A TEMPERANCE LECTURE.
It was a muddy, miry place in which Tom Mason now found himself, for it
had been raining some there and Fort Hamilton was not blessed with a
system of drainage. There were no sidewalks except in front of the
various saloons and stores they passed, and half the way they walked
through mud that was more than ankle deep. It was astonishing to him to
notice how many people there were on the streets who recognized his
companions. It was "Howdy, Mr. Kelley?" and "Hello, Stanley!" or "Hello,
Arrow-foot!" until Tom might be pardoned for thinking that his two
friends were raised right in town instead of coming from a country a
hundred miles away.
"Arrow-foot?" said he. "That's one thing I do not understand."
"Well, you see that when my employer first came to this country and
wanted a name for his cattle, he picked up on his piece of land, close
by the spot where his dugout is now located, a small piece of clay
plainly marked with an arrow-foot. There was the stem of the arrow all
complete, and so he named his cattle 'Arrow-foot.' Almost everybody out
here is known by the brand his cattle wears."
"But how do they come to call you 'Mr.' Kelley?"
"I don't know, unless it is because I don't drink or gamble with them,
and have a happy faculty for settling all the rows."
Presently Mr. Kelley made his way into a spacious saloon that occupied
one end of the block. It had evidently been built by someone who had an
idea of refinement about him, for its verandas were spacious, the
windows came down to the floor, and there was a gilded sign over the
door. Inside the room was large and airy, with a bar on one side and a
number of tables extending away to the other end. It was quiet enough
now in the daytime, but when Tom heard the noise that came from it after
the lamps were lighted, he thought pandemonium had broken loose.
"Howdy, Mr. Kelley? Denominate your poison," said the man behind the
counter, extending a bottle toward him with one hand and reaching out
the other to be shaken. "Got back safe and sound, didn't you?"
"I don't take any of that stuff, and you ought to know better than to
ask me. I got back all right with the exception of the dumb ague, which
took me just as I got ready to leave Fort Gibson. Have you seen Black
Dan lately?"
"You're right, I have," said the man, frowning fiercely. "Do you see
that?" he added, taking out from under his counter a revolver which was
cocked and ready to be used when it was drawn. "I am going to keep that
just as it is and show it to him when he wakes up. Because he used to
own this house is no reason why he should pull a pistol on me!"
"Did he draw it on you?" asked Tom, forgetting where he was in the
excitement of the moment.
"I should say he did, kid, and Mose, there, was just in time to stop
him. I hope you have come to take him East, for I don't want him around
here any longer. It is all I can do to keep him from getting into a
fight with somebody, and the first thing you know he will pick up the
wrong man. You took him out, Mose. Do you know where he is?"
"Yes; he's out there," said Mose, motioning one way with his thumb and
another way with his head. "I can find him."
Mose made an effort to get on his feet, but reeled considerably, and
would have fallen back in his chair if Mr. Kelley had not caught him and
placed him steadily on his feet. When he was fairly up, he was all
right, and made his way out of the house and around the corner, closely
followed by Mr. Kelley and Tom. Presently he stopped, and curled up
behind a water-butt, the mud spattered thick on his torn clothing, his
empty holster and the stump of his crippled arm thrown out recklessly by
his side, lay all that was left of Black Dan. Tom saw in a minute where
he had got his cognomen. His complexion was swarthy and his hair and
whiskers were as black as midnight, but for all that he had been a very
handsome man. He was dead drunk, and Mr. Kelley saw that all attempts to
arouse him would be useless.
"Why didn't you put him in a bed?" asked Tom, in accents of disgust.
"He wouldn't stay there," replied Mose. "That is the only place he will
stay, and there is where we take him as soon as he shows any desire to
go to sleep."
"Let's go away," said Tom. "I'll never drink a drop of whiskey as long
as I live."
"It would be useless to try to awake him," said Mr. Kelley. "Mose, you
tell him that as soon as he wakes up we want to see him down to the
Eldorado, where we are stopping. We want to see him particularly. You
can remember that much, can't you?"
"I can, sir," replied Mose, hastily pocketing the dollar which Kelley
thrust out to him. "I'll send him down as soon as he comes to himself."
"It always comes hard for one to see a man done up in that style," said
Mr. Kelley, as he and Tom bent their steps toward the Eldorado. "It
makes me hate whiskey worse than I did before."
Tom had seen so much of the little town of Fort Hamilton that he had
some doubts about going to the Eldorado. Their little interview with
Black Dan, if such it could be called, had taken all the conversation
out of them; but when they entered the living-room of the hotel, and saw
no semblance of a bar, and the men who were playing cards were doing it
for fun, and not for money, and there was no sign of a drunken man
around, his spirits rose wonderfully, and he walked up and placed his
valise on the counter.
"Ah! here you are," exclaimed Stanley, coming up at that moment. "I
wasn't able to get a room with four beds in it, but I have engaged one
end of the dining-room, so that we can all be together to-night."
"Full up to the top notch," said the clerk. "Put it there, Mr. Kelley.
How are you, Arrow-foot? This young man I don't remember to have seen
before, but all the same I am glad to meet him."
"Yes, he's a tender-foot, and we are taking him out to have the boss
grub-stake him."
"Ah! that's your business, is it? Fine business that. You may make a
strike some day and come back and buy us all out. You're going right in
the country for one, for there's a nugget worth eight thousand dollars
for you to pitch on to."
"Yes, Elam Storm's nugget," said Stanley. "I hope to goodness you'll get
it, for then we shall quit hearing so much about it."
"Oh, it's there, for one with such a reputation as that--why, man alive,
it extends through twenty years! And the Red Ghost, too; you want to
steer clear of him."
Tom laughed and said he would do his best to follow the clerk's advice.
He had heard of Elam Storm's nugget, had even found himself thinking of
it when awake, and dreaming about it when asleep. He knew that his
chances for digging it up were rather slim, for he did not suppose that
the man who had hid it had any idea that it would be unearthed by anyone
save himself; but if he should happen to strike it with one blow of his
pick! Wouldn't he be in town? He could then write back to his uncle that
he had made more than the sum he had temporarily lost, made it by the
sweat of his brow, and he was sure that the next letter he received from
his uncle would be one telling him to come back home, and all would be
forgiven. But the Red Ghost! Tom did not know what to think about him.
He had been seen, never in broad daylight, and he was a terrible thing
to look at. He roamed about after nightfall, tearing the mules and
trampling the teamsters to death, and the worst of it was he was always
to be found somewhere near the place where the nugget was supposed to be
hid. Stanley once had a partner that had been done to death, and even
Mr. Kelley's face grew solemn whenever he spoke of him. That was the
only thing that made Tom doubtful about taking a grub-stake.
The dinner-bell rang while they were talking, and when the meal was
ended Tom went out with the two cowboys to look at a horse that Stanley
had found for him in the morning. They were gone about two hours, and
when they came back, Tom told himself that he was a cowboy at last; a
horse, saddle, and bridle were waiting for him at the stable, and the
poncho which he carried slung over his arm was roomy enough for his
extra baggage. The first thing that attracted Stanley's notice was a
strange man talking to Mr. Kelley. The stump of his arm proclaimed who
he was.
"It's Black Dan," said he. "Now, Tom, let's see how much your temperance
principles will amount to."
Tom was startled, as well he might be, to know that he had it in his
power to help a man who, in his palmy days, held an influence in Fort
Hamilton second only to the commander of the station. He gazed steadily
at him a moment, then threw his poncho on the table, asked the clerk for
his valise, and took from it the pin Mr. Bolton had given him, and with
this in his hand he approached Black Dan, while with a delicacy of
feeling that some people who occupy prouder stations might have envied
the cowboys turned toward the window. Hearing from the barkeeper that
the man who wanted to see him was a "top-notch fellow," Dan had washed
his face and brushed his hair, and made other efforts to improve
himself. His holster was filled this time, so it showed that he was in a
situation to defend himself. Mr. Kelley introduced Tom, and then moved
away.
"How do you do, sir?" said Dan, gazing hard at Tom's face and trying to
recollect where he had seen him before. "You have got the advantage of
me."
"I never saw you before, and I am sorry to find you this way," said Tom,
trying to keep up his courage. "I want you to look at this pin and tell
me if you ever saw it before."
Tom unwrapped the pin and placed it in Dan's hands. The latter took it
in surprise, and finally the wondering scowl his face had assumed gave
way to an entirely different expression, and he sat for five minutes,
turning the pin over in his hand, and doubtless harassed by gloomy
reflections. When he gave that pin to the one from whom Tom had received
it, he was worth half a million dollars.
"What was Bradshaw doing when he gave you the pin?" said he.
"He told me his name was Bolton," said Tom. "He had been doing some
gambling, and, finding out from me that I was coming up here, he gave me
the pin with a request that I should give it to you."
"You haven't come out here with any intention of going into this
business, have you?"
"What, gambling? Not much I haven't. I think I have seen enough to keep
me away from gambling forever. I'm going to get a grub-stake and go into
the mountains. I think I can do better there."
"You are an honest boy, and I wish I could give you something for it.
One short year ago I could have sent you to the mountains with some
prospects of success; but now----" Dan held up his crippled arm.
"I should think that would drive you from gambling forever," said Tom
earnestly. "You have taken to drink, and that is just as bad."
"Well, seeing that you are going to preach, I guess I'll go. Shake. So
long."
Before Tom could think of another word to say Dan had squeezed his hand
and was on his way to the door, walking along with his hat pulled over
his eyes, as if he didn't want to see anybody. When he reached the
street, he simply touched his forehead to some people he met, and kept
on his way to the saloon. Tom stepped to the window and saw him go in at
the door.
"Well, what success did you meet with?" said Stanley.
"I didn't meet with any success at all," said Tom, gazing helplessly out
at the muddy street. "He said if I was going to preach he'd go. He
seemed to think I had come out here to go into his business, but I told
him I had seen enough to keep me away from cards forever."
"Well, I declare!" said Mr. Kelley. "It is the greatest wonder in the
world he didn't knock you down. He never lets anybody say anything
against cards in his hearing. You have had a narrow escape."
As Tom sat there with his three friends and talked over the incidents of
Dan's past life he grew more frightened than ever, and thanked his lucky
stars that he didn't know more about it before he held his interview
with the gambler. Tom had told him that he had taken to drink, which was
as bad as gambling, and Dan had been known to floor a man who had said
as much to him. That night, while Tom was lying on his bed and trying to
go to sleep, he heard something more of the pin. High and loud above all
the hubbub that arose on the streets came the chorus of a song in which
one voice far outled the others. It was Dan's voice, and proved that the
pin had been pawned for something besides water. He looked over toward
Monroe, and saw that the latter was wide awake and looking at him.
"They're going it, aint they?" Tom whispered.
"You're right, they are. Poor Dan! You have done what you could for
him." And with the words he rolled over and prepared to go to sleep.
The next morning everything was quiet enough. The drunkards had been put
into the calaboose by the soldiers, and the others had gone to bed to
sleep it off. Tom wanted to know what had become of Dan, but nobody said
anything about him, and from that time his name was dropped. They ate
their breakfast in haste, paid their bills, and in ten minutes more Tom
was on his way in search of a grub-stake.
"Oh, certainly you'll get it," said Monroe, who rode beside him. "That
is the way the bosses always treat a tender-foot when they haven't
anything in particular for him to do. Some of our best known men have
got their start that way."
"I should think that some of the men you trust that way would run off
when they find something good," said Tom.
"Why, bless you, they can't take their find with them. They've got to
stay and work it. I did hear of a fellow who found a lot of iron
pyrites, and filled his pockets with them. He ran away, making the best
course he could for Denver, and when he was found, his pockets might
just as well have been filled with clay."
"Dead?" said Tom.
"Yes; and he was two hundred miles from where he belonged."
"And his find didn't amount to anything?"
"No. It is a brassy substance and looks very much like the precious
metal, but you need a mine to work it."
"What do you suppose killed him?"
"Don't know. Some people suppose that his mule got away from him, and
ran away with his outfit. At any rate, there was nothing near him, and
the fellow got desperate and died from exhaustion. Oh, it's one of the
things that will happen out here."
"That's a queer way to do," said Tom musingly. "By the way, I haven't
got any revolver."
"Oh, the old man will give you a pop. You will get everything you need
to last you two or three months. While that lasts, you are expected to
do some hunting; when it begins to give out, you want to come home."
"But how will I know the way?"
"The mule will bring you. He will stay there about two months,--that is,
if he doesn't get frightened,--and when he gets tired of staying, he
will come home, and you had better come, too."
It was by such talks as this that Tom learned a great deal about the
business upon which he was soon to embark. It never occurred to him that
he was to engage in any other business. Cowboys--or, as they were called
in those days, "vaqueros"--were not as plenty as they became a few years
later, and if a ranchman could be found who thought him able to make his
living by riding for a stake, well and good. He certainly would not run
away with his pockets filled with pyrites. He expected to make a good
many blunders, but Tom told himself he was used to that. What he thought
of more than anything else was that nugget worth eight thousand dollars.
They camped that night with a party of emigrants, and for the first time
Tom had the luxury of sleeping out of doors; but the appetite he brought
to the breakfast-table with him amply made amends for that. In all the
hunting excursions he had enjoyed for a week or more on his uncle's
plantation he always had a darky along to build a shelter for him, cook
his breakfast for him, and do any other work that happened to be
necessary, and all he had to do was to ride to and from his
hunting-grounds and shoot the turkeys after he got there. The next night
they drew up before a dugout, the first one he had ever seen. The only
thing that pointed out its place of location were a couple of hay-racks,
which had been torn to pieces by mules. There was not a human being in
sight, not even standing in the door to bid them welcome.
"Boys, I am glad my trip is done," said Mr. Kelley, as he threw himself
from his horse, relieving him of his bridle as he did so. "Tom, what do
you think of your new home?"
"Why, there is nobody around here," said Tom, gazing on all sides of
him.
"Oh, they are around here somewhere. It isn't dark yet, and we'll get in
and light a fire for them. They are out somewhere, looking for some lost
cattle. We left two hundred head here when we went to the mountains."
"To the mountains?" repeated Tom.
"Yes. I tell you we want to get away from here when the blizzards fly,
for there isn't a thing to shelter us. I don't expect we shall find more
than fifty head of those cattle, if we do that."
"What do you suppose will become of them?"
"They will be dead, of course. You see, when cattle are loose on the
prairie and a storm comes up, and they can't stand it any longer, they
start and travel in the same way the storm is going; and as the storm
lasts from three to four days, you can readily imagine that they must
get exhausted before they stop. When the hailstones come down as large
as hens' eggs, you can----"
"Haw, haw!" laughed Monroe.
"Well, as large as pigeons' eggs," said Kelley, "and I won't come down
another grain in weight. Why, an army officer went by here two years ago
hunting for his thirty-five mules that had been stampeded by a storm,
and when he found them, there were only four that were able to stand
alone. Oh, you get out, Monroe! You haven't seen any blizzard yet. Now,
let's go in and get some supper."
"But what makes the mules run so? Why don't they go under shelter?"
added Tom, as he picked up his poncho and saddle and followed the man
inside the house.
"There was just where they were going--for shelter. There aint a piece
of timber within twenty-five miles of this place to shelter a rabbit."
"Then what do you use for fuel?"
"Buffalo chips. There, Tom, put your plunder in there and set down and
look around you. You wouldn't think the man who owns this place was
worth two hundred thousand, but it is a fact."
"Why doesn't he buy a better piece of ground, then? I wouldn't be so far
from shelter if I were in his place."
"Buy it? He doesn't own this property. Every acre of ground that he
occupies is Congress land."
"But I'll bet you he wouldn't give it up," said Stanley. "I'd like to
see somebody come here and say this is his."
"Then you will never see it. Mr. Parsons says that all this property
will be thrown open to settlement some day, and then he and the rest of
the squatters will have to go farther West. But, laws! he's got money
enough, and he began life, Tom, just as you are going to--by taking a
grub-stake and starting for the mountains. But come on, boys, and let's
get supper. Stanley, just roll out the rest of that bacon and hard-tack,
and, Monroe, you go outside and throw in some buffalo chips."
Tom, weary with his long ride, made up his bunk, then threw himself upon
it and looked about him.