A Waif of the Mountains

She often sat with her eyes upon his countenance, when, in his chair opposite her father, he recalled those marvelous experiences of his. To her no man could ever possess so musical a voice, and none so perfect features and winning ways. It was young love’s dream and in her heart the sacred flame was kindled and fanned until her whole being was suffused and glowed with the new life.

One of Lieutenant Russell’s firsts acts of kindness to Nellie Dawson was to present her with his massive dog Timon. She had shown great admiration from the first for the magnificent brute, who became fond of her. The maiden was delighted beyond measure and thanked the donor so effusively that he was embarrassed. It is not probable, however, that Timon himself was ever aware of the change of ownership, for it brought no change of conditions to him. He had learned to divide his time about equally between the home of the lieutenant and that of Captain Dawson, while, like the young lady herself, he wandered about the settlement at will. He was a dignified canine, who stalked solemnly through New Constantinople, or took a turn in Dead Man’s Gulch, resenting all familiarity from every one, except from the only two persons that had ever owned him.

The lieutenant reflected much upon his conversation with Captain Dawson, the impression which he had received being anything but pleasant. “He considers himself unselfish, and yet like all such he is selfishness itself. He has determined to spend the rest of his days in this hole and to keep her with him. He won’t allow her to marry for years, because it might interfere with his own pleasure; then he intends to turn her over to that lank, shaggy-faced Brush, who pretends to be a parson. The captain never thinks of me as having any claims upon her love. To carry out his plan would be a crime. If she objects to Brush, he will probably give her a choice from the whole precious lot, including Ruggles, Adams, Bidwell, or Red Mike, the reformed gambler.

“Never once has he asked himself whether his daughter may not have a preference in the matter, but, with the help of heaven, he shall not carry out this outrage.”

In the solitude of his own thoughts, the lover put the question to himself:

“Am I unselfish in my intentions?”

Selfishness is the essence of love. We resolve to obtain the one upon whom our affections are set, regardless of the consequences or of the future. It is our happiness which is placed in the balance and outweighs everything else.

“Of course,” continued the young officer in his self-communing, “I shall be the luckiest fellow in the world when I win her and she will be a happy woman. Therefore, it is her good which I seek as much as my own.”

How characteristic of the lover!

“I shall not abduct her. If she tells me she does not love me; if she refuses to forsake all for me, then I will bid her good-by and go off and die.”

How characteristic again of the lover!

And yet it may be repeated that Lieutenant Russell was the most guarded and circumspect of men. He no longer argued with Captain Dawson, for it was useless. He rather lulled his suspicion by falling in with his views, and talked of the future of parent and daughter, as if it were one of the least interesting subjects that could come between them.

On one of Vose Adams’s pilgrimages to Sacramento, he returned with a superb mettled pony, the gift of Lieutenant Russell. With this pet she soon became a daring and accomplished horsewoman. She was an expert, too, with the small Winchester and revolver which her father brought with him from the East. Perched like a bird upon her own Cap, as she named him, she often dashed for a mile down the trail, wheeling like a flash and returning at full speed.

“Have a care,” said Parson Brush, more than once; “you ride like a centaur and none knows better how to use firearms, but there are Indians in these mountains and they sometimes approach nigh enough to be seen from New Constantinople. Then, too, your father brought word that other miners are working their way toward us. More than likely there are bad men among them whom it is best you should not meet.”

“But none would harm me,” was the wondering reply of the miss; “are not all of my own race my friends?”

“They ought to be, but alas! it is too much to expect.”

She could not believe, however, that any danger of that nature threatened her, but she deferred to the fears of her father, Lieutenant Russell and the parson to that extent that she generally had a companion with her on these dashes down the trail. Sometimes it was Brush, sometimes Ruggles or her parent, and less frequently the young officer. Timon always galloped or trotted behind her pony, and she could not be made to believe that his protection was not all-sufficient.

The winds of early autumn were moaning through the gorges and cañons of the Sierras, bringing with them the breath of coming winter, which was often felt with all its Arctic rigor in these depressions among the towering peaks and ridges. The usual group was gathered in the Heavenly Bower, though two of the most prominent citizens were absent. They were Felix Brush and Wade Ruggles, who were seated in their cabin, where a small fire had been kindled on the primitive hearth and afforded the only light in the small apartment. They had eaten their evening meal and as usual were smoking.

As neither cared to taste the Mountain Dew, so winsome to a majority of the miners, the two often spent their evenings thus, especially since the shadow caused by the coming of Lieutenant Russell had fallen across their threshold.

“Things begin to look better than afore,” remarked Ruggles, sitting with one leg flung across the other and looking thoughtfully into the fire.

“Yes, I always insisted that the soil about here is auriferous and we had only to stick to it to obtain our reward.”

Ruggles took his pipe from his mouth and looked at his partner with a disgusted expression.

“What are you talkin’ ’bout, parson?”

“Didn’t you refer to the diggings?” he innocently asked in turn.

“Come now, that won’t do; you know my references to allusions was the leftenant and the young lady. I say things look better as regards the same.”

“In what way?”

“In the only way there could be. They don’t care partic’lar for each other.”

“There is no doubt they did some time ago.”

“Of course, but I mean now.”

“How do you explain the change, Wade?”

“The chap ain’t a fool; he’s took notice of our warnin’s.”

“I wasn’t aware that we had given him any.”

“Not ’zactly in words, but every time I’ve met him with the gal, I give the leftenant a scowl. Once I come purty near shakin’ my fist at him; he’s obsarved it all and is wise in time.”

“I think there is ground for what you say,” remarked the parson, anxious to be convinced of the hoped-for fact; “what I base my belief on is that the leftenant doesn’t accompany her on her little riding trips as often as her father or you or I: that is a sure barometer, according to my judgment. Still I have sometimes feared from the way she talks and acts that she thinks more of him than is right.”

“Nothing of the kind! She treats him as she does everybody else; the leftenant is the friend of the cap and the leftenant give her the dog that is the size of a meetin’ house and the pony hardly as big as the dog, but she doesn’t think half as much of him as of you and me; how can she?” demanded Ruggles, sitting bolt upright and spreading his hand like a lawyer who has uttered an unanswerable argument; “hain’t she knowed us a blamed sight longer than him?”

“You are correct; I didn’t think of that.”

How eagerly we accept the argument, flimsy as it may be, which accords with our wishes!

“When I feel sorter ugly over my ’spicions,” continued Ruggles; “I jest reflect that we’ve knowed the gal ever since she was a baby and her father tumbled down a hundred feet onto the roof of the Heavenly Bower, with her in his arms in the middle of that howlin’ blizzard,–when I think of that I say–”

The door of the cabin was hastily shoved inward and Captain Dawson, his face as white as death, strode in.

“Have you seen anything of Nellie?” he asked in a husky whisper.

“No; what’s the matter?” asked the startled miners.

“She has gone! she has left me!” gasped the father dropping into the only remaining chair, the picture of despair and unutterable woe.

“Why do you think that?” asked the parson, sympathetically.

“Lieutenant Russell has gone too! They have fled together!”

CHAPTER XV

COMRADES IN SORROW

Wade Ruggles and Parson Brush sprang to their feet and confronted the white-faced Captain Dawson, who stared at them and breathed fast. For a full minute they gazed into one another’s faces, dazed, motionless and speechless. The partners stood, each with pipe in hand, the faint smoke curling upward from the bowls, their slouched hats still on their frowsy heads, the revolvers at their cartridge belts spanning their waists, their trousers tucked in the tops of their boots, and with their heavy flannel shirts serving for coats and vests.

Captain Dawson was similarly attired. He had dashed out of his own cabin and into that of his friends, his long locks flying, and even the strands of his heavy beard rigidly apart, as if from the consternation that had taken possession of his very soul.

In those seconds of tomb-like stillness, an ember on the earthen hearth fell apart and a twist of flame threw a yellow illumination through the small room, grim and bare of everything suggesting luxury.

It was the parson who first found voice, but when he spoke the tones, even to himself, sounded like those of another person.

“Captain, it is possible that there is some mistake about this.”

“Would to God there might be!”

“Let us hope there is.”

“Mistake!” he repeated in a husky, rasping voice; “can there be any mistake about that?”

He threw out his single arm as he spoke, as if he would drive his fist through their chests. But he held a crumpled bit of paper in the face of the parson, who silently took it from him, crinkled it apart and turning his side so that the firelight fell on the sheet, began reading the few words written in pencil and in the pretty delicate hand which he knew so well.

“Read it out loud, parson,” said Ruggles, speaking for the first time.

Felix Brush did so in a voice of surprising evenness:

“My Dearest Father:–I have decided to go with Lieutenant Russell. We love each other and I have promised to become his wife. Do not think I love you any less for that can never be. I cannot remain here. You will hear from us soon and then I pray that you will come to your own

Nellie.”

“Have you been to his shanty?” asked Ruggles, who hardly comprehended the meaning of his own words.

“Why would he go there?” angrily demanded the parson.

“Mebbe the villain changed his mind.”

“But, if he had, she would not be there.”

“Yes; I went to his cabin,” bitterly answered Captain Dawson; “he has not been in the place for hours; all is dark and deserted; if I found him, I would have killed him.”

The three were laboring under fearful emotion, but with surprising power forced themselves to seem comparatively calm.

“Captain, tell us about it,” said the parson, carefully folding the bit of paper upon itself and shoving it into his pocket, unobserved by the others.

Despite his apparent calmness it took a few moments for the father to gain sufficient self-control to speak clearly. Seated in the chair, he looked into the embers of the fire on the hearth, compressed his lips and breathed hard. His two friends had also seated themselves, for it seemed to them it was easier to master their agitation thus than while upon their feet.

“What have I to tell, but my everlasting woe and shame? The lieutenant and I have been working for several days by ourselves on a new lead. I had noticed nothing unusual in his manner nor indeed in that of my child. At lunch time to-day he complained to me of not feeling like work, and told me not to expect him back this afternoon. I would have returned with him, had not the indications of the new lead been so good. And actually he invited me to do no more work until to-morrow, though why he should have done it, when it would have spoiled their whole scheme, is more than I can explain.

“It was part of his plan to deceive you.”

“I don’t see how it could do that, for there was no need of his inviting me,–but let it go. It came about that I worked later than usual, so that it was dark when I got home. I was surprised to see no light and to find no fire or Nellie. I thought nothing of that, however, for who would have believed it possible that there could be anything wrong? I supposed she was with some of the folks and being tired I sat down in my chair and fell asleep.

“When I awoke, the room was cold, silent and as dark as a wolf’s mouth. I felt impatient and decided to give her a scolding for being so neglectful. I groped around until I found a match, intending to start a fire. I had just lit the lamp and set it down on the table, when I caught sight of a folded piece of paper with my name in her handwriting on the outside. It gave me a queer feeling and my hands trembled when I unfolded and read it.

“I don’t clearly remember the next few minutes. The room seemed to be spinning around, and I think I had to sit down to keep from falling, but what saved me from collapse was my anger. I have been consumed with indignation once or twice in my life, but was never so furious, so uncontrollable, so utterly savage as I was after reading that note. If I could have found Russell, I would have throttled him. It may sound strange, but I hardly once thought of Nellie; it was he, the villain, whom I yearned to get my hands on.”

“Of course,” said Ruggles, “that’s the way you oughter feel.”

“I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but I rushed out and made straight for his cabin, as if I would find him there. Of course that too was empty, and then I came here. Fool that I have been!” exclaimed the parent, leaping to his feet and striding up and down the room; “not to see all this, but,” he added pathetically, “I believed that Nellie loved me.”

The flaming wrath of the two melted into pity for the stricken father. Parson Brush laid his hand on his shoulder and compelled him to resume his seat. Then he spoke with the tenderness of a woman:

“That child does love you more than she loves her own life, but she is blinded by her infatuation for that smooth-tongued scoundrel. It is the nature of her sex to feel and act thus; but, as I said, it does not mean that her love for you is less–”

“Don’t talk of her love for me,” fiercely interrupted the parent; “we only judge of a person by his actions.”

“But you and I have made mistakes–”

“Nothing like this; why did she not ask me? why did he not tell me that he wished to marry her?–that is if he does,” added the father, as if determined to make his own cup as bitter as possible.

“He did not ask you, because he knew you would refuse; for from the first time he entered this community, he was determined to have her.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because Ruggles and I read him; we did what no one else did,–we measured the man. Am I right, Wade?”

The miner nodded his head.

“Every word is as true as gospel; we noticed his sly looks at her, that first night you and him entered the Heavenly Bower and she was there. We couldn’t make any mistake about it.”

“And you didn’t warn me! You two are as bad as he, because you kept the secret when you ought to have put me on my guard, so that I might have strangled him at the first advance he made.”

Sympathy for the man prevented his listeners taking offence at the words which, from any one else, would have brought serious consequences. The parson said soothingly:

“If you were not so wrought up, captain, you would not be so unreasonable; suppose Wade and I had gone to you with the statement that the man who, according to your own words, had saved your life but a short time before in the mountains, was a villain, who contemplated robbing you of your child; what would you have done?”

“Thanked you and been on my guard.”

“You would have done nothing of the kind; you would have cursed us and told us to mind our own business.”

“No matter what I would have done, it was your duty to tell me, regardless of the consequences to yourselves. I might have resented it, but my eyes would have been opened and this blow saved me.”

“Nothing could have opened your eyes, for you were blind,” said the parson, who felt that though the man was intensely agitated, he ought to hear some plain truths; “even had you suspected there was ground for our fears, you would have gone to Lieutenant Russell and demanded an explanation. He would have denied it, and you would have believed him with the result that he would have been put on his guard and would have deceived you the more completely.”

“Likewise, as aforesaid,” added Ruggles, “the villain would have come to us and made us give our grounds for our charges. What ridic’lous fools we would have been, when all we could answer was that we thought he looked as if he meant to run away with your darter.”

“There may be some justice in what you say,” replied the captain more composedly; “It was I who was blind, but I can’t understand it. Never until I read that piece of paper, did I suspect the truth.”

“Howsumever, the parson and me haven’t been idle; we often talked it over and fixed on a line that we thought would work better than going to you. We showed the leftenant that we was onto his game; I give him a scowl now and then, as it fell convenient, that said ‘Beware!’ We, that is the parson and me, made up our minds to watch close, and, at the first sign that was dead sure, we’d fall onto him like a couple of mountains.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“He fooled us as he did you. We was talkin’ over matters the very minute you busted into the door and was satisfied that he had larned he was playin’ with fire and had concluded to drop it. We was as big fools as you.”

CHAPTER XVI

NOW

It was the parson who now broke in.

“Why do we sit here, lamenting that which cannot be helped? Do you mean to give up, captain, and let her go? Will you settle down to toil in the diggings, giving her no further thought, while this pretty-faced lieutenant is chuckling over the clever manner by which he fooled you as well as us–”

“No!” fairly shouted the roused parent; “I will follow them to the ends of the earth! They shall not find a foot of ground that will protect them! She has never seen me angry, but she shall now!”

“We are with you,” coolly responded Brush, “but only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That this account is to be settled with him alone; you musn’t speak so much as a cross word to Nellie; she will shed many a bitter tear of sorrow; she will drain the cup to its dregs; he, the cause of it all, is to be brought to judgment. When do you wish to take up the pursuit?”

“Now!”

“And we are with you.”

There was something wonderful in the way Parson Brush kept control of himself. Externally he was as calm as when standing in front of the adamantine blackboard, giving instruction to Nellie Dawson, while down deep in his heart, raged a tempest such as rouses into life the darkest passions that can nerve a man to wrong doing. Believing it necessary to stir the father to action, he had done it by well chosen words, that could not have been more effective.

For weeks and months the shadow had brooded over him. Sometimes it seemed to lift and dissolve into unsubstantiality, only to come back more baleful than before. And the moment when he had about persuaded himself that it was but a figment of the imagination, it had sprung into being and crushed him. But he was now stern, remorseless, resolute, implacable.

It was much the same with Wade Ruggles. He strove desperately to gain the remarkable control of his feelings, displayed by his comrade, and partly succeeded. But there was a restless fidgeting which caused him to move aimlessly about the room and showed itself now and then in a slight tremulousness of the voice and hands, but his eyes wore that steely glitter, which those at his side had noticed when the rumble and grumble told that the battle was on.

Captain Dawson went from one extreme to the other. Crazed, tumultuous in his fury, and at first like a baffled tiger, he moderated his voice and manner until his companions wondered at his self-poise.

“They have started for Sacramento and are now well advanced over the trail,” he remarked without any evidence of excitement.

“When do you imagine they set out?” asked Brush.

“Probably about the middle of the afternoon; possibly earlier.”

“Then,” said Ruggles, “they have a good six hours’ start. They haven’t lost any time and must be fifteen or twenty miles away.”

“The trail is easy traveling for twice that distance, as I recollect it,” observed the captain; “after that it grows rougher and they will not be able to go so fast.”

“This must have been arranged several days ago, though it is only guesswork on our part. Of course she has taken considerable clothing with her.”

“I did not look into her room,” said the captain; “there’s no use; it is enough to know they made their preparations and started, accompanied by that dog Timon.”

No time was wasted. They knew they would encounter cold weather, for the autumn had fairly set in, and some portions of the trail carried them to an elevation where it was chilly in midsummer. Each took a thick blanket. The captain donned his military coat, with the empty sleeve pinned to the breast, caught up his saddle and trappings, his Winchester and revolver, and buckled the cartridge belt around his waist. Then he was ready. Neither of the others took coat or vest. The blanket flung around the shoulders was all that was likely to be needed, in addition to the heavy flannel shirt worn summer and winter.

Thus equipped, the three stood outside the cabin, with the moon high in the sky, a gentle wind sweeping up the cañon and loose masses of clouds drifting in front of the orb of night. Here and there a light twinkled from a shanty and the hum of voices sounded faintly in their ears. Further off, at the extreme end of the settlement, stood the Heavenly Bower, with the yellow rays streaming from its two windows. They could picture the group gathered there, as it had gathered night after night during the past years, full of jest and story, and with never a thought of the tragedy that had already begun.

“Shall we tell them?” asked Ruggles.

“No,” answered Brush; “some of them might wish to go with us.”

“And it might be well to take them,” suggested Captain Dawson.

“We are enough,” was the grim response of the parson.

Like so many phantoms, the men moved toward the further end of the settlement. Opposite the last shanty a man assumed form in the gloom. He had just emerged from his dwelling and stopped abruptly at sight of the trio of shadows gliding past.

“What’s up, pards?” he called.

“Nothing,” was the curt answer of the captain, who was leading and did not change his pace.

“You needn’t be so huffy about it,” growled the other, standing still and puffing his pipe until they vanished.

“That was Vose Adams,” remarked the captain over his shoulder; “he’ll tell the rest what he saw and it will be known to everybody in the morning.”

The little party was carefully descending the side of the cañon, with now and then a partial stumble, until they reached the bottom of the broad valley where the grass grew luxuriantly nearly the whole year. It was nutritious and succulent and afforded the best of pasturage for the few horses and mules belonging to the miners.

Captain Dawson and Lieutenant Russell had ridden up the trail, each mounted on a fine steed, which had brought them from Sacramento. When the saddles and bridles were removed, the animals were turned loose in the rich pasturage, which extended for miles over the bottom of the cañon. There, too, grazed the pony of Nellie Dawson, the horses of Ruggles and Bidwell and the three mules owned by Landlord Ortigies and Vose Adams. The latter were left to themselves, except when needed for the periodical journeys to Sacramento. The little drove constituted all the possessions of New Constantinople in that line. Consequently, if any more of the miners wished to join in the pursuit, they would have to do so on foot or on mule back,–a fact which was likely to deter most of them.