66CHAPTER VITEACHER AND PUPIL
The group looked at Wade Ruggles in breathless amazement. He had invited them to the bar to join in celebrating his release from thralldom; all had filled their glasses and he had raised his own to his lips, though several noticed that there was only a small amount of liquid in the tumbler. Then, when every glass was upraised and there was a general gurgling, he had turned his glass upside down and spilled every drop on the floor.
Before anyone could think of suitable terms in which to express his emotions, Wade said, with a smile that rather added than detracted from his seriousness:
“Pards, never again does a drop of that stuff go down my throat! I’ve suffered hell, but I’ve come out of the flames, and the one that fetched me through is the little gal which lays asleep in the next room.”
He did not attempt to deliver a temperance lecture to his friends, nor did they trifle with him. They questioned him closely as to how he had reached this extraordinary decision, and he gave a vivid and truthful account of his experience. It made several of the67men thoughtful, but most of them felt dubious about his persistence in the new path he had laid out for himself.
“You know, boys, whether I’ve got a will of my own,” he quietly replied; “just wait and see how this thing comes out.”
It was noticed that Parson Brush was the most interested inquirer, and, though he had comparatively little to say, he left the Bower unusually early. He had begun his system of instruction with Nellie Dawson, and reported that she was making remarkably good progress. Had the contrary been the fact, it may be doubted whether it would have been safe for him to proclaim it.
And now the scene changes. It is the close of a radiant summer day in the Sierras. Far down in the cañon-like chasm between the mountainous spurs, nestled the little mining settlement, which had been christened but a short time before, New Constantinople. Here and there tiny wounds had been gouged into the ribs of the mountain walls, and the miners were pecking away with pick and shovel, deepening the hurts in their quest for the yellow atoms or dark ore which had been the means of bringing every man thousands of miles to the spot.
Far up toward the clouds were the towering, craggy peaks, with many a rent and yawn and table-land and lesser elevation, until, as if to check the climbing ambition68of the prodigious monster, nature had flung an immense blanket of snow, whose ragged and torn edges lapped far down the sides of the crests. Ages ago the chilling blanket was tucked around the mountain tops, there to remain through the long stretch of centuries to follow.
Down the valley, at the bottom of the winding cañon, the air palpitated with the fervor of the torrid zone. He who attempted to plod forward panted and perspired, but a little way up the mountain side, the cool breath crept downward from the regions of perpetual ice and snow, through the balsamic pines and cedars, with a revivifying power that was grateful to all who felt its life-giving embrace.
The sun hovered in a sky of unclouded azure. It shot its arrows into the gullies, ravines and gorges, but made no impression on the frozen covering far up in cloudland itself. Long pointed ravelings on the lower edge of the mantle showed where some of the snow had turned to water, which changed again to ice, when the sun dipped below the horizon.
The miners were pigmies as they toiled in the sides of the towering mountain walls, where they had toiled for many a day. On the lip of a projecting crag, half a mile above were three other pigmies, who neither toiled nor spun. Viewed through a glass, it was seen that they wore stained feathers in their black hair69dangling about their shoulders, with the blankets wrapped round their forms descending to their moccasined feet. They were watching in grim silence these proofs of the invasion of their homes by the children of another race, and mayhap were conjuring some scheme for driving them back into the great sea across which they had sailed to occupy the new land.
One of the Indians was a chieftain. He had come in violent contact with these hated creatures and he bore on his person the scars of such meeting. All carried bows and arrows, though others of their tribe had learned the use of the deadly firearms, which has played such havoc with the American race.
Suddenly the chief uttered an exclamation. Then drawing an arrow from the quiver over his shoulder, he fitted it to the string of his long bow, and pointing downward toward the group of miners, launched the shaft. Except for the power of gravity, it would have been a foolhardy effort, but guided by the wisp of feather twisted around the reed, the missile spun far outward over the cañon, and dived through the vast reach of space, as if it were endowed with life and determined to seek out and pierce the intruders. The black eyes of the three warriors followed the arrow until it was only a flickering speck, far below them; but, before that moment arrived, they saw that it was speeding wide of the mark. When at last,70the sharp point struck the flinty rock, and the missile doubled over upon itself and dropped harmlessly to the bottom of the cañon, it was at such a distance from the miners, that they knew nothing of it. They never looked up, nor were they aware of the futile anger of the red men, who seeing how useless was everything of that nature, turned about and soon passed from view.
The incident was typical of the futility of the red man struggling against his inevitable doom at the hands of his white brother.
Half way between the bottom of the cañon and the lower fringe of the vast mantle of snow, a waterfall tumbled over the edge of a rock, and with many a twist and eddy found its way to the small stream, which rippled along the bottom of the gorge, until its winding course carried it beyond sight. Now and then a rift of wind blew aside some of the foam, like a wisp of snow, and brought the murmur more clearly to the ear of the listener, shutting out for the time, the faint hollow roar that was wafted from the region of pines and cedars. It was a picture of lonely grandeur and desolation, made all the more impressive by the tiny bits of life, showing in the few spots along the mountain wall.
71THE TEACHER HAD MARKED ON THE DARK FACE OF THE ROCK WITH A SPECIES OF CHALK ALL THE LETTERS OF THE ALPHABET.––PAGE 71.
THE TEACHER HAD MARKED ON THE DARK FACE OF THE ROCK WITH A SPECIES OF CHALK ALL THE LETTERS OF THE ALPHABET.––PAGE 71.
At the rear of the row of cabins, and elevated perhaps fifty feet above, was the comparatively smooth face of a rock, several square rods in extent. At the base was abundant footing for two persons, Parson Brush and Nellie Dawson. The teacher had marked on the dark face of the rock with a species of chalk, all the letters large and small of the alphabet. They were well drawn, for the parson, like others in the settlement, was a man of education, though his many years of roughing it had greatly rusted his book knowledge.
Standing to one side of his artistic work, like a teacher of the olden time, the parson, with a long, trimmed branch in his hand, pointed at the different letters in turn and patiently waited for his little pupil to pronounce their names.
It never would have done to make the child keep her feet like an ordinary mortal. With great labor, three of the miners had carried a stone of considerable size to the spot, which served her as a seat, while receiving instruction. It is true that she never sat still for more than three minutes at a time, but that was enough to establish the indispensable necessity of a chair.
“You are doing very well, my dear,” said the parson, encouragingly; “you have received only a few lessons, but have mastered the alphabet. I notice that the ‘d’s’ and ‘b’s’ and ‘h’s’ and ‘q’s’ puzzle you a little now and then, but you have got them straight, and it is now time that we took a lesson in spelling.”
“Oh, I can’t do that, Mr. Brush,” protested the72queen, rising from the chair, adjusting her skirts and sitting down again; “I never can spell.”
“What is it to spell?”
“I don’t know; what is it?”
“I can best answer your question by showing you. Have you ever seen a cat?”
“Do you mean a pussy?”
“Yes; some folks call it that.”
“Oh, yes; when we came from where we used to live,––I guess it must have been three or four hundred years ago, we brought my pussy along. Her name was Nellie, the same as mine.”
“What became of her?”
“She died,” was the sorrowful reply; “I guess she was homesick.”
“That was too bad. Now will you tell me what letter that is?”
“Why, Mr. Brush, don’t you know?”
“Yes, but I wish to find out whether you know.”
“It is C; anybody knows that.”
“And this one?”
“A.”
“That is right; now this one?”
“T; I hope you will remember, Mr. Brush, because I don’t like to tell you so often.”
The teacher continued to drill her, skipping about and pointing at the letters so rapidly in turn that he73was kept bowing and straightening up like a jumping-jack. Then, allowing her to rest, he pronounced the letters in their regular order, giving them the sounds proper to the word itself. Nellie, who was watching closely and listening, suddenly exclaimed with glowing face:
“Why, that’s ‘cat’!”
“Of course; now can you say the letters without looking at them?”
After one or two trials she did it successfully.
“There! you have learned to spell ‘cat.’ You see how easy it is.”
“Does that spell ‘pussy’ too?”
“No,––only ‘cat.’ After a time you will be able to spell big words.”
“Let me try something else, Mr. Brush.”
The next word tackled was ‘dog,’ which was soon mastered. When this was accomplished, the teacher paused for a moment. He was trying to think of another word of three letters, but oddly enough could not readily do so.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, “here is another. Now give me the name of that letter,”
“D.”
“And that?”
“A.”
“And that?”
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“M.”
“Now say them quickly, ‘d-a-m;’ what is the word?”
“Why, it’s ‘dam’; O, Mr. Brush, I heard you say that is a bad word.”
The teacher was thunderstruck and stammered:
“I didn’t think of that, but there are two kinds of ‘dam’ and this one is not a bad word. It means a bank of earth or stones or wood, that is put up to stop the flow of water.”
75CHAPTER VIIPUPIL AND TEACHER
Mr. Brush glanced nervously around, to learn whether any of his friends were within hearing, shuddering to think what the consequences might be. He believed that he could explain the matter to some of the folks, but the majority were so radical in their views that they would refuse to admit the distinction, and would take him to task for teaching improper language to his young pupil. It caused him another shudder at the thought that the same penalty that Wade Ruggles had undergone might be visited upon him, though it is doubtful if the issue would have been similar.
“Ahem, Miss Nellie, when we go back home, will you promise me to say nothing about this part of your lesson?”
“You mean ’bout that bad word?”
“Yes,––let’s forget all about it.”
“I’ll try, but mebbe I’ll forget to forget it.”
“Likely enough,” gloomily reflected the parson; “suppose we try some other words. Ah, we have a visitor.”
At that moment Budge Isham climbed into view and76sauntered smilingly toward them. Brush added a whispered warning to the little one not to forget her promise, though, since Isham was an educated man, there ought not to have been anything to fear in his case, but the teacher knew his waggish nature, and had good reason to fear the mischief he would delight in creating.
“Good day,” was his cheery greeting, as he came up; “I hope I am not intruding, but I thought I should like to see how you are getting on, Nellie.”
“Oh, Mr. Brush says I am learning real fast; I can spell ‘cat,’ and ‘dog,’ and ‘dam.’”
Budge raised his hands in horror.
“What in the name of heaven, parson, does she mean?”
“Mr. Isham,” said the gentleman, severely, “are you aware that you are using improper language in the presence of this young lady?”
“Explain yourself.”
“It is wrong for you to appeal to heaven on so trifling a question; it is such a near approach to profanity that the dividing line is imperceptible. I am sorry you forgot yourself, but I will overlook it this time.”
Budge was really frightened, for though the distinction was quite fine, he felt there was some justice in the position of the parson, but he bluffed it out.
“I doubt whether a jury would find me guilty, and in77the meantime explain the remark just made by Nellie, if you please.”
Thus cornered, the parson made a clean breast of it. Isham assumed a grave expression.
“The only criticism I can make is upon your taste in selecting a word, susceptible of a questionable meaning. You know as well as I that if this should be submitted to a jury at the Heavenly Bower this evening, the majority would sit down on you, and it would be hard work for you to escape the penalty.”
“I’m afraid it would,” responded the parson; “it was a piece of forgetfulness on my part–––”
“Which is the plea that Bidwell and Ruggles made, but it didn’t answer. However, I’ll say nothing about it, knowing you will be more careful in the future, while I shall not forget to put a bridle on my own tongue. The trouble, however,” he added with a smile, “is to makeheroverlook it.”
“She has promised she will do so.”
“Since that promise was made just before I got here, she has shown how readily she can forget it.”
“I will give her a longer lesson than usual and thus drive all remembrance out of her mind,” said the parson resolutely.
Budge Isham folded his arms, prepared to look on and listen, but the queen of the proceedings checked it all by an unexpected veto.
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“Mr. Brush, I feel so tired.”
Her face wore a bored expression and she looked wistfully away from the blackboard toward the cabins below them.
“Does your head hurt you?” inquired the teacher with much solicitude, while the single auditor was ready to join in the protest.
“No, but mebbe it will hurt me one of these days.”
“It isn’t wise, parson, to force the child; a great deal of injury is done to children by cramming their heads with useless knowledge.”
The teacher could not feel sure that this counsel was disinterested, for there could be no danger of his taxing the mental powers of the little one too severely, but her protest could not pass unheeded.
“You have done very well, my child; you are learning fast, so we’ll leave the spelling for to-morrow. Suppose we now try the commandments: can you repeat the first one?”
Nellie gave it correctly, as she did with slight assistance, the remaining ones. She was certainly gifted with a remarkable memory and possessed an unusually bright mind. Budge Isham was impressed by her repetition of the decalogue, whose meaning she was unable fully to grasp. His frivolous disposition vanished, as he looked upon the innocent child and watched the lips from which the sacred words flowed. He quietly decided79that it would be inexcusably mean to seek any amusement at the expense of the parson, and it may as well be added that he never afterward referred to the incident, while it seemed to have passed wholly from the mind of Nellie herself. At the conclusion of the lesson, Budge complimented teacher and pupil and said he would be glad to certify that Mr. Brush was the best teacher in New Constantinople, and that it was impossible for any one to take his place. Then he bade them good day and walked thoughtfully away, leaving them once more to themselves.
These were the most precious moments of all to the teacher, when the formal lesson was completed, and he sat down for a little talk with his pupil. He occupied the stone which served her for a seat, while one arm loosely clasped the figure which stood between his knees. She patted his cheek, played with his rough collar and shaggy whiskers, while as he listened and replied to her prattle, felt as never before the truth of the declaration that of such is the kingdom of heaven.
“Mr. Brush,” she finally said, “do you know why I love you?”
“I suppose it must be because I am so handsome,” he replied with a smile.
“No; it isn’t that, for youain’thandsome.”
“Whew! but you are not afraid to speak the truth, little one, and I hope you will always do that. No; I80don’t know why you love me, unless you are so good yourself that you can’t help it.”
This was not exactly clear to the little one, and she stood silent for a minute, gently fingering his long beard. Then she thought it best to clear up the mystery without further parley.
“I love you ’cause you’re good.”
Even though the avowal was delightful, it caused a pang, like a knife-thrust from his accusing conscience.
“I am thankful to hear you say that, but, Nellie, I am not good.”
“Yes, you is, but if you ain’t good, why ain’t you good?”
The logic of the reply of the adult was of the same grade as that of the child.
“I suppose the true reason is because I am bad. I am sorry to say it, but I have drifted far away from where I ought to be.”
The dimpled hand continued to fondle the whiskers, and the little brain was busy, but a wisdom that was more than human guided it. Turning those lustrous blue eyes upon him she softly asked:
“Will you do what I ask you?”
He almost gasped, for he instinctively suspected what was coming, but he answered without hesitation:
“If it is my power I will do it, though it kills me.”
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“Oh, I don’t want it to kill you; this won’t hurt you; will you do it, Mr. Brush?”
“Yes, God helping me.”
“Do like Mr. Ruggles.”
“How’s that?” asked the parson with a sinking heart.
“Don’t drink any more of that red water, which makes men talk loud and sometimes say bad words.”
“Heavens!” thought the parson; “she little dreams what she is asking me, but it is not she but some One who is thus calling me back to duty. Yes, my child, I will do what you ask.”
“You is as good and nice as you can be now, but then you will be a good deal gooder and nicer,” said she, warmly kissing him.
“I hope so,” he added, rising to his feet, with the feeling that he was not himself but some one else, and that that some one else was the young man away among the distant hills of Missouri, before he wandered to the West, and in doing so, wandered from the path along which he had attempted to guide and lead others.
“I call myself her teacher,” he mused, as he reached down and took the tiny hand in his own, “but she is the teacher and I am the pupil.”
They had started in the direction of the cabins, when they heard curious shouts and outcries in that direction.82“There’s something strange going on down there,” he said, peering toward the point; “I wonder what it can be; let us hurry and find out.”
Firmly clasping her hand, the two hastened down the incline, wondering what it was that caused all the noise and confusion.
83CHAPTER VIIITHE PASSING YEARS
THE excitement in New Constantinople was caused by the arrival of Vose Adams, the mail carrier and messenger, with his budget of letters and freight for the Heavenly Bower.
These periodical journeys never occupied less than two weeks, and in the present instance he had been absent several days beyond that period, so that some anxiety was felt for him, since every trip was attended with more or less danger. He was exposed to the peril of storms, snowslides, wild animals and hostile Indians. The elemental disturbances in the Sierras are sometimes of a terrific nature. Twice he had lost a mule, and once both animals went spinning down a precipice for a thousand feet, in an avalanche of snow and were never found again. Vose’s only consolation in the last instance was that it occurred when on his way to Sacramento, while in the former case he saved one of the precious kegs, which he insisted was the means of saving him in turn from perishing in the Arctic temperature.
The shadowy trail wound in and out among the84gorges and cañons, beside towering mountain walls, at a dizzying elevation, over ridges above the snow line, across table lands, through forests of pine and cedar and tumultuous mountain torrents, where he took his life in his hands every time he made the venture.
The unerring marksmanship of Vose and his alertness reduced the danger from the fierce grizzly bears and ravening mountain wolves to the minimum, but the red men were an ever present peril. He had served as the target of many a whizzing arrow and stealthy rifle shot, but thus far had emerged with only a few insignificant hurts. He was ready at the stated times to set out on his journey, and appeared indeed to welcome the change in the existence which otherwise became tiresome and monotonous. It mattered not that his friends often intimated that he was starting on his last venture of that nature, for he believed that his “time” had been set and it mattered naught what he did, since it could not be changed.
Vose explained that the cause of his last delay was the old one––Indians. They had pursued and pestered him so persistently that he was compelled to hunt out a new trail, longer and more difficult that the old one, and which came within a hair of landing him into the very camp of his enemies. However, everything had turned out well, and he brought with him the most prized cargo that ever arrived in New Constantinople.
85
First of all, were the two casks of freight, which had suffered so slight leakage, that Landlord Ortigies complimented the vigilance of the messenger. Then he brought with him fully a hundred letters and newspapers. Each citizen received one, and many had several. In every instance, the grateful recipient paid Vose a dollar for his mail, so that the reward was generous, including as it did a liberal honorarium from the proprietor of the Heavenly Bower.
In addition to the mail and freight, there were a number of articles to which no special reference is needed. In one package, however, every one was deeply interested, and Nellie Dawson more than the others. Unknown to the father, a goodly sum had been entrusted to Adams, with which to purchase such articles as it was believed the child needed. These included material for numerous new dresses of gorgeous pattern, stockings, shoes, slippers, ribbons, hats and even gloves, trinkets and playthings beyond enumeration.
When these were spread out before the little one, she clapped her hands and danced with delight. She had never dreamed of or seen such bewildering wealth, and the miners were repaid a hundred fold, while the grateful parent thanked them for their thoughtful kindness.
With no other person of her sex in the settlement, it would naturally be thought that she lacked in many of the little attentions which only a mother or adult female86friend can give, but such was not the case. There was not a man among them all, who had not been taught in the hard school of necessity to become his own tailor and conservator of clothing. Many had natural taste, and had not wholly forgotten the education and training received in the homes of civilization, before they became adventurers and wanderers. A consensus of views, all moved by the same gentle impulse, resulted in Nellie Dawson being clothed in a garb which would hardly have caused criticism in the metropolis of our country. Not only that, but she was abundantly provided against all kinds of weather, and with Vose Adams making his regular trips westward, there was no possibility of her ever knowing the want of thoughtful care.
The education of the little one was never neglected. Enough has been told to show her brightness, and even had not her teacher been inspired by his affection for the little one, the task of imparting knowledge to such an apt pupil must have been a constant pleasure. This work, as we have shown, fell by common consent to the parson, Felix Brush, though his choice at first was not unanimous. Wade Ruggles was so insistent that he should have a part in the work, that he was allowed a trial, but it cannot be said the result of several days’ effort was satisfactory. A stealthy inspection of the blackboard by Budge Isham and the parson disclosed87that Ruggles had constructed the alphabet on a system of his own. Some of the letters were reversed, several inverted, while the forms of others prevented any one from identifying them except the teacher himself.
An examination of the pupil developed the same startling originality in Ruggles’s system of orthography, which seemed to be a mixture of the phonetic and the prevailing awkward method. Thus he insisted that “purp” was the right way to spell the name of a young dog, whose correct title was “dorg.” Ruggles was finally persuaded to resign, though he displayed considerable ill feeling and intimated that the movement was inspired by jealousy of his success.
Budge Isham not only refrained from referring to the slip which the parson made in his spelling lesson, but spoke in such high terms of his success with Nellie, that every one conceded the right teacher had been selected, and it would be a misfortune for any one to assume to take the place of the parson.
Not until the final summing up of all accounts, will the full measure of the influence of the little one be known. It was gentle, subtle, almost imperceptible. Wade Ruggles never broke his resolve not to touch liquor. Inasmuch as an appetite nourished for years, cannot be wholly extirpated in a day, he had his moments of intense yearning for stimulants, when the temptation was powerful, but his will was still more so,88and the time came when the terrific thirst vanished entirely, though he knew it was simply “asleep” and could be roused into resistless fury by indulgence in a single glass.
The parson had a severer struggle. After holding out for days, he yielded, and by his inordinate dissipation brought back matters to a fair average. Then he set about manfully to retrieve himself. A second time he fell, and then, thank heaven! he gained the mastery. Henceforward he was safe.
Maurice Dawson himself had been an occasional tippler for years, but he felt the influence of example and experienced no trouble in giving up the habit. Several others did the same, while more tried but “fell by the wayside.”
Landlord Ortigies noticed the diminution in his receipts, but, strange as it may sound, down in his heart he was not sorry. Like nine out of ten engaged in his business he was dissatisfied, and like the same nine out of ten, he longed for the chance to take up some other calling which would bring him bread and butter and no accusing pangs of conscience.
Before the coming of Nellie Dawson, brawls and personal encounters often occurred. The walls of the Heavenly Bower contained several pounds of lead. Blood had been shed, and the history of the settlement showed that three persons had died with their boots on,89but those stirring days seemed to have departed forever.
Parson Brush did a good deal of thinking. When through with his pupil, he was accustomed to take long walks into the mountains, his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed in meditation. It is safe to conclude that Conscience was getting in its work with him.
And so the seasons came and went and the years rolled on. Varick Thomson, an old miner, who had spent years of fruitless toil in the diggings of Australia, lay down and died, and the parson officiated at his funeral. Two other miners grew weary of the poor success in Dead Man’s Gulch and went off on a prospecting tour deeper into the mountains. A year later another prospecting party came upon two skeletons, near a small stream of water, which after careful examination, were pronounced to be those of their former friends, doubtless victims of the ferocity of the red men. Three vagrant miners straggled into New Constantinople one night and were hospitably entertained at the Heavenly Bower. Their appearance was against them, and, when they announced their intention of making their home at Dead Man’s Gulch, the suggestion to them to move on was made in such terms that they acted upon it and were never seen there again. Thus it came about that New Constantinople, instead90of increasing in population and making a bid for the chieftaincy among the new towns in the West, was actually shrinking in numbers.
And all this time, Nellie Dawson was growing fast. Her beautiful mind kept pace with the expansion of her body. Her natural grace and perfection of figure would have roused admiration anywhere. Her innocence and goodness were an ever present benison to the rough miners, who had long since learned to check the hasty word, to restrain the rising temper and to crush the wrongful thought in her presence.
After a time, Maurice Dawson took possession of one of the deserted cabins which he fitted up, or rather the community fitted up the principal apartment for the young queen, whose rule was supreme. No one else was permitted to share the building with them, though visitors were constant and Nellie herself continually passed to and fro among her friends.
But those who watched Dawson saw that a change had come over him. Formerly there was a quiet waggery in his nature, much like that of Budge Isham, which led him to enjoy the rough pleasantries of his companions, though he rarely took part in them, except as an inciting cause. One of his greatest pleasures had been to sit in the Heavenly Bower and exchange reminiscences with his friends, but all that came to an end. Night after night passed without his face being seen in91the place. Those who called at the cabin were treated hospitably, but he was reserved and moody, and often failed to hear the words addressed to him. It was evident that there was something on his mind, though he showed no disposition to make a confidant of any one.
92CHAPTER IXTHE CLOUD OF WAR
“I KNOW the cause of Dawson’s trouble,” remarked Vose Adams, late one night at the Heavenly Bower.
“What is it?” asked Wade Ruggles, while the rest listened intently.
“On my last trip to Sacramento, two months ago, I brought him a thick letter: that’s what is raising the mischief with him.”
“But what was in the letter to make him act so queer?”
“How should I know? do you expect me to open and read all the letters I bring through the mountains?”
“Bein’ as you couldn’t read the big letters the parson has painted on the side of the rock a foot high,” said Al Bidwell sarcastically, “there ain’t much danger of your doin’ that, which the same is lucky for them as gits love letters like myself regular by each mail.”
“Which the same you won’t git any more onless you sling your remarks a little more keerful,” warned the mail carrier.
“And the same being that you can’t read the directions93writ onto them, I don’t see how you’re going to help yourself.”
“The postmaster at Sacramento is very obligin’,” was the significant comment of Vose.
Bidwell saw the dangerous ground on which he was treading, and made it safe by a jesting remark and an invitation to Adams and the rest to join him at the bar.
“We was on the subject of Dawson,” remarked Ruggles from his seat, for all had learned long before of the uselessness of inviting him to drink; “and it’s the opinion of Vose, I understand, that it was the letter that has made the change in him.”
“There ain’t any doubt about it,” said Adams; “fur the attack took him right after; I noticed the difference in him the next day. He sets by himself these evenings after the little gal has gone to bed, smoking his pipe, without any light in his shanty, and thinking hard.”
Wade smoked thoughtfully a minute and then remarked:
“I wonder whether it wouldn’t be a good idee to app’int a committee to wait on Dawson and ask him what the blazes is the matter and whether we can’t do nothin’ to make a man of him agin.”
Since Ruggles had become accustomed to act as chairman at the discussions in the Heavenly Bower, he had developed a strong faith in committees.
“That’s a piece of the most onspeakable foolishness94that I’ve run aginst since I settled in New Constantinople,” observed the landlord with a contemptuous sniff; “the minute the committee arrove and stated their bus’ness, Dawson would kick ’em out of his shanty and clean across the street, and he’d be lacking in the instincts of a man if he didn’t do that same thing.”
“Mr. Ortigies forgits that I didn’t mean to suggest thathewas to be a member of the committee; I meant they should begentlemen; consequently that bars him out and there wouldn’t be no trouble.”
“I understand your sarcasm, Wade, but your words would leave you off the committee likewise; but may I ask what the members would ask him when they knocked at his door?”
“Any gentleman wouldn’t be at a loss what to say, fur he would only hev to remark sorter careless like that he had observed the man was acting so queer that we was afeard he was troubled with remorse over some crime he’d committed, and about which he had got notice that the officers was lookin’ fur him, but that if he’d trust us and give a description of the officers, so there wouldn’t be any mistake, we’d watch fur ’em up the trail and pick ’em off afore they could profane New Constantinople with their presence.”
This was a prodigious sentence for Wade, and he leaned back and smoked his pipe with considerable self-complacency,95but it impressed none of his hearers as he expected. Parson Brush shook his head.
“It isn’t a very wise way of introducing yourself to a man by assuming that he is a fugitive from justice. In the first place, I am sure there is nothing of the kind in the case of Dawson. He has probably heard some news from the East that troubles him.”
“That’s just what I was sayin’,” broke in Ruggles.
“But not of the nature intimated by you.”
“What else can it be?”
“It might be one of a dozen things; I know you are all wrong in your guesses.”
Every eye was fixed upon the parson, for all were anxious to learn at what he was hinting. His face was unusually grave, but he stopped speaking, as if he deemed it indiscreet to say anything more. He noticed the looks and whetted the curiosity by adding:
“I have been so disturbed over the change in Dawson that I called on him last night and had a talk with him.”
“And what did you learn?” asked Budge Isham, the moment Brush showed an inclination to stop talking.
“Well, it was hard work to draw him out, but finally he told me he had received a letter from the East, which made him think he would have to leave us. That isn’t the worst.”
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All were breathless, afraid to give utterance to the dread that until then was vague and indistinct in their minds.
“He thinks he must take his daughter Nellie with him.”
“What! Take her away from us? That can never be allowed.”
None felt the anguish of the announcement keener than the man who made it, but he looked calmly into the angry faces and said:
“You forget, my friends, that she is his child and he has the moral and legal right to do what he thinks is best for her.”
“But where areourrights?” demanded Wade Ruggles; “they mustn’t be forgot.”
“We haven’t any,––not a single one. But I am satisfied that one cause of Dawson’s distress of mind is the very question you have asked. He can never cease to be deeply grateful to all of us for what we have done for him and his child. He doesn’t wish to take her away for it will be as painful to her as to us. But friends,” continued the parson, with a sense of right that was creditable to him, “Dawson’s first duty is to his child. She is now twelve years old, quite a large girl and is growing fast. She has never seen girl or woman since she was brought here; she will soon be a young woman; she requires association with others of97her own sex; her welfare demands this; her education and proper training can never be obtained in this mining settlement.”
“Eddycation!” exclaimed Vose Adams; “what have you been doing with her all this time? She must be as far along in her studies and eddycation as me and Ruggles.”
“It is to be hoped so,” replied the parson with a smile; “I doubt whether she will meet any one of her age as proficient in book learning as herself, but there remains music, etiquette, and above all, the social customs and accomplishments which can be acquired nowhere except in the abode of civilization. There is none upon whom this blow will fall more heavily than myself, but I have no right to interpose when a man is doing his duty.”
An exploding bomb could not have caused more consternation than the news brought by the parson. Every one felt the truth of his words and respected him for their utterance, but it was like asking them to consent to the blotting of the sun from the heavens.
“I see a way out of it,” finally remarked Wade Ruggles with a brightening face; “we can compermise.”
“In what way?”
“Why, if Dawson feels that he and the gal must go, let him split the difference atween us; he can go and leave her; that will satisfy everybody.”
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“It will hardly satisfy him, since the whole question is that of taking her with him. He must be left free to do whatever he chooses.”
The parson looked into the gloomy faces turned toward him.
“Boys, you have all heard the news brought by the last papers. Fort Sumter has been fired on; President Lincoln has called for volunteers; the Southern Confederacy has been declared and civil war has begun. It is the intention of Dawson to offer his services to the cause of the Union.”
“And I shall enlist too,” declared Wade Ruggles, compressing his lips, “but it will be on the other side.”
“I’m with you,” added Budge Isham; “I am from Alabama, and if she secedes, as she is sure to do, I am ready to lay down my life in her defence.”
“Sorry, pards, but that shoves me into the Union army,” remarked Al Bidwell, puffing quietly at his pipe; “we must keep the balance right, but we’ll part friends here and we’ll be friends till we shoulder our muskets. Then we’ll do all we can to kill each other.”
Further discussion disclosed that the citizens of New Constantinople were about equally divided in their allegiance, but all of them were not yet ready to take up arms in support of the cause with which they sympathized. There were eight who announced their intention of making their way to San Francisco, there to99find the most available route to the points necessary to reach. It was typical of that stupendous struggle, the greatest of modern times, that four of these recruits were ardent supporters of one cause and four equally eager to risk their lives for the other. They were the warmest of friends and had been for years, willing to face any danger for the sake of the remainder. It would be the same until they parted, and then, as one of them had already expressed it, they would devote every energy to trying to kill one another.
None of the volunteers faltered until Maurice Dawson decided to leave his daughter at the settlement until his return, if so be he should be permitted to return. He knew of no better or safer place for her, nor of any friends to whose care he would more cheerfully commit her, in case it should be his lot to fall on the field of battle.
It had been Parson Brush’s intention to be Dawson’s comrade in his perils, but when the father begged him to stay behind to look after his child he consented. And so the programme, so fraught with momentous consequences, was arranged.