100CHAPTER XTHE BLUE AND THE GRAY
The four years of stupendous war came to an end. The sun of the Southern Confederacy went down in gloom and defeat behind the hills of Appomattox, never to rise again, and blessed peace brooded over a reunited nation, which shall endure through the coming ages to the end of time.
It was only the faint echoes of the mighty struggle that, faintly reverberating across prairie and mountain, reached the little mining settlement nestling among the solitudes of the Sierras. Vose Adams made more frequent journeys to Sacramento, in order to gather news of the terrific events, which were making history at an appalling rate. Upon his return, the miners gathered round Parson Brush, or some other one with a good voice, who stood up, with every eye centred on him and every ear keyed to the highest point and they listened with breathless interest until the thrilling story was read through to the end.
The same diversity of sentiment that appeared at first continued to the last, but the parson’s earnest words and his insistence that no quarrels should take101place among the neighbors prevented any outbreak, though more than once the point was perilously near.
“If your sympathies are with the Union or with the South,” he said impressively, “there is nothing to prevent your taking up arms, but it must be on the battle field and not here.”
And this wise counsel prevailed. Now and then some ardent partisan shouldered his rifle, bade his friends a hasty good-by and hurried away. One by one, they went until the new recruits numbered five. Thus the population of New Constantinople dwindled to about one-half, and retaining its exclusive tastes, permitted no new comers to join them, so that the boom which in its early days was so confidently looked for sank to zero and vanished. In truth it looked as if New Constantinople was doomed to die of dry rot.
Strange news came now and then from the men who had gone to the war. Maurice Dawson wrote often to his daughter Nellie, whose letters, it can well be understood were the bright spots in his life of adventure and danger. She had improved wonderfully under the careful tuition of Parson Brush, who, gaining experience, as he saw the brightness of her mind, found his work of the most pleasant nature conceivable. She displayed a thirst for knowledge and made advances which astonished him. The books needed for her instruction were procured by Vose Adams in Sacramento, and102she valued such presents more than anything else. The teacher declared many a time, with a certain pride, that she put him upon his mettle to make clear the abstruse problems with which he wrestled when in college.
“How she will surprise the boys and her father when they come back,” reflected the parson; “it won’t take her much longer to reach the point beyond which I cannot lead her.”
To her friends who remained, the growth and improvement of the girl were astonishing. Probably no one of her sex ever gave nature itself a better chance to show what she can do with a healthy frame, when untrammeled by the fashions and requirements of modern usages. Her lithe, comely figure was perfect. She never knew an hour’s illness. The cheeks had the rose tint of health, the eyes were clear, the teeth perfect and her spirits buoyant. As one of the men expressed it, she was like a burst of sunshine in the settlement.
But Parson Brush was thoughtful. He saw that she was crossing the line into young womanhood, and that her own interests demanded that she should go out into the world of which he had told her so much; that she should meet those of her own sex and learn the mysteries of her own being. The affection of her friends could not make up for this lack. It cost the honest fellow many a pang when he thought of this, but his consolation lay in the inevitable conclusion that103nothing could be done until the return of her parent or until his wishes were made known.
“If it so happens that he shall fall in battle, then a grave problem must be met. It will not do for her to remain here; I will talk it over with the others and we shall make some arrangement for her good,” and with this conclusion he was content to await the issue of events.
Occasionally the parson received a letter from the father. The missives were models in their way, telling of his experiences in the service of the battles, of the prospect of victory and his faith in the final triumph of the great struggle. He thanked the teacher for his interest in his child and assured him that his kindness would never be forgotten by father or daughter.
Vose Adams continued his frequent journeys to Sacramento, for those were stirring times and he was as anxious as his friends for news. Always on his return he was met by Nellie some distance down the winding trail, and, as soon as she was in sight, he held up the plump letter for which she yearned, and over which she was made happy beyond expression, and he never failed to carry back with him the reply of the child, who knew how much it cheered the brave soldier in the distant East and South fighting the battles of his country.
For two years and more there was not a break in104this correspondence. Dawson must have been a good soldier, for, though he enlisted as a private, he was soon promoted, and before the close of the two years, was a full fledged captain, with the brevet of major. It was about this time that one of his letters gave the story of Gettysburg. In the hell-blast of Pickett’s charge two of his old friends, who had left New Constantinople to fight for the South, were riddled, and another, marching at the captain’s side, had his head blown off by an exploding shell. Thus in one engagement three of the old residents of the mining settlement were wiped out.
Only once or twice was any news received of Al Bidwell. It was known that Ruggles was with the Army of Northern Virginia, but no tidings came of Budge Isham and Ike Hoe. The continued silence was accepted as almost certain proof of their death, and yet both were well and unharmed.
One day in early summer, two sunburned, shaggy men rode down the mountain side and drew up their horses in front of the Heavenly Bower. They had ridden from the East and had come through many hardships and dangers. One of them wore a partial uniform of blue, while the other was of a faded, butternut tinge. The two had been engaged for years in trying to slay each other, inclusive of their respective friends, but failing in the effort, gave it up when the105final surrender took place at Appomattox. Both were from New Constantinople, and they now turned their faces in that direction. Starting from widely separated points their lines of travel converged and finally joined. When they met, there was a moment of mutual sharp scrutiny, then an exclamation of delight, a fervent handclasp and a moistening of the eyes, as both exclaimed:
“God bless you, old boy! There’s no one in the world I would rather meet than you! Shake again!”
And they did, and henceforward they followed the same trail and “drank from the same canteen.” They shared their rations with each other, and in the regions of the West, where danger lurked in the air, one watched while the other slept, ready to interpose his body as a shield between peril and his comrade.
And what splendid soldiers the Civil War made! How those veterans could fight! What pluck, what coolness, what nerve, what daring they displayed! There was one stormy night beyond the Mississippi, when a band of jayhawkers, believing the two men carried a few hundred dollars, formed a plan for shooting both for the sake of the plunder. There were six of the outlaws at the opening of proceedings, but at the close just half the number was left, and one of them carried away a wound with him, from which he could106never recover, while the defenders did not receive a scratch.
“When I heard that rebel yell of yours,” remarked the veteran who wore the blue, “it tingled through my veins as it did at Chancellorsville, Antietam and various other scenes of unpleasantness. I couldn’t help sailing in.”
“I didn’t mean to let out the yawp,” returned his companion, “but when the shooting began, it was so like old times I couldn’t help it. It was real enjoyable.”
“Yes,” was the dry response, “but rather more so for us than for the other fellows.”
Three days later a band of Indians concluded to try their hand upon the veterans, but the trouble was that the red men could not get a fair chance. Before they arrived within effective striking distance, the veterans began shooting, and whenever they shot somebody fell. The thing became so monotonous that the hostiles gave it up in disgust and drew off. Thenceforward the old soldiers had comparatively an easy time of it.
And so, after a ride of more than two thousand miles on horseback, these two men entered Dead Man’s Gulch and drew rein in front of the Heavenly Bower. Their coming caused a sensation, for their looks showed they were veterans of the war and were certain to bring important news. The couple smiled and whispered to each other, for they saw that no one suspected their identity.
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Among the wondering group that gathered round was Nellie Dawson. She was profoundly interested, for Vose Adams had made two journeys to and from Sacramento without bringing a letter from her father. Doubtless these men could tell her something, and she stood on the edge of the group, waiting for them to speak and for the opportunity to question them.
“Do you see her?” whispered one of the men.
“Yes; gracious! hasn’t she grown? Why, she was a little girl when we left and now she’s a young woman.”
“Blessed if she isn’t! She wears such long dresses that you can see only the tiny toes of her shoes; we’ve obsarved a good many purty women since we left these parts, but nothing that could come up to her.”
“You can bet your life! She hasn’t any idee of who we are, nor have the boys, but it looks to me as if the parson is a little suspicious.”
Although the patronage of the Heavenly Bower had shrunk a good deal, Landlord Ortigies was as genial and hospitable as ever. The new arrivals had time only for a few secret comments, when he came forward:
“Strangers, you’re welcome to the best we have, which isn’t anything to boast of; look as if you had rid a good many miles and you must be as tired and thirsty as your animals. If you’ll turn ’em over to Vose Adams, he’ll ’tend to them, and, if you’ll allow me, you108shall have a good meal, which before the same, I beg to tender you some distilled home brewed Mountain Dew.”
Thanking the landlord for his offer, the men dismounted and waited outside, while he brought forth two glasses, half-filled with the fiery stuff of the poetical name. One of the men took his and eagerly swallowed it. The other held his aloft, where under the bright sunlight it glowed crimson like blood. With his hand motionless for a moment, he slowly inverted the glass and allowed the liquid to run out on the ground.
“Max, I reckon you haven’t forgot when I done something like that some four years ago,” said the man, turning toward the astonished host.
109CHAPTER XIWAITING
“Wade Ruggles, as I’m alive!” exclaimed the delighted landlord, rushing forward and grasping his hand. Instantly the group closed in, and there was such laughing and handshaking that for a time nothing was clearly distinguished.
“I was suspicious,” remarked the parson; “but, though you both had beards when you went away, these have grown so much that they have greatly altered your appearance.”
He scanned the other man closely, but before the parson had identified him, several others had done so.
“It’s Al Bidwell!”
“Yes,” replied the laughing Ruggles; “that’s the fellow, but I’m sorry to say that since they made a major-general of him, he’s become a reg’lar dude. He doesn’t go out when it rains for fear of soiling his uniform, and the noise of powder makes him sick, so be careful how you handle the delicate fellow.”
“Well, you do not need to be told,” was the hearty response of the parson, “that no one could be more welcome than you; let’s shake hands all around again.”
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It was some minutes before the flurry was over, for the delight on both sides was unbounded and the joy of the reunion great.
One member of the group lingered in the background. Her face was flushed with delighted expectancy, but with a coyness unknown in her earlier years, she hesitated on the outer edge of the circle. She could not mingle with the rush and waited until the flurry was over. The men were scarcely less embarrassed than she, and while not appearing to see her, both were watching her every movement. When the time came that the meeting could no longer be delayed, Ruggles walked to her and extended his hand.
“Well, Nellie, aren’t you glad to see me?”
The crinkling of the whiskers at the side of the invisible mouth showed that he was laughing, and indeed his white teeth gleamed through his wealth of beard. Nellie promptly advanced and met him half way.
“Mr. Ruggles, I can’t tell you how glad I am to meet you again.”
He had been asking himself whether it would do to kiss this vision of loveliness. He wished to do so, but was afraid. However, the question was settled by the girl, who, instead of taking the hand, flung her arms about his neck and saluted him fervently, that is as well as she could under the conditions.
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Al Bidwell came forward and was received in the same manner. Then, as the two men stepped back and looked admiringly at her, she said:
“I can see you are the same and yet those beards make you look different; I love to think of you as you were when you bade us good-by and rode off four years ago.”
“We shall be glad to fix up our faces in the old style,” said Ruggles, while his companion nodded assent. If she had asked them to cut off their heads they would have unhesitatingly agreed to do it.
“No doubt we’ve changed somewhat,” said Bidwell, “but not one half so much as you.”
“As I!” she repeated in astonishment; “why, I am just the same,” and she looked down at her dress, as if seeking the explanation of his remark; “I haven’t changed a bit.”
“Not in goodness and all that sort of thing, but we left a little girl and now I’m blessed if we don’t find a young woman, and yet it’s the same little girl after all.”
The maidenly blush darkened her face and she laughed.
“You couldn’t expect me to stand still all these years.”
“No; though we would have been glad if you had done so.”
The three were standing apart, the others with commendable112delicacy leaving them to themselves. Nellie laid her arm on the sleeve of Ruggles, and looking up yearningly in his face she asked:
“Can you give me any news of father?”
“Being as him and me was on different sides, I haven’t seen or heard a thing of him since we parted in San Francisco, but I hope all has gone well with him.”
She turned to Bidwell, who said:
“Me and him was thrown together once or twice and I met him after Gettysburg, where neither of us got a scratch, which is more than tens of thousands of others can say. Then I seen him in front of Petersburg, where we had the same good luck agin, but in the fighting round there we lost track of each other. Are you worried about him, little gal?”
“Very much,” she mournfully replied; “never once did Vose Adams come back from Sacramento without one or two letters from him, but he has now done so twice, and I haven’t heard a word. I fear father is dead; if he is, my heart is broken and I shall die too.”
What could they say to cheer her, for Vose Adams made still another journey westward with the same dismal emptiness of the mail bag, so far as she was concerned. Every one did his utmost to cheer her, but none succeeded. The ground taken was that the parent had set out on his return, but had been hindered by some cause which would be explained when he finally113arrived. When not one of the men himself believed the story, how could he hope to make the mourning daughter believe it?
Felix Brush took a different stand from the others. He early settled into the belief that Captain Dawson was dead, and that it was wrong to encourage hope on the part of the child when the disappointment must be more bitter in the end.
“If you are never to see him again in this world,” he said, at the close of a sultry afternoon, as the two were seated on a rocky ledge near the cabin in which she had made her home all alone during her parent’s long absence, “what a blessed memory he leaves behind him! Died on the field of battle, or in camp or hospital, in the service of his country,––what more glorious epitaph can patriot desire?”
“If he is dead then I shall die; I shall pray that I may do so, so that I shall soon see him again.”
“My dear child, you must show some of the courage of your parent and prove that you are a soldier’s daughter. Your blow is a severe one, but it has fallen upon thousands of others, and they have bravely met it. You are young; you have seen nothing of the great world around you––”
“I do not care to see anything of it,” she interrupted with a sigh.
“You will feel different when you have recovered114from the blow. It is an amazing world, my dear. The cities and towns; the great ocean; the works of art; the ships and steamboats; the vast structures; the railways; the multitudes of people; the lands beyond the seas, with still more marvelous scenes,––all these will expand like fairy land before you and make you wonder that you ever should have wished to leave such a realm of beauty and miracles while in your youth.”
Nellie sat for some time in silence, and then rose to her feet with a weary sigh. Without speaking, she turned to walk away, but not in the direction of her own home.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To look for him,” was her sorrowful reply.
It was what he suspected and feared. He knew she had done the same thing night after night for weeks past, even when the rains fell and the chilling blasts made her shiver with discomfort. He could not interpose, and with the reflection that perhaps it was as well, he turned mournfully aside and walked slowly toward the cabins.
Meanwhile, Nellie Dawson passed beyond the limits of the settlement until all the houses were behind her. She did not sit down, but folding her arms, after gathering her shawl about her, bent her gaze upon the trail, which wound in and out at the bottom of the cañon below,115for a fourth of a mile, when a mass of projecting rocks hid it from sight.
Night was closing in. Already the grim walls, thousands of feet in height, were wrapped in gloom, and few eyes beside hers could have traced the devious mule path for more than a hundred yards from where she stood. The clear sky was studded with stars, but the moon had not yet climbed from behind the towering peaks, which would shut out its light until near the zenith.
The soft murmur of the distant waterfall, the sound of voices behind her, the faint, hollow roar, which always is present in a vast solitude, filled the great space around her and made the stillness grander and more impressive.
All this had been in her ears many a time before, and little heed did she give to it now. Her musings were with that loved one, who had been silent for so many weeks, and for whose coming she longed with an unspeakable longing. She knew the course of the trail so well, though she had never been far over it, that she was aware at what point he must first appear, if he ever appeared, and upon that point she centered her attention.
“Something tells me that when father comes it will be in the night time,” she said; “I know he has tried116hard to reach me, and what could it be that held him back? I will not believe he is dead until––”
Her heart gave a quicker throb, for surely that was a faint sound in the path, though too far off for her to perceive the cause. She could not tell its precise nature, but fancied it was the footfall of some animal. She took several quick steps forward on tiptoe, with head extended, peering and listening, with all her senses at the highest tension.
Hark! she heard it again. Surely it was the noise of hoofs, for it was repeated and the sounds ran into each other as if the animal were trotting or galloping, or mayhap there was more than one of them.
Yes; some one was drawing nigh on the back of horse or mule. There was no mistaking the hoof beats, and in the gloom the figure of an animal and his rider assumed vague form, growing more distinct each moment. Nellie broke into a run, her arms outstretched and her hair flying.
“Father! father! I know it is you! It is I––Nellie, your own Nellie, who has waited so long for you! You have come at last!”
117CHAPTER XIIHOME AGAIN
The horseman coming up the trail had assumed definite form. Checking his animal he sat transfixed until the flying girl was beside him. Then he bent forward and in a choking voice, answered:
“Yes, Nellie, it is your father! God be thanked for permitting me to come to you again. And you are Nellie! But how grown!”
Captain Dawson leaned over the side of his horse and, passing his strong arm around the waist of his daughter, lifted her up in front of him. Then he pressed his lips to hers, and half-laughing and half-crying asked:
“Who’s the happier, you or I?”
“You can’t be any happier than I; but, father,” she added in amazement, “where is your other arm?”
“Buried in Southern Virginia as a memento of my work for the Union, but, my dear child,Iam here; isn’tthatenough?”
“Yes, bless your heart!” she exclaimed, nestling up to him; “it all seems like a dream, but itisn’t, for I can feel you. I am so sorry,” she added, noticing the sleeve pinned to his breast; “how you must have suffered.”
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“Nonsense! it isn’t anything to lose an arm; it’s not half so bad as having your head blown off or both legs carried away. After going nearly through the war without a scratch, I caught it just before Appomattox, but thousands were less fortunate and I am thankful.”
“But why did you not write to me and tell me all this? Mr. Brush was sure you were dead, and I know the rest thought so, too, though they didn’t talk that way.”
“I did have a close call; I got the fever while in the hospital and didn’t know so much as my own name for several weeks. Then, when well enough to write, I concluded to come myself, believing I could keep up with any letter and you would be gladder to see me than to receive anything I might send.”
While these words were passing the steed remained motionless, but Nellie had observed from the first that her parent had a companion.
“Father,” she whispered, “you have some one with you.”
“Yes, my child, I had forgotten it in my delight at meeting you.”
A horseman was sitting as motionless as a statue in the trail behind them, the form of himself and animal clearly outlined in the obscurity. He had not spoken nor stirred since the coming of the girl. The head of the steed was high, but beyond and above it loomed the119head and shoulders of the man sitting upright, like an officer of dragoons. The gloom prevented a fair view of his countenance, but Nellie fancied he was of pleasing appearance and wore a mustache.
Captain Dawson turned his head and looked over his shoulder, as if to locate the man.
“That is Lieutenant Russell; he served under me during the latter part of the war; he is my friend, Nellie, for he saved my life. Lieutenant,” added the captain, elevating his voice, “this is my daughter Nellie of whom you heard me speak so often.”
The young officer lifted his cap, the graceful gesture being plainly seen and replied with a pleasant laugh.
“Miss Dawson, I am glad to become acquainted with you and hope I shall soon be favored with a better view.”
“And I hope to see more of the one that was the means of saving my dear father,” she was quick to reply.
“Well, I guess that was equal on both sides, for I should never have reached this place but for him.”
“Father, what isthat?” abruptly asked Nellie, shrinking closer to him; “have you a bear following you?”
That which caused the startled question was a huge animal, which came slowly forward from the gloom in120which he had been enveloped. The horses showed no fear of him, and he sniffed at the skirts of the girl.
“Don’t be alarmed,” replied her father; “you may consider him a lion or tiger or both combined. He is Lieutenant Russell’s dog Timon, one of the biggest, fiercest, but most intelligent and affectionate of his kind. We three are comrades, so you must accept him, too, as your friend.”
The two now gave rein to their horses and within briefer time than would be supposed, every man in New Constantinople knew of the arrival of the couple and had given them right royal welcome. It was the most joyous incident in the history of the little mining settlement. Every one knew of the corroding grief of Nellie Dawson, and there was not a heart that did not go out in sympathy to her. All were gathered around and within the crowded quarters of the Heavenly Bower, where the two men and Nellie ate their happy evening meal. Then the pipes were lighted, and with the girl perched upon her father’s knee, the rest listened to his story, which he summarized, leaving the particulars for a more convenient occasion.
“I am sorry my long silence caused misgiving,” said he looking round in the faces of his friends, “but it could not be very well helped. You have noticed that whereas I left New Constantinople with two arms, I am now one short. As I told Nellie, that happened in121the very last days of the war. It was quite a loss, but you have little idea of how soon a man can become accustomed to it. The fact is,” added the soldier, with a grim smile, “things are moving so well with me that I wouldn’t give much to have the old limb back again. I have no doubt General Howard feels the same way.”
“The pruned oak is the strongest,” observed Parson Brush.
“Provided it isn’t pruned too much. With my wound came an attack of fever, which brought me nearer death than I ever was in battle, but I came out of it all and here we are.”
“What route did you take, captain?” asked Wade Ruggles.
“By steamer to the Isthmus, then up the coast to San Francisco. There the lieutenant and I joined a party to Sacramento and each bought a good strong horse. He had brought his dog Timon all the way from Virginia, where he was given to him by an old friend who wore the gray. We were hopeful of meeting Vose Adams in Sacramento, but he had not been there for weeks. Instead of him, whom should we come across but Ike Hoe, who was also getting ready to start for this place. We three set out nearly ten days ago, but Ike is still in the mountains.”
This was said with so grave a face that all knew what it meant.
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“I never heard of the Indians being so troublesome. For three days and nights it was little else than fighting. In the darkness we would steal off and hunt for some new way through the mountains, but it mattered not where we went, for we were sure to run against some of them.”
“How was it that Hoe met his death?” asked the parson.
“It was on the third night. We hadn’t seen a thing of the Indians since the noon halt and were hopeful they had given up the hunt for us. We hadn’t eaten a mouthful for twenty-four hours and were hungry enough to chew our boots. Ike found a place among the rocks, where a camp fire couldn’t be seen for more than a few rods and started a blaze. The lieutenant had brought down an antelope, and if we could get a chance to cook the steak, we were sure of the right kind of a meal. Well, we broiled enough to give each all he wanted. Ike leaned back with a pleasant smile on his face and remarked that it was worth all the risk to get such a feast, when I caught the flicker of something like the dart of a small bird between him and me. Before I could make out what it was, Ike gave a groan, and rolling over backward, never spoke or stirred. I saw the feathered end of an arrow sticking up above his breast. The head had gone clean through him and it must have split his heart in two.”
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“But was neither you or the lieutenant harmed?”
“That is the remarkable part of it. The lieutenant saw the arrow before I did and warned me. We darted back in the darkness with our guns ready, but saw and heard nothing more of the Indians. What was remarkable about it was that only the single arrow should have been launched at Ike.”
“It looks as if there was but the single Injin,” suggested Bidwell.
“That is the way we interpreted it.”
“And that was the end of your troubles with the Indians?”
“Not quite, but they bothered us only once more and then they managed to get us into a corner, where it would have been the last of me had it not been for the lieutenant and Timon. I tell you–––”
The captain stopped short and smiled. He had seen the protesting expression on the face of the young officer, and said:
“We’ll keep that story till some time when he isn’t present. But there is another fact which I observed. There are more white men in the mountains than ever before and the numbers will increase. The close of the war has released nearly a million soldiers, who must make a living somehow. Some will come westward. You have preserved this place as an exclusive residence124for yourselves, but you won’t be able to do it much longer.”
All saw the truth of these words, and knew trouble would inevitably follow the mingling of uncongenial spirits, but they concluded it would be time enough to meet it when it came, without allowing the fear to disturb the pleasure of the present communion. Lieutenant Fred Russell could not fail to be an individual of keen interest to those who had never before seen him. While the captain was talking, he sat modestly in the background, smoking his brierwood, listening as intently as if everything said was new to him. It was noticed that like several of the rest, he did not drink at the bar, though he received numerous invitations. Truth to tell, he had been quite a drinker, but during that eventful journey through the mountains, when Captain Dawson was talking of his daughter, as he loved to do, he named those who had reformed as the result of Nellie’s influence. The young officer made no comment, but it struck him that if those rough, hardy men could abstain, it ought not to be difficult for him to do the same, and he did it.
Few men were more prepossessing than the lieutenant. He was educated, about twenty-four years of age, and undeniably handsome. His campaigns of exposure, hardship and fighting had hardened his frame into the mould of the trained athlete. The faded uniform which125he still wore became him well. The ruddy cheeks had grown swarthy and browned, but when he removed his cap, the upper part of his forehead showed as white and fair as that of a woman.
His nose was slightly aquiline, just enough to give character to his countenance, the hair which was rather scant, was dark like the mustache and the small tuft on his chin. He wore fine, high cavalry boots, reaching above the knees, a sword and like the captain was armed with revolver and Winchester rifle.
Crouched at his feet was his massive dog Timon, an object of as much interest as his master; for, curious as it may seem, he was the only canine ever owned in New Constantinople. He was of mixed breed, huge, powerful and swift, seeming to combine the sagacity and intelligence of the Newfoundland, the courage of the bull dog, the persistency of the bloodhound and the best qualities of all of them. Seeming to understand that he was among friends, he rested his nose between his paws and lay as if asleep, but those who gazed admiringly at him, noted that at intervals he opened one of his eyes as if to say:
“Strangers, I guess it is all right, but I’m taking no chances.”
Coming with the credentials that no one else ever bore, Lieutenant Fred Russell was sure of a warm reception at New Constantinople. The depletion of the126population had left more than one cabin vacant and the best of these was turned over to him. In it he found cooking utensils, rough but serviceable bedding and accommodations and much better comforts than he was accustomed to during his campaigning. Having no immediate relatives, he had followed the discreet course of Captain Dawson, who deposited nearly all of his accumulated pay in a savings institution in the East, reserving only enough to insure their arrival on the Pacific coast.
Russell, like so many turned from consumers into producers by the end of hostilities, was obliged to decide upon the means of earning a livelihood. He had begun the study of law, at the time he answered the call for volunteers, and would have had no difficulty in taking it up again; but, somehow or other, he did not feel drawn thitherward. He disliked the confinements of office work and the sedentary profession itself. He wanted something more stirring, and active, and calling for out door life. It was when he was in this mood, that Captain Dawson urged him to accompany him to the gold diggings in the Sierras.
“So far as I can learn,” explained the captain, “the mines haven’t panned out to any great extent, but there is no doubt that there are millions of dollars in gold in the mountains, and if it isn’t at New Constantinople, it is not far off.”
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“I shall accept your invitation,” replied the junior officer, “with the understanding that if the prospect is not satisfactory, I shall feel at liberty to go somewhere else.”
“That’s the constitutional right of every American citizen.”
“I am not as far along in years as you, but I am old enough to feel that no person ought to fritter away the most valuable years of his life.”
And thus it was that the lieutenant went to New Constantinople and received the heartiest welcome from every one there. And yet among these citizens were two that had lately become partners and sharers of the same cabin, and who were oppressed with misgiving.
“I tell you,” said the parson late at night, when he and Wade Ruggles were smoking in their home, with no one near enough to overhear them; “Captain Dawson has made the mistake of his life.”
“How?”
“In bringing Lieutenant Russell to New Constantinople.”
“I don’t quite foller your meaning, parson.”
“Yes, you do; you understand it as well as myself.”
“I have a suspicion of it, but are you afraid to trust me?”
“You ought to know better than to ask that.”
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“Go ahead then and give me the partic’lars.”
“In the first place then, the lieutenant is young and good looking.”
“Unfortinitly there can’t be any doubt of that.”
“Nellie Dawson has never seen a handsome young man–––”
“Exceptin’ you and me, and we ain’t as young as we once was.”
“She is now a young woman and ready to fall in love, and just at the right hour, or rather the very worst hour, the captain brings the man here.”
“You have spoke the exact thoughts I had in mind all along; you’re right, parson.”
He would have been better pleased had Ruggles contradicted him. He did not wish to believe that which he could not help believing.
“We must treat him well because the captain brings him and he has saved the captain’s life, but, Wade,we must watch them both close.”
“I agree with you agin, but what shall we do if we find him making love to the little gal?”
The parson’s fierce reply showed how deeply his feelings were stirred.
“Warn him just once!”
“I feel as bad about it as you do, but, parson, I haven’t forgot that afore the war broke out, and we was afeard the captain meant to take the gal away to129have her eddycated, you told us it was none of our bus’ness and he had the right to do as he thought best with his own child.”
“All that was true at the time, but the conditions have changed.”
“NowI can’t foller you. ’Spose the captain is agreeable?”
“Hewon’tbe!” exclaimed Brush, who in the depth of his excitement added an exclamation which sounded perilously like profanity. But for the parson’s intense earnestness, Ruggles would have quizzed him, but he pitied the man and at the same time was distressed himself.
“I hope you’re right, but I doubt it. We’ve all felt for a good while that sooner or later, we must lose the little one. Now that she’s growed up, the captain may feel more than ever that she must be took off to some town where all the men ain’t savages, and she can see some of her own kind.”
“If he puts it that way, we shall have to submit. He can take her where he wills, for my position is the same as four or five years ago, but nobody else must take her from among us.”
Ruggles’s mood was now quite similar to that of his partner.
“If I see anything wrong in the doings of that pretty130faced young officer, I’ll shoot him down like a mad dog.”
“So will I.”
The two were in the ugliest temper conceivable. They continued to smoke, but their meditations were tumultuous and revengeful. Each breast contained a strange disturbing secret that either would have died before confessing, but nevertheless, it was there and had taken ineradicable root within the past days and weeks.
Felix Brush, as the reader knows, had been the instructor of Nellie Dawson from infancy. He was the medium through which she had gained an excellent book education. He had held many long confidential talks with her. She, in her trusting innocence, had told him more of her inmost thoughts, her self communings, her dim, vague aspirations, than she imparted to anyone else.
And he could not but notice her wonderful budding beauty. Surely, he thought, such a winsome creature was never born. He had begun to ask himself in a whispered, startled way: “Why may I not possess this mountain flower? True, I am much her senior, but I will nourish, protect and defend her against the world, as no younger man could or would. She believes in my goodness, far more than I deserve. I will cultivate the affection within her of whose nature she has as yet no131comprehension. By and by, when she is a few years older, perhaps I may claim her. More extraordinary things have happened and are happening every day. I have but to keep her uncontaminated from the world, of which I have told her so much, so that when she goes forth, she shall be under my guardianship––the most sacred guardianship of all for it shall be that of husband.”
“Aye,” he added, his heart throbbing with the new, strange hope, “all this, please heaven, shall come to pass if things go on as they are, and no younger man with better looks crosses my path.”
And now that younger and better looking man had crossed his path.
The knowledge seemed to rouse all the dormant resentment of his nature, and to undo the good that the girl herself had done in the years that were gone. He felt that if he lost her, if his cherished dream was to be rudely dissipated, he would go to perdition.
And somewhat similar in range and nature were the communings of Wade Ruggles, who until this eventful evening, had cherished a hope, so wild, so ecstatic, so strange and so soul-absorbing that he hardly dared to admit it to himself. At times, he shrank back, terrified at his presumption, as does the man who has striven to seize and hold that which is unattainable and which it would be sacrilege for him to lay hands upon.
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“I’m three months younger than the parson,” he would reflect when the more hopeful mood was upon him; “neither of us is in danger of being hung for our good looks, but I’ve got the bulge on him dead sure. I had too much in the way of whiskers to suit the little one, when I came back from the war; she wanted to see me as I was when I left;why was that?”
After pausing for a reply, he continued:
“So accordin’ I trimmed ’em off and she says I’m better looking than ever, and what she says in Dead Man’s Gulch and New Constantinople, goes. She meant it, too, as I could see by the sparkle of her eyes.
“I went all through the war without swallerin’ a mouthful of strong drink, even when the doctor ordered it. I’ve contrived, sort of accerdental and off hand like, to let her know them circumstances and I’ve seen it pleased her immense. I’ve been layin’ out some of my money for clothes, too, since I got back. Vose bought me a coat in Sacramento, blue with brass buttons. I’ve had a necktie that has been laid away till the proper time comes to put it on. There are three or four yards of silk in it and it will knock a rainbow out of sight. I didn’t want to overwhelm her too sudden like, and have been layin’ back for the right occasion.
“It’s arriv! I must knock that leftenant out, and that necktie will do it! I’m mighty glad the parson hain’t133got any foolish dreams ’bout the gal. The leftenant is the only galoot I’ve got to look out for, or rather,” added the miner grimly, “I’m the one he’s got to beware of. I’m in dead earnest this time.”