The 8th Western Novel

by Dean Owen

  He realized now that unless he did find the Rusk cache and somehow smashed Gary, he would come out of this debacle without a dollar to his name, with neither Leda nor Mona, without a vestige of the affluence and power and ease which had been his all his life.

  But he had completely lost faith in ever finding the cache; and the incident two nights ago, when Leda had risked death to save Gary, had showed him at last that he stood no chance whatever with her so long as Gary was alive.

  The disaster to the Ludlow fortune had demoralized him badly, with its frightening specter of being cut off from wealth; but the shattering of his personal self-confidence about Leda was worse still. Whenever he thought of her and Gary up yonder at the cabin together, taking those long trips together, living together in unmistakable and intimate partnership, it was like a slow knife sliding home.

  Sleepless and haggard, he had kept to his tent all day, brooding over futile and desperate ways to get rid of Gary and salvage something out of the general crack-up.

  At Eutrope’s entrance he glared at the ’breed and snarled: “Who the hell asked you to come barging in like this? Why aren’t you shadowing that pair today?”

  His snarl went past Eutrope unheard. Fairly bursting with his tremendous news, the big métis broke out:

  “Hey! Dose two pipple, dey foun’ it!”

  “Who found what?” Hugh growled, not understanding. “Spill it and get out of here.”

  “I tell you, dey foun’ it! Mees Leda and dat Gary feller. Dey foun’ dat cache of gol’! Don’ you understan’ dat?”

  Hugh sprang to his feet as though a bullet had whizzed past his throat. “W-h-a-t?” In drop-jawed astonishment he stared unbelievingly at the muddied, rain-soaked ’breed.

  “Dat’s w’at I’m telling you,” Eutrope swore. “Dey foun’ it dis morning. Op de valley by dat beeg overfalls.”

  Hugh laughed sardonically. “What’re trying to feed me, you?” he demanded. He had hunted so long and futilely for the cache that he doubted its very existence; and now, suddenly, Eutrope was telling him that it had been found.

  “You don’ believe me, hein? I t’ought mebbe you wouldn’. Lookit!” With a flourish the métis whipped out his tobacco pouch, opened it, dumped its contents upon the brim of Hugh’s hat. “Dere! Mebbe you don’ b’lieve dat!”

  The little pile of dust and wheat-grain nuggets took Hugh’s breath away. Dazed and staggered, as though Eutrope had exploded a bombshell in the tent, he stooped over, looked at the gold, poked at it with his finger.

  “It—it is gold!” he jerked out, as he straightened up and stared at Eutrope. “But that little bit—it’s only a handful, only a thousand dollars—that can’t be the whole cache, can it?”

  Eutrope roared. “Sacre donc! W’y, man, dis leetle pooff, it ain’ even a good sample of w’at’s op dere! I jus’ brung it ’long so’s you couldn’ t’ink I’m crazy. W’y dat gol’ half fills a box beeg enough to bury a feller in!”

  Hugh had to believe him, then. For moments, as he stared at the heavy gleaming dust, he could only realize that someone else had found the cache, his cache—the gold hoard for which he had hunted all summer and on which he had staked all his hopes. He felt stunned, sickened; and it helped none to hear that the person who had found it was his mortal enemy, and to know that his hated rival was no longer a penniless bum but a rich man.

  He turned around, to the little table beside his cot, and poured himself a tin of brandy. Eutrope interposed.

  “Better t’row dat stuff out. You look lak you carrying too much of it now.”

  “Keep your gib to yourself!” Hugh flared at him. Nevertheless he held the tin of brandy in his hand untasted. “Where is this cache?”

  “It’s op dere behin’ de main overfalls. In a cave back behin’ dat water.”

  “But if those two—if they found it, how did you get this stuff here? Didn’t they take the gold away with them?”

  “Take dat beeg cache—two pipple?” Eutrope snorted. “W’y, she make four, five portage load for any man!”

  “D’you mean they found the cache and then walked off and left it?”

  “W’at else? Dev couldn’ take it!”

  Hugh wetted his lips and tried to get hold of himself. “Where are they now?”

  “Back home. I swung op pas’ dat cubane a w’ile ago to make dead certain w’ere dey are.”

  “Home? What the devil are they doing at home—with half a million dollars lying up there in a cave?”

  “I t’ink dat dis Gary feller is leery. He knows we been watching heem, so he jus’ leave dat cache stay put.”

  Hugh nodded. Beyond any question the ’breed’s guess was right. Afraid that their enemies might be shadowing them, Gary and Leda had wisely left the cache undisturbed and had quietly gone home. Undoubtedly they would lay very careful plans and move very cautiously in handling their tremendous find. When they went back to that cave they likely would take plenty of help along.

  Outside, one of the nondescript whites, who had seen Eutrope come in to camp, was edging up to the tent to find out what the excitement was all about. With an idea slowly taking shape in his mind, Hugh set his tin of brandy on the table, closed the flap-front of his tent and turned to Eutrope.

  “Sit down,” he said, in cautious tones. “Tell me about this business. How did they happen to find the cache?”

  “I don’ know. Dis morning I follow ’em op to de valley head. During dat beeg blow, I was in a cave across de crick, and I don’ see ’em. Bimeby I look out and see ’em standing down dere at de falls. Den, bigar, dey walk right into dat water and disappear, sneep-snap—jus’ lak dat!

  “Dey stay in dere long, long tam. I watch and t’ink, ‘W’at de hell’s fire?’ W’en dey come out and go ’way, I put a coupla pine knots unner my coat and go t’rough dat water myself for a look-see. I fin’ a tunnel, follow it back into de rock, fin’ a leetle cave, den de beeg main cave, w’ere dat old-tam camp was and w’ere dat cache of gol’ is. Sacre-bleu, she wan skeery place, back in dere.”

  The métis shuddered as he recalled the weird shadows, the dead quiet, the skeleton on the floor of the old murderers’ rendezvous.

  “You say that the gold is in a big box?” Hugh questioned. “Tell me exactly how much there is.”

  “She don’ look lak much, but she’s heavier’n hell! I try to heft a coupla pokes inside dere, but dey bust. Den I try to lif’ dat box but I couldn’ budge it. I tell you, dat gol’ is four, five portage load.”

  Hugh’s last doubt vanished. The gold was up there, all right, and a staggering amount of it. Four or five portage loads, and a strong man could carry a hundred thousand dollars in raw gold—that hoard must run close to half a million, as the old stories all insisted.

  With his idea swiftly growing on him, he parted the flap-front and looked out. The steady rain and gray gloom gave promise of a black rainy night, with twilight falling early.

  “That’s free gold,” he said, half to himself. “It belongs to anybody that finds it and keeps it. Those two may have found it, but if we’d snake it out of that cave tonight and hide it somewhere it’d be ours, b’God!”

  The ’breed’s eyes lighted up. “Nom de Nom! Dat’s a fine-dandy idee. I was t’inking somet’ing lak dat myself.”

  “Look here,” Hugh demanded, “did you tell these other fellows about this?”

  “Non, I come hyak right to you.”

  “Good. Don’t tell ’em anything. Keep it absolutely to yourself. Besides paying ’em good wages, I promised ’em a split if this cache was found. I thought they’d get busy and hunt. But all they’ve done is lie around camp and lap up grub and let somebody else walk in on that gold. They can go to hell. You and I’ll handle this ourselves. We’ll go up there at dusk and yank that gold away from those two.”

  “But w’at if dey come back tonight and fin’ us der
e?” Eutrope objected. “Dat Leda gal can do t’ings wit’ a rifle; and dat Gary feller—I don’ have to tell you he can fight.”

  Hugh’s face reddened at this reference to the mauling that Gary had given him. “Hell,” he deprecated, “I’d take her rifle away from her and lap it around that hobo’s neck! But I’ll fix it that they won’t bother us. I’ll have Cézar—without telling him why—slip up to their cabin this evening, and take a pot-shot at it every now and then. That’ll hold ’em there! They don’t know that we’re onto the cache; and they won’t venture out or take any chances on mixing it in the dark with our bunch. Besides, they wouldn’t leave that old coot by himself when somebody’s shooting at the place.

  “While Cézar is holding ’em, you and I can get up to that cave and have the gold hidden in two hours and be back here long before midnight.”

  Eutrope nodded. “Dat shooting’ll keep ’em home, awright. Okay, we go. It’ll be plenty dark in two hour.”

  “Then let’s start getting things ready. We’ll need ropes, tump straps, a coupla flashes and several canvas bags. Get some of that extra canvas out there and stitch up enough sacks to hold the stuff. Good strong ones, now.”

  “Jus’ wan meenit,” Eutrope interrupted. “You ain’ said nut’ing ’bout how much I’m going to get out of dis deal.”

  “You’ll get your slice, don’t worry,” Hugh promised evasively, angered that the ’breed should presume to haggle with him.

  “But how much of a slice?” Eutrope demanded, point-blank. He had just seen Hugh doublecross those other men in the matter of a split, and plainly he was thinking he would get the same sort of a scuttling unless he guarded against it beforehand. “Don’ forget I’m de feller w’at saw deni two fin’ de cache. If I hadn’ tol’ you ’bout it, you wouldn’ know nut’ing. You’ll split feefty-feefty wit’ me, hein? ’Stead of coming to you, I coulda kep’ my mout’ shut and got dat whole beezness myself.”

  Hugh colored furiously and doubled up his fists. “Fifty-fifty?” he echoed, in a rage. “I’ll see you in hell first! Who d’you think you are, anyway—trying to hold me up like that? Aren’t you working for me?”

  Eutrope’s swart face darkened ominously. “You heard w’at I said. It’s feefty-feefty, or… If you don’ lak de idee of splitting wit’ jus’ me, mebbe you’d lak to split wit’ all dem fellers out dere! Wan word out of me, and dat’s w’at you’d have to do. You tol’ ’em you’d split. Dey’re hot for dat gol’, jus’ lak you.”

  The threat frightened Hugh, and he backed water, realizing that the big ’breed held a whip over him. On the job up at the valley head he needed the métis; needed the man to guide him to the cache and help hide the gold securely. But afterward… The mere thought of splitting fifty-fifty with a hulking ignoramus of a half-breed made him furious; and he swore vengefully that because of this brazen attempt to hold him up, the big métis was going to get nothing!

  “How ’bout it?” Eutrope insisted, eying him narrowly.

  With an effort Hugh hid his anger. “All right,” he agreed, confident that once he had the gold in his possession, he could outwit this slow-thinking bush-loper. “We’ll split fifty-fifty. Now let’s get busy planning. We don’t want any slip-up when we’ve got half a million dollars hanging on the next few hours.”

  He looked through the flap-front again, made sure that none of the other men were listening, turned around, dumped out the tin of brandy, handed the half-empty bottle and a flask of whisky to Eutrope.

  “Give it to ’em out there!” he ordered. “It’ll help ’em pass the time this evening!”

  As the ’breed left him, he lit a cigarette and started pacing the little tent. A fierce exultation was running like high wine in his blood. After all his defeats of the past month; after his despair of finding the cache; after his hopelessness about Leda, and the disasters of the last two days—suddenly, like a lightning bolt of miraculous good luck, that hoard of gold was delivered into his hands. And by his very enemy! That was the sweetest part of it all. Those two had found it, but he was getting it! Tonight he was snatching that half a million away from them—scoring a terrific triumph for himself and turning their discovery into the most heartbreaking disappointment of their lives.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  In the rainy blackness Hugh followed Eutrope around the caldron pool, swearing at the brush and slippery rocks.

  The two of them drew near the overfalls and stopped just in front of the plunging cascade.

  “You say the tunnel is back behind that?” Hugh demanded, playing his flash on the sheet of tumbling white waters. “I don’t see any opening.”

  “Dat don’ prove nut’ing,” Eutrope retorted, with an arrogance that made Hugh want to hit him. “De tunnel is dere, wedder you see it or non. Dis Gary feller, he see it.”

  “Stop talking about that damned bum!” Hugh flared out. “You’ve been wa-waning about him all afternoon and evening, every half chance you got. And just because you know where this cache is, don’t get sassy with me, or—”

  Eutrope swung around and faced him. “Or w’at?”

  “Don’t forget,” Hugh snapped, “that I know why ’Teeste Roi never came in from his trap line last spring. Maybe Sergeant Rhodes wouldn’t like to hear about that!”

  “And don’ forget,” Eutrope countered, “dat I know w’at you tol’ Skunk-Bear to do to Gary. Mebbe Sarjon Rhodes wouldn’t lak to hear ’bout dat, too! And ’bout how you intend’ to give Gary a feest-mauling and den have us bump heem off, coupla nights ago—only he hand’ you de mauling, and Leda shot heem loose from us.”

  The threat sobered Hugh a little. In spite of his smoldering fury at the fifty-fifty split and the ’breed’s increasing arrogance, he tried to smooth out the quarrel.

  “All right, you keep quiet about what you know, and so’ll I. We’ve got to hang together on this job. If those other men back at camp get wise to us, they’ll slit our necks. They’ve talked up this cache so much and what they’re going to do with their shares, that they’re as pelton as a loon about it.” He glanced around at the mountain slopes, invisible in the wind-torn blackness. “Where’s this lake that you said we could sink the gold in?”

  Eutrope shifted the burden he was carrying—ropes, canvas bags, and two broad tump straps for the portaging; and pointed up the west slope.

  “Op dere. In a bunch of pines.”

  “Hard to get to?”

  “Non. She only two, t’ree hondred yard; and de game trail leading op dat way makes easy toting.”

  “You’re sure the lake’s deep enough?”

  “She twenty-five foot deep at de lower side. You can’ see no bottom on de brightes’ day. Don’ worry; if we jus’ get de gol’ in dere, she stay dere aw-right.”

  Hugh nodded. Yes, the dust and nuggets would be plenty secure. This rain and heavy wind would blot out all tracks beyond the eye of any human; and once the gold was lowered into the still cold depths of the lake, there it would stay, safe from Gary and those slinkers down at camp; safe till he himself got ready to fish it out. Only two people on earth, himself and Eutrope, would know where the gold had vanished.

  “And you big bush-rat,” he vowed silently, with a glance at Eutrope—“after we get this stuff out and cached, you’d better stop yammering about a fifty-fifty split and threatening me with blabbing to Rhodes, or there’ll only be one person who knows!”

  “Le’s be getting back into de cave,” Eutrope urged. “I don’ wan’ dis Gary catching me here. You go firs’.”

  “I don’t know the way,” Hugh objected. “You lead.”

  The big half-breed raised his flashlight to the white man’s face, and for several moments they stared at each other. It dawned on Hugh that the métis was refusing to go first because he was afraid of a bullet in the back. Suspicious and on guard, the man seemed to sense that the half a million in gold had made them enemies, boun
d together only by their need of each other on this job.

  As his own flash glittered on the hand ax at Eutrope’s belt, he realized that he had better keep his eye on the man through the work of this black rainy night. The ’breed had no deliberate intentions of killing him, but the man was nervous and dangerously taut. At one wrong word or move he might snap. A blow from that ax would brain a person.

  Keeping side by side, they stepped across the slippery rock shingle, and dashed through the cascade.

  In the darkness beyond, Hugh shook the water from his slicker and glanced around at the dank walls. How any pack of men, even Chilcote’s hardened pack, could live in so wet and cold a place, he could not imagine. And how Gary and Leda had found this entrance, hidden by a sheet of water a foot thick, was a dark mystery to him.

  Impatient to get at the cache, he and Eutrope hurried back the tunnel and turned into the dry corridor.

  In the dust of the passageway Hugh noticed two fresh tracks, a small dainty moccasin and a man’s shoe; and he observed that yard after yard, both going in and coming out the two kept close together. The sight of them exploded a paroxysm of jealousy in him. Every day for weeks, Leda had been alone, like this, with Gary. Down at the camp she had gambled with her life to help him break free; she had stood with him through this whole feud; she would stick with him as long as he was alive and breathing.

  He felt that tonight would be only half a triumph, a bitterly unsatisfying victory, unless he blasted Gary out of her life and won her around to himself. After all, she had known the fellow only a few weeks. If he was out of the picture, then marriage and half a million dollars would loom pretty big with her.

  They came to the first room-widening, and he flipped the light around at the strange old gear. The queer guns, the clothing and other relics of a bygone frontier, stirred his curiosity, but he did not stop. The gold fever and his torturing thoughts about Leda obsessed him, crowding out everything else. He wanted to lay eyes on that fortune of half a million, get it hidden, then plan a dead fall against Gary.

  Without pausing, he hurried on with Eutrope to the high-vaulted room where the Rusk men had lived.