Brown of Calaveras Page #3

"Brown of Calaveras" is a short story by Bret Harte, set during the California Gold Rush. It centers on the character of Brown, a resourceful and good-natured man who faces a series of challenges in the rough and often unpredictable mining town of Calaveras. The narrative explores themes of camaraderie, resilience, and the complexities of human relationships in a frontier society. Harte’s vivid portrayal of the characters and their interactions offers a glimpse into the American West, capturing both its harsh realities and its moments of humor and humanity.

• Short story

								

sheep.'"

The Colonel, whose literary recollections did not extend farther back
than last week's paper, took a more practical view. "It ain't sheep," he
continued; "it's a horseman. Judge, ain't that Jack Hamlin's gray?"

But the Judge didn't know; and as Mrs. Brown suggested the air was
growing too cold for further investigations, they retired to the parlor.

Mr. Brown was in the stable, where he generally retired after dinner.
Perhaps it was to show his contempt for his wife's companions; perhaps,
like other weak natures, he found pleasure in the exercise of absolute
power over inferior animals. He had a certain gratification in the
training of a chestnut mare, whom he could beat or caress as pleased
him, which he couldn't do with Mrs. Brown. It was here that he
recognized a certain gray horse which had just come in, and, looking
a little farther on, found his rider. Brown's greeting was cordial and
hearty, Mr. Hamlin's somewhat restrained. But at Brown's urgent request,
he followed him up the back stairs to a narrow corridor, and thence to
a small room looking out upon the stable yard. It was plainly furnished
with a bed, a table, a few chairs, and a rack for guns and whips.

"This yer's my home, Jack," said Brown, with a sigh, as he threw himself
upon the bed, and motioned his companion to a chair. "Her room's t'other
end of the hall. It's more'n six months since we've lived together, or
met, except at meals. It's mighty rough papers on the head of the house,
ain't it?" he said, with a forced laugh. "But I'm glad to see you,
Jack, damn glad," and he reached from the bed, and again shook the
unresponsive hand of Jack Hamlin.

"I brought ye up here, for I didn't want to talk in the stable; though,
for the matter of that, it's all round town. Don't strike a light. We
can talk here in the moonshine. Put up your feet on that winder, and sit
here beside me. Thar's whisky in that jug."

Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the information. Brown of Calaveras
turned his face to the wall and continued:

"If I didn't love the woman, Jack, I wouldn't mind. But it's loving her,
and seeing her, day arter day, goin' on at this rate, and no one to put
down the brake; that's what gits me! But I'm glad to see ye, Jack, damn
glad."

In the darkness he groped about until he had found and wrung his
companion's hand again. He would have detained it, but Jack slipped it
into the buttoned breast of his coat, and asked, listlessly, "How long
has this been going on?"

"Ever since she came here; ever since the day she walked into the
Magnolia. I was a fool then; Jack, I'm a fool now; but I didn't know how
much I loved her till then. And she hasn't been the same woman since.

"But that ain't all, Jack; and it's what I wanted to see you about, and
I'm glad you've come. It ain't that she doesn't love me any more; it
ain't that she fools with every chap that comes along, for, perhaps, I
staked her love and lost it, as I did everything else at the Magnolia;
and, perhaps, foolin' is nateral to some women, and thar ain't no great
harm done, 'cept to the fools. But, Jack, I think--I think she loves
somebody else. Don't move, Jack; don't move; if your pistol hurts ye,
take it off.

"It's been more'n six months now that she's seemed unhappy and lonesome,
and kinder nervous and scared-like. And sometimes I've ketched her
lookin' at me sort of timid and pitying. And she writes to somebody.
And for the last week she's been gathering her own things--trinkets,
and furbelows, and jew'lry--and, Jack, I think she's goin' off. I could
stand all but that. To have her steal away like a thief--" He put his
face downward to the pillow, and for a few moments there was no sound
but the ticking of a clock on the mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and
moved to the open window. The moon no longer shone into the room, and
the bed and its occupant were in shadow. "What shall I do, Jack?" said
the voice from the darkness.

The answer came promptly and clearly from the window-side: "Spot the
man, and kill him on sight."

"But, Jack?"

"He's took the risk!"

"But will that bring HER back?"

Jack did not reply, but moved from the window toward the door.

"Don't go yet, Jack; light the candle, and sit by the table. It's a
comfort to see ye, if nothin' else."

Jack hesitated, and then complied. He drew a pack of cards from his
pocket and shuffled them, glancing at the bed. But Brown's face was
turned to the wall. When Mr. Hamlin had shuffled the cards, he cut them,
and dealt one card on the opposite side of the table and toward the bed,
and another on his side of the table for himself. The first was a deuce,
his own card, a king. He then shuffled and cut again. This time "dummy"
had a queen, and himself a four-spot. Jack brightened up for the third
deal. It brought his adversary a deuce, and himself a king again. "Two
out of three," said Jack, audibly.

"What's that, Jack?" said Brown.

"Nothing."

Then Jack tried his hand with dice; but he always threw sixes, and his
imaginary opponent aces. The force of habit is sometimes confusing.

Meanwhile, some magnetic influence in Mr. Hamlin's presence, or the
anodyne of liquor, or both, brought surcease of sorrow, and Brown slept.
Mr. Hamlin moved his chair to the window, and looked out on the town
of Wingdam, now sleeping peacefully--its harsh outlines softened and
subdued, its glaring colors mellowed and sobered in the moonlight that
flowed over all. In the hush he could hear the gurgling of water in the
ditches, and the sighing of the pines beyond the hill. Then he looked
up at the firmament, and as he did so a star shot across the twinkling
field. Presently another, and then another. The phenomenon suggested to
Mr. Hamlin a fresh augury. If in another fifteen minutes another star
should fall--He sat there, watch in hand, for twice that time, but the
phenomenon was not repeated.

The clock struck two, and Brown still slept. Mr. Hamlin approached the
table and took from his pocket a letter, which he read by the flickering
candlelight. It contained only a single line, written in pencil, in a
woman's hand:

"Be at the corral, with the buggy, at three."

The sleeper moved uneasily, and then awoke. "Are you there Jack?"

"Yes."

"Don't go yet. I dreamed just now, Jack--dreamed of old times. I thought
that Sue and me was being married agin, and that the parson, Jack,
was--who do you think?--you!"

The gambler laughed, and seated himself on the bed--the paper still in
his hand.

"It's a good sign, ain't it?" queried Brown.

"I reckon. Say, old man, hadn't you better get up?"

The "old man," thus affectionately appealed to, rose, with the
assistance of Hamlin's outstretched hand.

"Smoke?"

Brown mechanically took the proffered cigar.
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes