Blindfolded Part 43

"Plenty of room," said the landlord rubbing his hands.

"Are there any letters here for Henry Wilton?" I inquired, bethinking me that orders might have been sent me already.

"No, sir."

"Nor telegrams?"

"O Lord, no, sir. We don't have telegrams here unless somebody's dead."

"You may give me Mr. Wilton's mail if any comes," I said.

The landlord led the way up the stairs, and beguiled me by informing me what a fine house he had and how hard the times were.

"We wish a large room, you know, where we can be together," I said, "and sleeping-rooms adjoining."

"Here's just the place for you," said the landlord, taking the way to the end of the upper hall and throwing open a double door. "This is the up-stairs parlor, but I can let you have it. There's this large bedroom opening off it,--the corner bedroom, sir,--and this small one here at this side opens into the parlor and the hall. Perhaps you would like this other one, too."

He seemed ready and anxious to rent us the whole house.

"This is enough for our comfort," I a.s.sured him.

"There'll be a fire here in a minute," said the landlord, regarding the miserable little stove with an eye of satisfaction that I attributed to its economical proportions.

"This is good enough," said Lockhart, looking about approvingly at the prim horsehair furniture that gave an awesome dignity to the parlor.

"Beats our quarters below all hollow," said Fitzhugh. "And no need to have your gun where you can grab it when the first man says boo!"

"Don't get that idea into your head," said I. "Just be ready for anything that comes. We're not out of the woods yet, by a long way."

"They've gone on to Sacramento," laughed Fitzhugh; and the others nodded in sympathy.

"Indeed?" I said. "How many of you could have missed seeing a party of nine get off at a way-station on this line?"

There was silence.

"If there's any one here who thinks he would have missed us when he was set to look for us, just let him speak up," I continued with good-humored raillery.

"I guess you're right," said Fitzhugh. "They couldn't well have missed seeing us."

"Exactly. And they're not off for Sacramento, and not far from Livermore."

"Well, they're only two," said Lockhart.

"How long will it take to get a dozen more up here?" I asked.

"There's a train to Niles about noon," said one of the men. "They could get over from there in an hour or two more by hard riding."

"The Los Angeles train comes through about dark," said another.

"I think, gentlemen," said I politely, "that we'd best look out for our defenses. There's likely to be a stormy evening, I should judge."

"Well," growled Wainwright, "we can look out for ourselves as well as the next fellow."

"If there's b.l.o.o.d.y crowns going round, the other gang will get its share," said Fitzhugh. And the men about me nodded.

I was cheered to see that they needed n.o.body to do their fighting, however advisable it might be to do their thinking by deputy.

"Very good," I said. "Now I'll just look about the town a bit. You may come with me, if you please, Fitzhugh."

"Yes, sir."

"And Abrams and Lockhart may go scouting if they like."

Abrams and Lockhart thought they would like.

"Better keep together," I continued. "What's the earliest time any one could get here?"

"Two o'clock--if they drove over."

"I'll be around here by that time. You, Abrams, can look out for the road and see who comes into town."

"All right, sir," said Abrams. "There won't anybody get in here without I catch sight of him."

Lockhart nodded his a.s.sent to the boast, and after cautioning the men who were left behind we sallied forth.

The town was a straggling, not unpleasing country place. The business street was depressing with its stores closed and its saloons open. A few loafers hung about the doors of the dram-shops, but the moist breath of the south wind eddying about with its burden of dust and dead leaves made indoors a more comfortable location, and through the blue haze of tobacco smoke we could see men gathered inside. Compared with the dens I had found about my lodgings in the city, the saloons were orderly; but nevertheless they offended my New England sense of the fitness of things. In the city I had scarcely known that there was a Sunday. But here I was reminded, and felt that something was amiss.

In the residence streets I was better pleased. Man had done little, but nature was prodigal to make up for his omissions. The buildings were poor and flimsy, but in the middle of December the flowers bloomed, vines were green, bushes sent forth their leaves, and the beauty of the scene even under the leaden skies and rising gale made it a delight to the eye.

"Not much of a place," said Fitzhugh, looking disdainfully at the buildings. "h.e.l.lo! Here's d.i.c.k Thatcher. How are you, d.i.c.k? It's a year of Sundays that I haven't seen you. This is--er--a friend of mine, Thatcher,--you needn't mention that you've seen us." And Fitzhugh stumbled painfully over the recollection that we were incognito, and became silent in confusion.

"We needn't be strangers to Mr. Thatcher," I laughed. "My name is Wilton. Of course you won't mention our business."

"Oh, no, Mr. Wilton," said Thatcher, impressed, and shifting the quid of tobacco in his lantern jaws. "Of course not."

"And you needn't say anything of our being here at all," I continued.

"It might spoil the trade."

"Mum's the word," said Thatcher. "I'll not let a soul know till you say 'Let 'er go.' O Lord! I hope the trade goes through. We want a lot more capital here."

Mr. Thatcher began to scratch his head and to expectorate tobacco-juice copiously, and I suspected he was wondering what the secret might be that he was not to betray. So I made haste to say:

"Is this stable yours?"

"Yes, sir," said Thatcher eagerly. "I've been running it nigh on two years now."

"Pretty good business, eh, d.i.c.k?" said Fitzhugh, looking critically about.

"Nothin' to brag on," said Thatcher disparagingly. "You don't make a fortune running a livery stable in these parts--times are too hard."