Bulger's Reputation Page #3

"Bulger's Reputation" is a short story by Bret Harte that delves into themes of reputation, honor, and the complexities of human relationships in the American West. The narrative centers around Bulger, a character whose status and identity are shaped by the perceptions of those around him. Harte's rich prose and vivid characterizations explore the consequences of societal expectations and the quest for validation. Set against the backdrop of frontier life, the story captures the challenges individuals face in navigating their personal values and the opinions of their peers.

• Short story

								

series of more familiar shrieks and yells from the rocky hill road. The
circle quickly recognized the voices of their old friends the roisterers
and gamblers from Sawyer's Dam; they as quickly recognized the returning
shouts here and there from a few companions who were welcoming them. I
grieve to say that in spite of their previous attitude of reformation a
smile of gratified expectancy lit up the faces of the younger members,
and even the older ones glanced dubiously at Briggs. Mosby made no
attempt to conceal a sigh of relief as he carefully laid out an extra
supply of glasses in his bar. Suddenly the oncoming yells ceased, the
wild gallop of hoofs slackened into a trot, and finally halted, and even
the responsive shouts of the camp stopped also. We all looked vacantly
at each other; Mosby leaped over his counter and went to the door;
Briggs followed with the rest of us. The night was dark, and it was a
few minutes before we could distinguish a straggling, vague, but silent
procession moving through the moist, heavy air on the hill. But, to our
surprise, it was moving away from us--absolutely LEAVING the camp! We
were still staring in expectancy when out of the darkness slowly emerged
a figure which we recognized at once as Captain Jim, one of the most
reckless members of our camp. Pushing us back into the grocery he
entered without a word, closed the door behind him, and threw himself
vacantly into a chair. We at once pressed around him. He looked up at us
dazedly, drew a long breath, and said slowly:

"It's no use, gentlemen! Suthin's GOT to be done with that Bulger; and
mighty quick."

"What's the matter?" we asked eagerly.

"Matter!" he repeated, passing his hand across his forehead. "Matter!
Look yere! Ye all of you heard them boys from Sawyer's Dam coming over
the hill? Ye heard their music--mebbe ye heard US join in the chorus?
Well, on they came waltzing down the hill, like old times, and we
waitin' for 'em. Then, jest as they passed the old cabin, who do you
think they ran right into--shooting iron, long hair and mustache, and
all that--standing there plump in the road? why, Bulger!"

"Well?"

"Well!--Whatever it was--don't ask ME--but, dern my skin, ef after a
word or two from HIM--them boys just stopped yellin', turned round like
lambs, and rode away, peaceful-like, along with him. We ran after them
a spell, still yellin', when that thar Bulger faced around, said to us
that he'd 'come down here for quiet,' and ef he couldn't hev it he'd
have to leave with those gentlemen WHO WANTED IT too! And I'm gosh
darned ef those GENTLEMEN--you know 'em all--Patsey Carpenter, Snapshot
Harry, and the others--ever said a darned word, but kinder nodded 'So
long' and went away!"

Our astonishment and mystification were complete; and I regret to say,
the indignation of Captain Jim and Mosby equally so. "If we're going to
be bossed by the first newcomer," said the former, gloomily, "I reckon
we might as well take our chances with the Sawyer's Dam boys, whom we
know."

"Ef we are going to hev the legitimate trade of Rattlesnake interfered
with by the cranks of some hidin' horse thief or retired road agent,"
said Mosby, "we might as well invite the hull of Joaquin Murietta's
gang here at once! But I suppose this is part o' Bulger's particular
'business,'" he added, with a withering glance at Briggs.

"I understand it all," said Briggs, quietly. "You know I told you
that bullies couldn't live in the same camp together. That's human
nature--and that's how plain men like you and me manage to scud along
without getting plugged. You see, Bulger wasn't going to hev any of his
own kind jumpin' his claim here. And I reckon he was pow'ful enough to
back down Sawyer's Dam. Anyhow, the bluff told--and here we are in peace
and quietness."

"Until he lets us know what is his little game," sneered Mosby.

Nevertheless, such is the force of mysterious power that although it was
exercised against what we firmly believed was the independence of the
camp, it extorted a certain respect from us. A few thought it was not a
bad thing to have a professional bully, and even took care to relate the
discomfiture of the wicked youth of Sawyer's Dam for the benefit of
a certain adjacent and powerful camp who had looked down upon us.
He himself, returning the same evening from his self-imposed escort,
vouchsafed no other reason than the one he had already given.
Preposterous as it seemed, we were obliged to accept it, and the still
more preposterous inference that he had sought Rattlesnake Camp solely
for the purpose of acquiring and securing its peace and quietness.
Certainly he had no other occupation; the little work he did upon the
tailings of the abandoned claim which went with his little cabin was
scarcely a pretense. He rode over on certain days to Bigwood on account
of his business, but no one had ever seen him there, nor could the
description of his manner and appearance evoke any information from the
Bigwoodians. It remained a mystery.

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,
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