Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (11 page)

 
          
“Why
did you come to Deadwood, Paul?” he asked.

 
          
“To
mind my own business, Reuben,”
came
the cool retort.
“And, incidentally, to double your fortune.”

 
          
“Up
to now I done nothin’ but pay out,” the other grumbled.

 
          
“You
can’t expect to reap unless you sow,” was all the comfort he received. “The
harvest will be heavy. Listen. Sooner or later, the Government must recognize
the settlement. If it finds Deadwood an organized, well-equipped city, under
efficient leadership, it will leave the man who has brought it about in charge,
may even give him a governor ship. You have to be that man. Get control of the
place,
hold all the strings, but to do that you must be
firm, implacable, prepared to crush opposition of any kind.” Stark’s eyes
glowed at the alluring prospect, for next to
gold,
he
loved power, and was a bully by nature. But he was not entirely a fool.

 
          
“An’
where do you come in, Paul?” he inquired.

 
          
“You’ll
need me,” was the smiling answer. “And you’ll have so much to give away—offices,
town-sites, mining rights, plenty of pickings for the friends who have helped
you, believe me.”

 
          
“You
shall have whatever you want, Paul, if we can put it over,” Stark said—promises
were cheap unless one kept them. “We’ll make this a place to be proud of.” The
boast recurred to Lesurge as he made his way home. “And that damned fool
swallowed it like his mother’s milk,” he told the darkness.

 
          
For
he did not, as yet, at all believe In the flne picture he had painted for
Reuben Stark’s edification, and had no intention of helping him to make it a
reality. Once he had obtained what he wanted, Deadwood might rot for all he
cared. He had come there with the primary object of stealing Ducane’s mine; the
place had revealed other possibilities and he selected Stark. His agile,
crooked mind quickly evolved the bait which would enable him to use, and at the
same time, fleece the ambitious, grasping saloonkeeper. There would be
obstacles, of course, but Stark would remove them at his own expense.

 
          
He
found Lora waiting up for him.

 
          
“When
are you going to find the mine and finish with that drunken lunatic and the
girl?” she asked. “I’m weary of being cooped up in this damned shack, talking
high-toned, and having no amusement.” Paul looked at her beautiful, petulant
face, and nodded.

 
          
“I
know it must be slow for you, but it is only for a time,” he said. “It isn’t
just a matter of a mine, which may turn out to be a madman’s myth after all.
Deadwood is full of mines and Reuben Stark is one of them—perhaps the richest
from our point of view. This time it will be a clean-up, and it means a
million, so be patient.”

 
          
“Tell
me the old, old story,” she hummed, and laughed at the black look he gave her.

 
          
“Oh,
all right, I’ll be good,” she promised. “But it’s deadly dull playing nurse to
that kid.

 
          
I’ve
seen your cowboy, Green. He’s not as handsome as Hickok, but he has a face most
women would like to see more than once, and he appears—capable.”

 
          
“Don’t
fall in love with him—yet,” Lesurge warned. “It might be a waste of time.”

 
          
“No
danger of that,” she retorted. “When I make a fool of myself it will be for
something more than youth and good looks; I’m tired of living on expectations.”

 
          
For
a week after the interview with Hickok the two friends had kept away from the
town.

 
          
Their
little stream and its banks provided them with a moderate but steady addition
to their store of gold, and despite Gerry’s frequent suggestions that they
should search for richer ground, Sudden declined to budge.

 
          
“‘Let
well alone’ is one damn good motto,” he said. “We ain’t doin’ so bad an’ we’re
handy to home—an’ Snowy.” This closed the argument, for Gerry still cherished
the hope that the old prospector would come or send for them if Miss Ducane
were in danger. So they toiled at their task, hating the work but, being
cowboys, doing it as well as they could. On this particular evening they felt
that some relaxation was due. When they mentioned this to Jacoo, he remarked
casually:

 
          
“There
are some new faces in town. Ever heard of a man named Lefty Logan?” They had
not, and said as much. “He’s a gunman from California,” the old man went on. “Has
a trick of starting to go for his right-hand gun and then using the other.”

 
          
“
A fool play
to watch hands,” Sudden commented. “Fella’s eyes
are the pointers.”

 
          
“He’s
acquainted with Berg,” Jacob added. “I saw them a week ago in the Monte, but
Logan has spent the last few evenings at the Paris. Possibly he didn’t find
what he wanted at Stark’s.”

 
          
“Mebbe
he’ll have better luck tonight,” Sudden told him. “C’mon, cowboy, let’s go an’
hit the high spots.”

 
          
“What
about passin’ up Bizet’s this evenin’?” Gerry suggested when they reached that
establishment.
“Plenty other joints.”

 
          
“Mebbe,
but I’m curious to see this Lefty person,” Sudden said, and pushed through the
door.

 
          
At
their entry the clamour almost died away; eyes followed them as they stepped to
the bar; Logan had been talking. There was menace in the atmosphere and that
instinctive intuition which comes to those who tread perilous paths warned the
puncher of impending danger.

 
          
“My
fren’s, I am glad to see you,” Bizet greeted, but his expression belied the
words.

 
          
“Damned
if yu look it,” Sudden smiled. “I’d say a coupla rattlers would be more
welcome.” The Frenchman shrugged. “It is true—I lie,” he admitted.

 
          
“What’s
bitin’ yu?” Mason asked. “What we done?”

 
          
“Ah,
it is not you, my fren’s,” the little man cried. “I keep de saloon. I must
serve anyone.

 
          
For
three, four nights I have a customer I no like. He have de beeg mouth, he brag,
he have keel ten men, he make de threat.” The door swung back and Bizet spat
out an oath. “Sacre, I hope he not
come
.” He slipped
away.

 
          
With
a swaggering air which was in itself offensive, the newcomer sauntered to the
bar, called for liquor, and turning, surveyed the company insolently. He was
not yet forty, of medium build, and his shabby attire was that of the range.
Two heavy guns hung low on his hips, the holsters tied. The pushed-
back,
battered Stetson revealed a pale, dissipated face,
washed-out greenish eyes, and a sneering slit of a mouth.

 
          
Standing
a few yards from the cowboys, he appeared to take no notice of them, but Sudden
knew he was being watched and weighed, that this was the killer from
California, and that presently … Outwardly calm, he was filled with a cold rage
against this man who had come to take his life for no reason save the sordid
one of gain. He went on talking to Gerry.

 
          
“When
he makes his play, duck out,” he said.
“No sense in takin’ a
pill that ain’t meant for yu.”
The boy nodded miserably; his nerve would
have been steadier had the peril been personal.

 
          
He
could not keep his eyes from that sinister figure lounging against the bar.
Tense moments ticked by, and then, having apparently come to a decision, Logan
straightened up and raised his glass.

 
          
“Here’s
to yaller,” he barked.
“Yaller liquor, yaller metal,
yaller-haired gals, an’ to hell with green.”
The words struck the room
to silence; the mutter of voices, chink of coins, click of poker chips and
flipping of cards ceased, and the only sound was the scrape of a foot as someone
behind the speaker hurriedly changed his position. Breathlessly the onlookers
waited for the cowboy’s answer to the challenge; it proved a surprise.

 
          
“My
name is Green,” Sudden said quietly. “Yu wouldn’t know that, o’ course.” He was
offering a way out and a few of those present smiled contemptuously. But some,
studying the set jaw and ice-cold eyes, divined the truth; this man would not
slay until he was sure there was no other way. Logan, certain that his opponent
was weakening, had no intention of withdrawing; he had a job to do and his evil
face lit up as he rasped:

 
          
“Shore
I knew it, an’ I’m sayin’ again, to hell with green.” His right hand, fingers
outspread like talons, dropped down, but at the same time, the left hand
flashed the gun on the other side from the holster only to let it clatter on
the board floor as, with wide eyes and sagging knees, he pitched forward to
sprawl beside it. Through the cloud of acrid smoke Sudden stared at the body
for a moment and then replaced his pistol.

 
          
The
excitement was soon over. Fatal affrays were frequent enough and Deadwood did
not allow them to interfere with the more important business or getting, and
getting rid or, gold. The corpse was carried away, the company resumed its
various amusements, and the incident became no more than a topic for
conversation.

 
          
The
cowboys left almost at once but it was not until they were nearing their
dwelling that either spoke. Then Gerry said:

 
          
“Yu
ain’t much older’n me, Jim; how in hell did yu get to handle a six-gun like
that?”

 
          
“Shootin’
was allus easy to me,” Sudden replied, and after a silence, “If he hadn’t
gambled on that trick
… ”
He paused again. “I gave him
a chance.”

 
          
“Which
was more than he deserved,” the boy said. “He got what he asked for.” Jacob met
them at the door and his face rightened when he saw two figures step out of the
gloom.

 
          
“I
am glad to see you both,” he said, and there was the slightest stress of the
last word.

 
          
His
mild gaze rested on them. “The danger is past?”

 
          
“This
particular one won’t rise again till Gabriel toots his horn,” Sudden replied
grimly, and went to their room. The old man looked inquiringly at Mason.

 
          
“Logan
baited him and pulled his gun; Jim got him before he could fire. I never see
anythin’ like it. Jim was as unconcerned as the corpse at a buryin’. One shot,
plumb through the heart.” There was awe in his tone. “No wonder they call him
`Sudden’.”

 
          
“Jim
is takin’ it pretty hard, dunno why, a skunk like that.”

 
          
“Save
to the utterly depraved, the letting of a human life, however necessary, is not
a subject for pride,” came the mild reproof. “You boys will need to be on the
alert; the people who set this slayer on will try again.”

 
          
“Yu
know who they are?” Gerry asked.

 
          
“Not
yet, but I shall,” was the reply.

 
          
And
with that Mason had to be content.

 
          
It
was on the following morning that something for which Gerry had long been
hoping,
happened—he met Mary Ducane. One swift glance and
she looked away. Hat in hand, he stepped directly in her path.

 
          
“Yu
don’t seem pleased to see me, Miss Ducane,” he said, and there was
determination in his tone.

 
          
“It
is your own fault if I am not,” she replied coldly, for she was conscious that
the sight of him stirred her and that she had missed this pleasant-faced boy
who had done so much to make the long passage across the plains endurable.