The Twins of Table Mountain, and Other Stories

“I don’t understand you,” said Alice haughtily.

“I might have entrapped you before folks. But I only want you to know that I’M right, and here are the books to show it.”

He drew aside the dingy calico curtain, revealed a small shelf of bulky books, took down two large volumes,—one of botany, one of geology,—nervously sought his text, and put them in Alice’s outstretched hands.

“I had no intention—” she began, half-proudly, half-embarrassedly.

“Am I right, miss?” he interrupted.

“I presume you are, if you say so.”

“That’s all, ma’am. Thank you!”

Before the girl had time to reply, he was gone. When he again returned, it was with her horse, and Mrs. Rightbody and Ryder were awaiting her. But Miss Alice noticed that his own horse was missing.

“Are you not going with us?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Oh, indeed!”

Miss Alice felt her speech was a feeble conventionalism; but it was all she could say. She, however, DID something. Hitherto it had been her habit to systematically reject his assistance in mounting to her seat. Now she awaited him. As he approached, she smiled, and put out her little foot. He instantly stooped; she placed it in his hand, rose with a spring, and for one supreme moment Stanislaus Joe held her unresistingly in his arms. The next moment she was in the saddle; but in that brief interval of sixty seconds she had uttered a volume in a single sentence,—

“I hope you will forgive me!”

He muttered a reply, and turned his face aside quickly as if to hide it.

Miss Alice cantered forward with a smile, but pulled her hat down over her eyes as she joined her mother. She was blushing.

PART III

Mr. Ryder was as good as his word. A day or two later he entered Mrs. Rightbody’s parlor at the Chrysopolis Hotel in Stockton, with the information that he had seen the mysterious senders of the despatch, and that they were now in the office of the hotel waiting her pleasure. Mr. Ryder further informed her that these gentlemen had only stipulated that they should not reveal their real names, and that they be introduced to her simply as the respective “Seventy-Four” and “Seventy-Five” who had signed the despatch sent to the late Mr. Rightbody.

Mrs. Rightbody at first demurred to this; but, on the assurance from Mr. Ryder that this was the only condition on which an interview would be granted, finally consented.

“You will find them square men, even if they are a little rough, ma’am. But, if you’d like me to be present, I’ll stop; though I reckon, if ye’d calkilated on that, you’d have had me take care o’ your business by proxy, and not come yourself three thousand miles to do it.”

Mrs. Rightbody believed it better to see them alone.

“All right, ma’am. I’ll hang round out here; and ef ye should happen to have a ticklin’ in your throat, and a bad spell o’ coughin’, I’ll drop in, careless like, to see if you don’t want them drops. Sabe?”

And with an exceedingly arch wink, and a slight familiar tap on Mrs. Rightbody’s shoulder, which might have caused the late Mr. Rightbody to burst his sepulchre, he withdrew.

A very timid, hesitating tap on the door was followed by the entrance of two men, both of whom, in general size, strength, and uncouthness, were ludicrously inconsistent with their diffident announcement. They proceeded in Indian file to the centre of the room, faced Mrs. Rightbody, acknowledged her deep courtesy by a strong shake of the hand, and, drawing two chairs opposite to her, sat down side by side.

“I presume I have the pleasure of addressing—” began Mrs. Rightbody.

The man directly opposite Mrs. Rightbody turned to the other inquiringly.

The other man nodded his head, and replied,—

“Seventy-Four.”

“Seventy-Five,” promptly followed the other.

Mrs. Rightbody paused, a little confused.

“I have sent for you,” she began again, “to learn something more of the circumstances under which you gentlemen sent a despatch to my late husband.”

“The circumstances,” replied Seventy-Four quietly, with a side-glance at his companion, “panned out about in this yer style. We hung a man named Josh Silsbie, down at Deadwood, for hoss-stealin’. When I say WE, I speak for Seventy-Five yer as is present, as well as representin’, so to speak, seventy-two other gents as is scattered. We hung Josh Silsbie on squar, pretty squar, evidence. Afore he was strung up, Seventy-Five yer axed him, accordin’ to custom, ef ther was enny thing he had to say, or enny request that he allowed to make of us. He turns to Seventy-Five yer, and—”

Here he paused suddenly, looking at his companion.

“He sez, sez he,” began Seventy-Five, taking up the narrative,—“he sez, ‘Kin I write a letter?’ sez he. Sez I, ‘Not much, ole man: ye’ve got no time.’ Sez he, ‘Kin I send a despatch by telegraph?’ I sez, ‘Heave ahead.’ He sez,—these is his dientikal words,—‘Send to Adam Rightbody, Boston. Tell him to remember his sacred compack with me thirty years ago.’”

“‘His sacred compack with me thirty years ago,’” echoed Seventy-Four,—“his dientikal words.”

“What was the compact?” asked Mrs. Rightbody anxiously.

Seventy-Four looked at Seventy-Five, and then both arose, and retired to the corner of the parlor, where they engaged in a slow but whispered deliberation. Presently they returned, and sat down again.

“We allow,” said Seventy-Four, quietly but decidedly, “that YOU know what that sacred compact was.”

Mrs. Rightbody lost her temper and her truthfulness together. “Of course,” she said hurriedly, “I know. But do you mean to say that you gave this poor man no further chance to explain before you murdered him?”

Seventy-Four and Seventy-Five both rose again slowly, and retired. When they returned again, and sat down, Seventy-Five, who by this time, through some subtile magnetism, Mrs. Rightbody began to recognize as the superior power, said gravely,—

“We wish to say, regarding this yer murder, that Seventy-Four and me is equally responsible; that we reckon also to represent, so to speak, seventy-two other gentlemen as is scattered; that we are ready, Seventy-Four and me, to take and holt that responsibility, now and at any time, afore every man or men as kin be fetched agin us. We wish to say that this yer say of ours holds good yer in Californy, or in any part of these United States.”

“Or in Canady,” suggested Seventy-Four.

“Or in Canady. We wouldn’t agree to cross the water, or go to furrin parts, unless absolutely necessary. We leaves the chise of weppings to your principal, ma’am, or being a lady, ma’am, and interested, to any one you may fetch to act for him. An advertisement in any of the Sacramento papers, or a playcard or handbill stuck unto a tree near Deadwood, saying that Seventy-Four or Seventy-Five will communicate with this yer principal or agent of yours, will fetch us—allers.”

Mrs. Rightbody, a little alarmed and desperate, saw her blunder. “I mean nothing of the kind,” she said hastily. “I only expected that you might have some further details of this interview with Silsbie; that perhaps you could tell me—” a bold, bright thought crossed Mrs. Rightbody’s mind—“something more about HER.”

The two men looked at each other.

“I suppose your society have no objection to giving me information about HER,” said Mrs. Rightbody eagerly.

Another quiet conversation in the corner, and the return of both men.

“We want to say that we’ve no objection.”

Mrs. Rightbody’s heart beat high. Her boldness had made her penetration good. Yet she felt she must not alarm the men heedlessly.

“Will you inform me to what extent Mr. Rightbody, my late husband, was interested in her?”

This time it seemed an age to Mrs. Rightbody before the men returned from their solemn consultation in the corner. She could both hear and feel that their discussion was more animated than their previous conferences. She was a little mortified, however, when they sat down, to hear Seventy-Four say slowly,—