The Cave of Gold A Tale of California in '49 18 – McNeil · Verses Across
Literature · Western
The Cave of Gold A Tale of California in '49 18Pockface Again
18
Literature · Western
The Cave of Gold A Tale of California in '49 18
Pockface Again
McNeilEnglish
Thure and Bud were very tired and very sleepy and both slept very soundly; but, when the door of their house was suddenly flung violently open some three hours after they had closed their eyes in sleep, and a voice, hoarse with excitement, yelled: "Fire! Fire! Fire!" they found themselves out of their bunks and on their feet and wide-awake almost before the startling cry ceased to echo in the room.
"Where, where is the fire?" they heard Conroyal asking excitedly, as they hurried into their trousers and heavy boots--they had slept in their shirts. A moment later came a cry of horror from Ham in reply.
"God in heaven!" he yelled. "It's Dickson's! Th' Leetle Woman!" and he plunged madly out through the door, followed by every other man in the house.
Thure and Bud were close behind the last man. The moment they were outside their eyes caught the red glow of the fire shining wickedly through the openings between the pine trees that surrounded Dickson's little cabin, and raced madly toward it. The distance was not great, not over twenty rods; and they soon found themselves in front of the burning house.
Dickson and his wife, half-dressed, were rushing madly about, empty water-pails in their hands. Already the red flames were leaping through one of the windows; and, as they looked, a heavy jet of black smoke, swiftly followed by a long tongue of fire, shot out from the roof above the flaming window.
"Buckets! Buckets!" yelled Ham. "Form a line tew th' spring an' pass buckets of water from it tew th' house. Here, you," he cried, as his eyes caught sight of Thure and Bud, "back tew th' house an' git everything in it that'll hold water--pails, gold-pans, kettles, anything--Hurry!"
Thure and Bud turned instantly and sped back to the house, their hearts thumping with excitement. They knew the value of moments in a case like this. Thure was a little longer-legged, a little the swifter runner, and he reached the open door perhaps a rod ahead of Bud and sprang through it, thinking only of how he could get hold of the kettles and the pails and the pans in the quickest manner possible.
The room was dimly lighted by a ruddy glow from the coals still burning in the fireplace; and by this light, Thure, the moment he sprang through the door, saw a figure start up suddenly from near the bunk where he slept and turn a pock-marked, face, white with fear, toward him; and then, as his momentum carried him into the room and before he could lift a hand in self-defense, he saw the right hand suddenly swing up a heavy club, as the figure leaped toward him, and--a blinding crash and he knew no more for the present.
Bud was more fortunate. He saw the figure, saw the blow hurriedly aimed at him, in time to spring aside; and then, with a yell of rage, for he, too, had caught sight of the pock-marked face of his assailant, he hurled himself toward him.
But Pockface had had all of the fight he wanted; for, the instant he struck at Bud and failed to hit him, he sprang through the door.
Bud, in his mad rush to get at the man, failed to see the body of Thure sprawled out on the ground at his feet, and, as he sprang after the fleeing scoundrel, his feet struck the body and pitched him head-first to the ground, where he lay for an instant, stunned by the fall. When he jumped to his feet and sprang excitedly to the door, Pockface had vanished completely into the darkness of the night.
There was no use now of trying to follow him. Besides, there was Thure! What had happened to him? He--he might be dead! And, with fingers that trembled with anxiety and dread, Bud hurriedly lit a candle and bent over Thure, for the moment forgetful of the fire and of everything else but the condition of his friend.
A great bump on the top of Thure's head showed where the blow had fallen; but he was breathing, and Bud's experience in such matters quickly told him that he was only stunned.
On a box in a corner of the room stood a pail, filled with water. Bud quickly seized this pail, and, in his excitement, dumped its whole contents directly down on the white face of Thure.
A shiver ran through the still form, then both eyes opened and stared wildly, blankly around for a moment. Suddenly the blank, wild look left the eyes, and Thure struggled desperately to get on his feet.
"Did he--did he get the skin map?" he cried excitedly, as Bud endeavored to quiet him. "I--I left it under my pillow. Hurry! See if it is still there. Never mind me. I'll be all right in a minute. Hurry and see if the map is still where I left it," and he pushed Bud impatiently away from him.
Bud quickly caught up the candle and hurried to the bunk. Both pillows lay on the floor, where some hurried hand had thrown them, and the little buckskin bag, with its precious contents, was nowhere in sight. Bud jerked off all the blankets and held the candle up high; but no sight of the buckskin bag rewarded his efforts.
"It is gone!" and he turned a despairing face to Thure. "He got the map! And after all we have gone through!"
"What!" Thure was now on his feet, all the dizziness gone, and rushing toward the bunk. "The map gone!" and he seized the candle from Bud's hand, and, holding it so that its light illuminated the whole bunk, stared wildly down on the rumpled surface of the rude bedtick, which now, the blankets having been thrown off, showed its entire surface to the light of the candle. There could be no doubting his own eyes. The buckskin bag was not there!
"Gone! It is gone!" and Thure staggered back from the bunk, almost as if he had received a blow. "But," and he straightened up suddenly, his face white and his eyes sparkling with rage, "he has not had time to go far. Get your rifle, your pistols," and he sprang to the rack where hung his rifle and pistols. "We must catch him. Oh, if I could but just get hold of him!" and, rifle and pistols in hands, he rushed to the door; and not until the glare of the burning house met his eyes did he come to his senses sufficiently to see the folly of rushing blindly out into the darkness of the night and the wildness of the mountains after the scoundrel who had fled he knew not whither, or to recall the purpose for which he and Bud had been sent back to the house.
"Mother of men! We are forgetting all about the fire!" and he stopped abruptly. "Well, it would be useless to try to find him now," and his eyes glared wrathfully out into the darkness of the night. "The buckets! Hurry!" and he rushed back into the house.
When, a few minutes later, Thure and Bud, loaded down with kettles, pails, pans, and even frying-pans, rushed pantingly up to Ham, who stood at the end of the long line of men, stretching from the house to the spring, throwing the water, as it was passed to him, with his great strong arms, on the fire, he turned angrily on them.
"Git tew th' spring," he shouted, "with them kettles and pails, you young--" Then, catching sight of their white faces, he stopped abruptly. "What's happened?"
"They've got the map!"
"Burn th' map! Git tew th' spring with them pails an' git busy with th' water," and, with a violent swing of his huge body, Ham flung a large gold-pan full of water on top of the flaming roof.
Thure and Bud at once hurried to the spring.
By this time the alarm of fire had raced up and down the gulches and ravines of Hangtown and men were running from every direction toward the burning building. Already a hundred or more men were stretched in a long line from the house to the spring; and down this line buckets and pails and pans of water were passing as swiftly as strong and willing arms could send them. The air was filled with the yells and cries of excited men.
Thure and Bud at once pushed their pails and buckets into service and promptly joined a new line that was forming.
Fortunately the spring was a large one and the water held out; and, in a short time, a great shout went up from the house and rushed along the two lines of bucket men up to the spring and echoed and reëchoed triumphantly up and down through the rocky gulches and canyons of Hangtown.
The fire had been conquered; but not until the larger part of the roof had been burned and the greater part of the interior furnishings destroyed.
The cause of the fire was a mystery. Mr. and Mrs. Dickson were positive that it did not come from the fireplace, that, in fact, it had started in almost the opposite end of the house and nearly directly under their bunk; for, when the heat and the smoke awoke them, the foot of the bunk and the lower end of the bed-clothes were already ablaze. Everything inside the house was too badly burnt to furnish any positive clues; but it was the opinion of nearly all the excited men that the house had been set on fire purposely; and, if they could have but laid their hands on the miscreant, there would have been as speedy a hanging as the one had been that had given the town its unsavory name.
The moment the excitement of the fire was over, Thure and Bud hastened to their fathers and hurriedly told them what had happened on their return to the house and of the disappearance of the map.
The two men at once quietly but quickly gathered the other members of the company and soon all were back again in the house, with the door tightly closed.
"Now," and Mr. Conroyal turned to the two boys, "tell us exactly what happened."
Thure quickly told all that he knew up to the moment the club had knocked him senseless and exhibited the bump, now as large as a goose egg, on the top of his head in proof of the story; and then Bud related his part in the adventure. Both boys were certain that the man they had seen in the house was Quinley, or Pockface as they continued to call him.
"An' you say th' skunk got that thar skin map an' gold nugget!" and Ham sprang excitedly to his feet.
"Yes. I--I left it under my pillow. We found both pillows on the floor; and the buckskin bag gone. The man was standing near my bunk when I rushed in, and must have just found it. Oh, if I only could have got hold of him before he hit me!" and tears of baffled rage filled Thure's eyes.
"You're sart'in th' bag ain't thar?" and Ham glanced at the dismantled bunk and the disordered bed-clothes scattered about.
"Look for yourself," and Thure sank down on one of the rude chairs and, throwing his arms disconsolately on the table, laid his aching head down on them.
Ham seized a lighted candle and strode over to the bunk, followed by all the other men. He held the candle over the bunk and his eyes swiftly searched every inch of the surface of the bedtick.
"Th' yunks are right! Th' bag's not here!" and, with an angry growl, he seized the offending mattress and hurled it out on the floor.
There was a soft thud, as of something small but heavy striking the ground of the floor; and then, with a yell that caused Thure to jump nearly a foot up in the air from his seat at the table, Ham dropped the candle and caught up something from the floor.
"Hal'lujah! Hurrah! Amen! Here it is!" yelled the excited man, as he held up where all could see the missing buckskin bag.
In his mad tumble out of the bunk at the alarm of fire, Thure must have knocked the little bag down between the mattress and the side of the bunk, whence the rude hands of Ham had dislodged it when he had jerked the mattress off the bunk; and this, probably, was all that had saved it from the fingers of Pockface, for the pillows lying on the floor showed that he had evidently searched underneath them.
There is no need of picturing the rejoicing in that log house for the next few minutes; but, when all had quieted down and were beginning to talk sensible again, Rex suddenly jumped to his feet with an exclamation of horror and rage.
"The curs! The cowards! The murderers!" he cried excitedly.
"What's bitin' you?" demanded Ham in astonishment.
"The fire! Can't you see the curs set Dickson's house on fire on purpose to get us out of the way?"
"Great guns! If I don't believe you are right!" and Ham leaped to his feet, his face white with rage. "An' a woman asleep in th' house! They might have burnt both on 'em tew death! They shore won't stop at nuthin' tew git that map! An' tew think I had my grip on that red-headed skunk's shoulder, an' I only knocked him down!" and Ham dropped back on his seat, muttering wrathfully to himself.
"I reckon Rex has the right of it," and Mr. Conroyal's lips tightened. "But the devilish cunning of it! They knew that whoever had the buckskin bag would not be apt to sleep with it on him; and they calculated that the sudden alarm of fire, coming when all were sound asleep, would so startle, that, for the moment, even the skin map would be forgotten and all would rush out to help put out the fire, and give them a chance to search the house. Cunning, but as devilish as it is cunning! Think of how they might have burnt Dickson and the Little Woman in their bed! By the good God, we would be justified in killing either one of them on sight!" and his rugged face hardened.
"We certainly would," agreed Mr. Randolph emphatically. "They have forfeited all their rights of manhood. But, I fancy, the cunning devils won't give us a chance for an open fight. They will always strike from behind something; but now that we know they are on our trail, we've got to be on the lookout for them."
"'Pears tew me," and Ham held the buckskin bag up, "that it's this here thing that needs special guardin'. It's th' map that they are after; an' they don't 'pear tew be none particular how many or who they kill tew git it, only so they save their own hides. Now, I reckon, we've got tew keep an eye on this here map night an' day 'til we gits tew th' Cave of Gold; an' then, like as not, we'll have tew fight for th' gold. First off, it 'pears tew me, we otter git some better place tew hide th' map since them curs seem tew know 'bout th' buckskin bag," and Ham took the fateful map out of the little bag and spread it out on his knees.
"I know," and, in his excitement, Thure jumped to his feet and caught up the map. "I know a good way to hide the map, and, maybe, fool them. We'll leave the gold nugget in the bag, and I'll sew the skin map on the inside of my shirt bosom. Then, if they should somehow get hold of the buckskin bag, they'd only get the gold nugget; but, to get the map, they'd have to get me; and, I reckon, dad and the rest of you are able to keep them from doing that!"
"That sounds sensible," declared Ham. "Thure'll always have his shirt on his back night an' day; an' so we'll jest have tew keep an eye on Thure. I reckon that idee is 'bout as good as any we can think of--only, we must be powerful careful tew keep it secret an' tew never let th' yunk git out of our sight for an instant."
After a little discussion all agreed that Thure's plan was a good one; and, accordingly, Thure at once took off his shirt and carefully and smoothly sewed the skin map on the inside of its bosom, the face of the map toward the cloth; and then, over all, he sewed another piece of cloth, so that the map was completely hidden between the two folds of cloth.
"There," he said, as he pulled the shirt back on his body, "I'd like to see Pockface or Brokennose get the map now, without getting me; and, I reckon, you fellers will see that they have their hands full if they tackle that job," and his eyes glanced proudly around the little circle of men, who had gathered close about him while he was performing his interesting little feat in sewing.
And Thure had good reasons for his pride and confidence in his comrades; for his father and Frank Holt, his uncle, and Hammer Jones and Rex and Dill and Mr. Randolph were all old trappers and hunters and Indian fighters, who had been tried by every form of peril and had never been found wanting. Indeed, the names of Hammer Jones and Noel Conroyal and Steeltrap Smith, as Frank Holt was once called, were still famous throughout all the Rocky Mountain region, for the deeds of daring and skill that had made them comrades in fame, as they often had been in fact, with trappers and Indian fighters like Kit Carson and Jim Bridger and Old Bill Williams and half-a-dozen other fearless men, whose courage and pluck and wonderful skill had made their names known wherever a campfire blazed throughout all the great West. Yes, Thure had good reasons to believe that Brokennose and Pockface, cunning as they were, would certainly have their hands full, if they got the skin map away from him, while he was watched by such men as these.
"They'll have tew git all of us afore they git you, son," declared Ham, in reply to Thure's assertion. "Now," and he stretched his big frame and yawned, "seein' that we've 'tended tew all th' business that needs 'tendin' tew tew-night, we'd better try an' git a leetle more sleep afore mornin'. Leastwise I'm a-goin' tew," and, after a glance through the window to assure himself that everything was all safe and quiet around the Dickson house, he slipped a loaded pistol under his pillow and climbed into his bunk.
Ham's advice, as usual, was too good to be neglected, and soon all were in their bunks. But, just before each had climbed into his bunk, he, like Ham, had slipped a loaded pistol under his pillow. They were not the kind of men to go unprepared when danger threatened.
