Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (21 page)

 
          
“Yu
can search me,” the cowboy replied.

 
          
In
truth, he was puzzled. Paul Lesurge was antagonistic, he knew, and might have
contrived the kidnapping in order to steal the mine from under Snowy’s nose,
but his men would not have touched Lora. The faintly familiar voice in the
crowd recurred to him; it had reminded him of Hank. It was probable that he and
his men had come to Deadwood, since they would have to leave their hide-out in
the hills. This latter proved to be the case, for when Husky and his companions
found the place, it was deserted. On their way back, following Sudden’s
directions, they came across the skeletons of a man and two horses in front of
the ridge where the cowboy had made his stand. The big miner was game enough to
come and apologize.

 
          
“You
was
right an’ we was wrong,” he said. “I’m sorry, but it
shore seemed an open an’ shut case. No hard feelin’s, I hope?”

 
          
“I’m
forgettin’ it,” Sudden told him. “But give the next fella a chance.”

 
          
In
a dilapidated shanty, built with becoming modesty away from the street, five
men were drinking and smoking. The wavering light of a couple of tallow dips
dimly revealing their forbidding faces. They had just finished weighing and
dividing a bag of gold-dust.

 
          
“An’
that’s the finish, I s’pose,” Berg said sourly. “Hank, you’ve managed to spoil
as pretty a plan as ever I made, damn you.” The black-haired fellow who had
attracted Sudden’s notice at the attempted lynching looked up. “How the devil
could I help it?” he asked angrily.

 
          
“We
had the game in our hands,” was the rejoinder. “You shouldn’t ‘a’ touched the
Lesurge woman; it was lunacy.”

 
          
“I
couldn’t do nothin’ else when she found I wasn’t Sudden,” Hank argued. “It was
a fair give-away.”

 
          
“An’
havin’ made the mistake o’ carryin’ her off you put another to it by lettin’
her get loose.”

 
          
“How
in hell was I to know she had a sticker?”

 
          
“You
oughta—she advertised it, not so long back.”

 
          
“Yo’re
all so damn clever, ain’t you?” Hank sneered. “Well do the risky work
yoreselves an’ I’ll keep under cover an’ collect my share, like some o’ you.” A
new voice chimed in, that of a rodent-faced youth, one of whose cheeks bore a
jagged, half-healed wound. “Whatsa use scrappin’? If anybody’s got a squeal
comin’ it’s me”—he jerked a thumb at his injury—“an’ you ain’t heard me yap
any.”

 
          
“That’s
the way to talk, Lem,” Bandy Rodd supported. “When pals fall out, trouble comes
in, an’ you can put yore pile on that.”

 
          
“The
trouble’s in a’ready,” Berg said. “The old game’s too risky now—we’ll have to
find another way.” So far Fagan had been silent, but now he spoke: “We gotta
get that mine. It’s big, or Lesurge wouldn’t be after it—he ain’t
no
piker.”

 
          
“Him
an’ Reub Stark is gettin’ mighty strong in the town,” Bandy observed. “He won’t
be needin’ yu much longer.” Fagan spat contemptuously. “
He
dasn’t turn me off—I know too much. We’re pardners.”

 
          
“An’
yo’re tryin’ to double-cross him?” Hank fleered.

 
          
“Why not?
He’ll do it to me if I give him a chance,” was the
candid answer.

 
          
Hank,
still sore from the wigging he had received, laughed scornfully. “Well, we know
what to expect from you,” he said. “Damn you!” Fagan roared. “
I’ll ”

 
          
“Stop
it,” Berg snapped. “Where’s the sense in heavin’ rocks at each other? We’re all
out to double-cross Lesurge. What we gotta think of is how to put it over.”

 
          
“What
about gettin’ the gal—Ducane’s niece—an’ puttin’ the screw on her?” Lem
suggested.

 
          
“Might
come off if you wiped out Ducane an’ that cussed cowboy first,” Bandy said. “If
not, they’d guess the game an’ be waitin’ at the mine for us.” The plan aroused
no enthusiasm; even to their desperate natures it seemed too big an order.

 
          
“If
there’s to be any bumpin’ Mister Sudden off you can count me out,” Lem
contributed.

 
          
“I’ve
had some, an’ I seen Logan
get
his.”

 
          
“Lefty
rated hisself too high,” Fagan said. “I owe Sudden somethin’ an’ he’ll get it,
but I shan’t worry if he
don’t
know who’s payin’ him.”

 
          
“Any
hope o’ makin’ Ducane so tight he’ll talk?” Bandy asked.

 
          
“He’s
allus talkin’, but he
don’t
say nothin’,” was Fagan’s
answer. “An’ it wouldn’t be no good—he claims he’s forgot where the mine is;
Sudden’s the on’y one what knows.”

 
          
“An’
we lost him,” Berg said dismally. “A million dollars waitin’ to be picked up an’—”

 
          
“Oh,
can
it,” Hank burst in. “We gotta watch for another
break, that’s all. What about a game?” They fell to playing cards, which gave
them a new excuse for wrangling. After a while, Fagan rose to depart. “Goin’ to
see Paul,” he told them.

 
          
“You
have been taking a holiday?” Paul inquired amiably. But the visitor understood,
and moved uneasily in his seat.

 
          
“Things
was gittin’ hot,” he muttered. “It was too dangerous.”

 
          
“Another,
apparently, did not think so,”
came
the reply.

 
          
“You
were not, by any chance, that other?”

 
          
“Hell, no, Paul.
Why do you ask that?”

 
          
“I
thought you might have had an inspiration; I should have known better. So you
are not in need of money?” Fagan conceived what he regarded as an inspiration. “I
shorely am,” he said mournfully. “Got cleaned out at Pedro’s las’ night—playin’
the wheel—you never see such luck.”

 
          
“At Pedro’s?
Ah, yes,” Paul said softly, and the liar wished
he had not named the place; if inquiries were made … But the next remark
reassured him. “I can let you have fifty dollars, but you must earn them by
finding for me a fellow named `Hank’ who was concerned in the seizure of my
sister.”

 
          
“Shore
I will; what’s he like?” the ruffian replied, hoping that his start of surprise
had escaped notice.

 
          
“I
can’t tell you, but he may be with another called `Lem,’ who had a cheek laid
open in the scrimmage with Green.” Fagan nodded; it was going to be easy money.
“Them gravel-grubbers come near to riddin’ you o’ Green,” he grinned.

 
          
“I’ve
no desire to be rid of him,” Paul replied coldly. “Had that been so, Lora would
have arrived too late to substantiate his story. Unfortunate, in that case, of
course, but …” The smooth voice faded and Fagan was conscious of chilliness
creeping up his spine. Once, when a boy, a rattlesnake had brushed against his
bare leg, Lesurge, at times, recalled that horrible moment—the cold sliminess
of the contact, the breath-taking fear of impending death.

 
          
“What
you aimin’ to do with this Hank fella, Paul?” he ventured.

 
          
“Use
him,” was the reply.

 
          
Though
he took care not to show it, Fagan was delighted. It suited him that Lesurge
should surround himself with his, Fagan’s, confederates; he was assisting in
his own downfall.

 
          
“If
he’s in town, I’ll get him,” he promised. “Pity you’ve fell in love with Green;
I had a
plan ”

 
          
“Then
forget it,” Paul ordered. “I hate him, but he must not be touched. He alone
knows

 
          
“Where
the mine is,” Fagan finished.

 
          
“Who
told you that?”

 
          
“Snowy
let on that his memory had slipped up again an’ he said the
directions
in the letter was
misleadin’ an’ it was mainly luck that they struck the
right trail.” Mentally Lesurge anathematized the prospector for a chattering
old idiot, but Fagan’s next remark suggested another aspect.

 
          
“Mebbe
he’s stringin’ you.” This produced a thoughtful frown. The secret was a
dangerous one, as the puncher had already discovered. Snowy would not be
anxious for a similar experience and might be playing for safety. But why
should he tell Fagan? With an impatient gesture, he flung a roll of greenbacks
on the table and said:

 
          
“When
you locate the man I want to see him, but not here.” After the visitor had
gone, Lesurge sat pondering over his position. So far, matters had gone well
with him. Without unduly thrusting himself into the limelight he had become of
importance in the settlement. But his ambition had grown. To merely deprive
Snowy and Stark of wealth no longer contented him—he wanted power. The prospect
he had dangled as a bait before the greedy eyes of the saloonkeeper now
appealed to him as a possibility—for himself. Lavish hospitality was purchasing
support for Reuben Stark, but when the moment came, he would be shelved and
Lesurge would largely control the destinies of Deadwood.

 
          
To
bring this about he must have gold—a great deal of gold. Snowy’s mine would
provide this eventually—he was getting together a gang to seize and work it—but
his present need was urgent. Putting on his hat, he went to the Monte. The
proprietor was in his private room, and his greeting was none too cordial.

 
          
“Damned
if I savvy yore play, Paul,” he said irritably. “A piece back you wanted Sudden
put outa business, an’ now you snatch his neck out’n the noose.”

 
          
“He
saved my sister,” Paul pointed out. “And you can add to that he was an innocent
man.”

 
          
“Mebbe,
but a hangin’ wouldn’t ‘a’ done any harm,” was the brutal reply. “These
murderin’ thieves need a lesson; we’ll be havin’ a treasure coach stopped next.”
Paul’s eyes gleamed, but his tone betrayed little interest when he said
carelessly, “I suppose it would be worthwhile?”

 
          
“Worthwhile?”
Stark echoed. “Well, I’d call a hundred to a hundred an’ fifty thousand, that.”

 
          
“The
shipments are well guarded, of course.” Stark shrugged. “What can we do? The
express messenger is armed, but to send a big escort is tellin’ everybody what
the coach carries.

 
          
An’ where you goin’ to get ‘em?
All the fellas you could
trust
is
too busy searchin’ out gold to risk their
lives protectin’ other folks’s dust. Secrecy is the best caper—on’y a few knows
when the stuff is sent.”

 
          
“Good.
Pass me word about the next time,” Paul said. “I’d like to send a small
consignment myself.” The saloonkeeper nodded and went on with his grumbling:

 
          
“That
Hickok is gettin’ too Gawd Almighty. ‘Pears to think that ‘
cause
he run one or two tough towns he can have the say-so here. Some o’ the boys
ain’t likin’
the way he talked to ‘em.”

 
          
“You
needn’t worry about him—he’ll be attended to, and so will Sudden, if my plans
work out right. The man who is going to run Deadwood is in this room.” Stark’s
ill-humour vanished.

 
          
“You’ve
got a brain, Paul,” he complimented, “an’ when I’m on top, you’ll find I ain’t
ungrateful to my friends.”