The evening after the departure of the men who had terrorised the camp,
a general meeting was held and the proceedings of Judge Lynch were
endorsed by a unanimous vote. It was resolved that the camp should be
kept free from professional gamblers and hard characters, and Judge
Lynch was requested to give warning to any such men as might come, to
clear off without delay. Except those absolutely concerned in the affair
of the night before, none in camp knew who were the men who had carried
it out. It was an understood thing in the mining camps that the identity
of Judge Lynch and his band should not be inquired into or even guessed
at. Had their identity been established, it would have been unsafe for
any of them to have gone beyond the limits of their camp, and the risk
would have been so great that it would have been difficult to get men to
act, had they not known that the most absolute secrecy would be
maintained.
Some of the miners who were in the habit of playing high grumbled
somewhat at the expulsion of Mason, who had not himself been concerned
in any of the shooting affrays. Two or three of them packed up their
kits and left the camp on the day following the expulsion of the gambler
and his associates, but the general result was that the saloon was
better attended than ever. There was still a good deal of play going on,
for cards formed one of the few amusements of the miners, but as long as
they played against each other, the stakes were comparatively moderate,
and men were pretty sure that if they lost they, at least, lost fairly.
The intimacy between Ned Hampton and the girl who went by the name of
Linda increased. She had given him a bright nod the first time he went
into the saloon after the revolution.
'You see there was nothing to be nervous about,' he said; 'the matter
was very easily carried out.'
'It is a comfort to know that they are all gone. I hope we shall have
peace and quiet now. I hope no one knows that you had anything to do
with it.'
'No; it is known only to those who took part in it, and no one but
yourself knows that I was one of them.'
'No, but some suspect it. My father and Murdoch both do. They were
talking about it this morning. They don't know whether to be glad or
sorry. Mason paid well for the use of that inner room, but of late
custom has fallen off in other respects. During the last two days we
have taken twice as much as we were doing before, so that I think things
will be about even. They were asking me about you, and if I knew
anything of your history; but, of course, I could tell them nothing,
because I don't know anything myself.'
'I don't think any of us know much of each other's antecedents,' Ned
said. 'For anything you know I may be either an escaped convict or a
duke in disguise; for anything I know you may be the daughter of the man
you call your father or you may not. You may be a lady of rank, who has,
from a spirit of adventure, come out here. You may have been brought up
in poverty and misery in some London slum. It is certainly not the rule
here in the diggings to ask people who they are or where they come
from.'
The girl had turned suddenly pale. She was silent for a moment when he
ceased speaking, and then said--
'It is not very civil of you to suggest that I may have been brought up
in a slum.'
'I was merely putting it generally,' he said. 'Just as I suggested that
I might be an escaped convict for aught you knew.'
Truscott and Murdoch had indeed noticed with some uneasiness that the
girl had seemed inclined to be much more friendly with Ned than she had
been with any one else since they had come out. On the journey across
the plains they had travelled so much faster than the majority that
there was no opportunity for forming many intimacies. Since they had
been in California they had seen with great satisfaction that she had
strictly followed out the line they had impressed upon her, that while
civil to all she had treated them with the most absolute impartiality,
showing no preference of the slightest kind. The rough compliments paid
to her were simply laughed away, and, if persevered in, those who
uttered them found that they had no further opportunities of
conversation, and that they were completely ignored the next time they
came to the bar.
The interests of the two men were so strongly concerned in the matter
that they watched her closely, and were not long in noticing that
whenever Ned presented himself at the bar she would in a very short time
come across from her place behind to speak to him, sometimes only
exchanging a word or two, at others, if business happened to be at all
slack, chatting with him for some minutes. That day, when as usual they
sat down to dinner together, Truscott said:
'You seem to be taken with that young fellow who chucked Wyoming Bill
out the other day. I should not encourage him, or it will be noticed by
the others, and that will do us harm.'
The girl flushed angrily. 'You can keep your advice to yourself,' she
said. 'He is the most decent man I have met out here, and I like to talk
to him; he does not pay me compliments or talk nonsense, but just chats
to me as he would to any one else. I don't interfere with you, and you
had best not interfere with me.'
'Well, you need not be so hot about it,' the man said; 'there was no
harm meant.'
And so the subject dropped for the time, but the two men talked it over
seriously when they were alone.
Another fortnight passed. Ned worked steadily on the claim, which was
turning out exceedingly well. Jacob went backwards and forwards for
supplies. The camp increased in size, and most of the miners were doing
fairly well. The saloon was crowded at meal times, and in the evening;
the back room was still used for play, but no professional gambler had
ventured into the camp. Truscott himself, however, frequently took the
bank, although always making a protest before doing so, and putting it
as a favour. He refused, however, to play for really high stakes, but
the amounts staked were considerably above those played for by the
miners at the other tables.
Jacob, who occasionally went to the saloon with Ned, was more and more
convinced that the woman behind the bar was the girl he had known in
Piper's Court; and the sudden change in her face when he had spoken to
her as to what her past history might be, had still more brought Ned
over to the belief that the lad might be right. He himself was feeling
anxious and undecided. He seemed no nearer getting at the end he desired
than he had been a month before, and he could not conceal from himself
that this girl showed pleasure when she met him, that her manner
softened, and that once or twice when he had come suddenly upon her, her
cheek had flushed. An occasional rough joke from his mates showed that
it was considered in camp a settled thing that he would carry off the
woman whose presence was considered by the superstitious miners to have
brought luck to them all.
Hitherto, except on the occasions when she came out to speak to him, he
had only met her at the bar. She had more than once mentioned that she
went out every morning and afternoon for a stroll through the camp while
the diggers were all at work, but being unable to arrive at any
conclusion as to his best course, he had not availed himself of what
seemed to him a half invitation to meet her. At last, however, he
determined to see what would come of it, and making some excuse to leave
his work soon after breakfast, went up into the camp. From his tent he
could see the saloon, and after watching for half-an-hour he saw the
girl come out. Marking the way she went, he followed and overtook her
just outside the camp. There was no mistaking the look of pleasure in
her face.
'Not at work?' she said. 'Is anything the matter?'
'Nothing is the matter, except that I felt unusually lazy, and catching
sight of you, I thought if you would let me I would join you. I thought
it would be pleasant to have a talk without having that bar between us.'
'I should like a talk very much,' she said, 'but--' and she looked round
a little nervously.
'You mean people might talk if they saw us together. Well, there is
nothing to talk about. A man and a woman can be good friends just as two
men or two women may be--and we are good friends, are we not?'
'Certainly we are,' she said, frankly. Ned's manner had indeed puzzled
her; he had always chatted to her as a friend: he had, as she had said,
never once paid her a compliment or said a word that might not have been
said had there been other men standing beside him at the bar.
'Do you know, when I first saw you,' he said, 'you reminded me so
strongly of some one I knew in England that I could have taken you for
her?'
'Indeed,' she said, coldly; 'was it some one you knew well?'
'Very well. I had known her from the time when she was a little child.'
'Did you care for her much?'
'Yes, I cared for her a great deal. She was engaged to be married to
some one else.'
'Is she married to him now?' she asked.
'No. At least I believe not.'
'Did you come out here to tell me this?' she asked, suddenly facing
round upon him.
'Partly,' he replied. 'We are friends, and I thought you ought to know.
I am not fool enough, Linda, to suppose that you would be likely in any
case to feel anything more than a liking for a rough miner like myself,
but I thought that it would, at any rate, be only fair that you should
know that much of my past history.'
'Then you still care,' she said, after a pause, 'for this woman who is
so like me?'
'Yes, Linda. I shall always care for her.'
'And it was only because I was like her that you liked me?' she said,
bitterly.
'No,' he said. 'I do not think the likeness had anything to do with it.
I liked you because I saw how well you were playing your part in a most
difficult position; how quietly you held your own among the rough
spirits here; how much you were respected as well as liked by them. I
thought how few young women in your position would have behaved so
wisely and discreetly. Of course, you had your father.'
'He is not my father,' she broke in; 'he has brought me up, but he is
not my father. We are partners, nothing more. I have a third share in
the saloon, and could leave them whenever I chose. There, we have talked
enough together: it is just as well that we should not be seen here. It
would be thought that we had arranged to meet, and I do not want to be
talked about, even if the talk is not true. Good-bye;' and turning she
went back into the camp, while Ned Hampton making a wider detour
returned to his tent.
That night there was again trouble at the saloon. 'Shooting again,
Jacob,' Ned said, as a pistol shot was heard. 'Some quarrel over the
cards again, I suppose. I only hope that it was what they call a fair
fight, and that there will be no occasion for Judge Lynch to interfere
again. However, we may as well go down and see what is the matter.' They
went down together to the saloon; a number of men were standing outside
talking excitedly.
'What is the matter?' Ned asked, as he arrived.
'Will Garrett, and a man they call Boots, caught the boss there,
cheating at cards, and there was a row over it. White drew first, but
Boots was too quick for him, and got first shot.'
'Has he killed him?' Ned asked, anxiously.
'They say not, but the boys don't think he will overget it. Those who
were there don't blame Boots, for the last two or three evenings there
has been a good deal of talk about the play; either the boss had the
devil's own luck or he cheated, and several of the boys made up their
minds to watch him close. They suspected him three or four times, but he
was so quick that they could not swear to it till to-night Boots spotted
it, and swore that he saw him cheat. Then there was a tremendous row.
The saloon-keeper whipped out a pistol, but Boots had one in his coat
pocket and shot from it without taking it out. No one blames him, for if
the other had been a little quicker Boots would have been carried out
instead of him.'
The men were pouring out from the place now, Murdoch having begged them
to leave at once in order that the wounded man might have quiet. One of
the miners, who had thrown up his profession as a doctor for the
excitement of the gold-fields, had been in the room at the time and was
now looking after him. A messenger was just starting on horseback to
fetch another surgeon who was practising at Cedar Gulch, thirty miles
away. The next day it was known that the surgeons had some hopes of
saving the saloon keeper's life. A tent had been erected a short
distance from the building, and to this he had been carried and the
saloon was again opened. Linda, however, did not appear at the bar, and
Murdoch was in sole charge of the arrangements. Ned had called early to
ask if there was anything he could do. The girl came to the entrance to
the tent. 'There is nothing to be done,' she said, 'the two doctors are
both within. Mrs. Johnson is coming over from the store at six o'clock
this evening to take my place by him for a few hours. The doctors say it
may be a long business. I want to speak to you; if you will come to the
back door at half-past six I will come out with you for a short time.'
There was something very constrained and cold about her manner, and Ned
wondered what she could want to say to him just at the present time. She
came out directly he sent in to say that he was there.
'I do not want to go far,' she said; 'we can walk up and down here and
talk as well as anywhere else. Will you give me a plain answer to a
question?'
'Certainly I will--to any question.'
'Are you the man who followed us from England, and who arrived at New
Orleans the evening before we left it?'
'And was all but murdered that night. Yes, I am the man.'
'Then you are a police spy,' she said in a tone of utter scorn, 'and you
have been pretending to be a friend only to entrap us.'
'Not at all,' Ned answered calmly; 'I have nothing to do with the
police, nor have I had any desire to entrap you. My name is Hampton; I
am a captain in the English army.'
'It is no matter to me who you are,' she said, angrily. 'What is your
object in following us here?'
'I might reply by asking what was the object of the two men with you in
setting a man on to murder me in New Orleans.'
Her face changed at once. 'I knew nothing of it,' she exclaimed; 'I know
we hurried away from our hotel, and they told me afterwards that Warbles
had recognised some one he knew on board a steamer that had just come
in. But they never could have done that. Were you much hurt?'
'It was a miracle I was not killed,' he said; 'as it was I was laid up
for three weeks.'
'I cannot believe that they had anything to do with it. Why do you
accuse them?'
'Simply because they were the only persons who had an interest in my
death, or, at any rate, in my detention for a period, which as they
thought would throw me completely off their track, and enable Warbles,
as you call him, to place himself beyond the reach of the law.'
'And you have followed us?'
'Yes, I followed you. I had undertaken the task, and when I once
undertake a thing I always carry it through if I can.'
'What was your object?'
'I will tell you frankly. My object at first was to obtain the arrest
and extradition of yourself and the man you call Warbles on the charge
of being concerned in stealing two diamond tiaras, the property of
Gilliat, a jeweller in Bond Street, and of obtaining under false
pretences a thousand pounds from a gentleman named Singleton. Failing in
doing this it was my intention, if possible, to obtain from you a
written acknowledgment of your share in the business. I need hardly say
that since I saw you I have altogether abandoned the first intention. I
was convinced that you were but an instrument in the hands of others,
and only hoped that the time would come when you would undo the harm
that had been done by acknowledging that you personated Miss Hawtrey,
upon whom the most unjust suspicions have naturally fallen and whose
life has been to a great extent ruined by it.'
'Why should it have been?' the girl asked. 'Warbles told me that she
could have no difficulty in proving where she was at the time.'
'She had a difficulty. She had been in Bond Street at the same hour, and
she could not prove that she was not either in the jeweller's shop or at
Mr. Singleton's chambers. Her position has been a terrible one. The man
Warbles first prepared the ground by circulating rumours that she was
being blackmailed for money, and this gave a reason for her obtaining
the jewels. I heard before I left England that in consequence of this
cruel suspicion she had broken off her engagement.'
The girl turned fiercely upon him.
'Ah! and you think to go home and clear her and then to receive your
reward; and for this you have acted your part with me. Well, sir, I deny
altogether any knowledge of what you have been talking about, and I defy
you to do your worst.'
She was turning to leave him when he said--'One moment longer. I am in
no way acting for myself, but solely for her. My leave is nearly up, and
I shall probably return direct to India, in which case I shall not be
back in England for another eight or ten years, and she may be married
before as many months are passed--may indeed be married now for aught I
know. It is for my girl friend that I have been working, not for the
woman that I love. You and I are friends now, and were you in difficulty
or trouble you could count upon me to do my best for you as I have been
doing for her.'
She waved her hand in scornful repudiation of any claim upon him, and
went swiftly back to the tent.
'Anything wrong, Captain?' Jacob asked, as he returned to the fire.
'Not worse than might be expected, Jacob. I have spoken to her, told her
who I am, and why I came here. Naturally enough, she is sore at present,
and considers that I have been deceiving her, which is true enough. At
first she denied nothing, but afterwards fired up, and for the present
regards me as an enemy; but I believe it will all come right. She is
angry now because it seems to her that I have been taking her in for my
own purposes, but I think that when she thinks it over calmly she will
do what I want.'
Just as Ned Hampton was thinking of turning in for the night a man came
up to the fire. He recognised him at once as Murdoch, Truscott's partner
in the saloon.
'I have come round to have a bit of a talk with you,' the man said, as
he seated himself on a box near the fire. 'Linda has been telling me
that you are the man I saw at New Orleans, and that you followed us
here. She has also been telling me what you came for, and the girl is
downright cut up about it. Up till now I have never known the rights of
the job she and Warbles had done in England. She has not told me much
about it now, only that she acted the part of another girl and got
things in her name, and that the other girl has been suspected of it,
and that you want to clear her. Now when I first saw her at New Orleans
I took an oath I would do what I could for her, and would see that she
was not wronged in any way. I have been watching her pretty close for
some time. I could see she liked you. If you had pretended to be fond of
her so as to wheedle her into doing what you wanted in this business,
and had then chucked her over, I would have thought no more of shooting
you than I would of putting my heel on a rattler's head; but I am bound
to say that you haven't. I could see that whatever your game was, you
were not trying to make her like you; and when I said something about
it, when she was talking to me, she flared up and said that you had
never been more than civil to her, and there was no thought of love
between you.
'I don't think she quite spoke the truth on her side, but that was only
natural. Anyhow, I don't feel any grudge against you, and it is only to
make things best for her that I have come here. There is nothing hardly
I would not do for her, and I want to make things as smooth as possible.
You behaved like a man in that affair with Wyoming Bill, and I guess as
you are at the head of Judge Lynch's band, and I look upon you as a
straight man, and I am not afraid of talking straight to you. It was I
who set that nigger on you at New Orleans. I knew nothing about you
except that you would have spoilt our plans, and might even get her
arrested. Your life was nothing to me one way or another; I had got to
stop you and I did it. I told the nigger to hit you so that you would be
laid up for a time, but not to kill you; but when I did so I tell you I
didn't care the turn of a straw whether he killed you or not. I have
been thinking over for the last hour what I had best do, and I concluded
to come to you and put it to you straight.
'Warbles is pretty nigh rubbed out; I doubt if he will get round; he
takes a lot of liquor every night, and always has done, and that tells
against a man's chances when he is hurt. You know well enough that you
could do nothing against the girl here. If a sheriff came to arrest her
the boys would pretty well tear him to pieces, but the chap that could
travel as you have done, from England to the States, and then across to
California, would certainly be ready to wait and bide his time, and
sooner or later you would catch her.'
'I have no wish to catch her,' Ned Hampton said. 'I have told her so. I
believe that she has been deceived throughout by this man Warbles, who
is, I know, a very bad lot. I have a strong admiration for her; in
person she marvellously resembles a lady to whom I am much attached, and
the manner in which she behaves here and remains untouched by the
admiration she excites is admirable, and I am convinced that she acted
in England solely under Warbles' influence and without any knowledge or
thought of the harm she was doing. I am anxious--most anxious--to obtain
a written confession from her that would clear the reputation of the
lady she impersonated, but if she will not make that confession I shall
certainly take no steps whatever against her or put the law in motion to
bring about her arrest.'
'That is well spoken, sir, and if I can help you I will. If Warbles dies
I shall do my best to be a father to the girl until the time comes when
she will choose a husband for herself. I have been a pretty bad man in
my time, and in most things she could hardly have a worse guardian, but
at any rate I will watch over and keep her from harm, and would shoot
down any man who insulted her as I would a dog. That is all I have got
to say now. I hope you don't bear any ill will for that job at New
Orleans, but I will tell you fairly, I would have done it again here had
I thought you were coming to try to win her heart just for your
purposes, or you had been scheming to get her arrested and sent to
England to be punished.'
'I have got over the affair at New Orleans,' Ned said, 'and feel no
malice about it now; and had I done so, the feeling would have been
wiped out by the sentiments you express towards Linda. I don't know her
real name.'
'Nor do I,' Murdoch said, 'beyond the fact that at first Warbles often
called her Sally, I don't know who she is or where he got her from. I
know he had her educated, because one day when she was angry she said
that she felt no gratitude to him for that, for he had only had her
taught for his own purposes. At present he is too bad to talk, but if he
gets a bit better I shall try and get the whole story out of him, and if
I do you shall have it. As to Linda, she feels pretty bad at present.
She has taken a liking to you, you see, and she feels sore about it, but
I expect in time she will come round. It depends a great deal on whether
Warbles gets well again. She doesn't like him, and she fights with him
often enough, but when it is something he's downright set on she always
gives way at last. I think she has got an idea that she is bound to do
it. I guess it was a sort of agreement when he had her educated that she
would work with him and do whatever he bid her. If it had not been for
that I believe she would have thrown it up at New Orleans, and for aught
I know long before that. If he gets well again she will do as he tells
her in this affair of yours. If he dies, you may take it from me that
she will own up as you want her to do. You don't mean to hurt her, and I
don't think there is any one in England she could go back to, so there
can't be any reason why she should not make things straight. Well, I
will let you know if there is any change. I shall see you over there, no
doubt. She won't be going into the bar, so you can drop in when you
like. You are sure to find me there. There is no one else to see about
things.'
For the next few days it was understood in the camp that the boss of the
Eldorado was likely to get round. It was reported that he was conscious,
and was able to talk freely. Indeed, the doctor said it would be much
better that he should not talk as much as he did. The doctor had been
one of the ten men who had helped to clear out the camp. When not
professionally employed he worked at a claim some distance from that of
Ned Hampton's party, and as he and his partners messed together instead
of taking their meals at either of the saloons Ned seldom saw him. A
week after his interview with Murdoch he happened to meet him.
'How is your patient really going on, Ryan?'
The latter shook his head. 'I think he is going downhill fast. He will
talk. We have tried opiates as strong as we dare give him, but they
don't seem to have any effect, which is often the case with steady
drinkers. He has not been a drunkard, I believe, but he has been in the
habit of taking a lot of liquor regularly. He scarcely sleeps at all.
That girl nurses him with wonderful patience, but she is breaking down
under the strain. She wasn't in his tent this morning, and it is the
first time that she has been away. When I called the other man, Murdoch,
seemed a good deal put out. I don't know what about, and when I told him
outside the tent that the other was worrying himself and was a good deal
weaker than he was two days ago, he muttered, "The infernal skunk, it is
a pity he didn't go down twenty years ago." So I suppose there has been
some row between them.'
'He was a bad lot, Ryan; I know something of his past history, and
believe that he was a thorough scoundrel.'
'Is that so? I never saw much of him. I don't throw away my money at the
bars; my object is to make as much money as will buy me a snug practice
in the old country.'
'Quite right, Ryan; it's a pity that more do not have some such object
in view, and so lay by their earnings instead of throwing them away in
those saloons or in the gambling hells of Sacramento.'