Nevada

Tom. I know it: that's the reason I was thinking of you.

Agnes (laughs). You're the tenth miner who has said the same thing to me within a month.

Tom. Only ten? well, it's been a pretty bad month.

Agnes. I hope not.

Tom. Yes: the boys are off in their holes. Wait a few days, and the air will be black with matrimonial speculators.

Agnes. Then, I think I'd better be leaving.

Tom. Good fellows, too, who will make their advances timidly, and feel relieved when they are put out of their misery by a refusal.

Agnes. All of them?

Tom (dropping pack). No: for here and there among miners, as among men in every station, you will find one who looks upon women as pure gold; as something to be approached with reverence, and, if won, to be enshrined in the devotion of a life.

Agnes. Such men are scarce.

Tom. And such women plenty, but they don't come this way often.

Agnes. Did ever such a woman cross your path?

Tom (sighs). In my dreams.

Agnes (laughs). A visionary woman. Do you see her often?

Tom. As often as I see you.

Agnes (turns away confused. Aside). This must go no farther. (Aloud.) Mr. Carew, would you do me a service?

Tom. Willingly.

Agnes. A very dear friend, one to whom I am in duty bound, has left his home and friends. I have reason to believe he is in this part of the country. Will you help me find him?

Tom (agitated). Very dear to you?

Agnes (casting down her eyes). Yes.

Tom (after a struggle). His name?

Agnes. I cannot tell you that: I cannot even give you the name by which he is known.

Tom. Then, how am I to discover him?

Agnes. You have my name: go among the miners, tell them of me and my quest. He will hear of me, and, in spite of dangers that beset him, will find some way to meet me.

Tom. You set me a hard task.

Agnes. But you will make the attempt? O Mr. Carew! if you could look into that once happy home, now desolate by the absence of a son, for whom a fond mother is slowly but surely breaking her heart, a loving sister mourning, and I – I would give the world to reclaim! (Weeps.)

Tom. He shall be found. I'll seek him. Your name shall be the spell to conjure him from his hiding-place, were he in the deepest mine of Nevada.

Agnes. Oh, thanks, thanks! I knew that in you I should find a friend, a helper.

Tom (bitterly). Rare confidence, when you have known me but a day.

Agnes. Longer than that. Your brave acts, the generous promptings of your true and noble heart, have been morning lessons to me for many a day.

Tom. You speak in riddles. Where have you heard aught of me?

Agnes. From Moselle, who believes, were she in danger, you would never forsake her. From her eloquent thankfulness of heart, I was led to hope that I, too, might find a champion in you.

Tom. Thank you. You were right. I will serve you faithfully.

Agnes (giving him her hand). Thank you. (Looks into his face, then casts down her eyes, and slowly exits into cabin.)

Tom (stands looking after her, then looks at the hand she took, then sighs). "One who is very dear to me." She said that, – said it calmly, never dreaming of the crushing force with which those words fell. One very – He is her lover, perhaps her husband. And I – I love her. (Sighs.) Well, old boy, you've struck a blind lead this time. No pay-dirt here; and yet, I'll swear there was something in those sweet eyes of hers. (Sighs.) I must forget her. I'll quit the camp, get far away, and then – no, I have promised to serve her, and I'll do it. Bring him to her arms. (Sighs.) Not a pleasant task; but I'll do it, I'll do it. (Goes to pack.) Now for my knife. (Opens pack, pulls out blanket.) There's no knife here. (Unrolls blanket. Sitting on rock, photograph drops out.) What's this? A picture! (Looks at it, rises.) It's Agnes, Agnes Fairlee; and he, Dick, is the runaway, her lover, perhaps her husband, Fairlee? (Pulls other picture from belt.) Why, this (looks at it closely) is Dick. Put a beard on that face, and 'tis Dick the forger. I sha'n't have to go far to find him; and he and I both love the same woman. One word to that detective, he is in prison and she is free. Well, I must be pretty far gone to harbor such a thought. Betray my partner, the man with whom I have eaten and slept, dug and quarried? No, no, not for so bright a pair of eyes as yours, Agnes Fairlee.

Dick (outside). Moselle, where are you?

Moselle (laughing). Ha, ha, ha! Seek and find, seek and find.

Tom. Ah! I had forgotten our Moselle. She loves him; and he, villain that he is, has trifled with her. She must be protected, saved, though justice overtake him. (Darts up run.)

(Enter Jube, R. 2 E.)

Jube. Say, Tom, Thomas, whar's de fire? Say! so he's off: yas, so's ole Vermont. Nebber did see sich carrin's on in de 'hole course ob my life. Jes took dat ar tender hoof, de whitewasher, into his cabin, gib him de best cheer, – on de floor, – de best china, den fill him up wid bacon, chock up to de muzzle: den tender hoof was tired – too much bacon – laid down on de bench, an' went to sleep, ole man settin' dar watchin' him. Bym-by de ole man get up sofly, git a blankit, kivers him up, tucks him in. Seed it all fro a crack. Ole man jes clean gone on dat ar tender hoof.

(Enter Mother, from cabin.)

Mother. Jube, where's Moselle?

Jube. Oh, she's in anoder scrape.

Mother. What kind of a scrape?

Jube. Candy-scrape, I guess. She an' Dandy Dick havin' a sweet time up dar onto de rocks.

Moselle (coming down run). O mother, mother! (Throws her arms about Mother's neck.)

Mother. Why, what's the matter, child?

Moselle. Don't ask me. Look there.

(Enter down run, Dick, his hands fastened behind him, head down, followed by Jerden, with a pistol in his hand.)

Jerden. Attempt escape, and you are a dead man.