The scene was wildly picturesque, after its own primitive style, and Julius Anderly was rather disconcerted by the novelty of its rough grandeur; but he was more disconcerted by the group of some half dozen men he discerned lounging in front of what he rightly supposed was the only hotel in the camp.
As he drew nearer he was quite positive that the big burly man with the bushy beard would prove anything but an agreeable companion; he was probably one of those men he had been told about who always carried a loaded pistol in a convenient pocket, and who regarded a refusal to drink whisky with him as an insult sufficiently deadly to justify said pistol’s immediate and destructive discharge upon and against the person of the audacious abstainer.
And the portly gentleman, who wore a battered “plug” hat, and was seated upon an empty claret case, had a marked magisterial bearing, more autocratic than reassuring.
The landlord, tall, thin and lazy, who occupied the doorway, was the least ferocious in appearance. The other members of the group seemed to Julius to be only passively dangerous—safe as long as they were let alone.
The big burly man who formed one of the group in front of the “Golden Nugget,” and whom we know to be Hank Purdy (designated by certain envious and despicable residents of Nugget Bar as “Windy Purdy”), paused in the narration of the details of a sanguinary combat between himself and six stalwart Apaches, alleged to have occurred in some remote section of the West at some remote period, and interjected the word, “Tenderfut!”
As the term fell from his lips at the instant his eyes fell upon Julius, who had now approached quite near, we cannot do otherwise than consider the term as applied to the latter.
Yes, Julius was undeniably a tenderfoot steeped in all the infamy that the term implies. The newness of his outfit, his awkward manner of strapping the same to the animal’s back, and his own genial and unsuspecting countenance, all united to insult every acclimated Californian, and particularly the group before which he now paused.
Julius was short, rather fat, and benevolent looking; with a big head, slightly bald, and a smooth, round face and blue eyes, expressive of utter and perfect confidence in all mankind.
He stood irresolute a moment, and then, with an appealing look upon his face, said, tentatively, “How do you do, gentlemen? I presume this is Nugget Bar.”
Now according to all preconceived notions of Julius, the tall, thin landlord, who was apparently very lazy, and whose name, by the way, was Sam Turner, should have been bluff and hearty looking, and should have at once replied in the bluff, hearty manner of landlords (in the books Julius had read), “Right ye air, stranger, and who mout ye be?”