One night as he drifted into the Palace saloon he felt impelled to take a chance with "the white marble." That is to say, he sat in at the roulette-table and began to play small stakes.
The man who rolled the marble was young and good-looking. Kelley had seen him before and liked him. Perhaps this was the reason he played roulette instead of faro. At any rate, he played, losing steadily at first—then, suddenly, the ball began to fall his way, and before the clock pointed to ten he had several hundred dollars in winnings.
"This is my night," he said, on meeting the eyes of the young dealer.
"Don't crowd a winning horse," retorted the man at the wheel; and Kelley caught something in his look which checked his play and led him to quit the game. In that glance the gambler had conveyed a friendly warning, although he said, as Kelley was going away: "Be a sport. Give the wheel another show. See me to-morrow."
Kelley went away with a distinct feeling of friendliness toward the youngster, whose appearance was quite unlike the ordinary gambler. He seemed not merely bored, but disgusted with his trade, and Kelley said to himself: "That lad has a story to tell. He's no ordinary robber."
The next afternoon he met the youth on the street. "Much obliged for your tip last night. The game looked all right to me."
"It was all right," replied the gambler. "I didn't mean that it was crooked. But I hate to see a good man lose his money as you were sure to do."
"I thought you meant the wheel was 'fixed.'"
"Oh no. It's straight. I call a fair game. But I knew your run of luck couldn't last and"—he hesitated a little—"I'd kinda taken a fancy to you."
"Well, that's funny, too," replied Kelley. "I went over to play your machine because I kind of cottoned to you. I reckon we're due to be friends. My name's Kelley—Tall Ed the boys call me."
"Mine is Morse—Fred Morse. I came out here with a grub-stake, lost it, and, being out of a job, fell into rolling the marble for a living. What are you—a miner?"
"I make a bluff at mining a leased claim up here, but I'll admit I'm nothing but a wandering cow-puncher—a kind of mounted hobo. I have an itch to keep moving. I've been here a year and I'm crazy to straddle a horse and ride off into the West. I know the South and East pretty well—so the open country for me is off there where the sun goes down." His voice had a touch of poetry in it, and the other man, though he felt the bigness of the view, said:
"I never was on a horse in my life, and I don't like roughing it. But I like you and I wish you'd let me see something of you. Where are you living?"
"Mostly up at my mine—but I have a room down here at the Boston House. I pick up my meals anywhere."
The young man's voice grew hesitant. "Would you consider taking me in as a side partner? I'm lonesome where I am."
Kelley was touched by the gambler's tone. "No harm trying," he said, with a smile. "We couldn't do more than kill each other. But I warn you I'm likely any day to buy an old cayuse and pull out. I'm subject to fits like that."
"All right—I'll take the chance. I'm used to taking chances."
Kelley laughed. "So am I."
In this informal way they formed a social partnership, and the liking they mutually acknowledged deepened soon into a friendship that was close akin to fraternal love.
Within a week each knew pretty accurately the origin and history of the other, and although they had but an hour or two of an afternoon for talk, they grew to depend upon each other, strangely, and when one day Morse came into the room in unwonted excitement and said, "Ed, I want you to do something for me," Kelley instantly replied: "All right, boy. Spit it out. What's wanted?"
"I'm in a devil of a hole. My mother and my little sister are coming through here on their way to the Coast. They're going to stop off to see me. I want you to let me in on a partnership in your mine just for a day. They'll only stay a few hours, but I want to have them think I'm making my living in a mine. You get me?"
"Sure thing, Fred. When are they due?"
"To-morrow."
"All right. You get a lay-off from your boss and we'll pull the deal through. I'll tell my old partner I've taken you in on my share and he'll carry out his part of it. He's a good deal of a bonehead, but no talker. But you'll have to put on some miner's duds and spend to-day riding around the hills to get a little sunburn. You don't look like a miner."
"I know it. That worries me, too."
Having given his promise, Kelley seemed eager to carry the plan through successfully. He was sorry for the youth, but he was sorrier for the mother who was coming with such fond pride in the success of her son—for Morse confessed that he had been writing of his "mine" for a year.
He outfitted his new partner with a pair of well-worn miner's boots and some trousers that were stained with clay, and laughed when Fred found them several inches too long.
"You've got to wear 'em. No! New ones won't work. How would it do for you to be so durn busy at the mine that I had to come down and bring your people up?"
"Good idea!" Then his face became blank. "What would I be busy about?"
"That's so!" grinned Kelley. "Well, let's call it your day off and I'll be busy."
"No, I want you to come with me to the train. I need you. You must do most of the talking—about the mine, I mean. I'll say you're the practical miner and I'll refer all questions about the business to you. And we must keep out of the main street. I don't want mother to even pass the place I've been operating in."
"What if they decide to stay all night?"
"They won't. They're going right on. They won't be here more than five or six hours."
"All right. We'll find 'em dinner up at Mrs. Finnegan's. If they're like most tourists they'll think the rough-scuff ways of the Boston House great fun. By the way, how old is this little sister?"
"Oh, she must be about twenty-two."
"Good Lord!" Kelley was dashed. He thought a minute. "Well, you attend to her and I'll keep the old lady interested."
"No, you've got to keep close to Flo. I'm more afraid of her than I am of mother. She's sharp as tacks, and the least little 'break' on my part will let her in on my 'stall.' No, you've got to be on guard all the time."
"Well, I'll do my best, but I'm no 'Billie dear,' with girls. I've grew up on the trail, and my talk is mostly red-neck. But I mean well, as the fellow says, even if I don't always do well."
"Oh, you're all right, Kelley. You look the real thing. You'll be part of the scenery for them."
"Spin the marble! It's only for half a day, anyway. They can call me a hole in the ground if they want to. But you must get some tan. I tell you what you do. You go up on the hill and lay down in the sun and burn that saloon bleach off your face and neck and hands. That's got to be done. You've got the complexion of a barber."
Morse looked at his white, supple hands and felt of his smooth chin. "You're right. It's a dead give-away. I'll look like a jailbird to them if I don't color up. If I'd only known it a few days sooner I'd have started a beard."
"You'll be surprised at what the sun will do in two hours," Kelley said, encouragingly. "You'll peel afterward, but you'll get rid of the bleach."
II
In truth Morse looked very well the next morning as he stood beside Kelley and watched the High Line train come in over the shoulder of Mogallon and loop its cautious way down the mine-pitted slopes. His main uneasiness was caused by the thought that his mother might ask some man on the train if he knew her son, and he was disturbed also by a number of citizens lounging on the platform. Some of them were curious about the change in him: "Hello, Fred! Going fishing, or been?"
The boy was trembling as he laid his hand on Kelley's arm. "Ed, I feel like a coyote. It's a dang shame to fool your old mother like this."
"Better to fool her than to disappoint her," answered Tall Ed. "Stiffen up, boy! Carry it through."
The little train drew up to the station and disgorged a crowd of Italian workmen from the smoker and a throng of tourists from the obs
ervation-car, and among these gay "trippers" Kelley saw a small, plain little woman in black and a keen-eyed, laughing girl who waved her hand to Fred. "Why, she's a queen!" thought Kelley.
Mrs. Morse embraced her son with a few murmured words of endearment, but the girl held her brother off and looked at him. "Well, you do look the part," she said. "What a glorious sunburn—and the boots—and the hat, and all! Why, Fred, you resemble a man."
"I may resemble one," he said, "but here's the real thing. Here's my partner, Tall Ed Kelley." He pulled Kelley by the arm. "Ed, this is my mother—"
"Howdy, ma'am," said Kelley, extending a timid hand.
"And this is my sister Florence."
"Howdy, miss," repeated Kelley.
Florence laughed as she shook hands. "He says 'Howdy' just like the books."
Kelley stiffened a bit. "What should a feller say? Howdy's the word."
"I told you she'd consider you part of the scenery," put in Fred. "Well, now, mother, we're going to take you right up to our mine. It's away on top of that hill—"
"Oh, glorious!" exclaimed Florence. "And is it a real mine?"
"It is. But Kelley is boss, so I'm going to let him tell you all about it. He's the man that found it."
Mrs. Morse looked up at the towering hill. "How do we get there?"
"A trolley-car runs part way, and then—we'll take a cab. Come on," he added, anxiously, for he could see some of his saloon friends edging near.
The trolley came down almost to the station, and in a few moments they were aboard with Kelley seated beside Florence and Mrs. Morse fondly clinging to her son, who seemed more boyish than ever to Kelley. The old trailer was mightily embarrassed by his close contact with a sprightly girl. He had never known any one like her. She looked like the pictures in the magazines—same kind of hat, same kind of jacket and skirt—and she talked like a magazine story, too. Her face was small, her lips sweet, and her eyes big and bright.
She was chatty as a camp bird, and saw everything, and wanted to know about it. Why were there so many empty cabins? What was the meaning of all those rusty, ruined mills? Weren't there any gardens or grass?
"Why, you see, miss, the camp is an old busted camp. I'm working a lease—I mean, we are—"
"What do you mean by a lease?"
"Well, you see, a lot of men have got discouraged and quit, and went back East and offered their claims for lease on royalty, and I and another feller—and Fred—we took one of these and it happened to have ore in it."
"How long has Fred been with you?—he never mentioned you in his letters."
"Why, it's about a year since we took the lease." Kelley began to grow hot under her keen eyes.
"Strange he never wrote of you. He seems very proud of you, too."
Kelley looked out of the window. "We get along first rate."
The girl studied his fine profile attentively. "I'm glad he fell in with a strong man like you—an experienced miner. He might have made a mistake and lost all his small fortune. My! but it's fine up here! What's that wonderful snowy range off there?"
"That's the Sangre de Cristo Range."
"Sangre de Cristo—Blood of Christ! Those old Spaniards had a lot of poetry in them, didn't they?"
"I reckon so—and a whole lot of stiffening, too. You go through the Southwest and see the country they trailed over—the hot, dry places and the quicksands and cañons and all that. They sure made them Injuns remember when they passed by."
"You know that country?"
"I may say I do. It was my parade-ground for about fifteen years. I roamed over most of it. It's a fine country."
"Why did you leave it? Do you like this better?"
"I like any new country. I like to explore."
"But you're settled for a while?"
"Well, I don't know—if my partner will take my interest, I think I'll shift along. I want to get into Alaska finally. I'd like to climb one of them high peaks."
Fred, who was seated in front, turned. "Mother wants to know what the mine paid last year—you tell her."
"It didn't pay much," replied Kelley, cautiously. "You see, we had some new machinery to put in and some roads to grade and one thing or another—I reckon it paid about"—he hesitated—"about three hundred a month. But it's going to do better this year."
Florence, who was studying the men sharply, then said, "You wrote you were getting about five dollars a day."
Fred's face showed distress. "I meant net," he said. "I didn't want to worry you about details of machinery and all that."
Kelley began to feel that the girl's ears and eyes were alert to all discrepancies, and he became cautious—so cautious that his pauses revealed more than his words. But the mother saw nothing, heard nothing, but the face and voice of her son, who pointed out the big mines that were still running and the famous ones that were "dead," and so kept her from looking too closely at the steep grades up which the car climbed.
At length, on the very crest of the high, smooth hill, they alighted and Fred led the way toward a rusty old hack that looked as much out of place on that wind-swept point as a Chinese pagoda.
Florence spoke of it. "Looks like Huckleberry Springs. Whom does its owner find to carry up here?"
"Mostly it carries the minister and undertaker at funerals," replied Kelley.
"Cheerful lot!" exclaimed the girl. "It smells morbific."
"You can't be particular up here," responded Fred. "You'll find our boarding-place somewhat crude."
"Oh, I don't mind crudeness—but I hate decayed pretensions. If this were only a mountain cart now!"
"It was the only kerridge with springs," explained Kelley.
The little mother now began to take notice of her son's partner. "My son tells me you have been very good to him—a kind of big brother. I am very grateful."
"Oh, I've done no more for him than he has for me. We both felt kind of lonesome and so rode alongside."
"It's wonderful to me how you could keep Mr. Kelley out of your letters," said Florence. "He looks exactly like a Remington character, only his eyes are honester and his profile handsomer."
Kelley flushed and Fred laughed. "I never did understand why Remington made all his men cross-eyed."
Mrs. Morse put her small, cold hand on Kelley's wrist. "Don't mind my daughter. She's got this new fad of speaking her mind. She's a good daughter—even if she does say rude things."
"Oh, I don't mind being called 'a good-looker,'" said Kelley, "only I want to be sure I'm not being made game of."
"You needn't worry," retorted Fred. "A man of your inches is safe from ridicule."
"Ridicule!" exclaimed Florence, with a glance of admiration. "You can't ridicule a tall pine."
"I told you she'd have you a part of the landscape," exulted Fred. "She'll have you a mountain peak next."
Kelley, who felt himself at a disadvantage, remained silent, but not in a sulky mood. The girl was too entertaining for that. It amused him to get the point of view of a city-bred woman to whom everything was either strange or related to some play or story she had known. The cabins, the mills, the occasional miners they met, all absorbed her attention, and when they reached the little shaft-house and were met by old Hank Stoddard, Kelley's partner, her satisfaction was complete, for Hank had all the earmarks of the old prospector—tangled beard, jack-boots, pipe, flannel shirt, and all. He was from the South also, and spoke with a drawl.
"Oh, but he is a joy!" Florence said, privately, to Kelley. "I didn't know such Bret Harte types existed any more. How did you find him?"
"I used to know him down on the Perco. He had a mine down there that came just within a hair-line of paying, and when I ran across him up here he had a notion the mine would do to lease. I hadn't much, only a horse and saddle and a couple of hundred dollars, but we formed a partnership."
"That was before my brother came into the firm."
Kelley recovered himself. "Yes; you see, he came in a little later—when we needed a lit
tle ready cash."
She seemed satisfied, but as they went into the mine she listened closely to all that Kelley and Stoddard said. Stoddard's remarks were safe, for he never so much as mentioned Kelley's name. It was all "I" with old Hank—"I did this" and "I did that"—till Florence said to Kelley:
"You junior partners in this mine don't seem to be anything but 'company' for Mr. Stoddard."
"Hank always was a bit conceited," admitted Kelley. "But then, he is a real, sure-enough miner. We are only 'capitalists.'"
"Where did Fred get all the signs of toil on his trousers and boots?" she asked, with dancing eyes.
"Oh, he works—part of the time."
She peered into his face with roguish glance. "Does it all with his legs, I guess. I notice his hands are soft as mine."
Kelley nearly collapsed. "Good Lord!" he thought. "You ought to be a female detective." He came to the line gamely. "Well, there's a good deal of running to be done, and we let him do the outside messenger work."
"His sunburn seems quite recent. And his trousers don't fit as his trousers usually do. He used to be finicky about such things."
"A feller does get kind of careless up here in the hills," Kelley argued.
They did not stay long in the mine, for there wasn't much to see. It was a very small mine—and walking made the mother short of breath. And so they came back to the office and Hank arranged seats on some dynamite-boxes and a keg of spikes, and then left them to talk things over.
"I'm so glad you're up here—where it's so clean and quiet," said the mother. "I'm told these mining towns are dreadful, almost barbaric, even yet. Of course they're not as they were in Bret Harte's time, but they are said to be rough and dangerous. I hope you don't have to go down there often."
"Of course I have to go, mother. We get all our supplies and our mail down there."
"I suppose that's true. But Mr. Kelley seems such a strong, capable person"—here she whispered—"but I don't think much of your other partner, Mr. Stoddard."
"Who? Old Hank? Why, he's steady as a clock. He looks rough, but he's the kindest old chap on the hill. Why, he's scared to death of you and Flo—"
They of the High Trails Page 11