The Slave of the Mine; or, Jack Harkaway in 'Frisco

by Bracebridge Hemyng

  Produced by Demian Katz, E. M. Sanchez-Saavedra, JosephRainone and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net

  The Slave of the Mine; Or, Jack Harkaway in 'Frisco.

  By BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG.

  "THE BULLET STRUCK NAPPA BILL ABOUT THE MIDDLE OF THEWRIST, AND, WITH A FEARFUL OATH, HE ALLOWED HIS KNIFE TO DROP ON THEFLOOR."]

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I. THE GAMBLING-HOUSE. CHAPTER II. A SURPRISE. CHAPTER III. MALTRAVERS'S PLOT. CHAPTER IV. THE BOX AT THE CALIFORNIA THEATRE. CHAPTER V. VASQUEZ, THE BANDIT. CHAPTER VI. THE SLAVE OF THE DIAMOND MINES. CHAPTER VII. MISS VANHOOSEN TRAVELS. CHAPTER VIII. THE ESCAPE FROM THE MINES. CHAPTER IX. THE ATTACK ON THE STAGE.

  CHAPTER I.

  THE GAMBLING-HOUSE.

  "I rather like this game!"

  "Well, I should smile if you didn't. Luck's dead sot in for you now,you can bet."

  "Perhaps," said the first speaker; "but I don't propose to follow itup."

  "What?"

  The second speaker sprang from his chair in amazement.

  "No. I flatter myself I know when to stop. I have played at Baden andMonaco, in the clubs of London and the hells of Paris, as well as thegambling saloons of the West, and I'm not to be picked up for a flat."

  "That's sure; but look at here; as sure as my name is Dan Markham, andI'm known as a profesh at gambling from here to Cheyenne and VirginiaCity, and lettin' alone Omaha, you're wrong."

  "Why?"

  "When you've got a run of luck, play it for all it is worth."

  "You think so?"

  "My friend, fortune is within your grasp. Play on the ace and copperthe jack, I tell you," replied Dan Markham.

  "Thank you. I don't want any one to dictate to me."

  With this quiet answer the first speaker piled up his checks andreceived an equally large pile of gold twenty-dollar pieces, which heplaced in an inside pocket of his coat. Then he laughed harshly.

  "I don't know why I do this sort of thing," he remarked. "It isn'tbecause I want the money."

  "I'll tell you," replied the gambler.

  The lucky player rose from his seat and the game went on, there being adozen or more men present who were intent upon it.

  The game was faro.

  Slowly and solemnly the dealer took the cards out of the box, and withequal solemnity the players moved their checks as their fancy dictated.

  The first speaker was a man of a decided English cast of countenance,and the profusion of side whiskers which he wore strengthened hisBritannic look.

  He was well dressed, handsome, though somewhat haggard, as if hesuffered from want of sleep, or had some cankering care gnawing at hisheart.

  A gold ring, set with turquoise and diamonds, sparkled on his finger,and his watch chain was heavy and massive. The gambler was probablyforty years of age, which was ten or twelve more than his companion,and his face bore traces of drink and dissipation; but there was ashrewd, good-natured twinkle in his eye which showed that he was not abad-natured man in the main. In reality, Dan Markham was known all overthe Pacific Slope as a good fellow.

  Retiring to the lower end of the room, the first speaker accepted aglass of wine which was handed him by a negro waiter who attended onthe supper-table.

  "You were saying, Mr.--er--Mr.----" he began.

  "Markham," replied that individual.

  "Ah, yes! Thank you! Well, you were observing----"

  "Just this: I know why a man plays, even though he's well fixed and hasgot heaps of shug."

  "Do you?"

  "Yes, Mr.--er--Mr." continued Markham, imitating his companion's tonein rather a mocking manner.

  "Smith. Call me Smith."

  "All right, Smith; you play because you want the excitement. That's thesecret of it. You've got no home."

  "That's true."

  "No wife?"

  "No."

  "Exactly. If a man's got a home, and the comforts, and the youngones, and in fact all that the word implies, he don't want to go to agambling-saloon. No, sir. It's fellows like you and me that buck thetiger."

  The person who had designated himself as Mr. Smith smiled.

  "You are an observer of human nature?" he said.

  "Well, I guess so. Pete!"

  "Yes, sah!" replied the negro.

  "Give me some of that wine. Darn your black skin, what do I keep youfor?"

  "You don't keep me, sah!" replied the negro.

  "Don't I, by gosh? It's me, and fellows like me, that keep this saloona-going, and that keeps you."

  Pete made no reply, but opened a new bottle and handed the gambler aglass of the sparkling wine.

  "Going to play some more, stranger?" asked Dan.

  "I may and I may not. As I feel at present I shall look on," repliedMr. Smith.

  "How long have you been in this country?" continued Dan.

  "All my life."

  "Hy?"

  "I was born here."

  "Whereabouts?"

  "In Maine."

  "Oh, come now; you can't play that on me. You're a Britisher."

  Mr. Smith colored a little and looked rather vexed.

  "Doesn't it strike you, my friend," he said, "that you are a trifleinquisitive?"

  "It's my way."

  "Then all I have to say is that it is a mighty unpleasant way, and Idon't like it for a cent."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you can lump it," replied Dan Markham, lighting a cigar andstaring him in the face.

  Mr. Smith evidently did not want to have a quarrel, for he walked awayand strolled through the rooms, of which there were four.

  These rooms were elegantly furnished, provided with sofas andeasy-chairs. On the tables were all the best periodicals and magazines,so that frequenters of the gambling-house could while away their timewithout actually playing.

  But the tables possessed a fascination which Smith, as he calledhimself, could not resist.

  He strolled back to the faro game and watched the play, which kept onincessantly.

  When one player fell out, another took his place, and so it went on,all night long, till the garish streaks of the gray dawn stole inthrough the shades of the windows, and the men who turned night intoday thought it prudent to go home.

  A young and handsome man attracted Mr. Smith's attention. He waswell dressed, and had an air of refinement about him. His eyes werebloodshot and his face haggard. His hands clutched the chips nervously,and he was restless, feverish and excited.

  He pushed the clustering chestnut locks from his fair brow, and watchedthe cards as they came out with an eagerness that showed he took morethan an ordinary interest in the game.

  His luck was villainous.

  He lost almost every time, and when he tried to make a "pot" to recouphimself, it was all the same--the wrong card came out.

  At length he put his hand in his pocket and found no more money there.

  With a sigh he rose from the table, and with bowed head and bent back,his eyes lowered and his face wearing an expression which was theembodiment of despair, he walked away.

  Mr. Smith followed him.

  This was a type of character and a situation he evidently liked tostudy.

  "Ruined! Ruined!" he muttered.

  At this juncture he encountered Dan Markham, who had been paying hisrespects to some boned turkey, and making a very respectable supper.

  The professional gambler can always eat and drink, the fluctuations ofthe game having very little effect on his appetite.

  "Hello! Baby," he exclaimed; "you here again to-night?"

  "As you see," repli
ed the young man, whose feminine cast of countenancejustified the epithet of "Baby" which the gambler had bestowed upon him.

  "I thought I told you to keep out of here."

  "I know it."

  "Then why didn't you follow my orders?"

  "Because I couldn't. It was here that I took the first downward step,and to-night I have taken the last."

  The gambler regarded him curiously.

  "Clarence Holt," he said, "have you been drinking?"

  "Not a drop; but it is time I did. My lips are parched and dry. I am onfire, brain and body. Is this a foretaste of the hereafter in store forme?"

  "Weak-minded fool!" cried Dan.

  "Yes, I was weak-minded to trust you. I was a fool to listen to yourrose-colored stories about fortunes made at a faro-bank."

  "Come, come! no kicking."

  During this conversation Mr. Smith was leaning against the wall, halfconcealed in the shadow, and smoking a cigar, while he was ostensiblyengaged in jotting down some memoranda with a pencil on a scrap ofpaper, yet not a word was lost upon him.

  "You can bully me as much as you please, Dan Markham!" exclaimedClarence Holt. "But I warn you that I am getting tired of it."

  "Tired, eh?"

  "Yes, sir; there is a limit to human endurance."

  "Is there? Since when did you find that out?" sneered Dan.

  "To-night. I have lost a whole month's salary."

  "What of that? I'll lend you money."

  "Yes, on the terms you did before," replied Clarence Holt, bitterly."You have made me forge the name of the manager of the bank in which Iam employed to the extent of three thousand dollars."

  "That isn't much."

  "I can never pay it."

  Dan Markham lowered his voice almost to a whisper.

  "Yes, you can," he said.

  "How?"

  "Steal it. You have every opportunity."

  "And become a thief?"

  "Yes."

  "Never!"

  "Why not? Are you not already a forger? I hold three notes of Mr.Simpson, the manager of the Bank of California, which he never signed,though you did it for him; and if those notes are presented for paymentyou will go right up to the State Prison at Stockton quicker thanrailroading."

  Clarence Holt groaned deeply.

  He was, indeed, in the power of this man, and, struggle as he could, hewas unable to extricate himself.

  Mr. Smith gathered from this conversation that Dan Markham had got theyoung man in his power with some object in view.

  Clarence Holt was a clerk in the Bank of California, and had forgedthe name of Mr. Simpson, the manager, to the extent of three thousanddollars, Markham holding the forged notes.

  That evening Clarence had risked his whole mouth's salary at faro, andlost.

  Hence his despair and agitation were fully accounted for.

  "What do you want of me?" asked Clarence.

  "My money."

  "What will you take for the notes?"

  "Double their face-value, and then I'll hand them over to anybody."

  Mr. Smith stepped forward and bowed politely.

  "Pardon me," said he. "Did I understand you to say that you are anxiousto sell some notes?"

  "Oh! it's you, Mr. Smith," replied Markham. "If you've got six thousanddollars to throw away on security which is only worth three, we candeal. I want to go to Sacramento to-morrow, and I'll sell out."

  "I have overheard the entire conversation," said Mr. Smith, "and Isincerely commiserate this young man, who has fallen into the hands ofa sharper!"

  "Throwing bricks, eh?"

  "Never you mind, my friend. Hand over the notes and I will give you themoney."

  Markham produced a wallet which was filled with papers and bills,among which he searched until he found the documents of which he was inwant.

  "Here you are," he exclaimed. "I'd like to find a fool like you everyday in the week."

  "Would you?"

  "If I did, I'd die rich."

  Laughing heartily at his own joke, Markham handed over the notes andreceived the six thousand dollars in exchange.

  "Thank you," he added, and extending his hand to Clarence Holt, hesaid: "Good-by. Take my advice. It's straight. Never bet on a cardagain."

  Nodding carelessly to Mr. Smith, he knocked the ash off his cigar andleft the room.

  When he was gone, Clarence Holt grasped Mr. Smith's hand.

  "How can I thank you?" he exclaimed.

  "My dear fellow," replied Mr. Smith, "you have nothing to thank me for."

  "Nothing!"

  "No, indeed."

  "But you have saved me," said Clarence. "You are a whole-souled,generous-hearted man. Give me the forged notes, that I may tear themup, begin again, and, leading a new life, bless you for ever."

  A cynical smile curled the lip of Mr. Smith.

  "Not so fast, my young friend," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Simply that I am not your friend, and that I have not done anything ofa particularly generous nature."

  "How?"

  Clarence Holt's countenance fell again as he ejaculated thismonosyllable.

  "You have only exchanged one master for another," replied Mr. Smith.

  "Really, sir," said Clarence, "I am at a loss to understand you. I tookyou for a gentleman who, having by accident overheard a conversationwhich was not intended for his ears, endeavored to atone for hisconduct by doing what lay in his power to help----"

  "Don't catechise me, if you please," interrupted Mr. Smith.

  "I have no wish to be offensive."

  "If you had I would not allow you to gratify your inclination. Mr.Markham has handed you over to me, and I have bought you."

  "Bought me?"

  "Why, certainly."

  "May I ask your reason for acting in such an eccentric manner?"

  "Yes; I like to buy men. It is a fancy of mine. I find them usefuloccasionally."

  Clarence Holt bit his lip.

  "Where do you live?"

  A card containing an address in Mission Street was handed to him, and,glancing carelessly at it, he put it in his pocket.

  "When I want you," he said, "I shall know where to find you."

  A rebellious fire burnt in Clarence's eye.

  "Suppose I refuse to do your bidding?" he asked.

  "Oh! well, in that case I should go to the bank and show theauthorities the notes I have bought. I presume they would see that youwere punished, and taken care of for a year or two."

  Clarence pressed his hands together violently.

  "Oh! have I come to this?" he cried. "Would to God I had taken my dearwife's advice and never gambled!"

  Mr. Smith looked at him.

  "Married, eh?" he remarked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Pretty wife?"

  "The most divine creature you ever saw. I suppose I am a partial judge,and that my opinion is not to be relied on; but I assure you, sir, thatno artist or poet ever conceived so lovely a specimen of womanhood asmy darling Elise."

  "Humph! How long have you been married?"

  "Three years."

  "And in love still?"

  "Yes, indeed; more than ever."

  "Odd way of showing your love, coming to a gambling-house. Anychildren?"

  "One little girl. But allow me to explain. I came here with my month'ssalary to try and make money enough to pay off Markham, who has been myruin. Now I have not a dollar to go home with, and how we are to live Ido not know."

  Mr. Smith took a dozen twenty-dollar gold pieces out of his purse.

  "Take these," he said.

  "You will lend them to me?" cried Clarence, delightedly.

  "I give them to you. What is the use of lending money to a pauper? Igive this to you just as I would give an alms to a beggar."

  "Your words are very bitter," said the young man, as he shiveredvisibly.

  "There is no necessity for me to be silver-tongued with you," was thereply. "Go home to your
wife. I will call and see you soon."

  Mr. Smith threw himself into a chair, and appeared to take no furthernotice of Clarence, but he was seated in a manner which permitted himto have a good view of the gambling-table.

  At first Clarence Holt hurried toward the door, as if full of virtuousresolution to return home.

  Then he paused, and turned off toward the lunch table, where he ate alittle salad and drank some wine.

  The gold pieces were burning a hole in his pocket.

  They were amply sufficient to live upon for a month; but if he couldonly double them!

  Surely his bad luck could not stick to him all the evening.

  He would try again.

  "What time is it?"--he looked up at the clock--"only eleven!" Elise,his little wife, has got the baby to sleep by this time and is probablyreading, while eagerly expecting his return home. Another hour willmake no great difference.

  He goes to the table and buys some checks, with which he begins tospeculate.

  Mr. Smith laughs with the air of Mephisto, and says to himself:

  "I knew it. Score one to me again for having some knowledge ofcharacter. He is a weak man and easily led. So much the better for me."

  Presently a lady, thickly vailed, entered the saloon and looked timidlyaround her.

  Evidently she was searching for some one.

  Seldom, indeed, was a lady seen in the saloon, for it is not the customfor the fair sex to gamble in America, whatever they may do in Europe.

  The negro in charge of the lunch-table advanced toward her.

  "What you want heah, ma'am?" he asked.

  "I am looking for a gentleman," she replied, in a nervous tone.

  "Plenty ob gen'elmen come and go all night. It's as hard as de debbleto find any one in dese ar rooms."

  "He is my husband. Perhaps you know him. His name is Clarence Holt,"continued the lady.

  "Oh! yes, for suah. I know him."

  "Then I implore you to tell me if he is here. Where is the room inwhich they play?"

  "No place for ladies, dat; besides, Marse Holt him been gone an hour ormore with Marse Markham."

  "Is he with that bad man? Ah, me! what future have I and my child now?"

  She pressed her hands to her face and sobbed, while the negro held thedoor open.

  Suddenly there was a loud cry from the inner room, in which the gamewas progressing.

  "By heaven. I win! Give it me. It is all mine. All--all," shouted a man.

  Mrs. Holt uttered a scream.

  "'Tis he!" she cried. "Wretch, you have deceived me. Stand on one side.I heard my husband's voice, and I will see him."

  She pushed past the negro, who would fain have stopped her had he beenable to do so, but her movements were too quick for him to intercepther.

  "This is becoming decidedly interesting," observed Mr. Smith; "Elisehas come after Clarence. By Jove!" he added, as she raised her vail,"she justifies his description of her. A prettier creature I never saw!"

  The luck had changed, and Clarence had been fortunate enough to winlargely, as a pile of gold by his side fully testified.

  The young wife tapped him on the shoulder.

  "Clarence," she whispered.

  "You here?" he cried, while a flush of annoyance crossed his face.

  "Oh, yes; forgive me. Come home, will you not?"

  "How dare you follow me here?"

  "I was so lonely. I found a note from Markham appointing a meetinghere, and I knew you had your salary with you. We have no food in thehouse, and----"

  "Confound you!" he interrupted, almost fiercely. "Do you want every manhere to know our private affairs?"

  "What are these men to you, Clarence?"

  "Go home. I will come when I am ready. You distract me. Go!" heexclaimed.

  Sadly she turned away. Her tears flowed fast, and so broken-hearted wasshe that she did not bestow one glance at the feverish and excited faceof her erring and misguided husband.

  At the door she was confronted by Mr. Smith, who bowed politely.

  "Madame," he exclaimed, "permit me to have the honor of escorting youto your carriage."

  Elise Holt looked up in surprise.

  "I have no carriage, sir," she answered.

  "Then I will get you one."

  "But I have no money to pay for one."

  "My purse is at your service."

  "Oh, sir," she exclaimed, blushing, "it would not be right for me toaccept a favor from a perfect stranger."

  "Pardon me, I am a friend of your husband."

  "Is that so? Well, if you know Clarence, will you not persuade him tocome home?"

  She looked pleadingly at Mr. Smith.

  "I will do more than that," he rejoined.

  "How?"

  "I will see to it that he does come to you in half an hour. Come, takemy arm."

  Elise did not hesitate any longer, but timidly placed her littledelicately-gloved hand on the arm of the handsome stranger, who was sokind and generous.

  "Ah!" she thought, "if I had married him instead of Clarence!"

  They descended the stairs together, and her tears ceased to flow.