A Waif of the Mountains

“It looks as if there was but the single Injin,” suggested Bidwell.

“That is the way we interpreted it.”

“And that was the end of your troubles with the Indians?”

“Not quite, but they bothered us only once more and then they managed to get us into a corner, where it would have been the last of me had it not been for the lieutenant and Timon. I tell you–”

The captain stopped short and smiled. He had seen the protesting expression on the face of the young officer, and said:

“We’ll keep that story till some time when he isn’t present. But there is another fact which I observed. There are more white men in the mountains than ever before and the numbers will increase. The close of the war has released nearly a million soldiers, who must make a living somehow. Some will come westward. You have preserved this place as an exclusive residence for yourselves, but you won’t be able to do it much longer.”

All saw the truth of these words, and knew trouble would inevitably follow the mingling of uncongenial spirits, but they concluded it would be time enough to meet it when it came, without allowing the fear to disturb the pleasure of the present communion. Lieutenant Fred Russell could not fail to be an individual of keen interest to those who had never before seen him. While the captain was talking, he sat modestly in the background, smoking his brierwood, listening as intently as if everything said was new to him. It was noticed that like several of the rest, he did not drink at the bar, though he received numerous invitations. Truth to tell, he had been quite a drinker, but during that eventful journey through the mountains, when Captain Dawson was talking of his daughter, as he loved to do, he named those who had reformed as the result of Nellie’s influence. The young officer made no comment, but it struck him that if those rough, hardy men could abstain, it ought not to be difficult for him to do the same, and he did it.

Few men were more prepossessing than the lieutenant. He was educated, about twenty-four years of age, and undeniably handsome. His campaigns of exposure, hardship and fighting had hardened his frame into the mould of the trained athlete. The faded uniform which he still wore became him well. The ruddy cheeks had grown swarthy and browned, but when he removed his cap, the upper part of his forehead showed as white and fair as that of a woman.

His nose was slightly aquiline, just enough to give character to his countenance, the hair which was rather scant, was dark like the mustache and the small tuft on his chin. He wore fine, high cavalry boots, reaching above the knees, a sword and like the captain was armed with revolver and Winchester rifle.

Crouched at his feet was his massive dog Timon, an object of as much interest as his master; for, curious as it may seem, he was the only canine ever owned in New Constantinople. He was of mixed breed, huge, powerful and swift, seeming to combine the sagacity and intelligence of the Newfoundland, the courage of the bull dog, the persistency of the bloodhound and the best qualities of all of them. Seeming to understand that he was among friends, he rested his nose between his paws and lay as if asleep, but those who gazed admiringly at him, noted that at intervals he opened one of his eyes as if to say:

“Strangers, I guess it is all right, but I’m taking no chances.”

Coming with the credentials that no one else ever bore, Lieutenant Fred Russell was sure of a warm reception at New Constantinople. The depletion of the population had left more than one cabin vacant and the best of these was turned over to him. In it he found cooking utensils, rough but serviceable bedding and accommodations and much better comforts than he was accustomed to during his campaigning. Having no immediate relatives, he had followed the discreet course of Captain Dawson, who deposited nearly all of his accumulated pay in a savings institution in the East, reserving only enough to insure their arrival on the Pacific coast.

Russell, like so many turned from consumers into producers by the end of hostilities, was obliged to decide upon the means of earning a livelihood. He had begun the study of law, at the time he answered the call for volunteers, and would have had no difficulty in taking it up again; but, somehow or other, he did not feel drawn thitherward. He disliked the confinements of office work and the sedentary profession itself. He wanted something more stirring, and active, and calling for out door life. It was when he was in this mood, that Captain Dawson urged him to accompany him to the gold diggings in the Sierras.

“So far as I can learn,” explained the captain, “the mines haven’t panned out to any great extent, but there is no doubt that there are millions of dollars in gold in the mountains, and if it isn’t at New Constantinople, it is not far off.”

“I shall accept your invitation,” replied the junior officer, “with the understanding that if the prospect is not satisfactory, I shall feel at liberty to go somewhere else.”

“That’s the constitutional right of every American citizen.”

“I am not as far along in years as you, but I am old enough to feel that no person ought to fritter away the most valuable years of his life.”

And thus it was that the lieutenant went to New Constantinople and received the heartiest welcome from every one there. And yet among these citizens were two that had lately become partners and sharers of the same cabin, and who were oppressed with misgiving.

“I tell you,” said the parson late at night, when he and Wade Ruggles were smoking in their home, with no one near enough to overhear them; “Captain Dawson has made the mistake of his life.”

“How?”

“In bringing Lieutenant Russell to New Constantinople.”

“I don’t quite foller your meaning, parson.”

“Yes, you do; you understand it as well as myself.”

“I have a suspicion of it, but are you afraid to trust me?”

“You ought to know better than to ask that.”

“Go ahead then and give me the partic’lars.”

“In the first place then, the lieutenant is young and good looking.”

“Unfortinitly there can’t be any doubt of that.”

“Nellie Dawson has never seen a handsome young man–”

“Exceptin’ you and me, and we ain’t as young as we once was.”

“She is now a young woman and ready to fall in love, and just at the right hour, or rather the very worst hour, the captain brings the man here.”

“You have spoke the exact thoughts I had in mind all along; you’re right, parson.”

He would have been better pleased had Ruggles contradicted him. He did not wish to believe that which he could not help believing.

“We must treat him well because the captain brings him and he has saved the captain’s life, but, Wade, we must watch them both close.”

“I agree with you agin, but what shall we do if we find him making love to the little gal?”

The parson’s fierce reply showed how deeply his feelings were stirred.

“Warn him just once!”

“I feel as bad about it as you do, but, parson, I haven’t forgot that afore the war broke out, and we was afeard the captain meant to take the gal away to have her eddycated, you told us it was none of our bus’ness and he had the right to do as he thought best with his own child.”

“All that was true at the time, but the conditions have changed.”

“Now I can’t foller you. ’Spose the captain is agreeable?”

“He won’t be!” exclaimed Brush, who in the depth of his excitement added an exclamation which sounded perilously like profanity. But for the parson’s intense earnestness, Ruggles would have quizzed him, but he pitied the man and at the same time was distressed himself.

“I hope you’re right, but I doubt it. We’ve all felt for a good while that sooner or later, we must lose the little one. Now that she’s growed up, the captain may feel more than ever that she must be took off to some town where all the men ain’t savages, and she can see some of her own kind.”

“If he puts it that way, we shall have to submit. He can take her where he wills, for my position is the same as four or five years ago, but nobody else must take her from among us.”

Ruggles’s mood was now quite similar to that of his partner.

“If I see anything wrong in the doings of that pretty faced young officer, I’ll shoot him down like a mad dog.”

“So will I.”

The two were in the ugliest temper conceivable. They continued to smoke, but their meditations were tumultuous and revengeful. Each breast contained a strange disturbing secret that either would have died before confessing, but nevertheless, it was there and had taken ineradicable root within the past days and weeks.

Felix Brush, as the reader knows, had been the instructor of Nellie Dawson from infancy. He was the medium through which she had gained an excellent book education. He had held many long confidential talks with her. She, in her trusting innocence, had told him more of her inmost thoughts, her self communings, her dim, vague aspirations, than she imparted to anyone else.

And he could not but notice her wonderful budding beauty. Surely, he thought, such a winsome creature was never born. He had begun to ask himself in a whispered, startled way: “Why may I not possess this mountain flower? True, I am much her senior, but I will nourish, protect and defend her against the world, as no younger man could or would. She believes in my goodness, far more than I deserve. I will cultivate the affection within her of whose nature she has as yet no comprehension. By and by, when she is a few years older, perhaps I may claim her. More extraordinary things have happened and are happening every day. I have but to keep her uncontaminated from the world, of which I have told her so much, so that when she goes forth, she shall be under my guardianship–the most sacred guardianship of all for it shall be that of husband.”

“Aye,” he added, his heart throbbing with the new, strange hope, “all this, please heaven, shall come to pass if things go on as they are, and no younger man with better looks crosses my path.”

And now that younger and better looking man had crossed his path.

The knowledge seemed to rouse all the dormant resentment of his nature, and to undo the good that the girl herself had done in the years that were gone. He felt that if he lost her, if his cherished dream was to be rudely dissipated, he would go to perdition.

And somewhat similar in range and nature were the communings of Wade Ruggles, who until this eventful evening, had cherished a hope, so wild, so ecstatic, so strange and so soul-absorbing that he hardly dared to admit it to himself. At times, he shrank back, terrified at his presumption, as does the man who has striven to seize and hold that which is unattainable and which it would be sacrilege for him to lay hands upon.

“I’m three months younger than the parson,” he would reflect when the more hopeful mood was upon him; “neither of us is in danger of being hung for our good looks, but I’ve got the bulge on him dead sure. I had too much in the way of whiskers to suit the little one, when I came back from the war; she wanted to see me as I was when I left; why was that?”

After pausing for a reply, he continued:

“So accordin’ I trimmed ’em off and she says I’m better looking than ever, and what she says in Dead Man’s Gulch and New Constantinople, goes. She meant it, too, as I could see by the sparkle of her eyes.

“I went all through the war without swallerin’ a mouthful of strong drink, even when the doctor ordered it. I’ve contrived, sort of accerdental and off hand like, to let her know them circumstances and I’ve seen it pleased her immense. I’ve been layin’ out some of my money for clothes, too, since I got back. Vose bought me a coat in Sacramento, blue with brass buttons. I’ve had a necktie that has been laid away till the proper time comes to put it on. There are three or four yards of silk in it and it will knock a rainbow out of sight. I didn’t want to overwhelm her too sudden like, and have been layin’ back for the right occasion.

“It’s arriv! I must knock that leftenant out, and that necktie will do it! I’m mighty glad the parson hain’t got any foolish dreams ’bout the gal. The leftenant is the only galoot I’ve got to look out for, or rather,” added the miner grimly, “I’m the one he’s got to beware of. I’m in dead earnest this time.”

CHAPTER XIII

YOUNG LOVE’S DREAM

That which in the nature of things was inevitable came to pass. Lieutenant Russell, in the same moment that his eyes rested upon Nellie Dawson, was smitten, as hopelessly as ever ardent lover was smitten by the lady whom he worshiped. The many things which the father had told him about his daughter naturally excited interest in her, but the young officer never dreamed of looking upon such marvelous beauty as that which met his gaze in that secluded cañon of the Sierras. It required all his self-control from drawing attention to himself by his admiration of her.

“I never saw such a perfect combination of face, feature and figure,” he reflected when alone. “It is an illustration of what nature can do when left to herself. Then, too, she has a fund of knowledge that is amazing, when all the circumstances are considered. I haven’t had much chance to converse with her, but I heard enough to know that she would shine by virtue of her mind among the most accomplished of her sisters, who have had every advantage that civilization can give. She is a flower nourished on a mountain crag, exhaling all its fragrance, untainted by a poisonous breath from the outer world. Who would have dared to say that amid this rough, uncouth people, such loveliness could take root and nourish? And yet it is that loveliness which has permeated and regenerated the miners themselves. But for her these nights would be spent in drinking, roistering, fighting and carousing. It is her blessed influence, which unconsciously to herself has purified the springs of life. Like the little leaven she has leavened the whole lump.”

The passing days increased his interest in her, until very soon he confessed to himself that he was deeply in love with Nellie Dawson. She had become dearer to him than his own life. He could not live without the hope of gaining and possessing her. He would remain in New Constantinople and starve, even though a Golconda was discovered a few miles away. He would linger, hopeful, buoyant and believing that the dream of his existence was to be crowned with perfect fruition.

But the sagacious lieutenant had learned to be observant and to note the most trifling things that escape the eyes of the majority of persons. Thus it was that the secret which Wade Ruggles and Parson Brush believed was hidden, each from everyone except himself, became as clear as noonday to him. He pitied them and yet he extracted a grim amusement from the fact.

“They are hopelessly infatuated with her; they are excessively jealous and would rather shoot me than have me win. They are more than double her age, and yet they can see no incongruity in hoping to win her. They will hope on until the awakening comes. Then they will be my deadliest enemies. I shouldn’t be surprised if I receive a call and warning from them, but neither they nor the whole world shall turn me from the prize which is more than all the gold, mined or unmined, in the Sierras.”

No one could have been more circumspect than the young man. He treated Nellie Dawson with the chivalrous respect of a Crusader of the olden time. He was always deferential, and, though he managed frequently to meet and chat with her, yet it invariably had the appearance of being accidental. Fortunately his feeling of comradeship for Captain Dawson gave him a legitimate pretext for spending many evenings in his cabin, where it was inevitable that he should be thrown into the society of the daughter.

Wade Ruggles and the parson noted all this with growing resentment. When it had continued for several weeks, the two friends had a conference over the situation.

“I tell you, parson, it won’t do to wait any longer,” observed Ruggles, puffing away at his pipe; “things is getting dangerous.”

“Do you think so?” asked his companion, who held precisely the same opinion, but disliked to admit it.

“There isn’t a particle of doubt of it.”

“Let me see,–we agreed to give him warning didn’t we?–just once.”

“Yes,–it’s only fair that you should let a man know afore you hit him, so he can brace himself for the shock, as it were.”

“Well, if we are going to do it, there is no use of waiting.”

“No use! It’ll git worse every day. Let’s go over to his place now.”

“It isn’t likely we’ll find him there; he spends nearly every evening in the cabin of Captain Dawson.”

Neither fancied the task, and, had not their feelings been so wrought up, they never could have been induced to undertake it, but because of their misgivings, nothing could have dissuaded them from their purpose.

“When he comes to think soberly of it,” added Ruggles, “he’ll thank us for giving him warning in time. If we wait much longer, it might be too late; we couldn’t scare him off the track, but now he’ll show his sense by stopping at once.”

The two passed out of the house and walked to the cabin of Lieutenant Russell. Relieved, and yet in a certain sense dismayed, they found the young officer at home engaged in reading. The instant he saw and admitted them, he knew the errand on which they had come. Except for the grave question involved, that which followed would have been a delicious comedy. The lieutenant could not have treated a brother with greater cordiality and never did host shine more brilliantly. He fell to talking of war times, drew out Ruggles, interested the parson and gave some of his own stirring experiences. They remained two hours and went away charmed, without having once referred to Nellie Dawson. They voted the young man a good fellow, concluded they were mistaken about his admiring the young lady, and thought it lucky they had not made fools of themselves.

When they were clear of the house, Lieutenant Russell laughed heartily.

“Their faces gave them away; they were loaded and primed, but I drew their charges; to-night they will vote me one of the best fellows that ever lived; to-morrow they will begin to doubt, and by and by the sweetest privilege they can ask will be to shoot me.”

Perhaps the most curious feature of the tragical incidents that followed was the obtusiveness of Captain Dawson. What every one else saw was veiled from him, until at times he almost seemed wilfully blind. The two men had gone through many perilous experiences together, and sometimes alone. It had been the fortune of the younger officer to serve the elder, more than once when in imminent danger and none could be more grateful than the captain.

As for Nellie Dawson herself, it is unlikely that for a time she suspected the truth in all its fulness. She knew that hers was a peculiarly sweet enjoyment, while her deft fingers were busy with some needlework, to listen to the reminiscences of the two. Sometimes she started with a shock of alarm, when the father pictured in his graphic way a situation from which it seemed no escape was open to him. Forgetful for the moment of the fact that he was there before her, alive and well, she fairly held her breath, until the denouement came. Not until then were her fears wholly relieved.

And when the parent rendered such glowing tributes to the bravery of the young officer, recalling events of so thrilling a nature that the lieutenant never would have dared to describe them in similar terms, how could the daughter help the kindling of admiration for the handsome young man? How could she avoid feeling grateful, when she knew that he had risked his life for her parent, even on their late journey through the mountains? In truth, everything tended to fan the flame that had already been kindled in both hearts.

It was late one night, after the tired Nellie had withdrawn, that the visitor made her the subject of the conversation, the approach being so tactful, that the captain had no suspicion of its object.

“Do you intend to spend all your life in this out of the way corner of the world?” was the question of the lieutenant.

“Probably I shall. Just before I went to war, I became convinced that my duty to my daughter demanded I should move to the East, in order to give her the education she can never receive here. However, when I went to the war, there was no place except this where I could leave her. When I come back, I find her a young woman, with excellent book knowledge, thanks to Brush and the kind attention of the others. Sometimes I think that she is so innocent and ignorant of evil, that it will be better for her to spend the rest of her life here.”

“It is a serious matter, but neither you nor she should be content to remain in this place for the rest of your lives.”

“Why not? Does that which she can learn elsewhere outweigh that which she will never learn in this secluded settlement? Is not the man or woman fortunate who never comes face to face with the ingratitude, the treachery, the selfishness, the baseness and the sin which are the accompaniments of civilization? In this untainted mountain air, her nature will retain its freshness and purity; her life will be a well spring of happiness and goodness to all with whom she comes in contact; I shall never marry, and mean to keep her by me until in the order of nature I am called away. That is the only boon that I ask from heaven.”

“But may not all this be hers and yours if the flower is transplanted from the wilderness into a more congenial soil? Has she not already acquired that rugged strength which renders her nature secure against evil? Is she not doubly panoplied in goodness by the training of her infancy and girlhood?”

“I would like to think so, but, lieutenant, I have lived a few years longer than you. She might not be safe there; I know she is here.”

CHAPTER XIV

THE THUNDERBOLT

Lieutenant Russell was treading on delicate ground, where the utmost caution was necessary. He must not alarm his friend. He smoked a few minutes in silence.

“It is not for me to give counsel to my captain, but is it not a fact that selfishness grows upon us with advancing years?”

“Very likely.”

“Has it occurred to you that in concluding to pass the remainder of your days in this mining settlement, you are thinking more of yourself than of your child?”

“What have I said that warrants that question?” asked the captain sharply.

“No higher motive than to protect a daughter from harm can inspire a father, but if she should be allowed to close your eyes, when you come to lie down and die, it will be hers to live: what then?”

“I shall leave her comfortably provided for. My pay amounted to a goodly sum when the war ended, and it is placed where no one else can reap the benefit of it. Then, too, as you know we have struck considerable paying dirt of late. The prospects are that New Constantinople, even if a small town, will soon be a rich one.”

Lieutenant Russell groaned in spirit. Would the parent never understand him?

“Then you expect her to remain here, sharing in all the vicissitudes of the place? It cannot always stand still; it will either increase, bringing with it many bad elements, or it will cease to exist and these people will have to go elsewhere: what then of the child whom you have left behind you?”

“Oh, by that time,” airily replied the father; “she will be married to some good honest fellow, like the parson, who seems to be fond of her, as I know she is of him, but I will not allow her to think of marriage for a long while to come,” he added with emphasis.

Lieutenant Russell had heard all he wished. He had learned that the father would not consent to the marriage of his daughter for a number of years, and when that time came, he would select one of the shaggy, uncouth miners for her life partner.

“He has never thought of me in that capacity, but he will have to entertain the thought before he is much older.”

In her dreamings of the mysterious world, with its teeming multitudes and all manner of men, Nellie Dawson was sure that none lived who could compare with this young cavalier who had come out from that wonderful realm into the loneliness of her mountain home, bringing with him a sunshine, a glow, a radiance, a happiness, and a thrilling life which she had never believed could be hers.