Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 July 1877 — THE YOSEMITE HERMIT. [ARTICLE]

THE YOSEMITE HERMIT.

Tna shadows were lying tolerably long on the green hillsides when'the luinDering yellow stage, somewhat the worse for wear, drawn by four lean, dusty horses, also somewhat the worse for wear, drew up with a grand flourish in front of the Grand Hotel, Mariposa. It was a long, low building, with a broad piazza in front and along one side; the facade was painted a dingy yellow, to match the stage, apparently, but the rest of the edifice had been neglected, and the superabundant rain and superabundant sunshine of Mariposa had left marks of their handiwork on the bare boards. The loungers rushed out of the barroom as soon as the wheels were heard, and stood grouped about the broad piazza, exchanging jokes with the driver, who was known as Scotty, and asking the news from Hornitos and other way places. Meanwhile the “doctor,” a stout, ruddy complexioued man, whose appearance spoke well of his profession, descended from his seat on the box, and opening the stage-door with an air of pride and satisfaction, lie assisted the one lady passenger to alight with a grace which would have done credit to Chesterfield. The loungers on the piazza started and drew back. All ceased their gibes with Scotty, and two or three removed their hats. She was not only a woman, but a very pretty woman—-she was even beautiful. She thanked the doctor with a pretty grace, and turned her clear, hazel eyes upon the admiring group, scanning each face eagerly and wistfully. The doctor said, “Allow me,” and was about to escort her into the small den at one side known as the “ladies’ parlor;” but she swept past him and walked straight in to the barroom, the doctor, the loafers and Scotty crowding In after her and regarding her movements with an undisguised admiration, and as much reverential curiosity as though she had been a visitant from another sphere. ’the proprietor of the “ Grand” was a podgy man, with an aggressively bald head and scaly eyes, like an alligator’s—though for that matter I may be libelling the alligator. His name was Sharpe, commonly corrupted into “ Cutey,” by some mysterious process. He was pouring whisky from a bottle into a glass, preparatory to serving himself, when the new-comer walked—she walked like an angel—straight up to him and said: “ Is this the landlord?”

Cutey was so astonished by the apparition that he dropped his glass; it was in reality a stone-china cup about half an inch thick —and wasted the whisky; it was only by the greatest presence of mind that he succeeded in saving the bottle. “ Ma-a-a’m!’’ he stammered, clutching at his bald head to see if there was a hat there. The woman repeated her question; the crowd by the doorway, headed by the doctor, strained their ears to listen. She had a low voice, tolerably sweet. Such music had never before been heard within those low walls, perhaps. They wished she would say more. “ Old Punks” muttered that she ’minded him of his Lyddy —“just such a voice!” which remark brought down upon him much contumely afterward, and a threat from the doctor to “ put daylight through him.” After a helpless look around him, Cutey admitted that he was the landlord, with the air of a cornered scoundrel confessing a crime. “ Then, perhaps, you can tell me what I wish to know,” said the woman, fixing her clear, sweet eyes upon him. “1 want to find a man named Wilmer—James Courtney Wilmer.” Cutey shook his head sorrowfully. “Thar be so many names," said he; “ skus any man goe9 by his own name. Be he livin’ in Mariposa, ma’am?” “I do not know,” was the reply, with a suggestion of tears in the voice, at which every heart in the crowd by the door was touched and unhappy, r Punks nudged Scotty with his elbow. “What’s that fellow’s name that wus partners with Circus Jack in the Banderita?” he whispered. Scotty rapped his forehead with his horny hand, and ran his fingers into his bushy, tow-colored hair with u clutch of desperation. __ “Punks,” he whispered, “I alters counted you a fool, but you ain’t; you air a shinin’light! His name was Jim Wilmer.’’ • r Then, coloring up to the roots of his hair, he advanced and said: “ If you please, ma’am.” The woman turned at this, meeting a whole battery of eyes without any seeming consciousness of it. “There wus a feller named Jim Wilmer here —wu9 partner in the Banderlta with a feller named Circ—leastwise I don’t know his name, but we called him Circus Jack, ma’am.” The woman’s face—her beautiful faceturned as white as the collar st her throat; she leaned against /the bar and tried to speak, but the words died on her iips. Finally, with an effort, she half whispered : “ Do you know where he is now?” Then, as the men looked at each other, she cried, in a clearer tone; “Is lie dead?” “ No, no, ma’am. He was here, ’taint a month,” said Scotty. “ I think hg’s ofi huntin’ in the hills. I’ll find Circus Jack and bring him up here. He’ll be likely to know—him and Jim was real good friends.”

“Thank you,” amid the stranger, softly, in a voice which smote Scotty’s heart exceedingly. The doctor, meanwhile, had gone for Mrs. Sharpe, who presently entered and invited the stranger to “ hav a little tea.” She was a small, fair woman, with a washed-out look, and a mouth not innocent of dipping, but she looked and spoke Kindly, ana the stranger was glad enough to answer, “ Yes," and follow her into the dining-room. The crowd fell back as she approached, but only enough to give her room to pass. Some one stealthily touched her dress as she swept by them, and when she disappeared and the door had closed, forty tongues were loosed at once, and a scene of excitement ensued only equaled by the one which followed on the shooting of “the Judge” by “little Jack,” over a game of poker, in that very bar*oom of the Grand Hotel. “ Mought I ax your name, ma’am?” inquired Mrs. Sharpe. “ Marian Kingsley,” was the faint reply. “ Miss or Mrs., ma’am?" pursued Mrs. Sharpe, glancing at the shapely, white, ringless hands. The stranger gave a slight, impatient twitch. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “ Call me Marian. That will do as well as anything.” Mrs. Sharpe was a washed-out woman. Many of the natural and laudable instincts remained, perhaps being fast colors; but a horror of the class to which she now supposed Marian to belong was one which had not faded out of her nature. She gave a slightly supercilious look, which fell upbn the woman like moonlight on ice, and pursued her inquiries. “Came from ’Frisco?” “ I came through there. I didn’t see anything of the place.” “ Whar did yer come from ?” “ Philadelphia.” The tone was changed. She evidently felt the impalpable rudeness of the faded woman, and knew how to resent it in the same way. More conversation ensued, in the course of which Mm. Sharpe discovered that Marian had a little money—enough to pay her board for a few months—and that she had come there to find “James Courtney Wilmer.” Mrs. Sharpe had information to give as well as to take, for she knew something of Jim. “ We called him Jim,” she said, a little scornfully. “He didn’t get no. 1 Courting’ from me.” Poor Marian gave a faint smile. “There might be other James Wilmers,” she said. “ I wanted to be sure.” Mrs. Sharpe didn’t think this could be the one. “He’s a rough, ragged creeter,” she said “and’s had the snakes fur weeks at a time.” Marian shrank and cowered at this, with a pitiful look of pain on her beautiful face. “Hed money left him?” asked Mrs. Sharpe.

Marian nodded. “ ’Twon tdo him no good. Soon as he hears of it be’ll drink himself into snakes, Allers did when thev struck a good lead on the Banderita. Circus Jack he loses all his’n at poker; so there they go.” In the course of an hour Circus Jack, scrubbed and “fixed up” to a degree which made him almost unrecognizable by his comrades, appeared, escorted by Scotty, also prepared by a choice toilet to enter the presence of “ the ladies.” “’Scuse my not cornin’ afore,” said Scotty. “ Hosses must be ’tended to, and them of mine was about dead beat.” Marian smiled graciously, if absently, and turned her clear, hazel eyes to Circus Jack, who, with many excuses, circumlocutions and profane epithets, most of which he apologized for instantly, and some of which he was evidently unconscious of, gave her all the information in his power in regard to the man she had come to find. No one in Mariposa knew- him better. As “Jim ” he was almost an integral part of the Citt of “ Butterflies.” The butterflies, by the hy, for which the town is named, are not those which soar in the air, but “ Mariposas,” fastened by long, tough filaments to the ground. Many a night had Jim Wilmer crushed his swollen face into them, and slept a drunken sleep, with their soft wings folded sorrowfully above him. There was something of a mystery hung about him, which the “boys” had never been able to fathom. Some said that he belonged to a wealthy and aristocratic family, and had left home and become a wanderer and an outcast, because some beautiful woman had jilted him; others Baid that he had a wife and children, that he had broken his wedded faith and liis wife’s heart at the same time, and that a grim phantom followed him wherever he went and gave him no peace. Others told yet another story; that he had been engaged to a beautiful girl and had loved her and trusted her above all telling; that his wedding-day was near, when he had stumbled upon some miserable secret, which was dead and buried, but could not rest in its grave; that there was no room left for doubt, which is sometimes blessed, and he nad fled without a word; disappeared. and left to her own wretched heart the task of telling her the reason why. Oircus Jack did not tell Marian these stories, though he had heard them all; indeed, they had all been retold and discussed in the barroom, not half an hour since. An average woman would have repeated them to her, and thus tempted her to reveal the truth; but a chivalrous heart beat under Jack’s flannel shirt, and he could no more bear to hurt her than he could have crushed a little bird to death with his hand. If any ot the stories were true, and sue yet loved poor Jim, he told her enough to wring her heart and haunt her dreams forever. The winter that he spent in the hollow of a great pine tree. on the rim of Yoeemite Valley, was perhaps his happiest and most peaceful. Every Yosemite tourist stops to peep inside this tree, and to wonder if a man really lived there. “It was comfortable enough,” says the hale old pioneer of the valley below. “He had plenty of room. ■ Weboth slept in it one night.” At which the tourist peeps in again, and wonders if the long-limbed Texan was not a bit cramped by the foot board. When Circtis Jack told Marian the story it was fresher and less wonderful than now. ‘“Was the snow very deep?" she said. “ Was there no danger of his freezing to death?” “ I never heard much about it anyhow,” said Circus Jack, “ ’cept that he lived th&r alone cuttin’ shingles. I ’spect the snow was ’bout four or five foot deep up tharwbar he lived. He’s a close-mouthed one, I tell yer. Never git uothin’ outer him, an’ when he’s drunk he don’t tell nothin’ whatsomdevef!” This, with a glance half pitying, half reassuring, as though he would promise her that the secret, whatever it might be, was safe. One comforting doubt beat at the woman’s heart all the while that Jack was

talking. “ Perhaps this man was not the one!” She mentioned this at length, and asked Jack what his quondam “partner” was like. “He was a slight built feller, rayther light complected," was the reply. v“ An’ han’some. I called him han'some, didn't you, Scotty?” Scotty, thus appealed to, gave a profane assent. He had scarcely moved a muscle since he sat down with his eyes fixed on Marian’s fair, ever-changing face. Mrs. Sharpe, after a vain attempt to edge in the conversation, had quietly withdrawn, having no relish for being one of a quartet where two did all the talking. . “Was he—an—educated man?” inquired Marian hesitatingly, feeling in a vague way that the question might offend Jack. “Yes, he war,” replied that worthy, in a contemplative tone. “ When we war drunk I hev beam him talkin’ a lot of stuff like po’try. Thar’s a pile of books in my cabin now that he used to read con sid’ably. 1 can’t make head nor tail to ’em. P’i’aps you might.” “ I would like to<sec them,” said Marian, eagerly. Jack nodded, and a pause ensued. At length Scotty remarked that the “old man,” meaning Cutey, was “reytherlate in light’in’ up,” at which Jack arose and bade the stranger “good-night.” Marian put out her hand, saying: “We will be gopd friends, I hope.” Circus Jack took it by the finger tips cautiously, careful not to hurt it with his horny fingers. “ I’ll do airy in the world for yer, madam,” he replied, earnestly and ingenuously. “There is one thing I wish to ask,” she said, “though it may be a foolish question. Did you ever notice any ring —that he wore or—carried ?’’ “ There was a ring, but I’m beat es I kin tell what kind. Once, when Jim wus tumble sick, an.’ his hand swelled up, I wanted to file it off, but he fought so, I couldn’t. He said, when he got well, that it never had ben off, nor never shouldp’t be while he had life to fight.” “ Can’t.you tell me what it was like?” she asked. “I ain’t no hand,” said Circus Jack, rubbing his head. “I’d know it es I seed it, but——” “ Was it like this ?” bhe drew a dainty purse Irom her pocket, and took from its safest corner a plain, flat band of gold, with a small disk on it, shaped like the half of a heart, placed horizontally. “Prezactly!” exclaimed Circus Jack, .with emphasis. bhe opened ljer purse to put it back, but it fell from her hand, scattering her little stock of money over the floor, and a moment after, when Mrs. Sharpe came in, iD response to frantic halloes from Scotty, she found Marian in a dead faint upon* the floor, with Scotty and Circus Jack, with hands clasped behind them,

kneeling on either side of her, like uncouth angels, while scattered coins and ' escaping "masses of golden brown hair formed a halo about her head. She was ashamed of and provoked at her weakness afterward; said she was fatigued with her long apd wearisome ride, and that she never fainted before; but if she had been an accomplished diplomatist, she could have planned nothing better for her popularity. As for the faded-out woman, her opinion, which had been tottering under a severe reproof from Cutey, now underwent a complete revo.ution. “Them kind never faints,” she said to herself, dogmatically, as she assisted Marian to her room and begged her to “take things easy like.” She patiently answered one hundred and seventeen inquiries that evening, varying from “ How’s the sick lady?” to “ Jim Wilvner's gal perking up a little after her faint?” and for the rest of Marian’s stay in Mariposa she proved that kindliness of heart had been one of the “ fast colors.” It was but natural that Cutey should feel a friendly interest, since he dealt out at least two* hundred extra drinks, at highly remunerative prices, on her account that evening; and, moreover, the doctor “tipped” him handsomely for extra care and attention. In a week after her arrival, Marian had learned all that anybody in Mariposa knew regarding “.Jim.” She wore that curious ring upon her finger now. There were two letters upon the disk, but no one ever had the hardihood to ask what they were. Punks, whose eyes were keen, and whose curiosity was keener, declared that they were “ 1 L,” with a “ little quirl like” between. Punks also knew—a fact which did credit to his powers and habits of observation—that on the disk of the ring which Jim wore on his little finger were the letters “F A.” Punks desired to know what “ Fail” spelled but “fail.” He further inquired “ what they wanted to hev sech a dqggoned mis’able word as thet on a ring fur?” “ T’orter be ‘ love’ or ‘ sunthin’,” he added, critically.

It was only after much questioning, in divers places, and the exercise of a deal of patience and finesse, that Marian learned the present whereabouts of the lialf-crazed hermit, “all unblessed.” When last seen, something- less than a week before her arrival, he had been wandering through the neighboring mountains, half-clothed in wretched rags, living on berries or roots, alternately muttering and shrieking the vagaries "of his unhinged mind. They were loth to telj her, even those who knew it. Their rude externals seemed to have made their hearts softer. It hurt them to see the pink color fade from her cheeks, and the shadow of sharp pain creep over her beautiful face; so she had to learn the lesson of smiling when her heart ached worst. The two Mexicans, cattle-herders, who had seen him, were eagerly questioned; but they could tell nothing that she did not know, save that they were quite sure;that it was Jim, and not some other unfortunate, whom they had seen. They gave a stupid assent when asked by Marian to secure him and bring him into town the next time that they saw him; and a “ si, senor,” considerably less stupid in a subsequent private interview with Jack, who promised them “ heap money” for their labor. Marian had the books which Jim had left in thecabin—commonplace Greek and Latin books, which might have belonged to anybody, save that on the fly-leaf was written, in scrawling hand, “J. C. Wilmer,” and this yellow page, and this faded ink she covered with her kisses and baptized with her tears. And another weary week passed by. The doctor noticed, with disapprobation strongly expressed, how pale and worn looking the pretty woman grew. Not professionally; indeed, his title was merely honorary, bestowed in recognition of his services in preseribihg the “Golden Adti-Bilious Pills” for Bob Jinks, *hich, or nature, in spite of them, had effected a cure and restored to bereft

Mariposa society an efficient and valuable member. The doctor’s Interest afforded considerable amusement to the habitues of the Grand bar-room, and they fairly roared with sympathy when he profanely expressed his sorrow to see her wasting her beauty in tears over “ another feller.” One Saturday night, two weeks and a daj sine* Marian’s arrival, the whole population of the town were at the Grand, either drinking, gambling or purchasing provisions of Cutey’s deputy, who presided over the tiu-can department with activity and grace; and all, whatever their occupation, were swearing vigorously and unceasingly. Marian sat up-stairs in her tinv room burning with feverish anxiety. Her long vears of home waiting, the comfortless 3ournev, even the first week of uncertainty, hau been easier to bear than this anxious waiting. The Mexicans had not hes itated to say that he must be dead bv tills time; but that she did not believe; he might be starving, crazed, nearly dead, but surely she might see him one more and heat him say that he forgave her; perhaps even nurse him back to reason and health and hope again. The brawling and laughter down-stairs made her shudaer. “It I was only a man!” she whispered fiercely clenching her little hands. “ Can Ido nothing but sit here and wait I Oh, God, be merciful 1” she cried. Then suddenly a thought flashed into her mind. She did not stop to think of it; she acted upon it. The doctor’s partner, profoundly studying his cards, was somewhat disconcerted to see the table kicked over, and the doctor’s “hand” on the floor. Without a question, he put his hand back for his pistol, when the sudden stillness in the room caught his attention and all that followed caused him to forget the affront. In the center of the room, her disordered hair flying about her face, her clear eyes flashing with excitement, her cheeks flaming with color, more beautiful than they had ever seen her look before, Marian stood waiting for silence. Men crowded up to the door-ways and filled tire windows, certain from the sudden quiet that “something was up.” “Won’t you help me?” she cried out. “What can Ido to find him? He may be starving to death 1 He would not have left you to starve! You”—she gasped and drew her breath hard—“you whom he was good to- -you remember—a hundred tnings, but you forget him! and let him—rave his life away—and starve to death—alone.” She choked. She could not speak another word! but she stood with her lips parted, her eyes flashing, looking eagerly, almost angrily, from one face to another.

Circus Jack bounded on to a tables it was rickety, and reeled with his weight; but Punks and Bob Jinks steadied it; they were friends of Jack’s, beside they had just won from at poker, and felt very friendly. “Fellers!” said Jack, “to-mor-row’s Sunday. I’m going out ter hunt for poor Jim, and I ain’t cornin’ back till I find him. Them as wants ter ’comp’nyme kin cnß at my cabin to-night.” “ I will go with you Jack,” said the flnetor impressively ———rrrrzilZll “ Me too, you bet,” cried Scotty. “ Count me in,” growled a bass voice from the window. “Me too! ” squeaked Punks. “All as’ll go say ‘Ay!’ ” And an “Ay! ” came from those rough voices with such a ringing burst of good will as must have startled the very birds asleep in the distant trees. Nay! Some faint echo of it may have been heard at the very gates of Heaven itself. The tears rolled down Marian’s cheeks. She tried to say “God bless you! ” but the tears had the right of way, and the words broke into something unintelligible. A sudden shame came over them that they had not thought of this before. Memories of homes, of mothers, of wives, came knocking at their hearts and would not be denied. The sleeves of rough and not over-clean flannel shirts were drawn across eyes that had scorned tears through sickness, discomfort and disappointment. Cutey came to the rescue. “Gentlemen!” he said, waving his hand over the bar, “help yourselves. My j’ints are stiff, and I can’t go; but I’ll treat the crowd. Free drinks, gentlemen ! ” And leaving his bar to the tender mercies of his thirsty friends Cutey offered his arm to Marian, and escorted her to her own door, where he took leave of her with a low bow. Then he went down stairs four steps at a time, lest his choice liquors should be annihilated in hi 9 absence. It was Monday noon when they returned. Marian sat at the window in the easiest chair the house afforded, sickening with fever. She watched them coming into town with a restless, helpless anxiety. She watched them scattering to their cabins, and saw Circus Jack coming on toward the hotel alone. She buried her face in her hands. He had said that he wculd never come back until he found him. Had they become discouraged, or She could not believe that they had found him. Her heart seemed to cry out, “No! no!” Jack came up, with little Mrs. Sharpe at his heels.

“Be keerful!” said the faded woman. “{She’s mighty poorly.” Jack came in as lightly as his heavy bools would allow. “ The boys said fur me ter tell yer they wus all dreadful sorry fur yer. We buried him jist whar we found him. He’d a ben dead nigh on a couple of weeks, I reckon. Don’t yer look so. lady. Poor Jim! he warn’t never happy, even when he was drunk. He’s better off up thar. We flung a few stones together to mark the place, and I’ll guide you and Mrs. Sharpe thar any time.” Then lowering his voice to a whisper, he added tenderly, “ Anil I tuk the ring often his finger. He couldn’t fight for it now; an I thought as mebby you’d like it.” He took it from the comer of his handkerchief, she held up her finger for it and he slipped it on. Then he saw that the letters spelled “ Faith.’’ “ Thet Punks!” he thought to himself, contemptuously. She looked up into liis lace with a stony smile—no tears now. “ Thank vou,” she said. Four weeks after, the doctor lifted Marian into the stage. She was strong enough for her journey now, she said. before she had visited the lonely cairn. She said it was a tiresome horseback ride. She seemed to be getting well very fast. The doetpr told her so. “ People never die when they wish to,” she answered, sadly. Circus Jack came to the stage door to bid her “ good-by.” " What can I do for you to thank you ?" she asked, earnestly. Jack hesitated. “Es you wouldn’t mind, ma’am,” he said, “I’d like—to —kiss—yoilr hand. I’ve got a dear old mother home—es you wouldn’t mind!”

Without a blush or a change of countenance she put her arm around his neck and kissed his lips. “ Good-by, dear old fellow,” she said. Then Bcotly cracked his whip, the crowd on the piazza raised their hats—even the poor chagrined doctor—a subdued cheer was given, add the lumbering stage disappeared in a cloud of dust, the nodding Maripqpason the hillside looking curiously at it as it went by .—Clara U. Dullioer, in Galaxy.