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SCARLETT OF THE MOUNTED
[Illustration: SHE STUCK A PIN IN THE HANDKERCHIEF.]
SCARLETT OF THE MOUNTED
by
MARGUERITE MERINGTON
Illustrated
New York
Moffat, Yard & Company
1906
Copyright, 1906, by
Moffat, Yard & Company
New York
Published, August, 1906
J. F. Tapley Co.
Printers and Binders
New York
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I LOST SHOE CREEK
II THE WOMENKIND OF LOST SHOE CREEK
III LUCKY DURAND
IV THE PICTURE GIRL
V EVELYN ENGAGES A COURIER
VI EVELYN SEEKS COUNSEL
VII PEACE, PERFECT PEACE
VIII AT THE SIGN OF THE TEMPERANCE SALOON
IX THE PROVISIONAL BOUNDARY
X LUCKY'S LUCK
XI AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE
XII NORTHERN LIGHTS
XIII A YEAR AFTER
XIV CONCLUSION
ILLUSTRATIONS
SHE STUCK A PIN IN THE HANDKERCHIEF _Frontispiece_
MINGLED WITH THE TRAVELERS AT GUMBOOT ANNIE'S BOARD
DEPARTED IN A GLOW OF SELF CONGRATULATION AT HER TACT
"WHY, MY DAUGHTER, DOES THIS DENOTE A HAPPY CHANGE OF HEART AND
SAVING GRACE? YOU ARE TAKING THOUGHT TO SAVE YOUR SOUL?"
"DARTER DON'T LOOK AS IF IT WAS SPELLED RIGHT," CRITICIZED BULLY
THE UBIQUITOUS YOUNG SOLDIER, SERGEANT SCARLETT
SCARLETT _of the_ MOUNTED
I
LOST SHOE CREEK
Parson MacLane came running along the rough trail, his dogs, Telegraph
and Wrangel, named after former mission charges, following. As he paused
at the crest of a hill to take breath and wipe the grime from his face
he smiled, for over the thicket of scrub willow that lay between him and
Lost Shoe Creek rose the voices of the "boys" he had traveled far to
reach. Then he sighed, because the jest and song, as he heard them, were
ribald; the laughter thick with drink. Finally, reflecting that in no
human heart had he ever found evil so strong but that the good was
stronger, he smiled again, and stooping to pluck from a low-growing bush
the deep crimson wild rose of the north, he set this in his buttonhole,
and squaring his shoulders for a fresh bout with his old adversary of
horns and cloven hoof, trotted cheerily down the steep incline.
With an expiring wheeze the concertina dropped from the singer's hand.
One of the group playing Black Jack, looked up. "Go on, Bill! Thar's
other verses--an' each more decorative than the last!"
Lighting a pipe, Bill shook his head. "Grand opera sore throat! Left my
music at home--and home," he added, under his ragged mustache, "is so
cursed far away!"
Mops' remonstrance was cut short by a disparaging comment on his methods
of card-playing from a raw-boned Scotchman who had lost an
inconsiderable amount. "You accuse me o' cheatin'?"
"Aweel!" Sandy scratched his head. "While it's na' to say cheating it's
na' to say fair playing neither!"
"You liar!" kicking over the barrel that served for a table, with a
volley of oaths Mops sprang at him, and a free fight would have ensued
but for the intervention of the more cautious, who, pointing to a
squalid bundle from which lusty snores were issuing, reminded the
belligerents that if Bully Nick were roused from his innocent slumbers
some indiscriminate gun-play might be looked for, transmuting every
mother's son into cold meat. This argument prevailed; peace was restored
and celebrated in the dire wassail of the district, served in the open
by Ikey, bartender of the dilapidated refreshment-tent nearby, and by
general consent charged to the protesting but helpless Sandy.
It was at this auspicious moment that, followed by his dogs, rose in
buttonhole, and with smiling countenance, Parson Maclane made his
entrance into the camp on Lost Shoe Creek.
Hailing the newcomer as dude and tenderfoot, with winks and nudges among
themselves the men prepared to "have fun" with him. Raising their
glasses in derisive welcome, "Hello, stranger!" they chorused. "'Drink
your health!"
"Thanks, friends, but I fear you are not drinking your own!"
"By gum," cried Mops, delightedly, "if he ain't a blamed teetotaller!"
"The Laird kens we hae need o' sic," hiccoughed Sandy. "Hoots, but we're
a sinfu' crew! Ikey, lad, mair whuskey!"
While glasses were being refilled, this time at Mops' expense, Maclane
went toward the tent, over whose entrance hung the sign KLONDIKE
DELMONICO'S. GUMBOOT ANNIE. Addressing the plump female in jersey and
culottes, who lolled beneath, picking her teeth skilfully: "Good day,
madam," he began, baring his head. "I should like to speak with the
proprietor."
Gumboot Annie took time to spit before replying, "I am the lady."
"I want to hold a prayer-meeting. Will you lend me your tent?"
"Lend! Me lend anything! Now wouldn't that pa'alyze yer!" she demanded
of the listening prospectors. "I ain't up here fer me health," she then
explained to Maclane, "but I'll sell or rent anything in sight. Twenty
dollars is the price for a Gospel show!"
"Agreed!"
"Thar's a bar in thar, y'know!"
"Oh, the bar's no hindrance!" The minister already was unstrapping his
pack of hymnals. "But I warn you I shall preach against the evils of
drink."
"That's all right. The boys ull be jest as thirsty! Say, fer five
dollars you kin convert Ikey. He's useter it. He gives his experiences
real cute. Water is two bits a bucket, but fer a baptism attraction I'll
throw it in!"
Refusing with a gesture, the minister seized the dinner-bell from its
nail and rang it vigorously. "Prayer-meeting and service of song. All
are cordially welcome!"
"Wouldn't it be slick ter dump him in the creek," suggested one.
"No, no! Lay low till Bully Nick wakes up! Nick ull fix him," said
Mops, to which the rest agreed, "Betcherlife!"
"Come, boys," urged Maclane, "who'll lead the way?"
After a chilly silence, "Don't all speak at once," jeered Mops. "Don't
crowd the mourners," echoed Bill.
"You have mothers, sweethearts, wives, who never cease to pray for you.
Won't you spare a few minutes from Black Jack to put up a prayer for
them?"
A pause followed, during which Bill swallowed a lump in his throat and
tried not to think of the mother in Montreal, whose last letter he had
been carrying about for eleven months, unanswered. Mops sent Ikey for
more drinks.
"'Twull be a saving i' the lang run!" Foreseeing that he might again be
called upon to pay, Sandy stumbled toward the tent, falling over rows of
jocosely outstretched feet. "I misdoot my gait is na sae steady as it
micht be! A touch o' scurvy!"
"Oh, we're all liable to trip!" Maclane helped him up. "Who'll be next?"
"Count me in, Dominie!" An elderly man, gaunt and ill-clad, gold-pan
under his arm, climbed the banks of the creek and entered the tent.
"Old Lucky's down on his luck, but he gen'lly knows whar the gold is!" A
boyish-looking prospector, who had been wanting an excuse, joined him.
Several followed the example, till at last only Nick and his bodyguard
remained outside. When a rousing chorus of "Onward, Christian Soldiers,"
pealed forth from the tent, Mops chuckled joyously. "Look out fer
fireworks! Nick's waking!"
After preliminary grunts and stretchings the Bully sat up in his ugliest
mood. "Wot th' hell---- Is this Jedgment Day?"
"Naw! Only some blasted holy windmill come for to save our souls," Bill
informed him.
"The cursed stiff!" Nick sprang toward the tent. "I'll teach him ter
meddle with my anatomy!" He cocked his pistol. "One, two----"
"Bully Nick! He never misses the bull's-eye!" shouted his delighted
followers.
At this juncture a fresh-skinned young giant in blouse and overalls, who
had been chopping kindlings by Gumboot Annie's woodpile, dropped his
hatchet and strolled up with a casual air wholly at variance with the
keen, hawk-like glance of his gray-blue eyes. As Nick told off the last
minutes of Parson Maclane's earthly span, the newcomer pinioned him in
a grasp of iron from behind. "Not this time, Bully Nick!"
"Eh? Who the mischief are ye to stop me?" is the polite, free rendering
of Nick's impolite free speech. "I don't think I hev the pleasure of
your acquaintance, my lad!"
"I've been wanting for some time to make yours!" The young man seemed
quite unconcerned that the toughest gang in the district had forcibly
detached him from their chief and were holding him prisoner.
"It's just a looney Irishman that's been hanging 'round all day! Ain't
worth a bullet, Nick!" At heart, Bill disliked human targets for sport.
"Powerful strong! His muscles ud be wuth more ter ye than his darned
hide, Nick," supplemented Mops, who, while without prejudices as to
bloodshed, sometimes was called on to exert himself unduly.
"I'll assay him," decreed the Bully. "Fust he shall drink my health!
Mops, you hold the booze ter the stiff's mouth! Bill, you got a ticker;
you keep time. Now, sonny, I give yer jest two minutes fer mamma's
little baby boy ter say his prayers in, or ter git good an' drunk, like
me. See?"
The young man yawned, with a bored expression. "Excuse my not putting my
hand before my mouth, gentlemen!"
"One minute gone, pard!" admonished Bill.
"Phew!" The prisoner spat out the liquid Mops forced between his lips.
"That filthy stuff! I only drink the best! Besides, 'tis smuggled, and,
living or dead, I should incur a fine with contraband goods on, or in,
my person!"
"You all-fired nateral, do yer _want_ ter be a angel?" growled the
Bully.
"Faith, I wasn't aspiring to such promotion," admitted the stranger.
"But I'd look prettier that way than making myself a drunken beast like
you, Nick!"
The insult had its effect; the Bully's pistol hand quavered, and he was
lost. "Say, young feller, you got grit! You're game! Boys, the Irishman
goes, see!"
"Sorry I can't return the favor, Nick! You go--but to gaol!" With an
adroit movement the young man had whisked out a pair of handcuffs and
was fitting them to the astonished Bully's wrists. "Best take it
quietly, men. As they say in story-books, reinforcements are at hand!
And till they come, get in there, all of you, and say your own prayers!"
He lifted the tent flap. "Fall into line. Um, left. Left!--Left! March!"
"Who in blazes air ye?" gasped Nick, as he obeyed.
The answer came in awe-stricken tones from Mops, who, beneath the
stranger's rough externals had suddenly suspected the insignia of a
dreaded authority. "The hell! It's Scarlett of the Mounted!"
II
THE WOMENKIND OF LOST SHOE CREEK
Dandy Raish swaggered up to the tent where he had an appointment with
old Blenksoe, relating to a little matter of holding up the stage, but
finding services in progress, he scattered a few flowers of profanity,
and turned on his heel.
Scarlett, pacing to and fro while awaiting aid, caught sight of him.
"Now, that's a gentleman whose company I'd fancy most in his absence,
I'm thinking!" To escape the other's observation while making his own,
he returned to his kindlings.
Developments came soon, first in the person of a woman wrapped in a red
cloak, young and comely, but at the moment repulsive from the effects of
a debauch. Reeling from the shelter of a ruined cabin, "Gumboot Annie!"
she cried, "Gumboot Annie, for the love of heaven, trust me with the
price of a drink!"
Finding the source of refreshments temporarily inaccessible, she threw
herself on a bench, cursing religion, even as Raish had done.
"Furs for sale; snow-shoes, moccasins, furs, velly damn fine!" An Indian
trader coming by recognized the girl, and accosted her. "Hello, Gelly!
Shake!"
The girl complied good-naturedly. "Hello, Chilkat Jo!"
"Gelly, I love you!" stated Jo, in unimpassioned monotone. "Love you
like hell-you-betyerlife! Say, Gelly, you mally me?"
"Say, Jo, that's a proposal, even if you ain't nothin' but a Siwash!"
"Me no Siwash!" Chilkat Jo drew himself up. "Me chew, swear, gamble,
dlink like hell, plenty wives, all same as Clistian white man!"
"My, but you do give us a character," laughed the girl, "and I guess
we've earned it all right, all right! But, no, Jo! I ain't sunk so low
I'd marry you without I cared fer yer! Thar's only one man in the world
fer me!" With a sigh she looked over at Dandy Raish, who, leaning
against a Douglas spruce, was dressing his waxed mustache by the aid of
a pocket looking-glass.
The Indian took his rejection with outward stoicism. "That's all light.
Some day I kill him, cally you off, beat you, smash yer face, make you
goddam' bad husband, all same as Clistian white man!" Then off he
stalked, crying: "Furs for sale. Moccasins. Hair dye! Sacled images!
Velly dam good sacled images!"
Gelly rose and timidly approached the object of her affections. "Raish!
Dear Dandy, won't you speak to me?"
"Gelly!" The man turned on her with an oath. "Taggin' on as usual!"
"Raish, pop's turned me out, along of you, and I don't know whar ter
go!"
"Such as you needn't look far! There, there, Gelly, don't get mad! I'm
sorry for you; indeed I am!"
"Then marry me!"
"Me marry you! With my social gifts! Ha, ha! You're crazy! But I'll tell
you what I will do: I'll help you out of this place; I'll get you a
berth in a swell saloon at Skagway, with a big rake-off on every bottle
that's uncorked and every bird that's plucked through you!"
"And me tryin' to be decent! Curse it all, I _will_ be decent! You
_shall_ marry me!"
"I'll strangle you first!"
"Take your hands off that woman!"
Turning, Raish confronted a young giant, and being a coward he obeyed.
"I can't spoil her!" he sneered.
"What is the trouble?" Scarlett asked of Gelly.
"None of your business," she replied, with feminine ingratitude.
"Is this your husband?"
"Sure!" At Raish's threatening gesture she modified the assertion. "In a
sort of way!"
"The only sort of way he ever will be, you bet your boots," Raish flung
back as, hands in pockets, he swaggered off.
"What is your name?" Scarlett asked the girl.
"Gelly!"
"Your full name? Gelly what?"
"Ah, now you're gettin' too familiar!" Sidling closer she remarked,
approvingly: "Say, you're an awful pretty boy!"
"Stand off!" As the girl shrank back, cowering, he added more gently:
"Go home to your parents!"
"My home! My parents! Aw, that's a good un! Ma sloped with a faro dealer
from 'Frisco, and pop's turned me out!"
"Poor child! You must get away from this district! I will send you down
to a mission, where good women will care for you!"
"A mission? No, sirree! Too slow fer me!" Gelly moved away, humming a
ditty popular in low-class music-halls of the locality.
"Stop!" Scarlett sharply reprimanded. "Sing if you will! Sing all you
can! The world has need of singing--but sing decent songs!" As a
stirring hymn, accompanied by Bill's concertina, just then sounded from
the tent, he went on: "Go in and help them! They need a woman's voice."
"What!" Gelly was genuinely astonished. "Such as me--in church!"
"My poor girl, churches are for such as you."
Gelly looked in, uncertainly, then hurriedly drew back. "I can't,
mister. Pop's in thar--and pop has sworn ter kill me on sight! Pop's the
bully of the district," she added, proudly.
"Hm!" Scarlett considered a moment, then felt in his pocket. "Here's
needle and thread. Go mend your clothes!"
Gelly stared at him as she took the proffered housewife. "Say, you're a
real white man. I never before----" Breaking into sudden sobbing, she
went back to her cabin.
Sergeant Scarlett gave a comprehensive glance at the scenery, nature's
magnificent setting for this squalid drama.
"This district has the name of being the hottest proposition this side
of Hades," he reflected. "It contains an unsurveyed number of square
miles and crooked inhabitants. And it needs just three things to clean
it out. First, godliness, which only gets this way for a flying visit
once a year. Next--and it's only modesty prevented my putting it
first--law, which is just myself; and last, but foremost, women! And all
the womenkind we can muster are a travesty of the name--sketches the
Lord seems to have blotted in the making and thrown away." With tender
impatience he touched a cluster of wild roses with the toe of his
military boot. "Oh, why can't ye stop running to flowers and blossom
girls instead! Hello! Is this an answer to prayer, or a deceiving
dream?" Sure enough, among the crimson petals a girl's face laughed,
sparkling back at him. "By the St. Colmcille, a young lady at me feet!
Permit me to reverse the positions, miss!" Picking up the miniature, he
scanned the features closely. "Young? Yes, the right age, just; still in
her teens, but not too teeny! Pretty? Verdict unanimous, without leaving
the jury-box; guilty of wholesale manslaughter wherever those eyes set
foot! Good? As good as virgin gold! Perhaps a trifle too well pleased
with herself. Here, young lady, give an account of yourself! What are
you doing in my district? Are you visiting father, brother, sweetheart,
or do you intend to stake a claim on some poor wretch's unprospected
heart? Oh, here's a bit of writing on the back. 'For dear daddy, from
Evelyn,' Evelyn. A pretty name. Sounds like Eve with a little flounce
on. Daddy. I'm glad it's a mere father ye belong to. Now since ye've
dropped like manna from heaven to the wilderness, will ye think it a
liberty if I----" He approached the picture to his lips, then put it
resolutely aside. "No! I'm not the coward to kiss a girl anyway but to
her face!" In his absorption he had failed to observe a uniformed rider
coming at full gallop along the trail, and he had barely time to conceal
the miniature in his breast as Barney, his assistant and devoted
personal follower, dismounted a few paces from him.
Instead of greeting his chief with the proper military salute, Barney
pushed him arrogantly aside.
"Out av the shadow av your supariors, ye hulking son av a tiligraph
pole!"
"Back into your own skin, you jackass, you!" Scarlett returned the push
with interest.
Recognizing the other through his disguise, "Bejabers," exclaimed
Barney, "'tis Himself!"
"You're late in coming up to time," remarked Scarlett, absently, his
thoughts still on the portrait.
"Sure, sorr, an' 'twas the word from yourself I've been delaying for!
Ivery moment av the last four-an'-twenty hours I've slept at attintion
with me boots on and nary a wink on me! As me own flesh is livin'
witness, I've never moved me hindquarters from the saddle!"
"I wish you'd learn to keep your headquarters in the saddle," returned
Scarlett. "Didn't I instruct ye if ye hadn't heard from me by the day
appointed to start the day before?"
Barney scratched a puzzled head. He could interpret his own Irish bulls
readily enough, defending them, if needful, with his fists to a jury of
his peers, but those of his chief often passed him. Tactfully, he
changed the conversation. "The mail arrived, Sergeant, and was
distributed impartially. Only this remains unclaimed; a registhry
package, with duty to pay on it."
Sergeant Scarlett examined the address on the parcel. "From E. Durant,
New York City, to Matthew Durant, owner of the Rainbow Mine---- Where
under the shining heavens is the Rainbow Mine, Barney?" he broke off to
ask.
"In the clouds, for aught I know, sorr. I searched the books, but in all
the disthrict there's not even a claim recorded by the name, far less a
mine."
"H'm! Well, the man, if not his mine, may be sojourning in our bally.
Step inside the tent, Barney, and when the parson pauses for breath,
whisper to him to inquire for one Matthew Durant!"
When Barney had gone on his errand, Scarlett performed the official act
of unfastening the dainty package to appraise its contents. "White
neckties, doubtless," he soliloquized. "That is what folk on the outside
are by way of sending their kin to pull them through a Klondike winter.
No, but almost as bad: an embroidered cigar-case, with jeweled clasp.
Now I'm wondering if the fellow it's intended for can always muster up a
pipeful of tobacco! Well, Barney, what success?"
"Just at this present, sorr, the howly man has got his teeth well into
the Evil Wan, but he tipped me the wink he'd find our man the moment he
darst let go. Oh, by the way--I hate to decompose ye, Sergeant--but
here's a letther for yourself!"
"A letter for me, is it? Now, who the mischief would be writing to me?"
"The mischief it is, indade, sorr! 'Tis a lawyer!"
"A lawyer!" Scarlett scrutinized the name of the Dublin firm on the
missive Barney handed him. "Now I'd give something to know what that
means! I've always lived within the law, and without a lawyer!"
"Sure, that's your offence, Sergeant. Depind on ut, that's phwat they're
afther charging ye for!"
"'Tis their inflated cheek, then!" Resentfully, Scarlett tore open the
envelope. "If 'tis a bill they're sending me they can go to the divvle!"
"Faith, sorr, that's exactly where they'll have ye! That's phwat they're
afther counting on!"
Barney watched his chief with affectionate solicitude while the latter
read, and, crossing himself, began a prayer in which pious invocations
mingled strangely with unflattering estimates of legal lights. "Howly
Mary, full av grace---- The dirthy blackguards, I wish I'd lost the
letther for the lad! Blessed art thou among---- Bad cess to yez, ye
black limbs av an onreputable body, if 'tis only nearer ye were, or
meself less far away, rest aisy 'tis outwitted ye'd be intoirely, if
there's anny diplomacy in the fists av this Mick at all. Name av the
Father, Son an' Howly----"
"Phew!" At last Scarlett broke through the stupor with which the perusal
of his letter seemed to have encompassed him. "Is it I standing here in
my five senses, or the fool of a deceiving dream? Barney, man, listen to
this and pronounce on it. 'By the demise of your uncle'--that's my
uncle, you understand?"
"Sure, sorr, your uncle is my uncle; and many's the accommodation we've
had off him, thanks be!"
"Oh, this doesn't refer to that impartial relative of all impoverished
humanity! This is, or was, the man who prevented my father from being
the eldest son and only child of his parents! By his demise----"
"Precisely, sorr. And which av his qualifications may his demise be?"
"The final one. Demise means death. Oh, not the commonplace, every-day
occurrence as we up here experience it; it is applied to those who have
something of value besides life to leave behind."
"Faith, then, sergeant, it's ourselves will be immune."
"That's what I'm doubting. Five minutes since, I was nobody of nowhere.
Now I suddenly find myself gazetted Sir Gerald Scarlett of Dunshinannon,
owner of a picturesque, if ruined, castle; three acres that might be
profitable under cultivation, and a cow!"
Barney shook his head. "A grand dream, Sergeant. May the blissed saints
soften the awakening to ye," he added, with commiseration.
"But, man--here, look at this, will ye?" Before his astonished eyes
Scarlett held a draft for a substantial sum. "A luck-slice from the
rent-roll. Oh, that proves it no dream, since money talks, but never in
its sleep!"
Barney removed his regimental hat. "Hurrah for Sir Gerald, the castle,
including the ruins, the acres, and ivery blissed pertaty, past, present
and to come, adorning them!"
"And the cow, God bless her!" Scarlett also bared his head.
"Amen!" Barney supplemented, fervently. "I'm wid ye, sorr, in
prosperity, as in adversity! How soon do we quit the service, me
lordship?"
"Not till we've finished out our term, you lazy vagabond! Meanwhile,
sink the title. I travel on my soldiership, and you're in the same
boat!"
"Amen! if it has to be," acquiesced Barney, with philosophic
resignation, saluting meekly. "And phwat's the next orders, me
lord--Sergeant, I should say?"
"For the present you can take charge and administer the law, unless
anything demanding a judicial mind comes up, while I wander on incog.,
and do a little prospecting to identify the toughs and crooks that give
this the name of the blackest district in all the great Northwest! I've
begun rather well; I've just rounded up Bully Nick and his
sharp-shooting gang!"
"Ye have?" Barney's jaw dropped with amazement. "Single-handed?"
"Aye; but forewarned is four-armed, you know!"
"Even so. Mother of Grace----"
"Tut, tut, man; that's but a flea bite in the ocean, as one of our Irish
philosophers remarked. There's a regularly organized band of
thieves--aye, who don't stick at murder, either--that hold up stages,
terrorize the whole community, and play the dickens generally. The scum
of all nationalities, their headquarters are across the boundary in
Uncle Sam's domain, while their field of operations is the whole
Northwest. The thing is to identify them, catch them redhanded in our
precincts."
"A Herculaneum task, me lordship--Sergeant, I should say--and more,
since that gintleman had only twelve impossibilities to conquer!"
"Och, Hercules! I'd sooner any day be a whole man than just half a god
like Hercules! Any able-bodied son of Erin should be able to match
Hercules, except in the snake-strangling trick, since divvle an example
did Saint Patrick leave us to practice on."
"Thrue," assented Barney. "Many's the dhrink I've laid on it that the
only snakes an Irishman is capable of behoulding is all in his own eye."
"Don't ye be looking for them that way on duty. Keep your vision for
two-legged crawlers. There was a fellow here, just now, who, if faces
are incriminating testimony, stands twenty times convicted in the dark,
or I'm a duffer in face-palmistry."
"Why not begin with the rope's end, Sergeant?"
"No, no, man! We must even make haste slowly, as some old Roman of an
Irishman remarked. I'll just wander on, as if looking for a job, and if
any one inquires about me, give me what character ye please!"
"Faith, sorr, since fair play demands reciprocity on both sides, I'll
damn ye for a blockhead!"
"Go ahead," laughed Scarlett. Breaking off, he inquired: "Now who's this
chee-charka coming up the trail?"
III
LUCKY DURANT
The lagging pace of the young man who was approaching, his weary stoop
under a light pack he carried, miner-wise, upon his shoulders, confessed
him all too surely the tenderfoot Scarlett had described him.
With a bewildered stare at the congeries of squalid tents and cabins
that comprised the camp, he accosted Barney.
"Surely this can't be Lost Shoe Creek?" "Maybe it can't be, but that's
phwat it does be, me lad!"
"It's so different from what I expected."
"Ye were anticipating skyscrapers? In these parts we build downwards for
gold--and both ways lead equally far from heaven, I'm thinking."
"Well, though not skyscrapers, I certainly had looked for something more
imposing. Can you direct me to the office, or residence, of Mr. Matthew
Durant?"
"Durant!" Involuntarily, Barney and Scarlett exchanged a glance of
surprise.
"Office or residence, indade! 'Tis myself would like to be directed to
the man," replied the former.
"Oh, but surely you know him!" cried the newcomer. "I mean Matthew
Durant, owner of the wonderful Rainbow Mine!"
At this juncture the elderly man who had been spoken of by one of his
brother prospectors as Lucky, came hurrying toward them from the tent,
and addressed himself to Barney. "The Dominie has just announced that
you have mail for one Matthew Durant, officer. I am he."
Before Barney could reply the young tenderfoot had darted forward with a
threatening gesture. "You Durant, indeed, you miserable fraud! I know
Mr. Durant well," he turned to Barney to explain. "I was employed in the
New York bank where he keeps his daughter's account, and many is the
chat I've had with him. Why, I've resigned my position and spent every
penny I'd saved to come out here to beg him to put me in the way of
making my fortune, as he has done, scooping gold out of the earth. The
idea of this beggarly imposter pretending to be Durant, owner of the
Rainbow Mine!"
A sad smile crossed the worn features of the claimant. "I must indeed be
changed if Walter Pierce does not know me."
At the sound of his voice the young man started, but gazed at the
unshorn face, the poverty-stricken figure, unconvinced.
"Ye have some means of identification, perhaps?" suggested Barney, in
all good faith. "A strawberry mark, or a lock of your sainted mother's
hair?"
Durant thought a moment. "No one here knows me by the name. But, wait! I
have a picture of my daughter Evelyn, whom Walter will recognize. Evelyn
will bear witness that I'm her own dear daddy." He felt in his breast,
but not finding what he sought, gave a smothered cry. "Lost--my little
Evie, have I lost you?"
"This is herself, I'm thinking!" Scarlett held out the miniature. "I
found her on this spot, putting the wild roses to the blush."
"Thank you--thank you! Evie!" Durant covered the portrait with kisses.
"Which was to be proved," remarked Barney, conclusively, handing Durant
his mail. "There's a thrifle av duty to pay on it, sorr."
Durant's expectant hand dropped to his side. "I--I'm rather down on my
luck just now," he faltered.
While Barney hesitated between conscience and good will, Scarlett
whispered in his ear. "Good!" he then exclaimed. "The Sergeant will
settle it, Misther Durant. I mean," he corrected himself as Scarlett
kicked his leg, "it is already settled. Me man here," he indicated his
superior, "a great blockhead ordinarily, but with lucid intervals,
reminds me that the duty was prepaid beforehand in advance."
When the soldiers had moved away, Walter Pierce found his voice. "Then
you are Durant. But where, where, where is the wonderful Rainbow Mine?"
"Where it always has been--in the clouds!"
"Good heavens, do you mean to say it is all a fraud?"
"Less that than a fiction," amended the older man. "Sit here and I'll
tell you all about it." He sank wearily on the ground, leaning against a
huge pine tree, and when Walter had placed himself beside him, began his
strange tale. "Oh, the money has been no fraud, as your bank can
testify. I'm an old miner--a born prospector, with a nose for gold--and
I've always had streaks of luck; I've always made my pile, in
California, Colorado, and up here in Canada. But it has only been a rich
pocket here and there. I've never managed to develop a proposition into
a paying claim, or a paying claim into an exhaustless mine. But whenever
I've had a big clean-up I've blown it all in, as your born miner
invariably does, trusting to luck for the morrow. Some miners blow it in
on cards, drink--on worthless properties--but I've had only one
extravagance--my daughter. My wife always had vast ambitions, and when
the wife died she passed them on to me for our only child. To educate
Evelyn, to have her brought up a flower of civilization, that always has
been my dream, as I have roughed it in camps or tramped over glaciers,
through forests, sleeping under the stars. And so I sent the little one
to school in 'Frisco, Chicago, New York, with a European polishing off.
And somehow, the further East she traveled the grander her notions
grew--and as for myself, on my flying visits to her I took pride in
seeing my girl hold her own with the daughters of oil, beef and railways
trusts, and then with the daughters of princes of the Old World. And the
luck held out. However grand Evie's whims, I always had the stuff to
back her--and I always lived in hopes that any turn of the pick and
shovel would yield me, not merely a rich clean-up, but the
inexhaustible fortune that is every miner's dream. And so, between what
Evie took for granted and what I told her, half in jest, there grew up
this fable of the Rainbow Mine. But this season--I suppose it is my
punishment for my deception--the luck has turned clean against me. The
gold is here in the earth, as it always has been--but I've lost my knack
of finding it. The old earth no longer trusts me with her secrets." He
groaned, covering his face with his rough, knotted hands for a minute,
during which young Pierce exclaimed, bitterly:
"Then what is to become of me?"
"Ah, well!" Recovering composure, Durant rose. "It won't do to loaf. I'm
sorry for your disappointment, Walter. And the worst is, I can't do much
for you; can't show you any hospitality. In order to maintain life till
the luck turns, I am sharing the outfit of a chap named Blenksoe. That's
he, yon." He indicated a man of evil aspect, who was lounging at the
entrance of a rude hut nearby. "Blenksoe is grub-staking me through a
superstition about my luck. But Blenksoe is a bad lot. You must not have
anything to do with him."
"But what in the world am I to do?" cried Pierce. "I tell you, I am
penniless--penniless!"
"You must work," Durant admonished. "You must get employment on a
lay--that is, you must induce some one to let you help work his claim on
shares. I'll teach you the trick of panning gold."
"But if gold-dust can be taken out by the dish-pan," cried Walter, with
bulging eyes, "why should any one go poor?"
"You young fool! First you have to find in which patch out of desert
areas of mud and cobblestone the gold-dust hides. And then you have to
pay the Government for the privilege of staking, working it. Look along
the banks of this creek. As far as eye can see every inch of pay-dirt is
claimed, staked, defended, not only by law, but by miners' justice, with
a shooting-iron. In a mining camp human life ain't worth a damn, as
you'll find if you trespass on another man's claim, or if he should take
a fancy to yours. Just be content if, for the present, by working
eighteen hours of daylight during the twenty-four, during the short
summer, you can pay your way."
"Good heavens!" again cried Pierce. "Then are the stories of gold all a
fable? Surely many fortunes are made up here?"
"Surely," replied Durant, "and lost here, too. Every Klondike camp is
the garden for a score of fortunes, and the graveyard of a thousand
hopes. Well, I must go get pick and shovel." He moved toward his tent.
"I must go out on the hills, prospecting. Thank God, I left my girl a
tidy sum in the bank--and before that is spent her daddy will have found
her Rainbow Mine--or will die like a trail-dog in the traces!"
"I ought to tell you----" Walter detained him. "That money--Miss Durant
has drawn it, every penny."
"Eh!" exclaimed Durant. "Are you sure?"
"It was that which set me thinking about coming up here myself. I heard
her telling the cashier. You haven't paid her a visit for three years;
accordingly, she intends coming to visit you as a surprise."
"A surprise! My God!" gasped the unhappy man.
"She has invested in the most costly outfit," continued Walter. "She is
traveling with a princely retinue. You see, she thinks you live in regal
style--palaces and all that."
"And when----" Durant moistened his dry lips. "How soon----?"
Pierce shrugged his shoulders. "I fell in with her party to-day, though
as I was stone broke and hoofing it I didn't care to make myself known
to her. She was inquiring your whereabouts. She is coming by the stage.
She'll be here any minute now."
The tooting of a horn echoed through the hills, mingled with bursts of
girlish laughter, as, with a crack of the driver's whip and the jingling
of bells, in a cloud of dust the stage was seen approaching. With a
groan Durant buried his face in his hands. "My God!" he muttered.
"Evelyn!"
IV
THE PICTURE GIRL
"Let your light so shine----" At this cue the much-converted Ikey passed
Gumboot Annie's frying-pan about among the men. Instead of
organ-voluntary, or tenor solo, such as obtains during the offertory in
conventional places of worship, the Bully, at his own request, rose to
make a few appropriate remarks. "I ain't convarted," he frankly
announced. "Heaven ain't in it with a hot old hell of a whoop-up time in
this here life, d'ye see? Even if ye hang fer it! But say, parson,
you're all right. You're a sure square proposition! Boys, the collection
goes, d'ye see?"
"You betcherlife!" with cordial emphasis acquiesced the boys, even as
the orthodox respond Amen, while pouring gold-dust from their pokes into
the frying-pan.
"Oh, I don't despair of you, Nicholas! I shall yet see you a pillar of
the church!" The minister now was mingling with his congregation,
shaking hands, hearty if not invariably spotless, right and left. "Thank
you, lads, thank you! This will go toward the maintenance of a hospital,
where you shall be cared for when disabled by accident, or laid up with
a er--touch of--ahem!--scurvy."
"Booze," corrected Bully Nick, scorning the well-meant euphemism.
After a second, informal benediction from Maclane, Barney, considering
that the execution of justice temporal had been waived quite long enough
in favor of things pertaining to the soul, tapped Nick on the shoulder
with cheerful authority. "Now, me man, put your best fut forward and
step prattily to jail! The rest av yez"--he looked round on the group
with impartial invitation--"can accompany us on giniral lack av
principles!"
"Oh, but say--the stage is a-comin' in," remonstrated Bill, as the
tooting of a distant horn echoed musically among the mountain passes.
"There's like to be ladies aboard her. Can't we wait for to look upon
the ladies?"
The suggestion obviously was popular, even to the extent of suggesting
mutiny if not complied with, and Barney himself had some difficulty in
delaying his consent in order to add value to it before permitting his
mug to relax into a grin. "As a man in line av promotion to be nominated
an officer and a gintleman, 'tis no less than me duty."
"Boys, boys!" Mops, who had been reconnoitering, ran back, breathless
and excited. "There's gals aboard!"
"The hell thar is!" exclaimed the boys, delighted, and meaning no
disrespect.
"A hull outfit o' gals," expatiated Mops. "And one, perched up by the
driver, jest the swellest, jim-dandiest little female proposition you
ever seen in all your life! Say, I wisht I hadn't left my dress-suit in
cold storage!"
"Any one lend me a comb?" Any one being unable to oblige him, Bill ran a
corkscrew through his curly hair. "Well, anyway, my face is clean!"
"All ye can see av it, for the dhirt that's on it," Barney encouraged
him.
The horn blew a gay fanfare; the driver's whip cracked with more than
wonted smartness; the bells on its four horses jingled merrily as the
cumbersome old stage rattled into Lost Shoe Creek, and drew up before
Gumboot Annie's hostelry to an enthusiastic ovation of hurrahs,
cap-tossings, and gun-firings from the male populace.
A handsome girl, wearing her modish clothes with a too conscious effect
of style, from her place on the box bowed pleased acknowledgments in all
directions for the cheering, but at the volley of shots gave a little
startled cry, which was taken up in louder note by her companions.
Doffing his hat, Parson Maclane came forward, with a reassuring smile.
"Only a Klondike welcome, young ladies," he explained.
"That's what!" the men confirmed him. "A Klondike welcome!"
"How quite too utterly charming!" exclaimed the young lady. "Girls!
Sarah!" she appealed to the others of the party. "Aren't they too dear
and picturesque for anything!" That "they" were human beings and not
part of the brilliant panorama seemed hardly to occur to her.
A score of pairs of rough but willing hands stretched up to help the
speaker from her high throne, but the honor fell to Scarlett, or rather
was appropriated by that masterful young man as, putting the other
aspirants aside, he lifted her over the wheel and swung her lightly to
the ground. Without waiting for her thanks he returned to his
wood-chopping with a sense of one of life's minor miracles upon him. "By
St. Bridget!" he was thinking, "but that's my picture-girl!"
When all the passengers had alighted safely the boys pushed their leader
to the front. "Speech! Speech! Bully Nick!" they insisted. "Speech!"
"Take my hat off fer me," in an undertone commanded the champion shot
and orator. When one of his lieutenants had hastened to comply, the
Bully stood forth and cleared his throat. "Ladies, in the name of the
district--and never mind jest at these presents what name the district
bears--I regret I can't give ye the glad hand, through bein' a-wearin'
of th' Government bracelets."
"The Government bracelets," repeated the beautiful young lady, puzzled,
under cover of the guffaws with which his followers received Nick's
initial witticism.
"Mary, love----" She appealed to the tallest of the girls who stood
about her. "You are up in political economy?"
"I think he must mean some official decoration," glibly prompted Mary.
"That's it," corroborated Nick, unashamed, amid the shame-faced laughter
of his followers. "Official decoration fer proficiency in gun-play!" He
held up his handcuffed hands.
"Oh!" The girl and her companions recoiled instinctively.
"My dears!" The minister stepped into the breach. "I assure you,
Nicholas here has the warmest heart, though at times he is a
trifle--er--impulsive."
"Aye!" Nick nodded. "Impulsive, under the influence of bad liquor. Shot
a chap recent when drunk, me and him alike. Not but what he desarved it
all right, though the blamed Government won't see it in that light. But
never mind them little personal details. Let me present the boys. Step
up, lads. This here is Mops, our masher. Only hez ter look at a mess of
pertatoes to rejuce 'em. Tuk a prize once at a beauty show, there bein'
no other contestants, and the judge havin' been struck blind."
"Oh, stop yer joshin'!" growled Mops, as, with a red face, he nearly
lost his balance in a bow.
"And Bill. Bill's our dude," explained the Bully. "Won't use nothin' but
fashion-plates ter patch his breeches. Now, Bill, don't turn yer back on
the ladies, else they'll see that what I say is true. And this here
solemn guy is Sandy, who keeps everything that comes his way, except the
Commandments, and takes whatever he can lay hands on, except a joke." A
few more introductions having been achieved in the same style, "Well,
well, I guess we're a rough, tough lot," concluded Nick.
"Nature's noblemen, my dear," interpolated the minister. "The dearest
souls, except for an occasional regrettable--ahem----"
"Spree!" shouted the Bully. "But that, take it all in all, is a good
sign. When bedrock's too smooth you won't find gold. Gawd knows we're
tough--but when women comes among us--good women----" He broke off to
pass a ragged sleeve across his eyes and gulp. "They're welcome as
pay-dirt, and honored as queens."
"That's what! You betcherlife!" emphatically assented the throng.
"Thank you! thank you!" replied the beautiful young lady. "I must
introduce myself. I come from New York. My name is Evelyn Durant----"
"'Rah, 'rah, for Evelyn!" shouted Mops, to his own surprise and the
general admiration.
"And these young friends of mine"--Miss Durant indicated the six plainly
dressed little maids who were drinking in these wonderful happenings,
like children in a fairy dream--"their names are Mary, Ruth, Ethel,
Kate, Effie and Gertrude, They have come with me for a holiday from the
institution where they live. They are orphans."
A round of cheers was thereupon called for, for Mary, Ruth, Ethel, Kate,
Effie and Gertrude, and clinched with Barney's flattering assertion,
"An' sure this is the idayal asoilum for thim, and may they prosper and
multiply galeor, for divvle a family in the disthrict can brag av an
orphan of its own at all, more shame to us!"
"And this," Evelyn tapped a stout, middle-aged woman kindly on the
shoulder, "is my faithful maid, Sarah."
Sarah having been duly cheered, "Sarah is nae bonny, but she micht be
sonsy and of a savin' disposeetion," commended Sandy, cautiously, for
which encomium, however, he was only rewarded by an angry shake of
Sarah's stout umbrella, with a counsel to keep his cheek to himself or
she'd know the reason why.
These graceful amenities concluded, "We have come all this way to visit
my father," explained Miss Durant. "But it is far harder to find him
than I should have expected, considering how well known he is. But I'm
sure you can help me."
"Sure!" cried her hearers. "You betcher-boots on that!"
"And who may be your dad, lady?" inquired one. "Some crackerjack swell
capitalist, I reckon."
At this, a gaunt, elderly man, who had kept in the background, leaning
against a tree, and taking no part in the proceedings, shifted his
position, uneasily.
"Well," said the young lady, with a conscious laugh, and the
condescension of one who might boast descent from Santa Claus, "I
suppose every one in these parts is familiar with the name of Matthew
Durant."
"Matthew Durant!" The owner of the name did not claim it, and Scarlett
and Barney, who, of the onlookers, alone could have identified him,
recognizing the tragedy that was being enacted before them, also were
silent. Meanwhile the prospectors, after scratching perplexed heads and
ransacking memories in vain, denied all knowledge of the man.
"Maybe he warks his proposeetion as a company, leddy," suggested Sandy.
"Oh, dear, no!" Miss Durant flouted the notion. "My father is It!"
The man leaning against the Douglas spruce, his ragged cap drawn down
over his eyes, groaned slightly, and turning away, looked toward the
distant mountains, while overhead a bird trilled blithely.
"Let me see if I can describe him," his daughter was saying, in her
sweet, assured young voice. "He is tall, erect----"
Durant's bowed shoulders bowed themselves still lower.
"He is clean-shaven----"
Durant felt his unkempt beard.
"He always dresses in the height of fashion. He's quite a dude, I tell
him."
Durant laughed outright.
"And I think him extremely handsome!"
"Sure; judging by his darter!" cried Mops, gallantly. "Oh, I don't mean
that!" he hastened to add, fearful of having been too free.
"Oh, but I don't mind your meaning it," laughed Evelyn. "But come, if
you've never met my father surely you all know his mine--the wonderful
Rainbow Mine."
There was a pregnant pause, and then the Bully spoke, slowly,
impressively. "I never knowed an out-an'-out prospector that didn't own
the wonderfullest mine goin'--only waiting fer a triflin' circumstance
like capital ter come along from the East and open it up and put it on a
payin' basis. Why, every man Jack of us owns a placer claim, or
hydraulicking concession, a silver or a copper mountain or a glut of
gold or summat that entitles him to be It. Why, this here little
beggar," he jerked his head toward Bill, "he claims he owns an antimony
proposition that if developed ull make J. Peerpunt Morgan take a back
seat and Hetty Green look like thirty cents----"
"No 'if' about it. You betcherlife it will!" cried Bill, with warmth.
"Aye!" The Bully nodded his head, condoningly. "And Sandy here claims
ter have an option on a----"
"A copper proposeetion, pure boanite," elucidated Sandy.
"Aye! Something that's a-goin' ter make Clark of Montana bust with envy
some day," assented Nick, "and knock Newhouse of Salt Lake City inter a
cocked hat. Why, tho' by nacher conservative an' shrinking I myself am
calkilatin' on stackin' up the chips--I mean the books, ag'in Andy
Carnegie, and pourin' oil on the troubled waters of John D.
Rockefeller's poverty, unless he's run in fust! Take my word fer it,
missy, every man within range of them bright eyes of yourn is a
millionaire--ter-morrer! A stun-broke millionaire!"
"But, you see, my father is a millionaire to-day," explained Miss
Durant, with amused tolerance. "A multi-millionaire."
Nick shrugged his shoulders. "Lucky father!"
"Why, that's his camp name," Evelyn exclaimed. "Lucky! He has often
told me. Surely you all know Lucky?"
[Illustration: MINGLED WITH THE TRAVELLERS AT GUMBOOT ANNIE'S BOARD.]
There was a dead silence, broken only by the fly-catcher's mocking
refrain, every man with wonderful restraint and delicacy avoiding so
much as a glance toward Durant.
Then, again, Nick rose to the occasion, manfully. "Why, ter be sure!
Everybody knows Lucky, and Lucky's Rainbow Mine, eh, boys? Blast yer,
can't yer _say_ yer does?" he demanded, in an undertone that would have
been backed up with a shooting-iron had his hands been free.
But of their own accord the boys, their presence of mind recovered, all
were loyally assuring Miss Durant that Lucky and Lucky's mine were
synonyms for boundless wealth at Lost Shoe Creek and throughout the
golden northland. "The mere mention of it brings better fortin' than
touchin' a hunchback, or spittin' on your money at new moon," one summed
up.