Chapter VIII

by Bret Harte

　　As Christie and Jessie Carr looked from the windows of the coach,whose dust-clogged wheels were slowly dragging them, as ifreluctant, nearer the last stage of their journey to Devil's Ford,they were conscious of a change in the landscape, which they couldnot entirely charge upon their changed feelings. The few baredopen spaces on the upland, the long stretch of rocky ridge near thesummit, so vivid and so velvety during their first journey, werenow burnt and yellow; even the brief openings in the forest wereseared as if by a hot iron in the scorching rays of a half year'ssun. The pastoral slopes of the valley below were cloaked inlustre-leather: the rare watercourses along the road had faded fromthe waiting eye and ear; it seemed as if the long and dry summerhad even invaded the close-set ranks of pines, and had blown asimoom breath through the densest woods, leaving its charred redashes on every leaf and spray along the tunnelled shade. As theyleaned out of the window and inhaled the half-dead spices of theevergreens, they seemed to have entered the atmosphere of someexhausted passion--of some fierce excitement that was even nowslowly burning itself out.It was a relief at last to see the straggling houses of Devil'sFord far below come once more into view, as they rounded theshoulder of Devil's Spur and began the long descent. But as theyentered the town a change more ominous and startling than thedesiccation of the landscape forced itself upon them. The town wasstill there, but where were the inhabitants? Four months ago theyhad left the straggling street thronged with busy citizens--groupsat every corner, and a chaos of merchandise and traders in the openplaza or square beside the Presbyterian church. Now all waschanged. Only a few wayfarers lifted their heads lazily as thecoach rattled by, crossing the deserted square littered with emptyboxes, and gliding past empty cabins or vacant shop windows, fromwhich not only familiar faces, but even the window sashesthemselves, were gone. The great unfinished serpent-like flume,crossing the river on gigantic trestles, had advanced as far as thetown, stooping over it like some enormous reptile that had suckedits life blood and was gorged with its prey.Whiskey Dick, who had left the stage on the summit to avail himselfof a shorter foot trail to the house, that would give him half anhour's grace to make preparations, met them at the stage officewith a buggy. A glance at the young girls, perhaps, convinced himthat the graces of elegant worldly conversation were out of placewith the revelation he read on their faces. Perhaps, he, too, wasa trifle indisposed. The short journey to the house was made inprofound silence.The villa had been repainted and decorated, and it looked fresher,and even, to their preoccupied minds, appeared more attractive thanever. Thoughtful hands had taken care of the vines and rose-busheson the trellises; water--that precious element in Devil's Ford--hadnot been spared in keeping green through the long drought theplants which the girls had so tenderly nurtured. It was the oneoasis in which the summer still lingered; and yet a singular senseof loss came over the girls as they once more crossed itsthreshold. It seemed no longer their own."Ef I was you, Miss Christie, I'd keep close to the house for a dayor two, until--until--things is settled," said Dick; "there's aheap o' tramps and sich cattle trapsin' round. P'raps you wouldn'tfeel so lonesome if you was nearer town--for instance, 'bout wher'you useter live.""In the dear old cabin," said Christie quickly; "I remember it; Iwish we were there now.""Do you really? Do you?" said Whiskey Dick, with suddenlytwinkling eyes. "That's like you to say it. That's what I allussaid," continued Dick, addressing space generally; "if there's anyone ez knows how to come square down to the bottom rock withoutflinchin', it's your high-toned, fash'nable gals. But I mustmeander back to town, and let the boys know you're in possession,safe and sound. It's right mean that Fairfax and Mattingly had togo down to Lagrange on some low business yesterday, but they'll beback to-morrow. So long."Left alone, the girls began to realize their strange position.They had conceived no settled plan. The night they left SanFrancisco they had written an earnest letter to their father,telling him that on learning the truth about the reverses ofDevil's Ford, they thought it their duty to return and share themwith others, without obliging him to prefer the request, and withas little worry to him as possible. He would find them ready toshare his trials, and in what must be the scene of their workhereafter."It will bring father back," said Christie; "he won't leave us herealone; and then together we must come to some understanding withhim--with them--for somehow I feel as if this house belonged to usno longer."Her surmise was not far wrong. When Mr. Carr arrived hurriedlyfrom Sacramento the next evening, he found the house deserted. Hisdaughters were gone; there were indications that they had arrived,and, for some reason, suddenly departed. The vague fear that hadhaunted his guilty soul after receiving their letter, and duringhis breathless journey, now seemed to be realized. He was turningfrom the empty house, whose reproachful solitude frightened him,when he was confronted on the threshold by the figure of FairfaxMunroe."I came to the stage office to meet you," he said; "you must haveleft the stage at the summit.""I did," said Carr angrily. "I was anxious to meet my daughtersquickly, to know the reason of their foolish alarm, and to knowalso who had been frightening them. Where are they?""They are safe in the old cabin beyond, that has been put up readyto receive them again," said Fairfax quietly."But what is the meaning of this? Why are they not here?" demandedCarr, hiding his agitation in a burst of querulous rage."Do you ask, Mr. Carr?" said Fairfax sadly. "Did you expect themto remain here until the sheriff took possession? No one knowsbetter than yourself that the money advanced you on the deeds ofthis homestead has never been repaid."Carr staggered, but recovered himself with feeble violence."Since you know so much of my affairs, how do you know that thisclaim will ever be pressed for payment? How do you know it is notthe advance of a--a--friend?""Because I have seen the woman who advanced it," said Fairfaxhopelessly. "She was here to look at the property before yourdaughters came.""Well?" said Carr nervously."Well! You force me to tell you something I should like to forget.You force me to anticipate a disclosure I expected to make to youonly when I came to ask permission to woo your daughter Jessie; andwhen I tell you what it is, you will understand that I have noright to criticise your conduct. I am only explaining my own.""Go on," said Carr impatiently."When I first came to this country, there was a woman I lovedpassionately. She treated me as women of her kind only treat menlike me; she ruined me, and left me. That was four years ago. Ilove your daughter, Mr. Carr, but she has never heard it from mylips. I would not woo her until I had told you all. I have triedto do it ere this, and failed. Perhaps I should not now, but--""But what?" said Carr furiously; "speak out!""But this. Look!" said Fairfax, producing from his pocket thepacket of letters Jessie had found; "perhaps you know thehandwriting?""What do you mean?" gasped Carr."That woman--my mistress--is the woman who advanced you money, andwho claims this house."The interview, and whatever came of it, remained a secret with thetwo men. When Mr. Carr accepted the hospitality of the old cabinagain, it was understood that he had sacrificed the new house andits furniture to some of the more pressing debts of the mine, andthe act went far to restore his waning popularity. But a moregenuine feeling of relief was experienced by Devil's Ford when itwas rumored that Fairfax Munroe had asked for the hand of JessieCarr, and that some promise contingent upon the equitableadjustment of the affairs of the mine had been given by Mr. Carr.To the superstitious mind of Devil's Ford and its few remaininglocators, this new partnership seemed to promise that unity ofinterest and stability of fortune that Devil's Ford had lacked.But nothing could be done until the rainy season had fairly set in;until the long-looked-for element that was to magically separatethe gold from the dross in those dull mounds of dust and gravel hadcome of its own free will, and in its own appointed channels,independent of the feeble auxiliaries that had hopelessly riven therocks on the hillside, or hung incomplete and unfinished in loftyscaffoldings above the settlement.The rainy season came early. At first in gathered mists on thehigher peaks that were lifted in the morning sun only to show afresher field of dazzling white below; in white clouds that atfirst seemed to be mere drifts blown across from those freshsnowfields, and obscuring the clear blue above; in far-off murmursin the hollow hills and gulches; in nearer tinkling melody and babyprattling in the leaves. It came with bright flashes of sunlightby day, with deep, monotonous shadow at night; with the onset ofheavy winds, the roar of turbulent woods, the tumultuous tossing ofleafy arms, and with what seemed the silent dissolution of thewhole landscape in days of steady and uninterrupted downfall. Itcame extravagantly, for every canyon had grown into a torrent,every gulch a waterspout, every watercourse a river, and allpouring into the North Fork, that, rushing past the settlement,seemed to threaten it with lifted crest and flying mane. It camedangerously, for one night the river, leaping the feeble barrier ofDevil's Ford, swept away houses and banks, scattered withunconscious irony the laboriously collected heaps of gravel leftfor hydraulic machinery, and spread out a vast and silent lakeacross the submerged flat.In the hurry and confusion of that night the girls had thrown opentheir cabin to the escaping miners, who hurried along the slopethat was now the bank of the river. Suddenly Christie felt her armgrasped, and she was half-led, half-dragged, into the inner room.Her father stood before her."Where is George Kearney?" he asked tremulously."George Kearney!" echoed Christie, for a moment believing theexcitement had turned her father's brain. "You know he is nothere; he is in San Francisco.""He is here--I tell you," said Carr impatiently; "he has been hereever since the high water, trying to save the flume and reservoir.""George--here!" Christie could only gasp."Yes! He passed here a few moments ago, to see if you were allsafe, and he has gone on towards the flume. But what he is tryingto do is madness. If you see him, implore him to do no more. Lethim abandon the accursed flume to its fate. It has worked alreadytoo much woe upon us all; why should it carry his brave andyouthful soul down with it?"The words were still ringing in her ears, when he suddenly passedaway, with the hurrying crowd. Scarcely knowing what she did, sheran out, vaguely intent only on one thought, seeking only the oneface, lately so dear in recollection that she felt she would die ifshe never saw it again. Perplexed by confused voices in the woods,she lost track of the crowd, until the voices suddenly were raisedin one loud outcry, followed by the crashing of timber, thesplashing of water, a silence, and then a dull, continuous roar.She ran vaguely on in the direction of the reservoir, with herfather's injunction still in her mind, until a terrible ideadisplaced it, and she turned at right angles suddenly, and rantowards the slope leading down to the submerged flat. She hadbarely left the shelter of the trees behind her before the roar ofwater seemed to rise at her very feet. She stopped, dazed,bewildered, and horror-stricken, on the edge of the slope. It wasthe slope no longer, but the bank of the river itself!Even in the gray light of early morning, and with inexperiencedeyes, she saw all too clearly now. The trestle-work had given way;the curving mile of flume, fallen into the stream, and, crushed anddammed against the opposite shore, had absolutely turned the wholeriver through the half-finished ditch and partly excavated mine inits way, a few rods further on to join the old familiar channel.The bank of the river was changed; the flat had become an island,between which and the slope where she stood the North Fork wasrolling its resistless yellow torrent. As she gazed spellbound, aportion of the slope beneath her suddenly seemed to sink andcrumble, and was swallowed up in the rushing stream. She heard acry of warning behind her, but, rooted to the spot by a fearfulfascination, she heeded it not.Again there was a sudden disruption, and another part of the slopesank to rise no more; but this time she felt herself seized by thewaist and dragged back. It was her father standing by her side.He was flushed and excited, gazing at the water with a strangeexultation."Do you see it? Do you know what has happened?" he asked quickly."The flume has fallen and turned the river," said Christiehurriedly. "But--have you seen him--is he safe?""He--who?" he answered vacantly."George Kearney!""He is safe," he said impatiently. "But, do you see, Christie? Doyou know what this means?"He pointed with his tremulous hand to the stream before them."It means we are ruined," said Christie coldly."Nothing of the kind! It means that the river is doing the work ofthe flume. It is sluicing off the gravel, deepening the ditch, andaltering the slope which was the old bend of the river. It will doin ten minutes the work that would take us a year. If we can stopit in time, or control it, we are safe; but if we can not, it willcarry away the bed and deposit with the rest, and we are ruinedagain."With a gesture of impotent fury, he dashed away in the direction ofan equally excited crowd, that on a point of the slope nearer theisland were gesticulating and shouting to a second group of men,who on the opposite shore were clambering on over the choked debrisof the flume that had dammed and diverted the current. It wasevident that the same idea had occurred to them, and they wererisking their lives in the attempt to set free the impediments.Shocked and indignant as Christie had been at the degradingabsorption of material interests at such a moment, the element ofdanger lifted the labors of these men into heroism, and she beganto feel a strange exultation as she watched them. Under theskilful blows of their axes, in a few moments the vast body ofdrift began to disintegrate, and then to swing round and movetowards the old channel. A cheer went up, but as suddenly diedaway again. An overlapping fringe of wreckage had caught on thepoint of the island and arrested the whole mass.The men, who had gained the shore with difficulty, looked back witha cry of despair. But the next moment from among them leaped afigure, alert, buoyant, invincible, and, axe in hand, once moreessayed the passage. Springing from timber to timber, he at lastreached the point of obstruction. A few strokes of the axe weresufficient to clear it; but at the first stroke it was apparentthat the striker was also losing his hold upon the shore, and thathe must inevitably be carried away with the tossing debris. Butthis consideration did not seem to affect him; the last blow wasstruck, and as the freed timbers rolled on, over and over, heboldly plunged into the flood. Christie gave a little cry--herheart had bounded with him; it seemed as if his plunge had splashedthe water in her eyes. He did not come to the surface until he hadpassed the point below where her father stood, and then strugglingfeebly, as if stunned or disabled by a blow. It seemed to her thathe was trying to approach the side of the river where she was.Would he do it? Could she help him? She was alone; he was hiddenfrom the view of the men on the point, and no succor could comefrom them. There was a fringe of alder nearly opposite their cabinthat almost overhung the stream. She ran to it, clutched it with afrantic hand, and, leaning over the boiling water, uttered for thefirst time his name:"George!"As if called to the surface by the magic of her voice, he rose afew yards from her in mid-current, and turned his fading eyestowards the bank. In another moment he would have been sweptbeyond her reach, but with a supreme effort he turned on one side;the current, striking him sideways, threw him towards the bank, andshe caught him by his sleeve. For an instant it seemed as if shewould be dragged down with him. For one dangerous moment she didnot care, and almost yielded to the spell; but as the rush of waterpressed him against the bank, she recovered herself, and managed tolift him beyond its reach. And then she sat down, half-fainting,with his white face and damp curls upon her breast."George, darling, speak to me! Only one word! Tell me, have Isaved you?"His eyes opened. A faint twinkle of the old days came to them--aboyish smile played upon his lips."For yourself--or Jessie?"She looked around her with a little frightened air. They werealone. There was but one way of sealing those mischievous lips,and she found it!"That's what I allus said, gentlemen," lazily remarked WhiskeyDick, a few weeks later, leaning back against the bar, with hisglass in his hand. "'George,' sez I, 'it ain't what you say to afash'nable, high-toned young lady; it's what you does ez makes orbreaks you.' And that's what I sez gin'rally o' things in theFord. It ain't what Carr and you boys allows to do; it's thegin'ral average o' things ez is done that gives tone to the hull,and hez brought this yer new luck to you all!"