The B. M. Bower Megapack

by B. M. Bower

  “Joe is regaining consciousness. He’ll be nasty to handle as a rabid coyote if you wait much longer. Just cut the rope. It’s my clothesline, but we must not balk at trifles in a crisis like this.” The little woman had recovered her gun and was holding it ready for Joe in case the predicted rabidness became manifest.

  Casey tied Joe very thoroughly while consciousness was slowly returning. The situation ceased to be menacing; it became safe and puzzling and even a bit mysterious. Casey reached for his plug, remembered his manners and took away his hand. Robbed of his customary inspiration he stood undecided, scowling at the feebly blinking ruffian called Joe.

  “It’s very good of you not to ask what it’s all about,” said the little woman, taking off the man’s hat and shaking back her hair like a schoolgirl. “I have some mining claims here—four of them. My husband left them to me, and since that’s all he did leave I have been keeping up the assessment work every year. Last year I had enough money to buy Jawn.” She nodded toward the Ford. “I outfitted and came out here with an old fellow I’d known for years, kept camp until he’d done the assessment work, and paid him off and that was all there was to it.

  “This summer the old man is prospecting the New Jerusalem, I expect. He died in April. I hired these two scoundrels. I was foolish enough to pay half their wages in advance, because they told me a tale of owing money to a widow for board and wanting to pay her. I have,” she observed, “a weakness for widows. And they have just pretended to be working the claims. I hurt my ankle so that I haven’t been able to walk far for a month, and they took advantage of it and have been prospecting around on their own account, at my expense, while I religiously marked down their time and fed them. They have located four claims adjoining mine, and put up their monuments and done their location work in the past month, if you please, while I supposed they were working for me.”

  “D’they locate you in on ’em?”

  “Locate me—in? You mean, as a partner? They emphatically did not! I went up to the claims today, saw that they had not done a thing since the last time I was there; they had even taken away my tools. So we tracked them, Baby and I, and found their location monuments just over the hill, and saw where they had been working. So tonight I asked them about it, and they were very defiant and very cool and decided that they were through out here and would go to town. They were borrowing Jawn—so they said. I was objecting, naturally. I was quite against being left alone out here, afoot, with Babe on my hands. It will soon be coming on cold,” she said. “I’d have been in a fine predicament, with supplies for only about a month longer. And I must get the assessment work done, too, you know.”

  “D’you want ’em to stay and finish your work?” Casey reached out with his foot and pushed Joe down upon his back again.

  The little woman looked down at Joe and across at Ole by the car. “No, thank you. I should undoubtedly put strychnine in their coffee if they stayed, I should hate the sight of them so. I have some that I brought for the pack rats. No, I don’t want them—”

  She had sounded very cool and calm, and she had impressed Casey as being quite as fearless as himself. But now he caught a trembling in her voice, and he distinctly saw her lip quiver. He was so disturbed that he went over and slapped Ole again and told him to shut up, though Ole was not saying a word.

  “Where’s their bed-rolls?” Casey asked, when he turned toward her again. She pointed to the tent, and Casey went and dragged forth the packed belongings of the two. It was perfectly plain that they had deliberately planned their desertion, for everything was ready to load into the car.

  Casey went staggering to the Ford, dumped the canvas rolls in and yanked Ole up by the collar, propelling him into the tonneau. Then he came after Joe.

  “If you can drive, you’ll mebby feel better if yuh go along,” he said to the woman. “I’m goin’ to haul ’em far enough sos’t they won’t feel like walkin’ back to bother yuh, and seein’ you don’t know me, mebby you better do the drivin’. Then you’ll know I ain’t figurin’ on stealin’ your car and makin’ a getaway.”

  “I can drive, of course,” she acquiesced. “Not that I’d be afraid to trust Jawn with you, but they’re treacherous devils, those two, and they might manage somehow to make you trouble if you go alone. Jawn is a temperamental car, and he demands all of one’s attention at times.”

  She walked over to the car, reached out in the gathering dusk and fingered the carburetor adjustment. “When they first revealed their plan of making away with Jawn,” she drawled, “I came up like this and remonstrated. And while I did so I reached over and turned the screw and shut off the gas feed. Jawn balked with them, of course—but they never guessed why!”

  The two in the tonneau muttered something in undertones while the little woman smiled at them contemptuously. Casey thought that was pretty smart— to stall the car so they couldn’t get away with it—but he did not tell her so. There was something about the little woman which restrained him from talking freely and speaking his mind bluntly as was his habit.

  He cranked the car, waited until she had the adjustment correct, and then went back and stood on the running board, holding with his left hand to a brace of the top and keeping his right free in case he should need it. The little woman helped the little girl into the front seat, slid her own small person behind the wheel and glanced round inquiringly, with a flattering recognition of his masculine right to command.

  “Just head towards town and keep a-going till I say when,” he told her, and she nodded and sent Jawn careening down over the rough tracks which Casey had missed by a quarter of a mile or less.

  She could drive, Casey admitted, almost as recklessly as he could. He had all he wanted to do, hanging on without being snapped off at some of the sharp turns she made. The road wandered down the valley for ten miles, crept over a ridge, then dove headlong into another wide, shallow valley seamed with washes and deep cuts. The little woman never eased her pace except when there was imminent danger of turning Jawn bottomside up in a wash. So in a comparatively short time they were over two summits and facing the distant outline of Crazy Woman Hills. They had come, Casey judged, about twenty miles, and they had been away from camp less than an hour.

  Casey leaned forward and spoke to the woman, and she stopped the car obediently. Casey pulled open the door and motioned, and the Swede came stumbling out, sullenly followed by Joe, who muttered thickly that he was sick and that the back of his head was caved in. Casey did not reply, but heaved their bedding out after them. With the little woman holding her gun at full aim, he untied the two and frugally stowed the rope away in the car.

  “Now, you git,” he ordered them sternly. “There’s four of us camped just acrost the ridge from this lady’s place, and we’ll sure keep plenty of eyes out. If you got any ideas about taking the back trail, you better think agin, both of yuh. You’d never git within shootin’ distance of this lady’s camp. I’m Casey Ryan that’s speakin’ to yuh. You ask anybody about me. Git!”

  Sourly they shouldered their bed-rolls and went limping down the trail, and when their forms were only blurs beyond the shine of the headlights, the little woman churned Jawn around somehow in the sand and drove back quite as recklessly as she had come. Casey, bouncing alone in the rear seat, did a great deal of thinking, but I don’t believe he spoke once.

  “Casey Ryan, I have never had much reason for feeling gratitude toward a man, but I am truly grateful to you. You are a man and a gentleman.” The little woman had driven close to the stone cabin and had turned and rested her arm along the back of the front seat, half supporting the sleeping child while she looked full at Casey. She had left the engine running, probably for sake of the headlights, and her eyes shone dark and bright in the crisp starlight.

  “’Tain’t worth mentionin’,” Casey protested awkwardly, and got out.

  “I’ve been wondering if I could get a couple of you men to do the work on my claims,” she went on. “I’m paying four dollars
and board, and it would be a great nuisance to make the long trip to town and find a couple of men I would dare trust. In fact, it’s going to be pretty hard for me to trust any one, after this experience. If you men can take the time from your own business—”

  “I don’t know about the rest,” Casey hedged uncomfortably. “They was figurin’ on doing something else. But I guess I could finish up the work for yuh, all right. How deep is your shaft?”

  “It’s a tunnel,” she corrected. “My husband started four years ago to drift in to the contact. He’d gone fifty feet when he died. I don’t know that I’ll strike the body of ore when I do reach the contact, but it’s the only hope. I’m working the four claims as a group, and the tunnel is now eighty feet. Those two brigands have wasted a month for me, or it would be a hundred. One man can manage, though of course it’s slower and harder. I have powder enough, unless they stole it from me. They did about five feet all told, and tore down part of my wall, I discovered today, chasing a stringer of fairly rich ore, thinking, I suppose, that it would lead to a pocket. The old man I had last year found a pocket of high grade that netted me a thousand dollars.”

  Casey threw up his head. “Gold?” he asked.

  “Mostly silver. I sent a truck out from town after the ore, shipped it by express and still made a thousand dollars clear. There wasn’t quite a ton and a half of it, though. You’ll come, then, and work for me? I wish you could persuade one of your partners to help. It’s getting well into September already.”

  “I wouldn’t depend on ’em,” Casey demurred uncomfortably. “I can do it alone. And I’ll board m’self, if you’d ruther. I’ve got grub enough. I guess I better be gittin’ along back to camp—if you ain’t afraid to stay alone. Them two couldn’t git back much b’fore daylight, if they run all the way; and by that time I’ll be up and on the lookout,” and Casey swung off without waiting for an answer.

  CHAPTER XX

  Casey was out of his blankets long before daylight the next morning and sitting behind a bush on the ridge just back of the cabin, his rifle across his knees. He hoped that his mention of three other men would discourage those two from the attempt to revenge themselves, much as a lone woman would tempt them. But he was not going to take any risk whatever.

  At sunrise he went back to his camp—which he had moved closer to the cabin, by the way, just barely keeping it out of sight—and cooked a hasty breakfast. When he returned the little woman was ready to show him her claims, and she seemed to have forgotten those two who had been so ignominiously hauled away and dropped like unwanted cats beside the road. She inquired again about Casey’s partners, and Casey lied once more and said that they had gone on over the range, prospecting.

  I don’t know why he did not tell the little woman that he had lied to Ole and Joe and let it go at that. But he seemed to dread having her discover that he had lied at all, and so he kept on lying about those three imaginary men. Perhaps he had a chivalrous instinct that she would feel safer, more at ease, if she thought that others were somewhere near. At any rate he did not tell her that his only partners were two burros and a mule.

  I don’t know what the little woman’s opinion of Casey was, except that in the first enthusiasm of her gratitude to him she had called him a man and a gentleman. She drove a bargain with him, as she supposed. She would pay him so much more per day if he preferred to board himself, and having named the amount, Casey waited two minutes, as if he were meditating upon the matter, and then replied that it suited him all right.

  Casey did not think much of her claims, though he did not tell her so. In his opinion that tunnel should have been driven into the hill at a different point, where the indications of mineral were much stronger and the distance to the contact much less. A light, varying vein had been followed at an incline, and Casey, working alone, was obliged to wheel every pound of dirt up a rather steep grade to the dump outside. The rock was hard to work in, so that it took him a full half a day to put in four shots, and then he would be likely to find that they had “bootlegged.” The tunnel also faced the south, from where the wind nearly always blew, so that the gas and smoke from his shots would hang in there sometimes for a full twenty-four hours, making it impossible for him to work.

  The little woman seemed slightly surprised when Casey told her, at the end of the first week, to knock off three days on account of gas. She and the little girl came to his camp next day and brought Casey a loaf of light bread and interrupted him in the act of shaving. The little woman looked at the two burros and at the mule, measured the camp outfit with her keen gray eyes, looked at Casey who had nicked his chin, and became thoughtful.

  After that she stopped calling him Mr. Ryan and addressed him as Casey Ryan instead, with a little teasing inflection in her voice. Once Casey happened to mention Lund, and when he saw her look of surprise he explained that he drove a stage out of Lund, for awhile.

  “Oh! So you are that Casey Ryan!” she said. “I might have known it.” She laughed to herself, but she did not say why, and Casey was afraid to ask. He could remember so many incidents in his past that he would not want the little woman to know about, and he was afraid that it might be one of them at which she was laughing.

  She formed the habit of coming up to the tunnel every day, with Babe chattering along beside her, swinging herself on her mother’s hand. At first she said whimsically that she had found it best to keep an eye on her miners, as if that explained her coming. But she always had something good to eat or drink. Once she brought a small bucket of hot chocolate, which Casey gulped down heroically and smacked his lips afterwards. Casey hated chocolate, too, so I think you may take it for granted that by then he was a goner.

  He used to smoke his pipe and watch the little woman and Babe go “high-grading” along the tunnel wall. That was what she called it and pretended that she expected to find very rich ore concealed somewhere. It struck him one day, quite suddenly, that the Little Woman (I may as well begin to use capitals, because Casey always called her that in his mind, and the capitals were growing bigger every day) the Little Woman never seemed to notice his smoking, or to realize that it is a filthy habit and immoral and degrading, as that other woman had done.

  He began to notice other things, too; that the Little Woman helped him a lot, on afternoons when help was most likely to be appreciated. She sometimes “put down a hole” all by herself, skinning a knuckle now and then with the lightest “single-jack” and saying “darn!” quite as a matter of course.

  And once, when the rock was particularly hard, she happened along and volunteered to turn the drill while Casey used the “double-jack”, which I suppose you know is the big hammer that requires two hands to pound the drill while another turns it slightly after each blow, so that the bitted end will chew its way into hard rock.

  You aren’t all of you miners, so I will explain further that to drill into rock with a double-jack and steel drill is not sport for greenhorns exactly. The drill-turner needs a lot of faith and a little nerve, because one blow of the double-jack may break a hand clasped just below the head of the drill. And the man with the double-jack needs a steady nerve, too, and some experience in swinging the big hammer true to the head of the drill,—unless he enjoys cracking another man’s bones.

  Casey Ryan prides himself upon being able to swing a double-jack as well as any man in the country. It is his boast that he never yet broke the skin on the hand of his drill-turner. So I shall have to let you take it for granted that the Little Woman’s presence and help was more unnerving than a wildcat on Casey’s back. For, while the first, second and third blows fell true on the drill, the fourth went wild. Casey owns that he was in a cold sweat for fear he might hit her. So he did. She was squatted on her heels, steadying one elbow on her knee. The double-jack struck her hand, glanced and landed another blow on her knee; one of those terribly painful blows that take your breath and make you see stars without crippling you permanently.

  Casey doesn’t like to talk a
bout it, but once he growled that he did about every damn-fool thing he could with a double-jack, except brain her. The Little Woman gave one small scream and went over backward in a faint, and Casey was just about ready to go off and shoot himself.

  He took her up in his arms and carried her down to the cabin before she came to. And when she did come to her senses, Babe immediately made matters worse. She was whimpering beside her mother, and when she saw that mamma had waked up, she shrilled consolingly: “It’s going to be all well in a minute. Casey Ryan kissed it des like that! So now it’ll get all well!”

  If the Little Woman had wanted to tell Casey what she thought of him, she couldn’t just then, for Casey was halfway to his own camp by the time she glanced around the room, looking for him.

  Common humanity drove him back, of course. He couldn’t let a woman and a child starve to death just because he was a damned idiot and had half-killed the woman. But if there had been another person within calling distance, the Little Woman would probably never have seen Casey Ryan again.

  Necessity has a bland way of ignoring such things as conventions and the human emotions. Casey cooked supper for Babe and the Little Woman, and washed the dishes, and wrung out cloths from hot vinegar and salt so that the Little Woman could bathe her knee—she had to do it left-handed, at that—and unbuttoned Babe’s clothes and helped her on with her pyjamas and let her kneel on his lap while she said her prayers. Because, as Babe painstakingly explained, she always kneeled on a lap so ants couldn’t run over her toes and tickle her and make her laugh, which would make God think she was a bad, naughty girl.