Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1891-09-12
TIE POSTNISTRESS OF LAUREL
RUN.
WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY
BRET HARTE.
CHAPTER /.

fU'HE MALL STAGE HAD JUST PASSED
Laurel Run so rapidly that the whirling
cloud Of dust dragged with it down the steep
grade from the summit hung over the level
long after the stage had vanished, and then,
drifting away, slowly sifted a red precipitate
over the hot platform Of the Laurel Run post
Office.
Gut Of this cloud presently emerged the neat
figure of the postmistress with the mail bag
which had been dexterously flung at her feet
from the top of the passing vehicle. dozen
loungers eagerly stretched out their hands to
Asst her, but the warning Its agin the rules
boys, for any but her to touch it" from a by
Gtander and coquettish shake of the head from
he postmis:ress herself-much more effective
u IN any official interdict-withhcld them. The
bag was not heavy. Laurel Run was too recent
. settlement to have attracted much CORE
spondence, and the young woman having
bounced upon her prey with q certain feline
Instinct dragged 1t. not without difficulty, be-
bind the partitiOned Enclosure In the Office and
locked the door. Her pretty face, momen-
ssriiy visible through the window, was slightly
flushed with the exertion, and the loose ends of
her fair hair wet with Precipitation, curlsd them
selves over her forehead into tantalizing little
rings But the window shutter was quickly
closed and this momentary but charming WIS.,
ion Withdrawn from the waiting public.
'Guy ment oGghter have more sense than to
make a woman pick mail bags outer the road"
said 10 simmons, sympathetically. Iain't in
her days work anyhow: guy ment oughter
hand EN- over to her like a lady; it's rich enough
and ugly enough"
'''Tsin't guy ment; it's that stage company's
airs and graces, interrupted newcomer.
They think IL mighty tine to go beitIn by,
maxim everybody take their dust, just because
stoppin amt in their contract Why, II that
express man who chucked down the bag had
any feelin's for a lady"-but he stopped here at
the amused faces of his auditors.
Guess you don't know much o that express
mans feelin's, stranger" said Simmons
grimly. why, you oughter see him Just
nussin' that bag like baby as he comes tearin'
down the grade, and then rise up and sorter
hesve it to Mrs. Baker ez If II was a five-dolar
bOkayi His feelin's for her. Why he's give
himself so dead away to her that we re looking
for him to forget what he's doin' next, and
Just come sailin down hisself at her feet
Meanwhile, on the other side of the partition,
Mrs. Baker had brushed the red dust from the
padloeked bag and removed what seemed to be
a supplementary package attached to it by q
wire. Opening 1t she found handsome scent
bottle, evidently IA superadded gift from the de-
voted expressman. This she put aside with a
slight smile and the murmured word Foolish
ness. Bot when she had unlocked the bag
zen its sacred interior was also profaned by a
covert parcel from the adjacent postmaster at
Burnt Bidge, containing a gold specimen"
brooch and some circus tickets 1t was laid
aside with the other. This also was vanity and
presumably. ve1ation Of spirit.
There were seventeen letters in all, Of which
five we're for herself. and yet the proportion
was small that morning. Two of them were
marked official business" and were promptly
put by with feminine discernment. but in an
other compartment than that holding the pres
Z ). Then the shutter was opened and the
X of delivery commenced
IL was accompanied with a social popularity
that had in time become a habit of Laurel
Run. As the young woman delivered the letters
IN turn to the men who were patiently drawn
up in Indian file she made that simple act a
medium of privileged but limited conversation
on special or general topics-gay or serious. as
the case might be or the temperament of the
man suggested That it was almost always of
complimentary character on their part may
&c readily imagined; but it WAS invariably
characterized by element of refined re-
straint. and whether from some implied under
standing or individual sense of honor, it never
passed the bounds of conventionality or GER
tain delicRcy of respect The delivery was con-
seque1tly more or less protracted. but when
each man had exchanged his three or four min
utes' conversation with the fair postmistress-
a conversation at times impe6ed by bashful-
ness or timidlty on his part soiely restricted
often 10 vague smlling-he resignedly made
way for the next 1t was a formal ievee, miti-
gated by the informally Of rustic tact, great
good humor, and infinite patience. and would
have been amusing had II not always been ter
rIb!y In earnest and at times touching. For it
was peculiar to the place and the epoch, and
indeed implied the whole history Of Mrs.
Baker.
She was the wife of John Baker, foreman of
The Last Chance" now for IA year lying dead
under half a mile of crushed and beaten-ln
tunnel at Burnt Ridge There Lad been a sud-
den outcry from the depths at high hot noon
tide one day and John had rushed from his
cabin. his young. foolish, flirting wife ciinging
To MIN, to answer that despairing cry. But she
rose suddenly with a pale face and said, Go
John; will wait for you here" He went. the
men were freed, bnt she had waited for him ever
since.
Yet in the shock of the calamity and in the
after struggles Of that poverty which had come
to the ruined camp she had scarcely changed.
But the men had Although she was to all ap-
pearances the same giddy, pretty BetScy Baker.
who had been so disturbing 10 the younger men,
Gers, they seemed no longer to be disturbed by
her A certain suDdued awe and respect. as If
the martyred spirit of John Baker still held his
arm around her, seemed to have come upon
them all They held their breath as this
pretty woman. whose brief mourning had not
seemed 20 affect her cheerfulness or even play
Iness OF spirit, passed before them But she
stood by her cabin and the camp-the only
woman In a settlement of forty men--during
the darkest hours of their fortune, helping
them 10 wash and cook and mInistering TO
their domestic needs The sancity OF her cabin
was, however. always kept as inyiolable as if it
had been his tomb No one exactly knew why,
Tor II was only a tacit instinct but even one
or two who had not scrupled to pay court to
Betsey Baker during John Bakers life shrank
from even a suggestion of familiarity toward
the woman who had sid that she would wait
him there"
When brighter DAYS came and the settlement
-~-t increased by one or two families, and lag
gard capital had been hurried up 70 relieve the
stlH beieaguered and iocked-up wealth of Burnt
Ridge, the needs of the community and the
claims Of the widow of John Baker were so
vel told In political quarters that the post
once Of Laurel Run was created expressly for
her Every man participated IN the building
OF the pretty vet substantial edifce-the only
public building in Laurel Run-that stood in
the dust of the great highway, half mile from
the settlement There she was installed for
certain hours OF the day, for she could not be
prevailed upon To abandon Johns cabin. and
here, with all the added respect due TO public
iuncnonary, she was secure in her privacy.
But the blind devotion of Laurel Run To John
Baker 5 reliet did rot stop here. In its zeal to
assure the government authorities of the ne
cessiiy OF post Office and 20 secure n perrla-
nent competency TO the postmistress there was
much embarrassing extravaganza During the
nrst week the sale of stamps at Laurel Run
post once was unprecedented in the annals of
the department Fancy prices were given for
the nrSt Issue Then they we're bought wildly
recAlessly. unprontably and ON ali occasions.
complimentary congratulations at the little
window invariably ended with and a dollars
worth Of stamps, Mrs. Baker" liz was felt VI