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

by Oliver Strange

  “Who the devil can these men be?” he asked. “And what did they want with you?”

  “I don’t know, but their leader threatened to torture me to make Green tell,” she replied.

  “Snowy keeps his tongue too well oiled,” Paul said angrily. “The man who took you was dressed like Green and rode a black. Are you sure it was not Green?”

  “Naturally,” she said sarcastically, “since the cowboy was tied up in camp when I arrived with my captor.”

  “Settles that, of course,” he admitted. “You can’t describe this fellow—Hank?” She shook her head. “Medium height and build, with a throaty voice which may have been due to the handkerchief over his mouth.”

  “So, when you escaped, you spent the night in the woods with Green?”

  “Certainly, there being no alternative save the outlaws.”

  “Did he make love to you?” She laughed disdainfully. “My dear Paul, no man makes love to me without my permission. He conducted himself like a gentleman.”

  “Which was a disappointment, no doubt?” The gibe sent the blood into her cheeks.

  Looking him directly in the face, she said fiercely: “Yes.” Though he did not believe it, the defiant manner made him sorry he had hurt her. He began to say so, but she shrugged an impatient shoulder.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You resemble Snowy, only your tongue is too well ground.

  Is there any news?”

  “Some more miners have been killed and robbed by a man in cowboy clothes, riding a black horse.” Her eyes went wide. “Why, that must have been he—the man who nearly strangled me. I heard a shot just before I saw him.”

  “The miners are taking it pretty hard.” A deep-throated bellow, like distant thunder, came to their ears.

  “What on earth is that?” Lora wondered.

  Snowy, flinging open the door, answered the question:

  “Hey, Paul, the town’s gone mad. They’ve got Green an’ are goin’ to string him up right now; they claim he’s the prowlin’ skunk who’s been wipin’ ‘em out.” Lora’s face went deathly white. “My God, we must do something, Paul,” she cried. “He’s innocent—and useful,” she added, noting the odd look in his eyes.

  “Certainly we must,” he said, “but there’s no need for you to figure in it—yet.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she stated. “I owe him that, at least. Besides, it will put him under an obligation.”

  “You gotta hurry, there ain’t a second to lose,” Snowy urged.

  Just as they reached the outskirts of the crowd, Wild Bill strode up. The gunman’s usually placid face was set and stern. “Make way, friends,” he said quietly.

  The outer fringe of the gathering consisted largely of men who, not being miners, were merely there out of curiosity, and when they saw from whom the request came, they made way readily enough. Paul and his companions followed on Hickok’s heels. As they neared the wagon, progress became more difficult. Lowering looks on all sides greeted them, and then came a flat refusal.

  “If yo’re gamblin’ on a rescue, Bill, you’ll lose out,” growled a beetle-browed miner, one of several barring their path. “If you ain’t, well, they’ll be jerkin’ him up in two-three minutes an’ you’ll git as good a view as the rest of us.”

  “I never ask twice,” Hickok said.

  He made no hostile movement, the ivory-handled guns remained in their holsters, his voice was not raised, but the threat was there, and they knew well enough it was no empty one; he would shoot them down; the rest of the mob could overwhelm and tear him to bits, but that would not put the breath back into their bodies. Sullenly they pressed aside, permitting the gunman and those with him to reach the wagon.

  Sudden, standing under the upraised pole, with the noose already round his neck, was waiting for the word which would for him spell the beginning of eternity. His hard young face was devoid of expression save for the eyes, scornful and defiant, staring fixedly at the man who would give the fatal sign. This was Husky, and he had begun to raise a hand when Hickok sprang on to the wagon. But at the sight of the pistol-barrel nudging the new-corner’s hip and pointing directly to himself, the miner’s arm dropped nervelessly. A savage howl of protest greeted the gunman’s intervention, to die away in low, angry muttering when Husky spoke:

  “See here, Bill, when was you app’inted marshal o’ Deadwood?”

  “About the same time yu were made hangman,” Hickok retorted. “Take that rope off; yu’ve got the wrong fella.” Husky looked uneasy. “Can you prove it?” he asked.

  “Yes, an’ if I couldn’t yu’d do what I say or die before he did,” Wild Bill snapped.

  “Yo’re takin’ a high hand,” the miner grumbled. “There’s others have a say in this.” He raised his voice. “Am I to turn him loose, boys?” A babel of expostulation followed the question.

  “Turn him off, not loose,” one wit shouted, and the phrase was taken up and repeated. Mingled with it were invitations to Hickok to mind his own business, and to try a warmer climate. “Go ahead, Husky; we’re behind you,” others cried.

  Erect on the wagon, the object of this outburst listened with an expression of cold contempt. At the last piece of encouragement, however, a wisp of a smile broke the straight lines of his lips. He knew that was Husky’s trouble; had he been behind he would have shouted as boldly as the best, but stopping the first bullet was something different.

  “Yo’re a plucky lot, ain’t yu?” he said. “Hundreds of yu to hang a man without givin’ him a chance to speak.”

  “That ain’t so—he’s said his piece,” Husky corrected. “Claims he was carried off by a gang an’ held in the hills somewheres. Sounds likely, don’t it?” Lora Lesurge stepped to Hickok’s side.

  “It may not sound likely, sir, but it happens to be true,” she said, in a clear, reaching voice. “As many of you know, I too have been `lost’ for some days. I was set upon, half-throttled, and carried off by a man attired as a cowboy mounted on a black pony. He took me to a kind of camp, where I found Mister Green, bound hand and foot, when I arrived. He did not leave until we got away.”

  “How fur is thisyer camp, an’ where?” Husky asked, with an air of disbelief.

  “I have no idea,” she replied. “It took us a day to get back to Deadwood, but we started in the dark, and did not know the direction. Also, it was rough country and I fear I am a poor walker.”

  “You were with Green allatime?” a voice inquired sneeringly.

  “I have said so,” she returned, her face white and cold as marble. “Mister Green told me they had taken his hat, chaps and guns. He could not understand why, but it is clear enough now.” Husky scratched his head. “He’s wearin’ ‘em,” he said, and she had to explain how Sudden had regained his property.

  The sneering voice from the middle of the throng spoke again.

  “Oh, she’s got it all pat, or-timer. I told you his friends would lie him out of it.” Wild Bill’s narrow eyes swept the gathering. “Who said that?” he thundered. “Let him step forward; I’d like to see him.” There was no response; evidently the speaker had no desire to gratify the gunman’s curiosity. Wild Bill looked at Husky. “Well?” he said impatiently.

  The miner made a last effort. “Why didn’t you tell us ‘bout Miss Lesurge?” he asked the prisoner.

  “Why the devil should I?” the puncher retorted. “It was none o’ yore business.” The man grimaced. “I’m allowin’ it was yore neck,” he said. “An’ yu wouldn’t have listened either,”

  Sudden told him. “Yu ain’t believin’ it now.”

  “He’d better,” Hickok exploded. “Husky, do I have to tell yu again to set Green free?”

  The man removed the rope. “I guess we’ll hold him till we search out that camp,” he said.

  Wild Bill boiled over. “I—guess—yu—will—not,” he grated. “Cut those bonds an’ be damned quick about it.” He drew himself up and surveyed the swarm of upturned, sullen faces.


  “Is there anyone here who wants to call this lady a liar?” he demanded. Silence followed the challenge, and he turned sardonically to the miner. “Yu ‘pear to be the on’y one,” he said. “Now, get this; Green won’t run away; if he does, yu can swing me in his stead.” There was a laugh at this. With the mercurial quality of a mob, many of those present now believed in the innocence of the accused. Hickok’s reputation as straight was generally conceded, Paul Lesurge was a figure in the town, and the Westerner—rough as he might he—was usually chivalrous to any women.

  Without waiting for a reply, the gunman jumped lightly from the vehicle and stretching up his long arms, swung the lady to the ground, and bowed to her, hat in hand.

  “I compliment yu on yore courage, ma’am,” he said.

  “Coming from you I must even believe it, sir,” she smiled, and turned to greet the cowboy, her face grave again.

  “I don’t know whether to thank or scold you,” she began. “By good fortune we came in time—it would have been a horrible memory … Why didn’t you tell them about me?”

  “It wouldn’t have helped,” he told her. “Things looked bad; friend Hank had it figured pretty neat.” Lesurge joined them. “Green, I owe you a great deal for getting my sister out of that mess,” he said, but there was no cordiality in his tone.

  “I was gettin’ myself out,” the cowboy replied, “an’ Miss Lesurge has more’n evened the score.” The lady shook her head. “My part was easy.” At this moment Gerry appeared, with Rogers and his partners, all carrying rifles. The young man whooped when he saw his friend.

  “Saw I couldn’t do nothin’ so I slipped away to round up the boys,” he explained. “Hoped we’d be in time to try somethin’.”

  “I’m obliged,” Sudden said gravely. “Thanks to Miss Lesurge an’ Mister Hickok …”

  “She turned the trick,” the gunman cut in, with an admiring glance at Lora. “I should have failed but for her testimony. All I did was to make ‘em listen, an’ I’m very glad yore friend Jacob routed me out.”

  “I wondered where the of boy had gone,” Gerry remarked. “He vanished when they collared yu.” Snowy sidled up to the puncher. “I’ve heard how you wouldn’t split about the mine, Jim,” he whispered. “I’m not forgettin’ that.”

  “Yeah,” Sudden smiled, “an’ I rememberin’ that if yu hadn’t fetched Miss Lesurge my friends would now be tellin’ each other what a good fella I was.” When Paul and his sister had gone, Hickok turned to the others and said, “I don’t use liquor much, but Bizet fixes a mint-julep that pleases even me. Let’s irrigate.” The little Frenchman welcomed them with a broad smile, but wagged a finger at Sudden. “My fren’, fortune she is fickle; one time she will fail you.”

  “I’ve been sayin’ the same, Bizet,” Wild Bill said. “He’s playin’ his luck too hard.” And to the cowboy, “Yu remember what I told yu?”

  “Yu said for me to keep clear o’ the women,” Sudden grinned. “An’ a woman has saved me.” The big man laughed. “That’s a score to yu, but I’m repeatin’ the advice,” he said. “Someone is after yore ha’r; who is it?”

  “Yu can search me,” the cowboy replied.

  In truth, he was puzzled. Paul Lesurge was antagonistic, he knew, and might have contrived the kidnapping in order to steal the mine from under Snowy’s nose, but his men would not have touched Lora. The faintly familiar voice in the crowd recurred to him; it had reminded him of Hank. It was probable that he and his men had come to Deadwood, since they would have to leave their hide-out in the hills. This latter proved to be the case, for when Husky and his companions found the place, it was deserted. On their way back, following Sudden’s directions, they came across the skeletons of a man and two horses in front of the ridge where the cowboy had made his stand. The big miner was game enough to come and apologize.

  “You was right an’ we was wrong,” he said. “I’m sorry, but it shore seemed an open an’ shut case. No hard feelin’s, I hope?”

  “I’m forgettin’ it,” Sudden told him. “But give the next fella a chance.”

  CHAPTER XV

  In a dilapidated shanty, built with becoming modesty away from the street, five men were drinking and smoking. The wavering light of a couple of tallow dips dimly revealing their forbidding faces. They had just finished weighing and dividing a bag of gold-dust.

  “An’ that’s the finish, I s’pose,” Berg said sourly. “Hank, you’ve managed to spoil as pretty a plan as ever I made, damn you.” The black-haired fellow who had attracted Sudden’s notice at the attempted lynching looked up. “How the devil could I help it?” he asked angrily.

  “We had the game in our hands,” was the rejoinder. “You shouldn’t ‘a’ touched the Lesurge woman; it was lunacy.”

  “I couldn’t do nothin’ else when she found I wasn’t Sudden,” Hank argued. “It was a fair give-away.”

  “An’ havin’ made the mistake o’ carryin’ her off you put another to it by lettin’ her get loose.”

  “How in hell was I to know she had a sticker?”

  “You oughta—she advertised it, not so long back.”

  “Yo’re all so damn clever, ain’t you?” Hank sneered. “Well do the risky work yoreselves an’ I’ll keep under cover an’ collect my share, like some o’ you.” A new voice chimed in, that of a rodent-faced youth, one of whose cheeks bore a jagged, half-healed wound. “Whatsa use scrappin’? If anybody’s got a squeal comin’ it’s me”—he jerked a thumb at his injury—“an’ you ain’t heard me yap any.”

  “That’s the way to talk, Lem,” Bandy Rodd supported. “When pals fall out, trouble comes in, an’ you can put yore pile on that.”

  “The trouble’s in a’ready,” Berg said. “The old game’s too risky now—we’ll have to find another way.” So far Fagan had been silent, but now he spoke: “We gotta get that mine. It’s big, or Lesurge wouldn’t be after it—he ain’t no piker.”

  “Him an’ Reub Stark is gettin’ mighty strong in the town,” Bandy observed. “He won’t be needin’ yu much longer.” Fagan spat contemptuously. “He dasn’t turn me off—I know too much. We’re pardners.”

  “An’ yo’re tryin’ to double-cross him?” Hank fleered.

  “Why not? He’ll do it to me if I give him a chance,” was the candid answer.

  Hank, still sore from the wigging he had received, laughed scornfully. “Well, we know what to expect from you,” he said. “Damn you!” Fagan roared. “I’ll ”

  “Stop it,” Berg snapped. “Where’s the sense in heavin’ rocks at each other? We’re all out to double-cross Lesurge. What we gotta think of is how to put it over.”

  “What about gettin’ the gal—Ducane’s niece—an’ puttin’ the screw on her?” Lem suggested.

  “Might come off if you wiped out Ducane an’ that cussed cowboy first,” Bandy said. “If not, they’d guess the game an’ be waitin’ at the mine for us.” The plan aroused no enthusiasm; even to their desperate natures it seemed too big an order.

  “If there’s to be any bumpin’ Mister Sudden off you can count me out,” Lem contributed.

  “I’ve had some, an’ I seen Logan get his.”

  “Lefty rated hisself too high,” Fagan said. “I owe Sudden somethin’ an’ he’ll get it, but I shan’t worry if he don’t know who’s payin’ him.”

  “Any hope o’ makin’ Ducane so tight he’ll talk?” Bandy asked.

  “He’s allus talkin’, but he don’t say nothin’,” was Fagan’s answer. “An’ it wouldn’t be no good—he claims he’s forgot where the mine is; Sudden’s the on’y one what knows.”

  “An’ we lost him,” Berg said dismally. “A million dollars waitin’ to be picked up an’—”

  “Oh, can it,” Hank burst in. “We gotta watch for another break, that’s all. What about a game?” They fell to playing cards, which gave them a new excuse for wrangling. After a while, Fagan rose to depart. “Goin’ to see Paul,” he told them.

  “You have been taking a ho
liday?” Paul inquired amiably. But the visitor understood, and moved uneasily in his seat.

  “Things was gittin’ hot,” he muttered. “It was too dangerous.”

  “Another, apparently, did not think so,” came the reply.

  “You were not, by any chance, that other?”

  “Hell, no, Paul. Why do you ask that?”

  “I thought you might have had an inspiration; I should have known better. So you are not in need of money?” Fagan conceived what he regarded as an inspiration. “I shorely am,” he said mournfully. “Got cleaned out at Pedro’s las’ night—playin’ the wheel—you never see such luck.”

  “At Pedro’s? Ah, yes,” Paul said softly, and the liar wished he had not named the place; if inquiries were made … But the next remark reassured him. “I can let you have fifty dollars, but you must earn them by finding for me a fellow named `Hank’ who was concerned in the seizure of my sister.”

  “Shore I will; what’s he like?” the ruffian replied, hoping that his start of surprise had escaped notice.

  “I can’t tell you, but he may be with another called `Lem,’ who had a cheek laid open in the scrimmage with Green.” Fagan nodded; it was going to be easy money. “Them gravel-grubbers come near to riddin’ you o’ Green,” he grinned.

  “I’ve no desire to be rid of him,” Paul replied coldly. “Had that been so, Lora would have arrived too late to substantiate his story. Unfortunate, in that case, of course, but …” The smooth voice faded and Fagan was conscious of chilliness creeping up his spine. Once, when a boy, a rattlesnake had brushed against his bare leg, Lesurge, at times, recalled that horrible moment—the cold sliminess of the contact, the breath-taking fear of impending death.

  “What you aimin’ to do with this Hank fella, Paul?” he ventured.

  “Use him,” was the reply.

  Though he took care not to show it, Fagan was delighted. It suited him that Lesurge should surround himself with his, Fagan’s, confederates; he was assisting in his own downfall.