Devil's Ford

by Bret Harte

  CHAPTER II

  Six hours later, when the shadow of Devil's Spur had crossed the river,and spread a slight coolness over the flat beyond, the Pioneer coach,leaving the summit, began also to bathe its heated bulk in the longshadows of the descent. Conspicuous among the dusty passengers, thetwo pretty and youthful faces of the daughters of Philip Carr, miningsuperintendent and engineer, looked from the windows with no littleanxiety towards their future home in the straggling settlement below,that occasionally came in view at the turns of the long zigzagging road.A slight look of comical disappointment passed between them as theygazed upon the sterile flat, dotted with unsightly excrescences thatstood equally for cabins or mounds of stone and gravel. It was so feebleand inconsistent a culmination to the beautiful scenery they had passedthrough, so hopeless and imbecile a conclusion to the preparation ofthat long picturesque journey, with its glimpses of sylvan and pastoralglades and canyons, that, as the coach swept down the last incline,and the remorseless monotony of the dead level spread out before them,furrowed by ditches and indented by pits, under cover of shielding theircheeks from the impalpable dust that rose beneath the plungingwheels, they buried their faces in their handkerchiefs, to hide a fewhalf-hysterical tears. Happily, their father, completely absorbed in apractical, scientific, and approving contemplation of the topographyand material resources of the scene of his future labors, had no timeto notice their defection. It was not until the stage drew up beforea rambling tenement bearing the inscription, "Hotel and Stage Office,"that he became fully aware of it.

  "We can't stop HERE, papa," said Christie Carr decidedly, with a shakeof her pretty head. "You can't expect that."

  Mr. Carr looked up at the building; it was half grocery, half saloon.Whatever other accommodations it contained must have been hidden in therear, as the flat roof above was almost level with the raftered ceilingof the shop.

  "Certainly," he replied hurriedly; "we'll see to that in a moment. Idare say it's all right. I told Fairfax we were coming. Somebody oughtto be here."

  "But they're not," said Jessie Carr indignantly; "and the few that werehere scampered off like rabbits to their burrows as soon as they saw usget down."

  It was true. The little group of loungers before the building hadsuddenly disappeared. There was the flash of a red shirt vanishing in anadjacent doorway; the fading apparition of a pair of high boots and blueoveralls in another; the abrupt withdrawal of a curly blond head from asashless window over the way. Even the saloon was deserted, althougha back door in the dim recess seemed to creak mysteriously. Thestage-coach, with the other passengers, had already rattled away.

  "I certainly think Fairfax understood that I--" began Mr. Carr.

  He was interrupted by the pressure of Christie's fingers on his arm anda subdued exclamation from Jessie, who was staring down the street.

  "What are they?" she whispered in her sister's ear. "Nigger minstrels, acircus, or what?"

  The five millionaires of Devil's Ford had just turned the corner of thestraggling street, and were approaching in single file. One glance wassufficient to show that they had already availed themselves of the newclothing bought by Fairfax, had washed, and one or two had shaved. Butthe result was startling.

  Through some fortunate coincidence in size, Dick Mattingly was the onlyone who had achieved an entire new suit. But it was of funereal blackcloth, and although relieved at one extremity by a pair of high ridingboots, in which his too short trousers were tucked, and at the otherby a tall white hat, and cravat of aggressive yellow, the effect wasdepressing. In agreeable contrast, his brother, Maryland Joe, wasattired in a thin fawn-colored summer overcoat, lightly worn open, so asto show the unstarched bosom of a white embroidered shirt, and a pair ofnankeen trousers and pumps.

  The Kearney brothers had divided a suit between them, the elder wearinga tightly-fitting, single-breasted blue frock-coat and a pair of pinkstriped cotton trousers, while the younger candidly displayed thetrousers of his brother's suit, as a harmonious change to a shiningblack alpaca coat and crimson neckerchief. Fairfax, who brought up therear, had, with characteristic unselfishness, contented himself with aFrench workman's blue blouse and a pair of white duck trousers. Had theyshown the least consciousness of their finery, or of its absurdity, theywould have seemed despicable. But only one expression beamed on the fivesunburnt and shining faces--a look of unaffected boyish gratificationand unrestricted welcome.

  They halted before Mr. Carr and his daughters, simultaneously removedtheir various and remarkable head coverings, and waited until Fairfaxadvanced and severally presented them. Jessie Carr's half-frightenedsmile took refuge in the trembling shadows of her dark lashes; ChristieCarr stiffened slightly, and looked straight before her.

  "We reckoned--that is--we intended to meet you and the young ladies atthe grade," said Fairfax, reddening a little as he endeavored toconceal his too ready slang, "and save you from trapesing--from draggingyourselves up grade again to your house."

  "Then there IS a house?" said Jessie, with an alarming frank laughof relief, that was, however, as frankly reflected in the boyishlyappreciative eyes of the young men.

  "Such as it is," responded Fairfax, with a shade of anxiety, as heglanced at the fresh and pretty costumes of the young women, anddubiously regarded the two Saratoga trunks resting hopelessly on theveranda. "I'm afraid it isn't much, for what you're accustomed to. But,"he added more cheerfully, "it will do for a day or two, and perhapsyou'll give us the pleasure of showing you the way there now."

  The procession was quickly formed. Mr. Carr, alive only to the actualbusiness that had brought him there, at once took possession ofFairfax, and began to disclose his plans for the working of the mine,occasionally halting to look at the work already done in the ditches,and to examine the field of his future operations. Fairfax, notdispleased at being thus relieved of a lighter attendance on Mr.Carr's daughters, nevertheless from time to time cast a paternal glancebackwards upon their escorts, who had each seized a handle of the twotrunks, and were carrying them in couples at the young ladies' side. Theoccupation did not offer much freedom for easy gallantry, but no signof discomfiture or uneasiness was visible in the grateful faces of theyoung men. The necessity of changing hands at times with their burdensbrought a corresponding change of cavalier at the lady's side, althoughit was observed that the younger Kearney, for the sake of continuing aconversation with Miss Jessie, kept his grasp of the handle nearest theyoung lady until his hand was nearly cut through, and his arm worn outby exhaustion.

  "The only thing on wheels in the camp is a mule wagon, and the mules arepackin' gravel from the river this afternoon," explained Dick Mattinglyapologetically to Christie, "or we'd have toted--I mean carried--you andyour baggage up to the shant--the--your house. Give us two weeks more,Miss Carr--only two weeks to wash up our work and realize--and we'llgive you a pair of 2.40 steppers and a skeleton buggy to meet you at thetop of the hill and drive you over to the cabin. Perhaps you'd prefera regular carriage; some ladies do. And a nigger driver. But what's theuse of planning anything? Afore that time comes we'll have run you upa house on the hill, and you shall pick out the spot. It wouldn't takelong--unless you preferred brick. I suppose we could get brick over fromLa Grange, if you cared for it, but it would take longer. If youcould put up for a time with something of stained glass and a mahoganyveranda--"

  In spite of her cold indignation, and the fact that she could understandonly a part of Mattingly's speech, Christie comprehended enough to makeher lift her clear eyes to the speaker, as she replied freezingly thatshe feared she would not trouble them long with her company.

  "Oh, you'll get over that," responded Mattingly, with an exasperatingconfidence that drove her nearly frantic, from the manifest kindlinessof intent that made it impossible for her to resent it. "I felt that waymyself at first. Things will look strange and unsociable for a while,until you get the hang of them. You'll naturally stamp round and cuss alittle--" He stopped in conscious consternation.

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p; With ready tact, and before Christie could reply, Maryland Joe had putdown the trunk and changed hands with his brother.

  "You mustn't mind Dick, or he'll go off and kill himself with shame," hewhispered laughingly in her ear. "He means all right, but he's pickedup so much slang here that he's about forgotten how to talk English, andit's nigh on to four years since he's met a young lady."

  Christie did not reply. Yet the laughter of her sister in advance withthe Kearney brothers seemed to make the reserve with which she tried tocrush further familiarity only ridiculous.

  "Do you know many operas, Miss Carr?"

  She looked at the boyish, interested, sunburnt face so near to herown, and hesitated. After all, why should she add to her other realdisappointments by taking this absurd creature seriously?

  "In what way?" she returned, with a half smile.

  "To play. On the piano, of course. There isn't one nearer here thanSacramento; but I reckon we could get a small one by Thursday. Youcouldn't do anything on a banjo?" he added doubtfully; "Kearney's gotone."

  "I imagine it would be very difficult to carry a piano over thosemountains," said Christie laughingly, to avoid the collateral of thebanjo.

  "We got a billiard-table over from Stockton," half bashfully interruptedDick Mattingly, struggling from his end of the trunk to recover hiscomposure, "and it had to be brought over in sections on the back of amule, so I don't see why--" He stopped short again in confusion, at asign from his brother, and then added, "I mean, of course, that a pianois a heap more delicate, and valuable, and all that sort of thing, butit's worth trying for."

  "Fairfax was always saying he'd get one for himself, so I reckon it'spossible," said Joe.

  "Does he play?" asked Christie.

  "You bet," said Joe, quite forgetting himself in his enthusiasm. "He cansnatch Mozart and Beethoven bald-headed."

  In the embarrassing silence that followed this speech the fringe of pinewood nearest the flat was reached. Here there was a rude "clearing," andbeneath an enormous pine stood the two recently joined tenements. Therewas no attempt to conceal the point of junction between Kearney'scabin and the newly-transported saloon from the flat--no architecturalillusion of the palpable collusion of the two buildings, which seemedto be telescoped into each other. The front room or living room occupiedthe whole of Kearney's cabin. It contained, in addition to the necessaryarticles for housekeeping, a "bunk" or berth for Mr. Carr, so as toleave the second building entirely to the occupation of his daughters asbedroom and boudoir.

  There was a half-humorous, half-apologetic exhibition of the rudeutensils of the living room, and then the young men turned away as thetwo girls entered the open door of the second room. Neither Christie norJessie could for a moment understand the delicacy which kept these youngmen from accompanying them into the room they had but a few momentsbefore decorated and arranged with their own hands, and it was not untilthey turned to thank their strange entertainers that they found thatthey were gone.

  The arrangement of the second room was rude and bizarre, but not withouta singular originality and even tastefulness of conception. What hadbeen the counter or "bar" of the saloon, gorgeous in white and gold,now sawn in two and divided, was set up on opposite sides of the room asseparate dressing-tables, decorated with huge bunches of azaleas, thathid the rough earthenware bowls, and gave each table the appearance of avestal altar.

  The huge gilt plate-glass mirror which had hung behind the bar stilloccupied one side of the room, but its length was artfully divided byan enormous rosette of red, white, and blue muslin--one of the survivingFourth of July decorations of Thompson's saloon. On either side of thedoor two pathetic-looking, convent-like cots, covered with spotlesssheeting, and heaped up in the middle, like a snow-covered grave, hadattracted their attention. They were still staring at them when Mr. Carranticipated their curiosity.

  "I ought to tell you that the young men confided to me the fact thatthere was neither bed nor mattress to be had on the Ford. They havefilled some flour sacks with clean dry moss from the woods, and put halfa dozen blankets on the top, and they hope you can get along untilthe messenger who starts to-night for La Grange can bring some beddingover."

  Jessie flew with mischievous delight to satisfy herself of the truthof this marvel. "It's so, Christie," she said laughingly--"threeflour-sacks apiece; but I'm jealous: yours are all marked 'superfine,'and mine 'middlings.'"

  Mr. Carr had remained uneasily watching Christie's shadowed face.

  "What matters?" she said drily. "The accommodation is all in keeping."

  "It will be better in a day or two," he continued, casting a longinglook towards the door--the first refuge of masculine weakness in animpending domestic emergency. "I'll go and see what can be done," hesaid feebly, with a sidelong impulse towards the opening and freedom."I've got to see Fairfax again to-night any way."

  "One moment, father," said Christie, wearily. "Did you know anything ofthis place and these--these people--before you came?"

  "Certainly--of course I did," he returned, with the sudden testiness ofdisturbed abstraction. "What are you thinking of? I knew the geologicalstrata and the--the report of Fairfax and his partners before Iconsented to take charge of the works. And I can tell you that there isa fortune here. I intend to make my own terms, and share in it."

  "And not take a salary or some sum of money down?" said Christie, slowlyremoving her bonnet in the same resigned way.

  "I am not a hired man, or a workman, Christie," said her father sharply."You ought not to oblige me to remind you of that."

  "But the hired men--the superintendent and his workmen--were the onlyones who ever got anything out of your last experience with ColonelWaters at La Grange, and--and we at least lived among civilized peoplethere."

  "These young men are not common people, Christie; even if they haveforgotten the restraints of speech and manners, they're gentlemen."

  "Who are willing to live like--like negroes."

  "You can make them what you please."

  Christie raised her eyes. There was a certain cynical ring in herfather's voice that was unlike his usual hesitating abstraction. It bothpuzzled and pained her.

  "I mean," he said hastily, "that you have the same opportunity to directthe lives of these young men into more regular, disciplined channelsthat I have to regulate and correct their foolish waste of industry andmaterial here. It would at least beguile the time for you."

  Fortunately for Mr. Carr's escape and Christie's uneasiness, Jessie, whohad been examining the details of the living-room, broke in upon thisconversation.

  "I'm sure it will be as good as a perpetual picnic. George Kearney sayswe can have a cooking-stove under the tree outside at the back, and asthere will be no rain for three months we can do the cooking there,and that will give us more room for--for the piano when it comes;and there's an old squaw to do the cleaning and washing-up anyday--and--and--it will be real fun."

  She stopped breathlessly, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes--acharming picture of youth and trustfulness. Mr. Carr had seized theopportunity to escape.

  "Really, now, Christie," said Jessie confidentially, when they werealone, and Christie had begun to unpack her trunk, and to mechanicallyput her things away, "they're not so bad."

  "Who?" asked Christie.

  "Why, the Kearneys, and Mattinglys, and Fairfax, and the lot, providedyou don't look at their clothes. And think of it! they told me--for theytell one EVERYTHING in the most alarming way--that those clothes werebought to please US. A scramble of things bought at La Grange, withoutreference to size or style. And to hear these creatures talk, why, you'dthink they were Astors or Rothschilds. Think of that little one withthe curls--I don't believe he is over seventeen, for all his babymoustache--says he's going to build an assembly hall for us to givea dance in next month; and apologizes the next breath to tell us thatthere isn't any milk to be had nearer than La Grange, and we must dowithout it, and use syrup in our tea to-morrow."

  "And w
here is all this wealth?" said Christie, forcing herself to smileat her sister's animation.

  "Under our very feet, my child, and all along the river. Why, whatwe thought was pure and simple mud is what they call 'gold-bearingcement.'"

  "I suppose that is why they don't brush their boots and trousers, it'sso precious," returned Christie drily. "And have they ever translatedthis precious dirt into actual coin?"

  "Bless you, yes. Why, that dirty little gutter, you know, that ran alongthe side of the road and followed us down the hill all the way here,that cost them--let me see--yes, nearly sixty thousand dollars. Andfancy! papa's just condemned it--says it won't do; and they've got tobuild another."

  An impatient sigh from Christie drew Jessie's attention to her troubledeyebrows.

  "Don't worry about our disappointment, dear. It isn't so very great. Idare say we'll be able to get along here in some way, until papa is richagain. You know they intend to make him share with them."

  "It strikes me that he is sharing with them already," said Christie,glancing bitterly round the cabin; "sharing everything--ourselves, ourlives, our tastes."

  "Ye-e-s!" said Jessie, with vaguely hesitating assent. "Yes, eventhese:" she showed two dice in the palm of her little hand. "I found 'emin the drawer of our dressing-table."

  "Throw them away," said Christie impatiently.

  But Jessie's small fingers closed over the dice. "I'll give them to thelittle Kearney. I dare say they were the poor boy's playthings."

  The appearance of these relics of wild dissipation, however, had liftedChristie out of her sublime resignation. "For Heaven's sake, Jessie,"she said, "look around and see if there is anything more!"

  To make sure, they each began to scrimmage; the broken-spirited Christieexhibiting both alacrity and penetration in searching obscure corners.In the dining-room, behind the dresser, three or four books werediscovered: an odd volume of Thackeray, another of Dickens, amemorandum-book or diary. "This seems to be Latin," said Jessie, fishingout a smaller book. "I can't read it."

  "It's just as well you shouldn't," said Christie shortly, whose ideasof a general classical impropriety had been gathered from pages ofLempriere's dictionary. "Put it back directly."

  Jessie returned certain odes of one Horatius Flaccus to the corner, anduttered an exclamation. "Oh, Christie! here are some letters tied upwith a ribbon."

  They were two or three prettily written letters, exhaling a faint odorof refinement and of the pressed flowers that peeped from between theloose leaves. "I see, 'My darling Fairfax.' It's from some woman."

  "I don't think much of her, whosoever she is," said Christie, tossingthe intact packet back into the corner.

  "Nor I," echoed Jessie.

  Nevertheless, by some feminine inconsistency, evidently the circumstancedid make them think more of HIM, for a minute later, when they hadreentered their own room, Christie remarked, "The idea of petting aman by his family name! Think of mamma ever having called papa 'darlingCarr'!"

  "Oh, but his family name isn't Fairfax," said Jessie hastily; "that'shis FIRST name, his Christian name. I forget what's his other name, butnobody ever calls him by it."

  "Do you mean," said Christie, with glistening eyes and awfuldeliberation--"do you mean to say that we're expected to fall in withthis insufferable familiarity? I suppose they'll be calling US by ourChristian names next."

  "Oh, but they do!" said Jessie, mischievously.

  "What!"

  "They call me Miss Jessie; and Kearney, the little one, asked me ifChristie played."

  "And what did you say?"

  "I said that you did," answered Jessie, with an affectation of cherubicsimplicity. "You do, dear; don't you? . . . There, don't get angry,darling; I couldn't flare up all of a sudden in the face of that poorlittle creature; he looked so absurd--and so--so honest."

  Christie turned away, relapsing into her old resigned manner, andassuming her household duties in a quiet, temporizing way that was,however, without hope or expectation.

  Mr. Carr, who had dined with his friends under the excuse of not addingto the awkwardness of the first day's housekeeping returned late atnight with a mass of papers and drawings, into which he afterwardswithdrew, but not until he had delivered himself of a mysterious packageentrusted to him by the young men for his daughters. It contained acontribution to their board in the shape of a silver spoon and batteredsilver mug, which Jessie chose to facetiously consider as an affectingreminiscence of the youthful Kearney's christening days--which itprobably was.

  The young girls retired early to their white snow-drifts: Jessie notwithout some hilarious struggles with hers, in which she was, however,quickly surprised by the deep and refreshing sleep of youth; Christie tolie awake and listen to the night wind, that had changed from the firstcool whispers of sunset to the sturdy breath of the mountain. At timesthe frail house shook and trembled. Wandering gusts laden with thedeep resinous odors of the wood found their way through the imperfectjointure of the two cabins, swept her cheek and even stirred her long,wide-open lashes. A broken spray of pine needles rustled along the roof,or a pine cone dropped with a quick reverberating tap-tap that for aninstant startled her. Lying thus, wide awake, she fell into a dreamyreminiscence of the past, hearing snatches of old melody in the movingpines, fragments of sentences, old words, and familiar epithets in themurmuring wind at her ear, and even the faint breath of long-forgottenkisses on her cheek. She remembered her mother--a pallid creature, whohad slowly faded out of one of her father's vague speculations in avaguer speculation of her own, beyond his ken--whose place she hadpromised to take at her father's side. The words, "Watch over him,Christie; he needs a woman's care," again echoed in her ears, as ifborne on the night wind from the lonely grave in the lonelier cemeteryby the distant sea. She had devoted herself to him with some littlesacrifices of self, only remembered now for their uselessness insaving her father the disappointment that sprang from his sanguine andone-idea'd temperament. She thought of him lying asleep in the otherroom, ready on the morrow to devote those fateful qualities to the newenterprise that with equally fateful disposition she believed would endin failure. It did not occur to her that the doubts of her own practicalnature were almost as dangerous and illogical as his enthusiasm, andthat for that reason she was fast losing what little influence shepossessed over him. With the example of her mother's weakness before hereyes, she had become an unsparing and distrustful critic, with the soleeffect of awakening his distrust and withdrawing his confidence fromher.

  He was beginning to deceive her as he had never deceived her mother.Even Jessie knew more of this last enterprise than she did herself.

  All that did not tend to decrease her utter restlessness. It was alreadypast midnight when she noticed that the wind had again abated. Themountain breeze had by this time possessed the stifling valleys andheated bars of the river in its strong, cold embraces; the equilibriumof Nature was restored, and a shadowy mist rose from the hollow. Astillness, more oppressive and intolerable than the previous commotion,began to pervade the house and the surrounding woods. She could hear theregular breathing of the sleepers; she even fancied she could detect thefaint impulses of the more distant life in the settlement. The far-offbarking of a dog, a lost shout, the indistinct murmur of some nearerwatercourse--mere phantoms of sound--made the silence more irritating.With a sudden resolution she arose, dressed herself quietly andcompletely, threw a heavy cloak over her head and shoulders, and openedthe door between the living-room and her own. Her father was sleepingsoundly in his bunk in the corner. She passed noiselessly through theroom, opened the lightly fastened door, and stepped out into the night.

  In the irritation and disgust of her walk hither, she had never noticedthe situation of the cabin, as it nestled on the slope at the fringe ofthe woods; in the preoccupation of her disappointment and the mechanicalputting away of her things, she had never looked once from the window ofher room, or glanced backward out of the door that she had entered. Theview before her was a reve
lation--a reproach, a surprise that took awayher breath. Over her shoulders the newly risen moon poured a flood ofsilvery light, stretching from her feet across the shining bars of theriver to the opposite bank, and on up to the very crest of theDevil's Spur--no longer a huge bulk of crushing shadow, but the steadyexaltation of plateau, spur, and terrace clothed with replete andunutterable beauty. In this magical light that beauty seemed to besustained and carried along by the river winding at its base, liftedagain to the broad shoulder of the mountain, and lost only in thedistant vista of death-like, overcrowning snow. Behind and above whereshe stood the towering woods seemed to be waiting with opened ranksto absorb her with the little cabin she had quitted, dwarfed intoinsignificance in the vast prospect; but nowhere was there another signor indication of human life and habitation. She looked in vain forthe settlement, for the rugged ditches, the scattered cabins, and theunsightly heaps of gravel. In the glamour of the moonlight they hadvanished; a veil of silver-gray vapor touched here and there with ebonyshadows masked its site. A black strip beyond was the river bank. Allelse was changed. With a sudden sense of awe and loneliness she turnedto the cabin and its sleeping inmates--all that seemed left to her inthe vast and stupendous domination of rock and wood and sky.

  But in another moment the loneliness passed. A new and delicious senseof an infinite hospitality and friendliness in their silent presencebegan to possess her. This same slighted, forgotten, uncomprehended,but still foolish and forgiving Nature seemed to be bending over herfrightened and listening ear with vague but thrilling murmurings offreedom and independence. She felt her heart expand with its wholesomebreath, her soul fill with its sustaining truth.

  She felt--

  What was that?

  An unmistakable outburst of a drunken song at the foot of the slope:--

  "Oh, my name it is Johnny from Pike, I'm h-ll on a spree or a strike." . . .

  She stopped as crimson with shame and indignation as if the viewlesssinger had risen before her.

  "I knew when to bet, and get up and get--"

  "Hush! D--n it all. Don't you hear?"

  There was the sound of hurried whispers, a "No" and "Yes," and then adead silence.

  Christie crept nearer to the edge of the slope in the shadow of abuckeye. In the clearer view she could distinguish a staggeringfigure in the trail below who had evidently been stopped by two otherexpostulating shadows that were approaching from the shelter of a tree.

  "Sho!--didn't know!"

  The staggering figure endeavored to straighten itself, and then slouchedaway in the direction of the settlement. The two mysterious shadowsretreated again to the tree, and were lost in its deeper shadow.Christie darted back to the cabin, and softly reentered her room.

  "I thought I heard a noise that woke me, and I missed you," said Jessie,rubbing her eyes. "Did you see anything?"

  "No," said Christie, beginning to undress.

  "You weren't frightened, dear?"

  "Not in the least," said Christie, with a strange little laugh. "Go tosleep."