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UNCLE DUKE’S “B’AR” STORY, By Lillian Gilfillan
I ‘LOWED ez mebbe you uns ud like ter hear thet thar b’ar story. I reckon it’s ten year this December since it all happened. I war a-livin’ up in thet house on th’ edge uv th’ corn fiel’ ‘long side th’ branch, an’ ef it ‘t’warn’t fer thet b’ar I’d be a-livin’ thar yet, ‘stead uv a-settin’ in th’ warm corner uv Jim Ladd’s fireplace.
I ‘low ez yer knowed Jim didn’t hev no great sight uv worldly efects when he married Becky Crabtree; I don’t reckon his daddy war able ter do much fer him, ‘ceptin’ ‘lowin’ him the use uv thet yoke uv ole steers uv his’n.
Thet war afore they moved th’ mill out’n th’ holler yander, so it war right handy fer Jim ter haul his logs ter, an’ he jes’ worked hisse’f plumb nigh ter death a-gettin’ up thet leetle log house uv his’n, an’ a-plantin’ fruit trees an’ sech, an’ all summer Becky worked jes’ ez hard a-berry pickin’, tendin’ her truck patch an’ a-peddlin’ up ter th’ station.
An’ in th’ winter time when Jim war a-makin’ dish shelves an’ a-puttin’ some new splits inter th’ bottoms uv them ole chiers his daddy give him, Becky war a-peecin’ quilts an’ a-spinnin’ cloth fer dresses. Waal, in th’ spring they war married an’ went ter live in ther house on th’ side uv th’ mounting, out’n no neighbors, ‘ceptin’ me, fer a mile or more down th’ cove.
Thet war th’ spring I war tuck so bad with this misery in my back an’ afore summer I war so cript up I warn’t no ‘count whatever.
One mornin’ jes’ ez I war a gettin’ up from afore the fire whar I hed been a-eatin’ a snack uv breakfast, Becky walked in, lookin’ ez fresh ez a fiel’ uv early corn, and sez:
“Uncle Duke, I ‘lowed I’d come in an’ see how you war an’ rid up a leetle fur yer.”
I h’ant never been used ter wimen folks, an’ I could’nt git th’ consent uv my mind ter set by an’ see every thin’ pot out’n its nat’ral place, so I reched my stick an’ out’n sayin’ nothin’ I riz up an’ went out under th’ big gum tree.
It warn’t long afore Becky kem out with her bucket on her arm, an’ sez:
“Good-bye, Uncle Duke. I reckon I’ll be a-gittin’ along ter th’ berry patch yan-der.”
I sed, “Thank yer, Becky. Don’t yer come no more ter tend ter me. I ‘low you’s got a plenty ter do ‘out’n a-doin’ thet.”
Yer see, I didn’t want ter be pestered with her fixin’, yit she was so obleegin’ ter everybody I didn’t want ter ‘fend her by axin’ her ter stay ter hum. Waal, when I went in an’ seed how piert things looked, I jes’ wished I’d a-kep’ my pipe in my mouth ‘stead uv a-jawin’ her. Spite uv my sayin’ time an’ ag’in fer her ter rest when her own work war done, she kep’ a-comin’. I ‘lowed she seed how much I enjoyed havin’ things liken white folks lived in the house.
I ‘low she war jes’ ez bright an’ happy thet year ez enny woman in the cove ez hed a plenty.
An’ summer an’ winter she ‘peared ter be always a-workin’.
Waal in th’ middle uv March leetle Jim kem, and I reckon thar warn’t no two happier people in th’ world. They war proud uv thet baby, an’ no mistake.
The fust time I seed Becky arter it war born, she pulled a leetle hand out’n from under th’ kiver an’ sez:
“Uncle Duke, some day thet leetle han’ll chop wood fur his mammy.”
Waal, it did’nt look much like handlin’ an axe thin.
Thet summer she use ter roll th’ baby up in her daddie’s ole army blanket an’ take it with her berry pickin’ an’ peddlin’ an’ everywhars; it ‘peared like she didn’t think its weight nothin’, un’ she’d go ‘long th’ road talkin’ ter it like ez ef a baby four months ole knowed ennythin’. With th’ money from her berries she bought th’ winter clothes – mostely things fur th’ baby an’ flannel shirts fur her man – ‘peared like she thought th’ cold wouldn’t tech her.
It war th’ last uv th’ next June thet th’ twins war born. This time Becky didn’t seem ter git ‘long so piert – jes’ lay still an’ pale like, an’ a lookin’ at the baby gals sad an’ pityin’. I reckon she war a wonderin’ whar th’ warm winter clothes they’d need by’ an’ by’ war ter be got from. It warn’t in reason ter ‘spose a woman could tote two babies an’ do much at pickin’ berries.
Jim worked ez hard ez enny man could, but his ole mare died jist at fodder pickin’ time, an’ he couldn’t do much out’n a critter, so a right smart uv his crap war lost. Becky didn’t seem ter get strong ez she did afore, an’ her sister up an’ left her sooner ‘en she oughter. She seemed tar be kinder mad all th’ time ter think Becky had gone an’ hed twins, an’ she didn’t keep her ‘pinions hid. I reckon Becky warn’t sorry when she went back ter her man.
Ez I war a-sayin’, it war ten year ago this December, an’ a right smart uv snow on th’ ground, when Becky came by my house one mornin’ ter ax me ef I’d go down an’ watch th’ fire an’ leetle Jim fer a spell. I seed she war lookin’ anxious like, an’ I axed her what war th’ matter. “Jim went a-rabbit huntin’ yesterday evenin’,” she sed, “an’ he ain’t kem hum yit; I reckon somethin’ hes happened ter him, an’ I ‘lowed I’d go an’ see. The babies ez both asleep an’ I speck ter be home afore long.”
She went on up th’ mounting path a-makin’ fur the top, a-holpin’ herse’f over the sleek places with that hickory stick uv her’n.
I went on down ter th’ house an’ found leetle Jim a-noddin’ afore th’ fire. It war about’n th’ time he always tuck his nap. Pretty soon he war ez sound asleep ez ef he war on th’ biggest feather bed in th’ cove, ‘stead uv jes’ his mammy’s cook apron under his little yaller head.
I pot on a fresh log an’ was mighty nigh asleep myse’f when one o’ th’ babies waked up an’ cried a leetle.
Somehow I got th’ cradle in an awk’ard place acrost a plank ez war all warped up an’ th’ churnin’ back an’ fore waked up th’ t’other ‘un. She jes’ lay thar a-look-in’ fust at me an’ then at her leetle sister, kinder onsartin whether ter cry or not.
By an’ by I thought I’d holp her back ter sleep, so I tuck her leetle han’ an’ tried ter pot her thumb in ter her mouth, but thar warn’t nobody knowed enny better thin thet thar baby thet she didn’t want no thumb feedin’. I got up an’ went fur some milk, fust a-lookin’ out’n th’ door ter see ef Becky war a-comin’.
Seein’ ez thar warn’t no sign uv her no-whar, I ‘lowed I try ter feed th’ young uns, beein’s th’ both uv them war a-doin’ ther best at cryin’.
They didn’t seem ter take much ter my feedin’; I reckon thet war ‘cause I didn’t set th’ milk afore th’ fire fust, an’ somehow it ‘peared like’ th’ milk most in general went down th’ outside uv ther necks; an’ Annie (that war th’ little un) kept a chokin’ tell I had ter take her up. Jes’ ez soon ez thet leetle critter got whar she could look ‘round an’ sense things, she ‘peared quite satisfied.
I managed ter git t’other un (Fannie) out’n the cradle. They jumped an’ twisted tell I thought I’d die uv the misery in my back, but whin I pot them down they yelled like hallelujer!
‘Peard like they’d kept me a-dancin’ a powerful long time, whin I heerd voices an’ I ‘lowed Becky war come, but it turned out ter be Mitch Pendergrass an’ Sonk Levan, with some rabbits an’ ther guns. They hed stopped by ter git warm.
Whin they seed me a-settin’ thar nussin’ two babies ter onct they bust out larfin’. Fannie hed holt uv my left year an’ the leetle hair I hed on my head. Annie war a-sittin’ on my knee a gazin’ at Sonk an’ Mitch, a-wonderin’ why they war a-larfin’.
“I ‘low, Uncle Duke,” sez Sonk, “ez yer’ve tuck ter lamin’ nussin’ late in life. It shows yer pluck ter commence on two ter onct. Whar’s Becky?”
“She air gone ter look fer Jim,” sez I. “He went out a-huntin’ last night an’ he ain’t never come hum this mornin’. She war oneasy ‘bout him an’ went out ter look fur him. ‘Lowed ez she’d be hum afore this.”
Mitch went ter the door an’ looked out an’ thin cornin’ back ter th’ fire, sez he:
“It’s arter twelve o’clock, nigh ez I kin calkerlate. Thar seems ter be a big black cloud a-hangin’ over th’ Top.
“Becky ought’en ter be out in no sich. I reckon we’d better be a-movin’. Mebbe Jim’s happened ter an accitent an’ she’s a-tryin’ ter holp him by herse’f.
“She’s plucky, she is.”
“Waal,” sez Sonk, “Mitch, you give Uncle Duke a lesson in baby feedin’ (the father uv ten ought’n ter know somethin’ bout’n thet business); I’ll tote in enough wood ter burn a spell, an’ thin we’ll light out’n hyar an’ hunt up Becky an’ Jim.” Arter Mitch’s learnin’ me ter hold th’ spoon un’ ter warm th’ milk an’ ter pot in sweetenin’ me an’ th’ babies got on fine. Soon I hed them both sleepin’, kivered up ter th’ years, an’ th’ cradle sot in a warm place. Then I began ter feel powerful hungry, an’ leetle Jim, though he ain’t sed nothin’, hed been a-watchin’ thet thar spoon an’ milk cup while I fed th’ babies, an’ a openin’ his mouth long side uf them.
I skun one uv Sonk’s rabbits, an’ it warn’t no time tel th’ corn bread war a-cookin’ in th’ bake pan an’ th’ rabbit a-jumpin’ up in th’ grease.
Arter dinner Jim set on my knee jes’ ez quiet, never axin’ fer his mammy onct, an’ thim babies slept on jes’ like they knowed they war twins an’ ther mammy gone. Pretty soon it began ter get dark an’ th’ snow war a-fallin’ ag’in a leetle. Jim went ter sleep an’ I pot him ter bed. The time ‘peared ter go powerful slow arter that, an’ I began ter nod.
It must have been eight o’clock whin voices in th’ yard waked me. I opened th’ door an’ Mitch called out:
“Stir up the fire an’ give us a leetle more light. Thar ain’t no bones broke, but Jim don’t feel egsactly piert.”
They brung him in an’ his face war jes’ ez pale an’ he looked powerful weak.
Most of his coat war tore of’en him an’ th’ blood war a-droppin’ from a place in his arm. Becky looked plumb wore out, but th’ fust thin’ she did soon ez Jim war on th’ bed war ter lean over th’ cradle an’ sez:
“Uncle Duke, war my babies good?”
“Jes’ ez good ez two leetle angels,” I sed, spitin’ th’ fact th’ side uv my head war pretty sore from ther pullin’ an’ scratchin’.
She helped ter git Jim’s arm wrapped up an’ him warm in bed, an’ thin began ter get supper, like nothin’ hed happened out’n th’ common. Whin I seed how pale she looked, I sed:
“Jus’ yer git out th’ plates an’ I’ll tend the fire. I ‘low arter cookin’ fer nigh thirty year, I kin git a snack yer can eat.”
It twarn’t long until another rabbit war in th’ pan an’ th’ coffee a-boilin’. Jim looked up whin he smelt the cookin’ an’ sez:
“I reckon we’ll hev a little bigger meat fer to-morrow.”
I war jes’ ez curious ez enny ole woman, but everybody was so tired an’ hungry I didn’t ax anny questions.
Becky war a-sittin’ in a low chier afore th’ fire with leetle Jim on her lap a-warm-in’ his leetle feet in her han’. I could see th’ tears war a-chasin’ each other down her face.
Mon! but they did eat. Jim, too, and I had’ ter git th’ cold meat left from dinner ter hev enough.
When they hed got up from th’ table Sonk sed:
“Mitch, your wife’ll need you with all thim chil’n; I ‘low you’d better be a-goin’. I reckon I’ll stop hyer; step by an’ tell Sallie ter hev breakfast early, an’ tell leetle Lular pappy’ll be home in th’ mornin’. You hev th’ mules ready early; I am afeard uv th’ varmints a-gittin’ Becky’s game.”
Arter Mitch war gone an’ things picked up they told me ther story.
‘Pears like thar warn’t no trouble in a trackin’ Becky up ter th’ top, an’ they found her a-tryin’ ter work Jim out’n a hole in th’ bluff.
Th’ night afore, jes’ ez Jim war a-makin’ fur hum with his game, he hed run agin’ a big b’ar. He up an’ fired, but missed, it bein’ most dark. The b’ar war on him afore he could load agin, an’ makin’ a pass at him with its big paw, knocked th’ musket out’n his han’s an’ bruck it plumb in two. Jim hed jes’ time ter make up a saplin’ an’ Mr. B’ar set down under him ter bide his time.
He sot thar a long spell, an’ it war most midnight, nigh ez Jim could tell, whin the b’ar made off an’ lay down, seein’ Jim warn’t willin’ ter come down an’ be et. Waal, Jim decided thin he would come down an’ run fur it, ‘lowin’ a hot chase war better’n freezin’ up thar. So down he dumb an’ lit out, Mr. B’ar arter him. Jes’ ez they struck the bluff path the b’ar got so near thet it riz up an’ grabbed him. Jim bein’ quick got away, leavin’ Mr. B’ar most uv his coat ter ‘member him by, but in backin’ away he wint too far an’ fell inter a crack in th’ bluff.
It warn’t very nice failin’, but the crack warn’t over four feet deep an’ full uv leaves at the bottom, so bein’ out’n the wind they made a more comfortable place ter spend th’ night in then th’ saplin’.
Pretty soon Jim hed occasion ter know he war hurt some.
The bar had tore his left arm right smart an’ in fallin’ his face hed got skun up dreadful. Th’ b’ar walked up an’ down, a-smellin’ down thet crack sorter much like, but by-an’-by he went off a leetle an’ lay down, I spect arguin’ with hisse’f thet Jim would come out’n th’ hole liken he did out’n th’ saplin.’
Jim wrapped up his arm the best he could with a piece uv his shirt sleeve.
It war daylight when he waked an’ th’ fust thin’ he seed war th’ head uv thet thar b’ar a-lookin’ down at him.
He knowed it war’n’t no use ter holler, so he jes’ lay thar thinkin’ ‘bout Becky an’ th’ babies an’ leetle Jim – wonderin’ ef she’d think he’d quit her.
The thought uv Becky’s thinkin’ enny bad uv him made him groan with a new kind uv pain, an’ whin he moved a leetle he fainted away. I reckon thet war jes’ ‘bout’n th’ time Becky got thar, fer she said she heerd a groan down in thet hole an’ thin all war still. She war jes’ a-goin’ ter call whin she spied thet b’ar a-lookin’ down inter th’ crack.
‘Bout ten foot to th’ left uv whar Jim war fust the mounting breaks away, leavin’ a pres’pus uv forty foot or more, but thar’s a leetle ledge at th’ top whar you kin look inter thet crack in th’ bluff.
It war fur thet leetle ledge the b’ar made jes’ ez Becky halted. When it clumb down she made sure it would git ter Jim (she war sure he war in thet crack), so she follered quiet ez she could, an th’ snow bein’ soft kept th’ b’ar from hearing her – until she war right behind it – whar it war leanin’ down over th’ edge a-tryin’ ter git inter th’ crack. ‘Fore it could turn on her she gave it a powerful push with her hickory stick, an’ being so fur over an’ so heavy the b’ar lost hisse’f, an’ down he went with a crash into th’ underbrush.
Becky’d gone too, only her dress war caught in some bushes an’ thet saved her.
She couldn’t do nothin’ but lay on th’ ground an’ rest a spell, thin she crawled ter th’ edge an’ looked down ter make sure th’ b’ar war dead.
Hearin’ Jim groan agin she got up an’ went ter him.
He war clean gone in a faint agin before she could get down ter him. When she got him to again she gave him th’ flask uv milk she hed brought.
She worked with him ter keep him warm, but she couldn’t do much, th’ place war so norrow. It seemed an age before he got so he knowed anythin’, an’ she had made up her mind ter leave him an’ go fur help whin Sonk and Mitch got thar. An’ ‘twixt ‘m they soon got Jim out an’ laid him on the ole army blanket I hed sent, an’ they axed Becky how come he thar. She told them what she knowed, but they wouldn’t believe about th’ b’ar until she showed them whar it lay. Whin Mitch looked over an’ seed fur hisse’f he jis’ sed ‘By Gosh!’ an’ runnin’ back to whar he could scramble down made down th’ side like a coon. Sonk war about ter follow, when he stopped an’ turned ter Becky, tellin’ her ter see ter Jim till they could come up agin. He give her a bottle uv applejack out’n his pocket, which he said he carried fur snake bite. Becky never said nothin’ ‘bout’n snakes most in general stayin’ in th’ ground in winter time, but gave a little of the liquor ter Jim an’ tuck a leetle dram herse’f.
I reckon ef it hadn’t been fer Sonk’s snake medicine, they both a-been down sick from th’ cold an’ wet.
Ez soon ez th’ men could git a good kiverin’ uv snow over th’ b’ar ter keep wild cats from pesterin’ it, they kem up an’ took up th’ ends uv Jim’s blanket ter fotch him hum. It war slow work, th’ path bein’ steep an’ norrow, an’ Jim heavy, so it war eight o’clock afore they got down. Waal, th’ next day they got th’ bar down, an’ mon! he war a big ‘un.
They skun him an’ put th’ meat up fur sale at th’ store. A young fellar from th’ North ez war a-stayin’ at th’ station give Becky $12 fur th’ hide, ter take home ter his gal, I reckon.
The meat sold well, an’ altergether I reckon Becky never seed so much money at one time afore in her life. She wanted ter divide with Sonk an’ Mitch, but they wouldn’t hear to it, an’ she couldn’t make them took nary cent. Afore th’ week war out she went ter th’ station an’ bought shoes an’ warm clothes fur all an’ enough ter last two winters, an’ soon Becky’s fingers war busy. She made some red flannel shirts fur me, ‘cause she sed they be good fer th’ misery in my back.
An’ whin I sed my fire hed been out a week an’ I’d eat enough uv other folks’ corn bread an’ coffee, Becky up and sed:
“I ‘low ez yer’d better stay, Uncle Duke; I’ve got a sight uv sewin’ ter do an’ yer got ter be so handy with th’ babies I can’t hardly spare yer.”
Arter thet we jined corn fiel’s an’ next year war a powerful good one fer craps an’ fruit.
I tended th’ chil’n while Becky went fur berries and did her peddlin’.
We ain’t a-gettin’ rich, but we has a plenty, an’ I don’t reckon we air got anythin’ in a worldly line to ax th’ Lord fur he ain’t already done give us.
A CIGARETTE FROM CARCINTO, By Edward French
A Bit of Mexican Adventure
WE were sitting in the hotel in San Antonio, and the conversation had taken that satisfactory turn and confidential coloring which it will take amongst congenial companions round an open wood fire.
We had been expressing our individual opinions about men and things, especially men, and had derived a sleepy satisfaction from our general criticisms. There were men among us who had seen a good deal of frontier life, and, as one man said, “he had seen so many men die with their boots on, it seemed the natural end.” My nearest neighbor in the circle was a young artist from New Orleans, known throughout the city as “Jim the Painter,” from the art he practiced to get his living. He turned and asked me if I knew Jack Dunton; and when I denied the honor, he said: “Well, you ought to; he is a map of the whole Indian country.”
This awakened my interest. I found that Dunton was living in San Antonio, that his life had been really wonderful in experiences and adventures, that he was very intelligent as well as recklessly brave, and finally, that his acquaintance was worth any man’s time to cultivate. Later in the evening we walked over to Dunton’s office, a long, pleasant room in the second story of a flat-roofed adobe building that covered nearly half an acre. Both its stories were crammed full of the goods he sold – wagons, harnesses, and all sorts of agricultural tools.
Dunton’s own room was a mighty interesting place, principally in its decorations. The walls and doorways were hung with bright-colored and strange-figured Mojave and Navajoe blankets, skins and weapons were scattered around or arranged as trophies, while clumsy and rude implements of Aztec and Mexican fashioning, from Yucatan to Chihuahua, were suspended against the sides, or heaped in the corners. A large open fire, with blazing cedar logs, filled the room with the aromatic odor so pleasant and characteristic of that wood, and lighted it with fitful glares. There were many interesting stories connected with this collection, and every article in the room seemed to remind Dunton of an experience or incident in his varied career. After being introduced and comfortably seated in a chair, he passed us cigars, and while we were lighting these preliminaries to sociability he drew a square of corn husk from one side-pocket of his sack coat and a pinch of tobacco from the other side-pocket, and quietly rolled a cigarette, which gave out a pungent, penetrating odor. It was not disagreeable, but it struck me as being peculiar, even for Texas. Upon remarking that it seemed different from ordinary tobacco, Dunton replied, “It is, and I have good reason to like it, for once it saved my life.”
This aroused my curiosity, and with some little urging he told us the story. “This tobacco,” said Dunton, “comes from the town of Carcinto, quite a mining settlement of adobe houses and stockades, surrounding a Mexican convict station in the center of the state of Chihuahua. It is made by the convicts, who treat the ordinary tobacco with the juice of a native plant, which gives it the pungent flavor you notice and, I suspect, a slight narcotic power; be that as it may, now that I am used to it, other tobacco is flat and tasteless. I was down there some years ago, trying to sell the mine-owners some carts, harness, and things in my line, and I became well acquainted with the nature of these convicts, and I tell you, I would rather take my chances in a den of mountain lions than among those fellows when they revolt. At such times they are madly insane, and nothing is too hellish for them.
“I had made a good thing of my deal and was anxiously waiting for an escort, – for I had four thousand Mexican dollars, and a man of my shape takes no chances in toting money around in that country.
“The day that I remember particularly – and you will see I have reason to – was the day before I was to go out from the mine with the mule train. That afternoon I went in the levels with Senor Bustino, one of the owners, a gentleman, every inch of him – and I tell you, no finer gentleman walks the earth than a high-caste Mexican of Castilian blood.
“I had sold them a few dozen American pickaxes, and one of the convict gangs was to try them that day for the first time. It was the first lot of pickaxes ever used in that mine, and, as the sequel proved, the last. The men were doing with them twice the business they had formerly done with their clumsy heavy hoes. Two soldiers with escopetas were on guard, and two overseers with pistols and heavy canes were directing the work. To get a better and nearer view, Sefior Bustino and I crowded through until we came to the rotten ledge filled with the silver, upon which they worked. The convicts stopped and gazed upon us curiously, some of them pushing back their long black hair out of their eyes and staring with undisguised wonder at me, for I was a gringo, a heretico, and a strange object to them in those early days, with my paler skin and peculiar dress. Near me was a large black fellow, bare to the waist.. He was short-necked and broad-shouldered, and his cheeks were so high as to partly close his little fierce eyes; his nose was low and flat, while his chin was sharp and prominent, with a deep scowl; in fact, a bundle of animal appetites and passions done up in a hideous form. As we passed he drew from the folds of his drawers – the only clothing he wore – a pinch of tobacco and a com husk, and making a cigarette he stepped to one of the grease-wood torches and lighted it, blowing out a great cloud of pungent, aromatic smoke from his broad nostrils, that filled the space around us with the odor you noticed from my cigarette.
“That was my first experience with that tobacco, and, indeed, my first smell of its peculiar odor, and I have never forgotten it. I dined that evening with the old senor and was introduced to his family; his wife, a Mexican lady prematurely aged – as they all are, two daughters, handsome as angels, and was shown the picture of their son, a young man who was then being educated in Paris. They were delightful people, especially to one who had been trucking for weeks across the dusty plains of Chihuahua, with only peons and mules for company, and we had a fiery Mexican dinner, spiced with the jokes of the village priest, who was an honored guest. At ten, with the hearty wishes of the whole family, and after the elaborate Mexican custom of withdrawal, I left them. As I sauntered out in the moonlight I could not shut out of my mind the brutish face of the convict in the mine. Perhaps the round faces and handsome eyes of the senor’s pretty daughters may have emphasized the memory of the convict’s ugly head; otherwise I was in a happy mood.
“I turned the corner of the street and entered a short dark lane that led toward the prison stockade. There was an occasional adobe house, but the street was mostly lined with the miserable mud jacals of the poorer Mexicans. I had hardly gotten well into it when I sniffed the same pungent odor that the convict’s cigarette had given out. It startled me a trifle, conjuring up, as it did, the hideous mental picture of the man. I had but just realized this association when I heard the clanging of the cathedral bells in that hurried, nervous manner which has alarm in its every note – for the tone of a bell always partakes of the state that its ringer is in. I heard the sound of approaching voices, loud and fierce, mixed with the alarming notes of the bells, and I stepped into the dark doorway of the nearest house. Next, there was the spatting of bare feet on the hard street, and a yelling crowd hurriedly rushed by my hiding-place, leaving a trailing smell of the same tobacco. I noticed the gleam of white handles in the moon-lighted street that I had seen in the yellow light of the mine, and then I knew that the convicts had revolted, and that they were armed with the pick-axes I had sold the mining company.
“The bells continued to clang out their terror, and the distant shouting became blended into the continuous murmur that you hear from a distant crowd of excited people. Once in a while the roar of an escopeta would be heard, and soon I saw a magenta glow in the sky, and I knew the town had been fired. Then followed the rapid snapping of pistols, and soon the bellow of the old brass escopetas denoted that the guards had mustered, and that there was an organized resistance to the revolt. All this occurred quicker than I can tell it. I concluded to get back into the broad street I had just come out of, for if there is to be shooting, I want a clear space and as much light as I can get.
“Just as I turned the corner, on a run, with both of my colts on a shooting level – for, by the way, it is always best to come upon your enemy suddenly and surprise him before he knows you are there – I saw several bodies in the street, and in the distance some dozen men retreating. I stopped near by the first body I came to; and to my horror I saw it was the still warm corpse of Senor Bustino. As I paused and stooped to more closely examine, I thought I could detect the lingering smell of that hellish convict’s tobacco. Had the fiends attacked my host’s home and dragged him insensate through the streets, or had he been slain whilst hurrying to the post of duty, at the sound of the alarm he knew well the meaning of? If the former, good God! what had been the fate of his wife and lovely daughters? The very thought momentarily unnerved me; and if the convicts had not yet wreaked their vengeance, could I reach them in time to be of effective service? Louder and louder roared the tumult, nearer and nearer came the flashing, glinting lights of torch and pistol, and as I swept round into the street in which Senor Bustino’s house stood I could see, pouring down the hill toward it, a demoniac gang led by the bare-breasted convict whose baleful face had haunted me.
“I found the senora and her daughters alone and, thank God! unharmed; but not a moment too soon, for even as I hurried them through into the darkness of the night the convicts, with curses on their tongues, lust in their heart, and red ruin in their hands, swarmed into the house. A momentary check came as their leader and another fell in the narrow door, beneath the fire of my two revolvers, and the flames which leaped up from that erewhile home lent their last protection in the shadow they cast, which enabled us, by availing ourselves of it, to escape. By the time we arrived at my hotel the convicts had flown to the mountains and we heard the story of the revolt. If I had not smelled that tobacco I should not have concealed myself in the doorway, my life would not have been worth a picayune, and you may imagine what would have been the fate of my hostess and her household. Senor Bustino, it appeared, had fallen a victim to the high chivalry which prompted him, hearing the bell and knowing its meaning, to hastily summon his servants, and with five or six armed peons hasten out to overtake me and bid me return to his house until all danger was over. He had met the convicts, who had attacked him and struck him down, while most of his servants fled.”
Dunton paused, made and lighted another cigarette, and continued: “I could not get away for a month, for it was not safe for a small party to leave the town. I brought out some of that tobacco as a curiosity and learned to like it. I send for more every year where it is still prepared, in the prison-pens.”
“It is sometimes said, ‘Follow your nose and it will take you out of danger,’ and in my case the proverb proved true. Sometimes, when I sit here alone, half sleepily watching the curling smoke wreaths, I can almost see the place again, and the rings of smoke shape themselves into a horde of convict demons killing the poor old noble senor, whose elder daughter I have married. And now you know what I owe to the pungent aroma of a cigarette from Carcinto.”
