by Bret Harte
the habits of the locality were stronger than his individuality;the dead ghosts of the past Campville held their property by invisiblemortmain.
In the midst of this struggle the "Half-way House" was sold. Spite ofBill's prediction, the proceeds barely paid Jeff's debts. Aunt Sallyprevented any troublesome consideration of HER future, by applyinga small surplus of profit to the expenses of a journey back to herrelatives in Kentucky. She wrote Jeff a letter of cheerless instruction,reminded him of the fulfillment of her worst prophecies regarding him,but begged him, in her absence, to rely solely upon the "Word." "For thesperrit killeth," she added vaguely. Whether this referred figurativelyto Jeff's business, he did not stop to consider. He was more interestedin the information that the Mayfields had removed to the "Summit Hotel"two days after he had left. "She allowed it was for her health's sake,"continued Aunt Sally, "but I reckon it's another name for one of themcity fellers who j'ined their party and is keepin' company with her now.They talk o' property and stocks and sich worldly trifles all the time,and it's easy to see their idees is set together. It's allowed at theForks that Mr. Mayfield paid Parker's bill for you. I said it wasn't so,fur ye'd hev told me; but if it is so, Jeff, and ye didn't tell me, itwas for only one puppos, and that wos that Mayfield bribed ye to breakoff with his darter! That was WHY you went off so suddent, 'like a thiefin the night,' and why Miss Mayfield never let on a word about you afteryou left--not even your name!"
Jeff crushed the letter between his fingers, and, going behind the bar,poured out half a glass of stimulant and drank it. It was not the firsttime since he came to the "Lone Star House" that he had found this easyrelief from his present thought; it was not the first time that he hadfound this dangerous ally of sure and swift service in bringing him upor down to that level of his dreary, sodden guests, so necessary to histrade. Jeff had not the excuse of the inborn drunkard's taste. He wasimpulsive and extreme. At the end of the four weeks he came out onthe porch one night as Bill drew up. "You must take me from this placeto-night," he said, in a broken voice scarce like his own. "When we'reon the road we can arrange matters, but I must go to-night."
"But where?" asked Bill.
"Anywhere! Only I must go from here. I shall go if I have to walk."
Bill looked hard at the young man. His face was flushed, his eyesblood-shot, and his hands trembled, not with excitement, but with avacant, purposeless impotence. Bill looked a little relieved. "You'vebeen drinking too hard. Jeff, I thought better of ye than that!"
"I think better of MYSELF than that," said Jeff, with a certain wild,half-hysterical laugh, "and that is why I want to go. Don't be alarmed,Bill," he added; "I have strength enough to save myself, and I shall!But it isn't worth the struggle HERE."
He left the "Lone Star House" that night. He would, he said to Bill, goon to Sacramento, and try to get a situation as clerk or porter there;he was too old to learn a trade. He said little more. When, afterforty-eight hours' inability to eat, drink, or sleep, Bill, looking athis haggard face and staring eyes, pressed him to partake, medicinally,from a certain black bottle, Jeff gently put it aside, and saying, witha sad smile, "I can get along without it; I've gone through more thanthis," left his mentor in a state of mingled admiration and perplexity.
At Sacramento he found a commercial "opening." But certain habitsof personal independence, combined with a direct truthfulness andsimplicity, were not conducive to business advancement. He was frank,and in his habits impulsive and selfishly outspoken. His employer,a good-natured man, successful in his way, anxious to serve his owninterest and Jeff's equally, strove and labored with him, but in vain.His employer's wife, a still more good-natured woman, successful in herway, and equally anxious to serve Jeff's interests and her own, alsostrove with him as unsuccessfully. At the end of a month he dischargedhis employer, after a simple, boyish, utterly unbusiness-like interview,and secretly tore up his wife's letter. "I don't know what to make ofthat chap," said the husband to his wife; "he's about as civilized as anInjun." "And as conceited," added the lady.
Howbeit he took his conceit, his sorrows, his curls, mustaches, broadshoulders, and fifty dollars into humble lodgings in a back street. Thedays succeeding this were the most restful he had passed since he leftthe "Half-way House." To wander through the town, half conscious of itsstrangeness and novel bustling life, and to dream of a higher andnobler future with Miss Mayfield--to feel no responsibility but thatof waiting--was, I regret to say, a pleasure to him. He made noacquaintances except among the poorer people and the children. He wassometimes hungry, he was always poorly clad, but these facts carriedno degradation with them now. He read much, and in his way--Jeff'sway--tried to improve his mind; his recent commercial experience hadshown him various infelicities in his speech and accent. He learned tocorrect certain provincialisms. He was conscious that Miss Mayfieldmust have noticed them, yet his odd irrational pride kept him from everregretting them, if they had offered a possible excuse for her treatmentof him.
On one of these nights his steps chanced to lead him into agambling-saloon. The place had offered no temptation to him; hisdealings with the goddess Chance had been of less active nature.Nevertheless he placed his last five dollars on the turn of a card. Hewon. He won repeatedly; his gains had reached a considerable sum when,flushed, excited, and absorbed, he was suddenly conscious that he hadbecome the centre of observation at the table. Looking up, he saw thatthe dealer had paused, and, with the cards in his motionless fingers,was gazing at him with fixed eyes and a white face.
Jeff rose and passed hurriedly to his side. "What's the matter?"
The gambler shrunk slightly as he approached. "What's your name?"
"Briggs."
"God! I knew it! How much have you got there?" he continued, in a quickwhisper, pointing to Jeff's winnings.
"Five hundred dollars."
"I'll give you double if you'll get up and quit the board!"
"Why?" asked Jeff haughtily.
"Why?" repeated the man fiercely; "why? Well, your father shot himselfthar, where you're sittin', at this table;" and he added, with ahalf-forced, half-hysterical laugh, "HE'S PLAYIN' AT ME OVER YOURSHOULDERS!"
Jeff lifted a face as colorless as the gambler's own, went back to hisseat, and placed his entire gains on a single card. The gambler lookedat him nervously, but dealt. There was a pause, a slight movement whereJeff stood, and then a simultaneous cry from the players as they turnedtowards him. But his seat was vacant. "Run after him! Call him back!HE'S WON AGAIN!" But he had vanished utterly.
HOW he left, or what indeed followed, he never clearly remembered. Hismovements must have been automatic, for when, two hours later, he foundhimself at the "Pioneer" coach office, with his carpet-bag and blanketsby his side, he could not recall how or why he had come! He had a dumbimpression that he had barely escaped some dire calamity,--rather thathe had only temporarily averted it,--and that he was still in the shadowof some impending catastrophe of destiny. He must go somewhere, he mustdo something to be saved! He had no money, he had no friends; even YubaBill had been transferred to another route, miles away. Yet, inthe midst of this stupefaction, it was a part of his strange mentalcondition that trivial details of Miss Mayfield's face and figure,and even apparel, were constantly before him, to the exclusion ofconsecutive thought. A collar she used to wear, a ribbon she had oncetied around her waist, a blue vein in her dropped eyelid, a curve inher soft, full, bird-like throat, the arch of her in-step in her smallboots--all these were plainer to him than the future, or even thepresent. But a voice in his ear, a figure before his abstracted eyes, atlast broke upon his reverie.
"Jeff Briggs!"
Jeff mechanically took the outstretched hand of a young clerk of thePioneer Coach Company, who had once accompanied Yuba Bill and stopped atthe "Half-way House." He endeavored to collect his thoughts; here seemedto be an opportunity to go somewhere!
"What are you doing now?" said the young man briskly.
"Nothing," said Jeff simply.
"Oh, I see-
-going home!"
Home! the word stung sharply through Jeff's benumbed consciousness.
"No," he stammered, "that is--"
"Look here, Jeff," broke in the young man, "I've got a chance for youthat don't fall in a man's way every day. Wells, Fargo & Co.'s treasuremessenger from Robinson's Ferry to Mempheys has slipped out. The placeis vacant. I reckon I can get it for you."
"When?"
"Now--to-night."
"I'm ready."
"Come, then."
In ten minutes they were in the company's office, where its manager, aman famous in those days for his boldness and shrewdness, still lingeredin the dispatch of business.
The young clerk briefly but deferentially stated certain facts. A fewquestions and answers followed, of which Jeff heard only the words"Tuolumne" and "Yuba Bill."
"Sit down, Mr. Briggs. Good-night, Roberts."
The young clerk, with an encouraging smile at Jeff, bowed himself out asthe manager seated himself at his desk and began to write.
"You know the country pretty well between the Fork and the Summit, Mr.Briggs?" he said, without looking up.
"I lived there," said Jeff.
"That was some months ago, wasn't it?"
"Six months," said Jeff, with a sigh.
"It's changed for the worse since your house was shut up. There's a longstretch of unsettled country infested by bad characters."
Jeff sat silent. "Briggs."
"Sir?"
"The last man but one who preceded you was shot by road agents."*
* Highway robbers.
"Yes, sir."
"We lost sixty thousand dollars up there."
"Yes?"
"Your father was Briggs of Tuolumne?"
"Yes, sir." Jeff's head dropped, but, glancing shyly up, he saw apleasant smile on his questioner's face. He was still writing rapidly,but was apparently enjoying at the same time some pleasant recollection.
"Your father and I lost nearly sixty thousand dollars together onenight, ten years ago, when we were both younger."
"Yes, sir," said Jeff dubiously.
"But it was OUR OWN MONEY, Jeff."
"Yes, sir."
"Here's your appointment," he said briefly, throwing away his pen,folding what he had written, and handing it to Jeff. It was the firsttime that he had looked at him since he entered. He now held out hishand, grasped Jeff's, and said, "Good-night!"
VI.
It was late the next evening when Jeff drew up at the coach office atRobinson's Ferry, where he was to await the coming of the Summit coach.His mind, lifted only temporarily out of its denumbed conditionduring his interview with the manager, again fell back into its dullabstraction. Fully embarked upon his dangerous journey, accepting allthe meaning of the trust imposed upon him, he was yet vaguely consciousthat he did not realize its full importance. He had neither the dreadnor the stimulation of coming danger. He had faced death before in theboyish confidence of animal spirits; his pulse now was scarcely stirredwith anticipation. Once or twice before, in the extravagance of hispassion, he had imagined himself rescuing Miss Mayfield from danger,or even dying for her. During his journey his mind had dwelt fullyand minutely on every detail of their brief acquaintance; she wascontinually before him, the tones of her voice were in his ears, thesuggestive touch of her fingers, the thrill that his lips had felt whenhe kissed them--all were with him now, but only as a memory. In hiscoming fate, in his future life, he saw her not. He believed it was apremonition of coming death.
He made a few preparations. The company's agent had told him thatthe treasure, letters, and dispatches, which had accumulated to aconsiderable amount, would be handed to him on the box; and that thearms and ammunition were in the boot. A less courageous and determinedman might have been affected by the cold, practical brutality of certainadvice and instructions offered him by the agent, but Jeff recognizedthis compliment to his determination, even before the agent concludedhis speech by saying, "But I reckon they knew what they were aboutin the lower office when they sent YOU up. I dare say you kin give mep'ints, ef ye cared to, for all ye're soft spoken. There are only fourpassengers booked through; we hev to be a little partikler, suspectin'spies! Two of the four ye kin depend upon to get the top o' their d----dheads blowed off the first fire," he added grimly.
At ten o'clock the Summit coach flashed, rattled, glittered, andsnapped, like a disorganized firework, up to the door of the company'soffice. A familiar figure, but more than usually truculent andaggressive, slowly descended with violent oaths from the box. Withoutseeing Jeff, it strode into the office.
"Now then," said Yuba Bill, addressing the agent, "whar's thatGod-forsaken fool that Wells, Fargo & Co. hev sent up yar to take chargeo' their treasure? Because I'd like to introduce him to the championidgit of Calaveras County, that's been selected to go to h-ll with him;and that's me, Yuba Bill! P'int him out. Don't keep me waitin'!"
The agent grinned and pointed to Jeff.
Both men recoiled in astonishment. Yuba Bill was the first to recoverhis speech.
"It's a lie!" he roared; "or somebody has been putting up a job onye, Jeff! Because I've been twenty years in the service, and am such anat'ral born mule that when the company strokes my back and sez, 'You'rethe on'y mule we kin trust, Bill,' I starts up and goes out as a blastedwooden figgerhead for road agents to lay fur and practice on, it don'tfollow that YOU'VE any call to go."
"It was my own seeking, Bill," said Jeff, with one of his old, sweet,boyish smiles. "I didn't know YOU were to drive. But you're not goingback on me now, Bill, are you? you're not going to send me off withanother volunteer?"
"That be d----d!" growled Bill. Nevertheless, for ten minutes he reviledthe Pioneer Coach Company with picturesque imprecation, tendered hisresignation repeatedly to the agent, and at the end of that time, aseverybody expected, mounted the box, and with a final malediction,involving the whole settlement, was off.
On the road, Jeff, in a few hurried sentences, told his story. Billscarcely seemed to listen. "Look yar, Jeff," he said suddenly.
"Yes, Bill."
"If the worst happens, and ye go under, you'll tell your father, IF IDON'T HAPPEN TO SEE HIM FIRST, it wasn't no job of mine, and I did mybest to get ye out of it."
"Yes," said Jeff, in a faint voice.
"It mayn't be so bad," said Bill, softening; "they KNOW, d--n 'em, we'vegot a pile aboard, ez well as if they seed that agent gin it ye, butthey also know we've pre-pared!"
"I wasn't thinking of that, Bill; I was thinking of my father." And hetold Bill of the gambling episode at Sacramento.
"D'ye mean to say ye left them hounds with a thousand dollars of yerhard-earned--"
"Gambling gains, Bill," interrupted Jeff quietly.
"Exactly! Well!" Bill subsided into an incoherent growl. After a fewmoments' pause, he began again. "Yer ready as ye used to be witha six-shooter, Jeff, time's when ye was a boy, and I uster chuckhalf-dollars in the air fur ye to make warts on?"
"I reckon," said Jeff, with a faint smile.
"Thar's two p'ints on the road to be looked to: the woods beyond theblacksmith's shop that uster be; the fringe of alder and buckeye by thecrossing below your house--p'ints where they kin fetch you without ashow. Thar's two ways o' meetin' them thar. One way ez to pull up andtrust to luck and brag. The other way is to whip up and yell, and sendthe whole six kiting by like h-ll!"
"Yes," said Jeff.
"The only drawback to that plan is this: the road lies along the edgeof a precipice, straight down a thousand feet into the river. Ef thesedevils get a shot into any one o' the six and it DROPS, the coach turnssharp off, and down we go, the whole kerboodle of us, plump into theStanislaus!"
"AND THEY DON'T GET THE MONEY," said Jeff quietly.
"Well, no!" replied Yuba Bill, staring at Jeff, whose face was set as aflint against the darkness. "I should reckon not." He then drew a longbreath, glanced at Jeff again, and said between his teeth, "Well, I'md----d!"
At the ne
xt station they changed horses, Bill personally supervising,especially as regarded the welfare and proper condition of Blue Grass,who here was brought out as a leader. Formerly there was no change ofhorses at this station, and this novelty excited Jeff's remark. "Theseyar chaps say thar's no station at the Summit now," growled Bill, inexplanation; "the hotel is closed, and it's all private property, boughtby some chap from 'Frisco. Thar ought to be a law agin such doin's!"
This suggested obliteration of the last traces of Miss Mayfield seemedto Jeff as only a corroboration of his premonition. He should never hearfrom her again! Yet to have stood under the roof that last shelteredher; to, perchance, have met some one who had seen her later--this was afancy that had haunted him on his journey. It was all over now. Perhapsit was for the best.
With the sinking behind of the lights of the station, the occupants ofthe
