Oakley Hall - Warlock

Gannon and Schroeder did collaborate to capture a road agent when an attempt was made on the Bright’s City stage a week or ten days ago. The stage, although under fire, ran for it and gained the town quickly, where Schroeder immediately organized a posse including Gannon and a number of Schroeder’s friends, who happened to be passing the time of day at the jail. The posse lost one of the bandits, but captured the other, one Nat Earnshaw. Schroeder then took Earnshaw to Bright’s City for trial, where he now resides, awaiting court session. Great praise has been heaped upon Schroeder for his quick action, and his courage — for Earnshaw, although not actually a member of McQuown’s band, is a San Pabloite, a rustler, and a badman of some repute.

Possibly Schroeder’s triumph has been made the more of because Blaisedell has had a failure of sorts. Wax, one of Taliaferro’s dealers, was shot in the alley behind the Lucky Dollar, and his murderer has not been apprehended. It could have been almost anyone, since the victim was a gunman himself, quarrelsome and overbearing. Wax is not widely mourned. There has been some hint, however, that Morgan was the murderer, in some unnoticed and growing feud between the Lucky Dollar and the Glass Slipper, whose rear doors both open upon the same fatal alley. Morgan has made a great number of enemies here. He can be most unpleasant, brusque and rude, and has a way of looking at a person that expresses all too explicitly an almost unbounded contempt for his fellow man.

January 10, 1881

There has been a Social Event, a Wedding, and we are stuffed with punch and wedding cake, and, perhaps, with envy. Ralph Egan[2] has married Myra Burbage, and the happy couple is by now entrained from Welltown to a honeymoon in San Francisco at Matt’s expense, the bride’s fondest wish having been to see the ocean before she settled down in Warlock.

I wonder how many of us have realized the change inherent in this event, the first such a one that we have had. Civilization is stalking Warlock.

The bride was very attractive indeed, particularly, I am sure, to the unsuccessful swains, Jos. Kennon, Pike Skinner, and Ben Hutchinson. There have been a horde of others along the way, including Chet Haggin, but these were the ones who galloped cheek by jowl down to the finish line, with Ralph, in the opinion of the pretty judge, the winner.

Curley Burne was on hand, as pleasant, humorous, and eminently likable as always; with him the Haggin twins, the bantering Wash and the silent Chet — alike as two peas, they are commonly identified by the side upon which they wear their six-shooters, Wash being left-handed, his brother right. All three were very much upon their good behavior, and Curley in particular went out of his way to ingratiate himself to one and all. It is difficult to think badly of the fellow. As Blaikie puts it, who is something of a philosopher, McQuown is like a coin, with Curley Burne imprinted upon one side, and the evil physiognomy of Jack Cade upon the other. A man’s attitude toward McQuown depends upon which side of the coin he has seen.

Matt Burbage fixed me with his glittering eye; I was the wedding guest in fact. He tells me not only of the dangers he has passed, but of those that beset him on every hand. He has lost much stock, he says, but is not inclined to hold McQuown responsible. He says he has never known McQuown to steal from his neighbors, and that he has heard that McQuown recently brought back from Mexico nearly a thousand head, which he will fatten and drive up to sell to the reservation at Granite. He has seen McQuown very little of late. He thinks — this in a most discreet whisper — that Benner, Calhoun, and possibly Friendly have been responsible for a good part of the road-agentry.

Matt is worried about squatters coming in, a good proportion of downright outlaws among them. San Pablo, he says, has grown, and has become even more tough-town, calky, and dangerous than ever. He intends to do all his purchasing in Warlock now, a much longer trip for him, but good news for me. I think Matt longs for the peaceful past (he was one of the first to settle along the San Pablo River) when he had only Apaches to worry about. He has heard that Bright’s City is about to unleash hordes of tax collectors upon us; on the other hand he bewails the lack of law officers to pursue his lost stock. Some of us love Freedom not so much as Safety, but are given pause by Safety’s Cost.

Miss Jessie attended as bridesmaid, and afterward played on the melodeon, which tended to wheeze and rattle under her ministrations but still produced most pleasant harmonies. She has a high, sweet soprano, and it was wonderful to hear her render such favorites as: “She Wore A Wreath of Roses”; “Days of Absence”; and “Long, Long Ago.” All joined in with a will on “Tenting Tonight” and “A Life on the Ocean Wave,” etc.

It is rare to see her without Blaisedell these days. (I should imagine that Matt did not wish to offend his neighbor McQuown by inviting the Marshal.) The occasion of Myra Burbage’s wedding was a romantic one to a populace of bachelors, for Ralph is a well-liked young fellow, and his spouse has long been the belle of the valley. Still, they are as nothing compared to Miss Jessie and the Marshal, who are as romantic a match as Tristram and Isolde.

The Angel of Warlock is a fascinating woman, not beautiful certainly, although she has a wealth of ringleted brown hair and fine eyes. She arrived in Warlock during the first boom, perhaps six months after I did. She was preceded by a lawyer, who purchased the old Quimby boardinghouse from the crippled prospector who was the proprietor of that riotous and unsavory place. The lawyer remained to have it refurbished into a decent boardinghouse, repainted, and rechristened in honor of the governor, upon which Miss Jessie herself arrived, in a clamor of speculation. She quickly won our hearts, as much by her gentle demeanor and apparent defenselessness, as by her actions during the typhoid epidemic of that summer, when she converted a part of her establishment to a hospital, which she has maintained as such ever since on what must be some regular and not inconsiderable income which she receives from elsewhere, for surely the money paid by her boarders cannot support the General Peach.

The doctor, who knows her best, says she comes from St. Louis, and that her father was a wealthy sickly man, whom she nursed until he died, which was shortly before she came to Warlock. This is all the information the doctor will give, and is perhaps all he possesses. Beyond this I have only my own speculations.

I would deduce, for instance, that she began nursing her father on an intensive basis, so that she was completely occupied with him, before she reached her twentieth year. Her girlish mannerisms and dress, which at first I thought affected, now seem to me to indicate that before this age she was removed from the normal social contacts of feminine society, to become so preoccupied with her duties to her parent that many of her habits of dress, speech, etc., remain those of a young girl.

Beneath her gentleness is a great strength of character. We have had occasion to see this in Citizens’ Committee meeting, where she often locks horns with MacDonald, a bullheaded and rude man, over matters pertaining to the miners. Indeed, upon occasion she can don an almost repellent schoolmarmish attitude. To continue with my deductions about her, however: she has a strong will, she is a romantic, she is also quite plain. I think she came to Warlock in order to be Someone. Possibly she came, too, because this is the Frontier, which term I understand is a romantic one to those not there residing. I imagine she had been a nonentity in her own locality and society. If this is true, she has achieved entirely her object in coming here. She is certainly unique, a Personality, and her stature here is immense.