TERRIBLE NEWS.
William Tunstall returned to Cedar Gulch the very day upon which his
mates began to expect him. Having finished up the work in their claim
on the previous day they strolled up the hill to meet the coach on the
chance of his coming.
"Well, mate, how goes it?" Sim Howlett asked.
"Well, it doesn't go at all, Sim."
"How is that?"
"Well, the lawyer was civil, and all that, but if I had let him he
would have made me believe that I was not Will Tunstall at all. I
showed him my brother's letters, which ought to have satisfied anyone,
and he hinted that these might have come into my possession anyhow,
that Tunstall might be dead, or that his kit, with these letters in it,
might have been stolen."
"That is the very thing the doctor said he would be after," Sim Howlett
exclaimed in great admiration at the latter's perspicacity.
"I suppose he didn't say he thought so, Bill?" the doctor asked.
"No, he knew better than that, doctor. He kept on saying that he was
quite satisfied, but that other people wouldn't be satisfied. Then he
asked about references, who could I refer to? Could I refer to anyone
who had known me as William Tunstall before the date of these letters?
I said that I had been knocking about on the plains and doing trapping
and Indian fighting for years, and that I was known as English Bill,
and that I did not suppose there were half a dozen fellows ever did
know my name, and that, for aught I knew, they had all been scalped,
shot, or hung long ago. He said, in that case I should have to go to
England to prove my claim. I said I would see the claim at the bottom
of the sea first, and then I left him.
"I met some fellows, and made a night of it, but in the morning the
lawyer turned up at the hotel just as I had finished breakfast. I had
told him the hotel where I was staying. He said it was no use being
hasty. I said I wasn't hasty, and we were near having a row again.
Then he said that he had only had instructions to find me, and did not
know how much was left me under the will, or anything about it, except
what he had put in the advertisement. At any rate he would write to the
people who had instructed him in England and tell them that a gentleman
representing himself to be William Tunstall had called, and that he
possessed letters from the late Mr. Edgar Tunstall. That in the present
state of affairs I declined to make the voyage to England for the
purpose of proving my identity, but that he had my address, and could
communicate further with me upon receiving instructions from them.
"I told him to say that I didn't want the money, and was not going to
put myself out one way or the other about it. He listened, and shook
his head, just the way the doctor does when he don't agree with you.
Then he remarked that he would not do anything rash if he were in my
place. I told him it was no odds to me whether he would or would not,
and as I had just time to catch the steamer I wasn't going to waste any
more time jawing over it, so off I came, and here I am. Well, what is
doing here? Has there been any fresh rush?"
"Nary one. The doctor and I think we cannot do better than stay here.
I was talking with Halkett and his partners this afternoon. They don't
get on well together. Halkett said they would sell out if they could
get a fair price. They are getting out about six ounces a day. No
great thing, but they are only half-way down at present. It is in four
shares, for two of the gang are on day wages. Of course, I said that
it wasn't much of a thing to buy, as they were only getting an ounce a
piece, and besides, the shaft is badly timbered. Still, if they would
say what they wanted for it we would talk it over with you when you
got back. Halkett was evidently anxious to sell, and said they would
take a hundred ounces for it right out. Of course I said that was too
much, but I think it is a bargain, so does the doctor. They have got
through the worst half, and there is the best behind. It don't always
turn out rich on the bed-rock here; it didn't with us. Still, there is
the chance of it; and if it only keeps as it is now, and we take on a
couple of men to work with us, we should, after paying them and keeping
ourselves, be making three ounces a day anyhow, and it will take us a
couple of months to get to the bottom, and perhaps more."
"How do we stand after the clear-up, doctor?" for Frank was the
treasurer of the party.
"We got twenty ounces at the last clear-up, and we had eighty-nine
before, so if we give him his price we should have nine ounces left."
"It will take fifty or sixty dollars," Sim Howlett said, "to make that
shaft safe. Halkett is the only one of the lot that knows anything
about that, and it has been done in a very slovenly style. I shouldn't
like to work down there until we have strengthened it all the way down.
I told Halkett the other day that if he didn't mind it would be caving
in. I think that is partly why they are selling."
"Well, I think we couldn't do better than take it, Sim; but you must
get them to knock a few ounces off, otherwise we shan't have enough to
repair the shaft, and from what you say we must do that before we go to
work in the bottom. Let us go and make a bargain at once."
"That will never do, Bill," Sim Howlett said; "that would look as if we
had made up our mind to take it, and they wouldn't come down an ounce.
No, no, we will have our meal, and wait an hour or two, then I will
stroll round to Halkett's tent and say that as we calculate it would
cost a heap of money to make the shaft safe we do not see our way to
it, though we might otherwise have taken to the job. Then you will see
to-morrow morning, when they knock off for breakfast, Halkett will come
round here and make some proposal."
So indeed it turned out. Soon after breakfast Halkett came to the tent
door. "Look here, boys," he said, "I want to get out of this lot. The
men I am working with ain't worth shucks. The three of them don't do a
fair man's work, and I am sick of it. But I have been talking to them,
and they won't take less than twenty-five ounces a share, and they have
been talking to some men who have pretty well made up their minds to
give it. If I had the dust I would buy the others out, but I haven't.
If you will buy the other three out at their terms I will keep my share
and work partners with you. I have got enough dust to pay my share of
retimbering the shaft. What do you say?"
The doctor had gone off to take some broth to two of his patients. The
other two looked at each other, and then Sim Howlett said: "Well, this
is how it stands, Halkett. My mate here and I would have no objection
to work with you; but it is this way: we and the doctor have chummed
together, and have never taken anyone else in with us, partly because
we are quite content as it is, and partly because the doctor can't do
his share of the work--he hasn't got it in him. We don't want to go
away from here now, and we have dust enough to buy your three partners
out. I suppose we should want to work four at that shaft. I don't know
what you have been working six for, except that three of your lot are
of no use."
"That is about it," Halkett said.
"So you see we should have to take on a man to do the doctor's work."
"Well, you would have to do that if you worked it yourselves."
"So we should," Sim Howlett assented. "What do you say, Bill?"
"Halkett's proposal seems a fair one, Sim; it seems to me we can't do
better than accept it. We must consult the doctor, Halkett. He is sure
to agree, but we should not like to do it without speaking to him; that
would not be fair. But you may consider it a bargain."
"Very well, I will go back and tell them I have made the agreement with
you. Then I will come back and bring you fifteen ounces of dust, which
is all I have got; I don't want them to know that I am going to stop
in it. If I do, like enough they will cut up rusty, so I want you to
make it up and hand the hundred ounces over clear; then they will hand
me my share, and I can give you the other ten ounces. They will leave
the camp as soon as they get their money. Somebody has been blowing to
them about a find he has made prospecting among the hills, and I fancy
they mean going off with him, and it would be no use letting on that I
am going to stop in the partnership until they have gone. They are just
the sort of fellows to think that I had been somehow besting them, and
if they said so there would be trouble, and I don't want to do any of
them harm."
The doctor on his return fell in, as a matter of course, with his
mates' arrangement.
At dinner-time Halkett and his partners came in, and the dust was
weighed out and handed over to them. Sim Howlett and Tunstall spent the
afternoon in making a careful examination of the shaft, and in deciding
upon the best plan for strengthening it. Halkett's former partners
left a couple of hours after they got the money, and on the following
morning the new proprietors of the claim set to work. The first step
was to make an arrangement with a man who had horses, to haul timber
from a little saw-mill that had been erected two miles away, and as
soon as this began to arrive, the work of strengthening the shaft was
set about. It took the three men, and another whom they had taken on at
daily pay, a week, and at the end of that time it was pronounced safe
against any pressure it was likely to have to bear.
The advertisement in the Sacramento paper had been noticed by others
than by those for whom it was intended, and there happened to be among
the miners who had worked at various times in the same diggings with
William Tunstall another who had been on the jury when he had mentioned
his name. He did not, however, notice the advertisement until a day or
two after the newspaper had arrived in camp.
"There," he said to some mates who were sitting round the fire, "that
is just like my luck; there is five hundred dollars slipped clean
through my fingers because I did not happen to see this here paper
before."
"How is that, Jones?"
"Why, here is five hundred dollars offered for information as to the
whereabouts of William Tunstall."
"And who is William Tunstall? I never heard of him."
"Why, English Bill; that is his name sure enough; he gave it on a
jury we served on together. I told him then I had never heard the name
before. That is how I came to remember it."
"Well, why are you too late? Why don't you write off at once and say he
is here, and claim the money?"
"Because he is gone, mate. Sim Howlett asked Black Johnson yesterday,
when I was standing by, if he knew of a good man he could take on for a
week's work, as he was single-handed, for of course Limping Frank don't
count in the way of work. I asked him if English Bill was laid up, and
he said, No; he had gone the night before down to Frisco. I wondered
then at his starting just before they had cleaned up their claim. Now
it is clear enough, he had seen this advertisement."
"Bolted?" one of the other men asked.
"Bolted! no," Jones said in a tone of contemptuous disgust. "You don't
suppose English Bill has been cutting anyone's throat, do you? or
robbing some digger of his swag? No, he has gone down to Frisco to see
the chap that put this into the paper. Why, look here," and he read
the advertisement aloud; "he has come into a fortune, I expect. They
would never have taken the trouble to advertise for him if it hadn't
been a big sum. You bet English Bill has struck it rich; like enough it
is a thundering big ranche, with two or three hundred thousand head of
cattle."
"They don't have estates like that in England," another digger put in.
"I was chatting with an Englishman at Holly Creek. He said land was
worth a heap there, but it was all cultivated and hedged in, and he
didn't suppose as there was a man in the whole country who had got as
much as five thousand head of cattle. However, cattle or not, I expect
it is a big thing English Bill has come in for, and we shan't see him
in here again."
The news spread quickly through the camp. It was discussed by the men
as they worked the rockers, by the gamblers up at the saloon, and in
the tents when the work was done. Sim Howlett was soon questioned, but
was surly, and little could be got from him. Limping Frank was no more
communicative. He was accosted frequently, as he went from the tents
with his soups and medicines, with "Well, Frank, so I hear your mate
has come in for a big thing, and gone down to Frisco. Jack Jones saw
the advertisement for him in the paper."
"If Jack Jones saw it, of course it was there," the doctor said with
his quiet smile; "couldn't have seen it otherwise, could he? Yes, Bill
has gone off. I am glad to hear that it is a big thing; hadn't heard it
before. It will be a surprise to him, for he didn't expect it would be
a big thing. Didn't think it would be worth troubling about, you see.
However, I daresay he will be back in a week or two, and then no doubt
he will tell you all about it."
Cedar Gulch was greatly disappointed when English Bill reappeared in
his ordinary red shirt, high boots, and miner's hat, and went to work
on the following afternoon as if nothing had happened. There had been
a general idea that if he came back he would appear in store-clothes
and a high hat, and perhaps come in a carriage with four horses all
to himself, and that he would stand champagne to the whole camp, and
that there would be generally a good time. He himself, when questioned
on the subject, turned the matter off by saying he had not thought
the thing worth bothering about; that he could not get what there
was without going to England to fetch it, and that it might go to the
bottom of the sea before he took that trouble.
The only person to whom he said more was the man who ran the
gambling-table. Things had been lately going on more quietly there, and
the gambler had postponed his departure to San Francisco. Bill Tunstall
spent, as the doctor said, no inconsiderable portion of his earnings at
the gambling-tables, and had struck up an acquaintance with Symonds.
The latter was, like many of his class, a man of quiet and pleasant
manners. For his profession a nerve of iron was required, for pistols
were frequently drawn by disappointed miners, flushed with drink and
furious at their losses, and the professional gambler had his life
constantly in his hands. The accusation, "You cheated me!" was the sure
signal for one or two pistol shots to ring out in sharp succession,
then a body would be carried out, and play resumed.
Symonds bore no worse reputation than others of the class. It was
assumed, of course, that he would cheat if he had the chance; but with
a dozen men looking on and watching every movement of the fingers, even
the cleverest gambler generally played fair. These men were generally,
by birth and education, far above those with whom they played. They
had fallen from the position they had once occupied; had, perhaps, in
the first place been victims of gamblers, just as they now victimized
others; had been cast out from society as detected cheats or convicted
swindlers; but now, thanks to nerve, recklessness of life, and sleight
of hand, they reaped a fortune, until the bullet of a ruined miner, or
the rope of Judge Lynch, cut short their career.
Symonds was not unpopular among the miners. He was liberal with his
money, had many times spared men who, according to the code of the
diggings, had forfeited their lives by an insult or by a shot that
had missed its aim. He had often set men on their legs again who had
lost their all to him; and if there was a subscription raised for
some man down with fever, or for a woman whose husband had been killed
in a shaft, Symonds would head the list with a handsome sum. And yet
there were few men more feared. Magnanimous on some occasions, he was
ruthless on others. He was a dead shot, and handled his pistol with
a lightning speed, that in nine cases out of ten enabled him to fire
first; and while he would contemptuously spare a man who was simply
maddened by ruin and drink, the notorious bully, the terror of a camp,
a man who deliberately forced a quarrel upon him, relying upon his
strength or skill, would be shot down without hesitation.
Thus in nine cases out of ten the feeling of the communities among
whom he plied his vocation was in his favour. While he himself was a
dangerous man, he rid the camp of others who were still more obnoxious,
and the verdict after most of these saloon frays was, "Served him
right;" but as a rule men avoided discussing Symonds or his affairs. It
was dangerous to do so, for somehow he seemed always to learn what was
said of him, and sooner or later the words were paid for.
Will Tunstall knew that he was a dangerous man, and had no doubt that
he was an utterly unscrupulous one, but he himself never drank while
he played, and was never out of temper when he lost, therefore he had
no reason whatever to fear the man, and Symonds had always been civil
and pleasant with him, recognizing that there was something in him
that placed him somewhat apart from the rough crowd. He met him one
afternoon soon after his return.
"Is it true all this they are saying about you, Bill?" Symonds asked.
"Well, it is true enough that I was advertised for, and went down to
Frisco to see a man there about it. Of course it is all nonsense as to
what they are saying about the value of it. It is some family property
that might have come to me long ago if I hadn't kicked over the traces;
but I am not going to trouble about it. I shall have all the bother and
expense of going to England to prove who I am, and I wouldn't do it if
it were ten times as much."
"Come and have a glass of cham, Bill. My own story is a good deal like
yours. I daresay I might be master of a good estate in the old country
now, if I hadn't gone a mucker."
"It is too early to drink," Will said; "if I did drink it would be just
a cocktail. The champagne you get is poison."
"Just as you like. By the way, if I can be of any use to you let me
know. It is an expensive run home to England from here, and if you
have need for a thousand dollars, I could let you have them. I have
had a good run of luck this last six months. It would be a business
transaction, you know, and you could pay me a couple of hundred for the
use of it. It is of no use losing a good thing for the want of funds."
"Thank you, Symonds. I have enough to take me home if I have to go; but
I am very much obliged for the offer all the same."
"It is business," the other said carelessly, "and there are no thanks
due. If you change your mind let me know; mind I owe you a cocktail
next time we meet in the saloon."
The gambler went on. Will Tunstall looked after him with a little
wonder at the offer he had made. "It is a good-natured thing to offer,
for, of course, if I went to England he could not make anything out of
me beyond the interest of the money, and he would get more than that
putting it on house property in Frisco. He is a queer card, and would
look more at home in New York than in Cedar Gulch!"
[Illustration: SYMONDS AND BILL TUNSTALL HAVE A TALK.]
The gambler's dress, indeed, was out of place with the surroundings.
Like most of his class he dressed with scrupulous neatness; his clothes
were well made, and fitted him; he wore a white shirt, the only one
in the camp, and abstained from the diamond studs and rings, and heavy
gold watch-chain that was generally affected by professional gamblers.
He was tall, as tall as Tunstall himself, though not so broad or so
strongly built; but his figure was well knit, there was in his walk
and action an air of lightness and activity, and he had more than
once shown that he possessed an altogether unusual amount of muscular
strength.
"It is a pity that the fellow is what he is," Will Tunstall said when
he turned away; "what a soldier he would have made, with his strength,
and pluck, and wonderful coolness!"
This little conversation was followed by several others. Somehow or
other they met more frequently than they had done before, and one
evening, when there was no play in the saloon, Symonds asked him to
come in and have a chat with him in his private room at the hotel. For
some time they chatted on different subjects. Symonds had brought out a
box of superb cigars, and a bottle of such claret as Will Tunstall had
not drunk for years, saying carelessly as he did so, "I always carry my
own tipple about with me. It would ruin my nerves to drink the poison
they keep at these places."
After a time he brought the subject round to the legacy. "I have been
thinking over what you said about not going back, and I think you
are wrong, if you don't mind my saying so. What have you got to look
forward to here? Toil and slave year after year, without ever getting
a step further, living all the time a life harder than that of the
poorest labourer at home. It is well enough now, I suppose. You are
seven or eight and thirty, just about my own age; in another ten years
you will be sorry you let the chance slip. Of course it is different
with me. As far as money goes, I could give it up now, but I cannot
go back again. Men don't take to my sort of life," he said with some
bitterness, "unless they have got a pretty bad record behind them; but
I shall give it up before very long, unless I am wiped out first. Then
I'll go and settle in South America, or some place of that sort, buy an
estate, and set up as a rich and virtuous Englishman whose own climate
doesn't agree with him."
Then he carelessly changed the subject again, but it was reverted to
once or twice in the course of the evening, and before Will left he had
said enough to enable his companion to gather a fair estimate of the
value of the property, and the share he was likely to have of it.
The new claim turned out fairly well, improving somewhat in depth, and
yielding a good though not an extraordinary profit to the partners.
Some four months after Will Tunstall had been down to San Francisco,
he received a bulky letter from the attorney there. It contained an
abstract of his brother's will. This left him half the property, with
a statement saying that he considered it to be his brother's by right,
and inclosed with it was a copy of a letter written a few days before
his death. It ran as follows:--
"MY DEAR WILL,--You have wandered about long enough. It is
high time for you to come back to the old place that you
ought never to have left. I shall not see you again, for I
have long been suffering from heart-disease, and the doctors
tell me the end may come any day. I have had the opinion
of some of the best authorities, and they all say that,
thanks to some peculiar wording in the will, which I don't
understand in the slightest, the prohibition to divide with
you is only binding during my lifetime, and that nothing is
said that restricts my right to leave it as I please. I don't
suppose the contingency of your surviving me ever entered
into our father's mind, and probably he thought that you
would never be heard of again. However, you see it has turned
out otherwise. You have wandered and roughed it, and gone
through dangers of all sorts, and are still, you tell me,
strong and healthy. I have lived quietly and comfortably with
every luxury, and without a day's trouble, save my terrible
grief when my wife died, and the ever-constant regret that
you were not here beside me; yet I am dying, but that enables
me at last to redress to some extent the cruel wrong you have
suffered.
"I have left you half the estate, and it makes me happy to
think that you will come back again to it. I have appointed
you sole guardian of my boy. He is only twelve years old, and
I want you to be a father to him. The estate is large enough
for you both, and I hope that you may, on your return, marry,
and be happy here; if not, I suppose it will all go to him
at your death. In any case, I pray you to come home, for the
boy's sake, and for your own. It is my last request, and I
hope and believe that you will grant it. You were always good
to me when we were boys together, and I feel sure that you
will well supply my place to Hugh. God bless you, old fellow!
Your affectionate brother, EDGAR."
With these documents was a letter from the solicitors to the family
saying that they had heard from their agents at San Francisco that
he had presented himself in answer to their advertisement, and had
shown them the letters of the late Mr. Edgar Tunstall. They therefore
forwarded him copies of the will, and of Mr. Tunstall's letter, and
begged him to return home without delay, as his presence was urgently
required. They assumed, of course, that they were writing to Mr.
William Tunstall, and that when he arrived he would have no difficulty
whatever in proving his identity.
"I think I must go, boys," he said as, after reading his brother's
letter three or four times, he folded the papers up, and put them in
his pocket. "My brother has made me guardian of his boy, and puts it
so strongly that I think I must go over for a bit. I don't suppose
I shall have to stop; although the lawyers say that I am urgently
required there; but, mind, I mean to do just what I said. I shall take
a thousand pounds or so, and renounce the rest. A nice figure I should
make setting up at home as a big land-owner. I should be perfectly
miserable there. No, you take my word for it, I shall be back here in
six months at the outside. I shall get a joint guardian appointed to
the boy; the clergyman of the place, or some one who is better fitted
to see after his education and bringing up than I am. When he gets to
seventeen or eighteen, and a staunch friend who knows the world pretty
well may be really of use to him, I shall go over and take him on his
travels for two or three years. Bring him out here a bit, perhaps.
However, that is in the distance. I am going now for a few months;
then you will see me back here. I wish I wasn't going; it is a horrible
nuisance, but I don't see that I can get out of it."
"Certainly you cannot, Bill; it is your plain duty. We don't go by duty
much in these diggings, and it will be pleasant to see somebody do a
thing that he doesn't like because it is right. We shall miss you, of
course--miss you badly. But we all lose friends, and nowhere so much
as here; for what with drink and fever and bullets the percentage wiped
out is large. You are going because, in fact, you can't help yourself.
We shall be glad when you come back; but if you don't come back, we
shall know that it was because you couldn't. Yes, I know you have quite
made up your mind about that; but circumstances are too strong for men,
and it may be that, however much you may wish it, you won't be able to
come. Well, we shall be clearing up the claim in another two or three
days, so it could not come at a better time if it had to come."
The work was continued to the end of the week, and then, the last pan
of dirt having been washed, the partners divided the result. Each
week's take had been sent down by the weekly convoy to the bank at
Sacramento, for robberies were not uncommon, and prudent men only
retained enough gold-dust by them for their immediate wants. But adding
the dust and nuggets acquired during the last and best week's work to
the amount for which they had the bank's receipt, the four partners
found that they had, after paying all their expenses, two hundred and
fifty ounces of gold.
"Sixty-two ounces and a half each," the doctor said. "It might have
been better, it might have been worse. We put in twenty-five each four
months ago, so we have got thirty-seven ounces each for our work, after
paying expenses, and each drawing half an ounce a day to spend as he
liked. This we have, of course, all of us laid by."
There was a general laugh, for not one of them had above an ounce or
two remaining.
"Well, it isn't bad anyhow, doctor," William Tunstall said. "Sixty-two
ounces apiece will make roughly £250, which is as much as we have ever
had before on winding up a job. My share will be enough to lake me to
England and back."
"Yes, provided you don't drop it all in some gambling saloon at
Sacramento or San Francisco," the doctor said.
"I shan't do that, doctor. I have lost big sums before now in a night's
play, I confess; but I knew I could set to work and earn more. Now I
have got an object before me."
That afternoon English Bill went round the camp saying good-bye to his
acquaintances, and although it was very seldom that he drank too much,
the standing treat and being treated in turn was too much for his head,
and it was with a very unsteady step indeed that he returned late in
the evening to his tent. Sim Howlett, who had started with him, had
succumbed hours before, and had been carried down from the saloon by a
party who were scarcely able to keep on their own legs.
When Will Tunstall woke in the morning he had but a vague idea of the
events of the latter part of the evening. He remembered hazily that
there had been many quarrels and rows, but what they had been about he
knew not, though he felt sure that there had been no shooting. He had
a dim recollection that he had gone into Symonds' room at the hotel,
where he had some champagne, and a talk about his trip to England and
about the people there.
"What the deuce could have set me talking about them?" he wondered in
his mind. He was roused from these thoughts by the doctor.
"If you are going to catch this morning's coach, Bill, you must pull
yourself together."
"All right!" he said, getting on to his feet. "I shall be myself when I
have put my head in a bucket of water. I'm afraid I was very drunk last
night."
"Well, you were drunk, Bill. I have never seen you drunk but once
before since we were partners; but I suppose no one ever did get out of
a mining camp where he had been working for some time, and had fairly
good luck, without getting pretty well bowled over after going the
rounds to say good-bye. Now, then, Sim, wake up! Bill will be off in a
quarter of an hour. I have got breakfast ready."
Sim Howlett needed no second call. It was no very unusual thing for him
to be drunk overnight and at work by daybreak the following morning. So
after stretching himself and yawning, and following Will's example of
having a wash, he was ready to sit down to breakfast with an excellent
appetite. Will, however, did poor justice to the doctor's efforts,
and ten minutes later the trio started off to meet the coach. There
were many shouts of "Good-bye, mate! good luck to yer!" from the men
going down to the diggings, but they were soon beyond the camp. Few
words were said as they went up the hill, for the three men were much
attached to each other, and all felt the parting. Fortunately they had
but two or three minutes to wait before the coach came in sight.
"Just you look out for me in about six months' time, mates; but I'll
write directly I get home, and tell you all about things. I shall
direct here, and you can get someone to ask for your letters and send
them after you if you have moved to a new camp."
With a last grasp of the hand, Tunstall climbed up to the top of the
coach, his bundle was thrown up to him, the coachman cracked his whip,
the horses started again at a gallop, and Sim Howlett and his mate went
down to Cedar Gulch without another word being spoken between them.
Three days later, as they were breakfasting in their tent, for they had
not yet made up their minds what they should do, a miner entered.
"Hello, Dick! Back from your spree? How did you get on at Frisco?"
"Yes, I have just got off the coach. I have got some bad news to tell
you, mates."
"Bad news! Why, what is that, Dick?" Sim Howlett asked.
"Well, I know it will hit you pretty hard, mates, for I know you
thought a heap of him. Well, lads, it is no use making a long story of
it, but your mate, English Bill, has been murdered."
The two men started to their feet--Sim Howlett with a terrible
imprecation, the doctor with a cry like the scream of a woman.
"It is true, mates, for I saw the body. I should have been up
yesterday, but I had to wait for the inquest to say who he was. I
was going to the coach in the morning when I saw half a dozen men
gathered round a body on the footway of a small street. There was
nothing unusual in that at Sacramento. I don't know what made me turn
off to have a look at the body. Directly I saw it I knew who it was.
It was English Bill, so I put off coming, and stopped to the inquest.
He hadn't been killed fair, he had been shot down from behind with a
bullet in the back of his head. No one had heard the shot particular.
No one thinks anything of a shot in Sacramento. No one seemed to know
anything about him, and the inquest didn't take five minutes. Of course
they found a verdict of wilful murder against some person unknown."
Sim Howlett listened to the narration with his hands clenched as
if grasping a weapon, his eyes blazing with fury, and muttering
ejaculations of rage and horror. The doctor hardly seemed to hear
what was said. He was moving about the tent in a seemingly aimless
way, blinded with tears. Presently he came upon his revolver, which he
thrust into his belt, then he dropped his bag of gold-dust inside his
shirt, and he then picked up his hat.
"Come along, Sim," he said in hurried tones, touching his companion on
the arm.
"Come along!" Sim repeated. "Where are you going?"
"To Sacramento, of course. We will hunt him down, whoever did it. I
will find him and kill him if it takes years to do it."
"I am with you," Sim said; "but there is no coach until to-night."
"There is a coach that passes through Alta at twelve o'clock. It is
fifteen miles to walk, but we shall be there in time, and it will take
us into Sacramento by midnight."
Sim Howlett snatched up his revolver, secured his bag of gold-dust, and
said to the man who had brought the news, "Fasten up the tent, Dick,
and keep an eye on it and the traps. The best thing will be for you to
fix yourself here until we come back."
"That will suit me, Sim. I got rid of all my swag before I left. You
will find it all right when you return."
They had but four hours to do the distance across a very broken and
hilly country, but they were at Alta a quarter of an hour before the
coach was due. It taxed Sim Howlett's powers to the utmost, and even in
his rage and grief he could not help looking with astonishment at his
companion, who seemed to keep up with him without difficulty. They ran
down the steep hills and toiled up the formidable ascents. The doctor's
breath came quick and short, but he seemed almost unconscious of the
exertions he was making. His eyes were fixed in front of him, his face
was deadly pale, his white hair damp with perspiration. Not a word
had been spoken since the start, except that, towards the end of the
journey, Howlett had glanced at his watch and said they were in good
time and could take it easy. His companion paid no attention, but kept
on at the top of his speed.
When the coach arrived it was full, but the doctor cried out, "It is a
matter of life and death; we must go! We will give five ounces apiece
to any one who will give us up their places and go on by the next
coach."
Two men gladly availed themselves of the offer, and at midnight the two
companions arrived at Sacramento. The doctor's strength had given way
when the necessity for exertion was over, and he had collapsed.
"Perhaps someone has got a flask with him?" Sim Howlett suggested.
"My mate and I have just heard of the murder of an old chum of ours at
Sacramento, and we are on our way down to find out who did it and to
wipe him out. We have had a hard push for it, and, as you see, it has
been too much for my mate, who is not over strong."
Half a dozen bottles were instantly produced, and some whiskey poured
down the doctor's throat. It was not long before he opened his eyes,
but remained for some time leaning upon Sim Howlett's shoulder.
"Take it easy, doctor, take it easy," the latter said as he felt the
doctor straightening himself up. "You have got to save yourself. You
know we may have a long job before us."
There was nothing to do when they entered the town but to find a
lodging for the night. In the morning they commenced their search. It
was easy to find the under-sheriff who had conducted the inquest. He
had but little to tell. The body had been found as they had already
heard. There were no signs of a struggle. The pockets were all turned
inside out. The sheriff supposed that the man had probably been in
a gambling-house, had won money there, and had been followed and
murdered. Their first care was to find where Will Tunstall was buried,
and then to order a stone to be erected at his head. Then they spent a
week visiting every gambling-den in Sacramento, but nowhere could they
find that anyone at all answering to their mate's description had been
gambling there on the night before he was killed.
They then found the hotel where he had put up on the arrival of the
coach. He had gone out after breakfast and had returned alone to
dinner, and had then gone out again. He had not returned; it was
supposed that he had gone away suddenly, and as the value of the
clothes he had left behind was sufficient to cover his bill, no
inquiries had been made. At the bank they learned that in the course
of the afternoon he had drawn his portion of the joint fund on the
order signed by them all. At another hotel they learned that a man
certainly answering to his description had come in one evening a week
or so before with a gentleman staying at the house. They did not know
who the gentleman was; he was a stranger, but he was well dressed,
and they thought he must have come from Frisco. He had left the next
day. They had not noticed him particularly, but he was tall and dark,
and so was the man who came in with him. The latter was in regular
miner's dress. They had not sat in the saloon, but had gone up to the
stranger's bed-room, and a bottle of spirits had been taken up there.
They did not notice what time the miner left, or whether the other went
out with him. The house was full, and they did not bother themselves
as to who went in or out. It was from a German waiter they learned all
this, after having made inquiries in vain two or three times previously
at this hotel.
As soon as they left the place the doctor seized Sim's arm. "We have
got a clew at last, Sim."
"Not much of a clue, doctor; still there is something to go upon. We
have got to hunt out this man."
"Do you mind going back to the camp to-night, Sim?"
"No, I don't mind; but what for, doctor?"
"You go and see whether Symonds is still there, and if not, find out
what day and hour he left."
"Good heavens! you don't suspect him?"
"I feel sure, Sim, just as sure as if I had seen it. The description
fits him exactly. Who else could Bill have known dressed like a
gentleman that he would have gone up to drink with when he had £250
about him. You know he had got rather thick with that villain before
he left the camp, and likely enough the fellow may have got out of him
that he was going to draw his money from the bank, and thought that it
was a good bit more than it was. At any rate go and see."
Two days later Sim Howlett returned with the news that Symonds had left
two or three hours after Tunstall had done so. He had said that he had
a letter that rendered it necessary that he should go to Frisco, and
had hired a vehicle, driven to Alta, and caught the coach there. He had
not returned to the camp.
"That settles it, Sim. When I find Symonds the gambler, I find the
murderer of Bill Tunstall. I have been thinking it over. It may be
months before I catch him. He may have gone east into Colorado or south
into Mexico, but I am going to find him and kill him. I don't think it
is any use for us both to hunt; it may take months and years."
"Perhaps he thinks he is safe, and hasn't gone far. He may think that
poor Bill will be picked up and buried, and that no one will be any the
wiser. We would have thought that he had gone off to England; and so it
would have been if Dick hadn't happened to come along and turn off to
look at the body. Like enough he will turn up at Cedar Gulch again."
"He may," the doctor said thoughtfully, "and that is the more reason
why you should stop about here. You would hear of his coming back to
any of the mining camps on the slopes. But I don't think he will. He
will feel safe, and yet he won't feel quite safe. Besides, you know, I
dreamt that I should kill him. However, if he does come back anywhere
here I leave him to you, Sim. Shoot him at sight as if he were a mad
dog. You don't want any fair play with a fellow like that. When you
tell the boys the story they will all say you did right. I will write
to you from time to time to let you know where I am. If you have killed
him let me know. I shall come back to you as soon as I have found him."
And so it was settled; for, eager as Sim Howlett was for vengeance,
he did not care for the thought of years spent in a vain search, and
believed that his chance of meeting Symonds again was as good among the
mining camps as elsewhere.
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