Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 April 1880 — YUBA BELL AND JEFF. [ARTICLE]

YUBA BELL AND JEFF.

A Leaf from Bret Harte’e New Navel. The interruption of Jeffs “nightwatch ” was occasioned by an accident which prevented the progress of the Pioneer coach, which ought to have passed that point some time previously, but which, having been delayed by the storm, had finally been brought to a stand-still in about four feet of rushing water some 1,000 yards away from the inn. There were only three passengers —a thin, meek-looking gentleman, named Mayfield, with his wife and daughter. Jeff, on hastily springing from his bed and fesuming his boots, found Mr. Mayfield and the driver of the coach, Yuba Bill, appealing to him, each in his own fashion, for assistance. The driver had drawn up the coach into a safe position amidst the waters, and had taken out his team. He and Mr. Mayfield had then waded out, and made their way to the “Half-Way Inn,” and Jeff was now requested to lend a hand in fetching up the ladies. Mr. Mayfield’s company on this errand was felt to be unnecessary. Yuba Bill—who, by the way, is a decided character, with something of the quaint and oracular Mr. Weller, senior, in him, combined with Yankee smartness —with undisguised contempt for the city gentleman’s want of physique, summarily dismissed the idea of his lending any assistance. Accordingly, Yuba Bill and Jeff fetch the ladies. The meek man sat down helplessly in a chair indicated by Bill, who at once strode after Jeff. In another momeht they were both fighting their way step by step against the storm, in that peculiar, drunken, spasmodic way, so amusing to the spectator and no exasperating to the performer. It was no time for conversation, even interjectional profanity was dangerously exhaustive. The coach was scarcely a thousand yards away, but its bright lights were reflected in a sheet of dark, silent water, that stretched between it and the two men. Wading and splashing, they soon reached it, and a gulley where the surplus water was pouring into the valley below. “ Fower feet o’ water ’round her, but can’t get any higher. So ye see she’s all right for a month o’ sich weather. ” Inwardly admiring the perspicacity of his companion, Jeff was about to open the coach door, when Bill interrupted. “I’ll pack the old woman if you’ll look arter the darter and enny little traps.” A female face, anxious and elderly, here appeared at the window. “Thet’s my little game,” said Bill, sotto voce. “Is there any danger? Where is my husband ? ” asked the woman, impatiently. “Ez to the danger, ma’am—thar ain’t any. Yer ez safe here ez ye’d be in a Sacramento steamer ; ez to yer husband, he allowed I was to come yer and fetch yer up to the hotel. That’s his lookout!” With this cheering speech, Bill proceeded to make two or three ineffectual scoops into the dark interior, manifestly with the idea of scooping out the lady in question. In another instant he had caught her, lifted her gently but firmly in his arms, and was turning away. “But my child!—my daughter!—she’s asleep, ” expostulated the woman; but Bill was already swiftly splashing through the darkness. Jeff, left to himself, hastily examined the coach. On the back seat a slight, small figure, enveloped in a shawl, lay motionless. Jeff threw the bear-skin over it gently, lifted it on one arm, and, gathering a few traveling-bags and baskets with the other, prepared to follow his quickly-disappearing leader. A few feet from the coach the water seemed to deepen and the bear-skin to draggle. Jeff drew the figure up higher, but in vain. “Sis,” he said, softly. No reply. “ Sis,” shaking her gently. There was a slight movement within the wrappings. ‘ ‘ Couldn’t ye climb up on my shoulder, honey ? That’s a good child !” There were one or two spasmodic jerks of the bearskin, and, aided by Jeff, the bundle was presently seated on his shoulder. “Are you all right sis ? ” Something like a laugh came from the bear-skin. Then a 'childish voice said: “ Thank you, I think I am ! ” “Ain’t afraid you’ll fall off?” “A little.” Jeff hesitated. It was beginning to blow again. “You couldn’t reach down and put your arm around my neck, could ye, honey ? ” “I am afraid not! ” —although there was a slight attempt to do so. . “No?” “ No! ” “ Well, then, take a good holt, a firm, strong holt o’ my hair! Don’t be afraid ! ” A small hand timidly began to rummage in Jeff’s thick curls. “ Take a firm holt; thar, just back o’ my neck. That’s right. ” The little hand closed over half a dozen curls. The little figure shook and giggled. “ Now, don’t you see, honey, if I’m keerless with you, and don’t keep you plumb level up thar, you jist give me a pull and fetch me up all standing ! ”