by Bret Harte
CHAPTER VI
When Alvin Mulrady reentered his own house, he no longer noticed itsloneliness. Whether the events of the last few hours had driven itfrom his mind, or whether his late reflections had repeopled it withhis family under pleasanter auspices, it would be difficult todetermine. Destitute as he was of imagination, and matter-of-fact inhis judgments, he realized his new situation as calmly as he would haveconsidered any business proposition. While he was decided to act uponhis moral convictions purely, he was prepared to submit the facts ofSlinn's claim to the usual patient and laborious investigation of hispractical mind. It was the least he could do to justify the ready andalmost superstitious assent he had given to Slinn's story.
When he had made a few memoranda at his desk by the growing light, heagain took the key of the attic, and ascended to the loft that held thetangible memories of his past life. If he was still under theinfluence of his reflections, it was with very different sensationsthat he now regarded them. Was it possible that these ashes might bewarmed again, and these scattered embers rekindled? His practical sensesaid No! whatever his wish might have been. A sudden chill came overhim; he began to realize the terrible change that was probable, more bythe impossibility of his accepting the old order of things than by hisvoluntarily abandoning the new. His wife and children would neversubmit. They would go away from this place, far away, where noreminiscence of either former wealth or former poverty could obtrudeitself upon them. Mamie--his Mamie--should never go back to the cabin,since desecrated by Slinn's daughters, and take their places. No! Whyshould she?--because of the half-sick, half-crazy dreams of an oldvindictive man?
He stopped suddenly. In moodily turning over a heap of miningclothing, blankets, and india-rubber boots, he had come upon an oldpickaxe--the one he had found in the shaft; the one he had carefullypreserved for a year, and then forgotten! Why had he not remembered itbefore? He was frightened, not only at this sudden resurrection of theproof he was seeking, but at his own fateful forgetfulness. Why had henever thought of this when Slinn was speaking? A sense of shame, as ifhe had voluntarily withheld it from the wronged man, swept over him.He was turning away, when he was again startled.
This time it was by a voice from below--a voice calling him--Slinn'svoice. How had the crippled man got here so soon, and what did hewant? He hurriedly laid aside the pick, which, in his first impulse,he had taken to the door of the loft with him, and descended thestairs. The old man was standing at the door of his office awaitinghim.
As Mulrady approached, he trembled violently, and clung to the doorpostfor support.
"I had to come over, Mulrady," he said, in a choked voice; "I couldstand it there no longer. I've come to beg you to forget all that Ihave said; to drive all thought of what passed between us last nightout of your head and mine forever! I've come to ask you to swear withme that neither of us will ever speak of this again forever. It is notworth the happiness I have had in your friendship for the lasthalf-year; it is not worth the agony I have suffered in its loss in thelast half-hour."
Mulrady grasped his outstretched hand. "P'raps," he said, gravely,"there mayn't be any use for another word, if you can answer one now.Come with me. No matter," he added, as Slinn moved with difficulty; "Iwill help you."
He half supported, half lifted the paralyzed man up the three flightsof stairs, and opened the door of the loft. The pick was leaningagainst the wall, where he had left it. "Look around, and see if yourecognize anything."
The old man's eyes fell upon the implement in a half-frightened way,and then lifted themselves interrogatively to Mulrady's face.
"Do you know that pick?"
Slinn raised it in his trembling hands. "I think I do; and yet--"
"Slinn! is it yours?"
"No," he said hurriedly.
"Then what makes you think you know it?"
"It has a short handle like one I've seen."
"And is isn't yours?"
"No. The handle of mine was broken and spliced. I was too poor to buya new one."
"Then you say that this pick which I found in my shaft is not yours?"
"Yes."
"Slinn!"
The old man passed his hand across his forehead, looked at Mulrady, anddropped his eyes. "It is not mine," he said simply.
"That will do," said Mulrady, gravely.
"And you will not speak of this again?" said the old man, timidly.
"I promise you--not until I have some more evidence."
He kept his word, but not before he had extorted from Slinn as full adescription of Masters as his imperfect memory and still more imperfectknowledge of his former neighbor could furnish. He placed this, with alarge sum of money and the promise of a still larger reward, in thehands of a trustworthy agent. When this was done he resumed his oldrelations with Slinn, with the exception that the domestic letters ofMrs. Mulrady and Mamie were no longer a subject of comment, and theirbills no longer passed through his private secretary's hands.
Three months passed; the rainy season had ceased, the hillsides aroundMulrady's shaft were bridal-like with flowers; indeed, there wererumors of an approaching fashionable marriage in the air, and vaguehints in the "Record" that the presence of a distinguished capitalistmight soon be required abroad. The face of that distinguished man didnot, however, reflect the gayety of nature nor the anticipation ofhappiness; on the contrary, for the past few weeks, he had appeareddisturbed and anxious, and that rude tranquillity which hadcharacterized him was wanting. People shook their heads; a fewsuggested speculations; all agreed on extravagance.
One morning, after office hours, Slinn, who had been watching thecareworn face of his employer, suddenly rose and limped to his side.
"We promised each other," he said, in a voice trembling with emotion;"never to allude to our talk of Christmas Eve again unless we had otherproofs of what I told you then. We have none; I don't believe we'llever have any more. I don't care if we ever do, and I break thatpromise now because I cannot bear to see you unhappy and know that thisis the cause."
Mulrady made a motion of deprecation, but the old man continued--
"You are unhappy, Alvin Mulrady. You are unhappy because you want togive your daughter a dowry of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,and you will not use the fortune that you think may be mine."
"Who's been talking about a dowry?" asked Mulrady, with an angry flush.
"Don Caesar Alvarado told my daughter."
"Then that is why he has thrown off on me since he returned," saidMulrady, with sudden small malevolence, "just that he might unload hisgossip because Mamie wouldn't have him. The old woman was right inwarnin' me agin him."
The outburst was so unlike him, and so dwarfed his large though commonnature with its littleness, that it was easy to detect its feminineorigin, although it filled Slinn with vague alarm.
"Never mind him," said the old man, hastily; "what I wanted to say nowis that I abandon everything to you and yours. There are no proofs;there never will be any more than what we know, than what we havetested and found wanting. I swear to you that, except to show you thatI have not lied and am not crazy, I would destroy them on their way toyour hands. Keep the money, and spend it as you will. Make yourdaughter happy, and, through her, yourself. You have made me happythrough your liberality; don't make me suffer through your privation."
"I tell you what, old man," said Mulrady, rising to his feet, with anawkward mingling of frankness and shame in his manner and accent, "Ishould like to pay that money for Mamie, and let her be a princess, ifit would make her happy. I should like to shut the lantern jaws ofthat Don Caesar, who'd be too glad if anything happened to break offMamie's match. But I shouldn't touch that capital--unless you'd lendit to me. If you'll take a note from me, payable if the property everbecomes yours, I'd thank you. A mortgage on the old house and garden,and the lands I bought of Don Caesar, outside the mine, will screenyou."
"If that pleases you," said the old man, with
a smile, "have your way;and if I tear up the note, it does not concern you."
It did please the distinguished capitalist of Rough-and-Ready; for thenext few days his face wore a brightened expression, and he seemed tohave recovered his old tranquillity. There was, in fact, a slighttouch of consequence in his manner, the first ostentation he had everindulged in, when he was informed one morning at his private officethat Don Caesar Alvarado was in the counting-house, desiring a fewmoments' conference. "Tell him to come in," said Mulrady, shortly.The door opened upon Don Caesar--erect, sallow, and grave. Mulrady hadnot seen him since his return from Europe, and even his inexperiencedeyes were struck with the undeniable ease and grace with which theyoung Spanish-American had assimilated the style and fashion of anolder civilization. It seemed rather as if he had returned to afamiliar condition than adopted a new one.
"Take a cheer," said Mulrady.
The young man looked at Slinn with quietly persistent significance.
"You can talk all the same," said Mulrady, accepting the significance."He's my private secretary."
"It seems that for that reason we might choose another moment for ourconversation," returned Don Caesar, haughtily. "Do I understand youcannot see me now?"
Mulrady hesitated, he had always revered and recognized a certainsocial superiority in Don Ramon Alvarado; somehow his son--a young manof half his age, and once a possible son-in-law--appeared to claim thatrecognition also. He rose, without a word, and preceded Don Caesarup-stairs into the drawing-room. The alien portrait on the wall seemedto evidently take sides with Don Caesar, as against the commonintruder, Mulrady.
"I hoped the Senora Mulrady might have saved me this interview," saidthe young man, stiffly; "or at least have given you some intimation ofthe reason why I seek it. As you just now proposed my talking to youin the presence of the unfortunate Senor Esslinn himself, it appearsshe has not."
"I don't know what you're driving at, or what Mrs. Mulrady's got to dowith Slinn or you," said Mulrady, in angry uneasiness.
"Do I understand," said Don Caesar, sternly, "that Senora Mulrady hasnot told you that I entrusted to her an important letter, belonging toSenor Esslinn, which I had the honor to discover in the wood six monthsago, and which she said she would refer to you?"
"Letter?" echoed Mulrady, slowly; "my wife had a letter of Slinn's?"
Don Caesar regarded the millionaire attentively. "It is as I feared,"he said, gravely. "You do not know or you would not have remainedsilent." He then briefly recounted the story of his finding Slinn'sletter, his exhibition of it to the invalid, its disastrous effect uponhim, and his innocent discovery of the contents. "I believed myself atthat time on the eve of being allied with your family, Senor Mulrady,"he said, haughtily; "and when I found myself in the possession of asecret which affected its integrity and good name, I did not choose toleave it in the helpless hands of its imbecile owner, or his sillierchildren, but proposed to trust it to the care of the Senora, that sheand you might deal with it as became your honor and mine. I followedher to Paris, and gave her the letter there. She affected to laugh atany pretension of the writer, or any claim he might have on yourbounty; but she kept the letter, and, I fear, destroyed it. You willunderstand, Senor Mulrady, that when I found that my attentions were nolonger agreeable to your daughter, I had no longer the right to speakto you on the subject, nor could I, without misapprehension, force herto return it. I should have still kept the secret to myself, if I hadnot since my return here made the nearer acquaintance of SenorEsslinn's daughters. I cannot present myself at his house, as a suitorfor the hand of the Senorita Vashti, until I have asked his absolutionfor my complicity in the wrong that has been done to him. I cannot, asa caballero, do that without your permission. It is for that purpose Iam here."
It needed only this last blow to complete the humiliation that whitenedMulrady's face. But his eye was none the less clear and his voice nonethe less steady as he turned to Don Caesar.
"You know perfectly the contents of that letter?"
"I have kept a copy of it."
"Come with me."
He preceded his visitor down the staircase and back into his privateoffice. Slinn looked up at his employer's face in unrestrainedanxiety. Mulrady sat down at his desk, wrote a few hurried lines, andrang a bell. A manager appeared from the counting-room.
"Send that to the bank."
He wiped his pen as methodically as if he had not at that momentcountermanded the order to pay his daughter's dowry, and turned quietlyto Slinn.
"Don Caesar Alvarado has found the letter you wrote your wife on theday you made your strike in the tunnel that is now my shaft. He gavethe letter to Mrs. Mulrady; but he has kept a copy."
Unheeding the frightened gesture of entreaty from Slinn, equally withthe unfeigned astonishment of Don Caesar, who was entirely unpreparedfor this revelation of Mulrady's and Slinn's confidences, he continued,"He has brought the copy with him. I reckon it would be only squarefor you to compare it with what you remember of the original."
In obedience to a gesture from Mulrady, Don Caesar mechanically tookfrom his pocket a folded paper, and handed it to the paralytic. ButSlinn's trembling fingers could scarcely unfold the paper; and as hiseyes fell upon its contents, his convulsive lips could not articulate aword.
"P'raps I'd better read it for you," said Mulrady, gently. "You kinfollow me and stop me when I go wrong."
He took the paper, and, in dead silence, read as follows:--
"DEAR WIFE,--I've just struck gold in my tunnel, and you must get readyto come here with the children, at once. It was after six months' hardwork; and I'm so weak I . . . It's a fortune for us all. We should berich even if it were only a branch vein dipping west towards the nexttunnel, instead of dipping east, according to my theory--"
"Stop!" said Slinn, in a voice that shook the room.
Mulrady looked up.
"It's wrong, ain't it?" he asked, anxiously; "it should be EAST towardsthe next tunnel."
"No! IT'S RIGHT! I am wrong! We're all wrong!"
Slinn had risen to his feet, erect and inspired. "Don't you see," healmost screamed, with passionate vehemence, "it's MASTERS' ABANDONEDTUNNEL your shaft has struck? Not mine! It was Masters' pick youfound! I know it now!"
"And your own tunnel?" said Mulrady, springing to his feet inexcitement. "And YOUR strike?"
"Is still there!"
The next instant, and before another question could be asked, Slinn haddarted from the room. In the exaltation of that supreme discovery heregained the full control of his mind and body. Mulrady and Don Caesar,no less excited, followed him precipitately, and with difficulty keptup with his feverish speed. Their way lay along the base of the hillbelow Mulrady's shaft, and on a line with Masters' abandoned tunnel.Only once he stopped to snatch a pick from the hand of an astonishedChinaman at work in a ditch, as he still kept on his way, a quarter ofa mile beyond the shaft. Here he stopped before a jagged hole in thehillside. Bared to the sky and air, the very openness of itsabandonment, its unpropitious position, and distance from the strike inMulrady's shaft had no doubt preserved its integrity from wayfarer orprospector.
"You can't go in there alone, and without a light," said Mulrady,laying his hand on the arm of the excited man. "Let me get more helpand proper tools."
"I know every step in the dark as in the daylight," returned Slinn,struggling. "Let me go, while I have yet strength and reason! Standaside!"
He broke from them, and the next moment was swallowed up in the yawningblackness. They waited with bated breath until, after a seemingeternity of night and silence, they heard his returning footsteps, andran forward to meet him. As he was carrying something clasped to hisbreast, they supported him to the opening. But at the same moment theobject of his search and his burden, a misshapen wedge of gold andquartz, dropped with him, and both fell together with equal immobilityto the ground. He had still strength to turn his fading eyes to theother millionaire of Rough-an
d-Ready, who leaned over him.
"You--see," he gasped, brokenly, "I was not--crazy!"
No. He was dead!