v^mmv£im€AWAfi 
 
 Cam Clarke 
 
 B^' John H.Walsh 
 

CAM CLARKE 
 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
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CAM CLARKE 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN H. WALSH 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE BY 
 WILLIAM VAN DRESSER 
 
 ^m flnrk 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 1916 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
Copyright 1916 
 
 By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1916 
 

 CAM CLARKE 
 
 M532993 
 
CAM CLARKE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AS I start writing, I mean this to be the history 
 of a year of Cam Clarke's life. But I sup- 
 pose when I have finished it will be something 
 else. In the first place, I am so egotistical and so 
 charmed with myself that there is likely to be too 
 much about me in it and too little about Cam; and 
 perhaps I shall fatuously write too much about Sarah 
 Clarke or about the town of Washtucna * itself, for 
 I love them both. Who knows ? But I mean to be 
 honest with Cam. I mean to tell many things about 
 him, for he is the most important person of us all. 
 I know this, and the world knows it much better than 
 I do. But I do not really believe it in my heart. In 
 my heart I'm convinced that my own affairs are more 
 important. You see how I shall be torn and warped 
 as I go along. 
 
 The difficulty of proportioning things will be 
 greater because I really want to say a great deal 
 about Sarah Clarke, Dock Punts, John Bradford 
 and Washtucna in general. These are the back- 
 ground on which Cam and I are to appear. I have 
 studied this question carefully. Such backgrounds 
 are called by the writers " local colour." But how a 
 
 ♦The village Washtucna of this narrative is not to be con- 
 fused with the Washtucna of actual geography. — The Author. 
 
 X 
 
2 CAM CLARKE 
 
 reader can tell " local colour " from the real stuff of 
 the book I do not see, unless the author gives direc- 
 tions: which I here do. The book is about Cam 
 Clarke and me. We are the stars. I am assigning 
 the parts, so I take a good one myself. We, I say, 
 are the stars and if there is a villain it is either 
 Whitey McGrath or else Father Time who is mak- 
 ing every one of us older. 
 
 Cam Clarke and Washtucna and I made our ap- 
 pearance in eastern Washington at different times. 
 Washtucna, as I have implied, is a town, and any 
 horses, dogs or babies with that name came by it 
 dishonestly and latterly. The town was there be- 
 fore me but it did not have much of a start when I ar- 
 rived with my people. It was just a stage station 
 on the Colfax-Spokane line. The stages always 
 changed horses there and the various drivers always 
 took a drink at Jan Havland's spirit emporium. 
 Then there were six or nine ranchers who rode in 
 every week and asked for mail at the post-office kept 
 by the all-round merchant, Mr. Donnelly. They 
 scarcely ever got mail, but they always asked for it. 
 
 My family, which was large, ignorant and wild, 
 came across the plains by wagon, although the 
 Northern Pacific Railroad had been finished for 
 some time. They came by wagon in the deluded 
 idea that wagon-travel was cheaper than train-travel. 
 And, indeed, my poor, irascible, ill-instructed father 
 held that belief up to the time of his death; and he 
 so valiantly supported it with the artillery of his 
 wrath and abuse that no one latterly ever dared dis- 
 cuss it with him. Inasmuch as the subject was dead, 
 so far as he was concerned, this was no loss. And 
 
CAM CLARKE 3 
 
 perhaps he did come the cheapest way: his time was 
 worth about nothing. We lived, and that was all we 
 ever did, no matter where we were. 
 
 There were some thousands of other people who 
 came West the same way at the same late day, but I 
 doubt if many were as poorly equipped or as ignorant 
 of conditions and methods as we. I hope none were. 
 We were a large family of small children, my mother 
 was delicate, we were short of money, our live stock 
 was poor, even when we started, and my father was 
 not a plainsman. He was not even a practical 
 farmer or horseman but a cobbler and, in strict hon- 
 esty, I confess, he was not a very good cobbler. But 
 he was spirited and determined and stubborn and 
 healthy and he was not afraid even of his youngest 
 daughter — that is, not so much afraid as some 
 fathers. 
 
 We started from Dubuque, Iowa, early in spring. 
 I do not remember much of the trip, just spots here 
 and there : a wild thunder storm on the prairie at 
 night, father staggering back to camp drunk from 
 the saloons of some frontier town and his children 
 running out to tantalise him as picadores tantalise a 
 bull. We were not very much afraid of the poor 
 man even when he was drunk and we were not 
 shocked at all, for we had too often seen him in that 
 condition before. At some stage of the transaction 
 my mother, who was a stooped, slender woman, 
 would turn away from the whole wild lot of us, hus- 
 band and children, with so desolate a face that we 
 would desist. 
 
 My father when sober was a strange, shrivelled, 
 ignorant but kindly and bright-eyed little Irishman, 
 
4 CATVl CLARKE 
 
 always hopeful and In good courage. In drink he 
 used at one time to be very hilarious, but later he 
 became irascible and violent and as he grew older 
 he became worse — ■■ but all that is gone ; let the bones 
 of his sins lie at rest forever. 
 
 As I have said, he knew nothing of plalnscraft or 
 woodscraft or horsemanship and it was only God's 
 mercy that brought us safely through. And, Indeed, 
 my mother did not finish the long journey. She lies 
 buried at the foot of one of those strange, flat-topped 
 mountains In Montana at the edge of a wide and 
 lonely prairie. I tried to find the spot all of last 
 summer but her death happened too long ago. I 
 could not locate the place and so the grave Is un- 
 marked and her children do not know within ten miles 
 where she lies. Of her my remembrance Is like that 
 of the journey, It comes just In fleeting glimpses. She 
 had hair as black as a crow's wing and blue eyes, she 
 was stooped and slender. I know almost no more 
 from my memory, but from her works I doubt not 
 that she was an admirable woman. However, the 
 burden of mothering a round dozen of children, who 
 were growing up as wild as hawks, and the hardships 
 of the long journey across the great shimmering 
 plains were too much for her. We stayed In camp 
 three days and she died. I remember my sister's 
 wails and I remember the smell of the fresh turned 
 earth of the grave and then we were travelling again. 
 The plains seemed interminable. 
 
 After my mother's death we received considerably 
 less than no care and that we lived Is a fact highly 
 creditable to the vitality of the whole human race. 
 Under the circumstances there was naturally but 
 
CAM CLARKE 5 
 
 little cohesion in the family. We seemed as ready 
 to leave the nest of home as young eagles and my 
 father's habit of smothering his sorraws, doubts and 
 all other perturbations in whisky and of afterwards 
 showing violent temper did not materially aid in 
 holding us together. But we did not Immediately 
 break up. You may mutiny in mid-ocean but you 
 cannot desert unless you ga overboard. We con- 
 tinued, hit or miss, over the wide, open spaces of 
 Montana, and, because of the weakness of our stock, 
 dropped behind one wagon train after another. But 
 we never abandoned the voyage : my father's perse- 
 verance was as admirable as his efficiency was execra- 
 ble. We made a slow journey but at length we en- 
 tered the forests of pine, somber-coloured, but with 
 air that sparkled like bubbling wine. It is a long 
 journey, however, to the Palouse Country even after 
 you reach the mountains and we seemed to travel 
 forever over the almost impassable mountain roads. 
 
 Late in the autumn we came down to Spokane 
 across the gravelly prairie to the north. Spokane 
 was then a frontier town where a few hundreds of 
 people lived in frame houses, tents and log cabins, 
 which lay loosely along the banks of a clear river. 
 Behind and beyond the town in every direction were 
 irregular small mountains straggling up to the sky. 
 These carried a sparse and dwarfed growth of black 
 follaged pine while the rest of earth was in the 
 ** sear and yellow leaf," brown, red and yellow with 
 the long drought of summer and autumn still upon it. 
 
 Spokane was lighted to the due pitch for the rude 
 and riotous dissipations of a race nearly descended 
 from the loud-laughing, deep-drinking, sea-faring 
 
6 CAM CLARKE 
 
 peoples of all North Europe : Saxon and Finn and 
 Dane and Celt. Their rejoicings never ceased. 
 And I liked nothing better than peering into the for- 
 bidden regions of the great tent saloons, wherefrom 
 one heard constantly the clink of glass and poker- 
 chip, the hilarious wailings of fiddles and a dull 
 stamping and shuffling of feet. Frequently loud 
 oaths were roared out by uncouth, hairy men and 
 less frequently one heard revolver shots. Spokane 
 was still in her buckskin clothes, as it were — or 
 rather she was at that time changing her shirt. 
 
 Other activities were amove. The railroad was 
 newly arrived and already through the laughter of 
 the spenders from the wilderness there sounded the 
 hammers of industry, the sob and sigh of steam, the 
 lazy snore of spinning saws. Though I little un- 
 derstood, this country was preparing for a new era. 
 A new breed of human animal was sweeping down 
 upon it, a race of farmers and merchants and drunk- 
 ards, a race training up sisters of charity and prosti- 
 tutes, honest mothers of children, bankers and 
 preachers. 
 
 Above all and through all was threaded the roar 
 of the great cataracts. When I now see this cata- 
 ract as it is, my memory hears it as it then was when 
 it was new to me : vast, impressive and mysterious. 
 Yet I see now that it is not so large as I had fancied. 
 It is like the height of the school-house stairs and 
 the distance to the spring wherefrom we drew our 
 water, it has seemed to shrink year by year. 
 
 We stayed but a few days in Spokane, yet I con- 
 trived to make myself extraordinarily well ac- 
 quainted. No less a person than the Chief of 
 
CAM CLARKE 7 
 
 Police learned to call me by name and I was so im- 
 pressed by the majesty of his position that I all un- 
 consciously lied about his stature, strength and valour 
 for twenty years. When I saw him again I was aston- 
 ished. I found he was full six inches shorter than 
 I had fancied and that he was afraid of his wife. 
 Of such stuff are heroes made ! Time also had been 
 busy branding him. Indeed, his brand is upon us all ; 
 he leaves no mavericks. 
 
 We left Spokane because some street acquaint- 
 ance of my father's told him the Palouse Country 
 was a good place for a shoemaker, as there were 
 none there. This was doubtful argument, the same 
 could be said of the poles of the earth. He 
 also assured my father that a new railroad would 
 enter the Palouse Country in early spring. That 
 was sufficient. We again got our worn horses un- 
 der way for one more stage of travel. Fortunately 
 it was not a long journey to the Palouse. At that 
 time, if he had heard of Kamchatka, my father would 
 have started for it. Go, go, obsessed him ; he must 
 
 go- 
 
 This proved the end of his travels. The restless 
 desire to move which had driven him from Ireland 
 to a new continent and finally to almost the far 
 fringes of that continent seemed suddenly quieted in 
 the Palouse Country. I never thereafter heard him 
 express a desire to change his habitation again. He 
 attributed this quieting influence to the charms of 
 the Palouse Country ; I attributed It to exhaustion. 
 
 What an impressive, colossal movement this west- 
 ward flow of population has been I Almost the whole 
 Caucasian race has joined in it. Is it strange that 
 
8 CAM CLARKE 
 
 those crowded, thinly fed people beyond even the 
 Pacific ask themselves how far we shall go, and arm 
 themselves? We are Attila, the Hun, a hundred 
 times magnified; we conquer not only men but the 
 soil. Oh, we have made ourselves heirs to con- 
 tinents. God help us to till the continents and to 
 till ourselves that they and we may vibrate har- 
 moniously together under His hand like gut under 
 the bow of the violinist I 
 
 It was a bleak November evening that brought us 
 to the four houses in a row which comprised the 
 stage station Washtucna. These houses were Jan 
 Havland's saloon, the Tennessee Restaurant and 
 Hotel, Billy Carroll's livery stable and squint-eyed 
 John Donnelly's general store. Old Jimmy Day's 
 ranch was a half mile away across the flat while 
 Judge Rusher's was a mile south and Mr. Beauclerc's 
 a mile north. We were on flat ground with rolling 
 bunch grass country all around us. We made camp, 
 intending to push on further next morning, but one 
 of our tottering bone-racks of horses died in the 
 night and, as we had no money to buy another and 
 ^ere not resourceful enough to steal, we perforce 
 had to stay in Washtucna. My father was unex- 
 pectedly complacent. " 'Tis the voice of God," said 
 he reverently that morning at breakfast, as we chil- 
 dren shivered around the camp fire in a drizzling 
 rain, eating sourdough bread and small portions of 
 bacon and tea. Then he crossed himself piously. 
 After breakfast he strolled over to Jan Havland's 
 bar and by the generosity of more affluent customers 
 he was soon made sociably drunk. Washtucna was 
 helpful in those days, she would help you get any 
 
CAM CLARKE 9 
 
 thing you wanted. My father's financial embarrass- 
 ments were no sooner mentioned by him than plans 
 were set afoot to relieve them. 
 
 " Campin," said Jimmy Day heartily, pulling his 
 beard, which looked like a whisk broom, being 
 soiled white and spreading, " I want a shoemaker on 
 my ranch, so I do ; now you go right across the road 
 there — this is all my land — and pick out a prom- 
 ising place and build a shack and I'll give you an 
 acre of ground." 
 
 I need rrot remark that this was before Washtucna 
 commenced to indulge in the fancy that she was an 
 embryo metropolis. 
 
 " I'll pay for't in worruk," said my father, who 
 had when tipsy an even stronger feeling of pride in 
 financial matters than when sober. 
 
 *' I like seein' lots o' children aroun'," added Mr. 
 Jimmy Day, by way of additional explanation, " an' 
 you do seem to sure have quite a snag of 'em." 
 
 " 'Tis but a shmall famil-ly," said my father, 
 " only twilve." 
 
 "What's your name?" asked Mr. Jimmy, pull- 
 ing my ear in a friendly way. 
 
 " Mart, sir." 
 
 " An' your brothers and sisters?" 
 
 In answer I recited rapidly the line composed by 
 my brother Tim as a roster list — not, however, that 
 we ever were mustered. I may mention that in spite 
 of my brother Tim's early promise he did not turn 
 out to be a poet. 
 
 " Tommie, Mary, Larrie, 
 Bridget, Ann, Carrie, 
 
10 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Martin, Peter, Tim, 
 Kate, Maggie, Jim.'* 
 
 Of these, Mary, the oldest, was a thin-faced, 
 kindly, gentle girl with a hacking cough and a nimble 
 wit and tongue. She was now the mother of the 
 family. I thought her very beautiful in those days, 
 but she is long since dead. Oh, the pity of it I It is 
 like physical pain to me to remember that inexorable, 
 significant cough. Next was Tim, next Bridget, 
 then I and the rest were strung out in decreased age 
 down to baby Maggie, who then sprawled over 
 everybody and everything, but who later grew up to 
 marry the man who owns the Quickstep mine. And 
 an admirable husband he is, barring a weakness for 
 the sex which might be anticipated in a bonanza king. 
 
 My father very wisely took Mr. Jimmy Day's ad- 
 vice and we contrived to throw together a three- 
 room shack from scraps of logs, poles, boxes, burlap, 
 canvas, kerosene cans and straw. It was a miserable 
 shelter, it leaked and of course it was cold, but we 
 considered that it did very well, as none of us died 
 that winter. It seems to me now that we were some- 
 thing less than half fed, but we lived through that, 
 too ; and generally we were merry and happy enough 
 even in the presence of Mary's cough, of which none 
 of us then understood the significance, not even she. 
 
 One of my father's first acts after finishing the 
 shack was to hang out his shoemaker's sign, a bat- 
 tered, ill-favoured, small wooden boot, which he had 
 packed with him all the way from Waterford, Ire- 
 land. He hung it right by the flapping piece of 
 board which we called the door. At first he was sur- 
 
CAM CLARKE ii 
 
 prised that it brought no business and in a fit of ex- 
 travagance he painted it. But that did no good and 
 it gradually was borne in, not upon his mind, for he, 
 properly speaking, had none, but upon his conscious- 
 ness that there were only about fifty pairs of feet in 
 any way tributary to Washtucna and that some of 
 those feet wore moccasins. The cobbler's business 
 being temporarily poor, my father took jobs helping 
 the other four men in town do things that they did 
 not need to have done at all. In the meantime m.y 
 brother Tim and I trapped muskrats which old Mr. 
 Donnelly bought for twice their value. And by all 
 these devices the whole family of us kept alive. 
 
 Bu't it was a hard winter. During how many 
 nights did we shiver with cold under insufficient 
 blankets I And we were never so free from hunger 
 that we could not have eaten more. At first my 
 father, to dull the sense of his sorrows and hardships, 
 would from time to time buy as much of Jan Hav- 
 land's rum as he could pay for, drink it and then 
 come home and beat, " for God's sake," as he used 
 to say, such of his children as were unwary enough 
 to be caught. This was a game between him and 
 us. But Jan Havland himself checked that: he re- 
 fused to sell liquor to him. As for the beatings, 
 that was a square game and one which we enjoyed as 
 much as he did. We teased and tantalised him and 
 he beat us when he caught us, without leaving last- 
 ing hard feeling on either side. Sometimes, how- 
 ever, Mary would cry and that would break up the 
 sport. 
 
 Spring that year seemed heart breaklngly joyful, 
 and my oldest brother, Tim, was so intoxicated with 
 
12 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Its warmth and fragrances that he ran off. He never 
 returned, but I have heard within the last year that 
 he is in Australia and is prospering there. For 
 many years we had not known even that he was still 
 alive. Oh, we were, I say, like young hawks. We 
 were bred to run away and poverty made the running 
 easier yet. As soon as we could we spilled ourselves 
 out of the nest, and thereafter we went hunting on 
 our own account. 
 
 Washtucna started to grow as soon as the snow 
 was melted by the warm breath of the first March 
 Chinook wind. But it was not until the Clarkes ar- 
 rived that Washtucna became a real town with a 
 spirit of its own. Mrs. Clarke gave the town its 
 spirit. It was in the spirited Washtucna that Cam 
 Clarke lived, and it is of that Washtucna that I 
 desire to tell. But it is difficult not to talk of one- 
 self so much as to eclipse Cam, Washtucna and 
 everything else. 
 
 Washtucna was only a small group of houses until 
 the Clarkes came and there were few who fancied 
 that it would ever be a large group. But even then 
 it showed very clearly the cleavages and tendencies 
 and traits which would characterise its more pros- 
 perous days. It was a hospitable, generous, hilari- 
 ous, rancorous, exuberant, kindly community, and 
 already the few scattered inhabitants of the district 
 had divided themselves into two hostile factions 
 called Saints and Sinners. These names were 
 adopted more for purposes of distinction than be- 
 cause they correctly described the habits or conduct 
 of the persons concerned. Judge Rusher, short, fat, 
 red faced, with a tawny beard, was leader of the 
 
CAM CLARKE 13 
 
 Sinner party; while Mr. Beauclerc, who was lank, 
 gaunt, smooth faced and cold eyed, was the ^' boss '* 
 of the Saints. Within each party the other, in the 
 confidence of private talk, was referred to as an ag- 
 gregation of cattle-thieves, horse-thieves, liars and 
 murderers. Further, the quality and legality of the 
 birth and breeding of the opposing factions was fre- 
 quently animadverted upon. 
 
 Both Saints and Sinners, on account of the precari- 
 ous grip of human nature upon virtue, were partly 
 right in their accusations. Besides, lawlessness had 
 been fashionable in some respects and neither party 
 had in their hearts desired to be less lawless than 
 their competitors. Which is to say, that in the 
 recognised forms of lawlessness such as branding 
 stray calves and colts the rival parties were in com- 
 petition. " If people intended regularly to * slick- 
 ear ' your stock, you naturally would board the 
 * slick-ear * train yourself and heat your own frying- 
 pan," said Punts, M.D., once later in explanation. 
 But in the feeling between Saints and Sinners there 
 was an extraordinary bitterness not warranted by 
 the exigencies of business or competition. Such bit- 
 terness is as inexplicable as people's religion or 
 fashions; it is a matter of sentiment, a point of 
 honour : and it is contagious. Newcomers took sides 
 according as the personalities of the contending par- 
 ties appealed to them, or, in rare cases, they remained 
 neutral, and they made their feelings strong. My 
 father promptly became a Saint, and thereafter he 
 was a solid and certain Saint just as he was a Cath- 
 olic and a Democrat. He became a Saint because 
 Jimmy Day recommended it, and I suppose he had 
 
14 C4M CLARKE 
 
 like reasons for being a Catholic and a Democrat. 
 And so have I — and so have you, also. 
 
 Washtucna, I should explain, lay in a little level- 
 floored valley in the heart of the ** Palouse Country," 
 which is in the eastern part of Washington State. 
 The Palouse Country is called in the newspaper ver- 
 nacular of the Northwest " The Inland Empire," or, 
 more familiarly, " The Palouse." It is a rolling, 
 rich-soiled, prairie plateau, well watered and with 
 timber not more, at most, than fifteen miles distant, 
 which is close for people from prairie States. To 
 the south is the Walla Walla Country, to the west the 
 Big Bend Country, to the north the Spokane Coun- 
 try, to the east Idaho. How those words roll on my 
 ear ! Is there not freedom in their sound and great 
 distances ? 
 
 In the beginning the Palouse Country was for 
 deer, jack rabbits and coyotes, then for a moment for 
 stock-men; but other ranchers followed very closely 
 and took it for wheat; and now gardeners and or- 
 chardists are following the wheat farmer. At every 
 phase it has blossomed luxuriantly and the phases 
 have been rapidly run. The journey from wilder- 
 ness to truck farming has been passed through so 
 quickly that men still young saw it commence. To 
 have lived there constantly is to have learned three 
 or four separate trades. To be what you were 
 thirty years ago is to starve. 
 
 The wild Palouse Country was very lovely with 
 its miles on miles of shimmering bunch grass starred 
 in spring with the wild rose, the pigeon-bill, rock 
 lilies and a thousand other varieties of wild flowers. 
 Later it was a solid wheat field from end to end, 
 
CAM CLARKE 15 
 
 green or black or golden yellow, depending on the 
 season; but dotted with lonely, sun-beaten ranch 
 houses. Now it becomes lovely in a different way. 
 Hand-planted trees have grown up around the 
 houses ; there are gardens and lawns and lastly school 
 houses, which spill forth children in overflowing 
 measure. But the greatest charm still is the air: it 
 sparkles and glitters; it is mountain air. And the 
 greatest curse is the dust. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 I SUPPOSE that at one time I knew Cam Clarke 
 as well as did any one in the world; better even 
 than his mother knew him, for she was of a 
 different generation, and difference of age is an in- 
 superable barrier. But that was a long time ago. 
 People remembering the Cam Clarke they knew yes- 
 terday — polished, reticent, immaculate, inexorable 
 — may wonder that he should have been so intimate 
 with the ragged son of a crazy Irish cobbler, even in 
 boyhood. But such people only knew the outside 
 of Cam's life. Even in his later career Cam has 
 known a great variety of people. That Cam and I 
 should have been such friends is not surprising at 
 all. You had no real reason to be surprised at any- 
 thing Cam did. 
 
 I would not, however, be understood to apologise 
 for Cam's low associates any more than I would for 
 my poor father's lack of common sense. My father 
 in later days had plenty of things to unbalance his 
 sense: twelve children about like me, and no privi- 
 leges except those of working day and night, getting 
 drunk once a month or oftener, and beating his chil- 
 dren when he could catch them. That was not 
 often, as God had mercifully made them fleet of 
 foot and exceedingly active and resolute — it occurs 
 to me just now that his children's agility may have 
 seemed oppressive to my father as it spoiled his 
 
 i6 
 
CAM CLARKE 17 
 
 sport, which proves that every board has two sides. 
 And Cam's possible associates in Washtucna were 
 not much more numerous than my father's privi- 
 leges. If Cam decided to select me from amongst 
 them it was because, for his purposes, he thought 
 I was the best of the lot; and as I would take his 
 opinion on any subject I take it on that. I suited 
 him. 
 
 Cam and his mother and father came down into 
 the Palouse Country in the spring, just ahead of the 
 railroad. We had been there for six months, living 
 off nothing but the hopes of the railroad, when the 
 Clarkes arrived. And the way I lived had made 
 me as lean as a hound, as hard as a sledge dog, and 
 wild. ** None of them Campin kids come within 
 gunshot," said Skookum Jones once afterwards to 
 Mrs. Clarke; " they're sure a scary bunch o' colts." 
 
 Cam's father navigated down a team of awe- 
 somely bare-ribbed mules, which he had purchased in 
 Spokane from a Missouri trader who had no con- 
 science. I do not reprehend that horse-trader; he 
 was just built for his business. He had no more 
 need of conscience than an adding machine has of 
 sense. It functions better without sense. Those 
 mules, however, were as vicious as they were bare- 
 ribbed, and the only reason Cam's father was not 
 killed by them was that he would not wait; he died 
 of another cause before they got around to him. 
 Mr. Clarke appears to have landed in the Palouse 
 Country in about the same financial condition as our- 
 selves. But there were these differences: he had 
 possessed enough money to get there; we had not, 
 but we got there anyway. He realised he was 
 
1 8 CAM CLARKE 
 
 broke, we did not: we were used to it. You might 
 as well try to show a Chinese coolie the simple life 
 as to introduce us to poverty ; we knew it so well that 
 we did not believe there was such a thing. Both he 
 and we, however, were hopeful; extravagantly, hope- 
 lessly hopeful. 
 
 Cam's father appears to have been about as prac- 
 tical and practicable as my own. But he was quite 
 different. He was highly educated, highly intelli- 
 gent, well-bred, gentle and generous, but in delicate 
 physical health, and probably with a mind incapable 
 of dealing with the rougher details of life's business, 
 such as currying mules or bossing other mule cur- 
 riers. Which is to say, he was not, first of all, a 
 good provider of food and raiment. Then he had 
 such altruistic and humane ideas that any modern 
 orthodox Christian would denounce him as a fool. 
 For example. Cam once told me that the reason 
 his father bought those piratical Missouri mules was 
 that he was so sorry to see their ribs stuck out 
 like his own that he wanted to give himself the 
 pleasure of fattening them up. No doubt he knew 
 what he wanted; but for me, I shall make some dif- 
 ferent disposition of my last dollar. I said " I 
 guessed " that if Mr. Clarke had seen me or my 
 sister Mary when he saw the mules he would have 
 bought us instead, as we had any mule I ever saw 
 *' backed off the board for skinniness." 
 
 Mr. Clarke must have been a poor mule driver, 
 as he could not swear or wield a blacksnake. Nev- 
 ertheless, he did somehow herd his way down into 
 the Palouse Country; the mules, of course, travelling 
 at their own convenience, running away or balking. 
 
CAM CLARKE 19 
 
 as suited their fancy. Cam has told me about it so 
 often and I have myself been so often over the same 
 road, that I feel as if I knew all about it. It was 
 early in May when they started from Spokane; the 
 rolling hills were shimmering green with bunchgrass, 
 the meadows were yellow with buttercups and there 
 were little shy violets which shone like the stars. 
 They heard the songs of the meadow larks and the 
 calls of the bold ground squirrel, " which were 
 cheerful and nice sounds," said Cam, ** but the wind 
 used to come whistling and whimpering across the 
 prairies in the saddest way a feller could think of, 
 so that you daren't pay any attention to it. Also at 
 night you just couldn't bear to hear the frogs croak 
 in the creek bottoms because it sure did sound as 
 though they felt rotten, and if you listened you 
 would almost die of lonesomeness. But you had to 
 hear them, whether you could bear it or not." 
 
 Cam and his father and mother, nevertheless, 
 kept very cheerful. They rode together on the 
 wide front seat of their groaning, rattle-trap, immi- 
 grant wagon, which had long before crossed the 
 great plains, and at every chuckhole Cam's father 
 would make one of those two-pronged jokes which 
 Cam himself learned so well how to use later in life. 
 One prong made you laugh and the other made you 
 want to cry for the pity of something. Then, in 
 the worst chuckholes, Mr. Clarke, who was a 
 small, delicate-looking man with a stubby, brown 
 moustache and large, lustrous eyes, would be 
 jolted into frightful paroxysms of coughing from 
 which he would come forth pale and faint, and with 
 blood and another of his two-pronged jokes on his 
 
20 CAM CLARKE 
 
 lips. His management of the mules, as I have said, 
 was only partial; they were in general masters of 
 their own fates; at times they refused to come near 
 the wagon tongue, at other times they refused to 
 pull, at times they even refused to be unharnessed. 
 Mr. Clarke on such occasions just waited and said 
 he was in no hurry. Now a man who can outwait 
 a mule is good; but naturally Mr. Clarke's progress 
 was slow; so slow that he took seven days to travel 
 the forty miles from Spokane to the elbow bend in 
 Pine Creek. 
 
 And thus it was that the Clarkes came gradually 
 down into the rich Palouse Country, which was all 
 verdant with spring, Cam riding between his father 
 and mother on the high seat, his gray, speckled eyes, 
 which in appearance were the very mirror of his 
 mother's, open to everything. They were but poor 
 travellers, incapable of hurrying, and, besides, they 
 did not know exactly where they were going. I 
 have since gone over the ground and from Cam's 
 description I have located their various camps. I 
 judge that those camps were selected principally to 
 humour the caprice of the mules and with but little 
 idea of indulging the comfort or convenience of the 
 Clarkes. 
 
 The last camp was on the elbow of Pine Creek 
 where Cam and I used later to fish for suckers and 
 to go swimming with the hogs or in winter to skate. 
 It happened to be a good camp, but that was acci- 
 dental. They selected it because it was late in the 
 evening when they arrived there and because one of 
 the mules balked. There was grass and water 
 handy, but they had not noticed it. They tried to 
 
CAM CLARKE 21 
 
 hurry in making camp, for they had no lantern, and 
 so they paid but little attention to their surround- 
 ings, except to make sure that there was a level place 
 big enough to hold their baggage. 
 
 Having at length, after considerable effort, got 
 the mules unhitched and the tent unrolled, they seem 
 to have realised suddenly that there was a small 
 man standing in the twilight in their midst, smoking 
 a pipe. This was old Tom Warren, whose house 
 was on the hill a half mile away. They spoke to 
 him courteously without stopping work; he grunted 
 like a pig, and they, with awakened curiosity, lighted 
 a candle in the still air and looked at him. They 
 saw that he was a little, blue-eyed, sturdy, bearded 
 man with dungaree trousers tucked in his cowhide 
 boots and with a faded blue flannel shirt overlaid 
 with wide suspenders, strong enough for saddle 
 girths. He bore the scrutiny unblinkingly. 
 
 Tom Warren's sudden appearance had startled 
 them a little, and they were uneasy and curi- 
 ous about him for some time, as he said almost 
 nothing and as he looked, according to his habit, 
 exceedingly stern, gloomy and ferocious. Of 
 course it was the woman that coaxed him out into 
 the daylight of human sociability. Sarah Clarke 
 got him to talk, and Cam said that when he spoke 
 it was in such a deep voice that all the hills roared 
 back echoes. He pretended that he was bored and 
 wearied with every one alive and he spoke in most 
 lugubrious tones of life and of other lugubrious 
 things. There was something quaint in thus hear- 
 ing a man wKo ought to have been lonely traduce 
 the human race. But this was a quick audience. 
 
22 CAM CLARKE 
 
 They laughed at him and with him and all around 
 him. They, every one, seemed to have understood 
 him almost at once and to have ceased immediately 
 to be frightened, and even, said Cam, to have " felt 
 comforted " by his company, lugubrious in quality 
 though it was. 
 
 Sarah Clarke politely laughed In the little man's 
 face, which is difficult to do, and then she smiled at 
 him through the twilight and said it was cordial and 
 generous of him to come down so far to cheer up 
 a family of gypsies. The idea that he was a cordial 
 and generous fellow was like wine to Mr. Tom 
 Warren. Such a thought was to him unique. Mr. 
 Clarke looked at him just once, straight in the eye, 
 through the gathering darkness, and saw, so he after- 
 wards said, that the man's ugliness was all external 
 and that his disagreeableness was a cross between 
 habit and self-consciousness. 
 
 " Stranger,'' said he amiably, " I think perhaps 
 you know more about hobbling mules than I do. 
 I'm a lawyer and I could hobble up a piece of prop- 
 erty in a deed pretty well, but I'm having a hard 
 time with these mules. The fact is, the animals run 
 off every night and I'm tired of it. They're not my 
 trade, and their trade, I find, has considerable 
 technique." 
 
 Old Tom laughed, and Cam said It sounded like 
 pounding a barrel, and, as I have heard him laugh 
 myself, I know it is true. Then he lighted his pipe 
 deliberately and laughed again condescendingly. 
 This laughter was not tactful, but Mr. Clarke was 
 patient. 
 
 " Avast, shipmate," said Tom Warren, now in 
 
CAM CLARKE 23 
 
 great good humour. "Avast!" said he, or some- 
 thing seamanlike like that, for he had been a sailor 
 before he was a cattleman and had consequently 
 never learned plain English, but could only speak 
 in the vernacular of one of his trades. " Avast 
 there, partner," said he hoarsely. " I'm able to as- 
 sure you that you do skin me up on knowledge of 
 law and in ignorance of mules. Belay your efforts 
 a bit — give me the mooring gear I The damn 
 mules is spiled." 
 
 With that he took the hobbles and a blacksnake 
 and showed Mr. Clarke how to cross-hobble a mule, 
 and illustrated incidentally the moral power of the 
 blacksnake, which are simple things, and I did not 
 see for years how a man could grow up even in 
 Worcester, Massachusetts, without knowing about 
 them. But Mr. Clarke was totally ignorant of 
 them. 
 
 "Where air ye hailin' from?" asked Mr. War- 
 ren, that task completed. 
 
 " Worcester, Massachusetts." 
 
 " She must be a back'ard port," and Mr. Warren 
 laughed again, and the whole party and the echoing, 
 silent hills joined in. Then they cheerily made 
 camp together, all working hard. 
 
 Old Tom showed them how to pitch a tent with- 
 out killing yourself with work and where to put the 
 harness to keep coyotes from eating it, as coyotes 
 had already started to do, and how to make a better 
 bed, and he helped them gather wood and start a 
 fire. 
 
 When camp was made old Tom started home, 
 but by diplomacy and importunity they made him 
 
24 CAM CLARKE 
 
 stay. Or perhaps it was the smell of bacon, or 
 because he was lonely and liked their company; at 
 any rate he stayed for a second supper with them, 
 and he ate more than any of them. Tom was a 
 good trencherman. 
 
 Afterwards they talked for a long while over the 
 camp fire, the moon came up, the coyotes com- 
 menced to howl and the chill of night settled down. 
 All this time Cam said they could hear the mules 
 munching and the hobbles rattling, while Tom War- 
 ren told them about rounding the Horn in a sailing 
 ship, about the ships from Hongkong and Shanghai, 
 about the pirates of the Celebes Sea, about the dim, 
 swinging lamps in the forecastle, about cattle stam- 
 pedes and about how cattle starved in winter on the 
 steppes of Wyoming. Tom said that thirsty cattle 
 could smell water for miles, and he told Cam what 
 a boatswain's bird was, and, indeed, he was alto- 
 gether very interesting. And then he went strolling 
 home in the moonlight, smoking his pipe and talking 
 over his shoulder, and Cam's father coughed and 
 coughed. But, though Cam was sorry, he could not 
 stay awake. He fell asleep with strange noises in 
 his ears: his father's coughing, the rattle of hobble 
 chains, the howling of coyotes, the croaking of frogs 
 and then just blankness everywhere. Cam thought 
 old Tom left just as he piled himself into bed, but 
 he was not sure. He was sure, though, that it was 
 a fragrant night. I asked him about that when I 
 last saw him and he remembered with certainty and 
 promptness. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 CAM must have been asleep for a long time, al- 
 though it had not seemed so to him, when 
 he felt Sarah Cameron (that was his pet 
 name for his mother) pull at his shoulder and shake 
 him. He said that, of course, he first opened his 
 eyes sleepily and he saw that his. mother was leaning 
 over him with a lighted candle in her hand. He 
 supposed the mules were tangled up in the harness 
 or something like that. But when he saw her face 
 clearly he became instantly wide awake, for it was 
 excessively pale and it was strained and startled in 
 its expression. He jumped up quickly, feeling sure 
 now that something serious was wrong. Something 
 was, indeed, seriously wrong, and Cam said that in 
 a moment he knew what it was without asking, for 
 his father went off into a terrible paroxysm of cough- 
 ing. He had been going from one to another all 
 night, Sarah Clarke said, but Cam had heard noth- 
 ing. 
 
 Sarah Clarke hurried away and Cam dressed 
 hastily in the darkness. He tried to think, but a 
 lump gathered in his throat and his teeth chattered 
 from fright of the unknown, and of course he could 
 not think. Mrs. Clarke came back presently and 
 told him he must go as quickly as he could to Mr. 
 Tom Warren's house up on the hill — he could see 
 
 25 
 
26 CAM CLARKE 
 
 it there in the moonlight — and he must bring Mr. 
 Warren down if he would come, telling him that 
 Mr. Clarke was very weak from loss of blood and 
 that they wanted his advice and assistance at once. 
 They did not ask for a doctor; that was impossible. 
 
 Cam told me that he was terribly afraid as he 
 started and that he was so trembling with fright and 
 cold that he could scarcely speak. But he said he 
 would go and he started off, running at top speed. 
 Presently a coyote howled, and the noise seemed 
 right on top of him, as coyote howls do even to 
 grown people, so he ran faster and faster over the 
 dew-wet, shining grass. The house seemed a long 
 way off and Cam says his wind was shorter than 
 the journey, but he dared not slow down for the 
 coyotes seemed closer than ever and he could easily 
 distinguish their dark shadows, which looked blacker 
 than a rainy night and which grew and waned and 
 vanished and came out in a way that seemed to him 
 supernatural. So he kept on without wind, never 
 ceasing, in spite of the stitch in his side and the 
 steepness of the hill, running until he was right at 
 the door of Tom Warren's cabin. 
 
 At the door Cam paused a moment to regain 
 strength before flinging himself against It, and in 
 that moment he could hear old Tom's snorings 
 through the din of his own heart beats. Then he 
 banged the door with his two fists and feet with all 
 his might, making, he says, a dreadful clangour. 
 The snoring ceased abruptly and Cam says he heard 
 a rumbling and grumbling and cursing inside, then 
 silence; and he started pounding again, for he 
 thought Tom Warren was going to sleep and the 
 
CAM CLARKE 27 
 
 coyotes in that case might come down and eat off 
 his shoes right on Tom Warren's doorstep, just as 
 they had eaten pieces of the harness that lay on 
 James O'Neil Clarke's wagon tongue one night. 
 
 Suddenly the door was flung wide open and Cam 
 fell back and lost his breath again. There standing 
 on the step in the bright moonlight was old Tom 
 Warren with a double-barreled shotgun in the hol- 
 low of his arm. Old Tom was dishevelled with 
 sleep and he was something less than half dressed, 
 but when Cam's breath came back Tom looked beau- 
 tiful to him, he was so glad to be away from the 
 danger of coyotes. And yet he immediately re- 
 membered his errand and started to blurt it out, but 
 Tom roared in surprise like a bull when he saw who 
 it was and the roar drowned Cam's voice and Cam 
 had to start over. 
 
 But in about ten seconds Cam made Tom under- 
 stand. Old Tom thought a moment. " Sure I'll 
 come," he said hoarsely. He made ready quickly. 
 He slipped into his clothes and he and Cam went 
 trotting back to the tent. The return journey was 
 easier, it was down hill. 
 
 All the world looked silvery in the moonlight ex- 
 cept the tent, which was gold from the candle-light 
 within. Cam seemed to remember that night very 
 clearly. He could not, indeed, forget it, for long 
 afterwards he used to tell me how he saw the yellow 
 buttercups in the grass and how very brightly the 
 rock lilies shone. The air was sweet and pure and 
 cold. They ran until Cam was out of breath again 
 and once, half exhausted, he fell on a tussock of 
 grass and once Tom stumbled in a badger hole and 
 
28 CAM CLARKE 
 
 went down headlong, then rose, cursing in outland- 
 ish seaman's oaths, blasting his boom topping lifts. 
 Cam said, and mentioning other pieces of gear for- 
 eign to stock-raising. Cam said this was the most 
 elaborate swearing he had heard up till then, but 
 later he heard my father, who was as skilful at 
 flinging off curses as at drinking smoked whisky. 
 
 They went slower at the end and came into the 
 tent very quietly, but breathless. James O'Neil 
 Clarke mustered his strength when he saw them 
 enter and contrived to raise himself up a little and 
 to smile a ghastly smile and make a joke. ** I'm 
 afraid I'm disturbing the sleep of the coyotes with 
 my coughing," said he faintly. 
 
 But Death's hand was already upon him. He 
 was white with the chill and grip of it. And Cam 
 says that his father must have known what was com- 
 ing to him. He nevertheless tried to make another 
 joke, but coughing cut it short. " He coughed 
 from his feet up," said Cam. And then another 
 paroxysm seized him and Cam desired to shut his 
 ears to it and to run from the pain and horror of 
 it. Tom Warren put his arm around James Clarke 
 at one side, Sarah Clarke at the other. Mr. Clarke 
 thereupon stopped coughing, but Cam had to look 
 away, for his father's face was withering before his 
 eyes. 
 
 When Cam looked again they had laid Mr. Clarke 
 back on his pillow; his eyes were closed, the pallor 
 of death dwelt in his face, but his lips were red with 
 blood. 
 
 For a long time nobody spoke, a coyote howled 
 dismally, the hobbles of the mules clanked and 
 
CAM CLARKE 29 
 
 clinked and the teeth of the mules munched the grass 
 greedily. 
 
 At length Mr. Clarke opened his eyes again. 
 ** I'm sorry to bother you this way, Warren; I re- 
 gret the trouble, sir," he said faintly. Then he 
 motioned to Sarah Clarke as though he would speak 
 to her; but he closed his eyes and did not speak 
 again, ever. 
 
 James O'Neil Clarke was dead. 
 
 I never knew him, but Cam has told me of him. 
 He appears to have been gifted in many ways. He 
 died very young — who knows what was there ? 
 Not any one now. Cam said they stood a long 
 while listening and waiting, and that the coyotes 
 howled dismally and the hobble chains clinked more 
 slowly, and that when they went out the moon was 
 still shining softly and that the perfumed breath of 
 spring was blowing on things. 
 
 They buried him there on Warren's flat and Tom 
 Warren and I keep the marks of the spot clear and 
 clean to this day. Though I never knew him, we 
 know that he was Cameron Clarke's father and that 
 Sarah Clarke once loved him; that is all that is need- 
 ful to us. For him, life turned to night before it 
 had reached its noon. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 I REMEMBER clearly the day on which Cam 
 Clarke and his mother came trailing down the 
 hill into Washtucna. It was a very lovely 
 day in spring, a sparkling, breeze-fanned day. I, 
 at the moment when the Clarkes appeared, was lying 
 with what I now call my stomach stretched out on a 
 piece of Jimmy Day's flat land. I was trying to 
 snare a ground squirrel with a string which I had 
 looped around his hole. I did not anticipate suc- 
 cess in that enterprise, but I was waiting patiently for 
 the squirreFs head to be thrust out and I was en- 
 joying myself vastly, for it was sunny and warm 
 there, and the air was as fragrant as in a garden. 
 Cam appeared first, galloping easily along the crest 
 of Sebright's hill on Tom Warren's shining roan 
 mare Nan. He paused at the beginning of the 
 sharper descent and, turning back, waited until a 
 mule team soberly appeared behind him. Then he 
 walked Nan leisurely down the hill and out upon 
 Mr. Jimmy Day's flat, where, as I have before re- 
 marked, I was resting upon my stomach. 
 
 I at once came out of concealment behind the bush 
 and temporarily gave up resting and the snaring of 
 squirrels. I trotted over towards Cam, and he, see- 
 ing me, stopped Nan and waited. I waved my hand 
 and he waved back. This, however, was not entirely 
 
 30 
 
CAM CLARKE 31 
 
 a friendly greeting : we were like two dogs, not quite 
 decided whether to snarl and fight or to wag tails 
 and play. At any rate it showed that we were so- 
 ciably inclined, for fighting is as highly sociable an 
 occupation as story-telling or laughing. And we 
 were both always sociable, though shy; which state- 
 ment sounds contradictory but is not. 
 
 When I got close I stopped and we both stared at 
 each other somewhat belligerently while the roan 
 mare nibbled the bunchgrass. I decided that I liked 
 Cam's looks. He was thin, red haired, freckled and 
 he had extraordinarily striking eyes, gray and blue 
 mottled. But I would not be too cordial. I wanted 
 him to know how excessively valuable my friendship 
 was. 
 
 " Where you goin' ? " I asked, taking care not to 
 show interest. 
 
 Cam pushed his cap up from over a forehead that 
 was beautifully full at the corners with a bored look 
 such as no other boy ever wore, but at the same time 
 he smiled with his flickering eyes and with his lips 
 and answered very coolly and politely, but, of course, 
 with insolence. 
 
 " Washtucna. Live here?" And he looked as 
 though he knew I did live here and was ashamed of 
 it. 
 
 I had Intended, as I approached him, to jeer at 
 him a little, which is the right way to treat strangers, 
 and I thought perhaps I would dare him to come off 
 his cayuse ; but I now decided to wait. This did not 
 appear to be an ordinary boy, you could not tell what 
 he would do. If he was as extraordinary as he 
 looked, perhaps it was as a fighter. I had a streak 
 
32 CAM CLARKE 
 
 of prudence in me ; I decided to wait and see. Be- 
 sides, I liked him, for his personality was as potent 
 and charming in early boyhood as in maturity. 
 
 We carried on a friendly conversation about mud 
 turtles and girls and swimming and by that time the 
 mule team was descending the steep part of the hill 
 in a cloud of dust. 
 
 I had seen the mare Nan before on mail days and 
 I admired her. " D'ye reckon that mare o' yourn 
 would carry double ? " I ventured suggestively. 
 
 "You bet; she'll carry quadruple, if I want her 
 to," said Cam convincingly and he stuck out his foot 
 to help me up. 
 
 " This here * quadruple's ' a new word on me," 
 said I, climbing up without difficulty and taking a seat 
 behind the saddle. Then I touched a bare toe in 
 Nan's flank just to see what she would do. She went 
 like a streak, and hobblety bobblety we dashed back 
 to the wagon where Cam managed to stop her. 
 This had been fun for me and beautifully exciting, 
 but when I stopped paying attention to holding on 
 and put my hand in my pocket to get something, 
 thinking Nan would stand still, I dropped my guard. 
 Nan jumped about thirty-four feet and landed stiff- 
 legged and I went off like a comet and lit on the 
 ground all spraddled out after a fall of five and two- 
 thirds miles. Nan then bolted with Cam, who still 
 stayed on. 
 
 It was a pleasant fall until I struck. I don't think 
 I was made unconscious by the landing but I was so 
 surprised by it that I lay still and did not move. I re- 
 member afterwards to have told Cam I was thinking. 
 But I may as well admit now that I was not think- 
 
CAM CLARKE 33 
 
 Ing and that the world whirled round and round and 
 that I felt sick where I stow my food. So I lay there 
 with my eyes closed and did not move. I suppose 
 I lay there two or three minutes, for when I opened 
 my eyes again Cam Clarke and Sarah Clarke and old 
 Tom were all stooping over me and feeling of me to 
 see where I was broken and Tom was consigning jib- 
 booms to hell in the most reckless manner for a coun- 
 try scarce of firewood. He seemed to have forgot- 
 ten Mrs. Clarke was present. I was afraid of so 
 many strangers at once and I tried to get up so I 
 could run. Sarah Clarke's eyes flickered; she un- 
 derstood. *' Stand back," she said softly to Tom 
 Warren and Cam in her deep yet gentle voice. And 
 then I lay back again and she rubbed my forehead, 
 and her eyes, I thought, had all colours in them, but 
 that was the sunlight on them. She was indeed a 
 strange, sweet woman and very beautiful, and I was 
 as wild as a wild goose. 
 
 " We'll carry you home in the wagon," said Sarah 
 Clarke invitingly. ''Where do you live?" 
 
 I saw then that invalidism had gone far enough. 
 I did not want to be carried and, besides, I really felt 
 better, so I jumped up and dodged away a little like 
 a coyote and then turned half around and looked at 
 them over my shoulder, which also was like a coyote. 
 
 " Come, get in the wagon. You look very white,'* 
 said Mrs. Clarke. 
 
 I said I was much obliged but that I felt " fine," 
 that I declined to ride and that I was not any whiter 
 than usual. I stood still, however, and groggily 
 watched them move off. Cam circling the wagon on 
 Nan, the pony, and yelling, " Yip, yip, yip ! " like a 
 
34 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Comanche, and old Tom trying very hard not to 
 swear at the mules. 
 
 I liked Cam and I admired him for not being 
 thrown off by the skittish mare as I had been; and, 
 indeed, I still admire him as much for the riding he 
 did that day as for being king of seventeen railroads. 
 Most people direct from Worcester, Massachusetts, 
 cannot stick on a cayuse as long as they can on a 
 banana peeling. Sarah Clarke waved her hand at 
 me as she went and smiled and that hurt me back in- 
 side in my feelings some place so I laughed as hard 
 as I could. Which reminds me that a man's feelings 
 are located in his throat, at his eyes and around his 
 stomach. 
 
 As soon as they were gone I crawled in behind a 
 patch of service-berry bushes and lay down on the 
 ground and cried like a '* nigger " at a stranger's 
 funeral, and it was not on account of my fall but on 
 account of the kindness and gentleness I had experi- 
 enced at the hands of those strangers. I was not 
 used to such extravagant treatment even from peo- 
 ple I knew, and it prodded up my emotions until 
 they stampeded and got entirely beyond control. It 
 was like thirsty cattle going for water. 
 
 After about fifteen minutes I got my mind into the 
 saddle and sent it up to hit my emotions on the nose 
 and head them off. Pretty soon I had them going in 
 a circle, milling, as it were, and then they stopped and 
 I felt better. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, gave up 
 snaring squirrels for the day and went on a pasear 
 over town, favouring my neck a little, as it was stiff. 
 
 Washtucna had already commenced that spring to 
 accumulate inhabitants. The single dusty street had 
 
CAM CLARKE 35 
 
 recently been adorned with a new shack of a black- 
 smith shop where William Hoefner and his short, 
 stout, laughing German wife. Ana, shod horses and 
 set wagon tires. I mention the wife as a mechanic 
 because she could swing a sledge like a man and spill 
 water on a hot wagon tire with beautiful facility. 
 On occasions she, indeed, had triced up her skirts and 
 helped shoe a recalcitrant horse. She was a very 
 good-natured, fat woman, but she ruled her husband 
 with an iron hand, which everybody agreed was 
 proper. 
 
 I strolled up wnat Washtucna called " the street " 
 in the bright shining sunlight and found Cam and 
 his mother sitting on the wagon seat in the shade in 
 front of John Donnelly's store. My own brothers 
 and sisters were peeping around various corners look- 
 ing at them in timid curiosity. I have since read of 
 similar conduct on the part of Papuans and Javanese 
 on being visited by white travellers. Oh, they were 
 as wild as mountain sheep and I, for the first time 
 realising it, felt ashamed and bored by it all — as 
 though one ought ever to be ashamed of anything! 
 Besides these, no other persons were in sight. 
 
 I did not peep ; I disgustedly shied a clod of earth 
 at Larry and went up boldly alongside the Clarkes' 
 wagon and remarked conversationally that the mules 
 looked '* awfully poor," and I even tried to herd up 
 my family. But it would have been no more diffi- 
 cult to herd prairie chickens. I gave it up. 
 
 Cam, having considered my remark, admitted that 
 they looked poor. " But," said he, and he never 
 smiled, " of course you can't tell whether they really 
 are poor or not. You only see the outside of 'em 
 
36 CAM CLARKE 
 
 and It's hard to say how fat they are inside. Did 
 you ever see the inside of a mule? " 
 
 This piece of argument struck my admiration in 
 the bull's-eye. I did not know such a thing could be 
 done as to argue like that and I had never speculated 
 anyway as to what could be inside a mule. New 
 vistas opened up: a fellow need never admit any- 
 thing; what was inside a pig or a watch? I was 
 glad I was alive; here were new interests, which are 
 the best things one man imparts to another. Hence- 
 forth I should never have a dull moment. I could 
 go about wondering what was inside things. Cam 
 was a born imparter of interests. All his life he 
 electrified people by making them see for the first 
 time that they had a big toe or a thumbnail or that 
 water was fluid. And he always liked fancy, specu- 
 lation, argument and every possible healthy exercise 
 of the mind. 
 
 I have said that Cam liked argument, even as a 
 boy, and I may add that he carried his guns " ready 
 manned." You might as well try to sneak up on a 
 wild goose that was looking right at you as to try to 
 catch Cam napping. I used to make a business of 
 trying and I believe that at one time later in Cam's 
 life some hundreds of people were trying the same 
 thing. It did not work; nobody ever caught him 
 that I have heard of. I know I never did. 
 
 I had been about petrified with admiration by 
 Cam's speculative remark. But I gradually recov- 
 ered and while I wiggled my toes in the dust I 
 thought it over and reflected about mules on my own 
 account. Finally I raised my head and looked 
 around contemplatively myself, just as Cam would 
 
CAM CLARKE 37 
 
 have done. It must have been Saturday, for Wash- 
 tucna's hitching posts were fringed with dozing 
 cayuses carrying huge double-cinch saddles of the 
 Mexican type, but I could not see men any place. 
 Why was that? Donnelly's store was empty and 
 my father was not at his cobbler's bench by the dirty 
 window. This was extraordinary, for my father sel- 
 dom left his bench at that time of day. 
 
 "Where is everybody?" I asked, somewhat dis- 
 turbed for fear I was missing something. 
 
 Sarah Clarke answered me in rather an intent, im- 
 patient voice but with smiling eyes, and I listened and 
 took my first long look at her. She was dressed very 
 plainly in some dark cloth stuff such as Washtucna 
 seldom saw and I thought she was thin, very thin, in- 
 deed, and very delicate looking. I remember her 
 eyes better than anything. They came under a wide 
 brow and they were blue and gray mixed and I 
 thought they flickered like a fire, just as Cam's did, 
 and I remember that they had heavy, dark circles 
 under them. She was sitting with her elbows on her 
 knees and her chin In her hands, and when she 
 was not talking her eyes looked off at the dim dis- 
 tance. 
 
 " I don't know," she said, " but they seem to have 
 all gone into that saloon over there, the Washtucna 
 Rest," and she smiled and went on, with a puckered 
 brow, " I guess they deserve the rest but I wish Mr. 
 Warren would come out. He went in there ever so 
 long ago and others have filed in and filed in and 
 no one comes out — what's your name ? " 
 
 " Mart Campin," this from me. 
 
 ** Well, Mart, do you suppose he's all right? I 
 
38 • CAM CLARKE 
 
 don't like to interfere with people's habits and if it's 
 customary to spend a half day at the Washtucna Rest 
 I'm satisfied — well, he said to wait and we will if it's 
 a year." And she shrugged her shoulders and put 
 her strange eyes to looking at something about a 
 million miles away. 
 
 I saw at once that it would be impossible to sur- 
 prise Sarah Clarke, for she had learned to shrug her 
 shoulders. Any one who has ever seen an American 
 whose experience has taught him to make that ges- 
 ture knows that such people are prepared for every- 
 thing, a surprise has no chance. 
 
 I looked at her steadily for a long time, she quite 
 unconscious of my scrutiny, and I thought her very 
 beautiful with her wide, placid brow, her rich, thick 
 hair and her gray-blue flickering eyes. Yet she 
 looked desolate, as desolate as the wind-swept 
 Joseph's Plains. I told her she was " awful beauti- 
 ful." Again she shrugged her thin shoulders, but 
 she smiled a friendly smile. 
 
 Presently I had a flash of thought concerning Tom 
 Warren. 
 
 " You ain't hearn any talk of hangin', have you? " 
 I asked cautiously. 
 
 Sarah Clarke looked at me with a faint smile. 
 " No, I haven't. Why, no." 
 
 " Well," I replied, " a hangin' is the only thing I 
 ever saw make Washtucna act this way before. She 
 gets locoed same way before they hanged Sam Hop- 
 kins — I'm goin' in an' see. Don't want to miss 
 nothin'." 
 
 With that I dodged off and I saw over my shoul- 
 der enough of her expression to make me sure that 
 
CAM CLARKE 39 
 
 in Worcester, Massachusetts, people did not let small 
 boys go into drinking saloons to investigate hang- 
 ing bees, which shows how old-fashioned Worcester, 
 Massachusetts, was and in what refinement Mrs. 
 Clarke had been raised. 
 
 I went inside the " Rest " very quietly, in order to 
 minimize the danger of being ejected, which was 
 fairly large, for there were people around even 
 Washtucna who considered a saloon a bad place for 
 a boy. 
 
 Everybody in town that day was in the little dingy 
 shack of a saloon grouped around old Tom War- 
 ren, near the stud-poker table by the back door, and 
 all were smoking. Old Tom was talking in his jar- 
 gon of mixed technical languages. In the crowd 
 were all the most prominent people of the district, 
 Judge Rusher, Mr. Beauclerc, William Hoefner, 
 Jan Havland, Skookum Jones, John Donnelly, Jim 
 Hall, John Bradford and many others, but just who 
 I can not remember now. As Judge Rusher and 
 Mr. Beauclerc were respectively the leaders of the 
 Sinners and Saints factions, I was surprised to see 
 them and the followers of each of them all in one 
 room, evidently with a common object in view and 
 that apparently not the extinction of human life. 
 Indeed, people were rather friendly. Tom Warren 
 continued talking for some time, pausing frequently 
 to wipe his bleared eyes with a bandana handker- 
 chief. 
 
 " I tell you, gents," said Tom earnestly, " this 
 here is Washtucna's chance to get in the saddle a 
 live, clean, thoughtful and beautiful lady. Wash- 
 tucna needs a figgerhead, what you might call a mas- 
 
40 CAM CLARKE 
 
 cot or a regimental colours ; somethin' to rally around 
 and holler for. Here's this place now with no more 
 communal speerit than a dyin' snail and you sittin' 
 around Saturday nights smokin' and plannin' to shoot 
 each other up and drinkin' and talkin' of home an^ 
 wishin' you was at sea on a bamboo raft an' no water 
 Instead of here. And here's a railroad comin' down 
 on top of you with all sail set to royals and she's 
 comIn' like a herd of stampeded cattle. Are you 
 ready? You air not. You gotto cheer up and get 
 together and, gents, here's your chance. Make this 
 here town a credit to Itself. You can't join together 
 in thin air, you gotto have somethin' to work to, 
 somethin' to make fast a line, 's you might say. 
 Here's your chance and you gotto take it. A lady Is 
 cast up here right on our beach, as you might say; 
 and It's our privilege to welcome her at the gang- 
 way and get her good quarters here so she can stay 
 aboard and be a nucleus 'round which you can grow 
 a proper public speerit and afterwards calk it and 
 pay it and make it seaworthy and responsible. 
 
 " Now here ye air. Saints and Sinners, all divided 
 up Into hostile camps and hankerin' to steal each 
 other's cattle and bosses and to shoot each other up 
 and not carin' a damn about Washtucna's future. 
 Gents, I want you to help this lady the best we can." 
 
 *' Men," said Judge Rusher, who was small, round 
 bellied and red faced and with a close-cropped beard, 
 " men, I do not desire to seem aspersive as to the 
 band of criminals which under the hypocritical name 
 of Saints have heretofore several times tried to as- 
 sassinate me. Yet I am not afraid of them; I defy 
 and despise them. I would be aspersive if I wanted 
 
CAM CLARKE 41 
 
 to but I hoist Washtucna's flag higher than my own; 
 I hold my loyalty to her higher than hatred for 
 Saints before-mentioned. And I feel certain that I 
 speak with the tongue of every Sinner here when I an- 
 nounce my previous, antecedent and unchangeable 
 loyalty to Washtucna." 
 
 Mr. Beauclerc, who was the leader of the opposi- 
 tion party, was tall, bony, large shouldered, thin 
 lipped and pale coloured and had a stoop. He said 
 in a solemn, gloomy voice, rolling his eyes around 
 the room, that, as far as he was concerned, he would 
 disregard his quarrel with these pestering horse-flies 
 of black legs, which had late bothered him a little, 
 same being styled Sinners by some people ; but as for 
 himself he never called them Sinners, as were we not 
 all sinners in the solemn eyes of God? All differ- 
 ences with the before-mentioned parties he would 
 overlook when they prejudiced Washtuchna's inter- 
 ests or this lady he was being told of. 
 
 The remarks of Judge Rusher and Mr. Beau- 
 clerc had at various stages moved people stealthily to 
 feel for their revolvers, not with any intention of us- 
 ing them, but as a prudent precaution. Their total 
 effect, however, was soothing. 
 
 Immediately afterwards, almost interrupting Mr. 
 Beauclerc, indeed, Mr. Skookum Jones, a wee, 
 wizened old man in a shabby high silk stove-pipe hat, 
 a long Prince Albert coat, shiny with wear, white 
 whiskers, high-heeled, dusty boots and a flannel 
 shirt, raised his squeaky and piercing voice In a sharp 
 ** ahem ! " and then blew a loud blast on his huge 
 red nose. Everybody listened. Mr. Jones was a 
 non-partizan. People laughed at him and loved 
 
42 GAM CLARKE 
 
 him; the laugh, however, was never to his face as he 
 was as bellicose as a hornet. 
 
 " Gents," said he, placing two fingers between the 
 top buttons of his waistcoat, " gents, I'm a heap im- 
 pressed by these sentiments that Tom has been spout- 
 ing off. They're all right. I'm for keeping this 
 lady on Washtucna flats if it can be done: we need 
 her. For when the railroad comes in I'm op- 
 posed to having 'em calls us a race of savages onused 
 to the usages of society and politeness. I have in 
 my younger days," and here the old man's voice soft- 
 ened and he squinted reminiscently, " associated con- 
 siderably with some of the aristocracy of this coun- 
 try, of which I judge this lady is a member, and they 
 were peculiar. But " — and he recovered himself 
 sharply — *' how are we going to persuade this lady to 
 stay; we have not milliner shops, we have not dress- 
 makers nor lingery stores ; what have we ? I do not 
 know the lady, having merely seen her, but I esteem 
 her and admire her appearance considerable. Now 
 perhaps she's matrimonially inclined, in which case, 
 though I have no desire to accumulate entangling al- 
 liances, I might note," — and here Mr. Jones's hands 
 trembled and his fingers tattooed the top of the stud- 
 poker table — " I might note that I own three thou- 
 sand acres of land and that I keep a Chinese cook, 
 same being well liked by Easterners, though from 
 time to time the boys do try to pot him, not liking 
 cheap labour. Also that I'm willing to do what I can 
 for this community in this way, as well as others, and 
 that I admire the lady considerable and, if it's de- 
 sired, matrimonial negotiations could be opened on 
 my behalf. I have looked at the lady and I admire 
 
CAM CLARKE 43 
 
 her a heap. She's the same breed as the high class 
 people I knew when I was a young man." 
 
 Mr. Skookum Jones again blew his nose loudly 
 and sat down. 
 
 A subterranean smile went around the table but 
 no face lost its external gravity of appearance. It 
 was well known that Mr. Jones had considered him- 
 self for years a great prize in the matrimonial market 
 and his willingness at last for the sacrifice was hu- 
 morous as well as touching. Evidently Mr. Jones 
 was earnest for he trembled like a leaf. 
 
 Mr. Pete Barker, the gambler, and Bob Dalton, 
 a young rancher, stepped to the front window and 
 looked out at Sarah Clarke over the soap-whited 
 portion of the glass. I looked out too. 
 
 Sarah Clarke was sitting on a cracker box in front 
 of Donnelly's store, elbows on knees, chin in hand, 
 looking off at nowhere, while Cam, with his red head 
 thoughtfully drooped, was tickling the nigh mule in 
 the flank with a willow wand and with actually a 
 spiritual expression on his face was waiting for the 
 mule to kick. 
 
 It was easy for even Mr. Barker and Mr. Dalton 
 to see that Sarah Clarke was different from the peo- 
 ple of the Palouse Country. She was slender and 
 straight backed and as proud looking as an Arabian 
 mare and the marks of breeding and breed were on 
 her face and showed in her carriage. 
 
 Mr. John Bradford, a stranger who had for a 
 month been a steady guest at the Tennessee Restau- 
 rant and Hotel, came over to join them. Mr. Brad- 
 ford was as different from the other men in that lit- 
 tle bar-room as was Sarah Clarke from the women 
 
44 CAM CLARKE 
 
 of the Palouse. He was well-groomed and, al- 
 though extremely taciturn, he was always cordial and 
 polite. Also, he was dressed, though modestly, in 
 the top of the London styles. Until this time he 
 still was considered by Washtucnans a mysterious 
 figure, for he had thus far not vouchsafed the in- 
 formation, which later went the rounds, that he was 
 a young man of fortune from Vermont who had shot 
 a neighbour in a quarrel over cards. If Washtucna 
 ^ had known this she would have embraced him, for 
 she understood very well how such things happen and 
 she could have sympathised with him. But being in 
 ignorance, she doubted Mr. Bradford, although 
 these doubts were not ever mentioned to him ; on ac- 
 count, I believe, of a look in his eyes at certain times 
 which was aptly described later by Mr. Boylston, a 
 Boston gentleman exiled from his family on account 
 of his unusual habits, as a " no trespassing sign." 
 Mr. Bradford in solitary grimness had stayed at the 
 Tennessee Hotel, had gone shooting, had bought a 
 small amount of land for cash and had bothered no- 
 body. People said he was a capitalist, but this was 
 no explanation, for, like Tom Warren, no one in 
 Washtucna had hitherto been shipmates with a capi- 
 talist. Always he had worn London clothes and 
 smoked a bulldog pipe. Joining Bob Dalton and 
 Mr. Pete Barker at the windows of Jan Havland's 
 saloon was his first act that showed any interest what- 
 soever in the civic affairs of Washtucna. He gazed 
 one long searching look, then his eyes shifted and 
 met first those of Mr. Dalton, then those of Mr. 
 Barker. There was no difference of opinion amongst 
 them. They were unanimous, so they strolled non- 
 
CAM CLARKE 45 
 
 chalantly back to the crowd around the poker table, 
 where sat poor Skookum Jones in faded finery and 
 dignity. 
 
 The self-appointed committee was about to report 
 on the proposal of Mr. Skookum Jones. It was a 
 joke, yet almost every person there would have pre- 
 ferred to omit that particular joke. Skookum Jones 
 was such a likable little old man, so generous, so 
 kindly. Had he not ridden twenty miles in snow to 
 people's weddings and deaths, lent people money and 
 given them confectionery and blankets? He had 
 played trained nurse and soldier. Moreover, he was 
 sensitive and irritable. But it was all too much to 
 think of. Mr. William Hoefner, the smith, wiped 
 his sooty brow on a red handkerchief, the while he 
 was Uebering Gott, or some such thing. The com- 
 mittee sat down and I went from the door to the 
 poker-table to hear what was said, but before I went, 
 I " cuist a look ahint me," hoping to see Cam's mule 
 kick at him. I was rewarded, but it kicked the roan 
 pony tied alongside it, and broke two of its ribs and 
 never touched Cam. 
 
 When I arrived at the edges of the crowd, I heard 
 Mr. Pete Barker's voice raised in mild expostulation. 
 
 " I declare, Skookum," I heard him say, " I de- 
 clare, I don't believe," and here he crossed his legs 
 carefully and twirled the big diamond ring on his 
 finger, ** I don't believe that marriage is just the 
 thing for that woman at this time. She's just 
 widowed. You better sort of put a brake on this 
 marital business for a while, Skookum. Wait until 
 she's used to the range. Anyway, an old long-horn 
 like you don't want to marry into the short-horns. 
 
46 CAM CLARKE 
 
 You all are different folks. I'm of the opinion, sir, 
 that this ain't just the thing — you see, Skookum, the 
 fact is — " 
 
 And then I felt the wind swish by me and Sarah 
 Clarke herself came sweeping into that dirty little 
 frontier drinking saloon. Every man stood up. 
 Sarah Clarke was very pale and calm and beautiful. 
 She looked neither right nor left but demurely 
 walked across the sawdust sprinkled floor and sat 
 down. 
 
 " I wish you would all sit down, gentlemen," she 
 said in a low, calm voice. There was a scraping of 
 chairs and most of the men sat down awkwardly. 
 She looked around them inquiringly, man by man, eye 
 to eye. Some wiggled and squirmed, others were 
 placid and patient. Mr. John Bradford was in the 
 far corner leaning against the wall. Mr. Skookum 
 Jones's fingers were trembling. I wanted to cry. 
 
 " I may be mistaken," she said hesitatingly and in 
 some embarrassment, and her eyes did what I have 
 called a flickering movement — I wonder what it 
 really was that happened in them. " I may be mis- 
 taken, but I fancied that you were talking about my 
 affairs — if I have presumed — " and she made a 
 gesture as If to go, but a dozen voices protested and 
 reassured her. That part being settled, she quietly 
 looked them around again and placidly clasped her 
 hands. 
 
 " I suppose," said she In her warm, low-pitched 
 voice, which yet was intense, *' I suppose that you 
 have been generous enough to wonder this last half 
 hour what you could do for me and I am very grate- 
 ful to you for all that if it is so — and I think it is — " 
 
CAM CLARKE 47 
 
 and she looked a question to which every one re- 
 sponded, " Sure, sure," and, " Yes." She went on, 
 " and I've been wondering, as I sat on that old 
 cracker box out there, what I could do and what you 
 could do even if you wanted to be kind. I will tell 
 you how things are. My husband died out near Mr. 
 Warren's; I am poor: in fact, I have nothing in the 
 world that isn't tied to those hitching posts out there, 
 which is to say, two mules, a wagon and a camp out- 
 fit; and I'm not very strong. But I want to stay out 
 here and I want to work and I still can work. All 
 you can do, you see, is to get me some kind of work 
 I am able to do and to let me sell that big wagon and 
 the bony old mules " — and she smiled — " and just 
 to live on. I suppose I must get a cabin somehow," 
 this wistfully, " but in the meantime I can camp. I 
 could go home if I had a home, but I haven't one and 
 I don't want to go any place ; I want to stay here and 
 I want Cam to stay — do you suppose — is there any 
 sewing needing to be done — or any children to be 
 taught things — like music and lessons and things, 
 or—" 
 
 " Madam," said Judge Rusher heartily, " Wash- 
 tucna is delighted at your prejudices and preferences 
 in its favour as a residence and, as for sewing, there 
 ain't hardly anything in the Palouse Country that 
 doesn't need some sewing; done on it; and, as for 
 the children, they don't know anything, they need 
 to be taught everything, their ignorance is disgrace- 
 ful. Madam, you're all fixed as far as that is con- 
 cerned." 
 
 '* By chiminy! " interrupted the little blacksmith, 
 William Hoefner, " and there's gettin' more clothes 
 
48 CAM CLARKE 
 
 unt more little vuns efery day — dere ain't no dan- 
 dier of bein' mitout a chob; no, sir, dere ain't 
 nothin' of dat kint; yes, sir! " 
 
 " Do you suppose there really is a need for the 
 work I mentioned?" asked Mrs. Clarke, rather 
 anxiously glancing from face to face, somewhat re- 
 assured, but embarrassed lest fate be hoaxing her. 
 
 Chair legs scraped enthusiastically in answer to 
 this query and several bass voices said, " Sure," 
 " Sartin," and, " Of course there is," from which it 
 was evident that Washtucna intended to continue to 
 produce untaught children and undone mending in 
 whatever quantity was desired. 
 
 " Madam," said Mr. Pete Barker gravely, 
 " you'd be astonished if you had any idea of the 
 amount of sewing and instruction this district needs. 
 My friend. Judge Rusher, underestimates it." 
 
 "Why, yes," said Mr. Bob Dalton genially, 
 " why, yes, madam, you would positively weep if 
 you could see the disastrous condition of the ward- 
 robes hereabouts and all for the lack of the stitch 
 in time that saves nine, and the shamefully unin- 
 structed condition of the children. It's a fright! 
 Madam, your forchun is made if you can sew things. 
 Only this mornin' as I was sewin' on a button I stabs 
 my finger a heap and to avoid such pain and morti- 
 fication Fd gladly pay any sum. You have no idea 
 how I rejoice to be spared sech bother." 
 
 " As for the mules of this lady," said Mr. Beau- 
 clerc, speaking crisply, biting off the end of a long, 
 black cigar and teetering his body on his toes and 
 positively rattling a chair on the floor in his good 
 spirits, an amount of enthusiasm never before shown 
 
CAM CLARKE 49 
 
 by him on any occasion, " as for the mules, I recom- 
 mend an auction and, if it's convenient to the lady, 
 I move that it be held to-night at six P. M. in front 
 of the post-office. Which it's fortunate that this 
 country is shy in mules," and here that dignified and 
 super-respectable gentleman winked. 
 
 Mrs. Clarke signified her approval and a chorus 
 of voices agreed and applauded. 
 
 " In which case," went on Mr. Beauclerc, ** I 
 nominate Mr. Skookum Jones of Steptoe Butte to 
 be auctioneer, he being a neutral, neither Saint nor 
 Sinner, and a man of faith and good voice, and also 
 Mr. John Bradford as money holder, he being like- 
 wise neutral and reliable, as I take it, though a 
 stranger." 
 
 "Good," "All right," "Sure," "Sure it^s 
 Skookum and Bradford," said the voices. 
 
 " Gents," said Mr. Skookum Jones's sharp voice 
 deliberately, and he shoved his plug hat back on 
 his head, rose, knocked the dust off his trouser leg 
 with his quirt and took a chew of tobacco, " which 
 I accept with plaisure any opportunity to serve Mrs. 
 Clarke. She's to be understood, however, that 
 money'U be the only weapon in the crowd. This 
 ain't to be a battle. Saints and Sinners having mor- 
 tal antipathies can put 'em to rest by out-bidding 
 each other, the scalps being figurative and repre- 
 sented by goods and chattels purchased. And this 
 here sale has got to be advertised and, as it is al- 
 ready late, I delegate everybody here to see that 
 there ain't any person within nine miles absent from 
 this sale which absence ought not to be allowed. 
 
 " And now," he went on, " while the rest of you 
 
50 CAM CLARKE 
 
 all are employed in advertising this sale, Mr. Bob 
 Dalton and I and Tom Warren will make camp for 
 the lady down near the creek and likewise Mr. Brad- 
 ford will list things up." 
 
 The hospitality of several houses, " such as they 
 are,'' was immediately offered to Mrs. Clarke, but 
 she, with thanks, expressed a preference for camping 
 out. 
 
 " In which case," said Mr. Jones, '' I'll lead the 
 lady out, as, with profuse apology to Mr. Havland, 
 I reckon Mrs. Clarke is somewhat tiring of standing 
 around in a rum shop. Gents, au revolver! '' 
 
 Mr. Havland accepted the apology and Mrs. 
 Clarke moved out on the thin arm which Mr. 
 Skookum Jones gallantly offered to her. In glory 
 and perspiration the meeting broke up, but I judge 
 that business at the bar was afterwards very brisk 
 in the few moments that preceded the sending out of 
 the advertising parties. 
 
 I helped to make the camp and each particular 
 detail was attended to by each of the three men with 
 such meticulous care that it was time for the sale 
 when the thing was finished. But it was a good 
 camp: it would have stood a West India hurricane 
 or the rigors of an arctic winter. In the meantime 
 Mr. John Bradford spent three hours in listing a 
 small number of articles for sale, but I suppose he 
 would have taken as much time had there been but 
 one article. 
 
 The sale was planned and executed with remark- 
 able speed and success. My judgment at that time 
 was in some respects immature, as all sums above 
 twenty-five cents were to me entirely incomprehen- 
 
CAM CLARKE 51 
 
 sible, and I give no opinion as to the prices realised. 
 But from what I heard afterwards I judge that they 
 were reasonably high and that each article was the 
 subject of the most spirited bidding. Mr. John 
 Bradford, in particular, purchased by the weight of 
 superior wealth a number of articles for which he 
 had no possible use. In this he was closely seconded 
 by Mr. Skookum Jones, who, though auctioneer, re- 
 served the privilege of bidding where he listed. 
 
 At any rate, at about eight o'clock, as Cam and I 
 were poking the camp fire, Mr. Skookum Jones rode 
 in on his pinto cayuse, threw his reins on the ground 
 and came in amongst us with a bundle of coins made 
 up in an elaborately flowered, clean silk handkerchief. 
 Mr. John Bradford was with him. Skookum silently 
 presented this bundle to Mrs. Clarke with as low a 
 bow as the squeaky hinges of his back would permit 
 and while she opened it with an eagerness creditable 
 to a lone woman with a child to support, he and John 
 Bradford backed up to the fire as men like to do. I 
 remember that with the smoke and sparks circling up 
 behind them they made a fantastic picture there on 
 the prairie, what with Mr. Skookum Jones's long 
 coat and high, square topped hat and Mr. Bradford's 
 turned up trousers and faultless cravat. 
 
 Mrs. Clarke gave a little exclamation of surprise 
 when the pile of coins was revealed to her. 
 
 " It could not have been so much," she protested. 
 " It is five times too much." 
 
 " The boys was fairly appreciative of the articles, 
 ma'm," said Skookum jauntily and mendaciously. 
 ** I refer in particular to the live stock. You see 
 Judge Rusher and Mr. Beauclerc were just deter- 
 
52 CAM CLARKE 
 
 mined to have 'em. And others needed things, 
 too/' 
 
 " It Is much more than the things cost. I expected 
 to get almost nothing," said Mrs. Clarke uneasily. 
 
 *' It's a good market here," said Mr. Bradford 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " You got 'em cheap, too," said Skookum firmly, 
 lighting a cigar, " and of course you make a little on 
 'em. I never saw sech a pop'lar pair of mules In 
 my life. I got one myself; took her away from 
 Rusher and Beauclerc and Bradford, here. She'll 
 make a fine animal when she's fat, best In the Palouse, 
 I guess. Oh, mules are good property. Yes — sir; 
 just thrive on bunch grass, yes'm." 
 
 "Was that the deformed one?" asked Mrs. 
 Clarke quickly. 
 
 " Deformed ? — not much ! Just bench-legged, a 
 sure sign of strength, ma'm. Bradford, here, wanted 
 her, too. Anybody would." 
 
 Mrs. Clarke made a queer face of acceptance and, 
 I think, was half ready to cry. Old Skookum evi- 
 dently thought so too. He flung himself onto his 
 pinto cayuse, chirruped to him and our good-nights 
 could scarcely have overtaken him, so fast he went. 
 Mr. Bradford said good-night very formally and 
 also left promptly. 
 
 We sat by the fire for a long time, the stars came 
 brighter and brighter and Sarah Clarke talked. She 
 told me about New York and Boston and theatres 
 and paved streets and all this time the coyotes were 
 howling on the hills. I did not believe Boston and 
 New York really existed, still It was entertaining to 
 hear yarns of them. Could the Palouse Country and 
 
CAM CLARKE 53 
 
 great cities be on the same earth or in the same life? 
 It seemed highly improbable. But I did not care. 
 I liked the Palouse Country. But if there were such 
 places I would take a week off when I was grown and 
 go look at them. 
 
 Going home in the bright starlight I looked over 
 my shoulder often and all the way saw Cam and 
 Sarah Clarke sitting motionless by the dying camp 
 fire. They were strange ; every one else would have 
 gone directly to bed, dead with fatigue. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 TWO days later in the forenoon my old friend 
 Mr. " Gunnysack " Charlie Williams came 
 trailing down the stage road behind his pack 
 burro, Mary, while ahead of Mary was the bob- 
 tailed, brindle dog Bob, with his tongue hanging out 
 a foot, as it was a hot day. And metaphorically 
 speaking Gunnysack Charlie's tongue was hanging 
 out too, for he had not had a drink of hard liquor in 
 months. 
 
 Cam and I saw the procession coming down the 
 gulch when it was a mile away. I recognised it at a 
 glance, for I had seen Gunnysack late in the autumn 
 before when we first came to Washtucna and no one 
 else ever had an outfit like his or travelled as he did. 
 His frying pan was polished so bright that it shone 
 like a mirror and every buckle and fastening was pol- 
 ished also. But Gunnysack was, as usual, clad in old 
 rags patched with burlap. This was an affectation of 
 his. He was as careful in choosing his rags as John 
 Bradford was in choosing his London clothes and, to 
 admit the truth, they were as becoming. I have some 
 doubt, however, as to whether Gunnysack Charlie is 
 normal mentally — or rather I have no doubt that 
 he is abnormal — although if I did not feel confident 
 that he would never read this book I should not write 
 thus freely of him. 
 
 Gunnysack Williams was already rather a friend of 
 mine. He had liked me on sight, perhaps because my 
 
 54 
 
CAM CLARKE 55 
 
 clothes were not so dissimilar to his. I had told Cam 
 about him, so we strolled out to meet him. He was in 
 no wise changed since our last encounter except that 
 he looked elated. He was garbed up from the rag 
 bag but he was scrupulously clean and he was even 
 neatly and freshly shaven. His elation was bubbling 
 over, he was radiant with smiles and he was charmed 
 and delighted to see us. 
 
 *' I'm real glad to see you, Mr. Gunnysack,'' I said, 
 shaking hands with him. I said " Mister " because 
 I knew he liked titles. " YouVe been away a good 
 while too, Mr. Gunnysack, and Washtucna has 
 changed a lot. There are lots of new people and 
 this here is Cam Clarke, who's a tenderfoot here 
 himself, and him and me are goin' into the cow busi- 
 ness when we get grown up, and we mostly bum 
 around together." 
 
 Cam and Mr. Gunnysack solemnly shook hands 
 while Mary ate a sun-flower top and Bob wiped him- 
 self all over my legs, which was his way of showing 
 friendship. Also he licked me with his big tongue. 
 
 " Whisth, ye young divils," said Mr. Gunnysack, 
 " I'd have ye know I've been up amangst the snow on 
 the Sivin Divils prospectin' for gold, an' me all alone, 
 too ; and I give ye me word that it's a pleasure to see 
 ye. Cam, me bhoy, this town Washtucna must av in- 
 flated itself twinty-five percint since ye adopted it f'r 
 a home, I can tell by the spread av the houses — 
 now go on, Mary, ye she divil, ye I don't be afther 
 atin' all the sun-flowers in the Palouse I Will ye go 
 on thin — ye. Bob, ye I have ye no manners wipin' 
 yersilf on the young min that way? Lave be I And 
 washin' him wid yer tongue like as if he was a tin 
 
S6 CAM CLARKE 
 
 plate with bacon on it. Have ye no manners at all, 
 at all?" 
 
 " What are the Seven Devils? " asked Cam inter- 
 estedly. 
 
 " Brawlin', noisy streams, me son; lovely, sor, but 
 freezin' cold and with the mountains risin' straight 
 up." 
 
 "Did you find gold, Mr. Gunnysack? " asked Cam 
 eagerly, his eyes snapping. 
 
 Gunnysack looked at Cam cautiously, then he 
 smiled and winked at me and at Bob and at Mary 
 and at the prairie. He had evidently made up his 
 mind to be canny. 
 
 " Wudye hear the bhoy. Mart? " he said, address- 
 ing me. " Wud ye but hear him? He asks if I 
 found it. Phwat may his name be afther bein', did 
 ye say? The young divil, and ye wud be afther 
 startin' a gold sthampede t'morry, I s'pose, or stealin' 
 me claim. Oh, ye divils of childers ! " and he 
 laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 " Oh, I'm Cam Clarke," said Cam softly, *' and 
 Mart and I are interested in gold, ever so much." 
 
 And then he and old Gunnysack had a serious con- 
 versation on the subject of gold. Gunnysack talked 
 to Cam as though he were an equal in age and ex- 
 perience, which he never does to me to this day. 
 This was a characteristic transaction for Cam: that 
 is why I mention it at length. He could impress 
 people. He had personality beyond any one I ever 
 saw. What his intelligence is, every one knows. 
 
 "And so youVe Cam Clarke, are ye?" said 
 Gunnysack softly, in a voice such as he would have 
 used if he were accusing him of being Buffalo Bill or 
 
CAM CLARKE 57 
 
 Abraham Lincoln or some other person in history. 
 There may have been mockery in the remark but it 
 did not show. Under such circumstances I should 
 have wiggled and run away, but Cam did not; any- 
 thing that came along seemed entirely natural to him. 
 
 " Did you say you found gold? " asked Cam again, 
 looking at Mary very carefully and even stooping 
 his red head to look at her tiny feet. " Did you 
 ever find gold any place, Mr. Gunnysack? " This 
 was insulting. 
 
 Mr. Gunnysack smiled shrewdly again, filled his 
 pipe and told Mary to hurry along. " Are ye not 
 aware yet, me friend, from Mart here," he protested 
 gently, " that I'm half owner of the Gintle Annie and 
 the Bull-dog? Yis, sor, I came over the mountains 
 with Mullin in Fifty-nine. And was it for nothin' ? 
 Was not Cayuse Jimmy me partner? Oh, I have 
 gold stored in places ye'd niver expect — but, ye 
 young divil, I'll not inform ye where, not I. And ye 
 may put that in yer pipe and smoke it. Ye'd turn 
 claim jumper and 'tis not a gintle profession. I'd 
 niver forgive mesilf — niver — but look ! " and he 
 unswathed three small nuggets and allowed us to 
 look at them. 
 
 By this time we had arrived at the hitching rack 
 in front of Donnelly's store. When we tied up, Mr. 
 Donnelly came out of the store and cast his cork- 
 screw eye contemplatively over Mr. Gunnysack. 
 
 " You are back again," he said languidly, *' and 
 still wearing them weeds of poverty. 'God sake, 
 Gunnysack, come in and I'll give you some store 
 clothes. I get so sick of you ; every summer same, 
 only worse." 
 
58 €AM CLARKE 
 
 " Ye may go to hell,'* said Gunnysack firmly, and 
 I dodged behind the burro thinking there would be a 
 fight with guns. But Cam never moved, which 
 events proved was good enough policy. 
 
 " Will ye be afther sellin' me some sugar for me 
 mule?" asked Gunnysack belligerently, " 'r has yer 
 sthore got any? It never has nothin' as I remember 
 it — and yet, have I iver been in it ? I don't re- 
 mimber for sure." 
 
 " I will not sell to you," said Mr. Donnelly lan- 
 guidly, in his tired voice, at the same time holding to 
 Mary some brown* sugar in his hand. As Mary 
 swept it up with her lips, he reiterated, " I will not 
 sell to you. You are a cruel master of beasts to take 
 her so far fr'm a grocery store and up to the ever- 
 lastin' snow on the Seven Devils. I'll feed her my- 
 self, as her master cain't take care of her. I suppose 
 you got nothin' up there either 'cept more patches and 
 an appetite. I suppose — " 
 
 " I repeat it, ye may go to hell, Mr. Donnelly," 
 insisted Gunnysack doggedly. " Mart, is me friend 
 Jan Havland still displnsin' dew drops to the com- 
 munity? Which Is to say, is his grog dive still 
 open? " 
 
 " He is," said Mr. Donnelly, answering tiredly 
 and pulling his long moustache and rolling his eye. 
 '* And we'll go right in and lift one in together, 
 Charlie, as I'm anxious to hear how you've avoided 
 starving for another year. Your efforts being so 
 futile, as I might say." And he took Mr. Gunnysack 
 by the arm and led him into the Washtucna Rest 
 where we heard them still apparently quarrelling. 
 
 I came out from behind Mary, the burro. Cam 
 
CAM CLARKE 59 
 
 was sitting at some few feet distance tickling Mary 
 in the flank with a thin stick, which, as I afterwards 
 learned, was his favourite way of making acquaint- 
 ance with horse and mule animals of all sorts. If 
 they were any good they would eventually kick, but 
 if they kicked too soon they were mean. Mary pres- 
 ently kicked and Cam was satisfied. He thought she 
 was about right for a mule. 
 
 '* Warn't ye afraid they'd fight? " I asked of Cam 
 afterwards. 
 
 " Shuh," said Cam assuredly, " they wouldn't 
 fight. I bet they have been abusin' each other for- 
 ever that way. I bet they are old friends. They 
 do it for fun." 
 
 Afterwards I learned that Cam was right. I 
 heard them say, indeed, that they used to know each 
 other down in Yreka Flat, California, when they 
 were young men. But every boy could not have 
 guessed that they were old friends; it took Cam. 
 
 I said, " Cam, how did you know? " 
 
 He only answered, *' Shuh, can't you tell a jack 
 knife from a sheet o' paper? " 
 
 I said I could; and that was all the answer I got. 
 That was the way he always answered questions. 
 Such answers make you tired at first but as you re- 
 member them longer than any other kind I suppose 
 they are good answers. And if you made a whole 
 lot of them you'd be Cam Clarke. 
 
 That morning Bob Dalton, Pete Barker and 
 Frenchy Clemens were in town, as I could tell very 
 easily by the ponies at the hitching rack, for I knew 
 about every saddle in the Palouse Country, though 
 not all the ponies, which were without number. A 
 
6o CAM CLARKE 
 
 little while after Gunnysack and Donnelly went Into 
 the Rest, I heard them jabbering around and talking 
 and talking with Dalton, Barker and Clemens and I 
 wondered what they were planning, for they evi- 
 dently were not quarrelling. 
 
 I said presently, " Come on. Cam, le's go see ! I 
 can't have anything go on around here and me not 
 know what it is. Le's go into Jan Havland's an' 
 listen!" 
 
 But apparently Cam was thinking of something 
 important, for I could not get even an answer out of 
 him. Consequently I sneaked away alone, and as I 
 looked back I saw that Cam had not noticed my de- 
 parture at all. He was a strange boy, I thought, 
 but always faking more or less. I could not under- 
 stand him. 
 
 When I got into the Rest to see what they were 
 really talking about, the first thing I heard was 
 Gunnysack's voice. He was talking with great en- 
 thusiasm of building a house for Sarah Clarke, of 
 whom he had evidently been informed In great detail 
 by the other Washtucna gentlemen present. This, 
 he said, would be his contribution as he had missed 
 the sale. 
 
 " But where the divil shall we come at the lumber? 
 Me virtue is as Impatient as it is sympathetic and I'm 
 wantin' to start at wanct. I'll not wait till they haul 
 it fr'm Bricker's ; no sor, I will not." 
 
 " If you gents want to do that," said I, carelessly 
 sauntering up, " why. If you really want to, what you 
 can do Is to hog up that load of lumber left by Mr. 
 Ford when he died after bein' shot by Aleck Stout 
 that time, which you'll remember, as It's left down by 
 
CAM CLARKE 6i 
 
 the ford of Day's Creek, just where he threw it off 
 the wagon when his team got stuck." 
 
 Mr. Pete Barker turned around and looked down 
 for the source of this small voice that was volunteer- 
 ing the advice. When he saw it was I, he grinned 
 good-naturedly. *' I declare," said he sweetly, but 
 ironically, " how is it you and your dad haven't 
 pinched that lumber for wood? It looks to me as 
 though the Irish folks in this district are getting more 
 and more shiftless. It's awful, so it is. They are 
 the most shiftless people there are, and hoUerin' for 
 wood, too. You sure overlooked a bet, sonny." 
 
 I replied to irony with irony, which any Irish boy 
 can do as soon as he can talk. " You know your- 
 self, Mr. Barker," I said, " that takin' things like 
 that is stealin', an' I don't see how you can talk about 
 'em that way or make sech mean remarks about 
 my pa." 
 
 Mr. Gunnysack Charlie looked at me puzzledly 
 and scratched his head. He knew I had stolen 
 watermelons in Iowa, for I had told him so. He did 
 not understand my talk now, but he bravely winked 
 at me, as much as saying, '* Trust me ; I'll never tell 
 on you." 
 
 " This saloon resort," said Gunnysack with a 
 start, coming to a sense of duty, " ain't no place for 
 childers, so she isn't." 
 
 " Sure it ain't," agreed Mr. Pete Barker, lifting 
 me by the scruff of the neck and the patched seat of 
 my trousers, " sure it ain't," and he carried me to the 
 door and set me down gently outside it. '' Now run 
 on. Mart," he jeered softly, " and if we want any 
 more help we'll send for you.'* 
 
62 CAM CLARKE 
 
 I stepped away, then turned around and cursed 
 him, as that, at that time, was my idea of the way a 
 spirited boy should act. Cam would have known 
 better. Mr. Barker only grinned and closed the 
 door. I am not sure but that he thought my retort 
 clever. Of course he was mistaken. A boy gets 
 much misinformation about different things but more 
 about manners than about anything else. 
 
 I went away without any hard feelings whatever 
 and sneaked up and kicked Cam in the ribs and told 
 him to cheer up because the citizens of Washtucna 
 were going to build him and Sarah Clarke a palace. 
 
 Cam was trying to catch a butterfly with a steel 
 trap made for coyotes. He had borrowed it from 
 Mary's pack without Gunnysack Charlie's consent. 
 I did not think that it was well designed for butterfly 
 work but Cam said it would do and then he punched 
 me for kicking him and called me a liar for saying 
 that Washtucna would build him and his mother a 
 palace. As a result we had a fight which lasted for 
 a long while and I got pretty well licked. After that 
 we made up and we did not have to fight each other 
 again for months. That was out of our systems. 
 
 The idea of a house for Sarah Clarke did not go 
 from Gunnysack Charlie's mind. He kept busy. 
 He gathered a crowd around him and he had, by the 
 time Cam and I were free from fighting each other, 
 got aboard tremendous loads of rum, energy and 
 enthusiasm and such other stuff as makes you talk of 
 building things. But he still seemed pretty sober 
 and he went around and made everybody in Wash- 
 tucna that day say that he also wanted to build Sarah 
 Clarke a house. And, indeed, all of them did. 
 
CAM CLARKE 63 
 
 They had not any of them become staled on the 
 pleasure of simultaneously doing a pretty woman and 
 their town a service. . 
 
 Of Gunnysack's converts Mr. Pete Barker and 
 Mr. Bob Dalton were excessively enthusiastic and 
 they were practical. They went to work at once. 
 Now Mr. Pete Barker was undoubtedly the most 
 elegant gambler in the Palouse Country but he never- 
 theless stripped down to a boiled shirt. Then he 
 and Bob Dalton and Gunnysack impressed a teamster 
 who was hauling flour to Colfax but who had stopped 
 for a drink in Washtucna. They gave him several 
 additional drinks, whereupon he became interested 
 in building operations himself. They unloaded his 
 flour and made him haul lumber from the pile of the 
 late lamented Mr. Ford down near the creek, which 
 the teamster said he was glad to do. At this point 
 Mr. John Bradford took off his English coat, rolled 
 up the sleeves of his monogrammed shirt and heart- 
 ily turned to. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon other men took the 
 contagion. And still, as the word spread, others and 
 others came until there were more than fifty men at 
 work. And every man who came stayed. Public 
 opinion on that point was inexorable. 
 
 At first no one knew where or what to build but 
 presently Judge Rusher donated a plot of ground in 
 the heart of town. The variety of house was easier 
 yet. They made it like all the rest of the houses in 
 the Palouse Country and if any one doubted that it 
 was beautiful, he omitted to say so. I, of late years, 
 have had such doubts, but it serves me right for ever 
 travelling in Italy. Of the utility of the model and 
 
64 C^M CLARKE 
 
 of the ease of throwing it together there could be no 
 possible question. It was to have four rooms and a 
 little porch. Mr. Skookum Jones held out for some- 
 thing more pretentious but was voted down. 
 
 They made a fearful racket with their hammers 
 and saws and they looked as busy as though they were 
 building a gallows for a horse thief; and, indeed, a 
 hanging would not have excited more enthusiasm. 
 They were really busy. Of the whole force only 
 McGrath stole away jfrom work to Jan Havland's 
 saloon. The rest worked and continued to work. 
 They would have " handed " Whitey some substan- 
 tial mark of disapproval but they were too busy. 
 Saints and Sinners, people who had threatened to kill 
 each other, old friends and old enemies, tottering 
 Skookum Jones and the Amazon Mrs. Hoefner, all 
 working side by side and sweating. And they 
 worked efficiently in their rough way, for they were 
 people used to doing anything from frying an egg to 
 performing a rude operation in surgery. Of them 
 all no man worked harder than Mr. John Bradford, 
 who soon had blisters on parts of his hands which 
 he had never before known to be in existence. 
 
 Jokes went around, also serious remarks. I be- 
 lieve it was generally admitted that Mrs. Hoefner 
 was the best mechanic on the job, that Judge Rusher 
 was fatter than a man needed to be for a foot race 
 and that Mr. Beauclerc's back cracked when he 
 stooped over, as your big toe does when you bend it. 
 Old Jimmy Day had the misfortune to break his 
 arm and my father fell off the roof, but thanks to his 
 usual condition of semi-Intoxication he was uninjured. 
 His remarks in comment on this fall were Inspiring. 
 
CAM CLARKE '65 
 
 These events, however, In no wise dampened the en- 
 thusiasm of the party. Frequently some hoarse 
 voice would shout, " Hurrah for Washtucnal " or, 
 " Hurrah for Sarah Clarke ! " and everybody would 
 howl like a she-wolf. Sometimes again they sang 
 hymns, which Mr. Beauclerc would lead in his best 
 Sunday voice. 
 
 I do not know where Sarah Clarke stayed that day, 
 but she never came near the new house. She knew 
 what the noise was about, for Cam and I told her; 
 but when we proposed that we all go over, she re- 
 fused with some feeling, so Cam and I went without 
 her. As we went, I remember that she looked pale. 
 I suppose she could not have been well, and yet she 
 was very beautiful. 
 
 They worked all afternoon, and for half the 
 night they worked with lanterns and next morn- 
 ing they worked again. They supplemented the 
 first load of lumber with more from I know not 
 where. They stole window glass and nails from 
 old Donnelly, who shut his eyes while they stole, 
 and then he topped it by giving them a small 
 cook stove. They manufactured tables and chairs, 
 and Mr. McPetherick, the keeper of the hotel, dis- 
 covered that the Tennessee Restaurant had more 
 dishes than it could possibly use, so he brought some 
 over, as he said, " to get shet of them." They got 
 two beds from somewhere, Mr. John Bradford got 
 a refrigerator, Jan Havland promised to keep it in 
 ice ; and finally at noon next day the house was pro- 
 nounced finished and furnished to the last detail, 
 Mrs. Rusher and Mrs. Beauclerc being called upon 
 to verify the condition. That afternoon Washtucna 
 
66 CAM CLARKE 
 
 was in a peculiar condition, it was calm, as calm as a 
 frozen lake. This was by agreement : no boisterous 
 conduct or quarrelling should mar the day, and, for 
 fear of disregarding the agreement, people spoke 
 under their breath. 
 
 Mr. Pete Barker voiced the sentiments of the com- 
 munity concerning these remarkable hours of quiet. 
 " We should be gen'rous and high-spirited," said he, 
 rising to the full height of his seventy-four inches, 
 " but this occasion is one demandin' dignified and 
 reserved conduct on the part of every lady present, 
 also gents. Person'ly I see no objection to takin' a 
 drink, providin' you keep the thing silent and orderly 
 after you get it down. But such drinks as stir up hell 
 in folks should be left unconsumed. To-night we'll 
 have dedication ceremonies, with regard to which 
 Mr. Gunnysack Williams, who heads this movement, 
 is consultin' Mr. John Bradford, which is aa eastern 
 sharp and versed in etiquette. Likewise he consults 
 Skookum Jones and yours truly." 
 
 And so the town either imbibed silently or not at 
 all. There was a Sabbath quiet on the place; not 
 the Sabbath quiet of Washtucna, for Washtucna had 
 no Sabbath quiet; but the Sabbath quiet of some town 
 that gave as much attention to church bells as Wash- 
 tucna did to enjoying herself in ruder recreations. 
 
 The dedication ceremonies started shortly after the 
 crowded Colfax stage rolled in, in a cloud of dust, 
 from Spokane. Mr. Pete Barker, Mr. Gunnysack 
 Williams, Mr. John Bradford and Mr. Skookum 
 Jones made a committee which had the approval and 
 confidence of every one and their actions were backed 
 up and indorsed. They handled the affairs of the 
 
CAM CLARKE 67 
 
 evening with vigour and promptness. First they 
 politely emptied the stage of all passengers. They 
 said they wanted to borrow the coach and by way of 
 recompense to travellers they extended to them *' the 
 hospitality of the city " and the use of Jan Havland's 
 bar. Then they drove off in haste to the tune of 
 cracking whip after Sarah Clarke to bring her to 
 her new house. That there was something quaint 
 and incongruous in the whole arrangement I can now 
 readily see. Sarah Clarke could have walked over 
 while the passengers were being cleared away, as she 
 was close at hand, but Washtucna on this occasion 
 wanted style and formality and Washtucna would 
 have it or die. I remember that some of the pas- 
 sengers protested at ejection. To these Mr. Pete 
 Barker talked very patiently. 
 
 " You all gents understand, I hope," he said softly, 
 " that this riotous measure is taken without any 
 desire to impede the traffic of this line. It is dire 
 necessity — " 
 
 " It's an outrage I " sputtered a little man with a 
 big moustache. 
 
 "Come here, brother; now heshi or Til choke 
 you," said Mr. Bob Dalton, sardonically pulling the 
 little man towards him and clapping his hand over 
 his mouth. " Shove off the stage I Keep still, you 
 little devil, or I'll bite off your head I " 
 
 That was the end of his protest, and, as I have 
 said, the stage went for Sarah Clarke at a run. 
 They brought her back on the seat beside the driver, 
 which is, as every one knows, the seat of honour on 
 account of the charming conversation of stage drivers. 
 I remember how she looked as the stage bore down 
 
68 CAM CLARKE 
 
 on the big bon-fire : pale, oh, very pale, yet I thought 
 her heart-breakingly beautiful; as beautiful as the 
 pale morning stars. All Washtucna thought so too 
 and as she climbed down from the high seat they 
 stood about in awed silence. 
 
 They cleared a space in front of the new house and 
 while Sarah Clarke sat in an arm chair in the door- 
 way with the firelight flickering brightly upon her 
 face, Mr. Skookum Jones mounted upon a box bor- 
 rowed from Donnelly's store for the occasion. He 
 stood for some time, his hand across his chest, look- 
 ing at them all one by one until they were totally 
 silent again. 
 
 *' Gents," said he, finally commencing to speak, his 
 voice somewhat hoarse at first, " gents, by the aid of 
 Mr. Gunnysack Charlie Williams, Washtucna has 
 at length unlimbered her public spirit. Gunnysack 
 has come down out of the snowy Seven Devils with a 
 message for us, which message was brotherly love 
 and enterprise and philanthropy and has bore fruit. 
 Hereafter Washtucna can be counted upon to slam 
 the shrapnel of philanthropy, brotherly love and en- 
 terprise into every livin' carcass of a proposition that 
 arises from the bunch grass of these Palouse Hills. 
 We don't propose to be excelled in this kind of shoot- 
 ing any more than in the ordinary bullet and powder 
 kind. And now, gents, on your behalf, I have the 
 pleasure and rionour to present this little house to the 
 noble lady whose lovely character and high intelli- 
 gence has made the worthless efforts of this com- 
 munity blossom like alfalfa under an irrigation ditch 
 in the desert. And as I make this little offering, 
 which all hands have laboured at — and with great 
 
CAM CLARKE 69 
 
 comfort — I propose three cheers for Mrs. Sarah 
 Cameron Clarke, the lily and the wild-rose and the 
 sunflower of this district, and for Mr. Gunnysack 
 Charlie Williams. Hip-hip — " 
 
 They raised the cry, not with three cheers, but 
 with twenty or ninety, a fusillade of them. I remem- 
 ber, amongst other things, that Mr. Pete Barker 
 calmly and coolly cheered louder and longer than any 
 one. When the others from hoarseness and lack of 
 wind desisted, he continued. He howled like a she 
 coyote in spring time, then he howled like a timber 
 wolf, until no other person than Mr. Gunnysack 
 Charlie Williams felt the impropriety of the noise 
 and shut it off with a hand like a ham. 
 
 And then Sarah Clarke, with tears streaming down 
 her thin face but with eyes that flashed with a fine 
 languorous fire, stood up and waited and we all be-^ 
 came so still that I heard the gurgling of the little 
 creek a mile away and every man's heart beats were 
 loud in his own ears. Then a puff of wind came 
 down the little valley and whined disconsolately at 
 the corners, as is the habit of winds in prairie lands. 
 
 When she started to thank those men, mostly 
 brown-faced men, twisted and gnarled by their rough 
 lives, her voice was broken, but her last words were 
 as clear and flawless and lovely as pure water. 
 
 "I thank you very much," she said; "I thank 
 you; I feel at home amongst you. I," and she 
 smiled through her tears, " I loveisfou all, every 
 one." 
 
 When she stepped down from the little box we 
 were all silent again until a gaunt, broad shouldered, 
 bearded man, a passenger from the Colfax stage. 
 
^o CAM CLARKE 
 
 which, on account of the curiosity of the passengers, 
 had not yet departed, pushed his way to the centre 
 and stood up on the box himself. 
 
 " Mrs. Clarke, and ladies and gents," said he in a 
 harsh voice, and he pulled his long beard to one side 
 with a bony hand and showed his teeth in a leer which 
 had no business to be pleasing but nevertheless was, 
 " gents, I am A. J. Punts, M.D., and Punts is with 
 you to the topmost limit of your pile of blues. I own 
 a ticket to Colfax, but I'm going to stop right 
 here. No weak shilly-shallying for me. I stay. I 
 recognise public spirit when I see it and I see it now. 
 You got it. 
 
 " This is the place IVe been hunting for, but Tve 
 been hunting in the wrong place, mostly in Montana. 
 This is hereafter the home of A. J. Punts, M.D., he" 
 stays for good. And that being the case I regret 
 being late for co-operating in this building and phil- 
 anthropic demonstration you've pulled off. It's a 
 good job. And now, as I'm too late to help in that, 
 I'd like to have the privilege of presenting to this 
 lady, gratis, the lease of my medical services as she 
 may need 'em, which may it be seldom, just as long as 
 we both do live. Yes, sir! Gents, as I've already 
 indicated, with your permission I'll stow. my bony legs 
 and share and share alike play at the municipal poker 
 table of this place. And, gents, with enthusiasm I 
 propose three cheers more for Mrs. Sarah Cameron 
 Clarke. Hip-hip — " 
 
 We cheered again until we choked down like a 
 political orator at the close of a " whirlwind cam- 
 paign," — the same being no more like a whirlwind 
 than like a corkscrew and no one says " corkscrew 
 
CAM CLARKE 71 
 
 campaigns; '' I wonder why not. Mr. Pete Barker's 
 voice persevered as before until reduced by the per- 
 sonal application of Gunnysack's hand. 
 
 After that Sarah Clarke kissed Mr. Gunnysack 
 Charlie, and everybody but me went home tired and 
 satisfied and the stage pulled out amidst the cheers 
 of its own passengers. But I stayed on with Cam 
 and his mother for supper and during that meal she 
 got up twenty times and kissed Cam and me and, 
 though of course it made me hot and uncomfortable 
 and I squirmed, I really did not object so very much. 
 And I made up my mind that I liked her — I was not 
 sure, indeed, that I did not like her as well as my own 
 mother who lay up In the shadow of the flat topped 
 Montana mountain where we had camped three 
 nights on that endless journey west. 
 
 Over town they were carrying Mr. Gunnysack 
 Charlie on their shoulders and singing war songs. 
 That was the great night of Gunnysack Charlie's 
 life. He still talks of it after thirty years have gone 
 on and by. 
 
 Just as I left, Mr. John Bradford put his head in 
 at the door. ** If there is any way In which I can 
 help you," he said, " I shall be glad if you'll tell me 
 or send word — good-night I " 
 
 On my way home I met Dr. Punts and Skookum 
 Jones going to enquire, said Skookum, " if there be 
 any way in which we can serve her," to which senti- 
 ment Dr. Punts snarled a pleasant assent. These 
 things were of a significance which I, in those days, 
 little understood. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 ONE morning about a week after the house was 
 finished, I met Cam carrying two books, a 
 slate and a lunch basket. He was shiningly 
 clean and he said he was going to school, as Sarah 
 Clarke had decided that, though she could teach him 
 herself, it would be better to have him go to school 
 and associate with the other boys of the town ; be- 
 sides, Cam wanted to go for he thought it would be 
 fun. 
 
 Going to school had not thitherto been very fash- 
 ionable with me and I had, indeed, about given it up 
 as a habit. There were a number of reasons: some 
 days I did not feel like going, on other days I had real 
 work to do and on still other days I was afraid to 
 go for fear of being thrashed for my previous ab- 
 sences. This fear was well founded : Professor Stil- 
 son received no excuses. Besides, I had not really 
 believed in education. It might make you look or 
 act like Prof. J. Stilson, the teacher, and I had 
 wanted to be in every respect like Mr. Bob Dalton, 
 who had no education* at all. But Cam Clarke's 
 going to school made it look different. If education 
 was good for him, it ought not to hurt me very much. 
 I decided I would give it another chance. Besides, I 
 did not want Cam to get started wrong with the boys 
 who came from the ranches to school. I knew, of 
 course, that he would have a fight with Sandy Rusher, 
 
 72 
 
CAM CLARKE 73 
 
 that was inevitable, and I wanted to see Sandy 
 " licked " by Cam just as I had been. That would 
 make Cam all right with the ranch boys. And I 
 knew Sandy would be " licked," if Cam had a fair 
 chance, for Cam had the calmest, most insidious and 
 undeniable way of fighting I had seen up till then — 
 or until now, for that matter. And, further, it was 
 the kind of fighting Sandy could not stand, the calcu- 
 lated, silent yet passionate kind. Cam was as dis- 
 concerting as a bull terrier. 
 
 So I went along with Cam down to the log school- 
 house by the creek and we both went straight up to 
 the rostrum where Professor Jim Stilson was sitting, 
 chewing tobacco and reading the Dramatic Tom' 
 peep. This was characteristic. Tradition said he 
 had once been an actor. At any rate he used all his 
 spare time looking at the pictures of ladies in tights. 
 
 " Professor,'' I said, " I've been obliged to be 
 away here for several days running, on account 
 of sickness and work and such things — you know 
 how it is in a large family — but I hope it ain't 
 spoiled the school none, as I expect to come just plum 
 regular after this as I'm determined to be educated." 
 
 Mr. Stilson looked at me calmly and sceptically, 
 bit off a chew of tobacco, pulled his dyed black mous- 
 tache with his crooked finger and thumb, rubbed his 
 bald head and remarked severely that as far as he 
 was able to see, my absence had been much more help- 
 ful to the school than my presence. Nevertheless, 
 for my own sake he was glad to see me back. 
 
 *' Who's this other young man? " he asked, jerk- 
 ing his finger at Cam, throwing one long leg across 
 the desk and looking me fiercely in the eye. 
 
74 CAM CLARKE 
 
 I felt hopeful, because always heretofore Mr. Stil- 
 son had taken me firmly by the scruff of the neck 
 before he addressed any remarks to me. Perhaps 
 he would try moral suasion on me instead of brute 
 strength. I hoped so, for, other people's statements 
 to the contrary notwithstanding, moral suasion was 
 pleasanter. 
 
 " This is Cam Clarke,'' said I, " whose ma and 
 him just arrived recent in Washtucna. I reckon 
 you've heard of her. He's been to school in 
 Worcester, Mass., where they have the champion 
 teachers of the U.S. and — " 
 
 " Well, Cam," said Mr. Stilson, languidly break- 
 ing in on me, putting the other foot on the desk and 
 leaning back while he pulled both moustaches simul- 
 taneously, " I've heard that you are a boy of excellent 
 character, but it sure does seem to me that you are 
 gettin' into about the worst comp'ny you could find in 
 Washtucna if you hunted. You sure are in bad and 
 you better change." 
 
 Cam said afterwards that the professor had in- 
 sulted me. It made Cam mad, although I had not 
 minded at all — indeed, I had rather enjoyed it. 
 He told me later that he knew the way he spoke in 
 reply to Professor Stilson was not a tactful manner 
 of addressing a schoolmaster, but he felt just " plum 
 insolent." As far as I was concerned, I thought 
 what Cam said was all right, too, for I was as accus- 
 tomed to "jaw back " at people as I was to being 
 insulted. 
 
 " Professor Stilson," he said in a voice as sweet as 
 a canary bird's and as mild as a cat on Sunday morn- 
 ing, '* now I don't think you're bad company at all; I 
 
CAM CLARKE 75 
 
 think youVe hard on yourself. I don't mind being 
 here with you the least bit; which is what you mean, 
 I suppose, by saying I'm in bad company. Perhaps 
 some of the boys are prejudiced against you, but I 
 ain't. I think you are all right." 
 
 Of course Cam had misinterpreted Professor Stil- 
 son purposely and his reply naturally made Stilson 
 angry and red in the face, but Cam's speckled eyes 
 looked straight at him and never wavered and old 
 Jim really thought Cam was innocent. I did not. 
 I knew better and I decided that Cam was an inter- 
 esting schoolmate. 
 
 Professor Stilson did not know what to do, but as 
 I snickered out loud he made a decision, boxed me a 
 smart clip on the ear and sent me to stand in the 
 corner for the rest of the morning. Then he bawled 
 out in deep chested, melodramatic tones for Cam to 
 take the front seat and stay there, and he glowered 
 at Cam like a sick bull. 
 
 Cam thanked him very politely and said he had 
 always preferred a front seat anyway and always 
 had one in Worcester, Massachusetts, as it kept him 
 from being bothered and gave him a good chance to 
 study. Then he winked at me, sat down and started 
 taking an old Waterbury watch to pieces behind his 
 geography, which enterprise made him look studious. 
 
 When little Julie Beauclerc came in and saw Cam, 
 the new boy, sitting on the front seat the first day, 
 she was indignant. She had never heard of such a 
 cruel thing in all her experience, she said, and she 
 stamped her foot and her eyes snapped and she flung 
 her black, short hair around until she could hardly 
 see. Mr. Jim Stilson pretended not to see or hear 
 
^6 f AM CLARKE 
 
 her, for like everybody else he liked Julie Beauclerc 
 and helped spoil her. But he kept Cam on the front 
 seat, which was not a bad guess. 
 
 I spent the forenoon in peeping around the corner 
 of my head and in throwing paper wads at people 
 when old Jim's back was turned. I hit Sandy Rusher 
 once in the eye, I remember, and I thought this hit 
 instructive, for that eye cried, but the other did not; 
 which shows that I was a scientist by nature and 
 could have learned vivisection. I have since seen 
 women who could do the same thing, metaphorically 
 speaking, without even being struck by a spit ball. I 
 mean they could cry with one eye while the other one 
 winked. Incidentally, Julie Beauclerc was not one 
 of those women; when she cried she did it from keel 
 to truck and she vibrated like an ocean greyhound. 
 
 Julie was a nice girl and comforting. At recess 
 she sneaked up and whispered that she was sorry for 
 me and Cam both, and as she said it she put a piece 
 of peppermint candy right in my pocket. It was 
 dirty but I did not care. I would have eaten it if it 
 had been poisoned and I knew It. Then she said 
 that the way Mr. Stilson ran a school did not suit 
 her; It was wicked and if she knew anything about the 
 way God intended such places to go, Mr. Stilson 
 would some day get blasted up by Providence as a 
 punishment; yes, sir, blasted up like a cottonwood 
 stump with dynamite. Besides, Professor Stilson 
 was a mean old, tobacco chewing sneak, anyway. I 
 agreed with her. Of later years I have resented 
 Professor Stilson's harshness less ; but I have resented 
 more the systematic efforts he contrived to make to 
 keep us all in Ignorance. Not that it matters, how- 
 
CAM CLARKE 77 
 
 ever. I only mean that he strangled Interest in every 
 subject he taught. 
 
 I agreed heartily, In fact, with everything Julie 
 said, for old Jim kept me In that corner during all of 
 recess and, for that matter, for all the forenoon, too. 
 It was mighty hard because I knew what was going 
 forward outside during recess. Frequently I heard 
 Sandy's voice raised in lament or abuse. He and 
 Cam were evidently preparing to fight by having 
 Sandy talk a lot. That was just as necessary to 
 Sandy as priming is to an old-fashioned wooden 
 pump. He always was that way and still is. But 
 Cam was a new force pump, ready when you are. 
 Once I heard what Sandy said. 
 
 " Some of these new kids think theyVe so all fired 
 smart, coming out here from Massachusetts with 
 pin-toed shoes, but, by chicken-berry, I'll show some 
 of 'em.'* *' Chicken-berry " was Sandy's favourite 
 oath but it was only used on great occasions. He 
 had invented it himself and never hoped to invent 
 another and never did. 
 
 I did not hear any more just then, for Professor 
 Stilson fell asleep In his chair at this stage and started 
 to snore so loudly right alongside me that I could not 
 hear anything else. I had not heard Cam say a 
 word, which was perfectly natural, as natural as it 
 was to hear Sandy talk, for Cam always saved his 
 words and when he did speak his tones were mild and 
 calm and gentle. But don't make the mistake of 
 supposing that his speech was innocuous. On the 
 contrary, such words as he uttered were likely to be 
 the most tantalising, the most tormenting and devil- 
 ish that could be invented. I knew just how he was 
 
78 CAM CLARKE 
 
 looking; not a trace of temper, his eyes off towards 
 nowhere and his remarks as caustic as lye. This 
 trait he also kept when he grew up. 
 
 After a few minutes, Professor Stilson got his 
 windpipe into a straighter line and quieted down. 
 Then I heard little Julie Beauclerc's voice raised. 
 
 " Sandy Rusher,'^ she called out, " you are a great 
 big bully, so you are, and I'd pull your nose myself 
 for a rose-hip. You ought to be ashamed, so you 
 ought, you great big booby, to pick on a new boy.*' I 
 snickered at the idea of Cam being bullied. 
 
 Just then Professor Stilson, waking with a jerk 
 and a choking gasp, opened his eyes, picked up an old 
 copy of the Stage Reporter, which had fallen from 
 his pocket, and putting it back bawled out in a loud, 
 reverberating voice : 
 
 " Recess is over! " 
 
 I was glad it was over because Fd have hated to 
 have that fight pulled off with me in the corner not 
 able to see a thing. In fact, I just could not have 
 stood it. I should have sneaked out. Besides, it 
 was lonesome standing in the corner of an empty 
 room. 
 
 At noon, after I got out of the corner, I went down 
 to the edge of the creek with Cam and the lunch 
 basket, as he said he had enough to eat for two. We 
 crawled under a high bank and spread the stuff out. 
 That was a good lunch and we were having a fine 
 time eating and telling how we should like to kill 
 Professor Jim Stilson by lashing him atop of a red ant 
 hill and having him eaten up by degrees (which 
 shows that we all have savage ancestors and that 
 almost any of us could plan the Inquisition if he gave 
 
CAM CLARKE 79 
 
 it his undivided attention) when Sandy came swag- 
 gering down as if by accident with three of his hold- 
 ers on, short, swart Sam Taylor amongst them. 
 Sandy had his hat pulled over one eye and from time 
 to time he contracted the muscles of his arm to show 
 how strong he was. I suppose his biceps at that 
 time was about the size and colour of an oyster, but 
 think how little the biceps of John L. Sullivan would 
 look if you stood off a mile to examine it. It really 
 was not so funny as you might think. It looked big 
 to me. When he got in front of Cam, he dragged 
 one toe in the dust and said belligerently, 
 
 " Mebbe some of these new red-headed kids from 
 Massachusetts that are sporting around here are man 
 enough to cross that line. Mebbe they dare, which 
 I don't beheve." 
 
 Cam looked at the line and at Sandy and did not 
 get the least bit excited. He winked at me cheer- 
 fully, got up, calmly wiped some of the jam off his 
 chin, then walked deliberately over and crossed the 
 line and then, to make a thorough job, stooped down 
 and spit on it, which was the most comprehensive 
 way of taking a dare ever introduced into the 
 Palouse Country. Most boys could not have con- 
 ceived of such an insolent acceptance nor have ex- 
 ecuted it so promptly. Like Sandy, they would have 
 needed to talk up their determination to the sticking 
 point. 
 
 " I dare you to do it again," said Sandy, fiercer 
 than ever, his ridiculous biceps all contracted, ready 
 to burst. 
 
 Cam did It again and I began to be worried for 
 fear Sandy would not fight at all in spite of his being 
 
8o ^AM CLARKE 
 
 twice as large as Cam, who did not seem to care 
 whether he fought or did not fight or whether he 
 went swimming, which we had talked about doing. 
 Sandy's gang kept urging him on, however, particu- 
 larly Sam Taylor, and finally Sandy put a chip on his 
 shoulder and said he would " poke the snoot " of 
 any " kid " that touched it and besides " butt him 
 In the belly " with his head, and he told how hard 
 his head was: " as hard as a diamond," he said. It 
 was hard and is, but he does not boast of it now, 
 which shows that it was not, after all, perfectly hard. 
 
 Cam sent the chip spinning and, as all the previous 
 talk had really made Sandy feel brave, he hit at Cam. 
 Sandy was quite a. fighter when he had inflated his 
 own courage by talk and afterwards, too, if he had 
 plenty of people to keep cheering him on. But after 
 the cheering dies, his courage dies : does to this day. 
 Cam was the opposite and still is. 
 
 Sandy was intoxicated with his own bravery when 
 he struck at Cam, but he did not hit him even then. 
 Cam was somewhere else when the blow arrived. 
 And then Cam became a streak in the air, he went at 
 Sandy like a wild cat. He looked as though he had 
 turned to fire and as though five minutes would burn 
 him out. Sandy was bewildered but he was the 
 bigger and stronger of the two and after a time he 
 got his weight going. And he fought well, too, for 
 the cheering had not stopped. He put Cam on the 
 ground and sat on him and pounded him and pulled 
 his hair. But Cam did not say a word, he just 
 squirmed and kicked and kept Sandy busy. I knew 
 he was all right. 
 
 " Say 'nufJI " Sandy kept demanding breathlessly 
 
CAM CLARKE 8i 
 
 and hopefully. Cam did not say anything. He 
 paid no attention at all and every five seconds he 
 would squirm and nearly throw Sandy off. Sandy 
 was working twice as hard as Cam. It went on that 
 way a long time. We had never seen such a long 
 fight and the boys yelled and screamed, for they 
 thought Cam was whipped. I knew better : I had ex- 
 perienced nearly the same things from Cam myself. 
 He was just warming up. 
 
 When the fight had been going on about fifteen 
 minutes, little Julie Beauclerc appeared on the bank 
 above and, when she saw what was happening, she 
 got angrier than any girl I have ever seen. She 
 looked fiery all over, like Cam when he turned loose. 
 It would be terrible to get that angry on a hot day, I 
 thought. 
 
 *' Sandy Rusher," she screamed, " you great big, 
 over-grown, small-nosed bully ! Ain't you ashamed? 
 Pick on somebody your own size ; leave Cam Clarke 
 alone I '* She actually started down to take part In 
 the fight, but I grabbed her and pulled her away and 
 whispered to her so no one else could hear. 
 
 " Don't you be afraid none, Julie," I said; " why. 
 Cam Clarke has the toughest hair you ever saw. I 
 know, because I tried pulling it myself the other day 
 and I tired myself out pulling at it and I didn't make 
 no more impression than a rabbit. It never feazed 
 him at all. You just wait. The first thing I knew 
 I was all tired out and Cam just got up and pounded 
 me good and he'll do it to Sandy, too. Sandy can't 
 breathe hardly now, he's so out of wind; yes, sir I " 
 
 I am under the impression that, as I held fast to 
 Julie to impart this comforting information, she 
 
82 CAM CLARKE 
 
 scratched me and bit me. But I did not care and 
 Julie seemed really to absorb the information, for 
 she omitted to descend the little bank and partici- 
 pate. Nevertheless, she continued to address her 
 torrent of vituperative language to Sandy and it wor- 
 ried and discouraged him. It was like reducing the 
 volume of his cheers. 
 
 But Sandy kept on pulling Cam's hair and indus- 
 triously pounding his back until a peal of old Jim's 
 voice announced that it was school time. Jim was 
 impatient of tardiness, so every one ran into the 
 schoolhouse except Cam, Sandy, Julie and me. 
 Sandy would have run, too, but he was afraid to run 
 — also, when his gang departed, he was afraid to 
 stay. As for Julie and me, we had enlisted for the 
 war. We would see the finish or die. 
 
 By this time I could see by Sandy's face that he was 
 growing sicker and sicker of fighting, just as he al- 
 ways does when the cheering falters. Cam saw it, 
 too, and he told me afterwards that he had waited 
 for just that thing, and I believe it. He was as 
 cunning as he was resolute and he could be patient 
 when no other quality would serve. 
 
 Suddenly Cam gave a little squirm and apparently 
 without much effort rolled Sandy off. And then he 
 went after Sandy at some speed. He was all turned 
 to fire again: he made Sandy's nose bleed, he blacked 
 his eye, and he hit him ten places with strokes that 
 sounded almost like the clatter of an electric buzzer. 
 Sandy was totally bewildered and I do not blame 
 him. He lowered his head and bawling like a calf 
 ran to the schoolhouse, Cam following him, kicking 
 at him every step. Mr. Skookum Jones and Mr. 
 
CAM CLARKE 83 
 
 Bob Dalton, who were riding by on their cayuses, 
 saw the procession, a small boy chasing a larger one 
 who was bellowing, Julie and me in the wake, and 
 they laughed until I thought they would fall from 
 their saddles. Afterwards I heard Mr. Skookum 
 Jones remark, as he chewed the stub of a burned out 
 cigar, *' Gents, I tell you it was like a hornet chasing 
 a hawk — which is a sight I ain't ever seen in nature, 
 but I have seen it in the human family. Which 
 shows that nothing is more marvellous than anything 
 else." Sandy was so frightened that he ran into the 
 school house and up to the teacher's desk. The 
 pupils all laughed, but Professor Jim Stilson did not 
 laugh. He never laughed at anything, so far as I 
 know. But he gathered us all together when we 
 came in and stood us in a row on the rostrum. Then 
 he let Julie go sit down because I said I held her 
 and made her late. She said I lied, but the old fel- 
 low, like every one else, had a soft place for her and 
 he pretended to believe me. But the other three of 
 us, Sandy and Cam and me, he took in rotation and 
 thrashed. Sandy got off easy because he bellowed 
 so loud. Cam got a hard thrashing because he would 
 not cry at all, and, for the same reason, I, too, re- 
 ceived a good portion. Then Professor Jim gave me 
 something separate and extra because he said I was 
 a '* hard nut " and was the bottom cause of it all. 
 That was a good guess but wrong. Poor little Julie 
 cried on account of Cam's licking, then on account of 
 mine and then a second time on my account. Oh, it 
 was a good afternoon's crying and we appreciated it 
 a lot and told her so after school. She said we were 
 welcome and that she thought Cam was the noblest 
 
84 CAM CLARKE 
 
 fellow alive and that I was next, if my clothes were 
 ragged, which clothes she had never previously liked. 
 These remarks made us feel splendid. 
 
 After we had talked with Julie a little while, wc 
 ran down to the mud hole and went swimming and we 
 killed a mud turtle which was lying around carelessly 
 on a pole. Then on the way home, as we came 
 around by the side of Granite Butte, we saw a little 
 baby coyote at the door of his den and as his mother 
 was not around we followed him in and crawled back 
 to the tip end of the den, which smelled awfully bad, 
 and captured him. We brought him home to Sarah 
 Clarke. She nearly died laughing and she kissed us 
 both, but she said the young coyote did not smell very 
 good although he was cunning, so we tied him in the 
 back yard to a young quaking asp tree. Next morn- 
 ing the coyote was gone. Sarah Clarke said it had 
 chewed the rope in two. I should have believed her, 
 if I had not seen a piece of manila jammed in the 
 throat of her scissors. But I do not blame her; 
 coyotes do smell bad and he was better off with his 
 mother on Granite Butte. 
 
 That first day at school had been one of glory for 
 Cam and me. I remember it so minutely and I 
 describe it so in detail because it was his fight 
 with Sandy that made Cam the oracle and leader 
 for all Washtucna boys. Occasionally afterwards 
 some boy rebelled but Cam was leader as long as he 
 stayed in Washtucna. And it was an important day 
 for me. It was the one in which I decided that the 
 pleasures of school were worth the pains. Always 
 afterwards I took an interest in being educated and 
 while I could I attended school regularly. But that 
 
CAM CLARKE 85 
 
 was not long, so there Is considerable misinformation 
 which I have never received. I have acquired my 
 education principally from circumstances. 
 
 I remember another important thing, a symptom 
 of the times. As I walked home with Cam, Doctor 
 Punts was just leaving Mrs. darkens house. He 
 stopped when he met us and looked at us a long 
 time, sort of friendly and gently, then he twisted his 
 long beard in his bony hand and snarled, but just the 
 same his voice sounded pleasant. 
 
 " I hope you boys," said he, *' won't be any rottener 
 to Mrs. Clarke than is absolutely necessary for a boy 
 to be, an' that's bad enough. I dunno as a boy rates 
 havin' as good a ma as she Is — and if I can do any- 
 thing you make her tell me. Savvy ? " 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Cam, and Punts strode 
 along, head down and buried in thought. 
 
 When we got to the house, we told Sarah Clarke 
 what Punts had said. Her mottled eyes grew misty. 
 ** People are kind," she said softly, " — and some- 
 times I think they are kinder here than any place. 
 But they do not understand entirely." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE month of June was lively for Washtucna. 
 The railroad appeared on the horizon and 
 all hands came on deck to see it arrive, and, 
 having come up, they stayed up. The town fell into 
 a sort of fever. The grading crews started early in 
 the month and thenceforth business was done on a 
 rush basis : coming, coming, coming; surveyors, grad- 
 ers, track-layers, new saloons, gamblers, new earnest 
 settlers, gay-painted women: one, two, three. The 
 whole Palouse Country was filling up that spring; 
 men came like an army of ants or a pest of locusts. 
 Never since has that country seen such a fierce out- 
 burst, such Sowings forth and back, such frenzied 
 digging and building. , I know, for I have seen all 
 the booms since the beginning. Latterly we have 
 moved more slowly, try as hard as we would to move 
 fast. And we have always tried hard, for we are all 
 still of booster habits of mind and we like to swagger 
 and cheer and rush on. 
 
 Washtucna, in particular, swelled tremendously in 
 population. Town lots were staked over the whole 
 little valley. Old Jimmy Day suddenly fancied him- 
 self to be a prince or an Indian nabob, so fast did 
 they trade him money for the plots of land which he 
 laid off on his boggy flat. The stages came in 
 crowded, emigrant wagons arrived with flapping 
 wagon sheets, buckboards and pack horses and men 
 
 86 
 
CAM CLARKE 87 
 
 carrying their packs on their backs appeared. They 
 slept in sheds and shacks, in tents and under the white 
 stars of God's heavens. They were here and there 
 like fleas: they started all descriptions of industry, 
 placer-mining and oil-boring, which extravagantly 
 failed; truck-farming and saloon-keeping, which as 
 extravagantly succeeded ; and then hotel-keeping and 
 wheat raising and all the multifarious activities 
 whereby men feed and clothe and entertain each 
 other and grow rich and die. 
 
 Naturally, the activities already established grew 
 beyond credibility. Jan Havland's bar-room was 
 crowded day and night, the feud between Saints and 
 Sinners bubbled like boiling water, Tom Harris's 
 mare even foaled twin colts and my father had so 
 many dusty pairs of shoes to re-sole or mend that he 
 hired an assistant and decreased his own liquor con- 
 sumption. 
 
 Among the new enterprises were a Chinese laun- 
 dry and a rival saloon to Jan Havland's. But 
 trouble grew faster than any other business and oc- 
 cupied more stalls for its transactions. People ac- 
 quired a shocking habit of punctuating their state- 
 ments with revolver shots and others indulged freely 
 in fists and clubs and knives. These altercations 
 were not, however, without their advantages. 
 Many undesirable citizens got themselves killed out- 
 right, while from the living remainder Doctor Punts 
 was able to extract an income from the tending of 
 wounds. 
 
 Sarah Clarke's business grew as rapidly as any 
 one's. There was sent to her an extraordinary quan- 
 tity of men's clothing to be repaired, and the quality 
 
88 CAM CLARKE 
 
 was as extraordinary as the quantity. Men de- 
 veloped an uncontrollable, incurable habit of tearing 
 clothes that had never been worn and of tearing 
 clothes over and over again. Mrs. Clarke used to 
 smile at first, but after a while she refused the more 
 obviously fraudulent work — and then she would 
 privately cry over it. 
 
 Probably it was Gunnysack Charlie who reached 
 the height of ridiculousness in repairs when he 
 brought forth a brand new broadcloth coat with a 
 snag in the tail of it. Everybody knew that Gunny- 
 sack had never in good faith owned, much less worn, 
 any new garment. Even Sarah Clarke knew it and 
 when she refused to touch it, a great shout of laugh- 
 ter went up from Washtucna — a laughter tempered 
 with a certain fondness and gentleness and forbear- 
 ance, even with tears. 
 
 Thereupon Gunnysack, who was visiting Mr. 
 Skookum Jones, got himself feverishly drunk day 
 after day, and late at night he and Skookum Jones, 
 who would have his battered silk hat in his hand, 
 might be seen riding crazy races towards home over 
 the bright, star-lighted, shining hills. Sarah Clarke 
 attributed this remarkable defection from virtue to 
 the disease of activity which had swept over the coun- 
 try and did not in the least guess the trivial cause 
 of it. 
 
 Strangely enough, dry-boned, dry-worded old Mr. 
 Beauclerc felt the fever of activity also. He 
 preached long sermons of brotherly love, went gun- 
 ning for Sinners and got himself accused of " slick- 
 earing" thirty head of Judge Rusher's cattle on the 
 previous round-up. Finally, as president of the 
 
CAM CLARKE 89 
 
 " Cattlemen's Association," he arranged for a great 
 bucking match. But the bucking contest broke loose 
 from him and got itself held on Sunday to his ever- 
 lasting scandal and he refused to attend. 
 
 The first of the big gang of railroad men to arrive 
 on the job were the graders. Some were Mormons, 
 who had been brought from Utah to the Northwest 
 for this work. As workers they were unexcelled, 
 except by Chinamen. But they were accompanied by 
 men whose habits were careless and violent and dis- 
 quieting. All day long they worked under the clank- 
 ing steam shovels or followed the great wheel scrap- 
 ers, and all night long they murdered each other and 
 gambled and drank whisky. You can not procure 
 such disorders from any races of men but north Euro- 
 peans, such determined, persistent, long-indulged, 
 deep-throated, barbarous hilarity. 
 
 Presently the graders were gone, leaving the track- 
 layers to console us. That was different. They 
 seemed to take no recess from work. Cam and I 
 used to watch for hours the bending fires that never 
 died except when a new one, farther along, was bom. 
 How musical I thought the clang of a dropping rail I 
 And the skill of the spike drivers! We watched 
 breathlessly their tireless, never ceasing strokes. I 
 remember one night on which, after long standing by 
 the fires, I went home to bed and heard faintly 
 through my slumber a chorus of coyote voices keep- 
 ing accompaniment to the clangorous pounding of the 
 bending gang. Even In my sleep It affected me curi- 
 ously, I dimly felt that It was outlandish, it was some- 
 what as though a brontosaurus had gone lumbering 
 down Broadway. And at the same time I could hear 
 
90 CAM CLARKE 
 
 the dry wind whine over the bunch grass and I felt 
 depressed — or dreamed that I did. 
 
 After that settlers came in faster than ever, a hun- 
 dred mules and horses were hauling sand and lumber 
 and lime and the sounds of building continued often 
 far into the night. Busiest of all was William Hoef- 
 ner, the smith. I have seen him late at night still 
 standing by his forge working the great hand bellows 
 and in the first grey of dawn I have wakened to see 
 his wife and him swinging their sledges valiantly in 
 the heart of a steam cloud which arose from a shrink- 
 ing wagon tire. 
 
 Amidst such activity and such sounds of activity 
 blossomed Washtucna's first boom. What Sarah 
 Clarke thought or felt about it all I could not guess. 
 She used to look at it wide eyed ; she saw all of it or 
 none of it, I could not say which. She sewed con- 
 stantly at her pile of clothing — It was a strange 
 piece of mockery that she, of all women, should live 
 by mending purposely torn clothing for rough fron- 
 tiersmen, perhaps even for renegades and horse 
 thieves. She, I suppose, saw the irony of it, but she 
 only smiled with her flickering eyes and sewed on. 
 Sometimes, dressed all in black, as she then was, with 
 her thin, hollowed face and her large luminous eyes 
 she looked like a priestess or a prophetess, and she 
 even spoke as one. " The Palouse Country, like 
 the seven small fishes, shall feed a multitude," she 
 said once. And this has proved true. There is 
 mile on mile of wheat and orchard and garden. 
 
 Washtucna seemed to whirl and eddy around this 
 great, calm woman. It boomed while she looked at 
 
CAM CLARKE 91 
 
 the horizon of Infinity; yet It was very conscious of 
 her; It was, In fact, to the last man in love with her. 
 Indeed, In these days Washtucna commenced to 
 feel concern lest Mrs. Clarke overwork herself and 
 damage her health or spirits. This question I heard 
 discussed, If not with rare wisdom, at least with ex- 
 traordinary interest, in Punts' office by John Brad- 
 ford, Skookum Jones, Punts and Mr. Bob Dalton. 
 Mr. Dalton, as became a younger man with small 
 experience amongst the ladles, was at first chary of 
 giving opinions or even of suggesting doubts. It 
 was Mr. Skookum Jones who put the question both 
 fairly and firmly. 
 
 " What Fd like to know, gents," said he solemnly, 
 after violently blowing his red nose on a red silk hand- 
 kerchief, " is which course is proper for that lady to 
 pursue. I'm in large doubts that she ain't makin' a 
 mistake to be workin' so hard. It ain't proper and 
 I'm interested enough to express an opinion — mebbe 
 too Interested, as it's well known I admire the lady a 
 heap." 
 
 *' Sorrow," said Mr. Bradford steadily, " needs to 
 be wiped off the board; and, as I understand it, Mrs. 
 Clarke has her board all written over with sorrow. 
 Now work is the great eraser — " 
 
 "Right," said Punts firmly, "right! Let it go 
 for a while. Sure, John, that's right I By God, 
 give the little woman a chance to do her own swim- 
 ming, it's a privilege she'll appreciate better'n most. 
 And when she's clear of things, we'll give her a hand 
 — we can not do anything now. If she wants work, 
 give it to her, by God, gents 1 " And he leered like 
 
92 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Satan but his eyes were like Savonarola's. I say 
 this with determination, although I never saw 
 Savonarola's eyes. 
 
 Mr. Skookum Jones admitted himself as satisfied 
 and Mr. Bob Dalton mildly showed his approval of 
 the conclusion by explaining how he once cured the 
 grief of a pack train of horses when a mouse mule, 
 which had been trained to lead them, was killed by 
 a cougar. The pack train, we were informed, re- 
 fused in the absence of said mule to ford the Kaw 
 River, until Mr. Bob Dalton ingeniously drew the 
 girths extra tight, whereupon they forgot other trou- 
 bles and proceeded happily forward. This, he as- 
 sured his fellow deliberators, was a similar case to 
 Mrs. Clarke's, the girths being the work; and he 
 was surprised and grieved at Mr. Skookum Jones's 
 refusal to receive it as such. Nevertheless, Mr. 
 Dalton's approval was pleasing, as it made the 
 opinion unanimous. Sarah Clarke continued to 
 work. 
 
 As for Cam, he and I were always together and I 
 found him always surprising; for a boy can be as 
 surprising to boys as a man to men. He would fall 
 into a half dozing, half thoughtful condition and 
 wake from it suddenly with the most startling plans. 
 And the strange part of that was that the plans 
 would work. He could invent you a new method of 
 fishing while you waited. And he was likable, in- 
 finitely likable. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 I ONCE read that man had progressed farther in 
 fifteen minutes since he began to make accurate 
 records of what he had already accomplished, 
 than previously in fifteen years. That is a guess 
 statement by a man who has thought about it for a 
 few minutes. It is of course a wrong guess but it 
 imparts an idea he had in mind. If he guessed even 
 anywhere near right, Washtucna should regard that 
 day as epochal which saw established its first public, 
 open-to-the-world record, its first newspaper, The 
 fVashtucna Breeze. I say this not because The 
 Breeze was an accurate record — its worst enemies 
 never said it was that dull- — but because it was at 
 least a record of some sort. 
 
 The Breeze, like Minerva, was born full-armed 
 and, more, it had full grown teeth. It arrived on a 
 flat car on the morning of the eighth of July and It 
 immediately started to bite with Its large, sharp teeth. 
 Its arrival was a great triumph for that faction of 
 Washtucnans known as the Sinners. But the tri- 
 umph was temporary, for the Saints shortly after- 
 wards started The Washtucna Sun, which was just 
 as Inaccurate and just as entertaining as The Breeze. 
 
 The editors of these rival papers spent most of 
 that summer In composing editorials threatening each 
 other with death, imprisonment, disgrace and assault 
 and battery. Washtucna consequently was seldom 
 
 93 
 
94 i?AM CLARKE 
 
 thereafter afflicted with a dull moment and these two 
 papers were universally held to be of greatest public 
 utility. For what is more highly utilitarian than 
 amusement? 
 
 It was red-faced Judge Rusher, the leader of the 
 Sinners, who personally succeeded by hocus-pocus 
 and good management in launching The Breeze, full 
 blown into the newspaper world. " The whole shee- 
 bang," said the Judge, recounting his triumph, " the 
 whole of it, editor, machinery, printer's devil and 
 two dirty roller towels, were foaled by that flat car 
 on the eighth day of July, plum early in the morn," 
 and he smoked his corn cob pipe reflectively and 
 tossed off a glass of rye whisky mixed with hot water 
 and lemon juice. 
 
 The arrival of The Breeze was to most people 
 unexpected almost to the last moment. Its ap- 
 paratus on the above mentioned flat car was hauled in 
 from Spokane at the tail end of a gravel train. 
 Judge Rusher of course knew it was coming, he had 
 found that out by paying the freight; but he had kept 
 it all a secret until the evening before it arrived. In 
 the very last hours, however, he had hastily gathered 
 together Sinners from everywhere and he even sent 
 by messenger to Colfax for a brass band of nine 
 pieces, " to harmonise the noises of jubilation." 
 
 When the gravel train rolled into Washtucna, the 
 band and the Sinners, all stimulated by pride and 
 excitement and some by rum from Jan Havland's, 
 were there. The band lay back In the seats of the 
 buckboards which had brought them from Colfax 
 and blared joyfully while the Sinners hurrahed and 
 cheered and fired their revolvers with such reckless 
 
CAM CLARKE 95 
 
 enthusiasm that disinterested spectators of judgment 
 got behind buildings. Amongst these spectators 
 were Sarah Clarke and John Bradford. But Cam 
 and I had no judgment, we had to be in the heart of 
 the crowd. So we ran away and went there. Sarah 
 Clarke must have been Interested either in the cele- 
 bration or in John Bradford, for she did not miss us 
 at once. 
 
 The train was no sooner stopped than Mr. Tate 
 Long, the consumptive editor, started the foot press 
 and, before the car could be switched onto a siding. 
 Cam and I, acting as newsboys, had sold the first 
 edition of The JVashtucna Breeze at a dollar apiece. 
 At that price Mr. Long would doubtless have been 
 glad to increase the number of copies, but he ran out 
 of paper and twenty-five sheets were all he could pro- 
 duce. Our commission as newsboys was the munifi- 
 cent sum of six bits each, which great sum probably 
 made Cam Clarke, afterwards to be so rich, feel 
 wealthier than ever he did later In life. 
 
 In the meantime, such Saints as had been dejected 
 observers of these hilarious proceedings from around 
 the corners of buildings, gathered forlornly down In 
 the stock yards. And sitting on the top rail thereof 
 they condoled with each other and guessed at the 
 weights of steers. Gradually as they talked their 
 faces lighted up, the Idea of a rival paper. The JVash- 
 tucna Sun, was born and the idea was applauded. 
 
 The Sinners also adjourned to another place, but 
 for quite different reasons. They gathered In Jan 
 Havland's to read the first editorials, and for rea- 
 sons of hospitality they brought along Mr. Tate 
 Long, the editor, and poured as much liquor into him 
 
96 €AM CLARKE 
 
 as he would take — and Mr. Long would take all he 
 could. Mr. Long was a hero : he stayed by the bar 
 until his slightly ailing stomach gave out and then he 
 gave out, too, and lay down under the pool table and 
 fell asleep. His hosts picked him up and carried 
 him gently to the Tennessee Hotel, where they put 
 him to bed in the bridal chamber, and then them- 
 selves returned to the editorials and to further cele- 
 bration. 
 
 The principal interests of The Breeze were un- 
 doubtedly editorial, since there was nothing in the 
 first edition but an editorial and the advertisements 
 of three patent medicines. The paper was the au- 
 thentic mouth piece of the Sinners. What The 
 Breeze said was what Sinners would think, no matter 
 what it happened to say. Judge Rusher, indeed, was 
 believed to write the editorials himself and I think 
 he did so when he felt energetia The Breeze, 
 hence, was infallible when the Judge felt well. At 
 other times Mr. Long did his best. The first edition 
 was plainly from the Judge's pen : not only was it in 
 his style, but Cam and I from our points of observa- 
 tion just outside the back door saw him modestly 
 withdraw to the front sidewalk when Mr. Pete 
 Barker commenced reading aloud. I write below 
 what he read, for, as I once lived for some months 
 of winter in a shack partially papered with one of 
 the immortal twenty-five first copies of The Breeze, 
 I am able to write the whole composition from mem- 
 ory. I might have memorised *' Hamlet " instead, 
 but at that time my tastes did not lie that way. 
 
 " Citizens of Washtucna," the voice read, '* your 
 Breeze herewith blows its first blast. The Breeze 
 
CAM CLARKE 97 
 
 does believe and will believe in your future. It de- 
 sires to be of you and with you and it is determined 
 to serve you. Without a doubt Washtucna will be a 
 great city. The Breeze wishes to be a worthy in- 
 habitant of such a city. Washtucna has a great 
 work to do ; The Breeze will help it. If Washtucna 
 falters The Breeze will support it; if it deviate from 
 the path of virtue, The Breeze will chastise it. 
 Washtucna must also doubtless become wealthy, but 
 The Breeze cares less for wealth than for the privi- 
 lege of keeping unsullied your now unsullied name. 
 
 " We need not point out that neither money nor 
 personal influence ever shall corrupt The Breeze. 
 We shall keep ourselves as immaculate as we shall 
 strive to keep Washtucna. 
 
 '' The Breeze will not be an idle talker of words. 
 It knows you and itself. It already has grasped 
 firmly your local conditions. It knows what indig- 
 nity your noblest citizens have suffered from the 
 craven hands of its worst. The Breeze as it con- 
 templates the condition chokes with indignation — 
 but it will be moderate. It will not call in abuse to 
 punish those hypocritical, lying, thieving, cowardly 
 sons of ill bred female dogs who, banded together 
 under the ironical title of ' Saints,' would by their 
 vile machinations poison the life blood of the body 
 politic. The Breeze ^ we say, will not abuse them; 
 they are beneath notice. 
 
 " The Breeze need hardly explain after the mild- 
 ness of the foregoing remarks concerning the criminal 
 organization of Saints that it is without rancour. It 
 is more than fair with them. Nevertheless, it is so 
 disgusted with their putrid rottenness, by their loath- 
 
98 CAM CLARKE 
 
 some appearances and by their vile habits that it can 
 conceive of but one proper method of disposing of 
 them, which is to shove them into some bottomless 
 hole with long poles, the poles for sanitary reasons 
 to be cast after them. 
 
 '' The Breeze dislikes to gratify this scum by so 
 much mention and it dislikes a scavenger's work. 
 But it will, nevertheless, pursue these outlaws until 
 the sword of justice disperse them. 
 
 " Readers of The Breeze^ we come into your midst 
 at an important time. An artery of commerce, to be 
 literal, a railroad, has just commenced pumping the 
 red blood of enterprise into your veins. They will 
 swell up. We believe they will swell up until they 
 carry a tide like Mississippi or Clyde. Honest 
 Washtucnans, gather around us; dishonest ones, 
 avaunt ! Let us look the world square in the face ; 
 let us cast out the vipers who lie warming themselves 
 at our breasts. Judge Rusher and friends, we salute 
 you!" 
 
 The Sinners had never seen any literary composi- 
 tion so much to their taste. They were delirious 
 with delight by the time Mr. Pete Barker had finally 
 stopped reading and had buried his moustache in the 
 foam of a glass of beer. They took the papers home 
 and read them over and over and for a week they 
 continued to treat Mr. Tate Long with such dis- 
 tinguished hospitality that his next weekly issue was 
 a day late in getting out. I should not omit to men- 
 tion that during this period Mr. Long was playfully 
 shot at by a drunken Saint, leaving town for the 
 scene of his pastoral labours. The Sinners resented 
 this bitterly. Wrecking the printing press would not 
 
CAM CLARKE 99 
 
 have been a more serious offence and they asked 
 plaintively where was the freedom of the press if such 
 acts of intimidation did not cease. But the Saint 
 went unreproved by dint of departing suddenly for 
 Canada. 
 
 The Saints, as we have seen, had at first felt dis- 
 couraged when The Breeze came on the job. This 
 feeling was changed to temporary enthusiasm by the 
 meeting in the stock yards. Then, as the negotia- 
 tions for the estabhshing of The Sun went forward, 
 they became firmly hopeful and finally reHgiously 
 jubilant. At first in their desperation I have heard 
 that they talked seriously of lynching Mr. Tate Long, 
 but this plan was not adopted. " We will let nature 
 take its course," said some one of them, referring, no 
 doubt, to Mr. Long's delicate lungs and his careless 
 habits of life. But life is full of disappointments: 
 Mr. Long remains alive to this day. He still coughs 
 unconscionably, but so has he for thirty years, and 
 I suspect that he may do so for yet another thirty 
 years. 
 
 It was Mr. Beauclerc, of course, who finally and 
 definitely, so to speak, threw his lasso over the print- 
 ing press of the rival paper and dragged it down to 
 Washtucna. He kept the galvanised telephone wire 
 to Spokane hot with messages for a week and finally 
 on the morning of the seventeenth of July he received 
 a certain telegram which he sent around amongst his 
 cohorts by courier and then he and Bob Dalton drove 
 to Rosaha by buckboard. The purport of the mes- 
 sage spread everywhere and the scene that followed 
 was Uke a gathering of Highland clans or like the 
 turning out of minute men. Noon was the hour of 
 
loo GAM CLARKE 
 
 the rendezvous and they came as at the call of fife 
 and drum. 
 
 " There ain't nothin' secrit about it," said Mr. 
 Tom Roberts, lighting a long black cigar. " This 
 here Sun ain't goin' to sneak into town like The 
 Breeze did; she comes in at high noon like a bride." 
 Mr. Tom Roberts, I should explain, was an ambi- 
 tious, loose jointed young man who wore " shaps." 
 The Sinners firmly believed him to be a cattle-thief 
 and said he was a natural black leg. But they would 
 have said the same whether he was one or not. 
 
 Of course Cam and I came to the rendezvous down 
 by the depot. We always came to everything. And 
 every Saint in the country was there except the arch- 
 Saints Beauclerc and Dalton. Amongst them was 
 Mr. V. Y. Trillums, a quiet, grizzled little man with 
 three fingers missing from his right hand. Although 
 Mr. Trillums was as firm a Saint as he was a Republi- 
 can, which is to exhaust comparison, he never came to 
 their unimportant meetings. This, then, must have 
 been an important meeting or Trillums would not 
 have been there. Mr. Trillums was considered a 
 great man in Washtucna, for in his bare little house 
 by Dry Creek on the burned sides of Lemon Butte he 
 was known to have in a battered hair trunk a letter 
 signed by Abraham Lincoln. This letter certified 
 that he had disregarded his own safety in order to 
 look out for another person's life, and that while en- 
 gaged in this class of work he had killed three or 
 twenty-three or some such number of the enemy and 
 had himself lost three fingers. That a man could do 
 such things and not tell of them often afterwards was 
 a fact pleasing to Washtucna. So Mr. Trillums was 
 
CAM CLARKE loi 
 
 respected and lionised by both Sinners and Saints. 
 At the depot now he was surrounded by fifty fellow 
 Saints. 
 
 The disinterested spectators were the neutrals and 
 the Sinners. The Sinners took their view at a dis- 
 tance. The neutrals, numbering five, gathered 
 around Mrs. Sarah Clarke, who, with Mr. John 
 Bradford, occupied Mr. Billy Carroll's new buck- 
 board. The five were Bradford, " Doc " Punts, 
 Skookum Jones, Tom Warren and Mr. Gunnysack 
 Charlie Williams. These five were distinguished by 
 being neutrals, by being each and all bachelors and 
 also by being individually and collectively in love 
 with Mrs. Sarah Clarke, so much in love that they 
 would have admired the meanest act she ever did. 
 
 The crowd at the rendezvous were hilarious but 
 impatient, and, to while the tedium of waiting, they 
 frequently crossed over to Jan Havland's, where- 
 from they returned more hilarious yet and less pa- 
 tient. 
 
 At exactly noon, with a roar and a whistle, a spe- 
 cial engine drew up with a palace freight car in tow. 
 Mr. Beauclerc and Mr. Bob Dalton were discovered 
 sitting on the cowcatcher with express-messenger shot 
 guns in the bend of their arms, as though they were 
 guarding treasure. This sight elicited immense en- 
 thusiasm. The Saints liked the sight and, besides, it 
 was Saints' day to cry and shoot and cheer, which 
 acts they performed forthwith, sad faced Mr. Beau- 
 clerc making deprecatory gestures the while, but en- 
 joying it all immensely and, in spite of many years' 
 repression, looking actually happy. 
 
 The Sun, Washtucna's second newspaper child, 
 
I02 GAM CLARKE 
 
 was a healthy and vigorous brat Its parents made 
 it a point that it should exceed The Breeze on all 
 scores. They cheered louder ; they had the first edi- 
 tion ready to distribute even before the train arrived. 
 Also they exceeded it in an unexpected way by giving 
 away the whole first edition. " No robbing methods 
 for The Sun; we give things away," cried Mr. Beau- 
 clerc, and he suited deeds to the words. The first 
 copies went broad-cast while nine men and a Califor- 
 nia wagon moved the whole equipment into Billy 
 Carroll's livery stable for temporary headquarters, 
 and the rest took the new editor into Jan Havland's, 
 where the noise of hilarity became disturbing to quiet 
 people, if there were any. If the editor of The Sun 
 could not claim to have been drunker than The 
 Breeze editor, he at least drank more and talked 
 more loudly. 
 
 Cam and I did not miss any part of anything, which 
 is saying a good deal. We got a paper and started 
 several times to read editorials, but diversions would 
 be started. Once Mr. Bob Dalton, who had accu- 
 mulated some liquor himself, shot out in succession 
 the windows of the new depot, while the telegraph 
 operator crawled under his table and tried to escape 
 by the cracks in the floor. As he was fat he did not 
 succeed, but he looked very funny. This perform- 
 ance of Mr. Dalton's, everybody, even Sinners, 
 agreed was a very spirited one and original, and it 
 was to some extent copied by other celebrators later 
 in the summer. Mr. V. Y. Trillums, however, dur- 
 ing his incumbency as marshal, discouraged the habit 
 by shooting in the groin a man who was engaged in 
 this laudable pastime — but that was long afterwards 
 
CAM CLARKE iP3 
 
 and Cam and I did not even see it. People by that 
 time were trying to become more orderly. On this 
 day Mr. Dalton received no blame whatever. 
 
 Presently other exhilarated Saints, seven in num- 
 ber, lassoed the new Chinese laundryman and simul- 
 taneously and playfully almost pulled him in seven 
 pieces. There was some criticism of this perform- 
 ance on the grounds of humanity, but as soon as the 
 fact was presented that " Chinese air of a low narv- 
 ous org'nisation,'* it was at once recognised that the 
 Chinaman had not suffered at all. And as the per- 
 formance had been highly amusing, all criticism of it 
 was very properly dropped. The Chinaman vindi- 
 cated this view by omitting to die of his injuries. 
 Cam and I, however, claimed credit for that, for we 
 borrowed some horse liniment for him from Billy 
 Carroll — without mentioning it to Mr. Carroll, I 
 regret to say, until nine years afterwards, in Spokane, 
 when I paid for it with interest, as Mr. Billy Carroll 
 was then suffering from extreme poverty and wanted 
 a loan to get supper and bed and a breakfast. On 
 that occasion I paid him the price of several bottles of 
 liniment, which was proper and right. 
 
 Other interesting things happened, but finally Cam 
 and Mr. Gunnysack Charlie and I, who were neither 
 Saints nor Sinners, adjourned to the flat plank on top 
 of the stock yard fence and read The Sun's first edi- 
 torial, Mr. Gunnysack elaborating and explaining 
 things. 
 
 " The Washtucna Sun/' said the editorial, " pro- 
 poses to furnish the moral and intellectual light for 
 this town. The gentlemen of this community who 
 
104 GAM CLARKE 
 
 have almost universally been smothered and disgusted 
 by the putrescent darkness exhaled by that insolent 
 publication, the so-called ' Breeze ' of Washtucna, 
 will, we feel confident, welcome a decent and fearless 
 news sheet — which The Washtucna Sun is and 
 will be. 
 
 '' The Sun is independent and unbiased, yet it is 
 not unaware that a certain leader of the criminal ele- 
 ment of this community, whom we shall call Judge 
 R ■■ (we forbear from moderation and on ac- 
 count of his unfortunate children to mention the name 
 of the round-bellied, whisky-soak to whom we re- 
 fer), has attempted by fraud and deceit to prejudice 
 the mind of this community against its most reliable 
 citizens. And The Sun so loathes injustice and mis- 
 representation that it has now an actual prejudice 
 
 against not only Judge R but also against the 
 
 worm-backed editor of The Breeze who permits him- 
 self to be used as a vile tool of Judge R . But 
 
 The Sun deprecates violence. It hopes no one will 
 shoot this contemptible man or no indignant com- 
 munity hang him. Like ditch water and poisonous 
 snakes, he was created for God's purposes. He will 
 perish in the sunlight of truth. 
 
 " The Sun, we have said, will be independent; it 
 will also be idealistic. It will not desire to take part 
 in partizan feuds. But when the honour of the com- 
 munity is at stake it can never remain silent. For 
 this reason the next issue and every one thereafter 
 will be filled with spiritual and moral carbolic acid 
 and vitriol until the last atom of the corruption of 
 this town shall be burned out in the bottomless caul- 
 dron of our disinterested contempt. 
 
CAM CLARKE 
 
 105 
 
 " Judge R , we warn you, beware I Your cat- 
 tle brand is on The Breeze. Let it and you seek new 
 pastures while yet ye may, or stand such consequences 
 as the awakened wrath of this community may pro- 
 duce. 
 
 '' The Washtucna Sun will shine for Washington 
 now and forever." 
 
 That was all there was to the editorial. Gunny- 
 sack let it melt in his mouth for five minutes of 
 silence and then said it was splendid, as good as The 
 Breeze; all nonsense, but just suited to Washtucna. 
 
 Of course any one can see that a community stimu- 
 lated successively with two such doses of acid wrath 
 would squirm with life like an eel. Washtucna did. 
 It built six new houses a day, tents came out of the 
 ground over night and speculation, gambling, church- 
 building, drunkenness and hard work spread like 
 measles in a logging camp. Everybody did some- 
 thing. 
 
 Cam and I enjoyed every minute of those days and 
 so did Sarah Clarke in her own way. Nevertheless, 
 she grew very frail and her great mottled gray eyes 
 looked out on the world with the saddest expression 
 imaginable. But Washtucna was always solidly be- 
 hind Sarah Clarke, no matter where else divided. 
 Saints and Sinners, men and women, all plied her 
 with respectful kindness. And as she constantly de- 
 sired to be at work, they pressed, as we have seen, 
 the strangest assortment of mending upon her that 
 any one ever saw, mostly brand new clothing torn by 
 design. She, seeing this, rebelled time and again, 
 but they persisted. So one day she made a strange, 
 
io6 GAM CLARKE 
 
 wry, yet half laughing face and said, " No matter, it 
 is charity anyway; " and she accepted everything but 
 afterwards cried a little. Cam and I told her to 
 brace up, which she did. Why she never taught 
 school I did not know, but she gave over all thought 
 of it apparently when mending came plentifully. 
 
 When Cam and I came home late in the afternoon 
 of the birthday of The Washtucna Sun, John Brad- 
 ford was talking to Sarah Clarke on her little 
 veranda, while she sewed. He was talking slowly 
 and puffing a short, heavy-set pipe. 
 
 " I shot the fellow dead," I heard him say very 
 quietly, while Sarah Clarke paused, her arm ex- 
 tended, her mottled eyes on his face. Then she 
 reached over and patted his arm just once, while he 
 looked away at the sunburned hills, and then we 
 arrived with a clamour about swimming. John 
 Bradford went swimming with us and taught us the 
 " swallow dive." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 WASHTUCNA, I confess, had weaknesses. 
 In those days one of these was a cankering 
 desire to be in fashion, another was an in- 
 ability to sit still. Now she is different: she cares 
 nothing for fashion and she is never very active ; nay, 
 to a casual observer she now seems sound asleep. 
 
 It was Washtucna's amiable weakness for fashion 
 that led her inhabitants on the great camping 
 hegira ; or drove them, which is another way of say- 
 ing the same thing. When the sweat of the labour 
 of starting two newspapers had been wiped off the 
 municipal brow, the restless civic eye of the place 
 began to cast around for new enterprises and inter- 
 ests: water works and sewers got themselves talked 
 about, those first necessities, saloons and restaurants, 
 being amply provided. But presently Washtucna's 
 attention was temporarily distracted from these utili- 
 tarian ends. A yellow haired Portland tea drummer 
 came to town for a day, and passed around the word 
 that the fashionable thing in New York was now to 
 go camping — it made no difference where, just to go 
 camping. He had recently been to New York and 
 he said he knew, and, knowing, he wondered why 
 Washtucna, which had such beautiful places to go to, 
 permitted them all to remain unused. " What would 
 not New York give for such opportunities ? " he 
 asked, and he explained just what Jay Gould would 
 
 107 
 
io8' CAM CLARKE 
 
 do If he lived In Washtucna. Washtucna fell to the 
 battery of the tea drummer^s logic. 
 
 There seems to have been no good reason In her 
 own mind why she should go camping, but what 
 would Jay Gould think if she did not? That last 
 argument swamped her. She decided almost unani- 
 mously to go, that she must go, that she had no 
 choice. It made no difference that Washtucna 
 people had mostly been camping as a business for a 
 great part of their lives. Their future should not be 
 prejudiced by the past. Nor would they give regard 
 to the fact that their respective methods of life when 
 at home in Washtucna would have been considered 
 camping of the roughest sort by the New York men 
 who were said to have started the vogue. Wash- 
 tucna, in short, was as much a slave to fashion as a 
 young girl and as determined as a man's wife. The 
 various Washtucnans decided that they would go 
 camping if they had to crawl forth to do It. 
 
 Of course camping was undertaken on partlzan 
 lines. Everything always was in Washtucna. And, 
 of course, the question Immediately arose whether 
 more of Sinners could go than of Saints. Each party 
 boasted beforehand and lied afterhand, so I never 
 knew which won. Nobody, indeed, knew or wanted 
 to know; a definite statement In the premises would 
 have wofully cut down possible conversation. How 
 I abhor men who stop arguments by Introducing Ir- 
 refutable and decisive evidence! They should be 
 gagged and flogged. Fortunately, there are but few 
 of these miscreants alive. 
 
 I may truthfully say that altogether half the people 
 of Washtucna went forth to the various rivers, lakes 
 
CAM CLARKE 109 
 
 and hills. Every four horse team and six horse 
 wagon and every buckboard In that region was requi- 
 sitioned. Even my father went, but I did not go 
 with him and my family. Sarah Clarke and Cam 
 and I went with the Rushers, and my father had only 
 ten children left to take with him. I wonder if it 
 seemed lonesome to him. He went with an ox team 
 and it must have been very hard work, but he was a 
 public-spirited man and when he came back he said 
 he had enjoyed himself vastly. 
 
 Of course, there had been competition in the mat- 
 ter of who should carry off the Clarkes. Indeed, 
 that was an important point. Judge Rusher won 
 for the Sinners by the simple expedient of asking Mrs. 
 Clarke before other people did. This was a stroke 
 of genius and he felt so good about it that he asked 
 me to come, too, to entertain Cam and Sandy so they 
 would not bother him too much. It was considered 
 by conservative people that the judge was doing a 
 dangerous thing In taking us three boys in one party, 
 for three boys' minds can think of a great variety of 
 devilment. But Judge Rusher did not worry much. 
 A fat man can try anything. He said, *' Come on, 
 Mart! " and I came. He was pretty safe, for his 
 nerves were armoured in rhinoceros hide. One 
 night he took off the armour — but that was later. 
 
 Cam and Sandy and I were by that time very good 
 friends when we were not fighting. In the few days 
 before we left for the St. Mary's we worked in uni- 
 son and harmony and gathered together a lot of 
 camping gear that looked Invaluable to us. We kept 
 this gear hidden In a gunnysack which was stowed in 
 the Rushers' hay mow. It consisted of samples of 
 
no XAM CLARKE 
 
 smoking and chewing tobacco, an old army revolver 
 of ancient vintage presented us by Mr. George Arm- 
 bend after we caught his cayuse, which had thrown 
 him and then had run away from him. I desire, 
 however, to say for Armbend, who is now deceased 
 on account of freezing received in the Xanana Val- 
 ley, that he was not sober at the time he made us this 
 handsome present. Besides these, there were in the 
 bag some corn cob pipes and nine five-cent novels, 
 which were given us by the first tramp that was ever 
 known to have entered the Palouse Country. Thus, 
 you see, we were not entirely destitute of the com- 
 moner luxuries of boyhood. And wc valued them 
 as gold. 
 
 Of course, the Beauclercs had decided to go camp- 
 ing, and Mr. Beauclerc, amongst others, had invited 
 the Clarkes to go with him. But there was only one 
 of Mrs. Clarke; she could not go with everybody. 
 Their party, hence, consisted only of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Beauclerc, Julie and ten or twelve poor relations 
 from Colfax, and they lamented its dull loneliness. 
 
 Our party and the Beauclercs* took the road the 
 same day and for the same country, the St. Mary's, 
 sixty miles or so northeast. But we were on the 
 road at half past three and they did not start until 
 four. 
 
 We came through Washtucna just before four, 
 but we were not earlier than true love. Mr. 
 Skookum Jones galloped up alongside us on his pinto 
 cayuse and removed his threadbare and faded silk 
 hat several times and with great vigour towards Mrs. 
 Clarke; and Punts and John Bradford stood ankle 
 deep in the dust and with ferocious playfulness bade 
 
CAM CLARKE iii 
 
 us stand and deliver, while they threatened us with 
 imaginary shot guns. At this Mr. Skookum Jones 
 circled around the wagon emitting from his shrivelled 
 and time battered body certain blood curdling yells, 
 which, he afterwards informed us, were in exact imi- 
 tation of a Cree Indian. They then bade us good- 
 bye with expressed wishes for Mrs. Clarke's com- 
 fort, health and enjoyment, altogether out of propor- 
 tion to her avoirdupois. But it has been observed 
 by numerous philosophers, I believe, that such 
 favours are not distributed by weight. 
 
 We had so good a start over the Beauclercs that in 
 spite of our delay we saw them just leaving home 
 when we were at the top of Robert's long hill. This 
 gave us a pleasing sense of superiority which Judge 
 Rusher, like a true sportsman, promised to maintain 
 for us as long as his horse flesh could do it. 
 
 As we drove along through the shimmering bunch 
 grass country, Cam and Sandy and I sat on a roll 
 of blankets with our feet hanging over the tail-board. 
 We were jolted and rattled and deafened and we 
 breathed dust and perspired vastly, but we had an 
 excellent time. Oh, it was splendid : the sun shone 
 hotter and hotter, the judge grew very red faced 
 and he cursed pleasantly from time to time, the 
 women promised faithfully to choke to death on the 
 dust and then broke the promise by a narrow margin 
 and the horses coughed constantly with it; but Sandy 
 and Cam and I enjoyed every minute. And so did 
 the others, each in his own way. This was princi- 
 pally because they thought they were on vacation; 
 and because they thought so, they were. That is 
 what vacation is. You could take it in a jute fac- 
 
112 -CAM CLARKE 
 
 tory if you knew how. It was not the kind of camp- 
 ing people In New York do, but it was camping — 
 very much camping. 
 
 We kept on up and down the sharp Palouse Hills 
 almost all day. We forded the streams between 
 them and went shouting through mud holes and up 
 impossibly steep places until we came to the Indian 
 Reserve. That was different country. We entered 
 the cool, aromatic pine forests late in the afternoon 
 and Cam said the horses " trotted just like they do in 
 dreams," which was a statement I could not cor- 
 roborate, as I was not a good dreamer of horses. 
 My dreams are about goats with large stomachs. 
 
 That night we camped on one of the forks of the 
 Hangman. After supper, as we sat listening to the 
 coyote chorus and consciously breathing the fragrant 
 air of the pines, Sarah Clarke got out what I de- 
 scribed as a high-falutin', Sunday-go-to-meetin' banjo, 
 which she called a guitar. It was the first one I had 
 ever seen and I thought its music entrancing. The 
 lilt of It set me all aqulver and got my emotions in 
 such flow that I wanted to cry. But of course a boy 
 could not do that. I was willing to die for some- 
 thing — nay, I was determined to do so. And 
 Sarah Clarke saw and understood — saw just with 
 a glance of insight. 
 
 Sarah Clarke played and sang very softly for a 
 while and then Judge Rusher and his fat, good old 
 wife joined in and Cam and I liked the effect so well 
 that we told the judge he could sing " almost as 
 good " as a " nigger " we had heard down on Burn- 
 ham's ranch. We had Intended that for the highest 
 compliment, too, for we had admired the coloured 
 
CAM CLARKE 113 
 
 man a lot. And he had been a rider as well as a 
 singer; " he can ride straight up and spur 'em all 
 over and never claw leather," was the way Burnham 
 described it. But the judge did not seem to under- 
 stand how complimentary we meant to be. He 
 wanted to be called a grand opera singer or some- 
 thing like that. 
 
 The singing got less and less frequent, the fire fell 
 lower and lower until the dim moonlight, which came 
 sifting down through pine tree tops, could almost 
 cast a shadow. 
 
 Suddenly Sarah Clarke burst out weeping and even 
 when Cam and I told her everything was all right 
 she kept on sobbing and sobbing. I did not under- 
 stand, but that night, when we were all in bed on 
 the ground under the stars, I heard the judge talking 
 in low tones to his fat wife. I was sleeping very 
 near to them, so I heard what they said. 
 
 " It's funny," said the judge, " how two horses 
 get stuck on each other when you drive 'em together 
 a good deal. When you separate 'em they whinny 
 around and don't seem to know hardly what to do, 
 they're really distressed. And durned if it don't 
 look as though people were the same — take Mrs. 
 Clarke, now. She can't hardly get along drivin' 
 single." 
 
 Mrs. Rusher did not reply for a moment, but I 
 could hear her choking down a sob, which I knew 
 came right from her kind, big heart. 
 
 Then I suppose I became very sleepy, for I thought 
 the pine trees began to sob in the wind and the coy- 
 otes were wailing from sorrow. I escaped all this 
 sadness by going to sleep, and when I awoke, the 
 
114 CAM CLARKE 
 
 crackling of the fire and the sizzling of bacon made a 
 very cheerful sound, the call to breakfast. And 
 Sarah Clarke was like a sprite, all full of life and 
 light and glory, but, oh, so fragile looking. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 AFTER having travelled all of another day, but 
 now on dustless roads, we arrived up towards 
 the headwaters of the limpid St. Mary's in 
 northern Idaho and went into permanent camp in a 
 little meadow set down amongst craggy, evergreen 
 clad mountains. It was wilderness almost un- 
 touched. 
 
 Next day, while the judge and the ladies " lazed " 
 around camp and boiled beans and played domestic 
 games such as seven-up and California jack, Cam and 
 Sandy and I started our own enterprises. First we 
 fished for trout and caught some, but afterwards we 
 heard from a prospector, who was passing along the 
 wagon trail headed for Seven Devils, that the Beau- 
 clercs were camped in a meadow two miles below; so 
 we went down to see little Julie, who was the only 
 small " kid " in their party. This prospector also 
 imparted to us the information that asafetida had an 
 odour peculiarly attractive to trout and he advised us 
 to carry some in our bait box. I took his advice and 
 I suppose it cost me friends, but I forgave him. 
 
 When we found Julie, she had just discovered that 
 she was a captive princess waiting to be rescued. 
 We liked that for it made us remember that we were 
 knights, which we had forgotten for several days. 
 We told her about it and promised we would come 
 
 "S 
 
ii6 GAM CLARKE 
 
 down to rescue her next morning after we came back 
 from fishing, providing nothing happened. In the 
 meantime, we advised her not to worry, and com- 
 manded her not to eat anything outside meal time 
 except bread, water and cake. This precaution was 
 taken, said Cam, to prevent her being poisoned. 
 " And, besides," said Sandy, who had no Imagination, 
 *' she might forget she was a captive If she didn't 
 have nothing to 'mind her of it." Which statement 
 disgusted Cam, so Sandy took it back. 
 
 As we moved away, Julie got behind a wagon- 
 wheel, of which she said the spokes were prison bars, 
 and from between these bars she waved a handker- 
 chief at us in farewell. The last we heard she was 
 calling upon us as true knights not to forget. 
 
 We started back towards our own camp, engaged 
 in nothing at all. Just before we arrived, we passed 
 through a heavily wooded, deep, dark gulch. Into 
 which the sun almost never shone. There was a 
 clear creek wiggle-waggling forth and back across 
 the floor of It, which was carpeted with needles and 
 moss. Cam stopped and said he had decided that 
 this was just the place to bring the revolver and the 
 tobacco, for we were smugglers in addition to being 
 knights and professional rescuers of lady captives, 
 and this was a fine place for smugglers, the very best 
 place imaginable. 
 
 Sandy and I were surprised and I said I did not 
 believe a fellow could be all those things at once. 
 Cam asked scornfully where I had ever seen any 
 knights or smugglers or rescuers, anyway, and said 
 I had better shut up. I admitted that he was right, 
 that I had never seen such things ; but I said I would 
 
CAM CLARKE 117 
 
 not shut up. I did, however, and Cam grunted like 
 people do on the stage, and I concluded that Worces- 
 ter, Massachusetts, must be a livelier place than I 
 had hitherto believed, if smugglers and knights lived 
 in it. 
 
 We sneaked down to camp, secured the revolver 
 and tobacco from the sack, and ran back to the gulch. 
 Some distance up in it behind a big rock we started 
 a fire and then we got out the revolver and tried to 
 shoot it for a long time. It would not fire, but after 
 we had given up, Sandy shot it accidentally and the 
 bullet skinned the calf of his leg and made a hole in 
 the ground you could put your hand in. We were 
 all frightened, especially Sandy, who thought he was 
 killed and wanted his mother. But Cam sucked the 
 little skinned place just as you do for a rattlesnake 
 bite, and that made Sandy feel so important that he 
 actually laughed and said he was glad he had been 
 shot. Afterwards he practised limping. 
 
 Well, we did not fool with the revolver any more. 
 We put it on a rotten log away over by itself. But 
 we lighted up our pipes, which almost choked us, and 
 we were starting to make plans for rescuing the 
 princess without the revolver, when I noticed that 
 Sandy had commenced to turn pale and that Cam 
 had, too. 
 
 I said, "What's matter, fellers?'' and I felt 
 squeamish myself. 
 
 Cam said, " The dum world's whirlin' round like 
 a pin-wheel 'n I'm sick," and he lay down and would 
 not say a single word more. 
 
 Sandy and I got as sick as Cam did. We could 
 not, I regret to admit, keep down our dinners or our 
 
ii8 CAM CLARKE 
 
 presence of mind or anything. I thought we were 
 going to die. Just when we were sickest, I heard a 
 rustling behind me in the leaves. I managed to look 
 around after a long while and there was Judge 
 Rusher, looking as stern as a fat, jolly man can look. 
 We paid no attention to him, we just shut our eyes 
 and went ahead dying. We were not going to be 
 interfered with on the dying schedule, we had no time 
 for complaints. 
 
 The judge sat down and waited. When we could 
 move, he made us throw all the tobacco in the fire — 
 " Damn rotten stuff ! " said he, severely puffing his 
 own pipe. Then he took the revolver and tried to 
 put it in his pocket, but it was too big, so he carried it. 
 
 Judge Rusher said almost nothing, but he even- 
 tually made us all march back to camp single file and 
 cut wood in the sun for two hours on empty stomachs 
 without ever saying a word to each other. And he 
 watched us with one canny gray eye to see that we 
 executed the sentence. It was very discouraging to 
 smoking, so discouraging that I did not try it again 
 for two weeks. I suppose if you killed a boy he 
 would give up smoking for good — but who knows? 
 
 I took no interest in things at all by the time I had 
 finished cutting the wood. I did not even care about 
 the captive princess. And as Sandy felt the same 
 way, he and I bolted a barrel of supper and crawled 
 off to bed. Not so Cam. In about an hour he woke 
 us up and lighted a candle in our little tent. 
 
 " How's this," he whispered hoarsely, *' for a let- 
 ter to the Princess Julie? We'll take it to her to- 
 night.'' 
 
CAM CLARKE 119 
 
 '' Princess: 
 
 " Your faithful nights have had heeps of truble. 
 Be not discurriged. We will nock three times on a 
 holler tree trunk and then whistle. Trust nobudy. 
 
 " S. C. M." 
 
 The signature, he Informed us, stood jointly for 
 Sandy, Cam and Mart. 
 
 " What you goln' to do with it? " I asked sleepily, 
 and quite without enthusiasm. 
 
 " Sh — I " cautioned Cam, " the tent walls have 
 ears like a mule deer. I'm agoin' to stick it through 
 the prison bars to the Princess Julie. Are you a 
 true knight or ain't you ? Come on I " 
 
 Sandy and I agreed, having now got a little awake, 
 that that was a good, sporty plan; so we dressed 
 quietly, which so far as I was concerned was no com- 
 plicated thing to do, and sneaked out. We called 
 cautiously our pack of hounds, consisting of toothless 
 Jack, Rusher's old pet dog, and trotted off down the 
 dusty trail which the moon lighted until it was as 
 bright as day. After we got a little way from camp 
 it was scary, for the shadows were dark and we heard 
 wolves and once we even heard a cougar, but we 
 nevertheless kept on. Cam leading, until we saw the 
 white tents of the Beauclercs' camp shining in the 
 meadow. 
 
 We stopped to listen and to reconnoitre, as we had 
 read that people do in such circumstances. Besides, 
 we felt like listening. Everything was as still as a 
 graveyard, so we slipped up into camp very quietly 
 on our stomachs and Cam put the sheet of paper be- 
 
I20 CAM CLARKE 
 
 tween the wagon spokes and put a stone on It and 
 then we ran as fast as we could. This had been 
 simple enough. But Beauclerc's dog complicated 
 things by running after us and that dog could beat us. 
 When he caught me, he nipped me on the bare calf 
 of my leg. Fortunately, he did not like the taste. 
 He quit and went home, while I kept going — oh, 
 very much did I keep going. 
 
 When we had quieted down again to an easy walk 
 and had reduced our hearts to suitable size, old Jack, 
 the hound, started something on the side lines out In 
 the brush. First there came a crashing and a de- 
 lighted yelp from Jack, and then a hissing and some 
 woful howls, then scrambling and more howling and 
 all coming our way ! We were more frightened than 
 ever, and we stretched our legs three Inches In run- 
 ning. We ran as only the frightened can run, and 
 we went straight for camp and our own little white 
 tent. Jack was behind us, yelping every step. No 
 doubt, thought I wildly, he has stirred up seven or 
 eight grizzly bears. 
 
 We arrived in the tent first, but Jack was on top 
 of us instantly, whining like himself and squirming 
 like an eel — and horrors I The odour he brought 
 with him was suffocating, for the old fool had tackled 
 a skunk and had got a splendid dose of its wrath. 
 So had we! Jack brought It. He wiped himself 
 on us and on our bedclothes and on the tent and on 
 the ground and then he repeated. 
 
 We at length rose In a panic and drove him off with 
 sticks, and just then little Judge Rusher walked Into 
 our midst so angry with being waked up that he cuffed 
 
CAM CLARKE 121 
 
 us every direction. I presume if we had not smelled 
 so bad he would have cuffed us more and nobody 
 could blame him. I have never seen him so angry. 
 
 Well, we actually had to burn some of our stuff in 
 the cause of sanitation, and we had to tie Jack down 
 by the river. By the time we were fixed for bed 
 again we all felt ready to die. Cam and I talked it 
 over and we decided that a boy's lot was pretty rotten 
 these days, anyway, and we had commenced to talk 
 a little of suicide when there came a flapping at the 
 tent door and Sarah Clarke entered, though how she 
 stood the odour of skunk I do not see to this day. 
 
 She kneeled down and laughed at us in a sweet 
 sort of badinage and called us " silly boys." You 
 should have seen us cheer up. 
 
 ** You haven't had much luck to-day, have you? " 
 she said, and then she patted us and whisked out, 
 casting us a laughing glance over her shoulder from 
 the door, but I fancy the fresh air tasted good to her 
 when she got out, even if she had not mentioned 
 skunk to us. Refraining from mentioning skunk 
 under those circumstances was, in my opinion, the 
 height of courtesy. 
 
 She had cheered us up a good deal and after she 
 left we were drowsily able to speculate with pleasure 
 on the fun we would have telling the boys at home of 
 the adventure. We decided we would embellish — 
 there was no virtue in us. I believe, indeed, we were 
 going to say there were twenty skunks and three 
 hounds ; but Judge Rusher remarked to us from his 
 tent in tones of wrath that if we did not shut up he'd 
 skin us alive. We believed him and shut up and 
 
122 GAM CLARKE 
 
 then sleep took us off. If I had known the statistics 
 on the number of boys actually skinned annually I 
 should not have believed him so readily. But boys 
 never do know such statistics, or parenthood would 
 be unbearable. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 ON account of the necessity of spending a day in 
 the river, scrubbing ourselves, our clothes 
 and Jack, the dog, free from skunk odour, 
 we were delayed in executing our plan to rescue the 
 Princess Julie from the dungeon of the " Wagon- 
 wheels.'' To this delay we owed the privilege of 
 making the acquaintance of Whitey McGrath, the 
 afterwards so celebrated horse-thief. Also, to that 
 circumstance Julie owed it that she never did get 
 rescued. 
 
 On the morning following the day of scrubbing, we 
 fancied that we were ready to proceed with the rescue 
 of Julie. Instead of going directly to Beauclerc's 
 camp, however. Cam suggested that as a matter of 
 strategy it was our duty to start in the opposite direc- 
 tion. '' It'll throw 'em off the trail," said Cam de- 
 cisively. We agreed with enthusiasm, but I can not 
 now remember just what persons were expected to 
 trail us. Still, I am sure they were shrewd, formid- 
 able people. 
 
 We took the little Flobert rifle and our lunch and 
 started up towards the Seven Devils, saying we were 
 hunting deer. Why the elders let us go is not en- 
 tirely comprehensible to me now, but I fancy Judge 
 Rusher decided it. His idea was to give a boy his 
 head; and it is a good idea, too, for a fool won't last 
 
 123 
 
124 €AM CLARKE 
 
 long anyway and he might as well be killed when a 
 boy, and a sensible person can not be hurt. If he is 
 hurt it proves that he is not sensible. 
 
 As we went along, Cam said this arrangement 
 suited him, as it gave him a chance to explore some 
 new trails as well as to practise strategy and he had 
 always intended to be an explorer, anyway. Indeed, 
 I believe he said that he was an explorer. Explor- 
 ing suited Sandy and me well enough, but we were 
 not reckless explorers. We always had our eyes 
 open for boa-constrictors and cannibals and dwarfs 
 and frequently Sandy would lie down and crawl 
 fifty yards on his stomach, stalking something that 
 did not exist. It was very exhilarating. And* any 
 time we wanted to, we could change our minds, be- 
 come knights and go rescue Julie. It was more than 
 exhilarating; it was like being rich enough to own a 
 yacht and not doing it because you preferred a career 
 of philanthropy. 
 
 After a while we came to a little meadow with an 
 old Indian woman kneeling out in the centre of it 
 digging camas, which is a wild bulb that looks like 
 an onion and tastes like nothing at all — say like rice 
 or potatoes. It grows in wet ground and it some- 
 times prevents Indians from starving and it is edible 
 if you are hungry enough. 
 
 I was going up to the woman to have a pow-wow 
 with her, as I knew Chinook, the Indian Esperanto, 
 pretty well — so well that I could ask where she 
 lived and what was her name, without perspiring a 
 bit. But Cam and Sandy said that would not do, it 
 was too coarse ; we must use strategy. We must sur- 
 round and capture alive this force of savages. We 
 
CAM CLARKE 125 
 
 did so. Each one of us sneaked around to a different 
 side of the meadow and then Cam yelled and we all 
 yelled and ran at her as though she had been a cart 
 of mince pies. 
 
 At first she showed about as much sign of emotion 
 as would the mince pies under similar circumstances, 
 though whether it was because we were small, or 
 whether it was because she was an Indian, I do not 
 know. Later she laughed and shook and gurgled 
 like a hot spring boiling up through the mud. That 
 made us indignant, but she persevered in this cachin- 
 natory exercise. 
 
 When we got a look at her face, however, we were 
 instantly mollified, for we in turn recognised her. It 
 was old Susan who used to come to Washtucna to buy 
 " lemon extract," which, as " she was sold," was pure 
 fire. This she varied with stomach bitters and celery 
 elixir. Nobody could expect Susan to be frightened, 
 so we forgave her. 
 
 Still, I was discouraged and so was Sandy. 
 " Shuh," said he morosely, " it ain't nobody but 
 Susan! " Cam, however, was delighted. He cried 
 excitedly, " By jing, this is luck! This is a friendly 
 native, she'll be a big help as a guide all right. We 
 gotta treat her fine so she won't leave the expedition. 
 Yes, sir, treat her fine ! " 
 
 With that Cam went forward as polite as you 
 please, and gave Susan two dirty soda crackers out 
 of his pocket. She munched them and patted our 
 heads and gurgled and clucked as Indians do, and she 
 and I inquired all about each other's families and 
 said It was splendid to hear all the good news which 
 we imparted to each other. And then we sat in the 
 
126 CAM CLARKE 
 
 sun and had a long sociable silence. Indians are 
 good company when you want to be alone. 
 
 I, however, was growing a little tired of Susan 
 and of sitting still, and I commenced to squirm. On 
 one of my squirms I looked over my shoulder and 
 there I saw a man walking and staggering along the 
 trail as though he were either drunk or sick. At 
 first I assumed that it was sickness, as there were not 
 many people who had foresight enough to carry suffi- 
 cient rum to keep them drunk so far into the wilder- 
 ness, and I wished I were a doctor. The man was 
 leading a horse. As he came closer, I changed my 
 diagnosis. It did not take a physician to see that it 
 was liquor instead of sickness and that he was ex- 
 ceedingly drunk. I pointed silently at him and all 
 four of us turned to look. Susan was pleased : where 
 there was so much drunkenness there must be some 
 liquor — perhaps a lady could beg a drink. 
 
 When he got closer, I saw it was Whitey McGrath, 
 whom I had often seen in Washtucna, hanging around 
 Jan Havland's saloon — not that any one wanted 
 him there, but there was a genuine delicacy felt about 
 ejecting him. This delicacy arose from the fact that 
 Whitey McGrath always had two revolvers strapped 
 to his stomach, and that Washtucnans generally be- 
 lieved that he was consumed with a desire to use 
 them. In short, people were as delicate in handling 
 him as they would have been in handling a rattle- 
 snake. Nobody liked him, but some people, includ- 
 ing me, were afraid of him. I saw, as he ap- 
 proached, that he was wearing his guns that day and 
 I confess I was frightened a good deal and I would 
 have preferred to leave. However, I stayed with 
 
CAM CLARKE 127 
 
 Cam and Susan, but Sandy did run. He dodged into 
 the brush just as soon as he saw Whitey. I stayed 
 behind because Cam did, and Cam stayed because he 
 wanted to. But Sandy was wise that day, not with 
 his brain, for he had not any, but with his instinct, 
 which he turned loose. 
 
 As Whitey came across towards us, I saw that he 
 had following him one of the prettiest mares I had 
 ever seen. She was a bay with a bald face and with 
 white feet, and her legs were as slender and strong 
 looking as steel bars — I refer, of course, to strong, 
 slender steel bars. She appeared gentle, but it was 
 evident that she was high spirited. When she got 
 pretty close she stopped and snorted, not liking the 
 smell of Indian. Whitey jerked her and attempted 
 to lead her along. Then with a plunge and another 
 snort, she bowled him over, wheeled and bolted. 
 
 Whitey got up slowly, swearing constantly as he 
 did so. We sat still. He came over towards us. 
 " Susan," he said, *' by G-god, I gotch a m-mind to 
 ki-ill you — thash right I An' mebbe some o' thesh 
 boysh, too — yas, sir I " 
 
 I regretted keenly at this stage that I had not fol- 
 lowed Sandy, but Cam and Susan seemed satisfied. 
 Susan, indeed, was not half so much interested in 
 Whitey's threats as she was in the possibility of get- 
 ting a drink. While he promised to barbecue her, 
 she went smilingly through his various pockets hunt- 
 ing for a bottle and saying to him at every motion, 
 " Hiu tillicums/^ which was to say, " We are great 
 friends.** Whitey seemed to like this; he looked 
 really amiable. He chucked Susan under the chin, 
 he said " Hiu tillicums ^' himself, and finally he told 
 
128 CAM CLARKE 
 
 us he would give us a quarter to catch his " cayuse " 
 — which was not a cayuse at all, but a thoroughbred. 
 
 We caught the mare without any trouble, though 
 it was strange that she had not cleared out for home 
 when she found herself loose. Most horses will do 
 this. We led her up to Whitey and Susan and this 
 time she was either used to Susan or, being to wind- 
 ward, she failed to scent her. That a white man's 
 horse or mule dislikes the odour of Indian is strange, 
 as strange as the fact that savages sometimes dislike 
 the odour of civilised man. 
 
 Whitey was by this time making love to Susan, but 
 when Susan made certain that he had no '^ skookum 
 water," she got tired, shoved him roughly away and 
 told him to '' clatawa^^ which means to go. This 
 remark Susan repeated with emphasis, and as she 
 spoke picked up a piece of wood for size about like 
 a pick-handle. Whitey, though, would not be re- 
 pulsed. He ogled the old woman and smiled at her 
 and made attempts to embrace her, which in violence 
 were considerably out of proportion to the old lady's 
 charms. Finally, however, he seemed to give up. 
 He swung awkwardly into the saddle and was mak- 
 mg off when I asked him very politely, " Where's 
 that quarter^ Mr. McGrath? You ain't forgot it, 
 have you?" 
 
 I would not have asked him if I had known how he 
 would feel about it. It was the wrong remark to 
 make to him. I thought he would blow up with rage. 
 He whirled his horse on its hind legs and rode at us, 
 cursing every jump. We beat him to the brush and 
 got behind a big fallen log. This he tried to hurdle, 
 but after barking his horse's knees he gave up and 
 
CAM CLARKE 129 
 
 rode away. Cam and I kept quiet this time as he 
 went, because we thought perhaps that would be 
 about the best way to save our hves. But Whitey 
 had not finished. He rode over towards Susan again 
 and half fell out of his saddle and tried to embrace 
 the old creature. 
 
 Susan, however, was out of patience with philan- 
 dering unlubricated with liquor. She stepped back, 
 swung the imitation pick-handle like a man and 
 clouted him alongside the head. It knocked him 
 down and I thought it had killed him, for he did not 
 move for a long time. Susan did not seem to care. 
 She went ahead digging camas. I did not much care 
 myself, but I remained behind the log. 
 
 After a while Whitey got up groggily, and he acted 
 soberer. I don't believe he knew what had happened 
 or ever found out. He pulled up into the saddle 
 after some effort, and, still reeling, galloped off on 
 the beautiful bald-faced thoroughbred, headed for 
 Seven Devils — and I never mentioned that quarter 
 to him as we went; nor would I have mentioned it 
 for a wagon load of quarters. 
 
 We all came back into the open, Sandy last of all, 
 and we christened Susan " Pick-handle Sally," which 
 name spread and became known wherever she was 
 known. She was proud of it and finally would 
 answer to no other name. I often wonder if Whitey 
 McGrath ever heard what happened. 
 
 We then said we would open our package and 
 lunch there with Susan, giving up the rescue of Julie 
 for the day. But when we proposed this to Susan, 
 she said, '' Halo — tinas clatawa, hiu skookum 
 muckamuckf' which is to say, if we would travel a 
 
I30 CAM CLARKE 
 
 little way with her, she would lead us to some good 
 food — not lunch, but good solid food. We said we 
 did not care how good food we ate and we followed 
 Susan down to the Indian camp, where she gave us 
 some baked camas and jerked venison and we gave 
 her two apples. We all had a good time, including 
 Susan, but the place did smell like a glue factory. 
 The flies were bad, too, and they were starving hun- 
 gry, so we left when we could. Susan was a good 
 squaw, but she was somewhat ignorant concerning 
 sanitation. Indian camps, however, have their vir- 
 tues: you can move them when you have made the 
 surroundings unbearably dirty. 
 
 On the way back to camp we shot a blue jay and 
 when we got home we had a supper of syrup and 
 beans which we liked. Nobody died from them 
 either. They are good food and they are either a 
 cure for indigestion or a proof that you have not got 
 it, or something like that. 
 
 We told Judge Rusher about our adventure with 
 Whitey, and the judge said Whitey ought to be 
 hanged and would be, and when he said it, he snapped 
 his jaws together like a steel trap. That meant that 
 he would help hang him if ever he had a chance. 
 The judge was, you see, a man of strong opinions. 
 Then he made us describe the horse over and over 
 and when we got through, he wrote down a descrip- 
 tion of it, ** for reference,'* he said. Eventually he 
 used that reference, but that was afterwards. 
 
 As we were sitting around the camp that night, a 
 little blear-eyed, gray bearded man rode in with two 
 pack ponies behind him, each one tied to the tail of 
 the horse ahead. He was a prospector just out from 
 
CAM CLARKE 131 
 
 Washtucna and he had a box for Mrs. Clarke, sent 
 by " devoted friends." There was a bunch of 
 bedraggled roses from Mr. Skookum Jones, the 
 product, doubtless, of a Spokane greenhouse, two 
 cans of caviar from Punts, M.D., and a letter from 
 John Bradford. 
 
 We boys went to bed lamenting that the Princess 
 Julie still was unrescued and Mrs. Clarke went to 
 bed looking sad. She told Cam and me next day 
 that it was because people were kind, which we said 
 was no reason at all. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 WE never did rescue the Princess Julie. We 
 went to see her next day and found she had 
 forgotten she was in a dungeon anyway, so 
 we discharged her as a captive princess and took 
 her into our gang as a lady fisherman and an ex- 
 plorer. But her mother kept her around camp so 
 her explorations were somewhat restricted. When 
 we got tired of being sportsmen we became bookish 
 and spent three days in reading our five-cent novels 
 aloud to each other. After that it was time to start 
 back to Washtucna. Julie had liked the novels im- 
 mensely and we all wished some one would commit 
 a crime to give us practice in detective work. 
 
 We arrived in Washtucna a week to a day after 
 our encounter with the redoubtable Whitey Mc- 
 Grath. I remember so exactly because meeting Mc- 
 Grath had been for us boys the event of the excur- 
 sion — an event even beyond being shipmates with 
 skunk odour. We felt pretty good — wild, hilari- 
 ous and full of baked beans and trout. And we were 
 as sun tanned as an old campaign hat from the 
 tropics. It had done us all good and the good 
 showed even in Sarah Clarke's face, which seemed 
 less thin and which peeled to a beautiful brown 
 colour. 
 
 Washtucna had been busy growing and so fast she 
 grew that our ten days' absence had been a long time 
 
 132 
 
CAM CLARKE 133 
 
 in her history. The new arrivals, Indeed, were so 
 numerous that the temporary absence of the old in- 
 habitants had been to a remarkable degree unnoticed. 
 And this effect was heightened by the fact that those 
 old inhabitants who stayed at home had striven ex- 
 ceedingly hard to please, to talk and lie like the 
 whole town full of us. Altogether, I doubt if we 
 were missed. A conclusion which I shall never im- 
 part to Judge Rusher, nor, indeed, to Cam, whose 
 weakness it has always been to fancy himself indis- 
 pensable. 
 
 News met us at the door, also John Bradford and 
 Doc Punts, who Informed us in detail of the news, 
 while later up galloped breathlessly Mr. Skookum 
 Jones on his pinto cayuse. I need not say that I 
 waited to hear all the details of this news instead of 
 rushing home to the bosom of my family. This is 
 partly to be attributed to the extreme hardness and 
 unevenness of my family's bosom and partly to curi- 
 osity. 
 
 It appeared shortly that Mr. Jack Snell, a violent 
 young adherent to the Sinners' party, had shot Mr. 
 Horlacker, the editor of The JVashtucna Sun, in the 
 stomach, on account of a playful editorial in which 
 Mr. Horlacker had In print adverted to Mr. Snell 
 as a " cattle-thief and a liar." This news being Im- 
 parted, Punts, Bradford and Jones withdrew to let 
 Sarah Clarke rest, their faces as radiant as possible. 
 Whereupon Mr. Gunnysack appeared and proceeded 
 to recite the whole circumstances, Mrs. Clarke lis- 
 tening and smiling with a patience beyond belief. 
 At this juncture I was removed home by my parent, 
 who came up and grasped me firmly by the left ear. 
 
134 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Saints, it need not be remarked, were highly in- 
 censed at the shooting of Mr. Horlacker. They 
 considered such an act a threat against the freedom 
 of the press and they talked of lynching Mr. Snell. 
 Sinners, on the other hand, were very well satisfied. 
 Judge Rusher, the king Sinner, after considering the 
 case maturely, said that on the whole he believed Mr. 
 Horlacker had every cause to congratulate himself 
 that his wound was from an honourable revolver 
 shot, whereas gentlemen of Mr. Horlacker's moral 
 standing usually reckoned for their sins ignobly, say 
 on the end of a rope. As for threats of lynching, 
 said lynching could only be carried out over the car- 
 cass of Judge Rusher. In the sentiments opposing 
 lynching Judge Rusher was joined by those influ- 
 ential non-partizans, Mr. John Bradford, Mr. 
 Skookum Jones and Punts, M.D. " It'll teach that 
 Horlacker sport not to be such a violent writer," said 
 Skookum, " and for that reason I hold the shooting 
 justified." Punts said Horlacker would not die and 
 tTiat as he. Punts, had always " been a violent parti- 
 zan of moderation in language and in other things," 
 he was not in favor of any lynching business, *^ no 
 matter in whose honour pulled off." Most potent of 
 all was John Bradford, who, so far as I know, said 
 nothing but just looked. 
 
 Mr. Beauclerc arrived back in Washtucna the 
 same day that the judge did, and as these two were 
 the acknowledged leaders of the belligerent parties. 
 Saints and Sinners flowed silently into town from all 
 the surrounding country, revolvers at belt or in bulg- 
 ing hip pockets. It was like a civil war on a small 
 scale. The Tennessee Hotel was jam full that 
 
CAM CLARKE 135 
 
 night, and In addition men slept where they could, 
 bivouacked on their arms on floors and sidewalks. 
 Judge Rusher's house was a garrison, Mr. Beau- 
 clerc's was another and the women and children from 
 each were sent out trembling to the houses of distant 
 neighbours. Mr. Jack Snell was guarded by his fel- 
 low Sinners as though he were the Czar of Russia 
 warned of a dynamite plot. 
 
 It was like some real wars, I say; just as ridiculous, 
 just as inspiring. Men strode about town grimly 
 and silently, others sat at cards or at drinking at Jan 
 Havland's, with their hands kept free for use and 
 their eyes looking around every which way like glass- 
 eyed cayuse ponies looking for something at which 
 to shy. 
 
 Of course all these men had forgotten or had never 
 known what the war was about. And, alas, I do not 
 now know whether the Saints were fighting for the 
 right to call a man a cattle-thief and a liar or whether 
 the Sinners were fighting for the privilege of shoot- 
 ing people who write things that do not suit your 
 taste. And in this respect It was like war, too. 
 And, Indeed, nobody cared what the war was about: 
 it was the irresponsible, exciting war game of healthy 
 barbarian children, and a most interesting game it was 
 to the participants. Even the women and children 
 had the fun of wondering whether their relatives 
 would be killed or not, and, though I have nowhere 
 seen it so stated, I believed there Is considerable 
 sport for a good healthy woman in such speculations. 
 It Is good fun ! Napoleon and Bismarck and Fried- 
 rich had their fun in their time, now it was the turn 
 of the Palouse Country. 
 
136 CAM CLARKE 
 
 In the early morning Mr. Dan True, the marshal 
 of Washtucna, rode sleepily into town. He was 
 born sleepy and he never had changed. Mr. True 
 was a Saint and an idiot and the poorest day's work 
 Mayor Punts, M.D., ever did was to make Mr. 
 True marshal of Washtucna. Punts was a sound 
 man but he made a mistake. 
 
 Mr. True was away camping when word accident- 
 ally came to him up on the Indian Reserve of the 
 shooting of Mr. Horlacker, of the disorder conse- 
 quent thereto and of the promise of more disorder. 
 Mr. True, with an entirely unexpected zeal, slung a 
 leg over his cayuse and came down, riding all night 
 and no doubt sleeping as he rode. He arrived very 
 early in the morning. Mr. True, it has been re- 
 marked, was a Saint and naturally he immediately 
 at such a crisis went to Mr. Beauclerc's house for 
 consultation, consolation and advice. Mr. Beau- 
 clerc recommended him to pray and later advised 
 him to arrest Mr. Snell in the name of the law for 
 disorder and not to omit any opportunity to shoot 
 him if he resisted or tried to escape. After having 
 arrested Snell, Mr. Beauclerc said he thought True 
 ought to take him to Colfax where the jail was 
 stronger and the man's friends could not release him 
 and where, it is said, Mr. Beauclerc believed 
 he could be more safely kept for lynching pur- 
 poses. 
 
 Mr. Dan True nodded his head sagely over this 
 advice. Then he went home for cogitation and 
 drank a quantity of rye whisky and afterwards sal- 
 lied forth and talked over with several persons who 
 passed at that early hour the desirability of making 
 
CAM CLARKE 137 
 
 the arrest above mentioned. These conversations, 
 it need hardly be said, were repeated and Washtucna 
 buzzed like a swarm of bees. The advice Mr. True 
 received was various, but he paid no heed to any ex- 
 cept Mr. Beauclerc's, which he firmly believed to be 
 inspired. 
 
 About ten o'clock he was ready to perform the 
 solemn ceremony of arresting Jack Snell. He 
 walked down Steptoe Avenue followed by Cam, 
 Sandy and me, and I confess he was perfectly calm 
 and self-possessed. Indeed, there was no question 
 but that Dan True was courageous, he had many 
 opportunities to show that in his life time and he 
 never failed. By what ingenious fabrications Cam, 
 Sandy and I had escaped our families this day I will 
 not recite. They were triumphs of mendacity. I 
 doubt if I could lie better now after years of ob- 
 servation of certain distinguished gentlemen- in this 
 Hne whom I know very well. 
 
 The men of the district were all gathered in the 
 street in the locality adjacent to the buildings occu- 
 pied by Jan Havland's saloon and John Donnelly's 
 store. Saints and Sinners were there Intermixed, and 
 in many cases there was even a rough friendliness be- 
 tween the warring individuals of opposite sides. Off 
 to one side Mr. Beauclerc in his dry, husky voice was 
 talking of the new church, while In another place 
 Judge Rusher was teetering on his toes, blowing 
 smoke and describing no less a horse race than the 
 great Derby itself, which he had seen In England 
 on a visit made when he was a boy. He had told 
 about this race more than thirty thousand times. I 
 know this figure is correct, for he had told it for fifty 
 
138 CAM CLARKE 
 
 years twice a day. In the very centre of the crowd 
 was Jack Snell. 
 
 Cam and I were frightened but we followed Mr. 
 Dan True. " We miss nothing," was our motto. 
 As that gentleman entered the crowd of two hundred 
 men, a lane leading directly to Jack Snell seemed to 
 open up and to stay open as if by preconcert. The 
 marshal followed steadily down this lane, his eye on 
 Jack Snell, not deviating to right or left, for he was, 
 as I have said, a brave, determined dolt of a man. 
 
 True was about to speak, I think, when Snell 
 seemed to make a jerk with his hand towards his 
 pocket — and then with startling suddenness three 
 revolver shots came from Dan True's gun: he had 
 shot from the hip. A tall man at the door of the 
 saloon, Jim Lent, cried out sharply and fell down, 
 shot in the breast. Jack Snell was unscathed but his 
 gun and a hundred others flashed into sight. How- 
 ever, by the grace of God nobody else fired. Then 
 a wild roaring murmur arose and an angry, eddying 
 motion started. Men were taking sides and pres- 
 ently Judge Rusher and the Sinners were in Don- 
 nelly's store and Mr. Beauclerc and the Saints were 
 out In front of it. 
 
 In the meantime no one paid attention to the 
 wounded man lying at the door of Jan Havland's 
 saloon and finally it was Cam and I who waked up 
 Doctor Punts, who had been out late the night before 
 helping a sick squaw on Cabbage Flat. Punts was 
 lying snoring, mouth wide open, in his hot, dusty lit- 
 tle room in the Tennessee Hotel. It was with diffi- 
 culty that we roused him; he was almost exhausted 
 but he made haste and came out with us half dressed. 
 
CAM CLARKE 139 
 
 He knelt over Jim Lent, tried his pulse, his heart 
 and his breathing, cursing every minute. Then he 
 stood up and glanced at the two hostile crowds, who 
 now for the first time realised the existence of Jim 
 Lent. 
 
 ** You damn fools ! " he called to them angrily in a 
 loud voice, *' ain't the mere fact of your bein' alive 
 a sufficient reproach to God without your demon- 
 strating it more fully by a-shootin' people in the 
 streets? '' 
 
 Still anathematising the two crowds he knelt again, 
 opened his leathern case of instruments, took out a 
 scalpel, and deftly slit down the man's shirt and ex- 
 amined his wound. Then he stood up and pulled his 
 long beard slowly to one side and spoke to the crowds 
 accusingly. 
 
 *' He is dead, gents I " he said quietly. " Dead 
 already. Last night I talked with him. He was a 
 stranger here ; he was alone but he had a family back 
 in the States which he was hunting a home for. 
 Mebbe you-all gents would like to explain this here 
 hospitality to his wife and children; mebbe some o' 
 the leaders would explain to 'em that this is just 
 Washtucna's idea of sport, that we don't mean noth- 
 ing." 
 
 There was a general uneasy shuffling; Washtucna 
 was ashamed and she found she had a conscience. 
 Immediately all heat and murderous desire seemed 
 to burn away. What was it all for? Every one 
 seemed suddenly to have asked himself that ques- 
 tion; simultaneously and as if in answer men came 
 forward from both crowds and helped carry Jim 
 Lent into Jan Havland's and lay him out on the pool 
 
I40 CAM CLARKE 
 
 table with a dust robe over him. The saloon was 
 cleared and no drinks were served. 
 
 Mr. Dan True, who had remained as isolated 
 from both sides as the dead man, seemed now some- 
 how to consider that his duties were finished, al- 
 though the arrest had never been consummated. He 
 walked silently home and whether from physical ex- 
 haustion, from his long period of waking or from 
 the lingering effects of the liquor he had drunk that 
 morning, he fell, says his wife, almost instantly 
 asleep. And nearly every one followed the example 
 he set in going home. In two hours the town was 
 totally silent, seemingly abandoned, not a horse at 
 the hitching racks, Jan Havland's doors shut, also 
 Mr. Donnelly's. Amongst the last to go had been 
 Jack Snell. 
 
 Next morning Jack Snell was missing from the 
 Palouse Country, but early risers found this letter 
 pinned to the door of Jan Havland's saloon. 
 
 '' Gents: 
 
 " While cogitating to-night on the events of this 
 recent past, I sees I'm a disturbing element in this dis- 
 trict. Which I decline to be. Seeing that two gen- 
 tlemen have been shot on account of me I'm decided 
 that I'll take part in a little emigrating movement 
 which I've long had in view. I am now, as a feller 
 might say, tightening my cinches preparing to go. I 
 am urged to this step in particular by the circum- 
 stances of seeing this prospective citizen, Mr. Lent, 
 shot up, instead of me, which is some loathsome to 
 me and unpleasant. Of course this Mr. Lent may 
 have been a rich sport but I guess not, so I hereby 
 
CAM CLARKE 141 
 
 delegate Doc Punts to draw my pile from the bum 
 safe of the Tennessee Hotel and distribute it to this 
 Mr. Lent's outfit of kids, free gratis, of course. 
 Likewise I have an extra saddle at Skookum Jones's, 
 which I bequeath to Mrs. Sarah Cameron Clarke 
 either to be sold or kept for the kid, which I hope he 
 grows up straight and square. It cost $85.00 in 
 Taos and is O.K. Which this is all I can do to re- 
 compense this burg for the inconveniences I've put on 
 her by my quarrelsome luck. I regard this leaving 
 with habitual regret as I've admired to live here and 
 in the community which shelters this here Mrs. 
 Clarke whom I've mentioned favourable. 
 
 '' Yours, 
 " John Snell.'* 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE poet that guessed *' there's a divinity that 
 shapes our ends '^ made a bull's-eye. The 
 Hirschlagers were, in effect, Cam's divinity; 
 they were needed and they came. I suppose that for 
 Cam, next to his parentage itself, they were the most 
 potent influence on his early manhood. It was they 
 who first gave direction to his life, who stirred his 
 ambitions and his vast enthusiasms and who put solid 
 stuff under him. Cam went to work with Hirsch- 
 lager on the great Keokuk and St. Louis Railroad 
 after he left school, but it was in Washtucna that 
 they first saw each other and formed the ties that 
 bound them until Hirschlager's tragic death, which 
 is in every man's memory. 
 
 Hirschlager had desired, I think, to become what 
 Cam eventually became. But he could never have 
 accomplished it. He did not possess the inexorable 
 will, the fervid Imagination, the cool diplomacy or 
 the almost devilishly nice understanding of motives 
 and things ; nor, indeed, could he be ruthless enough 
 even when ruthlessness was the thing. 
 
 Cam and Hirschlager were very different. Hirsch- 
 lager was large, irregular and powerful but with a 
 certain looseness of texture. Cam's features were 
 sharp, clear cut, yet mobile, and his eyes — there was 
 the mystery, they were ever changing like Sarah 
 Clarke's and like hers they now glinted fire and now 
 
 142 
 
CAM CLARKE 143 
 
 were soft as spring, while always they were utterly 
 unreadable. 
 
 It was in August of that year that HIrschlager first 
 came to Washtucna. He was then, though already 
 mature In years, only Division Superintendent of the 
 Palouse Northern Railway. His remarkable rise In 
 railroad circles came later, his faculties had matured 
 late. He was at that time making a journey of in- 
 spection over the new Palouse line in his private car 
 Kootenai. He had come from Spokane to Wash- 
 tucna over a fully completed line, and Washtucna 
 was gathered together to greet him with hilari- 
 ous enthusiasm, with revolver shots and a barbarian 
 banquet at the Tennessee Restaurant and Hotel. 
 This was a memorable banquet to Washtucnans. 
 Doctor Punts, being a non-partizan and being, ac- 
 cording to common judgment, " some eloquent," 
 was elected to preside ; which he did, I believe, with 
 vigour and some dignity. 
 
 This banquet was naturally considered a great 
 event. All of the genteel and many of the barbarous 
 were there. In short, it was a perfectly characteris- 
 tic gathering and it was Intensely enthusiastic and op- 
 timistic. 
 
 But Cam and I soon lost interest in the banquet 
 and early left off peeping in at the windows, for there 
 seemed no immediate prospect of getting any of the 
 fancy food on which the diners regaled themselves. 
 We decided it would be better to go have a look at 
 the private car Kootenai, the like of which had never 
 before come to Washtucna, although Cam assured me 
 that they were common in Worcester, Massachusetts. 
 We went accordingly and examined the Kootenai 
 
144 CAM CLARKE 
 
 with care. We crawled under the rods and over 
 the brake beams and when we came out we made 
 critical remarks. Then we talked to Hirschlager's 
 Chinese cook and Cam by diplomacy and craft got 
 him to take us Into his kitchen. While we ate crack- 
 ers and satisfied our curiosity by examining every- 
 thing, the Chinaman inquired with a great deal of in- 
 terest if people in Washtucna killed Chinamen fre- 
 quently. We were able to assure him that they 
 never Inflicted any but " the milder tortures," where- 
 upon he was greatly comforted. He then Informed 
 us with trepidation that Wardner people had dis- 
 tinguished themselves by " kill all China boys." 
 Under these circumstances he was curious to know 
 in how many other places people aspired to the same 
 distinction. I told him not to worry, that the peo- 
 ple of Washtucna had not discovered that amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 We were about leaving when a woman's voice 
 called from the magic regions at the other end of 
 the car, the regions of power and luxury and ineffable 
 glory. 
 
 " Sing ! " called the voice, a very musical one. 
 
 Sing clapped off in his slippers, making a noise like 
 a boy walking on shingles. We waited. 
 
 " Leddy say bllng 'em in boy," said Sing, suddenly 
 putting his head In at the door of the tiny kitchen. 
 
 I started to leave. I did not want to be brought. 
 Like a good Palouser I wanted to take to the bunch 
 grass, but Cam said no. I was terribly embarrassed, 
 not to say frightened, when he said no, for I saw 
 that he meant it. I did not know but that you ought 
 to walk into a car like that on your hands out of re- 
 
CAM CLARKE 145 
 
 spect for It. What was a fellow to do anyway? 
 Cam said, '* Shuh ! Mart, you don't seem to savvy 
 how people do these things ; you just do what I do and 
 follow me. I'll show you." With that he walked 
 in as polite and self-possessed and as modest looking 
 as a sheep in a hay stack. 
 
 I followed and I decided instantly that Mrs. 
 Hirschlager was almost as agreeable as Sarah 
 Clarke. I had taken but one good look at her when 
 I felt perfectly at home. She was very pretty, dark 
 and slender, and there was something really like 
 Sarah Clarke about her: that was breeding, but I did 
 not know it for many years. To me she just looked 
 indescribably elegant as she leaned back at ease in a 
 great arm chair, gowned in some soft, rich, but very 
 plainly made gown. 
 
 ** I'm not very fond of banquets," she said con- 
 fidentially, " and when we came into town I hid, so 
 I escaped going. I'm a regular stowaway. But you 
 won't tell Washtucna people, will you? " And then 
 mockingly and coquettishly, *' I suppose you boys ran 
 away from the banquet, too. Sit down and we'll 
 have a party of our own. I want some tea; do 
 you?" 
 
 I was astonished. I had supposed tea was some- 
 thing with which to wash down food so you could eat 
 fast. Was the woman going to have a meal? We 
 both sat down. We could always eat. 
 
 ** No'm," said Cam easily, " we didn't run away 
 from any banquet. This one's given by a lot of 
 grown-up people in this town, also Doctor Punts, and 
 us kids haven't anything to do with it, except that if 
 there's anything left Mr. McPetherick, who runs 
 
146 CAM CLARKE 
 
 the Tennessee Rest'rant, is goin' to give us a chance. 
 So we hope the superintendent ain't so very hungry 
 an' that he'll leave some ice-cream." 
 
 Mrs. Hirschlager naturally laughed at the Idea of 
 the superintendent being very hungry. And then 
 she exclaimed suddenly and triumphantly, ** Just 
 the thing! I have it I Sing, give us that ice-cream 
 right now, we won't wait until dinner. And, Sing, 
 quick now I these boys are hungry." 
 
 *' 01 light, Missa Hirsligger," said Sing and, while 
 you winked, it came on and a little cloth was spread 
 on a folding table and we all sat down. 
 
 That was the first time I ever ate ice-cream; Cam 
 said he had often eaten it in Worcester, Massachu- 
 setts. But in spite of the extra practice he had had, 
 I ate more than he did, and we both had all we could 
 hold. Just think of that woman being smart enough 
 to see that we were so healthy we could not be hurt, 
 no matter how much we ate. 
 
 When Mrs. Hirschlager heard Worcester, 
 Massachusetts, she was interested. After a few mo- 
 ments she came back to it. 
 
 '* I'm from Worcester, too," she said. " What is 
 your name? " 
 
 " Cam Clarke, ma'am, and this," and he jerked his 
 thumb boyishly, I can see it yet, " is Mart Campin, 
 and we're chums, but he ain't from Worcester, 
 Mass." 
 
 " I'm Mrs. Hirschlager," she responded, bowing 
 her head to us both and smiling, " and I'm pleased 
 to make your acquaintance." And then she puck- 
 ered her eyebrows. " You remind me of people," 
 she said, looking at Cam; but just then we had to 
 
CAM CLARKE 147 
 
 admit that we were full and that changed the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Mrs. Hirschlager asked if we would not show 
 her the town, as she was sure it was an interesting 
 place if one had a good guide to point things out, and 
 she supposed we would be excellent guides. We 
 said we, too, thought it was an interesting place 
 and we told her to come on. We were delighted to 
 show things to her because she was so agreeable and 
 so pretty and because she had such pretty clothes — 
 and, indeed, for almost every reason that we could 
 remember we liked it. Except Sarah Clarke, Wash- 
 tucna had never seen any one like her. We were as 
 proud of her as Washtucna was of Sarah Clarke. 
 
 We showed her Washtucna without reservation, 
 the unwashed Washtucna, the real Washtucna. First 
 we took her to the stock yards, which, in our opinion, 
 were the heart of the place, and she peeped and chat- 
 tered like a bird. Then we showed her the place 
 where Sam Bundy was killed by his horse and the 
 very spot on which old Tom Schlageter was shot and 
 the little plot where Jim Lent was buried. I doubt 
 if any one else could have shown her so many exact 
 spots. We were good guides, but her interest in the 
 particular spots was, I suspect, luke-warm. She very 
 politely praised each of them, but there was no gen- 
 uine enthusiasm in her. We then, as a crowning hon- 
 our, introduced her to Mr. Pete Barker and to Mr. 
 Bob Dalton, who were standing in front of Jan Hav- 
 land's saloon smoking brown paper cigarettes and 
 talking of Washtucna's future. These gentlemen 
 were greatly surprised at having her brought up and I 
 believe they were somewhat embarrassed. They 
 
148 CAM CLARKE 
 
 had stayed away from the banquet, they said, because 
 Mr. McPetherick " couldn't find enough dishes in 
 the Tennessee RestVant to feed the multitude." We 
 explained to them what we were doing and what we 
 had already done, and Mr. Bob Dalton immediately 
 spoke up in indignation. 
 
 *' Why, you-all boys ain't got as much sense as any 
 frozen eared cayuse when a dog barks at him. Why, 
 the only shows in this yere town that's wuth seein' air 
 Mrs. Clarke and Doc Punts, an' Punts is workin' 
 and can't be seen, bein' toast-master. But you-all 
 boys take this lady to see Mrs. Clarke at onct and 
 don't be chivying around the edges of things any 
 more. Now, vamoose! — or, wait — I'll go too." 
 
 At this moment it became evident that the ban- 
 quet was breaking up. There were cheers inside 
 and then little Skookum Jones and big Mr. Hirsch- 
 lager appeared at the door, arm in arm, engaged in 
 confidential conversation. Mr. Skookum was in- 
 forming the superintendent in strict secrecy that the 
 Palouse Country was rich and always would be rich. 
 Just behind were John Bradford and Punts, then the 
 rest in a wild crowd. 
 
 Mr. Hirschlager extracted himself and came di- 
 rectly over to his wife. She took hold of him in a 
 manner that showed that she was entirely mistress of 
 him and dragged him off to take Mr. Bob Dalton's 
 advice and call on Mrs. Clarke. This was a splen- 
 did stroke of policy, had Mr. Hirschlager but known 
 it. Washtucna would have elected him President 
 after that; for in its simple mind Washtucna still 
 fancied that all the enterprises of married people 
 were undertaken on the initiative of husbands. 
 
CAM CLARKE 149 
 
 " I made up my mind an hour ago to see your 
 mother," said Mrs. Hirschlager as we walked along. 
 *' You remind me of things dreadfully. You see, 
 dear," she spoke to her husband, " Cam here is 
 from Worcester and you remember Sarah Cam- 
 eron — '' 
 
 *' That's my mother," said Cam. " Sarah Cam- 
 eron Clarke." 
 
 " I knew she came west," Mrs. Hirschlager chir- 
 ruped, lengthening her pace eagerly. 
 
 Sarah Clarke's little place looked quite wonderful 
 as we approached it. The ground about it had 
 somehow spontaneously burst into blossom in strange 
 contrast to the surrounding yellow hillsides and the 
 house itself looked beautifully homelike. 
 
 " What a dear place I " cried Mrs. Hirschlager* 
 eagerly. "And how clean and cool and airy I" 
 And then we were arrived and Sarah Clarke was 
 standing in the door with a questioning, eager ex- 
 pression on her face. 
 
 Never was Sarah Clarke more delicately beauti- 
 ful. Some shadows of colour had been driven to 
 her thin, almost transparent cheeks by excitement and 
 she looked at Mrs. Hirschlager with a curious intent- 
 ness in which recognition and gladness were a part. 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Clarke, her low, clear voice 
 rather choked with feelings, " that you are Fanny 
 Neville and that I am Sally Cameron," and she held 
 out both her arms. 
 
 Mrs. Hirschlager grasped her tight and they both 
 cried a little for pleasure. And when any of us had 
 time to look around, Mr. John Bradford, Mr. 
 Skookum Jones and Doc Punts were amongst us. 
 
150 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Jones was wiping his eyes, Bradford was making a 
 joke and Punts was pulling his beard. 
 
 Then the ladies walked up and down outside, 
 arm about waist, and talked for a long time, while 
 Mr. Hirschlager, Bradford, Jones and Punts smoked 
 inside and played solo and Cam and I played jack- 
 stones. 
 
 That night we all had dinner on the car Kootenai 
 with the Hirschlagers. They had made me promise 
 to come, too, out of sheer kindness of heart and I had 
 spent most of the afternoon in washing and scrub- 
 bing myself under the personal directions of my 
 father, who took time off from his bench for this pur- 
 pose. The little man was greatly excited by the 
 honours I had received. " 'Tis not a Campin will 
 iver disgrace 'em afther such ginirosity and civility; 
 no, sor ! " And he gave me such extra rubs that in 
 places I believe he removed the skin as well as the 
 dirt. Cleanliness was to his mind more a mark of 
 respect, a dress uniform, as it were, than a good 
 habit. 
 
 When Cam saw me, he said I shone like the ball 
 on the new flagstaff, which embarrassed me with 
 the fear that I was too clean. Still, I reflected that 
 I could easily correct that. But Sarah Clarke and 
 Mrs. Hirschlager kissed me, which further embar- 
 rassed me, but which also reassured and delighted 
 me and made me glad I was scrubbed. 
 
 We sat down to dinner, I in considerable pertur- 
 bation, but not so either Sarah Clarke or Cam. 
 Those two looked out of their beautiful mottled eyes 
 as calmly as if they had been eating bacon from tin 
 plates. They seemed to be the sort of people who 
 
CAM CLARKE 151 
 
 feel and act the same before kings as before beggars. 
 To me it was the most wonderful meal of which I 
 ever partook. It was as full of sensations as being 
 in love. I would give five hundred sheep now for 
 such a dinner; but such a one cannot be purchased 
 for me again, I have too good food at home. The 
 dishes seemed so fragile that I was afraid almost 
 to touch them. There were mushrooms — ^ think 
 of such a fantastically luxurious dish I And the 
 grown-ups of the party drank a beautiful sparkling 
 wine from France — it would have astonished me 
 considerably less to have discovered that it was from 
 Heaven ; for I had heard that place mentioned much 
 more frequently than France and I had no doubt that 
 Heaven would be easier to reach. 
 
 " Mrs. Clarke/' said Mr. Hirschlager, just before 
 we left, and he took Mrs. Clarke's hands in both 
 his, " Fanny says you must come see us in Spokane 
 very soon and so do I. We are leaving to-night at 
 midnight. We'll see you before the visit — every 
 time we go through — but if between times anything 
 isn't just right, you^ll tell us at once, now won't 
 you ? — So we hope we'll see you often — and 
 Cam, too. 
 
 " You understand that, too, do you, young man? " 
 asked Mr. Hirschlager with large joviality of Cam. 
 
 '' Yes, sir." 
 
 All of which foregoing incidents became of vast 
 importance to Cam; became, indeed, the very stuff 
 of which his life was woven. 
 
 As we left them, the Hirschlagers were still speak- 
 ing importunate invitations — to me also, which I 
 never can forget. 
 
152 CAM CLARKE 
 
 That night that distinguished coterie of Mrs. 
 Clarke's admirers, Doc Punts, John Bradford and 
 Mr. Skookum Jones, all escorted Mrs. Clarke home. 
 As usual, however, on such occasions, it was John 
 Bradford and Mrs. Clarke who walked side by side 
 talking intimately, while Punts and Skookum Jones 
 walked together behind. They were all three suit- 
 ors of Sarah Clarke's, that had long since become 
 evident. However, Jones and Punts seemed early 
 to recognise that John Bradford was a more suitable 
 person than either of themselves; they had their 
 claims too but they would let his be adjudicated first. 
 They liked John Bradford, and I suppose they took 
 a fatherly Interest In those two younger people while 
 they continued largely enamoured of the lady them- 
 selves. One, I believe, can be enamoured of a 
 woman without expecting to marry her and one even 
 can smother the desire to murder his rivals. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IN the last part of that summer's school vacation, 
 Sim Horlacker, whose father was the editor 
 of The Washtucna Sun, came down to Wash- 
 tucna with his mother to join Mr. Horlacker, who 
 by this time considered himself a permanent inhab- 
 itant. Being shot in the stomach made him feel at 
 home. Sim was one of the liveliest boys who ever 
 came to Washtucna, but he did not put Cam in eclipse 
 although he gave him a run for his money. Sim was 
 a sport, a " nacherl-born " sport. He wore long 
 trousers two years too soon and when he arrived in 
 Washtucna he already had a vest with only room on 
 it for three buttons. This he wore on Sundays over 
 a " bald-faced " shirt and the effect was a consider- 
 able diminution in Mr. Pete Barker's reputation as a 
 dandy. If a boy, people said, can show him up, 
 what could a man do if he tried? Mr. John Brad- 
 ford, however, remained on a pinnacle of perfection 
 for correct dress. No one even competed with him, 
 so people affected in this respect to despise his ac- 
 coutrements. 
 
 Within two days after Sim arrived he was out fool- 
 ing with Cam, courting a fight, and that after Sandy 
 and I had solemnly warned him that Cam could 
 " lick " any boy in this town or in any town any 
 place. It was evident that Sim believed we were 
 mistaken, that he was the exception himself, and he 
 
 153 
 
154 (^AM CLARKE 
 
 at least was determined to demand an irrefutable 
 demonstration. 
 
 Now Cam really was peaceable by nature, but I 
 knew that if Sim kept fooling with him long enough 
 those mottled eyes would take fire and Cam would 
 burn up with fighting zeal. Cam took everything he 
 could without resentment, but when Sim tied hard 
 knots in Cam's shirt while we were in swimming. 
 Cam decided there would be no more. He arose in 
 wrath. 
 
 Cam did not say anything even then, he never did 
 on such occasions, he just went up to Sim and 
 slammed his little hard fist at Sim's jaw. Sim did 
 not say anything either, he also was a meagre talker, 
 he just hit back. They clinched and broke and wres- 
 tled silently and fiercely for about half an hour on 
 the edge of the swimming hole. It was awesome to 
 the rest of us, no other Washtucna boys fought that 
 way. Other boys prepared their courage by talking, 
 boasting and lying, just as Sandy did, and in battle 
 they stimulated their rage with tears. But Cam and 
 Sim did not, they just buckled down to business and 
 stayed there, like two bull terriers, their little naked 
 bodies threshing back and forth and perspiring and 
 panting. We were appalled by it, yet it was very 
 entertaining. 
 
 There never was any end to that fight, for we 
 pulled them apart, tucked our clothes under our re- 
 spective arms and ran for the brush. We had seen 
 approaching old Mr. Lafiere, the French market 
 gardener, who was coming down to drive us out of 
 his pond with a blacksnake. He was saving that 
 pond, it appeared, for a personal trout pool, and 
 
CAM CLARKE 155 
 
 swimming stirred up the mud and drove the trout 
 out. I now sympathise with him but he made a mis- 
 take. A personal trout pool in a good location for 
 swimming is " agin nature," it is no use to try for 
 it; you might as well try to raise palm trees in an 
 ice-house. 
 
 The quarrel between Cam and Sim seemed to 
 temporarily die. Cam and Sim ignored each other 
 but some of Cam's henchmen went over to Sim. 
 
 A few days later, while Cam and I were fishing on 
 Pine Creek, some of the boys left in Washtucna de- 
 cided it would be a good thing to start a secret so- 
 ciety or a lodge. Sandy was one of them. Sim was 
 not. Sandy at once organised the I.O.D.P., which 
 means the Independent Order of Dirty Paws. Cam 
 and I ignored the lodge and every day for a week we 
 went fishing and pretended there was no lodge. The 
 lodge did not prosper very much because Cam was 
 not in it. Nothing prospered without Cam in those 
 days — that is, except Sim Horlacker; he got along 
 pretty well for a while. 
 
 Now it happened that absolutely all the boys in 
 Sandy's lodge were sons of Sinners. That was Sim 
 Horlacker's chance. He organised a lodge amongst 
 the Saints boys and got himself elected " Most High 
 Flat-headed Royal King." Julie Beauclerc wanted 
 Cam and me to join it because, of course, her father 
 was a Saint and so was she. And she was an 
 honourary member of Sim's lodge herself. 
 
 Well, we would not join Sim's lodge even for 
 Julie, because we were enemies to Sim and he held 
 all the offices. Julie then got angry and said Sim 
 was " real nice," much nicer than Cam ever had been. 
 
156 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Then Sim started playing with Julie a lot and finally 
 Julie said to me that she never had liked Cam Clarke 
 anyway and she wished he would not come around, 
 and the same to me, only more of them. 
 
 I told Julie she was lying about Sim being nicer 
 than Cam, which Cam said was correct but not poUte 
 and I must not say it again, to which I agreed, as. I 
 said Julie was so smart you need not tell her any- 
 thing twice and she already had my message. Cam 
 was hurt by what Julie had said. He had intended 
 staying out of these lodges entirely, as he was neither 
 Saint nor Sinner, but now he made up his mind to go 
 into Sandy's lodge and be elected First High Royal 
 President of the I.O.D.P. himself. I told Sandy 
 how Cam felt and of course he said come right in, 
 that he had always wanted Cam for president any- 
 way. That's what a boy like Sandy would say. 
 
 We came into the lodge and at the first meeting 
 Cam called a council of war, which declared war on 
 Sim Horlacker's lodge, and then we decided to have 
 a cave as a stronghold. The best cave we could find 
 was an old coyote den up on Granite Hill, so we took 
 that. It smelled rotten and we never went in except 
 to explore, but it made good headquarters. 
 
 We had battles every day for a week with Sim 
 Horlacker's gang, using slings and darts and stones 
 but nobody got killed, which is a miracle. But mira- 
 cles are so common that we think there are none. 
 In the last fight we captured the M.H.F.R.K., which 
 was Sim, and dispersed his forces and made him take 
 the oath of allegiance. Everybody agreed that Sim 
 was licked. 
 
 But just next day Sim appeared again as strong 
 
CAM CLARKE 157 
 
 as ever. Cam was disgusted. '* What's the use? " 
 he said. *' The dum fool won't stay licked. I ain't 
 goin' to fight in wars if people won't stay licked. 
 Let 'em war with themselves." 
 
 The I.O.D.P. agreed with Cam. But Cam later 
 In life got a fondness for unbeatable people. He 
 used to go around hunting for people who did not 
 know they were licked, only he always tried to have 
 them on his side and, indeed, he has been known to 
 change sides just to have this advantage. To such 
 ones he gave away principalities in all but name. 
 
 By way of enterprise and amusement Cam pro- 
 posed that the lodge should quit war and engage in 
 the ancient, romantic and dignified practice of rob- 
 bery. He thought the robbery business very prom- 
 ising as there were water-melons ripening every day. 
 The members of the lodge were all sons of nomi- 
 nally Christian families, but I am proud to relate 
 that no weak-kneed respect for private property ap- 
 peared. Every one of us was enthusiastic for the 
 new enterprises. Hurrah for robbery ! 
 
 We started operations at once. One by one we 
 fore-gathered fearfully about midnight at the end 
 of the depot and then silently made our way south 
 and entered the field of Mr. Lafiere, the market 
 gardener. We arrived at an unfortunate moment: 
 that old gentleman was for some reason prowling 
 around his field with a shot gun loaded with salt, 
 which instrument he fired at us. Happily the range 
 was long, but I got a sprinkling of it in such a region 
 that had I been a bird I had been afterwards easily 
 caught. Cam and Sandy got some too and it stung 
 so sharply that when we three crawled into bed in 
 
158 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Rusher's hay mow we could not sleep, at least not 
 until daylight. We just squirmed and talked and 
 listened to the horses chew and stamp and wondered 
 how long it would be before we could sit down again. 
 
 Long afterwards I told Mr. Lafiere to whom he 
 was indebted for the pleasure of that midnight gun 
 practice and asrhe considered the idea of Cam Clarke, 
 who had long since become famous or infamous — at 
 any rate had become an international figure — dodg- 
 ing salt from his shot gun, he fell into loud roars 
 of laughter. But we did not laugh much at the 
 time, as I explained to Mr. Lafiere. He, however, 
 was unsympathetic. 
 
 In the morning we all went down to Sarah 
 Clarke's for breakfast, as the conversation at the 
 Rushers' would not be delicate enough for our jang- 
 ling nerves and, besides, they were a suspicious lot. 
 However, as soon as we arrived in the house even 
 Sarah Clarke saw that things were twisted some- 
 where — perhaps she got the idea from the conserva- 
 tive way in which we sat down on a chair, I don't 
 know. At any rate, in two minutes she had all three 
 of us telling her what we had each vowed to keep 
 secret forever and I do not know how that was done 
 either. We promised never to do it again, which 
 was a promise we made joyfully, as we had no desire 
 whatever to be shot with salt again. But we can 
 scarcely be said to have permanently given up hope 
 of some day stealing a melon. Mrs. Clarke prob- 
 ably realised that. 
 
 We were discouraged temporarily with robbing 
 and Cam said we better quit it, as to keep on would 
 be to do what Mr. Pete Barker called " forcing 
 
CAM CLARKE 159 
 
 your luck," *' which, as every card-sharp knows, ain't 
 a good thing to do." Besides, if people were going 
 to stand around with shot guns loaded with salt all 
 night, they need not expect him to do their robbing. 
 No, sir! They would have to get somebody else. 
 
 This sounded convincing; we gave up robbery and 
 for two days we did almost nothing but watch Mr. 
 Hoefner shoe horses. We would have kept this up 
 but Mr. Hoefner suggested that we watch somebody 
 else for a day or two, as he was tired showing off. 
 He made this remark in such a tone of voice as con- 
 vinced us he was very earnest, so we left him alone. 
 A boy could get but little encouragement to virtue 
 in that town. Still, I suppose we ought not to have 
 tickled the horses in the flanks, it might have hurt 
 Mr. Hoefner when they kicked instead of just knock- 
 ing him down. 
 
 For one day we were bored. It was the regular 
 day to go up to Beauclerc's pretending we were Sioux 
 and massacre Julie, but we could not go now and 
 Cam got too melancholic for anything. He wanted 
 to know if I thought Sim was massacring Julie and 
 altogether was really morbid in his thoughts. Along 
 in the afternoon we just lay down in the shade of the 
 new lumber warehouse and went sadly to sleep. 
 Cam woke us up. 
 
 " Kids," he said, *' I got a new scheme. Now you 
 fellers meet me down here to-night at ten — you 
 just sneak out after everybody is asleep and FU be 
 here." 
 
 His idea was to keep secret until night what we 
 were to do, but of course he could not. He finally 
 told Sandy and me what the plan was. We were to 
 
i6o CAM CLARKE 
 
 " tick-tack " the laundry of Mr. Won Gee, a dwarf 
 Chinaman, who had just moved into town. Sandy 
 and I did not know what a " tick-tack " was, but Cam 
 vindicated the higher civilization of Worcester, 
 Massachusetts, by showing us. Worcester, Massa- 
 chusetts, we decided, must be the last word in civiliza- 
 tion. 
 
 Washtucna had some advantages, however, for 
 boys. One was that people went to bed so early 
 that a boy did not need to stay awake all night before 
 he sneaked out. Think of a boy in New York wait- 
 ing for his parents to go to bed before he went down 
 the fire-escape ! It could not be done : boy nature is 
 not equal to it. One would fall asleep while he 
 waited. 
 
 We met at the lumber yard at ten and tried our 
 apparatus. It consisted of a kite string tied to a fish 
 hook and a piece of rosin. We stuck the fish hook 
 in the side of the lumber shed, then Cam went off to 
 the end of the string and pulled it taut and rubbed 
 the rosin on it. Sandy and I heard a sound like that 
 of a tremendously discordant, distant fiddle. It was 
 splendid and we told Cam so. He asked if it 
 sounded like a snoring sea-lion. We could not re- 
 member. He said that he was glad it did, because 
 he liked sea-lions and Chinamen were " skeert of 
 'em." After that he discoursed for some moments 
 on the psychology of the " heathen Chinee." 
 
 We were now satisfied that our machinery was 
 working, so we went up like shadows and hooked 
 the fish hook to the side of Mr. Won Gee's house 
 just under the window, and retreated to an obscure 
 position behind a pile of lumber, which had been 
 
CAM CLARKE r6i 
 
 assembled for building a new saloon, the same being 
 badly needed, as Washtucna had by this time only 
 nine saloons, which were evidently too few. Then 
 we rubbed away. 
 
 We got no result. Could they be dead inside? 
 
 " I guess the hook has come out," whispered Cam; 
 " come on. Mart, le's see if it is. You wait, Sandy; 
 we'll fix it." 
 
 I was not very enthusiastic, but I went. We 
 crawled up in the bright moonlight, stopping fre- 
 quently to listen, but we did not hear a sound until 
 we were right under the window — when, slam ! the 
 window banged open and the little dwarf Chinaman, 
 Won Gee, the boss human clothes sprinkler of the 
 world, landed right between us, waving what seemed 
 to us to be a knife as long as a man's leg. As he 
 landed he was screaming and roaring like a spoiled 
 stallion, and he looked earnest. 
 
 Not, however, that we looked at Won Gee very 
 long on that occasion. We ran, just melting with 
 fear, without any more idea where to run than a 
 rabbit. But the Chinaman was fast, he kept pretty 
 close behind, yelling like a flock of fiends. He was 
 worse than coyotes. He should have been chained 
 up some place for use as a fire alarm. 
 
 The next thing I remember was that I dashed 
 headforemost into Mr. Pete Barker, as that elegant 
 gentleman was taking a solitary stroll and smoking 
 his evening cigar. 
 
 Mr. Barker was not surprised; it was his business 
 to remain unsurprised on all occasions and he knew 
 his business. He very skilfully gathered Cam and 
 Sandy and me simultaneously into his grip of steel 
 
1 62 CAM CLARKE 
 
 and inquired mildly what was the matter with us 
 " little devils." 
 
 Mr. Barker's answer was atop of him, we had no 
 need to speak It. Little Won Gee, still howling in 
 rage, arrived, and he was self-explanatory. When 
 we saw his knife gleam in the moonlight we squirmed 
 to get away. Mr. Barker at once released us and 
 paused in what I believe was genuine astonishment, 
 or some similar emotion. This emotion, whatever it 
 was, cleared the way for burning indignation. Mr. 
 Barker rushed at that poor little Won Gee with all 
 of his two hundred pounds afire with anger. He 
 struck the knife hand, and the knife flew a hundred 
 feet, and then Won Gee was felled by the equivalent 
 of a ton of brick, namely, Mr. Barker's right hand, 
 and then he was kicked several times by a falling 
 tree. Nevertheless, Won Gee got up and retreated, 
 now screaming as loudly with fright as formerly with 
 indignation. He took refuge in the laundry, whither 
 Mr. Pete Barker presently followed. I am in- 
 formed that the occupants left by the back door and 
 that in the laundry Mr. Pete Barker did nothing more 
 violent than to lay the knife on the ironing table and 
 depart. 
 
 But Mr. Barker's wrath was not appeased; I un- 
 derstand that at Jan Havland's he seriously proposed 
 lynching every Oriental in town. But more moder- 
 ate counsel prevailed. And we boys all sneaked 
 home to bed with chattering teeth. 
 
 Next day the word of the whole transaction went 
 the rounds and we boys got a good deal of blame 
 from our parents. Cam, indeed, went with his 
 mother and apologised to both Won Gee and his 
 
CAM CLARKE 163 
 
 partner, Ah Toy, and they all parted excellent 
 friends; and then Mrs. Clarke sent a note of thanks 
 to Mr. Pete Barker. This shows how little she 
 cared for logic — that she could simultaneously make 
 friendly overtures to both sides. Mrs. Clarke 
 thereby showed the superiority of her sex. A man 
 may not act logically, but he thinks he ought to; a 
 woman does not care a rap about logic. 
 
 Mr. Pete Barker's wrath, however, continued. I 
 heard him say to Judge Rusher, ** Why, Judge, I 
 don't comprehend exactly why you should defend 
 these here Chinese heathens. What I'm desiring to 
 know is whether Caucasian boys are goin' to be mur- 
 dered in the streets of this municipality unrebuked. 
 I protest. Judge. It won't do. Why, those young 
 chaps are scared yet. The natural amusements of 
 innocent childhood are being infringed. I ain't no 
 father as I know of, but I'm public spirited." 
 
 '* Pete," said Judge Rusher, " you're in wrong. 
 If you had a boy in your family you'd understand just 
 exactly why this Chink busted loose last night. Why, 
 Pete, I'm often in danger of killing a few boys my- 
 self, including my own, and if I was an Oriental I'd 
 do it. I tell you it requires a heap of forbearance 
 to let a boy stay on alive until he gets sense. Yes, 
 sir I my sympathy in this case is with the heathen 
 Chinee; there ain't no virtue whichever in the boys 
 of this town. An', for that matter, they'll probably 
 grow up to be men as cantankerous as you and me. 
 And if the heathen can save us from that, let him, I 
 say — yes, sir I " 
 
 Mr. Pete Barker could not understand and there- 
 after, like so many bachelors, he commenced to 
 
i64 CAM CLARKE 
 
 lament the tendencies of modern parenthood, the 
 lack of understanding and lack of friendship in the 
 relation. His idea was, I believe, that every married 
 man should have thirteen children, each one reared 
 on original principles. If a boy ever wanted to go 
 " tick-tack " a Chinaman, the parent should help, 
 and then lynch the Chinaman afterwards if he got 
 noisy. Now this latter step would, I conceive, have 
 been a great mistake in the West. If the Chinamen 
 all had been lynched, boys might have had to stone 
 their own mothers, which is impracticable. It was 
 wiser to spare the Chinamen. The Caucasian race 
 has again vindicated its wisdom. 
 
 All of us boys shortly became reconciled with Won 
 Gee's whole establishment. We gave Ah Toy a 
 kitten, which we borrowed from Mr. Billy Carroll, 
 and He gave us five lichi nuts apiece and carried to 
 Sarah Clarke some candy that she could not eat, 
 though she tried. But Cam and I could. We could 
 eat anything. To be true, Mr. Billy Carroll tore up 
 the furniture of the laundry when he found his kit- 
 ten under Won Gee's ironing board; but the Chinese 
 attributed this act to natural violence, and in their 
 ignorance of English never guessed where the cat 
 came from. 
 
 Of course our adventure became a subject for 
 argument and abuse by the two Washtucna papers. 
 The Sun arraigned " that unnatural parent Judge 
 R , who would feed his own child to the murder- 
 ous hunger of the unconverted savage heathen 
 Chinee ; yes, and would also sacrifice other people's 
 children, who, by heredity and parental example, were 
 less likely to be criminals than his own wild progeny." 
 
CAM CLARKE 165 
 
 The Breeze^ on the contrary, considered Judge 
 Rusher's words to be worthy a Roman father of the 
 " heroic age." " There is something sublime," said 
 the editorial, " in such a sense of justice. One in- 
 stinctively removes his hat. One seldom sees it in 
 these degenerate days, but it is admirable. Emulate 
 him, parents, emulate him ! " 
 
 This discussion was continued in rising pitch until 
 the comments became entirely personal abuse between 
 the editors; whereupon other subjects were taken up, 
 and these in turn also drifted into the channels of 
 personal abuse. 
 
 I was proud of my part In the whole transaction 
 until one evening, somewhat later, I heard those fast 
 friends, Doc Punts and John Bradford, who had 
 evidently been discussing the affair, deliver their final 
 opinion In that matter. They were sitting on the 
 veranda of the Tennessee Restaurant, watching the 
 colours fade in the west, and listening to the mechani- 
 cal orchestra in Jan Havland's, the same which had 
 cost three thousand dollars second hand in Spokane. 
 
 " Boys are unruly damn little fool cusses and awful 
 unfair," said Punts in staccato. Bradford agreed. 
 
 " But a person naturally likes them," added Brad- 
 ford, after some thought. 
 
 " Oh, yes — sometimes I wish I had several my- 
 self," agreed Punts; whereupon a coyote howled and 
 I felt better. And that, by the way, was the last coy- 
 ote I ever heard howl in Washtucna. Human beings 
 were crowding them out. 
 
 Later that evening Mr. Bradford would either 
 drop in alone for a half hour with Sarah Clarke or 
 he would be joined by his friends Punts and Skookum 
 
1 66 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Jones and they would execute a joint call. That was 
 routine. And always Sarah Clarke was sewing. 
 The conversation turned usually upon land, cattle 
 and various happenings in Montana, Colorado and 
 New Mexico, preferably upon shooting scrapes and 
 extraordinary adventures. Some of the talk was tall. 
 But occasionally John Bradford would break his re- 
 serve and talk of New York or London or the woods 
 of Maine. Such accounts as he gave of London and 
 New York I believed to be fictitious, but I thought 
 them interesting and Sarah Clarke thought so, too, 
 though for different reasons from mine. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 NO matter what else Washtucna omitted to do 
 that summer, she did not omit to grow. 
 Grocery stores, drygoods stores, saloons and 
 women of Magdalene's trade arrived to us every 
 day. And there was business for all. Also every 
 train brought land-hungry, genuine settlers, both men 
 from our own older States and poor immigrant fami- 
 lies direct from beyond the great water, principally 
 Scandinavians, Germans and Irish. Oh, it was 
 lively! The poker game In Jan Havland's never 
 stopped for two months — oh, it was very lively I 
 
 Of course, as Washtucna and the Palouse Coun- 
 try grew in population, the rival tribes of Saints and 
 Sinners attracted new recruits. Indeed, almost every 
 new arrival quickly accumulated one set or another 
 of these preferences and prejudices and learned to 
 speak of perfectly reputable people as cattle-thieves. 
 There had been from the first a non-partlzan element, 
 and, of course, this also grew in numbers. Amongst 
 them Doc Punts was unique. He was belligerently 
 non-partizan. He snarled at both sides and cursed 
 them and challenged them and without partiality 
 mended their physiognomies when they were shot or 
 cut up, which, for a short period of time, was very 
 frequently — too frequently, the neutrals said. 
 
 When Washtucna was incorporated a town it had 
 naturally elected Punts mayor, as he was considered 
 
 167 
 
1 68 CAM CLARKE 
 
 the only capable person to preside over a council 
 composed partly of Saints, partly of Sinners. One 
 of his first duties was to select a marshal for the 
 council to approve. I say, select for the council 
 to approve, as to approve his decisions was the only 
 power he left it. He had at first selected Mr. Dan 
 True to occupy the honourable and onorous position. 
 It is my remembrance that the office was without 
 emolument, and it was honourable chiefly because it 
 was the most dangerous post available. A zealous 
 marshal had not any more chance to miss assassina- 
 tion than has the President of the United States. 
 True accepted. 
 
 Mr. True was a mild, sleepy man who paid very 
 little attention to anything, and under his beneficent 
 rule people maimed and mangled each other to their 
 hearts' content. He openly announced it as his plat- 
 form that every one should have a " square deal.'' 
 Just what a *' square deal " was, it was at first difficult 
 to say, but we gradually found out that it consisted 
 in not shooting or striking a man from the rear. 
 The ethics of this was a little beyond Washtucna; 
 she would as soon shoot through a man from one side 
 as the other. But she accepted the rule and Mr. 
 True lay back in the firm belief that he had instituted 
 a great moral reform. And perhaps he had. 
 
 But Punts, M.D., was not satisfied. Although he 
 was, without doubt, conscious of the pecuniary ad- 
 vantages accruing to himself as a surgeon from a 
 continuance of the reign of violence, the soul of a 
 civil administrator would not permit him to rest 
 satisfied with anything less than law and order. He 
 dismissed Mr. True and that gentleman was so sur- 
 
CAM CLARKE 169 
 
 prised that when I last saw him, twenty years after- 
 wards, he was still wondering at the cause. That 
 was when Cam Clarke's name was on the lips of half 
 the Caucasian race, but Mr. True could not remember 
 him. However, he remembered the wild, long- 
 whiskered old Punts, long since gone into the iron 
 frontier of North Canada; perhaps, indeed, gone 
 father yet, for all I know — perhaps into the still 
 colder land of death. 
 
 Some one suggested that a marshal should have a 
 salary. "No, sir! there shall be no pay," bawled 
 Punts, addressing the council, pulling his long beard 
 to one side and grinning his devilish grin. " It 
 should be an honour to serve this body politic, and it 
 is — which I defy any man of different opinion. 
 Gents of this council, Mr. V. Y. Trillums will be the 
 next marshal and we'll have order and justice. And 
 now this council will vote upon this appointment and 
 confirm it, which it is the usage of free governments 
 always to vote on such things. I'm tired of dis- 
 cussion." 
 
 The council smilingly voted " Ay " with one ex- 
 ception. Anything Punts proposed was all right. 
 That exceptional member ventured for some reason 
 or no reason to expostulate. 
 
 " Silence ! " roared Mayor Punts. " I will have 
 no remonstrances from the disorderly members of 
 this council. Such people are hoboes! Hoboes of 
 the highest order, hoboes of the first water — gents, 
 we'll vote I I repeat It. I'm tired of argument. 
 Does the council attempt to bulldoze me? " 
 
 At this stage Cam and I, who had been occupying 
 an obscure position behind the big stove, withdrew. 
 
I70 CAM CLARKE 
 
 It appeared later that the council sustained Mayor 
 Punts unanimously and that it freely extended him a 
 vote of unlimited confidence. They were proud of 
 his rugged arrogance, and, besides, there were those 
 amongst them who, for personal reasons, were grow- 
 ing tired of the sound of pistol shots, and there were 
 others who, for reasons of municipal policy, desired 
 to see a period of peace and order. It was said that 
 a number of prospective settlers of a desirable sort 
 had recently decided, after viewing the rapidly grow- 
 ing graveyard on Robert's Hill, to locate in more 
 salubrious and less exciting surroundings. Wash- 
 tucna did not like this. Her disorders she had con- 
 sidered as rough play and she did not like to see them 
 taken seriously. 
 
 The council and Washtucna in general had confi- 
 dence in Mr. Trillums. He was as quiet and as 
 small as Mr. True, but he was exceedingly alert; and 
 as the little grizzled, stoop shouldered ex-soldier went 
 silently about minding his own business with meticu- 
 lous care, people very soon developed a habit of 
 stepping off the sidewalk in order not to delay him ; 
 and they shortly commenced to speak of him as a 
 genuine marshal. Their interest in the man grew, 
 but the only piece of knowledge in common circulation 
 concerning his past was the account of those three 
 fingers he lost on Sherman's march to the sea. This 
 tale, I believe, grew somewhat after he was appointed 
 marshal. People said Sherman had wept about it 
 and that little Mr. Trillums, although his wound was 
 at the time considered mortal on account of a gan- 
 grenous condition, continued on the march, and that 
 he even still refused to stop marching when he got so 
 
CAM CLARKE 171 
 
 bad a fever that he could have had himself no reason- 
 able expectations of living. Where these veracious 
 narratives came from I am unable to say, but, as 
 Cam said, " Mr. Trillums never started 'em: he's so 
 reticent he won't tell the time of day." Mr. Tril- 
 lums, it may be stated with certainty, never started 
 any piece of talk in his life. 
 
 Mr. Trillums was, by profession, a cattleman. 
 His ranch was down in Dry Creek, where they breed 
 all the rattlesnakes in the world. He had come to 
 Washtucna to give his two children the incomparable 
 advantage of attending Professor J. Stilson's school, 
 likewise to give his wife a chance to attend church as 
 much as she wished, while he worked like a slave in a 
 garden back of the house. 
 
 Mr. Trillums spoke to the council to thank them 
 in his thin thread of a voice, which could scarcely be 
 heard twenty feet. *' I hev," said he haltingly, 
 " alius favoured law, order, education and mil'tary 
 service; " and then he invited the council to contem- 
 plate the beneficent condition in which the Prussians 
 lived, and ended by exhorting the sky to *' emulate 
 them." The council listened patiently to his brief 
 remarks, and then presented him with his badge of 
 office, a large brass star, which Mr. Trillums placed 
 in his pocket. As he did so he said that every one 
 knew who was marshal anyway, and it was no use 
 to be " garbed up in uniform." Then he wished 
 them luck and went home, and it is said that he 
 cleaned up his old-fashioned revolvers with great 
 care, said his prayers, and went to bed. 
 
 A day or two later a large bucking contest was held 
 on such part of Mr. Day's flat as was not covered 
 
172 CAM CLARKE 
 
 with the tents or shacks of a rapidly growing town. 
 It was attended by the champion cow-punchers of the 
 Palouse. Mr. Scoop Bender rode a bay steer which 
 protested, Mr. Alva Young put a dollar in each of 
 his stirrups and kept them there fifteen minutes while 
 his horse bucked " ad lib." Then Mr. Bob Dalton 
 " bulldogged " a steer, which performance consists 
 in catching it by the horns, throwing it and holding it 
 down with your teeth. This last was considered 
 good, but as a grand finale Mr. Gunnysack Charlie, 
 who, I regret to say, was somewhat elated with Jan 
 Havland's worst liquor, remembered the skill of his 
 youth and, at the instance of Cam and me, rode 
 around the field, amidst vociferous cheers, standing 
 on his head on the bare back of the little mule Mary. 
 This was a creditable performance and Cam and I 
 felt like parents to it, but Mr. Gunnysack ungrate- 
 fully abused us roundly next day, saying he had a 
 headache due to " invertin' himself." We pointed 
 out that other things than " invertin' " oneself pro- 
 duce headaches, but he refused to listen to us. 
 Nevertheless, we continued to be proud of our part 
 in the bucking contest. 
 
 While the activities just outlined were so pros- 
 perously proceeding, two men had arrived in town 
 without attending the contest. One was Mr. Slim 
 Hayes, a gambler from Colfax, the other was Mr. 
 John Bradford, who returned at this moment from 
 the business of some land deal; for he was just com- 
 mencing those extensive purchases of land which, to- 
 gether with his other activities, and the charming 
 personality that had thitherto been kept muffled, were 
 to make him for a time the most distinguished person 
 
CAM CLARKE 173 
 
 in Washtucna, not excepting even those eminent men, 
 Rusher, Beauclerc and Punts. 
 
 After the bucking contest was over, Mr. Alva 
 Young and Mr. Scoop Bender were so impressed with 
 their own skill in riding that they " liquored up " in 
 celebration of it. Having spent a reasonable time 
 in this industry they walked down the street arm in 
 arm and came across Miss May Caylor talking to 
 Slim Hayes in broad daylight. There seems to have 
 been no impropriety in this as both of them were 
 people of such wholly undoubtful reputation that no 
 association could have injured either. But the two 
 cow-punchers, to whom both Slim and Miss Caylor 
 were entire strangers, objected. They said they 
 were jealous. Miss Caylor was flattered by this 
 warm attention, and she managed even to colour 
 clear through with crimson the vast incrustation of 
 white powder on her haggard cheeks. But Mr. Slim 
 Hayes found the compliment less pleasing, and with 
 some reason. It is, in fact, nothing short of a bore 
 to be the object of the jealousy of two armed and 
 intoxicated cowboys. 
 
 Mr. Scoop Bender looked Slim over carefully and 
 studiously, as though that gentleman were the strang- 
 est specimen of a naturalist's collection. Then he 
 took out a long barrelled revolver and very deliber- 
 ately aimed and fired it at a point exactly midway be- 
 tween Mr. Hayes's feet and about an inch from 
 each one. 
 
 Mr. Hayes threw himself out of joint in the jump 
 he made. Miss Caylor giggled. She was a cool 
 woman by nature and one of varied experience. 
 Slim would have fled but he dared not. The chal- 
 
174 CAM CLARKE 
 
 lenge of a moving target might prove too much for 
 these ruffians' self-control. Mr. Hayes wished he 
 had stayed in Colfax. 
 
 " Whichever is this sport doin' here anyway, 
 Alva? " asked Mr. Scoop Bender querulously of his 
 partner. " An' why don't he keep out o' this vil- 
 lage? His health ain't goin' to be decent here. I 
 just know it ain't; it's goin' to peter right out, 'spe- 
 cially if he keeps on joshin' the ledies this way. I'm 
 of a jealous nature, Alvy, an' I can't stand for it." 
 
 Mr. Slim Hayes grew pale and he sweated and 
 squirmed tremendously and blinked like an owl. 
 Miss Caylor smiled coquettishly. " Now you all 
 boys come off, don't shoot this gent," she pleaded, 
 " he don't mean no harm. We're old friends." 
 
 Mr. Alva Young, who had thitherto remained in- 
 active, looking very thoughtful, now volunteered his 
 services " to he'p run this snake out o' town, as the 
 ledies air desirin' that he shan't be killed." And 
 then he argued how unfair it would be to shoot a 
 man whose life a lady valued. 
 
 Miss Caylor entering a further protest against 
 murder. Scoop Bender said that the expulsion of the 
 gentleman from town would be satisfactory to him. 
 " Whatch your name?" he asked Mr. Hayes vio- 
 lently. Mr. Hayes told him. "Then, Mr. 
 Hayes," said Scoop politely, "vamoose! Savvy? 
 Hias, clatawa — run ! " and he pointed down the 
 dusty stage road. Mr. Hayes knew no Chinook, but 
 he understood the invitation to leave, and he accepted 
 it with alacrity. Scoop was eloquent in Chinook. 
 
 Scoop watched him grow small in the distance, and 
 then turned to the audience which had gathered, and 
 
CAM CLARKE 175 
 
 you may be sure Cam and I were In it. " You un- 
 derstand, gents, I'm alius just this way — jealous and 
 tender hearted — alius lettln' somebody off I " 
 
 *' Sure," said Alva deprecatingly, " if any of these 
 rough-house gents come startin' any nonsense with 
 the ledies of Washtucna, Scoop an' I, we'll run *em 
 out every time. This here ain't no disorderly town, 
 this town is o' right," and he looked at Miss Caylor 
 for encouragement. But her mood had changed. 
 She was coolly pulling her hair up from over her ears 
 and tucking it more or less neatly away. Alva, to 
 show his sense of the changed atmosphere, com- 
 menced petulantly shooting the insulators off a tele- 
 graph pole. 
 
 Miss Caylor watched him with a bored expression. 
 " Boys," said she, calling Cam and me, ** I'm tired of 
 this here disorder myself. You tell Mr. Trillums 
 there's too much noise. The old fellow must be 
 asleep — the idea of two roughs bein' allowed to 
 shoot up a town like this." 
 
 Scoop and Alva looked at her in astonishment and 
 Cam and I departed at once on Miss Caylor's errand, 
 hoping fearsomely that we could bring Mr. Trillums 
 down and so produce additional fireworks. As we 
 went, we could hear both Scoop and Alva begging 
 Miss Caylor to recall us, as Mr. Trillums was a nice 
 man and they liked him and did not want to break his 
 sleep. 
 
 Mr. Trillums was, indeed, in the centre of a solid 
 and reliable afternoon nap and it was difficult to 
 rouse him; but when we succeeded in making him 
 understand that disorder was on foot, he came for- 
 ward promptly, but without any visible weapons 
 
176 CAM CLARKE 
 
 whatever, which was not In accordance with the best 
 traditions for marshals. However, his reputation 
 for determination was worth an arsenal of arms. 
 
 Long before we returned down town, close in the 
 wake of Mr. Trillums, Scoop and Alva had forgotten 
 their disinclination for trouble with Mr. Trillums in 
 the pleasure of making people dance for their edifi- 
 cation. Jan Havland had danced, stimulated thereto 
 by a pistol shot which grazed one of his great toes, 
 and the celebrators were at work, when we arrived, 
 upon no other person than Mr. John Bradford, who, 
 as we have remarked, had just ridden in from the 
 country. He was dressed in the riding clothes of the 
 " eftete '' East, and upon this fact both Alva and 
 Scoop allowed themselves wide range in remarks. 
 Mr. John Bradford, at the time he was approached 
 with their seductive invitation to dance, was drinking 
 a glass of beer at Jan Havland's bar. They fired a 
 preliminary shot between his legs to attract his 
 attention — fortunately these legs were slightly 
 bowed. Mr. Bradford, at that particular moment, 
 had his head thrown back, and was draining a glass. 
 With remarkable self-possession he finished the evo- 
 lution, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his 
 stubby moustache, and then turned around with a 
 cool, hostile and inquisitive glance. The coldness 
 of his glance seems to have been overlooked. 
 
 " Le's see you dance, stranger," invited Scoop 
 gently. 
 
 Mr. Bradford calmly declined, and leaned his 
 elbow on the bar, his glances not warming In the 
 least. Scoop and Alva were puzzled and somewhat 
 embarrassed. Their invitations were usually given 
 
CAM CLARKE 177 
 
 more consideration. Scoop said In astonishment 
 that he would be "damned," Alva made a similar 
 but more elaborate remark. 
 
 It was at this stage that Mr. Trillums arrived, fol- 
 lowed, of course, by Cam and me, who had no busi- 
 ness to be there. Mr. Trillums came In very quietly 
 and gently, as was his wont. He looked around in 
 a friendly and Inquisitive way and then spoke mildly. 
 
 " Boys," said he, " youVe kickin' it a little too high. 
 Give me your guns — hurry up I " This last sharply, 
 as they appeared to hesitate and to look again long- 
 ingly at the region between Mr. Bradford's legs. 
 Mr. Bradford continued to stare at them coldly. 
 
 Mr. Trillums took a step forward and Scoop and 
 Alva handed over the guns, four in all. Mr. Tril- 
 lums stuck two in his coat pockets and kept two in 
 his hands. " Now go on over there to the cala- 
 boose," he commanded gently; and they marched as 
 obediently as Chinamen out Into the bright sunlight 
 and across the dusty road to the calaboose, which was 
 standing wide open, guiltless of a lock, gaping hos- 
 pitably to all passers. 
 
 " Now stay there until I get back," commanded 
 Mr. Trillums, as he departed for the hardware store 
 to buy a lock, leaving the door wide open. The 
 prisoners did so, talking in quiet, disgusted tones of 
 Slim Hayes's low opinion of women and of the ex- 
 traordinary calm of that Eastern sport, Bradford. 
 Mr. Trillums presently trotted back with a big iron 
 padlock. He shut the door softly, snapped the lock, 
 and walked off, humming " Marching Through 
 Georgia " under his breath, while inside. Scoop and 
 Alva continued uninterrupted the conversation con- 
 
178 CAM CLARKE 
 
 cerning women, Mr. Hayes and John Bradford. 
 Before Cam and me, Mr. Trillums halted. " I be- 
 lieve, sir," said he with the air of having made a dis- 
 covery, " that General Sherman was a great soldier, 
 as great as Hannibal, young sirs, — I believe it," and 
 he went off, nodding his head and singing '* March- 
 ing Through Georgia." 
 
 We told Sarah Clarke what had happened and she 
 said Mr. Trillums was right, but at the same time she 
 busied herself wrapping up a piece of cake as big as 
 ten of her fists, and a can of sardines. Then she told 
 us to " poke it through the bars to those men inside. 
 They haven't any more sense than you or Cam; 
 probably they did not lay in a supply of cake at all 
 before they went to the * skookum house.' " And 
 thereby she again showed the masterly superiority 
 of the feminine mind to logic. 
 
 We reminded her that the structure of a jail was 
 not quite loose enough to facilitate the passing in of 
 fat chocolate cakes, whereupon she cut it up into 
 pieces, we eating the crumbs. In strict honesty I 
 confess that Scoop and Alva were snoring when we 
 arrived, but we put it between the bars, and I sup- 
 pose they got it later. " I feel better," said Mrs. 
 Clarke when we told her, " because those men have 
 certainly been kind to me. Why, the way they tear 
 clothes is prodigious. They must do it by ma- 
 chinery." And her eyes got watery and Cam and I 
 ran away, as that always made us as uncomfortable 
 as if we had been caught lying. 
 
 Next morning Mr. Trillums turned loose his 
 prisoners and invited them and Mr. Bradford to Jan 
 Havland's to have a glass of beer with him. " Law 
 
CAM CLARKE 179 
 
 and order," said Mr. Trillums with modest pride, 
 "was vindicated here yisti'day; yes, sir!" Scoop 
 and Alva apologised to Mr. Bradford and that gen- 
 tleman expressed himself as having forgotten the 
 past. But Scoop and Alva would not forget it. 
 They Insisted that their shame had been too nearly 
 brought home to them by the kindness of Mrs. 
 Clarke to make forgetfulness easy. " What did 
 that sweet and noble lady do," said Scoop sadly, " but 
 send us renegades, by her own Innocent child, a lunch 
 thar in jail. Yes, sir, gents! And while our 
 stomachs weren't none hospitable to food when we 
 waked up, we ate it, which we'd a done under them 
 circumstances if It was lead and poisoned at that, as 
 we was unwillin' to hurt the lady's pinted and deli- 
 cate feehn's." 
 
 The heroic courtesy of Scoop and Alva was so 
 stimulating to Mr. Trillums that he made the state- 
 ment that whosoever afterwards " went loco " on 
 that shooting business would also be disarmed and 
 arrested, as to do less to them would be to reflect 
 upon his dear friends Scoop and Alva. This was 
 considered a reckless promise, but as Mr. Trillums 
 was one of those men known to be at promised places 
 at promised times, no one openly doubted his state- 
 ments, although there were questions raised In private 
 as to his probable length of life. But it was because 
 of this promise, which soon became widely known, 
 that the then popular sport of " shooting up " things 
 became obsolete In Washtucna. To " effete " East- 
 erners this was an added charm to Washtucna life. 
 
 The next Issues of Sun and Breeze showed an ex- 
 traordinary condition of opinion. Those two papers 
 
i8o CAM CLARKE 
 
 at last had a belief in common. They both believed 
 in Mr. Trillums and supported the policies of the 
 " noble hearted," " battle worn " " sage " and " pa- 
 triot/' '* the marshal," " the preserver of civic 
 order," etc., etc., and more of that sort, while Mr. 
 Trillums quietly and earnestly worked in his vege- 
 table garden. 
 
 Cam and I, after this true symphony of praise, 
 decided that we would grow up to be marshals instead 
 of cattle-kings and gamblers, and Sarah Clarke ex- 
 pressed wonder that God had not arranged to have 
 more people like Mr. Trillums and fewer like some 
 people she knew in Worcester, Massachusetts, not, 
 however (as she took pains to remark), that there 
 were any similar to them in Washtucna. As this 
 remark was made in the presence of Mr. Skookum 
 Jones, Doc Punts and Mr. Bradford, who were pay- 
 ing their usual bi-weekly call, it was repeated. It 
 was generally interpreted as a remark highly com- 
 plimentary to all Washtucnans, and, as such, it, of 
 course, has never been allowed to die. And as every 
 man in Washtucna firmly believed himself in his 
 heart as good as Trillums or anybody else, the state- 
 ment has been found very soothing to the amour 
 propre of some thousands of people. 
 
 " She's a keen woman, sir," said Mr. Skookum 
 Jon^s, once, later, in comment, " and she frames up 
 remarks in a highly pleasing way." 
 
 " She's just about as smart and agreeable as hell," 
 said Punts, chewing his cigar. 
 
 Bradford was absent from this post mortem, but I 
 am of the opinion that he was exactly of the same 
 mind. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 SCHOOL opened that year over Won Gee's laun- 
 dry because the old school house had been 
 bought for a church. By the time it began 
 Cam was terribly sick of " Three Button " Sim Hor- 
 lacker, as we called him, on account of his Sunday 
 vest, of which we were all secretly envious. Cam 
 felt that he must do something, but he was patient 
 and bided his time. 
 
 What made Cam so sick was not having Julie 
 Beauclerc to tease or talk to, and the kind of sickness 
 he had made him as restless and mean tempered 
 as an ordinary grown person, which is rotten. It 
 was hard on Sandy and me. We did not know what 
 to expect. We would start hunting curlew eggs and 
 half way Cam would change his mind and stick his 
 red head into a stinking coyote hole or decide to go 
 home, and we would have to follow his new whim 
 — and every one knows how trying it is to keep 
 changing your mind. It was hard on us, I say, but 
 we stayed with him and did not complain much. We 
 knew what was the matter. We knew, also, that he 
 was the best fellow we had ever seen and we had no 
 doubt that he would ride Sim Horlacker to school 
 some morning and make him lie down and roll over. 
 We had great faith in his ability as a " buckero " of 
 boys. Incidentally, there have since been grown 
 people who had the same absurd faith in Cam as 
 
 i8i 
 
1 82 CAM CLARKE 
 
 a " buckero '* of recalcitrant business associates. 
 Their faith was justified and so was ours. 
 
 Of course Cam and Sim did not speak to each 
 other. They would walk half a mile to avoid meet- 
 ing and they played on opposite sides of the school 
 house so as to avoid seeing each other. But one day 
 at noon, apparently by mutual agreement, they both 
 entered the neutral ground behind the school house 
 and without saying a word to anybody started fight- 
 ing earnestly. And neither one cried or yelled or 
 boasted. But the rest of us yelled so loud with ex- 
 citement that Professor Jim Stilson was waked from 
 his nap. He rushed down stairs and he and little 
 Ah Toy, the Chinaman, who came out of the laundry, 
 pulled Cam and Sim apart. But It was a hard pull. 
 They fought to get at each other like little devils and 
 they hung on to each other like leeches or bad habits. 
 
 Professor Stilson took them upstairs by the backs 
 of their respective coat collars and stood them In 
 opposite corners of the school room. After the noon 
 recess was over he whipped them before the school. 
 That was the final test. He whipped Sim first and 
 Sim bellowed like a calf. That surprised us, because 
 it Is not at all the correct thing for a boy to cry on 
 account of a whipping. It surprised us a lot. Sim 
 was showing yellow. Then Professor Stilson 
 whipped Cam much harder than he had whipped Sim. 
 This, I ought to explain, was not due to prejudice, 
 but to the fact that he had warmed up to the work. 
 Cam got white during the operation, but he never 
 uttered a sound. That was the difference between 
 Cam and Sim. Sim was a sport but he had his limits. 
 Cam had no limits. He was a long distance sport 
 
CAM CLARKE 183 
 
 and had Marathon moral powers. He was ready 
 for a fight, for an amputation or for fun. Even his 
 enemies still accord him the same spirit. This whip- 
 ping episode was a great triumph for Cam. It was 
 easy to see now who was the best boy around. Even 
 Sim could have told and of course little Julie Beau- 
 clerc saw it more quickly than anybody. It was bet- 
 ter for Cam than if Sim had actually cried " nuff " 
 out there on the playground. Sim shrank up like a 
 withered flower, Cam expanded a little. 
 
 That night, after school, Julie said she would not 
 have anything more to do with Sim as he was a cow- 
 ard, a baby and a booby, and she told Cam right be- 
 fore everybody that she thought he was a noble boy. 
 So noble that if he would just quit that I.O.D.P. 
 lodge, she would ask her mother to let him and Sandy 
 and me come up and eat pumpkin pie and drink 
 milk some day. That wrecked I.O.D.P. It would 
 break any lodge. 
 
 Cam said that I.O.D.P. was " sort of petered 
 out *' anyway and then he remarked that we all liked 
 pumpkin pie and milk better than lodge and finally 
 he said we would come. Sandy and I were glad, we 
 were afraid he would proudly refuse. Then Cam 
 requested her to ask Sim to come too, as he and Sim 
 had decided to be great friends. He did not inform 
 her, I believe, that Sim was not yet aware of this 
 decision; that would have been to "examine too 
 curiously.'' But Sim, nevertheless, responded, as 
 Cam had predicted, and Cam drove over another 
 hazard by his knowledge of psychology. 
 
 Then we all, except Julie, went to the Rushers' hay 
 mow and talked to Mr. John Shoultersack, who was 
 
1 84 CAM CLARKE 
 
 lying sick with some kind of fever the name of which 
 is Spanish. He had loaded himself with this disease 
 down on the Orinoco in South America, where he had 
 hunted gold or the fountain of youth or general popu- 
 larity or some such hopeless thing for two seasons 
 without finding it. He was shaking like the piston 
 of a pneumatic hammer when we arrived and he was 
 drinking port wine to cure himself. We said we 
 would go away if he said so, but he asked us to stay, 
 as he always had desired to die in company; besides, 
 he might need some more port, which we could get 
 him from Jan Havland's if he wanted it. 
 
 We stayed and he quieted down pretty soon and 
 fell asleep exhausted from the work of manufactur- 
 ing and exhibiting so fine a chill; so Cam wrote a 
 poem to Julie, which he gave to Sandy to give to me 
 to give to Julie next day at school. I did so, and 
 she said it was like Shakespeare only different, which 
 was a good criticism. And she said she appreciated 
 having it come in such a round about way through so 
 many perils. The perils referred to were those of 
 being thrashed by J. Stilson. 
 
 Next morning we went up to see Mr. Shoulter- 
 sack's remains, but he was sitting up perfectly well, 
 playing solitaire in the hay. He told us, however, 
 not to be discouraged, as he would have another fit in 
 precisely so many days later and perhaps he would 
 die then, so we thanked him and went on to school 
 and said we would watch him through all his periodic 
 sicknesses until he really died. 
 
 Things went very satisfactorily at school that day. 
 All the boys came over at recess and joined our gang, 
 and finally Sim did, too, publicly, as he said he didn't 
 
CAM CLARKE 185 
 
 " see no sense to bein' lonesome." It made a big 
 gang and Cam was at the head of it and, indeed, there 
 was thereafter no gang of boys in Washtucna but his 
 as long as ever he continued to live there. In rail- 
 road circles it is now the same way. There is no 
 gang but Cameron Clarke's. He is getting to be a 
 nuisance in a way — but let God and Congress tend 
 to that. I am a sheep raiser. 
 
 We got awfully tired of school that fall — just as 
 boys do every spring and fall and summer and winter. 
 We wanted so much to be stirring around that it was 
 almost unbearable to sit all day watching Jim Stilson 
 or studying or playing tricks behind your desk, and 
 it even got tiresome to try to understand what the 
 Chinese downstairs said when they chattered like 
 monkeys without saying anything. 
 
 I do not now believe that Professor Stilson was a 
 very good teacher. Still, that did not matter too 
 much. If God has given you brains which can really 
 think, not ten thousand Jim Stilsons could put chunks 
 in the gear wheels of your mind; and if you have not 
 brains — well, you need not expect Jim Stilson to 
 supply you. But Professor Jim was picturesque. 
 He used to sit at least half the day with his mouth 
 full of tobacco and with his crooked fingers under his 
 lantern jaw, reading papers full of pictures of ladies 
 In tights. Three times during the day he would go 
 to his locker and swallow a glass of whisky, then he 
 would return and either fall asleep and snore or ask 
 questions of his pupils. Sometimes while he was 
 asleep some of us would creep out and he never knew 
 the difference, even after he awoke. I have had 
 some doubts as to why Mr. Stilson was selected 
 
1 86 CAM CLARKE 
 
 school-master — not, as I say, that it matters ; the 
 second choice would have been a young lady who 
 chewed gum. 
 
 Cam and I were always very enterprising in slip- 
 ping out, and so was Julie. And I wager that even 
 now Cam sometimes leaves the office early. We usu- 
 ally improved such time as we gained in this way by 
 visiting the Chinamen downstairs and thus we got to 
 be great friends with them. This was a very profit- 
 able acquaintanceship. They showed us how they 
 smoked opium and Cam started to learn Chinese writ- 
 ing, which are two important things to know. He 
 got far enough to make figures which mean '^ this is a 
 Chinese laundry," which sign he painted on the door 
 of a church on Hallowe'en, to the intense amusement 
 of the Chinese and to the indignation of a certain 
 Methodist congregation. Sarah Clarke, when we 
 told her of it, said we were wicked, but she did not 
 seem angry, so we did not believe her, and we planned 
 to do that same thing every Hallowe'en all our lives. 
 But things have changed. I seldom decorate 
 churches with such signs now and I doubt if Cam 
 does. 
 
 And so the autumn went along and winter came. 
 Sarah Clarke was not well at this time, but we were 
 too heedless to see it. Things went badly also at 
 my house and I was too heedless to feel that much 
 either. My father had grown to be a drunkard so 
 much faster than he became prosperous that he never 
 became prosperous at all. Of course, he reformed 
 every morning when he had a headache, but he went 
 bad again by ten of the clock. And he became so 
 violent tempered that home life, as I remember it, 
 
CAM CLARKE 187 
 
 consisted more in the acrobatic exercise of dodging 
 than in the indulgence of sweet affections. One for- 
 tunate thing, our home life made me like school; for 
 being in school involved being away from home and 
 gave me a recess from this infernal dodging. The 
 sport of teasing my father had ceased to be a recom- 
 pense for the pains of his beatings. 
 
 Autumn and winter I Well, the wood fires 
 crackled cheerfully and the oatmeal mush was beau- 
 tifully warm in the mornings. Yet poor Sarah 
 Clarke! that winter's winds went through you like 
 frozen needles, so thin and frail you were. Punts 
 was worried about Mrs. Clarke and he was worried 
 about my sister Mary, whose cough grew no better. 
 
 A. J. Punts, M.D. — that was the way his sign 
 read. He was a good man, and one place where he 
 helped people I remember very distinctly, for the 
 people were we wild Campin children. He and 
 John Bradford had just been to see Mary for her 
 cough and they were walking away through the thin 
 snow, silently, all steeped in thought, when they met 
 my little father aflame with drink, quite wild, quite 
 uncontrollable and on the verge of ** tremens.'* 
 They would not let him go home and after discussion 
 he went back with them to Punts' office, where they 
 cared for him for three days, fed him and lashed 
 him down to the sofa to keep him from killing him- 
 self, Bradford sitting on the little man's chest all of 
 one night. And that was the night that Punts sent 
 around a hat for Mary Campin — and Sarah Came- 
 ron Clarke carried it — and Mary Campin needs 
 took what it brought, for we were as hungry as 
 wolves. But even that could not stop her cough. 
 
1 88 CAM CLARKE 
 
 When my father came out he was improved and 
 never again became so bad. There were always 
 flashes of nobiHty In the little man and when he was 
 good he was better than good. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IT was shortly after the temporary reformation of 
 my father due to '' tremens " and his conscience 
 that Mr. John Bradford's importance in the 
 community commenced to be generally recognised. 
 He had been there for some time, but Washtucna, 
 with a conservatism worthy of an older community, 
 had omitted to take him to her heart. Now, how- 
 ever, in the comparative leisure of winter occupa- 
 tions, Washtucna had time to re-appraise her various 
 inhabitants. When she came to list John Bradford's 
 good qualities and sum up his virtues, she realised 
 that, led astray by an entirely proper conservatism in 
 matters of dress, she had underestimated the man. 
 To recite a complete roster of his charms would be 
 tedious. Certain of his points were, however, unani- 
 mously admired; first, in particular, the cool courage 
 which had enabled him to decline Scoop and Alva's 
 urgent, revolver-adorned invitation to dance ; second, 
 his surprising faculty of staying on bucking horses, a 
 faculty not in the least expected in a man wearing 
 English riding trousers; third, the barrel full of 
 money which he had brought out from the East and 
 with which he was now buying land ; and fourth, and 
 perhaps most potent of all, for Washtucna was not 
 jealous, Mrs. Clarke seemed to trust him. 
 
 There were, I need not remark, people who saw 
 other virtues in Mr. Bradford: the ladies, for ex- 
 
 189 
 
190 CAM CLARKE 
 
 ample, who were charmed by the romantic stories 
 which circulated to explain why so handsome and 
 wealthy and well bred a young man left Vermont to 
 come to Washtucna. Not that Mr. Bradford was 
 much comfort to these ladies, however, for, save to 
 Sarah Clarke, he was to women of about the same 
 degree of reticence as Mr. V. Y. Trillums. Then 
 there was Mr. J. Stilson who, as educational expert 
 of the town, pointed to Mr. John Bradford as a fine 
 example of educated man. This would have made 
 Bradford curse, but he never heard it. 
 
 Altogether Mr. Bradford was getting on very 
 well, and, as he was really an intelligent person, he 
 saw it, and, as he was ambitious, he resolved to get 
 along better. There was still, he knew, a faint gen- 
 eral prejudice against him due to his friendship for 
 high collars, pointed toed shoes and boiled shirts. 
 Why not remove it? Why not achieve a perfect 
 popularity? Perhaps one could some day use it. 
 He was not too cold-blooded about all this, he exer- 
 cised but common sense. 
 
 Mr. Bradford, having made up his mind, shortly 
 set to work in a businesslike way to remove these 
 lingering feelings of resentment, not by conformity to 
 Washtucna's habits of dress but in even more effect- 
 ive ways, for Washtucna liked free men. First he 
 purchased a complete set of band instruments for an 
 organization to be called " Bradford's Washtucna 
 Silver Cornet Band." Several tuneful young men 
 joined him in this enterprise with enthusiasm and 
 both The Sun and The Breeze referred to Bradford 
 as a benefactor and philanthropist. Over this Sarah 
 Clarke and Bradford laughed heartily. He was a 
 
CAM CLARKE 191 
 
 sane, healthy man with no illusions as to his un- 
 selfishness, but he could see a joke. His band exists 
 to this day in name. Mayhap in it the name John 
 Bradford has gained a qualified eternal life. It is 
 like having a lake named after you — but even to 
 have a lake named for you is to have your name live 
 but a day. The cycle of the ages is long; that is why 
 we call it eternity. Lakes live but a day and then 
 dry up. 
 
 We may at least say, however, that John Brad- 
 ford's name still is alive in Washtucna long years 
 after he has returned to Vermont, taking with him 
 four barrels of money for the one he brought. And 
 he took a wife, too ; but we shall get to that later. 
 
 There were still intransigent folk who were not 
 converted to John Bradford. They speculated on 
 exactly what crime he had committed in Vermont and 
 predicted that he would be hanged and that they 
 would help. But to most people what John Brad- 
 ford had done in the past mattered not and they were 
 indifferent as to what previous wrestling matches he 
 had held with the law. They found him square and 
 satisfactory and they liked him. 
 
 Those hearts that were not softened toward John 
 Bradford either by already listed virtues, his pleasing 
 personality or the discordant and persuasive music 
 of his band, were finally completely won by those 
 twin strokes of genius, " The Widows' Endowment 
 Fund of Washtucna " and the " Washtucna Bank " : 
 one appealing to hardheaded people with money and 
 the other to philanthropic people without money, of 
 which latter there are a surprising number in every 
 community. 
 
192 CAM CLARKE 
 
 The Bank came before the Endowment Fund. I 
 have called it a stroke of genius: it was also in its 
 popular phases an accident. Washtucna had not a 
 bank. Bradford decided to start one because he be- 
 lieved it would pay and he decided to install it in the 
 corner room of Washtucna's first brick building, 
 which, in the intervals between cold spells, was then 
 being erected. Washtucna was watching the prog- 
 ress of what The Breeze called " this handsome 
 masonry structure " with tears in the municipal eyes. 
 At the news that a bank was to inhabit it she became 
 somewhat hysterical, it was too much joy; she even 
 broke loose noisily with fire arms again until Mr. V. 
 Y. Trillums shot a man in the groin. This cooled 
 Washtucna's head and she again became law abiding. 
 
 " The Widows' Endowment Fund " came later. 
 Like the bank. It was started by Mr. Bradford for 
 personal reasons. In consultation with Doc Punts 
 and Mr. Skookum Jones, it was decided that Sarah 
 Clarke's health no longer warranted her slave-like 
 industry. The Widows' Endowment Fund was con- 
 ceived as a diplomatic method of rendering her as- 
 sistance. John Bradford started It, as I have noted, 
 for personal reasons. He endowed it with an annual 
 Income from a tidy number of Washtucna's municipal 
 bonds, which, of course, were gilt edge. The bank 
 was to administer the funds and the proceeds were to 
 go to the widows of Washtucna. He then permitted 
 other people to contribute. Mrs. Sarah Clarke was, 
 at the time, the sole possible beneficiary; the call was 
 irresistible. Washtucna threw up its hat and turned 
 its pockets Inside out. It really looked as though the 
 
CAM CLARKE 193 
 
 widows of Washtucna would, In the future, be its 
 wealthiest inhabitants if they were not careful. 
 
 Mr. Bradford became, after that, a type of popu- 
 lar hero ; he was eulogised more fervently than ever 
 by both The Sun and The Breeze and his generosity 
 was emulated until the endowment funds available for 
 expenditure during the coming year were almost 
 doubled. Thereafter, until his departure, Mr. John 
 Bradford was the most prominent citizen of Wash- 
 tucna. And his name still exists not only in the band 
 but in Bradford Avenue and the " Bradford En- 
 dowment Fund," which has become permanent. 
 
 Mr. Bradford was too agresslve to ever rest con- 
 tented. He fortified his position by out-smoking, 
 out-drinking and out-working his townsmen and by 
 showing more attention to Mrs. Sarah Clarke than 
 any one else, more, even, than Punts or Jones. Also, 
 he showed his belief in Washtucna's future by lend- 
 ing money shrewdly on all manner of property and 
 by buying hundreds of acres of rich black land at 
 the ridiculously low figures then current. This ac- 
 tive optimism was considered a virtue amongst vir- 
 tues and. Indeed, it was nothing else. So Is every 
 form of optimism. The object of life is to do some- 
 thing. However, in the long run Mr. Bradford was 
 paid for this virtue, for twenty years afterwards his 
 great land holdings were sold at such a figure as to 
 fill the four barrels already mentioned with real 
 money. This is always the case when it does not 
 fail to be the case. Virtue is its own reward and 
 sometimes it gets other rewards, too. 
 
 It was fortunate for Sarah Clarke that this endow- 
 
194 CAM CLARKE 
 
 ment fund came Into existence (and that is why it 
 did), for as the winter advanced she became so weak 
 and wan that a continuation of work was utterly im- 
 possible. Yet she persisted against accepting its help 
 to the last possible moment, finding it difficult, I sup- 
 pose, to give up the figment of independence ; and it 
 was only at the authoritative command of A. J. 
 Punts, M.D., that she stopped her mending work 
 forever. Cam and I were in the house that morning, 
 hugging the kitchen stove, because it was cold, and 
 we saw her make her gestures of acceptance to Punts; 
 just a twist of her mouth, a jerk of the shoulders and 
 a despairing droop of the head. 
 
 " I suppose I might as well eat from Washtucna*s 
 company table as to steal from her cook," she said 
 faintly and softly, but a little bitterly, from her small 
 rocking chair. '' I suppose I might as well." 
 
 Punts patted her on the back. " Washtucna is 
 tickled, ma'm," he said cheerfully; " and it would be 
 hurt if you didn't come through all right and take 
 this, and so would Bradford, who says all this philan- 
 thropy Washtucna's pulling ofif is doing the place 
 good. But he's plum down In despair to-day — and 
 so's Skookum Jones and me, too, for that matter. 
 You know we like that old codfish Jones." 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Clarke 
 quickly, forgetting her own woes. 
 
 " Well, I tell you, Mrs. Clarke," said Punts, 
 " she's this way : though Skookum ain't sayin' any- 
 thing to you or anybody, he's made a plum fool of 
 himself; which in some respects is the most sensible 
 thing you can do. It may serve to while away the 
 time." 
 
CAM CLARKE 195 
 
 " I understand — I know how to read a bull — go 
 ahead I" said Mrs. Clarke, smiling. "What's the 
 matter?" 
 
 I said I was Irish and understood bulls, too, but 
 Punts went on without stopping to get me aboard his 
 conversational boat. 
 
 " Well, as I say, Skookum's had a fine time being 
 a fool through you bein' sick and not able to see him, 
 but he ain't tellin' very much. Howsomever, old 
 Gunnysack Charlie is. Gunny has been curryin' up 
 Jones's horses for a livin', his gold dust from Seven 
 Devils havin' all gone the way of flesh and Skookum 
 havin' a lunatic disinclination to seein' the old sport 
 starve. This morning Gunny tells me that it's he 
 himself that invites Jones's attention to the beauty 
 of that young lady at McPetherick's Tennessee 
 Restaurant. And Gunny says just as soon as he men- 
 tions it to Skookum that old gentleman admires her 
 right off; and that disregardin' that lady's unqualified 
 attachment for Carl, which, as you know, ma'm, is 
 Jan Havland's bar-keep, Skookum starts wooin' her. 
 This is on account of you havin' sort of warmed his 
 feelin' for the whole sex, you see. It's like you had 
 started a fire and then it had got loose in bunch grass. 
 Well, Skookum gets warmed up and he goes after the 
 citadel of her affections by storm in that strenuous 
 manner for which he's so famous — though he has 
 not heretofore applied it to courtship except on you, 
 where it wouldn't work. And he seems to captivate 
 her, as it were, as he an' the young lady drives off 
 hot-foot to Colfax by night, where they routs the 
 parson out. And despite the unseemliness of the 
 hour he hooks 'em double, sort o' in parallel, you see. 
 
196 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Mrs. Clarke, an' tells 'em to live happy ever after- — 
 which advice they disregard; disregard right away." 
 
 " What a shame ! " exclaimed Mrs. Clarke sympa- 
 thetically; " oh, it is too bad! " 
 
 " Well, you see old Gunnysack Charlie is cognizant 
 of all these here exercises, as you might say," went on 
 Punts. " He knows all about 'em and he keeps 
 watchin' Mr. Bar-keep Carl, who don't seem to mind 
 at all these carryin' ons; which surprises Gunnysack 
 considerable as he knows human nature, which is 
 similar to brute. 
 
 " Well, Mr. and Mrs. Jones they came back the 
 night before last and we all have a big shiveree, 
 which we want to start 'em right and we done so. 
 Mebbe you heard the noise — but no, you didn't; 
 it was the night you took the sleepin' stuff. 
 
 " This forenoon what happens? I guess the girl 
 finds herself with a big bag of Skookum's coin, as per 
 plan, so she strolls around and pretty soon she sights 
 Carl and she takes up with that sneakin' square-head 
 again, and while Carl abandons his profess'nal clothes 
 she hires one of Carroll's rigs. Then she picks up 
 Carl on the corner and they skin out, vamoose for 
 good, taking a long sack of Skookum's money which 
 he has fatuously give the female. 
 
 *' Well, Gunnysack has seen all this and he don't 
 lose any time finding Bradford, who's buying a big 
 piece of land some place, which is his favourite occu- 
 pation nowadays. He nods his head and says very 
 mild and soft, ' Saddle both my horses and you come 
 with me and leave word for Skookum to follow. 
 It's a damn shame ! ' 
 
 " Which Gunnysack was glad to do as he's highly 
 
CAM CLARKE 197 
 
 indignant at having Skookum swindled. It was all 
 done as Bradford says except that Skookum did not 
 follow, he came right with them. 
 
 " They caught them down near Robard's and 
 Gunnysack says Carl and the female was consider- 
 able scairt; which I reckon is true as I'd have been 
 also or anybody. Bradford has 'em disembark and 
 then he slaps Carl on each side of the face and walks 
 up and down and talks to 'em on morality and such 
 things. And then what do you guess he did? — old 
 Skookum standin' by all the time, ma'm, for he's an 
 old man." 
 
 Mrs. Clarke at this stage wondered aloud if Mr. 
 Bradford had killed one or both the traitors and she 
 wondered what poor old Skookum had done besides 
 sit still. 
 
 "Bradford killed neither!" said Punts trium- 
 phantly. "Neither — he gives 'em a present of 
 some money on his own account and kicks Carl and 
 takes Skookum's money back and returns it to 
 Skookum and then comes home." 
 
 " And I suppose all Washtucna is laughing at poor 
 Skookum," said Mrs. Clarke a little bitterly. " I 
 suppose if the poor old man had broken his arm in 
 addition to the rest of the damage he received that 
 they'd die laughing. I suppose — " 
 
 " Ma'm," said Punts in rather hurt tones, " you're 
 mistaken a heap. Washtucna never liked Skookum 
 Jones like it does now. We all in this town can un- 
 derstand a gent that way, who gets tangled up and 
 tripped by his own picket lines. I reckon most of 
 us have been throwed ourselves. Anyway there 
 ain't been any joshin' talk at all, and won't be. And 
 
198 CAM CLARKE 
 
 If this snake Carl ever crawls back they'll tar and 
 feather him, if they're not so carried away by en- 
 thusiasm as to hang him. And besides, ma'm, John 
 Bradford and I have taken a solemn oath to seri- 
 ously mangle anybody who cracks a joke on this sub- 
 ject. He's a fine sport, old Skookum is ; and, besides, 
 Washtucna ain't any tea-party for idle gossip. No, 
 sir!" 
 
 " I wish," said Mrs. Clarke presently, " that you'd 
 ask Mr. Jones to come see me a moment when he 
 has leisure. Does he seem much worried? " 
 
 *' Certainly, ma'm," grated Punts good-naturedly, 
 pulling his beard until it should have come out by 
 the roots. " Yes, he feels rotten all right. Love 
 ain't any joke." 
 
 With that Punts left and very soon afterwards 
 Mr. Bradford came to the door. To the most 
 casual glance he was different from other Wash- 
 tucnans; cleaner cut, sharper, better trained, better 
 taught, more confident, yet less self assertive; in 
 short more highly civilised. 
 
 '' May I come in ? " he asked pleasantly. " I have 
 not seen you for a week." 
 
 " Ye-es — please do ; I wanted to see you. I 
 wanted to talk of the Widows' Endowment Fund. 
 I don't see how — " 
 
 "It's this way, Mr. Clarke," said he incisively; 
 " my part in it was only the beginning and I started 
 it for personal reasons. It suits me to be popular 
 in this town and this endowment fund is a sure 
 method by which to get popularity. It's pure busi- 
 ness. You need have no hesitancy about taking the 
 stuff. I buy what I want in what appears a good 
 
CAM CLARKE 199 
 
 market, that's all. — And I can afford It,'* he added 
 apologetically. " Maybe I'll want to be Senator 
 out here some day; you can't tell. You just take It 
 and give me the popularity." 
 
 " I suppose you've heard of Skookum's marriage," 
 he said presently with a faint smile. 
 
 " Yes, and I am sorry : he's a fine little man. Per- 
 haps it is best this way, though. It seems so to me 
 now. Perhaps they could never have been very 
 comfortable married." 
 
 " Certainly," said he, " it's much better this way. 
 He's all right now and I think he won't need to be 
 that kind of a fool again. But," he went on whim- 
 sically, *' it is not like me. I've been all the kinds of 
 fool already, so perhaps I can be sensible always after 
 this." 
 
 Which whimsical guess at the future proved about 
 correct. I never knew him to execute anything ex- 
 tensively unfortunate or unintelligent. But I believe 
 he had really messed up his young manhood a good 
 deal. 
 
 That afternoon the first instalment of funds from 
 the Widows' Endowment arrived and Sarah Clarke 
 took to her bed where she should have been for a 
 month. 
 
 In the municipal election which occurred soon 
 afterwards Mr. Bradford was elected mayor, vice 
 A. J. Punts, who refused to allow his name to be put 
 up for a second term. This post Mr. Bradford held 
 until he returned to Vermont with the before men- 
 tioned barrels of money (or their equivalent on pa- 
 per) and the wife — but we anticipate again. The 
 Widows' Endowment Fund had served its prime pur- 
 
200 CAM CLARKE 
 
 poses: Mrs. Sarah Clarke had been persuaded to 
 rest and John Bradford had been made mayor by it. 
 But poor Skookum Jones's outlay of affection had 
 brought him no return whatever. Which should 
 teach us not to save our affections too much for use 
 in eld age. Yet I take it back: it had brought him 
 something. It made him step very briskly and wear 
 his plug hat at a rakish angle. He was the very 
 devil of a fellow. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THERE is no doubt whatever that Mrs. Clarke 
 occupied in a sense an official position in 
 Washtucna, though the position had no name. 
 She was consulted in a variety of affairs: profes- 
 sionally by Punts, M.D., and politically and per- 
 sonally by the new mayor, Mr. Bradford; and, in- 
 deed, for heaven knows what reasons by about every 
 male and female in Washtucna. No doubt the re- 
 sponsibilities of these various posts had some part in 
 preventing her from giving in to sickness long be- 
 fore she did. 
 
 Punts was now greatly concerned about Mrs. 
 Clarke's health though she did not constantly keep 
 to her bed. But, despite her weakness, when the 
 great housewarming party was given shortly before 
 Christmas by Cayuse Jimmy Mohundro at the open- 
 ing of his new house on Dutch Flat, Dr. Punts hav- 
 ing recommended recreation. Mayor Bradford took 
 Mrs. Clarke down as official lady representative of 
 the town. And in Washtucna Christmas festivities 
 she again bore a prominent part. Probably Wash- 
 tucna could have existed without Sarah Clarke, but 
 at that time no Washtucnan would have admitted it; 
 least of all that firm trio of friends, Bradford, Punts 
 and Jones. 
 
 " Cayuse Jimmy's party furnished a delightful if 
 hilarious entrance into the holiday festivities," said 
 
 201 
 
202 CAM CLARKE 
 
 The Washtucna Breeze. This party was distin- 
 guished amongst other things for the wide variety of 
 the guests and for their spirited conduct. As Mr. 
 Gunnysack CharHe expressed it, " All the glntry av 
 the Palouse Country was there besides siveral others 
 and mesilf and they behaved rotten." But the wide 
 variety in company was not appreciated by people 
 generally. Indeed, 1 suppose to all persons except 
 Sarah Clarke and John Bradford it seemed an en- 
 tirely normal party. 
 
 Mayor Bradford came for Sarah Clarke In the 
 only two-seated cutter in the Palouse Country, to 
 which he had hooked up his own beautiful Hamilton- 
 ian horses. It was bitterly cold but he wrapped us 
 all in fur robes, stowed Cam and me behind and went 
 off like the wind over the billowy white hills which 
 were flooded with moonlight. The coyotes cried on 
 the hilltops, the horses' breaths froze on the fur 
 robes, the tongues of the sleigh bells grew faint with 
 frozen vapour, and then suddenly we were in front 
 of a big log house blazing with light and up and 
 down and around were blanketed and unblanketed 
 horses and ponies and mules tied to every conceiv- 
 able stationary object on the ranch. From inside 
 came a persuasive squeaking of fiddles, a shuffle of 
 feet and a medley of voices. Oh, it was excessively 
 gay and I wished I had stayed at home, for I saw that 
 it would be utterly impossible to enter the door into 
 that great crowd inside. 
 
 They made way, however, and welcome for Sarah 
 Clarke and while she talked with people. Cam and I 
 slipped off to one side between the redhot stove and a 
 big fireplace : one was for looks, one for heat. Peo- 
 
CAM CLARKE 203 
 
 pie had come far to Cayuse Jimmy's party, for Jimmy 
 was a famous man. There was Nesepelim Charlie 
 Smith, an able and an honourable man. Nesepelim 
 was by religion a Mormon and he had two squaws, 
 both of whom he had brought seventy miles on pony 
 back to attend this fine party. Then there was Nez 
 Perce Smith, who was Nesepelim's cousin, and there 
 were the Rushers and Beauclercs and Frenchy 
 Clemens with his Irish wife and a flock of gaunt and 
 hungry looking children. All these and many more 
 Cayuse Jimmy and his wife, who was a quarter Coeur 
 d'Alene, welcomed vociferously. Cayuse and his 
 wife made a picturesque receiving party, as he for the 
 occasion had refused to don any garb other than his 
 usual flannel shirt, lace boots and corduroys, whereas 
 his wife eclipsed past, present and future Palouse 
 gowns by one which, if not from Paris, was at least 
 from Chicago or Spokane or Washtucna : anyway she 
 had not made it herself. 
 
 There were many amongst those present, however, 
 who considered that Sarah Cameron Clarke was, in 
 her modest black, still the most beautiful person in 
 the room. And, in plain truth, I suppose she had not 
 ever looked better. There was just a rose flush of 
 colour in her thin cheeks, her gray-mottled eyes were 
 brilliantly lustrous with excitement and the back- 
 ground of things made her appearance ten times more 
 striking. She was highly civilised, .while the people 
 about her were, in a sense, of the barbarians. Yet 
 the dress was of all sorts: people in long boots, peo- 
 ple in '* shaps " and flannels and buckskin, people in 
 plain sack suits and, finally, there was John Bradford, 
 cap-a-pie, in perfect evening dress. 
 
204 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Sarah Clarke danced once with Bradford, I think, 
 and once she rolled through a riotous quadrille with 
 Cayuse Jimmy himself. The rest of the time she just 
 talked with people, and her conversation was as light 
 and bright as sea foam in sunlight; but it too swiftly 
 changed from one thing to another to be remembered 
 except as a zig-zag path of light. And yet it was 
 pitched just right, pitched so that the person to whom 
 she talked understood. 
 
 We went home after a while and to bed. When 
 we awoke in the morning Washtucna had a new dis- 
 ease, a new fever. She was always sudden. Now 
 she was simply sick with a desire to celebrate Christ- 
 mas as handsomely as Cayuse Jimmy had celebrated 
 his house-warming. She must be munificent in it. 
 Why not give everything to Christmas ? was her first 
 Idea. Why not have a celebration on a scale never 
 before dreamed of? 
 
 And then partizan spirit burst forth again. And 
 the churches were not the parties to the rivalry. It 
 was the Saints and Sinners who were. Judge Rusher 
 clubbed together with his clansmen the Sinners and 
 Mr. Beauclerc clubbed with the Saints. Both clans 
 put In money as freely as though it had been a benefit 
 for Sarah Clarke, for nothing can be done any place 
 without money. And then they sent teams twenty 
 miles through the cold and snow for Christmas trees 
 and evergreen branches. The journeys of those 
 teams were epic: they broke their own roads through 
 the high piled drifts of the foothills and then with a 
 last burst of effort their drivers pushed forward on 
 snowshoes over the crisp crust and dragged down the 
 snow laden pines by main strength across gulch and 
 
CAM CLARKE 205 
 
 hill. It was of a piece with the Crusades and there 
 was about the same amount of Christian purpose in 
 the background of it: just an immense, immediate lik- 
 ing for the grotesque, the romantic, the adventurous 
 and the sentimental. 
 
 Ironically enough it was the Sinners who secured 
 the use of the church for their tree and it was the 
 Saints who took over the fraternal hall above Jan 
 Havland's saloon. 
 
 It having been decided by common consent that 
 giving Christmas parties should be a competitive func- 
 tion, it had immediately become a point of honour 
 with each side to secure the largest and most perfect 
 tree, the handsomest and most tasteful decorations 
 and the richest and most numerous presents. And 
 later there would of course arise the equally impor- 
 tant questions of which party was most largely at- 
 tended and which Santa Claus had the largest paunch 
 and the joUiest voice. Of course no accurate meas- 
 urements or counts would ever be taken on these 
 points; Washtucna would prefer to dispute about 
 them for months afterwards on purely general 
 grounds. She would no more consent to measure 
 such things than to count a young girl's eyelashes or 
 calculate the force with which a baby grips its 
 father's thumb. Fancy the sacrilege of laying a tape 
 line on the belly of Santa Claus. 
 
 Competition did its best and then a voice of sanity 
 issued from an entirely unexpected throat and sug- 
 gested co-operation. If it had come with warning 
 Washtucna would have disregarded the voice, for 
 on principle Washtucna disliked co-operation and 
 would have been prepared to argue it down. But it 
 
2o6 CAM CLARKE 
 
 did not. It was Miss May Caylor who spoke. At 
 about the last noon before Christmas Eve, she ap- 
 peared, wearing her brightest colours of gown and 
 complexion, before a committee of leading Saints 
 which was sitting in consultation in the room over 
 Jan Havland's saloon making final plans. 
 
 Miss Caylor's appearance was unexpected, for 
 women of her trade, even in Washtucna, were not 
 supposed to be much interested in Christmas trees. 
 The men shuffled uneasily: some of them had wives 
 who would not understand such interviews. Miss 
 Caylor sat down and lighted a cigarette. Mr. Beau- 
 clerc frowned, stood up, put both hands in his hip 
 pockets and asked her with solemn courtesy how " we 
 can serve you." Miss Caylor crossed her knees and 
 inhaled deeply of her cigarette. 
 
 " Gents," said she calmly, " these are going to be 
 the damnedest Christmas trees I've ever seen. Who 
 are they for anyway? That's what I ask. For 
 what purpose are they erected? Who's to get the 
 benefit?" 
 
 Mr. Beauclerc remarked suavely that the Saints' 
 tree, at least, was mainly for the children. 
 
 Miss Caylor flared up. "For the children, eh? 
 So that's the reason you have two of 'em simultane- 
 ous, so the children can't see but one. And there 
 ain't but about thirty kids near Washtucna anyway, 
 which is just enough to have fun; an' you'll keep half 
 of 'em separate from the other half, sort of to make 
 'em good an' lonesome I s'pose. Why in hell fire 
 don't you have 'em sequently? one after the other, 
 so's all the kids can go to all the trees ? Now, gents, 
 
CAM CLARKE 207 
 
 why don't you ? — as one commonsense sport to an- 
 other, why don't you ? " 
 
 The Saints' committee saw the point. Mr. Beau- 
 clerc mumbled sort of an approval. " Naturally," 
 said he, ending severely, " naturally, however, I'm 
 opposed to those evil-doing cattle — " 
 
 " Cut it out! " said Miss Caylor disgustedly, and 
 she took out a powder puff and smeared her nose 
 rather ungracefully, *' cut it out ! Suppose I were to 
 fix up such arrangements of co-operation with these 
 Sinner bums, will you stay with me ? Will you make 
 good?" She lighted her cigarette again and again 
 crossed her legs in a way more instructive to anato- 
 mists than pleasing to a moralist. 
 
 The Saints said they would, and Miss Caylor by 
 arts, subterfuges, fraud and other perfectly legiti- 
 mate female weapons actually succeeded in less 
 than an hour in making arrangements with Judge 
 Rusher and the Sinners whereby these events, said 
 the Judge, " will be pulled off in tandem " instead 
 of side by side. " But you'll note," continued he, 
 " that both of 'em are still hooked up to the chariot 
 of Washtucna's happiness, which Washtucna loses 
 nothing and the kids gain." And thereby the full 
 glory of both these Christmas trees was guaranteed 
 to every child in Washtucna. But I am told that two- 
 thirds of the adult attendants at these festivals of 
 ** peace on earth " carried concealed weapons in or- 
 der to be prepared for emergencies. 
 
 The question of which tree should be first stripped 
 of its wealth was left to the arbitration of the dice 
 box; and as Mr. Beauclerc threw four sixes to Judge 
 
2o8 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Rusher's four trays, the crowd, consisting of the 
 whole town, appeared first in Havland's Hall and 
 later at the Methodist Church. 
 
 Christmas Eve was as clear and as excessively cold 
 as it should be and Washtucna, as I have implied, 
 without any exception whatever, attended the Christ- 
 mas trees. There were absolutely no absentees, not 
 even Jan Havland or his bar-keeper or Miss May 
 Caylor. It is true, however, that these three per- 
 sons sat together in a somewhat embarrassed lone- 
 liness, which was enhanced when Miss May Cay- 
 lor, who was the only grown person to receive a 
 present from the Saints' tree, was presented with a 
 locket and chain. As this present was being be- 
 stowed by the hand of Santa Claus himself, that 
 pleasant old gentleman spoke in the voice of Mr. 
 Tinling, the station agent, a few words of explana- 
 tion of the unusual honour which was being con- 
 ferred. These remarks, I need not relate, had not 
 the general approval of the married ladies of Wash- 
 tucna, as married ladies in general are absolutely op- 
 posed to any kindness to May Caylors. 
 
 " Gents and ladies," said he in a frank voice, 
 " Santa Claus has found this article yere, in his 
 pack, which it was put in by accident on purpose on 
 account of her noble idea of despatching this Christ- 
 mas festivity as two trains with a reasonable interval 
 between 'em, instead of tryin' to run 'em both on the 
 same track simultaneously, which would result in 
 more or less ditching both trains, to the great incon- 
 venience of the children, which are the real passen- 
 gers, as a fellow might say. Miss Caylor, here's to 
 you!" 
 
CAM CLARKE 209 
 
 Miss Caylor received the present with perfect 
 composure, while several of the younger children ex- 
 pressed wonder at the remarkable mimical powers 
 possessed by a Santa Claus who could " talk exactly 
 like Mr. Tinling," and it showed Santa Claus liked 
 Mr. Tinling and they did too. 
 
 Cam and I were sitting between Sarah Clarke and 
 big John Bradford, which latter person was, to 
 our intense admiration, again in evening dress. 
 ** This,'' said Sarah Clarke, " is rather better than I 
 thought human nature could do — do not you think 
 so? Did you think respectable people would allow 
 each other to be decent this way? Doesn't this town 
 out-do itself? It is almost Christian." 
 
 The first party being finished, the company pres- 
 ently adjourned to the new church, which was the old 
 school house, where the Sinners' tree, as radiant as 
 tinsel and light can be, was waiting. As the party 
 walked along, singularly but none the less easily and 
 naturally Sarah Clarke fell into step with Miss Cay- 
 lor and they chatted like old friends, while John 
 Bradford and Cam and I walked behind. What 
 Washtucnans thought of it I know not, I only can 
 guess. 
 
 Again we came in, in clouds of steam, from the 
 frigid ice and snow garbed world to the warm region 
 near the great box stove. Again the children were 
 smothered with presents; never were such rich chil- 
 dren, rich past belief. There was everything: cloth- 
 ing and boots and toys and candy — everything a 
 child could desire and some things which were better 
 than desirable, things which were useful. Best of 
 all for me and my brothers and sisters was clothing. 
 
2IO CAM CLARKE 
 
 We were warmly clad for the rest of that winter and 
 that is a blessing, indeed, past understanding to him 
 who has never been cold. And, again, as before, 
 Santa Claus came down personally to Miss May 
 Caylor and this time he had a book for her. That 
 lady upon hearing her name again called for a pres- 
 ent quite lost the cool composure which she had 
 hitherto maintained. It was one stroke of kindness 
 too much. She grew very pale, tears rolled down 
 her face and then in a great fit of sobbing she fled the 
 room. Cam and I did not understand, but we no- 
 ticed that hers were not the only tears, that John 
 Bradford's face was set very hard and that many 
 men shuffled their feet uneasily, that others swore 
 softly and gently and that a general air of sympathy 
 and warmth and kindness seemed drawing every one 
 together — drawing to all of us poor Miss May Cay- 
 lor, who had fled home through the bitter night. 
 Even married women felt it — indeed, Washtucna 
 was kind-hearted and generous. 
 
 Outside, after we had sung the last hymn and had 
 said good night, we found it snowing a powdery snow. 
 The wind came in strong and stronger gusts, search- 
 ing you through and through, penetrating to your 
 very heart. Already the drifts were piling high. 
 We all paused in the hallway, looking out critically 
 and appraising the weather. Mr. Skookum Jones 
 shook his head ominously. *' She's bad lookin'," he 
 said. "Nobody better ride far to-night; that's 
 straight. As for me, I'm staying with McPethe- 
 rick; no ten miles for me. 'Tain't safe." 
 
 " No, you're not staying at a hotel, Mr. Skookum, 
 you're coming home with us," cried fat Mrs. 
 
CAM CLARKE 211 
 
 Rusher; and, "You come with us, Marti'' whis- 
 pered Cam. I nodded my head and told my sister 
 Annie not to expect me home. We all started off 
 and, as we went, I heard for a second my sister 
 Mary's hard and knifelike cough. I did not un- 
 derstand it, but Sarah Clarke did and she winced. 
 
 We could feel the wind growing almost mo- 
 mentarily stronger and Sarah Clarke found the little 
 walk so hard a fight that big John Bradford finally 
 picked her up as you would a child and swung off, with 
 Cam and me trotting to keep up. He put her down 
 inside her own door, said good night rather gruffly 
 and was off again into the wintry night. When we 
 came to look at Sarah Clarke there was a look of 
 singular exaltation on her thin face, hectic spots were 
 in her cheeks and her eyes were as bright as the cold 
 stars and as warm as young life itself. 
 
 All night the wind rattled fiercely at the casements 
 and in the morning we looked out into the greatest 
 blizzard the Palouse Country has ever seen. It was 
 the top tide of elemental severity: the drifts piled 
 higher and higher and the frosts drove us nearer 
 and nearer to the great box stoves. You could not 
 visit even your neighbours; but it was cosy and 
 homelike, games by the fireside and talk and talk 
 and Sarah Clarke with that new look on her face — 
 and yet she looked thinner than ever, less of this 
 earth. Trains ceased to run, stock starved and 
 froze on the ranges; even the food supply of men 
 ran low. Snow, snow, snow and frost extending 
 forever. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE spirit of genuine, unquestioning partizan- 
 ship had really been rather weak in Wash- 
 tucna's heart since the death of Jim Lent 
 at the door of Jan Havland's saloon : the Christmas 
 co-operation was an evidence of this. The cold of 
 that winter finally froze this spirit to death. Never- 
 theless in the very end of the winter it temporarily 
 rose again in such splendid vigour that for a time it 
 threatened to throw Washtucna into internal war. 
 This danger of war being suddenly extinguished by 
 the nature of the circumstances, partizanship rapidly 
 faded again and waned and this time when it died it 
 was dead. 
 
 The immediate occasion of this last outburst of 
 hostility was the loss by theft to Mr. Deep Creek 
 Peterson of his beautiful Hamiltonian mare Nellie. 
 I am, you see, laying the blame on the thief. I 
 might lay It on Peterson, for it was considered In- 
 human by Palousers in those days to tempt men with 
 such horse flesh as Nellie. But I absolve Peterson. 
 
 Nellie was taken from her barn one night late 
 In February without, so far as witnesses could say, 
 leaving any trace whatever as to where or with 
 whom she had gone. Deep Creek Peterson was 
 broken hearted. He had bred and raised her him- 
 self at his Creek ranch at great expense of time and 
 trouble, and now he was at once as sorrowful, In- 
 
 212 
 
CAM CLARKE 213 
 
 dignant and vengeful as if you had taken away to 
 slavery two or three of his numerous yellow-haired 
 children. To indicate the extent of his sorrow he 
 remarked some hundreds of times to every person 
 he saw that " Nellie vas the look of mine eyes.'* 
 And he often earnestly conversed upon the intensity 
 of his desire to help hang the man who stole her. 
 
 Now Deep Creek Peterson was by politics and re- 
 ligion an ardent Sinner. He had not in the least 
 slackened his enthusiastic partizanship. He was a 
 Sinner for life, and so firm a one that next in his 
 sturdy affections after his family and the mare Nellie 
 came Judge Rusher and the whole institution of Sin- 
 nerdom. It was natural under such circumstances 
 that he should suspect a Saint or Saints of having 
 stolen his horse, and so it was natural also that he 
 should go immediately to consult with Judge Rusher 
 as to what steps looking to recovery and revenge 
 he ought to take. Now it had happened that in the 
 past Mr. Deep Creek Peterson had sojourned for a 
 number of years in the pan-handle of Texas at a 
 time when Mr. Bob Dalton, as a boy, was learning 
 to punch cattle in that sunburned land. Deep Creek 
 remembered, as he talked with Judge Rusher, that 
 young Bob Dalton had been requested by a self-ap- 
 pointed committee to leave Texas on account of hav- 
 ing been seen in earnest conversation with a man 
 who was caught in the possession of a horse belong- 
 ing to Alfalfa Bill Hayward of Waco — or some 
 such person of some such place. This gentleman 
 caught with the horse was very properly hanged at 
 the suggestion of said self-appointed committee ; but, 
 as it was a merciful committee, Mr. Bob Dalton in 
 
214 CAM CLARKE 
 
 consideration of his youth and lack of guile was only 
 requested to vamoose and to never talk to such peo- 
 ple again. 
 
 Mr. Deep Creek Peterson as he prodded up his re- 
 calcitrant and soggy memory was further able to 
 remember that there were not wanting people in 
 Texas who, on the occasion of the above described 
 events, had desired also to hang Mr. Bob Dalton on 
 a chance. But you can not hang a child : a fact which 
 Deep Creek now lamented to Judge Rusher in some 
 rude similes, mentioning the killing of young rattle- 
 snakes as virtuous acts. 
 
 All the above reminiscences were laid before 
 Judge Rusher. To a Sinner the conclusion was per- 
 fectly logical that Mr. Bob Dalton, who was a Saint 
 and a natural object of suspicion anyhow, had lifted 
 Deep Creek's mare because he once in Texas had 
 talked to a man who perhaps was a thief. Judge 
 Rusher lamented the harsh conclusion, for he liked 
 Bob Dalton; but he could not, of course, let small 
 preferences stand in the way of duty, nor blind 
 prejudice vote down clear eyed logic. No, sir! Of 
 course he would see that Bob had a fair trial. He 
 would concede a point: Bob should have a " legal " 
 trial, an actual legal trial. He should be appre- 
 hended by the officers of the law and fairly tried 
 and in due form ; and the Judge's lips came together 
 so tight that there was just a little blue line to show 
 where they met. The Judge was a firm man, not to 
 say stubborn, as you could see by this little blue line. 
 
 Mr. Sam Stimson was the sheriff and a Saint. By 
 Judge Rusher's advice Deep Creek rode to Colfax 
 to see and lay his case before Stimson. Now Stimson 
 
CAM CLARKE 215 
 
 had a Saint^s prejudices instead of a Sinner's. And, 
 indeed, it was rather a sickly case taken altogether; 
 so Stimson laughed a good healthy laugh and said 
 the whole complaint was ridiculous. Nevertheless, 
 there was at that time one crime at which a Palouse 
 county sheriff must not look lightly and that crime 
 was horse stealing. You must give every man a 
 good chance to be convicted, by himself or others, of 
 horse stealing. Sam Stimson admitted this on sec- 
 ond thought and said he would arrest Bob if Deep 
 Creek desired it; but if no more substantial evidence 
 were brought forth at the trial, he would arrange 
 personally to have Mr. Peterson ridden on a rail 
 and tarred and feathered. This he considered was 
 but the plain duty of a fair minded sheriff. Mr. 
 Peterson accepted the wager, as it were, with pa- 
 tient and gentle enthusiasm. 
 
 Sam Stimson was no laggard. That was one of 
 the reasons he was sheriff. He was off on his fa- 
 mous roan horse that same afternoon and that night 
 he had supper at the Tennessee Restaurant at Wash- 
 tucna in the company of Mr. McPetherick and 
 Doc Punts. He did not divulge to them his er- 
 rand. Later he took two drinks at Jan Havland's, 
 toasted himself at the stove and then cheerfully rode 
 out into the crisp night towards Bob Dalton's little 
 ranch. Bob Dalton lived two miles above Wash- 
 tucna in Doncaster Gulch on the Spokane stage 
 road. 
 
 Punts saw Stimson go up the stage road humming 
 a song with that fine tenor voice so justly admired 
 by his friends the ladies ; and none in Washtucna that 
 night ever saw him alive again. But as Tom War- 
 
2i6 CAM CLARKE 
 
 ren was riding horseback to Washtucna early next 
 morning the mare Nan gave a great jump and a 
 snort just as they crossed a little ravine. Tom was 
 almost unseated. Glancing back he saw half buried 
 in the snow, face downward, the heavily clad body of 
 a man. It was gallant Sam Stimson's body and he 
 lay about a half mile from Dalton's ranch, just where 
 you turn off from the main road; and there were two 
 revolver wounds on his body, both deadly. 
 
 Tom secured men to help and he and they 
 brought the body into Washtucna. As the word of 
 Tom's grim find went the rounds, armed men again 
 flowed into the town. And now, though partizan- 
 ship was deemed to be behind this death, Wash- 
 tucna for the first time rose wholly above partizan- 
 ship and asked with a hundred voices for plain and 
 simple justice. There was now no thought or talk 
 of Saints and Sinners amongst those who rode in 
 through the melting and slushy snow that sunny 
 afternoon, but they nevertheless all looked very de- 
 termined and grim. A Saint sheriff was dead, a 
 Sinner's horse was stolen, and without doubt these 
 things were done by one and the same person. Also, 
 to Washtucnans in general it seemed certain that the 
 person must be Bob Dalton ; so certain that although 
 both Saints and Sinners liked him well, only those 
 friends of Bab Dalton's heart, Pete Barker, Doc 
 Punts and John Bradford, voiced their doubts. 
 
 Mr. Pete Barker opined in the face of the town 
 that Bob was as " mild as milk and never killed no 
 man," while Punts more boldly said the man lied 
 who said Bob Dalton would murder Sam Stimson. 
 John Bradford spoke earnestly everywhere and to 
 
CAM CLARKE 217 
 
 every one for a fair trial and time for mature con- 
 sideration. "It is not only justice, it's business," 
 he said; an argument which wins many so-called 
 hard-headed people. 
 
 But extensive consideration and thought was not 
 Washtucna's habit. She was violent. If anything 
 were wrong she proposed to fix it at once. She 
 was radical. Hence, in spite of John Bradford, the 
 court of " Judge Lynch " was convoked and a com- 
 mittee of four was appointed to escort Mr. Dalton 
 before the court for trial; the court to sit in Jan Hav- 
 land's Hall over the saloon where but a little time 
 back we had gathered for the Saints' Christmas tree ; 
 trial to take place that very night if the prisoner 
 could be produced. 
 
 The messengers of the court found Mr. Bob Dal- 
 ton without difficulty. He was sitting by his own 
 bachelor fireside teaching a very little pig to do card 
 tricks. He was greatly surprised, it appeared, at the 
 errand of this party but he was mild and gentle and 
 even cheerful and docile, which was a comfort to the 
 committee, who had, as they approached, rather won- 
 dered which ones of them he would try to shoot first. 
 And they had felt some concern, for he was a shame- 
 fully good shot. " Of co'se," said he in faint ex- 
 postulation, " I'm an innocent pa'ty, but a co'te, as 
 I understand jestice, is alius privileged to try any 
 man it wants to : an' no one admires * Judge Lynch ' 
 more'n me; no sir! I'll be with you all just di- 
 rectly." Having tied a bandana hankerchief around 
 his neck with unusual care, adjusted a poker chip in 
 the knot, combed his hair and plastered it down until 
 his appearance was injured as much as possible, he 
 
21 8 CAM CLARKE 
 
 showed the gentlemen of the committee how Tim the 
 pig could tell the three of hearts from the ace. 
 Then he saddled his frozen eared pony Monte and 
 trotted off more like the leader of the party than a 
 prisoner. 
 
 When about a hundred yards distant from the 
 house one of the committee as an afterthought asked 
 Bob to turn over his revolvers. This he did very 
 courteously and for a moment the committee felt 
 shamefaced at the irregularity of the whole proceed- 
 ing. There were two empty shells in one revolver, 
 which Mr. Dalton said had been fired the night be- 
 fore at a most ** annoyin' " coyote. But as it had 
 so happened that Sam Stimson had been shot just 
 twice, the committee looked at each other more 
 grimly and spread around Bob, so that thereafter 
 he looked more like a prisoner and less like the cap- 
 tain of the troop. There was naturally but little 
 conversation, men were having their thoughts. 
 
 It was dark when the little cavalcade clattered in 
 the cloud of its own vapour over Washtucna's frozen 
 streets. Washtucna was quiet but populous with 
 determined looking men and the court was already 
 met and cleared for business. Bob Dalton appears 
 to have been very unconcerned and cool as he arrived 
 in town, but he was in no wise facetious. No doubt 
 he realized his danger. He tied his own horse and 
 led the way up the rickety stairs which were ap- 
 pended to the outside of Jan Havland's Hall to save 
 space ; and a great many men followed him up. 
 
 The court, which was composed more by accident 
 than elsewise of twenty-one members, was seated at 
 a long shining table dimly lighted by two oil lamps 
 
CAM CLARKE 219 
 
 requisitioned from Jan Havland's back rooms below. 
 At the head of the table as " Judge Lynch " was Mr. 
 Tom Woods, a bearded old pioneer, distinguished 
 for his fairness, his taciturnity and his common sense, 
 and not to a lesser extent for the extraordinary un- 
 kemptness of his person. The court room became 
 very silent when Bob Dalton entered. 
 
 " Mr. Robert Dalton," said Tom Woods sol- 
 emnly, " you'll excuse this court while it recites the 
 case agin ye, which it's as follows. That you were 
 onct a Texan but were driv from that State on ac- 
 count of keepin' associates with hoss-thieves. Now 
 a hoss has been cut out an' run off from Mr. Deep 
 Creek Peterson's ranch, which this here community 
 figgers out you have absorbed in accordance with 
 habits acquired in Texas: and it accuses you of it. 
 Further, it is held to be a fair certain surmise that you 
 shot up Sheriff Stimson last night as he was comin' 
 to arrest you for complicity in the felonious proceed- 
 in's connected with Peterson's hoss. Which shoot- 
 in' is the cause of Sam Stimson dyin' and lyin' in the 
 snow ontil discovered by Tom Warren this mornin'. 
 And further yet, on bein' rounded up you all's gun 
 has two empty shells, which is the number of holes 
 discerned in Stimson deceased, which you account for 
 by sayin' you been shootin' coyotes and which this 
 court holds to be ridiculous and not so." 
 
 There was some shuffling and changing of posi- 
 tions, at the end of which John Bradford and Pete 
 Barker were observed to have taken station on either 
 side of the accused and close to him. Mr. Bob Dal- 
 ton was somewhat pale but when he spoke his voice 
 was firm and unshaken. 
 
220 CAM CLARKE 
 
 " Gents,'' said he deliberately with a faint smile, 
 " I admit Fm from Texas, which if it's a crime it 
 will reduce the population of the world a heap, for 
 they are Texans scattered around everywhere. And 
 I admit that in my childhood I once talked to a hoss- 
 thief there and was permitted to vamoose instead of 
 bein' hung, which act of extraordinary mercy I s'pose 
 has been recollected by Mr. Deep Creek Peterson 
 himself. As for bein' the reg'lar consort of that 
 hoss-thief, it ain't so. I was just ign'rant an' didn't 
 know a hoss-thief from a badger, which this com- 
 munity is sim'lar. As f'r stealin' Deep Creek's boss, 
 I didn't ever do it. I was stayin' in my own shack 
 trainin' my pig Tim, which I could prove an alibi, 
 as the lawyer sharps say, if I had Tim trained up 
 high enough to talk; but I ain't that far along with 
 him yet. Likewise with last night; I was home, ex- 
 cept that just before sunset I lopes across towards 
 Pine Creek feelin' sort of stagnant, like an old mud 
 hole, as it were, from the mental effort of trainin' 
 Tim ; and Monte, which is my Kuetin, my cayuse, as 
 you might say, only he's mustang, scares up a coyote, 
 at which I shoots twice and misses both shots, bein' 
 poor shootin', too. And them is the missin' bullets 
 which this co'te's sagacity has ferreted out, but they 
 never came nigh Sam Stimson, who was a pal of 
 mine, and respected and well liked by me as by other 
 people. I may say, however, that about eight 
 o'clock last night, as I was smokin' and readin' last 
 week's paper agin for the fifth time, I hears two ad- 
 ditional shots, which come from the road, apparently, 
 but I give 'em no heed, sayin' the boys are shootin' 
 off some insulators from the telegraph poles. And 
 
CAM CLARKE 221 
 
 I go to bed. And them, I anticipate, are the shots 
 which get Sam, which I wish I had knowed it then; 
 in which case I might of brought in the real crim'nal 
 instead of bein' brung in myself. 
 
 " And now, gents, these are facts. I regret it a 
 heap if they don't impress the co'te with my innocence 
 the same as they do me. The same, I realize, may 
 result in me bein' hanged, and I have no hesitation in 
 sayin' that I hav made other plans for my life, which 
 hangin' would interfere with. Therefore, I may say 
 I'll protest on this hangin' business, though if the 
 co'te don't heed my protest I don't bear no malice or 
 harbour hatred, as I realize that my facts ain't exactly 
 inspiritin'. Further, I would say that if there is any 
 doubt in the minds of the co'te that can be cleared 
 that way, I'll give my personal guarantee that my 
 words is true and sound and without defects, that I 
 never stole that boss and never shot Sam Stimson." 
 
 He sat down on a high stool amidst a buzz of 
 interest. His last words had probably impressed the 
 court more in his favour than anything else he or 
 any one had said. Bob Dalton's *' guarantee " was 
 ordinarily considered to be worth face value. " I 
 don't rec'lect that Bob ever lied to anybody," com- 
 mented Mr. Skookum Jones thoughtfully, and several 
 other members had a similar thought in mind. Still, 
 there was the evidence ; it was strong, and the court 
 remembered very clearly that Sam Stimson's charm- 
 ing personality was wiped off the slate of human 
 affairs. 
 
 " All gents not actually servin' on this court will 
 clear out, givin' opportunity for deliberation and 
 cogitation," announced Mr. Woods. " The prison- 
 
222 CAM CLARKE 
 
 er'll be guarded by the committee which has captured 
 him, and they'll wait down in Jan Havland's." 
 
 Obedient to this decree, the interested spectators 
 were cast out into the chilly streets, while the court 
 deliberated. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE foregoing events had woven themselves 
 into the fabric of Washtucna's history without 
 the cognizance of Cam or me. Our nose for 
 news for once missed a scent. We had not heard 
 or seen a thing of the trial, and I am able to describe 
 it in such detail only by consulting old files of The 
 JVashtucna Breeze and The Sun, both of which publi- 
 cations reported the happenings with a fidelity much 
 at variance with their usual habit; for, as I have re- 
 marked, the trial was not a partizan affair. 
 
 That Cam and I missed these events is due to the 
 excellent skating, and the same cause had kept us 
 from school. We were betrayed by the hardness 
 and smoothness of the Ice. We had successfully 
 played hooky from school all day and at night, when 
 we came home, we gobbled some food and were off 
 again to Mr. Barker's pond. But we never arrived 
 there. We heard voices in Jan Havland's Hall and 
 saw lights and we decided to have a look, lest we 
 miss something better than skating. 
 
 We approached the hall just as the court was being 
 cleared for deliberation. The first persons we saw 
 were Bob Dalton and his guard of four men, into 
 whose hands certain alert persons had slipped double 
 barrelled shotguns. Bob had been handcuffed. 
 He came down the rickety stairs in somber silence, 
 his sombrero pulled low over his eyes. Behind this 
 
 222 ^ 
 
224 CAM CLARKE 
 
 party came the spectators, twenty or thirty of them, 
 and they, also, were silent. We were approaching 
 at a critical time. Of course, we did not know 
 what was happening, but we surmised that Bob Dal- 
 ton was in danger, and, for my part, I know a great 
 lump stuck in my throat, for I liked Bob Dalton 
 exceedingly well. 
 
 We saw Gunnysack Charlie in the crowd and we 
 pulled him aside and around the corner, and asked 
 what was wrong. " What are they doing to Bob? " 
 
 Gunnysack took fifteen minutes to fill and light his 
 pipe. I would have choked him had I been able; 
 but I was not, so I waited. 
 
 " I tell ye," said he deliberately, " I tell ye, bhoys, 
 they are sayin' he swiped Deep Creek Peterson's bay 
 mare, the ball faced wan, and that he shot Sam 
 Stimson — " 
 
 " Shot who? " I asked, horrified. 
 
 But Cam grasped my arm before I could get an 
 answer. '^ Come on quick. Mart! the shots we 
 heard last night — remember — and Whitey Mc- 
 Grath; he's here now, right over there! Le's see 
 Doc Punts quick! " and he pulled me off while 
 Gunnysack looked at us in astonishment. 
 
 " What's the matter wi' ye wee divils, ye ? " he 
 called, but we were gone. 
 
 Fortune favoured us, for we almost immediately 
 ran into Punts and John Bradford. They were talk- 
 ing, and it was earnest talk. We stopped them, but 
 we were so frightened and breathless that at first we 
 could not speak. Bradford waited while Punts 
 leered, pulled his long beard to one side and grinned 
 a hideous and sorrowful grin at us. 
 
CAM CLARKE 225 
 
 " Is Mrs. Clarke all right?" asked Bradford un- 
 easily. 
 
 ** Yes, sir," said Cam breathlessly, and I let him 
 talk. *' But last night when we were coming home 
 from Barker's pond where we'd been skating — it 
 was about seven o'clock and bright moonlight, and 
 first we met Whitey McGrath going up the road this 
 side of Bob Dalton's on a bald faced horse and then 
 just In a minute we heard two shots and somebody 
 called, but we didn't — " 
 
 Punts listened no further. He dragged us both 
 upstairs and strode unannounced Into the court room, 
 John Bradford close behind. We were dazzled and 
 embarrassed and frightened. 
 
 " Gents," said Punts, " these young fellows here 
 have some Interesting experiences to recount, which 
 are germane, as I might say, to the principles of 
 justice in this case." 
 
 *' Bring In the accused! the court Is open," said 
 Mr. Woods very promptly, not in the least dis- 
 turbed by the Interruption. 
 
 Bob Dalton, the guards and the audience came In. 
 *' It seems to me," said Mr. Pete Barker when he 
 saw Cam and me, " that the tender age of these chll- 
 lurn unfits 'em for such stern spectacles as this, Mr. 
 Woods. Are they jest here as spectators? " 
 
 " Gents of the court," interrupted Punts In his 
 grating voice, *' these boys have garnered up some 
 knowledge In this case which Is considerable in excess 
 of anything produced by witnesses heretofore heard. 
 If the court will ask 'em questions I expect the path 
 of justice will be considerably lubricated. And In 
 the meantime I ask the court to indulge me by not 
 
226 CAM CLARKE 
 
 going off at half cock and I also ask It to authorise 
 a couple of competent citizens to arrest Mr. Whitey 
 McGrath, who is now taking a drink below, and 
 bring him up here, as he'll be needed sure. And 
 also Fm just now embarking on a few minutes of 
 medical research work on this case. But as I'll be 
 back in fifteen minutes or thirty, I'd like the court to 
 stay proceedings for me if necessary." 
 
 "O.K., Doc," said Mr. Woods pleasantly; both 
 he and the court were interested by the turn of 
 events. " O.K., Doc, we'll wait. And now you 
 all boys set down there quiet and nice and tell this 
 here body of gents what you know about this case, 
 and be real careful to be truthful, for it's important." 
 
 I was rattled. I could not have spoken to save 
 my life. But Cam, as usual, was rather self-pos- 
 sessed, although I did see him swallow extra hard. 
 
 " Well, it's this way," said he, and he swallowed 
 again; " it's like this: Mart and Sandy and I had 
 been skating last night on Barker's pond, and after- 
 wards we walked home on the stage road. Bimeby 
 we heard a horse coming, and as it was white, bright 
 moonlight, we could see when he came up that it was 
 Whitey McGrath on a bald faced horse." 
 
 " Did this horse have any marks of a recognitory 
 nacher?" asked Mr. Deep Creek Peterson with in- 
 terest. 
 
 " She had one white fore-foot," I inserted; "yes, 
 sir, one white fore-foot, the left un; it looked like a 
 white sock; and she was goin' like the wind, lickety- 
 split — " to illustrate her speed I held out my dirty 
 chapped hand and opened and shut it several times 
 rapidly, which was the accepted gesture among Pa- 
 
CAM CLARKE 227 
 
 louse small boys to indicate rapid riding. The 
 court, and even Mr. Bob Dalton, laughed grimly. 
 
 "Well, what then?'' asked Mr. Woods, vigor- 
 ously biting the end off a black cigar, " what then, 
 boys? What became of him. Did you see any 
 more ? " 
 
 *' Well, sir," continued Cam, " we went along 
 towards home and pretty soon we heard two shots 
 from up on the road where Mr. Bob Dalton's road 
 turns off, though we could not be sure just where.'' 
 
 " It seems to me it must a been awful moonlight 
 to see that mare's sock so clear," criticised Skookum 
 Jones mildly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, it was," agreed Cam; ** oh, yes, sir; 
 for Sandy Rusher read a poem backwards by the 
 moonlight, keeping a frozen egg on his wart, which 
 Mr. Gunnysack Williams says will make 'em come 
 off." 
 
 The court smiled again and Mr. Gunnysack looked 
 embarrassed. He had not intended to make this 
 valuable prescription public. 
 
 Then the court made me tell it. Then they made 
 me tell part and Cam part; and then they sent one 
 of us out of the room at a time. I fancy we were 
 pretty close to agreeing, which I now think was a 
 good record, better than two ordinary stupid grown 
 people can do, for it's hard to tell exactly the truth. 
 Whitey McGrath was brought in, but they sent him 
 out until we had finished, because they said he might 
 frighten us by his looks. This, I believe to have 
 been an irregular proceeding, but *' Judge Lynch " 
 could be as irregular as he liked. 
 
 As we were finishing. Doc Punts burst exultantly 
 
' 228 eAM CLARKE 
 
 into the room, his face wreathed in a huge, sardonic, 
 devilish smile. It must have grown colder, for I 
 remember that a cloud of mist followed him in. 
 Feeling the chill, some one slammed the door hastily, 
 and another person heaved a log into the big stove, 
 while still another turned the light higher so that 
 everything seemed more cheerful. 
 
 Punts placed his bony hands on his bony hips, 
 elbows akimbo like the washwomen who existed be- 
 fore the advent of the steam laundry. He glared at 
 the court triumphantly. 
 
 " Gents," said he, " I see these boys have given you 
 the right prescription, yes, sir ; and now I will give 
 you a chaser which will introduce science into these 
 investigations. Punts, M.D., is vindicated. I have, 
 from the first, recognised the impossibility of my 
 friend. Bob Dalton, making a larceny sport out of 
 himself and afterwards shooting an officer of the law 
 from behind. Such a charge refutes itself in a brain 
 of perspicacity. But I was nonplussed, for not 
 knowing the exact proof of my views. These boys 
 furnish the foundation and Providence casts *em into 
 my hand for its own purposes. I presents 'em to 
 you. They gives you the truth, the foundation 
 truth ; me they give a hunch which I follow and bet 
 on, so I can supply the superstructure to the evidence. 
 
 " Gents, I am just now returned from examining 
 the corporeal remains of Sam Stimson until I found 
 this bullet, which has lodged under a scapular after 
 doing its deadly work. I cuts it out and brings it 
 over and this is it. Now I need hardly point out to 
 this intelligent and experienced community that she Is 
 calibre forty-four. And I invite your attention with 
 
CAM CLARKE 229 
 
 this in mind to the fact that Bob's revolver with the 
 empty shell in it is calibre thirty-eight. Which state- 
 ment I ask the court to check and confirm. And in 
 the meantime, recollecting the value of time, I sug- 
 gest allowing Mr. Pete Barker and the marshal to 
 bring Whitey McGrath before the court, as I reckon 
 they're getting cold outside as it's frosty. Which 
 we'd like to have the opportunity of examining his 
 guns." 
 
 The court sighed and squeaked its chair legs in 
 interest and approval and the air became thicker and 
 thicker with tobacco smoke. The intensity of the 
 court's interest seemed to be capable of measurement 
 by the vigour of their smoking. 
 
 " Sure, bring the skunk I " '' Sure I " *' Sure ! " 
 " You bet I " called various voices, for Whitey was 
 no favourite. " And don't let him escape ; ammuni- 
 tion is cheaper'n rope," added another. But nobody 
 smiled. The court was very much in earnest; it 
 could no longer take a joke. 
 
 While some one called and while we heard the 
 shaky steps creaking, I waited in strained expectancy. 
 I was afraid of Whitey, but Cam seemed perfectly 
 self-possessed. A number of the court took occa- 
 sion at this time to nod at Bob Dalton kindly and 
 others to shake his hand and slap his back. Cam 
 went up and shook his hand like a little old grown 
 person and Bob shook it back most fervently and 
 tears rolled down his face. " By jumping John 
 Robinson, you and Mart saved my life, sure." 
 
 Then Whitey McGrath came in and it all became 
 so silent that you could hear the fire roar up the rusty 
 stove pipe. He came in with Mr. Pete Barker's 
 
230 CAM CLARKE 
 
 revolver covering the small of his back. At first he 
 seemed very little in fear, very little impressed. He 
 was just sullen and he growled and cursed and cast 
 savage glances at Cam and me. Personally I felt 
 like lying and telling the court it was all a mistake, 
 for I suspected that Whitey would kill us. But it 
 was too late for that. Well, I would try to die 
 right. 
 
 " Which the court will examine the gent's weap- 
 ons," said Mr. Woods sharply. Mr. Barker 
 promptly laid Whitey's guns on the table. Mr. 
 Woods opened them. They were calibre forty-four. 
 No mistake about that. Mr. Woods thereupon 
 briskly informed Whitey what evidence was before 
 the court and asked him if he had anything to say or 
 any evidence to introduce before the court should 
 judge him — if he had, to deliver It quick, as justice 
 had already been kept waiting in the hallway for 
 several hours. 
 
 Whitey had grown pale as the extent of the evi- 
 dence against him was divulged, but he continued 
 sulky and he said that he had " no expectation of 
 justice," but that he was not guilty. 
 
 This touched Mr. Beauclerc's anger. " Young 
 man," said he, " Washtucna Is a community of 
 honour wherein justice and refinement have a per- 
 manent home. These proceedings are Informal but 
 square. We hope the accused won't persist in abuse 
 of this body, as it might prejudice said body against 
 him. We want him to have a fair chance." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Judge Rusher coldly, " I have 
 a point in addition to bring forth. It appears that 
 this here accused just dotes on good horse flesh. 
 
CAM CLARKE 231 
 
 Last summer he was seen up on Seven Devils by re- 
 liable witnesses riding a mare of which I noted the 
 description, including brand, and on investigation I 
 believe this was Dan'l Burnham's animal which was 
 stolen last summer. I have the description here, 
 written down.'* 
 
 Mr. Daniel Burnham, who was standing by the 
 stove, perked up, *' Bay with anchor * T ' left 
 stifle? " he asked before he saw the paper. 
 
 *' Yes, that's it." 
 
 " Sure, that's her," said Daniel, relapsing into a 
 sphynx-like expression of face and pulling his Httle 
 moustache. " I knowed the damn snake had her 
 and I knowed he'd be got yet." 
 
 " You damn ole — " started Whitey, but Mr. Pete 
 Barker squeezed Whitey's wind pipe with his iron 
 fingers and Whitey volunteered no further remarks; 
 indeed, he was kept busy just breathing. 
 
 " The court will vote," announced Mr. Woods 
 decisively. " Who all thinks Whitey McGrath did 
 these offences against society? " 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 "Me!" and "Mel" and "Me!" said gruff 
 voices in solemn echo around the shining table. It 
 was unanimous. 
 
 " I move that said McGrath be hanged by the neck 
 until dead," said Judge Rusher firmly. 
 
 " Ay, ay," roared the men at the table with a sud- 
 den anger leaping into their voices that drove every 
 trace of colour down from Whitey's furtive yet 
 savage face. 
 
 That was all that I saw. Bob Dalton corralled 
 us in his arms and pushed us out. Then he walked 
 
232 CAM CLARKE 
 
 over to Mrs. Clarke's with Cam and me. She was 
 waiting up and she was commencing to be concerned 
 about Cam, so she hugged us both and asked Bob to 
 come in. 
 
 " What detained you? " she asked gently of Cam. 
 
 Mr. Bob Dalton told her in his own language. 
 She looked at him, as he talked, with a great horror 
 written on her mobile face. 
 
 '' I am so glad, Mr. Dalton," she said softly, when 
 he had finished. " You know I count you one of my 
 best friends. I am so glad.'' 
 
 And then Mr. John Bradford came in and I saw 
 the colour come to Mrs. Clarke's thin cheeks and the 
 light to her eyes. 
 
 "You did not go— ?" 
 
 ** No — no-o; I don't believe exactly in that sort 
 of thing. I know he's guilty, but I don't believe in 
 ' Judge Lynch.' " 
 
 I stayed with Cam that night, for I would have 
 been afraid to go ten feet alone, and John Bradford 
 slept on the sofa downstairs, for Sarah Clarke was 
 afraid. The last thing when we looked out, we saw 
 men straggling back to Washtucna down the Colfax 
 road. They and their shadows looked as black and 
 frightful as witches and goblins in the bright moon- 
 light. Oh, it was terrible. 
 
 All night long we woke up in fits and starts, fancy- 
 ing that we were pursued by Whitey McGraths. 
 Once I dreamed they were hanging Bob Dalton and 
 that Whitey McGrath was helping, and that as they 
 went about the grim business they were, in the perfec- 
 tion of irony, busy in singing hymns. I awoke with 
 a shriek. Once later Cam awoke and sprang out of 
 
CAM CLARKE 233 
 
 bed. Sarah Clarke, blessed be she forever! came in 
 often to put us back on our pillows. But, oh, it was 
 a long and terrible night and I remember it yet with 
 horror. 
 
 All next day the body of Whitey McGrath hung 
 from a bridge near to where Sam Stimson was killed 
 and no one cared enough for him to cut him down. 
 Finally it was Punts and Bob Dalton who did the 
 thing. 
 
 " It might have been me, Doc," said Bob 
 somberly as he proposed it. 
 
 " Or any of us," added the doctor. " Besides, It's 
 the humane and civilized thing to do, Bob; are we 
 Apaches? " Having decided that we were not, they 
 buried him under the railroad bridge, almost In a 
 stream of water. 
 
 At the very end he had confessed to both the theft 
 and the murder and had died, as most evil men con- 
 trive to do, with a prayer on his twisted lips. This 
 was a great comfort to Mr. Beauclerc. 
 
 Mrs. Clarke was a good deal shaken by It all, and 
 Bradford and Punts and Jones had much to do to 
 cheer her up. But it was Bradford who was most 
 help to her: he was of her own brand of people; he 
 knew how she felt about things. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IT was about the time of the demise of the unfortu- 
 nate Whitey McGrath that fat Doctor Leffing- 
 well adopted Washtucna for his home. Now 
 Doctor Punts had experienced no difficulty in keeping 
 dressed the gunshot wounds of Washtucna's in- 
 habitants nor in prescribing for the few people who 
 were accommodating enough to suffer from other 
 ailments, but Leffingwell evidently thought he could 
 make a living, so he moved in. This was bitterly re- 
 sented by Cam and Sandy and me as a slur on our 
 particular friend, Doctor Punts. Unable otherwise 
 to express our resentment, we decided to resuscitate 
 the machinery of the tick-tack, which had lain dor- 
 mant since our unfortunate experiment on the Chinese 
 laundry. These noises, we believed, would irritate 
 the fat doctor and if persevered in for several nights 
 — many if necessary — they might, indeed, persuade 
 him to move on to Colfax, or to some other place 
 which really needed a physician. We talked the 
 thing over and over and this was our mature opinion. 
 Our first night's experiments were very entertain- 
 ing and satisfactory. Escaping privily from the 
 charge of our respective parents by back windows 
 and other such devices, we assembled down under the 
 new warehouse about eleven of the clock. It was a 
 pitch black, cloudy, rather warm March night. 
 Washtucna, except Jan Havland*s, had long been 
 
 234 
 
CAM CLARKE 235 
 
 asleep, so we went immediately to work. Our music 
 on rosin and string was instantly productive of re- 
 sults. A light flared up in Leffingwell's back bed- 
 room and we heard little Mamie Leffingwell's voice 
 cry out in terrified tones, then a man's voice bellowed, 
 and we jerked loose the hook and ran. It had all 
 been very nice except that we had not particularly 
 liked hearing little Mamie's frightened voice. It 
 had not seemed fair — yet it was a public duty, we 
 could not possibly shrink from It. It was our duty 
 to Punts. " Who'll do him right now! " 
 
 Our plans for the next night were to reproduce as 
 nearly as possible the first performance. The 
 events, however, were complicated by unforeseen 
 circumstances. It is seldom possible to reproduce 
 things. 
 
 It happened on this night that Mr. Bob Dalton 
 had sufficiently recovered from the sobering effect of 
 his passage with '* Judge Lynch " to desire to enjoy 
 a fling. *' I am a child of the sun ! " cried he, hilari- 
 ously, " an' of a joyful nacher; " and thereupon he 
 searched out the company of his friend, Mr. Scoop 
 Bender, who was just then Idly waiting at the Ten- 
 nessee Restaurant and Hotel for a party from St. 
 Paul who wished to be guided down Into the Rock 
 Lake country to shoot geese. These two restless 
 spirits cast themselves fervently into drinking Jan 
 Havland's whisky. Continuing this occupation 
 through the afternoon and evening, they became 
 hilarious and so boisterous that had Mr. Trillums, 
 the marshal, been In town, he would either have sent 
 them home, put them in the calaboose, or shot them. 
 But Mr. Trillums was In Colfax and he had left no 
 
236 CAM CLARKE 
 
 deputy, although he had deposited the ^* skookum 
 house " key in the hands of Gunnysack Charlie for 
 safe keeping. Left to their own devices Bob and 
 Scoop were simply and utterly blissful by about ten 
 that night. 
 
 Their pleasing condition was entirely unknown to 
 Cam and Sandy and me, for on that sunny March 
 Saturday we had made a day's excursion to Pine 
 Creek and then had gone promptly home to supper 
 and after that to bed, so we had had no opportunity 
 to learn what was going forward in town. 
 
 But at ten we slipped out again and hooked up our 
 noise gear to the Leffingwell mansion. The first 
 touch on it brought surprising and exciting results. 
 This is the way that it appeared to us : that seventeen 
 lights immediately showed in seventeen windows and 
 then a fat man seven feet tall, garbed in a short night 
 shirt and rubber boots, came out and ran after us 
 with the speed of the wind. 
 
 I remember to have felt some resentment against 
 events for the direction they were taking. This man 
 was chasing us just as Chinamen did. It was un- 
 worthy of the dignity of the white race. He should 
 have hired a '* nigger " to chase us. Why did he do 
 it? Why was he allowed to do it? In spite of this 
 resentment, I, however, adjourned toward the main 
 street on the dead run. At this moment I believe I 
 felt that we were getting more fruits for our efforts 
 than I could conveniently harvest. 
 
 I had no plan. I just followed Cam. He had a 
 plan. He said it was his belief that no man would 
 dare to appear on Washtucna's main streets in a night 
 shirt and rubber boots. But Leffingwell apparently 
 
CAM CLARKE 237 
 
 liked It. Cam was mistaken. The big heathen, 
 leathern-feeling devil would have gone to church In a 
 bathing suit if he were allowed. It Is people like 
 him that make police necessary. His actions do not 
 reflect on Cam's judgment, he was exceptional. 
 
 Our succor came from an unexpected source, so 
 unexpected a source that you might call it providen- 
 tial, provided you bear in mind that providence uses 
 tools of her own choosing. Possibly, however, Lef- 
 fingwell would not call our deliverance providential 
 at all ; there is the other side of the board again. 
 
 And, no, I also say it was not providential. The 
 fact should be stated like this. " It is against the 
 laws of nature to chase boys on Washtucna streets." 
 That Is more logical. Providence does not enter. 
 It is law, for it works all the time (providence just 
 works a few minutes a day) and as it works all the 
 time we grow to have instinctive feelings about it, 
 ** hunches " as it were. This Is proved by the fact 
 that to this day, when a man Is bothered by boys in 
 Washtucna, I advise him to remain silent and endure 
 it. That is my " hunch." After a while the boys 
 will grow up and the next generation of boys will 
 find a new target. I am glad to have this chance to 
 clear up this point; I may save grown up Washtuc- 
 nans from future trouble. 
 
 We were rapidly distancing Doctor Leffingwell as 
 we passed Jan Havland's, for the man was as fat as 
 a prize pig, and speed dwells not in fat men. In- 
 deed, we had gained such a start that as we passed 
 we had enough leisure to notice two men tightening 
 their saddle girths at the hitching rack, the process 
 being aided by mild profanity. 
 
238 CAM CLARKE 
 
 These were Bob Dalton and Scoop Bender. They 
 called to us, " Where you goin' ? Is the devil 
 comin'?" We dodged behind William Hoefner's 
 and peeped around, not bothering to answer. In 
 fact, we felt as busy as a railroad president. 
 
 " Look a-comin' I '' bawled Scoop, rising and yell- 
 ing like people the night of election. *' Bob, just 
 look at him! " 
 
 These ejaculations were drawn forth by the ap- 
 pearance under a lantern of LefBngwell, who was 
 lumbering along like a dray, and breathing like a 
 horse with the heaves. " What is it? " He might 
 well ask. It looked like anything you please. But 
 Leffingwell did not pause ; he was determined to cap- 
 ture some small boys. 
 
 Bob omitted to answer the question. " I'll rope 
 it some and mebbe we can find out what's the mat- 
 ter," he volunteered, swinging into the saddle. 
 Monte, the frozen eared cayuse, gave one buck, 
 landing stiff legged from long habit, and then stood 
 on his toes, while Bob, with one swift motion, jerked 
 loose his rope and then, with two deft whirls and an 
 insidious flirt of the fingers, settled the plaited raw- 
 hide over Doctor Leflingwell's bullet head. Bob 
 took a turn around the saddle pommel and the frozen 
 eared pony drew taut, as a good cow pony should. 
 This occurred about as the rope reached Doctor Lef- 
 fingwell's stomach line. It seems to have been a 
 somewhat painful moment to Leffingwell, for he bel- 
 lowed like a bay steer. 
 
 " This here human male gent, which is what I 
 makes it out to be by the dim stars, is a lot ungentle," 
 
CAM CLARKE 239 
 
 said Scoop querulously, shooting his revolver at a 
 point about three inches ahead of Doctor Leffing- 
 well's left rubber boot. " Fact is, he probably ain't 
 ever been roped previous to this. He's forchunate 
 not to hev struck rough people, they'd a-hurted him 
 some." 
 
 " Sure he Is," Bob agreed heartily, " an' I'm takin' 
 him for a little pasear up an' down to tame him," and 
 he slapped his spurs into frozen eared Monte, who 
 jumped and jerked Leffingwell severely, and then, 
 under Bob's skilful hand, jerked him about a hundred 
 additional times until he was entirely exhausted. Of 
 course, Leffingwell bawled every step. These exer- 
 cises covered considerable ground, the whole street, 
 indeed. 
 
 Despite the lateness of the hour, a little group of 
 spectators soon gathered, and Cam and Sandy and I 
 came out amongst them. Bob stopped and Monte 
 and Leffingwell took breath. It was so quiet that I 
 heard Leffingwell's teeth rattle, although he was 
 bathed in perspiration. 
 
 " This party here'U get a chill if he ain't kep 
 movin'," complained Bob, " standin' aroun' un- 
 garbed 's you might say. It ain't suitable to the 
 climate. I don't want him to get lung fever." 
 
 " Doctor Leffingwell," inquired Scoop plaintively, 
 " hev you ever done any shoo tin' ? " 
 
 Leffingwell managed to indicate, even in complete 
 absence of breath, that he had not and that he would 
 prefer never to do any. 
 
 " Then I'll tell you," said Scoop, kindly, '' I'm 
 lendin' you my revolver an' you all can practise on 
 
240 CAM CLARKE 
 
 some o* Jan Havland's winder lights. They's too 
 many of *em anyway; Fve always noticed that. 
 Ain't you, Bob?*' 
 
 "But — I — I—" 
 
 " Oh, no trouble, it's a pleasure," insisted Scoop 
 heartily, *' an' the ammunition don't cost much. 
 Sure — here she is. It's a pleasure. Why, any- 
 body can shoot. Bob's teachin' his pig, and surely 
 you ain't goln' to be outdid by a pig." 
 
 Doctor Leffingwell felt it impossible to decline 
 this urgent invitation and he obediently commenced 
 blinking out Jan Havland's windows. There were 
 those who afterwards suggested that he might have 
 blinked out Bob or Scoop, but Leffingwell did not 
 think of that. The windows were a large target and 
 he made hits, but he scattered so much that the spec- 
 tators withered away. 
 
 Those shots stirred up some additional life. The 
 barkeeper yelled like a Comanche and ran out the 
 front door, although, in my simple judgment, the 
 back door would have been safer. Also Long 
 Doake Burns arose, dressed hastily and came down 
 the street to Investigate, with a shotgun in the corner 
 of his arm. He was a new-comer from Uklah, Cali- 
 fornia, and before that from the swamps of Arkan- 
 sas. He had bought a lot of real estate in Wash- 
 tucna. 
 
 " Well, naow," he drawled sorrowfully, " I just 
 don't like this at all. Fact, I'm sick of It. Just 
 cause the marshal goes away for a vacation this here 
 new doctor comes prancin' around, dressed indecent 
 an' howlin' and shootin' things up; an' I made up 
 my mind I won't stan' it. No, sir ! A while ago I 
 
CAM CLARKE 241 
 
 hears him hollerln' and bellerin' and now I hears him 
 shootin'. It's like Washtucna wa'n't a law abidin' 
 an' quiet place, which it is knowed to be. I says to 
 myself, * Doake, I won't stan' it,' and that's right, 
 too. I won't. Why, he'll run the price of real 
 estate cler into the bulb of the thermometer." 
 
 Doctor Leffingwell looked uncomfortable, but he 
 could not enunciate, partly on account of fright and 
 partly on account of exhaustion and chill. 
 
 " He ought to be throwed in jail a spell," said 
 Scoop solemnly. *' He shore has been actin' up. I 
 don't like it myself." 
 
 " The way he scairt Monte ! " complained Bob 
 sadly. " And that horse has as delicate nerves as a 
 woman. It plum riles me." 
 
 ** That's right," said a number of indignant voices. 
 " That's right, he ought to be locked up and he would 
 be if Trillums was here." 
 
 " Thin in he goes," announced Mr. Gunnysack 
 Charlie, who had recently arrived. ** It was not f'r 
 nothin' that Mr. Trillums left me the key to the cala- 
 boose; no, sorl 'Twas for just such min as this; 
 yes, sorl Give me your gun, sorl 'Tis a disgrace 
 to the municipality the ga-arments ye wear. Now 
 march, ye divil I on to jail I Un ye with a woIfe and 
 childers I Fwhat do ye mean by ut ? — on with ye I " 
 
 Doctor Leffingwell marched and Gunnysack and 
 Scoop and Bob and the little crowd of spectators 
 followed, we youngsters missing nothing. The 
 whole thing was turning out very well; perhaps Lef- 
 fingwell would now leave the field to Punts. 
 
 They shoved Leffingwell roughly Into the one room 
 calaboose, which was built solidly of pine two-by- 
 
242 GAM CLARKE 
 
 fours, and the rusty hinges squeaked mournfully be- 
 hind him. I felt pretty mean. Still, it was a good 
 thing for Punts, I thought. 
 
 " Gents," said Leffingwell pleadingly, " for God's 
 sake, gents, ge'me some clo'es or Fll freeze." This 
 was evidently true, for his teeth were chattering as he 
 spoke. This touched Mr. Dalton. He spoke in a 
 voice shot through with emotion. ** I know he ain't 
 nothin' but a rough crim'nal, but I'm a soft hearted 
 pusson, I am, and I can't bear sufferin'. I'm goin' 
 to get him some clo'es. It ain't any use to stop me ; 
 I'm alius doin' kind deeds like this," and he actually 
 sobbed. 
 
 Thereupon he walked his horse off softly and 
 somberly into the darkness in the direction of Doc- 
 tor LefEngwell's home. I believe he really secured 
 blankets from Mrs. Leffingwell, a mild, bullied 
 woman, using a reasonable amount of prevarication 
 for this purpose and omitting to mention that the 
 doctor was in jail. He said that the doctor had 
 found a sick man who was so horribly sick that he 
 could not leave him for a moment. He said further 
 that the doctor wanted his trousers, his overcoat and 
 two blankets so he could stick close to the job. She 
 said that was like him, which in my experience it was 
 not ; it was more like Punts. 
 
 Cam and I did not see the blankets arrive. We 
 went home too soon, being dead with sleep. I 
 crawled into Cam's little back window with him and 
 In two minutes wc were both asleep side by side, so 
 sound asleep that we heard not one of the consider- 
 able noises which must have later been abroad that 
 night. Thus soundly may the virtuous ever sleep 1 
 
CAM CLARKE 243 
 
 Sarah Clarke, in the morning, looked at me rather 
 severely, as I had not been there when she went to 
 bed. In about three minutes she knew everything 
 we knew, which shows her art. " The jail burned 
 last night," she said calmly, when we had finished, 
 " and I suppose Doctor Leffingwell is burned with it. 
 Whose fault do you think it is ? Do you feel exactly 
 right about it? That happened after you boys 
 came home." 
 
 We could not think how we felt and she let us 
 sneak out to investigate. 
 
 This was the first time we had been responsible for 
 a murder and we felt guilty and curious. 
 
 Leffingwell, however, was not dead and not in- 
 jured, but he was the most famous man in town. 
 After he had settled down in jail and had become 
 calm, he decided that he was unjustly imprisoned 
 and, further, that in spite of the overcoat Bob Dalton 
 had brought him, he was cold; so, with matches from 
 his overcoat, and dry chips from a corner of the jail, 
 he started a fire which at once warmed him and 
 gradually burned away the wooden walls between 
 himself and freedom. When the hole was big 
 enough he walked forth unscathed and went home 
 to bed. A short time later the whole jail was dis- 
 covered to be in flames and Washtucna alarmed itself 
 with revolver shots and tried to extinguish the fire. 
 But it was too late. The jail burned to the ground. 
 
 That morning Leffingwell was the most cheerful, 
 most confident and best advertised man in Wash- 
 tucna. He explained at least fifty times to various 
 people just how he escaped and why; and as he talked 
 he puffed a cigar in such a large, indifferent way that 
 
244 ^AM CLARKE 
 
 one could not possibly doubt that such adventures 
 were commonplace with him. Even Mr. Pete 
 Barker admitted that Doctor Leffingwell was a 
 " smooth coon." Besides, it was enterprising of him 
 to shoot up the town in his night shirt. Washtucna 
 could but admire the whole transaction. 
 
 Further, Doctor Leffingwell insisted on taking on 
 himself all the blame of shooting up the town. He 
 would lay nothing on Scoop and Bob. He admitted 
 that he was frolicsome by nature and insisted on 
 paying for new panes of glass for Jan Havland. 
 He admitted that his friends, Scoop Bender and Bob 
 Dalton, had to some extent incited him to this deed, 
 still the blame was his own ; he had actually fired the 
 shots. He would not, he said, and could not evade 
 the responsibility. 
 
 As for the burned jail — he would see. He had 
 been illegally arrested, the man who locked him up 
 was no marshal at all; still, he was no quibbler, he 
 would do what was right ; he was but a struggling fol- 
 lower of iEsculapius, but he would do the right thing. 
 
 The Sun and The Breeze were both very much 
 impressed by Doctor Leffingwell's manly way of 
 shouldering responsibility and they outbid each other 
 In praising him. 
 
 Cam and I, It will be readily understood, were not 
 too anxious to divulge our part in the transaction, 
 although we were disgusted with results. And as 
 Scoop and Bob had gone home to Bob's ranch to 
 sleep off their shame and their liquor and to labour 
 at the education of the trained pig, the word that 
 went the round was this : Doc Leffingwell had, the 
 evening before, been feeling both bored and belllger- 
 
CAM CLARKE 245 
 
 cnt, so he had privately " liquored up/' then he had 
 casually strolled down town in his night shirt and 
 rubber boots and had shot up the town until he was 
 arrested by a group of fearless and public-spirited 
 citizens, numbering amongst them Long Doake, 
 Gunnysack Charlie, Scoop and Bob. Afterwards 
 Doctor Leffingwell felt the disgrace of being arrested 
 by other people than the marshal, so he had burned 
 his way out in the same liberal spirit of defiance and 
 badinage as that in which he had shot out Jan Hav- 
 land's window lights. Washtucna was rather proud 
 of such reckless valour. She took off her hat to 
 Doc Leffingwell. He was a true Washtucnan by 
 nature ; God had made him a Washtucnan. 
 
 This story went very well for several days, but 
 finally Scoop and Bob came to town. Of course, 
 they shyly related their adventures with Leffingwell, 
 or as much of them as they could remember, and 
 Washtucna roared both with laughter at itself and 
 at Doctor Leffingwell. They could no longer ad- 
 mire his valour so unreservedly, but they could still 
 dehght in his gall. And, after all, gall was quite as 
 characteristic a trait of Washtucna as valour. It 
 must be confessed that on this occasion the loudest 
 laughter in town was Leffingwell's own. " Three 
 nights in your jail, gentlemen," said he to Scoop and 
 Bob, who had come around to " square things," 
 " would make me the most famous medico in the 
 territory. I could get a fash'nable practice in Spo- 
 kane, all the tony fast women and gamblers. I'm 
 greatly obliged to you, Pm sure," and he shook hands 
 with vigour. 
 
 Leffingwell continued to be a great success in 
 
246 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Washtucna. Within a few weeks he formed a 
 vague professional partnership with A. J. Punts, 
 M.D. They both afterwards occupied the same 
 offices and Leffingwell became one of the institutions 
 of Washtucna. " The followers of iEsculapius," 
 said Punts in explanation, " must hereafter pull to- 
 gether like a team o' mules, draggin' the wagon o' 
 public health out of the mud of ignorance. Leffing- 
 well and I stand for the extermination of the death 
 rate and for the prosperity of Washington Terri- 
 tory. We ain^t any more rivulous than two poets or 
 two stars.*' 
 
 After this the next social event of importance in 
 Washtucna was the show given for the benefit of the 
 Widows' Endowment Fund by Bob Dalton's trained 
 pig. This was so highly instructive a show that 
 Messrs. Bradford, Punts and Jones and perhaps 
 others insisted upon paying twenty admissions each 
 on account of instruction received. Mrs. Clarke was 
 too sick to attend, but at hearing the veracious ac- 
 count of it given by Cam and me she cried some more. 
 Punts informed us that this would be a great tonic 
 for her, the credit for which tonic we took entirely to 
 ourselves. I have since doubted if this is what 
 Punts meant. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 1 SUPPOSE Sarah Clarke's health had gone down 
 slowly day by day from the time she arrived in 
 Washtucna. I can see now that she had grown 
 thinner and less elastic, but I was then too stupid 
 and inexperienced to see it and even Cam did not 
 know. She herself must have known it, but she said 
 nothing; although I am sure she fought it, for there 
 was great spirit in the little woman. 
 
 The first time I remember to have particularly 
 noticed her health and to have been startled by it was 
 on one night that winter when Cam and I came back 
 from a long day of skiing and rabbit hunting with the 
 old Norwegian, John Shoultersack. Shoultersack 
 was a comparative new-comer from nowhere, but, 
 like every one in Washtucna, he had gladly embraced 
 the religion of admiring Sarah Clarke. When we 
 arrived at the Clarkes' that night Shoultersack came 
 into the house to speak a word of cheer, for, like a 
 true Washtucnan, he not only admired Sarah Clarke, 
 but he felt loquacious and neighbourly towards her. 
 She was sitting in the little bent-wood rocking chair 
 and when we came in she tried to rise but could not 
 complete the ceremony. Instead, she dropped into 
 her chair, lay back, and closed her eyes. She looked 
 so white and still, lying there, that I thought she was 
 dead, and my heart went in my throat. Sister Mary 
 
 247 
 
248 CAM CLARKE 
 
 did such things, but she was used to It. I wondered 
 if Sarah Clarke could stand It. 
 
 Shoultersack was useful at anything, In his rough 
 way. He sputtered Indignation, rubbed water on 
 her face and then picked up her frail body in his 
 long, hairy arms and carried her and put her on her 
 bed as though she had been an Infant. She must 
 have been very thin and very light. She opened her 
 eyes presently and said she felt splendid again and 
 would get up, but Shoultersack looked at her with a 
 severe and kindly eye, and, having pulled his long 
 yellow moustache thoughtfully several times, he told 
 her firmly that she must not get up. She said she 
 must make supper. Shoultersack replied that he 
 would do that; that. If It came to business, he was a 
 far better cook than ever she thought of being, and 
 had had much more experience, which latter was true. 
 Then he bustled around like an enormous male hen 
 and the supper he made was good. Sarah Clarke 
 came out and sat with us as we ate and it was then 
 that I noticed how drawn and thin her face was. 
 But she was not through, she had a vast will to live. 
 After a while John Bradford came In and as he en- 
 tered her eye caught fire. I did not understand why 
 and now I wonder that I saw It at all. She was not 
 through : Indeed, she had fallen In love with life. 
 
 John Bradford was a good deal concerned and 
 presently he sent me for Punts. That gentleman 
 came away from his poker game at once and he and 
 Sarah talked for a long time in the front room. And 
 always after that he used to come more frequently 
 than ever to see her, now professionally. And 
 Shoultersack came often to make meals, urged, I 
 
CAM CLARKE 249 
 
 fancy, and perhaps even rewarded, by John Bradford 
 and Skookum Jones. 
 
 Shoultersack, like Tom Warren, had sailed the 
 seven seas, and then he had come up to a cattle and 
 wheat country to spend the fag end of his life. He 
 was a huge, broad chested, gnarled old man, always 
 in good health, except that periodically and as faith- 
 fully as the tax collector or the gas man, a set of chills 
 and fever presented their bill for the privilege he 
 had once enjoyed of living for a time in a native town 
 somewhere on the great Orinoco River. But I have 
 already introduced you to him when he was in the 
 grasp of his chills. 
 
 In his well moments Shoultersack seemed to take a 
 perverse pride in this periodic visitation. But in the 
 actual times of his sickness he used all that winter to 
 lie in his bunk in his little board shack hurling forth 
 volumes of indecent blasphemy and consuming port 
 wine, whisky and quinine without end. Recovered, 
 he became again, for exactly the allotted number of 
 days, healthy, mild, gentle and even tolerantly pious. 
 His piety took the form of spiritualism — but Shoul- 
 tersack was a book in himself. 
 
 All through the spring Sarah Clarke grew weaker 
 and finally in early May a trained woman nurse was 
 brought down from Spokane to care for her, by 
 whom I never exactly knew, but I presume it was by 
 Bradford, Punts, Jones, et al. Yet she was not 
 solely under their pay. A committee of Washtuc- 
 nans insisted on distributing that expense amongst 
 something like a thousand people. The names of 
 this committee never were divulged to me, but I could 
 name them. There would be Judge Rusher, Mr. 
 
250 CAM CLARKE 
 
 Beauclerc, Mr. Donnelly and William Hoefner, the 
 smith, — or else his wife. It should be remarked 
 that this female nurse was hired over the protests of 
 Mr. Shoultersack, who considered himself a perfect 
 nurse. 
 
 In the first days of May, Sarah Clarke had seemed 
 better, but on May twelfth, when Cam and I re- 
 turned from Rock Lake, whither we had been taken 
 on a jaunt by Mr. Skookum Jones, who was getting 
 old enough to appreciate company, she was in bed 
 and not able to get up for supper. We told our ad- 
 ventures by her bedside ; and how the wild geese came 
 in great honking bands at daylight and how the musk- 
 rat built his house. 
 
 She listened until Punts and Bradford came and 
 then we, dead with sleep, made off for bed. Punts 
 and Bradford sat by the bed on the old worn Sara- 
 toga trunk for a long time, not talking, for Sarah 
 Clarke, I suppose, seemed too weak for that, but just 
 watching. The nurse sat in the corner and knitted. 
 And on many nights thereafter they thus sat with 
 her in the dim lighted little bed-room; Bradford 
 calm, hard as iron; Punts twisting his long, black 
 beard, leering and rolling his eyes, seeking if he 
 might not help her in this great extremity ; the nurse 
 knitting, knitting like a machine. Sometimes Mrs. 
 Clarke's hand would lie in Bradford's, for a great 
 sympathy without the words that go with such things 
 seemed to have grown up between them. Punts 
 would grin sardonically. " That is the medicine," he 
 would grate out joyfully to Bradford, on leaving. 
 And then they would meet little old shrivelled 
 Skookum Jones, who, for perhaps two hours, had 
 
CAM CLARKE 251 
 
 been pacing the street. The temporary elation pro- 
 duced by his elopement had ceased, he was looking 
 seedy. 
 
 Eventually the subtle elixir of her regard for 
 Bradford proved not sufficient tonic for Mrs. Clarke. 
 We commenced to hear talk of an operation, which, 
 at that time, was a new word and a new idea to me ; 
 and even Cam was not used to it. We inquired 
 about operations and from what we could understand 
 they were outlandish and cruel and unbearable things. 
 We talked it over very judicially and then went to 
 Punts and protested. We explained that even cut- 
 ting your finger hurts a good deal, which we supposed 
 he did not know. Punts listened to us with surpris- 
 ing patience. 
 
 " I don't like it either," he said, ** but mebbe we 
 got to do it. I don't like it any more'n you do ; but 
 mebbe Sarah Clarke needs it." 
 
 During those painful days when talk of opera- 
 tions was in the air, Washtucna was very acutely 
 conscious of what events were going forward in Mrs. 
 Clarke's little cottage. She knew that in these mild 
 and lovely days of May, Death was mixing a brew. 
 Would Mrs. Clarke drink of it? That was the 
 question. *' She will not," affirmed Mr. Pete Barker 
 confidently. *' She's too strong willed a woman, 
 though gentle; yes, sir! She'll not do it! " and he 
 pounded his fist on Jan Havland's mahogany bar. 
 But Washtucna still was afraid. In this matter she 
 lacked her usual optimism. 
 
 A Sabbath hush everywhere prevailed in the town 
 except at Jan Havland's, and even there the poker 
 chips seemed to chink more dully than was their 
 
252 CAM CLARKE 
 
 wont, and men spoke In subdued tones and seemed 
 always to be waiting to hear something — waiting 
 awake even far into the night when their rough but 
 suppressed voices could be heard in Doc Punts' 
 office, engaged in the fragmentary conversation with 
 which they passed the time until Punts should return 
 from his vigil and give them the last news of the 
 night. Steady members of these parties were Gun- 
 nysack Charlie, Mr. Bob Dalton, Skookum Jones, 
 Mr. Pete Barker; while from time to time others 
 came In, went out and came anxiously In again. And, 
 needless to say. The Sun and The Breeze outraced 
 each other in compositions touching Mrs. Clarke's 
 condition. 
 
 " Gents," said Punts, on one of these occasions, 
 when asked to hazard an opinion In the case, *' gents, 
 I'd like to tell you what was going to happen to 
 Sarah Clarke, but I can't do It. The fact is, I ain't 
 entirely runnin' this spell of sickness. The lady is 
 far and out from us fellers here with her vital forces 
 strung out like skirmishers and me tryin' to get rein- 
 forcements to the firin' line ; and, gents, I don't know 
 If I'm able or not. But the lady is hangin' on, she 
 ain't capitulatin' ; she's holdin' the fort and will to 
 the end." 
 
 " Which you mean you ain't exactly able to locate 
 the storm centre yet," said Tom Warren, striking 
 his boot gloomily with his quirt. *' You ain't sure 
 what wind you'll be sailln' on. I see." 
 
 Punts leered horribly, but did not answer. It 
 would have been too fiendish a leer had not a tiny 
 tear drop trickled down one of his hollow cheeks. 
 Punts, at this, was embarrassed and shaken, and he 
 
CAM CLARKE 253 
 
 strode out Into the corridor, his long beard tightly 
 bunched up in a bony hand and pulled to one side. 
 
 " Which it's enough to start any feller's emotions 
 to grindin'," said the squeaky, unsteady voice of old 
 Skookum Jones, as he nervously rubbed his veined, 
 knotted hands on the soft nap of his plug hat. 
 
 " She's in God's hands," boomed Mr. Beauclerc's 
 solemn voice; which, indeed, was Washtucna's view 
 of the situation, including Punts and Tom Warren 
 and Skookum Jones. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 WASHTUCNA, like Cromwell, trusted in 
 God, kept its powder dry and then worried. 
 Two days passed without the least change 
 in Sarah Clarke's condition. Early in the forenoon 
 Punts entered his office where was the usual crowd of 
 men waiting the last word of the patient. A crowd 
 of this sort had, these last days, so closely clung 
 about Punts' office that their sessions were almost 
 continuous, and other activities in Washtucna seemed 
 dead, to have halted short, as it were, right in the 
 heart of springtime. There was no joy whatever in 
 Washtucna's heart, no new enterprises were born and 
 old ones fainted in their tracks. It was the exact 
 variety of tribulation most difficult for Washtucna 
 to stand, the variety in which one can not act, can not 
 do anything. Punts strode up and down his unswept 
 office floor and twisted his beard and leered at the 
 crowd and then he looked steadfastly at the ceiling. 
 
 " How'd she seem. Doc? " somebody asked im- 
 patiently. 
 
 Punts seemed not to hear. " Gents, it's like this," 
 he said softly, " it's like this; I may as well tell you : 
 I'm out of my depth. Let's get down to facts: I'm 
 out of my depth, plum out. I ain't a professor of all 
 knowledge, I admit. I know about gunshot wounds 
 and child birth, but this has me down and is sitting 
 on me, and Leffingwell is the same way, but he don't 
 
 254 
 
CAM CLARKE 255 
 
 admit It like I do. Now we are on bed rock. What 
 I want is a consultation with a specialist on people's 
 insides. I'd have called one long ago but there ain't 
 anybody to consult. The Spokane sharps are like 
 me, some ignorant, some of 'em more so, though, 
 like Leffingwell, they deny it. We can't wait for St. 
 Paul and, anyway, St. Paul's just a village. We hev 
 to go to Chicago or mebbe New York." 
 
 " Why goodness ! " burst in old Joe Naff, who 
 came from the Rock Lake country and was almost a 
 stranger in Washtucna, but who had, nevertheless, 
 at once adopted a hearty interest in Sarah Clarke's 
 illness. " Why, goodness me ! Why, goodness me I 
 I'm damned if it don't look providential; but there's 
 a sharp campin' down on my ranch which is a New 
 Yorker by birth and residence and just the breed of 
 expert specialist you want as far as I can make out. 
 He was telling me he cut open King George of 
 Greece onct ; he's just your man. He's got this nerv- 
 ous prostritlon from over-work and now he's restin' 
 down near my place. Nice feller, too, but has to 
 live in a tent and don't eat like a cow puncher: which 
 cow punchers wouldn't, either. If they had brains." 
 
 Punts showed glimmerings of interest but he was 
 sceptical as became the only scientific man present. 
 
 " You don't recall his name, do you? " 
 
 " Why, sure I do. His name is Smith Mudd, 
 Doctor Smith Mudd, an' he's a little cold-blooded 
 feller, not any bigger'n Skookum Jones here, though 
 he dresses plain, not like Skookum 'tall." 
 
 " Not Smith Mudd of New York I " cried Punts 
 excitedly, " that couldn't be I Why, he's the most 
 eminent insides expert in America, he's — why. 
 
256 CAM CLARKE 
 
 gents, we got to get that man if he's only down in 
 Rock Lake. 
 
 " Why, just his skin stufFed with straw would 
 help more'n Leffingwell and me combined and mul- 
 tiplied by four — not that I renig, however, on gun- 
 shot wounds.'* 
 
 " He says he ain't workin' a bit, that he'll be 
 damned if he looks at a soul this trip," interrupted 
 Naff doubtfully. " Why, I wanted him to look at 
 my new Durham bull, for doctorin' is all alike, and 
 he wouldn't at all, and it's the only Durham bull on 
 Rock Lake. He ain't got much public speerit." 
 
 Mr. Pete Barker spoke up softly. " Mebbe," he 
 said in a very low voice, " this all doctor sport would 
 require a little persuadin', mebbe he would. But 
 that can be applied. Two of us ought to be able to 
 give him a strong invite as he's small and sick — say 
 Bob Dalton and me. Of course he'll come all right 
 if we ask him. Don't you think so. Bob? We'd 
 like to have the privilege of invitin' him anyway, 
 wouldn't we. Bob ? " 
 
 Bob thought so very emphatically and he felt so 
 confident of success that he offered to make a large 
 wager and give any odds people liked that the doc- 
 tor would accept what was still referred to as the 
 *' invitation " to consult with Punts in the case of 
 Sarah Clarke. 
 
 " Le's see," said Pete thoughtfully, pulling out the 
 very handsomest watch in Washington Territory. 
 " If we all was to start at once we'd be back before 
 dark if not delayed, which we'll take pains to pre- 
 vent. Right near your house, eh, Mr. Naff? 
 Camped out sort of, eh? " 
 
CAM CLARKE 257 
 
 ** Two hundred yards south, two wall tents and a 
 Chinese to cook. Don't move around much, just 
 loafs." 
 
 "Is she O.K., gents?" asked Mr. Pete Barker, 
 looking around. " Are we desired to take this 
 job?" 
 
 Everybody agreed that it was exactly O.K. and 
 shortly afterwards a pounding of hoofs was heard 
 over Steptoe Avenue. Mr. Pete Barker and Mr. 
 Bob Dalton were off; Bob's old high headed, frozen 
 eared mustang, Monte, showing the way, a thing 
 which he had done in his time to many a piece of 
 horse-flesh. Out they went up the steep Robert's 
 Hill, spring sparkling all about them. 
 
 It was a fast and long ride, but about sunset it 
 terminated when three dusty men galloped into 
 town, frozen eared Monte in a lather but at least a 
 neck in the lead still, showing the way with his long 
 and ugly head. 
 
 The third man was Doctor Smith Mudd of New 
 York. He was a bright eyed, alert, business-like lit- 
 tle man, as active as a grasshopper and as decided as 
 a squirrel trap. As Mr. Naff had said, he was per- 
 fectly cold-blooded but he was also a master work- 
 man, a very master of all the skill of his trade. And 
 when he took a job he took it. He had not intended 
 originally to come; indeed, he openly and abruptly 
 and without reservation refused. But he was open 
 to argument, as intelligent minds always are ; and to 
 the argumentative power of a Colt's revolver 
 pointed at the pit of his stomach he succumbed com- 
 pletely. 
 
 *' You hold the cards," he remarked dryly, gather- 
 
258 CAM CLARKE 
 
 ing a few things into a leather bag; and having capit- 
 ulated he stayed capitulated. " I prefer to go vol- 
 untarily rather than to go lashed to my saddle," he 
 added, and then quietly, " the ride may do me good." 
 He was a practical man. 
 
 Dr. Mudd, as he arrived in Washtucna, was cov- 
 ered with dust and perspiration, nevertheless he 
 looked every Inch a New Yorker, calm, superior and 
 scornful. He had been comparatively unused to rid- 
 ing and his legs were so cramped that he hobbled 
 when he walked. But he neither said nor implied 
 any word of complaint; he was a business-like little 
 man of invincible spirit and a sport. It was easy to 
 see how such a man became eminent Washtucna 
 understood at a glance. 
 
 Dr. Mudd dismounted in a silent crowd before 
 Dr. Punts' office. He shook hands warmly with 
 Punts and looked the crowd over with sharp, fear- 
 less little human eyes as though they were cattle, 
 whereupon many of them felt like cattle. Then he 
 and Punts entered the office. 
 
 ** Doctor Punts and I would like some private con- 
 versation," he said sharply to some of the overflow 
 which had backed up into the office. Washtucna 
 vacated and said over its shoulders that It would give 
 him privacy or anything else if he fixed up Sarah 
 Cameron Clarke. Moreover, they decided after 
 they went out that In spite of his scorn and his as- 
 sumption of authority they liked his appearance. 
 Then they humanly decided that they even liked him 
 because of his arrogant assumption of authority. 
 Washtucnans thereby showed kinship to the rest of 
 humanity. People prefer to be bossed by the doc- 
 
CAM CLARKE 259 
 
 tor. You want him to act like the Lord Almighty. 
 It relieves you of a lot of responsibility. Wash- 
 tucna on this occasion sighed relievedly and went out 
 into the street and looked in. They had just the doc- 
 tor they wanted. 
 
 Presently the new German waiter girl from the 
 Tennessee Restaurant brought in some hot soup, 
 which little Dr. Mudd ate while he discussed with 
 Punts the intricacies of the case under consideration. 
 
 " Um — m — " we heard him grunt at the end, 
 " we'll go over." Punts strode off with the little 
 man after him, his legs twinkling vaguely in the star- 
 light. And Cam and I followed while Washtucna 
 waited and waited far into the night. 
 
 That night, the night of the nineteenth of May, 
 was long and fearful to us all. I recall no night so 
 lovely, so terrible and so vivid except that on which 
 my first child, a son, was born; but that was long 
 years afterwards. All Washtucna in an extrava- 
 gant spirit of devotion stayed awake that night. 
 Over in Jan Havland's men sat waiting in sullen si- 
 lence, waiting, waiting, waiting. Sometimes a head 
 drooped and a man dozed; sometimes some one 
 drearily called for liquor; again, some one suddenly 
 lighted a match for pipe or cigar. Outside on the 
 wide steps of The Breeze office there sat a group 
 sprinkled with women. They talked in low tones 
 and, like the others, waited and waited. Two peo- 
 ple in the town remained aloof from groups: one was 
 John Bradford, who paced the length of Sarah 
 Clarke's little front lawn with the regularity of the 
 pendulum of a clock, another was Miss May Caylor, 
 who walked feverishly around the depot platform 
 
26o CAM CLARKE 
 
 until you would have thought she would fall of dizzi- 
 ness. It was a long watch and Cam and I dodged 
 from place to place. 
 
 At about nine Punts came from the little house to 
 his office to secure some additional apparatus. 
 ^* He'll operate," he said succinctly and solemnly. 
 " Nobody can tell how it'll come yet; it's serious, but 
 — he's a great surgeon, a master surgeon." This 
 remark was directed to little Mr. Skookum Jones, 
 by whom it was repeated and so it went from mouth 
 to mouth. 
 
 Then time moved very slowly. Cam and I 
 roamed restlessly about and speculatively watched 
 the dimly lighted windows of Mrs. Clarke's bed- 
 room and I remember that Cam's face was white, as 
 white as his mother's and almost as high nosed and 
 his strange mottled eyes were amazingly like hers. 
 He had at last realised what it all meant. 
 
 Before they gave the anesthetic to her, they called 
 Cam and me in. " I'll be all right in the morning, 
 boys," Mrs. Clarke insisted faintly with an attempt 
 at her habitual gaiety of speech. But suddenly she 
 closed her eyes and her face twisted with pain. 
 Punts shoved us out the door but over my shoulder 
 I saw Sarah Clarke's thin white face, high nosed like 
 a princess's, wide browed like Juno. 
 
 " She was awful beautiful," I said when we were 
 in the open. Cam only choked. Outside there was 
 a little wind astir. It whined at the corners, sang 
 dolefully at the telegraph wires and made the people 
 on The Breeze steps pull their wraps closer. But 
 the stars were noble and so bright that in their dim 
 light we could see the loom of the distant mountains. 
 
CAM CLARKE 261 
 
 Punts had told us peremptorily to go to bed. But 
 of course we did not go and could not have gone, 
 that were beyond our natures. For a long while we 
 sat on the railroad track where we could see the 
 shadows flit back and forth against Sarah Clarke's 
 drawn window shades as Punts and little Smith 
 Mudd moved about inside. And we could also see 
 Bradford as he strode inexorably up and down on 
 the only piece of lawn that then existed for miles and 
 miles. Sometimes Miss May Caylor's white skirt 
 winked on and off on the station platform like a faint, 
 faint light. Sometimes a distinguishable voice rose 
 from the party in Jan Havland's or from that on the 
 steps of The Breeze office. Once an extra train 
 from Spokane came roaring through without stop- 
 ping, shaking the earth and pulling a little gale of 
 wind with it. There by the railroad we continued 
 sitting for hours. Occasionally some one of the 
 various groups went home but many still remained. 
 Then Cam and I commenced to doze off and on 
 and I fell sound asleep. Cam woke me with his 
 elbow. 
 
 '' Mart," he said, *' the shadows are still now; 
 wake up I " 
 
 They were, indeed, quite still. The two men 
 were evidently sitting down side by side. Probably 
 the thing was over. They were just having a final 
 look at her: could she speak, we wondered. 
 
 " They're sittin' on the Saratogy trunk where 
 Punts sat all last night," said Cam, and I saw he 
 was right. There they were : the shadow of a big 
 framed man, which was Punts, and the shadow of a 
 little one, which was Mudd. We watched again for 
 
262 CAM CLARKE 
 
 a long time. Twice Punts got up, moved about and 
 returned to his seat. 
 
 " Punts is a better doctor'n Mudd/' said I firmly. 
 
 We discussed this. 
 
 Bradford still walked up and down. Then I 
 dozed again and as I dozed I shivered, for it was 
 cold. Bradford was like the pendulum of a clock, 
 he could not stop. But Miss May Caylor had 
 stopped and I could see where she sat on a great bale 
 of jute sacks by the white loom of her skirt. Again 
 I dozed and shivered. 
 
 ''The door's open! Punts is comin' out," whis- 
 pered Cam shrilly. " Come ! " 
 
 We ran down to meet him and we clung to his 
 hands as he strode over towards the dimly lighted 
 office. John Bradford was abreast him. Miss 
 May Caylor was at his heels and other people fol- 
 lowed close. 
 
 When we saw Punts' face under the lamplight wc 
 all felt a great peace and quiet. It was drawn and 
 tired and worn but elation shone from his bold eyes. 
 It was a triumphant face, a joyful face. 
 
 Everybody waited for him to speak. 
 
 " I think she's all right," said Punts. " I think 
 she's all right. She's out of the ether and has ral- 
 lied. Dr. Mudd thinks she's all right. He's stay- 
 ing there while I sleep an hour or so, then I'll go 
 back. I think she's all right, and if she is, the credit 
 is Dr. Mudd's. He's a great man, a master sur- 
 geon." 
 
 There was a little dull murmur of elation. May 
 Caylor turned back and walked away and I could 
 hear her throat catch. Mr. Bradford patted Punts 
 
CAM CLARKE 263 
 
 gently on the back and Punts put one hand on Brad- 
 ford's shoulder and covered his bold eyes with the 
 other. 
 
 " McPetherick," said Punts fiercely, '* put Cam 
 and Mart to bed some place in your damn rattle- 
 trap hotel. Good night, kids ! " 
 
 Outside, gorgeous day was coming, hurling night 
 back into the black hole beyond the western horizon, 
 but we could hear glasses clinking in Jan Havland's. 
 
 " No noise," grated Punts harshly, as he stuck his 
 head in at the door. " No noise, damn ye I " And 
 there was none; but the glasses clinked gently long 
 life to Sarah Clarke and Punts and Doctor Mudd. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE morning following and the mornings 
 which followed thereafter justified the hope- 
 ful prognostications of Punts. Mrs. Clarke 
 rallied beautifully, there were no complications and 
 she was In good spirits. 
 
 Washtucna's feelings and energies were naturally 
 greatly refreshed by these various hopeful symp- 
 toms in Mrs. Clarke. First it celebrated with ex- 
 uberance. Then it went into its business and pleas- 
 ure with renewed vigour and strength: the building 
 of ramshackle, tawdry houses was pursued with fresh 
 zeal, town real estate further got itself inflated, and 
 vast acres were put under the yoke of plough and 
 harrow to the benefit of the human stomachs of the 
 world. Then the plan of the water works was ap- 
 proved by the town council and I regret to say that 
 in the general enthusiasm begotten by enthusiasm a 
 great many wild-cat enterprises raised their heads 
 above ground and flourished. 
 
 But Washtucna in its new enterprises did not in 
 the least forget Mrs. Clarke. She was their tutelar 
 saint, or, indeed, was almost Washtucna itself. 
 Whether by threats or by offers of reward I do not 
 know, but Washtucna persuaded little Doctor Mudd 
 to visit Judge Rusher for ten days until all possible 
 danger of a relapse for Mrs. Clarke should be 
 
 264 
 
CAM CLARKE 265 
 
 ended. In addition, It bombarded Mrs. Clarke with 
 presents. She received enough not altogether well 
 selected delicacies to feed fifteen or twenty sick peo- 
 ple. This seemed wasteful, but Cam and I liked the 
 arrangement, for we ate much of the food, and 
 what we did not eat the brothers and sisters Campln 
 took off our hands. 
 
 Cam and I were always together those days. 
 They let us Into the sick room together that first day 
 and they drove us out together. Then together we 
 climbed Granite Hill and talked things over on a 
 high windy spot wherefrom you could see the rolling 
 hills for miles, all green now with growing grain. 
 I ate a live grasshopper on a dare, and Cam put an 
 angle worm in his mouth. 
 
 Every day thereafter we saw Sarah Clarke for 
 increasing lengths of time, and never since I knew 
 her had she been so light-hearted and hopeful, so 
 full of youth. Indeed, she seemed very young and 
 she grew strong at such an amazing rate that It was 
 not two weeks until she was able to sit up much of 
 the time on her own little front porch and talk to 
 people. 
 
 And to that little front porch came many friends, 
 both men and women. But most frequently and to 
 stay longest came John Bradford, alert, strong, sun- 
 burned, aggressive, yet kindly and garbed always In 
 the height of English fashion. And, though Cam 
 and I did not understand exactly what was happen- 
 ing, we nevertheless realized In a general way that 
 It was John Bradford's strength as much as her own 
 that was pulling Sarah Clarke up and Imparting to 
 her a new capacity for living. It was even giving 
 
266 CAM CLARKE 
 
 her back a piece of youth again. He used to sit with 
 her through long evenings and often in the morning 
 he came with flowers brought down from Spokane, 
 with what seemed to Washtucna people princely 
 prodigality. Sometimes he read aloud, at first 
 mostly from books of adventure and travel, In which 
 he was frankly Interested, and of which Cam and I 
 could afford to miss no word. Then he started 
 poems and, after a few trials, we left, which was prob- 
 ably exactly what he was after. Small blame to 
 him ; we could have been of no use to a lover. Al- 
 ways thereafter he seemed to us to be reading poems 
 when we arrived, so we did not do much arriving. 
 If he had only read active, belligerent poems we 
 could have stood it, but he was absolutely merciless ; 
 he read good poems, poems of Keats and Brown- 
 ing and things called sonnets and odes. Oh, it was 
 too horrible. 
 
 All this flower and poem activity came to the end 
 we could have foretold had we been grown up 
 enough to understand. Consequently Washtucna 
 in general was not unprepared; some of it had even 
 predicted the future actions of Mrs. Clarke and 
 Bradford with reasonable certainty and it had its 
 blessing straining at the leash. 
 
 Early in July Mrs. Clarke was able to get about 
 to places with considerable freedom, able to walk 
 a little and to take long drives with John Bradford. 
 On one of these drives they took Cam and me and 
 we went out to the elbow bend of Pine Creek, there 
 where James O'Neil Clarke was buried In the valley. 
 Old Tom Warren strode down from his hill resi- 
 dence again through bunch grass, now yellow and 
 
CAM CLARKE 267 
 
 ripe with the summer's fulness. He showed us with 
 pride how he kept a few flowers bright upon the 
 grave of James O'Nell Clarke by an automatic 
 dripper, the pattern for which he had seen many 
 years before in the Spice Islands. And, probably 
 principally to relieve the tension, he became gar- 
 rulous and told hair-raising stories of his adventures 
 amongst Malay pirates. Then he asked us to stay 
 for supper with him and we all did, every person 
 helping to cook. Afterwards, as we were sitting on 
 the porch, Tom spoke in his roaring voice to Sarah 
 Clarke. 
 
 ** I hope, ma'm, you ain't remainin' single much 
 longer — it's a sin to God, ma'm ; and you need a 
 convoy; yes, sir, a convoy, ma'm; for the world is 
 just a huge piratical sea and tenderness needs pro- 
 tection." 
 
 Mrs. Clarke looked at Mr. Warren with a suspi- 
 cious moisture in her wonderful mottled eyes; he had 
 caught the spirit of the moment. He could be tact- 
 ful enough for a diplomat when he chose. 
 
 " Mr. Warren," she said presently, " I want you 
 to come to my house next Saturday night at eight 
 and we'll tell you something. Something of great 
 importance to us, but I think you have already 
 guessed It." 
 
 This was the first I had heard of that later so 
 celebrated party. But next day word was sent out 
 to other people, to everybody In and near Washtucna. 
 And on Saturday night Washtucna hitching racks 
 were full, crowded with hacks and buckboards and 
 saddle ponies. The crowd was so great that in Mrs. 
 Clarke's little house they threw open even the win- 
 
268 CAM CLARKE 
 
 dows to let the overflow look and hear and on the 
 inside there was only standing room. 
 
 When people were assembled, there were passed 
 around vast numbers of glasses of punch — a bever- 
 age quite new to Washtucna and very justly regarded 
 with suspicion by men accustomed to straight liquor. 
 
 It was Doctor Punts who rapped for silence on 
 the little dining-room table with his huge bony 
 knuckles, but it was Mr. Skookum Jones's thin and 
 wavering voice which arose in speech. Mr. 
 Skookum, it must be understood, was very hand- 
 somely garbed for this occasion. He had a new 
 Prince Albert purchased less than twenty years be- 
 fore, skin tight broadcloth trousers and high-heeled 
 calf skin boots of Civil War pattern, while his rusty 
 plug hat was carried under his arm and his beard 
 was actually trimmed. 
 
 " Ladies and gents of Washtucna," he quavered, 
 pluicking the white hairs of his goatee, " I believe 
 she's about a year since Mrs. Clarke came here and 
 it's been a big year for Washtucna and on the whole 
 a happy year for us all. It was a change for Mrs. 
 Clarke coming from the teeming and effete civiliza- 
 tion of the East to arrive here, but now, ladies and 
 gents, she contemplates even a greater change — in 
 fact, ladies and gents, she contemplates entering the 
 holy and honourable estate of marriage, which is right 
 and proper. And who with? — nobody but our 
 own neighbour and friend John Bradford. And as 
 there is neither man nor woman here but wishes them 
 good luck, I ask you to join me in drinking their 
 
 HEALTH I " 
 
 Washtucna threw its mistrust of punch overboard 
 
CAM CLARKE 269 
 
 and drank bottoms up, and then they cheered and 
 rushed at Mrs. Clarke and Bradford, who were now 
 observed to be standing side by side next to Punts. 
 There was a temporary riot of congratulation and 
 good wishes. 
 
 *' Speech, Bradford!" cried a voice and fifty 
 others echoed it. He was shoved up on a chair. 
 *' I am much obliged, friends,'* he said embar- 
 rassedly; " I'm much obliged, but you know I'm not 
 much of a speaker; not like Skookum or Doc here, 
 who can speak any time. However, there's one 
 thing I'd like to say, which you all know is true: 
 that I haven't been so very sensible thus far in life, 
 in fact I've been a good deal of a fool. I know 
 I'm not fit for her and so do you; but, men, I'll do 
 better. I'm playing the game on a higher altitude 
 hereafter. I know how you all feel about Mrs. 
 Clarke and if I don't act right, which I will, you 
 can pot me up and I'll never complain. I'm much 
 obliged to you." 
 
 " Well sphoken I " cried Mr. Gunnysack Charlie 
 in falsetto when the cheering had died. '* I say all 
 roight I When ye say ye are not fit it shows ye are 
 fit, just as pwhat I say shows I'm Irish. Well 
 sphoke, I say — " but a hand choked him. Mr. 
 Gunnysack, I regret to say, was not sober. 
 
 The fiddles struck up and the furniture was cleared 
 away. They danced until Punts sent them home 
 with the explanation that Mrs. Clarke was still con- 
 valescent and that he was her physician. It was a 
 good dance. To be true, there was a shortage of 
 females and Mr. Bob Dalton and Mr. Scoop Bender 
 became female impersonators by the simple ruse of 
 
270 CAM CLARKE 
 
 tying handkerchiefs on their arms; but it is a good 
 dance that gets remembered as many years as I re- 
 member this one, so I repeat that it was a most ex- 
 cellent dance. 
 
 Next day Gunnysack Charlie, having become 
 sober, reminded Washtucna that no one except Mrs. 
 Clarke or Bradford yet knew when to expect the 
 wdddlng. It then transpired that neither did Mrs. 
 Clarke nor Bradford. They had not decided. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 IT is my present opinion that In selecting the 
 proper line of action for a boy whose mother 
 was engaged to be married, Cam and I went 
 astray, just as we had done in selecting a method of 
 ridding the town of Leffingwell. But our error was 
 not due to lack of cogitation and deep thought. We 
 gave our very best brains to that matter for several 
 days, and talked It over for hours up on Granite Hill 
 in a patch of dwarf huckleberries, which had taken up 
 a piece of land too poor for the bunch grass to live in. 
 As we talked, we ate huckleberries and fed them to 
 sucker-mouthed, hungry young sparrows. One nest 
 of five of these featherless, squalling creatures ate 
 one hundred and sixty-seven berries in one day. 
 Cam tried to decide how many we ought to eat at 
 the same rate. We concluded we could not eat that 
 many without exploding and, besides, who would 
 pick them? So we got back again to the subject of 
 what Cam^s conduct should be after his mother was 
 married. Cam sat down, tucked his knees under his 
 chin and rocked back and forth as his mother did 
 in her little bentwood chair. He was supposed to 
 be thinking — he was thinking. 
 
 " I tell you. Mart," said Cam, after due delibera- 
 tion, and as he spoke he kept his speckled eyes fixed 
 on the horizon, " I tell you, when a boy has become 
 grown up to be twelve years old like me and his 
 
 271 
 
272 CAM CLARKE 
 
 mother decides to marry up again, It looks to me the 
 boy ought to dig out. Of course a feller of that age 
 is plenty able to take care of himself. If he can 
 ever make a livin' he can do it then. It ain't as 
 though he was only nine or ten. Now don't you 
 think so? Don't you think I am right? I've 
 thought it over and that's the way it looks to me." 
 
 " Of course," said I contemplatively, dropping a 
 final huckleberry into the insatiable craw of a young 
 bird. " Of course you're right. A feller ought to 
 be independent; he wouldn't want to ask Bradford 
 for money for chewing-gum and fish hooks and other 
 things he'd need. He'd rather make it hisself. 
 But there's your ma, she'd feel rotten — at least I 
 think she would. Women alius do feel rotten about 
 everything; that's my idea." 
 
 " You'd think so," said Cam judicially, " you'd 
 think so now, wouldn't you? But, Mart, I been in- 
 quirin' into this business an', besides, you know I been 
 noticin' things all my life — I'm a great noticer any- 
 way — and my experience is they don't hardly seem 
 to know you're gone. You see. Mart, havin' a new 
 husband must be awful occupin' to a woman, there 
 ain't any way of tellin' just how he'll like to have 
 things fixed. I been talkin' to Mr. Gunnysack, never 
 lettin' him guess what I'm up to, and he thinks that 
 too." 
 
 " If that's so," I conceded, entirely convinced, " I 
 guess a feller might just as well go ; it ain't any use 
 to stay around and be a nuisance if your family ain't 
 goin' to know whether you're there or not. And I 
 guess Gunnysack would know. He told me his ma 
 married several times." 
 
CAM CLARKE 273 
 
 " That's what I think too," said Cam firmly, " and 
 that's the reason I'm goin' so soon — day after to- 
 morrow mornin' early." 
 
 This determination of Cam's I now judge to have 
 been entirely new in his mind at that moment, but his 
 voice was as firm as if he had been planning to do 
 the thing for six months at least. I naturally was 
 fooled by it. I believed he had known what he 
 wanted to do for a long time. I was startled. 
 
 *' What you goin' to do when you get away?" I 
 asked with a quick feeling of prudence or something 
 that resembled it. 
 
 " Go railroadin'," he replied grandiloquently, and 
 he lay back in the short brush and looked calmly at 
 the sky and then went on : " I'm goin' to see Mr. 
 Hirschlager, like he told me to do, and get a job 
 from him bein' newsboy on a train, peanut butcher, 
 — and — say. Mart, why don't you — " and he sat 
 up triumphantly, "why don't you gO', too? You 
 must be sick of dodgin' your old man all the time. 
 And he don't get better very fast. I wouldn't stand 
 it. I'd run away." 
 
 I had been thinking of that myself and I jumped 
 at It. " I'll do it," I said ; " I'll do it I " and then we 
 lay on our backs on the dwarf huckleberry bushes and 
 made our plans: what to take and what to leave. 
 And then we planned our life in some detail for the 
 next twenty or forty years. We were enthusiastic. 
 I was a sort of natural run-away boy anyway. My 
 fathers had been running away from times unremem- 
 bered; going to sea, going here and there. And my 
 brother Tim had already gone. Poverty was the 
 reason ; we had been poor always and always, which 
 
274 CAM CLARKE 
 
 takes us back to rack rent. Cam was different, he 
 did not come of a run-away breed; but he did not 
 relent. And yet we both felt sort of rotten and 
 empty when we got to thinking of the details. But, 
 though we felt weak, we talked strong and talked 
 long. It was dark when we got home but we had 
 finished plans for the future. Cam would get pro- 
 moted to be engineer and I would be his fireman, 
 unless we decided to become town marshals or cattle 
 men. 
 
 There was no backsliding. We sneaked out and 
 held another meeting that night and looked at a lot 
 of places we would not have time to see next day 
 and noticed just what they were like so we would 
 know. And we planned a little more, but Cam was 
 rather silent that night. It was so with him later in 
 life. In emergencies he was silent but unshakably 
 firm. " The child is father to the man." 
 
 Cam Clarke's days in Washtucna were about lived 
 out; and I see now, as I look back over my blotted 
 pages, that I have not done what I intended to do. 
 I intended to write almost entirely of Cam Clarke; 
 of Cam Clarke, indeed, as he lived in Washtucna and 
 was affected by it, but quite exclusively of him. I 
 have not done this. I have written of many other 
 things: of Washtucna in general and of myself in 
 particular. But it is all right, if I have kept any pro- 
 portion in the writing. Washtucna was where he 
 lived and I was his chum, and the people I have de- 
 scribed were those that lived with and near him. 
 I have wanted the world to see a picture of the boy 
 who later as a man came to be the greatest of finan- 
 cial jugglers, yet a leader of conservative men; who 
 
CAM CLARKE 275 
 
 was mild and gentle and loyal and true, yet was as 
 ruthless as a Tartar chieftain. He has done a great 
 work. While he is yet young he is a great man ; yes, 
 a great man, though you may damn him and dis- 
 approve him. I wanted the world to see how such 
 a man looked when he was a boy, and if I have told 
 only a little and that true, I am satisfied. He, it is 
 now universally agreed, was and is an extraordinary 
 phenomenon; and I loved him. Yes, he is as ex- 
 traordinary as our own Caucasian race ; as startling 
 and natural as mine own people. He is a true 
 Aryan, yet an ancient Greek more than an American. 
 I wanted to let the world see that he was human, that 
 he had a sweet mother and that he was a good com- 
 rade. 
 
 On the next day we went in the morning to the 
 swimming pond for a farewell plunge and, though it 
 was muddy and shallow and yellow, I said I liked 
 its looks more than any '* swimming hole " I should 
 ever see; and I was right. When I went home to 
 dinner that day every one was kind to me. That 
 was almost too much. I became two boys: one 
 wanted to go, one to stay. I took both boys out in 
 the back yard to talk it over. Why had people to 
 be kind to me on that day of all others? Why need 
 even my father pat me on the head? 
 
 The first boy wanted me to go to Spokane. 
 ** Mart," he said, " Fm sure glad youVe goin' up 
 there, if 11 be fine. Mr. Hirschlager'll get you a job 
 and a newsboy's uniform and Cam'll be along, and 
 everybody knows how smart and noble he is; and I 
 guess you'll have the finest time a boy ever had." 
 
 " Shuh," said the other boy, " it's mighty nice 
 
276 CAM CLARKE 
 
 right here in Washtucna and everybody treats you 
 fine most always ; you know that yourself and mebbe 
 you'll grow up to be a horse-doctor or marshal or 
 something else important here in the Palouse Coun- 
 try/' 
 
 " Washtucna'U be a sick place without Cam," 
 soliloquized the other voice. 
 
 This argument filled my mind with blankness and 
 the run-away boy went on, " And Washtucna'll miss 
 you and Cam if you go, and they'll say you are about 
 the niftiest kids they ever saw, and all the kids will 
 tell how well they knew you, and be proud, too. But 
 if you stay here they won't pay any attention. Why, 
 lively fellers cannot be tied up here in a little town 
 any longer. You heard Doc Punts say that several 
 nights ago when he was talking about leaving. A 
 feller has to move along. I bet he'll go, too, some 
 day." 
 
 I listened to the voices no further but I hunted up 
 Cam in a kind of panic. I would keep faith with 
 him, that was all. 
 
 " I'm a-goin' all right," I said doggedly. Cam 
 was lying on the grass looking at the sky. 
 
 " Sure you are," said he, fixing his battery of mot- 
 tled gray eyes on me. *' We're going at four o'clock 
 to-morrow morning and we ain't telling these Wash- 
 tucna fellers either. Mebbe they'd tell somebody to 
 stop us and we don't want any trouble with 'em. 
 We just skin right out." 
 
 I was surprised. " There ain't any train at four," 
 I suggested remonstratively, for somehow I thought 
 we were going by train, say in a box car. 
 
 " Sure there ain't," he said airily, " but we're walk- 
 
CAM CLARKE 277 
 
 ing and It's only forty-six miles to Spokane anyway. 
 We're walking on account of scarcity of money and 
 the inconvenience of travelling like hoboes." 
 
 I agreed that he had a good reason. *' But how'll 
 we get off without getting noticed? Who's going to 
 eat our breakfast for us? They'll miss us first 
 thing." 
 
 Cam had it all fixed. Through his life he always 
 had things fixed. " It's this way, Mart," said he, 
 winking as solemnly as a grown person, " it's this 
 way. To-night at supper we tell our mothers and 
 sisters and such people that we're gettin' up early 
 and goln' to early breakfast at Rusher's so's to get 
 out to Pine Creek for some good fishing. What we 
 really do is to get out to Tom Warren's for break- 
 fast down on Pine Creek ; and gee I I bet he has 
 fine breakfasts." I refused this wager. 
 
 " How'U we wake up ? I sleep awful hard." 
 
 ** You stay with me and I'll wake up all right," 
 replied Cam. 
 
 We talked things over still further and framed our 
 lies up in detail and then we sneaked down for old 
 time's sake to Jimmy Day's flat, where Cam and I 
 had first seen each other. That seemed ages ago, 
 but we could pick out the exact spots where the mare 
 bucked and where I struck on my head. That place 
 was not any comfort to us; it hurt us inside some- 
 way. So then we sneaked in through Sarah Clarke's 
 back door and into Cam's room, and while she went 
 driving with John Bradford we packed Cam's bag- 
 gage. There was a little silver frame with pictures 
 of his mother and father side by side looking, oh, 
 very young, mere children as I see it now; there was 
 
278 CAM CLARKE 
 
 a rattlesnake rattle from Rock Lake; three hand- 
 kerchiefs, which seemed too many to me; an old 
 valentine from Julie Beauclerc and ninety cents in 
 cash money. Everything else he left, saying he 
 would send for them when he got a good job, which 
 he guessed would not be very long, as Mr. Hirsch- 
 lager could, as far as was visible to him, give a fel- 
 low any job on the railroad that he pleased. 
 
 Then Cam sat down at his little bureau and told 
 me to go out while he composed a letter to Julie 
 Beauclerc which was to tell her (strict secret) that 
 we were going away for good. Cam said I must de- 
 liver it, as of course it was not customary for young 
 gentlemen to deliver their own letters to their sweet- 
 hearts, and sometime he would do the same for me. 
 So I went out. I suppose it took him a long time to 
 finish writing that letter, for I fell asleep in the sun. 
 I've always been glad I did that; it was one of the 
 most refreshing sleeps I have ever had and I should 
 hate to have missed it. When I awoke I was game 
 for anything. 
 
 Cam woke me by dragging a rope across me. I 
 thought it was a snake and I jumped up and howled 
 like an insane boy and afterwards got angry, which 
 shows that it was a good joke. Cam laughed, then 
 I laughed, for I suddenly remembered that I could 
 play the joke on some one else. That made me real- 
 ize what a masterly joke it was. 
 
 " Gimme the letter you been writin' so much," I 
 said, " an' I'll take it up to Julie right away." 
 
 He did, and I thought it was very handsome, as it 
 was sewed right through with yellow string to keep 
 it shut. Cam was an original boy. And it was per- 
 
CAM CLARKE 279 
 
 fumed and It smelled fine. I was envious and wished 
 I could assemble such a letter myself; but it takes 
 genius to do those things. Strangely enough it was 
 pretty clean too, that is, until I took it. I suggested 
 to Cam that he come along most of the way and keep 
 me company. 
 
 Cam looked at me wearily. " Sometimes," he 
 said sadly, " I wish I was goin* away alone. You 
 Palouse fellers don't seem to savvy about carryin' 
 letters. Why, Mart, this Is a secret an' an adven- 
 ture. How am I goin' up there with you? Fm 
 stayin' away to deceive my enemies, don't you see ? 
 And even you can't go straight up. You ought to 
 see that. You got to scout around and take advan- 
 tage of bushes and sneak up back of the barn and 
 mebbe hide in the manger. You got to use strategy , 
 Mart, so's to deceive them enemies. The boys in 
 Worcester, Mass., always did that way." 
 
 I indicated to him that he did not appreciate me, 
 that I was a pretty good strategist myself and that 
 I was sick of Worcester, " Mass.," and then I 
 went off looking frequently behind fence posts and 
 such places for Cam's enemies. I might defy him with 
 my voice, but I did what he said. There are people 
 like that still. Fortunately I did not see any enemies, 
 so I met no delay on the way. I did not even see 
 any up around the Beauclercs' house. Nevertheless 
 I executed all of Cam's Instructions and did stunts 
 of my own in the way of enemy hunting, until I felt 
 tired as if I had spent the day in a gymnasium. Then 
 I sneaked up on my stomach through the grass to 
 the shade of a young poplar tree where Julie was 
 swinging her doll in a hammock and I whispered 
 
28o CAM CLARKE 
 
 hoarsely, " Julie Beauclerc I " This, I was sure, 
 was about the most improved thing in strategy there 
 was. 
 
 She made a little scream, but when she saw who it 
 was, she ran at me and slapped me. That was just 
 like her, I should have felt sure it was she if it had 
 been midnight. It hurt me a little, but I did not mind, 
 for she was Julie Beauclerc. However, I pretended 
 I did mind. I sat down very leisurely and said: 
 
 "Julie Beauclerc, I am surprised at you; but I 
 s'pose it's just ign'rance. You ain't got any idea 
 what dangers I've run to see you, with Cam's enemies 
 hidin' around every place, and everything." And 
 then I suddenly lay down on my stomach and 
 squirmed and looked around according to my ideas 
 of a scout using strategy. 
 
 Of course Julie was sorry right away when she 
 saw what I was doing. She said she had misjudged 
 me and she dodged behind the gooseberries to help 
 hunt enemies herself. But she did not find any 
 either and she came back. " What is it. Mart, that 
 Cam wants? " she whispered very cautiously so the 
 enemies could not hear. 
 
 I gave her the letter very secretly and turned 
 around to look for the enemy again. When I 
 looked at her she was crying softly, just as long after 
 I once saw a woman crying for a lost child — and 
 that woman was this child grown up. Her crying 
 made me feel uncomfortable, so I looked for the 
 enemy some more. An enemy is a great comfort 
 at times. 
 
 Pretty soon she came over to me. " I think Cam's 
 the noblest boy alive," she said, " and I think you are 
 
CAM CLARKE 281 
 
 next." I modestly acknowledged the compliment by 
 calling her a liar, which was not very gracious. She 
 understood and showed me the letter. I remember 
 every word of it. 
 
 '' Dear Julie: 
 
 " We are going away never to come back, to- 
 morrow a.m. Washtucna is all right but there 
 ain't enough railroads for Mart and me. Tie a 
 string to your toe and stick it out the window. I'll 
 pull it at five. You can trust Mart. This is the 
 most secret thing I ever wrote. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 " Cameron Clarke. 
 
 " P.S. I am taking your valentine with me and 
 shall cheerish it or die. I read about the string on 
 your toe in a book." 
 
 I, too, thought that was a noble letter and I said 
 so, and while Julie went to write an answer I quit 
 looking for the enemy and utilised my strength in 
 stealing a piece of mince pie from the spring house. 
 It was good mince pie and tasted better because I said 
 I had earned it. 
 
 When Julie came back I was hiding from Cam's 
 enemies again and it took her a long time to find me. 
 She found me near the watermelon patch asleep in 
 the sun, for the watermelons were green. I told her 
 it was a good thing the melons were green because 
 if they had been ripe I might have become so in- 
 terested in them that the enemy could have slipped 
 up upon me. She was shocked. She had some fool- 
 ish idea that stealing watermelons from Mr. Beau- 
 clerc would be dishonest, although she easily saw that 
 
282 Cam CLARKE 
 
 It would be all right to steal them from other people. 
 Females are queer. I told her any boy would know 
 better. So she gave me the note to Cam and, as the 
 question of the watermelon was purely academic, I 
 came away without further argument, looking for 
 enemies every step. 
 
 It was almost supper time when I got back to the 
 Clarkes' and I was tired and hungry. Sarah Clarke 
 was lying down, while Cam with a lump over his eye- 
 brow was reading a book about another boy who had 
 run away from home. This was to get pointers. 
 He wanted to do it right. 
 
 I gave Cam the letter. He read it and showed 
 me the signature, which said, " yours forever, 
 Julie ; '' and asked me if that was not fine. I said it 
 was, but I giggled and asked him who had pasted the 
 hen egg onto his eyebrow. He said he had hunted 
 up Sandy and had picked a fight with him just for old 
 times' sake and because he was lonesome and home- 
 sick on account of being about to leave the place. 
 He had a hard time making Sandy fight, he said, 
 and he had a hard time licking him, and in doing it he 
 bumped his forehead on a stone. I moved away and 
 giggled some more. That riled Cam and our plan 
 for running away was in grave jeopardy. We 
 " jawed " back and forth and I told him he better 
 not pick a fight *' off me." But we patched up peace 
 and were better friends than ever and more deter- 
 mined to run away. We both went to our homes to 
 supper on time, to disarm our families' suspicions. 
 I do not believe it was a good method of disarming 
 them. It might just as well have put them on their 
 guard. 
 
CAM CLARKE 283 
 
 That night we walked around town and Doc 
 Punts saw us and bought us all the peanuts we could 
 eat. That hurt us too, so pretty soon we squirmed 
 away from him. Then we said we would go over 
 to my home for a little while and tell my sisters, 
 Mary in particular, that I was staying with Cam that 
 night. As we came up, we could see inside our house 
 through the front window. My little gray, shrivelled 
 father, who was making strenuous efforts to attain 
 sobriety, was reading by candle light from a big 
 green-covered book of Irish Orations. He would 
 read a line or two, walk up and down, and then read 
 a couple of lines more. This was his only form of 
 amusement outside of working, drinking and chasing 
 his children. As a consequence he could repeat you 
 from memory " Abhor the Sword '* or extracts from 
 Daniel O'Connell or Emmet or Burke for as long a 
 time as you had strength to listen. There he was, 
 his little bullet head stooped over, wearing huge 
 horn-rimmed spectacles and anon turning a page with 
 his gnarled and crabbed fingers. That hurt me, too, 
 a lump caught in my throat. Cam understood; he 
 patted my back. " All right. Mart, he's a nice little 
 feller after all, ain't he? But we got to go." 
 
 We entered the house somewhat awkwardly and 
 I told my sister Mary, who is now long since dead 
 of that terrible hacking cough which constantly 
 shook her, that I would spend the night with Cam 
 and that next day I would go fishing. She with one 
 swift glance knew I was lying but she let it go ; prob- 
 ably my lie would prove harmless. 
 
 " An' have a good time. Mart," she called to me 
 as I closed the kitchen door. That was too much; 
 
284 Cam CLARKE 
 
 I ran away into the darkness, Cam following, and I 
 realized what I now so clearly see, that she was a 
 noble, sweet, generous girl. 
 
 I went home with Cam. Sarah Clarke and Brad- 
 ford were talking on the front porch. They told 
 us they were planning to take us up Steptoe Butte 
 the next Sunday, then we sneaked off to bed, feeling 
 mean about that. Cam said he wished people 
 " wouldn't be so darned obligin'," and I wished so 
 too. There were so many things that made you feel 
 mean, so very many. 
 
 We went to bed but we did not sleep much. First 
 we tossed and squirmed and kicked around for an 
 hour, then we §at up with blankets around us and 
 talked. We counted our money. It totaled a dol- 
 lar and ninety cents ; ninety cents of Cam's and a dol- 
 lar of my own, which I got for three muskrat skins. 
 That seemed plenty to start life with. Then we told 
 each other over and over again our plans for life. 
 Our idea was not to get married but to be partners 
 always, in which case a man would not need a wife. 
 When we owned a railroad and could be engineer 
 whenever we felt like it, we thought we would try 
 the cattle business and have a Chinese cook and two 
 *' nigger " cow-boys. Cam also wanted to write 
 some books on history and, though I did not care 
 much about that, I said I would stay with him '' till 
 his eyes turned yellow," however long that may be. 
 
 We dressed, sneaked out and took another look 
 around town and finally sat down on the steps of Mr. 
 McPetherick's rickety Tennessee Restaurant and 
 Hotel, the windows of which were as black as a 
 poUed-angus cow. Outside, however, it was bright 
 
CAM CLARKE 285 
 
 moonlight; the bunch grass shone with a wonder- 
 ful wimpling luster, frogs croaked in Day's big 
 spring and coyotes probably howled dismally on the 
 very distant hill tops, but we could not hear them, 
 which shows what a city Washtucna had become. 
 We kept very quiet, not desiring to bother peo- 
 ple, and, besides, we did not feel like talking. 
 " Bimeby " we heard horse hoofs hammering their 
 way down the road towards us and pretty soon Mr. 
 Bob Dalton jerked up his frozen eared cayuse at the 
 door of Jan Havland's saloon, which still was lighted. 
 He swung off and left Monte standing, and Monte 
 waited patiently, as he was trained to do, without 
 hitching. Then we heard Bob's Mexican spurs rat- 
 tle on the floor as he walked Into the bar room. 
 
 " Do you reckon. Cam," I asked, " that they have 
 as Interesting and noble sights and sounds and hap- 
 penln's in Spokane and such places as they do here? 
 Do you reckon there are many sports like Bob and 
 Monte?" 
 
 Cam waited a long while and then said, *' Let's go 
 to bed." I think he doubted it himself. 
 
 But sleeping was not very good even then. It 
 was frightfully still. We heard Bob Dalton gallop 
 towards home, heard Doc Punts deliver himself of 
 a heroic yawn on the steps of Jan Havland's, and 
 then just frogs and singing insects and roosters. 
 
 " Punts is goln' to bed," said Cam. Then we 
 snuggled up because we were cold. Sarah Clarke 
 had been wakened. She came in and we pretended 
 to be asleep while she kissed us. It never occurred 
 to us that she would really miss Cam if he left. We 
 thought we had that question answered correctly, 
 
286 CAM CLARKE 
 
 and yet she seemed fond of him and stroked his hair 
 in what she supposed to be his sleep. 
 
 Afterwards, when it seemed to me I had snoozed 
 just a minute, Cam pulled my arm and in the same 
 moment the sun poured the room clear, running- 
 over full of the loveliest pale gold. Cam jumped 
 up and whispered that we must be off. We dressed 
 hastily, putting our little parcels of baggage in our 
 various pockets, and then we came quietly out upon 
 the dew-wet grass. 
 
 When we had gone away a few yards, Cam turned 
 back. I waited. " She's asleep,'* he said, return- 
 ing hastily. " I just went in to see. She's been a 
 big help to me all right." 
 
 There was no one yet astir on Washtucna's little 
 street. We hurried along to the Beauclerc house, a 
 mile away on the hill, and stealthily approached the 
 back of it. Yes, there it was from an upstairs win- 
 dow. Cam pulled the long piece of string and little 
 Julie plumped her witchingly pretty small face over 
 the window sill. She made a gesture to be silent, 
 which we did not much need, for we could hear peo- 
 ple moving in the kitchen, and later we heard a man 
 feeding the horses in the barn. We hid in the 
 gooseberry patch and presently little Julie met us 
 there. She was frightened but her eyes sparkled 
 and she brought us two apples and two tarts, which 
 we took vowing never to eat as they were too good. 
 This promise we were not able to keep for more than 
 a mile of walking; we were hungry. 
 
 Cam and Julie, as I remember it, were not able to 
 do very much talking. They were too embarrassed. 
 I attributed it to my presence and tried to minimize 
 
CAM CLARKE 287 
 
 the handicap by looking for birds' nests In the goose- 
 berries. But it was not any use. Cam suddenly 
 said, "Good-bye, Julie I'* Julie grabbed him and 
 kissed him with tears streaming down her face and 
 then she turned and ran and Cam and I also ran, 
 saying nothing whatever to each other for a long 
 time, not. Indeed, until we were out upon the white, 
 dusty stage road. 
 
 We at once took the road In the Spokane direc- 
 tion and trudged along together through the lovely 
 morning, not saying much because our minds were 
 both looking over their shoulders Instead of ahead. 
 But we cheered up as we approached Tom Warren's 
 and breakfast. A person's emotions mostly run to 
 the low end of the scale when he Is hungry, at least 
 they do until he smells good food or approaches it. 
 
 We came to Tom's at a lucky time. The old man 
 was just frying bacon and eggs and when we said, 
 ** Hello, Mr. Warren ! " right at his elbow, he 
 jumped and said gruffly, before he looked, that he 
 wished " to hell " strangers would have the manners 
 to knock at the door Instead of " scaring people up '* 
 that way; but, when he regained composure, he said 
 that he was much obliged for the company. When 
 we told him we had walked clear out there, of course 
 he was surprised, because he had been riding horse- 
 back for so long that he hardly knew walking could 
 be done any more. He had believed It, I suppose, 
 to be a lost art, like hanging by your tail or knitting 
 with your toes. 
 
 He put on a lot more food, delighted, as he had 
 truly said, to have company, but nevertheless from 
 force of habit he growled about the trouble. But 
 
288 CAM CLARKE 
 
 when he saw we were too young to understand that 
 growling was done merely on principle, he cheered 
 up and told us more stories about sea-going; ones 
 this time about Chinese pirates that made you shiver. 
 And by that time breakfast was ready and how we 
 did eat ! I suppose Mr. Tom Warren had conversa- 
 tionally killed ten thousand pirates that morning be- 
 fore we left. That was hospitality for you. 
 
 After breakfast, to deceive poor old Tom, we 
 turned down to go fishing in Pine Creek, but when 
 we were out of his sight we again turned up the 
 Spokane stage road and walked mile after mile. 
 
 One of the disadvantages of walking is that after 
 a while you get tired. I noticed this very soon and 
 I called Cam's attention to it and warned him that if 
 I had known that beforehand I would not have come 
 so far. He said neither would he and we wondered 
 why we had not run away close to home. But for 
 boys we were pretty hard and we kept on, sweating 
 and talking and resting and trying very resolutely 
 not to look back over our shoulders to where Wash- 
 tucna lay. 
 
 By noon we were at Olalla, which was thirteen 
 miles from Washtucna, and we had a fine respectful 
 feeling for the total distance of forty-six miles which 
 we had undertaken to walk. Olalla was in those lat- 
 ter days so great a rival of Washtucna's that The 
 Washtucna Sun and The Breeze had once for a week 
 declared a truce and had united their forces in the 
 labour of piling obloquy on the head of Olalla. As 
 a result we had rather an erroneous impression of 
 Olalla. We fancied it would be about a cross be- 
 tween a cesspool and a penitentiary and that its in- 
 
CAM CLARKE 289 
 
 habitants would be half Chinese, half dog. We 
 found that it was actually much like Washtucna. 
 This was disappointing, as disappointing as finding 
 that other people are about as intelligent and virtu- 
 ous as you yourself are. But it is one of the sterling 
 virtues of the human mind that such self-stultifying 
 impressions are usually kept out by the armour self- 
 conceit. 
 
 We had dinner at the Olalla Hotel. We enjoyed 
 it, but the price we paid injured our finances. That 
 dollar and ninety cents looked as small as the forty- 
 six miles now looked large. But we had eaten our 
 money's worth, I can see that very clearly as I look 
 back, no matter what we paid. My, how we ate! 
 Our idea, I believe, was to eat so much that we would 
 not want supper. 
 
 After dinner we were happy and, as dinner had 
 made us feel sleepy, we took a cursory look at Olalla 
 and then went out along the stage road and went to 
 sleep In the shade. We did not wake up for two 
 hours, and when we did, we went swimming. That 
 refreshed us but it took time and as we afterwards 
 walked along we exerted our brains a little and de- 
 cided that it would be impracticable to go to Spokane 
 that day, as there were still thirty miles to do. This 
 was not in accordance with plans but there was no 
 escaping the conclusion. 
 
 Along about sunset and supper time we came to 
 Mr. Ike McMickin's ranch. There were flowers 
 growing around the door and Cam said It was his 
 opinion, as a human-nature expert, that people 
 would get well treated by people who had flowers. 
 Good treatment was what I wanted for I was as hoi- 
 
29a ^CAM CLARKE 
 
 low as a drum with hunger, in spite of all I had 
 eaten at lunch, and I was pretty tired; so I led the 
 way in to the door. 
 
 Old Mr. McMickin and his wife were sitting in a 
 spotless, cosy kitchen waiting for tea to boil. Cam 
 put out his chest, swelled his biceps and said he and 
 I wanted to work for food and bed. I presume we 
 did not look like heavy workers, anyway the old peo- 
 ple laughed. We were indignant and, in spite of 
 being tired, we were about to leave, but the old man, 
 who was very kind, threw his long Scotch arms 
 around us both and set us down by force at a table 
 before food; not, however, that he needed to show 
 extreme violence. In two minutes we were eating 
 and old Mrs. McMickin was plying us with food, 
 with questions and with gossip. I believe we fell 
 asleep at table ; at any rate I don't remember much 
 until morning. 
 
 These two old people treated us well. Cam did 
 all the lying and he did it so perfectly that Mrs. 
 McMickin wept when he recounted how we were 
 homeless orphans from Walla Walla who were go- 
 ing to Spokane to live with a relative. They wanted 
 to adopt us themselves but we nobly put them away. 
 No, we would go on. So the old lady gave us a 
 lunch to put in our pockets and Mr. McMickin took 
 us ^ve miles on the road in a buckboard. As we 
 left, Mrs. McMickin was clucking like an old hen. 
 It was all very pleasing to us but we were far too 
 much grown up to show it. We acted as though 
 we were used to it. There is nothing like being men 
 of the world. 
 
 That was a long day of walking. We omitted 
 
CAM CLARKE 291 
 
 sleeping in the shade, swimming and such restful 
 diversions and just walked and walked. We got 
 blisters, we became so tired that we wobbled, but we 
 kept on; and we went so well that at about six we 
 were on the edge of Spokane. But Spokane's edges 
 were long and it took nearly all our strength to fin- 
 ish. 
 
 Spokane was disconcerting. There were a great 
 many more people there than we had expected, many 
 more horses and fewer tents than I remembered. 
 The place had grown immensely in two years. We 
 had expected to meet Mr. Hirschlager on some 
 street corner or to go straight to his house ; but both 
 he and his house seemed elusive. There were too 
 many houses around and too many people on the cor- 
 ners. How could the place have so grown? You 
 could not locate anybody or anything. And actually 
 there were street cars, and we did not understand 
 street cars. Further, we could not wait, we were 
 too hungry ; so we spent all our remaining money for 
 food. 
 
 The food gave us both strength and a little in- 
 telligence and we went after the house like the 
 sleuths in detective stories and we found it. It was 
 a big house with large grounds and with a lawn that 
 I thought was like velvet. I was mistaken, but at 
 least I had never seen such a lawn. As we ap- 
 proached. It was dark. We saw that the house was 
 all lighted and we saw a large party of people in the 
 dining-room. We lost courage at that and went out 
 and sat on the fence and waited for the party to go. 
 It was a long wait and sometimes we dozed. Sud- 
 denly Cam prodded me ; he could always stay awake 
 
292 CAM CLARKE 
 
 better than I. Carriages were leaving. We 
 watched them whirl away. It was like the best of 
 your dreams, beautiful, entrancing, romantic. I 
 was now glad I had left Washtucna. You never saw 
 such things there. I decided I liked very well being 
 a newsboy, and I wonderd if such boys had car- 
 riages too. But from whence came carriages and 
 street cars ? Who in Spokane was it that possessed 
 Aladdin's lamp? They must have come by magic. 
 
 The Hirschlagers sat down by themselves on the 
 veranda, their company all gone. We hurried to- 
 wards them across the lawn and started up the steps. 
 
 "What do you boys want?" asked Mr. Hirsch- 
 lager in rather harsh tones of our shadows. He did 
 not recognise us yet. My heart swelled until it was 
 as large as a watermelon. I could not speak. Sup- 
 pose the man had forgotten us. But Cam could 
 speak and he did. 
 
 He pulled off his hat and stepped forward smartly 
 in all those wonderful surroundings and trappings of 
 grandeur and said politely, 
 
 " How do you do, sir? Fm Cam Clarke and 
 this is Mart Campin from Washtucna. We walked 
 up from Washtucna to see you, sir, like you said to 
 do when we needed a friend. We want to go rail- 
 roading sir, and I hope it ain't too late at night; 
 but we've been waiting." 
 
 And then from fright and embarrassment and nat- 
 ural stupidity I could not see anything, but it seemed 
 to me that about a hundred women and men gathered 
 Cam and me up together and hugged us, and the 
 women kissed us and cried, and the men shouted and 
 stamped their feet. And all those women and men 
 
CAM CLARKE 293 
 
 were just Mr. and Mrs. HIrschlager. They patted 
 us and scolded us and gave us chairs and candies and 
 cake and milk and, the next thing I knew, Cam and 
 I were tumbUng over each other to tell everything; 
 and we all seemed to be crying. We told every- 
 thing, threw all cargo overboard and felt better. 
 We had not realized what a load we carried. Then 
 they packed us off to bed in wonderful clean sheets, 
 in a spacious, airy, white room next to a bath- 
 room with lace curtains and towels in it. It all 
 seemed to me too good to use. 
 
 The last thing I heard was that Mr. Hirschlager 
 was sending a special engine with his car to Wash- 
 tucna to get Sarah Clarke and Bradford. I won- 
 dered dimly why, but did not much care ; I was too 
 tired. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 WHY Mr. Hirschlager sent the special train 
 for Mrs. Clarke and John Bradford instead 
 of sending Cam and me to Washtucna I do 
 not understand, unless he merely wanted to see 
 Bradford and Sarah. Nor do I know the history 
 of that special train after it left except that it went 
 fast. I know it went fast, because Ben Whitten was 
 engineer and he told me so himself, and Ben knows 
 fast as well as any one. I may as well mention that 
 this was in those good reliable days before there was 
 any legal limit on the number of hours a man could 
 drive engines without rest or any practical limit to 
 his opportunities for killing people. Ben hurried 
 because he had just returned on " number nine " 
 from the Palouse branch and in Washtucna he had 
 heard that Cam and I were missing. Now, like every 
 one else who had ever visited Washtucna, he was 
 anxious to do Sarah Clarke a service; this was his 
 chance, so he hurried. It was he who would bring 
 her first word of the run-aways, for at night, after 
 the fashion of small towns, Washtucna received no 
 telegrams. Likewise he hurried because he was 
 tired on account of previous exertions covering a 
 period of somewhat more than sixteen hours. 
 
 Poor Sarah Clarke was, of course, not asleep that 
 night, a fact which Cam and I were utterly unable to 
 
 294 
 
CAM CLARKE 295 
 
 comprehend when we were Informed of it later. In- 
 stead, she was wandering around her little house like 
 the very shadow of woe. Nor was John Bradford 
 asleep. He and Doc Punts were sitting in the lat- 
 ter's office smoking strong cigars and guessing 
 where the " little devils " were. And I believe 
 there was even some wakefulness In my own family 
 that night. Consequently the traia had but a small 
 wait in Washtucna. In about fifteen minutes the 
 engineer had notified my father that I was safe, had 
 pumped his engine around the turntable, had 
 gathered in Bradford, Sarah Clarke and also Punts, 
 in the character of attending physician, had hooked 
 on anew to the car and was off for Spokane with a 
 very light-hearted party aboard. Ben told me aft- 
 erwards that his speed on the return trip was *' ex- 
 cussive.'* I believe him implicitly. It was not 
 necessary, but the West believes things should be 
 done smartly. His speed was undoubtedly " ex- 
 cusslve," but no one seems to have been killed, which 
 is enough. 
 
 The party arrived to Cam and me In our palatial 
 bed-room with great shouting just as it was dim day. 
 First were Sarah Clarke and John Bradford, then 
 Doc Punts and the Hirschlagers. They all came 
 in pell-mell and in an Instant Sarah Clarke's arms 
 were around Cam and she was sobbing " Oh-oh-oh- 
 oh.'* Then we all shouted louder than ever to make 
 each other believe that It was a very gay occasion, for 
 Sarah Clarke's tears hurt us all more than sickness 
 and surgery. We could not one of us remember that 
 she had ever before cried in our presence like this, 
 unreservedly and with heart and soul and body. We 
 
296 CAM CLARKE 
 
 had seen slow dropping tears before, but nothing 
 hke this. 
 
 Cam and I sat up and we all chattered until the red 
 sun flung a quiver of light into the bed-room. Then 
 Mrs. Hirschlager drove everybody to bed. " No- 
 body's had a wink but these fiendish boys, and they 
 do not deserve sleep," she complained playfully. 
 *' But now we'll go get forty winks at least." 
 
 When it was quiet again in the bed-room, Cam said 
 he thought we had the " wrong steer " on Sarah 
 Clarke's not missing us. " I like railroadin' first 
 rate, Mart," he said, " but I see I'll have to give it 
 up; a feller has family duties. Mart. You see I 
 gotta quit it." 
 
 I said, " Sure he has family duties," but I could 
 not remember that I possessed any great quantity. 
 That, though, was my mistake. Sister Mary must 
 have mingled sobs that night with her hacking cough. 
 
 " But, gee, it's fine here! I like railroadin'," said 
 I; " I hate to quit it. Do you s'pose newsboys alius 
 sleep in places like this? " Cam was asleep before I 
 finished. 
 
 That morning, at a late breakfast, which, some- 
 how, was not so very gay. Punts, who had been hold- 
 ing entirely aloof from conversation, suddenly 
 slammed his knife and fork on the table with violence 
 and grated fiercely, " Ladies and' gents, this trouble 
 is all caused by paltry hesitations and waitings ; such 
 things always make trouble. Mrs. Clarke here and 
 John Bradford are, I believe, legally contracted to 
 marry each other — but they don't do it. Why not? 
 How can young boys know what to do when grown 
 folks ain't decided in their actions? Is there any 
 
CAM CLARKE 297 
 
 reason for this here tergiversatlous and waiting con- 
 duct — no, sir I Mrs. Hirschlager, I vote that we 
 marry off this here couple to-night, and right here 
 in Spokane. I'm tired waiting. Ain't you?" 
 
 The Hirschlagers and Cam and I shouted and 
 banged the table. Sarah Clarke and Bradford 
 blushed and looked at their plates, but as the uproar 
 continued they looked at each other questioningly. 
 They had not thought of it before. " Well, why 
 not? " said their glances. 
 
 " I am not dressed — " protested Mrs. Clarke 
 mildly, with the true feminine instinct in such mat- 
 ters. And she cast her fine eyes over her skirt with 
 gentle disapproval. She really was already nearly 
 persuaded. Her words were but the echoes of a re- 
 mark repeated by all the daughters of Eve for ten 
 thousand generations. 
 
 *' I'll fix you for a dress ; you can wear my wedding 
 dress," put in Mrs. Hirschlager, " it'll fit all right. 
 It's been worn by my grandmother and my mother 
 and me, it'll fit anybody." 
 
 " Anyhow, I'd have to go to Washtucna for 
 things," Mrs. Clarke remonstrated. " I have noth- 
 ing with me but what I wear at this moment." 
 
 *' Another special train goes back to Washtucna 
 to-day at noon for your special accommodation, un- 
 less I lose my job within the next two hours; and 
 that'll surely get you back early for the wedding," 
 said Mr. Hirschlager, studying his watch and clos- 
 ing it decisively. " I guess it's all right. You fix 
 everything in the house, Fanny. I'll have the train 
 ready. I'll get music and Boseman's will furnish the 
 refreshments. I'll see to that, too." 
 
298 ---CAM CLARKE 
 
 " We'll want that special train to haul up some 
 friends from Washtucna for us," said Punts firmly. 
 " Washtucna has an official interest in this function. 
 Washtucna won't stand to be ignored." 
 
 " We could put on a spare coach besides my car," 
 cogitated Mr. Hirschlager aloud, his hands resting 
 contemplatively on his well-rounded stomach. 
 ** We'll do that. You better wire Washtucna what 
 is doing — right away, too." 
 
 " Let's do it, Sarah ! " exclaimed Bradford, rising 
 with vigour. 
 
 " All right, John," she said gently. " All right." 
 
 The wedding was held at nine and, except the 
 Hirschlagers and the parson, there was nobody pres- 
 ent but Washtucna people. But Washtucna was 
 there in force. In the centre of things were the 
 solemn Beauclercs, the short-winded Rushers, Mr. 
 Bob Dalton, shining like the sun and threatening to 
 burst his new clothes around the biceps; Mr. Pete 
 Barker, self-possessed and as graceful and elegant 
 as a black panther; Doc Punts, giving all external 
 evidence of being in a rage ; silent, surly, manly Tom 
 Warren; Jan Havland, John Donnelly; Mr. 
 Skookum Jones, arrayed like the flowers and his 
 hands trembling with palsy. Behind and about them 
 were fifty more Washtucnans, my father amongst 
 them; but not Miss May Caylor. That lady did not 
 accept the general invitation, but she sent a letter. 
 
 The good wishes of the guests at that wedding 
 were extraordinarily hearty, as was evinced by the 
 vigour of the handshakes and kisses, the sharpness 
 
CAM CLARKE 299 
 
 and deepness of the cheers and the fervour with 
 which they threw rice and shoes at the departing 
 couple. 
 
 Cam was to go on the journey with the wedded 
 pair. That was decided. But where would they 
 go? when return? 
 
 There was a second carriage at the door for Cam 
 and I jumped in with him and we got the overflow 
 of rice and shoes. 
 
 " We're goin' to Vermont, Mart," he said, when 
 we were on the way to the depot. " I just found out. 
 We're goin' to Vermont. I wish I could go rail- 
 roadin' with you, but you see how it is; a feller has 
 his duties to do." 
 
 " Gee, I'll be lonesome," I said. 
 
 " You're to go right back to Hirschlager's in this 
 carriage, Mart. He's goin' to see about you, he told 
 me so himself. It's all fixed all right for you. You 
 can go railroadin' if you like. Mr. Hirschlager 
 really wants you to." 
 
 And then we were arrived at a noisy passenger sta- 
 tion. People standing around were talking with 
 easy familiarity of St. Paul and New York and Butte 
 and then atop of that the overland express rolled in 
 with a gale of wind on her flanks and a volcano of 
 wrath and fire burning in her belly. I was be- 
 wildered. Cam shoved his new jack-knife into my 
 hand, a parting present; Sarah Clarke kissed and 
 hugged me; John Bradford gripped my shoulder un- 
 til it hurt and slipped a banknote into my pocket; 
 then they were gone. The train groaned and 
 whined, there were shouts and mysterious wavings 
 of lanterns — and I, alone on the broad platform, 
 
\ 
 
 300 "cam CLARKE 
 
 was watching the last glimpses of three figures on 
 the platform of the observation car. 
 
 Back at the Hirschlagers', when I arrived, there 
 was gay music and they were dancing in good, gen- 
 erous Washtucna style, feet coming down flat and 
 hard in a quadrille and Doc Punts vigorously call- 
 ing the changes. " Balance all! " Little Skookum 
 Jones, with admirable nimbleness, pranced before fat 
 Mrs. Rusher, while my father, for extra measure, 
 cast in some old-country jig steps for the edification 
 and education of Mrs. Hirschlager, with whom he 
 was dancing. Mr. Pete Barker, with pious de- 
 meanour, talked to Mrs. Beauclerc at the door of 
 the conservatory, and Mr. Bob Dalton, all his clothes 
 bulging out with muscles, patted juba by the fire- 
 place and emitted the strange cries of a cow-puncher. 
 
 I tried to watch, but I could not stand it, so I fled 
 to bed alone. I lay a long while just thinking and 
 looking at the blackness. Then Mrs. Hirschlager 
 stole softly in. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. 
 She kneeled down over me and kissed me just as 
 Sarah Clarke had done ; then she tip-toed out again. 
 
 So said I, *' Cam is gone." And I heard the rails 
 clatter under his train. He would be by now in the 
 big Idaho woods. Were his and Sarah Clarke's 
 wonderful mottled eyes filled with tears? How far 
 was Vermont? would they ever come back? Lone- 
 someness was hard on a " feller." 
 
 And still the joyful music squeaked up from below 
 I and people's feet shuffled as though they were gay; 
 but, oh, they could not have been. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE next morning, before breakfast, I took up 
 relations with my father by the highly subtle 
 artifice of saying " good morning " to him. 
 The device worked and I felt as smart as Cam Clarke 
 because it did. My father and I were both In- 
 formal people and we really understood each other 
 pretty well. The little man had been kept a guest 
 in the house over night, and that morning he felt 
 well physically and he was flattered by the Hlrsch- 
 lagers' acquaintance. Never had he expected to 
 visit such people. Conseqeuntly, he was mild and 
 cheerful and talkative, and he was willing to entirely 
 ignore the whole transaction of my running away. 
 Indeed, to people of his breed running away was a 
 commonplace thing, as natural as falling in love or 
 going swimming; a thing which you might discourage, 
 but one which was sure to happen. He came down 
 the broad stairs to breakfast perfectly self-possessed 
 and humming a peasant song about some fairies who 
 pushed a cartload of butter up a steep hill to help a 
 man who was tired. And, as we went in together, 
 he put his little knotted hand on my head and winked 
 at me. Suddenly I liked him. There was some- 
 thing of the dignity of a savage In that little bent old 
 man, and he had a sound sense of propriety and 
 manners. Nothing could disturb or embarrass him 
 or paralyze his self-respect. 
 
 301 
 
302 CAM CLARKE 
 
 The HIrschlagers liked my father. The break- 
 fast conversation was lively, thanks to him; for, no 
 matter how stupid things are, an Irishman can always 
 rub the corners of his wits together and get a spark 
 of merriment or tears. Of course the Hirschlagers 
 could not well have helped seeing that my father had 
 no sense, no more sense than a horse ; and a horse, 
 despite the phrase *' horse sense," is only a fool with 
 a good memory. Any dog is Isaac Newton along- 
 side a horse. But that does not prevent your liking 
 a horse. They thought my father delightful, and so 
 he was ; even as a parent he was delightful. He had 
 led me, up till then, a very interesting life, thanks to 
 his truly original conception of the relations which 
 should exist between parent and child. I ought to 
 be the last to deny his charm. 
 
 The conversation fell upon the question of my 
 future. Mr. Hirschlager said that if I still wanted 
 to go railroading he would help me to a job. I was 
 in no doubt about it. I got a big lump in my throat 
 as I thought of Cam and I said loudly and firmly 
 that I had no desire whatever to go railroading. 
 And so it was decided that I was to go home, where- 
 upon my father fondly patted me on the back and 
 winked. But I have not forgotten the kindness of 
 that offer of Hirschlager's, nor the tear that Mrs. 
 Hirschlager spilled when I left her. She is an old 
 lady now. Last year I travelled from Philadelphia 
 to Boston just to see her and say I remembered. I 
 shall not forget that while I live. Such things are 
 the breath of life. 
 
 My father and I went down to Washtucna on the 
 forenoon train. I was glad to see the place, as I 
 
CAM CLARKE 303 
 
 felt that I had been away for months. I expected 
 great changes and I had not been back five minutes 
 when I felt it really was changed. It seemed fine, 
 though, to see sister Mary again, who cried and 
 laughed, while baby Maggie pulled my fingers and 
 intimated that she, too, was glad I had come back. 
 The others begged for adventures and I told them 
 ours, whereupon they sniffed as though their adven- 
 tures at home had been better ; which now indicates 
 to me that I was not very eloquent. I was not de- 
 ceived, though, I felt still very important; but it was 
 an empty sort of importance, for Cam was not there 
 to help me think well of myself. I settled down, 
 however, and took my place in the scheme of things 
 and tried to be satisfied. I fought with Sandy 
 Rusher and Sim Horlacker and used every method 
 I knew to produce self-content, but it was no use; 
 Washtucna was changed and I did not like the place 
 any more. 
 
 Yes, Wushtucna really was changed. Other 
 people felt it besides me. It was passing through a 
 critical period. It was settling down. The froth and 
 the ferment and the rainbows were dying; also some 
 other things. Washtucna was about to become a 
 farming village, whereas, before, it had been a fron- 
 tier settlement. And there were people there who 
 were not suited to live in a farming village. Some 
 did not consciously see what was the matter, but they 
 felt it and they chafed and fretted and said the town 
 was dead. There had ceased to be extraordinary 
 hopes and fears and hatreds abroad such as these 
 frontier townsmen lived upon. Saints and Sinners 
 had lost interest in strife and there was but little 
 
304 CAM CLARKE 
 
 talk of cattle and horse stealing. Indeed, people 
 now kept stock fenced up, stealing was difficult. 
 And everything began to be wheat — wheat, wheat, 
 wheat — or hinged upon wheat. Wheat was the 
 landscape and the hope and the fear of people. 
 There were those who thought and dreamed and 
 slept wheat. But Punts and Bob Dalton and Pete 
 Barker were not of these and could not become of 
 them. I heard them talking one morning In Punts' 
 office, Into which, In a spirit of scientific inquiry, I 
 had poked my nose. They were all walking around, 
 feverishly, as one might say, and they were talking 
 of old times. They recalled enthusiastically mem- 
 ories of the hanging of Whitey McGrath and of the 
 building of the Widow Clarke's house, and indicated 
 a belief that such acts were highly virtuous and noble 
 and heroic. 
 
 This reminded me that I must go to the post-office 
 to see if there were a letter from Cam. He had 
 promised to write but the promise was not thus far 
 redeemed, and it was high time. I went out and 
 this time I got the letter. I took it around the cor- 
 ner, beyond the new brick church, and read it. It 
 went: 
 
 '' Dear Mart: 
 
 " We are visiting with grandma Bradford here In 
 Kingtown, Vermont. It Is named that because once 
 they asked the King of England to come here for a 
 visit, but he didn't. That was several years ago and 
 I ain't seen (grandma wants me to stop saying ain't, 
 which is unreasoning, as Bob Dalton said it) any- 
 body that actually saw it, so it ain't as good as Wash- 
 
CAM CLARKE 305 
 
 tucna which had the Governor stay over nite as you 
 remember yourself. We're going to stay here for 
 good, as the people that minded papa shooting Mr. 
 McManus that time have got used to the idea includ- 
 ing the sheriff. And now I think they're going to 
 elect papa sheriff or governor or something like that 
 and he'll be saif. It's a nice place in some ways but 
 not like Washtucna. Nobody was ever linched here 
 or shot, except McManus and nobody wears shaps. 
 There is a boy here named Arthur Cameron, which 
 is proved to be my cousin so we had a fight because 
 a curlew has such a long bill. I told him about it and 
 he said I lied. I licked and we're friends but not like 
 you and me and he's fat and jolly. There ain't any 
 coyotes but lots of skunks. We ain't ever coming to 
 Washtucna except when I grow up and come to live 
 there and be marshal so you tell Julie and Sandy. 
 Papa thinks maybe next winter him and Sarah Clarke 
 will come for a while to look after business but I can't 
 as I'll be at a private school in Rutland. The 
 teachers Art says don't chew tobacco like Jim Stilson 
 and there ain't any Chinese laundry to tick-tack and 
 I wish you was here. People ride trolley cars in- 
 stead of horses. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " Cam." 
 
 They were not coming back. My internal feelings 
 got twisted again and I walked along sort of dizzily 
 until I came to Punts' office. Mr. Pete Barker, Mr. 
 Bob Dalton and Doc Punts were standing around 
 looking bored and gazing outdoors into the dazzling 
 sunlight. 
 
3o5 CAM CLARKE 
 
 I swallowed a lump. " They ain't never comin' 
 back/' I said heavily, and I handed the letter to 
 Punts and sat down desolately in his big leather chair. 
 They all knew what it was and looked up. Punts 
 read the letter aloud and they all laughed in places 
 and spat and talked admiring profane language sotto 
 voce. But when it was finished they were very 
 solemn. 
 
 " It's whut I was expectin'," said Bob dejectedly. 
 " The place ain't whut it was an' of course they'd be 
 the first ones to see it; smart folks like them." 
 
 " It's a good place yet," said Punts firmly, '' and 
 growin', too. And I'm glad they let up on Bradford 
 for pottin' that whatever-his-name-is feller. I bet 
 he rated it all right." 
 
 " I guess I'll start for Alberta 'bout to-morrow," 
 said Bob softly; "I guess I will. Judge Rusher's 
 buyin' my place an' Monte is fat f'r him. Le's have 
 a drink!" 
 
 In this ceremony they were joined by Mr. Skookum 
 Jones, who, upon hearing the news, donned the most 
 mournful appearance I have ever seen. 
 
 ** I was hoping to see the lady again," he re- 
 marked with attempted briskness. " I'm gettin' old 
 but I was hopin' she'd get back." 
 
 I never saw Bob Dalton but once again and that 
 was when he and Monte went out of town like a 
 sky-rocket, Bob yelling and his revolver cracking like 
 Fourth-of-July. That was the last demonstration of 
 this kind ever seen in Washtucna. And that was the 
 last time Washtucna heard Bob Dalton's voice. 
 
 A short time later The Breeze and The Sun con- 
 solidated into one sheet, partizanship having fallen 
 
CAM CLARKE 307 
 
 to such low ebb that there was no point in separate 
 publications. That first issue of The Sun-Breeze 
 spread broadcast the news that *' A. J. Punts, M.D., 
 perhaps the most public-spirited man that Washtucna 
 has hitherto given refuge to, is departing for the 
 newer pastures of the Big Bend Country." He left 
 in a blaze of glory, to the music of a band and amidst 
 cheers. Two days later Mr. Pete Barker silently 
 stole away — to Butte, people said. 
 
 Things were moving fast again. Men of this 
 breed were now leaving Washtucna as fast as they 
 once had come. " On to the next; '' it was the dance 
 of frontier life. And yet for one of these that left, 
 seven of a different breed came In. Wheat, wheat, 
 wheat: that was the fever. Day by day plough- 
 shares turned under acre on acre of the rich soil, and 
 lonely houses came over night into every sunburned 
 valley. 
 
 At the top and crest of all, I one day saw Judge 
 Rusher and Mr. Beauclerc walk down Steptoe 
 Avenue together in friendly talk. Partizanship was, 
 indeed, dead. 
 
 That was the day on which Ernst Click, the old 
 German from over beyond in Idaho, offered me a 
 place with his flocks of sheep. This time there was 
 no running away. My father looked up from his 
 book of Irish eloquence and with feeling in his shrill 
 voice told me I could go. " Perhaps you can do 
 bether f r y'rsilf than I can do f r ye, me bhoy. I 
 am an ign'rant man. I only ask ye to remember if 
 I am not a sphlendid plant, that I grew in a bleak and 
 ixposed locality — an' God bliss ye I When will ye 
 sthart?" 
 
308 tAM CLARKE 
 
 And so he and my sister Mary rose to see me off 
 at earliest day, she still as ever with her hacking 
 cough. How sweet and gentle and beautiful she 
 was that morning ! She crammed a little sewing kit 
 into my pocket, the buckboard rattled and then in 
 the cold mist we climbed the hill adown which Cam 
 Clarke had once come on the shining mare Nan. 
 Below, all asleep in a light of radiant pink, was the 
 upstart town Washtucna. 
 
 And now, again, after many years, I have returned 
 to live quietly in Washtucna. My wife that is, once 
 was Julie Beauclerc. We have prospered and we 
 have been happy. We have children. We count 
 our sheep by thousands and they range on a hundred 
 mountain sides. 
 
 And Cam — but all the world knows. Some 
 people speak of him with awe and they wonder by 
 how many points his death would shake the stock 
 market ; while others anathematize him as the source 
 of every evil thing. I have seen him but once in all 
 these years and that was in Washtucna. We sat in 
 his private car. Judge Rusher came in, fat, florid 
 and with palsy, and Mr. Beauclerc, withered, deaf 
 and silent. Julie was there, too, and in the centre of 
 all was Cam, red-haired, with wonderful, flashing, 
 changing, mottled eyes. Mostly he was silent; but 
 sometimes he burst forth with speech like flame, 
 rapid, passionate, vehement, decisive, not a word 
 wasted ; then he would drop back again totally silent. 
 It made me think of a machine gun. 
 
 Sarah Clarke and Bradford still are up in Vermont 
 in the rock country. Like us in Washtucna, they 
 
CAM CLARKE 309 
 
 are quiet, old-fashioned, early-rising folks. But 
 Cam is sui generis. He has been like a sky-rocket. 
 Hirschlager did but light the match. Cam scarcely 
 came to railroading: some instinct seemed to have 
 brought him to it. It was not by mistake that he ran 
 away with me to be a '' train butcher." Railroading 
 was the thing in modern life that needed him and 
 that he needed. 
 
 And so my book of Cam and me and Washtucna 
 and all the rest ends. Gunnysack Charlie waits to 
 take me in the morning on a buckboard over and 
 beyond Craig Mountain. There still, you see, are 
 roads and trails where the automobile dare not go. 
 Gunnysack also is old — so shall we all be soon ; oh, 
 so very soon. And but yesterday Julie Beauclerc did 
 trip the grass a child ; and it seems but last night that 
 I heard the birth cry of our first man child, Cameron 
 Campin, who now outtops my height with his. 
 
 THE END 
 
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