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

by F. S. Brereton

  Produced by sp1nd, Mary Meehan and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)

  Indian and Scout

  A Tale of the Gold Rush to California

  BY CAPTAIN F. S. BRERETON

  Author of "The Great Aeroplane" "A Hero of Sedan" "John Bargreave's Gold" "How Canada was Won" "Roughriders of the Pampas" &c.

  _ILLUSTRATED BY CYRUS CUNEO_

  H. M. CALDWELL COMPANY NEW YORK BOSTON

  _Printed in Great Britain_

  "JACK SWUNG HIS HEAD ROUND"]

  Contents

  CHAP. PAGE

  I. TUSKER JOE 9

  II. JACK KINGSLEY'S DILEMMA 21

  III. A RUDE AWAKENING 35

  IV. THE ROAD TO CALIFORNIA 52

  V. ON THE RAILWAY 65

  VI. A HOLD-UP 80

  VII. FRIENDS AND HUNTERS 94

  VIII. OUT ON THE PRAIRIE 109

  IX. ONLY A YOUNGSTER 128

  X. A BUFFALO HUNT 146

  XI. SURROUNDED BY INDIANS 165

  XII. A TIGHT CORNER 179

  XIII. DODGING THE ENEMY 192

  XIV. AN ATTACK IN FORCE 205

  XV. GIVING 'EM PEPPER 220

  XVI. THE BASHFUL JACOB 239

  XVII. BLACK BILL TO THE RESCUE 258

  XVIII. THE GOLD RUSH 275

  XIX. TOM MAKES A FIND 288

  XX. AN AMBUSCADE 301

  XXI. THE OUTWITTING OF TUSKER 314

  XXII. A DOUBLE RECOGNITION 327

  XXIII. STEVE LEADS THE WAY 341

  XXIV. A GREAT ACQUITTAL 360

  Illustrations

  Page

  "JACK SWUNG HIS HEAD ROUND" _Frontispiece_ 154

  TUSKER JOE'S CHALLENGE 10

  "HE SAW THE RASCAL CRUMPLE INTO A HEAP" 89

  "THE INDIAN CHIEF THREW UP HIS ARMS" 212

  RUNNING A RISK 271

  JACK FETCHES THE RIFLES 324

  CHAPTER I

  Tusker Joe

  "Ef there was a man here as was a man, guess it'd be some use waitin'and talkin'. But as thar ain't sich a thing handy, why, I'll git. Onceand fer all, aer thar a one here as don't think I did it fair? Eh?"

  The man who spoke swept his eyes round the narrow, ugly room, and pulledthe brim of his wideawake hat down over his eyes just a trifle lower;whether to hide the scowl in them, or the fear which lurked in hisdilated pupils, it would be difficult to say. Tusker Joe was not anxiousthat his companions in the room, which went by the name of saloon,should guess that he was anything but self-composed and full of courage.But to give the bare truth, Tusker Joe was by no means easy in his mind.Even the smoking revolver in his hand, in which four unused cartridgesyet remained, failed to reassure him. It was not only fear for his ownwretched life that haunted him. Tusker Joe had a conscience at this day,and it smote him just then harder than all else. Even as he swept hiseyes round the room he was struggling hard to drown that readyconscience, to still the voice which whispered persistently in his ear:"Murderer, murderer!"

  "Yer don't speak," he went on, after a minute's awkward silence,raising his voice till he almost shouted the words, as if the soundshelped to encourage him and drown that still, small whisper. "Then Itakes it that ye're all in agreement. It was fair done. Me alone againstthem two, and they quarrelsome. I'd stop and face the sheriff hisselfwith that. But what's the use? A man has ter work nowadays, and asheriff wastes time. Yer can jest give him the facts for yerselves; but,at the same time, yer can jest mind. Tusker Joe ain't a playsome girl.He ain't a weaklin', likely ter take sauce from no one. And lies hedon't have at no price, not at all. Ef there's a man here as feels atthis second as he don't agree that it war all fair and square, jest lethim speak up. That's what I say. Let him open his mouth, here and now,before what's left of us."

  The man's voice was truculent now. His words deafened those within thesaloon, and there was no excuse for not hearing them. But no answercame. Not one of the three men seated at a table at one end ventured toopen his lips. Instead, all, as if by common arrangement, kept theireyes fixed on the wall opposite them, as if intent on counting theplanks which helped to make it, while their open palms lay exposed onthe table.

  TUSKER JOE'S CHALLENGE]

  Right opposite Tusker Joe a solitary individual sat awkwardly on a roughbench. He was a man of some thirty years of age, with red hair andbeard, and a weak expression. The long, pointed chin, the narrow eyesswitching restlessly from side to side, even the diminutive proportionsof this fellow, spoke of indecision, of one accustomed to follow and notto lead, of one inclined at all times to shirk difficulties. Red Sam,for that was the name he went by in this mining camp, was not even hisown master. He was a hired labourer, who had come to the mining campsnot to test his own luck, and to risk all he had in the hope that hardwork and a strenuous fight with Dame Fortune would bring him the richeswhich many a man had won. Sam had not the courage for such a venture. Hepreferred good wages, and a certainty, to any risk. He was notquarrelsome, nor over-talkative, and he did not frequent the drinkingsaloon at Salem Falls more often than others. He was just an averageminer, content with his lot so far, and indistinguishable from theothers who worked at the camp save in respect to his beard. He wore thesame gaudy shirt and neckerchief, high boots, a wide-brimmed hat, and abelt big enough to circle a horse, in the holster of which was arevolver. Tusker's eyes, which during the last few moments had beensearching the cracked mirror opposite him, at the back of the bar onwhich he leaned, suddenly lit upon Sam--Red Sam, the weakling--whom allin that camp knew to be harmless and the reverse of dangerous. And asthey did so, that still, small voice whispered with even greaterpersistence in Tusker's ear: "Murderer, murderer!" till the man becamesavage. He swung round again, his eyes flashing, his pistol pointed.

  "What's that?" he demanded menacingly. "Yer didn't speak, I know, butyer looked what yer thought. Draw!"

  Sam was utterly disconcerted. Had he been able, he would havestraightway sunk beneath the rough boards which formed the floor of thesaloon. To retreat, to get away from such a terrible man and such anugly encounter, was all that he desired. But that pointed pistol heldhim rooted to the spot.

  "Me?" he stuttered, gripping the bench with both hands. "Me thinkanything! Why----"

  He stared at Tusker with wide-open mouth, and eyes which were dilatedwith terror.

  "Yer looked it," retorted Tusker, his face scowling horribly. "Ef Ithought for one moment as yer'd forget, I'd put daylight clean throughyer now. Clean through yer, Sam."

  The very idea of such a terrible happening almost caused Red Sam tofaint. He positively shivered, and when his shifting eyes happened topass to the far end of the saloon, where were the men whom Tusker hadalready fired upon, the shiver became a tremble. His fingers twitched ashe e
ndeavoured to clutch the bench, his hair stood erect beneath thewide-brimmed hat, which gave this modest fellow such a desperateappearance at ordinary times, while the end of his beard shook.

  "Clean through yer," repeated Tusker grimly: the sight of this harmlessand trembling individual seeming to appease the bully for the moment."Through yer and any others as dares ter think--think, mind yer--thatall warn't fair and square. For the last time, aer thar a man here ashas got a word ter say agin it."

  Tall and broad, his face and neck and arms burned to a brick red byexposure to the sun, Tusker Joe would have at ordinary times beenpronounced a handsome fellow. His long, curling, black moustache set offfeatures which, though never pleasant, were regular and distinctlyprepossessing. His red mining shirt, corduroy breeches, and high bootsmade up, with the brilliant handkerchief round his throat and thedraggled and untidy hat upon his head, an appearance which waspicturesque, if nothing more; while the breadth of his shoulders, andthe size of his limbs, told of a man used to labour, of a strong fellow,able to look well to himself. Unfortunately, however, there wassomething about the face which detracted from the general air ofpicturesqueness. Tusker Joe's features were marked by heavy lines, someacross a somewhat narrow forehead, and others about the corners of theeyes and the mouth. Even at rest the features wore an air the reverse offrank and straightforward. The eyes were shifty, even more so than thoseof the weak Red Sam. And now, when his passions were stirred, the facewhich looked out from beneath the pulled-down brim of his hat was seamedwith other lines--lines which told of hate, of avarice, of fear, of athousand passions flitting through the man's mind. Bluff and brag at hisbest, Tusker Joe was in those days too young a man to carry off such asituation with absolute tranquillity. True, he had been in saloon brawlsbefore, and had shot men; but he had never murdered. In those roughdays, down at the diggings, when men spent a goodly part of their gainsin the saloons, quarrels were of frequent occurrence, and revolvers camereadily to the hand. Bullies arose, too, and for a while terrorized eventhese lawless, gambling men. But sheer murder was hardly attempted, forthen even the miners arose in anger, and when that was the case lynchlaw was the order--a short shrift was given to the guilty party, andeither he was riddled with bullets or, if a rope happened to be handy,he was strung to the nearest tree. Often enough there was no suitabletree, and then the bullets of the miners finished the matter.

  Tusker Joe had turned from Red Sam by now, and for one brief moment casthis eyes to that far end where lay the men at whom he had fired. Even heshuddered ever so little, and from contemplating them turned to therough bar again and leaned one arm upon it. Then his eyes sought thecracked mirror which was nailed to the boarded wall behind the bar,reflecting from its golden-circled frame the whole of the saloon. In theglass he could see the three men seated at the table, their palms stillprominently exposed. Not one had moved so much as a finger. They satriveted to their chairs, their eyes fixed on the plank wall as before,knowing that Tusker Joe's eyes were upon them, and that to carry a handto a pocket meant a shot from his revolver in an instant.

  "Cowed! Jest don't dare ter move a finger, the skunks," growled themurderer beneath his breath. "And thar ain't one of 'em as don't knowTusker well enough ter guess what'll follow if they get ter blabbin'.Blabbin'! What's that I said? Thar ain't no need ter fear that. It wasfair and square. Lord Tom had no need fer ter call me a liar and athief. He knew that a man don't take sich words hereabouts, and thatbullets git flyin' when names are called. He asked fer trouble, and, bythunder, he's had it! As fer Jim, he'd a hand at his shooter, and efhe's gone under, reckon it's his own fault. Yer don't catch me waitin'fer a man ter shoot."

  For some two minutes he stood at the bar, his unseeing eyes fixed uponthe reflecting mirror, while his busy brain invented excuse after excusefor the act of which he had just been guilty. But, strive as he might togloss over this shooting affray, and to paint his own side of thesquabble in rosy colours, that still, small voice returned withpersistence. "Murderer! murderer!" It echoed even louder in his ears,till the man was distracted and desperate.

  "Here! fill it up, will yer?" he shouted, thrusting forward an emptyglass, and menacing the frightened negro behind the bar with hisrevolver. "To the brim, and slippy with it! Hur! Now, again! Hur! Thar'sthe price fer it. Keep the change."

  Gulping down two glasses of spirit within a few seconds, he threw theglass to the floor, where it smashed into a hundred pieces, and thentossed a dollar on to the bar. By now a haunted look had come into theman's face. The fingers which pulled the expended cartridges from hisweapon and replenished the chambers trembled obviously. The man wasbecome desperate. His conscience was driving him hard. But with it allhe was cunning. He kept his eyes on the men at the table, and then swunground to confront Red Sam, causing that miserable individual to shivermore than ever. Then, with never a glance to the far end of the room, hebacked to the door of the saloon, pulled it open with his foot, andbacked out. The door slammed to, and Tusker was gone. Those who crossedto the window to watch him saw the miner running down the street for hislife, and, conscious now that they were safe themselves, they shooktheir fists at his retreating figure, and swore beneath their breath.

  "I knew as it would come from him," exclaimed one of them, proceeding tofill a pipe. "Tusker Joe is bound ter break out somewhares, and becomecamp bully and murderer. Up to date he ain't dared attempt anything overmuch, but ter-day he's done it. He won't never look back. Mark my words,mate, he'll get wusser and wusser. He's the sort that goes on from onething ter another, and don't stop till the sheriff's got him, or hismates has took the law up themselves, and has strung him six foot up. Itwar all a plant."

  "It war," agreed a second. "Tusker had made up his mind fer a ruction,and Lord Tom war a fool to help him. Ef he hadn't been green, as greenas grass, he'd have known what'd happen when he got ter callin' names.He war too free with 'em, and had got no use fer his own shooter. ButI'm surprised at Jim. He's been out this way nigh most of his life, andhe must have known. Seems he was took by surprise; fer he could shoot,he could."

  They nodded their heads at one another, and slowly filled and lit theirpipes, while they held their eyes to the window, fearful that Tusker Joemight yet return. Not that he would have terrorized them altogether.When a man finds another holding a revolver levelled at his head, andknows that the slightest movement or protest will bring a bullet in hisdirection, he by force of circumstances keeps very still. Even if hehappens to be a courageous man--and many of these miners wereundoubtedly that--common sense teaches him not so much as to lift afinger. He swallows his chagrin, and registers the vow to live foranother day, when matters may be more equal. Tusker Joe had got the dropon his comrades in the saloon, to use a mining expression. He had drawnhis revolver at the very beginning of the quarrel, and all knew that hewas a dead shot. But now he could have no advantage, and had he appearedagain, he would undoubtedly have met with strenuous opposition.

  "He's cleared, yer bet," said the third man after a while. "Tusker knowsas thar won't be no livin' fer him here after this, and he's bound tergit. Suppose it's a case fer the sheriff?"

  "Yep; thar ain't nothin' more ter do. Guess the verdict'll be murder.Thar's bound to be a howl in Salem Falls, and men'll get ter swear thatthey'll shoot Tusker on sight. Then it'll blow over. Tusker won't befool enough ter show up this side of the grave, and things'll beforgotten. Suppose we git a move on."

  The three stepped towards the door, Red Sam rising at the same time andjoining them, evidently with the idea of obtaining some sort ofprotection from their company. He lifted the latch, and was about toemerge, when a sound came from the far end of the room, bringing thefour facing round in that direction. And this is what they saw.

  Close to the far wall was a second table--a long affair composed ofrough boards, with a bench perched just behind it, between the table andthe wall. On this bench a man was seated, with his hands sprawled out onthe table top, and his head resting on his hands. He might have beenasleep for all
one could tell, as his posture was the most natural onepossible. Certainly one would never have imagined that he was the victimof a shooting affray. But Lord Tom was dead, without any doubt. Closerinspection of his body showed a hole in his forehead, now reclining onhis hands, while an ugly dark pool was spreading out between hisfingers. At his feet lay a man as dead apparently as he. His feet werepointed towards the centre of the saloon, while his head and shoulderslay beneath the bench, almost directly under his dead comrade. It seemedthat he had been holding a paper when the affray started, for he haddragged that to the ground with him, and it now covered his face andchest, while one arm peeped from beneath it, exposing the hand to view,with a revolver gripped in the latter. A moment before Jim had lain aninert mass. Now, at the sound of departure of the others, he stirred andcalled gently to them. Then the hand which gripped the revolver loosedits hold, and gently drew the paper from his face.

  "Jest pull me out from under this here consarn," he asked in the coolestpossible voice. "Now set me up on the table. Gently, boys! That erechap's broken my arm. Now, Peter, something wet ter drink, quick as yercan."

  They lifted him on to the table very gently; for these miners, when allwas said and done, were exceedingly good and kind to one another when indistress. And there they supported him, while the negro behind the barmixed some spirit and water and brought it.

  "Huh! that'll make me wake up," said Jim, still cool and collected. "SoLord Tom's dead? I guessed it'd come ter that when he got ter flingin'names about. And Tusker's gone. Wall, there ain't nothin' more ter donow but ter git well and started in again at the diggin'. Guess he'stook all. A fine pardner he's been, to be sure! He's seen me and Tomslavin' every day and guess he's jest chuckled. He's bided his time, andgot clean off with all the stuff. Boys, we'd cleaned up the claim onlyyesterday, and thar was enough to take every mother's son of us back toNew York, with something in hand ter start up business with. AndTusker's got it all, and has rubbed poor Tom out."

  He looked round at the miners, and each in turn nodded his agreement.

  "Rubbed him clean out, yer bet," said one. "It don't take twice lookin'ter tell that. Tom's dead, and we'd a notion yer was the same. Yer laythat still."

  "And yer didn't move over sprightly," came from the wounded man dryly."I saw every little bit of the theatricals, and thar wasn't a man asdared ter show fight, small blame to yer. For me, he'd got the dropbefore I'd a hand on my shooter, and jest sent his lead through my arm.I wasn't askin' fer more. I knew a move meant death, sure. And so I didsame as you. Lay still as a mouse, with the paper over my face, and jesta small tear in it through which I could watch what was happening.Mates, I'll tell yer somethin'. I've been diggin' and minin' this fiveyears. I've met bad men and good, rough and honest, and downrightruffians. But Tusker's jest a murderer. I gives him notice, here andnow, that I shoot on sight at the next meetin'. If only for Lord Tom'ssake, I shoot on sight. Tusker's a thief and a murderer."

  When the whole matter came to be discussed, it was the decision of theinmates of the camp at Salem Falls that Tusker Joe was indeed a thiefand a murderer. It cropped up in the evidence offered to the sheriff,who duly made an enquiry, that this man, some thirty years of age only,had twice before entered into partnership with other miners, and, havingwaited till the claims panned out well, and earnings were collected,disappeared with all that he could lay his hands on. And on thisoccasion it was his intention to do the same. But Lord Tom, a man of adifferent stamp to the miners, had detected his intention, and in anunwary moment had taxed him with the crime, and had not hesitated tocall him a thief. Then it was that Tusker had deliberately shot hispartner down, and done the same for Jim. It was a clear case of murder.A warrant was issued for the arrest of the man, and in a little whilethe event was forgotten. But Jim did not forget, while in course of timethe news of Lord Tom's death filtered through to New York State, wherehis widow was living. Mary Kingsley did not forget. She mourned herhusband for many a long day, and then, like the sensible woman she was,set herself to think of her son. And that son, Jack Kingsley, is the ladwho is the hero of this story.