Selected Stories of Bret Harte | Page 5

its pipe, and awaited the issue.
The assemblage numbered about a hundred men. One or two of these
were actual fugitives from justice, some were criminal, and all were
reckless. Physically they exhibited no indication of their past lives and
character. The greatest scamp had a Raphael face, with a profusion of
blonde hair; Oakhurst, a gambler, had the melancholy air and
intellectual abstraction of a Hamlet; the coolest and most courageous
man was scarcely over five feet in height, with a soft voice and an
embarrassed, timid manner. The term "roughs" applied to them was a

distinction rather than a definition. Perhaps in the minor details of
fingers, toes, ears, etc., the camp may have been deficient, but these
slight omissions did not detract from their aggregate force. The
strongest man had but three fingers on his right hand; the best shot had
but one eye.
Such was the physical aspect of the men that were dispersed around the
cabin. The camp lay in a triangular valley between two hills and a river.
The only outlet was a steep trail over the summit of a hill that faced the
cabin, now illuminated by the rising moon. The suffering woman might
have seen it from the rude bunk whereon she lay,--seen it winding like
a silver thread until it was lost in the stars above.
A fire of withered pine boughs added sociability to the gathering. By
degrees the natural levity of Roaring Camp returned. Bets were freely
offered and taken regarding the result. Three to five that "Sal would get
through with it;" even that the child would survive; side bets as to the
sex and complexion of the coming stranger. In the midst of an excited
discussion an exclamation came from those nearest the door, and the
camp stopped to listen. Above the swaying and moaning of the pines,
the swift rush of the river, and the crackling of the fire rose a sharp,
querulous cry,--a cry unlike anything heard before in the camp. The
pines stopped moaning, the river ceased to rush, and the fire to crackle.
It seemed as if Nature had stopped to listen too.
The camp rose to its feet as one man! It was proposed to explode a
barrel of gunpowder; but in consideration of the situation of the mother,
better counsels prevailed, and only a few revolvers were discharged; for
whether owing to the rude surgery of the camp, or some other reason,
Cherokee Sal was sinking fast. Within an hour she had climbed, as it
were, that rugged road that led to the stars, and so passed out of
Roaring Camp, its sin and shame, forever. I do not think that the
announcement disturbed them much, except in speculation as to the
fate of the child. "Can he live now?" was asked of Stumpy. The answer
was doubtful. The only other being of Cherokee Sal's sex and maternal
condition in the settlement was an ass. There was some conjecture as to
fitness, but the experiment was tried. It was less problematical than the

ancient treatment of Romulus and Remus, and apparently as successful.
When these details were completed, which exhausted another hour, the
door was opened, and the anxious crowd of men, who had already
formed themselves into a queue, entered in single file. Beside the low
bunk or shelf, on which the figure of the mother was starkly outlined
below the blankets, stood a pine table. On this a candle- box was placed,
and within it, swathed in staring red flannel, lay the last arrival at
Roaring Camp. Beside the candle-box was placed a hat. Its use was
soon indicated. "Gentlemen," said Stumpy, with a singular mixture of
authority and EX OFFICIO complacency,-- "gentlemen will please
pass in at the front door, round the table, and out at the back door.
Them as wishes to contribute anything toward the orphan will find a
hat handy." The first man entered with his hat on; he uncovered,
however, as he looked about him, and so unconsciously set an example
to the next. In such communities good and bad actions are catching. As
the procession filed in comments were audible,--criticisms addressed
perhaps rather to Stumpy in the character of showman; "Is that him?"
"Mighty small specimen;" "Has n't more 'n got the color;" "Ain't bigger
nor a derringer." The contributions were as characteristic: A silver
tobacco box; a doubloon; a navy revolver, silver mounted; a gold
specimen; a very beautifully embroidered lady's handkerchief (from
Oakhurst the gambler); a diamond breastpin; a diamond ring (suggested
by the pin, with the remark from the giver that he "saw that pin and
went two diamonds better"); a slung-shot; a Bible (contributor not
detected); a golden spur; a silver teaspoon (the initials, I regret to say,
were not the