Dick Boyle's Business Card Page #5

"Dick Boyle's Business Card" is a short story by Bret Harte, an author known for his depictions of life in the American West. The narrative centers around a humorous and satirical exploration of social status and identity through the lens of a business card that represents the ambitions and pretensions of its titular character, Dick Boyle. Set against the backdrop of a mining town, the story highlights the clash between appearances and reality, showcasing Harte's trademark wit and keen observations of human nature. With its clever commentary on commerce and social interaction, the tale reflects the broader themes of aspiration and self-presentation in the rapidly changing landscape of 19th-century America.

• Short story

								


Boyle had no false shame. "I think I have," he returned, with equal
frankness. "You see, I don't understand Indians as well as you--and
Foster."

"Well, you take my word and Foster's that there is not the least danger
from them. About here they are merely grown-up children, cruel and
destructive as most children are; but they know their masters by this
time, and the old days of promiscuous scalping are over. The only other
childish propensity they keep is thieving. Even then they only steal
what they actually want,--horses, guns, and powder. A coach can go where
an ammunition or an emigrant wagon can't. So your trunk of samples is
quite safe with Foster."

Boyle did not think it necessary to protest. Perhaps he was thinking of
something else.

"I've a mind," she went on slyly, "to tell you something more.
Confidence for confidence: as you've told me YOUR trade secrets, I'll
tell you one of OURS. Before we left Pine Barrens, my father ordered a
small escort of cavalrymen to be in readiness to join that coach if
the scouts, who were watching, thought it necessary. So, you see, I'm
something of a fraud as regards my reputation for courage."

"That doesn't follow," said Boyle admiringly, "for your father must
have thought there was some danger, or he wouldn't have taken that
precaution."

"Oh, it wasn't for me," said the young girl quickly.

"Not for you?" repeated Boyle.

Miss Cantire stopped short, with a pretty flush of color and an adorable
laugh. "There! I've done it, so I might as well tell the whole story.
But I can trust you, Mr. Boyle." (She faced him with clear, penetrating
eyes.) "Well," she laughed again, "you might have noticed that we had a
quantity of baggage of passengers who didn't go? Well, those passengers
never intended to go, and hadn't any baggage! Do you understand? Those
innocent-looking heavy trunks contained carbines and cartridges from
our post for Fort Taylor"--she made him a mischievous curtsy--"under
MY charge! And," she added, enjoying his astonishment, "as you saw, I
brought them through safe to the station, and had them transferred to
this coach with less fuss and trouble than a commissary transport and
escort would have made."

"And they were in THIS coach?" repeated Boyle abstractedly.

"Were? They ARE!" said Miss Cantire.

"Then the sooner I get you back to your treasure again the better," said
Boyle with a laugh. "Does Foster know it?"

"Of course not! Do you suppose I'd tell it to anybody but a stranger
to the place? Perhaps, like you, I know when and to whom to impart
information," she said mischievously.

Whatever was in Boyle's mind he had space for profound and admiring
astonishment of the young lady before him. The girlish simplicity and
trustfulness of her revelation seemed as inconsistent with his previous
impression of her reserve and independence as her girlish reasoning and
manner was now delightfully at variance with her tallness, her aquiline
nose, and her erect figure. Mr. Boyle, like most short men, was apt to
overestimate the qualities of size.

They walked on for some moments in silence. The ascent was comparatively
easy but devious, and Boyle could see that this new detour would take
them still some time to reach the summit. Miss Cantire at last voiced
the thought in his own mind. "I wonder what induced them to turn off
here? and if you hadn't been so clever as to discover their tracks, how
could we have found them? But," she added, with feminine logic, "that,
of course, is why they fired those shots."

Boyle remembered, however, that the shots came from another direction,
but did not correct her conclusion. Nevertheless he said lightly:
"Perhaps even Foster might have had an Indian scare."

"He ought to know 'friendlies' or 'government reservation men' better by
this time," said Miss Cantire; "however, there is something in that. Do
you know," she added with a laugh, "though I haven't your keen eyes
I'm gifted with a keen scent, and once or twice I've thought I SMELT
Indians--that peculiar odor of their camps, which is unlike anything
else, and which one detects even in their ponies. I used to notice it
when I rode one; no amount of grooming could take it away."

"I don't suppose that the intensity or degree of this odor would give
you any idea of the hostile or friendly feelings of the Indians towards
you?" asked Boyle grimly.

Although the remark was consistent with Boyle's objectionable reputation
as a humorist, Miss Cantire deigned to receive it with a smile, at which
Boyle, who was a little relieved by their security so far, and their
nearness to their journey's end, developed further ingenious trifling
until, at the end of an hour, they stood upon the plain again.

There was no sign of the coach, but its fresh track was visible leading
along the bank of the ravine towards the intersection of the road they
should have come by, and to which the coach had indubitably returned.
Mr. Boyle drew a long breath. They were comparatively safe from any
invisible attack now. At the end of ten minutes Miss Cantire, from her
superior height, detected the top of the missing vehicle appearing above
the stunted bushes at the junction of the highway.

"Would you mind throwing those old flowers away now?" she said, glancing
at the spoils which Boyle still carried.

"Why?" he asked.

"Oh, they're too ridiculous. Please do."

"May I keep one?" he asked, with the first intonation of masculine
weakness in his voice.

"If you like," she said, a little coldly.

Boyle selected a small spray of myrtle and cast the other flowers
obediently aside.

"Dear me, how ridiculous!" she said.

"What is ridiculous?" he asked, lifting his eyes to hers with a slight
color. But he saw that she was straining her eyes in the distance.

"Why, there don't seem to be any horses to the coach!"

He looked. Through a gap in the furze he could see the vehicle now quite
distinctly, standing empty, horseless and alone. He glanced hurriedly
around them; on the one side a few rocks protected them from the tangled
rim of the ridge; on the other stretched the plain. "Sit down, don't
move until I return," he said quickly. "Take that." He handed back her
pistol, and ran quickly to the coach. It was no illusion; there it stood
vacant, abandoned, its dropped pole and cut traces showing too plainly
the fearful haste of its desertion! A light step behind him made him
turn. It was Miss Cantire, pink and breathless, carrying the cocked
derringer in her hand. "How foolish of you--without a weapon," she
gasped in explanation.

Then they both stared at the coach, the empty plain, and at each
other! After their tedious ascent, their long detour, their protracted
expectancy and their eager curiosity, there was such a suggestion of
hideous mockery in this vacant, useless vehicle--apparently left to them

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes