A Waif of the Mountains

“It is hardly necessary for me to mention the city, but I may say it is Constantinople.”

A contemptuous sniff greeted this proposal.

“That’s the worst yet,” said Wade Ruggles, drawing a match along the thigh of his trousers to relight his pipe, which had gone out during the excitement; “the man that insults this party with such a proposition, ought to be run out of the place.”

“What’s the matter with it?” demanded Budge.

“It’s too long in the fust place,” commented Ike Hoe; “it bothers a man to git his mouth around it and it hain’t any music, like the other names such as Starvation Kenyon, Hangman’s Noose, Blizzard Gorge and the rest. I stick to mine as the purtiest of all.”

“What’s that?”

“‘Blazes,’ short and sweet and innercent like.”

Landlord Ortigies was leaning with both elbows on the bar. The new name struck him favorably.

“I’m inclined to agree with Budge,” he said, “cause there hain’t any other place that’s hit onto it. All of them names that you chaps have tried to spring onto us, have been used in other places, or at least some part of the names, but, as Budge has observed, no galoot has scooped ‘Constantinople.’”

“’Cause no one ain’t fool enough,” observed Ike Hoe, who noted the drift of the sentiment.

“But they’ll pounce onto it powerful quick if we don’t grab it while it’s passin’; it’s a good long name, and what if it does make a chap sling the muscles of his jaw to warble it? All the better; it’ll make him think well of his town, which I prophesy is going to be the emporium of the West.”

“Let’s see,” growled Wade Ruggles, “Constantinople is in Ireland isn’t it?”

“Where’s your eddycation?” sneered Ike Vose; “it’s the oldest town in Wales.”

Landlord Ortigies raised his head and filled the room with his genial laughter.

“If there was anything I was strong on when I led my class at the Squankum High School it was astronermy; I was never catched in locating places.”

“If you know so much,” remarked Ruggles, “you’ll let us know something ’bout that town which I scorn to name.”

“I’m allers ready to enlighten ign’rance, though I’ve never visited Constantinople, which stands on the top of the Himalaya Mountains, in the southern part of Iceland.”

“That’s very good,” said Budge Isham, who with his usual tact maneuvered to keep the ally he had gained, “but the Constantinople I have in mind is in Turkey, which is such a goodly sized country that it straddles from Europe to Asia.”

“Which the same I suppose means to imply that this ere Constantinople will do likewise similar.”

“No doubt that’s what it’ll do in time,” assented the landlord.

“I beg to offer an amendment to my own motion,” continued the oily Budge; “when the boom strikes this town, as it is bound soon to do, and it rivals in size the famous city on the other side of the Atlantic, there should be something to distinguish the two. We have no wish to rob any other place of the honors it has taken centuries to gain; so, while we reserve the principal name, I propose that we distinguish it from the old city by prefixing the word ‘New.’”

“You mean that this town shall be ‘New Constantinople?’” was the inquiring remark of the landlord.

“Precisely; and I now make the motion that that be our name.”

There were seventeen persons present and it looked as if a decision was inevitable. The landlord was shrewd. His first act was to invite all to drink at his expense, after which he made each pledge himself to abide by the decision, whatever it might be. These preliminaries being arranged, a show of hands was called for. The vote was eight for and eight against the new name.

“That’s a tie,” commented the landlord from behind his immense beard; “and therefore the question ain’t settled.”

“It’s easy ’nough to settle it,” said Ike Hoe.

“How?”

“Take another vote.”

“I don’t see how that’ll do it, onless some one changes his mind; but again, gentlemen: all who favor the new name, raise their right hands.”

Eight horny palms were elevated in air, while the same number were displayed in the negative. The landlord looked troubled.

“We must keep it up till some one weakens,” observed Wade Ruggles.

The host scanned the earnest faces in front of him.

“Which of you gentlemen will promise to weaken if we keep this thing up for half the night?”

“I’ll stay here a week,” was the reply of Vose Adams, while the general nodding of heads showed that he echoed the sentiments of the others. The landlord met the crisis with becoming dignity.

“Gentlemen, when I was a member of Congress, all questions that was tied was settled by the presiding officer casting the deciding vote, and which as aforesaid we don’t lay any claim to being higher than Congress, I therefore, by virtue of the aforesaid right vested in me, cast my vote in favor of this city being called New Constantinople, which the same is on me again; gentlemen, what will you have?”

It was a coup d’etat, the victory being clinched before the opposition realized it. Ere the company had fairly recovered from their bewilderment, Budge Isham declared that the victory was really his, due to the good sense and high toned chivalry of his friends, and he insisted upon doing the honors. He would accept no denial and the engaging style in which he acquitted himself of this duty restored good humor. Thus it was that the little mining town of the Sierras in the days that are gone received its title.

The Heavenly Bower consisted of two large apartments, both on the ground floor. The one at the rear was used by Landlord Ortigies for sleeping, eating and partial storage purposes. When Vose Adams made his quarterly visits to Sacramento, he was accompanied by two mules. They were not necessary to take and bring the mail, since the pocket of Adams’ great coat was sufficient for that, but they carried down to Sacramento several empty casks which came back filled, or rather they were thus when the return journey was begun, but to the dismay of the proprietor of the Heavenly Bower, he found that they were barely two-thirds full, when unloaded at his place. Vose explained that the leakage was due to the roughness of the trail. Since there seemed no other way of overcoming this, the landlord sent an extra cask with the request to Vose that he would confine his leakage to that and Vose kindly obliged him.

The stuff thus provided for the Heavenly Bower was generally in concentrated form, thereby permitting a dilution which insured a full supply for the customers who were afflicted with an eternal thirst.

The bar room was of extensive proportions. Nearly all of one side was occupied by the bar. Opposite was the huge fireplace, and scattered around were a number of stools, rickety chairs and strong boxes which served equally well for seats.

The crackling fire, the genial warmth and good cheer within the room were the more striking because of their contrast with the howling storm without. The gale roared around the corners of the rude but strong structure, rattling against the massive door and the log walls, spitting vicious gusts down the chimney and flinging great drifts hither and yon with a fury that threatened to send the building skurrying through the snowy space.

“It’s the worst blizzard we ever had,” remarked Wade Ruggles, after one of these violent outbursts; “God pity any one that’s abroad to-night.”

“It reminds me of that zephyr last winter,” observed Vose Adams, “when I was bringing your freight, Max, from Sacramento.”

“I remember,” nodded the landlord; “you started with two kegs and got here with about half a one; the leakage was tremenjus on that trip.”

“True; the blizzards is always rough on Mountain Dew, and sorter makes it shrink,” replied the unblushing Vose.

“Can’t you stop the casks leaking so much,” inquired Felix Brush, who had been a parson in Missouri, and claimed that he had never been “unfrocked.”

The landlord solemnly swayed his head.

“Not as long as Vose has charge of the freight–”

At that instant a dull but resounding thump was heard on the roof overhead. It shook every log in the structure, checked speech and caused each man to look wonderingly at his neighbor.

“The mountain has fell on us!” exclaimed Ike Hoe in a husky whisper.

“If it was the mountain,” said Budge Isham, slightly raising his voice, as the courage of the party came back; “none of us would be able to tell of it.”