THE BULLY
With daylight we began to get a grip on ourselves a little. I felt
strongly that I should see to Yank, and so announced. Johnny at once
offered to accompany me. While we were talking over the future
prospects, McNally came over to us, saying:
"The boys are pretty well agreed that we ought to divide up what gold is
left, and let each man take care of his own share. Are you agreeable?"
We instantly assented. The scales were brought out, and the division
began. It consumed most of the morning, and was productive of much
squabbling, in which, however, we took no part. Our share, including
Yank's--with which we were intrusted--came to about thirty-one pounds: a
value of about seven thousand dollars. We were impatient to be off, and
now wanted nothing so much as to be done with the whole affair. Yank had
ridden one of our horses; the other had been stolen in the Indian raid.
We approached Don Gaspar, who had his own saddle horse and that of
Vasquez, not to speak of the remaining pack-animals. To our surprise and
delight he offered to accompany us; and Bagsby, too, decided to leave.
McNally, Buck Barry, and Missouri Jones, however, could not be persuaded
out of their intention of remaining to dig fresh gold; nor, I am afraid,
were we very cordial in our insistence. We considered them foolhardy;
but in our then mood we did not greatly care.
By noon we had packed our goods, and by night we had broken the back of
our return journey.
We found a full-grown town where we had left a few tents and miners'
cabins. Its main street ran either side the deep dust of the immigrant
trail, and consisted of the usual shanties, canvas shacks, and log
structures, with rather more than the customary allowance of tin cans,
old clothes, worn-out boots, and empty barrels kicking around. The
diggings were in the gulch below the road; but the streets of the town,
and especially the shady sides of the buildings, were numerously
furnished with lounging men. Some of these were employees or owners of
the gambling halls, saloons, and boarding-houses; but most were plain
"loafers"--a class never wholly absent from any mining camp, men who
washed just enough gold to keep themselves fed and pickled in drink.
Many of them were evil-looking customers, in fact about as tough a lot
as a man would care to see, unshaven generally, but not always, dirty,
truculent and rough, insolent in manner. In our passage of the main
street I saw just three decent looking people--one was evidently a
gambler, one a beefy, red-faced individual who had something to do with
one of the hotels, and the third was a tall man, past middle age, with a
clean shaven, hawk face, a piercing, haughty, black eye, and iron gray
hair. He was carefully and flawlessly dressed in a gray furred "plug"
hat, tailed blue coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat, trousers of
the same shade, and a frilled shirt front. Immaculate down to within six
inches or so of the ground, his nether garments and boots were coated
thickly with the inevitable red dust. He strode slowly down the street,
looking neither to right nor left.
Don Gaspar led the way for a short distance along the wagon road. On the
outskirts of the settlement he turned aside to a small log cabin
supplemented by a brush lean-to. A long string of bright red peppers
hung down the face of it. To our knock came a very fat, rather dirty,
but exceedingly pleasant-faced woman with glossy black hair, parted
smoothly, and soft black eyes. She opened the door only the fraction of
an inch at first, but instantly recognized Don Gaspar, and threw it
wide.
To our great relief we found Yank very much alive. He greeted us rather
feebly, but with satisfaction. We found that he had been kindly cared
for, and that the surface wounds and bruises from the horses' hoofs had
been treated with some skill.
"But I reckon I'm hurt some inside," he whispered with difficulty, "for
I can't breathe easy; and I can't eat nothin' but soup. And my leg is
hell."
The broken leg too had been bound up after a fashion, but it was badly
swollen above and below the bandages.
"He ought to have a doctor," said I positively. "There's no doubt of
that. There must be some among the miners--there generally is. I'm going
to see if I can find one."
I returned to town, and hunted up the beefy, red-faced hotel keeper, who
had impressed me as being an honest man.
"Yes, there's a doctor," said he, "a mighty good one. He went by here a
little while ago. Name's Dr. Rankin. I'll rustle him out for you. Oh,
you Pete!" he shouted into the interior of the building.
A moment's shuffling about preceded the appearance of a negro boy of
twelve or fourteen.
"Yes, sah."
"Go find Dr. Rankin and bring him here right away. Tell him a gentleman
wants him."
"You've got a mighty sudden sort of camp here," said I, as we settled
ourselves to wait. "Three months ago I went through here, and there was
practically nothing."
"Looks to be a thousand years, though," agreed the hotel man. "Where you
been?"
"Oh, just prospecting," I replied vaguely.
"Strike it?"
"Just fair," I evaded; "not rich enough to keep me from coming back, you
see. Any finds here?"
"The diggings are rich as mud," replied the hotel man dispassionately.
"It's a prosperous camp all right."
"You don't 'wash' yourself?" I asked.
"Not I! I make more than my 'ounce a day' right here." He jerked his
thumb at his hotel.
"A good many 'loafers,'" I suggested.
He looked at me steadily, hesitated for a moment, then evidently changed
his mind.
"Quite a few," he agreed.
At this moment the negro boy appeared, closely followed by the man with
the blue coat and white beaver hat whom I had taken for an eccentric
gambler. This man walked slowly up to face me.
"Well, sir?" he demanded. "I am told I can be of service. In what way?"
His piercing black eye held mine with a certain high arrogance.
"Professionally, doctor," I replied. "A friend of mine is lying badly
hurt in a nearby hut."
For a barely appreciable instant his eye held mine after I had ceased
speaking, as though he was appraising me. Then he bowed with
old-fashioned courtesy.
"At your service, sir," said he. "Pete, you black rascal, get my bag,
and get it quick."
The little negro, who had stood by obviously worshipping, broke into a
grin and darted into the hotel, almost instantly reappearing with a
regulation professional satchel.
"At your service, sir," repeated Dr. Rankin.
We took our stately progress up the street, through the deep red dust.
The hot sun glared down upon us, reflecting from the surface of the
earth in suffocating heat. Hard as I was, I flushed and perspired. The
doctor never turned a hair. As we passed one of the saloons a huge,
hairy man lurched out, nearly colliding with us. He was not drunk, but
he was well flushed with drink. His mood was evidently ugly, for he
dropped his hand to the butt of his revolver, and growled something
truculent at me, glaring through bloodshot eyes. Dr. Rankin, who had
stepped back to avoid collision, spoke up:
"Malone," said he, "I told you a week ago that you have to stop drinking
or come to me. I repeat it."
He turned his keen black eyes upon the big man, and stepped forward. The
big man muttered something and moved aside.
Arrived at the hut of the Morenas, for that it seemed was the name of
our host and hostess, Dr. Rankin laid aside his furry beaver hat, walked
directly to the side of the bunk on which Yank lay, and began his
examination, without vouchsafing anything or anybody else the slightest
glance. Nor did he seem to pay more attention to Yank as a human being,
but prodded and pulled and hauled and manipulated him from top to toe,
his gray, hawk face intent and absorbed. Occasionally, as he repeated
some prod, he looked up keenly into Yank's face, probably for some
slight symptom of pain that escaped us, for Yank remained stoical. But
he asked no questions. At the end of ten minutes he threw the blanket
over our friend's form and stood erect, carefully dusting the ends of
his fingers against one another.
"Broken leg, badly set," said he; "two broken ribs; severe surface
bruises; and possibility of internal bruises in the region of the
spleen. Neglected too long. Why wasn't I sent for before?"
I explained. Dr. Rankin listened attentively, but made no comment. His
eyes travelled slowly over us all--the fat, pleasant, brown California
woman, her bearded husband, who had come in from the diggings, Bagsby's
tall, wiry old form, the worn remains of Don Gaspar's finery, and
lingered a moment on Johnny's undisguisable air of high spirit and
breeding.
"How many of you belong here?" he demanded. "I can't waste time on the
rest of you. Those who are not directly concerned, kindly step outside."
"Johnny and I will take care of this," I told the others hastily, before
they had time to say anything.
"Now," cried Dr. Rankin, removing his blue coat, and turning back the
frills of his shirt, "hot water!"
We assisted at the rather dreadful process of resetting a broken leg
three days old. At the end of the operation we were all pretty limp.
"How long?" gasped Yank, opening his eyes.
"Three months; not a day less if you want that leg to be as good as
ever," stated Dr. Rankin uncompromisingly.
Yank closed his eyes and groaned.
The doctor resumed his coat and picked up his beaver hat.
"What treatment?" I ventured to ask.
"I will inform the woman," replied the doctor. "These Californians are
the best nurses in the world, once things are on a proper footing."
"Your fee, sir?" asked Johnny very formally, for the doctor's brusque
manner had rubbed.
"One ounce," stated Dr. Rankin. "I shall direct the woman, and I shall
return one week from to-day unless conditions change. In that case,
summon me."
He pouched the gold dust that Johnny shook into the palm of his hand at
a guess, bowed formally to each of us in turn, picked up his bag and
departed, rigidly erect, the fine red dust crawling and eddying at his
feet.
Then we held a council of war, all of us. Don Gaspar announced his
intention of returning to his rancho in the south.
"I have found the gold, and I have made fren's, and I have now enough,"
said he.
Bagsby, too, said he thought he would just ride down as far as Sutter's
Fort, there to lay in a supply of powder and ball for a trip in the
mountains.
"I kind of want to git up another b'ar fight," said he. "If I thought
there was a ghost of a show to git them robbers for you boys, I'd stay
and help you scout for them; but there ain't a show in the world.
They've had a good three days' start."
After shaking hands with us again and again, and obtaining promises that
we should all surely meet in San Francisco or Monterey, they mounted and
took their departure in order to get well clear of the settlement before
nightfall.
When they had gone Yank opened his eyes from the apparent sleep into
which he had fallen.
"You fellows don't hang around here with me, I can tell you that," he
stated. "I'm fixed all right. I want you to make arrangements with these
people yere to keep me; tuck my gold under my piller, stack old Betsey
up yere in the corner by me, and go about your business. You come out
yere to dig gold, not to take keer of cripples."
"All right, Yank, we'll fix it somehow," I agreed. "Now if you're all
right, Johnny and I will just go and straighten out our camp things a
little."
We were now, it will be remembered, without horses. Don Gaspar had
unpacked our few belongings before departing. Johnny and I found a good
camping place, then carried the stuff over on our backs. We cooked
ourselves some food, lit pipes, and sat down to talk the situation over.
We got nowhere. As a matter of fact, we were both in the dead-water of
reaction from hard, long-continued labour, and we could not bring
ourselves to face with any enthusiasm the resuming of gold washing.
Revulsion shook us at the mere thought of getting down in a hot, glaring
ravine and moving heavy earth and rocks. Yet we had not made a fortune,
nor much of a beginning at one, and neither of us was what is known as a
quitter. We realized perfectly that we would go on gold mining.
"What we need is a recess," Johnny ended, "and I move we take it. Just
let's camp here, and loaf for a few days or a week, and see how Yank
gets along, and then we can go back to Porcupine."
As though this decision lifted a great weight, we sat back on our
shoulder blades with a sigh of relief, and blew tobacco smoke straight
up in the air for at least fifteen minutes. By the end of that time we,
being young and restless, felt thoroughly refreshed.
"Let's go look this outfit over," suggested Johnny.
We gravitated naturally to the diggings, which were very much like those
at Hangman's Gulch, except that they were rather more extensive, and
branched out more into the tributary ravines. The men working there
were, many of them, of a much better type than those we had seen in
town; though even here was a large element of rough-looking, wild,
reckless customers. We wandered about here and there, our hands in our
pockets, a vast leisure filling our souls. With some of the more
pleasant-appearing miners we conversed. They told us that the diggings
were rich, good "ounce a day" diggings. We saw a good many cradles in
use. It was easy to tell the old-timers from the riffraff of newcomers.
A great many of the latter seemed to lack the steadiness of purpose
characteristic of nearly all the first rush. They worked haphazardly,
spasmodically, pulling and hauling against each other. Some should not
have been working at all, for their eyes were sunken in their heads from
illness.
"We've got to hustle now," they told us. "We can take a good rest when
the rains stop work."
We noticed especially a marked change in demeanour among some of the
groups. In the early part of the summer every man answered every man
good-naturedly, except he happened to have a next day's head or some
other sort of a personal grouch. Now many compact little groups of men
worked quite apart. When addressed they merely scowled or looked sullen,
evidently quite unwilling to fraternize with the chance-comer.
We loafed about here and there through the diggings, swapping remarks
with the better disposed, until the men began to knock off work. Then we
returned through the village.
Its street had begun to fill. Here, too, we could not but be struck by
the subtle change that had come over the spirit of the people. All used
to seem like the members of a big family, good-natured and approachable
even when strangers. Now a slower acquaintance must precede familiarity.
We seemed out of it because we did not know anybody, something we had
not felt before in a mining camp. There was no hostility in this, not an
iota; only now it had evidently become necessary to hold a man off a
little until one knew something about him. People seemed, somehow,
_watchful_, in spite of the surface air of good-nature and of
boisterous spirits. We did not quite understand this at the moment, but
we learned more about it later.
We sauntered along peering into the various buildings. The saloons were
here more elaborate than at Hangman's, the gambling places larger, and
with some slight attempt at San Francisco splendour. That is to say,
there were large gilt-framed mirrors on the walls, nude pictures, and in
some cases a stage for musical performers. One of the three stores was
devoted entirely to clothing and "notions," to us a new departure in
specialization. We were sadly in need of garments, so we entered, and
were at once met by a very oily, suave specimen of the chosen people.
When we had escaped from this robber's den we looked at each other in
humorous dismay.
"Glad Yank don't need clothes, anyway," said Johnny.
We were, it will be remembered, out of provisions, so we entered also
one of the general stores to lay in a small supply. The proprietor
proved to be an old friend, Jones, the storekeeper at Hangman's.
"Which," said Johnny shrewdly, "is a sad commentary on the decline of
the diggings at Hangman's."
Jones was evidently prosperous, and doing business on a much larger
scale than at the old place; for in his commodious building were
quantities of goods displayed and many barrels and boxes still unopened.
He did not recognize us, of course; and we had to await the completion
of a tale he was telling a group perched on the counters and on the
boxes.
"Got a consignment of mixed goods from Mellin," he was saying, "and one
of the barrels wasn't marked with anything I could make out. I knocked
the top in, and chucked her out behind for spoiled beef. Certainly stunk
like it. Well, sir, that barrel lay there for a good ten days; and then
one day up drifted a Dutchman with a brogue on him thick enough to plant
flag-poles in. 'How mooch,' says he 'is dot stoof?' 'What stuff?' says
I. 'Dot stoof oudt behind.' 'I ain't got no stuff out behind! What's
eating you?' says I. Then he points out that spoiled beef. 'Good Lord!'
says I, 'help yourself. I got a lot of nerve, but not enough to charge a
man for anything that stinks like that beef. But you better let it
alone; you'll get sick!' Well, sir, you wouldn't think there was any
Dutchmen in the country, now would you? but they came to that stink like
flies to molasses. Any time I'd look out the back door I'd see one or
two nosing around that old spoiled beef. Then one day another old
beer-belly sagged in. 'Say, you got any more barrels of dot sauerkraut?'
he wants to know. 'That what?' I asks. 'Dot sauerkraut,' says he, 'like
dot in the backyard. I gif you goot price for a whole barrel,' says he.
And here I'd give away a whole barrel! I might've got a dollar a pound
for the stuff. _I_ don't know what it might be worth to a
Dutchman."
He turned away to wait on us.
"And you wouldn't guess there was so many Dutchmen in the country!" he
repeated.
We paid his terrible prices for our few necessities, and went out. The
music was beginning to tune up from the gambling places and saloons. It
reminded us of our Italian friend.
"Seems to me his place was right here where we are," puzzled Johnny.
"Hanged if I don't believe this is the place; only they've stuck a
veranda roof on it."
We turned into the entrance of the hotel, to find ourselves in the
well-remembered long, low room wherein we had spent the evening a few
months before. It was now furnished with a bar, the flimsy partitions
had been knocked out, and evidently additions had been constructed
beyond the various closed doors. The most conspicuous single thing was a
huge bulletin board occupying one whole end. It was written over closely
with hundreds and hundreds of names. Several men were laboriously
spelling them out. This, we were given to understand, was a sort of
register of the overland immigrants; and by its means many parties
obtained first news of scattered members.
The man behind the bar looked vaguely familiar to me, but I could not
place him.
"Where's the proprietor of this place?" I asked him.
He indicated a short, blowsy, truculent-looking individual who was, at
the moment, staring out the window.
"There used to be an Italian----" I began.
The barkeeper uttered a short barking laugh as he turned to attend to a
customer.
"He found the climate bad for his heart--and sold out!" said he.
On the wall opposite was posted a number of printed and written
handbills. We stopped idly to examine them. They had in general to do
with lost property, stolen horses, and rewards for the apprehension of
various individuals. One struck us in particular. It was issued by a
citizens' committee of San Francisco, and announced a general reward for
the capture of any member of the "Hounds."
"Looks as if they'd got tired of that gang down there," Johnny observed.
"They were ruling the roost when we left. Do you know, I saw one of
those fellows this afternoon--perhaps you remember him--a man with a
queer sort of blue scar over one cheekbone. I swear I saw him in San
Francisco. There's our chance to make some money, Jim."
The proprietor of the hotel turned to look at Johnny curiously, and
several of the loafers drinking at the bar glanced in the direction of
his clear young voice. We went on reading and enjoying the notices, some
of which were very quaint. Suddenly the door burst open to admit a big
man followed closely by a motley rabble. The leader was a red-faced,
burly, whiskered individual, with a red beard and matted hair. As he
turned I saw a star-shaped blue scar above his cheekbone.
"Where's the ---- ---- ---- that is going to make some money out of
arresting me?" he roared, swinging his huge form ostentatiously toward
the centre of the room.
I confessed I was aghast, and completely at a loss. A row was evidently
unavoidable, and the odds were against us. Almost at the instant the
door came open, Johnny, without waiting for hostile demonstration,
jerked his Colt's revolvers from their holsters. With one bound he
reached the centre of the room, and thrust the muzzles beneath the
bully's nose. His black eyes were snapping.
"Shut up, you hound!" he said in a low, even voice. "I wouldn't
condescend to make money out of your miserable carcass, except at a glue
factory. And if you or your friends so much as wink an eyelid, I'll put
you in shape for it."
Caught absolutely by surprise, the "Hound" stared fascinated into the
pistol barrels, his jaw dropped, his face redder than ever, his eyes
ridiculously protruding. I had recovered my wits and had backed against
the bulletin board, a revolver in either hand, keeping an eye on the
general company. Those who had burst in with the bully had stopped
frozen in their tracks. The others were interested, but not particularly
excited.
"I'm going to stay in this camp," Johnny advised crisply, "and I'm not
going to be bothered by big bluffs like you. I warn you, and all like
you, to let me alone and keep away from me. You stay in camp, or you can
leave camp, just as you please, but I warn you that I shoot you next
time I lay eyes on you. Now, about face! March!"
Johnny's voice had an edge of steel. The big man obeyed orders
implicitly. He turned slowly, and sneaked out the door. His followers
shambled toward the bar. Johnny passed them rather contemptuously under
the review of his snapping eyes, and they shambled a trifle faster.
Then, with elaborate nonchalance, we sauntered out.
"My Lord, Johnny!" I cried when we had reached the street, "that was
fine! I didn't know you had it in you!"
"Damn the luck!" he cried, kicking a tin can. "Oh, _damn_!"
He muttered to himself a moment, then turned to me with humorous
despair.
"What a stupid, useless mess!" he cried. "The minute that fellow came
into the room I saw we were let in for a row; so I went at it quick
before he had got organized. He didn't expect that. He thought he'd have
to work us into it."
"It certainly got him," said I.
"But it just starts us all wrong here," complained Johnny. "We are
marked men."
"We'll just have to look out for him a little. I don't believe he's
really dangerous. He looks to me a lot like a bluffer."
"Oh, him!" said Johnny contemputously, "he doesn't worry me any. It's
all the rest of them. I've practically challenged all the hard cases in
camp, don't you see? I'm no longer an inconspicuous newcomer. Every
tough character with any real nerve will want to tackle me now, just to
try me out."
From the impulsive and unanalytical Johnny this was surprising enough,
and my face must have showed it.
"I've seen it worked out in my part of the country," he explained
sombrely. "I don't want to bother with that sort of thing. I'm a
peaceable citizen. Now I've got to walk around on tiptoe all the time
watching for trouble. Oh, _damn_!"
"If you're afraid----" I began.
"I'm not afraid," said Johnny so simply that I believed him at once.
"But I'm annoyed. And of course you recognized that barkeeper."
"I thought I'd seen him before, but I don't remember just where."
"He's one of those fellows we fired out of our canoe down at Chagres.
You can bet he doesn't love us any!"
"You move along to Porcupine to-morrow," I suggested. "I can look after
Yank all right. They won't bother me."
Johnny walked for some steps in silence.
"No, they won't bother you," he repeated slowly.
He thought for a moment, then he threw back his head. "But look here,
Jim," he said briskly, "you forget. I told that fellow and his friends
that I was going to live in this place. I can't leave now."
"Nonsense," said I. "What do you care for that gang?"
"It would look like running away. No, I certainly don't intend to leave
now."