BILL CRANE'S GOOD LUCK.
About an hour after John Miles rode away from the widow's door Mr.
William Crane came in sight of the cabin. He had strayed from the direct
course, and that had delayed him. Otherwise he would not have fallen
behind Miles.
Bill Crane was in rather a melancholy mood. He had not got over his
disappointment of the morning. He was fagged out and hungry, and felt
that luck was against him. When he saw the cabin, and the widow Brown
sitting in the door-way, it instantly occurred to him that here was a
chance to get a dinner. He had nothing to pay, to be sure, but he need
say nothing about it till after the dinner was eaten.
As he rode up, he removed his hat, and said, "Good-day, ma'am."
Mrs. Brown scrutinized the new-comer with critical eyes. She decided
that he was not as good-looking as John Miles. Indeed Bill Crane never
could have been accounted handsome; but on this point the widow was not
exacting. She was looking for somebody to fill the place of her lamented
Brown, and relieve her loneliness, and it was Crane's eligibility in
this respect that she was considering. Beauty was but skin deep, as Mrs.
Brown was practical enough to admit, and she was not overstocked with
that attractive quality herself. Though Crane did not know it, the
resolute, middle-aged female, from whom he hoped to obtain a gratuitous
dinner, was making up her mind to offer him the position of husband.
"Good-day, stranger," she answered composedly. "Are you travelin' fur?"
"I'm thinkin' of goin' to Frisco," he said, "but it's a long journey and
I'm fagged out. If you have no objection, I'll stop at your place and
see if I can rest a few minutes."
"You can stop if you want to," she said. "I don't see much company, and
I like to see a new face now and then."
"So do I," said Crane, thinking a little flattery might help him;
"especially when it's the face of a good-looking woman."
"I ain't good-lookin' enough to hurt me," returned Mrs. Brown, with a
frankness which rather disconcerted and puzzled Crane, "but I don't mind
you callin' me so. If you are anyways hungry, I haven't cleared away the
dinner, and--"
"You are very kind," broke in Crane, eagerly; "I don't mind saying I am
a little bit hungry."
"All right, stranger. If you'll wait long enough for me to make some hot
tea, and warm the victuals, you shall have a chance to judge of my
cookin'."
Bill Crane was quite elated. He decided that the widow would not ask him
for payment, thus saving him from embarrassing excuses. In due time he
was called in and seated in the chair not long since occupied by John
Miles.
"You're the second man that's dined with me to-day," said the widow.
"And who was the first lucky man?" inquired Crane, suspecting at once
that it might have been Miles.
"I don't know his name, but he was a good-looking young man, who said he
had had a bag of gold-dust stolen from him."
"That's Miles," thought Crane; and he at once decided not to betray any
knowledge of him.
"He was in bad luck," said Bill. "Did he know who stole it?"
"He didn't tell me. I don't think he knew."
"That's well," thought Crane.
"Did he say where he was going?"
"To the city."
"Do you live here all the year round, Mrs.----?"
"My name's Brown, stranger."
"All I can say is, that Brown is a lucky man. Another cup of tea if you
please, Mrs. Brown."
"You might not like to exchange places with him, for all his luck,
stranger," remarked the widow.
"Indeed I would," said Bill, with a languishing look.
"He's six feet under ground!" explained Mrs. Brown, dryly.
"Dead?" ejaculated Crane.
"Yes; he's been dead these three weeks."
"And you are a widow?"
"That's so, stranger."
"But you don't mean to stay a widow?" interrogated Crane.
"Well, it is kinder lonesome. It seems natural like to have a man
round."
"I wonder if she's got any money," thought Crane. "I'll find out if I
can."
"Yes, Mrs. Brown, I feel for you," he said. "A woman can't struggle with
the world as a man can."
"I don't know about that, stranger. I can take care of myself, if that's
what you mean."
"But a woman needs a man to protect and work for her," insinuated
Crane.
"I don't need any one to protect me," said the widow; "and, as for
support, I've got a matter of five thousand dollars laid by, and a good
claim that'll pay for the workin'. I don't think I shall need to go to
the poor-house yet awhile."
Bill Crane's eyes sparkled. The widow Brown seemed wonderfully
attractive in his eyes. He was willing to barter his young affections
for five thousand dollars and a claim, even if the widow had been thrice
as homely as she was. If he had known that Mrs. Brown was bent on
marriage his way would have been clearer. His mind was made up. He would
woo and win his fair hostess if he could.
"When did Brown die?" he inquired.
"Three weeks ago, stranger."
"You must miss him."
"Yes, he was a quiet man, Brown was. He never gave me any trouble, and
it was natural to see him round."
"You must not mourn for him too much, Mrs. Brown."
"I shan't make a fool of myself," said the widow. "He's gone, and he
won't come back. There's no use cryin'."
"She's rather a queer specimen," thought Crane. "She hasn't broken her
heart, it seems."
"You ought to marry again," he said.
"I mean to," said Mrs. Brown.
"Well, that's frank," thought Crane. "There ain't any nonsense about
her."
"Your second husband will be a lucky man, Mrs. Brown."
"Well, he'll have a good livin', and, if he treats me right, he'll get
treated right too."
"This is a cold world, Mrs. Brown. I've been drifting about till I'm
tired. I'd like to settle down with a good wife."
"If you want to take Brown's place, say so," remarked the widow, in a
business-like tone.
Bill Crane was staggered by the promptness with which his hint was
taken, but did not hesitate to follow it up.
"That's what I mean," he said.
"What's your name, stranger?"
"William Crane."
"You haven't got another wife anywhere, have you?"
"Of course not."
"I've got to take your word for it, I s'pose. I guess I'll take the
risk. I'll marry you if you say so."
"How soon?" asked Crane, eagerly.
"Well, there's a parson a few miles from here. We can ride right over
and be back by sundown, if that will suit you."
"A capital idea, Mrs. Brown. You won't be Brown long," he added,
sportively. "How will you like to be called Mrs. Crane?"
"One name will do as well as another," said the widow, philosophically.
Crane wanted to make inquiries about the five thousand dollars and the
claim; but he reflected that it might be inferred that his views were
mercenary. It would be more politic to wait till after marriage. He did
not understand the character of the woman he was going to marry. She
understood very well that Crane was marrying her for her money; but she
felt lonesome, and it suited her to have a husband, and she was willing
to overlook such a trifle.
The widow had a horse of her own. Directly after dinner it was
harnessed, and the two rode over to Dirt Hole, a small mining
settlement, where the Rev. Pelatiah Pond, a Methodist minister, united
them in the bonds of matrimony.
When Mr. and Mrs. Crane reached home, Bill ventured to inquire, "Have
you got the money in the house, Mrs. Crane,--the five thousand dollars,
I mean?"
"It's put away in a safe place."
"You'd better let me take care of it for you, my dear."
"Not at present, Mr. Crane. A year from now I will let you have half of
it, if you behave yourself."
"As your husband, madam, I insist."
"Stop right there, stranger--Mr. Crane, I mean," said the bride,
decidedly. "Do you see that? and she whipped out a revolver.
"Good gracious, Mrs. Crane! Do you want to murder me?"
"No, I didn't marry you for that; but I want you to understand that the
money is in my hands, and I don't allow any man to insist. I may let you
have some of it when I get ready. Do you understand?"
"I believe I do," murmured Crane. "I'm regularly taken in and done for,"
he reflected sadly.
But directly after their return Mrs. Crane prepared a nice supper, and
Crane, as he ate it, and smoked a pipe later, began to be reconciled to
his new situation.