by Bret Harte
WHEN THE WATERS WERE UP AT "JULES'"
When the waters were up at "Jules'" there was little else up on thatmonotonous level. For the few inhabitants who calmly and methodicallymoved to higher ground, camping out in tents until the floodhad subsided, left no distracting wreckage behind them. A dozenhalf-submerged log cabins dotted the tranquil surface of the waters,without ripple or disturbance, looking in the moonlight more like theruins of centuries than of a few days. There was no current to sap theirslight foundations or sweep them away; nothing stirred that silent lakebut the occasional shot-like indentations of a passing raindrop, or,still more rarely, a raft, made of a single log, propelled by somecitizen on a tour of inspection of his cabin roof-tree, where some ofhis goods were still stored. There was no sense of terror in this blandobliteration of the little settlement; the ruins of a single burnt-upcabin would have been more impressive than this stupid and evengrotesquely placid effect of the rival destroying element. People tookit naturally; the water went as it had come,--slowly, impassively,noiselessly; a few days of fervid Californian sunshine dried the cabins,and in a week or two the red dust lay again as thickly before theirdoors as the winter mud had lain. The waters of Rattlesnake Creekdropped below its banks, the stage-coach from Marysville no longer madea detour of the settlement. There was even a singular compensation tothis amicable invasion; the inhabitants sometimes found gold in thosebreaches in the banks made by the overflow. To wait for the "oldRattlesnake sluicing" was a vernal hope of the trusting miner.
The history of "Jules'," however, was once destined to offer a singularinterruption of this peaceful and methodical process. The winter of1859-60 was an exceptional one. But little rain had fallen in thevalleys, although the snow lay deep in the high Sierras. Passes werechoked, ravines filled, and glaciers found on their slopes. And when thetardy rains came with the withheld southwesterly "trades," the regularphenomenon recurred; Jules' Flat silently, noiselessly, and peacefullywent under water; the inhabitants moved to the higher ground, perhapsa little more expeditiously from an impatience born of the delay. Thestagecoach from Marysville made its usual detour and stopped before thetemporary hotel, express offices, and general store of "Jules'," undercanvas, bark, and the limp leaves of a spreading alder. It deposited asingle passenger,--Miles Hemmingway, of San Francisco, but originally ofBoston,--the young secretary of a mining company, dispatched to reportupon the alleged auriferous value of "Jules'." Of this he had been byno means impressed as he looked down upon the submerged cabins from thebox-seat of the coach and listened to the driver's lazy recital ofthe flood, and of the singularly patient acceptance of it by theinhabitants.
It was the old story of the southwestern miner's indolence andincompetency,--utterly distasteful to his northern habits of thoughtand education. Here was their old fatuous endurance of Nature's wildcaprices, without that struggle against them which brought othersstrength and success; here was the old philosophy which accepted theprairie fire and cyclone, and survived them without advancement,yet without repining. Perhaps in different places and surroundings asubmission so stoic might have impressed him; in gentlemen who tuckedtheir dirty trousers in their muddy boots and lived only for the goldthey dug, it did not seem to him heroic. Nor was he mollified ashe stood beside the rude refreshment bar--a few planks laid ontrestles--and drank his coffee beneath the dripping canvas roof, with anodd recollection of his boyhood and an inclement Sunday-school picnic.Yet these men had been living in this shiftless fashion for three weeks!It exasperated him still more to think that he might have to wait therea few days longer for the water to subside sufficiently for him to makehis examination and report. As he took a proffered seat on a candle-box,which tilted under him, and another survey of the feeble makeshiftsaround him, his irascibility found vent.
"Why, in the name of God, didn't you, after you had been flooded outONCE, build your cabins PERMANENTLY on higher ground?"
Although the tone of his voice was more disturbing than his question, itpleased one of the loungers to affect to take it literally.
"Well, ez you've put it that way,--'in the name of God!'"--returned theman lazily, "it mout hev struck us that ez HE was bossin' the job, soto speak, and handlin' things round here generally, we might leave it toHim. It wasn't OUR flood to monkey with."
"And as He didn't coven-ant, so to speak, to look arter this higherground 'speshally, and make an Ararat of it for us, ez far ez wecould see, we didn't see any reason for SETTLIN' yer," put in a secondspeaker, with equal laziness.
The secretary saw his mistake instantly, and had experience enoughof Western humor not to prolong the disadvantage of his unfortunateadjuration. He colored slightly and said, with a smile, "You know whatI mean; you could have protected yourselves better. A levee on the bankwould have kept you clear of the highest watermark."
"Hey you ever heard WHAT the highest watermark was?" said the firstspeaker, turning to another of the loungers without looking at thesecretary.
"Never heard it,--didn't know there was a limit before," responded theman.
The first speaker turned back to the secretary. "Did you ever know whathappened at 'Bulger's,' on the North Fork? They had one o' them levees."
"No. What happened?" asked the secretary impatiently.
"They was fixed suthin' like us," returned the first speaker. "THEYallowed they'd build a levee above THEIR highest watermark, and did. Itworked like a charm at first; but the water hed to go somewhere, and itkinder collected at the first bend. Then it sorter raised itself on itselbows one day, and looked over the levee down upon whar some of theboys was washin' quite comf'ble. Then it paid no sorter attention to thelimit o' that high watermark, but went six inches better! Not slow andquiet like ez it useter to, ez it does HERE, kinder fillin' up frombelow, but went over with a rush and a current, hevin' of course thewhole height of the levee to fall on t'other side where the boys weresluicing." He paused, and amidst a profound silence added, "They saythat 'Bulger's' was scattered promiscuous-like all along the fort forfive miles. I only know that one of his mules and a section of sluicingwas picked up at Red Flat, eight miles away!"
Mr. Hemmingway felt that there WAS an answer to this, but, being wise,also felt that it would be unavailing. He smiled politely and saidnothing, at which the first speaker turned to him:--
"Thar ain't anything to see to-day, but to-morrow, ez things go, thewater oughter be droppin'. Mebbe you'd like to wash up now and cleanyourself," he added, with a glance at Hemmingway's small portmanteau."Ez we thought you'd likely be crowded here, we've rigged up a cornerfor you at Stanton's shanty with the women."
The young man's cheek flushed slightly at some possible irony in this,and he protested with considerable stress that he was quite ready "torough it" where he was.
"I reckon it's already fixed," returned the man decisively, "so you'dbetter come and I'll show you the way."
"One moment," said Hemmingway, with a smile; "my credentials areaddressed to the manager of the Boone Ditch Company at 'Jules'.' PerhapsI ought to see him first."
"All right; he's Stanton."
"And"--hesitated the secretary, "YOU, who appear to understand thelocality so well,--I trust I may have the pleasure"--
"Oh, I'm Jules."
The secretary was a little startled and amused. So "Jules" was a person,and not a place!
"Then you're a pioneer?" asked Hemmingway, a little less dictatorially,as they passed out under the dripping trees.
"I struck this creek in the fall of '49, comin' over Livermore'sPass with Stanton," returned Jules, with great brevity of speech anddeliberate tardiness of delivery. "Sent for my wife and two children thenext year; wife died same winter, change bein' too sudden for her, andcontractin' chills and fever at Sweetwater. When I kem here first tharwasn't six inches o' water in the creek; out there was a heap of it overthere where you see them yallowish-green patches and strips o' brushand grass; all that war water then, and all that growth hez sprung upsince."
Hemmingway looked arou
nd him. The "higher ground" where they stood wasin reality only a mound-like elevation above the dead level of the flat,and the few trees were merely recent young willows and alders. The areaof actual depression was much greater than he had imagined, and itsresemblance to the bed of some prehistoric inland sea struck himforcibly. A previous larger inundation than Jules' brief experience hadever known had been by no means improbable. His cheek reddened at hisprevious hasty indictment of the settlers' ignorance and shiftlessness,and the thought that he had probably committed his employers to hisown rash confidence and superiority of judgment. However, there was noevidence that this diluvial record was not of the remote past. He smiledagain with greater security as he thought of the geological changes thathad since tempered these cataclysms, and the amelioration brought bysettlement and cultivation. Nevertheless, he would make a thoroughexamination to-morrow.
Stanton's cabin was the furthest of these temporary habitations, andwas partly on the declivity which began to slope to the river's bank. Itwas, like the others, a rough shanty of unplaned boards, but, unlike theothers, it had a base of logs laid lengthwise on the ground and parallelwith each other, on which the flooring and structure were securelyfastened. This gave it the appearance of a box slid on runners, or aNoah's Ark whose bulk had been reduced. Jules explained that the logs,laid in that manner, kept the shanty warmer and free from damp. In replyto Hemmingway's suggestion that it was a great waste of material, Julessimply replied that the logs were the "flotsam and jetsam" of the creekfrom the overflowed mills below.
Hemmingway again smiled. It was again the old story of Western wasteand prodigality. Accompanied by Jules, however, he climbed up the huge,slippery logs which made a platform before the door, and entered.
The single room was unequally divided; the larger part containing threebeds, by day rolled in a single pile in one corner to make room for atable and chairs. A few dresses hanging from nails on the wall showedthat it was the women's room. The smaller compartment was againsubdivided by a hanging blanket, behind which was a rude bunk or berthagainst the wall, a table made of a packing-box, containing a tin basinand a can of water. This was his apartment.
"The women-folks are down the creek, bakin', to-day," said Julesexplanatorily; "but I reckon that one of 'em will be up here in a jiffyto make supper, so you just take it easy till they come. I've got tomeander over to the claim afore I turn in, but you just lie by to-nightand take a rest."
He turned away, leaving Hemmingway standing in the doorway stilldistraught and hesitating. Nor did the young man recognize the delicacyof Jules' leave-taking until he had unstrapped his portmanteau and foundhimself alone, free to make his toilet, unembarrassed by company. Buteven then he would have preferred the rough companionship of the minersin the common dormitory of the general store to this intrusion uponthe half-civilization of the women, their pitiable little comforts andsecret makeshifts. His disgust of his own indecision which brought himthere naturally recoiled in the direction of his host and hostesses, andafter a hurried ablution, a change of linen, and an attempt to removethe stains of travel from his clothes, he strode out impatiently intothe open air again.
It was singularly mild even for the season. The southwest trades blewsoftly, and whispered to him of San Francisco and the distant Pacific,with its long, steady swell. He turned again to the overflowed Flatbeneath him, and the sluggish yellow water that scarcely broke a rippleagainst the walls of the half-submerged cabins. And this was the waterfor whose going down they were waiting with an immobility as tranquilas the waters themselves! What marvelous incompetency,--or what infinitepatience! He knew, of course, their expected compensation in this"ground sluicing" at Nature's own hand; the long rifts in the banks ofthe creek which so often showed "the color" in the sparkling scales ofriver gold disclosed by the action of the water; the heaps of reddishmud left after its subsidence around the walls of the cabins,--a depositthat often contained a treasure a dozen times more valuable than thecabin itself! And then he heard behind him a laugh, a short and pantingbreath, and turning, beheld a young woman running towards him.
In his first astounded sight of her, in her limp nankeen sunbonnet,thrown back from her head by the impetus of her flight, he saw only toomuch hair, two much white teeth, too much eye-flash, and, aboveall,--as it appeared to him,--too much confidence in the power of thesequalities. Even as she ran, it seemed to him that she was pulling downostentatiously the rolled-up sleeves of her pink calico gown over hershapely arms. I am inclined to think that the young gentleman's temperwas at fault, and his conclusion hasty; a calmer observer would havedetected nothing of this in her frankly cheerful voice. Nevertheless,her evident pleasure in the meeting seemed to him only obtrusivecoquetry.
"Lordy! I reckoned to git here afore you'd get through fixin' up, and intime to do a little prinkin' myself, and here you're out already." Shelaughed, glancing at his clean shirt and damp hair. "But all the same,we kin have a talk, and you kin tell me all the news afore the otherwimmen get up here. It's a coon's age since I was at Sacramento andsaw anybody or anything." She stopped and, instinctively detecting somevague reticence in the man before her, said, still laughing, "You're Mr.Hemmingway, ain't you?"
Hemmingway took off his hat quickly, with a slight start at hisforgetfulness. "I beg your pardon; yes, certainly."
"Aunty Stanton thought it was 'Hummingbird,'" said the girl, with alaugh, "but I reckoned not. I'm Jinney Jules, you know; folks call me'J. J.' It wouldn't do for a Hummingbird and a Jay Jay to be in the samecamp, would it? It would be just TOO funny!"
Hemmingway did not find the humor of this so singularly exhaustive, buthe was already beginning to be ashamed of his attitude towards her. "I'mvery sorry to be giving you all this trouble by my intrusion, for I wasquite willing to stay at the store yonder. Indeed," he added, witha burst of frankness quite as sincere as her own, "if you think yourfather will not be offended, I would gladly go there now."
If he still believed in her coquetry and vanity, he would have beenundeceived and crushed by the equal and sincere frankness with which shemet this ungallant speech.
"No! I reckon he wouldn't care, if you'd be as comf'ble and fit forto-morrow. But ye WOULDN'T," she said reflectively. "The boys tharsit up late over euchre, and swear a heap, and Simpson, who'd sleepalongside of ye, snores pow'ful, I've heard. Aunty Stanton kin do herlevel at that, too, and they say"--with a laugh--"that I kin, too, butyou're away off in that corner, and it won't reach you. So, takin' itall, by the large, you'd better stay whar ye are. We wimmen, that is,the most of us, will be off and away down to Rattlesnake Bar shoppin'afore sun up, so ye'll sleep ez long ez ye want to, and find yerbreakfast ready when ye wake. So I'll jest set to and get ye somesupper, and ye kin tell me all the doin's in Sacramento and 'Friscowhile I'm workin'."
In spite of her unconscious rebuff to his own vanity, Hemmingway felt asense of relief and less constraint in his relations to this decidedlyprovincial hostess.
"Can I help you in any way?" he asked eagerly.
"Well, ye MIGHT bring me an armful o' wood from the pile under thealders, ef ye ain't afraid o' dirtyin' your coat," she said tentatively.
Mr. Hemmingway was not afraid; he declared himself delighted. He broughta generous armful of small cut willow boughs, and deposited them beforea small stove, which seemed a temporary substitute for the usual largeadobe chimney that generally occupied the entire gable of a miner'scabin. An elbow and short length of stovepipe carried the smoke throughthe cabin side. But he also noticed that his fair companion had usedthe interval to put on a pair of white cuffs and a collar. However, shebrushed the green moss from his sleeve with some toweling, and althoughthis operation brought her so near to him that her breath--as soft andwarm as the southwest trades--stirred his hair, it was evident that thiscontiguity was only frontier familiarity, as far removed from consciouscoquetry as it was, perhaps, from educated delicacy.
"The boys gin'rally kem to take up enough wood for me to begin with,"she said, "but I reckon th
ey didn't know I was comin' up so soon."
Hemmingway's distrust returned a little at this obvious suggestion thathe was only a substitute for their general gallantry, but he smiled andsaid somewhat bluntly, "I don't suppose you lack for admirers here."
The girl, however, took him literally. "Lordy, no! Me and Mamie Robinsonare the only girls for fifteen miles along the creek. ADMIRIN'! I callit jest PESTERIN' sometimes! I reckon I'll hev to keep a dog!"
Hemmingway shivered. Yes, she was not only conscious, but spoiltalready. He pictured to himself the uncouth gallantries of thesettlement, the provincial badinage, the feeble rivalries of the youngmen whom he had seen at the general store. Undoubtedly this was what shewas expecting in HIM!
"Well," she said, turning from the fire she had kindled, "while I'msettin' the table, tell me what's a-doin' in Sacramento! I reckon you'vegot heaps of lady friends thar,--I'm told there's lots of fashions justfrom the States."
"I'm afraid I don't know enough of them to interest you," he said dryly.
"Go on and talk," she replied. "Why, when Tom Flynn kem back fromSacramento, and he warn't thar more nor a week, he jest slung yarnsabout his doin's thar to last the hull rainy season."
Half amused and half annoyed, Hemmingway seated himself on the littleplatform beside the open door, and began a conscientious description ofthe progress of Sacramento, its new buildings, hotels, and theatres,as it had struck him on his last visit. For a while he was somewhatentertained by the girl's vivacity and eager questioning, but presentlyit began to pall. He continued, however, with a grim sense of duty, andpartly as a reason for watching her in her household duties. Certainlyshe was graceful! Her tall, lithe, but beautifully moulded figure,even in its characteristic southwestern indolence, fell into poses aspicturesque as they were unconscious. She lifted the big molasses-canfrom its shelf on the rafters with the attitude of a Greek water-bearer.She upheaved the heavy flour-sack to the same secure shelf with theupraised palms of an Egyptian caryatid. Suddenly she interruptedHemmingway's perfunctory talk with a hearty laugh. He started, lookedup from his seat on the platform, and saw that she was standing over himand regarding him with a kind of mischievous pity.
"Look here," she said, "I reckon that'll do! You kin pull up short! Ikin see what's the matter with you; you're jest plumb tired, tuckeredout, and want to turn in! So jest you sit that quiet until I get supperready and never mind me." In vain Hemmingway protested, with a risingcolor. The girl only shook her head. "Don't tell me! You ain't keeringto talk, and you're only playin' Sacramento statistics on me," sheretorted, with unfeigned cheerfulness. "Anyhow, here's the wimmencomin', and supper is ready."
There was a sound of weary, resigned ejaculations and pantings, andthree gaunt women in lustreless alpaca gowns appeared before the cabin.They seemed prematurely aged and worn with labor, anxiety, and illnourishment. Doubtless somewhere in these ruins a flower like Jay Juleshad once flourished; doubtless somewhere in that graceful nymph herselfthe germ of this dreary maturity was hidden. Hemmingway welcomed themwith a seriousness equal to their own. The supper was partaken with thekind of joyless formality which in the southwest is supposed to indicatedeep respect, even the cheerful Jay falling under the influence, and itwas with a feeling of relief that at last the young man retired to hisfenced-off corner for solitude and repose. He gathered, however,that before "sun up" the next morning the elder women were going toRattlesnake Bar for the weekly shopping, leaving Jay as before toprepare his breakfast and then join them later. It was already a changein his sentiments to find himself looking forward to that tete-a-tetewith the young girl, as a chance of redeeming his character in hereyes. He was beginning to feel he had been stupid, unready, and withalprejudiced. He undressed himself in his seclusion, broken only by themonotonous voices in the adjoining apartment. From time to time heheard fragments and scraps of their conversation, always in reference toaffairs of the household and settlement, but never of himself,--not eventhe suggestion of a prudent lowering of their voices,--and fell asleep.He woke up twice in the night with a sensation of cold so marked anddistinct from his experience of the early evening, that he was fain topile his clothes over his blankets to keep warm. He fell asleep again,coming once more to consciousness with a sense of a slight jar, butrelapsing again into slumber for he knew not how long. Then he wasfully awakened by a voice calling him, and, opening his eyes, beheld theblanket partition put aside, and the face of Jay thrust forward. Tohis surprise it wore a look of excited astonishment dominated byirrepressible laughter.
"Get up quick as you kin," she said gaspingly; "this is about thekillingest thing that ever happened!"
She disappeared, but he could still hear her laughing, and to his utterastonishment with her disappearance the floor seemed to change itslevel. A giddy feeling seized him; he put his feet to the floor; itwas unmistakably wet and oozing. He hurriedly clothed himself, stillaccompanied by the strange feeling of oscillation and giddiness, andpassed though the opening into the next room. Again his step producedthe same effect upon the floor, and he actually stumbled against hershaking figure, as she wiped the tears of uncontrollable mirth from hereyes with her apron. The contact seemed to upset her remaining gravity.She dropped into a chair, and, pointing to the open door, gasped, "Lookthar! Lordy! How's that for high?" threw her apron over her head, andgave way to an uproarious fit of laughter.
Hemmingway turned to the open door. A lake was before him on the levelof the cabin. He stepped forward on the platform; the water was rightand left, all around him. The platform dipped slightly to his step. Thecabin was afloat,--afloat upon its base of logs like a raft, the wholestructure upheld by the floor on which the logs were securely fastened.The high ground had disappeared--the river--its banks the green areabeyond. They, and THEY alone, were afloat upon an inland sea.
He turned an astounded and serious face upon her mirth. "When did ithappen?" he demanded. She checked her laugh, more from a sense of politedeference to his mood than any fear, and said quietly, "That gets me.Everything was all right two hours ago when the wimmen left. It wastoo early to get your breakfast and rouse ye out, and I felt asleep, Ireckon, until I felt a kind o' slump and a jar." Hemmingway rememberedhis own half-conscious sensation. "Then I got up and saw we was adrift.I didn't waken ye, for I thought it was only a sort of wave that wouldpass. It wasn't until I saw we were movin' and the hull rising groundgettin' away, that I thought o' callin' ye."
He thought of the vanished general store, of her father, the workers onthe bank, the helpless women on their way to the Bar, and turned almostsavagely on her.
"But the others,--where are they?" he said indignantly. "Do you callthat a laughing matter?"
She stopped at the sound of his voice as at a blow. Her face hardenedinto immobility, yet when she replied it was with the deliberateindolence of her father. "The wimmen are up on the hills by this time.The boys hev bin drowned out many times afore this and got clear off,on sluice boxes and timber, without squealing. Tom Flynn went downten miles to Sayer's once on two bar'ls, and I never heard that HE wascryin' when they picked him up."
A flush came to Hemmingway's cheek, but with it a gleam of intelligence.Of course the inundation was known to them FIRST, and there was thewreckage to support them. They had clearly saved themselves. If they hadabandoned the cabin, it was because they knew its security, perhaps hadeven seen it safely adrift.
"Has this ever happened to the cabin before?" he asked, as he thought ofits peculiar base.
"No."
He looked at the water again. There was a decided current. The overflowwas evidently no part of the original inundation. He put his hand inthe water. It was icy cold. Yes, he understood it now. It was the suddenmelting of snow in the Sierras which had brought this volume down thecanyon. But was there more still to come?
"Have you anything like a long pole or stick in the cabin?"
"Nary," said the girl, opening her big eyes and shaking her head witha simulation of despair, which was, however, flatly cont
radicted by herlaughing mouth.
"Nor any cord or twine?" he continued.
She handed him a ball of coarse twine.
"May I take a couple of these hooks?" he asked, pointing to some roughiron hooks in the rafters, on which bacon and jerked beef were hanging.
She nodded. He dislodged the hooks, greased them with the bacon rind,and affixed them to the twine.
"Fishin'?" she asked demurely.
"Exactly," he replied gravely.
He threw the line in the water. It slackened at about six feet,straightened, and became taut at an angle, and then dragged. After oneor two sharp jerks he pulled it up. A few leaves and grasses were caughtin the hooks. He examined them attentively.
"We're not in the creek," he said, "nor in the old overflow. There's nomud or gravel on the hooks, and these grasses don't grow near water."
"Now, that's mighty cute of you," she said admiringly, as she kneltbeside him on the platform. "Let's see what you've caught. Look yer!"she added, suddenly lifting a limp stalk, "that's 'old man,' and tharain't a scrap of it grows nearer than Springer's Rise,--four miles fromhome."
"Are you sure?" he asked quickly.
"Sure as pop! I used to go huntin' it for smellidge."
"For what?" he said, with a bewildered smile.
"For this,"--she thrust the leaves to his nose and then to her ownpink nostrils; "for--for"--she hesitated, and then with a mischievoussimulation of correctness added, "for the perfume."
He looked at her admiringly. For all her five feet ten inches, whata mere child she was, after all! What a fool he was to have taken aresentful attitude towards her! How charming and graceful she looked,kneeling there beside him!
"Tell me," he said suddenly, in a gentler voice, "what were you laughingat just now?"
Her brown eyes wavered for a moment, and then brimmed with merriment.She threw herself sideways, in a leaning posture, supporting herself onone arm, while with her other hand she slowly drew out her apron string,as she said, in a demure voice:--
"Well, I reckoned it was jest too killin' to think of you, who didn'twant to talk to me, and would hev given your hull pile to hev skippedout o' this, jest stuck here alongside o' me, whether you would or no,for Lord knows how long!"
"But that was last night," he said, in a tone of raillery. "I was tired,and you said so yourself, you know. But I'm ready to talk now. Whatshall I tell you?"
"Anything," said the girl, with a laugh.
"What I am thinking of?" he said, with frankly admiring eyes.
"Yes."
"Everything?"
"Yes, everything." She stopped, and leaning forward, suddenly caughtthe brim of his soft felt hat, and drawing it down smartly over hisaudacious eyes, said, "Everything BUT THAT."
It was with some difficulty and some greater embarrassment that hesucceeded in getting his eyes free again. When he did so, she had risenand entered the cabin. Disconcerted as he was, he was relieved to seethat her expression of amusement was unchanged. Was her act a pieceof rustic coquetry, or had she resented his advances? Nor did her nextwords settle the question.
"Ye kin do yer nice talk and philanderin' after we've settled whar weare, what we're goin', and what's goin' to happen. Jest now it 'pearsto me that ez these yere logs are the only thing betwixt us and 'kingdomcome,' ye'd better be hustlin' round with a few spikes to clinch 'em tothe floor."
She handed him a hammer and a few spikes. He obediently set to work,with little confidence, however, in the security of the fastening. Therewas neither rope nor chain for lashing the logs together; a strongercurrent and a collision with some submerged stump or wreckage wouldloosen them and wreck the cabin. But he said nothing. It was the girlwho broke the silence.
"What's your front name?"
"Miles."
"MILES,--that's a funny name. I reckon that's why you war so FAR OFF andDISTANT at first."
Mr. Hemmingway thought this very witty, and said so. "But," he added,"when I was a little nearer a moment ago, you stopped me."
"But you was moving faster than the shanty was. I reckon you don't takethat gait with your lady friends at Sacramento! However, you kin talknow."
"But you forget I don't know 'where we are,' nor 'what's going tohappen.'"
"But I do," she said quietly. "In a couple of hours we'll be picked up,so you'll be free again."
Something in the confidence of her manner made him go to the door againand look out. There was scarcely any current now, and the cabin seemedmotionless. Even the wind, which might have acted upon it, waswanting. They were apparently in the same position as before, but hissounding-line showed that the water was slightly falling. He came backand imparted the fact with a certain confidence born of her previouspraise of his knowledge. To his surprise she only laughed and saidlazily, "We'll be all right, and you'll be free, in about two hours."
"I see no sign of it," he said, looking through the door again.
"That's because you're looking in the water and the sky and the mud forit," she said, with a laugh. "I reckon you've been trained to watch themthings a heap better than to study the folks about here."
"I daresay you're right," said Hemmingway cheerfully, "but I don'tclearly see what the folks about here have to do with our situation justnow."
"You'll see," she said, with a smile of mischievous mystery. "All thesame," she added, with a sudden and dangerous softness in her eyes, "Iain't sayin' that YOU ain't kinder right neither."
An hour ago he would have laughed at the thought that a mere look andsentence like this from the girl could have made his heart beat. "Then Imay go on and talk?"
She smiled, but her eyes said, "Yes," plainly.
He turned to take a chair near her. Suddenly the cabin trembled, therewas a sound of scraping, a bump, and then the whole structure tilted toone side and they were both thrown violently towards the corner, with aswift inrush of water. Hemmingway quickly caught the girl by the waist;she clung to him instinctively, yet still laughing, as with a desperateeffort he succeeded in dragging her to the upper side of the slantingcabin, and momentarily restoring its equilibrium. They remained for aninstant breathless. But in that instant he had drawn her face to his andkissed her.
She disengaged herself gently with neither excitement nor emotion, andpointing to the open door said, "Look there!"
Two of the logs which formed the foundation of their floor were quietlyfloating in the water before the cabin! The submerged obstacle or snagwhich had torn them from their fastening was still holding the cabinfast. Hemmingway saw the danger. He ran along the narrow ledge to thepoint of contact and unhesitatingly leaped into the icy cold water. Itreached his armpits before his feet struck the obstacle,--evidently astump with a projecting branch. Bracing himself against it, he shovedoff the cabin. But when he struck out to follow it, he found that thelog nearest him was loose and his grasp might tear it away. At thesame moment, however, a pink calico arm fluttered above his head, and astrong grasp seized his coat collar. The cabin half revolved as the girldragged him into the open door.
"You bantam!" she said, with a laugh, "why didn't you let ME do that?I'm taller than you! But," she added, looking at his dripping clothesand dragging out a blanket from the corner, "I couldn't dry myselfas quick as you kin!" To her surprise, however, Hemmingway tossed theblanket aside, and pointing to the floor, which was already filmed withwater, ran to the still warm stove, detached it from its pipe, and threwit overboard. The sack of flour, bacon, molasses, and sugar, and all theheavier articles followed it into the stream. Relieved of their weightthe cabin base rose an inch or two higher. Then he sat down and said,"There! that may keep us afloat for that 'couple of hours' you speak of.So I suppose I may talk now!"
"Ye haven't no time," she said, in a graver voice. "It won't be as longas a couple of hours now. Look over thar!"
He looked where she pointed across the gray expanse of water. At firsthe could see nothing. Presently he saw a mere dot on its face which attimes changed to a single black l
ine.
"It's a log, like these," he said.
"It's no log. It's an Injun dug-out*--comin' for me."
* A canoe made from a hollowed log.
"Your father?" he said joyfully.
She smiled pityingly. "It's Tom Flynn. Father's got suthin' else to lookarter. Tom Flynn hasn't."
"And who's Tom Flynn?" he asked, with an odd sensation.
"The man I'm engaged to," she said gravely, with a slight color.
The rose that blossomed on her cheek faded in his. There was a moment ofsilence. Then he said frankly, "I owe you some apology. Forgive my follyand impertinence a moment ago. How could I have known this?"
"You took no more than you deserved, or that Tom would have objectedto," she said, with a little laugh. "You've been mighty kind and handy."
She held out her hand; their fingers closed together in a frankpressure. Then his mind went back to his work, which he hadforgotten,--to his first impressions of the camp and of her. They bothstood silent, watching the canoe, now quite visible, and the man thatwas paddling it, with an intensity that both felt was insincere.
"I'm afraid," he said, with a forced laugh, "that I was a little toohasty in disposing of your goods and possessions. We could have keptafloat a little longer."
"It's all the same," she said, with a slight laugh; "it's jest as wellwe didn't look too comf'ble--to HIM."
He did not reply; he did not dare to look at her. Yes! It was the samecoquette he had seen last night. His first impressions were correct.
The canoe came on rapidly now, propelled by a powerful arm. In a fewmoments it was alongside, and its owner leaped on the platform. It wasthe gentleman with his trousers tucked in his boots, the second voicein the gloomy discussion in the general store last evening. He noddedsimply to the girl, and shook Hemmingway's hand warmly.
Then he made a hurried apology for his delay: it was so difficult tofind "the lay" of the drifted cabin. He had struck out first for themost dangerous spot,--the "old clearing," on the right bank, with itsstumps and new growths,--and it seemed he was right. And all the restwere safe, and "nobody was hurt."
"All the same, Tom," she said, when they were seated and paddling offagain, "you don't know HOW NEAR YOU CAME TO LOSING ME." Then sheraised her beautiful eyes and looked significantly, not at HIM, but atHemmingway.
When the water was down at "Jules'" the next day, they found certaincurious changes and some gold, and the secretary was able to make afavorable report. But he made none whatever of his impressions "whenthe water was up at 'Jules','" though he often wondered if they werestrictly trustworthy.
