PASSING THE LOVE OF WOMAN
THE END OF A FRONTIER TELL
"I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women."
THE BIBLE
There were but two women in the camp, Martie was one of them, andMartie was the cause of it. The statement that it was on account ofher they quarrelled, and it was through the quarrel the terrible stateof affairs was brought about, cannot be denied.
Martie and her mother--her mother was the other woman in the camp,and, except that she had been responsible for Martie years before, shedidn't particularly count--had come to the rough little miningsettlement with Martie's father, a mining engineer, who representedcertain speculative holdings in the East which needed personalattention.
Before they arrived the camp had been a fairly peaceable one: the boysgot drunk just about so often, once in a while there was a shootingaffair, but Medicine Dog was as orderly a camp as might have beenfound in Colorado, until Martie came. It was a serpent, I believe,that introduced the trouble in the Garden of Eden. I wonder what thewild beasts thought of the advent of Eve. At any rate, Martie firstreformed and then disorganized Medicine Dog.
Following her arrival there was an ebullition of "boiledshirts,"--come by express in response to telegraphic communicationswith Denver, the first evidence of the reform. This was followed bythe influx of a lone Chinaman, imported for the reboiling of the saidshirts, his life, liberty, and the peaceful pursuit of his vocationover the tubs being guaranteed him by the camp, the second evidence ofthe reform. There was a consequent amelioration of manners,proportioned to the prevalence of shirt bosom, too. "Boiled shirts"--Iuse the language of the camp--are the beginning of that civilizationof which "plug hats" are the end. Medicine Dog never got that far,except in its dreams; even Martie was not quite equal to promoting the"plug hat."
The saloon, too, felt the good--or evil, according to the point ofview--effect of Martie's presence, and the wonderful part of it wasthat Big Sam, who dispensed liquor, profanity, and on occasions, ifnecessary, bullets from his "Colt's 45," from behind the bar, bore thesituation philosophically. He was as much under Martie's sway asanybody else. That was the last evidence of the reform. And when apreacher--a wandering missionary--came along, Big Sam cheerfully, iftemporarily, suspended business one Sunday morning and they hadservices in the saloon, the preacher on the counter to conduct them,and Martie on a table where they could all see her, with a portableorgan to lead the singing.
That was the only time Martie's presence graced the saloon. The effectof her presence there was lasting. The boys could hardly swallow theirwhiskey during that or the next day.
"It tastes as if it had sugar in it," said Dan Casey, mournfully,subtly referring to the sweetening effect of Martie's visit. When itcame to choosing between Martie and whiskey, the difficulties of thesituation were enough to appall the stoutest heart in Medicine Dog.
Casey signified his change of heart in the matter of clothing bytrimming his beard--there was no barber in the camp yet--and by addinga green tie to his shirt, and when MacBurns appeared with a yellowsilk streamer across his bestarched bosom, Casey took it as a directreflection upon his religious and political views, and for a timeMedicine Dog threatened to resume its pristine liveliness.
The quarrel was compromised by Martie; for when she artfully causedthe news to be circulated that she doted on red or blue ties and couldnot abide green or yellow ones, Casey and MacBurns discarded thecolors of their choice and settled the affair by wearing Martie's.
Martie wore those colors herself. She was the reddest-cheeked,bluest-eyed, and bonniest girl that had ever come across themountains, so Medicine Dog swore unanimously, at any rate. As occasionserved, the various members of the camp maintained Martie's cause withstrenuous and generally fatal effect to various gentlemen from othercamps who were rashly inclined to question the assertion. Martie wouldhave shone anywhere in the open air, and in womanless Medicine Dog shewas a heroine, a queen. That was the beginning of disorganization,too.
The two men hardest hit were Jack Elliott and Dick Sanderson. Elliottwas a jolly, happy-go-lucky fellow born in the East, Sanderson aquieter man from the middle West, who complemented his companionadmirably. They worked a rich claim together on the mountain side withgood results. They were steady-going fellows and both were dead shotswith the rifle. They were great-hearted young men, who loved eachother with an affection that some men develop under certaincircumstances for one another until a woman intervenes. Martieintervened. Both men fell in love with her, and as they were men ofeducation,--being fellow-graduates of the old University ofPennsylvania,--they were not content with the mere blind adorationwhich the rest of Medicine Dog exhibited. They wanted Martie, and asthe days grew longer and they knew her better, they wanted her moreand more.
Each man dreamed dreams of a house on the mountain side overlookingthe camp with Martie as its mistress and with himself as titular, ifnot actual, master. There had never been a wedding celebrated in thevalley, and they were both united upon the desirability of having one.Each one, however, wanted to be the bridegroom!
Martie recognized the difference between these two men and the rest ofthe camp, although in no way did they hold themselves aloof from thegeneral society of Medicine Dog--that would not have been tolerated bythe rest of the boys. She realized that either of them mightlegitimately aspire to her hand, for they were in an entirelydifferent category from the rude, humble, faithful adorers like BigSam and Casey and the boys, and Martie loved one of them.
But Martie was a coquette. It wasn't in a girl of Martie's temperamentto be otherwise in a camp with a hundred men in love with her, theonly other woman being Martie's mother, and she didn't count whenMartie was around. And by degrees that which neither of the menwished, which both of them would fain have avoided, was brought about.There was a dissolution of partnership, a rupture of old associations,a shattering of ancient friendship. As is always the case, where bothhad loved, they now hated.
I said that they were both good shots with the rifle. That hardlydescribes their capacities. If the mine had failed, they could haveearned a fortune on any vaudeville stage. One of their "stunts"--asthe boys called it--was really remarkable. Such was their confidencein each other that when one balanced a little can of whiskey on hishead and the other bored a hole through it neatly with his rifle at adistance of sixty yards and upward the spectators hardly knew whetherto admire the nerve of the can-holder or that of the marksman themore; although Casey deprecated the performance on account of theliability of the whiskey to go to waste! They shot equally well, andsometimes the one and sometimes the other held the target. It hadgrown an old story to Medicine Dog, but strangers always wanted to seethe feat performed. After the rupture between them they did it nomore, of course.
It was Martie who had separated them and it was Martie who broughtthem together again. Both men paid assiduous court to her, and shepositively refused under any circumstances to give either a finalanswer until they became friends once more and swore to accept herdecision without prejudice to that friendship. Martie was a power, andshe had her way.
A reconciliation was effected, and the two men went back to work ontheir joint claim.
Still, Martie hesitated over that decision. Some intuition told herthat no promise would avail against the satisfaction on the one handand the disappointment on the other when she made a choice; but makeit she must, and finally, after much hesitation, she announced thatshe chose Sanderson. His joy could not quite obliterate in her mindthe impression caused by Elliott's grief. Elliott was too much of aman, however, to make any open outcry. He believed that if Sandersonhad been out of the way he would have been successful, and his beliefwas probably correct; but the matter had been decided, and heswallowed his disappointment as best he might and bore Sanderson'striumph in silence.
A sporty stranger came to Medicine Dog one day shortly after theengagement
was announced, and the conversation in the saloon turnedupon the marksmanship of the camp. Medicine Dog prided itself on theability of Elliott and Sanderson. The stranger was incredulous, andwagers were made and the boys repaired in a body to theElliott-Sanderson claim and told of the bets. Neither man was anxiousfor the test, but for the honor of the camp, and because of thedisappointment of the boys themselves, they felt that they could notrefuse. Each volunteered to hold the can and each urged the other toshoot. Finally they agreed to decide the matter by tossing acoin,--the usual method of settling mooted points.
Fate appointed Elliott to use the rifle. He seized the weapon andstarted up the trail to get his distance. In that same moment a grimand ghastly temptation, proportioned in its appeal to the strength ofhis passion, entered his soul. If he killed Sanderson the field wouldbe free. Martie's affections were not so deeply engaged but that shemight be won. The idea whitened his lips and blanched his face andshook his hand, and it occurred at the same moment to Sanderson. Herealized, as he walked across the clearing and backed up against atree, the possibilities of the situation, and his own dark face wentas white as that of his companion. But he was game. His emotion wasnot fear,--at least not fear for himself,--or if it were fear, it wasfor Elliott. As he prepared to receive the shot he prayed--and he wasnot a praying man; nobody much at Medicine Dog was in the habit ofpraying then--that Elliott might be equal to resisting the terribledemand.
As for Elliott, his soul was torn in a perfect tempest. He could seenothing but the fact that there before him was the man who had won theobject for which he would have given his soul, that the man wasunarmed, that if he shot him no power on earth could ever connect himwith the crime of murder, for he could swear that it was an accident.The best of marksmen sometimes make blunders; all do not shoot withthe continued accuracy of a William Tell. Satan possessed the man'ssoul for the moment. Ay, it was the woman who had tempted the man,--soit was in the Garden of Eden,--but this time a woman innocent andunwitting. Poor little Martie! She could not help it, after all.
These thoughts crowded the minds of the two men as they took theirstations. Elliott faced Sanderson and slowly raised his rifle. By aviolent effort he mastered his trembling as he glanced along thepolished barrel and drew the exquisite bead upon the little black spoton the can where he was to send the bullet.
There was something in the air, in the attitude of the two men, in thesituation, which suddenly broke upon the consciousness of theonlookers. They shifted uneasily. Finally Big Sam burst out, amid achorus of approval:
"For God's sake, Elliott, don't shoot! You're not in the mood to-day,old man. We'll willin'ly lose the bet. Give the stranger his money,boys."
It was Sanderson who broke the silence.
"What are you afraid of, Sam?" he cried, taking the can in his hands."By Heaven, the man doesn't live," he shouted, translating everybody'sthought in his impetuosity, "that dare charge my partner with foulplay!"
"No, no, of course not," came in expostulation from the crowd ofspectators.
"That's right, then," said Sanderson, calmly. "Go ahead, Jack. I'lltrust you."
He lifted the can again to his head, folded his arms, and faced hisfriend, a little smile on his lips.
Once more Elliott lifted his gun, which he had dropped during theconversation. This time his nerves were quite steady. He glanced alongthe barrel again. Should he send a shot into that smiling face?--hisfriend's face? A moment would determine. He aimed long and carefullyat the target he had selected.
The smile would have died away from Sanderson's face had he not fixedit there with a horrible effort. Elliott again so lingered over hisaim that the men once more started to interfere. The tense situationwas more than they could bear. What was the matter?
Suddenly the devil that had possessed him released the miner.Elliott's love for man passed his love for woman. He forgot Martie ashe faced Sanderson. His courage came back to him and his clearness ofvision.
He dropped his rifle, and before any one could stop him, althoughSanderson screamed, "For God's sake, Jack, don't do it!" and the mensurged toward him, he whipped out his pistol, pointed it at his ownbreast, pulled the trigger, and fell bleeding from a mortal woundthrough the right lung.
"Men," he gasped out brokenly, "you're right--I was going tokill--him--on account of--Martie, you know, but--but he trusted meand--I could--not. Yet I'm a murderer--in the--sight of God--and mypunishment--is--this. Dick--don't tell Martie."
There was a look of peace on his face as they gathered around him.They drew back a little as Dick Sanderson knelt down and took him inhis arms.
"Jack, Jack!" he sobbed, "I knew your temptation, but I knew youwouldn't shoot me, old man. You were braver than I. I don't know whatwould have happened if the coin had flipped my way. Oh, Jack, I wishto God you had killed me!"
"Now--I'm--forgiven," whispered Elliott, feebly, lifting his handtoward the other, and then he smiled, and then it was all over.
"Gentlemen," said Sanderson, crying like a baby, as he rose to hisfeet, "he died for me."
"And for Martie," added Casey.
"Yes, and for Martie."
"Stranger," said Big Sam, turning to the man who had made the wager,"the money is yourn. I wish to God we'd never bet!"
"Gentlemen," said the stranger, "I don't take no money from no gentsw'ich is won under them circumstances, but if you gents'll come downto the saloon and likker with me----"
"That's handsome of you, stranger, but we don't none of us git nolikker in this camp to-day. That there saloon closes in Medicine Doguntil arter the funeral of the finest and whitest-hearted gentlemanand the best shot that ever lived in this camp," said Big Sam, turningmournfully away.