The Essential Elinor Glyn Collection. Glyn Elinor
Senator told us about a strange character who abides in these parts--an almost outlaw who has done such wild things and gets his money from heaven knows where. He is supposed to have murdered several men, and every incredible story fit for pirates of the Spanish Main has been tacked on to him--only of the land, not the sea. He is called "Ruby Mine Bill;" isn't that a nice name! And no one cares to "run up against him," because he is such a wonderful shot and does not hesitate to practise a little when things annoy him.
Octavia and I said we simply longed to see him, and Nelson, who had been talking to Lola (I have not said much of Lola, because she is really so in love with her husband she is not a great deal of use to other people), joined in the conversation, and said he had heard "Ruby-Mine-Bill" was expected in the town he (Nelson) had joined us at, and it was possible we might meet him at the next station where the trains would pass each other. We were thrilled, and crowded into the observation veranda as we got near, on the chance of catching a glimpse of him. We drew up on a rough track; it is a sort of junction with several lines, and the train from Osages was drawn up on the one farthest off, and both the Senator and Nelson exclaimed, because on its observation car there he was.
They shouted out, "Say, Bill, is that you?" And from among the four or five men who were leaning over the balcony one who looked like a respectable country piano tuner, or a plumber out for Sunday, called out, "You bet!" and began to come down the steps.
"Move along, Bill, and be introduced to some English ladies," the Senator said; so with an easy slogging stride he came over, and the Senator presented him to us. He had a moustache and was most mild looking and about thirty-four. He was dressed in ordinary clothes, with a bowler hat, only no waistcoat, and a great leather belt round his waist. He expressed himself as proud to meet us, and when he heard I was married, too, his eyebrows went up in the most comic way. "Guess they pair in the kid pens over there," he said! He was standing below us on the track, with his hands in both his trouser pockets, while he looked up at us with gentle grey eyes.
"Will you show our ladies how you can shoot, Bill?" the Senator asked, and Octavia and I implored him to be kind and do so. "Runs rather fine," he said, spitting slowly to some distance; "reckon she's about levantin, but I never refuse ladies' requests." Nelson had rushed to the dining saloon and was back as he spoke with two empty bottles. "Bill's" train was just going to move, already making groaning noises. He put his hand under his coat in a leisurely way and pulled out his "gun" (you can be arrested immediately for wearing one concealed)! Then his train gave a snort and got slowly in motion, so he was obliged to run. He turned his head over his shoulders and looked back as Nelson flung one bottle in the air--bang! It went into atoms on the ground, and then, as he had almost reached the steps, running at full speed now, the Senator flung the other. It was high up, the most difficult shot even facing it, but tearing as fast as one could in the opposite direction to jump on to a moving train, it was a rather remarkable feat to be able to hit it, with just a glance backwards, wasn't it, Mamma?! And no wonder people don't care to "run up against him!" As the scraps of the bottle fell, he bounded on the steps and was dragged in by his companions, while with cheers from both trains and waving of hats we steamed our different ways. Tom was transported with admiration. How those things please English men, don't they? And I am sure he thought far more of "Ruby-Mine-Bill" than all the clever people we had met in New York. And certainly skill of this sort does affect one. The Senator can shoot like that. Nelson told us. "He's had some near squeaks in his life and come off top; and everyone in this country knows him."
The land along which we were passing, and indeed what has been ever since we entered the mining country, is the most bleak and desolate on the earth, I should think; not a living thing or blade of grass except once when we passed a stream where low bushes bordered it; only barren hills with a little scrub on them and a rough stony surface. What courage to have started exploring on such places!
We passed one or two smaller camps on the way to Osages, with board shanties and a shaft here and there sticking up from the earth. "All going on," the Senator said. I can't tell you, Mamma, the fun we had in the car; the party is so harmonious, and Nelson and the friend such amusing people to keep it going. The friend is too attractive, that long lean shape like Tom, and the same assurance of manner. Octavia says she has not enjoyed herself so much for years.
Towards evening we arrived at Osages, and a most wonderful wind-swept town it is. Imagine a bare plain of rubbly, stony ground, with a few not very high hills round it, with shafts piercing them, and then dotted all about on the outskirts with tents; then board houses of one story high, looking rather like sheds for gardeners' tools, and then in the middle a few stone and frame habitations, and standing out among the rest the Nelson building, a hideous structure of grey stone making the corner of a block. We got from the train and climbed into motors; to see them seemed strange in such a wild; we ought to have been met by a Buffalo Bill stage coach;--but there they were. It was a gorgeous sunset, but a wind like a mistral cutting one in two, and such clouds of dust, that even driving to the hotel our hair all looked drab coloured. The hall was full of miners, some of them in what is as near an approach to evening dress as is permitted; that is, ordinary blue serge or flannel suits, with sometimes linen collars and ties; the others in the dress I have already told you about that Nelson wears. Nearly all were young, not twenty per cent. over forty, and none beyond fifty, and they were awfully nice-looking and strong, and couldn't possibly have bruised if you hit them hard!
We raced through and up to our rooms, and can you believe it, Mamma, each bedroom had a splendid bath room, and all as modern as possible; there was not a sign of roughing it. The Senator said we were not really to dress as in the East--only "sort of Sunday." He was greeted by everyone with adoring respect that yet had a casual ease in it, and when we were all bathed and combed and tidy we found he had a dinner party awaiting us--two women and about six men. The women were so nice and simple, but we naturally had not much chance to speak to them--the men were next us, superintendents of mines, and owners, and selected ones who have "made good." They were such characters, and seemed to bring a breezy delightful atmosphere with them. The Eastern America seemed as far away as England; much farther really, because all these people have exactly the casual, perfectly sans gne manners of at home: not the "I'm as good as you, only one better," but the sort that does not have to demonstrate because the thought has never entered its head. You know Octavia's and Tom's and Harry's manner, Mamma;--well, just the same; I can't describe it any other way. It is the real thing when you are not trying to impress anyone, just being you, and what you are. I can only say even if their words are astonishing slang and their grammar absent, they are the most perfect gentlemen, with the repose and unconsciousness of the original Clara Vere de Vere. They had all the extraordinary thoughtful kindness and chivalry which marks every American towards women, but they weren't a bit auntish or grandmammaish. The sex is the same as in England, and as far as that quality I told you about, Mamma, you remember, they all seemed to have it; and going to Australia alone with them would have been a temptation, though I am sure they have none of them that wicked way of improving every possible occasion like Frenchmen and Englishmen; I mean, you know, some Englishmen, as I am sure, for instance, Harry is doing at the present moment over that horrible Mrs. Smith.
We had such fun at dinner. The one on my right was a lovely creature, about six foot six tall, with deep-set eyes and a scar up from one eyebrow into his thick hair, got, the Senator told us afterwards, in one of the usual shooting frays.
"We've been so mighty quiet, Nelson," this man said leaning across the table to Mr. Renour, "since you went East. A garden for babes. Not a single gun handled in six months. Don't rightly know what's took us." The girls at once said they would love to see some shooting and a twinkle came in one or two eyes, so I am sure they will try to get some up for us before we leave.
The restaurant was wonderful--this rough place miles in a desert and yet decent food! And think of the horrible, tasteless, pretentious mess cooking we have to put with in hotels in England anywhere except London. Whatever mood one might be in coming to America, even if it were fault finding and hostile, one would be convinced of their extraordinary go ahead ability, and be filled with respect for their energy. As for us who have grown to just love them we can't say half what we feel.
Tom is perfectly happy. He understands every word