Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (16 page)

 
          
“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 newcomers 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.

 
          
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.” He 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.”

 
          
“It
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 hillsides 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 beating 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’ let’s 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
saloonkeeper 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.