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The Award of Justice; Told in the Rockies, a novel by A. Maynard Barbour |
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Chapter 46 |
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_ CHAPTER XLVI Meanwhile, the work of destruction went swiftly forward, explosions following in quick succession and with terrific force, throughout the Yankee group of mines, and the adjoining claims; while the flames from the burning shafts were rivaled by those which spread from the mills to the shops, storehouses and stables, and finally, to the miners' quarters, till all were speedily reduced to ashes. Around the entrance to tunnel No. 3, a large crowd had gathered, not only from the various mines, but also from neighboring mining camps, all anxiously awaiting the return of the rescue party. At last they appeared. The first to emerge into daylight, was Ned Rutherford, bearing in his arms the crushed and mutilated form of little Bull-dog. Behind him came Houston, partially supported by one of the young miners and by Lyle, his left arm hanging at his side, his face deathly white beneath the blood and grime, but firm and dauntless as ever. As he stepped forth into the light, a wild cheer rose on the air, but Houston, raising his right hand with a deprecatory motion, silently pointed backward toward the tunnel, where, slowly emerging into view of the crowd, were Morton Rutherford and Mike, carrying, with the assistance of the other miner, the bleeding and unconscious form of Jack. The cheers were hushed, and the crowd silently surged about Houston and the two motionless, unconscious forms laid side by side upon the ground, their heads pillowed upon the rough jackets of the men, folded and tenderly placed beneath them by the hands of Lyle and Leslie, the latter half fainting with excitement. The men crowding about Houston congratulated him with a hearty hand-clasp, unaccompanied by words, except for an occasional inquiry as to his own condition. "I am all right," he said in reply to the latter, "my arm is nothing, the merest trifle; my only thought is for the two lives which I fear have been sacrificed for mine." Anxiously he bent above the prostrate forms. Jack's head was frightfully gashed, and his heavy, labored breathing indicated that his brain was already affected. Houston spoke a word to Morton Rutherford, who quickly withdrew, and taking the swiftest horse in camp, was soon speeding down the road to the Y, in a second race against death. Houston next knelt beside Bull-dog; a faint fluttering about the heart was the only sign of life. The little waif was well known among the mining camps of that vicinity, and there were few dry eyes in the crowd as Houston told the story of his heroism. Houston saw the end was very near, and gently slipped his right arm under Bull-dog's head. Slowly the little fellow opened his eyes, looking, with a happy smile, into the face bending so tenderly over him. At that instant, the sun, bursting through the clouds, threw a ray of golden light in shining benediction across the little white face. His eyes brightened still more; "We're safe!" he whispered joyously. There was a slight quiver, and the little form was still. The sun, shining as brightly and serenely as though storms were unknown, looked down into that beautiful canyon upon a strange scene of ruin, desolation and death. Amid the wreck and debris of the explosions, lay the little hero who had saved so many lives that day, upon his face a child-like smile which it had never worn in life; while farther on down the canyon, beside the smoking embers of the milling plant, lay the one whose signal had wrought all this destruction. The men, rushing into the burning mills, had found the electrical apparatus in ruins, as though torn to pieces by giant hands, and beside it upon the floor lay Haight, a ghastly sight, his face blackened and distorted, his right arm and side seared and shriveled, by the mighty servant who had suddenly burst its fetters. Slowly and tenderly Jack was borne to the house, and laid in the room which had been Houston's, which Lyle had made ready for him with loving care, her tears falling fast as she recalled his farewell of the preceding night. To the house came also his two faithful friends, Mike and Rex, for the little cabin was no more, Jack had indeed spent his last night beneath its roof, though the succeeding night, to which he had looked forward, was far different from his anticipations. Days afterward, his gripsack, packed with such care on that last night in the cabin, was found by Houston concealed among the rocks, where Jack had hidden it on the morning of that eventful day, intending, when his work was done, to set forth upon his wandering life once more. Morton Rutherford, on arriving at the Y, had sent the following cipher dispatch to Van Dorn: "Come out on special at once. The mines have been fired by telegraphic orders from Silver City office. Everard badly cut and arm broken, but not seriously injured. Jack but just alive. Bring surgeons and nurse as quickly as possible." Having sent this message, and finding there was a very good physician at the Y, he sent him at once to the camp, to remain there until the surgeons should arrive, doing meantime all in his power to relieve the sufferers. Then giving orders for one of the company's men to take his horse, and replace it with a fresh one, Morton returned to the station to await Van Dorn's reply. At the house, Jack was being cared for by Mike and one of the older miners, who had had considerable experience in nursing, Houston doing everything which his crippled condition and the intense pain he was suffering, would permit. On the arrival of the physician from the Y, he first visited Jack, and leaving directions to be carried out for his temporary relief, next attended to the setting of Houston's arm and the dressing of his wounds. The operation required some time, but at last it was completed, and Houston returned to Jack's room. The room had been darkened, and in accordance with the physician's directions, Jack's beard had been shaven and his hair closely cut, to relieve his head as much as possible. His breathing was more natural, but he lay quiet and motionless as before. As Houston approached the bed in the dim light, he scarcely recognized his friend, so great was the change in his appearance, but as he drew nearer, he started visibly. Something in the smooth face and closely clipped head seemed wonderfully familiar, and carried him back to the days when he had first entered his uncle's home. Bending over him for an instant, he scanned the features more closely. It was enough! The face with its patrician features carved in such perfect beauty, though lined by sorrow, was the face of his cousin,--his boyish hero and ideal. With a quick, dry sob, Houston turned from the bedside, more deeply moved than any of his associates had ever seen him. "Great God!" he exclaimed, in low tones, "it is Guy Cameron! my cousin Guy!" and bending over the unconscious form once more, while the great tears coursed slowly down his face, he murmured: "Guy, dear old fellow, and you have known me all this time! God grant this has not come too late!" With a low cry, Lyle had sprung to Houston's side, while Leslie and Ned Rutherford followed, and the others looked on in mute wonder and astonishment. Her quick ear had caught the name. "What name did you say?" she cried eagerly, "Did you say Guy Cameron? Is Jack--my Jack--is he my mother's brother?" Houston bowed in assent, he could not speak. "Oh," moaned Lyle, "no wonder that he loved us so! and we have not loved him half enough!" and dropping on her knees beside the bed, sobbing bitterly, she seized the hand, nearly as white as the sheet upon which it lay, and covered it with passionate kisses. A few moments later, Morton Rutherford entered the room; Lyle was still kneeling by the bedside; beside her was Leslie, quietly weeping. Ned's eyes were suspiciously red, while in one corner, honest-hearted Mike was vainly trying to check his fast-flowing tears upon the sleeves of his blouse. Morton looked quickly toward the strangely altered face upon the pillows, and was struck by its wondrous beauty. Glancing inquiringly at Houston, as he advanced to meet him, he asked anxiously: "Is he worse?" "No, there is no change yet, one way or another," Houston replied in low tones, and continued, "Morton, we were speaking last night, at the cabin, of my uncle's son,--my cousin, Guy Cameron." "Yes, I remember." "He is found," Houston's voice trembled, and he could say no more, but Morton understood. He gazed with new and tearful interest upon the beautiful face in its death-like calm; then beckoning to Houston, he said, as they passed from the room: "Ah, you have at last found the key to the wondrous bond between you, and to his self-sacrificing love toward you and yours." For a few moments they recalled certain incidents in their acquaintance with the silent, yet gentle and courteous occupant of the little cabin, and much that had seemed mysterious was now clear and plain in the light of this recent revelation. At last Morton said; "I must hasten back to the Y," at the same time handing his friend the telegram received from Van Dorn: "Leave in half an hour on special, with surgeons and nurse. Whitney and Lindlay remain here to attend to business. Warrants for arrests have been issued." "That is good," said Houston, with a sigh of relief, "They are already on their way. And now, my dear Morton, I have one other commission for you, if you are willing to perform it." "You know I am at your service," Morton replied. "My aunt, whose faith and love have watched and waited for her son's return during all these years, must be brought here as quickly as possible. I am not in very good condition for travel, and do not feel that I can leave Guy. I know I can trust her in your care, you will be to her as a son, and such she will regard you when she knows all, and I commission you in my name to meet her and bring her out here." "That I will very gladly do, my dear Everard, and at once; there must be no delay. By going out this evening, I will be able to take the early train east from Silver City: the special arrives at 6:10, the six o'clock train being held at the Y, until after its arrival. I will return to the Y, meet Mr. Cameron and have a word with him, and go directly on to Silver City on the regular train." Thirty minutes later, having hastily packed a small grip, and taken a tender farewell of Lyle, who knew his errand, and with tearful eyes bade him "God-speed," Morton Rutherford left the house, accompanied by Ned, who was to return with Mr. Cameron and Van Dorn. The sun was slowly sinking behind the crests of the mountains, flooding the surrounding peaks with glory, when a wagon drawn by four panting, foaming horses, drew up before the house. From the front seat beside the driver, Ned Rutherford and Van Dorn sprang hastily to the ground, turning quickly to assist a fine-looking, elderly gentleman, with iron-gray hair and beard, whose dark, piercing eyes bore a strong resemblance to those of both Houston and Jack. He needed little assistance, however, and having alighted, turned with firm step and erect bearing, but with an expression of deep anxiety, toward the house, followed by the two young men, and by three strangers. At that instant Houston appeared within the little porch, his left arm in a sling, his face pale and haggard, though with a grave smile of affectionate welcome. Even in that brief instant, Mr. Cameron could not but observe the change which those few short months had wrought in the face of Everard Houston, the high-born son of wealth and culture, the pet of society; it had matured wonderfully; alert and keen, yet grave and thoughtful, he looked as though he had found a deeper and broader meaning to life than he had ever dreamed of in his luxurious eastern home. "My boy!" exclaimed Mr. Cameron, hastening toward him, "are you sure you have escaped without serious injury?" "Quite sure," Houston replied, limping slightly, as he advanced to meet his uncle, "my arm was hurt, and I am somewhat scratched and bruised and a little weak, but otherwise, sound as ever." "Thank God for that! I don't mind the loss of the property if you are safe; all the way out here, my boy, I have been reproaching myself for ever allowing you to come out to this country." "My dear uncle," Houston replied, with peculiar emphasis, "I think you will soon find you have reason to be very glad and grateful that I came." Mr. Cameron introduced the two surgeons and the nurse; "I feared," he said, "from your sending for these gentlemen that you might be hurt far more seriously than I knew." "No," said Houston, "but the one who has nearly sacrificed his own life in helping to save mine, needs their best skill, and I sent for them on his account." "That was right," replied Mr. Cameron, "all that money can do shall be done for him," while one of the surgeons said, "We will see our patient at once, Mr. Houston, if you please." "You will see him very soon," Houston replied with grave courtesy, "but there are reasons why my uncle must first see him, and alone." Mr. Cameron looked surprised, but silently followed Houston into the room which had been occupied by the two brothers, but which was now prepared for him. Then observing something peculiar in Houston's manner as he closed the door, he asked: "What is it, my boy?" "Pardon me, if I seem abrupt, uncle," Houston answered, "but every moment is precious in saving a life unspeakably dear to each of us." Mr. Cameron looked startled; Houston continued: "You have been like a father to me all these years, and I have felt toward you as a son, but to-day I have the joy of bringing you to the one, who holds in your heart, and always will hold, precedence even over myself." "Everard, my boy!" exclaimed Mr. Cameron, in tones vibrating with suppressed emotion, "what is it? Speak quickly, do not keep me in suspense," "My dear uncle," said Houston very tenderly, "the lost is found." Mr. Cameron sank, nearly overcome, into the nearest chair, while his face grew deathly white. "Guy?" he gasped, looking upward at Houston. "Yes," said the latter brokenly. The strong man covered his face with his hands, while his powerful frame shook with emotion. Houston, when he was able to speak, told him, very briefly, of his meeting with Jack, of their association, and the strange bond of sympathy and affection between them, of Jack's devotion, and how at last, he had been enabled to recognize him. Controlling himself with a mighty effort, Mr. Cameron rose, saying: "Take me to him." Opening the door connecting the two rooms, Houston signaled to those within to leave the room, then led the father into the presence of the son whom he had so long mourned as dead. Mr. Cameron walked to the bedside, and looked long and earnestly upon the white face, drawn with pain, but still beautiful, and bearing to a great extent, the imprint of his own features; then as he tenderly clasped the hand lying upon the sheet, he murmured brokenly, between great, tearless sobs: "It is he, my boy, my son! Thank God, it is not too late!" _ |
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