This is a chapter I hate to write; and therefore I shall get it over with as soon as possible.
Yank had progressed from his bunk to the bench outside, and from that to a slow hobbling about near the Moreña cabin. Two of the three months demanded by Dr. Rankin had passed. Yank’s leg had been taken from the splint, and, by invoking the aid of stout canes, he succeeded in shifting around. But the trail to town was as yet too rough for him. Therefore a number of us were in the habit of spending our early evenings with him. We sat around the door, and smoked innumerable pipes, and talked sixty to the minute. Moreña had a guitar to the accompaniment of which he sang a number of plaintive and sweet-toned songs. Three or four of his countrymen occasionally came up from below. Then they, too, sang more plaintive songs; or played a strange game with especial cards which none of us “gringos” could ever fathom; or perhaps stepped a grave, formal sort of dance. Señora Moreña, the only woman, would sometimes join in this. She was a large woman, but extraordinarily light on her feet. In fact, as she swayed and balanced opposite her partner she reminded me of nothing so much as a balloon tugging gently at its string.
343“But it ees good, the dance, eh, señores?” she always ended, her broad, kind face shining with pleasure.
We Americans reciprocated with a hoe-down or so, to jigging strains blasphemously evoked by one of our number from that gentle guitar; and perhaps a song or two.Oh, Susannah!was revived; and other old favourites; and we had also the innumerable verses of a brand-new favourite, local to the country. It had to do with the exploits and death of one Lame Jesse. I can recall only two of the many verses:
“Lame Jesse was a hard old case;He never would repent.He ne’er was known to miss a meal–He never paid a cent!“Lame Jesse, too, like all the rest,He did to Death resign;And in his bloom went up the flumeIn the days of Forty-nine.”
“Lame Jesse was a hard old case;He never would repent.He ne’er was known to miss a meal–He never paid a cent!“Lame Jesse, too, like all the rest,He did to Death resign;And in his bloom went up the flumeIn the days of Forty-nine.”
When the evening chill descended, which now was quite early, we scattered to our various occupations, leaving Yank to his rest.
One Sunday in the middle of October two men trudged into town leading each a pack-horse.
I was at the time talking to Barnes at his hotel, and saw them from a distance hitching their animals outside Morton’s. They stayed there for some time, then came out, unhitched their horses, led them as far as the Empire, hesitated, finally again tied the beasts, and disappeared. In this manner they gradually worked along to the Bella344Union, where at last I recognized them as McNally and Buck Barry, our comrades of the Porcupine. Of course I at once rushed over to see them.
I found them surrounded by a crowd to whom they were offering drinks free-handed. Both were already pretty drunk, but they knew me as soon as I entered the door, and surged toward me hands out.
“Well! well! well!” cried McNally delightedly. “And here’s himself! And who’d have thought of seeing you here! I made sure you were in the valley and out of the country long since. And you’re just in time! Make a name for it? Better call it whiskey straight. Drink to us, my boy! Come, join my friends! We’re all friends here! Come on, and here’s to luck, the best luck ever! We’ve got two horse-loads of gold out there–nothing but gold–and it all came from our old diggings. You ought to have stayed. We had no trouble. Bagsby was an old fool!” All the time he was dragging me along by the arm toward the crowd at the bar. Barry maintained an air of owlish gravity.
“Where’s Missouri Jones?” I inquired; but I might as well have asked the stone mountains. McNally chattered on, excited, his blue eyes dancing, bragging over and over about his two horse-loads of gold.
The crowd took his whiskey, laughed with him, and tried shrewdly to pump him as to the location of his diggings. McNally gave them no satisfaction there; but even when most hilarious retained enough sense to put them off the track.
As will be imagined, I was most uneasy about the345whole proceeding, and tried quietly to draw the two men off.
“No, sir!” cried McNally, “not any! Jes’ struck town, and am goin’ to have atime!” in which determination he was cheered by all the bystanders. I did not know where to turn; Johnny was away on one of his trips, and Danny Randall was not to be found. Finally inspiration served me.
“Come down first and see Yank,” I urged. “Poor old Yank is crippled and can’t move.”
That melted them at once. They untied their long-suffering animals, and we staggered off down the trail.
On the way down I tried, but in vain, to arouse them to a sense of danger.
“You’ve let everybody in town know you have a lot of dust,” I pointed out.
McNally merely laughed recklessly.
“Good boys!” he cried; “wouldn’t harm a fly!” and I could veer him to no other point of view. Barry agreed to everything, very solemn and very owlish.
We descended on Yank like a storm. I will say that McNally at any time was irresistible and irrepressible, but especially so in his cups. We laughed ourselves sick that afternoon. The Moreñas were enchanted. Under instructions, and amply supplied with dust, Moreña went to town and returned with various bottles. Señora Moreña cooked a fine supper. In the meantime, I, as apparently the only responsible member of the party, unsaddled the animals, and brought their burdens into the cabin. Although McNally’s statement as to the loads consisting346exclusively of gold was somewhat of an exaggeration, nevertheless thecantinaswere very heavy. Not knowing what else to do with them, I thrust them under Yank’s bunk.
The evening was lively, I will confess it, and under the influence of it my caution became hazy. Finally, when I at last made my way back to my own camp, I found myself vastly surprised to discover Yank hobbling along by my side. I don’t know why he came with me, and I do not think he knew either. Probably force of habit. At any rate, we left the other four to sleep where they would. I remember we had some difficulty in finding places to lie.
The sun was high when we awoke. We were not feeling very fresh, to say the least; and we took some little time to get straightened around. Then we went down to the Moreña cabin.
I am not going to dwell on what we found there. All four of its inmates had been killed with buckshot, and the place ransacked from end to end. Apparently the first volley had killed our former partners and Señora Moreña as they lay. Moreña had staggered to his feet and halfway across the room.
The excitement caused by this frightful crime was intense. Every man quit work. A great crowd assembled. Morton as sheriff was very busy, and loud threats were uttered by his satellites as to the apprehension of the murderers. The temper of the crowd, however, was sullen. No man dared trust his neighbour, and yet every honest breast swelled with impotent indignation at this wholesale and unprovoked massacre. No clue was possible. Everybody347remembered, of course, how broadcast and publicly the fact of the gold had been scattered. Nobody dared utter his suspicions, if he had any.
The victims were buried by a large concourse, that eddied and hesitated and muttered long after the graves had been filled in. Vaguely it was felt that the condition of affairs was intolerable; but no one knew how it was to be remedied. Nothing definite could be proved against any one, and yet I believe that every honest man knew to a moral certainty at least the captains and instigators of the various outrages. A leader could have raised an avenging mob–provided he could have survived the necessary ten minutes!
We scattered at last to our various occupations. I was too much upset to work, so I returned to where Yank was smoking over the fire. He had, as near as I can remember, said not one word since the discovery of the tragedy. On my approach he took his pipe from his mouth.
“Nothing done?” he inquired.
“Nothing,” I replied. “What is there to be done?”
“Don’t know,” said he, replacing his pipe; then around the stem of it, “I was fond of those people.”
“So was I,” I agreed sincerely. “Have you thought what a lucky escape you yourself had?”
Yank nodded. We sat for a long time in silence. My thoughts turned slowly and sullenly in a heavy, impotent anger. A small bird chirped plaintively from the thicket near at hand. Except for the tinkle of our little stream and the muffled roar of the distant river, this was the only sound to strike across the dead black silence of the autumn night. So persistently did the bird utter its single call348that at last it aroused even my downcast attention, so that I remarked on it carelessly to Yank. He came out of his brown study and raised his head.
“It’s no bird, it’s a human,” he said, after listening a moment. “That’s a signal. Go see what it is. Just wander out carelessly.”
In the depths of the thicket I found a human figure crouched. It glided to me, and I made out dimly the squat form of Pete, Barnes’s negro slave, from the hotel.
“Lo’dee, massa,” whispered he, “done thought you nevahwouldcome.”
“What is it, Pete?” I asked in the same guarded tones.
“I done got somefin’ to tell you. While I ketchin’ a lil’ bit of sleep ’longside that white trash Mo’ton’s place, I done heah dey all plannin’ to git out warrant for to arres’ Massa Fairfax and Massa Pine and Massa Ma’sh for a-killin’ dem men las’ week; and I heah dem say dey gwine fer to gib dem trial, and if dey fight dey gwine done shoot ’em.”
“Thatisserious news, Pete,” said I. “Who were talking?” But Pete, who was already frightened half to death, grew suddenly cautious.
“I don’ jest rightly know, sah,” he said sullenly. “I couldn’t tell. Jes’ Massa Mo’ton. He say he gwine sw’ar in good big posse.”
“I can believe that,” said I thoughtfully. “Pete,” I turned on him suddenly, “don’t you know they’d skin you alive if they found out you’d been here?”
Pete was shaking violently, and at my words a strong349shudder went through his frame, and his teeth struck faintly together.
“Why did you do it?”
“Massa Fairfax is quality, sah,” he replied with a certain dignity. “I jest a pore nigger, but I knows quality when I sees it, and I don’t aim to have no pore white truck kill none of my folks if I can help it.”
“Pete,” said I, fully satisfied, “you are a good fellow. Now get along back.”
He disappeared before the words were fairly out of my mouth.
“Yank,” I announced, returning to the fire, “I’ve got to go uptown. That was Pete, Barnes’s nigger, to say that they’ve got out a legal warrant for the express messengers’ arrest for that killing last week. Neat little scheme.”
I found Danny Randall in his accustomed place. At a hint he sent for Dr. Rankin. To the two I unfolded the plot. Both listened in silence until I had quite finished. Then Danny leaped to his feet and hit the table with his closed fist.
“The fools!” he cried. “I gave them credit for more sense. Hit at Danny Randall’s men, will they? Well, they’ll find that Danny Randall can protect his own! Forgotten that little point, have they?”
The cool, impassive, mild little man had changed utterly. His teeth bared, the muscles of his cheeks tightened, two deep furrows appeared between his eyes, which sparkled and danced. From the most inoffensive looking creature possible to imagine he had become suddenly menacing and dangerous.
350“What do you intend, Randall?” asked Dr. Rankin. He was leaning slightly forward, and he spoke in a gentle voice, but his hand was clenched on the table, and his figure was rigid.
“Do?” repeated Randall fiercely; “why, run that gang out of town, of course!”
“I thought you said the time was not ripe?”
“We’ll ripen it!” said Danny Randall.
Danny Randall issued his orders as a general would. First he sent warning word to Cal Marsh, still nursing his shoulder. Through one of his barkeepers he caused to be called to his presence four men. Three of them were miners, the fourth a lookout at the Empire. He met them in his little room, quite openly, which, as I have explained, was in accordance with his usual custom. He detailed the exact situation in a few words.
“Now,” he ended, “we get busy. Are you in?”
Each assented, with apparent deep satisfaction.
“Now,” said he briskly, “Munroe, you go to the lower trail, near the big oak at the second crossing. Wait there. If the express messengers have not passed by to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, return here. If they do come by, stop them, and tell them to proceed by the cut-off to the place they know of, and to wait there for me. Understand?”
To each of the other four men he assigned a different watching on other trails, giving them the same instructions.
“Now git!” he finished.
After informing Yank of my projected absence, I waited at the appointed place until the appointed time, then returned to the Bella Union.
352“That’s all right,” Danny greeted my report; “they came across the Hog’s Back, and are now safely in hiding. Here,” he gave me a slip of paper. “During the day contrive to see these men. Make it casual and easy, as though you just happened to see them. Chat a few minutes and tell them this: ‘Danny Randall calls a secret miners’ meeting at the upper horse flat at nine o’clock to-night. Slip up there without being seen.’ Be sure to let them understand that it isIwho am issuing the call. Get them to tell you whether they will or will not come.”
I took the slip of paper and read over the half dozen names it contained. They were all known to me; so I nodded my comprehension and went out.
All the rest of the day I loafed about, chatting with dozens of people, among the others with Morton himself. That individual professed great zeal for law and order, and told of the wonderful things he, as sheriff, intended to accomplish. Among the lot I contrived to include the six men whose names were on my paper, and to deliver my message. I explained as far as I knew, and got from each a definite and emphatic promise to be present.
“It’s time this thing was brought to a head,” said one man. “If Danny Randall is taking hold of it, I enlist.”
I returned to report these facts, received an indifferent nod, and, under further instruction, went quietly to camp to await the agreed hour.
We started up the trail about eight o’clock. Yank insisted that he was going, if he had to roll all the way; but after a little we simultaneously remembered that the353Moreñas had owned horses. One of these I caught, and on it Yank rode to the place of rendezvous.
The night was very black. After we had entered the woods its darkness seemed at first to hang in front of my eyes like a filmy curtain, so that I fairly groped, as one would when blindfolded. In the open a faint starlight helped us, but after we had entered the pines we had fairly to proceed by instinct. I remember feeling a shock of surprise once, when we skirted the river, at seeing plainly the whiteness of the rapids, as though the water were giving off a light of its own. Straight overhead were scattered patches of stars with misty abysses of blackness between them. Only after an interval did I appreciate that these apparent abysses were in reality the tops of trees!
We felt our way slowly, the soft muzzle of the horse at my shoulder. Gradually our pupils expanded to the utmost, so that we caught ghostly intimations of gray rocks, of dust patches, or seized the loom of a tree or the opening of a forest aisle. Luckily the trail was well marked. We had only to stick to it.
At the Flat Rock we were halted by a low-voiced command. I gave the password, as instructed by Danny Randall. This experience was once repeated, a little farther on. Then, as we neared the upper horse flat, we were stopped by a man who flashed a dark lantern in our faces, scrutinized us for a moment, shut off his light, and told us to go forward.
We found a small fire behind a screen of firs, and around or near it the figures of a dozen men. They stood silent and scattered a little apart from the firelight. We could354not make out their features. From time to time other men came in, singly or in couples, until probably twenty-five were gathered. Then ensued a few moments of waiting. A sudden stir proclaimed fresh arrivals, and four newcomers strode briskly to the fire. As the light fell on them I recognized Randall and the three express riders.
Danny kicked together the fire until it flared.
“Somebody put some more wood on this,” he said in his natural voice. “We’ve got to see each other.”
In a moment the flames were leaping. I looked about me with considerable interest to see who of the camp had been summoned. I must confess to a few surprises, such as the gambler from the Empire, but in general the gathering consisted of those whom I should have characterized as solid citizens–Barnes, the hotel-keeper, Himmelwright, and men of his stripe. They were all armed, and all very grave and sober. Danny ran his eye over us one by one.
“Meeting come to order,” he commanded briskly. “This is a Vigilante meeting. I hope you all realize what that means. There are just thirty of us here; and Morton’s gang is probably a hundred strong when it is all together. We cannot fight them; but we can give the honest, decent men of this camp a chance to fight them. I myself believe the honest men will back us, and am willing to risk it. If any of you who are here now think differently, say so.”
He paused, but no one spoke up.
“If anybody doesn’t want to go into this, now is the time to back out. Just keep your mouths shut, that is all.”
He paused again, but again no one moved.
355“That’s all right,” observed Danny with satisfaction. He lifted a paper. “Listen to this: ‘We the undersigned agree, as we are decent men, to stand by each other to the last, to avenge the death of any one of us, and to obey the orders of our leaders. And if we fail in this may God deny us mercy.’ Boys,” said Danny Randall earnestly, “this is serious. If we start this now, we’ve got to see it through. We are not much on Bible oaths, any one of us, but we must promise. Frank Munroe, step forward!”
I obeyed. The little man stared up into my eyes, and I will freely confess that never have I experienced quite the queer sensation it gave me. Danny Randall had become not only formidable, but great. He seemed to see through into the back of my mind. I braced myself as though to resist some strong physical force.
“Do you, Frank Munroe, subscribe to this document as a man of honour, so help you God?” he demanded.
“I do,” I answered solemnly, and affixed my signature below that of Danny Randall. And queerly enough, as I stepped aside, I felt somehow that I had assisted at something sacred.
One by one Danny Randall called us forward and administered his simple oath. The fire leaped, and with it the mighty shadows. Outside the circle of light the tall pines and fir-trees watched us like a multitude standing witness. The men’s faces were grave. There was about the roughest of them something noble, reflected from the earnest spirit of justice.
Randall had the plans all made, and he detailed them rapidly. We were to arrest four men only, and he named356them–Morton, Scar-face Charley, who had recovered, a gambler named Catlin, and Jules, the proprietor of the Empire.
“Crawford is back in town,” said some one.
“Make it five then,” said Danny instantly.
We had a long discussion over all this. Many other names were suggested. Danny agreed that they were those of men guilty of the worst crimes, but maintained that the first thing to do was to get hold of the real leaders, the brains and motive power of the gang. The five first designated filled that description.
“Can we really prove anything against them?” asked someone.
“No,” said Danny instantly, “we cannot. Does any one here think any of them guiltless? Consult your consciences, gentlemen. I agree with you that it is a fearful thing to take a man’s life. Vote carefully. Consult your consciences.”
We balloted at last on each name separately, and the five leaders were condemned to death.
Next came up the vital questions of ways and means. Many were in favour of a night surprise, and an immediate hanging before the desperadoes could be organized for defence. Danny had a hard time showing them good reasons against this course, but at last he succeeded.
“This must be done deliberately and publicly,” he maintained. “Otherwise it fails of its effect. We’ve got to show the gang that the camp is against them; and that won’t be done by hanging some of them secretly.”
“Suppose the camp doesn’t back us up?” queried a miner.
357“Remember your oath, gentlemen,” was Danny’s only reply to this.
It was decided at last that five committees should be appointed to arrest each of the five men, that the prisoners should be confined in a certain isolated log cabin, and that the execution should take place in broad daylight. There remained only to apportion the committees. This was done, and at about two or three o’clock we quietly dispersed. I was instructed to coöperate with three of the miners in the arrest of Catlin.
With the members of my committee I returned to our own camp, there to await the appointed hour of seven. This had been selected for several reasons: it was daylight, the roughs would be at home, and the community, although afoot, would not yet have gone to work. While waiting we cooked ourselves some hot coffee and made some flapjacks. The chill, gray time of day had come, the period of low vitality, and we shivered with the cold and with excitement. Nobody had much to say. We waited grimly for the time to pass.
About six o’clock Yank arose, seized his long rifle and departed for the log cabin that had been designated as the jail. His lameness had prevented him from being appointed on one of the arresting committees, but he had no intention of being left out. A half hour later we followed him into town.
It was a heavenly fall morning of the sort that only mountain California can produce. The camp was beginning to awaken to its normal activity. I remember wondering vaguely how it could be so calm and unconcerned. My358heart was beating violently, and I had to clench my teeth tight to keep them from chattering. This was not fear, but a high tension of excitement. As we strolled past the Bella Union with what appearance of nonchalance we could muster, Danny Randall nodded at us from the doorway. By this we knew that Catlin was to be found at his own place.
“WE MARCHED OUR PRISONER IN DOUBLE-QUICK TIME ... TO THE AGREED RENDEZVOUS”
“WE MARCHED OUR PRISONER IN DOUBLE-QUICK TIME ... TO THE AGREED RENDEZVOUS”
Catlin dwelt in a detached room back of the Empire, together with one of the other professional gamblers. We lounged around the corner of the Empire building. The door of the cabin was shut. Outside we hung back, hesitating and a little uncertain. None of us was by nature or training a man of violence, and we experienced the reluctance of men about to plunge into cold water. Nobody was more than pardonably afraid, and of course we had every intention of seeing the affair through. Then suddenly in the actual face of the thing itself my excitement drained from me like a tide receding. My nerves steadied, my trembling stilled. Never had I felt more cool in my life. Drawing my revolver, I pushed open the door and entered the building.
Catlin was in the act of washing his face, and him I instantly covered with my weapon. His companion was still abed. On my entrance the latter had instinctively raised on his elbow, but immediately dropped back as he saw the figures of my companions darkening the door.
“Well, gentlemen?” demanded Catlin.
“You must come with us,” I replied.
He showed no concern, but wiped carefully his face and hands.
360“I will be ready in a minute,” said he, throwing aside the towel, and rolling down his shirt sleeves. He advanced toward a bench on which his coat had been flung. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can put on my coat.”
I glanced toward that garment and saw the muzzle of a revolver peeping out from beneath it.
“I’ll hand your coat to you,” said I quickly. Catlin turned deadly pale, but spoke with his usual composure.
“What am I wanted for?” he inquired.
“For being a road agent, a thief, and an accessory to robberies and murders,” I replied.
“I am innocent of all–as innocent as you are.”
“There is no possibility of a mistake.”
“What will you do with me?”
“Your sentence is death,” I told him.
For a single instant his dark face lit up.
“You think so?” he flashed.
“Hurry!” urged one of my companions.
With one man on either side and another behind, revolvers drawn, we marched our prisoner in double-quick time past the rear of the stores and saloons to the agreed rendezvous. There we found Danny Randall and his committee with Morton. Within the next few moments, in rapid succession, appeared the others with Scar-face Charley, Crawford, and Jules.
The camp was already buzzing with excitement. Men poured out from the buildings into the streets like disturbed ants. Danny thrust his prisoners into the interior of the cabin, and drew us up in two lines outside. He impressed on us that we must keep the military formation, and that361we were to allow no one to approach. Across the road about twenty yards away he himself laid a rope.
“That’s the dead-line,” he announced. “Now you keep the other side!”
In no time a mob of five hundred men had gathered. They surged restlessly to and fro. The flash of weapons was everywhere to be seen. Cries rent the air–demands, threats, oaths, and insults so numerous and so virulent that I must confess my heart failed me. At any instant I expected the mob to open fire; they could have swept us away with a single volley. To my excited imagination every man of that multitude looked a ruffian. We seemed alone against the community. I could not understand why they did not rush us and have it over with. Yet they hesitated. The fact of the matter is that the desperadoes had no cohesion, no leaders; and they knew what none of us knew–namely, that a good many of that crowd must be on our side. The roar and turmoil and heat of discussion, argument, and threat rose and fell. In one of the lulls an Irish voice yelled:
“Hang them!”
The words were greeted by a sullen assenting roar. Five hundred hands, each armed, were held aloft. This unanimity produced an instant silence.
“Hang who?” a truculent voice expressed the universal uncertainty.
“Hang the road agents!” yelled back the little Irishman defiantly.
“Bully for you, Irish; that took nerve!” muttered Johnny, at my elbow.
362Fifty threats were hurled at the bold speaker, and the click of gunlocks preceded a surge in his direction. Then from the mob went up a sullen, formidable muttering of warning. No individual voice could be distinguished; but the total effect of dead resistance and determination could not be mistaken. Instantly, at the words so valiantly uttered, the spirit of cohesion had been born. The desperadoes checked in surprise. We had friends. How many or how strong no one could guess; but they were there, and in case of a battle they would fight.
On our side the line was a dead, grim silence. We stood, our weapons ready, rigidly at attention. Occasionally one or the other of us muttered a warning against those who showed symptoms of desiring to interfere.
In the meantime, three of our number had been proceeding methodically with the construction of a gallows. This was made by thrusting five small pine butts, about forty feet long, over a cross beam in the gable of the cabin and against the roof inside. Large drygoods boxes were placed beneath for the trap.
About this time Danny Randall, who had been superintending the construction, touched me on the shoulder.
“Fall back,” he said quietly. “Now,” he instructed several of us, after we had obeyed this command, “I want you to bring out the prisoners and hold them in plain view. In case of rescue or attempted escape, shoot them instantly. Don’t hesitate.”
“I should think they would be safer inside the cabin,” I suggested.
363“Sure,” agreed Danny, “but I want them here for the moral effect.”
We entered the cabin. The five prisoners were standing or sitting. Scar-face Charley was alternately blaspheming violently, upbraiding his companions, cursing his own luck, and uttering frightful threats against everybody who had anything to do with this. Crawford was watching him contemptuously and every once in a while advising him to “shut up!” Jules was alternately cursing and crying. Morton sat at one side quite calm and very alert. Catlin stared at the floor.
The moment we entered Catlin ran over to us and began to plead for his life. He, better than the rest, with the possible exception of Morton, seemed to realize the seriousness of his plight. From pleadings, which we received in silence, he changed to arguments concerning his innocence.
“It is useless,” replied one of our men. “That affair is settled and cannot be changed. You are to be hanged. You cannot feel worse about it than I do; but I could not help it if I would.”
Catlin stood for a moment as though overwhelmed; then he fell on his knees before us and began to plead rapidly.
“Not that!” he cried. “Anything but that! Do anything else you want to with me! Cut off my ears and cut out my tongue! Disable me in any way! You can certainly destroy my power for harm without taking my life! Gentlemen! I want to live for my wife–my poor absent wife! I want time to settle my affairs! O God! I am too wicked to die. I cannot go blood-stained and364unforgiven into the presence of the Eternal! Only let me go, and I will leave the country forever!”
In the meantime Scar-face Charley and Crawford were cursing at us with an earnestness and steadiness that compelled our admiration.
“Oh, shut up, Catlin!” cried Crawford at last. “You’re going to hell, and you know it; but I’ll be there in time to open the gate for you.”
“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” advised Charley; “there’s no use being afraid to die.”
Morton looked around at each of us in turn.
“I suppose you know you are proceeding against a regularly constituted officer of the law?” he reminded us. Receiving no reply, he beckoned me. “Can I speak to you alone a moment?” he asked.
“I will send for our leader,” I replied.
“No,” said he, “I want no leader. You’ll do as well.”
I approached him. In an anxious tone he asked:
“Is there any way of getting out of this scrape? Think well!”
“None,” said I firmly. “You must die.”
With revolvers drawn we marched them outside. A wild yell greeted their appearance. The cries were now mixed in sentiment. A hundred voices raised in opposition were cried down by twice as many more. “Hang ’em!” cried some. “No, no, banish them!” cried others. “Don’t hang them!” and blood-curdling threats. A single shot would have brought on a pitched battle. Somehow eventually the tumult died down. Then Morton, who had been awaiting his chance, spoke up in a strong voice.
365“I call on you in the name of the law to arrest and disperse these law-breakers.”
“Where is Tom Cleveland?” spoke up a voice.
The appeal, which might otherwise have had its effect, was lost in the cries, accusations, and counter-accusations that arose like a babel. Morton made no further attempt. He better than any one realized, I think, the numerical superiority against him.
The preparations were at length completed. Danny Randall motioned us to lead forward the prisoners. Catlin struggled desperately, but the others walked steadily enough to take their places on the drygoods boxes.
“For God’s sake, gentlemen,” appealed Crawford in a loud tone of voice, “give me time to write home!”
“Ask him how much time he gave Tom Cleveland!” shouted a voice.
“If I’d only had a show,” retorted Crawford, “if I’d known what you were after, you’d have had a gay time taking me.”
There was some little delay in adjusting the cords.
“If you’re going to hang me, get at it!” said Jules with an oath; “if not, I want you to tie a bandage on my finger; it’s bleeding.”
“Give me your coat, Catlin,” said Crawford; “you never gave me anything yet; now’s your chance.”
Danny Randall broke in on this exchange.
“You are about to be executed,” said he soberly. “If you have any dying requests to make, this is your last opportunity. They will be carefully heeded.”
366Scar-face Charley broke in with a rough laugh.
“How do I look, boys, with a halter around my neck?” he cried.
This grim effort was received in silence.
“Your time is very short,” Danny reminded him.
“Well, then,” said the desperado, “I want one more drink of whiskey before I die.”
A species of uneasy consternation rippled over the crowd. Men glanced meaningly at each other, murmuring together. Some of the countenances expressed loathing, but more exhibited a surprised contempt. For a confused moment no one seemed to know quite what to do or what answer to make to so bestial a dying request. Danny broke the silence incisively.
“I promised them their requests would be carefully heeded,” he said. “Give him the liquor.”
Somebody passed up a flask. Charley raised it as high as he could, but was prevented by the rope from getting it quite to his lips.
“You ─” he yelled at the man who held the rope. “Slack off that rope and let a man take a parting drink, can’t you?”
Amid a dead silence the rope was slacked away. Charley took a long drink, then hurled the half-emptied flask far out into the crowd.
To a question Crawford shook his head.
“I hope God Almighty will strike every one of you with forked lightning and that I shall meet you all in the lowest pit of hell!” he snarled.
Morton kept a stubborn and rather dignified silence.367Catlin alternately pleaded and wept. Jules answered Danny’s question:
“Sure thing! Pull off my boots for me. I don’t want it to get back to my old mother that I died with my boots on!”
In silence and gravely this ridiculous request was complied with. The crowd, very attentive, heaved and stirred. The desperadoes, shouldering their way here and there, were finding each other out, were gathering in little groups.
“They’ll try a rescue!” whispered the man next to me.
“Men,” Danny’s voice rang out, clear and menacing, “do your duty!”
At the words, across the silence the click of gunlocks was heard as the Vigilantes levelled their weapons at the crowd. From my position near the condemned men I could see the shifting components of the mob freeze to immobility before the menace of those barrels. At the same instant the man who had been appointed executioner jerked the box from beneath Catlin’s feet.
“There goes one to hell!” muttered Charley.
“I hope forked lightning will strike every strangling─” yelled Crawford. His speech was abruptly cut short as the box spun from under his feet.
“Kick away, old fellow!” said Scar-face Charley. “Me next! I’ll be in hell with you in a minute! Every man for his principles! Hurrah for crime! Let her rip!” and without waiting for the executioner, he himself kicked the support away.
Morton died without a sign. Catlin, at the last, suddenly calmed, and met his fate bravely.
368Before the lull resulting from the execution and the threat of the presented weapons could break, Danny Randall spoke up.
“Gentlemen!” he called clearly. “The roster of the Vigilantes is open. Such of you as please to join the association for the preservation of decency, law, and order in this camp can now do so.”
The guard lowered their arms and moved to one side. The crowd swept forward. In the cabin the applicants were admitted a few at a time. Before noon we had four hundred men on our rolls. Some of the bolder roughs ventured a few threats, but were speedily overawed. The community had found itself, and was no longer afraid.
PART IV
THE LAW
No sooner had this radical clean-up of the body politic been consummated than the rains began. That means little to any but a Californian. To him it means everything. We were quite new to the climate and the conditions, so that the whole thing was a great surprise.
For a month past it had been threatening. The clouds gathered and piled and blackened until they seemed fairly on the point of bursting. One would not have given two cents for his chances of a dry skin were he to start on a journey across the street. Yet somehow nothing happened. Late in the afternoon, perhaps, the thunderous portents would thin. The diffused light would become stronger. Far down in the west bars of sunlight would strike. And by evening the stars shone brilliantly from a sky swept clear. After a dozen repetitions of this phenomenon we ceased to pay any attention to it. Somebody named it “high fog,” which did well enough to differentiate it from a genuine rain-bringing cloud. Except for that peculiar gourd that looks exactly like a watermelon, these “high fogs” were the best imitation of a real thing I have ever seen. They came up like rain clouds, they looked precisely like rain clouds, they went through all the performances of rain clouds–except that never, never did they rain!
372But the day of the Vigilante execution the sky little by little turned shimmering gray; so that the sun shining from it looked like silver; and the shadows of objects were diffused and pale. A tepid wind blew gently but steadily from the southeast. No clouds were visible at first; but imperceptibly, around the peaks, filmy veils formed seemingly out of the gray substance of the very sky itself. How these thickened and spread I did not see; but when I came out of the Bella Union, after a long and interesting evening of discussion, I found no stars; and, as I stood looking upward, a large warm drop splashed against my face.
Sometime during the night it began to rain in earnest. We were awakened by its steady drumming on the canvas of our tent.
“My Lord! but she sure israining!” said Johnny across the roar of sound.
“Don’t tech the canvas!” warned Old. “If you do, she’ll leak like a spout where you teched her!”
“Thank heaven, that high fog scared us into ditching around the tent,” said Cal fervently.
But our satisfaction was short-lived. We had ditched the tent, to be sure, but we had badly underestimated the volume of a California downpour.
Before many minutes had passed Johnny gave a disgusted snort.
“I’m lying in a marsh!” he cried.
He struck a light, and we all saw the water trickling in a dozen little streams beneath the edge of the tent.
373“We’re going to be ruined!” cried Johnny comically.
He arose, and in doing so brushed his head violently against the slanting canvas roof. Almost immediately thereafter the rays of the lantern were reflected from tiny beads of water, like a sweat, appearing as though by magic at that spot. They swelled, gathered, hesitated, then began to feel their way slowly down the dry canvas. The trickle became a stream. A large drop fell straight down. Another followed.
“Anybody need a drink?” inquired Cal.
“I’m sorry!” said Johnny contritely.
“You needn’t be,” I consoled him. “The whole thing is going to leak, if this keeps up.”
“What’s the matter with going over to the Moreña cabin?” queried Yank.
We hesitated a little. The events of the day had affected us all more deeply than we liked to acknowledge; and nobody but Yank much liked the idea of again entering that blood-stained abode.
“We’d drown getting there,” said Cal at last. “I move some of you fellows with two good arms rustle out and fix that ditch.” He laughed. “Nothing like having a hole in you to get out of work.”
We took his advice, and managed to turn the flood, though we got very wet in the process.
Then we returned to the tent, changed our clothes, crept into our blankets, and wrapped ourselves close. The spot brushed by Johnny’s head dripped steadily. Otherwise our roof shed well. The rain roared straight down with steady, deadly persistency.
374“She can’t keep this up long, anyway; that’s a comfort,” muttered Johnny sleepily.
Couldn’t she? All next morning that flood came down without the let-up of even a single moment. It had all the volume and violence of a black thunderstorm at its height; only the worst of the thunderstorm lasts but a few moments, while this showed no signs of ever intending to end. Our stout canvas continued to turn the worst of it, but a fine spray was driven through, to our great discomfort. We did not even attempt to build a fire, but sat around wrapped in our damp blankets.
Until about two of the afternoon the deluge continued. Our unique topic of conversation was the marvel of how it could keep it up! We could not imagine more water falling were every stream and lake in the mountains to be lifted to the heavens and poured down again.
“Where the devil does it all come from?” marvelled Old, again and again. “Don’t seem like no resevoy, let alone clouds, could hold so much!”
“And where does it go to?” I supplemented.
“I reckon some of those plains people could tell you,” surmised Yank shrewdly.
At two o’clock the downpour ceased as abruptly as though it had been turned off at a spigot. Inside of twenty minutes the clouds had broken, to show beyond them a dazzling blue sky. Intermittent flashes and bands of sunlight glittered on the wet trees and bushes or threw into relief the black bands of storm clouds near the horizon.
Immensely cheered, we threw aside our soggy blankets and sallied forth.
375“Great Christmas!” cried Johnny, who was in the advance. “Talk about your mud!”
We did talk about it. It was the deepest, most tenacious, slipperiest, most adhesive mud any fiend ever imagined. We slid and floundered as though we had on skates; we accumulated balls of it underfoot; and we sank disconcertingly half-leg deep at every third step. Our first intention had been to go up to town; but we soon revised that, and went down to the Moreña cabin instead, with the idea of looking after the two horses. The beasts, very shaggy underneath and plastered above, stood humped up nose to tail. We looked into the cabin. The roof had leaked like a sieve; and the interior was dripping in a thousand places.
“Reckon even the tent was better after all,” acknowledged Yank, looking with disfavour on the muddy floor.
We returned to the tent and made shift to get a fire going. After cooking some hot food, we felt better, and set about drying our blankets. In the cañon we could hear the river roaring away hollowly.
“I’ll bet she’s on the rampage!” said Old.
“I’ll bet she’s got my cradle and all of my tools!” I cried, struck with a sudden thought.
And then, about as we commenced to feel cheerful and contented again, the scattered black clouds began to close ranks. One by one the patches of blue sky narrowed and disappeared.
“Why!” cried Cal in astonishment, “I believe it’s getting ready to rain again!”
376“Shucks!” replied Old, “It can’t. There ain’t no more rain.”
Nevertheless there was, and plenty of it. We spent that second night shifting as little as possible so as not to touch a new cold place in our sodden blankets, while the waters roared down in almost a solid sheet.
This lasted the incredible period of four days! Nobody then knew anything about measuring rainfall; but, judging by later experience, I should say we must have had close to seven inches. There was not much we could do, except to get wetter and wetter, although we made shift to double up at night, and to use the extra blankets thus released to make a sort of double roof. This helped some.
The morning of the fifth day broke dazzlingly clear. The sky looked burnished as a blue jewel; the sunlight glittered like shimmering metal; distant objects stood out plain-cut, without atmosphere. For the first time we felt encouraged to dare that awful mud, and so slopped over to town.
We found the place fairly drowned out. No one, in his first year, thought of building for the weather. Barnes’s hotel, the Empire and the Bella Union had come through without shipping a drop, for they had been erected by men with experience in the California climate; but almost everybody else had been leaked upon a-plenty. And the deep dust of the travel-worn overland road had turned into a morass beyond belief or description.
Our first intimation of a definite seasonal change came from our old friend Danny Randall, who hailed us at once when he saw us picking our way gingerly along the edge377of the street. In answer to his summons we entered the Bella Union.
“I hope you boys weren’t quite drowned out,” he greeted us. “You don’t look particularly careworn.”
We exchanged the appropriate comments; then Danny came at once to business.
“Now I’m going to pay off you three boys,” he told the express messengers, “and I want to know what you want. I can give you the dust, or I can give you an order on a San Francisco firm, just as you choose.”
“Express business busted?” asked Johnny.
“It’s quit for the season,” Danny Randall told him, “like everything else. In two weeks at most there won’t be a score of men left in Italian Bar.” He observed our astonished incredulity, smiled, and continued: “You boys came from the East, where it rains and gets over it. But out here it doesn’t get over it. Have you been down to look at the river? No? Well, you’d better take a look. There’ll be no more bar mining done there for a while. And what’s a mining camp without mining? Go talk to the men of ’48. They’ll tell you. The season is over, boys, until next spring; and you may just as well make up your minds to hike out now as later. What are you laughing at?” he asked Johnny.
“I was just thinking of our big Vigilante organization,” he chuckled.
“I suppose it’s true that mighty few of the same lot will ever get back to Italian Bar,” agreed Danny, “but it’s a good thing for whatever community they may hit next year.”
378Johnny and Old elected to take their wages in dust; Cal decided on the order against the San Francisco firm. Then we wandered down to where we could overlook the bar itself.
The entire bed of the river was filled from rim to rim with a rolling brown flood. The bars, sand-spits, gravel-banks had all disappeared. Whole trees bobbed and sank and raised skeleton arms or tangled roots as they were swept along by the current or caught back by the eddies; and underneath the roar of the waters we heard the dull rumbling and crunching of boulders rolled beneath the flood. A crowd of men was watching in idle curiosity. We learned that all the cradles and most of the tools had been lost; and heard rumours of cabins or camps located too low having been swept away.
That evening we held a very serious discussion of our prospects and plans. Yank announced himself as fit to travel, and ready to do so, provided he could have a horse; the express messengers were out of a job; I had lost all my tools, and was heartily tired of gold washing, even had conditions permitted me to continue. Beside which, we were all feeling quite rich and prosperous. We had not made enormous fortunes as we had confidently anticipated when we left New York, but we were all possessed of good sums of money. Yank had the least, owing to the fact that he had been robbed of his Porcupine River product, and had been compelled for nearly three months to lie idle; but even he could count on a thousand dollars or so sent out from Hangman’s Gulch. I had the most, for my digging had paid me better than had Johnny’s379express riding. But much of my share belonged of right to Talbot Ward.
Having once made up our minds to leave, we could not go too soon. A revulsion seized us. In two days the high winds that immediately sprang up from the west had dried the surface moisture. We said good-bye to all our friends–Danny Randall, Dr. Rankin, Barnes, and the few miners with whom we had become intimate. Danny was even then himself preparing to return to Sonoma as soon as the road should be open to wagons. Dr. Rankin intended to accompany him, ostensibly because he saw a fine professional opening at Sonoma, in reality because in his shy, hidden fashion he loved Danny.
Nobody objecting, we commandeered the two horses that had belonged to the Moreñas. One of them we packed with our few effects, and turned the other over to Yank. Thus, trudging afoot, Johnny and I saw our last of Italian Bar. Thirty years later I rode up there out of sheer curiosity. Most of the old cabins had fallen in. The Bella Union was a drear and draughty wreck. The Empire was used as a stable. Barnes’s place and Morton’s next door had burned down. Only three of the many houses were inhabited. In two of them dwelt old men, tending small gardens and orchards. I do not doubt they too were Forty-niners; but I did not stop. The place was full of too many ghosts.
We made our way out of the hills without adventure worth noting. The road was muddy, and a good deal washed. In fact, we had occasionally to do considerable manœuvring to find a way at all around the landslides from the hills above.
As we descended we came upon traces of the great exodus that was taking place from the hills. All the miners were moving out. We found discarded articles of camp equipment; we passed some people without any equipment at all. Sick men lay under bushes without covering, or staggered painfully down the muddy trails. Many were utterly without food. If it rained, as it did from frequent showers, they took it as cheerfully as they could. This army of the unsuccessful was a striking commentary on the luck of the mines.
Robbers most singularly lacked. I did not hear of a single case of violence in all the rather slow journey out. The explanation did not seem difficult, however. Those who travelled alone had nothing worth the taking; while those who possessed gold went in numbers too strong to be attacked. The road agents had gone straight to the larger cities. Nor, must I confess, did I see many examples of compassion to the unfortunate. In spite of the sentimental381stories that have been told–with real enough basis in isolated fact, probably–the time was selfish. It was also, after eliminating the desperadoes and blacklegs, essentially honest. Thus one day we came upon a wagon apparently deserted by the roadside. On it was a rudely scrawled sign:
“Will some kind person stay by my wagon. I am in distress looking for my oxen. Please do not take anything, for I am poor, and the property is not mine.”
Nothing had been touched, as near as I could make out. We travelled by easy stages, and by a roundabout route, both because the road was bad, and because we wanted to see the country. On our way we passed several other small camps. A great many Chinese had come in, and were engaged in scratching over the abandoned claims. In fact, one man told me that sometimes it was worth while to file on some of the abandoned claims just to sell them to these patient people! As we descended from the mountains we naturally came upon more and more worked-out claims. Some had evidently been abandoned in disgust by men with little stamina; but, sometimes, with a considerable humour. An effigy clad in regulation gambler’s rig, including the white shirt, swayed and swung slowly above the merest surface diggings. Across the shirt front these words were written: