Forty-one Thieves: A Tale of California by Angelo Hall (best desktop ebook reader .txt) 📕

have to lose it, Mr. Palmer. Cummins left mining stock at the bank in my care that will more than cover the debt. The fact is, I borrowed the value of the stock from him. Strictly speaking, I got him to put a couple of thousand into a paying proposition; and he left everything in my hands. So I am going to get you to cancel Cummins' note and to take mine instead."

"Francis, you are an honest man. The money is no great object with me. But because I have found out that honesty is a thing that ought to be encouraged, especially among friends, I will take your note and cancel the other."

So this business was settled. Robert Palmer, governed by kindly feeling rather than hard sense, overlooked his friend's weakness for speculation, rather counting it as honesty.

CHAPTER VIII "Bed-Bug Brown," Detective

When Mat Bailey drove the stage out of Graniteville the next morning, John Keeler and "Bed-bug Brown" were the only passengers. Brown had spent the previous evening learning all that he could about Mamie Slocum and her young admirers. He had actually learned that a young man from Nevada City who signed himself J. C. P. Collins had paid her attentions. He had also discovered that the young school-teacher had more than once expressed much admiration for Mat Bailey. In view of what Henry Francis had told him of Mat's reflections on the school-teacher, Brown resolved, quietly and of his own accord, to keep an eye upon Mat as well as upon Mamie.

The little man was unusually quiet, revolving various theories in his head, and contemplating the magnificence of the ten thousand dollar reward. But the presence of John Keeler, Cummins' old partner, suggested the wisdom of gleaning information from this source. So, in order to impress Keeler with his seniority and larger experience, he began:

"You don't remember, I suppose, Mr. Keeler, when camels were introduced here in the gold fields?"

"No, that was before my time."

"It was back in fifty-six, before the water-ditch companies had fairly got started. It was as dry as Sahara on these mountains then, and it is no wonder somebody thought of camels."

"Well, when you think of our ostrich farms, camels don't seem out of place in California. Did you ever think, Mr. Brown, what extremes of climate we have right here in Nevada County? Along about the tenth of December they are cutting ice up in the Sierras while they are picking oranges in the western end of the county."

"That is pretty good for the banner gold county of the State. Most of us forget everything but the gold," replied Brown, smiling inwardly, to think how easily this remark would lead up to the desired topic.

"I'm getting sick of the gold," replied honest John Keeler. "All that was handy to get at has been carried away. No chance left for a poor man. It takes a big company with capital to run the business of hydraulic mining as they do at Moore's Flat and North Bloomfield. Quartz mining is still worse. By the time you've sunk a shaft and put up a stamping-mill, you've mortgaged your quartz for more than it is worth, perhaps. It takes capital to run a quartz mine."

"Yes," assented Brown, "this country has seen its best days."

"That's what old man Palmer says," remarked Keeler, looking across the cañon at Palmer's Diggings.

"You and Cummins did pretty well over there fifteen years ago," and the little detective's eyes twinkled at his own cleverness.

"We made a living; that's about all."

"But Cummins was a wealthy man some years back."

"Well, his partner never was," laughed Keeler. "If I could scrape together the dust, I'd leave these mountains as he tried to."

"Who do you suppose the robbers were?"

"If I could make a good guess, I'd go after that ten thousand dollar reward," replied Keeler.

"There's an awful tough gang over in Jim Crow Cañon," said Brown, throwing out another feeler.

"Can you tell me of a place in these gold fields where you won't find a tough gang? I was in Forest City the other day. I took the trail over the mountains through Alleghany. Both of those places are live towns with cemeteries,—well settled places, you know. But a tougher lot of citizens you never saw. Gambling, drinking, and fighting, and Sunday the worst day of the seven."

"What impresses me most about Alleghany," said Brown, "is the vast number of tin cans on the city dump. It makes a man hungry for the grub his mother used to cook."

"You're right there," said Keeler, and lapsed into silence.

They were at Moore's Flat presently, where they changed to the four-horse stage-coach; and the little detective's attention was absorbed by the actions of Mat Bailey, who seemed strangely quiet. A guilty conscience, perhaps?

Several people were going down to Nevada City. So Keeler and Brown did not resume their conversation, but journeyed on, each absorbed in his own thoughts. To Keeler the trip was a sad one. In the dark woods along Bloody Run, and as they passed the tall rock by the roadside beyond, he thought of robbers and his murdered partner. At the store in North Bloomfield he could hardly resist the impulse to insult the cowardly store-keeper who had stood by and allowed Cummins to be shot. As they dove down into the cañon of the South Yuba, he groaned to think of the murders for gold committed therein. Could not a protecting Providence have saved his friend? Was it the decree of fate that one who had manfully defended the right for twenty-five years in that lawless country should be cut off just when he was quitting it forever? Perhaps, he thought, this very hour his partner was being laid at rest in his "ain countree."—And his soul? Well, he believed as Palmer did, that all is well with the soul of a brave man. Was he, Keeler, on a fool's errand to San Francisco? Well, he had determined on his own account to do a little investigating in Nevada City that very day. So had Mat Bailey. Hence his unusual taciturnity. So had "Bed-bug Brown," and he kept the secret to himself.

Arrived at Nevada City, with its steep streets, compactly built up at the centre of the town, church and county court-house on the hillside, the traveler finds himself fairly out of the mountains, the luring fatal mountains, whose very soil has now the color of gold and now the color of blood. Mat Bailey's first concern was the care of his horses. Keeler went to look up his friend Sheriff Carter. And "Bed-bug Brown" partook of a frugal dinner at the moderate cost of two bits. He sat where he could observe the movements of Mat, and lingered in the neighborhood until the stage-driver had disposed of his own dinner and set out to call upon Mamie Slocum.

This young lady now spent most of her time at home. She had hardly recovered from the shock of the tragedy; and her imagination had conjured up a visit from the sheriff for her part therein. Instead it was only that splendid Mat Bailey, flicking the dust from his boots with his handkerchief, and mustering up courage to knock at the door! How glad she was to see him! And Mat thought that she looked very sad and pretty! She conducted him to the parlor, and proffered the seat of honor, a hair-cloth rocking-chair.

"Let me call Mother. She will be so glad to hear about her friends in Graniteville."

"I'd rather see you alone, if you don't mind." And Mat blushed through his tan, but assured himself that duty prompted, if pleasure did consent. It was the best arrangement all round, as "Bed-bug Brown" himself thought,—for this worthy gentleman was eaves-dropping in the cellar, with only a floor of thin boards between himself and these interesting young people.

Under other circumstances Miss Slocum would have been fascinated at the idea of a tête-à-tête with this interesting, stalwart man of the mountains. But something in his manner, and her own overwrought nerves, told her there was trouble ahead. Should she run away, should she use a woman's wiles in self-defense, or should she confide in this handsome man? Distracted by these conflicting thoughts, she presented a charming picture of alarmed innocence, as Bailey thought; and his heart yearned to offer protection.

"Miss Slocum, I don't know how to put it, and I don't know what mean things you are going to think of me"—

And now Mamie began to sympathize with the big stage-driver, who seemed as much embarrassed as she.

"The fact is, Mr. Francis asked me to see you."

"Mr. Francis is a good friend of mine. He secured the school at Graniteville for me."

Bailey, grateful for this help, continued:

"He thought I might inquire about a matter"—

"Heavens!" thought Mamie, "does Mr. Francis know about my trouble? Mat Bailey must have told him!" If her intuition guided her truly in this matter, it no less truly recognized a friend in Mat.

"The fact is"—he began, and then he hesitated. "Damn it!" he thought, "how could he say things that would hurt this lovely creature?"

"Mr. Bailey, I think I know what you mean. You want to know why I told that robber about Mr. Cummins's valise. It has nearly worried me to death; and I don't wonder you all demand an explanation."

"Don't put it that way, I beg of you, Miss Slocum!" exclaimed Mat, greatly relieved that she had come to his rescue, but no less greatly concerned that he should appear in the hateful character of accuser and informer. "We don't demand anything. We know you didn't have anything to do with those robbers. Mr. Cummins was a friend of yours; and you wouldn't do nothing to injure an enemy!"

Mat could use negatives properly when not excited.

The conversation was becoming less and less interesting to the little man in the cellar. But it was not easy to beat a retreat.

Mamie began to weep softly, but more from joy than otherwise. After the strain of the past week these honest words of Mat were balm to her.

"I—I will tell you everything, Mr. Bailey. Oh, how I have wanted to talk to some friend about it! But it was so dreadful! I couldn't breathe a word of it even to Mother."

Mat was all tenderness now; and the man under the floor began to prick up his ears.

"I was talking with a young man only a week before that dreadful day, and he said highwaymen are too generous to steal money from people like Mr. Cummins. And that the best thing anyone could do when a stage is robbed would be to tell the robbers about the property of passengers like him. I didn't believe it at first, and now I know how frightfully foolish I was. But the young man, who had been in jail once himself, was so positive, that I really believed a criminal has a sense of honor. And when the robber asked whose valise that was, I was so frightened the words came right out before I realized what I had done."

"Every word you say is God's truth, Miss Slocum, and I hope you will forgive me for bothering you this way." It did occur to Mat that he might inquire who that young jail-bird might be. And "Bed-bug Brown" was hoping that his name would be mentioned. But Mat reflected that this was none of his business; and that it did not matter anyhow. If Miss Slocum did not care to mention the man's name he would not ask for it. She had behaved nobly, and he admired her from the bottom of his heart.

"Really, Mr. Bailey, I am glad you gave me this chance to explain. You don't know what I have suffered. And then to think that I deserved to suffer it, and more, too, for causing the death of my own friend!" And here the tears came again, honest tears, as Mat knew full well. He rather envied Cummins that so beautiful a creature should grieve for him.

"Now look here, Mamie, it is all right to be sorry that Mr. Cummins got killed. Every honest man and woman in Nevada County is sorry. But you didn't cause his death, any more than I did. I never felt meaner in my life than I did that day, holding those horses and looking down into the barrel of that robber's gun. He had me, until he started for Cummins. And it was all over so quick, I hardly knew what happened. But I can't quite forgive myself for not jumping down after that robber as soon as ever he uncovered me. It would probably have been too late; and the horses would have run away, most likely; but still I wish I had jumped. But because I didn't jump I'm not