Accordingly, for the first few days, he spent considerable time in the mines, apparently examining the workings, but in reality watching the men themselves. Among some of them he saw black looks and scowls, and heard muttered comments regarding himself: "Git onto the dude!" "D'ye see the tenderfoot?" "Thinks he's goin' to boss us, does he? we'll show him a trick or two." These were mainly from Maverick's consorts, and men of their ilk, ignorant and brutal. Houston paid no attention to their remarks or frowns, but continued his rounds among them, conscious that he was master of the situation, meanwhile giving instructions to the foreman who accompanied him. As he pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed Jack and Mike, working together with almost the automatic precision of machinery, he stopped to watch them, attracted partly by admiration for their work, and partly by a slight interest in the man who had been his fellow pa.s.senger, and concerning whom he had heard such various reports.

During the slight pause in their work, the Irishman eyed him curiously, with indications of his native drollery and humor betraying themselves in his mirthful face; he seemed about to speak, but Jack, with set, stern features, was ready, and the work continued without a word. In that brief interim, however, Jack had fixed one of his keen, piercing glances upon Houston, which the latter returned with one equally searching, and though not a muscle relaxed in that immobile face, covered with dust and grime, yet a strange thrill of mutual sympathy quivered and vibrated through the soul of each man, and Houston knew that he had found a friend.

"There is a man among a thousand," he thought as he walked away, "a man of honor, in whom one could place unbounded confidence; no wonder Lyle has found him such a friend!"

At the next pause in their work, Mike's feelings found expression:

"Begorra! but the young mon is progressin' foinely, to be put over the loikes of us, and bein' as how most loikely he niver sit foot in a moine, till comin' out into this counthry!"

Jack's face had grown strangely set and white: "We are to be his friends, remember that, Mike," he said, in a voice unnaturally stern.

"Frinds!" exclaimed the astonished Mike, "Be-dad! and whin did I iver know ye to make frinds with ony of owld Blaisdell's men befoor?"

"Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, Mike," was Jack's only reply as he again began work, and Mike had nothing to do but to follow his example.

CHAPTER XXVI.

In a short time Houston had become perfectly familiar with his new surroundings. He was thoroughly at home in the underground workings, readily finding his way in the labyrinth of shafts, tunnels and cross-cuts extending for miles in all directions, and connecting the various mining claims one with another.

He knew the name and face of nearly every man employed in the various shifts, and by his keen perception and insight, was able to form a very correct estimate of their character and standing in that little community. Though no words had been exchanged between himself and Jack beyond those of the most commonplace greetings, yet his respect for the man, and confidence in him, increased with each day, and was plainly indicated by his manner toward him whenever they met.

As he watched the men, in his frequent rounds through the mines, most of their faces were to him as an open book, on some of whose pages he read histories of misfortune and loss, or crime and shame in the past, and on others, of eager ambitions and bright hopes for the future. There were men with gray hair and bowed forms, whose dull eyes and listless step told of hopeless, irretrievable loss; men of intelligence and ability whose recklessness or whose despondency told of some living sorrow, worse than death; there were some whose stealthy, shrinking gait and watchful, suspicious glance bespoke some crime, unknown to their fellows, but which to themselves seemed ever present, suspended, like the sword of Damocles, above their heads.

But even to Houston, Jack remained a mystery, and as he noted the powerful, athletic form, the profile of patrician beauty, perfect as though chiseled in marble, the hair and beard black and glossy as the raven's wing, though touched with silver here and there, he found himself unable to read the history of that life.

"There is a man," he soliloquized, "my equal, if not my superior, in birth, in education, in intellectual ability; how came he here? What has wrecked his life?"

But the dark, piercing eyes, turned on him for an instant, gave no answer to his query.

As he and Morgan, their day's work completed, were returning to the house, Houston made some inquiries regarding the men, and from the information given by Morgan concerning some of them, found his own judgment of them correct.

"And who is the man called 'Jack,' who works with the Irishman?"

"Heaven knows, I don't, nor n.o.body else," replied Morgan; "he came here about six or seven years ago, I guess, at least; he was here when I came, and was considered an expert then. He never would have anything to say to the other men, and always lived by himself till the Irishman came; he was another queer sort of duck and was a first-cla.s.s miner, too, so him and Jack has worked together and lived together ever since, but Jack is boss."

"Are they the only miners living by themselves?" asked Houston.

"The only single men; there's six or seven of 'em that are married and have families, like Maverick; they have very good shacks, furnished by the company, but all the single men, excepting them two, live at the quarters. By the way, have you ever been down to the quarters?"

"No," replied Houston, "but I should like very well to visit them."

"All right, we'll go to-night if you like; I go down there myself once in a while and listen to their stories; they've most of 'em had some queer experiences, and they can spin as many yarns as a lot of sailors, any time."

Later in the evening, Houston, having excused himself to the ladies in general, and Miss Gladden in particular, accompanied by Morgan, was on his way to the miners' quarters. The latter were situated but a short distance from the office, on the road to the mines, and consisted of two boarding houses and four bunk houses. Farther down the road were the stables for the horses used in hauling supplies; also blacksmith and carpenter shops, and a storehouse.

A rather novel scene presented itself to Houston as he approached.

Scattered about on the ground, and loafing in the door-ways in all att.i.tudes and positions, were over a hundred men, of various ages, cla.s.ses and nationalities, but princ.i.p.ally Cornishmen, or, in western vernacular, "Cousin Jacks." Many of them were strangers to him, being employed in other mines than those with which he was familiar, but among them were many of his own men. From the door-way of one of the bunk houses came the strains of a violin, while in another, a concertina shrieked and groaned, and from all directions came the sound of ribald songs, coa.r.s.e jests and boisterous laughter. Here and there were groups of men engaged in playing poker or seven-up, where little piles of silver and gold were rapidly changing hands, to the accompaniment of muttered oaths.

At one side, Maverick and a few kindred spirits seemed trying to outrival one another in profanity and obscenity, while at some distance from them, was a large company of the better cla.s.s of men, some lounging against trees and rocks, some sitting or lying at full length on the ground, but all listening with unmistakable interest, to a man, gray and grizzled, with a weather-beaten but kindly face, who evidently was entertaining the crowd with tales of his own early life.

As Houston and Morgan approached, the speaker stopped; some of the men half rose from their rec.u.mbent positions out of respect for the "new boss," and all eyed him rather curiously, though not unkindly. Houston recognized many of his own men among them, and greeted them with a pleasant "Good evening, boys."

"Hullo, Billy," said Morgan, addressing the old miner, "what do you know to-night?" then noting that he was watching Houston with a half smile on his rugged face, he added, "Thought I'd bring the boss down to see you and the rest of the boys to-night."

"Good evenin' boss," responded the old fellow, while a merry smile twinkled in his eyes, "I expect this is your first visit to a reg'lar, genuwine minin' camp?"

"My first, perhaps, but not my last," said Houston, with a winning smile.

"That's right," said the old man approvingly, as he proceeded to refill his pipe; "I've been a watchin' you, off and on, down there at the mines, bein' as I'd heerd you was a tenderfoot, and I must say you've took a holt as if you was an old hand at the job."

"Oh, yes," Houston replied, "with a little determination, a person can pick up anything of that kind easily. I think, with a little practice, I could make a pretty successful miner; it would require grit and stick-to-it-ativeness, that's all."

"'Grit and stick-to-it-ativeness,' that's good," said the old miner, highly pleased, "well, you seem to have plenty of 'em both, and plenty of good muscle, too," with an admiring glance at Houston's fine, athletic form.

"See here, Billy," said Houston pleasantly, after chatting a few moments, "when we came, it looked very much as though you were telling stories to the crowd here, and the boys all seemed very much interested; now we want you to go on with your story, we would enjoy it as much as the rest."

"Let me see," said Billy, "I don't remember just where I was, but I guess I'd finished as you come up."

"Never mind, you can start another," said Houston.

"Yes, Billy, give us another," chimed in the boys.

"Go ahead, pardner," added Morgan, "spin us a yarn, that's what we came for."

"I was only tellin' the boys about the old days when I came out to the mines, and for the first few years after," Billy began.

"Those must have been interesting times," said Houston.

"Int'restin'? I should say so! You fellows don't know nothin' about minin' compared to them days; I tell you, things was lively then. I was there at Leadville when it was opened up, and you couldn't get anybody to look at you without payin' 'em a good, round sum for it; couldn't get a place to roll yourself in your blanket and lie on the floor short of five or ten dollars; folks bought dry goods boxes and lived in 'em. Then I was down here when they opened up the Big Bonanza mine, in Diamond gulch, not far from Silver City. I tell you boys, them was high old times, everything was scarce and prices was high,--flour was a hundred dollars a sack, and potatoes seventy-five dollars a bushel,--but money was plenty,--or gold dust,--we didn't have no money, everything was paid for in gold dust. 'Twas pretty tough in them days, too, everybody went armed to the teeth, and guns and knives was used pretty free."

"Was that in the days of the vigilantes?" asked Houston.

"Yes, they come along soon after, they had to. There was desperate characters here, but the vigilantes made short work of 'em, they didn't even give 'em time to say their prayers. I tell you, the gambling houses and the dance halls, and all them places was lively in them days. There wasn't many words over a game, if any quarrels come up, they was settled pretty quick with the revolver or bowie knife."

"There must have been some high stakes played in those days," Houston remarked.

"High? well, yes, rather; I've seen men sit down to a game worth anywhere from fifty to two or three hundred thousand, and get up without a cent in the world."

The old man paused to relight his pipe, and having puffed reflectively for a few moments, settled himself with the air of a man who has a long story to tell, and the surrounding miners evidently so understood it, for they shifted their positions accordingly, and prepared to listen.

"Speakin' of gamblin'," he began, "puts me in mind of something that happened among the camps on the other side of the range, nigh onto fifteen years ago. A gang of us boys was in Dandy Jim's gambling hall one night. The place was crowded, I remember, and we was all tryin' to make our fortunes on the high card. Some of us was dead broke, but them that hadn't the stuff borrowed from them that had, sure of better luck next time. They was all so deep in the game that none of 'em noticed a seedy-lookin' chap who come in, kinder quiet like, and set down to the faro table and began to play. I guess I was the only one who noticed him, and at first, I couldn't make him out, but after a bit, I remembered him as 'Unlucky Pete.' That man had a history. When I first saw him, some eight or ten years before that night, he had just come west with his wife, a pretty little woman, and had a good team of horses and a new wagon. He was a reg'lar border character, and whenever a new country was opened up for settlement, him and his wife was the first on the ground, ready to make a run to secure a home.

Pete was prosperous, till one night, in a quarrel over a game of cards, he killed his man, and from that time his luck changed. He secured one or two good claims, but lost t.i.tle to them; he lost his horses, and as fast as he bought other horses, they died or was stolen, and everything went against him. He wandered from one country to another, but bad luck met him at every turn. The last I seen him was some two years before; then him and his wife and two or three babies was goin' over the country in an old, broken-down wagon. The wheels was held together with wire and ropes, and the canvas top was in rags and tatters; the horses was the poorest, skinniest creatures you ever see, and him and his wife looked off the same piece.

"Well, somehow or 'nuther, I knew him that night, though he looked harder than ever, and had an old slouched hat down over his face. He looked like a man that was pushed pretty close to the wall, and had got down to his last nickel. Well, he set down there to the table, and threw a silver dollar on the high card; then pulled that old hat down clean over his eyes, and never spoke, or looked one way or another.

The high card won, and the dealer paid the bet, and pushed the money over to Pete, but he never stirred.