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CHAPTER XXVI

In a short time Houston had become perfectly familiar with his new surroundings. He was thoroughly at home in the underground workings, readily finding his way in the labyrinth of shafts, tunnels and cross-cuts extending for miles in all directions, and connecting the various mining claims one with another.

He knew the name and face of nearly every man employed in the various shifts, and by his keen perception and insight, was able to form a very correct estimate of their character and standing in that little community. Though no words had been exchanged between himself and Jack beyond those of the most commonplace greetings, yet his respect for the man, and confidence in him, increased with each day, and was plainly indicated by his manner toward him whenever they met.

As he watched the men, in his frequent rounds through the mines, most of their faces were to him as an open book, on some of whose pages he read histories of misfortune and loss, or crime and shame in the past, and on others, of eager ambitions and bright hopes for the future. There were men with gray hair and bowed forms, whose dull eyes and listless step told of hopeless, irretrievable loss; men of intelligence and ability whose recklessness or whose despondency told of some living sorrow, worse than death; there were some whose stealthy, shrinking gait and watchful, suspicious glance bespoke some crime, unknown to their fellows, but which to themselves seemed ever present, suspended, like the sword of Damocles, above their heads.

But even to Houston, Jack remained a mystery, and as he noted the powerful, athletic form, the profile of patrician beauty, perfect as though chiseled in marble, the hair and beard black and glossy as the raven’s wing, though touched with silver here and there, he found himself unable to read the history of that life.

“There is a man,” he soliloquized, “my equal, if not my superior, in birth, in education, in intellectual ability; how came he here? What has wrecked his life?”

But the dark, piercing eyes, turned on him for an instant, gave no answer to his query.

As he and Morgan, their day’s work completed, were returning to the house, Houston made some inquiries regarding the men, and from the information given by Morgan concerning some of them, found his own judgment of them correct.

“And who is the man called ‘Jack,’ who works with the Irishman?”

“Heaven knows, I don’t, nor nobody else,” replied Morgan; “he came here about six or seven years ago, I guess, at least; he was here when I came, and was considered an expert then. He never would have anything to say to the other men, and always lived by himself till the Irishman came; he was another queer sort of duck and was a first-class miner, too, so him and Jack has worked together and lived together ever since, but Jack is boss.”

“Are they the only miners living by themselves?” asked Houston.

“The only single men; there’s six or seven of ’em that are married and have families, like Maverick; they have very good shacks, furnished by the company, but all the single men, excepting them two, live at the quarters. By the way, have you ever been down to the quarters?”

“No,” replied Houston, “but I should like very well to visit them.”

“All right, we’ll go to-night if you like; I go down there myself once in a while and listen to their stories; they’ve most of ’em had some queer experiences, and they can spin as many yarns as a lot of sailors, any time.”

Later in the evening, Houston, having excused himself to the ladies in general, and Miss Gladden in particular, accompanied by Morgan, was on his way to the miners’ quarters. The latter were situated but a short distance from the office, on the road to the mines, and consisted of two boarding houses and four bunk houses. Farther down the road were the stables for the horses used in hauling supplies; also blacksmith and carpenter shops, and a storehouse.

A rather novel scene presented itself to Houston as he approached. Scattered about on the ground, and loafing in the door-ways in all attitudes and positions, were over a hundred men, of various ages, classes and nationalities, but principally Cornishmen, or, in western vernacular, “Cousin Jacks.” Many of them were strangers to him, being employed in other mines than those with which he was familiar, but among them were many of his own men. From the door-way of one of the bunk houses came the strains of a violin, while in another, a concertina shrieked and groaned, and from all directions came the sound of ribald songs, coarse jests and boisterous laughter. Here and there were groups of men engaged in playing poker or seven-up, where little piles of silver and gold were rapidly changing hands, to the accompaniment of muttered oaths. At one side, Maverick and a few kindred spirits seemed trying to outrival one another in profanity and obscenity, while at some distance from them, was a large company of the better class of men, some lounging against trees and rocks, some sitting or lying at full length on the ground, but all listening with unmistakable interest, to a man, gray and grizzled, with a weather-beaten but kindly face, who evidently was entertaining the crowd with tales of his own early life.

As Houston and Morgan approached, the speaker stopped; some of the men half rose from their recumbent positions out of respect for the “new boss,” and all eyed him rather curiously, though not unkindly. Houston recognized many of his own men among them, and greeted them with a pleasant “Good evening, boys.”

“Hullo, Billy,” said Morgan, addressing the old miner, “what do you know to-night?” then noting that he was watching Houston with a half smile on his rugged face, he added, “Thought I’d bring the boss down to see you and the rest of the boys to-night.”

“Good evenin’ boss,” responded the old fellow, while a merry smile twinkled in his eyes, “I expect this is your first visit to a reg’lar, genuwine minin’ camp?”

“My first, perhaps, but not my last,” said Houston, with a winning smile.

“That’s right,” said the old man approvingly, as he proceeded to refill his pipe; “I’ve been a watchin’ you, off and on, down there at the mines, bein’ as I’d heerd you was a tenderfoot, and I must say you’ve took a holt as if you was an old hand at the job.”

“Oh, yes,” Houston replied, “with a little determination, a person can pick up anything of that kind easily. I think, with a little practice, I could make a pretty successful miner; it would require grit and stick-to-it-ativeness, that’s all.”

“‘Grit and stick-to-it-ativeness,’ that’s good,” said the old miner, highly pleased, “well, you seem to have plenty of ’em both, and plenty of good muscle, too,” with an admiring glance at Houston’s fine, athletic form.

“See here, Billy,” said Houston pleasantly, after chatting a few moments, “when we came, it looked very much as though you were telling stories to the crowd here, and the boys all seemed very much interested; now we want you to go on with your story, we would enjoy it as much as the rest.”

“Let me see,” said Billy, “I don’t remember just where I was, but I guess I’d finished as you come up.”

“Never mind, you can start another,” said Houston.

“Yes, Billy, give us another,” chimed in the boys.

“Go ahead, pardner,” added Morgan, “spin us a yarn, that’s what we came for.”

“I was only tellin’ the boys about the old days when I came out to the mines, and for the first few years after,” Billy began.

“Those must have been interesting times,” said Houston.

“Int’restin’? I should say so! You fellows don’t know nothin’ about minin’ compared to them days; I tell you, things was lively then. I was there at Leadville when it was opened up, and you couldn’t get anybody to look at you without payin’ ’em a good, round sum for it; couldn’t get a place to roll yourself in your blanket and lie on the floor short of five or ten dollars; folks bought dry goods boxes and lived in ’em. Then I was down here when they opened up the Big Bonanza mine, in Diamond gulch, not far from Silver City. I tell you boys, them was high old times, everything was scarce and prices was high,–flour was a hundred dollars a sack, and potatoes seventy-five dollars a bushel,–but money was plenty,–or gold dust,–we didn’t have no money, everything was paid for in gold dust. ’Twas pretty tough in them days, too, everybody went armed to the teeth, and guns and knives was used pretty free.”

“Was that in the days of the vigilantes?” asked Houston.

“Yes, they come along soon after, they had to. There was desperate characters here, but the vigilantes made short work of ’em, they didn’t even give ’em time to say their prayers. I tell you, the gambling houses and the dance halls, and all them places was lively in them days. There wasn’t many words over a game, if any quarrels come up, they was settled pretty quick with the revolver or bowie knife.”

“There must have been some high stakes played in those days,” Houston remarked.

“High? well, yes, rather; I’ve seen men sit down to a game worth anywhere from fifty to two or three hundred thousand, and get up without a cent in the world.”

The old man paused to relight his pipe, and having puffed reflectively for a few moments, settled himself with the air of a man who has a long story to tell, and the surrounding miners evidently so understood it, for they shifted their positions accordingly, and prepared to listen.

“Speakin’ of gamblin’,” he began, “puts me in mind of something that happened among the camps on the other side of the range, nigh onto fifteen years ago. A gang of us boys was in Dandy Jim’s gambling hall one night. The place was crowded, I remember, and we was all tryin’ to make our fortunes on the high card. Some of us was dead broke, but them that hadn’t the stuff borrowed from them that had, sure of better luck next time. They was all so deep in the game that none of ’em noticed a seedy-lookin’ chap who come in, kinder quiet like, and set down to the faro table and began to play. I guess I was the only one who noticed him, and at first, I couldn’t make him out, but after a bit, I remembered him as ‘Unlucky Pete.’ That man had a history. When I first saw him, some eight or ten years before that night, he had just come west with his wife, a pretty little woman, and had a good team of horses and a new wagon. He was a reg’lar border character, and whenever a new country was opened up for settlement, him and his wife was the first on the ground, ready to make a run to secure a home. Pete was prosperous, till one night, in a quarrel over a game of cards, he killed his man, and from that time his luck changed. He secured one or two good claims, but lost title to them; he lost his horses, and as fast as he bought other horses, they died or was stolen, and everything went against him. He wandered from one country to another, but bad luck met him at every turn. The last I seen him was some two years before; then him and his wife and two or three babies was goin’ over the country in an old, broken-down wagon. The wheels was held together with wire and ropes, and the canvas top was in rags and tatters; the horses was the poorest, skinniest creatures you ever see, and him and his wife looked off the same piece.

“Well, somehow or ’nuther, I knew him that night, though he looked harder than ever, and had an old slouched hat down over his face. He looked like a man that was pushed pretty close to the wall, and had got down to his last nickel. Well, he set down there to the table, and threw a silver dollar on the high card; then pulled that old hat down clean over his eyes, and never spoke, or looked one way or another. The high card won, and the dealer paid the bet, and pushed the money over to Pete, but he never stirred.

“Well, that high card kep’ a winnin’ till there was a big pile of money there, but Pete, he never stirred, no more’n a stone. The dealer, he got mad and begun to swear, but Pete didn’t move.

“‘Somebody wake that fool up,’ says he, with an oath.

“A fellow sittin’ next to Pete shook him, and then tore off his hat. Well, boys, I’ll never forget that sight, it makes me sort o’ shiver now, when I think of it; there set a dead man at the table before that pile of gold.

“The dealer started to rake in that pile o’ money, but about a dozen revolvers was p’inted at him, and he decided not to be in too big a hurry about it.

“‘What’s the use anyway?’ says he, ‘the man’s dead and the money’s no good for him, and besides, nobody knows who he is.’

“‘I do,’ says I, jumpin’ up.

“‘And I,’ says another fellow, ‘the man just come into camp a day or two ago, and his family’s starvin’.”

“Well, we bundled that money up pretty sudden, and a half a dozen of us started to find the folks; we found ’em, too, but the wife was dead, starved to death, and the children wouldn’t have lasted much longer. The oldest, a girl about eight years old, told that they had nothin’ to eat for two days, and her father found the dollar, and started down to the store for food, but soon after he left the cabin, the mother died.

“We buried Pete and his wife in one grave, and then with the pile of money we got good homes for the children, and some of it was to be used in givin’ ’em a good eddication, and the last I heerd, they was comin’ on well. But I’ve never set down to a game sence, that I haven’t thought of the night I played faro, with a dead man at the table.”

At the conclusion of the old miner’s story, a little suppressed thrill of excitement ran through his audience. Morgan, who had seemed restless and ill at ease, rose to go, and Houston, finding it much later than he supposed, after a few pleasant words with the boys, bade them good night, and hastened after Morgan, who was already sauntering up the road a little way in advance.

CHAPTER XXVII

“Well,” said Morgan, as Houston overtook him, “what do you think of a ‘genuwine minin’ camp,’ as Billy calls it?”

“The quarters are much more extensive than I supposed,” replied Houston, “I never realized before that there were so many men employed here; some of them are good fellows, too, I enjoyed my visit to-night immensely.”

“I generally like to come down and listen to them once in a while,” said Morgan, “but somehow, I didn’t care to stay there to-night, that story of Billy’s made me feel sort of creepy; I’m feeling a little off to-night, anyway.”

“That was a strange story the old fellow told, almost bordering on the improbable, it seemed to me, but I suppose there are a great many strange occurrences in a country like this.”

“Yes, lots of things happen here, and folks think nothing of ’em, that would be considered improbable anywhere back east.”

“Are you from the east?” inquired Houston.

“Yes, part way,” said Morgan, “not from way back, though, I’ve never been farther east than Ohio. I was born in Missouri, and raised in northern Iowa.”

He was silent for a moment, then continued: “I believe I told you one day that sometime I’d give you a bit of my life; I guess now’s as good as any time, and when you’ve heard it, maybe you won’t wonder at some of my views.

“As I said, I was born in Missouri; when I was about three years old, my folks moved to Iowa. I can just remember my father being with us at that time, but I never saw him after I was three and a half or so, and when I got old enough to think about it and ask for him, mother told me he was dead, and I never knew anything different till years after. We were always moving, I remember, from one place to another, and though we never had any money saved up, yet we lived well and never wanted for anything. Mother used to have a good deal of company, and be away from home considerable, but she was always kind to me, and I was a soft, warm-hearted, little chap in those days, and I know I thought the world of her.

“We lived together till I was about ten years old, and then times began to get pretty close; mother didn’t have any money, and we had to pinch to get along, but she was always good to me.

“Finally she decided to go to Denver; said she had heard of an opening there for her to run a boarding house and make money, but she didn’t want to take me with her, and sent me to a brother of hers, living in Ohio. That was the end of all happiness for me. He was a man old enough to be my grandfather, for mother was the youngest of a large family. He and his wife lived by themselves, for they had no children, and a meaner, stingier old couple never lived. Mother wrote pretty often at first, and always sent money, but don’t you think I ever got any of it. They never mentioned my mother to me, and they wouldn’t let me speak of her.

“Well, things went on from bad to worse, and finally, when I was fourteen, I run away. I stole rides on freight cars when I could, and when I couldn’t do that, I tramped, till I got to St. Louis, and got a place there in a third-class hotel as bell boy. While I was there, I picked up a good many little accomplishments that have stuck to me ever since, gambling and swearing, and so on. I got to be pretty tough, I know, but in spite of it all, there was one good spot about me yet,–I thought the world of my mother. I staid in St. Louis two years; in that time I had only heard from mother twice, but she sent me money both times, and wrote me kind letters, though she never said anything about my coming to see her.”

By this time, they had reached the main road, and as Morgan seated himself on a rock to finish his story, Houston followed his example.

“I made up my mind I wanted to see her, so I took what little money I had saved up, about eighty dollars, and started for Denver. The last letter I had from mother, she said she was running a house on a certain street, and I supposed of course it was a boarding house. I won’t tell you her real name; Morgan wasn’t her name, nor mine neither, I took it afterwards, but I’ll call her name Johnson. I got to Denver, and happened to meet an old acquaintance of mine named Tim, who took me to a fifth-class boarding and lodging house where he was staying. Tim had only been in Denver a few days, and knew very little of the city, but we found a crowd of old-timers at the house, and after a while I asked for Mrs. Johnson who kept a boarding house on such a street. The men all laughed and began to guy me; I got hot and was going to sail into them, but Tim persuaded me to go out with him, and we started in to paint the town.

“Well, we’d been out about two or three hours, when we came to a dancing hall, the toughest we’d seen,–a regular dive,–and we went in, bound to have some fun. The place was full of tough-looking subs, and a lot of frouzy, dowdy girls, and what they lacked in good looks they made up in paint and brass,–such brazen faces I never saw. Half way down the hall was a big, fat woman, with her hair blondined, who seemed to have charge of the place, and was giving orders to the man behind the bar. They had some loud talk, and something in her voice took my attention, and I looked at her; just then she turned ’round facing me, and great God! it was my mother! I knew her in spite of the blond hair and the paint, and she knew me. She gave one awful shriek, and then fell in a dead faint, and when she came to half an hour after, she went into hysterics, and screamed and raved and cried nearly all night.

“I was so dazed, everything was going round and round, and I thought the world was coming to an end; and it would have been better for me if it had. The next day, she was able to see me, and I went to her room, and I guess I must have staid three or four hours. She told me then, that her husband was living, but that he quit her back in Iowa, and that he claimed I was not his child. She cried and begged me to stay with her, but I left her that day. That was fifteen years ago, and I have never seen her since. From that time, the last tie that bound me to even a belief in anything good was gone. I took a different name, and came up here in this part of the country. Once I found a girl I liked, but just as I began to think something of her, I found she was like all the rest of ’em. I’ve no faith in man or woman, and don’t believe there is any such thing as honor or virtue. If there are some people who seem virtuous and honorable, it is simply either because they have been so placed that there was no temptation to be anything else, or because they have succeeded in keeping up appearances a little better than other folks.”

As Morgan paused, Houston spoke very slowly and kindly:

“Your experience has certainly been a sad one, Morgan, and I am truly sorry for you; sorry most of all that it has produced such an effect on you.”

“Well,” said Morgan, “I guess it don’t make much difference, one way or another, what we think or what we do.”

“Your mother’s opinions and actions seem to have made considerable difference in your life,” answered Houston, quietly.

“Yes, by George! I should say so!” replied Morgan, gloomily.

“Perhaps your opinions and your conduct are wrecking some other life, in like manner. There is not one of us who does not exert a powerful influence on those about us, one way or the other, to build up and strengthen, or to wreck and destroy.”

As there was no reply, Houston said: “I am very glad you have given me this sketch of your life, Morgan, I shall always feel differently toward you, remembering this.”

“Yes,” said Morgan, rising, “I wanted you to know, and I thought this was as good a time as I would have. You will remember it, whatever happens,” he added ambiguously, as he started slowly down the road, in an opposite direction from the house.

“Which way are you going?” asked Houston, also rising.

“Down to the Y.”

“What! are you going that distance as late as this?”

“Yes,” replied Morgan, “I don’t go all the way by the road; there’s a cut across that makes it a good deal shorter, and I’ll have plenty of time.”

They both stood a few moments watching a tall, dark figure that had been pacing up and down the road all the time they had been talking, sometimes approaching quite near, then retreating out of sight. They both recognized it as Jack.

“He’s a queer duck,” muttered Morgan, “wonder what he’s doing, this is rather late for a constitutional;” then added, “I wish I had some of the money that chap’s got.”

“Why, has he money?” inquired Houston.

“He must have,” was the reply, “he never spends anything, just hoards it up; he’s got enough any way to help me out just now, if I could only have it.”

“Are you in need of money?” asked Houston, quickly, “if so, I will gladly accommodate you.”

“Much obliged,” replied Morgan, starting down the road, “but I can get along for the present. Luck has been against me a little lately, but I guess it will turn all right,” adding, as he looked back over his shoulder, “if it don’t turn too late, like ‘Unlucky Pete’.”

As Houston walked rapidly up the canyon toward the house, he saw Jack again approaching, and glad of an opportunity to meet this man toward whom he felt such a powerful attraction, he slackened his pace as Jack came up, and greeting him cordially, stopped and entered into conversation with him. To his surprise, he found Jack’s manner far less reserved than on the few occasions when they had met in the mine. He seemed as ready to stop as Houston himself, and though he spoke with a dignity of tone and manner utterly unlike an employe, the icy reserve was gone, and in its place, there was in his voice the genuine ring of friendliness.

After a few moments of ordinary conversation, Jack remarked:

“You are not often out in this locality at this hour, and alone.”

“No,” Houston replied, “but I have been visiting the miners in company with Morgan, and remained there later than I intended. Then a talk with Morgan out there among the rocks delayed me still longer.”

“Pardon me,” said Jack, “but I suppose you are aware that you have enemies here.”

“Yes,” said Houston, slightly surprised, “I am conscious of that fact.”

“And,” continued Jack, lowering his tone, “you are probably also aware that this enmity is likely to increase, so that unless you exercise great caution, your life will be in danger?”

Houston was startled, not so much by the suggestion of personal danger, as by the thought that this man seemed to understand something of his position there. Was it possible his secret was known? It could not be, but if it were,–his nerves quivered, not with fear for himself, but with apprehension lest his whole scheme should in some way prove a failure.

These thoughts flashed through his mind with the speed of lightning, but Jack was quick to read them, and before Houston could make any reply, he continued:

“I desire to have a private interview with you, as early as possible, and as we will wish to be perfectly secure from interruption, as well as from all danger of being overheard, I wish you would come to my cabin, there we can talk with perfect safety. And now, as a key to this contemplated interview, allow me to say that I fully understand your mission here; but have no fear, your secret is absolutely safe. My only reason for wishing to meet you is, that I desire to aid you if you will permit me. Will you fix an evening for this conference of ours?”

“Certainly,” said Houston cordially, his momentary surprise giving way to the confidence which he had felt in this man, since first meeting him, face to face.

An engagement was made for the near future, and with a cordial hand-clasp, the two men parted.