[CHAPTER IV.]
Esmeralda did not again go to see Lord Norman. She did not even ask after him; and she listened to Mother Melinda’s daily report in silence, and without any comment; not even when Mother Melinda remarked, one day:
“That there Rosebud is a-getting mighty fractious. Yesterday he jawed me something fearful because I wouldn’t let him get up and go out to the camp. I reckon he’s getting better. Men’s always like that when they’re on the mend. The Rosebud shied a tumbler at Taffy yesterday when he said he’d better lie there another day. He’s always asking after you, Ralda. Seems mighty curious about you altogether.”
Esmeralda made no response, but left the hut.
Lord Norman got about again presently, and was received by the men with a kind of rough welcome. There was something about him that took their fancy, and he speedily became a favorite. He wandered about among the claims, and along the river, with the aid of a stick, and the men kept a sort of protecting eye upon him, inviting him to share their meals, and offering him unlimited whisky and tobacco. Taffy took quite a paternal interest in him, and as Norman sat upon the edge of the claim, watching the bearded giant at work, Taffy poured out the vast stores of his experience for Norman’s benefit and amusement, and inducted him into the mysteries of mining. While he was wandering about, Norman was continually on the look-out for Esmeralda, but he saw nothing of her. He asked where she was, and was told that she was in the camp, or somewhere about; and he wondered whether she was avoiding him. The idea made him unhappy and uncomfortable, and he asked himself, all day long, what he had done to offend her.
One evening he went into the Eldorado. The saloon was full; but the men were listless and bored, for the night was hot. Billiards had lost their charm, and there was no card-playing, for Varley Howard was away. There was an old piano in a corner of the room, and Norman, after wandering about, and declining innumerable offers of whisky, limped up to the ancient instrument, and began to strum on its yellow and worn keys.
The men stopped talking, and turned to look at him.
“Blest if the Rosebud ain’t a musician!” said Taffy. “Keep it up, my gentle flower! Can you sing?”
Lord Norman blushed, as was his wont, and began to pipe a drawing-room ballad. He had a particularly clear and sweet tenor, and the men listened in profound silence and with unlimited delight. When he had finished they shouted “Bravo!” and Taffy smote him on the back, so as almost to send him through the piano.
“Bravo, little ’un!” he said. “We ought to ’a called you the Nightingale! Pipe us something else.”