BROWN OF CALAVERAS
A subdued tone of conversation, and the absence of cigar smoke and bootheels at the windows of the Wingdam stagecoach, made it evident thatone of the inside passengers was a woman. A disposition on the partof loungers at the stations to congregate before the window, and someconcern in regard to the appearance of coats, hats, and collars, furtherindicated that she was lovely. All of which Mr. Jack Hamlin, on thebox seat, noted with the smile of cynical philosophy. Not that hedepreciated the sex, but that he recognized therein a deceitful element,the pursuit of which sometimes drew mankind away from the equallyuncertain blandishments of poker--of which it may be remarked that Mr.Hamlin was a professional exponent.
So that when he placed his narrow boot on the wheel and leaped down,he did not even glance at the window from which a green veil wasfluttering, but lounged up and down with that listless and graveindifference of his class, which was, perhaps, the next thing to goodbreeding. With his closely buttoned figure and self-contained air hewas a marked contrast to the other passengers, with their feverishrestlessness and boisterous emotion; and even Bill Masters, a graduateof Harvard, with his slovenly dress, his overflowing vitality, hisintense appreciation of lawlessness and barbarism, and his mouth filledwith crackers and cheese, I fear cut but an unromantic figure besidethis lonely calculator of chances, with his pale Greek face and Homericgravity.
The driver called "All aboard!" and Mr. Hamlin returned to the coach.His foot was upon the wheel, and his face raised to the level of theopen window, when, at the same moment, what appeared to him to be thefinest eyes in the world suddenly met his. He quietly dropped downagain, addressed a few words to one of the inside passengers, effectedan exchange of seats, and as quietly took his place inside. Mr. Hamlinnever allowed his philosophy to interfere with decisive and promptaction.
I fear that this irruption of Jack cast some restraint upon the otherpassengers--particularly those who were making themselves most agreeableto the lady. One of them leaned forward, and apparently conveyed toher information regarding Mr. Hamlin's profession in a single epithet.Whether Mr. Hamlin heard it, or whether he recognized in the informanta distinguished jurist from whom, but a few evenings before, he had wonseveral thousand dollars, I cannot say. His colorless face betrayed nosign; his black eyes, quietly observant, glanced indifferently past thelegal gentleman, and rested on the much more pleasing features ofhis neighbor. An Indian stoicism--said to be an inheritance from hismaternal ancestor--stood him in good service, until the rolling wheelsrattled upon the river gravel at Scott's Ferry, and the stage drew up atthe International Hotel for dinner. The legal gentleman and a member ofCongress leaped out, and stood ready to assist the descending goddess,while Colonel Starbottle, of Siskiyou, took charge of her parasol andshawl. In this multiplicity of attention there was a momentary confusionand delay. Jack Hamlin quietly opened the OPPOSITE door of the coach,took the lady's hand--with that decision and positiveness which ahesitating and undecided sex know how to admire--and in an instant haddexterously and gracefully swung her to the ground, and again lifted herto the platform. An audible chuckle on the box, I fear, came fromthat other cynic, "Yuba Bill," the driver. "Look keerfully arter thatbaggage, Kernel," said the expressman, with affected concern, as helooked after Colonel Starbottle, gloomily bringing up the rear of thetriumphant procession to the waiting-room.
Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse was already saddled, andawaiting him. He dashed over the ford, up the gravelly hill, andout into the dusty perspective of the Wingdam road, like one leavingpleasant fancy behind him. The inmates of dusty cabins by the roadsideshaded their eyes with their hands and looked after him, recognizing theman by his horse, and speculating what "was up with Comanche Jack." Yetmuch of this interest centered in the horse, in a community wherethe time made by "French Pete's" mare in his run from the Sheriff ofCalaveras eclipsed all concern in the ultimate fate of that worthy.
The sweating flanks of his gray at length recalled him to himself. Hechecked his speed, and, turning into a by-road, sometimes used as acutoff, trotted leisurely along, the reins hanging listlessly fromhis fingers. As he rode on, the character of the landscape changed andbecame more pastoral. Openings in groves of pine and sycamore disclosedsome rude attempts at cultivation--a flowering vine trailed over theporch of one cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe under the rosesof another. A little farther on Mr. Hamlin came upon some bareleggedchildren wading in the willowy creek, and so wrought upon them with abadinage peculiar to himself that they were emboldened to climb uphis horse's legs and over his saddle, until he was fain to develop anexaggerated ferocity of demeanor, and to escape, leaving behind somekisses and coin. And then, advancing deeper into the woods, where allsigns of habitation failed, he began to sing--uplifting a tenor sosingularly sweet, and shaded by a pathos so subduing and tender, that Iwot the robins and linnets stopped to listen. Mr. Hamlin's voice was notcultivated; the subject of his song was some sentimental lunacy borrowedfrom the Negro minstrels; but there thrilled through all some occultquality of tone and expression that was unspeakably touching. Indeed, itwas a wonderful sight to see this sentimental blackleg, with a pack ofcards in his pocket and a revolver at his back, sending his voice beforehim through the dim woods with a plaint about his "Nelly's grave" in away that overflowed the eyes of the listener. A sparrow hawk, fresh fromhis sixth victim, possibly recognizing in Mr. Hamlin a kindred spirit,stared at him in surprise, and was fain to confess the superiority ofman. With a superior predatory capacity, HE couldn't sing.
But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again on the highroad, and at hisformer pace. Ditches and banks of gravel, denuded hillsides, stumps,and decayed trunks of trees, took the place of woodland and ravine, andindicated his approach to civilization. Then a church steeple came insight, and he knew that he had reached home. In a few moments he wasclattering down the single narrow street that lost itself in a chaoticruin of races, ditches, and tailings at the foot of the hill, anddismounted before the gilded windows of the "Magnolia" saloon. Passingthrough the long barroom, he pushed open a green-baize door, entered adark passage, opened another door with a passkey, and found himself ina dimly lighted room whose furniture, though elegant and costly for thelocality, showed signs of abuse. The inlaid center table was overlaidwith stained disks that were not contemplated in the original design.The embroidered armchairs were discolored, and the green velvet lounge,on which Mr. Hamlin threw himself, was soiled at the foot with the redsoil of Wingdam.
Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay still, looking at a highlycolored painting above him representing a young creature of opulentcharms. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that he had neverseen exactly that kind of a woman, and that if he should, he would not,probably, fall in love with her. Perhaps he was thinking of anotherstyle of beauty. But just then someone knocked at the door. Withoutrising, he pulled a cord that apparently shot back a bolt, for the doorswung open, and a man entered.
The newcomer was broad-shouldered and robust--a vigor not borne out inthe face, which, though handsome, was singularly weak, and disfigured bydissipation. He appeared to be also under the influence of liquor, forhe started on seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, "I thought Kate was here,"stammered, and seemed confused and embarrassed.
Mr. Hamlin smiled the smile which he had before worn on the Wingdamcoach, and sat up, quite refreshed and ready for business.
"You didn't come up on the stage," continued the newcomer, "did you?"
"No," replied Hamlin; "I left it at Scott's Ferry. It isn't due for halfan hour yet. But how's luck, Brown?"
"Damn bad," said Brown, his face suddenly assuming an expression of weakdespair; "I'm cleaned out again, Jack," he continued, in a whining tonethat formed a pitiable contrast to his bulky figure, "can't you help mewith a hundred till tomorrow's cleanup? You see I've got to send moneyhome to the old woman, and--you've won twenty times that amount fromme."
The conclusion was, perhaps, not entirely logical, b
ut Jack overlookedit, and handed the sum to his visitor. "The old-woman business is aboutplayed out, Brown," he added, by way of commentary; "why don't you sayyou want to buck agin' faro? You know you ain't married!"
"Fact, sir," said Brown, with a sudden gravity, as if the mere contactof the gold with the palm of the hand had imparted some dignity to hisframe. "I've got a wife--a damned good one, too, if I do say it--in theStates. It's three year since I've seen her, and a year since I've writto her. When things is about straight, and we get down to the lead, I'mgoing to send for her."
"And Kate?" queried Mr. Hamlin, with his previous smile.
Mr. Brown of Calaveras essayed an archness of glance, to cover hisconfusion, which his weak face and whisky-muddled intellect but poorlycarried out, and said:
"Damn it, Jack, a man must have a little liberty, you know. Butcome, what do you say to a little game? Give us a show to double thishundred."
Jack Hamlin looked curiously at his fatuous friend. Perhaps he knew thatthe man was predestined to lose the money, and preferred that it shouldflow back into his own coffers rather than any other. He nodded hishead, and drew his chair toward the table. At the same moment there camea rap upon the door.
"It's Kate," said Mr. Brown.
Mr. Hamlin shot back the bolt, and the door opened. But, for thefirst time in his life, he staggered to his feet, utterly unnerved andabashed, and for the first time in his life the hot blood crimsoned hiscolorless cheeks to his forehead. For before him stood the lady he hadlifted from the Wingdam coach, whom Brown--dropping his cards with ahysterical laugh--greeted as:
"My old woman, by thunder!"
They say that Mrs. Brown burst into tears, and reproaches of herhusband. I saw her, in 1857, at Marysville, and disbelieve the story.And the WINGDAM CHRONICLE, of the next week, under the head of "TouchingReunion," said: "One of those beautiful and touching incidents, peculiarto California life, occurred last week in our city. The wife of one ofWingdam's eminent pioneers, tired of the effete civilization of the Eastand its inhospitable climate, resolved to join her noble husbandupon these golden shores. Without informing him of her intention,she undertook the long journey, and arrived last week. The joy of thehusband may be easier imagined than described. The meeting is saidto have been indescribably affecting. We trust her example may befollowed."
Whether owing to Mrs. Brown's influence, or to some more successfulspeculations, Mr. Brown's financial fortune from that day steadilyimproved. He bought out his partners in the "Nip and Tuck" lead, withmoney which was said to have been won at poker, a week or two after hiswife's arrival, but which rumor, adopting Mrs. Brown's theory that Brownhad forsworn the gaming-table, declared to have been furnished by Mr.Jack Hamlin. He built and furnished the "Wingdam House," which prettyMrs. Brown's great popularity kept overflowing with guests. He waselected to the Assembly, and gave largess to churches. A street inWingdam was named in his honor.
Yet it was noted that in proportion as he waxed wealthy and fortunate,he grew pale, thin, and anxious. As his wife's popularity increased,he became fretful and impatient. The most uxorious of husbands, hewas absurdly jealous. If he did not interfere with his wife's socialliberty, it was because it was maliciously whispered that his first andonly attempt was met by an outburst from Mrs. Brown that terrified himinto silence. Much of this kind of gossip came from those of her own sexwhom she had supplanted in the chivalrous attentions of Wingdam, which,like most popular chivalry, was devoted to an admiration of power,whether of masculine force or feminine beauty. It should be remembered,too, in her extenuation that since her arrival, she had been theunconscious priestess of a mythological worship, perhaps not moreennobling to her womanhood than that which distinguished an older Greekdemocracy. I think that Brown was dimly conscious of this. But his onlyconfidant was Jack Hamlin, whose INFELIX reputation naturally precludedany open intimacy with the family, and whose visits were infrequent.
It was midsummer, and a moonlit night; and Mrs. Brown, very rosy,large-eyed, and pretty, sat upon the piazza, enjoying the fresh incenseof the mountain breeze, and, it is to be feared, another incensewhich was not so fresh, nor quite as innocent. Beside her sat ColonelStarbottle and Judge Boompointer, and a later addition to her court inthe shape of a foreign tourist. She was in good spirits.
"What do you see down the road?" inquired the gallant Colonel, who hadbeen conscious, for the last few minutes, that Mrs. Brown's attentionwas diverted.
"Dust," said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh. "Only Sister Anne's 'flock ofsheep.'"
The Colonel, whose literary recollections did not extend farther backthan last week's paper, took a more practical view. "It ain't sheep," hecontinued; "it's a horseman. Judge, ain't that Jack Hamlin's gray?"
But the Judge didn't know; and as Mrs. Brown suggested the air wasgrowing too cold for further investigations, they retired to the parlor.
Mr. Brown was in the stable, where he generally retired after dinner.Perhaps it was to show his contempt for his wife's companions; perhaps,like other weak natures, he found pleasure in the exercise of absolutepower over inferior animals. He had a certain gratification in thetraining of a chestnut mare, whom he could beat or caress as pleasedhim, which he couldn't do with Mrs. Brown. It was here that herecognized a certain gray horse which had just come in, and, lookinga little farther on, found his rider. Brown's greeting was cordial andhearty, Mr. Hamlin's somewhat restrained. But at Brown's urgent request,he followed him up the back stairs to a narrow corridor, and thence toa small room looking out upon the stable yard. It was plainly furnishedwith a bed, a table, a few chairs, and a rack for guns and whips.
"This yer's my home, Jack," said Brown, with a sigh, as he threw himselfupon the bed, and motioned his companion to a chair. "Her room's t'otherend of the hall. It's more'n six months since we've lived together, ormet, except at meals. It's mighty rough papers on the head of the house,ain't it?" he said, with a forced laugh. "But I'm glad to see you,Jack, damn glad," and he reached from the bed, and again shook theunresponsive hand of Jack Hamlin.
"I brought ye up here, for I didn't want to talk in the stable; though,for the matter of that, it's all round town. Don't strike a light. Wecan talk here in the moonshine. Put up your feet on that winder, and sithere beside me. Thar's whisky in that jug."
Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the information. Brown of Calaverasturned his face to the wall and continued:
"If I didn't love the woman, Jack, I wouldn't mind. But it's loving her,and seeing her, day arter day, goin' on at this rate, and no one to putdown the brake; that's what gits me! But I'm glad to see ye, Jack, damnglad."
In the darkness he groped about until he had found and wrung hiscompanion's hand again. He would have detained it, but Jack slipped itinto the buttoned breast of his coat, and asked, listlessly, "How longhas this been going on?"
"Ever since she came here; ever since the day she walked into theMagnolia. I was a fool then; Jack, I'm a fool now; but I didn't know howmuch I loved her till then. And she hasn't been the same woman since.
"But that ain't all, Jack; and it's what I wanted to see you about, andI'm glad you've come. It ain't that she doesn't love me any more; itain't that she fools with every chap that comes along, for, perhaps, Istaked her love and lost it, as I did everything else at the Magnolia;and, perhaps, foolin' is nateral to some women, and thar ain't no greatharm done, 'cept to the fools. But, Jack, I think--I think she lovessomebody else. Don't move, Jack; don't move; if your pistol hurts ye,take it off.
"It's been more'n six months now that she's seemed unhappy and lonesome,and kinder nervous and scared-like. And sometimes I've ketched herlookin' at me sort of timid and pitying. And she writes to somebody.And for the last week she's been gathering her own things--trinkets,and furbelows, and jew'lry--and, Jack, I think she's goin' off. I couldstand all but that. To have her steal away like a thief--" He put hisface downward to the pillow, and for a few moments there was no soundbut the ticking of a clock on the mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, andmov
ed to the open window. The moon no longer shone into the room, andthe bed and its occupant were in shadow. "What shall I do, Jack?" saidthe voice from the darkness.
The answer came promptly and clearly from the window-side: "Spot theman, and kill him on sight."
"But, Jack?"
"He's took the risk!"
"But will that bring HER back?"
Jack did not reply, but moved from the window toward the door.
"Don't go yet, Jack; light the candle, and sit by the table. It's acomfort to see ye, if nothin' else."
Jack hesitated, and then complied. He drew a pack of cards from hispocket and shuffled them, glancing at the bed. But Brown's face wasturned to the wall. When Mr. Hamlin had shuffled the cards, he cut them,and dealt one card on the opposite side of the table and toward the bed,and another on his side of the table for himself. The first was a deuce,his own card, a king. He then shuffled and cut again. This time "dummy"had a queen, and himself a four-spot. Jack brightened up for the thirddeal. It brought his adversary a deuce, and himself a king again. "Twoout of three," said Jack, audibly.
"What's that, Jack?" said Brown.
"Nothing."
Then Jack tried his hand with dice; but he always threw sixes, and hisimaginary opponent aces. The force of habit is sometimes confusing.
Meanwhile, some magnetic influence in Mr. Hamlin's presence, or theanodyne of liquor, or both, brought surcease of sorrow, and Brown slept.Mr. Hamlin moved his chair to the window, and looked out on the townof Wingdam, now sleeping peacefully--its harsh outlines softened andsubdued, its glaring colors mellowed and sobered in the moonlight thatflowed over all. In the hush he could hear the gurgling of water in theditches, and the sighing of the pines beyond the hill. Then he lookedup at the firmament, and as he did so a star shot across the twinklingfield. Presently another, and then another. The phenomenon suggested toMr. Hamlin a fresh augury. If in another fifteen minutes another starshould fall--He sat there, watch in hand, for twice that time, but thephenomenon was not repeated.
The clock struck two, and Brown still slept. Mr. Hamlin approached thetable and took from his pocket a letter, which he read by the flickeringcandlelight. It contained only a single line, written in pencil, in awoman's hand:
"Be at the corral, with the buggy, at three."
The sleeper moved uneasily, and then awoke. "Are you there Jack?"
"Yes."
"Don't go yet. I dreamed just now, Jack--dreamed of old times. I thoughtthat Sue and me was being married agin, and that the parson, Jack,was--who do you think?--you!"
The gambler laughed, and seated himself on the bed--the paper still inhis hand.
"It's a good sign, ain't it?" queried Brown.
"I reckon. Say, old man, hadn't you better get up?"
The "old man," thus affectionately appealed to, rose, with theassistance of Hamlin's outstretched hand.
"Smoke?"
Brown mechanically took the proffered cigar.
"Light?"
Jack had twisted the letter into a spiral, lit it, and held it for hiscompanion. He continued to hold it until it was consumed, and droppedthe fragment--a fiery star--from the open window. He watched it as itfell, and then returned to his friend.
"Old man," he said, placing his hands upon Brown's shoulders, "in tenminutes I'll be on the road, and gone like that spark. We won't see eachother agin; but, before I go, take a fool's advice: sell out all you'vegot, take your wife with you, and quit the country. It ain't no placefor you, nor her. Tell her she must go; make her go, if she won't.Don't whine because you can't be a saint, and she ain't an angel. Be aman--and treat her like a woman. Don't be a damn fool. Good-by."
He tore himself from Brown's grasp, and leaped down the stairs likea deer. At the stable door he collared the half-sleeping hostler andbacked him against the wall. "Saddle my horse in two minutes, or I'll--"The ellipsis was frightfully suggestive.
"The missis said you was to have the buggy," stammered the man.
"Damn the buggy!"
The horse was saddled as fast as the nervous hands of the astoundedhostler could manipulate buckle and strap.
"Is anything up, Mr. Hamlin?" said the man, who, like all his class,admired the elan of his fiery patron, and was really concerned in hiswelfare.
"Stand aside!"
The man fell back. With an oath, a bound, and clatter, Jack was into theroad. In another moment, to the man's half-awakened eyes, he was but amoving cloud of dust in the distance, toward which a star just loosedfrom its brethren was trailing a stream of fire.
But early that morning the dwellers by the Wingdam turnpike, miles away,heard a voice, pure as a skylark's, singing afield. They who were asleepturned over on their rude couches to dream of youth and love and oldendays. Hard-faced men and anxious gold-seekers, already at work, ceasedtheir labors and leaned upon their picks, to listen to a romanticvagabond ambling away against the rosy sunrise.