eBooks Cube
 
CHAPTER II


The exodus of the seceding partners of the Lone Star claim had been
scarcely an imposing one. For the first five minutes after
quitting the cabin, the procession was straggling and vagabond.
Unwonted exertion had exaggerated the lameness of some, and
feebleness of moral purpose had predisposed the others to obtrusive
musical exhibition. Union Mills limped and whistled with affected
abstraction; the Judge whistled and limped with affected
earnestness. The Right Bower led the way with some show of
definite design; the Left Bower followed with his hands in his
pockets. The two feebler natures, drawn together in unconscious
sympathy, looked vaguely at each other for support.

"You see," said the Judge, suddenly, as if triumphantly concluding
an argument, "there ain't anything better for a young fellow than
independence. Nature, so to speak, points the way. Look at the
animals."

"There's a skunk hereabouts," said Union Mills, who was supposed to
be gifted with aristocratically sensitive nostrils, "within ten
miles of this place; like as not crossing the Ridge. It's always
my luck to happen out just at such times. I don't see the
necessity anyhow of trapesing round the claim now, if we calculate
to leave it to-night."

Both men waited to observe if the suggestion was taken up by the
Right and Left Bower moodily plodding ahead. No response
following, the Judge shamelessly abandoned his companion.

"You wouldn't stand snoopin' round instead of lettin' the Old Man
get used to the idea alone? No; I could see all along that he was
takin' it in, takin' it in, kindly but slowly, and I reckoned the
best thing for us to do was to git up and git until he'd got round
it." The Judge's voice was slightly raised for the benefit of the
two before him.

"Didn't he say," remarked the Right Bower, stopping suddenly and
facing the others, "didn't he say that that new trader was goin' to
let him have some provisions anyway?"

Union Mills turned appealingly to the Judge; that gentleman was
forced to reply, "Yes; I remember distinctly he said it. It was
one of the things I was particular about on his account," responded
the Judge, with the air of having arranged it all himself with the
new trader. "I remember I was easier in my mind about it."

"But didn't he say," queried the Left Bower, also stopping short,
"suthin' about it's being contingent on our doing some work on the
race?"

The Judge turned for support to Union Mills, who, however, under
the hollow pretense of preparing for a long conference, had
luxuriously seated himself on a stump. The Judge sat down also,
and replied, hesitatingly, "Well, yes! Us or him."

"Us or him," repeated the Right Bower, with gloomy irony. "And you
ain't quite clear in your mind, are you, if YOU haven't done the
work already? You're just killing yourself with this spontaneous,
promiscuous, and premature overwork; that's what's the matter with
you."

"I reckon I heard somebody say suthin' about it's being a
Chinaman's three-day job," interpolated the Left Bower, with equal
irony, "but I ain't quite clear in my mind about that."

"It'll be a sorter distraction for the Old Man," said Union Mills,
feebly--"kinder take his mind off his loneliness."

Nobody taking the least notice of the remark, union Mills stretched
out his legs more comfortably and took out his pipe. He had
scarcely done so when the Right Bower, wheeling suddenly, set off
in the direction of the creek. The Left Bower, after a slight
pause, followed without a word. The Judge, wisely conceiving it
better to join the stronger party, ran feebly after him, and left
Union Mills to bring up a weak and vacillating rear.

Their course, diverging from Lone Star Mountain, led them now
directly to the bend of the creek, the base of their old
ineffectual operations. Here was the beginning of the famous tail-
race that skirted the new trader's claim, and then lost its way in
a swampy hollow. It was choked with debris; a thin, yellow stream
that once ran through it seemed to have stopped work when they did,
and gone into greenish liquidation.

They had scarcely spoken during this brief journey, and had
received no other explanation from the Right Bower, who led them,
than that afforded by his mute example when he reached the race.
Leaping into it without a word, he at once began to clear away the
broken timbers and driftwood. Fired by the spectacle of what
appeared to be a new and utterly frivolous game, the men gayly
leaped after him, and were soon engaged in a fascinating struggle
with the impeded race. The Judge forgot his lameness in springing
over a broken sluice-box; Union Mills forgot his whistle in a happy
imitation of a Chinese coolie's song. Nevertheless, after ten
minutes of this mild dissipation, the pastime flagged; Union Mills
was beginning to rub his leg when a distant rumble shook the earth.
The men looked at each other; the diversion was complete; a languid
discussion of the probabilities of its being an earthquake or a
blast followed, in the midst of which the Right Bower, who was
working a little in advance of the others, uttered a warning cry
and leaped from the race. His companions had barely time to follow
before a sudden and inexplicable rise in the waters of the creek
sent a swift irruption of the flood through the race. In an
instant its choked and impeded channel was cleared, the race was
free, and the scattered debris of logs and timber floated upon its
easy current. Quick to take advantage of this labor-saving
phenomenon, the Lone Star partners sprang into the water, and by
disentangling and directing the eddying fragments completed their
work.

"The Old Man oughter been here to see this," said the Left Bower;
"it's just one o' them climaxes of poetic justice he's always
huntin' up. It's easy to see what's happened. One o' them high-
toned shrimps over in the Excelsior claim has put a blast in too
near the creek. He's tumbled the bank into the creek and sent the
back water down here just to wash out our race. That's what I call
poetical retribution."

"And who was it advised us to dam the creek below the race and make
it do the thing?" asked the Right Bower, moodily.

"That was one of the Old Man's ideas, I reckon," said the Left
Bower, dubiously.

"And you remember," broke in the Judge with animation, "I allus
said, 'Go slow, go slow. You just hold on and suthin' will
happen.' And," he added, triumphantly, "you see suthin' has
happened. I don't want to take credit to myself, but I reckoned on
them Excelsior boys bein' fools, and took the chances."

"And what if I happen to know that the Excelsior boys ain't
blastin' to-day?" said the Right Bower, sarcastically.

As the Judge had evidently based his hypothesis on the alleged fact
of a blast, he deftly evaded the point. "I ain't saying the Old
Man's head ain't level on some things; he wants a little more sabe
of the world. He's improved a good deal in euchre lately, and in
poker--well! he's got that sorter dreamy, listenin'-to-the-angels
kind o' way that you can't exactly tell whether he's bluffin' or
has got a full hand. Hasn't he?" he asked, appealing to Union
Mills.

But that gentleman, who had been watching the dark face of the
Right Bower, preferred to take what he believed to be his cue from
him. "That ain't the question," he said virtuously; "we ain't
takin' this step to make a card sharp out of him. We're not doin'
Chinamen's work in this race to-day for that. No, sir! We're
teachin' him to paddle his own canoe." Not finding the sympathetic
response he looked for in the Right Bower's face, he turned to the
Left.

"I reckon we were teachin' him our canoe was too full," was the
Left Bower's unexpected reply. "That's about the size of it."

The Right Bower shot a rapid glance under his brows at his brother.
The latter, with his hands in his pockets, stared unconsciously at
the rushing waters, and then quietly turned away. The Right Bower
followed him. "Are you goin' back on us?" he asked.

"Are you?" responded the other.

"No!"

"NO, then it is," returned the Left Bower quietly. The elder
brother hesitated in half-angry embarrassment.

"Then what did you mean by saying we reckoned our canoe was too
full?"

"Wasn't that our idea?" returned the Left Bower, indifferently.
Confounded by this practical expression of his own unformulated
good intentions, the Right Bower was staggered.

"Speakin' of the Old Man," broke in the Judge, with characteristic
infelicity, "I reckon he'll sort o' miss us, times like these. We
were allers runnin' him and bedevilin' him, after work, just to get
him excited and amusin', and he'll kinder miss that sort o'
stimulatin'. I reckon we'll miss it too, somewhat. Don't you
remember, boys, the night we put up that little sell on him and
made him believe we'd struck it rich in the bank of the creek, and
got him so conceited, he wanted to go off and settle all our debts
at once?"

"And how I came bustin' into the cabin with a pan full of iron
pyrites and black sand," chuckled Union Mills, continuing the
reminiscences, "and how them big gray eyes of his nearly bulged out
of his head. Well, it's some satisfaction to know we did our duty
by the young fellow even in those little things." He turned for
confirmation of their general disinterestedness to the Right Bower,
but he was already striding away, uneasily conscious of the lazy
following of the Left Bower, like a laggard conscience at his back.
This movement again threw Union Mills and the Judge into feeble
complicity in the rear, as the procession slowly straggled homeward
from the creek.

Night had fallen. Their way lay through the shadow of Lone Star
Mountain, deepened here and there by the slight, bosky ridges that,
starting from its base, crept across the plain like vast roots of
its swelling trunk. The shadows were growing blacker as the moon
began to assert itself over the rest of the valley, when the Right
Bower halted suddenly on one of these ridges. The Left Bower
lounged up to him, and stopped also, while the two others came up
and completed the group.

"There's no light in the shanty," said the Right Bower in a low
voice, half to himself and, half in answer to their inquiring
attitude. The men followed the direction of his finger. In the
distance the black outline of the Lone Star cabin stood out
distinctly in the illumined space. There was the blank, sightless,
external glitter of moonlight on its two windows that seemed to
reflect its dim vacancy, empty alike of light, and warmth, and
motion.

"That's sing'lar," said the Judge in an awed whisper.

The Left Bower, by simply altering the position of his hands in his
trousers' pockets, managed to suggest that he knew perfectly the
meaning of it, had always known it; but that being now, so to
speak, in the hands of Fate, he was callous to it. This much, at
least, the elder brother read in his attitude. But anxiety at that
moment was the controlling impulse of the Right Bower, as a certain
superstitious remorse was the instinct of the two others, and
without heeding the cynic, the three started at a rapid pace for
the cabin.

They reached it silently, as the moon, now riding high in the
heavens, seemed to touch it with the tender grace and hushed repose
of a tomb. It was with something of this feeling that the Right
Bower softly pushed open the door; it was with something of this
dread that the two others lingered on the threshold, until the
Right Bower, after vainly trying to stir the dead embers on the
hearth into life with his foot, struck a match and lit their
solitary candle. Its flickering light revealed the familiar
interior unchanged in aught but one thing. The bunk that the Old
Man had occupied was stripped of its blankets; the few cheap
ornaments and photographs were gone; the rude poverty of the bare
boards and scant pallet looked up at them unrelieved by the bright
face and gracious youth that had once made them tolerable. In the
grim irony of that exposure, their own penury was doubly conscious.
The little knapsack, the teacup and coffee-pot that had hung near
his bed, were gone also. The most indignant protest, the most
pathetic of the letters he had composed and rejected, whose torn
fragments still littered the floor, could never have spoken with
the eloquence of this empty space! The men exchanged no words: the
solitude of the cabin, instead of drawing them together, seemed to
isolate each one in selfish distrust of the others. Even the
unthinking garrulity of Union Mills and the Judge was checked. A
moment later, when the Left Bower entered the cabin, his presence
was scarcely noticed.

The silence was broken by a joyous exclamation from the Judge. He
had discovered the Old Man's rifle in the corner, where it had been
at first overlooked. "He ain't gone yet, gentlemen--for yer's his
rifle," he broke in, with a feverish return of volubility, and a
high excited falsetto. "He wouldn't have left this behind. No! I
knowed it from the first. He's just outside a bit, foraging for
wood and water. No, sir! Coming along here I said to Union Mills--
didn't I?--'Bet your life the Old Man's not far off, even if he
ain't in the cabin.' Why, the moment I stepped foot--"

"And I said coming along," interrupted Union Mills, with equally
reviving mendacity, 'Like as not he's hangin' round yer and lyin'
low just to give us a surprise.' He! ho!"

"He's gone for good, and he left that rifle here on purpose," said
the Left Bower in a low voice, taking the weapon almost tenderly in
his hands.

"Drop it, then!" said the Right Bower. The voice was that of his
brother, but suddenly changed with passion. The two other partners
instinctively drew back in alarm.

"I'll not leave it here for the first comer," said the Left Bower,
calmly, "because we've been fools and he too. It's too good a
weapon for that."

"Drop it, I say!" said the Right Bower, with a savage stride
towards him.

The younger brother brought the rifle to a half charge with a white
face but a steady eye.

"Stop where you are!" he said collectedly. "Don't row with ME,
because you haven't either the grit to stick to your ideas or the
heart to confess them wrong. We've followed your lead, and--here
we are! The camp's broken up--the Old Man's gone--and we're going.
And as for the d----d rifle--"

"Drop it, do you hear!" shouted the Right Bower, clinging to that
one idea with the blind pertinacity of rage and a losing cause.
"Drop it!"

The Left Bower drew back, but his brother had seized the barrel
with both hands. There was a momentary struggle, a flash through
the half-lighted cabin, and a shattering report. The two men fell
back from each other; the rifle dropped on the floor between them.

The whole thing was over so quickly that the other two partners had
not had time to obey their common impulse to separate them, and
consequently even now could scarcely understand what had passed.
It was over so quickly that the two actors themselves walked back
to their places, scarcely realizing their own act.

A dead silence followed. The Judge and Union Mills looked at each
other in dazed astonishment, and then nervously set about their
former habits, apparently in that fatuous belief common to such
natures, that they were ignoring a painful situation. The Judge
drew the barrel towards him, picked up the cards, and began
mechanically to "make a patience," on which Union Mills gazed with
ostentatious interest, but with eyes furtively conscious of the
rigid figure of the Right Bower by the chimney and the abstracted
face of the Left Bower at the door. Ten minutes had passed in this
occupation, the Judge and Union Mills conversing in the furtive
whispers of children unavoidably but fascinatedly present at a
family quarrel, when a light step was heard upon the crackling
brushwood outside, and the bright panting face of the Old Man
appeared upon the threshold. There was a shout of joy; in another
moment he was half-buried in the bosom of the Right Bower's shirt,
half-dragged into the lap of the Judge, upsetting the barrel, and
completely encompassed by the Left Bower and Union Mills. With the
enthusiastic utterance of his name the spell was broken.

Happily unconscious of the previous excitement that had provoked
this spontaneous unanimity of greeting, the Old Man, equally
relieved, at once broke into a feverish announcement of his
discovery. He painted the details, with, I fear, a slight
exaggeration of coloring, due partly to his own excitement, and
partly to justify their own. But he was strangely conscious that
these bankrupt men appeared less elated with their personal interest
in their stroke of fortune than with his own success. "I told you
he'd do it," said the Judge, with a reckless unscrupulousness of
statement that carried everybody with it; "look at him! the game
little pup." "Oh no! he ain't the right breed, is he?" echoed Union
Mills with arch irony, while the Right and Left Bower, grasping
either hand, pressed a proud but silent greeting that was half new
to him, but wholly delicious. It was not without difficulty that he
could at last prevail upon them to return with him to the scene of
his discovery, or even then restrain them from attempting to carry
him thither on their shoulders on the plea of his previous prolonged
exertions. Once only there was a momentary embarrassment. "Then
you fired that shot to bring me back?" said the Old Man, gratefully.
In the awkward silence that followed, the hands of the two brothers
sought and grasped each other, penitently. "Yes," interposed the
Judge, with delicate tact, "ye see the Right and Left Bower almost
quarreled to see which should be the first to fire for ye. I
disremember which did"--"I never touched the trigger," said the Left
Bower, hastily. With a hurried backward kick, the Judge resumed,
"It went off sorter spontaneous."

The difference in the sentiment of the procession that once more
issued from the Lone Star cabin did not fail to show itself in each
individual partner according to his temperament. The subtle tact
of Union Mills, however, in expressing an awakened respect for
their fortunate partner by addressing him, as if unconsciously, as
"Mr. Ford" was at first discomposing, but even this was forgotten
in their breathless excitement as they neared the base of the
mountain. When they had crossed the creek the Right Bower stopped
reflectively.

"You say you heard the slide come down before you left the cabin?"
he said, turning to the Old Man.

"Yes; but I did not know then what it was. It was about an hour
and a half after you left," was the reply.

"Then look here, boys," continued the Right Bower with superstitious
exultation; "it was the SLIDE that tumbled into the creek, overflowed
it, and helped US clear out the race!"

It seemed so clear that Providence had taken the partners of the
Lone Star directly in hand that they faced the toilsome ascent of
the mountain with the assurance of conquerors. They paused only on
the summit to allow the Old Man to lead the way to the slope that
held their treasure. He advanced cautiously to the edge of the
crumbling cliff, stopped, looked bewildered, advanced again, and
then remained white and immovable. In an instant the Right Bower
was at his side.

"Is anything the matter? Don't--don't look so, Old Man, for God's
sake!"

The Old Man pointed to the dull, smooth, black side of the
mountain, without a crag, break, or protuberance, and said with
ashen lips:--

"It's gone!"

    .     .     .     .     .     .

And it was gone! A SECOND slide had taken place, stripping the
flank of the mountain, and burying the treasure and the weak
implement that had marked its side deep under a chaos of rock and
debris at its base.

"Thank God!" The blank faces of his companions turned quickly to
the Right Bower. "Thank God!" he repeated, with his arm round the
neck of the Old Man. "Had he stayed behind he would have been
buried too." He paused, and, pointing solemnly to the depths
below, said, "And thank God for showing us where we may yet labor
for it in hope and patience like honest men."

The men silently bowed their heads and slowly descended the
mountain. But when they had reached the plain one of them called
out to the others to watch a star that seemed to be rising and
moving towards them over the hushed and sleeping valley.

"It's only the stage coach, boys," said the Left Bower, smiling;
"the coach that was to take us away."

In the security of their new-found fraternity they resolved to wait
and see it pass. As it swept by with flash of light, beat of
hoofs, and jingle of harness, the only real presence in the dreamy
landscape, the driver shouted a hoarse greeting to the phantom
partners, audible only to the Judge, who was nearest the vehicle.

"Did you hear--DID you hear what he said, boys?" he gasped, turning
to his companions. "No! Shake hands all round, boys! God bless
you all, boys! To think we didn't know it all this while!"

"Know what?"

"Merry Christmas!"



The End





On the Frontier by Bret Harte
Category:
General Fiction
Nabou.com: the big site