Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 January 1875 — PHŒBE, OF SANDY GULCH. [ARTICLE]

PHŒBE, OF SANDY GULCH.

They called the place Sandy Gulch; it was hard to understand why, for it was full of rocks, apparently. There was not sand enough risible to scour a pan—but, then, pans in Sandy. Gulch were not scoured. There was a deeply-bronzed and heavily-bearded set of men, heavy drinkers, all; and there were no women, at least until Phccbe arrived. Slim Jim was the autocrat of the place; he kept the New Orleans Saloon. Liquors were dispensed in the front room and faro in the rear. Phoebe lived “ a smart piece” above it, in a rough place, half canvas and half logs. What old Langsdale had brought her there for no one could imagine; she had been the only woman on the ship when they made their weary six months’ voyage from New York, and now she was the only woman in Sandy Gulch. The miners took off their hats when they passed old Langsdale’s cabin. Phoebe was twenty —most girls are pretty at twenty if they are ever going to be pretty; Phoebe had hazel eyes and rounded, rose-pink cheeks, and the prettiest pouting mouth in the world. The Sandy Gulchers thought her a goddess, and adored her accordingly. Old Langsdale took the best of care of his daughter. When he moved his claim he moved his cabin, too; and always kept near enough for Phoebe to hear the sound of his pick. When the diggings gave out in one place the cabin was “ toted” to where they had not given out. He never lacked help in moving his cabin —there were always plenty of Sandy Gulchers anxious to lend a hand; and even quarreled about it, and Langsdale obliged them to take turns. You see, they called it “ helping Phoebe.” There were not many loafers in camp; the people had come there to make a fortune and could not afford to loaf; but there were a few, a couple of Mexicans —“ Greasers,” the miners called them—and two or three of the stamp of Slim Jim. They were always busy enough at night; in the daytime they "hung around the New Orleans Saloon, and they would have liked to have visited Phoebe, but old Langsdale would not have it. He borrowed a pot of black paint and a brush, and painted over his door: "“notice! no loafers wanted.” He thought that would do, but one day he came home and found Apodoca there. Phoebe was sitting on an empty butterkeg, the rose-pink in her round cheeks deepened a little, and the pouting mouth was as smiling as you please. Old Langsdale was mad; he called Apodoca out, and pointed to the notice over the door. Apodoca planted his feet firmly on the ground, placed his arms akimbo, and gazed intently at the lettering for some time; then, turning to Langsdale, he said, in his politest accents : “No sabbee.” “You ito read?” interrogated Langsdale. “Me no sabbee read Inglis,” replied Apodoca, taking his sombrero from the bush by the door which caught the hats of most of Phmbe’s .visitors; once in a while a hat was taken inside, if it chanced to be new, and kicked S under the table for safe-keeping. Apodoca raised his sombrero as if to put it on, but just then he caught sight of Phoebe standing in the doorway, with her cheeks pinker than ever, and an extremely amfis#d look in her hazel eyes; so he held the hat behind him and stood bareheaded. “Well,” said Langsdale, ‘ T’ll read it for you: ‘ Notice!’ "—he said this in thundering tones, which increased in volume as he went on—“‘No loafers wanted ’ That means git! You sabbee that?” “Si, Senor,” replied Apodoca, with a sardonic smile, as, after a most profound bow to Phoebe, he placed his sombrero on his head and walkqd serenely away. “ I’ll horsewhip that fobl es I ketch him yere agin,” said Langsdale, frowning at Phoebe. “Why, papa, don’t blame me,” said she, tossing her head; “ I cpuldn’t tell him to clear out.” “ You needn’t have been so dreadful sweety and smiling, though!" he replied. “ I just gave him a pleasant word,” pouted Phoebe; “ I cafi’t be cross to people, SDd Jose was very polite, Pm sure.” Langsdale muttered something about “ breaking his head,” and went into the cabin for his dinner. Phoebe went in after him. When he had gone into the rest room. wbich was his room, par «#- celUnce she softly closed the door behind him. ..The front room was her own; it contained her bed, her wardrobe, and her 'Jr '

trinkets. The latter were all presents, and all of one sort. They stood in a row on a rough board shelf—“ specimens” which would have made Eastern ladies’ eyes shine. * When a Sandy Gulcher found a nugget which was remarkable for purity or beauty he set it aside for the “ Posy”— they all liked to call the blooming maid their “ Posy.” The consequence was that Miss Phoebe had several thousand dollars on her rough shelf, and went barefooted and bareheaded, and wore a , calico gown. She had no fear of anyone, robbing her, though there were scamps in the camp who would have cut a man’s throat for a tenth of the wealth which Phoebe’s nuggets represented; but woe unto the man in Sandy Gulch who would have robbed the Posy! When she had shut the door after her father Phoebe took from her pocket a new specimen—a particularly fine one, and very valuable; it was a present just received from Jose Apodoca. It had probably been won in the rear room at Slim Jim’s, but that did not trouble Phoebe. When she first came to California she had been shocked at a hundred things which she now looked upon with indifference; faro, with its kindred games, was one; getting uproariously drunk was another; shooting affrays—unless they ended fatally for some of her friends—another. She admired her nugget—not for its value, but because it was pretty ; perhaps because in her heart there was a soft place for the handsome Mexican. She despised him for his laziness, and yet—she put it on the shelf with a sigh. “I’ll tell papa,” she thought to herself, “ when he feels kinder toward Jose. He might have known he had no business to come up in the daytime.” Yet, in spite of old Langsdale’s emphatic translation of the “ Inglis” over his door, Apodoca came again, and in the daytime, too. Phoebe “ couldn’t be cross to people,” and smiled and chatted, rose-pink deepened in her cheeks, light brightened in her eyes, until Jose was more enthralled and bewildered than ever. But, for all her pleasantness, Phoebe was a dutiful daughter, and not only impressed her adorer with the necessity of departing before her father came home for liis dinner, but likewise besought him not to come again unless to her evening reception. The Posy and her father seldom entertained less than twenty in an evening. But Jose intimated, in mellifluous if adulterated Spanish Spanish flowed like oil from the Posy’s ready tongue—that he could not speak more than two words to her in and, besides (with a smile and a jerk of his thumb toward Slim Jim’s), his business engagements prevented his coming in the evening; and, still besides that, he must there meet a certain hated John, who was supposed to be the choice of her heart, as he certainly was of her father’s. Phoebe pouted and made a face at the mention of John; he would have been a grand catch for pretty Phoebe Langsdale in.the little down-East town where she had been brought up—but the goddess of Sandy Gulch could afford to be scornful. Jose, however, was inclined to question the sincerity of her scorn; she, in turn, protested vigorously, and in the midst of the discussion old Langsdale walked in unsuspiciously Casting a look full of anger and disgust at his daughter, the old man, who had the strength of a giant, seized Apodoca by the shoulder, and half lifted, half kicked him out, yelling, “Git! git!” at the top of his voice. The Mexican, however, was not to be kicked out of anywhere by anybody with impunity, and, drawing the short, “sharp knife without which a Sandy Gulcher would have been unrecognizable, he made a furious bound toward the old man, with liis knife upraised and a murderous rage distorting his handsome face. But Phoebe was there before him; seizing his arm with her little brown hand, the rose-pink all faded out of her cheeks, and her eyes wide open with terror, she cried, “ Don’t strike —don’t strike!” catching her breath in a terrified sob, which drove the devil from Apodoca’s heart at once. Flinging his knife into the chaparral lie caught the terrified goddess in his arms, pressed a burning kiss —liis first and last—on the round, /warm cheek, and fled, and Sandy Gulch knew him no more. He knew that Phoebe and her guardians would never forgive his drawing a knife on old. Langsdale, and he unarmed! A man who would resent anything from the Posy’s father was not to be tolerated in Sandy Gulch. Time went by, and the goddess still reigned without a rival in her kingdom, and poor John still sued at her feet, though getting hopeless. His university education, his talents, his proud family/ his manly beauty, all availed him nothing in his desire to gather to himself the blooming Posy; and then, he did have wretchecTßad luck. He often said, with a gloomy smile, that when liis pick went in gold went out at the other end, a remark that Slim Jim repeated, with comments, in relation to his luck at faro; and John received some friendly advice from that worthy to let cards alone. z One night John sat. in the rear room tipped back in his chair with his heels on the window-sill watching a game in progress between Slippery Jack and a man known as “ The Doctor." The Posy held no reception that evening; she had started at daybreak, accompanied by her father, for a visit over to Van Dozen's. Van Duzen was a portly Dutchman with four portly Dutch daughters. They and Phoebe hardly understood” each otliei, but the goddess felt very lonely in her kingdom sometimes and longed for female society, and the four Dutch Eirls were the only women between andy Gulch and Bootjack Bar, a distance of forty-odd miles; so once in a while she felt compelled to mount her little steed, liobin, and pay a visit to the Dutch ladies. Aside from the unwonted absence of the Posy, John felt melancholy; he was dead bioke, and had come to the conclusion that his claim was not worth as much as his pick; and then, although old Langsdale had invited him to ride over 1 6 Van Duzen’s and help escort the Posy home that night, yet he could not but let the remembrance of Phoebe’s cool manner rankle is his mind more than the prospect of his felicity soothed it. , Buenos noches, Senor John,” said a musical voice. John looked up a trifle surprised. “ Hullo, Apodoca, that you?” Apodoca responded that it was undoubtedly himself, and invited John to a game of cards. John lookfed at his watch; in ten or fifteen minutes he must be starting for Van DuzGn’s. It had been the Posy’s sovereign desire to leave there about ten o’clock and come home by moonlight; moreover, he knew that the Mexican hated him, and that his reputation as an honest man had cot been im-

proved since he left Sandy Gulch. It was rumored that he was wanted in San Simeon and Los Angeles for a little horse-stealing, or worse. So John tipped back a little more in his chair and said he couldn’t; had promised Langsdale and the Posy to ride home with them from Van Duzen’s that night. Apodoca smiled serenely, and said: One little game; it takes but a few minutes.” “ Come, John,” said the doctor, “ I’m in good luck to-night; you and I against Slippery Jack and Jose.” “ I’m dead broke,” said John. “ I lend; I have plenty gold dust, see!” and Jose drew out a bag which looked comfortably plump. He Insisted on lending John an ounce and the game began. On the first deal Apodoca and Jack were winners, and the former volunteered to treat. John began to get interested in the game, then excited, then absorbed. He called for more drinks, he borrowed more gold dust, he forgot the Posy and lftr moonlight ride. His brain seemed to be on fire; now he won, now he lost. His losings were the greater, for he must always borrow more dust from the “ Greaser’s” bank so comfortf ull. Slippery Jack and the doctor slipped out of the game somehow and he and Apodoca played alone. Slim Jim looked on contemptuously, commiseratingly. “Confounded fool!” he said to Bald Pete—John’s former partner—“he never had no luck; oughter know it.” Meanwhile the Posy rode home over the mountain trail in the silver' moonlight under the swaying pines with their mysterious whispers in a very bad temper. Her father rode before her; where was “that John,” who ought to have been only too happy to have the honor of riding behind her? She had intended to be so pleasant to him too! When they passed the New Orleans Saloon it was brilliantly lighted; it was always brilliantly lighted all night. “ Ask what time it is, papa,” said Phoebe. Langsdale asked Bald Pete, who stood by the door. “Two o’clock,” he answered. “ What are they so still in there for?" asked Phoebe, accustomed to hear the most uproarious noises in the saloon. “Apodoca and John are playing,” replied Bald Pete. “Come here!” said the Posy, imperiously. Bald Pete came' obediently, as became a faithful subject. “ What are the stakes? John’s got nothing to play with. When did Jose get hack? Who is winning?” Bald Pete answered all the questions,, but the one about the stakes he evaded. But she made him tell how John had boriowed gold dust until Jose would lend no more; that he had risked his claim and lost it; his watch, his pick, the very clothes upon his back. “ He’s clean gone crazy,” said Bald Pete, “ clean outern his wits.” “ What’s he playing for now?” said the Posy. Bald Pete hesitated and tried again to evade the question; in vain. “If you don’t tell me," said she, “I’ll go right in and ask ’em.” “Wall,” said Pete, peering up in the darkness to get a look at the Posy’s round, pretty face, “he’s staked his chances ter git you agin the dust lie’s borrowed of Jose.” “ And who’s winning?” “ I’m bound to say as Jose’s winnin’,” said Pete, sorrowfully. “John never had no luck at keards,” Phcebe whipped up Robin a little and followed her father up to the cabin in silence. Once inside her room she took from the shelf the nugget which had been a present from Jose, and, stepping outside- the door, slie threw it with all her strength into the thick underbrush, whispering: “There, blood-thirsty villain!” Then she went back, took the rest of her nuggets—gathering up the corners of her apron, that none might toll out —slipped out of the door, and ran at full speed down to the saloon, the silver moonlight shining upon her as she went. Bald Pete stood at the door. ~“ My eye!” he cried, when he saw the Posy. “Are they playing yet?”she whispered. He nodded assent. She took his hand and clung to it like a child, drawing him into the room after her. Jose looked up when she came in, and started; John saw her too, atid let the cards drop from his hand. “ Never mind ’em, John,” she said in so low a voice that he hardly heard her, “I’m going to pay Jose for your debt;” and she emptied the nuggets upon the table, between the pistols which lay there, one upon each side, ready to the hand of each player. She put her arms around John’s arm, clinging to it, as if she loved it, and tried to lead him away. Apodoca flung his cards upon the floor, and, quick as a flash, Phoebe heard the crack of a pistol—once, twice! John fell back against the wall with a groan, the room was full of smoke and the smell of burnt powder; then there was a heavy thud and Apodoca fell, between the wall and the table, dead, without a groan or a word; the pistol, clenched fast in nis stiffened hand, went to the grave with him. And two days after, with all the inconsistency of a woman, the Posy searched the cliapparal, far and near, to find the nugget which she hid scornfully thrown away, and which, for all her searching, she never found. “John was all very well—she did love him, and would marry him; but his wound had been nothing; Apodoca’s aim, so fatftlly sure the second, had missed the first time, and John had escaped with a mere flesh-wound. But Jose—“poor fellow!”—his love had cost him his life, and even spoiled goddesses have tender women’s hearts.— Overland Monthly.