“LUCK? Why, I never seed anything like it! Yer might give him the sweepin’s of a saloon to wash, an’ he’d pan out a nugget ev’ry time—do it ez shure as shootin’!”
This rather emphatic speech proceeded one day from the lips of Cairo Jake, an industrious washer of the golden sands of California; but it was evident to all intelligent observers that even language so strong as to seem almost figurative did not fully express Cairo Jake’s conviction, for he shook his head so positively that his hat fell off into the stream, which found a level only an inch or two below Jacob’s boot-tops, and he stamped his right foot so vigorously as to endanger his equilibrium.
“Well,” sighed a discontented miner from New Jersey, “Providence knows His own bizness best, I s’pose; but I could have found him a feller that could have made a darn sight better use of his good luck—ef he’d had any—than Tom Chafflin. He don’t know nothin’ ’bout the worth of money—never seed him drunk in my life, an’ he don’t seem to get no fun out of keerds.”
“Providence ’ll hev a season’s job a-satisfyin’ you, old Redbank,” replied Cairo Jake; “but it’s all-fired queer, for all that. Ef a feller could only learn how he done it, ’twouldn’t seem so funny; but he don’t seem to have no way in p’tickler about him that a feller ken find out.”
“Fact,” said Redbank, with a solemn groan. “I’ve studied his face—why, ef I’d studied half ez hard at school I’d be a president, or missionary, or somethin’ now—but I don’t make it out. Once I ‘llowed ’twas cos he didn’t keer, an’ was kind o’ reckless—sort o’ went it blind. So I tried it on a-playin’ monte.”
“Well, how did it work?” asked the gentleman from Cairo.
“Work?” echoed the Jerseyman, with the air of an unsuccessful candidate musing over the “saddest words of thought or pen;” “I started with thirteen ounces, an’ in twenty minutes I was borryin’ the price of a drink from the dealer. That’s how it worked.”
Certain other miners looked sorrowful; it was evident that they, too, had been reckless, and had trusted to luck, and that in a place where gold-digging and gambling were the only two means of proving the correctness of their theory, it was not difficult to imagine by which one they were disappointed.
“Long an’ short of it’s jest this,” resumed Cairo Jake, straightening himself for a moment, and picking some coarse gravel from his pan, “Tom Chafflin’s always in luck. His claim pays better’n anybody else’s; he always gets the lucky number at a raffle, his shovel don’t never break, an’ his chimbly ain’t always catchin’ a-fire. He’s gone down to ’Frisco now, an’ I’ll bet a dozen ounces that jest cos he’s aboard, the old boat ’ll go down an’ back without runnin’ aground a solitary durned time.”
No one took up Cairo Jake’s bet, so that it was evident he uttered the general sentiment of the mining camp of Quicksilver Bar.
Every man, in the temporary silence which followed Jake’s summary, again bent industriously over his pan, until the scene suggested an amateur water-cure establishment returning thanks for basins of gruel, when suddenly the whole line was startled into suspension of labor by the appearance of London George, who was waving his hat with one hand and a red silk handkerchief with the other, while with his left foot he was performing certain pas not necessary to successful pedestrianism.
“Quicksilver Bar hain’t up to snuff—oh, no! Ain’t a catchin’ up with ’Frisco—not at all! Little Chestnut don’t know how to run a saloon, an’ make other shops weep—not in the least—not at all—oh, no!”
“Eh?” inquired half a dozen.
“Don’t b’leeve me if you don’t want to, but just bet against it ’fore you go to see—that’s all!” continued London George, fanning himself with his hat.
“George,” said Judge Baggs, with considerable asperity, “ef you are an Englishman, try to speak your native tongue, an’ explain what you mean by actin’ ez ef you’d jes’ broke out of a lunatic ‘sylum. Speak quick, or I’ll fine you drinks for the crowd.”
“Just as lieve you would,” said the unabashed Briton, “seein’—seein’ Chestnut’s got a female—a woman—a lady cashier—there! Guess them San Francisco saloons ain’t the only ones that knows what’s what—not any!”
“I don’t b’leeve a word of it,” said the judge, washing his hands rather hastily; “but I’ll jest see for myself.”
Cairo Jake looked thoughtfully on the retreating form of the judge, and remarked:
“He’ll feel ashamed of hisself when he gits thar an’ finds he’ll hev to drink alone. Reckon I’ll go up, jest to keep him from feelin’ bad.”
Several others seemed impressed by the same idea, and moved quite briskly in the direction of Chestnut’s saloon.
The judge, protected by his age and a pair of green spectacles, boldly entered, while his followers dispersed themselves sheepishly just outside the open door, past which they marched and re-marched as industriously as a lot of special sentries.
There was no doubt about it. Chestnut had installed a lady at the end of the bar, and as, between breakfast and dinner, there was but little business done at the saloon, the lady was amusing herself by weighing corks and pebbles in the tiny scales which were to weigh the metallic equivalent, for refreshments.
The judge contemplated the arrangements with considerable satisfaction, and immediately called up all thirsty souls present.
Those outside the door entered with the caution of veterans in an enemy’s country, and with a bashfulness that was painful to contemplate. They stood before the bar, they glanced cautiously to the right, and gently inclined their heads backward, until only a line of eyes and noses were visible from the cashier’s desk.
Then the judge raised his green glasses a moment, and smiled benignantly on the new cashier as he raised his liquor aloft; then he turned to his party, and they drank the toast as solemnly as if they were the soldiers of Miles Standish fortifying the inner man against fear of the Pequods. Then they separated into small groups, and conversed gravely on subjects in which they had not the slightest interest, while each one pretended not to look toward the cashier, and each one saw what the others were earnestly striving to do.
But when the judge settled the score, and chatted for several minutes with the receiver of treasure, and the lady—young, and rather pretty, and quite pleasant and modest and business-like—laughed merrily at something the judge said, an idea gradually dawned upon the bystanders, and within a few moments the boys feverishly awaited their chances to treat the crowd, for the sole purpose of having an excuse to speak to the new cashier, and to stand within three feet of her for about the space of a minute.
Great was the excitement on the Creek when the party returned, and testified to the entire accuracy of London George’s report.
Every one went to the saloon that night—there had been some games arranged to take place at certain huts, but they were postponed by mutual consent.
Even the Dominie—an ex-preacher, who had never yet set foot upon the profane floor of the saloon—appeared there that evening in search of some one so exceeding hard to find that the Dominie was compelled to make several tours of all the tables and benches in the room.
Chestnut himself, when questioned, said she had come by the way of the Isthmus with her father and mother, who had both died of the Chagres fever before reaching San Francisco—that some friends of her family and his had been trying to get her something to do in ’Frisco, and that he had engaged her at an ounce a day; and, furthermore, that he would be greatly obliged if the boys at Quicksilver wouldn’t marry her before she had worked out her passage-money from ’Frisco, which he had advanced. But the boys at Quicksilver were not so thoughtful of Chestnut’s interests as they might have been. They began to buy blacking and neckties and white shirts, and to patronize the barber.
No one had any opportunity for love-making, for the lady’s working hours were all spent in public, and in a business which caused frequent interruptions of even the most agreeable conversation.
It soon became understood that certain men had proposed and been declined, and betting on who would finally capture the lady was the most popular excitement in camp.
Cool-headed betting men watched closely the countenance of Sunrise (as some effusive miner had named the new cashier) as each man approached to pay in his coin or dust, and though they were intensely disgusted by its revelations, they unhesitatingly offered two to one that Dominie would be the fortunate man.
To be sure, she saw less of the Dominie than of any one else, for, though he did not drink, or pay for the liquor consumed by any one else, he occasionally came in to get a large coin changed, and then it was noticed that Sunrise regarded him with a sort of earnestness which she never exhibited toward any one else.
“Too bad!” sighed Cairo Jake. “Somebody ort to tell her that he’s only a preacher, an’ she’ll only throw herself away ef she takes him. Ef any stranger wuz to insult her, Dominie wouldn’t be man ’nuff to draw on him.”
“Beats thunder, though!” sighed Redbank, “how them preachers kin take folks in. Thar’s Chestnut himself, he’s took with Dominie—’stead of orderin’ him out, he talks with him an’ her just ez ef he’d as lieve get rid of her as not.”
TOM WALKED RAPIDLY TO THE CASHIER’S DESK, AND GAVE SUNRISE SEVERAL
HEARTY KISSES.
“Boat’s a-comin’!” shouted Cairo Jake, looking toward the place, half a mile below, where the creek emptied into the river. “See her smoke? Like ’nuff Tom Chafflin’s on board. He wuz a-goin’ to try to come back by the first boat, an’ of course he’s done it—jest his luck. Ef he’d only come sooner, somebody besides the preacher would hev got her—you kin just bet your bottom ounce on it. Let’s go down an’ see ef he’s got any news.”
Several miners dropped tools and pans, and followed Jake to the landing, and gave a hearty welcome to Tom Chafflin.
He certainly looked like anything but a lucky man; he was good-looking, and seemed smart, but his face wore a dismal expression, which seemed decidedly out of place on the countenance of a habitually lucky man.
“Things hain’t gone right, Tom?” asked Cairo Jake.
“Never went worse,” declared Tom, gloomily. “Guess I’ll sell out, an’ try my luck somewheres else.”
“Ef you’d only come a little sooner!” sighed Jake, “you’d hev hed a chance that would hev made ev’rything seem to go right till Judgment Day. I’ll show yer.”
Jake opened the saloon-door, and there sat Sunrise, as bright, modest, and pleasant-looking as ever.
With the air of a man who has conferred a great benefit, and is calmly awaiting his rightful reward, Jake turned to Tom; but his expression speedily changed to one of hopeless wonder, and then to one of delight, as Tom Chafflin walked rapidly up to the cashier’s desk, pushed the Dominie one side and the little scales the other, and gave Sunrise several very hearty kisses, to which the lady didn’t make the slightest objection—in fact, she blushed deeply, and seemed very happy.
“That’s what I went to ’Frisco to look for,” explained Tom, to the staring bystander, “but I couldn’t find out a word about her.”
“Don’t wonder yer looked glum, then,” said Cairo Jake; “but—but it’s jest your luck!”
“Dominie here was going down to hurry you back,” said Sunrise; “but——”
“But we’ll give him a different job now, my dear,” said Tom, completing the sentence.
And they did.