Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (37 page)

 
          
Then
he saw the unconscious girl move, but ere he could get to her, someone sprang
past him and lifted her in his arms. She opened her eyes, and there was no
mistaking the message in them.

 
          
“Oh,
Gerry, thank God it’s you,” she murmured, and her head sank contentedly on his
shoulder.

 
          
They
passed the puncher as though he had not been there, and the proud light on the
boy’s face was something to see. Sudden’s own gaze rested on a point farther
along the ledge, his harsh expression softened, and with something like a sigh,
he holstered his weapon and went to meet his friends.

 
          
**

 
          
Later,
the bodies of Lesurge and his victim were found and buried; the woman had been
shot through the heart and the fall had not marred her beauty. Sudden wrapped
her in his own blanket, laid her gently in the grave, and turned away. He had
been drilled in a hard school, but he was young and Mary Ducane did not arrive
till all was over, Gerry having—at Sudden’s suggestion—contrived that they
should fall behind. On the way he asked the lover’s inevitable question and got
the age-old answer.

 
          
“From
the first day, but I was—dazzled,” the girl confessed shyly. “I think I really
knew that time you bullied me—in the street.” Gerry’s grin was graceless. “I
shore declared myself,” he chuckled.

 
          
“Did
you—mean it?” she asked, almost inaudibly. His reply left her breathless.

 
          
It
was a quiet but contented company round the camp-fire when the shadows
gathered.

 
          
Rogers
was the first to break the silence.

 
          
“Place
looks kind o’ lonesome without the of Rockin’ stone. I had a peek at the mine;
I figure she’s a total loss.”

 
          
“Not
for us, thanks to Jim,” Snowy said. “There oughta be a grubstake for each of
us, eh, Mary?” The girl looked up; she was sitting next to him, and very close
to Gerry. It was evident that her mind had not been on such a mundane matter as
money.

 
          
“Whatever
there is will be equally divided, of course,” she replied.

 
          
Protest
greeted her decision; she was not being fair to herself, and they would not
hear of it. In vain she pleaded that they had done everything, and she nothing.
Jacob alone took no part in the discussion, listening with a smiling interest.
Presently he said quietly:

 
          
“Might
I suggest that this is a matter for the owner of the mine to settle?” They
stared at him in amaze, all save the prospector, upon whom his eyes were fixed.
“Come, Ducane, don’t you think you’ve played ‘possum long enough?” The old man
bent forward, his bright little eyes scanning the other closely. “Never met up
with anybody o’ yore name,” he muttered.

 
          
“But
you knew a Jake Holway at the Bluebird diggings in California.” Snowy
straightened. “The Professor,” he said.

 
          
Jacob
nodded. “I was almost fresh from college and my manner of speech earned me the
title. And you were Mad Phil’—willin’ to take any chance, even in those wild
days. I recognized you in Deadwood, but a man usually has a reason for hiding
his identity.” Mary slid an arm round the old man’s shoulders. “I’m so glad,
Uncle Phil,” she whispered, “but it doesn’t make a bit of difference—really.”

 
          
“I
s’pose I gotta own up, though I was meanin’ to let the cards go as they lay,”
Snowy told them. “You see, back at Wayside—where nobody knowed my real name—I
was waitin’ for my brother. Lesurge shows up an’ goes nosin’ round for Philip
Ducane. Me bein’ of a suspicious nature, he don’t find him. When, later, he
puts his proposition to me,
a fella don’t
need more’n
hoss-sense to savvy the game. Fagan had got wind o’ my letter, tried for it, an’
failed, George—who used to be a careless cuss ‘bout his own affairs—havin’
destroyed it.” He paused and looked at the girl.

 
          
“Yes,
it was my idea,” she admitted. “I was afraid of …”

 
          
“So
they had to plan different,” Snowy went on hurriedly. “Fagan tags along with
Mary to Wayside, where Lesurge takes charge. Havin’ made shore—as he believes—that
Philip Ducane ain’t around, he hits on the dodge o’ puttin’ up a dummy, an’ he
certainly picked the right man.”

 
          
His
eyes twinkled. “Well, I agreed to pertend to be myself. It warn’t easy, ‘
specially
when I found what a sweet—” Gerry lost the hand he
had been holding; it went to close the speaker’s mouth.

 
          
“Yu
done a good job,” Sudden grinned. “I dunno as I’ll ever believe yu any more.
Took us all in, ‘cept
Jacob,
an’ he’s a clam.”

 
          
“What
a man calls himself, that’s his business,” the gold-dealer defended. “I too was
sailing under false colours.”

 
          
“I
didn’t suspect, but—after the exposure—I wondered how you knew I resembled my
mother,” Mary said softly.

 
          
“I
near slipped up there,” Snowy confessed. “Lesurge wondered too. I had to
explain that it was a compliment any girl would ‘preciate. I got full marks
from him for that. But it happened to be true.” I dunno as I’ll ever believe
you any more either,” she told him, and her mimicry of the puncher made them
all laugh.

 
          
“I
reckon you know the rest,” the old man continued. “I let Paul play his game
while I collected a few friends to help me beat it. He smiled round on them. “I’m
sayin’ no man ever got better, an’ it was
a durn
’ good
day for us when Jim drifted into Wayside.” A chorus of approval greeted the
statement, but the recipient of the praise might have been sitting on a cactus.

 
          
“Shucks,”
he said. “If yo’re all goin’ to talk foolish, I’m turn-in’ in.”

 
          
“There’s
one thing we have to decide,” Jacob reminded. “What are we to tell Deadwood?”

 
          
No
one spoke, but all eyes went to the man upon whom they instinctively relied for
leadership.

 
          
The
cowboy did not fail them. -

 
          
“Anybody
honin’ to go back there?” he asked, and getting no response, went on,

 
          
“Explanations
would shorely be—difficult. Why not head for Laramie? There’s a risk o’ runnin’
into redskins but we’re well-armed an’ mounted; I guess we can get through.” So
it was decided.

 
          
The
note was addressed to Gerry, and he knew instantly that he had lost a friend.
The journey from the Rocking Stone had been safely accomplished, and by the
time it ended, plans for the future made. Snowy, Mason and Mary were travelling
East in search of a ranch, and the others were going with them, for a while, at
least. Sudden only, would give no promise. The missive was brief: DEAR GERRY,
This is to tell yu all good-bye. I couldn’t face it, so I’ve played coward an’
run away. I ain’t wishin’ yu happiness—
yo’re
takin’
it with yu. Good Luck. JIM

 
          
“Ol’
son-of-a-gun,” the boy muttered. “I’m shore proud to ‘a’ knowed you.”

 
          
Miles
out of Laramie, as the climbing sun painted the sky red and gold, a rider on a
big black horse loped steadily southward. The air was sharp and laden with the
pungent breath of the pine-trees. The grass was gem-studded with dew. Birds
chirped and whistled in the branches overhead, rabbits scudded away at his
approach, and once, a grateful doe crashed into the undergrowth and turned to
gaze, with startled, gentle eyes, at the strange intruder on her solitude.

 
          
The
rider noticed none of these things. He was visioning a different scene; a
woman, young and lovely, curled up on a bed of dead leaves, a cheek pillowed on
one palm, a half-smile on her rosy lips, asleep in the wilderness, while he
watched.

 
          
The
End