Selected Stories of Bret Harte, Page 3

  THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT

  As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of PokerFlat on the morning of the twenty-third of November, 1850, he wasconscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the precedingnight. Two or three men, conversing earnestly together, ceased as heapproached, and exchanged significant glances. There was a Sabbath lullin the air which, in a settlement unused to Sabbath influences, lookedominous.

  Mr. Oakhurst's calm, handsome face betrayed small concern in theseindications. Whether he was conscious of any predisposing cause wasanother question. "I reckon they're after somebody," he reflected;"likely it's me." He returned to his pocket the handkerchief with whichhe had been whipping away the red dust of Poker Flat from his neatboots, and quietly discharged his mind of any further conjecture.

  In point of fact, Poker Flat was "after somebody." It had latelysuffered the loss of several thousand dollars, two valuable horses, anda prominent citizen. It was experiencing a spasm of virtuous reaction,quite as lawless and ungovernable as any of the acts that had provokedit. A secret committee had determined to rid the town of all improperpersons. This was done permanently in regard of two men who were thenhanging from the boughs of a sycamore in the gulch, and temporarily inthe banishment of certain other objectionable characters. I regret tosay that some of these were ladies. It is but due to the sex, however,to state that their impropriety was professional, and it was only insuch easily established standards of evil that Poker Flat ventured tosit in judgment.

  Mr. Oakhurst was right in supposing that he was included in thiscategory. A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possibleexample, and a sure method of reimbursing themselves from his pocketsof the sums he had won from them. "It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler,"to let this yer young man from Roaring Camp--an entire stranger--carryaway our money." But a crude sentiment of equity residing in thebreasts of those who had been fortunate enough to win from Mr. Oakhurstoverruled this narrower local prejudice.

  Mr. Oakhurst received his sentence with philosophic calmness, none theless coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges. He wastoo much of a gambler not to accept Fate. With him life was at best anuncertain game, and he recognized the usual percentage in favor of thedealer.

  A body of armed men accompanied the deported wickedness of Poker Flat tothe outskirts of the settlement. Besides Mr. Oakhurst, who was known tobe a coolly desperate man, and for whose intimidation the armedescort was intended, the expatriated party consisted of a young womanfamiliarly known as the "Duchess"; another, who had won the title of"Mother Shipton"; and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber andconfirmed drunkard. The cavalcade provoked no comments from thespectators, nor was any word uttered by the escort. Only, when the gulchwhich marked the uttermost limit of Poker Flat was reached, the leaderspoke briefly and to the point. The exiles were forbidden to return atthe peril of their lives.

  As the escort disappeared, their pent-up feelings found vent in afew hysterical tears from the Duchess, some bad language from MotherShipton, and a Parthian volley of expletives from Uncle Billy. Thephilosophic Oakhurst alone remained silent. He listened calmly to MotherShipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statementsof the Duchess that she would die in the road, and to the alarming oathsthat seemed to be bumped out of Uncle Billy as he rode forward. With theeasy good humor characteristic of his class, he insisted upon exchanginghis own riding horse, "Five Spot," for the sorry mule which the Duchessrode. But even this act did not draw the party into any closer sympathy.The young woman readjusted her somewhat draggled plumes with a feeble,faded coquetry; Mother Shipton eyed the possessor of "Five Spot" withmalevolence, and Uncle Billy included the whole party in one sweepinganathema.

  The road to Sandy Bar--a camp that, not having as yet experienced theregenerating influences of Poker Flat, consequently seemed to offer someinvitation to the emigrants--lay over a steep mountain range. It wasdistant a day's severe travel. In that advanced season, the party soonpassed out of the moist, temperate regions of the foothills intothe dry, cold, bracing air of the Sierras. The trail was narrow anddifficult. At noon the Duchess, rolling out of her saddle upon theground, declared her intention of going no farther, and the partyhalted.

  The spot was singularly wild and impressive. A wooded amphitheater,surrounded on three sides by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, slopedgently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley.It was, undoubtedly, the most suitable spot for a camp, had camping beenadvisable. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that scarcely half the journey to SandyBar was accomplished, and the party were not equipped or provisionedfor delay. This fact he pointed out to his companions curtly, with aphilosophic commentary on the folly of "throwing up their hand beforethe game was played out." But they were furnished with liquor, which inthis emergency stood them in place of food, fuel, rest, and prescience.In spite of his remonstrances, it was not long before they were more orless under its influence. Uncle Billy passed rapidly from a bellicosestate into one of stupor, the Duchess became maudlin, and Mother Shiptonsnored. Mr. Oakhurst alone remained erect, leaning against a rock,calmly surveying them.

  Mr. Oakhurst did not drink. It interfered with a profession whichrequired coolness, impassiveness, and presence of mind, and, in his ownlanguage, he "couldn't afford it." As he gazed at his recumbent fellowexiles, the loneliness begotten of his pariah trade, his habits of life,his very vices, for the first time seriously oppressed him. He bestirredhimself in dusting his black clothes, washing his hands and face, andother acts characteristic of his studiously neat habits, and for amoment forgot his annoyance. The thought of deserting his weaker andmore pitiable companions never perhaps occurred to him. Yet he could nothelp feeling the want of that excitement which, singularly enough, wasmost conducive to that calm equanimity for which he was notorious. Helooked at the gloomy walls that rose a thousand feet sheer above thecircling pines around him; at the sky, ominously clouded; at the valleybelow, already deepening into shadow. And, doing so, suddenly he heardhis own name called.

  A horseman slowly ascended the trail. In the fresh, open face of thenewcomer Mr. Oakhurst recognized Tom Simson, otherwise known as the"Innocent" of Sandy Bar. He had met him some months before overa "little game," and had, with perfect equanimity, won the entirefortune--amounting to some forty dollars--of that guileless youth. Afterthe game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful speculator behindthe door and thus addressed him: "Tommy, you're a good little man, butyou can't gamble worth a cent. Don't try it over again." He then handedhim his money back, pushed him gently from the room, and so made adevoted slave of Tom Simson.

  There was a remembrance of this in his boyish and enthusiastic greetingof Mr. Oakhurst. He had started, he said, to go to Poker Flat to seekhis fortune. "Alone?" No, not exactly alone; in fact (a giggle), he hadrun away with Piney Woods. Didn't Mr. Oakhurst remember Piney? She thatused to wait on the table at the Temperance House? They had been engageda long time, but old Jake Woods had objected, and so they had run away,and were going to Poker Flat to be married, and here they were. And theywere tired out, and how lucky it was they had found a place to camp andcompany. All this the Innocent delivered rapidly, while Piney, a stout,comely damsel of fifteen, emerged from behind the pine tree, where shehad been blushing unseen, and rode to the side of her lover.

  Mr. Oakhurst seldom troubled himself with sentiment, still less withpropriety; but he had a vague idea that the situation was not fortunate.He retained, however, his presence of mind sufficiently to kick UncleBilly, who was about to say something, and Uncle Billy was sober enoughto recognize in Mr. Oakhurst's kick a superior power that would notbear trifling. He then endeavored to dissuade Tom Simson from delayingfurther, but in vain. He even pointed out the fact that there was noprovision, nor means of making a camp. But, unluckily, the Innocent metthis objection by assuring the party that he was provided with an extramule loaded with provisions and by the discovery of a rude attempt at alog house near the
trail. "Piney can stay with Mrs. Oakhurst," said theInnocent, pointing to the Duchess, "and I can shift for myself."

  Nothing but Mr. Oakhurst's admonishing foot saved Uncle Billy frombursting into a roar of laughter. As it was, he felt compelled to retireup the canyon until he could recover his gravity. There he confided thejoke to the tall pine trees, with many slaps of his leg, contortions ofhis face, and the usual profanity. But when he returned to the party, hefound them seated by a fire--for the air had grown strangely chilland the sky overcast--in apparently amicable conversation. Piney wasactually talking in an impulsive, girlish fashion to the Duchess, whowas listening with an interest and animation she had not shown for manydays. The Innocent was holding forth, apparently with equal effect,to Mr. Oakhurst and Mother Shipton, who was actually relaxing intoamiability. "Is this yer a damned picnic?" said Uncle Billy with inwardscorn as he surveyed the sylvan group, the glancing firelight, and thetethered animals in the foreground. Suddenly an idea mingled with thealcoholic fumes that disturbed his brain. It was apparently of a jocularnature, for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram his fistinto his mouth.

  As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight breeze rocked thetops of the pine trees, and moaned through their long and gloomy aisles.The ruined cabin, patched and covered with pine boughs, was set apartfor the ladies. As the lovers parted, they unaffectedly exchanged akiss, so honest and sincere that it might have been heard above theswaying pines. The frail Duchess and the malevolent Mother Shipton wereprobably too stunned to remark upon this last evidence of simplicity,and so turned without a word to the hut. The fire was replenished, themen lay down before the door, and in a few minutes were asleep.

  Mr. Oakhurst was a light sleeper. Toward morning he awoke benumbed andcold. As he stirred the dying fire, the wind, which was now blowingstrongly, brought to his cheek that which caused the blood to leaveit--snow!

  He started to his feet with the intention of awakening the sleepers,for there was no time to lose. But turning to where Uncle Billy had beenlying, he found him gone. A suspicion leaped to his brain and a curseto his lips. He ran to the spot where the mules had been tethered; theywere no longer there. The tracks were already rapidly disappearing inthe snow.

  The momentary excitement brought Mr. Oakhurst back to the fire withhis usual calm. He did not waken the sleepers. The Innocent slumberedpeacefully, with a smile on his good-humored, freckled face; the virginPiney slept beside her frailer sisters as sweetly as though attendedby celestial guardians; and Mr. Oakhurst, drawing his blanket over hisshoulders, stroked his mustaches and waited for the dawn. It came slowlyin a whirling mist of snowflakes that dazzled and confused the eye. Whatcould be seen of the landscape appeared magically changed. Helooked over the valley, and summed up the present and future in twowords--"snowed in!"

  A careful inventory of the provisions, which, fortunately for the party,had been stored within the hut and so escaped the felonious fingers ofUncle Billy, disclosed the fact that with care and prudence they mightlast ten days longer. "That is," said Mr. Oakhurst, sotto voce to theInnocent, "if you're willing to board us. If you ain't--and perhapsyou'd better not--you can wait till Uncle Billy gets back withprovisions." For some occult reason, Mr. Oakhurst could not bringhimself to disclose Uncle Billy's rascality, and so offered thehypothesis that he had wandered from the camp and had accidentallystampeded the animals. He dropped a warning to the Duchess and MotherShipton, who of course knew the facts of their associate's defection."They'll find out the truth about us all when they find out anything,"he added, significantly, "and there's no good frightening them now."

  Tom Simson not only put all his worldly store at the disposal of Mr.Oakhurst, but seemed to enjoy the prospect of their enforced seclusion."We'll have a good camp for a week, and then the snow'll melt, and we'llall go back together." The cheerful gaiety of the young man, and Mr.Oakhurst's calm, infected the others. The Innocent with the aid of pineboughs extemporized a thatch for the roofless cabin, and the Duchessdirected Piney in the rearrangement of the interior with a taste andtact that opened the blue eyes of that provincial maiden to theirfullest extent. "I reckon now you're used to fine things at Poker Flat,"said Piney. The Duchess turned away sharply to conceal something thatreddened her cheeks through its professional tint, and Mother Shiptonrequested Piney not to "chatter." But when Mr. Oakhurst returned from aweary search for the trail, he heard the sound of happy laughterechoed from the rocks. He stopped in some alarm, and his thoughts firstnaturally reverted to the whisky, which he had prudently cached. "Andyet it don't somehow sound like whisky," said the gambler. It was notuntil he caught sight of the blazing fire through the still-blindingstorm and the group around it that he settled to the conviction that itwas "square fun."

  Whether Mr. Oakhurst had cached his cards with the whisky as somethingdebarred the free access of the community, I cannot say. It was certainthat, in Mother Shipton's words, he "didn't say cards once" during thatevening. Haply the time was beguiled by an accordion, produced somewhatostentatiously by Tom Simson from his pack. Notwithstanding somedifficulties attending the manipulation of this instrument, PineyWoods managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from its keys, toan accompaniment by the Innocent on a pair of bone castanets. But thecrowning festivity of the evening was reached in a rude camp-meetinghymn, which the lovers, joining hands, sang with great earnestness andvociferation. I fear that a certain defiant tone and Covenanter's swingto its chorus, rather than any devotional quality, caused it speedily toinfect the others, who at last joined in the refrain:

  "I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord,

  And I'm bound to die in His army."

  The pines rocked, the storm eddied and whirled above the miserablegroup, and the flames of their altar leaped heavenward as if in token ofthe vow.

  At midnight the storm abated, the rolling clouds parted, and thestars glittered keenly above the sleeping camp. Mr. Oakhurst, whoseprofessional habits had enabled him to live on the smallest possibleamount of sleep, in dividing the watch with Tom Simson somehow managedto take upon himself the greater part of that duty. He excused himselfto the Innocent by saying that he had "often been a week without sleep.""Doing what?" asked Tom. "Poker!" replied Oakhurst, sententiously; "whena man gets a streak of luck,--nigger luck--he don't get tired. The luckgives in first. Luck," continued the gambler, reflectively, "is a mightyqueer thing. All you know about it for certain is that it's bound tochange. And it's finding out when it's going to change that makes you.We've had a streak of bad luck since we left Poker Flat--you come along,and slap you get into it, too. If you can hold your cards right alongyou're all right. For," added the gambler, with cheerful irrelevance,

  "'I'm proud to live in the service of the Lord,

  And I'm bound to die in His army.'"

  The third day came, and the sun, looking through the white-curtainedvalley, saw the outcasts divide their slowly decreasing store ofprovisions for the morning meal. It was one of the peculiarities of thatmountain climate that its rays diffused a kindly warmth over the wintrylandscape, as if in regretful commiseration of the past. But it revealeddrift on drift of snow piled high around the hut--a hopeless, uncharted,trackless sea of white lying below the rocky shores to which thecastaways still clung. Through the marvelously clear air the smoke ofthe pastoral village of Poker Flat rose miles away. Mother Shipton sawit, and from a remote pinnacle of her rocky fastness hurled in thatdirection a final malediction. It was her last vituperative attempt, andperhaps for that reason was invested with a certain degree of sublimity.It did her good, she privately informed the Duchess. "Just you go outthere and cuss, and see." She then set herself to the task of amusing"the child," as she and the Duchess were pleased to call Piney. Pineywas no chicken, but it was a soothing and original theory of the pairthus to account for the fact that she didn't swear and wasn't improper.

  When night crept up again through the gorges, the reedy notes of theaccordion rose and fell in fitful spasms and long-drawn gasps
by theflickering campfire. But music failed to fill entirely the achingvoid left by insufficient food, and a new diversion was proposed byPiney--storytelling. Neither Mr. Oakhurst nor his female companionscaring to relate their personal experiences, this plan would have failedtoo but for the Innocent. Some months before he had chanced upon a straycopy of Mr. Pope's ingenious translation of the ILIAD. He now proposedto narrate the principal incidents of that poem--having thoroughlymastered the argument and fairly forgotten the words--in the currentvernacular of Sandy Bar. And so for the rest of that night the Homericdemigods again walked the earth. Trojan bully and wily Greek wrestled inthe winds, and the great pines in the canyon seemed to bow to the wrathof the son of Peleus. Mr. Oakhurst listened with quiet satisfaction.Most especially was he interested in the fate of "Ash-heels," as theInnocent persisted in denominating the "swift-footed Achilles."

  So with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week passedover the heads of the outcasts. The sun again forsook them, and againfrom leaden skies the snowflakes were sifted over the land. Day by daycloser around them drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked fromtheir prison over drifted walls of dazzling white that towered twentyfeet above their heads. It became more and more difficult to replenishtheir fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now half-hidden inthe drifts. And yet no one complained. The lovers turned from the drearyprospect and looked into each other's eyes, and were happy. Mr. Oakhurstsettled himself coolly to the losing game before him. The Duchess,more cheerful than she had been, assumed the care of Piney. Only MotherShipton--once the strongest of the party--seemed to sicken and fade. Atmidnight on the tenth day she called Oakhurst to her side. "I'm going,"she said, in a voice of querulous weakness, "but don't say anythingabout it. Don't waken the kids. Take the bundle from under my head andopen it." Mr. Oakhurst did so. It contained Mother Shipton's rations forthe last week, untouched. "Give 'em to the child," she said, pointing tothe sleeping Piney. "You've starved yourself," said the gambler. "That'swhat they call it," said the woman, querulously, as she lay down againand, turning her face to the wall, passed quietly away.

  The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer wasforgotten. When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to thesnow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and showed him a pair ofsnowshoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack saddle. "There's onechance in a hundred to save her yet," he said, pointing to Piney; "butit's there," he added, pointing toward Poker Flat. "If you can reachthere in two days she's safe." "And you?" asked Tom Simson. "I'll stayhere," was the curt reply.

  The lovers parted with a long embrace. "You are not going, too?" saidthe Duchess as she saw Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to accompany him."As far as the canyon," he replied. He turned suddenly, and kissed theDuchess, leaving her pallid face aflame and her trembling limbs rigidwith amazement.

  Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought the storm again and thewhirling snow. Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that someonehad quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days longer.The tears rose to her eyes, but she hid them from Piney.

  The women slept but little. In the morning, looking into each other'sfaces, they read their fate. Neither spoke; but Piney, accepting theposition of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm around theDuchess's waist. They kept this attitude for the rest of the day. Thatnight the storm reached its greatest fury, and, rending asunder theprotecting pines, invaded the very hut.

  Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, whichgradually died away. As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess creptcloser to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: "Piney, can youpray?" "No, dear," said Piney, simply. The Duchess, without knowingexactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head upon Piney's shoulder,spoke no more. And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing thehead of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep.

  The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. Feathery drifts of snow,shaken from the long pine boughs, flew like white-winged birds, andsettled about them as they slept. The moon through the rifted cloudslooked down upon what had been the camp. But all human stain, all traceof earthly travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle mercifullyflung from above.

  They slept all that day and the next, nor did they waken when voicesand footsteps broke the silence of the camp. And when pitying fingersbrushed the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely have told fromthe equal peace that dwelt upon them which was she that had sinned. Eventhe law of Poker Flat recognized this, and turned away, leaving themstill locked in each other's arms.

  But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine trees, theyfound the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie knife. It borethe following, written in pencil, in a firm hand:

  BENEATH THIS TREE LIES THE BODY OF JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A STREAK OF BAD LUCK ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER, 1850, AND HANDED IN HIS CHECKS ON THE 7TH DECEMBER, 1850.

  And pulseless and cold, with a Derringer by his side and a bullet in hisheart, though still calm as in life, beneath the snow lay he who was atonce the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts of Poker Flat.