Chapter II

by Bret Harte

　　Six hours later, when the shadow of Devil's Spur had crossed theriver, and spread a slight coolness over the flat beyond, thePioneer coach, leaving the summit, began also to bathe its heatedbulk in the long shadows of the descent. Conspicuous among thedusty passengers, the two pretty and youthful faces of thedaughters of Philip Carr, mining superintendent and engineer,looked from the windows with no little anxiety towards their futurehome in the straggling settlement below, that occasionally came inview at the turns of the long zigzagging road. A slight look ofcomical disappointment passed between them as they gazed upon thesterile flat, dotted with unsightly excrescences that stood equallyfor cabins or mounds of stone and gravel. It was so feeble andinconsistent a culmination to the beautiful scenery they had passedthrough, so hopeless and imbecile a conclusion to the preparationof that long picturesque journey, with its glimpses of sylvan andpastoral glades and canyons, that, as the coach swept down the lastincline, and the remorseless monotony of the dead level spread outbefore them, furrowed by ditches and indented by pits, under coverof shielding their cheeks from the impalpable dust that rosebeneath the plunging wheels, they buried their faces in theirhandkerchiefs, to hide a few half-hysterical tears. Happily, theirfather, completely absorbed in a practical, scientific, andapproving contemplation of the topography and material resources ofthe scene of his future labors, had no time to notice theirdefection. It was not until the stage drew up before a ramblingtenement bearing the inscription, "Hotel and Stage Office," that hebecame fully aware of it."We can't stop here, papa," said Christie Carr decidedly, with ashake of her pretty head. "You can't expect that."Mr. Carr looked up at the building; it was half grocery, halfsaloon. Whatever other accommodations it contained must have beenhidden in the rear, as the flat roof above was almost level withthe raftered ceiling of the shop."Certainly," he replied hurriedly; "we'll see to that in a moment.I dare say it's all right. I told Fairfax we were coming.Somebody ought to be here.""But they're not," said Jessie Carr indignantly; "and the few thatwere here scampered off like rabbits to their burrows as soon asthey saw us get down."It was true. The little group of loungers before the building hadsuddenly disappeared. There was the flash of a red shirt vanishingin an adjacent doorway; the fading apparition of a pair of highboots and blue overalls in another; the abrupt withdrawal of acurly blond head from a sashless window over the way. Even thesaloon was deserted, although a back door in the dim recess seemedto creak mysteriously. The stage-coach, with the other passengers,had already rattled away."I certainly think Fairfax understood that I--" began Mr. Carr.He was interrupted by the pressure of Christie's fingers on his armand a subdued exclamation from Jessie, who was staring down thestreet."What are they?" she whispered in her sister's ear. "Niggerminstrels, a circus, or what?"The five millionaires of Devil's Ford had just turned the corner ofthe straggling street, and were approaching in single file. Oneglance was sufficient to show that they had already availedthemselves of the new clothing bought by Fairfax, had washed, andone or two had shaved. But the result was startling.Through some fortunate coincidence in size, Dick Mattingly was theonly one who had achieved an entire new suit. But it was offunereal black cloth, and although relieved at one extremity by apair of high riding boots, in which his too short trousers weretucked, and at the other by a tall white hat, and cravat ofaggressive yellow, the effect was depressing. In agreeablecontrast, his brother, Maryland Joe, was attired in a thin fawn-colored summer overcoat, lightly worn open, so as to show theunstarched bosom of a white embroidered shirt, and a pair ofnankeen trousers and pumps.The Kearney brothers had divided a suit between them, the elderwearing a tightly-fitting, single-breasted blue frock-coat and apair of pink striped cotton trousers, while the younger candidlydisplayed the trousers of his brother's suit, as a harmoniouschange to a shining black alpaca coat and crimson neckerchief.Fairfax, who brought up the rear, had, with characteristicunselfishness, contented himself with a French workman's blueblouse and a pair of white duck trousers. Had they shown the leastconsciousness of their finery, or of its absurdity, they would haveseemed despicable. But only one expression beamed on the fivesunburnt and shining faces--a look of unaffected boyishgratification and unrestricted welcome.They halted before Mr. Carr and his daughters, simultaneouslyremoved their various and remarkable head coverings, and waiteduntil Fairfax advanced and severally presented them. Jessie Carr'shalf-frightened smile took refuge in the trembling shadows of herdark lashes; Christie Carr stiffened slightly, and looked straightbefore her."We reckoned--that is--we intended to meet you and the young ladiesat the grade," said Fairfax, reddening a little as he endeavored toconceal his too ready slang, "and save you from trapesing--fromdragging yourselves up grade again to your house.""Then there is a house?" said Jessie, with an alarming frank laughof relief, that was, however, as frankly reflected in the boyishlyappreciative eyes of the young men."Such as it is," responded Fairfax, with a shade of anxiety, as heglanced at the fresh and pretty costumes of the young women, anddubiously regarded the two Saratoga trunks resting hopelessly onthe veranda. "I'm afraid it isn't much, for what you're accustomedto. But," he added more cheerfully, "it will do for a day or two,and perhaps you'll give us the pleasure of showing you the waythere now."The procession was quickly formed. Mr. Carr, alive only to theactual business that had brought him there, at once took possessionof Fairfax, and began to disclose his plans for the working of themine, occasionally halting to look at the work already done in theditches, and to examine the field of his future operations.Fairfax, not displeased at being thus relieved of a lighterattendance on Mr. Carr's daughters, nevertheless from time to timecast a paternal glance backwards upon their escorts, who had eachseized a handle of the two trunks, and were carrying them incouples at the young ladies' side. The occupation did not offermuch freedom for easy gallantry, but no sign of discomfiture oruneasiness was visible in the grateful faces of the young men. Thenecessity of changing hands at times with their burdens brought acorresponding change of cavalier at the lady's side, although itwas observed that the younger Kearney, for the sake of continuing aconversation with Miss Jessie, kept his grasp of the handle nearestthe young lady until his hand was nearly cut through, and his armworn out by exhaustion."The only thing on wheels in the camp is a mule wagon, and themules are packin' gravel from the river this afternoon," explainedDick Mattingly apologetically to Christie, "or we'd have toted--Imean carried--you and your baggage up to the shant--the--yourhouse. Give us two weeks more, Miss Carr--only two weeks to washup our work and realize--and we'll give you a pair of 2.40 steppersand a skeleton buggy to meet you at the top of the hill and driveyou over to the cabin. Perhaps you'd prefer a regular carriage;some ladies do. And a nigger driver. But what's the use ofplanning anything? Afore that time comes we'll have run you up ahouse on the hill, and you shall pick out the spot. It wouldn'ttake long--unless you preferred brick. I suppose we could getbrick over from La Grange, if you cared for it, but it would takelonger. If you could put up for a time with something of stainedglass and a mahogany veranda--"In spite of her cold indignation, and the fact that she couldunderstand only a part of Mattingly's speech, Christie comprehendedenough to make her lift her clear eyes to the speaker, as shereplied freezingly that she feared she would not trouble them longwith her company."Oh, you'll get over that," responded Mattingly, with anexasperating confidence that drove her nearly frantic, from themanifest kindliness of intent that made it impossible for her toresent it. "I felt that way myself at first. Things will lookstrange and unsociable for a while, until you get the hang of them.You'll naturally stamp round and cuss a little--" He stopped inconscious consternation.With ready tact, and before Christie could reply, Maryland Joe hadput down the trunk and changed hands with his brother."You mustn't mind Dick, or he'll go off and kill himself withshame," he whispered laughingly in her ear. "He means all right,but he's picked up so much slang here that he's about forgotten howto talk English, and it's nigh on to four years since he's met ayoung lady."Christie did not reply. Yet the laughter of her sister in advancewith the Kearney brothers seemed to make the reserve with which shetried to crush further familiarity only ridiculous."Do you know many operas, Miss Carr?"She looked at the boyish, interested, sunburnt face so near to herown, and hesitated. After all, why should she add to her otherreal disappointments by taking this absurd creature seriously?"In what way?" she returned, with a half smile."To play. On the piano, of course. There isn't one nearer herethan Sacramento; but I reckon we could get a small one by Thursday.You couldn't do anything on a banjo?" he added doubtfully;"Kearney's got one.""I imagine it would be very difficult to carry a piano over thosemountains," said Christie laughingly, to avoid the collateral ofthe banjo."We got a billiard-table over from Stockton," half bashfullyinterrupted Dick Mattingly, struggling from his end of the trunk torecover his composure, "and it had to be brought over in sectionson the back of a mule, so I don't see why--" He stopped shortagain in confusion, at a sign from his brother, and then added, "Imean, of course, that a piano is a heap more delicate, andvaluable, and all that sort of thing, but it's worth trying for.""Fairfax was always saying he'd get one for himself, so I reckonit's possible," said Joe."Does he play?" asked Christie."You bet," said Joe, quite forgetting himself in his enthusiasm."He can snatch Mozart and Beethoven bald-headed."In the embarrassing silence that followed this speech the fringe ofpine wood nearest the flat was reached. Here there was a rude"clearing," and beneath an enormous pine stood the two recentlyjoined tenements. There was no attempt to conceal the point ofjunction between Kearney's cabin and the newly-transported saloonfrom the flat--no architectural illusion of the palpable collusionof the two buildings, which seemed to be telescoped into eachother. The front room or living room occupied the whole ofKearney's cabin. It contained, in addition to the necessaryarticles for housekeeping, a "bunk" or berth for Mr. Carr, so as toleave the second building entirely to the occupation of hisdaughters as bedroom and boudoir.There was a half-humorous, half-apologetic exhibition of the rudeutensils of the living room, and then the young men turned away asthe two girls entered the open door of the second room. NeitherChristie nor Jessie could for a moment understand the delicacywhich kept these young men from accompanying them into the roomthey had but a few moments before decorated and arranged with theirown hands, and it was not until they turned to thank their strangeentertainers that they found that they were gone.The arrangement of the second room was rude and bizarre, but notwithout a singular originality and even tastefulness of conception.What had been the counter or "bar" of the saloon, gorgeous in whiteand gold, now sawn in two and divided, was set up on opposite sidesof the room as separate dressing-tables, decorated with hugebunches of azaleas, that hid the rough earthenware bowls, and gaveeach table the appearance of a vestal altar.The huge gilt plate-glass mirror which had hung behind the barstill occupied one side of the room, but its length was artfullydivided by an enormous rosette of red, white, and blue muslin--oneof the surviving Fourth of July decorations of Thompson's saloon.On either side of the door two pathetic-looking, convent-like cots,covered with spotless sheeting, and heaped up in the middle, like asnow-covered grave, had attracted their attention. They were stillstaring at them when Mr. Carr anticipated their curiosity."I ought to tell you that the young men confided to me the factthat there was neither bed nor mattress to be had on the Ford.They have filled some flour sacks with clean dry moss from thewoods, and put half a dozen blankets on the top, and they hope youcan get along until the messenger who starts to-night for La Grangecan bring some bedding over."Jessie flew with mischievous delight to satisfy herself of thetruth of this marvel. "It's so, Christie," she said laughingly--"three flour-sacks apiece; but I'm jealous: yours are all marked'superfine,' and mine 'middlings.'"Mr. Carr had remained uneasily watching Christie's shadowed face."What matters?" she said drily. "The accommodation is all inkeeping.""It will be better in a day or two," he continued, casting alonging look towards the door--the first refuge of masculineweakness in an impending domestic emergency. "I'll go and see whatcan be done," he said feebly, with a sidelong impulse towards theopening and freedom. "I've got to see Fairfax again to-night anyway.""One moment, father," said Christie, wearily. "Did you knowanything of this place and these--these people--before you came?""Certainly--of course I did," he returned, with the suddentestiness of disturbed abstraction. "What are you thinking of? Iknew the geological strata and the--the report of Fairfax and hispartners before I consented to take charge of the works. And I cantell you that there is a fortune here. I intend to make my ownterms, and share in it.""And not take a salary or some sum of money down?" said Christie,slowly removing her bonnet in the same resigned way."I am not a hired man, or a workman, Christie," said her fathersharply. "You ought not to oblige me to remind you of that.""But the hired men--the superintendent and his workmen--were theonly ones who ever got anything out of your last experience withColonel Waters at La Grange, and--and we at least lived amongcivilized people there.""These young men are not common people, Christie; even if they haveforgotten the restraints of speech and manners, they're gentlemen.""Who are willing to live like--like negroes.""You can make them what you please."Christie raised her eyes. There was a certain cynical ring in herfather's voice that was unlike his usual hesitating abstraction.It both puzzled and pained her."I mean," he said hastily, "that you have the same opportunity todirect the lives of these young men into more regular, disciplinedchannels that I have to regulate and correct their foolish waste ofindustry and material here. It would at least beguile the time foryou."Fortunately for Mr. Carr's escape and Christie's uneasiness,Jessie, who had been examining the details of the living-room,broke in upon this conversation."I'm sure it will be as good as a perpetual picnic. George Kearneysays we can have a cooking-stove under the tree outside at theback, and as there will be no rain for three months we can do thecooking there, and that will give us more room for--for the pianowhen it comes; and there's an old squaw to do the cleaning andwashing-up any day--and--and--it will be real fun."She stopped breathlessly, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes--acharming picture of youth and trustfulness. Mr. Carr had seizedthe opportunity to escape."Really, now, Christie," said Jessie confidentially, when they werealone, and Christie had begun to unpack her trunk, and tomechanically put her things away, "they're not so bad.""Who?" asked Christie."Why, the Kearneys, and Mattinglys, and Fairfax, and the lot,provided you don't look at their clothes. And think of it! theytold me--for they tell one everything in the most alarming way--that those clothes were bought to please us. A scramble of thingsbought at La Grange, without reference to size or style. And tohear these creatures talk, why, you'd think they were Astors orRothschilds. Think of that little one with the curls--I don'tbelieve he is over seventeen, for all his baby moustache--says he'sgoing to build an assembly hall for us to give a dance in nextmonth; and apologizes the next breath to tell us that there isn'tany milk to be had nearer than La Grange, and we must do withoutit, and use syrup in our tea to-morrow.""And where is all this wealth?" said Christie, forcing herself tosmile at her sister's animation."Under our very feet, my child, and all along the river. Why, whatwe thought was pure and simple mud is what they call 'gold-bearingcement.'""I suppose that is why they don't brush their boots and trousers,it's so precious," returned Christie drily. "And have they evertranslated this precious dirt into actual coin?""Bless you, yes. Why, that dirty little gutter, you know, that ranalong the side of the road and followed us down the hill all theway here, that cost them--let me see--yes, nearly sixty thousanddollars. And fancy! papa's just condemned it--says it won't do;and they've got to build another."An impatient sigh from Christie drew Jessie's attention to hertroubled eyebrows."Don't worry about our disappointment, dear. It isn't so verygreat. I dare say we'll be able to get along here in some way,until papa is rich again. You know they intend to make him sharewith them.""It strikes me that he is sharing with them already," saidChristie, glancing bitterly round the cabin; "sharing everything--ourselves, our lives, our tastes.""Ye-e-s!" said Jessie, with vaguely hesitating assent. "Yes, eventhese:" she showed two dice in the palm of her little hand. "Ifound 'em in the drawer of our dressing-table.""Throw them away," said Christie impatiently.But Jessie's small fingers closed over the dice. "I'll give themto the little Kearney. I dare say they were the poor boy'splaythings."The appearance of these relics of wild dissipation, however, hadlifted Christie out of her sublime resignation. "For Heaven'ssake, Jessie," she said, "look around and see if there is anythingmore!"To make sure, they each began to scrimmage; the broken-spiritedChristie exhibiting both alacrity and penetration in searchingobscure corners. In the dining-room, behind the dresser, three orfour books were discovered: an odd volume of Thackeray, another ofDickens, a memorandum-book or diary. "This seems to be Latin,"said Jessie, fishing out a smaller book. "I can't read it.""It's just as well you shouldn't," said Christie shortly, whoseideas of a general classical impropriety had been gathered frompages of Lempriere's dictionary. "Put it back directly."Jessie returned certain odes of one Horatius Flaccus to the corner,and uttered an exclamation. "Oh, Christie! here are some letterstied up with a ribbon."They were two or three prettily written letters, exhaling a faintodor of refinement and of the pressed flowers that peeped frombetween the loose leaves. "I see, 'My darling Fairfax.' It's fromsome woman.""I don't think much of her, whosoever she is," said Christie,tossing the intact packet back into the corner."Nor I," echoed Jessie.Nevertheless, by some feminine inconsistency, evidently thecircumstance did make them think more of him, for a minute later,when they had reentered their own room, Christie remarked, "Theidea of petting a man by his family name! Think of mamma everhaving called papa 'darling Carr'!""Oh, but his family name isn't Fairfax," said Jessie hastily;"that's his first name, his Christian name. I forget what's hisother name, but nobody ever calls him by it.""Do you mean," said Christie, with glistening eyes and awfuldeliberation--"do you mean to say that we're expected to fall inwith this insufferable familiarity? I suppose they'll be callingus by our Christian names next.""Oh, but they do!" said Jessie, mischievously."What!""They call me Miss Jessie; and Kearney, the little one, asked me ifChristie played.""And what did you say?""I said that you did," answered Jessie, with an affectation ofcherubic simplicity. "You do, dear; don't you? . . . There, don'tget angry, darling; I couldn't flare up all of a sudden in the faceof that poor little creature; he looked so absurd--and so--sohonest."Christie turned away, relapsing into her old resigned manner, andassuming her household duties in a quiet, temporizing way that was,however, without hope or expectation.Mr. Carr, who had dined with his friends under the excuse of notadding to the awkwardness of the first day's housekeeping returnedlate at night with a mass of papers and drawings, into which heafterwards withdrew, but not until he had delivered himself of amysterious package entrusted to him by the young men for hisdaughters. It contained a contribution to their board in the shapeof a silver spoon and battered silver mug, which Jessie chose tofacetiously consider as an affecting reminiscence of the youthfulKearney's christening days--which it probably was.The young girls retired early to their white snow-drifts: Jessienot without some hilarious struggles with hers, in which she was,however, quickly surprised by the deep and refreshing sleep ofyouth; Christie to lie awake and listen to the night wind, that hadchanged from the first cool whispers of sunset to the sturdy breathof the mountain. At times the frail house shook and trembled.Wandering gusts laden with the deep resinous odors of the woodfound their way through the imperfect jointure of the two cabins,swept her cheek and even stirred her long, wide-open lashes. Abroken spray of pine needles rustled along the roof, or a pine conedropped with a quick reverberating tap-tap that for an instantstartled her. Lying thus, wide awake, she fell into a dreamyreminiscence of the past, hearing snatches of old melody in themoving pines, fragments of sentences, old words, and familiarepithets in the murmuring wind at her ear, and even the faintbreath of long-forgotten kisses on her cheek. She remembered hermother--a pallid creature, who had slowly faded out of one of herfather's vague speculations in a vaguer speculation of her own,beyond his ken--whose place she had promised to take at herfather's side. The words, "Watch over him, Christie; he needs awoman's care," again echoed in her ears, as if borne on the nightwind from the lonely grave in the lonelier cemetery by the distantsea. She had devoted herself to him with some little sacrifices ofself, only remembered now for their uselessness in saving herfather the disappointment that sprang from his sanguine and one-idea'd temperament. She thought of him lying asleep in the otherroom, ready on the morrow to devote those fateful qualities to thenew enterprise that with equally fateful disposition she believedwould end in failure. It did not occur to her that the doubts ofher own practical nature were almost as dangerous and illogical ashis enthusiasm, and that for that reason she was fast losing whatlittle influence she possessed over him. With the example of hermother's weakness before her eyes, she had become an unsparing anddistrustful critic, with the sole effect of awakening his distrustand withdrawing his confidence from her.He was beginning to deceive her as he had never deceived hermother. Even Jessie knew more of this last enterprise than she didherself.All that did not tend to decrease her utter restlessness. It wasalready past midnight when she noticed that the wind had againabated. The mountain breeze had by this time possessed thestifling valleys and heated bars of the river in its strong, coldembraces; the equilibrium of Nature was restored, and a shadowymist rose from the hollow. A stillness, more oppressive andintolerable than the previous commotion, began to pervade the houseand the surrounding woods. She could hear the regular breathing ofthe sleepers; she even fancied she could detect the faint impulsesof the more distant life in the settlement. The far-off barking ofa dog, a lost shout, the indistinct murmur of some nearerwatercourse--mere phantoms of sound--made the silence moreirritating. With a sudden resolution she arose, dressed herselfquietly and completely, threw a heavy cloak over her head andshoulders, and opened the door between the living-room and her own.Her father was sleeping soundly in his bunk in the corner. Shepassed noiselessly through the room, opened the lightly fasteneddoor, and stepped out into the night.In the irritation and disgust of her walk hither, she had nevernoticed the situation of the cabin, as it nestled on the slope atthe fringe of the woods; in the preoccupation of her disappointmentand the mechanical putting away of her things, she had never lookedonce from the window of her room, or glanced backward out of thedoor that she had entered. The view before her was a revelation--areproach, a surprise that took away her breath. Over her shouldersthe newly risen moon poured a flood of silvery light, stretchingfrom her feet across the shining bars of the river to the oppositebank, and on up to the very crest of the Devil's Spur--no longer ahuge bulk of crushing shadow, but the steady exaltation of plateau,spur, and terrace clothed with replete and unutterable beauty. Inthis magical light that beauty seemed to be sustained and carriedalong by the river winding at its base, lifted again to the broadshoulder of the mountain, and lost only in the distant vista ofdeath-like, overcrowning snow. Behind and above where she stoodthe towering woods seemed to be waiting with opened ranks to absorbher with the little cabin she had quitted, dwarfed intoinsignificance in the vast prospect; but nowhere was there anothersign or indication of human life and habitation. She looked invain for the settlement, for the rugged ditches, the scatteredcabins, and the unsightly heaps of gravel. In the glamour of themoonlight they had vanished; a veil of silver-gray vapor touchedhere and there with ebony shadows masked its site. A black stripbeyond was the river bank. All else was changed. With a suddensense of awe and loneliness she turned to the cabin and itssleeping inmates--all that seemed left to her in the vast andstupendous domination of rock and wood and sky.But in another moment the loneliness passed. A new and delicioussense of an infinite hospitality and friendliness in their silentpresence began to possess her. This same slighted, forgotten,uncomprehended, but still foolish and forgiving Nature seemed to bebending over her frightened and listening ear with vague butthrilling murmurings of freedom and independence. She felt herheart expand with its wholesome breath, her soul fill with itssustaining truth.She felt--What was that?An unmistakable outburst of a drunken song at the foot of theslope:--"Oh, my name it is Johnny from Pike,I'm h-ll on a spree or a strike" . . .She stopped as crimson with shame and indignation as if theviewless singer had risen before her."I knew when to bet, and get up and get--""Hush! D--n it all. Don't you hear?"There was the sound of hurried whispers, a "No" and "Yes," and thena dead silence.Christie crept nearer to the edge of the slope in the shadow of abuckeye. In the clearer view she could distinguish a staggeringfigure in the trail below who had evidently been stopped by twoother expostulating shadows that were approaching from the shelterof a tree."Sho!--didn't know!"The staggering figure endeavored to straighten itself, and thenslouched away in the direction of the settlement. The twomysterious shadows retreated again to the tree, and were lost inits deeper shadow. Christie darted back to the cabin, and softlyreentered her room."I thought I heard a noise that woke me, and I missed you," saidJessie, rubbing her eyes. "Did you see anything?""No," said Christie, beginning to undress."You weren't frightened, dear?""Not in the least," said Christie, with a strange little laugh."Go to sleep."