NEVADA II BOSTON: M. BAKER & CO., GEORGE No.47 Franklin Street. Copyright, 18TG, by GEORGE M. BAKKR. j> i. v AO-rV. or TUB L,i-t ,>inie. 3 Acts Price 25 eta. PAST RKOKittPTIOX. 4 Acts. Price "25 cts. COMRADES. 3 Acts. Price 25 cts. TITANIA. A Fairy Play for Children. 2 Acts. Price 25 cts. OUR FOLKS. 3 Acts. Price 15 cts. UK HFCC A'S TllIUAIPH. For female characters only. ] Other New Plays. [Price 25 cts. CJLA.US THE FIRST. AChristmn Play for Children By F. E Chase. Price 233. As played by the "HASTY PUDDING CLUB" of Harvard College. M. BAKER'S ;w PLAYS. Spencer's Universal Stage. tction of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to either Public or P Performance. Containing a full description of all the necessary Stage Business. PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. 09- No Plays Exchanged. ST IN LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts, male, 4 female characters. CHOIiAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acto. y J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 3 female char. [E WELSH GIF.L. A Comedy in 1 Act. y Mrs. Planche. 3 male, 2 female char. HN WOPPS. A Farce in 1 Act By T. E. Suter. 4 male, 2 female char. E TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. ly Montague Williams and F. C. Burnand. male, 1 female char. IE TWO PUDDIFOOTS. A Farce in 1 .ct. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. J3 HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 icts. By J. M. Morton. 5 male- 2 female char. VO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX, A "arce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male char. IASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in 1 Act }y T. J. Williams. 5 male, 3 female char. 070 HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A farce in 1 Act By Lenox Home. 4 male, . female char. )HN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act ByJ.M. tlorton. 5 male, 2 female char. HE DAUGHTER of the REGIMENT. V Drama in 2 Acts. By Edward Fitzball. i male, 2 female char. CTNT CHARLOTTE'S MAID. A Farce in 1 Vet By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. ROTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in . Act By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 3 female char. ONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 \ct By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female char. TJNntTCKETTY'S PICNIC. A'Farce in 1 let. By T. J. Williams. 6 male, 3 female char. VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce in 1 Act By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female :har. :Y PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 Act By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 4 female char. IY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 'HE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce in 1 Act By Chas. Selby. male, 2 female char. lANDELION'S DODGES. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. . SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 2 female char. .LWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 Act By llorace Wigan. 3 male, 3 female char. L BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By Charlca Matthews. 6 male, 4 female char. ANOTHER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act By Thomas Morton. C male, 3 female char. 3OWLED OUT. A Farce in 1 Act ByH. T. Craven. 4 male, 3 female char. 'OUSIN TOM. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By Gco. Roberts. 3 male, 2 female char. SARAH'S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3 female char. IIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates and N. II. Har- rington. 7 male, 3 female char. THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male 6 female char. I RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 Act. ByT. J.Williams. 5 male, 4 female char, f OUR LIFE'S IN DANGER. A Farce in 1 Act By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. By J. Sheridan Kuowles. 6 male, 2 female char. 86. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. An In in 1 Act By W. H. Murray. 10 male, 1 char. 37. LOOK AFTER BROWN. A Farce h By George A. Stuart, M. D. 6 male, 1 88. MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 3 Ac Thomas Archer. 15 male, 3 female char 39. A VERY PLEASANT EVENIN Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male 40. BROTHER BEN. A Farce in 1 Act. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 41. ONLY A CLOD. A Comic Drama in By J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1 female cha 42. GASPARDO THE GONDOLIE] Drama in 3 Acts. By George Almar. K 2 female char. 43. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLC A Drama in 1 Act By Slingsby Lawre male, 3 female char. 44. DON'T JUDGE BY APPEARANC] Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 1 female char. 45. NURSEY CHICKWEED. A Farce ir By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 lemale chi 46. MARY MOO; or. Which shall I M A Farce in 1 Act By W. E. Suter. 2 i female char. 47. EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acts. J 7 female char. 48. THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama in By Robert Jones. 16 male, 7 female chai 49. SILVERSTONE'S WAGER. A Con ettainlAct By R. R. Andrews. 4mal male char. 60. DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. Bi Reade. 5 male, 2 female char. 65. THE WIFE'S SECRET. A Play in By Geo. W. Lovell. 10 male, 2 female c. 66. THE BABES IN THE WOOD. A edy in 3 Acts. By Tom Taylor. 10 mal male char. 67. PUTKINS i Heir 3 Castles in th( A Comic Drama in i Act By W. R. En 2 male, 2 fe.i.alc char. 58. AN UGI.Y CUSTOMER. A Farce ir By Th^nus J. Williams. 3 male, 2 lemal 69. BLUE AND CHERRY. A Comedy ii 3 male, 2 female char. 60. A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Com 1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char. 61. THE SCARLET LETTER. A Dran Acts. 8 male, 7 female char. 62. WHICH WILL HAVE HIMP A"\ villc. 1 male, 2 female char. 63. MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 2 male, 2 female char. 64. THE ANONYMOUS KISS. AVauc 2 male, 2 female char. 65. THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy in i 6 male, 3 female char. 66. A SOLDIER, A SAILOR, A TIN AND A TAILOR. A Farce in 1 Aci. 1 2 female char. 67. GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A 2 male, 2 female char. 68. DAMON AND PYTHIAS. A Fa male, 4 female char. 69. A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio- Drama in 2 Acts. 6 male, 3 female char, 70. PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Do Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male, 1 female char. riptive Catalogue mailed free on application to Geo. M. Baker & Co., 47 Franklin St., Host NEVADA; OR, THE LOST MINE. SDrama in Cftree BY '. "... .', GEORGE M. BAKER, AUTHOR OF "COMRADES," "BETTER THAN GOLD," "PAST REDEMP- TION," "REBECCA'S TRIUMPH," "AMONG THE BREAKERS," "THE LAST LOAF," "ABOVE THE CLOUDS," "OUR FOLKS," "MY*BROTHER'S KEEPER," ETC. BOSTON: GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY. 1882. <&. COPYRIGHT, 1882, CHARACTERS. ^..//NEVADA, THE WANDERER. ' - ^ . VERMONT, AN OLD MINER. TOM CAREW, ) ) , > . DANDY DICK, \ ^NG^flNERS. SILAS STEELE, MISSIONARY OF HEALTH. ^^ERDEN, A DETECTIVE. j> JUBE, A BLACK MINER. WIN-KYE, A CHINAMAN. .', - MOTHER MERTON. - AGNES FAIRLEEr MOSELLE, A WAIF. COSTUMES. NEVADA. Long white hair and beard, gray shirt, d ragged ; boots and belt ; one leg of pants in boot, the c ribbons. VERMONT. Iron-gray bald wig and beard, gray shirt, ~.^._ ..^.^ in boots, belt, pistol in hip-pocket, short coat, slouch hat. TOM. Full black beard, blue shirt, dark pants tucked in long boots, black necktie, short coat, pistol in hip-pocket, slouch hat worn jauntily, red handkerchief worn for belt. DANDY DICK. Light hair and beard, trimmed ; blue shirt with red necktie, dark pants tucked in long boots, dark coat, Derby hat ; dressed neatly as possible. JERDEN. Full beard, mixed siiiOpistol in hip-pocket, Derby hat. JUBE. Woolly wig, blackface, throat, and arms, red shirt thrown back from throat, with sleeves rolled up to elbow, overalls in boots. WIN-KYE. White pants, blue blouse, cue. SILAS. Red wig, mustache, and goatee, tourist blouse, long boots, slouch hat. MOTHER. Gray wig, calico dress. AGXES. Travelling-dress and hat. MOSELLE. First Dress. Travelling-dress, hat and feather, neat and tasty. Second Dress. Short red dress, blue kerchief knotted loosely on breast, light stockings, boots, broad-brimmed straw hat, arms bare, hair free. M84448 X THE LOST MINE. ACT i. Wooded and rocky fiat; inclined run R., masked by rocks, leading up from a rocky platform C. ; door and part of a log cabin, L., creepers and vines running over //, rocks and foliage; L. mask the remainder; R. rocks and foliage, rock for a seat R., near 2 entrance. . seat L., between platform and door; on roc '. R. in large white letters, " Bus ted' s Balm,' paint-pail in left hand, and brush in right, $" [LAS S is discovered giving a finishing touch. SIL.__ . , Oh ! here's to good old Busted, Write him down ; Oh ! here's to good old Busted, Write him down ; Oh ! here's to good old Busted, For his balm is always trusted : Write him down, write him down, write him down. (Stands off, and looks at his work.) Again the missionary of health plants his victorious banner on a giant bowlder, that shall forever point the westward hoers to the fountain of health. (Sefs down pail, and looks at his hands.) A foun- tain of water would be more to my taste just now : the handle of that pail is in a bad condition, but I'll fix it. (Takes a newspaper from his pocket, and wraps it round handle while speaking.) Big scheme of Busted to spread his balm all over the continent, from Switcham, Vt., to the top of the Sierra Nevadas. Such outward applications of the infal- lible awaken curiosity, curiosity stirs the sluggish brain to action, the active brain arouses the torpid system, and 5 \ /TKEj LCN5T MINE. health reanimates! jt{ie sinking frame. For further particu- lars see 1 sm^ll bills. * : That M-'s^a little shaky; I'll touch it up a little, or some of these hardy miners will take it for a bad spell: and, being so choice in their language, that would never do. (Works with brush. Sings), Oh \ here's to good old Busted. (Enter from cabin MOTHER MERTON, with broom) MOTHER. Who on earth is that howling? SILAS (sings), Write him down, MOTHER. A stranger \ What's he doing to that rock ? SILAS (sings), Oh \ here's to good old Busted. MOTHER. Busted \ I do believe he's trying to blast it right before my door blow us all up. (Brings broom down .an his back smartly) Here, stop that \ SILAS (turning, and presenting brush like a pistol). Look out for paint. (MOTHER steps back.) I beg your par- don; but, if there is anything in my personal appearance that leads you to suspect my jacket needs dusting, a gentler application of the duster might save the dustor some strength, and the dusteed much wind. Hang it \ you nearly took away my breath. MOTHER. Served you right. Who are you ? Where did you come from ? What's that daub? SILAS (aside). Daub \ shade of Michael Angelo \ (Aloud) Madam, I am a missionary. MOTHER. Good gracious \ A parson. Why didn't you say so before ? Settled ? SILAS. No. (Rubs shoulders) I thought I was just now. MOTHER. Where do you hail from, parson ? SILAS. Switcham, Vt. That answers your second in- terrogatory. The third I will save you the trouble of repeating by announcing the fact that the daub, as you are pleased to call my etching, is the good tidings I am ordained to proclaim. That's one of my sermons ; and sermons in stones, though not original with me, have at least the merit of brevity to recommend them. THE LOST MINE. 7 MOTHER. " Busted's Balm." Are you Busted ? SILAS. No ; but I shall be if you ask any more questions. MOTHER. Oh, come, be sociable ! I came from Vermont myself. SILAS. Possible ? MOTHER. Yes: twelve years ago, with my husband, ex- pecting to return in two years with a fortune; but in two years husband died. SILAS. Ah ! A w/jfortune. MOTHER. And here I've been ever since, the mother of this camp; and my boys white, black, and yellow take good care that I have my share of the dust. SILAS (shrugs shoulders}. I understand with a broom. MOTHER. La, parson ! don't bear malice : do you suppose I'd have struck you, if I'd an idea of your cloth ? SILAS. Thank you. My coat is rather thin. MOTHER. Expect to locate here ? The boys would be mighty glad to have you ; and they'd see that you had a peaceful hearing, if they had to shoot the whole congre- gation. SILAS. Would they? Very kind of the boys, but I hope they'd leave somebody to pass the contribution-box. MOTHER. Vermont would see to the dust. SILAS. Who's Vermont ? MOTHER. The best of the lot, steady as a clock, but a powerful wrestler; that's his weakness. SILAS. Is it? I've a strong weakness in that line too. MOTHER. You'd have no show with him. Now, par- son SILAS. Oh, drop that ! This person is no parson, but, if the old saying is true, just the opposite ; for I am a deacon's son. MOTHER. The deuce you are ! SILAS. No : the Deuce's grandson. MOTHER. What's your name ? SILAS. Silas Steele, jun. I'm the little one, and dad's the big Steele. I'm travelling for Busted's Balm. MOTHER. Where do you expect to find it? SILAS. 'Tis found already. And, to spread abroad the glorious fact, I've taken a large contract; and it's the biggest undertaking any undertaker ever undertook. I never real- ized before that there was such a strong objection to clean 8 THE LOST MINE. white paint; but I've found it out now, for I've been pep- pered by indignant shot-guns, pounded by angry broomsticks, booted by revengeful brogans, and bulldozed by man's faith- ful friends, the puppies. MOTHER. Then, you're only a pill-pedler, after all. SILAS. A pill-pedler ! great Busted ! MOTHER. You said you were a missionary. SILAS. So I am. What nobler mission than mine, to proclaim to a suffering world, sunk in misery by aches and ^torments, the advent of the wonderful cure-all that will eracli- jcate the ills with which the body groans, from bald head to 'bunions? For further particulars see small bills. (Looks 0^~R.) iAh ! there's a bowlder I missed ; must secure that before Foggarty's Liniment, or some other quack nostrum, defaces the fair face of nature with a lie. (Goes np run, turns.) Good-by, widow. Give the parson's benediction to the boys. (Exit.} MOTHER. Well, of all harum-scarum chaps, he's the ngueyist; I couldn't get a word in edgeways. (Enter VERMONT, R. 2 E.) VERMONT. Little one come, widcler ? MOTHER. No: supper's all ready for her. VERMONT. Stage's about due. Widder, I've a little mat- ter on my mind I'd like to pan out afore the little one gets here. MOTHER. About her? VERMONT (sits on rock R.). Yes, about her. It's ten years, widder, since your old man passed in his checks, and had a hole scooped for him out there under the hill. MOTHER (sighs). Ah, yes ! VERMONT. It was jest about that time that I dropped into your ranch one dark night, with a little girl in my arms. She might have been a -five-year old MOTHER. Or six: we never could make out. She was burning with fever. You found her in a basket, floating in the creek. VERMONT. Exactly. That's what I told you, and I brought her to you because you was the only female woman in the camp. MOTHER. Yes : bless her ! she brought luck with her. VERMONT. You bet she did. Those little ones always do. Well, I read a long while ago, while prospecting in the THE LOST MINE. 9 big book, that's pay-dirt way down to bed-rock, about that king pin what struck the little game " Faro," and named it nrter hisself, how he had a darter what found a baby float- ing in a creek, and called it " Moses ; " and, as I warnt goin' back on scripter, I named our little one Moses too. MOTHER. And, as that was not a girl's name, I changed it to Moselle. VERMONT. That was too Frenchy for the boys ; so they split the dif, and called her Mosey. MOTHER. And Mosey is just worshipped by the boys. I believe, if you would let them, they would cover her with gold. VERMONT (rising). Likely. But, when I washed that nug- get outer the creek, I staked a claim in which I wanted no partners. Says I, " Vermont, here's a chance for you to use your dust, and don't you forget it." I believe the angels dropped one of their little sisters into the creek, to make an ugly old sinner ashamed of his wicker 1 " across his eyes.) Widder, you've bee a good one. MOTHER. And you, the best o you've sent her off to school, and to us VERMONT. With Tom Carew, our Tom, the handsomest and squarest miner in the diggin's. I wouldn't trust the bringin' of her home to any other of the boys. MOTHER. Except Dick : she's very foncl of Dick. VERMONT. Dandy Dick, as the boys call him. Oh, he's well enough for a short acquaintance. He's only been here six months, and there's something about him Well, if Mosey likes him, it's all right. JUBE (outside R.). Hi, hi ! Mudder Merton, de stage am come, Mosey's to hum. (Enter JUBE, down run, with a hat-box under one arm, a I'alise in hand, followed by WiN-KYE with a valise in left hand, an umbrella spread oi'er his head. JUBE comes down L., WiN-KYE drops valise on platform, tumbles over it, and mixes himself up with the umbrella?) JUBE. Golly, see dat ar mongo ! hist yerself, hist yerself. Want to broke ebery bone in dat ar ambril ? WIN-KYE (jumping up and closing umbrella). Umblillee spillee all ligh'. IO THE LOST MINE. JUBE. Bar's a surprise party comin', Mudder Merton. Golly ! such a bobbycue. Smoove yer liar, Vermont, smoove yer har, take yer boots outer yer pants; dust de cheers, mud- der, dust all de cheers ; dar hasn't been sich an arribal since since the Queen ob Shebang went wislting ole King Solo- man Isaacs, nebber. WiN-KvE (puffing). Jube walkee fast, talkee fast, me no catchee bleath, me puffee. VERMONT. What's the matter, Jube ? it's only our Mosey. WIN-KYE. Mosey nice gaily, velly nice gaily; me chin chin Mosey, Mosey chin chin me; all ligh'. JUBE. Mosey. Yah, yah, she's come, bress her ! Jes' as lobely and libely as eber. Why, de boys jes' crowd roun' dat ar stage, and shook her han's, and she shook back, an' laff ; golly, how she laff ! might heard her a mile off. But dar's anuder. MOTHER. Another, Jube ? JUBE. Yas indeed, a rale lady; no riff-raff, but de real ting, de dust in de pan, jes a seraphine, hansom', oh, my ! an' sweet, sweet golly! when I seed that lilly foot ob hers creepin' out ob der stage, it jest smashed me. WIN-KYE. She snapee eyes, she smilee so (grins), she smashee me. MOSELLE (outside). Never mind me, Tom, help Agnes: my foot is on my native heath, my name's (appears on run} ALL. Mosey? MOSELLE. Yes, Mosey, Moses, Moselle, we three. Ha, ha, ha! that's me. (Runs down into Mother Aferton's arms.) O you dear old soul, ain't I glad I'm home ! MOTHER. 'Tis a happy day for us, darling. MOSELLE (breaking away). Where's daddy ? VERMONT. Right here, little one. MOSELLE (throws her arms about his neck). Here's your nugget, daddy. Ain't you glad to get it back? VERMONT. Glad? that's no name for it (holds her off\ Let's have a look at you, sunshine all over, and as fine as a fiddle in your store-clothes. MOSELLE. I'll not be in them long, daddy, so take a good look at them; for I'm just dying to get into my old climbing- suit, and away for a scamper over the rocks. Ah, Jube! there's lots of fun ahead. THE LOST MINE. II JUBE. Yas, indeed, honey ! jes' waitin' fer yer to touch it off. MOSELLE. Ha, ha, ha ! I'm a match for it. Ain't I, Win ? Wix-KYE. You sclatchee match, blow high-sky, fitt ! MOSELLE (in front o/WiN-KvE). Oh, you queer bit of broken China! I'd like to set you on a shelf at school, and set your head a-going to please the boys. (Points forefingers up, and nods head a la Chinese.} WiK-KYE (imitating her}. No settee up fol the boys. MOSELLE. Ha, ha, ha! but you must go. Ah, daddy! I'm as full of mischief as I was the day I threw the powder- flask into your frying-pan. (All laugh} JUBE. Dat was rough on de ole man. MOSELLE. Jube remembers it ; for, while he was helping daddy put a new roof on and patch up the rent, I hid his shovel and pick; and he couldn't find it for a week. (All, but JUBE laugh} Wix-KYE (points to JUBE). That b 1 MOSELLE. So look out for yourst folks : I give you fair warning. Min want it for my back hair. WIX-KYE. All ligh' ! you catchee, you clippee, you Mcsee, me mosee too. TOM (outside}. Be careful of that rock, Miss. Give me your hand. Now you're all right. MOSELLE. Oh! what am I thinking of? Mother, I've brought you a visitor, Miss Fairlee, one of our teachers, and a very dear friend of mine. JUBE. 'Dat's what I tole yer, de Queen ob Shebang. (ToM and AGNES appear on run descending} MOTHER. She is heartily welcome. TOM (on platform}. You hear that. Miss, she speaks for us all. A rough set we miners, rough and rugged as the soil in which we search for gold ; but there are many among us who remember homes far off, made happy by mothers, wives, and sisters. So have no fears. To the rude cabins that shelter us, to the homely fare that sustains us, and to the protection of strong arms, you are heartily welcome. (Leads ht-r down to MOTHER MERTOX.) MOTHER (takes her hand). Indeed you are ! AGNES. Thank you. I fear I shall trespass on your kindness. But the hope of finding some trace of a very dear friend has induced me to accept Moselle's invitation. 12 THE LOST MINE. , MOSELLE. Agnes, you must know my daddy. (Brings VERMONT up c. from L.) Miss Fairlee, daddy; daddy, Miss Fairlee. VERMONT (bowing). Very glad to meet you. AGNES (offering her hand}. And I am proud to know you. Moselle is a bright scholar : she has made many friends at school, but 1 know the warmest corner in her heart is kept for you. VERMONT. Thank you, marm: if I can serve you, call on Vermont every time. JUBE. An' when de ole man ain't roun', jes' look dis way. I's spry, and dreffel willin'. WIN-KYE. Alle same so lookee me. AGNES. Thank you all. MOTHER. You must be hungry after your long ride. Supper's all ready. MOSELLE. Supper ! Where is it? I never was so hungry but once : that's now. MOTHER. This way, Miss Fairlee. (Exeunt MOTHER and AGNES into cabin.} JUBE. Come on, Win. Tote de luggage in. (Exit into cabin.} WIN-KYE. All ligh' ! Schoolee-marm some punkee. (Exit to cabin} MOSELLE. Ain't she lovely, daddy ? (Goes to door, turns, and looks at TOM, who stands L. c. looking at door.) Tom (puts her hand on heart, and sighs}, I'd pity you, but I'm so hungry. Ha, ha, ha ! (Exit.} (VERMONT crosses, and sits on rock R., watching TOM, who stands with his eyes on door.} TOM. Lovely? Never was a more tempting bait set before the eyes of a hungry miner to lure him back to civ- ilization. Out of a world from which we have banished our- selves for greed of gold, she comes, gentle and refined, to show us the lost state of peace and happiness to which, though the earth unbosom its richest treasures, we hardened wretches can never return. VERMONT. Tom, what yer starin' at that door for ? Ain't in love, air yer? TOM (comes down}. In love? I never yet saw a woman that could bring a blush to my face. That's one of the in- dications, isn't it? THE LOST MINE. . 13 VERMONT. Exactly. MOTHER (sticking her head out of door}. Tom, come and have some supper. (Disappears.} TOM. No, thank yer: I'm not hungry VERMONT. That's another indication. TOM. Vermont, isn't she lovely ? VERMONT. The widder ? TOM. The widow ! No : the other. VERMONT. Mosey? TOM. Miss Fairlee, Agnes Fairlee, Agnes, what a name ! So poetical ! Agnes, so sweet ! VERMONT. Spell it, Tom : there's nothing like lengthened sweetness long drawn out. TOM. Old man, you're laughing at me. You needn't: I'm all right. VERMONT. Not in love ? TOM. Not a bit of it. VERMONT. Ain't goin' back on the comfort TOM. No, old man; but when that VERMONT. Agnes (smacks his lips} does sweet. TOM. When Miss Fairlee placed her little hand in my arm, and looked up into my face, I felt as though I would like to die for her. VERMONT. Must have been a killing look. TOM. And when she spoke, the queerest feeling There it is again. Old man, I feel sick. (Enter JUBE and WiN-KYE/h?/// cabin} JUBE. Sick? Don't you do it. Dar ain't a fusycian widdin fourteen miles. \ViN-K\'E. Me bling pillee man velly quick. VERMONT. All the doctor he wants is in the cabin. Tom, you're talking like a blamed fool; but it's jest nater: when a woman touches the fancy of a man, it's like the wind among the timber. The little ones sway and rustle, and seem mighty tickled ; but the big brawny trees groan and tremble as though their last day had come. Shake yourself together, boy, jump into your hole, a good steady diet of pick and shovel is a sure cure for love or bile. (JERDEN appears on run} JERDEN (speaking as he comes down to stage). Morning, mates : where can I find one Tom Carew ? 14 THE LOST MINE. TOM. I answer to that name, stranger. JERDEN. Ah! I'm in luck. They say you're the best in- formed miner in these parts. I'm looking fora man who came from the East, Richard Fairlee. TOM. Don't know him, stranger. VERMONT. Names don't count here. Most of us is baptized and rechristened when we arrive. What does he look like ? JUBE. Has he got all his arms and legs, years and eyes? WiN-KYE. Any strawbelly marks, John ? JERDEN. I have traced him by many aliases. How he looks now, I cannot say ; but when he left the East he looked like this. Takes photograph from pocket-book, and hands it to TOM, who looks at it, VERMONT, JUBE, and WiN-KYE crowd round him.} TOM. A good-looking fellow. I don't know him. VERMONT. Don't belong in this camp. JUBE. No, sir : dat air feller ain't got no beard, an' has light complex, jes' like Win-Kye. WIN-KYE. No Chinaman; 'Melican man plaps, Ilishman plaps ; no Chinaman. JERDEN. Well, there he is ; and he's wanted by a bank. TOM. Robbery ? JERDEN (c.). Forgery, twenty thousand dollars. (VERMONT and JUBE R., TOM and WIN-KYE L.) TOM. You're a detective ? JERDEN. Yes. Shall I have your help in securing this fugitive from justice ? TOM (coldly). We're not man-hunters. Many a poor fel- low, made criminal by passion or misfortune, has drifted among us to be made better by a life of hardship and priva- tion. We ask no man's past history. If he be knave or fool, he shows his hand, and he is lost. Miner law is swift and sure. VERMONT. You've your answer, stranger. JERDEN. All right: I'll find my man without your help; but, if you should change your minds, there's a thousand dol- lars for the man who gives information. TOM and VERMONT (draw revolvers, cover JERDEN, and sf>eak together). You get ! (JERDEN turns, and ntns up run, against SILAS, who is de- scending.} THE LOST MINE. 15 SILAS. Look out for paint. (Exit JERDEN.) Seems to be in a hurry. (Comes down to stage.} How are you, boys ? White, black, and yellow. The widow said she had an assort- ment of colors, and here they are. Put up your shooting- irons, gentlemen: I'm a friend of the widow's. I left my card here an hour ago. (Points to rock.} TOM. Any friend of the widow's is heartily welcome. VERMONT. From the east, stranger? SILAS (sets paint-pail down near rock}. Switcham, Vt. Name, Silas Steele. Occupation, painter and decorator. For further particulars seek any prominent bowlder, and look out for paint. JUBE. Golly ! dar's a heap er talent in dat ar brush, I know ; fur I used to whitewash myself. (WiN-KYE edges up to paint, examines it. takes brush, and daubs a little on rock during the following scene, dropping it, and taking it up as SILAS turns and watches him SILAS. Whitewash yourself? You took a big co TOM. Stopping with the widow ? SILAS. No : only a chance acquaintance. She ca. Vermont. VERMONT. So did I. SILAS. Did you? Then, you're the man I've been look- ing for. VERMONT (starts}. Eh? SILAS. My old man took it into his head about twelve years ago to start west, minin' ; and we've never seen him from that day to this. Nice old fellow, the deacon, but queer. Started off without so much as a good-by, Hannah, and has been lost to his family, the church, and Switcham, ever since. But we heard from him occasionally in the shape of gold-dust to mother, but no word- or clew to his whereabouts. Mother's worried so, I've come out here to look him up if he ; s alive. Any of you know Deacon Steele ? JURE. Deacon who ? Golly! we's all out ob deacons : dey fall from grace when dey git out here. VERMONT. You're wasting time, youngster: the deacon's dead and buried. SILAS. You knew him ? VERMONT. No : but deacons die young here. TOM. Perhaps 'tis Nevada. VERMONT and JUBE. Nevada ! l6 THE LOST MINE. SILAS. Who's Nevada ? TOM. The mystery of the mines : you may meet him here to-day, to-morrow in some gloomy gulch, a ragged, crazy miner, seeking, as he has sought for ten years, a lost mine. SILAS. A lost mine ? TOM (c), This was his story as I have heard it from old miners. He was known among them a dozen years ago, as a quiet, reserved man, working by himself, wandering off prospecting alone. At times they missed him. He had been off for a week, when, one night, he came in staggering, faint from the loss of blood, with a deep wound in his head, and the wild air of a maniac. From his broken speech, they gathered this : He had found indications of gold, had opened a tunnel, and worked far in, all by himself, mind, fol- lowing some theory of his own, when suddenly, with his pick, he loosened a stone above his head, which fell and crushed him; not, however, until he had caught one glimpse of a rich vein of gold. Poor fellow, he could never find his way back, and none of his mates could help him. They would have believed his story to be but the wild speech of his wan- dering mind, had they not found in his tangled hair, mingled with dirt and blood, flakes of gold. VERMONT. Poor old chap. SILAS. With a gold-mine in his hair. Rich old beggar. TOM. Nevada is no beggar; though no cabin is shut against him, no miner's friendly hand withheld. He will neither eat nor sleep until he has earned both food and shel- ter. For a willing mate in an ugly tunnel, with a steady grip and a strong arm, give me Nevada. NEVADA (outside). Who calls Nevada? (Dashes down run, and stands c. ; music pianissimo^) Nevada, the gold king. My dominions are beneath the hills, stretching away in veins broad and deep, so rich that I could overturn empires ; but I am shut out, the golden doors are closed against me, and the key, the key, is lost. (Puts his hand to head, drops his head, and comes down slowly ; music stops.} TOM. Ah ! it's one of his off days. Nevada, old man, don't you know me ? NEVADA (slowly raises his head, looks wildly at TOM, then his face brightens}. Tom, Tom Carew. (They sliake hands warmly.} You want me. Many a day we have worked to- gether. (Looks round.} And here's Vermont. THE LOST MINE. I/ VERMONT (grasping his hand). Right here, pard. NEVADA. Ah ! old grizzly and woolly. JUBE. Dat's me to a har. NEVADA. And little pigtail. WIN-KYE. Piggee tail velly well, John; alle same you, John ? NEVADA. I'm hungry and tired, Tom : give me a pick. TOM. Not to-night, old friend : you shall go to my ranch, and to-morrow NEVADA. To-morrow. (Looks about wildly. All draw away from him. Music pianissimo.} To-morrow I must go back, back along the ravine, three miles, then climb the bowlders, to where that fallen giant lies across the stream ; over it to the gorge a mile beyond, and then and then I'm lost straight ahead to the right,. to the left, again and again, no trail, no trace ; and yet 'tis there, ever before my eyes, the wealth of a kingdom, the jewel of Nevada w* *~ me forever. (Covers his face with his hands TOM. Ah ! if we could only keep him fron SILAS. What a wreck ! But he ? s not the by gold. NEVADA. Far off, a mother and her chile. ,-,tut ! out MOTHER'S neck) MOTHER. Why, what's the matter, child? MOSELLE. Don't ask me. Look there. (Enter down run. DICK, his ha)ids fastened behind him, headdown, followed by JERDEX, with a pistol in his Jiand) JERDEX. Attempt escape, and you are a dead man. (DiCK comes slowly down, goes R., and sits on rock. JERDEN stands beside him.) JUBE. By golly, he's took ! (Enter VERMONT, R, 2 E.) VERMONT. Who's took ? JUBE. Dandy Dick. He's de twenty fousan feller. VERMONT. Ah ! we've a traitor in the camp. Who has done this ? (Crosses to L ) ' V,- TOM (descends run}. Tom Carew. ' VERMONT. You, Tom? (Levels pistol) Then, take that. MOSELLE (throws herself before TOM). No, daddy, not Tom. O Tom ! why have you done this ? TOM. For your sake, little one : he has deceived you. DICK. 'Tis false ! (Enter AGXES, from cabin) AGNES. Who's that ? Ah ! (Runs across stage, and falls on DICK'S neck) Richard ! DICK. Agnes ! TOM. Look there, Moselle. (Points to DICK.) 26 THE LOST MINE. MOSELLE. No, no! (Throws herself into VERMONT'S arms.} O daddy, my heart is breaking ! (CURTAIN ON PICTURE. TOM c., points to DICK. AGNES kneeling, her arms about DICK'S neck. JERDEN behind them. JUBE L. c., scratching his head. MOTHER at door L., her hands clasped, looking at DICK. VERMONT with MOSELLE'S arms about his neck L.) THE LOST MINE. ACT II. Interior of VERMONT'S cabin of rough logs, door c., window with swinging shutter L. c. mountain, wood and rocks as in ACT L ; fireplace R., with fire; stool near. Table L. c., with stools R. and L. of it. Bench R., near first entrance, on which DICK is discovered asleep, covered with a blanket. JERDEN sitting R. of table watching DICK; WIN-KYE at window, looking in y candle burning on table. Lights down. Wix-KYE. All ligh' ! Catchee man, and man he catchee : all ligh'. Jube he say 'Win-Kye watchee catchee man; no let catchee man kille man he catchee.' Gollee ! me pleceman : all ligh'. JERDEX. How he sleeps ! No wonder, poor devil ! These miners are any thing but sociable, when the officers of the law are to be entertained. Every cabin shut against us. Fortunately old Vermont took himself off to-night ; and I've taken possession, no doubt to be turned out on his return. This beard's mighty uncomfortable. (Takes off beard, and lays it on table?) Wix-KYE. Ki, yi ! Catchee man shabee click, no soapee, no lazor. JERDEN. He little dreams who his captor is. Curse him ! he stood between me and the dearest wish of my life ; but I have him now. A rare streak of luck. I forged the check he bungled with. Like a fool, he cut and run. That was all right, for had he faced the music it might have been hot for me ; but she, Agnes Fairlee, she, too, disappeared. I had risked all for nothing. But as Jerden, the detective, I have tracked him, and found her. Now let me get him away from here : she will follow, and then (DiCK moves?) Ah ! (Hastily replaces beard.} WIX-KYE. Catchee man flaid he catchee cold. Sh ! schooiemarm. Me hoppee stick. (Runs by door, and exit R.) 28 THE LOST MINE. JERDEN (rises). Ah ! who's there ? (Enter, past window through door, AGNES.) AGNES (at door}. May I speak with your prisoner? JERDEN (bows). I hate to refuse a lady ; but my orders are, to let none communicate with him until he is placed in jail. AGNES. In jail ? JERDEN. Still, as you seem to be a very dear friend of his AGNES. You will grant my request? JERDEN. If you will give me your word he shall not escape. AGNES. You will leave us alone ? JERDEN. Certainly. AGNES. I give you my pledge he shall not escape. JERDEN (goes up). Then, I will retire out of hearing, but not out of sight. My eyes will still be upon him ; and, if he attempts flight, a well-aimed bullet shall be the signal for my return. (Exit past window cffL.) (AGNES looks after him, then comes down, and taps DICK on shoulder^) AGNES. Richard ! DICK (starting up). No, no, Moselle, 'tis false, false. (Rubs his eyes.) Ah ! Agnes, is it you ? AGNES. Yes, Richard. How can you sleep at such a time ? DICK. At such a time? It is the first real rest I have had for a year. Agnes, if you had skulked and hid as I have, if you had started from sleep at every sound, had trembled at the approach of every stranger, had feared an enemy would spring from every bush you passed, you would know what a blessed relief it is to feel that all is over. AGNES (sits on stool R. of table). Then, why did you fly from justice ? DICK. Because I was a coward. Afraid to face that same justice, and so have suffered more torments than even her sternest sentence would have inflicted. Now I am going back to face her, and proclaim my innocence. AGNES. Your innocence ? DICK. Have you ever doubted it? AGNES. Yes. Your strange flight, your silence for a year, the circumstances THE LOST MINE. 2Q DICK. Were all against me. Agnes, I am suffering for the crime of another. You knew him, Stephen Corliss. AGNES. Your friend ? DICK. So he called himself. You know how we became acquainted. He was a friend of the junior partner of the firm of Gordon, Green, & Co., by whom I was employed. He took a fancy to me, invited me to his rooms, insisted on my being his companion in drives, to the theatres, and in other amusements. It was at his request that I brought him home, and introduced him to you. AGNES. I never liked him : I told you his companion- ship would do you no good. DICK. You did. One day he asked me to step round to the bank, and cash a check made in his favor by Gordon, Green, Co. It was for twenty thousand dollars. I was not surprised at the amount ; as I knew he was considered a man of wealth, and had large dealings with the concern. I laughingly asked him if he was not afraid to trust me with so large an amount, to which he replied, " No : if you are not afraid to draw it." I went to the bank, agreeing to meet him at his rooms with the money. On presenting it at the bank, the teller looked at the check suspiciously, and took it to the cashier. One of the clerks whispered to me, " Look out for yourself, Dick, that check's, a forgery." Forgery ! I started at the word : to me it had always been a horror. I left the bank, not knowing what I was doing. I flew to Corliss's rooms : the door was locked, and on it a placard, " Gone to Europe." I turned and ran, that word " forgery " burning into my brain, through the city, out into country, as if pursued by tormenting fiends. A fever attacked me ; and, when I recovered, I found myself in the hands of strangers. Then commenced my wanderings, which have ended here where they should have begun, in capture. AGNES. Have you never communicated with your em- ployers, avowed your innocence ? DICK. Never. AGXES. Why, Richard, you have acted like a madman ! DICK. Haven't I ? Perhaps the word " Fool " would be better. How easily I might have cleared myself. How Oh, well! I'm not the first man who has been wrecked on the reefs of " Might have been." AGXES. But this man's motive ? Why did he act thus ? 30 THE LOST MINE. DICK. Because he loved you. I was in the way. AGNES. Loved me ? Then, through that love I can save you. DICK. Perhaps you can, but you shall not. I'll take my chances with the law. ^ AGNES. I shall return with you. DICK. No : you must stay here in the charge of a friend, the only man I can trust, Tom Carew. AGNES. He your friend ? Why, he betrayed you ! DICK. So he did: I forgot that. But then, he put me out of my misery, so we'll forgive him. AGNES. You may, but I, never. I had begun to like your friend. (TOM appears at window.} I thought him good and noble : 1 find him base and treacherous. I hate this Tom Carew. (Crosses to L.) TOM (aside). If you don't, you're not the woman I thought you. DICK. Oh ! Tom's a good fellow, only just now he's in love. (Enter TOM, door c.) TOM (to AGNES). If he had no other excuse than that, he would be what you just now styled him, base and treacherous. AGNES. Have you not proved yourself so, betrayed your friend, deceived me ? TOM. Deceived you ? AGNES. Did you not promise to seek him I sought, to bring him to me? How have you kept your word? By betraying him to the man from whom I sought to save him. Is this a token of your boasted regard for mothers, wives, and sisters ? TOM. Hear me before you condemn. In these wild lands is a tender flower, gladdening the hearts of rough miners by its fragrance and beauty. From its coming it has been fondly cherished and tenderly cared for. Yesterday it was trampled in the dust by one who knew the fearful wrong he was committing. DICK. Ah ! the flower is Moselle. TOM. And the despoiler you. That fact known among the miners, your life would answer for it; but, knowing tlu-rc was one to whom you were very dear, for her sake I checked the first promptings of vengeance, and gave you into the hands of justice. THE LOST MINE. 31 DICK. To save me from Judge Lynch. I see. TOM. Whose sentence you richly' deserve. DICK. Don't be too sure of that.' TOM. Now, having saved you from Judge Lynch, it is your turn to save yourself from the detective. My horse is tied outside. Take yourself off. AGNES. No, you must not attempt escape : his eyes are upon you. A movement, and he will shoot. MOSELLE (outside). Ha, ha, ha! (Runs in door, c.) Shoot ! I guess not, when he's strapped to a tree. Hear him holler. JERDEN (in the distance). Help ! Help ! DICK. Moselle, what does this mean? MOSELLE. Fun! 1 told you I was all ready for it; and so, while Tom held the "catchee man," as Win calls him, I gave him the benefit of a rope. DICK. Hung him? MOSELLE. Ha, ha, ha ! No, only quartered him under a tree. TOM. No\v, Dick, off with you. Here's my dust (offers bag), and the horse will carry two. DICK. Not your dust, Tom. I'm to have a companion: who is it ? TOM (with a glance at Agnes). Can you ask? DICK. I can. Moselle, will you go with me ? MOSELLE. Me ? TOM (seizes MOSELLE and places her behind him\ Do you dare, before (points to AGNES) the one who has come miles to reclaim you ? You know where your duty lies. Take her (takes AGXES by the hand, and 'leads her up to DICK), and away ! DICK. What ! Run off with my own sister? TOM (staggering back to window). Sister? MOSELLE. His sister! Ain't this jolly! O Dick! (Runs into his arms.} I'm just dying for a run. DICK. Then, off we go. (Exit door c., with arm about MOSELLE.) TOM. His sister ! (AGXES sits L. of table, throws he*- arms on table, face on her arms.} Well, Tom Carew, you've struck bed-rock now, and no mistake. His sister ; and there she is, grieving, because he's gone. (Comes down R.) And she hates me. " I had just begun to like your friend." Hang 32 THE LOST MINE. it ! and I, like a blamed mule, have kicked over the pan, and scattered the dust. (Sits R. of table, puts his arms on it, looks at AGNES a moment, then puts his face down on his arms. AGNES looks up, smiling,} AGNES (aside). He is a good fellow: onlv, as Dick says, he's in love. (TOM raises his head. She quickly drops hers, as before.) TOM. I wish I could say something to comfort her ; but no: she hates me. (Drops as before. She raises her head.) AGNES. How nobly he has acted, good fellow ! Better than that, he's noble ! (ToM moves. She drops her head. After a pause, both heads raised at the same time.) AGNES (smiling). Have you been dreaming, Mr. Carew ? TOM. I wish I had. AGNES. Dreaming of "the tender flower that gladdened the hearts of the rough miners," or of " the visionary woman" ? TOM. Whom I see when I look at you. And you hate me. AGNES. No ! I admire you. TOM (rising). MissFairlee! AGNES (rising). You have saved my brother from a hor- rible death. You have offered him the 'means of escape. TOM. He will escape : my horse is swift. AGNES. No ! He is innocent of crime, so will not make the attempt. He is probably now in the hands of the de- tective. TOM. But he went with Moselle. AGNES. Yes, to free the detective. TOM. Well, I've blundered again. And you are his sis- ter. I never dreamed of that. Ah, if I had a sister ! AGNES. You would be very fond of her ? TOM. Indeed I should. AGNKS. Well, as you have none, and you are Dick's part- ner, why shouldn't \ou he fond of his sister? TOM. Miss Fairlee ! Agnes! May I call you Agnes? AGNES. Dick does, and you are his partner. TOM. Agnes, I love you. AGNES. And I love TOM (holding out his hands). Well ? AGNES. To have you love me. (Walks into his arms.) TOM (clasping). Oh, I've found a nugget! THE LOST MINE. 33 (Enter MOSELLE, c.) MOSELLE. Lucky Tom. How much does it weigh ? (AcxES and TOM separate?) What are you doing with my teacher, Tom? Has she set you conjugating? I love you love or do you both love ? I guess if you'd had as .much of that as I had, you'd want a vacation. TOM. Well, we've been considering Dick's case. MOSELLE. And Dick's settled his case by giving himself up to the detective, whom he mag-nan-5-mously that's a big word : hope I got it right set free from the tree ; and here they are. (Enter DICK and JERDEX.) JERDEN (approaching TOM threateningly]. So, you are the one with whom I am to settle. TOM. Yes: I'm the one (presenting pistol}, and here's the other. JERDEN (retreating}. Take care : that might go off. TOM. I'm afraid it will, if you don't. Hark you, stranger! I gave Dick up under a mistake; and I'm afraid, that, when the boys find it out, you'll have hard work to get away. So, what's'your figger? JERDEN. 1 don't understand you. TOM. No? And you call yourself a detective. When banks send out detectives, they want the rogue and the money. When they can t have both, they'll take one. You can't have Dick ; so, what's the figger ? JERDEN. Twenty thousand dollars. TOM. Twenty ! Look here, stranger, ain't you settin' it a leetle high ? There's not so much money in the whole camp. JERDEN (aside). So I thought. He's mine. (Aloud.} That's the sum. If you can't pay it, I take my man. TOM. Never. DICK. Oh, yes, he will ! I'm a little anxious to get East, and he'll pay the travelling expenses. TOM. Well, you are a cool one ; but you just wait until I can wake up some of the boys. I shouldn't wonder No. no. Twenty AGXES (to TOM). Don't interfere, Tom: Dick's innocent. TOM. All right, if you say so. AGNES. Moselle, we must go. Dick, will you walk with me ? I've something particular to say to you. 34 THE LOST MINE. DICK. If Mr. Jerden makes no objection. JERDEN. All right. I'll follow. DICK. Of course. (Gives arm to AGNES, and goes to door.} AGNES. Good-night, Tom. TOM. Good-night, Agnes. DICK. Agnes! Tom, you haven't TOM. Oh, yes, I have! Rich find. A nugget, Dick. She's mine. MOSELLE. Yes, Dick : I caught them ;;//;/^ing. JERDEN (aside}. Ah ! I have a rival here. DICK. Tom, old boy, it's glorious: you were made for each other. (Exit witJi AGNES, door c.) MOSELLE. Tom, hunt up daddy: he's lots of dust. JEKDEN. Miss Moselle, shall I attend you ? MOSELLE. You? TOM. No: Moselle goes with me. MOSELLE. No, Tom, you look out for daddy. Come, Mr. Jerden, I'm your prisoner. JERDEN (offers arm}. Prisoner? MOSELLE (taking his arm}. Why- not? One good turn deserves another: you were mine a little while ago, now I am yours : ha, ha, ha ! how you did struggle to escape ! JERDEN. Ah ! that was clever. Do you know, I would like to present you with something for that? MOSELLE. With what, pray? JERDEN. Something ladies are fond of. MOSELLE. Oh, do tell me quick ! JERDEN (showing handcuffs}. Bracelets. MOSELLE. Mercy ! come along. (Exeunt c.) TOM. Twenty oh, it's no use to think of it; but I must and will find a way to save him ! (NEVADA passes window and enters door c.) NEVADA (excitedly}. Tom Carew, Tom, quick, rouse the boys: I've found it! TOM. The mine? NEVADA. Yes, yes ! TOM. Glory ! Dick's free. Yes, Nevada, you've found- it where, where ? NEVADA. Hush, not so loud; we must be secret, secret: while I was asleep it all came to me. TOM. Yes. THE LOST MINE. 35 NEVADA. I saw the narrow path my feet had made in many journeys to it, I saw the tunnel I had dug into the earth, the rocks I had blasted, I can go straight to it. And then I saw, Tom, I saw an open vein of running gold, pouring out broad and deep. I dabbled my hands in it, dashed it over my head, and then TOM. O heavens ! 'tis only his madness. NEVADA. I woke. TOM. To find it but a dream. NEVADA. Yes, yes; but there's luck in dreams, and I shall find it. (Shivers.} I'm cold: may I sit by the fire? TOM. Yes, Nevada. NEVADA (goes and sits by fire rubbing his hands and warming them}. I like this, I like to sit before a fire : I can see faces in the fire, her's and the little one. See the tall flame back there ; that's her face, but oh so haggard and pale ! She thinks I will never come; and see, there's a bright little flame dancing up towards her, just as the little child used to climb up into her lap ; and there's the little one's face now, and her little fingers beckoning to me. Yes, yes, I'll come, I'll come, with the gold to make us all happy. TOM. Poor old fellow ! (Enter past window through door c, SILAS, his coat torn, his hat out of shape, his clothes and face daubed with dirt; paint-pot in his hand. Singing), Out of the wilderness, Out of the wilderness, Ain't I glad I'm out of the wilderness. 'In the classic vernacular of this benighted region, " you bet." Oh for a bottle of Busted's Balm ! I'm sore from crown to heel. (Drops pail near door R.) TOM. Well, stranger, I should say you'd been having a rough and tumble with a grizzly. SILAS. Wrong, stranger. Grizzly and I have been hav- ing a "go as you please," and I'm several laps ahead. TOM. Where did you strike him? SILAS. Strike him ! Do you s'pose I'm such a fool as to tackle a grizzly with his war-paint on ? I struck for home : I never had such a longing for the dearest spot on earth in all my life. You see, stranger, I started out to do a little em- balming for the balm: your friend Vermont's hospitality and bacon had made it necessary for me to take a little 'exer- 36 THE LOST MINE. cise. Well, I took a long constitutional, practising a little here and there with the brush, until I espied away up a bowlder, such a bowlder for a six-sheet poster! that seemed to offer uncommon facilities for the display of the pronunciamento. TOM. The what? SILAS. Oh ! that staggers you, does it ? Well, that's high jinks for the balm. It was the wildest spot I ever scrambled through, the hardest climb I ever attempted ; but I reached it, spread the balm in gigantic letters, and was just putting a stop to it, when the earth gave way, and down I went. I didn't have time to take out my watch, but I should think it was about an hour before I stopped dropping. When I did, I found I was underground, evidently in a deserted mine. I might have taken an observation; but an ugly growl in the interior convinced me that the inhabitant of that sequestered spot was not at home for company, so I came out. A little too hurriedly for good manners, perhaps, but with a celerity that astonished me, if it didn't the grizzly. (Si'/s on bench.) Whew ! such a run ! Excuse me, stranger, if I stretch out a bit. (Lies on bench.) I've had enough of the balm (yawns) for one day, now I'm going in for a little of the balmy (yawns) sleep. Stop a bit. (Raises himse f f.) Must look out for the dust. (Takes bag from his breast, and p'aces it under his head. Yawns.) Such a tramp (yawns) along the ravine, three miles. (NEVADA, who has been crouching look- ing into tJie fire, raises his head, and looks at SILAS.) Then over the bowlders to where the big tree lies across (yawns) across the creek, (NEVADA rises, and approaches stealthily) Across it to the gorge, beyond (yawns), a good mile. (NE- VADA still nearer, agitated, glaring at SILAS. TOM seated R. of table watches him.) And then' to the right (yawns)', no, to the (Yawns and sleeps) , NEVADA. He's found it! (About to rush upon SILAS, TOM steps before him; they struggle, and TOM forces him back to door.) TOM. Madman, what would you do ? NEVADA (in, door). Kill him. He has struck the trail. He would rob me of my treasures, but I'll be before him. Let him dare to meet me there; let him attempt to enter, and he shall find old Nevada a giant defending his own. His river of gold! ha, ha! The old man has not lost his THE LOST MINE. 37 cunning nor his strength. (Shaking hisfi st at SILAS.) Be- ware of him ! (Exit c.) TOM. Off again as wild as ever. (Comes down, and looks at SILAS.) Another moment, and he'd have been at his throat. What could have moved him so ? SILAS (moves}. Along the ravine TOM (starts back}. Ah ! that old story. How often have we heard it ! Nevada's oft-told story in this stranger's mouth. Has he in truth, as Nevada said, struck the trail that leads to the lost mine? Has he found the clew to the mystery of years ? If he has, 'tis marked, and should be found. ' There's a fgrtune for him who strikes it. A fortune would set Dick free^ and make Agnes my wife. So, Tom Carew, for love and friendship try your luck, and SILAS (moves and mutters}. Look out for paint. \/*rToM. Right, stranger. Where you left your mark, I'll look for gold. (Exit c. and O/'L. " VERMONT passes win. dow, and stops in door looking after TOM.) VERMONT. Tom Carew, I reckon, scootin' away like a cotton-tailed rabbit. Outer my ranch, tco. (Comes down.} Can't find a trace of that tender foot : he's shook me clean. (Sees SILAS.) Thar he is. (Sits R. of table.} Blamed if the chap ain't been underground. He's struck dirt, and it sticks to him. (Places elbow on knee, chin on hand, and 'watches SILAS. JUBE appears at window.} JUBE. Golly ! dat ole man means mischief. He's jes' been trailin' arter dat ar tender hoof. What's de cunun- drum ? what he want? Go slow, ole man, I's watchin'. WiN-KYE (stealthily sticking his head in at d.wr}. Paintee man sleepee, Vellemontee watchee, Win-Kye alle samee. VERMONT. Sleepin' jest like a little kid^ dreaming of the old mother way down East. Well I remember the time when the old boys, young then, used to think of the old folks, and long for the time to come when they should get fixed up with clust, and go home. How we did dream ! and what a sorter lonesome feelin' would come over us, and then we'd get careless. They seemed so far away, till news would come that somebody we knew had passed in his checks, and was farther, farther away. (Draws his sleeve across his eyes.} JUBE. Golly ! de ole man's crying. See de weeps ! See de weeps ! 38 THE LOST MINE. VERMONT. Tender foot shall go back well fixed. I've been watching for a chance, and now's the time. (Rises and looks about cautiously. JUBE and WIN-KYE disappear. VERMONT creeps toward SILAS. JUBE and WIN-KYE re- appear as before?) JUBE. What's de racket ? VERMONT. His bag of dust is under his head. I must have it. (Creeps nearer, and places his hand on bag.} JUBE. Gwine to rob him ? It's all out. Can't stan' dat. Whar's dat rebolber? (points revolver at VERMONT) ain't goin' to be no foo' in dis yer camp. WIN-KYE (sees paint-pot near door). Paintee man, blushee all light. Me paintee too. (Takes brush, smells of it, makes a wry face.} Smelle stlong. Smelle kelosenee. (VERMONT pulls bag away?) JUBE. Buglery, buglery ! but I's got de bead on him; jes' wait till he stows it away. (VERMONT, on one knee, takes a bag from his breast} JUBE. Dat's de game : take out ob whosen's bag, and put in hisen ; but but I got de bead on him. (VERMONT opens SILAS'S bag, and pours dust from his bag into it} JUBE. What's dat ? Bar's some mistook. But I got de bead on him. WIN-KYE (with brush creeps under the window}. Me paintee, Jube, whitee, all ligh'. (VERMONT puts back his bag, then about to restore the other under SILAS'S head ; as he touches him, SILAS springs up. VERMONT rises to Jiis feet} SILAS (seizing him}. Ah! would you? (They wrestle; and, with a trip, SILAS throws him back on stool R. of table, his back against table, draws a revolver from his hip-pocket, and points it at his head} Yours for health. JUBE. Now, tangle hoof jes' spoiled de fun, but he's got cle bead. VERMONT. Don't shoot : I'm your dad. SILAS. My dad? JUBE. Golly ! de ole man's a fader. Ought to be ashamed ob hisself. WIX-KYE. Jubee ! (Crouching, sticks brush straight abwe his head} JUBE. Well, was de matter? (Leans down, WlN-KYE thrusts the brush into his face} THE LOST MINE. . 39 WIN-KYE. Lookee out for paintee. QUBE starts back with a yell quick.) (CURTAIN ox PICTURE. JUBE grasping the window-sill with both hands, his face contorted, and streaked with paint. WIN-KVE grinning. VERMONT on stool, pressed back against table by SILAS'S hand on his throat^ with pistol pointed^ looking into each other's faces?) 4w/r pardner? SILAS (R.). There don't seem enough to go round; but I'm on the lookout WIX-KYE. Lookee out for paint. See small billies. All, ligh'. VERMONT (points to gold}. Nevada, shall I gather up the dust for you ? NEVADA. No: scatter it among the boys. It is dust, indeed, no longer to be prized by me, but for the richer treasure it has disclosed (to MOSELLE), you, my darling. (Puts arm about MOSELLE.) MOSELLE. O father, the clouds are lifting! You are coming out of the darkness. NEVADA. Yes, little one; and in the new light of your eyes, I see tokens of the wealth I abandoned for a phantom. In you I find VERMONT (takes NEVADA'S hand}. A nugget, you bet ! NEVADA. Yes, the jewel of my lost mine. SITUATIONS. NEVADA c., clasping MOSELLE with left arm, his right hand in that of VERMONT. MOTHER next VERMONT R., SILAS R., JUBE extreme R. ; DICK next MOSELLE L., TOM .YE extreme CURTAIN. THE GLOBE DRAMA. Price, 25 Cents eatli. 1. COUPON BONDS. A Drama in Four Acts. By J. T. TROWBRIDGE. Dramatised from the story of that name. Seven male, three female characters. Three scenes. Modern costumes. Easily produced. 2. UNDER A VEIL. A Comedietta in One Act. By SIR RAXDALL ROBERTS, Bart. Two male, three female characters. Scene, interior. Double room. Time in representation, thirty minutes. 3. CLASS DAY. A Farce in One Act. By Dr. FRANCIS A. HARRIS. Four male, three female characters. Scene, interior. Played at Harvard whh great success. 4. BETTER THAN GOLD. A Drama in Four Acts. By GEORGE M. BAKER. Five male, four female characters. One interior; same for the four acts. 5. MRS. WAI/THROP'S BACHELORS. A Comedy in Three Acts. Translated and adapted from the German of Btntdix. By GEORGE M. BAKER and WILLAHD SMALL. (" Our Bachelors " and "Mrs. Walthrop's Boarders" were translated from the same.) 6. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. A Comedy in Four Acts. Dramatised from the novel by Charles Dickens. By HARRIET R. SHATTUCK. Four male, three female characters. 7. REBECCA'S TRIUMPH. A Drama in Three Acts. By GEORGE M. BAKER. (For female characters only.) Sixteen characters". Scenes are : Act 1, kitchen. Act 2, woods. Act 3, parlor. Written at the request of the "D.O.C. Cooking Club," of Chicago, -who took "Among the Breakers" as a model. 8. APPLES. Comedy in One Act from Blackwood's Magazine. One male two female characters. 9. BABIE. Comedy in Three Acts. Translated from the French of Emile de Xajac and Alfred Hennquin, by F. E. CHASE. Six male, five female characters. 10. A PERSONAL MATTER. Comedy in One Act. By F. E. CHASE. Two male, and two female characters. 11. COMRADES. A Drama in Three Acts. By GEORGE M. BAKER. Four male, three female characters. Scene, interior. Costumes modern. Always successful. 12. SNOW-BOUND. A Mus-ical and Dramatic Entertainment. By GEORGE M. BAKER. For three male and one female characters; requires some scenery, but can be easily produced. Introduces tongs, recitations, and an original Burlesque, "Alonzo the Brave aud the Fair Imogene." Time, two hours. 13. BON-BONS. A Musical and Dramatic Entertainment- By GEORGE M. BAKER. For four performers: three male, one female. Recuires litile scenery; introduc.s pongs, recitations, and an original Burles'que, 'The Paint Bang." Time in representation, two hours. 14. PAST REDEMPTION. A New Temperance Drama in Four Acto. By GEORGE M. BAKER. Nine male, and four fcmal<: characters, and sup. r- numerarics. Scenery : three interiors, ono exterior. 15. NEVADA; or. The Lost Mine. Drama, in Three Acts. By GEORGE M. BAKER. Eis-lit male, three female characters. Scenery, exterior and in- terior of a Miner's Cabin in Nevada. Time, about two hours. 16. POISON. A Farce, as acted by the Hasty Pudding Club of Harvard College with great success. Four male, three female characters. Time, thirty minutes. G-EORGKE M. BAKER