Indian and Scout: A Tale of the Gold Rush to California

  CHAPTER IV

  The Road to California

  Jack Kingsley's escape from the jail at Hopeville caused a hugesensation, and the hue and cry raised by the constable and by theofficials in charge of the case extended into the country on every side.It was clear that he had been aided by some outside individual, and, aswas perfectly natural, suspicion fell upon James Orring.

  "He's been the one all through that's stuck up for the prisoner,"reported the constable, at his wits' end to provide a tale which wouldclear himself from blame, "and I can't help thinking he's done it. Buthe's too clever."

  "How?" demanded the official who was interrogating him.

  "Just this way. James has witnesses to swear he was at home from aftertea till I went round to inspect and search the premises. I went to hishouse the instant I learned that the prisoner had escaped, and foundJames fast asleep."

  "Or kidding," suggested the official.

  "No; right down fast asleep, and no mistake. And Mrs. Orring, whom I'veknown all my life, declared he'd gone to bed with a baddish headachesoon after tea, and had been there ever since. He'd wakened once, andhad called her."

  "Is there anyone else whom you suspect of complicity in the escape?" hewas asked.

  "Nary one. Jack Kingsley was a stranger, so ter speak, and hadn't anyfriends. That's why I'll stake my davy James was in it."

  "Well? And have you any news as to the direction he took?"

  "Down stream," answered the constable emphatically. "I searched JamesOrring's yard thoroughly, yer bet, and then someone told me that a boatwas missing. Later on it was reported stranded on the far shore, withthe planks kicked in. So the prisoner is at large over thar."

  "Where we shall lay our hands on him," said the official. "I will sendhis description to all the stations."

  But a week passed and still there was no trace of the prisoner.

  "Yer must jest lie low and doggo a little longer," said James one earlymorning, standing at the door of the smithy, and speaking apparently tothe air. "Find it comfortable in thar?"

  "Been in a worse spot," sang out Jack cheerily, for he was stillensconced behind James's scrap heap. "It's a little cramping to thelegs, that's all."

  "And had enough to eat?"

  "Heaps, thanks!"

  "Then stick it out a bit longer. That 'ere Simpkins, the constable,can't get it outer his mind that I war the one to free yer. He's got asorter idea you're here, and he comes slinking round most times of theday. So don't yer show so much as a finger."

  Jack, fortunately for him, obeyed these instructions to the letter,never emerging from his retreat even at night-time. For one evening theconstable put in an unexpected appearance, coming from the back of thehouses. He found James Orring washing before a bucket placed in the yardstanding between the smithy and the house, and his wife holding a towelin readiness for him.

  "Why, it aer the constable!" said James in surprise, as his face emergedfrom the pail and he stretched out for the towel. "What in thunder aerhe come along fer? Say, Simpkins, will yer come and have a bit of teawith us? I knows ye've been a trifle put out over this affair, and havegot it stuck into yer head that I'm the man that's done it. Jest try toget the idea put clean aside, and let bygones be bygones. Come and havea bit of tea and a smoke afterwards."

  But Simpkins was not to be beguiled. He strode into the smithy, andafterwards carefully searched every corner of the yard, climbing on tothe top of the scrap heap. Evidently he disbelieved James, and thoughthe was being hoaxed. His attitude vexed Mrs. Orring till her patiencegave out.

  "Look ye here, young man," she called out at last, "ef yer want to comesearching round here most hours of the day and night, yer'd better byhalf come and take up yer quarters here altogether, so as to savetrouble. Trade's not been that good that we'd sniff at a lodger, andwe'd make yer comfortable. Then yer could sit right at the smithy door,and count the people what comes during the day. Or yer could sit rightthar in the parlour, and make sure as sure that we ain't feedin' youngJack. More shame to yer to hound after him so! A wee, young chap such ashe."

  James Orring laughed heartily, while Simpkins looked confused, andreddened. He had a very great idea of his own importance, and banterirritated him. Moreover, cases in Hopeville being few and far between,he had made the utmost of this one of burglary and murder. He had beenso energetic, in fact, that he had won the commendation of the sheriff.And now the escape of his prisoner at the eleventh hour had broughtridicule down on his head. People joked him in the street, and hiswounded dignity was ready to blaze out at anything. If Mrs. Orring hadbeen alone he would have given her a piece of his mind. But James wasthere, looking particularly formidable, and laughing heartily, therebyshowing he cared not a fig for the constable.

  "If I was you I'd jest git," said James. "This here smithy ain't ahealthy place for sech as you. Don't yer take my missus serious. Shedon't want you ter stop up here; not at all."

  "I'm open to lay anything that you helped the prisoner to escape,"blustered Simpkins; "and I believe that if I searched high and low I'dfind him."

  "Then why not get to at it?" asked James with a bantering smile. "Onewould have thought yer had already done it pretty thoroughly."

  "Then I haven't. I'd like to pull the smithy down and see what's behindthose bellows, or up in the loft Besides, there's that heap of scrap.Fer all I know you've hidden him there."

  James Orring went off into a peal of gruff laughter while his wifeturned away to hide her dismay. As for Simpkins, he walked to thetumbled heap of iron rusting against the smithy, and began to pullportions of it away.

  "Say, constable, you'll be the death of me," gasped James, doubling upwith laughing. "Why, if that ain't Seth and Piggy Harten! Say, boys,what do yer think's the latest? This here Simpkins guesses as JackKingsley's hidden up somewhars here, and he wants a man or two ter pullthe smithy about, tear down the bellows and sichlike, and cart away thatheap of scrap. He's jest took on that heap. He believes as Jack's lyin'there at the bottom."

  It happened that Seth was not on the best of terms with the constable,and at James's words he giggled audibly, and turned a scornful face toSimpkins.

  "You're jest about right," he cried. "Jack's 'way down below that heapo' iron scrap, and yer'd best get a horse or so to pull it about. Reckonhe'll be no use as a prisoner though."

  Simpkins turned an enquiring look upon him. He was a stubborn fellow,this constable, and all the banter only made him more determined.

  "Why no use?" he asked.

  "'Cos he'll jest be as flat as a pancake. Jest like a sheet, you bet.There's three ton o' iron there, man, and it'd squeeze the life out ofeven a constable."

  Seth went off laughing, while the constable again reddened. Turning onhis heel, he gave James one quick, vindictive look, and then departed.

  "He means mischief," said Mrs. Orring. "That man suspects something, andhe'll not be satisfied till he's rummaged the smithy and every corner.Jack'll be found."

  "Ef he's here," answered James cunningly; "ef he's here, missus. Jestyer hop right in and tell Mrs. Kingsley as her son'll be at the backdoor a bit after sevin. He'll be sayin' goodbye. Ef she's got a triflefor him, she'd better have it ready."

  It was already getting dusk, so that there was little fear of beingdisturbed. James went promptly to Jack's hiding place and dragged awaythe odds and ends of iron he had thrown against the heap so as to hidethe opening.

  "Yer can hop out right now," he said. "Now, ye've got ter git, andprecious slippy, else Simpkins'll have yer. How aer yer off for brass?"

  "I've saved fifty-eight dollars," answered Jack promptly.

  "And here's another fifty. On loan, lad. Yer can pay me back some o'these days when things have shaped a little differently. Now, what aeryer going ter do?"

  Jack had been thinking it over during his enforced idleness in hisretreat, and answered promptly. "I'll make west to California," he said."Once there I shall be perfectly safe. It's the getting there that willbe difficult. There's t
his red head of mine to tell tales everywhere."

  "To be sure there is. But yer ain't no need ter fear. Mrs. Orring and methought of that. We've sent down river for a bottle of hair dye, andguess it'll change yer nicely. Come along into the smithy, and we'll tryit right now. So you'll make for Californy? And how?"

  "By road. If I tried the rail I should certainly be detected. I'll makedown by road somehow. Perhaps I'll get a job on the way. If not, I'llwalk at night and hide up during the day."

  "That's a cute idea; and say, youngster, when you gets there jest send aline. We've took your mother's address, and we can post on to her. Don'tgive no proper address, and don't sign a name. Savvy? Now fer the hair."

  An hour later our hero was well outside the township of Hopeville, onthe road to California, hundreds and hundreds of miles to the west. Hewas glad now to have said farewell to his friends and to be alone; forhe felt that he could think better, that he could shape his actions forthe future, and decide what course to follow. Uppermost in his mind,swamping all other considerations, was the overwhelming desire to provehis innocence. That was a task which he would never neglect nor forget.But for the moment he must get clear away from Hopeville, and be lost,as it were.

  "In a year or so I'll be able to grow a beard," he said to himself. "Bythen this matter will have been forgotten, and so long as I do not cometo Hopeville I shall be secure. Yes, I must get away, and wait till myappearance is changed. For the present I have a long walk before me."

  All that night he trudged on in a westerly direction, traversing a roadwhich was hardly deserving of the name. It was little better than a carttrack. And the following night found him some thirty miles from hisstarting-point. He had met no one, and so far as he knew no one had seenhim. As the evening of the third day from Hopeville closed in he atethe remainder of his provisions and took the road again; for he hadslept during the day hidden in a small wood.

  "To-morrow I shall have to show myself," he said. "I must buy food, or Ishall be unable to stand the walking. I'll try some farm. That will bebetter than going to a town."

  It was, indeed, the only sensible course to pursue under thecircumstances, for, had he but known of it, the constable at Hopevillehad supplied a description of the runaway to all towns within a hundredmiles, while so greatly had the trial preyed upon Jack that, in spite ofthe change in his complexion, he felt nervous of discovery, as if thefirst woman or child who met him would recognize him at once. It was ahorrible feeling, and not to be conquered till time had elapsed.

  Jack had covered some five miles of his tramp that night when his eardetected sounds in the distance. He moved forward cautiously, andpresently discovered a cart and horse halted in the roadway. A man waswalking to and fro beside the cart, talking to himself excitedly, andkicking the ground as if he were in a temper. Our hero took as close alook at him as possible, for now and again the stranger crossed beforethe beam of light thrown out from a solitary lantern. He wasridiculously short, and ludicrously dressed. On his head was a blackwideawake, from beneath the brim of which rolls of hair descended tillthey trailed on to his shoulders. He wore a short frockcoat, the tailsof which came little lower than his waist, and served to accentuate hislack of stature, while a massive chain flashed across a rather amplewaistcoat. The face was neither ugly nor handsome, while at the sametime, in spite of the temper in which this individual undoubtedly was,it gave promise of kindliness. Jack took his courage in both hands.

  "Goody!" he said, striding up. "Anything amiss?"

  The stranger started back at first, and looked not a little frightened.Then he took the lamp and inspected our hero carefully, while it was asmuch as the latter could do to return his glances. That odiousaccusation, the fact that he was an escaping criminal, had almost robbedhis youthful face of its refreshing frankness.

  "My word! Thought you was that villain George at first," said thestranger. "Jest see here. I hired him out to look after the hosses andact the professional man. He took good wages too. And he's jest bolted.Said as he'd follow, and hasn't. Met him on the road?"

  Jack shook his head. "Seen no one," he said.

  "Wall, that jest proves it. He's done a bolt, and my tin box has gonewith him. Guess it's lucky I cleared the cash last night. What might yoube doin'?"

  "Travelling west," said Jack.

  "Business?" asked the stranger.

  "N-n-no. Just travelling west," answered Jack. "I'm making for thediggings."

  "Oh!" exclaimed the little man. "Likely enough you're goin' to meetfriends there."

  "I haven't any," said Jack, shaking his head, and thinking ratherbitterly of his position.

  "Then you ain't in a hurry, and you ain't fixed for a job. P'raps you'veno need fer one."

  Again Jack shook his head. He was not going to be communicative to thislittle man, and yet at the same time he could not afford to throw awaya chance of help. If this stranger needed a man, why should he, Jack,not accept the post?

  "I'm ready for a job when I find one," he said quietly. "But I'm boundfor the west."

  "And so am I, and I need someone to accompany me. See here," cried thelittle man, "you're a fair height, and would make up splendidly. I'lltell you what I'll do. I'll give you ten dollars a week and your food tocome with me. You'll have to feed and mind the horses, and clean out thevan. Then, when we set up shop at the towns, you'll have to dress upfine and come on the stage."

  "Stage!" exclaimed Jack, somewhat bewildered.

  "Jest so. I'll explain. I'm a travelling conjuror and mesmerist. I haveto have help. Wall, to be candid, there are tricks that can't be workedwithout a second man. You'll have a beard and moustache, and will dressin a frockcoat, and all that, to look professional, and you'll hangabout till I call for one of the audience to come on the stage. That'llbe your chance. You'll hop up, and the trick will go like fire. And forthe job, ten dollars a week, your grub, and lodging in the van. It's assnug as any house."

  It was a tempting offer, and Jack decided to accept it at once. But heasked another question.

  "How about California? I'm bound there, and must go. I warn you I couldnot stay very long in your service."

  "And no need. I'm makin' west, and you and me'll be strangers whereverwe go. Leastwise, you will, for I've been along the route before. Wall,now, you'll get known, and ef on the return run the same man appears,and walks up on the stage, the people would spot something wrong andfunny. You can leave at the end of the trip, and I'll pick up anotherman."

  "Then I accept," said Jack.

  He had been thinking keenly all the while, and saw in the offer now madehim an excellent opportunity of obtaining work and a disguise at thesame time. One thing, however, he did not like entirely. He askedhimself whether he was to be a dupe, whether the post he had acceptedwould entail behaviour likely to gull the public. If that were so, hedecided offhand that he would leave this little man promptly; for,though his position was critical, and arrest stared him in the face atany moment, Jack was not the one to lend himself to dishonesty.

  "I'm innocent, Heaven knows," he thought, somewhat bitterly, "and I haveto clear myself of that crime for which I was about to be condemned. ButI will not begin the task I have set myself by acting dishonestly in anyway."

  "What name, please?" he asked.

  "Amos Shirley, at your service from right now."

  In the feeble light given by the solitary lamp the little man pulled offhis huge hat with a theatrical gesture, and bobbed in Jack's direction.Indeed, looking at him there, he was, without doubt, a comical littleman, full of his own importance, with plenty of humour and kindliness,and, if the truth be told, given not a little to pomposity.

  "Amos Shirley, conjuror, clairvoyant, mesmerist, known up and down thecountry. And you?"

  "Tom Starling," answered Jack, reddening under Amos's gaze, a fact whichthe little man noted, for he coughed significantly.

  "And I wish to say that I reserve the right of giving a week's notice atany time, and also that while I will help you will
ingly, and to the bestof my ability, I will not lend myself to any underhand tricks, any sortof subterfuge, likely to gull your public."

  Amos Shirley gave vent to a shrill whistle.

  "Then the job's off," he said promptly, watching our hero closely. Forthis conjuring business was no easy one to manipulate, particularly withthe intelligent people to be met with in America. Amos had before nowdiscovered that an audience of miners, for instance, not whollyconvinced of the genuineness of a trick, were apt to insist onembarrassing conditions, and were not above pelting the conjuror, oreven perforating the stage with their bullets. He had, indeed, foundbefore now that miners and cowboys required clever humouring; and whilethey were ready to pay liberally, and, indeed, to throw dollar notes onthe stage if pleased in some particular, that they were at the same timea merry, high-spirited lot, apt now and again to become playfullyreckless, and attempt a counter attraction, which chiefly took the formof showing how easily they could shoot the front lights of the stageaway, or puncture the broad-brimmed hat of the conjuror with theirbullets without doing any real harm.

  "I'm sorry," replied Jack. "Goody!"

  "Hold on. Say now," said Amos, feeling that he was about to lose achance. "Who said there was any gulling?"

  "No one," answered our hero. "At the same time I gathered there might besome sort of wish on your part. I'll help in every way when it's a caseof conjuring, for we all know that sleight of hand is required, andgeneral smartness. But in mesmerism, or anything of that sort, I'll nottake a hand."

  "Gee! That's straight. Say now," cried Amos, "I'll take you on thoseterms. You're a queer fish, you are, sticking out about such a trifle.But we won't quarrel. You will learn what's expected, and I'vesufficient good tricks to play without overstepping your decision. Let'sgit along. Had any food?"

  For five weeks in succession our hero travelled west with Amos, and thetwo became excellent friends. He found the work to his liking, and thepost an excellent passport. No one, unless well acquainted with Jack,could have detected in Amos's helper the escaped prisoner fromHopeville. The hair die disguised him well, while the beard andmoustache he donned, as soon as the stage was erected before thetravelling wagon, made him even more secure. But it is always theunforeseen that happens. One evening, when he had stepped on to thestage, dressed in top hat, frockcoat, beard, and moustache, to help hisemployer in some conjuring trick, his eyes, roaming over the faces ofthe collected audience, met one which was familiar. It was Simpkins, theconstable from Hopeville, sharp and alert, closely inspecting hisneighbours in the audience, and every person within his vision.