MY “PARDNER” AND I
(Gray Rocks)
A Story Of The Middle-West
Illustrated
By Willis George Emerson
Chicago: Laird & Lee, Publishers
1894
“Beneath yon rocky peak that hides
In fleecy clouds its snow-flecked crest;
Beneath those crimson crags abides
The fairest queen of all the West.”
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CONTENTS
PREFACE.
PARTIAL LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
CHAPTER I.—VANCE GILDER.
CHAPTER II.—THE OLD MINER.
CHAPTER III.—THE BANNER FORCE.
CHAPTER IV—A SUPPER PARTY.
CHAPTER V.—AN ODD CHARACTER.
CHAPTER VI—THE TOWN BOOMER.
CHAPTER VII.—A VISIT TO WATERVILLE
CHAPTER VIII.—AT THE MINE
CHAPTER IX.—THE STAGE DRIVER.
CHAPTER X.—PROPERTY HAS GONE UP.
CHAPTER XI.—OWNER OF THE PEACOCK MINE.
CHAPTER XII—TROUT FISHING.
CHAPTER XIII.—THE STAGE RIDE.
CHAPTER XIV.—THE TOWN COMPANY’. MEETING.
CHAPTER XV.—MISS VIRGINIA BONIFIELD.
CHAPTER XVI.—THE OLD COLONEL’. DISAPPOINTMENT.
CHAPTER XVII.—An AWAKENING.
CHAPTER XVIII.—VANCE RETURNS TO WATERVILLE.
CHAPTER XIX.—THE INDIGNATION MEETING
CHAPTER XX.—THE STAGE IS ROBBED.
CHAPTER XXI.—REACHING THE 400 FOOT LEVEL.
CHAPTER XXII.—STARTING THE BOOM.
CHAPTER XXIII.—RUFUS GRIM S AMBITION.
CHAPTER XXIV.—THE GOLDEN MAUSOLEUM.
CHAPTER XXV.—CROSS-CUTTING IN THE MINE.
CHAPTER XXVI.—A STARTLING EDITORIAL.
CHAPTER XXVII.—AT LAST!
PREFACE.
The breaking of a twig in some vast forest, or the dull echo of a
miner’s pick in a rugged mountain canyon, alike suggest the solitude
of Nature. The unwritten history of mining prospectors who search for
yellow gold, or the advance guards of our civilization in the rich
valleys of the West, are replete-with interest and dramatic incident.
The “boom” town builder also plays a most conspicuous part in this
unwritten drama.
There are no frayed-out remnants of a former greatness to be found on
the frontier. A man sells for his intrinsic worth—no more, no less.
Conditions that made men great in former generations are here active.
and develop manhood in its highest form.
There is hardly a cross-road hamlet without its hotel, and usually a
“Dick Ballard” presides. “Brainy men.” such as composed the
Waterville Town Company, may be found wherever a new town is building,
while a “Rufus Grim” is usually the autocrat of the mining camp.
The old “Colonel” represents a class of sturdy miners whose untiring
labor occasionally gives to the world the golden keys of some fabulously
rich discovery; while the greater number dedicate their lives to a
fruitless search for hidden treasures, and finally die of disappointment
and a broken heart.
“Louise,” in her unswerving devotion to her father, is a specimen of
superior womanhood whose duplicate may be found in many a ranchman’s
home throughout the nestling valleys of our y re at West.
Sometimes I imagine I was with “J. Arthur Boast” in his hiding place
when he wrote that last letter and saw the spectral ghost that ever kept
him company. The retribution perhaps was just, yet my sympathy lingers
around the old prospect shaft.
Many of my readers will doubtless desire to express their criticism of
GRAY ROCKS. Nothing will afford me more pleasure than to receive just
criticisms, for it will at least enable me to escape similar errors in
other stories that I am now engaged in writing.
Sincerely, WILLIS GEORGE EMERSON.
ELM REST, August 20, 1894.
No. 1363 Central Park Boulevard, Chicago.
PARTIAL LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
I. The Mr. Gilder for Whom I am Looking is a Much Older Gentleman..14
II. He Clasped Vance’s Hand Warmly.................................21
III. A Letter Was Handed to Him....................................30
IV. My Salary Has Been Raised,.....................................37
V. Hello, Pardner! How D’.e Do.....................................41
VI. He Offered Vance Some Havanas,.................................50
VII. This ‘ere Town is Comin’ Out of the Kinks in Fine
Shape.......60
VIII. He Forgot Time,..............................................68
IX. I Am Going to Give Him a Piece of My Mind......................76
X. Vance Turned and Saw J. Arthur Boast............................82
XI. “You’re the Young Man, I Reckon,” Said Grim, “From New
York,”..87
XII. Don’t You Think I Am Horrid to Go on Talking this Way to You?.96
XIII. The Stage Ride..............................................108
XIV. Gentlemen, We Deliberate Upon the Destiny of Waterville......114
XV. Vance Was Presented to Miss Virginia Bonifield,...............124
XVI. We Have Cross-cut Into Whar’ the Vein Ought to Be............135
XVII. “Lost Your Position?” Said Louise, with Unmistakable
Concern143
XVIII. Vance Handed Marcus Donald a Copy..........................151
XIX. They Are the Brainiest Lot of Men This Country Has Produced..162
XX. They Started Pell-mell Down the Mountain Load.................171
XXI. You Will Not Be Angry With Father, Will You?.................179
XXII. There Are Times, When It’s Necessary to Put My Foot Down....189
XXIII. “Yes,” Whispered Bertha, “I Love You So
Much,”.............207
XXIV. A Dark Form Crouched Near,..................................215
XXV. Where Is the Powder?.........................................228
XXVI. A Guilty Conscience Needs No Accuser........................236
XXVII. Such Tender Things of Earth Are Sanctified in Heaven.......256
CHAPTER I.—VANCE GILDER.
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ANCE GILDER [11] had an ambition. It was to be a great journalist.
The sunshine that gleamed in at his western windows disclosed
most luxurious apartments—indicating refinement and culture. The
bric-a-brac; the leathern walls stamped with gilt; the frieze of
palm-leaves; the chandelier; the richly carved book-case, filled with
tawny-covered volumes; the upright piano, and a guitar which stood
sentinel-like in a retired corner; together with India rugs and tiger
skins on the floor before an open grate, half hidden by a large Japanese
fan—bespoke wealth as well as refined taste.
Seated at an open escritoire with writing materials before him, on the
evening of a June day, was Vance Gilder.
He was not more than twenty-five, of medium height, dark brown hair,
soft and wavy as the silk of Indian corn, large brown eyes, a clear
complexion, an aquiline nose, [12] and a rather heavy, dark moustache,
which in part hid a well-formed mouth.
Before him lay numerous packages of papers, but they were not claiming
his attention. He was perusing a billet-doux written in a lady’s hand.
There was a refinement and gentleness in his face, while his dress and
surroundings indicated a serious elegance, rich but unaffected.
“Who can she be?” was the exclamation that escaped him as he again
read the letter which he held in his hand.
Tossing it down, he walked back and forth across the room with measured
strides.
Stopping before the mantel, he lighted a cigar. “Louise Bonifield,”
he ejaculated, between puffs of smoke, which he blew away in rings
toward the ceiling, “where have I met her?
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Where have I seen that name?”
Walking back to the escritoire, he took up the letter and read aloud:
Murray Hill Hotel, June 18.
Kind Sir:
Father and I arrived in the city last night. He wishes me to call on
you at three o’clock this afternoon; business of special importance to
himself.
Respectfully,
LOUISE BONIFIELD.
To Vance Gilder, Esq.
“No,” he said aloud, “I do not remember Miss Louise Bonifield. It
is doubtless very stupid of me, and all that, but if ever I even heard
the name before, it certainly has [13] passed from my memory. She says
three o’clock,” and glancing at the French time-piece which helped
to make up the furniture of his room, he saw it was preparing to strike
the hour of three.
Scarcely had the sound of the mellow cathedral bell died away, when the
door-bell clanged out like a harsh echo of the clock’s last stroke.
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The servant brought in a card bearing the name of “Louise
Bonifield,” and received instructions to admit the visitor at once.
The rustling of skirts was soon heard in the hallway.
With the deportment of a queen, she accepted the proffered chair and
raised to Vance’s face a pair of laughing blue eyes that might be
dangerous. The parting of her rosy lips displayed her ivory teeth
to advantage, while her evident embarrassment tinged with pink her
beautiful cheeks.
“I called,” she stammered, “to see Mr. Vance Gilder.”
“At your service,” he replied, bowing low.
“But really, sir, are you Mr. Gilder?”
“I believe,” he replied, “that I enjoy the doubtful honor of that
appellation.”
The half-hesitation of the visitor as she stood in the open door might
have suggested momentary confusion, but reassurance seemed to assert
itself as she complied with the melodious invitation of Vance Gilder to
enter and be seated.
This vision of loveliness that entered the bachelor apartments of Vance
Gilder might have been eighteen years old, but certainly no more. In
stature she was of medium height, rather slender, and sustained herself
[14] “It must be,” she faltered, with increasing embarrassment, “all
a mistake.”
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Vance Gilder, with all his boasted matter-of-fact principles, was
wonderfully interested in his fair visitor. She evidently was a stranger
in the city, or a skilled actress. In referring to her afterwards, he
spoke of her as a “dream of loveliness.”
He was too chivalrous to permit his visitor’s embarrassment to
increase if he could help it and quickly [15] assured her that it was
not a very serious mistake, and asked in what way he could serve her, at
the same time saying he regretted exceedingly that he did not answer the
description of the Vance Gilder for whom she was seeking.
“The Mr. Gilder for whom I am looking,” said his fair visitor, “is
a much older gentleman than you. He visited father some three years ago,
at Gold Bluff, Idaho, and owns an interest in Gray Rocks, my father’s
mine. My father is very anxious to meet Mr. Gilder; in fact, we have
come all the way from Idaho expressly for that purpose. He would have
called in person, but was taken ill last evening—so ill, indeed, that
we found it necessary to summon a physician. We are stopping at the
Murray Hill Hotel. I fear my father will be greatly disappointed.”
A shade of sadness stole over the usually buoyant face of Vance Gilder.
“I think I understand,” said he. “I bear the name of my father,
who, after spending several months in the mining districts of Idaho,
went to California, where he remained over a year, endeavoring to regain
his health. He returned home a little less than two years ago and died
within two months after his arrival.
“As his living representative, and in honor of his memory,” said he,
with feeling, “if there is any way in which he could have served you
or your father, had he lived, I will volunteer, to the extent of my
ability, to act in his stead.”
“It certainly is very kind of you,” she replied, “but I am
distressed at this intelligence, and know my father will be also.
We learned to think a great deal of Mr. Gilder [16] during his few
months’ stay at Gold Bluff. You can certainly do my father a great
service by calling on him.”
“I shall take great pleasure,” said Vance, in his earnest way, “in
doing so. I am employed on the Banner, and my duties will prevent me
calling before tomorrow at ten o’clock, but at that hour, tell your
father he may expect me.”
She had risen while he was speaking, and with a face full of sympathy
and kindness, thanked him for his promise; and before he realized what
was transpiring, the hall door closed and she was gone.
The house from which she had taken her leave was one of the best
overlooking Central Park, in New York City. Vance Gilder, the elder, was
a man of great determination of character, and had accumulated a fortune
while yet in the prime of life. He built for himself this house. It was
surrounded by elegantly kept gardens and velvet lawns.
He retired from business late in the ‘60’., intending to devote
himself to his wife and only son, then a mere child, and his library.
Scarcely a year of such enjoyment was allowed him before his wife
sickened and died, leaving him his son and his fortune. It was hardly
more than natural that he should lavish a great deal of attention and
wealth upon his child.
As his son grew to manhood, his father discovered a recklessness and
extravagance which was sadly at variance with those economic principles
which he himself had so studiously practiced. Vance stood fairly well
in his classes, and after graduating at Princeton, went abroad, visiting
the principal cities of Europe, and spending money in such a lavish way
that at the expiration of a [17] year his father summoned him home and
remonstrated with him severely on his manner of living and his expensive
habits.
Piqued at the rebuke, he quarreled with his father, and started out to
make his way in the world alone. The estrangement was of short duration,
however, and soon after the reconciliation he secured a position on the
__Banner_ _, and assiduously devoted himself to the study of journalism.
He gave up his follies and fast living, and found more enjoyment in his
work on the Banner than he had ever found in swell dinners and midnight
carousals at his club.