Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) Page 16

  “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 rob 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 be 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 be 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 peeved to 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 saloonkeeper 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 I’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 him 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 stagecoach 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.”

  “Forever, 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 hisself!” 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 warn her 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: