Days of '49/Chapter 13

Gubbins' cabin was about a half mile from the hotel. Mrs. Gubbins, before she would let her husband work his new claim at Fan Fare, had insisted upon four walls and a roof, with a window. The cabin was reached by a winding trail that circled perilously among holes, some of them abandoned, which the miners, with no time to spend shoveling dirt unless to get at the gold, did not refill. Drunken men frequently broke their necks by toppling into such holes.

Joe was uncommunicative. He said little more than, "Watch out here," or "This here hole caved in on two fellers. Killed 'em both."

From a distance as they approached the cabin, Hales saw the faint light through the doorway, and heard a woman's voice, loud and sharp. Children were yelling in shrill merriment. The woman simply lifted her voice above their racket.

"... a blamed shame, Pete Gubbins! That's all I got to say! A blamed shame! The idee of you men takin' the life of a feller critter what God A'mighty give jes' as much life to as he done to you! I don't care if this here is Californy—'t ain't no reason for men bein' worse 'n Injuns! Don't set there askin' me what I'd a-done! That ain't no fair way for to talk. I'm tellin' you you men done wrong, an'"

The two children, a boy of about four, a girl a year older, with their little tummies full of hot beans, cold river water and mother's freshly baked bread, had cut holes in a piece of old canvas and were trying to make their dog, some sort of hopeless mongrel, wear a dress. The dog, who had brought these children across the plains, had licked 'lasses off their little hands by way of sharing their dainties, and had warily watched the wagon when the whole family slept in a dead fatigue, now suffered the indignity of a nightgown with only a mild scrambling and writhing.

At the first sound of footsteps the dog broke away, bounded to the doorway and barked furiously. Then, recognizing the miner, Joe, wriggled his body and wagged his tail apologetically, trying to pretend that his barking was merely a joke; and to make sure that was understood he thrust his wet nose against Joe's hand. The dog sidled off from Hales, approached cautiously, sniffing with great interest at the leather garments; but, having decided that Hales was all right, and meant no harm to the Gubbins family, the mongrel nosed Lucita's dress and seemed pleased when she, a little nervously, patted his head and spoke in the softest tone he had heard since the Gubbins babies babbled wordless prattle at him.

As he reentered the cabin the children, with screaming play, dodged recklessly between men's legs, cornered their dog under the table, and with laughter loud as war cries dragged him off to the indignity of a dress. Strangers were too common for these children to give them much attention.

Fan Fare was almost as proud of these children as of its rich diggings; miners saved pretty rocks for them, brought them captured gray squirrels and blue jays—which Mrs. Gubbins promptly turned loose. "They git sickly in boxes an' it gives me a smothery feelin' to see 'em there," she said.

Mrs. Gubbins was young, thin, darkly tanned. She wore her hair in a knot at the back of her head. Her dress was of calico. Her sleeves were rolled up. She had sharp steady eyes and a firm mouth; her face was pinched, her nose sharp. She was of the tireless breed that will not wear out, and will not give in. She had driven their wagon across the Humboldt Sink while her husband was flat on his back, half-dead, and the children lay gasping for air, moaning for water. With ox goad in one hand and the Bible in the other, because, as she said of it, simply, "It gives a helpful feelin' like havin' holt o' His hand," she had pushed across that pit of desolation where hundreds abandoned their wagons, oxen and cattle perished, men, women and children died. She had come through, though in her own words:

"I was clear like crazy. I daresn't open my mouth 'cause the dust it was thick as the skeeters in an Indiany swamp whar we come from. But ever' time them cattle'd stall, I'd say, 'God help us!' anyhow. Then I'd give 'em a prod hard as I could an' lean agin the wagon wheel—shovin'! And ever' time she'd budge, 'r I wouldn't be here now!

"I hear tell there's some folks don't b'lieve in God A'mighty. Queer folks they must be! I jest wisht I could take 'em crost the trail we come over. They'd b'lieve in Him mighty strong, I bet you—'r they wouldn 't git through. No, sir-ee, they wouldn't! The time ain't never goin' a-come when I don't give Him praise f'r keepin' me on my feet there in the Humboldt!"

She now came to the doorway with—

"Howd'y, Joe? Howd'y folks? How's Yank?" With a keen long stare at Lucita as she spoke: "You folks come right in an' set. Ain't had supper yit, I hope. Pete, git off that cheer! What's yore name, miss?"

Pete Gubbins was a lank sort of man, strong enough now, slow of movement, rather silent by nature as well as by necessity when near Mrs. Gubbins. His wife's word was very nearly law, though they did have a pretty strong difference between them on whether to go on with mining or to get themselves a farm.

The cabin was lighted by a candle stuck into an inverted bottle from which the bottom had been broken. The neck of the bottle was thrust into a knothole of the table.

"This here," said Joe awkwardly, "is Cap'n Hales. He's been a soldier an' now he's goin ' up to help emigrants over the mountains this fall. I reckon as how that'll make you like him some. 'Twas him that kept the boys from gittin' reckless when they was for hangin' 'er too"—he poked an arm toward Lucita—"an' he wants to have a talk with you-all. Yank he said to bring 'em. I got 'o git back an' see 'bout Yank. 'By."

Joe, having done his duty, hurried off.

"Peter Gubbins!" Mrs. Gubbins turned on her husband with voice pitched at its top note. She shook a menacing finger. Lucita edged closer to Hales, holding tightly, afraid of the woman's voice, of her flashing anger. "You didn't tell me you fellers nearly hung a woman! You didn't! You knowed better! Hang a woman! Think I'm goin' to have my chilern brought up whar there's such goin's-on? I'm shamed o' you, Pete Gubbins. I'm 'shamed o' the whole kit an' caboodle of ye!"

"Maria, you see we didn't!" said Gubbins helplessly. "I was one o' them as voted agin it from the first—wasn't I, mister?"

Hales, knowing very well that with a wife like Mrs. Gubbins to face Pete could not have voted otherwise than he claimed, answered:

"Yes, Mrs. Gubbins."

"Well, ye listened to talk about it! An', Pete Gubbins, I'll tell you onct ag'in for all time I'm tired o' these here minin' camps. I want some ground an' a home for my chilern. We're goin' light out o' here jes' as soon"

"Maria," Gubbins protested, "we got company-folks!"

"Then git off that cheer! Set down, miss. I bet you-all ain't had supper yit, an' there's plum plenty"

They had been having supper on a rough table without covering of any kind. An iron kettle of beans was the source of most of the supper. A huge, blackened, battered coffeepot was on the table. Coffee, when they could get it, came in the beans and was ground by being put into a canvas bag and smashed between stones. On the table was also a flat chunk of bread, a slab of salt pork. There were no forks. The spoons were of horn. Two or three times a week they bought beef from the camp butcher to whom cows were brought by native drovers.

"We don't have no oysters an' such stuff," as Mrs. Gubbins said at times, "'cause they ain't worth what you got to pay for that there truck. We jes' put by what Pete takes out o' the diggin's, 'cause I want a home, with some cows an' chickens an' a garden!"

Hales explained to Mrs. Gubbins that Lucita understood no word of English; that she was the daughter of a high-caste Spanish family.

"I don't know what to do with her. She refuses any suggestion of returning home. I don't know how I would get her home if she would go. You see, she has been foolish because she loves a man."

"It do beat all," said Mrs. Gubbins, when she had heard Lucita's story, "what fools us women can be over a man! I mind how I thought I jes' shore would die if Pete Gubbins married some other gal!"

With arms akimbo she gazed intently at Lucita, then asked abruptly:

"What'd you think, Mr. Hales, 'bout farmin' as ag'in minin'?"

Pete Gubbins glanced at him beseechingly, but Hales said:

"Mrs. Gubbins, I know nothing of mining. I don't know how long this gold will last. But I do know something of California land. It is very rich. If you can get where there is water, or where water can be put on it, you can raise anything. The Spaniards get vegetables and grain by hardly stirring the ground. The climate is mild all the year. I am a rancher."

"We're goin' to light out o' here," she announced firmly, looking not at her husband but at the two tumbling children whose baby hands the mongrel mouthed in playful protest.

"Y' jes' know she can stay right here with me!" said Mrs. Gubbins, gazing upon the dark-eyed, rich bloom of a child who stared wistfully and in doubt at this sharply featured, harshly voiced woman.

There were two bunks in the cabin, an upper and a lower, one for the children, one for the man and wife. The doorway was without a door. The precious window, on which Mrs. Gubbins had been insistent, had glass bottles mortised with mud for a pane. There were no window panes in the camp, and, mostly, white canvas or sheeting served for glass when windows were closed against the weather.

"Pete, you go up to the hotel with Mr. Hales to stay. An' don't you go an' git tight, neither. Hear me?"

Pete, with all the awkwardness of a man of the house rebuked before company-folks, protested vaguely that he never got "tight," as overindulging at the mouth of a bottle was called.

While he was puttering about to find his pipe and tobacco—the children had the pipe and were trying to teach the dog to smoke, like daddy, as well as wear a dress like maw's—Mrs. Gubbins, as she called it, "lit into the doctors" for the way they treated Yank.

"Know what's the matter with them fellers! Four doctors up an' down this here bar. They know he'll die less they cut off his leg, but they 'fraid! Yes, sir. Dr. Perle, he's jes' a young feller an' more hones' than the others, he tol' me hisself, 'Mrs. Gubbins, I'll tell ye hones' Injun, if I should cut off Yank's leg an' he died, as he shore would, the miners'd say I was a pore doctor, an I'd lose all my practise.

"That's what he tol' me right to my face. Know what I tol' him? I said, says I, 'Doc Perle, you're a mighty pore specyman of a doctor, you are, if you don't do yore best to help a sufferin' feller critter, what's as fine a man as Yank is! So there!'

"I hate cowards, Mr. Hales. I hate 'em! That's one thing 'bout Pete. He's quiet an' he's poky, Mr. Hales, but this here man o' mine when he gits his dander up ain't afeard o' nothin'. I've seen him stand up to"

"Now, Maria!" Pete begged; then, strategically—"Come on, Cap'n. Le's be moseyin'"

As they walked off, Mrs. Gubbins shouted piercingly after her husband, telling him to behave himself up there at the camp.

Out of the backwoods they came, hundreds, thousands, of those women; uneducated, harsh of voice, unmannerly in the manner of daintily reared women, but pure of spirit and fearless. They marched on foot in step with husbands, fathers, brothers, reading their their Bibles by the light of camp-fires on the plains, following as surely as did ever the chosen of the Lord the cloud by day, the pillar of fire by night; encompassed by dangers, they sang their hymns with the glow of smoldering embers on their faces, and lifted their faces to the stars searching out the countenance of God, beseeching His mercy with words of inviolable faith. They passed through the Shadow of the Valley of Death, miracles attended them and they did not perish; they pressed on, giving courage to those about them sustained by the strength that is Womanhood; and when they entered the Golden State, they demanded not gold, but homes, schools for their children, houses for the worship of God.

It was the women of '49 and the '50's gaunt, fierce-eyed, unafraid, refined by a faith that is greater than grace of speech or smoothness of manner, wives and daughters worthy of men who dared the deserts and the mountains—it was these women who laid the hearthstones of California.

When Pete Gubbins and Hales reached Fred's House two other women had arrived in Fan Fare Bar; women of that calling old as the flesh of man, and wherever men go they come.

They had now retired to such privacy as could be given them in that one-story hotel, which meant that Fred himself had turned over to them the room used by himself and his partner, Black Perry, where the girls now washed themselves of travel stains, and were putting on those brilliant dresses and gewgaw trappings that give flash and sparkle to worn and lusterless women.

They were Betty and Lotta, who falsely called themselves sisters, probably because they belonged to the ancient sisterhood; they were part French, but said that they were American girls. They were dead tired, and would have liked nothing better than to drop into even the hardest bunk of the camp and sleep as they fell. But Fred, who had an eye for business as well as a weakness for debauchery, said the boys were all primed for a celebration and would be powerfully disappointed. Besides, their masters, the young dude gamblers, late of San Francisco, demanded that they look their most charming and be as spirited as if neither were weighted by more years than are comfortable for any woman.

The barroom was well filled with men, most of whom had eaten, for the second table had been filled, and the stragglers were at the third. In the mining hotels, as on the steamboats that ran to Sacramento and Stockton, when a meal was ready it was announced by shout or gong, and every man who wanted to eat made a rush for the dining-room, scrambled into a seat, began to grab food; those that were crowded out retired to the barroom to wait until the luckier men had fed, when the second table would be called; then, if necessary, a third.

A lantern, the only one in the room, swung from a rafter. Many candles were burning.

There was a group of men standing about Yank, and Gubbins paused there. Hales, in passing, heard Yank's deep voice saying slowly:

"She shore does hurt, boys. She shore does!"

Hales glanced at the faces that hung over him, bearded, strong, silent faces, full of pain and sense of helplessness; young Titans who could tear down a mountain or flume a river, but could not ease the pain in the crushed leg of one of their own men.

"Damn the doctors!" said a deep voice, and Hales recognized the tone of Yank's surly partner, Joe.

Other men in the room were gambling and drinking. There was a nervous excitation in the air; voices were high pitched with the tense restraint that marks the last struggle with decency before the breaking loose of carousal. Women were there, women of the sort that tingle nerves, perfumed, giddy, wanton. Later these women were to be as familiar as the gambler's black or green cloth thrown across the table where he made his game; but now they were exotically rare, and many of the men were sober enough to be half ashamed of themselves, though disquieted by an eagerness for the roistering of women.

The two gamblers, young blacklegs, but recently holding full-fledged membership in the Hounds, were in the dining-room, eating.

Hales went to the bar. Black Perry, a heavy man with a dark scowl and the sign of having shaved three or four days before on his face, came up along the other side of the rough plank bar.

"Is there a letter here for Richard Hales?"

He gave Hales an unpleasant scrutiny and asked with disfavor:

"Was you expectin' mail?"

"Yes."

"Then you 'd better go over to that varmint what runs the Empire. He stands in with the feller what brings the mail. What y' goin' to have?"

"Nothing," said Hales, pointedly, and the two men for a moment eyed each other like old enemies. Perry was in shirt sleeves; he had on a collarless white shirt. The sleeves were folded above his hairy forearms, and the shirt was very dirty from long wear.

As Hales turned away he heard Black Perry laugh heavily and say:

"Greaser-lover!"

Hales' hand twitched toward the handle of his revolver. Blood warm as fire seemed to flow to the surface of his body. But ignoring the call to a quarrel he went out of the doorway, and walked angrily in the darkness, for a time without knowing which way he went.

He presently heard steps near by and called. A miner answered and told him where to find the Empire Hotel, just over the way.

"I hear they got girls to Fred's House?"

"I hear they have," said Hales and went on.

Before he noticed what was at hand, he found himself in the shadow of the twisted pine. Among the ashes of the big bonfire there were the gleaming crackles of light, like the brilliant threads of cloisonné workmanship. Instinctively he glanced up, and there before him hung an oblong black blot. Hales' throat became dry and tight. He paused for a moment, half moved by the impulse to cut the rope, let down the body; but, saying to himself, "He doesn't know—he wouldn't know anyhow," again went on.

The Empire was as much like Fred's House as one eggshell is like another. Many men were here too, drinking, playing cards, talking.

Hales went to the bar. The bartender said:

"You bet! There is a letter here for Richard Hales. You him?"

"Yes."

"Two-fifty."

The charge for delivering letters to the more remote camps was sometimes as high as five dollars; the only mail service, until express companies developed their organization, was such as packers and freighters gave haphazardly for what profit they could get.

Hales opened the letter, a fat one, and drew close to a candle. The Empire was lighted by candles only. It was not so difficult to get lanterns but it was hard to get oil. The letter was from Judge Deering, and contained much of interest.

Judge Deering in an oratorical passion was direct and forceful; in conversation he was rather long of breath, and sonorous of period; but in writing he meandered through elaborate phrases as if half hopeful of concealing what he meant.

Hales had quitted San Francisco while Anna was still desperately ill. She was still under the care of Mrs. Preble, the preacher's wife.

Hales had said to Judge Deering:

"I hope she dies; but while she lives—I have no faith now in her repentance. She has gone too far down. Yet because my brother loved her, no matter where she goes or what she does, I feel that I must try to see that she is looked after."

Judge Deering wrote also that it was being whispered about the city that Col. Nevinson was in a bad way, financially; he still owned a monopoly on lumber, but building was slack, and his reckless spirit had involved him in so many enterprises that it was a pure gamble as to whether he crashed or made millions.

The judge reported that Ilona Tesla had firmly insisted upon placing her father's affairs wholly in the hands of Deering & Taylor for settlement.

The important piece of news in the letter was this: Mateo's information about the true ownership of El Crucifijo had been confirmed.

Cowden had owned some land between El Crucifijo and the bay; but he had not owned El Crucifijo, though it was carelessly known to Americans as Cowden's Ranch.

Cowden, who had been eager for money, evidently had taken no pains to explain to Col. Nevinson that he was selling less than the colonel bargained for; and the colonel, in verifying the Spanish deed, had taken it for granted that the landmarks, which he did not trouble himself to identify, included El Crucifijo itself.

The de Coronals, who really owned it, had, with the indifference of an affluent Spanish family, abandoned the ill-fated El Crucifijo to whatever use any one who took possession of it cared to make.

Hales had said to Judge Deering:

"If this Mateo of yours knows what he is talking about, and the de Coronals are willing to sell, reasonably, buy the ranch for me, and say nothing to anybody."

As Hales refolded his letter he knew that he was the owner of historic El Crucifijo, and he smiled slightly, thinking of just how far Col. Nevinson would go into the air when he learned of this.

At that moment Clay Freeman, who had been waiting until Hales finished with his letter came up.

"Cap'n Hales, have a drink?" asked Freeman.

"Certainly."

"I hear they got women in tonight over to Fred's House."

"Yes, so I hear."

As they reached the bar other men gathered near, and thus spoke Clay Freeman, ex-butcher of Syracuse, N. Y., for any who cared to hear.

"We got one lady in this here camp that is a lady. I mean Missus Gubbins. We got another one that though she does cuss some an' charge steep as a roof for washin' of our duds, is also a lady. I mean Missus Jones. Fan Fare is proud of 'em. But we ain't proud of havin' Fan Fare no rival of Sonora an' Hangtown, like in San Francisco, where so many women strictly speakin' ain't ladies. Californy, she's a free country I reckon, an' folks can do as they like if they don't steal nothin'. But I got a boy back in the States. He's just a little shaver now. But when he's half growed I want to be able to say to him, 'Son, I've been around some an' seen things, but I never wronged your maw, an' I don't want you ever to wrong the lady you marry, no matter how purty some other woman may look f'r a minute when you're way off som'eres an' think nobody won't ever know nohow.'"

He paused, and there was silence. It was plainer than men often offered one another on a subject almost, by common muteness, forbidden. No one made any comment. He had expected none. There was an uneasy shifting of feet, a nervous clearing of throats, a preoccupied lighting of pipes and fiddling with whisky cups. A reflective blankness was shad owed forth on many faces. The butcher of Syracuse had declared himself before all men; and and the men, with a kind of awkward but true modesty, felt uncomfortable.

"By the way," asked Hales of the men about him, "did any of you ever hear of a gambler named Dawes? I knew him slightly in San Francisco. I would not like to pass through a camp he happened to be in without looking him up and exchanging a word or two."

One after another said no, or shook their heads.

"Cap'n," said Freeman, "this here is Doc. Perle. He was up the river today when we hung that fellow, but he's heard the boys speakin' a lot about you."

Hales looked into the face of a younger man than he had expected a camp doctor to be; it was a clean-shaven face with a somewhat boyish mouth, a sort of youthful eagerness, intelligent steady eyes.

"I hear you've been with the Rangers, Captain. My brother was in the war. Lieut. Perle. He was on Scott's staff. Maybe you've heard of him?"

"I'm sorry, no," said Hales.

He and Dr. Perle drew somewhat apart and talked for a time of war; then Hales asked:

"Why don't you cut off Yank's leg?"

Dr. Perle looked at him with surprise, then:

"It would kill him."

"He'll die anyhow, won't he?"

"Yes. Day by day I've seen it creeping up. He's dying literally, inch by inch. It is terrible."

"Why not try it?"

"Why, Captain, I'd have to cut his leg off almost at the thigh! I haven't instruments, and he would die right on my hands. I would have to leave camp. I know these miners. I heard of a doctor at Sonora who tried to operate on a miner. The miner died. The doctor had to leave. The miners nearly lynched him."

"Yes, " said Hales. "I heard of that, too, when I was in Sonora. But that doctor was drunk. The miner did not want to be cut up. The doctor should have been lynched. This case is different. Why don't you try?"

Dr. Perle grew pale and stood thoughtful.

"A man like Yank ought to have whatever chance you can give him," said Hales.

"But I'd have to cauterize his leg with hot iron—like doctors did three hundred years ago! I'm not enough of a surgeon, Captain Hales. I wouldn't trust my own ligatures."

"Yank's as good a man as those that stood the iron three hundred years ago. Give him a chance."

"There's no place to operate. He'd have to be kept quiet for days. Bandages of cold water changed every two or three minutes."

"There's Gubbins' cabin. I'll help carry water."

"I haven't instruments for that. I haven't even a saw. His femur would be as thick as a cow's!"

"There must be something that would do. There's a butcher in camp. Use his saw."

"My God!" said Dr. Perle weakly.

"Why not talk it over with Joe and Yank?"

"Oh, Yank's willing enough. And I would—would, but I am afraid."

"Do you think, Dr. Perle, that that brother of yours, the lieutenant, would have hesitated at anything that seemed his duty?"

"No, no. No! But"

"But what?"

"With the blood spurting from an artery, I know I couldn't tie a ligature. Look at my hands, rough as a miner's! I would have to cauterize!"

"Then cauterize," said Hales. "Yank's too good a man not to have his chance."

The young doctor was deeply moved. He said:

"If Joe and Yank and the boys understand—I'll do it, Captain. I'll do it tonight, now. But God help me!"

Clay Freeman said that he would go ask Mrs. Gubbins if her cabin might be used, though he knew that it could; and two men went with him.

Some one went to Fred's House and came back with Pete Gubbins and Joe, more surly than ever, full of curses because Fred's House was wild with noise, and a fiddle kept the crowd dancing while Yank lay in his bunk suffering through all that racket.

"I was jes' comin' anyhow to ask if we couldn't bring Yank over to the Empire," said Joe. "A man he shore don't have many friends when he ain't got two good legs."

"I'm afraid he will die under the operation," said Dr. Perle. "But I know he will if he isn't operated on. If he's willing I'll try."

"Yank ain't afeard of death, Doc."

"The pain will be terrible, Joe."

"Yank he's a man I wisht to God you could cut off my leg an' cure Yank that-away!"

Clay Freeman came back with the news that Mrs. Gubbins was already fixing up her cabin for them. She had sent the two children and the Spanish girl up the river to Mrs. Jones, asking if they could stay the night. Two of the miners had taken them.

"Missus Gubbins she weren't at all s'prised, boys, 'cause she'd been askin' the Lord to make Doc Perle operate, an' she 'lows the Lord can make even a doctor do what he ought when it gets the time."

No one smiled. No one thought it amusing. It was not said as wit nor received as jest. Dr. Perle stood tense and pale, like a man who has been chosen for a duel with a foeman that is seldom beaten.

A few of them went to Fred's House, entered through the kitchen and to Yank's bunk.

The shouting and clattering from the barroom was tumultuous. The noise came through the ill-fitted walls as through a net. The whine of the fiddle was almost lost in the stamp and scrape of boots. It was like the festival of barbarians, powerful, free-handed, half-drunken. Men shouted in auction bids for dances with the women of revelry.

Clay Freeman held a candle in his hand as they gathered near Yank, and told him of what the doctor offered to do.

"Well, Yank," said Joe, "the Doc says it'll hurt like hell an' you're nearly shore to die."

"She can't hurt worse, Joe, an' I'm willin' to take the chanct."

"I'll have to cauterize with hot iron, Yank," said Dr. Perle.

Yank's deep eyes, full of pain, looked up steadily through the candlelight.

"I don't know what cauterize is, Doc, but go ahead."

"We'll need something better than candlelight—I ought to wait till morning"

"No, you don't, Doc. I feel I ain't goin' see mornin'. I been feelin' it strong."

"I ought to have something for ligatures in case—but I know I can't tie them!"

"What would do? Any kind of string?" asked Hales.

"The cat gut of that damn fiddle," said the Doctor, listening. "That would be the thing. And that lantern. We have to have that lantern."

"All right, we'll git it, fiddle an' all," said Joe and started.

"Wait," said Freeman. "We'll call Fred out here an' explain."

Fred came, jovially drunk, professionally agreeable, and, like an owlish-eyed satyr with a heavy black mustache, listened to Freeman, who said that Dr. Perle was going to operate.

"Now ain't that fine, boys. Yank'll be hoppin' around spry as a cricket. Come in an' have a drink, boys. I"

"We want your lantern an' them fiddle strings," said Joe. "The doctor needs them strings for litertures."

"The lantern, sure, boys. I'd do anything. But the fiddle"

"I can find something else, I guess," said Dr. Perle.

"If them fiddle strings are the best, we're goin' to have 'em," said Joe, glowering.

"But the boys in there are on a spree. They won't like it," Fred protested.

"I reckon as how they will if they know it's for Yank. Anyhow, I'm goin' to git it, now. An' any damn man that gits in my way's goin' to git hurt!"

With that Joe pushed the satyrish Fred aside and started. Hales followed. Freeman came with them, and Fred, in the tavernkeeper's alarm at seeing good business hurt, pushed behind Freeman.

A new group of men entering attracted no notice. The revelry went on; and looking upon it, seeing the shaggy men, jovial, full of play, with laughter on their bearded mouths, it did not appear as grotesque and brutal as the noise had indicated. The weary women, their eyes ablaze with drunkenness, were good dancers, their bizarre costumes were, in that rough calico hung hall, picturesque; and the noisy men did treat them with an exaggerated gallantry that was meant respectfully.

Freeman, Joe and the agitated Fred went directly to the fiddler, who was jigging about on a little platform of planks and shouting the calls of the dance. He stopped suddenly as Joe's upreaching hand grasped the fiddle by the neck. The dancers, left abruptly without music, gaped at him across shoulders, turning slowly, wonderingly.

Hales went to the lantern, reached up, unhooked it, shook it near his ear to guess at the amount of oil. It was full, had been filled for the celebration.

A hairy hand snatched at the lantern, a heavy voice said:

"Here what the hell you think you're doin'—you damned greaser!"

Hales hit Black Perry and Black Perry toppled backward, falling.

A woman screamed, less out of fear than for the excitement of a scream. There was an encircling grouping of men, an explosive clamor for what had happened and why?

Black Perry with a look in his eyes that showed the wish to do murder, rose slowly on one knee, glaring at Hales, and his hand fumbled with a bowie knife on his hip; with a sort of animalistic instinct he was judging the chances of a rushing lunge, steel against an undrawn gun, for he, and many men of that day, with good reason, believed a knife more deadly than a gun.

With an oath a shrill voice shouted excitedly:

"That's Dick Hales! Don't try it, Perry—he'll kill you, sure!"

Hales did not look toward the voice nor look aside when another cried:

"Hales! Look out, Perry!"

The young gamblers, ex-Hounds, knew him, and the excited blacklegs had cried their warning to one who was their friend.

Black Perry's courage did not equal his anger, and he arose with his right hand dabbling at a trickle of blood on his face.

Joe roughly pushed through the circle, swore at Black Perry, said:

"We want this here lantern for Yank. Doc Perle's goin' cut off his leg. What you mean"

The miners were not much given to thinking of any man as a hero, but Yank was as nearly one as any man among them could be. He had tried to stop a boulder that would have squashed his pard, and they had seen him suffer, silently. Voices stormed at Black Perry, fists swayed in menace. Interfere with Yank's operation, would he?

He backed and twisted anxiously, trying to explain, blaming Hales for not saying what the lantern was for, that he would do anything for Yank.

The fiddler struck up. He, by good luck, had extra strings. Joe had gazed with sullen desire on the fiddle itself.

Some of the miners who had been dancing now hotly swore that it was a shame to have such goings-on while Yank was having his operation; they argued and swore about it. Others protested that there wasn't nothing they could do anyhow, so why not dance? But some of them, a few, with loud stamping to show their protest, marched out of Fred's House and went straight to the Empire, there to drink quietly out of sympathy for Yank, and await the news.

They carried Yank on an improvised stretcher of blankets and saplings; four men bore the stretcher, and Joe held the lantern for their feet and gave warning of rough places and the holes.

Overhead the stars danced brilliantly in a cloudless sky; and all that Yank said from the time they left Fred's House until they reached the cabin was:

"Boys, I wonder if tomorrow night I'll be up there settin' on a star, lookin' down at ol' Fan Fare?"

No one answered him.

Dr. Perle and Hales followed. Over and over the Doctor said:

"Why didn't I wait till morning? I'll need light. I should have waited till morning, but now he's got it into his head that he will die, and a man that feels that way is half-dead already."

Once also he said reflectively:

"I came to California more for the adventure than the gold. I don't suppose anybody can understand—except a doctor—but I'm going to go through the biggest adventure I ever imagined before this night is over. I cut off a man's finger once, but a leg!"

Mrs. Gubbins was watching from the cabin door and came out quickly to meet them, and the men with the stretcher, by a common impulse, stopped as she bent over Yank, brushing his forehead, saying quietly:

"You'll be all right, Yank. Don't ye be 'feard o' nothin'!"

As she came from the doorway another figure appeared, silhouetted grotesquely against the dim candlelight. This was Mrs. Jones, who, did as much of the camp washing as was humanly possible, and charged what was high for even a camp laundry; but there wasn't a better washer-woman in any camp. Fan Fare was, in a way, proud of her.

She had come to Fan Fare with a sickly husband. He died. She was not old, but she looked old. Her body was stooped; her face was nearly as shriveled as her hands, perpetually in water. She was clean, even tidy, always or nearly always pleasant; she smoked a pipe, she liked a nip of good liquor, she could and did swear like a muleteer; but by all the standards of Fan Fare she was a lady. She lived alone in a tent and did not know what fear was. There was nothing to be afraid of except loneliness.

When the half-frightened Lucita,and the two sleepy children with their dog had been taken to Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones put the children to bed, gave the dog a bone, patted Lucita on the head, telling her in words that few good women ever use that she was a pretty little thing, then gathered up an armful of clean rags, thriftily salvaged from miners' discarded clothing, came to Mrs. Gubbins' cabin and said:

"I know doctors use up a powerful lot of rags"—only she used a stronger word than "powerful"—"an' you havin' chilern to wear out ever stitch, I thought maybe these'd come in handy. An' I'm goin' to stay right here and help nuss Yank."

In the deep fireplace, walled with boulders, a fire was burning. It was nearly flameless, but red with coals. The bean pot had been emptied, scoured with sand and canvas, filled with water, and was simmering. Mrs. Jones knew too, she said, that doctors used a lot of hot water, some of 'em.

The miners started to bring Yank into the cabin, then stopped, backed out. There were two bunks, one above the other; the top bunk was too high for him to lie in, and it would be difficult for Dr. Perle to work if he lay in the lower, because the upper would be in the way.

Dr. Perle spoke of this. Hales noticed, though no one else may have done so, that there was something almost hopeful in Dr. Perle's voice, as if, after all, circumstances would keep him from the ordeal he so greatly dreaded.

But Mrs. Gubbins spoke up:

"Pete Gubbins, you git the ax. You boys tear out that top bunk an' hurry too!"

"All right," said Gubbins readily, but moving with a kind of lank leisureliness, habitual with him whatever his hurry. He went outside to where he had been making pegs for shelves to be put in the cabin, and brought an ax.

"Here," said Joe, "you take holt o' this, Pete. I'll do the work."

Gubbins took the lantern; Joe took the ax, and stepped inside. The women moved back, standing clear of the swing of the ax.

"Keerful now, Joe," said Mrs. Jones. "Don't make no more muss'n you kin help."

The bunks were of rough hewn boards, split from pine. Joe did not chop, but, driving with the head of the ax, loosened the upper boards from the posts into which they had been wedged. As they were loosened, Hales carried them outside and dropped them on the ground.

Joe stepped back, through with his work.

With one impulse the two women pushed together to the bunk, hastily straightened out the covering, shook and turned the pillow of ticking, stuffed with pine needles, stroked the wrinkles from the blanket, as if a man who was having his leg cut off would notice if the blanket was not smoothed; but such is the unconscious mothering touch of women, of some women.

"Bring Yank in," said Mrs. Gubbins.

The miners brought him in, bent, placed their stretcher partly on the low bunk, helped him to squirm on to it.

They clumsily folded their stretcher and stepped back awkwardly, getting in one another's way, crowding the small cabin. Some one bumped against the table, jarring the candle flame into frantic wavering.

"Now you boys git out o' here," said Mrs. Jones. "Bring in that there lantern an' git out. Me an' Missus Gubbins'll do the tendin'."

The miners stirred, but hardly moved.

Then Clay Freeman laid down on the table the butcher's saw that he had borrowed. Dr. Perle stared at it. His face was pale. At that moment he looked very young and nearly helpless.

Joe silently drew from his pocket a bottle of whisky and set it carefully on the table. Dr. Perle glanced at the bottle, then at Joe, again at the bottle, but his eyes went back to that saw. Looking at it steadily he began slowly to take off his coat. He threw the coat with a careless fling at a far corner, unbuttoned his sleeves and began to roll them above his elbows. He had never cut off more than the joint of a finger from a human being.

"You boys git out o' here now," Mrs. Jones repeated, having taken the lantern from Pete Gubbins, and removing the chimney was preparing to wash it so that all the light from the flame would be at the service of the doctor. The miners had a habit of saying that Maw Jones washed everything she got her hands on, which was nearly true.

The men, with slow heavy steps, their eyes toward Yank, backed out reluctantly. It was not that they felt they could help by staying, it was not wanting to stay and stare that made them move slowly; it was because they had a helpless feeling of desertion, though they could no longer do anything for him.

Dr. Perle spoke nervously:

"Captain Hales?"

"Yes."

"There must be no—no noise. Will you—you stand there at the door—and—and don't let any one in—or look in. I'll do the best I can"—he now vaguely addressed the doorway, where the men were grouped, motionless, heavy with anxiety—"you stay there, outside. Stay out, even if he calls or—you know it will hurt something ter—it will hurt him some. No talking, and—and please don't watch!"

"All right, Doc," some one mumbled, as if his throat was too dry to speak clearly.

Then the young doctor looked uncertainly from one to the other woman. Maw Jones was wiping the chimney until it shone as if glazed with diamond dust. Mrs. Gubbins was bending over Yank, talking rapidly in a low tone, reassuringly.

"I don't think you ladies—I don't think you can stand it," said Dr. Perle, at that moment feeling that he himself could hardly endure what was coming. "You'd better let Captain Hales hold the lantern for me, Maw."

"Shucks," said Maw Jones, without emphasis and with finality.

"A woman what can't stand anything to help a human bein' an' feller critter ain't much of a woman," said Mrs. Gubbins, also with finality.

Dr. Perle looked at them and shook his head a little. They did not know what was coming. He opened his small case of instruments and said absently, "Tut tut tut tut"—they appeared that unfit and inadequate. His eye fell on the saw then he gave a start and looked toward the fireplace.

"Boys," he said in a strained low voice, again vaguely addressing the doorway, "I've got to have a piece of iron, something—something like a piece of wagon spring, or the head of a pick."

"I got a pick here back o' the house," said Gubbins.

He brought the pick. He and Clay Freeman, with a stone, knocked the handle out, and Freeman brought the pick head into the cabin.

Dr. Perle took it. He took up one of Maw Jones' rags and with a cup of hot water began to wash off the dirt.

"Let me do that!" said Maw Jones, taking the pick, nearly forcibly.

Dr. Perle uncorked the bottle of whisky, poured out half a cupful, looked about for a spoon and laid it beside the cup.

For a moment he stared imploringly toward Hales. The doctor's young mouth was set tightly; there was a kind of hopelessness in his eyes.

When the pick was washed Maw Jones held it before him, for some seconds before he noticed.

"Here, Doctor," she said.

He looked at it, took it, gazed at it; then with resolution stepped across the cabin, stooped and thrust it deeply into the coals of the fireplace; and he paused there, looking into the fire as if reading omens in the flickering of the red coals.

When he straightened up he seemed more self-possessed, looked older, appeared no longer to be aware that people were near him, hovering outside in the darkness, staring through the door, waiting.

He took up the gut fiddle string, examined it, wiped it with a wet rag, tested it with a jerk, then cut it into suitable lengths.

The women watched with motionless intensity, like two of a holy sisterhood attending upon the priest in some ancient mystery rite. Maw Jones held the lantern firmly between her two withered hands and, slightly stooped from much bending over dirty clothes, awaited expectantly, standing as if crouching a little. Mrs. Gubbins, with one hand to Yank's forehead, held a pan of water in the other.

"Now," said Dr. Perle, looking about the cabin, "I must have something for a tourniquet."

Possibly of those who heard, only Hales understood what a tourniquet was; but the women too looked about as if to see one.

"This buckskin strap is the very thing," said the doctor. "Now a piece of wood"—he spoke toward the doorway—"about eight inches long, an inch thick."

"A'right," said Gubbins. He went into the shadows and picked up one of the pegs that he had been making with which to fasten up shelves in the cabin.

"Good. The very thing," said Dr. Perle absently, taking it.

The courage that sooner or later comes to a man in the midst of a great and honorable daring had come to him; and he was now the doctor, the surgeon, the duelist with Death, forgetful of everything but the work before him—an operation almost as primitive as that imposed upon the surgeons of the Middle Ages—he, a mere boy, who had come to California for adventure.

"Just put the pan down, Mrs. Gubbins. We don't need it yet a while If you can stand over there, Mrs. Jones Hold the light up. No, not quite so high. There. That's just right Now, Yank, this will hurt a little at first—that cup of whisky, and the spoon, Mrs. Gubbins. Give him a little, half a spoonful, or less, at a time. Not more Yank, I think perhaps I ought to tie your hands down. This is going to hurt, and if you move—I'm afraid you'll struggle, and"

"Jus' give me somethin' to hold to, Doc," said Yank, groping at the side of the bunk with one hand, and at the log wall with the other. "Jus' give me somethin' I can git my fingers 'round, and I'll not move, Doc. I promise!"

Mrs. Gubbins with a hasty movement put down the cup and spoon. She turned quickly toward an old battered trunk, flung open the lid, and drew out a black thick worn book, heavily bound with leather. With a kind of noiseless rush she turned to the bunk, thrusting the book against his hand.

"Now you jes' take holt o' this, Yank. Put yore hands on it tight as you can. Keep holt on it an' you'll be all right. It brought me through the Humboldt!"

Yank cleared his throat, took the book between his large work-hardened hands. He said:

"All right, Doc. You won't hear no word out o' me."

Dr. Perle straightened up, took a deep breath, glanced toward the fireplace, then stooped and lifting the blanket from over Yank's leg, began to take off bandages.

Maw Jones held the lantern as steadily as if turned to stone. There was not a quiver on her hard, wrinkled face.

Mrs. Gubbins gave Yank a spoonful of whisky, but he groped for her hand and put it against his forehead. Childlike, he wanted the woman's touch more than the whisky.

A moment later his body quivered. Dr. Perle had slipped the tourniquet around his leg, high up on the thigh, and slowly, steadily, began to twist, saying quietly, watchfully:

"This is the worst, my boy—let's get this good and tight, Yank—it may hurt a little, but steady, my boy—it will be all over—steady, Yank"

A trickle of blood appeared on Yank's bearded mouth. He bit his lips. He made no sound. Mrs. Gubbins' palm was moistened by the sweat that came dew-like upon his forehead. His muscles jerked convulsively, hardening tensely. His closed eyes would flash open as if blown wide by agony, but he made no sound.

Outside of the cabin men stood and did not speak, and hardly moved. Some stood in the glow of the doorway, some in the darkness. Joe sat on the ground with knees drawn up, his head pressed between his hands. Not one of them could keep his eyes on the man that suffered, over whom the two women stood watchfully and did not flinch or turn their eyes aside.

Presently not one of the men that waited would even glance toward the doorway. They could hear the gnaw of toothed steel on bone. Joe muttered curses that were intended as prayer. Clay Freeman, ex-butcher, walked off and sat down on a stump.

Hales, too, wanted to walk away, but stood with back to the doorway, ready if the doctor should call. He felt sickened, and also he felt his own legs fairly ache with pain.

Out of the night and from afar there floated faintly through the still air of the wilderness the echo of an occasional shout and high-pitched call from where some men still held revelry, also with women.

There was a low harsh moan from Yank.

"Unconscious, thank God!" said the doctor. Then, "What a man! He ought to live!"

"He's goin' a live!" said Mrs. Gubbins, low-voiced, fiercely.

"Ah, conscious again! Too much pain—just a drop at a time on his lips, not more! Might strangle him," said the doctor.

His voice was calm as a general's, directing a battle.

Yank gasped, soundlessly.

"We'll be all through here in a minute now—here, over here, hold the lantern—that's it. Ah!

"You are doing fine, Yank, my boy—wonderful—Don't talk!— Yes, oh, yes, it's off—Still feel it, eh? Sure, you'll feel it for days—long time—but it's off—all cauterized and clean, Don't talk- not one word to anybody—or move-don't move a finger. I mean it, Yank. Not a finger.

"I said not to talk! But it is off, Yank. You will feel it for a long time, but you must not talk!

"These bandages—I have great faith in cold water, but the cloths will have to be changed every few minutes in fresh water—ought to be every three minutes, night and day, until the inflammation goes down."

"You have somebody fetch the water, an' I'll change 'em tonight," said Maw Jones. "You kin go down to my house, Missus Gubbins, an' git some rest. Me, I'm a Georgy cracker—I don't need no rest."

"Don't talk to him," said the doctor. "He must be quiet. He can't sleep, but he may doze—I—I can do nothing more now. A little whisky at a time, very little, and a little water if he wants it—but quiet—must be alone now, with only one of you ladies"

"I'm stayin'," said Maw Jones, and she pulled up a stool and sat down by the bunk. "You folks git out. Have somebody fetch water an'"

"I'll fetch it—the whole damn river," said Joe quietly from the doorway.

The young doctor was putting his instruments together. His hands trembled, his mouth quivered nervously though tightly pressed. He would not look up, and seemed half-abstracted in his movements. Now and then he paused and looked at the palm of his right hand.

Mrs. Gubbins, ready to leave, though it was night, threw a sunbonnet over her head. She touched the doctor's arm, looked at him intently:

"You're the greatest man in Californy, Doc Perle!"

He shook his head, moved his hand toward the bunk, but glanced steadily at its palm. His voice was hardly more than a whisper and trembled:

"There's the greatest man—what a man!"

As he and Hales walked back toward the camp, Dr. Perle was so nervous that he could hardly talk; but he did talk, almost incoherently.

"—nothing like it! What a man! I—I have heard of men—leg or arm—no sound—impossible! But he stood it! What a man! I—I never knew what is was to be a doctor—surgeon—like something sacred—but what a man! Here, look here!" He held out his hand, palm up. In the darkness Hales could not see, but he understood. The palm and fingers were seared. "I picked up that iron before I thought, and it burned me—I almost yelled—just a little burn! I dropped it—then used a cloth, but he—he stood it all! He's got to live—it would be cheating—cheating, to have him die now, and—and God Almighty won't cheat a man like that!"