He might rely on it, I was going to say.
He added, “Thet—thet—thet man what gits Susan has half the hogs!”
Then turning promptly away, he spurred the pony, and his words as he rode into the forest were, “Take good care of yourself!”
Susan and I rode on for half a mile, until we reached the brow of a long descent, which she gave me to understand was her limit.
We shook hands and I bade her good-by, and as I trotted off these words fell sweetly upon my ear, “Say, you’ll take good care of yourself, won’t you, say?”
I took pains not to overtake my camp-men, wishing to be alone; and as I rode for hour after hour the picture of this family stood before me in all its deformity of outline, all its poverty of detail, all its darkness of future, and I believe I thought of it too gravely to enjoy as I might the subtle light of comedy which plays about these hard, repulsive figures.
In conversation I had caught the clew of a better past. Newty’s father was a New-Englander, and he spoke of him as a man of intelligence and, as I should judge, of some education. Mrs. Newty’s father had been an Arkansas judge, not perhaps the most enlightened of men, but still very far in advance of herself. The conspicuous retrograde seemed to me an example of the most hopeless phase of human life. If, as I suppose, we may all sooner or later give in our adhesion to the Darwinian view of development, does not the same law which permits such splendid scope for the better open up to us also possible gulfs of degradation, and are not these chronic emigrants whose broken-down wagons and weary faces greet you along the dusty highways of the far West melancholy examples of beings who have forever lost the conservatism of home and the power of improvement?
VI
KAWEAH’S RUN
1864
After trying hard to climb Mount Whitney without success, and having returned to the plains, I enjoyed my two days’ rest in hot Visalia, where were fruits and people, and where I at length thawed out the last traces of alpine cold, and recovered from hard work and the sinful bread of my fortnight’s campaign. I considered it happiness to spend my whole day on the quiet hotel veranda, accustoming myself again to such articles as chairs and newspapers, and watching with unexpected pleasure the few village girls who flitted about during the day, and actually found time after sunset to chat with favored fellows beneath the wide oaks of the street-side. Especially interesting seemed the rustic sister of whom I bought figs at a garden gate, thinking her, as I did, comme il faut, though recollecting later that her gown was of forgotten mode, and that she carried a suggestion of ancient history in the obsolete style of her back hair.
Everybody was of interest to me, not excepting the two Mexican mountaineers who monopolized the agent at Wells, Fargo & Co.’s office, causing me delay. They were transacting some little item of business, and stood loafing by the counter, mechanically jingling huge spurs and shrugging their shoulders as they chatted in a dull, sleepy way. At the door they paused, keeping up quite a lively dispute, without apparently noticing me as I drew a small bag of gold and put it in my pocket. There was no especial reason why I should remark the stolid, brutal cast of their countenances, as I thought them not worse than the average Californian greaser; but it occurred to me that one might as well guess at a geological formation as to attempt to judge the age of mountaineers, because they get very early in life a fixed expression, which is deepened by continual rough weathering and undisturbed accumulations of dirt. I observed them enough to see that the elder was a man of middle height, of wiry, light figure and thin, hawk visage; a certain angular sharpness making itself noticeable about the shoulders and arms, which tapered to small, almost refined hands. A mere fringe of perfectly straight, black beard followed the curve of his chin, tangling itself at the ear with shaggy, unkempt locks of hair. He wore an ordinary, stiff-brimmed Spanish sombrero, and the inevitable greasy red sash performed its rather difficult task of holding together flannel shirt and buckskin breeches, besides half covering with folds a long, narrow knife.