Uncle Bill Is Ostracized

: The Man From The Bitter Roots

Uncle Bill Griswold sat by the window in the office of the Hinds House

where he could watch the stage road, and, as usual this winter, he was

sitting by himself. It was thus that Ore City punished reticence.



Uncle Bill was suspected of knowing something--of having

business--of his own--and keeping it to himself. A display of friendly

interest in his affairs having received no encouragement and various

lin
s of adroit cross-examination having been successfully blocked, Ore

City was forced to regard his stubborn reserve as a hostile act for

which it was tacitly agreed he should be disciplined. Therefore it

withdrew its own confidences and company. Uncle Bill was shunned, left

alone to enjoy his secret. The heavy hand of Public Opinion was upon

him. Socially he was an outcast. Conversation ceased when he approached

as if he had been a spy. Games of solo, high-five, and piute went on

without him and in heated arguments no one any longer asked his views.



This latter offense however was only an aggravation of the real one

which dated back to the memorable occasion when Wilbur Dill had asked

his opinion of the "secondary enrichment." It was held that a man who

would tell the truth at a time like that was a menace to the camp and

the sooner he moved on the better.



In the early spring the old man had disappeared into the mountain with

powder, drills, and a three months' grub-stake. He had told no one of

his destination, and when he had returned the most he would say was that

he had "been peckin' on a ledge all summer." He sent samples of his rock

outside but did not show the assays. He wrote letters and began to get

mail in blank, non-committal envelopes and added to the general feeling

of exasperation by always being at the desk before even the clerk had

time to make out the postmarks. Oh, he was up to something--that was

certain--something that would "knock" the camp no doubt. They wouldn't

put it past him.



If Uncle Bill felt his exile or harbored resentment at being treated

like a leper he was too proud to give any sign.



There had been but little change in the Hinds House in a year. Only a

close observer would have noted that it had changed at all. There was a

trifle more baling-wire intertwined among the legs of the office chairs

and a little higher polish on the seats. The grease spots on the

unbleached muslin where Ore City rested its head were a shade darker and

the monuments of "spec'mins" were higher. The Jersey organ had lost two

stops and a wooden stalagmite was broken. "Old Man" Hinds in a

praiseworthy attempt to clean his solitaire deck had washed off the

spots or at least faded them so that no one but himself could tell what

they were. The office was darker, too, because of the box-covers nailed

across the windows where a few more panes had gone out. Otherwise it

might have been the very day a year ago that Judge George Petty had

lurched through the snow tunnel jubilantly announcing the arrival of the

stage.



Only this year there was no snow tunnel and the Judge was sober--sober

and despondent.



His attitude of depression reflected more or less the spirit of the

camp, which for once came near admitting that "if Capital didn't take

holt in the Spring they might have to quit."



"Anyway," Yankee Sam was saying, lowering his voice to give the

impression to Uncle Bill at the window that he, too, had affairs of a

private nature, "I learnt my lesson good about givin' options. That were

our big mistake--tyin' ourselves up hand and foot with that feller Dill.

Why, if a furrin' syndicate had walked in here and offered me half a

million fer my holdin's in that porphory dike I couldn't a done a stroke

of business. Forfeit money in the bank after this for Samuel. But if

ever I lays eyes on that rat--" Yankee Sam glared about the circle--"you

watch my smoke! Mind what I tell you."



"What about the deal he give me on The Prince o' Peace?" demanded

Lannigan. "Look what he cost me! The money I spent on them stamps

writin' to know what was doin' would a kept me eatin' for a month. Maybe

you think because I don't roar much I ain't angery. If I had the price

I'd hire somebudy regalar to help me hate that feller!"



"I hold that he's worse than robbed me!" Judge Petty struck his knee

with a tremulous fist. "He took one whole year off'n my life, that's

what he's done--pure murder, ain't it? Expectin' to sell every mail, all

summer, and then bein' disappinted has shore took it out of me. Made an

ol' man of me, as you might say, as was hale and hearty. I might have

knowed, too; you had only to look in his face to see what he was!

'Crook' was wrote all over him. There's a law for the likes o' Wilbur

Dill--false pretenses."



"Law!" contemptuously. "Pa" Snow spent more of his time downstairs now

in a rocking chair upholstered with a soogan, where he could vent his

bitterness at short range. Disappointment over the sale of "The Bay

Horse" had made a socialist of him. "The law--a long way we'd get havin'

the law on him! The law's no use to the poor man--he's only got one

weapon he can count on; and while I've never set out to let no man's

blood, if that skunk ever pokes his nose inside these premises he'll

find a red-hot Southerner waitin' for him!" Mr. Snow looked so

altogether ferocious that Ore City more than half believed him.



"Seems like everything this year has been agin us." The despondent voice

behind the stove sounded hopeless. "Burt's proposition fizzlin' out on

the river is goin' to hurt this camp wonderful. It's surprisin' how fast

the news of a failure gits around among Capital. I knew the way he was

startin' in to work--in fact I told him--that he never could make

nothin'."



"When I first went down to work for him I advised steam but he goes

ahead, and look what's happened--broke down and you can gamble he won't

start up again." Lannigan added confidently as though he spoke from

personal knowledge--"Them stockholders is done puttin' up money."



"I warned him about the grade he was givin' them sluice-boxes--I went to

him first off, didn't I?" Yankee Sam looked around for confirmation. "Do

you mind I said at the time he wasn't warshin' that dirt fast enough?"



"Anyhow," declared the Judge querulously, "he ought to 'a piped it off.

T'were a hydraulickin' proposition. He could handle it just twice as

fast at half the cost. I sent him down word when I heard what he was

doin'."



"And wastin' money like he did on all them new style riffles--expanded

metal and cocoa matting! Gimme pole riffles with a little strap-iron on

the top and if you can't ketch it with that you can't ketch it with

nothin'."



"Mostly," said Ma Snow who had come up behind the critic's chair

unnoticed, "you've ketched nothin'." She went on in her plaintive voice:



"It's a shame, that's what it is, that Bruce Burt didn't just turn over

his business to you-all this summer. With shining examples of success to

advise him, like's sittin' here burnin' up my wood t'hout offerin' to

split any, he couldn't have failed. Personally, I wouldn't think of

makin' a business move without first talkin' it over with the financiers

that have made Ore City the money centre that it is!"



"Everybody can learn something," Yankee Sam retorted with a show of

spirit.



"Not everybody," Ma Snow's voice had an ominous quaver, "or you'd a

learned long ago that you can't knock that young man in my hearin'. I

haven't forgot if you have, that the only real money that's been in

the camp all Summer has come up from the river."



"We wasn't sayin' anything against him personal," the brash Samuel

assured her hastily; but Bruce's champion refused to be mollified.



"What if he did shut down? What of it?" She glared defiance until her

pale eyes watered with the strain. "I don't notice anybody here that's

ever had gumption enough even to start up. What do you do?" She answered

for them--"Jest scratch a hole in the ground, then set and wait for

Capital to come and hand you out a million. I dast you to answer!"



It was plain from the silence that no one cared to remove the chip on Ma

Snow's shoulder.



"I hear he aims to stay down there all winter alone and trap." Judge

Petty made the observation for the sake of conversation merely, as the

fact was as well known as that there were four feet of snow outside or

that the camp was "busted."



"And it's to his credit," Ma Snow snapped back. "When he's doin' that he

ain't runnin' up board bills he cain't pay."



"It's as good a place as any," admitted the Judge, "providin' he don't

go nutty." He raised his voice and added with a significant look at

Uncle Bill: "Bachin' alone makes some fellers act like a bull-elk that's

been whipped out of the herd."



"It takes about four months before you begin to think that somebudy's

layin' out in the brush watchin' you--waitin' to rob you even if you

haven't got anything to steal but a slab of swine-buzzum and a sack of

flour. The next stage," went on the citizen behind the stove speaking

with the voice of authority, "is when you pack your rifle along every

time you go for a bucket of water, and light you palouser in the middle

of the night to go around the cabin lookin' for tracks. Yes, sir,"

emphatically, "and the more brains you got the quicker you go off."



"You seemed about the same when you got back as when you left that time

you wintered alone on the left fork of Swiftwater," Ma Snow commented.



"Like as not you remember that spell I spent t'other side of Sheep-eater

Ridge when I druv that fifty foot tunnel single-handed into the Silver

King?"



"You've never give us no chance to forgit it," responded an auditor.

"We've heard it reg'lar every day since."



"I hadn't seen nobody fer clost to three months," Lemonade Dan continued

"when a feller come along, and says: 'I'd like to stop with ye but I'm

short of cash.' I counted out a dollar-thirty and I says 'Stranger,' I

says, 'that's all I got but it's yourn if you'll stay!'"



"And you'll jump for a new seed catalogue or an Agricultural Bulletin

like it was a novel just out," contributed Yankee Sam from his

experience. "I've allus been a great reader. I mind how I come clost to

burnin' myself out on account of it the fall of '97 when I was

ground-sluicin' down there on Snake river. I had a tidy cabin papered

with newspapers and one week when 'twere stormin' I got interested in a

serial story what was runnin'. It started back of the stove and they was

an installment pasted in the cupboard, they was a piece upside down

clost to the floor so I had to stand on my head, as you might say, to

read it, and the end was on the ceilin'. One evenin' I was standin' on a

box with my mouth open and my neck half broke tryin' to see how it come

out when I tipped the lamp over. I'm a reg'lar book-worm, when I gits

where they's readin'."



"I mind the winter I bached on Crooked Crick I tamed a mouse," ventured

Lannigan. "He got so sociable he et out of my fingers."



"He shorely must have been fond of you." Ma Snow looked fixedly at

Lannigan's hands. "Mistah Hinds," turning sharply upon that person, who

was endeavoring by close inspection to tell whether the last card was a

king or queen, "the bacon's froze and there ain't a knife in yoah ol'

kitchen that will cut."



"Yes ma'am," murmured Mr. Hinds, hoping against hope that the statement

was not a command with his luck just beginning to turn and a sequence in

sight.



"If there ain't an aidge on one of them butcher knives that'll cut bread

when I start in to get supper--"



But Ma Snow did not deliver her ultimatum. In the first place it was not

necessary, for the cowed owner of the Hinds House knew perfectly well

what it was, and in the second, Uncle Bill arose suddenly and stood on

tiptoe looking through the window in something that approached

excitement. Nothing ordinary could jar Uncle Bill's composure--chairs

went over in the rush to join him at the window.



The stage was coming--with passengers! It was almost in--they could hear

the driver's--"Git ep, Eagle! Git ep, Nig! Git ep--git ep--git ep!"

There was luggage on behind and--Yankee Sam's voice broke as though it

were changing when he announced it--a female and two men!



Was this Uncle Bill's secret? Had he known? They could learn nothing

from his face and his mouth was shut so tight it looked as if he had the

lock-jaw.



Who was she? Where was she from? Did she have any money? Was she old or

young? Delicacy forbade them to go outside and look straight at a

strange lady but a dozen questions rose in every mind. Then

simultaneously the same thought came to each. Moved by a common impulse

they turned and stared suspiciously at Uncle Bill. Could it be--was it

possible that he had been advertising for a wife? Luring some trusting

female from her home by representing himself as a mining man forced to

reside in this mountain solitude near his valuable properties? Ore City

knew of cases like it; and he was just about the age to begin writing to

matrimonial bureaus.



Speculation ended abruptly. A sharp intake of breath--a startled gasp

ran through the tense group as a pair of nimble, yellow legs flashed

from beneath the robes and the citizens of Ore City saw the smiling face

of Wilbur Dill! They turned to each other for confirmation lest their

own eyes deceive them.



Mr. Dill stamped the snow from his feet, flung open the door and beamed

around impartially.



"Well, boys--" he threw off his opulent, fur-lined coat--"it's good to

be back."



For the space of a second Ore City stood uncertainly. Then Pa Snow

disentangled his feet from the quilt and stepped forth briskly.



"Welcome home!" said the fire-eater cordially.



Dill's return could have but one meaning. He had returned with a "Live

One" to take up the options. Hope smouldering to the point of extinction

sprang to life and burned like a fire in a cane-brake. Imaginations were

loosed on the instant. Once more Ore City began to think in six figures.



Yankee Sam, who had called upon his friends and High Heaven to "watch

his smoke," was the next to wring Dill's hand, and Lannigan followed,

while the Judge forgot the priceless year of which he had been robbed

and elbowed Porcupine Jim aside to greet him. Only Uncle Bill stood

aloof turning his jack-knife over and over nonchalantly in the pocket of

his Levi Strauss's.



Ore City scowled. Couldn't he be diplomatic for once--the stubborn old

burro'--and act glad even if he wasn't? Why didn't he at least step up

like a man and say howdy to the woman he had lured from a good home?

Where was he raised, anyhow?--drug up in the brush, most like, in

Missoury.



Dill looked about inquiringly.



"Ah-h! Mr. Griswold." He strode across the floor. "How are you?"



Ore City's hand flew to its heart, figuratively speaking, and clutched

it. No man ever called another "Mister" in that tone unless he had

something he wanted. And no man ever answered "tolable" with Uncle

Bill's serenity unless he knew he had something the other fellow

wanted.



Had he really got hold of something on his prospecting trip this summer?

Had he sold? Was he selling? Did this account for Dill's presence and

not the options? The chill at their hearts shot to their feet.



Mr. Dill tapped his pocket and lowered his voice--a futile precaution,

for at the moment Ore City could have heard a "thousand legger" walk

across the floor. "I've got the papers here," he said, "all ready to be

signed up if every thing's as represented."



Ore City went limp but not too limp to strain their ears for Uncle

Bill's reply.



"Yes," he drawled, "you want to take particular care that I ain't saltin'

you. Give plenty of time to your examination. They's no great sweat; I

wouldn't sign my name to an application for a fish license that you

brought me until I'd had a good lawyer look it over first. As I promised

you when you wrote me to open up that ledge, I'll give you the first

shot at it, but don't try any funny business. I know now what I got,

and I don't need you to help me handle it. I've never made it no secret,

Wilbur, that I wouldn't trust you with a red-hot stove."



"I don't see why you should talk to me like this," Dill declared in an

injured tone. "You can't point to a single thing I've done."



"I ain't got fingers enough," Uncle Bill said dryly, "and my toes is

under cover. It's prob'ly slipped your mind that I was down in south'rn

Oregon when you left between two suns; but tain't that"--his old eyes

gleamed--"it's what you done last winter--goin' down there deliberate to

jump Bruce Burt's claim."



"Ss-sh!" Mr. Dill hissed, not in resentment but in alarm as he glanced

over his shoulder. "That's Burt's father." From the corner of his

mouth--"I think he's got money."



Money! The word acted like a strychnia tablet upon Ore City's retarded

circulation. Money! Warmth returned to its extremities. It looked at the

object of these hopeful suspicions as though its many heads swung on a

single neck. He was sitting by the stove in a suit of clothes that must

have cost as much as fifteen dollars and he appeared as oblivious to

their concentrated gaze as though he were alone in the middle of his

ranch.



The strange female was still unaccounted for. Ore City had the tense,

over-strained feeling of a spectator trying to watch all the acts in a

triple-ringed circus. When she removed her outer wraps it was seen that

she was not only young but, in Ore City's eyes, overpoweringly

good-looking. Was she married? Every question paled beside this one.

Surely--they looked at Uncle Bill contemptuously--even if he had

struck something she would not marry that old codger.



When she walked to the stove to warm her hands if they had followed

their impulses they would have jumped and run. The bravest among them

dared not raise his eyes two inches above the bottom part of the

stove-door though in each mind there was a wild groping for some light

and airy nothing to show how much he felt at ease. Something which

should be appropriate and respectful, yet witty.



And of course it must be Porcupine Jim who finally spoke.



"That's a hard stage ride, ma'am," he said deferentially. "Them jolts is

enough to tear the linin' out of a lady. They does me up and I'm quite

hearty."



Ore City blushed to the roots of its hair and there was murder in the

eyes that turned on Jim. Didn't he know nothin'--that Swede?



They felt somewhat relieved when she laughed.



"It is rather bumpy but I enjoyed it. The mountains are wonderful, and

the air, and everybody is so kind; it's a new world to me and I love it

all!"



Ore City fairly purred. Was she married? There was a general

movement--a surreptitious smoothing of back hair--an apologetic fumbling

at the spot sacred to neckties. The judge buttoned up the two remaining

buttons of his waistcoat. Lannigan concealed his hands.



The shadow of a grin flitted across John Burt's face, for he sometimes

saw and heard more than was generally believed.



"If you was aimin' to stay any length of time, ma'am," Yankee Sam fished

innocently, "we kin git up a picnic and show you somethin' of the

country when the snow goes off. About three days' ride from here I know

a real nice view."



Helen thanked him adequately and explained that she was not sure how

long she would remain. "I should like to stay, though," she added, "long

enough to see the boom."



Ore City sat up as if she had said, "bomb."



"By the way, I wonder, if Mr. Griswold is here?"



It was Uncle Bill then! He'd ought to be lynched. It was sickening the

luck some people had.



Uncle Bill came forward wonderingly.



"Here I be."



Helen put out a friendly hand:



"You don't know me, of course, but I've heard a great deal about you."



"I'm most afraid to ask what it is, ma'am, for lyin' and stealin' is the

only crimes I denies."



"I'll tell you when I know you better," Helen laughed, "because I hope

we're going to be good friends."



He looked keenly into her face. "I wouldn't never look for any trouble

between you and me, ma'am. Shake." He added with a smile: "I ain't got

so many friends that I kin afford to turn one down."



"You'll have enough of them shortly," Helen smiled. "I know the world

sufficiently well to be sure of that. I hope I'm the first to

congratulate you on your good fortune. Mr. Dill has told me something of

your luck. He says you're going to be the saviour of the camp."



"I been crucified a-plenty," Uncle Bill replied, with a significant look

at Ore City sitting with its mouth agape, "but," modestly, "I wouldn't

hardly like to go as far as to call myself that."



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