Silver and Gold: A Story of Luck and Love in a Western Mining Camp

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  PAROLE

  "Mornin', Denver," said Bunker Hill, "here's a letter that come foryou--I forgot to send it down."

  He fumbled in his pocket and Denver's heart stood still, but it was onlyhis check from the smelter. He slipped it into his shirt without evenglancing at the big total and looked up at Bunker expectantly.

  "Well?" he prompted and Old Bunk twisted in the saddle before he beganto talk.

  "How much did you get for your shipment?" he inquired but Denvershrugged impatiently.

  "What do I give a damn?" he demanded. "What's up? What you got on yourmind?"

  "Big stuff," replied Bunker, "but I want you to listen to me--they's nouse running off at the head."

  "Who's running off at the head? Go on and shoot your wad. Is itsomething about my mine?"

  "Yes--and mine," answered Bunker. "I don't know whether you know it, butyour property apexes the Lost Burro. And another thing, silver has goneup. But Pinal is just as dead as it was a year ago. The whole camp iswaiting on you."

  "Well, what do you want me to do? Get a parole and give Murray my mine?"

  "No, just get a parole--and then we'll get you a pardon. I'll tell you,Denver, the Dutchman has begun to talk and it seems he saw your fight.He's told several people that you never pulled your gun, just struck outat the crowd with your fists. And if hints and winks count for anythingwith him he knows who it was that killed Meacham. He says he was hitfrom behind. I've tried everything, Denver, to make that Dutchman talkor put something down on paper; but he's scared so bad of Murray, andmebbe of his gun-men, that he won't say a word, unless he's drunk. Nowhere's the proposition--old Murray has had you railroaded, and he's suregoing to squeeze you until you let go of that claim. Why not sell outfor a good price, if he'll make the Professor talk and help get you apardon from the Governor? You know the Governor, he'll pardon mostanybody, but you've got to give him some excuse. Well, the Professor hasgot the evidence to get you out to-morrow--if Murray will just tell himto talk."

  "What d'ye call a good price?" inquired Denver suspiciously. "Did Murrayput you up to this?"

  "No!" snapped Bunker, "but he named ten thousand dollars as the most hecould possibly give. He owns the Colonel Dodge's interest in the LostBurro Mining Company now."

  "Your pardner, eh?" sneered Denver. "Well, where would I get off if Itook this friendly tip? I'd lose my mine, that's worth a million, atleast; and get ten thousand dollars and a parole. A paroled man can'tlocate a claim--nor an ex-convict, neither. The Silver Treasure is thelast claim that I'll ever get; and I'm going to hold onto it, by grab!"

  "You're crazy," declared Bunker, "didn't I say we'd get you a pardon?Well, a pardon restores you to citizenship--you can locate all theclaims you want."

  "Yes, sure; _if_ I'm pardoned! But I know that danged Dutchman--hewouldn't turn a hand to get me out of the Pen' if you'd give him ahundred thousand dollars. He's got it in for me, for not buying hisclaim when I took the Silver Treasure from you; and more'n that, he'safraid of me, because if I ever get out----"

  "Oh, don't be a dammed fool all the rest of your life," burst out BunkerHill impatiently. "If you'd quiet down a little and quit fighting yourhead, maybe your friends would be able to help you. I might as well tellyou that I've been to the Governor and told him the facts of the case;and he's practically promised, if the Professor will come through, togive you a full pardon with citizenship. Now be reasonable, Denver, andquit trying to whip the world, and we'll get you out of this jack-pot.Give old Murray your mine--you can never law it away from him--and takeyour ten thousand dollars; then move to another camp and make a freshstart where there's nobody working against you. Of course I'm Murray'spardner--he put one over on me--but at the same time I reckon I'm yourfriend. Now there's the proposition and you can take it or leave it--Iain't going to bother you again."

  "Nope, it don't look good to me," answered Denver promptly, "there's toomany ifs and ands. And I'll stay here till I rot before Bible-BackMurray will ever get that mine from _me_. He hired that bunch ofgun-men to jump my claim twice when he had no title to the mine, andthen he hired Chatwourth and Slogger Meacham to get me in the door andkill me. They made a slight mistake and got the wrong man, then sent meto the Pen' for murder. That's the kind of a dastard you've got for apardner but you can tell him I'll never give up. I'll fight till I die,and if I ever get out----"

  "Yes, there you go again," burst out Bunker Hill bitterly, "you ain'tgot the brain of a mule. If I wasn't to blame for loaning you that gunand leaving you out of my sight, I'd pass up your case for good. But Ididn't have no better sense than to slip you my old six-shooter, and nowMrs. Hill can't hardly git over it so I'll give you another try. Mydaughter, Drusilla, is coming home next week and she hasn't even heardabout this trouble. Now--are you going to stay here and meet her as aconvict, or will you come and meet her like a gentleman. This ain't mydoin's--I'd see you in hell, first--but Mrs. Hill says when you get outon parole we'll be glad to receive you as our guest."

  Denver stopped and considered, smiling and frowning by turns, but atlast he shook his head mournfully.

  "No," he muttered, "what will she care for a poor ex-con? No, I'm downand out," he went on to Bunker, "and she'll hear about it, anyhow. It'stoo late now to pretend I'm a gentleman--my number has burned in like abrand. All these other prisoners know me and they'll turn me upanywhere; if I go to the China Coast one of 'em would show up, sooner orlater, and bawl me out for a convict. No, I'm ruined as a gentleman, andold Murray did it; but by God, if I live, I'll teach him to regretit--and he won't make a dollar out of me. That claim is tied up tillJohn D. Rockefeller himself couldn't get it away from me now; and it'lllay right there until I serve out my sentence or get a free pardon fromthe Governor. I won't agree to anything and----"

  He stopped abruptly and looked away, after which he reached out hishand.

  "Well, much obliged, Bunk," he said, trying to smile, "I'm sorry I can'taccommodate you. Just thank Mrs. Hill for what she has done and--andtell her I'll never forget it."

  He went back to his work and old Bunk watched him wonderingly, afterwhich he rode solemnly away. Then the road-making dragged on--clearingaway brush, blasting out rock, filling in, grading up, making thecrown--but now the road-boss was absent minded and oblivious and hispride in the job was gone. He let the men lag and leave rough ends, andevery few moments his eyes would stray away and look down the canyon forthe stage. And as the automobiles came up he scanned the passengershungrily--until at last he saw Drusilla. There was the fluttering of aveil, the flash of startled eyes, a quick belated wave, and she wasgone. Denver stood in the road, staring after her blankly, and then hethrew down his pick.

  "Send me back to the Pen'" he said to the guard, "I'm going to apply forparole."