Читать книгу: «The Award of Justice; Or, Told in the Rockies: A Pen Picture of the West», страница 22

CHAPTER XLVI

Meanwhile, the work of destruction went swiftly forward, explosions following in quick succession and with terrific force, throughout the Yankee group of mines, and the adjoining claims; while the flames from the burning shafts were rivaled by those which spread from the mills to the shops, storehouses and stables, and finally, to the miners’ quarters, till all were speedily reduced to ashes.

Around the entrance to tunnel No. 3, a large crowd had gathered, not only from the various mines, but also from neighboring mining camps, all anxiously awaiting the return of the rescue party.

At last they appeared. The first to emerge into daylight, was Ned Rutherford, bearing in his arms the crushed and mutilated form of little Bull-dog. Behind him came Houston, partially supported by one of the young miners and by Lyle, his left arm hanging at his side, his face deathly white beneath the blood and grime, but firm and dauntless as ever. As he stepped forth into the light, a wild cheer rose on the air, but Houston, raising his right hand with a deprecatory motion, silently pointed backward toward the tunnel, where, slowly emerging into view of the crowd, were Morton Rutherford and Mike, carrying, with the assistance of the other miner, the bleeding and unconscious form of Jack.

The cheers were hushed, and the crowd silently surged about Houston and the two motionless, unconscious forms laid side by side upon the ground, their heads pillowed upon the rough jackets of the men, folded and tenderly placed beneath them by the hands of Lyle and Leslie, the latter half fainting with excitement.

The men crowding about Houston congratulated him with a hearty hand-clasp, unaccompanied by words, except for an occasional inquiry as to his own condition.

“I am all right,” he said in reply to the latter, “my arm is nothing, the merest trifle; my only thought is for the two lives which I fear have been sacrificed for mine.”

Anxiously he bent above the prostrate forms. Jack’s head was frightfully gashed, and his heavy, labored breathing indicated that his brain was already affected. Houston spoke a word to Morton Rutherford, who quickly withdrew, and taking the swiftest horse in camp, was soon speeding down the road to the Y, in a second race against death.

Houston next knelt beside Bull-dog; a faint fluttering about the heart was the only sign of life. The little waif was well known among the mining camps of that vicinity, and there were few dry eyes in the crowd as Houston told the story of his heroism.

Houston saw the end was very near, and gently slipped his right arm under Bull-dog’s head. Slowly the little fellow opened his eyes, looking, with a happy smile, into the face bending so tenderly over him. At that instant, the sun, bursting through the clouds, threw a ray of golden light in shining benediction across the little white face. His eyes brightened still more; “We’re safe!” he whispered joyously. There was a slight quiver, and the little form was still.

The sun, shining as brightly and serenely as though storms were unknown, looked down into that beautiful canyon upon a strange scene of ruin, desolation and death. Amid the wreck and debris of the explosions, lay the little hero who had saved so many lives that day, upon his face a child-like smile which it had never worn in life; while farther on down the canyon, beside the smoking embers of the milling plant, lay the one whose signal had wrought all this destruction. The men, rushing into the burning mills, had found the electrical apparatus in ruins, as though torn to pieces by giant hands, and beside it upon the floor lay Haight, a ghastly sight, his face blackened and distorted, his right arm and side seared and shriveled, by the mighty servant who had suddenly burst its fetters.

Slowly and tenderly Jack was borne to the house, and laid in the room which had been Houston’s, which Lyle had made ready for him with loving care, her tears falling fast as she recalled his farewell of the preceding night. To the house came also his two faithful friends, Mike and Rex, for the little cabin was no more, Jack had indeed spent his last night beneath its roof, though the succeeding night, to which he had looked forward, was far different from his anticipations.

Days afterward, his gripsack, packed with such care on that last night in the cabin, was found by Houston concealed among the rocks, where Jack had hidden it on the morning of that eventful day, intending, when his work was done, to set forth upon his wandering life once more.

Morton Rutherford, on arriving at the Y, had sent the following cipher dispatch to Van Dorn:

“Come out on special at once. The mines have been fired by telegraphic orders from Silver City office. Everard badly cut and arm broken, but not seriously injured. Jack but just alive. Bring surgeons and nurse as quickly as possible.”

Having sent this message, and finding there was a very good physician at the Y, he sent him at once to the camp, to remain there until the surgeons should arrive, doing meantime all in his power to relieve the sufferers. Then giving orders for one of the company’s men to take his horse, and replace it with a fresh one, Morton returned to the station to await Van Dorn’s reply.

At the house, Jack was being cared for by Mike and one of the older miners, who had had considerable experience in nursing, Houston doing everything which his crippled condition and the intense pain he was suffering, would permit.

On the arrival of the physician from the Y, he first visited Jack, and leaving directions to be carried out for his temporary relief, next attended to the setting of Houston’s arm and the dressing of his wounds. The operation required some time, but at last it was completed, and Houston returned to Jack’s room.

The room had been darkened, and in accordance with the physician’s directions, Jack’s beard had been shaven and his hair closely cut, to relieve his head as much as possible. His breathing was more natural, but he lay quiet and motionless as before.

As Houston approached the bed in the dim light, he scarcely recognized his friend, so great was the change in his appearance, but as he drew nearer, he started visibly. Something in the smooth face and closely clipped head seemed wonderfully familiar, and carried him back to the days when he had first entered his uncle’s home. Bending over him for an instant, he scanned the features more closely. It was enough! The face with its patrician features carved in such perfect beauty, though lined by sorrow, was the face of his cousin,–his boyish hero and ideal.

With a quick, dry sob, Houston turned from the bedside, more deeply moved than any of his associates had ever seen him.

“Great God!” he exclaimed, in low tones, “it is Guy Cameron! my cousin Guy!” and bending over the unconscious form once more, while the great tears coursed slowly down his face, he murmured:

“Guy, dear old fellow, and you have known me all this time! God grant this has not come too late!”

With a low cry, Lyle had sprung to Houston’s side, while Leslie and Ned Rutherford followed, and the others looked on in mute wonder and astonishment. Her quick ear had caught the name.

“What name did you say?” she cried eagerly, “Did you say Guy Cameron? Is Jack–my Jack–is he my mother’s brother?”

Houston bowed in assent, he could not speak.

“Oh,” moaned Lyle, “no wonder that he loved us so! and we have not loved him half enough!” and dropping on her knees beside the bed, sobbing bitterly, she seized the hand, nearly as white as the sheet upon which it lay, and covered it with passionate kisses.

A few moments later, Morton Rutherford entered the room; Lyle was still kneeling by the bedside; beside her was Leslie, quietly weeping. Ned’s eyes were suspiciously red, while in one corner, honest-hearted Mike was vainly trying to check his fast-flowing tears upon the sleeves of his blouse. Morton looked quickly toward the strangely altered face upon the pillows, and was struck by its wondrous beauty.

Glancing inquiringly at Houston, as he advanced to meet him, he asked anxiously:

“Is he worse?”

“No, there is no change yet, one way or another,” Houston replied in low tones, and continued, “Morton, we were speaking last night, at the cabin, of my uncle’s son,–my cousin, Guy Cameron.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“He is found,” Houston’s voice trembled, and he could say no more, but Morton understood. He gazed with new and tearful interest upon the beautiful face in its death-like calm; then beckoning to Houston, he said, as they passed from the room:

“Ah, you have at last found the key to the wondrous bond between you, and to his self-sacrificing love toward you and yours.”

For a few moments they recalled certain incidents in their acquaintance with the silent, yet gentle and courteous occupant of the little cabin, and much that had seemed mysterious was now clear and plain in the light of this recent revelation.

At last Morton said; “I must hasten back to the Y,” at the same time handing his friend the telegram received from Van Dorn:

“Leave in half an hour on special, with surgeons and nurse. Whitney and Lindlay remain here to attend to business. Warrants for arrests have been issued.”

“That is good,” said Houston, with a sigh of relief, “They are already on their way. And now, my dear Morton, I have one other commission for you, if you are willing to perform it.”

“You know I am at your service,” Morton replied.

“My aunt, whose faith and love have watched and waited for her son’s return during all these years, must be brought here as quickly as possible. I am not in very good condition for travel, and do not feel that I can leave Guy. I know I can trust her in your care, you will be to her as a son, and such she will regard you when she knows all, and I commission you in my name to meet her and bring her out here.”

“That I will very gladly do, my dear Everard, and at once; there must be no delay. By going out this evening, I will be able to take the early train east from Silver City: the special arrives at 6:10, the six o’clock train being held at the Y, until after its arrival. I will return to the Y, meet Mr. Cameron and have a word with him, and go directly on to Silver City on the regular train.”

Thirty minutes later, having hastily packed a small grip, and taken a tender farewell of Lyle, who knew his errand, and with tearful eyes bade him “God-speed,” Morton Rutherford left the house, accompanied by Ned, who was to return with Mr. Cameron and Van Dorn.

The sun was slowly sinking behind the crests of the mountains, flooding the surrounding peaks with glory, when a wagon drawn by four panting, foaming horses, drew up before the house.

From the front seat beside the driver, Ned Rutherford and Van Dorn sprang hastily to the ground, turning quickly to assist a fine-looking, elderly gentleman, with iron-gray hair and beard, whose dark, piercing eyes bore a strong resemblance to those of both Houston and Jack. He needed little assistance, however, and having alighted, turned with firm step and erect bearing, but with an expression of deep anxiety, toward the house, followed by the two young men, and by three strangers.

At that instant Houston appeared within the little porch, his left arm in a sling, his face pale and haggard, though with a grave smile of affectionate welcome.

Even in that brief instant, Mr. Cameron could not but observe the change which those few short months had wrought in the face of Everard Houston, the high-born son of wealth and culture, the pet of society; it had matured wonderfully; alert and keen, yet grave and thoughtful, he looked as though he had found a deeper and broader meaning to life than he had ever dreamed of in his luxurious eastern home.

“My boy!” exclaimed Mr. Cameron, hastening toward him, “are you sure you have escaped without serious injury?”

“Quite sure,” Houston replied, limping slightly, as he advanced to meet his uncle, “my arm was hurt, and I am somewhat scratched and bruised and a little weak, but otherwise, sound as ever.”

“Thank God for that! I don’t mind the loss of the property if you are safe; all the way out here, my boy, I have been reproaching myself for ever allowing you to come out to this country.”

“My dear uncle,” Houston replied, with peculiar emphasis, “I think you will soon find you have reason to be very glad and grateful that I came.”

Mr. Cameron introduced the two surgeons and the nurse; “I feared,” he said, “from your sending for these gentlemen that you might be hurt far more seriously than I knew.”

“No,” said Houston, “but the one who has nearly sacrificed his own life in helping to save mine, needs their best skill, and I sent for them on his account.”

“That was right,” replied Mr. Cameron, “all that money can do shall be done for him,” while one of the surgeons said, “We will see our patient at once, Mr. Houston, if you please.”

“You will see him very soon,” Houston replied with grave courtesy, “but there are reasons why my uncle must first see him, and alone.”

Mr. Cameron looked surprised, but silently followed Houston into the room which had been occupied by the two brothers, but which was now prepared for him. Then observing something peculiar in Houston’s manner as he closed the door, he asked:

“What is it, my boy?”

“Pardon me, if I seem abrupt, uncle,” Houston answered, “but every moment is precious in saving a life unspeakably dear to each of us.”

Mr. Cameron looked startled; Houston continued:

“You have been like a father to me all these years, and I have felt toward you as a son, but to-day I have the joy of bringing you to the one, who holds in your heart, and always will hold, precedence even over myself.”

“Everard, my boy!” exclaimed Mr. Cameron, in tones vibrating with suppressed emotion, “what is it? Speak quickly, do not keep me in suspense,”

“My dear uncle,” said Houston very tenderly, “the lost is found.”

Mr. Cameron sank, nearly overcome, into the nearest chair, while his face grew deathly white.

“Guy?” he gasped, looking upward at Houston.

“Yes,” said the latter brokenly.

The strong man covered his face with his hands, while his powerful frame shook with emotion.

Houston, when he was able to speak, told him, very briefly, of his meeting with Jack, of their association, and the strange bond of sympathy and affection between them, of Jack’s devotion, and how at last, he had been enabled to recognize him.

Controlling himself with a mighty effort, Mr. Cameron rose, saying:

“Take me to him.”

Opening the door connecting the two rooms, Houston signaled to those within to leave the room, then led the father into the presence of the son whom he had so long mourned as dead.

Mr. Cameron walked to the bedside, and looked long and earnestly upon the white face, drawn with pain, but still beautiful, and bearing to a great extent, the imprint of his own features; then as he tenderly clasped the hand lying upon the sheet, he murmured brokenly, between great, tearless sobs:

“It is he, my boy, my son! Thank God, it is not too late!”

CHAPTER XLVII

There was a long consultation between the physicians and surgeons following a careful and thorough examination of their patient, before the rendering of their decision.

He had received various injuries of a serious character, but the injury to the head was far the most dangerous of all. There was a possibility that with the most careful nursing and the most skillful medical aid, he might live, but his recovery was exceedingly doubtful,–one chance out of a hundred.

“Do your best,” was Mr. Cameron’s reply to this decision, “do your best, regardless of cost; if you wish counsel, have it; send out another nurse, the best you can secure, to relieve this one, and I wish one or the other of you gentlemen to remain here constantly, we must not be left without a physician. I may as well inform you now,” Mr. Cameron added, with great dignity, in conclusion, “that your patient is my son.”

Astonishment was depicted upon the faces of the physicians, but Mr. Cameron continued:

“For some months my nephew has been out here incognito, engaged in unearthing the dishonest schemes and plots of the mining company who constituted our western agents, and I have just discovered that he was aided in this work by my son, who, unknown to me, was out here in disguise, working with the same end in view. You will, of course, understand, gentlemen, that money is no object; do everything within your power, and you shall be abundantly compensated.”

Thus it was arranged that one or two physicians were constantly at the house, and when these returned to Silver City for a few hours, others took their places.

A competent cook and housekeeper were also sent out from Silver City, as the excitement resulting from the terrible events of that day, together with her husband’s connection therewith, which had in some way become generally known, proved too much for the feeble strength of Mrs. Maverick, and she was prostrated by the shock.

Minty, terror-stricken by the results which she believed had followed her report to Haight, and by his fearful fate, in a fit of hysteria, confessed the share she had taken in the plot, and was summarily dismissed.

After the coming of Mr. Cameron with the surgeons and nurse, Lyle and Leslie had withdrawn from the sick-room, and busied themselves in caring for Mrs. Maverick, and in superintendence of the necessary work; Van Dorn, whose astonishment at the revelations of the last two days was beyond expression, keeping them informed of the condition of the sufferer. Lyle was pale with excitement, but calmly and bravely took her place as head of the strangely assorted household, her heart throbbing wildly as she anticipated the meeting with Mr. Cameron.

Within the sick-room the soft, gray twilight had deepened into darkness. At one side of the bed sat the nurse, his fingers upon the pulse of the patient, while he listened attentively to his breathing, now becoming irregular, and broken by low moans and occasional mutterings. On the other side sat Mr. Cameron, his head bowed upon his hands, his mind going back to the years of Guy’s childhood and youth. How vividly he recalled many little incidents, seemingly trivial when they occurred, but carefully treasured among the most precious memories in the long, sad years that followed! With the memory of his son, his heart’s pride and joy, came also that of the beautiful daughter, with her golden hair and starry eyes, the light of their home in those happy days.

Mr. Cameron seemed lost in thought, but in reality, while thus reviewing the past, his mind was keenly conscious of the present. In one corner sat the faithful Mike, while at his feet lay the equally faithful Rex, who could be neither coaxed nor driven from the room, but remained quietly watching his master’s face, an almost human love and sorrow looking out of his eyes, as he answered the occasional moans with a low, piteous whine.

In another corner Everard talked in low tones with the two physicians who were to remain that night, Mr. Cameron taking cognizance, in the midst of his own sorrowful thoughts, of every word.

At length some one called for a light, and a moment later, Mr. Cameron was conscious of a light step crossing the room, and of a lamp being placed on the table near the physicians, though none of its rays fell in the direction of the sufferer. Lifting his head, he saw the lamp with a screen so attached as to throw a shade over almost the entire room, leaving only a small portion lighted; but within that brightly illumined portion he had a glimpse, for an instant, of a face, which with its radiant eyes and its shining aureole of golden hair, was so nearly a counterpart of the one but just recalled so vividly to his mind, that it seemed a living reproduction of the same. Only a glimpse, for as he started, wondering if it could be a figment of his own imagination, the face suddenly vanished into the shadow, and the figure glided from the room. Still it haunted him; could there have been a real resemblance? or was it only a hallucination of his own?

About an hour later, Houston, who had observed his uncle’s involuntary start of surprise on seeing Lyle, and who was anxious that he should learn the truth as early as possible, slipping his arm within that of his uncle’s, led him out upon the porch, where they lighted their cigars, smoking for a few moments in silence, then talking together in low tones of the one so dear to each of them, while Houston related the details of his first meeting and early acquaintance with the miner, Jack.

“Even if Guy cannot recover,” said Mr. Cameron, in tremulous tones, when Houston had finished, “Yet if he lives long enough to see and recognize his mother and myself, and realize our feeling for him–even then, I shall be more than repaid for your coming out here,–though all else were lost.”

“Indeed you would,” responded Houston, “but I cannot help feeling that Guy’s life will be spared, that he will live to bless your future years. But my dear uncle,” he continued, very slowly, “although you are yet unaware of it, you have nearly as much, if not an equal cause for joy in another direction.”

“I do not understand you, Everard; you surely do not allude to the property?”

“No, very far from that; did you notice the young girl who came into Guy’s room to-night?”

“To bring the light?”

“The same.”

“Yes, and I intended to inquire of you concerning her. Her face impressed me strangely; I cannot tell whether it was a fact or my own imagination, but I had been thinking of the children,–Guy and his sister,–as they were years ago, and it seemed to me that her face, as I saw it for an instant, was almost an exact counterpart of my own Edna’s, as she used to look, even to the hair and eyes which were very peculiar.”

“It was no imagination on your part, the resemblance is very marked, not only in face, but in voice and manner as well.”

“How do you account for it?” asked Mr. Cameron quickly, “Who is she?”

“She is the one who, of all the world, would have the best right to resemble your daughter,” replied Houston; then, in answer to Mr. Cameron’s look of perplexed inquiry, he continued:

“Pardon me, uncle, for any painful allusion, but at the time of my cousin’s death, I believe you had no direct proof as to the fate of her child?”

“No absolute proof, of course,” replied Mr. Cameron, “only the testimony of those who identified the mother, that there was no child with her, and no child among any of those saved answering to the description given, from which we naturally supposed the little one to have been killed outright. Why, Everard,” he exclaimed, as a new thought occurred to him, “you certainly do not think this Edna’s child, do you?”

“Why might it not be possible?” inquired Houston, wishing to lead his uncle gradually up to the truth.

“Is this her home?” asked Mr. Cameron in turn.

“Yes,” said Houston, “this has been her home, I believe, for the last ten years.”

“If the supposition mentioned a moment ago were correct, how would she be here, amid such surroundings?”

“Do you know the man who runs this house?” Houston asked.

“A man by the name of Maverick had charge of it when I was out here years ago; I do not know whether he is still here.”

“He is; do you know him? Did you ever have any business with him personally?”

“Yes, I had him in my employ years ago, in the east, and was obliged to discharge him for dishonesty.”

“Thereby incurring his life-long hatred and enmity, so that years afterward, he sought to wreak his revenge upon you by stealing from the wrecked train, where your daughter lost her life, the little child who would otherwise have been your solace in that time of bereavement.”

“Everard!” exclaimed Mr. Cameron, “are you sure you are correct? What proof have you of this?”

“The proofs were not discovered until recently,” Houston replied, “although we knew that they existed, but now this girl has found a letter from Maverick’s wife confessing the whole crime, and stating that it was committed through a spirit of revenge; and she also has in her possession the articles of clothing she wore at the time she was stolen, together with a locket containing her mother’s picture and her own name,–Marjorie Lyle Washburn.”

“That is enough,” said Mr. Cameron briefly, “let me see her, Everard.”

Houston stepped within the house, reappearing a few moments later, with Lyle. Very beautiful she looked as she came forward in the soft radiance of the moonlight, a child-like confidence shining in the lovely eyes.

Mr. Cameron rose to meet her, and taking both her hands within his own, he stood for an instant, gazing into the beautiful face.

“My dear child, my own Edna!” he said in broken tones, folding her closely within his arms, “Thank God for another child restored to us from the dead!”

Houston returned to the sick-room, leaving Mr. Cameron and Lyle in their new-found joy. Lyle told him briefly the story of her life, his eyes growing stern with indignation as he listened to the wrongs she had endured, then luminous with tenderness, as she told of Jack’s affectionate care for her.

“Call me ‘papa’ my child, as you used to in the days of your babyhood,” he said, kissing her, as they rose to return to Guy’s room, “you never even then, would call Mrs. Cameron or myself anything but ‘mamma’ and ‘papa,’ and now you shall be as our own child!”

Together they watched beside the sick-bed until the morning sun touched the mountain peaks with glory, but there came no relief to the sufferer, now moaning and tossing in delirium.

Eastward, across the mountain ranges, Morton Rutherford was speeding swiftly, scarcely heeding in his sorrow and anxiety, the grandeur and beauty through which he was passing; while from Chicago, the sweet-faced mother was hastening westward, all unconscious that she was being swiftly and surely borne to the answer of her prayers,–that in that distant western country to which she was journeying, her son lay calling her in his fever and delirium.

She had started in response to a dispatch from Morton Rutherford, at Silver City:

“Mr. Cameron and Everard Houston safe and well, but wish you to come out immediately. Wire where I will meet you in St. Paul. Will explain when I see you.

“Morton Rutherford.”

The mining camp that morning, presented a strange scene of idleness and desolation. Many of the mines were in ruins, while the remainder were shut down.

They would remain shut down for an indefinite period, Houston told the men who had gathered about the house for information. The officers of the company, he further stated, had been arrested and their property would soon be seized, hence it would be impossible to state when the mines would be reopened. It was probable that with the next spring, an entirely new corporation would be organized, and the mining and milling plant rebuilt, and operated on a much more extensive scale than before; and should this be the case, he would then and there vouch that those of his men who had proven themselves trustworthy and honorable, would be certain of work, should they desire it, in the newly opened mines.

The men knew of Jack’s condition, and while not a sound was made that would disturb the sufferer, the better class swung their hats high in the air, in token of applause, and then walked silently away.

It was found in the succeeding days that several miners had lost their lives in the explosions of the Yankee Boy mine; a few were so far underground that their doom was inevitable, while others, whom Houston had warned, instead of following his instructions, had endeavored to escape through the shafts, and had discovered too late that they had only rushed on to certain death.

Maverick, the tool by which all this destruction had been wrought, after his deadly work was done, overcome by his wretched cowardice, remained concealed until a late hour; then creeping from his hiding place to gloat over the havoc and ruin he had wrought, he suddenly found his triumph was short. Under the shelter of a few boards, temporarily erected, he found the ghastly remains of his companion and director in crime. Shivering and trembling with fear, he crept up the road till within sight of the house, arriving just in time to see Houston,–whom he supposed crushed and buried within the mine,–presenting Lyle to Mr. Cameron. He lingered long enough to see her clasped in his arms, then skulked back into the shadow, retreating down the road, gnashing his teeth with rage and disappointment. The following day search was made for him, under instructions from Mr. Cameron and Houston, who offered a large reward for him, living or dead. His body was found in an old, abandoned shaft on the mountain side, riddled with bullets. The vengeance of the miners, desperate from the loss of homes and employment, had overtaken him first. He was buried hastily and with little ceremony, his two sons having already taken themselves to parts unknown, fearful lest the penalty of their father’s crimes might be inflicted upon them, and his fate become theirs also. A day or two later, Mrs. Maverick, who had been prostrated by the shock of the explosions and the succeeding events, died from a sudden paralysis, her feeble mind having first been cheered and soothed by the assurance from Mr. Cameron of his forgiveness for the small share which she had taken in the withholding Lyle from her true friends and home. She was given a decent burial in the miners’ little cemetery at the Y, and the house which for so many years had been called by their name, knew the Mavericks no more.

Kind hands laid little Bull-dog under the murmuring pines on the mountain side, near Morgan’s last resting place, but in the hearts, of Houston and his friends, his memory could never grow dim.

The small community of miners suddenly vanished, the deserted quarters, with their blackened ruins, seeming little like the busy camp of but a few days before, resounding with their songs and jests.