Rimrock Trail

by J. Allan Dunn

  CHAPTER XII

  WHITE GOLD

  "It was mighty decent of you to take me under your protection," said theyoung engineer to Sandy. He made hard going of the last word but shot itout with a snap that left his jaw advanced. Sandy told himself that heliked the clean-cut, well-set-up Westlake.

  "Shucks," he answered, "I reckon you w'udn't have much trubbleprotectin' yo'self, providin' terms was any way nigh even. That Roarin'Russell throwed down on you, figgerin' you packed no gun, seein' therewas none in sight.

  "I sabe that kind of hombre. Since he was knee-high he's always had anaidge on most folks, 'count of his size an' weight. But that ain'tenough, he's got to have somethin' on the other man 'fo' he tackles him.He plays all his games with an ace in a hold-out. Which shows him fo' aman who figgers he ain't equal to tacklin' another 'thout he knows he'sgot the best of it. He thinks he's one hell of a wrastler an'rough-an'-tumble man but, if he ever mixes with Mormon, it's goin' to bea bull an' b'ar affair--an' Mormon'll do the tossin'."

  Westlake looked somewhat dubiously at Mormon's girth.

  "Don't jedge a man by the size of his waistband," said Sandy. "Mormon'sfooled mo'n one. He's hog fat, to look at, but if you was to skin himyou'd find mighty li'l' fat an' a heap of muscle. Got flesh like anInjunrubber ball, has Mormon. Minute Roarin' Russell finds he ain't gota walkover he'll begin to quit. That sort does, ninety-nine out of ahundred. The yaller jest natcher'ly oozes out of 'em. How'd your fusscome to staht?"

  "A man was showing Russell and some others a piece of quartz picked upround here. It had nothing in it but some mica and galena, but Russellhad given it as his opinion that it was the gold-bearing rock of theregion. I told them I thought they would find that in the porphyry andRussell asked me what the hell I knew about it? That's how it started. Idon't know how it would have finished if you hadn't taken a hand andsaid I was a friend of yours. That saved my face. I came to the strikebecause I thought there would be a chance of getting in on the groundfloor in new diggings and I hated to be driven out of it by having todance for a bully and a bully's crowd. I don't know that I _would_ havedanced. It's hard to weigh the odds when a gun has been fired at you,but I figured he wouldn't shoot to kill."

  "Might have crippled you," said Sandy. "If I'd been you I'd havedanced."

  "You would?"

  "I sure would. No sense in argy'in' with a gun an' a boozy bluffer atthe other end of it. He'd put up his bluff an', feelin' sure you c'udn'thurt him, he'd have carried it through. Any time a man has the drop onme I raise my hands--or my feet, 'cordin' to orders. I've spent a dealof time practisin' so it's hahd to beat me to the draw. Trouble was, efyou-all don't mind my sayin' so, you horned in. You give out informationgratis. You had yore sign up fo' minin' engineer. Chahge fo' what youknow, son, an' yo' customers'll be grateful. Give 'em a slug o' goldfree an' they'll chuck it at a perairie dawg befo' they've gone fiftyyards."

  "Do you know anything about mining, Mr. Bourke?"

  "Sandy is my name to my friends. A cowman with a mister to the front ofhis name seems to me like a hawss with an extry bridle. No, sir, Idon't. Do you?"

  Sandy's eyes twinkled as he put the quiz. Westlake laughed.

  "I hope so. I think so. Mining is bound to be more or less of a gamble.A first-class mining engineer could tell you where you ought to find thegold in a certain region, but he couldn't guarantee that there would beany. Experience counts a lot, of course, but I do know something aboutsylvanite, or white gold. I've seen its big field over in Boulder andTeller Counties, Colorado. They call it graphic gold, sometimes, becausethe crystals are very frequently set up in twins and branch off so thatthey look like written characters. The crystals are monoclinic and occurin porphyry almost exclusively. It is a mixture of gold and silvertelluride and it's also called tellurium. Named after Transylvania whereit was first found. There's some in Australia."

  "I'm much obliged," said Sandy. "I've learned a heap."

  Westlake looked at him suspiciously, but Sandy's face was grave as thatof the sphinx.

  "The porphyry dykes here are in syncline," the engineer went on. "Theydip toward each other from both sides of the valley and form loops orfolds. If you imagine an onion sliced in half you catch the idea. Callevery other layer porphyry, with rock and other dirt between. The bottomof a loop may be deep down or it may be missing altogether, ground awaywhen the valley was gouged out by a glacier. There may be other loopsbeneath it. Some portions of the loops come to the surface on thehillside and you can guess at their dip. But--the gamble lies in this.The ones that are exposed may or may not carry the gold-bearing veins.You might hit it at grass roots and find a lot of it. Or you might godown deep sinking through the hard porphyry for nothing. Science saysthat the tellurium crystals are in the porphyry dykes and that thesedykes lie in syncline, perhaps two or three, nested one under theother."

  "Gosh," ejaculated Miranda Bailey. "It sure sounds like a lottery to me.I wonder c'ud we hire you to p'int out a likely place for us tolocate?" They had left the one street by this time and were making theirway slowly along the western slope of the valley. Men worked at creakyand shaky old windlasses or appeared and disappeared at the mouths oflateral shafts, repairing the ancient timbers, wheeling out rubbish.Once or twice they heard the dull boom of a shot where dynamite wastrying to split the rock and uncover a lead. On several of the claimswere groups, the members of which made no pretense at mining, but lolledabout, playing cards or pitching dollars at a mark. These werespeculators, holding to sell. Stakes with papers in clefts, piles ofstones at the corners, showed the boundaries of the claims.

  "If you think my judgment is any good," said Westlake, "you're welcometo it. I could be more certain of helping you when it comes to assayingor developing a mine. Are you-all taking up claims? Do you want to alignthem, or do you want to pool interests and locate here and there wherethe chances look good?"

  "Miss Bailey an' her nephew are goin' to take a chance," said Sandy. "Mean' my two partners are lookin' for claims located by the man who firstdiscovered the camp. They can't get away an' we'll see Miss Mirandysettled first."

  "Me, I aim to take up a claim," said Mormon. "So does Sam."

  "Who's goin' to work it?" asked Sandy. "You-all forget that we agreedwhen we went into the ranchin' business together not to go intospeculations on the side 'thout mutual consent. From what I can makeout from Westlake's talk speculation is a mild term fo' lookin' fo'gold. I don't consent, by a long shot. We got Molly's claims to lookafter with our interest in 'em, an' I've a hunch that's goin' to occupyall our time we got to spare. What does Roarin' Russell do in the camp,"he asked Westlake, seemingly irrelevantly, "or ain't he shown yet?"

  "He is a sort of bouncer, or capper for that gambling joint run byPlimsoll."

  Sandy nodded. "I ain't surprised. Plimsoll's figgerin' that he'll get abig chunk of whatever's dug out, 'thout takin' any chances on diggin'.W'udn't wonder but what he figgers to run the camp, mo' ways than one,with a few bullies like Roarin' Russell to help him."

  "This Casey," said Westlake, "who made the original strike, did he takeout much?"

  "As I understand it," replied Sandy, "he hits the porphyry where it'sshaller, or worn off, like you said. An' he finds rich pay stuff rightaway, enough to start the camp. Quite a few works on that outcrop an'then it peters out. Casey sabed a bit about synclines, I reckon, fo' hekept faith in the camp, on'y he realized it 'ud take a heap of money todevelop, meanin' to dig through the porphyry, I suppose. Now they'vefound some mo' of that float ore that the first crowd overlooked. Reckonthat'll peter out too, after a while. But capital may come in on thissecond staht. Some eastern folk were lookin' over the place a whileback. Took samples an' Plimsoll got wise to what they amounted to."

  "And he hasn't taken up any claims?" said Westlake. "Despite hisgambling investment, I should have thought he would."

  "He's got an interest in one or two, I fancy, or thinks he has," saidSandy dryly.

  Westlake halted and took a small steel ha
mmer from his pocket with whichhe struck off a fragment of rock protruding from the ground. Thecleavage showed purple. He walked slowly along for some fifty feet,kicking the soil with his foot, breaking off other samples to which heput his tongue.

  "Taste good?" asked Sam.

  "Not bad, if you're looking for mineral. They've got a distinct flavorall their own, but I wetted them to show the color up more plainly. Hereis the outcrop of a syncline reef. It may carry gold and it may not, butit's wide enough, it's near the surface and it's as good a place as any.It dips deeper lower down, but I imagine you'll find it floating outagain on the other side of the valley. Runs like the ribs of a ship,with the valley the hull. And the ship's rail, the gunwale in therim-rock that outlines the auriferous deposit."

  Sandy, glancing across the valley to where the engineer pointed, noddedhis head. "Your judgment goes with Casey's," he said. "Right across fromhere is where he located his claims, I take it. How about it, Mormon?Fits the description to a T."

  "Sure does," assented Mormon. "Thar's the notched boulder half-way upthe hill, the three-forked dead pine on the ridge. If you locate here,marm," he said to Miranda, "an' we-all make a strike, we'll be on thesame vein, I reckon."

  "It's all Greek to me," said the spinster. "How do we locate? I've comethis far, an' I'll see the thing through to some sort of finish. Me an'young Ed'll camp here. I figger we can git the car up. It's gone throughworse places. There's water down there in the crick. We've got grub.When it's gone we can buy more. How many claims can we take up an'what's the size of 'em, Mr. Westlake?"

  The three partners left Miranda and the engineer measuring off andsetting up their monuments at the corners of the claim. Young Baileystarted for the faithful flivver. They started directly down thesidehill, making for the valley, in silence, like men with businessahead of them that called for action rather than words.

  "Figger that tent is on them claims of Molly's and our'n?" asked Sam, asthey paused before they tackled the eastern slope. "Looked like it wasto me."

  "Me too," said Mormon.

  "I wouldn't wonder," agreed Sandy. "Here's the situation, as I sabe it.Plimsoll met up with Pat Casey from time to time. Molly said so. There'sother witnesses to that. Plimsoll'll use some of them to swear that hegrubstaked Casey. They'll be some of his own crowd. No doubt Plimsollgot the location of the claims from the old records an' these buckaroopals of his, who are roostin' on said location, knew jest where to goan' stahted out well in front with their outfit. I don't reckon we'llfind Plimsoll up there, though we ain't seen him so far this mo'nin',but I'll bet our best bull ag'in' a chunk of dogmeat that they're on hispay-roll."

  "Shucks, it don't make no difference whose pay-roll they're on," saidMormon. "They're claim-jumpers an', like you said, Sandy, a jump can bemade two ways. Let's go look 'em over."

  The tent was pitched on the hillside where the grade was too steep topermit of level ground enough for more than the actual floor space. Thebrown duck erection strained at the guy ropes of its upper side wherethe stakes had been driven deep into the soil. The chimney of a smallstove came through the top of the cloth, guarded by a metal ring.Outside were boxes, saddles, an ax, kettles and pans, a portable grilland other camping equipment. The tent flaps were open and showed cots onwhich blankets and clothing were roughly spread. On two of these bedsmen sprawled asleep. Five others were seated on boxes about a boulderthat looked like porphyry outcrop. Its surface was flat enough to serveas a table. The five were playing poker. One was bearded and seemed theold-time miner. All boasted stubble on their chins, two wore mustaches.One was bald. Their clothes varied, from the miner's faded blueoveralls, high boots and flannel shirt, to soiled khaki and lacedprospector's footwear. One thing they all had in common, cartridgebelts and guns, in plain view. Taken together they were not aprepossessing lot, playing their game in silence, looking up with ascowl and movements toward gun butts at the visitors. Two burros croppedat the scanty herbage above the tent. A demijohn stood between two ofthe box seats.

  "I've seen that tent afore," whispered Sam to Sandy. The latter nodded.

  "Campin' out, gents?" he asked amiably.

  "No, we ain't. These claims are preempted. Trespassers ain't welcome.You're invited to move on."

  "That's a new name fo' it," said Sandy pleasantly. "New to me.Preempted."

  "What in hell are you driving at?" asked the other. "This is privateproperty."

  "Property of Jim Plimsoll?"

  "None of yore damned business."

  There was a movement in the tent. One of the men got up from his cot andstood yawning in the entrance, one hand on the pole. The other snoredon. Sandy, with Mormon and Sam, stood just above the group on the narrowbench that furnished the floor for the tent. They had little doubt thatthe jumpers knew who they were, though they recognized none of them bysight. There was a hesitancy toward action that might have been born outof respect to Sandy's two guns or a foreknowledge of his reputation inhandling them, aside from the armament of his partners. Sandy's handsrested lightly on his hips, his thumbs hooked in his belt, fingersgrazing the butts of his guns. There was a smile on his lips but none inhis eyes. His tone and manner were easy.

  "Saw his stencil on the tent," he said. "J. P. in a diamond. Same brandhe uses fo' his hawsses. Or mebbe you found it."

  His drawling voice held a taunt that brought angry flushes of color tothe faces of the men opposing him, yet they made no definite movementtoward attack. It seemed patent that Sandy Bourke was testing them.Trouble was in the air, two kinds of it: on the one side hesitantbelligerency; on the other--cool nonchalance. Sandy, with his smilinglips and unsmiling eyes, stood lightly poised as a dancing master.Mormon and Sam were tenser, crouched a little from the hips, elbows awayfrom their sides, hands with fingers apart, ready to close on gun butts,standing as boxers stand or distance-runners set on their marks.

  The man who stood in the tent door kicked at his sleeping companion androused him to sit on the side of his cot and stare sleepily out,gradually taking in the situation. There were seven against three but,when the odds are so big and the minority faces them with a readinessand an assurance that shows in their eyes, on their lips, vibrates fromtheir compacted alliance, the measure is one of will, rather thanphysical and merely numerical superiority, and the balance beam quiversundecidedly. The bearded miner, with the rest, looked shiftily towardthe man who had done the speaking, the bald-headed one, whose khaki andnail-studded boots were belied by the softness and puffiness of hisflesh, the sags and wrinkles beneath his eyes and under his doublechins. He had little gray-green orbs that glittered uneasily.

  "I'm giving you men two minutes to clear out of here," he said. "Notwo-gunned cow-puncher can throw any bluff round here, if that's whatyou're trying to do."

  Sandy laughed joyously. The smile was in his eyes now.

  "If I figger a man's throwin' a bluff," he said, "I usually figger tocall him, not to chew about it. Me, I pack two guns fo' a reason. Oncein a while I shoot off all the ca'tridges from one an' then I don't haveto reload. Now, _I'm_ talkin'. These claims are duly registered in thename of Patrick Casey, his heirs an' assigns. Here's the papers. Theassessment work is all done. Pat's daughter owns 'em now. We'rerepresentin' her. An' I'm servin' you notice to quit. We'll take thesame two minutes you was talkin' of. They must be nigh up now, though Ididn't see you lookin' at yo' watch. I'm lookin' at my Ingersoll an' Igive it sixty seconds mo'. Then staht yore li'l' demonstration, gents,providin' I don't beat you to it." He started to roll a cigarette withhands skilful and steady. Back of him Sam and Mormon stood like dogs onpoint, watchful, unmoving, but instinct with suppressed motion.

  "The girl may be his heir," said the bald-headed man, "but Plimsoll isassignee. Plimsoll staked him an' these claims are half his. The girlcan put in her share to the title later, if they amount to anything. Sheain't of age."

  "So J. P. was hirin' you to do his dirty work," said Sandy, his voicecold with contempt. "You go back to him, the whole lousy pack of you,
an' tell him from me he's a yellow-spined liar. Git! Take yore stuffwith you or send back fo' it. Now, git off this property."

  If a man can make movements with his hands so swiftly that they arecovered in less than a tenth of a second, ordinary human sight can notregister them. He has achieved the magician's slogan--_the quickness ofthe hand deceives the eye_. It takes natural aptitude and long practise,whether one is juggling gilded balls or blued-steel revolvers. Sandycould, with a circling movement of his wrists, draw his guns from theirholsters and bring them to bear directly upon the target to which hiseyes shifted. Glance, twist of wrist, arrest of motion, pressure offinger, all coordinated. One moment his hands were empty, his glancecarelessly contemptuous, the veriest movement of a split-secondstop-watch and the gun in his right hand spat fire, the gun in his leftswung in an arc that menaced the five card players.

  The other two were struggling beneath the crumpled folds of a collapsedtent, wriggling frantically like the stage hands who simulate waves bycrawling beneath painted canvas. Sandy had shattered the pegs that heldup the upper corners of the tent on the slope, had cut the cords of theremaining guys on that side and the structure had swayed and collapsed.

  Sam and Mormon had lined up now with Sandy. There was no mistaking theirintention to use their guns. But the exhibition had been quitesufficient. With one accord the five raised their hands shoulder highand began to shuffle down the hill, regardless of their equipment,which, having been paid for by Plimsoll, they regarded as of much lessvalue than the necessity for departure.

  "Come out of that," commanded Sandy to the two wrigglers. "Git a moveon."

  The faces that appeared were ludicrous in their expressions of dismayand appeal. Their owners came out like dogs from a kennel who expect tobe kicked as they emerge. One of them had taken off his boots for bettersleeping and he hobbled uneasily in his socks.

  "Take along yore booze," said Sandy.

  The bootless one looked furtively at the demijohn, still like a wary curwho snatches at and bolts with a stray bone. Then the pair set off at ajog trot after the rest.

  "I wonder," said Sam, "if that was good whisky?"

  Sandy looked at him reproachfully. "Sody-Water," he said, "I'm plumbdisappointed in you an' yore cravin'. Smell it an' see."

  His gun exploded. The man with the demijohn gave a curious hop, skip andjump. The demijohn jerked in his hand but seemed intact. The bullet,smashing through the wickerwork, had shattered the container but thetough willow twigs preserved the shape. Two more shots and there was atinkle of broken glass. The last bullet had clipped the neck. It was tooclose shooting for the sockless one and the whisky was dripping fastthrough the weave, bringing a reek of crude liquor to Sam's twitchingnostrils. The claim-jumper dropped what was left of his burden and wenthopping on, acquiring stone bruises with every leap.

  "Scattered like a bunch of coyotes," said Sam.

  "Sure did," agreed Sandy. "Minute they stahted talkin', 'stead ofshootin', I knew they was ready to stampede. They'll beat it to Plimsollan' we'll see jest how much sand he's got in his craw."

  "Not enough to keep him from skiddin' on a downgrade," said Mormon."Sandy, that's cruelty to animals, sendin' that hombre off 'thout hisboots after you took away his licker. I've got tender feet myse'f aswell as a soft heart. Help me with this tent a minute, Sam."

  Together they raised the fallen canvas enough to discover the boots,which Mormon hurled down-hill after the limping one, who was far in therear of his companions. He turned at Mormon's shout and he stopped,fearful at the act of kindness, crawled up the slope and retrieved hisfootwear, pulled them on and scurried off.

  A distant shout reached them from the other side of the gulch. Byposition, rather than actual recognition, Sandy guessed the figure thatof Westlake. The firing must have sounded only a little louder thancork poppings, but evidently the engineer had sized up the retreatingmen and the collapsed tent. Sandy waved to him in assurance that all waswell and the other waved back in understanding.

  "Think Plim'll show?" asked Sam.

  "Got to--or quit," said Sandy. "That bunch of jumpers he got together'llspill the beans unless he makes some play. It's plumb evident he wantsthese partickler claims. I don't believe he's hirin' men just to make uspeevish. 'Sides, he didn't know fo' sure we were comin'. Might havefiggered we'd trail the news of the rush, but I'll bet a sack of Durhamagainst a pinch o' dirt that he's fairly sure that old man Patrick Caseypicked him some first-class locations. We got one card that'll upset himconsiderable, my bein' the legal guardeen of Molly."

  "A heap he cares fo' legal or not legal," said Sam.

  "That's jest what he _will_ do, now he ain't standin' in with the crowdthat hands out the law, Sam. He might try to make it a show-down righthere an' drive us out of the camp or leave us tucked away stiff in someprospect hole. But there's a lot of decent material drifted in an' itw'udn't be hard to beat him to that play an' organize a camp committeefo' the regulation of law an' order till such time as the camp provesitself an' is established. Once big capital gits stahted in here thelaw'll be workin' right along hand in hand with the development. Let'stake a pasear an' look at Casey's workings."

  Patrick Casey had run in a tunnel from the face of his discovery.Weathered porphyry float showed on the dump whose size suggested greaterdepth to the tunnel than they had expected. Its mouth had been closed bytimbers fitting closely into the frame of the horizontal shaft, forming,not so much a door, as a barricade, that had been firmly spiked to heavytimbers. This had been recently dismantled and then replaced, as recentmarks on the weathered lumber showed. Sandy looked at these placesclosely, frowning as he gave his verdict.

  "Some one monkeyin' with this inside of the last month," he announced."The nails ain't rusted like the old ones an' the chips are fresh. Likeas not it was that bunch of easterners. They'd figger the camp wasabandoned an' consider themselves justified as philanthropists intobu'stin' open anything that looked good--like this tunnel. A man w'udn'tgo to the trouble of timberin' up if he didn't think he had somethin'inside that was goin' to turn up high cahd some day. 'Course thecapitalist, if he found somethin' that looked good, 'ud hunt up theowner in the registry an' make him an offer. But it w'udn't be a halfinterest in the mine. He'd say he was thinkin' of developin' half a mileaway an', if he bought cheap enough, he might make an offer. Yes, sir,"Sandy went on, warming to his own theory, "it w'udn't surprise me ifthis warn't the mine they sampled which Plimsoll finds out is the realstuff an' clamps on."

  "Well," said Mormon, "we'll have a chance to ask him in a minute. He'scomin' up with that crowd of his rangin' erlong an' their ha'r liftin'.Thar's that ungrateful skunk I chucked the boots at. Plim don't lookover an' above pleased the way things are breakin'. Looks as amiable asa timber wolf with his tail in a b'ar trap."

  The three partners met the jumpers, now headed by Plimsoll, on theborder of the claims. The gambler's face was livid. He had boasted andlashed himself into a bullying confidence that he knew was inadequate tomeet the situation he could not avoid. Hatred of the men who had balkedhim more than once served him better.

  "You four-flushers get off this ground," he blustered. "You're claimingto represent Molly Casey's rights after you've kidnaped the girl andsent her out of the state. It won't get you anywhere or anything. I'vegot a half interest in these claims and I've plenty of witnesses toprove it."

  "I don't believe yore witnesses are half as vallyble as they might havebeen before politics shifted in Herefo'd County," said Sandy. "You ain'tgot a written contract an' it w'udn't do you a mite of good if you had,fur as I'm concerned. Because I've been duly an' legally app'intedguardeen to Casey's daughter Molly an' I'm here to represent herinterests, likewise mine. I've got my guardianship papers right withme."

  "A hell of a lot of good they'll do you in this camp," sneered Plimsoll."Representin' _her_ interests. I'll say you are, an' your own along with'em." A laugh from his followers heartened him. "If the camp ever hearsthe yarn of your running off with the girl and no
w, with her tuckedaway, coming back to clean up, I've a notion they'd show youfour-flushers where you've sat in to the wrong game. Why...."

  Something in Sandy's face stopped him. It became suddenly devoid of allexpression, became a thing of stone out of which blazed two gray eyesand a voice issued from lips that barely moved.

  "I've got a notion, too, Plimsoll. A notion that it 'ud be a good day'swork to shoot you fo' a foul-mouthed, lyin', stealin' crook! You sureain't worth bein' arrested fo', an' there ain't no open season fo'two-laigged coyotes of yore sort, so I'll give you yore chance. You'vecalled me a fo'-flusher twice, an' the on'y way to prove a fo'-flush isto call fo' a show-down. I'm doin' it."

  The words came cold and even, backed by a grim earnestness thatimprinted itself on the lesser manhood of the jumpers as a finger leavesits print in clay. They shifted back a little from Plimsoll, circlingout as they might have moved away from a man marked by pestilence. Hestood trying to outface Sandy, to keep his eyes steady. His lips weretight closed, still he could not help but open his mouth to a quickenedbreathing, to touch the lips with a furtive tongue that found the skinpeeling in tiny feverish strips.

  "You pack yore gun under yore coat flap," said Sandy. "I don't know howquick you can draw but I aim to find out."

  He handed one of his own guns to Mormon, announcing his action lestPlimsoll might mistake it.

  "Now then," he went on, "I once told you I looked to you to stop anygossip about Molly Casey. Same time Butch Parsons an' Sim Hahn got huht.You don't seem able to sabe plain talk an' I'm tired of talkin' to you,Jim Plimsoll. Me, I'm goin' to roll me a cigareet. Any time you want toyou can draw. I'm givin' you the aidge on me. If you don't take thataidge, Jim Plimsoll, I'm givin' you till sun-up ter-morrer mornin' togit plumb out of camp. An' to keep driftin'."

  Deliberately Sandy took tobacco sack and papers from the pocket of hisshirt, his fingers functioning automatically, precisely, his eyes nevershifting from Plimsoll's face, measuring by feel the amount of tobaccoshaken into the little trough of brown paper. While he rolled thecigarette the sack swung from his teeth by its string.

  The group gazed at him fascinated. Plimsoll's face beaded with tinydrops of sweat, his hands moved slowly upward toward his coat lapels,touched them as Sandy twisted the end of the cigarette, stayed there,shaking slightly with what might have been eagerness--or paralysis. Forthe look in the steel gray eyes of Sandy Bourke, half mocking, allconfident, spurred the doubts that surged through the gambler'schance-calculating mind, while he knew that every atom of hesitationlessened his chances.

  His own hands were close to his chest. His right had but a few inchesto dart, to drag the automatic from its smooth holster. Sandy's handswere high above his belt, rolling the cigarette. They had four times asfar to go. But Plimsoll knew that if anything went wrong with hisperformance, if he failed to kill outright, that nothing would go wrongwith Sandy's shooting. The mention of Butch and Sim Hahn did not composehim. He had had the stage all set that time and Butch had been shotdown, Sim Hahn's capacities as a crooked dealer had been spoiled forever. But--if he did not take his chance and, failing it, did not leavecamp....

  He felt cold. The temperature of his own conceit, the mercury of theregard of his bullies, was falling steadily. The nervous sweat was nolonger confined to his face. The palms of his hands were moist,slippery....

  "Gimme a match, Sam." Sandy's voice came to Plimsoll across a gulf thatcould never be bridged. He watched the flame, pale in the sunshine,watched it lift to the cigarette and then a puff of smoke came into hisface as Sandy flung away the burnt stick and turned on his heel. Murderstirred dully in Plimsoll's brain at the sneers he surmised rather thanread on the faces of his followers. His defeat was also theirs. But themoment had gone. He knew he lacked the nerve. Sandy knew it and hadturned his back on him.

  His prestige was gone. His boon companions would talk about it. Mormongave Sandy back his second gun and Sandy slid it into the holster. Heexhaled the last puff of his cigarette before he spoke again toPlimsoll.

  "Sun-up, ter-morrer. You can send fo' yore stuff here any time you've amind to. Fo' a gamblin' man, Plimsoll, you're a damned pore judge of ahand."

  Plimsoll strode off down the hill alone. The men who had come with himhesitated and then crossed the gulch. They had severed connections withthe J. P. brand for the time, at least. The three partners walked backtoward the tunnel.

  "I saw the carkiss of a steer one time," said Sam, "that had been lyin'on a sidehill fo' quite a spell. The coyotes an' the buzzards had beenat it, an' the wind an' weather had finished the job till there warn'tmuch mo'n hide an' some scattered bones. Mebbe a li'l' hair. But thatcarkiss sure held mo' guts than Jim Plimsoll packs."

  "He ain't through," said Mormon. "You didn't ought to give him tillsun-up, Sandy. Sun-down 'ud have been better. He's a mangy coyote, buthe's got brains an' he'll addle 'em figgerin' out some way to git even."

  "I w'udn't wonder," answered Sandy. "Me, I'm goin' to do a li'l'figgerin' too."

  "We got to stay on the claims," said Sam. "If they happened to think ofit they might heave a stick of dynamite in our midst afteh it's good an'dahk. A flyin' chunk of dynamite is a nasty thing to dodge, at that."

  He spoke as dispassionately as if he had been discussing a display ofharmless fireworks. Sandy answered in the same tone.

  "I don't think it likely, Sam. Camp knows, or will know, what's beenhappenin'. If dynamite was thrown they'd sabe who did it an' I don'tbelieve the crowd 'ud stand for it. Jest the same it 'ud sure surpriseme if we didn't git some sort of a shivaree pahty afteh nightfall. Iw'udn't wonder if Jim Plimsoll forgets to send fo' that tent an' stuffof his. Hope he does."

  "What do we want with it?" demanded Mormon.

  "Nothin', with the stuff. We'll set it out beyond the lines come dusk.But the tent'll come in handy. We didn't bring one erlong."

  Sam and Mormon both looked at him curiously, but Sandy's face wassphinx-like and they refrained from useless questioning.

  "Here comes young Ed," announced Sandy as they gained the tunnel. "He'stotin' somethin' that looks to me as if it might be grub."

  "Won't offend me none ef it is," said Mormon. "I'm hungrier'n a springb'ar an' all our stuff's oveh with Mirandy Bailey."

  "She's sure one thoughtful lady," said Sam. "What you got, Ed?" hequeried as the gangling youth came up.

  "Beans, camp-bread an' coffee. Aunt Mirandy, she 'lowed you-all mightnot want to leave the claim so she sent this over to bide you through.You been havin' some trouble, ain't you?" he asked, his eyes gleamingwith interest. "We heard somethin' that sounded like shots an' Mr.Westlake saw the first bunch go away. He said you waved to him it wasall right. Aunt, she 'lowed you c'ud look out fo' yourselves. Then thesecond bunch come erlong."

  "Jest wishin' us luck, son," said Sandy. "How's everything with you?"

  "I bet it warn't good luck they was wishin'," grinned Ed, squatting downon his haunches and rolling a cigarette. "We're gettin' on fine. Gotsome dandy claims, I reckon. One for maw an' one fo' father, rightalongside Aunt Mirandy's an' mine. It 'ud be great if we sh'ud allstrike it rich, to once, w'udn't it?"

  "Great!" agreed Sandy, munching beans with gusto. "Don't you think youought to be gettin' back, 'case some one might take a notion to themclaims of yores? 'Pears to me it's up to you, Ed, to protect yore aunt.Westlake can't stick around with you all the time. He's got his businessto attend to."

  Young Ed straightened.

  "I'll look out for her all right," he said. "But you don't know AuntMirandy over well or you'd know she can do her own protectin'. You betshe can. 'Sides, the men who've got claims nigh us come over an' toldher they'd see she wasn't interfered with none. Said they'd heard somebully had sworn at her an' the real miners in camp warn't goin' to standanything like that. Nor no claim-jumpin'. They're goin' to organize,they say. Git up a Vigilance Committee."

  "Good!" said Sandy. "That means the decent element aims to run things.We'll help 'em. It'll be easier with Plimsoll out
of camp."

  "Figger he'll go?" asked Sam.

  "I w'udn't be surprised if he listened to the small voice of reason,"answered Sandy. "You tell yore aunt we're much obliged fo' the grub, Ed.One of us'll be over afteh a bit an' tote our things across. We'll camphere fo' a bit an' sit tight. I'd do the same, if I was you, Ed, spiteof yore friends. I don't doubt fo' a minute but what yore aunt is plumbcapable of lookin' out for herself, but you see, she's a woman an' yo'rea man, an' it's you folks'll be lookin' to."

  The lad flushed with pride under the hand that Sandy set in chummyfashion on his shoulder.

  "I'll do that," he said, and, picking up the emptied utensils he hadbrought he started off down and across the gulch.

  "No sense in encouragin' him to hang around us," said Sandy. "There'sapt to be fireworks round here most any time between now an' ter-morrermo'nin'. Plimsoll'll shack erlong about sun-up--providin' he ain't ableto call the tuhn on us befo'. Mormon, if you'll go git our blankets an'outfit, Sam an' me'll fix up those bu'sted guy ropes an' shift thetent."

  "You don't aim fo' us to sleep in it, do you?" asked Mormon.

  "Don't believe we'd rest well if we tackled it. But it mightn't be a badscheme if we give the gen'ral idee that we _are_ sleepin' in it. I put alantern in the car when we stahted. Fetch that erlong too, will you,Mormon?"

  It was late afternoon before Mormon reappeared, bearing a camp outfit,part of which was carried by Westlake. Sandy and Sam had repitched thetent on fairly level ground of the valley bottom. The claim boundariesran to within fifty yards of the little creek named Flivver and thetent-pins were set almost on the border-line. The ground was sparselycovered with scrub grass, shrubs and willows, the space about the tentclear of anything higher than clumps of bushes and sage.

  Mormon's eye brows went up at the location with which Sandy and Sam,seated cross-legged on the ground, one smoking, the other draining lowharmonies through his mouth organ, appeared perfectly satisfied.

  "Why on the flat?" asked Mormon. "There's a heap of cover round herewhere they might snake up afteh dahk an' sling anythin' they minded toat us, from lead to giant powdeh!"

  "Wal," drawled Sandy, flicking the ash from his cigarette, "it's handyto watch, fo' one thing, an' yore right about that coveh, Mormon. That'swhy we chose it. Sam an' me had a heap of trouble pickin' out thisplace. Finally we found jest what we wanted, didn't we, Sam?"

  "Sure did."

  Mormon set down his load and took off his hat to scratch his headperplexedly. Then his face lightened as he looked up-hill.

  "You figger on settin' the lantern in here afteh dahk," he said. "An'watchin' the fun from the tunnel."

  "Pritty close, Mormon. Come inside, you an' Westlake, an' I'll show yousuthin'."

  They followed him into the tent and came out again laughing.

  "No matteh what happens," said Sandy, "an' I'm hopin' fo' the worst, itain't our tent. You been up to the main street this afternoon,Westlake?"

  "Yes. There's a lot of talk loose about the trouble between you andPlimsoll's crowd. Factions for both sides and a lot of onlookers who areneutral and just waiting for the excitement. I saw Roaring Russell buthe passed me up. He might not have known me. He was pretty well drunk.He's talking big about taking you apart, Mr. Peters. He claims to havebeen a champion wrestler at one time."

  "You don't say so," said Mormon. "Me, I was the champeen wrastler of theCow Belt, one time. Had the belt to prove it till I lost it at drawpoker. I've got hawg fat sence then, but I don't believe I've softenedany. An' the booze he's tuckin' away is mighty pore stuff fo' trainin'.But I ain't long on walkin'," he added. "B'lieve I'll sit me down aspell. I'll make fire an' git supper if you want to take Westlake up tothe tunnel."

  Westlake carefully inspected the tunnel, the float and the contents ofthe dump.

  "I wouldn't wonder if Casey was running this as a drift to follow a goodlead," he pronounced. "It looks better to me than any part of the campI've inspected. I'll assay these samples for you, if you've noobjection. I've got a lot of orders back at my shack already. Mycustomers told me that they'd put a flea in Russell's ear that the campassayer was not to be interfered with, so there is some value in aneducation, you see."

  Sandy nodded. "You pack a gun?" he asked.

  "No. I've got one, but I don't carry it. My practise with firearms hasbeen with larger calibers."

  "War?" asked Sandy.

  "Yes. I was in the artillery. Is there anything else I can do? Get yousome supplies? I'm coming back to have supper with Miss Bailey and hernephew."

  "Not a thing," said Sandy. "Much obliged." He watched the engineer swingaway.

  "There's a good man for you," he said to Sam. "Well set up and able tohandle himself. I like his ways first-rate."

  "Me, too," said Sam. "He'd make a good match fo' Molly, when she comesback with her eddication, w'udn't he?"

  Sandy stopped in his stride suddenly, so that Sam halted and regardedhim curiously.

  "Twist yo' foot?" he asked. "High heels is all right fo' stirrups butthey're tough on hill climbin'."

  "No. I was jest thinkin'. Nothin' that amounts to shucks. Gettin' dahk.We better git outside of our supper an' sneak up to the tunnel soon's itgits dusk enough to light the lantern."