XXVII
UNCLE BILL IS OSTRACIZED
Uncle Bill Griswold sat by the window in the office of the Hinds Housewhere he could watch the stage road, and, as usual this winter, he wassitting by himself. It was thus that Ore City punished reticence.
Uncle Bill was suspected of _knowing something_--of having_business_--of his own--and keeping it to himself. A display of friendlyinterest in his affairs having received no encouragement and variouslines of adroit cross-examination having been successfully blocked, OreCity was forced to regard his stubborn reserve as a hostile act forwhich it was tacitly agreed he should be disciplined. Therefore itwithdrew its own confidences and company. Uncle Bill was shunned, leftalone to enjoy his secret. The heavy hand of Public Opinion was uponhim. Socially he was an outcast. Conversation ceased when he approachedas if he had been a spy. Games of solo, high-five, and piute went onwithout him and in heated arguments no one any longer asked his views.
This latter offense however was only an aggravation of the real onewhich dated back to the memorable occasion when Wilbur Dill had askedhis opinion of the "secondary enrichment." It was held that a man whowould tell the truth at a time like that was a menace to the camp andthe sooner he moved on the better.
In the early spring the old man had disappeared into the mountain withpowder, drills, and a three months' grub-stake. He had told no one ofhis destination, and when he had returned the most he would say was thathe had "been peckin' on a ledge all summer." He sent samples of his rockoutside but did not show the assays. He wrote letters and began to getmail in blank, non-committal envelopes and added to the general feelingof exasperation by always being at the desk before even the clerk hadtime to make out the postmarks. Oh, he was up to something--that wascertain--something that would "knock" the camp no doubt. They wouldn'tput it past him.
If Uncle Bill felt his exile or harbored resentment at being treatedlike a leper he was too proud to give any sign.
There had been but little change in the Hinds House in a year. Only aclose observer would have noted that it had changed at all. There was atrifle more baling-wire intertwined among the legs of the office chairsand a little higher polish on the seats. The grease spots on theunbleached muslin where Ore City rested its head were a shade darker andthe monuments of "spec'mins" were higher. The Jersey organ had lost twostops and a wooden stalagmite was broken. "Old Man" Hinds in apraiseworthy attempt to clean his solitaire deck had washed off thespots or at least faded them so that no one but himself could tell whatthey were. The office was darker, too, because of the box-covers nailedacross the windows where a few more panes had gone out. Otherwise itmight have been the very day a year ago that Judge George Petty hadlurched through the snow tunnel jubilantly announcing the arrival of thestage.
Only this year there was no snow tunnel and the Judge was sober--soberand despondent.
His attitude of depression reflected more or less the spirit of thecamp, which for once came near admitting that "if Capital didn't takeholt in the Spring they _might_ have to quit."
"Anyway," Yankee Sam was saying, lowering his voice to give theimpression to Uncle Bill at the window that he, too, had affairs of aprivate nature, "I learnt my lesson good about givin' options. That wereour big mistake--tyin' ourselves up hand and foot with that feller Dill.Why, if a furrin' syndicate had walked in here and offered me half amillion fer my holdin's in that porphory dike I couldn't a done a strokeof business. Forfeit money in the bank after this for Samuel. But ifever I lays eyes on that rat--" Yankee Sam glared about the circle--"youwatch my smoke! Mind what I tell you."
"What about the deal he give me on The Prince o' Peace?" demandedLannigan. "Look what he cost me! The money I spent on them stampswritin' to know what was doin' would a kept me eatin' for a month. Maybeyou think because I don't roar much I ain't angery. If I had the priceI'd hire somebudy regalar to help me hate that feller!"
"I hold that he's worse than robbed me!" Judge Petty struck his kneewith a tremulous fist. "He took one whole year off'n my life, that'swhat he's done--pure murder, ain't it? Expectin' to sell every mail, allsummer, and then bein' disappinted has shore took it out of me. Made anol' man of me, as you might say, as was hale and hearty. I might haveknowed, too; you had only to look in his face to see what he was!'Crook' was wrote all over him. There's a law for the likes o' WilburDill--false pretenses."
"Law!" contemptuously. "Pa" Snow spent more of his time downstairs nowin a rocking chair upholstered with a soogan, where he could vent hisbitterness at short range. Disappointment over the sale of "The BayHorse" had made a socialist of him. "The law--a long way we'd get havin'the law on him! The law's no use to the poor man--he's only got oneweapon he can count on; and while I've never set out to let no man'sblood, if that skunk ever pokes his nose inside these premises he'llfind a red-hot _Southerner_ waitin' for him!" Mr. Snow looked soaltogether ferocious that Ore City more than half believed him.
"Seems like everything this year has been agin us." The despondent voicebehind the stove sounded hopeless. "Burt's proposition fizzlin' out onthe river is goin' to hurt this camp wonderful. It's surprisin' how fastthe news of a failure gits around among Capital. I knew the way he wasstartin' in to work--in fact I told him--that he never could makenothin'."
"When I first went down to work for him I advised steam but he goesahead, and look what's happened--broke down and you can gamble he won'tstart up again." Lannigan added confidently as though he spoke frompersonal knowledge--"Them stockholders is done puttin' up money."
"I warned him about the grade he was givin' them sluice-boxes--I went tohim first off, didn't I?" Yankee Sam looked around for confirmation. "Doyou mind I said at the time he wasn't warshin' that dirt fast enough?"
"Anyhow," declared the Judge querulously, "he ought to 'a piped it off.T'were a hydraulickin' proposition. He could handle it just twice asfast at half the cost. I sent him down word when I heard what he wasdoin'."
"And wastin' money like he did on all them new style riffles--expandedmetal and cocoa matting! Gimme pole riffles with a little strap-iron onthe top and if you can't ketch it with that you can't ketch it withnothin'."
"Mostly," said Ma Snow who had come up behind the critic's chairunnoticed, "you've ketched nothin'." She went on in her plaintive voice:
"It's a shame, that's what it is, that Bruce Burt didn't just turn overhis business to you-all this summer. With shining examples of success toadvise him, like's sittin' here burnin' up my wood t'hout offerin' tosplit any, he _couldn't_ have failed. Personally, I wouldn't think ofmakin' a business move without first talkin' it over with the financiersthat have made Ore City the money centre that it is!"
"Everybody can learn something," Yankee Sam retorted with a show ofspirit.
"Not everybody," Ma Snow's voice had an ominous quaver, "or you'd alearned long ago that you can't knock that young man in my hearin'. _I_haven't forgot if _you_ have, that the only real money that's been inthe camp all Summer has come up from the river."
"We wasn't sayin' anything against him personal," the brash Samuelassured her hastily; but Bruce's champion refused to be mollified.
"What if he _did_ shut down? What of it?" She glared defiance until herpale eyes watered with the strain. "I don't notice anybody here that'sever had gumption enough even to start up. What do you do?" She answeredfor them--"Jest scratch a hole in the ground, then set and wait forCapital to come and hand you out a million. I dast you to answer!"
It was plain from the silence that no one cared to remove the chip on MaSnow's shoulder.
"I hear he aims to stay down there all winter alone and trap." JudgePetty made the observation for the sake of conversation merely, as thefact was as well known as that there were four feet of snow outside orthat the camp was "busted."
"And it's to his credit," Ma Snow snapped back. "When he's doin' that heain't runnin' up board bills he cain't pay."
"It's as good a place as any," admitted the Judge, "providin' he don'tgo nutty." He raised his voice an
d added with a significant look atUncle Bill: "Bachin' alone makes some fellers act like a bull-elk that'sbeen whipped out of the herd."
"It takes about four months before you begin to think that somebudy'slayin' out in the brush watchin' you--waitin' to rob you even if youhaven't got anything to steal but a slab of swine-buzzum and a sack offlour. The next stage," went on the citizen behind the stove speakingwith the voice of authority, "is when you pack your rifle along everytime you go for a bucket of water, and light you palouser in the middleof the night to go around the cabin lookin' for tracks. Yes, sir,"emphatically, "and the more brains you got the quicker you go off."
"You seemed about the same when you got back as when you left that timeyou wintered alone on the left fork of Swiftwater," Ma Snow commented.
"Like as not you remember that spell I spent t'other side of Sheep-eaterRidge when I druv that fifty foot tunnel single-handed into the SilverKing?"
"You've never give us no chance to forgit it," responded an auditor."We've heard it reg'lar every day since."
"I hadn't seen nobody fer clost to three months," Lemonade Dan continued"when a feller come along, and says: 'I'd like to stop with ye but I'mshort of cash.' I counted out a dollar-thirty and I says 'Stranger,' Isays, 'that's all I got but it's yourn if you'll stay!'"
"And you'll jump for a new seed catalogue or an Agricultural Bulletinlike it was a novel just out," contributed Yankee Sam from hisexperience. "I've allus been a great reader. I mind how I come clost toburnin' myself out on account of it the fall of '97 when I wasground-sluicin' down there on Snake river. I had a tidy cabin paperedwith newspapers and one week when 'twere stormin' I got interested in aserial story what was runnin'. It started back of the stove and they wasan installment pasted in the cupboard, they was a piece upside downclost to the floor so I had to stand on my head, as you might say, toread it, and the end was on the ceilin'. One evenin' I was standin' on abox with my mouth open and my neck half broke tryin' to see how it comeout when I tipped the lamp over. I'm a reg'lar book-worm, when I gitswhere they's readin'."
"I mind the winter I bached on Crooked Crick I tamed a mouse," venturedLannigan. "He got so sociable he et out of my fingers."
"He shorely must have been fond of you." Ma Snow looked fixedly atLannigan's hands. "Mistah Hinds," turning sharply upon that person, whowas endeavoring by close inspection to tell whether the last card was aking or queen, "the bacon's froze and there ain't a knife in yoah ol'kitchen that will cut."
"Yes ma'am," murmured Mr. Hinds, hoping against hope that the statementwas not a command with his luck just beginning to turn and a sequence insight.
"If there ain't an aidge on one of them butcher knives that'll cut breadwhen I start in to get supper--"
But Ma Snow did not deliver her ultimatum. In the first place it was notnecessary, for the cowed owner of the Hinds House knew perfectly wellwhat it was, and in the second, Uncle Bill arose suddenly and stood ontiptoe looking through the window in something that approachedexcitement. Nothing ordinary could jar Uncle Bill's composure--chairswent over in the rush to join him at the window.
The stage was coming--with passengers! It was almost in--they could hearthe driver's--"Git ep, Eagle! Git ep, Nig! Git ep--git ep--git ep!"There was luggage on behind and--Yankee Sam's voice broke as though itwere changing when he announced it--a female and two men!
Was this Uncle Bill's secret? Had he known? They could learn nothingfrom his face and his mouth was shut so tight it looked as if he had thelock-jaw.
Who was she? Where was she from? Did she have any money? Was she old oryoung? Delicacy forbade them to go outside and look straight at astrange lady but a dozen questions rose in every mind. Thensimultaneously the same thought came to each. Moved by a common impulsethey turned and stared suspiciously at Uncle Bill. Could it be--was itpossible that he had been advertising for a wife? Luring some trustingfemale from her home by representing himself as a mining man forced toreside in this mountain solitude near his valuable properties? Ore Cityknew of cases like it; and he was just about the age to begin writing tomatrimonial bureaus.
Speculation ended abruptly. A sharp intake of breath--a startled gaspran through the tense group as a pair of nimble, yellow legs flashedfrom beneath the robes and the citizens of Ore City saw the smiling faceof Wilbur Dill! They turned to each other for confirmation lest theirown eyes deceive them.
Mr. Dill stamped the snow from his feet, flung open the door and beamedaround impartially.
"Well, boys--" he threw off his opulent, fur-lined coat--"it's good tobe back."
For the space of a second Ore City stood uncertainly. Then Pa Snowdisentangled his feet from the quilt and stepped forth briskly.
"Welcome home!" said the fire-eater cordially.
Dill's return could have but one meaning. He had returned with a "LiveOne" to take up the options. Hope smouldering to the point of extinctionsprang to life and burned like a fire in a cane-brake. Imaginations wereloosed on the instant. Once more Ore City began to think in six figures.
Yankee Sam, who had called upon his friends and High Heaven to "watchhis smoke," was the next to wring Dill's hand, and Lannigan followed,while the Judge forgot the priceless year of which he had been robbedand elbowed Porcupine Jim aside to greet him. Only Uncle Bill stoodaloof turning his jack-knife over and over nonchalantly in the pocket ofhis Levi Strauss's.
Ore City scowled. Couldn't he be diplomatic for once--the stubborn oldburro'--and act glad even if he wasn't? Why didn't he at least step uplike a man and say howdy to the woman he had lured from a good home?Where was he raised, anyhow?--drug up in the brush, most like, inMissoury.
Dill looked about inquiringly.
"Ah-h! Mr. Griswold." He strode across the floor. "_How_ are you?"
Ore City's hand flew to its heart, figuratively speaking, and clutchedit. No man ever called another "Mister" in that tone unless he hadsomething he wanted. And no man ever answered "tolable" with UncleBill's serenity unless _he knew_ he had something the other fellowwanted.
Had he really got hold of something on his prospecting trip this summer?Had he sold? Was he selling? Did this account for Dill's presence andnot the options? The chill at their hearts shot to their feet.
Mr. Dill tapped his pocket and lowered his voice--a futile precaution,for at the moment Ore City could have heard a "thousand legger" walkacross the floor. "I've got the papers here," he said, "all ready to besigned up if every thing's as represented."
Ore City went limp but not too limp to strain their ears for UncleBill's reply.
"Yes," he drawled, "you want to take particular care that I ain't saltin'you. Give plenty of time to your examination. They's no great sweat; Iwouldn't sign my name to an application for a fish license that youbrought me until I'd had a good lawyer look it over first. As I promisedyou when you wrote me to open up that ledge, I'll give you the firstshot at it, but don't try any funny business. I know now what I got,and I don't need you to help me handle it. I've never made it no secret,Wilbur, that I wouldn't trust you with a red-hot stove."
"I don't see why you should talk to me like this," Dill declared in aninjured tone. "You can't point to a single thing I've done."
"I ain't got fingers enough," Uncle Bill said dryly, "and my toes isunder cover. It's prob'ly slipped your mind that I was down in south'rnOregon when you left between two suns; but tain't that"--his old eyesgleamed--"it's what you done last winter--goin' down there deliberate tojump Bruce Burt's claim."
"Ss-sh!" Mr. Dill hissed, not in resentment but in alarm as he glancedover his shoulder. "That's Burt's father." From the corner of hismouth--"I think he's got money."
Money! The word acted like a strychnia tablet upon Ore City's retardedcirculation. Money! Warmth returned to its extremities. It looked at theobject of these hopeful suspicions as though its many heads swung on asingle neck. He was sitting by the stove in a suit of clothes that musthave cost as much as fifteen dollars and he appeared as oblivious totheir concentrated gaze as though he we
re alone in the middle of hisranch.
The strange female was still unaccounted for. Ore City had the tense,over-strained feeling of a spectator trying to watch all the acts in atriple-ringed circus. When she removed her outer wraps it was seen thatshe was not only young but, in Ore City's eyes, overpoweringlygood-looking. Was she married? Every question paled beside this one.Surely--they looked at Uncle Bill contemptuously--even if he _had_struck something she would not marry that old codger.
When she walked to the stove to warm her hands if they had followedtheir impulses they would have jumped and run. The bravest among themdared not raise his eyes two inches above the bottom part of thestove-door though in each mind there was a wild groping for some lightand airy nothing to show how much he felt at ease. Something whichshould be appropriate and respectful, yet witty.
And of course it must be Porcupine Jim who finally spoke.
"That's a hard stage ride, ma'am," he said deferentially. "Them jolts isenough to tear the linin' out of a lady. They does _me_ up and I'm quitehearty."
Ore City blushed to the roots of its hair and there was murder in theeyes that turned on Jim. Didn't he know _nothin'_--that Swede?
They felt somewhat relieved when she laughed.
"It is rather bumpy but I enjoyed it. The mountains are wonderful, andthe air, and everybody is so kind; it's a new world to me and I love itall!"
Ore City fairly purred. _Was_ she married? There was a generalmovement--a surreptitious smoothing of back hair--an apologetic fumblingat the spot sacred to neckties. The judge buttoned up the two remainingbuttons of his waistcoat. Lannigan concealed his hands.
The shadow of a grin flitted across John Burt's face, for he sometimessaw and heard more than was generally believed.
"If you was aimin' to stay any length of time, ma'am," Yankee Sam fishedinnocently, "we kin git up a picnic and show you somethin' of thecountry when the snow goes off. About three days' ride from here I knowa real nice view."
Helen thanked him adequately and explained that she was not sure howlong she would remain. "I should like to stay, though," she added, "longenough to see the boom."
Ore City sat up as if she had said, "bomb."
"By the way, I wonder, if Mr. Griswold is here?"
It _was_ Uncle Bill then! He'd ought to be lynched. It was sickening theluck some people had.
Uncle Bill came forward wonderingly.
"Here I be."
Helen put out a friendly hand:
"You don't know me, of course, but I've heard a great deal about you."
"I'm most afraid to ask what it is, ma'am, for lyin' and stealin' is theonly crimes I denies."
"I'll tell you when I know you better," Helen laughed, "because I hopewe're going to be good friends."
He looked keenly into her face. "I wouldn't never look for any troublebetween you and me, ma'am. Shake." He added with a smile: "I ain't gotso many friends that I kin afford to turn one down."
"You'll have enough of them shortly," Helen smiled. "I know the worldsufficiently well to be sure of that. I hope I'm the first tocongratulate you on your good fortune. Mr. Dill has told me something ofyour luck. He says you're going to be the saviour of the camp."
"I been crucified a-plenty," Uncle Bill replied, with a significant lookat Ore City sitting with its mouth agape, "but," modestly, "I wouldn'thardly like to go as far as to call myself _that_."
XXVIII
"ANNIE'S BOY"
When Bruce was left alone in the gloomy canyon, where the winter sun atits best did not shine more than three hours in the twenty-four, he hadwondered whether the days or nights would be the hardest to endure. Itwas now well into December, and still he did not know. They were equallyintolerable.
During the storms which kept him inside he spent the days looking at thefloor, the nights staring at the ceiling, springing sometimes to hisfeet burning with feverish energy, a maddening desire to _do_something--and there was nothing for him to do but wait. Moments wouldcome when he felt that he could go out and conquer the world bare-handedbut they quickly passed with a fresh realization of his helplessness,and he settled back to the inevitable.
It was folly to go out penniless--unarmed; he had learned that lesson inthe East and his condition then had been affluence compared to this. Hewas doing the one thing that it was possible for him to do in thecircumstances--to get money enough to go outside.
"Slim" had brought a collection of traps down the river from Meadows,and Bruce had set these out. So far he had been rather lucky and thepile of skins in the corner was growing--lynx, cougar, marten, mink--butit still was not high enough.
If Bruce had been less sensitive, more world-hardened, his failure wouldnot have seemed such a crushing, unbearable thing, but alone in thekilling monotony he brooded over the money he had sunk for other peopleuntil it seemed like a colossal disgrace for which there was no excuseand that he could never live down. In his bitter condemnation of himselffor his inexperience, his ill-judged magnanimity, he felt as though hiswas an isolated case--that no human being ever had made such mistakesbefore.
But it was thoughts of Helen that always gave his misery its crowningtouch. She pitied him, no doubt, because, she was kind, but in her hearthe felt she must despise him for a weakling--a braggart who could notmake good his boasts. She needed him, too,--he was sure of it--and lackof money made him as helpless to aid her as though he were serving ajail sentence. When, in the night, his mind began running along thisline he could no longer stay in his bunk; and not once, but many times,he got up and dressed and went outside, stumbling around in the brush,over the rocks--anything to change his thoughts.
He tried his utmost to put her out of his mind, yet as he plodded on hissnow-shoes, along his fifteen-mile trap line, either actively orsubconsciously his thoughts were of her. He could no longer imaginehimself feeling anything more than a mild interest in any other woman.He loved her with the same concentration of affection that he had lovedhis mother.
Bruce had formed the habit of wondering what she would think of this andthat--of imagining how she would look--what she would say--and so allthrough the summer she had been associated with the work. He hadanticipated the time when he should be showing her the rapids with themoonlight shining on the foam, the pink and amber sunsets behind theumbrella tree, and when the wind blew among the pines of listening withher to the sounds that were like Hawaiian music in the distance.
Now, try as he would, he could not rid himself of the habit, and, as hepushed his way among the dark underbrush of creeks, he was alwaysthinking that she, too, would love that "woodsy" smell; that she, too,would find delight in the frozen waterfalls and the awesome stillness ofthe snow-laden pines.
But just so often as he allowed his imagination rein, just so often hecame back to earth doubly heavy-hearted, for the chance that she wouldever share his pleasure in these things seemed to grow more remote asthe days went by.
Bruce had built himself a shelter at the end of his trap-line thatconsisted merely of poles and pine boughs leaned against a rim-rock.Under this poor protection, wrapped in a blanket, with his feet towardthe fire at the entrance and his back against the wall, he spent many awretched night. Sometimes he dozed a little, but mostly wide-eyed, hecounted the endless hours waiting for the dawn.
During the summer when things had continually gone wrong Bruce had foundsome comfort in recounting the difficulties which his hero of theCalumet and Hecla had gone through in the initial stages of thedevelopment of that great mine. But that time had passed, for, whileAlexander Agassiz had had his struggles, Bruce told himself with ashadowy smile, he never had been up against a deal like this! there wasno record that he ever had had to lie out under a rim-rock when thethermometer stood twenty and twenty-five below.
In the long, soundless nights that had the cold stillness of infinitespace, Bruce always had the sensation of being the only person in theuniverse. He felt alone upon the planet. Facts became hazy myths, truthsmerely hallucinations, nothing seemed real,
actual, except that if heslept too long and the fire went out he would freeze to death under therim-rock.
It was only when he dropped down from the peaks and ridges and began tofollow his own steps back, that he returned to reality and things seemedas they are again. Then it was not so hard to believe that over beyondthat high, white range there were other human beings--happy people,successful people, people with plenty to read and plenty to do, peoplewho looked forward with pleasure, not dread, to the days as they came.
He was so lonely that he always felt a little elated when he came acrossan elk track in the snow. It was evidence that something _was_ stirringin the world beside himself.
One day three deer came within thirty feet of him and stared.
"I suppose," he mused, "they're wondering what I am? Dog-gone!" withsavage cynicism. "I'm wondering that myself."
Whatever small portion of his spirits he had recovered by exercise andsuccess at his traps, always disappeared again on his return down BigSquaw Creek. To pass the head-gate and the flume gave him an acute pang,while the high trestle which represented so much toil and sweat, hurthim like a stab. It seemed unbelievable that he could fail after allthat work!
When he passed the power-house with its nailed windows and doors heturned his head the other way. It was like walking by a graveyard wheresome one was sleeping that he loved.
Bruce always had been peculiarly depressed by abandoned homesteads,deserted cabins, machinery left to rust, because they represented wastedefforts, failure, but when these monuments to dead hopes were his own!His quickened footsteps sometimes became very nearly like a run.
It was from such a trip that Bruce came back to his cabin after twodays' absence more than ordinarily heavy-hearted, if that were possible,though his luck had been unusually good. He had a cougar, one lynx, andsix dark marten. Counting the State bounty on the cougar, the greenskins be brought back represented close to a hundred dollars. At thatrate he soon could go "outside."
But to-night the thought did not elate him. What was there for himoutside? What was there for him anywhere? As he had trudged along thetrail through the broken snow, the gloom of the canyon had weighed uponhim heavily, but it was the chill silence in the bare cabin when heopened the door that put the finishing touches upon his misery. Theemptiness of it echoed in his heart.
The blankets were in a mound in the bunk; he had been too disheartenedbefore he left even to sweep the floor; the ashes over-flowed the stovehearth and there was no wood split. The soiled dishes, caked withhardened grease, made him sick. The chimney of the lamp he lighted wasblack with smoke. It was the last word in cheerlessness, and there wasno reason to think, Bruce told himself, that it would not be in suchsurroundings that he would end his days. He was tired, hungry; hisvitality and spirits were at low ebb.
He warmed over a pan of biscuits and cold bacon and threw a handful ofcoffee in the dismal looking coffee pot. When it was ready he placed iton the clammy oilcloth and sat down. He eyed the food for a moment--theever-present bacon, the sticky can of condensed milk, the black coffeein the tin cup, the biscuits covered with protuberances that made themlook like a panful of horned toads. He realized suddenly that, hungry ashe had thought himself, he could not eat.
With a sweeping, vehement gesture he pushed it all from him. The tin cupupset and a small waterfall of coffee splashed upon the floor, the canof condensed milk rolled across the table and fell off but he did notpick it up. Instead, he folded his arms upon the oilcloth in the spacehe had made and dropping his forehead upon his ragged shirt-sleeve, hecried. Bruce had hit bottom.
Older, wiser, braver men than Bruce have cried in some crisis of theirlives. Tears are no sign of weakness. And they did not come now becausehe was quitting--because he did not mean to struggle on somehow orbecause there was anything or anybody of whom he was afraid. It was onlythat he was lonely, heartsick, humiliated, weary of thinking, bruisedwith defeat.
These tears were different from the ready tears of childhood, differentfrom the last he had shed upon his dead mother's unresponsive shoulder;these came slowly--smarting, stinging as they rose. His shoulders movedbut he made no sound.
* * * * *
A little way from the cabin where the steep trail from Ore City droppedoff the mountain to the sudden flatness of the river bar, some deadbranches cracked and a horse fell over a fallen log, upsetting thetoboggan that it dragged and taking Uncle Bill with it. Helen hurried tothe place where he was trying to extricate himself from the tangle.
"Are you _dead_, Uncle Bill?"
"Can't say--I never died before. Say," in a querulous whisper as hehelped the floundering horse up--"Why don't you notice where you'regoin'? Here you come down the mountain like you had fur on your feet,and the minute I gits you where I wants you to be quiet you make morenoise nor a cow-elk goin' through the brush. How you feelin', ma'am?" toHelen. "I expect you're about beat."
"Sorry to disappoint you, Uncle Bill, but I'm not. You tried so hard tokeep me from coming I don't think I'd tell you if I was."
"You wouldn't have to--I reckon I'd find it out before we'd gone far.I've noticed that when a lady is tired or hungry she gits powerfulcross."
"Where did you learn so much about women?"
"I've picked up considerable knowledge of the female disposition fromwranglin' dudes. A bald-face bear with cubs is a reg'lar streak ofsunshine compared to a lady-dude I had out campin' once--when she gottired or hungry, or otherwise on the peck. Her and me got feelin' prettyhos-tile toward each other 'fore we quit.
"I didn't so much mind packin' warm water mornin's for her to wash herface, or buttonin' her waist up the back, or changin' her stirrups everyfew miles or gittin' off to see if it was a fly on her horse's stummickthat made him switch his tail, but I got so weak I couldn't hardly setin the saddle from answerin' questions and tryin' to laugh at herjokes.
"'Say,' says she, 'ain't you got no sense of humor?' atter I'd let outsomethin' between a groan and a squeal. 'I had,' I says, ''till I wasshot in the head.' 'Shot in the head! Why didn't it kill you?' 'Thebullet struck a bolt, ma'am, and glanced off.' We rode seven hours thatday without speakin' and 'twere the only enjoyable time I had. Dudin'wouldn't be a bad business," Uncle Bill added judicially, "if it weren'tfor answerin' questions and listenin' to their second-hand jokes.Generally they're smart people when they're on their home range andsometimes they turns out good friends."
"Like Sprudell." Helen suggested mischievously.
"Sprudell!" The old man's eyes blazed and he fairly jumped at the soundof the name. "I ain't blood-thirsty and I never bore that reputation butif I had knowed as much about that feller as I know now he'd a slept inthat there snow-bank until spring.
"You know, ma'am," Uncle Bill went on solemnly while he cast an eye backup the trail for Burt who had fallen behind, "when a feller's drunk orlonesome he's allus got some of a dream that he dreams of what he'd doif he got rich. Sometimes its a hankerin' to travel, or be StateSenator, or have a whole bunch of bananny's hangin' up in the house toonct. I knowed an old feller that died pinin' for a briled lobster withhis last breath. Since I read that piece about sobbin' out my gratitudeon Sprudell's broad chest it's woke a new ambition in me. Every time Igits about three fingers of 'cyanide' from the Bucket o' Blood under mybelt I sees pictures of myself gittin' money enough together to go backto Bartlesville, Indianny, and lick him every day, reg'lar, or jest asoften as I kin pay my fine, git washed up, and locate him agin." UncleBill added reflectively:
"If this deal with Dill goes through without any hitch, I'd ort to beable to start about the first of the month."
"When _you_ get through with him," Helen laughed, "I'll review the bookhe's publishing at his own expense. Here comes Mr. Burt; he looks faggedout."
"These plains fellers are never any good on foot," Uncle Bill commentedas Burt caught up. "Now," to Burt and Helen, "I'll jest hold thiswar-horse back while you two go on ahead. Down there's his light."
There was eagerness in Burt's voice as he said:
"Yes, I'd like to have a look at him before he knows we're here. I'mcurious to see how he lives--what he does to pass the time."
"I hope as how you won't ketch him in the middle of a wild rannicaboo ofwine, women and song," Uncle Bill suggested dryly. "Bachin' in thewinter twenty miles from a neighbor is about the most dissipatin' life Iknow. There must be somethin' goin' on this evenin' or he wouldn't besettin' up after it's dark under the table."
"I'm so excited I'm _shaking_." Helen declared. "My teeth are almostchattering. I'm so afraid he'll hear us. That will spoil the surprise."
But Bruce had not heard. In complete abandonment to his wretchedness hewas still sitting at the table with his head upon his arm. So it wasthat his father saw him after fifteen years.
When he had thought of Bruce it was always as he had seen him that daythrough the window of the prairie ranch house--his head thrown back instubborn defiance, his black eyes full of the tears of childish angerand hurt pride, running bare-footed and bare-headed down the dustyroad--running, as he realized afterward, out of his life.
He had bitterly imagined that his son was prospering somewhere, with awife and children of his own, too indifferent in his contentment andsuccess to bother with his old Dad; and the picture had hardened hisheart.
His own life had been no bed of roses--no pioneer's was--and he, too,had known loneliness, hardships, but never anything like this. Hisshrewd face, deep-seamed and weather-beaten by the suns and snows ofmany years, worked. Then he straightened his shoulders, stooped fromyears of riding, and the black eyes under their thick eyebrows flashed.
"So this was that Sprudell fellow's work, was it? He was trying tofreeze Bruce out, down him because he thought he had no backing--breakhim on the rack!" His teeth shut hard and the fingers inside his mittensclenched. "There were people in the world who thought they could treatBruce like that--and get away with it? Annie's boy--_his_ son! Not yet,by God, not while steers were bringing nine-sixty on the hoof."
Burt strode around the corner and threw the door back wide.
"Bruce! Bruce! You mustn't feel so bad!" Excitement made his voice soundharsh, but there was no mistaking the sympathy intended or the yearningin his face.
Bruce jumped, startled, to his feet and stared, his vision dimmed by thesmarting tears. Was it a ghost--was he, too, getting "queer?"
"Haven't you anything to say to me, Bruce?"
There was an odd timidity in his father's voice but it was realenough--it was no hallucination. Simultaneous with the relief thethought flashed through Bruce's mind that his father had seen himthrough the window in his moment of weakness and despair. His featuresstiffened and with a quick, shamed movement he brushed his eyes with theback of his hand while his eyes flashed pride and resentment.
"I said all I had to say fifteen years ago when you refused me thechance to make something of myself. If I'd had an education nobody couldhave made a fool of me like this." His voice vibrated with mingledbitterness and mortification.
"I suppose you've heard all about it and come to say--'I told you so.'"
"I've come to see you through."
"You're too late; I'm down and out." In Bruce's voice Burt recognizedhis own harsh tones. "You've got nothing that I want now; you might aswell go back." His black eyes were relentless--hard.
"Won't you shake hands with me, Bruce?" There was pleading in his voiceas he took a step toward his son. Bruce did not stir, and Burt addedwith an effort: "It ain't so easy as you might think for me to beg likethis."
"I begged, too, but it didn't do any good."
"I've come twenty miles--on foot--to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm notyoung any more, Bruce. I'm an old man--and you're all I've got in theworld."
An old man! The words startled Bruce--shocked him. He never had thoughtof his father as old, or lonely, but always as tireless, self-centred,self-sufficient, absorbed heart and soul in getting rich. He seemedsuddenly to see the bent shoulders, the graying hair and eyebrows, thefurrows and deep, drooping lines about the mouth that had not beenengraved by happiness. There was something forlorn, pathetic about himas he stood there with his hand out asking for forgiveness. And he hadplodded through the snow--twenty miles--on foot to see him!
The blood that is thicker than water stirred, and the tugging at hisheart strings grew too hard to withstand. He unfolded his arms andstretched out a hand impulsively--"Father!" Then both--"Dad!" he cried.
"My boy!" There was a catch in the old man's voice, misty eyes lookedinto misty eyes and fifteen years of bitterness vanished as father andson clasped hands.
When Burt could speak he looked at Bruce quizzically and said, "Ithought you'd be married by this time, Bruce."
"Married! What right has a Failure to get married?"
"That's no way to talk. What's one slip-up, or two, or three? Nobody's afailure till he's dead. Confidence comes from success, but, let me tellyou, boy, practical knowledge comes from jolts."
"Dog-gone! I ought to be awful wise," Bruce answered ironically. "Yes,"sobering. "I've learned something--I'm not liable to make the samemistake twice." He added ruefully: "Nor, by the same token, am I likelyto have the chance. I suppose I've got the reputation of being somethingmidway between an idiot and a thief."
Burt seemed to consider.
"Well, now, I can't recall that the person who engineered this trip forme used any such names as that. As near as I could make out she wassomewhat prejudiced on your side."
Bruce stared.
"She? Not 'Ma' Snow!"
Burt's eyes twinkled as he shook his head.
"No," drily, "not 'Ma' Snow. She's an estimable lady but I doubt if shecould talk me into comin' on a tour like this in winter."
A wonderful light dawned suddenly in Bruce's eyes.
"You mean--"
"--Helen. I'm feelin' well enough acquainted with her now to call herHelen. Whatever else we disagree on, Bruce, it looks as though we hadthe same taste when it comes to girls."
"You _know_ her?" Bruce's tone was as incredulous as his face.
Burt answered with a wry smile:
"After you've ridden on the back seat of that Beaver Creek stage with aperson and bumped heads every fifteen feet for a hundred miles, you'renot apt to feel like strangers when you get in."
Bruce almost shouted--
"She's in Ore City!"
"She _was_."
Bruce fell back into his old attitude at the table, but his fatherstepped quickly to the door and an instant later threw it open. At hisside was Helen--with outstretched arms and face aglow, her eyes shininghappily.
Bruce had not known that great and sudden joy could make a persondizzy, but the walls, the floor, everything, seemed to waver as heleaped to his feet.
"I was sure you wouldn't turn your own partner out of doors!" Her lipsparted in the smile that he loved and though he could not speak he wenttoward her with outstretched arms.
Passing the window, Uncle Bill stopped and stood for a second lookinginto the light.
"Hells catoots!" he muttered gruffly, "Seems like sometimes in thisworld things happen as they ort." And then, Ore City to the contrary, hedemonstrated that he had both presence of mind and tact, for he shoutedto Burt in a voice that would have carried a mile on a still night--"Hi!Old Man! Come out and help me with this horse. Sounds like he's downagin and chokin' hisself."
* * * * * *
POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELSAt Moderate Prices
Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company'sPopular Copyright Fiction
Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. By Frank L. Packard.Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.Affinities, and Other Stories. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.After House, The. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.Against the Winds. By Kate Jordan.Ailsa Paige. By Robert W. Chambers.Also Ran. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.Amateur Gentleman, The. By Jeffery Farnol.Anderson Crow, Detective. By George Barr McCutcheon.Anna, the Adventuress. By E.
Phillips Oppenheim.Anne's House of Dreams. By L. M. Montgomery.Anybody But Anne. By Carolyn Wells.Are All Men Alike, and The Lost Titian. By Arthur Stringer.Around Old Chester. By Margaret Deland.Ashton-Kirk, Criminologist. By John T. McIntyre.Ashton-Kirk, Investigator. By John T. McIntyre.Ashton-Kirk, Secret Agent. By John T. McIntyre.Ashton-Kirk, Special Detective. By John T. McIntyre.Athalie. By Robert W. Chambers.At the Mercy of Tiberius. By Augusta Evans Wilson.Auction Block, The. By Rex Beach.Aunt Jane of Kentucky. By Eliza C. Hall.Awakening of Helena Richie. By Margaret Deland.
Bab: a Sub-Deb. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.Bambi. By Marjorie Benton Cooke.Barbarians. By Robert W. Chambers.Bar 20. By Clarence E. Mulford.Bar 20 Days. By Clarence E. Mulford.Barrier, The. By Rex Beach.Bars of Iron, The. By Ethel M. Dell.Beasts of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.Beckoning Roads. By Jeanne Judson.Belonging. By Olive Wadsley.Beloved Traitor, The. By Frank L. Packard.Beloved Vagabond, The. By Wm. J. Locke.Beltane the Smith. By Jeffery Farnol.Betrayal, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.Beulah. (Ill. Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.
* * * * * *
POPULAR COPYRIGHT NOVELSAt Moderate Prices
Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of A. L. Burt Company'sPopular Copyright Fiction
Beyond the Frontier. By Randall Parrish.Big Timber. By Bertrand W. Sinclair.Black Bartlemy's Treasure. By Jeffery Farnol.Black Is White. By George Barr McCutcheon.Blacksheep! Blacksheep!. By Meredith Nicholson.Blind Man's Eyes, The. By Wm. Mac Harg and Edwin Balmer.Boardwalk, The. By Margaret Widdemer.Bob Hampton of Placer. By Randall Parrish.Bob, Son of Battle. By Alfred Olivant.Box With Broken Seals, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.Boy With Wings, The. By Berta Ruck.Brandon of the Engineers. By Harold Bindloss.Bridge of Kisses, The. By Berta Ruck.Broad Highway, The. By Jeffery Farnol.Broadway Bab. By Johnston McCulley.Brown Study, The. By Grace S. Richmond.Bruce of the Circle A. By Harold Titus.Buccaneer Farmer, The. By Harold Bindloss.Buck Peters, Ranchman. By Clarence E. Mulford.Builders, The. By Ellen Glasgow.Business of Life, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
Cab of the Sleeping Horse, The. By John Reed Scott.Cabbage and Kings. By O. Henry.Cabin Fever. By B. M. Bower.Calling of Dan Matthews, The. By Harold Bell Wright.Cape Cod Stories. By Joseph C. Lincoln.Cap'n Abe, Storekeeper. By James A. Cooper.Cap'n Dan's Daughter. By Joseph C. Lincoln.Cap'n Erl. By Joseph C. Lincoln.Cap'n Jonah's Fortune. By James A. Cooper.Cap'n Warren's Wards. By Joseph C. Lincoln.Chinese Label, The. By J. Frank Davis.Christine of the Young Heart. By Louise Breintenbach Clancy.Cinderella Jane. By Marjorie B. Cooke.Cinema Murder, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.City of Masks, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.Cleek of Scotland Yard. By T. W. Hanshew.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends