A Waif of the Plains.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 440, 25 January 1890, Page 3

A Waif of the Plains.

BY BRET HARTE. Author of 4 The Argonauts,’ 4 The Luck of Roaring Camp,’ 4 Cressy,’Etc. Copyright 1889—By the Author. CHAPTER VI. (Continued). « Before ! Me ?’ repeated the astounded Clarence. • Yes, before. Last night. You was taller then and hadn’t cut your hair. You cursed a good deal more than you do now. You drank a man’s share o’ whisky, and you borrowed fifty dollars to get to tiaera mento wit h. I reckon you haven't gob it a out you now, eh ?’ Clarence’s brain reeled in utter confusion and hope ess terror. Was he going crazy, or had these cruel men learned his story from his ‘aithless friends, and was this a parr of the plot? He staggered forward, but the men had risen and quickly encircled him, as if to prevent his escape. In vague and helpless desperation he gasped:— 4 What place is this ?’ 4 Folks call it the De idman’s Gulch.’ ‘Deudmans Gulch! A flash of intelligence lit ub the boy’s blind confusion. Deadman’s Gulch I Could it have been Jim

Hooker who had teally run away, and had taken his name? He turned half imploringly to the first speaker. • Wasn’t he older than me, and bigger? Didn’t he have a smooth, round face, and little eyes ? Didn’t he talk hoarse ? Didn’t he ’ he stopped hopelessly. ‘Yes:’ oh, he wasn’t a bit like you,’ said the man, musingly, 4 Ye see, that’s tho h—ll of it t You re altogether too many and too various fur this camp ’ 4 1 don’t know who’s been here before, or what they have said,’ said Clarence, desperately—yet even in that desperation retaining the dogged loyalty to his old playmate which was part of his nature. 4 1 don’t know, and I don’t ca e—there! I’m Clarence Brant, of Kentucky; I started in Silsbee’s train from St. Jo, and I’m going to the mines, and you can’t stop me 1’ The man who had first spoken started, looked keenly at Clarence, and then turned to the others. The gentleman known ,as the Living Skeleton had obtruded his huge bulk in front of the hoy, and, gazing at him, said reflectively, * Darned, if it don’t look like one of Brant’s pups—sure ! ’ ‘ Air ye any relation to Kernel Hamilton Brant, of Looeyviile?’ asked the first speaker. Ag tin that old question ! Poor Clarence hesitated, despairingly. Was he to go through the same cross-examination he had undergone with the Peytons ? 4 Yes,’ he said doggedly, 4 1 am—but he’s dead. And you know it.’ 4 Dead —of course,’ ‘Sartin,’ 4 He’s dead,’ ‘The Kernel’s planted,’ said the men in chorus.

4 Well, yes,' reflected the Living Skeleton, ostentatiously, as one who spoke from experience, 4 Ham. Brant’s about as honey now as they make ’em.’ 4 You bet! About the dustiest, deadest corpse you kin turn out,’ corrobora ed Slum-gullion Dick, nodding fiis head gloomily to the. others ; ‘in point o’ fack, es a corpse, about the last one I should keer to go a huntin’ fur.' ‘ The Kernel’s tech ’ud be cold and clammy !’. concluded the Duke of Chathamstreet, who had not yet spoken, ‘sure? But what did yer mammy say about it ? Is she g ttin’ married agin ? Did she send ye here ?’ It seemed to Clarence that the Duke of Chatham street here received a kick from his companions, but the boy repeated, doggedly : ‘ I came to Sacramento to find my cousin, Jackson Brant, but he wasn’t there.’ , ‘ Jackson Brant!’ echoed bhefirstspeaker, glancing at the others. ‘ Did jour mother say he was your cousin ?’ ‘ Yes,’ said Clarence, wearily, * Goodbye.’ ‘Hallo, sonny, where are you going?’ *To dig go'd,’ said the boy. ‘ And you know you can’t prevent me, if it ain’t on your claim. I know the law.’ He had heard Mr Peyton discuss it at Stockton, and he fancied that the men, who were whispering among themselves, loot el kinder than he'ore. and.as it they were no longer * acting ’to him. The first, speaker laid his hand on his shoulder and said, * All right. c »me with me, and I’ll show you where to dig.’ ‘Whoare you?’ said Clarence. ‘Yon cal’ed yourself only “ me.” ’ * Well, you... can call me. Flynn—Tom Flynn...

* And you’ll show me where I can dig—myself? •I will.’

‘ Do you know,’ said Clarence, timidly, yet with » half conscious smile, * that I—l kinder bring luck ?’ The man.looked down upon him, and said gravely, but as it struck Clarence with a new sort of gravity, ‘ I believe you.’ , ‘ Yes,’ said Clarence eagerly, as they walked along together, ‘1 brought luck to a man in Sacramento the other day.’ And he related with great earnestness his expe ience in the gambli <g saloon, Not content with that—the sealed foun'ainsof his childish deep being broken up by some mysterious sympathy—he spoke of his hospitable exploit with the passengers at the m>rid bar, of the finding of hi* fortunatus purse and his deposit at the bank. Whether that characteristic oldfashioned reticence which had b> en such an important factor for good or ill in his future had suddenly deserted him, or whether some extraordinary prepossession in hiscompanion had affected him he did not know ; but by <he time the pair had reached the hillside Flynn was in possession of all the boy’s history. On one point only was his reserve still unshaken. Conscious although he was of Jim Hooker’s duplicity, he affected to treat it as a comrade’s jo e. They halted at last in the middle of an apparently fertile hillside. Clarence shifted his shovel from his shoulders, unslung his pan, and looked at Flynn. ‘ Dig any when here, where you like,’ said his companion; carelessly, * and you’ll be sure to find the colour. Fill your pan with the dirt, go t<; that sluice, and let the water run in on the top o f the pan—working it round so’—hr added, illustrating a rotary motion with tin vessel. ‘ Keep doing that until all the sob is washed out of it, and you have only th black sand at the bottom. Then work that the same way until you see the colour. Don’t be afraid of washing the gold out o' the pan—you couldn’t do it if you tried. There, I’ll leave you here, and you war till I come back.’ With another grave nod and something like a smile in the only visible part of h s bearded face—his eyes—he strode rapidly away. Clarence did not lose time, Selecting spot where the grass was less th ck, hi broke through the soil and turned up few or three spadesful of the red so 1. Whei he had tilled the pan and raided it to hi shoulder he was astounded at its weigh' He did not know that it was du6 to the re' precipitate of iron that gave it its coloui. Staggering along with his burden to ti■ running sluice—which looked like an ope wooden gutter—at the foot of the hill, In began to carefully carry out Flynn’s direr tion. The first dip of the pan in the run ning water carried off half the content- o the pan in a liquid, paint-like ooze. For < moment he gave way to a boyish satisfac faction in the sight and touch of this urn tuous solution, and dabb'ed his fingers i it. A few moments more of rinsing and h came to the sediment of fine black sam that was benea'hit Another plunge am swilling of water in the pan, and could h believe his eyes ?—a few yellow tiny scale.scarcely lan. er than pin’s heads, glitterc among the sand. He again filled the pa with water, and much more gent y pouret it off'. Hub his companion was right; tic lighter sand shifted from side to side witi the water, but the glittering points h mained adhering’by their wn tiny spec-ill gravity to the smooth surfaee of the boi bom. lb was ‘lhe co our !’—Gold

Clarence’s heart seemed co give a grea leap within hm. A vision of wealth, oi independence, of power, sprang before hi dazzled eyes, and—a hand lightly touchv him on the shoulder. He started ! In his complete pre-occu pat ion and excitement he f>ad not hear, the clatter of horse hoofs, and to his amazt ment Flynn was already beside hiu mounted, and leading a second horse. ‘You kin ride?’ he said shortly. ‘ Yes,’ stammered Clarence, ‘ but—’ ‘ But —we’ve only got two hours to read Buckeye Mills in time to catch thedow. stage. Drop all that, jump up, and coti" with me !’ ‘ But I’ve just found gold,’ said the boy excitedly. ‘And I’ve just found your—cousin. Come ’ He spurred his horse across Clarence’scattered implements, half helped, ha. dfted the boy into the saddle of tin second horse, and with a cut of his riatw over the animal’s haunches, the nex ' moment they were both ga loping furiously a.vay.

CHAPTER VII. Torn' suddenly from his prospective future, but too much dominated by the mar beside him to protest, Clarence was silen until a rise in the road a lew minutes latei partly abated their headlong speed and gave him a chance to recover his breath and courage. ‘ Where is tny cousin ?’ he asked. ‘ln the Southern county, two hundred miles away. ' ‘ Are we going to him ?’ ‘Yes.’ They, rode furiously forward again. It was nearly half an hour before they camet< a longer ascent. Clarence could see that Flynn was from time to time examining him curiously under his slouched hat. Thi:somewhat embarrassed him, but in his sin gular confidence in the man no distrust mingled with it. ‘Ye never saw your—cousin ?’ he asked. * No,’ said Clarence ; ‘ nor he me. 1 don’t think he knew as much, any way.’ ‘ How old mout ye oe, Clatence ?’ ‘Twelve.’ ‘ Well, as your suthin’ of a pup ’ — Clarence started, and i Peybon’.first criticism of him—‘l reckon to bejl ye suthin’ ! Ye ain’t goin to be skeerb oi afeared, or lose yer sand, I kalkilate, fot skulkin ain’t in your breed. Well, wot el I bold ye that thish yer—thi-h yer —cousin o’ yours was the biggest devil onhnng ! that he’d just killed a man, and had to li e out elsewhete? And that's why he didn t show up in Saciamento! What if I told you that ?’

Clarence felt that this was somehow a little too much ! He was perfectly truthful, and therefore lifting his frank eyes to Flynn, he said : ‘ I should think you were talking a good deal like Jim Hooker !’ His companion stared and suddenly reined up his horse, then bursting into a shout of laughter he galloped ahead, from time to time shaking his head, slapping his legs, and making the dim woods ring with his boisterous mirth. ' Then as suddenly becoming thoughtful again, lie ro'e on rapidly for half an hour, only speaking to Clarence to urge him forward and assist n>„' his progress by lashing the haunches of his horse. Luckily the boy was a good rider—a fact which Flynn seemed to thoroughly app eciate—or he would have been unseated a dozen times. At last the straggling sheds of Buckeye Mills came into softer purple view on the opposite mountain. Then laying his hand on Clarence’s shoulder as he reined in at his aide Flynn broke the silence. ‘ There,,boy, ’ he said, wiping the mirthful tears from his eye*. ‘ I was only foolin’—only trying yer grit. This yer cousin I’m taking you to ez as quiet and : soft-spoken and ez old-fashioned ez you be. vVhy lie’s that wrapped up in books and

study f hat he lives alone in a big adobe ranchesie among a lot o’ Spanish, and he ion’t keer to see his '<sn countrymen. Why, he’s even changed his name, and 3alls himself on Juan Robinson. But he’s very rich ; he owns three leagues of land and heaps of cattle and horses, and,’ glsnciiig approvingly at Clarence’s seat in •‘a saddle, ‘I reckon you’ll hev plenty of .nthar.’ ‘ Bub,’ hesitated Clarence—to whom this jroposal seemed onlv a repetition of Peyjon’s charitable offer— ‘ I think I’d better -tay here and dig gold— ivith you.’ ‘ And I think you’d better not,' said the man, with a gravity that was very like settled determination. ‘ Bub my cousin never came for me to Sacramento, nor sent, nor even wrote,’ persisted Clarence, indignantly. ‘ Not to you, boy ; but be wrote to the man whom be reckoned would bring you there—Jack Silsbee—and left it in the care of the bank. And Silsbte be ; ng dead, didn't come for the letter, and as you didn’t ask for it when you came, and didn’t even mention Silsbee’s name, that same letter was sent back to your cousin through me, uecause toe bank thought we knew hi.■thereabouts, lb came tobheguich by an express rider, whilst you were prospecting on the hillside. Rememberin’ your st.oiy 1 took the liberty of opening it, and found iut that your cousin had told iSilsbee to oring you straight to him. So lin only doin’ now what Silsbee would have uone.’ Any momentary doubt or suspicion that might have risen in Clarence’s mind vanished as he met his companion’s steady and masterful eye. Even his disappoint nent was forgotten in the charm ot this new-found friendship and protection. And s its outlet had been marked iy an un usual burst of confidence on Clarences .«rt, tlie buy in his gratitude uow felt -omething of the timid shyness of a deeper ■ eeling, and once more became reticent. They were in time to snatch a hasty meal at Buckeye Mills before the stage irrivtd, and Clarence noticed that his mend, despite his rough dress and lawless *spect, provoked a marked degree of re--pect from those he meb--in which, periaps, a wholesome fear was mingled. it. s certain that the two best places in the tage were gi.en up to them without •rotest, and that a careless, almost super ultous, invitation to drink lrom Flynn was esponded to with singular alacrity by all

including even two fastidiously dressed .nd previously reserved passengeis. lam fra d that Clarence enjoyed this proot of is friend s singulai dominance with a •oyish pride, and, conscious oi the curious yes of the passengers directed oceasional’y o himself, was somewhat ostentatious in lis familiarity with this bearded autocrat. At noun the next day they left lie stage at a wayside ride station, and ■flymi briefly intoruied Clarence that they oust again take horses. 'lnis at hist etmed difficu c in that out-of-bne-way -etblement where they alone hao stopped, •ut u whisper from the driver in the ear of ne station-master produced a couple oi .ery mustangs with ihe same aecom,ant.ienb of cautious awe and mystery. For ne next two dajs they travelled on horseuck, resting by night at tne lodgi. gs of ue of b’lynn s friends m the outsail ts of a urge town, where they arr.ved in the darkless, and left before day. To anyone more xperienced than tire stmple-mmdeu boy, it vould have been evident that Flynn was .urposeiy avoiding the more travelled oads and conveyances, anti when they •hanged hoioesagam, ihenextday’s ride wahrough an apparent y unbroken wilderness i scattered wood and rolling plain. Yet to

Uareuce, with his Pantheistic reliance and .oyuus sympathy with nature, the coange vas tilled with exhilarating pleasure. The vast seas of tossing wild oals, the hilisiue ->i ill variegated with strange fiowers, the virgin ireshno.-s ot untrodden woods and eafy aisles, whose floors of tnos-s or barn vote undisturbed by human iootprint, were i keen delight and noveity. Moreihau tins, ms quick eye, trained perception-, aim rontier knowledge now stood him in good -iead. His imuitive sense of distance, in d.incts ot woodcraft, and his unerring uei.eolion of those signs, landmarks, and guide-posts of nature, undistinguishable to <.ught but birds and beasts and some cmldren, were now of the greatest service " his less favoured companion. In this part of their strange pilgrimage it was toe boy who took the lead. Fly nn, who during tiie past two days seemed to have fallen into a mood of w'atchfui reserve, nodded his approbation. ‘This sort of thing's yer best holt, boy,’he said. ‘Men and cities ain’t your little game.’ At the next stopping place Clarence had t surprise. They had again entered a town .t night-fall, and lodged with another friead of Flynn’s in rooms which from vague -ouuds appeared to be over a gamb.iug saloon. Clarence awoke late in the morning, and descending into the street to mount for the day’s journey was startled to iind that Flynn was not on the other hor.-e, out that a well - dressed and handsome stranger had taken his place. But a laugh, did the iamiiiar command ‘Jump up, boy !’ made him look again. It ivas Flynn, but completely shaven of beard and moustache, closely-clipped of hair, and suit oi black ! * Then you didu'b know me ?’ said Flynn. ‘ Not uu il you spoke,’ replied Clarence. ‘So much the better,’ said his iriend sententiously, as he put spurs to his Bub as they cantered through the -treet, Clarence, who had already become accustomed to the stranger's hesuit adornment, lelt a little more awe of him. The profile of the mouth and chin now exposed to his i«idu-long glance, was hard and stern, and slightly' saturnine. Although unable at the time to identify it with anybody he had ever known, it seemed to the imaginative boy to be vaguelv connected with ome sad experience. But the eyes were thoughtful and kindly, and the boy later believed that if he had been more familiar with the face he would have loved it better. For it was the la.-t and only day lie was to see it—as late that afternoon, alter a dusty ride along more travelled highways, i hey reached their journey’s end. It was a low walled hou-e, with red-tiled roofs, showing again-t the dark gieen 'of enerable pear and rig trees, and a square courtyard in the centre where they haddis mounted. A few words in Spanish, from Flynn to one of the lounging psoas admitted

hem to a wooden coriider and thence to a lung low room, winch to Clarence’s eyes seemed literally piled with books and engravings. Here Flynn harr.edly bade him stay while he sought the host in another part of the building. ButClaience did not raise him ; indeed, it mav he feared, he iorgot even the object of their journey in the new sensations that suddemy thronged upon him, and the boy.sh vista of the future th.ti they seemed to open. He was dazed and intoxicated. He had never seen so many books before, he hai never conceived of such lovely pictures. And yet in some vague way he thought he must have dreamt of them at some time. He had mounted a chair, and was gazing spellbound at an engraving of a sea-fight, when ho heard Flynn’s voice. His friend had quietly re entered the room in company with' an oldish hallforeign looking man—evidently his relation. With no helping recollection, with no means of comparison beycud a vague idea that his cousin might look like himself, Clarence

stood hopelessly before him. He had already made up his miml that he would have to go throug > the u.-ual cross-ques-tioning in regard to his father and iami y ; he had even forlornly thought of inventing some innocent details to till out his imperfect and unsatisfactory recollection. But glancing up he was surprised to tind that his elder y cousin was as embarra-sed as he was. Flynn, as usual, masterfully interposed : ‘Of course ye don't remember each oth-r, and thar ain’t much that either of you knows about family matteis, I reckon,’ he sai-1 grimlv, ‘and as your cousin calls h msell Don Juan Robinson,' he added to Clarence, ‘ it’- just as well 'hat you let “Jackson Brant” slide. I know him hotter than you, but you’ll get used to him and he to you soon enough. At 'east you’d better,’ he concluded, with hie occasional singular gravity.

As he turned as if to leave the room witn Clarence's embarrassed relative—much to that gentleman s apparent relief—the boy looked up at the latter and said, timidly: ‘ May I look at those books ?’ His cousin stopped and gl .nced at him with the first expression of interest he had shown. 1 Ah, you read ; you like books ?’ ‘ Y~es,’ said Clarence. As his cousin remained still looking at him thoughtfully he added, ‘My hands are pretty clean, bub I can wash them first if you iike. ’ * You may look at them,’ said Don Juan, smilingly ; ‘ and as they are old books you cau wash your hands afterwards.’ And, turning to Flynn, suddenly with an air of relief, ‘ I tell you what I’ll do, I'll teach him Spanish !’ They left the room together, and Clarence turned eagerly to the shelves. They were old boo s, some indeed very old, queerly bound, and worm eaten. Some were in foreign languages, but others in clear bold English type, with quaint wood cuts and illustrations. One seemed to be a chronicle of battles and sieges, with pictured representations of combatants spitted with arrows, cleanly lopped off in limb, or toppled over distinctly by visible cannon shot. lie was deep in its perusal when he heaui the clatter of horse’s hoofs in the t ourtyard and the voice of Flynn. He ran to the window, and was astonished to see his friend already on horseback taking leave of his host.

For one instant Clarence felt one of those sudden revulsions of feeling common to his age, but which ho had always timidly hidden under a dogged demeanour. Flynn, lus only iriend! Fluin, his only boyish confident! Fly nn. his Jatest hem, was going away—and loisaking h m without a word of parting ! lb was true that he had only agreed to take him to his guaidian, but still Flynn need not have left him without a word oi encouragement With anyone else Cla ence would have piohably taken refuge in his usuai Indian stoiui-m, but the same feeling that had impelled him to oiler Flynn his b->yish confidences on their first meeting, now overpowered him. He dropped his book, ran out into the corridor, and made his way to the court-\ard, just as Flynn galloped out from the aych. A deep Hush crossed Flynn’s lace. Then glancing suspiciously towards the corridor lie said, hurritdl , ‘ Did he semi you ?’ ‘No ! I came myself! I heard you going.’ ‘All right. Good-bye.’ He leaned for

ard as if about to take Clarence's outstretched hand, but checked him->elt snd denly with a grim smile, and taking from his pocket a gold ctin banned it to the boy. Clarence took it. tessed it with a proud gesture to the waiting p<on, who caught it thank fully, drew back a step iron) Flynn, and saying with white cheeks. * I only wanted to say good-nye,’ dropped his hot eyes to the ground. But it did not stem to be his own voice that had spoken, nor his own self that had prompted the act. But the boy uttered a despairing shout that teached the rider. He drew rein, wheeled, halted, ami sat facing Clarence impatiently. To add to Clarence’s embarrassment, his cousin had lingeied in the eonidor, attracted by the interruption, and a peon lounging in the archway obsequiously appro.ched Flynn’s bridle rein. But the rider waived him off, and turning sternly to Clatence, said : ‘ What’s the matter now ?’

‘Nothing,' said Clarence, striving to keep back the hot tears that rose in his eyes. ‘ But you were going away without saying good bye. You’ve been very kind io me, and—and—l want to thank you !’ There was a quick interchange of glances between the departing guest and his late host in which Flynn’s eyes flashed with an odd admiring fire, but when Clarence raised nis head again he was gone. And as the boy turned hack with a broken heart towards the corridor his cousin laid his hand upon hi shoulder, ‘ Aluy hida/gamente, Clarence,’ he said, pleasantly, ‘ Yes, you shall learn Spanish.’ (To be Continued.)