THE MINER’S PARTNER.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II.
On a morning only a couple of days after the opening of our story, the sun had not yet risen high enough to strike the plains, which stretched as far as the eye could reach; but the mountains were all bright with his rays, from their peaks down almost to the ‘foothills,’ which, tolerable eminences in themselves, projected like so many capes out on the level ground, when a man came to the opening of a tent and looked out. Although he gazed across the rugged intervening ground and out upon the plain, and although sunrise in Colorado is worth seeing from a position of vantage, yet it was evident that it was from no appreciation of the scenery that the man stood there. From the spot, an irregular line of tents and huts—or ‘shanties’—led to the centre of Flume City; while the trenches cut in all directions, and the odd implements and vessels lying about, gave ample evidence that this was a mining camp, or town.
The man was dressed in buckskin—as were many others, who by this time began to show themselves—was tall and dark; of an eager, not to say cunning aspect; while from beneath his shapeless hat, his long hair hung straight and untidy. This description might serve for nine-tenths of the denizens of the camp, whether of high or low degree; but there was something in the aspect of this miner which would have prevented any expert from classing him with the lowest and coarsest of his calling. He was evidently deep in thought, and his meditation found support in a fashion very common in the United States—he drew a cake of tobacco from his pocket, and bit off a corner, as though it had been a biscuit; then, chewing vigorously, he remained with his absorbed gaze apparently fixed on the distant plains.
Presently the canvas of the tent was pushed aside, and another man came out. This second man was somewhat shorter than the first, although yet a tolerably tall man. He was fairer, as could be seen in spite of his sunburnt and weather-beaten countenance. His beard was brown, and was longer and fuller than the first comer’s; and he was altogether of a thicker, stronger build. These brief descriptions will serve to introduce the two partners Rube Steele and Ben, whose jarring took up so much time at the miners’ convention two or three nights before, and whose relation to the whole camp had grown to be of the most unfriendly character.
‘How long have you been cooling yourself here?’ asked the second man, who was of course Ben; ‘and why did you not wake me up?’
‘Reckon I have not been here six minutes,’ replied the other, taking no notice of the second query. ‘I expect we had better see now about fixing the breakfast.’
‘You might have done something, instead of loafing around,’ muttered Ben, who was clearly in no pleasant mood, although his features bespoke him a frank, good-tempered fellow enough. ‘Here! I will light the fire.’
In a few minutes the fire was blazing, the kettle on, and the men, who had scarcely interchanged another word, were seated, waiting for the water to boil.
‘Now, Rube,’ suddenly exclaimed Ben, ‘you know this is my last day here; I mean clearing out; so this is our time to have a settlement. If we don’t fix things straight now, we shall not fix them at all.’
‘They air fixed, ain’t they?’ retorted Rube. ‘You have done considerable as you please; so, if you don’t like the position, I can’t help it.’
‘You shift too much in your argyment, you do,’ continued Ben. ‘But say now, right away, do you mean to pay me those fifteen hundred dollars or not?’
‘You air unreasonable altogether,’ returned Rube. ‘Why should I pay fifteen hundred dollars, because a man who robbed us both has gone off with twice as much?’
‘Don’t tell me about robbing us both—you can’t fool me like that!’ angrily exclaimed the other. ‘I never would trust the man with dust—you knew it—although he was your friend, and you could not say enough in his favour. It was through you he hung around here; and even if you did not get your half from him, with a big profit, you are bound in honour to pay me my share.’
Rube’s eyes assumed for a moment a very ugly and dangerous look, as his comrade spoke. ‘Seems to me, pardner Ben,’ he said, ‘that you are gone wrong altogether in this connection. Two or three citizens saw the order, and thought it was in your writing; so did I. Then where does the blame come in? Fix it how you like, it was only a mistake, not a fault. And as to my having shared the plunder with this stranger’——
‘I can’t say you did for certain, of course,’ interrupted Ben. ‘But you have been out of camp till midnight ever since, and where have you been all the time? Anyhow, I am fifteen hundred dollars short; that is a sure thing, and I want it made up. And what do you mean to do about it?’
The altercation seemed likely to grow into a violent quarrel; but one or two miners from the neighbouring huts came in on matters of business, and the dispute died out, leaving, however, to judge from the countenances of the principals, no great amount of good-will on either side. It was evident from the conversation of these visitors, that as Ben was about to leave the camp, and as the partnership which had existed between himself and Rube would of necessity cease, they had resolved to sell their equipment of tools, mining ‘fixings,’ and tent furniture, all of which were known to be very complete. This was what drew the miners to the tent; and among the visitors, there was a general understanding that the partners were not separating on good terms; indeed, most of those who came showed, by their addressing themselves almost exclusively to one or the other, a partisanship in the matter. Various bargains were struck by either partner; but whatever was done by Ben invariably produced unfavourable comment from Rube; while Ben did not attempt to conceal his dislike of nearly all transactions managed by his partner.
So the day wore on, with no increase of good-will in the tent; and the interchange of conversation grew less and less, while it became more irritating in its tone. Had the men remained together all day, a quarrel must certainly have arisen; but this was not the case, one or other being absent from the tent for the greater part of the time.
It was while Rube was absent towards the close of the afternoon, that a miner drew near to the tent, and from the repeated glances he threw around him, and the deliberate manner in which he approached, he seemed to be on his guard against some danger. At last, when he was very close to the tent, Ben came to the opening, and being busied in arranging some of the household gear which he was removing from the interior, would not have noticed this new-comer, but that the latter, in a lower voice than appeared to be requisite, exclaimed: ‘Ben! hist! Are you alone, Ben?’
Ben looked up, and apparently recognised the man, for he smiled as he replied: ‘Yes, Absalom, I am alone; and quite at your service, if you want me upon any business.’
The stranger was a little spare man, with a sufficiently comical cast of features; yet he did not respond to Ben’s smile, but with a very grave face, came closer.
‘Why, Absalom!’ exclaimed Ben with a grin of amusement spreading over his face, as he noticed the little man’s gravity, ‘what is the matter now? Been playing at “monté” again, I suppose?’
This allusion to the gambling weakness which was known to be a feature in poor Absalom’s character, also failed to diminish the serious cast of the little man’s countenance.
‘Let us go into the tent and talk,’ said the stranger, still without any responsive smile on his lips; and as, with the freedom of camp-life, he led the way, Ben followed him, wondering and smiling still at Absalom’s important air.
‘Now, then, Ab,’ he continued, ‘what is it? Let us have your news first; then we will take a drink.’
‘Do you know that Bill Dobell is in camp?’ asked Absalom, putting more mystery and importance into his manner than before.
‘No; I guess I did not know it,’ replied Ben. ‘If so, he had better clear out soon; or before I go, I will leave a message which will send a dozen of the boys after him, and will teach him that the Vigilantes are not dead yet.’
‘It will be too late,’ said the other.—‘Now tell me, Ben, has not Indian Peter offered to buy the mules and wagon that you have in Fandango Gulch? And are you not to meet him there at sundown to settle the trade?’
‘Certainly,’ replied Ben, still wondering, but with much less disposition to smile. The little man’s earnestness had impressed him, and he, moreover, began to regard the conjunction of names as ominous.
‘Well, then, Ben,’ continued Absalom, glancing nervously around him and dropping his voice to a whisper, ‘it is all a planned thing with Rube, your pardner, and these other two. You will go to Fandango Gulch; but you will never leave it alive! Bill Dobell is to have five hundred dollars in gold-dust for shooting you; and Indian Peter is to have something for trapping you down there.’
‘And Rube?’ asked Ben, in a voice which told how far he was from doubting this strange story.
‘Wal, Rube of course is to be the paymaster. He says you have a sight of plunder in—in those two valises,’ said Absalom, pointing to a couple of old but strong travelling-bags in a corner of the tent. ‘You know best if he is right.’
‘How do you know all this?’ demanded Ben sternly.
‘I have been having drinks with the boys at Rattlesnake Claim,’ returned Absalom, ‘and so have not gone to my own shanty lately. You know that is a long way outside the city. Two nights ago, I slept at Big Donald’s. Last night, I felt real bad, and so I got into Indian Peter’s shanty. I thought he had left the camp for a day or two, so I crept under some buffalo robes to have my sleep. I was woke by some men talking, and I was about to crawl out, when I recognised Bill Dobell’s voice; and you know he has threatened to shoot me at sight, for telling how he broke the stamp-mill. So I lay low, and heard Rube settle with them other two. Of course I made up my mind to tell you, and have been hanging around here all day to get a chance of seeing you by yourself. And it is my belief, Ben, that Rube met Californy Jones on the night that scallawag went off with your gold-dust.’
‘I feel considerable certain he did,’ returned Ben; ‘and I have told Rube as much.’
‘I saw Rube meet a man at the Big Loaf Rock, in the cañon,’ continued Absalom. ‘I knew the man somewhere, but could not remember him at the time, and I only saw his back. He had a dog with him too, which was a good deal on the growl, so I daren’t go nigh.’ And here Absalom detailed the adventure with which the reader has been made acquainted.
‘Bill Dobell in camp! Rube in league with him and Indian Peter! and Californy Jones hanging about the cañon!’ exclaimed Ben. ‘Then my first suspicion was right, and Rube did send some men into the cañon to shoot me! I thought he was a long time getting his posse together; and a pretty collection they were! He had plenty of time to send his desperadoes on first, and they were Dobell and Indian Peter, you bet.’
‘I think it’s very likely,’ returned Absalom; ‘for Rube is a bad man; and if he ever knows what I have told you to-day, he will mark me.’
‘All right, Absalom. The span of mules and the wagon in Fandango Gulch are yours; you can fetch them in the morning. I reckon Rube won’t interfere with you then, said Ben. ‘It is near sundown now; so do you clear out, and send Van Boldvert from Pennsylvania Claim up here, and the Englishmen from Happy Jack Gulch. Go quickly.’
The little miner vanished; and Ben waited until the arrival of the men whom he had summoned, casting many a glance meanwhile in the direction from which his treacherous partner should appear.
Looking out westward across the plains, the broad red disc of the sun was seen just touching the horizon, and everything bathed in his last rays was golden, yet not dazzlingly bright. A peculiar softness and repose was in the light of the setting orb. It was almost the time at which he was to keep his appointment; so, when the men arrived, wondering at the urgent summons delivered, he hastily told them the gist of the information he had received, and suggested that some steps should be taken to get rid of Bill Dobell, who was acknowledged to be the most desperate ruffian of all who infested the mines.
Van Boldvert, who, with all the phlegm and external apathy of the genuine Pennsylvanian Dutchmen, had their quiet resolution too, said a few words indicative of the treatment he intended to adopt—a process which boded no good either to Dobell or his accomplice Indian Peter.
‘And how about Rube?’ said one of the Englishmen from Happy Jack Gulch. ‘What is to be done with him? It seems to me that he is the worst of the lot; and if there is to be any stringing-up, why, string him up first, I say.’
‘You sees how it is,’ responded the Dutchman. ‘Rube is de vorst; dere is not no doubt about dat; but he has had a good character as yet, and so far as the miners knows, it is his first offence. So ve shall shust varn him off; and if he comes more closer nor sixty miles to dese diggings, ve shtrings him up. But dese oders—vell, dey are shust de two vorse men ve ever had here, and ve settles dem anyhow.’
As it was Ben’s own case, it was thought better that the Vigilantes should work without him. Had they decided otherwise, not his intended departure or anything else would have been allowed to stand in the way; on forfeit of his own life, he must have accompanied them.
The visitors disappeared; and so short a time had the conference occupied, that the last rays of the sun still brightened the evening clouds, when Ben saw, from the door of his tent, fourteen or fifteen men leave the city, and stealthily and in several parties take the line which he well knew would lead them to Fandango Gulch, where the treacherous ambush was to have been set for him.
Taking with him the two valises to which Absalom had made so startling a reference, Ben strode across to a hut, mean-looking enough, but which was somewhat larger than common, and which was dignified by the words ‘Bank, Post-office, Mail Depôt,’ being inscribed on boards as large as the front and sides of the building would conveniently hold. Having deposited his luggage with the clerk, he was about to return to his own tent, when he muttered: ‘I will have a last look at the old place;’ then turning at once into one of the numerous ravines which ran close up to the town, he was speedily at the foot of the low hills; and a few score yards, easily threaded by him, amid the intricacies of trenches, mounds, and pools, brought him to the scene of his last speculations.
The moon was rising. It is hardly possible to say so much without adding that it had risen, as the full-moon, of a size and splendour not seen in northern climates, would rise there completely in five minutes; while its light, although softer and less penetrating than it would be when the disc was high in the heavens, was enough to render even the smallest objects visible.
‘I guess there is a deal more metal in this placer than has ever come out,’ half-murmured Ben, as he looked at the spot; ‘and I am leaving a good thing. But it is all for the best. I have realised more dollars than I shall ever spend, and I am not so young as I was; and some of the people here are getting a little tired of me. That p’isonous Rube was the first, maybe; but he would not be the last, if I stayed here, to try how thick my skin is. And I remember that, more ’n a month ago, a bullet was sent through my hair by accident. There would be another such accident soon, I reckon, and as before, no one could guess whose bullet it might be. Wal, this is the last time I shall take a survey of this or any other mine. The water is high to-night.’ He turned, as he spoke, to look at the pool by which he was standing; but as he did so, he suddenly ceased his speech, and instinctively recoiled.
The pool was a little below where he stood—only some two or three feet; but a kind of beach or margin lay between him and the water; and as he turned round, the figure of a man, coming from behind a mound of earth, which lay on this margin like a small cliff, emerged into the full moonlight. The start and broken exclamation of Ben were repeated by the other.
‘Wal, is that Ben?’ exclaimed the voice of Rube. ‘Why, hadn’t you got to meet Indian Peter at the Gulch, to settle about them mules?’
‘Yes,’ returned Ben briefly; ‘I had.’
‘Ha! you have not been, I estimate,’ continued Rube. ‘Is the trade off?’
‘I have sent some friends to transact my share of the business for me,’ said Ben; and either the ambiguous character of the reply, or its tone, roused Rube’s suspicions; for he glanced quickly up at the speaker, with the same cunning, dangerous look which his face had worn earlier in the day.
‘I see there’s a good many handles and broken tools about here, Ben,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘Before I take another pardner, I shall have a clearing-up.’
‘I think it’s very likely,’ said Ben drily, and his tone again caused the quick, dangerous look to come on Rube’s face. The latter had by this time approached almost to where Ben stood, and he turned to look, as it seemed, across the pool and out over the deserted diggings, to the rising moon; but as he did so, with an almost imperceptible movement he brought his revolver further to the front. To any but a practised eye, the movement would have been entirely concealed; but Ben saw it, and knew its meaning.
‘Air you going to Fandango Gulch, Ben?’ asked Rube, turning again to his ex-partner. ‘I reckon Peter will be considerably riled if you don’t.’
‘As you say, there’s a sight of useful things lying about here,’ returned Ben, stooping, and looking at some of the broken implements; ‘and I had no idea we had left so much. Indian Peter won’t miss me.’
‘Ain’t you going to meet him, then, and why?’ demanded Rube, with another sinister glance upward, and another slight hitch forward of his scabbard—as revolver holsters are usually termed in the west.
‘Because Indian Peter is in the hands of the Vigilantes by this time, you traitor and hound!’ burst forth Ben, his smothered passion appearing to overcome him. ‘So is Bill Dobell; and so’——
His sentence was never finished, for both men dashed savagely at each other at the same moment. Rube, when he heard the words which told him that his plot was discovered and defeated, with a bitter oath jerked his pistol from its scabbard, cocked, and fired; but though he did it almost instantaneously, the hawk-eye of Ben was too quick for him, and the aim, which must have been deadly, so close were they together, was balked by a powerful stroke with the handle of a pick, which Ben had secured under the feint of examining the refuse implements. As Rube levelled his pistol, Ben dealt him a desperate blow on the back of the head. The weapon exploded harmlessly in the air; and Rube, with a single groan, stumbled forward and fell senseless and motionless on his face.
He lay on the margin or beach described as being between the elevated ledge and the pool; and there was something in the helpless, inanimate figure which convinced Ben that his stroke had taken deadly effect.
‘I believe he is dead,’ he said, after a pause, during which he grasped his club in readiness for another blow. ‘I was sorry I had left my six-shooter behind, when I saw what he was after; but this has done as well. Let me make sure.’
He lifted up the prostrate man’s arm; and when he released it, it fell heavily and clod-like, just as it was dropped. He turned the body half round and placed his hand over the heart, but could feel no pulsation.
‘The Vigilantes have been saved some trouble, either now or at another time, anyhow,’ he continued. ‘I hope they have caught Indian Peter and Bill Dobell, and then the camp has got quit of the three worst characters in it. I shall say nothing about this before I clear out. I have so many dollars in my satchels, that a very little would serve as an excuse to Rube’s friends for lynching me.’
Acting on this determination, he quietly returned to the camp, or city, where he soon learned that justice had overtaken Bill Dobell and Indian Peter. In further confirmation, the driver of the mail, as he drove from the town, some hours later in the night, showed him, as an object of interest, two figures pendent from the boughs of a solitary tree some hundred and fifty yards from the roadside, which tree had, it appeared, often served such a purpose before.
The driver, having come on from a distant station with the coach, was not so well acquainted with the antecedent particulars of this demonstration of justice, as was the passenger who sat by his side on the box; nor did he know the latter’s interest in the matter.
‘I do hear,’ continued the driver, ‘that Rube Steele was looked for to make a third; but it is calculated he made tracks in time. It is a good thing to get rid of such desperadoes as Bill Dobell and Indian Peter; but it’s an awful pity they missed Rube.’
The outside passenger kept his own counsel, being very well satisfied that his partner’s fate should remain unknown until he had placed at least a hundred leagues between himself and the mining town.