A Waif of the Mountains — Edition Insights

Ike was mystified. He looked at the other members of the committee and then into the faces of the group. He couldn't make it out.

"If it's all the same, Mr. Chairman, since the gentleman has said there was too many fools on the committee, and has just explained that he didn't mean any one of us three, I'll be obliged if he'll explain who in thunder he did mean."

This sounded unanswerable, but the cunning Budge was equal to the occasion.

"It gives me pleasure to answer the question of the gentleman: my remark was made in a Pickwickian sense."

He leaned forward with a beaming smile, as if his explanation left nothing to be added. No one understood to what he referred, but all were too proud to admit the fact. There was a general nodding of heads, and Ike, with the manner of a man who magnanimously accepts the humble apology of him whom he has worsted, leaned back on his stool and audibly remarked:

"That makes it all right."

Budge Isham resumed his seat, when he was reminded that he was expected to submit a name for the new settlement.

"I beg pardon," he said, rising again, "it is a fact known to this highly intelligent assemblage, that every city of prominence in Europe has from one to forty namesakes in this country. There is one exception, however; doubtless all know to what city I refer."

In response to his inquiring looks, the group tried to appear as if the name was familiar to them, but no one spoke.

"It is hardly necessary for me to mention the city, but I may say it is Constantinople."

A contemptuous sniff greeted this proposal.

"That's the worst yet," said Wade Ruggles, drawing a match along the thigh of his trousers to relight his pipe, which had gone out during the excitement; "the man that insults this party with such a proposition, ought to be run out of the place."

"What's the matter with it?" demanded Budge.

"It's too long in the fust place," commented Ike Hoe; "it bothers a man to git his mouth around it and it hain't any music, like the other names such as Starvation Kenyon, Hangman's Noose, Blizzard Gorge and the rest. I stick to mine as the purtiest of all."

"'Blazes,' short and sweet and innercent like."

Landlord Ortigies was leaning with both elbows on the bar. The new name struck him favorably.

"I'm inclined to agree with Budge," he said, "cause there hain't any other place that's hit onto it. All of them names that you chaps have tried to spring onto us, have been used in other places, or at least some part of the names, but, as Budge has observed, no galoot has scooped 'Constantinople.'"

"'Cause no one ain't fool enough," observed Ike Hoe, who noted the drift of the sentiment.

"But they'll pounce onto it powerful quick if we don't grab it while it's passin'; it's a good long name, and what if it does make a chap sling the muscles of his jaw to warble it? All the better; it'll make him think well of his town, which I prophesy is going to be the emporium of the West."

"Let's see," growled Wade Ruggles, "Constantinople is in Ireland isn't it?"

"Where's your eddycation?" sneered Ike Vose; "it's the oldest town in Wales."

Landlord Ortigies raised his head and filled the room with his genial laughter.

"If there was anything I was strong on when I led my class at the Squankum High School it was astronermy; I was never catched in locating places."

"If you know so much," remarked Ruggles, "you'll let us know something 'bout that town which I scorn to name."

"I'm allers ready to enlighten ign'rance, though I've never visited Constantinople, which stands on the top of the Himalaya Mountains, in the southern part of Iceland."

"That's very good," said Budge Isham, who with his usual tact maneuvered to keep the ally he had gained, "but the Constantinople I have in mind is in Turkey, which is such a goodly sized country that it straddles from Europe to Asia."

"Which the same I suppose means to imply that this ere Constantinople will do likewise similar."

"No doubt that's what it'll do in time," assented the landlord.

"I beg to offer an amendment to my own motion," continued the oily Budge; "when the boom strikes this town, as it is bound soon to do, and it rivals in size the famous city on the other side of the Atlantic, there should be something to distinguish the two. We have no wish to rob any other place of the honors it has taken centuries to gain; so, while we reserve the principal name, I propose that we distinguish it from the old city by prefixing the word 'New.'"

"You mean that this town shall be 'New Constantinople?'" was the inquiring remark of the landlord.

"Precisely; and I now make the motion that that be our name."

There were seventeen persons present and it looked as if a decision was inevitable. The landlord was shrewd. His first act was to invite all to drink at his expense, after which he made each pledge himself to abide by the decision, whatever it might be. These preliminaries being arranged, a show of hands was called for. The vote was eight for and eight against the new name.

"That's a tie," commented the landlord from behind his immense beard; "and therefore the question ain't settled."

"It's easy 'nough to settle it," said Ike Hoe.

"I don't see how that'll do it, onless some one changes his mind; but again, gentlemen: all who favor the new name, raise their right hands."

Eight horny palms were elevated in air, while the same number were displayed in the negative. The landlord looked troubled.

"We must keep it up till some one weakens," observed Wade Ruggles.

The host scanned the earnest faces in front of him.

"Which of you gentlemen will promise to weaken if we keep this thing up for half the night?"

"I'll stay here a week," was the reply of Vose Adams, while the general nodding of heads showed that he echoed the sentiments of the others. The landlord met the crisis with becoming dignity.

"Gentlemen, when I was a member of Congress, all questions that was tied was settled by the presiding officer casting the deciding vote, and which as aforesaid we don't lay any claim to being higher than Congress, I therefore, by virtue of the aforesaid right vested in me, cast my vote in favor of this city being called New Constantinople, which the same is on me again; gentlemen, what will you have?"

It was a coup d'etat, the victory being clinched before the opposition realized it. Ere the company had fairly recovered from their bewilderment, Budge Isham declared that the victory was really his, due to the good sense and high toned chivalry of his friends, and he insisted upon doing the honors. He would accept no denial and the engaging style in which he acquitted himself of this duty restored good humor. Thus it was that the little mining town of the Sierras in the days that are gone received its title.

The Heavenly Bower consisted of two large apartments, both on the ground floor. The one at the rear was used by Landlord Ortigies for sleeping, eating and partial storage purposes. When Vose Adams made his quarterly visits to Sacramento, he was accompanied by two mules. They were not necessary to take and bring the mail, since the pocket of Adams' great coat was sufficient for that, but they carried down to Sacramento several empty casks which came back filled, or rather they were thus when the return journey was begun, but to the dismay of the proprietor of the Heavenly Bower, he found that they were barely two-thirds full, when unloaded at his place. Vose explained that the leakage was due to the roughness of the trail. Since there seemed no other way of overcoming this, the landlord sent an extra cask with the request to Vose that he would confine his leakage to that and Vose kindly obliged him.

The stuff thus provided for the Heavenly Bower was generally in concentrated form, thereby permitting a dilution which insured a full supply for the customers who were afflicted with an eternal thirst.

The bar room was of extensive proportions. Nearly all of one side was occupied by the bar. Opposite was the huge fireplace, and scattered around were a number of stools, rickety chairs and strong boxes which served equally well for seats.

The crackling fire, the genial warmth and good cheer within the room were the more striking because of their contrast with the howling storm without. The gale roared around the corners of the rude but strong structure, rattling against the massive door and the log walls, spitting vicious gusts down the chimney and flinging great drifts hither and yon with a fury that threatened to send the building skurrying through the snowy space.

"It's the worst blizzard we ever had," remarked Wade Ruggles, after one of these violent outbursts; "God pity any one that's abroad to-night."

"It reminds me of that zephyr last winter," observed Vose Adams, "when I was bringing your freight, Max, from Sacramento."

"I remember," nodded the landlord; "you started with two kegs and got here with about half a one; the leakage was tremenjus on that trip."

"True; the blizzards is always rough on Mountain Dew, and sorter makes it shrink," replied the unblushing Vose.

"Can't you stop the casks leaking so much," inquired Felix Brush, who had been a parson in Missouri, and claimed that he had never been "unfrocked."

The landlord solemnly swayed his head.

"Not as long as Vose has charge of the freight----"

At that instant a dull but resounding thump was heard on the roof overhead. It shook every log in the structure, checked speech and caused each man to look wonderingly at his neighbor.

"The mountain has fell on us!" exclaimed Ike Hoe in a husky whisper.

"If it was the mountain," said Budge Isham, slightly raising his voice, as the courage of the party came back; "none of us would be able to tell of it."

"Then it's a rock--well, I'm blessed! the thing is moving!"

Something was certainly astir in the mass of snow overhead.

"I guess it's a angel that has lost its way," submitted Hoe.

"More likely it's a grizzly b'ar that's stumbled off the rocks--"

But all these speculations were scattered to the winds by the sound of a voice muffled and seemingly far away, which came to them through the storm:

"_Helloa, the house_!"

WHAT THE BLIZZARD BROUGHT TO NEW CONSTANTINOPLE

A moment after the hail was heard from the roof, the muffled noise which accompanied it ceased. The stranger groping about in the snowy gloom had stepped off the roof into the huge drift outside the Heavenly Bower, and a minute later, lifted the latch of the door and pushed in among the astonished miners. They saw the figure of a sturdy man holding something in his arms, so wrapped round with blankets and coverings that no one could tell its nature. He stamped the snow from his boots, shook himself like a shaggy dog, then walked heavily to the chair which Budge Isham placed near the fire for him, and almost fell into it.

"Good evening, friends," he said in a grave voice; "It was no fault of mine that I tried at first to enter by the roof."

"When I built the Heavenly Bower," replied Landlord Ortigies; "I meant to place a door up there, but there wasn't anybody in New Constantinople with enough sense to know how to do it. I 'spose you was looking fur it, stranger."

"No," was the reply, "I wasn't looking for anything; I was just walking, walking through the storm, not knowing or caring where I went. I can't say how far I came, but it must have been a number of miles. I was still plodding on, when I set my foot on vacancy and down I went."

"Gracious! you fell nearly a hundred feet," said Parson Brush; "it was a wonderful providence that saved you from being dashed to death."

"The snow on the roof must be five or six feet deep," replied the stranger; "for it received me as if it were a feather bed. I saw a glow from the top of your chimney against the rocks and knew I was on the roof of a house. I hardly felt jarred and groped my way off into a lot more snow and here I am."

The astonishment of the listeners did not make them forget the laws of hospitality. Budge Isham looked significantly at the landlord, but he had already drawn a glass of spirits and was coming from behind the bar with it.

"Stranger, swallow this; you look cold; you're welcome to the Heavenly Bower, whether you come through the roof or down the chimbley."

"Thank you; I'll take the whiskey in a minute."

And then feeling that he owed those who made him so welcome some explanation of his coming among them, the stranger said:

"My friends, my name is Maurice Dawson. About two months ago, I left Independence, Missouri, with an emigrant train for the Pacific coast. The elements, disease and the Indians made such inroads upon us that after a time only half a dozen families remained. As if that wasn't enough, the few survivors quarreled over the course to follow, most of them aiming for a pass through the mountains into Southern California, while I, the greatest fool of them all, set out to find Dead Man's Gulch, of which I had heard from a party of trappers. My canvas covered wagon, with a single span of horses, contained all my worldly goods, and my companions were my wife and little girl Nellie, only three years old. Everything might have gone well but for this blizzard, which jumbled up the points of the compass and made traveling so difficult that after a time it became impossible."

All were listening with the closest interest, and every heart was touched by the emotion of the man, which he could not control for several minutes. No one interrupted, and, feeling that his story was not quite completed, he added:

"I fired my gun in the hope of attracting attention, but fortunately for others I was the only one abroad. By and by the horses stopped. They could draw the wagon no further. They stood panting and exhausted and soon lay down in the snow. I turned to speak to my wife, when I found she had been dead for some minutes, the cold carrying her off as quietly as if she were dropping asleep. Before she passed away, she wrapped nearly all her clothing about Nellie, who was cuddling beside her, so that really the mother, like the noble woman she was, gave her life for the little one. It was because Nellie was alive, that I jumped out of the wagon and began floundering through the snow. I ploughed blindly forward until providence guided me to you."

While uttering the last words, Maurice Dawson was tenderly unwrapping the bundle in his arms. There were many folds to draw away, but at last he reached the treasure within, which was his Nellie, still sound asleep.

If the miners were startled by the resounding thump on the roof, they were now almost struck dumb with amazement. They sat with open mouths, staring eyes and for a minute no one spoke or stirred.

"God bless you, my Nellie," murmured the father, bending his head and touching his lips to the cool forehead; "I had no hope of this when I left your dead mother and started on my tramp through the snow."

A general sigh went up from the group of awed miners. Wade Ruggles, who had been leaning on the bar, with his gaze fixed on that of the handsome stranger, was the first to recover from the spell which held them all. Tiptoeing across the room, he paused in front of the father and his child and stared, wondering and speechless. Then one by one the others did the same, until the whole company were grouped around the man and child, each afraid to whisper, as if doing so would dissolve the heavenly vision.

When the wrappings had been laid aside, and the little one was placed upright, she stared bewildered into the shaggy faces around her. Her big blue eyes were open to their widest extent, the mass of golden curls rippled about her shoulders and the fairy-like feet were inclosed in thick, warm shoes and stockings. The dress of a dull brown color and thick texture, fitted her tiny frame perfectly and she formed a most winsome picture of infantile beauty.

For fully five minutes all stared in silence at the marvelous picture. As before, Wade Ruggles was the first to come to himself, but when he spoke, it was in an awed, hesitating whisper:

"Is she really alive?"

The sorrowful face of the father lit up with a faint smile as he answered:

"Yes; thank heaven; alive and well."

"May I touch her?" timidly asked Ike Hoe, extending his finger which faintly brushed the rosy cheek, and was instantly snatched away as if he felt he had done a sacrilegious thing.

"I say," ventured Ruggles gathering courage, "I wonder now if she would let me take her in my arms for a minute or so; I won't drop her; but that's too much to ask, howsumever."

While he stood hopeful, hesitating and doubtful, Nellie with a half frightened smile, dived her head under the arm of her father, as if to get away from the embarrassing situation. He gently fondled the golden hair and drew her face into view again.

"There, little one, there's nothing to be frightened at; these people are all your friends and will do anything they can to please you."

"You're right!" exclaimed Landlord Ortigies, with a shake of his head; "we'll do anything in the world for you; if you say the word, I'll stand on my head or stand any one else here the same way."

And he showed an alarming inclination to invert himself for the amusement of the child, but she did not seem to grasp the meaning of the offer. She fixed her eyes upon Ruggles, who made bold by what seemed a favorable sign, took a step forward and invitingly extended his hands. She debated for a moment, whether to meet the proffer and then with the impulsiveness of infancy leaned toward him. With a thrill of pleasure the grizzled miner carefully placed his huge arms underneath hers, and lifted her as if she were a doll from her father's knee. As he did so, every one saw the big tears trickling down his cheeks.

"I can't help it, boys," he said apologetically; "the last child I held in these arms was my own Jennie, and she was dead."

With infinite affection, he pressed his bearded lips against the chubby cheek, while she, relieved of all fear, flung her dimpled arms about his neck and kissed him in return. With one hand, she lifted the flapping hat from his head and with the other smoothed away the luxuriant hair from his forehead.

"I like you ever so much, but you are crying," she said sympathetically; "what makes you do that? Haven't you got a little girl like me?"

"No, my precious child; I once had just such a sweet tot as you, but the good Lord took her from me, and I love you just as I loved her."

"And that's what we all are going to do," remarked Ike Hoe, with a sniff as he drew his sleeve across his eyes; "this beats anything in the history of New Constantinople, by seven hundred and eighty-four thousand majority."

"Come, Wade, you must be fair with us," said the landlord, reaching out his arms; "we all claim an equal share in her."