Selected Stories of Bret Harte by Bret Harte (sad books to read txt) ๐
Read free book ยซSelected Stories of Bret Harte by Bret Harte (sad books to read txt) ๐ยป - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Bret Harte
Read book online ยซSelected Stories of Bret Harte by Bret Harte (sad books to read txt) ๐ยป. Author - Bret Harte
A distant clatter from the rocky hillside here mingled with the puff of damp air through the window.
โLooks as ef we might hev a show even now,โ said Tom Rollins, removing his feet from the stove as we all instinctively faced toward the window.
โI reckon you're in with us in this, Mosby?โ said Briggs, turning toward the proprietor of the grocery, who had been leaning listlessly against the wall behind his bar.
โArter the man's had a fair show,โ said Mosby, cautiously. He deprecated the prevailing condition of things, but it was still an open question whether the families would prove as valuable customers as his present clients. โEverything in moderation, gentlemen.โ
The sound of galloping hoofs came nearer, now swishing in the soft mud of the highway, until the unseen rider pulled up before the door. There was no shouting, however, nor did he announce himself with the usual salvo of firearms. But when, after a singularly heavy tread and the jingle of spurs on the platform, the door flew open to the newcomer, he seemed a realization of our worst expectations. Tall, broad, and muscular, he carried in one hand a shotgun, while from his hip dangled a heavy navy revolver. His long hair, unkempt but oiled, swept a greasy circle around his shoulders; his enormous mustache, dripping with wet, completely concealed his mouth. His costume of fringed buckskin was wild and outre even for our frontier camp. But what was more confirmative of our suspicions was that he was evidently in the habit of making an impression, and after a distinct pause at the doorway, with only a side glance at us, he strode toward the bar.
โAs there don't seem to be no hotel hereabouts, I reckon I kin put up my mustang here and have a shakedown somewhere behind that counter,โ he said. His voice seemed to have added to its natural depth the hoarseness of frequent overstraining.
โYe ain't got no bunk to spare, you boys, hev ye?โ asked Mosby, evasively, glancing at Percy Briggs without looking at the stranger. We all looked at Briggs also; it was HIS affair after allโHE had originated this opposition. To our surprise he said nothing.
The stranger leaned heavily on the counter.
โI was speaking to YOU,โ he said, with his eyes on Mosby, and slightly accenting the pronoun with a tap of his revolver butt on the bar. โYe don't seem to catch on.โ
Mosby smiled feebly, and again cast an imploring glance at Briggs. To our greater astonishment, Briggs said, quietly: โWhy don't you answer the stranger, Mosby?โ
โYes, yes,โ said Mosby, suavely, to the newcomer, while an angry flush crossed his check as he recognized the position in which Briggs had placed him. โOf course, you're welcome to what doings I hev here, but I reckoned these gentlemen over there,โ with a vicious glance at Briggs, โmight fix ye up suthin' better; they're so pow'ful kind to your sort.โ
The stranger threw down a gold piece on the counter and said: โFork out your whisky, then,โ waited until his glass was filled, took it in his hand, and then, drawing an empty chair to the stove, sat down beside Briggs. โSeein' as you're that kind,โ he said, placing his heavy hand on Briggs's knee, โmebbe ye kin tell me ef thar's a shanty or a cabin at Rattlesnake that I kin get for a couple o' weeks. I saw an empty one at the head o' the hill. You see, gennelmen,โ he added confidentially as he swept the drops of whisky from his long mustache with his fingers and glanced around our group, โI've got some business over at Bigwood,โ our nearest town, โbut ez a place to stay AT it ain't my style.โ
โWhat's the matter with Bigwood?โ said Briggs, abruptly.
โIt's too howlin', too festive, too rough; thar's too much yellin' and shootin' goin' day and night. Thar's too many card sharps and gay gamboliers cavortin' about the town to please me. Too much permiskus soakin' at the bar and free jimjams. What I want is a quiet place what a man kin give his mind and elbow a rest from betwixt grippin' his shootin' irons and crookin' in his whisky. A sort o' slow, quiet, easy place LIKE THIS.โ
We all stared at him, Percy Briggs as fixedly as any. But there was not the slightest trace of irony, sarcasm, or peculiar significance in his manner. He went on slowly:
โWhen I struck this yer camp a minit ago; when I seed that thar ditch meanderin' peaceful like through the street, without a hotel or free saloon or express office on either side; with the smoke just a curlin' over the chimbley of that log shanty, and the bresh just set fire to and a smolderin' in that potato patch with a kind o' old-time stingin' in your eyes and nose, and a few women's duds just a flutterin' on a line by the fence, I says to myself: 'Bulgerโthis is peace! This is wot you're lookin' for, Bulgerโthis is wot you're wantin'โthis is wot YOU'LL HEV!'โ
โYou say you've business over at Bigwood. What business?โ said Briggs.
โIt's a peculiar business, young fellow,โ returned the stranger, gravely. โThar's different men ez has different opinions about it. Some allows it's an easy business, some allows it's a rough business; some says it's a sad business, others says it's gay and festive. Some wonders ez how I've got into it, and others wonder how I'll ever get out of it. It's a payin' businessโit's a peaceful sort o' business when left to itself. It's a peculiar businessโa business that sort o' b'longs to me, though I ain't got no patent from Washington for it. It's MY OWN business.โ He paused, rose, and saying, โLet's meander over and take a look at that empty cabin, and ef she suits me, why, I'll plank down a slug for her on the spot, and move in tomorrow,โ walked towards the door. โI'll pick up suthin' in the way o' boxes and blankets from the grocery,โ he added, looking at Mosby, โand ef thar's a corner whar I kin stand my gun and a nail to hang up my revolverโwhy, I'm all thar!โ
By this time we were no longer astonished when Briggs rose also, and not only accompanied the sinister-looking stranger to the empty cabin, but assisted him in negotiating with its owner for a fortnight's occupancy. Nevertheless, we eagerly assailed Briggs on his return for some explanation of this singular change in his attitude toward the stranger. He coolly reminded us, however, that while his intention of excluding ruffianly adventurers from the camp remained the same, he had no right to go back
Comments (0)