Just after the lamps were lighted the next evening the door opened and
the Professor, Colonel Savage and Alex Strong came in. The greetings
were warm all around, and at once conversation turned upon stocks. The
Professor insisted that the first great showing was to be made in the
south end mines, Alex still believed in Overman, the Colonel was
sanguine over Utah, Ashley asked the opinion of the others on Sierra
Nevada. The general sentiment was that if Skae had any real indication
there the Bonanza firm would gobble it up before any outsider could
realize.
Wright still inclined to the belief that the water must be conquered
pretty soon in the Savage and that there would be a showing that would
make every servant girl and hostler on the coast want some Savage.
So the conversation ran on for an hour, until something was said which
turned the conversation upon the strange characters which had been met
on the western coast. At length the Colonel settled down for a talk, and
the others became willing listeners.
"I have met many royal people on this coast," began the Colonel. "Royal,
though they never wore crowns, at least crowns not visible in the dim
light of this world. The emblems of their royalty were hidden from most
mortal eyes. In narrow spheres they lived and died, and only a few,
besides God, knew of their sovereignty. One of these was
OLD ZACK TAYLOR.
"His last years were passed in Plumas and Lassen counties, California.
When he came there his hair was already silvered; he must have been
fifty years of age.
"No one knew his antecedents. In the excitements and free-heartedness of
those days not many questions were asked. Besides the young and hopeful
there were many who had sought the new land as a balm for domestic
troubles; as a spot where former misfortunes might be forgotten, where
early mistakes might, in earnest lives, be buried out of sight. With the
rest came Zack Taylor. From the first that region seemed to possess a
charm for him. No person can imagine the splendor in natural scenery of
Plumas county. It must be seen to be comprehended. The mountains are
tremendous; the valleys are so fair that they seem like pictures in
their mountain frames. And so they are. They are the work of a Master's
hand, whose work never fades. His signet is upon them as it was
indented, when, in the long ago, it was decided that at last the earth
was fitted to be a habitation for man.
"The forests are such forests as are no where seen in this world, except
in the Pacific States of the United States. There is no exaggeration in
this. Ordinary pines will make ten thousand feet of lumber, and they
stand very near together, those mighty pines of the Sierras.
"The panoramas that are unrolled there when nature is in the
picture-making mood are most gorgeous. Some that I saw there linger
fresh upon my mind still. They come to me sometimes when I am down in
the depths of the mine, and for a moment I forget the heat and the
gloom.
"As a rule, all the summer long, the skies are of a crystal clearness;
the green of the hill tops melts into the everlasting incandescent white
beyond, and there is no change for days and weeks at a time, except as
the green of the day fades into the shadows of the night, and the gold
of the sunlight gives place to the silver of the stars.
"It was to this region that Zack Taylor came and made his abode. About
him was an air of perfect contentment. Besides his blanching hair, there
were deep lines about his face, which were an alphabet from which could
be spelled out stories of past excitements and trials, but if sorrows
and sufferings were included, the firm lips gave no sign, and the
bright, black eyes were ever kindly. There were rumors that he had been
a soldier, but the general impression was, that from childhood, he had
been tossed about on the frontier. He had the moods, the gestures and
dialect of the frontier. He liked wild game cooked upon a camp fire,
and, in frontier phrase, he could 'punish a heap of whisky.'
"He was at home everywhere; in the saloons his coming was always
welcome; when he met a lady on the street, no matter whether she was
young or old, fair or ugly, he always doffed his hat, and the few
children of those early days looked upon him as a father--or an angel.
He had a cheery, hearty, winsome way about him which drew all hearts to
him.
"When I saw him last the gray hair had turned to snowy white; the scars
of time had grooved deeper furrows on cheek and brow, the old elastic,
merry way had grown sedate, but the black eyes were still kindly and
bright. At that time he lived, a welcome pauper, on the citizens of
Susanville, in Lassen county.
"When hungry he went where he pleased and got food; when he needed
clothes they were forthcoming in any store where he applied for them.
When, sometimes, merchants would in jest banter him for money on account
of what he owed, his way was to softly suggest to them that if the
patronage of the place did not, in their judgments, justify them in
remaining; there was no constitutional objection that he was aware of to
prevent their making an auction.
"One fearfully cold winter's night a few of us were sitting around the
stove in the Stewart House, in Susanville, when old Zack came in. The
circle was widened for him, and as he drew up to the fire, some one
said: 'Zack, tell us about that night's work when you tended bar for the
poker players?'
"'Itwusdown on Noth Fok (North Fork) of Feather River, 'bout '52 or '53,
I disremember which,' began Zack. 'It wus in the winter, and it being
too cold for mining, ther boys wus all in camp. Thar wus no women thar,
least ways, no ladies, and women as isn't ladies--but we dun no who thar
mothers wus, nor how much they has suffered, and we haint got no
business to talk about 'em. But, as I wus sayin', the boys wus all in
camp, and thar wus lots of beans and whisky and sich things, and we hed
good times, you bet!
"Jake Clark kept a saloon thar, which wus sort of headquarters, and
sometimes when the boys got warmed up on Jake's whisky thar wus lively
times. Well, I _should_ remark. It wussent much wonder, neither, for
Jake made his whisky in the back room, made it out of old boots,
akerfortis and sich things, and if you believe me, a fire assay of that
beverage would have shown 93 per cent, of cl'ar hell. Thar wus three or
four copies of Shakespeare in camp, and everbody got a Sacermento
_Union_ every week when the express came in; so we kept posted solid.
Speakin' of that, if folks only jest stick to Shakespeare and then
paternize one first-class paper, sich as the old _Union_ wus, and read
'em, in the long run they'd have a heap more sense.
"'Of course the boys would play poker sometimes. Men will always do that
when the reproach in honest women's eyes is taken away, and I have
heard, now and then, of one who would play in spite of good influences.
At least thar is rumors to that effect.
"'Well, they wus playin' one night, five or six of them, inter Jake's
saloon. It got to be about ten o'clock, and Jake says to me, says he,
'Zack, them fellers is playin' and will most likely run it all night. By
mornin' Tom D. will have the hul pile, and Tom never pays nuthin'. I'm
goin' home. You run the ranch, Zack, and when they call for it you give
'em whisky outer this 'ere keg, so if they never pay we won't lose too
much." This he told me in a low voice behind the bar, in confidence
like.
"'Jake started for home and I went on watch. Thar wus lots of coin and
dust on the table and the boys wus playin' high. I stood behind the bar
and watched 'em, and as I watched I said to myself, says I, "The
doggoned cusses! They come here and bum Jake's fuel and lights, and
drink his whisky, and don't pay nuthin'. It's too bad."
"'Then an idea struck me. I had a log of fat pine in the back yard. It
wus fuller of pitch than Bill Pardee is of religion in revival times,
and I thought of somethin'. I went out, got a lot of the pitch, warmed
it in the candle down behind the bar and rubbed it all along the bottom
of my hands, so, and then I waited developments.
"'Pretty soon thar wus a call for whisky. I started out with a bottle in
one hand and a glass in the other, and, setting down the glass first, I
said, "'Ere's your glass," and settin' down the bottle, said, "'Ere's
your whisky."
"'They drank all 'round, when Harlow Porter said: "This is mine, Zack."
I argued the pint with him and asked him how a man could furnish a
house, lights, fires and whisky, and keep it up if nobody paid? They
told me to "hire a hall," and all laughed. It wus only old Zack, you
know.
"'But I did tolerable well after all. When I sat down the glass half a
dollar stuck to my hand, and when I sat down the whisky the other hand
caught up a two and a half piece.
"'The playin' went on, and I warmed my hands. By and by more whisky wus
called for. I responded. Once more I said, '"Ere's your glass," and
"'Ere's your whisky." They drank, and then Henry Moore said to Hugh
Richmond: "Why don't you ante?" "I have," wus Hugh's reply; "I jist put
up five dollars." "No you didn't," said Henry. "Yes I did," said Hugh,
hotly. "You're a liar," said Miller, and then biff! biff! biff! came the
blows.
"'I got down behind the bar, for some of them cusses would shoot if half
a chance wus given them. The truth wus, I had picked up the five with my
pitch when I said "'Ere's your whisky."
"'The boys got hold and stopped the row and the players proceeded. The
oftener they drank the wurs bookkeepers they became, and all the time I
wus doin' reasonably well.
"'Durin' the night I took in eighty-three dollars and seen a beautiful
fight.
"'I didn't tell of it, though, for nigh onto three year, 'cept to Jake.
It nearly killed me to keep it to myself. But Lord! wouldn't they have
made it tropic for me if they'd ever dropped on the business! Well, I
should remark!'
"When Zack finished his story I asked if he would not take something.
"He remarked that he was not particularly proud and, besides, the
weather was 'powerful sarchin';' he believed he would.
"He swallowed a stiff drink, returned to the stove, resumed his seat,
began and told the whole story over, except that the whisky was having
its effect, and as he drew towards the close he commenced to exaggerate,
and wound up by the assertion that he took in one hundred and sixty
dollars and saw two tremendous fights.
"Some one else asked him to drink. He accepted, then returned to his
chair and apparently fell into a doze. After a few minutes, however, he
aroused himself and began again, as follows:
"'It wus down on North Fok of Feather River, in '52 or '53, I
disremember which. It was in the winter, and it bein' too cold for
minin' ther boys wus all in camp. Thar wus no women thar, leastways no
ladies, and women as is no ladies--but we dun no.'
"Here I arose and slipped out of the room. Returning about fifteen
minutes later. I found old Zack gesticulating wildly and in a high key
exclaiming:
"'I everlastingly broke the boys with my pitch. I took in _three hundred
and forty-three dollars_ and seen three the _dod-durndest fights in the
world_.'
"But it was not this that I began to tell. Three or four years before
Zack's death, a courier announced to the people of Susanville that three
days before, out near Deep Hole, on the desert eighty miles east of
Susanville, a man had been killed by renegade Pi Ute Indians. The
announcement made only a temporary impression, for such news was often
brought to Susanville in those days. In a very few years eighty Lassen
county men were murdered by Indians.
"A few days after the news of this particular murder was brought in,
Susanville began to be vexed by the evident presence of a mysterious
thief. If a hunter brought in a brace of grouse or rabbits and left them
exposed for a little while they disappeared.
"If a string of trout were caught from the river and were left anywhere
for a few minutes they were lost. Gardens were robbed of fruit and
vegetables; blankets, flannels and groceries disappeared from stores.
The losses became unbearable at length, everybody was aroused and on the
alert, but no thief could be discovered, though the depredations still
went on. This continued for days and weeks, until the people became
desperate, and many a threat was made that when the thief should finally
be caught, in disposing of him the grim satisfaction of the frontier
should be fully enjoyed. Old Zack was especially fierce in his
denunciations.
"One morning a horseman dashed into town, his mustang coming in on a
dead run. Reining up in front of the main hotel, he sprang down from his
horse and to the people who came running to see what was the matter, he
explained that half a mile from town, around the bend of the hill, in
the old deserted cabin, he had found the widow of the man killed weeks
before by the Indians; had found her and a nest of babies, and none of
them with sufficient food or clothing.
"When the story was finished, men and women--half the population of the
village--made a rush for the cabin. It was nearly concealed from view
from the road by thick bushes, but they found the woman there and four
little children. The woman seemed like one half dazed by sorrow and
despair, but when questioned, she replied that she had been there five
weeks. 'But how have you lived?' asked half a dozen voices in concert.
Then the woman explained that she and her children would have starved,
had it not been for a kind old gentleman who brought her everything that
she required.
"'Indeed,' she added, 'he brought me many things that I did not need,
and which I felt that I ought not to accept, but he over-persuaded me,
telling me that I did not know how rich he was, that his supplies were
simply inexhaustible.
"When asked to describe this man, she began to say: 'He is a heavy-set
old gentleman; wears blue clothes; his hair is white as snow, but his
eyes are black, and--'but she was not allowed to go any farther, for
twenty voices, between weeping and laughing, cried 'Old Zack!'
"The widow and her children were taken to the village, a house with its
comforts provided for them, and there was, thenceforth, no more trouble
from the ubiquitous thief.
"Living on charity himself, with the wreck of a life behind him and
nothing before him but the grave, which he was swiftly nearing, this
great-hearted, old heavenly bummer and Christian thief, had taken care
of this helpless family, and had done it because despite the dry rot and
the whisky which had benumbed his energies, his soul, deep down, was
royal to the core.
"It is true that he had robbed the town to minister to the woman and her
babies, but in the books of the angels, though it was written that he
was a thief, in the same sentence it was also added, 'and God bless
him,' and these words turned to gold even as they were being written.
"When Old Zack was asked why he did not make the facts about the family
known, after waiting a moment he replied:
"'You see I've been tossed about a powerful sight in my time; have drank
heaps of bad whisky; have done a great many no-account things and not a
great many good ones. Since I wus a boy I have never had chick or kin of
my own. I met the woman and her babies up by the cabin; they wus as
pitiful a sight as ever you seen; and besides, the woman wus jist about
to go stark mad with grief and hunger and anxiety and weariness. I seen
she must have quiet and that anxiety about her children must be soothed
some way. Then I did some of the best lyin' you ever heard. I got her to
eat some supper and waited until the whole outfit wus fast asleep. I
watched 'em a little while and then I got curis to know what kind of a
provider I would have made for a family had I started out in life
different, and that wus all there wus about it.'
"Is it a wonder, then, that when the old man died his body was dressed
in soft raiment, placed in a costly casket, and that, preceded by a
martial band playing a requiem, all the people followed sorrowingly to
the grave; and that, as they gently heaped the sods above his breast
they sent after him into the Beyond heartfelt 'all-hails and
farewells?'"
"You see your man through colored spectacles, Colonel," spoke up
Brewster. "From your description, I think there was more of the border
deviltry in the old man than there was true royalty. Life had been a
joke to him always; he played it as a joke to the end. One such a man
was entertainment to the village; had there been a dozen more like him
they would have become intolerable nuisances?"
"That," said the Colonel, "only shows how miserable are my descriptive
powers. There are not a dozen other such men as old Zack Taylor was
among all the fourteen hundred millions of people on this sorrowful
earth."
"No," interposed Miller, "you told the story well enough, but it was
only descriptive of a good-humored bummer at best--of one who was
warm-hearted without a conscience, of one who was more willing to work
to perpetrate a joke on others than to honorably earn the bread that he
ate.
"I will tell you of a royal fellow that I knew. It was Billie Smith. He
lived in Eureka that first hard winter of '70-71. He was not a miner as
we are, receiving four dollars per day. He and his partner, a surly old
fellow, had a claim which they were developing, hoping that it would
amount to something in the spring. That was before smelting had been
made a success. The ores were all base and of too low a grade to ship
away. These men had a little supply of flour, bacon and coffee, and that
was about all, and it was all they expected until spring.
"It was early in January and the weather was exceedingly cold. Their
cabin was but a rude hut, open on every side to the winds. I was there
and I know how things were. One day I was waiting in a tent, which by
courtesy was called a store, when Billie came in. He had a cheery smile
and hearty, welcome words for every one. He had been there but a few
minutes when his partner came in. The old man was fairly boiling with
rage. So angry was he that he could hardly articulate distinctly.
Finally he explained that some thief had stolen their mattress, a pair
of their best blankets and a sack of flour. He wanted an officer
dispatched with a search warrant. Then I overheard the following
conversation between the two men:
"'O, never mind,' said Billie; 'some poor devil needed the things or he
would not have taken them.'
"'Yes, but we need them, too; need them more than anything else,' was
the response.
"'O, we will get along; we have plenty.'
"'Yes,' retorted the partner, 'but what are we going to do for a bed?
Our hair mattress and best pair of blankets are gone, and the cabin is
cold.'
"'We can sew up some sacks into a mattress, and fill it with soft brush
and leaves, and use our coats for blankets,' replied Billie. 'We'll get
along all right. The truth is we have been sleeping too warm of late.'
"Too warm!' said the partner, bitterly; 'I should think so. A polar bear
would freeze in that cabin without a bed.'
"'Do you think so?' asked Billie, smiling. 'Well, that is the way to
keep it, and so if any wild animal comes that way we can freeze him out.
Brace up, partner! Why should a man make a fuss about the loss of a
trifle like that?'
"Later I found out the facts. A little below Billie's cabin was another
cabin, into which a family of emigrants had moved. They were dreadfully
poor. Going to and returning from town Billie had noticed how things
were. One night as he passed, going home in the dark, he heard a child
crying in the cabin and heard it say to its mother that it was hungry
and cold.
"Next morning he waited until his partner had gone away, then rolled the
mattress around a sack of flour, then rolled the mattress and flour up
in his best pair of blankets, swung the bundle on his shoulder, carried
it down the trail to the other cabin, where, opening the door, he flung
it inside; then with finger on his lip he said in a hoarse whisper to
the woman: 'Don't mention it! Not a word. I stole the bundle, and if you
ever speak of it you will get me sent to prison,' and in a moment was
swinging down the trail singing joyously:
"If I had but a thousand a year, Robin Ruff,
If I had but a thousand a year."
"Last winter, after the fire, there was one man in this city, John W.
Mackay, who gave $150,000 to the poor. It was a magnificent act, and was
as grandly and gently performed as such an act could be. No one would
ever have known it, had not the good priest who distributed the most of
it, one day, mentioned the splendid fact. That man will receive his
reward here, and hereafter, for it was a royal charity. But he has
$30,000,000 to draw against, while, when Billie in the wilderness gave
up his bed and his food, he not only had not a cent to draw against, but
he had not a reasonably well-defined hope.
"When at last the roll-call of the real royal men of this world shall be
sounded, if any of you chance to be there, you will hear, close up to
the head of the list, the name of Billie Smith, and when it shall be
pronounced, if you listen, you will hear a very soft but dulcet refrain
trembling along the harps and a murmur among the emerald arches that
will sound like the beating of the wings of innumerable doves."
"That was a good mon, surely. Did he do well with his mine?" asked
Corrigan.
"No," answered Miller. "It was but a little deposit, and was quickly
worked out. He scuffled along until the purchase of the Eureka Con. in
the spring, then went to work there for a few months, then came here,
and a day or two after arriving, was shot dead by the ruffian Perkins.
"He was shot through the brain, and people tell me he was so quickly
transfixed that in his coffin the old sunny smile was still upon his
face. I don't believe that, though. I believe the smile came when, as
the light went out here, he saw the dawn and felt the hand clasps on the
other side.
"By the way, there was a man here who knew him, and who wrote something
with the thought of poor Billie in his mind while he was writing."
At this Miller arose and went to his carpet-sack, opened it and drew out
a paper. Then handing it to Harding, he said: "Harding, you read better
than I do, read it for us all."
Harding took the paper and read as follows:
ERNEST FAITHFUL.
'Twas the soul of Ernest Faithful
Loosed from its home of clay--
Its mission on earth completed,
To the judgment passed away.
'Twas the soul of Ernest Faithful
Stood at the bar above,
Where the deeds of men are passed upon
In justice, but in love.
And an angel questioned Faithful
Of the life just passed on earth!
What could he plead of virtue,
What could he count of worth.
And the soul of Ernest Faithful
Trembled in sore dismay;
And from the judgment angel's gaze
Shuddering, turned away.
For memory came and whispered
How worldly was that life;
Unfairly plotting, sometimes,
In anger and in strife;
For a selfish end essaying
To treasures win or fame,
And the soul of Ernest cowered 'neath
The angel's eye of flame.
Then from a book the angel drew
A leaf with name and date,
A record of this Ernest's life
Wove in the looms of Fate.
And said: "O, Faithful, answer me,
Here is a midnight scroll,
What didst thou 'neath the stars that night?
Didst linger o'er the bowl?
"Filling the night with revelry
With cards and wine and dice,
And adding music's ecstacy,
To give more charms to vice?"
Then the soul of Faithful answered,
"By the bedside of a friend
I watched the long hours through; that night
His life drew near its end."
"Here's another date at midnight,
Where was't thou this night, say?"
"I was waiting by the dust of one
Whose soul had passed that day."
"These dollar marks," the angel said;
"What mean they, Ernest, tell?"
"It was a trifle that I gave
To one whom want befell."
"Here's thine own picture, illy dressed;
What means this scant attire?"
"I know not," answered Faithful, "save
That once midst tempest dire,
"I found a fellow-man benumbed,
And lost amid the storm
And so around him wrapped my vest,
His stiffening limbs to warm."
"Here is a woman's face, a girl's.
O, Ernest, is this well?
Knowst thou how often women's arms
Have drawn men's souls to hell?"
Then Ernest answered: "This poor girl
An orphan was. I gave
A trifle of my ample store
The child from want to save."
"Next are some words. What mean they here?"
Then Ernest answered low:
"A fellow-man approached me once
Whose life was full of woe,
"When I had naught to give, except
Some words of hope and trust;
I bade him still have faith, for God
Who rules above is just."
Then the grave angel smiled and moved
Ajar the pearly gate
And said: "O, soul! we welcome thee
Unto this new estate.
"Enter! Nor sorrow more is thine,
Nor grief; we know thy creed--
Thou who hast soothed thy fellowmen
In hour of sorest need.
"Thou who hast watched thy brother's dust,
When the wrung soul had fled;
And to the stranger gave thy cloak,
And to the orphan, bread.
"And when all else was gone, had still
A word of kindly cheer
For one more wretched than thyself,
Thou, soul, art welcome here.
"Put on the robe thou gav'st away
'Tis stainless now and white;
And all thy words and deeds are gems;
Wear them, it is thy right!"
And then from choir and harp awoke
A joyous, welcome strain,
Which other harps and choirs took up,
In jubilant refrain,
Till all the aisles of Summer Land
Grew resonant, as beat
The measures of that mighty song
Of welcome, full and sweet.
"That is purty. I hope there were no mistake about the gintleman making
the showing up above," said Corrigan.
"What lots of music there must be up in that country," chimed in Carlin.
"I wonder if there are any buildings any where on the back streets where
new beginners practice."
"That represents the Hebrew idea of Heaven," said Alex. "I like that of
the savage better, with hills and streams and glorious old woods. There
is a dearer feeling of rest attached to it, and rest is what a life
craves most after a buffet of three score years in this world."
"Rest is a pretty good thing after an eight-hours' wrestle with the
gnomes down on a 2,300 level of the Comstock," said Miller; "suppose we
say good night."
"Withdraw the motion for a moment, Miller," said Wright. "First, I move
that our friends here be made honorary members of the Club."
It was carried by acclamation, and thereafter, for several nights, the
three were present nightly.