Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) Page 18

  “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 ùnless’ 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 ..”

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sp; “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 thinkin’.

  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 to the 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—h
urt 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, considering. 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 had meant to use and throw aside made him writhe with rage. He promised himself that Snowy should pay—presently.