American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
“Somethin’ mean an’ underhand, for certain,” said the colonel, “and the
boy must be purtected. And I hereby app’int this whole crowd to keep an
eye on Grump, an’ see he don’t make a slave of the boy, an’ don’t rob
him of dust. An’ I reckon I’ll take one of yer with me, an’ keep watch
of the old rascal to-night. I don’t trust him wuth a durn.”
That night the boys at the saloon wrinkled their brows like unto an
impecunious Committee of Ways and Means, as they vainly endeavored to
surmise why Grump could want that young man as a lodger. Men who pursued
whittling as an aid to reason made pecks of chips and shavings, and were
no nearer a solution than when they began.
There were a number of games played, but so great was the
absentmindedness of the players, that several hardened scamps indulged
in some most unscrupulous “stocking” of the cards without detection. But
even one of these, after having dealt himself both bowers and the king,
besides two aces, suddenly imagined he had discovered Grump’s motive,
and so earnest was he in exposing that nefarious wretch, that one of his
opponents changed hands with him. Even the barkeeper mixed the bottles
badly, and on one occasion, just as the boys were raising their glasses,
he metaphorically dashed the cup from their lips by a violent, “I tell
you what,” and an unsatisfactory theory. Finally the colonel arose.
“Boys,” said he, in the tone of a man whose mind is settled, “’taint
’cos the youngster looked like lively comp’ny, fur he didn’t. ’Taint
’cos Grump wanted to do him a good turn, fur ’tain’t his style.
Cons’kently, thar’s sumthin’ wrong. Tom, I reckon I take _you_ along.”
And Tom and the colonel departed.
During the month which had elapsed since his advent, Grump had managed
to build him a hut of the usual mining pattern, and the colonel and Tom
stealthily examined its walls, front and rear, until they found crevices
which would admit the muzzle of a revolver, should it be necessary. Then
they applied their eyes to the same cracks, and saw the youth asleep on
a pile of dead grass, with Grump’s knapsack for a pillow, and one of
Grump’s blankets over him. Grump himself was sitting on a fragment of
stone, staring into the fire, with his face in his hands.
He sat so long that the worthy colonel began to feel indignant; to sit
in a cramped position on the outside of a house, for the sake of abused
human nature, was an action more praiseworthy than comfortable, and the
colonel began to feel personally aggrieved at Grump’s delay. Besides,
the colonel was growing thirsty.
Suddenly Grump arose, looked down at the sleeping youth, and then knelt
beside him. The colonel briskly brought his pistol to bear on him, and
with great satisfaction noted that Tom’s muzzle occupied a crack in the
front walls, and that he himself was out of range.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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