Waltey

Prevod

Tom Bowers, ki je rudaril na Misery Hillu blizu Pike Cityja v Kaliforniji, ni nikoli imel družabnika in nikoli ni maral robate druščine, ki se je zbirala tam. Nekega dne je izginil. Njegovim stopinjam v snegu so sledili od koče do roba velikega pobočja, kjer je iskal zlato, tam pa so se izgubile, saj jih je zasul plaz. Njegovo truplo so izkopali daleč spodaj in ga dostojno pokopali, vendar se je govorilo, da so ga tako pogosto videvali hoditi okoli vhoda v njegov stari jašek, da so se drugi možje kraja izogibali.

Lahkomiselni Jim Brandon se je v nenadnem navalu delavnosti lotil dela v opuščenem rudniku in nekaj časa mu je ta prinašal dobiček, saj je zaslužil denar in poravnal dolgove z upniki. Čez čas pa je kazalo, da na njegovem nahajališču dela še nekdo drug, kajti vsako jutro je ugotovil, da je nekdo posegal v izpiralno korito in odprl dotok vode. Vsiljivca je zaman iskal in »fantom« povedal, da mu je njihovo početje, če ga imajo za šalo, že presedlo.

Neko noč je napolnil puško in iz primernega zakotja prežal na vsiljivca. Macesni so brundali v vetru, Yuba je mrmrala v soteski, vrhovi Sierre pa so se v beli črti risali pred zvezdami. Ko se je plazil proti mestu z boljšim razgledom, je prišel do drevesa, na katerem je bilo nekaj pribito — nekaj, kar je v temi žarelo kakor vžigalica. V svetlobi, ki jo je oddajalo, je prebral: »Oznanilo! Jaz, Thomas Bowers, si lastim to zemljišče za izkopavanje naplavinskega zlata.« Dvignil je roko, da bi strgal papir, a je osupel začutil, kako mu je skoznjo šinil sunek, in roka mu je ohromela omahnila ob bok. Oznanila pa ni bilo več.

Zdaj se je zaslišalo žuborenje vode, in ko je jezno pograbil puško ter se obrnil proti izpiralnemu koritu, so črke na drevesu spet fosforescenčno zažarele. Nato se je oglasilo udarjanje krampa po produ. Jim se je skrivaj splazil proti koritu in tam zagledal Toma Bowersa pri delu — mrtvega, koščenega, z glavo in obrazom, poraslima z belimi lasmi in dlakami, ter očmi, ki so žarele iz črnih očesnih votlin. Skoraj nezavedno je prislonil puško k rami in ustrelil. Poku je sledil krik, nato pa je mrlič kakor veter planil proti njemu, s krampom v eni roki in lopato v drugi.

Brandon jo je ucvrl, prikazen pa mu je sledila navkreber, skozi gozdove in iz njih, čez jarke, skozi grmičevje, naprej proti Pike Cityju. Rudarji so v saloonu z obilno pijačo in plesom proslavljali odkritje novega nahajališča, ko se je visoko nad topotanjem škornjev, glasno izrečenimi šalami, smehom in žvenketom kozarcev zaslišal tresk padca, nato krik — potem pa tišina. Pohiteli so na cesto. Tam je ležala Brandonova puška, poleg nje pa kramp in lopata z začetnicama »T. B.«, vrezanima v ročaja. Jim se ni nikoli več vrnil, izpiralno korito na Misery Hillu pa teče vsako noč.

Izvirnik

Tom Bowers, who mined on Misery Hill, near Pike City, California, never had a partner, and he never took kindly to the rough crowd about the place. One day he was missing. They traced his steps through the snow from his cabin to the brink of a great slope where he had been prospecting, but there they vanished, for a landslide had blotted them out. His body was exhumed far below and decently buried, yet it was said that it was so often seen walking about the mouth of his old shaft that other men avoided the spot.

Thriftless Jim Brandon, in a spasm of industry, began work on the abandoned mine, and for a while he made it pay, for he got money and squared accounts with his creditors; but after a time it appeared that somebody else was working on the claim, for every morning he found that the sluice had been tampered with and the water turned on. He searched for the trespasser in vain, and told “the boys” that if they called that joking it had grown tiresome.

One night he loaded his rifle, and, from a convenient nook, he watched for the intruder. The tamaracks crooned in the wind, the Yuba mumbled in the canon, the Sierras lay in a line of white against the stars. As he crept along to a point of better vantage he came to a tree with something tacked on it--something that shone in the dark like a match. In its own light he read, “Notice! I, Thomas Bowers, claim this ground for placer mining.” Raising his hand to tear off the paper, he was amazed to feel a thrill pass through it, and his arm fell palsied at his side. But the notice was gone.

Now came the sound of water flowing, and, as he angrily caught his gun and turned toward the sluice, the letters shone again in phosphorescence on the tree. There was the sound of a pick in the gravel now, and, crawling stealthily towards the sluice, he saw, at work there, Tom Bowers--dead, lank, his head and face covered with white hair, his eyes glowing from black sockets. Half unconsciously Jim brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired. A yell followed the report, then the dead man came running at him like the wind, with pick and shovel in either hand.

Away went Brandon, and the spectre followed, up hill, in and out of woods, over ditches, through scrub, on toward Pike City. The miners were celebrating a new find with liberal potations and a dance in the saloon when, high above the crash of boots, the shouted jokes, the laughter, and the clink of glasses, came a sound of falling, a scream-then silence. They hurried into the road. There lay Brandon's rifle, and a pick and shovel with “T. B.” cut in the handles. Jim returned no more, and the sluice is running every night on Misery Hill.

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