XXXIII
FUTILITY
And around that lower bend, half a mile beyond Durand's cabin, Billyencountered in the person of Jim Buckley the very man he intended tosearch for, and that by not so very strange a chance when all isconsidered.
After the scouting days were quite over, not long ago, by the way, JimBuckley had struck out for Wyoming, where he looked about him andfinally settled in the Crooked Horn district all alone. He wasprospecting. And as he was a great big leisurely sort of fellow, neverin a hurry, and quite unconvinced of the necessity for being so, ittook him a great many years to complete the prospecting to hissatisfaction. In fact it was only recently that he had fully convincedhimself and others of the value of what he had found. At first he hadworked the surface over inch by inch Then he had staked out his moreexperimental claims. Then he had burrowed and grubbed and delved,single-handed, through a network of shafts, tunnels, and drifts. It isslow work--single-handed. In the morning you make little holes with ahand drill, and fill them with powder. At noon you blast. In theafternoon you cart away debris by means of an inadequate little bucket.This takes time and patience, both of which Jim Buckley possessed.Once a month he went to town, riding one horse and leading another, forthe purpose of buying supplies. The rest of the time he lived alone.
That is, he lived alone except that directly opposite the window, wherethe light always struck it fair, he had carefully fastened a smallcolored portrait on ivory. It was the picture of a woman, delicatelytinted, young with laughing blue eyes and a mouth whose corners turnedupward in so droll a manner that you would have sworn its owner hadnever known a care in her fresh young life. It was the picture ofanother man's wife. She had known care, of the bitterest, blackestkind, and in her darkest days she had been murdered, mercifullyperhaps. After he had hauled the last little bucket of broken rock upto the surface of the ground, and had ranged all sorts of utensils inthe open fireplace for the evening meal, Jim Buckley used to light hispipe and sit looking at this little portrait for a long time. For, yousee, he was simply made, with no complexities--a few simple purposes, afew simple ideas, a few simple friendships, a few simple passions--butthey were the stronger and deeper and more soul-satisfying for that.He did not need incident or sorrow or regret to round out his life. Itwas well poised and sufficient.
So he used to look upon the face of this other man's wife from undersombre brows, but through clear eyes. No one could have guessed whathis slow deep thoughts were at such times, nor what he found, whetherof peace or unrest, in his contemplation of a portrait of the past. Hesaid it made him better. Perhaps it did.
But there came a time when the windlasses over the rabbit-burrowprospector's shafts had made their last necessary revolution. JimBuckley knew the cross section of that country as well as you or I knowthe cross section of an apple we have just cut in two. Then, havingsatisfied his purposes, he looked to his friendships. He had never hadmany. Alfred, Billy Knapp, Hal Townsend, Charley Fanchild--why youcould count them on the fingers of one hand--and two of these weredead, and another was so far away in the cattle country of Arizona thathe might as well have been so. Jim would have liked well to havegathered this old band of comrades about him and said, "Here, boys, iswhat I have. It is more than enough for me: it is more than enough forall of us. Let us share it, just as we used to share our bacon or ourcoffee in the old days, and so we can grow old together in the way thatsuits us best, the way of the pioneer." As he sat in the cabin now, orstalked the hills with his rifle, this old comradeship took more andmore shape from the mists of the past, and there grew up in his breasta sharp craving for old times, old faces, old friends. It was apeculiarity of his nature that his ideas possessed a sort of cumulativeforce. They gathered added reasons for their carrying out as a rollingsnowball gathers snow. Toward the end of that month, he packed astrange old valise with clothes for the journey, strapped on his bestsix-shooter, put his cabin in order, and rode his horse down to CrookedHorn. There he left the animal with Billy Powers and took the trainfor Edgemont and thence to Rapid.
He knew that Billy was somewhere in the Hills. At Rapid he learned ofthat individual's new importance. His heart sank a little at thethought that this prosperity might forfend his own scheme ofcomradeship, but nevertheless he took Blair's stage for Copper Creekand Custer.
Near Rockerville the axle gave way. The brake was repaired at aminer's forge with some difficulty, but the job carried on so late intothe afternoon that Blair refused to go farther that night, and theparty slept at Rockerville. The next morning they pushed on againabout daylight, in order that Blair might start back from Custer beforenoon, thus reducing his delay by a few hours. A half mile belowDurand's shack the axle again gave way, this time with a suddenviolence that sent flying the baggage which had been piled on top. Jimfound his valise in the bushes. The catch had snapped when the bag hitthe ground, so that it lay half open; but fortunately its contents hadnot emptied. Jim closed it with the two end-clasps, and set it by theside of the road. He did not notice that the ivory miniature haddropped out, and now lay face downward at the roots of a _mesquite_.
Blair looked up from his inspection.
"Bad break!" he said, with a string of oaths. "Copper Creek's under amile ahead. You'll save time by pushin' on afoot. I'll be in as soonas I can get this sulphurated axle tied together with a strap."
"No hurry," replied Jim; "I'll help you."
He began to unhitch the horses while Blair went to borrow an axe ofDurand. The driver's intention was to splice the broken axle with abit of green wood. In a little time, he and the old man returnedtogether.
So Billy found them, straining away with an impromptu crowbar. When heand Jim saw each other, they agreed that they'd be tee-totally chawedup! After a time the stage moved doubtfully on toward Copper Creek.Billy and Jim went the other way in the buckboard.
Billy explained that he was going to see Jim; and Jim explained that hehad come to get Billy. Billy elaborated on the tale of his doingssince their last meeting, and easily persuaded Jim, as well as himself,that he was a most wronged individual. To restore his self-respect itonly needed a sympathetic listener, so that he could hear the sound ofhis own voice. For the moment he had doubted himself. Now he sawplainly that he had been misled by false pretences. If he hadunderstood clearly from the beginning the picayune policy expected ofhim by these stingy Easterners, he would have graduated his scale ofexpenditures to suit it; but certainly they had implied at least thatthey intended to get up a good big mine. Served a man right for goingin with such sharpers!
Jim merely said that he had a first-rate thing to share with Billy.
It was a pleasant sight, the bearded solemn miner, fairly glowing withpleasure over finding Billy unfortunate and therefore open to his ownkind offices; the eager-faced enthusiastic promoter, elated andhigh-spirited because of the relief of putting quite behind him acolossal failure; because of the privilege of starting again with aclean slate; because of a hundred new and promising schemes for thefuture. Michail Lafond's long planning had availed little, after all.With all his shrewdness he did not see that in the personality of BillyKnapp he was attempting to quench the essence of enthusiasm and hopeand faith--inextinguishable fires. That is the American frontiersman.
At Rapid they took the train to Crooked Horn. At Crooked Horn theyreclaimed the horse from Billy Powers. Then they inaugurated the boom.At this very day, December 24th, 1899, they are still living togetherin the new town of Knapp City, Wyoming, wealthy and respected citizens.And Billy recounts his Copper Creek experiences, generally withtolerance, as an example of the deceit of his fellow-creatures. Theywere the fruit of eighteen years of planning and waiting and working bya man who thought he could shape greater destinies than his own.
The Westerners Page 33