The Luck of Roaring Camp and Other Tales: With Condensed Novels, Spanish and American Legends, and Earlier PapersHarte, Bret
General
The Luck of Roaring Camp and Other Tales: With Condensed Novels, Spanish and American Legends, and Earlier Papers
Harte, Bret
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Western stories
“Thet’s it,” said Tennessee’s Partner, in a tone of relief. “I come yar
as Tennessee’s pardner,—knowing him nigh on four year, off and on, wet
and dry, in luck and out o’ luck. His ways ain’t aller my ways, but thar
ain’t any p’ints in that young man, thar ain’t any liveliness as
he’s been up to, as I don’t know. And you sez to me, sez
you,—confidential-like, and between man and man,—sez you, ‘Do you know
anything in his behalf?’ and I sez to you, sez I,—confidential-like, as
between man and man,—‘What should a man know of his pardner?’”
“Is this all you have to say?” asked the Judge impatiently, feeling,
perhaps, that a dangerous sympathy of humor was beginning to humanize
the court.
“Thet’s so,” continued Tennessee’s Partner. “It ain’t for me to say
anything agin’ him. And now, what’s the case? Here’s Tennessee wants
money, wants it bad, and doesn’t like to ask it of his old pardner.
Well, what does Tennessee do? He lays for a stranger, and he fetches
that stranger; and you lays for _him_, and you fetches _him_; and the
honors is easy. And I put it to you, bein’ a fa’r-minded man, and to
you, gentlemen all, as fa’r-minded men, ef this isn’t so.”
“Prisoner,” said the Judge, interrupting, “have you any questions to ask
this man?”
“No! no!” continued Tennessee’s Partner hastily. “I play this yer hand
alone. To come down to the bed-rock, it’s just this: Tennessee, thar,
has played it pretty rough and expensive-like on a stranger, and on
this yer camp. And now, what’s the fair thing? Some would say more, some
would say less. Here’s seventeen hundred dollars in coarse gold and a
watch,—it’s about all my pile,—and call it square!” And before a
hand could be raised to prevent him, he had emptied the contents of the
carpetbag upon the table.
For a moment his life was in jeopardy. One or two men sprang to their
feet, several hands groped for hidden weapons, and a suggestion to
“throw him from the window” was only overridden by a gesture from the
Judge. Tennessee laughed. And apparently oblivious of the excitement,
Tennessee’s Partner improved the opportunity to mop his face again
with his handkerchief. When order was restored, and the man was made
to understand, by the use of forcible figures and rhetoric, that
Tennessee’s offense could not be condoned by money, his face took a more
serious and sanguinary hue, and those who were nearest to him noticed
that his rough hand trembled slightly on the table. He hesitated a
moment as he slowly returned the gold to the carpetbag, as if he had
not yet entirely caught the elevated sense of justice which swayed the
tribunal, and was perplexed with the belief that he had not offered
enough. Then he turned to the Judge, and saying, “This yer is a lone
hand, played alone, and without my pardner,” he bowed to the jury and
was about to withdraw, when the Judge called him back:—
“If you have anything to say to Tennessee, you had better say it now.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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