“Lesurge is the jigger I’d admire to get a bead on,” Gerry replied. “If he shows hisself, don’t yu trouble to fire.” But their wishes were to go unsatisfied. Instead, they got a perfect hail of bullets and before it their flimsy defence rapidly disintegrated. It became obvious that, in a few moments, their position would be untenable; both were cut and bruised by flying pebbles, and several times, each had escaped death by a bare inch.
“They’re turnin’ the damn place into a lead-mine,” Sudden remarked. “We gotta run for it.
Get ready.” They waited until a lull in the fusillade suggested that the snipers might be reloading, and Sudden gave the word. Leaping to their feet, they raced for shelter, zigzagging as they went.
Shots zipped past them, flinging up the dust on every side, but they reached the rest of the band unscathed. Both were winded, for it was uphill, and the loose sand and gravel made speed an achievement; also, their high-heeled cowboy boots were not built for sprinting. Sudden’s first question was addressed to Husky:
“Hurt much?”
“Flesh wound—nothin’ bruk—smarts a few,” the miner grinned. “There’s on’y four shootin’; where’s the other two?”
“Watchin’ Snowy an’ the women, I’d say,” the puncher surmised. “An’ I’m bettin’ Lesurge is one of ‘em; he ain’t the sort to risk his hide.”
“Yu’d shorely win,” Rogers chimed in. “What’s the next move, Jim?”
“We’ll clear out an’ get the hosses.”
“An’ let ‘em grab the mine?” Humit asked disappointedly.
“We can get it back when we want,” Sudden argued. “One good shot up on the slope can make this place impossible; with the rest of us workin’ this end, we’d have ‘em comin’ an’ goin’.”
“She’s a good scheme,” Rogers agreed. “If they’d thought o’ that, we’d be out on a limb right now.” Taking only their weapons and a small supply of food, they set out for the spot where they had hidden the horses. This was a good half-mile distant, and to the east, where the enemy would be unlikely to chance upon them, for to be set afoot in the Black Hills would have been a calamity.
The ignominious retreat of the cowboys had evoked derision among the sharp-shooters, mingled with disgust at their own failure to bowl over at least one of them.
“See ‘em run,” Lem called to Fagan, who was about a dozen yards distant. “Skippin’ like a couple o’ jack-rabbits.” He waited a while, balanced his hat on the barrel of his gun, and raised it cautiously above the boulder behind which he was crouching. Nothing happened, and after another wait, he rose slowly to his full height. The expected shot did not come; the hollow was clearly deserted.
“They’ve pulled their freight,” he announced.
One by one the other marksmen emerged from their shelters and joined him.
“What’s to do now?” Berg asked.
“Git our tools an’ collar the mine. What d’you s’pose?”
“They may come back.”
“Then we’ll stand ‘em off,” Fagan retorted. “But I figure it this way; they must ‘a’ cleaned up a lot o’ dust while we was foolin’ in that damned ravine and they’re content to get away with that—playin’ safe, like. If it ain’t so, why let us in an’ have all the trouble o’ drivin’ us out again?”
The others agreed that his reasoning was sound, and they all slithered along the slope until they reached the spot where Paul, Snowy, and the girl were waiting, the latter two with their wrists bound. Their gaoler, pacing restlessly back and fore, was silent, but there was a look in his dark eyes which filled her with fear. The men appeared, and Fagan made his report.
“You are probably right but Lem had better make sure,” Paul decided.
The scout reached the camp almost as soon as they. He was jubilant.
“They’ve flew the coop, shore enough,” he said. “An’ they went in a hurry—left their tools an’ some grub behind. The hosses ain’t there neither.”
“Good, that’ll save us totin’ a lot o’ truck up there,” Fagan chuckled. “C’mon, boys, let’s git agoin’.” Lesurge stepped forward. “Wait a moment, Fagan; I think I command here.” The man turned; whether by accident or design, his rifle was pointed at the speaker. His mouth was twisted in an insolent sneer.
“Best think again,” he said. “This is where you fade out o’ the picture. You’ve hazed us long enough, an’ we’ve put up with it ‘cause we knowed this moment would come. Yeah, I was yore dawg, to pat or kick, as you pleased, a damn fool you could use, but I had this planned when I come to Wayside an’ you’ve been workin’ for me, Paul Lesurge. Savvy?” For a moment, Lesurge did not; the unexpectedness of the event dazed him. He was the master, and the possibility of a mutiny had never occurred to his autocratic mind. Fagan, a mere animal .
Gradually the realization of his position seeped into his bewildered brain. He was helpless; if he attempted to punish the traitor, the others would kill him. He had been mad indeed to put himself at the mercy of these scoundrels. No wonder they had shown no sign of gratitude when he promised them Hank’s share. He smothered his rising rage and steeled himself to speak calmly:
“Fagan, we have been friends a long time, and I have always trusted you and your companions
“To do yore dirty work,” Lem interjected.
“For which I paid well,” Paul replied. “After the coach affair, for example, I handed Fagan a considerable sum to be divided amongst you.” It was a complete fabrication, designed to sow dissension, but it brought black looks for the new leader from the other three.
“That’s an infernal lie,” Fagan cried. “You never gave me a cent—said you were broke.”
Paul shrugged. “I can’t prove it, of course,” he admitted. “But have you thought of this? If Green and his gang have worked the mine out, you get nothing, for you lose the amount I promised to pay in any case.”
“Hell, we’re takin’ the chance,” Fagan answered. He knew the persuasive power of Paul’s tongue, and trusted his cronies not at all. “If the mine’s as good as Snowy made out, them hombres can’t ‘a’ more’n scratched it.”
“The old fool was apt to exaggerate,” Lesurge argued. “Look here, boys; I’m prepared to share equally—cut it up five ways.”
“Now ain’t that generous?” Fagan sneered. “But you was allus great at givin’ away what warn’t your’n, Paul. Now I’ll make you a present—the gal. I had notions ‘bout her myself once, but she’s too milk an’ water, an’ she’d on’y be a burden.” He backed towards his pony, finger on trigger, and, settled in the saddle, uttered a final jeer: “I’ve got yore rifle, Paul, case you should be searchin’ for it. Give my respec’s to yore wife—she’s more of a man than you’ll ever be. Adios, an’—damn you.” With mocking salutations they rode off, leaving one whom fury had bereft of reason. In the very instant of victory he had not only lost all but had been outplayed and derided by one he had always despised—a “blunt instrument.” He, Paul Lesurge, the polished, clever man of the great world, defeated by—Fagan! More than the loss of the gold, that thought maddened him, and for a space he gave rein to a blind rage. With upraised clenched fists and body shaking with the violence of his passion, he cursed the men who had bested him. And then he stopped suddenly, his wild gaze on the Rocking Stone.
“By God, I’ll teach them,” he almost shouted, and ran to a pile of packages the rebels had left behind.
The prisoners heard his low yelp of exultation, watched him cram something into his pocket, and then he came towards them.
“You’ll go with me,” he said to the girl.
Snowy stood up, determination on his seamed face. “You’ll remain here,” Paul said.
“I’m keepin’ with Mary,” was the dogged reply.
Lesurge turned fiercely upon him. “You heard that whelp Fagan talk down to me and think you can do the same, eh?” he grated.
From beneath the breast of his coat he drew a revolver and raised it. Mary gasped and
made a movement to interpose, but the gleaming barrel swept swiftly up and down. Under that fell blow, the old man crumpled and dropped, blood oozing from an ugly gash on his brow.
“You coward!” Mary cried. “You have killed him.”
“Merely stunned, I’m afraid,” he returned callously. “Come.”
“I will not,” she panted.
His smile was hateful. “Are you so anxious to be in my arms?” he asked.
With dragging feet and a heart of lead she followed; anything rather than he should lay hands on her. Through the belt of pines and along the cliff-wall they went. Presently they reached the level of the slope and he warned her to keep out of sight. Down in the mine below four dwarfed figures were hard at work. Lesurge surveyed them with scorn.
“Not even sense enough to set a guard,” he muttered. “If the others came back … ” A possibility occurred to him. “By heaven, I wish they would.” Herding his captive in front of him, and taking care they could not be seen, he climbed to the Rocking Stone. He need not have worried about the men below, they were finding gold and had no eyes for anything else. With a rifle, he could have destroyed them one by one, but they had drawn his teeth—as they believed. A satanic smile wreathed his lips at the thought.“You should have lulled me, friend Fagan,” he mocked.
Breathless and exhausted, Mary slumped on a bench of stone, watched with weary, hopeless eyes. He was on his knees beneath the mighty rock, busy with some objects he had taken from the pockets of his long coat, burying them under a packed heap of rubble and dust.
She knew that he was mad, but could not fathom his purpose. After a while he rose, contemplating his work with evil satisfaction. He looked again at the men below, toiling feverishly, oblivious to all else.
“If only Green would come the coup would be complete,” he muttered.
His desire was granted, but not as he had hoped for; the cowboy was climbing towards him, and further down, his friends followed. After obtaining their horses, they had blundered into Snowy, still half-dazed by the blow he had received, but able to tell them what had happened.
“Lora Lesurge his wife?” Gerry ejaculated. “The damned hound.” He glanced at Sudden, but that young man’s face expressed no emotion whatever; he appeared to be entirely engrossed with the present.
“We gotta get the girl—that comes first,” he decided. “Point is, where to search?” The old man could not help them, but Gerry, gazing hopelessly around, uttered a cry:
“There’s someone up on the Rockin’ Stone.”
“Reckon its Paul,” Snowy surmised. “The men went to the mine—all of ‘em.” Sudden led the way, and the big black soon outdistanced the other horses. When the incline became too acute, he slid from the saddle, trailed the reins, and began to climb.
His appearance on the scene drew an oath of disappointment from Paul’s lips. Mary saw him stoop, strike a match and light something; then he straightened up and clutched her arm.
“Hurry,” he ordered.
She tried to free herself. “No, I won’t go—I am tired—I cannot,” she pleaded.
“You little fool, its death to stay here,” he raged, and clenching his fist, struck her pitilessly on the temple. With a snarl of a wild beast, he flung the limp, senseless form over a shoulder, and made for the ledge he had noticed on his first visit to the place.
It was at this moment that Sudden, who had reached the slope which faced the mine, caught a glimpse of him, and as he appeared to be heading tor the tar side of the hill, decided that to cross the slope would save a few precious seconds.
He was no more than half way when a deafening explosion boomed out above his head and he saw the great stone leave its base and bend over towards him; for a fraction of a moment it seemed to hover in the air before crashing down on the hillside. Sudden, directly in its path, knew that only a miracle of speed could prevent his being pounded to pulp in that awful mill.
With desperate leaps he strove to reach the other side of the incline, one mis-step on the slippery surface of which spelt quick but agonizing death. The growl of the oncoming avalanche drummed in his ears, growing louder, but he dared not even look—his eyes were all for the spots where he must set his feet. Pebbles and small rocks, forerunners of the annihilation to come, hurled past and over him.
The ground shook as with an earthquake and the rolling thunder was very near when, with bursting lungs, he forced his aching muscles to a final effort and flung himself headlong on to a strip of grass. A boulder, weighing at least a ton, leapt over his supine body, and a second later, with a horrible grating, ripping roar, the mighty mass which had been the Rocking Stone swept by, only a few feet from where he lay.
Down in the mine, he could see four fear-stricken figures frantically striving to reach the exit, and knew—from experience—that they were doomed. Breathlessly he saw the wave of stone hit the lip of the hollow, rear up, split, and hurl itself forward to fall with dull grinding crashes.
They ceased, and all that remained of the hollow was a welter of jagged granite, resembling the surface of a tiny tempestuous sea suddenly frozen into stillness. From it a cloud of fine dust rose like a smoke into the sunlit air.
A mad laugh of triumph rang out. Fifty yards above the cowboy stood Paul Lesurge; he had been unable to tear himself away without witnessing the fulfilment of his vengeance.
Sudden saw him vanish with his burden and darted in pursuit. He reached the spot on which the madman had been standing and stepped swiftly along the narrow, treacherous way. On one side was the vertical breast of the hill, on the other a sheer drop as though the cliff had been sliced away with a giant axe.
Grim, relentless, the puncher strode the perilous path, intent only on his task—to deliver Mary Ducane and destroy the devil who had brought about the havoc he had just so narrowly escaped himself. He had no pity for the crushed and mangled man ruffians in the mine, but the man who had wrought their ruin deserved to die. In a moment he came upon him; round a bend Lesurge was waiting, revolver levelled, and he laughed when Sudden appeared.
“Stop, cowboy, I’ve got you covered,” he called sharply.
Completely taken by surprise, for he had not expected to run down his quarry so soon, the puncher had to obey. Lesurge surveyed him with sinister satisfaction.
“Now we can talk in comfort,” he resumed. “But first, lest you contemplate trickery, I must warn you of another possibility.” He pointed to the still unconscious girl lying at his feet, almost on the brink of the abyss. “One movement on my part, a stumble or fall, due to my being shot, shall we suppose? and she will wake in Paradise.”
“She’d be far enough from yu there, anyways,” Sudden retaliated. He had at once divined the reason for the girl’s precarious position. “Yu’ll wake in hell.”
“I shall send you there first,” Lesurge promised. “Up to now you have taken all the tricks but I win the game. Fagan and his brood fancied they had finished with me when they took my rifle and left me only—giant powder. Fools! to pit their puny wits against mine. You, cowboy, thought the same, and see, I hold the aces.”
“Havin’ destroyed the stakes,” Sudden reminded him dryly.
He was wondering whether the others would arrive in time. He had been far ahead of them, and they could not have seen which way he had gone. If he could keep the maniac talking.
“No, the stakes are in my hands, or rather, at my feet,” Lesurge went on. “I know you have taken a great deal of gold from the mine, and with the girl in my possession, I can make my own terms.” Sudden was about to reply when a shout of “Jim” came from somewhere behind and he swore between his clenched teeth; Gerry could not know he Was hastening his partner’s end.
Lesurge was instantly on the alert.
“You are relying on your friends?” he said. “Well, they will come too late. I am about to kill you.” The threatened man looked steadily at him. “Shucks, yu’ll miss,” he taunted, hoping to gain time.
“Then I’ll try again
,” was the retort. “You can do nothing; a shot person falls forward, and the lovely lady …” He laughed hideously. Then his face became rigid. “Now, you double-crossing dog.” Hate darted from his eyes, his body quivered with the lust to slay, but the pointed pistol might have been held in a vice. Sudden found himself wondering where the bullet would strike him? He saw the finger pressing the trigger. In another second …
“Paul!” The murderer started. The voice came from behind him, and harsh, unlike as it was, he recognized it. Lora! What cursed freak of Fate had brought her there? She was but a few feet away, and he had wronged and insulted her vilely. If she had come for revenge, he was between two fires. He must persuade her.
Keep away, Lora,” he urged. “This fellow may hit you.”
“I am coming to you, my husband,” she replied. “We will die together, Paul; you would wish that, I know.” The full extent of his peril dawned upon him as he listened. Her brain had given way, and in her mad mood, she would drag him over the precipice. And she cared for Green…
“There is no question of dying, Lora,” he said. “I was angry last night, but I did not mean it. We are going to be rich and happy …”
“You were always a clever liar, Paul.” The hard laugh made him shiver; it proclaimed her purpose; her hot Southern blood would never forgive. He thought frenziedly. Sudden dared not shoot. If … He stepped back a pace lest the still form at his feet might hamper him, whirled and fired. He saw the woman stagger, pitch sideways, and flash past him into the depths. That was his last sight on earth, for as he swung round, Sudden’s bullet crashed into his brain. Headlong he plunged after the woman he had slain, the skirts of his back coat flapping like the wings of a bird of prey.
Smoking gun in hand, Sudden leant against the cliff, a clammy wetness on his brow.
Then he saw the unconscious girl move, but ere he could get to her, someone sprang past him and lifted her in his arms. She opened her eyes, and there was no mistaking the message in them.
“Oh, Gerry, thank God it’s you,” she murmured, and her head sank contentedly on his shoulder.
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) Page 21
