And in his bloom went up the flume
In the days of Forty-nine.”
When the evening chill descended, which now was quite early, we scattered to our various occupations, leaving Yank to his rest.
One Sunday in the middle of October two men trudged into town leading each a pack-horse.
I was at the time talking to Barnes at his hotel, and saw them from a distance hitching their animals outside Morton’s. They stayed there for some time, then came out, unhitched their horses, led them as far as the Empire, hesitated, finally again tied the beasts, and disappeared. In this manner they gradually worked along to the Bella Union, where at last I recognized them as McNally and Buck Barry, our comrades of the Porcupine. Of course I at once rushed over to see them.
I found them surrounded by a crowd to whom they were offering drinks free-handed. Both were already pretty drunk, but they knew me as soon as I entered the door, and surged toward me hands out.
“Well! well! well!” cried McNally delightedly. “And here’s himself! And who’d have thought of seeing you here! I made sure you were in the valley and out of the country long since. And you’re just in time! Make a name for it? Better call it whiskey straight. Drink to us, my boy! Come, join my friends! We’re all friends here! Come on, and here’s to luck, the best luck ever! We’ve got two horse-loads of gold out there–nothing but gold–and it all came from our old diggings. You ought to have stayed. We had no trouble. Bagsby was an old fool!” All the time he was dragging me along by the arm toward the crowd at the bar. Barry maintained an air of owlish gravity.
“Where’s Missouri Jones?” I inquired; but I might as well have asked the stone mountains. McNally chattered on, excited, his blue eyes dancing, bragging over and over about his two horse-loads of gold.
The crowd took his whiskey, laughed with him, and tried shrewdly to pump him as to the location of his diggings. McNally gave them no satisfaction there; but even when most hilarious retained enough sense to put them off the track.
As will be imagined, I was most uneasy about the whole proceeding, and tried quietly to draw the two men off.
“No, sir!” cried McNally, “not any! Jes’ struck town, and am goin’ to have a time!” in which determination he was cheered by all the bystanders. I did not know where to turn; Johnny was away on one of his trips, and Danny Randall was not to be found. Finally inspiration served me.
“Come down first and see Yank,” I urged. “Poor old Yank is crippled and can’t move.”
That melted them at once. They untied their long-suffering animals, and we staggered off down the trail.
On the way down I tried, but in vain, to arouse them to a sense of danger.
“You’ve let everybody in town know you have a lot of dust,” I pointed out.
McNally merely laughed recklessly.
“Good boys!” he cried; “wouldn’t harm a fly!” and I could veer him to no other point of view. Barry agreed to everything, very solemn and very owlish.
We descended on Yank like a storm. I will say that McNally at any time was irresistible and irrepressible, but especially so in his cups. We laughed ourselves sick that afternoon. The Moreñas were enchanted. Under instructions, and amply supplied with dust, Moreña went to town and returned with various bottles. Señora Moreña cooked a fine supper. In the meantime, I, as apparently the only responsible member of the party, unsaddled the animals, and brought their burdens into the cabin. Although McNally’s statement as to the loads consisting exclusively of gold was somewhat of an exaggeration, nevertheless the cantinas were very heavy. Not knowing what else to do with them, I thrust them under Yank’s bunk.
The evening was lively, I will confess it, and under the influence of it my caution became hazy. Finally, when I at last made my way back to my own camp, I found myself vastly surprised to discover Yank hobbling along by my side. I don’t know why he came with me, and I do not think he knew either. Probably force of habit. At any rate, we left the other four to sleep where they would. I remember we had some difficulty in finding places to lie.
The sun was high when we awoke. We were not feeling very fresh, to say the least; and we took some little time to get straightened around. Then we went down to the Moreña cabin.
I am not going to dwell on what we found there. All four of its inmates had been killed with buckshot, and the place ransacked from end to end. Apparently the first volley had killed our former partners and Señora Moreña as they lay. Moreña had staggered to his feet and halfway across the room.
The excitement caused by this frightful crime was intense. Every man quit work. A great crowd assembled. Morton as sheriff was very busy, and loud threats were uttered by his satellites as to the apprehension of the murderers. The temper of the crowd, however, was sullen. No man dared trust his neighbour, and yet every honest breast swelled with impotent indignation at this wholesale and unprovoked massacre. No clue was possible. Everybody remembered, of course, how broadcast and publicly the fact of the gold had been scattered. Nobody dared utter his suspicions, if he had any.
The victims were buried by a large concourse, that eddied and hesitated and muttered long after the graves had been filled in. Vaguely it was felt that the condition of affairs was intolerable; but no one knew how it was to be remedied. Nothing definite could be proved against any one, and yet I believe that every honest man knew to a moral certainty at least the captains and instigators of the various outrages. A leader could have raised an avenging mob–provided he could have survived the necessary ten minutes!
We scattered at last to our various occupations. I was too much upset to work, so I returned to where Yank was smoking over the fire. He had, as near as I can remember, said not one word since the discovery of the tragedy. On my approach he took his pipe from his mouth.
“Nothing done?” he inquired.
“Nothing,” I replied. “What is there to be done?”
“Don’t know,” said he, replacing his pipe; then around the stem of it, “I was fond of those people.”
“So was I,” I agreed sincerely. “Have you thought what a lucky escape you yourself had?”
Yank nodded. We sat for a long time in silence. My thoughts turned slowly and sullenly in a heavy, impotent anger. A small bird chirped plaintively from the thicket near at hand. Except for the tinkle of our little stream and the muffled roar of the distant river, this was the only sound to strike across the dead black silence of the autumn night. So persistently did the bird utter its single call that at last it aroused even my downcast attention, so that I remarked on it carelessly to Yank. He came out of his brown study and raised his head.
“It’s no bird, it’s a human,” he said, after listening a moment. “That’s a signal. Go see what it is. Just wander out carelessly.”
In the depths of the thicket I found a human figure crouched. It glided to me, and I made out dimly the squat form of Pete, Barnes’s negro slave, from the hotel.
“Lo’dee, massa,” whispered he, “done thought you nevah would come.”
“What is it, Pete?” I asked in the same guarded tones.
“I done got somefin’ to tell you. While I ketchin’ a lil’ bit of sleep ’longside that white trash Mo’ton’s place, I done heah dey all plannin’ to git out warrant for to arres’ Massa Fairfax and Massa Pine and Massa Ma’sh for a-killin’ dem men las’ week; and I heah dem say dey gwine fer to gib dem trial, and if dey fight dey gwine done shoot ’em.”
“That is serious news, Pete,” said I. “Who were talking?” But Pete, who was already frightened half to death, grew suddenly cautious.
“I don’ jest rightly know, sah,” he said sullenly. “I couldn’t tell. Jes’ Massa Mo’ton. He say he gwine sw’ar in good big posse.”
“I can believe that,” said I thoughtfully. “Pete,” I turned on him suddenly, “don’t you know they’d skin you alive if they found out you’d been here?”
Pete was shaking violently, and at my words a strong shudder went through hi
s frame, and his teeth struck faintly together.
“Why did you do it?”
“Massa Fairfax is quality, sah,” he replied with a certain dignity. “I jest a pore nigger, but I knows quality when I sees it, and I don’t aim to have no pore white truck kill none of my folks if I can help it.”
“Pete,” said I, fully satisfied, “you are a good fellow. Now get along back.”
He disappeared before the words were fairly out of my mouth.
“Yank,” I announced, returning to the fire, “I’ve got to go uptown. That was Pete, Barnes’s nigger, to say that they’ve got out a legal warrant for the express messengers’ arrest for that killing last week. Neat little scheme.”
I found Danny Randall in his accustomed place. At a hint he sent for Dr. Rankin. To the two I unfolded the plot. Both listened in silence until I had quite finished. Then Danny leaped to his feet and hit the table with his closed fist.
“The fools!” he cried. “I gave them credit for more sense. Hit at Danny Randall’s men, will they? Well, they’ll find that Danny Randall can protect his own! Forgotten that little point, have they?”
The cool, impassive, mild little man had changed utterly. His teeth bared, the muscles of his cheeks tightened, two deep furrows appeared between his eyes, which sparkled and danced. From the most inoffensive looking creature possible to imagine he had become suddenly menacing and dangerous.
“What do you intend, Randall?” asked Dr. Rankin. He was leaning slightly forward, and he spoke in a gentle voice, but his hand was clenched on the table, and his figure was rigid.
“Do?” repeated Randall fiercely; “why, run that gang out of town, of course!”
“I thought you said the time was not ripe?”
“We’ll ripen it!” said Danny Randall.
*
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE VIGILANTES
Danny Randall issued his orders as a general would. First he sent warning word to Cal Marsh, still nursing his shoulder. Through one of his barkeepers he caused to be called to his presence four men. Three of them were miners, the fourth a lookout at the Empire. He met them in his little room, quite openly, which, as I have explained, was in accordance with his usual custom. He detailed the exact situation in a few words.
“Now,” he ended, “we get busy. Are you in?”
Each assented, with apparent deep satisfaction.
“Now,” said he briskly, “Munroe, you go to the lower trail, near the big oak at the second crossing. Wait there. If the express messengers have not passed by to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, return here. If they do come by, stop them, and tell them to proceed by the cut-off to the place they know of, and to wait there for me. Understand?”
To each of the other four men he assigned a different watching on other trails, giving them the same instructions.
“Now git!” he finished.
After informing Yank of my projected absence, I waited at the appointed place until the appointed time, then returned to the Bella Union.
“That’s all right,” Danny greeted my report; “they came across the Hog’s Back, and are now safely in hiding. Here,” he gave me a slip of paper. “During the day contrive to see these men. Make it casual and easy, as though you just happened to see them. Chat a few minutes and tell them this: ‘Danny Randall calls a secret miners’ meeting at the upper horse flat at nine o’clock to-night. Slip up there without being seen.’ Be sure to let them understand that it is I who am issuing the call. Get them to tell you whether they will or will not come.”
I took the slip of paper and read over the half dozen names it contained. They were all known to me; so I nodded my comprehension and went out.
All the rest of the day I loafed about, chatting with dozens of people, among the others with Morton himself. That individual professed great zeal for law and order, and told of the wonderful things he, as sheriff, intended to accomplish. Among the lot I contrived to include the six men whose names were on my paper, and to deliver my message. I explained as far as I knew, and got from each a definite and emphatic promise to be present.
“It’s time this thing was brought to a head,” said one man. “If Danny Randall is taking hold of it, I enlist.”
I returned to report these facts, received an indifferent nod, and, under further instruction, went quietly to camp to await the agreed hour.
We started up the trail about eight o’clock. Yank insisted that he was going, if he had to roll all the way; but after a little we simultaneously remembered that the Moreñas had owned horses. One of these I caught, and on it Yank rode to the place of rendezvous.
The night was very black. After we had entered the woods its darkness seemed at first to hang in front of my eyes like a filmy curtain, so that I fairly groped, as one would when blindfolded. In the open a faint starlight helped us, but after we had entered the pines we had fairly to proceed by instinct. I remember feeling a shock of surprise once, when we skirted the river, at seeing plainly the whiteness of the rapids, as though the water were giving off a light of its own. Straight overhead were scattered patches of stars with misty abysses of blackness between them. Only after an interval did I appreciate that these apparent abysses were in reality the tops of trees!
We felt our way slowly, the soft muzzle of the horse at my shoulder. Gradually our pupils expanded to the utmost, so that we caught ghostly intimations of gray rocks, of dust patches, or seized the loom of a tree or the opening of a forest aisle. Luckily the trail was well marked. We had only to stick to it.
At the Flat Rock we were halted by a low-voiced command. I gave the password, as instructed by Danny Randall. This experience was once repeated, a little farther on. Then, as we neared the upper horse flat, we were stopped by a man who flashed a dark lantern in our faces, scrutinized us for a moment, shut off his light, and told us to go forward.
We found a small fire behind a screen of firs, and around or near it the figures of a dozen men. They stood silent and scattered a little apart from the firelight. We could not make out their features. From time to time other men came in, singly or in couples, until probably twenty-five were gathered. Then ensued a few moments of waiting. A sudden stir proclaimed fresh arrivals, and four newcomers strode briskly to the fire. As the light fell on them I recognized Randall and the three express riders.
Danny kicked together the fire until it flared.
“Somebody put some more wood on this,” he said in his natural voice. “We’ve got to see each other.”
In a moment the flames were leaping. I looked about me with considerable interest to see who of the camp had been summoned. I must confess to a few surprises, such as the gambler from the Empire, but in general the gathering consisted of those whom I should have characterized as solid citizens–Barnes, the hotel-keeper, Himmelwright, and men of his stripe. They were all armed, and all very grave and sober. Danny ran his eye over us one by one.
“Meeting come to order,” he commanded briskly. “This is a Vigilante meeting. I hope you all realize what that means. There are just thirty of us here; and Morton’s gang is probably a hundred strong when it is all together. We cannot fight them; but we can give the honest, decent men of this camp a chance to fight them. I myself believe the honest men will back us, and am willing to risk it. If any of you who are here now think differently, say so.”
He paused, but no one spoke up.
“If anybody doesn’t want to go into this, now is the time to back out. Just keep your mouths shut, that is all.”
He paused again, but again no one moved.
“That’s all right,” observed Danny with satisfaction. He lifted a paper. “Listen to this: ‘We the undersigned agree, as we are decent men, to stand by each other to the last, to avenge the death of any one of us, and to obey the orders of our leaders. And if we fail in this may God deny us mercy.’ Boys,” said Danny Randall earnestly, “this is serious. If we start this now, we’ve got to see it through. We are not much on Bible oaths, any one of u
s, but we must promise. Frank Munroe, step forward!”
I obeyed. The little man stared up into my eyes, and I will freely confess that never have I experienced quite the queer sensation it gave me. Danny Randall had become not only formidable, but great. He seemed to see through into the back of my mind. I braced myself as though to resist some strong physical force.
“Do you, Frank Munroe, subscribe to this document as a man of honour, so help you God?” he demanded.
“I do,” I answered solemnly, and affixed my signature below that of Danny Randall. And queerly enough, as I stepped aside, I felt somehow that I had assisted at something sacred.
One by one Danny Randall called us forward and administered his simple oath. The fire leaped, and with it the mighty shadows. Outside the circle of light the tall pines and fir-trees watched us like a multitude standing witness. The men’s faces were grave. There was about the roughest of them something noble, reflected from the earnest spirit of justice.
Randall had the plans all made, and he detailed them rapidly. We were to arrest four men only, and he named them–Morton, Scar-face Charley, who had recovered, a gambler named Catlin, and Jules, the proprietor of the Empire.
“Crawford is back in town,” said some one.
“Make it five then,” said Danny instantly.
We had a long discussion over all this. Many other names were suggested. Danny agreed that they were those of men guilty of the worst crimes, but maintained that the first thing to do was to get hold of the real leaders, the brains and motive power of the gang. The five first designated filled that description.
“Can we really prove anything against them?” asked someone.
“No,” said Danny instantly, “we cannot. Does any one here think any of them guiltless? Consult your consciences, gentlemen. I agree with you that it is a fearful thing to take a man’s life. Vote carefully. Consult your consciences.”
We balloted at last on each name separately, and the five leaders were condemned to death.
Next came up the vital questions of ways and means. Many were in favour of a night surprise, and an immediate hanging before the desperadoes could be organized for defence. Danny had a hard time showing them good reasons against this course, but at last he succeeded.
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