# A tale of two burdens

A TALE OF TWO BURDENS
BY IRVING BACHELLER Author of "Eben Holden," "D'ri and I," etc.
WE were smoking before the camp-fire after a long day in canoes. Soon our guides joined us and began to fill their pipes. I called for a story, and one said to the other:
"Bill, tell 'em how you got to be a millionaire."
For a moment Bill puffed like a locomotive on a stiff grade, then off he started:
"For about half a day I was one o' the richest men in the world; then I unloaded all of a sudden, as ye might say. It was the second year after John Calladay had bought his big tract and built a camp in the middle of it. There were a few squatters over there—poor devils!—who had claims o' one kind or another. He got right after 'em—drove 'em out with a club, as you 'd drive a bull out of a barn-yard. I don't know as they had any right there, but they thought they had. They and their fathers had hunted and fished in that country for a hundred years, and they kicked some when they felt the club on their backs.
"Old Milt Thomas went to law about it, and quit work, and spent everything he had in one court or another, and got licked in the end. I had always lived in another neck o' the woods, and did n't know much about it. One day Calladay's superintendent sent for me. Wanted me to go to work over there; offered big money, and I agreed to tackle the job. I went for my duffle, and returned in four days, ready for business. Gabe Dorr was the superintendent,—you 've heard o' him,—went crazy one night, and that 's quite a story, too.
"‘Mr. Calladay would like to see you,' he says to me as soon as I had dropped my pack.
"We went into the house together. Dorr an' me. I had read a good deal about the great millionaire, and was just a little nervous, like a man meetin' his first bear. I set down and waited with a kind of a buck fever on me. I had n't ever seen a millionaire, an' I would n't have been surprised to see horns on him an' a gold vest an' a diamond breastplate. By and bv in he come. W'al, Lord! he was just like any common man; held out his hand and said: 'How are ye, Gwinup? Take a chair. I 've heard a good deal about you, and am glad you 're going to be with us.'
"By ginger! you could have knocked me down with a knittin'-needle. I turned a kind of an inside hand-spring, and was myself again, cool as a cucumber.
"‘They say you 're a good fisherman,' says he.
"‘Wal, I gen'ally have good luck,' I says.
"‘We 'll go and try it to-day,' says the great man. 'All I ask is that you do your best for me.'
"He put his hand on my shoulder in a kind of a gentle way and says:
"‘I 'll do what 's right by you, Gwinup. Come with me."
"I followed him into another room, and he opened a closet and took out a pair o' top boots, a stout, han'some pair, and asked me to try 'em on. They were just the fit. Then he fussed around in the closet and found a splendid suit o' clothes, an' a flannel shirt that was soft as a kitten's ear, and flung 'em on a sofa.
"‘Try them, too,' says he. 'I 'll go into the other room a minute.'
"‘I guess I 'm gettin' into high society,' says I to myself, and begun to peel off as he left me. It was a gray suit, with big checks in the cloth, and it fit as fine as a buck's breeches. Wal, I got 'em on, and was wonderin' what next, when I heard him rap at the door.
"‘Come in,' says I.
"In he stepped, and begun to look me over.
"‘That 's good,' says he. 'I like to have my men look neat, specially when they 're round the camp with me. More particular about them than I am about myself. You go an' wait for me in the hall, and I 'll have 'em put up a luncheon, and we 'll be off.'
"Wal, he left me, and was back again in a few minutes. He had a cow-boy hat in his hand, with a leather band on it.
"‘Try that,' says he; 'there 's no better hat for the woods.'
"It was a perfect fit.
"‘You an' I are 'bout of a size,' says I.
"‘We 'd both dress about a hundred an' eighty,' says he, an' passed me the rods an' tackle.
"A girl came in with some luncheon done up in a paper, an' I put it in a pack basket with a raincoat an' the tackle.
"Then, great Scott! he swung the pack on his own shoulders. I objected.
"‘Look here, my friend,' says he, 'I spend a good deal o' money for the privilege o' doin' as I like. I 'm rather more in need o' exercise than you are, and I 'm goin' to carry the pack until I get tired. You 'll have enough of it; don't worry.'
"He led the way on a smooth trail, and I carried nothin' but the rod and trout-basket. I stepped high, and admired myself a good deal, and was all kind o' swelled up inside. Lord I If I 'd 'a' met one o' you fellers that day, I would n't 'a' seen ye. I could n't see anything on the earth, an' for a while I did n't do a thing but study astronomy. Bym-by I noticed that he did n't seem to be over-particklar about his own looks—wore a coarse, blue flannel shirt, no better 'n the one I come with, an' a pair o' lumberman's shoes, an' a black felt hat, which was a little faded, and had some trout-flies in the band.
"‘Wal,' I says to myself, 'he 's a millionaire, an' can afford to do as he likes. He don't care what folks think o' him, but he wants his help to look stylish.'
"I did n't know but the cuss would give me a million dollars some day,—he could have done it as easy as I could give away a nickel,—an' I guess I 'd have stood on my head if he 'd asked me to that morning.
"He stopped soon an' covered his face an' hands with tar oil, an' asked me if I wanted some. Say, he was about the blackest, stickiest lookin' devil that ever walked, I guess, when he got through with the dope. There were a few flies an' mosquitos, but I did n't mind 'em, and on we went, an' by an' by come to a landin' on the river, an' got into a canoe, and fished down-stream about ten miles. We did n't say a dozen words the whole trip. He got all the fish he wanted, and then says he, 'We 'll land here, an' put across country for camp.' We got ashore, an' I snapped the neck-yoke into place, thinkin' o' course that he wanted me to fetch along the canoe.
"‘We won't bother with that to-day,' says he. 'You can come back to-morrow an' take your time with it.'
"He was bound to carry the pack, and was dead game, and led the way for me, and neither one of us said a word for half an hour or so. Suddenly I thought I heard a deer in the brush ahead. We stopped and listened for half a minute, then he whispered:
"‘You might sneak on and see if ye see anything.'
"I went on slow an' careful, and he followed about fifty feet behind. I don't know why, but I felt kind o' nervous, like when I was a boy an' got lost, an' had the woods' fear in my gizzard.
"Soon I see a brook just ahead o' me that came down out of a deep ravine filled with little spruce an' hemlock. There was quite a pool o' water above the crossin', which was nothin' more 'n a big log that reached from one bank to the other. I was thirsty an' got down to drink. An' as I leaned over the still water I stopped an' looked down into it for half a second.
"‘Good God!' I whispered, and just then—
"‘Here,' says Calladay, 'use this,' an' a tin cup fell beside me, and rattled on the stones.
"I lifted my head, an' bang! went a rifle in the ravine above me, an' a bullet splashed the water right where I was goin' t' stick my face in. Wal, the swellin' went out o' me quick, an' I begun to fill up with useful knowledge. My thoughts moved like wild ducks. Lord! they were faster 'n the spray that flew in my face. Somebody was gunnin' for Calladay, and he had made me look like him! I had seen the likeness there in the water, and begun to think about it—same mustache, same kind of a face, and his clothes on me! Wal, I give a jump for life an' home an' mother."
Bill shook his head and grunted, and the other guide laughed a little, and we vented our excitement in the same manner.
"Went up in the air like a grasshopper," Bill continued with a spasmodic movement of his hands, "and landed square in the middle o' the trail 'bout five feet away on all fours. Then a voice shouted:
"‘Come near gittin' it, did n't ye—you blankety blank-blank! Stand right where ye are if ye want t' live. I 'm comin' down to have a talk with ye.'
"A man came out o' the bushes near, an' walked toward me with his rifle raised. I was on my feet an' scairt through an' through, an' thinkin' supple. I came near dumpin' my new fortune then and there, and lettin' the coward do his own cipherin'; but I 'm glad I did n't, for nobody can tell what would have happened. Calladay set like this on a log, and never budged or opened his mouth. I stood lookin' up at the stranger. He come right on, an' I believe he would have put a hole in me if I had moved a finger.
"‘My name is Thomas,' says he, 'an' you can get along with me easy if you want to, Mr. Calladay, or you can be on yer way to hell in about a minute.'
"‘What do ye want?' I asked.
"‘I want you t' sign this deed, an' agree t' swear to it, an' stan' by it—that 's what I want,' says he.
"‘Lemme see it,' says I.
"He handed me a paper, an' stood with rifle raised where he could cover either of us in the shake of a buck's tail.
"I read the paper carefully. It assigned to him about seventy acres in the town o' Harewood, on the upper river—all drawn up by a lawyer in due form.
"‘It 's the land you stole from me,' says he. 'My father bought it, an' you busted the title an' lawed me to the door o' the poor-house. I want it back, and I 'm goin' to have it. Here 's pen an' ink. I 've been loaded for you, an' waitin' my chance for more 'n a year.'
"‘Give me the pen,' says I.
"He passed it over, an' I signed 'John Calladay' with a few swift scratches, an' it looked about like three inches of the track of a squirrel in the snow.
"‘Let yer guide witness it,' he says, an' I passed the deed to Calladay, an',—would ye believe it?—the ol' cuss signed my name. We 'd swapped names.
"The stranger come back at me:
"‘Now you 've got to promise that you 'll go to a notary to-morrow an' swear that this is yer free act an' deed. Do ye promise?'
"‘Yes,' I says. 'I don't want any quarrel with you or anybody. I fought this out because it was a matter o' principle, but I intended to give ye the land when it was all over.'
"The man lowered his gun, an' in a second was down off his high horse. His face looked different.
"‘Glad t' hear ye say that,' says he; 'an' if I 'd known—wal, I 'm sorry—but—they would n't let me come near ye. I 've wrote letters, an' I 've begged Dorr to get me an interview; but it was no use. Then I sent word that I was goin' to gun fer ye. An' one day I took a long shot at that old hat o' yours. I was desperate. You never knew what it was to see yer wife an' children hungry an' cold in a bark shanty, but I do. It made me feel like murder.'
"‘I 'm sorry, an' I want you to come to camp with us, an' I 'll send your wife a check for a thousand dollars,' says I. 'I ain't sayin' but John Calladay is a low-down mis'rable cuss, but he 's a man of his word. Come right along, an' if you don't get the check, why you can use your rifle, that 's all.'
"‘And no bad feelin'?' he says.
"‘No bad feelin',' I says, for I knew what was in his mind. 'Bygones are bygones, and you can take your check and go home 'bout your business and have no more trouble from me.'
"‘Wait till I get my pack,' says he, and he ran back to the bushes, and brought a heavy pack with him. It weighed at least fifty pounds.
"‘Here, man,' I says, turnin' to Calladay, 'carry this pack for him. You can leave the other here and come back for it to-morrow. Get a move on ye.'
"I did n't speak in a very gentle voice, an' I could hear the old cuss mutter as he struggled with the pack.
"I started up the trail with Thomas. Old Calladay, worth fifty million dollars, puffed along behind us with the fifty pounds on his back—a pound for every million.
"We come to where the river crossed the trail by an' by. I knew Calladay kept a boat there to take him acrost whenever he come that way. Some one had taken it to the further side o' the river.
"I turned to my millionaire guide, as if he were no better 'n a cow dog;
"‘Go, get that boat,' I says to him.
"He hesitated; but I was mad enough to brain him, an' I guess I looked it.
"‘The water is rather deep out there,' he muttered.
"‘You can wade it,' I said. 'I don't think it 's up to your neck.'
"‘Good deal of a coward, that chap. I 'll have to discharge him,' I says to Thomas, good and loud, while my guide found a pole to wade with.
"He waded up to his Adam's apple, an' got acrost an' wallowed in a clay hole, and come out wet and nasty, and brought the boat to us.
"He moped along behind with the pack, and when we got to camp I went in with him.
"The millionaire led me to his room and took a chair in front of a big desk.
"‘You 're a d—d tyrant,' says he. 'I resign my job.'
"‘So do I, Mr. Calladay,' says I.
"He found a book and drew the check I had promised.
"‘I was sorry to see you lose your temper, that 's all,' says he, and passed the check to me. 'There was really no occasion for it. You 'most broke my back.'
"‘And you 'most broke my head,' I says. 'I 'm still on the earth—thank God, for that, not you. But I 've had a plenty. You carried my load an' I carried yours, an' it 's a little too much for me. Hereafter I 'll take the old pack for mine, an' the togs I 'm used to. These are liable to get holes in 'em any day. I don't want my clothes to wear me out or be obleeged to have any kind of a lightnin'-rod on me neither. I 'm goin' to stay on the job just long enough to see you swear to that deed.'
"An' that 's what I did."
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1950, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 73 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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