The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 13, 1895, Page 13

- THE SAN FRANC ISCO CALL, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1895. 13 A TALE OF THE WEST chapa-huntin’? Two months and more he’s been climb- up and down that old now, and he don’t seem to give up. He's ground some, but he up no rock, so he ain’t and nobody but a lun up and down that trail hay s to"have his head on straight, don’t talk much, but it beats hen they struck it in 50, but I don’t call ng the two came, and his always concluded s me. sed the stranger about k to the days ted unhospitable River country, and, had gone by since the lied with gold-hunters, the 1at his guest’s business ewton was not used to t help speculating sitting at his cabin door . His day’s work was done; pot was on the stove; the bacon and he was only waiting for d to get brown before sit- lonely supper. In the moment old Newton sat there and looked over the greatcanvon of the Ameri- can and watched the chasm grow dark, one even the coffee while the sun was still eilding the tops of the mountains. He had mined there when the whole western world was grubbing for gold, and when the tide of treasure- seckers ebbed it left him stranded in his cabin there high up onthe mountain-side, 1 hunting for the mother lode whence the gold of Mammoth Bar had been bed. He was just about to try his ain when the stranger came—a tall, strong old man, whose white beard and whiskers had not taken determination from his face, and the stranger's first words were: ““Can you put me on the ’48 trail, sir?” “Good-evening,’” said Newton. *Sure I can, but the trail don’t go nowheres, and | ways. it's coming on night. Suppose you stop here, and I'll put you on the trail in the morning.”” “1f it ain’t puttin’ you out too much.” The stranger stepped into the cabin with the easy acceptas of hospitality that showed his familiarity with to sleep in the brush. So the wrinkled visitor shared the hot bread, the bacon and the coffee and wiped the tin dishes | his host washed, and when the dishcloth was rinsed and hung behind the stove to dry they sat at the door together and | smoked. “Bin here long?” said, the stranger. “Helped make the 48 trail,” the host, “and been digging in these hills and placering in the creek ever since. F time you've been here?”’ 0; I mined down on the Mammoth Bar in “50.”" “So? I can’t call you to mind. Newton—Sam Newton.” “Guess there ain’t many people about here any more?”’ muséd the visitor, ignor- ing the invitation to introduce himself. I'm “Nothing buta Chinaman washing over | the old tailings down in the creek,” said | Newton, “but I can remember the time | when there wasrockers and 'rasters a-going | on every bar from way up on Otter Creek to the Sacramento.”” They talked of old times and old-timers | until the sun-gilding on the mountain-tops had gone and the silver of the moonlight had taken its place. The stranger asked 2bout this man and that who had delved and sluiced in the river in the old days, and Newton told him which were dead and who had come to his cabin out of the sun- set knew them all. And in the morning they started out to- gether for the 48 traill. It wasnot far, and presently they stood on the bluff where the half-obliterated path plunges down the rocky gorge, and disappeares among the bowlders and the stunted pines. ‘I guess you'll remember the trail,” said Newton. “I goes right down the gulch to the river.” They looked down the ravine and the stranger’s eye lighted on a great dump that dammed the little creek. mountain | y He had to stop at Newton’s or | sleep out, and visitors were not so plenty | | at the cabin that old Sam would send one | for two months for a pasear. | said | | which were rich, and found that the man | ““Oh, that’s the Roaring Oak,” answered Newton. “Buck Cummings’ claim? Le’s see; you and himn mined together, wasn’t it?” “Yes; that's what we did,”” said New- ton, marveling at the other’s knowledge of himself. “We mined together on the bar till Buck took this claim. It was the best claim ever turned out in this country, but I guess poor old Buck wished he never found it.” “How’s that?” “Ain’t you never heard? Buck ran a tunnel in there two hundred feet before he got to gravel—hard cutting the cement on this mountain, too. When he got in there something went wrong with a blast. When we found bim you couldn’t tell it was Buck Cummings or a sackful of bloody bones, and all on top of him was quartz just lousy with gold. The company that got hold of it after Buck was killed took more’n a million out of it.”’ The stranger wagged his head sym- pathetically and they parted. Newton went to his work and the other passed out of sight down the 48 trail. He was back at the cabin at night, how- ever, and Newton asked him .in. The stranger was tired and apparently dis- satisfied. “I might be here quite a spell,” he said, “and I'd like to make arrangements to cabin with you, if vou don’t mind.” “Long as you ’a mind to. It's kind of lonesome about here and I'm glad of com- pany, ’specially since you knew me in them days, but you’re a-wasting your time; that ground’s been prospected over and over again. The lode dips off more than two miles from the trail.”” “Mebbe so.” said the stranger, ‘‘but I want to stay here a spell. I'm obliged to | my way. Iecan doit.” | Soit was arranged. The stranger paid | his share of the small bill from Georgia Siide, where the flour and bacon came from, and old Sam talked much about the old times and got few words in return. down the trail. Once when he was late in He saw evidences of hi dustry along the path, but in all his expe- riences as a placer miner Newton had never seen such prospecting as this. It was mere surface scratching—a trench here, a shallow hole there. Old Newton looked in vain for any miners’ marks. ‘“‘He ain’t scratched a rock,” mused Newton, ‘‘or quartz to see if there was anything inside of it. All he’s doing is to fool around in the dust. A ‘tenderfoot 'd know that there ain’t anything there but fine needles and burs and loose top fixings that has been blown there and washed there.” He met the visitor on the trail coming up. *Just thought I'd come down and see if I couldn’t get a deer along the trail,”” lied | him. | Newton. “Always was a lot of deer about here. Do you mind how Black Peters used to massacree them ?”’ The talk about Black Peters lasted them back to the cabin and through the dinner bour. They smiled together over the rec- ollection of Peters leaving a pan of dirt “I don’t mind that dump. It wasn't| half washed at his claim to go hunting. there in my time.” | “He was that lazy,” said Newton, “he’d “AND? BREATELESSIY OUESTIONED NEWTON. “AND rvE FOUND IIER.” vou for taking me in, but I'd rather pay | Every day after taat the stranger went | returning Newton went down to look for tor’s in- even busted a chunk of carry the biggest buck in the mountains four mile before he’d puta potof beans on the fire to boil.” “Where's he now?” “Back East. They wanted him back there for something he did before he came to Mammoth Bar and they took him— lemme see—yes, that was in ’51.” Days passed into weeks, and weeks into months, and still the old stranger worked on the trail from morning till night and brought back nothing from his toil. Once Newton surprised him at work. Newton denies that the surprise was inten- " tional. “I was just in the trail accidental,” he says, “‘and see him there spading and pick- ing around on the side of the trail. I thought he might take it I was spying on him so I didn’t come up, but just watched him, and as long asI watched him he didn’t do nothing but prod and shovel around. He didn’t even examine the dirt he dug up, and says I, ‘crazy for sure.” ” But crazy or sane the old stranger, day in and day out, haunted the old trail. The few travelers who passed that way heard the story from old Newton, and when they saw the stranger at his absurd prospecting on the trail they only bade him good day and passed along. There are lots of men with queer fancies among the stranded flotsam of that tide of | 49—men who work abandoned mines which a schoolboy would know were bar- ren, men who talk with specters as they drill in the bowels of the earth, but as long asa man’s delusion interferes with nobody the mountain men respect it. So nobody bothered the mysterious old man on the trail. Newton grew fond of his companion, and got into the fashion of walking down the trail to meet him in the evening, and as they walked together they talked of men and days long dead. One evening they met as usual on the trail. Newton turned to make the climb toward home, but the other stopped him. “Jes' walk down the trail with me if it ain’t too much trouble,” he said. “Well, ain’t it gettin’ pretty well along | to supper time?” “Mebbe so, but it won't take long.” So together they descended the trail, and as fold after fold of the skirts of the great | mountain opened to their viewand they saw | atlast the dashing river, like a silver ribbon | fluttering .away down in the darkening | canyon, the oid times came to them again. | “Right down > said Newton, | pointing to where a great bite had been or got drunk around the place, but we all picked her foralady the very start, and the way the boys behaved was a surprise even to themselves. When we went away I said to Turk Clough, who dealt faro over to the Slide, ‘Cliff has made the biggest strike of anybody in these parts.’ ¢ «She’s an angel,’ is what Turk said. I had seen him watching her all evening as if he was going to eat her with his eyes, but I never guessed then that she was playing right up to his game—fact is, seemed like the other way, but these women are too deep for any man. ‘Yes,’ says Turk, ‘she’s an angel, and too good for a plug like Cliff Fairfield.” You re- member the night the big dam broke. That was in ’51, wasn’t it ?” “No, ’50,” said the stranger. ““Well, that was the night they cleared out. Cliff and the rest of us river boys was all av the dam trying to stop the break and save what was below the dam. ‘We worked all night, and Cliff went home in the morning and came back hellity- clatter over the rocks like a crazy man. My wife's gone!” he says. “We all went over to the two-room cabin, and sure enough it was empty. No- body had slept there the night before, but just inside the door we found one of those red silk scarfs Mexicans wear ’stead of a belt. Turk Cloughalways rigged ub fancy like that—most of the gamblers did—and we all knew it was his. Everybody in the camp except Fairfield knew Turk was always hanging around the cabin when he was out at work on his claim, but we couldn’t tell him that then. Just to make sure some of us went over to the Slide, and sure enough Turk was gone. He’d taken all the bank roll and skipped away with- out eversaying a word. There were tracks of two horses on the trail by Cliff’s cabin. I thought Fairfield would go clean off when he found out. “‘It’s no use cuttin' up so, my boy,’ said Doc Winters to him. ‘She’s gone and you're pretty lucky to get rid of that kind of a woman,’ and when we grabbed Cliff he had Wimnters down and was stamping on his face. CIiff stayed here quite a spell, looking for a chance to kill anybody that said his wife had gone with Turk. I guess be really was crazy then and he was hap- pier believing that way than what the whole camp knew was the facts. One day Cliff struck down river and never came back. I just wonder what become of the whole outfit?” “Ain’t yon heard?” asked the stranger. poking around looking for the girl and | AND A TALE OF THE EAST. IRST, Mme. Pine-Tree observed the ‘increased devotion of her daughter-in-law. Then she satis- fied ber curiosity concerning it. ‘When Mme. Glory splashed into her penitential ice-bath the next morning, | she slipped out of her futon and took a position ‘behind the Fusuma close tothe Butsu-dan. And this is what she heard : *Oh, Shaka! Hail-hail-hail! Look down. I have brought a sacrifice of flowers and new rice. I am quite clean. I am shivering with cleanness. Therefore grant that there may be a great and honorable war.” | Mme. Pine-Tree pushed the fusuma | noisily aside. Glory put her hands upon EAD PLLANTED.” Y = “JI SABURO ALONE REMAINED BY THE FLAG XE taken out of the mountain, ‘is where me and Buck Cummings worked two years and starved to death a’most, and just be- yond the turn two Greasers took out more money than they could roll up hill.” “Do you mind a chap named Fairfield, used to mine on Sardine Bar?'' asked the stranger. “Cliff Fairfield? Well, T just do that. He was the young feller that married the pretty schooimarm from Georgetown. Know her? Wasn't she a pretty girl ?” “A very pretty girl.” “She was that, and as innocent Jooking as a fawn with the spots on yet. Never in the world pick her out for one of that kind. I remember when we all went up to Cliff’s place to the house-warming, when he brougnt her to the two-room shack he put up there in Otter Creek. Say, that little girl lookea like a queen that night. She just took hold as if she had been through it all before. She shook hands with every one of us, and she was one of those women who when they shake your hand look right into your eyes and make you feel as if you were the only one of the whole roundup she cared a snap of her finger for. Why, she steadied the whole lot of wus. There weren’t many women about here, and most of them wouldn’t squirm if the whole camp swore “Cliff Fairfield ran across Turk Clough in Africa, down in the diamond fields, about four months ago, and they had it out.” “‘I’ve been looking for you for forty years,” Fairfield said when they met, ‘and now I've got you.’ “They fought fair and regular, sixty feet for the first shot, and then all rules off. Fairfield didn’t only need one shot. He got Clough through the body, and down he went and never got up again.” ‘‘And the woman ?”’ asked Newton. “That’s what [ asked him when he lay there clawing up the grass and chokin’ with the blood. ‘Where 1s she?’ I said. “‘He looked up at me, and I had to stoop to hear. “‘She’s on the '48 trail.” “Then the blood bubbled, and he didn’t speak no more.” ““And?” breathlessly questioned Newton. The two old men had reached a turn in the trail where the ground was freshly torn up. “And I've found her.” He pointed to the disturbed sod. There were some crumbling bones, some long black hair, and among the dark fragments the gleam of a woman’s jewels. “She didn’t elope witnh Turk Clough. God bless her, I knew she was true.” “I jes’ knew you was Cliff Fairfield all the time,’” lied old Sam Newton. SHIP-OWNERS' BURDENS. Assistance Will Be Given by the Manu- facturers’ Association, The Ship-owners' Association recently sent a letter to the Manufacturers’ and Producers’ Association and other bodies requesting that committees of ten be ap- pointed to meet in convention. ‘The pur- pose of the meeting is to devise ways and means to educate the people of this State to a full appreciation of the necessity for removal by legislation of the heavy bur- dens now borne by the shipping interests, The matter of abolishing pilotage fees will be especially considered. Assistant” Secretary Fred H. Dingle stated that the Manufacturers’ and Pro- ducers’ Association will certainly send a delegation to the proposed convention. This movement of the ship-owners isin the line of the objects for which the Manu- facturers’ Association was organized. ‘When the manufacturers’ convention, out of which the association was formed, was held about seven months ago, the com- plaint of the ship-owners as to the heavy taxes they are subjected to was discussed. The sentiment of the convention was that legislative relief should be afforded to the owners of vessels and shippers. The pro- sact.ed convention promises to take ecided steps toward relieving the ship- owners from the burdens they now com- plain of. the floor and her forehead upon them and | saluted her husband’s mother as became her. But—if you will know the truth—in this safe posture she smiled. “Perhaps you are insane!” her mother- in-law said with haughty asperity. Mme. Glory smiled again. “Why do you pray for war? Speak!” “That Ji-Saburo may come,’” Glory sat up defiantly. ‘A nation for a bastard barbarian!” “Yes,” said Glory. ““And what, pray, do you wish of him?”’ “To fight.” The elder langhed harshly. *‘He knows not the name.”” ‘“He is as brave as any o? his ancestors— and they were all samurai,” insisted the girl, doggedly. ‘“Bah! He has the unlaughing face of an American woman, He is a mister!” The mother-in-law laughed jeeringly. “You thing mabby he keer for me? No! He got to come an’ fight. An’ I lig’ jus’ see him—if he come, of course.” “Speak Japanese to me, madam!” “Ah—ah—ah! Please excuse me. L 'most always forget. Sore-waa makoto-ni kino-doku sama.” The mother-in-law swept with threaten- ings from the room, for, as you nerceive, she had continued to speak English in that laughing voice of hers and then had protested that she was sorry forit. And she was sorry, if we must have yet other commerce with the truth. And this was known to Mme. Pine-Tree as well as to us, and she was the autocrat of that house. War was declared. Sei-kwang had been fought and won. The Kowshing had been sunk. But Ji-Saburo had not come. Mme. Glory continued her supplications, now, that peace might not come too soon. And, lo! early one morning, there was a knock on the amado, they hadn’t been taken taken yet—and the little maid announced not only Ji-Saburo, but that he was in uniform, and had a bandage about his head. Glory must be pardoned the gay glance she gave her mother-in-law. “Now, Marubushu-San (this was only Mrs. Lemon, the maid), run! My yellow kimono, gold-woven obi, powder for my face, vermilion for my lips, the new silver kanzashi for my hair; run.” She prose trated herself at the shrine. “‘Shaka, thou art almighty !” she said. As she came down, giowing in her brave ery, she was intercepted by her mothere in-law. “I have seen him. barbarian!” Glory passed on. She smiled again. But it was Ji-Saburo. And he embraced her in Western fashion. She was visibly frightened. “‘But we were betrothed in infancy,” he defended, gay “Yaes,” she said meekly, I got to do what you as’ me. But—'’ ““You don’t like it ?” She did not answer and he audaciously kissed her. She only trembled a little thig time. “That’s better. At first—" “Ah! but I din’ know. I din’know how sweet that was. I naever been—kiss—nor— How you call that other?” ‘‘Embraced.” “Yaes. I naever been kissed nor ems brace by nobody. Now thing ’bout that. How I going know how nize thatis? How you also know aexcept you learn? Ah, ah, ah? How do you learn that?” He did not enswer. He was looking down at her very fondly. “Alas an’ alas! From those purple-eyed Americans. How beautiful they are} How beautiful! They frighten me!” She thought all American women were blonde. The maid brought the tobacco-bon, which he declined. Then she brought tea and confections, which she put between them. “‘Mister Ji-Saburo—I got call you mister, don’ I?” “Call me what vou like. ter. Iam aJapanese.” She leaned toward him with dewy eyes, “Then I—I gon’ call you jus'—Liddle Round One. Aha!” *‘I shall tell you about the purple-eyed women. There wasone. And I thought I was American enough to pay court to her.” “Wha's that mos’ terrible begged the girl in mock alarm. “There is no Japanese forit. Itis trying to make a girl care for you by associating Itisnot he. Itisa I am no mis« word 2" with her. I asked her to marry me finally—" “You as’ the girl—herseli?—not hex father?—an’ all her uncles?” “In America the girl herself decides.” “How that is nize,” sighed Mme. Glory, J1-Saburo remained silent. “An’—an’ she gon’ marry you? You gon’ marry she?” A No “Ah—ah—ah! Tha'ssawry—ver’ sawry. I don’ lig’ that. Tha’s not nize. Take 'nother cup tea—an’ rice cake?” But her face distinctly belied her words. *“‘She is not sorry—nor am I—now—nor need you be. But I was hit hard. I wentto Tokio and enlisted. Wasat Sei-kwang. Got this wound there. Am home on furlough, ACIGAR BARGAIN iy el l The most ever sold or ood lobacco The mone 3or 25cents-10cests straght-2for25ants RINALDO BROS.&.(A . — . 300-302Battery Street. o i PACIFIC COAST ey AGENTS. =