Thats just like em in the States, said Captain Fletcher; darned if they dont believe weve only got to bore a hole in the ground and snake out a hundred dollars. Why, theres my wifewith a heap of hoss sense in everything elseis allus wonderin why I cant rake in a cool fifty betwixt one steamer day and another.
Thats nothin to my old dad, interrupted Gus Houston, the infant of the camp, a bright-eyed young fellow of twenty; why, he wrote to me yesterday that if Id only pick up a single piece of gold every day and just put it aside, sayin Thats for popper and mommer, and not fool it awayit would be all theyd ask of me.
Thats so, added another; these ignorant relations is just the ruin o the mining industry. Bob Falloner hez bin lucky in his strike to-day, but hes a darned sight luckier in being without kith or kin that he knows of.
Daddy waited until the momentary irritation had subsided, and then drew the other letter from his pocket. That aint all, boys, he began in a faltering voice, but gradually working himself up to a pitch of pathos; just as I was thinking all them very things, I kinder noticed this yer poor little bit o paper lyin thar lonesome like and forgotten, and Iread itand wellgentlemenit just choked me right up! He stopped, and his voice faltered.
Go slow, Daddy, go slow! said an auditor smilingly. It was evident that Daddys sympathetic weakness was well known.
Daddy read the childs letter. But, unfortunately, what with his real emotion and the intoxication of an audience, he read it extravagantly, and interpolated a childs lisp (on no authority whatever), and a simulated infantile delivery, which, I fear, at first provoked the smiles rather than the tears of his audience. Nevertheless, at its conclusion the little note was handed round the party, and then there was a moment of thoughtful silence.
Tell you what it is, boys, said Fletcher, looking around the table, we ought to be doin suthin for them kids right off! Did you, turning to Daddy, say anythin about this to Dick?
Narywhy, hes clean off his head with feverdont understand a wordand just babbles, returned Daddy, forgetful of his roseate diagnosis a moment ago, and hasnt got a cent.
We must make up what we can amongst us afore the mail goes to-night, said the infant, feeling hurriedly in his pockets. Come, ante up, gentlemen, he added, laying the contents of his buckskin purse upon the table.
Hold on, boys, said a quiet voice. It was their host Falloner, who had just risen and was slipping on his oilskin coat. Youve got enough to do, I reckon, to look after your own folks. Ive none! Let this be my affair. Ive got to go to the Express Office anyhow to see about my passage home, and Ill just get a draft for a hundred dollars for that old skeesickswhats his blamed name? Oh, Rickettshe made a memorandum from the letterand Ill send it by express. Meantime, you fellows sit down there and write somethingyou know whatsaying that Dicks hurt his hand and cant writeyou know; but asked you to send a draft, which youre doing. Sabe? Thats all! Ill skip over to the express now and get the draft off, and you can mail the letter an hour later. So put your dust back in your pockets and help yourselves to the whiskey while Im gone. He clapped his hat on his head and disappeared.
There goes a white man, you bet! said Fletcher admiringly, as the door closed behind their host. Now, boys, he added, drawing a chair to the table, lets get this yer letter off, and then go back to our game.
Pens and ink were produced, and an animated discussion ensued as to the matter to be conveyed. Daddys plea for an extended explanatory and sympathetic communication was overruled, and the letter was written to Ricketts on the simple lines suggested by Falloner.
But what about poor little Jims letter? That ought to be answered, said Daddy pathetically.
If Dick hurt his hand so he cant write to Ricketts, how in thunder is he goin to write to Jim? was the reply.
But suthin oughter be said to the poor kid, urged Daddy piteously.
Well, write it yourselfyou and Gus Houston make up somethin together. Im going to win some money, retorted Fletcher, returning to the card-table, where he was presently followed by all but Daddy and Houston.
Ye cant write it in Dicks name, because that little brother knows Dicks handwriting, even if he dont remember his face. See? suggested Houston.
Thats so, said Daddy dubiously; but, he added, with elastic cheerfulness, we can write that Dick says. See?
Your heads level, old man! Just you wade in on that.
Daddy seized the pen and waded in. Into somewhat deep and difficult water, I fancy, for some of it splashed into his eyes, and he sniffled once or twice as he wrote. Suthin like this, he said, after a pause:
DEAR LITTLE JIMMIE,Your big brother havin hurt his hand, wants me to tell you that otherways he is all hunky and A1. He says he dont forget you and little Cissy, you bet! and hes sendin money to old Ricketts straight off. He says dont you and Cissy mind whether school keeps or not as long as big Brother Dick holds the lines. He says hed have written before, but hes bin follerin up a lead mighty close, and expects to strike it rich in a few days.
You aint got no sabe about kids, said Daddy imperturbably; theyve got to be humored like sick folks. And they want everythin bigthey dont take no stock in things ez they areeven ef they hev em worse than they are. So, continued Daddy, reading to prevent further interruption, he says youre just to keep your eyes skinned lookin out for him comin home any timeday or night. All youve got to do is to sit up and wait. He might come and even snake you out of your beds! He might come with four white horses and a nigger driver, or he might come disguised as an ornary tramp. Only youve got to be keen on watchin. (Ye see, interrupted Daddy explanatorily, thatll jest keep them kids lively.) He says Cissys to stop cryin right off, and if Willie Walker hits yer on the right cheek you just slug out with your left fist, cordin to Scripter. Gosh, ejaculated Daddy, stopping suddenly and gazing anxiously at Houston, theres that blamed photographI clean forgot that.
And Dick hasnt got one in the shop, and never had, returned Houston emphatically. Golly! that stumps us! Unless, he added, with diabolical thoughtfulness, we take Bobs? The kids dont remember Dicks face, and Bobs about the same age. And its a regular star pictureyou bet! Bob had it taken in Sacramentoin all his war paint. See! He indicated a photograph pinned against the walla really striking likeness which did full justice to Bobs long silken mustache and large, brown determined eyes. Ill snake it off while they aint lookin, and you jam it in the letter. Bob wont miss it, and we can fix it up with Dick after hes well, and send another.
Daddy silently grasped the infants hand, who presently secured the photograph without attracting attention from the card-players. It was promptly inclosed in the letter, addressed to Master James Lasham. The infant started with it to the post-office, and Daddy Folsom returned to Lashams cabin to relieve the watcher that had been detached from Falloners to take his place beside the sick man.