03 - Sudden Goldseeker - 1937

Sudden Goldseeker
By
Oliver Strange



CHAPTER I

“You meanin' to call me a liar'?" The voice was high-pitched, immature, but it carried an underlying threat of violence. The speaker, a lanky boy of twenty, dressed in the rough garb of the frontier, stood glowering at the man who had dared to doubt him. This was an older fellow, more than twice his age, with a gnarled face upon which the challenge evoked a disarming grin.
“Aw, Tim, I got drunk with yore dad the day you was born," he said, and the roar of laughter which followed the naïve confession relieved the tension. "All I'm sayin' is, if the stuff is there, why are you here?"
“I'll tell you, Preedy," the boy replied. "I come back to get the fixin's—tools, supplies, an' help—it ain't no one-man proposition."
“I'll say it ain't," another agreed. "The scum o' the country'll be there."
“We'll be sorry to lose you, Dabbs," the saloon-keeper said gravely. "You did oughta buy a farewell round." His chuckle started another burst of merriment, in which, after a moment's hesitation, the victim joined.
“That's a good idea," he grinned. "Set 'em up, ol'-timer, an' charge 'em to me." The landlord's cheery face fell—Dabbs was already in debt to him, and the Pioneer Saloon—though the only one in the settlement—was hardly a gold-mine. However, he had brought it on himself, and with dexterous turns of the wrist he sent glasses spinning along the bar, one stopping before each customer. The bottle followed, gyrating dizzily until it reached the end of the line; the thirsty ones poured and passed it. The trick produced the applause the performer expected.
“Never seen it done so slick," Preedy commented. "Reg'lar bloomin' conjurer, of Bixby."
“He'll shore have to be to git the coin outa Dabbs," his neighbour grinned.
The founder of the feast heard the remark and joined in the grin. "I'll pay him when I come back with the other scum from the Black Hills," he said.
Some months previously vague rumours of gold discoveries in Dakota had come to Wayside and a few of the more optimistic of the settlers had departed westwards. When no news of them arrived, those who had remained behind nodded knowingly and mentally patted themselves on the back. The reappearance of young Welder, the blacksmith's son, had revived the excitement and though it was not yet noon, brought every male in the place to the saloon, the common centre for the receipt and distribution of news. Sceptical as some of them might be, the boy's story had aroused the appetite, dormant in every human, for easily-gotten gains.
“What do you think o' this, Welder?" the saloon-keeper asked the blacksmith.
“I'm stayin' put," was the reply. "Tim is gain' back an' I'm stakin' him. He sez it's good."
“Good?" the youth echoed. "It'll be the '49 over again."
“Huh! What you know o' the '49? You warn't pupped then." The interruption came from a small man whose white hair and beard lent an appearance of age which the black eyes beneath the bushy bleached eyebrows, and the activity of his spare form, belied. His shrill cracked tones contained a jeer which brought a flush to young Welder's face.
“Mebbe not, Snowy, but I've heard of it," he replied.
The little man cackled derisively. "Yeah, from fellas who was never within five hundred miles o' California," he sneered. "If you wanta know 'bout them days, come to me, son; I was there, from start to finish. Gold? the place was lousy with it. Why, you could pull up a tuft o' grass an' shake the yeller stuff outa the roots in the pan. One fella I knowed cleaned up fifteen thousand dollars in less'n a fortnight just doin' that, an' the men who washed the ground he was too lazy to put a shovel into got five times as much."
“That was when you made yore pile, Snowy, eh?" a listener put in slyly.
The prospector whirled on him. "Pile?" he shrilled. "I made three, an' spent 'em—what else is gold for? an' I'll make another when I'm good an' ready." They laughed at this, for Snowy—regarded as a little mad—was the butt of the settlement. Nothing was known of him, not even his real name. He did no work, and disappeared at intervals for months, but always had money for liquor, of which he consumed an inordinate quantity. He was reputed to possess a secret hoard, but all attempts to trail him on his excursions had proved futile, and a search of the dug-out in which he lived revealed only the sordid poverty of its interior.
“I heard Deadwood is getting to be a biggish place."This from a tall, dark man, not yet forty, with a sallow, thin face, aquiline nose, and slumberous eyes, in which lurked a cold passion. His long-skirted black coat, "boiled shirt," and neatly tied cravat might have been worn by a minister, lawyer, 'or card-sharp, and the fact that his hands were carefully tended pointed to the latter. So Wayside guessed and missed the mark only by a little, for although Paul Lesurge—thus he named himself—was not a professional gambler in the Western sense of the term, he was an adventurer, willing to take a chance in any enterprise which promised profit, and utterly indifferent as to the means by which that profit was to be obtained.
Suave, confident, able to cloak his callous nature with a thin veneer of culture, he had already, in the two weeks of his stay, impressed Wayside with a sense of his superiority.
His remark, in effect a question, was addressed to young Welder, and appeared to embarrass him. He had not visited Deadwood; in fact, he had but penetrated a few miles into Dakota and knew little more about it than his hearers; all the information he had so boastfully retailed respecting the diggings had been obtained from others who claimed to have been there. This "slick stranger"—as he inwardly dubbed him —had guessed it.
“I didn't get so fur," he said sulkily. "When I see how things was I hit the home trail pretty lively; no use agoin' on without tools an' the rest of it."
“Cripes, you don't want no tools to pull up grass roots," bantered a boy of about his own age. "I'm bettin' you never see any gold-dust." Tim flushed again, hesitated, and then burst out angrily, "Didn't, eh? What d'you make o' that?" Thrusting a hand into a pocket he flung something on a nearby table. It proved to be a small doeskin sack which many of them knew to be a miner's "poke." Snowy elbowed his way through the jostling crowd and snatched up the bag, hefting it in his hand.
“Three ounces, near enough," he decided, and with a grin added, "O' course, it might be brass filin's." The ruse was successful. "Open it," the owner said savagely. "S'pose you do know gold when you see it?"
“Boy, I've handled more than you'll ever live to put yore peepers on," Snowy boasted.
With trembling fingers he untwisted the thong which closed the mouth of the "poke" and, cupping one palm, tipped out a little of the contents. There it lay, a tiny mound of shining particles, glittering in the sunshlne which filtered through the grimy window of the saloon. A feverish excitement burned in the old man's eyes as he almost caressingly touched the yellow heap.
“It's gold, shore as shootin'," he murmured hoarsely. "The on'y thing that makes life worth livin'."
“Waal, it'll certainly buy most anythin'," drawled one of the bystanders.
Snowy looked at him disgustedly. "Who the hell cares what it'll buy?" he snorted. "It's just searchin' for an' findin' it. Yes, gents, game-huntin', woman-huntin', an' man-huntin'—I've tried 'em all, but going after gold has 'em skinned. You can get tired o' the others but once catch the gold-fever an' it'll never leave you." He poured the dust back into the bag and passed it to the owner. "I reckon you ain't tellin' us where you got it," he said dryly.
Welder looked at him suspiciously. Did the hoary-headed old madman divine that he had not even gone as far as the diggings and that his specimen ounces had been won at poker? He decided it was not possible.
“Would you?" he retorted. "All I'm sayin' is that there's plenty more where that came from." Snowy chuckled. "You think you know it all," he said. "Wait till the stuff has served you as many dirty tricks as it has me an' you won't be so brash." The chatter continued, incessant, still on the one topic. The sight of that pinch of dust had fired the imagination of the younger men and stirred the memories of the older. Stories of past gold booms were retailed and listened to eagerly.
The only member of the company who seemed to be unaffected by the excitement was a young, black-haired cowboy, who, leaning lazily against the bar with one high heel negligently hooked in the foot-rail, regarded the scene with amused indifference. He too was a stranger to Wayside, having ridden in on a big black horse, which he called "Nigger" and appeared to value highly, a week earlier; so far, he had neglected to state his business.
He had not been asked to do so. The tall, lean, but wide-shouldered supple frame, firm jaw, deeply tanned face and level grey-blue eyes did not suggest that liberties might be taken, especially when reinforced by a brace of six-shooters, hung low, the holsters tied with rawhide strips to the leathern chaps. He had given only a name—James Green, and in those days, that meant just nothing at all. Wayside wondered, but in silence. The saloon-keeper spoke to him.
“Gone loco—the whole bilin'," he said. "You'd guess they'd never seen a bit o' gold before, wouldn't you?" A glint of a smile softened the hard lines of the cowboy's features. "They certainly seem some flustered—liable to stampede any moment," he returned, and then, "Why is it that easy money is so much more attractive than coin yu earn?"
“I pass," Bixby replied. "But if you think minin' means easy money you got another guess comin'. Now you tell me this: why is it that a fella can never keep coin he gets easy?"
“I pass too," the cowboy smiled, adding reflectively, "That ol' mosshead is shorely gettin' this herd on the run; yo're liable to lose trade."
“An' it's bad enough a'ready—if it gets wuss I'll have to pack an' follow my custom," Bixby grunted, and emboldened by the visitor's apparent friendliness, "You thinkin' o' joinin' the nugget-hunters?" The question was a flagrant breach of Western etiquette, as the saloon-keeper was well aware, but the other did not resent it.
“Why, I ain't made any plans—yet," he drawled. "Fact is, I'm lookin' for a coupla fellows an' Deadwood might be a likely place."
“Friends o' yores, mebbe," Bixby ventured.
The cowboy's expression hardened, and his eyes grew bleak. "I'll be pleased to see them," he said, so grimly that the saloonkeeper did not pursue the topic.
A moment later a tousle-headed youngster flung himself from the bare back of a sweating pony, thrust open the swing-door of the saloon and yelled:
“Stage is a-comin'—there's a gal aboard—a pretty gal—an' ol' Three-finger Ike is sober." Wayside, lying well south of the main Overland Trail to the West and forty miles from the nearest settlement, was difficult of access. Most of its visitors arrived by freight-wagon or on horseback rather than wait for the stagecoach, which, at intervals of weeks, called there on its way to northern Kansas. The arrival of the vehicle was an event and always a sufficient excuse for the male population to gather at the Pioneer.
A shrill whoop emptied the bar like magic, even the indifferent young cowboy joining the group outside. From a billowing cloud of dust the unwieldy conveyance, drawn by six scampering mules, emerged, and with a final crack of the long-lashed whip the driver pulled them to a stop, set his brake, looped the reins over the iron hook at his side, and climbed clumsily down from his perch.
“Howdy, folks," he boomed, a hen came the customary query and invariable answer which had earned him his nickname. "Waal, Bixby, I don't mind if I do; just three fingers." Then, in answer to a question:
“Yeah, I got a lady passenger—sweet gal too, travellin' alone, an' I had to hobble my tongue some. Reckon them mules got notions at first, but that whip o' mine speaks mighty plain."
“Didn't figure on seem' you, Ike," Bixby remarked. "Shore reckoned you'd be streakin' for the new goldfields."
“Plenty is—the Overland is black with 'em," the stagedriver replied. "I'm stayin' with my job; she pays steady wages an' I like my meals reg'lar."
“By all accounts, it's a rich strike," Preedy put in.
“Hell, did you ever hear o' one that warn't—at first?" Ike said. "'Sides, the Black Hills is Injun country—Sioux at that; I ain't goin' to resk my scalp." A cackle of mirth greeted the remark, for most of those present knew that the speaker's cranium had no more hair than an egg.
Meanwhile the occupants of the coach had alighted, glad to leave the cramped, uncomfortable conveyance in which they had jolted and bumped over interminable miles of rough trail.
They presented a curious contrast. The first to emerge was a square, stocky man in the thirties, with enormous shoulders, long arms, and coarse, bloated features upon which a scowl seemed to be the natural expression. A straggling black moustache only accentuated the cruel lines of his mouth. His garb was that of the country, shirt open at the throat, disclosing a hairy chest, trousers stuffed into boot-tops, coat slung over one arm, and a heavy revolver strapped about his middle. Altogether, Wayside summed up, an ugly-looking customer.
He was followed by a tall, slim cowboy whose plump, youthful face and frank brown eyes were those of one who had nothing to hide. Battered Stetson in hand, he held open the door for the third passenger, whose appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration.
“Three-finger may be able to describe mules pretty good but females is out of his class," one of the older inhabitants remarked disdainfully. "'Sweet' don't begin to tell about her." And, in truth, stepping down from the drab, clumsy vehicle, the girl—she appeared to be still in her 'teens—made a charming picture. Her simple black gown set off the slimness of her young body, and beneath the broad brim of a soft felt hat,short curly hair of the palest gold peeped out. The deep blue eyes were wide-spaced, the nose short and straight, the mouth firm.
At the moment she was evidently weary, and somewhat disturbed by the interest she was creating. Nevertheless, she ::anked the cowboy and turned to smile bravely at the onlookers, half of whom immediately became her slaves, eager to serve her. But while they were thinking about it, Paul Lesurge acted. Three quick strides and he was before her, bowing, hat in hand.
“Let me be the first to welcome you to Wayside, ma'am," he said. "If I can be of any service to you, please command me. I am Paul Lesurge." The name, of course, conveyed nothing to her, but his respectful manner and the contrast of his appearance with that of the other citizens produced the effect he intended. Her eyes studied him steadily for a moment, and then she smiled, holding out a slim hand.
“It is very kind of you, sir," she said. "My name is Mary Ducane, and my business here—"
“Must certainly wait until you have washed and rested," he interposed quickly. "You see, I know what a journey by stage means."
“I do feel—grubby," she confessed.
“You don't look it," he told her, so warmly that she flushed a little. "Now, let me take you to our one hotel; it is rough, but the woman who runs it is clean and capable, and will look after you. Is that your baggage?" He pointed to a leather grip which the tall cowboy was holding, evidently waiting for the conversation to finish. His good-humoured face was now disfigured with a frown which deepened when—the girl having nodded her pretty head—the interfering stranger calmly relieved him of his burden, saying:
“I'll take charge of that, my friend." The impudence of the act proved too much for the cowboy's control. With a threatening gesture towards the gun on his hip he blurted out:
“Yu make friends mighty rapid, mister, don't yu? What right yu got to head in thisaway?" The older man surveyed him with cool disdain. "Gentlemen do not quarrel in the presence of a lady," he chided. "We will discuss the matter later, if you please." Which grandiloquent reply, as the speaker knew well, only added fuel to the fire of resentment already burning in the young man's breast. It was the girl who averted the storm.
“Thank you for your kindness and attention on the journey," she said, holding out her hand.
The cowboy's face became a picture of discomfort. "It ain't worth mentionin'," he managed to say, and then, as his big paw engulfed her fingers, "Any time yu need help I'll come a-runnin'. " I'm shore obliged," she smiled, mimicking his own manner of speech. "But you mustn't be angry with others who wish to aid me." He watched as they went along the rude board sidewalk, his heart in his eyes, and a curse on his lips as he saw the man who had so neatly cut him out stand aside to let his companion enter Wayside's one hotel. A jeering, familiar voice brought him back to earth, and he turned to find the third passenger.
“Well, cowboy, that dame is certainly a fast worker," the fellow grinned. "We was gettin' along first-rate till you joined the 'jerky' an' then I got the glass eye. Now it's yore turn, but she won't shake Paul that easy."
“Yu know that man?" the cowboy asked.
“Know Paul Lesurge? I'll say I do," was the reply. "Why, I'm here to meet him—we're like brothers, me an' Paul. He's a great fella, an' style?—well, you seen for yoreself." He laughed evilly. "So you can say good-bye to yore Lulu, cowboy, 'less yo're willin' to take Paul's leavin's"
“Shut yore rank mouth, yu toad," the young fellow flamed out, "or I'll close it for yu." The short man grinned provokingly—he was of the type who would tease a tied dog—and he did not believe this raw youth to be dangerous.
“Serious, was you?" he fleered. "Well, she's a pretty piece, an' I could be that myself for mebbe a month, an' then He was not allowed to finish. Two long steps brought the cowboy within reach and his right fist flashed out to the jaw. There was no science in the blow, but it had all the power of a muscular young body behind it and the fury of one who was seething with rage. Entirely unprepared, the ruffian rocked on his heels and then crashed to the ground; he might have been kicked by a mule. Standing over him, pale with passion, the boy had a last word:
“Mention that young lady again in my hearin' an' I'll tear yu apart." He turned to walk away and in an instant the stricken man was on his feet, his gun out, pointing at the broad back so carelessly presented to him. A movement of his finger andthe murderous missile would have sped, but a warning voice intervened:
“I wouldn't," it said. Though the words were quietly spoken, they conveyed a threat which the killer dared not ignore.
The man with the gun stole a glance over his shoulder. He saw a group of citizens interestedly watching the fracas, and apart from them, a black-haired cowboy, lounging easily against a post some ten paces distant, a six-shooter levelled from his right hip. A tiny tendril of smoke curled up from the cigarette between his lips.
“Face me," came the order. "I never shoot a fella in the back unless I has to."
“What right you got to interfere?" the other blustered, but he made the movement.
There was no mirth in the cowboy's grin. "Yu've got yore gun out an' it's just about as far from yu to me as from me to you," he said. "If yu wanta argue ..." The bully had no such wish; he did not like the look of this third party in the affair. Though he was little older in years than the other cowboy, there was an air of cool confidence about this one which spoke of experience. He did not know it, but the spectators were in agreement with him; this sinister, granite-faced figure was entirely different from the smiling, good-humoured puncher they had swapped jokes with in the saloon.
“I ain't got no quarrel with you," the squat man evaded. "No, I'm facin' yu," came the swift retort, and then, "Well, we aim to please." The other cowboy had turned and watched the scene with an interest natural in one who had escaped death by the merest chance. He now came striding back. The black-haired one grinned at him.
“Pull yore gun an' stand right here," he said, pointing to the post he had been using as a support, and when this had been done, he stepped aside. "All set, Angel-face," he went on. "Here's the fella yo're honin' to slay. Fly at it." This invitation seemed no more to the liking of the short man than the previous one. He shrugged his enormous shoulders and managed to achieve a heavy sneer.
“Play-actin'," he said. "Dime novel stuff. I'll argue with both o' you when yo're growed up." He put away the drawn gun, thrust his hands into his pockets, and slouched away. The black-haired cowboy's voice followed him:
“Yella right through, like I figured," he said, and shook a finger at the man he had assisted. "Don't yu give him another chance like that."
“It was shorely a fool thing to do," the other confessed. "I reckon I have to thank yu—"
“Yu don't have to do no such thing," was the smiling reply. "Let's get acquainted. I'm Jim Green. I live mostly under my hat, an' I ain't got a friend in the world."
“I hate to call yu a liar so soon but I know of one, anyways," the boy grinned, and shoved out a fist. "I'm Gerry Mason. All my relations died off on me, I got tired punchin' cows, an' here I am. I guessed I'd grab me a gold-mine."
“Why, that's one good idea," Green responded, as if the notion was entirely novel. "I'm foot-loose my own self just now."
“We might double-team it," Mason said eagerly, "that is, if—"
“Yu decide to go," the other helped him out. He had divined the possible obstacle which had quelled the boy's enthusiasm —a certain slim, black-robed form. "There ain't no need for haste. We'll have to fix things." The statement brought a look of relief to Mason's face, and Green smiled understandingly; if the girl remained in Wayside, he would lose his new friend, for he himself must be moving on.


CHAPTER II


When Mary Ducane, having removed the dust of travel from her person, came downstairs again, she found a meal and Paul Lesurge awaiting her in the parlour of the hotel. His eyes regarded the healthy freshness of her with discreet approval.
“You must be in need of something, and as I am a fellow guest here, I hope you won't mind if we eat together," he said.
Mary did not mind, and said so. She was feeling very lonely in this far-off spot on the plains, and the stranger's solicitude for her comfort was welcome. He was, too, a new experience, for though her life had been spent among rough, uncultured people, she had all a woman's appetite for the niceties of existence. And Lesurge was far too astute to allow the least suggestion of gallantry to appear.
They spoke seldom until the business of feeding was over,but he gathered that she was alone in the world save for an uncle whom she had come to Wayside to find. Lesurge started to his feet.
“But how stupid of me to bring you here," he cried. "We should have gone in search of your relative at once." His contrition was so very evident that any lurking doubt the girl may have entertained, vanished, and she hastened to explain the situation.
“My uncle does not know I am coming, and may even have left Wayside. He was my father's brother and came West long before I was born. Dad used to say, 'Phil was the restless one.'"
“But you have seen him?" Lesurge asked.
Mary shook her head. "He never visited us, and for years we heard nothing. Then, about seven months ago, a letter came, saying that he had discovered a rich mine and asking my father to join him. Dad decided to do so, sold our farm, and then ..." Her voice broke and her eyes became misty.
Lesurge nodded sympathetically. "I understand," he murmured. "He died."
“He was—murdered," she said bitterly. "Stabbed in the dark on his way home; it was known he had sold his land—poor Dad could never keep a secret—and I suppose they were after the money."
“I hope they didn't get it."
“No. It was in the bank, but when everything was settled up there was little more than enough to bring me here, so"—she smiled bravely—"I shall have to find my uncle, or some work. You have not heard the name?"
“No, but I have been here but a little while myself, and there are outlying settlers I may not have come in contact with. I will make inquiries at once. Of course, it is possible he is not using his own name, but we won't anticipate difficulty." He saw a tiny crease in her smooth forehead, and asked, "Anything else troubling you?"
“I was wondering if I left Mister Mason rather abruptly—the young cowboy who was holding my bag," she explained. "He was very kind during the journey, he protected me ..."
“Protected you?" Lesurge repeated.
“Yes, the other passenger was—unpleasant," she replied. "I should not like to be deemed ungrateful."
“I'll put that right," he assured her. "Naturally you were a little flustered. These cowboys have pretty tough hides, anyway. As for the other fellow, I'll have a word with him too; you won't have any more trouble in that quarter, I promise 'ou " He cut short her thanks with a wave of the hand. Then, raving suggested that it would be best to keep her affairs to herself for the present, he went out to find Philip Ducane. A ew paces from the hotel he met the "unpleasant" passenger, vho greeted him with a scowl; he had been at the bottle again. "Hell of a time yore friends have to wait for you when here's a skirt around," he growled.
Lesurge surveyed him with cool contempt. "If you weren't trunk you wouldn't have the presumption to refer to me as a friend," he said bitingly. "Get this; you are merely a tool [ use, and throw away if it proves inefficient. I learn that you nade yourself `unpleasant' to Miss Ducane on the way here. [f that happens again, I shall make myself `unpleasant' to (ou" A sudden thought occurred to him. "You haven't told anyone here that you know me?" He saw the lie on the other's lip. "You would. Of all the blundering blockheads ... I suppose the whole town knows?"
“I on'y mentioned it to that cowpunch fella, Mason, what come with us," the man grumbled.
“And he'll pass it on to the girl, of course," Lesurge said disgustedly. "Well, we must deal with him. Didn't you tell me that Miss Ducane's father—died?"
“So he did," Fagan replied.
“Yes, a man is apt to with four inches of steel in his throat," Paul said acidly, and caught the furtive look of fear in the other's eyes. That was good; he liked to have a hold over those he employed; it lessened the risk.
“She talked then," Fagan ventured.
“Quite a lot," was the meaning reply. "What was her father like?"
“Short, dark fella, goin' grey, with a scar over the left eye—claimed he got it fallin' off a fence. No snap to him, but middlin' chattersome. Farmed a quarter section but I don't reckon he made much."
“What was his name? The girl only referred to him as `Dad..' "
“George, but he was generally knowed as `Squint'—him bein' a bit cross-eyed."
“Excellent. Well, I've been busy here trying to get on the track of Philip Ducane. I think I've talked with every man within ten miles of this place but no one appears to have heard of anyone who might be the fellow, which is fortunate for us." Fagan's face expressed astonishment. "You got me guessin'," he admitted.
“That surprises me, of course," was the sarcastic rejoinder. "Obviously, since the real uncle is missing, we must supply one—can't let a lady travel all this way to be disappointed, can we? She has never seen this relative, and with the facts you found out and what she let slip to me, we can prime our man so that he'll pass muster. The only difficulty is to find a person to play the part."
“Seems a lot o' trouble," Fagan objected. "If she's got the letter tellin' how to find the mine, that's all we want."
“Unfortunately, the matter is not nearly so simple, owing to the fact that the letter no longer exists. Ducane apparently considered there was risk and destroyed it, he and the girl first committing the important part to memory. That's why you didn't find it on the body."
“I tell you I
“Don't trouble; for a rogue you're the poorest liar I ever met," Lesurge interrupted. "Anyway, the past is done with; we have to deal with the future. Where can we find our man? He must be about the right age, devoid of scruples, and know a great deal about gold-mining—by heaven! I've got it—Snowy."
“That lyin' of soak I see in the saloon?" Fagan gibed. "Why, he's on'y a half-wit."
“And at that he'll have more sense than you." The brutal retort pierced even the calloused consciousness of the man to whom it was directed.
“See here, Paul," he protested. "You've been handlin' me pretty rough with that tongue o' yores; I expect to be treated like a 'uman bein', not the mat you wipe your boots on. Don't forget I put you up to this racket."
“Because you couldn't handle it yourself."
“Mebbe, but if I choose to chatter ... " For an instant the other lost control and his usually placid features were distorted by a venomous fury before which Fagan, hard-boiled as he was, quailed.
“I'm boss, and I'll treat you as I please," Lesurge gritted. "Double-cross me and I'll make this world so hot for you that you'll shiver when you land in hell. It's been tried, and by cleverer men, and you know what happened to them." The spate of passion went as quickly as it had come and the mask was back. "Don't be a fool, Fagan. If Ducane told the truth, this is the biggest thing I have ever attempted; success should put us on Easy Street for life. Think of it, you'll be able to live—I should say—spend, like a gentleman." The ruffian did not resent the bitter gibe; the prospect of gain was alluring, and moreover, he knew the fiendish nature of this man and feared him. Paul Lesurge had an evil reputation among his "friends."
“What d'you want me to do?" he asked, submissively enough.
“Get hold of that cowboy, Mason, and find out how much the girl has told him." Fagan looked uncomfortable. "Him an' me ain't on the best o' terms—he got uppity on the journey, over the gal—an' we had a ruckus." Knowing that the other man must hear of it, he told the story, his own way. "Took me unawares, blast his soul, an' if the other guy hadn't sat in, we wouldn't have had to trouble about Mister Mason," he concluded vindictively.
Lesurge took the news calmly. "It's a pity," he said.
“Shore is," Fagan agreed. "I'd 'a' blowed him to bits."
“I wasn't meaning that, but you may be right," was the reply. "Well, it can't be helped; I'll tackle Mason myself. That other cowboy may prove troublesome too; an awkward customer, I fancy."
“Huh! there's allus one way."
“Yes. Did you notice the butts of his guns?"
“Keeps his tally on 'em, eh?"
“If he did I wouldn't think twice about him," Lesurge said. "He's a stranger and doesn't seem to have any business here.”
“Them cow-wrastlers drifts around considerable."
“True, and we shall be on the move ourselves soon and quit of them both." In which Paul Lesurge, for once in his life, was wrong.
* * * Snowy possessed the doubtful distinction of owning the most dilapidated dug-out in Wayside. Here, seated on rude stools, with the remains of a bottle of whisky—brought by the visitor—between them, Paul Lesurge and the tenant of the dug-out were conversing.
“Well, that's the position," Paul said. "What do you think of it?" Snowy considered for a while, sucking at a very excellent cigar with which he had been provided. His dull eyes and hesitant articulation showed that he had not neglected the liquid part of the entertainment. He shook his head.
“Seems kind o' tough to ring in a stranger on the gal," he offered. "A nice-appearin' lass, too."
“It will be doing her a service," Lesurge pointed out. "I've searched all over and this Ducane fellow hasn't been heard of. What is she to do out here all alone, and with no money? But with us to help her . .." His alert mind forestalled the next question. "You see, she wouldn't trust strangers with what she regards as her uncle's secret."
“That's so," the other agreed. "But she'll expect me to know where thisyer mine is."
“You have had an illness and it has left lapses in your memory," Lesurge explained. "You'll remember just enough about your father to gain her confidence—I can put you wise to that." The old man nodded approvingly. "I call that cute," he said. "You got this all figured out, mister. How d'you hear 'bout her daddy bein' bumped off?"
“Miss Ducane told me."
“I reckon he opened his mouth too wide," Snowy reflected, and his eyes grew cunning. "Hadn't thought o' that; them as got him might wanta get his brother too. I ain't honin' to pass out." Lesurge smiled; the old devil was playing for better terms, therefore he meant to come in. "We'll take care of you," he assured. "We have to—you'll be our big card. Think of it, man; you'll have more gold than you could spend in another lifetime, gold to play with, gold to throw away." The wizard word brought a fanatic gleam in the prospector's half-shut eyes. "Gold—beautiful red gold," he mumbled, and then, "If we make good, what about the gal?"
“She'll get her fair share, one-fourth, of course," was the reply. "That's fair, I think, eh?" The old man's assent was reluctant. "Shore, but it'll be a lot o' coin for a gal," he muttered.
“Well, perhaps we can come to some arrangement," Lesurge said. "I take it you're willing to join us?" Snowy snatched up the bottle. "Here's life an' luck to Philip Ducane, seein' I'm to be him," he cried, and tipped the raw spirit down his throat.
The reckless act evidently spurred the younger man's memory. "That's one of the things you'll have to lay off a bit," he warned. "I won't stand for drunken babblers."
“See here, mister," Snowy said thickly. "I run away from home as a boy because I wouldn't take orders, I never have took 'em, an' I ain't goin' to start now. You come to me, I didn't come to you. Pin that in yore hat an' take a peek at it times you feel too brash." Lesurge bit his lip, inwardly promising himself that he would get even with the cantankerous old crook. But for the moment he must temporize.
“I'm not giving orders, merely a piece of advice," he said quietly. "And here's another: clean yourself up a bit—the girl won't want to be ashamed of her relative. All I'm asking you to remember is that a pile of money is at stake."
“When d'you aim to break the glad tidin's?" Snowy asked, a suspicion of a jeer in his tone.
“In the morning, but I'll see you first and prime you in readiness. Good-night." Holding on to his rickety door, the old man watched him go, a grin of derision upon his unwashed features. Then he grabbed the bottle, ruefully regarded the small quantity remaining, drained, and flung it after the disappearing form of his visitor.
“To hell with you an' yore advice, Mister Lesurge," he said shrilly. "I'll do as I damn please, but—I'm agoin' to get that gold, an' I ain't trustin' you—no, sir, you got a mean eye an' yore neck looks like it oughta have a rope round it." He dived again into his abode and the Pioneer Saloon missed his custom that night. But it had that of Fagan, who made up for it so completely that Lesurge was moved to caustic comment:
“With two drunkards to help me I have a fine chance of putting over a big deal." Drink affects men in different ways; some it makes merry and genial; others, ill-tempered and pugnacious; Fagan was of the latter type.
“How long you been a blue-ribboner?" he growled. "I've seen you lit up off'n enough." Paul Lesurge shrugged his shoulders. "I shall want you in the morning. If you are not sober I shall not want you—any more. You understand?" The cold, cutting tone and the plain threat brought Fagan to his senses. With a nod of comprehension, he pushed his glass away and stumbled out of the bar. He could not afford to quarrel with Paul Lesurge—yet, but deep in his mean little soul he hated this man so superior to himself, who never neglected an opportunity to vent upon him his vitriolic spleen.
With a sneering smile of satisfaction, Lesurge moved along the bar to where the two cowboys were standing.
“Oh, Mason, I want to thank you for assisting Miss Ducaneon the journey here," he began easily. "What actually happened?" The cowboy gazed at him with steady but hostile eyes; he did not like this well-dressed, good-looking stranger who had spirited his travelling companion away, and he resented the patronizing air.
“Yu'd better ask the fella who's just gone out," he replied. "Claims he's a. friend o' yores."
“I have employed him at times, but a friend, hardly," Paul explained. "As regards Miss Ducane, I do not think he will offend again. I—mentioned it."
“I had a word with him my own self," Mason said grimly. "Yu don't happen to be the uncle Miss Ducane come in search of, do yu?" The two-edged implication that he was either an old man or an interfering busybody brought a flush of anger even to the adventurer's impassive face, but he masked his emotion and replied coolly:
“I happen to know him, and I shall have the pleasure of bringing them together to-morrow morning." He reaped his revenge in full when he saw the crestfallen look on the boy's face; Lesurge had done what he had been hoping to do and the girl would no longer have any need of his help or protection.
“That let's you out," the other went on. "With her uncle and myself, the little lady will be well looked after." Having thus twisted the knife in the wound he strolled away. Mason looked at his companion.
“Jim," he said. "Did yu ever wanta take a fella by the throat an' slowly squeeze the life out'n him?"
“Mustn't let angry li'l tempers rise, of timer; it's a serious matter to take a human life."
“Who was talking o' that?" Mason retorted.
The other's eyes twinkled. "I gotta admit he does look awful like a skunk," he said.


CHAPTER III


Wayside had a shock on the following morning when it saw Paul Lesurge, accompanied by the man it knew as Snowy, enter the hotel. But it was not the Snowy they were familiar with; this one had hair and beard trimmed to respectable proportions, and his shirt was clean. The girl, forewarned, was awaiting them in the little parlour. She rose as the two men entered. Lesurge effected a simple introduction:
“Miss Ducane, this is your father's brother, Philip." For some moments they studied each other in silence, this slim, grave-eyed girl and the white-haired, wizened old man. It was the latter who spoke first.
“So you are George's little lass, eh?" he said, and the high-pitched voice was gentle. "You favour yore mother." Her face lighted up. "You knew her, sir?" she asked eagerly.
Snowy nodded. "She was a bonny gal—I never seen a purtier —till now," he added, with a little smile. "Must be twenty-five year ago—las' time I went East. I wanted George to jine me, but he'd just married an' bought that land at Dent's Crossing. Allus the plodder, George; I was the rollin' stone." Her eyes were moist. "And when he would have come ...”
“Paul told me," Snowy said sadly. "Pore of Squint—I expect they still called him that?"
“Yes, but he didn't mind."
“Got used to it, I reckon; but when I christened him that at school he gave me a fine hidin'. But he thought a lot o' me, George did, an' even when I near knocked his left eye out with a hoe he told Dad he fell off'n a fence to save me. Why didn't he answer my letter?"
“But he did," she protested. "A few weeks before he—died, he wrote saying he was selling the farm and coming to join you here." Snowy shook his head. "Guess it got lost, mails bein' as uncertain as females in these parts." He chuckled at his little joke. Unnoticed by the girl, Lesurge had tapped his own forehead. "Or mebbe I disremembered," he went on. "You see, my dear, some years back I had a bad sickness an' since then my memory plays me pranks. Times I even forget—" a warning shake of the head from the other man pulled him up—"my own name. I'm 'mowed here as Snowy, 'count o' my white hair. Some folks figure I'm loco, but you know that ain't so, don't you, Paul?"
“Of course, Phil," Lesurge smiled. "It's just jealousy, because you have seen so much more of the world." In an undertone to the girl, he added, "He's a bit eccentric, especially when his memory fails, and the ignorant settlers here have but one explanation for that, but he's quite harmless."
“I'm sure of it," Mary said warmly. "I must try and make up to him for all he has suffered. I can never be sufficientlygrateful to you for discovering my uncle; it solves all my difficulties, and I might never have found him." The feeling in her low sweet voice stirred the man's cold pulses and brought an eager gleam into his dark eyes.
“It will always be a pleasure to serve you," he replied. "I am taking Phil away now, but we'll meet again this afternoon and discuss plans." Outside the hotel the old man glanced at his companion and slyly asked, "How'd I do it?"
“Wonderfully," Lesurge told him, and meant it. "A fine actor was lost in you, Snowy."
“Ah, I got brains, I has," came the complacent answer. "You reckon she swallowed it?"
“Hook, line and sinker," Paul assured him. "How do you know she resembles her mother?" o "I don't," Snowy smirked, "but most gals like to think so." At the Pioneer the prospector found himself a popular person. Not only was he the uncle of the most charming visitor Wayside had ever received but he owned a fabulously rich gold-mine; Fagan had talked to some purpose. Never in Snowy's sinful life had so much free whisky been offered to him and he was preparing to enjoy himself thoroughly when Lesurge intervened; a liquor-loosened tongue might well wreck his plans.
“No more now, Phil," he said firmly. "You have business to talk over with Mary presently." Two of the company watched him follow Lesurge out of the saloon with unbelieving eyes.
“That of skeezicks her uncle?" Mason ejaculated contemptuously. "The whale what found a home for Jonah couldn't 'a' swallowed that."
“I'm allowin' Jonah must 'a' looked more appetizin'," Sudden said soberly. "O' course, Snowy might be the fella, but how did Mister Lesurge get wise an' what's his game? was he waitin' here for the girl, an' where's the real uncle? Also who wiped out her daddy?" His friend looked at him in mock disgust. "Can't yu think o' no more questions?"
“Shore, there's another," Sudden grinned. "What are we goin' to do about it?" Mason spun round, his face alight. "Jim, did yu mean that `we'?" he asked.
“Why, I got nothin' to interest me about now," was the careless reply, "an' they tell me gold-minn' is a lazy way o' gettin' a livin'."
“I wish I knowed if she really believes in this scarecrow relative," Gerry reflected.
“Go an' ask her," Sudden suggested. "She don't look like she'd savage yu, though yu can't tell; women is same as hosses—the meekest-appearin' is sometimes the one to pile yu "
“Miss Ducane would never say a harsh word to anyone," Gerry reproved, and departed in search of this paragon.
Greatly to his relief he did not have to ask for her—she tripped out of the hotel just as he arrived. She was pleased to see this boy who had been chivalrous and attentive to her, and she said so, but when he bluntly asked whether she was satisfied that Snowy was indeed the uncle she had come to find, her smile vanished and a look of dignified surprise took its place.
“Have you any right to put such a question?" she inquired, and when he could find no answer, "What object could Mister Lesurge and that harmless old man have in deceiving a girl who has nothing?" Mason could have replied that she had herself, but his courage would not carry him so far, and as he did not know the whole story of her pilgrimage could only mutter doubts about "that other fella."
“Mister Lesurge has been exceedingly good," she said severely. "He is a gentleman."
“Looks to me more like a tin-horn gambler," the boy burst out angrily.
Her eyes grew stormy. "How dare you say such an outrageous thing?" she cried. "I am afraid I have misjudged you. When I heard you had been engaged in a brawl yesterday I was willing to believe it was not your fault, but I fear you must be of a quarrelsome nature." He could have told her that the trouble was on her account, but he had his pride, and remained silent. One not vitally concerned might have smiled at her rather prim seriousness, so out of keeping with her budding beauty, but to Gerry Mason it was the end of a dream and it made him reckless. Leaving her without another word, he went to the Pioneer. There Sudden found him an hour later and one glance showed him the state of affairs.
“Tryin' to buy the business a glassful at a time?" he asked sarcastically, and then, "So Uncle is all wool an' a yard wide, huh?"
“Shore, an' at that he ain't so wide as Mister Lesurge," Mason sneered."Yu were dumb enough to mention him, o' course?"
“I on'y said he looked like a card-sharp an' she r'ared right up—I thought she was goin' to eat me."
“A sad mouthful—she would have had a headache in the mornin'. Well, yu seem to have made a mess of it, an' that rotgut won't help none. Let's vamoose." As they stepped from the door of the saloon, Mason staggered and nearly fell. And, of course, it was at that moment Miss Ducane and Lesurge passed on the other side of the street. The girl gave them one glance of mingled pity and disgust and went on, her head high.
“Your young friend appears to be enjoying himself," Lesurge commented.
“I didn't think he was that kind," she replied sadly, a little conscious that she might be responsible for the lapse.
“Oh, cattlemen are all alike," he said easily. "Women and drink are irresistible magnets to them."
“Yes, I suppose so," she returned, and wondered why she should regret it.
* * * The next few days were spent in preparing for the journey westwards and in the course of them Mary Ducane came to know and like the old man she called "Uncle." Queer he undoubtedly was, but always, to her, kind and considerate. He was eager to start for the gold-fields and extravagant in his promises of what he would do for her.
It had been arranged that Lesurge and his "friend"—Fagan —who had expressed his contrition to Miss Ducane and been prettily pardoned—should join them in their journey to the Black Hills. They would not be alone. Tim Welder's reports and Snowy's stories of lucky strikes in the old wild Californian days had aroused the cupidity and adventurous spirit of some of the younger Waysiders, tempting them to try their fortunes at the new diggings.
“Yu fellas oughta come along," Welder remarked to the two cowboys on the night before the start was to be made. "Why, I reckon we'll trail with yu," Sudden said, and saw the fleeting frown pass across the face of Lesurge. He looked at the saloon-keeper. "I didn't figure on stayin' here, anyways." The cowboys consulted Snowy as a matter of course and when he had advised on the question of outfit, he added: "I'm right glad you boys is comin'. Don't git too fur from me—fella never knows when he'll need a friend:" With a finger on his lips he stole away.
“Now what d'yu make o' that?" Gerry queried, when they were alone. "O' course, he's weak in the head."
“Mebbe," Sudden replied. "Did yu notice that he kept glancin' over his shoulder an' that Lesurge an' Angel-face wasn't about? They ain't pleased we're goin'—not a little mite, an' that's a good reason for not changin' our minds."
“An' for takin' Snowy's tip to stay around."
“Shore, but I misdoubt we're headed for trouble."
“I ain't carin'," the boy said. "I can shoot some, an' I'm guessin' yu know about guns, seem' yu tote a couple."
“It's a matter o' balance," Sudden explained gravely. "One makes me walk all lopsided. Allasame, I do savvy which end to point at the other man."
“Yeah. Yo're forgettin' I was present when yu put Angel-face through his paces," Gerry said, and regretted the reminder when he saw the twinkle in the other's eyes.
“I ain't," Sudden replied. "How's this strike yu for a tombstone? `Here lies Gerry Mason. He turned his back.' " The boy laughed. It was impossible to be angry with this drawling, lazy-appearing stranger who had saved his life, and of whom he knew nothing.


CHAPTER IV


For weeks they had been traversing an apparently limitless, undulating waste of short grass, burned brown by the sun, and broken here and there by shallow ravines. There were no trees save occasional patches of cottonwoods by the river-banks, but bushes of greasewood, sagebrush and prickly pear were more plentiful. The nights were cold, the mornings clear and pleasant, but as the day advanced the heat increased and the travellers were almost stifled by the billowing clouds of sand and alkali dust churned up by the thousands of plodding hoofs.
The trail, scored and rutted by use, stretched out interminably to the horizon. Twenty-five miles a day was good going, and unless an outfit broke down, no attempt was made to pass it. If the daylight hours were long and monotonous, nightfall brought plenty to do. Camp had to be made, the wagons ranged in big circles, forage fetched—for the trail had beeneaten bare for some distance on both sides, wells dug—unless they were near a river—holes two or three feet deep, into which the water slowly seeped.
Smudge fires of greasewood or sage, aromatic but pungent and irritating, kept the mosquitoes at bay, and then came supper—bacon, beans, cornbread, pies made of dried fruits, and coffee.
The Wayside contingent had joined the train two weeks earlier. The men had their mounts, but a place was found for Miss Ducane in one of the leading wagons, to which party her uncle, Lesurge, and Fagan also attached themselves. The cowboys found a welcome with the traveller immediately behind, a raw-boned agriculturist from Missouri, who had a small herd of cattle to serve as relays for his team and to form a nucleus for the farm he hoped to establish.
For while some of the adventurers were headed for the goldfields, more were genuine settlers, crossing the continent to people and till the untamed soil of California and Oregon. The Missourian counted himself lucky to get a couple of cowboys to handle his herd and was well content to feed them in return for their service. They too did not complain, for his wife was a good cook.
“Which that woman's pumpkin pie is liable to wreck the happiness of any single fella," was how Gerry put it.
“I'm takin' yore word," Sudden said satirically. "Gawd knows yu've concealed enough of it; I never seen anyone push pie into his face so fast an' frequent." Before the outraged young man could find an adequate retort, he deftly switched the conversation, "Seen Miss Ducane lately?" The red crept up under the boy's tanned skin. His fondness for riding ahead to "take a look at the country" had not escaped his companion's notice. He had seen her but—and this was where the shoe pinched—she had not, apparently, seen him. So he lied brazenly.
“No," he replied carelessly, "She 'pears to stick to that blame' wagon like she was glued to it. Mister Lesurge is plenty active though, gettin' to be quite popular among the parties goin' to the Black Hills." Sudden digested this in silence. Actually it was no news; he had already observed Lesurge's efforts to get acquainted with that section of his fellow-travellers and had put it down to the fellow's natural vanity.
“Fagan's got a new friend too," Mason went on. "Shortish chap with bow-legs an' a mean eye, called `Bandy'.”
“What's the name o' the other eye?" Sudden asked interest edly, and listened to a short but pithy description of himself. "This hombre has a Dago's black greasy hair an' his face looks like someone had pushed it in."
“Han'some fella," Sudden commented. "No, I ain't seen him." The omission was to be rectified a little later when the chase of a steer took him down the trail. Returning with the runaway at the end of his rope, he pulled up at a halted wagon, with a group of men ringed round two others. One of these, a slight bow-legged man with a peculiarly fiat face and beady eyes, was bending forward, a hand on his pistol. The other, a burly, bearded teamster, stood a dozen paces away, gripping his whip.
“Pull yore gun, farmer," the former was saying. "I'll larn you to lay yore paws on Dick Rodd."
“I don't use none," the other replied. "If you was more'n half a man I'd take my han's to you, but ..." His look of contempt at the puny figure of his adversary finished the sentence.
One of the onlookers now noticed the man on the black horse. "Hey, cowboy," he called. "Yo're the fella to settle this; you've seen gun-fights, I'll lay." Sudden rode nearer. "What's the trouble?" he inquired.
The teamster explained, with an angry gesture towards his opponent: "This rat has been shinin' up to my daughter, who don't want none of his company. I've warned him two-three times to keep his distance an' now I find him pesterin' her again. I had to argue with him."
“He kicked me—me, Dick Rodd," the little man almost screamed. "He dies for that, the " He ended with a string of obscenities.
“Why didn't yu let the gal alone if she didn't want yu?" the cowboy asked.
“Bah! women are all alike," came the sneering reply. "They just retreat to draw a fella on. I ain't the on'y one she's “
“You dirty liar," the teamster stormed.
As though he had been waiting for this further provocation, Rodd rapped out an oath and dragged at his weapon. It was no more than half out of the holster, however, when Sudden spoke again:
“Put that back where it belongs or yu'll eat yore supper in a hotter place than this." The cold, passionless tone was pregnant with menace. Still clutching the butt of his gun, Rodd hesitated. Then, when he saw that by some miracle of speed, one of the cowboy's Colts was covering him, he let his hand drop to his side.
“What damn business is it o' yores, anyway?" he grumbled. Sudden did not answer. He turned to the teamster. "Can yu use that whip pretty good?" he asked.
“Can I use her?" the man repeated. "Why, stranger, I c'n take a fly off'n the ear o' my lead ox an' the critter wouldn't know." Boastful as the statement certainly was, Sudden knew it might not be very wide of the truth. The cowboy looked at the smaller man.
“Understand whips?" he questioned.
“Naw," was the disgusted reply. "I ain't no perishin' hayseed." Sudden pondered for a moment. "He don't savvy yore weapon an' yu don't savvy his," he said. "It'll have to be yore gun against his whip."
“Suits me," the teamster said, adding grimly. "I'll have an eye out'n him 'fore he can wink it." The second combatant was less prompt in speaking and it was plain he did not like the proposition, though it appeared to be in his favour; he had but to pull and fire his gun before the other struck. But he knew the incredible speed with which the lash would come at him, like a striking 'snake, and with force sufficient to cut through the tough hide of an ox. If he fired and missed there would be no second shot; he would be cut to ribbons, perhaps—blinded! A shiver shook him, and in that moment he came to a decision; there were safer ways of compassing his revenge.
“I ain't puffin' on a man what isn't `heeled'," he said sullenly, and turned to where his horse was standing.
“You lousy yeller dawg," the teamster shouted, and swung his weapon.
Sudden raised a protesting hand. "He's all o' that but yu gotta let him go," he said.
Amid a chorus of jeers the discomfited ruffian climbed to his saddle. The cowboy had a final word for him:
“If any accident happens to our friend here"—he pointed to the teamster—"I'll be lookin' for yu," he warned, adding with a hard smile, "an' I shall be heeled." He had to eat with the teamster's family, his wife, a plump, homely woman, the daughter—cause of all the trouble—a pretty girl with rosy cheeks and a shy smile, and a tow-headed boy of twelve who could not take his eyes off the visitor's guns.
“Say, mister, you ever wiped anybody out with those?" he presently blurted out.
Sudden's smile faded. "Do I look like a killer?" he fenced. "I'm allowin' you don't," was the reply. "But if you was riled, I'd step around mighty careful."
“Shet yore trap," his father ordered, and, apologetically to his guest, "Dunno what kids is comin' to; if I'd spoke out like that in company my of man would have had the hide off'n me. So you won't trail along with us to Oregon?" Sudden shook his head. "I got other plans," he excused. When he returned to his own outfit, Mason was mildly facetious. "What was it yu forgot?" he inquired, and grinned at his friend's look of bewilderment. "Yu must 'a' gone back to Wayside for somethin'." Sudden joined in the laugh at his own expense. "Nigger's a good hoss but he ain't got wings," he said. "I've been makin' the acquaintance of yore friend with the barrel-hoop legs."
“What, Bandy?" Mason asked.
“He certainly is. I never met anyone whose knees were such total strangers."
“How come?" Sudden told the story in his own whimsical fashion, passing lightly over his part in it, but Gerry was beginning to know this habit of careless indifference.
“An' he ate crow?" he said incredulously. "I s'pose he ain't exactly in love with yu?"
“I'm afraid I hurt his feelin's," Sudden said, an unrepentant twinkle in his eyes, and then he sobered. "I should 'a' warned yu, Gerry, that I'm one o' 0I' Man Trouble's special favourites; yu oughta cut loose from me."
“Like hell!" came the hearty rejoinder. "I didn't come West to pick flowers an'—there's Miss Ducane." There was a reverence in the boy's tone as he spoke the name which swept the good-natured jest from the other's lips. He liked this frank-faced young fellow whose companionship meant much to a lonely, friendless man. For since he had come North, unjustly driven as an outlaw from his own country, Texas, his quixotic search had kept him moving and he could form no ties.


CHAPTER V


Deadwood! One narrow street, formed by irregular rows of nondescript buildings of the crudest character, the most pretentious of which were constructed of unbarked logs or roughly sawn boards; a few boasted two storeys, others had the false front so prevalent in frontier settlements, but for the most part the shack and dug-out predominated.
At a first glance the town appeared to consist almost entirely of saloons and gambling dives, with a few stores intermingled, but closer inspection revealed hotels, boarding and eating-houses. Plank sidewalks protected the pedestrian from the roadway—if the almost knee-deep strip of dust, which after rain became a morass of mud—could be so-called. Stumps of trees, boulders, and piles of lumber impeded progress and testified to the feverish haste to which the place owed its being.
The population was as varied as the architecture. Men of every colour, white, yellow, bronze and black, thronged the sidewalks; blue-shirted, bare-throated, bearded miners, their homespun trousers thrust into the tops of their boots, gaily-sashed Mexicans, slant-eyed Chinamen, and occasionally, a plumed Indian, wrapped in his gaudy blanket, dignified, aloof, unreadable. In the road itself, wagons drawn by patient-eyed oxen and piloted by perspiring, vitriolic-tongued drivers ploughed up clouds of fine dust to the extreme discomfort of passers-by. Overhead, in a pale blue sky, the sun blazed.
Into this welter of humanity the new-comers plunged and were at once submerged. Sudden and his friend arrived at one end of the street and Gerry prepared to dismount at the first saloon.
“That can wait," Sudden said. "First we gotta find out where we live." Having left their mounts at a livery stable, they emerged into the street again in time to witness a curious scene. A bent old man, clad in a shabby black coat, was retreating before a group of young roughs who were pelting him with stones and refuse. There was something of dignity in the victim's silence, but Sudden caught a look of appeal in the dark eyes.
“What's the old fella done?" he asked a red-headed youth who appeared to be the ringleader.
“How long you bin peace-officer?" came the impudent retort, shot over a shoulder.
Sudden's long arm reached out and swung the speaker round. "I ain't," he said quietly, "but when I ask a civil question I expect the same sort o' answer." Red-hair's hand had gone to his waistband, where the butt of a gun protruded, but fell away when he saw the type of man he had to deal with. This cold-eyed person who wore two weapons might be a cowpuncher, gunman, or both, and in any case, did not look easy. He decided to temporize.
“Dunno as he's done anythin'," he replied surlily. "He's a Jew, that's what."
“Which is no crime in a free country," the puncher said. "What's the penalty for hein' a cowardly coyote pup?" The contemptuous question, deliberately insulting, upset the young ruffian's poise, and his face became as red as his hair. He did not know what to do; this sarcastic, confident stranger, little older than himself in mere years but twice his age in experience, had him "buffaloed." The shamed bully looked round at his following and for a few tense seconds the issue hung in the balance. But Gerry had been whispering to the nearest of the gang, the word had passed round, and with no more than ugly glares they slouched away. Red-hair, the last to leave, alone found his tongue.
“I'm rememberin' this," he snarled.
“Yo're gettin' sense a'ready," Sudden complimented.
The old man, who had watched the scene with inscrutable eyes, now came forward. "My friends, I thank you," he said, voice and manner entirely out of keeping with the shabby attire. "Those young devils have made life a burden to me for weeks past."
“I reckon they won't trouble yu again, seh," Sudden smiled.
“You certainly gave them a lesson, but I fear they will transfer their enmity to you," the other replied. "Ridicule is a bitter pill for youth to swallow." Sudden laughed and looked at his friend. "Shucks, I figure we can take care of ourselves." The old man's eyes swept over them approvingly. "I do not doubt it, given fair play," he agreed, "but this is the toughest town of the many I have known. You are strangers here; is there any way I can help you?"
“We got in this afternoon an' we're wonderin' where we can bed down," Mason explained.
“The settlement is choke-full—new-comers will have to build shelter or camp out. Fortunately 1 can offer you a roof, though little else. My hut is larger than a single man needs,and there is a small corral at the rear---you have horses, of course?"
“We left them at the livery," Sudden said. "Couldn't get along without the broncs."
“I know," the old man smiled. "Almost the last thing a cowboy parts with—except his life. Well, what do you say?"
“We're mighty obliged," Sudden told him, adding awkwardly, "We ain't exactly broke, yu understand."
“I'm not offering you charity—you will have to keep yourselves, no light task in Deadwood. The room is of no use to me. I ought perhaps to point out that you will be living with one who is poorly regarded."
“Popularity never appealed to me," Sudden assured him, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. "We'll go yu, Mister ?"
“You may call me 'Jacob'," their new friend supplemented. "Deadwood dubbed me a Jew, and, for reasons of my own, I have not refuted it, though 1 am not a member of that persecuted race." At his suggestion they collected the horses and made their way to the far end of the settlement. Jacob's dwelling proved to be the last of the buildings, standing some two hundred yards from the others.
It was a log cabin, strongly but roughly put together, and consisted of three rooms. A table and two stools comprised the furniture of the one at their disposal. Their host apologized for the absence of beds.
“Don't say a word," Mason grinned. "We got blankets an' fetched our own fleas." Having turned their horses into the poled enclosure at the back of the cabin, they sallied forth to the nearest store for supplies. The prices they had to pay made them open their eyes.
“Hell, Jim, we don't want no gold-mine, let's open a store?" Gerry suggested.
“What with—an axe?" Sudden queried. "Allasame, livin' is goin' to come high in this neck o' the woods; yu'll have to hobble yore appetite."
“My appetite? What about your'n?" Gerry cried indignantly.
“I'm a pore eater," Sudden told him.
“My Gawd! then I must be damn near starvation point. C'mon, let's see if the liquor is cheaper." He led the way to one of the saloons, pushed back the swing-door, and swaggered in—modesty on such occasions is not a cowboy virtue. It was a garish place, bedecked with gaudy gilt mirrors and crudely painted but sufficlently daring pictures. A polished bar, with an array of bottles and glasses occupied the back of the room, and there were tables and stools.
The table they chose commanded a good view of both bar and entrance. "They's a han'some lot, I don't believe," Gerry commented.
“Yu weren't expectin' angels, were yu? Talkin' o' them, there's Snowy."
“Huh! Yu won't find no wings sproutin' on his back." The prospector, who was alone, came up and greeted them shrilly. "Hello, boys, been lookin' for you. Take a smile." When the drinks had been procured, he sat down, beamed upon them, and asked, "Where you stayin'?" Sudden told him they had secured a lodging but gave no ,particulars other than the position.
“Yo're lucky," the old man remarked. "Most o' them that come in with us'll be sleepin' under the sky an' if it storms quick—as it can in these parts—they'll have a pore time." '
“Yu an' yo're niece fixed up all right?" Mason inquired.
“You better believe we are," Snowy chuckled. "Paul had it all arranged. He's a clever fella—he don't deny it himself. We're roomin' at the best private house in the town, owned by Miss Lesurge."
“His wife?" Gerry cried.
“Miss Lesurge, I said," Snowy repeated. "His sister an' a fine lady, I'm tellin' you. Say, ain't this one hell of a township?. Takes me back mighty near thirty year. Well, gotta go. Stay around, boys, an' watch my smoke. Don't tell Paul I seen you. Savvy?" He bustled away, leaving both his companions frowning, but for different reasons; Sudden in perplexity, Mason in anger.
“Damn funny," the former reflected aloud.
His friend snorted. "Yu got a twisted sense o' humour if yu see anythin' amusin' in a nice girl like that bein' at the mercy of a crook," he said savagely.
“She's with her uncle."
“An addle-pated soak."
“Also Miss Lesurge." Gerry's report did not flatter the lady.
They procured a meal at an eating-house and Sudden soon became aware that, for some reason, he was attracting attention; men stared at him and looked away at once when hecaught them in the act. He remarked on the fact to his companion.
“Anythin' the matter with my face?" Gerry studied it. "Nothin' more than usual," he pronounced. "O' course, these folks ain't used to it like I am." The voice of young Welder checked the inevitable retort.
“Hi, cowboys, how're you makin' it?" he greeted. He laughed foolishly, lighted a cigarette after several attempts and, as he turned to go, added, "Saw Lesurge armin' Miss Ducane up the street a while back; they made a han'some couple." That night when, rolled in their blankets, they were lying on their beds of spruced boughs, Sudden was aware of smothered explosions of mirth from the other side of the room.
“What's the joke, yu jackass?" he inquired.
There was no answer, but the merriment increased. "They made a han'some couple," the puncher said softly. The laughter ceased instantly, and Sudden grinned in to the gloom, turned over and went to sleep.


CHAPTER VI


In a little gully, the banks of which were studded with pine and spruce trees, a black-bearded, red-shirted miner was busily digging, whistling a merry tune the while. This ceased suddenly and he looked up with a scowl as the visitors—whose approach he had not heard—pulled up. When he saw the two cowboys, however, his expression at once became amiable. Sudden, whose quick eye had noted the change and caught the swift glance at the rifle leaning against a bush, concluded that the man had mistaken them for redskins.
“Mornin', friend?" he said. "We ain't aimin' to nose in, but not bein' much up to this gold-gettin' game we thought watchin' yu might give us a pointer." The man now saw the pick, shovel and pan tied to the cantles of their saddles, unaccustomed burdens to which their mounts had at first offered spirited objections. He grinned understandingly.
“New chums, huh?" he replied. "Well, there's nothin' to it, if the dust is around, any fool c'n find it; if it ain't, the cleverest can't. Washin' the dirt is me tricky bit; must be a lot o' waste thataway." He threw a spadeful of the sandy soil into his pan, nearly filled it with water from a rill which was only a few yards distant, and squatting down began to stir the mixture slowly with one hand, at each revolution deftly flicking a small quantity of the muddy liquid out of the vessel. He continued the process until only a little of the water remained, poured this carefully away, and eagerly scanned the bottom of the pan. His expression when he looked up was one of chagrin.
“Not even `colour'," he said, thus intimating that his experiment had produced no sign of the precious metal. "Well, gents, that's the way of it, but I'm advisin' you not to fool about with thisyer gully—she's no good." Wishing him better luck, they rode on, and when they had lost sight of him, Sudden said, "Watch out for g likely place an' we'll try for some nuggets."
“But that hombre said it was a bum place," Gerry protested. "Shore he did," Sudden smiled. "But he didn't slam that pan down an' was careful to put it where we couldn't get a peep at it. I'll bet he's workin' like sixty this moment." The spot they selected was a short way up one wall of the gully, a sandy space shaded by trees and shrubs, with a tiny rivulet of clear water passing through it. For hours they dug and washed but not one speck of yellow rewarded their efforts and at length Gerry dropped the pan and glared round balefully at the holes which now disfigured the little plateau.
“Coupla perishin' good gophers we are, I'm tellin' yu," he said. "We oughta dig two big ones, crawl in, an' pull 'em in after us. That jasper was right."
“Shucks, a fella don't allus get his cow first flip o' the rope," Sudden consoled, his gaze on the silver streak of water sliding and jumping down the bank a few yards away. "Ever hear of a 'flume'?"
“Sorta wooden trough for washin' dirt, ain't it? Snowy used to talk of 'em," Mason replied. "We don't have one."
“They have cross-bars to catch the gold—they call 'em `riffles,' " his friend went on reflectively. "That trickle o' water is a natural flume, it's cut a channel for itself down the slope, an' there's yore riffle." He pointed to where a ledge of rock formed a miniature waterfall. "She's worth a trial." Straddling the stream, he scooped up handfuls of sand from above the obstruction into the pan, and began to wash it. Neither of them was as yet expert in manipulating the muddy mess, much of which was distributed over their own persons,but at length only a sprinkling of sand remained and after one glance Gerry flung back his head. Sudden clapped a wet and gritty hand over his mouth just in time to stifle the shrill cowboy yell of triumph.
“Ain't yu got no sense?" he asked the spluttering victim. "Why not fork yore bronc an' go tell the town?"
“Sorry, Jim," Mason said. "I didn't think."
“Yo're tellin' me," was the sarcastic retort.
Eagerly they bent over the pan, noting the shining grains mingled with the remaining sand. Repeated washings removed the latter, and in the end, a tiny heap of yellow metal was left.
“She ain't a bonanza but I reckon we'll be able to go on eatin'," Sudden said. "Get busy, cowboy." Mason needed no urging. His saturnine companion might be indifferent to wealth, but he himself wanted it; he had come West to get it, and now—there was another reason.
Drenched with perspiration, aching in every limb, they stuck to their task until a red glow in the sky announced that night was near. By this time the leathern sack which contained their gleanings had grown appreciably in weight, and they decided to call it a day.
“My back's like it had been broken an' badly mended," Sudden groaned, as he hoisted himself into the saddle. "Go easy, yu black devil," he chided, for Nigger, having been idle all day, was disposed to be frolicsome.
“Yo're lucky," Gerry told him. "Mine feels as if the mendin' was still to do. How much d'yu figure we got?"
“Dunno, mebbe Jacob has some scales." He had, and the cowboys watched with interest as he adjusted them and weighed the result of their labour. Then he looked up with a little smile.
“You have done very well, my friends," he said. "Three ounces of dust, at eighteen dollars the ounce—which is the ruling rate—is not bad for a beginning."
“On'y three ounces?" Gerry said disappointedly. "I reckon it oughta be three pounds for the work we put in."
“You have been fortunate," the old man told him. "Hundreds of men here slave for weeks without making a grubstake. Big finds only come to the favoured few."
“Yo're a hawg, Gerry," Sudden reproved. "What yu got to-day would take yu darned near a month to earn punchin' cows."
“I'd get my grub thrown in," Mason grumbled.
“Yeah, with a shovel," his friend laughed. "It's about the on'y way they could fill yu. C'mon, let's go an' start a famine." They went out wrangling, oblivious to the curious expression in the eyes of their host.
“It doesn't seem possible," he muttered.
* * Snowy had said no more than the truth when he described the residence of Miss Lesurge as the best in the town. Standing back a little from the street, solidly built of squared logs, it comprised two storeys and was comfortably furnished. Even Paul Lesurge paid his sister a compliment upon it.
“The man who had it put up made a pile soon after it was completed and started for the East," she explained. "I got it cheaply." Paul's dark eyes held hers for a moment, and then he smiled.
“Good for you, Lora," he said. "I am pleased with it. I knew I could depend on you."
“Didn't know we was comin' to yore own house, Paul," Snowy said.
“Having business in Deadwood I must stay somewhere, so I sent my sister on to make arrangements. Naturally, since I have a home, my friends are welcome." He had already presented his guests and Miss Lesurge had welcomed them graciously. Tall, not yet thirty, her pale, oval face, full red lips, and eyes that matched the black hair deftly coiled on a haughty head gave her a compelling beauty. She moved with a sinuous ease which accentuated her fine figure and somehow reminded Mary Ducane of a tiger-cat. This impression was deepened by her low voice, which, at times, was almost a purr. Paul Lesurge was still interested in the house.
“It must have cost the original owner a fortune," he mused. "All this furniture could only be brought by ox-wagons across the plains. Why did he sacrifice it?" Miss Lesurge shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Rillick—that was his name—wanted to get away. Another successful miner offered to play him at poker for the property, he setting up a certain sum in gold against it. Rillick accepted and won almost alt the other possessed, nearly doubling his own wealth in one night. After that, he didn't care if he gave the house away." When the guests had retired to their rooms, Paul turned to his sister. "So Rillick gave you the house?" he said.
With a gesture of impatience she got up, opened a drawer and took out a paper. "I paid him a thousand dollars for it," she replied. "Here is the receipt." Lesurge hardly looked at it. "Only that?" The woman's dark eyes flashed. "Only that," she repeated. "What sort of a fellow was he?"
“Youngish, not bad-looking, and worth half a million.”
“Why didn't you go?" She flinched as though he had struck her, and then said coldly: I argued that if a fool—and he was one—could clean up as much as that, we could treble it. The old man seems half mad; is he really her relative?"
“No, but she believes him to be, which is all that matters," Paul said. "He's only crazy about gold."
“Then he doesn't know where the mine is?" Lesurge explained the position and when he had finished, she said rather scornfully, "Fagan appears to have blundered. You seem to be fond of half-wits."
“A blunt instrument is useful at times," he told her. "Why did you warn the girl? Have you had trouble?"
“Two days after I arrived here a man grossly insulted me in the street; he was drunk, and a Mexican at that."
“What happened?"
“I stabbed him," she said coolly, and, noting the frown on his face, added, "Oh, there was no fuss. I paid the funeral expenses and was complimented by leading citizens on my pluck. These boors think I'm wonderful." The contempt in her tone was real enough.
Lesurge nodded his satisfaction. "Excellent," he said. "We'll have them eating out of our hands before we're through.”
“So the cowboys followed you here?" she asked.
“Yes, but they'll be too busy scrambling for gold to bother us," Paul assured her. "And anyway, Mason is dumb; Green, the black-haired one, might be dangerous; if he gets into the game we'll have to deal with him."
“The girl is pretty—in a way," she said casually, her eyes upon him.
But Paul Lesurge could play poker. "I suppose she is," he replied carelessly. "The kind of 'wild blossom from the prairie' type that a man with brains would tire of in a month.”
“For once, I think you are wrong, Paul," she returned. "What is to happen to her?"
“Haven't thought about it," was the nonchalant reply. There Paul Lesurge was guilty of an error, for the woman was well aware that he always planned ahead, and was therefore lying.
“Who is the man with the most influence here?" he asked.
“Reuben Stark, owner of the Monte, the largest of the gambling saloons. He has a number of miners working for him on grubstake terms and that gives him an obedient following."
“Is he a straight man?"
“Are there any?" she asked cynically. "No, I'd say he's as crooked as a dog's hind-leg, but he'll serve your purpose. He rather admires me," she added.
“Splendid!" Lesurge said. "Anyone else."
“Jean Bizet, who runs the Paris in opposition to Stark. A French-Canadian, reputed to be just—but only just," she smiled. "Has a squaw wife, and, curiously enough, worships her. Hickok too is among our distinguished citizens."
“Wild Bill?" Paul cried. "What the devil is he doing here?"
“ `Where the carcase is ...' " the woman quoted.
“Hickok is no vulture; he has the name for being square.”
“Possibly, but he's not immortal, is he?" Lesurge looked at her; callous as he was, there were times when her cold-bloodedness amazed him.
“No, but one might be excused for thinking so," he replied. "They say he never misses."
“Someone will get him—from behind—one of these days," she shrugged. "In any case, square folk are easier to fool, being straight themselves they are not so suspicious of others."
“Well, let's hope we don't have to try and fool Hickok," was Paul's sinister reply.



CHAPTER VII


Two weeks passed and the cowboys' store of gold slowly but steadily increased; it was by no means large, but, as Sudden had said, they were able to go on eating. A day or two had exhausted the natural barrier in the stream and then they worked upwards.
“The dust we found has been washed down," Sudden argued, "an' mebbe there's more to come; we'll save it the trouble." There was more, in no great quantity, but sufficient to be worth while. The task of getting it was arduous in the extreme.
“For real work thls job has a round-up beat to a frazzle," Mason complained. "What's the good o' cash yu got no chance to spend?" For since they usually arrived home too tired to do more than eat and tumble into their blankets, Deadwood had seen nothing of them. This was not the first hint Mason had offered and Sudden knew that a desire for relaxation was not the real reason.
“1 guess we've earned a holiday," he said. "We'll slick up to-night an' give the town a treat." Accordingly, the evening found them mixing with the stream of humanity which thronged the sidewalks, shouting noisy greetings in a medley of tongues, singing raucous songs, jostling one another as they entered or left the various places of entertainment. Again Sudden experienced one of those incidents which he was quite unable to explain. A roistering miner staggered out of a saloon, barged into him and went down. With an oath he picked himself up and was feeling for his gun when a shaft of light from the swinging door lit up the cowboy's countenance. The man stared, his hand fell to his side, and with a mumbled apology, he turned away.
Sudden looked at his companion in bewilderment.
“What do yu know about that?" he asked. "The fella was goin' to perforate me an' the sight of my face scared him cold." This was too good an opening. "What surprises me is that it surprises yu," Mason grinned. "Ain't yu never used a mirror? Yore face would make a grizzly turn tail."
“Yu chatterin' chump," Sudden said. "Let's go in here.”
“Pull yore hat well down, we don't want to start a stampede," Gerry retorted.
The Paris Saloon was packed with people. Most of those present were men but there was a sprinkling of the other sex, women of various ages, whose expensive attire displayed their charms with some freedom, who drank and gambled with their male escorts and laughed with their painted lips and never with their eyes.
One half of the floor space in front of the long bar was devoted to games of chance, of which a roulette board attracted most attention. The other half contained the customary tables and chairs. Threading a way through the latter, the cowboys arrived at the bar and at once a dapper little man with twinkling eyes, dark crinkly hair, and a pointed beard, stepped up.
“Gentlemen, I am pleas' to welcome you," he greeted. "I have live wit' de cow, yes, bien sur, I, Jean Bizet, when I cook for de Cross T on de Canadian Border. Ah, dose sacré mule, dey nearly pull de arm out. You dreenk wit' me?" He chattered on, recalling incidents of the range. "Ah, it was de good days," he said. "Sometimes I regret, but a man must move, not so? If he stay one place all de while he get—how you say—ver' rusty." They returned his hospitality and Sudden told him they must get on—they were looking for someone. The little man's face sobered.
“Dat soun' bad," he said. "What he done?" Sudden laughed. "He's just a friend; we ain't on the warpath," he explained.
Bizet laughed too. "I mak' mistake. I am glad. W'en a man look for another it sometime mean trouble. You come again?”
“Shore we will," Sudden said heartily.
They had almost reached the door when it swung back to admit a man who would have attracted attention in any gathering. Over six feet in height, with a perfectly proportioned frame, he moved with the ease and grace of an athlete. The yellowish hair which reached to his shoulders, pale blue eyes, long drooping moustache, and clean-cut features were offset by a calm confidence and dignity of bearing which stamped their possessor as no ordinary individual.
His attire added to the impression. A tailed cutaway coat of dark cloth, wide trousers narrowing towards the feet, a fancy vest, high-heeled boots, and a "boiled" shirt with a narrow black tie. Buckled round his middle was a leather belt with two white-handled Colt's revolvers.
The hum of conversation ceased at his appearance and every eye followed him as he stepped quietly, with a nod here and there, to where Bizet was standing. The little Frenchman hurried to meet him.
“Who is that?" Sudden asked a bystander.
The man's eyebrows lifted. "Say, friend, where you been hidin'?" he asked. "It's Wild Bill, o' course—thought everybody knowed him."
“I'm a stranger here," Sudden explained, and led the way to the street.
For a while he was silent, his mind full of the man they had just seen. Wild Bill, the most famous gunman in the West. Sudden found himself dwelling on the big man's draw, wondering if he himself could beat it. Then he laughed; Sudden, the gunfighter, had been left behind; here, he was just Jim Green, a cowpuncher and miner. Mason's voice broke in:
“Yu'd never take him for a killer, would yu? Looked just an ordinary fella."
“An' why not? D'yu expect every man who shoots another in self-defence to have the brand o' Cain burned on his forehead?" Sudden retorted, with unusual bitterness.
“I've seen some what didn't need no brand," Mason answered, and changed the subject. "Wonder why that s'loonkeeper hombre was so dern glad to see us?"
“One cattleman is allus pleased to meet up with another," his friend said. "I've a hunch he's white. Here's another big joint; let's go in an' see if we can scare up a Waysider." The Monte—like the opposition establishment—was full and with the same class of customer. It was a replica of the other on a rather larger and more showy scale. Despite the crowded state of the room, they experienced no difficulty in reaching the bar—people seemed almost eager to make way for them—and Sudden again had the uneasy feeling that he was the object of general interest. Mason was grinning.
“Yu might be Wild Bill hisself these toughs is so perlite," he remarked.
“And yu might be King Solomon if yu had any brains a-tall," Sudden told him. "Lesurge an' Angel-face seem to have got themselves some friends." They were sitting at a table in a far corner and with them were several others, notably a fat, blond fellow, flashily dressed, with a heavy watch-guard made of gold nuggets slung across his vest. Interested as he was in the conversation, his pig-like eyes roamed restlessly round the room and he saw all that was taking place.
“Reuben Stark, the owner o' this shebang," Sudden informed. "Dunno the others but I'll gamble they ain't cyphers in this city o' sin. Mister Lesurge don't waste his time an' he's whirlin' a wide loop. I'm goin' to buck the tiger." They strolled over to the roulette table and again they had no trouble in getting near to it though there were plenty of eager speculators. The puncher won about forty dollars in a few careless throws and to the surprise of his companion, cashed in and turned away.
“But, Jim, luck's tannin' yore way," he protested.
“That's when to stop," the other replied.
He had fully expected to hear jeers at his lack of nerve from some of the coarse-faced, half-intoxicated men around him, but not even a shoulder was shrugged.
“You got this town tamed," Mason remarked, and hid a smile. "Yu oughta be in a show, puttin' the lions through their tricks."
“It has me beat," Sudden said. "Wonder where Snowy is?" They met him outside and he greeted them with boisterous expressions of goodwill. He reeked of whisky, but there was no slur in his speech, no unsteadiness in his gait. It was Snowy's boast that he was never drunk until his back teeth were submerged.
“Paul about?" he asked, when he had informed Mason that Miss Ducane was "fighting fit. "
“He's inside, with Stark an' some others," Sudden told him. Snowy nodded. "One smart guy, Paul," he said. "Won't be long afore he's runnin' thisyer burg an' it's shorely time somebody took a holt, the killin's an' robberies is gittin' too mighty prevalent."
“Found yore mine yet, Snowy?" Gerry inquired.
“No, young fella, an' I ain't going to look for it till we got some sort o' protection. It'll keep; I ain't in no hurry.”
“Some other jasper may light on it," Gerry persisted. "'Tain't likely, but if it did happen that way I'd get me another; I can allus find gold—I smell it." With a wild laugh he pushed open the door of the saloon, turned and whispered, "Keep handy," and vanished.
“Mad as a loon," Mason decided.
“I ain't so shore," his friend replied. "What I can't savvy is why folks side-step me like I was a rattler?" He got the solution to the problem a few nights later as he was returning from the store where they obtained their supplies. A thin, weedy shrimp of a man, whom he recognized as one of the group with Lesurge in the Monte, stopped him.
“Say, Mister Green, c'n I have a word with you?" he asked. The man shuffled his feet and cast an oblique glance at a nearby dive. Obviously he did not want to talk in the open, and Sudden therefore determined that he should.
“I ain't drinkin'," he said. "Yu can trail along o' me an' sing yore song. I'm shy yore name."
“Berg," the other replied, and then went on with a rush, "You know Bill Hickok? Well, he don't like you."
“No reason why he should, we've never met."
“Mebbe, but he says he's goin' to get you—heard him my own self, an' so did others." The cowpuncher cogitated over this amazing statement and then, "What's he sore about?" he inquired.
“Sore nothin'," was the reply. "You know what these biggunmen are. He's cock o' the walk around here an' he ain't goin' to let anyone else crow, that's what."
“But why pick on me—I ain't let out a chirp?"
“Hell, he's scared—yo're Sudden, ain't you?" The puncher stopped as though one of Wild Bill's bullets had struck him. Then his iron nerve came to his aid. "Sudden?" he sneered. "Where'd yu get that fool notion?”
“Why, all the town knows," Berg retorted. "Yore pard told young Ginger when you stopped him baitin' of Jacob." This cleared the air somewhat but not entirely; how did Gerry know? Sudden had never breathed a word of his past. He turned to the man who had flung this bombshell at him.
“My pard was joshin'—he's a born humorist," he said.
Berg smiled sourly. "He'll be a dead humorist when the boys find out an' if you owed me money I'd be askin' for it now," he said with sinister emphasis.
Sudden knew it was true; the town would never forgive what it must regard as a deliberate imposture.
“So yu are here to warn me, just a kindly act, huh?"
“I came to warn you, yes, an' give you a chance o' pickin' up a nice piece o' change. There's big men in Deadwood who got no use for Hickok. Put him outa business—any way you choose—an' there'll be a thousand bucks for you an' no comeback, see?" The cowboy's fists bunched at this infamous proposal but he controlled his anger and asked coolly, "Who are these big men?"
“I ain't sayin'," was the expected reply. "Put the job over an' the cash will be ready for you at my shack." The cowpuncher glanced round; they were clear of the street and had almost reached Jacob's cabin. With a quick snatch he had the other by the throat.
“Yu dirty rat," he rasped, and shook him till the teeth of the wretch rattled in his jaws. "So yu take me for a hired killer? I'd twist yore rotten neck if I hadn't a use for yu. Go back to the cowards that sent yu an' tell 'em to come along an' I'll kill 'em one after the other—for nothin'." With a powerful thrust he hurled the almost senseless form into the dust and strode away. His frowning face when he entered the cabin apprised his friend that something was wrong.
“Been fightin'?" he asked.
“No," came the snapped answer. "What possessed yu to tell that fool boy I was 'Sudden'?" Gerry started to grin but changed his mind. "It seemed a good jape to put over on him an° mebbe saved a ruckus," he explained. "I couldn't know he'd chatter but it's goin' to make things easy for us, seemin'ly."
“It's goin' to make things damned difficult. Why did yu pick on Sudden?"
“I'd heard of him; he's a Texas outlaw an' the least likely to show up, I figured. Yu ain't tellin' me he's here?"
“I am—just that," Sudden retorted, grimly gratified at the result the statement produced.
The boy's face became a picture of consternation as he realized that his little comedy was likely to have a tragic ending. "My Gawd, Jim, I'm sorry," he groaned. "By all accounts, he's reckoned the worst hell-raiser in the south-west, a heartless hound who shoots folk just to see 'em kick. I guess yu'd better head for the woods an' let me take the medicine—I got yu in the jam." His perturbed gaze rested on the other. "Yu certain he's here?"
“Dead shore," was the reply, and with a hard smile, "Yo're lookin' at him."
“Quit it, Jim, this ain't no time for foolin',"
“I am givin' it to yu straight," was the harsh answer. "I am the man they call 'Sudden,' outlawed in Texas, an' lied about everywhere else." He waited for the expected look of repulsion, but Gerry's face expressed only astonishment, admiration and relief.
“Then it's all right," he cried, and grinned widely. "No call for yu to run away from yoreself."
“That's what I was tryin' to do when I came here," Sudden said moodily. "'Pears it can't be done. No, Gerry, it ain't all right, it's all wrong—for yu." He hesitated a moment. "We will have to tread different trails."
“Not on yore life," Mason said instantly. "We're pards, an' I'm stick in' to yu like a tick on a cow, that's whatever." Sudden shook his head, but he saw the boy was in earnest and made no further protest. That he could count on one friend dispelled some of the gloom which had enveloped him when he learned his evil reputation had, by a mere chance, dogged him even to far-off Deadwood.
“Then it's on'y fair yu should know who yo're hookin' up with," he replied, and proceeded to give a brief recital of how Fate had foisted his infamous notoriety upon him.' Mason listened in stupefied silence to the story of a promise to a dying man, the blind search for two villains it entailed, and the false accusation of murder which sent a youth no older than himselfwandering in the West with a price on his head, and every man's hand against him.
The relation of his interview with Berg evoked a long whistle of dismay. "The swine!" Gerry exploded. "I hope yu bruk his neck."
“I made myself plain," Sudden said, with a wintry smile. "The fellas who sent him won't like it."
“D'yu reckon Hickok is really after yore scalp?"
“Dunno, but he ain't the breed o' gunman who goes around with a chip on his shoulder. I've heard that he never draws till his hand is forced, but he's probably been told I'm here to get him. That's why I'm callin' on him in the mornin'." Mason sprang to his feet. "Are yu plumb crazy?" he inquired. "Why, he'll down yu on sight; I'm goin' along."
“Yu'll stay here," was the definite reply. "If I don't show up in a coupla hours, yu can make arrangements for the buryin'."
“An' there'll be two holes needed," Gerry said savagely. "Wild Bill may be a wizard with a six-shooter but a load o' buckshot fired from behind
“Shucks, there'll be no battle," Sudden interrupted. "He's white, I tell yu." But Gerry was not so confident, and it was with a glum face that he watched his partner set out in the morning. Jacob found him idly smoking in the doorway.
“Taking a holiday?" he asked.
“Jim has business in town," Gerry explained, and then, unable to keep silent. "He's gone to meet Hickok." The old man's face showed his concern. "That's bad," he said. "No man has ever beaten Wild Bill to the draw, and I doubt if even Sudden—"
“Yu know?" Gerry broke in.
“All Deadwood knows," was the reply. "I found it very hard to believe—he doesn't look like a desperado."
“He ain't," Gerry said eagerly, and told something of what he had learned the night before.
The elder man nodded his comprehension. "Fate plays fantastic tricks with some of us," he said. "Don't worry; despite his terrible toll of human life, Hickok is not a butcher. All will be well; they are both sane men.”


CHAPTER VIII


An unpretentious log-hut erected apart from the others and owned by a miner, served as a lodging for the famous gunman. Sudden found him seated at the door, polishing one of his pistols with a silk handkerchief. Hickok paid particular attention to his weapons, which was hardly to be wondered at, for his life might at any moment depend on their being in order. He looked up as the man on the black horse dismounted, threw the reins, and walked unhurriedly towards him.
“Mornin', seh," the visitor said. "I've had word yu wanted to see me." Hickok gathered the import of the greeting, noted the brown nervous fingers hanging loosely over the gun-butts, the effortless, panther-like motion of a body ready to become instinct with action at a second's notice. He gave his gun a final rub, looked at it critically, slipped it into the holster, and stood up.
“Mister Green, I have always held courage to be the greatest of human virtues," he began, "because, in this ill-contrived world of ours, it is shorely the most needed. I am pleased to meet yu." Then he added gravely, "I could have killed yu five times while yu were addressin' me." Sudden's eyes twinkled. "Once would 'a' been a-plenty," he replied. "I had to take the chance."
“The sun is fierce," Hickok observed. "It is cooler inside—an' more private." Seated on stools in the rudely furnished living-room of the hut, these two men who carried death in their hands faced one another.
“I was told that yu had come to Deadwood to kill me," Wild Bill said.
“Berg has been busy," Sudden suggested.
“Yes, it was Berg," the gunman admitted. "I'm guessin' he brought yu the same story about me?" He saw that his surmise was correct, and went on, "What's his game?"
“Obeyin' orders," the puncher stated. "He offered me a thousand dollars to get yu."
“One—thousand--dollars," Hickok repeated softly. "Not very flatterin' to either of us, Mister Green; I should have said the job was worth more. Yore refusal made him sore, I expect?" Sudden smiled. "It certainly did," he confessed. "Berg was all shook up." Hickok smiled too, and then his expression became thoughtful again. "That vermin is of no account—he's on'y bein' used," he said. "I must find out who is behind him."
“In the meantime, yu'll need eyes in the back o' yore head, seh," the puncher warned. "I was told that however it was done there would be no trouble—after."
“I'll be careful," the big man promised, hesitated for a moment and, with a smile, said, "I've heard surprising statements about yore speed in gettin' yore gun workin'. Now that's my best suit an' I've yet to meet the man who is faster. Call it vanity if you like but—I'm curious."
“Shucks, I expect yu can give me a start," the puncher replied. "I'm willin' to try."
“Good," Hickok said.
Standing face to face, a few paces apart, Hickok gave the word. With a speed which baffled sight, the guns flashed to the men's hips and the snap of the falling hammers sounded like one. With something like a sigh, Wild Bill thrust his weapon back into its holster.
“Lucky it was on'y play or we'd have crossed the Divide together," he said. "I've never seen a quicker draw. Mister Green, if the town knew of this ..." He paused in embarrassment, conscious that he, Wild Bill, was almost asking a favour. "Forget I said that," he finished.
“I don't advertise," Sudden replied. "Anyways, I was fortunate, four times outa five yu'd get the edge on me." Hickok shook his head. "If I can help yu, don't hesitate to ask," he said. "Yu'll find me here or at Bizet's—he's a good fella, that Frenchy; yu can trust him." He watched the black horse and its rider turn into the street.
“An' it wasn't that I'm gettin' old an' slow," he muttered, his mind still on the astonishing fact that he had found a man as fast as himself.
Some days later, Paul Lesurge and Reuben Stark foregathered in the latter's private room at the Monte.
“So Berg's plan failed, as I feared it would," Lesurge remarked. "Hickok is too old a hand to tumble into such a trap, and this fellow, Green appears to have intelligence; they will now both be against us—a dangerous pair to draw to."
“Bah! they don't know about us, an' anyway, Bill is past his best," Stark said. "The other fella can be—attended to. What's his interest in the game?"
“I've no idea, except that his partner, Mason, has the infernal impudence to admire my ward, Miss Ducane," Paul replied.
“I expect he ain't alone in that," Stark laughed, and as a rap sounded on the door, "Come in." It was Berg who entered, or rather, crept into the room, his evil, ferrety face more malignant than usual. He slid into a chair, and, at a nod from the host, helped himself from the bottle on the table.
“It's the man I thought," he began. "Calls hisself `Rogan' but he's 'Lefty' Logan, the Californy killer, shore enough.”
“Never heard of him," Stark said. "Is he fast?"
“He's here because he ain't knowed in these parts," Berg pointed out. "Yeah, he's fast a-plenty, but he fools 'em—uses the hand they ain't watchin', which is usually the left; that's how he come by his name."
“We don't care how he does it. Will he tackle the job?"
“He won't take on Hickok, though he's workin' for day wages."
“Afraid of him, like the rest o' you," Stark sneered.
For once the rat showed his teeth. "Like the rest of us," he snapped. "He's willin' to tangle up with Green for a thousand."
“A thousand bucks?" the saloon-keeper cried. "Tell him to go to hell."
“No, tell him to send Green there," Lesurge interposed, and turning to Stark, "If he succeeds it will be worth the coin; if he fails—" he shrugged his shoulders—"it will cost you nothing. I feel in my bones that the puncher is going to be—awkward." The other assented, but with an ill grace; he had an insatiable lust for wealth, and all it would bring, and it was upon this passion that Paul was playing.
“Very well," Stark told his go-between, "but you tell this friend o' yores"—there was an insulting emphasis on the three last words—"that we don't want no raw work. It's to be done at Bizet's, an' I ain't needin' to see him before or after, savvy? You'll pay him, keepin' a rake-off for yoreself, I s'pose. That's all." Without a word, Berg shuffled out. Lesurge refilled his own glass, his dark eyes rather contemptuously studying the bloated figure before him.
“The town seems all stirred up over the latest robbery," he remarked. "Something ought to be done."
“Yeah," Stark said irritably. "Have to hang someone, I s'pose."
“Having first caught your hare, of course," Paul reminded. "Someone, I said," Stark replied. "lt don't much matter—Gosh! That's an idea." Lesurge smiled superciliously. "You are not, by any chance, thinking of making Wild Bill the culprit, are you?"
“Why not?" the saloon-keeper demanded.
“My dear fellow, I have no more use than yourself for James Butler Hickok, but even his worst enemy would not believe him capable of putting a knife in a miner's throat to steal his dust. You would be laughed at, my friend, and ridicule kills. We shall find a better way." Stark grunted. He could not fathom this polished, satirical person, who, through his handsome sister, had so quickly gained an ascendancy over him, and who—though apparently deferring to him—always contrived to get his own way.
“Why did you come to Deadwood, Paul?" he asked.
“To mind my own business, Reuben," came the cool retort. "And, incidentally, to double your fortune."
“Up to now I done nothin' but pay out," the other grumbled.
“You can't expect to reap unless you sow," was all the comfort he received. "The harvest will be heavy. Listen. Sooner or later, the Government must recognize the settlement. If it finds Deadwood an organized, well-equipped city, under efficient leadership, it will leave the man who has brought it about in charge, may even give him a governor ship. You have to be that man. Get control of the place, hold all the strings, but to do that you must be firm, implacable, prepared to crush opposition of any kind." Stark's eyes glowed at the alluring prospect, for next to gold, he loved power, and was a bully by nature. But he was not entirely a fool.
“An' where do you come in, Paul?" he inquired.
“You'll need me," was the smiling answer. "And you'll have so much to give away—offices, town-sites, mining rights, plenty of pickings for the friends who have helped you, believe me."
“You shall have whatever you want, Paul, if we can put it over," Stark said—promises were cheap unless one kept them. "We'll make this a place to be proud of." The boast recurred to Lesurge as he made his way home. "And that damned fool swallowed it like his mother's milk," he told the darkness.
For he did not, as yet, at all believe In the flne picture he had painted for Reuben Stark's edification, and had no intention of helping him to make it a reality. Once he had obtained what he wanted, Deadwood might rot for all he cared. He had come there with the primary object of stealing Ducane's mine; the place had revealed other possibilities and he selected Stark. His agile, crooked mind quickly evolved the bait which would enable him to use, and at the same time, fleece the ambitious, grasping saloon-keeper. There would be obstacles, of course, but Stark would remove them at his own expense.
He found Lora waiting up for him.
“When are you going to find the mine and finish with that drunken lunatic and the girl?" she asked. "I'm weary of being cooped up in this damned shack, talking high-toned, and having no amusement." Paul looked at her beautiful, petulant face, and nodded.
“I know it must be slow for you, but it is only for a time," he said. "It isn't just a matter of a mine, which may turn out to be a madman's myth after all. Deadwood is full of mines and Reuben Stark is one of them—perhaps the richest from our point of view. This time it will be a clean-up, and it means a million, so be patient."
“Tell me the old, old story," she hummed, and laughed at the black look he gave her.
“Oh, all right, I'll be good," she promised. "But it's deadly dull playing nurse to that kid. I've seen your cowboy, Green. He's not as handsome as Hickok, but he has a face most women would like to see more than once, and he appears—capable."
“Don't fall in love with him—yet," Lesurge warned. "It might be a waste of time."
“No danger of that," she retorted. "When I make a fool of myself it will be for something more than youth and good looks; I'm tired of living on expectations.”


CHAPTER IX


For a week after the interview with Hickok the two friends had kept away from the town. Their little stream and its banks provided them with a moderate but steady addition to their store of gold, and despite Gerry's frequent suggestions that they should search for rlcher ground, Sudden declined to budge.
“'Let well alone' is one damn good motto," he said. "We ain't doin' so bad an' we're handy to home—an' Snowy." This closed the argument, for Gerry still cherished the hope that the old prospector would come or send for them if Miss Ducane were in danger. So they toiled at their task, hating the work but, being cowboys, doing it as well as they could. On this particular evening they felt that some relaxation was due. When they mentioned this to Jacoo, he remarked casually:
“There are some new faces in town. Ever heard of a man named Lefty Logan?" They had not, and said as much. "He's a gunman from California," the old man went on. "Has a trick of starting to go for his right-hand gun and then using the other."
“A fool play to watch hands," Sudden commented. "Fella's eyes are the pointers."
“He's acquainted with Berg," Jacob added. "I saw them a week ago in the Monte, but Logan has spent the last few evenings at the Paris. Possibly he didn't find what he wanted at Stark's."
“Mebbe he'll have better luck to-night," Sudden told him. "C'mon, cowboy, let's go an' hit the high spots."
“What about passin' up Bizet's this evenin'?" Gerry suggested when they reached that establishment. "Plenty other joints."
“Mebbe, but I'm curious to see this Lefty person," Sudden said, and pushed through the door.
At their entry the clamour almost died away; eyes followed them as they stepped to the bar; Logan had been talking. There was menace in the atmosphere and that instinctive intuition which comes to those who tread perilous paths warned the puncher of impending danger.
“My fren's, I am glad to see you," Bizet greeted, but his expression belied the words.
“Damned if yu look it," Sudden smiled. "I'd say a coupla rattlers would be more welcome." The Frenchman shrugged. "It is true—I lie," he admitted.
“What's bitin' yu?" Mason asked. "What we done?"
“Ah, it is not you, my fren's," the little man cried. "I keep de saloon. I must serve anyone. For three, four nights I have a customer I no like. He have de beeg mouth, he brag, he have keel ten men, he make de threat." The door swung back and Bizet spat out an oath. "Sacré, I hope he not come." He slipped away.
With a swaggering air which was in itself offensive, the newcomer sauntered to the bar, called for liquor, and turning, surveyed the company insolently. He was not yet forty, of medium build, and his shabby attire was that of the range. Two heavy guns hung low on his hips, the holsters tied. The pushed-back, battered Stetson revealed a pale, dissipated face, washed-out greenish eyes, and a sneering slit of a mouth.
Standing a few yards from the cowboys, he appeared to take no notice of them, but Sudden knew he was being watched and weighed, that this was the killer from California, and that presently ... Outwardly calm, he was filled with a cold rage against this man who had come to take his life for no reason save the sordid one of gain. He went on talking to Gerry.
“When he makes his play, duck out," he said. "No sense in takin' a pill that ain't meant for yu." The boy nodded miserably; his nerve would have been steadier had the peril been personal. He could not keep his eyes from that sinister figure lounging against the bar. Tense moments ticked by, and then, having apparently come to a decision, Logan straightened up and raised his glass.
“Here's to yaller," he barked. "Yaller liquor, yaller metal, yaller-haired gals, an' to hell with green." The words struck the room to silence; the mutter of voices, chink of coins, click of poker chips and flipping of cards ceased, and the only sound was the scrape of a foot as someone behind the speaker hurriedly changed his position. Breathlessly the onlookers waited for the cowboy's answer to the challenge; it proved a surprise.
“My name is Green," Sudden said quietly. "Yu wouldn't know that, o' course." He was offering a way out and a few of those present smiled contemptuously. But some, studying the set jaw and ice-cold eyes, divined the truth; this man would not slay until he was sure there was no other way. Logan, certain that his opponent was weakening, had no intention of withdrawing; he had a job to do and his evil face lit up as he rasped:
“Shore I knew it, an' I'm sayin' again, to hell with green." His right hand, fingers outspread like talons, dropped down, but at the same time, the left hand flashed the gun on the other side from the holster only to let it clatter on the board floor as, with wide eyes and sagging knees, he pitched forward to sprawl beside it. Through the cloud of acrid smoke Sudden stared at the body for a moment and then replaced his pistol.
The excitement was soon over. Fatal affrays were frequent enough and Deadwood did not allow them to interfere withthe more important business or getting, and getting rid or, gold. The corpse was carried away, the company resumed its various amusements, and the incident became no more than a topic for conversation.
The cowboys left almost at once but it was not until they were nearing their dwelling that either spoke. Then Gerry said:
“Yu ain't much older'n me, Jim; how in hell did yu get to handle a six-gun like that?"
“Shootin' was allus easy to me," Sudden replied, and after a silence, "If he hadn't gambled on that trick ... " He paused again. "I gave him a chance."
“Which was more than he deserved," the boy said. "He got what he asked for." Jacob met them at the door and his face orightened when he saw two figures step out of the gloom.
“I am glad to see you both," he said, and there was the slightest stress of the last word. His mild gaze rested on them. "The danger is past?"
“This particular one won't rise again till Gabriel toots his horn," Sudden replied grimly, and went to their room. The old man looked inquiringly at Mason.
“Logan baited him and pulled his gun; Jim got him before he could fire. I never see anythin' like it. Jim was as unconcerned as the corpse at a buryin'. One shot, plumb through the heart." There was awe in his tone. "No wonder they call him `Sudden'."
“Jim is takin' it pretty hard, dunno why, a skunk like that.”
“Save to the utterly depraved, the letting of a human life, however necessary, is not a subject for pride," came the mild reproof. "You boys will need to be on the alert; the people who set this slayer on will try again."
“Yu know who they are?" Gerry asked.
“Not yet, but I shall," was the reply.
And with that Mason had to be content.
* * * It was on the following morning that something for which Gerry had long been hoping, happened—he met Mary Ducane. One swift glance and she looked away. Hat in hand, he stepped directly in her path.
“Yu don't seem pleased to see me, Miss Ducane," he said, and there was determination in his tone.
“It is your own fault if I am not," she replied coldly, for she was conscious that the sight of him stirred her and that she had missed this pleasant-faced boy who had done so much to make the long passage across the plains endurable.
“Mebbe yu'll tell me what crime I've committed?”
“I don't like your friends, Mister Mason."
“I ain't exactly in love with yores, but I'm not holdin' that against yu," he retorted.
“My friends are not cold-blooded killers," she said hotly.
“Is that so? Well, the man yo're miscallin' saved me from bein' shot in the back by one of 'em—fella named Fagan," Gerry said grimly. "Mebbe yu didn't know that?"
“He is not a friend, as you should be aware," she cried. "I heard you had beaten him up. I detest brawlers and—drunkards." Her attitude of contempt roused a devil of despair in him. For weeks he had hungered for the sight of her, and now .. .
“Pore of Snowy," he said, and if he meant to anger her he certainly succeeded.
“I refuse to discuss my uncle with you," she said, and her eyes were stormy.
Mason was reckless. " Saint' Paul hisself don't hate the sight of a bottle, unless mebbe an empty one."
“You are insulting," she retorted scathingly. "Either you have been drinking or your association with men who slay for money has debased you. I wish never to speak to you again."
“Yu think it's so but it ain't," Gerry told her hardily. "One day yo're goin' to like me a whole lot. As for the fella yu've been abusin', he's the straightest man I ever met."
“With a gun?" she asked scornfully.
“In every way," he replied. "He's my partner an' I wouldn't give him up even for yu, an' yo're goin' to be my wife.”
“Never," she flamed.
“' For ever' rhymes with that an' shore sounds nicer," he smiled. "I ain't sayin' good-bye—Mary; I'll be seein' yu." Utterly bereft of speech the astounded girl watched him go, and then, with a curious little sound, half laugh, half sob, she turned away. Gerry Mason strode along, oblivious of the busy scene around him. A slightly tanned oval face, from which deep blue eyes regarded him witheringly, was all he saw, and he was filled with wonder at his own temerity.
“I must 'a' been loco," he muttered, but there was no regret. "My, but she looked awful pretty when she r'ared up. I reckon she'll never forgive me—till I make her." His unrepentant grin would have made Miss Ducane "awful pretty" a second time had she seen it.
* * *
“So Berg fell down again?" Lesurge said. "He appears to be somewhat of a bungler."
“Yes, damn it," Stark growled. "I'm through with him." They were alone in the saloon-keeper's sanctum and it was the night after the passing of Lefty Logan. Paul shook his head.
“You can't afford to be," he said. "If he goes over to Bizet and talks ..."
“That rat? He's no proof—" Stark began.
“Rats can bite and you don't need to stir up trouble in a community like this," the other broke in. "All he's done is to make that cursed cowboy a popular figure."
“What you got against him, Paul?"
“Nothing—much, but as I told you, I've a feeling he's going to make things difficult for—us."
“Can't he be bought?"
“He turned down Berg's offer," came the reminder. "I don't think all your money would tempt him, but there may be another way."
“What's that?"
“I'll explain later; leave it to me," Lesurge evaded.
On his way home he turned over the idea which had come to him during the conversation. It would require the aid of Lora, but he could rely on that. He was fortunate to find her alone in the sitting-room.
“You were complaining of being dull and having nothing to do," he began. "Well, I've found a way in which you can amuse yourself and help at the same time." He explained his plan, and as she listened her eyes filled with mischievous mirth.
“What is the great idea? You are not going to slay him at my feet, are you?" she bantered.
“Don't be silly, Lora—there is no question of hurting the fellow," Paul said sharply. "We want him on our side and if you can get him interested in yourself ... "
“I see," she said. "But suppose I'm the one to get—interested?"
“You're not a fool."
“No, but I'm a woman. Well, as you say, it will be amusing. Have you any suggestions?"
“I've thought it out," he replied, and went on to explain.
“Brilliant, Paul," she laughed. "Had you used your undoubted ability in some honest channel—isn't that how the judge generally phrases it?" She saw the gathering frown. "Oh, well, if you're ashamed of being crooked there's still hope for you."
“That tongue of yours will one day make me consider taking a whip to you," he grated.
“Consider it well, Paul," she counselled. "The man who did that to me wouldn't live long enough to be sorry." She left him pacing up and down the room, his usually immobile features contorted with fury. He got control of himself, however, and by the time Snowy—for whom he was waiting—arrived, he was his own calm, urbane self. The prospector was in a gay mood.
“'Lo, Paul, this of town is shorely whoopin' along, ain't she?" he greeted.
“Yes, but it is no place for idle folk to live in."
“Meanin'?"
“That it is time you got busy and found that mine. Has Mary refreshed that shocking memory of yours?" Snowy looked embarrassed. "Damned if I warn't near forgettin' why we come here," he confessed. "She told me enough —I'll reckernize the place when I see it. Want me to start in the mornin'?"
“Hell, no. How far is it?"
“Mebbe twenty mile an' rough travellin'."
“You'll need company, at least one man who's good with his gun. Got any ideas." Snowy was without the confidence of Lesurge and Stark; he had not been informed of Berg's activities. "What about that cowboy fella, Green?" he asked. "You won't find a better gun-swinger barrin' Wild Bill, an' some has their doubts about that." To his surprise the suggestion met with approval. "The very man I had in mind, Phil," Lesurge smiled. "I'll arrange it. Once the mine is located, we can take out a strong party to work it. And, by the way, Reuben Stark is our friend, so I want you to boost him whenever you can. Sabe?" He went without waiting for a reply, and the old man grimaced at his back. "Shore I sabe, Paul, an' I'll boost him—into hell," he muttered. The malevolent expression cleared from his face. "Glad about Green; if he'd sent Fagan I'm afeared there'd have been an accident—to Fagan." * * * The cowboys were at work on their claim when Sudden heard the slither of shod hoofs on gravel and slipped into the undergrowth to find out who was intruding. He arrived just in time to see the visitor, a woman, descend from her saddle and slap the pony smartly on the rump. As the animal clattered away, she dropped to the ground and uttered a cry of "Help!" Somewhat mystified by these proceedings, Sudden waited a few moments and then hurried from his hiding-place. The face which looked appealingly up to his was beautiful, and to his surprise, was that of Lora Lesurge.
“Oh, I'm so glad someone heard me," she cried. "My pony slipped and threw me. I ride quite well, but I suppose I wasn't noticing. I've damaged an ankle."
“Can yu stand up?" the puncher asked.
From beneath the short, divided riding-skirt, she thrust out a slim, silk-clad leg and wriggled the dainty foot.
“Ouch!" she gasped. Then the red lips parted, showing the perfect white teeth as she tried to smile. "It hurts like—the devil. I hope nothing is broken." It was an invitation, but Sudden did not accept. "I guess yu couldn't 'a' moved it," he said. "I'll go chase yore broncs' "And leave me alone?" she queried in dismay.
“I'll call my partner to keep cases on yu," he smiled.
A tiny frown indicated that the suggestion did not please her. "The animal is half-way to Deadwood by now, and while you are catching it, I am in pain," she pouted.
Sudden looked contrite. "Which I'm shorely a bonehead not to remember that," he said. "Yu can have my hoss."
“That great black?" she cried. "I never could stay on him with a crippled foot."
“He'll be all right with me along," Sudden assured her.
The smile of thanks he received was sweet, but there was a tinge of contempt in it; how easily a pretty woman could lead a man! But her strategy was not so successful as she had assumed. When the puncher returned he was leading two horses, his own, and the piebald mustang which Gerry called "Joseph" because its coat was of many colours. Sudden solved the problem of mounting by lifting her without effort into the saddle. For a brief instant one soft arm encircled his neck, her face temptingly close to his, and then she was looking down at him from the back of the big horse.
“You must be frightfully strong," she said, a little breathlessly.
“Shucks," he smiled. "I s'pose ropin' long-horns mebbe toughens a fella's muscles some." He spoke one sharp word to Nigger. whose ears had gone back at the strange burden.
“It looks a long way to fall," she said, her eyes on the smaller animal.
Sudden swung into the piebald's saddle and for a while they paced slowly along in silence, the woman covertly studying a companion about whom she was getting new ideas. Somehow the task Paul had set her did not seem quite so "amusing." He had not told her why he wanted this man, but she divined it was for no good. Also, it was not going to be so easy as she had anticipated; this product of the plains appeared to possess a severely practical mind; so far, she had not received even one glance of approbation.
Sudden was similiarly occupied. It seemed incredible that such a woman could have slain a man because he insulted her, and yet it was true—or all the town lied. He felt the allure of her despite the fact that he knew she was playing a part. Why had she come to seek him, and why the pretended injury?—for he was fully aware that both her shapely ankles were well able fo support her equally shapely body. Why did she desire his company to the settlement? What had her brother to do with it? His fruitless search for answers to these questions was interrupted by the lady;
“So you got tired of punching cows?"
“I allus was a restless fella—never could stay put nohow," he replied.
She made one or two tentative efforts to probe into his past, but the puncher was on his guard and she learned nothing. As they rode through the town more than one pair of envious eyes followed them; Lora Lesurge had plenty of admirers. Paul, from the shelter of the Monte, saw them pass.
“Good, she's hooked him," he muttered.
When they reached the house, Sudden lifted her down and carried her in. He declined to stay, though she urged that her brother would wish to thank him.
“It don't need speakin' of," he told her. Mary Ducane had come in and was regarding him with something very like repulsion. "Gerry is up in the gulch there all alone."
“You are anxious about your friend?" Lora asked.
The cowboy detected the sneer. "I don't have many, so I gotta take care of 'em," he smiled. "Gerry's a pretty ornery cuss, but I'd hate to find some wandering war-whoop had took a fancy to his curly locks." He noted the younger girl's instant look of alarm and smothered a grin as he took his leave.
“It doesn't seem to trouble him," Mary remarked, and seeing she was not understood, "I mean, killing that man." This, though the girl did not know it, was a home-thrust for her companion.
“Why should it?" Lora retorted. "The fellow purposely picked a quarrel as an excuse for shooting him. Did you expect Green to let him do it?"
“I suppose not, but it is—terrible," was the lame reply. Lora shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing of the kind," she said callously. "This is a lawless land and bloodthirsty brutes like Logan—he had already murdered ten men—must be dealt with. All this claptrap about the sacredness of human life makes me tired; when men behave like mad dogs they must be treated as such." Mary, Western-bred, knew that, to a large extent, she was right, but it was somewhat of a shock to hear a young and lovely woman express such a drastic doctrine.
* * * * When Sudden returned to the claim he found a very impatient partner awaiting him.
“Yu took yore time," was the greeting he received.
“Did yu expect a lady with a sprained ankle to gallop?" was the sarcastic retort.
“S'pose not. How d'yu get her on the hoss, Jim?"
“Made him lie down," Sudden grinned. "To tell yu the truth "
“Don't strain yoreself," the other begged.
“I don't savvy the game," Sudden continued. "She stampeded her pony and her ankle ain't damaged none whatever."
“She's fell in love with yu, Jim, an' I'll bet brother Paul don't know neither."
“Talk sense—the whole town saw us ride in."
“That's so. Shore looks as if he's in on it. Was Miss Ducane pleased to see yu?"
“I've had warmer welcomes," was the sardonic admission. Gerry laughed delightedly. "She's one fine girl," he exulted. "I'm goin' to marry her." Sudden stared at him in undisguised amazement. "Well, I'll be damned," he said, and heedless of the other's cordial agreement, continued, "Have yu informed the lady or is it to be a surprise?"
“I done told her—right away."
“An' yu still live?" Gerry grinned widely. "I lit out before the storm broke," he confessed.
“No wonder she treated me like I was an infectious disease," was Sudden's comment.


CHAPTER X


It was the second evening after Lora's adventure that Sudden encountered her brother. He and Gerry were in the Paris when Paul came up to them.
“Green, I want to thank you for coming to my sister's aid," he said. "It might have proved serious."
“Nothin' to that," the puncher replied. "But she didn't oughta been there."
“So I told her, but Lora is of a daring disposition," Paul answered. "It takes a lot to scare her."
“I hope her foot is mendin'," Sudden said politely.
“Better call and ask—women expect that sort of attention, you know," Lesurge smiled.
Sudden looked at his companion, of whom no notice had been taken. "That's a bet we overlooked, Gerry. We'll pay that visit to-morrow." Paul's face darkened—he was getting more than he bargained for, but his tone showed no trace of annoyance:
“Lora will be pleased to see you, Green, and remember, if I can do anything ... We Waysiders ought to hang together." The cowboy's eyes twinkled. "Well, Mister Lesurge," he drawled, "if it comes to hangin' I dunno that company'd be any comfort to me." Lesurge studied him sharply for a moment, then decided it was a joke, and laughed as he went.
They paid the promised visit in the morning but Gerry's courage failed him at the last moment and he elected to wait outside, in the hope—as he was careful to explain—that Mary would come out and he would have her to himself; the excuse elicited a sardonic "Oh, yeah" from his companion. He was doomed to be disappointed, for he saw no sign of the lady.
Lora, reclining gracefully on a couch, received the visitor with a smile of reproof. Her foot was better, she told him; in fact, had he delayed his inquiry a little, it would have been quite well.
“Just a trifling strain, after all," she said. "I'm afraid I made too much of it. I hope you found your friend still in possession of his hair?" Sudden assured her on that point and sat fidgeting with his hat, wishing himself anywhere else. The fine furniture, rugs, pictures, and the deft touches which betrayed the hand of a woman, only made him uncomfortable; he was supremely conscious of his rough attire.
“There are cigarettes on the table and I will join you," she said. "One of my many vices." He held a light for her and helped himself to one of the "tailor-made" smokes. He had met other women who used tobacco but they had been very different from this dazzling but essentially feminine creature. He fought against the spell she was weaving, reminded himself that she had deceived him, but he was young and youth will forgive much to a pretty woman. And she was more than that, for she had the dark, exotic beauty which goes to men's heads like strong wine. In her dainty draperies, curled up among the cushions, and with her soft, purring voice, there was something feline about her.
“I am sick to death of this dreadful town, but my brother has big interests, so I must stay," she told him. "He thinks the possibilities are unlimited." Sudden hid his smile; they certainly Were for an unscrupulous person. "I'd say he's right, ma'am," he replied.
“Of course, he'll have to get good men to help him," she went on. "Paul is wonderful, but ... " She gestured with a slim, white hand.
The cowboy began to see light. Having failed to remove him, was he now to be used? That was a game two could play at. He put on a particularly wooden expression.
“One fella can't do it all," he agreed.
“My brother is generous to those who serve him," she murmured softly. "I too like to more than pay a debt." The warmth in tone and look promised much, but the visitor, convinced that he had solved the problem, was himself again, cold, insensible to the glamour of her beauty. But since he must not let her see this, stupidity was the safest card to play.
“Good work shorely deserves good pay," he observed fatuously.
To his surprise, she dropped the subject and after one or two commonplaces, held out her hand.
“We must meet again," she said. "You interest me." When he had gone, she rose and crossed to a mirror. "What is the matter with me?" she murmured. "Is he really dumb, or ... ?" Apparently satisfied with the reflection in the glass she curtseyed to it mockingly. "We shall see, Mister Sudden; you may be a wonder with a six-shooter but Cupid can beat you with his bow and arrow—damn you." Had the cowboy seen her at that moment, the God of Love's shaft would have sadly missed its aim. All her beauty could not make a woman with such an expression desirable.
But Sudden was riding up the street, repeating for the third time that he had not seen Miss Ducane. He gave his explanation of Lora's interest and Gerry's eyes grew round.
“They wanta rope yu into their plans?" he said. "But why?”
“Mebbe they need a fast gun-slinger," Sudden said bitterly. "I'm knowed too, an' if anythin' goes wrong with those same plans, I'll be left holdin' the bag."
“What yu mean to do, Jim?"
“I'm takin' a hand," came the grim reply.
“We are," the other corrected.
Sudden expressed a doubt. "Lesurge don't like you. Yo're young, yu got a face a girl might get used to—in time, an' he has his own ideas, I figure, about Miss Ducane's future." Gerry's comment, a poor tribute to his upbringing, set out clearly and vividly, his ideas regarding the future of Paul Lesu rge.
“Cussin' never cured anythin'," Sudden said philosophically. "We gotta wait for the next move in the game." They were not kept long in suspense; it had already been made. As they crossed the little stream which descended from their claim, Sudden noticed that the water was muddy.
“Somebody's workin' near us," he remarked.
Breasting the slope, they soon reached the spot. Three men were busily washing sand from the bed of the rivulet. They ceased as the riders emerged from the trees, their hands going to their guns, only to fall away again when Sudden slid from- his saddle and stepped towards them. Blue-shirted miners, neither young nor old, of the type which could be seen by the hundred in the vicinity at any hour of the day or night, with rugged, hard, but not unpleasant faces.
“What's the bright notion, jumpin' our claim thisaway?" the puncher asked.
The oldest of the three, who sported a grey beard, replied:
“We didn't know it was your'n." His tone was almost apologetic, and Sudden knew that, for once, his evil reputation was helping him. "You ain't staked no claim, nor recorded her, an' she's anybody's ground." The cowboys grinned wryly at one another; this was a detail they had overlooked.
“We figured on attendin' to that later, if it was worth while," Sudden explained. "What made yu pick on this place?"
“Fella told us 'bout it—said a couple o' chaps was doin' well but hadn't recorded," the man replied. "You see, we bin havin' a middlin' poor time, couldn't make a strike nohow, an' with grub the price it is ..." He shrugged expressively.
“Was the fellow named Berg?"
“Why I b'lieve I did hear him called that—a tricky-lookin' triflin' bit of a man."
“Yu said it," the puncher agreed. "Well, boys, yu win. Me an' Gerry has slipped up an' must take our medicine. Good luck to yu." He turned towards his horse.
The two miners who had been silent looked at the spokesman and shook their heads.
“Hold on thar, we ain't agreein' to that," Grey-beard said. "Yo're treatin' us fair, mister, an' we aim to do the same. We've staked three claims an' you can choose two of 'em—I'm tellin' you the ones the stream runs through is the likeliest. We'll mark out another couple an' work alongside, if yo're willin'."
“That's a white man's offer, but I got a better idea," Sudden replied. "We'll work the five claims an' split the proceeds equally. What yu say?" Since the cowboy's ground would probably be the richest, this proposal was to the advantage of the intruders; they did not hesitate.
“That's a bet," their leader said, "but I reckon you two should take a bigger share." The puncher would not have it. "We're kind o' new to this game," he pointed out. "We'll gain by throwin' in with yu, Mister .. ?" 'I'm Jessie Rogers, this is Ben Humit. an' that ornery fella is Tom Bowman; we ain't much to look at but you'll find we're on the level," Grey-beard said. "We was in the Paris when you gave Logan what he shorely asked for." He looked round. "This end o' the gulch ain't bin prospected much—chaps are scared o' gettin' far from town—but they'll come, an' it'll be all to the good if there's a party of us. What you goin' to do to Berg?"
“Box his ears," was the smiling answer. "He's on'y bein' used, Rogers, by bigger men."
“Well, any time you want help, there's three of us," the other replied slowly.
“I'm rememberin' that," Sudden said warmly.
By virtue of both age and experience, Rogers took charge of the operations. His partners were deputed to stake the a ditional claims while the other three used shovel and pan. Sudden pointed out the natural rock riffle and Rogers laughed.
“We tried that first," he said. "No wonder she warn't so rich as we expected. Hey, that ain't no way to wash dirt—you'll lose half the dust. Lemme show you." The puncher watched his skilful handling of the pan with a rueful countenance, seeing which, Rogers smiled. "Don't you care, son," he consoled. "Each to his job, they say. I'm bettin' you could throw an' tie twenty cows afore I got the rope on one." Sudden laughed and went to help Gerry with the digging.
“Berg has done us a good turn unmeanin'," he remarked. "I'm wonderin' if it was just spite, or was he obeyin' orders?" When just before dark, they reached home, another surprise awaited them. From a sawn-off tree-stump which served as a seat outside the door, Snowy rose.
“'Lo boys," he cried. "There's nobody to home so I just hung aroun'." They took him inside and produced a bottle and glasses, but he shook his head.
“Ain't drinkin' right now," he excused. "Wanted to see you particular, Jim." His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "I'm agoin' to re-locate the mine. It ain't fur, mebbe I won't be gone more'n a day or so, 'less I've disremembered the landmarks, but it's wild country. Paul reckons I oughta have comp'ny—a fella who's handy with weapons."
“So he sent yu to me?"
“Well, he mentioned yore name an' I was pleased to hear it. I'd like for yu to come, Jim. It's been in my mind a long whiles —that's why I asked you boys to stay put. O' course, you'll be in on it," he added hastily. "How's things?"
“Our claim was jumped this mornin'," Sudden told him, "but we ain't within sight o' sellin' our saddles yet." Thus assured that their financial condition was not desperate, Snowy asked about the claim-jumping; it was evident he knew nothing of it.
“Mean trick," he commented, "but, o' course, if you hadn't made yore title good ... Hell, what's it matter? I'm offerin' you a bigger chance. What do you say?"
“I'm with yu," the puncher said, after a moment's consideration.
The old man was clearly pleased. "I'll be along 'bout daybreak, have to slide out quiet-like, I'm bein' watched," he saidimportantly. "Mind, not a word to anybody. Well, I'll get agoin'."
“Won't yu wait till Jacob shows up?" Sudden asked. "He'd admire to meet yu; he's a Forty-niner too." Snowy's eyes showed a flicker of alarm. "Got no time now —lot to do," he muttered, and scurried out with a bare word of farewell.
“Odd number that—he seemed kinda scared," Gerry remarked. "Mebbe he never was in California."
“An' mebbe he was," Sudden said sardonically.
“Don't like yu goin' alone, Jim; it would be easy to wipe out the pair o' yu."
“Snowy is safe till Lesurge knows where the mine is.”
“Shore, but why send you?"
“That's what I'm hopin' to find out."
“It's a risk, Jim."
“Shucks, the fella who allus plays it safe gets no fun outa life," Sudden said lightly. "Yu'll have to explain to Rogers, an' if yu do three times as much work it'll even my bein' away."
“Half my usual day extra'll be enough for that," Gerry retaliated. "If I do more, they'll be damn sorry to see yu back. Don't worry, fella; we won't miss yu, 'cept at meal-times."


CHAPTER XI


A faint, cold light above the Eastern horizon was announcing the advent of another day when the expedition set out. Snowy was draped over the saddle of an aged, stone-coloured mare to whom the loss of one ear gave a dilapidated but rather rakish appearance. Sudden eyed the beast with saturnine disfavour.
“She looks a proper Jezebel," the puncher grinned.
Snowy had climbed down in order to display his acquisition to better advantage.
“Funny, that's the very name the fella gave her," he said. "I'm goin' to make it 'Jessie,' for short; he told me she had a nice disposition. Barrin' that chawed-off ear " He did not finish; a lashing left hoof, which would inevitably have removed Snowy's head had he been a foot higher, gave him something else to think about. "Just playful, that's what," he added, from a safe distance.
“Yeah, but if that lick had landed yu'd 'a' been pretty near back in Wayside by now," the cowboy said dryly. He cut a stout stick from a neighboring bush. "Thisyer is a magic wand; as long as yu carry it, she won't feel frolicsome." He proved a true prophet; after one guileful look at the weapon, Jezebel quietly submitted to being mounted.
The prospector led the way westward along the gulch.
Snowy appeared to know his way and rode stolidly on, thumping the ribs of his mount with unspurred heels. Presently they emerged, as from a tunnel, into daylight, and began to climb a rock-strewn slope which slanted upwards to the bare mountains ahead.
Somehow the miner seemed to have lost much of his madness; the vacant, stupid expression so frequently on his face was absent.
Midday brought the end of the arduous ascent and they found themselves among the black crags, great, grim needles of stone without vegetation of any kind to clothe their precipitous sides. The heat was almost intolerable. Lizards sunning themselves on the boulders and a big rattlesnake were the only signs of life save a solitary eagle, sailing serenely in the sky.
“Yo're the lucky guy," Sudden mused aloud. "Wings is what a fella needs in these parts."
“He, he," Snowy cackled. "Fancy a cowboy wantin' wings; wish for the moon, boy—you got as good a chance."
“Dessay yo're right," Sudden laughed. "Well, they must be awkward things to get a coat over, anyway." The descent from the top of the ridge was shorter but more steep, and frequent precipices into which a slip would hurl the traveller made it dangerous in the extreme. Most of it had to be negotiated afoot, and both men breathed a sigh of relief when they reached level ground. This was a small desert of sand and sagebrush, and having crossed that, they encountered a second range of hills, more imposing and wilder than the first. Sudden surveyed them with an expression of whim sical despair.
“If yu'd told me I'd 'a' rode a goat," he said.
“We ain't gotta climb this one," Snowy replied. "We mosey along a piece through the foothills; it ain't fur now." Despite the air of confidence he affected, Sudden got the impression that his guide was not too sure; several times during the day he had lagged behind, and the puncher had seen him furtively studying a piece of paper, peering about as though in search of landmarks.
Dusk was approaching when Snowy pulled up. "Pretty close now," he said, "but I reckon we'd better camp an' wait for daylight. Oughta be a sort o' cave where we can build a fire what won't be seen." He pushed on through the brush and then grinned at his companion as a shallow hole in the hill-side came in view.
“Thar she is, shore as cats has kittens," he cried triumphantly. "Don't seem as no varmints has took up residence neither." Sudden dismounted. "Some `varmint' has built a fire," he pointed out.
Snowy laughed slyly. "He's talkin' to you. Leavin' them ashes has lost me a lot o' sleep—oughta buried 'em." The cowboy asked no questions—he believed in "letting the other man talk." They made a small fire—for it would be cold later on—and ate some of the food they had brought. Then the prospector packed and lit a battered pipe, leant back with a sigh of content, and watched the other's deft fingers roll a cigarette.
“I ain't been treatin' yu right," the puncher said presently. "I oughta be callin' yu `Ducane'. "
“Forget it," was the reply. "I've been `Snowy' so long that half the time I don't reckernize my own name. So yo're athrowin' in with Lesurge, eh, Jim?"
“Looks thataway, don't it?"
“Yeah, but things ain't allus what they look like, an' if I warn't scared you'd blow me to hellangone I'd call you a liar."
“Now's yore time," Sudden smiled. "1 ain't liable to ruo yu out till yu've showed me the mine."
“Who said I was goin' to?"
“Partner, yu can't lose me—I'm aimin' to be yore shadow."
“I can take you right over the mine an' you wouldn't know it, an' point out some place where it ain't," Snowy retorted.
The cowboy laughed again. "Yo're a cunnin' of fox," he admitted. "But if yu think I ain't in with Lesurge, why fetch me here?"
“Paul's suggestion, dunno the reason; must be somethin' behind it, for he don't like you."
“That's mighty sad hearin'," Sudden answered gravely, but his eyes were mirthful. "I've had a dim suspicion of it my own self; I'll have to earn his better opinion."
“Shore," Snowy said, and the one word spoke volumes. "What I'm wonderin' is why yu hate Lesurge?" Sudden said quietly.
If the puncher had pulled a gun on him the prospector could not have been more amazed.
“Who told—?" he began and stopped. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he shrugged and said, "I dunno how you got wise, Jim—I thought I'd diddled 'em all, includin' Paul. Damn him, he's playin' me for a sucker an' thinks he can rob me—Mary. Ts young Mason white?"
“He's my friend, Snowy."
“That's good enough for me. We'll beat that devil, clever as he is, just the three of us. I'm agoin' to turn in, boy; gotta be astir early." For a while after the old man had rolled himself in his blanket, the cowboy sat smoking and staring into the fire, thinking over what had happened. His chance shot had hit the mark, plumb centre, and yet he could not say why he had made it. Snowy's attitude was easily explained: he suspected Lesurge meant to steal his mine, a deadly offence in the eyes of one to whom gold was a god. Sudden, of the same opinion, was glad to discover that the prospector was not the simple dupe he had appeared to be.
When they set out in the morning, the mare was disposed to be fractious, but the magic wand brought obedience. Snowy had found occasion to make vigorous use of it the previous day and, tough as the animal's hide was, her ribs were still sore.
“Learnin' sense, huh?" her master said, as he hauled himself into the saddle and pulled her remaining ear. The ugly hammer-head came round, upper lip curled, showing the big yellow teeth. "Like to chaw my leg, eh, you she-devil? Take that, an' git agoin'." They pushed on, thrusting through the thick shrubby undergrowth of the foothills, twisting and turning to avoid chunks of rock and large trees, and gradually mounting. Presently they were face to face with a wall of bare cliff, which, rising sheer from among the foliage, appeared an insuperable barrier. The mare stopped and turned a jeering eye upon her master; she evidently concluded he had lost his way. Snowy whanged her on the rump.
“G'wan, you hell-cat," he barked.
“Yu expectin' her to grow wings?" Sudden inquired.
Snowy grinned gleefully. "Got you guessin', has it?" he said. "Well, watch." He urged his horse forward, rode straight into a bush at the base of the cliff, and vanished. The cowboy followed, and the mystery was one no longer; behind the bush was an overlapping buttress of rock which concealed a narrow opening, The place to which it led was anything but lovely. A small cuplike depression hollowed out of the mountain-side, enclosed by almost vertical walls of stone, bare, save for ragged patches of moss, grass and cactus on the infrequent ledges. At the end opposite the entrance, a steep slope joined the wall of the hollow and the flattish top of a small mountain, and there was perched an enormous, cone-shaped boulder, leaning forward and seeming to overshadow the cup below. Snowy followed his companion's gaze.
“That's the Rocking Stone, that is—I named the mine after t her," he explained. "One o' Dame Nature's little jokes; a big wind'll make her bend over, but she rights herself—all the weight at the foot, I reckon, an' balanced just so. Gave me the creeps at first, but there ain't no danger." The sly look was in his eyes again. "Purty place, eh?"
“I've been in worse," was the answer.
“You ain't noticed the best of it," the old man said.
He pointed to a little waterfall, toppling over a ledge twenty feet up, to drop, glinting in the sunlight like a stream of jewels, into a shallow pool, thence along a narrow, stone-rimmed gully to vanish under the rock wall.
“Every convenience, you see, he said, and then, "Wonderin' where the gold is, son? Well, yo're standln' on it. Here's how I figure it out. Time was when this cup was a pool an' mebbe it's thousands o' years before the water bores an outlet big enough to empty her. All that while the stream's a-tricklin' in carryin' gold-dust, which, bein' heavy, remains when the water goes out. Under this rotted granite, is a layer o' sand an' gravel —the old bed o' the pool—an' it's the richest pay-dirt I ever saw." The puncher cast a speculative look at the mountain towering above them. "An' the gold comes from up there?" he questioned.
“Shorely," Snowy told him, and reading the other's thought, "The stream comes out's a crack in the rock 'bout a hundred yards up; Gawd on'y knows where she starts, but somewhere she runs through a deposit o' gold." He shook his head. "You'd have to take the blame' mountain to pieces to find it. Wanted for you to see this place, Jim. If anythin' happens to me, Mary'll need a friend."
“She can depend on two," the puncher said quietly. "Good," Snowy rejoined. "We'll git back now; I'll show you the other mine on the way home." Sudden's eyebrows rose.
“You didn't reckon I'd be dump enough to tell Paul about this one, did you?"
“I was kind o' wonderin'; it would be a risk."
“Risk?" Snowy repeated scornfully. "I'm believin' you. If that soulless devil knowed o' this, me an' Mary wouldn't last a week. To him, there's on'y one person in the world that matters—Paul Lesurge." Little as he liked the man, Sudden regarded this as an exaggeration; on the subject of his gold-mine the old fellow was undoubtedly a little mad, and liable to suspect everyone of designs on it. Yet he was trusting the puncher, of whom he knew little. Sudden smiled and sarcastically told himself that was the reason.
On the back trail, Snowy was more talkative—apparently the knowledge that his secret was safe had lifted a load from his mind. He chirped and chattered, mainly on his favourite topic—California.
Sudden noticed they were not returning by the way they had come. Snowy smiled when he mentioned it.
“This is a short cut—less'n half the distance," he confessed. "We could 'a' done it in a day, but we might 'a' been trailed." They had covered only a few miles when the prospector halted in a sandy, shallow ravine through which a small stream moved sluggishly. The ruins of a log shack and the disturbance of the ground in a number of places proclaimed human habitation at some time. The cowboy understood.
“This is the other one?" he guessed. "Is there gold here?”
“Enough to keep a fella hopin'," was the reply. "You see, this creek comes from the Rocking Stone, an' when the snow melts on the peaks she's strong enough to carry the dust even this far."
“But if somebody works up-stream . ?"
“She tunnels a bit away from the cliff-wall," Snowy said confidently. "I on'y struck her by accident—you gotta find the way in." As the old man had promised, the journey back was shorter and a little less difficult, and, by late afternoon, they reached Deadwood. They were approaching the long street between the timber-stripped sides of the gulch when a crowd of shouting, gesticulating men came marching towards them. In front strode a burly, coarse-faced miner carrying a coiled rope, and immediately behind him, firmly gripped by two others and minus his gun, stepped Gerry. The boy's face was pale, and no sound came from his close-clamped lips. At the sight of him, Sudden pulled his horse across the path of the mob anddropped the reins over the saddle-horn, leaving both hands free.
“What's goin' on?" he demanded.
“Suthin' you can't stop," the man with the rope retorted, though he looked a trifle uneasy. "We're aimin' to string this fella up soon's we find a tall enough tree."
“An' that goes," yelled a score of the others.
Sudden surveyed the half-circle of hard-featured, savage faces; dangerous men these, all armed, and liable to be reckless of consequences when inflamed by passion. Resting his hands on the pommel of his saddle, he said quietly:
“What's he done?"
“Murdered a man an' stole his dust," came the answer. "That's a lie, Jim; I never was near the place," Gerry called out, trying to step forward.
“Close yore yap, you," one of the men holding him exclaimed, and both of them slung him roughly back.
The puncher's cold eyes rested on them. "Turn that man loose," he ordered. "He can't get away." Though his voice was low there was menace in it. The men shuffled uneasily for a moment and then obeyed; the crowd murmured. Sudden raised a hand.
“Mason is my partner," he said. "If he has done what yu say, yo're welcome to hang him, but yu gotta prove it first." The leader told the story; a solitary digger named Wilson had been stabbed on his claim and his money-belt was missing; the prisoner was seen near the spot soon after the crime must have been committed.
“Yu didn't find the belt on him?" Sudden asked, and there was a burst of jeering laughter. "Well, o' course, he might 'a' cached it. Where's the fella who saw him?" From the back ranks a reluctant figure was pushed forward and Sudden's eyes narrowed as he saw that it was Rodd. The man was obviously uncomfortable but with the courage born of being one of many, he faced the puncher with a malevolent sneer. Sudden gave no sign of recognition.
“Shore it was Mason you saw?" he asked.
“Sartain," was the reply, "an' he was wearin' chaps—they ain't so common in these 'arts."
“I wear 'em," the puncher pointed out.
“Then it might 'a' bin yu," Rodd said impudently, and raised a laugh.
“So yu didn't see his face—the chaps are all yu have to go on?" Sudden flashed, and the man's triumphant leer faded as he realized that he had made a slip.
“It was him, anyway," he growled. "I'd swear to lt.”
“Conclusive, o' course," Sudden sneered. "Well, that clears me. Where were yu, Gerry, at the time?"
“Work in' on the claim, which ain't anywhere near Wilson's," the prisoner replied. "These hombres grabbed me soon as I hit town, an' wouldn't let me say a thing." The gathering was growing and among the new-comers Sudden noticed Berg, who, as Gerry finished speaking, thrust himself into the discussion.
“You ain't got no claim," he asserted, "an' if you had, we've on'y yore word you were on it."
“I've got a claim, an' three men were with me," Gerry snapped.
“Who are they?" demanded the leader, impatiently swinging his rope.
“Jesse Rogers, Bowman and Humit." Some among the bloodthirsty throng looked doubtful—they knew these names. Others, more callous, eager only to see a man die, yelled in derision.
“He's playin' for time; he don't know them fellas. Swing the —, anyway; there's bin too many o' these killin's." With threatening curses, the ruffianly element in the crowd surged forward, only to sway back before the muzzles of the puncher's pistols. The jutting jaw and the bleak unwavering eyes told them that the man on the black horse was not bluffing.
“Twelve of yu get—hurt, first," he warned, and those who had witnessed the encounter with Lefty Logan did not doubt the statement.
“I raise the ante—make it twenty-four, Green," a quiet voice added, and though he dared not take his eyes from the mob, the puncher knew that Wild Bill was standing beside his horse. The gunman waited for a few tense moments, and then said, "I guess we'll hear what those three men have to say."
“Here they come—the ol' Jew-fella is a-fetchin' 'em," someone shouted.
It was true. A moment later, Jacob, and the men he had gone in search of, hurried up. Sudden told the rope-bearer to question them. Their testimony was convincing—Gerry had been in their company all day, not leaving them until after the murder was discovered. A few of the crowd, disappointed of their ghoulish excitement, went away murmuring; others remained to congratulate the man they had come to hang.
“Shore was lucky yore friend showin' up, son," one grinned. "We come mighty near puttin' one over on you."
“You did oughta get rid o' them leather pants," another chimed in. "One o' these days you'll trip over em an' break yor neck." Bill Hickok put forward a different aspect of the affair.
“These outrages are becomin' frequent an' they have a family resemblance which suggests the same hand," he remarked. "Find out who planned this frame-up an' yu will be near to discoverin' the killer."
“Rodd is in with Berg," Sudden said.
“Berg is on'y a tool—yu'll have to look higher," Hickok replied. "Watch yore step an'—keep clear o' the women.”
“Now what the devil did he mean by that?" Sudden pondered, when the gunman had gone.
“I'd say he meant Miss Lesurge, an' if yo're wise, yu'll take his tip," Gerry said.
“I reckon I will," his friend agreed.


CHAPTER XII


At the Lesurge residence, that same evening, Paul, his sister, and Mary Ducane gathered to hear the result of the prospector's expedition into the wild.
• "So you found the place?" Lesurge asked. "There's no doubt?"
“Shore I found it," Snowy replied. "My ol' hut was still a-standin' an' I'll bet a stack nobody's put a foot in that gully since I was thar."
“That's fine," Paul responded. "In a little while we'll take a gang out, but there are things to see to here first. How did you get along with Green?"
“He's all right," was the casual reply. "Useful fella, but he don't savvy nothin' 'bout gold-minin'."
“Excellent, but he knows the location? Of course, it couldn't be avoided, but there's a remedy for that." H» smiled at Lora, but for once she did not appear to find any humour in the remark. Snowy's face remained expressionless; he could have made a good guess at the nature of the "remedy."
“You think we can depend on him?"
“Yeah, but you'll have to take in his pardner."
“Ah, Mason. Wasn't he in trouble of some kind today?" Snowy laughed wheezily. "He was within two shakes o' bein' strung up, if you call that `trouble.' It was wings an' a harp for him if Jim an' me hadn't arrove." He gave the details, and his keen little eyes noted the colour creeping back into Mary's cheeks as she listened. Paul waved a nonchalant hand.
“Too bad," he said, "but these fellows work hard for their wealth, and to lose that and life as well ... You can't wonder they are vindictive."
“But to hang an innocent man," Mary shuddered.
“Well it didn't happen," Paul smiled. "My old schoolmaster, when he punished me by mistake, used to justify it by saying that the thrashing was probably due for something he hadn't discovered."
“Mister Mason would not murder," the girl insisted.
“Gold alone makes existence possible in this wild corner of the world," he replied. "A man must get it—somehow, or go under. How long does it take to reach this mine of yours, Phil?"
“Less'n a day, the way we come back," the old man told him. "Got lost a bit goin'—a-purpose."
“When we go we might take the ladies—make a change for them. What do you think?"
“It's fearsome country an' there's a chance o' them red devils," Snowy said dubiously. "They'd have to live rough.”
“We shall be a strong party," Paul argued.
“You may count on us," Lora broke in. "Thank you, Paul.”
“lt won't be yet," Lesurge laughed. "You'll have time to exercise the privilege of your sex and alter your mind."
“Don't hope for it," she cried gaily. "Nothing could keep me from such an experience. Think of it, Mary; riding, hunting and searching for gold."
“Your occupation will be mainly preparing meals," Paul bantered.
“Then I'm sorry for you," she retorted. "When I die someone will be the worst cook in the world." Later, in the seclusion of her room, Mary Ducane tried—not for the first time—to analyse her feelings for Paul Lesurge. Handsome, well-dressed, and apparently cultured, he stood out among the uncouth, coarsely-garbed men who formed the major portion of Deadwood's population—men who spent their days burrowing into the hill-sides and their nights drinking and gaming away their gains. Though there were many sober, industrious citizens, she had not met them, which heightened Paul's pre-eminence in her mind. When he chose,he could be charming, and, so far, she had not seen him otherwise. It was inevitable that she should be attracted, yet she had doubts. She remembered, rather angrily, that Gerry Mason's peril had interfered with the beatlng of her heart.
“After all, he was good to me on that horrible journey," she told herself, well aware that did not explain it.
Lora, she had to confess, presented a conundrum to which she could find no answer. Though she had been kind, Mary was always conscious of a barrier she could not penetrate. Her uncle she liked, despite his eccentricity, which she attributed to the hard life he had led.
* * * Gerry, having decided that he had enjoyed all the excitement he needed for one day, elected to spend the evening at home, Jacob having promised to instruct him in the game of chess. Sudden, who watched the opening game, grinned widely when, after a few moves, the old man called "Check," and sat back with a quiet smile. Gerry studied the board with ludicrous surprise.
“My King 'pears to be throwed an' hawg-tied; yore Queen has him cornered an' if he takes her, that Bishop guy gets him at long range. I'm good an' licked. Tom Bowman said this was a slow game; he ain't seen you play."
“That was just a little trap for beginners," Jacob confessed. "You could have defeated it by threatening my Queen with that Knight—can't afford to lose her ladyship—she's the most powerful piece of all."
“The King fella just loafs around an' lets all the rest, includin' his lady, fight for him," Gerry said. "I reckon the gent who made this game didn't think a lot o' monarchs."
“The game is the oldest known," Jacob said. "It is believed to have originated in Hindustan....' Sudden left them to it, and made his way—on foot, for once —to the Paris, the proprietor of which greeted him with a reproving shake of the head.
“My fren'," he said. "I no like to see you—alone.”
“Gerry stayed in—Jacob is teachin' him chess."
“Ver' good—for him," Bizet replied. "But for you ...”
“Shucks, I'm man-size," Sudden smiled.
The saloon-keeper did not laugh. "I know not'ing, but I am disturb'," he said. "Go home, my fren', an' learn ze chess." The cowboy shrugged. "I'm playin' it right now, Bizet, an' waitin' for the next move." It came sooner than he expected. Having joined a poker party for a while, he left early on the plea that he had been riding nearly all day, and was tired. Though close to midnight it was, for Deadwood, and in the local idiom, "just the shank of the evening." Clamour reigned supreme. All the saloons and dance-halls were in full swing and the light from their windows made progress along the street possible for the pedestrian. But as the puncher neared home he became aware that the night was very dark, and he had to walk warily.
He was less than a hundred yards from the cabin when, from a dense overhanging bush, a heavy weight dropped on his shoulders and the shock sent him to his knees. For an instant he fancied it was a bear, and then the fingers feeling for his throat told him otherwise. With a superhuman effort he staggered to his feet and managed to buck off the burden. But before he could get at his guns, other forms closed in out of the gloom and he had to use his fists. Right and left he struck, piston-like, short-arm jabs, delivered with all the vigour of perfect muscles, and a thrill of fierce exultation ran through him as he felt his knuckles impact on flesh and bone.
It was too dark to see, but he knew that at least half a dozen men were trying to pull him down, and with berserk fury he flung his fists at them. Slipping in the loose dust, the tangled knot of humanity swayed to and fro, panting, cursing, and grunting when a random blow reached a billet.
Suddenly conscious of hands clawing at his ankles, the cowboy swung his right foot back in a sharp kick and an agonized burst of profanity testified that the big spur had proved effective. But it was a costly success, for Sudden lost his balance and went down. Some of the assailants fell on him but the fight was not yet over. Utterly spent, with every sinew throbbing with pain, the cowboy battled on, striking, kicking, twisting in a hopeless endeavour to free himself. Then came a dull blow on the head and—oblivion.
When he returned to the world again it was to find the sun shining. He was lying in a grassy glade hedged in by a thick growth of lodge-pole pines, and for a moment he could not comprehend. Then he realized that his hands and feet were bound; his chaps, Stetson and guns had vanished.
“They seem to 'a' got me," he muttered.
He made an attempt to sit up and every bone in his body protested so violently that the pain drew an oath. Immediately a man appeared, to stand regarding him with satirical eyes through the slits of the bandana which concealed his face. His dress was that of a miner."So you are alive?" he said. "Well, I'm glad.
“I ain't exactly sorry myself," Sudden admitted, forcing his bruised lips to a difficult grin. "Don't tell me I'm the on'y one in the hospital." The man's eyes hardened. "You ain't," he said harshly. "I'm allowin' you damaged most of us, an' Lem"—he paused, conscious of a blunder—"the fella you backheeled, has a cheek laid open an' damn near lost an eye; kickin' with a spur ain't no way to fight."
“When six or seven men jump one in the dark anythin' goes," the prisoner returned bluntly. "I'm glad I marked him, case we meet again."
“If you do it'll be in hell an' you'll have to wait—he's young," was the sinister reply.
“Age doesn't worry me none yet, an' I never was scared o' fair-haired fellas."
“He ain't—" the man began, and stopped.
Sudden laughed. "Lem, young, dark, with a scar on his cheek—why, I got his picture; yu needn't tell me his other name." With an unintelligible growl the fellow went away and, soon after, another appeared with food, took the rope from the prisoner's wrists, and watched while he ate. This man was also masked.
“Careful o' yore complexions, ain't yu?" the puncher said genially, and got no reply. "Mind if I roll some pills afore yu tie me up again?" Receiving a gruff assent, he got his "makings," and constructed a supply of cigarettes. Then, with one between his lips and his back against a tree, he submitted to the replacing of his bonds, and was left alone. Though he felt easier, his body was still one big ache.
Across the open space he could see a primitive erection of poles which provided some sort of shelter, and around a fire in front of it, four men were lolling. Completely closed in by the trees, with a sight only of the sky overhead, the puncher could not guess where he was nor why he had been brought there. The latter he was soon to learn, for presently, the man who had spoken to him first came over and squatted cross-legged a few yards away.
“Well, I reckon it's time we had a pow-pow," he commenced. "Wonderin' why we fetched you here, huh?"
“I was admirin' the view; ye just naturally ruin it," the prisoner replied.
“Gettin' fresh won't help you none, Sudden—we've drawed yore teeth. All we want is yore promise to take us to Ducane's mine." The cowboy's face did not betray his surprise. So that was it? Despite the secrecy of their departure, it had been observed, and Snowy's previous tall talk had given their expedition importance. This could not be Lesurge; someone else was taking a hand in the game.
“Nice place yu got here," he remarked pleasantly.
“Glad you like it; yo're liable to remain permanent unless you come across," the other retorted grimly. He pulled a revolver from his waist-belt. "I'm givin' you ten seconds." The threatened man launched a perfect smoke ring at the levelled barrel. "Why waste time, hombre; let her rip," he said.
For an instant he thought the fellow would fire; he saw his grip of the butt tighten and steeled his body against the numbing shock of a bullet. But it did not come.
“You've got nerve, Sudden," the man admitted, as he replaced his weapon and stood up. "Mebbe we'll find another way o' persuadin' you." He slouched away and the prisoner leaned back against his tree; only just in time had the kidnapper remembered that a dead body could tell them nothing. But the prospect was not heartening—there would be other ordeals. Telling himself that it was no good climbing hills till you came to them, he went to sleep.
A slight commotion in the camp awakened him some hours later. A man on a black horse had just arrived, leading another animal on which was a woman; her hands were tied behind and she was blindfolded. Amid deep-throated mirth, one of the gang lifted her from the saddle and removed the handkerchief; it was Lora Lesurge. He had but little time for speculation. The man who had threatened him with death brought the woman to where he sat.
“Told you we'd find another way," he jeered. "Here's a friend o' yores who'll mebbe get you to see things different—for her sake. I'll leave you to chew it over." Lora sank down wearily; she was utterly exhausted. The supercilious, self-assured woman, serenely conscious of her charm had, for the time being, receded, leaving only a frightened girl.
“God I never was so pleased to see anyone," she cried. "But how come yu to be here?" Sudden asked.
“I came to visit you—for Paul," she explained. "I rode towards your claim, but before I reached it I heard a shot from up on the hill-side, and just afterwards, a rider came out ofsome bushes ahead of me. Before I could utter a sound he gripped my throat and squeezed it till I lost consciousness. I recovered on the way here, to find myself packed like a piece of merchandise on the back of my horse." Incredible as the story seemed, Sudden could not but believe it; those cruel, livid marks on the slender white neck were real enough. He had already decided that his leggings and hat had been taken for some purpose but it could not be this—they could not have known of the girl's errand.
“But why are you here?" she questioned, and, noticing the battered condition of his face, "What have they been doing to you?"
“We had a li'l argument 'bout my comin'," the puncher told her, with a lopsided grin, "but there was too many of 'em an' they persuaded me." He gave a sketchy account of his adventure, including—as an experiment—the question he had been asked. The result was disappointing; unfeigned admiration was all he could find in her face, and that was not what he wanted.
“Why didn't you promise?" she cried. "It isn't your gold-mine."
“Snowy trusted me," he said simply.
“You could have taken them to the wrong place." He looked at her quizzically. "Yeah, it don't matter much where a fella is buried." She was silent for a while, fighting to regain her self-control. Apparently she succeeded, for when the leader of the gang approached again she faced him boldly.
“I suppose you know me?" she said, and when he nodded, "My brother will have a hundred men out searching, and if you are caught you will hang, every one of you."
“We're givin' you the shack," he said gruffly. "Better turn in an' git some sleep. I'll speak with you in the mornin'.”
“I prefer to stay here," she replied.
“Do I have to carry you?" he asked.
“Good night—Jim," she said.


CHAPTER XIII


Sudden's disappearance caused consternation in the cabin of the gold-dealer, and Gerry's first job in the morning was to interview Bizet. The proprietor of the Paris could only tell him that the puncher had left early, sober and alone.
“I warn him to be careful," he said. "He have made enemy, you understan'?" One or two men remembered meeting him in the street, heading for home, and that was all he could learn. On the way back from his futile quest, his plainsman's eye noted the signs of a scuffle near the big bush, turf torn up, stones dislodged, and, in one place, a splash of blood. The ground behind was trodden flat and littered with cigarette stubs. A little way off, horses had waited. Gerry swore.
“Damnation! They laid for him," he growled. "I oughtn't to 'a' let him go alone." He tried to follow the hoof-prints, but soon had to give it up as hopeless. He returned to Jacob and told him what he feared.
“He ain't gone willin'—the marks show that," he concluded. "An' he'd never leave Nigger behind."
“We can only wait," the old man said. "I've great faith in your friend; if he's in trouble, he'll get out of it." But two days passed and there was no news of the missing man, and then Gerry got a shock. He was in the Paris, talking to Bizet and Hickok, when a half-drunken miner lurched up and said sneeringly:
“Still mournin' that pardner o' your'n? Well, you needn't to worry 'bout him. He's holed up somewheres handy an' he's the swine who's killin' an' robbin' we'uns of our dust, one at a lick. But mebbe I ain't bringin' you news?" For a moment the cowboy did not comprehend; then the full import of the accusation came to him, and he acted. His left fist swung out, caught the speaker full in the mouth and sent him sprawling on the sanded floor. When, spitting out curses and blood from badly gashed lips, he started to rise, he found Gerry's gun slanted on him.
“Own yo're a liar," the boy gritted, his face pale with fury. The blow and the threat sobered the miner. "Mebbe, but I'm on'y tellin' you the common talk," he said sullenly.
Hickok put a hand on Gerry's arm. "Let him get up an' we'll hear what he has to say," he suggested.
The man climbed to his feet. "There was a digger shot an' cleaned out two days back an' a fella wearin' leggin's, a 'two-gallon' hat, ridin' a black hoss, was seen around just before," he said. "This arternoon another is clubbed, an' dies, but not before he's able to say one word, 'Sudden.' Them's fac's, mister," he concluded triumphantly.
“My partner is not the killer," Gerry retorted angrily. "I know Jim."
“You may, but there's a-plenty in this city as don't, an' if he's catched he'll take the high jump, I'm tellin' you. He wears the duds an' rides a black."
“Which has been in Jacob's corral the whole time," the boy pointed out.
“Havin' bin left as a blind," suggested a bystander, and earned a look from the gunman which sent him sidling towards the door.
“I too know Green," Hickok said loudly. "He is not the kind to commit cowardly crimes." This pronouncement finished the discussion so far as the Paris was concerned, but in the other saloons the matter was being fiercely commented on and the puncher was already adjudged guilty and condemned. The only other topic which vied with it in importance was the disappearance of Miss Lesurge. At first Paul had accepted her absence with a quiet confident smile.
“Lora can take care of herself," he said.
But when the second day passed and he learned that Green was also missing, he became uneasy, and sent out searchers to comb the district; they returned without news.
“Mebbe they've run away to git hitched," Snowy suggested. Paul's eyes flashed, but he smiled. "Forty dollars a month wouldn't keep Lora in shoe-leather," he said. "But of course, he knows where your mine is." The old man looked alarmed for a moment, and then replied stoutly, "Jim wouldn't do a thing like that—he's white."
“According to what they're saying in town he's as black as Satan's soul," Lesurge contradicted.
Though he had scoffed at it, Snowy's guess returned to him when he was alone, and brought a heavy frown to his brow. Pacing up and down the room, he weighed the pros and cons, and knowing Lora's tempestuous nature, had to admit that it was possible.
“She wouldn't dare," he muttered, and knew he lied.
Meanwhile, in the kidnappers' camp, the prisoners were playing for time. In the morning, their leader paid Sudden another visit, bringing the lady with him. The night's rest, a wash in a nearby spring, a few deft touches to hair and dress, had transformed her into a different person, and the puncher saw admiration in their gaoler's eyes when she greeted her companion in captivity with a gay smile. But the fellow's voice was gruff when he asked:
“Any new ideas this mornin'?"
“Nary a one," Sudden told him. "Yo're what a friend o' mine calls `stale-mated.' Murderin' me won't get yu what yo're after, an' lettin' me live won't neither."
“I ain't so shore. There's means to make a man open his mouth—if it's on'y to squeal."
“Go right ahead."
“I'm aimin' to. When I've done with you—"
“Yu'll be wise as before—still dumb." With an oath the man turned away, but Lora drew him aside.
“Have you no sense at all?" she asked sharply. "Can't you see the type you are dealing with? He's as obstinate as a mule and torture won't move him."
“He's a tough hombre, all right, as some of us has reason to know," the man growled, "but s'pos'n the—persuasion—is applied to you?" The woman's cheeks became a shade paler at this diabolic suggestion but she answered steadily: "It would make no difference—he's not my lover, and these gunmen have no feelings. Besides"—and her glance was soft, caressing—"you wouldn't do anything to hurt me—Hank."
“Who gave you my name?" he asked suspiciously.
“I heard one of the others call you," she explained. "You don't mind my knowing, do you?" He muttered a curse and through the slits in the mask his greedy gaze roamed over her, from the slender feet in their trim riding-boots to the felt hat set jauntily on the wealth of glossy black hair. She endured the scrutiny with a reliant smile.
“Well?" she asked.
“Yo're a good-looker, for shore," he admitted. "What's yore plan?"
“Leave our friend to me," she replied. "I can make him see reason, but it will take time, and we must be together.”
“How much time?"
“Several days probably—he's not easy."
“An' while I'm waitin', Ducane gits the mine," he objected.
“Sudden's his friend—he won't start without him," she urged, and then smiled. "Are you so eager to part with me?" A muffled laugh came from behind the mask. "When we go after the gold yo're comin' along, my beauty. Well, I'm givin' you two days; if you ain't turned the trick by then, it'll be for me to try." With the ominous threat ringing in her ears Lora went back-to the puncher, who had watched the conversation with some impatience. He could not hear what was said but he guessed the woman was pleading for him, and did not like the idea
“We have two days," she said, as she sat down. "Two little days to bewitch you with my poor charms and, like a modern Delilah, betray you to your enemies." She spoke jestingly, but ended on a bitter note. "And the fool believes that I will try.”
“I'm obliged to yu, ma'am, but " Sudden began.
“Don't be stupid," she said sharply. "I was merely thinking of myself. With you crippled by torture, what chance have I of escaping from these wretches?" And then her manner changed. "Sorry, Jim, I didn't mean to be snappy," she finished.
“What we gotta think about is hoodwinkin' these smarties an' slidin' outa here," he said.
That day passed and the next, without any opening presenting itself. Always watched, they could not tamper with their bonds in daylight, and at nightfall the woman was conducted back to the shelter. Dusk found them sitting in the old spot, glum, dispirited.
“We must do something," Lora said desperately. "Hank will want his answer to-night. The beast is beginning to think he owns me. Isn't it possible to free ourselves?"
“Tied up like this, undoin' them knots needs a lot o' time an' we ain't got it. If we on'y had a knife."
“A knife?" she whispered. "Heavens, what a fool I am. I always carry one, and they never thought to search me." Her bound hands fumbled at the bosom of her dress and then dropped. "I can't get it, Jim," she said. "You try." She bent towards him, and in the fading light he saw the gleam of a white throat and felt her shiver as his groping fingers touched the soft silken softness of her skin. Then they closed on the haft of a tiny Spanish dagger and drew it from the sheath. A mere three inches of steel sharp-pointed and keen-edged as a razor, it was a toy, but a terrible one. Sudden glanced across the glade. Two men only were squatting by the fire. In a few moments it would be dark. Hank was late.
He stooped and cut loose the girl's bonds, and when she had done the same for him, slipped the weapon into the top of his right-hand boot, where it would be easily accessible. Then he saw one of the men stand up and stretch himself.
“Follow me," he whispered. "Tread as lightly as yu can." Swiftly they melted into the darkness of the pines. Slipping like shadows between the slender trunks of the trees they con trived to reach the other side of the glade. So far their absence did not appear to have been discovered.
“I'm goin' to try for my guns," Sudden whispered. "Wait." Before she could voice a protest, a man going towards the camp almost stepped on them. His cry of alarm died in his throat as a blow like a flung stone took him on the point of the jaw. Sudden caught the falling body and lowered it to the ground. His hands were busy for a moment and when he spoke the girl knew that he was amused.
“Thoughtful o' Hank to bring my guns," he murmured "He was wearin' em, an' my hat an' chaps. Was he the fella that fetched yu here?"
“He might have been," she replied.
“It don't signify. Hank'll be good an' quiet for a spell an' I reckon the rest won't start anythin' till he turns up." They tramped on through seemingly endless aisles of pines and at length reached an open space. The puncher studied the sky and swore softly.
“Not a blame' star to steer by," he said. "We'll have to wait for sunrise to get a direction. Better keep a-movin' though." For another hour they struggled on. Speed was out of the question for there was no trail, and, in the dark, it was impossible to avoid difficulties. Thorny thickets, scrub-covered ridges, steep-sided stony ravines, jumbled together in bewildering confusion were encountered and had to be overcome, and after a time even the cowboy—wiry and tough as rawhide —was beginning to feel the strain. And he knew that his companion must be nearly dead, but he dared not stop; at the best, he reckoned they could only have covered a few miles, and if they had circled ... Daybreak was at hand when the girl finally slumped down on a fallen tree-trunk.
They had been descending a wide, stony slope covered with prickly scrub and trees. Now, from higher up, came the crack of a rifle and a small cloud of smoke showed against the foliage. Lora clutched her companion's arm.
“They ain't shootin' at us yet," he reassured. "That pill went over our heads was just an invite to stay an' be catched. We ain't acceptin'."
“Is it—Hank?" she asked, and when he nodded, added viciously, "You should have killed him."
“I expect yo're right, but I never did like stickin' pigs." He had been examining their surroundings and his quick eye picked out the place he wanted. "C'mon." Unhurriedly he set out for it, the crest of a ridge, the approach to which was too bare to afford cover for attack.
Lora followed, the fear of being retaken spurring her, but soon she was lagging behind, and then—when they were no more than half-way—she dropped. Somewhat to her surprise, the puncher came back.
“I'm sorry, but my limbs won't take me another step," she groaned.
“That's the worst o' them ornamental legs," he sneered.
Like the lash of a whip the brutal jeer fetched her to her feet. With fists clenched and teeth clamped she lurched onwards, blind to everything save that she must keep moving. She did not see the pitying eyes of the man who strode beside her. So they came to the foot of the incline and there she collapsed like a pricked bladder.
Sudden saw that she could do no more. Bending, he lifted her and staggered up the ascent. She was heavier than he had thought, and before long, his already tired muscles were throbbing with the pain of over-exertion. A bullet spat into the ground a few feet away, and, as if the report had awakened her, the girl opened her eyes. When she realized what was happening her head snuggled into his shoulder and her lips parted. Staring straight in front, Sudden plodded doggedly on, and, reaching the top at last, allowed his burden to stand up.
“Glad to be rid of me, Jim?" she asked archly.
“I shore am," was the ungallant reply. "Get behind that rock there—these hombres will be sendin' somethin' more than invitations soon." Even as he spoke, another bullet whined over their heads and the puncher laughed as he dived behind the outcrop of stone he had pointed out. Another half-dozen shots followed, thudding into the slope in front of them.
“Hank is gettin' peevish," Sudden grinned. "It ain't goin' to be so simple as he figured." Lora did not reply. Crouched behind their rampart, she was considering her companion. With all her experience of men, she had never met his like. His heartless attitude still rankled though she knew that, save for it, they would probably be in captivity again. But he had carried her up the slope, and at the thought her eyes softened.
He had dared death rather than break a promise to a friend, and now, facing odds of five or six to one, he joked. She could not fathom him. Hitherto, conquest of the other sex had been so easy as to become almost tiresome. This man was different.
“I will make him care," she promised herself. "Bring him to his knees, and then—laugh." She watched him, prone on the ground, peering between two chunks of stone, his lean, brown face alight with interest, the keen eyes never still.
“If I had my rifle I'd make them reptiles hunt their holes mighty rapid," he remarked. His pistol exploded and a man who had incautiously shown himself jumped from his dropping mount and shook a curious fist.
“Did you—hit one?" she asked.
“Hell, no," he said disappointedly. "It's too long a range for good pistol-work. Downed his hoss—he'll have to hoof it if he wants to follow us."
“More walking?" she queried dismally.
“Shorely, since I can't carry yu that far an' we ain't got wings—yet. If we stay here till dark they'll creep up an' gather us in. 'Sides, we got no water." Both of them were becoming painfully aware of this fact, for the sun, a great golden ball, was now well above the eastern ranges and its rays, though still oblique, were strong enough to cause discomfort. Down in the valleys the purple mists lingered.
“You might have chosen a shadier place," she pouted.
“Yeah," he drawled. "Or I mighta told the sun to stay put, like the gent in the Bible, or—" His gun cracked again. "Tally one," he said.
“What do you mean?" she asked.
“Just a term we use brandin' cattle," he explained. "Right now it signifies we got one less bandit to bother about." Callous as she herself could be, Lora shivered. Then she remembered that the speaker was fighting for his life, and for her. His next remark gave her something else to think about.
“Hell! Here they come." Either the loss had exasperated the attackers or they realized that a bold policy only was likely to he successful, for they suddenly burst from the brush and raced towards the ridge, yelling and shouting. There were five of them.
Sudden, on his knees, both guns out, waited until they were half-way, and then, with inconceivable rapidity, the hammers rose and fell, sending out a staccato stream of crashes like a roll of thunder. Two of the ponies went down and the rider of one lay still; the second lighted on his feet, to turn and bolt before that death-storm of lead. The other three, one of whom was swaying in his saddle, promptly followed his example. Sudden watched till he saw them far up the hill.
“They've skedaddled," he said.
Lora rose and looked down the slope. The dead man, grotesquely sprawled in the sunshine, and the two horses, wereall she saw. One of the animals was making futile efforts to stand up. The cowboy fired and the poor brute sank down. The seemingly wanton act jarred her frayed nerves.
“Haven't you shed enough blood?" she asked bitingly.
He looked at her levelly. "I'm fond o' horses. That one had a broken leg. Have yu ever seen how buzzards treat a wounded beast? They pick out the eyes first "
“Don't tell me," she almost screamed. "Let us go." They set out and presently found a stream where they drank and bathed their scratched faces and hands. The water, ice-cold from the mountains, seemed to steady the girl. She was obviously worn out, but she made no complaint, and he could not but admire her courage. Several times she refused his proffered help, but once, on the bank of a shallow creek, she hesitated. Without a word, he swept her up into his arms and carried her over.
“No wonder they call you `Sudden'," she said breathlessly as he put her down again.
“They don't—if they like me," he returned harshly.
They fell into a silence which endured until he called a halt and went to climb a hillock which would give him a wider view of the country.
“Hearney's Peak is over there," he said, pointing. "Deadwood can't be so far away; we should make it before night. Yu can sleep for an hour. They say, 'He who sleeps, dines.' " As obedient as a child, she curled herself up on a carpet of dry leaves and closed her eyes. Sudden lighted a cigarette and sat down to keep watch. Lying there, one soft cheek pillowed on a palm, she looked very lovely despite her torn garments and untended hair, but the man gave her one thought only—"As dangerous to handle as a rattler," and fell to studying the —to him—more interesting problem of her brother.
When they resumed the journey it was patent that the rest had done her good.
Peering into a stream she caught the reflection of herself. "Heavens! what a sight I am," she ejaculated.
“I like yu better this way," he said bluntly, and got a quick smile of thanks.
Night was falling when, at long last, they reached the top of the gulch and saw the blurred string of lights which marked the town below. Both were terribly footsore, and the woman was so completely exhausted that her companion had almost to carry her. By keeping behind the buildings and so avoiding the street, they managed to reach her dwelling unobserved. Spent as he was, he would not go in.
“It ain't far to Jacob's an' the sooner yu hit yore blankets, the better," he excused.
“I feel I can sleep a week," she confessed.
“Forty winks won't be no use to me either," he grinned. "Jim, you've been splendid," she whispered.
“Aw, forget it," he said uncomfortably. "Yu pulled yore weight—an' more."
“I'll always remember," she said in a low voice. "Good night —partner." How he managed the final stage of the journey Sudden never quite knew. Gerry told him afterwards that he stumbled in, wolfed a meal, gave them a brief account of his adventures, and flinging himself on his bed, slept like a dead man.
“We didn't know whether yu was drunk or dreamin'," he said. "An' we didn't care neither."


CHAPTER XIV


When Sudden awoke in the morning his first impression was that the events of the previous day had been a nightmare, for his hands were still bound. Then he realized that he was in his own room and that it was full of men, one of whom—a giant known as "Husky" Miller—was shaking him roughly by the shoulder and telling him to get up. In the background he could see Gerry, struggling savagely with two burly fellows who were each gripping an arm. Jacob was not there. The hard, scowling faces cleared his sleep-befogged brain.
“What's the trouble?" he asked.
“No trouble a-tall—it's goin' to be a pleasure," was the grim retort, and some of the men laughed. "Aimin' to walk or have we gotta tote you?"
“What do yu want with me?" the puncher asked quietly. "They're intendin' to hang yu, Jim," Gerry oroke in. "Yo're accused o' murderin' miners while yu were away."
“I've been held prisoner in the hills the whole time," Sudden said. "Don't I get a hearin'?"
“Where's the need?" Husky rejoined. "Why, you're wearin' the very duds you did the deeds in, an' your black's out in the corral."
“An' has oeen there the whole while Jim was absent," Gerry protested.
“Shut yore face," another man said angrily. "I dunno as you ain't in with him; we oughta string up the pair of you." Sudden stood up. "Keep outa this, Gerry," he said, and to Husky, "Once before yu nearly hanged an innocent man. Yo're goin' to do the same again. I can prove my story if yu give me time...."
“To git yore friends to lie for you, like yore pardner did," chimed in a vicious voice which somehow seemed familiar.
Sudden looked at the speaker—youngish, black-jowled, with a cast in one eye which lent his features a peculiarly malignant expression, but he could not place him. The sneer evoked a chorus of approval.
“Git on with the job—we're wasting time," said one. "Yeah, an' time's money an' I'm busted," added another, at which there was a guffaw.
Unable to resist, the prisoner found himself being hustled into the open. He had seen mob law at work and knew that, convinced of his guilt, he was doomed unless some miracle happened. A yell of execration from the hundreds who had been unable to get into the cabin, greeted his appearance and men scrambled for points of vantage to see him, though he must have been a familiar figure to most of them. Down the street he was marched until a teamster's wagon barred the way.
“Take yore beasts out, friend," Husky said. "We're borryin' yore wagon for a while."
“What you want with it?" the fellow asked.
“Aimin' to stretch this hombre's neck," the miner replied, jerking a thumb at the condemned. "Got no time to build a gallows." Willing hands helped to unyoke the oxen and up-end the pole. Then Husky turned to the puncher.
“Got anythin' to say?" he asked.
* * On the morning after her return, Lora was alone in the parlour with her brother, for, too prostrated even to eat, she had gone straight to bed on reaching home. The relation of her experience brought a look of bewilderment to his face.
“Who the devil can these men be?" he asked. "And what did they want with you?"
“I don't know, but their leader threatened to torture me to make Green tell," she replied.
“Snowy keeps his tongue too well oiled," Paul said angrily. "The man who took you was dressed like Green and rode a black. Are you sure it was not Green?"
“Naturally," she said sarcastically, "since the cowboy was tied up in camp when I arrived with my captor."
“Settles that, of course," he admitted. "You can't describe this fellow—Hank?" She shook her head. "Medium height and build, with a throaty voice which may have been due to the handkerchief over his mouth."
“So, when you escaped, you spent the night in the woods with Green?"
“Certainly, there being no alternative save the outlaws.”
“Did he make love to you?" She laughed disdainfully. "My dear Paul, no man makes love to me without my permission. He conducted himself like a gentleman."
“Which was a disappointment, no doubt?" The gibe sent the blood into her cheeks. Looking him directly in the face, she said fiercely: "Yes." Though he did not believe it, the defiant manner made him sorry he had hurt her. He began to say so, but she shrugged an impatient shoulder.
“It doesn't matter," she said. "You resemble Snowy, only your tongue is too well ground. Is there any news?"
“Some more miners have been killed and robbed by a man in cowboy clothes, riding a black horse." Her eyes went wide. "Why, that must have been he—the man who nearly strangled me. I heard a shot just before I saw him."
“The miners are taking it pretty hard." A deep-throated bellow, like distant thunder, came to their ears.
“What on earth is that?" Lora wondered.
Snowy, flinging open the door, answered the question:
“Hey, Paul, the town's gone mad. They've got Green an' are goin' to string him up right now; they claim he's the prowlin' skunk who's been wipin"em out." Lora's face went deathly white. "My God, we must do something, Paul," she cried. "He's innocent—and useful," she added, noting the odd look in his eyes.
“Certainly we must," he said, "but there's no need for you to figure in it—yet."
“I'm coming with you," she stated. "I owe him that, at least. Besides, it will put him under an obligation."
“You gotta hurry, there ain't a second to lose," Snowy urged.
Just as they reached the outskirts of the crowd, Wild Billstrode up. The gunman's usually placid face was set and stern. "Make way, friends," he said quietly.
The outer fringe of the gathering consisted largely of men who, not being miners, were merely there out of curiosity, and when they saw from whom the request came, they made way readily enough. Paul and his companions followed on Hickok's heels. As they neared the wagon, progress became more difficult. Lowering looks on all sides greeted them, and then came a flat refusal.
“If yo're gamblin' on a rescue, Bill, you'll lose out," growled a beetle-browed miner, one of several barring their path. "If you ain't, well, they'll be jerkin' him up in two-three minutes an' you'll git as good a view as the rest of us."
“I never ask twice," Hickok said.
He made no hostile movement, the ivory-handled guns remained in their holsters, his voice was not raised, but the threat was there, and they knew well enough it was no empty one; he would shoot them down; the rest of the mob could overwhelm and tear him to bits, but that would not put the breath back into their bodies. Sullenly they pressed aside, permitting the gunman and those with him to reach the wagon.
Sudden, standing under the upraised pole, with the noose already round his neck, was waiting for the word which would for him spell the beginning of eternity. His hard young face was devoid of expression save for the eyes, scornful and defiant, staring fixedly at the man who would give the fatal sign. This was Husky, and he had begun to raise a hand when Hickok sprang on to the wagon. But at the sight of the pistol-barrel nudging the new-corner's hip and pointing directly to himself, the miner's arm dropped nervelessly. A savage howl of protest greeted the gunman's intervention, to die away in low, angry muttering when Husky spoke:
“See here, Bill, when was you app'inted marshal o' Deadwood?"
“About the same time yu were made hangman," Hickok retorted. "Take that rope off; yu've got the wrong fella." Husky looked uneasy. "Can you prove it?" he asked.
“Yes, an' if I couldn't yu'd do what I say or die before he did," Wild Bill snapped.
“Yo're takin' a high hand," the miner grumbled. "There's others have a say in this." He raised his voice. "Am I to turn him loose, boys?" A babel of expostulation followed the question. "Turn him off, not loose," one wit shouted, and the phrase was taken up and repeated. Mingled with it were invitations to Hickok to mind his own business, and to try a warmer climate. "Go ahead, Husky; we're behind you," others cried.
Erect on the wagon, the object of this outburst listened with an expression of cold contempt. At the last piece of encouragement, however, a wisp of a smile broke the straight lines of his lips. He knew that was Husky's trouble; had he been behind he would have shouted as boldly as the best, but stopping the first bullet was something different.
“Yo're a plucky lot, ain't yu?" he said. "Hundreds of yu to hang a man without givin' him a chance to speak."
“That ain't so—he's said his piece," Husky corrected. "Claims he was carried off by a gang an' held in the hills somewheres. Sounds likely, don't it?" Lora Lesurge stepped to Hickok's side. "It may not sound likely, sir, but it happens to be true," she said, in a clear, reaching voice. "As many of you know, I too have been `lost' for some days. I was set upon, half-throttled, and carried off by a man attired as a cowboy mounted on a black pony. He took me to a kind of camp, where I found Mister Green, bound hand and foot, when I arrived. He did not leave until we got away."
“How fur is thisyer camp, an' where?" Husky asked, with an air of disbelief.
“I have no idea," she replied. "It took us a day to get back to Deadwood, but we started in the dark, and did not know the direction. Also, it was rough country and I fear I am a poor walker."
“You were with Green allatime?" a voice inquired sneeringly.
“I have said so," she returned, her face white and cold as marble. "Mister Green told me they had taken his hat, chaps and guns. He could not understand why, but it is clear enough now." Husky scratched his head. "He's wearin' 'em," he said, and she had to explain how Sudden had regained his property.
The sneering voice from the middle of the throng spoke again.
“Oh, she's got it all pat, or-timer. I told you his friends would lie him out of it." Wild Bill's narrow eyes swept the gathering. "Who said that?" he thundered. "Let him step forward; I'd like to see him." There was no response; evidently the speaker had no desire to gratify the gunman's curiosity. Wild Bill looked at Husky. "Well?" he said impatiently.
The miner made a last effort. "Why didn't you tell us 'bout Miss Lesurge?" he asked the prisoner.
“Why the devil should I?" the puncher retorted. "It was none o' yore business." The man grimaced. "I'm allowin' it was yore neck," he said. "An' yu wouldn't have listened either," Sudden told him. "Yu ain't believin' it now."
“He'd better," Hickok exploded. "Husky, do I have to tell yu again to set Green free?" The man removed the rope. "I guess we'll hold him till we search out that camp," he said.
Wild Bill boiled over. "I—guess—yu—will—not," he grated. "Cut those bonds an' be damned quick about it." He drew himself up and surveyed the swarm of upturned, sullen faces. "Is there anyone here who wants to call this lady a liar?" he demanded. Silence followed the challenge, and he turned sardonically to the miner. "Yu 'pear to be the on'y one," he said. "Now, get this; Green won't run away; if he does, yu can swing me in his stead." There was a laugh at this. With the mercurial quality of a mob, many of those present now believed in the innocence of the accused. Hickok's reputation as straight was generally conceded, Paul Lesurge was a figure in the town, and the Westerner—rough as he might he—was usually chivalrous to any women.
Without waiting for a reply, the gunman jumped lightly from the vehicle and stretching up his long arms, swung the lady to the ground, and bowed to her, hat in hand.
“I compliment yu on yore courage, ma'am," he said.
“Coming from you I must even believe it, sir," she smiled, and turned to greet the cowboy, her face grave again.
“I don't know whether to thank or scold you," she began. "By good fortune we came in time—it would have been a horrible memory ... Why didn't you tell them about me?"
“It wouldn't have helped," he told her. "Things looked bad; friend Hank had it figured pretty neat." Lesurge joined them. "Green, I owe you a great deal for getting my sister out of that mess," he said, but there was no cordiality in his tone.
“I was gettin' myself out," the cowboy replied, "an' Miss Lesurge has more'n evened the score." The lady shook her head. "My part was easy." At this moment Gerry appeared, with Rogers and his partners, all carrying rifles. The young man whooped when he saw his friend.
“Saw I couldn't do nothin' so I slipped away to round up the boys," he explained. "Hoped we'd be in time to try some-thin'."
“I'm obliged," Sudden said gravely. "Thanks to Miss Lesurge an' Mister Hickok ..."
“She turned the trick," the gunman cut in, with an admiring glance at Lora. "I should have failed but for her testimony. All I did was to make 'em listen, an' I'm very glad yore friend Jacob routed me out."
“I wondered where the of boy had gone," Gerry remarked. "He vanished when they collared yu." Snowy sidled up to the puncher. "I've heard how you wouldn't split about the mine, Jim," he whispered. "I'm not forgettin' that."
“Yeah," Sudden smiled, "an' I rememberin' that if yu hadn't fetched Miss Lesurge my friends would now be tellin' each other what a good fella I was." When Paul and his sister had gone, Hickok turned to the others and said, "I don't use liquor much, but Bizet fixes a mint-julep that pleases even me. Let's irrigate." The little Frenchman welcomed them with a broad smile, but wagged a finger at Sudden. "My fren', fortune she is fickle; one time she will fail you."
“I've been sayin' the same, Bizet," Wild Bill said. "He's playin' his luck too hard." And to the cowboy, "Yu remember what I told yu?"
“Yu said for me to keep clear o' the women," Sudden grinned. "An' a woman has saved me." The big man laughed. "That's a score to yu, but I'm repeatin' the advice," he said. "Someone is after yore ha'r; who is it?”
“Yu can search me," the cowboy replied.
In truth, he was puzzled. Paul Lesurge was antagonistic, he knew, and might have contrived the kidnapping in order to steal the mine from under Snowy's nose, but his men would not have touched Lora. The faintly familiar voice in the crowd recurred to him; it had reminded him of Hank. It was probable that he and his men had come to Deadwood, since they would have to leave their hide-out in the hills. This latter proved to be the case, for when Husky and his companions found the place, it was deserted. On their way back, following Sudden's directions, they came across the skeletons of a man and two horses in front of the ridge where the cowboy had made his stand. The big miner was game enough to come and apologize.
“You was right an' we was wrong," he said. "I'm sorry, butit shore seemed an open an' shut case. No hard feelin's, I hope?"
“I'm forgettin' it," Sudden told him. "But give the next fella a chance.”


CHAPTER XV


In a dilapidated shanty, built with becoming modesty away from the street, five men were drinking and smoking. The wavering light of a couple of tallow dips dimly revealing their forbidding faces. They had just finished weighing and dividing a bag of gold-dust.
“An' that's the finish, I s'pose," Berg said sourly. "Hank, you've managed to spoil as pretty a plan as ever I made, damn you." The black-haired fellow who had attracted Sudden's notice at the attempted lynching looked up. "How the devil could I help it?" he asked angrily.
“We had the game in our hands," was the rejoinder. "You shouldn't 'a' touched the Lesurge woman; it was lunacy."
“I couldn't do nothin' else when she found I wasn't Sudden," Hank argued. "It was a fair give-away."
“An' havin' made the mistake o' carryin' her off you put another to it by lettin' her get loose."
“How in hell was I to know she had a sticker?"
“You oughta—she advertised it, not so long back."
“Yo're all so damn clever, ain't you?" Hank sneered. "Well do the risky work yoreselves an' I'll keep under cover an' collect my share, like some o' you." A new voice chimed in, that of a rodent-faced youth, one of whose cheeks bore a jagged, half-healed wound. "Whatsa use scrappin'? If anybody's got a squeal comin' it's me"—he jerked a thumb at his injury—"an' you ain't heard me yap any."
“That's the way to talk, Lem," Bandy Rodd supported. "When pals fall out, trouble comes in, an' you can put yore pile on that."
“The trouble's in a'ready," Berg said. "The old game's too risky now—we'll have to find another way." So far Fagan had been silent, but now he spoke: "We gotta get that mine. It's big, or Lesurge wouldn't be after it—he ain't no piker."
“Him an' Reub Stark is gettin' mighty strong in the town," Bandy observed. "He won't be needin' yu much longer." Fagan spat contemptuously. "He dasn't turn me off—I know too much. We're pardners."
“An' yo're tryin' to double-cross him?" Hank fleered.
“Why not? He'll do it to me if I give him a chance," was the candid answer.
Hank, still sore from the wigging he had received, laughed scornfully. "Well, we know what to expect from you," he said. "Damn you!" Fagan roared. "I'll "
“Stop it," Berg snapped. "Where's the sense in heavin' rocks at each other? We're all out to double-cross Lesurge. What we gotta think of is how to put it over."
“What about gettin' the gal—Ducane's niece—an' puttin' the screw on her?" Lem suggested.
“Might come off if you wiped out Ducane an' that cussed cowboy first," Bandy said. "If not, they'd guess the game an' be waitin' at the mine for us." The plan aroused no enthusiasm; even to their desperate natures it seemed too big an order.
“If there's to be any bumpin' Mister Sudden off you can count me out," Lem contributed. "I've had some, an' I seen Logan get his."
“Lefty rated hisself too high," Fagan said. "I owe Sudden somethin' an' he'll get it, but I shan't worry if he don't know who's payin' him."
“Any hope o' makin' Ducane so tight he'll talk?" Bandy asked.
“He's allus talkin', but he don't say nothin'," was Fagan's answer. "An' it wouldn't be no good—he claims he's forgot where the mine is; Sudden's the on'y one what knows."
“An' we lost him," Berg said dismally. "A million dollars waitin' to be picked up an'—"
“Oh, can it," Hank burst in. "We gotta watch for another break, that's all. What about a game?" They fell to playing cards, which gave them a new excuse for wrangling. After a while, Fagan rose to depart. "Goin' to see Paul," he told them.
* * *
“You have been taking a holiday?" Paul inquired amiably. But the visitor understood, and moved uneasily in his seat.
“Things was gittin' hot," he muttered. "It was too dangerous.”
“Another, apparently, did not think so," came the reply.
“You were not, by any chance, that other?"
“Hell, no, Paul. Why do you ask that?"
“I thought you might have had an inspiration; I should have known better. So you are not in need of money?" Fagan conceived what he regarded as an inspiration. "I shorely am," he said mournfully. "Got cleaned out at Pedro's las' night—playin' the wheel—you never see such luck."
“At Pedro's? Ah, yes," Paul said softly, and the liar wished he had not named the place; if inquiries were made ... But the next remark reassured him. "I can let you have fifty dollars, but you must earn them by finding for me a fellow named `Hank' who was concerned in the seizure of my sister."
“Shore I will; what's he like?" the ruffian replied, hoping that his start of surprise had escaped notice.
“I can't tell you, but he may be with another called `Lem,' who had a cheek laid open in the scrimmage with Green." Fagan nodded; it was going to be easy money. "Them gravel-grubbers come near to riddin' you o' Green," he grinned.
“I've no desire to be rid of him," Paul replied coldly. "Had that been so, Lora would have arrived too late to substantiate his story. Unfortunate, in that case, of course, but ..." The smooth voice faded and Fagan was conscious of chilliness creeping up his spine. Once, when a boy, a rattlesnake had brushed against his bare leg, Lesurge, at times, recalled that horrible moment—the cold sliminess of the contact, the breath-taking fear of impending death.
“What you aimin' to do with this Hank fella, Paul?" he ventured.
“Use him," was the reply.
Though he took care not to show it, Fagan was delighted. It suited him that Lesurge should surround himself with his, Fagan's, confederates; he was assisting in his own downfall.
“If he's in town, I'll get him," he promised. "Pity you've fell in love with Green; I had a plan "
“Then forget it," Paul ordered. "I hate him, but he must not be touched. He alone knows
“Where the mine is," Fagan finished.
“Who told you that?"
“Snowy let on that his memory had slipped up again an' he said the directions in the letter was misleadin' an' it was mainly luck that they struck the right trail." Mentally Lesurge anathematized the prospector for a chattering old idiot, but Fagan's next remark suggested another aspect.
“Mebbe he's stringin' you." This produced a thoughtful frown. The secret was a dangerous one, as the puncher had already discovered. Snowy would not be anxious for a similar experience and might be playing for safety. But why should he tell Fagan? With an impatient gesture, he flung a roll of greenbacks on the table and said:
“When you locate the man I want to see him, but not here." After the visitor had gone, Lesurge sat pondering over his position. So far, matters had gone well with him. Without unduly thrusting himself into the limelight he had become of importance in the settlement. But his ambition had grown. To merely deprive Snowy and Stark of wealth no longer contented him—he wanted power. The prospect he had dangled as a bait before the greedy eyes of the saloon-keeper now appealed to him as a possibility—for himself. Lavish hospitality was purchasing support for Reuben Stark, but when the moment came, he would be shelved and Lesurge would largely control the destinies of Deadwood.
To bring this about he must have gold—a great deal of gold. Snowy's mine would provide this eventually—he was getting together a gang to seize and work it—but his present need was urgent. Putting on his hat, he went to the Monte. The proprietor was in his private room, and his greeting was none too cordial.
“Damned if I savvy yore play, Paul," he said irritably. "A piece back you wanted Sudden put outa business, an' now you snatch his neck out'n the noose."
“He saved my sister," Paul pointed out. "And you can add to that he was an innocent man."
“Mebbe, but a hangin' wouldn't 'a' done any harm," was the brutal reply. "These murderin' thieves need a lesson; we'll be havin' a treasure coach stopped next." Paul's eyes gleamed, but his tone betrayed little interest when he said carelessly, "I suppose it would be worth while?"
“Worth while?" Stark echoed. "Well, I'd call a hundred to a hundred an' fifty thousand, that."
“The shipments are well guarded, of course." Stark shrugged. "What can we do? The express messenger is armed, but to send a big escort is tellin' everybody what the coach carries. An' where you goin' to get 'em? All the fellas you could trust is too busy searchin' out gold to risk their lives protectin' other folks's dust. Secrecy is the best caper—on'y a few knows when the stuff is sent.”
“Good. Pass me word about the next time," Paul said. "I'd like to send a small consignment myself." The saloon-keeper nodded and went on with his grumbling:
“That Hickok is gettin' too Gawd Almighty. 'Pears to think that 'cause he run one or two tough towns he can have the say-so here. Some o' the boys ain't likin' the way he talked to 'em."
“You needn't worry about him—he'll be attended to, and so will Sudden, if my plans work out right. The man who is going to run Deadwood is in this room." Stark's ill-humour vanished. "You've got a brain, Paul," he complimented, "an' when I'm on top, you'll find I ain't ungrateful to my friends."
“I'm relying on you, of course, Reub," Lesurge told him, and the other did not detect the hidden sneer.
* * * Fagan, on leaving Lesurge, had hurried back to the shanty where he had left his fellow-rogues. They were still there, and the bottle of whisky he had purchased on his way, insured his welcome.
“Fagan, yore an angel in disguise," Hank grinned. "But I'm bound to say the disguise is perfect," he added, helping himself liberally. "What's the news?"
“I've just left Paul—he wants to see you."
“The hell he does. Why?"
“I expect he's achin' to thank you for lettin' his sister loose," Rodd suggested.
Hank ignored the sarcasm. "He can go to blazes," he decided.
“Don't be seven sorts of a fool," Fagan snapped. "Would I push you into trouble? He thinks he can use you—it'll make you one of us. Can't you see what that means?"
“Makes a difference, o' course, but why pick on me?" Hank was clearly suspicious.
“Paul wants a few fellas what ain't finicky," Fagan explained. "Mebbe you can pull Lem in too; that'll fill our hand. Now do you savvy?"
“It's good, Hank," Berg exulted. "It's damned good. When does he want to see him, Fagan?"
“Mustn't be for a day, at least. You see I gotta find Hank first an' that ain't goin' to be too easy; unfortunately, Paul couldn't give me no description." A shout of laughter greeted the jest, and they filled their glasses and drank to the man they meant to cheat when the time was ripe.


CHAPTER XVI


Two evenings later Gerry and Jacob were engaged with the chess-beard and Sudden was looking on. The game was nearing the end, and the younger man was jubilant because it appeared that he must win. Then came a reverse. He had early captured his opponent's Queen, but by seemingly unimportant moves, Jacob had gradually pushed a pawn right across the board and now replaced the more powerful piece.
“Cuss it, I warn't noticin' that no 'count fella," Gerry lamented.
“Always watch the pawns, my friend, both in this and the game of life," the old man said. "They have—potentialities." He made a move, and went on, "How do you like mining?"
“It's mighty monotonous," Gerry grumbled. "Shovellin' an' washin' dirt allatime. I'd ruther be ropin' cattle; when one goes on the prod, yu get a change." Jacob smiled at Sudden. "The poor fellow is having a dull time," he said. "We must try to find him a little excitement." Someone knocked, opened the door, and entered; it was Paul Lesurge. He nodded to the cowboys, sat down, and looked at the gold-buyer.
“Have you put it to them?" he asked.
“No, I left that to you."
“Right," Lesurge replied, and turned to the younger men. "Here is the proposition: A coach with a load of gold is going East. It is supposed that it will start to-morrow evening, but actually it goes to-night. This is known only to those who are sending the stuff, like myself and our friend, Jacob. There will be no travellers save the driver and the express messenger—who will learn the starting time when it arrives. Originally, two well-armed riders were to follow the vehicle but some of the consignees think the convoy should be doubled, and Jacob mentioned your names."
“I'm afraid I took a liberty," the old man put in. "But—"
“Shucks," Sudden said gently, and waved him to silence.
“I told Stark that if he only wanted two men, Sudden would fit the bill," Lesurge smiled, "but he is of very limited intelligence. Personally, I don't apprehend much danger from roadagents—the secret has been well kept. When you reach Laramie, you can return. Now, what do you say?" The puncher did not reply at once; he was turning the matter over. He looked at Jacob, and received a slight nod. That decided him.
“We'll go yu," he agreed.
“Good," Lesurge said. "That means both of you, of course.”
“I trail along with Jim, every time," Gerry told him. "Quite a David and Jonathan, eh? Well, that's all settled. Green, J want a private word with you." When they were outside, Lesurge said, "If the gold gets through this will put you in well with the men who matter in Deadwood. On the other hand, if someone has talked unwisely, you may meet with overwhelming odds, and fail. The gold will be lost, it is true, but you will have done your best and I'll see that you don't suffer—in any way. Understand?"
“I get yu," the puncher said.
“I made a mistake about you at first, Green," the oily voice went on. "You're no fool. A hundred thousand is a lot of money but not worth one's life, when it belongs to other folk. Personally, I'd rather have a tenth of it and go on living." He laughed meaningly. "Be behind the Monte at ten. Good luck." He held out a hand, but the cowboy did not appear to notice it; his belt had slipped and required adjustment.
“We'll be there," he said.
When he returned to the room his face was enigmatical. "Just a few final directions," he explained.
“I'm grateful to you boys," Jacob said. "Practically all I possess will be in that consignment. Where does Lesurge get dust from, Jim?"
“Yu can search me," the puncher replied. "Buys it like yu do, grubstake miners as Stark does, or wins it at cards—there's plenty ways."
“Yes, of course," the other agreed, and, thoughtfully. "He doesn't like you."
“He was apologizin' just now for havin' misunderstood me," Sudden smiled.
“Then I'll bet a blue stack he's aimin' to play yu a shabby trick." This from Gerry.
“An' he wished me good luck."
“Which makes it a certainty. Jim, we'd better renig on that job."
“Shore, if yo're scared.—Awright, yu curly-headed calamity. I on'y said 'if.' Don't forget our friend here is relyin' on us.”
“I wouldn't want you to run into danger on my account," Jacob said earnestly, "I'd sooner lose the gold."
“Easy, or-timer," Sudden grinned. A point occurred to him. "Yu didn't see the jaspers who are to ride with us?"
“No, but Lesurge referred to one as `Hank'."
“There yu are," Gerry chimed in triumphantly.
Sudden carefully inspected himself. "So I am," he said gravely. "Friend Paul ain't likely to be usin' the man who smouched his sister, an' if yu took a census o' this beeyutiful city yu'd probably round up fifty Hanks. Ever heard o' mares' nests, Gerry?"
“Yeah, an' I've heard o' damn idjuts who squinted down the barrel of a gun an' pulled the trigger to see if it was loaded," the young man retorted.
“Well, we'll hope it ain't—to-night," his friend said. He looked at the clock and spoke to Jacob. "We needn't to start yet. I've been watchin' this chess caper an' I'd like to try her out." The old man, who was an enthusiast, readily agreed, and they sat down, with Mason an interested spectator. The battle lasted for nearly an hour and then the cowboy made a move and said quietly, "I guess I got yu corralled, seh." His opponent studied the board for a moment and then smilingly admitted defeat.
“I rather pride myself on the brand of chess I can produce," he said, "and here I am, beaten by a beginner. My wits must be wandering this evening." He pondered for a while, recalling the stages of the game. "Why, hang it all, you were jockeying me into that position right along and I failed to see it. Young man, I feel more hopeful about my dust."
“Time we started," Sudden said. "Fetch the horses, Gerry, an' we'll need our rifles." When the boy had gone, he added quietly, "I'm afraid he's right—there's somethin' brewin', but it's too late to do any-thin'. We've no proof—gotta go through with it. Tell Hickok, an' watch out for yorself." He smiled. "We won't be here to look after yu."
“Don't worry about me," Jacob told me. "All I have to lose now will be with you." Behind the Monte they found the coach, the body of which, slung on its leather supports, contained only a pile of packages covered with a canvas sheet. Injun Joe, the rugged-faced old driver, was examining every strap and buckle of the harness of his team of six horses. The express messenger, a shot-gun between his knees, was already on the box, and a couple of horsemen, whose turned-down hat-brims partly concealed their faces, were waiting. Reuben Stark was giving instructions.
“Slide outa town at a walkin' pace," he said to the driver,who, satisfied that all was in order, now climbed to his seat. "The escort'!! catch you up."
“Don't hold 'em too long," Injun Joe warned. "Once I'm clear, I'll be travellin'. Sabe?" Creaking and rocking over the rough ground, the cumberous vehicle rolled away and was blotted out in the darkness. Sudden moved noiselessly to where the other men sat in their saddles and struck a match to light his cigarette. The tiny flare showed him a red wheal running up the cheek of the nearest rider.
“That's an ugly scar yu got, friend," he remarked. "Looks like yore bronc had piled yu into a cactus."
“Nothin' o' the sort," the man growled. "If it's any o' yore damn business, a Greasex slung a knife at me." Sudden flipped the match into the air, but not before he had caught the malevolent gleam in the fellow's eyes. He was a poor liar; the wound was ragged; a knife-blade would have made a clean cut.
“Wonder what he'd do if I called him 'Lem'?" he reflected.
Stark's voice, bidding them to be on their way, put an end to his meditations. The two strangers hung back, evidently intending that the other pair should precede them, but the puncher had different views.
“Go ahead," he said sharply. "We don't know the road." Muttering, they obeyed, and the cowboys followed. When out of the town, they quickened pace and soon caught up the coach. It was moving at a fair pace, considering the surface over which it had to pass—a mere trampled trail made by the heavy wheels of innumerable freight-wagons, but the driver knew it, and even in the darkness, could pick out familiar landmarks. They had climbed out of the gulch and the keen night air bit their faces and fingers. The all-embracing silence was broken only by the drum of horses' hoofs, the rattle of harness, and, at intervals, the long weird howl of a wolf, prowling somewhere behind the funereal walls of foliage which fenced them in.
Presently the obscuring clouds slid aside and the pale light of the moon enabled them to get a glimpse of the grandeur through which they were passing.
The cowboys, riding easily, were not concerned with the scenery; their eyes were on the bobbing backs of the pair in front and the jerking, bumping blob which was the coach, less than fifty yards ahead. They had met no one save two teamsters with a load of lumber, a few miles out of Deadwood. Sudden had stopped for a moment.
“Ain't seed a soul 'cept a party o' four fellas, headed for Laramie," one of them told him. "No, I didn't reckernize any of 'em, but one was a short, chunky sort o' chap."
“Which might describe friend Fagan," Sudden commented, when they had resumed their way.
“Lesurge wouldn't send a man knowed to be his," Gerry objected.
“Why not, if there's nobody left to spill the beans? He's figurin' we're on his side."
“Any use warnin' them two on the coach?"
“What can we tell 'em?—we've on'y got suspicions. They're watchin' for trouble a'ready—that's their job." At the foot of a long gradual slant, the sides of which were masked by dense brush, the driver pulled his team to a steady job-trot, and cursed fretfully:
“Blast this moon; makes fair targets of us."
“What you scared of?" the messenger asked, shifting his shot-gun so that it lay handily across his thighs.
“Ain't scared o' nothin'," Injun Joe snapped, "but I don't like the trip, an' I'd be a damn sight more pleased if them hombres behind was ridin' the other way."
“Pull up an' make 'em ride in front," the messenger suggested.
Before the other could reply, two spits of flame jetted from the shadows on either side of the trail and the leading horses went down, checking the coach with a jerk which almost overturned it. With a full-throated curse, the driver slammed his brake on, and the iron-shod wheels squealed like tortured souls; it was his last conscious act. A couple of sharp cracks and Injun Joe slipped limply to the footboard, while the express-man leaned forward to pitch headlong to the ground, his gun dropping beside him. An instant later, Sudden's Colt roared and the fellow with the scarred face gasped and fell from his saddle. His companion, with a blasphemous imprecation, spurred his mount and crashed into the undergrowth. The puncher sent a bullet after him.
“Hell, Jim, them jaspers are s'posed to be helpin' us," Gerry cried.
“Didn't yu see?" Sudden asked savagely. "Those skunks downed Joe an' the messenger, an' they'd 'a' got us if we'd been ahead. C'mon." Stooping in his saddle, he dashed for the coach, and Gerry followed. On the right and left pistols exploded in the brush and bullets whined past their ears.
Just as they approached the conveyance, a tall man on footappeared, running towards it from the front. Sudden fired, and the fellow staggered, spun round, and collapsed in an untidy heap.
“'Then there were four'," the cowboy quoted grimly. Anchored by the braked coach and the carcasses of the leaders, the other horses had overcome their frenzied fear and now stood, trembling, but comparatively quiet. Sudden had his plan ready.
“Shuck the harness off'n them dead broncs an' put our'n in their places," he directed. "I'll stand these devils off if they try to rush us." But the road-agents had apparently no such intention. Satisfied that the vehicle could not be moved, they were content to stay under cover and pot the cowboys at their ease. A friendly cloud had blanketed the moon and with his back to the dark blur of the coach, Sudden made a poor mark; also it was difficult for the hold-ups to see what Gerry was about. One glance told that young man the messenger was dead—a bullet had gone through the back of his head. Injun Joe was still breathing, and, with Sudden's help, he was placed inside the coach, room being found too for the body of the guard.
Spasmodic shots interrupted these operations; lead zipped past or thudded into the woodwork, but neither man was hit. Sudden replied, firing at the flashes, and a string of oaths told him that one of his bullets had found a billet. By the time the moon peeped out again, the new leaders were in position; the big black was restive and disposed to be rebellious but a word from his master brought submission.
A yell apprised them that the enemy had at length guessed their purpose, and the hum of hot lead drove the warning home. Not even waiting to return the fire, Sudden sprang to the driver's seat and grabbed the lines. In a second Gerry was beside him, the long lash hissed like a snake over the horses' heads, and the coach started with a jolt which nearly upset it as the near wheels climbed the corpses of the slain leaders.
A howl of rage came from the road-agents as they broke from cover and saw their prey escaping, and a few futile shots followed. The sharp crack of Sudden's whip was the only answer.
“There was four of 'em, an' one was limpin'," Gerry reported. "Think they'll follow?"
“Shore, they got horses, ain't they?" was the reply. "Yore rifle handy?"
“Yu betcha," Gerry told him. "Got the messenger's shotgun too an' she looks a dandy scatterer."
“Yu'll have to do the shootin'—it'll take me all my time to keep this damned contraption right way up." The thud of rounding hoofs sounded above the bang and rattle of the bouncing vehicle. Sudden did not look round; his gaze was glued to the dim trail he was trying to follow. "They're a comin'. Kneel on the seat but be ready to grab; it wouldn't do for yu to be shook off."
“I'm believin' yu," Gerry said, and meant it. The front wheels of the coach sprang into the air and bumped down, the back wheels following suit. Gerry clutched wildly and just saved himself. "Hell! what was that?" he gasped.
“I guess we went over a log— didn't see her in time," the driver explained.
“Lucky I had my mouth shut or I'd 'a' lost my livers an' lights," Gerry grinned. "I shore thought we'd gone over the edge. Damn her, she's as lively as a young flea. Steady a bit, Jim, if yu can." A group of madly racing riders rounded a bend in the trail and yelped when they saw their quarry. Mason, his elbows resting on the roof of the coach, fired four shots and swore when he saw that he had palpably missed. Working the lever like a madman, he emptied the weapon and at last had the satisfaction of seeing a horse drop, but his whoop of triumph was cut short, for the rider got up and followed his friends on foot.
The pursuers were now within twenty yards and discarding his rifle, Gerry snatched up the shot-gun and let them have both barrels. The result was devastating—for the assailants. One of them fell forward on his horse's neck, leaning sideways, and was flung, a lifeless lump, to the ground. Another's mount stumbled and went down, the rider leaping to save himself from being crushed under the animal's body. The remaining horseman reined in and contented himself with ineffective shots at the vanishing vehicle.
“Reckon they've had a bellyful," Gerry exulted, as he rammed cartridges into the magazine of his Winchester. "There's three left, one of 'em crippled, an' they on'y got two ponies."
“Good work," Sudden said. "When we get a piece along we'll take a peek at Joe." Proceeding with a little more regard for safety, they pressed on, and presently, when a faint light began to spread behind the eastern summits, Sudden dragged his team to a stop wherethe trail crossed a shallow creek. A rumble of picturesque metaphor informed them that Injun Joe was anything but dead. In fact, when they opened the door of the coach, he heaved himself up, pistol levelled, and almost fell into their arms.
“Damn yore rotten hides," he said thickly. "I'll ...”
“Steady, ol'-timer," Sudden said, clutching the wavering weapon. "Yo're barkin' up the wrong tree." In a few words he set out the situation and the stage-driver's belligerent expression faded.
“Sorry, boys," he apologized. "So they got pore of Fuzzy, Satan singe their souls! When I come to an' saw his remainders bumpin' about beside me I figured we was goin' to our funerals an' wondered why the hearse-driver was in such a hell of a hurry. I bin yellin' at you for near an hour."
“This jerky ain't none silent," Sudden told him. "Where yu hurt?"
“Guess my shoulder's busted," Joe replied.
And so it proved. With the rough surgery of the range they bathed and bandaged the injury, and left the patient reclining on a bank while they watered and rubbed down the team. When all was ready for a resumption of the journey, Joe vehemently declined to travel inside.
“Which ridin' with a ruddy corpse ain't my idea o' enjoyment," was how he put it. "Prop me up atween you on the box; mebbe I c'n help, seein' I know the road." Since he would hear of nothing else, they had to give in, and having fixed him as comfortably as possible, Sudden cracked his whip and sent the coach splashing through the creek.


CHAPTER XVII


Watching the stage, with its coveted cargo, disappear in the distance, Hank and Fagan were constrained to call down curses on the men who had frustrated their hopes. Rodd, leaning against a tree to rest his damaged limb, eyed them sourly. "What's the use cussin'?" he said. "They've went. Come an' see to this damn leg—I'm bleedin' like a stuck hawg."
“Which is the on'y way you could bleed," Hank retorted. Nevertheless, they bound a handkerchief round the calf of his left leg, which a bullet had perforated. Then, having made sure that the fourth man was dead, they searched his pockets, callously flung the body into the brush, and took the back trail, one horse carrying two of them. At the scene of the hold-up, a welcome surprise awaited them—Lem was sitting by the roadside; the slug which they thought had killed him having merely cut a shallow groove along one side of his skull, "creased" him, in fact.
“Where's the coach?" was his first question.
They all told him, each ornamenting the story to his taste. The scarred face showed that he did not believe them.
“Five o' you let two get away with it?" he sneered. "I ain't swallerin' that."
“True, anyways, take it or leave it," Fagan replied. "Then yu must 'a' made a Gawd-a'mighty mess of it."
“We did, huh?" the squat man snarled. "What the hell did you do?"
“I got the messenger an' Hank drilled the driver," Lem reminded. "After that, it should 'a' bin easy. Paul won't be pleased."
“He warn't goin' to be, anyway," Rodd said meaningly. "But if we'd pulled it off that wouldn't 'a' mattered. It's his fault we failed—sendin' them other two."
“Stark did that," Fagan explained, and added a lurid hope concerning the saloon-keeper's future. "Lanky didn't have yore luck, I s'pose?"
“Dead as Adam," was the reply. "I drug him into the bushes, case anyone came along." There being nothing else to do, the other two horses were brought and the party headed for Deadwood, where they separated and entered by devious routes. Fagan went straight to the Lesurge cabin, where he found the owner alone.
“Well?" Paul said sharply.
“It ain't, the ruffian replied, and told his story.
Lesurge listened unmoved, much to the narrator's astonishment. He had come prepared for blame, angry recrimination, but the motionless mask, with its deep, dark eyes, told him nothing.
“So the cowboys got clear with the gold?" he said, when the tale was ended. "I thought they might." Fagan gaped at him. "You thought—then why in hell did you send 'em?" he burst out.
“For that purpose of course," Paul replied easily. Comprehension began to come to the dazed man. "They were workin' for you?"
“For us," Lesurge corrected. Fagan drew a deep breath; this man was too subtle for him. "Listen," the smooth voice went on. "Stark insisted on Green going, so I had a word with him."
“Did you let on about us?"
“No, that would have been too risky."
“Hell, Paul, didn't I tell you that those blasted cowboys wiped out two an' crippled another couple of our crowd?”
“Battles usually mean casualties."
“You didn't stop to think that one o' them corpses might 'a' been me?" Paul's smile was a sneer. "I trusted to your natural instinct for taking care of yourself," he said.
Fagan knew that he had been politely called a coward but he dared not resent it—then.
“You could 'a' put us wise, anyway," he complained. "S'pose we'd got Green?"
“I should have borne the loss with Christian fortitude, surprising as it would have seemed to me," was the reply.
“An' yo're expectin them fellas to come back an' tell you where the dust is?" Fagan asked incredulously.
“I am," Lesurge replied. "Curiously enough, though I hate him, I believe Green to be honest—to his employer.”
“Did he promise to smouch the gold for you?"
“Not in so many words, but I think I made things clear."
“Too damned clear, I'd say, from the way he slung lead at us. Well, I hope he don't disappoint you; we're all busted."
“I'm afraid you'll have to wait, Fagan; I am almost down to bed-rock myself. Put your thinking-cap on; there should be—opportunities—to-night; everyone will be in town on account of the shooting."
“What shootin'?"
“Hickok was killed last night," Paul said coolly, and disregarding his hearer's oath of amazement." He was playing poker in a saloon and by a careless oversight on his part, he was not facing the door. A fellow stepped in, put a gun to the back of Hickok's head, and fired. The bullet went right through and wounded the player sitting opposite." Fagan's question was practical. "Who done it?"
“A man named McCall, I'm told," Paul said carelessly. "I don't remember to have seen him. He claims that Hickok killed his brother."
“Does Berg know him?" Fagan asked, his squinting little eyes on the other's face.
It told him nothing. "Now you mention it, I believe he does, but if I were you, I wouldn't speak of it." Quietly spoken as the words were, they had an inflexion which made them bite, like drops of acid, into Fagan's brain. He knew what he wanted to know, but regretted his curiosity. Paul Lesurge had brought about the death of Wild Bill. Was that why Green had been got out of the way? It was more than possible. Who would be the next? He almost wished he had not returned to Deadwood, but after their failure there was nothing else to do. If only ... The cold voice was speaking again:
“It will be best to let the boys regard the gold as lost, you won't object to taking a bigger share, I presume? In the meantime, you must—help yourself." The casual, supercilious tone became hard, incisive. "Remember this, Fagan; the affair of the coach is known only to a few; keep your mouth shut or you'll—swing."
“But .not alone," the other snarled, driven beyond endurance.
In a flash Lesurge had him by the throat, his face pale with passion. "Are you threatening me, you dog?" he hissed. "Who would believe a word from you? By God! I've a mind to have you hanged in the morning...." Then the fury died out, his hand fell away, and he laughed. "I'm sorry, Fagan; we've known each other too long to fall out. It was my fault—nerves all ragged. Have a drink, and forget it." The liquor, and Paul's apparent contrition, smoothed the other's ruffled plumage for the moment, but outside the cabin his expression became ugly; Fagan was not one to forgive or forget.
* * * Reuben Stark, his eyes bulging, his bloated face purple, glared at the man who had just broken the bad news. Over a hundred thousand dollars, and the greater part had been his; it was a bitter blow.
“They got away with it?" he gasped. "But—how?"
“Shot the driver and express-man and drove off," Paul lied. "But, damnation, what were the other two fellas doin'?" the saloon-keeper exploded.
“One of them was lying in the road, stunned by a bullet from Green which was within an inch of killing him; the other gave chase, but with Mason firing at him from the coach, he was helpless."
“Green an' Mason," muttered Stark dejectedly. "The two
“You insisted on sending," Lesurge cut in cruelly. "You must let me have some money, Reuben. This robbery hits me hard, and my men did their best and must be paid. McCall too "
“I know nothin' o' that, Paul—I've never seen the fella," Stark snapped, glancing fearfully round the room. "Don't speak that name here." Lesurge shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "Everybody is speaking the name everywhere, but I'll call it a debt to Berg, if you like," he returned. "Of course, he'll get off."
“Shore, these damned gunmen have had their day," Stark replied. He threw over a roll of greenbacks. "I wish someone had served that swine Green the same way," he added vindictively, Paul pocketed the money. "Well, he won't trouble you any more, and with Hickok—removed—things are not going too badly," he consoled. "You can't hope for the luck to run your way all the time. Lora was asking about you." The pig-like eyes lighted up. "Was she now? Ain't seen her in weeks. Why don't you fetch her round to the Monte?"
“Well there's Miss Ducane, she isn't used to that sort of thing —yet. Maybe later ..."
“Glad to see Miss Lora any time," Stark said. "Mighty fine gal, yore sister, Paul; she'd make—"
“A good Queen of Deadwood, eh?" Lesurge finished. "I agree."
“Gawd, you said it—took the words right out'n my mouth," the fat man cried. "We must drink to that." For a moment, he had forgotten his losses. He filled two glasses and raised his own. "Here's hopin'," he said.
Lesurge honoured the toast, a satiric smile on his thin llps. "Wise men don't hope—they act," he remarked. "By the way, best not talk of that coach robbery, except to those concerned; you don't want to advertise failures." Stark assented, eagerly enough, and Paul left him almost good-tempered; he was seeing visions, and could she have shared them, Lora Lesurge would have been amused.
* * * On that same evening the disgruntled stage-robbers, reinforced by Berg, assembled in the shack where they usually met. Fagan had given them a mendacious account of his interview with their employer.
“Paul's powerful sick about it," he said. "He ain't blamin' us, but we'll have to wait for our pay—he's mighty near broke. He kind o' suggested that to-night'd be a good time to look around."
“Somethin' in that," Berg commented. "Town'll be full an' so there'll be a lot o' empty shacks."
“The one I have in mind'll be empty enough for us with them two cowboys out of it," Fagan said.
“Yo're right," Berg agreed. "The of Jew has been buyin' a deal o' dust lately—more'n he can carry about."
“Good. Slip out one by one an' wait for me outside his place," Fagan directed.
“Four'll be a-plenty," Berg excused. "You can do without me."
“Shorely," Hank grinned unpleasantly. "A quarter share suits me better." The little man began to protest but the other would not listen. "Yo're in, or out of it complete," he said roughly. "You dodged the last job."
“I had another to do," Berg snarled.
“Oh, yeah," came the sneer. "Tell us you downed Wild Bill."
“Mebbe—" Berg started, and then caught Fagan's warning frown—"I didn't, but I was workin' for all of us," he finished.
“An' now yo're going to do a spot for yoreself," Hank retorted. He went out, followed by Lem, and Rodd limped after them.
“You damned idjut," Fagan growled. "Why not say straight out that Paul had Hickok bumped off?" Berg's furtive face was sullen. "Did he now?" he asked. "I'll have to tell him you said so."
“Right an' order yore coffin at the same time," was the savage rejoinder. "Don't play with me, Berg; it ain't healthy. Git after the others." Unconscious of approaching peril, Jacob was bending over his cherished chess-board, intent on a problem, when a knock disturbed him. He opened the door and at once iron hands closed on his throat, choking his cry of alarm. His assailant, a short, powerful man, carried him into the cabin, shaking the frail figure as a terrier might a rat. He was followed by four others; all were masked. Flinging his burden against a wall, the first intruder pulled a pistol.
“Where's yore dust?" he demanded. "Speak or die." The old man did not flinch before the levelled weapon. "You are too late," he said quietly. "All I had went East in the coach last night."
“That's a lie," the ruffian roared, and Jacob felt the cold muzzle of the gun pressing against his forehead."It is the truth," he replied steadily.
“Then you can wish it good-bye," jeered another. "Yore cowboy friends has rustled the damned lot, coach an' all." A glint of a smile showed on the prisoner's pale face. Then he made what he would have called a bad move. "To know that, you must have been there," he said softly.
Fagan's face became furious. "Cut the cackle," he grated. "Where's yore gold?"
“Green and Mason are taking care of it," came the calm reply.
With venomous speed the pistol-barrel swung up and down, the victim's knees gave and he toppled to the floor, his out-flung arms sending the chess-men flying; a trickle of blood stained the white hair. Fagan gazed down upon the sprawling, limp form.
“I guess he won't interfere no more," he said. "Git busy, boys; the stuff's here somewheres." The scanty furniture was soon searched and hurled aside, the contents of a box scattered, and then Hank, who had tipped over the truckle-bed, uttered a grunt of satisfaction.
“Here's a short board," he said.
With the point of his knife, he prised it up, and chuckled at the sight of the tin canister in the hole below. Snatching it out, he lifted the lid and cursed when he saw only one small bag.
“A measly two-three ounces," he said disappointedly. "We'd oughta bin after it yestiddy."
“Which we was, an' missed it just the same," Lem reminded.
Rodd had been searching the senseless figure on the floor; he found only a few greenbacks, and some small change. The cowboys' room produced nothing.
“No use hangin' about here," Fagan decided. "Our luck seems to be dead out." One by one they disappeared into the darkness, leaving the cabin looking as though a tempest had passed through it, and in the midst of his broadcast belongings, the victim of their cupidity.
So Rogers found him later, and having doctored the hurt —an ugly scalp wound—to the best of his ability, got the old man to bed and straightened up the place. It was some hours ere Jacob recovered sufficiently to explain, and he did not tell all he knew.
“Must 'a' been someone who knowed Jim an' his pardner warn't here—wouldn't 'a' tried it else," the miner decided. "Me an' the boys'll camp with you till they're back."
“That's good of you, Rogers, but they know there's nothing here now," the patient protested.
“Shore, but other skunks don't, an' Deadwood's full of 'em," was the reply. "On that, you'll need nussin'. If Jim comes back an' finds we ain't looked after you he'll crawl our humps good an' plenty."
“I can't picture you afraid of anyone," the gold-buyer smiled.
“You got me wrong," Rogers said. "If Jim invited me to pull my gun I'd do it an' go to hell with my self-respect, anyways. But he's white, an' I'd hate for him to be disappointed in me. Sabe?" Jacob looked at the rough, hard face and smiled again. "I know, my friend," he said gently. "A white man. That is saying it all. I'd ask for no better epitaph." He was silent for a while, thinking, and then he turned to Rogers.
“Listen. I am not much hurt—just a broken head, but I intend to lie low and let it be thought serious," he said. "When d'you figure the boys'll be back?" Rogers asked.
“I cannot guess. They are on a dangerous mission and I shall be anxious," was the reply.


CHAPTER XVIII


The gold-buyer was not the only one to be concerned respecting the cowboys. Lesurge, from entirely different motives, was also worried. Everything else was going well. Stark's influence in Deadwood was growing, and he had the man in his pocket. Hickok, whom he feared, was disposed of, and his slayer—having been acquitted by a miners' court—had left the district, to pay the penalty for his crime later, after a trial before a regular tribunal.
All was now ready for the final coup—the seizure of Ducane's mine, the wealth from which would enable him to gratify his grasping ambition. But for this he needed Green, who—as he believed—alone knew the location, and he coveted the gold stolen from the stage. So, as day succeeded day, and there was no sign of the puncher, Paul's usually placid forehead grew more furrowed. Once, as they were finishing the evening meal, he jocularly referred to the difficulty he was facing:
“Forgetfulness must be catching, Phil, and you seem to have infected Miss Mary."
“Memories is queer things, Paul," Snowy replied. "Mine has served me scurvy tricks but I reckoned I'd played safe when I took Green with me that time—plainsmen is used to rememberin' trails. Now it looks like he's got lost in the woods—I ain't seen him quite a while." Lesurge told him why, giving the version he had used for Stark, and concluding with, "I doubt if either of them will show up again." Lora had listened with growing doubt. He had told her nothing of this matter, but she was acquainted with his methods. Her shrewd brain divined the deadlock he had stumbled into, and even self-interest did not prevent a sense of spiteful satisfaction.
“You seem to have handled this outlaw all the cards, Paul," she remarked. "He has the gold, and—since he alone knows where to find it—he has the mine too. I've never known you so generous." The cool, sarcastic tone stung as though she had lashed him with a whip, but while his dark eyes were threatening, his voice remained unruffled:
“Lora, with her usual lucidity, has put the matter in a nutshell. If Green does not return ..."
“He dasn't, if he's corralled the gold," Snowy pointed out. "That's so, and therefore we have to find the mine without him," Paul said. "Mary, can't you cudgel that pretty head and come to our assistance?" The girl shook the pretty head. Though she did not know why her silence was desired, she was loyal to the old man. "It ain't Paul, but the fellas he's mixed up with," her uncle had said. "They might git ahead of us. Which was not very clear, but it satisfied her.
“I've tried to remember," she replied. "Something about travelling north-west, over a ridge and past a peak, but that doesn't help much, does it?"
“I'm afraid not," Paul admitted. "The confounded country is all ridges and peaks. Never mind, we'll find it; I don't allow little obstacles like that to beat me." He looked at his sister. "One of your admirers is complaining of not seeing you. Yes, Reuben Stark. Suppose we all go over and let Mary see what Deadwood can do in the way of entertainment?"
“I'd like to, if it will be-all right," the girl said.
“Of course it will—you'll be with us," Lora cried eagerly. "Come along, we must make ourselves beautiful." Lesurge paid the obvious compliment as they ran out of the room, and turned to his companion.
“Phil, that niece of yours"—there was a sneering emphasis on the last word—"gets prettier every day. You'll lose her, certain, but not, I hope, to a common cowboy."
“Her father ran a small ranch an' warn't o' much account," Snowy replied.
“No reason for her to stay in the mire because she was born there," the other retorted. "If her uncle"—again the emphasis—"was not romancing, she'll be a rich woman, and should marry a—gentleman."
“Yeah," Snowy said, and then, with apparent inconsequence, "She thinks a lot o' yu, Paul."
“I'm very glad to know it," Lesurge smiled, and turning to the door, failed to see the old man's savage grimace.
The Monte provided three forms of amusement for its patrons. On the right of the wide space in front of the long bar, with its shining array of bottles, one might lose or win money, as fortune decided, at various games of chance; on the left there was dancing, to the strains of a couple of fiddles and a somewhat tinny piano; for those who cared for neither of these attractions, tables and chairs enabled them to consume liquor in comfort.
At first, the bright lights, swimming in a haze of blue tobacco smoke, the music, the clamour of many voices and boisterous laughter would have made Mary Ducane retreat, but the sight of her own sex among the company reassured her. Ignorant of the world, she did not notice that they were harsh-toned, over-painted and under-dressed; they were women, and justified her presence.
A hum of admiration greeted Lora Lesurge, as, arm-in-arm with the younger girl, she advanced along the narrow aisle leading to the back of the room. Cold, aloof, confident in the power of her beauty, she stilled the tongues of men who had wellnigh lost respect for everything that wore a skirt. The saloon-keeper, who had seen her enter, watched her progress with greedy eyes.
“Damn me, she's shore a queen," he muttered, and hastened to meet her.
She received him with a baffling smile and presented her companion.
“Miss Lora," he said. "The Monte is honoured indeed; if I'd knowed ... Pleased to meetcha, Miss Ducane. Hello, Paul; yo're a public benefactor, for once; Deadwood don't see near enough of its most charmin' citizens." He led the way to a table set apart, at which two men were sitting. They rose, bowed to the women, and would have moved away but Stark protested:
“Set down, boys, you know pretty near everybody here. Miss Ducane, meet Jack Lider an' Bill Eddy, two o' the town's most prominent men."
“Don't you believe him, ma'am," Eddy smiled, as he shook hands. "There's on'y one prominent man in Deadwood an' he's goin' to order a bottle of wine, ain't you, Reuben?"
“No, sir," Stark grinned. "I'm agoin' to order two." The wine was brought, the ladies toasted, and the men began to discuss Deadwood's most absorbing topic—gold. Mary was free to study the strange scene. The noise was incessant. To the jangle of the piano and scraping of the fiddles, she watched rough-shirted, coatless men dancing, their heavy boots beating up clouds of dust from the board floor. A few had female partners, others one of their own sex, and to keep moving seemed to be the only rule observed. Bursts of laughter and an occasional good-natured oath when one couple collided with another punctuated the proceedings. On the other side of the room, where the gamblers were gathered, there was little less din; above the rattle of dice, the shuffling of feet, and whirr of the roulette wheel, players loudly bemoaned their losses or exulted over their gains. Throughout the room men wrangled and cursed each other, but she saw no violence.
Absorbed in what was going on, Mary took little notice of the conversation, but she gleaned that they were talking of the coach robbery, and that Eddy and Lider were, after Stark, the principal sufferers.
“I acted for the best," she heard the saloon-keeper say. "Jacob vouched for Green, an' he was riskin' a tidy bit hisself.”
“Perhaps he was in on it," Paul suggested.
“Hell! I never thought o' that," Stark said. "Come to think, I ain't seen him since, neither. What is it?" as an attendant approached.
The man whispered something and Stark went with him to the door. In a few moments he returned.
“Just had word that Jacob was beaten up an' his cabin ransacked the night after the hold-up," he informed them. "What d'you make o' that?"
“Suppose he was concerned in the robbery, Green returns, and they quarrel," Paul surmised.
“Why should Green come back?" Eddy asked. "If he wanted to double-cross Jacob, he'd on'y to stay away—he's got the goods. No, gents, we won't see that fella any more, I'll betcha."
“What will you wager, Mister Eddy?" Lora laughed.
He followed the direction of her eyes and started to his feet, staring in ludicrous amazement.
“Holy Smoke!" he breathed. "There's the man hisself." Sudden and his friend had just entered the saloon. Despite the precautions to secure secrecy, someone had chattered, and it was generally known that the stage had been waylaid and that the cowboys were the culprits. All heads were turned towards them and a hush fell over the assembly as they stepped unconcernedly to the bar; the music stopped, the dancers stood still, the gamblers paused in their games, and even the gayest of the girls ceased her prattle.
“Well you gotta hand it to him for nerve," one whispered. "Mebbe he thinks it ain't knowed," his neighbour said. "He's liable to git a surprise. Would you look at Reub's face?" In fact, the saloon-keeper, pop-eyed and purple, appeared to be on the verge of an apoplectic seizure as he glared at the man he expected never to see again. On Lesurge the cowboy's advent produced the numbing effect of a blow. What was his game? Why had he not come to him first? Surely he could not be hoping to get away with such a colossal bluff? The fool was walking to his own funeral. Paul shrugged his shoulders; provided he could get from him where the plunder was hidden ...
Apparently indifferent to the interest his arrival was arousing, Sudden, nodding to men he knew, made his way to Stark's table. His eyes narrowed when he saw the women, but he swept his hat off, and spoke to their host.
“Can I have a word with yu, seh?"
“You can—right now," Stark snapped. "An' don't try any funny business or you'll git too much lead in yore system." The puncher glanced around; a dozen of the men sitting near were covering him with their pistols. With a smile of contempt, he folded his arms.
“The funny business 'pears to be comin' from yu," he said. "Cut it short," Stark bawled. "Why are you here?”
“You hired us to go with the stage," was the reply. "I'm here to report."
“We're listenin'," Stark growled.
“They were layin' for us a piece along the trail," Sudden began. "They downed the lead hosses, shot the driver an' messenger." He did not say whose work this was; he believed he had killed Lem and he had an account to settle with Hank. "We stood 'em off, harnessed our own broncs in the lead, an'got away. Later, we patched Joe up an' he sat on the box an' sorta kept cases on my drivin'."
“But where's the dust?" Lider asked impatiently.
“Did yu expect me to bring it back?" was the sardonic query. "Far as I know it's on the way East. The express company's fella took charge of it at Laramie." Master as he was in the art of cloaking his emotions, Lesurge found it difficult to listen unmoved. Was Green lying? he asked himself, or had he really played this trick upon him? He was soon to learn.
Stark's expression was incredulous. "You think we'd fall for that?" he sneered. "We've heard a different story, my man." Sudden bent forward and spoke quietly. "Stark, when yu call me a liar yo're standin' on the lip o' hell, an' all that ars'nal back o' me couldn't save yu." The saloon-keeper was no coward, but those ice-cold, implacable eyes made him shiver. He was about to stammer some excuse, but the other saved him the trouble:
“I knowed yu wouldn't believe me, so I fetched—this." Stark picked up the paper the cowboy had thrown on the table. One glance and his face changed with startling abruptness.
“Boys, we're all right," he cried. "It's a receipt for the gold from the company's agent at Laramie. Hello, what's this?" His brows met in a puzzled frown. "'One box, stated to contain ten thousand dollars' worth of dust, was filled with lead. It was consigned in the name of Paul Lesurge'." He looked at Sudden. "Can you explain that?"
“When I turned the stuff over I made the agent open the boxes an' weigh it up."
“Any reason for thinkin' there was somethin' wrong?" Eddy inquired.
“No, but I warn't takin' chances."
“Someone must have made the substitution," Lesurge put in, with an accusing glance at the puncher.
“The agent says the seals were untouched," Stark pointed out.
“Ah, then I know where to look for the thief," Paul rejoined carelessly. "1 left the packing to one of my men." It was well done, and for the time, it served. Lora smothered a smile; she was not deceived. What a clever devil he was, but this black-haired, firm-jawed young cowboy had bested, though not beaten him; she knew Paul.
Stark was speaking again. "Well, Green, it seems we've been blamin' when we oughta be thankin' you. I'm takin' it back.
Set down an' help yoreself." The knowledge that his money was safe had put him in great good humour and he was disposed to be generous. "Tell us what we can do for you."
“The dead messenger has mebbe a family an' Injun Joe won't drive for quite a while," Sudden said.
“We'll see to that," Lider promised. "What about yourself?”
“Me an' Gerry took this on to oblige Jacob, an' we ain't needin' anythin'."
“That's very well put, Green, but for myself—though by a mischance I don't benefit by what you have done—I feel in your debt," Lesurge said. "I shall look forward to squaring the account." Sudden sensed the underlying threat and smiled. "When I start anythin' I like to finish it," was his apparently inconsequent reply.
“We've had bad news of the old man," Eddy said, and told it. The puncher rose instantly. "I must get along to him—he'll be by himself," he excused. He was about to call Gerry, but that young man was by Mary's side, and appeared to be enjoying himself. So he went alone.
Gerry, however, was having anything but a good time. As soon as he realized that it really was Mary, he had forgotten all about their business with Stark and promptly proceeded to where she was sitting, a little apart from the others. Conscious that the sight of him had made her heart beat faster, she did not speak. Gerry was too angry to notice the omission.
“What are yu doin' in this place?" he asked bluntly.
The low, brusque tone offended her. "I came with my friends," she replied coolly.
“They'd no right to bring yu, it ain't—decent."
“There are other women here."
“Yeah, an' just because o' that yu shouldn't be," he retorted bitterly.
She knew it; these painted, scantily clad creatures who danced and drank with any man who invited them could be no warrant for her presence. But, being a woman, the fact that he was right only increased her resentment. This boy must be taught that she was not to be bullied.
“How dare you presume to dictate to me?" she said haughtily, quite, as she believed, in the best Lora Lesurge manner. But when she saw the dawning smile in Gerry's eyes she knew she had failed, and sought furiously for a way to punish him. "I am here with the man I expect to marry," she added.
“Shore yu are, but yu didn't know I was comin'," he grinned.
His amusement, anger at the false position in which he found her, and disgust with the surroundings made her reckless. "I was referring to—Paul," she said icily.
The moment she had spoken the words she regretted them, but it was too late. The mirth faded from Mason's face and it became hard, unyouthful.
“I'm wishin' yu joy," he said, and rising, stalked out of the saloon.
With hot, miserable eyes she watched him elbow his way unceremoniously through the clamorous crowd and vanish. Lora, who had noticed his abrupt departure, leant over and whispered, "What have you been doing to that boy?"
“Putting him in his place," Mary replied. A few yards away, a girl scarcely older than herself, had clasped her bare arms round the neck of her escort and dragged him shouting to the bar. "Are all the saloons as horrible as this?"
“Don't let Stark hear you—it would break his heart," Lora laughed. "The Monte is the best-conducted in Deadwood.”
“Then heaven help Deadwood," Mary shuddered. "I wish I hadn't come." At which the elder woman laughed again. "I don't fancy Paul has enjoyed himself either," she said.
Which was true enough. Outwardly calm, Lesurge was in the frame of mind when murder becomes easy. His ready tongue had provided an explanation of a damning circumstance. but he was fully alive to the fact that it was a poor one—he would not have given it a moment's credence, and though these men were fools ... Gold, in plenty, would alone repair the damage, gold to fling about, to dazzle these boors who valued nothing else. And a girl, a crazy old drunkard, and that cursed cowboy held the secret. But for that ...
When they returned to the cabin he beckoned Lora into the sitting-room. For a moment he stood, his sombre eyes dwelling upon her, and then he said brutally:
“You must be losing your looks."
“Stark wouldn't agree with you," she smiled.
“Age doesn't bring wisdom where women are concerned," was the cynical reply. "Green appears to be proof against your charms." The woman bit her lip. "If you had confided in me a little more, things might have gone better," she returned quietly. "Had I known you wanted Green to steal for you ..."
“Who told you that?" he demanded.
“My dear Paul," she said scornfully. "It is perfectly obvious —to me—that you expected Green to roo the coach, but not trusting him, you also made other arrangements. Your double plan defeated itself, doubtless because the cowboy saw through it; one of your weaknesses is to underrate others' intelligence." Lesurge shook his head impatiently. "I had no definite agreement; I gave him as broad a hint as I dared but apparently he failed to comprehend it. Now, listen! in a day or so we start for the mine and Green will he with us. It will be your opportunity to ensnare him. The fellow baffles me; I don't know yet whether he is simply stupid or deep, but if you can get him on our side, the game is ours." He smiled disagreeably. "It will not he easy, my Lora; you are hardly his type; Mary Ducane, with her unspoiled youthfulness ..." As he had intended, the insult seared. "She's welcome," Lora flared. "Let her do your dirty work; I will not." 'You'll obey my orders," he replied harshly. "Green—like Hickok—is a danger, and must be overcome." She stared at him with wide eyes. "You—had—Wild Bill—killed?" she gasped.
“And why not?" he asked coolly. "He was in my way. I don't permit interference—from anyone. When I see a clod like Stark, revelling in riches, while 1, his superior in every way else, have to toady to him, I come near to madness; I could kill—and laugh." And indeed, there was a momentary gleam of it in the glance he bent on her. Once or twice recently he had so betrayed himself, and, with all her hardihood, it brought a shiver.
“Well, I'll do what I can," she promised. "God knows I'm sick enough of poverty."


CHAPTER XIX


In the morning Lesurge had a talk with the prospector; the situation brooked no more delay.
“Time we went after the mine," he said. "And since that memory of yours is still asleep, we must get Green to guide us. He can bring Mason if he likes—after the plucky way he took the coach through I'll be glad to have them."
“That's good hearin', Paul," Snowy replied. "I've a notion Jim thinks you don't cotton to him."
“Nonsense, man, how could that be after the service he rendered my sister?" Paul said heartily. "I was a little peevedto find my gold had turned to lead, but I've cleared that up.”
“How many men you takin'?"
“Haven't decided yet. I'll see to that; we'll need to be pretty strong. You and Mary seem to get along all right."
“She's a nice gal," the old man said.
“No sign of suspicion?"
“Nary a mite. We fit in so natural I sometimes forget “
“That's the one thing you must always remember—it would be fatal to our plans, and she'd never forgive you," Paul urged. "No, I reckon she wouldn't," Snowy agreed. "Allasame, her real uncle couldn't do more for her than I'm agoin' to.”
“Of course not," Paul replied, and hid his smile. "Now you ,go after Green. 1 have to see Stark." The saloon-keeper did not receive him quite as cordially as usual, and Lesurge guessed he had been discussed after his departure. He plunged straight into his business:
“Just looked in to tell you that I've solved the mystery of that consignment, Reuben."
“I'm glad o' that, Paul; it didn't look too good."
“It looked rotten," Lesurge admitted. "But it was as I guessed: I let one of my fellows pack the stuff, which was careless of me. The damned fool had a hunch the stage would be robbed, and took a chance."
“What have you done to him?" Stark asked curiously. "Nothing—he saved my life once, so l'm in his debt," Paul lied. "I made him disgorge, and I'll wager he won't play any more such pranks on me." He was silent for a moment. "Lora said she enjoyed last night."
“What about repeatin' the dose this evenin'?" Stark said eagerly.
“She'll be too busy packing."
“The hell you say. Ain't leavin' us, is she?"
“Only for a trip into the hills." He saw the other's eyebrows go up. "Oh, it'll be safe enough—we'll be in force. Lora is looking forward to it."
“I'll bet she is—got sand that girl," Stark complimented. "Goin' to search out Ducane's mine?"
“He calls it his—I've given hirn a small interest," Paul smiled.
“Wish I could go with you but I dasn't leave this place. It's a devil of a tie; sometimes I feel like sellin' the whole shebang an' clearin' out."
“Wait till I come back, anyway," Lesurge said. "Perhaps I'll buy it." * * * Snowy found Sudden alone in the cabin. Gerry and the others had gone to the claim, and Jacob had accompanied them. It did not take long to explain his errand.
“1 want for you to come, Jim," he urged. "Things is gettin' on towards a clean-up but we gotta keep the game goin' with that thievin' devil for a while yet."
“Yu can count me in," the puncher told him. "Lesurge has a lot to answer for. I've heard he brought about Hickok's murder."
“More'n likely. Berg an' McCall was seen together 'bout then. Paul planned an' Stark paid, would be my guess.”
“1f it's true, I'll kill him." The words came from between shut teeth, and the speaker's bleak eyes showed that it was no idle threat. Snowy thought of Lefty Logan and would not have changed places with Lesurge for all the gold he expected to find.
“You don't have to ask my permission," he said grimly. "Jim, are those fellas you got workin' with you, straight?”
“Shore they are."
“Ain't pannin' much are you?"
“Haven't had to charter a stage-coach yet," Sudden smiled.
“I reckoned not," Snowy said. "Well, here's my proposition; there's enough at the Rockin' Stone for all of us. Take them boys to the spot an' tell 'em to hold on till we come. They'll need plenty grub an' their rifles—Paul will have a band o' barscourin's with him an' he'll raise Cain when he learns he's bin tricked. You can git away from the claim without bein' seen an' be back yorself by the time we're ready to start."
“What about Gerry?"
“He can come with us if he wants but I'm guessin' he won't," the old man said, a shrewd twinkle in his eye.
“We'll do it," Sudden promised. "Snowy, how long have yu knowed Lesurge?"
“'Bout the same time as you, but I know him better,". came the sardonic answer. "Yes, sir, I'm wise to the dirty game he's playin' an' I'm goin' to beat it. Get busy, son." He trudged away, and for some moments the cowboy stood gazing after the stooping, frail figure, with its long, unkempt white hair. To-day, somehow, it had a dignity lacking before, Jacob's dictum anent watching the pawns recurred to his mind; Paul Lesurge should have heard that.
Getting his horse, he rode up to the claim. As he had fully expected, the prospector's offer was received with enthusiasm by the miners. They were not making a fortune. and adventurers all, were willing to take a risk. Jacob also wished to go;after his late experience, the prospect of being left alone in Deadwood did not appeal to him.
“Yu'll come with me, Gerry, I guess?" Sudden said.
“Yu'd lose at any guessin' game," was the reply. "I'm with the boys." The puncher was surprised, but he made only one comment: "The women are goin'."
“Then yu can be shore o' trouble," Gerry retorted viciously.
After two days' preparation, Paul and his party were ready to start on what he gave out to be a prospecting expedition, and since—save for the women—it differed in no way from others which left the town almost daily, it attracted little attention. Strong, it undoubtedly was, consisting of nine men, including the leader, with pack-mules loaded with tools and provisions. All the men were armed.
Sudden, arriving outside the Lesurge cabin, found familiar faces; Fagan, Rodd, Berg, Hank, Lem—of whose wonderful escape he had learned—and a big fellow, sitting awkwardly on his mount, whom he recognized as Miller. The miner was eyeing him doubtfully. Sudden rode to his side.
“How's the hangin' trade?" he asked gravely.
Husky cleared his throat, spat, and said reproachfully, "You didn't oughta hold that agin me—it shorely looked like you was our meat. I was just as pleased the way it come out." The cowboy realized that he was in earnest, and with a laugh shoved out a fist. "I was on'y joshin'," he confessed.
Husky's hand, like a bear's paw, gripped his, and a broad grin betrayed his relief.
“How come yu in this?" Sudden asked.
“Well, my claim done petered out an' my luck follered suit," Husky explained. "Took a whirl at the wheel las' night an' went bust. Stark speaks for me an' here I am, figurin' mebbe to earn a grubstake." He surveyed the assembled riders and lowered his voice. "Mister Lesurge is a fine fella but he's picked a middlin' ornery crowd—not meanin' any offence." The cowboy's eyes crinkled at the corners. "One look at 'em is shore a-plenty," he admitted.
“Now then gals is different—purty as pictures." Husky went on. "Hell! here's one a-coming'. See you later—pardner." He beat a hasty retreat as Lora Lesurge trotted up, her eyes alight with excitement.
“Morning—Jim," she greeted, in her rich low voice. "So we are to be fellow wanderers in the wilds again."
“Seems so," he replied, his gaze travelling from the turned-up soft hat to the trim spurred heels. "I'm hopin' yore brother has provided yu with a good pony—them boots ain't no use for walkin'."
“I'm not proposing to walk—this time," she retorted. "If my mount fails 1 shall come to you; I'm sure Nigger could carry both of us," she finished roguishly.
“'Could' an' would' come outa different corrals," Sudden said dryly. "Mornin', Miss Ducane. Well, here's good-bye to Deadwood—for a spell."
“For ever, would please me more," Lora remarked, and her tone told that she meant it.
She ranged herself by his side as they set out. Snowy followed, perched precariously on the back of Jezebel and brandishing a stout stick.
The animal turned a spiteful eye upon him, got a smart clip over the bony nose, dropped its head and stepped demurely forward. The rider emitted a wheezy whoop of triumph.
“The magic wand is still a-workin', Jim," he called out.
Mary found herself paired with Paul, and the rest of the party, leading the pack-beasts, brought up the rear. They soon left the timber-stripped slopes of the gulch behind and headed into the unknown.
At Snowy's suggestion, the cowboy was taking them by a new and more roundabout route. "No sense in lettin' Lesurge know how near he is to Deadwood," the old man had argued. "He might, at a pinch, send for help if it looks like comin' to a scrap; as it is, we'll be even-matched." Sudden knew the direction in which the mine lay, and as a plainsman, that was all he needed, but the savage nature of the country made straightforward progress impossible, and more than doubled the actual distance.
Presently they paused on the crest of a steep ridge which afforded a wider view. Grey, rock-crowned hills, black forests of fir, green park-like valleys, and deep, precipitous gullies stretched before them in unending succession. For all the blazing sun, there was a keenness in the air and the aromatic tang of the pines was in their nostrils. As they slipped and slithered down the slope of the ridge, Lora said abruptly:
“What brought you to Deadwood? You care nothing for money."
“Drop a dime an' watch me dive for it," he bantered, but when she would not smile, he added bluntly, "I came to find two men."
“Friends?"
“I wouldn't call 'em that," was the ambiguous reply. Moved by an impulse he did not attempt to analyse, he told her why he had become a wanderer in the West, of the vow of vengeance one day to be fulfilled.1 She listened with wide eyes. Death dealt swiftly as retribution for a wrong, or in the heat of passion, she could comprehend, but this cold, relentless seeking out appalled her.
“Suppose you never find them?" she questioned.
“Then they'll be in, an' I'll be out o' luck," he said. "But you will have wasted your life."
“I don't figure it thataway; I'm livin' an' doin' things. Right now I'm helping Snowy to get a fortune."
“And Paul," she prompted.
“Yeah," he said. "But I reckon yore brother can help his-self!" The bitter jest had slipped out unawares and he was afraid she would resent it, but his embarrassed look only made her laugh.
“Never mind, Jim," she said. "I've no illusions about Paul; helping himself is one of the things he does best." Meanwhile, Paul Lesurge had been finding Mary a rather inattentive companion. Gerry's absence had been a blow; she wished—she told herself—to escape from the false position in which pique had placed her. There was too, more than a tinge of resentment in her attitude. "Said he warn't interested." The phrase had both hurt and angered her. Paul's voice stepped right into her thoughts:
“I'm sorry young Mason decided not to come with us. There must be a strong attraction in town to separate him from Green." Mary's face clouded—she had not forgotten Lora's reference to the girls at the Paris. Then her head went proudly up, and she smiled.
“Mister Green doesn't seem to be heartbroken," she replied. "I suppose one man less won't matter, will it?"
“Not a bit," he said. "There are enough of us to take good care of you—Mary; if there were not, I'd go back and get more." His voice betrayed a tenderness he had never shown to her before and it thrilled. She tried to answer lightly:
“You might lose the mine."
“My dear, you are more to me than all the gold in Dakota," he said earnestly. "I only want wealth for your sake. Do you care for me, Mary?" The low, passionate tone, the dark, pleading eyes, carried conviction; she could not but believe. "You have been so kind to us," she murmured. "I like you very much, Mister Lesurge "
“Paul," he smiled.
“Well—Paul," she amended, "but—I had not thought " She broke off, blushing and confused.
“1 understand," he said gently. "I did not dare to give even a hint, but I could hold back no longer. I shall not ask for an answer now. Think it over—and be kind." His courtesy and consideration touched her, as he meant they should, and she thanked him with a look which fanned the flame of his desire.
“By the way, say nothing of this as yet to Lora," he counselled. "She is an odd girl, and has all a sister's jealousy for an only brother." Mile after mile they plodded on, picking a way through the varied welter of the wilderness. When their guide called a halt on the bank of a rippling stream shaded by cottonwoods, all were glad of the rest.
“Berg, you once ran a hash-house, didn't you?" Lesurge said. "I'm appointing you cook. Get a fire going and make coffee." The little man's expression was as near a smile as his sour face could contrive; he preferred pots and pans to picks and shovels. The men began to gather dry wood, and Paul rejoined the women. He appeared to be in a gay humour.
“You'll eat with us, Green," he said. "How much longer before we reach our destination?"
“Three-four hours, I'd say," the puncher replied, "unless we meet with difficulties."
“Say no more," Lora begged. "Mary, we have not been brave--only lucky. And all for a handful of yellow dirt.”
“A handful?" Paul cried. "I expect to take those pack animals to Deadwood piled with it, and to come back for more, eh, Phil?"
“We'll load every hoss we got an' walk ourselves," the prospector wrinkled.
“No walking for me, thank you," Lora said, and with a sly glance at the cowboy, "My legs are simply—ornamental.”
“Then we'll have to leave you behind," her brother laughed. "In the Black Hills gold comes first." When the journey was resumed, Sudden found that his companion had lost her high spirits. She rode listlessly, head drooping, for some distance. On several occasions he had to warnher of spots requiring care and once he grabbed her bridle just in time to save her a nasty tumble.
The hours crept by, spent in laborious riding, mostly at a walking pace. Only at infrequent intervals, when a level space offered, could they shake a little life into the heels of their mounts. Tedium was beginning to take hold of them all when at length their guide paused and waited for Snowy to catch up. "Guess this is it. Do yu recognize her?" he asked.
“Shore, there's the of shack," was the reply. "Hey, Paul, we've made it." The men whooped as they hustled their horses and trotted into the ravine. Husky, dismounting, stood studying the place. When Snowy inquired what he thought of it, his answer was blunt enough:
“Never seed an onlikelier prospect."
“Any experienced digger'll tell you them's often the richest," the old man snapped.
Preparations were begun for pitching camp. The ladies inspected the shack and promptly elected to use the tent which had been brought for them, as being less suggestive of spiders, scorpions, and other horrors. The "bar-scourin's," however, decided it was good enough for them. Some hundred yards along the ravine was a tiny grass plateau, shaded by birch and cottonwoods, and here the tent was erected and a rough lean-to shelter put together for Lesurge and Snowy. The puncher, for reasons of his own, announced that he preferred to sleep in the open; his blanket and saddle were all he needed. Lesurge was superintending these arrangements when Sudden strolled up.
“It won't be dark yet awhile," he said. "I'm goin' to see if I can scare up a deer—fresh meat'll be an improvement on sow-belly. Like to come along, Ducane?"
“Shore would—I ain't no use here," came the prompt reply. "That's a good idea, Green; we'll make you hunter to the party," Lesurge laughed.
The two men got their mounts and loped off. When they were a safe distance away, Snowy chuckled and said: "Yo're a clever cuss, Jim. I was wonderin' what excuse we could make to git away times. How fur do you make it? I never was no good at measurin'."
“Not much more'n a couple o' miles in a straight line but yu gotta twist about some. See the belt o' firs over there with a point o' rock peepin' above it? That's the Rock in' Stone."
“Burn my whiskers if it ain't. I never looked at her from here." They were threading a thicket when Sudden held up a warning hand, grabbed his rifle, and disappeared on foot into the bushes. Ten minutes later Snowy heard a report, and then the puncher reappeared, carrying the carcase of a young buck, which he proceeded to secure to his saddle.
“There's a pool, an' by the tracks it's a regular drinkin' place," he said. "Worth rememberin'." They hurried on and presently, penetrating the circle of trees, reached the rampart of rock. Tying their mounts, they slipped through the concealed opening. At the other end of the hollow, five men were busily at work. Sudden uttered a low Cowboy call and one of the stooping figures straightened up, let out an answering whoop, and came charging towards them.
“Jim?" he cried. "Yu got here then?"
“No, I'm still on the way," Sudden said ironically.
Snowy was already among the workers. "How's she pannin' out?" he asked excitedly.
It was Rogers who replied. "Mister Ducane, she's lousy with gold; I never see the like of it."
“Good," the little man said, "but cut out the `mister'—we're all pardners here." Rogers nodded. "We ain't losin' no time—sca'cely stoppin' to feed; Jim said we might be disturbed," he went on, and as Sudden came up, "I'm buryin' the stuff under the big tree yu picked out."
“What's that?" Snowy wanted to know.
“I told him to cache the dust in the brush; no sense in losin' that as well as the claim if we get druv out," the puncher explained. "I'll show yu the spot."
“Jim, I'm liftin' my lid to you," Snowy said warmly. "You got savvy. Well, Mister Jacob, what d'you think of her?”
“It's the most remarkable alluvial deposit I ever heard of," was the reply.
“You figure it's just a pocket?"
“Certainly. Under the sand and gravel, there is a thin layer of almost pure gold on the bed-rock. Somewhere up there"— he pointed to the great cliff with its swinging stone—"is the mother-lode, but you'd need dynamite and a crushing plant to get at it."
“Guess yo're right," the prospector agreed. "Well, cleanin' this hole out will give us enough to do—an' to spend, but ..." He gazed regretfully at the mountain, his mind on the hidden wealth it contained.
Mason accompanied them to the entrance. "Get out all yucan, Gerry," Sudden told him. "It won't take Paul's party long to find they're workin' a dead hoss an' then somethin's liable to break loose."
“How's—everybody?" the boy asked.
“She's lookin' fine," Sudden grinned. "Rode all the way with dear Paul, an' seemed to be enjoyin' herself." He waited while Gerry expressed a few fervent wishes respecting dear Paul, and added, "I'm beginnin' to doubt if yu like the fella."
“Mixin' so much with Miss Lesurge is shorely sharpenin' yore wits," the boy came back, and asked how many men Paul had brought.
“Husky?" Gerry said, when he had heard the names. "Ain't he the joker who wanted to string yu up?"
“Yeah, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's sorta white.”
“On'y seven, countin' Paul hisself; that ain't so many," Gerry reflected aloud.
“He isn't expectin' opposition, an' would reckon on me an' Snowy—as yet," Sudden argued. "There's six of 'em anyway who'd admire to bump me off. I'd feel like Daniel in the lions den on'y they's just coyotes." He closed with a word of comfort: "Keep a-smilin'; she looked real disappointed when yu didn't show up. Adios.”



CHAPTER XX


The next morning brought feverish activity to the camp in the ravine, and the washing of the first pan of dirt was witnessed by the whole company. When Snowy—who himself officiated —triumphantly pointed to the resulting pinch of yellow particles, a chorus of satisfaction greeted him, and no further spur was needed. Blinded by the golden gleam, the men snatched up tools and began to dig with eager energy. But as the day waned so did the enthusiasm. Gold was found in trifling amounts only. Husky, the most experienced miner, save Snowy, put the matter plainly:
“We're findin' plenty `colour' an' that's all." Lesurge took the disappointment badly. "You appear to brought us on a fool's errand, Phil," he said irritably, as they sat over the evening meal.
“If you knowed as much as I do 'bout gold-minin'—which you never will—you'd talk different," Snowy returned calmly.
“The stuff is there, you've seen it, but we ain't just struck when. it's thickest. Did you expect to put a spade in an' fetch it out loaded with nuggets? That on'y happens in the story-books-an' dreams. Mebbe we'll have better luck to-morrow."
“I hope so," Paul replied. "Where's Green—and Lora?"
“Jim's gone for meat, an' Miss Lesurge elected to go along."
“She said she was tired of doing nothing," Mary explained.
“You don't feel like that?"
“No, I think it is all very interesting and exciting." He stooped over her and whispered, "I want you always to be contented when we're together, Mary." The warmth in his tone stirred her, brought the blood to her cheeks, but she had a sense of something lacking and could not say the words she knew he was hoping to hear. But her smile satisfied him.
Sudden had not been pleased to have company—he would not be able to pay the Rocking Stone a visit, but his objection that there might he danger had been met with a merry laugh.
“We've faced it all together before," Lora reminded.
“Yeah, an' I'd have thought once would 'a' been a-plenty," he replied.
“You don't know how fascinating you are, Jim," she mocked.
“I reckon yore brother is some disappointed," he said.
“I didn't come to discuss Paul; I want to talk about you." He looked at her quizzically: "Well, I can't stop yu, but I don't have to listen."
“That is mean of you," she cried. "If I knew the way back..."
“I'll show yu," he offered instantly.
To his surprise, she laughed. "No, you are too anxious to get rid of me, my friend. Why?"
“I've work to do." A little later he pulled up. "Wait here," he told her, "I won't be far off. No, yu needn't to hold Nigger—he'll stay put." He dropped the reins to the ground, took his rifle, and slipped noiselessly into the brush. She heard the shot, and soon he was back, carrying his spoil. The woman looked at the limp, sleek body of the deer and shivered. Such a little time ago it had been full of life, and now ... With an uncanny instinct he sometimes showed, he read her thought.
“I warned yu not to come," he said.
She did not speak until they were nearly back at the camp, and then: "Jim, do you ever think of—Logan?"
“On'y when thoughtless folk remind me," he said harshly.
“I killed a man once," she went on in a low voice. "I suppose you heard? I didn't intend to; he was—horrible to me. I meant to frighten him, but—he died."
“Forget it," the cowboy said. "Yu had a right to protect yoreself, an' by all accounts, the fella got what he deserved.”
“Death, when one thinks seriously of it, seems terrible," she mused.
“Shucks, it's just goin' to sleep an' not wakin' up, that's all," he said lightly.
She shook her head. "I'm afraid," she confessed.
“What of?" Sudden asked.
“I don't know—which is the worst kind of fear," she said, and, with an effort at a smile, as the camp-fires came in view, "I've been a doleful Dinah this evening, Jim. I'll be all right in the morning." She walked listlessly to the tent. The puncher unsaddled and turned loose the horses, hung the meat on a branch out of reach of four-footed prowlers, and went down to the shack in search of supper. He found an air of savage dejection, and soon realized that in the bitter condemnation of Snowy, he himself was included.
“Allus knowed he was a romancer," Rodd remarked. "Hell if that of geezer opened his mouth much more he'd be liable to swatter hisself."
“Yeah, you can't tell him nothin' 'bout gold, an' he fetches us out here on this shadder-huntin' play," Lem supplemented.
“Anybody might think yu'd paid him for the chance," Sudden said. "How much has any o' yu lost?"
“We're riskin' our ha'r an' wastin' time," Berg argued.
“Like the rest of us," Sudden pointed out. "Did yu expect to find the dust packed up in sealed boxes ready for yu?" He was watching Fagan as he spoke, and saw the sinister face darken. Husky—who did not understand the allusion—laughed and said, "Even Ducane didn't promise that. Arter all, it's a blow in the breakfast for him too, but we may hit on her yet—you never know 'bout claims." His optimism evoked only scowls and sneers. Sudden finished his meal, said good night to the big miner, and sought his blankets. He did not sleep at once. Lora's mood, so unlike her confident, cynical self, puzzled him. Was it another trick of an accomplished coquette or could there be real reason for fear? Possible she had recognised Hank. But her brother would protect her. Then came the amazing thought that Paul might be the cause of her apprehension, but he dismissed it as absurd.
The morrow brought no encouragement to the fortune hunters; the ravine was tested from end to end and the results were meagre indeed. Even Snowy had to admit that it was useless to continue work there. He appeared to be dazed by the disappointment, wandering from one point to another like a man who had lost something precious. Only Sudden caught and read the malicious gleam of joy which sometimes crept into his narrowed eyes.
“Damned if I can understand it," he said to Lesurge. "There's the shack I lived in "
“Ducane lived in," Paul reminded.
“O' course, I meant that," the other assented. "But here's the ravine, an' the marks when he tried her out."
“The directions Mary gave you indicated this place?”
“Shore they did. How else would I find it?" Paul turned away impatiently; it would be just like the doddering old idiot to have made a mistake. He went in search of the girl and found her sitting on a tree-stump, absorbing the view. Though the frown had vanished, his face was worn and worried; finding the mine meant everything to him. Nevertheless, he forced a smile to his lips as he answered her question.
“No better news. I'm beginning to fear that Ducane's memory has served him ill and that he has brought us to the wrong spot." Mary had known this as soon as they arrived, but the promise to her uncle had kept her silent. But surely now that they were away from Deadwood and she was to wed Paul, there was no more need for secrecy. Pity for him impelled her to speak; she did not see that he was watching her narrowly.
“I am afraid you are right, but Uncle seemed so sure," she replied. "There was mention of a kind of cup with cliff-walls, a rock peak which somehow threatened, and a hidden entrance. I think, from what I can remember, that we came the right way, and that it should be near here." Though he questioned her closely, she would tell him nothing more definite. "Possibly these particulars may stir your uncle's sluggish memory," he said, and cursed below his breath. at the thought that the old man could know no more than himself.
“I hope so," she replied. "It will break his heart to fail." On his way back to the camp he met Lora, and gave an order: "When that cowboy goes hunting to-night you stay here."
“And why?" she inquired, raising mutinous eyebrows.
“Because it is necessary," he snapped, "unless you wish to remain a pauper." She gave a weary gesture. "Oh, I'm tired of it," she cried. "I'm afraid you were right, Paul; he is too strong for me."
“Well, it doesn't matter now; I can handle Mister Green myself," he said harshly.
An hour after the puncher had departed on his foraging expedition, Rodd come rocketing into camp and drew Lesurge aside.
“Boss, we're bein' sold out," he said. "I follered Green, saw him git the meat, an' then, 'stead o' turnin' back, he goes on. An' he ain't just wanderin' neither, but makin' for a fixed point. Next, cuss the luck, I loses him."
“Blundering jackass," came the angry comment.
“Warn't my fault. We comes to an open stretch o' grass an' that black o' his leaves mine a-standin' still. I'll swear he never got a peep at me; it was just a smart dodge, in case."
“All right. When he returns, you know what to do." The spy had been correct—Sudden had no suspicion that he was being trailed, but he was taking no chances. At the Rocking Stone he found the work proceeding merrily and the gold was being got out with all speed.
“Somethin's bound to happen to-morrow," he told Gerry, as he was leaving. "The ravine's busted wide open an' there ain't enough dust to pay one o' the gang. Snowy's a born actor but Paul is gettin' suspicious."
“Mebbe he'll throw the hand in an' go back to Deadwood?"
“What the of man is hopin' for, I expect, but it won't be that easy. Keep a sharp look-out, an' don't light a fire—smoke can be seen a long ways off in the daylight."
“Now I'll tell one," Gerry said. "Yu had a gran'mother." Sudden stared at him. "What th'—?" he began.
“Don't deny it fella. Yore gran'mother could suck eggs, an' I'm bettin' yu taught her how."
“Awright, I take it back," the other Iaughed. "I keep forgettin' yo're near growed up." Everything appeared to be normal when he reached the ravine. He rode down to the shack, dismounted, and was in the act of handing the buck he had brought in to Berg when one of the men deftly removed his guns and two others grabbed his wrists. With a violent wrench he freed himself and drove a bullet-hard fist into the nearest face—that of Rodd. But Hank hung on, and when Fagan charged from behind, knocked the cowboy off his feet and knelt upon him, Sudden, windless and spreadeagled on the ground, was helpless. A few moments sufficed to secure his wrists, and he was permitted to stand up. Rodd also rose, feeling his neck anxiously. Finding it was not, as he had feared, dislocated, he stepped to the prisoner, fists clenched.
“You damned cow-thief," he snarled. "I'll—" A huge hand gripped his shoulder and dragged him back. "None o' that," Husky said gruffly. "Time to hit a fella's when f his han's is free—like mine." Bandy did not accept the invitation; he may have been familiar with the story of David and Goliath but apparently he had no desire to emulate it. He contented himself with a scowl.
“I'm obliged, Husky," Sudden said. "Mebbe yu can explain the meanin' o' this?"
“Lesurge wants to talk to yu—that's all I know."
“Goin' to be rude an' is playin' safe, huh? Well, let's get it over." He walked to where Paul, Snowy and the women were sitting, and the men followed. The prospector was looking uncomfortable.
“See here, Lesurge, what's the reason for yore scum jumpin' me?" the prisoner asked brusquely.
“My orders," Paul said curtly. "Where have you been?”
“Gettin' meat."
“And after?"
“Give the li'l horse a run—he's needin' exercise."
“That's a lie." The puncher's eyes narrowed. "Yu were certainly wise to tie me up," he said.
“I've dealt with desperadoes before."
“Yeah," Sudden drawled, with a sardonic glance at the repellent faces around him.
Lesurge turned and darted a finger at the old man.
“Where's the real one, the one in a cup with cliff-walls, an overhanging rock, and a concealed entrance?" he thundered.
“That's the description you got from Mary, and you bring me here." Snowy's face did not alter. "Don't 'member any such place," he mumbled vacantly.
“Yet you can remember this one," Paul sneered.
“Shore, there's the ol' shack—" An oath cut him short. "Damnation! I want the truth," Lesurge grated. "If I tie you to a tree and let my men use their quirts it may quicken your memory." Mary Ducane interposed. "Paul, you are speaking to my uncle. If he has forgotten He waved her to silence. "There are thlngs you do not know; he is plotting to rob you."
“Are yu accusin' Ducane of tryin' to steal his own property?" the puncher sarcastically questioned.
“He has no shadow of right to the mine," Paul said sternly. "He is not Philip Ducane, but a drunken old bum I picked up in Wayside." He turned to Mary. "Listen, my dear. When I heard your story, I searched the settlement and failed to find your uncle. It seemed probable that he had died, and I conceived the idea of saving you disappointment and putting you in possession of his wealth by providing a substitute. This old scamp seemed harmless and he agreed readily enough to the imposture. But for his impudent attempt to get all instead of the share I promised him, matters would have gone smoothly, and I should then have explained the whole affair. No doubt I was wrong to deceive you, but it was for your sake." The girl stood up, her face pale in the firelight. "I am ready to believe that," she said with quiet dignity, "but even if this man is not my uncle, I have grown to care for him as such and he must not be harmed." Though this unlooked-for attitude filled him with fury, there was a decision in her tone which warned Paul he must tread warily.
“Good for yu, Miss Ducane," Sudden said. "Thrashin' Snowy won't get yu no place, Lesurge; he can't tell what he don't know. I'm the jigger yu gotta make terms with."
“Terms, with you?" Lesurge flamed. "Put a pistol to his head and pull the trigger unless he tells." The threatened man laughed aloud. "Killin' the goose, huh? Well, go ahead, Hank; yu tried that bluff once before, didn't yu?" He saw Lora's start of surprise, and continued. "Yeah, the same of Hank, Miss Lesurge; the skunk who kept yu tied in the hills that time."
“I didn't know it was the same man, Lora," Paul excused, but the lie was obvious.
“The same Hank who borrowed my clothes an' rode a black hoss so that he could slit the throats o' lonely miners for their dust," the cold voice went on.
“Close yore trap, you," Hank growled, pressing the pistol-barrel against his ear. Someone else in the gathering muttered a deep curse; it was Husky.
“An' now, lemme tell yu somethin', Miss Ducane," Sudden went on. "If Snowy wanted the mine—an' he did—it was for yu." I am sure of it," she replied, with a glance of affection at the bowed figure by the fire.
“But Lesurge wanted it for himself. Why was he waitin' in Wayside? For the fella who came with yu, Fagan, his dawg, an' before speakin' to him, he gloms on to yu. Ain't it plain he knew about yu an' was makin' his plans even then? In Deadwood he tries to get Gerry Mason strung up, an' pays Logan to put me outa the way. Them plays don't pan out just right so he goes to work different, bribes me to rob the treasure coach, an' in case I need help, sends rats like Hank an' Lem to give a hand. They falls down on it—some of 'em so hard they never gets up again—an' Paul's last hope is yore gold-mine."
“I don't believe a word of it," Mary said indignantly.
“I didn't suppose yu would but yu will," Sudden said. "Yo're the sort to think the best as long as yu can."
“Thank you, Mary," Lesurge smiled. "I let him go on because I knew I could depend on you."
“If yo're gettin' tired holdin' that gun yu can put it away, Hank, it won't be needed," the prisoner said confidently. "Yore boss is up a tree; the best he can do is to slink back into Deadwood with his tail tucked tight into his hindquarters." The careless contempt fanned Paul's fury to a white heat but he fought it down; his greed was stronger still. His voice shook when he spoke: "You think so, eh? Well, listen: if at sunrise you do not tell what I want to know, I shall give these men permission to deal with you as they please; we can find the mine without you."
“With this gang o' cut-throats?" the cowboy jeered. "Why I could lose 'em fifty yards out in the brush; a s'loon or a gaol is the on'y places they're at home in."
“Throw him in the shack and put a guard on the door," Paul ordered, and with a savage desire to hurt, added, "And shoot that black horse." Sudden's lips clamped like a vice, but before he could speak Lora was on her feet.
“No," she cried vehemently. "That horse is mine if ..." The men looked at their leader and received a sullen nod of assent; Paul had a difficult explanation to make and this might help. The prisoner breathed a sigh of relief; at this moment he almost loved the woman who had saved his four-footed friend. As they slammed the door of the shack upon him, he had a last defiant word:"Don't oversleep, Hank, you might miss somethin'."
“What I'm hopin' is that you don't spill the beans," was the sinister retort.
Seated on an upturned box, Sudden listened to the steady tramp of the sentinel outside, walking to and fro, for the night was chilly. His mind was concerned with one thought only—he must get away. The reckless attempt to open Mary Ducane's eyes had been of no avail; she had already spoken, and the location of the real mine could only be a matter of time.
He tested his bonds, and was thankful they were not the work of cattlemen. Sudden grinned in the darkness; manipulation and the possible loss of some skin would free his hands. The problem of leaving did not trouble him; his upbringing had made observation a habit, and on first seeing the shack he had noticed that two of the back logs were rotten. But he must wait until the camp was quiet. Half an hour passed and someone spoke outside;
“Don't be a fool, Fagan. My brother thinks I can persuade him. Open the door, and keep away from it, or ..." He heard the squat man's grumbling reply, and then came a blur of light as Lora Lesurge entered.
“You can leave the lantern," she said sharply.
When he had gone she turned to the prisoner. "Jim, this is your last chance. Unless you give in, Paul will keep his promise to the men—and they hate you. As I passed I heard the beasts discussing what they will do."
“Ain't tryin' to scare me, are yu?"
“No, but what possessed you to attack my brother like that?"
“I figured it was time someone told him the truth, an' I might not get another opportunity."
“It was madness," she said. "He'll never forgive you, unless
“No `unless' about it," Sudden broke in. "To back down now would be my finish, an' yu know it. If he sent yu ..."
“It was my idea. I feared it would be useless, but I had to see you," she replied. A note of passion crept into her voice. "I must save you. Promise you will take me away—we can trick or overcome that wretch out there, get the horses, and ride out of this dreadful country into the wide world—together." She stepped closer and the flickering flame of the lantern revealed her parted, pleading lips and eager eyes. The cowboy felt the fascination of her and fought it. Deliberately he evaded the issue.
“Speakin' o' hosses, I gotta thank yu for savin' Nigger," he said. "If things don't go just right with me, I'd admire for yu to have him." She caught her breath. "Yes, yes, but things must go right," she whispered. "I have my knife—the same one, Jim—and we'll slip off and—live happily ever after," she finished with a tremulous smile.
Was she in earnest? He believed that for the moment she might be. But neither her beauty nor her warmth awakened any response in his breast, and he was not the kind to save his life with a lie.
“It wouldn't work out thataway," he said gently. "I'm a wanderer without a home—gotta be—an' yo're not made for poverty."
“You are thinking of those men. I'll help you find them, and Jim, I don't care for money." Swiftly she put her arms round his neck and clung to him. "Boy, boy, I only want you," she murmured. "Even if I'm only to be your slave, your plaything ..." She stopped as she looked up into his set face.
“Yo're talkin' wild an' I know yu don't mean it," he said sternly. "If ever I care for a woman, I'll not ask that of her." She shrank away as though he had struck her. "You—don't —love me?" she asked, and her voice had lost its softness.
Sudden shook his head. "Yo're mighty beautiful, but .."
“You would rather lose your life than share it with me," she finished furiously. "Very well; die, and be damned, you fool." She almost ran from the shack and slammed the door. He heard her give a curt order to Fagan, who came in and inspected his bonds. Then silence. The cowboy breathed a sigh of relief.
“Wild Bill shorely gave me good advice," he muttered. "Wonder how much she was meanin'?" He smiled grimly. "Her husband won't find married life monotonous, I'm think-in'. Guess I'd better be going; Paul may decide there's no need to wait." He worked on the fastening round his wrists and presently slipped it off. Then he picked up the lantern—which had been left—and examined the back of his prison. At the moment when the crunching tread of Fagan's feet sounded farthest away, he drove his heel at what appeared to be a weak spot. The log splintered and broke, fortunately with no great noise, and another thrust produced a gap through which he could squeeze. Stooping low, he crawled along the side of the ravine, moving swiftly but soundlessly from one patch of shadow tothe next. He was stepping from behind a bush almost on the verge of the camp when a bulky figure butted into him. Instantly he had it by the throat, and the surprise of the attack brought the fellow down.
“A yelp from yu'Il be yore last," Sudden whispered fiercely, and drove the warning home by digging fingers of steel into his victim's windpipe. Finding there was no resistance, he relaxed his grip a little. "Yu can name yoreself," he said, "But —whisper." The half-throttled man was in poor shape to do more. "I'm Miller," he gasped. "Was comin' to—turn you loose. Got yore guns—in my belt." Sudden was not in a trustful mood. With one hand he searched for and found his weapons; not until then did he remove his knees from the prostrate miner's chest and allow him to get up. Husky rubbed his throbbing throat.
“You got one hell of a grip, Green," he said, and, realizing that some sort of an explanation was due, went on, "I don't like thisyer crowd—never did, an' when you told of Hank's little game it finished me—I lost a good pal that way. So I figured I'd help you slide out an' go along, if you'll have me."
“Shorely," Sudden replied. "Sorry I rough-housed yu but I couldn't take a risk. Any idea where my hoss is?"
“Clear o' camp with mine," Miller told him. "I tried to saddle both of 'em, but your'n nearly took the head off'n my shoulders. He's a beauty though. I don't savvy horses much, but I'd sooner trust a good 'un than most o' the men I've met, an' when Lesurge ordered him to be shot, I got his measure." If Husky meant to ingratiate himself with the cowboy he could have chosen no better way, but he was sincere, and Sudden—a competent judge of men despite his youth—knew it. The miner's creed was a simple one; if he believed a man deserved to die he would kill without compunction, but he would not lie, steal, or betray a friend.
Through the velvet blackness of the night they made their way to where the horses were picketed. Nigger greeted his master with a low whinny of pleasure, and a few moments later they were lost in the gloom of the brush. Husky asked a question.
“I've got friends handy," was the answer.
“I'm durn glad to hear it," the miner said. "I clean forgot 'bout grub. Gosh, I'd like to see them fellers's faces in the mornin'.”


CHAPTER XXI


When Lora left the shack she was frantic with the rage and shame of a slighted woman, but by the time she reached the camp her virulent passion had passed, leaving only a dull despair. Paul was sitting alone by the fire. He waited for her to speak.
“That man is made of chilled steel," she said.
“The coldest steel will yield to sufficient heat," was his comment.
“How wonderful," she sneered. "I threw my arms round his neck and offered him life and my love. He—refused." Paul glared at her. "You did—that?" he cried.
“Certainly. You see to what lengths I go in your service.”
“Are you sure it was on my account?"
“At one moment I was not," she confessed coolly. "But now I am—quite sure."
“Since he won't toe the line, he must die. When people cease to be of use to me, I get rid of them."
“Is that a hint?" she asked caustically.
“Possibly," he snapped. "Don't overplay your hand, Lora."
“Because if it is, I'd better prove I can still be useful," she went on. "Silencing Green won't help you; it would be more to the purpose if he led you to the mine." His gesture of impatience amused her. "Every prisoner dreams of escape. Where would Green go if he got away? To the mine, of course, where Mason—who would not come with us, though they are inseparable—is doubtless awaiting him." Paul's eyes gleamed. "By God, you're right; let him go and set hounds on his trail. I might have thought of that."
“Your mind is so fully occupied, my dear Paul," she said.
If he detected the sarcasm he ignored it. "Your story to Green is that I'm determined to kill him but you cannot bear it. Cut his bonds and tell him you've got Fagan out of the way. I'll have three men ready to follow him, and I'll take damned good care he doesn't get his own horse." He hurried away to do his part and the woman retraced her steps to the shack. The savage resentment towards the condemned man had gone and she was now doing what she could to save him. Once clear of the camp, she argued, it should be simple for a trained woodsman who knew he was being pursued, to trick men unused to following a trail. Outside the shack the stocky form of Fagan confronted her.
“Back again huh?" he jeered. "Thought you'd wished him good-bye a'ready."
“Open the door, and shut your foul mouth," she said.
The man obeyed and started back with an oath. "Hell's flames, he's gone!"
“Impossible!" she cried.
Thrusting him aside, she looked in. The lantern was there, still alight, but no prisoner; the hole in the wall at the back explained why. Her first feeling was one of elation—he had escaped, and then came a black thought—help had come from another. And, knowing it would, he had rejected her advances, no doubt laughing to himself, despising her ... Paul's harsh voice, speaking to Fagan, recalled her to reason.
“Escaped? How, you dolt?"
“Ask her," the man replied, pointing to Lora. "She's the only one what's been near him. She must 'a' cut " The woman whirled on him. "What did I tell you to do when I came out?"
“Done forgot that," Fagan stammered. "You said to make shore he was tied tight, an' I did." He darted into the shack, picked up the rope, and stared at it. "Ain't cut a-tall," he cried "an' the knots is just how we fixed 'em."
“Then you fixed them damned carelessly," Lesurge told him. Hank came running up. "Husky's hoss an' the black is missin'," he announced. "Mebbe the miner—"
“Talk sense," Paul interjected. "Miller would have used a knife and that hole has been made from the inside." A desire to vent his anger possessed him. "He's beaten the lot of you," he said, with a scathing look at his followers. "If I had six such men instead of you weaklings I'd conquer the world." The taunt penetrated even their thick skins and produced a chorus of muttered curses, but no one ventured an excuse. Baleful looks followed Lesurge and his sister as they returned to their own camp.
“The girl must tell all she knows or the old man suffers," Paul said vindictively. "I'll win—whatever the price." * * * Early on the ensuing morning, Mary and Lesurge were seated on an outcrop of rock near the camp, watching the fiery crimson splendour of the sun as it emerged from behind a distant range of hills. All traces of the tempest which had torn the man's self-control to shreds had gone; only the veiled passion in his gaze as it rested on her slim young body betrayed the fire within.
“The escape of the cowboy is serious," he began. "Really?" she asked. "Of course, you did not mean to—hurt him."
“I should have kept my word," he replied. "My dear, you do not fully comprehend. That man is an outlaw with a price on his head; his life is already forfeit. He is a cold-blooded killer, capable of any crime to compass his end—the stealing of our—your gold." Jo, "He might have robbed the coach," she objected.
“Green was after bigger game," Paul lied. "He's what you Westerners call a 'hawg'." She smiled at that but soon her face was grave again. "I never wanted wealth—much," she said reflectively. "And now I have seen what dreadful deeds men will do to get it ..."
“One has to live."
“Even though others die?"
“The inevitable law of Nature, from the tiniest insect upwards," he told her. "Mary, I want you to have every happiness that gold can give, but apart from that, I cannot let these bandits rob you; it would be my fault, due to my well-meant but stupid blunder." She laid a hand impulsively on his. "I will not have you blame yourself," she said. "Everything you did was for me." She flushed and added softly, "I hope that one day I can repay you." Her words sent the hot blood of desire racing through his veins and he bent his head lest she should see the naked lust which leaped to life in his eyes. Triumph surged in him; he had won—so far.
“My dear, you mean all to me," he said tenderly, "but I shall never be content until I have checkmated those rogues and repaired the damage I have done. You must help me to find the mine, Mary." The girl was silent, consldering. Snowy was an impostor, the secret her own and she had a right to part with it. In a low voice she told him: "This spot was spoken of and the cabin. You must follow the stream back to a strip of pines. A great granite finger which sways, overshadows the mine; the letter called it the Rocking Stone." Paul's eyes glistened. "If you'd only told me sooner," he said reproachfully.
“I promised not to," she replied. "I was given what seemed to be a good reason." With all his adroitness, he had hard work to hide his feelings. To have been baulked and nearly outwitted by a tool he hadmeant to use and throw aside made him writhe with rage. He promised himself that Snowy should pay—presently.
“Well, never mind, we can win yet," he smiled. "Come, Berg should have breakfast ready, and I'll own to being hungry." His good humour persisted when they returned to camp, and Lora—remembering his black mood but a few hours before—was scornfully amused. Snowy came sidling up, uncertain of his reception. Mary discerned his discomfort and took her own way to end it.
“Morning, Uncle Phil," she said.
It was her usual greeting, but this time it made the old man blink. He hesitated for a bare instant, and then. "Mornin', my dear," he returned huskily. Paul's frown was hut momentary.
“Good news, girls," he announced. "We take the trail today."
“To Deadwood?" Lora inquired.
“No, to El Dorado—the Land of Gold. Oh, it isn't far. We just travel up this creek till we reach a belt of trees, find an overhanging point of rock which moves, and there we are. Do you remember it—Ducane?" Snowy received the gibe apathetically. "Can't say I do," he mumbled. "Feller in Californy told me of a swingin' stone. a big chunk, one man could start rockin' but twenty couldn't tip her over. I reckoned he was lyin'. Never heard o' the like in these parts."
“You're going to see one, and work under the shadow of it, digging dust—for me," Paul said harshly. "And if you try to steal any I'll have you whipped."
“Mister Lesurge does not mean that, Uncle Phil," Mary said quietly. "If we have good fortune, you will share." Paul was quick to retrieve his error. "Of course I was only joking," he protested, but his laugh did not ring true.
While the preparations for departure were being made, Mary contrived to get the prospector alone.
“What is your real name, Uncle Phil?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I disremember—I've been 'Snowy' so long. Yo're mighty good to me, Mary, seein' how I've deceived you. There didn't seem much harm the way Paul put it, an' I was meanin' to play straight with you." Her eyes were gentle. "I don't doubt that, and my real uncle could not have been more kind. But how did you know so much about my father?"
“Fagan wised up Paul, an' he told me," Snowy confessed, and then, "Where did Fagan git his facts?"
“I cannot say. He travelled nearly all the way with me when I came to Wayside, but I told him nothing."
“So he might 'a' oeen around when yore father ..." Snowy did not finish.
“It is possible," she admitted, and stared at him. "You don't think—"
“I do—times; you'd be s'prised," he said. "An' Mary that fella Lesurge ain't fit to lick the mud off'n the boots o' them two cowboys." It was as though another man had spoken, and by the time amazement had given place to indignation, he was some yards distant.
“Uncle Phil," she called sharply.
“I'm tellin' you," he answered, and scurried away.
Later, as they followed the curves of the little creek, she put a question to Paul:
“You expect to find Green at this place we're going to?”
“Yes, and probably his friend Mason, who declined to join my party."
“But why should Green have come, since he knew where o find the mine?" • "That's his damned cleverness. If he could persuade us that the ravine was the genuine article, we go back to Deadwood in disgust, leaving him a clear field, an artful scheme which, thanks to you, we shall defeat." The praise did not please her—she was dubious about the part she' had played, and almost regretting the search for her uncle and his elusive fortune. It had been a shock to discover that the quaint, gentle old man was a fraud and she could not yet believe that he had meant ill to her. It gave her a feeling of lonely helplessness which the presence of Paul failed to eradicate. She found herself hoping first that Gerry would be there, and then that he would not.
* * * The fugitives found the company at the Rocking Stone busy as beavers, but they gathered round eagerly to hear the news, for the puncher's early appearance, with a companion, told them something had happened. The story did not take long.
“So here we are," Sudden concluded. "Husky figures to throw in with us." The big miner shed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. "Gimme a shovel," he said. "One week here an' I'll go back an' stand Deadwood on its head."
“We won't have a week," Sudden warned. "I reckon that right now they're on the way."
“Yu think they'll find us?" Gerry asked.
“Shorely, the girl will weaken—Lesurge has a medicine tongue with women"—he saw the boy wince—"an' she's fond o' Snowy, even though he ain't what she thought."
“Never could understan' her bein' kin' to that of scatterbrain," Gerry said.
“Snowy is straight," Sudden told him. "Don't yu gamble too much on his bein' loco neither." He spoke to Husky. "Yu gotta remember that this claim belongs to Miss Ducane; we're on'y workin' it for her."
“What's yore plan?" Rogers asked the puncher.
“Hide the hosses outside an' put a man at the entrance," Sudden said. He studied the long, steep slope at the top of which the giant stone frowned down upon them, direful, menacing. "Cuss it, if they get up there they can pepper us like rats in a pit." However, short of abandoning the mine, which none of them even thought of, there was nothing else to be done. The horses were removed to a grassy hollow hedged in by thick, thorny scrub, and Bowman, armed with a rifle, was stationed at the entrance. The others went on with the work of gathering the wealth which for centuries had lain there undisturbed. Sudden and Gerry were together.
“How much o' this mine will Snowy an' Miss Ducane get if Lesurge can put his dirty paws on it?" the latter asked presently.
“Six foot each to lie in, same as the rest of us," was the grim reply. "An' he'll wash the dust out first."
“But he wouldn't kill the girl."
“Mebbe not—at once, but she'd come to wishin' he had." The young man's spade rasped fiercely against the rock floor. "We're as strong as they are. Why not go an' clean 'em up?”
“He holds the trump card—Miss Ducane. If we could steal her away—but she wouldn't come."
“Yu tellin' me she's in love with that—skunk?" Gerry demanded hotly.
“Whatever has skunks done to yu?" Sudden asked satirically. "Mebbe she thinks she is. Yu see, he's got all the points that appeal to a girl, an' he don't run around with outlaws."
“No, Fagan and company bein' highly respectable members o' the community," the boy sneered.
“But he on'y employs 'em Gerry, which is some different," Sudden said with quizzical gravity. "Now if yu paid me to do yore killin' ... "
“Aw, go to hell," was the inelegant rejoinder.
The afternoon was waning when they got the first intimation of the enemy's presence, and a sad one it was. Rogers had gone to relieve the sentinel, only to come back on the run, his face drawn with rage and grief.
“Tom's dead," he cried. "God damn the murderin' rats." In horrified silence they followed him. There, just outside the opening, Bowman lay sprawled face downward, his hands full of rubble gripped in a last agony. An ugly red stain below the neck of his shirt betrayed the manner of his passing. Sudden knelt beside the body.
“Stabbed from behind," he said. "Never had a chance. What's that?" He pointed to a Ievel space on the cliff-wall, just above the dead man's head. Scratched there in rude print were the words, "Evens up for Husky." Sudden stood, his face rigid with grief; he had brought this man to his death. "That settles it," he said. "We'll move the camp here an' have two of us in it allatime; we mustn't be catched again." The others nodded agreement. Familiar as they all were with violence, the swiftness of the tragedy had stunned them. In grim silence they carried their comrade away, and later laid him to rest in a corner of the basin. As they piled rocks over the grave, Rogers, who had known him long, spoke for them all:
“I'd never ask for a better pardner than Tom." * * * Determined not to be misled again, Lesurge kept as close as possible to the creek. This involved a circuitous route and the negotiation of many thickets and patches of scrub, lengthening the journey considerably. It was Paul himself who first descried the belt of pines with the conical rock cleaving the sky above them.
On the verge of the pines, near where the stream emerged, Paul decided to camp. Calling Hank aside, he gave him certain directions, and with a nod of comprehension, the fellow took his rifle and vanished, on foot, into the deep shadow of the trees. The others lighted two fires, at a little distance apart, unloaded the packs, and made preparations for spending the night there. It was more than an hour before Hank reappeared striding swiftly.
“Well?" he said, as the messenger came to where he was pacing up and down, alone.
“You were right, boss, they're there, shore enough," was the reply. "An' by the way they're pitchin' in the stuff's there too. It's a hole in the rocks—like a big holler tooth, an' I couldn't see but the one way in."
“How many of them?"
“Seven—leastways, there was seven."
“What do you mean?"
“Well, one was watchin' an' I sorta subtracted him, just to level up for Husky." The evil smirk of satisfaction with which he admitted the murder wilted as he read his employer's expression. "You clumsy clown," Paul rasped. "That puts them on their guard and makes it impossible for us to get in."
“I had to abolish him," Hank said sullenly. "Couldn't 'a' seen nothin' no other way; that hole is walled all round.”
“The more reason for leaving the opening available," Lesurge snarled. "In the dark, with only one man to deal with, we could have surprised and overpowered them while they slept. Was Green there?"
“Yeah, an' his bunkie, Mason, an' Jacob."
“Jacob? What's he doing there?"
“I didn't ask," Hank replied impudently, and got a black look, which disturbed him not at all; he was hitting back to recover his self-respect.
Lesurge dismissed him with a gesture and joined the women, who, with Snowy, were sitting by one of the fires. The old man eyed him furtively as he approached.
“It is as I expected," he informed them. "Green, Mason, and five—four others are in possession of your property, Mary, and shifting them is not going to be easy." The girl looked troubled. "Would it not be possible to make some arrangement—to share?" she asked. "If the mine is as rich as we believe, there should be enough for all."
“No, by God!" Paul exploded. "These fellows are thieves and I will not"—he paused and finished less violently—"allow you to be robbed."
“I would rather lose all than have bloodshed," Mary replied earnestly.
“A very proper sentiment—for a woman," he told her, and the faint sneer brought the colour to her cheeks. "I should regard myself as less than a man, however, if I let you do so. Leave it to me my dear; I shall find a way to deal with these claim-jumpers." He looked hard at Snowy. "No one is to leave camp; it is not safe."
“Do you think Green and his friends would shoot women?" Lora asked superciliously.
“Never mind what I think—I'm giving orders," he said sharply.
Her eyes followed him as he stalked away. "Charming person, my dear brother," she commented, "and so concerned about your interests."
“You don't seem to have much sisterly affection," Mary said.
“Sisterly affection?" Lora echoed vehemently. "Why—I hate him. He's " She stopped suddenly, lips shut like a vice, got up, and walked to the tent, leaving her companion dumbfounded.


CHAPTER XXII


Paul Lesurge was taking a walk. Heading straight through the sun-spangled strip of firs, he came to a wellnigh vertical barrier of cliff which only a monkey or a cat could hope to climb. Being a different kind of beast, he did not attempt it, but made his way westwards along the base of the obstacle. Soon, as he had expected, the ground rose, and as the trees became smaller and fewer, he could see above and immediately before him, the great boulder which Philip Ducane had called the Rocking Stone, ponderous, menacing, seeming about to crash down upon him.
He toiled on; climbing was hard work, for there was no break and débris from the hill-top made care necessary. At length he reached the level of the cliff-wall, passed it but a few paces, and turning, beheld—the mine.
The first point which struck him was the aptness of Hank's simile; a big, hollow tooth it was, the jagged ends of the shell fringed with foliage, save where a steep, boulder-strewn slant mounted to the threatening bulk of the Rolling Stone. On the sand and rubble floor of the hollow, only a few hundred feet below, he could see four men at work—the other two were doubtless guarding the entrance. His thin lips curled in a wolfish snarl.
“Make the most of your time," he muttered. "Tomorrow, you'll hear from me.”
He studied the place where he stood; it was going to be easier than he had dared to hope. There were stones behind which marksmen might shelter and the hollow was devoid of cover; two or three men with rifles could deal death at their leisure. One only of the enemy he feared—that damned cowpuncher, and concerning him he had a plan.
He had learned all he wished but did not go. The great stone had a fascination and he determined to examine it. A detour enabled him to make the ascent unobserved and presently he stood behind the monster monolith. It was larger than he had supposed, a huge pear-shaped chunk of granite, the curved base resting upon a smooth rock platform. Some fantastic freak of Nature had flung it there, so poised a push seemed sufficient to dislodge it, a task the tempests of untold centuries had failed to achieve. What had Snowy said of the one in California? "One man could start her rockin' but twenty couldn't tip her over." For a moment he hesitated and then hurled his weight against the stone. Did it move? He could not say, but made no further trial.
A narrow ledge just below on the other and more precipitous side of the hill caught his eye. It was no more than a track but it seemed to offer an easier means of descent into the maze of savage but majestic country which stretched to the horizon. He clambered down and stood gazing into the abyss. Far below was a black floor of pine-trees moving in the breeze like the surface of a restless sea. Somehow the place oppressed him, the big stone seemed to hover above like a bird of ill omen, the glare of the descending sun was blood-red, there was an air of death.
With an effort he shook the feeling off. He was still young, wealth almost unbounded lay within his grasp, and with wealth, wisely used, a clever man could accomplish anything. "Governor of Dakota." He murmured the words as he turned again towards the camp.
By the time he reached it, dusk was approaching. The men were squatting round their fire, feeding and whispering together; they took no notice of him as he passed. The prospector and Mary were conversing near the tent, while Lora paced restlessly to and fro. He went to her.
“I want your help," he said shortly.
In the half light her face showed wan. "I'm tired of the whole rotten business," she replied. "I'll do no more." She saw his jaw tighten. "Are you going to fail me on the eve of success?" he asked. "Don't you realize that it means wealth and ease for the rest of our lives?”
Ever since her conversation with Mary she had been weigh- ing the project of desertion to the other camp, and now the opportunity had been forced upon her. She knew that the mes- sage she was bearing was false—a hidden motive in it—and she had no intention of persuading Green to accede.
“He must take me with him—I won't go back," she panted, as she stumbled on through the gloom.
Save for the furtive movements of four-footed denizens of the undergrowth the silence was profound. Then came the weird screech of an owl and she shook with fright. The black bulk of the cliff loomed up before her and she turned to the left, leaving the trickle of water which had been her guide; the soft gurgle of it over the stones had been some sort of company. She had gone but a few paces when a gruff voice spoke:
“Who's there? Speak up sharp or I'll shoot." With a sigh of relief she gave her name and business. She heard men speaking in tones too low for her to distinguish what they said, and then the tall figure of the cowboy came striding out of the darkness. There was light enough for him to see that she was alone, and he slipped his drawn gun into the holster.
“What brings you here?" he asked bluntly.
“I must speak with you," she said, "and—I don't want your friends to hear." She moved away, and when he hesitated, added, "you need not doubt; there is no one with me." The puncher followed her. "I ain't naturally nervous," he said ironically, "but one of us was knifed a few hours back."
“My God!" she breathed. "Then it was—Hank. He was sent to spy, and Paul was angry when he returned."
“The killin' interfered with his plan, I s'pose," Sudden said bitterly. "Does he know yo're here?"
“He sent me," Lora replied, and gave the reason.
She could not see the man's face but knew what it would have told her—mocking contempt for one who could make such an offer after the butchery of Bowman. The hard voice held out no hope.
“Did he think I'd fall for that?"
“I told him I could persuade you, but I'm not going to try— I know he's lying. I wanted to come—on my own account. Jim, I am going mad. I dare not go back. For the love of God let me stay with you." The passionate appeal rang true but left him unmoved, doubting. Was it the outcome of real terror, or one of the many moods she was mistress of? He could not decide but—
“I've heard the tale so often," she replied wearily.
“This time you can believe it. Listen! I have been examining the enemy's position; it is impregnable. Much as I hate doing so, I shall have to adopt that girl's suggestion and make terms. Green is the leader of these bandits and I want you to put my proposals to him." The woman kept her head bowed less he should see the sudden gleam of hope in her eyes. "Why should he listen to me?" she muttered sullenly.
“I fancy he has a fondness for you," Paul said. "And there is no one else. To send Snowy or the girl would be putting cards in their hands, and any man of us might meet a bullet." She feigned reluctance. "How can I get word with Green?"
“Follow the stream as far as you can and bear to the left. You will be challenged. Say that you wish to speak with Green —alone. If you are afraid, I will send Hank with you."
“Much obliged, but then I should be afraid," she replied cuttingly. "What am Ito tell the cowboy?"
“That to avoid trouble, Miss Ducane is prepared to join forces and work the mine on a shares basis, she and her uncle, of course, to have the larger interests. The details can be agreed upon."
“Where do we come in?" she asked curiously.
“Mary will not be ungrateful," Lesurge explained, "and the old man will take what is given him; you need not discuss that."
“You mean to play fair?"
“Certainly, and you must convince him of that; you should be able to."
“Having under your expert tuition, become such an accom- plished liar," she added acrimoniously. "Well, I'll go, but I wish to heaven we'd never heard of Ducane and his damned mine." A malevolent look followed her as she stepped through the gathering shadows towards the creek. Could he trust her? He smiled wryly. Paul Lesurge trusted no one. He spoke to the men and four of them stole after the messenger.
Though she walked listlessly so long as she was in sight, the moment she reached the dusky vagueness of the trees her step quickened. Little did the man who had sent her guess how eager she was to do his errand. Lora Lesurge was in deadly fear. A creature of cities and crowded places, she could not bear the threatening solitude. Moreover, she was defenceless; her woman's weapon of beauty became, in the company she was in, another danger. And, for the first time in her life, she was afraid of Paul.
raul Lesurge had sent her. His silence told that he was about to refuse and she made a last desperate bid. Clutching him wildly, she cried:
“Jim, you must take me. I—" Out of the murky dimness, creeping forms closed silently in on them, and Sudden, striving to rid himself of the woman, found his arms gripped in a ruder grasp. With a violent gesture he tore his right hand free, thrust Lora away, and rammed his fists into an indistinct patch which he took to be a face. The thud of the blow was followed by a grunt as the man dropped. Swiftly stooping, the cowboy caught the fellow by collar and belt, swung the senseless form up, and with a mighty effort, hurled it at three charging shadows. Without waiting to see the effect of this unusual missile, he ran for the cliff opening. His story was received with varying expressions of anger and disgust.
They fell to discussing it, but Sudden was silent. A woman had fooled him, drawn him into a trap, and held him while he was attacked. He told himself that she was nothing to him, that he had always distrusted her, and yet the memory of her cry as he had retreated remained: "Jim, I didn't know—I swear—" The voice was cut off as though a hand had been clapped over the speaker's lips.
Meanwhile the subject of his thoughts was being escorted back to the camp. When Hank and Lem had been knocked flat by the smallish but decidedly bony body of Bandy, the fourth man, Fagan, had gripped the woman's arm.
“Tryin' to get away an' double-cross us, huh?" he gibed. "I reckon Paul'Il wanta see you."
“Take your filthy paws off, and don't be more of a fool than Nature made you," she said fiercely. "Paul himself sent me."
“Yeah, an' he sent us to watch you," was the sneering reply.
“Your job was to take Green, and you've failed—as usual," she retorted. "Better get your excuses for that ready." The others came up, Rodd still half-dazed from the rough treatment he had received, and they returned to the camp. Lora went straight to her brother. Fury at the thought that she had been used as a bait, for the moment, dispelled her fear.
“Since when have your hirelings had permission to treat me like a common drab?" she asked indignantly.
Lesurge looked at the men. "Where's Green?" he barked. "He got away," Fagan muttered.
“Yes, in spite of the fact that I was holding him when theyattacked," Lora taunted. "Four of them to one and—he got away." With an evil glare at her, Fagan drew his chief aside. She could not hear what was being said, but knew that she would need all her resource. Paul's expression, when he came back, told her nothing.
“The cowboy refused my offer?"
“Of course, after what one of these curs had done," she answered heatedly. "Had I known of that I would not have gone."
“You told him you were afraid and begged for his protection," the cold voice continued. "Don't trouble to lie; Fagan heard all." The woman's brain was racing. "I had to think of something to keep him," she said. "I guessed your plan, and I didn't know the men had arrived."
“And you were so fearful he might escape that you put your arms about him?" Paul persisted. Lora did not reply; she had failed. "Am I to believe that you really desired to trap your lover?" The accusation stirred her. "He is not that," she denied. "If he were, you would not dare to insult me." Lesurge lost his mask of immobility; his face became fiendish. "Would I not?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "You don't know me—but you shall." He looked at the men. "You can all go, except Hank." He waited until they had slouched reluctantly away, and then turned to Lora.
“I warned you once," he said. "You are not only of no use but a danger to me; I am going to get rid of you." He read the quick dread in her staring eyes. "Oh, not that way." His laugh was vile. "Hank here, finds you attractive, I fancy." It took the rascal a moment to comprehend, and then, with a gloating leer, he said eagerly, "Shore, she won't have forgot them days in the hills."
“I make you a present of her," Paul proceeded calmly.
This outrageous act almost petrified the person it most concerned. Torn between anger and stark fear, she could but gasp, "You are mad."
“As you told Green," he reminded. "No, I was that when I trusted you; now I am sane again."
“You dare not do it," she muttered hoarsely.
“Who is to prevent me?" he asked. "Here, I am—king." Mary Ducane, who, with Snowy, had been a silent spectator of this strange scene, stepped forward.
“Paul, you must not do this terrible thing—she is your own blood," she pleaded.
“That is not the case," Lesurge said deliberately.
Mary gazed from one to the other, almost doubting her ears. Lora drew herself up defiantly.
“I am no sister of his," she cried, her tone vibrant with contempt. "I am only—his wife."
“You are not even that," he retorted. "True, there was a ceremony, but the man who performed it had no right to do so." The icy, dispassionate statement compelled credence. "You —devil," she raged. "I will have your life for that." Lesurge's face might have been carved in stone, a revengeful, malignant mask. He motioned to Hank.
“Take her away. She will need discipline; I have been too indulgent." The brute's grin was bestial. "I can tame 'em," he said. "Had an Injun squaw once " He saw from Paul's expression that this was not the time for reminiscences, and stepped towards Lora. "Come along, beauty; you an' me is goin' to git better acquainted." She had been standing like a statue, eyes fixed on the man who had condemned her, hands clasped to her breast as though to still the beating of her heart. Hank laid an arm about her and like a tiger-cat she twisted in his grasp and struck at him. The fellow's knees sagged, his eyes rolled horribly, and with a gurgling gasp he went down. Bending, the woman watched as life went in a last convulsive contortion, and in a shrill, unnatural voice, cried:
“The dog is dead; it should have been his master, but your turn will come, Paul." With a wild laugh, she turned and ran, disappearing into the darkness before the paralysed onlookers could guess her intention. Fagan and the others, who had hurried over when they heard Hank's death-cry, stood grouped round the body. One of them turned it over, disclosing the dagger, buried to the haft at the base of the throat. Lesurge frowned when he saw it.
“I forgot about that damned knife she carried," he said. "She shore knowed where to put it," Fagan observed critically. "What are we to do with the body?"
“Bury it, of course," Paul snapped.
Tough as they were, the men did not smile at the savage jest, and their sullen faces told him it was ill-timed. He tried to make amends:"His share will be split amongst you." He got no thanks, a circumstance he was to remember. Lem put a question about Lora.
“She's gone to Green, I expect," Paul replied. "We must keep a look-out, in case they try anything. I'll take the first spell." He went back to the fire. He had seen Mary, with Snowy endeavouring to comfort her, vanish into the tent. The old man, rolled in his blanket, was lying across the entrance. Paul's lips curled disdainfully at the sight.


CHAPTER XXIII


Sunrise found the camp astir, but Mary did not appear for the morning meal. Snowy made her excuses:
“She ain't feelin' too good, which you can't wonder at; it warn't a pretty sight for a gal."
“Nevertheless, I must speak with her," Paul replied. "In any case, we are leaving, and she must come with us."
“Leavin'?" Snowy repeated.
“We are going to drive those damned interlopers out and take possession," Lesurge explained. "Did you imagine I would let a mad woman upset my plans? Send Mary to me, and mind your step, if you want to go on living." Presently the girl joined him; her face was pale and weary, but there was a resoluteness in her bearing. Paul's manner had none of the brusqueness he had shown to Snowy.
“I am deeply grieved about last night, Mary, but you must not judge me too severely," he began. "The discovery of that woman's treachery angered me beyond measure. Of course, I " should not have allowed the matter to go further—I only wished to frighten her."
“If she is not your wife, you deceived her cruelly," Mary said quietly. "No woman could forgive such a shameful trick."
“It was an accident," Paul said quickly. "We were married in a small settlement in Missouri, by a man whom everyone called `Judge.' It was only much later that I learned it was but a courtesy title, and that he was a dissolute old rascal who would do anything for a fee. We were travellers, you see, and went on the following day. When I found out, by chance, I dared not tell her—she would have killed me." The explanation was plausible enough, but Mary Ducane did not find it convincing.
“You should have told her, and made the only possible reparation," she said. "By all the laws of morality, she is your wife."
“It would have been suicide—Lora's temper is that of a fiend; Hank was the second victim of it since we came to Deadwood" His voice acquired a pleading note. "When you know more of the world, you will understand what a lovely unscrupulous woman can accomplish. I was infatuated, and it was only after I came to Wayside that I began to realize that she was an evil influence in my life. When I saw you ... "
“you deceived me also," she coldly reminded. "Had I been aware that Lora was not your sister ... "
“An arrangement made before I met you—at her wish," he explained eagerly. "She revelled in her ability to attract men, and insisted on posing as a single woman. Not only a traitor, but unfaithful, in love with that cowpuncher. My dear, don't waste any pity on her; she has gone from our lives like an evil dream. Your wish will be my law now, Mary." The impassioned appeal fell on deaf ears. "I have but one—to get away from this accursed country immediately," she said. "And leave the mine?" he asked incredulously.
“Yes, I am sorry I ever heard of it," she cried.
“It brought us together," he said softly. "Don't say you regret that."
“I do," she replied firmly. "Mister Lesurge
“Paul," he corrected.
“Mister Lesurge," she repeated. "Until last evening, I fancied I cared for you, but now I know it was no more than the fascination of an inexperienced girl for a man unlike any she had met."
“Your love for me will revive."
“No, it never existed." The finality in her tone told him that this was no whim of an overwrought mind, and it came like a blow in the face. He had been so sure. Her very coldness fed the fire within him.
“I'll teach you to care," he muttered thickly.
One swift step and she was captive, pressed close to him, his hot lips showering kisses upon her own, frozen, unresponsive. She made no attempt to resist, lying limply in his arms. But for the scorn in her eyes he might have been embracing a corpse. Some realization of this brought her release.
“And now I hate you," she said.
“School your tongue," he warned. "I know how to deal with vixens. You may yet have to choose between myself and—Fagan." "Of two evils " she began contemptuously.
“You would prefer Fagan," he finished furiously. "The fellow who knifed your " He saw the dawning horror in her face, and paused, too late.
“Fagan—slew—my—father?" she panted. "And you—were waiting for us at Wayside. The cowboy was right." She swayed like a sapling in the breeze but steadied herself when he advanced, "Don't touch me, you murderer." Nor did he stay her, when with stumbling steps, she ran towards the tent. Snowy came to meet her.
“Take me away, Uncle Phil, anywhere," she sobbed.
The old man put an arm round her. "We gotta be patient, honey," he said. "They'd just naturally shoot us down. Things'll come right."
“I've no one but you."
“Well, I wouldn't say just that. There's a young fella not so far off mightn't agree." It brought the colour into her cheeks again; the thought of Gerry was very pleasant. "I expect he's forgotten," she whispered.
“When I see him last he was mighty partic'lar in his inquiries," Snowy lied cheerfully.
Lesurge was giving orders to Fagan. "That old fraud and the girl must be watched," he concluded. "By the way, she knows you assisted her father into the next world."
“The hell she does'?' the other growled. "Who told her?"
“Lora, I expect," Paul prevaricated. "She can prove nothing, and out here . . ." He shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, if she took the story to that gun-slinger, Sudden ... " Fagan's alarmed expression told him that Mary Ducane would be well guarded.
“Get busy," he said, "and we'll smoke those rats out of their hole.”
* * *
The morning sun shone down upon a saddened but grimly determined group in the Rocking Stone mine.
“They'll strike to-day," Sudden said, and no one doubted it.
Jacob and Humit were placed on guard, while the rest dug and washed for gold, their rifles beside them. The two cowboys were working together, glumly and silently. Both were seeing visions: Sudden, of an apparently fear-distraught, frantic woman, and Gerry, a pair of frosty blue eyes, in a proud little face, rosily indignant because he had told the owner he meant to marry her.
“Damnation!" he said presently.
“Scratched yore finger?" Sudden asked solicitously.
“No, broke my neck," Gerry retorted, and then, "Wonder if she's all right?"
“Reckon so—her brother'll look after her," was the reply. "What the ?" Gerry commenced, adding, as comprehension came to him, "I warn't thinkin' o' Miss Lesurge.”
“No?" his friend asked innocently.
“Yo're the wise guy, ain't yu?" Gerry gibed. "S'pose yu tell me how them poison-toads is goin' to get us outa here?"
“They might starve us, or plug the outlet o' the creek an' flood the basin—the entrance bein' considerable above the floor level," Sudden pointed out. "But both them methods is kind o' slow, an' I'd say—" Crack! The spiteful report of a rifle rang out and Husky swung round, clutching his left arm.
“Hell's bells, yu got yore answer," Sudden swore, and jumped for his Winchester.
A thinning puff of smoke showed that the shot had come from the slope leading to the Rocking Stone, and a moment later, three others, from different points, followed. One swept Gerry's hat from his head, while another whistled uncomfortably close to his companion's ear. Sudden flung himself at full length behind a heap of gravel.
Gerry spread himself beside his friend. The pile, woefully small even for one, was the only cover available.
Husky and Rogers, who were nearer the camp, made a bolt and reached it safely.
“Good for them," Sudden commented. "But now we'll have all the attention." Four bullets which ploughed through the gravel in front of them endorsed his remark. Gerry wriggled and cursed. "Yu hit?" Sudden asked anxiously.
“Stone cut my cheek," was the reply. "It's like bein' peppered with a scatter-gun." He pushed up a rampart of gravel, only to have it dispersed by another volley. "May the bones rot in their bodies," he added viciously, as he spat out a mouthful of grit.
They had been firing at intervals, largely to relieve their feelings, for they had nbthing to aim at save the rocks which sheltered the marksmen.
“I never thought the day would come when I'd want to see Angel-face," Sudden said whimsically.
“Lesurge is the jigger I'd admire to get a bead on," Gerry replied. "If he shows hisself, don't yu trouble to fire." But their wishes were to go unsatisfied. Instead, they got a perfect hail of bullets and before it their flimsy defence rapidly disintegrated. It became obvious that, in a few moments, their position would be untenable; both were cut and bruised by flying pebbles, and several times, each had escaped death by a bare inch.
“They're turnin' the damn place into a lead-mine," Sudden remarked. "We gotta run for it. Get ready." They waited until a lull in the fusillade suggested that the snipers might be reloading, and Sudden gave the word. Leaping to their feet, they raced for shelter, zigzagging as they went. Shots zipped past them, flinging up the dust on every side, but they reached the rest of the band unscathed. Both were winded, for it was uphill, and the loose sand and gravel made speed an achievement; also, their high-heeled cowboy boots were not built for sprinting. Sudden's first question was addressed to Husky:
“Hurt much?"
“Flesh wound—nothin' bruk—smarts a few," the miner grinned. "There's on'y four shootin'; where's the other two?"
“Watchin' Snowy an' the women, I'd say," the puncher surmised. "An' I'm bettin' Lesurge is one of 'em; he ain't the sort to risk his hide."
“Yu'd shorely win," Rogers chimed in. "What's the next move, Jim?"
“We'll clear out an' get the hosses."
“An' let 'em grab the mine?" Humit asked disappointedly.
“We can get it back when we want," Sudden argued. "One good shot up on the slope can make this place impossible; with the rest of us workin' this end, we'd have 'em comin' an' goin'."
“She's a good scheme," Rogers agreed. "If they'd thought o' that, we'd be out on a limb right now." Taking only their weapons and a small supply of food, they set out for the spot where they had hidden the horses. This was a good half-mile distant, and to the east, where the enemy would be unlikely to chance upon them, for to be set afoot in the Black Hills would have been a calamity.
* * The ignominious retreat of the cowboys had evoked derision among the sharp-shooters, mingled with disgust at their own failure to bowl over at least one of them.
“See 'em run," Lem called to Fagan, who was about a dozen yards distant. "Skippin' like a couple o' jack-rabbits." He waited a while, balanced his hat on the barrel of his gun, and raised it cautiously above the boulder behind which he was crouching. Nothing happened, and after another wait, he rose slowly to his full height. The expected shot did not come; the hollow was clearly deserted.
“They've pulled their freight," he announced.
One by one the other marksmen emerged from their shelters and joined him.
“What's to do now?" Berg asked.
“Git our tools an' collar the mine. What d'you s'pose?”
“They may come back."
“Then we'll stand 'em off," Fagan retorted. "But I figure it this way; they must 'a' cleaned up a lot o' dust while we was foolin' in that damned ravine and they're content to get away with that—playin' safe, like. If it ain't so, why let us in an' have all the trouble o' drivin' us out again?" The others agreed that his reasoning was sound, and they all slithered along the slope until they reached the spot where Paul, Snowy, and the girl were waiting, the latter two with their wrists bound. Their gaoler, pacing restlessly back and fore, was silent, but there was a look in his dark eyes which filled her with fear. The men appeared, and Fagan made his report.
“You are probably right but Lem had better make sure," Paul decided.
The scout reached the camp almost as soon as they. He was jubilant.
“They've flew the coop, shore enough," he said. "An' they went in a hurry—left their tools an' some grub behind. The hosses ain't there neither."
“Good, that'll save us totin' a lot o' truck up there," Fagan chuckled. "C'mon, boys, let's git agoin'." Lesurge stepped forward. "Wait a moment, Fagan; I think I command here." The man turned; whether by accident or design, his rifle was pointed at the speaker. His mouth was twisted in an insolent sneer.
“Best think again," he said. "This is where you fade out o' the picture. You've hazed us long enough, an' we've put up with it 'cause we knowed this moment would come. Yeah, I was yore dawg, to pat or kick, as you pleased, a damn fool you could use, but I had this planned when I come to Wayside an' you've been workin' for me, Paul Lesurge. Savvy?" For a moment, Lesurge did not; the unexpectedness of the event dazed him. He was the master, and the possibility of a mutiny had never occurred to his autocratic mind. Fagan, a mere animal . Gradually the realization of his position seeped into his bewildered brain. He was helpless; if he attempted to punish the traitor, the others would kill him. He had been mad indeed to put himself at the mercy of these scoundrels. No wonder they had shown no sign of gratitude when he promised them Hank's share. He smothered his rising rage and steeled himself to speak calmly:
“Fagan, we have been friends a long time, and I have always trusted you and your companions
“To do yore dirty work," Lem interjected.
“For which I paid well," Paul replied. "After the coach affair, for example, I handed Fagan a considerable sum to be divided amongst you." It was a complete fabrication, designed to sow dissension, but it brought black looks for the new leader from the other three.
“That's an infernal lie," Fagan cried. "You never gave me a cent—said you were broke." Paul shrugged. "I can't prove it, of course," he admitted. "But have you thought of this? If Green and his gang have worked the mine out, you get nothing, for you lose the amount I promised to pay in any case."
“Hell, we're takin' the chance," Fagan answered. He knew the persuasive power of Paul's tongue, and trusted his cronies not at all. "If the mine's as good as Snowy made out, them hombres can't 'a' more'n scratched it."
“The old fool was apt to exaggerate," Lesurge argued. "Look here, boys; I'm prepared to share equally—cut it up five ways."
“Now ain't that generous?" Fagan sneered. "But you was allus great at givin' away what warn't your'n, Paul. Now I'll make you a present—the gal. I had notions 'bout her myself once, but she's too milk an' water, an' she'd on'y be a burden." He backed towards his pony, finger on trigger, and, settled in the saddle, uttered a final jeer: "I've got yore rifle, Paul, case you should be searchin' for it. Give my respec's to yore wife—she's more of a man than you'll ever be. Adios, an'—damn you." With mocking salutations they rode off, leaving one whom fury had bereft of reason. In the very instant of victory he had not only lost all but had been outplayed and derided by one he had always despised—a "blunt instrument." He, Paul Lesurge, the polished, clever man of the great world, defeated by—Fagan! More than the loss of the gold, that thought maddened him, and for a space he gave rein to a blind rage. With upraised clenched fists and body shaking with the violence of his passion, he cursed the men who had bested him. And then he stopped suddenly, his wild gaze on the Rocking Stone.
“By God, I'll teach them," he almost shouted, and ran to a pile of packages the rebels had left behind.
The prisoners heard his low yelp of exultation, watched him cram something into his pocket, and then he came towards them.
“You'll go with me," he said to the girl.
Snowy stood up, determination on his seamed face. "You'll remain here," Paul said.
“I'm keepin' with Mary," was the dogged reply.
Lesurge turned fiercely upon him. "You heard that whelp Fagan talk down to me and think you can do the same, eh?" he grated.
From beneath the breast of his coat he drew a revolver and raised it. Mary gasped and made a movement to interpose, but the gleaming barrel swept swiftly up and down. Under that fell blow, the old man crumpled and dropped, blood oozing from an ugly gash on his brow.
“You coward!" Mary cried. "You have killed him.”
“Merely stunned, I'm afraid," he returned callously. "Come."
“I will not," she panted.
His smile was hateful. "Are you so anxious to be in my arms?" he asked.
With dragging feet and a heart of lead she followed; any thing rather than he should lay hands on her. Through the belt of pines and along the cliff-wall they went. Presently they reached the level of the slope and he warned her to keep out of sight. Down in the mine below four dwarfed figures were hard at work. Lesurge surveyed them with scorn.
“Not even sense enough to set a guard," he muttered. "If the others came back ... " A possibility occurred to him. "By heaven, I wish they would." Herding his captive in front of him, and taking care they could not be seen, he climbed to the Rocking Stone. He need not have worried about the men below, they were finding gold and had no eyes for anything else. With a rifle, he could have destroyed them one by one, but they had drawn his teeth—as they believed. A satanic smile wreathed his lips at the thought."You should have lulled me, friend Fagan," he mocked.
Breathless and exhausted, Mary slumped on a bench of stone, watched with weary, hopeless eyes. He was on his knees beneath the mighty rock, busy with some objects he had taken from the pockets of his long coat, burying them under a packed heap of rubble and dust. She knew that he was mad, but could not fathom his purpose. After a while he rose, contemplating his work with evil satisfaction. He looked again at the men below, toiling feverishly, oblivious to all else.
“If only Green would come the coup would be complete," he muttered.
His desire was granted, but not as he had hoped for; the cowboy was climbing towards him, and further down, his friends followed. After obtaining their horses, they had blundered into Snowy, still half-dazed by the blow he had received, but able to tell them what had happened.
“Lora Lesurge his wife?" Gerry ejaculated. "The damned hound." He glanced at Sudden, but that young man's face expressed no emotion whatever; he appeared to be entirely engrossed with the present.
“We gotta get the girl—that comes first," he decided. "Point is, where to search?" The old man could not help them, but Gerry, gazing hopelessly around, uttered a cry:
“There's someone up on the Rockin' Stone."
“Reckon it's Paul," Snowy surmised. "The men went to the mine—all of 'em." Sudden led the way, and the big black soon outdistanced the other horses. When the incline became too acute, he slid from the saddle, trailed the reins, and began to climb.
His appearance on the scene drew an oath of disappointment from Paul's lips. Mary saw him stoop, strike a match and light something; then he straightened up and clutched her arm.
“Hurry," he ordered.
She tried to free herself. "No, I won't go—I am tired—I cannot," she pleaded.
“You little fool, it's death to stay here," he raged, and clenching his fist, struck her pitilessly on the temple. With a snarl of a wild beast, he flung the limp, senseless form over a shoulder, and made for the ledge he had noticed on his first visit to the place.
It was at this moment that Sudden, who had reached the slope which faced the mine, caught a glimpse of him, and as he appeared to be heading tor the tar side of the hill, decided that to cross the slope would save a few precious seconds.
He was no more than half way when a deafening explosion boomed out above his head and he saw the great stone leave its base and bend over towards him; for a fraction of a moment it seemed to hover in the air before crashing down on the hillside. Sudden, directly in its path, knew that only a miracle of speed could prevent his being pounded to pulp in that awful mill. With desperate leaps he strove to reach the other side of the incline, one mis-step on the slippery surface of which spelt quick but agonizing death. The growl of the oncoming avalanche drummed in his ears, growing louder, but he dared not even look—his eyes were all for the spots where he must set his feet. Pebbles and small rocks, forerunners of the annihilation to come, hurled past and over him.
The ground shook as with an earthquake and the rolling thunder was very near when, with bursting lungs, he forced his aching muscles to a final effort and flung himself headlong on to a strip of grass. A boulder, weighing at least a ton, leapt over his supine body, and a second later, with a horrible grating, ripping roar, the mighty mass which had been the Rocking Stone swept by, only a few feet from where he lay.
Down in the mine, he could see four fear-stricken figures frantically striving to reach the exit, and knew—from experience—that they were doomed. Breathlessly he saw the wave of stone hit the lip of the hollow, rear up, split, and hurl itself forward to fall with dull grinding crashes. They ceased, and all that remained of the hollow was a welter of jagged granite, resembling the surface of a tiny tempestuous sea suddenly frozen into stillness. From it a cloud of fine dust rose like a smoke into the sunlit air.
A mad laugh of triumph rang out. Fifty yards above the cowboy stood Paul Lesurge; he had been unable to tear himself away without witnessing the fulfilment of his vengeance.
Sudden saw him vanish with his burden and darted in pursuit. He reached the spot on which the madman had been standing and stepped swiftly along the narrow, treacherous way. On one side was the vertical breast of the hill, on the other a sheer drop as though the cliff had been sliced away with a giant axe.
Grim, relentless, the puncher strode the perilous path, intent only on his task—to deliver Mary Ducane and destroy the devil who had brought about the havoc he had just so narrowly escaped himself. He had no pity for the crushed and mangled man ruffians in the mine, but the man who had wrought their ruindeserved to die. In a moment he came upon him; round a bend Lesurge was waiting, revolver levelled, and he laughed when Sudden appeared.
“Stop, cowboy, I've got you covered," he called sharply.
Completely taken by surprise, for he had not expected to run down his quarry so soon, the puncher had to obey. Lesurge surveyed him with sinister satisfaction.
“Now we can talk in comfort," he resumed. "But first, lest you contemplate trickery, I must warn you of another possibility." He pointed to the still unconscious girl lying at his feet, almost on the brink of the abyss. "One movement on my part, a stumble or fall, due to my being shot, shall we suppose? and she will wake in Paradise."
“She'd be far enough from yu there, anyways," Sudden retaliated. He had at once divined the reason for the girl's precarious position. "Yu'll wake in hell."
“I shall send you there first," Lesurge promised. "Up to now you have taken all the tricks but I win the game. Fagan and his brood fancied they had finished with me when they took my rifle and left me only—giant powder. Fools! to pit their puny wits against mine. You, cowboy, thought the same, and see, I hold the aces."
“Havin' destroyed the stakes," Sudden reminded him dryly.
He was wondering whether the others would arrive in time. He had been far ahead of them, and they could not have seen which way he had gone. If he could keep the maniac talking.
“No, the stakes are in my hands, or rather, at my feet," Lesurge went on. "I know you have taken a great deal of gold from the mine, and with the girl in my possession, I can make my own terms." Sudden was about to reply when a shout of "Jim" came from somewhere behind and he swore between his clenched teeth; Gerry could not know he Was hastening his partner's end. Lesurge was instantly on the alert.
“You are relying on your friends?" he said. "Well, they will come too late. I am about to kill you." The threatened man looked steadily at him. "Shucks, yu'll miss," he taunted, hoping to gain time.
“Then I'll try again," was the retort. "You can do nothing; a shot person falls forward, and the lovely lady . . ." He laughed hideously. Then his face became rigid. "Now, you double-crossing dog." Hate darted from his eyes, his body quivered with the lust to slay, but the pointed pistol might have been held in a vice. Sudden found himself wondering where the bullet would strike him? He saw the finger pressing the trigger. In another second ...
“Paul!" The murderer started. The voice came from behind him, and harsh, unlike as it was, he recognized it. Lora! What cursed freak of Fate had brought her there? She was but a few feet away, and he had wronged and insulted her vilely. If she had come for revenge, he was between two fires. He must persuade her.
Keep away, Lora," he urged. "This fellow may hit you."
“I am coming to you, my husband," she replied. "We will die together, Paul; you would wish that, I know." The full extent of his peril dawned upon him as he listened. Her brain had given way, and in her mad mood, she would drag him over the precipice. And she cared for Green .. .
“There is no question of dying, Lora," he said. "I was angry last night, but I did not mean it. We are going to be rich and happy ..."
“You were always a clever liar, Paul." The hard laugh made him shiver; it proclaimed her purpose; her hot Southern blood would never forgive. He thought frenziedly. Sudden dared not shoot. If ... He stepped back a pace lest the still form at his feet might hamper him, whirled and fired. He saw the woman stagger, pitch sideways, and flash past him into the depths. That was his last sight on earth, for as he swung round, Sudden's bullet crashed into his brain. Headlong he plunged after the woman he had slain, the skirts of his back coat flapping like the wings of a bird of prey.
Smoking gun in hand, Sudden leant against the cliff, a clammy wetness on his brow. Then he saw the unconscious girl move, but ere he could get to her, someone sprang past him and lifted her in his arms. She opened her eyes, and there was no mistaking the message in them.
“Oh, Gerry, thank God it's you," she murmured, and her head sank contentedly on his shoulder.
They passed the puncher as though he had not been there, and the proud light on the boy's face was something to see. Sudden's own gaze rested on a point farther along the ledge, his harsh expression softened, and with something like a sigh, he holstered his weapon and went to meet his friends.
*** Later, the bodies of Lesurge and his victim were found and buried; the woman had been shot through the heart and the fall had not marred her beauty. Sudden wrapped her in hisown blanket, laid her gently in the grave, and turned away. He had been drilled in a hard school, but he was young and Mary Ducane did not arrive till all was over, Gerry having—at Sudden's suggestion—contrived that they should fall behind. On the way he asked the lover's inevitable question and got the age-old answer.
“From the first day, but I was—dazzled," the girl confessed shyly. "I think I really knew that time you bullied me—in the street." Gerry's grin was graceless. "I shore declared myself," he chuckled.
“Did you—mean it?" she asked, almost inaudibly. His reply left her breathless.
It was a quiet but contented company round the camp-fire when the shadows gathered. Rogers was the first to break the silence.
“Place looks kind o' lonesome without the of Rockin' stone. I had a peek at the mine; I figure she's a total loss."
“Not for us, thanks to Jim," Snowy said. "There oughta be a grubstake for each of us, eh, Mary?" The girl looked up; she was sitting next to him, and very close to Gerry. It was evident that her mind had not been on such a mundane matter as money.
“Whatever there is will be equally divided, of course," she replied.
Protest greeted her decision; she was not being fair to herself, and they would not hear of it. In vain she pleaded that they had done everything, and she nothing. Jacob alone took no part in the discussion, listening with a smiling interest. Presently he said quietly:
“Might I suggest that this is a matter for the owner of the mine to settle?" They stared at him in amaze, all save the prospector, upon whom his eyes were fixed. "Come, Ducane, don't you think you've played 'possum long enough?" The old man bent forward, his bright little eyes scanning the other closely. "Never met up with anybody o' yore name," he muttered.
“But you knew a Jake Holway at the Bluebird diggings in California." Snowy straightened. "The Professor," he said.
Jacob nodded. "I was almost fresh from college and my manner of speech earned me the title. And you were `Mad Phil'—willin' to take any chance, even in those wild days. I recognized you in Deadwood, but a man usually has a reason for hiding his identity." Mary slid an arm round the old man's shoulders. "I'm so glad, Uncle Phil," she whispered, "but it doesn't make a bit of difference—really."
“I s'pose I gotta own up, though I was meanin' to let the cards go as they lay," Snowy told them. "You see, back at Wayside—where nobody knowed my real name—I was waitin' for my brother. Lesurge. shows up an' goes nosin' round for Philip Ducane. Me bein' of a suspicious nature, he don't find him. When, later, he puts his proposition to me, a fella don't need more'n hoss-sense to savvy the game. Fagan had got wind o' my letter, tried for it, an' failed, George—who used to be a careless cuss 'bout his own affairs—havin' destroyed it." He paused and looked at the girl.
“Yes, it was my idea," she admitted. "I was afraid of ..."
“So they had to plan different," Snowy went on hurriedly. "Fagan tags along with Mary to Wayside, where Lesurge takes charge. Havin' made shore—as he believes—that Philip Ducane ain't around, he hits on the dodge o' puttin' up a dummy, an' he certainly picked the right man." His eyes twinkled. "Well, I agreed to pertend to be myself. It warn't easy, 'specially when I found what a sweet—" Gerry lost the hand he had been holding; it went to close the speaker's mouth.
“Yu done a good job," Sudden grinned. "I dunno as I'll ever believe yu any more. Took us all in, 'cept Jacob, an' he's a clam."
“What a man calls himself, that's his business," the gold-dealer defended. "I too was sailing under false colours."
“I didn't suspect, but—after the exposure—I wondered how you knew T resembled my mother," Mary said softly.
“I near slipped up there," Snowy confessed. "Lesurge wondered too. I had to explain that it was a compliment any girl would 'preciate. I got full marks from him for that. But it happened to be true." I dunno as I'll ever believe you any more either," she told him, and her mimicry of the puncher made them all laugh.
“I reckon you know the rest," the old man continued. "I let Paul play his game while I collected a few friends to help me beat it. He smiled round on them. "I'm sayin' no man ever got better, an' it was a durn' good day for us when Jim drifted into Wayside." A chorus of approval greeted the statement, but the recipient of the praise might have been sitting on a cactus.
“Shucks," he said. "If yo're all goin' to talk foolish, I'm turn-in' in."
“There's one thing we have to decide," Jacob reminded. "What are we to tell Deadwood?" No one spoke, but all eyes went to the man upon whom they instinctively relied for leadership. The cowboy did not fail them. -
“Anybody honin' to go back there?" he asked, and getting no response, went on, "Explanations would shorely be—difficult. Why not head for Laramie? There's a risk o' runnin' into redskins but we're well-armed an' mounted; I guess we can get through." So it was decided.
* * * The note was addressed to Gerry, and he knew instantly that he had lost a friend. The journey from the Rocking Stone had been safely accomplished, and by the time it ended, plans for the future made. Snowy, Mason and Mary were travelling East in search of a ranch, and the others were going with them, for a while, at least. Sudden only, would give no promise. The missive was brief: DEAR GERRY, This is to tell yu all good-bye. I couldn't face it, so I've played coward an' run away. I ain't wishin' yu happiness--. yo're takin' it with yu. Good Luck.
JIM
“01' son-of-a-gun," the boy muttered. "I'm shore proud to 'a' knowed you.”
* * *
Miles out of Laramie, as the climbing sun painted the sky red and gold, a rider on a big black horse loped steadily southward. The air was sharp and laden with the pungent breath of the pine-trees. The grass was gem-studded with dew. Birds chirped and whistled in the branches overhead, rabbits scudded away at his approach, and once, a grateful doe crashed into the undergrowth and turned to gaze, with startled, gentle eyes, at the strange intruder on her solitude.
The rider noticed none of these things. He was visioning a different scene; a woman, young and lovely, curled up on a bed of dead leaves, a cheek pillowed on one palm, a half-smile on her rosy lips, asleep in the wilderness, while he watched.

THE END