Attorneys, Sacramento.
The three miners' faces lightened and turned joyously to Wells; but HIS
face looked puzzled.
“May we congratulate you, Mr. Wells?” said Wyngate, with affected
politeness; “or possibly your uncle may have been English, and a title
goes with the 'prop,' and you may be Lord Wells, or Very Wells--at
least.”
But here Jackson Wells's youthful face lost its perplexity, and he began
to laugh long and silently to himself. This was protracted to such an
extent that Dexter asserted himself,--as foreman and senior partner.
“Look here, Jack! don't sit there cackling like a chuckle-headed magpie,
if you ARE the heir.”
“I--can't--help it,” gasped Jackson. “I am the heir--but you see, boys,
there AIN'T ANY PROPERTY.”
“What do you mean? Is all that a sell?” demanded Rice.
“Not much! Telegraph's too expensive for that sort o' feelin'. You see,
boys, I've got an Uncle Quincy, though I don't know him much, and he MAY
be dead. But his whole fixin's consisted of a claim the size of ours,
and played out long ago: a ramshackle lot o' sheds called a cottage, and
a kind of market garden of about three acres, where he reared and sold
vegetables. He was always poor, and as for calling it 'property,' and ME
the 'heir'--good Lord!”
“A miser, as sure as you're born!” said Wyngate, with optimistic
decision. “That's always the way. You'll find every crack of that
blessed old shed stuck full of greenbacks and certificates of deposit,
and lots of gold dust and coin buried all over that cow patch! And of
course no one suspected it! And of course he lived alone, and never let
any one get into his house--and nearly starved himself! Lord love you!
There's hundreds of such cases. The world is full of 'em!”
“That's so,” chimed in Pulaski Briggs, the fourth partner, “and I tell
you what, Jacksey, we'll come over with you the day you take possession,
and just 'prospect' the whole blamed shanty, pigsties, and potato patch,
for fun--and won't charge you anything.”
For a moment Jackson's face had really brightened under the infection of
enthusiasm, but it presently settled into perplexity again.
“No! You bet the boys around Buckeye Hollow would have spotted anything
like that long ago.”
“Buckeye Hollow!” repeated Rice and his partners.
“Yes! Buckeye Hollow, that's the place; not twenty miles from here, and
a God-forsaken hole, as you know.”
A cloud had settled on Zip Coon Ledge. They knew of Buckeye Hollow, and
it was evident that no good had ever yet come out of that Nazareth.
“There's no use of talking now,” said Rice conclusively. “You'll draw it
all from that lawyer shark who's coming here tomorrow, and you can bet
your life he wouldn't have taken this trouble if there wasn't suthin' in
it. Anyhow, we'll knock off work now and call it half a day, in honor
of our distinguished young friend's accession to his baronial estates
of Buckeye Hollow. We'll just toddle down to Tomlinson's at the
cross-roads, and have a nip and a quiet game of old sledge at Jacksey's
expense. I reckon the estate's good for THAT,” he added, with severe
gravity. “And, speaking as a fa'r-minded man and the president of
this yer Company, if Jackson would occasionally take out and air that
telegraphic dispatch of his while we're at Tomlinson's, it might do
something for that Company's credit--with Tomlinson! We're wantin' some
new blastin' plant bad!”
Oddly enough the telegram--accidentally shown at Tomlinson's--produced a
gratifying effect, and the Zip Coon Ledge materially advanced in
public estimation. With this possible infusion of new capital into its
resources, the Company was beset by offers of machinery and goods;
and it was deemed expedient by the sapient Rice, that to prevent the
dissemination of any more accurate information regarding Jackson's
property the next day, the lawyer should be met at the stage office by
one of the members, and conveyed secretly past Tomlinson's to the Ledge.
“I'd let you go,” he said to Jackson, “only it won't do for that d----d
skunk of a lawyer to think you're too anxious--sabe? We want to rub into
him that we are in the habit out yer of havin' things left to us, and
a fortin' more or less, falling into us now and then, ain't nothin'
alongside of the Zip Coon claim. It won't hurt ye to keep up a big bluff
on that hand of yours. Nobody would dare to 'call' you.”
Indeed this idea was carried out with such elaboration the next day that
Mr. Twiggs, the attorney, was considerably impressed both by the conduct
of his guide, who (although burning with curiosity) expressed absolute
indifference regarding Jackson Wells's inheritance, and the calmness of
Jackson himself, who had to be ostentatiously called from his work on
the Ledge to meet him, and who even gave him an audience in the hearing
of his partners. Forced into an apologetic attitude, he expressed his
regret at being obliged to bother Mr. Wells with an affair of such
secondary importance, but he was obliged to carry out the formalities of
the law.
“What do you suppose the estate is worth?” asked Wells carelessly.
“I should not think that the house, the claim, and the land would bring
more than fifteen hundred dollars,” replied Twiggs submissively.
To the impecunious owners of Zip Coon Ledge it seemed a large sum, but
they did not show it.
“You see,” continued Mr. Twiggs, “it's really a case of 'willing away'
property from its obvious or direct inheritors, instead of a beneficial
grant. I take it that you and your uncle were not particularly
intimate,--at least, so I gathered when I made the will,--and his simple
object was to disinherit his only daughter, with whom he had had some
quarrel, and who had left him to live with his late wife's brother, Mr.
Morley Brown, who is quite wealthy and residing in the same township.
Perhaps you remember the young lady?”
Jackson Wells had a dim recollection of this cousin, a hateful,
red-haired schoolgirl, and an equally unpleasant memory of this other
uncle, who was purse-proud and had never taken any notice of him. He
answered affirmatively.
“There may be some attempt to contest the will,” continued Mr. Twiggs,
“as the disinheriting of an only child and a daughter offends the
sentiment of the people and of judges and jury, and the law makes such
a will invalid, unless a reason is given. Fortunately your uncle has
placed his reasons on record. I have a copy of the will here, and can
show you the clause.” He took it from his pocket, and read as follows:
“'I exclude my daughter, Jocelinda Wells, from any benefit or provision
of this my will and testament, for the reason that she has voluntarily
abandoned her father's roof for the house of her mother's brother,
Morley Brown; has preferred the fleshpots of Egypt to the virtuous
frugalities of her own home, and has discarded the humble friends of
her youth, and the associates of her father, for the meretricious
and slavish sympathy of wealth and position. In lieu thereof, and as
compensation therefor, I do hereby give and bequeath to her my full and
free permission to gratify her frequently expressed wish for another
guardian in place of myself, and to become the adopted daughter of the
said Morley Brown, with the privilege of assuming the name of Brown
as aforesaid.' You see,” he continued, “as the young lady's present
position is a better one than it would be if she were in her father's
house, and was evidently a compromise, the sentimental consideration of
her being left homeless and penniless falls to the ground. However, as
the inheritance is small, and might be of little account to you, if you
choose to waive it, I dare say we may make some arrangement.”
This was an utterly unexpected idea to the Zip Coon Company, and
Jackson Wells was for a moment silent. But Dexter Rice was equal to the
emergency, and turned to the astonished lawyer with severe dignity.
“You'll excuse me for interferin', but, as the senior partner of this
yer Ledge, and Jackson Wells yer bein' a most important member, what
affects his usefulness on this claim affects us. And we propose to carry
out this yer will, with all its dips and spurs and angles!”
As the surprised Twiggs turned from one to the other, Rice continued,
“Ez far as we kin understand this little game, it's the just punishment
of a high-flying girl as breaks her pore old father's heart, and the
re-ward of a young feller ez has bin to our knowledge ez devoted a
nephew as they make 'em. Time and time again, sittin' around our camp
fire at night, we've heard Jacksey say,--kinder to himself, and kinder
to us, 'Now I wonder what's gone o' old uncle Quincy;' and he never
sat down to a square meal, or ever rose from a square game, but what
he allus said, 'If old uncle Quince was only here now, boys, I'd die
happy.' I leave it to you, gentlemen, if that wasn't Jackson Wells's
gait all the time?”
There was a prolonged murmur of assent, and an affecting corroboration
from Ned Wyngate of “That was him; that was Jacksey all the time!”
“Indeed, indeed,” said the lawyer nervously. “I had quite the idea that
there was very little fondness”--
“Not on your side--not on your side,” said Rice quickly. “Uncle Quincy
may not have anted up in this matter o' feelin', nor seen his nephew's
rise. You know how it is yourself in these things--being a lawyer and a
fa'r-minded man--it's all on one side, ginerally! There's always one who
loves and sacrifices, and all that, and there's always one who rakes in
the pot! That's the way o' the world; and that's why,” continued Rice,
abandoning his slightly philosophical attitude, and laying his hand
tenderly, and yet with a singularly significant grip, on Wells's arm,
“we say to him, 'Hang on to that will, and uncle Quincy's memory.'
And we hev to say it. For he's that tender-hearted and keerless of
money--having his own share in this Ledge--that ef that girl came
whimperin' to him he'd let her take the 'prop' and let the hull thing
slide! And then he'd remember that he had rewarded that gal that broke
the old man's heart, and that would upset him again in his work. And
there, you see, is just where WE come in! And we say, 'Hang on to that
will like grim death!'”
The lawyer looked curiously at Rice and his companions, and then turned
to Wells: “Nevertheless, I must look to you for instructions,” he said
dryly.
But by this time Jackson Wells, although really dubious about
supplanting the orphan, had gathered the sense of his partners, and said
with a frank show of decision, “I think I must stand by the will.”
“Then I'll have it proved,” said Twiggs, rising. “In the meantime, if
there is any talk of contesting”--
“If there is, you might say,” suggested Wyngate, who felt he had not had
a fair show in the little comedy,--“ye might say to that old skeesicks
of a wife's brother, if he wants to nipple in, that there are four men
on the Ledge--and four revolvers! We are gin'rally fa'r-minded, peaceful
men, but when an old man's heart is broken, and his gray hairs brought
down in sorrow to the grave, so to speak, we're bound to attend the
funeral--sabe?”
When Mr. Twiggs had departed again, accompanied by a partner to guide
him past the dangerous shoals of Tomlinson's grocery, Rice clapped his
hand on Wells's shoulder. “If it hadn't been for me, sonny, that shark
would have landed you into some compromise with that red-haired gal! I
saw you weakenin', and then I chipped in. I may have piled up the agony
a little on your love for old Quince, but if you aren't an ungrateful
cub, that's how you ought to hev been feein', anyhow!”
Nevertheless, the youthful Wells, although touched by his elder
partner's loyalty, and convinced of his own disinterestedness, felt a
painful sense of lost chivalrous opportunity.
*****
On mature consideration it was finally settled that Jackson Wells should
make his preliminary examination of his inheritance alone, as it might
seem inconsistent with the previous indifferent attitude of his
partners if they accompanied him. But he was implored to yield to no
blandishments of the enemy, and to even make his visit a secret.
He went. The familiar flower-spiked trees which had given their name
to Buckeye Hollow had never yielded entirely to improvements and the
incursions of mining enterprise, and many of them had even survived the
disused ditches, the scarred flats, the discarded levels, ruined flumes,
and roofless cabins of the earlier occupation, so that when Jackson
Wells entered the wide, straggling street of Buckeye, that summer
morning was filled with the radiance of its blossoms and fragrant with
their incense. His first visit there, ten years ago, had been a purely
perfunctory and hasty one, yet he remembered the ostentatious hotel,
built in the “flush time” of its prosperity, and already in a green
premature decay; he recalled the Express Office and Town Hall, also
passing away in a kind of similar green deliquescence; the little zinc
church, now overgrown with fern and brambles, and the two or three fine
substantial houses in the outskirts, which seemed to have sucked the
vitality of the little settlement. One of these--he had been told--was
the property of his rich and wicked maternal uncle, the hated
appropriator of his red-headed cousin's affections. He recalled his
brief visit to the departed testator's claim and market garden, and his
by no means favorable impression of the lonely, crabbed old man, as well
as his relief that his objectionable cousin, whom he had not seen since
he was a boy, was then absent at the rival uncle's. He made his way
across the road to a sunny slope where the market garden of three acres
seemed to roll like a river of green rapids to a little “run” or brook,
which, even in the dry season, showed a trickling rill. But here he was
struck by a singular circumstance. The garden rested in a rich, alluvial
soil, and under the quickening Californian sky had developed far beyond
the ability of its late cultivator to restrain or keep it in order.
Everything had grown luxuriantly, and in monstrous size and profusion.
The garden had even trespassed its bounds, and impinged upon the open
road, the deserted claims, and the ruins of the past. Stimulated by the
little cultivation Quincy Wells had found time to give it, it had
leaped its three acres and rioted through the Hollow. There were scarlet
runners crossing the abandoned sluices, peas climbing the court-house
wall, strawberries matting the trail, while the seeds and pollen of
its few homely Eastern flowers had been blown far and wide through the
woods. By a grim satire, Nature seemed to have been the only thing that
still prospered in that settlement of man.
The cabin itself, built of unpainted boards, consisted of a
sitting-room, dining-room, kitchen, and two bedrooms, all plainly
furnished, although one of the bedrooms was better ordered, and
displayed certain signs of feminine decoration, which made Jackson
believe it had been his cousin's room. Luckily, the slight, temporary
structure bore no deep traces of its previous occupancy to disturb him
with its memories, and for the same reason it gained in cleanliness and
freshness. The dry, desiccating summer wind that blew through it had
carried away both the odors and the sense of domesticity; even the adobe
hearth had no fireside tales to tell,--its very ashes had been scattered
by the winds; and the gravestone of its dead owner on the hill was no
more flavorless of his personality than was this plain house in which he
had lived and died. The excessive vegetation produced by the stirred-up
soil had covered and hidden the empty tin cans, broken boxes, and
fragments of clothing which usually heaped and littered the tent-pegs
of the pioneer. Nature's own profusion had thrust them into obscurity.
Jackson Wells smiled as he recalled his sanguine partner's idea of a
treasure-trove concealed and stuffed in the crevices of this tenement,
already so palpably picked clean by those wholesome scavengers of
California, the dry air and burning sun. Yet he was not displeased at
this obliteration of a previous tenancy; there was the better chance for
him to originate something. He whistled hopefully as he lounged, with
his hands in his pockets, towards the only fence and gate that gave upon
the road. Something stuck up on the gate-post attracted his attention.
It was a sheet of paper bearing the inscription in a large hand: “Notice
to trespassers. Look out for the Orphan Robber!” A plain signboard in
faded black letters on the gate, which had borne the legend: “Quincy
Wells, Dealer in Fruit and Vegetables,” had been rudely altered in chalk
to read: “Jackson Wells, Double Dealer in Wills and Codicils,” and the
intimation “Bouquets sold here” had been changed to “Bequests stole
here.” For an instant the simple-minded Jackson failed to discover
any significance of this outrage, which seemed to him to be merely
the wanton mischief of a schoolboy. But a sudden recollection of
the lawyer's caution sent the blood to his cheeks and kindled
his indignation. He tore down the paper and rubbed out the chalk
interpolation--and then laughed at his own anger. Nevertheless, he would
not have liked his belligerent partners to see it.
A little curious to know the extent of this feeling, he entered one of
the shops, and by one or two questions which judiciously betrayed his
ownership of the property, he elicited only a tradesman's interest in a
possible future customer, and the ordinary curiosity about a stranger.
The barkeeper of the hotel was civil, but brief and gloomy. He had heard
the property was “willed away on account of some family quarrel which
'warn't none of his'.” Mr. Wells would find Buckeye Hollow a mighty dull
place after the mines. It was played out, sucked dry by two or three big
mine owners who were trying to “freeze out” the other settlers, so as
they might get the place to themselves and “boom it.” Brown, who had the
big house over the hill, was the head devil of the gang! Wells felt his
indignation kindle anew. And this girl that he had ousted was Brown's
friend. Was it possible that she was a party to Brown's designs to get
this three acres with the other lands? If so, his long-suffering uncle
was only just in his revenge.
He put all this diffidently before his partners on his return, and was a
little startled at their adopting it with sanguine ferocity. They hoped
that he would put an end to his thoughts of backing out of it. Such a
course now would be dishonorable to his uncle's memory. It was clearly
his duty to resist these blasted satraps of capitalists; he was
providentially selected for the purpose--a village Hampden to withstand
the tyrant. “And I reckon that shark of a lawyer knew all about it when
he was gettin' off that 'purp stuff' about people's sympathies with the
girl,” said Rice belligerently. “Contest the will, would he? Why, if we
caught that Brown with a finger in the pie we'd just whip up the boys on
this Ledge and lynch him. You hang on to that three acres and the garden
patch of your forefathers, sonny, and we'll see you through!”
Nevertheless, it was with some misgivings that Wells consented that
his three partners should actually accompany him and see him put in
peaceable possession of his inheritance. His instinct told him that
there would be no contest of the will, and still less any opposition
on the part of the objectionable relative, Brown. When the wagon
which contained his personal effects and the few articles of furniture
necessary for his occupancy of the cabin arrived, the exaggerated
swagger which his companions had put on in their passage through the
settlement gave way to a pastoral indolence, equally half real, half
affected. Lying on their backs under a buckeye, they permitted Rice to
voice the general sentiment. “There's a suthin' soothin' and dreamy in
this kind o' life, Jacksey, and we'll make a point of comin' here for a
couple of days every two weeks to lend you a hand; it will be a mighty
good change from our nigger work on the claim.”
In spite of this assurance, and the fact that they had voluntarily come
to help him put the place in order, they did very little beyond lending
a cheering expression of unqualified praise and unstinted advice. At the
end of four hours' weeding and trimming the boundaries of the garden,
they unanimously gave their opinion that it would be more systematic for
him to employ Chinese labor at once.
“You see,” said Ned Wyngate, “the Chinese naturally take to this kind o'
business. Why, you can't take up a china plate or saucer but you see
'em pictured there working at jobs like this, and they kin live on green
things and rice that cost nothin', and chickens. You'll keep chickens,
of course.”
Jackson thought that his hands would be full enough with the garden, but
he meekly assented.
“I'll get a pair--you only want two to begin with,” continued Wyngate
cheerfully, “and in a month or two you've got all you want, and eggs
enough for market. On second thoughts, I don't know whether you hadn't
better begin with eggs first. That is, you borry some eggs from one
man and a hen from another. Then you set 'em, and when the chickens are
hatched out you just return the hen to the second man, and the eggs,
when your chickens begin to lay, to the first man, and you've got your
chickens for nothing--and there you are.”
This ingenious proposition, which was delivered on the last slope of
the domain, where the partners were lying exhausted from their work, was
broken in upon by the appearance of a small boy, barefooted, sunburnt,
and tow-headed, who, after a moment's hurried scrutiny of the group,
threw a letter with unerring precision into the lap of Jackson Wells,
and then fled precipitately. Jackson instinctively suspected he was
connected with the outrage on his fence and gate-post, but as he had
avoided telling his partners of the incident, fearing to increase their
belligerent attitude, he felt now an awkward consciousness mingled with
his indignation as he broke the seal and read as follows:--
SIR,--This is to inform you that although you have got hold of the
property by underhanded and sneaking ways, you ain't no right to touch
or lay your vile hands on the Cherokee Rose alongside the house, nor on
the Giant of Battles, nor on the Maiden's Pride by the gate--the same
being the property of Miss Jocelinda Wells, and planted by her, under
the penalty of the Law. And if you, or any of your gang of ruffians,
touches it or them, or any thereof, or don't deliver it up when called
for in good order, you will be persecuted by them.