LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

vein has got to be low down—that can't come from high up. We're on the wrong trail. Think o' Cripple Creek—mine's right under the grass on the hills. Yer can't fool me."

      "But we know the veins are high—we've seen 'em," argued the other men.

      "Yes—but they're different veins. This rock comes from lower down."

      "What do you say to that, Sherm?"

      "One guess is as good as another," he replied, and moved away with his piece of ore.

      "The old man's mighty fly this evenin'. I wonder if he really has trailed that float to a standstill. I'd sooner think he's stringin' us."

      Bidwell went out on the edge of the ravine, and for a long time sat on a rock, listening to the roar of the swift stream and looking up at the peaks which were still covered with heavy yellow snow, stained with the impalpable dust which the winter winds had rasped from the exposed ledges of rock. It was chill in the cañon, and the old man shivered with cold as well as with a sense of discouragement. For twenty years he had regularly gone down into the valleys in winter to earn money with which to prospect in summer—all to no purpose. For years Margaret Delaney had been his very present help in time of trouble, and now she had broken with him, and under his mask of smiling incredulity he carried a profoundly disturbed conscience. His benefactress was in deadly earnest—she meant every word she said—that he felt, and unless she relented he was lost, for he had returned from the valley this time without a dollar to call his own. He had a big, strong mule and some blankets and a saddle—nothing further.

      The wind grew stronger and keener, roaring down the cañon with the breath of the upper snows, and the man's blood cried out for a fire (June stands close to winter in the high ranges of the Crestones), and at last he rose stiffly and returned to the little sitting-room, where he found the widow in the midst of an argument with her boarders to prove that they were all fools together for hangin' to the side of a mountain that had no more gould in it than a flatiron or a loomp o' coal—sure thing!

      "What you goin' to do about our assays?" asked young Johnson.

      "Assays, is it? Annybody can have assays—that will pay the price. Ye're all lazy dogs in the manger, that's phwat ye air. Ye assay and want somebody else to pay ye fer the privilege of workin'. Why don't ye work yer-silves—ye loots? Sit around here expectin' some wan ilse to shovel gould into yer hat. Ye'll pay me yer board—moind that," she ended, making a personal application of her theories; "ivery wan o' ye."

      If any lingering resolution remained in Bidwell's heart it melted away as he listened to Mrs. Delaney's throaty voice and plain, blunt words. Opening the door timidly, he walked in and without looking at the angry woman seized upon his bundles, which lay behind the door.

      The widow's voice rang out: "Where ye gawun wid thim bags?"

      Bidwell straightened. "They're my bundles, I reckon. Can't a man do as he likes with his own?"

      "Not whin he's owin' fer board. Put thim boondles down!"

      The culprit sighed and sat down on the bundles. Even young Johnson lost his desire to laugh, for Bidwell looked pathetically old and discouraged at the moment, as he mildly asked:

      "You wouldn't send a man out in the night without his blankets, would you?"

      "I'd send a sneak to purgatory—if I c'u'd. Ye thought ye'd ooze out, did ye? Nice speciment you are!"

      Bidwell was roused. "If I had planned to sneak I wouldn't 'a' come into the room with you a-standin' in the middle of the floor," he replied, with some firmness. "You ordered me out, didn't you? Well, I'm goin'. I can't pay you—you knew that when you told me to go—and I owe you a good deal—I admit that—but I'm going to pay it. But I must have a little time."

      The other men, with a grateful sense of delicacy, got up and went out, leaving Bidwell free space to justify himself in the eyes of the angry woman.

      As the door slammed behind the last man the widow walked over and gave Bidwell a cuff. "Get off thim boondles. Gaw set on a chair like a man, an' not squat there like a baboon." She pitched his bundles through an open door into a small bedroom. "Ye know where yer bed is, I hope! I do' know phwat Dan Delaney w'u'd say to me, housin' and feedin' the likes o' you, but I'll do it wan more summer—and then ye gaw flyin'. Ye hear that now!"

      And she threw the door back on its hinges so sharply that a knob was broken.

      Bidwell went in, closed the door gently, and took to his bed, dazed with this sudden change in the climate. "She's come round before—and surprised me," he thought, "but never so durn sudden as this. I hope she ain't sick or anything."

      Next morning at breakfast Maggie was all smiles. The storm of the evening before had given place to brilliant sunshine. She ignored all winks and nudgings among her boarders, and did not scruple to point out to Bidwell the choicest biscuit on the plate, and to hand him the fattest slice of bacon, all of which he accepted without elation.

      "Old Sherm must be one o' these hypnotical chaps," said Johnson as they were lighting their pipes in the sitting-room. "He's converted the widow into another helping. He's goin' to get his flour and bacon all right!"

      "You bet he is, and anything else he wants. Beats me what she finds in that old side-winder, anyhow."

      "Oh, Sherm isn't so worse if he had a decent outfit."

      Bidwell was deeply touched by Maggie's clemency, and would have put his feelings into the best terms he was familiar with, but the widow stopped him.

      "The best way to thank me is to hustle out and trail up that flo-at. If it's there, find it. If it's not there, give o'er the search, for ye are a gray man, Sherm Bidwell, and I'm not the woman I was eight years ago."

      In the exaltation of the moment Bidwell rose, and his shoulders were squared as he said: "I'm a-goin', Maggie. If I find it I'll come back and marry you. If I don't—I'll lay my useless old bones in the hills."

      "Ah—go 'long! Don't be a crazy fool!" she said, but her face flushed with pleasure at the sincerity of his tone. "Ye've made such promises ivery time before."

      "I know I have, but I mean it now."

      "Aho! so that's the way of it—ye didn't mean it before? Is that phwat ye're sayin'?"

      His proud pose collapsed. "You know what I mean—only you're such a tormentin' little devil."

      "Thank ye for the compliment, Mr. Bidwell."

      Bidwell turned. "I'm going after old Nebuchadnezzar," he said, firmly. "I can't waste time on a chicken-headed woman—"

      "Out wid ye before I break the measly head of ye!" she retorted.

      An hour later, with his mule packed with food and blankets and tools, he moved off up the trail. The other men stood to watch him go, consumed with curiosity, yet withholding all question.

      The widow did not so much as look from the door as her grub-staker disappeared.

      II

      Three days later Bidwell crept stealthily down the trail, leading his mule as silently as possible. He timed his arrival so that Mrs. Delaney would be in the kitchen alone with the Chinaman, getting the dishes ready for breakfast.

      "Who is ut?" called the widow as he softly knocked.

      "Me—Sherm," he replied.

      "Saints in hevin! What's the matter? Are ye sick?" she gasped as she flung the door open.

      "'Sh! Don't speak so loud," he commanded. "Sit down; I want to speak solemn-like to you."

      His tone impressed her deeply. "Have ye struck ut?" she asked, tremulously.

      "I hain't found it yet, but I want to tell ye—I believe I've had a hunch. Send the 'chink' away."

      Something in his tone stopped all scornful words upon her lips. Ordering the Chinaman to bed, she turned and asked:

      "Phwat

Скачать книгу