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A subdued tone of conversation, and the absence of cigar smoke andboot heels at the windows of the Wingdam stagecoach, made it evidentthat one of the inside passengers was a woman. A disposition on thepart of loungers at the stations to congregate before the window, andsome concern in regard to the appearance of coats, hats, and collars,further indicated that she was lovely. All of which Mr. Jack Hamlin, onthe box seat, noted with the smile of cynical philosophy. Not that hedepreciated the sex, but that he recognized therein a deceitfulelement, the pursuit of which sometimes drew mankind away from theequally uncertain blandishments of poker—of which it may beremarked 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 thecoach. His foot was upon the wheel, and his face raised to the level ofthe open window, when, at the same moment, what appeared to him to bethe finest 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 theother passengers—particularly those who were making themselvesmost agreeable to the lady. One of them leaned forward, and apparentlyconveyed to her information regarding Mr. Hamlin's profession in asingle epithet. Whether Mr. Hamlin heard it, or whether he recognizedin the informant a distinguished jurist from whom, but a few eveningsbefore, he had won several thousand dollars, I cannot say. Hiscolorless face betrayed no sign; his black eyes, quietly observant,glanced indifferently past the legal gentleman, and rested on the muchmore pleasing features of his neighbor. An Indian stoicism—saidto be an inheritance from his maternal ancestor—stood him in goodservice, until the rolling wheels rattled upon the river gravel atScott's Ferry, and the stage drew up at the International Hotel fordinner. The legal gentleman and a member of Congress leaped out, andstood ready to assist the descending goddess, while Colonel Starbottle,of Siskiyou, took charge of her parasol and shawl. In this multiplicityof attention there was a momentary confusion and delay. Jack Hamlinquietly opened the OPPOSITE door of the coach, took the lady'shand—with that decision and positiveness which a hesitating andundecided sex know how to admire—and in an instant haddexterously and gracefully swung her to the ground, and again liftedher to 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,and awaiting 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, recognizingthe man by his horse, and speculating what "was up with Comanche Jack."Yet much 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.He checked his speed, and, turning into a by-road, sometimes used as acutoff, trotted leisurely along, the reins hanging listlessly from hisfingers. 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 overthe porch of one cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe under theroses of another. A little farther on Mr. Hamlin came upon somebarelegged children wading in the willowy creek, and so wrought uponthem with a badinage peculiar to himself that they were emboldened toclimb up his horse's legs and over his saddle, until he was fain todevelop an exaggerated ferocity of demeanor, and to escape, leavingbehind some kisses and coin. And then, advancing deeper into the woods,where all signs of habitation failed, he began to sing—upliftinga tenor so singularly sweet, and shaded by a pathos so subduing andtender, that I wot the robins and linnets stopped to listen. Mr.Hamlin's voice was not cultivated; the subject of his song was somesentimental lunacy borrowed from the Negro minstrels; but therethrilled through all some occult quality of tone and expression thatwas unspeakably touching. Indeed, it was a wonderful sight to see thissentimental blackleg, with a pack of cards in his pocket and a revolverat his back, sending his voice before him through the dim woods with aplaint about his "Nelly's grave" in a way that overflowed the eyes ofthe listener. A sparrow hawk, fresh from his sixth victim, possiblyrecognizing in Mr. Hamlin a kindred spirit, stared at him in surprise,and was fain to confess the superiority of man. With a superiorpredatory capacity, HE couldn't sing.
But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again on the highroad, and athis former pace. Ditches and banks of gravel, denuded hillsides,stumps, and decayed trunks of trees, took the place of woodland andravine, and indicated his approach to civilization. Then a churchsteeple came in sight, and he knew that he had reached home. In a fewmoments he was clattering down the single narrow street that lostitself in a chaotic ruin of races, ditches, and tailings at the foot ofthe hill, and dismounted before the gilded windows of the "Magnolia"saloon. Passing through the long barroom, he pushed open a green-baizedoor, entered a dark passage, opened another door with a passkey, andfound himself in a dimly lighted room whose furniture, though elegantand costly for the locality, showed signs of abuse. The inlaid centertable was overlaid with stained disks that were not contemplated in theoriginal design. The embroidered armchairs were discolored, and thegreen velvet lounge, on which Mr. Hamlin threw himself, was soiled atthe foot with the red soil of Wingdam.
Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay still, looking at ahighly colored painting above him representing a young creature ofopulent charms. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that hehad never seen exactly that kind of a woman, and that if he should, hewould not, probably, fall in love with her. Perhaps he was thinking ofanother style of beauty. But just then someone knocked at the door.Without rising, he pulled a cord that apparently shot back a bolt, forthe door swung open, and a man entered.
The newcomer was broad-shouldered and robust—a vigor not borneout in the face, which, though handsome, was singularly weak, anddisfigured by dissipation. He appeared to be also under the influenceof liquor, for he started on seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, "I thoughtKate 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, "didyou?"
"No," replied Hamlin; "I left it at Scott's Ferry. It isn't due forhalf an hour yet. But how's luck, Brown?"
Damn bad," said Brown, his face suddenly assuming an expression ofweak despair; "I'm cleaned out again, Jack," he continued, in a whiningtone that formed a pitiable contrast to his bulky figure, "can't youhelp me with a hundred till tomorrow's cleanup? You see I've got tosend money home to the old woman, and—you've won twenty timesthat amount from me."
The conclusion was, perhaps, not entirely logical, but Jackoverlooked it, and handed the sum to his visitor. "The old-womanbusiness is about played out, Brown," he added, by way of commentary;"why don't you say you want to buck agin' faro? You know you ain'tmarried!"
"Fact, sir," said Brown, with a sudden gravity, as if the merecontact of the gold with the palm of the hand had imparted some dignityto his frame. "I've got a wife—a damned good one, too, if I dosay it—in the States. It's three year since I've seen her, and ayear since I've writ to her. When things is about straight, and we getdown to the lead, I'm going 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 knewthat the man was predestined to lose the money, and preferred that itshould flow back into his own coffers rather than any other. He noddedhis head, and drew his chair toward the table. At the same moment therecame a 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 cardswith a hysterical 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"Touching Reunion," said: "One of those beautiful and touchingincidents, peculiar to California life, occurred last week in our city.The wife of one of Wingdam's eminent pioneers, tired of the effetecivilization of the East and its inhospitable climate, resolved to joinher noble husband upon these golden shores. Without informing him ofher intention, she undertook the long journey, and arrived last week.The joy of the husband may be easier imagined than described. Themeeting is said to have been indescribably affecting. We trust herexample may be followed."
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 thatBrown had forsworn the gaming-table, declared to have been furnished byMr. Jack Hamlin. He built and furnished the "Wingdam House," whichpretty Mrs. Brown's great popularity kept overflowing with guests. Hewas elected 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 andfortunate, he grew pale, thin, and anxious. As his wife's popularityincreased, he became fretful and impatient. The most uxorious ofhusbands, he was absurdly jealous. If he did not interfere with hiswife's social liberty, it was because it was maliciously whispered thathis first and only attempt was met by an outburst from Mrs. Brown thatterrified him into silence. Much of this kind of gossip came from thoseof her own sex whom she had supplanted in the chivalrous attentions ofWingdam, which, like most popular chivalry, was devoted to anadmiration of power, whether of masculine force or feminine beauty. Itshould be remembered, too, in her extenuation that since her arrival,she had been the unconscious priestess of a mythological worship,perhaps not more ennobling to her womanhood than that whichdistinguished an older Greek democracy. I think that Brown was dimlyconscious of this. But his only confidant was Jack Hamlin, whoseINFELIX reputation naturally precluded any open intimacy with thefamily, 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 incense whichwas 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, whohad been conscious, for the last few minutes, that Mrs. Brown'sattention was diverted.
"Dust," said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh. "Only Sister Anne's 'flock ofsheep.'"
The Colonel, whose literary recollections did not extend fartherback than last week's paper, took a more practical view. "It ain'tsheep," he continued; "it's a horseman. Judge, ain't that Jack Hamlin'sgray?"
But the Judge didn't know; and as Mrs. Brown suggested the air wasgrowing too cold for further investigations, they retired to theparlor.
Mr. Brown was in the stable, where he generally retired afterdinner. Perhaps it was to show his contempt for his wife's companions;perhaps, like other weak natures, he found pleasure in the exercise ofabsolute power over inferior animals. He had a certain gratification inthe training of a chestnut mare, whom he could beat or caress aspleased him, which he couldn't do with Mrs. Brown. It was here that herecognized a certain gray horse which had just come in, and, looking alittle farther on, found his rider. Brown's greeting was cordial andhearty, Mr. Hamlin's somewhat restrained. But at Brown's urgentrequest, he followed him up the back stairs to a narrow corridor, andthence to a small room looking out upon the stable yard. It was plainlyfurnished with a bed, a table, a few chairs, and a rack for guns andwhips.
"This yer's my home, Jack," said Brown, with a sigh, as he threwhimself upon the bed, and motioned his companion to a chair. "Herroom's t'other end of the hall. It's more'n six months since we'velived together, or met, except at meals. It's mighty rough papers onthe head of the house, ain't it?" he said, with a forced laugh. "ButI'm glad to see you, Jack, damn glad," and he reached from the bed, andagain shook the unresponsive 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 alight. We can talk here in the moonshine. Put up your feet on thatwinder, and sit here beside me. Thar's whisky in that jug."
Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the information. Brown ofCalaveras turned his face to the wall and continued:
"If I didn't love the woman, Jack, I wouldn't mind. But it's lovingher, and seeing her, day arter day, goin' on at this rate, and no oneto put down the brake; that's what gits me! But I'm glad to see ye,Jack, damn glad."
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 knowhow much I loved her till then. And she hasn't been the same womansince.
"But that ain't all, Jack; and it's what I wanted to see you about,and I'm glad you've come. It ain't that she doesn't love me any more;it ain't that she fools with every chap that comes along, for, perhaps,I staked her love and lost it, as I did everything else at theMagnolia; and, perhaps, foolin' is nateral to some women, and tharain't no great harm done, 'cept to the fools. But, Jack, Ithink—I think she loves somebody else. Don't move, Jack; don'tmove; if your pistol hurts ye, take it off.
"It's been more'n six months now that she's seemed unhappy andlonesome, and kinder nervous and scared-like. And sometimes I'veketched her lookin' at me sort of timid and pitying. And she writes tosomebody. And for the last week she's been gathering her ownthings—trinkets, and furbelows, and jew'lry—and, Jack, Ithink she's goin' off. I could stand all but that. To have her stealaway like a thief—" He put his face downward to the pillow, andfor a few moments there was no sound but the ticking of a clock on themantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and moved to the open window. The moonno longer shone into the room, and the bed and its occupant were inshadow. "What shall I do, Jack?" said the 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 cutthem, and dealt one card on the opposite side of the table and towardthe bed, and another on his side of the table for himself. The firstwas a deuce, his own card, a king. He then shuffled and cut again. Thistime "dummy" had a queen, and himself a four-spot. Jack brightened upfor the third deal. It brought his adversary a deuce, and himself aking again. "Two out of three," said Jack, audibly.
"What's that, Jack?" said Brown.
"Nothing."
Then Jack tried his hand with dice; but he always threw sixes, andhis imaginary opponent aces. The force of habit is sometimesconfusing.
Meanwhile, some magnetic influence in Mr. Hamlin's presence, or theanodyne of liquor, or both, brought surcease of sorrow, and Brownslept. Mr. Hamlin moved his chair to the window, and looked out on thetown of Wingdam, now sleeping peacefully—its harsh outlinessoftened and subdued, its glaring colors mellowed and sobered in themoonlight that flowed over all. In the hush he could hear the gurglingof water in the ditches, and the sighing of the pines beyond the hill.Then he looked up at the firmament, and as he did so a star shot acrossthe twinkling field. Presently another, and then another. Thephenomenon suggested to Mr. Hamlin a fresh augury. If in anotherfifteen minutes another star should fall— He sat there, watch inhand, for twice that time, but the phenomenon was not repeated.
The clock struck two, and Brown still slept. Mr. Hamlin approachedthe table and took from his pocket a letter, which he read by theflickering candlelight. It contained only a single line, written inpencil, in a woman's hand:
"Be at the corral, with the buggy, at three."
The sleeper moved uneasily, and then awoke. "Are you thereJack?"
"Yes."
"Don't go yet. I dreamed just now, Jack—dreamed of old times.I thought that 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 paperstill in his 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 forhis companion. He continued to hold it until it was consumed, anddropped the fragment—a fiery star—from the open window. Hewatched it as it fell, and then returned to his friend.
"Old man," he said, placing his hands upon Brown's shoulders, "inten minutes I'll be on the road, and gone like that spark. We won't seeeach other agin; but, before I go, take a fool's advice: sell out allyou've got, take your wife with you, and quit the country. It ain't noplace for you, nor her. Tell her she must go; make her go, if shewon't. Don't whine because you can't be a saint, and she ain't anangel. Be a man—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, orI'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 intothe road. In another moment, to the man's half-awakened eyes, he wasbut a moving cloud of dust in the distance, toward which a star justloosed from its brethren was trailing a stream of fire.
But early that morning the dwellers by the Wingdam turnpike, milesaway, heard a voice, pure as a skylark's, singing afield. They who wereasleep turned over on their rude couches to dream of youth and love andolden days. Hard-faced men and anxious gold-seekers, already at work,ceased their labors and leaned upon their picks, to listen to aromantic vagabond ambling away against the rosy sunrise.
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