Sudden Goldseeker (1937) s-3

by Oliver Strange

  "Risk?" Snowy repeated scornfully. "I'm believin' you. If that soulless devil knowed o' this, me an' Mary wouldn't last a week. To him, there's on'y one person in the world that matters--Paul Lesurge." Little as he liked the man, Sudden regarded this as an exaggeration; on the subject of his gold-mine the old fellow was undoubtedly a little mad, and liable to suspect everyone of designs on it. Yet he was trusting the puncher, of whom he knew little. Sudden smiled and sarcastically told himself that was the reason.

  On the back trail, Snowy was more talkative--apparently the knowledge that his secret was safe had lifted a load from his mind. He chirped and chattered, mainly on his favourite topic--California.

  Sudden noticed they were not returning by the way they had come. Snowy smiled when he mentioned it.

  "This is a short cut--less'n half the distance," he confessed. "We could 'a' done it in a day, but we might 'a' been trailed." They had covered only a few miles when the prospector halted in a sandy, shallow ravine through which a small stream moved sluggishly. The ruins of a log shack and the disturbance of the ground in a number of places proclaimed human habitation at some time. The cowboy understood.

  "This is the other one?" he guessed. "Is there gold here?"

  "Enough to keep a fella hopin'," was the reply. "You see, this creek comes from the Rocking Stone, an' when the snow melts on the peaks she's strong enough to carry the dust even this far."

  "But if somebody works up-stream . ?"

  "She tunnels a bit away from the cliff-wall," Snowy said confidently. "I on'y struck her by accident--you gotta find the way in." As the old man had promised, the journey back was shorter and a little less difficult, and, by late afternoon, they reached Deadwood. They were approaching the long street between the timber-stripped sides of the gulch when a crowd of shouting, gesticulating men came marching towards them. In front strode a burly, coarse-faced miner carrying a coiled rope, and immediately behind him, firmly gripped by two others and minus his gun, stepped Gerry. The boy's face was pale, and no sound came from his close-clamped lips. At the sight of him, Sudden pulled his horse across the path of the mob anddropped the reins over the saddle-horn, leaving both hands free.

  "What's goin' on?" he demanded.

  "Suthin' you can't stop," the man with the rope retorted, though he looked a trifle uneasy. "We're aimin' to string this fella up soon's we find a tall enough tree."

  "An' that goes," yelled a score of the others.

  Sudden surveyed the half-circle of hard-featured, savage faces; dangerous men these, all armed, and liable to be reckless of consequences when inflamed by passion. Resting his hands on the pommel of his saddle, he said quietly:

  "What's he done?"

  "Murdered a man an' stole his dust," came the answer. "That's a lie, Jim; I never was near the place," Gerry called out, trying to step forward.

  "Close yore yap, you," one of the men holding him exclaimed, and both of them slung him roughly back.

  The puncher's cold eyes rested on them. "Turn that man loose," he ordered. "He can't get away." Though his voice was low there was menace in it. The men shuffled uneasily for a moment and then obeyed; the crowd murmured. Sudden raised a hand.

  "Mason is my partner," he said. "If he has done what yu say, yo're welcome to hang him, but yu gotta prove it first." The leader told the story; a solitary digger named Wilson had been stabbed on his claim and his money-belt was missing; the prisoner was seen near the spot soon after the crime must have been committed.

  "Yu didn't find the belt on him?" Sudden asked, and there was a burst of jeering laughter. "Well, o' course, he might 'a' cached it. Where's the fella who saw him?" From the back ranks a reluctant figure was pushed forward and Sudden's eyes narrowed as he saw that it was Rodd. The man was obviously uncomfortable but with the courage born of being one of many, he faced the puncher with a malevolent sneer. Sudden gave no sign of recognition.

  "Shore it was Mason you saw?" he asked.

  "Sartain," was the reply, "an' he was wearin' chaps--they ain't so common in these 'arts."

  "I wear 'em," the puncher pointed out.

  "Then it might 'a' bin yu," Rodd said impudently, and raised a laugh.

  "So yu didn't see his face--the chaps are all yu have to go on?" Sudden flashed, and the man's triumphant leer faded as he realized that he had made a slip.

  "It was him, anyway," he growled. "I'd swear to lt."

  "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 new-comers 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.

  Chapter XII

  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." H>> 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."

  "lt 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 hill-sides 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 beatlng 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' lets 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 saloon-keeper 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.

  Suddenly conscious of hands clawing at his ankles, the cowboy swung his right foot back in a sharp kick and an agonized burst of profanity testified that the big spur had proved effective. But it was a costly success, for Sudden lost his balance and went down. Some of the assailants fell on him but the fight was not yet over. Utterly spent, with every sinew throbbing with pain, the cowboy battled on, striking, kicking, twisting in a hopeless endeavour to free himself. Then came a dull blow on the head and--oblivion.

  When he returned to the world again it was to find the sun shining. He was lying in a grassy glade hedged in by a thick growth of lodge-pole pines, and for a moment he could not comprehend. Then he realized that his hands and feet were bound; his chaps, Stetson and guns had vanished.

  "They seem to 'a' got me," he muttered.

  He made an attempt to sit up and every bone in his body protested so violently that the pain drew an oath. Immediately a man appeared, to stand regarding him with satirical eyes through the slits of the bandana which concealed his face. His dress was that of a miner."So you are alive?" he said. "Well, I'm glad.

  "I ain't exactly sorry myself," Sudden admitted, forcing his bruised lips to a difficult grin. "Don't tell me I'm the on'y one in the hospital." The man's eyes hardened. "You ain't," he said harshly. "I'm allowin' you damaged most of us, an' Lem"--he paused, conscious of a blunder--"the fella you backheeled, has a cheek laid open an' damn near lost an eye; kickin' with a spur ain't no way to fight."

  "When six or seven men jump one in the dark anythin' goes," the prisoner returned bluntly. "I'm glad I marked him, case we meet again."

  "If you do it'll be in hell an' you'll have to wait--he's young," was the sinister reply.

  "Age doesn't worry me none yet, an' I never wa
s scared o' fair-haired fellas."

  "He ain't--" the man began, and stopped.

  Sudden laughed. "Lem, young, dark, with a scar on his cheek--why, I got his picture; yu needn't tell me his other name." With an unintelligible growl the fellow went away and, soon after, another appeared with food, took the rope from the prisoner's wrists, and watched while he ate. This man was also masked.

  "Careful o' yore complexions, ain't yu?" the puncher said genially, and got no reply. "Mind if I roll some pills afore yu tie me up again?" Receiving a gruff assent, he got his "makings," and constructed a supply of cigarettes. Then, with one between his lips and his back against a tree, he submitted to the replacing of his bonds, and was left alone. Though he felt easier, his body was still one big ache.

  Across the open space he could see a primitive erection of poles which provided some sort of shelter, and around a fire in front of it, four men were lolling. Completely closed in by the trees, with a sight only of the sky overhead, the puncher could not guess where he was nor why he had been brought there. The latter he was soon to learn, for presently, the man who had spoken to him first came over and squatted cross-legged a few yards away.

  "Well, I reckon it's time we had a pow-pow," he commenced. "Wonderin' why we fetched you here, huh?"

  "I was admirin' the view; ye just naturally ruin it," the prisoner replied.

  "Gettin' fresh won't help you none, Sudden--we've drawed yore teeth. All we want is yore promise to take us to Ducane's mine." The cowboy's face did not betray his surprise. So that was it? Despite the secrecy of their departure, it had been observed, and Snowy's previous tall talk had given their expedition importance. This could not be Lesurge; someone else was taking a hand in the game.

  "Nice place yu got here," he remarked pleasantly.

  "Glad you like it; yo're liable to remain permanent unless you come across," the other retorted grimly. He pulled a revolver from his waist-belt. "I'm givin' you ten seconds." The threatened man launched a perfect smoke ring at the levelled barrel. "Why waste time, hombre; let her rip," he said.

  For an instant he thought the fellow would fire; he saw his grip of the butt tighten and steeled his body against the numbing shock of a bullet. But it did not come.