"Bed-Bug Brown," Detective
When Mat Bailey drove the stage out of Graniteville the next morning,
John Keeler and "Bed-bug Brown" were the only passengers. Brown had
spent the previous evening learning all that he could about Mamie Slocum
and her young admirers. He had actually learned that a young man from
Nevada City who signed himself J. C. P. Collins had paid her attentions.
He had also discovered that the young school-teacher had more than once
expressed much admiration for Mat Bailey. In view of what Henry Francis
had told him of Mat's reflections on the school-teacher, Brown resolved,
quietly and of his own accord, to keep an eye upon Mat as well as upon
Mamie.
The little man was unusually quiet, revolving various theories in his
head, and contemplating the magnificence of the ten thousand dollar
reward. But the presence of John Keeler, Cummins' old partner, suggested
the wisdom of gleaning information from this source. So, in order to
impress Keeler with his seniority and larger experience, he began:
"You don't remember, I suppose, Mr. Keeler, when camels were introduced
here in the gold fields?"
"No, that was before my time."
"It was back in fifty-six, before the water-ditch companies had fairly
got started. It was as dry as Sahara on these mountains then, and it is
no wonder somebody thought of camels."
"Well, when you think of our ostrich farms, camels don't seem out of
place in California. Did you ever think, Mr. Brown, what extremes of
climate we have right here in Nevada County? Along about the tenth of
December they are cutting ice up in the Sierras while they are picking
oranges in the western end of the county."
"That is pretty good for the banner gold county of the State. Most of us
forget everything but the gold," replied Brown, smiling inwardly, to
think how easily this remark would lead up to the desired topic.
"I'm getting sick of the gold," replied honest John Keeler. "All that
was handy to get at has been carried away. No chance left for a poor
man. It takes a big company with capital to run the business of
hydraulic mining as they do at Moore's Flat and North Bloomfield. Quartz
mining is still worse. By the time you've sunk a shaft and put up a
stamping-mill, you've mortgaged your quartz for more than it is worth,
perhaps. It takes capital to run a quartz mine."
"Yes," assented Brown, "this country has seen its best days."
"That's what old man Palmer says," remarked Keeler, looking across the
cañon at Palmer's Diggings.
"You and Cummins did pretty well over there fifteen years ago," and the
little detective's eyes twinkled at his own cleverness.
"We made a living; that's about all."
"But Cummins was a wealthy man some years back."
"Well, his partner never was," laughed Keeler. "If I could scrape
together the dust, I'd leave these mountains as he tried to."
"Who do you suppose the robbers were?"
"If I could make a good guess, I'd go after that ten thousand dollar
reward," replied Keeler.
"There's an awful tough gang over in Jim Crow Cañon," said Brown,
throwing out another feeler.
"Can you tell me of a place in these gold fields where you won't find a
tough gang? I was in Forest City the other day. I took the trail over
the mountains through Alleghany. Both of those places are live towns
with cemeteries,--well settled places, you know. But a tougher lot of
citizens you never saw. Gambling, drinking, and fighting, and Sunday the
worst day of the seven."
"What impresses me most about Alleghany," said Brown, "is the vast
number of tin cans on the city dump. It makes a man hungry for the grub
his mother used to cook."
"You're right there," said Keeler, and lapsed into silence.
They were at Moore's Flat presently, where they changed to the
four-horse stage-coach; and the little detective's attention was
absorbed by the actions of Mat Bailey, who seemed strangely quiet. A
guilty conscience, perhaps?
Several people were going down to Nevada City. So Keeler and Brown did
not resume their conversation, but journeyed on, each absorbed in his
own thoughts. To Keeler the trip was a sad one. In the dark woods along
Bloody Run, and as they passed the tall rock by the roadside beyond, he
thought of robbers and his murdered partner. At the store in North
Bloomfield he could hardly resist the impulse to insult the cowardly
store-keeper who had stood by and allowed Cummins to be shot. As they
dove down into the cañon of the South Yuba, he groaned to think of the
murders for gold committed therein. Could not a protecting Providence
have saved his friend? Was it the decree of fate that one who had
manfully defended the right for twenty-five years in that lawless
country should be cut off just when he was quitting it forever? Perhaps,
he thought, this very hour his partner was being laid at rest in his
"ain countree."--And his soul? Well, he believed as Palmer did, that all
is well with the soul of a brave man. Was he, Keeler, on a fool's errand
to San Francisco? Well, he had determined on his own account to do a
little investigating in Nevada City that very day. So had Mat Bailey.
Hence his unusual taciturnity. So had "Bed-bug Brown," and he kept the
secret to himself.
Arrived at Nevada City, with its steep streets, compactly built up at
the centre of the town, church and county court-house on the hillside,
the traveler finds himself fairly out of the mountains, the luring fatal
mountains, whose very soil has now the color of gold and now the color
of blood. Mat Bailey's first concern was the care of his horses. Keeler
went to look up his friend Sheriff Carter. And "Bed-bug Brown" partook
of a frugal dinner at the moderate cost of two bits. He sat where he
could observe the movements of Mat, and lingered in the neighborhood
until the stage-driver had disposed of his own dinner and set out to
call upon Mamie Slocum.
This young lady now spent most of her time at home. She had hardly
recovered from the shock of the tragedy; and her imagination had
conjured up a visit from the sheriff for her part therein. Instead it
was only that splendid Mat Bailey, flicking the dust from his boots with
his handkerchief, and mustering up courage to knock at the door! How
glad she was to see him! And Mat thought that she looked very sad and
pretty! She conducted him to the parlor, and proffered the seat of
honor, a hair-cloth rocking-chair.
"Let me call Mother. She will be so glad to hear about her friends in
Graniteville."
"I'd rather see you alone, if you don't mind." And Mat blushed through
his tan, but assured himself that duty prompted, if pleasure did
consent. It was the best arrangement all round, as "Bed-bug Brown"
himself thought,--for this worthy gentleman was eaves-dropping in the
cellar, with only a floor of thin boards between himself and these
interesting young people.
Under other circumstances Miss Slocum would have been fascinated at the
idea of a _tête-à-tête_ with this interesting, stalwart man of the
mountains. But something in his manner, and her own overwrought nerves,
told her there was trouble ahead. Should she run away, should she use a
woman's wiles in self-defense, or should she confide in this handsome
man? Distracted by these conflicting thoughts, she presented a charming
picture of alarmed innocence, as Bailey thought; and his heart yearned
to offer protection.
"Miss Slocum, I don't know how to put it, and I don't know what mean
things you are going to think of me"--
And now Mamie began to sympathize with the big stage-driver, who seemed
as much embarrassed as she.
"The fact is, Mr. Francis asked me to see you."
"Mr. Francis is a good friend of mine. He secured the school at
Graniteville for me."
Bailey, grateful for this help, continued:
"He thought I might inquire about a matter"--
"Heavens!" thought Mamie, "does Mr. Francis know about my trouble? Mat
Bailey must have told him!" If her intuition guided her truly in this
matter, it no less truly recognized a friend in Mat.
"The fact is"--he began, and then he hesitated. "Damn it!" he thought,
"how could he say things that would hurt this lovely creature?"
"Mr. Bailey, I think I know what you mean. You want to know why I told
that robber about Mr. Cummins's valise. It has nearly worried me to
death; and I don't wonder you all demand an explanation."
"Don't put it that way, I beg of you, Miss Slocum!" exclaimed Mat,
greatly relieved that she had come to his rescue, but no less greatly
concerned that he should appear in the hateful character of accuser and
informer. "We don't demand anything. We know you didn't have anything to
do with those robbers. Mr. Cummins was a friend of yours; and you
wouldn't do nothing to injure an enemy!"
Mat could use negatives properly when not excited.
The conversation was becoming less and less interesting to the little
man in the cellar. But it was not easy to beat a retreat.
Mamie began to weep softly, but more from joy than otherwise. After the
strain of the past week these honest words of Mat were balm to her.
"I--I will tell you everything, Mr. Bailey. Oh, how I have wanted to
talk to some friend about it! But it was so dreadful! I couldn't breathe
a word of it even to Mother."
Mat was all tenderness now; and the man under the floor began to prick
up his ears.
"I was talking with a young man only a week before that dreadful day,
and he said highwaymen are too generous to steal money from people like
Mr. Cummins. And that the best thing anyone could do when a stage is
robbed would be to tell the robbers about the property of passengers
like him. I didn't believe it at first, and now I know how frightfully
foolish I was. But the young man, who had been in jail once himself, was
so positive, that I really believed a criminal has a sense of honor. And
when the robber asked whose valise that was, I was so frightened the
words came right out before I realized what I had done."
"Every word you say is God's truth, Miss Slocum, and I hope you will
forgive me for bothering you this way." It did occur to Mat that he
might inquire who that young jail-bird might be. And "Bed-bug Brown" was
hoping that his name would be mentioned. But Mat reflected that this was
none of his business; and that it did not matter anyhow. If Miss Slocum
did not care to mention the man's name he would not ask for it. She had
behaved nobly, and he admired her from the bottom of his heart.
"Really, Mr. Bailey, I am glad you gave me this chance to explain. You
don't know what I have suffered. And then to think that I deserved to
suffer it, and more, too, for causing the death of my own friend!" And
here the tears came again, honest tears, as Mat knew full well. He
rather envied Cummins that so beautiful a creature should grieve for
him.
"Now look here, Mamie, it is all right to be sorry that Mr. Cummins got
killed. Every honest man and woman in Nevada County is sorry. But you
didn't cause his death, any more than I did. I never felt meaner in my
life than I did that day, holding those horses and looking down into the
barrel of that robber's gun. He had me, until he started for Cummins.
And it was all over so quick, I hardly knew what happened. But I can't
quite forgive myself for not jumping down after that robber as soon as
ever he uncovered me. It would probably have been too late; and the
horses would have run away, most likely; but still I wish I had jumped.
But because I didn't jump I'm not going to hold myself responsible for
Cummins' death. The robbers must hang for it, and not you and me. As for
what you said, I don't believe it made any difference at all. They were
bound to get all the gold on the stage that day; and they knew Cummins
had some."--
"That's just it, Mr. Bailey, and that's what makes it so hard for me."
Mat saw he had been swept off his feet by his own eloquence, and so he
tried again.
"Well, they would have got it anyhow. They might have wasted a minute or
two more hunting for it, but they would have found it, and Cummins would
have fought for it just the same."
"Yes, that is what I've thought," said Mamie. "Oh, why did he risk his
life so?"
"I'll tell you, Mamie," said Mat, "everybody in this country is crazy
about gold--miners, gamblers, bankers, robbers,--everybody. They're like
hungry wolves, ready to tear one another to pieces. Only the wolves have
more sense. Gold is of no earthly use to anyone. I'm sick and tired of
the whole business." And Mat rose, hat in hand, to go.
"I hope you'll call again, Mr. Bailey," said the the girl shyly. Here
was a friend in need! A great bashful, manly fellow, so kind and
sympathetic!
"I'll be more than pleased to," replied Mat, determined to prove his
philosophy that there are things far more precious than gold.
Fascinated with the idea, he loitered in the neighborhood longer than he
would otherwise have done; and, glancing back at the dear girl's house,
he was astonished to see "Bed-bug Brown" emerge from the cellar. Brown
saw him at about the same time. There was no escape for either, so they
drifted together good-naturedly. The little man extended his hand:
"Congratulations! When is the wedding to be?"
Bailey simply smiled, and said:
"Bed-bug Brown, detective!"