BATTLES WITH CONSCIENCE.
Joe evidently sent the telegram, for his stage next day brought up the long-looked-for load of "bigbugs" that set the whole town of Gold City wild to know why they were there. A perfect mob of street urchins, loafers, shop-men and bar-keepers who could spare a bit of time, lined up in front of the Palace Hotel and watched the plaid-coated, gray-capped visitors in short knickerbockers and golf stockings puff their pipes around the bar and call for "Porter and h'ale, 'alf and 'alf."
Interest reached its climax when, after supper, three buckboards, loaded with the guests heavy in more ways than one, started down toward Mormon Bar and the Pine Mountain road.
It was quite late when the loud barking of dogs announced their arrival at Pine Tree Ranch, and it was still later when Job crept up to the hay-loft over the stable to find a substitute for his cosy bed, which he had surrendered to another "H'english gentleman," with an emphasis on the last word. The boy was in a quandary to know what it all meant. He felt an inward sense of disgust. He disliked such people as these new friends of the old man's. Then he remembered that the good Book says, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," and he was painfully conscious that they were close neighbors now; so he breathed a silent prayer that the Lord would make him love the unlovable, and after a time fell asleep.
It was the second day of the feast. Venison and quail, if not milk and honey, had made the table groan in the big center room, now changed into a dining-room. The parlor had been turned into a smoking-room, and Job had seen, with indignation that stirred his deepest soul, empty beer bottles on his bedroom floor. A whole cavalcade of horsemen had gone down in the morning to the Cove and come galloping back at night. Job had been to the milk-house and was coming back past the side door in the dusk of the evening; it was ajar and the fumes of tobacco smoke rolled out. He was tempted to peer in. Around the cleared dining-table the crowd of red-faced guests were seated, with Andy at the head playing the host in an awkward sort of way. On the table were spread a big map and paper and ink.
"Well, Mr. Malden, this 'ere nugget came from the mine, you say. Bloomin' purty, hain't h'it, fellows?" said a voice.
"Yes, gentlemen, I found that myself. My son Job and I were prospecting, and we discovered it—the richest nugget ever found in Grizzly county. Of course we kept it a secret; didn't want a rush up here," replied Malden.
"What a lie!" said Job to himself. "That's the very nugget Mike Hannerry found at the Yellow Jacket! Where on earth did uncle get it?"
"Come, Devonshire, let's buy 'er h'up and get h'out of this bloomin' country. I want to get back to the club. The boat for Australia sails Saturday," spoke up another voice.
"But now I want to ask the mon a thing," said a little shrewd-faced Scotchman. "Is he sure the thing down the hollow isn't salted? I got one salted mine in the colonies, and—"
"Salted!" said Andy, with an unnoticed flush on his face. "Salted! Do you suppose, gentlemen, I would bring you here to sell you a salted mine? You can ask anybody back in the city if my credit isn't first-class."
"Oh, mon," said a tall Highlander, "oh, mon, the feller's crazy. Salted—humph! We saw the gold with our own eyes. I say take the mine. I'll take a thousand shares at a pound. How much is the deal, did the mon say?"
"H'an 'undred thousand pounds. Cheap, I think," answered Devonshire.
"H'it's a go. We'll 'ave the stuff h'at the h'inn down h'in—what's the name of that town?" said the tall one.
"Gold City, sir, Gold City!" spoke up the excited host.
"Well, Gold City—that's the spot. We'll pay the cash there. My banker'll come h'in there to-night h'in the stage."
And as Job crept away, he heard them planning, between drinks, the future of the "Anglo-American Gold Mining Syndicate," with main office in London and place of operation in Grizzly county, State of California, the United States of America.
Job did not sleep that night. All through the dark hours he tossed on his straw bed over the stable. Andrew Malden was going to sell the Cove Mine for five hundred thousand dollars—and it was not worth one cent! It was an outrageous fraud. The boy felt like going and telling those capitalists. He felt a sense of personal guilt. Yet he almost hated those men. What difference if they were cheated?—they would never miss it; they deserved it. How much Uncle Andy needed the money! And it would be his own some day.
That thought touched Job's conscience to the center. He was a partner in the crime! He half rose in bed, resolving that he would face the crowd and tell all—how he had stood by and seen the old man salt the mine. Then he hesitated. What was it to him? If he told, it would ruin Andy. What business had he with it, anyhow? But all night long the wind whistled in through the cracks, "Thou shalt not steal," and Job tossed in agony of soul, wishing he had never climbed down the Pine Mountain trail to the Cove on that spring day when Andrew Malden salted the mine.
The sun was well up the next morning when the procession of buckboards was ready to start for Gold City. Andrew Malden and the shrewd fellow had gone an hour before, the rest were off, and only the boorish Devonshire was left to ride down with Tony. Job stood, with heart palpitating and conscience goading him, down by the big pasture gate to let them through. All his peace of mind was gone. A few moments and the crime would be carried out to its end, and he would be equally guilty with the avaricious old man who was the nearest one he had in all the world.
Tony and the last man, the obnoxious Devonshire, were coming. How Job hated to tell him, of all men! The hot flashes came and went on his cheek; he turned away; he bit his lip; he would let it go—lose his religion and go to the bad with Andy Malden. Then the old camp-meeting days came back to him. He heard again Slim Jim's words in the dark behind the church that Christmas night; he remembered his vows to God and the church.
The horse and the buckboard had passed through the gate; the Englishman had thrown him a dollar; he was trembling from head to foot. He offered a quick prayer, then hurried after them, halted Tony, and, looking up into the red face of his companion, said:
"Sir, the mine is salted; I saw the old man do it—it's salted sure!"
The load was gone, the consciousness of truthfulness filled his soul. That day he played with Shot and sang about his work.
The dusky twilight had come, when Job heard the stern voice of Andrew Malden outside, as, with an oath, he threw the reins to Hans. The boy rose to meet him as he heard his step on the porch. The door opened, and Job saw a white face and flashing eyes, the very incarnation of wrath.
"You pious fraud! What made you tell those men the mine was salted!" hissed the old man.
"Uncle, I am sorry, but I couldn't help it. I knew it—I had to tell the truth," stammered Job.
"Couldn't help it, you sneak! You owe all you are to me. I guess I am more to you than all your religion!"
"Uncle, I am sorry to hurt you, but I could do no less and please God. And God is first in my life."
"First, is he? Then go to him, and let him feed you and clothe you, you ungrateful wretch!" And with the words the angry man struck Job such a blow that he went reeling over, a dead-weight, on the floor.
It was midnight when Tony, passing the door, heard the old man moan. Peering in at the window, he saw him on his knees beside Job, who, with white face and closed eyes, lay on a lounge near the door. Tony stole away to whisper to Hans:
"Guess the old man's made way with the kid! Let's lay low!"
What a night that was for Andrew Malden! Two minutes after he had struck the blow, all the wrath which had gathered strength on that long mountain ride was gone. The blow struck open the door of his heart; he saw that the boy was right and he was wrong. That blanched face, those closed eyes—how they pierced him through and through! He loved that boy more than all the mines and gold and ranches in the world. The depth of his iniquity came over him. He hated himself, he hated the Cove Mine; but that stalwart lad lying there—how he loved him! All the hidden love of thirty years went out to him. "Job! Job!" he cried. "Look at me! Tell me you forgive me!"
He dashed water in the boy's face. He felt of his heart—he could hardly feel it beat. Was he dead? Dead!—the only one he cared for? Dead!—the poor motherless boy he had brought home one moonlight night long ago, and promised that he would be both father and mother to him? Dead!—aye, dead by his hand! And for what? For telling the truth; for being honest and manly; for saving him from holding in his grasp the ill-gotten gain that always curses a man.
The hot tears came, the first in years. Andrew Malden knelt by the bedside and groaned. And then he thought of Job's God and of the Christ he talked about: thought of the little Testament he cherished. He would call on Him, he would beg Him to spare Job. He knelt near the lad; he started to say, "Oh, God, spare my boy! spare my boy!" when a sense of his wickedness, his hard heart, his selfish life, his sin, came over him; and instead he cried from the depths of his soul, "God have mercy on me a sinner!"
The daylight was struggling through the shutters when Job turned and opened his eyes, to see an anxious face look into his own and to hear a familiar voice out of which had gone all anger, say:
"Oh, Job, my boy, I knew He'd hear me, I prayed so long! Job, God has forgiven me! Won't you? Oh, tell me you will! I am a different man! I read it in the Book while you lay here so still: 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' And Job, it's true!"
The fever stayed with Job many a day after that, and it was June before the natural color came back into his white cheeks. But the old ranch seemed like a new place to him; and when one morning Mr. Malden read at family devotions, "All things work together for good to them that love God," he broke down in the prayer he tried to make, and rushed out of doors to hide the tears of joy that choked him, while he heard Tony singing as he went about his toil:
"Oh, dar's glory, yes, dar is glory,
Oh, dar is glory in my soul!
Since I touched de hem of His garment,
Oh, dar is glory in my soul."