The Travels of John Keeler
John Keeler had found his friend the sheriff at the Citizens' Bank,
putting up money on a bet that Cummins' murderers would not be caught
within a year. Sheriff Carter was dealing in futures, as it were.
Nothing would have pleased him better than to lay hands on those
highwaymen; but,--thoroughly discouraged at the outlook,--like a true
sportsman he enjoyed the humor of betting against himself in the vague
hope that such action might lead to something. He was more than pleased
to see Keeler, whose mysterious air clearly indicated that something was
up. They walked immediately to the court-house, and were soon closeted
together.
"Now look here, Keeler, if you're going to play detective, you don't
want to hang out a sign, 'John Keeler, Detective.' There's blood in your
eye. Any crook could spot you a block away."
Keeler laughed, and looked rather sheepish.
"Well," he said, "there's no harm done, I reckon. Those fellows are
probably a thousand miles from here by this time."
"What makes you think so?" asked Carter. "They may be right here in
Nevada City. Some of those fellows can throw a perfect bluff on a pair
of two-spots."
"Well, Carter, I thank you for your suggestion. After this, I'll be
careful. That is, I'll appear to be careless. I haven't any inkling as
to where those thugs are, and I've come to you to get some points."
"I don't blame you a bit, Keeler, for wanting to look into this affair.
Cummins was your partner once; and a better man never lived in Nevada
County. I hope to God I can string up the men who killed him. Just step
in here."
In an ante-room Carter had set up two straw men dressed in the discarded
clothes of the highwaymen.
"Of course, this ain't going to help much," explained Carter,
deprecatingly. "But it does give you a fair idea of the height of those
fellows. Mat Bailey was in here the other day to help me with these
dummies. He seems to have a pretty good idea of what the men looked
like."
As his mission to San Francisco was confidential, and inasmuch as
Palmer's Mrs. Somers was an unknown quantity, Keeler refrained from
mentioning her. He proceeded to San Francisco that day; looked up Mrs.
Somers, who gave him the names and descriptions of a dozen bad men of
Nevada County; and the next day he returned to hunt up some of these
same bad men. One of them was O'Leary of You Bet, whom he found without
trouble. But he got very little encouragement from O'Leary; and he very
soon discovered how hard it is for an honest man to get any sort of
satisfaction from thieves and liars.
In the absence of any definite information he resolved to turn eastward,
across the Sierras. He was on the right track, as we know. As far as
Omaha it was not so very difficult to make a fairly thorough search for
the criminals. However, this took time, and although he happened to pick
up information here and there about a couple of rather odd-looking
Californians traveling eastward with gold, he often felt that he was on
a fool's errand. He fell in with Californians everywhere. If the
building of the transcontinental railroad had served no other purpose,
it had sent a steady stream of people away from the gold fields--a
circumstance that made his mission seem all the more hopeless. Among so
many how could he distinguish the criminals? True, he could distinguish
an ex-miner among a thousand. And whenever such a man extended his right
hand and said, "Put it there, partner!" Keeler could not refuse the
proffered hand-clasp.
At Louisville he encountered a man whom he was sure he had seen in
Nevada City. The man evidently recognized him also, and for an instant
Keeler thought he saw a wild gleam in the man's eye. Then it was, "Put
it there, partner!" and Keeler placed his clean right hand into the
grimy palm indicated.
"The drinks are on me, this morning," said the man, marching him off to
the nearest bar. And Keeler was so much in the humor of the thing that
he was soon telling the story of the Frenchman who took lessons in
English from a Kentuckian:
"What do you say in Anglais when one offer you a drink, and you accep'
le invite?"
"Don't care if I do," replied the instructor.
"Don car fido," repeated Frenchy. "And what eef you do not accep' le
invite?"
The Kentuckian looked grave, slowly shook his head, and finally answered
in despair:
"You've got me there, Frenchy!"
The Californian laughed heartily--rather too heartily, Keeler thought;
and then inquired:
"Going East or West?"
"Westward for me," replied Keeler; "and you?"
"Well, I reckon I've played my last game of poker in Nevada City. The
East for me. With a little dust for capital, this country seems right
good. Why, out there in the Sierras, you know as well as I do, the
soil's too poor to feed lizards. Not much like the blue grass country of
Kaintuck."
"Well," said Keeler, "if I had made my pile, Maryland would be good
enough for me. As it is, California is all right, barring those same
pesky lizards."
"The boys set too stiff a pace out there, though," replied the ex-miner.
"Why, many a Saturday night I've seen fellows drop into town with a
hundred and fifty dollars in dust, and then borrow the money to take the
stage out Monday morning."
"I don't go in for sporting myself," said Keeler, "so I guess my
character won't be ruined. The churches have got started, and they are
giving the saloons a good deal of trouble."
"By thunder! that reminds me," quoth the Californian, "this here is a
Christian country, and I'm going to join the church, first thing I do."
"And spin California yarns to a Sunday-School class," suggested Keeler.
"Bet your class will be a large one."
"I'll do it, by thunder! The very thing! And I'll shoot any lad as gets
impertinent."
Keeler was clearly out of his element, and thought it time to terminate
the brief acquaintance.
"John Keeler is my name; and I can swear I've seen you in Nevada City.
But you have the best of me."
"Why," replied the Californian, as cool as you please, "my name's
Darcy."
It was the man who had killed Will Cummins! But John Keeler was none the
wiser, as Darcy quickly saw. He and Collins had reached Louisville
undetected. Had there assumed the character of honest miners, shipped
their bullion by express, a part to New Orleans and a part to
Philadelphia, and were on the point of dissolving partnership.
Darcy soon afterward assumed the name of Thorn, set up in the lumber
business at Union City, Indiana, where it is but a few steps across the
border into Ohio,--and became a prosperous and respected citizen. He
actually associated himself with the leading church of the town and was
looked upon by the young men as a Californian who had succeeded.
Honest John Keeler, who was well acquainted with the type, as he
thought, could only remark, as his train sped westward, "There is a
sensible miner! One who has safely transferred his money from saloons
and gambling dens and robbers to the famous blue grass country. Good
luck to him!"
He had well-nigh forgotten the incident when Darcy was arrested three
years later.
A whole year had passed before Keeler returned home, discouraged. In the
meantime, as we shall see, the snows of the Sierras had not chilled the
budding affections of Mat Bailey; but the hot sun of another California
summer had stricken down old man Palmer. Keeler mistrusted that
something was wrong, as he had not heard from his old friend for several
months. Fortunately, his wife and child were well and happy, but they
had impatiently waited for his return. From them he had heard every week
or two.
At length he was safely back across the Sierras. The cañon of the
American River had never seemed more terrible as the train hovered over
the brink of it. And now they were at Colfax, the junction of the narrow
gauge railroad, whence, at nine cents a mile, you travel northward to
Nevada City. The iron bars on the high, narrow windows of the station,
the low whistle of the little engine, like the lonesome cry of a wolf,
as it took the high trestle over Bear River, the very bars of dirt in
the river bed far below, proclaimed to John Keeler that he had returned
to the land of robbers and gold mining.