WHAT the colonel’s business was nobody knew, nor did any one care,
particularly. He purchased for cash only, and he never grumbled at the
price of anything that he wanted; who could ask more than that?
Curious people occasionally wondered how, when it had been fully two
years since the colonel, with every one else, abandoned Duck Creek to
the Chinese, he managed to spend money freely, and to lose considerable
at cards and horse-races. In fact, the keeper of that one of the two
Challenge Hill saloons which the colonel did not patronize was once
heard to absentmindedly wonder whether the colonel hadn’t a money-mill
somewhere, where he turned out double-eagles and “slugs” (the Coast name
for fifty-dollar gold-pieces).
When so important a personage as a barkeeper indulged publicly in an
idea, the inhabitants of Challenge Hill, like good Californians
everywhere, considered themselves in duty bound to give it grave
consideration; so, for a few days, certain industrious professional
gentlemen, who won money of the colonel, carefully weighed some of the
brightest pieces and tested them with acids, and tasted them and sawed
them in two, and retried them and melted them up, and had the lumps
assayed.
The result was a complete vindication of the colonel, and a loss of
considerable custom to the indiscreet barkeeper.
The colonel was as good-natured a man as had ever been known at
Challenge Hill, but, being mortal, the colonel had his occasional times
of despondency, and one of them occurred after a series of races, in
which he had staked his all on his own bay mare Tipsie, and had lost.
Looking reproachfully at his beloved animal failed to heal the aching
void of his pockets, and drinking deeply, swearing eloquently and
glaring defiantly at all mankind, were equally unproductive of coin.
The boys at the saloon sympathized most feelingly with the colonel; they
were unceasing in their invitations to drink, and they even exhibited
considerable Christian forbearance when the colonel savagely dissented
with every one who advanced any proposition, no matter how
incontrovertible.
But unappreciated sympathy grows decidedly tiresome to the giver, and it
was with a feeling of relief that the boys saw the colonel stride out of
the saloon, mount Tipsie, and gallop furiously away.
Riding on horseback has always been considered an excellent sort of
exercise, and fast riding is universally admitted to be one of the most
healthful and delightful means of exhilaration in the world.
But when a man is so absorbed in his exercise that he will not stop to
speak to a friend; and when his exhilaration is so complete that he
turns his eyes from well-meaning thumbs pointing significantly into
doorways through which a man has often passed while seeking bracing
influences, it is but natural that people should express some wonder.
The colonel was well known at Toddy Flat, Lone Hand, Blazers, Murderer’s
Bar, and several other villages through which he passed, and as no one
had been seen to precede him, betting men were soon offering odds that
the colonel was running away from somebody.
Strictly speaking they were wrong, but they won all the money that had
been staked against them; for within half an hour’s time there passed
over the same road an anxious-looking individual, who reined up in front
of the principal saloon of each place, and asked if the colonel had
passed.
Had the gallant colonel known that he was followed, and by whom, there
would have been an extra election held at the latter place very shortly
after, for the colonel’s pursuer was no other than the constable of
Challenge Hill, and for constables and all other officers of the law the
colonel possessed hatred of unspeakable intensity.
On galloped the colonel, following the stage-road, which threaded the
old mining camps on Duck Creek; but suddenly he turned abruptly out of
the road, and urged his horse through the young pines and bushes, which
grew thickly by the road, while the constable galloped rapidly on to the
next camp.
There seemed to be no path through the thicket into which the colonel
had turned, but Tipsie walked between trees and bushes as if they were
but the familiar objects of her own stable-yard.
Suddenly a voice from the bushes shouted:
“What’s up?”
“Business—_that’s_ what,” replied the colonel.
“It’s time,” replied the voice, and its owner—a bearded
six-footer—emerged from the bushes, and stroked Tipsie’s nose with the
freedom of an old acquaintance. “We hain’t had a nip sence last night,
an’ thar’ ain’t a cracker or a handful of flour in the shanty. The old
gal go back on yer?”
“Yes,” replied the colonel, ruefully—“lost ev’ry blasted race. ’Twasn’t
_her_ fault, bless her—she done her level best. Ev’rybody to home?”
“You bet,” said the man. “All ben a-prayin’ for yer to turn up with the
rocks, an’ somethin’ with more color than spring water. Come on.”
The man led the way, and Tipsie and the colonel followed, and the trio
suddenly found themselves before a small log hut, in front of which sat
three solemn, disconsolate-looking individuals, who looked appealingly
at the colonel.
“Mac’ll tell yer how ’twas, fellers,” said the colonel, meekly, “while I
picket the mare.”
The colonel was absent but a very few moments, but when he returned each
of the four men was attired in pistols and knives, while Mac was
distributing some dominoes, made from a rather dirty flour-bag.
“’Tain’t so late as all that, is it?” inquired the colonel.
“Better be an hour ahead than miss it this ‘_ere_ night,” said one of
the four. “I ain’t been so thirsty sence I come round the Horn, in ‘50,
an’ we run short of water. _Somebody_’ll get hurt ef thar’ ain’t no
bitters on the old concern—they will, or my name ain’t Perkins.”
“Don’t count yer chickings ’fore they’re hetched, Perky,” said one of
the party, as he adjusted his domino under the rim of his hat.
“‘S’posin’ ther’ shud be too many for us?”
“Stiddy, Cranks!” remonstrated the colonel. “Nobody ever gets along ef
they ’low ’emselves to be skeered.”
“Fact,” chimed in the smallest and thinnest man of the party. “The Bible
says somethin’ mighty hot ’bout that. I disremember dzackly how it goes;
but I’ve heerd Parson Buzzy, down in Maine, preach a rippin’ old sermon
from that text many a time. The old man never thort what a comfort them
sermons wus a-goin’ to be to a road-agent, though. That time we stopped
Slim Mike’s stage, an’ he didn’t hev no more manners than to draw on me,
them sermons wus a perfec’ blessin’ to me—the thought uv ’em cleared my
head ez quick ez a cocktail. An’——”
“I don’t want to disturb Logroller’s pious yarn,” interrupted the
colonel; “but ez it’s Old Black that’s drivin’ to-day instid of Slim
Mike, an’ ez Old Black ollers makes his time, hedn’t we better vamose?”
The door of the shanty was hastily closed, and the men filed through the
thicket until near the road, when they marched rapidly on parallel lines
with it. After about half an hour, Perkins, who was leading, halted, and
wiped his perspiring brow with his shirt-sleeve.
“Fur enough from home now,” said he. “’Tain’t no use bein’ a gentleman
ef yer hev to work _too_ hard.”
“Safe enough, I reckon,” replied the colonel. “We’ll do the usual; I’ll
halt ’em, Logroller’ll tend to the driver, Cranks takes the boot, an’
Mac an’ Perk takes right an’ left. An’—I know it’s tough—but consid’rin’
how everlastin’ eternally hard up we are, I reckon we’ll have to ask
contributions from the ladies, too, ef ther’s any aboard—eh, boy?”
“Reckon so,” replied Logroller, with a chuckle that seemed to inspire
even his black domino with a merry wrinkle or two. “What’s the use of
women’s rights ef they don’t ever hev a chance of exercisin’ ’em? Hevin’
ther purses borrowed ’ud show ’em the hull doctrine in a bran-new
light.”
“They’re treacherous critters, women is,” remarked Cranks; “some of ’em
might put a knife into a feller while he was ‘pologizin’.”
“Ef _you’re_ afeard of ’em,” said Perkins, “you ken go back an’ clean up
the shanty.”
“Reminds me of what the Bible sez,” said Logroller; “‘there’s a lion on
the trail; I’ll be chawed up, sez the lazy galoot,’ ur words to that
effect.”
“Come, come boys,” interposed the colonel; “don’t mix religion an’
bizness. They don’t mix no more than——Hello, thar’s the crack of Old
Black’s whip! Pick yer bushes—quick! All jump when I whistle!”
Each man secreted himself near the roadside. The stage came swinging
along handsomely; the inside passengers were laughing heartily about
something, and Old Black was just giving a delicate touch to the flank
of the off leader, when the colonel gave a shrill, quick whistle, and
the five men sprang into the road.
The horses stopped as suddenly as if it was a matter of common
occurrence, Old Black dropped his reins, crossed his legs, and stared
into the sky, and the passengers all put out their heads with a rapidity
equaled only by that with which they withdrew them as they saw the
dominoes and revolvers of the road-agents.
“Seems to be something the matter, gentlemen,” said the colonel,
blandly, as he opened the door. “Won’t you please git out? Don’t trouble
yourselves to draw, cos my friend here’s got his weapon cocked, an’ his
fingers is rather nervous. Ain’t got a han’kercher, hev yer?” asked the
colonel of the first passenger who descended from the stage. “Hev? Well,
now, that’s lucky. Jest put yer hands behind yer, please—so—that’s it.”
And the unfortunate man was securely bound in an instant.
The remaining passengers were treated with similar courtesy, and then
the colonel and his friends examined the pockets of the captives. Old
Black remained unmolested, for who ever heard of a stage-driver having
money?
“Boys,” said the colonel, calling his brother agents aside, and
comparing receipts, “’tain’t much of a haul; but there’s only one woman,
an’ she’s old enough to be a feller’s grandmother. Better let her alone,
eh?”
“Like enough she’ll pan out more’n all the rest of the stage put
together,” growled Cranks, carefully testing the thickness of case of a
gold watch. “Jest like the low-lived deceitfulness of some folks, to
hire an old woman to kerry ther money so it ’ud go safe. Mebbe what
she’s got hain’t nothin’ to some folks thet’s got hosses thet ken win
’em money at races, but——”
The colonel abruptly ended the conversation, and approached the stage.
The colonel was very chivalrous, but Cranks’s sarcastic reference to
Tipsie needed avenging, and as he could not consistently with business
arrangements put an end to Cranks, the old lady would have to suffer.
“I beg your parding, ma’am,” said the colonel, raising his hat politely
with one hand, while he reopened the coach-door with the other, “but
we’re a-takin’ up a collection fur some very deservin’ object. We _wuz_
a-goin’ to make the gentlemen fork over the hull amount, but ez they
hain’t got enough, we’ll hev to bother _you_.”
The old lady trembled, and felt for her pocketbook, and raised her vail.
The colonel looked into her face, slammed the stage-door, and, sitting
down on the hub of one of the wheels, stared vacantly into space.
“Nothin’?” queried Perkins, in a whisper, and with a face full of
genuine sympathy.
“No—yes,” said the colonel, dreamily. “That is, untie ’em and let the
stage go ahead,” he continued, springing to his feet. “_I’ll_ hurry back
to the cabin.”
[Illustration]
And the colonel dashed into the bushes, and left his followers so
paralyzed with astonishment, that Old Black afterward remarked that, “ef
ther’d ben anybody to hold the hosses, he could hev cleaned out the hull
crowd with his whip.”
The passengers, now relieved of their weapons, were unbound, and allowed
to re-enter the stage, and the door was slammed, upon which Old Black
picked up his reins as coolly as if he had merely laid them down at the
station while horses were being changed; then he cracked his whip, and
the stage rolled off, while the colonel’s party hastened back to their
hut, fondly inspecting as they went certain flasks they had obtained
while transacting their business with the occupants of the stage.
Great was the surprise of the road-agents as they entered their hut, for
there stood the colonel in a clean white shirt, and in a suit of
clothing made up from the limited spare wardrobes of the other members
of the gang.
But the suspicious Cranks speedily subordinated his wonder to his
prudence, as, laying on the table a watch, two pistols, a pocketbook,
and a heavy purse, he exclaimed:
“Come, colonel, bizness before pleasure; let’s divide an’ scatter. Ef
anybody should hear ’bout it, an’ find our trail, an’ ketch us with the
traps in our possession, they might——”
“Divide yerselves!” said the colonel, with abruptness and a great oath.
“_I_ don’t want none of it.”
“Colonel,” said Perkins, removing his own domino, and looking anxiously
into the leader’s face, “be you sick? Here’s some bully brandy I found
in one of the passengers’ pockets.”
“I hain’t nothin’,” replied the colonel. “I’m a-goin’, an’ I’m
a-retirin’ from _this_ bizness for ever.”
“Ain’t a-goin’ to turn evidence?” cried Cranks, grasping the pistol on
the table.
“I’m a-goin’ to make a lead-mine of _you_ ef you don’t take that back!”
roared the colonel, with a bound, which caused Cranks to drop his
pistol, and retire precipitately backward, apologizing as he went. “I’m
goin’ to tend to my own bizness, and that’s enough to keep _any_ man
busy. Somebody lend me fifty, till I see him again?”
Perkins pressed the money into the colonel’s hand, and within two
minutes the colonel was on Tipsie’s back, and galloping on in the
direction the stage had taken.
He overtook it, he passed it, and still he galloped on.
The people at Mud Gulch knew the colonel well, and made it a rule never
to be astonished at anything he did; but they made an exception to the
rule when the colonel canvassed the principal bar-rooms for men who
wished to purchase a horse; and when a gambler, who was flush, obtained
Tipsie in exchange for twenty slugs—only a thousand dollars, when the
colonel had always said that there wasn’t gold enough on top of the
ground to buy her—Mud Gulch experienced a decided sensation.
One or two enterprising persons speedily discovered that the colonel was
not in a communicative mood, so every one retired to his favorite
saloon, and bet according to his own opinion of the colonel’s motives
and actions.
But when the colonel, after remaining in a barber-shop for half an hour,
emerged with his face clean shaven and his hair neatly trimmed and
parted, betting was so wild that a cool-headed sporting man speedily
made a fortune by betting against every theory that was advanced.
Then the colonel made a tour of the stores, and fitted himself to a new
suit of clothes, carefully eschewing all of the generous patterns and
pronounced colors so dear to the average miner. He bought a new hat, put
on a pair of boots, and pruned his finger-nails, and, stranger than all,
he mildly but firmly declined all invitations to drink.
As the colonel stood in the door of the principal saloon, where the
stage always stopped, the Challenge Hill constable was seen to approach
the colonel, and tap him on the shoulder, upon which all men who had bet
that the colonel was dodging somebody claimed the stakes. But those who
stood near the colonel heard the constable say:
“Colonel, I take it all back, an’ I own up fair an’ square. When I seed
you git out of Challenge Hill, it come to me all of a sudden that you
might be in the road-agent business, so I followed you—duty, you know.
But after I seed you sell Tipsie, I knowed I was on the wrong trail. I
wouldn’t suspect you now if all the stages in the State was robbed; an’
I’ll give you satisfaction any way you want it.”
“It’s all right,” said the colonel, with a smile. The constable
afterward said that nobody had any idea of how curiously the colonel
smiled when his beard was off. “Give this fifty to Jim Perkins fust time
yer see him? I’m leavin’ the State.”
Suddenly the stage pulled up at the door with a crash, and the male
passengers hurried into the saloon, in a state of utter indignation and
impecuniosity.
The story of the robbery attracted everybody, and during the excitement
the colonel slipped quietly out, and opened the door of the stage. The
old lady started, and cried:
“George!”
And the colonel, jumping into the stage, and putting his arms tenderly
about the trembling form of the old lady, exclaimed:
“Mother!”
[Illustration]
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[Illustration:
THE OLD LADY CRIED, “GEORGE!” AND THE COLONEL EXCLAIMED, “MOTHER!”
]
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