by Bret Harte
THE ROMANCE OF MADRONO HOLLOW.
The latch on the garden gate of the Folinsbee Ranch clicked twice.The gate itself was so much in shadow that lovely night, that "old manFolinsbee," sitting on his porch, could distinguish nothing but a tallwhite hat and beside it a few fluttering ribbons, under the pines thatmarked the entrance. Whether because of this fact, or that he considereda sufficient time had elapsed since the clicking of the latch for morepositive disclosure, I do not know; but after a few moments' hesitationhe quietly laid aside his pipe and walked slowly down the winding pathtoward the gate. At the Ceanothus hedge he stopped and listened.
There was not much to hear. The hat was saying to the ribbons that itwas a fine night, and remarking generally upon the clear outline of theSierras against the blue-black sky. The ribbons, it so appeared, hadadmired this all the way home, and asked the hat if it had ever seenanything half so lovely as the moonlight on the summit. The hat neverhad; it recalled some lovely nights in the South in Alabama ("in theSouth in Ahlabahm" was the way the old man heard it), but then therewere other things that made this night seem so pleasant. The ribbonscould not possibly conceive what the hat could be thinking about. Atthis point there was a pause, of which Mr. Folinsbee availed himself towalk very grimly and craunchingly down the gravel-walk toward thegate. Then the hat was lifted, and disappeared in the shadow, and Mr.Folinsbee confronted only the half-foolish, half-mischievous, but whollypretty face of his daughter.
It was afterward known to Madrono Hollow that sharp words passed between"Miss Jo" and the old man, and that the latter coupled the names of oneCulpepper Starbottle and his uncle, Colonel Starbottle, with certainuncomplimentary epithets, and that Miss Jo retaliated sharply. "Herfather's blood before her father's face boiled up and proved her trulyof his race," quoted the blacksmith, who leaned toward the noble verseof Byron. "She saw the old man's bluff and raised him," was the directercomment of the college-bred Masters.
Meanwhile the subject of these animadversions proceeded slowly alongthe road to a point where the Folinsbee mansion came in view,--a long,narrow, white building, unpretentious, yet superior to its neighbors,and bearing some evidences of taste and refinement in the vines thatclambered over its porch, in its French windows, and the white muslincurtains that kept out the fierce California sun by day, and were nowtouched with silver in the gracious moonlight. Culpepper leaned againstthe low fence, and gazed long and earnestly at the building. Then themoonlight vanished ghostlike from one of the windows, a material glowtook its place, and a girlish figure, holding a candle, drew the whitecurtains together. To Culpepper it was a vestal virgin standing beforea hallowed shrine; to the prosaic observer I fear it was only afair-haired young woman, whose wicked black eyes still shone withunfilial warmth. Howbeit, when the figure had disappeared he steppedout briskly into the moonlight of the high-road. Here he took off hisdistinguishing hat to wipe his forehead, and the moon shone full uponhis face.
It was not an unprepossessing one, albeit a trifle too thin and lank andbilious to be altogether pleasant. The cheek-bones were prominent,and the black eyes sunken in their orbits. Straight black hair fellslantwise off a high but narrow forehead, and swept part of a hollowcheek. A long black mustache followed the perpendicular curves of hismouth. It was on the whole a serious, even Quixotic face, but attimes it was relieved by a rare smile of such tender and even patheticsweetness, that Miss Jo is reported to have said that, if it would onlylast through the ceremony, she would have married its possessor on thespot. "I once told him so," added that shameless young woman; "but theman instantly fell into a settled melancholy, and hasn't smiled since."
A half-mile below the Folinsbee Ranch the white road dipped and wascrossed by a trail that ran through Madrono hollow. Perhaps because itwas a near cut-off to the settlement, perhaps from some less practicalreason, Culpepper took this trail, and in a few moments stood among therarely beautiful trees that gave their name to the valley. Even in thatuncertain light the weird beauty of these harlequin masqueraders wasapparent; their red trunks--a blush in the moonlight, a deep blood-stainin the shadow--stood out against the silvery green foliage. It was asif Nature in some gracious moment had here caught and crystallized thegypsy memories of the transplanted Spaniard, to cheer him in his lonelyexile.
As Culpepper entered the grove he heard loud voices. As he turned towarda clump of trees, a figure so bizarre and characteristic that it mighthave been a resident Daphne--a figure over-dressed in crimson silkand lace, with bare brown arms and shoulders, and a wreath ofhoneysuckle--stepped out of the shadow. It was followed by a man.Culpepper started. To come to the point briefly, he recognized in theman the features of his respected uncle, Colonel Starbottle; in thefemale, a lady who may be briefly described as one possessing absolutelyno claim to an introduction to the polite reader. To hurry over equallyunpleasant details, both were evidently under the influence of liquor.
From the excited conversation that ensued, Culpepper gathered thatsome insult had been put upon the lady at a public ball which she hadattended that evening; that the Colonel, her escort, had failed toresent it with the sanguinary completeness that she desired. I regretthat, even in a liberal age, I may not record the exact and evenpicturesque language in which this was conveyed to her hearers. Enoughthat at the close of a fiery peroration, with feminine inconsistencyshe flew at the gallant Colonel, and would have visited her delayedvengeance upon his luckless head, but for the prompt interference ofCulpepper. Thwarted in this, she threw herself upon the ground, and theninto unpicturesque hysterics. There was a fine moral lesson, not only inthis grotesque performance of a sex which cannot afford to be grotesque,but in the ludicrous concern with which it inspired the two men.Culpepper, to whom woman was more or less angelic, was pained andsympathetic; the Colonel, to whom she was more or less improper, wasexceedingly terrified and embarrassed. Howbeit the storm was soon over,and after Mistress Dolores had returned a little dagger to its sheath(her garter), she quietly took herself out of Madrono Hollow, andhappily out of these pages forever. The two men, left to themselves,conversed in low tones. Dawn stole upon them before they separated:the Colonel quite sobered and in full possession of his usual jauntyself-assertion; Culpepper with a baleful glow in his hollow cheek, andin his dark eyes a rising fire.
The next morning the general ear of Madrono Hollow was filled withrumors of the Colonel's mishap. It was asserted that he had been invitedto withdraw his female companion from the floor of the Assembly Ballat the Independence Hotel, and that, failing to do this, both wereexpelled. It is to be regretted that in 1854 public opinion was dividedin regard to the propriety of this step, and that there was somediscussion as to the comparative virtue of the ladies who were notexpelled; but it was generally conceded that the real casus belli waspolitical. "Is this a dashed Puritan meeting?" had asked theColonel, savagely. "It's no Pike County shindig," had responded thefloor-manager, cheerfully. "You're a Yank!" had screamed the Colonel,profanely qualifying the noun. "Get! you border ruffian," was the reply.Such at least was the substance of the reports. As, at that sincereepoch, expressions like the above were usually followed by promptaction, a fracas was confidently looked for.
Nothing, however, occurred. Colonel Starbottle made his appearance nextday upon the streets with somewhat of his usual pomposity, a littlerestrained by the presence of his nephew, who accompanied him, and who,as a universal favorite, also exercised some restraint upon the curiousand impertinent. But Culpepper's face wore a look of anxiety quite atvariance with his usual grave repose. "The Don don't seem to takethe old man's set-back kindly," observed the sympathizing blacksmith."P'r'aps he was sweet on Dolores himself," suggested the scepticalexpressman.
It was a bright morning, a week after this occurrence, that Miss JoFolinsbee stepped from her garden into the road. This time the latch didnot click as she cautiously closed the gate behind her. After a moment'sirresolution, which would have been awkward but that it was charminglyemployed, after the manner of her sex, in adjusting
a bow under adimpled but rather prominent chin, and in pulling down the fingers ofa neatly fitting glove, she tripped toward the settlement. Small wonderthat a passing teamster drove his six mules into the wayside ditch andimperilled his load, to keep the dust from her spotless garments; smallwonder that the "Lightning Express" withheld its speed and flash to lether pass, and that the expressman, who had never been known to exchangemore than rapid monosyllables with his fellow-man, gazed after her withbreathless admiration. For she was certainly attractive. In a countrywhere the ornamental sex followed the example of youthful Nature, andwere prone to overdress and glaring efflorescence, Miss Jo's simpleand tasteful raiment added much to the physical charm of, if it didnot actually suggest a sentiment to, her presence. It is said thatEuchre-deck Billy, working in the gulch at the crossing, never sawMiss Folinsbee pass but that he always remarked apologetically to hispartner, that "he believed he MUST write a letter home." Even BillMasters, who saw her in Paris presented to the favorable criticism ofthat most fastidious man, the late Emperor, said that she was stunning,but a big discount on what she was at Madrono Hollow.
It was still early morning, but the sun, with California extravagance,had already begun to beat hotly on the little chip hat and blue ribbons,and Miss Jo was obliged to seek the shade of a bypath. Here shereceived the timid advances of a vagabond yellow dog graciously, until,emboldened by his success, he insisted upon accompanying her, and,becoming slobberingly demonstrative, threatened her spotless skirt withhis dusty paws, when she drove him from her with some slight acerbity,and a stone which haply fell within fifty feet of its destined mark.Having thus proved her ability to defend herself, with characteristicinconsistency she took a small panic, and, gathering her white skirts inone hand, and holding the brim of her hat over her eyes with the other,she ran swiftly at least a hundred yards before she stopped. Then shebegan picking some ferns and a few wild-flowers still spared to thewithered fields, and then a sudden distrust of her small ankles seizedher, and she inspected them narrowly for those burrs and bugs and snakeswhich are supposed to lie in wait for helpless womanhood. Then sheplucked some golden heads of wild oats, and with a sudden inspirationplaced them in her black hair, and then came quite unconsciously uponthe trail leading to Madrono Hollow.
Here she hesitated. Before her ran the little trail, vanishing at lastinto the bosky depths below. The sun was very hot. She must be very farfrom home. Why should she not rest awhile under the shade of a madrono?
She answered these questions by going there at once. After thoroughlyexploring the grove, and satisfying herself that it contained no otherliving human creature, she sat down under one of the largest trees, witha satisfactory little sigh. Miss Jo loved the madrono. It was a cleanlytree; no dust ever lay upon its varnished leaves; its immaculate shadenever was known to harbor grub or insect.
She looked up at the rosy arms interlocked and arched above her head.She looked down at the delicate ferns and cryptogams at her feet.Something glittered at the root of the tree. She picked it up; it was abracelet. She examined it carefully for cipher or inscription; there wasnone. She could not resist a natural desire to clasp it on her arm,and to survey it from that advantageous view-point. This absorbed herattention for some moments; and when she looked up again she beheld at alittle distance Culpepper Starbottle.
He was standing where he had halted, with instinctive delicacy, on firstdiscovering her. Indeed, he had even deliberated whether he ought notto go away without disturbing her. But some fascination held him to thespot. Wonderful power of humanity! Far beyond jutted an outlying spur ofthe Sierra, vast, compact, and silent. Scarcely a hundred yards away, aleague-long chasm dropped its sheer walls of granite a thousand feet. Onevery side rose up the serried ranks of pine-trees, in whose close-setfiles centuries of storm and change had wrought no breach. Yet all thisseemed to Culpepper to have been planned by an all-wise Providence asthe natural background to the figure of a pretty girl in a yellow dress.
Although Miss Jo had confidently expected to meet Culpepper somewherein her ramble, now that he came upon her suddenly, she felt disappointedand embarrassed. His manner, too, was more than usually grave andserious; and more than ever seemed to jar upon that audacious levitywhich was this giddy girl's power and security in a society where allfeeling was dangerous. As he approached her she rose to her feet, butalmost before she knew it he had taken her hand and drawn her to a seatbeside him. This was not what Miss Jo had expected, but nothing is sodifficult to predicate as the exact preliminaries of a declaration oflove.
What did Culpepper say? Nothing, I fear, that will add anything tothe wisdom of the reader; nothing, I fear, that Miss Jo had notheard substantially from other lips before. But there was a certainconviction, fire-speed, and fury in the manner that was deliciouslynovel to the young lady. It was certainly something to be courted inthe nineteenth century with all the passion and extravagance of thesixteenth; it was something to hear, amid the slang of a frontiersociety, the language of knight-errantry poured into her ear by thislantern-jawed, dark-browed descendant of the Cavaliers.
I do not know that there was anything more in it. The facts, however, goto show that at a certain point Miss Jo dropped her glove, and that inrecovering it Culpepper possessed himself first of her hand and then herlips. When they stood up to go Culpepper had his arm around her waist,and her black hair, with its sheaf of golden oats, rested against thebreast pocket of his coat. But even then I do not think her fancy wasentirely captive. She took a certain satisfaction in this demonstrationof Culpepper's splendid height, and mentally compared it with a formerflame, one lieutenant McMirk, an active, but under-sized Hector, whosubsequently fell a victim to the incautiously composed and monotonousbeverages of a frontier garrison. Nor was she so much preoccupied butthat her quick eyes, even while absorbing Culpepper's glances, were yetable to detect, at a distance, the figure of a man approaching. In aninstant she slipped out of Culpepper's arm, and, whipping her handsbehind her, said, "There's that horrid man!"
Culpepper looked up and beheld his respected uncle panting and blowingover the hill. His brow contracted as he turned to Miss Jo: "You don'tlike my uncle!"
"I hate him!" Miss Jo was recovering her ready tongue.
Culpepper blushed. He would have liked to enter upon some details of theColonel's pedigree and exploits, but there was not time. He only smiledsadly. The smile melted Miss Jo. She held out her hand quickly, and saidwith even more than her usual effrontery, "Don't let that man get youinto any trouble. Take care of yourself, dear, and don't let anythinghappen to you."
Miss Jo intended this speech to be pathetic; the tenure of life amongher lovers had hitherto been very uncertain. Culpepper turned towardher, but she had already vanished in the thicket.
The Colonel came up panting. "I've looked all over town for you, and bedashed to you, sir. Who was that with you?"
"A lady." (Culpepper never lied, but he was discreet.)
"D--m 'em all! Look yar, Culp, I've spotted the man who gave the orderto put me off the floor" ("flo" was what the Colonel said) "the othernight!"
"Who was it?" asked Culpepper, listlessly.
"Jack Folinsbee."
"Who?"
"Why, the son of that dashed nigger-worshipping psalm-singing PuritanYankee. What's the matter, now? Look yar, Culp, you ain't goin' back onyour blood, ar' ye? You ain't goin' back on your word? Ye ain't goingdown at the feet of this trash, like a whipped hound?"
Culpepper was silent. He was very white. Presently he looked up and saidquietly. "No."
Culpepper Starbottle had challenged Jack Folinsbee, and the challengewas accepted. The cause alleged was the expelling of Culpepper's unclefrom the floor of the Assembly Ball by the order of Folinsbee. This muchMadrono Hollow knew and could swear to; but there were other strangerumors afloat, of which the blacksmith was an able expounder. "You see,gentlemen," he said to the crowd gathered around his anvil, "I ain'tgot no theory of this affair, I only give a few facts as have come tomy knowledge.
Culpepper and Jack meets quite accidental like in Bob'ssaloon. Jack goes up to Culpepper and says, 'A word with you.' Culpepperbows and steps aside in this way, Jack standing about HERE." (Theblacksmith demonstrates the position of the parties with two oldhorseshoes on the anvil.) "Jack pulls a bracelet from his pocket andsays, 'Do you know that bracelet?' Culpepper says, 'I do not,' quitecool-like and easy. Jack says, 'You gave it to my sister.' Culpeppersays, still cool as you please, 'I did not.' Jack says, 'You lie, G-dd-mn you,' and draws his derringer. Culpepper jumps forward about here"(reference is made to the diagram) "and Jack fires. Nobody hit. It'sa mighty cur'o's thing, gentlemen," continued the blacksmith,dropping suddenly into the abstract, and leaning meditatively on hisanvil,--"it's a mighty cur'o's thing that nobody gets hit so often. Youand me empties our revolvers sociably at each other over a little game,and the room full and nobody gets hit! That's what gets me."
"Never mind, Thompson," chimed in Bill Masters, "there's another and abetter world where we shall know all that and--become better shots. Goon with your story."
"Well, some grabs Culpepper and some grabs Jack, and so separates them.Then Jack tells 'em as how he had seen his sister wear a bracelet whichhe knew was one that had been given to Dolores by Colonel Starbottle.That Miss Jo wouldn't say where she got it, but owned up to having seenCulpepper that day. Then the most cur'o's thing of it yet, what doesCulpepper do but rise up and takes all back that he said, and allowsthat he DID give her the bracelet. Now my opinion, gentlemen, is that helied; it ain't like that man to give a gal that he respects anything offof that piece, Dolores. But it's all the same now, and there's but onething to be done."
The way this one thing was done belongs to the record of Madrono Hollow.The morning was bright and clear; the air was slightly chill, but thatwas from the mist which arose along the banks of the river. As earlyas six o'clock the designated ground--a little opening in the madronogrove--was occupied by Culpepper Starbottle, Colonel Starbottle, hissecond, and the surgeon. The Colonel was exalted and excited, albeitin a rather imposing, dignified way, and pointed out to the surgeon theexcellence of the ground, which at that hour was wholly shaded from thesun, whose steady stare is more or less discomposing to your duellist.The surgeon threw himself on the grass and smoked his cigar. Culpepper,quiet and thoughtful, leaned against a tree and gazed up the river.There was a strange suggestion of a picnic about the group, which washeightened when the Colonel drew a bottle from his coat-tails, and,taking a preliminary draught, offered it to the others. "Cocktails,sir," he explained with dignified precision. "A gentleman, sir, shouldnever go out without 'em. Keeps off the morning chill. I remember goingout in '53 with Hank Boompirater. Good ged, sir, the man had to put onhis overcoat, and was shot in it. Fact."
But the noise of wheels drowned the Colonel's reminiscences, and arapidly driven buggy, containing Jack Folinsbee, Calhoun Bungstarter,his second, and Bill Masters, drew up on the ground. Jack Folinsbeeleaped out gayly. "I had the jolliest work to get away without thegovernor's hearing," he began, addressing the group before him with thegreatest volubility. Calhoun Bungstarter touched his arm, and the youngman blushed. It was his first duel.
"If you are ready, gentlemen," said Mr. Bungstarter, "we had betterproceed to business. I believe it is understood that no apology will beoffered or accepted. We may as well settle preliminaries at once, orI fear we shall be interrupted. There is a rumor in town that theVigilance Committee are seeking our friends the Starbottles, and Ibelieve, as their fellow-countryman, I have the honor to be included intheir warrant."
At this probability of interruption, that gravity which had hithertobeen wanting fell upon the group. The preliminaries were soon arrangedand the principals placed in position. Then there was a silence.
To a spectator from the hill, impressed with the picnic suggestion, whatmight have been the popping of two champagne corks broke the stillness.
Culpepper had fired in the air. Colonel Starbottle uttered a low curse.Jack Folinsbee sulkily demanded another shot.
Again the parties stood opposed to each other. Again the word was given,and what seemed to be the simultaneous report of both pistols rose uponthe air. But after an interval of a few seconds all were surprised tosee Culpepper slowly raise his unexploded weapon and fire it harmlesslyabove his head. Then, throwing the pistol upon the ground, he walked toa tree and leaned silently against it.
Jack Folinsbee flew into a paroxysm of fury. Colonel Starbottle ravedand swore. Mr. Bungstarter was properly shocked at their conduct."Really, gentlemen, if Mr. Culpepper Starbottle declines another shot, Ido not see how we can proceed."
But the Colonel's blood was up, and Jack Folinsbee was equallyimplacable. A hurried consultation ensued, which ended by ColonelStarbottle taking his nephew's place as principal, Bill Masters actingas second, vice Mr. Bungstarter, who declined all further connectionwith the affair.
Two distinct reports rang through the Hollow. Jack Folinsbee dropped hissmoking pistol, took a step forward, and then dropped heavily upon hisface.
In a moment the surgeon was at his side. The confusion was heightenedby the trampling of hoofs, and the voice of the blacksmith bidding themflee for their lives before the coming storm. A moment more and theground was cleared, and the surgeon, looking up, beheld only the whiteface of Culpepper bending over him.
"Can you save him?"
"I cannot say. Hold up his head a moment, while I run to the buggy."
Culpepper passed his arm tenderly around the neck of the insensible man.Presently the surgeon returned with some stimulants.
"There, that will do, Mr. Starbottle, thank you. Now my advice is to getaway from here while you can. I'll look after Folinsbee. Do you hear?"
Culpepper's arm was still round the neck of his late foe, but his headhad drooped and fallen on the wounded man's shoulder. The surgeon lookeddown, and, catching sight of his face, stooped and lifted him gentlyin his arms. He opened his coat and waistcoat. There was blood upon hisshirt, and a bullet-hole in his breast. He had been shot unto death atthe first fire.