On the whole, this prospect did not appear to be of an encouragingcharacter, and Tom Hadley quietly dropped the plan.
"Perhaps we can buy them," suggested Mosely by way of amendment. "I'vegot tired of tramping over these hills on foot. After we've got somesupper we'll inquire who they belong to."
Up to this point neither Mosely nor his companion suspected that themustangs which they desired to purchase had once been in theirpossession. That discovery was to come later.
Before reaching the Golden Gulch Hotel they encountered the landlord,already introduced as Jim Brown.
Mr. Brown scanned the new-comers with an eye to business. Beingstrangers, he naturally looked upon them as possible customers, and wasdisposed from motives of policy to cultivate their acquaintance.
"Evenin', strangers," he remarked, as affably as a rather gruff voiceand manner would permit.
"Good-evening," said Bill Mosely, socially. "What might be the name ofthis settlement?"
"You kin see the name on that sign yonder, stranger, ef your eyes arestrong enough."
"Golden Gulch?"
"I reckon."
"It ought to be a good place, from the name."
"It's middlin' good. Where might you be from?"
"We're prospectin' a little," answered Bill Mosely vaguely; for therehad been circumstances in his California career that made it impoliticto be too definite in his statements.
"Where are you bound?" continued the landlord, with that licensedcuriosity which no one ventured to object to in California.
"That depends upon circumstances, my friend," said Bill Mosely,guardedly. "We may go to 'Frisco, and then again we may not. To-night wepropose to remain here in Golden Gulch. Is that a comfortable hotel?"
"Well, stranger, seein' I keep it myself, it mightn't be exactly thething for me to say much about it; but I reckon you won't complain of itif you stop there."
"I'm glad to meet you," said Bill Mosely, grasping the landlord's handfervently. "I don't need to ask any more about it, seein' you're thelandlord. You look like a man that can keep a hotel--eh, Tom?"
"I should say so," returned Tom Hadley, making the answer that wasexpected of him.
"You're a gentleman!" said Jim Brown, on whom this flattery had itseffect. "Just come along with me and I'll see that you are treated assuch."
"What are your terms, say, for supper and lodgin', landlord?" askedBill, with commendable caution.
"Five dollars," answered Brown.
Bill Mosely's jaw fell. He had hoped it would be less.
"And for supper alone?" he asked.
"Two dollars."
"We'll only take supper," said Mosely.
"Just as you say."
"We're so used to campin' out that we couldn't breathe in-doors--eh,Tom?"
"I should say so, Bill."
"Suit yourselves, strangers. I reckon you'll want breakfast in themornin'."
"As likely as not." Then, turning his attention to the mustangs: "Arethem mustangs yours, landlord?"
"No; they belong to a party that's stoppin' with me."
"Will they sell?"
"I reckon not. There's a lame man in the party, and he can't walk much."
"A lame man? Who is with him?" asked Bill Mosely, with a suddensuspicion of the truth.
"Well, there's another man and a boy and a heathen Chinee."
"Tom," said Bill Mosely, in excitement, "it's the party we left on themountain."
"I should say so, Bill."
"Do you know them, strangers?"
"Know them?" ejaculated Bill Mosely, who instantly formed a plan whichwould gratify his love of vengeance and secure him the coveted horses atone and the same time--"I reckon I know them only too well. They stolethose mustangs from me and my friend a week ago. I thought them animalslooked natural."
"Hoss-thieves!" said the landlord. "Well, I surmised there was somethingwrong about them when they let that yaller heathen set down to the tablewith them."
CHAPTER XVI.
A TRAVESTY OF JUSTICE.
It was speedily noised about in the mining-camp that a party ofhorse-thieves had had the audacity to visit the settlement, and wereeven now guests of the Golden Gulch Hotel.
Now, in the eyes of a miner a horse-thief was as bad as a murderer. Hewas considered rather worse than an ordinary thief, since the characterof his theft gave him better facilities for getting away with hisplunder. He was looked upon by all as a common and dangerous enemy, onwhom any community was justified in visiting the most condignpunishment.
Bill Mosely knew very well the feeling he would rouse against the menwhom he hated, and, having started the movement, waited complacently forthe expected results to follow.
Jim Brown was by no means slow in spreading the alarm. True, these menwere his guests, and it might be considered that it was against hisinterests to denounce them, but he knew his claim for entertainmentwould be allowed him out of the funds found in possession of the party,with probably a liberal addition as a compensation for revealing theirreal character.
Horse-thieves! No sooner did the news spread than the miners, most ofwhom were through work for the day, began to make their way to theneighborhood of the hotel.
There hadn't been any excitement at Golden Gulch for some time, and thispromised a first-class sensation.
"Hang 'em up! That's what I say," suggested Brown the landlord.
"Where's the men that call 'em thieves?" asked one of the miners, amiddle-aged man, who was sober and slow-spoken, and did not look like aman to be easily carried away by a storm of prejudice or a wave ofexcitement.
"Here they be," said Brown, pointing to Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley, whowere speedily surrounded by an excited crowd.
"What have you say?" asked the first speaker of Mosely.
Bill Mosely repeated his story glibly. It was to this effect: They hadmet the Chinaman, who induced them to accompany him to the cabin wherehis master lay sick. From motives of compassion they assented. When theyreached the cabin they were set upon by the combined party, their horseswere taken from them, they were tied to trees, where they were kept ingreat pain all night, and in the morning stripped of the greater part oftheir money and sent adrift.
It will be seen that the story did not entirely deviate from fact, andwas very artfully framed to excite sympathy for the narrator andindignation against the perpetrators of the supposed outrage. TomHadley, who had not the prolific imagination of his comrade, listened inopen-mouthed wonder to the fanciful tale, but did not offer tocorroborate it in his usual manner.
The tale was so glibly told that it carried conviction to the minds ofmost of those present, and a storm of indignation arose.
"Let's have 'em out! let's hang 'em up!" exclaimed one impetuous miner.
Others echoed the cry, and the company of miners in stern phalanxmarched to the hotel, where, unconscious of the impending peril, ourfriends were resting after the day's fatigue.
We have already described the manner in which Jim Brown burst in uponthem with the startling charge that they were horse-thieves.
Of course all were startled except Ki Sing, who did not fully comprehendthe situation.
Richard Dewey was the first to speak. "What do you mean," he said,sternly, "by this preposterous charge?"
"You'll find out soon enough," said the landlord, nodding significantly."Jest you file out of that door pretty quick. There's some of us want tosee you."
"What does all this mean?" asked Dewey, turning to Jake Bradley.
"I don't know," answered Bradley. "It looks like a conspiracy."
The party filed out, and were confronted by some thirty or fortyblack-bearded, stern-faced men, who had tried and condemned them inadvance of their appearance.
Richard Dewey glanced at the faces before him, and his spirit sankwithin him. He had been present at a similar scene before--a scene whichhad terminated in a tragedy--and he knew how swift and relentless thosemen could be. Who could have made such a charge he did not yet
know,but, innocent as he and his companions were, he knew that their wordwould not be taken, and the mistake might lead to death. But he was nota man to quail or blanch.
"Hoss-thieves! string 'em up!" was shouted from more than one throat.
Richard Dewey calmly surveyed the angry throng. "Gentlemen," he said, "Iam no more a horse-thief than any one of you."
There was a buzz of indignation, as if he had confessed his guilt andimplicated them in it.
"I demand to see and face my accusers," he said boldly. "What man hasdared to charge me and my friends with the mean and contemptible crimeof stealing horses?"
Jake Bradley had been looking about him too. Over the heads of the men,who stood before them drawn up in a semicircle, he saw what had escapedthe notice of Richard Dewey, the faces and figures of Bill Mosely andTom Hadley.
"Dick," said he, suddenly, "I see it all. Look yonder! There are themtwo mean skunks, Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley. It's they who have beenbringin' this false slander ag'in us."
Richard Dewey and Ben immediately looked in the direction indicated.
Bill Mosely eyed them with a glance of evil and exulting triumph, asmuch as to say, "It's my turn now; I am having my revenge."
But Jim Brown, who seemed to be acting as prosecuting attorney, hadalready summoned the two men to come forward and testify.
"Here's the men!" he said, exultingly. "Here's the men you robbed oftheir horses and tied to trees.--Isn't it so, stranger?"
Bill Mosely inclined his head in the affirmative, and Tom Hadley, beingalso asked, answered, but rather faintly, "I should say so."
Lying did not come as natural to him as to Bill.
Richard Dewey laughed scornfully.
"Are those the men," he asked, "who charge us with stealing theirhorses?"
"In course they do."
"Then," burst forth Jake Bradley, impetuously, "of all the impudent andlyin' scoundrels I ever met, they'll carry off the prize."
"Of course you deny it," said Bill Mosely, brazenly persisting in hisfalsehood. "A man that'll steal will lie. Perhaps you will charge uswith stealin' the horses next."
"That's just what I do," said Bradley, in an excited tone. "You're notonly horse-thieves, but you'll take gold-dust an' anything else you canlay your hands on."
"Gentlemen," said Bill Mosely, shrugging his shoulders, "you see how heis tryin' to fasten his own guilt on me and my innocent pard here. Itisn't enough that he stole our horses and forced us to foot it overthem rough hills, but now he wants to steal away our reputation forhonor and honesty. He thinks you're easy to be imposed on, but I knowbetter. You won't see two innocent men lied about and charged withdisgraceful crimes?"
"I admire that fellow's cheek," said Bradley in an undertone to RichardDewey, but he soon found that the consequences were likely to bedisastrous to him and his party. The crowd were getting impatient, andreadily seconded the words of Jim Brown when he followed up BillMosely's speech by a suggestion that they proceed at once to vindicatejustice by a summary execution.
They rushed forward and seized upon our four friends, Ki Sing included,and hurried them off to a cluster of tall trees some twenty rods away.
CHAPTER XVII.
LYNCH LAW.
Nothing is so unreasoning as a crowd under excitement. The miners wereinflamed with fierce anger against men of whom they knew nothing, exceptthat they were accused of theft by two other men, of whom also they knewnothing. Whether the charge was true or false they did not stop toinquire. Apparently, they did not care. They only wanted revenge, andthat stern and immediate.
The moderate speaker, already referred to, tried to turn the tide by anappeal for delay. "Wait till morning," he said. "This charge may not betrue. Let us not commit an injustice."
But his appeal was drowned in the cries of the excited crowd, "Hang thehorse-thieves! string 'em up."
Each of the four victims was dragged by a force which he couldn'tresist to the place of execution.
Richard Dewey was pale, but his expression was stern and contemptuous,as if he regarded the party of miners as fools or lunatics.
"Was this to be the end?" he asked himself. "Just as the prospect ofhappiness was opening before him, just as he was to be reunited to theobject of his affection, was he to fall a victim to the fury of a mob?"
Jake Bradley perhaps took the matter more philosophically than either ofthe other three. He had less to live for, and his attachment to life wasnot therefore so strong. Still, to be hanged as a thief was not apleasant way to leave life, and that was what he thought of most. Again,his sympathy was excited in behalf of the boy Ben, whom he had come tolove as if he were his own son. He could not bear to think of the boy'syoung life being extinguished in so shocking a manner.
"This is rough, Ben," he managed to say as the two, side by side, werehurried along by the vindictive crowd.
Ben's face was pale and his heart was full of sorrow and awe with theprospect of a shameful death rising before him. Life was sweet to him,and it seemed hard to lose it.
"Yes it is," answered Ben, faltering. "Can't something be done?"
Jake Bradley shook his head mournfully. "I am afraid not," he said. "I'dlike to shoot one of those lyin' scoundrels" (referring to Bill Moselyand his companion) "before I am swung off. To think their word shouldcost us our lives! It's a burnin' shame!"
Ki Sing looked the image of terror as he too was forced forward by acouple of strong miners. His feet refused to do their office, and he wasliterally dragged forward, his feet trailing along the ground. He wasindeed a ludicrous figure, if anything connected with such a tragedy canbe considered ludicrous. Probably it was not so much death that Ki Singfeared, for with his race life is held cheap, but Chinamen shrink fromviolence, particularly that of a brutal character. They are ready withtheir knives, but other violence is not common among them.
Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley followed in the rear of the crowd. They wouldhave liked to improve the time by stealing away with the mustangs whichthey coveted, but even in this hour of public excitement they knew itwould not be safe, and the act might arouse suspicion.
While Mosely felt gratified that the men he hated were likely to be putout of the way, there was in his heart a sensation of fear, and heinvoluntarily shuddered when he reflected that if justice were done hewould he in the place of these men who were about to suffer a shamefuldeath. Moreover, he knew that some day it were far from improbable thathe himself would be figuring in a similar scene as a chief actor, orrather chief victim. So, though he exulted, he also trembled.
Meanwhile the place of execution had been reached. Then it wasdiscovered that one important accessory to the contemplated tragedy waslacking--a rope. So one of the party was sent to the hotel for a rope,being instructed by Jim Brown where to find it.
It seemed the last chance for an appeal, and, hopeless as it seemed,Richard Dewey resolved to improve it. "Gentlemen," he said in a solemntone, "I call God to witness that you are about to put to death fourinnocent men."
"Enough of that!" said Jim Brown, roughly, "We don't want to hear anymore of your talk."
But Dewey did not stop. "You have condemned us," he proceeded, "on thetestimony of two as arrant scoundrels as can be found in California;"and he pointed scornfully at Bill Mosely and his partner.
"Are you goin' to let him insult us?" asked Mosely in the tone of awronged man.
"That don't go down, stranger," said Jim Brown. "We know you're guilty,and that's enough."
"You know it? How do you know it?" retorted Dewey. "What proof is thereexcept the word of two thieves and liars who deserve the fate which youare preparing for us?"
"Hang 'em up!" shouted somebody; and the cry was taken up by the rest.
"If you won't believe me," continued Dewey, "I want to make oneappeal--to ask one last favor. Spare the life of that innocent boy, whocertainly has done no evil. If there are any fathers present I ask, Haveyou the heart to take away the life of a child just entering upon lifeand its enjoyments?" r />
He had touched the chord in the hearts of more than one.
"That's so!" cried the speaker who had tried to stem the popularexcitement. "It would be a crime and a disgrace, and I'll shoot the manthat puts the rope 'round the boy's neck."
"You're right," cried three others, who themselves had left children intheir distant homes. "The boy's life must be saved."
The two men who held Ben in their grasp released him, and our young herofound himself free. There was a great rush of joy to his heart as he sawthe shadow of death lifted from him, but he was not satisfied that hislife alone should be spared. He resolved to make an appeal in turn."Gentlemen," he said, "I am only a boy, but I want to speak a few words,and those words shall be true."
Ben had been a good speaker at school, and he had unconsciously assumedthe attitude with which he commenced declaiming upon the school-rostrum.
"Hear the boy!" shouted several; and there was a general silence. It wasa new thing to be addressed by a boy, and there was a feeling ofcuriosity as to what he would say.
"I want to say this," continued Ben--"that what Mr. Dewey has said isstrictly true. Not one of us is guilty of the crime that has beencharged upon us. The men who have testified against us are thieves, androbbed us of these very horses, which we finally recovered from them.May I tell you how it all happened?"
Partly from curiosity, the permission was given, and Ben, in plain,simple language, told the story of how they had received Mosely andHadley hospitably, and awoke in the morning to find that they had stolentheir horses. He also described the manner in which later they tried torob Dewey when confined to his bed by sickness. His words were frank andsincere, and bore the impress of truth. Evidently a sentiment was beingcreated favorable to the prisoners, and Bill Mosely saw it andtrembled.