by Roy Norton
CHAPTER VIII
THE INCONSISTENT BULLY
"Them beans," declared the fat cook, plaintively, "looks as if theyhad been put through some sort of shrivelin' process. The dried prunesare sure dry all right! Must have been put up about the time theydried them mummy things back in Egypt. Apuricots? Humph! I soaked someof 'em all day and to-night took one over to the shop and cut it openwith a chisel to see if it was real leather, or only imitation. Thecanned salmon, and the canned tripe is all swells so that the cans isround instead of flat on the ends. I reckon you'd better go down andsee that storekeeper. I dassen't! If I did I'd probably lose my temperand wallop him. If somebody don't go, the men here'll be makin' amistake, blamin' it on me, and I can't exactly see how they could keepfrom hangin' me, if they want to do justice."
He had stood in the doorway of the office to voice his complaint, andnow, without further words walked away toward his own particularsection of the little camp village.
"So that's the way that trader down there filled the order, is it?"Dick said, frowning at his companion.
The latter merely grunted and then offered a solution.
"Probably," he said, "that stuff was sent up here without bein'opened, just as he got it. If that's so it ain't his fault. About halfthe rows in life come from takin' things for granted. The other halfbecause we know too well how things did happen."
He stood up and stretched his arms.
"What do you say we go down and hear what the trader has to say? Ifhe's square he'll make good. If he ain't--we'll make him!"
Taking it for granted that the younger man would accompany him, he wasalready slipping off his working shirt and peering around the cornersof the room for his clean boots. Dick hesitated and had to be urged.He wondered then if it were not possible that something beside theerrand to the trader's caused Bill's eagerness; but wisely kept theidea to himself.
The camp was in the dusk when they entered it, the soft dusk thatfalls over early summer evenings in the hills, when everything innature seems drowsily awaiting the night. They thought there was anunusual hush in the manner of those they met. Men talked on thecorners or in groups in the roadway with unaccustomed earnestness.Women leaned across window sills and chatted across intervening spaceswith an air of anxiety; the very dogs in the street appeared to besubdued. At the trader's there was not the usual small gathering ofloungers, squatted sociably around on cracker boxes and packing cases,and the man with the twang was alone.
"Say, there's something wrong with that stuff you sent us," Billbegan, and the trader answered with a soft, absent-minded, "So?"
Bill repeated the words of the cook; but the storekeeper continued tostare out of the door as if but half of what was said provedinteresting.
"I'll send up and bring it back to-morrow," he replied when the minerhad concluded his complaint. "The fact is it's a job lot I bought inPortland, and I didn't look at it. Came in yesterday. I ain't--I ain'texactly feelin' right. I suppose you heard about it?"
The partners looked at him questioningly, but he did not shift hiseyes from the door through which he still appeared to be staring awayinto the distance, and it was easy to conjecture, from the expressionof his eyes, that he was seeing a tragedy.
"I'm sort of busted up," he went on, without looking at them. "You seeI had a brother over there. A shift boss, he was. Him and me was morethan brothers. We was friends. It don't seem right that Hiram was downthere, in the dark, when the big cave came--came just as if the wholemountain wanted to smash them men under it. It don't seem right! Ican't quite get it all yet. I'm goin' over there on the stage in themornin'. He's left a widder and a couple of little shavers. I'm goin'to bring 'em here."
"We don't quite understand you," Dick said, hesitatingly, and withsympathy in his voice. "We haven't heard about it--whatever it is. I'msorry if----"
The trader straightened up from where he had been leaning on hiselbows across the counter and they saw that his face was drawn.
"Oh, I see," he said, in the same slow, hopeless voice. "I forgot youmen don't come down here very often and that my driver never hasanything to say to anybody. Why, it's the Blackbird mine over acrossthe divide--on the east spur. Bad, old fashioned mine she was, withcrawlin' ground. Lime streaks all through the formation and plenty ofwater. Nobody quite knows how it happened. There was a big slip overthere a few days ago on the four-hundred-foot level. Thirty odd menback of it. Timbers went off, they say, like a gatlin' gun. I justcan't seem to understand how they didn't handle that ground better. Itdon't look right to me!"
He stooped and twisted his fingers together and the palms of his handsgave out dry, rasping sounds. His attitude seemed inconsistent withthe immobility of his face, but Dick surmised that he was trying toregain control of his emotions. He had a keen desire to know more ofthe particulars of the tragedy, but sensed from the storekeeper'sappearance that he was scarcely able to give a coherent account of it.His words had already told his sorrow. Bill's voice broke the pause.
"We're right sorry we bothered you about the supplies," he said,softly. "But we didn't know, you see. I reckon we ain't in any bighurry. You just take your time about fixin' it up. We can live on mostanything for a day or two."
The storekeeper looked at him gratefully and then lowered his eyesagain. He turned away from them with a long sigh.
"Nope," he said. "Much obliged. I'll send my man up to-morrow.Business keeps a-goin' on just the same, no matter who passes out. Ifyou or me died to-night, the whole world would just keep joggin'along. I'll send up."
They turned and walked out, feeling that anything they could say wouldbe useless, and sound hollow, and they did not speak until they weresome distance farther up the street.
"He's hard hit, poor cuss!" Bill said. "Wonder what the rest of itwas. Lets go on up toward the High Light. Seems as if it must havebeen pretty bad. What's the commotion down there?"
Ahead of them they saw men clustering toward a central point, andothers who had been in the street hurrying forward to be absorbed intothe group. They quickened their steps a trifle, speculating as towhether it could mean a brawl, or something relating to the disasterof which they had just learned. It proved the latter. A man wasstanding in the center of the gathering crowd with the reins of atired horse hanging loosely over his arm. He was talking to thedoctor, who was asking him questions.
"No," Bill and Dick heard him say as they crowded into the group,"there ain't nothin' you can do, Doc. It's all over with 'em. I wasthere until quite late. God! It's awful!"
"Anybody get out at all?" someone asked.
"No. That's a cinch. You see they were driving back in and feeling forthe ledge. Blocking out, I think. Pretty lean ore, over there, youknow. So there was just one drift away from the shaft, and it was inthat she caved."
There was a moment's silence and then a half-dozen questions askedalmost in the same moment. The man turned first to one and then toanother as if striving to decide which query should be answered first,and shook his head hopelessly.
"They didn't have a chance," he asserted. "It happened three days ago,as you all know. They sent over to Arrapahoe and all the boys overthere went and volunteered. They worked just as many men as could getinto the drift at a time, and they spelled each other in half-hourshifts, so's every man could do his best. They hadn't got in twentyfeet before they saw that she was bad. Seemed as if the whole drifthad been wiped out. It was as solid as rock in place--just as if thewhole mountain had slipped!"
"Did you go down, Jim?" the doctor asked.
For reply the man held up his hands. Dick, close behind him andpeering forward to see them in the light that came from a street lamp,saw they were a mass of blisters with the skin torn away, red andbleeding. The answer was too eloquent to require words for the manthey called Jim had evidently been there and striving madly, as hadothers, in the attempt to rescue. There was a surge forward as thecrowd pressed in, each man trying to inspect these evidences of thetragedy. The questions were coming faster and
from all sides. Mostfrequently the anxious demand, coupled with a pronounced eagernesswas, "Is there anything any of us can do? Can we help if we get overthere?"
"How far over is it?" Bill asked the man nearest him.
"Forty-miles," was the answer. They were all willing to travel thatfar, or farther, if they could be of any assistance whatever.
"No, there's no use in going," the man in the center said. "There'smore men there now than can be handled, and all they're doing is totry to get at the boys' bodies. It's sure that they can't live tillthey're taken out. You all know that! They're gone, every one of 'em.And that ain't the worst. They left twenty-six widows, most of 'emwith children!"
A groan went up from the crowd. The word passed back along like thewaves cast up by a rock thrown into the center of a pool of blackness.It began at the center with its repetition as the words were conveyedto those out of earshot. "He says there's twenty-six widows. He saysthere's a lot of children."
The questions were flowing inward again.
"No, boys, there ain't a thing you can do," the man they called Jimrepeated. "That is, there ain't a thing can be done for the boysunderground. They're gone; but somebody ought to do what can be donefor them that's left. It's money that helps the most. That's the bestway to show that most all of us had friends who went out."
He turned and climbed back into his saddle in the little open space,and there was another moment's silence. The crowd looked up at himnow, as he sat there in the center of the light thrown downward,feebly, from the lamp.
"Give me room, boys, won't you?" he asked. "My cayuse is about all in.There ain't nothing more to tell. There ain't a thing you can do; butjust what I said. Those women and children will need money. They'reall broke."
The crowd slowly parted and he rode through a narrow lane where hisstirrups brushed against those in the front ranks, and then thegathering began to twist backward and forward, to disintegrate, tospread itself outward and up the street of the camp. It talked in asubdued way as it went. There were but few in it who did not know andpicture the meaning of all that had been imparted by the courier--thedesperate alarm, the haggard, sobbing women in front of a hoist, therelays of men who were ready to descend and beat hammer on steel andtear madly at slow-yielding rock, the calls for a rest whilecarpenters hastily propped up tottering roofs and walls, theoccasional warning shouts when men fell back to watch other hugemasses of rock fall into the black drift, and the instants when somerescuer, overwrought, thought he heard sounds of "rock telegraphing"and bade the others pause and listen. There were those among the menon the street who had seen the desperate, melancholy conclusions, whenhope, flaming ever more feebly, guttered out as a burned candle anddied. There were those among them who had been in those black holes ofdespair and been rescued, to carry scars of the body for life, butrecklessly forget the scars of the mind, the horrors of despair.Comparative strangers to the camp as were the two men of the Cross,they appreciated the full meaning of the blow; for doubtless there wasscarcely a man around them who had not known some of those whoperished in that terrible, lingering agony. Besides they were minersall.
"Pretty tough luck, isn't it?"
They found themselves confronted by the doctor, who had turned at thesound of their voices as they resumed conversation.
"We just learned of it," Dick answered, "and know scarcely anythingwhatever of it, save what we just heard."
The doctor shook his head.
"It has been almost the sole topic here for the last two days," hesaid. "We heard of it after it was too late for any of us to be ofuse. I started over, but got word from a confrere of mine from a campfarther east, that there were already four doctors on the spot andthat I need not come unless they called for me. Even then they werehopeless. Most of the men of the Blackbird were good men, too. Thekind that have families, and are steady; but I suppose from what Ihear they were nearly all fellows who have been idle for some time, orhave just moved into the district, so probably they had nothing muchto leave in the way of support--for those left behind."
He stopped for a moment and peered at other men who were passingthem.
"I think it my duty to do something in that regard," he said, quietly."I believe I shall get Mrs. Meredith to call a meeting out in front ofher place. Nearly every man of the camp goes there at some time oranother, in the course of the evening. Perhaps I could--"
Again he stopped, as if thinking of the best plan.
"I see," interpolated the miner, almost as his younger companion wasabout to offer the same suggestion. "Let her send out word that everyman in the camp is wanted. Then you give them the last news and getthem to do what they can. That's right."
"It is the best way," asserted Dick, agreeing with the project. "Youcan do more than any one. They all respect and know you."
They left him to make his way toward the High Light and stood at theborders of little gatherings on the street, gleaning other details ofthe tragedy, for nearly an hour, and then were attracted by a soundbelow them. Men were calling to one another. Out in front of the HighLight two torches flared, their flames glowing steadily in the stillnight air and lighting the faces of those who gathered toward them.They went with the street current and again found themselves in acrowd; but it was not so dense as that first one they had encountered.Men stood in groups, thoughtfully, with hands in pockets, their harsh,strong faces rendered soft by the light. They talked together with aquiet and sad sympathy, as if in that hour they were all of one familyup there in the heart of the mountains from which they tore their hardlivelihood. There was a stir from the nearest store and a voicecalled, "Here, Doc! Here's a couple of boxes for you to stand on sothey can see you when you talk."
Men were carrying some large packing cases, or tumbling them end overend, with hollow, booming noises, to form a crude platform. The boxesclashed together. Two men holding the torches climbed up on them andthey saw two others boosting the doctor upward. At sight of him therewas a restraining hiss passed round through the gathering crowd,commanding silence. He waited for it to become complete.
"Men," he said, "you have all heard the news. Thirty-three of ourfellows died over across the divide, or are dying now. God knowswhich! God grant they went quickly!"
He stopped and although not a trained orator, the pause could havebeen no more effective. Dick looked around him. The faces of thosenearest were grave and unmoved, as if carved from the mother rock ofthe country in which they delved; but he saw a light in their frowningeyes that told how deeply their sympathies were stirred.
"I didn't get up here to talk to you so much about them, however," thedoctor went on, quietly, "as I did to remind you that out ofthirty-three of these men there were twenty-six who left widows, orwidows and children behind them. The boys over there did all theycould. There were a hundred and fifty men who tried to save them. Theyare now working merely to get their bodies. We couldn't be there tohelp in that; so we do what we can here. And that doing shall consistin helping out those women and children. There's a box down here infront of me. I wish you'd put what you can on it."
Bill, staring over the heads of those around him, saw a movement amongthose nearest the orator's stand, and into the ring of light steppedThe Lily. Apparently she was speaking to the doctor, who leaned downto listen. He straightened up and called for silence.
"Mrs. Meredith," he said, "says that any man here who has no moneywith him can sign what he wants to give on a piece of paper, and thatshe will accept it as she would a pay-check and forward the cash. Thenon pay-day the man can come and redeem his paper pledge."
There was a low murmur of approval swept round over the crowd whichbegan to move forward with slow regularity. The doctor dropped downfrom his rostrum as if his task were done. The torches lowered astheir bearers followed him and planted them beside the box on whichcoins, big round silver dollars and yellow gold-pieces, were falling,with here and there a scrap of paper. No one stood guard over thatcollection. The crowd was thinning out. Dick turned toward
his friendand looked up at him to meet eyes as troubled as his own. Eachunderstood the other.
"I wish I had some money of my own," the younger man exclaimed; "but Ihaven't a dollar that actually belongs to me. I am going to borrow alittle from Sloan."
"I can't do that much," was the sorrowful reply. "And there ain'tnothin' I'd rather do in the world than walk up there and drop acouple of hundred on that pile. I'm--I'm--"
His manner indicated that he was about to relapse into stronger terms.He suddenly whirled. A hand had been laid on his sleeve and a low,steady voice said, "Excuse me, I heard you talking and I understand. Iknow what you feel. I want you to permit me."
It was Mrs. Meredith who had walked around behind them unobserved andnow held out her hand. They fell back, embarrassed. She appeared tofathom their position.
"I know," she said. "I wasn't eavesdropping. I saw you here. I wantedto talk to you both and so, well, I overheard. Take this, won't you?Please permit me."
Bill suddenly reached his hand out and found in his palm a roll ofbills, rare in that camp. He looked at them curiously.
"There is five hundred dollars in it," she said. "That permits areasonable gift from each of you. You can return it to me at yourconvenience."
Neither of them had spoken to her in all this time. Now both voicedthanks. But a moment later Dick found himself talking alone andtelling her that he would send her a check within a few days to coverthe amount of the loan; but she was not looking at him. He saw thather eyes were fixed on the big man by his side, who stood therelooking down into her face. For some reason she appeared embarrassedby that direct scrutiny, and her eyes fell, and wandered around onthose standing nearest. Suddenly she frowned, and wondering theyfollowed the direction of her look. Not ten feet from them, standingstockily on his feet with his high, heavy shoulders squared, his handsthrust deep into his pockets, his firm face unmoved, his hat shadinghis eyes, stood Bully Presby. He made no movement toward the goal ofthe contributors, and seemed to have no intention of so doing. As ifto escape an unpleasant situation The Lily suddenly walked towardhim.
"Good-evening, Mister Presby," she saluted, and he slowly turned hishead and stared at her. He did not shift his attitude in the least,and appeared granite-like in his rigid pose.
"I suppose," she said, "that you have put something into thecontribution."
"I have not," he replied with his customary incisive, harsh voice."Why should I? The contribution means nothing to me."
The brutality, the inhumanity of his words made her recoil for aninstant, and then she recovered her fearlessness and dignity.
"I might have known that," she said, coolly. "I should have expectednothing more from you. The lives of these--all these--" and shegestured toward those around--"mean nothing to you. Nor the sufferingsand poverties of those dependent on them."
"Certainly not," he answered with a trace of a harsh sneer outlined onhis face. "If they get killed, I am sorry. If they live, they areuseful. If they are lost, others take their places. They are merely apart of the general scheme. They are for me to use."
His words were like a challenge. He watched her curiously as ifawaiting her reply. Dick felt Bill starting forward, angrily, thenchecked him.
"Wait!" he whispered. "Let's hear what he has to say."
The Lily took a step forward to arraign him. Her face shone whiterthan ever in the light of the torches.
"And that is all? That is your attitude?"
He did not answer, but stared at her curiously. It seemed to anger hermore.
"I wonder," she said, "if you would care for my estimate of you! Iwonder if you would care for the estimate of those around you. It doesnot seem strange that you are called by the fitting sobriquet of'Bully Presby.' You are that! You are one of those shriveled soulsthat fatten on the toil of others--that thrive on others' misfortunesand miseries. My God! A usurer--a pawnbroker, is a prince compared toyou. You are without compassion, pity, charity or grace. Your code isthat of winning all, the code of greed! Listen to me. You doubtlesslook down on me as a camp woman, and with a certain amount of scorn!But knowing what I am, I should far rather be what I am, the owner ofthe High Light, a sordid den, than to be you, the owner of theRattler, the man they call Bully Presby!"
To their astonishment he leaned his head back and laughed, deeply,from his chest, as if her anger, her scorn, her bitter denunciation,had all served to amuse him. It was as if she had flattered him by hercharacterizations. She was too angry to speak and stood regarding himcoldly until he had finished. He turned and appeared for the firsttime to observe the men of the Croix d'Or scowling at him, and hislaugh abruptly stopped. He scowled back at them, and, without so muchas a good-night salutation turned and walked away and lost himself inthe shadows of the street.
"Oh," she said, facing them and clenching her hands, "sometimes I hatethat man! He is unfathomable! There have been times when I wondered ifhe was human."
She bit her lip as if to restrain her words, and then looked up at thepartners.
"And there are times," drawled the big miner, "when I wonder how longI'll be able to keep my hands off of him. And one of those times hasbeen in the last minute! If you think it would do any good, I'll--"
She looked up at him and smiled, for the first time since they hadmet. She interrupted him.
"No, the only way you can do any good is to make your contribution.I'll go with you."
They walked together toward the box which was now deserted, save bythe doctor and one other, who were scooping the money into a waterpail they had secured somewhere. Bill threw his roll of bills into itand the doctor looked up and smiled.
"I knew you would come," he said. "And that, with the two thousandthat Mrs. Meredith has volunteered--"
She checked him.
"That was to be my secret. Please, none of you, speak of it again."
"As you wish," replied the doctor. "And I apologize. Now I wouldsuggest that you take charge of this and take it to the High Light.I'll send it over to-morrow by Jim. The boys have done well."
That was all he said, and yet in his simple sentence was much. Thecamp had done well. He straightened up with an air of weariness.
"This pail is pretty heavy," he said. "Won't you take it, Mathews, andcarry it over?"
The miner caught it up in his arms, fearing lest the bail break looseunder its weight. The doctor bade them good night, and they startedtoward the High Light, leaving the torch man to extinguish his flares.She talked freely as she walked between them, expressing her reliefthat none of the destitute in that distant camp of mourning wouldsuffer unduly after the receipt of Goldpan's offering. As they enteredthe house of the lights and noise the bartender nearest hailed her,wiped his hands on his apron and reached out an envelope.
"Bully Presby was in here about an hour or two ago," he said, "andleft this. It was before you and Doc Mills was goin' out to try andget the boys interested."
She tore it open, then flushed, and passed it to the partners whotogether read it.
"I hear," the letter read, "that some of the men who were killedover at the Blackbird used to work for me down in California. Alsothat there are some women and children over there who may have ahard time of it. Will you see to it that this goes to the rightchannels, and regard it as confidential? I don't want to appear to bea philanthropist on even a small scale. Presby."
Pinned to the letter was a check. It was for ten thousand dollars.Bill lifted it in his fingers, scanned each word, then handed it toMrs. Meredith who stood frowning with her eyes fixed on the floor.
"I've known burros, and other contrary cusses, in my time," he said,slowly, "but this feller Presby has 'em all lookin' as simple, andplain, and understandable, as a cross-roads guide-post."
And The Lily, contrite, agreed.