Cole of Spyglass Mountain

by Arthur Preston Hankins

Madge and Montgomery talked about many things that did not concern or interest Joshua, so he gave his attentions to Mrs. Mundy, and together they planned their future on the homesteads. When Joshua took his leave, an hour after the noonday meal, he was unable to interpret Madge’s attitude toward Jack Montgomery. He realized fully, however, that Jack had many things to offer her, which, if Joshua were to attempt an offer of the same, would call for sacrifices too great for him to make. It would mean his complete abandonment of the study of astronomy and his immediate acceptance of Demarest’s impulsive offer—in short, Montgomery’s offerings spelled money with a capital M.

Now Joshua became a busy man. First, he mailed his check to a Los Angeles bank and opened an account. Next, he sent two thousand dollars to the publishers of a scientific journal, in which he had seen advertised a second-hand eight-inch telescope. It had been the property of an astronomer who had recently died, and his family, having no use for the instrument and finding themselves in need of money, had made an offer to dispose of it at an astonishing sacrifice. If the publishers considered the telescope all that it should be, Joshua’s letter authorized them to turn over the check to the owners and to at once ship the instrument to him. His great fear was that the bargain had been snapped up long ago, for when he first saw the advertisement his longing heart had not dared to hope that in less than a month he would be in a position to avail himself of the opportunity. And his next move was to gather together his pitifully few belongings—including the half-constructed telescope which was now become a mockery—and, with a small tent and camp outfit, which California Bill freighted in for him, go to his claim and establish residence.

Then when his tent was pitched under the sprawling junipers, and his provisions cached, he took stage for Spur and train for Los Angeles, where he notified the land office that he had taken up residence on his claim. But another matter had brought him to the city, for he could have notified the land office in the form of a letter. The next morning after his arrival found him in a saddlery store, where he gave in to a natural inclination to emulate a drunken sailor and bought a saddle, a bridle, and a set of martingales.

For Joshua Cole, despite his seriousness, still cherished the boyish ambition to ride in a picturesque saddle and appear as a picturesque son of the West. Great thinkers invariably have tucked away in their brains a little spring, which, when unexpectedly released, reveals a flaw in their mental equilibrium. The flaw is always some delightfully, laughably human conceit, trait, hobby, or perhaps merely a great longing for something unattainable and amusingly foreign to what they have set out to do in life. And the flaw in the brain of Joshua Cole demanded a prancing horse, a hand-carved saddle with low-swinging tapaderos, a plaited, silver-mounted bridle with martingales to match, and some one to stare at him open-mouthed as he rode by. Can Joshua be forgiven for this, when we remember that Ben Jonson took great delight in counting the pickets of a fence as he walked along, and, if he made a mistake, retraced his course to rectify the error, and that Edgar Allen Poe was inordinately proud of the small size of his feet?

The horse he bought upon his return to the desert, one of which California Bill had told him, a dapple gray five years old, half broncho, quarter Kentucky thoroughbred, and quarter just horse. And Joshua was five hundred dollars poorer, but gloriously content, as he rode into Ragtown, bought a sack of tobacco—though he had a full sack in his pocket and a carton of them in camp—and then galloped on around the lake toward home. The erstwhile owner of the gray had called him Prince, but Joshua had changed his name to Argo. He could sail over the desert, his fine white mane and tail a-stream in the wind, like the mythical ship that sailed with the Argonauts questing for the golden fleece. But there was another reason why Joshua called him Argo!

Joshua did not at once buy lumber with which to build his shacks, for he was waiting until the Mundys had settled their affairs with Demarest, Spruce and Tillou, when they would order together, and perhaps he would haul the loads with such equipment as the Mundys could manage to save. So for the present he occupied his time by sinking a shallow well and beginning his trail up Spyglass Mountain.

Unfortunately there was no spring on Joshua’s land, but the piece taken by Mrs. Mundy boasted one. However, Joshua struck good water twelve feet from the surface. He lined his well with stones and covered it with brush until such time as he could build a wellcurb over it.

Argo was content on a picket rope down by the lake, where the saltgrass grew. The wandering cattle did not disturb him, but their constant cropping of the grass made it necessary to move the horse quite frequently. When the well was lined Joshua began mapping out his trail to the top of the mountain, and while he was engaged in this Madge rode up one day and shouted to him to come down.

Joshua discarded his pick and shovel and retraced that part of the trail already made. Madge had dismounted before his tent, and was sitting on her heels, cowpuncher fashion, holding the black’s reins in her hand.

“Well, Joshua, here you are,” she said. “We’ve been wondering why you have deserted us, but I suppose you’ve been busy.”