Produced by Donald Lainson
COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S CLIENT
By Bret Harte
CONTENTS
COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S CLIENT
THE POSTMISTRESS OF LAUREL RUN
A NIGHT AT “HAYS”
JOHNSON'S “OLD WOMAN”
THE NEW ASSISTANT AT PINE CLEARING SCHOOL
IN A PIONEER RESTAURANT
A TREASURE OF THE GALLEON
OUT OF A PIONEER'S TRUNK
THE GHOSTS OF STUKELEY CASTLE
COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S CLIENT.
CHAPTER I.
It may be remembered that it was the habit of that gallant “war-horse”
of the Calaveras democracy, Colonel Starbottle, at the close of a
political campaign, to return to his original profession of the
Law. Perhaps it could not be called a peaceful retirement. The same
fiery-tongued eloquence and full-breasted chivalry which had in turns
thrilled and overawed freemen at the polls were no less fervid and
embattled before a jury. Yet the Colonel was counsel for two or three
pastoral Ditch companies and certain bucolic corporations, and although
he managed to import into the simplest question of contract more or less
abuse of opposing counsel, and occasionally mingled precedents of law
with antecedents of his adversary, his legal victories were seldom
complicated by bloodshed. He was only once shot at by a free-handed
judge, and twice assaulted by an over-sensitive litigant. Nevertheless,
it was thought merely prudent, while preparing the papers in the well
known case of “The Arcadian Shepherds' Association of Tuolumne versus
the Kedron Vine and Fig Tree Growers of Calaveras,” that the Colonel
should seek with a shotgun the seclusion of his partner's law office
in the sylvan outskirts of Rough and Ready for that complete rest and
serious preoccupation which Marysville could not afford.
It was an exceptionally hot day. The painted shingles of the plain
wooden one-storied building in which the Colonel sat were warped and
blistering in the direct rays of the fierce, untempered sun. The tin
sign bearing the dazzling legend, “Starbottle and Bungstarter, Attorneys
and Counselors,” glowed with an insufferable light; the two pine-trees
still left in the clearing around the house, ineffective as shade,
seemed only to have absorbed the day-long heat through every scorched
and crisp twig and fibre, to radiate it again with the pungent smell of
a slowly smouldering fire; the air was motionless yet vibrating in the
sunlight; on distant shallows the half-dried river was flashing and
intolerable.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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