Brett Harte - ". . . at which they silently spat in some accepted sense of social communion"

In picking up a couple of books on hold at one of the branch libraries, I stumbled across a library book sale - always a delight to which I am susceptible. I walked away with a grocery bag of books (about fifteen or so) for $6. I always like these sales for the surprises you come across as well as for the fact that at the prices that prevail, you can hardly afford not to try some book on the fringe, something you have heard of but not ever checked into, an author whose name is familiar but for an unknown reason.

Such was the case for me with Tales of the Gold Rush by Bret Harte. Both the author's name and the title rang some distant bell but with no answering sound of real recognition. But home it came in the grocery bag with other good finds. A handsome edition from 1944 by the old Heritage Press. I sampled one of the short stories, How Santa Came to Simpson's Bar while waiting for my computer to reboot. What a delight. I look forward to the other stories.

A couple of great lines:

As night shut down on the settlement, a few lights gleamed through the mist from the windows of cabins on either side of the highway now crossed and gullied by lawless streams and swept by marauding winds. Happily most of the population were gathered at Thompson's store, clustered around a red-hot stove, at which they silently spat in some accepted sense of social communion that perhaps rendered conversation unnecessary.

snip

The Old Man hesitated. His conjugal experience had not been a happy one, and the fact was known to Simpson's Bar. His first wife, a delicate, pretty little woman, had suffered keenly and secretly from the jealous suspicions of her husband, until one day he invited the whole Bar to his house to expose her infidelity. On arriving, the party found the shy, petite creature quietly engaged in her household duties, and retired abashed and discomfited. But the sensitive woman did not easily recover from the shock of this extraordinary outrage. It was with difficulty she regained her equanimity sufficiently to release her lover from the closet in which he was concealed and escape with him. She left a boy of three years to comfort her bereaved husband. The Old Man's present wife had been his cook. She was large, loyal, and aggressive.

snip

The night was pitchy dark. In the first gust of wind their temporary torches were extinguished, and only the red brands dancing and flitting in the gloom like drunken will-o'-the-wisps indicated their whereabouts.