very intelligent + hand, or a very grammatical hand, and that his spelling was faulty, he + would have been truthful, although the copy and proof before him might not + have borne him out. The near fact was that the speech was composed and + written by one Expectant Dobbs, a poor retainer of Gashwiler, and the + honorable member's labor as a proof-reader was confined to the + introduction of such words as “anarchy,” “oligarchy,” “satrap,” + “palladium,” and “Argus-eyed” in the proof, with little relevancy as to + position or place, and no perceptible effect as to argument. + </p> + <p> + The stranger saw all this with his wicked left eye, but continued to beam + mildly with his right. Removing the coat and waistcoat of Gashwiler from a + chair, he drew it towards the table, pushing aside a portly, loud-ticking + watch,—the very image of Gashwiler,—that lay beside him, and, + resting his elbows on the proofs, said: + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything new?” asked the parliamentary Gashwiler. + </p> + <p> + “Much! a woman!” replied the stranger. + </p> + <p> + The astute Gashwiler, waiting further information, concluded to receive + this fact gaily and gallantly. “A woman?—my dear Mr. Wiles,—of + course! The dear creatures,” he continued, with a fat, offensive chuckle, + “somehow are always making their charming presence felt. Ha! ha! A man, + sir, in public life becomes accustomed to that sort of thing, and knows + when he must be agreeable,—agreeable, sir, but firm! I've had my + experience, sir,—my OWN experience,”—and the Congressman + leaned back in his chair, not unlike a robust St. Anthony who had + withstood one temptation to thrive on another. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Wiles impatiently, “but d—n it, she's on the OTHER + SIDE.” + </p> + <p> + “The other side!” repeated Gashwiler vacantly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she's a niece of Garcia's. A little she devil.” + </p> + <p> + “But Garcia's on our side,” rejoined Gashwiler. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but she is bought by the Ring.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman!” sneered Mr. Gashwiler; “what can she do with men who won't be + made fools of? Is she so handsome?” + </p> + <p> + “I never saw any great beauty in her,” said Wiles shortly, “although they + say that she's rather caught that d——d Thatcher, in spite of + his coldness. At any rate, she is his protegee. But she isn't the sort + you're thinking of, Gashwiler. They say she knows, or pretends to know, + something about the grant. She may have got hold of some of her uncle's + papers. Those Greasers were always d——d fools; and, if he did + anything foolish, like as not he bungled or didn't cover up his tracks. + And with his knowledge and facilities too! Why, if I'd—” but here + Mr. Wiles stopped to sigh over the inequalities of fortune that wasted + opportunities on the less skillful scamp. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler became dignified. “She can do nothing with us,” he said + potentially. + </p> + <p> + Wiles turned his wicked eye on him. “Manuel and Miguel, who sold out to + our man, are afraid of her. They were our witnesses. I verily believe + they'd take back everything if she got after them. And as for Pedro, he + thinks she holds the power of life and death over him.” + </p> + <p> + “Pedro! life and death,—what's all this?” said the astonished + Gashwiler. + </p> + <p> + Wiles saw his blunder, but saw also that he had gone too far to stop. + “Pedro,” he said, “was strongly suspected of having murdered Concho, one + of the original locators.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler turned white as a sheet, and then flushed again into an + apoplectic glow. “Do you dare to say,” he began as soon as he could find + his tongue and his legs, for in the exercise of his congressional + functions these extreme members supported each other,—“do you mean + to say,” he stammered in rising rage, “that you have dared to deceive an + American lawgiver into legislating upon a measure connected with a capital + offense? Do I understand you to say, sir, that murder stands upon the + record—stands upon the record, sir,—of this cause to which, as + a representative of Remus, I have lent my official aid? Do you mean to say + that you have deceived my constituency, whose sacred trust I hold, in + inveigling me to hiding a crime from the Argus eyes of justice?” And Mr. + Gashwiler looked towards the bell-pull as if about to summon a servant to + witness this outrage against the established judiciary. + </p> + <p> + “The murder, if it WAS a murder, took place before Garcia entered upon + this claim, or had a footing in this court,” returned Wiles blandly, “and + is no part of the record.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure it is not spread upon the record?” + </p> + <p> + “I am. You can judge for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler walked to the window, returned to the table, finished his + liquor in a single gulp, and then, with a slight resumption of dignity, + said: + </p> + <p> + “That alters the case.” + </p> + <p> + Wiles glanced with his left eye at the Congressman. The right placidly + looked out of the window. Presently he said quietly, “I've brought you the + certificates of stock; do you wish them made out in your own name?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler tried hard to look as if he were trying to recall the + meaning of Wiles's words. “Oh!—ah!—umph!—let me see,—oh, + yes, the certificates,—certainly! Of course you will make them out + in the name of my secretary, Mr. Expectant Dobbs. They will perhaps repay + him for the extra clerical labor required in the prosecution of your + claim. He is a worthy young man. Although not a public officer, yet he is + so near to me that perhaps I am wrong in permitting him to accept a fee + for private interests. An American representative cannot be too cautious, + Mr. Wiles. Perhaps you had better have also a blank transfer. The stock + is, I understand, yet in the future. Mr. Dobbs, though talented and + praiseworthy, is poor; he may wish to realize. If some—ahem! some + FRIEND—better circumstanced should choose to advance the cash to him + and run the risk,—why, it would only be an act of kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “You are proverbially generous, Mr. Gashwiler,” said Wiles, opening and + shutting his left eye like a dark lantern on the benevolent + representative. + </p> + <p> + “Youth, when faithful and painstaking, should be encouraged,” replied Mr. + Gashwiler. “I lately had occasion to point this out in a few remarks I had + to make before the Sabbath school reunion at Remus. Thank you, I will see + that they are—ahem!—conveyed to him. I shall give them to him + with my own hand,” he concluded, falling back in his chair, as if the + better to contemplate the perspective of his own generosity and + condescension. Mr. Wiles took his hat and turned to go. Before he reached + the door Mr. Gashwiler returned to the social level with a chuckle: + </p> + <p> + “You say this woman, this Garcia's niece, is handsome and smart?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I can set another woman on the track that'll euchre her every time!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wiles was too clever to appear to notice the sudden lapse in the + Congressman's dignity, and only said, with his right eye: + </p> + <p> + “Can you?” + </p> + <p> + “By G-d, I WILL, or I don't know how to represent Remus.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wiles thanked him with his right eye, and looked a dagger with his + left. “Good,” he said, and added persuasively: “Does she live here?” + </p> + <p> + The Congressman nodded assent. “An awfully handsome woman,—a + particular friend of mine!” Mr. Gashwiler here looked as if he would not + mind to have been rallied a little over his intimacy with the fair one; + but the astute Mr. Wiles was at the same moment making up his mind, after + interpreting the Congressman's look and manner, that he must know this + fair incognita if he wished to sway Gashwiler. He determined to bide his + time, and withdrew. + </p> + <p> + The door was scarcely closed upon him when another knock diverted Mr. + Gashwiler's attention from his proofs. The door opened to a young man with + sandy hair and anxious face. He entered the room deprecatingly, as if + conscious of the presence of a powerful being, to be supplicated and + feared. Mr. Gashwiler did not attempt to disabuse his mind. “Busy, you + see,” he said shortly, “correcting your work!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it is acceptable?” said the young man timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Well—yes—it will do,” said Gashwiler; “indeed I may say it is + satisfactory on the whole,” he added with the appearance of a large + generosity; “quite satisfactory.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no news, I suppose,” continued the young man, with a slight + flush, born of pride or expectation. + </p> + <p> + “No, nothing as yet.” Mr. Gashwiler paused as if a thought had struck him. + </p> + <p> + “I have thought,” he said, finally, “that some position—such as a + secretaryship with me—would help you to a better appointment. Now, + supposing that I make you my private secretary, giving you some important + and confidential business. Eh?” + </p> + <p> + Dobbs looked at his patron with a certain wistful, dog-like expectancy, + moved himself excitedly on his chair seat in a peculiar canine-like + anticipation of gratitude, strongly suggesting that he would have wagged + his tail if he had one. At which Mr. Gashwiler became more impressive. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I may say I anticipated it by certain papers I have put in your + charge and in your name, only taking from you a transfer that might enable + me to satisfy my conscience hereafter in recommending you as my—ahem!—private + secretary. Perhaps, as a mere form, you might now, while you are here, put + your name to these transfers, and, so to speak, begin your duties at + once.” + </p> + <p> + The glow of pride and hope that mantled the cheek of poor Dobbs might have + melted a harder heart than Gashwiler's. But the senatorial toga had + invested Mr. Gashwiler with a more than Roman stoicism towards the + feelings of others, and he only fell back in his chair in the pose of + conscious rectitude as Dobbs hurriedly signed the paper. + </p> + <p> + “I shall place them in my portman-tell,” said Gashwiler, suiting the word + to the action, “for safe keeping. I need not inform you, who are now, as + it were, on the threshold of official life, that perfect and inviolable + secrecy in all affairs of State”—Mr. G. here motioned toward his + portmanteau as if it contained a treaty at least—“is most essential + and necessary.” + </p> + <p> + Dobbs assented. “Then my duties will keep me with you here?” he asked + doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Gashwiler hastily; then, correcting himself, he added: + “that is—for the present—no!” + </p> + <p> + Poor Dobbs's face fell. The near fact was that he had lately had notice to + quit his present lodgings in consequence of arrears in his rent, and he + had a hopeful reliance that his confidential occupation would carry bread + and lodging with it. But he only asked if there were any new papers to + make out. + </p> + <p> + “Ahem! not at present; the fact is I am obliged to give so much of my time + to callers—I have to-day been obliged to see half a dozen—that + I must lock myself up and say 'Not at home' for the rest of the day.” + Feeling that this was an intimation that the interview was over, the new + private secretary, a little dashed as to his near hopes, but still + sanguine of the future, humbly took his leave. + </p> + <p> + But here a certain Providence, perhaps mindful of poor Dobbs, threw into + his simple hands—to be used or not, if he were worthy or capable of + using it—a certain power and advantage. He had descended the + staircase, and was passing through the lower corridor, when he was made + the unwilling witness of a remarkable assault. + </p> + <p> + It appeared that Mr. Wiles, who had quitted Gashwiler's presence as Dobbs + was announced, had other business in the hotel, and in pursuance of it had + knocked at room No. 90. In response to the gruff voice that bade him + enter, Mr. Wiles opened the door, and espied the figure of a tall, + muscular, fiery-bearded man extended on the bed, with the bedclothes + carefully tucked under his chin, and his arms lying flat by his side. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wiles beamed with his right cheek, and advanced to the bed as if to + take the hand of the stranger, who, however, neither by word or sign + responded to his salutation. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I'm intruding?” said Mr. Wiles blandly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are,” said Red Beard dryly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wiles forced a smile on his right cheek, which he turned to the + smiter, but permitted the left to indulge in unlimited malevolence. “I + wanted merely to know if you have looked into that matter?” he said + meekly. + </p> + <p> + “I've looked into it and round it and across it and over it and through + it,” responded the man gravely, with his eyes fixed on Wiles. + </p> + <p> + “And you have perused all the papers?” continued Mr. Wiles. + </p> + <p> + “I've read every paper, every speech, every affidavit, every decision, + every argument,” said the stranger as if repeating a formula. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wiles attempted to conceal his embarrassment by an easy, right-handed + smile, that went off sardonically on the left, and continued: “Then I + hope, my dear sir, that, having thoroughly mastered the case, you are + inclined to be favorable to us?” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman in the bed did not reply, but apparently nestled more + closely beneath the coverlids. + </p> + <p> + “I have brought the shares I spoke of,” continued Mr. Wiles, + insinuatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Hev you a friend within call?” interrupted the recumbent man gently. + </p> + <p> + “I don't quite understand!” smiled Mr. Wiles. “Of course any name you + might suggest—” + </p> + <p> + “Hev you a friend, any chap that you might waltz in here at a moment's + call?” continued the man in bed. “No? Do you know any of them waiters in + the house? Thar's a bell over yan!” and he motioned with his eyes towards + the wall, but did not otherwise move his body. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Wiles, becoming slightly suspicious and wrathful. + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe a stranger might do? I reckon thar's one passin' in the hall. Call + him in,—he'll do!” + </p> + <p> + Wiles opened the door a little impatiently, yet inquisitively, as Dobbs + passed. The man in bed called out, “Oh, stranger!” and, as Dobbs stopped, + said, “Come yar.” + </p> + <p> + Dobbs entered a little timidly, as was his habit with strangers. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know who you be—nor care, I reckon,” said the stranger. + “This yer man”—pointing to Wiles—“is Wiles. I'm Josh Sibblee + of Fresno, Member of Congress from the 4th Congressional District of + Californy. I'm jist lying here, with a derringer into each hand,—jist + lying here kivered up and holdin' in on'y to keep from blowin' the top o' + this d——d skunk's head off. I kinder feel I can't hold in any + longer. What I want to say to ye, stranger, is that this yer skunk—which + his name is Wiles—hez bin tryin' his d—dest to get a bribe + onto Josh, and Josh, outo respect for his constituents, is jist waitin' + for some stranger to waltz in and stop the d—dest fight—” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Mr. Sibblee, there must be some mistake,” said Wiles + earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Mistake? Strip me!” + </p> + <p> + “No! No!” said Wiles, hurriedly, as the simple-minded Dobbs was about to + draw down the coverlid. + </p> + <p> + “Take him away,” said the Hon. Mr. Sibblee, “before I disgrace my + constituency. They said I'd be in jail afore I get through the session. Ef + you've got any humanity, stranger, snake him out, and pow'ful quick, too.” + </p> + <p> + Dobbs, quite white and aghast, looked at Wiles and hesitated. There was a + slight movement in the bed. Both men started for the door; and the next + minute it closed very decidedly on the member from Fresno. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + HOW IT WAS LOBBIED FOR + </h3> + <p> + The Hon. Pratt C. Gashwiler, M.C., was of course unaware of the incident + described in the last chapter. His secret, even if it had been discovered + by Dobbs, was safe in that gentleman's innocent and honorable hands, and + certainly was not of a quality that Mr. Wiles, at present, would have + cared to expose. For, in spite of Mr. Wiles's discomfiture, he still had + enough experience of character to know that the irate member from Fresno + would be satisfied with his own peculiar manner of vindicating his own + personal integrity, and would not make a public scandal of it. Again, + Wiles was convinced that Dobbs was equally implicated with Gashwiler, and + would be silent for his own sake. So that poor Dobbs, as is too often the + fate of simple but weak natures, had full credit for duplicity by every + rascal in the land. + </p> + <p> + From which it may be inferred that nothing occurred to disturb the + security of Gashwiler. When the door closed upon Mr. Wiles, he indited a + note which, with a costly but exceedingly distasteful bouquet,—rearranged + by his own fat fingers, and discord and incongruity visible in every + combination of color,—he sent off by a special messenger. Then he + proceeded to make his toilet,—an operation rarely graceful or + picturesque in our sex, and an insult to the spectator when obesity is + superadded. When he had put on a clean shirt, of which there was grossly + too much, and added a white waistcoat, that seemed to accent his + rotundity, he completed his attire with a black frock coat of the latest + style, and surveyed himself complacently before a mirror. It is to be + recorded that, however satisfactory the result might have been to Mr. + Gashwiler, it was not so to the disinterested spectator. There are some + men on whom “that deformed thief, Fashion,” avenges himself by making + their clothes appear perennially new. The gloss of the tailor's iron never + disappears; the creases of the shelf perpetually rise in judgment against + the wearer. Novelty was the general suggestion of Mr. Gashwiler's + full-dress,—it was never his HABITUDE;—and “Our own Make,” + “Nobby,” and the “Latest Style, only $15,” was as patent on the + legislator's broad back as if it still retained the shop-man's ticket. + </p> + <p> + Thus arrayed, within an hour he complacently followed the note and his + floral offering. The house he sought had been once the residence of a + foreign Ambassador, who had loyally represented his government in a single + unimportant treaty, now forgotten, and in various receptions and dinners, + still actively remembered by occasional visits to its salon; now the + average dreary American parlor. “Dear me,” the fascinating Mr. X would + say, “but do you know, love, in this very room I remember meeting the + distinguished Marquis of Monte Pio;” or perhaps the fashionable Jones of + the State Department instantly crushed the decayed friend he was + perfunctorily visiting by saying, “'Pon my soul, YOU here;—why, the + last time I was in this room I gossiped for an hour with the Countess de + Castenet in that very corner.” For, with the recall of the aforesaid + Ambassador, the mansion had become a boarding-place, kept by the wife of a + departmental clerk. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps there was nothing in the history of the house more quaint and + philosophic than the story of its present occupant. Roger Fauquier had + been a departmental clerk for forty years. It was at once his practical + good luck and his misfortune to have been early appointed to a position + which required a thorough and complete knowledge of the formulas and + routine of a department that expended millions of the public funds. + Fauquier, on a poor salary, diminishing instead of increasing with his + service, had seen successive administrations bud and blossom and decay, + but had kept his position through the fact that his knowledge was a + necessity to the successive chiefs and employes. Once it was true that he + had been summarily removed by a new Secretary, to make room for a camp + follower, whose exhaustive and intellectual services in a political + campaign had made him eminently fit for anything; but the alarming + discovery that the new clerk's knowledge of grammar and etymology was even + worse than that of the Secretary himself, and that, through ignorance of + detail, the business of that department was retarded to a damage to the + Government of over half a million of dollars, led to the reinstatement of + Mr. Fauquier—AT A LOWER SALARY. For it was felt that something was + wrong somewhere, and as it had always been the custom of Congress and the + administration to cut down salaries as the first step to reform, they made + of Mr. Fauquier a moral example. A gentleman born, of somewhat expensive + tastes, having lived up to his former salary, this change brought another + bread-winner into the field, Mrs. Fauquier, who tried, more or less + unsuccessfully, to turn her old Southern habits of hospitality to + remunerative account. But as poor Fauquier could never be prevailed upon + to present a bill to a gentleman, sir, and as some of the scions of the + best Southern families were still waiting for, or had been recently + dismissed from, a position, the experiment was a pecuniary failure. Yet + the house was of excellent repute and well patronized; indeed, it was + worth something to see old Fauquier sitting at the head of his own table, + in something of his ancestral style, relating anecdotes of great men now + dead and gone, interrupted only by occasional visits from importunate + tradesmen. + </p> + <p> + Prominent among what Mr. Fauquier called his “little family” was a + black-eyed lady of great powers of fascination, and considerable local + reputation as a flirt. Nevertheless, these social aberrations were amply + condoned by a facile and complacent husband, who looked with a lenient and + even admiring eye upon the little lady's amusement, and to a certain + extent lent a tacit indorsement to her conduct. Nobody minded Hopkinson; + in the blaze of Mrs. Hopkinson's fascinations he was completely lost sight + of. A few married women with unduly sensitive husbands, and several single + ladies of the best and longest standing, reflected severely on her + conduct. The younger men of course admired her, but I think she got her + chief support from old fogies like ourselves. For it is your quiet, + self-conceited, complacent, philosophic, broad-waisted paterfamilias who, + after all, is the one to whom the gay and giddy of the proverbially + impulsive, unselfish sex owe their place in the social firmament. We are + never inclined to be captious; we laugh at as a folly what our wives and + daughters condemn as a fault; OUR “withers are unwrung,” yet we still + confess to the fascinations of a pretty face. We know, bless us, from dear + experience, the exact value of one woman's opinion of another; we want our + brilliant little friend to shine; it is only the moths who will burn their + two-penny immature wings in the flame! And why should they not? Nature has + been pleased to supply more moths than candles! Go to!—give the + pretty creature—be she maid, wife, or widow—a show! And so, my + dear sir, while mater-familias bends her black brows in disgust, we smile + our superior little smile, and extend to Mistress Anonyma our gracious + indorsement. And if giddiness is grateful, or if folly is friendly,—well, + of course, we can't help that. Indeed it rather proves our theory. + </p> + <p> + I had intended to say something about Hopkinson; but really there is very + little to say. He was invariably good humored. A few ladies once tried to + show him that he really ought to feel worse than he did about the conduct + of his wife; and it is recorded that Hopkinson, in an excess of good humor + and kindliness, promised to do so. Indeed the good fellow was so + accessible that it is said that young DeLancy of the Tape Department + confided to Hopkinson his jealousy of a rival; and revealed the awful + secret that he (DeLancy) had reason to expect more loyalty from his + (Hopkinson's) wife. The good fellow is reported to have been very + sympathetic, and to have promised Delaney to lend whatever influence he + had with Mrs. Hopkinson in his favor. “You see,” he said explanatorily to + DeLancy, “she has a good deal to attend to lately, and I suppose has got + rather careless,—that's women's ways. But if I can't bring her round + I'll speak to Gashwiler,—I'll get him to use his influence with Mrs. + Hop. So cheer up, my boy, HE'LL make it all right.” + </p> + <p> + The appearance of a bouquet on the table of Mrs. Hopkinson was no rare + event; nevertheless, Mr. Gashwiler's was not there. Its hideous contrasts + had offended her woman's eye,—it is observable that good taste + survives the wreck of all the other feminine virtues,—and she had + distributed it to make boutonnieres for other gentlemen. Yet, when he + appeared, she said to him hastily, putting her little hand over the + cardiac region: + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad you came. But you gave me SUCH a fright an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler was both pleased and astounded. “What have I done, my dear + Mrs. Hopkinson?” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't talk,” she said sadly. “What have you done, indeed! Why, you + sent me that beautiful bouquet. I could not mistake your taste in the + arrangement of the flowers;—but my husband was here. You know his + jealousy. I was obliged to conceal it from him. Never—promise me now—NEVER + do it again.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler gallantly protested. + </p> + <p> + “No! I am serious! I was so agitated: he must have seen me blush.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing but the gross flattery to this speech could have clouded its + manifest absurdity to the Gashwiler consciousness. But Mr. Gashwiler had + already succumbed to the girlish half-timidity with which it was uttered. + Nevertheless, he could not help saying: + </p> + <p> + “But why should he be so jealous now? Only day before yesterday I saw + Simpson of Duluth hand you a nosegay right before him!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” returned the lady, “he was outwardly calm THEN, but you know nothing + of the scene that occurred between us after you left.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” gasped the practical Gashwiler, “Simpson had given your husband + that contract,—a cool fifty thousand in his pocket!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hopkinson looked as dignifiedly at Gashwiler as was consistent with + five feet three (the extra three inches being a pyramidal structure of + straw-colored hair), a frond of faint curls, a pair of laughing blue eyes, + and a small belted waist. Then she said, with a casting down of her lids: + </p> + <p> + “You forget that my husband loves me.” And for once the minx appeared to + look penitent. It was becoming; but as it had been originally practiced in + a simple white dress, relieved only with pale-blue ribbons, it was not + entirely in keeping with be-flounced lavender and rose-colored trimmings. + Yet the woman who hesitates between her moral expression and the harmony + of her dress is lost. And Mrs. Hopkinson was victrix by her very audacity. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler was flattered. The most dissolute man likes the appearance + of virtue. “But graces and accomplishments like yours, dear Mrs. + Hopkinson,” he said oleaginously, “belong to the whole country.” Which, + with something between a courtesy and a strut, he endeavored to represent. + “And I shall want to avail myself of all,” he added, “in the matter of the + Castro claim. A little supper at Welcker's, a glass or two of champagne, + and a single flash of those bright eyes, and the thing is done.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Mrs. Hopkinson, “I've promised Josiah that I would give up all + those frivolities, and although my conscience is clear, you know how + people talk! Josiah hears it. Why, only last night, at a reception at the + Patagonian Minister's, every woman in the room gossiped about me because I + led the german with him. As if a married woman, whose husband was + interested in the Government, could not be civil to the representative of + a friendly power?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler did not see how Mr. Hopkinson's late contract for supplying + salt pork and canned provisions to the army of the United States should + make his wife susceptible to the advances of foreign princes; but he + prudently kept that to himself. Still, not being himself a diplomat, he + could not help saying: + </p> + <p> + “But I understood that Mr. Hopkinson did not object to your interesting + yourself in this claim, and you know some of the stock—” + </p> + <p> + The lady started, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Stock! Dear Mr. Gashwiler, for Heaven's sake don't mention that hideous + name to me. Stock, I am sick of it! Have you gentlemen no other topic for + a lady?” + </p> + <p> + She punctuated her sentence with a mischievous look at her interlocutor. + For a second time I regret to say that Mr. Gashwiler succumbed. The Roman + constituency at Remus, it is to be hoped, were happily ignorant of this + last defection of their great legislator. Mr. Gashwiler instantly forgot + his theme,—began to ply the lady with a certain bovine-like + gallantry, which it is to be said to her credit she parried with a + playful, terrier-like dexterity, when the servant suddenly announced, “Mr. + Wiles.” + </p> + <p> + Gashwiler started. Not so Mrs. Hopkinson, who, however, prudently and + quietly removed her own chair several inches from Gashwiler's. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know Mr. Wiles?” she asked pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “No! That is, I—ah—yes, I may say I have had some business + relations with him,” responded Gashwiler rising. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you stay?” she added pleadingly. “Do!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler's prudence always got the better of his gallantry. “Not + now,” he responded in some nervousness. “Perhaps I had better go now, in + view of what you have just said about gossip. You need not mention my name + to this-er—this—Mr. Wiles.” And with one eye on the door, and + an awkward dash of his lips at the lady's fingers, he withdrew. + </p> + <p> + There was no introductory formula to Mr. Wiles's interview. He dashed at + once in medias res. “Gashwiler knows a woman that, he says, can help us + against that Spanish girl who is coming here with proofs, prettiness, + fascination, and what not! You must find her out.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the lady laughingly. + </p> + <p> + “Because I don't trust that Gashwiler. A woman with a pretty face and an + ounce of brains could sell him out; aye, and US with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, say TWO ounces of brains. Mr. Wiles, Mr. Gashwiler is no fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly, except when your sex is concerned, and it is very likely that + the woman is his superior.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so,” said Mrs. Hopkinson with a mischievous look. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you know her, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so well as I know him,” said Mrs. H. quite seriously. “I wish I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you'll find out if she's to be trusted! You are laughing,—it + is a serious matter! This woman—” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hopkinson dropped him a charming courtesy and said, + </p> + <p> + “C'est moi!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + A RACE FOR IT + </h3> + <p> + Royal Thatcher worked hard. That the boyish little painter who shared his + hospitality at the “Blue Mass” mine should afterward have little part in + his active life seemed not inconsistent with his habits. At present the + mine was his only mistress, claiming his entire time, exasperating him + with fickleness, but still requiring that supreme devotion of which his + nature was capable. It is possible that Miss Carmen saw this too, and so + set about with feminine tact, if not to supplement, at least to make her + rival less pertinacious and absorbing. Apart from this object, she + zealously labored in her profession, yet with small pecuniary result, I + fear. Local art was at a discount in California. The scenery of the + country had not yet become famous; rather it was reserved for a certain + Eastern artist, already famous, to make it so; and people cared little for + the reproduction, under their very noses, of that which they saw + continually with their own eyes, and valued not. So that little Mistress + Carmen was fain to divert her artist soul to support her plump little + material body; and made divers excursions into the regions of ceramic art, + painting on velvet, illuminating missals, decorating china, and the like. + I have in my possession some wax flowers—a startling fuchsia and a + bewildering dahlia—sold for a mere pittance by this little lady, + whose pictures lately took the prize at a foreign exhibition, shortly + after she had been half starved by a California public, and claimed by a + California press as its fostered child of genius. + </p> + <p> + Of these struggles and triumphs Thatcher had no knowledge; yet he was + perhaps more startled than he would own to himself when, one December day, + he received this despatch: “Come to Washington at once.—Carmen de + Haro.” + </p> + <p> + “Carmen de Haro!” I grieve to state that such was the preoccupation of + this man, elected by fate to be the hero of the solitary amatory episode + of his story, that for a moment he could not recall her. When the honest + little figure that had so manfully stood up against him, and had proved + her sex by afterwards running away from him, came back at last to his + memory, he was at first mystified and then self-reproachful. He had been, + he felt vaguely, untrue to himself. He had been remiss to the + self-confessed daughter of his enemy. Yet why should she telegraph to him, + and what was she doing in Washington? To all these speculations it is to + be said to his credit that he looked for no sentimental or romantic + answer. Royal Thatcher was naturally modest and self-depreciating in his + relations to the other sex, as indeed most men who are apt to be + successful with women generally are, despite a vast degree of + superannuated bosh to the contrary. To the half dozen women who are + startled by sheer audacity into submission there are scores who are piqued + by a self-respectful patience; and where a women has to do half the + wooing, she generally makes a pretty sure thing of it. + </p> + <p> + In his bewilderment Thatcher had overlooked a letter lying on his table. + It was from his Washington lawyer. The concluding paragraph caught his + eye,—“Perhaps it would be well if you came here yourself. Roscommon + is here; and they say there is a niece of Garcia's, lately appeared, who + is likely to get up a strong social sympathy for the old Mexican. I don't + know that they expect to prove anything by her; but I'm told she is + attractive and clever, and has enlisted the sympathies of the delegation.” + Thatcher laid the letter down a little indignantly. Strong men are quite + as liable as weak women are to sudden inconsistencies on any question they + may have in common. What right had this poor little bud he had cherished,—he + was quite satisfied now that he had cherished her, and really had suffered + from her absence,—what right had she to suddenly blossom in the + sunshine of power to be, perhaps, plucked and worn by one of his enemies? + He did not agree with his lawyer that she was in any way connected with + his enemies: he trusted to her masculine loyalty that far. But here was + something vaguely dangerous to the feminine mind,—position, + flattery, power. He was almost as firmly satisfied now that he had been + wronged and neglected as he had been positive a few moments before that he + had been remiss in his attention. The irritation, although momentary, was + enough to decide this strong man. He telegraphed to San Francisco; and, + having missed the steamer, secured an overland passage to Washington; + thought better of it, and partly changed his mind an hour after the ticket + was purchased; but, manlike, having once made a practical step in a wrong + direction, he kept on rather than admit an inconsistency to himself. Yet + he was not entirely satisfied that his journey was a business one. The + impulsive, weak little Mistress Carmen had prudently scored one against + the strong man. + </p> + <p> + Only a small part of the present great trans-continental railway at this + time had been built, and was but piers at either end of a desolate and + wild expanse as yet unbridged. When the overland traveller left the rail + at Reno, he left, as it were, civilization with it; and, until he reached + the Nebraska frontier, the rest of his road was only the old emigrant + trail traversed by the coaches of the Overland Company. Excepting a part + of “Devil's Canyon,” the way was unpicturesque and flat; and the passage + of the Rocky Mountains, far from suggesting the alleged poetry of that + region, was only a reminder of those sterile distances of a level New + England landscape. + </p> + <p> + The journey was a dreary monotony that was scarcely enlivened by its + discomforts, never amounting to actual accident or incident, but utterly + destructive to all nervous tissue. Insanity often supervened. “On the + third day out,” said Hank Monk, driver, speaking casually but charitably + of a “fare,”—“on the third day out, after axing no end of questions + and getting no answers, he took to chewing straws that he picked outer the + cushion, and kussin' to hisself. From that very day I knew it was all over + with him, and I handed him over to his friends at 'Shy Ann,' strapped to + the back seat, and ravin' and cussin' at Ben Holliday, the gent'manly + proprietor.” It is presumed that the unfortunate tourist's indignation was + excited at the late Mr. Benjamin Holliday, then the proprietor of the + line,—an evidence of his insanity that no one who knew that + large-hearted, fastidious, and elegantly-cultured Californian, since + allied to foreign nobility, will for a moment doubt. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Royal Thatcher was too old and experienced a mountaineer to do aught + but accept patiently and cynically his brother Californian's method of + increasing his profits. As it was generally understood that any one who + came from California by that route had some dark design, the victim + received little sympathy. Thatcher's equable temperament and indomitable + will stood him in good stead, and helped him cheerfully in this emergency. + He ate his scant meals, and otherwise took care of the functions of his + weak human nature, when and where he could, without grumbling, and at + times earned even the praise of his driver by his ability to “rough it.” + Which “roughing it,” by the way, meant the ability of the passengers to + accept the incompetency of the Company. It is true there were times when + he regretted that he had not taken the steamer; but then he reflected that + he was one of a Vigilance Committee, sworn to hang that admirable man, the + late Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt, for certain practices and cruelties + done upon the bodies of certain steerage passengers by his line, and for + divers irregularities in their transportation. I mention this fact merely + to show how so practical and stout a voyager as Thatcher might have + confounded the perplexities attending the administration of a great + steamship company with selfish greed and brutality; and that he, with + other Californians, may not have known the fact, since recorded by the + Commodore's family clergyman, that the great millionaire was always true + to the hymns of his childhood. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, Thatcher found time to be cheerful and helpful to his fellow + passengers, and even to be so far interesting to “Yuba Bill,” the driver, + as to have the box seat placed at his disposal. “But,” said Thatcher, in + some concern, “the box seat was purchased by that other gentleman in + Sacramento. He paid extra for it, and his name's on your way-bill!” + “That,” said Yuba Bill, scornfully, “don't fetch me even ef he'd chartered + the whole shebang. Look yar, do you reckon I'm goin' to spile my temper by + setting next to a man with a game eye? And such an eye! Gewhillikins! Why, + darn my skin, the other day when we war watering at Webster's, he got down + and passed in front of the off-leader,—that yer pinto colt that's + bin accustomed to injins, grizzlies, and buffalo, and I'm bless ef, when + her eye tackled his, ef she didn't jist git up and rar round that I + reckoned I'd hev to go down and take them blinders off from HER eyes and + clap on HIS.” “But he paid the money, and is entitled to his seat,” + persisted Thatcher. “Mebbe he is—in the office of the Kempeny,” + growled Yuba Bill; “but it's time some folks knowed that out in the plains + I run this yer team myself.”—A fact which was self-evident to most + of the passengers. “I suppose his authority is as absolute on this dreary + waste as a ship captain's in mid ocean,” exclaimed Thatcher to the + baleful-eyed stranger. Mr. Wiles—whom the reader has recognized—assented + with the public side of his face, but looked vengeance at Yuba Bill with + the other, while Thatcher, innocent of the presence of one of his worst + enemies, placated Bill so far as to restore Wiles to his rights. Wiles + thanked him. “Shall I have the pleasure of your company far?” Wiles asked + insinuatingly. “To Washington,” replied Thatcher frankly. “Washington is a + gay city during the session,” again suggested the stranger. “I'm going on + business,” said Thatcher bluntly. + </p> + <p> + A trifling incident occurred at Pine-Tree Crossing which did not heighten + Yuba Bill's admiration of the stranger. As Bill opened the double-locked + box in the “boot” of the coach—sacred to Wells, Fargo & Co.'s + Express and the Overland Company's treasures—Mr. Wiles perceived a + small, black morocco portemanteau among the parcels. “Ah, you carry + baggage there too?” he said sweetly. “Not often,” responded Yuba Bill + shortly. “Ah, this then contains valuables?” “It belongs to that man whose + seat you've got,” said Yuba Bill, who, for insulting purposes of his own, + preferred to establish the fiction that Wiles was an interloper; “and ef + he reckons, in a sorter mixed kempeny like this, to lock up his + portmantle, I don't know who's business it is. Who?” continued Bill, + lashing himself into a simulated rage, “who, in blank, is running this yer + team? Hey? Mebbe you think, sittin' up thar on the box seat, you are. + Mebbe you think you kin see round corners with that thar eye, and kin pull + up for teams round corners, on down grades, a mile ahead?” But here + Thatcher, who, with something of Lancelot's concern for Modred, had a + noble pity for all infirmities, interfered so sternly that Yuba Bill + stopped. + </p> + <p> + On the fourth day they struck a blinding snow-storm, while ascending the + dreary plateau that henceforward for six hundred miles was to be their + roadbed. The horses, after floundering through the drift, gave out + completely on reaching the next station, and the prospects ahead, to all + but the experienced eye, looked doubtful. A few passengers advised taking + to sledges, others a postponement of the journey until the weather + changed. Yuba Bill alone was for pressing forward as they were. “Two miles + more and we're on the high grade, whar the wind is strong enough to blow + you through the windy, and jist peart enough to pack away over them cliffs + every inch of snow that falls. I'll jist skirmish round in and out o' them + drifts on these four wheels whar ye can't drag one o' them flat-bottomed + dry-goods boxes through a drift.” Bill had a California whip's contempt + for a sledge. But he was warmly seconded by Thatcher, who had the next + best thing to experience, the instinct that taught him to read character, + and take advantage of another man's experience. “Them that wants to stop + kin do so,” said Bill authoritatively, cutting the Gordian knot; “them as + wants to take a sledge can do so,—thar's one in the barn. Them as + wants to go on with me and the relay will come on.” Mr. Wiles selected the + sledge and a driver, a few remained for the next stage, and Thatcher, with + two others, decided to accompany Yuba Bill. These changes took up some + valuable time; and the storm continuing, the stage was run under the shed, + the passengers gathering around the station fire; and not until after + midnight did Yuba Bill put in the relays. “I wish you a good journey,” + said Wiles, as he drove from the shed as Bill entered. Bill vouchsafed no + reply, but, addressing himself to the driver, said curtly, as if giving an + order for the delivery of goods, “Shove him out at Rawlings,” and passed + contemptuously around to the tail board of the sled, and returned to the + harnessing of his relay. + </p> + <p> + The moon came out and shone high as Yuba Bill once more took the reins in + his hands. The wind, which instantly attacked them as they reached the + level, seemed to make the driver's theory plausible, and for half a mile + the roadbed was swept clean, and frozen hard. Further on a tongue of snow, + extending from a boulder to the right, reached across their path to the + height of two or three feet. But Yuba Bill dashed through a part of it, + and by skillful maneuvering circumvented the rest. But even as the + obstacle was passed, the coach dropped with an ominous lurch on one side, + and the off fore wheel flew off in the darkness. Bill threw the horses + back on their haunches; but, before their momentum could be checked, the + near hind wheel slipped away, the vehicle rocked violently, plunged + backwards and forwards, and stopped. + </p> + <p> + Yuba Bill was on the road in an instant with his lantern. Then followed an + outbreak of profanity which I regret, for artistic purposes, exceeds that + generous limit which a sympathizing public has already extended to me in + the explication of character. Let me state, therefore, that in a very few + moments he succeeded in disparaging the characters of his employers, their + male and female relatives, the coach builder, the station keeper, the road + on which he travelled, and the travellers themselves, with occasional + broad expletives addressed to himself and his own relatives. For the + spirit of this and a more cultivated poetry of expression, I beg to refer + the temperate reader to the 3d chapter of Job. + </p> + <p> + The passengers knew Bill, and sat, conservative, patient, and expectant. + As yet the cause of the catastrophe was not known. At last Thatcher's + voice came from the box seat: + </p> + <p> + “What's up, Bill?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a blank lynch pin in the whole blank coach,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + There was a dead silence. Yuba Bill executed a wild war dance of helpless + rage. + </p> + <p> + “Blank the blank ENCHANTED thing to blank!” + </p> + <p> + (I beg here to refer the fastidious and cultivated reader to the only + adjective I have dared transcribe of this actual oath which I once had the + honor of hearing. He will I trust not fail to recognize the old classic + daemon in this wild western objurgation.) + </p> + <p> + “Who did it?” asked Thatcher. + </p> + <p> + Yuba Bill did not reply, but dashed up again to the box, unlocked the + “boot,” and screamed out: + </p> + <p> + “The man that stole your portmantle,—Wiles!” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher laughed: + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry about that, Bill. A 'biled' shirt, an extra collar, and a few + papers. Nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + Yuba Bill slowly descended. When he reached the ground, he plucked + Thatcher aside by his coat sleeve: + </p> + <p> + “Ye don't mean to say ye had nothing in that bag ye was trying to get away + with?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the laughing Thatcher frankly. + </p> + <p> + “And that Wiles warn't one o' them detectives?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to my knowledge, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + Yuba Bill sighed sadly, and returned to assist in the replacing of the + coach on its wheels again. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Bill,” said one of the passengers sympathizingly, “we'll + catch that man Wiles at Rawlings sure;” and he looked around at the + inchoate vigilance committee, already “rounding into form” about him. + </p> + <p> + “Ketch him!” returned Yuba Bill, derisively, “why we've got to go back to + the station; and afore we're off agin he's pinted fur Clarmont on the + relay we lose. Ketch him! H-ll's full of such ketches!” + </p> + <p> + There was clearly nothing to do but to go back to the station to await the + repairing of the coach. While this was being done Yuba Bill again drew + Thatcher aside: + </p> + <p> + “I allers suspected that chap's game eye, but I didn't somehow allow for + anything like this. I reckoned it was only the square thing to look arter + things gen'rally, and 'specially your traps. So, to purvent troubil, and + keep things about ekal, ez he was goin' away, I sorter lifted this yer bag + of hiz outer the tail board of his sleigh. I don't know as it is any + exchange or compensation, but it may give ye a chance to spot him agin, or + him you. It strikes me as bein' far-minded and squar';” and with these + words he deposited at the feet of the astounded Thatcher the black + travelling bag of Mr. Wiles. + </p> + <p> + “But, Bill,—see here! I can't take this!” interrupted Thatcher + hastily. “You can't swear that he's taken my bag,—and—and,—blank + it all,—this won't do, you know. I've no right to this man's things, + even if—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your hosses,” said Bill gravely; “I ondertook to take charge o' your + traps. I didn't—at least that d——d wall-eyed—Thar's + a portmantle! I don't know who's it is. Take it.” + </p> + <p> + Half amused, half embarrassed, yet still protesting, Thatcher took the bag + in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Ye might open it in my presence,” suggested Yuba Bill gravely. + </p> + <p> + Thatcher, half laughingly, did so. It was full of papers and + semi-legal-looking documents. Thatcher's own name on one of them caught + his eye; he opened the paper hastily and perused it. The smile faded from + his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Yuba Bill, “suppose we call it a fair exchange at present.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher was still examining the papers. Suddenly this cautious, + strong-minded man looked up into Yuba Bill's waiting face, and said + quietly, in the despicable slang of the epoch and region: + </p> + <p> + “It's a go! Suppose we do.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + HOW IT BECAME FAMOUS + </h3> + <p> + Yuba Bill was right in believing that Wiles would lose no time at + Rawlings. He left there on a fleet horse before Bill had returned with the + broken-down coach to the last station, and distanced the telegram sent to + detain him two hours. Leaving the stage road and its dangerous telegraphic + stations, he pushed southward to Denver over the army trail, in company + with a half-breed packer, crossing the Missouri before Thatcher had + reached Julesburg. When Thatcher was at Omaha, Wiles was already in St. + Louis; and as the Pullman car containing the hero of the “Blue Mass” mine + rolled into Chicago, Wiles was already walking the streets of the national + capital. Nevertheless, he had time en route to sink in the waters of the + North Platte, with many expressions of disgust, the little black + portmanteau belonging to Thatcher, containing his dressing case, a few + unimportant letters, and an extra shirt, to wonder why simple men did not + travel with their important documents and valuables, and to set on foot + some prudent and cautious inquiries regarding his own lost carpet bag and + its important contents. + </p> + <p> + But for these trifles he had every reason to be satisfied with the + progress of his plans. “It's all right,” said Mrs. Hopkinson merrily; + “while you and Gashwiler have been working with your 'stock,' and treating + the whole world as if it could be bribed, I've done more with that + earnest, self-believing, self-deceiving, and perfectly pathetic Roscommon + than all you fellows put together. Why, I've told his pitiful story, and + drawn tears from the eyes of Senators and Cabinet Ministers. More than + that, I've introduced him into society, put him in a dress coat,—such + a figure!—and you know how the best folk worship everything that is + outre as the sincere thing. I've made him a complete success. Why, only + the other night, when Senator Misnancy and Judge Fitzdawdle were here, + after making him tell his story,—which you know I think he really + believes,—I sang 'There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,' and + my husband told me afterwards it was worth at least a dozen votes.” + </p> + <p> + “But about this rival of yours,—this niece of Garcia's?” + </p> + <p> + “Another of your blunders; you men know nothing of women. Firstly, she's a + swarthy little brunette, with dots for eyes; and strides like a man, + dresses like a dowdy, don't wear stays, and has no style. Then, she's a + single woman, and alone; and, although she affects to be an artist, and + has Bohemian ways, don't you see she can't go into society without a + chaperon or somebody to go with her? Nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” persisted Wiles, “she must have some power; there's Judge Mason and + Senator Peabody, who are constantly talking about her; and Dinwiddie of + Virginia escorted her through the Capitol the other day.” + </p> + <p> + Mistress Hopkinson laughed. “Mason and Peabody aspire to be thought + literary and artistic, and Dinwiddie wanted to pique ME!” + </p> + <p> + “But Thatcher is no fool—” + </p> + <p> + “Is Thatcher a lady's man?” queried the lady suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Hardly, I should say,” responded Wiles. “He pretends to be absorbed in + his swindle and devoted to his mine; and I don't think that even you—” + he stopped with a slight sneer. + </p> + <p> + “There, you are misunderstanding me again, and, what is worse, you are + misunderstanding your case. Thatcher is pleased with her because he has + probably seen no one else. Wait till he comes to Washington and has an + opportunity for comparison;” and she cast a frank glance at her mirror, + where Wiles, with a sardonic bow, left her standing. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler was quite as confident of his own success with Congress. “We + are within a few days of the end of the session. We will manage to have it + taken up and rushed through before that fellow Thatcher knows what he is + about.” + </p> + <p> + “If it could be done before he gets here,” said Wiles, “it's a reasonably + sure thing. He is delayed two days: he might have been delayed longer.” + Here Mr. Wiles sighed. If the accident had happened on a mountain road, + and the stage had been precipitated over the abyss, what valuable time + would have been saved, and success become a surety. But Mr. Wiles's + functions as an advocate did not include murder; at least, he was doubtful + if it could be taxed as costs. + </p> + <p> + “We need have no fears, sir,” resumed Mr. Gashwiler; “The matter is now in + the hands of the highest tribunal of appeal in the country. It will meet, + sir, with inflexible justice. I have already prepared some remarks—” + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” interrupted Wiles infelicitously, “where's your young man,—your + private secretary,—Dobbs?” + </p> + <p> + The Congressman for a moment looked confused. “He is not here. And I must + correct your error in applying that term to him. I have never put my + confidence in the hands of any one.” + </p> + <p> + “But you introduced him to me as your secretary?” + </p> + <p> + “A mere honorary title, sir. A brevet rank. I might, it is true, have + thought to repose such a trust in him. But I was deceived, sir, as I fear + I am too apt to be when I permit my feelings as a man to overcome my duty + as an American legislator. Mr. Dobbs enjoyed my patronage and the + opportunity it gave me to introduce him into public life only to abuse it. + He became, I fear, deeply indebted. His extravagance was unlimited, his + ambition unbounded, but without, sir, a cash basis. I advanced money to + him from time to time upon the little property you so generously extended + to him for his services. But it was quickly dissipated. Yet, sir, such is + the ingratitude of man that his family lately appealed to me for + assistance. I felt it was necessary to be stern, and I refused. I would + not for the sake of his family say anything, but I have missed, sir, books + from my library. On the day after he left, two volumes of Patent Office + reports and a Blue Book of Congress, purchased that day by me at a store + on Pennsylvania avenue, were MISSING,—missing! I had difficulty, + sir, great difficulty in keeping it from the papers!” + </p> + <p> + As Mr. Wiles had heard the story already from Gashwiler's acquaintances, + with more or less free comment on the gifted legislator's economy, he + could not help thinking that the difficulty had been great indeed. But he + only fixed his malevolent eye on Gashwiler and said: + </p> + <p> + “So he is gone, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you've made an enemy of him? That's bad.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler tried to look dignifiedly unconcerned; but something in his + visitor's manner made him uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “I say it is bad, if you have. Listen. Before I left here, I found at a + boardinghouse where he had boarded, and still owed a bill, a trunk which + the landlord retained. Opening it, I found some letters and papers to + yours, with certain memoranda of his, which I thought ought to be in YOUR + possession. As an alleged friend of his, I redeemed the trunk by paying + the amount of his bill, and secured the more valuable papers.” + </p> + <p> + Gashwiler, whose face had grown apoplectically suffused as Wiles went on, + at last gasped: “But you got the trunk, and have the papers?” + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunately, no; and that's why it's bad.” + </p> + <p> + “But, good God! what have you done with them?” + </p> + <p> + “I've lost them somewhere on the Overland Road.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler sat for a few moments speechless, vacillating between a + purple rage and a pallid fear. Then he said hoarsely: + </p> + <p> + “They are all blank forgeries,—every one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Wiles, smiling blandly on his dexter side, and enjoying the + whole scene malevolently with his sinister eye. “YOUR papers are all + genuine, and I won't say are not all right, but unfortunately I had in the + same bag some memoranda of my own for the use of my client, that, you + understand, might be put to some bad use if found by a clever man.” + </p> + <p> + The two rascals looked at each other. There is on the whole really very + little “honor among thieves,”—at least great ones,—and the + inferior rascal succumbed at the reflection of what HE might do if he were + in the other rascal's place. “See here, Wiles,” he said, relaxing his + dignity with the perspiration that oozed from every pore, and made the + collar of his shirt a mere limp rag. “See here, WE”—this first use + of the plural was equivalent to a confession—“we must get them + papers.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Wiles coolly, “if we CAN, and if Thatcher doesn't get + wind of them.” + </p> + <p> + “He cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “He was on the coach when I lost them, coming East.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gashwiler paled again. In the emergency he had recourse to the + sideboard and a bottle, forgetting Wiles. Ten minutes before Wiles would + have remained seated; but it is recorded that he rose, took the bottle + from the gifted Gashwiler's fingers, helped himself FIRST, and then sat + down. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but, my boy,” said Gashwiler, now rapidly changing situations with + the cooler Wiles; “yes, but, old fellow,” he added, poking Wiles with a + fat forefinger, “don't you see the whole thing will be up before he gets + here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Wiles gloomily, “but those lazy, easy, honest men have a way + of popping up just at the nick of time. They never need hurry; all things + wait for them. Why, don't you remember that on the very day Mrs. Hopkinson + and I and you got the President to sign that patent, that very day one of + them d—n fellows turns up from San Francisco or Australia, having + taken his own time to get here,—gets here about half an hour after + the President had signed the patent and sent it over to the office, finds + the right man to introduce him to the President, has a talk with him, + makes him sign an order countermanding its issuance, and undoes all that + has been done in six years in one hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but Congress is a tribunal that does not revoke its decrees,” said + Gashwiler with a return of his old manner; “at least,” he added, observing + an incredulous shrug in the shoulder of his companion, “at least DURING + THE SESSION.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see,” said Wiles, quietly taking his hat. + </p> + <p> + “We shall see, sir,” said the member from Remus with dignity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT CULTURE DID FOR IT + </h3> + <p> + There was at this time in the Senate of the United States an eminent and + respected gentleman, scholarly, orderly, honorable, and radical,—the + fit representative of a scholarly, orderly, honorable, and radical + Commonwealth. For many years he had held his trust with conscious + rectitude, and a slight depreciation of other forms of merit; and for as + many years had been as regularly returned to his seat by his constituency + with equally conscious rectitude in themselves and an equal skepticism + regarding others. Removed by his nature beyond the reach of certain + temptations, and by circumstances beyond even the knowledge of others, his + social and political integrity was spotless. An orator and practical + debater, his refined tastes kept him from personality, and the public + recognition of the complete unselfishness of his motives and the magnitude + of his dogmas protected him from scurrility. His principles had never been + appealed to by a bribe; he had rarely been approached by an emotion. + </p> + <p> + A man of polished taste in art and literature, and possessing the means to + gratify it, his luxurious home was filled with treasures he had himself + collected, and further enhanced by the stamp of his appreciation. His + library had not only the elegance of adornment that his wealth could bring + and his taste approve, but a certain refined negligence of habitual use, + and the easy disorder of the artist's workshop. All this was quickly noted + by a young girl who stood on its threshold at the close of a dull January + day. + </p> + <p> + The card that had been brought to the Senator bore the name of “Carmen de + Haro”; and modestly in the right hand corner, in almost microscopic + script, the further description of herself as “Artist.” Perhaps the + picturesqueness of the name, and its historic suggestion caught the + scholar's taste, for when to his request, through his servant, that she + would be kind enough to state her business, she replied as frankly that + her business was personal to himself, he directed that she should be + admitted. Then entrenching himself behind his library table, overlooking a + bastion of books, and a glacis of pamphlets and papers, and throwing into + his forehead and eyes an expression of utter disqualification for anything + but the business before him, he calmly awaited the intruder. + </p> + <p> + She came, and for an instant stood, hesitatingly, framing herself as a + picture in the door. Mrs. Hopkinson was right,—she had “no style,” + unless an original and half-foreign quaintness could be called so. There + was a desperate attempt visible to combine an American shawl with the + habits of a mantilla, and it was always slipping from one shoulder, that + was so supple and vivacious as to betray the deficiencies of an education + in stays. There was a cluster of black curls around her low forehead, + fitting her so closely as to seem to be a part of the seal-skin cap she + wore. + </p> + <p> + Once, from the force of habit, she attempted to put her shawl over her + head and talk through the folds gathered under her chin, but an astonished + look from the Senator checked her. Nevertheless, he felt relieved, and + rising, motioned her to a chair with a heartiness he would have scarcely + shown to a Parisian toilleta. And when, with two or three quick, long + steps, she reached his side, and showed, a frank, innocent, but strong and + determined little face, feminine only in its flash of eye and beauty of + lip and chin curves, he put down the pamphlet he had taken up somewhat + ostentatiously, and gently begged to know her business. + </p> + <p> + I think I have once before spoken of her voice,—an organ more often + cultivated by my fair country-women for singing than for speaking, which, + considering that much of our practical relations with the sex are carried + on without the aid of an opera score, seems a mistaken notion of theirs,—and + of its sweetness, gentle inflexion, and musical emphasis. She had the + advantage of having been trained in a musical language, and came of a race + with whom catarrhs and sore throats were rare. So that in a few brief + phrases she sang the Senator into acquiescence as she imparted the plain + libretto of her business,—namely, a “desire to see some of his rare + engravings.” + </p> + <p> + Now the engravings in question were certain etchings of the early Great + Apprentices of the art, and were, I am happy to believe, extremely rare. + From my unprofessional view they were exceedingly bad,—showing the + mere genesis of something since perfected, but dear, of course, to the + true collector's soul. I don't believe that Carmen really admired them + either. But the minx knew that the Senator prided himself on having the + only “pot-hooks” of the great “A,” or the first artistic efforts of “B,”—I + leave the real names to be filled in by the connoisseur,—and the + Senator became interested. For the last year, two or three of these + abominations had been hanging in his study, utterly ignored by the casual + visitor. But here was appreciation! “She was,” she added, “only a poor + young artist, unable to purchase such treasures, but equally unable to + resist the opportunity afforded her, even at the risk of seeming bold, or + of obtruding upon a great man's privacy,” &c. &c. + </p> + <p> + This flattery, which, if offered in the usual legal tender of the country, + would have been looked upon as counterfeit, delivered here in a foreign + accent, with a slightly tropical warmth, was accepted by the Senator as + genuine. These children of the Sun are so impulsive! We, of course, feel a + little pity for the person who thus transcends our standard of good taste + and violates our conventional canon,—but they are always sincere. + The cold New Englander saw nothing wrong in one or two direct and + extravagant compliments, that would have insured his visitor's early + dismissal if tendered in the clipped metallic phrases of the Commonwealth + he represented. + </p> + <p> + So that in a few moments the black, curly head of the little artist and + the white, flowing locks of the Senator were close together bending over + the rack that contained the engravings. It was then that Carmen, listening + to a graphic description of the early rise of Art in the Netherlands, + forgot herself and put her shawl around her head, holding its folds in her + little brown hand. In this situation they were, at different times during + the next two hours, interrupted by five Congressmen, three Senators, a + Cabinet officer, and a Judge of the Supreme Bench,—each of whom was + quickly but courteously dismissed. Popular sentiment, however, broke out + in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm blanked, but this gets me.” (The speaker was a Territorial + delegate.) + </p> + <p> + “At his time o' life, too, lookin' over pictures with a gal young enough + to be his grandchild.” (This from a venerable official, since suspected of + various erotic irregularities.) + </p> + <p> + “She don't handsome any.” (The honorable member from Dakota.) + </p> + <p> + “This accounts for his protracted silence during the sessions.” (A serious + colleague from the Senator's own State.) + </p> + <p> + “Oh, blank it all!” (Omnes.) + </p> + <p> + Four went home to tell their wives. There are few things more touching in + the matrimonial compact than the superb frankness with which each confides + to each the various irregularities of their friends. It is upon these + sacred confidences that the firm foundations of marriage rest unshaken. + </p> + <p> + Of course the objects of this comment, at least ONE of them, were quite + oblivious. “I trust,” said Carmen, timidly, when they had for the fourth + time regarded in rapt admiration an abominable something by some Dutch + wood-chopper, “I trust I am not keeping you from your great friends:”—her + pretty eyelids were cast down in tremulous distress:—“I should never + forgive myself. Perhaps it is important business of the State?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, no! THEY will come again,—it's THEIR business.” + </p> + <p> + The Senator meant it kindly. It was as near the perilous edge of a + compliment as your average cultivated Boston man ever ventures, and Carmen + picked it up, femininely, by its sentimental end. “And I suppose I shall + not trouble you again?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall always be proud to place the portfolio at your disposal. Command + me at any time,” said the Senator, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “You are kind. You are good,” said Carmen, “and I—I'm but,—look + you,—only a poor girl from California, that you know not.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, I know your country well.” And indeed he could have told her + the exact number of bushels of wheat to the acre in her own county of + Monterey, its voting population, its political bias. Yet of the more + important product before him, after the manner of book-read men, he knew + nothing. + </p> + <p> + Carmen was astonished, but respectful. It transpired presently that she + was not aware of the rapid growth of the silk worm in her own district, + knew nothing of the Chinese question, and very little of the American + mining laws. Upon these questions the Senator enlightened her fully. “Your + name is historic, by the way,” he said pleasantly. “There was a Knight of + Alcantara, a 'De Haro,' one of the emigrants with Las Casas.” + </p> + <p> + Carmen nodded her head quickly, “Yes; my great-great-great-g-r-e-a-t + grandfather!” + </p> + <p> + The Senator stared. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. I am the niece of Victor Castro, who married my father's + sister.” + </p> + <p> + “The Victor Castro of the 'Blue Mass' mine?” asked the Senator abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + Had the Senator been of the Gashwiler type, he would have expressed + himself, after the average masculine fashion, by a long-drawn whistle. But + his only perceptible appreciation of a sudden astonishment and suspicion + in his mind was a lowering of the social thermometer of the room so + decided that poor Carmen looked up innocently, chilled, and drew her shawl + closer around her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I have something more to ask,” said Carmen, hanging her head,—“it + is a great, oh, a very great favor.” + </p> + <p> + The Senator had retreated behind his bastion of books again, and was + visibly preparing for an assault. He saw it all now. He had been, in some + vague way, deluded. He had given confidential audience to the niece of one + of the Great Claimants before Congress. The inevitable axe had come to the + grindstone. What might not this woman dare ask of him? He was the more + implacable that he felt he had already been prepossessed—and + honestly prepossessed—in her favor. He was angry with her for having + pleased him. Under the icy polish of his manner there were certain Puritan + callosities caused by early straight-lacing. He was not yet quite free + from his ancestor's cheerful ethics that Nature, as represented by an + Impulse, was as much to be restrained as Order represented by a Quaker. + </p> + <p> + Without apparently noticing his manner, Carmen went on, with a certain + potential freedom of style, gesture, and manner scarcely to be indicated + in her mere words. “You know, then, I am of Spanish blood, and that, what + was my adopted country, our motto was, 'God and Liberty.' It was of you, + sir,—the great Emancipator,—the apostle of that Liberty,—the + friend of the down-trodden and oppressed,—that I, as a child, first + knew. In the histories of this great country I have read of you, I have + learned your orations. I have longed to hear you in your own pulpit + deliver the creed of my ancestors. To hear you, of yourself, speak, ah! + Madre de Dios! what shall I say,—speak the oration eloquent,—to + make the—what you call—the debate, that is what I have for so + long hoped. Eh! Pardon,—you are thinking me foolish,—wild, eh?—a + small child,—eh?” + </p> + <p> + Becoming more and more dialectical as she went on, she said suddenly, “I + have you of myself offended. You are mad of me as a bold, bad child? It is + so?” + </p> + <p> + The Senator, as visibly becoming limp and weak again behind his + entrenchments, managed to say, “Oh, no!” then, “really!” and finally, + “Tha-a-nks!” + </p> + <p> + “I am here but for a day. I return to California in a day, as it were + to-morrow. I shall never, never hear you speak in your place in the + Capitol of this great country?” + </p> + <p> + The Senator said hastily that he feared—he in fact was convinced—that + his duty during this session was required more at his desk, in the + committee work, than in speaking, &c., &c. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Carmen sadly, “it is true, then, all this that I have heard. It + is true that what they have told me,—that you have given up the + great party,—that your voice is not longer heard in the old—what + you call this—eh—the old ISSUES?” + </p> + <p> + “If any one has told you that, Miss De Haro,” responded the Senator + sharply, “he has spoken foolishly. You have been misinformed. May I ask + who—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Carmen, “I know not! It is in the air! I am a stranger. Perhaps + I am deceived. But it is of all. I say to them, When shall I hear him + speak? I go day after day to the Capitol, I watch him,—the great + Emancipator,—but it is of business, eh?—it is the claim of + that one, it is the tax, eh? it is the impost, it is the post-office, but + it is the great speech of human rights—never, NEVER. I say, 'How + arrives all this?' And some say, and shake their heads, 'never again he + speaks.' He is what you call 'played—yes, it is so, eh?—played + out.' I know it not,—it is a word from Bos-ton, perhaps? They say he + has—eh, I speak not the English well—the party he has shaken, + 'shook,'—yes,—he has the party 'shaken,' eh? It is right,—it + is the language of Bos-ton, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to say, Miss De Haro,” returned the Senator, rising with some + asperity, “that you seem to have been unfortunate in your selection of + acquaintances, and still more so in your ideas of the derivations of the + English tongue. The—er—the—er—expressions you have + quoted are not common to Boston, but emanate, I believe, from the West.” + </p> + <p> + Carmen de Haro contritely buried everything but her black eyes in her + shawl. + </p> + <p> + “No one,” he continued, more gently, sitting down again, “has the right to + forecast from my past what I intend to do in the future, or designate the + means I may choose to serve the principles I hold or the party I + represent. Those are MY functions. At the same time, should occasion—or + opportunity—for we are within a day or two of the close of the + Session—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” interrupted Carmen, sadly, “I see,—it will be some business, + some claim, something for somebody,—ah! Madre de Dios,—you + will not speak, and I—” + </p> + <p> + “When do you think of returning?” asked the Senator, with grave + politeness; “when are we to lose you?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall stay to the last,—to the end of the Session,” said Carmen. + “And NOW I shall go.” She got up and pulled her shawl viciously over her + shoulders, with a pretty pettishness, perhaps the most feminine thing she + had done that evening. Possibly, the most genuine. + </p> + <p> + The Senator smiled affably: “You do not deserve to be disappointed in + either case; but it is later than you imagine; let me help you on the + shorter distance in my carriage; it is at the door.” + </p> + <p> + He accompanied her gravely to the carriage. As it rolled away, she buried + her little figure in its ample cushions and chuckled to herself, albeit a + little hysterically. When she had reached her destination, she found + herself crying, and hastily, and somewhat angrily, dried her eyes as she + drew up at the door of her lodgings. + </p> + <p> + “How have you prospered?” asked Mr. Harlowe, of counsel for Royal + Thatcher, as he gallantly assisted her from the carriage. “I have been + waiting here for two hours; your interview must have been prolonged,—that + was a good sign.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask me now,” said Carmen, a little savagely, “I'm worn out and + tired.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Harlowe bowed. “I trust you will be better to-morrow, for we expect + our friend, Mr. Thatcher.” + </p> + <p> + Carmen's brown cheek flushed slightly. “He should have been here before. + Where is he? What was he doing?” + </p> + <p> + “He was snowed up on the plains. He is coming as fast as steam can carry + him; but he may be too late.” + </p> + <p> + Carmen did not reply. + </p> + <p> + The lawyer lingered. “How did you find the great New-England Senator?” he + asked with a slight professional levity. + </p> + <p> + Carmen was tired, Carmen was worried, Carmen was a little + self-reproachful, and she kindled easily. Consequently she said icily: + </p> + <p> + “I found him A GENTLEMAN!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + HOW IT BECAME UNFINISHED BUSINESS + </h3> + <p> + The closing of the —— Congress was not unlike the closing of + the several preceding Congresses. There was the same unbusiness-like, + impractical haste; the same hurried, unjust, and utterly inadequate + adjustment of unfinished, ill-digested business, that would not have been + tolerated for a moment by the sovereign people in any private interest + they controlled. There were frauds rushed through; there were + long-suffering, righteous demands shelved; there were honest, unpaid debts + dishonored by scant appropriations; there were closing scenes which only + the saving sense of American humor kept from being utterly vile. The + actors, the legislators themselves, knew it, and laughed at it; the + commentators, the Press, knew it and laughed at it; the audience, the + great American people, knew it and laughed at it. And nobody for an + instant conceived that it ever, under any circumstances, might be + otherwise. + </p> + <p> + The claim of Roscommon was among the Unfinished Business. The claimant + himself, haggard, pathetic, importunate, and obstinate, was among the + Unfinished Business. Various Congressmen, more or less interested in the + success of the claim, were among the Unfinished Business. The member from + Fresno, who had changed his derringer for a speech against the claimant, + was among the Unfinished Business. The gifted Gashwiler, uneasy in his + soul over certain other Unfinished Business in the shape of his missing + letters, but dropping oil and honey as he mingled with his brothers, was + King of Misrule and Lord of the Unfinished Business. Pretty Mrs. + Hopkinson, prudently escorted by her husband, but imprudently ogled by + admiring Congressmen, lent the charm of her presence to the finishing of + Unfinished Business. One or two editors, who had dreams of a finished + financial business, arising out of Unfinished Business, were there also, + like ancient bards, to record with paean or threnody the completion of + Unfinished Business. Various unclean birds, scenting carrion in Unfinished + Business, hovered in the halls or roosted in the Lobby. + </p> + <p> + The lower house, under the tutelage of the gifted Gashwiler, drank deeply + of Roscommon and his intoxicating claim, and passed the half-empty bottle + to the Senate as Unfinished Business. But, alas! in the very rush, and + storm, and tempest of the unfinishing business, an unlooked-for + interruption arose in the person of a great Senator whose power none could + oppose, whose right to free and extended utterance at all times none could + gainsay. A claim for poultry, violently seized by the army of Sherman + during his march through Georgia, from the hen-coop of an alleged loyal + Irishman, opened a constitutional question, and with it the lips of the + great Senator. + </p> + <p> + For seven hours he spoke eloquently, earnestly, convincingly. For seven + hours the old issues of party and policy were severally taken up and + dismissed in the old forcible rhetoric that had early made him famous. + Interruptions from other Senators, now forgetful of Unfinished Business, + and wild with reanimated party zeal; interruptions from certain Senators + mindful of Unfinished Business, and unable to pass the Roscommon bottle, + only spurred him to fresh exertion. The tocsin sounded in the Senate was + heard in the lower house. Highly-excited members congregated at the doors + of the Senate, and left Unfinished Business to take care of itself. + </p> + <p> + Left to itself for seven hours, Unfinished Business gnashed its false + teeth and tore its wig in impotent fury in corridor and hall. For seven + hours the gifted Gashwiler had continued the manufacture of oil and honey, + whose sweetness, however, was slowly palling upon the congressional lip; + for seven hours Roscommon and friends beat with impatient feet the lobby, + and shook fists, more or less discolored, at the distinguished Senator. + For seven hours the one or two editors were obliged to sit and calmly + compliment the great speech which that night flashed over the wires of a + continent with the old electric thrill. And, worse than all, they were + obliged to record with it the closing of the —— Congress, with + more than the usual amount of Unfinished Business. + </p> + <p> + A little group of friends surrounded the great Senator with hymns of + praise and congratulations. Old adversaries saluted him courteously as + they passed by with the respect of strong men. A little woman with a shawl + drawn over her shoulders, and held with one small brown hand, approached + him timidly: + </p> + <p> + “I speak not the English well,” she said gently, “but I have read much. I + have read in the plays of your Shakspeare. I would like to say to you the + words of Rosalind to Orlando when he did fight: 'Sir you have wrestled + well, and have overthrown more than your enemies.'” And with these words + she was gone. + </p> + <p> + Yet not so quickly but that pretty Mrs. Hopkinson, coming,—as + Victrix always comes to Victor, to thank the great Senator, albeit the + faces of her escorts were shrouded in gloom,—saw the shawled figure + disappear. + </p> + <p> + “There,” she said, pinching Wiles mischievously, “there! that's the woman + you were afraid of. Look at her. Look at that dress. Ah, Heavens! look at + that shawl. Didn't I tell you she had no style?” + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” said Wiles sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “Carmen de Haro, of course,” said the lady vivaciously. “What are you + hurrying away so for? You're absolutely pulling me along.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wiles had just caught sight of the travel-worn face of Royal Thatcher + among the crowd that thronged the stair-case. Thatcher appeared pale and + distrait: Mr. Harlowe, his counsel, at his side, rallied him. + </p> + <p> + “No one would think you had just got a new lease of your property, and + escaped a great swindle. What's the matter with you? Miss De Haro passed + us just now. It was she who spoke to the Senator. Why did you not + recognize her?” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking,” said Thatcher gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you take things coolly! And certainly you are not very + demonstrative towards the woman who saved you to-day. For, as sure as you + live, it was she who drew that speech out of the Senator.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher did not reply, but moved away. He HAD noticed Carmen de Haro, and + was about to greet her with mingled pleasure and embarrassment. But he had + heard her compliment to the Senator, and this strong, preoccupied, + automatic man, who only ten days before had no thought beyond his + property, was now thinking more of that compliment to another than of his + success; and was beginning to hate the Senator who had saved him, the + lawyer who stood beside him, and even the little figure that had tripped + down the steps unconscious of him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + AND WHO FORGOT IT + </h3> + <p> + It was somewhat inconsistent with Royal Thatcher's embarrassment and + sensitiveness that he should, on leaving the Capitol, order a carriage and + drive directly to the lodgings of Miss De Haro. That on finding she was + not at home, he should become again sulky and suspicious, and even be + ashamed of the honest impulse that led him there, was, I suppose, manlike + and natural. He felt that he had done all the courtesy required; he had + promptly answered her dispatch with his presence. If she chose to be + absent at such a moment, HE had at least done HIS duty. In short, there + was scarcely any absurdity of the imagination which this once practical + man did not permit himself to indulge in, yet always with a certain + consciousness that he was allowing his feelings to run away with him,—a + fact that did not tend to make him better humored, and rather inclined him + to place the responsibility of the elopement on somebody else. If Miss De + Haro had been home, &c. &c., and not going into ecstasies over + speeches, &c. &c., and had attended to her business, i. e., being + exactly what he had supposed her to be,—all this would not have + happened. + </p> + <p> + I am aware that this will not heighten the reader's respect for my hero. + But I fancy that the imperceptible progress of a sincere passion in the + matured strong man is apt to be marked with even more than the usual haste + and absurdity of callous youth. + </p> + <p> + The fever that runs riot in the veins of the robust is apt to pass your + ailing weakling by. Possibly there may be some immunity in inoculation. It + is Lothario who is always self-possessed and does and says the right + thing, while poor honest Coelebs becomes ridiculous with genuine emotion. + </p> + <p> + He rejoined his lawyer in no very gracious mood. The chambers occupied by + Mr. Harlowe were in the basement of a private dwelling once occupied and + made historic by an Honorable Somebody, who, however, was remembered only + by the landlord and the last tenant. There were various shelves in the + walls divided into compartments, sarcastically known as “pigeon holes,” in + which the dove of peace had never rested, but which still perpetuated, in + their legends, the feuds and animosities of suitors now but common dust + together. There was a portrait, apparently of a cherub, which on nearer + inspection turned out to be a famous English Lord Chancellor in his + flowing wig. + </p> + <p> + There were books with dreary, unenlivening titles,—egotistic always, + as recording Smith's opinions on this, and Jones's commentaries on that. + There was a hand bill tacked on the wall, which at first offered hilarious + suggestions of a circus or a steamboat excursion, but which turned out + only to be a sheriff's sale. There were several oddly-shaped packages in + newspaper wrappings, mysterious and awful in dark corners, that might have + contained forgotten law papers or the previous week's washing of the + eminent counsel. There were one or two newspapers, which at first offered + entertaining prospects to the waiting client, but always proved to be a + law record or a Supreme Court decision. There was the bust of a late + distinguished jurist, which apparently had never been dusted since he + himself became dust, and had already grown a perceptibly dusty moustache + on his severely-judicial upper lip. It was a cheerless place in the + sunshine of day; at night, when it ought, by every suggestion of its dusty + past, to have been left to the vengeful ghosts, the greater part of whose + hopes and passions were recorded and gathered there; when in the dark the + dead hands of forgotten men were stretched from their dusty graves to + fumble once more for their old title deeds; at night, when it was lit up + by flaring gaslight, the hollow mockery of this dissipation was so + apparent that people in the streets, looking through the illuminated + windows, felt as if the privacy of a family vault had been intruded upon + by body-snatchers. + </p> + <p> + Royal Thatcher glanced around the room, took in all its dreary suggestions + in a half-weary, half-indifferent sort of way, and dropped into the + lawyer's own revolving chair as that gentleman entered from the adjacent + room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you got back soon, I see,” said Harlowe briskly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said his client, without looking up, and with this notable + distinction between himself and all other previous clients, that he seemed + absolutely less interested than the lawyer. “Yes, I'm here; and, upon my + soul, I don't exactly know why.” + </p> + <p> + “You told me of certain papers you had discovered,” said the lawyer + suggestively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” returned Thatcher with a slight yawn. “I've got here some + papers somewhere;”—he began to feel in his coat pocket languidly;—“but, + by the way, this is a rather dreary and God-forsaken sort of place! Let's + go up to Welker's, and you can look at them over a bottle of champagne.” + </p> + <p> + “After I've looked at them, I've something to show you, myself,” said + Harlowe; “and as for the champagne, we'll have that in the other room, by + and by. At present I want to have my head clear, and yours too,—if + you'll oblige me by becoming sufficiently interested in your own affairs + to talk to me about them.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher was gazing abstractedly at the fire. He started. “I dare say,” he + began, “I'm not very interesting; yet it's possible that my affairs have + taken up a little too much of my time. However,—” he stopped, took + from his pocket an envelope, and threw it on the desk,—“there are + some papers. I don't know what value they may be; that is for you to + determine. I don't know that I've any legal right to their possession,—that + is for you to say, too. They came to me in a queer way. On the overland + journey here I lost my bag, containing my few traps and some letters and + papers 'of no value,' as the advertisements say, 'to any but the owner.' + Well, the bag was lost, but the stage driver declares that it was stolen + by a fellow-passenger,—a man by the name of Giles, or Stiles, or + Piles—” + </p> + <p> + “Wiles,” said Harlowe earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued Thatcher, suppressing a yawn; “yes, I guess you're right,—Wiles. + Well, the stage driver, finally believing this, goes to work and quietly + and unostentatiously steals—I say, have you got a cigar?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll get you one.” + </p> + <p> + Harlowe disappeared in the adjoining room. Thatcher dragged Harlowe's + heavy, revolving desk chair, which never before had been removed from its + sacred position, to the fire, and began to poke the coals abstractedly. + </p> + <p> + Harlowe reappeared with cigars and matches. Thatcher lit one mechanically, + and said, between the pulls: + </p> + <p> + “Do you—ever—talk—to yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “No!—why?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I heard your voice just now in the other room. Anyhow, this is + an awful spooky place. If I stayed here alone half an hour, I'd fancy that + the Lord Chancellor up there would step down in his robes, out of his + frame, to keep me company.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! When I'm busy, I often sit here and write until after midnight. + It's so quiet!” + </p> + <p> + “D—mnably so!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to go back to the papers. Somebody stole your bag, or you lost it. + YOU stole—” + </p> + <p> + “The driver stole,” suggested Thatcher, so languidly that it could hardly + be called an interruption. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll say the driver stole, and passed over to you as his + accomplice, confederate, or receiver, certain papers belonging—” + </p> + <p> + “See here, Harlowe, I don't feel like joking in a ghostly law office after + midnight. Here are your facts. Yuba Bill, the driver, stole a bag from + this passenger, Wiles, or Smiles, and handed it to me to insure the return + of my own. I found in it some papers concerning my case. There they are. + Do with them what you like.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher turned his eyes again abstractedly to the fire. + </p> + <p> + Harlowe took out the first paper: + </p> + <p> + “A-w, this seems to be a telegram. Yes, eh? 'Come to Washington at once.—Carmen + de Haro.'” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher started, blushed like a girl, and hurriedly reached for the + paper. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense. That's a mistake. A dispatch I mislaid in the envelope.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the lawyer dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I had torn it up,” continued Thatcher, after an awkward pause. + I regret to say that here that usually truthful man elaborated a fiction. + He had consulted it a dozen times a day on the journey, and it was quite + worn in its enfoldings. Harlowe's quick eye had noticed this, but he + speedily became interested and absorbed in the other papers. Thatcher + lapsed into contemplation of the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Harlowe, finally turning to his client, “here's enough to + unseat Gashwiler, or close his mouth. As to the rest, it's good reading—but + I needn't tell you—no LEGAL evidence. But it's proof enough to stop + them from ever trying it again,—when the existence of this record is + made known. Bribery is a hard thing to fix on a man; the only witness is + naturally particeps criminis;—but it would not be easy for them to + explain away this rascal's record. One or two things I don't understand: + What's this opposite the Hon. X's name, 'Took the medicine nicely, and + feels better?' and here, just in the margin, after Y's, 'Must be labored + with?'” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose our California slang borrows largely from the medical and + spiritual profession,” returned Thatcher. “But isn't it odd that a man + should keep a conscientious record of his own villainy?” + </p> + <p> + Harlowe, a little abashed at his want of knowledge of American metaphor, + now felt himself at home. “Well, no. It's not unusual. In one of those + books yonder there is the record of a case where a man, who had committed + a series of nameless atrocities, extending over a period of years, + absolutely kept a memorandum of them in his pocket diary. It was produced + in Court. Why, my dear fellow, one half our business arises from the fact + that men and women are in the habit of keeping letters and documents that + they might—I don't say, you know, that they OUGHT, that's a question + of sentiment or ethics—but that they MIGHT destroy.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher half-mechanically took the telegram of poor Carmen and threw it + in the fire. Harlowe noticed the act and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I'll venture to say, however, that there's nothing in the bag that YOU + lost that need give you a moment's uneasiness. It's only your rascal or + fool who carries with him that which makes him his own detective.” + </p> + <p> + “I had a friend,” continued Harlowe, “a clever fellow enough, but who was + so foolish as to seriously complicate himself with a woman. He was himself + the soul of honor, and at the beginning of their correspondence he + proposed that they should each return the other's letters with their + answer. They did so for years, but it cost him ten thousand dollars and no + end of trouble after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Thatcher simply. + </p> + <p> + “Because he was such an egotistical ass as TO KEEP THE LETTER PROPOSING + IT, which she had duly returned, among his papers as a sentimental record. + Of course somebody eventually found it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” said Thatcher, rising abruptly. “If I stayed here much + longer I should begin to disbelieve my own mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I have known of such hereditary traits,” returned Harlowe with a laugh. + “But come, you must not go without the champagne.” He led the way to the + adjacent room, which proved to be only the ante-chamber of another, on the + threshold of which Thatcher stopped with genuine surprise. It was an + elegantly furnished library. + </p> + <p> + “Sybarite! Why was I never here before?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you came as a client; to-night you are my guest. All who enter + here leave their business, with their hats, in the hall. Look; there isn't + a law book on those shelves; that table never was defaced by a title deed + or parchment. You look puzzled? Well, it was a whim of mine to put my + residence and my work-shop under the same roof, yet so distinct that they + would never interfere with each other. You know the house above is let out + to lodgers. I occupy the first floor with my mother and sister, and this + is my parlor. I do my work in that severe room that fronts the street: + here is where I play. A man must have something else in life than mere + business. I find it less harmful and expensive to have my pleasure here.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher had sunk moodily in the embracing arms of an easy chair. He was + thinking deeply; he was fond of books too, and, like all men who have + fared hard and led wandering lives, he knew the value of cultivated + repose. Like all men who have been obliged to sleep under blankets and in + the open air, he appreciated the luxuries of linen sheets and a frescoed + roof. It is, by the way, only your sick city clerk or your dyspeptic + clergyman who fancy that they have found in the bad bread, fried steaks, + and frowzy flannels of mountain picknicking the true art of living. And it + is a somewhat notable fact that your true mountaineer or your gentleman + who has been obliged to honestly “rough it,” does not, as a general thing, + write books about its advantages, or implore their fellow mortals to come + and share their solitude and their discomforts. + </p> + <p> + Thoroughly appreciating the taste and comfort of Harlowe's library, yet + half-envious of its owner, and half-suspicious that his own earnest life + for the past few years might have been different, Thatcher suddenly + started from his seat and walked towards a parlor easel, whereon stood a + picture. It was Carmen de Haro's first sketch of the furnace and the mine. + </p> + <p> + “I see you are taken with that picture,” said Harlowe, pausing with the + champagne bottle in his hand. “You show your good taste. It's been much + admired. Observe how splendidly that firelight plays over the sleeping + face of that figure, yet brings out by very contrast its almost death-like + repose. Those rocks are powerfully handled; what a suggestion of mystery + in those shadows! You know the painter?” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher murmured, “Miss De Haro,” with a new and rather odd + self-consciousness in speaking her name. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And you know the story of the picture of course?” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher thought he didn't. Well, no; in fact, he did not remember. + </p> + <p> + “Why, this recumbent figure was an old Spanish lover of hers, whom she + believed to have been murdered there. It's a ghastly fancy, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Two things annoyed Thatcher: first the epithet “lover,” as applied to + Concho by another man; second, that the picture belonged to him: and what + the d—-l did she mean by— + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he broke out finally, “but how did YOU get it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I bought it of her. I've been a sort of patron of her ever since I + found out how she stood towards us. As she was quite alone here in + Washington, my mother and sister have taken her up, and have been doing + the social thing.” + </p> + <p> + “How long since?” asked Thatcher. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not long. The day she telegraphed you, she came here to know what she + could do for us, and when I said nothing could be done except to keep + Congress off, why, she went and DID IT. For SHE, and she alone, got that + speech out of the Senator. But,” he added, a little mischievously, “you + seem to know very little about her?” + </p> + <p> + “No!—I—that is—I've been very busy lately,” returned + Thatcher, staring at the picture. “Does she come here often?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, lately, quite often; she was here this evening with mother; was + here, I think, when you came.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher looked intently at Harlowe. But that gentleman's face betrayed no + confusion. Thatcher refilled his glass a little awkwardly, tossed off the + liquor at a draught, and rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Come, old fellow, you're not going now. I shan't permit it,” said + Harlowe, laying his hand kindly on his client's shoulder. “You're out of + sorts! Stay here with me to-night. Our accommodations are not large, but + are elastic. I can bestow you comfortably until morning. Wait here a + moment while I give the necessary orders.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher was not sorry to be left alone. In the last half hour he had + become convinced that his love for Carmen de Haro had been in some way + most dreadfully abused. While HE was hard at work in California, she was + being introduced in Washington society by parties with eligible brothers + who bought her paintings. It is a relief to the truly jealous mind to + indulge in plurals. Thatcher liked to think that she was already beset by + hundreds of brothers. + </p> + <p> + He still kept staring at the picture. By and by it faded away in part, and + a very vivid recollection of the misty, midnight, moonlit walk he had once + taken with her came back, and refilled the canvas with its magic. He saw + the ruined furnace; the dark, overhanging masses of rock, the trembling + intricacies of foliage, and, above all, the flash of dark eyes under a + mantilla at his shoulder. What a fool he had been! Had he not really been + as senseless and stupid as this very Concho, lying here like a log? And + she had loved that man. What a fool she must have thought him that + evening! What a snob she must think him now! + </p> + <p> + He was startled by a slight rustling in the passage, that ceased almost as + he turned. Thatcher looked towards the door of the outer office, as if + half expecting that the Lord Chancellor, like the commander in Don Juan, + might have accepted his thoughtless invitation. He listened again; + everything was still. He was conscious of feeling ill at ease and a trifle + nervous. What a long time Harlowe took to make his preparations. He would + look out in the hall. To do this it was necessary to turn up the gas. He + did so, and in his confusion turned it out! + </p> + <p> + Where were the matches? He remembered that there was a bronze something on + the table that, in the irony of modern decorative taste, might hold ashes + or matches, or anything of an unpicturesque character. He knocked + something over, evidently the ink,—something else,—this time a + champagne glass. Becoming reckless, and now groping at random in the + ruins, he overturned the bronze Mercury on the center table, and then sat + down hopelessly in his chair. And then a pair of velvet fingers slid into + his, with the matches, and this audible, musical statement: + </p> + <p> + “It is a match you are seeking? Here is of them.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher flushed, embarrassed, nervous,—feeling the ridiculousness + of saying, “Thank you” to a dark somebody,—struck the match, beheld + by its brief, uncertain glimmer Carmen de Haro beside him, burned his + fingers, coughed, dropped the match, and was cast again into outer + darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Let me try!” + </p> + <p> + Carmen struck a match, jumped briskly on the chair, lit the gas, jumped + lightly down again, and said: “You do like to sit in the dark,—eh? + So am I—sometimes—alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss De Haro,” said Thatcher, with sudden, honest earnestness, advancing + with outstretched hands, “believe me I am sincerely delighted, overjoyed, + again to meet—” + </p> + <p> + She had, however, quickly retreated as he approached, ensconcing herself + behind the high back of a large antique chair, on the cushion of which she + knelt. I regret to add also that she slapped his outstretched fingers a + little sharply with her inevitable black fan as he still advanced. + </p> + <p> + “We are not in California. It is Washington. It is after midnight. I am a + poor girl, and I have to lose—what you call—'a character.' You + shall sit over there,”—she pointed to the sofa,—“and I shall + sit here;” she rested her boyish head on the top of the chair; “and we + shall talk, for I have to speak to you, Don Royal.” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher took the seat indicated, contritely, humbly, submissively. + Carmen's little heart was touched. But she still went on over the back of + the chair. + </p> + <p> + “Don Royal,” she said, emphasizing each word at him with her fan, “before + I saw you,—ever knew of you,—I was a child. Yes, I was but a + child! I was a bold, bad child;—and I was what you call a—a—'forgaire'!” + </p> + <p> + “A what?” asked Thatcher, hesitating between a smile and a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “A forgaire!” continued Carmen demurely. “I did of myself write the names + of ozzer peoples;” when Carmen was excited she lost the control of the + English tongue; “I did write just to please myself;—it was my onkle + that did make of it money;—you understand, eh? Shall you not speak? + Must I again hit you?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Thatcher laughing. + </p> + <p> + “I did find out, when I came to you at the mine, that I had forged against + you the name of Micheltorena. I to the lawyer went, and found that it was + so—of a verity—so! so! all the time. Look at me not now, Don + Royal;—it is a 'forgaire' you stare at.” + </p> + <p> + “Carmen!” + </p> + <p> + “Hoosh! Shall I have to hit you again? I did overlook all the papers. I + found the application: it was written by me. There.” + </p> + <p> + She tossed over the back of her chair an envelope to Thatcher. He opened + it. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he said gently, “you repossessed yourself of it!” + </p> + <p> + “What is that—'r-r-r-e—possess'?” + </p> + <p> + “Why!”—Thatcher hesitated—“you got possession of this paper,—this + innocent forgery,—again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! You think me a thief as well as a 'forgaire.' Go away! Get up. Get + out.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear girl—” + </p> + <p> + “Look at the paper! Will you? Oh, you silly!” + </p> + <p> + Thatcher looked at the paper. In paper, handwriting, age, and stamp it was + identical with the formal, clerical application of Garcia for the grant. + The indorsement of Micheltorena was unquestionably genuine. BUT THE + APPLICATION WAS MADE FOR ROYAL THATCHER. And his own signature was + imitated to the life. + </p> + <p> + “I had but one letter of yours wiz your name,” said Carmen apologetically; + “and it was the best poor me could do.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you blessed little goose and angel,” said Thatcher, with the bold, + mixed metaphor of amatory genius, “don't you see—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you don't like it,—it is not good?” + </p> + <p> + “My darling!” + </p> + <p> + “Hoosh! There is also an 'old cat' up stairs. And now I have here a + character. WILL you sit down? Is it of a necessity that up and down you + should walk and awaken the whole house? There!”—she had given him a + vicious dab with her fan as he passed. He sat down. + </p> + <p> + “And you have not seen me nor written to me for a year?” + </p> + <p> + “Carmen!” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, you bold, bad boy. Don't you see it is of business that you and + I talk down here; and it is of business that ozzer people up stairs are + thinking. Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “D—n business! See here, Carmen, my darling, tell me”—I regret + to say he had by this time got hold of the back of Carmen's chair—“tell + me, my own little girl,—about—about that Senator. You remember + what you said to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the old man? Oh, THAT was business. And you say of business, 'd—n.'” + </p> + <p> + “Carmen!” + </p> + <p> + “Don Royal!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Although Miss Carmen had recourse to her fan frequently during this + interview, the air must have been chilly, for a moment later, on his way + down stairs, poor Harlowe, a sufferer from bronchitis, was attacked with a + violent fit of coughing, which troubled him all the way down. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, as he entered the room, “I see you have found Mr. + Thatcher, and shown those papers. I trust you have, for you've certainly + had time enough. I am sent by mother to dismiss you all to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Carmen still in the arm chair, covered with her mantilla, did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you are by this time lawyer enough to know,” continued Harlowe, + “that Miss De Haro's papers, though ingenious, are not legally available, + unless—” + </p> + <p> + “I chose to make her a witness. Harlowe! you're a good fellow! I don't + mind saying to you that these are papers I prefer that my WIFE should not + use. We'll leave it for the present—Unfinished Business.” + </p> + <p> + They did. But one evening our hero brought Mrs. Royal Thatcher a paper + containing a touching and beautiful tribute to the dead Senator. + </p> + <p> + “There, Carmen, love, read that. Don't you feel a little ashamed of your—your—your + lobbying—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Carmen promptly. “It was business,—and if all lobbying + business was as honest,—well?—” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of a Mine, by Bret Harte + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A MINE *** + +***** This file should be named 2661-h.htm or 2661-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/6/2661/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson; An Anonymous Volunteer; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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