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By Root 606 0

you can do me a good turn, and so can I you, if we see fit. I’ve raked and scraped and saved, a considerable many years, and I’ve got it all here.” He unlocked an old hair trunk, tumbled a chaos of shabby clothes aside, and drew a short stout bag into view for a moment, then buried it again and relocked the trunk. Dropping his voice to a cautious low tone, he continued, “She’s all there—a round ten thousand dollars in yellow boys; now this is my little idea: What I don’t know about raising cattle, ain’t worth knowing. There’s mints of money in it, in Californy. Well, I know, and you know, that all along a line that’s being surveyed, there’s little dabs of land that they call ‘gores,’ that fall to the surveyor free gratis for nothing. All you’ve got to do, on your side, is to survey in such a way that the ‘gores’ will fall on good fat land, then you turn ’em over to me, I stock ’em with cattle, in rolls the cash, I plank out your share of the dollars regular, right along, and—”

I was sorry to wither his blooming enthusiasm, but it could not be helped. I interrupted, and said severely—

“I am not that kind of a surveyor. Let us change the subject, Mr. Backus.”

It was pitiful to see his confusion and hear his awkward and shamefaced apologies. I was as much distressed as he was—especially as he seemed so far from having suspected that there was anything improper in his proposition. So I hastened to console him and lead him on to forget his mishap in a conversational orgy about cattle and butchery. We were lying at Acapulco; and, as we went on deck, it happened luckily that the crew were just beginning to hoist some beeves aboard in slings. Backus’s melancholy vanished instantly, and with it the memory of his late mistake.

“Now only look at that!” cried he; “My goodness, Triangle, what would they say to it in Ohio? Wouldn’t their eyes bug out, to see ’em handled like that?—wouldn’t they, though?”

All the passengers were on deck to look—even the gamblers—and Backus knew them all, and had afflicted them all with his pet topic. As I moved away, I saw one of the gamblers approach and accost him; then another of them; then the third. I halted; waited; watched; the conversation continued between the four men; it grew earnest; Backus drew gradually away; the gamblers followed, and kept at his elbow. I was uncomfortable. However, as they passed me presently, I heard Backus say, with a tone of persecuted annoyance:

“But it ain’t any use, gentlemen; I tell you again, as I’ve told you a half a dozen times before, I warn’t raised to it, and I ain’t a-going to resk it.”

I felt relieved. “His level head will be his sufficient protection,” I said to myself.

During the fortnight’s run from Acapulco to San Francisco I several times saw the gamblers talking earnestly with Backus, and once I threw out a gentle warning to him. He chuckled comfortably and said—

“Oh, yes! They tag around after me considerable—want me to play a little, just for amusement, they say—but laws-a-me, if my folks have told me once to look out for that sort of livestock, they’ve told me a thousand times, I reckon.”

By and by, in due course, we were approaching San Francisco. It was an ugly black night, with a strong wind blowing, but there was not much sea. I was on deck, alone. Toward ten I started below. A figure issued from the gamblers’ den, and disappeared in the darkness. I experienced a shock, for I was sure it was Backus. I flew down the companionway, looked about for him, could not find him, then returned to the deck just in time to catch a glimpse of him as he re-entered that confounded nest of rascality. Had he yielded at last? I feared it. What has he gone below for? His bag of coin? Possibly. I drew near the door, full of bodings. It was a-crack, and I glanced in and saw a sight that made me bitterly wish I had given my attention to saving my poor cattle friend, instead of reading and dreaming my foolish time away. He was gambling. Worse still, he was being plied with champagne, and was already showing some effect from it. He praised the “cider,” as