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"COLORADO JIM"
by
GEORGE GOODCHILD
A. L. Burt Company
Publishers--New York
Published by arrangement with W. J. Watt & Company
Printed in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1922, by
W. J. Watt & Company
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A SON OF THE WEST 1
II. THE BRIGHT LIGHTS 14
III. SOCIAL ADVANCEMENT 28
IV. ANGELA 48
V. FROST AND FIRE 69
VI. THE GREAT AWAKENING 86
VII. THE CLIMAX 100
VIII. THE WHITE TRAIL 114
IX. HIGH STAKES 127
X. ANGELA MEETS A FRIEND 144
XI. FRUITLESS TOIL 157
XII. INTO THE WILDERNESS 171
XIII. THE TERROR OF THE NORTH 186
XIV. THE BREAKING-POINT 198
XV. THE QUEST 208
XVI. THE GREAT LIE 224
XVII. A CHANGE OF FRONT 234
XVIII. A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE 245
XIX. THE CRISIS 258
XX. COMPLICATIONS 268
XXI. NATALIE TRIES HER LUCK 279
XXII. GOLD 291
XXIII. DEPARTURE 302
XXIV. CONCLUSION 311
COLORADO JIM
CHAPTER I
A SON OF THE WEST
Out of the brooding darkness was born the first timid blush of the morn.
It sprang to life along the serried edge of the Medicine Bow, a broadening
band of blood-red light. For one instant it seemed that some titan breath
had blown at the source, darkening the red to purple; and then, with
startling suddenness, the whole wide range flamed up. The full red rim of
the sun smote aloft, sending the shades scuttling down the valleys, to
vanish in thin air.
The man at the window of the Medicine Bow Hotel drew in his breath with a
slight hissing sound, as the whole magnificent landscape sprang into
dazzling light. It had always taken him like that. He remembered the day
when, as a boy of seven, he had first seen the sun soar over the ridge,
from the old "Prairie Schooner" encamped in "The Garden of the Gods." No
less wonderful was it now; for Jim Conlan, late owner of Topeka Mine, and
almost millionaire, was but a magnified version of the boy of twenty-three
years back. Time had brought its revenges, its rewards, its illusions; but
the great winds, the everlasting hills, and the wild life of the West had
combined in cementing the early resolutions and ideas.
He had won through by dint of muscle and hard thinking. He saw now that
the secret of his success was determination. He had earned a reputation
for never letting go anything to which he had put his hand. Men feared
him, but loved him at the same time. He had proved himself to be a staunch
friend but an implacable enemy. His six feet three inches of bone and
sinew was usually sufficient to scare off any trouble-seekers. Colorado
Jim, as they called him, was the product of primal Nature, unpolished,
rough as the gaunt mountains of the Medicine Bow, and as inscrutable.
All through the short summer night he had sat at the window waiting for
the dawn. The man who never let go had let go something this time, and
that something was nothing less than his whole life. He never believed it
would hurt him like it did. For the past three years he had been restless.
The soul and mind of him ached for expansion. The chief incentive to work
had gone. He had more money than he could spend--in the West. Yonder was
New York, Paris, London. Alluring visions of civilization flashed through
his brain. What was the use of money if not to burn, and where in the
whole of Colorado could one burn money and get full value?
The idea to sell out began to obsess him, and in the end he sold. Hating
sentimentality and fearing any demonstration of such, he had packed up
secretly and left the rough shack by the Topeka Mine for the comparatively
Arcadian comforts of the hotel in the township ten miles back. In a few
hours he would be on the train bound for the East--and the future.
Thorough in all things, he had packed his bags overnight, leaving but a
few necessities such as razor and tooth-brush (recent acquisitions) to
complete. He left the window now with a curious sigh, and gave a last pull
on the strap of the largest bag with his big, muscular hands. Even now,
with the ramshackle stage-coach almost at the door, he could not bring
himself to believe that the old life was over and done with. What the
devil was he up to, anyway, hiking around in creased trousers and black
boots? Colorado Jim bound for Europe--London! It sounded impossibly
fantastic. But there it was, written on the labels of his bags--"James
Conlan, London, via New York." He tucked the rebellious collars of his
soft blue shirt into his waistcoat, and pulled out an enormous watch.
"Rob ain't on time," he muttered; then, "Emily!"
A voice that sounded like the action of a saw in contact with a nail came
from below.
"Yeah?"
"My bill--quick!"
"But you ain't had no breakfas' yet."
"Ain't takin' none. Come along right now and give a hand with these
grips."
The owner of the voice, a shriveled-up, extremely untidy girl of about
eighteen, with her hair in "crackers" and her eyes scarcely more than half
open, entered the room, and stood gaping at him. She had gaped at him
consistently for two whole days, and he didn't like it. He wasn't used to
women--didn't understand them and didn't want to. He didn't even
understand that the romantic Emily had fallen passionately in love with
him exactly forty seconds after her sleepy eyes had first beheld him.
"For God's sake don't stare at me! Take the grips, gal, take 'em. Not that
one, it would dislocate your internals."
She dropped the big one like a hot brick and grabbed the two smaller ones.
At the door she found opportunity to scan him once more, and to murmur
under her breath, "Lor', ain't he wonderful!" before her master came along
and ended her rapturous soliloquies. He entered the room and nodded to
Jim.
"So you're making out, Jim?"
"Looks like it."
"Wal, I'm sure sorry, and there ain't a guy in these parts who ain't sorry
too."
Jim shrugged his big shoulders and jerked out his chin.
"Maybe there ain't one more sorry than yours truly."
"What!"
"Jest that."
"It's junk you're talking."
Jim smiled whimsically.
"Nope, it's God's truth. I didn't figure it all out till I came here. I
wish I hadn't sold out. I guess I'm best fitted for running mines or
herding cattle, Dan. And I'm leaving all the boys who know me for those
who don't--and I don't git on with folks who don't know me. God knows what
persuaded me to sell to that macaroni-eating swab. But it's done, and
there ain't no manner of good wailing about it."
Dan laughed lugubriously.
"A man that can knock a million out of a mountain can git along most
anywheres, I guess. Wish I had your chance."
"What'd you do?"
"I'd hitch up to some smart gal in New York or London and start a
family."
Jim made a grimace.
"'Pears to me you ain't strong on originality. I'd rather run a cattle
ranch--they don't talk back."
"Gosh! man, wimmen's all right if you know how to treat 'em. They're like
bosses, they want careful breakin' in."
Jim shook his head. He remembered the time when a girl from down East, on
a holiday tour, had looked over his mine. Her eloquent blue eyes had made
him feel decidedly sheepish. Colorado Jim, who had tackled most of the bad
men around Medicine Bow, and had tamed the wildest bronchos that ever
roved prairie, was lamentably lacking where the fair sex was concerned. He
didn't know what to do, what to say, or how to say it.
"Dan," he said, "you hev to have a gift that way--an' I ain't got it."
"My lad, you've got a figure and a 'physog' that'll sure turn every gal's
head that takes a slant at 'em."
"Let up!" growled Jim.
"It's honest truth, laddie. Gee! I gotta hankering for the bright lights
myself. I lived in New York once. _Some_ village. And with a million in
your wallet ... Ah!"
He gave a long sigh as he reflected upon the quantity of "bright lights" a
million would purchase.
"I'd have three houses, a hundred suits, a footman with a powdered wig
like I seen in the magazine pictures. I'd have a bath each night in
eau-de-Cologne, and go to roost in real silk peejamas. I'd larn to dance,
and have a valee to dress me and shave me...."
"Yep," mused Jim, "and then you'd wake up, Dan. Here, where's that bill?
You talk too much. What in hell is that?"
A terrific hullabaloo came up from below. A roar of laughter and the
babble of male voices was mixed with the rumble of wheels and the
pistol-like crack of a whip.
"Looks like a celebration," said Dan.
Jim sauntered to the window. Underneath was Rob's coach, packed full of
miners. They slid from the roof of the vehicle and from inside, and began
to fire revolvers and dance around like niggers. Then one of them saw
Jim.
"Hi, Colorado Jim, come out of that!" he bawled.
Jim ducked back from the window as a roar came up from below.
"Looks like they're for giving you a send-off," said Dan.
"Who told them? I kept it quiet--can't stand ceremonies."
"It must have been Rob."
"Confound him! There's no time for kissing. It's fifty miles to Graymount,
and the train is scheduled for noon. Send 'em away."
Dan opened his eyes with horror at the suggestion.
"I ain't takin' risks. You got heaps of time. It's only five o'clock and
the road is good to Graymount."
"More'n Rob's hosses are. That off-side mare's like a sausage on four
crooked sticks."
"Jim! We want Colorado Jim!" was howled up from below.
The much desired went to the window.
"Boys," he bawled, "you all run along home. I gotta catch a train."
His voice was drowned by horrible threats of what they would do if he
didn't hike down immediately. He turned to Dan.
"They're a darn fine lot of boys, but I wish they wouldn't git so worked
up. Where's Emily?"
Emily, who was standing in the doorway, ogling him unseen, came forward.
"There's something to buy a dress with, and see here, don't get a
draughtboard pattern. If there's any money over, buy soap--scented soap."
Emily's eyes almost fell from her head at the sight of the fifty-dollar
note. She rubbed her hands down her dress and took it. Jim had grabbed the
heavy bag and was half-way down the stairs before she could summon enough
breath to murmur the incessant refrain, "Ain't he jest wonderful!"
At the door Jim was grabbed by a dozen hefty pairs of hands and hoisted on
to shoulders. One man took the big bag, and with remarkable skill flung it
clean on the top of the waiting coach, much to Rob's disgust. The
hurtling missile came down like a thunderbolt, and nearly went through the
roof.
"Don't get fresh, boys," pleaded Jim. "These are my Sunday clothes."
They ran him twice up the main street, yelling and whooping like a pack of
wild Indians. A queer awry figure stuck its head from the window of a
tumble-down shop and, seeing the cause of the disturbance, shook his fist
and yelled:
"The sheriff ought to be fired, to allow ..."
A shot from a revolver shivered his shop-window to atoms, and a ten-dollar
note was flung at him. He slammed down the window, realizing that
discretion was the better part of valor. The high-spirited men went on
their way, rousing the whole population as they progressed. After about
twenty minutes of these capers they reached the hotel again. Jim was
praying that the business was over. He fought his way to the ground, but
was immediately hoisted on to the top of Rob's coach.
"Give over, boys ..."
"Who is the whitest man in Medicine Bow?" sang Ned Blossom.
"Colorado Jim!" howled the chorus.
"Who is the huskiest two-hundred-pounder in the hul of Ameriky?"
"Colorado Jim!"
"Who is it the gals all lu-huv?"
"Colorado Jim--sure!"
Jim swung his big figure over the side of the coach. He grabbed two of his
tormentors by the scruffs of their necks and jerked them on to the
ground.
"I'm through with all this," he cried. "Rob, get that animated bunch of
horse-hair going."
Ned Blossom held up his hand.
"Cut it out, boys," he ordered. "See here, Jim, we got wise to this
absconsion of yours, and we thought we'd jest bunch in. The boys are
feeling queer about it, though there ain't much show of handkerchiefs.
We--we thought mebbe you'd accept a little--kinder keepsake. It--it ain't
much, but--but---- Wal, here it is."
He jerked something from his pocket and put it into Jim's hand. It was a
gold cigarette-case, with an inscription worked in small diamonds: "To
Colorado Jim from his chums." Jim stood gazing at this token of their
regard. He hated sentiment, and yet was as big a victim of it as anyone.
When he spoke his great voice wavered.
"I'm going a hell of a distance before I find boys like you. I wish I
wasn't going. I--wish----"
He grabbed Ned's hand quickly, and then that of each of the other men, and
jumped into the coach. They understood the emotion in the big heart of
him. Rob started the team and away went the coach in a cloud of dust. Hats
went up in the air and revolvers barked.
"Good-bye, Colorado Jim! Good-bye!"
Emily at the door, clasping the fifty-dollar note in her grimy paw, waited
until the coach was a mere dot in the distance. Then she rubbed a
sorrowful eye.
"Gee, but he was jest wonderful!" she moaned.