Nevada

Agnes. Have you never communicated with your employers, avowed your innocence?

Dick. Never.

Agnes. Why, Richard, you have acted like a madman!

Dick. Haven't I? Perhaps the word "Fool" would be better. How easily I might have cleared myself. How – Oh, well! I'm not the first man who has been wrecked on the reefs of "Might have been."

Agnes. But this man's motive? Why did he act thus?

Dick. Because he loved you. I was in the way.

Agnes. Loved me? Then, through that love I can save you.

Dick. Perhaps you can, but you shall not. I'll take my chances with the law.

Agnes. I shall return with you.

Dick. No: you must stay here in the charge of a friend, the only man I can trust, – Tom Carew.

Agnes. He your friend? Why, he betrayed you!

Dick. So he did: I forgot that. But then, he put me out of my misery, so we'll forgive him.

Agnes. You may, but I, never. I had begun to like your friend. (Tom appears at window.) I thought him good and noble: I find him base and treacherous. I hate this Tom Carew. (Crosses to L.)

Tom (aside). If you don't, you're not the woman I thought you.

Dick. Oh! Tom's a good fellow, only just now he's in love.

(Enter Tom, door C.)

Tom (to Agnes). If he had no other excuse than that, he would be what you just now styled him, – base and treacherous.

Agnes. Have you not proved yourself so, betrayed your friend, deceived me?

Tom. Deceived you?

Agnes. Did you not promise to seek him I sought, to bring him to me? How have you kept your word? By betraying him to the man from whom I sought to save him. Is this a token of your boasted regard for mothers, wives, and sisters?

Tom. Hear me before you condemn. In these wild lands is a tender flower, gladdening the hearts of rough miners by its fragrance and beauty. From its coming it has been fondly cherished and tenderly cared for. Yesterday it was trampled in the dust by one who knew the fearful wrong he was committing.

Dick. Ah! The flower is Moselle.

Tom. And the despoiler you. That fact known among the miners, your life would answer for it; but, knowing there was one to whom you were very dear, for her sake I checked the first promptings of vengeance, and gave you into the hands of justice.

Dick. To save me from Judge Lynch. I see.

Tom. Whose sentence you richly deserve.

Dick. Don't be too sure of that.

Tom. Now, having saved you from Judge Lynch, it is your turn to save yourself from the detective. My horse is tied outside. Take yourself off.

Agnes. No, you must not attempt escape: his eyes are upon you. A movement, and he will shoot.

Moselle (outside). Ha, ha, ha! (Runs in door, C.) Shoot! I guess not, when he's strapped to a tree. Hear him holler.

Jerden (in the distance). Help! Help!

Dick. Moselle, what does this mean?

Moselle. Fun! I told you I was all ready for it; and so, while Tom held the "catchee man," as Win calls him, I gave him the benefit of a rope.

Dick. Hung him?

Moselle. Ha, ha, ha! No, only quartered him – under a tree.

Tom. Now, Dick, off with you. Here's my dust (offers bag), and the horse will carry two.

Dick. Not your dust, Tom. I'm to have a companion: who is it?

Tom (with a glance at Agnes). Can you ask?

Dick. I can. Moselle, will you go with me?

Moselle. Me?

Tom (seizes Moselle and places her behind him). Do you dare, before (points to Agnes) the one who has come miles to reclaim you? You know where your duty lies. Take her (takes Agnes by the hand, and leads her up to Dick), and away!

Dick. What! Run off with my own sister?

Tom (staggering back to window). Sister?

Moselle. His sister! Ain't this jolly! O Dick! (Runs into his arms.) I'm just dying for a run.

Dick. Then, off we go. (Exit door C., with arm about Moselle.)

Tom. His sister! (Agnes sits L. of table, throws her arms on table, face on her arms.) Well, Tom Carew, you've struck bed-rock now, and no mistake. His sister; and there she is, grieving, because he's gone. (Comes down R.) And she hates me. "I had just begun to like your friend." Hang it! and I, like a blamed mule, have kicked over the pan, and scattered the dust. (Sits R. of table, puts his arms on it, looks at Agnes a moment, then puts his face down on his arms. Agnes looks up, smiling.)

Agnes (aside). He is a good fellow: only, as Dick says, he's in love. (Tom raises his head. She quickly drops hers, as before.)

Tom. I wish I could say something to comfort her; but no: she hates me. (Drops as before. She raises her head.)

Agnes. How nobly he has acted, good fellow! Better than that, – he's noble! (Tom moves. She drops her head. After a pause, both heads raised at the same time.)

Agnes (smiling). Have you been dreaming, Mr. Carew?

Tom. I wish I had.

Agnes. Dreaming of "the tender flower that gladdened the hearts of the rough miners," or of "the visionary woman"?

Tom. Whom I see when I look at you. And you hate me.

Agnes. No! I admire you.

Tom (rising). Miss Fairlee!

Agnes (rising). You have saved my brother from a horrible death. You have offered him the means of escape.

Tom. He will escape: my horse is swift.

Agnes. No! He is innocent of crime, so will not make the attempt. He is probably now in the hands of the detective.

Tom. But he went with Moselle.

Agnes. Yes, to free the detective.

Tom. Well, I've blundered again. And you are his sister. I never dreamed of that. Ah, if I had a sister!

Agnes. You would be very fond of her?

Tom. Indeed I should.

Agnes. Well, as you have none, and you are Dick's partner, why shouldn't you be fond of his sister?

Tom. Miss Fairlee! Agnes! – May I call you Agnes?

Agnes. Dick does, and you are his partner.

Tom. Agnes, I love you.

Agnes. And I love —

Tom (holding out his hands). Well?

Agnes. To have you love me. (Walks into his arms.)

Tom (clasping). Oh, I've found a nugget!

(Enter Moselle, C.)

Moselle. Lucky Tom. How much does it weigh? (Agnes and Tom separate.) What are you doing with my teacher, Tom? Has she set you conjugating? I love – you love – or do you both love? I guess if you'd had as much of that as I had, you'd want a vacation.

Tom. Well, we've been considering Dick's case.

Moselle. And Dick's settled his case by giving himself up to the detective, whom he mag-nan-i-mously – that's a big word: hope I got it right – set free from the tree; and here they are.

(Enter Dick and Jerden.)

Jerden (approaching Tom threateningly). So, you are the one with whom I am to settle.

Tom. Yes: I'm the one (presenting pistol), and here's the other.

Jerden (retreating). Take care: that might go off.

Tom. I'm afraid it will, if you don't. Hark you, stranger! I gave Dick up under a mistake; and I'm afraid, that, when the boys find it out, you'll have hard work to get away. So, what's your figger?

Jerden. I don't understand you.

Tom. No? And you call yourself a detective. When banks send out detectives, they want the rogue and the money. When they can't have both, they'll take one. You can't have Dick; so, what's the figger?

Jerden. Twenty thousand dollars.

Tom. Twenty! Look here, stranger, ain't you settin' it a leetle high? There's not so much money in the whole camp.

Jerden (aside). So I thought. He's mine. (Aloud.) That's the sum. If you can't pay it, I take my man.

Tom. Never.

Dick. Oh, yes, he will! I'm a little anxious to get East, and he'll pay the travelling expenses.

Tom. Well, you are a cool one; but you just wait until I can wake up some of the boys. I shouldn't wonder – No, no. Twenty —

Agnes (to Tom). Don't interfere, Tom: Dick's innocent.

Tom. All right, if you say so.

Agnes. Moselle, we must go. Dick, will you walk with me? I've something particular to say to you.

Dick. If Mr. Jerden makes no objection.

Jerden. All right. I'll follow.

Dick. Of course. (Gives arm to Agnes, and goes to door.)

Agnes. Good-night, Tom.

Tom. Good-night, Agnes.

Dick. Agnes! Tom, you haven't —

Tom. Oh, yes, I have! Rich find. A nugget, Dick. She's mine.

Moselle. Yes, Dick: I caught them mineing.

Jerden (aside). Ah! I have a rival here.

Dick. Tom, old boy, it's glorious: you were made for each other. (Exit with Agnes, door C.)

Moselle. Tom, hunt up daddy: he's lots of dust.

Jerden. Miss Moselle, shall I attend you?

Moselle. You?

Tom. No: Moselle goes with me.

Moselle. No, Tom, you look out for daddy. Come, Mr. Jerden, I'm your prisoner.

Jerden (offers arm). Prisoner?

Moselle (taking his arm). Why not? One good turn deserves another: you were mine a little while ago, now I am yours: ha, ha, ha! how you did struggle to escape!

Jerden. Ah! that was clever. Do you know, I would like to present you with something for that?

Moselle. With what, pray?

Jerden. Something ladies are fond of.

Moselle. Oh, do tell me quick!

Jerden (showing handcuffs). Bracelets.

Moselle. Mercy! come along. (Exeunt C.)

Tom. Twenty – oh, it's no use to think of it; but I must and will find a way to save him!

(Nevada passes window and enters door C.)

Nevada (excitedly). Tom Carew, Tom, quick, rouse the boys: I've found it!

Tom. The mine?

Nevada. Yes, yes!

Tom. Glory! Dick's free. Yes, Nevada, you've found it where, where?

Nevada. Hush, not so loud; we must be secret, secret: while I was asleep it all came to me.

Tom. Yes.

Nevada. I saw the narrow path my feet had made in many journeys to it, I saw the tunnel I had dug into the earth, the rocks I had blasted, – I can go straight to it. And then I saw, Tom, I saw an open vein of running gold, pouring out broad and deep. I dabbled my hands in it, dashed it over my head, and then —

Tom. O heavens! 'tis only his madness.

Nevada. I woke.

Tom. To find it but a dream.

Nevada. Yes, yes; but there's luck in dreams, and I shall find it. (Shivers.) I'm cold: may I sit by the fire?

Tom. Yes, Nevada.

Nevada (goes and sits by fire rubbing his hands and warming them). I like this, I like to sit before a fire: I can see faces in the fire, – her's and the little one. See the tall flame back there; that's her face, but oh so haggard and pale! She thinks I will never come; and see, there's a bright little flame dancing up towards her, just as the little child used to climb up into her lap; and there's the little one's face now, and her little fingers beckoning to me. Yes, yes, I'll come, I'll come, with the gold to make us all happy.

Tom. Poor old fellow!

(Enter past window through door C, Silas, his coat torn, his hat out of shape, his clothes and face daubed with dirt; paint-pot in his hand. Singing), —

Out of the wilderness,Out of the wilderness,Ain't I glad I'm out of the wilderness.

In the classic vernacular of this benighted region, "you bet." Oh for a bottle of Busted's Balm! I'm sore from crown to heel. (Drops pail near door R.)

Tom. Well, stranger, I should say you'd been having a rough and tumble with a grizzly.

Silas. Wrong, stranger. Grizzly and I have been having a "go as you please," and I'm several laps ahead.

Tom. Where did you strike him?

Silas. Strike him! Do you s'pose I'm such a fool as to tackle a grizzly with his war-paint on? I struck for home: I never had such a longing for the dearest spot on earth in all my life. You see, stranger, I started out to do a little embalming for the balm: your friend Vermont's hospitality and bacon had made it necessary for me to take a little exercise. Well, I took a long constitutional, practising a little here and there with the brush, until I espied away up a bowlder, – such a bowlder for a six-sheet poster! – that seemed to offer uncommon facilities for the display of the pronunciamento.

Tom. The what?

Silas. Oh! that staggers you, does it? Well, that's high jinks for the balm. It was the wildest spot I ever scrambled through, the hardest climb I ever attempted; but I reached it, spread the balm in gigantic letters, and was just putting a stop to it, when the earth gave way, and down I went. I didn't have time to take out my watch, but I should think it was about an hour before I stopped dropping. When I did, I found I was underground, evidently in a deserted mine. I might have taken an observation; but an ugly growl in the interior convinced me that the inhabitant of that sequestered spot was not at home for company, so I came out. A little too hurriedly for good manners, perhaps, but with a celerity that astonished me, if it didn't the grizzly. (Sits on bench.) Whew! such a run! Excuse me, stranger, if I stretch out a bit. (Lies on bench.) I've had enough of the balm (yawns) for one day, now I'm going in for a little of the balmy (yawns) sleep. Stop a bit. (Raises himself.) Must look out for the dust. (Takes bag from his breast, and places it under his head. Yawns.) Such a tramp (yawns) along the ravine, three miles. (Nevada, who has been crouching looking into the fire, raises his head, and looks at Silas.) Then over the bowlders to where the big tree lies across (yawns) across the creek. (Nevada rises, and approaches stealthily.) Across it to the gorge, beyond (yawns), a good mile. (Nevada still nearer, agitated, glaring at Silas. Tom seated R. of table watches him.) And then to the right (yawns); no, to the – (Yawns and sleeps.)

Nevada. He's found it! (About to rush upon Silas, Tom steps before him; they struggle, and Tom forces him back to door.)

Tom. Madman, what would you do?

Nevada (in door). Kill him. He has struck the trail. He would rob me of my treasures, but I'll be before him. Let him dare to meet me there; let him attempt to enter, and he shall find old Nevada a giant defending his own. His river of gold! ha, ha! The old man has not lost his cunning nor his strength. (Shaking his fist at Silas.) Beware of him! (Exit C.)

Tom. Off again as wild as ever. (Comes down, and looks at Silas.) Another moment, and he'd have been at his throat. What could have moved him so?

Silas (moves). Along the ravine —

Tom (starts back). Ah! that old story. How often have we heard it! Nevada's oft-told story in this stranger's mouth. Has he in truth, as Nevada said, struck the trail that leads to the lost mine? Has he found the clew to the mystery of years? If he has, 'tis marked, and should be found. There's a fortune for him who strikes it. A fortune would set Dick free, and make Agnes my wife. So, Tom Carew, for love and friendship try your luck, and —

Silas (moves and mutters). Look out for paint.

Tom. Right, stranger. Where you left your mark, I'll look for gold. (Exit C. and off L. Vermont passes window, and stops in door looking after Tom.)

Vermont. Tom Carew, I reckon, scootin' away like a cotton-tailed rabbit. Outer my ranch, too. (Comes down.) Can't find a trace of that tender foot: he's shook me clean. (Sees Silas.) Thar he is. (Sits R. of table.) Blamed if the chap ain't been underground. He's struck dirt, and it sticks to him. (Places elbow on knee, chin on hand, and watches Silas. Jube appears at window.)

Jube. Golly! dat ole man means mischief. He's jes' been trailin' arter dat ar tender hoof. What's de cunundrum? what he want? Go slow, ole man, I's watchin'.

Win-Kye (stealthily sticking his head in at door). Paintee man sleepee, Vellemontee watchee, Win-Kye alle samee.

Vermont. Sleepin' jest like a little kid, dreaming of the old mother way down East. Well I remember the time when the old boys, young then, used to think of the old folks, and long for the time to come when they should get fixed up with dust, and go home. How we did dream! and what a sorter lonesome feelin' would come over us, and then we'd get careless. They seemed so far away, till news would come that somebody we knew had passed in his checks, and was farther, farther away. (Draws his sleeve across his eyes.)

Jube. Golly! de ole man's crying. See de weeps! See de weeps!

Vermont. Tender foot shall go back well fixed. I've been watching for a chance, and now's the time. (Rises and looks about cautiously. Jube and Win-Kye disappear. Vermont creeps toward Silas. Jube and Win-Kye reappear as before.)

Jube. What's de racket?

Vermont. His bag of dust is under his head. I must have it. (Creeps nearer, and places his hand on bag.)

Jube. Gwine to rob him? It's all out. Can't stan' dat. Whar's dat rebolber? (points revolver at Vermont) ain't goin' to be no foo' in dis yer camp.

Win-Kye (sees paint-pot near door). Paintee man, blushee all light. Me paintee too. (Takes brush, smells of it, makes a wry face.) Smelle stlong. Smelle kelosenee. (Vermont pulls bag away.)

Jube. Buglery, buglery! but I's got de bead on him; jes' wait till he stows it away. (Vermont, on one knee, takes a bag from his breast.)

Jube. Dat's de game: take out ob whosen's bag, and put in hisen; but – but I got de bead on him. (Vermont opens Silas's bag, and pours dust from his bag into it.)

Jube. What's dat? Dar's some mistook. But I got de bead on him.

Win-Kye (with brush creeps under the window). Me paintee, Jube, whitee, all ligh'. (Vermont puts back his bag, then about to restore the other under Silas's head; as he touches him, Silas springs up. Vermont rises to his feet.)

Silas (seizing him). Ah! would you? (They wrestle; and, with a trip, Silas throws him back on stool R. of table, his back against table, draws a revolver from his hip-pocket, and points it at his head.) Yours for health.

Jube. Now, tangle hoof jes' spoiled de fun, but he's got de bead.

Vermont. Don't shoot: I'm your dad.

Silas. My dad?

Jube. Golly! de ole man's a fader. Ought to be ashamed ob hisself.

Win-Kye. Jubee! (Crouching, sticks brush straight above his head.)

Jube. Well, was de matter? (Leans down, Win-Kye thrusts the brush into his face.)

Win-Kye. Lookee out for paintee. (Jube starts back with a yell quick.)

(Curtain on Picture. – Jube grasping the window-sill with both hands, his face contorted, and streaked with paint. Win-Kye grinning. Vermont on stool, pressed back against table Silas's hand on his throat, with pistol pointed, looking into each other's faces.)

Act III. —Same as Act I. – Win-Kye enters down run, carrying paint-pail in one hand, brush in other

Win-Kye. Ole man talkee, painteeman talkee: all ligh', Win-Kye walkee, cally pail, inside he mouth he plenty cly, "lookee out fol paint." Painteeman, Chinaman, alle same.

Jube (appearing on run). Win, you imp ob sin, you, you Shanghi, you jes' brung back dat ar whitewash.

Win-Kye. All ligh', Jubee, me bling 'em back, in the sweetee bymby.

Jube (comes down). Look yere, you Celestial imp, quit yer fool! dis year ain't no time for mischievity; dis year am a solem' occasion; de ole man's found his long forgotten chile, – his lost offsprung, – an' – an' you've run off wid der baby's playthings.

Win-Kye. Muchee solly, baby cly. Supposee you sing him, —

"Littee Jack HornerMakee sit inside corner,Chow-chow he Clismas pie.He put inside tu'm,Hab catchee one plum.Hi, yah! what one good chilo my!"

Jube. Golly! hear dat Chineesers infusions ob potrey. Dat all comes ob his contract wid art. Win-Kye, gib me dem ar 'tensils.

Win-Kye. Me paintee locks, me paintee tlees, all samee so. (Points at sign on rock.) "Washee, washee." (Exit 1 E. R.)

Jube. See him hoof it. Dis years de melencolic effect ob tryin' to turn a mongo into a Sambo. I's jes' tried to cibilize dat ar heathen, to gib him a brack heart; an' he no sooner gits a hold ob a paint-brush, off he goes, like ole Nebacanoozer, on a tear.

(Enter Moselle, from cabin.)

Moselle. Jube, have you seen my daddy?

Jube. Seen your what? Golly, Mosey, you took my bref away! Seen him! Well, I guess, Mosey, dar was a yearthquake jes' flopped ober dis year camp las' night: seed it, seed it, felt de shock fro my physical cistern; an' I guess de ole man is scourin' round to kill a fatted calf or a mule.

Moselle. What are you talking about, Jube?

Jube. Mosey, brace yerself: be a man. De Book ob Rebelation am open. Abigal's son am returned.

Moselle. Who's son?

Jube. Abigal's son. Don't you know what de good Book says?

Moselle. The prodigal son, Jube.

Jube. What's de dif? what's de dif? Dat gal's son am returned to his fadder's buzzum; and you're shook. You may cry, "Hi, daddy! ho, daddy!" but dar am no daddy.

Moselle. Jube, tell me, quick, what has happened to daddy?

Jube. I'll tole yer all about it. Las' night I went down to de ole man's ranch on perticlar business. Well, de ole man was down dar, I was down dar, Win was down dar, an' – an' somebody else was down dar. Now, you know de ole man dat was down dar; you know me dat was down dar; you know Win dat was down dar; but – but you can't guess who dat somebody else was, dat was down dar, to dat ar ranch down dar.

Moselle. Why should I guess who was down dar, when you are so anxious to tell me?

Jube. Well, I tole yer.

(Enter Vermont, R. 2 E.)

Vermont. At your peril, Jube.

Moselle. O daddy, here you are! (Crosses from L. to R.) I was about to hear something dreadful about you.

Jube. Yas, indeed. I was jes' breakin' to her, genteel, de mournful tidin's.

Vermont. I'll break your head if you say another word. You git.

Jube. Yas; but I got her all braced. I can finish in just free minutes. You see, I was down dar —

Vermont. If you're not up there in less than three minutes – (Puts hand behind him.)

Jube (runs up stage). Don't you do it, don't you do it. I was only goin' to say dat, dat somebody else down dar —

Vermont. Start.

Jube. Was Abigal's son. (Dashes up run, and off)

Moselle. Ha, ha, ha! Poor Jube! He missed his chance by stopping too long "down dar." Now, daddy, what's the matter? where's the "yearthquake" struck?

Vermont. That's some of the darkey's nonsense.

Moselle. Now, daddy, that's a fib. Look me in the eye. No. Stop! If it's any thing I should know, you will tell me: you've always been so good to me.

Vermont. Well, never mind me. What have they done with Dandy Dick, the forger?

Moselle. He's no forger. He's as innocent of crime as you are. O daddy! I want some money.

Vermont. All right, little one. (Pulls out bag.) What's the figger?

Moselle. It's rather high.

Vermont. Never mind: the bank's open.

Moselle. Twenty thousand dollars.

Vermont. Twenty! Bank's broke. (Puts back bag.) We ain't struck no diamond mine lately, and nuggets are scarce. Couldn't you make a little discount?

Moselle. O daddy! twenty thousand dollars will set Dick free.

Vermont. Free! Not an ounce of dust comes out of my bag for him. He's played you a mean trick; and, if the detective don't take him off, I will. Why, Mosey, I thought you had more spirit.

Moselle. I love him, daddy.

Vermont. And he with another gal hanging round his neck.

Moselle. Why, daddy, she's his sister!

Vermont. What! (Aside.) Another prodigal! This camp's getting lively. (Aloud.) His sister. That's another sort.