Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (4 page)

 
          
“Huh!
there’s
allus one way.”

 
          
“Yes.
Did you notice the butts of his guns?”

 
          
“Keeps his tally on ‘em, eh?”

 
          
“If
he did I wouldn’t think twice about him,” Lesurge said. “He’s a stranger and
doesn’t seem to have any business here.”

 
          
“
Them
cow-wrastlers drifts around considerable.”

 
          
“
True,
and we shall be on the move ourselves soon and quit of
them both.” In which Paul Lesurge, for once in his life, was wrong.

 
          
Snowy
possessed the doubtful distinction of owning the most dilapidated dug-out in
Wayside. Here, seated on rude stools, with the remains of a bottle of whisky—brought
by the visitor—between
them
, Paul Lesurge and the
tenant of the dug-out were conversing.

 
          
“Well,
that’s the position,” Paul said. “What do you think of it?” Snowy considered
for a while, sucking at a very excellent cigar with which he had been provided.
His dull eyes and hesitant articulation showed that he had not neglected the
liquid part of the entertainment. He shook his head.

 
          
“Seems
kind o’ tough to ring in a stranger on the gal,” he offered.
“A
nice-appearin’ lass, too.”

 
          
“It
will be doing her a service,” Lesurge pointed out. “I’ve searched all over and
this Ducane fellow hasn’t been heard of. What is she to do out here all alone,
and with no money?

 
          
But
with us to help her…” His alert mind forestalled the next question. “You see,
she wouldn’t trust strangers with what she regards as her uncle’s secret.”

 
          
“That’s
so,” the other agreed. “But she’ll expect me to know where this yer mine is.”

 
          
“You
have had an illness and it has left lapses in your memory,” Lesurge explained.

 
          
“You’ll
remember just enough about your father to gain her confidence—I can put you
wise to that.” The old man nodded approvingly. “I call that cute,” he said. “You
got this all figured out, mister. How d’you hear ‘bout her daddy bein’ bumped
off?”

 
          
“Miss
Ducane told me.”

 
          
“I
reckon he opened his mouth too wide,” Snowy reflected, and his eyes grew
cunning.

 
          
“Hadn’t
thought o’ that;
them
as got him might wanta get his
brother too. I ain’t honin’ to pass out.” Lesurge smiled; the old devil was
playing for better terms, therefore he meant to come in.

 
          
“We’ll
take care of you,” he assured. “We have to—you’ll be our big card. Think of it,
man; you’ll have more gold than you could spend in another lifetime, gold to
play with, gold to throw away.”

 
          
The
wizard word brought a fanatic gleam in the prospector’s half-shut eyes. “Gold—beautiful
red gold,” he mumbled, and then, “If we make
good
,
what about the gal?”

 
          
“She’ll
get her fair share, one-fourth, of course,” was the reply. “That’s fair, I
think, eh?”

 
          
The
old man’s assent was reluctant. “Shore, but it’ll be a lot o’ coin for a gal,”
he muttered.

 
          
“Well,
perhaps we can come to some arrangement,” Lesurge said. “I take it you’re
willing to join us?” Snowy snatched up the bottle. “Here’s life an’ luck to
Philip Ducane, seein’ I’m to be him,” he cried, and tipped the raw spirit down
his throat.

 
          
The
reckless act evidently spurred the younger man’s memory. “That’s one of the
things you’ll have to lay off a bit,” he warned. “I won’t stand for drunken
babblers.”

 
          
“See
here, mister,” Snowy said thickly. “I run away from home as a boy because I
wouldn’t take orders, I never have
took
‘em, an’ I ain’t
goin’ to start now. You come to me, I didn’t come to you. Pin that in yore hat
an’ take a peek at it times you feel too brash.” Lesurge bit his lip, inwardly
promising himself that he would get even with the cantankerous old crook. But
for the moment he must temporize.

 
          
“I’m
not giving orders, merely a piece of advice,” he said quietly. “And here’s
another: clean
yourself
up a bit—the girl won’t want
to be ashamed of her relative. All I’m asking you to remember is that a pile of
money is at stake.”

 
          
“When
d’you aim to break the glad tidin’s?” Snowy
asked,
a
suspicion of a jeer in his tone.

 
          
“In
the morning, but I’ll see you first and prime you in readiness.
Good-night.”
Holding on to his rickety door, the old man
watched him go, a grin of derision upon his unwashed features. Then he grabbed
the bottle, ruefully regarded the small quantity remaining, drained, and flung
it after the disappearing form of his visitor.

 
          
“To
hell with you an’ yore advice, Mister Lesurge,” he said shrilly. “I’ll do as I
damn please, but—I’m agoin’ to get that gold, an’ I ain’t trustin’ you—no, sir,
you got a mean eye an’ yore neck looks like it oughta have a rope round it.” He
dived again into his abode and the Pioneer Saloon missed his custom that night.
But it had that of Fagan, who made up for it so completely that Lesurge was
moved to caustic comment:

 
          
“With
two drunkards to help me I have a fine chance of putting over a big deal.”
Drink affects men in different ways; some it makes merry and genial; others,
ill-tempered and pugnacious; Fagan was of the latter type.

 
          
“How
long you been a blue-ribboner?” he growled. “I’ve seen you lit up off’n enough.”

 
          
Paul
Lesurge shrugged his shoulders. “I shall want you in the morning. If you are
not sober I shall not want you—anymore. You understand?” The cold, cutting tone
and the plain threat brought Fagan to his senses. With a nod of comprehension,
he pushed his glass away and stumbled out of the bar. He could not afford to
quarrel with Paul Lesurge—yet, but deep in his mean little soul he hated this
man so superior to himself, who never neglected an opportunity to vent upon him
his vitriolic spleen.

 
          
With
a sneering smile of satisfaction, Lesurge moved along the bar to where the two
cowboys were standing.

 
          
“Oh,
Mason, I want to thank you for assisting Miss Ducane on the journey here,” he
began easily. “What actually happened?” The cowboy gazed at him with steady but
hostile eyes; he did not like this well-dressed, good-looking stranger who had
spirited his travelling companion away, and he resented the patronizing air.

 
          
“Yu’d
better ask the fella who’s just gone out,” he replied.
“Claims
he’s a. friend o’ yores.”

 
          
“I
have employed him at times, but a friend, hardly,” Paul explained. “As regards
Miss Ducane, I do not think he will offend again. I—mentioned it.”

 
          
“I
had a word with him my own self,” Mason said grimly. “Yu don’t happen to be the
uncle Miss Ducane
come
in search of, do yu?” The
two-edged implication that he was either an old man or an interfering busybody
brought a flush of anger even to the adventurer’s impassive face, but he masked
his emotion and replied coolly:

 
          
“I
happen to know him, and I shall have the pleasure of bringing them together
to-morrow morning.” He reaped his revenge in full when he saw the crestfallen
look on the boy’s face; Lesurge had done what he had been hoping to do and the
girl would no longer have any need of his help or protection.

 
          
“That
let’s you out,” the other went on. “With her uncle and myself, the little lady
will be well looked after.” Having thus twisted the knife in the wound he
strolled away. Mason looked at his companion.

 
          
“Jim,”
he said. “Did yu ever wanta take a fella by the throat an’ slowly squeeze the
life out’n him?”

 
          
“Mustn’t
let angry li’l
tempers
rise, of timer; it’s a serious
matter to take a human life.”

 
          
“Who
was talking o’ that?” Mason retorted.

 
          
The
other’s eyes twinkled. “I gotta admit he does look awful like a skunk,” he
said.

 
          
Wayside
had a shock on the following morning when it saw Paul Lesurge, accompanied by
the man it knew as Snowy, enter the hotel. But it was not the Snowy they were
familiar with; this one had hair and beard trimmed to respectable proportions, and
his shirt was clean. The girl, forewarned, was awaiting them in the little
parlour. She rose as the two men entered. Lesurge effected a simple
introduction:

 
          
“Miss
Ducane, this is your father’s brother, Philip.” For some moments they studied
each other in silence, this slim, grave-eyed girl and the white-haired, wizened
old man. It was the latter who spoke first.

 
          
“So
you are George’s little lass, eh?” he said, and the high-pitched voice was
gentle. “You favour yore mother.” Her face lighted up. “You knew her, sir?” she
asked eagerly.

 
          
Snowy
nodded. “She was a bonny gal—I never seen a purtier —till now,” he added, with
a little smile. “Must be twenty-five year ago—las’ time I went
East
. I wanted George to jine me, but he’d just married an’
bought that land at Dent’s
Crossing
. Allus the
plodder, George; I was the rollin’ stone.” Her eyes were moist. “And when he
would have come …”

 
          
“Paul
told me,” Snowy said sadly. “Pore of Squint—I expect they still called him
that?”

 
          
“Yes,
but he didn’t mind.”

 
          
“Got
used to it, I reckon; but when I christened him that at school he gave me a
fine hidin’. But he thought a lot o’ me, George did, an’ even when I near
knocked his left eye out with a hoe he told Dad he
fell
off’n a fence to save me. Why didn’t he answer my letter?”

 
          
“But
he did,” she protested. “A few weeks before he—died, he wrote saying he was
selling the farm and coming to join you here.” Snowy shook his head. “Guess it
got lost, mails bein’ as uncertain as females in these parts.” He chuckled at
his little joke. Unnoticed by the girl, Lesurge had tapped his own forehead. “Or
mebbe I disremembered,” he went on. “You see, my dear, some years back I had a
bad sickness an’ since then my memory plays me pranks. Times I even forget—” a
warning shake of the head from the other man pulled him up—“my own name. I’m ‘mowed
here as
Snowy
, ‘count o’ my white hair. Some folks
figure I’m loco, but you know that ain’t so, don’t you, Paul?”

 
          
“Of
course, Phil,” Lesurge smiled. “It’s just jealousy, because you have seen so
much more of the world.” In an undertone to the girl, he added, “He’s a bit
eccentric, especially when his memory fails, and the ignorant settlers here
have but one explanation for that, but he’s quite harmless.”

 
          
“I’m
sure of it,” Mary said warmly. “I must try and make up to him for all he has
suffered.

 
          
I
can never be sufficiently grateful to you for discovering my uncle; it solves
all my difficulties, and I might never have found him.” The feeling in her low
sweet voice stirred the man’s cold pulses and brought an eager gleam into his
dark eyes.

 
          
“It
will always be a pleasure to serve you,” he replied. “I am taking Phil away
now, but we’ll meet again this afternoon and discuss plans.” Outside the hotel
the old man glanced at his companion and slyly asked, “How’d I do it?”