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

by Oliver Strange

  “I’ve heard the tale so often,” she replied wearily.

  “This time you can believe it. Listen! I have been examining the enemy’s position; it is impregnable. Much as I hate doing so, I shall have to adopt that girl’s suggestion and make terms. Green is the leader of these bandits and I want you to put my proposals to him.” The woman kept her head bowed less he should see the sudden gleam of hope in her eyes. “Why should he listen to me?” she muttered sullenly.

  “I fancy he has a fondness for you,” Paul said. “And there is no one else. To send Snowy or the girl would be putting cards in their hands, and any man of us might meet a bullet.” She feigned reluctance. “How can I get word with Green?”

  “Follow the stream as far as you can and bear to the left. You will be challenged. Say that you wish to speak with Green —alone. If you are afraid, I will send Hank with you.”

  “Much obliged, but then I should be afraid,” she replied cuttingly. “What am Ito tell the cowboy?”

  “That to avoid trouble, Miss Ducane is prepared to join forces and work the mine on a shares basis, she and her uncle, of course, to have the larger interests. The details can be agreed upon.”

  “Where do we come in?” she asked curiously.

  “Mary will not be ungrateful,” Lesurge explained, “and the old man will take what is given him; you need not discuss that.”

  “You mean to play fair?”

  “Certainly, and you must convince him of that; you should be able to.”

  “Having under your expert tuition, become such an accomplished liar,” she added acrimoniously. “Well, I’ll go, but I wish to heaven we’d never heard of Ducane and his damned mine.” A malevolent look followed her as she stepped through the gathering shadows towards the creek. Could he trust her? He smiled wryly. Paul Lesurge trusted no one. He spoke to the men and four of them stole after the messenger.

  Though she walked listlessly so long as she was in sight, the moment she reached the dusky vagueness of the trees her step quickened. Little did the man who had sent her guess how eager she was to do his errand. Lora Lesurge was in deadly fear. A creature of cities and crowded places, she could not bear the threatening solitude. Moreover, she was defenceless; her woman’s weapon of beauty became, in the company she was in, another danger. And, for the first time in her life, she was afraid of Paul.

  Paul Lesurge had sent her. His silence told that he was about to refuse and she made a last desperate bid. Clutching him wildly, she cried:

  “Jim, you must take me. I—” Out of the murky dimness, creeping forms closed silently in on them, and Sudden, striving to rid himself of the woman, found his arms gripped in a ruder grasp. With a violent gesture he tore his right hand free, thrust Lora away, and rammed his fists into an indistinct patch which he took to be a face. The thud of the blow was followed by a grunt as the man dropped. Swiftly stooping, the cowboy caught the fellow by collar and belt, swung the senseless form up, and with a mighty effort, hurled it at three charging shadows. Without waiting to see the effect of this unusual missile, he ran for the cliff opening. His story was received with varying expressions of anger and disgust.

  They fell to discussing it, but Sudden was silent. A woman had fooled him, drawn him into a trap, and held him while he was attacked. He told himself that she was nothing to him, that he had always distrusted her, and yet the memory of her cry as he had retreated remained: “Jim, I didn’t know—I swear—” The voice was cut off as though a hand had been clapped over the speaker’s lips.

  Meanwhile the subject of his thoughts was being escorted back to the camp. When Hank and Lem had been knocked flat by the smallish but decidedly bony body of Bandy, the fourth man, Fagan, had gripped the woman’s arm.

  “Tryin’ to get away an’ double-cross us, huh?” he gibed. “I reckon Paul’Il wanta see you.”

  “Take your filthy paws off, and don’t be more of a fool than Nature made you,” she said fiercely. “Paul himself sent me.”

  “Yeah, an’ he sent us to watch you,” was the sneering reply.

  “Your job was to take Green, and you’ve failed—as usual,” she retorted. “Better get your excuses for that ready.” The others came up, Rodd still half-dazed from the rough treatment he had received, and they returned to the camp. Lora went straight to her brother. Fury at the thought that she had been used as a bait, for the moment, dispelled her fear.

  “Since when have your hirelings had permission to treat me like a common drab?” she asked indignantly.

  Lesurge looked at the men. “Where’s Green?” he barked. “He got away,” Fagan muttered.

  “Yes, in spite of the fact that I was holding him when theyattacked,” Lora taunted. “Four of them to one and—he got away.” With an evil glare at her, Fagan drew his chief aside. She could not hear what was being said, but knew that she would need all her resource. Paul’s expression, when he came back, told her nothing.

  “The cowboy refused my offer?”

  “Of course, after what one of these curs had done,” she answered heatedly. “Had I known of that I would not have gone.”

  “You told him you were afraid and begged for his protection,” the cold voice continued.

  “Don’t trouble to lie; Fagan heard all.” The woman’s brain was racing. “I had to think of something to keep him,” she said. “I guessed your plan, and I didn’t know the men had arrived.”

  “And you were so fearful he might escape that you put your arms about him?” Paul persisted. Lora did not reply; she had failed. “Am I to believe that you really desired to trap your lover?” The accusation stirred her. “He is not that,” she denied. “If he were, you would not dare to insult me.” Lesurge lost his mask of immobility; his face became fiendish. “Would I not?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You don’t know me—but you shall.” He looked at the men. “You can all go, except Hank.” He waited until they had slouched reluctantly away, and then turned to Lora.

  “I warned you once,” he said. “You are not only of no use but a danger to me; I am going to get rid of you.” He read the quick dread in her staring eyes. “Oh, not that way.” His laugh was vile. “Hank here, finds you attractive, I fancy.” It took the rascal a moment to comprehend, and then, with a gloating leer, he said eagerly, “Shore, she won’t have forgot them days in the hills.”

  “I make you a present of her,” Paul proceeded calmly.

  This outrageous act almost petrified the person it most concerned. Torn between anger and stark fear, she could but gasp, “You are mad.”

  “As you told Green,” he reminded. “No, I was that when I trusted you; now I am sane again.”

  “You dare not do it,” she muttered hoarsely.

  “Who is to prevent me?” he asked. “Here, I am—king.” Mary Ducane, who, with Snowy, had been a silent spectator of this strange scene, stepped forward.

  “Paul, you must not do this terrible thing—she is your own blood,” she pleaded.

  “That is not the case,” Lesurge said deliberately.

  Mary gazed from one to the other, almost doubting her ears. Lora drew herself up defiantly.

  “I am no sister of his,” she cried, her tone vibrant with contempt. “I am only—his wife.”

  “You are not even that,” he retorted. “True, there was a ceremony, but the man who performed it had no right to do so.” The icy, dispassionate statement compelled credence. “You —devil,” she raged. “I will have your life for that.” Lesurge’s face might have been carved in stone, a revengeful, malignant mask. He motioned to Hank.

  “Take her away. She will need discipline; I have been too indulgent.” The brute’s grin was bestial. “I can tame ‘em,” he said. “Had an Injun squaw once” He saw from Paul’s expression that this was not the time for reminiscences, and stepped towards Lora. “Come along, beauty; you an’ me is goin’ to git better acquainted.” She had been standing like a statue, eyes fixed on the man who had condemned her, hands clasped to her breast as though to
still the beating of her heart. Hank laid an arm about her and like a tiger-cat she twisted in his grasp and struck at him. The fellow’s knees sagged, his eyes rolled horribly, and with a gurgling gasp he went down. Bending, the woman watched as life went in a last convulsive contortion, and in a shrill, unnatural voice, cried:

  “The dog is dead; it should have been his master, but your turn will come, Paul.” With a wild laugh, she turned and ran, disappearing into the darkness before the paralysed onlookers could guess her intention. Fagan and the others, who had hurried over when they heard Hank’s death-cry, stood grouped round the body. One of them turned it over, disclosing the dagger, buried to the haft at the base of the throat. Lesurge frowned when he saw it.

  “I forgot about that damned knife she carried,” he said. “She shore knowed where to put it,” Fagan observed critically. “What are we to do with the body?”

  “Bury it, of course,” Paul snapped.

  Tough as they were, the men did not smile at the savage jest, and their sullen faces told him it was ill-timed. He tried to make amends:“His share will be split amongst you.” He got no thanks, a circumstance he was to remember. Lem put a question about Lora.

  “She’s gone to Green, I expect,” Paul replied. “We must keep a look-out, in case they try anything. I’ll take the first spell.” He went back to the fire. He had seen Mary, with Snowy endeavouring to comfort her, vanish into the tent. The old man, rolled in his blanket, was lying across the entrance. Paul’s lips curled disdainfully at the sight.

  Chapter XXIII

  Sunrise found the camp astir, but Mary did not appear for the morning meal. Snowy made her excuses:

  “She ain’t feelin’ too good, which you can’t wonder at; it warn’t a pretty sight for a gal.”

  “Nevertheless, I must speak with her,” Paul replied. “In any case, we are leaving, and she must come with us.”

  “Leavin’?” Snowy repeated.

  “We are going to drive those damned interlopers out and take possession,” Lesurge explained. “Did you imagine I would let a mad woman upset my plans? Send Mary to me, and mind your step, if you want to go on living.” Presently the girl joined him; her face was pale and weary, but there was a resoluteness in her bearing. Paul’s manner had none of the brusqueness he had shown to Snowy.

  “I am deeply grieved about last night, Mary, but you must not judge me too severely,” he began. “The discovery of that woman’s treachery angered me beyond measure. Of course, I should not have allowed the matter to go further—I only wished to frighten her.”

  “If she is not your wife, you deceived her cruelly,” Mary said quietly. “No woman could forgive such a shameful trick.”

  “It was an accident,” Paul said quickly. “We were married in a small settlement in Missouri, by a man whom everyone called `Judge.’ It was only much later that I learned it was but a courtesy title, and that he was a dissolute old rascal who would do anything for a fee. We were travellers, you see, and went on the following day. When I found out, by chance, I dared not tell her—she would have killed me.” The explanation was plausible enough, but Mary Ducane did not find it convincing.

  “You should have told her, and made the only possible reparation,” she said. “By all the laws of morality, she is your wife.”

  “It would have been suicide—Lora’s temper is that of a fiend; Hank was the second victim of it since we came to Deadwood” His voice acquired a pleading note. “When you know more of the world, you will understand what a lovely unscrupulous woman can accomplish. I was infatuated, and it was only after I came to Wayside that I began to realize that she was an evil influence in my life. When I saw you … ”

  “You deceived me also,” she coldly reminded. “Had I been aware that Lora was not your sister … ”

  “An arrangement made before I met you—at her wish,” he explained eagerly. “She revelled in her ability to attract men, and insisted on posing as a single woman. Not only a traitor, but unfaithful, in love with that cowpuncher. My dear, don’t waste any pity on her; she has gone from our lives like an evil dream. Your wish will be my law now, Mary.” The impassioned appeal fell on deaf ears. “I have but one—to get away from this accursed country immediately,” she said. “And leave the mine?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes, I am sorry I ever heard of it,” she cried.

  “It brought us together,” he said softly. “Don’t say you regret that.”

  “I do,” she replied firmly. “Mister Lesurge

  “Paul,” he corrected.

  “Mister Lesurge,” she repeated. “Until last evening, I fancied I cared for you, but now I know it was no more than the fascination of an inexperienced girl for a man unlike any she had met.”

  “Your love for me will revive.”

  “No, it never existed.” The finality in her tone told him that this was no whim of an overwrought mind, and it came like a blow in the face. He had been so sure. Her very coldness fed the fire within him.

  “I’ll teach you to care,” he muttered thickly.

  One swift step and she was captive, pressed close to him, his hot lips showering kisses upon her own, frozen, unresponsive. She made no attempt to resist, lying limply in his arms. But for the scorn in her eyes he might have been embracing a corpse. Some realization of this brought her release.

  “And now I hate you,” she said.

  “School your tongue,” he warned. “I know how to deal with vixens. You may yet have to choose between myself and—Fagan.”

  “Of two evils ” she began contemptuously.

  “You would prefer Fagan,” he finished furiously. “The fellow who knifed your ..” He saw the dawning horror in her face, and paused, too late.

  “Fagan—slew—my—father?” she panted. “And you—were waiting for us at Wayside. The cowboy was right.” She swayed like a sapling in the breeze but steadied herself when he advanced, “Don’t touch me, you murderer.” Nor did he stay her, when with stumbling steps, she ran towards the tent. Snowy came to meet her.

  “Take me away, Uncle Phil, anywhere,” she sobbed.

  The old man put an arm round her. “We gotta be patient, honey,” he said. “They’d just naturally shoot us down. Things’ll come right.”

  “I’ve no one but you.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say just that. There’s a young fella not so far off mightn’t agree.” It brought the colour into her cheeks again; the thought of Gerry was very pleasant. “I expect he’s forgotten,” she whispered.

  “When I see him last he was mighty partic’lar in his inquiries,” Snowy lied cheerfully.

  Lesurge was giving orders to Fagan. “That old fraud and the girl must be watched,” he concluded. “By the way, she knows you assisted her father into the next world.”

  “The hell she does’?’ the other growled. “Who told her?”

  “Lora, I expect,” Paul prevaricated. “She can prove nothing, and out here …” He shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, if she took the story to that gun-slinger, Sudden … ” Fagan’s alarmed expression told him that Mary Ducane would be well guarded.

  “Get busy,” he said, “and we’ll smoke those rats out of their hole.”

  The morning sun shone down upon a saddened but grimly determined group in the Rocking Stone mine.

  “They’ll strike to-day,” Sudden said, and no one doubted it.

  Jacob and Humit were placed on guard, while the rest dug and washed for gold, their rifles beside them. The two cowboys were working together, glumly and silently. Both were seeing visions: Sudden, of an apparently fear-distraught, frantic woman, and Gerry, a pair of frosty blue eyes, in a proud little face, rosily indignant because he had told the owner he meant to marry her.

  “Damnation!” he said presently.

  “Scratched yore finger?” Sudden asked solicitously.

  “No, broke my neck,” Gerry retorted, and then, “Wonder if she’s all right?”

  “Reckon so—her brother’ll look after her,�
� was the reply. “What the ?” Gerry commenced, adding, as comprehension came to him, “I warn’t thinkin’ o’ Miss Lesurge.”

  “No?” his friend asked innocently.

  “Yo’re the wise guy, ain’t yu?” Gerry gibed. “S’pose yu tell me how them poison-toads is goin’ to get us outa here?”

  “They might starve us, or plug the outlet o’ the creek an’ flood the basin—the entrance bein’ considerable above the floor level,” Sudden pointed out. “But both them methods is kind o’ slow, an’ I’d say—” Crack! The spiteful report of a rifle rang out and Husky swung round, clutching his left arm.

  “Hell’s bells, yu got yore answer,” Sudden swore, and jumped for his Winchester.

  A thinning puff of smoke showed that the shot had come from the slope leading to the Rocking Stone, and a moment later, three others, from different points, followed. One swept Gerry’s hat from his head, while another whistled uncomfortably close to his companion’s ear.

  Sudden flung himself at full length behind a heap of gravel.

  Gerry spread himself beside his friend. The pile, woefully small even for one, was the only cover available.

  Husky and Rogers, who were nearer the camp, made a bolt and reached it safely.

  “Good for them,” Sudden commented. “But now we’ll have all the attention.” Four bullets which ploughed through the gravel in front of them endorsed his remark. Gerry wriggled and cursed. “Yu hit?” Sudden asked anxiously.

  “Stone cut my cheek,” was the reply. “It’s like bein’ peppered with a scatter-gun.” He pushed up a rampart of gravel, only to have it dispersed by another volley. “May the bones rot in their bodies,” he added viciously, as he spat out a mouthful of grit.

  They had been firing at intervals, largely to relieve their feelings, for they had nothing to aim at save the rocks which sheltered the marksmen.

  “I never thought the day would come when I’d want to see Angel-face,” Sudden said whimsically.