CHAPTER XXVII
LIKE A HOG ON ICE
A month had wrought great changes in the life of Denver Russell, raisinghim up from a prisoner, locked up like a mad dog, to the boss of a gangof road-makers. He was free again, as far as bolts and bars wereconcerned; all that kept him to his place was the word he had given andhis pride as an honest man. And now he was out, doing an honest man'swork and building a highway for the state; and by the irony of fate theroad he was improving was the one that led to Pinal. For time hadwrought other changes while he lay in prison and the rough road up thecanyon was swarming with traffic going and coming from Murray's camp. Itwas called "Murray" now, and a narrow-gauge railroad was being rushed tohaul out the ore. Teams and motor trucks swung by, hauling in timbersand machinery, auto stages came and went like the wind; and old MikeMcGraw, who had hauled all the freight for years, looked on in wonderand awe.
Yes, Murray was a live camp, a copper camp with millions of dollarsbehind it; and Bible-Back himself was a king indeed, for he had tappedthe rich body of ore. It was his courage and aggressiveness that hadmade the camp, and the papers all sounded his praise; but still he wasnot satisfied and as he passed by Denver Russell he glanced at himalmost appealingly. Here was a man he had broken in order to get hisway, and his efforts had come to nothing; for the Silver Treasure layidle, waiting the clearing of its title before the work could go on. AndDenver Russell, swinging his double-jack on a drill, never once returnedthe glance. He was stiff-necked and stubborn, though Murray had sentintermediaries and practically promised to get him a parole.
A legal point had come up, after Denver had been imprisoned, whichMurray had failed to foresee; the fact that a convict is legally deaduntil he has served his term. He cannot transfer property or enter intoa contract or transact any business whatever--nor, on the other hand,can his mining claims be jumped. As a ward of the State his property isheld in trust until his term has expired. Then he gains back hisidentity, if not his citizenship; and with the passing of his number andthe resumption of his name he can enter into contracts once more.Murray's lawyer had known all this, but Murray had not; and when hesuggested a suit to quiet title to the Silver Treasure old Bible-Backreceived a great blow. After all his efforts he found himselfbalked--his work must even be undone. Denver Russell must be pardoned,or at least paroled, and as the price of his freedom he must give hisword not to contest the title to his mine. No papers would be necessary,in fact they would not be legal; but if his word would prevent him fromescaping from the road-camp it would keep him from claiming his mine.
Murray attended to the matter himself, for he was in a fever to beginwork; and then Denver Russell struck back--he refused to apply forparole. Though he was pleasant and amenable, never breaking the prisonrules and holding his gang to their duty, when the kindly parole clerkoffered to present his case to the Board he had flatly andunconditionally refused. The smouldering fire of his resentment hadblazed up and overmastered him as he sensed the hidden hand of hisenemy, and he had cursed the black name of Murray. That was thebeginning, and now when Murray passed, his glance was almost beseeching.The price of silver was going up, there were consolidation plans insight, and Denver's claim apexed all the rest--Murray pocketed his prideand, after a word with the guard, drew Denver out of hearing of thegang.
"Mr. Russell," he said trying to appear magnanimous, "that offer of mineholds good. I'll get you a parole to-morrow if you'll give me aquit-claim to your claim."
"How can I give you a quit-claim?" inquired Denver defiantly, "a convictcan't give title to anything!"
"Just give me your word then," suggested Murray suavely and Denverlaughed in his face.
"You glass-eyed old dastard," he burst out contemptuously, "I know whatyou're up to, too well. You're trying to get me paroled so you can takemy mine away from me and I won't dare to raise a hand. But I'll foolyou, old-timer; I'll just serve my term out and then--well, I'll getback my mine."
"Is that a threat?" demanded Murray but Denver only smiled and toyedwith his heavy hammer. "Because if it is," went on Murray, "just forself-protection, I'll see that you don't get out."
"No, it isn't a threat," answered Denver quietly. "If I wanted to killyou I'd swing this sledge and knock you on the head, right now. No, Idon't intend to kill you; but a man would be a sucker to play right intoyour hands."
"What do you mean?" asked Murray trying to argue the matter, but Denverrefused to indulge him.
"Never mind," he said, "you railroaded me to the Pen', but by grab youcan't get me out. I'll just show you I'm as independent as a hog onice--if I can't stand up I'll lay down."
"Then you intend, just to spite me, to remain on in prison when youmight be a free man to-morrow? I can't believe that--it doesn't seemreasonable."
"Well, I can't stand here talking," answered Denver impatiently and wentoff and left him staring.
It certainly was unbelievable that any reasoning creature should preferconfinement and disgrace to freedom, but the iron had burned deep intoDenver's soul and his one desire now was revenge. He had been deprivedof his property and branded a convict by this man who boasted of hispowers; but, like a thrown mule, if he could not have his way he couldat least refuse to get up. He was down and out; but by a miracle ofProvidence, a hitch in the wording of the law, the slave-driver Murraycould not proceed with his chariot until this balky mule got up. Denverknew his rights as a prisoner of the state and his status before thelaw; and bowed his head and took the beating stubbornly, punishinghimself a hundred times over to thwart his enemy's plans. As he workedon the road old friends came by and tried to argue him out of his mood,even Bunker Hill suggested a compromise; but he only listened sulkily, aslow smile on his lips, a gleam of smouldering hatred in his eyes.
So the winter passed by and as spring came on the road-gang drew near toMurray. From the hills above their camp Denver could see the dumps andhoists, and the mill that was going up below, and as the ore-trainsglided by on the newly finished narrow-gauge he picked up samples of thecopper. It was the same as his vein, a brassy yellow chalcopyrites withchunks of red native copper, and he forgot the daily heart-ache and theignominy of his task as he contemplated the wealth that awaited him.Yes, the mine was still his, though he was herded with common felons andcompelled to build a road for Murray; it was his and the law wouldprotect him, the same law that had sent him to prison. And he was aprisoner by choice now for both the warden and the parole clerk hadrecommended him heartily for parole.
They treated him like a friend, like a big, wrong-headed boy who wasstill sound and good at heart; and he knew that when he went to them andapplied for a parole they would recommend it at once to the Board. Buthe was playing a deep game, one that had come to him suddenly whenMurray had suggested a parole, for by refusing to accept his freedom hemade the state his guardian and the receiver of his coveted property. Itwas safe, and he could wait; and when the time was ripe he could applyto the Governor for a pardon. A pardon would remove the taint ofdishonor and restore him to honest citizenship; but a paroled man wasknown for an ex-con everywhere--he might as well be back in theroad-gang. Yet it was hard on his pride when the automobiles rushed pastand the passengers looked back and stared, it was hard to have the guardalways watching the gang for fear that some crook might decamp; and onlythe thought that he was working out his destiny gave him courage to playout his hand.
But how wonderfully had the prophecy of Mother Trigedgo been justifiedby the course of events! Not a year before he had come over the Globetrail in pursuit of Slogger Meacham, and had discovered the Place ofDeath. It rose before him now, a solid black wall, and within its shadowlay the mine of the prophecy, the precious Silver Treasure. He hadchosen the silver treasure, and the yellow chalcopyrites had added itswealth of copper. And now he but awaited the end of his long ordeal andthe reward of his courage and constancy. Both the silver and goldtreasures were destined to be his; and Drusilla--but there he paused.Old Bunk had avoided him, Drusilla had not written; yet he had
beencareful not to reveal his affection. Not once had he asked for her, onlyonce had he written; yet perhaps that one letter had defeated him. Hehad acknowledged his love, humbly admitted his faults, and begged her totry to forgive him. Even that might have cost him her love.
The spring came on warmer, all the palo verde trees burst out in massesof brilliant yellow, the mezquites hung out tassels of golden fuzz andthe giant cactus donned its crown of orange blossoms. Even theiron-woods flaunted bloom and the barren, sandy washes turned green withsix-weeks grass. It was a time when rabbits gamboled, when mockingbirdssang by moonlight and all the world turned young. Denver chafed at hisconfinement, one of his Mexicans broke his parole, the hobo miners wentswinging past; and just as the last of his courage was waning BunkerHill came riding down the road. He was on his big bay, yet not out aftercattle--he was coming straight towards him. Denver caught his breath,and waited.
Silver and Gold: A Story of Luck and Love in a Western Mining Camp Page 27
