THE LAST STRAW
This is a chapter I hate to write; and therefore I shall get it over
with as soon as possible.
Yank had progressed from his bunk to the bench outside, and from that to
a slow hobbling about near the Morena cabin. Two of the three months
demanded by Dr. Rankin had passed. Yank's leg had been taken from the
splint, and, by invoking the aid of stout canes, he succeeded in
shifting around. But the trail to town was as yet too rough for him.
Therefore a number of us were in the habit of spending our early
evenings with him. We sat around the door, and smoked innumerable pipes,
and talked sixty to the minute. Morena had a guitar to the accompaniment
of which he sang a number of plaintive and sweet-toned songs. Three or
four of his countrymen occasionally came up from below. Then they, too,
sang more plaintive songs; or played a strange game with especial cards
which none of us "gringos" could ever fathom; or perhaps stepped a
grave, formal sort of dance. Senora Morena, the only woman, would
sometimes join in this. She was a large woman, but extraordinarily light
on her feet. In fact, as she swayed and balanced opposite her partner
she reminded me of nothing so much as a balloon tugging gently at its
string.
"But it ees good, the dance, eh, senores?" she always ended, her broad,
kind face shining with pleasure.
We Americans reciprocated with a hoe-down or so, to jigging strains
blasphemously evoked by one of our number from that gentle guitar; and
perhaps a song or two. _Oh, Susannah!_ was revived; and other old
favourites; and we had also the innumerable verses of a brand-new
favourite, local to the country. It had to do with the exploits and
death of one Lame Jesse. I can recall only two of the many verses:
"Lame Jesse was a hard old case;
He never would repent.
He ne'er was known to miss a meal--
He never paid a cent!
"Lame Jesse, too, like all the rest,
He did to Death resign;
And in his bloom went up the flume
In the days of Forty-nine."
When the evening chill descended, which now was quite early, we
scattered to our various occupations, leaving Yank to his rest.
One Sunday in the middle of October two men trudged into town leading
each a pack-horse.
I was at the time talking to Barnes at his hotel, and saw them from a
distance hitching their animals outside Morton's. They stayed there for
some time, then came out, unhitched their horses, led them as far as the
Empire, hesitated, finally again tied the beasts, and disappeared. In
this manner they gradually worked along to the Bella Union, where at
last I recognized them as McNally and Buck Barry, our comrades of the
Porcupine. Of course I at once rushed over to see them.
I found them surrounded by a crowd to whom they were offering drinks
free-handed. Both were already pretty drunk, but they knew me as soon as
I entered the door, and surged toward me hands out.
"Well! well! well!" cried McNally delightedly. "And here's himself! And
who'd have thought of seeing you here! I made sure you were in the
valley and out of the country long since. And you're just in time! Make
a name for it? Better call it whiskey straight. Drink to us, my boy!
Come, join my friends! We're all friends here! Come on, and here's to
luck, the best luck ever! We've got two horse-loads of gold out
there--nothing but gold--and it all came from our old diggings. You
ought to have stayed. We had no trouble. Bagsby was an old fool!" All
the time he was dragging me along by the arm toward the crowd at the
bar. Barry maintained an air of owlish gravity.
"Where's Missouri Jones?" I inquired; but I might as well have asked the
stone mountains. McNally chattered on, excited, his blue eyes dancing,
bragging over and over about his two horse-loads of gold.
The crowd took his whiskey, laughed with him, and tried shrewdly to pump
him as to the location of his diggings. McNally gave them no
satisfaction there; but even when most hilarious retained enough sense
to put them off the track.
As will be imagined, I was most uneasy about the whole proceeding, and
tried quietly to draw the two men off.
"No, sir!" cried McNally, "not any! Jes' struck town, and am goin' to
have a _time_!" in which determination he was cheered by all the
bystanders. I did not know where to turn; Johnny was away on one of his
trips, and Danny Randall was not to be found. Finally inspiration served
me.
"Come down first and see Yank," I urged. "Poor old Yank is crippled and
can't move."
That melted them at once. They untied their long-suffering animals, and
we staggered off down the trail.
On the way down I tried, but in vain, to arouse them to a sense of
danger.
"You've let everybody in town know you have a lot of dust," I pointed
out.
McNally merely laughed recklessly.
"Good boys!" he cried; "wouldn't harm a fly!" and I could veer him to no
other point of view. Barry agreed to everything, very solemn and very
owlish.
We descended on Yank like a storm. I will say that McNally at any time
was irresistible and irrepressible, but especially so in his cups. We
laughed ourselves sick that afternoon. The Morenas were enchanted. Under
instructions, and amply supplied with dust, Morena went to town and
returned with various bottles. Senora Morena cooked a fine supper. In
the meantime, I, as apparently the only responsible member of the party,
unsaddled the animals, and brought their burdens into the cabin.
Although McNally's statement as to the loads consisting exclusively of
gold was somewhat of an exaggeration, nevertheless the _cantinas_
were very heavy. Not knowing what else to do with them, I thrust them
under Yank's bunk.
The evening was lively, I will confess it, and under the influence of it
my caution became hazy. Finally, when I at last made my way back to my
own camp, I found myself vastly surprised to discover Yank hobbling
along by my side. I don't know why he came with me, and I do not think
he knew either. Probably force of habit. At any rate, we left the other
four to sleep where they would. I remember we had some difficulty in
finding places to lie.
The sun was high when we awoke. We were not feeling very fresh, to say
the least; and we took some little time to get straightened around. Then
we went down to the Morena cabin.
I am not going to dwell on what we found there. All four of its inmates
had been killed with buckshot, and the place ransacked from end to end.
Apparently the first volley had killed our former partners and Senora
Morena as they lay. Morena had staggered to his feet and halfway across
the room.
The excitement caused by this frightful crime was intense. Every man
quit work. A great crowd assembled. Morton as sheriff was very busy, and
loud threats were uttered by his satellites as to the apprehension of
the murderers. The temper of the crowd, however, was sullen. No man
dared trust his neighbour, and yet every honest breast swelled with
impotent indignation at this wholesale and unprovoked massacre. No clue
was possible. Everybody remembered, of course, how broadcast and
publicly the fact of the gold had been scattered. Nobody dared utter his
suspicions, if he had any.
The victims were buried by a large concourse, that eddied and hesitated
and muttered long after the graves had been filled in. Vaguely it was
felt that the condition of affairs was intolerable; but no one knew how
it was to be remedied. Nothing definite could be proved against any one,
and yet I believe that every honest man knew to a moral certainty at
least the captains and instigators of the various outrages. A leader
could have raised an avenging mob--provided he could have survived the
necessary ten minutes!
We scattered at last to our various occupations. I was too much upset to
work, so I returned to where Yank was smoking over the fire. He had, as
near as I can remember, said not one word since the discovery of the
tragedy. On my approach he took his pipe from his mouth.
"Nothing done?" he inquired.
"Nothing," I replied. "What is there to be done?"
"Don't know," said he, replacing his pipe; then around the stem of it,
"I was fond of those people."
"So was I," I agreed sincerely. "Have you thought what a lucky escape
you yourself had?"
Yank nodded. We sat for a long time in silence. My thoughts turned
slowly and sullenly in a heavy, impotent anger. A small bird chirped
plaintively from the thicket near at hand. Except for the tinkle of our
little stream and the muffled roar of the distant river, this was the
only sound to strike across the dead black silence of the autumn night.
So persistently did the bird utter its single call that at last it
aroused even my downcast attention, so that I remarked on it carelessly
to Yank. He came out of his brown study and raised his head.
"It's no bird, it's a human," he said, after listening a moment. "That's
a signal. Go see what it is. Just wander out carelessly."
In the depths of the thicket I found a human figure crouched. It glided
to me, and I made out dimly the squat form of Pete, Barnes's negro
slave, from the hotel.
"Lo'_dee_, massa," whispered he, "done thought you nevah
_would_ come."
"What is it, Pete?" I asked in the same guarded tones.
"I done got somefin' to tell you. While I ketchin' a lil' bit of sleep
'longside that white trash Mo'ton's place, I done heah dey all plannin'
to git out warrant for to arres' Massa Fairfax and Massa Pine and Massa
Ma'sh for a-killin' dem men las' week; and I heah dem say dey gwine fer
to gib dem trial, and if dey fight dey gwine done shoot 'em."
"That _is_ serious news, Pete," said I. "Who were talking?" But
Pete, who was already frightened half to death, grew suddenly cautious.
"I don' jest rightly know, sah," he said sullenly. "I couldn't tell.
Jes' Massa Mo'ton. He say he gwine sw'ar in good big posse."
"I can believe that," said I thoughtfully. "Pete," I turned on him
suddenly, "don't you know they'd skin you alive if they found out you'd
been here?"
Pete was shaking violently, and at my words a strong shudder went
through his frame, and his teeth struck faintly together.
"Why did you do it?"
"Massa Fairfax is quality, sah," he replied with a certain dignity. "I
jest a pore nigger, but I knows quality when I sees it, and I don't aim
to have no pore white truck kill none of my folks if I can help it."
"Pete," said I, fully satisfied, "you are a good fellow. Now get along
back."
He disappeared before the words were fairly out of my mouth.
"Yank," I announced, returning to the fire, "I've got to go uptown. That
was Pete, Barnes's nigger, to say that they've got out a legal warrant
for the express messengers' arrest for that killing last week. Neat
little scheme."
I found Danny Randall in his accustomed place. At a hint he sent for Dr.
Rankin. To the two I unfolded the plot. Both listened in silence until I
had quite finished. Then Danny leaped to his feet and hit the table with
his closed fist.
"The fools!" he cried. "I gave them credit for more sense. Hit at Danny
Randall's men, will they? Well, they'll find that Danny Randall can
protect his own! Forgotten that little point, have they?"
The cool, impassive, mild little man had changed utterly. His teeth
bared, the muscles of his cheeks tightened, two deep furrows appeared
between his eyes, which sparkled and danced. From the most inoffensive
looking creature possible to imagine he had become suddenly menacing and
dangerous.
"What do you intend, Randall?" asked Dr. Rankin. He was leaning slightly
forward, and he spoke in a gentle voice, but his hand was clenched on
the table, and his figure was rigid.
"Do?" repeated Randall fiercely; "why, run that gang out of town, of
course!"
"I thought you said the time was not ripe?"
"We'll ripen it!" said Danny Randall.