"I'd like to git myself throwd into the bargain, but I guess ye'll ask
more for that."
"No, I won't; I'll do it for the same sum."
"Thank'ee; that's all square. Ye see, I've got a mother in Ohio State,
an' she'd give her ears for any scrap of a thing o' me or my new home;
an' if ye'll git 'em both fixed off by the day arter to-morrow, I'll
send 'em down to Sacramento by Sam Scott, the trader. I'll rig out and
fix up the hut to-morrow mornin', so if ye come by breakfast-time I'll
be ready."
Ned promised to be there at the appointed hour, as he rose and handed
him the sketch, which the man, having paid the stipulated sum, carried
away to his hut with evident delight.
"Halloo, I say," cried Ned.
"Wall?" answered the Yankee, stopping with a look of concern, as if he
feared the artist had repented of his bargain.
"Mind you tell no one my prices, for, you see, I've not had time to
consider about them yet."
"All right; mum's the word," replied the man, vanishing into his little
cabin just as Tom Collins returned from his ramble.
"Halloo, Ned, what's that I hear about prices? I hope you're not
offering to speculate in half-finished holes, or anything of that sort,
eh?"
"Sit down here, my boy, and I'll tell you all about it."
Tom obeyed, and, with a half-surprised and more than half-amused
expression, listened to his companion's narration of the scene that had
just taken place, and of the plan which he had formed in his mind. This
plan was carried out the following day.
By daybreak Ned was up preparing his drawing materials; then he and Tom
breakfasted at the _table d'hote_, after which the latter went to hunt
for a suitable log-hut, in which to carry on their joint labours, while
the former proceeded to fulfil his engagement. Their night's lodging
and breakfast made a terribly large gap in their slender fortune, for
prices at the time happened to be enormously high, in consequence of
expected supplies failing to arrive at the usual time. The bill at the
hotel was ten dollars a day per man; and provisions of all kinds were so
dear, that the daily earnings of the miners barely sufficed to find them
in the necessaries of life. It therefore behoved our friends to obtain
a private dwelling and remunerative work as fast as possible.
On reaching the little log-hut, Ned found the Yankee ready to receive
him. He wore a clean new red-flannel shirt, with a blue silk kerchief
round the throat; a broad-brimmed straw hat, corduroys, and fisherman's
long boots. To judge from his gait, and the self-satisfied expression
of his bronzed countenance, he was not a little proud of his personal
appearance.
While Ned arranged his paper and colours, and sharpened the point of his
pencil, the Yankee kept up a running commentary on men and things in
general, rocking himself on a rudely-constructed chair the while, and
smoking his pipe.
The hut was very small--not more than twelve feet by eight, and just
high enough inside to permit of a six-foot man grazing the beams when he
walked erect. But, although small, it was exceedingly comfortable. Its
owner was his own architect and builder, being a jack-of-all-trades, and
everything about the wooden edifice betokened the hand of a thorough
workman, who cared not for appearance, but was sensitively alive to
comfort. Comfort was stamped in unmistakeable characters on every
article of furniture, and on every atom that entered into the
composition of the Yankee's hut. The logs of which it was built were
undressed; they were not even barked, but those edges of them that lay
together were fitted and bevelled with such nicety that the keenest and
most searching blast of north wind failed to discover an entrance, and
was driven baffled and shrieking from the walls. The small fire-place
and chimney, composed of mud and dry grass, were rude in appearance; but
they were substantial, and well calculated for the work they had to
perform. The seats, of which there were four--two chairs, a bench, and
a stool--were of the plainest wood, and the simplest form; but they were
solid as rocks, and no complaining creak, when heavy men sat down on
them, betokened bad or broken constitutions. The little table--two feet
by sixteen inches--was in all respects worthy of the chairs. At one end
of the hut there was a bed-place, big enough for two; it was variously
termed a crib, a shelf, a tumble-in, and a bunk. Its owner called it a
"snoosery." This was a model of plainness and comfort. It was a mere
shell about two and a half feet broad, projecting from the wall, to
which it was attached on one side, the other side being supported by two
wooden legs a foot high. A plank at the side, and another at the foot,
in conjunction with the walls of the cottage, converted the shelf into
an oblong box. But the mattress of this rude couch was formed of
buffalo-skins, covered with thick, long luxurious hair; above which were
spread two large green mackinaw blankets of the thickest description;
and the canvas pillow-case was stuffed with the softest down, purchased
from the wild-fowl of California with leaden coin, transmitted through
the Yankee's unerring rifle.
There was a fishing-rod in one corner, a rifle in another, a cupboard in
a third; poles and spears, several unfinished axe-handles, and a small
fishing-net lay upon the rafters overhead; while various miscellaneous
articles of clothing, and implements for mining hung on pegs from the
walls, or lay scattered about everywhere; but in the midst of apparent
confusion comfort reigned supreme, for nothing was placed so as to come
in one's way; everything was cleverly arranged, so as to _lie close_ and
_fit in_; no article or implement was superfluous; no necessary of a
miner's life was wanting; an air of thorough completeness invested the
hut and everything about it; and in the midst of all sat the presiding
genius of the place, with his long legs comfortably crossed, the tobacco
wreaths circling round his lantern jaws, the broad-brimmed straw hat
cocked jauntily on one side, his arms akimbo, and his rather languid
black eyes gazing at Ned Sinton with an expression of comfortable
self-satisfaction and assurance that was quite comforting to behold.
"Wall, mister, if you're ready, I guess ye'd better fire away."
"One second more and I shall commence," replied Ned; "I beg pardon, may
I ask your name?"
"Jefferson--Abel Jefferson to command," answered the Yankee, relighting
the large clay pipe which he had just filled, and stuffing down the
glowing tobacco with the end of his little finger as slowly and
deliberately as though that member were a salamander. "What's yourn!"
"Edward Sinton. Now, Mr Jefferson, in what position do you intend to
sit?"
"Jest as I'm settin' now."
"Then you must sit still, at least for a few minutes at a time, because
I cannot sketch you while you keep rocking so."
"No! now that's a pity, for I never sits no other way when I'm to home;
an' it would look more nat'ral an' raal like to the old 'ooman if I was
drawd rockin'. However, fire away, and sing out when ye want me to
stop. Mind ye, put in the whole o' me. None o' yer half-lengths. I
never goes in for half-lengths. I always goes the whole length, an' a
leetle shave more. See that ye don't forget the mole on the side o' my
nose. My poor dear old mother wouldn't believe it was me if the mole
warn't there as big as life, with the two hairs in the middle of it.
An' I say, mister, mind that I hate flatterers, so don't flatter me no
how."
"It wouldn't be easy to do so," thought Ned, as he plied his pencil, but
he did not deem it advisable to give expression to his thoughts.
"Now, then, sit still for a moment," said Ned.
The Yankee instantly let the front legs of his chair come to the ground
with a bang, and gazed right before him with that intensely-grave,
cataleptic stare that is wont to overspread the countenances of men when
they are being photographed.
Ned laughed inwardly, and proceeded with his work in silence.
"I guess there's Sam at the door," said Abel Jefferson, blowing a cloud
of smoke from his mouth that might have made a small cannon envious.
The door flew open as he spoke, and Sam Scott, the trader, strode into
the hut. He was a tall, raw-boned man, with a good-humoured but
intensely impudent expression of countenance, and tanned to a rich dark
brown by constant exposure to the weather in the prosecution of his
arduous calling.
"Halloo! stranger, what air _you_ up to!" inquired Sam, sitting down on
the bench behind Ned, and looking over his shoulder.
Ned might perhaps have replied to this question despite its
unceremoniousness, had not the Yankee followed it up by spitting over
his shoulder into the fire-place. As it was, he kept silence, and went
on with his work.
"Why I _do_ declare," continued Sam, "if you ain't _photogged_ here as
small as life, mole an' all, like nothin'. I say, stranger, ain't you a
Britisher?"
Sam again followed up his question with a shot at the fire-place.
"Yes," answered Ned, somewhat angrily, "and I am so much of a Britisher,
that I positively object to your spitting past my ear."
"No, you don't, do you? Now, that is cur'ous. I do believe if you
Britishers had your own way, you'd not let us spit at all. What air you
better than we, that you hold your heads so high, and give yourselves
sich airs! that's what _I_ want to know."