The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh | Page 3

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THE HERITAGE OF DEDLOW MARSH and Other Tales
by
Bret Harte

CONTENTS. THE HERITAGE OF DEDLOW MARSH A
KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE FOOT-HILLS A SECRET OF
TELEGRAPH HILL CAPTAIN JIM'S FRIEND

THE HERITAGE OF DEDLOW MARSH.
I.

The sun was going down on the Dedlow Marshes. The tide was
following it fast as if to meet the reddening lines of sky and water in
the west, leaving the foreground to grow blacker and blacker every
moment, and to bring out in startling contrast the few half-filled and
half-lit pools left behind and forgotten. The strong breath of the Pacific
fanning their surfaces at times kindled them into a dull glow like dying
embers. A cloud of sand- pipers rose white from one of the nearer
lagoons, swept in a long eddying ring against the sunset, and became a
black and dropping rain to seaward. The long sinuous line of channel,
fading with the light and ebbing with the tide, began to give off here
and there light puffs of gray-winged birds like sudden exhalations.
High in the darkening sky the long arrow-headed lines of geese and
'brant' pointed towards the upland. As the light grew more uncertain the
air at times was filled with the rush of viewless and melancholy wings,
or became plaintive with far-off cries and lamentations. As the Marshes
grew blacker the far-scattered tussocks and accretions on its level
surface began to loom in exaggerated outline, and two human figures,
suddenly emerging erect on the bank of the hidden channel, assumed
the proportion of giants.
When they had moored their unseen boat, they still appeared for some
moments to be moving vaguely and aimlessly round the spot where
they had disembarked. But as the eye became familiar with the
darkness it was seen that they were really advancing inland, yet with a
slowness of progression and deviousness of course that appeared
inexplicable to the distant spectator. Presently it was evident that this
seemingly even, vast, black expanse was traversed and intersected by
inky creeks and small channels, which made human progression
difficult and dangerous. As they appeared nearer and their figures took
more natural proportions, it could be seen that each carried a gun; that
one was a young girl, although dressed so like her companion in
shaggy pea-jacket and sou'wester as to be scarcely distinguished from
him above the short skirt that came halfway down her high india-rubber
fishing-boots. By the time they had reached firmer ground, and turned
to look back at the sunset, it could be also seen that the likeness
between their faces was remarkable. Both, had crisp, black, tightly
curling hair; both had dark eyes and heavy eyebrows; both had quick

vivid complexions, slightly heightened by the sea and wind. But more
striking than their similarity of coloring was the likeness of expression
and bearing. Both wore the same air of picturesque energy; both bore
themselves with a like graceful effrontery and self-possession.
The young man continued his way. The young girl lingered for a
moment looking seaward, with her small brown hand lifted to shade her
eyes,--a precaution which her heavy eyebrows and long lashes seemed
to render utterly gratuitous.
"Come along, Mag. What are ye waitin' for?" said the young man
impatiently.
"Nothin'. Lookin' at that boat from the Fort." Her clear eyes were
watching a small skiff, invisible to less keen-sighted observers,
aground upon a flat near the mouth of the channel. "Them chaps will
have a high ole time gunnin' thar, stuck in the mud, and the tide goin'
out like sixty!"
"Never you mind the sodgers," returned her companion, aggressively,
"they kin take care o' their own precious skins, or Uncle Sam will do it
for 'em, I reckon. Anyhow the people--that's you and me, Mag--is
expected to pay for their foolishness. That's what they're sent yer for.
Ye oughter to be satisfied with that," he added with deep sarcasm.
"I reckon they ain't expected to do much off o' dry land, and they can't
help