On a certain day in November, 1850, there meandered into the new mining camp of Painter Bar, State of California, an individual who was instantly pronounced, all voices concurring, the ugliest man in the camp. The adjective ugly was applied to the man\'s physiognomy alone; but time soon gave the word, as applied to him, a far wider significance. In fact, the word was not at all equal to the requirements made of it, and this was probably what influenced the prefixing of numerous adjectives, sacred and profane, to this little word of four letters.
The individual in question stated that he came from "no whar in pu\'tiklar," and the savage, furtive glance that shot from his hyena-like eyes seemed to plainly indicate why the land of his origin was so indefinitely located. A badly broken nose failed to soften the expression of his eyes, a long, prominent, dull-red scar divided one of his cheeks, his mustache was not heavy enough to hide a hideous hare-lip; while a ragged beard, and a head of stiff, bristly red hair, formed a setting which intensified rather than embellished the peculiarities we have noted.
The first settlers, who seemed quite venerable and dignified, now that the camp was nearly a fortnight old, were in the habit of extending hospitality to all newcomers until these latter could build huts for themselves; but no one hastened to invite this beauty to partake of cracker, pork and lodging-place, and he finally betook himself to the southerly side of a large rock, against which he placed a few boughs to break the wind.
The morning after his arrival, certain men missed provisions, and the ugly man was suspected; but so depressing, as one miner mildly put it, was his aspect when even looked at inquiringly, that the bravest of the boys found excuse for not asking questions of the suspected man.
"Ain\'t got no chum," suggested Bozen, an ex-sailor, one day, after the crowd had done considerable staring at this unpleasant object; "ain\'t got no chum, and\'s lonesome—needs cheerin\' up." So Bozen philanthropically staked a new claim near the stranger, apart from the main party. The next morning found him back on his old claim, and volunteering to every one the information that "stranger\'s a grump—a reg\'lar grump." From that time forth "Grump" was the only name by which the man was known.
Time rolled on, and in the course of a month Painter Bar was mentioned as an old camp. It had its mining rules, its saloon, blacksmith-shop, and faro-bank, like the proudest camp on the Run, and one could find there colonels, judges, doctors, and squires by the dozen, besides one deacon and a dominie or two.
Still, the old inhabitants kept an open eye for newcomers, and displayed an open-hearted friendliness from whose example certain Eastern cities might profit.
But on one particular afternoon, the estimable reception committee were put to their wit\'s end. They were enjoying their otium cum dignitale on a rude bench in front of the saloon, when some one called attention to an unfamiliar form which leaned against a stunted tree a few rods off.
It was of a short, loose-jointed young man, who seemed so thin and lean, that Black Tom ventured the opinion that "that feller had better hold tight to the groun\', ter keep from fallen\' upards." His eyes were colorless, his nose was enormous, his mouth hung wide open and then shut with a twitch, as if its owner were eating flies, his chin seemed to have been entirely forgotten, and his thin hair was in color somewhere between sand and mud.
As he leaned against the tree he afforded a fine opportunity for the study of acute and obtuse angles. His neck, shoulders, elbows, wrists, back, knees and feet all described angles, and even the toes of his shocking boots deflected from the horizontal in a most decided manner.
"Somebody ort to go say somethin\' to him," said the colonel, who was recognized as leader by the miners.
"Fact, colonel," replied one of the men; "but what\'s a feller to say to sich a meanderin\' bone-yard ez that? Might ask him, fur perliteness sake, to take fust pick uv lots in a new buryin\' ground; but then Perkins died last week, yur know."
"Say somethin\', somebody," commanded the colonel, and as he spoke his eyes alighted on Slim Sam, who obediently stepped out to greet the newcomer.
"Mister," said Sam, producing a plug of tobacco, "hev a chaw?"
"I don\'t use tobacco," languidly replied the man, and his answer was so unexpected that Sam precipitately retired.
Then Black Tom advanced, and pleasantly asked:
"What\'s yer fav\'rit game, stranger?"
"Blind man\'s buff," replied the stranger.
"What\'s that?" inquired Tom, blushing with shame at being compelled to display ignorance about games; "anything like going it blind at poker?"
"Poker?—I don\'t know what that is," replied the youth.
"He\'s from the country," said the colonel, compassionately, "an\' hesn\'t hed the right schoolin\'. P\'r\'aps," continued the colonel, "he\'d enjoy the cockfight at the saloon to-night—these country boys are pretty well up on roosters. Ask him, Tom."
Tom put the question, and the party, in deep disgust, heard the man reply:
"No, thank you; I think it\'s cruel to make the poor birds hurt each other."
"Look here," said the good-natured Bozen, "the poor lubber\'s all gone in amidships—see how flat his breadbasket is. I say, messmate," continued Bozen, with a roar, and a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder, "come and splice the main-brace."
"No, thank you," answered the unreasonable stranger; "I don\'t drink."
The boys looked incredulously at each other, while the colonel arose and paced the front of the saloon two or three times, looking greatly puzzled. He finally stopped and said:
"The mizzable rat isn\'t fit to be out uv doors, an\' needs takin\' keer ov. Come here, feller," called the colonel; "be kinder sociable—don\'t stand there a gawpin\' at us ez ef we wuz a menagerie."
The youth approached slowly, stared through the crowd, and finally asked:
"Is there any one here from Pawkin Centre?"
No one responded.
"Some men went out to Californy from Pawkin Centre, and I didn\'t know but some of \'em was here. I come from ther\' myself—my name\'s Mix," the youth continued..
"Meanin\' no disrespect to your dad," said the colonel, "Mr. Mix, Senior, ortn\'t to hev let you come out here—you ain\'t strong enough—you\'ll git fever \'n ager \'fore you\'ve washed dirt half a day."
"I ain\'t got no dad," replied the stranger; "leastways he ran away ten years ago, an\' mother had a powerful hard time since, a-bringin\' up the young uns, an\' we thought I might help along a big sight if I was out here."
The colonel was not what in the States would be called a prayer-meeting man, but he looked steadily at the young man, and inwardly breathed a very earnest "God have mercy on you all." Then he came back to the more immediate present, and, looking about, asked:
"Who\'s got sleepin\'-room for this young man?"
"I hev," quickly answered Grump, who had approached, unnoticed, while the newcomer was being interviewed.
Every one started, and Grump\'s countenance did not gather amiability as he sneakingly noticed the general distrust.
"Yer needn\'t glare like that," said he, savagely; "I sed it, an\' I mean it. Come along, youngster—it\'s about the time I generally fry my pork."
And the two beauties walked away together, while the crowd stared in speechless astonishment.
"He won\'t make much out uv that boy, that\'s one comfort," said Black Tom, who had partially recovered from his wonder. "You ken bet yer eye-teeth that his pockets wouldn\'t pan out five dollars."
"Then what does he want uv him?" queried Slim Sam.
"Somethin\' mean an\' underhand, for certain," said the colonel, "and the boy must be purtected. And I hereby app\'int this whole crowd to keep an eye on Grump, an\' see he don\'t make a slave of the boy, an\' don\'t rob him of dust. An\' I reckon I\'ll take one of yer with me, an\' keep watch of the old rascal to-night. I don\'t trust him wuth a durn."
That night the boys at the saloon wrinkled their brows like unto an impecunious Committee of Ways and Means, as they vainly endeavored to surmise why Grump could want that young man as a lodger. Men who pursued wittling as an aid to reason made pecks of chips and shavings, and were no nearer a solution than when they began.
There were a number of games played, but so great was the absentmindedness of the players, that several hardened scamps indulged in some most unscrupulous "stocking" of the cards without detection. But even one of these, after having dealt himself both bowers and the king, besides two aces, suddenly imagined he had discovered Grump\'s motive, and so earnest was he in exposing that nefarious wretch, that one of his opponents changed hands with him. Even the barkeeper mixed the bottles badly, and on one occasion, just as the boys were raising their glasses, he metaphorically dashed the cup from their lips by a violent, "I tell you what" and an unsatisfactory theory. Finally the colonel arose.
"Boys," said he, in the tone of a man whose mind is settled, "\'tain\'t \'cos the youngster looked like lively comp\'ny, fur he didn\'t. \'Taint \'cos Grump wanted to do him a good turn, fur \'tain\'t his style. Cons\'kently, thar\'s sumthin\' wrong. Tom, I reckon I take you along."
And Tom and the colonel departed.
During the month which had elapsed since his advent, Grump had managed to build him a hut of the usual mining pattern, and the colonel and Tom stealthily examined its walls, front and rear, until they found crevices which would admit the muzzle of a revolver, should it be necessary. Then they applied their eyes to the same cracks, and saw the youth asleep on a pile of dead grass, with Grump\'s knapsack for a pillow, and one of Grump\'s blankets over him. Grump himself was sitting on a fragment of stone, staring into the fire, with his face in his hands.
He sat so long that the worthy colonel began to feel indignant; to sit in a cramped position on the outside of a house, for the sake of abused human nature, was an action more praiseworthy than comfortable, and the colonel began to feel personally aggrieved at Grump\'s delay. Besides, the colonel was growing thirsty.
Suddenly Grump arose, looked down at the sleeping youth, and then knelt beside him. The colonel briskly brought his pistol to bear on him, and with great satisfaction noted that Tom\'s muzzle occupied a crack in the front walls, and that he himself was out of range.
A slight tremor seemed to run through the sleeper; "and no wonder," said the colonel, when he recounted the adventure to the boys; "anybody\'d shiver to hev that catamount glarin\' at him."
Grump arose, and softly went to a corner which was hidden by the chimney.
"Gone for his knife, I\'ll bet," whispered the colonel to himself. "I hope Tom don\'t spile my mad by firin\' fust."
Grump returned to view; but instead of a knife, he bore another blanket, which he gently spread over his sleeping guest, then he lay down beside Mix with a log of wood for a pi............