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+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html>
+  <head>
+    <title>The Lost Cabin Mine</title>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+
+    <h2>Excerpt from The Lost Cabin Mine</h2>
+    <h3>As taken from <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43975/43975-h/43975-h.html">Project Gutenberg</a></h3>
+
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was on the sixth day of June, 1900, that I first
+heard the unfinished story of the Lost Cabin, the
+first half of the story I may call it, for the story is
+all finished now, and in the second half I was destined
+to play a part.  Of the date I am certain because
+I verified it only the other day when I came by
+accident upon a pile of letters, tied with red silk ribbon
+and bearing a tag "Letters from Francis."  These
+were the letters I sent to my mother during my
+Odyssey and one of them, bearing the date of the
+day succeeding that I have named, contained an
+account, toned down very considerably, as I had
+thought necessary for her sensitive and retired heart,
+of the previous day's doings, with an outline of the
+strange tale heard that day.  That nothing was
+mentioned in the epistle of the doings of that night, you
+will be scarcely astonished when you read of them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>I was sitting alone on the rear verandah of the
+Laughlin Hotel, Baker City, watching the cicadi
+hopping about on the sun-scorched flats, now and
+again raising my eyes to the great, confronting
+mountain, the lower trees of which seemed as though
+trembling, seen through the heat haze; while away above,
+the white wedge of the glacier, near the summit,
+glistened dry and clear like salt in the midst of the
+high blue rocks.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The landlord, a thin, quick-moving man with a
+furtive air, a straggling apology for a moustache, and
+tiny eyes that seemed ever on the alert, came shuffling
+out to the verandah, hanging up there, to a hook
+in the projecting roof, a parrot's cage which he
+carried.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>His coming awoke me from my reveries.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo," he said: "still setting there, are you?
+Warmish?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You ain't rustled a job for yourself yet?" he
+inquired, touching the edge of the cage lightly with
+his lean, bony fingers to stop its swaying.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>I shook my head.  I had indeed been sitting there
+that very moment, despite the brightness of the day,
+in a mood somewhat despondent, wondering if ever
+I was to obtain that long-sought-for, long-wished-for
+"job."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Been up to the McNair Mine?" he asked.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The Bonanza?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>I nodded again.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The Poorman?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"No good," I replied.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, did you try the Molly Magee?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"And?" he inquired, elevating his brows.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Same old story," said I.  "They all say they only
+take on experienced men."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at me with a half-smile, half-sneer, and
+the grey parrot hanging above him with his head
+cocked on one side, just like his master's, ejaculated:</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if this don't beat cock-fighting!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Shakespeare says that "what the declined is he
+will as soon read in the eyes of others as feel in his
+own fall."  I was beginning to read in the eyes of
+others, those who knew that I had been in this
+roaring Baker City almost a fortnight and was still idle,
+contempt for my incapacity.  Really, I do not believe
+now that any of them looked on me with contempt;
+it was only my own inward self-reproach which I
+imagined there, for men and women are kindlier than
+we think them in our own dark days.  But on that
+and at that moment it seemed to me as though the
+very parrot jeered at me.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't savvy this country," said the landlord.
+"You want always to say, when they ask you: 'Do you
+understand the work?'  'why sure!  I'm experienced
+all right; I never done nothing else in my life.'  You
+want to say that, no matter what the job is you 're
+offered.  If you want ever to make enough money
+to be able to get a pack-horse and a outfit and go
+prospectin' on your own, that's what you want to say."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"But that would be to tell a downright lie," said I.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," drawled the landlord, lifting his soft hat
+between his thumb and his first finger and scratching
+his head on the little bald part of the crown with
+the third finger, the little finger cocked in the air;
+"well, now that you put it that way—well, I guess
+it would.  I never looked at it that way before.  You
+see, they all ask you first pop: 'Did you ever do it
+before?'  You says: 'Yes, never did anything else
+since I left the cradle.'  It's just a form of words
+when you strike a man for a job."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>I broke into a feeble laugh, which the parrot took
+up with such a raucous voice that the landlord turned
+and yelled to it: "Shut up!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't have to!" shrieked the parrot, promptly,
+and you could have thought that his little eyes sparkled
+with real indignation.  Just then the landlord's wife
+appeared at the door.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"See here," cried Mr. Laughlin, turning to her,
+"there 's that parrot o' yourn, I told him to shut up
+his row just now, and he rips back at me, 'I don't
+have to!'  What you make o' that?  Are you goin'
+to permit that?  Everything connected with you
+seems conspirin' agin' me to cheapen me—you and
+your relations what come here and put up for months
+on end, and your—your—your derned old grey
+parrot!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Abraham Laughlin," said the lady, her green
+eyes flashing, "you bin drinkin' ag'in, and ef you
+ain't sober to-morrow I go back east home to my
+mother."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It gave me a new thought as to the longevity of the
+human race to hear Mrs. Laughlin speak of her mother
+back east.  I hung my head and studied the planking
+of the verandah, then looked upward and gazed at the
+far-off glacier glittering under the blue sky, tried to
+wear the appearance of a deaf man who had not heard
+this altercation.  Really I took the matter too
+seriously.  Had I only known it at the time, they were a
+most devoted couple and would—not "kiss again
+with tears" and seek forgiveness and reconciliation,
+but—speak to each other most kindly, as though no
+"words" had ever passed between them, half an hour
+later.  But at the time of the little altercation on the
+verandah, when Mrs. Laughlin gave voice to her threat
+and then, turning, stalked back into the hotel, Laughlin
+wheeled about with his head thrust forward, showing
+his lean neck craning out of his wide collar, and
+opened his lips as though to discharge a pursuing
+shot.  But the parrot took the words out of his
+mouth, so to speak, giving a shriek of laughter
+and crying out: "Well, if this don't beat cock-fighting!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The landlord looked up quizzically at the bird and
+then there was an awkward pause.  I wondered what
+to say to break this silence that followed upon the
+exhibition of the break in the connubial bliss of my
+landlord and his wife.  Then I remembered
+something that I decidedly did want to ask, so I was
+actually more seeking information than striving to
+put Mr. Laughlin at his ease again, when I said:</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"By the way, what is all this talk I hear about the
+Lost Cabin Mine?  Everybody is speaking about it,
+you know.  What is the Lost Cabin Mine?  What
+is the story of it?  People seem just to take it for
+granted that everybody knows about it."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Gee-whiz!" said the landlord in astonishment,
+wheeling round upon me.  He stretched out a hand
+to a chair, dragged it along the verandah, and sat
+down beside me in the shadow.  "You don't know
+that story?  Why, then I 'll give you all there is to
+it so far.  And talking about the Lost Cabin, now
+there's what you might be doin' if on'y you had the
+price of an outfit—go out and find it, my bold buck,
+and live happy ever after——"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped abruptly, for a man had come out of
+the hotel and now stood meditating on the verandah.
+He was a lithe, sun-browned fellow, this, wearing a
+loose jacket, wearing it open, disclosing a black shirt
+with pearl buttons.  Round his neck was a great,
+cream-coloured kerchief that hung half down his
+back in a V shape, as is the manner with cowboys
+and not usual among miners.  This little detail of the
+kerchief was sufficient to mark him out in that city,
+for the nearest cattle ranch was about two hundred
+miles to the south-east and when the "boys" who
+worked there sought the delights of civilisation it was
+not to Baker City, but to one of the towns on the
+railroad, such as Bogus City or Kettle River Gap,
+that they journeyed.  On his legs were blue dungaree
+overalls, turned up at the bottom as though to let
+the world see that he wore, beneath the overalls, a
+very fine pair of trousers.  On his head was a round,
+soft hat, not broad of brim, but the brim in front was
+bent down, shading his eyes.  The cream-colour of
+his kerchief set off his healthy brown skin and his
+black, crisp hair.  There were no spurs in his boots;
+for all that he had the bearing of one more at home
+on the plains than in the mountains.  A picturesque
+figure he was, one to observe casually and look at
+again with interest, though he bore himself without
+swagger or any apparent attempt at attracting attention,
+except for one thing, and that was that in either
+ear there glistened a tiny golden ear-ring.  His brows
+were puckered as in thought and from his nostrils
+came two long gusts of smoke as he stood there
+biting his cigar and glaring on the yellow sand and
+the chirring cicadi.  Then he raised his head,
+glancing round on us, and his face brightened.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Warmish," he said.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That's what, right warmish," the proprietor
+replied affably, and now the man with the ear-rings,
+having apparently come to the end of his meditations,
+stepped lightly off into the loose sand and Laughlin
+jogged me with his elbow and nodded to me, rolling
+his eyes toward the departing man as though to say,
+"Take a good look at him, and when he is out of
+earshot I shall tell you of him."  This was precisely
+the proprietor's meaning.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That's Apache Kid," he said softly at last, and
+when Apache Kid had gone from sight he turned
+again to me and remarked, with the air of a man
+making an astounding disclosure:</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That's Apache Kid, and he's in this here story
+of the Lost Cabin.  Yap, that's what they call him,
+though he ain't the real original, of course.  The real
+original was hanged down in Lincoln County, New
+Mexico, about twenty-five year back.  Hanged at the
+age of twenty-one he was, and had killed twenty-one
+men, which is an interesting fact to consider.  That's
+the way with names.  I know a fellow they call Texas
+Jack yet, but the real original died long ago.  I mind
+the original.  Omohundro was his correct name; as
+quiet a man as you want to see, Jack B. Omohundro,
+with eyes the colour of a knife-blade.  But I 'm driftin'
+away.  What you want to get posted up on is the
+Lost Cabin Mine."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He jerked his chair closer to me, tapped me on
+the knee, and cleared his throat; but I seemed fated
+not to hear the truth of that mystery yet, for
+Mrs. Laughlin stood again on the verandah.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Abraham," she said in an aggrieved tone, "there
+ain't nobody in the bar."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Up jumped Abraham, his whole bearing, from his
+bowed head to his bent knees, apologetic.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I was just tellin' this gentleman a story," he
+explained.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm astonished at you then," she said.  "An old
+man like you a-telling your stories to a young lad like
+that!  You 'd be doin' better slippin' into the bar and
+takin' a smell at that there barkeep's breath."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Laughlin turned to me.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Come into the bar, sir; come into the bar.  We 've
+got a new barkeep and the mistress suspects him o'
+takin' some more than even a barkeep is expected to
+take.  I hev to take a look to him once in a while."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Laughlin disappeared into her own sanctum,
+satisfied; while the "pro-prietor" and I went into the
+bar-room.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The "barkeep" was polishing up his glasses.  In
+one corner sat a grimy, bearded man in the prime of
+life but with a dazed and lonely eye.  He always sat
+in that particular corner, as by ancient right,
+morning, noon, and evening, playing an eternal solitary
+game of cards, the whole deck of cards spread before
+him on a table.  He moved them about, changing
+their positions, lifting here and replacing there, but,
+though I had watched him several times, I could
+never discover the system of his lonely game.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is that man?" I quietly inquired.  "He is
+always playing there, always alone, never speaking to
+a soul."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The boys call him 'The Failure,'" Laughlin
+explained.  "You find a man like that in the corner
+of most every ho-tel-bar you go into in this here
+Western country—always a-playing that there lonesome
+game, I 'm always scared to ask 'em what the
+rudiments o' that game is for they 're always kind o'
+rat-house,—of unsound mind, them men is.  I heerd a
+gentleman explain one day that it's a great game for
+steadyin' the head.  He gets a remittance from
+England, they say.  Anyhow, he stands up to the bar once
+every two months and blows himself in for about
+three-four days.  Then he goes back to his table there and
+sets down to his lonesome card game again and
+frowns away over it for another couple o' months.  I
+guess that gentleman was right in what he explained.
+I guess he holds his brains together on that there
+game."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>We found seats in a corner of the room and
+Laughlin again cleared his throat.  He had a name
+for taking a real delight in imparting information and
+spinning yarns, true, fictitious, and otherwise, to his
+guests, and this time we were not interrupted.  He
+told me the story of the Lost Cabin Mine, or as much
+of that story as was known by that time, ere his
+smiling Chinese cook came to inform him "dinnah vely
+good.  Number A1 dinnah to-day, Misholaughlin,
+ledy in half-oh."</span></p>
+
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+    <script>smartquotes()</script>
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+</html>