DEVIL’S FORD(魔鬼的福特)

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DEVIL'S FORD

by Bret Harte

DEVIL'S FORD

CHAPTER I

It was a season of unequalled prosperity in Devil's Ford. The half a

dozen cabins scattered along the banks of the North Fork, as if by some

overflow of that capricious river, had become augmented during a week of

fierce excitement by twenty or thirty others, that were huddled together on

the narrow gorge of Devil's Spur, or cast up on its steep sides. So sudden

and violent had been the change of fortune, that the dwellers in the older

cabins had not had time to change with it, but still kept their old habits,

customs, and even their old clothes. The flour pan in which their daily

bread was mixed stood on the rude table side by side with the "prospecting

pans," half full of gold washed up from their morning's work; the front

windows of the newer tenements looked upon the one single thoroughfare,

but the back door opened upon the uncleared wilderness, still haunted by

the misshapen bulk of bear or the nightly gliding of catamount.

Neither had success as yet affected their boyish simplicity and the

frankness of old frontier habits; they played with their new-found riches

with the naive delight of children, and rehearsed their glowing future with

the importance and triviality of school-boys.

"I've bin kalklatin'," said Dick Mattingly, leaning on his long- handled

shovel with lazy gravity, "that when I go to Rome this winter, I'll get one

o' them marble sharps to chisel me a statoo o' some kind to set up on the

spot where we made our big strike. Suthin' to remember it by, you know."

"What kind o' statoo--Washington or Webster?" asked one of the

Kearney brothers, without looking up from his work.

"No--I reckon one o' them fancy groups--one o' them Latin goddesses

that Fairfax is always gassin' about, sorter leadin', directin' and bossin' us

where to dig."

"You'd make a healthy-lookin' figger in a group," responded Kearney,

critically regarding an enormous patch in Mattingly's trousers. "Why

don't you have a fountain instead?"

"Where'll you get the water?" demanded the first speaker, in return.

"You know there ain't enough in the North Fork to do a week's washing for

the camp--to say nothin' of its color."

DEVIL'S FORD

"Leave that to me," said Kearney, with self-possession. "When I've

built that there reservoir on Devil's Spur, and bring the water over the

ridge from Union Ditch, there'll be enough to spare for that."

"Better mix it up, I reckon--have suthin' half statoo, half fountain,"

interposed the elder Mattingly, better known as "Maryland Joe," "and set it

up afore the Town Hall and Free Library I'm kalklatin' to give. Do THAT,

and you can count on me."

After some further discussion, it was gravely settled that Kearney

should furnish water brought from the Union Ditch, twenty miles away, at

a cost of two hundred thousand dollars, to feed a memorial fountain

erected by Mattingly, worth a hundred thousand dollars, as a crowning

finish to public buildings contributed by Maryland Joe, to the extent of

half a million more. The disposition of these vast sums by gentlemen

wearing patched breeches awakened no sense of the ludicrous, nor did any

doubt, reservation, or contingency enter into the plans of the charming

enthusiasts themselves. The foundation of their airy castles lay already

before them in the strip of rich alluvium on the river bank, where the

North Fork, sharply curving round the base of Devil's Spur, had for

centuries swept the detritus of gulch and canyon. They had barely

crossed the threshold of this treasure-house, to find themselves rich men;

what possibilities of affluence might be theirs when they had fully

exploited their possessions? So confident were they of that ultimate

prospect, that the wealth already thus obtained was religiously expended

in engines and machinery for the boring of wells and the conveyance of

that precious water which the exhausted river had long since ceased to

yield. It seemed as if the gold they had taken out was by some ironical

compensation gradually making its way back to the soil again through

ditch and flume and reservoir.

Such was the position of affairs at Devil's Ford on the 13th of August,

1860. It was noon of a hot day. Whatever movement there was in the

stifling air was seen rather than felt in a tremulous, quivering, upward-

moving dust along the flank of the mountain, through which the spires of

the pines were faintly visible. There was no water in the bared and

burning bars of the river to reflect the vertical sun, but under its direct rays

DEVIL'S FORD

one or two tinned roofs and corrugated zinc cabins struck fire, a few

canvas tents became dazzling to the eye, and the white wooded corral of

the stage office and hotel insupportable. For two hours no one ventured

in the glare of the open, or even to cross the narrow, unshadowed street,

whose dull red dust seemed to glow between the lines of straggling houses.

The heated shells of these green unseasoned tenements gave out a pungent

odor of scorching wood and resin. The usual hurried, feverish toil in the

claim was suspended; the pick and shovel were left sticking in the richest

"pay gravel;" the toiling millionaires themselves, ragged, dirty, and

perspiring, lay panting under the nearest shade, where the pipes went out

listlessly, and conversation sank to monosyllables.

"There's Fairfax," said Dick Mattingly, at last, with a lazy effort. His

face was turned to the hillside, where a man had just emerged from the

woods, and was halting irresolutely before the glaring expanse of

upheaved gravel and glistening boulders that stretched between him and

the shaded group. "He's going to make a break for it," he added, as the

stranger, throwing his linen coat over his head, suddenly started into an

Indian trot through the pelting sunbeams toward them. This strange act

was perfectly understood by the group, who knew that in that intensely dry

heat the danger of exposure was lessened by active exercise and the

profuse perspiration that followed it. In another moment the stranger had

reached their side, dripping as if rained upon, mopping his damp curls and

handsome bearded face with his linen coat, as he threw himself pantingly

on the ground.

"I struck out over here first, boys, to give you a little warning," he said,

as soon as he had gained breath. "That engineer will be down here to

take charge as soon as the six o'clock stage comes in. He's an oldish chap,

has got a family of two daughters, and--I--am-- d----d if he is not bringing

them down here with him."

"Oh, go long!" exclaimed the five men in one voice, raising

themselves on their hands and elbows, and glaring at the speaker.

"Fact, boys! Soon as I found it out I just waltzed into that Jew shop

at the Crossing and bought up all the clothes that would be likely to suit

you fellows, before anybody else got a show. I reckon I cleared out the

DEVIL'S FORD

shop. The duds are a little mixed in style, but I reckon they're clean and

whole, and a man might face a lady in 'em. I left them round at the old

Buckeye Spring, where they're handy without attracting attention. You

boys can go there for a general wash-up, rig yourselves up without saying

anything, and then meander back careless and easy in your store clothes,

just as the stage is coming in, sabe?"

"Why didn't you let us know earlier?" asked Mattingly aggrievedly;

"you've been back here at least an hour."

"I've been getting some place ready for THEM," returned the new-

comer. "We might have managed to put the man somewhere, if he'd been

alone, but these women want family accommodation. There was nothing

left for me to do but to buy up Thompson's saloon."

"No?" interrupted his audience, half in incredulity, half in protestation.

"Fact! You boys will have to take your drinks under canvas again, I

reckon! But I made Thompson let those gold-framed mirrors that used to

stand behind the bar go into the bargain, and they sort of furnish the room.

You know the saloon is one of them patent houses you can take to pieces,

and I've been reckoning you boys will have to pitch in and help me to take

the whole shanty over to the laurel bushes, and put it up agin Kearney's

cabin."

"What's all that?" said the younger Kearney, with an odd mingling of

astonishment and bashful gratification.

"Yes, I reckon yours is the cleanest house, because it's the newest, so

you'll just step out and let us knock in one o' the gables, and clap it on to

the saloon, and make ONE house of it, don't you see? There'll be two

rooms, one for the girls and the other for the old man."

The astonishment and bewilderment of the party had gradually given

way to a boyish and impatient interest.

"Hadn't we better do the job at once?" suggested Dick Mattingly.

"Or throw ourselves into those new clothes, so as to be ready," added

the younger Kearney, looking down at his ragged trousers. "I say,

Fairfax, what are the girls like, eh?"

All the others had been dying to ask the question, yet one and all

laughed at the conscious manner and blushing cheek of the questioner.

DEVIL'S FORD

"You'll find out quick enough," returned Fairfax, whose curt

carelessness did not, however, prevent a slight increase of color on his

own cheek. "We'd better get that job off our hands before doing anything

else. So, if you're ready, boys, we'll just waltz down to Thompson's and

pack up the shanty. He's out of it by this time, I reckon. You might as

well be perspiring to some purpose over there as gaspin' under this tree.

We won't go back to work this afternoon, but knock off now, and call it

half a day. Come! Hump yourselves, gentlemen. Are you ready? One,

two, three, and away!"

In another instant the tree was deserted; the figures of the five

millionaires of Devil's Ford, crossing the fierce glare of the open space,

with boyish alacrity, glistened in the sunlight, and then disappeared in the

nearest fringe of thickets.

DEVIL'S FORD

CHAPTER II

Six hours later, when the shadow of Devil's Spur had crossed the

river, and spread a slight coolness over the flat beyond, the Pioneer coach,

leaving the summit, began also to bathe its heated bulk in the long

shadows of the descent. Conspicuous among the dusty passengers, the

two pretty and youthful faces of the daughters of Philip Carr, mining

superintendent and engineer, looked from the windows with no little

anxiety towards their future home in the straggling settlement below, that

occasionally came in view at the turns of the long zigzagging road. A

slight look of comical disappointment passed between them as they gazed

upon the sterile flat, dotted with unsightly excrescences that stood equally

for cabins or mounds of stone and gravel. It was so feeble and

inconsistent a culmination to the beautiful scenery they had passed

through, so hopeless and imbecile a conclusion to the preparation of that

long picturesque journey, with its glimpses of sylvan and pastoral glades

and canyons, that, as the coach swept down the last incline, and the

remorseless monotony of the dead level spread out before them, furrowed

by ditches and indented by pits, under cover of shielding their cheeks from

the impalpable dust that rose beneath the plunging wheels, they buried

their faces in their handkerchiefs, to hide a few half-hysterical tears.

Happily, their father, completely absorbed in a practical, scientific, and

approving contemplation of the topography and material resources of the

scene of his future labors, had no time to notice their defection. It was

not until the stage drew up before a rambling tenement bearing the

inscription, "Hotel and Stage Office," that he became fully aware of it.

"We can't stop HERE, papa," said Christie Carr decidedly, with a

shake of her pretty head. "You can't expect that."

Mr. Carr looked up at the building; it was half grocery, half saloon.

Whatever other accommodations it contained must have been hidden in

the rear, as the flat roof above was almost level with the raftered ceiling of

the shop.

"Certainly," he replied hurriedly; "we'll see to that in a moment. I dare

say it's all right. I told Fairfax we were coming. Somebody ought to be

DEVIL'S FORD

here."

"But they're not," said Jessie Carr indignantly; "and the few that were

here scampered off like rabbits to their burrows as soon as they saw us get

down."

It was true. The little group of loungers before the building had

suddenly disappeared. There was the flash of a red shirt vanishing in an

adjacent doorway; the fading apparition of a pair of high boots and blue

overalls in another; the abrupt withdrawal of a curly blond head from a

sashless window over the way. Even the saloon was deserted, although a

back door in the dim recess seemed to creak mysteriously. The stage-

coach, with the other passengers, had already rattled away.

"I certainly think Fairfax understood that I--" began Mr. Carr.

He was interrupted by the pressure of Christie's fingers on his arm and

a subdued exclamation from Jessie, who was staring down the street.

"What are they?" she whispered in her sister's ear. "Nigger minstrels,

a circus, or what?"

The five millionaires of Devil's Ford had just turned the corner of the

straggling street, and were approaching in single file. One glance was

sufficient to show that they had already availed themselves of the new

clothing bought by Fairfax, had washed, and one or two had shaved. But

the result was startling.

Through some fortunate coincidence in size, Dick Mattingly was the

only one who had achieved an entire new suit. But it was of funereal

black cloth, and although relieved at one extremity by a pair of high riding

boots, in which his too short trousers were tucked, and at the other by a

tall white hat, and cravat of aggressive yellow, the effect was depressing.

In agreeable contrast, his brother, Maryland Joe, was attired in a thin

fawn- colored summer overcoat, lightly worn open, so as to show the

unstarched bosom of a white embroidered shirt, and a pair of nankeen

trousers and pumps.

The Kearney brothers had divided a suit between them, the elder

wearing a tightly-fitting, single-breasted blue frock-coat and a pair of pink

striped cotton trousers, while the younger candidly displayed the trousers

of his brother's suit, as a harmonious change to a shining black alpaca coat

DEVIL'S FORD

and crimson neckerchief. Fairfax, who brought up the rear, had, with

characteristic unselfishness, contented himself with a French workman's

blue blouse and a pair of white duck trousers. Had they shown the least

consciousness of their finery, or of its absurdity, they would have seemed

despicable. But only one expression beamed on the five sunburnt and

shining faces--a look of unaffected boyish gratification and unrestricted

welcome.

They halted before Mr. Carr and his daughters, simultaneously

removed their various and remarkable head coverings, and waited until

Fairfax advanced and severally presented them. Jessie Carr's half-

frightened smile took refuge in the trembling shadows of her dark lashes;

Christie Carr stiffened slightly, and looked straight before her.

"We reckoned--that is--we intended to meet you and the young ladies

at the grade," said Fairfax, reddening a little as he endeavored to conceal

his too ready slang, "and save you from trapesing--from dragging

yourselves up grade again to your house."

"Then there IS a house?" said Jessie, with an alarming frank laugh of

relief, that was, however, as frankly reflected in the boyishly appreciative

eyes of the young men.

"Such as it is," responded Fairfax, with a shade of anxiety, as he

glanced at the fresh and pretty costumes of the young women, and

dubiously regarded the two Saratoga trunks resting hopelessly on the

veranda. "I'm afraid it isn't much, for what you're accustomed to. But,"

he added more cheerfully, "it will do for a day or two, and perhaps you'll

give us the pleasure of showing you the way there now."

The procession was quickly formed. Mr. Carr, alive only to the

actual business that had brought him there, at once took possession of

Fairfax, and began to disclose his plans for the working of the mine,

occasionally halting to look at the work already done in the ditches, and to

examine the field of his future operations. Fairfax, not displeased at being

thus relieved of a lighter attendance on Mr. Carr's daughters, nevertheless

from time to time cast a paternal glance backwards upon their escorts, who

had each seized a handle of the two trunks, and were carrying them in

couples at the young ladies' side. The occupation did not offer much

DEVIL'S FORD

freedom for easy gallantry, but no sign of discomfiture or uneasiness was

visible in the grateful faces of the young men. The necessity of changing

hands at times with their burdens brought a corresponding change of

cavalier at the lady's side, although it was observed that the younger

Kearney, for the sake of continuing a conversation with Miss Jessie, kept

his grasp of the handle nearest the young lady until his hand was nearly

cut through, and his arm worn out by exhaustion.

"The only thing on wheels in the camp is a mule wagon, and the mules

are packin' gravel from the river this afternoon," explained Dick Mattingly

apologetically to Christie, "or we'd have toted--I mean carried--you and

your baggage up to the shant--the--your house. Give us two weeks more,

Miss Carr--only two weeks to wash up our work and realize--and we'll

give you a pair of 2.40 steppers and a skeleton buggy to meet you at the

top of the hill and drive you over to the cabin. Perhaps you'd prefer a

regular carriage; some ladies do. And a nigger driver. But what's the

use of planning anything? Afore that time comes we'll have run you up a

house on the hill, and you shall pick out the spot. It wouldn't take long--

unless you preferred brick. I suppose we could get brick over from La

Grange, if you cared for it, but it would take longer. If you could put up

for a time with something of stained glass and a mahogany veranda--"

In spite of her cold indignation, and the fact that she could understand

only a part of Mattingly's speech, Christie comprehended enough to make

her lift her clear eyes to the speaker, as she replied freezingly that she

feared she would not trouble them long with her company.

"Oh, you'll get over that," responded Mattingly, with an exasperating

confidence that drove her nearly frantic, from the manifest kindliness of

intent that made it impossible for her to resent it. "I felt that way myself

at first. Things will look strange and unsociable for a while, until you get

the hang of them. You'll naturally stamp round and cuss a little--" He

stopped in conscious consternation.

With ready tact, and before Christie could reply, Maryland Joe had put

down the trunk and changed hands with his brother.

"You mustn't mind Dick, or he'll go off and kill himself with shame,"

he whispered laughingly in her ear. "He means all right, but he's picked

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DEVIL'SFORD1DEVIL'SFORDbyBretHarteDEVIL'SFORD2CHAPTERIItwasaseasonofunequalledprosperityinDevil'sFord.ThehalfadozencabinsscatteredalongthebanksoftheNorthFork,asifbysomeoverflowofthatcapriciousriver,hadbecomeaugmentedduringaweekoffierceexcitementbytwentyorthirtyothers,thatwerehuddledtogetheronthenarr...

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