When the soil of Happy Rest supported nothing more artificial than a broken wagon wheel, left behind by some emigrants going overland to California, a deserter from a fort near by discovered that the soil was auriferous.
His statement to that effect, made in a bar-room in the first town he reached thereafter, led to his being invited to drink, which operation resulted in certain supplementary statements and drinks.
Within three hours every man within five miles of that barroom knew that the most paying dirt on the continent had been discovered not far away, and three hours later a large body of gold-hunters, guided by the deserter, were en route for the auriferous locality; while a storekeeper and a liquor-dealer, with their respective stocks-in-trade, followed closely after.
The ground was found; it proved to be tolerably rich; tents went up, underground residences were burrowed, and the grateful miners ordered the barkeeper to give unlimited credit to the locality\'s discoverer. The barkeeper obeyed the order, and the ex-warrior speedily met his death in a short but glorious contest with John Barleycorn.
There was no available lumber from which to construct a coffin, and the storekeeper had no large boxes; but as the liquor-seller had already emptied two barrels, these were taken, neatly joined in the centre, and made to contain the remains of the founder of the hamlet. The method of his death and origin of his coffin led a spirituous miner to suggest that he rested happily, and from this remark the name of the town was elaborated.
Of course, no ladies accompanied the expedition. Men who went West for gold did not take their families with them, as a rule, and the settlers of new mining towns were all of the masculine gender.
When a town had attained to the dignity of a hotel, members of the gentler sex occasionally appeared, but—with the exception of an occasional washerwoman—their influence was decidedly the reverse of that usually attributed to woman\'s society.
For the privileges of their society, men fought with pistols and knives, and bought of them disgrace and sorrow for gold. But at first Happy Rest was unblessed and uncursed by the presence of any one who did not wear pantaloons.
On the fifth day of its existence, however, when the arrival of an express agent indicated that Capital had formally acknowledged the existence of Happy Rest, there was an unusual commotion in the never-quiet village.
An important rumor had spread among the tents and gopher-holes, and, one after another, the citizens visited the saloon, took the barkeeper mysteriously aside, and, with faces denoting the greatest concern, whispered earnestly to him. The barkeeper felt his importance as the sole custodian of all the village news, but he replied with affability to all questions:
"Well, yes; there had a lady come; come by the same stage as the express agent. What kind?—Well, he really couldn\'t say—some might think one way, an\' some another. He thought she was a real lady, though she wouldn\'t \'low anything to be sent her from the bar, and she hedn\'t brought no baggage. Thought so—knowed she was a lady—in fact, would bet drinks for the crowd on it. \'Cos why?—\'Cos nobody heerd her cuss or seed her laugh. H\'d bet three to two she was a lady—might bet two to one, ef he got his dander up on the subject. Then, on t\'other hand, she\'d axed for Major Axel, and the major, ez everybody know\'d, was—well, he wasn\'t \'xactly a saint. Besides, as the major hedn\'t come to Happy Rest, nohow, it looked ez if he was dodgin\' her for somethin\'. Where was she stopping?—up to Old Psalmsinger\'s. Old Psalm bed turned himself out of house an\' home, and bought her a new tea-kettle to boot. If anybody know\'d anybody that wanted to take three to two, send him along."
A few men called to bet, and bets were exchanged all over the camp, but most of the excitement centred about the storekeeper\'s.
Argonauts, pioneers, heroes, or whatever else the early gold-seekers were, they were likewise mortal men, so they competed vigorously for the few blacking-brushes, boxes of blacking, looking-glasses, pocket-combs and neckties which the store contained. They bought toilet-soap, and borrowed razors; and when they had improved their personal appearance to the fullest possible extent, they stood aimlessly about, like unemployed workmen in the market-place. Each one, however, took up a position which should rake the only entrance to old Psalmsinger\'s tent.
Suddenly, two or three scores of men struck various attitudes, as if to be photographed, and exclaimed in unison:
"There she is!"
From the tent of old Psalmsinger there had emerged the only member of the gentler sex who had reached Happy Rest.
For only a moment she stood still and looked about her, as if uncertain which way to go; but before she had taken a step, old Psalmsinger raised his voice, and said:
"I thort it last night, when I only seed her in the moonlight, but I know it now—she\'s a lady, an\' no mistake. Ef I was a bettin\' man, I\'d bet all my dust on it, an\' my farm to hum besides!"
A number of men immediately announced that they would bet, in the speaker\'s place, to any amount, and in almost any odds. For, though old Psalm, by reason of non-participation in any of the drinks, fights, or games with which the camp refreshed itself, was considered a mere nonentity, it was generally admitted that men of his style could tell a lady or a preacher at sight.
The gentle unknown finally started toward the largest group of men, seeing which, several smaller groups massed themselves on the larger with alacrity.
As she neared them, the men could see that she was plainly dressed, but that every article of attire was not only neat but tasteful, and that she had enough grace of form and carriage to display everything to advantage. A few steps nearer, and she displayed a set of sad but refined features, marred only by an irresolute, purposeless mouth.
Then an ex-reporter from New York turned suddenly to a graceless young scamp who had once been a regular ornament to Broadway, and exclaimed:
"Louise Mattray, isn\'t it?"
"\'Tis, by thunder!" replied the young man. "I knew I\'d seen her somewhere. Wonder what she\'s doing here?"
The reporter shrugged his shoulders.
"Some wild-goose speculation, I suppose. Smart and gritty—if I had her stick I shouldn\'t be here—but she always slips up—can\'t keep all her wires well in hand. Was an advertising agent when I left the East—picked up a good many ads, too, and made folks treat her respectfully, when they\'d have kicked a man out of doors if he\'d come on the same errand."
"Say she\'s been asking for Axel," remarked the young man.
"That so!" queried the reporter, wrinkling his brow, and hurrying through his mental notebook. "Oh, yes—there was some talk about them at one time. Some said they were married—she said so, but she never took his name. She had a handsome son, that looked like her and the major, but she didn\'t know how to manage him—went to the dogs, or worse, before he was eighteen."
"Axell here?" asked the young man.
"No," replied the reporter; "and \'twouldn\'t do her any good if he was. The major\'s stylish and good-looking, and plays a brilliant game, but he hasn\'t any more heart than is absolutely necessary to his circulation. Besides, his—"
The reporter was interrupted by a heavy hand falling on his shoulder, and found, on turning, that the hand belonged to "The General."
The general was not a military man, but his title had been conferred in recognition of the fact that he was a born leader. Wherever he went the general assumed the reins of government, and his administration had always been popular as well as judicious.
But at this particular moment the general seemed to feel unequal to what was evidently his duty, and he, like a skillful general, sought a properly qualified assistant, and the reporter seemed to him to be just the man he wanted.
"Spidertracks," said the general, with an air in which authority and supplication were equally prominent, "you\'ve told an awful sight of lies in your time. Don\'t deny it, now—nobody that ever reads the papers will b\'leeve you. Now\'s yer chance to put yer gift of gab to a respectable use. The lady\'s bothered, and wants to say somethin\' or ask somethin\', and she\'ll understand your lingo better\'n mine. Fire away now, lively!"
The ex-shorthand-writer seemed complimented by the general\'s address, and stepping forward and raising the remains of what had once been a hat, said:
"Can I serve you in any way, madame?"
The lady glanced at him quickly and searchingly, and then, seeming assured of the reporter\'s honesty, replied:
"I am looking for an old acquaintance of mine—one Major Axell."
"He is not in camp, ma\'am," said Spidertracks. "He was at Rum Valley a few days ago, when our party was organized to come here."
"I was there yesterday," said the lady, looking greatly disappointed, "and was told he started for here a day or two before."
"Some mistake, ma\'am, I assure you," replied Spidertracks. "I should have known of his arrival if he had come. I\'m an old newspaper man, ma\'am, and can\'t get out of the habit of getting the news."
The lady turned away, but seemed irresolute. The reporter followed her.
"If you will return to Rum Yalley, ma\'am, I\'ll find the major for you, if he is hereabouts," said he. "You will be more comfortable there, and I will be more likely than you to find him."
The lady hesitated for a moment longer; then she drew from her pocket a diary, wrote a line or two on one of its leaves, tore it out and handed it to the reporter.
"I will accept your offer, and be very grateful for it, for I do not bear this mountain traveling very well. If you find him, give him this scrawl and tell him where I am—that will be sufficient."
"Trust me to find him, ma\'am," replied Spidertracks. "And as the stage is just starting, and there won\'t be another for a week, allow me to see you into it. Any baggage?"
"Only a small hand-bag in the tent," said she.
They hurried off together, Spidertracks found the bag, and five minutes later was bowing and waving his old hat to the cloud of dust which the departing stage left behind it. But when even the dust itself had disappeared, he drew from his pocket the paper the fair passenger had given him.
"\'Tain\'t sealed," said he, reasoning with himself, "so there can\'t be any secrets in it. Let\'s see—hello! \'Ernest is somewhere in this country; I wish to see you about him—and about nothing else.\' Whew-w-w! What splendid material for a column, if there was only a live paper in this infernal country! Looking for that young scamp, eh? There is something to her, and I\'ll help her if I can. Wonder if I\'d recognize him if I saw him again? I ought to, if he looks as much like his parents as he used to do. \'Twould do my soul good to make the poor woman smile once; but it\'s an outrageous shame there\'s no good daily paper here to work the whole thing up in. With the chase, and fighting, and murder that may come of it, \'twould make the leading sensation for a week!"
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