University of Virginia Library

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
SHORT'S CUT-OFF.

Armstrong handed us this note at St. Louis.
Biddulph, once a sentimental pinkling, now a
bronzed man of the wilds, exhibited for this occasion
only the phenomenon of a brace or so of
tears. I loved him for his strong sorrow.

“It 's not for myself, Wade,” he said. “I can
stand her loving John, and not knowing that she
has me for brother too; I 'm not of the lacrymose
classes; but this mad error of the father and this
hopeless faithfulness of the daughter touches me
tenderly. And here we are three weeks or more
behind them.”

“Yes,” said Armstrong, “full three weeks to
the notch; an ef ayry one of you boys sets any
store by 'em, you 'd better be pintin' along their
trail afore it gets cold. That 's what I allow.
He 's onsafe, — the old man is. As fine-hearted
a bein' as ever was; but luck has druv him out
of hisself and made a reg'lar gonoph of him.”

“Gonoph is vernacular for Drapetomaniac, I
suppose,” said I; “and a better word it is. Miss
Ellen bore the journey well, Armstrong?”

“That there young woman is made out of watch-spring.
Ther ain't no stop to her. The more
you pile on, the springier she gits. She was a
mile an hour more to the train comin' on. We
did n't have anything ugly happen until we got
to the river. We cum down from Independence
in the Floatin' Pallis, No. 5. Some er them gamblin'
Pikes on board got a holt on the old man.
He 's got his bead drawed on makin' a pile again,
and allows that gamblin' with Pikes on a riverboat
is one of the ways. He sot his white head
down to the poker-table, and stuck thar, lookin'
sometimes sly as a kioty, sometimes mean and
ugly as a gray wolf, and sometimes like a dead
ephergee cut out er chalked wax. She nor I
could n't do nothin' with him. So I ambushed
the gamblers, an twarn't much arter midnight
when I cotched 'em cheatin' the old man. They
could n't wait to take his pile slow an' sure. So I

called an indignation meetin', and when I told the
boys aboard I was Luke Armstrong from Oregon,
they made me chairman, an' guv me three cheers.
I know'd it warn't pollymentary for the chairman
to make motions, but I motioned we shove the
hul kit an boodle of the gamblers ashore on logs.
'T was kerried, quite you-an-I-an-a-muss. So
we guv 'em a fair show, with a big stick of cotton-wood
and a shingle apiece, and told 'em to navigate.
The Cap'n slewed the Pallis's head round
and opened the furnace-doors to light 'em across,
and they poot for shore, with everybody yellin', and
the Pallis blowin' her whistle like all oudoors.”

“That 's the American method, Biddulph,”
said I. “Lynch-law is nothing but the sovereign
people's law, executed without the intervention
of the forms the people usually adopt for convenience.”

“With Armstrong for judge, it may do,” said
Biddulph.

“After that,” continued Armstrong, “we got
on well, except that the old man kep on the
stiddy tramp up an' down the boat, when he
warn't starin' at the engyne, and Ellen could n't
quiet him down. He got hash with her, too, and
that ain't like his nater. His nater is a sweet
nater, with considerable weakenin' into it. Well,
when we got here, I paid their ticket plum
through to York out of my own belt, and shoved

a nest er dimes into the carpet-bag she asked me
to buy her. But money wunt help the old man.
I don't believe anything but dyin' will. I never
would have let 'em go on alone ef I had n't had
my own Ellen, and all my brother Bill's big and
little ones to keep drivin' for. Now, boys, I git
more 'n more oneasy the more I talk about 'em;
but I ken put you on the trail, and if Mr. Brent
is as sharp on trails where men is thick, as he is
where men is scerce, and if she 's got a holt on him
still, he 'll find 'em, and help 'em through.”

“That I will, Armstrong,” said Brent.

And next morning we three pursued our chase
across the continent.

At New York another hurried note for me.

They left me, — the lover and the ex-lover, —
and followed on over seas.

I had my sister's orphans to protect and my
bread to win. The bigger the crowd, the more to
pay tribute to an Orson like myself. I fancied that
I could mine to more advantage in New York than
at the Foolonner. There are sixpences in the
straw of every omnibus for somebody to find.

I am not to maunder about myself. So I omit
the story how I saw a vista in new life, hewed in
and took up a “claim,” which I have held good
and am still improving.

Meantime nothing from Brent, — nothing from
Miss Clitheroe. I grew bitterly anxious for both,
— the brother and the sister of my adoption.
These ties of choice are closer than ties of blood,
unless the hearts are kindred as well as the
bodies. My sister Ellen, chosen out of all womanhood
and made precious to me by the agony
I had known for her sake, — I could not endure
the thought that she had forgotten me; still less
the dread that her father had dragged her into
some voiceless misery.

And Brent. I knew that he did not write,
because he must thus set before his eyes in black,
cruel words that his pursuit had been vain. The
love that conquered time and space had beaten
down and slain Brutality, — was it to be baffled
at last? I longed to be with him, lending my
cruder force to his finer skill in the search.
Together we might prevail, as we had before prevailed.
But I saw no chance of joining him. I
must stay and earn my bread at my new business.

Nothing, still nothing from the lady or the
lover, and I suffered for both. I wrote Brent,
and re-wrote him; but no answer.

That winter, my old friend Short perfected his

famous Cut-off. Everybody now knows Short's
Cut-off. It saves thirty per cent of steam and
fifty per cent of trouble and wear and tear to
engineer and engine.

Short burst into my office one morning. He
and Brent and I, and a set of other fellows
worth knowing, had been comrades in our
younger days. We still hold together, with a
common purpose to boost civilization, so far as
our shoulders will do it.

“Look at that,” cried Short, depositing a
model and sheets of drawings on my table.
“My Cut-off. What do you think of it?”

I looked, and was thrilled. It was a simple,
splendid triumph of inventive genius, — a difficulty
solved so easily, that it seemed laughable
that no one had ever thought of this solution.

“Short,” said I, “this is Fine Art. Hurrah
for the nineteenth century! How did you happen
to hit it? It is an inspiration.”

“It was love that revealed it,” said Short. “I
have been pottering over that cut-off for years,
while She did not smile; when She smiled, it
came to me like a sneeze.”

“Well, you have done the world good, and
made your fortune.”

“Yours too, old fellow, if you like. Pack up
that model and the drawings, go to England,
France, Germany, wherever they know steam

from tobacco-smoke, take out patents, and introduce
it. Old Churm says he will let me have
half a million dollars, if I want it. You shall
have free tap of funds, and charge what percentage
you think proper.”

So I took steamer for England, with Short's
Cut-off to make known.