The Silence of Jim

T was Christmas Eve, and the population of One Tree Diggings had assembled in Long Mike's bar. Mike had chalked “A Merry Christmas” upon the wall, and nailed a sprig of red berries upon the big whisky cask, and an air of good fellowship pervaded the room. All of the men were drinking, and some of them were playing cards. A few stood chatting at the counter. The rest, with one exception, were gathered in a corner, where Happy Jack was singing “The Mistletoe Bough,” to the accompaniment of a concertina, which had two notes missing and the rest out of tune. Silent Jim sat apart and scowled. He had scarcely spoken since the theft from his hut a week before.

It wasn't the loss of a few ounces of gold dust that annoyed him, but a certain loss of self-respect. He could stick a tin tack on the wall by its point, and drive it in with a bullet from twenty yards off; and he could knock out any man in the camp in four rounds. So he considered that respect was due to his property and to him,

Soon after seven o'clock Foxy French opened the door sufficiently to slip through, and stole across the room to Jim. Foxy had been a detective once upon a time. He had fled to the camp when other detectives were looking for him. Jim had whispered a few hoarse words in his ear after the theft; and now he whispered to Jim, who rose and buckled his belt a hole tighter, and beckoned to the president and vice-president of the Vigilance Committee, who were playing poker.

“Got him, Jim?” the president asked, carelessly. Jim nodded. “I'll take two cards. Who is it?”

Jim made a backward motion of his forefinger toward Foxy. He always left the talking to others. That was how he came by his name,

“Ted Leeder,” Foxy stated, with complacent pride. “I looked in there this afternoon, when they were all out, and matched his left boot with the footprint we cut out of the clay by Jim's window. Then I went into town and found he'd sold gold dust and bought a lot of things the day before yesterday. That's enough, isn't it?”

“Enough to call him,” the president pronounced, without looking up from his cards. “I'll raise you a couple of chips.”

“I'm out.” The vice-president threw his cards on the table. “Are you calling on us to-night, Jim?”

Jim nodded again, and the president groaned,

“I suppose I can finish the hand,” he observed. “I'll raise you another six. Six more. Don't yap. Put up your chips. Money talks. I'll make it the limit, then. Four aces. Knew you were only bluffing! Well, boys, I guess I'll have to go.”

“Can't you wait till to-morrow, you bloodthirsty old ruffian?” one of the players asked Silent Jim; but he shook his head. So the president and vice-president rose with a sigh and followed him out of the door. The Vigilance Committee of One Tree Diggings did not give long credit for scores of justice; and any one who had a complaint could call upon them to act at once.

It was a cold, wet, windy night, and Leeder lived six miles out, at a shanty that he called a farm. He was married, and the diggings was no place for a wife and children. Neither did he like digging—or any other work. He made a pretense of farming; but he never seemed to grow anything, and the committee had long foreseen that, sooner or later, inquiry into his means of livelihood would become necessary.

The president and vice-president abused the road, the rain, the wind, their horses, Leeder and Silent-Jim, and everything. Jim said nothing, only toyed with his revolver. He would have preferred to settle the score himself, but promiscuous shooting had become a nuisance at the camp, and they had formed a Vigilance Committee eighteen months before. The committee worked smoothly and without the law's delays. They reckoned to apprehend Leeder, try him and hang him, all in the evening.

“You can't keep a poor devil in the lockup on Christmas Day,” the president remarked as they rode along.

When they were nearing the farm the rain turned to hail—big, angry hail that stung their faces and roused their tempers. They grunted with relief when they came to the broken gate that Leeder had left unmended for nearly a year.

“That shows how much he troubles about his farming,” the vice-president said. “Enough to hang him in itself. Got your shooters ready, I s'pose.”

“Yes,” said the president; “but he won't show fight, confound him!” In spite of his office, the president retained an old-time preference for settling disputes in hot blood.

A red glow of blazing logs streamed out from the window and lit up the panting horses and the splashy mud; and the scraping of a fiddle competed with the plash-plash of the rain, to which the hail had turned again. They drew up their horses under the shelter of the house and looked in. Leeder was standing by the fire, fiddling. There was a contented smile on his pale, irresolute face. His wife was sitting on a packing case, laughing and clapping her hands at two small boys dancing grotesquely to the ill-tuned music. The woman had been pretty once, and the dim candlelight favored her. The boys were sturdy and well-featured. They had their mother's blue eyes and their father's light hair. The president swore under his breath.

“Darned cheek of him grinning and fiddling like that,” he said.

“Darned cheek of him doing it,” the vice-president said, gruffly, “when he's got a wife and kids. Good-looking boys, ain't they, Jim?”

Silent Jim said nothing, but dismounted and strode to the door and knocked. The fiddle stopped suddenly; but the children still danced and laughed.

“Might have had kids of my own, if things-had turned out different,” the president moralized; “but you never know how things will turn out in this rotten world. There's no need to tell them. We'll just give him the tip to come away quietly. If he's half a man, he'll tumble to it, but”

Mrs. Leeder opened the door, and he dismounted sharply.

“Well, I never!” she cried. “This is neighborly!”

She smiled pleasantly and held out her hand; but they pretended not to see it.

“We're out on a bit of business, ma'am,” the president explained, “and we want your good man to take a hand.”

“Business!” she said, holding up her hands. “On Christmas Eve! I can't spare Ted for any business to-night. But come in.”

After a competition who would rub his boots longest on the remains of a mat, they went in. The president and vice-president did not seem to look at Leeder; but they watched his hands and pockets out of the corners of their eyes. You never know when a man may shoot. But Leeder made no movement, only stared at them. Silent Jim stared at him.

“You know the business, Ted,” the president remarked; “and you won't make any fuss about coming with us?”

“I—I'll come,” Leeder promised.

His wife shook her head.

“It's bitter weather,” she protested, “and Ted is weak in the chest. You mustn't take him from me to-night. Do you know”—she smiled at them suddenly—“we were married ten years ago—on Christmas Eve? It's our wedding day.”

“Your wedding day!” The president turned away and warmed his hands thoughtfully at the blaze.

“Our wedding day.” She touched the poor wretch's sleeve with her hand. “You must drink our health, now you are here.”

“I ain't drinking just yet, ma'am,” the president objected. “We—we've a lot before us to-night.”

“It ain't drinking business,” the vice-president added.

Silent Jim said nothing. He sat so still that the children crept up and touched him, to see if he was real.

“Ah!” said the woman. “Vigilance Committee? I don't know how you can have the heart to do it—not to-night.”

“We don't particularly like doing it, ma'am,” the president confessed, “but justice has got to be done.”

The woman looked at them and sighed.

“There's all the year for justice; and too much justice in the year, to my idea. Anyway, Christmas ain't the time for it. Well, well, it's no use arguing with men; but I'd rather Ted was out of it to-night. You must stop and drink our health now you are here. Ted was just going to mix some punch when you came in. Make it quick, Ted, and I'm sure the gentlemen will wait. It's like old times to see friends round us to-night.”

“Old times!” The president tapped his leggings thoughtfully; and the vice-president nodded slowly at the rafters overhead.

“Doesn't that bring the old times to mind?” the woman asked, pointing to some festoons of colored paper round the walls.

“Me and Bob made them,” the younger boy cried, eagerly. “Look!”

He pulled Silent Jim by the shoulder to admire the decorations.

“It was a surprise for you, wasn't it, mummy?” the eldest boy said; and she stroked his hair.

“You and daddy have given me a lot of nice surprises,” she said. “Perhaps there's a surprise to come for you and him.”

“There's a lot of surprises in this world,” the vice-president observed. “Some of them are pleasant, and some of them ain't.”

“Ted and I had a pleasant one a few days ago,” the woman told him. “He had some money paid him unexpected. It came in very handy just now. We'd been at our wits' end how we should keep up Christmas. I always think Christmas ought to be a very happy time for everybody.” She looked at the president entreatingly; and he coughed behind his hand.

“It ought to, ma'am,” he agreed. “But little unpleasantnesses will arise; and if a man goes and does things that—that want looking into—well, they have to be looked into.”

She sighed again, and shook her head.

“No doubt he's done something wrong,” she admitted, “or you wouldn't be after him; but just at this time of the year—the time when God forgave us all don't you think you could forgive him?”

The president looked at the vice-president, and the vice-president looked at him. They both looked at Silent Jim; but he had turned his head to the festoons, under the guidance of two pairs of chubby hands.

“I'll mention the point at the trial, ma'am,” the president promised. “For certain, I'll mention it at the trial.” He wiped his forehead. “But, you see, he's took things; and the law is the law; and if we didn't put a stop to it, the chaps would soon go shooting on their own. And we give them a fair trial, ma'am. I hold myself responsible as it's a fair trial; and anything heard what he's got to say. There was a chap we tried once and didn't hang.”

“I know you will be just,” she said, leaning forward in her earnestness. “It isn't that. I don't want justice done.”

The president laughed a hoarse laugh; and the vice-president squeezed the wet from his sleeve.

“That's a woman's way of looking at things,” he expostulated; “if you would excuse me, ma'am.”

“I know,” she admitted. “I know. All the rest of the year you'd be right, and I'd be wrong; but this is Christmas time. I don't want Ted to take part in anything that's not—not seasonable. Surely you can do without him. Ask the gentlemen not to take daddy to-night, boys. Say, 'Please, kind gentlemen, we want our dear daddy at home. We'd be so lonely without him.'”

“We want daddy home,” the children repeated.

“We're going to play games,” the eldest boy explained.

“You play,” the second boy suggested to Silent Jim. “Be a bear, and I'll be a bear, too.”

He climbed on Jim's knee, and growled at him, in his childish treble.

“You growl, too,” he begged; and Silent Jim made a low, grumbling sound. “Growl loud!” Silent Jim growled loud; and Mrs. Leeder hid her face in her hands, and pretended to be terrified.

“Let's all be bears,” the eldest boy suggested, tugging at Jim's arm to engage a share of his attention. “All 'cept daddy. He'll be the man who's frightened of us. Growl very loud.”

They all growled; and Leeder started and shivered and shook. His teeth chattered even. He was “such a one to act,” his wife said; and now they had frightened daddy enough, and they must frighten her instead, while he made the punch for the kind gentlemen to drink. It was a “receipt” that he had from her father, she mentioned. They were always “such ones for Christmas” at home. That was why she thought so much of it.

“It's full of happy memories,” she said, brushing her eyes. “We think more of them as we get older. There's many a time that I'd like to forget, and I dare say it's so with you; but I wouldn't forget a single Christmas. Would you?”

The president and vice-president shook their heads; but Silent Jim sat still.

“I remember when I was a boy” the president began; but did not finish.

“My old mother used to say” The vice-president paused, and shook his head again. “You think of a lot of things, "he observed, “when you begin to think.”

“And you do things that you'll think about afterward,” the woman said, dreamily; “and don't think. I don't know who it is that you're after, but if it was Ted's worst enemy”

“I don't know as it ain't,” the vice-president interposed. Leeder's worst enemy was indeed himself.

“Well,” she asserted, “I wouldn't want him to go, if it was. Of course I know the committee has a call on every one, and it's right they should; but can't you do without Ted?”

The president and vice-president stared very hard at Jim, but failed to catch his eyes.

“I don't rightly see how we can,” the president pronounced at length. “When the committee's called on they've got to act immediate. That's the rule. Perhaps we'd as soon not be called; but that ain't the point. We have been, and the man what's called us has got the right; and no one can make him give it up. That's how it is, ma'am,”

“Couldn't you persuade him?” the woman pleaded.

They tried again to catch Jim's eye; and failed again.

“Don't see no chance of it, ma'am,” the president stated.

“But why need you have Ted?”

“Because we—we couldn't convict the chap without him. He knows how it is.”

He motioned with his head to the corner where Ted Leeder was mixing the drink. He poured it into a jug and came slowly toward them. The woman took the jug from him and found two chipped glasses and some cracked cups, and filled them.

“Now you must drink to us,” she told them, brightly. “Seeing what day it is.”

They took the glasses awkwardly. The president and vice-president spilt some of the contents of theirs on the floor; but Jim's hand was steady.

“Here's to you, ma'am,” the president toasted her.

“And the kids,” the vice-president added.

“Don't forget Ted,” she reminded them.

Silent Jim looked at him under his bushy eyebrows and nodded; and the others nodded.

“We ain't forgetting about him, ma'am,” the president assured her; “not us.”

Then they drank, and Leeder drank, and his wife drank a very little. She gave the children small sips out of hers.

“Now, boys,” she commanded, “you must go to bed. Don't make a noise, and go to sleep quickly; and in the morning perhaps there'll be a surprise for you. You might just see them into bed, Ted, while you're putting on your coat, since you must go. Shake hands with the gentlemen, boys, and say good-night. There! Good-night! Now go with father.”

She followed them with her eyes as they toddled out, holding their father's hands. Then she turned to her visitors. She had an agreeable manner, and in the candlelight she looked pretty and young. Her youth, indeed, was not far behind her; but she had lived hard.

“You won't keep Ted long, will you?” she pleaded.

“Not. longer than is necessary, ma'am,” the president promised.

The vice-president made a curious sound.

“Something run through me like a knife,” he explained. “Rheumatics, I shouldn't wonder. Caught me sharp.”

“Ted's like that sometimes,” the woman sympathized. “Not very strong, he isn't. Sometimes I fear as he won't make old bones. He says himself as he believes something will happen sudden some day. I don't know what would come to us if it did. Howsomever, it's no use meeting troubles; but he isn't fit to go out to-night; and if he comes to any harm through it, I shall blame it on you, mind.”

The president dropped his pipe on the floor, and groped under the chair for it. The vice-president walked over to the wall to have another look at the decorations.

“The kids made this themselves, didn't they?” he inquired. “Bright little chaps as ever I see.”

“I dare say their father helped them a little,” she owned; “but he says they did it. Wonderful fond of them he is, and plays with them as if he was another child. They're always on the fidget when he's away.”

“Ah-h!” said the president. “I dare say. I wonder if” He paused to mop his forehead with his handkerchief.

“You wonder?” she inquired, with polite interest.

“I was wondering—how long he'd be.”

“I'll call him,” she volunteered. “Make haste, Ted. The gentlemen are waiting for you.”

He came almost immediately. He was wrapped up in a long coat, and a muffler round his neck. His face was very pale, and he walked slowly.

“Oh, Ted!” his wife cried. “You're not well. I'm sure you are not well. You really ought not to go.”

She put her hand on his shoulder; and he bent down and kissed her.

“I'm all right, old girl,” he assured her. “Don't you worry about me. I ain't worth worrying about.” He laughed feebly. “Don't you sit up and fidget if I'm late. Sometimes these—these things—keep a man a long time. Good-by, old girl.”

“Good-by, dear”—she sank her voice to a whisper. “Many happy returns!”

The vice-president rose hastily and knocked over his chair. The president strode over to Silent Jim, and gripped him fiercely by the arm.

“Need we take him?” he whispered, hoarsely. “Jim?”

Silent Jim caressed his revolver lovingly under the cover of his coat, and released it reluctantly. Then he shook his head.

The woman did not hear or see. She was hanging on her husband's arm and smiling up at him. The president coughed twice before he could attract her attention.

“We've concluded to do without your husband, ma'am,” he announced, in a judicial tone, “seeing as you've got the best claim on him; but I'm bound to say as, in consequence, justice won't be done.”

The woman smiled on them radiantly and held out her hand.

“I am so glad!” she cried. “Oh, so glad! I—I” the tears came into her eyes. “God bless you all.”

“God bless you, ma'am.” The president lifted his hat gravely.

“And the kids,” the vice-president added.

Silent Jim turned from the doorway, with his face in the shadow.

“All of you,” he said; and out in the darkness the president and vice-president shook hands with him.

The firelight was still streaming through the window as they mounted. They paused a moment and looked in, and saw the gay colored festoons that the children had made, and Ted Leeder with his arm around his wife. There was a new light on his face—the light of a resolve for better things. Then they galloped into the black night, and all three rubbed their eyes with their hands.

“It's queer,” the president said, “with the wind behind you, how the rain drives round into your eyes!”