CHAPTER V.
The day following the great stagecoach robbery found the patientproprietor of Collinson's Mill calm and untroubled in his usualseclusion. The news that had thrilled the length and breadth ofGalloper's Ridge had not touched the leafy banks of the dried-up river;the hue and cry had followed the stage-road, and no courier had deemedit worth his while to diverge as far as the rocky ridge which formedthe only pathway to the mill. That day Collinson's solitude had beenunbroken even by the haggard emigrant from the valley, with his oldmonotonous story of hardship and privation. The birds had flown nearerto the old mill, as if emboldened by the unwonted quiet. That morningthere had been the half human imprint of a bear's foot in the oozebeside the mill-wheel; and coming home with his scant stock from thewoodland pasture, he had found a golden squirrel--a beautiful, airyembodiment of the brown woods itself--calmly seated on his bar-counter,with a biscuit between its baby hands. He was full of hischaracteristic reveries and abstractions that afternoon; falling intothem even at his wood-pile, leaning on his axe--so still that anemerald-throated lizard, who had slid upon the log, went to sleep underthe forgotten stroke.
But at nightfall the wind arose,--at first as a distant murmur alongthe hillside, that died away before it reached the rocky ledge; then itrocked the tops of the tall redwoods behind the mill, but left the milland the dried leaves that lay in the river-bed undisturbed. Then themurmur was prolonged, until it became the continuous trouble of somefar-off sea, and at last the wind possessed the ledge itself; drivingthe smoke down the stumpy chimney of the mill, rattling the sun-warpedshingles on the roof, stirring the inside rafters with cool breaths,and singing over the rough projections of the outside eaves. At nineo'clock he rolled himself up in his blankets before the fire, as washis wont, and fell asleep.
It was past midnight when he was awakened by the familiar clatter ofboulders down the grade, the usual simulation of a wild rush fromwithout that encompassed the whole mill, even to that heavy impactagainst the door, which he had heard once before. In this herecognized merely the ordinary phenomena of his experience, and onlyturned over to sleep again. But this time the door rudely fell in uponhim, and a figure strode over his prostrate body, with a gun leveled athis head.
He sprang sideways for his own weapon, which stood by the hearth. Inanother second that action would have been his last, and the solitudeof Seth Collinson might have remained henceforward unbroken by anymortal. But the gun of the first figure was knocked sharply upward bya second man, and the one and only shot fired that night spedharmlessly to the roof. With the report he felt his arms grippedtightly behind him; through the smoke he saw dimly that the room wasfilled with masked and armed men, and in another moment he was pinionedand thrust into his empty armchair. At a signal three of the men leftthe room, and he could hear them exploring the other rooms andouthouses. Then the two men who had been standing beside him fell backwith a certain disciplined precision, as a smooth-chinned man advancedfrom the open door. Going to the bar, he poured out a glass of whiskey,tossed it off deliberately, and, standing in front of Collinson, withhis shoulder against the chimney and his hand resting lightly on hiship, cleared his throat. Had Collinson been an observant man, he wouldhave noticed that the two men dropped their eyes and moved their feetwith a half impatient, perfunctory air of waiting. Had he witnessedthe stage-robbery, he would have recognized in the smooth-faced man thepresence of "the orator." But he only gazed at him with his dull,imperturbable patience.
"We regret exceedingly to have to use force to a gentleman in his ownhouse," began the orator blandly; "but we feel it our duty to prevent arepetition of the unhappy incident which occurred as we entered. Wedesire that you should answer a few questions, and are deeply gratefulthat you are still able to do so,--which seemed extremely improbable amoment or two ago." He paused, coughed, and leaned back against thechimney. "How many men have you here besides yourself?"
"Nary one," said Collinson.
The interrogator glanced at the other men, who had reentered. Theynodded significantly.
"Good!" he resumed. "You have told the truth--an excellent habit, andone that expedites business. Now, is there a room in this house with adoor that locks? Your front door DOESN'T."
"No."
"No cellar nor outhouse?"
"No."
"We regret that; for it will compel us, much against our wishes, tokeep you bound as you are for the present. The matter is simply this:circumstances of a very pressing nature oblige us to occupy this housefor a few days,--possibly for an indefinite period. We respect thesacred rites of hospitality too much to turn you out of it; indeed,nothing could be more distasteful to our feelings than to have you, inyour own person, spread such a disgraceful report through thechivalrous Sierras. We must therefore keep you a closeprisoner,--open, however, to an offer. It is this: we propose to giveyou five hundred dollars for this property as it stands, provided thatyou leave it, and accompany a pack-train which will start to-morrowmorning for the lower valley as far as Thompson's Pass, bindingyourself to quit the State for three months and keep this matter asecret. Three of these gentlemen will go with you. They will point outto you your duty; their shotguns will apprise you of any derelictionfrom it. What do you say?"
"Who yer talking to?" said Collinson in a dull voice.
"You remind us," said the orator suavely, "that we have not yet thepleasure of knowing."
"My name's Seth Collinson."
There was a dead silence in the room, and every eye was fixed upon thetwo men. The orator's smile slightly stiffened.
"Where from?" he continued blandly.
"Mizzouri."
"A very good place to go back to,--through Thompson's Pass. But youhaven't answered our proposal."
"I reckon I don't intend to sell this house, or leave it," saidCollinson simply.
"I trust you will not make us regret the fortunate termination of yourlittle accident, Mr. Collinson," said the orator with a singular smile."May I ask why you object to selling out? Is it the figure?"
"The house isn't mine," said Collinson deliberately. "I built this yerhouse for my wife wot I left in Mizzouri. It's hers. I kalkilate tokeep it, and live in it ontil she comes fur it! And when I tell yethat she is dead, ye kin reckon just what chance ye have of evergettin' it."
There was an unmistakable start of sensation in the room, followed by asilence so profound that the moaning of the wind on the mountain-sidewas distinctly heard. A well-built man, with a mask that scarcelyconcealed his heavy mustachios, who had been standing with his back tothe orator in half contemptuous patience, faced around suddenly andmade a step forward as if to come between the questioner andquestioned. A voice from the corner ejaculated, "By G--d!"
"Silence," said the orator sharply. Then still more harshly he turnedto the others "Pick him up, and stand him outside with a guard; andthen clear out, all of you!"
The prisoner was lifted up and carried out; the room was instantlycleared; only the orator and the man who had stepped forward remained.Simultaneously they drew the masks from their faces, and stood lookingat each other. The orator's face was smooth and corrupt; the full,sensual lips wrinkled at the corners with a sardonic humor; the man whoconfronted him appeared to be physically and even morally his superior,albeit gloomy and discontented in expression. He cast a rapid glancearound the room, to assure himself that they were alone; and then,straightening his eyebrows as he backed against the chimney, said:--
"D--d if I like this, Chivers! It's your affair; but it's mightylow-down work for a man!"
"You might have made it easier if you hadn't knocked up Bryce's gun.That would have settled it, though no one guessed that the cur was herhusband," said Chivers hotly.
"If you want it settled THAT WAY, there's still time," returned theother with a slight sneer. "You've only to tell him that you're theman that ran away with his wife, and you'll have it out together, righton the ledge at twelve paces. The boys will see you throu
gh. Infact," he added, his sneer deepening, "I rather think it's what they'reexpecting."
"Thank you, Mr. Jack Riggs," said Chivers sardonically. "I dare say itwould be more convenient to some people, just before our booty isdivided, if I were drilled through by a blundering shot from thathayseed; or it would seem right to your high-toned chivalry if adead-shot as I am knocked over a man who may have never fired arevolver before; but I don't exactly see it in that light, either as aman or as your equal partner. I don't think you quite understand me,my dear Jack. If you don't value the only man who is identified in allCalifornia as the leader of this gang (the man whose style and addresshas made it popular--yes, POPULAR, by G--d!--to every man, woman, andchild who has heard of him; whose sayings and doings are quoted by thenewspapers; whom people run risks to see; who has got the sympathy ofthe crowd, so that judges hesitate to issue warrants and constables toserve them),--if YOU don't see the use of such a man, I do. Why,there's a column and a half in the 'Sacramento Union' about our lastjob, calling me the 'Claude Duval' of the Sierras, and speaking of mycourtesy to a lady! A LADY!--HIS wife, by G--d! our confederate! Mydear Jack, you not only don't know business values, but, 'pon my soul,you don't seem to understand humor! Ha, ha!"
For all his cynical levity, for all his affected exaggeration, therewas the ring of an unmistakable and even pitiable vanity in his voice,and a self-consciousness that suffused his broad cheeks and writhed hisfull mouth, but seemed to deepen the frown on Riggs's face.
"You know the woman hates it, and would bolt if she could,--even fromyou," said Riggs gloomily. "Think what she might do if she knew herhusband were here. I tell you she holds our lives in the hollow of herhand."
"That's your fault, Mr. Jack Riggs; you would bring your sister withher infernal convent innocence and simplicity into our hut in thehollow. She was meek enough before that. But this is sheer nonsense.I have no fear of her. The woman don't live who would go back onGodfrey Chivers--for a husband! Besides, she went off to see yoursister at the convent at Santa Clara as soon as she passed those bondsoff on Charley to get rid of! Think of her traveling with that d--dfool lawyer all the way to Stockton, and his bonds (which we had putback in her bag) alongside of them all the time, and he telling her hewas going to stop their payment, and giving her the letter to mail forhim!--eh? Well, we'll have time to get rid of her husband before shegets back. If he don't go easy--well"--
"None of that, Chivers, you understand, once for all!" interruptedRiggs peremptorily. "If you cannot see that your making away with thatwoman's husband would damn that boasted reputation you make so much ofand set every man's hand against us, I do, and I won't permit it. It'sa rotten business enough,--our coming on him as we have; and if thiswasn't the only God-forsaken place where we could divide our stuffwithout danger and get it away off the highroads, I'd pull up stakes atonce."
"Let her stay at the convent, then, and be d--d to her," said Chiversroughly. "She'll be glad enough to be with your sister again; andthere's no fear of her being touched there."
"But I want to put an end to that, too," returned Riggs sharply. "I donot choose to have my sister any longer implicated with OUR confederateor YOUR mistress. No more of that--you understand me?"
The two men had been standing side by side, leaning against thechimney. Chivers now faced his companion, his full lips wreathed intoan evil smile.
"I think I understand you, Mr. Jack Riggs, or--I beg yourpardon--Rivers, or whatever your real name may be," he began slowly."Sadie Collinson, the mistress of Judge Godfrey Chivers, formerly ofKentucky, was good enough company for you the day you dropped down uponus in our little house in the hollow of Galloper's Ridge. We wereliving quite an idyllic, pastoral life there, weren't we?--she and me;hidden from the censorious eye of society and--Collinson, obeying onlythe voice of Nature and the little birds. It was a happy time," he wenton with a grimly affected sigh, disregarding his companion's impatientgesture. "You were young then, waging YOUR fight against society, andfresh--uncommonly fresh, I may say--from your first exploit. And avery stupid, clumsy, awkward exploit, too, Mr. Riggs, if you willpardon my freedom. You wanted money, and you had an ugly temper, andyou had lost both to a gambler; so you stopped the coach to rob him,and had to kill two men to get back your paltry thousand dollars, afterfrightening a whole coach-load of passengers, and letting Wells, Fargo,and Co.'s treasure-box with fifty thousand dollars in it slide. It wasa stupid, a blundering, a CRUEL act, Mr. Riggs, and I think I told youso at the time. It was a waste of energy and material, and made you,not a hero, but a stupid outcast! I think I proved this to you, andshowed you how it might have been done."
"Dry up on that," interrupted Riggs impatiently. "You offered tobecome my partner, and you did."
"Pardon me. Observe, my impetuous friend, that my contention is thatyou--YOU--poisoned our blameless Eden in the hollow; that YOU were ourserpent, and that this Sadie Collinson, over whom you have become sofastidious, whom you knew as my mistress, was obliged to become ourconfederate. You did not object to her when we formed our gang, andher house became our hiding-place and refuge. You took advantage ofher woman's wit and fine address in disposing of our booty; you availedyourself, with the rest, of the secrets she gathered as MY mistress,just as you were willing to profit by the superior address of herparamour--your humble servant--when your own face was known to thesheriff, and your old methods pronounced brutal and vulgar. Excuse me,but I must insist upon THIS, and that you dropped down upon me andSadie Collinson exactly as you have dropped down here upon her husband."
"Enough of this!" said Riggs angrily. "I admit the woman is part andparcel of the gang, and gets her share,--or you get it for her," headded sneeringly; "but that doesn't permit her to mix herself with myfamily affairs."
"Pardon me again," interrupted Chivers softly. "Your memory, my dearRiggs, is absurdly defective. We knew that you had a young sister inthe mountains, from whom you discreetly wished to conceal your realposition. We respected, and I trust shall always respect, your noblereticence. But do you remember the night you were taking her to schoolat Santa Clara,--two nights before the fire,--when you were recognizedon the road near Skinner's, and had to fly with her for your life, andbrought her to us,--your two dear old friends, 'Mr. and Mrs. Barker ofChicago,' who had a pastoral home in the forest? You remember how wetook her in,--yes, doubly took her in,--and kept your secret from her?And do you remember how this woman (this mistress of MINE and OURconfederate), while we were away, saved her from the fire on our onlyhorse, caught the stage-coach, and brought her to the convent?"
Riggs walked towards the window, turned, and coming back, held out hishand. "Yes, she did it; and I thanked her, as I thank you." He stoppedand hesitated, as the other took his hand. "But, blank it all,Chivers, don't you see that Alice is a young girl, and this womanis--you know what I mean. Somebody might recognize HER, and that wouldbe worse for Alice than even if it were known what Alice's BROTHER was.G--d! if these two things were put together, the girl would be ruinedforever."
"Jack," said Chivers suddenly, "you want this woman out of the way.Well--dash it all!--she nearly separated us, and I'll be frank with youas between man and man. I'll give her up! There are women enough inthe world, and hang it, we're partners, after all!"
"Then you abandon her?" said Riggs slowly, his eyes fixed on hiscompanion.
"Yes. She's getting a little too maundering lately. It will be aticklish job to manage, for she knows too much; but it will be done.There's my hand on it."
Riggs not only took no notice of the proffered hand, but his formerlook of discontent came back with an ill-concealed addition of loathingand contempt.
"We'll drop that now," he said shortly; "we've talked here alone longenough already. The men are waiting for us." He turned on his heelinto the inner room. Chivers remained standing by the chimney untilhis stiffened smile gave way under the working of his writhing lips;then he turned to the bar, poured out and swallowed another glass of
whiskey at a single gulp, and followed his partner with half-closedlids that scarcely veiled his ominous eyes.
The men, with the exception of the sentinels stationed on the rockyledge and the one who was guarding the unfortunate Collinson, weredrinking and gambling away their perspective gains around a small pileof portmanteaus and saddle-bags, heaped in the centre of the room.They contained the results of their last successes, but one pair ofsaddle-bags bore the mildewed appearance of having been cached, orburied, some time before. Most of their treasure was in packages ofgold dust; and from the conversation that ensued, it appeared that,owing to the difficulties of disposing of it in the mountain towns, theplan was to convey it by ordinary pack mule to the unfrequented valley,and thence by an emigrant wagon, on the old emigrant trail, to thesouthern counties, where it could be no longer traced. Since therecent robberies, the local express companies and bankers had refusedto receive it, except the owners were known and identified. There hadbeen but one box of coin, which had already been speedily divided upamong the band. Drafts, bills, bonds, and valuable papers had beenusually intrusted to one "Charley," who acted as a flying messenger toa corrupt broker in Sacramento, who played the role of the band's"fence." It had been the duty of Chivers to control this delicatebusiness, even as it had been his peculiar function to open all theletters and documents. This he had always lightened by characteristiclevity and sarcastic comments on the private revelations of thecontents. The rough, ill-spelt letter of the miner to his wife,inclosing a draft, or the more sentimental effusion of an emigrantswain to his sweetheart, with the gift of a "specimen," had alwaysreceived due attention at the hands of this elegant humorist. But theoperation was conducted to-night with business severity and silence.The two leaders sat opposite to each other, in what might have appearedto the rest of the band a scarcely veiled surveillance of each other'sactions. When the examination was concluded, and, the more valuableinclosures put aside, the despoiled letters were carried to the fireand heaped upon the coals. Presently the chimney added its roar to themoaning of the distant hillside, a few sparks leaped up and died out inthe midnight air, as if the pathos and sentiment of the unconsciouscorrespondents had exhaled with them.
"That's a d--d foolish thing to do," growled French Pete over his cards.
"Why?" demanded Chivers sharply.
"Why?--why, it makes a flare in the sky that any scout can see, and ascent for him to follow."
"We're four miles from any traveled road," returned Chiverscontemptuously, "and the man who could see that glare and smell thatsmoke would be on his way here already."
"That reminds me that that chap you've tied up--that Collinson--allowshe wants to see you," continued French Pete.
"To see ME!" repeated Chivers. "You mean the Captain?"
"I reckon he means YOU," returned French Pete; "he said the man whotalked so purty."
The men looked at each other with a smile of anticipation, and put downtheir cards. Chivers walked towards the door; one or two rose to theirfeet as if to follow, but Riggs stopped them peremptorily. "Sit down,"he said roughly; then, as Chivers passed him, he added to him in alower tone, "Remember."
Slightly squaring his shoulders and opening his coat, to permit arhetorical freedom, which did not, however, prevent him from keepingtouch with the butt of his revolver, Chivers stepped into the open air.Collinson had been moved to the shelter of an overhang of the roof,probably more for the comfort of the guard, who sat cross-legged on theground near him, than for his own. Dismissing the man with a gesture,Chivers straightened himself before his captive.
"We deeply regret that your unfortunate determination, my dear sir, hasbeen the means of depriving US of the pleasure of your company, and YOUof your absolute freedom; but may we cherish the hope that your desireto see me may indicate some change in your opinion?"
By the light of the sentry's lantern left upon the ground, Chiverscould see that Collinson's face wore a slightly troubled and evenapologetic expression.
"I've bin thinkin'," said Collinson, raising his eyes to his captorwith a singularly new and shy admiration in them, "mebbee not so muchof WOT you said, ez HOW you said it, and it's kinder bothered me,sittin' here, that I ain't bin actin' to you boys quite on the square.I've said to myself, 'Collinson, thar ain't another house betwixt BaldTop and Skinner's whar them fellows kin get a bite or a drink to helpthemselves, and you ain't offered 'em neither. It ain't no matter whothey are or how they came: whether they came crawling along the roadfrom the valley, or dropped down upon you like them rocks from thegrade; yere they are, and it's your duty, ez long ez you keep this yerhouse for your wife in trust, so to speak, for wanderers.' And I ain'tforgettin' yer ginerel soft style and easy gait with me when you kemhere. It ain't every man as could walk into another man's house arterthe owner of it had grabbed a gun, ez soft-speakin', ez overlookin',and ez perlite ez you. I've acted mighty rough and low-down, and Iknow it. And I sent for you to say that you and your folks kin usethis house and all that's in it ez long ez you're in trouble. I'vetold you why I couldn't sell the house to ye, and why I couldn't leaveit. But ye kin use it, and while ye're here, and when you go,Collinson don't tell nobody. I don't know what ye mean by 'bindingmyself' to keep your secret; when Collinson says a thing he sticks toit, and when he passes his word with a man, or a man passes his wordwith him, it don't need no bit of paper."
There was no doubt of its truth. In the grave, upraised eyes of hisprisoner, Chivers saw the certainty that he could trust him, even farmore than he could trust any one within the house he had just quitted.But this very certainty, for all its assurance of safety to himself,filled him, not with remorse, which might have been an evanescentemotion, but with a sudden alarming and terrible consciousness of beingin the presence of a hitherto unknown and immeasurable power! He hadno pity for man who trusted him; he had no sense of shame in takingadvantage of it; he even felt an intellectual superiority in this wantof sagacity in his dupe; but he still felt in some way defeated,insulted, shocked, and frightened. At first, like all scoundrels, hehad measured the man by himself; was suspicious and prepared forrivalry; but the grave truthfulness of Collinson's eyes left himhelpless. He was terrified by this unknown factor. The right thatcontends and fights often stimulates its adversary; the right thatyields leaves the victor vanquished. Chivers could even have killedCollinson in his vague discomfiture, but he had a terribleconsciousness that there was something behind him that he could notmake way with. That was why this accomplished rascal felt his flaccidcheeks grow purple and his glib tongue trip before his captive.
But Collinson, more occupied with his own shortcomings, took no note ofthis, and Chivers quickly recovered his wits, if not his formerartificiality. "All right," he said quickly, with a hurried glance atthe door behind him. "Now that you think better of it, I'll be frankwith you, and tell you I'm your friend. You understand,--your friend.Don't talk much to those men--don't give yourself away to them;" helaughed this time in absolute natural embarrassment. "Don't talk aboutyour wife, and this house, but just say you've made the thing up withme,--with ME, you know, and I'll see you through." An idea, as yetvague, that he could turn Collinson's unexpected docility to his ownpurposes, possessed him even in his embarrassment, and he was stillmore strangely conscious of his inordinate vanity gathering a fearfuljoy from Collinson's evident admiration. It was heightened by hiscaptive's next words.
"Ef I wasn't tied I'd shake hands with ye on that. You're the kind o'man, Mr. Chivers, that I cottoned to from the first. Ef this housewasn't HERS, I'd a' bin tempted to cotton to yer offer, too, and mebbeemade yer one myself, for it seems to me your style and mine wouldsorter jibe together. But I see you sabe what's in my mind, and makeallowance. WE don't want no bit o' paper to shake hands on that. Yoursecret and your folk's secret is mine, and I don't blab that any morethan I'd blab to them wot you've just told me."
Under a sudden impulse, Chivers leaned forward, and, albeit withsomewhat unsteady hands and an embarra
ssed will, untied the cords thatheld Collinson in his chair. As the freed man stretched himself to hisfull height, he looked gravely down into the bleared eyes of hiscaptor, and held out his strong right hand. Chivers took it. Whetherthere was some occult power in Collinson's honest grasp, I know not;but there sprang up in Chivers's agile mind the idea that a good way toget rid of Mrs. Collinson was to put her in the way of her husband'sfinding her, and for an instant, in the contemplation of that idea,this supreme rascal absolutely felt an embarrassing glow of virtue.