A Waif of the Mountains by Edward Sylvester Ellis (best free ereader txt) 📕

meant to keep 'em to themselves. I don't call that square, so we're going down to divvy with 'em. Big scheme, ain't it?"

Our three friends were astounded. The addition of this gang to New Constantinople meant nothing less than its moral ruin. It would bring a peril from the first hour and doubtless precipitate a murderous conflict with a doubtful issue.

"They are a peculiar people," said Captain Dawson, repressing all evidence of his anger; "it's a mistake to attribute their prejudice against immigrants to the richness of the diggings, for though they have been worked for years, they have not produced much. But they want no strangers among them, and I know they will not allow you and your friends to make your homes in their settlement."

Colonel Briggs threw back his head, opened his enormous mouth and broke into uproarious laughter, most of his companions joining him to the extent of a broad grin.

"Do you hear that, boys? Won't let us settle among 'em, eh? And there are nine of us and we hain't had a scrimmage since we left Sacramento, except with the Injins, which don't count. Stranger, we're yearning to hear your folks say we shan't jine 'em, 'cause if they try to stop it, it'll make things lively."

It was not a pleasant recollection of our friends that, since their departure from New Constantinople, the force left behind would be hardly a match for this desperate gang of marauders, who no doubt were as eager for trouble as they professed to be.

"Why not make a settlement of your own?" was the conciliating question of Parson Brush; "there's plenty of room in this country."

"That would be too peaceable like; it don't suit us; we're looking for trouble."

"And you'll find it powerful quick," said Wade Ruggles, "if you try to shove that gang of yours into New Constantinople."

"That's music in our ears; that's what we're hungry for; we're ready to start an opposition hotel to the Heavenly Bower, too; we've got the stock to furnish it."

"Wade," said the parson, "keep your temper; we can't afford to quarrel with these men."

"It wouldn't take much for me to shoot that chap off his mule as he sets there."

"Leave matters to the captain; it looks as if we shall have a fight, but it is best to keep cool."

The observant trio had noticed an additional cause for uneasiness. More than one of the party were surveying the three horses and mule with admiring eyes. Some of them spoke to one another in low tones, and there could be no doubt they looked with envy upon the animals, which, tiring of their confinement in the ravine, had come forth as if with the purpose of passing under review, on their way to crop the grass from which they had been driven.

"Colonel," called one of the men behind him, "them is likely animals."

"I had obsarved that fact myself; strangers, I've made up my mind to buy them critters; what's your price?"

"They are not for sale," replied Captain Dawson.

"Why not?"

"We need them for our own use."

"Then we'll trade."

"You won't do anything of the kind," said the captain, speaking with the utmost coolness, but with that paling of the countenance and glitter of the eyes that Colonel Briggs would have done well to heed.

"Strikes me, stranger, you're rather peart in your observations," said the leader with an odd chuckle; "we ain't used to having people speak to us in that style."

"It is my custom to say what I mean; it saves misunderstanding."

"It's my opinion, stranger, you'd better say trade."

"It is of no importance to me what your opinion is; we need the horses and the mule for our own use and we shall keep them."

"But you've got one more than you want."

"He belongs to a friend who is not far off and will soon return; we can't spare one of them."

"If we give you four of ours for the lot, that'll make an even thing of it. Besides, we'll throw in something to boot."

"I wouldn't give one of the horse's shoes for all the trash you have piled on top of your animals; the stuff isn't worth house room, but it is what I should expect to see in the hands of a lot of tramps like you and yours; I wouldn't trade our mule for the whole party which, to judge by their looks, ought to be in jail."

Brush and Ruggles were amazed to hear the captain use such language, for it sounded as if he was trying to provoke instead of avoid a fight. The truth was the veteran was thoroughly enraged by the evident purpose of the fellow before him. Although his voice was low and deliberate, the captain's temper was at a white heat. The point had been reached where a desperate struggle seemed unavoidable, and he wished to precipitate the crisis, inasmuch as it had to come.

Colonel Briggs did not laugh, but turning his head, talked for a minute with the man nearest him, their words so low that no one else heard them. Then the leader turned back in a quick, decisive way.

"There don't seem much use in talking, stranger, so 'spose we make a fight of it."

"As you prefer."

The gang hardly expected so firm a front. Some of them muttered to one another. They were not a unit on the question, though it was evident that the majority preferred to fight.

The three men stood with their backs almost against the mountain wall. Each had a Winchester and revolver and all were expert in the use of the weapons. The others were gathered in an irregular group around their leader. They, too, were provided with all the weapons they could use, not to mention the extra guns strapped upon the pack mules. They outnumbered our friends three to one.

Captain Dawson could use his rifle as well with his single arm as formerly with two.

"He can't fire before me," he said in an undertone to Brush, standing next to him; "when the shooting begins, I'll drop him off his mule before he knows what's coming. When I say the word, let fly as quick as lightning! Likely enough they'll win, but we'll make them pay high for their victory."

"Do you notice that tall thin man at the rear?" asked Brush, in the same guarded voice; "his eyes shine like a rattlesnake's; he'll be _my_ first target."


CHAPTER XXII

FRIENDS

Colonel Briggs was nonplussed for the moment. He had failed to scare the men whom he meant to despoil of their property and some of the mutterings behind him showed that he lacked the unanimous support of his followers.

"Boys," he said, looking round in their faces; "you've heerd what these strangers say to my mild requests. Since they are too mean to trade, I leave it to you to say whether we shall let up on 'em or make 'em trade; which is it?"

"Trade! trade!" was the response, given with such ardency that there seemed to be no dissent, though there was.

"That hits me right; trade it shall be; the first one of the strangers that kicks, fill him full of holes."

"And the first man that lays a finger on my property," said Captain Dawson, in the same deliberate voice, "will be shot down like a dog!"

The person whom Parson Brush had selected a few minutes before for his first target and whom he was watching closely, now did an extraordinary thing. This individual was thin to emaciation. His beard was scant and scraggly, and his large black eyes gleamed like those of a wild animal. He had a very long body, and sat so upright in his saddle, with his Winchester resting across in front, that he towered head and shoulders above his companions. From the first, he fixed his penetrating eyes on Captain Dawson and studied him closely. It was this persistent intensity of gaze that attracted the notice of Brush, who set him down as being even more malignant than the leader of the disreputable party.

When a collision was impending, and must have come the next second, the singular looking man, grasping his revolver, raised his hand above his head and called:

"Hold on a minute!"

His commanding voice and manner hushed every one. From his place at the rear, he spurred his mule straight toward the three men standing on the ground.

"Keep off!" commanded the parson; "if you come any nearer I'll shoot!"

The extraordinary looking individual gave him no heed, but forced his mule in front of Captain Dawson, upon whom he kept his eyes riveted.

"Don't fire till I give the word," commanded the captain, who had become suddenly interested in the tall, slim man.

Halting his mule directly before Dawson, and with no more than a couple of yards separating them, the stranger craned his head forward until his chin was almost between the long ears of his animal. He seemed to be trying to look the officer through, while every other man watched the curious proceeding.

Suddenly the fellow resumed his upright posture in the saddle, his manner showing that he had solved the problem that perplexed him. Through his thin, scattered beard, he was seen to be smiling.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Maurice Dawson."

"Formerly captain of the Iowa ---- cavalry?"

"The same at your service."

"Don't you know me, captain?"

The officer thus appealed to took a single step forward, and looked searchingly in the face of the man that had thus addressed him.

"There is something familiar in your looks and voice, but I am unable to place you."

"Did you ever hear of Corporal Bob Parker of the ---- Missouri?"

"Yes; you are he! I recognize you now! I am glad to greet you."

And shoving his Winchester under the stump of his arm, Captain Dawson extended his hand to his old comrade and shook it warmly, the two seeming to forget the presence of every one else.

"Something in your face struck me," said the corporal, "but I wasn't sure. The last time I saw you, you had both arms."

"Yes; I got rid of this one at the very close of the war."

"Things were pretty well mixed up around Petersburg; I tried to get on your track, but failed; I knew you meant to come to California, and when we drifted here, I was hopeful of finding you, but I didn't think it would be in this style."

While speaking the corporal had retained the hand of the captain, shaking it occasionally as he spoke. He now gave it a final pressure and dropped it.

"Captain, you and I went through some pretty tough scrimmages and you were always dead true and game; when we lost our colonel and major, you took command and led the charge that day at Cold Harbor; Grant or Sheridan couldn't have done better."

"It _was_ rather warm," smiled the captain, blushing at the compliment; "but, corporal, it looks as if we are going to have something of the kind here."

Corporal Parker deliberately turned to the wondering group behind him.

"Jim and Tom, you know what we agreed on, if this should prove to be my old commander. You two wore the gray, but you are true blue now."

At this reminder, two of