STUART’S PARTNER

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVII, Issue 26, 29 December 1906, Page 17

STUART’S PARTNER

A Story of Two Christmas Eves

By

EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER

BTVART turned at the door of his cabin to take his last look at the world. In the distance the rampart of mountains, cold, white.

merciless, that for so many fruitless years had shut him round: nearer, the lower peaks with a sparser sprinkling of enow and the endless rows of pines rising like gaunt sentinels against the sky; below in the valley, the soruid eamp with its ugly buildings, its shaft houses, saloons and dance-halls. Ike sight enraged him, as it- had of late. He lifted his eyes again toward the hills. It was sunset, and the red light shot through a cleft in the mountains, along the treacherous Ophir Trail, one glare of ice. The effect was weird. The iey path reflected t l e scarle rays like a minor. It was a track of tire leading out. away, somewhere, to some vast unknown bourne. Stuart had a curious fancy as he looked that perhaps his soul would go that night- along that- road of fire and snow —where?

Even as he gazed, he saw a tiny speck on the trail. It was moving with great difficulty, coming slowly along the dangerous path. “Some cursed fooi. he muttered. “He deserves to go over plumb to the bottomless pit.” Then he bolted headlong into the cabin, shut the door savagely' behind him and locked it.

Togo, a yellow dog with a worn face and anxious eyes, lay' by the rickety stove. He looked up as Stuart entered, whined and beat Hpo- the floor with his stubby' tail. Getting no encouragement, he sighed and dropped his head again upon his paws. Stuart strode to the table, opened a drawer, took out a revolver and sat down. The dog suddenly lifted his head and howled mournfully. Stuart looked at him. "Come here, Togo, : said. Togo crept to his feet and looked up dumbly, as if pleading for something. “Togo.” said the man, “you are the only friend I have on earth. I hate to leave you.” He 1. -ghed grimly' as he examined the revolver. ‘T’m sick of it all, » ! ck of grubbing. of the failure and the lonesomeness. T!_e jig is up, Togo. This is Christinas Eve, old man, and I'm going to make the devil a present of iny soul.” He heod up the revolver, taking sight along the barrel. The shadows grew darker in the room, aud Togo moaned as if in fear. ‘•That's al! right,” said Stuart with a reckless calm. “My hand is perfectly steady-. I sha’n't make a mess of it. And now, Billy Stuart, you low down, shiftless, miserable cuss, say goon-night to the world: good-night to the disappointment, the heartache; to the friends who have cheated you; to the women who have loved you: to—to the woman who did not love you. Goodnight, you rotten old world!” He put the revolver to his head. The dog crouched whimpering at his feet. Then in that awful, sinister moment came a low, timid knock on the door. Stuart gave a great start. "Who’* there?” he sharply called. Togo ■prang up and ran toward the door, sniffing eagerly and looking back imploringly at his master. The knock was repeated. , Stuart rose, laid the revolver upon the table, and going up to the window peered

out through the gloom. Then with a smothered exclamation he went to the door and threw it open. A forlorn little boy, about eight, poorly clad, shivering, stood there, his hands and lips blue with the intense cold. “Please, mister,” he half sobbed, “can I come in and get warm?”

“You bet your life you can!” said Stuart, drawing him in, while Togo ran in circles uttering yelps of joy. The boy tottered up to the stove wherein a moderate fire was burning and spread his thin little claws over its surface.

Stuart seized the revolver and hastily shoved it into the drawer of the table, then came over and looked at his visitor. “Where did you come from?” he asked. “Over the Ophir Trail,” said the boy, looking up at him. There were tears half frozen on the long lashes of his pathetic, suffering eyes. “Over tile Ophir—Gods! boy. you never came over the trail this weather?” "Yes, sir.”

“You must be frozen,” cried Stuart, seizing the poker and jamming the coals vigorously. “I’m pretty cold, thank you,” replied the child.

“Thank you!” Stuart paused and looked intently at him. “Had any supper ?” “No, sir,” said the boy faintly. He suddenly sank to the floor. Togo kindly licked the little blue face.

“Here!” shouted Stuart, dropping the poker with a terrible clatter on .oe hearth. “You quit that —scaring me to death!” he rushed to the child. “The poor little beggar!” he lifted him tenderly in his brawny arms .--id carried him to the bed. Then began a frantie search for the whisky. “Now where in thunder is the booze? Here it is!” drawing a black bottle from under the bed. He lifted the little wanderer up in his arms and forced the drink between his lips. “Here now, you young scamp, sit up and take notice!” he cried. The boy began to revive. “Come in here and give a respectable old man nervous prostration, will you? i’ll teach you! Now, then! That's bette-. He laid the boy gently back on the pillow and covered him with the ragged quilt. “Don’t you stir,” he ordered, “until you've had something to eat.” Stuart went over to the cupboad, brought out a loaf of bread and a few slices of bacon, filled the tea-kettle aud soon had a meal in progress. The boylay watching him solemnly. ‘■Here, here, 1 am forgetting the tea! Tea for a starving boy? No, by George! that won’t do. Milk, hot milk is the stuff.” He hastily heated the milk and carried a glassful to the boy, who swallowed it like one famished. “Thank yon,” said the child, looking up with grateful eyes. Oh, shut up!” said Stuart, something choking him. “Don’t you thank me.” What was there in the boy’s gaze that moved him so? What vague memory was stirring uneasily in his brain—what ghost that would not down? He turned .back to the stove, his eyes suuiised. “My heaven! that child!—dragging his poor little thin body over the trail—and I saw him and said he ought to go over—“ He broke off with a shudder, put some hot toast and bacon on a plate and carried them to the lad. Sitting on the

edge of the bed he was about to feed him when the boy raised himself up on one arm. “I can feed myself.” he said eagerly. “Oh, you ean?” lauughed Stuart. "Game little rooster! Come, I like that.” He gave the child the plate and food. “Now, what shall i do next?” he asked as he watched him eat The boy looked up. “You'd better eat your supper," he said gravely. “My supper?” repeated Stuart dubiously. He got up and went over to the empty pan on the stove. “My supper?" He rattled the lids ostentatiously. “Ob, yes. Why, I've had my supper,” be briskly concluded. ‘'Had it just before you came.” The child regarded him strangely. “You must have washed up your dishes in a hurry,” he said .calmly. “I know that you are giving me your supper.” Stuart chuckled. “Well, now, what do you think of that?” he asked, addressing an unseen audience. “The observing little cuss! Say, what's your name?” “Bobby Churchill,” said the boy, eating ravenously. “Where do you hail from?"’ “Red Hot Camp, over near La Plata.” “What made you leave —run away, eh?” asked Stuart, going nearer the bed. “Yes,” said the boy. calmly. “From your father?” “No, 1 couldn’t run away from my father.” “Why ?” “Because he is dead,” said the lad sententiously. “Oh, I say,” stammered Stuart. “I didn’t know. Here,” he made a dash for the milk, “have some more milk!” As the child was drinking Stuart laid his hand timidly ou his head. “Pour kid!” he murmured awkwardly. “But you ran away from somebody, eh?” he pursued as he took the glass. “Yes,” said Bobby, “from Dutch Pete.” “Does he keep the dance-house?"

“Yes. I went to live with him after my father died. He beat me awful.” “Beat you,” cried Stuart.

“Yes, just awful, till I couldn't stand it any longer. See here.” He opened his poor little jacket and shirt. Stuart gave one look at the terribt® sight, then dashed the glass on th® floor. “Well—” he started—“urn. ah!” He stopped, embarrased, aud began to cough. “tfli. you needn't stop on my account,* said Bobby quaintly. Stuart looked at the boy for a moment, then burst cut laughing. “Shake, partner," he said, holding out his brawny hand to him. Then sitting on the bed he asked: “How do you feel now?" “First rate. Mister,” replied Bobby. “You are awful good.” “Good?” said Stuart. “Oh. yes. I’m good! I'm what you might call a sureenough, all-round. di ed-in • tlie - wool, plumb-righteous citizen. 1 am!” "Well,” said Bobby nnderstaudingty, “you do swear awful: but you're good to me. Oh, this bed’s so c fy!" He was growing drowsy. “Go to sleep, kid," said Stuart, taking the plate. “1 suppose,” returned the boy, "t ought to be getting up and moving on.” Stuart set down the plate an! looked at the child. A sort of terror took possession of him. For the last half-hour he had been actually happy. The very thought of being alone again appalled him. “Moving on?” he said blrnkly. "Where are you going?" “I don’t know,” replied Bobby. Stuart came back and sat down again on the edge of the bed. “Why in thunder can’t you stop here?” he asked. Bobby sat up in the bed. “Here with you ?” “Yes.” said Stuart. “I know it's an awful-looking place: but kid. I am alone; down on my' luck too. And blue! Lord! I’m that blue I'm t inking of renting myself out to the old woman that, washes for the boys down in camp. I'd do first rate to indigo the hotel-sheets." The boy’s merry laugh rang through the room. Togo heard it and thumped approvingly.

“I need somebody to cheer me up,” Stuart went on. ‘‘This i« Christmas Eve, Biv boy. 1 did not dream I would have any presents. You see,' I —I—” poor Stuart stumbled on —“I thought everyIsMly had forgotten me; but 1 reckon God hadn't. 1 reckon He sent you to me for a present. Will you stay? Stay and be my partner, kid; partner in my bed, my board, my shack, my dog —yes, in that hole out there where I’ve sunk all my hopes. Who knows? You may bring me luck. Will you stay?” Bobby half rose and threw himself upon Stuart’s breast. At the touch of those little thin arms about his neek, Stuart’s soul entered a new world. He held the boy close to his lonely, hungry heart and laid his rough eheek upon the curly head. “You won’t let Dutch Pete get me?” the boy was saying. “Dutch Pete? Let Dutch Pete show his ugly mug this side of the San Juan,” announced Stuart, “and I’ll sure dynamite him to kingdom come! My little pard!” He patted the boy's eheek. In doing so his finger caught in a thin gold chain about Bobby’s neck. "Hello!’’ he cried, looking at it, “what’s this finery?” Bobby drew out the chain and confidingly displayed a little old fashioned locket dangling on it. “That's my locket. Dutch Pete tried to make me give it up; and because I wouldn’t he walloped me.” He opened it. “It's got my mother’s picture in it.” “Is your mother living!” Stuart asked the boy.

"No, she's been dead ever since I was a little boy. See, wasn't she a pretty lady?” He held it up.

Stuart bent his head and looked at it. There was a profound silence in the i oom. Stuart's lost youth rose from its grave and confronted him. Oh, the pity of it! The dreams —the scent of rosea —the drip of the fountain —the twitter of birds —the murmured words of love —the eves of the dead—the eves of this child—-

“Do you remember her!” he was asking in a hushed voice.

"She died when 1 was such a little fellow, said the boy gravely. “Then father and I came out here. 1 can just remember someone who used—to hold me in her arms—” He yawned, and his head pressed closer against Stuart’s shoulder—“ and—and—sing— and sing—--—me—to sleep.” He nodded. He was asleep.

•Stuart sat still holding the locket and looking down at the fair young face that smiled up at him. “Dorothy,” he murmured, “Dorothy! ”

He suddenly looked at the boy asleep on his arm. “Her child—her child!” he said brokenly, then with a big sob gathered the boy eloser in his arms. “My little partner! my little partner!” One year had gone since Bobby Churchill had knocked at Stuart's door. It had been a year of happiness both for the man and the child. Bobby had crept into the starved heart of the miner, who had eofhe to idolize the lad. Together they had worked and played, fished and hunted, laughed and sung. "Stuart's partner,” as Bobby was universally known, was the most popular chap in the camp, but no amount of petting or coaxing could wean him from his love for Billy. He looked up to Stuart as the best, the bravest, the noblest man on earth. It was he who had rescued him from misery, saved him from slavery. " ' Dutch Pete had traced him to the miner's cabin and had lomlly proclaimed his purpose of carrying him back to Red Hot. But there had been one .brief memorable interview with Stuart, after which a lame and bruised Dutchman bad slowly and painfully limped back over the Ophir Trail and passed forever from Bobby's ken. ”

So.Christinas Ere was come again, and in the little cabin a smart, tire was crackling in the stove and the kettle "as_ singing. The place was much neater. Stuart took pains now to keep it tidy. The walU were covered with gayj-hromos and calendars and pictures <iit from illustrated papers. And between the windows stood the tree which Stuart had cut on the mountain side and dragged home for their Christmas festivity.

He was on a step ladder now, hanging the few poor little gifts he had managed to secure for the boy: a top, 'a rubber ball, a bag of eandy, a knife and a pair of snow shoes. Tic came down from the ladder and stood surveying his work with rather a dubious air. “There, by hookey!” he said, “is the best 1 van do with those rotten little Uinky-dinks. Oh, blast that English

■yndieate that was going to take the mine so fast.! Why don’t I hear from that lade-da expert they sent here? He and his kid gloves! Hanged if I believe he knows ore' from corn meal!” He sat down ami sighed heavily. “Oh, I wanted to spend some money on the kid for Christmas! There’s a sled down in Myer's store —a regular jim-dandy; I wanted to see him go scooting down the mountain on it. And there are skates and drums and guns and rubber boots. And there's a fat turkey in Mike Sullivan's grocery that made our mouths water. And I sure laid out to have a mince-pie. And what have I got?” dejectedly. "Candy and peanuts for the tree and bacon and bread for our Christmas dinner.”

He looked at the tree again. “Well, it doesn't look so bad after all, and it will tickle the kid. God bless him! I wonder why he doesn’t come?” He went io the window and anxiously peered down the valley. Instantly his face lighted up. “Here he comes, running as if Dutch Pete was after him.”

Bobby’s voice rose on the frosty air. “Billy, Billy!” he was screaming, while Togo ran madly at his side, shrilly yelping and leaping nt something the boy was waving in his hand. A moment later he burst through the door. “Billy,” he shouted, “here’s the report!” ...

"Gods!" said Stuart. “Give it to me, kid!” he snatched it, tore it open with trembling hands and read. "Bobby.” he burst out. "we’re rich, we're rich!” He dropped the paper on the lloor, caught up the lad in his powerful arms and tossed him over his head. “Blast it, partner, we're millionaires!”

He set down the astonished lad, seized a frying pan and big iron spoon standing on the table and beat a charivari, meantime dancing grotesquely: “We’re rich, rich!” he shouted—“l tell you, rich! Do you hear, do you hear?” He suddenly dropped the pan and sank into the chair by the table. “Thank God, thank God!” he cried. His head fell forward on his arms and his chest heaved with great sobs. Bobby went over to him. “Billy,” he said, putting a tremulous hand on Stuart's great shoulder. The boy was somewhat alanned. Presently he sank on hia knees beside Stuart and put his arm about him. The miner controlled himself by a mighty effort, and lifting his head from the table looked down at the boy. “Two — hundred —thousand — cold —hard —- plunks, pardner!” he said, measuring the magie words, “and all through you, because you would play in that old hole last summer, making believe you were an Indian chief. Why, you bloody savage!” he laid lim hand lovingly upon Bobby's head, “do you remember the day you came out bearing the scalps of heap pale-faces in the shape of big nuggets of the real stuff?” He drew Bobby up from bis knees. “Stand up here, Omponpinoosag, big chief of the Vneompahgres! Ki-yi-yi, ki-yi-vi!” Together they broke into a war dance, stepping absurdly about the tiny cabin and emitting blood curdling yells. “Say. Billy,” said Bobby, when they had done hugging each other, “now we can have that turkey for our Christinas dinner, can't we!”

"You bet we can!” said Stuart, starting up. lie picked Up the letter from the floor. “On the strength of this Bobby, we will raven on that- gobbler. No more smoked hog for ours.” Ha caught up his hat. “i’ll go right down to Sullivan’s and fetch it. Look over the tree while I'm gone. I'll get back as soon as 1 can.” As he rushed down the valley road toward the eamp he had a sudden inspiration. “Hanged if I don’t borrow Mike's buffalo robe.” he muttered. and dress tip like Santa Claus and raise blazes for the kid!”

Left alone Bobby gave the tree only a .cursory glance, then suddenly went down on his stomach and dived under the stove, to the intense alarm of Togo. But Bobby fished out a flat package which he' opened with much importance. He took from the paper a necktie of brilliant green which he displayed to the astonished dog. “It’s awful green, Togo,” he said. "It’s green as grass. But Billy has no necktie. I hope he'll like it,” He hunted up a piece of paper and the ink bottle, and sitting by the table ■crawled in lag unsteady letters: . The rose Is rcU The violet blue, This tie Is green Ami so are you To Dear Billy from his loving pardu.r Bobby.

He then mounted the step-ladder, and selecting a conspicuous place fastened on the gift. "there, Togo,” he said, “I’ll bet that’ll tickle Billy niore’n the mine.” He now regarded the tree with a critical eye. “There’s a knife anyhow,” he said. “What’s in this bag!” He felt of it. "Peanuts!” he exelairned in ecstasy. ,“I wonder if they- would spoil my dinner? I’ll risk it.” — . -

He sat down on the stepladder and gave himself up to the joy of peanuts. There eame a knock on the door at this point; but the child was revelling in fancy and paid no attention. But an importunate knock rudely roused him from his rapturous drcams. “Well, why don’t you come in?” he yelled. .There came through the door a vision in velvet and furs anil lace, a vision with blue eyes, pink cheeks and prematurely white hair crowning a young sad face. Bobby's knowledge of women was limited to Bridget, who washed for the miners, and Flossie and Tessie, two dance-house, girls who had tried to shield him from the blows of Dutch Pete. But this woman, this beautiful vision, was of a world apart. He gaped admiringly at his visitor, who stood staring at him.

"What is your name?” he heard her ask. Her voice struck some strange response in the child’s mind. He put his hand up to the chain around h’s throat as he replied: "Bobby Stuart.” The woman sank back in a chair and closed her eyes. Bobby went down the ladder. . "Are you sick, ma'am?” he gently asked. “111 get you some water.” “Dear little boy,” she said as she returned the glass, "I am so disappointed! 1 hoped to find my own boy- here.” "Have you lost a boy, ma'am?” “Ah, yes,” slid the beautiful Woman. “Too bad!” sympathised Bobby. “I am the only boy in this camp.” “So I heard at the hotel. Ami I could not drive here fast enough,” she replied. “Where did you lose your boy?” inquired Bobby. "I lost him many years ago when he was such a tiny chap—” her voice shook —“and I’ve looked and looked ever since. I traced him across the continent and finally to Red Hot Camp, away over the mountains yonder.” Bobby looked at her curiously. “Yes, 1 know that eaipp,” he said gravely. . “I found that his father died tnere and that he went to live with a man they call Dutch Pete.” Bobby gave a great start. He went a step or two nearer her. His hand still clung to the chain about his neek. “He m a very cruel man, I should judge,” continued Bobby’s guest. “He is no good on earth! ’ interrupted Bobby. “My boy ran away from this person, and 1 was told came over the mountain trail in the dead of winter alone.” She stopped. Bobby stared as if Hypnotised. “They said a kind-hearted miner took him in and sheltered him.” “What was your boy’s name?” asked Bobby in a queer voice. “Bobby Churchill,” said the woman, wiping away her tears. The boy eame close to her and looked steadily at her. “But—l thought—you were dead,” he whispered. "He—said—v ou— were —” “He? Who?” “My father.” “Who—who are you!” • “Your little boy. See here.” He pulled out the locket and held it toward her. In another instant he was in her arms. She was kissing him, her tears were flooding his face. “My Bobby—my baby!” she said over and over. “I ain't a baby,” objected Bobby. “No, no. you are mother’s own little man,” Mrs. Churchill exclaimed, ns she held hini, wondering at his size, his features, his curly hair. The door was suddenly flung open and a strange, weird figure entered. It was enveloped in a buffalo robe and belted with a string of sleigh-bells. Long white whiskers fell from beneath a mask with a frightful nose. This dreadful apparition carried a sled in one hand and a huge turkey in the other. It paused, petrified at the scene. It was Bobby who first beheld this remarkable visitor. "Gee!” he shouted. “Look at Santa Claus, mother! I know you; You can’t fool me. You’re Billy. Billy, this is my mother. Slid wasn’t dead.” Santa Claus moved slowly forward like one in a dream. He put the turkey on the table and mechanically handed the sled to Bobby, who shrieked with delight as he pounced upon it. “You have a better Christmas present

thM I could bringyou, Bobby," Stuart •aid. J’Tiiauk God; -midaii), you are •live and have’found your boy!” * “So you are the man who took my desolate son-iuto your home and cared for him,” said Mrs, Churchill. '"Ah, how can I ever thank you?’ “I want no thanks,, madam,” said Stuart dnrty. “The boy was sent to me —by Heaven, I think —just in time.” “1 do not understand.” “No. Better you .should not. He is the only ray of sunshine this dingy place has ever seen. I love him,” he* faltered. "Oh, you arc not going to take him •way?” •' ■' “1 never could leave Billy, mother,” cried Bobby, rushing over to Stuart. “Billy, I won’t go away from you.” “Billy—Billy Stuart!” cried Mrs. Churchill, half-crying, half-laughing. “In the name of’Hewven, take off that nose!” Stuart tore off the mask and whiskers, flung off the buffalo robe , and stood before her, bronzed, powerful, vital. “Dorothy, how did you know me?” “Why. you simpleton.” she cried, putting her hands in his, “I knew you the moment you spoke.” “But 1 am dazed.” he said, looking down on tire radiant creature before him. “How is it you are alive? ’ “Why,” she gaily cried, "because I am not dead.” ‘‘Say,” announced Bobby, “I’m going Outside to try my sied. 11l be back in a few minutes. Now. Billy, you want to get that gobbler.in the oven.” He banged lhe door behind him, and the two stood alone, looking in each other’s eyes. “It’s a simple story, Billy,” she said, “and one as old as the hills. I divorced Robert. He then ctole the child from me and brought him out to this country. I have been searching for him for years and at last I find him just where 1 could wish, Billy, in vour home.” “Such a home!” he said bitterly. “It has been the home of my child for a year,” she tenderly replied, “and it will always be sacred to me.” “And you will carry him away?” “I must have my boy.” i “Ah!” Stuart turned dejectedly away, but a light touch on his arm arrested him. • “Billy, why —why can’t you come too?” “Do you mean that, Dorothy?' “Yes.” she said, with her heart Th her eyes, “I have often regretted the past, bitterly. .AVe were both to -blame* perhaps; but I did not beat you well.’” With an inarticulate exclamation Stuart went toward her. “Wait a moment,” she said gently. “I can see that you have suffered privation •nd hardship here. Never mind. Billy, if you haven't made your pile. I have enough for both.” “Dorothy!” She was in his arms now, her silken head against his heart. “Well,” said Stuart with a gleam of mirth in his eyes, “we are not so blanked poor. My partner and I have just sold our claim to an English syndicate—” But she started from his arms, rosy and smiling, as Bobby burst in, dragging his sled. “•Say,” he called, “she’s grea . Is that turkey in the oven yet ?” “In one moment, kid,” responded Stuart. “Come here and tell your mother how much the mine is going for.’ Bobby approached them. “Two—hundred—tho’usahd—cold - — hard plunks,” he said in great importance. “Plunks?” in pretty bewilderment. “Dollars,” solemnly. “Two—hundred—that’s —” she repeated slowly— “Why. mliy. you are rich.” “Yes,” said Stuart in the most matter-of-fact fashion, “and so is my partner.” “Who is he, Billy?” with great interStuart took Bobby by the shoulders •nd stood him’directly- before his mother. “My partner; Dorothy,” he said.