with one hand, while he reopened the coach-door with the other, "but
we're a-takin' up a collection fur some very deservin' object. We _wuz_
a-goin' to make the gentlemen fork over the hull amount, but ez they
hain't got enough, we'll hev to bother _you_."
The old lady trembled, and felt for her pocketbook, and raised her
vail. The colonel looked into her face, slammed the stage-door, and,
sitting down on the hub of one of the wheels, stared vacantly into
space.
"Nothin'?" queried Perkins, in a whisper, and with a face full of
genuine sympathy.
"No--yes," said the colonel, dreamily. "That is, untie em and let the
stage go ahead," he continued, springing to his feet. "_I'll_ hurry back
to the cabin."
[Illustration]
And the colonel dashed into the bushes, and left his followers so
paralyzed with astonishment, that Old Black afterward remarked that, "ef
ther'd ben anybody to hold the hosses, he could hev cleaned out the hull
crowd with his whip."
The passengers, now relieved of their weapons, were unbound, and
allowed to re-enter the stage, and the door was slammed, upon which Old
Black picked up his reins as coolly as if he had merely laid them down
at the station while horses were being changed; then he cracked his
whip, and the stage rolled off, while the colonel's party hastened back
to their hut, fondly inspecting as they went certain flasks they had
obtained while transacting their business with the occupants of the
stage.
Great was the surprise of the road-agents as they entered their hut, for
there stood the colonel in a clean white shirt, and in a suit of
clothing made up from the limited spare wardrobes of the other members
of the gang.
But the suspicious Cranks speedily subordinated his wonder to his
prudence, as, laying on the table a watch, two pistols, a pocket-book,
and a heavy purse, he exclaimed:
"Come, colonel, bizness before pleasure; let's divide an' scatter. Ef
anybody should hear 'bout it, an' find our trail, an' ketch us with the
traps in our possession, they might--"
"Divide yerselves!" said the colonel, with abruptness and a great oath.
"_I_ don't want none of it."
"Colonel," said Perkins, removing his own domino, and looking anxiously
into the leader's face, "be you sick? Here's some bully brandy I found
in one of the passengers' pockets."
"I hain't nothin'," replied the colonel. "I'm a-goin', an' I'm
a-retirin' from _this_ bizness for ever."
"Ain't a-goin' to turn evidence?" cried Cranks, grasping the pistol on
the table.
"I'm a-goin' to make a lead-mine of _you_ ef you don't take that back!"
roared the colonel, with a bound, which caused Cranks to drop his
pistol, and retire precipitately backward, apologizing as he went. "I'm
goin' to tend to my own bizness, and that's enough to keep _any_ man
busy. Somebody lend me fifty, till I see him again?"
Perkins pressed the money into the colonel's hand, and within two
minutes the colonel was on Tipsie's back, and galloping on in the
direction the stage had taken.
He overtook it, he passed it, and still he galloped on.
The people at Mud Gulch knew the colonel well, and made it a rule never
to be astonished at anything he did; but they made an exception to the
rule when the colonel canvassed the principal bar-rooms for men who
wished to purchase a horse; and when a gambler, who was flush, obtained
Tipsie in exchange for twenty slugs--only a thousand dollars, when the
colonel had always said that there wasn't gold enough on top of the
ground to buy her--Mud Gulch experienced a decided sensation.
One or two enterprising persons speedily discovered that the colonel was
not in a communicative mood, so every one retired to his favorite
saloon, and bet according to his own opinion of the colonel's motives
and actions.
But when the colonel, after remaining in a barber-shop for half an hour,
emerged with his face clean shaven and his hair neatly trimmed and
parted, betting was so wild that a cool-headed sporting man speedily
made a fortune by betting against every theory that was advanced.
Then the colonel made a tour of the stores, and fitted himself to a new
suit of clothes, carefully eschewing all of the generous patterns and
pronounced colors so dear to the average miner. He bought a new hat, put
on a pair of boots, and pruned his finger-nails, and, stranger than all,
he mildly but firmly declined all invitations to drink.
As the colonel stood in the door of the principal saloon, where the
stage always stopped, the Challenge Hill constable was seen to approach
the colonel, and tap him on the shoulder, upon which all men who had bet
that the colonel was dodging somebody claimed the stakes. But those who
stood near the colonel heard the constable say:
"Colonel, I take it all back, an' I own up fair an' square. When I seed
you git out of Challenge Hill, it come to me all of a sudden that you
might be in the road-agent business, so I followed you--duty, you know.
But after I seed you sell Tipsie, I knowed I was on the wrong trail. I
wouldn't suspect you now if all the stages in the State was robbed; an'
I'll give you satisfaction any way you want it."
"It's all right," said the colonel, with a smile. The constable
afterward said that nobody had any idea of how curiously the colonel
smiled when his beard was off. "Give this fifty to Jim Perkins fust time
yer see him? I'm leavin' the State."
Suddenly the stage pulled up at the door with a crash, and the male
passengers hurried into the saloon, in a state of utter indignation and
impecuniosity.
The story of the robbery attracted everybody, and during the excitement
the colonel slipped quietly out, and opened the door of the stage. The
old lady started, and cried:
"George!"
And the colonel, jumping into the stage, and putting his arms tenderly
about the trembling form of the old lady, exclaimed:
"Mother!"
[Illustration: THE OLD LADY CRIED, "GEORGE!" AND THE COLONEL EXCLAIMED,
"MOTHER!"]
THE HARDHACK MISTAKE.
Excitement? The venerable Deacon Twinkham, the oldest inhabitant, said
there had not been such an excitement at Hardhack since the
meeting-house steeple blew down in a terrible equinoctial, forty-seven
years before.
And who could wonder?
Even a larger town than Hardhack would have experienced unusual
agitation at seeing one of its own boys, who had a few years before gone
away poor, slender and twenty, come back with broad shoulders, a full
beard, and a pocketful of money, dug out of the ugly hills of Nevada.
But even the return of Nathan Brown, in so unusual a condition for a
Hardhackian to be found in, was not the fullness of Hardhack's
excitement, for Nathan had brought with him Tom Crewne and Harry Faxton,
two friends he had made during his absence, and both of them
broad-shouldered, full-bearded, and auriferous as Nathan himself.
No wonder the store at Hardhack was all the while crowded with those who
knew all about Nathan, or wanted to--no wonder that "Seen 'm?" was the
passing form of salutation for days.
The news spread like wildfire, and industrious farmers deliberately took
a day, drove to town, and stood patiently on the door-steps of the store
until they had seen one or more of the wonderful men.
The good Deacon Twinkham himself, who had, at a late prayer-meeting,
stated that "his feet already felt the splashin' of Jordan's waves,"
temporarily withdrew his aged limbs from the rugged banks famed in song,
and caused them to bear him industriously up and down the Ridge Road,
past Nathan's mother's house, until he saw all three of the bearded
Croesuses seat themselves on the piazza to smoke. Then he departed, his
good face affording an excellent study for a "Simeon in the Temple."
Even the peaceful influences of the Sabbath were unable to restore
tranquillity to Hardhack.
On Sunday morning the meeting-house was fuller than it had been since
the funeral services of the last pastor. At each squeak of the door,
every head was quickly turned; and when, in the middle of the first
hymn, the three ex-miners filed decorously in, the staring organist held
one chord of "Windham" so long that the breath of the congregation was
entirely exhausted.
The very pulpit itself succombed to the popular excitement; and the
Reverend Abednego Choker, after reading of the treasures of Solomon's
Temple, and of the glories of the New Testament, for the first and
second lessons, preached from Isaiah xlvi. 6: "They lavish gold out of
the bag and weigh silver in the balance."
But all this excitement was as nothing compared with the tumult which
agitated the tender hearts of the maidens at Hardhack.
Young, old, handsome, plain, smart and stupid, until now few of them had
dared to hope for a change of name; for, while they possessed as many
mental and personal charms as girls in general, all the enterprising
boys of Hardhack had departed from their birthplace in search of the
lucre which Hardback's barren hills and lean meadows failed to supply,
and the cause of their going was equally a preventive of the coming of
others to fill their places.
But now--oh, hope!--here were three young men, good-looking, rich,
and--if the other two were fit companions for the well-born and bred
Nathan--all safe custodians for tender hearts.
Few girls were there in Hardhack who did not determine, in their
innermost hearts, to strive as hard as Yankee wit and maiden modesty
would allow for one of those tempting prizes.
Nor were they unaided. Rich and respectable sons-in-law are scarce
enough the world over, so it was no wonder that all the parents of
marriageable daughters strove to make Hardhack pleasant for the young
men.
Fathers read up on Nevada, and cultivated the three ex-miners; mothers
ransacked cook-books and old trunks; Ladies' Companions were
industriously searched for pleasing patterns; crimping-irons and
curling-tongs were extemporized, and the demand for ribbons and
trimmings became so great that the storekeeper hurried to the city for a
fresh supply.
Then began that season of mad hilarity and reckless dissipation, which
seemed almost a dream to the actors themselves, and to which patriotic
Hardhackians have since referred to with feelings like those of the
devout Jew as he recalls the glorious deeds of his forefathers, or of
the modern Roman as, from the crumbling arches of the Coliseum, he
conjures up the mighty shade of the Cæsarian period.
The fragrant bohea flowed as freely as champagne would have done in a
less pious locality; ethereal sponge-cakes and transparent
currant-jellies became too common to excite comment; the surrounding
country was heavily drawn upon for fatted calves, chickens and turkeys,
and mince-pies were so plenty, that observing children wondered if the
Governor had not decreed a whole year of special Thanksgiving.
Bravely the three great catches accepted every invitation, and, though
it was a very unusual addition to his regular duties, the Reverend
Abednego Choker faithfully attended all the evening festivities, to the
end that they might be decorously closed with prayer, as had from time
immemorial been the custom of Hardhack.
And the causes of all these efforts on the part of Hardhack society
enjoyed themselves intensely. Young men of respectable inclinations, who
have lived for several years in a society composed principally of
scoundrels, and modified only by the occasional presence of an honest
miner or a respectable mule-driver, would have considered as Elysium a
place far less proper and agreeable than Hardhack. In fact, the trio was
so delighted, that its eligibility soon became diminished in quantity.
Faxton, at one of the first parties, made an unconditional surrender to
a queenly damsel, while Nathan, having found his old schoolday
sweetheart still unmarried, whispered something in her ear (probably the
secret of some rare cosmetic), which filled her cheeks with roses from
that time forth.
But Crewne, the handsomest and most brilliant of the three, still
remained, and over him the fight was far more intense than in the
opening of the campaign, when weapons were either rusty or untried, and
the chances of success were seemingly more numerous.
But to designate any particular lady as surest of success seemed
impossible. Even Nathan and Faxton, when besought for an opinion by the
two ladies who now claimed their innermost thoughts, could only say that
no one but Crewne knew, and perhaps even _he_ didn't.
Crewne was a very odd boy, they said--excellent company, the best of
good fellows, the staunchest of friends, and the very soul of honor; but
there were some things about him they never _could_ understand. In fact,
he was something like that sum of all impossibilities, a schoolgirl's
hero.
"But, Harry," said the prospective Mrs. Faxton, with rather an angry
pout for a Church-member in full communion, "just see what splendid
girls are dying for him! I'm sure there are no nicer girls anywhere than
in Hardhack, and he needn't be so stuck up--"
"My dear," interrupted Faxton, "I say it with fear and trembling, but
perhaps Crewne don't want to be in love at all."
An indignant flash of doubt went over the lady's face.
"Just notice him at a party," continued Faxton. "He seems to distribute
his attentions with exact equality among all the ladies present, as if
he were trying to discourage the idea that he was a marrying man."
"Well," said the lady, still indignant, "I think you might ask him and
settle the matter."
"Excuse me, my dear," replied Faxton. "I have seen others manifest an
interest in Crewne's affairs, and the result was discouraging. I'd
rather not try the experiment."
A few mornings later Mrs. Leekins, who took the place of a newspaper at
Hardhack, was seen hurrying from house to house on her own street, and
such housekeepers as saw her instantly discovered that errands must be
made to houses directly in Mrs. Leekins's route.
Mrs. Leekins's story was soon told. Crewne had suddenly gone to the
city, first purchasing the cottage which Deacon Twinkham had built
several years before for a son who had never come back from sea.
Crewne had hired old Mrs. Bruff to put the cottage to rights, and to
arrange the carpets and furniture, which he was to forward immediately.
But who was to be mistress of the cottage Mrs. Leekins was unable to
tell, or even to guess.
The clerks at the store had been thoroughly pumped; but while they
admitted that one young lady had purchased an unusual quantity of
inserting, another had ordered a dress pattern of gray empress cloth,
which was that year the fashionable material and color for traveling
dresses.
Old Mrs. Bruff had received unusual consideration and unlimited tea, but
even the most systematic question failed to elicit from her anything
satisfactory.
At any rate, it was certain that Crewne was absent from Hardhack, and it
was evident that _he_ had decided who was to be the lady of the cottage,
so the season of festivity was brought to an abrupt close, and the
digestions of Hardhack were snatched from ruin.
From kitchen-windows were now wafted odors of boiled corned beef and
stewed apples, instead of the fragrance of delicate preserves and
delicious turkey.
Young ladies, when they met in the street, greeted each, other with a
shade less of cordiality than usual, and fathers and mothers in Israel
cast into each other's eyes searching and suspicious glances.
One afternoon, when the pious matrons of Hardhack were gathering at the
pastor's residence to take part in the regular weekly mothers'
prayer-meeting, the mail-coach rolled into town, and Mrs. Leekins, who
was sitting by the window, as she always did, exclaimed:
"He's come back--there he is--on the seat with the driver!"
Every one hurried to the window, and saw that Mrs. Leekins had spoken
truly, for there sat Crewne with a pleasant smile on his face, while on
top of the stage were several large trunks marked C.
[Illustration: THE SISTERS HASTENED TO THE WINDOW.]
"Must have got a handsome fit-out," suggested Mrs. Leekins.
The stage stopped at the door of Crewne's new cottage, and Crewne got
out. The pastor entered the parlor to open the meeting, and was
selecting a hymn, when Mrs. Leekins startled the meeting by ejaculating:
"Lands alive!"
The meeting was demoralized; the sisters hastened to the window, and the
good pastor, laying down his hymn-book, followed in time to see Crewne
helping out a well-dressed and apparently young and handsome lady.
"Hardhack girls not good 'nough for him, it seems!" sneered Mrs.
Leekins.
A resigned and sympathetic sigh broke from the motherly lips present,
then Mrs. Leekins cried:
"Gracious sakes! married a widder with children!"
It certainly seemed that she told the truth, for Crewne lifted out
two children, the youngest of whom seemed not more than three years old.
The gazers abruptly left the window, and the general tone of the meeting
was that of melancholy resignation.
* * * * *
"Why didn't he ever say he was a married man?" asked the prospective
Mrs. Faxton, of her lover, that evening.
"Partly because he is too much of a gentleman to talk of his own
affairs," replied Faxton; "but principally because there had been, as he
told me this afternoon, an unfortunate quarrel between them, which drove
him to the mines. A few days ago he heard from her, for the first time
in three years, and they've patched up matters, and are very happy."
"Well," said the lady, with considerable decision, "Hardhack will never
forgive him."
Hardhack did, however, for Crewne and his two friends drew about them a
few of their old comrades, who took unto themselves wives from the
people about them, and made of Hardhack one of the pleasantest villages
in the State.
THE CARMI CHUMS.
The Carmi Chums was the name they went by all along the river. Most
other roustabouts had each a name of his own; so had the Carmi Chums for
that matter, but the men themselves were never mentioned
individually--always collectively.
No steamboat captain who wanted only a single man ever attempted to hire
half of the Carmi Chums at a time--as easy would it have been to have
hired half of the Siamese Twins. No steamboat mate who knew them ever
attempted to "tell off" the Chums into different watches, and any mate
who, not knowing them, committed this blunder, and adhered to it after
explanation was made, was sure to be two men short immediately after
leaving the steamer's next landing.
There seemed no possible way of separating them; they never fell out
with each other in the natural course of events; they never fought when
drunk, as other friendly roustabouts sometimes did, for the Carmi Chums
never got drunk; there never sprang up any coolness between them because
of love for the same lady, for they did not seem to care at all for
female society, unless they happened to meet some old lady whom one
might love as a mother rather than as a sweetheart.
Even professional busybodies, from whose presence roustabouts are no
freer than Church-members, were unable to provoke the Carmi Chums even
to suspicion, and those of them who attempted it too persistently were
likely to have a difficulty with the slighter of the Chums.
This man, who was called Black, because of the color of his hair, was
apparently forty years of age, and of very ordinary appearance, except
when an occasional furtive, frightened look came into his face and
attracted attention.
His companion, called Red, because his hair was of the hue of the
carrots, and because it was occasionally necessary to distinguish him
from his friend, seemed of about the same age and degree of ordinaries
as Black, but was rather stouter, more cheery, and, to use the favorite
roustabout simile, held his head closer to the current.
He seemed, when Black was absent-minded (as he generally was while off
duty), to be the leading spirit of the couple, and to be tenderly alive
to all of his partner's needs; but observing roustabouts noticed that
when freight was being moved, or wood taken on board, Black was always
where he could keep an eye on his chum, and where he could demand
instant reparation from any wretch who trod upon Red's toes, or who,
with a shoulder-load of wood, grazed Red's head, or touched Red with a
box or barrel.
Next to neighborly wonder as to the existence of the friendship between
the Chums, roustabouts with whom the couple sailed concerned themselves
most with the cause of the bond between them. Their searches after first
causes were no more successful, however, than those of the naturalists
who are endeavoring to ascertain who laid the cosmic egg.
They gave out that they came from Carmi, so, once or twice, when
captains with whom the Chums were engaged determined to seek a cargo up
the Wabash, upon which river Carmi was located, inquisitive roustabouts
became light-hearted. But, alas, for the vanity of human hopes! when the
boat reached Carmi the Chums could not be found, nor could any
inhabitant of Carmi identify them by the descriptions which were given
by inquiring friends.
At length they became known, in their collective capacity, as one of
the institutions of the river. Captains knew them as well as they knew
Natchez or Piankishaw Bend, and showed them to distinguished passengers
as regularly as they showed General Zach. Taylor's plantation, or the
scene of the Grand Gulf "cave," where a square mile of Louisiana dropped
into the river one night. Captains rather cultivated them, in fact,
although it was a difficult bit of business, for roustabouts who
wouldn't say "thank you" for a glass of French brandy, or a genuine,
old-fashioned "plantation cigar," seemed destitute of ordinary handles
of which a steamboat captain, could take hold.
Lady passengers took considerable notice of them, and were more
successful than any one else at drawing them into conversation. The
linguistic accomplishments of the Chums were not numerous, but it did
one good to see Black lose his scared, furtive look when a lady
addressed him, and to see the affectionate deference with which he
appealed to Red, until that worthy was drawn into the conversation. When
Black succeeded in this latter-named operation, he would, by insensible
stages, draw himself away, and give himself up to enthusiastic
admiration of his partner, or, apparently, of his conversational
ability.
The Spring of 1869 found the Chums in the crew of the _Bennett_, "the
peerless floating palace of the Mississippi," as she was called by those
newspapers whose reporters had the freedom of the _Bennett's_ bar; and
the same season saw the _Bennett_ staggering down the Mississippi with
so heavy a load of sacked corn, that the gunwales amidships were fairly
under water.
The river was very low, so the _Bennett_ kept carefully in the channel;
but the channel of the great muddy ditch which drains half the Union is
as fickle as disappointed lovers declare women to be, and it has no more
respect for great steamer-loads of corn than Goliath had for David.
A little Ohio river-boat, bound upward, had reported the sudden
disappearance of a woodyard a little way above Milliken's Bend, where
the channel hugged the shore, and with the woodyard there had
disappeared an enormous sycamore-tree, which had for years served as a
tying-post for steamers.
As live sycamores are about as disinclined to float as bars of lead are,
the captain and pilot of the _Bennett_ were somewhat concerned--for the
sake of the corn--to know the exact location of the tree.
Half a mile from the spot it became evident, even to the passengers
clustered forward on the cabin-deck, that the sycamore had remained
quite near to its old home, for a long, rough ripple was seen directly
across the line of the channel.
Then arose the question as to how much water was on top of the tree, and
whether any bar had had time to accumulate.
The steamer was stopped, the engines were reversed and worked by hand to
keep the _Bennett_ from drifting down-stream, a boat was lowered and
manned, the Chums forming part of her crew, and the second officer went
down to take soundings; while the passengers, to whom even so small a
cause for excitement was a godsend, crowded the rail and stared.
The boat shot rapidly down stream, headed for the shore-end of the
ripple. She seemed almost into the boiling mud in front of her when the
passengers on the steamer heard the mate in the boat shout: "Back all!"