A MINING SETTLEMENT IN MONTANA
CAMPVILLE was a small mining settlement in Montana.
All the buildings were of a temporary character—generally of one story.
There was a long street, after the fashion of most western-pioneer
settlements, but the houses on it were not many. The largest was a
general store for the sale of such articles as miners need. It was kept
by one Joe Loche. He came from Maine to Montana, mined for a while with
indifferent success, and then opened a store. This was a business he
knew something about, and he succeeded almost immediately. His store was
a general rendezvous of miners in the intervals of work.
One morning, when four or five persons were in Loche's store, sitting
around on kegs, a young man of about thirty entered. He had a long, thin
face and roving eyes, and looked like one whom a prudent man would not
care to meet on a dark night.
He entered the store and looked about him curiously. He was a stranger
in the settlement, and his glances were returned with interest.
"Mornin' stranger!" said Loche, who always had an eye for a possible
customer. "What can I do for you? What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't say."
This curt answer produced an unfavorable impression.
"I reckon you've got a name, ain't yer?" said Joe, coldly.
"Yes. My name is Ralph Nixon."
The statement was received with surprise.
"Any relation to old Tom Nixon, who lives on the hill?"
This question, asked by Joe Loche, voiced the question which all wished
to ask.
"He is my uncle. Can you tell me about him?"
"The old man is pretty sick," said Joe.
"Like to die?" asked Ralph, eagerly.
"Oh, well, I don't know. Men that are always dying live for years
sometimes. Haven't you seen him lately?"
"No; I never saw him."
"How is that?"
"He came West when I was a baby."
"Have you come out to see him?"
"Yes. I thought the old man might need some one to look after him. Has
he got any money—enough to live on?"
"I reckon so. He's interested in some mines at Eldorado, but he stays in
an old tumble-down cabin, and it doesn't cost him anything to live."
"Where does he live?"
"Come out and I'll show you. About a quarter of a mile back of the
settlement."
Ralph followed Joe Loche out of the store, and received directions.
"So he owns some mines, does he?" asked the young man, with a covetous
gleam in his small, bead-like eyes.
"Yes."
"They ought to be worth something," he said, meditatively.
"Yes, the old man may be worth near five thousand dollars."
"Does he live alone?"
"Yes, quite alone."
"I suppose he was never married?"
"Don't you know?"
"No; he has never written East since he left us. It was only lately that
we learned where he was. Then father thought I'd better come out here
and look him up."
"I reckon he will be glad to see you."
"He ought to be; but I am a stranger to him."
"I haven't seen him round town lately. I guess he's under the weather."
Joe went back into the store, and Ralph Nixon made his way over the
rough ground to the old cabin which had been pointed out to him.
"I shouldn't wonder if he were a miser," he reflected. "He's been out
here twenty-five years, more or less, and has lived on next to nothing.
Even if he hasn't made much he's got it all, according to accounts. I'm
the only one of his kith and kin that he is likely to see, and he can't
do any better than to leave me what he's got. If he doesn't, I'll stay
out here and try my own luck at mining. There's no chance for me in the
East, even if I hadn't got into trouble."
He reached the cabin, and paused for a short time on the outside. It was
a tumble-down affair, and looked by no means like the residence of a
rich man. This might have dampened Ralph's courage, but that he had made
up his mind that his uncle was a miser.
Finally he edged round to the side of the cabin and looked in at the
window.
What he saw was this: in a wooden chair, evidently of home manufacture,
sat a decrepit old man. His face was thin, his cheeks hollow, and his
hair, perfectly white, scarcely covered his head. His limbs were
attenuated, his chest was hollow, and he looked like a very old and
infirm man, though he numbered but sixty-five years.
"What a skeleton he is!" thought Ralph. "He is just on the verge of the
grave, ready to tumble in. It's a lucky thing I came here, for if he had
died those roughs at the store would have taken his money and his
relations would never have been the wiser. Well, I'll go in and scrape
acquaintance with the old effigy."
He walked round to the door, and without the ceremony of knocking,
opened it and made his way into the cabin.
Thomas Nixon looked up, and seemed alarmed when he saw the intruder.
"Who are you?" he asked, in a thin, quavering voice.
It was natural that he should be alarmed, for a western mining
settlement has generally its share of rough and unscrupulous men, social
outlaws, who have made their way thither in search of gain or booty.
"Don't be alarmed, Uncle Thomas," said Ralph, in a reassuring tone. "I
am your nephew Ralph, come from the East to look after you."
"I know of no Ralph. Whose son are you?"
"My father is Gideon Nixon."
"My oldest brother?"
"Yes."
"How did you know where I lived?"
"A man came to Stamford who had been here. Learning my name, he told us
he knew a man named Nixon out here. He said you were old and feeble, and
father thought I had better come out and look you up."
"It wasn't worth while. I am a poor old man, and I can do you no good."
"Are you poor?" asked Ralph, his tone betraying his disappointment.
"Look around you and judge for yourself," returned the old man, eying
his nephew with a glance of mingled curiosity and shrewdness.
"I was told in the village that you were interested in some mines."
"My affairs are known only to myself. If you have come out to help me
and supply my old age with comfort, it is a kind and charitable object."
Ralph was much disturbed by these words. He was very much afraid that
his uncle was nearly as poor as he claimed. In that case his errand
would be bootless. But, looking about him with a feeling of discontent,
his eye fell on a tin box such as may be found in grocery stores filled
with crackers.
"I'll find out what there is in that box," he decided.
Without answering the old man, he rose, and moving toward the box,
lifted the lid.
"What are you doing?" asked Mr. Nixon, in alarm.
Ralph did not answer. He had something else to think of. The box was a
third full of glittering gold pieces, upon which he gazed as if
fascinated.
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