Tales of the Argonauts by Bret Harte (top books to read .txt) 📕

for the moment, disconcerted. He was tall, finely formed, and dark-bearded. Above cheeks a little hollowed by care and ill-health shone a pair of hazel eyes, very large, very gentle, but inexpressibly sad and mournful. This was certainly not the kind of man Miss Milly had expected to see; yet, after her first embarrassment had passed, the very circumstance, oddly enough, added to her indignation, and stung her wounded pride still more deeply. Nevertheless, the arch hypocrite instantly changed her tactics with the swift intuition of her sex.

“I have come,” she said with a dazzling smile, infinitely more dangerous than her former dignified severity,—“I have come to ask your pardon for a great liberty I have just taken. I believe the new house above us on the hill is yours. I was so much pleased with its exterior, that I left my friends for a moment below here,” she continued artfully, with a slight wave of the hand, as if indicating a band of fearless Amazons without, and waiting to avenge any possible insult offered to one of their number, “and ventured to enter it. Finding it unoccupied, as I had been told, I am afraid I had the audacity to sit down and amuse myself for a few moments at the piano, while waiting for my friends.”

Hawkins raised his beautiful eyes to hers. He saw a very pretty girl, with frank gray eyes glistening with excitement, with two red, slightly freckled cheeks glowing a little under his eyes, with a short scarlet upper-lip turned back, like a rose-leaf, over a little line of white teeth, as she breathed somewhat hurriedly in her nervous excitement. He saw all this calmly, quietly, and, save for the natural uneasiness of a shy, reticent man, I fear without a quickening of his pulse.

“I knowed it,” he said simply. “I heerd ye as I kem up.”

Miss Milly was furious at his grammar, his dialect, his coolness, and, still more, at the suspicion that he was an active member of her in visible elaque.

“Ah!” she said, still smiling. “Then I think I heard YOU”—

“I reckon not,” he interrupted gravely. “I didn’t stay long. I found the boys hanging round the house, and I allowed at first I’d go in and kinder warn you; but they promised to keep still: and you looked so comfortable, and wrapped up in your music, that I hadn’t the heart to disturb you, and kem away. I hope,” he added earnestly, “they didn’t let on ez they heerd you. They ain’t a bad lot,—them Blazin’ Star boys—though they’re a little hard at times. But they’d no more hurt ye then they would a—a—a cat!” continued Mr. Hawkins, blushing with a faint apprehension of the inelegance of his simile.

“No, no!” said Miss Milly, feeling suddenly very angry with herself, the “Fool,” and the entire male population of Five Forks. “No! I have behaved foolishly, I suppose—and, if they HAD, it would have served me right. But I only wanted to apologize to you. You’ll find every thing as you left it. Good-day!”

She turned to go. Mr. Hawkins began to feel embarrassed. “I’d have asked ye to sit down,” he said finally, “if it hed been a place fit for a lady. I oughter done so, enny way. I don’t know what kept me from it. But I ain’t well, miss. Times I get a sort o’ dumb ager,—it’s the ditches, I think, miss,—and I don’t seem to hev my wits about me.”

Instantly Miss Arnot was all sympathy: her quick woman’s heart was touched.

“Can I—can any thing be done?” she asked more timidly than she had before spoken.

“No—not onless ye remember suthin’ about these pills.” He exhibited a box containing about half a dozen. “I forget the direction—I don’t seem to remember much, any way, these times. They’re ‘Jones’s Vegetable Compound.’ If ye’ve ever took ‘em, ye’ll remember whether the reg’lar dose is eight. They ain’t but six here. But perhaps ye never tuk any,” he added deprecatingly.

“No,” said Miss Milly curtly. She had usually a keen sense of the ludicrous; but somehow Mr. Hawkins’s eccentricity only pained her.

“Will you let me see you to the foot of the hill?” he said again, after another embarrassing pause.

Miss Arnot felt instantly that such an act would condone her trespass in the eyes of the world. She might meet some of her invisible admirers, or even her companions; and, with all her erratic impulses, she was, nevertheless, a woman, and did not entirely despise the verdict of conventionality. She smiled sweetly, and assented; and in another moment the two were lost in the shadows of the wood.

Like many other apparently trivial acts in an uneventful life, it was decisive. As she expected, she met two or three of her late applauders, whom, she fancied, looked sheepish and embarrassed; she met, also, her companions looking for her in some alarm, who really appeared astonished at her escort, and, she fancied, a trifle envious of her evident success. I fear that Miss Arnot, in response to their anxious inquiries, did not state entirely the truth, but, without actual assertion, led them to believe that she had, at a very early stage of the proceeding, completely subjugated this weak-minded giant, and had brought him triumphantly to her feet. From telling this story two or three times, she got finally to believing that she had some foundation for it, then to a vague sort of desire that it would eventually prove to be true, and then to an equally vague yearning to hasten that consummation. That it would redound to any satisfaction of the “Fool” she did not stop to doubt. That it would cure him of his folly she was quite confident. Indeed, there are very few of us, men or women, who do not believe that even a hopeless love for ourselves is more conducive to the salvation of the lover than a requited affection for another.

The criticism of Five Forks was, as the reader may imagine, swift and conclusive. When it was found out that Miss Arnot was not the “Hag” masquerading as a young and pretty girl, to the ultimate deception of Five Forks in general, and the “Fool” in particular, it was at once decided that nothing but the speedy union of the “Fool” and the “pretty schoolmarm” was consistent with ordinary common sense. The singular good-fortune of Hawkins was quite in accordance with the theory of his luck as propounded by the camp. That, after the “Hag” failed to make her appearance, he should “strike a lead” in his own house, without the trouble of “prospectin’,” seemed to these casuists as a wonderful but inevitable law. To add to these fateful probabilities, Miss Arnot fell, and sprained her ankle, in the ascent of Mount Lincoln, and was confined for some weeks to the hotel after her companions had departed. During this period, Hawkins was civilly but grotesquely attentive. When, after a reasonable time had elapsed, there still appeared to be no immediate prospect of the occupancy of the new house, public opinion experienced a singular change in regard to its theories of Mr. Hawkins’s conduct. The “Hag” was looked upon as a saint-like and long-suffering martyr to the weaknesses and inconsistency of the “Fool.” That, after erecting this new house at her request, he had suddenly “gone back” on her; that his celibacy was the result of a long habit of weak proposal and subsequent shameless rejection; and that he was now trying his hand on the helpless schoolmarm, was perfectly plain to Five Forks. That he should be frustrated in his attempts at any cost was equally plain. Miss Milly suddenly found herself invested with a rude chivalry that would have been amusing, had it not been at times embarrassing; that would have been impertinent, but for the almost superstitious respect with which it was proffered. Every day somebody from Five Forks rode out to inquire the health of the fair patient. “Hez Hawkins bin over yer to-day?” queried Tom Flynn, with artful ease and indifference, as he leaned over Miss Milly’s easy-chair on the veranda. Miss Milly, with a faint pink flush on her cheek, was constrained to answer, “No.” “Well, he sorter sprained his foot agin a rock yesterday,” continued Flynn with shameless untruthfulness. “You mus’n’t think any thing o’ that, Miss Arnot. He’ll be over yer to-morrer; and meantime he told me to hand this yer bookay with his regards, and this yer specimen.” And Mr. Flynn laid down the flowers he had picked en route against such an emergency, and presented respectfully a piece of quartz and gold, which he had taken that morning from his own sluice-box. “You mus’n’t mind Hawkins’s ways, Miss Milly,” said another sympathizing miner. “There ain’t a better man in camp than that theer Cy Hawkins—but he don’t understand the ways o’ the world with wimen. He hasn’t mixed as much with society as the rest of us,” he added, with an elaborate Chesterfieldian ease of manner; “but he means well.” Meanwhile a few other sympathetic tunnelmen were impressing upon Mr. Hawkins the necessity of the greatest attention to the invalid. “It won’t do, Hawkins,” they explained, “to let that there gal go back to San Francisco and say, that, when she was sick and alone, the only man in Five Forks under whose roof she had rested, and at whose table she had sat” (this was considered a natural but pardonable exaggeration of rhetoric) “ever threw off on her; and it sha’n’t be done. It ain’t the square thing to Five Forks.” And then the “Fool” would rush away to the valley, and be received by Miss Milly with a certain reserve of manner that finally disappeared in a flush of color, some increased vivacity, and a pardonable coquetry. And so the days passed. Miss Milly grew better in health, and more troubled in mind; and Mr. Hawkins became more and more embarrassed; and Five Forks smiled, and rubbed its hands, and waited for the approaching denoument. And then it came—but not, perhaps, in the manner that Five Forks had imagined.

It was a lovely afternoon in July that a party of Eastern tourists rode into Five Forks. They had just “done” the Valley of Big Things; and, there being one or two Eastern capitalists among the party, it was deemed advisable that a proper knowledge of the practical mining-resources of California should be added to their experience of the merely picturesque in Nature. Thus far every thing had been satisfactory; the amount of water which passed over the Fall was large, owing to a backward season; some snow still remained in the canyons near the highest peaks; they had ridden round one of the biggest trees, and through the prostrate trunk of another. To say that they were delighted is to express feebly the enthusiasm of these ladies and gentlemen, drunk with the champagny hospitality of their entertainers, the utter novelty of scene, and the dry, exhilarating air of the valley. One or two had already expressed themselves ready to live and die there; another had written a glowing account to the Eastern press, depreciating all other scenery in Europe and America; and, under these circumstances, it was reasonably expected that Five Forks would do its duty, and equally impress the stranger after its own fashion.

Letters to this effect were sent from San Francisco by prominent capitalists there; and, under the able superintendence of one of their agents, the visitors were taken in hand, shown “what was to be seen,” carefully restrained from observing what ought not to be visible, and so kept in a blissful and enthusiastic condition. And so the graveyard of Five Forks, in which but two of the occupants had died natural deaths; the dreary, ragged cabins on the hillsides, with their sad-eyed, cynical, broken-spirited occupants, toiling on day