Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) Read online

  “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—anymore. 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 Ducane on 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 sufficiently grateful 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 goldfields 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 saloonkeeper. “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 been eaten 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, ge
ttin’ 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 gunfights, 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.”