by Bret Harte
THE GREAT DEADWOOD MYSTERY
It was growing quite dark in the telegraph-office at Cottonwood,Tuolumne County, California. The office, a box-like enclosure, wasseparated from the public room of the Miners' Hotel by a thin partition;and the operator, who was also news and express agent at Cottonwood,had closed his window, and was lounging by his news-stand preparatoryto going home. Without, the first monotonous rain of the season wasdripping from the porches of the hotel in the waning light of a Decemberday. The operator, accustomed as he was to long intervals of idleness,was fast becoming bored.
The tread of mud-muffled boots on the veranda, and the entrance of twomen, offered a momentary excitement. He recognized in the strangers twoprominent citizens of Cottonwood; and their manner bespoke business. Oneof them proceeded to the desk, wrote a despatch, and handed it to theother interrogatively.
"That's about the way the thing p'ints," responded his companionassentingly.
"I reckoned it only squar to use his dientical words?"
"That's so."
The first speaker turned to the operator with the despatch.
"How soon can you shove her through?"
The operator glanced professionally over the address and the length ofthe despatch.
"Now," he answered promptly.
"And she gets there?"
"To-night. But there's no delivery until to-morrow."
"Shove her through to-night, and say there's an extra twenty left herefor delivery."
The operator, accustomed to all kinds of extravagant outlay forexpedition, replied that he would lay this proposition with thedespatch, before the San Francisco office. He then took it and readit--and re-read it. He preserved the usual professional apathy,--haddoubtless sent many more enigmatical and mysterious messages,--butnevertheless, when he finished, he raised his eyes inquiringly to hiscustomer. That gentleman, who enjoyed a reputation for equal spontaneityof temper and revolver, met his gaze a little impatiently. The operatorhad recourse to a trick. Under the pretence of misunderstanding themessage, he obliged the sender to repeat it aloud for the sake ofaccuracy, and even suggested a few verbal alterations, ostensiblyto insure correctness, but really to extract further information.Nevertheless, the man doggedly persisted in a literal transcript of hismessage. The operator went to his instrument hesitatingly.
"I suppose," he added half-questioningly, "there ain't no chance ofa mistake. This address is Rightbody, that rich old Bostonian thateverybody knows. There ain't but one?"
"That's the address," responded the first speaker coolly.
"Didn't know the old chap had investments out here," suggested theoperator, lingering at his instrument.
"No more did I," was the insufficient reply.
For some few moments nothing was heard but the click of the instrument,as the operator worked the key, with the usual appearance of impartingconfidence to a somewhat reluctant hearer who preferred to talk himself.The two men stood by, watching his motions with the usual awe ofthe unprofessional. When he had finished, they laid before him twogold-pieces. As the operator took them up, he could not help saying,--
"The old man went off kinder sudden, didn't he? Had no time to write?"
"Not sudden for that kind o' man," was the exasperating reply.
But the speaker was not to be disconcerted. "If there is an answer--" hebegan.
"There ain't any," replied the first speaker quietly.
"Why?"
"Because the man ez sent the message is dead."
"But it's signed by you two."
"On'y ez witnesses--eh?" appealed the first speaker to his comrade.
"On'y ez witnesses," responded the other.
The operator shrugged his shoulders. The business concluded, the firstspeaker slightly relaxed. He nodded to the operator, and turned to thebar-room with a pleasing social impulse. When their glasses were setdown empty, the first speaker, with a cheerful condemnation of the hardtimes and the weather, apparently dismissed all previous proceedingsfrom his mind, and lounged out with his companion. At the corner of thestreet they stopped.
"Well, that job's done," said the first speaker, by way of relieving theslight social embarrassment of parting.
"Thet's so," responded his companion, and shook his hand.
They parted. A gust of wind swept through the pines, and struck a faintAeolian cry from the wires above their heads; and the rain and thedarkness again slowly settled upon Cottonwood.
The message lagged a little at San Francisco, laid over half an hourat Chicago, and fought longitude the whole way; so that it was pastmidnight when the "all night" operator took it from the wires at Boston.But it was freighted with a mandate from the San Francisco office; anda messenger was procured, who sped with it through dark snow-boundstreets, between the high walls of close-shuttered rayless houses, toa certain formal square ghostly with snow-covered statues. Here heascended the broad steps of a reserved and solid-looking mansion, andpulled a bronze bell-knob, that somewhere within those chaste recesses,after an apparent reflective pause, coldly communicated the fact that astranger was waiting without--as he ought. Despite the lateness of thehour, there was a slight glow from the windows, clearly not enoughto warm the messenger with indications of a festivity within, but yetbespeaking, as it were, some prolonged though subdued excitement. Thesober servant who took the despatch, and receipted for it as gravely asif witnessing a last will and testament, respectfully paused beforethe entrance of the drawing-room. The sound of measured and rhetoricalspeech, through which the occasional catarrhal cough of the New-Englandcoast struggled, as the only effort of nature not wholly repressed, camefrom its heavily-curtained recesses; for the occasion of the evening hadbeen the reception and entertainment of various distinguished persons,and, as had been epigrammatically expressed by one of the guests, "thehistory of the country" was taking its leave in phrases more or lessmemorable and characteristic. Some of these valedictory axioms wereclever, some witty, a few profound, but always left as a genteelcontribution to the entertainer. Some had been already prepared, and,like a card, had served and identified the guest at other mansions.
The last guest departed, the last carriage rolled away, when the servantventured to indicate the existence of the despatch to his master,who was standing on the hearth-rug in an attitude of weariedself-righteousness. He took it, opened it, read it, re-read it, andsaid,--
"There must be some mistake! It is not for me. Call the boy, Waters."
Waters, who was perfectly aware that the boy had left, neverthelessobediently walked towards the hall-door, but was recalled by his master.
"No matter--at present!"
"It's nothing serious, William?" asked Mrs. Rightbody, with languidwifely concern.
"No, nothing. Is there a light in my study?"
"Yes. But, before you go, can you give me a moment or two?"
Mr. Rightbody turned a little impatiently towards his wife. She hadthrown herself languidly on the sofa; her hair was slightly disarranged,and part of a slippered foot was visible. She might have been afinely-formed woman; but even her careless deshabille left the generalimpression that she was severely flannelled throughout, and that anyostentation of womanly charm was under vigorous sanitary SURVEILLANCE.
"Mrs. Marvin told me to-night that her son made no secret of his seriousattachment for our Alice, and that, if I was satisfied, Mr. Marvin wouldbe glad to confer with you at once."
The information did not seem to absorb Mr. Rightbody's wanderingattention, but rather increased his impatience. He said hastily, that hewould speak of that to-morrow; and partly by way of reprisal, and partlyto dismiss the subject, added--
"Positively James must pay some attention to the register and thethermometer. It was over 70 degrees to-night, and the ventilatingdraught was closed in the drawing-room."
"That was because Professor Ammon sat near it, and the old gentleman'stonsils are so sensitive."
"He ought to know from Dr. Dyer Doit that systematic and regularexpo
sure to draughts stimulates the mucous membrane; while fixed airover 60 degrees invariably--"
"I am afraid, William," interrupted Mrs. Rightbody, with feminineadroitness, adopting her husband's topic with a view of therebydirecting him from it,--"I'm afraid that people do not yet appreciatethe substitution of bouillon for punch and ices. I observed that Mr.Spondee declined it, and, I fancied, looked disappointed. The fibrineand wheat in liqueur-glasses passed quite unnoticed too."
"And yet each half-drachm contained the half-digested substance ofa pound of beef. I'm surprised at Spondee!" continued Mr. Rightbodyaggrievedly. "Exhausting his brain and nerve force by the highestcreative efforts of the Muse, he prefers perfumed and diluted alcoholflavored with carbonic acid gas. Even Mrs. Faringway admitted to methat the sudden lowering of the temperature of the stomach by theintroduction of ice--"
"Yes; but she took a lemon ice at the last Dorothea Reception, and askedme if I had observed that the lower animals refused their food at atemperature over 60 degrees."
Mr. Rightbody again moved impatiently towards the door. Mrs. Rightbodyeyed him curiously.
"You will not write, I hope? Dr. Keppler told me to-night that yourcerebral symptoms interdicted any prolonged mental strain."
"I must consult a few papers," responded Mr. Rightbody curtly, as heentered his library.
It was a richly-furnished apartment, morbidly severe in its decorations,which were symptomatic of a gloomy dyspepsia of art, then quiteprevalent. A few curios, very ugly, but providentially equally rare,were scattered about. There were various bronzes, marbles, and casts,all requiring explanation, and so fulfilling their purpose of promotingconversation, and exhibiting the erudition of their owner. There weresouvenirs of travel with a history, old bric-a-brac with a pedigree,but little or nothing that challenged attention for itself alone. In allcases the superiority of the owner to his possessions was admitted. Asa natural result, nobody ever lingered there, the servants avoided theroom, and no child was ever known to play in it.
Mr. Rightbody turned up the gas, and from a cabinet of drawers,precisely labelled, drew a package of letters. These he carefullyexamined. All were discolored, and made dignified by age; but some, intheir original freshness, must have appeared trifling, and inconsistentwith any correspondent of Mr. Rightbody. Nevertheless, that gentlemanspent some moments in carefully perusing them, occasionally referringto the telegram in his hand. Suddenly there was a knock at the door.Mr. Rightbody started, made a half-unconscious movement to return theletters to the drawer, turned the telegram face downwards, and then,somewhat harshly, stammered,--
"Eh? Who's there? Come in."
"I beg your pardon, papa," said a very pretty girl, entering, without,however, the slightest trace of apology or awe in her manner, and takinga chair with the self-possession and familiarity of an habitue of theroom; "but I knew it was not your habit to write late, so I supposed youwere not busy. I am on my way to bed."
She was so very pretty, and withal so utterly unconscious of it, orperhaps so consciously superior to it, that one was provoked into amore critical examination of her face. But this only resulted in areiteration of her beauty, and perhaps the added facts that her darkeyes were very womanly, her rich complexion eloquent, and her chiselledlips fell enough to be passionate or capricious, notwithstanding thattheir general effect suggested neither caprice, womanly weakness, norpassion.
With the instinct of an embarrassed man, Mr. Rightbody touched the topiche would have preferred to avoid.
"I suppose we must talk over to-morrow," he hesitated, "this matter ofyours and Mr. Marvin's? Mrs. Marvin has formally spoken to your mother."
Miss Alice lifted her bright eyes intelligently, but not joyfully;and the color of action, rather than embarrassment, rose to her roundcheeks.
"Yes, HE said she would," she answered simply.
"At present," continued Mr. Rightbody still awkwardly, "I see noobjection to the proposed arrangement."
Miss Alice opened her round eyes at this.
"Why, papa, I thought it had been all settled long ago! Mamma knew it,you knew it. Last July, mamma and you talked it over."
"Yes, yes," returned her father, fumbling his papers; "that is--well, wewill talk of it to-morrow." In fact, Mr. Rightbody HAD intended togive the affair a proper attitude of seriousness and solemnity by dueprecision of speech, and some apposite reflections, when he shouldimpart the news to his daughter, but felt himself unable to do it now."I am glad, Alice," he said at last, "that you have quite forgotten yourprevious whims and fancies. You see WE are right."
"Oh! I dare say, papa, if I'm to be married at all, that Mr. Marvin isin every way suitable."
Mr. Rightbody looked at his daughter narrowly. There was not theslightest impatience nor bitterness in her manner: it was as wellregulated as the sentiment she expressed.
"Mr. Marvin is--" he began.
"I know what Mr. Marvin IS," interrupted Miss Alice; "and he haspromised me that I shall be allowed to go on with my studies the same asbefore. I shall graduate with my class; and, if I prefer to practise myprofession, I can do so in two years after our marriage."
"In two years?" queried Mr. Rightbody curiously.
"Yes. You see, in case we should have a child, that would give me timeenough to wean it."
Mr. Rightbody looked at this flesh of his flesh, pretty and palpableflesh as it was; but, being confronted as equally with the brain of hisbrain, all he could do was to say meekly,--
"Yes, certainly. We will see about all that to-morrow."
Miss Alice rose. Something in the free, unfettered swing of her arms asshe rested them lightly, after a half yawn, on her lithe hips, suggestedhis next speech, although still distrait and impatient.
"You continue your exercise with the health-lift yet, I see."
"Yes, papa; but I had to give up the flannels. I don't see how mammacould wear them. But my dresses are high-necked, and by bathing Itoughen my skin. See!" she added, as, with a child-like unconsciousness,she unfastened two or three buttons of her gown, and exposed the whitesurface of her throat and neck to her father, "I can defy a chill."
Mr. Rightbody, with something akin to a genuine playful, paternal laugh,leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
"It's getting late, Ally," he said parentally, but not dictatorially."Go to bed."
"I took a nap of three hours this afternoon," said Miss Alice, witha dazzling smile, "to anticipate this dissipation. Good-night, papa.To-morrow, then."
"To-morrow," repeated Mr. Rightbody, with his eyes still fixed upon thegirl vaguely. "Good-night."
Miss Alice tripped from the room, possibly a trifle the morelight-heartedly that she had parted from her father in one of his raremoments of illogical human weakness. And perhaps it was well for thepoor girl that she kept this single remembrance of him, when, I fear, inafter-years, his methods, his reasoning, and indeed all he had tried toimpress upon her childhood, had faded from her memory.
For, when she had left, Mr. Rightbody fell again to the examination ofhis old letters. This was quite absorbing; so much so, that he did notnotice the footsteps of Mrs. Rightbody, on the staircase as she passedto her chamber, nor that she had paused on the landing to look throughthe glass half-door on her husband, as he sat there with the lettersbeside him, and the telegram opened before him. Had she waited amoment later, she would have seen him rise, and walk to the sofa with adisturbed air and a slight confusion; so that, on reaching it, he seemedto hesitate to lie down, although pale and evidently faint. Had shestill waited, she would have seen him rise again with an agonizedeffort, stagger to the table, fumblingly refold and replace the papersin the cabinet, and lock it, and, although now but half-conscious, holdthe telegram over the gas-flame till it was consumed.
For, had she waited until this moment, she would have flownunhesitatingly to his aid, as, this act completed, he staggered again,reached his hand toward the bell, but vainly, and then fell prone uponthe sofa.
But alas! no providential
nor accidental hand was raised to save him,or anticipate the progress of this story. And when, half an hour later,Mrs. Rightbody, a little alarmed, and more indignant at his violation ofthe doctor's rules, appeared upon the threshold, Mr. Rightbody lay uponthe sofa, dead!
With bustle, with thronging feet, with the irruption of strangers, anda hurrying to and fro, but, more than all, with an impulse and emotionunknown to the mansion when its owner was in life, Mrs. Rightbodystrove to call back the vanished life, but in vain. The highest medicalintelligence, called from its bed at this strange hour, saw only thedemonstration of its theories made a year before. Mr. Rightbody wasdead--without doubt, without mystery, even as a correct man shoulddie--logically, and indorsed by the highest medical authority.
But even in the confusion, Mrs. Rightbody managed to speed a messengerto the telegraph-office for a copy of the despatch received by Mr.Rightbody, but now missing.
In the solitude of her own room, and without a confidant, she read thesewords:--
"[Copy.]
"To MR. ADAMS RIGHTBODY, BOSTON, MASS.
"Joshua Silsbie died suddenly this morning. His last request was that you should remember your sacred compact with him of thirty years ago. (Signed) "SEVENTY-FOUR. "SEVENTY-FIVE."
In the darkened home, and amid the formal condolements of their friendswho had called to gaze upon the scarcely cold features of their lateassociate, Mrs. Rightbody managed to send another despatch. It wasaddressed to "Seventy-Four and Seventy-Five," Cottonwood. In a few hoursshe received the following enigmatical response:--
"A horse-thief named Josh Silsbie was lynched yesterday morning by theVigilantes at Deadwood."
PART II.
The spring of 1874 was retarded in the California sierras; so much so,that certain Eastern tourists who had early ventured into the YoSemite Valley found themselves, one May morning, snow-bound against thetempestuous shoulders of El Capitan. So furious was the onset of thewind at the Upper Merced Canyon, that even so respectable a lady as Mrs.Rightbody was fain to cling to the neck of her guide to keep her seatin the saddle; while Miss Alice, scorning all masculine assistance,was hurled, a lovely chaos, against the snowy wall of the chasm. Mrs.Rightbody screamed; Miss Alice raged under her breath, but scrambled toher feet again in silence.
"I told you so!" said Mrs. Rightbody, in an indignant whisper, asher daughter again ranged beside her. "I warned you especially,Alice--that--that--"
"What?" interrupted Miss Alice curtly.
"That you would need your chemiloons and high boots," said Mrs.Rightbody, in a regretful undertone, slightly increasing her distancefrom the guides.
Miss Alice shrugged her pretty shoulders scornfully, but ignored hermother's implication.
"You were particularly warned against going into the valley at thisseason," she only replied grimly.
Mrs. Rightbody raised her eyes impatiently.
"You know how anxious I was to discover your poor father's strangecorrespondent, Alice. You have no consideration."
"But when YOU HAVE discovered him--what then?" queried Miss Alice.
"What then?"
"Yes. My belief is, that you will find the telegram only a mere businesscipher, and all this quest mere nonsense."
"Alice! Why, YOU yourself thought your father's conduct that night verystrange. Have you forgotten?"
The young lady had NOT, but, for some far-reaching feminine reason,chose to ignore it at that moment, when her late tumble in the snow wasstill fresh in her mind.
"And this woman, whoever she may be--" continued Mrs. Rightbody.
"How do you know there's a woman in the case?" interrupted Miss Alice,wickedly I fear.
"How do--I--know--there's a woman?" slowly ejaculated Mrs. Rightbody,floundering in the snow and the unexpected possibility of such aridiculous question. But here her guide flew to her assistance, andestopped further speech. And, indeed, a grave problem was before them.
The road that led to their single place of refuge--a cabin, half hotel,half trading-post, scarce a mile away--skirted the base of the rockydome, and passed perilously near the precipitous wall of thevalley. There was a rapid descent of a hundred yards or more tothis terrace-like passage; and the guides paused for a moment ofconsultation, cooly oblivious, alike to the terrified questioning ofMrs. Rightbody, or the half-insolent independence of the daughter. Theelder guide was russet-bearded, stout, and humorous: the younger wasdark-bearded, slight, and serious.
"Ef you kin git young Bunker Hill to let you tote her on your shoulders,I'll git the Madam to hang on to me," came to Mrs. Rightbody's horrifiedears as the expression of her particular companion.
"Freeze to the old gal, and don't reckon on me if the daughter starts into play it alone," was the enigmatical response of the younger guide.
Miss Alice overheard both propositions; and, before the two men returnedto their side, that high-spirited young lady had urged her horse downthe declivity.
Alas! at this moment a gust of whirling snow swept down upon her. Therewas a flounder, a mis-step, a fatal strain on the wrong rein, a fall,a few plucky but unavailing struggles, and both horse and rider slidignominiously down toward the rocky shelf. Mrs. Rightbody screamed.Miss Alice, from a confused debris of snow and ice, uplifted a vexed andcoloring face to the younger guide, a little the more angrily, perhaps,that she saw a shade of impatience on his face.
"Don't move, but tie one end of the 'lass' under your arms, and throw methe other," he said quietly.
"What do you mean by 'lass'--the lasso?" asked Miss Alice disgustedly.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then why don't you say so?"
"O Alice!" reproachfully interpolated Mrs. Rightbody, encircled by theelder guide's stalwart arm.
Miss Alice deigned no reply, but drew the loop of the lasso over hershoulders, and let it drop to her round waist. Then she essayed tothrow the other end to her guide. Dismal failure! The first fling nearlyknocked her off the ledge; the second went all wild against therocky wall; the third caught in a thorn-bush, twenty feet below hercompanion's feet. Miss Alice's arm sunk helplessly to her side, at whichsignal of unqualified surrender, the younger guide threw himself halfway down the slope, worked his way to the thorn-bush, hung for a momentperilously over the parapet, secured the lasso, and then began to pullaway at his lovely burden. Miss Alice was no dead weight, however, butsteadily half-scrambled on her hands and knees to within a foot or twoof her rescuer. At this too familiar proximity, she stood up, and leaneda little stiffly against the line, causing the guide to give an extrapull, which had the lamentable effect of landing her almost in his arms.
As it was, her intelligent forehead struck his nose sharply, and Iregret to add, treating of a romantic situation, caused that somewhatprominent sign and token of a hero to bleed freely. Miss Alice instantlyclapped a handful of snow over his nostrils.
"Now elevate your right arm," she said commandingly.
He did as he was bidden, but sulkily.
"That compresses the artery."
No man, with a pretty woman's hand and a handful of snow over his mouthand nose, could effectively utter a heroic sentence, nor, with his armelevated stiffly over his head, assume a heroic attitude. But, when hismouth was free again, he said half-sulkily, half-apologetically,--
"I might have known a girl couldn't throw worth a cent."
"Why?" demanded Miss Alice sharply.
"Because--why--because--you see--they haven't got the experience," hestammered feebly.
"Nonsense! they haven't the CLAVICLE--that's all! It's because I'm awoman, and smaller in the collar-bone, that I haven't the play of thefore-arm which you have. See!" She squared her shoulders slightly, andturned the blaze of her dark eyes full on his. "Experience, indeed! Agirl can learn anything a boy can."
Apprehension took the place of ill-humor in her hearer. He turned hiseyes hastily away, and glanced above him. The elder guide ha
d goneforward to catch Miss Alice's horse, which, relieved of his rider, wasfloundering toward the trail. Mrs. Rightbody was nowhere to be seen. Andthese two were still twenty feet below the trail!
There was an awkward pause.
"Shall I put you up the same way?" he queried. Miss Alice looked athis nose, and hesitated. "Or will you take my hand?" he added in surlyimpatience. To his surprise, Miss Alice took his hand, and they beganthe ascent together.
But the way was difficult and dangerous. Once or twice her feet slippedon the smoothly-worn rock beneath; and she confessed to an inwardthankfulness when her uncertain feminine hand-grip was exchanged for hisstrong arm around her waist. Not that he was ungentle; but Miss Aliceangrily felt that he had once or twice exercised his superior masculinefunctions in a rough way; and yet the next moment she would haveprobably rejected the idea that she had even noticed it. There was nodoubt, however, that he WAS a little surly.
A fierce scramble finally brought them back in safety to the trail;but in the action Miss Alice's shoulder, striking a projecting bowlder,wrung from her a feminine cry of pain, her first sign of womanlyweakness. The guide stopped instantly.
"I am afraid I hurt you?"
She raised her brown lashes, a trifle moist from suffering, looked inhis eyes, and dropped her own. Why, she could not tell. And yet he hadcertainly a kind face, despite its seriousness; and a fine face, albeitunshorn and weather-beaten. Her own eyes had never been so near to anyman's before, save her lover's; and yet she had never seen so much ineven his. She slipped her hand away, not with any reference to him,but rather to ponder over this singular experience, and somehow feltuncomfortable thereat.
Nor was he less so. It was but a few days ago that he had accepted thecharge of this young woman from the elder guide, who was the recognizedescort of the Rightbody party, having been a former correspondent of herfather's. He had been hired like any other guide, but had undertakenthe task with that chivalrous enthusiasm which the average Californianalways extends to the sex so rare to him. But the illusion had passed;and he had dropped into a sulky, practical sense of his situation,perhaps fraught with less danger to himself. Only when appealed to byhis manhood or her weakness, he had forgotten his wounded vanity.
He strode moodily ahead, dutifully breaking the path for her in thedirection of the distant canyon, where Mrs. Rightbody and her friendawaited them. Miss Alice was first to speak. In this trackless,uncharted terra incognita of the passions, it is always the woman whosteps out to lead the way.
"You know this place very well. I suppose you have lived here long?"
"Yes."
"You were not born here--no?"
A long pause.
"I observe they call you 'Stanislaus Joe.' Of course that is not yourreal name?" (Mem.--Miss Alice had never called him ANYTHING, usuallyprefacing any request with a languid, "O-er-er, please, mister-er-a!"explicit enough for his station.)
"No."
Miss Alice (trotting after him, and bawling in his ear).--"WHAT name didyou say?"
The Man (doggedly).--"I don't know." Nevertheless, when they reached thecabin, after an half-hour's buffeting with the storm, Miss Alice appliedherself to her mother's escort, Mr. Ryder.
"What's the name of the man who takes care of my horse?"
"Stanislaus Joe," responded Mr. Ryder.
"Is that all?"
"No. Sometimes he's called Joe Stanislaus."
Miss Alice (satirically).--"I suppose it's the custom here to send youngladies out with gentlemen who hide their names under an alias?"
Mr. Ryder (greatly perplexed).--"Why, dear me, Miss Alice, you allers'peared to me as a gal as was able to take keer--"
Miss Alice (interrupting with a wounded, dove-like timidity).--"Oh,never mind, please!"
The cabin offered but scanty accommodation to the tourists; which fact,when indignantly presented by Mrs. Rightbody, was explained by thegood-humored Ryder from the circumstance that the usual hotel was only aslight affair of boards, cloth, and paper, put up during the season, andpartly dismantled in the fall. "You couldn't be kept warm enough there,"he added. Nevertheless Miss Alice noticed that both Mr. Ryder andStanislaus Joe retired there with their pipes, after having prepared theladies' supper, with the assistance of an Indian woman, who apparentlyemerged from the earth at the coming of the party, and disappeared asmysteriously.
The stars came out brightly before they slept; and the next morninga clear, unwinking sun beamed with almost summer power through theshutterless window of their cabin, and ironically disclosed the detailsof its rude interior. Two or three mangy, half-eaten buffalo-robes,a bearskin, some suspicious-looking blankets, rifles and saddles,deal-tables, and barrels, made up its scant inventory. A strip of fadedcalico hung before a recess near the chimney, but so blackened bysmoke and age that even feminine curiosity respected its secret. Mrs.Rightbody was in high spirits, and informed her daughter that she was atlast on the track of her husband's unknown correspondent. "Seventy-Fourand Seventy-Five represent two members of the Vigilance Committee, mydear, and Mr. Ryder will assist me to find them."
"Mr. Ryder!" ejaculated Miss Alice, in scornful astonishment.
"Alice," said Mrs. Rightbody, with a suspicious assumption of suddendefence, "you injure yourself, you injure me, by this exclusiveattitude. Mr. Ryder is a friend of your father's, an exceedinglywell-informed gentleman. I have not, of course, imparted to him theextent of my suspicions. But he can help me to what I must and willknow. You might treat him a little more civilly--or, at least, a littlebetter than you do his servant, your guide. Mr. Ryder is a gentleman,and not a paid courier."
Miss Alice was suddenly attentive. When she spoke again, she asked,"Why do you not find out something about this Silsbie--who died--or washung--or something of that kind?"
"Child!" said Mrs. Rightbody, "don't you see there was no Silsbie, or,if there was, he was simply the confidant of that--woman?"
A knock at the door, announcing the presence of Mr. Ryder and StanislausJoe with the horses, checked Mrs. Rightbody's speech. As the animalswere being packed, Mrs. Rightbody for a moment withdrew in confidentialconversation with Mr. Ryder, and, to the young lady's still greaterannoyance, left her alone with Stanislaus Joe. Miss Alice was not ingood temper, but she felt it necessary to say something.
"I hope the hotel offers better quarters for travellers than this insummer," she began.
"It does."
"Then this does not belong to it?"
"No, ma'am."
"Who lives here, then?"
"I do."
"I beg your pardon," stammered Miss Alice, "I thought you lived where wehired--where we met you--in--in--You must excuse me."
"I'm not a regular guide; but as times were hard, and I was out of grub,I took the job."
"Out of grub!" "job!" And SHE was the "job." What would Henry Marvinsay? It would nearly kill him. She began herself to feel a littlefrightened, and walked towards the door.
"One moment, miss!"
The young girl hesitated. The man's tone was surly, and yet indicated acertain kind of half-pathetic grievance. HER curiosity got the better ofher prudence, and she turned back.
"This morning," he began hastily, "when we were coming down the valley,you picked me up twice."
"I picked YOU up?" repeated the astonished Alice.
"Yes, CONTRADICTED me: that's what I mean,--once when you said thoserocks were volcanic, once when you said the flower you picked was apoppy. I didn't let on at the time, for it wasn't my say; but all thewhile you were talking I might have laid for you--"
"I don't understand you," said Alice haughtily.
"I might have entrapped you before folks. But I only want you to knowthat I'M right, and here are the books to show it."
He drew aside the dingy calico curtain, revealed a small shelf ofbulky books, took down two large volumes,--one of botany, oneof geology,--nervously sought his text, and put them in Alice'soutstretched hands.
"I had no intention--" she began,
half-proudly, half-embarrassedly.
"Am I right, miss?" he interrupted.
"I presume you are, if you say so."
"That's all, ma'am. Thank you!"
Before the girl had time to reply, he was gone. When he again returned,it was with her horse, and Mrs. Rightbody and Ryder were awaiting her.But Miss Alice noticed that his own horse was missing.
"Are you not going with us?" she asked.
"No, ma'am."
"Oh, indeed!"
Miss Alice felt her speech was a feeble conventionalism; but it was allshe could say. She, however, DID something. Hitherto it had been herhabit to systematically reject his assistance in mounting to her seat.Now she awaited him. As he approached, she smiled, and put out herlittle foot. He instantly stooped; she placed it in his hand, rosewith a spring, and for one supreme moment Stanislaus Joe held herunresistingly in his arms. The next moment she was in the saddle; butin that brief interval of sixty seconds she had uttered a volume in asingle sentence,--
"I hope you will forgive me!"
He muttered a reply, and turned his face aside quickly as if to hide it.
Miss Alice cantered forward with a smile, but pulled her hat down overher eyes as she joined her mother. She was blushing.
PART III.
Mr. Ryder was as good as his word. A day or two later he entered Mrs.Rightbody's parlor at the Chrysopolis Hotel in Stockton, with theinformation that he had seen the mysterious senders of the despatch, andthat they were now in the office of the hotel waiting her pleasure. Mr.Ryder further informed her that these gentlemen had only stipulated thatthey should not reveal their real names, and that they be introduced toher simply as the respective "Seventy-Four" and "Seventy-Five" who hadsigned the despatch sent to the late Mr. Rightbody.
Mrs. Rightbody at first demurred to this; but, on the assurance from Mr.Ryder that this was the only condition on which an interview would begranted, finally consented.
"You will find them square men, even if they are a little rough, ma'am.But, if you'd like me to be present, I'll stop; though I reckon, ifye'd calkilated on that, you'd have had me take care o' your business byproxy, and not come yourself three thousand miles to do it."
Mrs. Rightbody believed it better to see them alone.
"All right, ma'am. I'll hang round out here; and ef ye should happen tohave a ticklin' in your throat, and a bad spell o' coughin', I'll dropin, careless like, to see if you don't want them drops. Sabe?"
And with an exceedingly arch wink, and a slight familiar tap on Mrs.Rightbody's shoulder, which might have caused the late Mr. Rightbody toburst his sepulchre, he withdrew.
A very timid, hesitating tap on the door was followed by the entrance oftwo men, both of whom, in general size, strength, and uncouthness,were ludicrously inconsistent with their diffident announcement.They proceeded in Indian file to the centre of the room, faced Mrs.Rightbody, acknowledged her deep courtesy by a strong shake of the hand,and, drawing two chairs opposite to her, sat down side by side.
"I presume I have the pleasure of addressing--" began Mrs. Rightbody.
The man directly opposite Mrs. Rightbody turned to the otherinquiringly.
The other man nodded his head, and replied,--
"Seventy-Four."
"Seventy-Five," promptly followed the other.
Mrs. Rightbody paused, a little confused.
"I have sent for you," she began again, "to learn something more ofthe circumstances under which you gentlemen sent a despatch to my latehusband."
"The circumstances," replied Seventy-Four quietly, with a side-glance athis companion, "panned out about in this yer style. We hung a man namedJosh Silsbie, down at Deadwood, for hoss-stealin'. When I say WE, Ispeak for Seventy-Five yer as is present, as well as representin', so tospeak, seventy-two other gents as is scattered. We hung Josh Silsbie onsquar, pretty squar, evidence. Afore he was strung up, Seventy-Five yeraxed him, accordin' to custom, ef ther was enny thing he had to say,or enny request that he allowed to make of us. He turns to Seventy-Fiveyer, and--"
Here he paused suddenly, looking at his companion.
"He sez, sez he," began Seventy-Five, taking up the narrative,--"he sez,'Kin I write a letter?' sez he. Sez I, 'Not much, ole man: ye've gotno time.' Sez he, 'Kin I send a despatch by telegraph?' I sez, 'Heaveahead.' He sez,--these is his dientikal words,--'Send to Adam Rightbody,Boston. Tell him to remember his sacred compack with me thirty yearsago.'"
"'His sacred compack with me thirty years ago,'" echoedSeventy-Four,--"his dientikal words."
"What was the compact?" asked Mrs. Rightbody anxiously.
Seventy-Four looked at Seventy-Five, and then both arose, and retiredto the corner of the parlor, where they engaged in a slow but whispereddeliberation. Presently they returned, and sat down again.
"We allow," said Seventy-Four, quietly but decidedly, "that YOU knowwhat that sacred compact was."
Mrs. Rightbody lost her temper and her truthfulness together. "Ofcourse," she said hurriedly, "I know. But do you mean to say that yougave this poor man no further chance to explain before you murderedhim?"
Seventy-Four and Seventy-Five both rose again slowly, and retired.When they returned again, and sat down, Seventy-Five, who by this time,through some subtile magnetism, Mrs. Rightbody began to recognize as thesuperior power, said gravely,--
"We wish to say, regarding this yer murder, that Seventy-Four and meis equally responsible; that we reckon also to represent, so tospeak, seventy-two other gentlemen as is scattered; that we are ready,Seventy-Four and me, to take and holt that responsibility, now and atany time, afore every man or men as kin be fetched agin us. We wish tosay that this yer say of ours holds good yer in Californy, or in anypart of these United States."
"Or in Canady," suggested Seventy-Four.
"Or in Canady. We wouldn't agree to cross the water, or go to furrinparts, unless absolutely necessary. We leaves the chise of weppings toyour principal, ma'am, or being a lady, ma'am, and interested, toany one you may fetch to act for him. An advertisement in any of theSacramento papers, or a playcard or handbill stuck unto a tree nearDeadwood, saying that Seventy-Four or Seventy-Five will communicate withthis yer principal or agent of yours, will fetch us--allers."
Mrs. Rightbody, a little alarmed and desperate, saw her blunder. "I meannothing of the kind," she said hastily. "I only expected that you mighthave some further details of this interview with Silsbie; that perhapsyou could tell me--" a bold, bright thought crossed Mrs. Rightbody'smind--"something more about HER."
The two men looked at each other.
"I suppose your society have no objection to giving me information aboutHER," said Mrs. Rightbody eagerly.
Another quiet conversation in the corner, and the return of both men.
"We want to say that we've no objection."
Mrs. Rightbody's heart beat high. Her boldness had made her penetrationgood. Yet she felt she must not alarm the men heedlessly.
"Will you inform me to what extent Mr. Rightbody, my late husband, wasinterested in her?"
This time it seemed an age to Mrs. Rightbody before the men returnedfrom their solemn consultation in the corner. She could both hearand feel that their discussion was more animated than their previousconferences. She was a little mortified, however, when they sat down, tohear Seventy-Four say slowly,--
"We wish to say that we don't allow to say HOW much."
"Do you not think that the 'sacred compact' between Mr. Rightbody andMr. Silsbie referred to her?"
"We reckon it do."
Mrs. Rightbody, flushed and animated, would have given worlds had herdaughter been present to hear this undoubted confirmation of her theory.Yet she felt a little nervous and uncomfortable even on this thresholdof discovery.
"Is she here now?"
"She's in Tuolumne," said Seventy-Four.
"A little better looked arter than formerly," added Seventy-Five.
"I see. Then Mr. Silsbie ENTICED her away?"
"Well, ma'am,
it WAS allowed as she runned away. But it wasn't proved,and it generally wasn't her style."
Mrs. Rightbody trifled with her next question.
"She was pretty, of course?"
The eyes of both men brightened.
"She was THAT!" said Seventy-Four emphatically.
"It would have done you good to see her!" added Seventy-Five.
Mrs. Rightbody inwardly doubted it; but, before she could ask anotherquestion, the two men again retired to the corner for consultation. Whenthey came back, there was a shade more of kindliness and confidence intheir manner; and Seventy-Four opened his mind more freely.
"We wish to say, ma'am, looking at the thing, by and large, in afar-minded way, that, ez YOU seem interested, and ez Mr. Rightbody wasinterested, and was, according to all accounts, deceived and led away bySilsbie, that we don't mind listening to any proposition YOU might make,as a lady--allowin' you was ekally interested."
"I understand," said Mrs. Rightbody quickly. "And you will furnish mewith any papers?"
The two men again consulted.
"We wish to say, ma'am, that we think she's got papers, but--"
"I MUST have them, you understand," interrupted Mrs. Rightbody, "at anyprice.
"We was about to say, ma'am," said Seventy-Four slowly, "that,considerin' all things,--and you being a lady--you kin have HER, papers,pedigree, and guaranty, for twelve hundred dollars."
It has been alleged that Mrs. Rightbody asked only one question more,and then fainted. It is known, however, that by the next day itwas understood in Deadwood that Mrs. Rightbody had confessed to theVigilance Committee that her husband, a celebrated Boston millionaire,anxious to gain possession of Abner Springer's well-known sorrel mare,had incited the unfortunate Josh Silsbie to steal it; and that finally,failing in this, the widow of the deceased Boston millionaire was now inpersonal negotiation with the owners.
Howbeit, Miss Alice, returning home that afternoon, found her motherwith a violent headache.
"We will leave here by the next steamer," said Mrs. Rightbody languidly."Mr. Ryder has promised to accompany us."
"But, mother--"
"The climate, Alice, is over-rated. My nerves are already sufferingfrom it. The associations are unfit for you, and Mr. Marvin is naturallyimpatient."
Miss Alice colored slightly.
"But your quest, mother?"
"I've abandoned it."
"But I have not," said Alice quietly. "Do you remember my guide at theYo Semite,--Stanislaus Joe? Well, Stanislaus Joe is--who do you think?"
Mrs. Rightbody was languidly indifferent.
"Well, Stanislaus Joe is the son of Joshua Silsbie."
Mrs. Rightbody sat upright in astonishment
"Yes. But mother, he knows nothing of what we know. His father treatedhim shamefully, and set him cruelly adrift years ago; and, when he washung, the poor fellow, in sheer disgrace, changed his name."
"But, if he knows nothing of his father's compact, of what interest isthis?"
"Oh, nothing! Only I thought it might lead to something."
Mrs. Rightbody suspected that "something," and asked sharply, "And prayhow did YOU find it out? You did not speak of it in the valley."
"Oh! I didn't find it out till to-day," said Miss Alice, walking to thewindow. "He happened to be here, and--told me."
PART IV.
If Mrs. Rightbody's friends had been astounded by her singular andunexpected pilgrimage to California so soon after her husband's decease,they were still more astounded by the information, a year later, thatshe was engaged to be married to a Mr. Ryder, of whom only the scanthistory was known, that he was a Californian, and former correspondentof her husband. It was undeniable that the man was wealthy, andevidently no mere adventurer; it was rumored that he was courageous andmanly: but even those who delighted in his odd humor were shocked at hisgrammar and slang.
It was said that Mr. Marvin had but one interview with his father-in-lawelect, and returned so supremely disgusted, that the match was brokenoff. The horse-stealing story, more or less garbled, found its waythrough lips that pretended to decry it, yet eagerly repeated it. Onlyone member of the Rightbody family--and a new one--saved them from utterostracism. It was young Mr. Ryder, the adopted son of the prospectivehead of the household, whose culture, manners, and general elegance,fascinated and thrilled Boston with a new sensation. It seemed to manythat Miss Alice should, in the vicinity of this rare exotic, forget herformer enthusiasm for a professional life; but the young man was pitiedby society, and various plans for diverting him from any mesalliancewith the Rightbody family were concocted.
It was a wintry night, and the second anniversary of Mr. Rightbody'sdeath, that a light was burning in his library. But the dead man's chairwas occupied by young Mr. Ryder, adopted son of the new proprietor ofthe mansion; and before him stood Alice, with her dark eyes fixed on thetable.
"There must have been something in it, Joe, believe me. Did you neverhear your father speak of mine?"
"Never."
"But you say he was college-bred, and born a gentleman, and in his youthhe must have had many friends."
"Alice," said the young man gravely, "when I have done something toredeem my name, and wear it again before these people, before YOU, itwould be well to revive the past. But till then--"
But Alice was not to be put down. "I remember," she went on, scarcelyheeding him, "that, when I came in that night, papa was reading aletter, and seemed to be disconcerted."
"A letter?"
"Yes; but," added Alice, with a sigh, "when we found him hereinsensible, there was no letter on his person. He must have destroyedit."
"Did you ever look among his papers? If found, it might be a clew."
The young man glanced toward the cabinet. Alice read his eyes, andanswered,--
"Oh, dear, no! The cabinet contained only his papers, all perfectlyarranged,--you know how methodical were his habits,--and some oldbusiness and private letters, all carefully put away."
"Let us see them," said the young man, rising.
They opened drawer after drawer; files upon files of letters andbusiness papers, accurately folded and filed. Suddenly Alice uttered alittle cry, and picked up a quaint ivory paper-knife lying at the bottomof a drawer.
"It was missing the next day, and never could be found: he must havemislaid it here. This is the drawer," said Alice eagerly.
Here was a clew. But the lower part of the drawer was filled withold letters, not labelled, yet neatly arranged in files. Suddenly hestopped, and said, "Put them back, Alice, at once."
"Why?"
"Some of these letters are in my father's handwriting."
"The more reason why I should see them," said the girl imperatively."Here, you take part, and I'll take part, and we'll get throughquicker."
There was a certain decision and independence in her manner which he hadlearned to respect. He took the letters, and in silence read themwith her. They were old college letters, so filled with boyish dreams,ambitions, aspirations, and utopian theories, that I fear neither ofthese young people even recognized their parents in the dead ashes ofthe past. They were both grave, until Alice uttered a little hystericalcry, and dropped her face in her hands. Joe was instantly beside her.
"It's nothing, Joe, nothing. Don't read it, please; please, don't. It'sso funny! it's so very queer!"
But Joe had, after a slight, half-playful struggle, taken the letterfrom the girl. Then he read aloud the words written by his father thirtyyears ago.
"I thank you, dear friend, for all you say about my wife and boy. Ithank you for reminding me of our boyish compact. He will be readyto fulfil it, I know, if he loves those his father loves, even if youshould marry years later. I am glad for your sake, for both our sakes,that it is a boy. Heaven send you a good wife, dear Adams, and adaughter, to make my son equally happy."
Joe Silsbie looked down, took the half-laughing, half-tearful face inhis hands, kissed her forehead, and, with tears in his grave eyes,
said,"Amen!"
*****
I am inclined to think that this sentiment was echoed heartily by Mrs.Rightbody's former acquaintances, when, a year later, Miss Alice wasunited to a professional gentleman of honor and renown, yet who wasknown to be the son of a convicted horse-thief. A few remembered theprevious Californian story, and found corroboration therefor; but amajority believed it a just reward to Miss Alice for her conduct to Mr.Marvin, and, as Miss Alice cheerfully accepted it in that light, I donot see why I may not end my story with happiness to all concerned.
