Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (30 page)

 
          
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 things 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
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—