The man pushed his little craft into the swift running water, sprang in, and pulled boldly away from the bank! As he did so, he stood upright for a moment and turned his features squarely toward us. Even at that distance there was no mistaking that magnificent physique and fearless bearing!
“It’s Poker Jim, by G—d!” cried a number of men simultaneously. Almost automatically, several among the crowd drew their pistols and fired at the far-distant figure—a useless feat of bravery, as their target was probably beyond rifle-shot, to say nothing of trying to hit a man at that distance with a six-shooter.
“Hold on, boys!” cried Big Brown, in astonishment. “If he aint goin’ arter that d—d Chinaman I’ll eat my hat! Well, I’ll be kerflummuxed! If that don’t beat h—l!”
If there was anything the early settlers of the diggings worshipped, it was reckless, fool-hardy bravery. From that moment Jim was a hero, a Bayard, sans peur et sans reproche, before whose chivalry every man who saw his courageous act was ready to bow down to the very earth.
The crowd silently watched Jim for a moment, and then broke out in a chorus of “bravos!” and hand clappings which, although they impressed the object of their admiration not at all—even if he noticed them, which is doubtful—expressed in unmistakable language a sudden change in the sentiment of our towns-people toward him whom they had so recently outlawed.
The first burst of applause over with, we watched the brave fellow in almost breathless anxiety, as he skilfully directed his little boat toward the house, the Chinaman meanwhile having stopped his yelling for the moment, in anticipation of the approach of his rescuer.
Whether Jim had intended to bring up against the side of the house that lay up-stream, as seemed wisest, would be difficult to say; if such was his intention however, he certainly miscalculated, for his boat disappeared behind the end of the house which was farthest away from us.
The rest of the tragedy we could not see, for we had hardly lost sight of Jim before the obstructing debris gave way and the house shot over the dam, sweeping everything before it!
So died a hero!
A searching party went out a short time afterward, and, at great risk, found and secured the body of Poker Jim, battered and bruised, but still classically handsome and debonair, even in death. As the boys were sorrowfully returning to town with the body of the man whom a few hours before they had tried to kill, they spied upon a mass of wreckage that had lodged in a partially submerged tree-top a few feet from shore, a badly frightened but still yelling individual, at the sight of whom Big Brown almost collapsed.