“This’ll do,” says Hez. “We shall make a pile here. No one won’t dream of hunting this out.”
“Say, stranger!” says a voice, as made us both jump. “Do it wash well?”
And if there warn’t a long, lean, ugly, yaller-looking chap looking down at us, as he stood holding a mule by the bridle.
Why, afore a week was over, so far from us keeping it snug, I reckon there was fifty people in Yaller Gulch, washing away, and making their piles. Afore another week as over some one had set up a store, and next day there was a gambling saloon. Keep it to ourselves! Why, stranger, I reckon if there was a speck of gold anywheres within five hundred miles, our chaps’d sniff it out like vultures, and be down upon it.
It warn’t no use to grumble, and we kept what we thought to ourselves, working away, and making our ounces the best way we could. One day I proposed we should go up higher in the mountains; but Hez said he’d be darned if he’d move; and next day, if he’d wanted me to go, I should have told him I’d be darned if I’d move; and all at once, from being red-hot chums, as would have done anything for one another, Hez and me got to be mortal enemies.
Now, look here, stranger. Did you ever keep chickens? P’r’aps not; but if you ever do, just you notice this. You’ve got, say, a dozen young cocks pecking about, and as happy as can be—smart and lively, an’ innercent as chickens should be. Now, jist you go and drop a pretty young pullet in among ’em, and see if there won’t be a row. Why, afore night there’ll be combs bleeding, eyes knocked out, feathers torn and ragged—a reg’lar pepper-box and bowie set-to, and all acause of that little smooth, brown pullet, that looks on so quiet and gentle as if wondering who made the row.
Now, that’s what was the matter with us; for who should come into the Gulch one day, but an old storekeeping sort of fellow, with as pretty a daughter as ever stepped, and from that moment it was all over between Hez and me.
He’d got a way with him, you see, as I hadn’t; and they always made him welkim at that thar store, when it was only “How do you do?” and “Good-morning,” to me. I don’t know what love is, strangers; but if Jael Burn had told me to go and cut one of my hands off to please her, I’d ha’ done it. I’d ha’ gone through fire and water for her, God bless her! and if she’d tied one of her long, yaller hairs round my neck, she might have led me about like a bar, rough as I am.
But it wouldn’t do. I soon see which way the wind blew. She was the only woman in camp, and could have the pick, and she picked Hez.
I was ’bout starin’ mad first time I met them two together—she a hanging on his arm, and looking up in his face, worshipping him like some of them women can worship a great, big, strong lie; and as soon as they war got by I swore a big oath as Hez should never have her, and I plugged up my six-shooter, give my bowie a whetting, and lay wait for him coming back.