CHAPTER I.
MR. HAMLIN'S RECREATION CONTINUED.
When Donna Dolores after the departure of Mrs. Sepulvida missed thefigure of Mr. Jack Hamlin from the plain before her window, she presumedhe had followed that lady and would have been surprised to have knownthat he was at that moment within her castle, drinking _aguardiente_with no less a personage than the solemn Don Juan Salvatierra. In pointof fact, with that easy audacity which distinguished him, Jack hadpenetrated the courtyard, gained the hospitality of Don Juan withouteven revealing his name and profession to that usually ceremoniousgentleman, and after holding him in delicious fascination for two hours,had actually left him lamentably intoxicated, and utterly oblivious ofthe character of his guest. Why Jack did not follow up his advantage byseeking an interview with the mysterious _Se[~n]ora_ who had touched him sodeeply I cannot say, nor could he himself afterwards determine. A suddenbashfulness and timidity which he had never before experienced in hisrelations with the sex, tied his own tongue, while Don Juan with thegarrulity which inebriety gave to his, poured forth the gossip of theMission and the household. It is possible also that a certain vaguehopelessness, equally novel to Jack, sent him away in lower spirits thanhe came. It is not remarkable that Donna Dolores knew nothing of thevisit of this guest, until three days afterwards, for during that timeshe was indisposed and did not leave her room, but it _was_ remarkablethat on learning it she flew into a paroxysm of indignation and ragethat alarmed Don Juan and frightened her attendants.
"And why was _I_ not told of the presence of this strange _Americano_?Am I a child, holy St. Anthony! that I am to be kept in ignorance of myduty as the hostess of the Blessed Trinity, or are you, Don Juan, mydue[~n]a? A brave _caballero_, who, I surmise from your description, is thesame that protected me from insult at Mass last Sunday, and he is not to'kiss my hand?' Mother of God! And his name--you have forgotten?"
In vain Juan protested that the strange _caballero_ had not requested anaudience, and that a proper maidenly spirit would have prevented theDonna from appearing, unsought.
"Better that I should have been thought forward--and these _Americanos_are of different habitude, my uncle--than that the Blessed Trinityshould have been misrepresented by the guzzling of _aguardiente_!"
Howbeit, Mr. Hamlin had not found the climate of San Antonio conduciveto that strict repose that his physician had recommended, and left itthe next day with an accession of feverish energy that was new to him.He had idled away three days of excessive heat at Sacramento, and on thefourth had flown to the mountains and found himself on the morning ofthe first cool day at Wingdam.
"Anybody here I know?" he demanded of his faithful henchman, as Petebrought in his clothes, freshly brushed for the morning toilette.
"No, sah!"
"Nor want to, eh?" continued the cynical Jack, leisurely getting out ofbed.
Pete reflected. "Dere is two o' dese yar Yeastern tourists--dem folks asis goin' round inspectin' de country--down in de parlour. Jess come overfrom de Big Trees. I reckon dey's some o' de same party--dem Friscochaps--Mass Dumphy and de odders haz been unloadin' to. Dey's mightygreen, and de boys along de road has been fillin' 'em up. It's jess somuch water on de dried apples dat Pete Dumphy's been shovin' into 'em."
Jack smiled grimly. "I reckon you needn't bring up my breakfast, Pete,I'll go down."
The party thus obscurely referred to by Pete, were Mr. and Mrs. Raynor,who had been "doing" the Big Trees, under the intelligent guidance of aSan Francisco editor who had been deputised by Mr. Dumphy to representCalifornian hospitality. They were exceedingly surprised duringbreakfast by the entrance of a pale, handsome, languid gentleman,accurately dressed, whose infinite neatness shamed their own bedraggledappearance, and who, accompanied by his own servant, advanced andquietly took a seat opposite the tourists and their guide. Mrs. Raynorat once became conscious of some negligence in her toilette, and after amoment's embarrassment excused herself and withdrew. Mr. Raynor,impressed with the appearance of the stranger, telegraphed his curiosityby elbowing the editor, who, however, for some reason best known tohimself, failed to respond. Possibly he recognised the presence of thenotorious Mr. Jack Hamlin in the dark-eyed stranger, and may have hadample reasons for refraining from voicing the popular reputation of thatgentleman before his face, or possibly he may have been inattentive.Howbeit, after Mr. Hamlin's entrance he pretermitted the hymn ofCalifornia praise and became reticent and absorbed in his morning paper.Mr. Hamlin waited for the lady to retire, and then, calmly ignoring thepresence of any other individual, languidly drew from his pocket arevolver and bowie-knife, and placing them in an easy habitual manner oneither side of his plate, glanced carelessly over the table, and thencalled Pete to his side.
"Tell them," said Jack, quietly, "that I want some _large_ potatoes: askthem what they mean by putting those little things on the table. Tellthem to be quick. Is your rifle loaded?"
"Yes, sah," said Pete, promptly, without relaxing a muscle of hisserious ebony face.
"Well--take it along with you."
But here the curiosity of Mr. Raynor, who had been just commenting onthe really enormous size of the potatoes, got the best of his prudence.Failing to make his companion respond to his repeated elbowings, heleaned over the table toward the languid stranger. "Excuse me, sir," hesaid, politely, "but did I understand you to say that you thought thesepotatoes _small_--that there are really larger ones to be had?"
"It's the first time," returned Jack gravely, "that I ever was insultedby having a _whole_ potato brought to me. I didn't know it was possiblebefore. Perhaps in this part of the country the vegetables are poor. I'ma stranger to this section. I take it you are too. But because I am astranger I don't see why I should be imposed upon."
"Ah, I see," said the mystified Raynor, "but if I might ask anotherquestion--you'll excuse me if I'm impertinent--I noticed that you justnow advised your servant to take his gun into the kitchen with him;surely"----
"Pete," interrupted Mr. Hamlin, languidly, "is a good nigger. Ishouldn't like to lose him! Perhaps you're right--maybe I am a littleover-cautious. But when a man has lost two servants by gunshot woundsinside of three months, it makes him careful."
The perfect unconcern of the speaker, the reticence of his companion,and the dead silence of the room in which this extraordinary speech wasuttered, filled the measure of Mr. Raynor's astonishment.
"Bless my soul! this is most extraordinary. I have seen nothing ofthis," he said, appealing in dumb show to his companion.
Mr. Hamlin followed the direction of his eyes. "Your friend is aCalifornian and knows what we think of any man who lies, and how mostmen resent such an imputation, and I reckon he'll endorse me!"
The editor muttered a hasty assent that seemed to cover Mr. Hamlin'svarious propositions, and then hurriedly withdrew, abandoning his chargeto Mr. Hamlin. What advantage Jack took of this situation, whatextravagant accounts he gravely offered of the vegetation in LowerCalifornia, of the resources of the country, of the reckless disregardof life and property, do not strictly belong to the record of thisveracious chronicle. Notwithstanding all this, Mr. Raynor found Mr.Hamlin an exceedingly fascinating companion, and later, when the editorhad rejoined them, and Mr. Hamlin proceeded to beg that gentleman towarn Mr. Raynor against gambling as the one seductive, besetting sin ofCalifornia, alleging that it had been the ruin of both the editor andhimself, the tourist was so struck with the frankness and high moralprinciple of his new acquaintance as to insist upon his making one oftheir party, an invitation that Mr. Hamlin might have accepted but forthe intervention of a singular occurrence.
During the conversation he had been curiously impressed by theappearance of a stranger who had entered and modestly and diffidentlytaken a seat near the door. To Mr. Hamlin this modesty and diffidenceappeared so curiously at variance with his superb physique, and theexceptional strength and power shown in every muscle of his body, thatwith his usual audacity he felt inclined to go forward and inquire "whatwas his little
game?" That he was lying in wait to be "picked up"--thereader must really excuse me if I continue to borrow Mr. Hamlin'sexpressive vernacular--that his diffidence and shyness was a deceit andintended to entrap the unwary, he felt satisfied, and was proportionablythrilled with a sense of admiration for him. That a rational human beingwho held such a hand should be content with a small _ante_, without"raising the other players,"--but I beg the fastidious reader'sforgiveness.
He was dressed in the ordinary miner's garb of the Southern mines,perhaps a little more cleanly than the average miner by reason of histaste, certainly more picturesque by reason of his statuesqueshapeliness. He wore a pair of white duck trousers, a jumper or looseblouse of the same material, with a low-folded sailor's collar andsailor-knotted neckerchief, which displayed, with an unconsciousnessquite characteristic of the man, the full, muscular column of hissunburnt throat, except where it was hidden by a full, tawny beard. Hislong, sandy curls fell naturally and equally on either side of thecentre of his low, broad forehead. His fair complexion, although greatlytanned by exposure, seemed to have faded lately as by sickness or greatmental distress, a theory that had some confirmation in the fact that heate but little. His eyes were downcast, or, when raised, were so shy asto avoid critical examination. Nevertheless his mere superficialexterior was so striking as to attract the admiration of others besidesMr. Hamlin; to excite the enthusiastic attention of Mr. Raynor, and toenable the editor to offer him as a fair type of the mining population.Embarrassed at last by a scrutiny that asserted itself even through hishabitual unconsciousness and pre-occupation, the subject of thiscriticism arose and returned to the hotel verandah, where his pack andmining implements were lying. Mr. Hamlin, who for the last few days hadbeen in a rather exceptional mood, for some occult reason which he couldnot explain, felt like respecting the stranger's reserve, and quietlylounged into the billiard-room to wait for the coming of thestage-coach. As soon as his back was turned the editor took occasion tooffer Mr. Raynor his own estimate of Mr. Hamlin's character andreputation, to correct his misstatements regarding Californian resourcesand social habits, and to restore Mr. Raynor's possibly shaken faith inCalifornia as a country especially adapted to the secure investment ofcapital.
"As to the insecurity of life," said the editor, indignantly, "it is assafe here as in New York or Boston. We admit that in the early days thecountry was cursed by too many adventurers of the type of this verygambler Hamlin, but I will venture to say that you will require nobetter refutation of these calumnies than this very miner whom youadmired. He, sir, is a type of our mining population; strong, manly,honest, unassuming, and perfectly gentle and retiring. We are proud,sir, we admit, of such men--eh? Oh, that's nothing--only the arrival ofthe up-stage!"
It certainly was something more. A momentarily increasing crowd ofbreathless men were gathered on the verandah before the window and werepeering anxiously over each other's head toward a central group, amongwhich towered the tall figure of the very miner of whom they had beenspeaking. More than that, there was a certain undefined, restless terrorin the air, as when the intense conscious passion or suffering of oneor two men communicates itself vaguely without speech, sometimes evenwithout visible sign to others. And then Yuba Bill, the driver of theWingdam coach, strode out from the crowd into the bar-room, drawing fromhis hands with an evident effort his immense buckskin gloves.
"What's the row, Bill?" said half-a-dozen voices.
"Nothin'," said Bill, gruffly; "only the Sheriff of Calaveras ez kemdown with us hez nabbed his man jest in his very tracks."
"When, Bill?"
"Right yer--on this very verandy--furst man he seed!"
"What for?" "Who?" "What hed he bin doin'?" "Who is it?" "What's up?"persisted the chorus.
"Killed a man up at One Horse Gulch, last night," said Bill, graspingthe decanter which the attentive bar-keeper had, without previousrequest, placed before him.
"Who did he kill, Bill?"
"A little Mexican from 'Frisco by the name o' Ramirez."
"What's the man's name that killed him--the man that you took?"
The voice was Jack Hamlin's.
Yuba Bill instantly turned, put down his glass, wiped his mouth with hissleeve, and then deliberately held out his great hand with an exhaustivegrin. "Dern my skin, ole man, if it ain't you! And how's things, eh? Yerlookin' a little white in the gills, but peart and sassy, ez usual.Heerd you was kinder off colour, down in Sacramento lass week. And it'syou, ole fell, and jest in time! Bar-keep--hist that pizen over to Jack.Here to ye agin, ole man! But I'm glad to see ye!"
The crowd hung breathless over the two men--awestruck and respectful. Itwas a meeting of the gods--Jack Hamlin and Yuba Bill. None dare speak.Hamlin broke the silence at last, and put down his glass.
"What," he asked, lazily, yet with a slight colour on his cheek, "didyou say was the name of the chap that fetched that little Mexican?"
"Gabriel Conroy," said Bill.