Lieutenant Russell was treading on
delicate ground, where the utmost caution was necessary.
He must not alarm his friend. He smoked a few
minutes in silence.
“It is not for me to give counsel
to my captain, but is it not a fact that selfishness
grows upon us with advancing years?”
“Very likely.”
“Has it occurred to you that
in concluding to pass the remainder of your days in
this mining settlement, you are thinking more of yourself
than of your child?”
“What have I said that warrants
that question?” asked the captain sharply.
“No higher motive than to protect
a daughter from harm can inspire a father, but if
she should be allowed to close your eyes, when you
come to lie down and die, it will be hers to live:
what then?”
“I shall leave her comfortably
provided for. My pay amounted to a goodly sum
when the war ended, and it is placed where no one else
can reap the benefit of it. Then, too, as you
know we have struck considerable paying dirt of late.
The prospects are that New Constantinople, even if
a small town, will soon be a rich one.”
Lieutenant Russell groaned in spirit.
Would the parent never understand him?
“Then you expect her to remain
here, sharing in all the vicissitudes of the place?
It cannot always stand still; it will either increase,
bringing with it many bad elements, or it will cease
to exist and these people will have to go elsewhere:
what then of the child whom you have left behind you?”
“Oh, by that time,” airily
replied the father; “she will be married to
some good honest fellow, like the parson, who seems
to be fond of her, as I know she is of him, but I
will not allow her to think of marriage for a long
while to come,” he added with emphasis.
Lieutenant Russell had heard all he
wished. He had learned that the father would
not consent to the marriage of his daughter for a number
of years, and when that time came, he would select
one of the shaggy, uncouth miners for her life partner.
“He has never thought of me
in that capacity, but he will have to entertain the
thought before he is much older.”
In her dreamings of the mysterious
world, with its teeming multitudes and all manner
of men, Nellie Dawson was sure that none lived who
could compare with this young cavalier who had come
out from that wonderful realm into the loneliness
of her mountain home, bringing with him a sunshine,
a glow, a radiance, a happiness, and a thrilling life
which she had never believed could be hers.
She often sat with her eyes upon his
countenance, when, in his chair opposite her father,
he recalled those marvelous experiences of his.
To her no man could ever possess so musical a voice,
and none so perfect features and winning ways.
It was young love’s dream and in her heart the
sacred flame was kindled and fanned until her whole
being was suffused and glowed with the new life.
One of Lieutenant Russell’s
firsts acts of kindness to Nellie Dawson was to present
her with his massive dog Timon. She had shown
great admiration from the first for the magnificent
brute, who became fond of her. The maiden was
delighted beyond measure and thanked the donor so
effusively that he was embarrassed. It is not
probable, however, that Timon himself was ever aware
of the change of ownership, for it brought no change
of conditions to him. He had learned to divide
his time about equally between the home of the lieutenant
and that of Captain Dawson, while, like the young
lady herself, he wandered about the settlement at
will. He was a dignified canine, who stalked
solemnly through New Constantinople, or took a turn
in Dead Man’s Gulch, resenting all familiarity
from every one, except from the only two persons that
had ever owned him.
The lieutenant reflected much upon
his conversation with Captain Dawson, the impression
which he had received being anything but pleasant.
“He considers himself unselfish, and yet like
all such he is selfishness itself. He has determined
to spend the rest of his days in this hole and to
keep her with him. He won’t allow her to
marry for years, because it might interfere with his
own pleasure; then he intends to turn her over to
that lank, shaggy-faced Brush, who pretends to be
a parson. The captain never thinks of me
as having any claims upon her love. To carry
out his plan would be a crime. If she objects
to Brush, he will probably give her a choice from the
whole precious lot, including Ruggles, Adams, Bidwell,
or Red Mike, the reformed gambler.
“Never once has he asked himself
whether his daughter may not have a preference in
the matter, but, with the help of heaven, he shall
not carry out this outrage.”
In the solitude of his own thoughts,
the lover put the question to himself:
“Am I unselfish in my intentions?”
Selfishness is the essence of love.
We resolve to obtain the one upon whom our affections
are set, regardless of the consequences or of the
future. It is our happiness which is placed
in the balance and outweighs everything else.
“Of course,” continued
the young officer in his self-communing, “I
shall be the luckiest fellow in the world when I win
her and she will be a happy woman. Therefore,
it is her good which I seek as much as my own.”
How characteristic of the lover!
“I shall not abduct her.
If she tells me she does not love me; if she refuses
to forsake all for me, then I will bid her good-by
and go off and die.”
How characteristic again of the lover!
And yet it may be repeated that Lieutenant
Russell was the most guarded and circumspect of men.
He no longer argued with Captain Dawson, for it was
useless. He rather lulled his suspicion by falling
in with his views, and talked of the future of parent
and daughter, as if it were one of the least interesting
subjects that could come between them.
On one of Vose Adams’s pilgrimages
to Sacramento, he returned with a superb mettled pony,
the gift of Lieutenant Russell. With this pet
she soon became a daring and accomplished horsewoman.
She was an expert, too, with the small Winchester
and revolver which her father brought with him from
the East. Perched like a bird upon her own Cap,
as she named him, she often dashed for a mile down
the trail, wheeling like a flash and returning at
full speed.
“Have a care,” said Parson
Brush, more than once; “you ride like a centaur
and none knows better how to use firearms, but there
are Indians in these mountains and they sometimes
approach nigh enough to be seen from New Constantinople.
Then, too, your father brought word that other miners
are working their way toward us. More than likely
there are bad men among them whom it is best you should
not meet.”
“But none would harm me,”
was the wondering reply of the miss; “are not
all of my own race my friends?”
“They ought to be, but alas! it is too much
to expect.”
She could not believe, however, that
any danger of that nature threatened her, but she
deferred to the fears of her father, Lieutenant Russell
and the parson to that extent that she generally had
a companion with her on these dashes down the trail.
Sometimes it was Brush, sometimes Ruggles or her parent,
and less frequently the young officer. Timon
always galloped or trotted behind her pony, and she
could not be made to believe that his protection was
not all-sufficient.
The winds of early autumn were moaning
through the gorges and canyons of the Sierras, bringing
with them the breath of coming winter, which was often
felt with all its Arctic rigor in these depressions
among the towering peaks and ridges. The usual
group was gathered in the Heavenly Bower, though two
of the most prominent citizens were absent. They
were Felix Brush and Wade Ruggles, who were seated
in their cabin, where a small fire had been kindled
on the primitive hearth and afforded the only light
in the small apartment. They had eaten their
evening meal and as usual were smoking.
As neither cared to taste the Mountain
Dew, so winsome to a majority of the miners, the two
often spent their evenings thus, especially since
the shadow caused by the coming of Lieutenant Russell
had fallen across their threshold.
“Things begin to look better
than afore,” remarked Ruggles, sitting with
one leg flung across the other and looking thoughtfully
into the fire.
“Yes, I always insisted that
the soil about here is auriferous and we had only
to stick to it to obtain our reward.”
Ruggles took his pipe from his mouth
and looked at his partner with a disgusted expression.
“What are you talkin’ ’bout, parson?”
“Didn’t you refer to the diggings?”
he innocently asked in turn.
“Come now, that won’t
do; you know my references to allusions was the leftenant
and the young lady. I say things look better as
regards the same.”
“In what way?”
“In the only way there could
be. They don’t care partic’lar for
each other.”
“There is no doubt they did some time ago.”
“Of course, but I mean now.”
“How do you explain the change, Wade?”
“The chap ain’t a fool; he’s took
notice of our warnin’s.”
“I wasn’t aware that we had given him
any.”
“Not ’zactly in words,
but every time I’ve met him with the gal, I
give the leftenant a scowl. Once I come purty
near shakin’ my fist at him; he’s obsarved
it all and is wise in time.”
“I think there is ground for
what you say,” remarked the parson, anxious
to be convinced of the hoped-for fact; “what
I base my belief on is that the leftenant doesn’t
accompany her on her little riding trips as often
as her father or you or I: that is a sure
barometer, according to my judgment. Still I
have sometimes feared from the way she talks and acts
that she thinks more of him than is right.”
“Nothing of the kind! She
treats him as she does everybody else; the leftenant
is the friend of the cap and the leftenant give her
the dog that is the size of a meetin’ house
and the pony hardly as big as the dog, but she doesn’t
think half as much of him as of you and me; how can
she?” demanded Ruggles, sitting bolt upright
and spreading his hand like a lawyer who has uttered
an unanswerable argument; “hain’t she
knowed us a blamed sight longer than him?”
“You are correct; I didn’t think of that.”
How eagerly we accept the argument,
flimsy as it may be, which accords with our wishes!
“When I feel sorter ugly over
my ’spicions,” continued Ruggles; “I
jest reflect that we’ve knowed the gal ever since
she was a baby and her father tumbled down a hundred
feet onto the roof of the Heavenly Bower, with her
in his arms in the middle of that howlin’ blizzard, when
I think of that I say ”
The door of the cabin was hastily
shoved inward and Captain Dawson, his face as white
as death, strode in.
“Have you seen anything of Nellie?”
he asked in a husky whisper.
“No; what’s the matter?” asked the
startled miners.
“She has gone! she has left
me!” gasped the father dropping into the only
remaining chair, the picture of despair and unutterable
woe.
“Why do you think that?”
asked the parson, sympathetically.
“Lieutenant Russell has gone
too! They have fled together!”