Uncle Jim and Uncle Billy Page #2

"Uncle Jim and Uncle Billy" is a charming short story by Bret Harte that explores the themes of friendship and the simple joys of life in a small frontier town. The narrative centers on two eccentric characters, Uncle Jim and Uncle Billy, who are well-known among the locals for their humorous banter and unique perspectives on life. Their interactions reveal deeper insights into human nature, community, and the bond that forms through shared experiences. Harte's engaging storytelling style captures the essence of the American West, blending humor with poignant moments that resonate with readers.

• Short story

								

intelligence. Small wonder, however, that in their occupation and
environment--living daily in an atmosphere of hope, expectation, and
chance, looking forward each morning to the blind stroke of a pick that
might bring fortune--they should see signs in nature and hear mystic
voices in the trackless woods that surrounded them. Still less strange
that they were peculiarly susceptible to the more recognized diversions
of chance, and were gamblers on the turning of a card who trusted to the
revelation of a shovelful of upturned earth.

It was quite natural, therefore, that they should return from their
abstract form of divination to the table and their cards. But they were
scarcely seated before they heard a crackling step in the brush outside,
and the free latch of their door was lifted. A younger member of the
camp entered. He uttered a peevish "Halloo!" which might have passed
for a greeting, or might have been a slight protest at finding the door
closed, drew the stool from which Uncle Jim had just risen before the
fire, shook his wet clothes like a Newfoundland dog, and sat down. Yet
he was by no means churlish nor coarse-looking, and this act was rather
one of easy-going, selfish, youthful familiarity than of rudeness. The
cabin of Uncles Billy and Jim was considered a public right or "common"
of the camp. Conferences between individual miners were appointed there.
"I'll meet you at Uncle Billy's" was a common tryst. Added to this was a
tacit claim upon the partners' arbitrative powers, or the equal right to
request them to step outside if the interviews were of a private nature.
Yet there was never any objection on the part of the partners, and
to-night there was not a shadow of resentment of this intrusion in the
patient, good-humored, tolerant eyes of Uncles Jim and Billy as they
gazed at their guest. Perhaps there was a slight gleam of relief in
Uncle Jim's when he found that the guest was unaccompanied by any one,
and that it was not a tryst. It would have been unpleasant for the
two partners to have stayed out in the rain while their guests were
exchanging private confidences in their cabin. While there might have
been no limit to their good will, there might have been some to their
capacity for exposure.

Uncle Jim drew a huge log from beside the hearth and sat on the driest
end of it, while their guest occupied the stool. The young man, without
turning away from his discontented, peevish brooding over the fire,
vaguely reached backward for the whiskey-bottle and Uncle Billy's tin
cup, to which he was assisted by the latter's hospitable hand. But on
setting down the cup his eye caught sight of the pill-box.

"Wot's that?" he said, with gloomy scorn. "Rat poison?"

"Quinine pills--agin ager," said Uncle Jim. "The newest thing out. Keeps
out damp like Injin-rubber! Take one to follow yer whiskey. Me and Uncle
Billy wouldn't think o' settin' down, quiet like, in the evening arter
work, without 'em. Take one--ye 'r' welcome! We keep 'em out here for
the boys."

Accustomed as the partners were to adopt and wear each other's opinions
before folks, as they did each other's clothing, Uncle Billy was,
nevertheless, astonished and delighted at Uncle Jim's enthusiasm over
HIS pills. The guest took one and swallowed it.

"Mighty bitter!" he said, glancing at his hosts with the quick
Californian suspicion of some practical joke. But the honest faces of
the partners reassured him.

"That bitterness ye taste," said Uncle Jim quickly, "is whar the
thing's gittin' in its work. Sorter sickenin' the malaria--and kinder
water-proofin' the insides all to onct and at the same lick! Don't yer
see? Put another in yer vest pocket; you'll be cryin' for 'em like a
child afore ye get home. Thar! Well, how's things agoin' on your claim,
Dick? Boomin', eh?"

The guest raised his head and turned it sufficiently to fling his answer
back over his shoulder at his hosts. "I don't know what YOU'D call'
boomin','" he said gloomily; "I suppose you two men sitting here
comfortably by the fire, without caring whether school keeps or not,
would call two feet of backwater over one's claim 'boomin';' I reckon
YOU'D consider a hundred and fifty feet of sluicing carried away,
and drifting to thunder down the South Fork, something in the way of
advertising to your old camp! I suppose YOU'd think it was an inducement
to investors! I shouldn't wonder," he added still more gloomily, as a
sudden dash of rain down the wide-throated chimney dropped in his
tin cup--"and it would be just like you two chaps, sittin' there
gormandizing over your quinine--if yer said this rain that's lasted
three weeks was something to be proud of!"

It was the cheerful and the satisfying custom of the rest of the camp,
for no reason whatever, to hold Uncle Jim and Uncle Billy responsible
for its present location, its vicissitudes, the weather, or any
convulsion of nature; and it was equally the partners' habit, for no
reason whatever, to accept these animadversions and apologize.

"It's a rain that's soft and mellowin'," said Uncle Billy gently,
"and supplin' to the sinews and muscles. Did ye ever notice,
Jim"--ostentatiously to his partner--"did ye ever notice that you get
inter a kind o' sweaty lather workin' in it? Sorter openin' to the
pores!"

"Fetches 'em every time," said Uncle Billy. "Better nor fancy soap."

Their guest laughed bitterly. "Well, I'm going to leave it to you. I
reckon to cut the whole concern to-morrow, and 'lite' out for something
new. It can't be worse than this."

The two partners looked grieved, albeit they were accustomed to these
outbursts. Everybody who thought of going away from Cedar Camp used it
first as a threat to these patient men, after the fashion of runaway
nephews, or made an exemplary scene of their going.

"Better think twice afore ye go," said Uncle Billy.

"I've seen worse weather afore ye came," said Uncle Jim slowly. "Water
all over the Bar; the mud so deep ye couldn't get to Angel's for a
sack o' flour, and we had to grub on pine nuts and jackass-rabbits. And
yet--we stuck by the camp, and here we are!"

The mild answer apparently goaded their guest to fury. He rose from his
seat, threw back his long dripping hair from his handsome but querulous
face, and scattered a few drops on the partners. "Yes, that's just it.
That's what gets me! Here you stick, and here you are! And here you'll
stick and rust until you starve or drown! Here you are,--two men who
ought to be out in the world, playing your part as grown men,--stuck
here like children 'playing house' in the woods; playing work in your
wretched mud-pie ditches, and content. Two men not so old that you
mightn't be taking your part in the fun of the world, going to balls
or theatres, or paying attention to girls, and yet old enough to have
married and have your families around you, content to stay in this

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