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As it passed around among the craning heads and hairy fists, it created tremendous excitement. "Whar'd you get it?" "Gold quartz, or I'm a sinner!" "That'll run a thousand dollars to the pan, I bet ye." "Hooray for the new diggin's! Come on, fellows. I'm off." "Hold on, thar," bade the red-shirted man, stopping what would have been a stampede. "That doesn't settle the matter.
He had made his voyage from Harrisburgh to Alleghany City by rail, his boat being safely stowed in a car, and tenderly watched over by the red-shirted "good fellows" who had so generously taken him under their wing. The "great oarsman" had, in fact, rowed just about one-third of the distance between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh.
As seen from the deck of the schooner, the race had by this time become very exciting; for, as their boat approached the wreck on one side, another, manned by red-shirted wreckers, who were exhibiting a wonderful amount of pluck and endurance for "Conchs," as Jan called them, was rapidly coming up on the other.
As the raft swung into the landing the mill became silent; a brown-bearded, red-shirted fellow came down to welcome me, a pair of strong hands grasped both my own and the voice of Joe Davis said earnestly, "Why, George! I never was so damned glad to see a man in my life!" The ten days' tramp was ended. It had been wearisome to a degree, but interesting and instructive.
There was about them an air of impassivity almost removed from human emotion, and Cora could not but contrast them with the noisy, chewing, spitting, red-shirted jury at his previous trial, where Belle Cora's thousands had proved efficacious in securing disagreement. There would be no disagreement here. Instinctively, Cora knew that. Marshal Doane entered. He held in his hand a folded paper.
Our tall seaman bent forward as they spoke, and, just as the boy sank a second time, he shot like an arrow into the water. "He's all safe now," remarked a seaman quietly, and with a nod of satisfaction, even before the rescuer had reappeared. And he was right. The red-shirted sailor rose a moment later with the boy in his arms.
We scanned the green horizon and the level water, without glimpse of human abode. It seemed an enchanted lake, and we looked about the tree-trunk for some fairy horn, that we might blow it. That failing, we tried three rifle-shots, and out from the shadow of an island, on the instant, there glided a boat, which bore no lady of the lake, but a red-shirted woodsman.
Repletion, instead of repose, must restore us. Two files of red-shirted lumbermen, brandishing knives at each other across a long table, only excited us to livelier gymnastics; and when we had thus hastily crammed what they call in Maine beefsteak, and what they infuse down East for coffee, we climbed to the top of a coach of the bounding-billow motion, and went pitching northward.
He still thought that the Civil War had been between North and South America. To him the United States was a vague region peopled with miners, pork-packers, and Indians; a jumble of factories, forests, and red-shirted men digging for gold, all of it fantastically seen through the medium of Buffalo Bill's show.
"No, Miss, I should say it was the other lot, which belong to Tom Jones of Hobson's Bottom, and if you want to make any claim for damages you had better send it in to him, seeing that he is much better off than I am, and his cattle are the wildest lot in the New South Wales boundary," said the red-shirted person, with such an air of wriggling out of it that the whole seven burst into a shout of laughter, and then promptly apologized for their apparent rudeness.
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