A Waif of the Mountains

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

“Not quite, but they bothered us only once more and then they managed to get us into a corner, where it would have been the last of me had it not been for the lieutenant and Timon. I tell you–––”

The captain stopped short and smiled. He had seen the protesting expression on the face of the young officer, and said:

“We’ll keep that story till some time when he isn’t present. But there is another fact which I observed. There are more white men in the mountains than ever before and the numbers will increase. The close of the war has released nearly a million soldiers, who must make a living somehow. Some will come westward. You have preserved this place as an exclusive residence 124 for yourselves, but you won’t be able to do it much longer.”

All saw the truth of these words, and knew trouble would inevitably follow the mingling of uncongenial spirits, but they concluded it would be time enough to meet it when it came, without allowing the fear to disturb the pleasure of the present communion. Lieutenant Fred Russell could not fail to be an individual of keen interest to those who had never before seen him. While the captain was talking, he sat modestly in the background, smoking his brierwood, listening as intently as if everything said was new to him. It was noticed that like several of the rest, he did not drink at the bar, though he received numerous invitations. Truth to tell, he had been quite a drinker, but during that eventful journey through the mountains, when Captain Dawson was talking of his daughter, as he loved to do, he named those who had reformed as the result of Nellie’s influence. The young officer made no comment, but it struck him that if those rough, hardy men could abstain, it ought not to be difficult for him to do the same, and he did it.

Few men were more prepossessing than the lieutenant. He was educated, about twenty-four years of age, and undeniably handsome. His campaigns of exposure, hardship and fighting had hardened his frame into the mould of the trained athlete. The faded uniform which 125 he still wore became him well. The ruddy cheeks had grown swarthy and browned, but when he removed his cap, the upper part of his forehead showed as white and fair as that of a woman.

His nose was slightly aquiline, just enough to give character to his countenance, the hair which was rather scant, was dark like the mustache and the small tuft on his chin. He wore fine, high cavalry boots, reaching above the knees, a sword and like the captain was armed with revolver and Winchester rifle.

Crouched at his feet was his massive dog Timon, an object of as much interest as his master; for, curious as it may seem, he was the only canine ever owned in New Constantinople. He was of mixed breed, huge, powerful and swift, seeming to combine the sagacity and intelligence of the Newfoundland, the courage of the bull dog, the persistency of the bloodhound and the best qualities of all of them. Seeming to understand that he was among friends, he rested his nose between his paws and lay as if asleep, but those who gazed admiringly at him, noted that at intervals he opened one of his eyes as if to say:

“Strangers, I guess it is all right, but I’m taking no chances.”

Coming with the credentials that no one else ever bore, Lieutenant Fred Russell was sure of a warm reception at New Constantinople. The depletion of the 126 population had left more than one cabin vacant and the best of these was turned over to him. In it he found cooking utensils, rough but serviceable bedding and accommodations and much better comforts than he was accustomed to during his campaigning. Having no immediate relatives, he had followed the discreet course of Captain Dawson, who deposited nearly all of his accumulated pay in a savings institution in the East, reserving only enough to insure their arrival on the Pacific coast.

Russell, like so many turned from consumers into producers by the end of hostilities, was obliged to decide upon the means of earning a livelihood. He had begun the study of law, at the time he answered the call for volunteers, and would have had no difficulty in taking it up again; but, somehow or other, he did not feel drawn thitherward. He disliked the confinements of office work and the sedentary profession itself. He wanted something more stirring, and active, and calling for out door life. It was when he was in this mood, that Captain Dawson urged him to accompany him to the gold diggings in the Sierras.