John Franklin Swift, Robert Greathouse: A Story of the Nevada Silver Mines (1870)

 

 

CHAPTER LVI.

THE WASHOE BAR AIRS ITS ELOQUENCE.

            IF Harry Stacey had found it difficult to make satisfactory preparation for the trial of the cause of the Bosh Company versus Graham before the unexpected departure of the superintendent, he now learned that it was wholly impossible. True, he saw precisely what he had to contend against. The treachery of Bloodstone was obvious ; but it was too late to remedy the evil. He did all that lay in his power ; he severed all connection with Mr. George Washington Tack, and commenced making preparations upon his own account alone. He succeeded in finding a small number of witnesses, who had been

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in the country since the time of Mr. Graham's settlement at the mine, and who knew the facts of the case. Indeed, by the morning of the trial he had got together testimony enough, if it could be trusted, to make out a reasonable case to go to a jury upon. With Mr. Tack he held no intercourse whatever since the departure of Bloodstone. Not that Mr. Bloodstone's attorney had changed, for he had not, but to the last was courteous to the point of sycophancy. "He is a scoundrel and a conspirator," said Harry, "and I will not disgrace myself by speaking to him."

            Mr. Snakeweed, however, remained as demonstrative in his friendship to the young man as ever. They were upon opposite sides in the case, he said, but that should not interfere with a relationship so cordial as theirs, and founded, as it was, upon mutual respect and esteem. So that gentleman spent much time in Harry's room — more, in fact, than was agreeable to the young and now overworked lawyer. But he soon managed to dispose of the excess, by politely inviting Mr. Snakeweed to excuse him and to call at some other time. This was always taken in good part by the veteran.

            "Oh ! don't make any apology," he cried, " I understand how it is. You have work to do and want to be alone. Never hesitate with me to speak plainly. I admire your courage. That is just what we want in the profession ; I will go away and let you work," and so he would retire, Harry hoped, for all day ; but such seldom proved to be the case ; for in an hour or two, and sometimes in a few minutes, he would be down upon the poor, perplexed young man again. "Excuse me," he would say, bursting in upon Harry, perhaps, when he would be talking to a witness, or even engaged in some more important business connected with the coming suit, "but I am so lonely up there, and I know of no place to go to pass away my time except to come and see you, my dear friend. But I will go right out again if you can't see me." Harry would, in his good nature, be obliged to allow him to stay often when he felt that the presence of the old lawyer was a positive detriment.

            Mr. Snakeweed appeared to take a great interest in Harry's prospects. Especially, he was sorry to see him working and spending his time and his money in so hopeless a cause as Mr. Graham's defence had now, in his judgment, become.

            "Believe me, my young friend, you are misapplying your talents. Graham will never come back here, and if he does the mine is not worth a broom straw, and he can't pay you if he

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wants to do so ever so much. I would not wonder," he continued, "if, at the bottom, the title of old Graham to the mine is the best title. But, Lord, what of that? Napoleon B. Spelter will beat you out of this case, when it comes to trial so easily that you will never know how it was done. He will, indeed, and you will not only get no money, but you will suffer in reputation. Believe me, my dear young friend," and here Mr. Snakeweed would seize Harry's hand and press it fervently, "that a young lawyer never gains anything by losing a suit, especially if is an important one. It is a bad start, Mr. Stacey, in a new country. People will naturally connect you with the defeat, and pass you by when they want counsel. 'He is a nice young fellow,' will be what they will say, 'but he is so unlucky.' To be unlucky is the worst reputation a young lawyer can have."

            "But it is not so bad as that of being dishonest, Mr. Snakeweed, I hope. For if I should abandon this suit, it would not be a proof of bad luck but of bad faith."

            "Not at all, Mr. Stacey. No man is bound to remain in a case where he is not paid for it, is he ?"

            "I don't know about that, Mr. Snakeweed ; under such circumstances there is always an honorable way out of it at least ; and that is surely not to throw it up in your client's absence and upon the eve of a trial."

            Mr. Snakeweed shook his head, squeezed Harry's hand, and sighed, "It was a pity, when there was so fine an opportunity to make money, to see a bright and hopeful youth throwing away his chances."

            All of this meant plainly enough, if Harry could have seen it, that he could get money to betray his client. But the young man would not see it. He fancied that he understood Mr. Snakeweed's manoeuvres, but he was resolved not to see anything disgraceful in his conduct till it was actually explained to him in direct words. This the old lawyer did not dare to do. There was a certain look in the young man's full, honest eye, that told him not to go too far. So, when almost at the point of disclosing what was in his mind, he always drew back, foiled by the armor of conscious purity that encased in triple plate the honest man.

            The morning of the trial Harry went into court with such preparation as he had made. Ordinarily it would have been deemed, if not enough, at least decently sufficient ; but this was based wholly upon the hypothesis that the witnesses who had been to Harry's office to converse with him, and who were

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subpoened, would tell the same stories in court that they had told him in his apartments. "But at least," he thought, "I shall be here to watch the case of the opposite party, and to take advantage of all short-comings on their part. I am for the the defence, and therefore am not called upon to offer any testimony until the claimants have established at least a prima facie case in their own favor."

            When the case was reached on the calendar, as Harry had expected, Mr. Napoleon B. Spelter rose in his place, and answered on behalf of the plaintiffs, that he was ready for trial.

            "Who appears for the defendant ?" demanded Judge Puffgall, who was on the bench.

            Harry stated that he did so, and that he had a motion to make for a continuance.

Then he read the affidavit upon which the motion was based. It had been made by himself, and was voluminous. It set forth the fact of the disappearance of Mr. Graham, and that his whereabouts was unknown to the affiant. It then showed the efforts that had been made to prepare for trial, aided by Mr. Enoch Bloodstone, the superintendent and general agent of Mr. Graham, and lastly, it declared, upon information and belief, that Mr. Bloodstone had conspired with the plaintiff to betray the interests of Mr. Graham, and mislead his attorney so as intentionally to prevent his making a defence. And further, that he (Mr. Bloodstone) had at the last moment wilfully absented himself from the Territory, acting, as affiant believed, in fraudulent collusion with the plaintiffs, and with the intention to aid them in obtaining an unjust judgment against defendant. It added that the affiant had good reason to believe, and did believe, that the defendant had a just defence to the claim of the plaintiffs, if he could have a fair trial, but that the fraudulent conspiracy of the plaintiffs would deprive him of it unless he could have a postponement of the trial to another terns of the court. Upon this he asked that the case go over.

            When Harry sat down, there was a silence for a moment, and a whispering among the lawyers on the opposite side. Harry had dealt a severe blow. They could, by the connivance of Judge Puffgall, force on the trial, but this point would necessarily become part of the record and be subject to review in a higher court at some future day. That they did not want. They liked to make clean work. Courts changed their character in so new a country almost quarterly, and nothing could be said

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to end litigation, but a judgment so free from error in the record that no change could affect it.

            After a hasty consultation, Mr. Spelter arose and opposed the motion, speaking, in a patronizing way, of the admirable zeal displayed by the young gentleman who had thrown himself into the breach to defend an absconding debtor who had fled from the post of duty. The obedient court made short work of the motion, and a jury was empanelled.

            From the very opening of the trial, the real issues were persistently ignored and passed out of sight, while all sorts of immaterial matters were lugged in to make the appearance of a trial, especially if they could in any manner prejudice the defendant's case. The plaintiffs' counsel, from the first, directed their energies to throw discredit upon the defendant ; using his extraordinary absence with great effect for that purpose. But they did not charge him with having fled for the purpose of defrauding his creditors, as they might have easily done. That was too common an offence in the country to create any strong impression. So they set to work to fix upon Mr. Graham the stigma of disloyalty to his country. That he had traitorously departed to the South to join the rebel army. Each witness had been drilled in advance to drop some suspicion or hint that the gentleman was at that moment with Jeff. Davis.

            When Harry would object, the unlawful question would invariably be withdrawn, but before the trial had gone far, it was quite evident that the loyalty of the defendant was the chief issue, if not directly, at least by implication. But so adroitly was it conducted that no advantage could be taken of it in a court of error. The witnesses knew their business so well that they could give their opinions without being asked for them.

            Harry now discovered that there was no help for this, and resolved to fight for time only. "'They will beat me," he said, "but I will give them all the trouble I can." As the witnesses were brought forward, he subjected them to a cross-examination that took up in each case several hours of time. But, though it was done by Harry chiefly for delay, it also resulted, in every instance, in showing the perjured character of the testimony. They were sifted till generally nothing was left of the original statements. Numerous appeals were made to the court to stop the cross-examination ; Mr. Spelter thought it was a frivolous expenditure of the court's time. The cue being once given from the chief, the retainer caught it up and echoed the cry. Mr. Calhoun Whiffit, spouted from Emmet's speech, that the court

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was being trifled with, and ended by fixing the time when he wanted his epitaph written. Then Mr. Cicero de Froth got the floor, and impeached the vexatious cross-examination, as well as the author of it, in the name of a list of powers and virtues more than ten times as lengthy as Burke had thought necessary to array against the Governor-General of India. Van Buren Waffle and Judge Skunkfoot, with the others, also joined in a general chorus, the burden of which was the loyalty of the defence to the Union cause, and a general attack all along the line upon Jeff. Davis and the rebellion, and the defendant, his and its chief supporter.

            When all were done, Judge Puffgall arose, and, after clearly defining his own position upon the politics of the day, stating that for devotion to his suffering country he gave place to no man, ancient or modern, living or dead, he paid a beautiful and glowing tribute to the gallantry and devotion of our soldiers in the field, which elicited a round of cheers from the jury and such witnesses as were in court, and then decided that the cross-examination must cease.

            Harry arose, and asked the court to give him time to draw a bill of exceptions.

            This was a stunner. It would make so ugly a record to go up for review to a higher, and what was worse, a future and, therefore, possibly an improved court, that even Napoleon B. Spelter did not care to have it to face. So he again came to his feet, and, after referring to the tactics of the defence, reminding him, as he said it did, so greatly of the policy of the infamous leaders of the present unholy and wicked rebellion in the field, one of the chief aids of which was the defendant, he proceeded to compare the conduct of Mr. Graham, in many respects, to that of Jeff. Davis; and closed by asking that the despicable conduct of the defence might be allowed to take its course upon the ground that the preparation of the bill of exceptions would consume more time than the cross-examination itself.

            The judge was, as usual, obedient, and the order was granted.

            In this manner three extra days were taken up. During the first one, Mr. George Washington Tack had taken his place in court as counsel for Mr. Bloodstone, and had offered to control the case. This he was about to be allowed to do, when Harry came out with his bill of exceptions, and Mr. Tack gradually lapsed into silence. The second day he did not make his ap-

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pearance. Mr. Snakeweed was not much in court. He was engaged in his usual outside duties of managing the witnesses, and also looking after the jurors. Though he could seldom see these gentlemen personally, yet each of them had a friend who was understood to be authorized to speak for them. These friends, or brokers, as ill-natured people called them, ordinarily required the utmost attention. But in the manner in which this suit was going on, an occasional word was thought to be all that was necessary. It was known that the defence intended using no money, for they had none to use. Such being the fact, all that was necessary for the plaintiffs' lawyers to do in managing the jury was to keep the brokers from seeing each other as much as possible till the trial was over. Had money been used on both sides, greater care would have been called for. The brokers, in such case, must have been prevented, as far as possible, from holding communication with anybody; for the most casual stranger who addressed them might be a lawyer's agent in disguise, coming with a bribe from the other side. But in this case, the defence not having money to use, the chief danger to the plaintiffs lay in combinations that might be got up amongst jurors. This was a species of peril from which no case could be wholly exempt, no matter how ably it was managed. There was danger even at the last moment, that the jury would make a "corner," as it was called. This they had been known to do in more than one case, even after a verdict had been agreed upon, but before it was announced. The method by which "corners" were made by the jury was this : Money being used on one side only it was natural that even that side would expend less than if both parties were bribing freely. This loss of course fell heavily upon the jurors ; and it was a loss with which they never willingly put up. In order to force out the full amount that ought in justice to come from a fat case, juries had been known to corner the bribing party by sending word, through some well-known and respectable jury-broker, that, unless a certain-named sum was at once deposited in a secure place for the jury, a verdict would be rendered in favor of the non-bribing party. And this threat once made was generally carried faithfully out in the interest of future profits, just as Italian and Greek brigands send faithfully the ears, the nose, or the head of a captive to his family when pledged to that course, for its effect upon the friends of future prisoners.

            The case of the Bosh Company v. Graham had now arrived at that point when it was deemed safe from everything except-

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ing some unexpected corner. A conspiracy in the jury might develop itself at any moment. Mr. Snakeweed, therefore, did not relax his exertions in the least. With his arm passed through that of General Skillet, the broker of Judge Puffgall, he walked up and down in front of the court-house door. This spot afforded him a commanding position, like the tower of Xerxes, from which he could survey the entire field. As he passed the door he could, by directing his eye into the courtroom, see the judge upon the bench, and occasionally throw him an approving and promising smile. The jury also could be watched, and even winked at ; while the witnesses were brought so completely under his control that nothing could be done by them without his knowledge. As the trial proceeded, faithful emissaries from Napoleon B. Spelter would come out at every stage to report to the outside manager, Mr. Snake-weed. At one moment it would be Mr. Van Buren Waffle, at another Judge Skunkfoot would rush over with a word of warning or advice from the great man to his illustrious subordinate.

            After the first day, George Washington Tack threw off all disguise, and returned boldly to the enemy's camp. He was at once put into service in carrying messages, and watching and drilling witnesses. He also, was required to overlook the jury-brokers, and to give warning of any attempted sedition that at any moment might break out and extend to the jury itself. Calhoun Whiffit and Cicero de Froth were kept constantly at the great man's elbow. Their duty it was to do the noisy work ; to keep up a constant fire of small arms, as it was called. This was done by clamorous patriotism and loud shouts of loyalty to the Union, varied by abuse of the rebellion and Jeff. Davis, and generally to cover up and hide from view as much as possible the real issues in the controversy.

            Although the verdict was from the first a foregone conclusion, still it was necessary to furnish the jury with as reasonable a pretext as possible for doing that which they were paid to do. The management of Mr. Snakeweed was most masterly indeed. All agreed that nothing like it had been seen. Every director and superintendent who looked on at the trial secretly resolved to secure his valuable services in future in all cases in which they were interested. Wherever he went he walked arm-and-arm with General Skillet, thus holding Judge Puffgall in complete control ; while his adroitness in driving before him the whole flock of jury-brokers and witnesses, so as to

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prevent even the budding of incipient conspiracy or sedition, was positively amazing.

            "Napoleon B. Spelter must look to his laurels," whispered the admiring crowd of superintendents and directors ; and when it was known that, at night, Mr. Melchisedec Snakeweed actually slept in the same bed with Judge Puffgall, while General Skillet, his broker, lay on a shake-down in a corner of the same room, the door of which was locked on the outside and the key in the possession of Napoleon B. Spelter, even the doubtful ones came finally over, and declared that the great leader of the Washoe bar himself could not have excelled this wonderful, this unparalleled forensic achievement, the credit of which was by all given to its inventor, the veteran San Francisco lawyer. His arrangements for holding the jury and the witnesses were equally admirable. Usually it had been thought sufficient to trust that body in the custody of a deputy-sheriff, But it was known that many splendid schemes had in this manner been marred. Mr. Snakeweed managed it better. He locked the whole party, jury and sheriff, in a secure room, and put them in charge of Judge Skunkfoot and Mr. Waffle. The witnesses he carefully imprisoned in the custody of Mr. Tack, while the "jury-brokers" were sifted out and put in a double row of cots, at safe distances apart, in a large open room like an hospital. Here they lay upon their backs like so many green turtles, in two long rows, between which there was a passage-way. These gentlemen were induced to submit to this measure of precaution by an addition of ten per cent. to the sums already agreed to be paid them, and it was cited as another evidence of the sagacity and foresight of Mr. Snakeweed, that it was made part of the bargain that any broker being known to speak during the night to another upon any pretence whatever, should forthwith be bucked and gagged, and even the ten per cent. of extraordinary compensation was in such case to be forfeited. This apartment was placed in charge of Messrs. Whiffit and De Froth, with an efficient corps of assistants, who, dividing themselves into patrols of two hours in length, walked up and down the whole night, at intervals of thirty seconds, between the rows of recumbent brokers.

            On the third day, Mr. Napoleon B. Spelter announced with great flourish that the case of his patriotic clients, the shareholders in the Bosh Company, many of whom were at that very moment absent from the Territory fighting, and perhaps dying, upon the tented field in their bleeding country's cause,

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was now gloriously closed. If the cohorts of treason and rebellion, as represented by the absentee, Edmond Graham, who, he would add, was so anxious to be with his friends the rebels, that he could not remain in the Territory long enough to be present at the trial, and who, at that moment, was, no doubt, marching beneath the hateful folds of the Southern rag — if that rebel crew, he said, had any testimony which their brazen effrontery would enable them to put before an intelligent, a loyal and Union-loving jury like the one before them, now was the time for the dastard gang to come forward and submit to the scorn of honest American citizens.

            The jury acknowledged this graceful tribute to their patriotism by rising from their places and cheering vociferously.

            When they were done, and had resumed their seats, Judge Puffgall, standing up, took occasion to gently rebuke the unseemly practice of applauding in court, a custom, which, he said, had obtained of late, and which was always "more honored in the breach than in the observance." But, he continued to say, that, while he felt called upon to reprove the demonstration which had just undergone his reprobation, he did not wish to be understood as in any manner censuring the noble and glorious sentiments of patriotism and devotion to the Union which had called that demonstration forth. For his part, while as judge upon the bench, he felt the weight of his high function urging him to control such proceedings, and to restrain all such outbursts of feeling, yet he could not say that had he been in the jury-box as a private citizen, instead of in so high and responsible an office, that he might not have forgotten the juror in the patriot, and given vent to his overflowing enthusiasm for his bleeding country, as these worthy gentlemen had done. That upon the question of love for the glorious Union, as transmitted to us from the Father of the Republic, he, Judge Puffgall, would give place to no man. "If, standing ever ready to defend my country," said the judge, in a final burst of eloquence, " with the last drop of blood that courses in these veins be patriotism, then, gentlemen, I am indeed as good a patriot as the best in the land !"

            When the judge resumed his seat, the applause which rang out in the justice hall was positively deafening, and it continued till the judge had risen again and again to bow his thanks before the cheers of his admirers.

            Harry, when order was restored, asked the sheriff to call his first witness. But now he discovered the effect of the zeal

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of the other side upon his case ; not a witness answered to his name. More than twenty names were called, one after another, but not one came into court.

            Harry asked for attachments, and they were issued and given to the sheriff. But though a delay of two hours was in this manner obtained, so that evening was drawing on, all efforts to find the fugitives were unavailing. The sheriff reported that no such persons as those named in the papers given him could be found or heard of. He believed they were fictitious names, and that no such individuals existed in the Territory. Harry asked for further time and filed an affidavit, setting forth the facts ; but Judge Puffgall, on motion of Napoleon B. Spelter, overruled all of his motions, and forced the matter forward.

            "The case cannot go to the jury to-night, in view of the lateness of the hour," said the judge, "but the arguments of counsel can be commenced, and thus some time may be saved."

 

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CHAPTER LVII.

NAPOLEON B. SPELTER ON THE WAR PATH.

            HARRY asked that his objections be noted to the ruling of the court, and sat down. This was done, though reluctantly, by Judge Puffgall. Falsification of records is a common trick, not only of dishonest judges, but of another kind, namely, that large class of self opinionated men who sit upon the bench as partizans of their own judgments. To such judges, the reversal of a judgment is such a blow to their self love, that they will resort to all sorts of shifts to prevent it. They will often bolster up a, perhaps, well meant mistake, by disputing the facts upon which its reversal depends. When the trial is over, they will deny that the ruling charged as error was ever made ; by this, they make a false or insufficient record which does for their mistakes what the grave does for the blunders of the quack,—it covers them.

            Harry had heard of this custom, and insisted upon having

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the matter settled by a bill of exceptions, signed on the spot. He would unquestionably have failed, but for the fortunate circumstance that he at last found some friends in court.

            The trial that had been going on for three days, had at last attracted general public attention. The array of well-known counsel all pitted against a stranger, especially so young a man, had been at last observed by several lawyers of a different class from the adherents of Mr. Napoleon B. Spelter.

            General Williams, in passing, had looked into the court from day to day, and so had Mr. Covington, as well as Judge Burden, and others.

            The second day of the trial, some especially outrageous conduct of Judge Puffgall had attracted the attention of these gentlemen. They had, in the indignation that lawyers of integrity always feel at any sort of scandalous conduct in court, resented the wrong. General Williams, without hesitation, took a seat by the side of the young counsellor, and by his presence protected him in a great measure from insult and oppression. Indeed, once he rose in his place and rebuked the court for its conduct.

            "As a member of the bar, as a citizen of the Territory, as an honest man," so he said, he protested against such proceedings.

            But such is the overwhelming power of a just cause, that instead of punishing the conduct of the enraged gentleman as a contempt of the tribunal, in the sight of which it was committed, the judge accepted the rebuke, and apologized to indignant decency standing proudly before it in the person of General Williams.

            From this time forward, though it was clear that the judgment was to be against the defendant, yet his counsel was at least treated with respect and civility.

            Harry's protest against being forced to trial was duly noted, and the argument commenced. The plaintiffs having the affirmative of the issue, were entitled to open and close the argument.

            It was determined that the court would rise for a recess of a half hour for refreshments, and that then the summing up for the plaintiffs should commence by the speech of Mr. Whiffit, to be followed by Messrs. De Froth, Waffle, and Skunkfoot ; then the argument of the defendant was to be made, after which the great man, Napoleon B. Spelter, would close.

            The coming election had now drawn so near, that every

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opportunity for "tall talk" must be seized upon. Eloquence was boiling over and running away on all sides.

            During the adjournment, the plaintiffs' counsel made their preparation for the argument. Porters came in laden with books and spread them out before the lawyers. Mr. Whiffit, who was to begin, remained in his place, deeply immersed in the pages of a work on eloquence called "The Orator's own Book." It was open at the speech of the Irish martyr, Robert Emmet. While Mr. De Froth was occupied with the oration of Burke at Hastings' trial, Napoleon B. Spelter, whose talent was of a broader range, had piled up before him, not only the works of Patrick Henry, Daniel Webster, and Henry Clay, but also the entire speeches of those ancient orators, Cicero and Demosthenes, bound in a single volume. Besides these, he had of "English, Scotch, and Irish Eloquence," a folio in which was collated in an abridged form, nearly all the brilliant orations ever made in those countries. Then he had the first volume of the Rebellion Record, which contained the history of the war for succession as far as it had progressed at that time. And also the Life of Jeff. Davis, down to his election to the Presidency of the Southern Confederacy.

            When the court had resumed its sitting, Mr. Whiffit arose, and running his hand through his hair, commenced his argument.

            He began by tracing a history of the rebellion, not merely from the enactment of the ordinances of secession, but going back to the commencement of the administration of Mr. Buchanan, and showing the effect of that President's policy in Kansas. This done, he advanced a step further, and spoke of the conspiracy hatched among the Southern leaders to dismember the country ; and at last brought it down to the wicked act of firing upon Fort Sumter.

            Up to that part of his speech, he had not referred in any manner to his own career. But now the central figure of his argument became Mr. Calhoun Whiffit, and the chief matter, his position during the war. From that day that the flag was stricken down by treason, he had, he said, devoted himself to his country's cause.

            Harry arose, and interrupted him by asking the court to confine the learned gentleman to the issues that were before the jury.

            "Issues before the jury !" screamed Mr. Whiffit, without waiting for the judgment of the court upon Harry's motion.

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"Are not these issues before the jury ? Is not this a jury of free men ? Is not this a jury of American citizens ? Is not this a jury of loyal Union men ? Or is it a nest of spiders, hatched from the cockatrice's eggs of treason ? "

            At the close of this splendid burst of invective, the jury applauded so loudly, that Judge Puffgall, when they had finished, felt called upon to ask them to discontinue such unseemly, though natural and patriotic conduct.

            "I feel a great delicacy, gentlemen," said the learned judge, "in asking you to forget that you are Americans and Union men, at a time when I so much doubt whether I should myself be able to do so, were I in your situation ; yet, gentlemen, my position requires me to restrain your patriotism within bounds, and I hope you will desist as soon as you can do so, without too great violence to your own patriotic and Union-loving natures, from a course so open to objection."

            Mr. Whiffit now resumed his argument. Up to this point he had refrained from using any part of Robert Emmet's dying speech. But now he commenced at the beginning of that splendid oration, and went through with it, step by step, and sentence by sentence, scarcely even omitting the interruptions of the dying patriot by Lord Norbury. He, however, very adroitly changed it, so as to fit the beautiful oration of the dying patriot and ancient Fenian to the peculiar circumstances of the Southern rebellion, and the evidently active part that the absent defendant was at that moment taking in the wicked struggle of treason to overthrow our country. At last, he wound up with an apostrophe to the Star Spangled Banner, expressing a hope that it might be restored to its proud position upon every inch of soil over which it had ever been planted, to be no more touched by the hand of dastard rebels. This said, and looking with the fierce gaze of an eagle upon the jury before him, he closed with the beautiful peroration of the gifted Dublin Fenian : "Then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. My Lord, I am done."

            When Mr. Whiffit sat down, the burst of applause that followed was so spontaneous and so terrific that even Judge Puffgall made no effort to restrain it.

            In an instant Mr. Cicero de Froth was upon his feet. That gentleman had with difficulty been kept down until his associate was done speaking. Without a moment's hesitation, he commenced an impeachment of everybody he could think of

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in the world, in the name of all the things that came to his mind.

            He impeached Jeff. Davis for commencing the war, and he impeached Mr. Graham for going away to assist him in carrying it on. This in the name, not only of the whole American people, but as well in the name of the Washoe bench and bar.

            His oration was so diffuse that few could imagine just what he was driving at. It was like a revolving fowling-piece that fired away in every direction, throwing the smallest kind of shot, and peppering anything that came in range, without much order or system.

            One moment he was talking about the injustice of allowing a fugitive rebel, like Mr. Graham, to run away and join the Southern Confederacy.

            Here Harry interrupted the speaker, by rising and protesting against such a line of argument. Not only Mr. Graham had not gone away for such a purpose, but, if it were necessary, it could easily be proved that he had no sympathy in common with the rebellion whatever, nor had his counsel. But, inasmuch as the questions were immaterial, he protested against their being lugged into the case.

            "Then why has it not been proved, gentlemen of the jury ? The fact that it has not been proved is, alone, prima fade evidence that the defendant has departed for that purpose, and for no other."

            He, Mr. Cicero de Froth, would appeal to the patriotism of that jury ; he would appeal to the love of country known to exist in the breast of his honor, upon the bench, if the question was not a material, a vital one. "Then why not furnish evidence upon the point ? Because it could not be furnished, gentlemen of the jury ; because they had no such testimony, your Honor ; because, in short, the defendant is, at this moment, fighting in the ranks of the Southern Confederacy, to destroy the government that has cherished him from his childhood, and whose bounty, in these mines, he has so long fraudulently endeavored to wrest from my loyal and patriotic clients, the stockholders of the Bosh Company. Such being the fact, gentlemen of the jury, I impeach Edmond Graham, the defendant, in the name of that country he has so foully endeavored to destroy. I impeach him in the name of our gallant soldiers in the field, whose patriotic labors and glorious deeds he has tried to circumvent and neu-

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       527

tralize. I impeach him in the name of the fathers of this glorious Republic, in the name of Washington, of Jefferson, and of Jackson, whose honored names he has brought into contempt. I impeach him in the name of you, gentlemen of the jury, whose firesides he has endeavored to render desolate, and whose children he has attempted to bring to want. And, lastly, I impeach him in the name of his Honor, Judge Puffgall, whose judicial ermine he would have sullied had he been able to compass that infamous end."

            This peroration none exactly understood ; but all were satisfied that some very terrible attempt had been made by the absconding defendant upon both judge and jury, and Mr. De Froth sat down amidst deafening signs of approbation.

            At this point the hour for dinner had arrived, and, accordingly, the sheriff announced that the court would stand adjourned till the next morning at ten o'clock.

            In the evening Harry had an interview with General Williams, and a few gentlemen of the bar who sympathized with him. All agreed that no effort should be made in the way of influencing the jury.

            "Nothing that you can say to them," said the General, as well as Mr. Covington, "will avail you in the least. Take care that the record is properly made up, and make your fight at some future time and in another court, if it is ever deemed advisable to make another struggle."

            In the morning when the court met, Harry announced that he should make no address to the jury, but would submit the cause without argument.

            But it was not to close in this way. Mr. Napoleon B. Spelter, under the rule agreed upon in the beginning, was entitled to close, and he claimed the right to do so. The election about to be held was important.  He was known to be a prominent candidate for a certain very high office. His reputation as an orator was, therefore, at that moment, very important to him. The court-room was full of politicians, and no such opportunity for talking buncombe would again present itself before the election day. He had been at work the whole night in preparing his address, which was intended to produce an immense political effect outside of the court, and the preparation must not be lost. It was to be a grand field-day for " tall talk," and his admirers had all gathered in to hear the great man. He stood up, and, running his hand through his flowing beard, divided it into three long black points ; then he did the same

528      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

with his hair, so that he resembled the figure of what we may conceive to be a Hindoo idol, supposing the idol to have been called out of bed at an unusually early hour in the morning, and before his toilet was made. Being at last satisfied with his personal appearance, and casting his eyes over the bar and seeing that there was a sufficient collection of his political adherents present, he opened his mouth and let the "tall talk " come.

            As usual with him, when intending to make one of his most masterly efforts, he began his oration in a very low and subdued voice, reciting this time from the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief.

            After having set forth the good will that he had once borne towards his brethren, the pale-faces, he briefly alluded to the grievances which he had suffered in his family and his tribe at the hands of a certain Colonel Jessup, who had, at some time during the previous winter, in the most unprovoked and cold-blooded manner, directed a volley of small arms into a boat ; though where this boat was situated at the time, he omitted to mention. But the jury, who were deeply interested in this statement, were understood to infer that it was, when the disastrous event occurred, either at sea or upon some of our great lakes. But however that may have been, certain it was that the speaker's family were in the boat at the tune, and were cut off, to a papoose.

            The court and jury, of course, understood this speech to be allegorical, and that the Colonel Jessup referred to was only another name for the defendant, Graham ; while the slaughtered braves, squaws, and papooses were typical of the unfortunate shareholders of the Bosh Silver Mining Company, who had suffered by Mr. Graham's wanton seizure of the mine.

            Here Mr. Spelter paused, overcome by his emotion. Judge Puffgall actually blubbered on the bench, as did the jury in the box, almost to a man. The crowd of witnesses and jury-brokers, who had been released from confinement at an early hour and permitted to go at large, were listeners behind the bar. These gentlemen, filled with grief at the calamity which had befallen Mr. Spelter in the destruction of his tribe, and anxious to inform him of their presence and sympathy, now filled the air with their lamentations. So boisterous was their grief that Mr. Spelter was forced to turn and recognize the presence of the sympathetic brokers, which he did with a graceful bow, at the same time smiling benignantly through his tears. Having ob-

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       529

tained a silence which was only broken by an occasional sob from Judge Puffgall, Mr. Spelter proceeded, but in a more animated manner, to specify the various effects upon himself, the sole surviving Mingo of this unjustifiable conduct of the palefaces. He was, he said, and he avowed it with a noble pride, no longer the friend of the white man. Upon that black day his blood had turned to gall, and his heart had become a solid stone. Thirsting for vengeance, he had gone forth upon the war-path. At this point, his voice, which began so low that the jury-brokers outside the bar could not hear it distinctly, had now become so tremendous that Mr. Snakeweed and General Skillet, who were still locked in Judge Puffgall's room, two blocks away, could plainly hear every word of the discourse. It was indeed "tall talk." Turning to the jury, he asked them a question, but which they all understood was not to be answered.

            "Does a drop of the blood of Logan flow in the veins of any living creature ?"

            Receiving no response from the jury, he turned and put the same question, in a more solemn manner, to the crowd of jury-brokers beyond the bar. Again he was not answered. No one appeared to be able to determine precisely where the learned gentleman's blood did flow. After waiting a reasonable time, he addressed the judge upon the bench in a guttural tone, supposed to assimilate as much as possible the voice of the red man when upon the war path,—

            "Does a drop of the blood of Logan flow in the veins of any living creature ? "

            While he paused to give time for his Honor, Judge Puffgall, to consider the question, the silence was so marked that a pin might have been heard to fall. But even the learned judge looked perplexed, and did not know what the fact might be. At last, the orator let his voice slowly down into the lowest part of his chest, and answered the question himself as he had intended to do from the first.

            "No, not one," he said, covering his face with his hands, in a violent burst of uncontrollable emotion.

            The applause spread throughout the court-room, and was taken up by the crowd of witnesses outside the door. When silence was once more restored, Mr. Spelter spoke of the unparalleled effrontery of the defendant and his counsel, in attempting to make any defence to this righteous action. He was amazed, he said, and here he branched off upon the reply of

530      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

Lord Thurlow to the Duke of Grafton, treating Harry as he sat at the table as if he were the noble duke who had flung a sneer at the great law-lord. There happened to be two Irishmen on the jury who were to have something done for them ; so Mr. Spelter, as soon as he had finished Lord Thurlow's famous speech, turned to these Fenians, and pronounced a beautiful eulogy upon Ireland, taken from Curran's orations. Having paid a feeling and eloquent tribute to that oppressed land, he very properly followed it up by the usual attack on the British lion. But this action was short, sharp, and decisive. The unfortunate beast had already been so severely handled by Napoleon B. Spelter on former occasions, that he appeared to know his fate from the first, and only sought to escape his outrageous fury. It was the old story of Van Amburg and his pets over again. The animal knew the rod of the master, and, with his tail between his legs, he ignominiously fled. But his attempt to find a place of security upon the American continent was utterly vain. The brilliant orator pursued the cringing brute furiously over the land and from end to end ; and, when at last it took to the waters, as it did when driven in triumph to the stormy point of land that juts out into the Antarctic seas, Napoleon B. Spelter, without hesitation, plunged in and still drove it swimming before him ; nor did he give it any sort of rest until, whining and whipped, it was glad to take a doubtful refuge amidst the icebergs that float about the south pole. The continent being now free from the tread of foreign foes, Mr. Spelter turned his attention to domestic politics. Having first put his own character for patriotism and loyalty in a shining position, he commenced work in destroying the enemy. This was quite relevant to the issues, so he declared ; for the defendant was known to have fled to the South, where at this moment he was rioting in the luxury of Jeff. Davis' camp. From this time forward the orator devoted himself to suppressing the rebellion. The force of politicians had largely increased in the court-room, and the next election was alone thought of. His speech was composed of quotations from Webster's reply to Colonel Hayne, Benton's speeches against Calhoun, and selections from the Rebellion Record. Having established his eloquence and loyalty sufficiently for the time, the great man closed by a beautiful and eloquent appeal to his audience in favor of active operations against the rebel forces in the field.

            We cannot transcribe Mr. Spelter's peroration literally ; but he stated in substance that his voice was still for war. He then

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       531

inquired, in the name of the gods, if a Washoe jury could long debate which of the two to choose, slavery or death? He invoked the shades of departed heroes of the past, and, amongst other things, remarked that great Pompey's ghost had been heard to complain of the tardy actions of some one — though whether the court, the jury, or the witnesses and jury-brokers beyond the bar, was not clearly indicated. The peroration, however, being generally understood as merely typical of the speaker's personal views, thrown out to influence the approaching election, no one cared to make any special inquiry upon the point. Then he closed and sat down amidst a storm of applause, in which even the judge was forced, by his natural enthusiasm, to join. After Mr. Spelter resumed his seat, his emotion was, for some time, so great as to oblige him to sit with his head thrown forward upon the table and his face resting in his handkerchief. There was a profound silence in court during this time, interrupted by occasional whispers between jurors in the box, expressing their admiration of the brilliant forensic effort they had just heard. It was admitted by all in the courtroom that the jury would not retire to consider of the verdict in so plain a case, but would unquestionably find for the plaintiffs without leaving the box. When Mr. Spelter appeared to be sufficiently composed to attend to what was going on about him, the judge arose to deliver his charge to the jury.

            He warned them against allowing any unlawful testimony or irrelevant arguments to influence them in their decision. They must, on entering the jury box, lay aside all prejudice and bias of every nature. They must bear in mind that neither the political opinions of the defendant, nor his conduct in joining the rebellion could have any bearing upon the law of the case. That all such testimony was wholly irrelevant, and must not be taken into account. "Difficult as it may be, gentlemen of the jury, to lay aside those noble instincts of patriotism which have ever characterized, and I trust may ever continue to mark, the Washoe jury ; still, gentlemen, it becomes your duty, for the moment, to forget them all, and to consider of your verdict unbiased by them. You must, in short, gentlemen, endeavor, as far as possible, to sink the patriot in the citizen, and, difficult as it may seem, to forget your country's wrongs till you shall have discharged the duty of jurors."

            This done, the judge proceeded again to clear his own character from any imputations of disloyalty to the Union, which

532      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

might by malignant persons be thrown upon it, and to declare his unalterable devotion to the country which had given him birth. He repeated again and again his readiness to pour out the last drop of his blood for the cause of the Union, and hoped the jury would do the same thing if ever a reasonable opportunity to do so should present itself. He stopped a moment at this point to wait for applause, but was disappointed. The jury did not seem quite so anxious to perish for their country's sake as did the patriotic judge. Having again advised them against everything like political or party prejudice, he called for the sheriff to take them in charge while they should consider of their verdict.

            While Judge Puffgall had been engaged in delivering his charge to the jury, there had been a sensation in the court that that functionary had not observed. Almost at the moment that the judge rose up to commence, two gentlemen, well-known to almost everybody in the court-room, had created a stir by walking in at the front door, arm-in-arm, and making their way to the side of Napoleon B. Spelter. One of the gentlemen proved to be Mr. Enoch Bloodstone, the superintendent of Mr. Graham's mine, while the other was Mr. Marvin Withergreen, president of the Pactolus Company.

            The absence of Mr. Bloodstone had been remarked and commented upon from the first by the public in general. Besides the charge which Mr. Graham's lawyer had made against him, early in the action, of bad faith towards his principal, all tended to make his arrival at this moment a matter of remark, even to the general public, who knew nothing of the secret history of the suit. But many of the audience, composed as it was so largely of professional jurors, professional witnesses, and brokers, understood from the first that the absence of Mr. Bloodstone was intentional and that it was to continue till the trial was finished. These, therefore, were greatly surprised at the unexpected appearance of the superintendent and his friend. All eyes were fixed upon the new corners, as if wondering what new move was on the board. The jury stood up in their places to look ; the lawyers turned and faced the door ; the great crowd of brokers outside the bar jostled each other, and those behind climbed upon the benches and chairs to look over the others' heads at the two gentlemen who had arrived so unexpectedly.

            It was observed by many that close behind Mr. Marvin Withergreen and Mr. Enoch Bloodstone strode the tall form of Robert Greathouse, still walking erect with his hands buried

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       533

deep in the pockets of his sack-coat, as was his custom. With him was the tall, shambling, dusty form of Joseph Bowers, formerly of Calumet Creek, the gentleman who drove oxen for a livelihood.

            Bloodstone and Withergreen at once, took seats by the side of Napoleon B. Spelter, and held a conversation with him in a voice sufficiently low not to be overheard. At the end of five minutes Mr. Spelter arose and addressed the court.

            An unexpected event had occurred, so he said, that changed the state of affairs so effectually that the trial ought not, in his judgment, to go any further. This event was the unexpected arrival of the defendant, Mr. Graham, into the Territory, of which he had just been informed. The known character of the court for integrity required that a new trial, under the circumstances, at least, ought to be given to the defendant. "He has, as we are informed," continued Mr. Spelter, "returned to his family. The domestic afflictions which have come upon Mr. Graham, entitle him to the sympathy of all ; and we feel that we owe to him that he shall have a day in court. As the case now stands," he said, "I am satisfied that we must win a verdict. But the honor of the Washoe bar and bench, which up to this moment has remained without a blemish or a stain, demands that we shall not avail ourselves of an advantage which may prove to have come to us through the misfortunes of the defendant. We scorn to win a judgment in favor of our client unless we win it justly and fairly. I, therefore, will move, the court considering the extraordinary circumstances that has arisen, that we be permitted to withdraw a juror and to accept a mis-trial without prejudice to our future course."

            Harry consented to this extraordinary step which had burst upon him like a thunderclap, and in five minutes the jury was discharged and the court adjourned. The great trial of the Bosh Company versus Graham was brought to a sudden and unexpected end.

534      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

 

 

CHAPTER LVIII.

HOME AGAIN.

            HELEN was not left long alone. After the departure of Greathouse, and during the first days of the trial, Blanche McIver returned again to visit her friend. She arrived the morning after Greathouse went away to, as he said, serve his writ of habeas corpus, and found Helen in bed with a fever. But her presence was almost alone enough to restore the invalid to health, and with nursing and kind words the young lady was able to rise the following morning. Blanche had come with still more powerful arguments than ever to induce the orphan to accompany her home, but all in vain.

            "I am glad to see you, dear Blanche," she said ; "so glad, that I am not sure that I have acknowledged all when I say that perhaps you have saved my life. But you will send me to bed again if you urge me to violate my duty, so clearly as I feel that I would do in leaving the place before I have found my father. Don't talk about it, dear Blanche, if you love me."

            This injunction was quite enough for Blanche.

            "I shall say no more," she said; " but I shall be obliged to remain with you. I cannot go away again and leave you alone to die, as I am sure you will if you mope in this way."

            Failing to induce Helen to go home with her, Blanche's next effort was tried to get her friend to go out and take the air. But even this she could not find the courage to do. She declared that she could not leave the room.

            "Very well," said Blanche, " if you will not go out, then I will not."

            But on the fourth morning, an event happened that changed suddenly all their plans. They had risen, and were dressed in morning costume, waiting for breakfast to be brought up, when the door opened, and Jack Gowdy walked in, looking very rough and uncouth even for that wild fellow. Jack was always welcome at No. 16, and having been away for a four days' journey, during which it was known to the young ladies that he had been to California, his arrival was an event. Blanche, who

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       535

had already become a great partisan of Jack's, ran to shake hands with him.

            "How do you do, 'Old Hoss' ?" she cried, falling at once into the language most easily understood by the stage-driver, "I am so glad to see you."

            Jack took her hand, but did not appear to be quite equal to the occasion. He regarded the two young ladies with a confused look.

            "What is the matter, Jack ?" demanded Blanche, observing at a glance that something unusual had occurred to so disturb the stage-driver's manner, "You look like a 'biled owl.' What has gone wrong with you ?"

            Helen now arose and came forward.

            "Good morning, Mr. Gowdy," she said, kindly, as she always addressed Jack, "I hope you are quite well ?"

            "Yes, miss ; quite well," he stammered, " but I have something to say to you."

            "To say to me," cried Helen, turning pale. "Is it about my father, Jack ? Have you heard of him ? Tell me, is he well ?"

            "He is well, miss," said Jack, "I have heard of him. We know where he is, and he is well."

            Blanche had already caught Helen in her arms as she sank down, but it was but a passing weakness, and in a moment she was plying Jack with more questions.

            "Where is he ? How did you hear of him ? Will he be here soon?"

            All these demands crowded after each other so rapidly, that Jack could not find words to answer.

            Observing this fact, Helen paused to wait for him.

            "He is well, miss ; he will be at home soon. Very soon. I have seen him myself."

            "Then he is here now," cried Helen, rushing to the door.

            But before she could reach it she was folded to her father's breast. He had been waiting in the hall till his daughter could be prepared by Jack for the surprise.

            Mr. Graham being quite taken up with the greetings of Helen, there was nothing for Blanche to do but to bestow her congratulations upon the stage driver, which she did with a hearty good will, hugging and kissing Jack till he was ready to retreat from the room for protection.

            Mr. Graham and Helen withdrew to another room, and his story was soon told to her.

            On the Sunday that he had left the house for a walk, he

536      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

had, as the reader will recollect, descended into the mine, following the party with Mr. Bloodstone, which he had accidentally seen descending. After searching about the dark labyrinths of the fourth level for some time, he at last came upon the party all in a group. They were engaged in examining the rock in the wall of one of the chambers. As he entered the place he learned by their remarks, as well as the specimens of rock they had in their hands, and which they were testing with pocket instruments, that they had discovered silver ore. Without hesitation he had approached and addressed them, and with his lamp examined the silver ore that sparkled and glistened in the light in every direction around them. He was in the midst of a cavern filled with treasure of almost fabulous value. But his amazement was scarcely at an end when the manner of his companions filled him with alarm. He saw almost at a glance that his arrival had not been expected, and that he was in the midst of a hostile gang of desperate robbers, ready to take his life. He was not long kept in suspense as to their designs. They told him at once that he was a prisoner. The villains made no pretence of concealing their schemes. They had been for a long time plotting to obtain this treasure, and did not, so they said, intend to allow it to slip through their fingers at this late hour. Bloodstone had but little to say, but the other employees of Mr. Graham boldly proposed his immediate murder, and, but for Marvin Withergreen, would have carried their horrid project at once into execution. That gentleman objected to what he declared was not only an unnecessary, but a dangerous act.

            "We can obtain our prize, gentlemen, much more easily," he said, "by holding him a prisoner with the power of life or death over him, than we can by staining our hands by a useless murder. That once done cannot be undone," he argued. "If we take his life, we place ourselves directly in the power of any one of the company who in anger at the rest, or upon a deathbed contrition, chooses to declare the deed. If we keep him here alive, we have the whole gains in our own hands. Mr. Bloodstone is engaged to marry his daughter. The wedding is to take place to-morrow. That once accomplished, we have such a hold upon Mr. Graham, through his family, that we can force a fair division of the profits. There is enough of it to make us all rich beyond computation. And even if we keep this gentleman a prisoner for a few months, he will, when set at liberty never take proceedings against his own son-in-law. He will

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       537

not allow such a disgrace to come upon his family. I tell you, gentlemen," argued Mr. Withergreen, "we have him here and no one can find him. We will say that he has fled from the country to avoid his creditors. We can at any time kill him if it becomes necessary to do so. But once dead, unless the killing is for some good purpose hereafter, you will have done a needlessly dangerous act, that puts each of us in the power of the others till the end of his life. Believe me, it will be time enough to kill him when we find that we cannot get the treasure in any other way."

            Mr. Graham was obliged to stand in a corner of the chamber and hear, from beginning to end, this cold-blooded discussion, in which he was so deeply concerned.

            Mr. Withergreen's counsel prevailed. The others were satisfied to allow the proprietor to live, at least for a time, but he observed that Bloodstone appeared to have no sort of courage, either for good or evil. When the argument for immediate murder seemed the most powerful and likely to prevail, the superintendent stood in speechless acquiescence. When gentler and more prudent counsels were in the ascendency, he showed no signs of approbation or displeasure.

            After two or three hours of bold discussion, during which, more than once, Mr. Graham's days had appeared to be already numbered, the conspirators withdrew and left him in the mine.

            After several hours of absence, his watch indicating eleven o'clock at night, three of them returned, with Bloodstone at their head. They brought with them a straw mattress and some blankets for the prisoner's bed, and also food, drink, and a supply of lights.

            Mr. Graham breathed more freely. " At least," he thought, " I have a respite and am not to be at once murdered."

            But Bloodstone had also brought with him writing materials. This he put before the prisoner and coldly told him to "write a letter to his family, to the effect that he had fled to Salt Lake, because of his financial difficulties, and would be gone for several weeks."

            This Mr. Graham declined to do.

            "It may cost you your life, Mr. Graham, if you do not." To this the prisoner did not condescend a reply.

            After a time Bloodstone resumed the attack. "Write to your daughter, requesting her to go on with the marriage ceremony to-morrow, notwithstanding your absence, and when we

538      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

are married, Mr. Graham, on my honor you shall be set at liberty."

            To this Mr. Graham made such a reply as let us hope any father would have made.

            "I would rather die here than have my daughter marry you." Again was his life threatened, but he scorned to reply to the threat. At last, however, he spoke.

            "I have reason to fear, Mr. Bloodstone, that you have obtained my daughter's love. If she consents to marry you of her own accord while I am detained here, I will promise upon my liberation to withdraw myself from the country, surrendering all claim to the mine, and will never tell of your treatment of me. I will do this for my daughter's sake, if she becomes your wife. But to influence her before she takes that step, never will I do it, not even to save my life. If she loves you, as I fear she does, she will believe your story and marry you; and from that moment you have nothing more to fear from her father."

            The party withdrew, leaving the prisoner alone. From that time there was but little variety to his life. Twice more Bloodstone visited him, and tried to shake his resolution about advising the marriage. These visits brought joy to the father's heart, for they told him that the daughter had not tied herself in marriage to this monster. He now rejected, with even greater scorn than ever, the liberty offered him upon such hideous terms. For the last four days he had been left entirely alone. Not even the daily visits of the watchman to fetch him food had been made, and his supplies were nearly exhausted, —water he could find trickling down the sides of the mine, but he had already suspected that he was left to slowly perish from hunger, — when, one morning, as his watch informed him, for in the mine night and day were alike, he was startled from his fitful slumbers by the arrival of a party of men in the chamber where he slept. His first impression was that his last hour had come. He knew that it was an extraordinary time for people to be visiting the mine when all above ground were sleeping. The sight of Bloodstone, Withergreen, and a third large and powerful man, who proved to be Bob Greathouse, the murderer, added to his fears. "They have chosen the night to finish the crime already so nearly consummated. Greathouse, the murderer, will only add one more to a list of his victims." But the kind voice of the supposed murderer, in an instant reassured him. "No man," thought the prisoner, "can address such sympathetic tones to one whom he intends to murder." Another glance showed him

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       539

the hands of the two gentlemen to be tied securely behind their backs ; they now were prisoners in turn. Greathouse came at once to the side of Mr. Graham's bed, and shook him warmly by the hand.

            "I have been in search of you for some time," he said, "but at last these gentlemen have kindly been induced to join with me in the search, and that once done, we soon reached you without more trouble. You are now at liberty, sir, and we will at once leave this most unfitting place for a gentleman's detention. But, before going, Mr. Graham," continued Greathouse, "I will say, that in order to induce these very worthy gentlemen to assist me in my enterprise, in short to come with me as they did from a distance to effect your release, I ventured to promise them in your name, that if they would do so, and you should be found alive, that no harm should come to them or anybody for any act connected with your detention. Was I right in making this pledge, Mr. Graham ?"

            "Most assuredly, Colonel Greathouse," answered Mr. Graham. " Besides, there are circumstances which would have prevented my proceeding against the authors of my imprisonment, even had you made no such promise."

            "Then let us leave this place as speedily as possible."

            When they reached the surface, they found Jack Gowdy and Joe Bowers still guarding three men, who lay upon their backs on the floor of the hoisting-shed. Mr. Graham recognized in these discomfited wretches three of his jailers, and who had been formerly his most trusted employees, namely : the head miner, the engineer, and the watchman. They, as well as the two gentlemen, were without further ceremony relieved from their bonds, and the party took their way to the hotel.

            At first they entered the room of Greathouse, where that gentleman broke to Mr. Graham, as gently as he could, the fact of his wife's death. The blow was a severe one, and was rendered the more grievous by the thought that his own conduct was not wholly free from blame.

            "Had I not yielded to the temptation to pursue the phantom of wealth, to the oblivion of even my duty to those around me, this calamity would not have overtaken me. I could have supported my family in humble happiness," sighed the bereaved husband ; "my poor darling that has gone never wanted more. To be once more rich, I have lost all that would have made that wealth enjoyable. Here, at last, I have found the long looked-for vein of precious metal. But what can bring back

540      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.      

the treasure I had in that loving heart which has been crushed in the search ?"

            After an hour or two of bitter reflection, Greathouse informed him that it was now time to go to his daughter's apartment. "She has arisen before this. Go to her. Gowdy will accompany you, while I will remain with our friends, Mr. Bloodstone and Withergreen. I have arranged with them to accompany me to the court-house, where the trial is now going on against your mine. They have engaged to have that suit at once brought to an end, upon condition that the whole affair is kept a profound secret forever. That done, we will separate."

            So Mr. Graham and Jack started for No. 16. Arriving without the door, at the stage-driver's suggestion he entered first, in order to prepare Helen's mind for her father's entrance, as we have heretofore described. Greathouse, accompanied by Joe Bowers, conducted the two gentlemen on their way to Judge Puffgall's court, where they arrived at the moment the trial was about coming to an end, with the result described in the last chapter.

            In the course of the forenoon, Harry called at No. 16 to visit his client, whom he found, as he expected, overwhelmed with the afflictions which had come upon him during his involuntary absence. He had no heart to talk of his affairs.

            "You are my legal adviser, Mr. Stacey," he said, "and have proved faithful to my miserable fortunes. Remain in charge, and do what you will. As for the mine, which has proved fatal to me and all that I love, I never wish to see it again."

            Harry withdrew from the house of mourning, and proceeded to guard his client's interests, which he found now easily enough done. He at once took possession of the mine in the name of the owner, and put proper and reputable men in charge of the property. He called the superintendent to the office, and formally dismissed him from Mr. Graham's employment.

            "Your accounts I will go over with you at another time, Mr. Bloodstone, and you shall be paid in full with interest, as soon as the money can be raised upon the now immensely valuable property of Mr. Graham."

            In fact, money could now be had in untold sums. It was known before night that a vast lode of rich ore had been found in the mine, and visitors were hourly passing down the shaft to look at the wonderful deposit of glittering metal.

            Bloodstone and Withergreen went away the evening of Mr. Graham's return to San Francisco. Their now desperate

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       541

condition required their presence in that city. Their effort to control the shares of the Pactolus stock had resulted disastrously to both of them. They had staked their entire fortunes upon the chances of seizing the ore in Mr. Graham's mine, and had lost. The original plan of raising it up through the Pactolus shaft had failed, through the unexpected advance in the shares of that company. But, in the desperate effort to effect their object through that plan, they had invested all their means, and, pledging the shares bought, had gone on borrowing and buying till they were hopelessly wound up in a network of debts from which it was impossible to extricate themselves. To make matters worse, directly they ceased buying, as they did when their money was exhausted, the stock of Pactolus dropped back to the original price of twenty-five dollars a share. At this moment, Mr. Graham falling into their hands had caused them to change the whole shape of the scheme. By holding him in concealment they could, they thought, reach their end through the processes of the law. How the attempt was made through the suit of the Bosh Company the reader has already been informed. As long as no one was on the ground to defend Mr. Graham, except his superintendent, they could expect to succeed in obtaining a judgment that would nominally oust that gentleman from possession, and put in his place a Corporate Company, of which the conspirators secretly owned the capital stock.

            But for the timely arrival of Mr. Graham, with the dread of the scandal that his detention would have created when published, the court would have decided for the conspirators, and the mine would have been lost to its owner. But that gentleman's arrival not only made it difficult to proceed, but positively dangerous, as all of them knew but too well. Mr. Withergreen understood at once that they must surrender.

            Napoleon B. Spelter decided, within a moment after the arrival in court of the two gentlemen, that no course was left but to abandon the suit upon any terms that might be offered. "We would be lynched by a mob of working miners," he whispered to Withergreen, "if this business should become public. Neither of you two gentlemen would get out of the Territory with your lives, — as for myself, I should depart immediately, as fast as horses could carry me. I don't like lynch courts ; juries can't be packed there."

            This conclusion was a wise one for the plaintiffs ; and the trial was brought to a sudden end. "We will call it a mis-

542      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

trial," said Napoleon B. Spelter, "for that it is in more ways than one. But we may as well disincorporate the Bosh Company, and go out of that business at once. Nothing will ever come of it now."

            Two days after the departure of Bloodstone, Mr. Graham received notice that all debts due from himself to his late superintendent, Enoch Bloodstone, were attached in his hands at the suits of a list of that gentleman's creditors, with claims that swallowed it up more than a dozen times over. This was the result of his speculations in Pactolus shares. The way of the transgressor had indeed been hard. The rich man had fallen a victim to his greed and weakness in yielding to the temptation put before him by Mr. Marvin Withergreen.

 

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CHAPTER LIX.

ANOTHER ENGAGEMENT TO MARRY.

            DURING the few days longer that Mr. Graham intended to remain in Washoe Territory, Blanche McIver readily consented to remain with her friend. Each day the sorrow-stricken father, accompanied by his daughter, made a pilgrimage to the little cemetery upon the mountain-side to sit by the grave of Matilda. Helen never told him how near she had been to being mated with a man of whom she had never thought except with a sensation of disgust. She saw that her father's mind was already prostrate beneath a sense of the wrong his own course had inflicted upon his family. The fact that he had been betrayed into this cruel conduct towards those he loved so dearly by a too ardent pursuit of wealth was ever present to his mind. "It is all past and gone," thought the daughter. "I have escaped from the evil, and will not add that recollection to the grief already so heavy for my poor father to bear."

            Mr. Graham spoke but seldom of Bloodstone. He also felt the subject to be a delicate one. He feared that his daughter might have still some lingering regrets for the man, and so he would not dilate upon what he had suffered at his hands. A week had now almost passed since Mr. Graham's return. He

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       543

had already fixed upon an early day for his departure to San Francisco. Harry Stacey had brought his client's affairs into a regular state of management. Mr. Graham was now the owner of a property the value of which was many millions. But he took no interest in it whatever. Indeed, he seemed unwilling to have the subject mentioned to him. It was an act of treason to her that was gone to enjoy the wealth that had been so dearly purchased. "It is the price of my darling's life,': said the old gentleman, "and I cannot take it." The day before they were to go away, Blanche and Mr. Graham went to the grave of Matilda, leaving Helen for some reason at home. Directly after their departure from No. 16 there was a knock at the door. It proved to be Greathouse. This was the first time he had made his appearance since Mr. Graham's return. He had kept purposely away till the bereaved husband's grief should partially dull its edge. Helen had expected him daily to call, and claim the reward she had promised in the event of his delivering her father from captivity. He had at last come.

            "Good-morning, Colonel Greathouse," she said, kindly, and pointing him to a chair. " We have been expecting to see you here every day, since you so gallantly restored my father to life and to me, his daughter. Your continued absence has been a matter of disappointment to us all." This she said with a tone of evident sincerity.

            Helen Graham felt that Greahouse had alone saved her father from a cruel death. And, more, that he had been induced to risk his life in the attempt by the promise of her hand in marriage. She intended to be true to her pledge. "Had he not acted so bravely I should have been compelled to marry Bloodstone, the murderer of all I love in this world. A man that I detested even when his hands were still unsullied by the blood of my darling mother. This alone is enough to win my hand, if not my heart. He shall have the one when he claims his rights, and the other if I can ever school it to forget the love that has already seized it and carried it, at least for the present, beyond my control."

            Greathouse sat for half an hour conversing with Helen, but without being able to bring up the subject that evidently was upon his mind. At last he made an effort, and said that he had something special to say to her, if he could only summon courage to say it.

            "I suppose I may without difficulty imagine what it is,

544      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

Colonel Greathouse," said Helen, kindly helping him out in the struggle he was making. You have come, I suppose, to claim the fulfilment of a promise made you only a few days ago by a young lady. She has not forgotten it, Colonel. She can never forget the obligation that she owes to you for your noble and generous conduct. You need not hesitate to speak of the matter, as I am quite prepared to have it brought up."

            Greathouse looked at her eagerly.

            "And suppose I am here for that purpose, Miss Graham," he said, "what is the young lady's answer to the suitor who comes to claim her hand ?"

            "She can have but one answer, Colonel Greathouse. The subject has been already agreed upon between the parties, so far as the young lady is concerned. It remains only with you, Colonel. I promised to become your wife, provided you claimed my hand. I cannot do more until you claim your rights."

            "And are you ready to marry me, Miss Graham ?" he asked, looking her in the face.

            "I am," she answered without hesitation. "Here is my hand upon it."

            He took her extended hand and raised it respectfully to his lips, and then, without retaining it for an instant, released it and allowed it to go back to the lady's lap.

            "Do you know who I am, Miss Graham ?" he demanded, in a sad tone. " Do you know what my former life has been ? Do you know that I am Greathouse, the gambler and outlaw, the man of violence ? In short, are you aware that I am called Bob Greathouse, the murderer ?"

            "I have heard all of that," she answered, calmly, "but I knew it long before I allowed you to serve me, to put me under a load of obligation. I knew it all when I told you that I would become your wife if you would find and restore to me my father. I have learned nothing new of you since, except that you are braver and nobler and more generous than I thought you to be ; though it was not the first time I owed my life to your courage and strength. Believe me, Colonel Greathouse, that I have nothing more to learn about you. I shall not become the wife of Greathouse, the murderer ; but my husband will be another and better man. It will be Greathouse, the generous and noble spirit, whom I know to be as good as he is brave and self-sacrificing."

            He shook his head slowly.

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.   545

            "Do you love me, Miss Graham ?"

            She hesitated a moment, but at last answered, —

            "Yes, Colonel Greathouse, I love you."

            "Better than you love anybody else ?" he continued, still looking her in the eye.

            "Ought you to put that question to me ?" she asked. "Is it fair, under the circumstances ? If I consent to become your wife and promise to love you, to honor and obey you so long as I shall live, can you ask more ?"

            "Yes," he answered, "I have the right to know all that is in the heart of the woman who is to become my wife. If she loves or has ever loved another, it is my right to know that fact."

            She hesitated for a time, and then spoke.

            "I have loved another gentleman," she said, "and very dearly. But it began before I ever saw or heard of you, and I have never told the gentleman of my love. I may never have the opportunity to confess it to him, even if you should reject the hand that now is yours by a solemn pledge."

            "Does that gentleman love you ?" he asked with the sternness of an inquisitor.

            "He did once," she said, "and asked my love in return. But I refused him, and he may have ceased to love the lady who rejected him for another. Men do not readily forgive such a slight put upon them. It would not be strange even if his love was now changed to hatred."

            Greathouse made no comment upon this suggestion.

            "The man for whom you rejected him was the one you told me of last week, was it not ? I mean the man whom you promised to marry when he should produce your father."           

            "It was the same, Colonel Greathouse."

            "You are free now from that pledge, I believe ?"

            "Quite free, sir, or I could not accept you."

            He sat for some time in silence, during which neither spoke.

            "Helen," said he at last, and addressing her for the first time in her life by her Christian name, "tell me, if it were in your power to choose between that gentleman, whom you say you loved, and myself, uncontrolled by any pledge or obligation, which would you accept for your husband?"

            Helen burst into tears.

            "It is impossible for me to choose," she answered. "I am ready and willing to become your wife, Colonel Greathouse, if you wish me to do so. I am sure I shall do my duty in that

546      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

character. But you ought not to ask me such questions. I have but one wish and that is to do that which my duty requires me to do."

            Greathouse heard patiently, but paid no heed to what she said. He continued, but in a kinder tone,

            "Could you be happy with that gentleman ?"

            Helen made no reply but sat in her chair and sobbed. She felt that he was wantonly trifling with recollections that she would gladly have buried with the dead past. What right had she to think of happiness, when she had turned her back upon it at a time which seemed to her so many years ago ? The very idea of happiness had long seemed an unlawful one. It was treason to the rights of the living and to the sacred memory of the dead.

            "Could you be happy?" continued Greathouse, at last, in a still softer tone, finding that no answer came from the lady.

            "I do not think of happiness, Colonel Greathouse. I have been taught that duty is to be considered before all things ; and it has appeared for a long time past that, in my case, duty and happiness had parted company. I shall try to be as happy as I can, and at the same time do my duty, in whatever station God may place me."

            "Who is the gentleman, Helen, who offered you his love and was rejected?"

            "It is not my secret, Colonel Greathouse ; I have no right to disclose the secrets of another."

            "Was it Mr. Stacey ?" he continued, without noticing her answer.

            Helen made no reply.

            "Was it Mr. Henry Stacey, Helen ?"

            This he said with a manner that expressed so much kindness that she could not refuse an answer, but bowed an affirmative and continued her sobs.

            "Helen," said Greathouse, "I wish to ask of you a favor. I am going away, and may not have an opportunity of asking another."

            She regarded him inquiringly and waited for him to proceed.

            "This evening Mr. Stacey will call here. I shall myself ask him to call, saying that you have a word for his ear ; but I shall give him no other explanation. When he comes, 1 wish you to say to him what you have said to me. Tell him that I had the promise of your hand but that I occupied only a secondary place in your heart. That I have yielded up my right to him

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       547

should he choose to accept it. If he refuses you, Helen, then I will come and claim my bride. Should he do so he will return to me to-morrow and tell me what he has done. But if, on the other hand, his love still burns brightly, then I shall not see you again for years, perhaps never. I shall, therefore, take leave of you now."

            "Why do you leave me ?" Tried Helen. "Not in anger or in disappointment, I trust. After so generous a deed, surely you do not feel that I could consent to your going away so suddenly."

            "No, Miss Graham," he said, "I have already remained here longer than was right for me to remain. I, too, have a duty to perform, and am trying to do it as well as I can. I have seldom done my duty in this life. Sometimes I allow myself the luxury, and now I feel in the humor to do so once more. It was my duty to serve you when you were in great trouble, as you were a short time since; and it was my duty as a gentleman to do it without your making the promise which, in your zeal in your father's cause, you made. Believe me, Miss Graham, I should have done all that I did had you not mentioned the subject of  marriage. Having brought you through your difficulties, having added something to your happiness, it was my duty not to make you miserable by exacting compliance with a pledge forced from you by the desperate straits to which, by the wickedness of others, you had been brought. Had I insisted on your performing that promise, my conduct would have been similar to that of the coast-marauder who robs and murders shipwrecked mariners as they faintly struggle up from the angry waves that have barely failed to destroy them. It would have been like that of the receiver of stolen goods, who demands the lion's share of the booty for his trifling risk. Bloodstone had seized the pearl and was bearing it triumphantly away, when the hue and cry came so sharply after him that he was forced to let fall the plunder and save himself. You became a waif — goods abandoned by this robber in his flight. Was it for Robert Greathouse to plunder the felon, to filch from the thief, under pretence of bringing him to justice ? The wrecker who saves a cargo is entitled to compensation; but it must be a reasonable one and cannot extend to all the goods rescued. He cannot become more remorseless than the angry ocean from which the mariner has escaped. I will accept a reasonable compensation, Miss Graham. I have rescued you from Bloodstone, into whose hands you had fallen.

548      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

The treasure saved cannot be divided and I am not entitled to all. I will accept my portion in the pleasure it will be to me to see you happy in the love of the man who already possesses your heart. You said that you knew me, Helen ; but the offer you made to induce me to serve you was not a compliment to me. I would have been indeed a wretch had I taken advantage of your misfortune to gain so precious a prize as your hand in marriage."

            "Forgive me, Colonel Greathouse, I did not think of that. I only thought of your bravery and the reward that I thought it deserved. I felt that if you saved me from destruction—from a fate worse than death, that all I possessed was justly yours. I did not think of what you would do with me when I came to be your own to dispose of. I should not have thought you ungenerous had you exacted that which I felt to be your due. Your conduct in releasing me to go with my heart is only an additional proof of a greatness of soul that I already knew you to possess."

            "I thank you, Helen, for your good opinion. It is alone a sufficient reward for all I have done. I shall leave this Territory, taking a precious treasure in the esteem of the lady I love."

            "Whither do you go, Colonel Greathouse ? "

            "I go to join my people, as I told you some time since I felt it my duty to do. I know, Helen, that you will think that I fight for the bad cause against the good ; that I take up the side of the lordly master against the suffering slave ; that I draw my sword in the battle of darkness and superstition, and against education, and freedom, and progress."

            "No, Colonel," cried Helen, "do not think that I blame you for anything. To me you are good, noble and generous, and will always be so."

            "But," he continued, without heeding her, "all of this may be true ; I have not reasoned about it ; I do not pretend to reduce my ideas to the rules of logic. I follow my affections wherever they may lead me. I only know that my people, my kindred, have sent forth a wail of anguish that has reached me. I cannot remain deaf to the appeal. I cannot shut out the calls of the friends of my youth for me to come and help them in the time of their sore peril, and I must go. If they are in error, I will share in the mistake. If they are wicked, I will go and be wicked with them. I would rather be wrong with my friends, than right with my enemies. And in the North, Miss Graham, I am amongst enemies. I am surrounded by

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       549

people with whom I have no sympathy. I know that my life has not been such a life as perhaps entitles me to the sympathy of people so different from me as are those who now surround me ; but such as it has been, at least I cannot be expected to apologize for it. Some will say, that what I am, that have I been made by the very system of slavery, in behalf of which I go away to fight, perhaps to die. All of that may be true. But I do not go to fight for slavery ; I go to fight with my friends and kindred, and against those with whom they are at war. What they suffer, that will I suffer. If they lose, I will lose with them, and if they triumph, I will be there to rejoice with my people's joy. This to me is a matter of duty, perhaps a mistaken one, but, in a lifetime of mistakes, one more or less can make no great difference."

            "When do you leave, Colonel Greathouse ?"

            "To-morrow afternoon," he answered. "Before that time Helen, you will be happy in the love and confidence of the man to whom you have given your heart. I, too, shall be happy in the consciousness of having, for at least once in my life, done my duty, by giving you up to the object of your choice ; for this time, I am sure, there has been no mistake. When the war is over, Helen," he said, rising to take his leave, " I hope to meet you again ; if I do not, it will be because I shall have perished in that struggle, into which my heart and not my reason has drawn me. Remember my request, when Mr. Stacey comes this evening," he said ; and taking her hand, he raised it once more to his lips and withdrew.

            Helen remained by the window in deep meditation, until her father and Blanche returned. They had been placing flowers on the grave of the departed one, and the effect of the sad employment still sat heavily upon them.

            After dinner, Harry Stacey came in. It was an unusual circumstance now for him to more than look in upon the family in a casual way ; but this time he sat down, and appeared to have come to spend the evening.

            Helen understood perfectly well what his business was ; but the others only thanked him for a friendly visit.

            Mr. Graham, as was his custom now, retired early, and left the two young ladies to entertain the visitor.

            For a time they sat together and conversed upon general subjects, but soon Blanche, with a true woman's tact, contrived to slip out of the room upon some pretence that kept her

550      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

busily going back and forth from time to time, between the parlor and Helen's sleeping room, as long as Harry stayed.

            Helen felt deeply the charge put upon her by Greathouse, and scarcely knew how to go about it. How could she broach such a subject to a young gentleman as he had exacted a promise from her to do ?

            But Harry relieved her from the task. He knew Helen too well to believe that, with her principles, she would send for him now for any purpose save that of giving him to understand that her situation had changed, and that now he might hope to win her love. So that, directly that Blanche left the room, he boldly asked her if the summons she had sent him was in any manner connected with the affair that lay so near his heart ?

            Helen blushed, but the answer came freely from her lips. "Yes, Mr. Stacey," she said, "it is."

            "You make me very happy," he cried, "for my heart remains the same as when I laid it at your feet before. I am only too glad to again ask your love. My position has not been changed, nor have my sentiments towards you, Miss Graham. I am still in the employment of your father, and love you more than ever. To-day Colonel Greathouse came to see me, and, after conversing with me for a time, told me that he had just come from making a parting call upon you, before going away out of the country. I expressed my sorrow that he had determined to leave us, but he said that the resolution was irrevocable. Having shaken hands with me, he was about to leave, when he suddenly remembered that he had a message from you to me. He said that Miss Graham had requested him to ask me to call and see her, and spend the evening at No. 16. I thanked him, and promised to do so, and he went his way. I cannot tell you. Helen, how, much pleasure the message gave me. It was the light that suddenly bursts upon the gaze of the wanderer in a wilderness. I knew you too well to doubt that it conveyed much more than the words expressed. I felt that it meant all that I could wish you to say. Helen, am I right ? Speak to me, and put my heart at rest."

            "Yes, Harry," she answered, "you were entirely correct in your opinions as to my object in sending you the message. I feel that in this room, where my mother so often spoke of you, where perhaps her spirit now hovers over us, 1 may, better than elsewhere, tell you what is the truth, that I have loved

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       551

you a long, long time,—much longer than perhaps I ought to confess, for it may date back to a period more remote than your own love for me."

            "That is impossible," cried Harry, "unless you loved me before you ever saw me, for my love commenced with the day I met you for the first time."

            The rhapsodies of a lover are seldom interesting to any save the object of his passion. For an hour the two exchanged vows and related the history of their affection during the year of trial that each had undergone since their first meeting in San Francisco.

            When Blanche returned to the room to resume her seat, she knew by the manner of the two that something unusual had occurred ; but she had never been the confidant of Helen in the matter of her love for Harry, and of late the young gentleman had communicated nothing to her.

            The secret of the engagement with Bloodstone had been faithfully kept by him, so that no one knew of it save the parties immediately interested. Blanche had never had even a suspicion of the strange affair. This evening she felt, however, quite sure that the question of love had been discussed between the young couple.

            After Harry had gone, and the young ladies had retired to bed, she taxed Helen with having received a proposal from the young lawyer. Helen had now no reason for concealing her love, and so confessed the fact to her friend. She was full of joy at the new life that was dawning upon her. There was but one pang to impair the bliss that had taken possession of her soul. It was the reflection that her darling mother had died without knowing of the love of the two for each other. "Could she have known all," sighed poor Helen, "I am sure that her heart would have been spared at least one sorrow that made her burden so hard to bear."

552      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

 

CHAPTER LX.

JACK GOWDY HANDS IN HIS CHECKS.

            THE secret of the rescue of Mr. Graham was well kept. Greathouse charged his friends Gowdy and Bowers to remember that they were gentlemen, and that their word had been pledged not to divulge what had occurred. "We have kept faith with them, and by doing it obtained all we asked. Let us not go back upon our promises." They only answered that no more elegant gentlemen than themselves ever walked on top of the earth, and that gentlemen never lied.

            Jack, however, was so proud of the exploit they had performed, that he would not resume his place upon the box till it was properly celebrated, at least, by a fitting carouse. Indeed, he would not commence driving the coach again, while his money lasted, even if the stage company had wished it. But they did not wish it. They, the very next day after the exploit, issued orders for Jack's discharge from his employment. Fifteen horses had been killed outright in the drunken freak of running away with the coach,— for so it was thought to have been,—besides a still greater number seriously injured.

            "Jack was," so the president of the stage company said, "a faithful man, and a good driver, as long as he kept sober ; but when drunk, he was fearfully reckless,— he must be discharged."

            Yet it is only just to Jack to record that he was not discharged. Jack Gowdy had never been discharged in his life, so he said, from any employment. He always discharged himself, when he was guilty of any such misdemeanor as the one that had just occurred. His habit was to stay from the office till he was sent for to come and resume his duties. If he never received this command, then he assumed that he had left the company's service of his own accord.

            The morning after the arrival of Greathouse and his friends, the stage company's agent learned that a coach and six horses

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       553

had been left, during the night, in an open yard near the Graham mine. This proved to be Gowdy's coach, who, as the agent had already learned by telegraph, had, in a drunken frolic, run away from Folsom with a coach and three passengers. The horses were sent to the stable, and the coach brought to the yard. As for the driver, it was said that he had been seen in company with an ox-teamster, named Joe Bowers, going about the town still in a state of intoxication. Upon consulting the chief officer at Sacramento by telegraph, directions came not to employ the delinquent again. This last outbreak was altogether of too serious a nature to be passed over. It was not necessary to communicate this decision to Gowdy, at least until he should call and ask to be allowed to resume his place. And this, it was known, he would scarcely do without an intimation in advance that his services were desired.

            The five hundred dollars that had been so carefully preserved for the benefit of Miss Graham were now no longer needed in that quarter. So the sum was drawn from the bank, and the two friends, Jack and Joe, made the gambling saloons and dead-falls of Virginia ring with the sound of their revelry. Everybody was obliged to drink, and anybody that chose could borrow a stake to go against faro, while the sum lasted. But that was not long. Jack's course was like that of a splendid sky-rocket. He blazed while he mounted. When it was all gone, the two friends held a council of war.

            "We are coming down to a white-check game," said the stage driver to his friend who drove oxen for a livelihood. "This won't do. We must not forget that we are gentlemen, and as good as ever walked on top of ground. We can't hang around a Washoe dead-fall, like a pair of sneaking blue-bellied Yankees from New York, betting half dollars on case cards. If we can't go against it with red checks, as becomes gentlemen, we will just pass out and quit. That is my hand, Joe. What do you say ?"

            That was also Joe's hand, said that gentleman, and so they passed out.

            "Your oxen must have filled their bellies full of Carson Valley sage bushes and grease-wood by this time, and are ready to go to work again. Don't you think so, Joe ?"

            "Yes, Jack, they have been grazing long enough to get fat, if the Indians have let them alone."

            " Well, Joe, go down and look after your cattle. I will see what I can find to do. We must have some money, somehow.

554      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

A gentleman in this country without money don't amount to much. He is like a sardine amongst a lot of sharks. He is no better than a Yankee school-master, and not half as good as a free nigger. It will never do for two gentlemen to come down to any such a grade as that, Joe."

            This, also, was the ox-driver's opinion. So they separated. Jack went in pursuit of employment in the line of what he called his legitimate profession. But he did not find the matter an easy one. He had only been a week in spending his money, and the news of his last escapade was still fresh in the town. His old place had been filled by another driver, and the California lines did not dare to trust so wild a fellow with their horses. After running about the streets all day, he at last agreed with the overland company to drive for them. These coaches formed a line that traversed the great wilderness of two thousand miles in breadth that separated California from the Valley of the Mississippi. The land was inhabited with roving tribes of savages. Careful drivers could not be found to go upon so perilous a route. They were not looked for. A great government subvention was paid for carrying the mails. And so the coaches must go every day in spite of the Indians. Anybody who could be found sufficiently desperate to sit upon the box, and who cared little enough for his life to take the risk, could always find employment to drive an overland coach.

            "It is a hard life," muttered Jack, "but I must do something. I am a gentleman, and not a lunch-eating bummer, and so I must earn a livelihood in a gentlemanly way. I will take this place," he reasoned to himself, "for a little while, till they forget about my last scrape. Then I will come back to society and civilization once more."

            But before starting away he went to see Helen Graham. He had not been near the hotel since the affair of the rescue. Indeed, he had not been in condition to go.

            "A gentleman," said he to Joe Bowers, one day when they were speaking of the Graham family, "can't call upon a lady except when he is at his best. Sometimes his best is nothing to brag of. But anyhow, he can never appear too well when he enters the presence of a lady. When I get sober, Joe, will put myself in presentable condition, and make one call, just to thank that beautiful young lady for all the favors she has done for me. And, Joe, I can never be grateful enough to her for the kindness she has shown to mc. Indeed I can't. It is perfectly impossible."

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       555

            So Jack, the first day that he was sober, which was the day his money gave out, dressed himself as smartly as possible, and called at No. 16 to tell Helen that he was going away, and to thank her for her unfailing kindness to the stage-driver. He was the one who had received the favors, in his opinion. The idea that he had conferred a benefit never entered his mind. What he had done it was his duty to do, being a gentleman. Her sweet smiles and pleasant greetings to him had been works of genuine kindness, only to be repaid by a life-time of gratitude to the beautiful lady. The hall door was wide open when he arrived, and, looking in, he found all the other doors also open, and the windows raised up to let in the air. The beds were lying scattered about the floor in confusion, and the chairs were tumbled about upon their backs, while two stout chamber-maids, with brooms in their hands, talking and laughing loudly, were sending the dust and feathers in great clouds about the place.

            "Where is Miss Graham ?" demanded Jack, with a sinking sensation in his breast.

            "All gone, sir," was the loud and prompt answer of the boisterous maids. "Left this morning at daylight. Gone over the mountains, sir."

            Jack turned and went sorrowfully down the stairs.

            "I only wanted to tell her how kind she had been to me," he said, with a tear dimming the comer of his eye, "and how much happiness I have had in being able to speak to her once in a while. So much for getting drunk," said he. "I might have known that she would not stay in this miserable, God-forsaken place, after her father came back to her. I ought to have come sooner, and can only blame myself. But I could have gone amongst the red-skins with a better heart, if I could have taken with me one more smile from that beautiful lady."

            But it was too late, and the stage-driver mounted his box and turned his face sadly towards the wilderness. It was, indeed, a hard country to which Jack had been driven by an adverse fortune. An area of unproductive territory, stretching over hundreds of miles, with scarcely a bush to break the everlasting monotony of dreariness. Over this, at will, wandered hordes of savages, ready at all times to boldly give battle, or to lay in ambush and stealthily crawl upon the wayfarer and murder him outright, or capture and put to death by lingering torture, as the relative strength of the parties would seem to render the most desirable to their bloodthirsty natures. At con-

556      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

venient intervals of twenty miles were fortified stations, where the horses were kept guarded by a small band of armed men. Between those little strongholds the stage driver pursued his perilous course, defending himself as best he could.

            Jack resolved from the first to remain in this employment the shortest time that would suffice to cause his last exploit in Washoe to be forgotten, and then to return. So he took the best care of himself. He chewed such tobacco as came in his way, though sighing for the beautiful " fine-cut" that only residents within civilized districts could command and obtain. But whiskey he studiously abstained from.

            "Not now, boys," he said, when invited to drink the " tangle-leg," as it was called, of the road, "no whiskey for Jack, while he lives in this abominable place."

            Two months passed drearily away in this manner, and Jack began to count the days when he would turn his face again westward, to the fair fields and green woods of California. One month longer would, he was sure, expiate for all the harm he had done in finning away with the coach. "As good a driver as I am can find employment somewhere. I will make the effort in a month."

            One day, about this time, Jack was waiting for the western bound coach to come to his most easterly station. He was to take the place of the other driver who stopped there, and returned again east. When the coach drove up to the door, Jack observed that it was not empty, as was generally the case just at that time. Of late, the road had been made especially dangerous by the encroachments of the Apaches. This savage tribe had come north, from the borders of Mexico, and committed a great many murders upon the emigrants passing over the country, and the stages, for the time, were usually without passengers. But even now, the company that Jack was to have did not promise to add much to his personal security on the road. It was a most helpless little band of travellers that had come to Jack to be escorted on the journey. The most effective one of the company of four souls, proved to be a woman of five-and-twenty years of age. The others were her three children, two girls and a boy, this latter an infant in arms. The eldest, a girl of six years, had a profusion of light curls falling over her shoulders, and with bright blue eyes that went to Jack's heart at a glance. The mother had journeyed over the dreary road for hundreds of miles, on her way to join her husband in the mines of the extreme west. So, from sta-

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       557

tion to station, each stage-driver handing her and her little ones over with a word of hearty commendation to the next, she had toiled on her journey, her very helplessness proving her chief protection. The mother had long since learned to depend with unerring certainty upon the rough courtesy of the stage-driver for all needful assistance and protection that man could render her. Whenever overwhelming force should come, she knew that she was in the hands of God, and must abide his decrees. So she said little to Jack, her experience telling her that all that he could do to aid her would be done when necessary, without any special application on her part. But the blue-eyed daughter was more communicative. She, perhaps, felt but lightly the dangers that beset their path, and the time rested heavily upon her young nature. At all events, she and the driver were soon great friends. This led to an acquaintance with the mother, so that before the day was far advanced Jack had learned the history of the whole family, — from whence they had come and whither they were going.

            At each station, while the horses were being changed, he handed them politely out of the coach, and with his own hand fetched them food and refreshments, generally from his own stores and at his own expense. The little blue-eyed beauty, whom he had already attached to himself as a warm friend for life, so they said and agreed, always descended from the coach when he did, and went with him about the station with the familiar confidence of a friendship of years standing. In the afternoon their road lay through a dangerous pass. One of those narrow defiles, so common upon the great American plains, where the mountains coming close together, the narrow gorge is filled up with great rocks, that in ages gone by have been detached from their resting-places far up towards the summit, and have rolled down, to pile up in mighty confusion at the point of meeting half way between the two. if any Indians should by chance infest the road, that would be their choice spot for an ambuscade. This Jack knew full well. And, out of care for the mother and children, made special inquiry at the last station before reaching it, as to the prudence of the woman and her family going on that night. As for the coach, it bore the mails, and must go on, no matter what stood in the way to deter the adventure. The answer was, that there was no reason to fear exceptional danger. The day was as propitious a time as any to go through the pass. Jack told the mother of the perils that might come upon them. But the woman had already passed

558      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

over hundreds of miles of danger, and through scores of similar passes, and continued immunity had rendered her confident. She was going to join her husband, and was in the hands of divine Providence. It had protected, so far, in safety ; it would not, she was sure, let her at this late period perish by the wayside. Besides, she had found Jack especially kind and considerate amongst all the kind-hearted frontiersmen with whom she had met. She would not leave him, but would go on if he went. We have already said that Jack must go on. So when the horses were put in, he examined his six-shooters carefully, and finding them all right, handed in his passengers. When he came to his blue-eyed favorite, he lifted her up, and took a kiss, and then placed her snugly in the seat by her mother's side. "Be a little soldier," he said, stroking her curls, "and don't let your mother get frightened at anything. If you hear the redskins you must all squat down in the bottom of the coach, and wait till I tell you, before doing anything else." This said, the wild mustangs had the lash cracked over their heads, and they plunged out into the sea of sage brush that covers the great plains. Soon they left the level country and entered the hills. For two hours they rattled gaily along through the deep mountain gorge that Jack feared to be so dangerous, whirling in and out amongst the huge rocks, that, like towers and castle walls, hemmed in the narrow road upon all sides. But their progress, thus far, was made with safety. He had scanned carefully each rock, and each tree, as he drove up to it, fearing to see a savage spring out on his path with the Apache's war-whoop, boding torture and death to all. But the rocks were still innocent of ambuscade, or evil purpose, and now he had journeyed almost beyond the dangerous path, and was rapidly drawing towards the level country. The gorge opened out wider and wider ; the piles of rock receded from the road to the right and to the left, and the flat line of sage brush again came into view in the distance. Jack drew a long breath of relief. "I was more frightened than hurt that time," he thought. "I must be getting a little cowardly in my old age." But he had congratulated himself too soon. The danger was not past, for at this moment a horrid yell arose from the rocks and trees in advance of his route on each side, and was echoed in fearful tones from hill to hill across the road he was about to pass. It was the war-whoop of the Apaches, a sound that Jack had heard many times before on the Gila, and he knew well what it signified. It was death. in its most horrid and revolting form, by fire, and torture to all

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       559

who fell into the hands of the savages. The Indians were in ambush on either side of the road, and in irresistible force. He could see their heads looking over the rocks on each side, and he knew full well that the number in concealment was even greater than those who showed themselves. There was but one certain means of escape open to the driver, and that only provided for his own safety, to the sacrifice of the passengers inside the coach. It was the custom of the road, when an overland coach was attacked by an overwhelming force of Indians, for the driver to spring from his place on the box, and with his knife detach a horse from the team, and, mounting him, escape. This rule was so firmly established, that men were employed to drive with the understanding that this was their privilege, as it was generally their only hope of escaping a certain and cruel death. It was the driver's plank in a shipwreck. Without this rule men could not have been induced to accept the employment. Passengers also availed themselves sometimes of the same means of escape. There was generally a horse for each passenger upon so dangerous a road. When they chose, they, of course, could make the experiment as well as the driver. When the attacking party, however, was small, it was often better policy for all to stand and defend their lives upon the spot by a battle. In such case, the driver was naturally the commander-in-chief of the defending party. Such resistance was often made with success against fearful odds. But when the Indians, as sometimes occurred, came in overwhelming numbers, the escape by mounting one of the horses was the only plan that possessed the remotest chance of success. This plan was now open to Jack Gowdy. Had he been alone, or had his passengers been all grown-up men, able to defend themselves, he would, in less time than it has taken us to relate the situation, have been mounted upon the fleetest horse in his team, and flying back on the return road, or over the hills in safety. But the recollection of the little blue-eyed girl, whose kiss was yet warm upon his lips, held him chained to the spot. "Who is to bring away that woman and her children, if I run away and leave her?" he thought to himself, as the idea of escape entered his mind. "What sort of a show would those children have in riding a stage-horse hare-backed over these hills ?" The driver's resolution was formed in an instant. " Jack Gowdy is a gentleman," he muttered to himself, as he laid his -whip upon the frightened horses, and sent them springing madly forward on the road straight through the hostile ambuscade ; and he

560      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

never yet went back, when a woman and children were in trouble and needed a gentleman to stand by them. And if he has never done it up to this time, he will not commence now. He braced himself firmly in his seat, tightened up his reins and plied his whip. He saw that the road was clear of obstructions. The savages were posted behind the rocks through which he had to pass. But they kept out of the road from fear that the coach might, as it sometimes did prove to be, filled with armed soldiers. They took their chances on being able to shoot from their concealment, the driver, as he sat on the box, and then doing the same to the passengers, as they should come out of the coach afterwards. They had not been upon the spot long enough to obstruct the road by a barricade, as they otherwise would have done. Jack saw the chance of putting through with his charge, and he resolved to try it. The horses responded gallantly to the call made upon them, and flew along the open road with the speed of the wind. As Jack dashed along through the terrible pass, he returned the Apaches their own yell of defiance. He could give it as clear and as shrill as it was ever shouted by Apache brave over the writhing body of a roasting emigrant. Bang ! Bang ! Bang ! came the rattle of the arms, and a blaze of fire burst forth from behind the rocks, and pattered like hail down upon the passing stage-coach. But firm as a rock, Jack Gowdy sat up in his place, and when he dashed through the army of savages, and out of the range of their guns, a fierce howl of disappointed rage and hatred floated on the wind in pursuit of the flying coach.

            "Turn out ! Turn out ! Jack Gowdy is in trouble," shouted the man on watch at the next station, not a mile from the scene of attack. Then there was a rush for arms and a closing of doors at the little fortress, for they could already see the team that was dashing furiously over the plains in the direction of the block-house.

            "I don't think anybody is hurt," said the sentinel, looking down the toad at the coming coach ; " I can see Gowdy in his place, looking as cool as a cucumber in an ice-box. Old Jack Gowdy don't ask any odds of the Apaches, if they will just give him a square deal," was the admiring comment made in reply to the sentinel. " Jack Gowdy is no dung-hill chicken, he is not, you can bet your life."

            At the rate the coach came, there was but little time for further remarks. Gowdy, true enough, sat erect in his place, holding firmly the lines, while the horses dashed up to the door

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.   561

of the station and stopped, as was their habit. They heard the brave driver's voice, but they heard it only once. It was clear and ringing, but it suddenly ceased.

            "The damned red-skins have killed me," he shouted. "But they did not get that woman and her blue-eyed babies, this trip, by God."

            Then there was a heavy fall ; and the driver was seen stretched in the road, in front of the coach wheels. They picked him up and bore him into the station. The little blue-eyed girl followed her new friend inside, and looked in his face. For a minute, she thought she saw a smile of recognition dwell for a moment upon the weather-beaten visage of the stage-driver, and then all was fixed and vacant. They examined him in search for wounds. The bullets of the Apaches had plunged through his body in half a score of places. The rude skill of the backwoodsmen knew no balsam that could heal such injuries. All the science known to the sons of men could not have produced one single pulsation in the brave heart that was now stilled. The number of gentlemen in the world was reduced by one. Jack Gowdy was dead.

 

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CHAPTER LXI.

EXEUNT OMNES.

            WHEN Mr. Graham and his daughter reached their old quarters at the Cosmodental Hotel, they found themselves at once surrounded by a host of sympathizing friends. The news of the immense strike in the fourth level of the mine had quite swallowed up that other marvel of nine days' standing, the temporary and disgraceful disappearance of the owner.

            The first gentleman to meet Mr. Graham, and to seize his hand with an affectionate grasp, was Mr. Ebenezer Gudgeon. The whole Gudgeon family, father, mother, and interesting son, Vanderbilt, spent the evening in No. 42. They were so glad

562      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

to see their dear friends once more that they could not tear themselves away till long after midnight.

            The next day Vanderbilt was early to call and late to go away. Blanche McIver was in ecstasies.

            "There is still hope for me ! " she cried. " I shall escape the odious wretch. He will propose to you, Baby, and then, if you have the humanity of an oyster, you will accept him for my sake."

            In less than a week Helen confessed to Blanche that she saw no help for it.

            "He seems determined to propose to me, do what I will to prevent it. I feel it coming every time he enters the parlor. I have sent him off a dozen times, first by changing the conversation, and later by other more violent measures, when that proved insufficient. But I feel there is no help for it but to have him propose, unless I tell him of my engagement. That I must do, I suppose, for I do not wish to be compelled to refuse him."

            Poor Blanche pleaded hard for her friend to allow him to go on and make his offer to her and be refused. But that Helen could not consent to do.

            "It would be wicked, Blanche," she said, "and I cannot do it."

            At last her course was agreed upon, that at his next visit Vanderbilt should be put out of his misery.

            "I have a secret to tell you, Mr. Gudgeon," she said, the next time that gentleman made his appearance at No. 42, "something that I confide to you as a friend, but which is to go no further."

            "What is it ?" he asked. " You may depend upon my discretion."

            "I have become engaged to be married, Mr. Gudgeon."

            "To whom, Miss Graham ?" he demanded fiercely, already bursting with indignation.

            "That must remain a secret for some time longer," she replied, "but I will tell you as soon as I may tell any one."

            Young Gudgeon immediately arose and hurried out of the room to return no more. In this he was followed by the whole Gudgeon family. All remained away for the future, greatly to the delight of Mr. Graham and his daughter.

            But the secret of Helen's engagement only remained a secret till Vanderbilt reached the street. Then it came back to No. 42 in all sorts of shapes and disguises. She had promised her

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       563

hand, so it was said, to a famous gambler, called Bob Greathouse, the murderer. Others had even good reason for thinking that she had engaged her hand to a drunken stage-driver in Washoe, whose name no one pretended to remember, or, indeed, ever to have heard. No one suspected the true state of the case.

            Acting under the inspiration of Vanderbilt Gudgeon, the friend of the family, all vied in adding to the extravagant stories of the absurd manner in which the heart of the young beauty had been captured. She had kept open house, it was said, during her father's absence, and her visitors had been the most disreputable persons. Indeed, it was said that she had condescended to meet and be civil to people altogether beneath her. People who were not worth ten thousand dollars in the world had been received by her upon terms of social equality.

            Another set, however, either from motives of gallantry to the sex when hardly used, or perhaps from a love of being in opposition, took up the cudgel for the young lady, and made a handsome fight for her. They denied the disreputable insinuation that Miss Graham had associated with low people without wealth or social position, and declared the charge to be wholly groundless. They even went so far as boldly to challenge the maligners to the proof.

            It would be found, so they said, that no person had ever entered Miss Graham's apartments at Washoe who was not in possession of at least a respectable property, either in shares or money. As for her engagement, it was, they declared, a most creditable one.  Her intended husband was one of the wealthiest gentlemen in the country, being no other than Mr. Enoch Bloodstone, the well-known man of fortune.

            This counter-statement passed well enough for a few days, till the story of Bloodstone's failure began to leak out, when that party began to lose ground. The man might have been well enough when he had something, but now he commenced to show himself in his true light. He was a low, ignorant fellow, and always had been so. No amount of money, so the great world declared, could have ever made a gentleman of him.

            This, however, was only for a day. At the end of that time the Bloodstone party gathered new strength again, when it was understood that Mr. Graham felt so grateful to him for his assistance in developing the mine that it was his intention

564      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

to divide the product of the ore equally with him, besides giving him his daughter in marriage.

            As was natural under the circumstances, Bloodstone again came into favor, and was courted more than ever by the great world. Judge Bung took the pains to run after the fortunate superintendent with an invitation from Commodore Plug to dinner.

            Bloodstone's position in society was now apparently established upon a sound and durable basis. Commodore Plug had taken him up. His name was inscribed in the golden book of that social potentate's visiting list. It is, therefore, needless to say that he floated upon the very surface of high life so long as he was known to be the friend of Judge Bung and a welcome visitor at the house of his friend, Commodore Plug.

            This continued for several weeks. But the real foundation of his temporary greatness lay in the supposed connection with the now wealthy Graham family. His house was, therefore, built upon sand. It fell with a crash. It became known that Bloodstone was not admitted at No. 42, Cosmodental Hotel. Then a rumor began to gain strength that the lady was engaged to Mr. Henry Stacey. Bloodstone's expulsion from the delightful realm of high life speedily followed. One day he was upon the top wave of popularity, with first-rate people, and the next he fell off into total obscurity.

            One afternoon Judge Bung met him in the street, and presented him with an ancient cigar-case, mounted in gold-bearing quartz, a former present from Commodore Plug's youngest to the Judge. Suitable sentiments were exchanged, and the two magnates of high life joined arms and walked through the widest street in the town in delightful familiarity. It ended by Bloodstone being again invited to the Commodore's to dine.

            There could now, apparently, be no power capable of throwing Bloodstone out of his established position in the best circles. He was the envy of all, and bore himself with corresponding airs. He spurned the earth.

            The following day he met the Judge and was cut dead. He appealed from the judgment, and called at the house of his entertainer of the previous night. Commodore Plug's door was closed instantly in his face. His social doom was sealed.

            His fall was now rapid and complete. In the course of a month he passed down through the regular grades of society. and went wholly out of sight. From a familiar association

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       565

with wealthy people who had shut up their shops two, four, and even six years before, and who were now wholly unconnected with any sort of business, save, perhaps, in the harmless and not disreputable way of silent partnerships, or shaving the notes of traders, he descended, mingling as he went, first with bankers, then with merchants and doctors. Thrust out by these, he was allowed, in a furtive way, to pause momentarily in his downfall, with dentists, with stock-brokers, and lawyers of all grades, in the order of their social precedence. So, in the descending scale, he slid rapidly through the realms of speculative, inferior merchants, and small traders, and within a month was absolutely known to have walked arm-in-arm through the street with a small manufacturer of some sort, precisely what the public did not care to inquire, but whose credit in bank, so it was said, would not have been good for two thousand dollars. And to add to his fall, the disparaging rumor was circulated and generally believed, that he dined with the fellow afterwards.

            It is not likely that the reader will care to pursue the degraded wretch beyond this point, nor would we be willing to confess to a knowledge of his decline into a condition of society of which we can form no knowledge save by vague conjecture. It is probable, however, that most readers of this book will agree with us that there should be a limit to the punishment even of the villain in a novel. That he continued to descend, there can be no reasonable doubt. Should we follow him, we might find him driven to the humiliation of choosing his acquaintances among people who earn their daily bread by the sweat of their vulgar brows. But we have bowels of compassion, and will presume our readers to be equally merciful. We will pursue Enoch Bloodstone no further.

            While San Francisco high life was occupying itself with conjectures and disturbing rumors concerning the now wealthy and respectable Grahams, Henry Stacey was chiefly engaged in Washoe Territory settling up the affairs of his client, who had resolved not again to return to a place so associated with sad and distressing recollections. Mr. Graham could not forgive himself for his own course in pursuing the search for the silver vein, as he did, to the oblivion of all other considerations.

            "I am not innocent of Matilda's death," was his constant reproach to himself. "I sold her for gold."

            Nothing could dissuade him from this notion.

566      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

            "At least," he declared, " I will not accept the purchase money."

            The nearest that he would come to a deviation from this resolution was to give the mine to his children.

            "You were thrown into the monstrous bargain, Helen," he said. " You were bartered away once for the miserable dross, and at least ought not to be deprived of your share of the profits."

            Had it not been for Helen's rights, he declared that he would have fled from the Territory, leaving the mine again to the first occupant. And this resolution he held inflexibly to the day of his death, three years afterward. He would never accept of any property, favor, or advantage that could, in any manner, be traced to the profits of the mine. To Helen he said, —

            "Your hands are clean ; the treasure is purified before it reaches you. It comes as the price of your own, not another's suffering, so take and enjoy it as much as you may, for you have earned it and a thousand-fold more than it can bring."

            Henry Stacey, in pursuance of Mr. Graham's instructions, made no effort to work the mine, but proceeded at once to sell it for the benefit of the daughter. A joint stock company was formed, and in three months the whole property had been sold for five millions of dollars, a sum which the new owners were able to take from the mine within the first year of their operations.

            Harry was, however, required with the money to provide for all just charges that ought to come out of the property. This he faithfully did. His first effort was directed to the discovery of the three men who had rescued Mr. Graham from the hands of the wicked conspirators.

            He soon heard of the sad death of Jack Gowdy, as well as of the departure of Greathouse for the South to join the army of the Rebellion. Joe Bowers, however, he soon found, and insisted upon his accepting such a reward as should place him in the position of a wealthy man for life. Joe returned to his old home in Missouri, and afterwards married a younger sister of the lady who had forgotten her engagement to him in her love for the butcher. The sister was even handsomer, so Joe thought, than Eliza, in her best days.

            "There are as good fish in the sea as have ever been caught," was Joe's remark to a friend who referred to his old love.

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       567

            He has now a fine farm on the banks of Calumet Creek, his old home.

            Charley Hunter, the youth who had proved so faithful a companion to Helen in her trouble, and who, at the risk of his life, had gone in search of Greathouse to come to her rescue, was not forgotten. He was enabled to return to his mother at the East, with a fortune quite sufficient to put them all in easy circumstances, where he now resides. The stage company were one day surprised by an anonymous donation of ten thousand dollars, which amply repaid the shareholders for the loss of stock, consequent upon Jack Gowdy's runaway freak. Before leaving California, Harry Stacey and Helen Graham were married. Blanche McIver stood as bridesmaid for the young lady. It would have been only natural, under the circumstances, for Vanderbilt Gudgeon to have accompanied Blanche in the character of best man for Harry. But that gentleman declined to do so. He had not time to get ready, but requested, as was his custom, that his friend Mr. Bowles, should perform that service. So the faithful Bowles, for the hundredth, perhaps for the thousandth time, took Vanderbilt's place by the side of his fiancee to relieve that gentleman from an unpleasant duty. The ceremony was performed by the Protestant Episcopal Bishop of California. That most handsome of all the prelates in the world, as was admitted by all present, had never come out so stunning as on this occasion. It was remarked that his hands had never looked so white, or been waved so gracefully against the beautiful lawn back-ground as now, and his voice was, so ladies said, altogether heavenly. And when it was over he remarked, in the hearing of all his intimate friends, that he had never united in marriage so handsome a couple, as upon this present most happy occasion. We need, we presume, go no further in the description of the beautiful affair. The wedding took place upon the morning of the sailing of the steamer for the East. At one o'clock of the same day, the young married couple, with Mr. Graham, were sailing away for their old home in Pennsylvania, where they all arrived safely, and where they may be seen at any day in the old Graham mansion in Chester county. There was a strong disposition on the part of Harry, to reside at Wilmington, in Delaware, because of its association, but the request of Mr. Graham, that the family should remain where for so many generations it had been planted, prevailed ; and the young people yielded to the request. Very soon after the marriage of Harry and Helen, a second wedding

568      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

came off in the same church and before the same Right Reverend gentleman. Mr. Vanderbilt Gudgeon had at last, in despair of making a better market of himself, determined to accept the best that lay in his way, and to marry Blanche McIver.

            "Her hundred thousand dollars were," he grumbled to his father, "better than nothing, and nothing else seemed likely to come to him."

            Accordingly the day was fixed for a certain Thursday, at eight o'clock in the evening. Special cards were issued and sent out, inviting all respectable persons already retired from business, as well as all others known to possess clear and unincumbered taxable property above the value of one hundred thousand dollars, to attend and join in the festivities to be given on the happy occasion at the Cosmodental Hotel, where the parents of bridegroom and bride resided. The preparations were of the most elegant and tasteful character. It is scarcely necessary to say more of the company than that, amongst the very earliest to be present was Commodore Plug with his lady, richly dressed in cherry-colored velvet, trimmed with point lace and white crushed roses. Behind them marched in grand style Judge Bung, leading in triumph all of the great Commodore's children, dressed each in some special foreign costume. Ebenezer Gudgeon's cup of happiness was now full and running over. He had known both Commodore Plug and Judge Bung for years, in the way of business ; but neither of them, nor any member of the Commodore's family, had ever crossed his threshold. Old Gudgeon had often thought rather hard of this. He had been out of regular trade for three years, and felt that his probation ought to have an end. The social magnate was disposed to be unjust to him, he sometimes thought. But his day had now gloriously come, and he was happy. The time of longing, and wishing, and waiting, had passed away. His position in high life was settled and permanent. Mrs. Gudgeon had never looked so entirely gorgeous. Her splendid and noble features had been freshly enamelled, and the court dress just drawn from the band-box looked as good as new. The press had been duly and carefully invited, subsidized, and its representative filled to the neck with whiskey. Every journal in the town was represented, not by a single local reporter alone, to be bribed with a gin cocktail and a cheap cigar, but editors and proprietors, in black evening coats and white gloves, fitting as though they had been born in them, sauntered in and looked as much at home as if they had crawled in short clothes upon

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       569

turkey carpets and been fed with pap from golden spoons. It was a beautiful sight. The details of the whole affair had been written out for the papers, by six practical and skilful journalists, several days before, and were already in the hands of the printer to come out in the morning. The dresses of the ladies had been prepared and sent in by themselves, and literally transcribed. And the presents given to the bride, with the names of the donors, as well as that of the jeweller of whom bought, and the respective cost of each article, was all carefully filled out ; and nothing remained to be reported but those little exaggerations, that a well-fed and well-wined reporter knows so well how to prepare. Such, for example, as the amount of the dowery to be given the bride, and the start in life to be bestowed upon the groom. Those matters of trifling and graceful detail, together with the delicate puns and jeu esprit are always better left to the more polished taste and fancy of the experienced journalist. Mr. Solomon Comet was there, and from the moment of his arrival, absorbed the attention of the company to the exclusion of all minor personages. A great number of people present had not seen the eminent banker since the early part of the day. And since that time, as was only natural, many matters of importance had occurred, upon which it was desirable to obtain his advice. One gentleman present, had received news of an unexpected consignment of goods. Would it be advisable to sell them by bill of lading in transitu, or ought they to be held for arrival and a better market ? Another was in love, and half disposed to propose marriage with a certain beautiful young lady, but before doing so, he would fain have the opinion of the great banker. Captain Plunger had just received the news that the superintendent of King Midas had tumbled down his own shaft and broken his neck, thus furnishing in his death, what he had wholly failed to do in his life, a proof that he had been digging in the ground to some good purpose. "This casualty," argued the Captain, " settles the point so long disputed, that there is a shaft sunk at least to some depth in the mine. Besides, it will ensure a change of management, always a desirable point. The good news will of course put up the shares. I will see Comet, and ask him how high he thinks they will go." Colonel Hornspout had just finished sixty more verses to the Constitution, after the manner of Tennyson, including an exceedingly brilliant rendering of the fourteenth and fifteenth amendments, and, therefore, naturally wanted the banker's opinion upon them. While doing this, he would then tell him the story

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of the play-actor in Indiana, which he was not quite certain whether that eminent gentleman had heard. The banker was surrounded by a dense crowd, so that it was only by standing upon the furniture that the top of his eminent head could be seen. This many did, greatly to their own pleasure, but not a little to the injury Or the chess-tables.

            In the meantime the company increased, as the wealthy people of San Francisco high life drifted into the rooms. But the time for the wedding had already elapsed, and the bride had not made her appearance. As the whole party had still to go from the hotel to the bishop's cathedral for the ceremony, the company became impatient. Inquiry became eager and pressing, until at last a messenger was sent up stairs to her father's rooms to learn the muse of the extraordinary delay. She had dressed herself half an hour before, so the report said, for the wedding, and had stepped out for a moment in company with a young gentleman, a friend of the family. They were expecting her back immediately. But while the messenger still remained, a boy came with a note from Blanche to her father. She had just been married, and was now on her way to San Jose upon a wedding tour. Her husband was the faithful Bowles. She had stepped away in advance of the company, and, finding the good-natured bishop in full canonicals, waiting for the wedding party, had been married on the spot, and was off to spend the honeymoon.

            The breaking up and dispersing of the brilliant assemblage was in keeping with the disaster that had brought it about. Old Gudgeon countermanded the supper and champagne directly that the news of the runaway reached his ears. But he was sorry afterward that his economy had taken that direction. The editors and reporters, indignant at the unjust deprivation imposed upon them, went directly from the hotel to their printing offices, nor slept till they had put their wrath in type. So they scored him the next morning most unmercifully, and set the whole town laughing at him and his heir apparent. The Gudgeon family could not face the storm of ridicule that poured down upon them, but packed up their bag and baggage, court-dress and paint-pots, and hastened away to Paris on the very next steamer. Vanderbilt was at the French capital but a short time when he married an Italian countess, who turned out afterwards to be the runaway wife of a French barber in New York. Each one had imposed upon the other ; one with a false story of wealth, and the other with a sham title. The

ROBERT GREATHOUSE.       571

indignation of the lady was so terrific when she learned that old Gudgeon was not happily dead and buried, as Vanderbilt had assured her he was before she would consent to waive rank and become the wife of a plebian, that she slapped his face and pulled out his handsome moustache, taking a portion of the skin with it, and then ran away with a son of Jeremiah I. Byers, the great Cincinnati pork-merchant. The last time we heard of the Gudgeons, the father and son were looking exceedingly respectable, and playing billiards together at Baden-Baden. They never intend to return to America. Mr. Marvin Wither-green still operates mines. He is at this moment either president or director of almost every mine in Washoe. But it has been generally observed that the mines that Withergreen manages never pay regular dividends. His stocks are sold in the board of brokers among stock-gamblers only. The outside world has long since quit dealing with him. His legal advisers are Messrs. Snakeweed and Bittergin. The senior member of that very respectable firm of lawyers is quite as patronizing to young men as ever, and takes great pleasure in speaking of them as good citizens and rising persons. He never does much for them, however, save to give good advice. Of this he is quite as lavish as ever. None of the American gentlemen and ladies travelling at present in Europe are the late cooks and coachmen of Mr. Melchisedec Snakeweed. Further than that, we do not feel called upon to go. Judge Bung has not yet succumbed to the rich food served him at the table of his patron, Commodore Plug. He lives. Taking note of the failure of whiskey and terrapin straws to do their wonted work, several ineffectual efforts have been made, in which the entire community gladly and hopefully joined, to transfer him to other fields of usefulness. Upon the death of the Late Chief Justice Taney of the Supreme Court of the United States, a powerful effort was made to obtain for Judge Bung that remote and honorable post. But another gentleman was chosen, greatly to the chagrin both of the learned judge and the signers of his petition. Failing in this laudable effort, the Legislature was at last moved to lend its aid, and by a special act to remand the judicial functionary back to the original state of genteel vagabondage from which the blindness of the judge's working power had lifted him in the early clays of Californian social chaos. But high life raised a shriek of alarm at the danger which threatened good society. The influence of the superior classes, headed by the great leader, Commodore Plug, was too much for the law

572      ROBERT GREATHOUSE.

making power, and Judge Bung still sits in the hall of judgment and aids his chief in determining questions of social status.

            The Washoe Bench and Bar has greatly changed since the time of which we write in this volume. The lawyers who once occupied so prominent a position before the public in that Territory, when it became a State, all entered politics, and were generally successful. Mr. Andrew Johnson, when President, formed a strong attachment for them all. His administration proved a rich mine or office to the ambitious and gifted orators of the Washoe bar. Napoleon B. Spelter was appointed by that noble patriot and statesman to be Envoy Extraordinary at the court of the king of Siam. Here he arrived soon afterwards and was received with great honor. But, in consequence of some misunderstanding of his opening speech when first presented to that august monarch, the notion became established at the court that his name was Norval and that he was the last of the extinct tribe of Mingoes. The king always addressed the distinguished diplomat as Norval, the son of Logan. Mr. Calhoun Whiffit received a secret appointment as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to represent the Great American Republic at the capital of the infant Irish Republic in the city of New York. His mission, though secret, has been attended with the most happy results. The Fenians consider him as their firmest friend, and fear not proud England's power while his hand protects them. All the other supporters of Mr. Spelter obtained diplomatic appointments, save Cicero de Froth alone, who was compelled to accept a place, first in the United States Senate, and afterwards as a cabinet minister to Mr. Johnson. His fate has been greatly commiserated by the public. We have now disposed of all our characters in whom the reader is likely to take any interest, save Robert Greathouse alone. The story of him must be short, for we have little to tell. He made his way successfully back to the land of his youth, and was welcomed by his old companions in arms. We heard once from him, and that shortly after his arrival in Texas. He had been again made a Colonel of Rangers and was about to set out upon an expedition against the Federal forces. Then there came the news of a desperate battle that had raged for a day and a night. When the sun again arose upon the ensanguined field, it was strewn with the now friendly soldiers of both sides, locked in death's embrace. No record was kept of the slain, but all lay rotting in confused heaps, awaiting the last trump that will call them to

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answer a roll upon which their names will be unerringly inscribed. But the commanding officer was not spoken of again during the war, and his deeds passed into oblivion. But, upon the banks of the Rio Grande del Norte may be seen to-day a simple slab, with the short inscription, " Here lies Robert Greathouse, late Colonel of Texan Rangers, who fell in battle on this spot, October 17th, 186—, aged 29 years."

 

THE END.

 

 

 John Franklin Swift, Robert Greathouse: A Story of the Nevada Silver Mines (unexpurgated edition of 1870) -- Part 1 (Title Page; TOC; The Silver Mines; Edmond Graham, Wife, and Daughter; Bob Greathouse, the Murderer; The Cosmodental Hotel; The Colony of Castaways); Part 2 (Enoch Bloodstone "strikes" it in the Graham Mine; Dame Partlet's Revenge; What constitutes Manhood; High Life; The Bosh Silver-Mining Company); Part 3 (The great Chain-shot Ball; The Fairy Island; The Blackmail Suit; Going to the Mines; Woman's Rights); Part 4 (Strawberry Station; The Carson Grade; Snakeweed and Bittergin, Counsellors-at-Law; Education forms the Common Mind; Jack Gowdy buys Mining Shares); Part 5 (The two Mortgages; Mr. Napoleon B. Spelter; No. 16, American Eagle Hotel; The Washoe Bar; The Patriotism of the Washoe Bar); Part 6 (What the Washoe Bar thinks of itself; A Declaration of Love; An Engagement to Marry; Joy in No. 16, American Eagle Hotel; An old Lover is sent about his Business); Part 7 (The Wedding Day is fixed; More Trouble at the Mine; How Mines are managed in Washoe; Charley Hunter obtains Employment; The Mother and her Offspring); Part 8 (Mr. Graham visits the Fourth Level; Mr. Graham has gone upon a Journey; The Wedding is Postponed; Mrs. Graham goes upon a Journey; A Friend comes to see Helen); Part 9 (A Worthy member of the Washoe Bar; Helen Graham Consults a Lawyer; Conscience an Obstacle to Justice; The Obstacle Removed; The King's Writ runneth not in the Graham Mine); Part 10 (Miss Graham is in very great Trouble; Joseph Bowers, of Calumet Creek; Practice at the Washoe Bar; The Sky is more Overcast; The Clouds begin to lift); Part 11 (Jack Gowdy's Logic; A Private writ of Habeas Corpus; Six Hours ahead of Time; Ten Hours ahead of Time; Serving the writ of Habeas Corpus); Part 12 (The Washoe Bar airs its Eloquence; Napoleon B. Spelter on the War-Path; Home Again; Another engagement to Marry; Jack Gowdy hands in his checks; Exeunt Omnes)