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Title: Nevada - or, The Lost Mine, A Drama in Three Acts
Author: Baker, George M. (George Melville)
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Nevada - or, The Lost Mine, A Drama in Three Acts" ***
=GEO. M. BAKER'S NEW PLAYS.=
=PAST REDEMPTION.= 4 Acts. Price 25 cts.
=COMRADES.= 3 Acts. Price 25 cts.
=TITANIA.= A Fairy Play for Children. 2 Acts. Price 25 cts.
=OUR FOLKS.= 3 Acts. Price 15 cts.
=SANTA CLAUS THE FIRST.= A Christmas Play for Children.
By F. E. Chase. 25 c.
=REBECCA'S TRIUMPH.= For female characters only. Price 25 cts.
[Illustration: THE GLOBE DRAMA
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE
NEVADA;
OR, THE LOST MINE.
BOSTON: GEORGE M. BAKER & CO., No. 47 Franklin Street.
Copyright, 1876, by GEORGE M. BAKER.]
=Spencer's Universal Stage.=
_A Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to either
Public or Private Performance. Containing a full description of all
the necessary Stage Business._
=PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. ==> No Plays Exchanged.=
1. LOST IN LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 6 male, 4 female
characters.
2. NICHOLAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By J. B. Buckstone. 5
male, 3 female char.
3. THE WELSH GIRL. A Comedy in 1 Act. By Mrs. Planche. 3
male, 2 female char.
4. JOHN WOPPS. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 2
female char.
5. THE TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. By Montague Williams
and F. C. Burnaud. 6 male, 1 female char.
6. THE TWO PUDDIFOOTS. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3
male, 3 female char.
7. OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5
male, 2 female char.
8. TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter.
2 male char.
9. SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 5
male, 3 female char.
10. TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A Farce in 1 Act. By Lenox
Horne. 4 male, 1 female char.
11. JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 5 male, 2
female char.
12. THE DAUGHTER of the REGIMENT. A Drama in 2 Acts. By
Edward Fitzball, 6 male, 2 female char.
13. AUNT CHARLOTTE'S MAID. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton.
3 male, 3 female char.
14. BROTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 4
male, 3 female char.
15. DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3
male, 2 female char.
16. DUNDUCKETTY'S PICNIC. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J.
Williams. 6 male, 3 female char.
17. I'VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J.
Williams. 4 male, 3 female char.
19. MY PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 4
male, 4 female char.
20. MY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4
male, 3 female char.
22. THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce in 1 Act. By Chas. Selby.
3 male, 2 female char.
23. DANDELION'S DODGES. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams.
4 male, 2 female char.
24. A SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 4
male, 2 female char.
25. ALWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 Act. By Horace Wigan. 3
male, 3 female char.
26 A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By Charles
Matthews. 6 male, 4 female char.
27. ANOTHER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act. By Thomas Morton. 6
male, 3 female char.
28. BOWLED OUT. A Farce in 1 Act. By H. T. Craven. 4 male, 3
female char.
29. COUSIN TOM. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By Geo. Roberts. 3
male, 2 female char.
30. SARAH'S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3
male, 3 female char.
31. HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates
and N. H. Harrington. 7 male, 3 female char.
32. THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5
male, 6 female char.
33. A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams.
6 male, 4 female char.
34. YOUR LIFE'S IN DANGER. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton.
3 male, 3 female char.
35. TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. By J. Sheridan
Knowles. 6 male, 2 female char.
36. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. An Interlude in 1 Act. By W. H.
Murray. 10 male, 1 female char.
37. LOOK AFTER BROWN. A Farce in 1 Act. By George A. Stuart,
M. D. 6 male, 1 female char.
38. MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 3 Acts. By Thomas Archer. 15
male, 3 female char.
39. A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E.
Suter. 3 male char.
40. BROTHER BEN. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3
female char.
41. ONLY A CLOD. A Comic Drama in 1 Act. By J. P. Simpson. 4
male, 1 female char.
42. GASPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A Drama in 3 Acts. By George
Almar. 10 male, 2 female char.
43. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. A Drama in 1 Act. By
Slingsby Lawrence. 3 male, 3 female char.
44. DON'T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M.
Morton. 3 male, 2 female char.
45. NURSEY CHICKWEED. A Farce In 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4
male, 2 female char.
46. MARY MOO; or, Which shall I Marry? A Farce in 1 Act. By
W. E. Suter. 2 male, 1 female char.
47. EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acts. 8 male, 7 female char.
48. THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama in 5 Acts. By Robert Jones. 16
male, 7 female char.
49. SILVERSTONE'S WAGER. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By R. R.
Andrews. 4 male, 3 female char.
50. DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By Chas. Reade. 5 male,
2 female char.
55. THE WIFE'S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. By Geo. W. Lovell.
10 male, 2 female char.
56. THE BABES IN THE WOOD. A Comedy in 3 Acts. By Tom Taylor.
10 male, 3 female char.
57. PUTKINS; Heir to Castles in the Air. A Comic Drama in 1
Act. By W. R. Emerson. 2 male, 2 female char.
58. AN UGLY CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act. By Thomas J.
Williams. 3 male, 2 female char.
59. BLUE AND CHERRY. A Comedy in 1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char.
60. A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy in 1 Act. 3 male, 2 female
char.
61. THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 Acts. 8 male, 7 female
char.
62. WHICH WILL HAVE HIM? A Vaudeville. 1 male, 2 female char.
63. MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act. 2 male, 2 female
char.
64. THE ANONYMOUS KISS. A Vaudeville. 2 male, 2 female char.
65. THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 5 male, 3 female
char.
66. A SOLDIER, A SAILOR, A TINKER, AND A TAILOR. A Farce in 1
Act. 4 male, 2 female char.
67. GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A Farce. 2 male, 2 female char.
68. DAMON AND PYTHIAS. A Farce. 6 male, 4 female char.
69. A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic Drama in 2 Acts. 6
male, 3 female char.
70. PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Domestic Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male, 1
female char.
_Descriptive Catalogue mailed free on application to_
=Geo. M. Baker & Co., 47 Franklin St., Boston=.
NEVADA;
OR,
THE LOST MINE.
A Drama in Three Acts.
BY
GEORGE M. BAKER,
AUTHOR OF "COMRADES," "BETTER THAN GOLD," "PAST REDEMPTION,"
"REBECCA'S TRIUMPH," "AMONG THE BREAKERS,"
"THE LAST LOAF," "ABOVE THE CLOUDS," "OUR
FOLKS," "MY BROTHER'S KEEPER," ETC.
BOSTON:
GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY.
1882.
COPYRIGHT, 1882,
BY GEORGE M. BAKER.
CHARACTERS.
NEVADA, THE WANDERER.
VERMONT, AN OLD MINER.
TOM CAREW, }
DANDY DICK,} YOUNG MINERS.
SILAS STEELE, MISSIONARY OF HEALTH.
JERDEN, A DETECTIVE.
JUBE, A BLACK MINER.
WIN-KYE, A CHINAMAN.
MOTHER MERTON.
AGNES FAIRLEE.
MOSELLE, A WAIF.
COSTUMES.
NEVADA. Long white hair and beard, gray shirt, dark pants, both
ragged; boots and belt; one leg of pants in boot, the other hanging
in ribbons.
VERMONT. Iron-gray bald wig and beard, gray shirt, overalls tucked
in boots, belt, pistol in hip-pocket, short coat, slouch hat.
TOM. Full black beard, blue shirt, dark pants tucked in long boots,
black necktie, short coat, pistol in hip-pocket, slouch hat worn
jauntily, red handkerchief worn for belt.
DANDY DICK. Light hair and beard, trimmed; blue shirt with red
necktie, dark pants tucked in long boots, dark coat, Derby hat;
dressed neatly as possible.
JERDEN. Full beard, mixed suit, pistol in hip-pocket, Derby hat.
JUBE. Woolly wig, black face, throat, and arms, red shirt thrown
back from throat, with sleeves rolled up to elbow, overalls in
boots.
WIN-KYE. White pants, blue blouse, cue.
SILAS. Red wig, mustache, and goatee, tourist blouse, long boots,
slouch hat.
MOTHER. Gray wig, calico dress.
AGNES. Travelling-dress and hat.
MOSELLE. _First Dress._ Travelling-dress, hat and feather, neat
and tasty. _Second Dress._ Short red dress, blue kerchief knotted
loosely on breast, light stockings, boots, broad-brimmed straw hat,
arms bare, hair free.
THE LOST MINE.
ACT I.--_Wooded and rocky flat; inclined run R., masked by
rocks, leading up from a rocky platform C.; door and part of
a log cabin, L., creepers and vines running over it, rocks
and foliage; L. mask the remainder; R. rocks and foliage,
rock for a seat R., near 2 entrance. Stump for a seat L.,
between platform and door; on rock masking run R. in large
white letters, "Busted's Balm" to which with paint-pail in
left hand, and brush in right, SILAS STEELE is discovered
giving a finishing touch. SILAS sings_,--
Oh! here's to good old Busted,
Write him down;
Oh! here's to good old Busted,
Write him down;
Oh! here's to good old Busted,
For his balm is always trusted:
Write him down, write him down, write him down.
(_Stands off, and looks at his work._) Again the missionary of
health plants his victorious banner on a giant bowlder, that shall
forever point the westward hoers to the fountain of health. (_Sets
down pail, and looks at his hands._) A fountain of water would be
more to my taste just now: the handle of that pail is in a bad
condition, but I'll fix it. (_Takes a newspaper from his pocket,
and wraps it round handle while speaking._) Big scheme of Busted
to spread his balm all over the continent, from Switcham, Vt., to
the top of the Sierra Nevadas. Such outward applications of the
infallible awaken curiosity, curiosity stirs the sluggish brain to
action, the active brain arouses the torpid system, and health
re-animates the sinking frame. For further particulars see small
bills. That M's a little shaky; I'll touch it up a little, or some
of these hardy miners will take it for a bad spell: and, being so
choice in their language, that would never do. (_Works with brush.
Sings_),--
Oh! here's to good old Busted.
(_Enter from cabin MOTHER MERTON, with broom._)
MOTHER. Who on earth is that howling?
SILAS (_sings_),--
Write him down,
MOTHER. A stranger! What's he doing to that rock?
SILAS (_sings_),--
Oh! here's to good old Busted.
MOTHER. Busted! I do believe he's trying to blast it right before
my door--blow us all up. (_Brings broom down on his back smartly._)
Here, stop that!
SILAS (_turning, and presenting brush like a pistol_). Look out
for paint. (_MOTHER steps back._) I beg your pardon; but, if there
is any thing in my personal appearance that leads you to suspect
my jacket needs dusting, a gentler application of the duster might
save the dustor some strength, and the dusteed much wind. Hang it!
you nearly took away my breath.
MOTHER. Served you right. Who are you? Where did you come from?
What's that daub?
SILAS (_aside_). Daub! shade of Michael Angelo! (_Aloud._) Madam, I
am a missionary.
MOTHER. Good gracious! A parson. Why didn't you say so before?
Settled?
SILAS. No. (_Rubs shoulders._) I thought I was just now.
MOTHER. Where do you hail from, parson?
SILAS. Switcham, Vt. That answers your second interrogatory. The
third I will save you the trouble of repeating by announcing the
fact that the daub, as you are pleased to call my etching, is the
good tidings I am ordained to proclaim. That's one of my sermons;
and sermons in stones, though not original with me, have at least
the merit of brevity to recommend them.
MOTHER. "Busted's Balm." Are you Busted?
SILAS. No; but I shall be if you ask any more questions.
MOTHER. Oh, come, be sociable! I came from Vermont myself.
SILAS. Possible?
MOTHER. Yes: twelve years ago, with my husband, expecting to return
in two years with a fortune; but in two years husband died.
SILAS. Ah! A _mis_fortune.
MOTHER. And here I've been ever since, the mother of this camp; and
my boys--white, black, and yellow--take good care that I have my
share of the dust.
SILAS (_shrugs shoulders_). I understand--with a broom.
MOTHER. La, parson! don't bear malice: do you suppose I'd have
struck you, if I'd an idea of your cloth?
SILAS. Thank you. My coat _is_ rather thin.
MOTHER. Expect to locate here? The boys would be mighty glad to
have you; and they'd see that you had a peaceful hearing, if they
had to shoot the whole congregation.
SILAS. Would they? Very kind of the boys, but I hope they'd leave
somebody to pass the contribution-box.
MOTHER. Vermont would see to the dust.
SILAS. Who's Vermont?
MOTHER. The best of the lot, steady as a clock, but a powerful
wrestler; that's his weakness.
SILAS. Is it? I've a strong weakness in that line too.
MOTHER. You'd have no show with him. Now, parson--
SILAS. Oh, drop that! This person is no parson, but, if the old
saying is true, just the opposite; for I am a deacon's son.
MOTHER. The deuce you are!
SILAS. No: the Deuce's grandson.
MOTHER. What's your name?
SILAS. Silas Steele, jun. I'm the little one, and dad's the big
Steele. I'm travelling for Busted's Balm.
MOTHER. Where do you expect to find it?
SILAS. 'Tis found already. And, to spread abroad the glorious fact,
I've taken a large contract; and it's the biggest undertaking any
undertaker ever undertook. I never realized before that there was
such a strong objection to clean white paint; but I've found it
out now, for I've been peppered by indignant shot-guns, pounded by
angry broomsticks, booted by revengeful brogans, and bulldozed by
man's faithful friends, the puppies.
MOTHER. Then, you're only a pill-pedler, after all.
SILAS. A pill-pedler! great Busted!
MOTHER. You said you were a missionary.
SILAS. So I am. What nobler mission than mine, to proclaim to a
suffering world, sunk in misery by aches and torments, the advent
of the wonderful cure-all that will eradicate the ills with which
the body groans, from bald head to bunions? For further particulars
see small bills. (_Looks off R._) Ah! there's a bowlder I missed;
must secure that before Foggarty's Liniment, or some other quack
nostrum, defaces the fair face of nature with a lie. (_Goes up run,
turns._) Good-by, widow. Give the parson's benediction to the boys.
(_Exit._)
MOTHER. Well, of all harum-scarum chaps, he's the tongueyist; I
couldn't get a word in edgeways.
(_Enter VERMONT, R. 2 E._)
VERMONT. Little one come, widder?
MOTHER. No: supper's all ready for her.
VERMONT. Stage's about due. Widder, I've a little matter on my mind
I'd like to pan out afore the little one gets here.
MOTHER. About her?
VERMONT (_sits on rock R._). Yes, about her. It's ten years,
widder, since your old man passed in his checks, and had a hole
scooped for him out there under the hill.
MOTHER (_sighs_). Ah, yes!
VERMONT. It was jest about that time that I dropped into your ranch
one dark night, with a little girl in my arms. She might have been
a five-year old--
MOTHER. Or six: we never could make out. She was burning with
fever. You found her in a basket, floating in the creek.
VERMONT. Exactly. That's what I told you, and I brought her to you
because you was the only female woman in the camp.
MOTHER. Yes: bless her! she brought luck with her.
VERMONT. You bet she did. Those little ones always do. Well, I
read a long while ago, while prospecting in the big book,--that's
pay-dirt way down to bed-rock,--about that king pin what struck the
little game "Faro," and named it arter hisself, how he had a darter
what found a baby floating in a creek, and called it "Moses;" and,
as I warnt goin' back on scripter, I named our little one Moses too.
MOTHER. And, as that was not a girl's name, I changed it to Moselle.
VERMONT. That was too Frenchy for the boys; so they split the dif,
and called her Mosey.
MOTHER. And Mosey is just worshipped by the boys. I believe, if you
would let them, they would cover her with gold.
VERMONT (_rising_). Likely. But, when I washed that nugget outer
the creek, I staked a claim in which I wanted no partners. Says
I, "Vermont, here's a chance for you to use your dust, and don't
you forget it." I believe the angels dropped one of their little
sisters into the creek, to make an ugly old sinner ashamed of his
wickedness. (_Passes his arm across his eyes._) Widder, you've been
a mother to her, and a good one.
MOTHER. And you, the best of fathers. Every year you've sent her
off to school, and to-day she comes back to us----
VERMONT. With Tom Carew, our Tom, the handsomest and squarest miner
in the diggin's. I wouldn't trust the bringin' of her home to any
other of the boys.
MOTHER. Except Dick: she's very fond of Dick.
VERMONT. Dandy Dick, as the boys call him. Oh, he's well enough for
a short acquaintance. He's only been here six months, and there's
something about him--Well, if Mosey likes him, it's all right.
JUBE (_outside R._). Hi, hi! Mudder Merton, de stage am come,
Mosey's to hum.
(_Enter JUBE, down run, with a hat-box under one arm, a
valise in hand, followed by WIN-KYE with a valise in left
hand, an umbrella spread over his head. Jube comes down L.,
WIN-KYE drops valise on platform, tumbles over it, and mixes
himself up with the umbrella._)
JUBE. Golly, see dat ar mongo! hist yerself, hist yerself. Want to
broke ebery bone in dat ar ambril?
WIN-KYE (_jumping up and closing umbrella_). Umblillee spillee all
ligh'.
JUBE. Dar's a surprise party comin', Mudder Merton. Golly! such a
bobbycue. Smoove yer har, Vermont, smoove yer har, take yer boots
outer yer pants; dust de cheers, mudder, dust all de cheers; dar
hasn't been sich an arribal since--since the Queen ob Shebang went
wisiting ole King Soloman Isaacs, nebber.
WIN-KYE (_puffing_). Jube walkee fast, talkee fast, me no catchee
bleath, me puffee.
VERMONT. What's the matter, Jube? it's only our Mosey.
WIN-KYE. Mosey nice gally, velly nice gally; me chin chin Mosey,
Mosey chin chin me; all ligh'.
JUBE. Mosey. Yah, yah, she's come, bress her! Jes' as lobely and
libely as eber. Why, de boys jes' crowd roun' dat ar stage, and
shook her han's, and she shook back, an' laff; golly, how she laff!
might heard her a mile off. But dar's anuder.
MOTHER. Another, Jube?
JUBE. Yas indeed, a rale lady; no riff-raff, but de real ting,
de dust in de pan, jes a seraphine, hansom', oh, my! an' sweet,
sweet--golly! when I seed that lilly foot ob hers creepin' out ob
der stage, it jest smashed _me_.
WIN-KYE. She snapee eyes, she smilee so (_grins_), she smashee me.
MOSELLE (_outside_). Never mind me, Tom, help Agnes; my foot is on
my native heath, my name's (_appears on run_)--
ALL. Mosey?
MOSELLE. Yes, Mosey, Moses, Moselle,--we three. Ha, ha, ha! that's
me. (_Runs down into Mother Merton's arms._) O you dear old soul,
ain't I glad I'm home!
MOTHER. 'Tis a happy day for us, darling.
MOSELLE (_breaking away_). Where's daddy?
VERMONT. Right here, little one.
MOSELLE (_throws her arms about his neck_). Here's your nugget,
daddy. Ain't you glad to get it back?
VERMONT. Glad? that's no name for it (_holds her off_). Let's have
a look at you,--sunshine all over, and as fine as a fiddle in your
store-clothes.
MOSELLE. I'll not be in them long, daddy, so take a good look at
them; for I'm just dying to get into my old climbing-suit, and away
for a scamper over the rocks. Ah, Jube! there's lots of fun ahead.
JUBE. Yas, indeed, honey! jes' waitin' fer yer to touch it off.
MOSELLE. Ha, ha, ha! I'm a match for it. Ain't I, Win?
WIN-KYE. You sclatchee match, blow high-sky, fitt!
MOSELLE (_in front of WIN-KYE_). Oh, you queer bit of broken China!
I'd like to set you on a shelf at school, and set your head a-going
to please the boys. (_Points forefingers up, and nods head à la
Chinese._)
WIN-KYE (_imitating her_). No settee up fol the boys.
MOSELLE. Ha, ha, ha! but you must go. Ah, daddy! I'm as full of
mischief as I was the day I threw the powder-flask into your
frying-pan. (_All laugh._)
JUBE. Dat was rough on de ole man.
MOSELLE. Jube remembers it; for, while he was helping daddy put a
new roof on and patch up the rent, I hid his shovel and pick; and
he couldn't find it for a week. (_All but JUBE laugh._)
WIN-KYE (_points to JUBE_). That blakee him all uppee.
MOSELLE. So look out for yourselves, old folks, young folks: I give
you fair warning. Mind that pigtail, Win: I want it for my back
hair.
WIN-KYE. All ligh'! you catchee, you clippee, you Mosee, me mosee
too.
TOM (_outside_). Be careful of that rock, Miss. Give me your hand.
Now you're all right.
MOSELLE. Oh! what am I thinking of? Mother, I've brought you a
visitor,--Miss Fairlee, one of our teachers, and a very dear friend
of mine.
JUBE. Dat's what I tole yer, de Queen ob Shebang.
(_TOM and AGNES appear on run descending._)
MOTHER. She is heartily welcome.
TOM (_on platform_). You hear that, Miss,--she speaks for us all.
A rough set we miners, rough and rugged as the soil in which we
search for gold; but there are many among us who remember homes
far off, made happy by mothers, wives, and sisters. So have no
fears. To the rude cabins that shelter us, to the homely fare that
sustains us, and to the protection of strong arms, you are heartily
welcome. (_Leads her down to MOTHER MERTON._)
MOTHER (_takes her hand_). Indeed you are!
AGNES. Thank you. I fear I shall trespass on your kindness. But the
hope of finding some trace of a very dear friend has induced me to
accept Moselle's invitation.
MOSELLE. Agnes, you must know my daddy. (_Brings VERMONT up C. from
L._) Miss Fairlee, daddy; daddy, Miss Fairlee.
VERMONT (_bowing_). Very glad to meet you.
AGNES (_offering her hand_). And I am proud to know you. Moselle is
a bright scholar: she has made many friends at school, but I know
the warmest corner in her heart is kept for you.
VERMONT. Thank you, marm: if I can serve you, call on Vermont every
time.
JUBE. An' when de ole man ain't roun', jes' look dis way. I's spry,
and dreffel willin'.
WIN-KYE. Alle same so lookee me.
AGNES. Thank you all.
MOTHER. You must be hungry after your long ride. Supper's all ready.
MOSELLE. Supper! Where is it? I never was so hungry but once:
that's now.
MOTHER. This way, Miss Fairlee. (_Exeunt MOTHER and AGNES into
cabin._)
JUBE. Come on, Win. Tote de luggage in. (_Exit into cabin._)
WIN-KYE. All ligh'! Schoolee-marm some punkee. (_Exit to cabin._)
MOSELLE. Ain't she lovely, daddy? (_Goes to door, turns, and looks
at TOM, who stands L. C. looking at door._) Tom (_puts her hand on
heart, and sighs_), I'd pity you, but I'm so hungry. Ha, ha, ha!
(_Exit._)
(_VERMONT crosses, and sits on rock R., watching TOM, who
stands with his eyes on door._)
TOM. Lovely? Never was a more tempting bait set before the eyes of
a hungry miner to lure him back to civilization. Out of a world
from which we have banished ourselves for greed of gold, she
comes, gentle and refined, to show us the lost state of peace and
happiness to which, though the earth unbosom its richest treasures,
we hardened wretches can never return.
VERMONT. Tom, what yer starin' at that door for? Ain't in love, air
yer?
TOM (_comes down_). In love? I never yet saw a woman that could
bring a blush to my face. That's one of the indications, isn't it?
VERMONT. Exactly.
MOTHER _(sticking her head out of door_). Tom, come and have some
supper. (_Disappears._)
TOM. No, thank yer: I'm not hungry.
VERMONT. That's another indication.
TOM. Vermont, isn't she lovely?
VERMONT. The widder?
TOM. The widow! No: the other.
VERMONT. Mosey?
TOM. Miss Fairlee,--Agnes Fairlee,--Agnes,--what a name! So
poetical! Agnes,--so sweet!
VERMONT. Spell it, Tom: there's nothing like lengthened sweetness
long drawn out.
TOM. Old man, you're laughing at me. You needn't: I'm all right.
VERMONT. Not in love?
TOM. Not a bit of it.
VERMONT. Ain't goin' back on the comforts of life?
TOM. No, old man; but when that--
VERMONT. Agnes (_smacks his lips_) does taste kinder sweet.
TOM. When Miss Fairlee placed her little hand in my arm, and looked
up into my face, I felt as though I would like to die for her.
VERMONT. Must have been a killing look.
TOM. And when she spoke, the queerest feeling--There it is again.
Old man, I feel sick.
(_Enter JUBE and WIN-KYE from cabin._)
JUBE. Sick? Don't you do it. Dar ain't a fusycian widdin fourteen
miles.
WIN-KYE. Me bling pillee man velly quick.
VERMONT. All the doctor he wants is in the cabin. Tom, you're
talking like a blamed fool; but it's jest nater: when a woman
touches the fancy of a man, it's like the wind among the timber.
The little ones sway and rustle, and seem mighty tickled; but the
big brawny trees groan and tremble as though their last day had
come. Shake yourself together, boy, jump into your hole, a good
steady diet of pick and shovel is a sure cure for love or bile.
(_JERDEN appears on run._)
JERDEN (_speaking as he comes down to stage_). Morning, mates:
where can I find one Tom Carew?
TOM. I answer to that name, stranger.
JERDEN. Ah! I'm in luck. They say you're the best informed miner in
these parts. I'm looking for a man who came from the East,--Richard
Fairlee.
TOM. Don't know him, stranger.
VERMONT. Names don't count here. Most of us is baptized and
rechristened when we arrive. What does he look like?
JUBE. Has he got all his arms and legs, years and eyes?
WIN-KYE. Any strawbelly marks, John?
JERDEN. I have traced him by many _aliases_. How he looks now, I
cannot say; but when he left the East he looked like this.
(_Takes photograph from pocket-book, and hands it to TOM, who
looks at it, VERMONT, JUBE, and WIN-KYE crowd round him._)
TOM. A good-looking fellow. I don't know him.
JERDEN. Don't belong in this camp.
JUBE. No, sir: dat air feller ain't got no beard, an' has light
complex, jes' like Win-Kye.
WIN-KYE. No Chinaman; 'Melican man plaps, Ilishman plaps; no
Chinaman.
JERDEN. Well, there he is; and he's wanted by a bank.
TOM. Robbery?
JERDEN (C.). Forgery, twenty thousand dollars.
(_VERMONT and JUBE R., TOM and WIN-KYE L._)
TOM. You're a detective?
JERDEN. Yes. Shall I have your help in securing this fugitive from
justice?
TOM (_coldly_). We're not man-hunters. Many a poor fellow, made
criminal by passion or misfortune, has drifted among us to be made
better by a life of hardship and privation. We ask no man's past
history. If he be knave or fool, he shows his hand, and he is lost.
Miner law is swift and sure.
VERMONT. You've your answer, stranger.
JERDEN. All right: I'll find my man without your help; but, if you
should change your minds, there's a thousand dollars for the man
who gives information.
TOM and VERMONT (_draw revolvers, cover JERDEN, and speak
together_). You get!
(_JERDEN turns, and runs up run, against SILAS, who is
descending._)
SILAS. Look out for paint. (_Exit JERDEN._) Seems to be in a hurry.
(_Comes down to stage._) How are you, boys? White, black, and
yellow. The widow said she had an assortment of colors, and here
they are. Put up your shooting-irons, gentlemen: I'm a friend of
the widow's. I left my card here an hour ago. (_Points to rock._)
TOM. Any friend of the widow's is heartily welcome.
VERMONT. From the east, stranger?
SILAS (_sets paint-pail down near rock_). Switcham, Vt. Name, Silas
Steele. Occupation, painter and decorator. For further particulars
seek any prominent bowlder, and look out for paint.
JUBE. Golly! dar's a heap er talent in dat ar brush, I know; fur I
used to whitewash myself.
(_WIN-KYE edges up to paint, examines it, takes brush, and
daubs a little on rock during the following scene, dropping
it, and taking it up as SILAS turns and watches him._)
SILAS. Whitewash yourself? You took a big contract.
TOM. Stopping with the widow?
SILAS. No: only a chance acquaintance. She came from Vermont.
VERMONT. So did I.
SILAS. Did you? Then, you're the man I've been looking for.
VERMONT (_starts_). Eh?
SILAS. My old man took it into his head about twelve years ago to
start west, minin'; and we've never seen him from that day to this.
Nice old fellow, the deacon, but queer. Started off without so much
as a good-by, Hannah, and has been lost to his family, the church,
and Switcham, ever since. But we heard from him occasionally in
the shape of gold-dust to mother, but no word or clew to his
whereabouts. Mother's worried so, I've come out here to look him up
if he's alive. Any of you know Deacon Steele?
JUBE. Deacon who? Golly! we's all out ob deacons: dey fall from
grace when dey git out here.
VERMONT. You're wasting time, youngster: the deacon's dead and
buried.
SILAS. You knew him?
VERMONT. No: but deacons die young here.
TOM. Perhaps 'tis Nevada.
VERMONT and JUBE. Nevada!
SILAS. Who's Nevada?
TOM. The mystery of the mines: you may meet him here to-day,
to-morrow in some gloomy gulch,--a ragged, crazy miner, seeking, as
he has sought for ten years, a lost mine.
SILAS. A lost mine?
TOM (C.) This was his story as I have heard it from old miners.
He was known among them a dozen years ago, as a quiet, reserved
man, working by himself, wandering off prospecting alone. At times
they missed him. He had been off for a week, when, one night, he
came in staggering, faint from the loss of blood, with a deep
wound in his head, and the wild air of a maniac. From his broken
speech, they gathered this: He had found indications of gold,
had opened a tunnel, and worked far in, all by himself, mind,
following some theory of his own, when suddenly, with his pick, he
loosened a stone above his head, which fell and crushed him; not,
however, until he had caught one glimpse of a rich vein of gold.
Poor fellow, he could never find his way back, and none of his
mates could help him. They would have believed his story to be but
the wild speech of his wandering mind, had they not found in his
tangled hair, mingled with dirt and blood, flakes of gold.
VERMONT. Poor old chap.
SILAS. With a gold-mine in his hair. Rich old beggar.
TOM. Nevada is no beggar; though no cabin is shut against him, no
miner's friendly hand withheld. He will neither eat nor sleep until
he has earned both food and shelter. For a willing mate in an ugly
tunnel, with a steady grip and a strong arm, give me Nevada.
NEVADA (_outside_). Who calls Nevada? (_Dashes down run, and stands
C.; music pianissimo._) Nevada, the gold king. My dominions are
beneath the hills, stretching away in veins broad and deep, so rich
that I could overturn empires; but I am shut out, the golden doors
are closed against me, and the key, the key, is lost. (_Puts his
hand to head, drops his head, and comes down slowly; music stops._)
TOM. Ah! it's one of his off days. Nevada, old man, don't you know
me?
NEVADA (_slowly raises his head, looks wildly at TOM, then his face
brightens_). Tom, Tom Carew. (_They shake hands warmly._) You want
me. Many a day we have worked together. (_Looks round._) And here's
Vermont.
VERMONT (_grasping his hand_). Right here, pard.
NEVADA. Ah! old grizzly and--woolly.
JUBE. Dat's me to a har.
NEVADA. And little pigtail.
WIN-KYE. Piggee tail velly well, John; alle same you, John?
NEVADA. I'm hungry and tired, Tom: give me a pick.
TOM. Not to-night, old friend: you shall go to my ranch, and
to-morrow--
NEVADA. To-morrow. (_Looks about wildly. All draw away from him.
Music pianissimo._) To-morrow I must go back, back along the
ravine, three miles, then climb the bowlders, to where that fallen
giant lies across the stream; over it to the gorge a mile beyond,
and then--and then I'm lost--straight ahead to the right, to the
left, again and again, no trail, no trace; and yet 'tis there, ever
before my eyes, the wealth of a kingdom, the jewel of Nevada, lost
to me forever. (_Covers his face with his hands._)
TOM. Ah! if we could only keep him from that lost mine.
SILAS. What a wreck! But he's not the first man crazed by gold.
NEVADA. Far off, a mother and her child wait anxiously for my
coming,--wait for the gold I promised them. I left the little one
sleeping in her cradle. Oh! when shall I see my little child again?
(_Music stops._)
(_Enter, from cabin, MOSEY, with a change._)
MOSELLE (_running to him_). Now, Nevada, here I am. Have you, too,
missed me?
NEVADA (_looking into her face anxiously_). I know that voice and
that face.
MOSELLE. Of course you do. It's the same voice that has sang you to
sleep many and many a time, and it's the same face you have kissed
often. Why don't you now?
NEVADA (_takes her face between his hands, and kisses her
forehead_). It's little Moselle back from school.
MOSELLE. With a head full of knowledge, and a heart bubbling over
with fun.
VERMONT. And when the two get working together, this camp will be a
howling wilderness, you bet.
MOSELLE. Come, Nevada, mother will be glad to see you.
NEVADA. No, child: I cannot go in.
MOSELLE. Then, I'll lead you. You shall find plenty to do,--bring
water and wood for mother; and when you are tired I will sing for
you.
NEVADA. Sing! I'll come, I'll come. I love to hear you sing.
(_Music pianissimo._) She was singing to the child the whole day
long,--the little one sleeping in her cradle. She smiled in her
sleep when I stooped to kiss her, and that smile is ever with me.
I see it in the first faint, rosy tints of the breaking day, and
watch it deepen and broaden into gold--(_fiercely_)--gold that
mocks me, drives me mad. (_Music stops._)
MOSELLE. Come, come, Nevada, you need rest and quiet. (_Takes his
hand, and leads him into cabin._)
NEVADA. Yes, little one, with you. (_Music until off._)
TOM. He's safe for to-night.
SILAS. Now, if some good Samaritan would take me in, I'd esteem
it a favor for which I will pay liberally. (_Takes bag from his
breast._) Art is my mistress; but, when I get hungry, I turn my
eyes from her lovely face to the ground, and dig like the rest of
you. There's a little left in the bag.
TOM. You can't pay here.
VERMONT. No, tender foot; but you shall bunk with me.
TOM. With you, Vermont? He'll be the first stranger that ever saw
the inside of your ranch.
JUBE. Dat's so. Swachability ain't no 'count wid him.
VERMONT. Come on, stranger: it's jest about the time I fry my bacon.
SILAS. And it's just the time I eat mine,--when I can get it.
(_Exeunt VERMONT and SILAS R. 2 E., SILAS taking pail._)
JUBE. Golly! de idea ob dat ole Vermont takin' in a stranger. De
meanest man in de camp.
TOM. He's not mean with Mosey.
JUBE. Das a fac'. But to cotton to a tender hoof. Golly! I jes'
like to see him set about it. Come on, Win-Kye: see de fun. (_Exit
R. 2 E._)
WIN-KYE. All ligh', Jube. Me likee funee too. (_Exit R. 2 E._)
(_Enter DANDY DICK down run, knapsack on back._)
DICK (_speaking as he comes down_). If there's any fun, let me
share it.
TOM. Ah, Dick!
DICK. Tom (_they shake hands_), you brought the sunlight with you?
TOM. Yes, Dick: Mosey's safe and well.
DICK. Tom, the old hole's petered out. (_Takes off knapsack, and
drops it near rock R. C._) I've dug and panned for a week, and not
an ounce of dust.
TOM. That's bad; but better luck next time.
DICK. Luck! Not while you hold to such an unlucky partner as I.
Tom Carew, I never met a man I so much admired as I do you. When I
dropped into this camp, a stranger, without a penny, you took me
by the hand, let me in to your claim, an equal partner,--the best
paying claim in the camp,--till I struck it; since then we haven't
panned enough to pay for bacon. It's my infernal luck. I wouldn't
care for myself, but to blast your prospects of a rich find--
TOM. Hold on, Dick. You complain of bad luck,--you whom Moselle
loves.
DICK. That's another matter.
TOM. Right. The pure ore of a loving heart is not to be compared
to the glittering lie we take to ourselves with which to purchase
happiness. The one purifies and ennobles its possessor, the other
too often drags us down to the dust from which we filch it.
DICK. Sentimental, Tom? Why, what's come over you?
TOM. A woman. No, an angel. Dick, the sweetest woman you ever set
eyes on.
DICK. That's Moselle.
TOM. Oh, you're blind!
DICK. And you expect me to see through your eyes? Well, who is this
paragon?
TOM. Moselle's friend, who came home with her to-day. I have only
met her once. She is all grace and beauty, and, I'll swear, as good
as she is beautiful. If I could only win her, Dick.
DICK. Well, what's to prevent?
TOM. I am only a poor miner, and she--
DICK. A poor judge of manhood, if she takes you at your own
valuation. Send her to me: I'll tell her, that if she wants a warm
heart, a determined spirit, and a courageous arm, she will find
them in Tom Carew, who, in those virtues, stands head and shoulders
above all the miners of Nevada. I suppose that is her picture you
are nursing so carefully in your belt.
TOM. No: that is a poor devil whom a detective is tracking.
DICK. Ah! let's have a look at him. (_Takes picture._)
TOM. A detective was here an hour ago; but it's not one of our
boys. (_Turns away to L._)
DICK (_looks at picture, starts, but instantly recovers himself as
TOM turns_). No: he's none of us.
TOM. Not a bad face?
DICK. No, but a weak one. A good subject for some designing villain
to make a victim of. (_Hands it back, TOM replaces it in belt._)
(_MOSELLE runs on from cabin._)
MOSELLE. Now for a run.
DICK. Right into my arms.
MOSELLE (_runs into his arms_). Why, Dick, I never thought of
seeing you.
DICK. But you're glad to see me again?
MOSELLE. O Dick! you know I'd rather meet you than any other here
(_sees TOM, draws away from DICK, and casts down her eyes_), except
Tom.
TOM. Humbug!
MOSELLE. And Tom is lost to me. Poor Tom! He's discovered a
wonderful nugget. It's in our cabin now; and Tom is so worried that
he's been watching the door ever since it was deposited there, for
fear some one should steal it. Ha, ha, ha!
TOM. I was only waiting till you should appear to keep Dick
company. Now I'm off. (_Goes to R. 2 E._)
MOSELLE. Don't be gone long, Tom, we shall be so lonesome without
you.
TOM. Oh, have your little love-feast! I'll be back in time.
MOSELLE. In time for what?
TOM. To count the spoons. (_Exit R. 2 E._)
MOSELLE. Now, what does he mean by that?
DICK. I'm sure I don't know, unless he expects you and I to--
MOSELLE (_holding up her finger threateningly_). Beware!
DICK. Exactly. _Beware_ silver ware, spoons. (_Puts arm about her
waist._)
MOSELLE (_slips away_). Oh, drop the spoons!
DICK. But you dropped my arm.
MOSELLE. I like freedom.
DICK. Then, why do you run away from me?
MOSELLE. To catch my breath. Freedom is a virtue. You make it a
vice.
DICK. Ah! but remember, I haven't seen you for three months. Think
of the lonely hours without you.
MOSELLE. Think of my lonely hours over those horrid
studies,--geography, history, arithmetic! One and one are two.
DICK (_again slipping his arm about her waist_). No: one and one
_are one_.
MOSELLE. You're wrong, Dick: one and one are still one and (_slips
away_) one.
DICK. Moselle, I'm afraid you'll never be won.
MOSELLE. Not by arithmetic. I hate figures.
DICK. I admire yours.
MOSELLE. Do you, Dick? What! in these rags? Ah! you should see me
in regimentals.
DICK. Regimentals?
MOSELLE. Yes: silks and satins, kids and laces, as Madam Ferule
turns us out for inspection.
DICK. I should like that.
MOSELLE. I hate it. Give me a gown like this, that shows the
honorable tears of contact with briers and rocks; a pair of boots
like these, that won't slip on the bark of trees,--and I'm just
jolly. I can run, climb, fly. And here I am wasting time. I can
stand still no longer. I'm off (_flies up run_): catch me if you
can.
DICK. Moselle!
MOSELLE (_stops and turns_). Well, Dick?
DICK. Good-by. In a few moments I shall have left the camp.
MOSELLE (_coming down_). Left the camp! why?
DICK. That is my secret; you may hear bad report of me, may be told
to shun me, taught to despise me; but, Moselle, believe me, I love
you, and will one day ask you to be my wife.
MOSELLE. Your wife! Dick, who are you?
DICK. Still Dick, or Dandy Dick as the boys style me: the other, an
honored name, must still be withheld, even from you. You see, I am
frank with you.
MOSELLE. Frank! you tell me nothing.
DICK. Exactly; but I love you.
MOSELLE. You needn't have told me: I knew it long ago.
DICK. And I may hope?
MOSELLE. Yes, on one condition.
DICK. Name it.
MOSELLE (_darting up run_). That you catch me before I reach the
big bowlder.
DICK. Catch me losing you. (_Exit up run._)
(_Enter TOM R. 2 E._)
TOM. Dick, where's my knife? (_Looks round._) Gone! The cabin is
upside down, no hatchet, no knife; nice housekeeper to leave when
one goes a journey. There's his pack, and I want my knife; so,
Master Dick, by your leave--(_Picks up pack, and is at work on the
strap; enter AGNES from cabin._)
AGNES. I wonder what keeps Moselle.
TOM (_rises, and removes his hat_). Miss Fairlee!
AGNES. O Mr. Carew! the very man I was thinking of.
TOM. Were you? That's odd--no, even--for I was thinking of you: in
fact, I've done little else but think of you. (_Confused, takes up
pack._) No: I don't mean that--confound this strap!--you see, my
partner has left every thing in confusion: he's no housekeeper.
AGNES. Did you ever know a man that was? You need a wife, Mr. Carew.
TOM. I know it: that's the reason I was thinking of you.
AGNES (_laughs_). You're the tenth miner who has said the same
thing to me within a month.
TOM. Only ten? well, it's been a pretty bad month.
AGNES. I hope not.
TOM. Yes: the boys are off in their holes. Wait a few days, and the
air will be black with matrimonial speculators.
AGNES. Then, I think I'd better be leaving.
TOM. Good fellows, too, who will make their advances timidly, and
feel relieved when they are put out of their misery by a refusal.
AGNES. All of them?
TOM (_dropping pack_). No: for here and there among miners, as
among men in every station, you will find one who looks upon women
as pure gold; as something to be approached with reverence, and, if
won, to be enshrined in the devotion of a life.
AGNES. Such men are scarce.
TOM. And such women plenty, but they don't come this way often.
AGNES. Did ever such a woman cross your path?
TOM (_sighs_). In my dreams.
AGNES (_laughs_). A visionary woman. Do you see her often?
TOM. As often as I see you.
AGNES (_turns away confused. Aside_). This must go no farther.
(_Aloud._) Mr. Carew, would you do me a service?
TOM. Willingly.
AGNES. A very dear friend, one to whom I am in duty bound, has left
his home and friends. I have reason to believe he is in this part
of the country. Will you help me find him?
TOM (_agitated_). Very dear to you?
AGNES (_casting down her eyes_). Yes.
TOM (_after a struggle_). His name?
AGNES. I cannot tell you that: I cannot even give you the name by
which he is known.
TOM. Then, how am I to discover him?
AGNES. You have my name: go among the miners, tell them of me and
my quest. He will hear of me, and, in spite of dangers that beset
him, will find some way to meet me.
TOM. You set me a hard task.
AGNES. But you will make the attempt? O Mr. Carew! if you could
look into that once happy home, now desolate by the absence of
a son, for whom a fond mother is slowly but surely breaking her
heart, a loving sister mourning, and I--I would give the world to
reclaim! (_Weeps._)
TOM. He shall be found. I'll seek him. Your name shall be the spell
to conjure him from his hiding-place, were he in the deepest mine
of Nevada.
AGNES. Oh, thanks, thanks! I knew that in you I should find a
friend, a helper.
TOM (_bitterly_). Rare confidence, when you have known me but a day.
AGNES. Longer than that. Your brave acts, the generous promptings
of your true and noble heart, have been morning lessons to me for
many a day.
TOM. You speak in riddles. Where have you heard aught of me?
AGNES. From Moselle, who believes, were she in danger, you would
never forsake her. From her eloquent thankfulness of heart, I was
led to hope that I, too, might find a champion in you.
TOM. Thank you. You were right. I will serve you faithfully.
AGNES (_giving him her hand_). Thank you. (_Looks into his face,
then casts down her eyes, and slowly exits into cabin._)
TOM (_stands looking after her, then looks at the hand she took,
then sighs_). "One who is very dear to me." She said that,--said it
calmly, never dreaming of the crushing force with which those words
fell. One very--He is her lover, perhaps her husband. And I--I love
her. (_Sighs._) Well, old boy, you've struck a blind lead this
time. No pay-dirt here; and yet, I'll swear there was something in
those sweet eyes of hers. (_Sighs._) I must forget her. I'll quit
the camp, get far away, and then--no, I have promised to serve her,
and I'll do it. Bring him to her arms. (_Sighs._) Not a pleasant
task; but I'll do it, I'll do it. (_Goes to pack._) Now for my
knife. (_Opens pack, pulls out blanket._) There's no knife here.
(_Unrolls blanket. Sitting on rock, photograph drops out._) What's
this? A picture! (_Looks at it, rises._) It's Agnes, Agnes Fairlee;
and he, Dick, is the runaway, her lover, perhaps her husband,
Fairlee? (_Pulls other picture from belt._) Why, this (_looks at
it closely_) is Dick. Put a beard on that face, and 'tis Dick the
forger. I sha'n't have to go far to find him; and he and I both
love the same woman. One word to that detective, he is in prison
and she is free. Well, I must be pretty far gone to harbor such
a thought. Betray my partner, the man with whom I have eaten and
slept, dug and quarried? No, no, not for so bright a pair of eyes
as yours, Agnes Fairlee.
DICK (_outside_). Moselle, where are you?
MOSELLE (_laughing_). Ha, ha, ha! Seek and find, seek and find.
TOM. Ah! I had forgotten our Moselle. She loves him; and he,
villain that he is, has trifled with her. She must be protected,
saved, though justice overtake him. (_Darts up run._)
(_Enter JUBE, R. 2 E._)
JUBE. Say, Tom, Thomas, whar's de fire? Say! so he's off: yas,
so's ole Vermont. Nebber did see sich carrin's on in de 'hole
course ob my life. Jes took dat ar tender hoof, de whitewasher,
into his cabin, gib him de best cheer,--on de floor,--de best
china, den fill him up wid bacon, chock up to de muzzle: den tender
hoof was tired--too much bacon--laid down on de bench, an' went to
sleep, ole man settin' dar watchin' him. Bym-by de ole man get up
sofly, git a blankit, kivers him up, tucks him in. Seed it all fro
a crack. Ole man jes clean gone on dat ar tender hoof.
(_Enter MOTHER, from cabin._)
MOTHER. Jube, where's Moselle?
JUBE. Oh, she's in anoder scrape.
MOTHER. What kind of a scrape?
JUBE. Candy-scrape, I guess. She an' Dandy Dick havin' a sweet time
up dar onto de rocks.
MOSELLE (_coming down run_). O mother, mother!
(_Throws her arms about MOTHER'S neck._)
MOTHER. Why, what's the matter, child?
MOSELLE. Don't ask me. Look there.
(_Enter down run, DICK, his hands fastened behind him, head
down, followed by JERDEN, with a pistol in his hand._)
JERDEN. Attempt escape, and you are a dead man.
(_DICK comes slowly down, goes R., and sits on rock. JERDEN
stands beside him._)
JUBE. By golly, he's took!
(_Enter VERMONT, R. 2 E._)
VERMONT. Who's took?
JUBE. Dandy Dick. He's de twenty fousan feller.
VERMONT. Ah! we've a traitor in the camp. Who has done this?
(_Crosses to L._)
TOM (_descends run_). Tom Carew.
VERMONT. You, Tom? (_Levels pistol._) Then, take that.
MOSELLE (_throws herself before TOM_). No, daddy, not Tom. O Tom!
why have you done this?
TOM. For your sake, little one: he has deceived you.
DICK. 'Tis false!
(_Enter AGNES, from cabin._)
AGNES. Who's that? Ah! (_Runs across stage, and falls on DICK'S
neck._) Richard!
DICK. Agnes!
TOM. Look there, Moselle. (_Points to DICK._)
MOSELLE. No, no! (_Throws herself into VERMONT'S arms._) O daddy,
my heart is breaking!
(CURTAIN ON PICTURE.--_TOM C., points to DICK. AGNES
kneeling, her arms about DICK'S neck. JERDEN behind them.
JUBE L. C., scratching his head. MOTHER at door L., her hands
clasped, looking at DICK. VERMONT with MOSELLE'S arms about
his neck L._)
ACT II.--_Interior of VERMONT'S cabin of rough logs, door C.,
window with swinging shutter L. C. mountain, wood and rocks
as in ACT I.; fireplace R., with fire; stool near. Table
L. C., with stools R. and L. of it. Bench R., near first
entrance, on which DICK is discovered asleep, covered with a
blanket. JERDEN sitting R. of table watching DICK; WIN-KYE at
window, looking in; candle burning on table. Lights down._
WIN-KYE. All ligh'! Catchee man, and man he catchee: all ligh'.
Jube he say 'Win-Kye watchee catchee man; no let catchee man kille
man he catchee.' Gollee! me pleceman: all ligh'.
JERDEN. How he sleeps! No wonder, poor devil! These miners are
any thing but sociable, when the officers of the law are to be
entertained. Every cabin shut against us. Fortunately old Vermont
took himself off to-night; and I've taken possession, no doubt to
be turned out on his return. This beard's mighty uncomfortable.
(_Takes off beard, and lays it on table._)
WIN-KYE. Ki, yi! Catchee man shabee click, no soapee, no lazor.
JERDEN. He little dreams who his captor is. Curse him! he stood
between me and the dearest wish of my life; but I have him now.
A rare streak of luck. I forged the check he bungled with. Like
a fool, he cut and run. That was all right, for had he faced the
music it might have been hot for me; but she, Agnes Fairlee, she,
too, disappeared. I had risked all for nothing. But as Jerden, the
detective, I have tracked him, and found her. Now let me get him
away from here: she will follow, and then--(_DICK moves._) Ah!
(_Hastily replaces beard._)
WIN-KYE. Catchee man flaid he catchee cold. Sh! schoolemarm. Me
hoppee stick. (_Runs by door, and exit R._)
JERDEN (_rises_). Ah! who's there?
(_Enter, past window through door, AGNES._)
AGNES (_at door_). May I speak with your prisoner?
JERDEN (_bows_). I hate to refuse a lady; but my orders are, to let
none communicate with him until he is placed in jail.
AGNES. In jail?
JERDEN. Still, as you seem to be a very dear friend of his--
AGNES. You will grant my request?
JERDEN. If you will give me your word he shall not escape.
AGNES. You will leave us alone?
JERDEN. Certainly.
AGNES. I give you my pledge he shall not escape.
JERDEN (_goes up_). Then, I will retire--out of hearing, but not
out of sight. My eyes will still be upon him; and, if he attempts
flight, a well-aimed bullet shall be the signal for my return.
(_Exit past window off L._)
(_AGNES looks after him, then comes down, and taps DICK on
shoulder._)
AGNES. Richard!
DICK (_starting up_). No, no, Moselle, 'tis false, false. (_Rubs
his eyes._) Ah! Agnes, is it you?
AGNES. Yes, Richard. How can you sleep at such a time?
DICK. At such a time? It is the first real rest I have had for
a year. Agnes, if you had skulked and hid as I have, if you had
started from sleep at every sound, had trembled at the approach of
every stranger, had feared an enemy would spring from every bush
you passed, you would know what a blessed relief it is to feel that
all is over.
AGNES (_sits on stool R. of table_). Then, why did you fly from
justice?
DICK. Because I was a coward. Afraid to face that same justice,
and so have suffered more torments than even her sternest sentence
would have inflicted. Now I am going back to face her, and proclaim
my innocence.
AGNES. Your innocence?
DICK. Have you ever doubted it?
AGNES. Yes. Your strange flight, your silence for a year, the
circumstances--
DICK. Were all against me. Agnes, I am suffering for the crime of
another. You knew him,--Stephen Corliss.
AGNES. Your friend?
DICK. So he called himself. You know how we became acquainted. He
was a friend of the junior partner of the firm of Gordon, Green,
& Co., by whom I was employed. He took a fancy to me, invited me
to his rooms, insisted on my being his companion in drives, to the
theatres, and in other amusements. It was at his request that I
brought him home, and introduced him to you.
AGNES. I never liked him: I told you his companionship would do you
no good.
DICK. You did. One day he asked me to step round to the bank, and
cash a check made in his favor by Gordon, Green, & Co. It was for
twenty thousand dollars. I was not surprised at the amount; as I
knew he was considered a man of wealth, and had large dealings with
the concern. I laughingly asked him if he was not afraid to trust
me with so large an amount, to which he replied, "No: if you are
not afraid to draw it." I went to the bank, agreeing to meet him at
his rooms with the money. On presenting it at the bank, the teller
looked at the check suspiciously, and took it to the cashier. One
of the clerks whispered to me, "Look out for yourself, Dick, that
check's a forgery." Forgery! I started at the word: to me it had
always been a horror. I left the bank, not knowing what I was
doing. I flew to Corliss's rooms: the door was locked, and on it a
placard, "Gone to Europe." I turned and ran, that word "forgery"
burning into my brain, through the city, out into country, as if
pursued by tormenting fiends. A fever attacked me; and, when I
recovered, I found myself in the hands of strangers. Then commenced
my wanderings, which have ended here where they should have
begun,--in capture.
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 _mine_ing.
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 Horner
Makee 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.
MOSELLE. And you will find the money?
VERMONT. Find twenty thousand? Oh, yes, Mosey! I'll take my pick,
and go right off. As finds _are_ about here, it may take a few
years--
MOSELLE. Years! We must have it to-day. O daddy, you've plenty
banked at Carson!
VERMONT. Mosey, when you was a little gal, we used to sit down by
the creek.
MOSELLE. Where you found me, longer ago than I can remember.
VERMONT. We used to sit there day after day, while I told you
stories.
MOSELLE. Yes, fairy stories.
VERMONT (_sits on rock, R._). I'll tell you one now.
MOSELLE (_sits on the ground beside him, throws arm across his
knee_). A fairy story?
VERMONT. I reckon. Once on a time there was a gospel shebang, and
in it was a gospel sharp and a pan lifter.
MOSELLE. You mean a church, a parson, and a deacon?
VERMONT. That's just what I mean.
MOSELLE. Then, please remember, you are talking to a young lady,
and not to the boys.
VERMONT. Jes' so. Well, the parson and the deacon didn't hitch
horses,--couldn't work in the same hole,--were always flinging dirt
all over each other, whenever they got to arguing. So one day they
had it hot about wrastling Jacob and the angel. The deacon thought
Jacob didn't have a fair show. He allowed that Jacob, at collar
and elbow, would have thrown the angel every round; and the parson
got mad, and told the deacon if he'd step behind the she--church,
he'd show him the angel's trip. The deacon wa'n't to be stumped at
wrastlin', so at it they went. Three rounds, and the deacon went to
grass every time. Now, when a parson can throw a deacon, it shows a
backslidin' that's not healthy. So the deacon thought, and quietly
packed his kit, and started for green fields and pasters new,
leaving behind a wife and kids. Well, he struck jest about such a
place as this, and stuck to it twelve years. He didn't forget the
folks at home. Both his heart and his dust went back to 'em, and
sometimes he'd have given all his old boots for one look at 'em.
MOSELLE. Why didn't he go back?
VERMONT. What! With that wrastlin' angel bossing the shebang? Not
for Jacob.
MOSELLE. Ho, ho! You are the deacon.
VERMONT. I was. Now I'm only Vermont.
MOSELLE. And my daddy.
VERMONT. Last night I wrastled again. I was thrown, and by a
boy--my kid--from old Vermont.
MOSELLE. Your son?
VERMONT. You bet.
MOSELLE. Oh, daddy! ain't you glad?
VERMONT. Glad! Why, Mosey, he's got the angel trip, by which the
parson threw me.
MOSELLE. But ain't you glad he's found you? It must be so good to
hear news from home.
VERMONT. Well, Mosey, you keep quiet: I don't want the boys to know
he's my son. I've told you--
MOSELLE. A fairy story. I understand.
VERMONT. Jes' so. A fairy story, without the fairy.
MOSELLE (_rising_). Oh! you're the fairy, for you are always doing
good. But where is he? I must see him.
VERMONT. In my ranch.
MOSELLE. I'll just run down and have a peep at him,--the boy who
threw the deacon--no, the fairy. Ha, ha, ha! (_Runs off R. 2 E._)
VERMONT. I reckon I'm a healthy old fairy.
(_Enter MOTHER, from cabin._)
MOTHER. Where's Moselle?
VERMONT. She's just run down to have a look at the kid--
MOTHER. A look at what?
VERMONT (_aside_). Hang it! There's a slip for the fairy.
(_Aloud._) She's just run down to my ranch. She'll be back in a
minute. Widder, you believe that story about the creek and Mosey?
MOTHER. Certainly.
VERMONT. Don't believe it any longer: it's a blamed lie.
MOTHER. Vermont!
VERMONT. That's me, and here's the truth. I was diggin' in Goblin
Gulch in them days; and one night a woman, with a child in her
arms, came to my ranch. Poor thing! she was all used up with
tramping. She was looking for a miner,--her husband, she said. She
told me his name; and when she found I didn't know him, she jest
dropped on the ground, and died there. I was alone with a dead
woman and a live child, and not another soul within five miles.
Well, widder, I was skeered. If I was found with them, as likely as
not I'd been lynched for murder. So I jest buried the mother, and
brought the child to you.
WIDOW. What was the name of her husband?
VERMONT. Widder, that's the mischief. Blame my old wooden head, I
couldn't remember. That's why I brought Mosey to you with a lie. If
I'd told the truth, that would have been the first question you'd
have asked me. If I could only remember that,--if I could only hear
it again.
MOTHER. That would be a clew to Moselle's parentage.
VERMONT. It will come to me some day. Till then, the little one has
a daddy in old Vermont.
MOTHER. And a mother in me.
VERMONT (_holds out hand_). Widder, put it there. (_They shake
hands._) I've heard tell of some wimmen that banked all their
affections in one buzzum, and, when the proprietor of that bank
went prospecting among the stars, kept gathering the same kind of
gold-dust for the final deposit. I reckon, widder, you're one of
that kind. And when you jine your pardner, Tom Merton, pure ore
will be scarce in Nevada.
MOTHER. Ah, Vermont, what a pity you're a bachelor! You'd make such
a good father.
VERMONT (_confused_). Well, yes, jes' so. (_Aside._) What will she
say when she sees the kid?
MOTHER. And such a good husband! When I look at you, it seems as
if I had my dear old man back again. Poor Tom! (_Puts apron to her
eyes._)
VERMONT (_looks at her, scratches his head_). Poor old gal! (_Puts
arm around her waist._) Cheer up, widder: it's only a little while,
and you'll hear his voice calling--
SILAS (_appearing on run_). Say, dad, where's my paint-pot?
VERMONT. The kid! (_Runs off R. 2 E. MOTHER screams, and runs into
cabin._)
(_SILAS comes down, looks after MOTHER, then after VERMONT._)
SILAS. For further particulars see small bills. After so recent
reminders of his connubial relations, it strikes me that the deacon
is a little giddy, and the sooner he is returned to the bosom of
his family, the better.
(_Enter MOSELLE, R. 2 E._)
MOSELLE. There was no one there. (_Sees SILAS._) Hallo, medicine
man! Where's daddy?
SILAS. My daddy?
MOSELLE. No: mine,--Vermont.
SILAS (_aside_). Her daddy! Great heavings! The deacon's a Mormon!
(_Aloud._) So, Vermont is your daddy?
MOSELLE. Why, certainly. Didn't you know that?
SILAS. Well, no. I haven't examined the family records lately.
Who's your mammy?
MOSELLE. Mother Merton.
SILAS. Murder!
MOSELLE. What's the matter?
SILAS. That accounts for it.
MOSELLE. Accounts for what?
SILAS. The very affecting embrace of an aged Romeo and a mature
Juliet. I just now interrupted a tight squeeze, in which your mammy
was the squeezeed, and your daddy the squeezor.
MOSELLE. You saw that? Ha, ha, ha! Won't the boys be tickled!
SILAS. Boys! Do you mean to say there are boys too?
MOSELLE. Why, certainly, lots of them.
SILAS (_aside_). Great Scott! There'll be music in the air, with an
anvil chorus thrown in, when daddy goes marching home. (_Aloud._)
But where do I come in?
MOSELLE. You?
SILAS. Yes. For if Vermont is your daddy, and Mother Merton your
mammy, and Deacon Steele is my father, and Hannah Steele is my
mother, I must belong somewhere among the boys--of the old boy.
MOSELLE. Why, you must be the kid--Abigal's son. Ha, ha, ha!
SILAS. Abigal! (_Aside._) What! Another family springing up! Oh,
this is too much! Hannah Steele's young ones--Mother Merton's
boys--Abigal's kid. The old Turk! I must get the old man home.
MOSELLE. So you're the boy that threw his father?
SILAS. Threw _him_! Why, he's floored _me_!
MOSELLE. I'm real glad you've found him, he's so lonesome
sometimes. And daddy's got a big heart that would take the whole
world in.
SILAS (_aside_). He seems to have taken in a pretty big slice of
the better half already.
MOSELLE. Now, you must have great influence with daddy, and you
must help me free Dick.
SILAS. Who's Dick?
MOSELLE. One of the boys.
SILAS (_aside_). Thought so. (_Aloud._) Well, how can I help you
free brother Dick?
MOSELLE. By inducing daddy to find the money.
SILAS. Oh! Dick's in a scrape?
MOSELLE. Yes; and twenty thousand dollars will set him free. Daddy
has it.
SILAS (_aside_). So daddy's a big bonanza, as well as a bigamist.
MOSELLE. You see, Dick's accused of forgery; but he's innocent. A
detective has secured him, and will take him back to-day, unless
the money is found to reimburse the bank with what Richard Fairlee
is supposed to have defrauded it.
SILAS. Richard Fairlee? I've heard that name before.
MOSELLE. Alice Fairlee's brother.
SILAS (_aside_). Heavings! Another tribe. Richard!--Ah! I have it.
(_Enter WIN-KYE, R. 1 E., with pail and brush._)
WIN-KYE. All time walkee, paintee tlee, paintee lock--
SILAS. Ah, the thief! Give me that paint. (_Runs at WIN-KYE, with
outstretched arm. WIN-KYE runs under it, and up C._)
WIN-KYE. Not muchee. My can go all ligh'. Melican man chin-chin
girly. Chinaman look out for paintee. (_Exit up run._)
SILAS. Stop, I say! He's off, and I'm after him. (_Runs up and
turns._) I'll look out for Dick by and by. Just now I must look out
for paint. (_Exit._)
MOSELLE. Ha, ha, ha! you'll have a long chase.
(_Enter AGNES, from cabin._)
AGNES. Moselle, how can you laugh when this very day Dick leaves us?
MOSELLE. He's not gone yet; and just as surely as I believe in
his innocence, just so sure am I that something will prevent his
departure. Tom Carew has not been seen this morning, and he's not
the man to desert a friend. Depend upon it, he is working for his
release from that horrid detective.
(_Enter JERDEN, from cabin._)
JERDEN. Meaning me. Thanks for your complimentary notice, and a
thousand thanks for the hospitality which has given my prisoner
and myself a good night's rest and a hearty breakfast. (_Crosses to
R._) Mr. Fairlee is packing up, and in a few moments you will be
rid of us.
MOSELLE. Dick packing up? I'll stop that. (_Exit into cabin._)
JERDEN. Miss Fairlee, you accompany your brother, of course?
AGNES. No, sir: at his request I remain here.
JERDEN. You remain? impossible! You will not suffer your brother to
meet his trial without you by his side to comfort him?
AGNES. If he wishes it, yes.
JERDEN. But this is unnatural, heartless--
AGNES. Sir?
JERDEN. I beg your pardon; but your presence in New York would aid
him greatly in establishing his innocence.
AGNES. Ah! you believe he _is_ innocent?
JERDEN. Return with us, and I will prove him so.
AGNES. Who are you?
JERDEN. One who has long loved you,--who, though a detective, has
wealth and power to set your brother free, and surround you with
every luxury.
AGNES. Why, this is madness. I know you not but as one to be
despised, a man-hunter and a thief-taker.
JERDEN. Nay, but I can explain--
AGNES. Nothing to satisfy me that you are not a base wretch seeking
to profit by the anxiety of a sister. I remain here.
JERDEN. Go you must and shall, even if I have to arrest you as the
accomplice of your brother.
AGNES. You would not dare. I have only to raise my voice, to bring
to my side a score of manly fellows, who would swing you from a
tree, and free your prisoner. Here law is justice, and war on women
a crime.
JERDEN. And yet I dare. Your flight so soon after your brother,
your being found here together, are strong proof of your complicity
in the crime.
AGNES. Another word, and I call.
(_JUBE creeps on from R. 2 E._)
JERDEN (_seizes her wrist_). Silence, or--(_Puts his hand round to
his hip. JUBE creeps close to him, and, as his hand comes round,
pulls pistol out of JERDEN'S pocket, and puts it over his shoulder,
pointing to his nose._)
JUBE. Was you lookin' fer dis yer, boss?
JERDEN (_backing to C._). Fool! give me that pistol.
JUBE. Yas, indeed, when Gabriel blows his trumpet in de mornin',
but not dis year morning. (_Shouts_) Dandy Dick, dandy Dick, now's
yer chance: hoof it, hoof it!
(_Enter DICK from cabin, followed by MOSELLE._)
DICK. What's the matter, Jube?
JUBE. Got de bead on de detect. Now's yer chance: hoof it--
DICK (_crosses to JUBE, and takes the pistol_). Enough of this. I
go with Jerden. (_Gives pistol to JERDEN._) Take your pistol. I
might change my mind, and then you would need it.
JUBE. Dat's jes' fool business. Put your mouf right into der lion's
head.
JERDEN. 'Tis time we were moving.
DICK. All right! I'll be ready in a moment. (_Crosses to L._)
Good-by, Moselle.
MOSELLE (_throwing her arms about his neck_). No, no: you must not.
Where's daddy? where's Tom? Call the boys, Jube.
(_Enter VERMONT R. 2 E._)
VERMONT. What's the trouble, little one?
MOSELLE (_crossing to him_). O daddy! you will not let Dick be
carried to prison?
VERMONT. How am I to help it?
MOSELLE. The money, daddy!
VERMONT. What! twenty thou--No. No: I'd willingly chip in.
JUBE. Yas, indeed, we'll all chip in.
VERMONT. But we can't raise that amount of dust.
(_TOM comes down run with a rusty old pickaxe on his
shoulder, and a piece of canvas grasped by four corners in
his right hand._)
TOM. Then, call on me. (_Stops on platform_)
MOSELLE. Tom!
TOM. Dick, you're free. Look there! (_Throws canvas down on stage:
it opens, showing a mass of dirt, and nuggets of gold._)
DICK. Gold!
JUBE (_runs up, and picks up a nugget_). Look at dar, look at dar!
VERMONT. What have you struck, Tom?
TOM. What for ten long years has been to us a legend,--the lost
mine of Nevada. See! here's the very pick he left in the hole.
Detective, I cover your offer, and take your man.
JERDEN. Not with stolen gold.
TOM (_comes down L._). Stolen?
JERDEN. Ay, stolen. You have jumped another man's claim. For proof,
you bring his pick left in the mine. Its owner still lives.
TOM. Yes; and here he is (_NEVADA comes down run slowly_), the
richest miner in all Nevada.
NEVADA (_on platform_). That's me, boys, that's me; but it's all
locked up. Ah! if I could only find the key. You should dig no
more, boys. You should live in palaces, dine off gold. Ah, gold,
gold! Shall I--(_Sees gold on stage._) What's that?
TOM. That's fruit,--golden fruit, dug right out of your garden,
Nevada. Your mine is found.
NEVADA. No, no: I've been up the ravine three miles--
TOM. So have I.
VERMONT. Then climbed the bowlders--
TOM. To where the giant lies across the stream--
NEVADA. Over it to the gorge a mile beyond; then to the right--to
the left, and, and--
TOM. There's where you missed it. Had you turned back five rods,
you would have found a clump of bushes hiding the gorge below; and
there lifting your eyes, you would have seen on a bowlder high up,
a sign--
(_Enter on run, SILAS._)
SILAS. Busted's Balm, you bet!
TOM. Right, stranger. You gave me the clew. Where you fell, there
is the old mine. Do you hear, Nevada? your mine.
NEVADA. My mine, my--Now, Tom, don't trifle with the old man. You
could not have found what I all these years have sought in vain.
No, no.
TOM. Nevada, do you know this? (_Showing pick._)
NEVADA (_takes pick_). Why, Tom, Tom, this is mine,--my old pick!
Where did you find it?
TOM. Where you left it. Old man, look at me. Did I ever deceive
you?
NEVADA. It _is_ my old pick (_hugs it_), and that's my gold.
(_Comes down._) Let me touch it. (_TOM takes up a nugget, and
hands it to him._) Ah, I feel it now, the gold for which I slaved!
Ah! you have embittered my life, rich as you are. You might have
blessed me had you come sooner; but now, now (_throws down the
gold_), O Tom, Tom! I'd give it all for one sight of the wife and
little one. (_Sobs, and falls on TOM'S neck._)
TOM. Ah, tears! that's good: he's all right. Take him in, Mosey.
(_MOSELLE leads NEVADA into cabin._) Now, you wait, Jerden, and
you'll find the old man ready to treat with you for Dick's freedom.
JERDEN. I decline to treat with him or you. I shall take my
prisoner, Richard Fairlee.
SILAS (_comes down_). What name?
JERDEN. Richard Fairlee, forger.
SILAS. Ah, forger! I thought I knew something about him.
JERDEN. Well, what do you know?
SILAS. That he is innocent. For further particulars--Where's my
paint?
WIN-KYE (_outside_). Heap gone uppee. (_Enters down run, handle of
pail in his hand, paint on his face and on his dress._) Paintee
lock, grizzley stick um head out, wantee paint too, snatchee pail,
me scootee. (_Holds up handle._) Savem piecee.
SILAS. Ah! (_Snatches handle._) You've saved enough. (_Tears paper
from handle._) Here it is.
ALL. What?
SILAS. The latest add of the balm--(_All groan._) I'll give you a
dose. Listen! (_Reads._) "Wonderful discovery. The firm of Gorden,
Green, & Co. have obtained convincing proof that the forgery
perpetrated a year ago was not the act of their clerk, Richard
Fairlee, but was a shrewd plot concocted by one Stephen Corliss,
for the ruin of that young man."
DICK. The truth at last!
AGNES (_takes his hand_). Good news, brother!
JERDEN (_aside_). Discovered.
SILAS. Hold on: there's something more. (_Reads._) "Remarkable
as this is, it is nothing compared to the wonderful discovery,
Busted's Balm." (_General groan._) "For further particulars see"--
WIN-KYE. Topside locks, all ligh', John.
SILAS. Mr. Fairlee, you've had a close shave.
WIN-KYE. Catchee man close shabe too. No lazor, no soapee: see!
(_With a quick movement snatches beard from JERDEN._)
DICK. Stephen Corliss!
AGNES. That man!
JERDEN. Yes, that man. Agnes Fairlee, to win you I have plotted. I
have failed, and now await my sentence.
TOM. I told you miner law was swift and sure. (_JUBE creeps up run,
and crouches behind masking rocks._)
JERDEN. I understand,--a rope, a tree, and murder. (_Draws
pistol._) Not for me. (_Dashes up run. JUBE rises before him._)
JUBE (_wrests pistol from him_). Dis is a private way, dangerous
passing.
JERDEN. Curse the luck! (_Turns, and runs off L. behind cabin._)
VERMONT. Not that way, man.
TOM. The ledge! the ledge!
JUBE. Don't you do it. Ah! he's gone ober de ledge, down three
hundred feet. Good-by, detect! (_Comes down._)
AGNES. What a horrible fate!
TOM. Better that than the tree.
VERMONT (_comes C., and takes up pick_). This is the pick that
opened Nevada's bonanza. Why, it's little better than--What's
this? a name cut into it? (_Looks at it closely._) Ah (_drops it
agitated_), widder, widder! (_Enter MOTHER from cabin._)
MOTHER. What is it, Vermont?
VERMONT (_seizes her by wrist, and leads her R._). Widder, it's
come, it's come. My old head couldn't strike it, but Tom has,--the
name.
WIDOW. What name?
VERMONT. A name long forgotten, but now brought to light,--John
Murdock.
(_Enter NEVADA from cabin followed by MOSELLE._)
NEVADA. Who called my name?
VERMONT. Your wife.
NEVADA. My wife?
VERMONT. Yes: at the door of my ranch in Goblin Gulch ten years
ago, searching for you, with her child in her arms.
NEVADA. My wife? where is she?
VERMONT (_takes off his hat_). In heaven.
NEVADA (_covers his face_). My poor wife.
VERMONT. She couldn't find her husband, so she went home to her
father. But the child--
NEVADA. Ah, the child! my little Lisa.
VERMONT (_aside_). Lisa! Now, there's a name; and I went and called
her Moses.
MOSELLE. Lisa, Lisa! Why, somebody called me by that name long,
long ago.
NEVADA. No: that was my child's name.
VERMONT. Right, Nevada: your child left in my arms; your child
that has been tenderly cared for, who is the luck of this camp.
(_Crosses, and takes MOSELLE'S hand._)
TOM and JUBE. Our Mosey!
VERMONT. Is--
NEVADA. My child!
VERMONT. Lisa Murdock. (_Passes her to C._)
MOSELLE. My father, you--
NEVADA (_clasping her in his arms_). Mine, mine at last.
VERMONT (_crosses to MOTHER_). Widder!
MOTHER. Vermont! (_They fall into each other's arms._)
SILAS (_astonished_). Deacon Steele! (_VERMONT, in confusion, drops
the WIDOW; TOM, DICK, AGNES, JUBE, and WIN-KYE go C., and shake
hands with NEVADA and MOSELLE. SILAS beckons VERMONT down C._)
SILAS. Ain't you rather going it with the widow?
VERMONT. What do you mean?
SILAS. Well, you see, I'm not used to the customs of this part of
the country; and I don't know how to break it to mother.
VERMONT. Break what?
SILAS. This new departure of yours. By the way, how many have you?
VERMONT. How many what?
SILAS. Well, it's rather a delicate question for a son to ask his
father; but how many wives have you?
VERMONT. Silas Steele, are you mad? One,--your mother.
SILAS. Oh! then the widow and Abigail and the boys and the kid--
VERMONT. Well, what of them?
SILAS. Are they relatives of yours?
VERMONT. I have but one relative in this part of the country, and
he seems to be little better than a fool.
SILAS. Mother says he takes after his dad. (_Aside._) I guess the
old gent's all right, after all.
VERMONT. Look here, Silas. (_Leads him down C._) Where did you
learn that trip by which you threw me last night?
SILAS. Oh! from Parson Bunker. Remember the parson, don't you?
VERMONT (_aside_). I thought so,--the wrestling angel.
SILAS. Cold day for him when he gave that away, for I threw him
every time after that.
VERMONT (_excited_). What! you threw the parson?
SILAS. Just as easy as I laid you.
VERMONT (_excitedly shakes his hand_). Silas, I'm proud of you.
Look here, widder, Nevada, Tom, everybody, this is my son from
Vermont. Look at him: he can throw the parson, the wrestling angel.
Look at him.
MOTHER. Your son? then, you are married?
VERMONT. Well, I hope so. I'm going home to see Hannah, and make up
with the parson, after I've had a shy at his shins with the angel
trip.
MOSELLE. And leave me, daddy?
VERMONT. Ah, little one, that will be hard! but Nevada has jumped
my claim with a prior claim. In you he's found his child.
NEVADA. Yours and mine, Vermont. You must never forget, that, when
I deserted her for love of gold, you took her to your heart.
VERMONT. I couldn't help it. Blamed if the little thing didn't
crawl right in, and nestle, as if she belonged there.
MOSELLE. And it was such a warm nest, I hope I shall never be
turned out of it.
VERMONT. Never, you bet.
NEVADA. You shall go home well fixed. The old mine shall be made to
give up its treasures. Henceforth it shall be known as the Carew
and Murdock mine.
TOM. No, no, Nevada: I have no right--
NEVADA (_takes his hand_). We must be partners; for what I lost,
you found. In our good fortune all shall share.
DICK (_takes MOSELLE'S hand_). Then, I'll take mine here.
NEVADA. And rob me of the jewel I prize the most?
MOSELLE. Not rob, father, only give it a new setting.
DICK. In my heart.
TOM. You can trust him, Nevada; and he's had such bad luck, he
deserves a nugget.
MOSELLE. Thank you, Tom. One of these days I'll speak a good word
for you with his sister.
TOM. Do I need it, Agnes?
AGNES (_gives her hand_). Not with me, Tom.
JUBE (R.). Golly! see 'em parin' off. Nex' couple, slaminade. Say,
tender hoof, whar's your pardner?
SILAS (R.). There don't seem enough to go round; but I'm on the
lookout--
WIN-KYE. Lookee out for paint. See small billies. All ligh'.
VERMONT (_points to gold_). Nevada, shall I gather up the dust for
you?
NEVADA. No: scatter it among the boys. It is dust, indeed, no
longer to be prized by me, but for the richer treasure it has
disclosed (_to MOSELLE_),--you, my darling. (_Puts arm about
MOSELLE._)
MOSELLE. O father, the clouds are lifting! You are coming out of
the darkness.
NEVADA. Yes, little one; and in the new light of your eyes, I see
tokens of the wealth I abandoned for a phantom. In you I find--
VERMONT (_takes NEVADA'S hand_). A nugget, you bet!
NEVADA. Yes, the jewel of my lost mine.
SITUATIONS.
_NEVADA C., clasping MOSELLE with left arm, his right hand
in that of VERMONT. MOTHER next VERMONT R., SILAS R., JUBE
extreme R.; DICK next MOSELLE L., TOM and AGNES L., WIN-KYE
extreme L._
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The Red Jacket _George M. Baker._
Old Age
Mahmoud _Leigh Hunt._
The Closet Scene from "Hamlet"
How he saved St. Michael's _Aldine._
Samson
The Story of the Bad Little Boy who }
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Mr. Candle and his Second Wife _Douglas Jerrold's Fireside
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Tauler _Whittier._
The Doorstep _E. C. Stedman._
Old Farmer Gray gets photographed _John H. Yates._
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Learning } _Capt. Marryat._
The Jester's Sermon _Walter Thornbury._
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Defiance of Harold the Dauntless _Scott._
Battle Hymn _Körner._
The Story of the Faithful Soul _Adelaide Procter._
"Curfew must not ring To-Night" _Rosa Hartwick Thorpe._
The Showman's Courtship _Artemus Ward._
How Terry saved his Bacon
The Senator's Pledge _Charles Sumner._
Overthrow of Belshazzar _Barry Cornwall._
The Hour of Prayer _Mrs. Hemans._
The Squire's Story _John Phœnix._
The Happiest Couple _Sheridan._
Godiva _Tennyson._
Farmer Bent's Sheep-Washing
The Deutsch Maud Muller _Carl Pretzel._
Charles Sumner _Carl Schurz._
The Bricklayers _G. H. Barnes._
A Stranger in the Pew _Harper's Mag._
The Mistletoe-Bough _Bayley._
The Puzzled Census-Taker _J. G. Saxe._
The Voices at the Throne _I. Westwood._
Hans Breitmann's Party _Charles G. Leland._
Rob Roy MacGregor _Walter Scott._
Der Drummer _Charles F. Adams._
The Yankee and the Dutchman's Dog
Popping the Question
The Bumpkin's Courtship
The Happy Life _Sir Henry Wotton._
At the Soldiers' Graves _Robert Collyer._
Nobody there _Anonymous._
The Factory-Girl's Diary _Morton._
In the Tunnel
"Jones"
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"Good and Better"
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The Pickwickians on Ice _Dickens._
A Picture _Mrs. H. A. Bingham._
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The Two Anchors _R. H. Stoddard._
The Old Ways and the New _John H. Yates._
By the Alma River _Miss Muloch._
Trial Scene from "Merchant of Venice" _Shakspeare._
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Farm-Yard Song
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In the Bottom Drawer
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The Bobolink _Aldine._
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Press On _Park Benjamin._
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A Militia General _Thomas Corwin._
Address of Spottycus
Our Visitor, and what he came for
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Workers and Thinkers _Ruskin._
The Last Ride _Nora Perry._
Baby Atlas
Possession _Owen Meredith._
There is no Death _Sir E. Bulwer Lytton._
The Learned Negro _Congregationalist._
Nearer, my God, to Thee _Sarah F. Adams._
A Short Sermon _Not by a Hard-Shell Baptist._
Goin' Home To-day _W. M. Carleton._
The Broken Pitcher _Anonymous._
A Baby's Soliloquy
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Sunday Morning _George A. Baker, jun._
The Quaker Meeting _Samuel Lover._
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Bob Cratchit's Christmas-Dinner _Dickens._
The First Snow-Fall _James Russell Lowell._
The Countess and the Serf _J. Sheridan Knowles._
Aurelia's Unfortunate Young Man _Mark Twain._
Losses _Francis Browne._
Mad Luce _All the Year Round._
The Solemn Book-Agent _Detroit Free Press._
What the Old Man said _Alice Robbins._
Bone and Sinew and Brain _John Boyle O'Reilly._
Pat and the Oysters
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The Singer _Alice Williams._
Speech of the Hon. Pervese Peabody on
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Bunker Hill _George H. Calvert._
Two Births _Charles J. Sprague._
The Old Fogy Man
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The Wedding-Fee _R. M. Streeter._
Schneider's Tomatoes _Charles F. Adams._
The Wolves _J. T. Trowbridge._
The Ballad of the Oysterman _Oliver Wendell Holmes._
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A Lay of Real Life _Tom Hood._
Riding Down _Nora Perry._
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Uncle Reuben's Baptism _Vicksburg Herald._
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The Evils of Ignorance _Horace Mann._
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Ambition _Henry Clay._
The Victories of Peace _Charles Sumner._
For Love
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The Jonesville Singin' Quire _My Opinions and Betsey
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The Burial of the Dane _Henry Howard Brownell._
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The Church of the Best Licks _Edward Eggleston._
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Roast Pig. A Bit of Lamb _Charles Lamb._
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Ode _George Sennott._
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=Better Than Gold.= 7 male, 4 female
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=Our Folks.= 6 male, 5 female char. 15
=The Flower of the Family.= 5
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ENLISTED FOR THE WAR. 7 male, 3 female
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MY BROTHER'S KEEPER. 5 male, 3 female
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=_The Little Brown Jug._= 5 male, 3
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=Above the Clouds.= 7 male, 3 female
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=One Hundred Years Ago.= 7 male,
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AMONG THE BREAKERS. 6 male, 4 female
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BREAD ON THE WATERS. 5 male, 3 female
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DOWN BY THE SEA. 6 male, 3 female
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ONCE ON A TIME. 4 male, 2 female char. 15
=_The Last Loaf._= 5 male, 3 female char. 15
_In One Act._
STAND BY THE FLAG. 5 male char. 15
=_The Tempter._= 3 male, 1 female char. 15
COMEDIES AND FARCES.
=A Mysterious Disappearance.= 4
male, 3 female char. 15
=Paddle Your Own Canoe.= 7 male,
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=_A Drop too Much._= 4 male, 2 female
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=_A Little More Cider._= 5 male, 3 female
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A THORN AMONG THE ROSES. 2 male, 6
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NEVER SAY DIE. 3 male, 3 female char. 15
SEEING THE ELEPHANT. 6 male, 3 female
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THE BOSTON DIP. 4 male, 3 female char. 15
THE DUCHESS OF DUBLIN. 6 male, 4 female
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THIRTY MINUTES FOR REFRESHMENTS.
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=_We're all Teetotalers._= 4 male, 2 female
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A CLOSE SHAVE. 6 char. 15
A PUBLIC BENEFACTOR. 6 char. 15
A SEA OF TROUBLES. 8 char. 15
A TENDER ATTACHMENT. 7 char. 15
COALS OF FIRE. 6 char. 15
FREEDOM OF THE PRESS. 8 char. 15
=Shall Our Mothers Vote?= 11 char. 15
GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY. 12 char. 15
HUMORS OF THE STRIKE. 8 char. 15
MY UNCLE THE CAPTAIN. 6 char. 15
NEW BROOMS SWEEP CLEAN. 6 char. 15
THE GREAT ELIXIR. 9 char. 15
THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 5 char. 15
=_The Man with the Demijohn._= 4
char. 15
THE RUNAWAYS. 4 char. 15
THE THIEF OF TIME. 6 char. 15
WANTED, A MALE COOK. 4 char. 15
_Female Characters Only._
A LOVE OF A BONNET. 5 char. 15
A PRECIOUS PICKLE. 6 char. 15
NO CURE NO PAY. 7 char. 15
THE CHAMPION OF HER SEX. 8 char. 15
THE GREATEST PLAGUE IN LIFE. 8 char. 15
THE GRECIAN BEND. 7 char. 15
THE RED CHIGNON. 6 char. 15
USING THE WEED. 7 char. 15
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THE REVOLT OF THE BEES. 9 female
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THE SCULPTOR'S TRIUMPH. 1 male, 4 female
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THE TOURNAMENT OF IDYLCOURT. 10
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THE WAR OF THE ROSES. 8 female char. 15
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AN ORIGINAL IDEA. 1 male, 1 female
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BONBONS; OR, THE PAINT KING. 6 male,
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CAPULETTA; OR, ROMEO AND JULIET
RESTORED. 3 male, 1 female char. 15
SANTA CLAUS' FROLICS. 15
SNOW-BOUND; OR, ALONZO THE BRAVE
AND THE FAIR IMOGENE. 3 male, 1
female char. 25
THE MERRY CHRISTMAS OF THE OLD
WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE. 15
THE PEDLER OF VERY NICE. 7 male
char. 15
THE SEVEN AGES. A Tableau Entertainment.
Numerous male and female char. 15
TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN. 2 male char. 15
THE VISIONS OF FREEDOM. 11 female
char. 15
Geo. M. Baker & Co., 47 Franklin St., Boston.
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=Baker's Humorous Dialogues.= Female characters only. 25 cents.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
The right-pointing finger symbol is denoted by ==>.
Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected after careful
comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation
of external sources. All dialect and any misspelling in the text
has been retained without change.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Nevada - or, The Lost Mine, A Drama in Three Acts" ***
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