The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other StoriesHarte, Bret
General
The Bell-Ringer of Angel's, and Other Stories
Harte, Bret
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories; Western stories
“My cabin! HIM?” ejaculated Dawson, turning sharply on his chief.
The major's light eyes contracted and his thin lips became a straight
line. “I don't think you understand me, Dawson, and another time you'd
better wait until I'm done. I want you to take him to your cabin--and
then CLEAR OUT OF IT YOURSELF. You understand? I want him NEAR ME AND
ALONE!”
III.
Dawson was not astonished the next morning to see Major Overstone and
the half-breed walking together down the gully road, for he had already
come to the conclusion that the major was planning some extraordinary
reprisals against the invaders, that would ensure the perpetual security
of the camp. That he should use so insignificant and unimportant a tool
now appeared to him to be quite natural, particularly as the service
was probably one in which the man would be sacrificed. “The major,” he
suggested to his companions, “ain't going to risk a white man's skin,
when he can get an Injun's hide handy.”
The reluctant hesitating step of the half-breed as they walked along
seemed to give some color to this hypothesis. He listened sullenly to
the major as he pointed out the strategic position of the Bar. “That
wagon road is the only approach to Wynyard's, and a dozen men along the
rocks could hold it against a hundred. The trail that you came by, over
the ridge, drops straight into this gully, and you saw what that would
mean to any blanked fools who might try it. Of course we could be
shelled from that ridge if the sheriff had a howitzer, or the men who
knew how to work one, but even then we could occupy the ridge before
them.” He paused a moment and then added: “I used to be in the army,
Tom; I saw service in Mexico before that cub you got away from had his
first trousers. I was brought up as a gentleman--blank it all--and HERE
I am!”
The man slouched on by his side, casting his surly, furtive glances
from left to right, as if seeking to escape from these confidences.
Nevertheless, the major kept on through the gully, until reaching the
wagon road they crossed it, and began to ascend the opposite slope, half
hidden by the underbrush and larches. Here the major paused again and
faced about. The cabins of the settlement were already behind the bluff;
the little stream which indicated the “bar”--on which some perfunctory
mining was still continued--now and then rang out quite clearly at their
feet, although the bar itself had disappeared. The sounds of occupation
and labor had at last died away in the distance. They were quite alone.
The major sat down on a boulder, and pointed to another. The man,
however, remained sullenly standing where he was, as if to accent as
strongly as possible the enforced companionship. Either the major
was too self-absorbed to notice it, or accepted it as a satisfactory
characteristic of the half-breed's race. He continued confidently:--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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