Forty-one Thieves | Page 6

Incidentally, and unknown to his partner, this arrangement necessitated
a momentous decision in the mind of Collins. As he formulated the
question, it was, "The girl or the gold?" Like many young criminals,
Collins was very much of a ladies' man. He associated with girls of the
dance-hall class, but he aspired to shine in the eyes of those foolish
women who admire a gay, bad man. He would have preferred to have
his share of the plunder then and there in order to stay in California to
win the hand of Mamie Slocum. But Darcy was determined to get out
of the country as quickly as possible, and when they separated insisted
upon taking all the gold. It would not do to quarrel with him, for both
would be lost if either was suspected. To share in the plunder he would
have to go East with Darcy, who was to board the same train at Gold
Run that Collins would take at Dutch Flat.
The girl or the gold? Because of his infatuation for the girl he had
become a highwayman. He had not expected her to come down from
Graniteville that day. He had not counted on being nearly killed by
Cummins, for it was he whom Cummins had overpowered. He had not
supposed that anyone would be killed. Things had turned out in a
strange and terrible way. To gain a few thousand dollars by highway
robbery was no worse than to win it by a dozen other methods counted
respectable. Among the youth of Nevada City with whom he had
associated, it was commonly believed that every successful man in
town had done something crooked at some time in his career--that life

was nothing but a gamble anyhow, and that a little cheating might
sometimes help a fellow.
When he had learned, some months before, how greatly Mamie
admired Will Cummins, he had thought it good policy to pretend a like
admiration. While the girl was in Graniteville, away from her parents,
he had seen her as often as he could, and had, he was sure, acted the
part of a chivalrous gentleman. He had referred to his jail record in
such a magnanimous way as to win her admiration and sympathy. And
he had been magnanimous toward Cummins. He had stoutly
maintained that even gentlemen of the road are men of honor, incapable
of petty meanness, merely taking by force from some money-shark
what was rightfully theirs by virtue of their being gentlemen. Therefore,
he argued, no self-respecting highwayman would rob a man like Will
Cummins--the merest hint that property belonged to him would be
sufficient to protect it. He had waxed eloquent over the matter.
He was now appalled to think how his argument, though insincere, had
been refuted. That Mamie had spoken those fatal words was not a ruse
of his but an inexplicable accident. How could he ever see the girl
again? And yet, in this one respect he was innocent, and he wished she
might know it. Besides, he was man enough to sympathize with her in
her awful predicament. With what horror she must be thinking of her
part in the tragedy! There was considerable generosity in his nature,
and he actually debated, criminal though he was, whether he might not
better let Darcy keep the loot and stand by Mamie.
The girl or the gold? Is it surprising that the decision of J. C. P. Collins
was similar to that of other Californians? Similar to Cummins', for
example? He decided to make sure of the gold first and to think about
the girl later. With six or eight thousand dollars in the bank he would
be a more valuable friend than a poor man could be. After this affair
had blown over, and he recalled the fact that Doc Mason had performed
eleven autopsies on murdered men in the last ten years, and not one
murderer had been hanged so far,--he would rescue Mamie from the
demoralization of the gold fields and take her to live in St. Louis or
New Orleans. And now he saw with some satisfaction that her apparent

complicity in the crime would make life hard for her in Nevada City
and impel her to accept such a proposal.
It might have been just as well if the rattlesnake coiled in his path at
that moment had ended his existence, but the snake was indeed an
honorable highwayman, and sounded a gentlemanly warning in the
nick of time. Collins would have killed it for its pains, but killing had
upset his nerves that day. So he left the reptile to try its fangs on a
better man. Besides, he reflected that he could not consistently
advocate capital punishment, and he sincerely hoped that his humane
sentiments would