California -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, American; Western stories
It had also been feared that the advent of Bulger would intensify that
fear and dislike of riotous Rattlesnake which the two families
had shown, and which was the origin of Briggs's futile attempt at
reformation. But it was discovered that since his arrival the young
girls had shown less timidity in entering the camp, and had even
exchanged some polite conversation and good-humoured badinage with its
younger and more impressible members. Perhaps this tended to make these
youths more observant, for a few days later, when the vexed question
of Bulger's business was again under discussion, one of them remarked,
gloomily:
“I reckon there ain't no doubt WHAT he's here for!”
The youthful prophet was instantly sat upon after the fashion of
all elderly critics since Job's. Nevertheless, after a pause he was
permitted to explain.
“Only this morning, when Lance Forester and me were chirping with them
gals out on the hill, who should we see hanging around in the bush but
that cussed Bulger! We allowed at first that it might be only a new
style of his interferin', so we took no notice, except to pass a few
remarks about listeners and that sort o' thing, and perhaps to bedevil
the girls a little more than we'd hev done if we'd been alone. Well,
they laughed, and we laughed--and that was the end of it. But this
afternoon, as Lance and me were meandering down by their cabin, we
sorter turned into the woods to wait till they'd come out. Then all of
a suddent Lance stopped as rigid as a pointer that's flushed somethin',
and says, 'B'gosh!' And thar, under a big redwood, sat that slimy
hypocrite Bulger, twisting his long mustaches and smiling like clockwork
alongside o' little Meely Baker--you know her, the pootiest of the
two sisters--and she smilin' back on him. Think of it! that unknown,
unwashed, longhaired tramp and bully, who must be forty if a day, and
that innocent gal of sixteen. It was simply disgustin'!”
I need not say that the older cynics and critics already alluded to at
once improved the occasion. 'What more could be expected? Women,
the world over, were noted for this sort of thing! This long-haired,
swaggering bully, with his air of mystery, had captivated them, as he
always had done since the days of Homer. Simple merit, which sat lowly
in barrooms, and conceived projects for the public good around the
humble, unostentatious stove, was nowhere! Youth could not too soon
learn this bitter lesson. And in this case youth too, perhaps, was
right in its conjectures, for this WAS, no doubt, the little game of the
perfidious Bulger. We recalled the fact that his unhallowed appearance
in camp was almost coincident with the arrival of the two families.
We glanced at Briggs; to our amazement, for the first time he looked
seriously concerned. But Mosby in the meantime leaned his elbows lazily
over the counter and, in a slow voice, added fuel to the flame.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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