Chapter I

by Bret Harte

　　It was a season of unequalled prosperity in Devil's Ford. The halfa dozen cabins scattered along the banks of the North Fork, as ifby some overflow of that capricious river, had become augmentedduring a week of fierce excitement by twenty or thirty others, thatwere huddled together on the narrow gorge of Devil's Spur, or castup on its steep sides. So sudden and violent had been the changeof fortune, that the dwellers in the older cabins had not had timeto change with it, but still kept their old habits, customs, andeven their old clothes. The flour pan in which their daily breadwas mixed stood on the rude table side by side with the"prospecting pans," half full of gold washed up from theirmorning's work; the front windows of the newer tenements lookedupon the one single thoroughfare, but the back door opened upon theuncleared wilderness, still haunted by the misshapen bulk of bearor the nightly gliding of catamount.Neither had success as yet affected their boyish simplicity and thefrankness of old frontier habits; they played with their new-foundriches with the naive delight of children, and rehearsed theirglowing future with the importance and triviality of school-boys."I've bin kalklatin'," said Dick Mattingly, leaning on his long-handled shovel with lazy gravity, "that when I go to Rome thiswinter, I'll get one o' them marble sharps to chisel me a statoo o'some kind to set up on the spot where we made our big strike.Suthin' to remember it by, you know.""What kind o' statoo--Washington or Webster?" asked one of theKearney brothers, without looking up from his work."No--I reckon one o' them fancy groups--one o' them Latin goddessesthat Fairfax is always gassin' about, sorter leadin', directin' andbossin' us where to dig.""You'd make a healthy-lookin' figger in a group," respondedKearney, critically regarding an enormous patch in Mattingly'strousers. "Why don't you have a fountain instead?""Where'll you get the water?" demanded the first speaker, inreturn. "You know there ain't enough in the North Fork to do aweek's washing for the camp--to say nothin' of its color.""Leave that to me," said Kearney, with self-possession. "When I'vebuilt that there reservoir on Devil's Spur, and bring the waterover the ridge from Union Ditch, there'll be enough to spare forthat.""Better mix it up, I reckon--have suthin' half statoo, halffountain," interposed the elder Mattingly, better known as"Maryland Joe," "and set it up afore the Town Hall and Free LibraryI'm kalklatin' to give. Do that, and you can count on me."After some further discussion, it was gravely settled that Kearneyshould furnish water brought from the Union Ditch, twenty milesaway, at a cost of two hundred thousand dollars, to feed a memorialfountain erected by Mattingly, worth a hundred thousand dollars, asa crowning finish to public buildings contributed by Maryland Joe,to the extent of half a million more. The disposition of thesevast sums by gentlemen wearing patched breeches awakened no senseof the ludicrous, nor did any doubt, reservation, or contingencyenter into the plans of the charming enthusiasts themselves. Thefoundation of their airy castles lay already before them in thestrip of rich alluvium on the river bank, where the North Fork,sharply curving round the base of Devil's Spur, had for centuriesswept the detritus of gulch and canyon. They had barely crossedthe threshold of this treasure-house, to find themselves rich men;what possibilities of affluence might be theirs when they had fullyexploited their possessions? So confident were they of thatultimate prospect, that the wealth already thus obtained wasreligiously expended in engines and machinery for the boring ofwells and the conveyance of that precious water which the exhaustedriver had long since ceased to yield. It seemed as if the goldthey had taken out was by some ironical compensation graduallymaking its way back to the soil again through ditch and flume andreservoir.Such was the position of affairs at Devil's Ford on the 13th ofAugust, 1860. It was noon of a hot day. Whatever movement therewas in the stifling air was seen rather than felt in a tremulous,quivering, upward-moving dust along the flank of the mountain,through which the spires of the pines were faintly visible. Therewas no water in the bared and burning bars of the river to reflectthe vertical sun, but under its direct rays one or two tinned roofsand corrugated zinc cabins struck fire, a few canvas tents becamedazzling to the eye, and the white wooded corral of the stageoffice and hotel insupportable. For two hours no one ventured inthe glare of the open, or even to cross the narrow, unshadowedstreet, whose dull red dust seemed to glow between the lines ofstraggling houses. The heated shells of these green unseasonedtenements gave out a pungent odor of scorching wood and resin. Theusual hurried, feverish toil in the claim was suspended; the pickand shovel were left sticking in the richest "pay gravel;" thetoiling millionaires themselves, ragged, dirty, and perspiring, laypanting under the nearest shade, where the pipes went outlistlessly, and conversation sank to monosyllables."There's Fairfax," said Dick Mattingly, at last, with a lazyeffort. His face was turned to the hillside, where a man had justemerged from the woods, and was halting irresolutely before theglaring expanse of upheaved gravel and glistening boulders thatstretched between him and the shaded group. "He's going to make abreak for it," he added, as the stranger, throwing his linen coatover his head, suddenly started into an Indian trot through thepelting sunbeams toward them. This strange act was perfectlyunderstood by the group, who knew that in that intensely dry heatthe danger of exposure was lessened by active exercise and theprofuse perspiration that followed it. In another moment thestranger had reached their side, dripping as if rained upon,mopping his damp curls and handsome bearded face with his linencoat, as he threw himself pantingly on the ground."I struck out over here first, boys, to give you a little warning,"he said, as soon as he had gained breath. "That engineer will bedown here to take charge as soon as the six o'clock stage comes in.He's an oldish chap, has got a family of two daughters, and--I--am--d----d if he is not bringing them down here with him.""Oh, go long!" exclaimed the five men in one voice, raisingthemselves on their hands and elbows, and glaring at the speaker."Fact, boys! Soon as I found it out I just waltzed into that Jewshop at the Crossing and bought up all the clothes that would belikely to suit you fellows, before anybody else got a show. Ireckon I cleared out the shop. The duds are a little mixed instyle, but I reckon they're clean and whole, and a man might face alady in 'em. I left them round at the old Buckeye Spring, wherethey're handy without attracting attention. You boys can go therefor a general wash-up, rig yourselves up without saying anything,and then meander back careless and easy in your store clothes, justas the stage is coming in, sabe?""Why didn't you let us know earlier?" asked Mattingly aggrievedly;"you've been back here at least an hour.""I've been getting some place ready for them," returned the new-comer. "We might have managed to put the man somewhere, if he'dbeen alone, but these women want family accommodation. There wasnothing left for me to do but to buy up Thompson's saloon.""No?" interrupted his audience, half in incredulity, half inprotestation."Fact! You boys will have to take your drinks under canvas again,I reckon! But I made Thompson let those gold-framed mirrors thatused to stand behind the bar go into the bargain, and they sort offurnish the room. You know the saloon is one of them patent housesyou can take to pieces, and I've been reckoning you boys will haveto pitch in and help me to take the whole shanty over to the laurelbushes, and put it up agin Kearney's cabin.""What's all that?" said the younger Kearney, with an odd minglingof astonishment and bashful gratification."Yes, I reckon yours is the cleanest house, because it's thenewest, so you'll just step out and let us knock in one o' thegables, and clap it on to the saloon, and make one house of it,don't you see? There'll be two rooms, one for the girls and theother for the old man."The astonishment and bewilderment of the party had gradually givenway to a boyish and impatient interest."Hadn't we better do the job at once?" suggested Dick Mattingly."Or throw ourselves into those new clothes, so as to be ready,"added the younger Kearney, looking down at his ragged trousers. "Isay, Fairfax, what are the girls like, eh?"All the others had been dying to ask the question, yet one and alllaughed at the conscious manner and blushing cheek of thequestioner."You'll find out quick enough," returned Fairfax, whose curtcarelessness did not, however, prevent a slight increase of coloron his own cheek. "We'd better get that job off our hands beforedoing anything else. So, if you're ready, boys, we'll just waltzdown to Thompson's and pack up the shanty. He's out of it by thistime, I reckon. You might as well be perspiring to some purposeover there as gaspin' under this tree. We won't go back to workthis afternoon, but knock off now, and call it half a day. Come!Hump yourselves, gentlemen. Are you ready? One, two, three, andaway!"In another instant the tree was deserted; the figures of the fivemillionaires of Devil's Ford, crossing the fierce glare of the openspace, with boyish alacrity, glistened in the sunlight, and thendisappeared in the nearest fringe of thickets.