Under the Redwoods - Bret Harte

Bret Harte

Under the Redwoods

JIMMYS BIG BROTHER FROM CALIFORNIA

As night crept up from the valley that stormy afternoon, Sawyers Ledge was at first quite blotted out by wind and rain, but presently reappeared in little nebulous star-like points along the mountain side, as the straggling cabins of the settlement were one by one lit up by the miners returning from tunnel and claim. These stars were of varying brilliancy that evening, two notably soone that eventually resolved itself into a many-candled illumination of a cabin of evident festivity; the other into a glimmering taper in the window of a silent one. They might have represented the extreme mutations of fortune in the settlement that night: the celebration of a strike by Robert Falloner, a lucky miner; and the sick-bed of Dick Lasham, an unlucky one.

The latter was, however, not quite alone. He was ministered to by Daddy Folsom, a weak but emotional and aggressively hopeful neighbor, who was sitting beside the wooden bunk whereon the invalid lay. Yet there was something perfunctory in his attitude: his eyes were continually straying to the window, whence the illuminated Falloner festivities could be seen between the trees, and his ears were more intent on the songs and laughter that came faintly from the distance than on the feverish breathing and unintelligible moans of the sufferer.

Nevertheless he looked troubled equally by the condition of his charge and by his own enforced absence from the revels. A more impatient moan from the sick man, however, brought a change to his abstracted face, and he turned to him with an exaggerated expression of sympathy.

In course! Lordy! I know jest what those pains are: kinder ez ef you was havin a tooth pulled that had roots branchin all over ye! My! Ive jest had em so bad I couldnt keep from yellin! Thats hot rheumatics! Yes, sir, I oughter know! And (confidentially) the singler thing about em is that they get worse jest as theyre going offsorter wringin yer hand and punchin ye in the back to say Good-by. There! he continued, as the man sank exhaustedly back on his rude pillow of flour-sacks. There! didnt I tell ye? Yell be all right in a minit, and ez chipper ez a jay bird in the mornin. Oh, dont tell me about rheumaticsIve bin thar! Ony mine was the cold kindthat hangs on longestyours is the hot, that burns itself up in no time!

If the flushed face and bright eyes of Lasham were not enough to corroborate this symptom of high fever, the quick, wandering laugh he gave would have indicated the point of delirium. But the too optimistic Daddy Folsom referred this act to improvement, and went on cheerfully: Yes, sir, youre better now, andhere he assumed an air of cautious deliberation, extravagant, as all his assumptions wereI aint sayin thatefyouwastoriseup (very slowly) and heave a blanket or two over your shouldersjest by way o caution, you knowand leanin on me, kinder meander over to Bob Falloners cabin and the boys, it wouldnt do you a heap o good. Changes o this kind is often prescribed by the faculty. Another moan from the sufferer, however, here apparently corrected Daddys too favorable prognosis. Oh, all right! Well, perhaps ye know best; and Ill jest run over to Bobs and say how as ye aint comin, and will be back in a jiffy!

The letter, said the sick man hurriedly, the letter, the letter!

Daddy leaned suddenly over the bed. It was impossible for even his hopefulness to avoid the fact that Lasham was delirious. It was a strong factor in the caseone that would certainly justify his going over to Falloners with the news. For the present moment, however, this aberration was to be accepted cheerfully and humored after Daddys own fashion. Of coursethe letter, the letter, he said convincingly; thats what the boys hev bin singin jest now

Thats what you heard, and a mighty purty song it is too, and kinder clings to you. Its wonderful how these things gets in your head.

The letterwritesend moneymoneymoney, and the photographthe photographphotographmoney, continued the sick man, in the rapid reiteration of delirium.

In course you willto-morrowwhen the mail goes, returned Daddy soothingly; plenty of them. Jest now you try to get a snooze, will ye? Hol on!take some o this.

There was an anodyne mixture on the rude shelf, which the doctor had left on his morning visit. Daddy had a comfortable belief that what would relieve pain would also check delirium, and he accordingly measured out a dose with a liberal margin to allow of waste by the patient in swallowing in his semi-conscious state. As he lay more quiet, muttering still, but now unintelligibly, Daddy, waiting for a more complete unconsciousness and the opportunity to slip away to Falloners, cast his eyes around the cabin. He noticed now for the first time since his entrance that a crumpled envelope bearing a Western post-mark was lying at the foot of the bed. Daddy knew that the tri-weekly post had arrived an hour before he came, and that Lasham had evidently received a letter. Sure enough the letter itself was lying against the wall beside him. It was open. Daddy felt justified in reading it.

It was curt and businesslike, stating that unless Lasham at once sent a remittance for the support of his brother and sistertwo children in charge of the writerthey must find a home elsewhere. That the arrears were long standing, and the repeated promises of Lasham to send money had been unfulfilled. That the writer could stand it no longer. This would be his last communication unless the money were sent forthwith.

It was by no means a novel or, under the circumstances, a shocking disclosure to Daddy. He had seen similar missives from daughters, and even wives, consequent on the varying fortunes of his neighbors; no one knew better than he the uncertainties of a miners prospects, and yet the inevitable hopefulness that buoyed him up. He tossed it aside impatiently, when his eye caught a strip of paper he had overlooked lying upon the blanket near the envelope. It contained a few lines in an unformed boyish hand addressed to my brother, and evidently slipped into the letter after it was written. By the uncertain candlelight Daddy read as follows:

Dear Brother, Rite to me and Cissy rite off. Why aint you done it? Its so long since you rote any. Mister Recketts ses you dont care any more. Wen you rite send your fotograff. Folks here ses I aint got no big bruther any way, as I disremember his looks, and cant say wots like him. Cissys kryin all along of it. Ive got a hedake. William Walker make it ake by a blo. So no more at present from your loving little bruther Jim.

The quick, hysteric laugh with which Daddy read this was quite consistent with his responsive, emotional nature; so, too, were the ready tears that sprang to his eyes. He put the candle down unsteadily, with a casual glance at the sick man. It was notable, however, that this look contained less sympathy for the ailing big brother than his emotion might have suggested. For Daddy was carried quite away by his own mental picture of the helpless children, and eager only to relate his impressions of the incident. He cast another glance at the invalid, thrust the papers into his pocket, and clapping on his hat slipped from the cabin and ran to the house of festivity. Yet it was characteristic of the man, and so engrossed was he by his one idea, that to the usual inquiries regarding his patient he answered, hes all right, and plunged at once into the incident of the dunning letter, reservingwith the instinct of an emotional artistthe childs missive until the last. As he expected, the money demand was received with indignant criticisms of the writer.

Thats just like em in the States, said Captain Fletcher; darned if they dont believe weve only got to bore a hole in the ground and snake out a hundred dollars. Why, theres my wifewith a heap of hoss sense in everything elseis allus wonderin why I cant rake in a cool fifty betwixt one steamer day and another.

Thats nothin to my old dad, interrupted Gus Houston, the infant of the camp, a bright-eyed young fellow of twenty; why, he wrote to me yesterday that if Id only pick up a single piece of gold every day and just put it aside, sayin Thats for popper and mommer, and not fool it awayit would be all theyd ask of me.

Thats so, added another; these ignorant relations is just the ruin o the mining industry. Bob Falloner hez bin lucky in his strike to-day, but hes a darned sight luckier in being without kith or kin that he knows of.

Daddy waited until the momentary irritation had subsided, and then drew the other letter from his pocket. That aint all, boys, he began in a faltering voice, but gradually working himself up to a pitch of pathos; just as I was thinking all them very things, I kinder noticed this yer poor little bit o paper lyin thar lonesome like and forgotten, and Iread itand wellgentlemenit just choked me right up! He stopped, and his voice faltered.

Go slow, Daddy, go slow! said an auditor smilingly. It was evident that Daddys sympathetic weakness was well known.

Daddy read the childs letter. But, unfortunately, what with his real emotion and the intoxication of an audience, he read it extravagantly, and interpolated a childs lisp (on no authority whatever), and a simulated infantile delivery, which, I fear, at first provoked the smiles rather than the tears of his audience. Nevertheless, at its conclusion the little note was handed round the party, and then there was a moment of thoughtful silence.

Tell you what it is, boys, said Fletcher, looking around the table, we ought to be doin suthin for them kids right off! Did you, turning to Daddy, say anythin about this to Dick?

Narywhy, hes clean off his head with feverdont understand a wordand just babbles, returned Daddy, forgetful of his roseate diagnosis a moment ago, and hasnt got a cent.

We must make up what we can amongst us afore the mail goes to-night, said the infant, feeling hurriedly in his pockets. Come, ante up, gentlemen, he added, laying the contents of his buckskin purse upon the table.

Hold on, boys, said a quiet voice. It was their host Falloner, who had just risen and was slipping on his oilskin coat. Youve got enough to do, I reckon, to look after your own folks. Ive none! Let this be my affair. Ive got to go to the Express Office anyhow to see about my passage home, and Ill just get a draft for a hundred dollars for that old skeesickswhats his blamed name? Oh, Rickettshe made a memorandum from the letterand Ill send it by express. Meantime, you fellows sit down there and write somethingyou know whatsaying that Dicks hurt his hand and cant writeyou know; but asked you to send a draft, which youre doing. Sabe? Thats all! Ill skip over to the express now and get the draft off, and you can mail the letter an hour later. So put your dust back in your pockets and help yourselves to the whiskey while Im gone. He clapped his hat on his head and disappeared.

There goes a white man, you bet! said Fletcher admiringly, as the door closed behind their host. Now, boys, he added, drawing a chair to the table, lets get this yer letter off, and then go back to our game.

Pens and ink were produced, and an animated discussion ensued as to the matter to be conveyed. Daddys plea for an extended explanatory and sympathetic communication was overruled, and the letter was written to Ricketts on the simple lines suggested by Falloner.

But what about poor little Jims letter? That ought to be answered, said Daddy pathetically.

If Dick hurt his hand so he cant write to Ricketts, how in thunder is he goin to write to Jim? was the reply.

But suthin oughter be said to the poor kid, urged Daddy piteously.

Well, write it yourselfyou and Gus Houston make up somethin together. Im going to win some money, retorted Fletcher, returning to the card-table, where he was presently followed by all but Daddy and Houston.

Ye cant write it in Dicks name, because that little brother knows Dicks handwriting, even if he dont remember his face. See? suggested Houston.

Thats so, said Daddy dubiously; but, he added, with elastic cheerfulness, we can write that Dick says. See?

Your heads level, old man! Just you wade in on that.

Daddy seized the pen and waded in. Into somewhat deep and difficult water, I fancy, for some of it splashed into his eyes, and he sniffled once or twice as he wrote. Suthin like this, he said, after a pause:

DEAR LITTLE JIMMIE,Your big brother havin hurt his hand, wants me to tell you that otherways he is all hunky and A1. He says he dont forget you and little Cissy, you bet! and hes sendin money to old Ricketts straight off. He says dont you and Cissy mind whether school keeps or not as long as big Brother Dick holds the lines. He says hed have written before, but hes bin follerin up a lead mighty close, and expects to strike it rich in a few days.

You aint got no sabe about kids, said Daddy imperturbably; theyve got to be humored like sick folks. And they want everythin bigthey dont take no stock in things ez they areeven ef they hev em worse than they are. So, continued Daddy, reading to prevent further interruption, he says youre just to keep your eyes skinned lookin out for him comin home any timeday or night. All youve got to do is to sit up and wait. He might come and even snake you out of your beds! He might come with four white horses and a nigger driver, or he might come disguised as an ornary tramp. Only youve got to be keen on watchin. (Ye see, interrupted Daddy explanatorily, thatll jest keep them kids lively.) He says Cissys to stop cryin right off, and if Willie Walker hits yer on the right cheek you just slug out with your left fist, cordin to Scripter. Gosh, ejaculated Daddy, stopping suddenly and gazing anxiously at Houston, theres that blamed photographI clean forgot that.

And Dick hasnt got one in the shop, and never had, returned Houston emphatically. Golly! that stumps us! Unless, he added, with diabolical thoughtfulness, we take Bobs? The kids dont remember Dicks face, and Bobs about the same age. And its a regular star pictureyou bet! Bob had it taken in Sacramentoin all his war paint. See! He indicated a photograph pinned against the walla really striking likeness which did full justice to Bobs long silken mustache and large, brown determined eyes. Ill snake it off while they aint lookin, and you jam it in the letter. Bob wont miss it, and we can fix it up with Dick after hes well, and send another.

Daddy silently grasped the infants hand, who presently secured the photograph without attracting attention from the card-players. It was promptly inclosed in the letter, addressed to Master James Lasham. The infant started with it to the post-office, and Daddy Folsom returned to Lashams cabin to relieve the watcher that had been detached from Falloners to take his place beside the sick man.