The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XIX

  A STUDY IN MISCHIEF

  Nearly three months had passed and all Beasley Melford's affairs wereamply prospering. His new saloon was the joy of his heart. It had beencompleted more than a week, which week had been something in thenature of a triumph of financial success. The camp was booming as hehad never dared to hope it would boom. Traders were opening upbusiness all round him, and the output of gold was increasing everyday. But, with all this rapid development, with all the wrangling andcompetition going on about him, he was the centre of the commercialinterests of Yellow Creek, and his saloon was the centre of all itstraffic.

  But he was quite alive to the fact that he must maintain his positionand custom by keeping well in line, even just a little ahead of allcompetition. He knew that to rest on his oars would be to court swiftdisaster. It must be his constant thought to make his place more andmore attractive, to listen to the voice of public requirements, andseize every opportunity of catering for them.

  His saloon was no better than a gambling-hell and drinking-booth, thedry goods side of his enterprise being almost insignificant. For heknew that the more surely his customers could indulge in such pastimesin comparative comfort the more surely he would keep them. So he madethese things the basis of his trade. But there were other needs to beprovided for. Therefore, on the completion of his new saloon, and themoment his vanity had been satisfied by the erection of a great boardtop, set up on the pitch of the roof, announcing in blatant letteringthat it was "Melford's Hotel," he set to work to erect a dance halland a livery barn. He foresaw the necessity of running a stage, and henever lost sight of the fact that a great number of the women of theclass he wished to see about were invading the place. Then, too, thedance hall could be used as a boarding establishment for those who hadno homes of their own.

  It was a precious thought, and, after a journey to Leeson Butte toconsult his partner, these matters were put in hand. He no longerworked single-handed. His establishment was increased by the advent ofa bartender, a Chinese cook, and a livery stable keeper. These, andsome casual labor from among the loafers, supplied him with all thehelp he so far found necessary.

  The bar and the gambling-tables were always his own care. These werethe things he would never trust to other hands. The bartender was hishelper only, who was never allowed to escape the observation of hislynx eyes.

  Yes, Beasley Melford was flourishing as he intended to flourish, andhis satisfaction was enormous. In the mornings he was always busysupervising the work, in the afternoons he gave himself what leisurehis restless spirit demanded. But in the evenings he gathered hisharvest by rascally methods of flagrant extortion.

  It was during the latter part of his afternoon leisure that he wassuddenly disturbed by the appearance of Montana Ike in his bar. He wasstretched full length upon his counter, comfortably reviewing aperfect maze of mental calculations upon the many schemes which hehad in hand, when the youngster pushed the swing door open andblustered in.

  Beasley was sitting up in an instant. He hated this sort of suddendisturbance. He hated men who rushed at him. He could never be certainof their intentions. When he saw who his visitor was there was verylittle friendliness in his greeting.

  "Wot in hell you want rushin' that way?" he demanded arrogantly."Guess your thirst ain't on a time limit."

  But the ginger-headed youth ignored his ill-temper. He was too full ofhis own affairs. He simply grinned.

  "Fish out them durned scales o' yours," he cried gleefully. "Fish 'emout, an' set your big weights on 'em. Ther' ain't goin' to be no chatnor drink till you weighed in. Then I guess the drink'll be right upto you."

  Beasley's mood changed like lightning. He swung over behind his barand dropped to the floor on the other side, his eyes alight, and everyfaculty alert for trade.

  "Wot's it?" he demanded. "Struck it big?" he went on as the dingy goldscales were produced from the shelf at the back. Then he laughedamiably. "It needs to be big, wakin' me in my slack time."

  "Oh, it's big enuff," cried Ike confidently, his eager, young, animalface alight with pleasure.

  He watched the other with impatient eyes as he deliberately picked outthe weights. But Beasley was too slow, and, with an impatientexclamation, he snatched up the biggest of them and set it on thesomewhat delicate scales with a heavy hand.

  "Say, you're rapid as a sick funeral," he cried. "I ain't got no timeto waste. What I got here'll need that--an' more. Ther'!"

  Beasley's temper was never easy, and his narrow eyes began to sparkle.

  "You're mighty fresh," he cried. "Guess I'm----"

  But his remark remained unfinished. With a boisterous laugh the boyflung a small canvas bag on the counter and emptied its contentsbefore the other's astonished eyes.

  "Ther'," he cried gleefully. "I want dollars an' dollars from you. An'you'll sure see they ain't duds."

  Beasley's eyes opened wide. In a moment he had forgotten hisill-humor.

  From the gold spread out before him he looked up into the other's facewith a half-suspicious, wholly incredulous stare.

  "You got that from your claim--to-day?" he asked.

  "An' wher' in hell else?"

  "Sure!" Beasley fingered the precious nuggets lovingly. "Gee! Ther'snigh five hundred dollars there."

  "Fi' hundred--an' more," cried Ike anxiously.

  But Beasley's astonishment was quickly hidden under his commercialinstincts. He would have called them "commercial."

  "We'll soon fix that," he said, setting the scales.

  Ike leant against the bar watching the man finger his precious ore ashe placed each of the six nuggets in the scale and weighed themseparately. He took the result down on paper and worked their separatevalues out at his own market prices. In five minutes the work wascompleted, and the man behind the bar looked up with a grin.

  "I don't gener'ly make a bad guess," he said blandly. "But I reckoned'em a bit high this journey. Ther's four hundred an' seventy-sixdollars comin' to you--ha'f cash an' ha'f credit. Is it a deal?"

  The other's face flamed up. A volcanic heat set him almost shouting.

  "To hell!" he cried fiercely. "Ther's fi' hundred dollars ther' ifther's a cent. An' I want it all cash."

  Beasley shook his head. He had this boy's exact measure, and knew justhow to handle him.

  "The scales don't lie," he said. "But ther', it's the way wi' yousefellers. You see a chunk o' gold an' you don't see the quartz stickin'around it. Here, I'll put a hundred an' seventy-six credit an' therest cash. I can't speak fairer."

  He drew a roll of bills from his hip-pocket and began counting thethree hundred out. He knew the sight of them was the best argument hecould use. It never failed. Nor did it do so now.

  Ike grumbled and protested in the foulest language he was capable of,but he grabbed the dollars when they were handed to him, and stowedthem into his hip-pocket with an eagerness which suggested that hefeared the other might repent of his bargain. And Beasley quicklyswept the precious nuggets away and securely locked them in his safe,with the certain knowledge that his profit on the deal was more thancent for cent.

  "You'll take rye," he said as he returned his keys to his pocket. "An'seein' it's your good day, an' it's on me, we'll have it out o' thisthirteen-year-old bottle."

  He pushed the bottle across the counter and watched Ike pour himselfout a full "four fingers." The sight of his gluttony made Beasley feelglad that the thirteen-year-old bottle had been replenished thatmorning from the common "rot-gut" cask. After their drink he becameexpansive.

  "That's an elegant claim of yours, Ike," he said, taking up hisfavorite position on the bar. "It's chock full of alluvial. Don'tscarcely need washing. Guess I must ha' paid you two thousand dollarsan' more since--since we got busy. Your luck was mighty busy when theycast the lots."

  "Luck? Guess I'm the luckiest hoboe in this layout," Ike cried with aconfidence that never seemed to require the support of rye whisky.

  Beasley's eyes sparkled maliciously. />
  "How about Pete?" he grinned. He knew that Ike had an utterdetestation of Pete, and did not have to guess at the reason. "I paidhim more than that by fi' hundred. How's that?"

  "Tcha'! Pete ain't no account anyways," Ike retorted angrily. "Say, hepitches his dollars to glory at poker 'most every night. Pete ain'tgot no sort o' savee. You don't see me bustin' my wad that way."

  "How about the gals? Guess you hand 'em a tidy pile."

  "Gals!" Ike suddenly became thoughtful. His gaze wandered toward thewindow. Then he abruptly turned back to the bar and clamored foranother drink. "We'll have that thirteen-year-old," he cried. "An'guess I'll have a double dose. Gals!" he went on, with a sneer, as theother watched him fill a brimming tumbler.

  "Ther's sure on'y one gal around here. That's why I got around now.Guess I'm payin' her a 'party' call right now, 'fore the folks getaround. Say, I'm goin' to marry that gal. She's sure a golden woman.Golden! Gee, it sounds good!"

  Beasley grinned. He was on a hot trail and he warmed to his work.

  "Goin' to ask her now?" he inquired amiably, eyeing the spirit the manhad poured out.

  Ike laughed self-consciously.

  "Sure," he said, draining his glass.

  "What about Pete?"

  Ike looked sharply into the other's grinning face. Then he banged hisglass angrily on the counter and moved toward the door.

  "Pete ken go plumb to hell!" he cried furiously over his shoulder ashe passed out.

  Beasley dropped nimbly from his counter and looked after him throughthe window. He saw him vault into the saddle and race away down thetrail in the direction of the farm.

  His eyes were smiling wickedly.

  "Don't guess Pete's chasin' ther' to suit you, Master Ike," hemuttered. "Marry that gal, eh? Not on your life. You pore silly guys!You're beat before you start--beat a mile. Buck's got you smashed to apulp. Kind of wish I'd given you less cash and more credit. Hello!"

  He swung round as the door was again thrust open. This time it wasBlue Grass Pete who strode into the room.

  "Wher's Ike?" he demanded without preamble the moment he beheld thegrinning face of the saloon-keeper.

  "Gee!" Beasley's grin suddenly broke out into a loud laugh. He broughthis two hands down on the counter and gave himself up to the joy ofthe moment.

  Pete watched him with growing unfriendliness.

  "You're rattled some," he said at last, with elaborate sarcasm. Then,as Beasley stood up choking with laughter and rubbing his eyes, hewent on: "Seems to me I asked you a civil question."

  Beasley nodded, and guffawed again.

  "You sure did," he said at last, stifling his mirth as he beheld theother's threatening frown. "Well, I ain't laffin' at you. It's--it'sjest at things."

  But Pete had no sense of humor. He disliked Beasley, and simply wantedhis information now.

  "Ike been along?" he demanded doggedly.

  Beasley spluttered. Then he subsided into a malicious grin again.

  "Sure," he said. "He's been in with a fat wad. Say, he's a luckyswine. 'Most everything comes his way. Guess he can't never touch bad.He's ahead on the game, he's a golden-haired pet with the gals, an' hegits gold in--lumps."

  But Pete's dark face and hungry eyes showed no appreciation, andBeasley knew that the man's mood was an ugly one.

  "Wher's he now?"

  "Can't jest say. I didn't ask him wher' he was goin'. Y' see I cashedhis gold, and we had a drink. He seemed excited some. Guess he wassort of priming himself. Maybe he's gone along to the gals. Have adrink?"

  "No--yes, give us a horn of rye."

  The man behind the bar pushed the bottle across.

  "What you needin' him for?" he asked with apparent unconcern.

  Pete snatched at his drink.

  "That ain't your affair," he retorted surlily.

  "Sure it ain't. I jest asked--casual."

  Pete banged his empty glass on the counter.

  "I'm needin' him bad," he cried, his eyes furiously alight. "I'mneedin' him cos I know the racket he's on. See? He quit his claimearly cos--cos----"

  "Cos he's goin' to pay a 'party' call on that Golden Woman," criedBeasley, appearing to have made a sudden discovery. "I got it, now.That's why he was in sech a hurry. That's why he needed a good dose o'rye. Say, that feller means marryin' that gal. I've heard tell he'sgot it all fixed with her. I've heard tell she's dead sweet on him.Wal, I ain't sure but wot it's natural. He's a good looker; so is she.An' he's a bright boy. Guess he's got the grit to look after a galgood. He's a pretty scrapper. Another drink?"

  Pete refilled his glass. His fury was at bursting-point, and Beasleyreveled in the devil now looking out of his angry eyes.

  "He's gone across ther' now?" he demanded, after swallowing his seconddrink. His question was ominously quiet.

  Beasley saw the man's hands finger the guns at his waist. It was amovement the sight of which gave him a wonderful satisfaction.

  "Seems like it," he said. "Though course I can't rightly say. I seehim ride off down the trail that way----"

  "Here, I'll take another drink. I'm goin' after----"

  "Say, you ain't goin' to butt in with two folks courtin'?" criedBeasley, blandly innocent.

  But Pete had no reply. He drained his third drink and, flinging theglass down, bolted out of the bar; while Beasley turned with amalicious chuckle, and scrupulously entered up three drinks againstthe man's name on the slate.

  "I'd give somethin' to see it," he muttered. Then he rubbed out theentry he had made. "Guess I'll make it six drinks. He's too rattled toremember."

  Ten minutes later a number of men were lounging in the saloon, andBeasley, in the leisure of administering to their wants, was relatingto them the story of the afternoon's events. At the conclusion headded his own comment, which was not without definite purpose.

  "Say, if they ain't jest like two dogs worritin' a bone you got meplumb beat," he said. Then he added with an air of outraged virtue:"I'd like to say right here she's jest playin' them fellers for theirwads. Oh, she's a keen one, her eyes is right on to business. She'llsure have 'em shootin' each other right up. Seems to me a gal likethat ain't no right in this yer city. She's a scandal to the place.An' a danger. Wot we fellers needs to figure on is the liberty an'safety of our citizens, an' anything calc'lated to be a danger to thatneeds to git seen to."

  Some of the men concurred half-heartedly. They were men who had comeinto the camp with the rush, and were anxious to keep in with thesaloon-keeper. Still, even they were very little stirred by hisappeal. They cared not the least bit in the world who was shot up, orwho did the shooting, so long as they were not personally concernedbeyond the role of spectators.

  So for once his mischief fell flat. It was too early in the day tomake the impression he needed. They were not sufficiently primed withrye. So Beasley contented himself with insinuating the bottle towarddoubtful customers, and easing his disappointment by making all thetrade he could.

  But presently a diversion occurred by the advent of Buck. He rode up,his great horse loaded down with the carcasses of three splendid deer.He had brought them in for sale. Game was a precious thing in thiscamp, where a diet of simple beef ruled.

  The moment he displayed his wares there was a rush to bid for them,and Beasley, much to his chagrin, found himself forced to pay boomprices before he could secure them for retailing. He paid ungraciouslyenough. If there was one man more than another in the camp hebegrudged anything to it was Buck. Besides, it made him utterlyfurious to think that he never came up against this man on anydebatable matter but what he managed to come off worst.

  However, his policy forced him to stifle his resentment, and he paid,mentally adding another item to the long list of his personalanimosities to be wiped out at some future date.

  But Buck's presence was an opportunity for mischief not to bealtogether missed. Nor was Beasley the man to let the moment passwithout availing himself of it. Buck's interest in Joan was somethingto be played upon at all times. Theref
ore he drew him aside in amanner as portentous and ingratiating as he could make it.

  Buck, wondering at his drift, submitted all unwillingly.

  "Say," Beasley began, the moment they were out of ear-shot of therest, "guess you ain't bin around the farm lately--I mean thisafternoon?"

  Buck looked him coldly in the eye.

  "No--why?"

  Beasley returned his look in consummate irritation. He pretended to beannoyed at his coolness. He shrugged and turned away, speaking overhis shoulder as he went.

  "Oh, nuthin'! Guess it might be as well if you had."

  He went back to his bar, and in a moment was busy again at his trade.Buck looked after him for one doubting second. Then he too turned awayand went out to his horse.