Devils Ford | Page 4

way back to the soil
again through ditch and flume and reservoir.
Such was the position of affairs at Devil's Ford on the 13th of August,
1860. It was noon of a hot day. Whatever movement there was in the
stifling air was seen rather than felt in a tremulous, quivering,
upward-moving dust along the flank of the mountain, through which
the spires of the pines were faintly visible. There was no water in the
bared and burning bars of the river to reflect the vertical sun, but under
its direct rays one or two tinned roofs and corrugated zinc cabins struck
fire, a few canvas tents became dazzling to the eye, and the white
wooded corral of the stage office and hotel insupportable. For two
hours no one ventured in the glare of the open, or even to cross the
narrow, unshadowed street, whose dull red dust seemed to glow
between the lines of straggling houses. The heated shells of these green
unseasoned tenements gave out a pungent odor of scorching wood and
resin. The usual hurried, feverish toil in the claim was suspended; the
pick and shovel were left sticking in the richest "pay gravel;" the toiling
millionaires themselves, ragged, dirty, and perspiring, lay panting
under the nearest shade, where the pipes went out listlessly, and
conversation sank to monosyllables.

"There's Fairfax," said Dick Mattingly, at last, with a lazy effort. His
face was turned to the hillside, where a man had just emerged from the
woods, and was halting irresolutely before the glaring expanse of
upheaved gravel and glistening boulders that stretched between him
and the shaded group. "He's going to make a break for it," he added, as
the stranger, throwing his linen coat over his head, suddenly started
into an Indian trot through the pelting sunbeams toward them. This
strange act was perfectly understood by the group, who knew that in
that intensely dry heat the danger of exposure was lessened by active
exercise and the profuse perspiration that followed it. In another
moment the stranger had reached their side, dripping as if rained upon,
mopping his damp curls and handsome bearded face with his linen coat,
as he threw himself pantingly on the ground.
"I struck out over here first, boys, to give you a little warning," he said,
as soon as he had gained breath. "That engineer will be down here to
take charge as soon as the six o'clock stage comes in. He's an oldish
chap, has got a family of two daughters, and--I--am-- d----d if he is not
bringing them down here with him."
"Oh, go long!" exclaimed the five men in one voice, raising themselves
on their hands and elbows, and glaring at the speaker.
"Fact, boys! Soon as I found it out I just waltzed into that Jew shop at
the Crossing and bought up all the clothes that would be likely to suit
you fellows, before anybody else got a show. I reckon I cleared out the
shop. The duds are a little mixed in style, but I reckon they're clean and
whole, and a man might face a lady in 'em. I left them round at the old
Buckeye Spring, where they're handy without attracting attention. You
boys can go there for a general wash-up, rig yourselves up without
saying anything, and then meander back careless and easy in your store
clothes, just as the stage is coming in, sabe?"
"Why didn't you let us know earlier?" asked Mattingly aggrievedly;
"you've been back here at least an hour."
"I've been getting some place ready for THEM," returned the new-
comer. "We might have managed to put the man somewhere, if he'd

been alone, but these women want family accommodation. There was
nothing left for me to do but to buy up Thompson's saloon."
"No?" interrupted his audience, half in incredulity, half in protestation.
"Fact! You boys will have to take your drinks under canvas again, I
reckon! But I made Thompson let those gold-framed mirrors that used
to stand behind the bar go into the bargain, and they sort of furnish the
room. You know the saloon is one of them patent houses you can take
to pieces, and I've been reckoning you boys will have to pitch in and
help me to take the whole shanty over to the laurel bushes, and put it up
agin Kearney's cabin."
"What's all that?" said the younger Kearney, with an odd mingling of
astonishment and bashful gratification.
"Yes, I reckon yours is the cleanest house, because it's the newest, so
you'll just step out and let us knock in one o' the gables, and clap it on
to the saloon, and make ONE house of it, don't you see? There'll be two
rooms, one for the girls and the other for