THE CLAIM JUMPERS
_A ROMANCE_
BY
STEWART EDWARD WHITE
1901
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.--JIM LESLIE WRITES A LETTER
II.--THE STORY-BOOK WEST
III.--BENNINGTON HUNTS FOR GOLD AND FINDS A KISS
IV.--THE SUN FAIRY
V.--THE SPIRIT MOUNTAIN
VI.--BENNINGTON AS A MAN OF BUSINESS
VII.--THE MEETING AT THE ROCK
VIII.--AN ADVENTURE IN THE NIGHT
IX.--THE HEAVENS OPENED
X.--THE WORLD MADE YOUNG
XI.--AND HE DID EAT
XII.--OLD MIZZOU RESIGNS
XIII.--THE SPIRES OF STONE
XIV.--THE PIONEER'S PICNIC
XV.--THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN
XVI.--A NOON DINNER
XVII.--NOBLESSE OBLIGE
XVIII.--THE CLAIM JUMPERS
XIX.--BENNINGTON PROVES GAME
XX.--MASKS OFF
XXI.--THE LAND OF VISIONS
XXII.--FLOWER O' THE WORLD
CHAPTER I
JIM LESLIE WRITES A LETTER
In a fifth-story sitting room of a New York boarding house four youths
were holding a discussion. The sitting room was large and square, and
in the wildest disorder, which was, however, sublimated into a certain
system by an illuminated device to the effect that one should "Have a
Place for Everything, and then there'll be one Place you won't have to
look." Easels and artists' materials thrust back to the wall
sufficiently advertised the art student, and perhaps explained the
untidiness.
Two of the occupants of the room, curled up on elevated window ledges,
were emitting clouds of tobacco smoke and nursing their knees; the
other two, naked to the waist, sat on a couple of ordinary bedroom
mattresses deposited carefully in the vacant centre of the apartment.
They were eager, alert-looking young men, well-muscled, curly of hair,
and possessing in common an unabashed carriage of the head which, more
plainly than any mere facial resemblance, proved them brothers. They,
too, were nursing their knees.
"He must be an unadorned ass," remarked one of the occupants of the
window seats, in answer to some previous statement.
"He is not," categorically denied a youth of the mattresses. "My dear
Hench, you make no distinctions. I've been talking about the boy's
people and his bringing up and the way he acts, whereupon you fly off
on a tangent and coolly conclude things about the boy himself. It is
not only unkind, but stupid."
Hench laughed. "You amuse me, Jeems," said he; "elucidate."
Jeems let go his knees. The upper part of his body, thus deprived of
support, fell backward on the mattress. He then clasped his hands
behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.
"Listen, ye multitude," he began; "I'm an artist. So are you. I'm also
a philosopher. You are not. Therefore, I'll deign to instruct you. Ben
de Laney has a father and a mother. The father is pompous, conceited,
and a bore. The mother is pompous, conceited, and a bore. The father
uses language of whose absolutely vapid correctness Addison would have
been proud. So does the mother, unless she forgets, in which case the
old man calls her down hard. They, are rich and of a good social
position. The latter worries them, because they have to keep up its
dignity."
"They succeed," interrupted the other brother fervently, "they succeed.
I dined there once. After that I went around to the waxworks to get
cheered up a bit."
"Quite so, Bertie," replied the philosopher; "but you interrupted me
just before I got to my point. The poor old creatures had been married
many years before Bennie came to cheer _them_ up. Naturally, Bennie has
been the whole thing ever since. He is allowed a few privileges, but
always under the best auspices. The rest of the time he stays at home,
is told what or what not a gentleman should do, and is instructed in
the genealogy of the de Laneys."
"The mother is always impressing him with the fact that he is a de
Laney on both sides," interpolated Bert.
"Important, if true, as the newspapers say," remarked the other young
man on the window ledge. "What constitutes a de Laney?"
"Hereditary lack of humour, Beck, my boy. Well, the result is that poor
Bennie is a sort of----" the speaker hesitated for his word.
"'Willy boy,'" suggested Beck, mildly.
"Something of the sort, but not exactly. A 'willy boy' never has ideas.
Bennie has."
"Such as?"
"Well, for one thing, he wants to get away. He doesn't seem quite
content with his job of idle aristocrat. I believe he's been pestering
the old man to send him West. Old man doesn't approve."
"'That the fine bloom of culture will become rubbed off in the contact
with rude, rough men, seems to me inevitable,'" mimicked Bert in
pedantic tones, "'unless a firm sense of personal dignity and an
equally firm sense of our obligations to more refined though absent
friends hedges us about with adequate safeguards.'"
The four laughed. "That's his style, sure enough," Jim agreed.
"What does he want to do West?" asked Hench.
"_He_ doesn't know. Write a book, I believe, or something of that sort.
But he _isn't_ an ass. He has a lot of good stuff in him, only it will
never get a chance, fixed the way he is now."
A silence fell, which was broken at last by Bert.
"Come, Jeems," he suggested; "here we've taken up Hench's valuable
idea, but are no farther with it."
"True," said Jeems.
He rolled over on his hands and knees. Bert took up a similar position
by his side.
"Go!" shouted Hench from the window ledge.
At the word, the two on the mattress turned and grappled each other
fiercely, half rising to their feet in the strenuousness of endeavour.
Jeems tried frantically for a half-Nelson. While preventing it the wily
Bert awaited his chance for a hammer-lock. In the moment of indecision
as to which would succeed in his charitable design, a knock on the door
put an end to hostilities. The gladiators sat upright and panted.
A young man stepped bashfully into the room and closed the door behind
him.
The newcomer was a clean-cut young fellow, of perhaps twenty-two years
of age, with regular features, brown eyes, straight hair, and sensitive
lips. He was exceedingly well-dressed. A moment's pause followed his
appearance. Then:
"Why, it's our old friend, the kid!" cried Jeems.
"Don't let me interrupt," begged the youth diffidently.
"No interruption. End of round one," panted Jeems. "Glad you came.
Bertie, here, was twisting my delicate clavicle most cruelly. Know
Hench and Beck there?"
De Laney bowed to the young men in the window, who removed their pipes
from their mouths and grinned amiably.
"This, gentlemen," explained Jeems, without changing his position, "is
Mr. Bennie de Laney on both sides. It is extremely fortunate for Mr. de
Laney that he is a de Laney on both sides, for otherwise he would be
lop-sided."
"You will find a seat, Mr. de Laney, in the adjoining bedroom," said
the first, with great politeness; "and if you don't care to go in
there, you will stand yourself in the corner by that easel until the
conclusion of this little discussion between Jeems and myself.--Jeems,
will you kindly state the merits of the discussion to the gentleman?
I'm out of breath."
Jeems kindly would.
"Bert and I have, for the last few weeks, been obeying the parting
commands of our dear mother. 'Boys,' said she, with tears in her eyes,
'Boys, always take care of one another.' So each evening I have tried
to tuck Bertie in his little bed, and Bertie, with equal enthusiasm,
has attempted to tuck _me_ in. It has been hard on pyjamas, bed
springs, and the temper of the Lady with the Piano who resides in the
apartments immediately beneath; so, at the wise suggestion of our
friends in the windows"--he waved a graceful hand toward them, and they
gravely bowed acknowledgment--"we are now engaged in deciding the
matter Græco-Roman. The winner 'tucks.' Come on, Bertie."
The two again took position side by side, on their hands and knees,
while Mr. Hench explained to de Laney that this method of beginning the
bout was necessary, because the limited area of the mat precluded
flying falls. At a signal from Mr. Beck, they turned and grappled,
Jeems, by the grace of Providence, on top. In the course of the combat
it often happened that the two mattresses would slide apart. The
contestants, suspending their struggles, would then try to kick them
together again without releasing the advantage of their holds. The
noise was beautiful. To de Laney, strong in maternal admonitions as to
proper deportment, it was all new and stirring, and quite without
precedent. He applauded excitedly, and made as much racket as the
rest.
A sudden and vigorous knock for the second time put an end to
hostilities. The wrestlers again sat bolt upright on the mattresses,
and listened.
"Gentlemen," cried an irritated German voice, "there is a lady
schleeping on the next floor!"
"Karl, Karl!" called one of the irrepressibles, "can I never teach you
to be accurate! No lady could possibly be sleeping anywhere in the
building."
He arose from the mattress and shook himself.
"Jeems," he continued sadly, "the world is against true virtue. Our
dear mother's wishes can not be respected."
De Laney came out of his corner.
"Fellows," he cried with enthusiasm, "I want you to come up and stay
all night with me some time, so mother can see that gentlemen can make
a noise!"
Bertie sat down suddenly and shrieked. Jeems rolled over and over,
clutching small feathers from the mattress in the agony of his delight,
while the clothed youths contented themselves with amused but gurgling
chuckles.
"Bennie, my boy," gasped Jeems, at last, "you'll be the death of me! O
Lord! O Lord! You unfortunate infant! You shall come here and have a
drum to pound; yes, you shall." He tottered weakly to his feet. "Come,
Bertie, let us go get dressed."
The two disappeared into the bedroom, leaving de Laney uncomfortably
alone with the occupants of the window ledge.
The young fellow walked awkwardly across the room and sat down on a
partly empty chair, not because he preferred sitting to standing, but
in order to give himself time to recover from his embarrassment.
The sort of chaffing to which he had just been subjected was direct and
brutal; it touched all his tender spots--the very spots wherein he
realized the intensest soreness of his deficiencies, and about which,
therefore, he was the most sensitive--yet, somehow, he liked it. This
was because the Leslie boys meant to him everything free and young that
he had missed in the precise atmosphere of his own home, and so he
admired them and stood in delightful inferiority to them in spite of
his wealth and position. He would have given anything he owned to have
felt himself one of their sort; but, failing that, the next best thing
was to possess their intimacy. Of this intimacy chaffing was a gauge.
Bennington Clarence de Laney always glowed at heart when they rubbed
his fur the wrong way, for it showed that they felt they knew him well
enough to do so. And in this there was something just a little
pathetic.
Bennington held to the society standpoint with men, so he thought he
must keep up a conversation. He did so. It was laboured. Bennington
thought of things to say about Art, the Theatre, and Books. Hench and
Beck looked at each other from time to time.
Finally the door opened, and, to the relief of all, two sweatered and
white-ducked individuals appeared.
"And now, Jeems, we'll smoke the pipe of peace," suggested Bert, diving
for the mantel and the pipe rack.
"Correct, my boy," responded Jeems, doing likewise. They lit up, and
turned with simultaneous interest to their latest caller.
"And how is the proud plutocrat?" inquired Bert; "and how did he
contrive to get leave to visit us rude and vulgar persons?"
The Leslies had called at the de Laneys', and, as Bert said, had dined
there once. They recognised their status, and rejoiced therein.
"He is calling on the minister," explained Jeems for him. "Bennington,
my son, you'll get caught at that some day, as sure as shooting. If
your mamma ever found out that, instead of talking society-religion to
old Garnett, you were revelling in this awful dissipation, you'd have
to go abroad again."
"What did you call him?" inquired Bert.
"Call who?"
"Him--Bennie--what was that full name?"
"Bennington."
"Great Scott! and here I've been thinking all the time he was plain
Benjamin! Tell us about it, my boy. What is it? It sounds like a battle
of the Revolution. _Is_ it a battle of the Revolution? Just to think
that all this time we have been entertaining unawares a real live
battle!"
De Laney grinned, half-embarrassed as usual.
"It's a family name," said he. "It's the name of an ancestor."
He never knew whether or not these vivacious youths really desired the
varied information they demanded.
The Leslies looked upon him with awe.
"You don't mean to tell me," said Bertie, "that you are a Bennington!
Well, well! This is a small world! We will celebrate the discovery." He
walked to the door and touched a bell five times. "Beautiful system,"
he explained. "In a moment Karl will appear with five beers. This
arrangement is possible because never, in any circumstances, do we ring
for anything but beer."
The beer came. Two steins, two glasses, and a carefully scrubbed
shaving mug were pressed into service. After the excitement of finding
all these things had died, and the five men were grouped about the
place in ungraceful but comfortable attitudes, Bennington bid for the
sympathy he had sought in this visit.
"Fellows," said he, "I've something to tell you."
"Let her flicker," said Jim.
"I'm going away next week. It's all settled."
"Bar Harbour, Trouville, Paris, or Berlin?"
"None of them. I'm going West."
"Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, San Diego, or Monterey?"
"None of them. I'm going to the real West. I'm going to a mining camp."
The Leslies straightened their backbones.
"Don't spring things on us that way," reproved Bertie severely; "you'll
give us heart disease. Now repeat softly."
"I am going to a mining camp," obeyed Bennington, a little
shamefacedly.
"With whom?"
"Alone."
This time the Leslies sprang quite to their feet.
"By the Great Horn Spoon, man!" cried Jim. "Alone! No chaperon! Good
Lord!"
"Yes," said Bennington, "I've always wanted to go West. I want to
write, and I'm sure, in that great, free country, I'll get a chance for
development. I had to work hard to induce father and mother to consent,
but it's done now, and I leave next week. Father procured me a position
out there in one of the camps. I'm to be local treasurer, or something
like that; I'm not quite sure, you see, for I haven't talked with
Bishop yet. I go to his office for directions to-morrow."
At the mention of Bishop the Leslies glanced at each other behind the
young man's back.
"Bishop?" repeated Jim. "Where's your job located?"
"In the Black Hills of South Dakota, somewhere near a little place
called Spanish Gulch."
This time the Leslies winked at each other.
"It's a nice country," commented Bert vaguely; "I've been there."
"Oh, have you?" cried the young man. "What's it like?"
"Hills, pines, log houses, good hunting--oh, it's Western enough."
A clock struck in a church tower outside. In spite of himself,
Bennington started.
"Better run along home," laughed Jim; "your mamma will be angry."
To prove that this consideration carried no weight, Bennington stayed
ten minutes longer. Then he descended the five flights of stairs
deliberately enough, but once out of earshot of his friends, he ran
several blocks. Before going into the house he took off his shoes. In
spite of the precaution, his mother called to him as he passed her
room. It was half past ten.
Beck and Hench kicked de Laney's chair aside, and drew up more
comfortably before the fire; but James would have none of it. He seemed
to be excited.
"No," he vetoed decidedly. "You fellows have got to get out! I've got
something to do, and I can't be bothered."
The visitors grumbled. "There's true hospitality for you," objected
they; "turn your best friends out into the cold world! I like that!"
"Sorry, boys," insisted James, unmoved. "Got an inspiration. Get out!
Vamoose!"
They went, grumbling loudly down the length of the stairs, to the
disgust of the Lady with the Piano on the floor below.
"What're you up to, anyway, Jimmie?" inquired the brother with some
curiosity.
James had swept a space clear on the table, and was arranging some
stationery.
"Don't you care," he replied; "you just sit down and read your little
Omar for a while."
He plunged into the labours of composition, and Bert sat smoking
meditatively. After some moments the writer passed a letter over to the
smoker.
"Think it'll do?" he inquired.
Bert read the letter through carefully.
"Jeems," said he, after due deliberation, "Jeems, you're a blooming
genius."
James stamped the envelope.
"I'll mail it for you when I go out in the morning," Bert suggested.
"Not on your daily bread, sonny. It is posted now by my own hand. We
won't take any chances on _this_ layout, and that I can tell you."
He tramped down four flights and to the corner, although it was
midnight and bitter cold. Then, with a seraphic grin on his
countenance, he went to bed and slept the sleep of the just.
The envelope was addressed to a Mr. James Fay, Spanish Gulch, South
Dakota.