Belford's Magazine, Vol 2, December 1888

"I reckon you've about hit it," returned Dick Bowles. "Joe's got his good p'ints, to be sure, though he can't cuss wuth a damn. Mebbe it's coz he don't drink whiskey; I dunno. That larf o' hisn gets me every time; I never did hear anythin' to ekal it! Mebbe you've heard tell of the circus man that cum along here last year and offered to give Joe fifty dollars a week ef he'd agree to travel about with his show jest to start up the larf at the performances."

This was a fact. But the proprietor of the circus was not the only person on whom Joe's laughter made an impression. When his full red lips parted in merriment, displaying his large, pearly teeth, and emitting a low, gurgling sound, one was reminded of the rippling of water over pebbles. Mrs. Parkenson declared that "Joe's laugh was more contagious nor the measles."

"'Most everybody takes to Joe," said the landlord, by way of accounting for Bowles's statement. "For when he gits off that larf o' hisn, I'll be blowed ef it don't kinder draw folks towards him. But yer can't take no liberties with him, once he fixes them gray eyes on yer."

"He's too soft and sneaky for me," returned Bowles, testily. Then observing the deprecatory glances of the others, he added: "Ef I hadn't er seen him oncet when the Injins got arter him, the way he blazed away at the skinflints and then druv his team straight ahead 'thout even so much as losin' his color, I'd call him an out-an'-out milksop."

Knowing glances were exchanged by some of the men, amongst whom it was no secret that Dick was decidedly jealous of Mary Jane's preference for Joe. Dick had reason to believe that if this formidable rival were removed the girl would treat him better. For, cruel though she was at times, she accepted his attentions with unconcealed satisfaction when Joe was out of the way; it aggravated him, therefore, beyond measure to see her sweetest smiles bestowed upon his rival.

"Guess you ain't feelin' O K," said Mary Jane one evening as she placed a dish of smoking-hot bacon and eggs in front of Joe. "Wot's up? bad noos from the States?" she added, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. This was banter, for nobody knew better than she that the young man never received a communication of any sort through the mail.

Mrs. Parkenson had remarked upon this many a time, and in no complimentary terms. "It must be a black sheep, and no mistake, that home folks wouldn't send a letter to in all these years," she had said.

Joe looked into Mary Jane's face, while a pained expression flitted across his own; this was instantly followed by his peculiar laugh, though it lacked the genuine ring and sounded forced and jerky. But it attracted the attention of two strangers who sat at the end of the long table. They had arrived by one of the stages, and had registered in Parkenson's big book as "John Carter, M.D., and Edward Fulton, Minneapolis, Minn." Their business had been to examine a mine in the interest of an Eastern company, and they were now on their return-trip. Both seemed young, though the doctor's hair was sprinkled with gray at the temples, and there were dark lines beneath his eyes which told of sorrow.

The doctor started perceptibly at the sound of Joe's voice, and dropping his knife and fork, leaned forward with an attempt to obtain a view of his features. This was frustrated by our hero, who had turned away, and in a low tone was answering his interlocutrice. The doctor looked puzzled, and continued his meal.

Presently Joe left the table and passed into the bar-room. In silence he examined the last leaf of the register. His face flushed, his hand trembled; he was thankful that his agitation escaped observation. He longed to get to his little room over the stable; but the only exit was through the apartment he had just left, and he hesitated. At the sound of approaching footsteps he moved towards the curtain, raised it, and met Doctor Carter face to face. They exchanged glances; neither spoke, but the doctor looked troubled, and with a deep frown riveted his gaze on Joe's retreating form.

"Who is that youth?" he asked, pointing toward the door through which Joe had disappeared.

"That's Marshall." answered the landlord. "Everybody in these parts knows him."

"Is he employed here?" was the next query.

"He runs the Camptonville stage, and there ain't a better driver in the hull West."

"Strange!" said the doctor, evidently not satisfied with the intelligence. "Has he been here long?" he added.

"It must be all of five years since Joe put in an appearance on this line," returned the landlord.

"Five years," repeated the doctor dreamily. He looked as though some painful reminiscence had been recalled to him.

"I'd like to know what you've found to interest you in that fellow," said Fulton, who now stood at his friend's elbow. "You could scarcely eat for watching him, and I failed to make you listen when I spoke to you."

"It is a resemblance to a person whom I once knew well – nothing more – queer, is it not, with what persistency a familiar face will sometimes haunt us?" returned the doctor, assuming an off-hand air.

"This fellow's double must surely have robbed you – for you looked ready to spring upon him just now when he went out," said Fulton, jocosely.

"Robbed me?" repeated the doctor; "ah, yes – he did, indeed – but you shall hear about it another time." And they seated themselves at the card table.

When Joe closed the door behind him, he moved slowly away. His eyes were fixed on the ground; he was absorbed in thought. Suddenly his attention was arrested by Mary Jane, who awaited him, as she had frequently done, in the doorway of a rickety, long-disused barn. "I say, Joe! – hist!" she exclaimed, on seeing that he was about to pass without observing her. "Look wot I've fetched yer;" and she held up a couple of well-polished apples.

The young man's melancholy smile troubled her, and although he pressed her hand in gratitude for the attention, she felt instinctively that she had not occupied his thoughts.

"I say, Joe, what ails you?" she asked, tenderly. "Did I hurt your feelin's when I asked ef you had noos from home? I thought you'd know it was fun."

"Ah, no; you have never been unkind to me; you're a good girl. I'm not ungrateful; you must never think that – but – "

"But you're sick," she interrupted. "I just knew there was somethin' out er kilter when you kum in, fur you looked so kinder wore out. I'll run and git you some brandy."

He held her back. "No – no; stay – it's nothing; I'll be all right to-morrow – 'all hunky,' as you say." He laughed to reassure her, and asked where she got the apples.

"Jake fotched 'em up from Frisco, and it isn't everybody I'd hook things for, you'd better believe."

"Wouldn't you do it for Dick?" Joe asked, with a mischievous smile.

"None o' yer business," she returned, indignantly. It would have pleased her to notice even a suspicion of jealousy on Joe's part; but it seemed to her that the mention of his rival just at that moment was ill-timed, and she wondered why the fellow stupidly neglected his opportunities. He was evidently touched, though, for he folded her in his arms, and spoke affectionately.

"Tell me, Mary Jane," he said, looking into her eyes, "is it because you really like me so much that you are so kind to me and put nice things in my room? Did you think I couldn't guess who left the cake there yesterday?"

The girl blushed with pleasure, and her eyes fell beneath his gaze. When she raised them they were filled with tears, and her voice trembled when she spoke:

"Oh, Joe, if I didn't care so orful much for you I wouldn't be always gittin scolded about you; but – but – " She was interrupted by her sobs. Joe stroked her hair lovingly, and she wept freely upon his shoulder. "Ca-ant yer see I lo-ve you better nor Dick and all the rest o' the fellers put together?" she asked, at last.

He kissed her again and again, then darted away and left her alone.

"Well, ef he isn't the queerest lot I ever did see!" said Mary Jane, after convincing herself that he had really gone. "He hugs a girl different from any man I ever heerd of; Dick could give him pints on the subject and no mistake."

Prompted by coquetry and an earnest desire to arouse Joe's resentment, she lavished attentions on Dick the next morning, much to this individual's satisfaction. Her indignation was increased considerably at Joe's unmistakable indifference. Indeed, he took so little notice of her that after hastily swallowing a cup of coffee and refusing the viands she placed before him, he devoted himself to his horses, fondling them, calling each by name, rubbing their limbs, and adjusting the various straps and buckles about the harness, until the stable boys set up their shrill nasal cries:

"All aboard for You Bet! Here you are for Camptonville! This way for Downieville, Blue Tent, Forest City!"

At the sound of a loud, piercing whistle every driver springs to the box of his respective stage, the passengers take their places, crack go the whips, and the coaches are off.

They were scarcely out of sight before Fulton began to regret that he had persuaded his friend to remain over for a day's rest, for the doctor was evidently chafing at the delay, and he seemed unaccountably out of sorts. He wandered along the road, and evinced the greatest impatience every time he consulted his watch. He questioned the landlord so closely about the stage drivers that Fulton laughingly inquired whether he proposed establishing an opposition company.

The day dragged its slow length along, and sunset brought the excitement and bustle that accompanied the return of the stages. They came in at intervals, each depositing its passengers, bundles, boxes, and mail-bags, then disappearing in the direction of the stable. It was soon observed that the Camptonville coach, usually one of the first, had not returned. Supper was served at the customary hour, and by eight o'clock the men had assembled in the bar-room; still no Camptonville coach. The air was rife with conjecture.

"I say, Parkenson, wot's 'appened to 'er?" asked Captain Cullen; "she's genally the fust in."

"I reckon we'll have to go out in search of her putty soon ef she don't appear," replied the landlord, who was showing unmistakable signs of uneasiness.

"'Taint likely the road agents has stopped her, is it?" asked Bowles, in an awed tone.

"Wall, they'll find our Joe one too many for 'em ef they git arter him, for there ain't a better fighter nor a truer shot in the hull country," returned Parkenson, so ready to exalt Marshall's qualities that it required only a slight stretch of imagination to proclaim him a pugilist. "Wasn't I along with him oncet when the Injuns attacked him – "

"Yes," interrupted the Captain, "but Hinjuns is different from road hagents; yer hain't got no chance with a lot of fellers as jump hout from be'ind a tree with a rifle levelled at yer 'ead."

"But I tell you, I seen Joe," persisted the landlord, raising his voice with a determination to be heard, "when the derned redskins cum along whooping and yelling like a lot o' devils let loose. Joe never stopped to ask how he could sarve 'em, but he jest blazed away at 'em, keeping the mustangs straight along 'thout so much as lettin' a cuss or a sound out of his mouth."

This was one of Marshall's peculiarities. He was ostentatious in his silence, seldom uttering a syllable while driving, unless it was to give vent to some scarcely audible command to his horses.

The words had hardly passed Parkenson's lips when the sound of wheels and the clatter of horses' hoofs were heard. Everybody hastened to the door; even the women were on the alert, and they had to crane their necks to get a view over the heads of the men of the belated stage. Joe Marshall's seat on the box was filled by Tucker, a well known miner.

"Lend a hand, here, boys," he cried; "Marshall's knocked up, inside there." Quickly securing the reins he jumped to the ground, just as the stage door was thrown open. Another miner of the neighborhood sat in a corner, tenderly supporting the unconscious form of poor Joe, and under his direction a dozen willing hands were enlisted to convey the wounded young man to his room.

"You're a doctor, ain't yer?" asked Mary Jane of Carter, wringing her hands in distress, while tears streamed down her cheeks. "Then why don't yer take a holt and do somethin' for Joe?"

Carter's agitation was so great, however, that he was unable to offer suggestions, and, for the moment, forgetting the requirements of his profession, he simply moved along with the crowd.

Joe's clothing was torn and stained with blood; so were the lifeless hands which lay where they had been placed across his breast; while his long, brown hair fell back in a heavy, damp mass from his broad, pallid brow, revealing an ugly cut. A stream of blood trickled from the wound, to which the doctor mechanically pressed his handkerchief from time to time, while the others were lavish in their expressions of sympathy and regret. They laid the wounded driver gently on his cot, and then withdrew and placed themselves in the doorway to await the doctor's verdict, while the landlady bustled about somewhat noisily in her eagerness to procure the necessary restoratives.

"We must have more air and quiet," was the doctor's first remark, after he had carefully examined the wounds and counted the pulse of the injured man. No second hint was needed, and he and the landlady were left alone with the patient.

In the bar-room, Tucker was giving the details of the accident. "Joe must er felt that he was in fur hard luck, fur I noticed that he wasn't like hisself the minute I jined him. He looked so sour and seemed so low in his sperits that I asked wot was up. Then he seemed madder'n ever, and he druv so reckless that I was putty derned sure we wouldn't come out with whole hides. Sure enough, afore we knowed it, the animals shied at somethin' on the road and started to run. I got a holt onto the ribbons, Harris, here, a helpin' all he could; but Joe jist let go, and laid back until we came to a turn. Then away the poor fellow went flying over the rocks 's if he'd been shot from a cannon. As soon as we could git the horses hauled in and quieted down, we went back to get Joe. We thought he was dead, but Harris got some water and throwed it on him till he began to groan, then we fixed him in the stage and fotched him along. That's the upshot of the hull business. It's dern'd lucky you had a doctor handy, though he don't seem to be much 'count."

After duly discussing the accident in all its bearings, the bar-room occupants disposed themselves as usual at the card tables.

The clock struck ten. At that moment Mary Jane, who having failed to obtain news through Joe's keyhole, had taken her stand at a window which commanded a view of the stable, saw her aunt emerge. In an instant she was at her heels, and the two women entered the bar-room together.

Mrs. Parkenson wore a mysterious air, and there was something about her that attracted all eyes. It was easy to see that she brought important tidings. Her eyes glistened, her face was flushed, and she seemed bristling with information. Some of the men rose and gathered about her, asking questions.

"He isn't wuss, is he?" said Mary Jane, with an injured air, adding: "I reckon it wouldn't take a month to git it out, ef he wus." The girl thought she had been left out in the cold, and resented her dismissal from the patient's chamber.

But without according her the slightest possible attention, Mrs. Parkenson addressed herself to the men. "What do you all think?" she asked, at last, without expecting or awaiting a reply. "When the boys were sent out of the room the doctor jest kept starin' at Joe, till I thought he was goin' to let the poor feller die 'thout doin' the fust thing for him; so I spoke up, and gave my opinion of the case. Then he roused himself, for he seemed most as much dazed as Joe was, and began doin' things to bring the boy to. At last I ses, 'Let's put his feet in hot water;' and away I started for the bucket; well, it was a long time before I could git the water to bile, and when I went back to Joe's room – of course I didn't stop to knock – what do you think I saw? You'll never guess, not if you tried a hundred years. There sot the doctor on the bed a huggin' and kissin' Joe, a-cryin' and callin' him his darlin', his long-lost pet, his angel, and all such nonsense. I thought he was crazy; the bucket fell out of my hand, and the bilin' water went streaming over the floor. If Joe hadn't er spoke to me, I dunno what I wouldn't er done to that doctor. He wouldn't let Joe say much, but he turned to me and explained that Joe ain't a he at all; he's a simon-pure, flesh-and-blood woman." She almost screamed the last words in her eagerness to make the climax effective.

For an instant the air was filled with ejaculations, so varied, so original, so potent, that Fulton, who was a stranger to the local phrases, was as much astonished at them as he could have been at the news of Joe's sex. His head reeled as he turned from one to another.

"No woman could er druv them 'orses over sech roads," at last exclaimed Captain Cullen, with a highly indignant air; "you'll hexcuse me ef I refuse to believe such 'umbug."

"Well, ef Joe's a woman, who is she, anyhow?" asked Dick Bowles, with a triumphant glance at Mary Jane.

"It's a dirty, mean shame, that's wot it is," said that young woman, angry tears welling up to her eyes.

"Joe's real name is Josephine Marsh," continued Mrs. Parkenson, anxious to keep the floor as long as possible, "and ef you'll jest listen to me a minute longer, I'll tell you the hull story. It seems that Joe's mother died in an insane asylum, and that is the cause of the hull trouble. Joe was engaged to be married to this very doctor, who lives in the town she cum from; well, one night she heard some of her folks talkin' about crazy people, and all of 'em agreed that when there was that sort er trouble in a family no marryin' ought to be allowed, and they told the reason why. Joe loved her beau too much to run the risk of bringin' such a misfortune on him as they described it to be, and she couldn't bear to stay right there and break with him, so she up and skipped. The poor thing sacrificed her hull happiness for what she thought right, and I don't care what any er you say, I respect her for it. I left the doctor explaining that her mother's case couldn't affect anybody but her own self; I don't quite understand how he made it out, but Joe was satisfied; that I could see plain enough, for it brought the color back to her cheeks in a jiffy, and she jest looked as pretty as a picter. I don't see how any of us could ever have believed such a sweet lookin' creetur to be a man, or a boy either, for that matter."

"I ain't a bit surprised," calmly observed Mary Jane, with a curl of the lip, Then turning to Dick Bowles, who beamed with happiness, she added. "I kinder thunk there was sumthin' peculiar about Joe all the time."

What Dick's private opinion may have been did not appear, for he was careful not to discuss the subject with his lady-love. It satisfied him to find that when he took her hand and pressed it tenderly, she allowed it to rest in his.

Rosalie Kaufman.

EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT

THE LATE ELECTION

There are two lessons, taught by the late contention, that the people will be slow to learn until coming events force them to a knowledge.

The first is, that our government has passed from the political fabric built us by the fathers to a financial concern in which private interests dominate public affairs.

The second is, that no public man, let his honesty and influence be what they may, can menace the moneyed power of our land and remain in public life.

We are so accustomed to being fed on phrases that we lose in their use the object for which they were framed. Our fathers sought the shores of America to escape oppression at home. The sum total of the despotism was found in the fact that while they who produced all enjoyed nothing, they who produced nothing enjoyed all. In framing certain legal enactments, in the shape of a constitution that was supposed to be good against such inequality and injustice, the fathers thought to eliminate privileged classes by wiping out the laws of primogeniture and entail. They took no account, for they could not know, of the corporation, that has all the powers and privileges of the born aristocracy, and renders all the guarantees of the constitution of no avail.

Under the power of the corporation we have a hundred and fifty thousand miles of operating railway that has passed to the control and into the virtual ownership of less than sixty families. To this combination has gone an attribute of sovereignty found in the power to tax the people. As Senators Sherman, Conkling, and Windom said, in their famous report to the Senate, this railroad power can tax all the products of the country in a way Congress dare not attempt. This iron network of rails enters every man's business and pleasure, and is the taxation without representation that brought on the Revolution and gave birth to our government. The people lose through fraud all that they gained through violence; and, sad to say, generally with their own consent.

We have the telegraph, so necessary to our business, which science gave as the poor man's post, for it consists of a wire, a pole, a battery, and a boy, that is openly owned and operated as a luxury by one man.

The currency, the life-blood of trade, is farmed out to something over two thousand corporations, that, acting as one, contract or expand it to suit their own greed.

We are cursed with a system, called a tax, but which is in fact an extortion, that, under the plea of favoring certain moneyed interests, not only forces the consumer to support the burthens of a government kept upon a war footing nearly a quarter of a century after the war closed, but enables less than a million out of sixty millions to accumulate means until our rich men are marvels to mankind. The great Republic, through this process, has entered the avenues of private enterprise, and with its crushing weight reduces labor to starvation wages.

All these combined form trusts, as they are called, which, limiting production, shut out competition, and accumulate for the favored few while the masses suffer.

All then, united, make our government; for government is that power from which there is no appeal, upon which we depend for a recognition of our rights. This power elects our Congress, selects our Presidents, and intimidates our courts.

To meet it we have a government of parties. It is a cast-iron, immovable, insensitive concern, farther removed from popular control than any government on earth. The party once in power can perpetuate that power under the best of circumstances; but when backed by the monopolized wealth of the continent it cannot be displaced. History tells us that it called for bayonets and bloodshed to displace the Democratic party in '61, and we fear history will repeat itself when a long-suffering and outraged people come to recognize the source of their wrongs and the cause of their sufferings.

In addition to this, there is an ugly rock on which we once were nearly shipwrecked, upon which we are again driving. The sectional differences of '61 have been steadily cultivated for selfish partisan ends, and to-day the North is united, as far as a majority can unite, against a solid South. While recognizing the fact that it is only through a careful and jealous guardianship of the home governments found in the States that this wide continent can be held under one control as a nation, we have the dominant party fatally bent on a centralization of power in the political structure at Washington. The negro is the Chinaman of the South, and while Congress excludes through legal enactment the Mongolian from our midst, that same Congress presses the ignorant, vicious African upon the South. This means not only a subversion of political rights, but a social revolution that will make a San Domingo and an Ireland of half our territorial limits. The South cannot submit to this and live. The South has given a bloody pledge to its intent in this direction, that it would be well for us to remember. The North can welcome negroes to its firesides, may return them to office because of their color, for this means votes, and nothing more. But at the South it signifies a great deal more: it means the subjugation of the white race politically and socially to the domination of the most degraded and ignorant class known to humanity.