of the man, villainous as he looked, and giant that he was--then told
him to follow as he led the way through the cabin door. They passed out
of one room into another at the rear (there were only two apartments in
the building), where he pushed a dilapidated rush-bottomed chair toward
Jack, himself taking another, and, throwing his feet upon a rickety
table, the only other article of furniture in the rude log den, he
pulled his pipe out of his pocket, filled it, lighted it, and handed
another to Jack with the tobacco from a box nailed against the wall
within easy reach. He gave a few vigorous pulls at his own, emitting a
cloud of smoke that almost enveloped him, then, fixing his eyes on his
unwelcome visitor, said:
"Now then, I'm ready to hear what you have got to communicate."
"Tom Bradford," began Jack upon this invitation, "I knows thet I hev
been 'spected of these hyar murders w'at hev tuk place; an' I knows
thet I hev been hounded an' watched, which you-uns hed no idee I
knowed; but ye knows, Tom Bradford, thar haint er shadder kin be proved
agin me."
"I am aware of that," said Bradford, hurriedly; "and although you are
and have been the only man in the mines suspected, we folks here are
determined that no innocent person shall suffer upon mere suspicion
and under the excitement of the moment; we are also determined that
no guilty party--or parties, if there should be more than one person
implicated--shall escape the swift, summary punishment the hellish acts
deserve. We have no organized courts here, but organize them as we need
them ourselves. No mere technicality will save a rascal either, as it
does sometimes in what are called civilized communities."
"Tom Bradford," continued Jack, "you nor no one else hez ever seen me
a-loafin' roun' saloons, nor gamblin'-hells; an' no one hain't never
seen me drunk nuther--hev they? I knows my looks is agin me; but looks
hain't nothin', nor no judge ter go by. I hain't no harnsome man--never
sot any claim ter sich. I oncet tuk ther prize fer grinnin' through a
hoss-collar, at er county fair way back in old Kaintuk, w'en I war
young."
At this admission a change that was evidently intended for a smile
suddenly crept over Jack's face as he opened his ponderous jaws; but
the effect made his cavernous mouth, which literally stretched from ear
to ear, look as if it had been made by a broadax at a blow.
"Waal," he continued, as the paroxysm caused by the remembrance of his
youth passed off, "I hev been doin' some _de_tective work myself; an'
w'at I hev diskivered is w'at hez brung me hyar ter talk ter ye 'bout.
It war all a accident, though; an' ef it hedn't 'a' been fer thet thar
ornery dorg o' mine, I wouldn't er foun' out nothin'. You-uns'll all be
surprised ez I wuz, w'en ye kim ter larn who ther murd'rer for sartin
is. In ther fust place, I knowed them folkses ez war missin' never got
pas' my cabin"----
Bradford looked Jack suddenly in the eye, as if to catch the
true meaning of his last assertion; but Jack, seeing that he was
misunderstood, became a little heated, and in a most emphatic manner
said:
"Never reached thar, Tom Bradford, ez I wants ye ter onderstand! Now I
wants yer ter tell me," he continued, getting more excited, "how many
cabins--whar folkses lives, I means; 'course thar's lots o' 'bandoned
ones--'twixt Whoopin' Holler an' mine?"
"Well," replied Bradford, in response to Jack's interrogatory, "there
are but two--Cal. Jones's and Ike Podgett's. Why?"
"Don't yer see, Tom Bradford, ef them ez is missin' never got ter my
cabin, they never got by one o' them t'others?"
"What do you mean?" asked Bradford, looking up excitedly into Jack's
face.
"I means jes' w'at I says," replied Jack, gazing as earnestly now into
Bradford's. "Ef er man leaves Whoopin' Holler fer Sandy Bar, he kain't
git offen ther trail, kin he? Thar hain't but one trail, is thar? An'
ef he don't kim back, an' don't go ahead, he mus' 'a' stopped somewhar
'twixt ther two places, mus'n't he? An' ef he haint heerd of fer a long
while, he mus' hev stopped fer good, eh? Now do yer understan', Tom
Bradford?" and Jack emphasized his remarks by bringing down his huge
fist like a sledgehammer on top of the rickety old table right in front
of Bradford.
Tom Bradford smiled at Jack's earnestness, and looking him squarely in
the eyes, said:
"Why, you must be insane, man! Cal. Jones's cabin is right on the
highest point of the divide. If you were out on my porch, you could see
it from here. You ain't crazy enough to suppose that a murder could
be committed at such an exposed place, and everybody in town not know
it in ten minutes? And as for Ike Podgett--ha! ha! ha! Ike Podgett!
why, man, Ike Podgett is one of our best citizens; one of the most
enterprising men in the place; always has plenty of money; spends it
freely, too. To be sure he gambles some, and drinks. Who don't? They
are mighty few--you know that. He don't come to town very often; stays
at home a good deal; but then, he's got a fine paying claim, and works
it for all there is in it; at least that is what he tells all of us
here in town. Ike Podgett--ha! ha! ha! That's a good one, I swear!"
Jack's eyes snapped as Bradford laughed in his face. He was getting mad
at the manner in which his statements were being received; he grew very
red, and blurted out:
"Ike Podgett hain't home now, is he?"
"No," answered Bradford; "he's gone bear-hunting with a lot of the
boys; been gone several days; won't be back for a week yet; they were
going as far as the Spanish Peaks."
"His'n is er mighty lonesome place, hain't it?" queried Jack.
"Yes," answered Bradford, "a mighty lonesome place. I don't see how
he can live there--such a rocky, dark cañon--hardly a ray of sunlight
enters there until late in the afternoon. But he says he loves
solitude, and don't like neighbors too near"--
"I'm his closest, I reckon," interrupted Jack again.
"I believe you are," replied Bradford.
"He's married, though, hain't he, to a Spanish woman?--on'y a child,
'pears ter me; I've seed her oncet or twicet."
"He's got a woman out there with him--don't know whether she's his wife
or mistress. We folks here don't bother our heads about such matters;
it's none of our business; she's Mexican, though," answered Bradford.
"But why," continued he, impatient and disgusted with the interview's
length, "why do you ask these ridiculous questions? I have no time to
waste!" He then petulantly rose, knocked the ashes out of his pipe,
evidently tired, and determined to end the matter right there and get
rid of his annoying visitor.
"'Cause, Tom Bradford," slowly and solemnly replied Jack, at the same
time getting up from his chair, too; and putting his mouth close to
Bradford's ear, he hoarsely whispered:
"'Cause Ike Podgett is the murderer of Jemuel Knaggs, anyhow, an' w'y
not o' all the t'others ez is missin'?"
"My God, man! what do you mean?" excitedly asked Tom Bradford, suddenly
wheeling around and placing both of his hands on Jack's shoulders.
"Tom Bradford, I mean 'zac'ly w'at I kin prove; an' ter tell this hyar
is w'at hez brung me ter this hyar cabin."
"Hold on!" cried Bradford, violently agitated; "you must prove it,
must tell all you know; but in the presence of others. Wait--sit down
here--I'll be back directly, and bring some one with me. Wait!" and
Bradford rushed out into the street in a terrible state of excitement.
He returned in less than twenty minutes in company with a short,
thick-set, grizzly veteran miner, a man about sixty years of age. This
was old man Bartlett--better known, however, and generally accosted
as "Judge," because he had so frequently presided over the locally
instituted courts in the diggings everywhere he had been during his
long career in the mountains and on the Plains. He was regarded by
everybody as the most level-headed, honest and discreet man in the
whole Range. In fact, that had been his reputation wherever he had
traveled, following him in all his erratic wanderings since his advent
in the Far West, forty years before he turned up in Whooping Hollow. He
had "whacked bulls" on the old Santa Fé trail; had lived for months on
hardtack and bacon in the mountains of California; had nearly starved
to death on the sage-bush plains of Nevada; had been captured by
Apaches in Arizona, but was rescued by a detachment of United States
dragoons just in time to escape the torture of the stake, the fires
for which were already lighted; and years before all these strange
experiences, had "filibustered" with Walker in Nicaragua. Altogether,
he had seen as eventful a life as ever fell to the fortune of one man.
When the two men entered the little barren log room where Jack was,
they found him sitting at its only window, his number twelve feet on
the broad sill, pulling vigorously at the clay pipe that Bradford in
his rough hospitality had originally provided him with, blowing great
rings of smoke out of his huge mouth as he sat there as imperturbable
as a rock. He greeted Bartlett with a short "Howdy, Jedge," and then
resumed his pipe, waiting for him or Bradford to open the conversation.
Old Sam pulled an enormous plug of navy tobacco from his hip pocket,
tore off a liberal portion with his teeth, rolled the immense quid
over in his mouth several times, and then, looking earnestly at Jack as
if to measure him in his mind, said:
"Jack, Bradford's been telling me some mighty queer stories. Ike
Podgett a murderer? I don't believe a word of it. He," jerking his
thumb toward Bradford, "wanted me to come over and hear your statement,
which I agreed to; but I tell you beforehand, the proofs will have to
be clear as Holy Writ to convince me that Ike Podgett knows what has
become of Jemuel Knaggs any more than me and Tom here does."
"The Judge" was not always a rigid follower of the rules laid down
by Lindley Murray in the construction of his sentences, therefore
frequently got the cases of his pronouns mixed, although he was a
college graduate; but he generally talked fairly correctly.
"Let's hear your story," continued he; "tell us what you know, and how
you know, as you have asserted to Bradford that Ike Podgett killed
Jemuel Knaggs."
"Waal," commenced Jack, leaving his place at the window, rising to his
full height, stretching out his long arms, giving a tremendous yawn
as he did so; then moving his chair to the end of the table between
the two men, who had seated themselves on opposite sides, their feet
of course on top, where, resting his elbows on it, his immense paws
supporting his shaggy head, Jack looked his interlocutor squarely in
the eyes, and continued:
"Waal, yer knows, sence I war satisfied that I war a-bein' watched an'
hounded an' 'spected by you-uns hyar in Whoopin' Holler, I 'lowed ter
myself thet I would do a leetle _de_tective work on my own 'count--ez
I hev told Bradford hyar. So I gits onto my mule, tuks Jupe--thet's
thet thar yaller, no-'count, ornery dorg o' mine--an' we jes' nat'rally
comminces ter prowl thet thar trail from t'other side o' Ike Podgett's
'twixt thar an' ther Holler, fer more'n er week. But we-uns didn't see
nothin' 'spicious till day afore yisterday, 'long in ther shank o' ther
evenin'. Then I war ridin' by Podgett's place--Jupe hed run 'way 'head
o' me--I war goin' toler'ble slow an' thinkin' powerful; an' w'en I got
clos't ter ther cabin, I seed thet thar fool dorg o' mine er diggin'
an' er pawin' et suthin' he hed unyearthed. Ther no-'count cuss is
always hungry an' always huntin' fer suthin ter eat. Then ez I obsarved
thar warn't no one ter home, I gits down offen my mule, hitches him,
an' lights out fer ther r'ar o' ther cabin whar ther dorg war, ter see
w'at he war so consarned 'bout; an' w'en I reached thar, gentlemin, et
war a human leg and foot. An' stoopin' down, I picked this hyar outen
ther dirt ther dorg hed pawed up!"
Getting up from his seat as he said this, Jack pulled out of the
breast-pocket of his flannel shirt a little mass of iron pyrites,
an octahedrite in shape--a rare form of that common combination of
iron and sulphur--which was drilled onto a plate of gold, making it a
perfect but unique collar-button.
"Great God!" exclaimed Bartlett and Bradford simultaneously, as they
both jumped up excitedly at the sight of the trinket Jack held in his
hand.
Tom Bradford gave vent to his feelings first. Slapping his fist on the
table, and then pointing his finger at Jack, who stood as calm as a
statue, said vehemently:
"Judge Bartlett, either this man's story is true, or he is the murderer
himself!"
"Great God!" reiterated Bartlett, putting his hand to his head in
his evident bewilderment; "Bradford--I don't know--I'm completely
dumbfounded! Everybody in the mines knows that collar-button. There's
not another one like it in the mountains. Knaggs always wore it at the
neck of his flannel shirt. He's told me many a time that he'd refused
$50 for it. This matter must be thoroughly investigated."
He then reached for the button, which Jack promptly handed to him, and
which he examined carefully for a few moments in silence, sitting down
for that purpose. Then turning suddenly to Jack, who--now conscious
that he had at least caused Bradford and Bartlett to believe that he
might be innocent, and that his story might be true--had resumed his
seat, and was coolly filling his pipe again, the old Judge asked him:
"Jack, did you leave the leg and foot where the dog found it, or what
did you do with it?"
"I left it thar," replied Jack, "but I kivered it up agin; an' I
stomped ther groun' down 'roun' it so ez it looked like it hed n't been
tech'd. Then I went ter my cabin; then I kim hyar ter Bradford's. Ther
on'y thing I brung 'way war thet button, an' fer which I'll thank yer
ter gin me ag'in. I wants to keep it er while yit!"
Bartlett hesitated a moment, rolling over in his fingers the mute
evidence of a crime committed; looked at Bradford interrogatively, who
nodded significantly, and then he handed the curious object back to
Jack.
"Thank ye, gentlemin," said he, as he put it carefully into his pocket
again; "I'm et yer sarvice et any time, and so is this hyar button w'en
ye wants it; an' I hopes you-ns means ter 'vestigate this hyar matter
ter oncet. Ike Podgett's 'way now, an' w'en he kims back it's mebby too
late."
Bartlett and Bradford consulted aside in a low tone for a few moments;
then walking back to the table where Jack was still sitting, pulling at
his pipe, and almost invisible because of the smoke, the old Judge said:
"Jack, this is a strange piece of business, and we are both staggered.
Yet we are not unreasonable; we know that nothing is more deceptive
than a man's estimate of human nature; it seems mighty hard to come to
your way of thinking; but we all may have been most terribly deceived
in Ike Podgett. We will examine his premises and investigate the matter
to the end. Now we want you to go quietly out to your cabin from here;
say nothing to anyone about what you have told us. To-night we will
discuss, with some of our best citizens, what is best to be done; and
to-morrow meet us at Podgett's. If we arrive there first we will wait
right on the trail for you, and take no action before you come; but
if you get to the place before we do, wait for our party. Don't go
near the cabin and don't touch a thing, and then nobody can raise any
suspicions of a job, which some of Podgett's friends might accuse you
of. We will try to be there by eleven o'clock, and that will allow you
ample time to reach there as soon as that hour too."
The old Judge having finished his instructions and warnings, the
three men went out of the cabin and separated. Jack mounted his mule,
whistled to Jupe, and rode slowly up the steep divide into the hills,
where he was soon lost to sight. Bartlett and Bradford walked down to
the main street, their feelings wonderfully affected, and entered the
little building that did duty as the postoffice for Whooping Hollow and
surrounding mining-camps, to look up the proper persons with whom to
consult concerning the terrible revelations of a few moments before.
That evening just after the candles were lighted, Judge Bartlett,
Tom Bradford, Doctor Chase, and Issachar Noe, the last of whom was
postmaster, met in the little rectangular space behind the rude rack of
letter-boxes in Noe's store, to formulate plans for their trip on the
morrow to Ike Podgett's cabin, the bloody story concerning it having
been imparted to Noe and the Doctor when Bartlett and Bradford came
down-town that afternoon, immediately after their interview with Jack.
A little after daylight next morning the four prominent citizens of
Whooping Hollow who had secretly met at the postoffice the previous
evening were well on the trail to Podgett's. They had only twenty-three
miles to go, but the zig-zag up to the crest of the divide was so
rocky, rough and precipitous that they were compelled to "wind" their
horses every few rods; consequently the trip was so fatiguing to both
men and animals that they did not arrive there until nearly noon.
Podgett's cabin, one of the better class, roomy, and adorned with
a veranda, was situated in the most God-forsaken looking region
imaginable. There was not a tree, bush, or any vegetation, not even a
cactus, in sight. It was hidden among great water-worn columns of lava,
which so completely enveloped it in their ominous shadows that only
late in the afternoon the sun's lingering rays, low down in the west,
entered the gloomy cañon in which the isolated cabin was located.
"God in Israel!" said Issachar Noe--a favorite expression of his when
excited--"how can a man content himself in such a spot as this? I
wouldn't live here for a hundred dollars an hour," he continued, as he
surveyed the dismal surroundings of the barren and repulsive place.
"Some men love solitude," said the Doctor, as if in response to Noe's
comments. "I know many natures among my acquaintances in the East who
could be perfectly happy in such a sequestered spot as this. To them,
solitude is the nurse of enthusiasm, and"--
"Great Cæsar!" interrupted Tom Bradford, destroying at once the thread
of the Doctor's philosophy. "See those wolves!" at the same moment
pointing with his "quirt" to half a dozen or more of that large gray
mountain species that were scampering over the angular lava bowlders
up the cañon in the rear of the cabin. These animals had not before
been observed, because the party from town had seated themselves on the
trail immediately in front of the hut, upon their arrival at the place.
They had not ventured any nearer, in accordance with the agreement made
at the conference held in Tom Bradford's room that neither the party
nor Jack was to investigate alone, but together.
In a few moments the cause of the wolves' hasty retreat made its
appearance in the shape of the one-eyed tailless dog Jupe, slowly
shambling around a curve in the trail, closely followed by the gaunt,
angular figure of Jack, seated on his mule. As he approached, the
party from Whooping Hollow, who were reclining on the rocks scattered
on the trail, rose, while Jack, dismounting, hitched his animal to a
bowlder, and saluting all with a "Howdy, gents," he joined them. Then
without further talk at that moment, they proceeded to the rear of Ike
Podgett's cabin, piloted by Jack. They soon arrived at the spot he had
told Bradford and Bartlett of, but the moment he cast his eyes on the
place he exclaimed:
"Great heavens! ther wolves hev been hyar!"
The earth was torn up, and lying on the edge of the shallow grave, sure
enough, were a human leg and foot--the same described by Jack, which he
had reinterred, but which the wolves had again dragged out of the hole.
"Well, I'm ----!" ejaculated old Sam Bartlett, as he contemplated the
horrid spectacle, and he vigorously mopped his bald head--out of which
the perspiration now oozed in great beads--with an enormous red bandana.
"There's no question about that leg and foot," said the Doctor, as he
stooped and picked up the ghastly objects to examine them more closely.
"They're human--no getting over that, but whether they belonged to
Jemuel Knaggs, of course I can't say." Pulling them out of the soft
dirt, he found clinging to the end of the femur a piece of cloth of
some kind, which the instant Tom Bradford saw he took in his hands,
held it up, and exclaimed:
"Well, this is the last straw that breaks the camel's back for me!" All
could see that it was the fragment of a blue flannel shirt, its broad
collar, with the buttonhole, torn apart.
"A piece of Jemuel Knagg's shirt, or I'm a liar," solemnly said
Issachar Noe, as he gazed on the bit of telltale garment. "He always
wore that kind," continued Noe. "I sent to St. Louis for them myself
for him; that is a part of one of them."
The astounded party, upon this confirmation of Podgett's guilt, looked
at each other in silence for a few seconds, when Bartlett, breaking the
awful stillness, said:
"Gentlemen, I've seen enough here! Let's go and examine the
cabin--which we've got a right to do now, as law-abiding citizens,
after such damnable revelations outside of it!"
On entering the cabin, effected by the colossal Jack making a sort of
a side-lurch against the door, which immediately flew off its hinges
at his first essay, they discovered in the corner of the room used as
a kitchen a spot where the dirt floor seemed to yield a little to the
pressure of their feet as they walked over it, appearing as if it had
been disturbed quite recently. Searching for some implement with which
to examine the suspicious corner more closely, they at last found a
spade hanging on a peg in the wall of another apartment, evidently the
sleeping-room. Here and there were evidences of a woman's occupancy.
Under the bed a No. 1 pair of shoes tantalizingly obtruded. On the bed
itself a corset was lying, where it had apparently been hastily thrown
off by its petite owner; and suspended from some hooks in the logs
forming the side of the building were several skirts and other portions
of female apparel. For a moment, but only for a moment, these things,
so rare in the mining-camps of that period, nearly diverted from their
mission the stern and honest men who had entered there, so sweetly
suggestive were the articles of mother, sister, or perhaps wife, so
far away, and bright visions crowded thick upon their brains. It was
soon dispelled, however, as the realization of the actual present
forced itself upon them; so, taking down the spade from its place, they
returned to the kitchen, and Jack, who had volunteered, commenced to
dig.
He had not excavated to a depth of more than two feet when he unearthed
the mutilated fragments of another human body! Hereupon he rested from
his labor for a moment; then stooped down and pulled something out of
the hole, his hands trembling violently as he laid the object on the
floor, and exclaiming as he rose up:
"This hyar gits me, by ----!"
Every one was now almost uncontrollably excited, and if Podgett had at
that instant entered his own door he would have been annihilated by the
infuriated men without a chance to explain, for just as Jack gave vent
to his words he had lifted out of the hole a head, to which was still
attached a long red beard. He recognized it at once, and that fact was
the cause of his excitement.
"God in Israel!" said Issachar Noe vehemently, as he got down on his
knees to view the ghastly object more closely. "That's Tom Jackson's
head, and he's only been missing about two months!"
"That's so," solemnly replied old Sam Bartlett. "That's poor Tom's
beard, sure enough!"
For more than three hours the now determined men worked inside and
outside the cabin that they now knew had such a bloody record. At
the end of that time, when they ceased their horrid labor from sheer
exhaustion, they had discovered the remains of twelve human bodies,
among which was that of a baby's, which sorely puzzled them to account
for. Many of the remains, where the head was not too much decayed, they
recognized as once citizens of Whooping Hollow who had ridden out from
it never to return.
Charred fragments of skeletons, too, were found hidden in holes in the
rocks, and it was reasonably supposed that many other victims than
those whose bones they had brought to light must have been murdered by
the demon Podgett, and their bodies left in the mountains just where he
had killed them, to be devoured by the wolves.
Putting portions of several remains in a sack, including the ghastly
head of Tom Jackson, they induced Jack--towards whom their manner had
entirely changed--to pack the repulsive-looking burden on the back of
his mule, and they all returned to town.