Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (7 page)

 
          
“The
settlement is choke-full—newcomers will have to build shelter or camp out.

 
          
Fortunately
1 can offer you a roof, though little else. My hut is larger than a single man
needs, and there is a small corral at the rear–you have horses, of course?”

 
          
“We
left them at the livery,” Sudden said.
“Couldn’t get along
without the broncs.”

 
          
“I
know,” the old man smiled. “Almost the last thing a cowboy parts with—except
his life. Well, what do you say?”

 
          
“We’re
mighty obliged,” Sudden told him, adding awkwardly, “We ain’t exactly broke, yu
understand.”

 
          
“I’m
not offering you charity—you will have to keep yourselves, no light task in
Deadwood. The room is of no use to me. I ought perhaps to point out that you
will be living with one who is poorly regarded.”

 
          
“Popularity
never appealed to me,” Sudden assured him, a tinge of bitterness in his tone.

 
          
“We’ll
go yu,
Mister ?”

 
          
“You
may call me ‘Jacob’,” their new friend supplemented. “Deadwood dubbed me a Jew,
and, for reasons of my own, I have not refuted it, though 1 am not a member of
that persecuted race.” At his suggestion they collected the horses and made
their way to the far end of the settlement. Jacob’s dwelling proved to be the
last of the buildings, standing some two hundred yards from the others.

 
          
It
was a log cabin, strongly but roughly put together, and consisted of three
rooms. A table and two stools comprised the furniture of the one at their
disposal. Their host apologized for the absence of beds.

 
          
“Don’t
say a word,” Mason grinned. “We got blankets an’ fetched our own fleas.” Having
turned their horses into the poled enclosure at the back of the cabin, they
sallied forth to the nearest store for supplies. The prices they had to pay
made them open their eyes.

 
          
“Hell,
Jim, we don’t want no gold-mine, let’s open a store?” Gerry suggested.

 
          
“What
with—an axe?” Sudden queried. “Allasame, livin’ is goin’ to come high in this
neck o’ the woods; yu’ll have to hobble yore appetite.”

 
          
“My appetite?
What about your’n?” Gerry cried indignantly.

 
          
“I’m
a pore eater,” Sudden told him.

 
          
“My Gawd!
then
I must be damn near
starvation point. C’mon, let’s see if the liquor is cheaper.” He led the way to
one of the saloons, pushed back the swing-door, and swaggered in—modesty on
such occasions is not a cowboy virtue. It was a garish place, bedecked with
gaudy gilt mirrors and crudely painted but sufficiently daring pictures. A
polished bar, with an array of bottles and glasses occupied the back of the
room, and there were tables and stools.

 
          
The
table they chose commanded a good view of both
bar
and
entrance. “
They’s
a han’some lot, I don’t believe,”
Gerry commented.

 
          
“Yu
weren’t expectin’ angels, were yu? Talkin’ o’ them, there’s Snowy.”

 
          
“Huh!
Yu won’t find
no
wings sproutin’ on his back.” The
prospector, who was alone, came up and greeted them shrilly. “Hello, boys, been
lookin’ for you. Take a smile.” When the drinks had been procured, he sat down,
beamed upon them, and asked, “Where you stayin’?”

 
          
Sudden
told him they had secured a lodging but gave
no ,particulars
other than the position.

 
          
“Yo’re
lucky,” the old man remarked. “Most o’ them that come in with us’ll be sleepin’
under the sky an’ if it storms quick—as it can in these parts—they’ll have a
pore time.” ’

 
          
“Yu
an’ yo’re niece fixed up all right?” Mason inquired.

 
          
“You
better believe we are,” Snowy chuckled. “Paul had it all arranged. He’s a
clever fella—he
don’t
deny it himself. We’re roomin’
at the best private house in the town, owned by Miss Lesurge.”

 
          
“His wife?”
Gerry cried.

 
          
“Miss
Lesurge, I said,” Snowy repeated. “His sister an’ a fine lady, I’m tellin’ you.
Say, ain’t this one hell of a township
?.
Takes me back mighty near thirty year.
Well, gotta go. Stay
around, boys, an’ watch my smoke. Don’t tell Paul I seen you. Savvy?” He
bustled away, leaving both his companions frowning, but for different reasons;
Sudden in perplexity, Mason in anger.

 
          
“Damn
funny,” the former reflected aloud.

 
          
His
friend snorted. “Yu got a twisted sense o’ humour if yu see anythin’ amusin’ in
a nice girl like that bein’ at the mercy of a crook,” he said savagely.

 
          
“She’s
with her uncle.”

 
          
“An addle-pated soak.”

 
          
“Also Miss Lesurge.”
Gerry’s report did not flatter the
lady.

 
          
They
procured a meal at an eating-house and Sudden soon became aware that, for some
reason, he was attracting attention; men stared at him and looked away at once
when hecaught them in the act. He remarked on the fact to his companion.

 
          
“Anythin’ the matter with my face?”
Gerry studied it. “Nothin’
more than usual,” he pronounced. “O’ course, these folks ain’t used to it like
I am.” The voice of young Welder checked the inevitable retort.

 
          
“Hi,
cowboys, how’re you makin’ it?” he greeted. He laughed foolishly, lighted a
cigarette after several attempts and, as he turned to go, added, “Saw Lesurge
armin’ Miss Ducane up the street a while back; they made a han’some couple.”
That night when, rolled in their blankets, they were lying on their beds of
spruced boughs, Sudden was aware of smothered explosions of mirth from the
other side of the room.

 
          
“What’s
the joke, yu jackass?” he inquired.

 
          
There
was no answer, but the merriment increased. “They made a han’some couple,” the
puncher said softly. The laughter ceased instantly, and Sudden grinned in to
the gloom, turned over and went to sleep.

 
          
In
a little gully, the banks of which were studded with pine and spruce trees, a
black-bearded, red-shirted miner was busily digging, whistling a merry tune the
while. This ceased suddenly and he looked up with a scowl as the visitors—whose
approach he had not heard—pulled up. When he saw the two cowboys, however, his
expression at once became amiable. Sudden, whose quick eye had noted the change
and caught the swift glance at the rifle leaning against a bush, concluded that
the man had mistaken them for redskins.

 
          
“Mornin’,
friend?” he said. “We ain’t aimin’ to nose in, but not bein’ much up to this
gold-gettin’ game we thought watchin’ yu might give us a pointer.” The man now
saw the pick, shovel and pan tied to the cantles of their saddles, unaccustomed
burdens to which their mounts had at first offered spirited objections. He
grinned understandingly.

 
          
“New
chums, huh?” he replied. “Well, there’s nothin’ to it, if the dust is around,
any fool c’n find it; if it ain’t,
the
cleverest can’t.
Washin’ the dirt is me tricky bit; must be a lot o’ waste thataway.” He threw a
spadeful of the sandy soil into his pan, nearly filled it with water from a
rill which was only a few yards distant, and squatting down began to stir the
mixture slowly with one hand, at each revolution deftly flicking a small
quantity of the muddy liquid out of the vessel. He continued the process until
only a little of the water remained, poured this carefully away, and eagerly
scanned the bottom of the pan. His expression when he looked up was one of
chagrin.

 
          
“Not
even `colour’,” he said, thus intimating that his experiment had produced no
sign of the precious metal. “Well, gents, that’s the way of it, but I’m advisin’
you not to fool about with thisyer gully—she’s no good.” Wishing him better
luck, they rode on, and when they had lost sight of him, Sudden said, “Watch
out for g likely place an’ we’ll try for some nuggets.”

 
          
“But
that hombre said it was a bum place,” Gerry protested. “Shore he did,” Sudden
smiled. “But he didn’t slam that pan down an’ was careful to put it where we
couldn’t get a peep at it. I’ll bet he’s workin’ like sixty this moment.” The
spot they selected was a short way up one wall of the gully, a sandy space
shaded by trees and shrubs, with a tiny rivulet of clear water passing through
it. For hours they dug and washed but not one speck of yellow rewarded their
efforts and at length Gerry dropped the pan and glared round balefully at the
holes which now disfigured the little plateau.

 
          
“Coupla
perishin’ good gophers we are, I’m tellin’ yu,” he said. “We oughta dig two big
ones, crawl in, an’ pull ‘em in after us. That jasper was right.”

 
          
“Shucks,
a fella don’t
allus get his cow first flip o’ the
rope,” Sudden consoled, his gaze on the silver streak of water sliding and
jumping down the bank a few yards away. “Ever hear of a ‘flume’?”

 
          
“Sorta
wooden trough for washin’ dirt, ain’t it? Snowy used to talk of ‘em,” Mason
replied. “We don’t have one.”

 
          
“They
have cross-bars to catch the gold—they call ‘em `riffles,’ ” his friend went on
reflectively. “That trickle o’ water is a natural flume, it’s cut a channel for
itself down the slope, an’ there’s yore riffle.” He pointed to where a ledge of
rock formed a miniature waterfall. “She’s worth a trial.” Straddling the
stream, he scooped up handfuls of sand from above the obstruction into the pan,
and began to wash it. Neither of them was as yet expert in manipulating the
muddy mess, much of which was distributed over their own persons, but at length
only a sprinkling of sand remained and after one glance Gerry flung back his
head. Sudden clapped a wet and gritty hand over his mouth just in time to
stifle the shrill cowboy yell of triumph.

 
          
“Ain’t
yu got no sense?” he asked the spluttering victim. “Why not fork yore bronc an’
go tell the town?”

 
          
“Sorry,
Jim,” Mason said. “I didn’t think.”

 
          
“Yo’re
tellin’ me,” was the sarcastic retort.

 
          
Eagerly
they bent over the pan, noting the shining grains mingled with the remaining
sand. Repeated washings removed the latter, and in the end, a tiny heap of
yellow metal was left.

 
          
“She
ain’t a bonanza but I reckon we’ll be able to go on eatin’,” Sudden said. “Get
busy, cowboy.” Mason needed no urging. His saturnine companion might be
indifferent to wealth, but he himself wanted it; he had come
West
to get it, and now—there was another reason.

 
          
Drenched
with perspiration, aching in every limb, they stuck to their task until a red
glow in the sky announced that night was near. By this time the leathern sack
which contained their gleanings had grown appreciably in weight, and they
decided to call it a day.

 
          
“My
back’s like it had been broken an’ badly mended,” Sudden groaned, as he hoisted
himself into the saddle. “Go easy, yu black devil,” he chided, for Nigger,
having been idle all day, was disposed to be frolicsome.

 
          
“Yo’re
lucky,” Gerry told him. “Mine feels as if the mendin’ was still to do. How much
d’yu figure we got?”

 
          
“Dunno
,
mebbe Jacob has some scales.” He had, and the cowboys
watched with interest as he adjusted them and weighed the result of their
labour. Then he looked up with a little smile.