Chapter V

by Bret Harte

　　Whatever might have been his other deficiencies as an escort,Whiskey Dick was a good horseman, and, in spite of his fractiousbrute, exhibited such skill and confidence as to at once satisfythe young girls of his value to them in the management of their ownhorses, to whom side-saddles were still an alarming novelty.Jessie, who had probably already learned from her sister thepurport of Dick's confidences, had received him with equalcordiality and perhaps a more unqualified amusement; and now, whenfairly lifted into the saddle by his tremulous but respectfulhands, made a very charming picture of youthful and rosysatisfaction. And when Christie, more fascinating than ever in herriding-habit, took her place on the other side of Dick, as theysallied from the gate, that gentleman felt his cup of happinesscomplete. His triumphal entree into the world of civilization andfashion was secure. He did not regret the untasted liquor; herewas an experience in after years to lean his back againstcomfortably in bar-rooms, to entrance or defy mankind. He had evengot so far as to formulate in fancy the sentence: "I remember,gentlemen, that one afternoon, being on a pasear with twofash'nable young ladies," etc., etc.At present, however, he was obliged to confine himself to thefunctions of an elegant guide and cicerone--when not engaged in"having it out" with his horse. Their way lay along the slope,crossing the high-road at right angles, to reach the deeper woodsbeyond. Dick would have lingered on the highway--ostensibly topoint out to his companions the new flume that had taken the placeof the condemned ditch, but really in the hope of exposing himselfin his glory to the curious eyes of the wayfaring world.Unhappily the road was deserted in the still powerful sunlight, andhe was obliged to seek the cover of the woods, with a passingcompliment to the parent of his charges. Waving his hands towardsthe flume, he said, "Look at that work of your father's; thereain't no other man in Californy but Philip Carr ez would hev thegrit to hold up such a bluff agin natur and agin luck ez that yerflume stands for. I don't say it 'cause you're his daughters,ladies! That ain't the style, ez you know, in sassiety, MissCarr," he added, turning to Christie as the more sociallyexperienced. "No! but there ain't another man to be found ez coulddo it. It cost already two hundred thousand; it'll cost fivehundred thousand afore it's done; and every cent of it is got outof the yearth beneath it, or hez got to be out of it. 'Tain'tev'ry man, Miss Carr, ez hev got the pluck to pledge not only whathe's got, but what he reckons to git.""But suppose he don't get it?" said Christie, slightly contractingher brows."Then there's the flume to show for it," said Dick."But of what use is the flume, if there isn't any more gold?"continued Christie, almost angrily."That's good from you, miss," said Dick, giving way to a fit ofhilarity. "That's good for a fash'nable young lady--own daughterof Philip Carr. She sez, says she," continued Dick, appealing tothe sedate pines for appreciation of Christie's rare humor, "'Wot'sthe use of a flume, when gold ain't there?' I must tell that tothe boys.""And what's the use of the gold in the ground when the flume isn'tthere to work it out?" said Jessie to her sister, with a cautioningglance towards Dick.But Dick did not notice the look that passed between the sisters.The richer humor of Jessie's retort had thrown him into convulsionsof laughter."And now she says, wot's the use o' the gold without the flume?'Xcuse me, ladies, but that's just puttin' the hull question that'sagitatin' this yer camp inter two speeches as clear as crystal.There's the hull crowd outside--and some on 'em inside, likeFairfax, hez their doubts--ez says with Miss Christie; and there'sall of us inside, ez holds Miss Jessie's views.""I never heard Mr. Munroe say that the flume was wrong," saidJessie quickly."Not to you, nat'rally," said Dick, with a confidential look atChristie; "but I reckon he'd like some of the money it cost laidout for suthin' else. But what's the odds? The gold is there, andwe're bound to get it."Dick was the foreman of a gang of paid workmen, who had replacedthe millionaires in mere manual labor, and the we was a politefigure of speech.The conversation seemed to have taken an unfortunate turn, and boththe girls experienced a feeling of relief when they entered thelong gulch or defile that led to Indian Spring. The track nowbecoming narrow, they were obliged to pass in single file along theprecipitous hillside, led by this escort. This effectuallyprecluded any further speech, and Christie at once surrenderedherself to the calm, obliterating influences of the forest. Thesettlement and its gossip were far behind and forgotten. In theabsorption of nature, her companions passed out of her mind, evenas they sometimes passed out of her sight in the windings of theshadowy trail. As she rode alone, the fronds of breast-high fernsseemed to caress her with outstretched and gently-detaining hands;strange wildflowers sprang up through the parting underbrush; eventhe granite rocks that at times pressed closely upon the trailappeared as if cushioned to her contact with star-rayed mosses, orlightly flung after her long lassoes of delicate vines. Sherecalled the absolute freedom of their al-fresco life in the olddouble cabin, when she spent the greater part of her waking hoursunder the mute trees in the encompassing solitude, and, halfregretting the more civilized restraints of this newer and moreambitious abode, forgot that she had ever rebelled against it. Thesocial complication that threatened her now seemed to her ratherthe outcome of her half-civilized parlor than of the sylvan glade.How easy it would have been to have kept the cabin, and then tohave gone away entirely, than for her father to have allowed themto be compromised with the growing fortunes of the settlement! Thesuspicions and distrust that she had always felt of their fortunesseemed to grow with the involuntary admission of Whiskey Dick thatthey were shared by others who were practical men. She was fain tohave recourse to the prospect again to banish these thoughts, andthis opened her eyes to the fact that her companions had beenmissing from the trail ahead of her for some time. She quickenedher pace slightly to reach a projecting point of rock that gave hera more extended prospect. But they had evidently disappeared.She was neither alarmed nor annoyed. She could easily overtakethem soon, for they would miss her, and return or wait for her atthe spring. At the worst she would have no difficulty in retracingher steps home. In her present mood, she could readily spare theircompany; indeed she was not sorry that no other being shouldinterrupt that sympathy with the free woods which was beginning topossess her.She was destined, however, to be disappointed. She had notproceeded a hundred yards before she noticed the moving figure of aman beyond her in the hillside chaparral above the trail. Heseemed to be going in the same direction as herself, and, as shefancied, endeavoring to avoid her. This excited her curiosity tothe point of urging her horse forward until the trail broadenedinto the level forest again, which she now remembered was a part ofthe environs of Indian Spring. The stranger hesitated, pausingonce or twice with his back towards her, as if engaged in carefullyexamining the dwarf willows to select a switch. Christie slightlychecked her speed as she drew nearer; when, as if obedient to asudden resolution, he turned and advanced towards her. She wasrelieved and yet surprised to recognize the boyish face and figureof George Kearney. He was quite pale and agitated, althoughattempting, by a jaunty swinging of the switch he had just cut, toassume the appearance of ease and confidence.Here was an opportunity. Christie resolved to profit by it. Shedid not doubt that the young fellow had already passed her sisteron the trail, but, from bashfulness, had not dared to approach her.By inviting his confidence, she would doubtless draw something fromhim that would deny or corroborate her father's opinion of hissentiments. If he was really in love with Jessie, she would learnwhat reasons he had for expecting a serious culmination of hissuit, and perhaps she might be able delicately to open his eyes tothe truth. If, as she believed, it was only a boyish fancy, shewould laugh him out of it with that camaraderie which had alwaysexisted between them. A half motherly sympathy, albeit born quiteas much from a contemplation of his beautiful yearning eyes as fromhis interesting position, lightened the smile with which shegreeted him."So you contrived to throw over your stupid business and join us,after all," she said; "or was it that you changed your mind at thelast moment?" she added mischievously. "I thought only we womenwere permitted that!" Indeed, she could not help noticing thatthere was really a strong feminine suggestion in the shifting colorand slightly conscious eyelids of the young fellow."Do young girls always change their minds?" asked George, with anembarrassed smile."Not, always; but sometimes they don't know their own mind--particularly if they are very young; and when they do at last, youclever creatures of men, who have interpreted their ignorance toplease yourselves, abuse them for being fickle." She stopped toobserve the effect of what she believed a rather clear andsignificant exposition of Jessie's and George's possible situation.But she was not prepared for the look of blank resignation thatseemed to drive the color from his face and moisten the fire of hisdark eyes."I reckon you're right," he said, looking down."Oh! we're not accusing you of fickleness," said Christie gayly;"although you didn't come, and we were obliged to ask Mr. Hall tojoin us. I suppose you found him and Jessie just now?"But George made no reply. The color was slowly coming back to hisface, which, as she glanced covertly at him, seemed to have grownso much older that his returning blood might have brought two orthree years with it."Really, Mr. Kearney," she said dryly, "one would think that somesilly, conceited girl"--she was quite earnest in her epithets, fora sudden, angry conviction of some coquetry and disingenuousness inJessie had come to her in contemplating its effects upon the youngfellow at her side--"some country jilt, had been trying her rustichand upon you.""She is not silly, conceited, nor countrified," said George, slowlyraising his beautiful eyes to the young girl half reproachfully."It is I who am all that. No, she is right, and you know it."Much as Christie admired and valued her sister's charms, shethought this was really going too far. What had Jessie ever done--what was Jessie--to provoke and remain insensible to such a blinddevotion as this? And really, looking at him now, he was not sovery young for Jessie; whether his unfortunate passion had broughtout all his latent manliness, or whether he had hitherto kept hisserious nature in the background, certainly he was not a boy. Andcertainly his was not a passion that he could be laughed out of.It was getting very tiresome. She wished she had not met him--atleast until she had had some clearer understanding with her sister.He was still walking beside her, with his hand on her bridle rein,partly to lead her horse over some boulders in the trail, andpartly to conceal his first embarrassment. When they had fairlyreached the woods, he stopped."I am going to say good-by, Miss Carr.""Are you not coming further? We must be near Indian Spring, now;Mr. Hall and--and Jessie--cannot be far away. You will keep mecompany until we meet them?""No," he replied quietly. "I only stopped you to say good-by. Iam going away.""Not from Devil's Ford?" she asked, in half-incredulous astonishment."At least, not for long?""I am not coming back," he replied."But this is very abrupt," she said hurriedly, feeling that in someridiculous way she had precipitated an equally ridiculouscatastrophe. "Surely you are not going away in this fashion,without saying good-by to Jessie and--and father?""I shall see your father, of course--and you will give my regardsto Miss Jessie."He evidently was in earnest. Was there ever anything so perfectlypreposterous? She became indignant."Of course," she said coldly, "I won't detain you; your businessmust be urgent, and I forgot--at least I had forgotten until to-day--that you have other duties more important than that of squireof dames. I am afraid this forgetfulness made me think you wouldnot part from us in quite such a business fashion. I presume, ifyou had not met me just now, we should none of us have seen youagain?"He did not reply."Will you say good-by, Miss Carr?"He held out his hand."One moment, Mr. Kearney. If I have said anything which you thinkjustifies this very abrupt leave-taking, I beg you will forgive andforget it--or, at least, let it have no more weight with you thanthe idle words of any woman. I only spoke generally. You know--I--I might be mistaken."His eyes, which had dilated when she began to speak, darkened; hiscolor, which had quickly come, as quickly sank when she had ended."Don't say that, Miss Carr. It is not like you, and--it isuseless. You know what I meant a moment ago. I read it in yourreply. You meant that I, like others, had deceived myself. Didyou not?"She could not meet those honest eyes with less than equal honesty.She knew that Jessie did not love him--would not marry him--whatever coquetry she might have shown."I did not mean to offend you," she said hesitatingly; "I only halfsuspected it when I spoke.""And you wish to spare me the avowal?" he said bitterly."To me, perhaps, yes, by anticipating it. I could not tell whatideas you might have gathered from some indiscreet frankness ofJessie--or my father," she added, with almost equal bitterness."I have never spoken to either," he replied quickly. He stopped,and added, after a moment's mortifying reflection, "I've beenbrought up in the woods, Miss Carr, and I suppose I have followedmy feelings, instead of the etiquette of society."Christie was too relieved at the rehabilitation of Jessie'struthfulness to notice the full significance of his speech."Good-by," he said again, holding out his hand."Good-by!"She extended her own, ungloved, with a frank smile. He held it fora moment, with his eyes fixed upon hers. Then suddenly, as ifobeying an uncontrollable impulse, he crushed it like a floweragain and again against his burning lips, and darted away.Christie sank back in her saddle with a little cry, half of painand half of frightened surprise. Had the poor boy suddenly gonemad, or was this vicarious farewell a part of the courtship ofDevil's Ford? She looked at her little hand, which had reddenedunder the pressure, and suddenly felt the flush extending to hercheeks and the roots of her hair. This was intolerable."Christie!"It was her sister emerging from the wood to seek her. In anothermoment she was at her side."We thought you were following," said Jessie. "Good heavens! howyou look! What has happened?""Nothing. I met Mr. Kearney a moment ago on the trail. He isgoing away, and--and--" She stopped, furious and flushing."And," said Jessie, with a burst of merriment, "he told you at lasthe loved you. Oh, Christie!"