Haunted Valley

1: How Trees AreFelled in China

A HALF-MILE north from Jo. Dunfer's, on the road from Hutton's to
Mexican Hill, the highway dips into a sunless ravine which opensout on
either hand in a half-confidential manner, as if it had a secretto
impart at some more convenient season. I never used to ridethrough it
without looking first to the one side and then to the other, tosee if
the time had ar- rived for the revelation. If I saw nothing--andI never
did see anything--there was no feeling of disappointment, for Iknew the
disclosure was merely withheld temporarily for some good reasonwhich I
had no right to question. That I should one day be taken intofull
confidence I no more doubted than I doubted the existence of Jo.Dunfer
himself, through whose premises the ravine ran.
It was said that Jo. had once undertaken to erect a cabin in some
remote part of it, but for some rea- son had abandoned theenterprise
and constructed his present hermaphrodite habitation, halfresidence and
half groggery, at the roadside, upon an extreme corner of hisestate; as
far away as possible, as if on purpose to show how radically hehad
changed his mind.
This Jo. Dunfer--or, as he was familiarly known in the
neighbourhood, Whisky Jo.--was a very im- portant personage inthose
parts. He was apparently about forty years of age, a long, shock-headed
fellow, with a corded face, a gnarled arm and a knotty hand likea bunch
of prison-keys. He was a hairy man, with a stoop in his walk,like that
of one who is about to spring upon something and rend it.
Next to the peculiarity to which he owed his local appellation,Mr.
Dunfer's most obvious character- istic was a deep-seatedantipathy to
the Chinese. I saw him once in a towering rage because one of his
herdsmen had permitted a travel-heated Asian to slake his thirstat the
horse-trough in front of the saloon end of Jo.'s establishment. I
ventured faintly to remonstrate with Jo. for his unchristianspirit, but
he merely explained that there was nothing about Chinamen in theNew
Testament, and strode away to wreak his displeasure upon his dog,which
also, I suppose, the inspired scribes had overlooked.
Some days afterward, finding him sitting alone in his bar-room, I
cautiously approached the sub- ject, when, greatly to my relief,the
habitual aus- terity of his expression visibly softened into some-thing
that I took for condescension.
'You young Easterners,' he said, 'are a mile-and- a-half too good
for this country, and you don't catch on to our play. People whodon't
know a Chileno from a Kanaka can afford to hang out liberal ideasabout
Chinese immigration, but a fellow that has to fight for his bonewith a
lot of mongrel coolies hasn't any time for foolishness.'
This long consumer, who had probably never done an honest day'swork
in his life, sprung the lid of a Chinese tobacco-box and withthumb and
forefinger forked out a wad like a small haycock. Holding this
reinforcement within supporting dis- tance he fired away withrenewed
confidence.
'They're a flight of devouring locusts, and they're going for
everything green in this God blest land, if you want to know.'
Here he pushed his reserve into the breach and when his gabble-gear
was again disengaged re- sumed his uplifting discourse.
'I had one of them on this ranch five years ago, and I'll tellyou
about it, so that you can see the nub of this whole question. Ididn't
pan out par- ticularly well those days--drank more whisky thanwas
prescribed for me and didn't seem to care for my duty as apatriotic
American citizen; so I took that pagan in, as a kind of cook. Butwhen I
got religion over at the Hill and they talked of running me forthe
Legislature it was given to me to see the light. But what was Ito do?
If I gave him the go somebody else would take him, and mightn'ttreat
him white. What was I to do? What would any good Christian do,
especially one new to the trade and full to the neck with the
brotherhood of Man and the father- hood of God?'
Jo. paused for a reply, with an expression of un- stable
satisfaction, as of one who has solved a prob- lem by adistrusted
method. Presently he rose and swallowed a glass of whisky from afull
bottle on the counter, then resumed his story.
'Besides, he didn't count for much--didn't know anything and gave
himself airs. They all do that. I said him nay, but he muled itthrough
on that line while he lasted; but after turning the other cheekseventy
and seven times I doctored the dice so that he didn't last forever. And
I'm almighty glad I had the sand to do it.'
Jo.'s gladness, which somehow did not impress me, was duly and
ostentatiously celebrated at the bottle.
'About five years ago I started in to stick up a shack. That was
before this one was built, and I put it in another place. I setAh Wee
and a little cuss named Gopher to cutting the timber. Of course Ididn't
expect Ah Wee to help much, for he had a face like a day in Juneand big
black eyes--I guess maybe they were the damn'dest eyes in thisneck o'
woods.'
While delivering this trenchant thrust at common sense Mr. Dunfer
absently regarded a knot-hole in the thin board partitionseparating the
bar from the living-room, as if that were one of the eyes whosesize and
colour had incapacitated his servant for good service.
'Now you Eastern galoots won't believe anything against theyellow
devils,' he suddenly flamed out with an appearance of earnestnessnot
altogether convincing,' but I tell you that Chink was the per-versest
scoundrel outside San Francisco. The miser- able pig-tailMongolian went
to hewing away at the saplings all round the stems, like a wormo' the
dust gnawing a radish. I pointed out his error as pa- tiently asI knew
how, and showed him how to cut them on two sides, so as to makethem
fall right; but no sooner would I turn my back on him, like this'--and
he turned it on me, amplifying the il- lustration by taking somemore
liquor--'than he was at it again. It was just this way: while Ilooked
at him so'--regarding me rather unsteadily and with evidentcomplexity
of vision--' he was all right; but when I looked away, so'--takinga
long pull at the bottle--' he defied me. Then I'd gaze at him
reproachfully, so, and butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth.'
Doubtless Mr. Dunfer honestly intended the look that he fixedupon
me to be merely reproachful, but it was singularly fit to arousethe
gravest apprehen- sion in any unarmed person incurring it; and asI had
lost all interest in his pointless and interminable nar- rative,I rose
to go. Before I had fairly risen, he had again turned to thecounter,
and with a barely audible 'so,' had emptied the bottle at a gulp.
Heavens! what a yell! It was like a Titan in his last, strongagony.
Jo. staggered back after emitting it, as a cannon recoils fromits own
thunder, and then dropped into his chair, as if he had been'knocked in
the head' like a beef--his eyes drawn sidewise toward the wall,with a
stare of terror. Looking in the same direction, I saw that theknot-
hole in the wall had indeed become a human eye-- a full, blackeye, that
glared into my own with an entire lack of expression more awfulthan the
most devilish glitter. I think I must have covered my face withmy hands
to shut out the horrible illusion, if such it was, and Jo.'slittle
white man-of-all-work coming into the room broke the spell, and Iwalked
out of the house with a sort of dazed fear that delirium tremensmight
be infectious. My horse was hitched at the watering-trough, anduntying
him I mounted and gave him his head, too much troubled in mind tonote
whither he took me.
I did not know what to think of all this, and like everyone whodoes
not know what to think I thought a great deal, and to littlepurpose.
The only reflection that seemed at all satisfactory was, that onthe
mor- row I should be some miles away, with a strong probabilityof never
returning.
A sudden coolness brought me out of my abstrac- tion, and lookingup
I found myself entering the deep shadows of the ravine. The daywas
stifling; and this transition from the pitiless, visible heat ofthe
parched fields to the cool gloom, heavy with pun- gency of cedarsand
vocal with twittering of the birds that had been driven to itsleafy
asylum, was exquisitely refreshing. I looked for my mystery, asusual,
but not finding the ravine in a communica- tive mood, dismounted,led my
sweating animal into the undergrowth, tied him securely to a treeand
sat down upon a rock to meditate.
I began bravely by analysing my pet superstition about the place.
Having resolved it into its constit- uent elements I arrangedthem in
convenient troops and squadrons, and collecting all the forces ofmy
logic bore down upon them from impregnable prem- ises with thethunder
of irresistible conclusions and a great noise of chariots andgeneral
intellectual shouting. Then, when my big mental guns had over-turned
all opposition, and were growling almost inaudibly away on thehorizon
of pure speculation, the routed enemy straggled in upon theirrear,
massed silently into a solid phalanx, and captured me, bag andbaggage.
An indefinable dread came upon me. I rose to shake it off, andbegan
threading the narrow dell by an old, grass-grown cow-path thatseemed to
flow along the bottom, as a substitute for the brook that Naturehad
neglected to provide.
The trees among which the path straggled were ordinary, well-behaved
plants, a trifle perverted as to trunk and eccentric as to bough,but
with noth- ing unearthly in their general aspect. A few looseboulders,
which had detached themselves from the sides of the depression toset up
an independent existence at the bottom, had dammed up the path-way,
here and there, but their stony repose had noth- ing in it of the
stillness of death. There was a kind of death-chamber hush in the
valley, it is true, and a mysterious whisper above: the wind wasjust
finger- ing the tops of the trees--that was all.
I had not thought of connecting Jo. Dunfer's drunken narrativewith
what I now sought, and only when I came into a clear space andstumbled
over the level trunks of some small trees did I have therevelation.
This was the site of the abandoned 'shack.' The discovery wasverified
by noting that some of the rotting stumps were hacked all round,in a
most unwoodmanlike way, while others were cut straight across,and the
butt ends of the cor- responding trunks had the blunt wedge-formgiven
by the axe of a master.
The opening among the trees was not more than thirty paces across.
At one side was a little knoll-- a natural hillock, bare ofshrubbery
but covered with wild grass, and on this, standing out of thegrass, the
headstone of a grave!
I do not remember that I felt anything like sur- prise at this
discovery. I viewed that lonely grave with something of thefeeling that
Columbus must have had when he saw the hills and headlands of thenew
world. Before approaching it I leisurely com- pleted my survey ofthe
surroundings. I was even guilty of the affectation of winding mywatch
at that unusual hour, and with needless care and delibera- tion.Then I
approached my mystery.
The grave--a rather short one--was in some- what better repairthan
was consistent with its obvious age and isolation, and my eyes, Idare
say, widened a trifle at a clump of unmistakable garden flowersshowing
evidence of recent watering. The stone had clearly enough doneduty once
as a door- step. In its front was carved, or rather dug, an in-
scription. It read thus:
AH WEE--CHINAMAN.

Age unknown. Worked for Jo. Dunfer.

This monument is erected by him to keep the Chink's memory green.
Likewise as a warning to Celestials not to take on airs. Deviltake 'em!
She Was a Good Egg.
I cannot adequately relate my astonishment at this uncommon
inscription! The meagre but suffi- cient identification of thedeceased;
the impudent candour of confession; the brutal anathema; theludicrous
change of sex and sentiment--all marked this record as the workof one
who must have been at least as much demented as bereaved. I feltthat
any further disclosure would be a paltry anti-climax, and with an
unconscious regard for dramatic effect turned squarely about andwalked
away. Nor did I return to that part of the county for four years.
2: Who Drives Sane Oxen Should Himself be Sane
'Gee-up, there, old Fuddy-Duddy!'
This unique adjuration came from the lips of a queer little man
perched upon a wagonful of fire- wood, behind a brace of oxenthat were
hauling it easily along with a simulation of mighty effort whichhad
evidently not imposed on their lord and master. As that gentleman
happened at the moment to be staring me squarely in the face as Istood
by the roadside it was not altogether clear whether he wasaddressing me
or his beasts; nor could I say if they were named Fuddy and Duddyand
were both sub- jects of the imperative mood 'to gee-up.' Anyhowthe
command produced no effect on us, and the queer little manremoved his
eyes from mine long enough to spear Fuddy and Duddy alternatelywith a
long pole, remarking, quietly but with feeling: 'Dern your skin,'as if
they enjoyed that integu- ment in common. Observing that myrequest for
a ride took no attention, and finding myself falling slowlyastern, I
placed one foot upon the inner circumference of a hind wheel andwas
slowly ele- vated to the level of the hub, whence I boarded theconcern,
sans ceremonie, and scrambling for- ward seated myself beside the
driver--who took no notice of me until he had administeredanother in-
discriminate castigation to his cattle, accompanied with theadvice to
'buckle down, you derned In- capable!' Then, the master of theoutfit
(or rather the former master, for I could not suppress a whim-sical
feeling that the entire establishment was my lawful prize)trained his
big, black eyes upon me with an expression strangely, andsomewhat un-
pleasantly, familiar, laid down his rod--which neither blossomednor
turned into a serpent, as I half expected--folded his arms, andgravely
de- manded, 'W'at did you do to W'isky?'
My natural reply would have been that I drank it, but there was
something about the query that suggested a hidden significance,and
something about the man that did not invite a shallow jest. Andso,
having no other answer ready, I merely held my tongue, but feltas if I
were resting under an imputation of guilt, and that my silencewas be-
ing construed into a confession.
Just then a cold shadow fell upon my cheek, and caused me to look
up. We were descending into my ravine! I cannot describe thesensation
that came upon me: I had not seen it since it unbosomed itselffour
years before, and now I felt like one to whom a friend has madesome
sorrowing confession of crime long past, and who has baselydeserted him
in consequence. The old memories of Jo. Dunfer, his fragmentary
revelation, and the unsatisfying explanatory note by theheadstone, came
back with singular distinctness. I wondered what had become of Jo.,
and--I turned sharply round and asked my prisoner. He wasintently
watching his cattle, and without withdrawing his eyes replied:
'Gee-up, old Terrapin! He lies aside of Ah Wee up the gulch. Liketo
see it? They always come back to the spot--I've been expectin'you.
H-woa!'
At the enunciation of the aspirate, Fuddy-Duddy, the incapable
terrapin, came to a dead halt, and before the vowel had died awayup the
ravine had folded up all his eight legs and lain down in thedusty road,
regardless of the effect upon his derned skin. The queer littleman slid
off his seat to the ground and started up the dell withoutdeigning to
look back to see if I was following. But I was.
It was about the same season of the year, and at near the samehour
of the day, of my last visit. The jays clamoured loudly, and thetrees
whispered darkly, as before; and I somehow traced in the twosounds a
fanciful analogy to the open boastfulness of Mr. Jo. Dunfer'smouth and
the mysterious reti- cence of his manner, and to the mingledhardihood
and tenderness of his sole literary production--the epitaph. Allthings
in the valley seemed unchanged, excepting the cow-path, which wasalmost
wholly overgrown with weeds. When we came out into the'clearing,'
however, there was change enough. Among the stumps and trunks ofthe
fallen saplings, those that had been hacked 'China fashion' wereno
longer distinguishable from those that were cut ''Melican way.'It was
as if the Old-World barba- rism and the New-World civilizationhad
reconciled their differences by the arbitration of an impartial
decay--as is the way of civilizations. The knoll was there, butthe
Hunnish brambles had overrun and all but obliterated its effetegrasses;
and the patrician garden-violet had capitulated to his plebeianbrother
--perhaps had merely reverted to his original type. Another grave--a
long, robust mound--had been made beside the first, which seemedto
shrink from the comparison; and in the shadow of a new head-stone the
old one lay prostrate, with its marvellous inscription illegibleby
accumulation of leaves and soil. In point of literary merit thenew was
inferior to the old--was even repulsive in its terse and sav- age
jocularity:

JO. DUNFER. DONE FOR
I turned from it with indifference, and brushing away the leaves
from the tablet of the dead pagan restored to light the mockingwords
which, fresh from their long neglect, seemed to have a certainpathos.
My guide, too, appeared to take on an added seriousness as heread it,
and I fancied that I could detect beneath his whimsical mannersomething
of manliness, almost of dignity. But while I looked at him hisformer
aspect, so subtly unhuman, so tantalizingly familiar, crept backinto
his big eyes, repellent and attractive. I resolved to make an endof the
mystery if possible.
'My friend,' I said, pointing to the smaller grave, 'did Jo.Dunfer
murder that Chinaman?'
He was leaning against a tree and looking across the open spaceinto
the top of another, or into the blue sky beyond. He neitherwithdrew his
eyes, nor altered his posture as he slowly replied:
'No, sir; he justifiably homicided him.'
'Then he really did kill him.'
'Kill 'im? I should say he did, rather. Doesn't everybody knowthat?
Didn't he stan' up before the coroner's jury and confess it? Anddidn't
they find a verdict of "Came to 'is death by a wholesomeChristian
sentiment workin' in the Caucasian breast"? An' didn't thechurch at the
Hill turn W'isky down for it? And didn't the sovereign peopleelect him
Justice of the Peace to get even on the gospellers? I don't knowwhere
you were brought up.'
'But did Jo. do that because the Chinaman did not, or would not,
learn to cut down trees like a white man ? '
'Sure!--it stan's so on the record, which makes it true an' legal.
My knowin' better doesn't make any difference with legal truth;it
wasn't my funeral and I wasn't invited to deliver an oration. Butthe
fact is, W'isky was jealous o' me'--and the little wretchactually
swelled out like a turkeycock and made a pretence of adjusting an
imaginary neck-tie, noting the effect in the palm of his hand,held up
before him to represent a mirror.
'Jealous of you!' I repeated with ill-mannered astonishment.
'That's what I said. Why not?--don't I look all right?'
He assumed a mocking attitude of studied grace, and twitched the
wrinkles out of his threadbare waistcoat. Then, suddenly droppinghis
voice to a low pitch of singular sweetness, he continued:
'W'isky thought a lot o' that Chink; nobody but me knew how 'edoted
on 'im. Couldn't bear 'im out of 'is sight, the derned protoplasm!And
w'en 'e came down to this clearin' one day an' found 'im an' me
neglectin' our work--'im asleep an' me grapplin' a tarantula outof 'is
sleeve--W'isky laid hold of my axe and let us have it, good an'hard! I
dodged just then, for the spider bit me, but Ah Wee got it bad inthe
side an' tumbled about like anything. W'isky was just weighin' meout
one w'en 'e saw the spider fastened on my finger; then 'e knew'e'd make
a jackass of 'imself. 'E threw away the axe and got down on 'isknees
alongside of Ah Wee, who gave a last little kick and opened 'iseyes--'e
had eyes like mine--an' puttin' up 'is hands drew down W'isky'sugly
head and held it there w'ile 'e stayed. That wasn't long, for a
tremblin' ran through 'im and 'e gave a bit of a moan an' beatthe
game.'
During the progress of the story the narrator had become
transfigured. The comic, or rather, the sar- donic element wasall out
of him, and as he painted that strange scene it was withdifficulty that
I kept my composure. And this consummate actor had somehow somanaged me
that the sympathy due to his dramatis personae was given tohimself. I
stepped forward to grasp his hand, when suddenly a broad grindanced
across his face and with a light, mocking laugh he continued:
'W'en W'isky got 'is nut out o' that 'e was a sight to see! All'is
fine clothes--'e dressed mighty blindin' those days--were spoiled
everlastin'! 'Is hair was tousled and 'is face--what I could seeof
it--was whiter than the ace of lilies. 'E stared once at me, andlooked
away as if I didn't count; an' then there were shootin' painschasin'
one another from my bitten finger into my head, and it was Gopherto the
dark. That's why I wasn't at the inquest.'
'But why did you hold your tongue afterward?' I asked.
'It's that kind of tongue,' he replied, and not another wordwould
he say about it.
'After that W'isky took to drinkin' harder an' harder, and was
rabider an' rabider anti-coolie, but I don't think 'e was ever
particularly glad that 'e dispelled Ah Wee. 'E didn't put on somuch dog
about it w'en we were alone as w'en 'e had the ear of a derned
Spectacular Extravaganza like you. 'E put up that headstone andgouged
the inscription accordin' to 'is varyin' moods. It took 'im threeweeks,
workin' between drinks. I gouged 'is in one day.
'When did Jo. die?' I asked rather absently. The answer took my
breath:
'Pretty soon after I looked at 'im through that knot-hole, w'enyou
had put something in 'is w'isky, you derned Borgia!'
Recovering somewhat from my surprise at this astounding charge, I
was half-minded to throttle the audacious accuser, but wasrestrained by
a sud- den conviction that came to me in the light of arevelation. I
fixed a grave look upon him and asked, as calmly as I could: 'Andwhen
did you go loony?'
'Nine years ago!' he shrieked, throwing out his clenched
hands--'nine years ago, w'en that big brute killed the woman wholoved
him better than she did me!--me who had followed 'er from SanFrancisco,
where 'e won 'er at draw poker!--me who had watched over 'er foryears
w'en the scoun- drel she belonged to was ashamed to acknowledge'er and
treat 'er white!--me who for her sake kept 'is cussed secret tillit ate
'im up!--me who w'en you poisoned the beast fulfilled 'is lastrequest
to lay 'im alongside 'er and give 'im a stone to the head of 'im!And
I've never since seen 'er grave till now, for I didn't want tomeet 'im
here.'
'Meet him? Why, Gopher, my poor fellow, he is dead!'
'That's why I'm afraid of 'im.'
I followed the little wretch back to his wagon and wrung his handat
parting. It was now nightfall, and as I stood there at theroadside in
the deepen- ing gloom, watching the blank outlines of the reced-ing
wagon, a sound was borne to me on the evening wind--a sound as ofa
series of vigorous thumps --and a voice came out of the night:
'Gee-up, there, you derned old Geranium.'