Forty-one Thieves Part 6

"Well, his partner never was," laughed Keeler. "If I could sc.r.a.pe together the dust, I'd leave these mountains as he tried to."

"Who do you suppose the robbers were?"

"If I could make a good guess, I'd go after that ten thousand dollar reward," replied Keeler.

"There's an awful tough gang over in Jim Crow Canon," said Brown, throwing out another feeler.

"Can you tell me of a place in these gold fields where you won't find a tough gang? I was in Forest City the other day. I took the trail over the mountains through Alleghany. Both of those places are live towns with cemeteries,--well settled places, you know. But a tougher lot of citizens you never saw. Gambling, drinking, and fighting, and Sunday the worst day of the seven."

"What impresses me most about Alleghany," said Brown, "is the vast number of tin cans on the city dump. It makes a man hungry for the grub his mother used to cook."

"You're right there," said Keeler, and lapsed into silence.

They were at Moore's Flat presently, where they changed to the four-horse stage-coach; and the little detective's attention was absorbed by the actions of Mat Bailey, who seemed strangely quiet. A guilty conscience, perhaps?

Several people were going down to Nevada City. So Keeler and Brown did not resume their conversation, but journeyed on, each absorbed in his own thoughts. To Keeler the trip was a sad one. In the dark woods along b.l.o.o.d.y Run, and as they pa.s.sed the tall rock by the roadside beyond, he thought of robbers and his murdered partner. At the store in North Bloomfield he could hardly resist the impulse to insult the cowardly store-keeper who had stood by and allowed c.u.mmins to be shot. As they dove down into the canon of the South Yuba, he groaned to think of the murders for gold committed therein. Could not a protecting Providence have saved his friend? Was it the decree of fate that one who had manfully defended the right for twenty-five years in that lawless country should be cut off just when he was quitting it forever? Perhaps, he thought, this very hour his partner was being laid at rest in his "ain countree."--And his soul? Well, he believed as Palmer did, that all is well with the soul of a brave man. Was he, Keeler, on a fool's errand to San Francisco? Well, he had determined on his own account to do a little investigating in Nevada City that very day. So had Mat Bailey.

Hence his unusual taciturnity. So had "Bed-bug Brown," and he kept the secret to himself.

Arrived at Nevada City, with its steep streets, compactly built up at the centre of the town, church and county court-house on the hillside, the traveler finds himself fairly out of the mountains, the luring fatal mountains, whose very soil has now the color of gold and now the color of blood. Mat Bailey's first concern was the care of his horses. Keeler went to look up his friend Sheriff Carter. And "Bed-bug Brown" partook of a frugal dinner at the moderate cost of two bits. He sat where he could observe the movements of Mat, and lingered in the neighborhood until the stage-driver had disposed of his own dinner and set out to call upon Mamie Sloc.u.m.

This young lady now spent most of her time at home. She had hardly recovered from the shock of the tragedy; and her imagination had conjured up a visit from the sheriff for her part therein. Instead it was only that splendid Mat Bailey, flicking the dust from his boots with his handkerchief, and mustering up courage to knock at the door! How glad she was to see him! And Mat thought that she looked very sad and pretty! She conducted him to the parlor, and proffered the seat of honor, a hair-cloth rocking-chair.

"Let me call Mother. She will be so glad to hear about her friends in Graniteville."

"I'd rather see you alone, if you don't mind." And Mat blushed through his tan, but a.s.sured himself that duty prompted, if pleasure did consent. It was the best arrangement all round, as "Bed-bug Brown"

himself thought,--for this worthy gentleman was eaves-dropping in the cellar, with only a floor of thin boards between himself and these interesting young people.

Under other circ.u.mstances Miss Sloc.u.m would have been fascinated at the idea of a _tete-a-tete_ with this interesting, stalwart man of the mountains. But something in his manner, and her own overwrought nerves, told her there was trouble ahead. Should she run away, should she use a woman's wiles in self-defense, or should she confide in this handsome man? Distracted by these conflicting thoughts, she presented a charming picture of alarmed innocence, as Bailey thought; and his heart yearned to offer protection.

"Miss Sloc.u.m, I don't know how to put it, and I don't know what mean things you are going to think of me"--

And now Mamie began to sympathize with the big stage-driver, who seemed as much embarra.s.sed as she.

"The fact is, Mr. Francis asked me to see you."

"Mr. Francis is a good friend of mine. He secured the school at Graniteville for me."

Bailey, grateful for this help, continued:

"He thought I might inquire about a matter"--

"Heavens!" thought Mamie, "does Mr. Francis know about my trouble? Mat Bailey must have told him!" If her intuition guided her truly in this matter, it no less truly recognized a friend in Mat.

"The fact is"--he began, and then he hesitated. "d.a.m.n it!" he thought, "how could he say things that would hurt this lovely creature?"

"Mr. Bailey, I think I know what you mean. You want to know why I told that robber about Mr. c.u.mmins's valise. It has nearly worried me to death; and I don't wonder you all demand an explanation."

"Don't put it that way, I beg of you, Miss Sloc.u.m!" exclaimed Mat, greatly relieved that she had come to his rescue, but no less greatly concerned that he should appear in the hateful character of accuser and informer. "We don't demand anything. We know you didn't have anything to do with those robbers. Mr. c.u.mmins was a friend of yours; and you wouldn't do nothing to injure an enemy!"

Mat could use negatives properly when not excited.

The conversation was becoming less and less interesting to the little man in the cellar. But it was not easy to beat a retreat.

Mamie began to weep softly, but more from joy than otherwise. After the strain of the past week these honest words of Mat were balm to her.

"I--I will tell you everything, Mr. Bailey. Oh, how I have wanted to talk to some friend about it! But it was so dreadful! I couldn't breathe a word of it even to Mother."

Mat was all tenderness now; and the man under the floor began to p.r.i.c.k up his ears.

"I was talking with a young man only a week before that dreadful day, and he said highwaymen are too generous to steal money from people like Mr. c.u.mmins. And that the best thing anyone could do when a stage is robbed would be to tell the robbers about the property of pa.s.sengers like him. I didn't believe it at first, and now I know how frightfully foolish I was. But the young man, who had been in jail once himself, was so positive, that I really believed a criminal has a sense of honor. And when the robber asked whose valise that was, I was so frightened the words came right out before I realized what I had done."

"Every word you say is G.o.d's truth, Miss Sloc.u.m, and I hope you will forgive me for bothering you this way." It did occur to Mat that he might inquire who that young jail-bird might be. And "Bed-bug Brown" was hoping that his name would be mentioned. But Mat reflected that this was none of his business; and that it did not matter anyhow. If Miss Sloc.u.m did not care to mention the man's name he would not ask for it. She had behaved n.o.bly, and he admired her from the bottom of his heart.

"Really, Mr. Bailey, I am glad you gave me this chance to explain. You don't know what I have suffered. And then to think that I deserved to suffer it, and more, too, for causing the death of my own friend!" And here the tears came again, honest tears, as Mat knew full well. He rather envied c.u.mmins that so beautiful a creature should grieve for him.

"Now look here, Mamie, it is all right to be sorry that Mr. c.u.mmins got killed. Every honest man and woman in Nevada County is sorry. But you didn't cause his death, any more than I did. I never felt meaner in my life than I did that day, holding those horses and looking down into the barrel of that robber's gun. He had me, until he started for c.u.mmins.

And it was all over so quick, I hardly knew what happened. But I can't quite forgive myself for not jumping down after that robber as soon as ever he uncovered me. It would probably have been too late; and the horses would have run away, most likely; but still I wish I had jumped.

But because I didn't jump I'm not going to hold myself responsible for c.u.mmins' death. The robbers must hang for it, and not you and me. As for what you said, I don't believe it made any difference at all. They were bound to get all the gold on the stage that day; and they knew c.u.mmins had some."--

"That's just it, Mr. Bailey, and that's what makes it so hard for me."

Mat saw he had been swept off his feet by his own eloquence, and so he tried again.

"Well, they would have got it anyhow. They might have wasted a minute or two more hunting for it, but they would have found it, and c.u.mmins would have fought for it just the same."

"Yes, that is what I've thought," said Mamie. "Oh, why did he risk his life so?"

"I'll tell you, Mamie," said Mat, "everybody in this country is crazy about gold--miners, gamblers, bankers, robbers,--everybody. They're like hungry wolves, ready to tear one another to pieces. Only the wolves have more sense. Gold is of no earthly use to anyone. I'm sick and tired of the whole business." And Mat rose, hat in hand, to go.

"I hope you'll call again, Mr. Bailey," said the the girl shyly. Here was a friend in need! A great bashful, manly fellow, so kind and sympathetic!

"I'll be more than pleased to," replied Mat, determined to prove his philosophy that there are things far more precious than gold.

Fascinated with the idea, he loitered in the neighborhood longer than he would otherwise have done; and, glancing back at the dear girl's house, he was astonished to see "Bed-bug Brown" emerge from the cellar. Brown saw him at about the same time. There was no escape for either, so they drifted together good-naturedly. The little man extended his hand:

"Congratulations! When is the wedding to be?"

Bailey simply smiled, and said:

"Bed-bug Brown, detective!"

CHAPTER IX

The Home-Coming of a Dead Man