Gold. White Stewart Edward

having hard enough dodging to keep clear of fever’n ager now,” he told us. “You don’t seem to recollect what neck of the woods I come from. It’s a fever’n ager country out there for keeps. They can’t keep chickens there at all.”

      “Why not?” asked Johnny innocently.

      “The chills they get shakes all the feathers off’n ’em,” replied Yank, “and then they freeze to death.”

      In the evening the main street was a blaze of light, and the byways were cast in darkness. The crowd was all afoot, and moved restlessly to and fro from one bar or gambling hell to another. Of the thousand or so of strangers we came in time to recognize by sight a great many. The journey home through the dark was perilous. We never attempted it except in company; and as Johnny seemed fascinated with a certain game called Mexican monte, we often had to endure long waits before all our party was assembled.

      One morning our daily trip to the steamship office bore fruit. We found the plaza filled with excited men; all talking and gesticulating. The much tired officials had evolved a scheme, beautiful in its simplicity, for deciding which fifty-two of the three hundred should go by the first ship. They announced that at eleven o’clock they would draw lots.

      This was all very well, but how did the general public know that the lots would be drawn fairly?

      The officials would permit a committee of citizens to be present.

      Not by the eternal! Where would you get any one to serve? No member of that committee would dare accept his own ticket, provided he drew one. No one would believe it had been done honestly.

      Very well. Then let fifty-two out of three hundred slips of paper be marked. Each prospective passenger could then draw one slip out of a box.

      “It’s all right, boys,” the observers yelled back at those clamouring in the rear.

      One of the officials stood on a barrel holding the box, while a clerk with a list of names sat below.

      “As I call the names, will each gentleman step forward and draw his slip?” announced the official.

      We were all watching with our mouths open intensely interested.

      “Did you ever hear of such a damfool way of doing the thing?” said Talbot. “Here, give me a boost up!”

      Johnny and I raised him on our shoulders.

      “Gentlemen! gentlemen!” he cried a number of times before he could be heard above the row. Finally they gave him attention.

      “I’m a ticket holder in this thing; and I want to see it done right. I want to ask that gentleman there what is to prevent the wrong man from answering to a name, from drawing a slip without having any right to?”

      “The right man will prevent him,” answered a voice. The crowd laughed.

      “Well, who’s to decide, in case of dispute, which is the right man and which the wrong man? And what’s to prevent any man, after the drawing, from marking a blank slip–or making a new slip entirely?”

      “That’s right!” “Correct!” shouted several voices.

      The officials consulted hurriedly. Then one of them announced that the drawing would be postponed until the following morning. Each was to bring his steamship ticket with him. The winners in the drawing must be prepared to have their tickets countersigned on the spot. With this understanding we dispersed.

      This was Talbot Ward’s first public appearance; the first occasion in which he called himself to the attention of his fellows assembled in public meeting. The occasion was trivial, and it is only for this reason that I mention it. His personality at once became known, and remembered; and I recollect that many total strangers spoke to him that evening.

      By next morning the transportation officials had worked it out. We could not all get into the office, so the drawing took place on the Plaza outside. As each man’s name was called, he stepped forward, showed his ticket, and was allowed to draw a slip from the box. If it proved to be a blank, he went away; if he was lucky, he had his ticket viséd on the spot. Such a proceeding took the greater part of the day; but the excitement remained intense. No one thought of leaving even for the noon meal.

      Yank drew passage on the first steamer. Talbot, Johnny, and I drew blanks.

      We walked down to the shore to talk over the situation.

      “We ought to have bought tickets good on this particular ship, not merely good on this line,” said Johnny.

      “Doesn’t matter what we ought to have done,” rejoined Talbot a little impatiently. “What are we going to do? Are we going to wait here until the next steamer comes along?”

      “That’s likely to be two or three months–nobody knows,” said Johnny.

      “No; it’s in six weeks, I believe. They tell me they’ve started regular trips on a new mail contract.”

      “Well, six weeks. If we stay in this hole we’ll all be sick; we’ll be broke; and in the meantime every ounce of gold in the country will have been picked up.”

      “What’s the alternative?” I asked.

      “Sailing vessel,” said Talbot briefly.

      “That’s mighty uncertain,” I objected. “Nobody knows when one will get in; and when it does show up it’ll be a mad scramble to get to her. There’s a mob waiting to go.”

      “Well, it’s one or the other. We can’t walk; and I don’t see that the situation is going to be much better when the next steamer does get here. There are a couple of hundred to crowd in on her–just counting those who are here and have tickets. And then there will be a lot more.”

      “I’m for the sailing vessel,” said Johnny. “They come in every week or two now; and if we can’t make the first one, we’ll have a good chance at the second or the third.”

      Talbot looked at me inquiringly.

      “Sounds reasonable,” I admitted.

      “Then we’ve no time to lose,” said Talbot decisively, and turned away toward the town.

      Yank, who had listened silently to our brief discussion, shifted his rifle to his shoulder and followed. Shortly he fell behind; and we lost him.

      We accompanied Talbot in some bewilderment, for there was no ship in sight nor in prospect, and we could not understand any reason for this haste. Talbot led the way directly to the steamship office.

      “I want to see Brown,” he asserted, naming the chief agent for the company.

      The clerk hesitated: Brown was an important man and not to be disturbed for trivial matters. But Talbot’s eye could be very assured.

      “What is your business with Mr. Brown?” asked the clerk.

      “It is with Mr. Brown,” said Talbot firmly, “and I may add that it is to Mr. Brown’s own interest to see me. Tell him just that, and that Mr. Talbot Ward of New York City desires an immediate interview.”

      The clerk was gone for some moments, to the manifest annoyance of a dozen miners who wanted his attention. When he returned he motioned us to a screened-off private office in the rear.

      “Mr. Brown will see you,” said he.

      We found Brown to be a florid, solidly built man of fifty, with a keen eye and a brown beard. He nodded to us briefly and looked expectant.

      “We three men,” said Talbot directly, “hold three tickets on your line. We were not fortunate enough to get passage on the next steamer, and our business will not permit us to wait until the one after. We want our money back.”

      Brown’s face darkened.

      “That is a matter for my clerks, not for me,” he said curtly. “I was told your business was to my advantage. I have nothing to do with tickets.”

      “One minute,” said Talbot. “There are between two and three hundred men in this town each