"Well," said Morgan, as Houston overtook him, "what do you think of a
'genuwine minin' camp,' as Billy calls it?"
"The quarters are much more extensive than I supposed," replied
Houston, "I never realized before that there were so many men employed
here; some of them are good fellows, too, I enjoyed my visit to-night
immensely."
"I generally like to come down and listen to them once in a while,"
said Morgan, "but somehow, I didn't care to stay there to-night, that
story of Billy's made me feel sort of creepy; I'm feeling a little off
to-night, anyway."
"That was a strange story the old fellow told, almost bordering on the
improbable, it seemed to me, but I suppose there are a great many
strange occurrences in a country like this."
"Yes, lots of things happen here, and folks think nothing of 'em, that
would be considered improbable anywhere back east."
"Are you from the east?" inquired Houston.
"Yes, part way," said Morgan, "not from way back, though, I've never
been farther east than Ohio. I was born in Missouri, and raised in
northern Iowa."
He was silent for a moment, then continued: "I believe I told you one
day that sometime I'd give you a bit of my life; I guess now's as good
as any time, and when you've heard it, maybe you won't wonder at some
of my views.
"As I said, I was born in Missouri; when I was about three years old,
my folks moved to Iowa. I can just remember my father being with us at
that time, but I never saw him after I was three and a half or so, and
when I got old enough to think about it and ask for him, mother told
me he was dead, and I never knew anything different till years after.
We were always moving, I remember, from one place to another, and
though we never had any money saved up, yet we lived well and never
wanted for anything. Mother used to have a good deal of company, and
be away from home considerable, but she was always kind to me, and I
was a soft, warm-hearted, little chap in those days, and I know I
thought the world of her.
"We lived together till I was about ten years old, and then times
began to get pretty close; mother didn't have any money, and we had to
pinch to get along, but she was always good to me.
"Finally she decided to go to Denver; said she had heard of an opening
there for her to run a boarding house and make money, but she didn't
want to take me with her, and sent me to a brother of hers, living in
Ohio. That was the end of all happiness for me. He was a man old
enough to be my grandfather, for mother was the youngest of a large
family. He and his wife lived by themselves, for they had no children,
and a meaner, stingier old couple never lived. Mother wrote pretty
often at first, and always sent money, but don't you think I ever got
any of it. They never mentioned my mother to me, and they wouldn't let
me speak of her.
"Well, things went on from bad to worse, and finally, when I was
fourteen, I run away. I stole rides on freight cars when I could, and
when I couldn't do that, I tramped, till I got to St. Louis, and got a
place there in a third-class hotel as bell boy. While I was there, I
picked up a good many little accomplishments that have stuck to me
ever since, gambling and swearing, and so on. I got to be pretty
tough, I know, but in spite of it all, there was one good spot about
me yet,--I thought the world of my mother. I staid in St. Louis two
years; in that time I had only heard from mother twice, but she sent
me money both times, and wrote me kind letters, though she never said
anything about my coming to see her."
By this time, they had reached the main road, and as Morgan seated
himself on a rock to finish his story, Houston followed his example.
"I made up my mind I wanted to see her, so I took what little money I
had saved up, about eighty dollars, and started for Denver. The last
letter I had from mother, she said she was running a house on a
certain street, and I supposed of course it was a boarding house. I
won't tell you her real name; Morgan wasn't her name, nor mine
neither, I took it afterwards, but I'll call her name Johnson. I got
to Denver, and happened to meet an old acquaintance of mine named Tim,
who took me to a fifth-class boarding and lodging house where he was
staying. Tim had only been in Denver a few days, and knew very little
of the city, but we found a crowd of old-timers at the house, and
after a while I asked for Mrs. Johnson who kept a boarding house on
such a street. The men all laughed and began to guy me; I got hot and
was going to sail into them, but Tim persuaded me to go out with him,
and we started in to paint the town.
"Well, we'd been out about two or three hours, when we came to a
dancing hall, the toughest we'd seen,--a regular dive,--and we went
in, bound to have some fun. The place was full of tough-looking subs,
and a lot of frouzy, dowdy girls, and what they lacked in good looks
they made up in paint and brass,--such brazen faces I never saw. Half
way down the hall was a big, fat woman, with her hair blondined, who
seemed to have charge of the place, and was giving orders to the man
behind the bar. They had some loud talk, and something in her voice
took my attention, and I looked at her; just then she turned 'round
facing me, and great God! it was my mother! I knew her in spite of the
blond hair and the paint, and she knew me. She gave one awful shriek,
and then fell in a dead faint, and when she came to half an hour
after, she went into hysterics, and screamed and raved and cried
nearly all night.
"I was so dazed, everything was going round and round, and I thought
the world was coming to an end; and it would have been better for me
if it had. The next day, she was able to see me, and I went to her
room, and I guess I must have staid three or four hours. She told me
then, that her husband was living, but that he quit her back in Iowa,
and that he claimed I was not his child. She cried and begged me to
stay with her, but I left her that day. That was fifteen years ago,
and I have never seen her since. From that time, the last tie that
bound me to even a belief in anything good was gone. I took a
different name, and came up here in this part of the country. Once I
found a girl I liked, but just as I began to think something of her, I
found she was like all the rest of 'em. I've no faith in man or woman,
and don't believe there is any such thing as honor or virtue. If there
are some people who seem virtuous and honorable, it is simply either
because they have been so placed that there was no temptation to be
anything else, or because they have succeeded in keeping up
appearances a little better than other folks."
As Morgan paused, Houston spoke very slowly and kindly:
"Your experience has certainly been a sad one, Morgan, and I am truly
sorry for you; sorry most of all that it has produced such an effect
on you."
"Well," said Morgan, "I guess it don't make much difference, one way
or another, what we think or what we do."
"Your mother's opinions and actions seem to have made considerable
difference in your life," answered Houston, quietly.
"Yes, by George! I should say so!" replied Morgan, gloomily.
"Perhaps your opinions and your conduct are wrecking some other life,
in like manner. There is not one of us who does not exert a powerful
influence on those about us, one way or the other, to build up and
strengthen, or to wreck and destroy."
As there was no reply, Houston said: "I am very glad you have given me
this sketch of your life, Morgan, I shall always feel differently
toward you, remembering this."
"Yes," said Morgan, rising, "I wanted you to know, and I thought this
was as good a time as I would have. You will remember it, whatever
happens," he added ambiguously, as he started slowly down the road, in
an opposite direction from the house.
"Which way are you going?" asked Houston, also rising.
"Down to the Y."
"What! are you going that distance as late as this?"
"Yes," replied Morgan, "I don't go all the way by the road; there's a
cut across that makes it a good deal shorter, and I'll have plenty of
time."
They both stood a few moments watching a tall, dark figure that had
been pacing up and down the road all the time they had been talking,
sometimes approaching quite near, then retreating out of sight. They
both recognized it as Jack.
"He's a queer duck," muttered Morgan, "wonder what he's doing, this is
rather late for a constitutional;" then added, "I wish I had some of
the money that chap's got."
"Why, has he money?" inquired Houston.
"He must have," was the reply, "he never spends anything, just hoards
it up; he's got enough any way to help me out just now, if I could
only have it."
"Are you in need of money?" asked Houston, quickly, "if so, I will
gladly accommodate you."
"Much obliged," replied Morgan, starting down the road, "but I can get
along for the present. Luck has been against me a little lately, but I
guess it will turn all right," adding, as he looked back over his
shoulder, "if it don't turn too late, like 'Unlucky Pete'."
As Houston walked rapidly up the canyon toward the house, he saw Jack
again approaching, and glad of an opportunity to meet this man toward
whom he felt such a powerful attraction, he slackened his pace as Jack
came up, and greeting him cordially, stopped and entered into
conversation with him. To his surprise, he found Jack's manner far
less reserved than on the few occasions when they had met in the mine.
He seemed as ready to stop as Houston himself, and though he spoke
with a dignity of tone and manner utterly unlike an employe, the icy
reserve was gone, and in its place, there was in his voice the genuine
ring of friendliness.
After a few moments of ordinary conversation, Jack remarked:
"You are not often out in this locality at this hour, and alone."
"No," Houston replied, "but I have been visiting the miners in company
with Morgan, and remained there later than I intended. Then a talk
with Morgan out there among the rocks delayed me still longer."
"Pardon me," said Jack, "but I suppose you are aware that you have
enemies here."
"Yes," said Houston, slightly surprised, "I am conscious of that
fact."
"And," continued Jack, lowering his tone, "you are probably also aware
that this enmity is likely to increase, so that unless you exercise
great caution, your life will be in danger?"
Houston was startled, not so much by the suggestion of personal
danger, as by the thought that this man seemed to understand something
of his position there. Was it possible his secret was known? It could
not be, but if it were,--his nerves quivered, not with fear for
himself, but with apprehension lest his whole scheme should in some
way prove a failure.
These thoughts flashed through his mind with the speed of lightning,
but Jack was quick to read them, and before Houston could make any
reply, he continued:
"I desire to have a private interview with you, as early as possible,
and as we will wish to be perfectly secure from interruption, as well
as from all danger of being overheard, I wish you would come to my
cabin, there we can talk with perfect safety. And now, as a key to
this contemplated interview, allow me to say that I fully understand
your mission here; but have no fear, your secret is absolutely safe.
My only reason for wishing to meet you is, that I desire to aid you if
you will permit me. Will you fix an evening for this conference of
ours?"
"Certainly," said Houston cordially, his momentary surprise giving way
to the confidence which he had felt in this man, since first meeting
him, face to face.
An engagement was made for the near future, and with a cordial
hand-clasp, the two men parted.