THE LONE MAN'S STORY.
"Gentlemen," began the enforced guest of Jim Ridge and the half-breed,
"I was born in an Atlantic State, and my earliest memories relate to
home events of so little moment now, that I have almost forgotten them.
I remember, however, that a number of our young men formed a party
and went West, and that the reading of some of their letters home,
reflected into my boyish ears, fed the natural longings of one who
lived sufficiently remote from the crowded town to know what a lake and
the woods are like. Besides, an uncle of mine was said to have gone to
the same marvellous backwoods, and I used to be promised a real wild
Indian's bow-and-arrows at the least when he should return. All this is
common enough in the East. About the year 1850 my mother died, and my
father, as much to distract himself in his profound grief as to quench
a thirst for fortune which he shared with New Englanders, departed with
me, a stripling, around the Cape to California. Our ship was rather
better than those rotten tubs which unscrupulous men fitted out as
'superb clippers,' and we outstripped many vessels that had anticipated
our start. You must recall something of the sensation due to the
startling discovery of gold in the extreme West. Even the fables of old
whalers who visited the Pacific Coast, and who really had been blind,
were outdone by reality. With indescribable furious madness, people
flocked from the world's confines towards a tract hardly laid down
in charts. They seemed to have become monsters in human form, as the
playbooks say, with no impulse but avarice. We stepped ashore into a
field of carnage, though lately a peaceable grazing ground; men sought
to remove each other with steel and lead, whilst the few females, the
vilest of their sex, freely employed poison. Luckily, these demons slew
one another, and left no aftercrop of fiends and furies to blight the
Golden State."
"Father and I had no experience in gold seeking, and he saw that money
enough awaited an active, acute man, in supplying the returned miners
with table delicacies. He was used to fishing, trapping, and gunning,
and so we set to killing bears--any quantity on the Sierra Nevada
'spurs' then--and fishing in the Sacramento and San Joaquín. We built
a ranche on the banks of the former stream, in a lonely spot, and only
went to town to sell game and procure ammunition and other stores."
"One Saturday my father went on this duty, whilst I amused myself
with tracking a young grizzly, with the hope of securing him alive,
as a hotel keeper wanted a 'native attraction' for his barroom.
Unfortunately, a huge grizzly intercepted my course, and wounded me in
a scuffle, out of which I thought myself happy to escape so easily; and
almost made me lose my prize. However, as this wound stung me in pride
as well as flesh--for I daresay, gentlemen, you know how a grizzly's
claws leave a smart!" (the two hunters nodded animatedly)--"I pressed
on, after a circuit, at the tail of my first 'meat.' I overtook it at
dark, had to kill it--it was so stubborn--dressed it, and carried away
the paws and choice meat in the hide. The sun was down, and my load was
too heavy for me to show much speed, though I believed my father would
be impatiently awaiting me."
"It was nine o'clock when I sighted the ranche. The squally wind
presaged a tempest. As no light shone at the window, I concluded my
father, who must have got back, had gone to bed, weary of waiting. I
pulled up the latch, entered, flung down the game, and was making for
the hearth, to get a flare-up, when I heard a faint voice close by
falter--"
"'Is that you, Sam?' My father's voice! The tone sent a shiver all over
me till the blood ran cold from my heart."
"'Oh, that you had come an hour sooner!' he sighed."
"In an instant I had a blaze on the hearth with a handful of bears'
grease upon the embers."
"There lay the old man, having tried to crawl to his couch. His face
was livid; two wounds were on his breast--one of a firearm, one of
a knife; and he was scalped as well. The blood from these neglected
wounds painted him thickly and hideously. I fell on my knees beside
him, and tried, though vainly, to staunch those dreadful hurts."
"'It's no use, boy,' said he; 'nothing can fence off death. I thank
Heaven I was allowed to linger till you came. Now, dash away your
tears, and listen to me like a man. In half an hour I shall be no more;
but that will do if you mean to see justice done me.'"
"He had started for San Francisco at one, so as to be home early
enough to have a good meal against my return if I were out. He soon
got through his business, and was going to leave, when he met a native
Californian acquaintance--a _gambusino_, or confirmed gold hunter--a
man he liked very well. To have a friendly glass at leisure, they
dropped into the nearest public resort, the gamblers' and revellers'
hotel, called the 'Polka' saloon. The place was crammed with drinkers
taking their morning 'eye-openers,' or desperadoes relating their
night's exploits, or miscreants hatching fresh schemes. Several kept
'cruising' round my father and his friend."
"Both were objects of more general interest than either, perhaps,
believed; the Californian was suspected to have found more than one
gold vein worth tapping; and my father, as a hunter, was likewise
thought to have blundered upon the natural treasuries of the mountains
in his pursuit of b'ar. To both, schemes had been proposed by
blacklegs, and both had repulsed them--the Spaniard with pride, and
my father with some cutting jest or pure carelessness. Both had made
enemies thereby."
"Three of these enemies now buzzed round their table. One was
a Frenchman, known as 'Lottery Paul,' because he had drawn the
passenger's ticket of a Parisian 'draw,' to enable the chosen
subscriber to go free to San Francisco. He was a little bilious wretch,
low and sneering, a sort of lynx and fox in combination. His partners
were a huge English convict from Gibraltar, and called 'Quarry Dick,'
and a Mexican, who had committed so many homicides, that he was
glorified as 'Matamas the slayer.'"
"Perhaps it was too soon in the day for these debauched dogs to have
shipped enough spirit to fall foul of two men well armed. In any case,
they let my father and his friend leave the saloon unimpeded. The three
scoundrels hovered about them; but, finally, seemed to be disgusted at
their remaining on the alert, and left them."
"The two friends separated, and my father got home before dark without
alarm. He had hardly stepped indoors, however, than three men fell on
him, all in the dark. They were dressed like Indians; but, as they
threatened to kill him unless he revealed where he knew gold was
waiting for the digger, it was clear that was but a disguise 'for the
road.' My father had been doubled as a man by his mountain life, and
he gave them a serious half hour's diversion; twice he got free, and
laid about him with a long knife. At last, one shot and another stabbed
him; and, either from rage at having been baffled, or to carry out
their assumption of the Indian character, they scalped him. He had
the fortitude to pretend to be dead as he suffered this outrage. In
the encounter he had snatched away the scapulary worn by one ruffian,
laid open the cheek of another, and wounded a third in the side. The
latter might escape me; but I had a clue to the others. Then, urging
me to bring these murderers to justice, my father expired, the storm
overwhelming his latest prayer and blessing."
"I buried him under the hearthstone, and fired the ranche over his
head, determined that no one should dwell in the house where his
blood had mingled with the murderers'. I went to San Francisco, but
those three bandits were laid up from the effects of the struggle, or
in mere terror of me, for the authorities were not yet in power to
punish even the notoriously criminal. I continued the search without
discouragement, being rather a pertinacious man, till, one day, my
Mexican friend, as he had been my father's, warned me that I was in
error: these three men were now _hunting me_, having transferred their
enmity from my father to my head: and, in fact, it was a wonder I had
not yet fallen a victim in one of their vicious circles where I had
penetrated. Being on my guard from this out, our warfare continued
long without result. At last, I heard they had separated, and gone who
knows where--over the mountains, on the sea, up in the mines? Besides,
the Mexican had opened his house to me, a favour not often accorded an
American by one who reckoned us invaders and heretics and no blessing
to the country; and he had a fair daughter whom, in short, I wedded. I
allowed my task of vengeance to rest, and the hatred of my foes seemed
in the same way to be shelved."
"One summer, a French gentleman, who said he was on a scientific
expedition, offered me remarkably handsome terms to be his guide to
Oregon. I did not care to leave my wife, but my father-in-law was
interested in the steamer line to the Columbia River, and I accepted
the mission. However, a little over a week gave Monsieur all he wanted
of roughing it in the sierras, and he said he had changed his mind, and
wanted to back out. I made no difficulty, of course, and we took the
back track merrily. When we left, and he handed me a forfeit, he said,
kindly enough: 'I hope you will find Madame and the family all well at
home!' and yet some presentiment made me take it as ironical."
"Within two weeks I returned to my _pueblo_. The forewarning was sound:
my father-in-law's hacienda was devastated, and the farm buildings
reduced to ashes; under that black heap my father-in-law, my wife and
children were indistinguishably consumed."
As he got these words out by an effort, the speaker covered his face
with his hands, and sobbed rather fiercely than mournfully. His two
hearers remained quiet, fastening their eyes on the strong man in
resentment, with irrepressible pity.
"This time they had overfilled my cup of woe," he resumed, lifting
his head, and showing burning, tearless eyes. "I would not leave the
punishment of their slaughter to the sworn minister of justice, but
avenge my fourfold wrongs in person to the uttermost."
"I took a horse and galloped to San Francisco, where I sought the
French consul. He knew nothing of the pretended scientific explorer:
that was a sham; he was one of the gang! But he was really a newcomer,
and had no skill in hiding his tracks. I was on them without any
repose. They led me by nightfall to a lone ranche, where the roll of
the sea came softly, and mingled with the whinnying of two horses
picketed by the door, which welcomed mine. I rode him in at that door
which I carried off the hinges. Two men were on stools at a dying
fire, chuckling and drinking. One was Matamas, the other the Frenchman
who had engaged me as guide. They sprang up in amazement. I flew at
them with a tigerish yell. No doubt fury increased my forces, for in
ten minutes I had trampled one down and lassoed the other. Both lay
helpless under my knife."
"'Mister Frenchy,' said I, 'how much were you paid beyond the sum you
gave me for guidance to lure me aside whilst your employers burnt my
house and killed all those dear to me?'"
"'What, what!' said he, 'Is this the practical joke you played,
Monsieur Matamas?'"
"The Mexican said not a word; his teeth were chattering with the
general tremor. As the Frenchman saw I was merciless, and knew he was
in my power, he told me the whole tale of how he had been hired in an
hour of starvation to decoy me away from my home. He had no hand in the
extreme consequences, and I let him go with the warning that I might
not be so lenient if ever we met again. Whilst he rode away like mad, I
returned to Matamas, whose hand I tied, open, on a plank, and I said:"
"'Well named as 'the killer,' tell me all about this plot, or I
shall cut you up joint by joint!' and, though you shudder at the
thought, sir," he interjected to Ridge, while Cherokee Bill greedily
listened, "I should have done it; but at the third of his finger being
severed, the coward fainted, and, on coming to, as I sawed at another
articulation, he whined the complete confession. His was the scapulary
which my father had inextricably grasped in the death 'scrimmage.' If I
had regretted my cruelty, the list of his crimes would have steeled me
anew. Worse than I suspected remained to tell, for his two accomplices
had not only fled with the valuables of my father-in-law, but with the
heart treasures of mine, which I had till then believed buried beside
their mother: my son and my daughter, at present fifteen and seventeen,
were abducted by these villains, and are now slaves to them and their
kind in some robbers' ranche of the plains or whiskey mill shanty in
these mountains. Never can I rest, you see, till they are rescued from
these chains of vice, and their persecutors feed the turkey buzzards
like Matamas did himself."
"Now, in telling you that a band of gold hunters are on their way
hither, and that I have recently crossed Indian trails, I have served
you. Help me, now, my friends, with your practical counsel--how can I
soonest overtake those men?"
There was a long silence. Bill and Ridge conferred in the sign language
as if their thoughts were too full of action to be diluted into
verbiage.
"One question?" said the trapper. "In all your story you have
manifested the greatest heed not to mention names except of the
villainous. Those are no clue to me. But, may happen, those of yourself
and kinsfolk may enlighten us. Who are you?"
"My name is Filditch, Samuel George Filditch, my father's George W.,
and my father-in-law's Don Tolomeo Peralta, well known in California
and Sonora."
"Enough. What was the name of your father's brother, whom you never
saw, but whom you remember to have heard spoken of in childhood. Was it
not James? Come, come!" continued the old hunter, rising and kicking a
log so that the freshened flame should flood him with radiance: "They
used to say we were like as boys; can you see no trace of a likeness
to my brother George in these features? Still silent? Ridge is only a
'mountain name'; but believe me, and Cherokee Bill will bear me out
with gun and knife--there never was a deed of mine done under it which
my real name would not proudly cover. It is Heaven that has brought
you to my bosom, Sam! Come to my heart, where I had clean given up
dreams of having a loving head pillowed! Heaven knows this was a wish
long gnawing at my bones! We'll chip in together. Don't you carry any
heaviness at your heart now. Your interests are mine. I am not a young
chicken, but I am game, and with this new spirit, I feel thar's a lot
o' living in me yet! We start on this manhunt together. Thar's my hand,
Sam!"
"And here is mine!" added the Cherokee. "The Old Man and me always hold
together like burrs," he continued, in a kind of apologetic tone. "And
if this ain't the most remarkable fact I ever struck, then I don't want
my breakfast in the morning."
Thereupon was sealed between the trio a compact that would bring about
strange events, hidden under the veil of the future, so that the most
imaginative could not foresee the incidents, far more surprising than
this meeting of kindred, not at all an uncommon event in the West,
where congregate the members of the Eastern families, so wondrously
disrupted and attracted West.
Ridge--still to use that name--and his nephew were evoking home
memories, when suddenly the latter felt a touch on the shoulder.
Cherokee Bill was making the sign for silence, and pointing out of the
cave opening.
There was a novel sound, indeed, in the stilly night air: music as from
a seraphic choir, for a score of women's voices were singing a hymn at
a distance which the limpidity of the air materially diminished:
"Come, tell the broken spirit That vainly sighs for rest There is a
home in glory, A home forever blest; Still sound the gospel trumpet
O'er hill and rolling sea, From chains of sin and blackness, To set the
captive free!"
"Saints in the Mountain!" murmured Jim Ridge, astonished. "I never
heard the likes hereabouts. It carries me away back fifty year', when
I was a boy in the church! But what are white women doing here? I am
staggered. And tuning up like that, too. That's first-class bait for
Crows. The angels must ha' taken a fancy to them, or they are cracked
to sing at top of the v'ice, an' redskins on the loose. What do you
make of it, Bill?"
"See!"
The hunter stared forth. A yellow light appeared as a lining to a cold
fog over a vale.
"Ah, a powerful camp! No Crow men will attack that in a hurry--those
dogs want to be twenty to one, and, then, somebody has to kick them on
to it. Things are bound to be interesting, but, I judge, we can wait
till morning. At least, that's my way. I am ready to drop, myself."
"And I," said Filditch, indeed exhausted.
"I will take the first watch," observed the Cherokee, calmly.
In another few minutes, wrapped in fur and blankets, the two white men
were profoundly reposing. Ridge chose the flat ground to which the body
accommodates itself, whilst his newfound kinsman, less wise, made a
kind of bed. The son of the assassinated trapper guarded them who had
now the same vow as himself to be their life task.