The Award of Justice; Or, Told in the Rockies: A Pen Picture of the West

A party of eight or ten ladies and gentlemen, including three or four tourists from the east, had come out from Silver City. They had come with wagons, bringing a large tent which was to be put up for those who could not be accommodated in the house. They proved to be very pleasant people, and during the ensuing ten days of their stay, Miss Gladden and Lyle seldom saw each other apart from their guests. There were numerous excursions to various points of interest, moonlight rides on the lake and impromptu dances.

Houston at this time was more than usually occupied, as the day after the arrival of the camping party, Mr. Blaisdell unexpectedly appeared upon the scene. He arrived quite early in the morning, having been brought by special train from the Y. He found Houston alone in the office, and greeted him with a cordiality quite surprising to the latter, considering his taciturn, dissatisfied manner when at the mines a few days before. He seemed in no hurry to leave the office, but remained talking for some time concerning business affairs at Silver City.

“I may want you to run over there, just for a day, while I’m here,” he said at length, “for I expect to remain out here for about a week. By the way, Houston, I hear you pitched into old Hartwell one night, over there at the hotel, for some remarks he made about the company.”

“Ah,” said Houston, “how did you hear of that?”

“There was a friend of mine there, who overheard Hartwell’s talk, and afterward saw you go up and speak to him. Having seen you in our office, he had a little curiosity as to what was going on. He said Hartwell cursed you up hill and down, but that you were so damned cool the old fellow couldn’t rattle you. Hartwell told him afterward that you threatened to compel him to substantiate all he had said, and he was glad that the old fellow, for once, found somebody that wasn’t afraid of him.”

“Oh, no,” said Houston, quietly, “I didn’t see any reason for being afraid.”

“Well,” said Mr. Blaisdell, “I liked your spirit all right, but then, men like Hartwell are not worth paying any attention to. He is interested in another company, so of course he tries to run down ours, and he has a certain clique that he has persuaded to think just as he does. I never think it best to notice any of his remarks.”

“If he had simply made a few remarks,” said Houston in reply, “I would of course have let them remain unnoticed, but he had continued his harangue for nearly an hour before I spoke to him, so I thought it as well to have a word with him myself.”

“Oh, that was all right, perfectly right on your part, only I have adopted the policy of letting barking dogs alone.”

After a little further conversation, Mr. Blaisdell looked over the books, and finding everything in satisfactory shape, remarked:

“You seem to have familiarized yourself very thoroughly with the work so far as you have gone, and in a very short time. You will doubtless remember, Mr. Houston, that when we engaged you, you were told that we should probably need your services later at the mines, in assisting the general superintendent. Morgan’s work is increasing lately, and I have been thinking that I would much prefer to have a trustworthy person like yourself, assist him, even if we have to employ another bookkeeper, than to put on an entirely new man at the mines. I am going out to the mines this afternoon, to see how Morgan is getting along, and I think that to-morrow we will close the office, and you had better go out with me, and I will show you the work that I wish you to have charge of there. It probably will not take all your time, you will still be in the office more or less, at least enough to superintend the work in case I bring out a new man. He will simply work under your direction and supervision, the responsibility will all devolve upon you.”

For the next day or two, Houston’s time was spent at the mines, familiarizing himself with the underground workings, and becoming acquainted with the different classes and grades of ore, and the various methods of mining and reducing the same.

This was just the opportunity for which Houston had been waiting, and he entered upon his new work with a zest and enthusiasm that delighted Mr. Blaisdell, and even won the esteem of Morgan. On the second day, to Houston’s great joy, he was given charge, under Morgan, of what was known as the “Yankee” group of mines, containing the Yankee Boy, the Yankee Girl and the Puritan, the three most valuable mines in which the New York company was interested.

In passing through one of these mines, Houston noticed two miners working together with wonderful precision and accuracy, and on looking at them closely, recognized in one of them, the man whom Rutherford had pointed out to him on the train from Valley City, and of whom he had heard Miss Gladden speak as Lyle’s friend. The man seemed to pay little attention to his being there, and on coming out, Houston inquired of Mr. Blaisdell concerning him.

“I can tell you nothing about him,” replied Mr. Blaisdell, “except that he and his partner, the Irishman, are the two most expert miners we have. They live by themselves, and refuse to mingle with the other men, consequently they are not very popular among the miners, but of course that cuts no figure with us, so long as they are skilled workmen.”

The next day, Houston went to Silver City, on business for Mr. Blaisdell, and while there, sent the following message over the wires, to Van Dorn:

“Everything in readiness; bring machinery at once.”

Upon his return to the mining camp to enter upon his new duties, Houston resolved to make a careful study of the men working under him, both foremen and miners, for the purpose of determining whether there were among them any whom he could trust sufficiently to seek from them whatever assistance might be necessary for himself and Van Dorn in their future work.

Accordingly, for the first few days, he spent considerable time in the mines, apparently examining the workings, but in reality watching the men themselves. Among some of them he saw black looks and scowls, and heard muttered comments regarding himself: “Git onto the dude!” “D’ye see the tenderfoot?” “Thinks he’s goin’ to boss us, does he? we’ll show him a trick or two.” These were mainly from Maverick’s consorts, and men of their ilk, ignorant and brutal. Houston paid no attention to their remarks or frowns, but continued his rounds among them, conscious that he was master of the situation, meanwhile giving instructions to the foreman who accompanied him. As he passed and repassed Jack and Mike, working together with almost the automatic precision of machinery, he stopped to watch them, attracted partly by admiration for their work, and partly by a slight interest in the man who had been his fellow passenger, and concerning whom he had heard such various reports.

During the slight pause in their work, the Irishman eyed him curiously, with indications of his native drollery and humor betraying themselves in his mirthful face; he seemed about to speak, but Jack, with set, stern features, was ready, and the work continued without a word. In that brief interim, however, Jack had fixed one of his keen, piercing glances upon Houston, which the latter returned with one equally searching, and though not a muscle relaxed in that immobile face, covered with dust and grime, yet a strange thrill of mutual sympathy quivered and vibrated through the soul of each man, and Houston knew that he had found a friend.

“There is a man among a thousand,” he thought as he walked away, “a man of honor, in whom one could place unbounded confidence; no wonder Lyle has found him such a friend!”

At the next pause in their work, Mike’s feelings found expression:

“Begorra! but the young mon is progressin’ foinely, to be put over the loikes of us, and bein’ as how most loikely he niver sit foot in a moine, till comin’ out into this counthry!”

Jack’s face had grown strangely set and white: “We are to be his friends, remember that, Mike,” he said, in a voice unnaturally stern.

“Frinds!” exclaimed the astonished Mike, “Be-dad! and whin did I iver know ye to make frinds with ony of owld Blaisdell’s men befoor?”

“Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, Mike,” was Jack’s only reply as he again began work, and Mike had nothing to do but to follow his example.

CHAPTER XXVI

In a short time Houston had become perfectly familiar with his new surroundings. He was thoroughly at home in the underground workings, readily finding his way in the labyrinth of shafts, tunnels and cross-cuts extending for miles in all directions, and connecting the various mining claims one with another.

He knew the name and face of nearly every man employed in the various shifts, and by his keen perception and insight, was able to form a very correct estimate of their character and standing in that little community. Though no words had been exchanged between himself and Jack beyond those of the most commonplace greetings, yet his respect for the man, and confidence in him, increased with each day, and was plainly indicated by his manner toward him whenever they met.

As he watched the men, in his frequent rounds through the mines, most of their faces were to him as an open book, on some of whose pages he read histories of misfortune and loss, or crime and shame in the past, and on others, of eager ambitions and bright hopes for the future. There were men with gray hair and bowed forms, whose dull eyes and listless step told of hopeless, irretrievable loss; men of intelligence and ability whose recklessness or whose despondency told of some living sorrow, worse than death; there were some whose stealthy, shrinking gait and watchful, suspicious glance bespoke some crime, unknown to their fellows, but which to themselves seemed ever present, suspended, like the sword of Damocles, above their heads.

But even to Houston, Jack remained a mystery, and as he noted the powerful, athletic form, the profile of patrician beauty, perfect as though chiseled in marble, the hair and beard black and glossy as the raven’s wing, though touched with silver here and there, he found himself unable to read the history of that life.

“There is a man,” he soliloquized, “my equal, if not my superior, in birth, in education, in intellectual ability; how came he here? What has wrecked his life?”

But the dark, piercing eyes, turned on him for an instant, gave no answer to his query.

As he and Morgan, their day’s work completed, were returning to the house, Houston made some inquiries regarding the men, and from the information given by Morgan concerning some of them, found his own judgment of them correct.

“And who is the man called ‘Jack,’ who works with the Irishman?”

“Heaven knows, I don’t, nor nobody else,” replied Morgan; “he came here about six or seven years ago, I guess, at least; he was here when I came, and was considered an expert then. He never would have anything to say to the other men, and always lived by himself till the Irishman came; he was another queer sort of duck and was a first-class miner, too, so him and Jack has worked together and lived together ever since, but Jack is boss.”

“Are they the only miners living by themselves?” asked Houston.

“The only single men; there’s six or seven of ’em that are married and have families, like Maverick; they have very good shacks, furnished by the company, but all the single men, excepting them two, live at the quarters. By the way, have you ever been down to the quarters?”

“No,” replied Houston, “but I should like very well to visit them.”

“All right, we’ll go to-night if you like; I go down there myself once in a while and listen to their stories; they’ve most of ’em had some queer experiences, and they can spin as many yarns as a lot of sailors, any time.”

Later in the evening, Houston, having excused himself to the ladies in general, and Miss Gladden in particular, accompanied by Morgan, was on his way to the miners’ quarters. The latter were situated but a short distance from the office, on the road to the mines, and consisted of two boarding houses and four bunk houses. Farther down the road were the stables for the horses used in hauling supplies; also blacksmith and carpenter shops, and a storehouse.

A rather novel scene presented itself to Houston as he approached. Scattered about on the ground, and loafing in the door-ways in all attitudes and positions, were over a hundred men, of various ages, classes and nationalities, but principally Cornishmen, or, in western vernacular, “Cousin Jacks.” Many of them were strangers to him, being employed in other mines than those with which he was familiar, but among them were many of his own men. From the door-way of one of the bunk houses came the strains of a violin, while in another, a concertina shrieked and groaned, and from all directions came the sound of ribald songs, coarse jests and boisterous laughter. Here and there were groups of men engaged in playing poker or seven-up, where little piles of silver and gold were rapidly changing hands, to the accompaniment of muttered oaths. At one side, Maverick and a few kindred spirits seemed trying to outrival one another in profanity and obscenity, while at some distance from them, was a large company of the better class of men, some lounging against trees and rocks, some sitting or lying at full length on the ground, but all listening with unmistakable interest, to a man, gray and grizzled, with a weather-beaten but kindly face, who evidently was entertaining the crowd with tales of his own early life.

As Houston and Morgan approached, the speaker stopped; some of the men half rose from their recumbent positions out of respect for the “new boss,” and all eyed him rather curiously, though not unkindly. Houston recognized many of his own men among them, and greeted them with a pleasant “Good evening, boys.”

“Hullo, Billy,” said Morgan, addressing the old miner, “what do you know to-night?” then noting that he was watching Houston with a half smile on his rugged face, he added, “Thought I’d bring the boss down to see you and the rest of the boys to-night.”

“Good evenin’ boss,” responded the old fellow, while a merry smile twinkled in his eyes, “I expect this is your first visit to a reg’lar, genuwine minin’ camp?”

“My first, perhaps, but not my last,” said Houston, with a winning smile.

“That’s right,” said the old man approvingly, as he proceeded to refill his pipe; “I’ve been a watchin’ you, off and on, down there at the mines, bein’ as I’d heerd you was a tenderfoot, and I must say you’ve took a holt as if you was an old hand at the job.”

“Oh, yes,” Houston replied, “with a little determination, a person can pick up anything of that kind easily. I think, with a little practice, I could make a pretty successful miner; it would require grit and stick-to-it-ativeness, that’s all.”

“‘Grit and stick-to-it-ativeness,’ that’s good,” said the old miner, highly pleased, “well, you seem to have plenty of ’em both, and plenty of good muscle, too,” with an admiring glance at Houston’s fine, athletic form.

“See here, Billy,” said Houston pleasantly, after chatting a few moments, “when we came, it looked very much as though you were telling stories to the crowd here, and the boys all seemed very much interested; now we want you to go on with your story, we would enjoy it as much as the rest.”

“Let me see,” said Billy, “I don’t remember just where I was, but I guess I’d finished as you come up.”

“Never mind, you can start another,” said Houston.

“Yes, Billy, give us another,” chimed in the boys.

“Go ahead, pardner,” added Morgan, “spin us a yarn, that’s what we came for.”

“I was only tellin’ the boys about the old days when I came out to the mines, and for the first few years after,” Billy began.

“Those must have been interesting times,” said Houston.

“Int’restin’? I should say so! You fellows don’t know nothin’ about minin’ compared to them days; I tell you, things was lively then. I was there at Leadville when it was opened up, and you couldn’t get anybody to look at you without payin’ ’em a good, round sum for it; couldn’t get a place to roll yourself in your blanket and lie on the floor short of five or ten dollars; folks bought dry goods boxes and lived in ’em. Then I was down here when they opened up the Big Bonanza mine, in Diamond gulch, not far from Silver City. I tell you boys, them was high old times, everything was scarce and prices was high,–flour was a hundred dollars a sack, and potatoes seventy-five dollars a bushel,–but money was plenty,–or gold dust,–we didn’t have no money, everything was paid for in gold dust. ’Twas pretty tough in them days, too, everybody went armed to the teeth, and guns and knives was used pretty free.”

“Was that in the days of the vigilantes?” asked Houston.

“Yes, they come along soon after, they had to. There was desperate characters here, but the vigilantes made short work of ’em, they didn’t even give ’em time to say their prayers. I tell you, the gambling houses and the dance halls, and all them places was lively in them days. There wasn’t many words over a game, if any quarrels come up, they was settled pretty quick with the revolver or bowie knife.”

“There must have been some high stakes played in those days,” Houston remarked.

“High? well, yes, rather; I’ve seen men sit down to a game worth anywhere from fifty to two or three hundred thousand, and get up without a cent in the world.”

The old man paused to relight his pipe, and having puffed reflectively for a few moments, settled himself with the air of a man who has a long story to tell, and the surrounding miners evidently so understood it, for they shifted their positions accordingly, and prepared to listen.

“Speakin’ of gamblin’,” he began, “puts me in mind of something that happened among the camps on the other side of the range, nigh onto fifteen years ago. A gang of us boys was in Dandy Jim’s gambling hall one night. The place was crowded, I remember, and we was all tryin’ to make our fortunes on the high card. Some of us was dead broke, but them that hadn’t the stuff borrowed from them that had, sure of better luck next time. They was all so deep in the game that none of ’em noticed a seedy-lookin’ chap who come in, kinder quiet like, and set down to the faro table and began to play. I guess I was the only one who noticed him, and at first, I couldn’t make him out, but after a bit, I remembered him as ‘Unlucky Pete.’ That man had a history. When I first saw him, some eight or ten years before that night, he had just come west with his wife, a pretty little woman, and had a good team of horses and a new wagon. He was a reg’lar border character, and whenever a new country was opened up for settlement, him and his wife was the first on the ground, ready to make a run to secure a home. Pete was prosperous, till one night, in a quarrel over a game of cards, he killed his man, and from that time his luck changed. He secured one or two good claims, but lost title to them; he lost his horses, and as fast as he bought other horses, they died or was stolen, and everything went against him. He wandered from one country to another, but bad luck met him at every turn. The last I seen him was some two years before; then him and his wife and two or three babies was goin’ over the country in an old, broken-down wagon. The wheels was held together with wire and ropes, and the canvas top was in rags and tatters; the horses was the poorest, skinniest creatures you ever see, and him and his wife looked off the same piece.

“Well, somehow or ’nuther, I knew him that night, though he looked harder than ever, and had an old slouched hat down over his face. He looked like a man that was pushed pretty close to the wall, and had got down to his last nickel. Well, he set down there to the table, and threw a silver dollar on the high card; then pulled that old hat down clean over his eyes, and never spoke, or looked one way or another. The high card won, and the dealer paid the bet, and pushed the money over to Pete, but he never stirred.

“Well, that high card kep’ a winnin’ till there was a big pile of money there, but Pete, he never stirred, no more’n a stone. The dealer, he got mad and begun to swear, but Pete didn’t move.

“‘Somebody wake that fool up,’ says he, with an oath.

“A fellow sittin’ next to Pete shook him, and then tore off his hat. Well, boys, I’ll never forget that sight, it makes me sort o’ shiver now, when I think of it; there set a dead man at the table before that pile of gold.

“The dealer started to rake in that pile o’ money, but about a dozen revolvers was p’inted at him, and he decided not to be in too big a hurry about it.

“‘What’s the use anyway?’ says he, ‘the man’s dead and the money’s no good for him, and besides, nobody knows who he is.’

“‘I do,’ says I, jumpin’ up.

“‘And I,’ says another fellow, ‘the man just come into camp a day or two ago, and his family’s starvin’.”

“Well, we bundled that money up pretty sudden, and a half a dozen of us started to find the folks; we found ’em, too, but the wife was dead, starved to death, and the children wouldn’t have lasted much longer. The oldest, a girl about eight years old, told that they had nothin’ to eat for two days, and her father found the dollar, and started down to the store for food, but soon after he left the cabin, the mother died.

“We buried Pete and his wife in one grave, and then with the pile of money we got good homes for the children, and some of it was to be used in givin’ ’em a good eddication, and the last I heerd, they was comin’ on well. But I’ve never set down to a game sence, that I haven’t thought of the night I played faro, with a dead man at the table.”

At the conclusion of the old miner’s story, a little suppressed thrill of excitement ran through his audience. Morgan, who had seemed restless and ill at ease, rose to go, and Houston, finding it much later than he supposed, after a few pleasant words with the boys, bade them good night, and hastened after Morgan, who was already sauntering up the road a little way in advance.

CHAPTER XXVII

“Well,” said Morgan, as Houston overtook him, “what do you think of a ‘genuwine minin’ camp,’ as Billy calls it?”

“The quarters are much more extensive than I supposed,” replied Houston, “I never realized before that there were so many men employed here; some of them are good fellows, too, I enjoyed my visit to-night immensely.”

“I generally like to come down and listen to them once in a while,” said Morgan, “but somehow, I didn’t care to stay there to-night, that story of Billy’s made me feel sort of creepy; I’m feeling a little off to-night, anyway.”

“That was a strange story the old fellow told, almost bordering on the improbable, it seemed to me, but I suppose there are a great many strange occurrences in a country like this.”

“Yes, lots of things happen here, and folks think nothing of ’em, that would be considered improbable anywhere back east.”

“Are you from the east?” inquired Houston.

“Yes, part way,” said Morgan, “not from way back, though, I’ve never been farther east than Ohio. I was born in Missouri, and raised in northern Iowa.”

He was silent for a moment, then continued: “I believe I told you one day that sometime I’d give you a bit of my life; I guess now’s as good as any time, and when you’ve heard it, maybe you won’t wonder at some of my views.

“As I said, I was born in Missouri; when I was about three years old, my folks moved to Iowa. I can just remember my father being with us at that time, but I never saw him after I was three and a half or so, and when I got old enough to think about it and ask for him, mother told me he was dead, and I never knew anything different till years after. We were always moving, I remember, from one place to another, and though we never had any money saved up, yet we lived well and never wanted for anything. Mother used to have a good deal of company, and be away from home considerable, but she was always kind to me, and I was a soft, warm-hearted, little chap in those days, and I know I thought the world of her.

“We lived together till I was about ten years old, and then times began to get pretty close; mother didn’t have any money, and we had to pinch to get along, but she was always good to me.

“Finally she decided to go to Denver; said she had heard of an opening there for her to run a boarding house and make money, but she didn’t want to take me with her, and sent me to a brother of hers, living in Ohio. That was the end of all happiness for me. He was a man old enough to be my grandfather, for mother was the youngest of a large family. He and his wife lived by themselves, for they had no children, and a meaner, stingier old couple never lived. Mother wrote pretty often at first, and always sent money, but don’t you think I ever got any of it. They never mentioned my mother to me, and they wouldn’t let me speak of her.