The Opelousas courier., 1891-07-18
A PIONEERS TRUNK.
BY BRET HARrE.

1t was a slightly cynical but fai1y good.
humored crowd that had gathered be.
fore q warehouse on Long Wharf in San
Francisco n afternoon in the summer
OF 81. Although the occasion was an
auction, the bidders chances more than
usually hazardous, and the season and
locality famous for reckless speculation,
there was scarcely any excitement among
the ~bystanders, and a lazy, halfGbumor-
ous curiosity seemed to have taken the
place OF any zeal for gain.
1t was an auction of unclaimed trunks
and hoxes-the personal luggage of ear
~ emlgrants-Which had been left on
storage in bulk or warehouse at San
Franciso, while the owner was seeking
his fortune in the mines. The difficulty
and expense of transport, often oblig-
ing the gold seeker to make part of his
journey on foot, restricted him to the
smallest impeachment, and that Of a kind
not often found in the luggage of ordi-
nary civilization. As a consequence,
during the emigration of 40, he was apt
on landing to avail himself of the invi-
tation usually displayed on some of the
doors of the rude hostelries on the shore:
REST for the Weary and Storage for
Trunks" In a majority of cases he
never returned to claim the stored
property. Enforced absence, pre-
tracted equally BY good or evil
fortune, accumulated the high
storage charges until they usually far <
coed the actual value of the goods; sick
ness, further emigration or death also re-
duced the number of possible claimants,
and that more wonderful human frailty
absolute forgettulness Of deposited
possessions-contrived together to leave
the bulk of the property on the ~custodian's
hands. Under an understood agreement
this was sold at public auction after a
given time. Although the contents of
some of the trunks were exposed, it
was found more in keeping with the
public sentiment to sell the trunk un-
locked and unopened. The element of
curiosity was kept up from time to time
by the ~incautious disclosures of the lucky
or unlucky purchaser, and general bid
bling was thus encouraged, except when
the Spectator, with true gambling in
stinct, gave no indication in his face of
what was drawn in this lottery. Gener,
ally, however, some suggestion in the
exterior Of the trunk, a label OF initials,
some conjeetural knowledge Of its former
owner or the idea that he might be
secretly present in the hope Of getting his
property back for less than the accumu.
lated dues, kept up the bidding and in
terest.
A modest looking, welI-worn portman-
teau had been put up at a small opening
bid, when Harry Flint joined the crowd.
The young mar had arrived a week be-
fore at San Francisco. friendless and
penniless, and had been forced to part
with his own effects to procure necessary
food and lodging while looking for en-
ployment. In the irony of fate that
morning the proprietor of d dryseoods
store, struck VIII his good looks and,
manners, had offered him a situation is
he could make himself more ~presentable
to their fair clients. Harry Flint was
gazing, half abstractedly, half horelessly
at the portmanfeau without noticing the
auctioneer's persuasive challenge. In
DIS abstraction he was not aware t.lat the
auctioneer assistant was also looking at
him ~cnriously, and that possibly his de-
llected and half-clad appearance had ex-
cited the attention OF one Of the cynical
.hystanders, who was exchanging d few
words with the assistant. He was, how
recalled to himself a moment later
when the portmanteau was knocked
down at SIS, and considerably startled
when the assistant placed it al his feet
with 2 grim smile. That's your prop
crty, Fowler, and / reckon you look as
4 you wanted it back bad.
{ But-there's some mistake,n STAN
mered Flint. didn't bid
s No, but Tom Flynn did for you. You
sec, ! spotted you from the first, and
Told Flynn I reckoned you were one of
chaps who came back from the
mines dead-broke aud hadn't enough TO
back your things, and he up and
bought en- for you-like II square man.
That's Hymns style. il be is 4 gambler.
But, persisted Flint, athis never
was my property. MY name isn't Row.
and 4 never left anything here.
The assistant looked at him with
grim. half increduIous; half scornful
mile. Have ii your own way be
aid, ssbut ! oughter tell We, cid man,