Sudden Goldseeker

"Where's the need?" Husky rejoined. "Why, you're wearin' the very duds you did the deeds in, an' your black's out in the corral."

"An' has oeen there the whole while Jim was absent," Gerry protested.

"Shut yore face," another man said angrily. "I dunno as you ain't in with him; we oughta string up the pair of you." Sudden stood up. "Keep outa this, Gerry," he said, and to Husky, "Once before yu nearly hanged an innocent man. Yo're goin' to do the same again. I can prove my story if yu give me time...."

"To git yore friends to lie for you, like yore pardner did," chimed in a vicious voice which somehow seemed familiar.

Sudden looked at the speaker--youngish, black-jowled, with a cast in one eye which lent his features a peculiarly malignant expression, but he could not place him. The sneer evoked a chorus of approval.

"Git on with the job--we're wasting time," said one. "Yeah, an' time's money an' I'm busted," added another, at which there was a guffaw.

Unable to resist, the prisoner found himself being hustled into the open. He had seen mob law at work and knew that, convinced of his guilt, he was doomed unless some miracle happened. A yell of execration from the hundreds who had been unable to get into the cabin, greeted his appearance and men scrambled for points of vantage to see him, though he must have been a familiar figure to most of them. Down the street he was marched until a teamster's wagon barred the way.

"Take yore beasts out, friend," Husky said. "We're borryin' yore wagon for a while."

"What you want with it?" the fellow asked.

"Aimin' to stretch this hombre's neck," the miner replied, jerking a thumb at the condemned. "Got no time to build a gallows." Willing hands helped to unyoke the oxen and up-end the pole. Then Husky turned to the puncher.

"Got anythin' to say?" he asked.

* * On the morning after her return, Lora was alone in the parlour with her brother, for, too prostrated even to eat, she had gone straight to bed on reaching home. The relation of her experience brought a look of bewilderment to his face.

"Who the devil can these men be?" he asked. "And what did they want with you?"

"I don't know, but their leader threatened to torture me to make Green tell," she replied.

"Snowy keeps his tongue too well oiled," Paul said angrily. "The man who took you was dressed like Green and rode a black. Are you sure it was not Green?"

"Naturally," she said sarcastically, "since the cowboy was tied up in camp when I arrived with my captor."

"Settles that, of course," he admitted. "You can't describe this fellow--Hank?" She shook her head. "Medium height and build, with a throaty voice which may have been due to the handkerchief over his mouth."

"So, when you escaped, you spent the night in the woods with Green?"

"Certainly, there being no alternative save the outlaws."

"Did he make love to you?" She laughed disdainfully. "My dear Paul, no man makes love to me without my permission. He conducted himself like a gentleman."

"Which was a disappointment, no doubt?" The gibe sent the blood into her cheeks. Looking him directly in the face, she said fiercely: "Yes." Though he did not believe it, the defiant manner made him sorry he had hurt her. He began to say so, but she shrugged an impatient shoulder.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "You resemble Snowy, only your tongue is too well ground. Is there any news?"

"Some more miners have been killed and robbed by a man in cowboy clothes, riding a black horse." Her eyes went wide. "Why, that must have been he--the man who nearly strangled me. I heard a shot just before I saw him."

"The miners are taking it pretty hard." A deep-throated bellow, like distant thunder, came to their ears.

"What on earth is that?" Lora wondered.

Snowy, flinging open the door, answered the question:

"Hey, Paul, the town's gone mad. They've got Green an' are goin' to string him up right now; they claim he's the prowlin' skunk who's been wipin"em out." Lora's face went deathly white. "My God, we must do something, Paul," she cried. "He's innocent--and useful," she added, noting the odd look in his eyes.

"Certainly we must," he said, "but there's no need for you to figure in it--yet."

"I'm coming with you," she stated. "I owe him that, at least. Besides, it will put him under an obligation."

"You gotta hurry, there ain't a second to lose," Snowy urged.

Just as they reached the outskirts of the crowd, Wild Billstrode up. The gunman's usually placid face was set and stern. "Make way, friends," he said quietly.

The outer fringe of the gathering consisted largely of men who, not being miners, were merely there out of curiosity, and when they saw from whom the request came, they made way readily enough. Paul and his companions followed on Hickok's heels. As they neared the wagon, progress became more difficult. Lowering looks on all sides greeted them, and then came a flat refusal.

"If yo're gamblin' on a rescue, Bill, you'll lose out," growled a beetle-browed miner, one of several barring their path. "If you ain't, well, they'll be jerkin' him up in two-three minutes an' you'll git as good a view as the rest of us."

"I never ask twice," Hickok said.

He made no hostile movement, the ivory-handled guns remained in their holsters, his voice was not raised, but the threat was there, and they knew well enough it was no empty one; he would shoot them down; the rest of the mob could overwhelm and tear him to bits, but that would not put the breath back into their bodies. Sullenly they pressed aside, permitting the gunman and those with him to reach the wagon.

Sudden, standing under the upraised pole, with the noose already round his neck, was waiting for the word which would for him spell the beginning of eternity. His hard young face was devoid of expression save for the eyes, scornful and defiant, staring fixedly at the man who would give the fatal sign. This was Husky, and he had begun to raise a hand when Hickok sprang on to the wagon. But at the sight of the pistol-barrel nudging the new-corner's hip and pointing directly to himself, the miner's arm dropped nervelessly. A savage howl of protest greeted the gunman's intervention, to die away in low, angry muttering when Husky spoke:

"See here, Bill, when was you app'inted marshal o' Deadwood?"

"About the same time yu were made hangman," Hickok retorted. "Take that rope off; yu've got the wrong fella." Husky looked uneasy. "Can you prove it?" he asked.

"Yes, an' if I couldn't yu'd do what I say or die before he did," Wild Bill snapped.

"Yo're takin' a high hand," the miner grumbled. "There's others have a say in this." He raised his voice. "Am I to turn him loose, boys?" A babel of expostulation followed the question. "Turn him off, not loose," one wit shouted, and the phrase was taken up and repeated. Mingled with it were invitations to Hickok to mind his own business, and to try a warmer climate. "Go ahead, Husky; we're behind you," others cried.

Erect on the wagon, the object of this outburst listened with an expression of cold contempt. At the last piece of encouragement, however, a wisp of a smile broke the straight lines of his lips. He knew that was Husky's trouble; had he been behind he would have shouted as boldly as the best, but stopping the first bullet was something different.

"Yo're a plucky lot, ain't yu?" he said. "Hundreds of yu to hang a man without givin' him a chance to speak."

"That ain't so--he's said his piece," Husky corrected. "Claims he was carried off by a gang an' held in the hills somewheres. Sounds likely, don't it?" Lora Lesurge stepped to Hickok's side. "It may not sound likely, sir, but it happens to be true," she said, in a clear, reaching voice. "As many of you know, I too have been `lost' for some days. I was set upon, half-throttled, and carried off by a man attired as a cowboy mounted on a black pony. He took me to a kind of camp, where I found Mister Green, bound hand and foot, when I arrived. He did not leave until we got away."

"How fur is thisyer camp, an' where?" Husky asked, with an air of disbelief.

"I have no idea," she replied. "It took us a day to get back to Deadwood, but we started in the dark, and did not know the direction. Also, it was rough country and I fear I am a poor walker."

"You were with Green allatime?" a voice inquired sneeringly.

"I have said so," she returned, her face white and cold as marble. "Mister Green told me they had taken his hat, chaps and guns. He could not understand why, but it is clear enough now." Husky scratched his head. "He's wearin' 'em," he said, and she had to explain how Sudden had regained his property.

The sneering voice from the middle of the throng spoke again.

"Oh, she's got it all pat, or-timer. I told you his friends would lie him out of it." Wild Bill's narrow eyes swept the gathering. "Who said that?" he thundered. "Let him step forward; I'd like to see him." There was no response; evidently the speaker had no desire to gratify the gunman's curiosity. Wild Bill looked at Husky. "Well?" he said impatiently.

The miner made a last effort. "Why didn't you tell us 'bout Miss Lesurge?" he asked the prisoner.

"Why the devil should I?" the puncher retorted. "It was none o' yore business." The man grimaced. "I'm allowin' it was yore neck," he said. "An' yu wouldn't have listened either," Sudden told him. "Yu ain't believin' it now."

"He'd better," Hickok exploded. "Husky, do I have to tell yu again to set Green free?" The man removed the rope. "I guess we'll hold him till we search out that camp," he said.

Wild Bill boiled over. "I--guess--yu--will--not," he grated. "Cut those bonds an' be damned quick about it." He drew himself up and surveyed the swarm of upturned, sullen faces. "Is there anyone here who wants to call this lady a liar?" he demanded. Silence followed the challenge, and he turned sardonically to the miner. "Yu 'pear to be the on'y one," he said. "Now, get this; Green won't run away; if he does, yu can swing me in his stead." There was a laugh at this. With the mercurial quality of a mob, many of those present now believed in the innocence of the accused. Hickok's reputation as straight was generally conceded, Paul Lesurge was a figure in the town, and the Westerner--rough as he might he--was usually chivalrous to any women.

Without waiting for a reply, the gunman jumped lightly from the vehicle and stretching up his long arms, swung the lady to the ground, and bowed to her, hat in hand.

"I compliment yu on yore courage, ma'am," he said.

"Coming from you I must even believe it, sir," she smiled, and turned to greet the cowboy, her face grave again.

"I don't know whether to thank or scold you," she began. "By good fortune we came in time--it would have been a horrible memory ... Why didn't you tell them about me?"

"It wouldn't have helped," he told her. "Things looked bad; friend Hank had it figured pretty neat." Lesurge joined them. "Green, I owe you a great deal for getting my sister out of that mess," he said, but there was no cordiality in his tone.

"I was gettin' myself out," the cowboy replied, "an' Miss Lesurge has more'n evened the score." The lady shook her head. "My part was easy." At this moment Gerry appeared, with Rogers and his partners, all carrying rifles. The young man whooped when he saw his friend.

"Saw I couldn't do nothin' so I slipped away to round up the boys," he explained. "Hoped we'd be in time to try some-thin'."

"I'm obliged," Sudden said gravely. "Thanks to Miss Lesurge an' Mister Hickok ..."

"She turned the trick," the gunman cut in, with an admiring glance at Lora. "I should have failed but for her testimony. All I did was to make 'em listen, an' I'm very glad yore friend Jacob routed me out."

"I wondered where the of boy had gone," Gerry remarked. "He vanished when they collared yu." Snowy sidled up to the puncher. "I've heard how you wouldn't split about the mine, Jim," he whispered. "I'm not forgettin' that."

"Yeah," Sudden smiled, "an' I rememberin' that if yu hadn't fetched Miss Lesurge my friends would now be tellin' each other what a good fella I was." When Paul and his sister had gone, Hickok turned to the others and said, "I don't use liquor much, but Bizet fixes a mint-julep that pleases even me. Let's irrigate." The little Frenchman welcomed them with a broad smile, but wagged a finger at Sudden. "My fren', fortune she is fickle; one time she will fail you."

"I've been sayin' the same, Bizet," Wild Bill said. "He's playin' his luck too hard." And to the cowboy, "Yu remember what I told yu?"

"Yu said for me to keep clear o' the women," Sudden grinned. "An' a woman has saved me." The big man laughed. "That's a score to yu, but I'm repeatin' the advice," he said. "Someone is after yore ha'r; who is it?"

"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, butit 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."

CHAPTER XV

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 saloon-keeper 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 worth while?"

"Worth while?" 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 saloon-keeper 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."

"I'm relying on you, of course, Reub," Lesurge told him, and the other did not detect the hidden sneer.

* * * Fagan, on leaving Lesurge, had hurried back to the shanty where he had left his fellow-rogues. They were still there, and the bottle of whisky he had purchased on his way, insured his welcome.

"Fagan, yore an angel in disguise," Hank grinned. "But I'm bound to say the disguise is perfect," he added, helping himself liberally. "What's the news?"

"I've just left Paul--he wants to see you."

"The hell he does. Why?"

"I expect he's achin' to thank you for lettin' his sister loose," Rodd suggested.

Hank ignored the sarcasm. "He can go to blazes," he decided.

"Don't be seven sorts of a fool," Fagan snapped. "Would I push you into trouble? He thinks he can use you--it'll make you one of us. Can't you see what that means?"

"Makes a difference, o' course, but why pick on me?" Hank was clearly suspicious.

"Paul wants a few fellas what ain't finicky," Fagan explained. "Mebbe you can pull Lem in too; that'll fill our hand. Now do you savvy?"

"It's good, Hank," Berg exulted. "It's damned good. When does he want to see him, Fagan?"

"Mustn't be for a day, at least. You see I gotta find Hank first an' that ain't goin' to be too easy; unfortunately, Paul couldn't give me no description." A shout of laughter greeted the jest, and they filled their glasses and drank to the man they meant to cheat when the time was ripe.

Chapter XVI

Two evenings later Gerry and Jacob were engaged with the chess-beard and Sudden was looking on. The game was nearing the end, and the younger man was jubilant because it appeared that he must win. Then came a reverse. He had early captured his opponent's Queen, but by seemingly unimportant moves, Jacob had gradually pushed a pawn right across the board and now replaced the more powerful piece.

"Cuss it, I warn't noticin' that no 'count fella," Gerry lamented.

"Always watch the pawns, my friend, both in this and the game of life," the old man said. "They have--potentialities." He made a move, and went on, "How do you like mining?"

"It's mighty monotonous," Gerry grumbled. "Shovellin' an' washin' dirt allatime. I'd ruther be ropin' cattle; when one goes on the prod, yu get a change." Jacob smiled at Sudden. "The poor fellow is having a dull time," he said. "We must try to find him a little excitement." Someone knocked, opened the door, and entered; it was Paul Lesurge. He nodded to the cowboys, sat down, and looked at the gold-buyer.

"Have you put it to them?" he asked.

"No, I left that to you."

"Right," Lesurge replied, and turned to the younger men. "Here is the proposition: A coach with a load of gold is going East. It is supposed that it will start to-morrow evening, but actually it goes to-night. This is known only to those who are sending the stuff, like myself and our friend, Jacob. There will be no travellers save the driver and the express messenger--who will learn the starting time when it arrives. Originally, two well-armed riders were to follow the vehicle but some of the consignees think the convoy should be doubled, and Jacob mentioned your names."

"I'm afraid I took a liberty," the old man put in. "But--"

"Shucks," Sudden said gently, and waved him to silence.

"I told Stark that if he only wanted two men, Sudden would fit the bill," Lesurge smiled, "but he is of very limited intelligence. Personally, I don't apprehend much danger from roadagents--the secret has been well kept. When you reach Laramie, you can return. Now, what do you say?" The puncher did not reply at once; he was turning the matter over. He looked at Jacob, and received a slight nod. That decided him.

"We'll go yu," he agreed.

"Good," Lesurge said. "That means both of you, of course."

"I trail along with Jim, every time," Gerry told him. "Quite a David and Jonathan, eh? Well, that's all settled. Green, J want a private word with you." When they were outside, Lesurge said, "If the gold gets through this will put you in well with the men who matter in Deadwood. On the other hand, if someone has talked unwisely, you may meet with overwhelming odds, and fail. The gold will be lost, it is true, but you will have done your best and I'll see that you don't suffer--in any way. Understand?"

"I get yu," the puncher said.

"I made a mistake about you at first, Green," the oily voice went on. "You're no fool. A hundred thousand is a lot of money but not worth one's life, when it belongs to other folk. Personally, I'd rather have a tenth of it and go on living." He laughed meaningly. "Be behind the Monte at ten. Good luck." He held out a hand, but the cowboy did not appear to notice it; his belt had slipped and required adjustment.

"We'll be there," he said.

When he returned to the room his face was enigmatical. "Just a few final directions," he explained.

"I'm grateful to you boys," Jacob said. "Practically all I possess will be in that consignment. Where does Lesurge get dust from, Jim?"

"Yu can search me," the puncher replied. "Buys it like yu do, grubstake miners as Stark does, or wins it at cards--there's plenty ways."

"Yes, of course," the other agreed, and, thoughtfully. "He doesn't like you."

"He was apologizin' just now for havin' misunderstood me," Sudden smiled.

"Then I'll bet a blue stack he's aimin' to play yu a shabby trick." This from Gerry.

"An' he wished me good luck."

"Which makes it a certainty. Jim, we'd better renig on that job."

"Shore, if yo're scared.--Awright, yu curly-headed calamity. I on'y said 'if.' Don't forget our friend here is relyin' on us."

"I wouldn't want you to run into danger on my account," Jacob said earnestly, "I'd sooner lose the gold."

"Easy, or-timer," Sudden grinned. A point occurred to him. "Yu didn't see the jaspers who are to ride with us?"

"No, but Lesurge referred to one as `Hank'."

"There yu are," Gerry chimed in triumphantly.

Sudden carefully inspected himself. "So I am," he said gravely. "Friend Paul ain't likely to be usin' the man who smouched his sister, an' if yu took a census o' this beeyutiful city yu'd probably round up fifty Hanks. Ever heard o' mares' nests, Gerry?"

"Yeah, an' I've heard o' damn idjuts who squinted down the barrel of a gun an' pulled the trigger to see if it was loaded," the young man retorted.

"Well, we'll hope it ain't--to-night," his friend said. He looked at the clock and spoke to Jacob. "We needn't to start yet. I've been watchin' this chess caper an' I'd like to try her out." The old man, who was an enthusiast, readily agreed, and they sat down, with Mason an interested spectator. The battle lasted for nearly an hour and then the cowboy made a move and said quietly, "I guess I got yu corralled, seh." His opponent studied the board for a moment and then smilingly admitted defeat.

"I rather pride myself on the brand of chess I can produce," he said, "and here I am, beaten by a beginner. My wits must be wandering this evening." He pondered for a while, recalling the stages of the game. "Why, hang it all, you were jockeying me into that position right along and I failed to see it. Young man, I feel more hopeful about my dust."

"Time we started," Sudden said. "Fetch the horses, Gerry, an' we'll need our rifles." When the boy had gone, he added quietly, "I'm afraid he's right--there's somethin' brewin', but it's too late to do any-thin'. We've no proof--gotta go through with it. Tell Hickok, an' watch out for yorself." He smiled. "We won't be here to look after yu."

"Don't worry about me," Jacob told me. "All I have to lose now will be with you." Behind the Monte they found the coach, the body of which, slung on its leather supports, contained only a pile of packages covered with a canvas sheet. Injun Joe, the rugged-faced old driver, was examining every strap and buckle of the harness of his team of six horses. The express messenger, a shot-gun between his knees, was already on the box, and a couple of horsemen, whose turned-down hat-brims partly concealed their faces, were waiting. Reuben Stark was giving instructions.

"Slide outa town at a walkin' pace," he said to the driver,who, satisfied that all was in order, now climbed to his seat. "The escort'!! catch you up."

"Don't hold 'em too long," Injun Joe warned. "Once I'm clear, I'll be travellin'. Sabe?" Creaking and rocking over the rough ground, the cumberous vehicle rolled away and was blotted out in the darkness. Sudden moved noiselessly to where the other men sat in their saddles and struck a match to light his cigarette. The tiny flare showed him a red wheal running up the cheek of the nearest rider.

"That's an ugly scar yu got, friend," he remarked. "Looks like yore bronc had piled yu into a cactus."

"Nothin' o' the sort," the man growled. "If it's any o' yore damn business, a Greasex slung a knife at me." Sudden flipped the match into the air, but not before he had caught the malevolent gleam in the fellow's eyes. He was a poor liar; the wound was ragged; a knife-blade would have made a clean cut.

"Wonder what he'd do if I called him 'Lem'?" he reflected.

Stark's voice, bidding them to be on their way, put an end to his meditations. The two strangers hung back, evidently intending that the other pair should precede them, but the puncher had different views.

"Go ahead," he said sharply. "We don't know the road." Muttering, they obeyed, and the cowboys followed. When out of the town, they quickened pace and soon caught up the coach. It was moving at a fair pace, considering the surface over which it had to pass--a mere trampled trail made by the heavy wheels of innumerable freight-wagons, but the driver knew it, and even in the darkness, could pick out familiar landmarks. They had climbed out of the gulch and the keen night air bit their faces and fingers. The all-embracing silence was broken only by the drum of horses' hoofs, the rattle of harness, and, at intervals, the long weird howl of a wolf, prowling somewhere behind the funereal walls of foliage which fenced them in.

Presently the obscuring clouds slid aside and the pale light of the moon enabled them to get a glimpse of the grandeur through which they were passing.

The cowboys, riding easily, were not concerned with the scenery; their eyes were on the bobbing backs of the pair in front and the jerking, bumping blob which was the coach, less than fifty yards ahead. They had met no one save two teamsters with a load of lumber, a few miles out of Deadwood. Sudden had stopped for a moment.

"Ain't seed a soul 'cept a party o' four fellas, headed for Laramie," one of them told him. "No, I didn't reckernize any of 'em, but one was a short, chunky sort o' chap."

"Which might describe friend Fagan," Sudden commented, when they had resumed their way.

"Lesurge wouldn't send a man knowed to be his," Gerry objected.

"Why not, if there's nobody left to spill the beans? He's figurin' we're on his side."

"Any use warnin' them two on the coach?"

"What can we tell 'em?--we've on'y got suspicions. They're watchin' for trouble a'ready--that's their job." At the foot of a long gradual slant, the sides of which were masked by dense brush, the driver pulled his team to a steady job-trot, and cursed fretfully:

"Blast this moon; makes fair targets of us."

"What you scared of?" the messenger asked, shifting his shot-gun so that it lay handily across his thighs.

"Ain't scared o' nothin'," Injun Joe snapped, "but I don't like the trip, an' I'd be a damn sight more pleased if them hombres behind was ridin' the other way."

"Pull up an' make 'em ride in front," the messenger suggested.

Before the other could reply, two spits of flame jetted from the shadows on either side of the trail and the leading horses went down, checking the coach with a jerk which almost overturned it. With a full-throated curse, the driver slammed his brake on, and the iron-shod wheels squealed like tortured souls; it was his last conscious act. A couple of sharp cracks and Injun Joe slipped limply to the footboard, while the express-man leaned forward to pitch headlong to the ground, his gun dropping beside him. An instant later, Sudden's Colt roared and the fellow with the scarred face gasped and fell from his saddle. His companion, with a blasphemous imprecation, spurred his mount and crashed into the undergrowth. The puncher sent a bullet after him.

"Hell, Jim, them jaspers are s'posed to be helpin' us," Gerry cried.

"Didn't yu see?" Sudden asked savagely. "Those skunks downed Joe an' the messenger, an' they'd 'a' got us if we'd been ahead. C'mon." Stooping in his saddle, he dashed for the coach, and Gerry followed. On the right and left pistols exploded in the brush and bullets whined past their ears.

Just as they approached the conveyance, a tall man on footappeared, running towards it from the front. Sudden fired, and the fellow staggered, spun round, and collapsed in an untidy heap.

"'Then there were four'," the cowboy quoted grimly. Anchored by the braked coach and the carcasses of the leaders, the other horses had overcome their frenzied fear and now stood, trembling, but comparatively quiet. Sudden had his plan ready.

"Shuck the harness off'n them dead broncs an' put our'n in their places," he directed. "I'll stand these devils off if they try to rush us." But the road-agents had apparently no such intention. Satisfied that the vehicle could not be moved, they were content to stay under cover and pot the cowboys at their ease. A friendly cloud had blanketed the moon and with his back to the dark blur of the coach, Sudden made a poor mark; also it was difficult for the hold-ups to see what Gerry was about. One glance told that young man the messenger was dead--a bullet had gone through the back of his head. Injun Joe was still breathing, and, with Sudden's help, he was placed inside the coach, room being found too for the body of the guard.

Spasmodic shots interrupted these operations; lead zipped past or thudded into the woodwork, but neither man was hit. Sudden replied, firing at the flashes, and a string of oaths told him that one of his bullets had found a billet. By the time the moon peeped out again, the new leaders were in position; the big black was restive and disposed to be rebellious but a word from his master brought submission.

A yell apprised them that the enemy had at length guessed their purpose, and the hum of hot lead drove the warning home. Not even waiting to return the fire, Sudden sprang to the driver's seat and grabbed the lines. In a second Gerry was beside him, the long lash hissed like a snake over the horses' heads, and the coach started with a jolt which nearly upset it as the near wheels climbed the corpses of the slain leaders.

A howl of rage came from the road-agents as they broke from cover and saw their prey escaping, and a few futile shots followed. The sharp crack of Sudden's whip was the only answer.

"There was four of 'em, an' one was limpin'," Gerry reported. "Think they'll follow?"

"Shore, they got horses, ain't they?" was the reply. "Yore rifle handy?"

"Yu betcha," Gerry told him. "Got the messenger's shotgun too an' she looks a dandy scatterer."

"Yu'll have to do the shootin'--it'll take me all my time to keep this damned contraption right way up." The thud of rounding hoofs sounded above the bang and rattle of the bouncing vehicle. Sudden did not look round; his gaze was glued to the dim trail he was trying to follow. "They're a comin'. Kneel on the seat but be ready to grab; it wouldn't do for yu to be shook off."

"I'm believin' yu," Gerry said, and meant it. The front wheels of the coach sprang into the air and bumped down, the back wheels following suit. Gerry clutched wildly and just saved himself. "Hell! what was that?" he gasped.

"I guess we went over a log-- didn't see her in time," the driver explained.

"Lucky I had my mouth shut or I'd 'a' lost my livers an' lights," Gerry grinned. "I shore thought we'd gone over the edge. Damn her, she's as lively as a young flea. Steady a bit, Jim, if yu can." A group of madly racing riders rounded a bend in the trail and yelped when they saw their quarry. Mason, his elbows resting on the roof of the coach, fired four shots and swore when he saw that he had palpably missed. Working the lever like a madman, he emptied the weapon and at last had the satisfaction of seeing a horse drop, but his whoop of triumph was cut short, for the rider got up and followed his friends on foot.

The pursuers were now within twenty yards and discarding his rifle, Gerry snatched up the shot-gun and let them have both barrels. The result was devastating--for the assailants. One of them fell forward on his horse's neck, leaning sideways, and was flung, a lifeless lump, to the ground. Another's mount stumbled and went down, the rider leaping to save himself from being crushed under the animal's body. The remaining horseman reined in and contented himself with ineffective shots at the vanishing vehicle.

"Reckon they've had a bellyful," Gerry exulted, as he rammed cartridges into the magazine of his Winchester. "There's three left, one of 'em crippled, an' they on'y got two ponies."

"Good work," Sudden said. "When we get a piece along we'll take a peek at Joe." Proceeding with a little more regard for safety, they pressed on, and presently, when a faint light began to spread behind the eastern summits, Sudden dragged his team to a stop wherethe trail crossed a shallow creek. A rumble of picturesque metaphor informed them that Injun Joe was anything but dead. In fact, when they opened the door of the coach, he heaved himself up, pistol levelled, and almost fell into their arms.

"Damn yore rotten hides," he said thickly. "I'll ..."

"Steady, ol'-timer," Sudden said, clutching the wavering weapon. "Yo're barkin' up the wrong tree." In a few words he set out the situation and the stage-driver's belligerent expression faded.

"Sorry, boys," he apologized. "So they got pore of Fuzzy, Satan singe their souls! When I come to an' saw his remainders bumpin' about beside me I figured we was goin' to our funerals an' wondered why the hearse-driver was in such a hell of a hurry. I bin yellin' at you for near an hour."

"This jerky ain't none silent," Sudden told him. "Where yu hurt?"

"Guess my shoulder's busted," Joe replied.

And so it proved. With the rough surgery of the range they bathed and bandaged the injury, and left the patient reclining on a bank while they watered and rubbed down the team. When all was ready for a resumption of the journey, Joe vehemently declined to travel inside.

"Which ridin' with a ruddy corpse ain't my idea o' enjoyment," was how he put it. "Prop me up atween you on the box; mebbe I c'n help, seein' I know the road." Since he would hear of nothing else, they had to give in, and having fixed him as comfortably as possible, Sudden cracked his whip and sent the coach splashing through the creek.

Chapter XVII

Watching the stage, with its coveted cargo, disappear in the distance, Hank and Fagan were constrained to call down curses on the men who had frustrated their hopes. Rodd, leaning against a tree to rest his damaged limb, eyed them sourly. "What's the use cussin'?" he said. "They've went. Come an' see to this damn leg--I'm bleedin' like a stuck hawg."

"Which is the on'y way you could bleed," Hank retorted. Nevertheless, they bound a handkerchief round the calf of his left leg, which a bullet had perforated. Then, having made sure that the fourth man was dead, they searched his pockets, callously flung the body into the brush, and took the back trail, one horse carrying two of them. At the scene of the hold-up, a welcome surprise awaited them--Lem was sitting by the roadside; the slug which they thought had killed him having merely cut a shallow groove along one side of his skull, "creased" him, in fact.

"Where's the coach?" was his first question.

They all told him, each ornamenting the story to his taste. The scarred face showed that he did not believe them.

"Five o' you let two get away with it?" he sneered. "I ain't swallerin' that."

"True, anyways, take it or leave it," Fagan replied. "Then yu must 'a' made a Gawd-a'mighty mess of it."

"We did, huh?" the squat man snarled. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got the messenger an' Hank drilled the driver," Lem reminded. "After that, it should 'a' bin easy. Paul won't be pleased."

"He warn't goin' to be, anyway," Rodd said meaningly. "But if we'd pulled it off that wouldn't 'a' mattered. It's his fault we failed--sendin' them other two."

"Stark did that," Fagan explained, and added a lurid hope concerning the saloon-keeper's future. "Lanky didn't have yore luck, I s'pose?"

"Dead as Adam," was the reply. "I drug him into the bushes, case anyone came along." There being nothing else to do, the other two horses were brought and the party headed for Deadwood, where they separated and entered by devious routes. Fagan went straight to the Lesurge cabin, where he found the owner alone.

"Well?" Paul said sharply.

"It ain't, the ruffian replied, and told his story.

Lesurge listened unmoved, much to the narrator's astonishment. He had come prepared for blame, angry recrimination, but the motionless mask, with its deep, dark eyes, told him nothing.

"So the cowboys got clear with the gold?" he said, when the tale was ended. "I thought they might." Fagan gaped at him. "You thought--then why in hell did you send 'em?" he burst out.

"For that purpose of course," Paul replied easily. Comprehension began to come to the dazed man. "They were workin' for you?"

"For us," Lesurge corrected. Fagan drew a deep breath; this man was too subtle for him. "Listen," the smooth voice went on. "Stark insisted on Green going, so I had a word with him."

"Did you let on about us?"

"No, that would have been too risky."

"Hell, Paul, didn't I tell you that those blasted cowboys wiped out two an' crippled another couple of our crowd?"

"Battles usually mean casualties."

"You didn't stop to think that one o' them corpses might 'a' been me?" Paul's smile was a sneer. "I trusted to your natural instinct for taking care of yourself," he said.

Fagan knew that he had been politely called a coward but he dared not resent it--then.

"You could 'a' put us wise, anyway," he complained. "S'pose we'd got Green?"

"I should have borne the loss with Christian fortitude, surprising as it would have seemed to me," was the reply.

"An' yo're expectin them fellas to come back an' tell you where the dust is?" Fagan asked incredulously.

"I am," Lesurge replied. "Curiously enough, though I hate him, I believe Green to be honest--to his employer."

"Did he promise to smouch the gold for you?"

"Not in so many words, but I think I made things clear."

"Too damned clear, I'd say, from the way he slung lead at us. Well, I hope he don't disappoint you; we're all busted."

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait, Fagan; I am almost down to bed-rock myself. Put your thinking-cap on; there should be--opportunities--to-night; everyone will be in town on account of the shooting."

"What shootin'?"

"Hickok was killed last night," Paul said coolly, and disregarding his hearer's oath of amazement." He was playing poker in a saloon and by a careless oversight on his part, he was not facing the door. A fellow stepped in, put a gun to the back of Hickok's head, and fired. The bullet went right through and wounded the player sitting opposite." Fagan's question was practical. "Who done it?"

"A man named McCall, I'm told," Paul said carelessly. "I don't remember to have seen him. He claims that Hickok killed his brother."

"Does Berg know him?" Fagan asked, his squinting little eyes on the other's face.

It told him nothing. "Now you mention it, I believe he does, but if I were you, I wouldn't speak of it." Quietly spoken as the words were, they had an inflexion which made them bite, like drops of acid, into Fagan's brain. He knew what he wanted to know, but regretted his curiosity. Paul Lesurge had brought about the death of Wild Bill. Was that why Green had been got out of the way? It was more than possible. Who would be the next? He almost wished he had not returned to Deadwood, but after their failure there was nothing else to do. If only ... The cold voice was speaking again:

"It will be best to let the boys regard the gold as lost, you won't object to taking a bigger share, I presume? In the meantime, you must--help yourself." The casual, supercilious tone became hard, incisive. "Remember this, Fagan; the affair of the coach is known only to a few; keep your mouth shut or you'll--swing."

"But .not alone," the other snarled, driven beyond endurance.

In a flash Lesurge had him by the throat, his face pale with passion. "Are you threatening me, you dog?" he hissed. "Who would believe a word from you? By God! I've a mind to have you hanged in the morning...." Then the fury died out, his hand fell away, and he laughed. "I'm sorry, Fagan; we've known each other too long to fall out. It was my fault--nerves all ragged. Have a drink, and forget it." The liquor, and Paul's apparent contrition, smoothed the other's ruffled plumage for the moment, but outside the cabin his expression became ugly; Fagan was not one to forgive or forget.

* * * Reuben Stark, his eyes bulging, his bloated face purple, glared at the man who had just broken the bad news. Over a hundred thousand dollars, and the greater part had been his; it was a bitter blow.

"They got away with it?" he gasped. "But--how?"

"Shot the driver and express-man and drove off," Paul lied. "But, damnation, what were the other two fellas doin'?" the saloon-keeper exploded.

"One of them was lying in the road, stunned by a bullet from Green which was within an inch of killing him; the other gave chase, but with Mason firing at him from the coach, he was helpless."

"Green an' Mason," muttered Stark dejectedly. "The two

"You insisted on sending," Lesurge cut in cruelly. "You must let me have some money, Reuben. This robbery hits me hard, and my men did their best and must be paid. McCall too "

"I know nothin' o' that, Paul--I've never seen the fella," Stark snapped, glancing fearfully round the room. "Don't speak that name here." Lesurge shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "Everybody is speaking the name everywhere, but I'll call it a debt to Berg, if you like," he returned. "Of course, he'll get off."

"Shore, these damned gunmen have had their day," Stark replied. He threw over a roll of greenbacks. "I wish someone had served that swine Green the same way," he added vindictively, Paul pocketed the money. "Well, he won't trouble you any more, and with Hickok--removed--things are not going too badly," he consoled. "You can't hope for the luck to run your way all the time. Lora was asking about you." The pig-like eyes lighted up. "Was she now? Ain't seen her in weeks. Why don't you fetch her round to the Monte?"

"Well there's Miss Ducane, she isn't used to that sort of thing --yet. Maybe later ..."

"Glad to see Miss Lora any time," Stark said. "Mighty fine gal, yore sister, Paul; she'd make--"

"A good Queen of Deadwood, eh?" Lesurge finished. "I agree."

"Gawd, you said it--took the words right out'n my mouth," the fat man cried. "We must drink to that." For a moment, he had forgotten his losses. He filled two glasses and raised his own. "Here's hopin'," he said.

Lesurge honoured the toast, a satiric smile on his thin llps. "Wise men don't hope--they act," he remarked. "By the way, best not talk of that coach robbery, except to those concerned; you don't want to advertise failures." Stark assented, eagerly enough, and Paul left him almost good-tempered; he was seeing visions, and could she have shared them, Lora Lesurge would have been amused.

* * * On that same evening the disgruntled stage-robbers, reinforced by Berg, assembled in the shack where they usually met. Fagan had given them a mendacious account of his interview with their employer.

"Paul's powerful sick about it," he said. "He ain't blamin' us, but we'll have to wait for our pay--he's mighty near broke. He kind o' suggested that to-night'd be a good time to look around."

"Somethin' in that," Berg commented. "Town'll be full an' so there'll be a lot o' empty shacks."

"The one I have in mind'll be empty enough for us with them two cowboys out of it," Fagan said.

"Yo're right," Berg agreed. "The of Jew has been buyin' a deal o' dust lately--more'n he can carry about."

"Good. Slip out one by one an' wait for me outside his place," Fagan directed.

"Four'll be a-plenty," Berg excused. "You can do without me."

"Shorely," Hank grinned unpleasantly. "A quarter share suits me better." The little man began to protest but the other would not listen. "Yo're in, or out of it complete," he said roughly. "You dodged the last job."

"I had another to do," Berg snarled.

"Oh, yeah," came the sneer. "Tell us you downed Wild Bill."

"Mebbe--" Berg started, and then caught Fagan's warning frown--"I didn't, but I was workin' for all of us," he finished.

"An' now yo're going to do a spot for yoreself," Hank retorted. He went out, followed by Lem, and Rodd limped after them.

"You damned idjut," Fagan growled. "Why not say straight out that Paul had Hickok bumped off?" Berg's furtive face was sullen. "Did he now?" he asked. "I'll have to tell him you said so."

"Right an' order yore coffin at the same time," was the savage rejoinder. "Don't play with me, Berg; it ain't healthy. Git after the others." Unconscious of approaching peril, Jacob was bending over his cherished chess-board, intent on a problem, when a knock disturbed him. He opened the door and at once iron hands closed on his throat, choking his cry of alarm. His assailant, a short, powerful man, carried him into the cabin, shaking the frail figure as a terrier might a rat. He was followed by four others; all were masked. Flinging his burden against a wall, the first intruder pulled a pistol.

"Where's yore dust?" he demanded. "Speak or die." The old man did not flinch before the levelled weapon. "You are too late," he said quietly. "All I had went East in the coach last night."

"That's a lie," the ruffian roared, and Jacob felt the cold muzzle of the gun pressing against his forehead."It is the truth," he replied steadily.

"Then you can wish it good-bye," jeered another. "Yore cowboy friends has rustled the damned lot, coach an' all." A glint of a smile showed on the prisoner's pale face. Then he made what he would have called a bad move. "To know that, you must have been there," he said softly.

Fagan's face became furious. "Cut the cackle," he grated. "Where's yore gold?"

"Green and Mason are taking care of it," came the calm reply.

With venomous speed the pistol-barrel swung up and down, the victim's knees gave and he toppled to the floor, his out-flung arms sending the chess-men flying; a trickle of blood stained the white hair. Fagan gazed down upon the sprawling, limp form.

"I guess he won't interfere no more," he said. "Git busy, boys; the stuff's here somewheres." The scanty furniture was soon searched and hurled aside, the contents of a box scattered, and then Hank, who had tipped over the truckle-bed, uttered a grunt of satisfaction.

"Here's a short board," he said.

With the point of his knife, he prised it up, and chuckled at the sight of the tin canister in the hole below. Snatching it out, he lifted the lid and cursed when he saw only one small bag.

"A measly two-three ounces," he said disappointedly. "We'd oughta bin after it yestiddy."

"Which we was, an' missed it just the same," Lem reminded.

Rodd had been searching the senseless figure on the floor; he found only a few greenbacks, and some small change. The cowboys' room produced nothing.

"No use hangin' about here," Fagan decided. "Our luck seems to be dead out." One by one they disappeared into the darkness, leaving the cabin looking as though a tempest had passed through it, and in the midst of his broadcast belongings, the victim of their cupidity.

So Rogers found him later, and having doctored the hurt --an ugly scalp wound--to the best of his ability, got the old man to bed and straightened up the place. It was some hours ere Jacob recovered sufficiently to explain, and he did not tell all he knew.

"Must 'a' been someone who knowed Jim an' his pardner warn't here--wouldn't 'a' tried it else," the miner decided. "Me an' the boys'll camp with you till they're back."

"That's good of you, Rogers, but they know there's nothing here now," the patient protested.

"Shore, but other skunks don't, an' Deadwood's full of 'em," was the reply. "On that, you'll need nussin'. If Jim comes back an' finds we ain't looked after you he'll crawl our humps good an' plenty."

"I can't picture you afraid of anyone," the gold-buyer smiled.

"You got me wrong," Rogers said. "If Jim invited me to pull my gun I'd do it an' go to hell with my self-respect, anyways. But he's white, an' I'd hate for him to be disappointed in me. Sabe?" Jacob looked at the rough, hard face and smiled again. "I know, my friend," he said gently. "A white man. That is saying it all. I'd ask for no better epitaph." He was silent for a while, thinking, and then he turned to Rogers.

"Listen. I am not much hurt--just a broken head, but I intend to lie low and let it be thought serious," he said. "When d'you figure the boys'll be back?" Rogers asked.

"I cannot guess. They are on a dangerous mission and I shall be anxious," was the reply.

Chapter XVIII

The gold-buyer was not the only one to be concerned respecting the cowboys. Lesurge, from entirely different motives, was also worried. Everything else was going well. Stark's influence in Deadwood was growing, and he had the man in his pocket. Hickok, whom he feared, was disposed of, and his slayer--having been acquitted by a miners' court--had left the district, to pay the penalty for his crime later, after a trial before a regular tribunal.

All was now ready for the final coup--the seizure of Ducane's mine, the wealth from which would enable him to gratify his grasping ambition. But for this he needed Green, who--as he believed--alone knew the location, and he coveted the gold stolen from the stage. So, as day succeeded day, and there was no sign of the puncher, Paul's usually placid forehead grew more furrowed. Once, as they were finishing the evening meal, he jocularly referred to the difficulty he was facing:

"Forgetfulness must be catching, Phil, and you seem to have infected Miss Mary."

"Memories is queer things, Paul," Snowy replied. "Mine has served me scurvy tricks but I reckoned I'd played safe when I took Green with me that time--plainsmen is used to rememberin' trails. Now it looks like he's got lost in the woods--I ain't seen him quite a while." Lesurge told him why, giving the version he had used for Stark, and concluding with, "I doubt if either of them will show up again." Lora had listened with growing doubt. He had told her nothing of this matter, but she was acquainted with his methods. Her shrewd brain divined the deadlock he had stumbled into, and even self-interest did not prevent a sense of spiteful satisfaction.

"You seem to have handled this outlaw all the cards, Paul," she remarked. "He has the gold, and--since he alone knows where to find it--he has the mine too. I've never known you so generous." The cool, sarcastic tone stung as though she had lashed him with a whip, but while his dark eyes were threatening, his voice remained unruffled:

"Lora, with her usual lucidity, has put the matter in a nutshell. If Green does not return ..."

"He dasn't, if he's corralled the gold," Snowy pointed out. "That's so, and therefore we have to find the mine without him," Paul said. "Mary, can't you cudgel that pretty head and come to our assistance?" The girl shook the pretty head. Though she did not know why her silence was desired, she was loyal to the old man. "It ain't Paul, but the fellas he's mixed up with," her uncle had said. "They might git ahead of us. Which was not very clear, but it satisfied her.

"I've tried to remember," she replied. "Something about travelling north-west, over a ridge and past a peak, but that doesn't help much, does it?"

"I'm afraid not," Paul admitted. "The confounded country is all ridges and peaks. Never mind, we'll find it; I don't allow little obstacles like that to beat me." He looked at his sister. "One of your admirers is complaining of not seeing you. Yes, Reuben Stark. Suppose we all go over and let Mary see what Deadwood can do in the way of entertainment?"

"I'd like to, if it will be-all right," the girl said.

"Of course it will--you'll be with us," Lora cried eagerly. "Come along, we must make ourselves beautiful." Lesurge paid the obvious compliment as they ran out of the room, and turned to his companion.

"Phil, that niece of yours"--there was a sneering emphasis on the last word--"gets prettier every day. You'll lose her, certain, but not, I hope, to a common cowboy."

"Her father ran a small ranch an' warn't o' much account," Snowy replied.

"No reason for her to stay in the mire because she was born there," the other retorted. "If her uncle"--again the emphasis--"was not romancing, she'll be a rich woman, and should marry a--gentleman."

"Yeah," Snowy said, and then, with apparent inconsequence, "She thinks a lot o' yu, Paul."

"I'm very glad to know it," Lesurge smiled, and turning to the door, failed to see the old man's savage grimace.

The Monte provided three forms of amusement for its patrons. On the right of the wide space in front of the long bar, with its shining array of bottles, one might lose or win money, as fortune decided, at various games of chance; on the left there was dancing, to the strains of a couple of fiddles and a somewhat tinny piano; for those who cared for neither of these attractions, tables and chairs enabled them to consume liquor in comfort.

At first, the bright lights, swimming in a haze of blue tobacco smoke, the music, the clamour of many voices and boisterous laughter would have made Mary Ducane retreat, but the sight of her own sex among the company reassured her. Ignorant of the world, she did not notice that they were harsh-toned, over-painted and under-dressed; they were women, and justified her presence.

A hum of admiration greeted Lora Lesurge, as, arm-in-arm with the younger girl, she advanced along the narrow aisle leading to the back of the room. Cold, aloof, confident in the power of her beauty, she stilled the tongues of men who had wellnigh lost respect for everything that wore a skirt. The saloon-keeper, who had seen her enter, watched her progress with greedy eyes.

"Damn me, she's shore a queen," he muttered, and hastened to meet her.

She received him with a baffling smile and presented her companion.

"Miss Lora," he said. "The Monte is honoured indeed; if I'd knowed ... Pleased to meetcha, Miss Ducane. Hello, Paul; yo're a public benefactor, for once; Deadwood don't see near enough of its most charmin' citizens." He led the way to a table set apart, at which two men were sitting. They rose, bowed to the women, and would have moved away but Stark protested:

"Set down, boys, you know pretty near everybody here. Miss Ducane, meet Jack Lider an' Bill Eddy, two o' the town's most prominent men."

"Don't you believe him, ma'am," Eddy smiled, as he shook hands. "There's on'y one prominent man in Deadwood an' he's goin' to order a bottle of wine, ain't you, Reuben?"

"No, sir," Stark grinned. "I'm agoin' to order two." The wine was brought, the ladies toasted, and the men began to discuss Deadwood's most absorbing topic--gold. Mary was free to study the strange scene. The noise was incessant. To the jangle of the piano and scraping of the fiddles, she watched rough-shirted, coatless men dancing, their heavy boots beating up clouds of dust from the board floor. A few had female partners, others one of their own sex, and to keep moving seemed to be the only rule observed. Bursts of laughter and an occasional good-natured oath when one couple collided with another punctuated the proceedings. On the other side of the room, where the gamblers were gathered, there was little less din; above the rattle of dice, the shuffling of feet, and whirr of the roulette wheel, players loudly bemoaned their losses or exulted over their gains. Throughout the room men wrangled and cursed each other, but she saw no violence.

Absorbed in what was going on, Mary took little notice of the conversation, but she gleaned that they were talking of the coach robbery, and that Eddy and Lider were, after Stark, the principal sufferers.

"I acted for the best," she heard the saloon-keeper say. "Jacob vouched for Green, an' he was riskin' a tidy bit hisself."

"Perhaps he was in on it," Paul suggested.

"Hell! I never thought o' that," Stark said. "Come to think, I ain't seen him since, neither. What is it?" as an attendant approached.

The man whispered something and Stark went with him to the door. In a few moments he returned.

"Just had word that Jacob was beaten up an' his cabin ransacked the night after the hold-up," he informed them. "What d'you make o' that?"

"Suppose he was concerned in the robbery, Green returns, and they quarrel," Paul surmised.

"Why should Green come back?" Eddy asked. "If he wanted to double-cross Jacob, he'd on'y to stay away--he's got the goods. No, gents, we won't see that fella any more, I'll betcha."

"What will you wager, Mister Eddy?" Lora laughed.

He followed the direction of her eyes and started to his feet, staring in ludicrous amazement.

"Holy Smoke!" he breathed. "There's the man hisself." Sudden and his friend had just entered the saloon. Despite the precautions to secure secrecy, someone had chattered, and it was generally known that the stage had been waylaid and that the cowboys were the culprits. All heads were turned towards them and a hush fell over the assembly as they stepped unconcernedly to the bar; the music stopped, the dancers stood still, the gamblers paused in their games, and even the gayest of the girls ceased her prattle.

"Well you gotta hand it to him for nerve," one whispered. "Mebbe he thinks it ain't knowed," his neighbour said. "He's liable to git a surprise. Would you look at Reub's face?" In fact, the saloon-keeper, pop-eyed and purple, appeared to be on the verge of an apoplectic seizure as he glared at the man he expected never to see again. On Lesurge the cowboy's advent produced the numbing effect of a blow. What was his game? Why had he not come to him first? Surely he could not be hoping to get away with such a colossal bluff? The fool was walking to his own funeral. Paul shrugged his shoulders; provided he could get from him where the plunder was hidden ...

Apparently indifferent to the interest his arrival was arousing, Sudden, nodding to men he knew, made his way to Stark's table. His eyes narrowed when he saw the women, but he swept his hat off, and spoke to their host.

"Can I have a word with yu, seh?"

"You can--right now," Stark snapped. "An' don't try any funny business or you'll git too much lead in yore system." The puncher glanced around; a dozen of the men sitting near were covering him with their pistols. With a smile of contempt, he folded his arms.

"The funny business 'pears to be comin' from yu," he said. "Cut it short," Stark bawled. "Why are you here?"

"You hired us to go with the stage," was the reply. "I'm here to report."

"We're listenin'," Stark growled.

"They were layin' for us a piece along the trail," Sudden began. "They downed the lead hosses, shot the driver an' messenger." He did not say whose work this was; he believed he had killed Lem and he had an account to settle with Hank. "We stood 'em off, harnessed our own broncs in the lead, an'got away. Later, we patched Joe up an' he sat on the box an' sorta kept cases on my drivin'."

"But where's the dust?" Lider asked impatiently.

"Did yu expect me to bring it back?" was the sardonic query. "Far as I know it's on the way East. The express company's fella took charge of it at Laramie." Master as he was in the art of cloaking his emotions, Lesurge found it difficult to listen unmoved. Was Green lying? he asked himself, or had he really played this trick upon him? He was soon to learn.

Stark's expression was incredulous. "You think we'd fall for that?" he sneered. "We've heard a different story, my man." Sudden bent forward and spoke quietly. "Stark, when yu call me a liar yo're standin' on the lip o' hell, an' all that ars'nal back o' me couldn't save yu." The saloon-keeper was no coward, but those ice-cold, implacable eyes made him shiver. He was about to stammer some excuse, but the other saved him the trouble:

"I knowed yu wouldn't believe me, so I fetched--this." Stark picked up the paper the cowboy had thrown on the table. One glance and his face changed with startling abruptness.

"Boys, we're all right," he cried. "It's a receipt for the gold from the company's agent at Laramie. Hello, what's this?" His brows met in a puzzled frown. "'One box, stated to contain ten thousand dollars' worth of dust, was filled with lead. It was consigned in the name of Paul Lesurge'." He looked at Sudden. "Can you explain that?"

"When I turned the stuff over I made the agent open the boxes an' weigh it up."

"Any reason for thinkin' there was somethin' wrong?" Eddy inquired.

"No, but I warn't takin' chances."

"Someone must have made the substitution," Lesurge put in, with an accusing glance at the puncher.

"The agent says the seals were untouched," Stark pointed out.

"Ah, then I know where to look for the thief," Paul rejoined carelessly. "1 left the packing to one of my men." It was well done, and for the time, it served. Lora smothered a smile; she was not deceived. What a clever devil he was, but this black-haired, firm-jawed young cowboy had bested, though not beaten him; she knew Paul.

Stark was speaking again. "Well, Green, it seems we've been blamin' when we oughta be thankin' you. I'm takin' it back.

Set down an' help yoreself." The knowledge that his money was safe had put him in great good humour and he was disposed to be generous. "Tell us what we can do for you."

"The dead messenger has mebbe a family an' Injun Joe won't drive for quite a while," Sudden said.

"We'll see to that," Lider promised. "What about yourself?"

"Me an' Gerry took this on to oblige Jacob, an' we ain't needin' anythin'."

"That's very well put, Green, but for myself--though by a mischance I don't benefit by what you have done--I feel in your debt," Lesurge said. "I shall look forward to squaring the account." Sudden sensed the underlying threat and smiled. "When I start anythin' I like to finish it," was his apparently inconsequent reply.

"We've had bad news of the old man," Eddy said, and told it. The puncher rose instantly. "I must get along to him--he'll be by himself," he excused. He was about to call Gerry, but that young man was by Mary's side, and appeared to be enjoying himself. So he went alone.

Gerry, however, was having anything but a good time. As soon as he realized that it really was Mary, he had forgotten all about their business with Stark and promptly proceeded to where she was sitting, a little apart from the others. Conscious that the sight of him had made her heart beat faster, she did not speak. Gerry was too angry to notice the omission.

"What are yu doin' in this place?" he asked bluntly.

The low, brusque tone offended her. "I came with my friends," she replied coolly.

"They'd no right to bring yu, it ain't--decent."

"There are other women here."

"Yeah, an' just because o' that yu shouldn't be," he retorted bitterly.

She knew it; these painted, scantily clad creatures who danced and drank with any man who invited them could be no warrant for her presence. But, being a woman, the fact that he was right only increased her resentment. This boy must be taught that she was not to be bullied.

"How dare you presume to dictate to me?" she said haughtily, quite, as she believed, in the best Lora Lesurge manner. But when she saw the dawning smile in Gerry's eyes she knew she had failed, and sought furiously for a way to punish him. "I am here with the man I expect to marry," she added.

"Shore yu are, but yu didn't know I was comin'," he grinned.

His amusement, anger at the false position in which he found her, and disgust with the surroundings made her reckless. "I was referring to--Paul," she said icily.

The moment she had spoken the words she regretted them, but it was too late. The mirth faded from Mason's face and it became hard, unyouthful.

"I'm wishin' yu joy," he said, and rising, stalked out of the saloon.

With hot, miserable eyes she watched him elbow his way unceremoniously through the clamorous crowd and vanish. Lora, who had noticed his abrupt departure, leant over and whispered, "What have you been doing to that boy?"

"Putting him in his place," Mary replied. A few yards away, a girl scarcely older than herself, had clasped her bare arms round the neck of her escort and dragged him shouting to the bar. "Are all the saloons as horrible as this?"

"Don't let Stark hear you--it would break his heart," Lora laughed. "The Monte is the best-conducted in Deadwood."

"Then heaven help Deadwood," Mary shuddered. "I wish I hadn't come." At which the elder woman laughed again. "I don't fancy Paul has enjoyed himself either," she said.

Which was true enough. Outwardly calm, Lesurge was in the frame of mind when murder becomes easy. His ready tongue had provided an explanation of a damning circumstance. but he was fully alive to the fact that it was a poor one--he would not have given it a moment's credence, and though these men were fools ... Gold, in plenty, would alone repair the damage, gold to fling about, to dazzle these boors who valued nothing else. And a girl, a crazy old drunkard, and that cursed cowboy held the secret. But for that ...

When they returned to the cabin he beckoned Lora into the sitting-room. For a moment he stood, his sombre eyes dwelling upon her, and then he said brutally:

"You must be losing your looks."

"Stark wouldn't agree with you," she smiled.

"Age doesn't bring wisdom where women are concerned," was the cynical reply. "Green appears to be proof against your charms." The woman bit her lip. "If you had confided in me a little more, things might have gone better," she returned quietly. "Had I known you wanted Green to steal for you ..."

"Who told you that?" he demanded.

"My dear Paul," she said scornfully. "It is perfectly obvious --to me--that you expected Green to roo the coach, but not trusting him, you also made other arrangements. Your double plan defeated itself, doubtless because the cowboy saw through it; one of your weaknesses is to underrate others' intelligence." Lesurge shook his head impatiently. "I had no definite agreement; I gave him as broad a hint as I dared but apparently he failed to comprehend it. Now, listen! in a day or so we start for the mine and Green will he with us. It will be your opportunity to ensnare him. The fellow baffles me; I don't know yet whether he is simply stupid or deep, but if you can get him on our side, the game is ours." He smiled disagreeably. "It will not he easy, my Lora; you are hardly his type; Mary Ducane, with her unspoiled youthfulness ..." As he had intended, the insult seared. "She's welcome," Lora flared. "Let her do your dirty work; I will not." 'You'll obey my orders," he replied harshly. "Green--like Hickok--is a danger, and must be overcome." She stared at him with wide eyes. "You--had--Wild Bill--killed?" she gasped.

"And why not?" he asked coolly. "He was in my way. I don't permit interference--from anyone. When I see a clod like Stark, revelling in riches, while 1, his superior in every way else, have to toady to him, I come near to madness; I could kill--and laugh." And indeed, there was a momentary gleam of it in the glance he bent on her. Once or twice recently he had so betrayed himself, and, with all her hardihood, it brought a shiver.

"Well, I'll do what I can," she promised. "God knows I'm sick enough of poverty."

Chapter XIX

In the morning Lesurge had a talk with the prospector; the situation brooked no more delay.

"Time we went after the mine," he said. "And since that memory of yours is still asleep, we must get Green to guide us. He can bring Mason if he likes--after the plucky way he took the coach through I'll be glad to have them."

"That's good hearin', Paul," Snowy replied. "I've a notion Jim thinks you don't cotton to him."

"Nonsense, man, how could that be after the service he rendered my sister?" Paul said heartily. "I was a little peevedto find my gold had turned to lead, but I've cleared that up."

"How many men you takin'?"

"Haven't decided yet. I'll see to that; we'll need to be pretty strong. You and Mary seem to get along all right."

"She's a nice gal," the old man said.

"No sign of suspicion?"

"Nary a mite. We fit in so natural I sometimes forget "

"That's the one thing you must always remember--it would be fatal to our plans, and she'd never forgive you," Paul urged. "No, I reckon she wouldn't," Snowy agreed. "Allasame, her real uncle couldn't do more for her than I'm agoin' to."

"Of course not," Paul replied, and hid his smile. "Now you ,go after Green. 1 have to see Stark." The saloon-keeper did not receive him quite as cordially as usual, and Lesurge guessed he had been discussed after his departure. He plunged straight into his business:

"Just looked in to tell you that I've solved the mystery of that consignment, Reuben."

"I'm glad o' that, Paul; it didn't look too good."

"It looked rotten," Lesurge admitted. "But it was as I guessed: I let one of my fellows pack the stuff, which was careless of me. The damned fool had a hunch the stage would be robbed, and took a chance."

"What have you done to him?" Stark asked curiously. "Nothing--he saved my life once, so l'm in his debt," Paul lied. "I made him disgorge, and I'll wager he won't play any more such pranks on me." He was silent for a moment. "Lora said she enjoyed last night."

"What about repeatin' the dose this evenin'?" Stark said eagerly.

"She'll be too busy packing."

"The hell you say. Ain't leavin' us, is she?"

"Only for a trip into the hills." He saw the other's eyebrows go up. "Oh, it'll be safe enough--we'll be in force. Lora is looking forward to it."

"I'll bet she is--got sand that girl," Stark complimented. "Goin' to search out Ducane's mine?"

"He calls it his--I've given hirn a small interest," Paul smiled.

"Wish I could go with you but I dasn't leave this place. It's a devil of a tie; sometimes I feel like sellin' the whole shebang an' clearin' out."

"Wait till I come back, anyway," Lesurge said. "Perhaps I'll buy it." * * * Snowy found Sudden alone in the cabin. Gerry and the others had gone to the claim, and Jacob had accompanied them. It did not take long to explain his errand.

"1 want for you to come, Jim," he urged. "Things is gettin' on towards a clean-up but we gotta keep the game goin' with that thievin' devil for a while yet."

"Yu can count me in," the puncher told him. "Lesurge has a lot to answer for. I've heard he brought about Hickok's murder."

"More'n likely. Berg an' McCall was seen together 'bout then. Paul planned an' Stark paid, would be my guess."

"1f it's true, I'll kill him." The words came from between shut teeth, and the speaker's bleak eyes showed that it was no idle threat. Snowy thought of Lefty Logan and would not have changed places with Lesurge for all the gold he expected to find.

"You don't have to ask my permission," he said grimly. "Jim, are those fellas you got workin' with you, straight?"

"Shore they are."

"Ain't pannin' much are you?"

"Haven't had to charter a stage-coach yet," Sudden smiled.

"I reckoned not," Snowy said. "Well, here's my proposition; there's enough at the Rockin' Stone for all of us. Take them boys to the spot an' tell 'em to hold on till we come. They'll need plenty grub an' their rifles--Paul will have a band o' barscourin's with him an' he'll raise Cain when he learns he's bin tricked. You can git away from the claim without bein' seen an' be back yorself by the time we're ready to start."

"What about Gerry?"

"He can come with us if he wants but I'm guessin' he won't," the old man said, a shrewd twinkle in his eye.

"We'll do it," Sudden promised. "Snowy, how long have yu knowed Lesurge?"

"'Bout the same time as you, but I know him better,". came the sardonic answer. "Yes, sir, I'm wise to the dirty game he's playin' an' I'm goin' to beat it. Get busy, son." He trudged away, and for some moments the cowboy stood gazing after the stooping, frail figure, with its long, unkempt white hair. To-day, somehow, it had a dignity lacking before, Jacob's dictum anent watching the pawns recurred to his mind; Paul Lesurge should have heard that.

Getting his horse, he rode up to the claim. As he had fully expected, the prospector's offer was received with enthusiasm by the miners. They were not making a fortune. and adventurers all, were willing to take a risk. Jacob also wished to go;after his late experience, the prospect of being left alone in Deadwood did not appeal to him.

"Yu'll come with me, Gerry, I guess?" Sudden said.

"Yu'd lose at any guessin' game," was the reply. "I'm with the boys." The puncher was surprised, but he made only one comment: "The women are goin'."

"Then yu can be shore o' trouble," Gerry retorted viciously.

After two days' preparation, Paul and his party were ready to start on what he gave out to be a prospecting expedition, and since--save for the women--it differed in no way from others which left the town almost daily, it attracted little attention. Strong, it undoubtedly was, consisting of nine men, including the leader, with pack-mules loaded with tools and provisions. All the men were armed.

Sudden, arriving outside the Lesurge cabin, found familiar faces; Fagan, Rodd, Berg, Hank, Lem--of whose wonderful escape he had learned--and a big fellow, sitting awkwardly on his mount, whom he recognized as Miller. The miner was eyeing him doubtfully. Sudden rode to his side.

"How's the hangin' trade?" he asked gravely.

Husky cleared his throat, spat, and said reproachfully, "You didn't oughta hold that agin me--it shorely looked like you was our meat. I was just as pleased the way it come out." The cowboy realized that he was in earnest, and with a laugh shoved out a fist. "I was on'y joshin'," he confessed.

Husky's hand, like a bear's paw, gripped his, and a broad grin betrayed his relief.

"How come yu in this?" Sudden asked.

"Well, my claim done petered out an' my luck follered suit," Husky explained. "Took a whirl at the wheel las' night an' went bust. Stark speaks for me an' here I am, figurin' mebbe to earn a grubstake." He surveyed the assembled riders and lowered his voice. "Mister Lesurge is a fine fella but he's picked a middlin' ornery crowd--not meanin' any offence." The cowboy's eyes crinkled at the corners. "One look at 'em is shore a-plenty," he admitted.

"Now then gals is different--purty as pictures." Husky went on. "Hell! here's one a-coming'. See you later--pardner." He beat a hasty retreat as Lora Lesurge trotted up, her eyes alight with excitement.

"Morning--Jim," she greeted, in her rich low voice. "So we are to be fellow wanderers in the wilds again."

"Seems so," he replied, his gaze travelling from the turned-up soft hat to the trim spurred heels. "I'm hopin' yore brother has provided yu with a good pony--them boots ain't no use for walkin'."

"I'm not proposing to walk--this time," she retorted. "If my mount fails 1 shall come to you; I'm sure Nigger could carry both of us," she finished roguishly.

"'Could' an' would' come outa different corrals," Sudden said dryly. "Mornin', Miss Ducane. Well, here's good-bye to Deadwood--for a spell."

"For ever, would please me more," Lora remarked, and her tone told that she meant it.

She ranged herself by his side as they set out. Snowy followed, perched precariously on the back of Jezebel and brandishing a stout stick.

The animal turned a spiteful eye upon him, got a smart clip over the bony nose, dropped its head and stepped demurely forward. The rider emitted a wheezy whoop of triumph.

"The magic wand is still a-workin', Jim," he called out.

Mary found herself paired with Paul, and the rest of the party, leading the pack-beasts, brought up the rear. They soon left the timber-stripped slopes of the gulch behind and headed into the unknown.

At Snowy's suggestion, the cowboy was taking them by a new and more roundabout route. "No sense in lettin' Lesurge know how near he is to Deadwood," the old man had argued. "He might, at a pinch, send for help if it looks like comin' to a scrap; as it is, we'll be even-matched." Sudden knew the direction in which the mine lay, and as a plainsman, that was all he needed, but the savage nature of the country made straightforward progress impossible, and more than doubled the actual distance.

Presently they paused on the crest of a steep ridge which afforded a wider view. Grey, rock-crowned hills, black forests of fir, green park-like valleys, and deep, precipitous gullies stretched before them in unending succession. For all the blazing sun, there was a keenness in the air and the aromatic tang of the pines was in their nostrils. As they slipped and slithered down the slope of the ridge, Lora said abruptly:

"What brought you to Deadwood? You care nothing for money."

"Drop a dime an' watch me dive for it," he bantered, but when she would not smile, he added bluntly, "I came to find two men."

"Friends?"

"I wouldn't call 'em that," was the ambiguous reply. Moved by an impulse he did not attempt to analyse, he told her why he had become a wanderer in the West, of the vow of vengeance one day to be fulfilled.1 She listened with wide eyes. Death dealt swiftly as retribution for a wrong, or in the heat of passion, she could comprehend, but this cold, relentless seeking out appalled her.

"Suppose you never find them?" she questioned.

"Then they'll be in, an' I'll be out o' luck," he said. "But you will have wasted your life."

"I don't figure it thataway; I'm livin' an' doin' things. Right now I'm helping Snowy to get a fortune."

"And Paul," she prompted.

"Yeah," he said. "But I reckon yore brother can help his-self!" The bitter jest had slipped out unawares and he was afraid she would resent it, but his embarrassed look only made her laugh.

"Never mind, Jim," she said. "I've no illusions about Paul; helping himself is one of the things he does best." Meanwhile, Paul Lesurge had been finding Mary a rather inattentive companion. Gerry's absence had been a blow; she wished--she told herself--to escape from the false position in which pique had placed her. There was too, more than a tinge of resentment in her attitude. "Said he warn't interested." The phrase had both hurt and angered her. Paul's voice stepped right into her thoughts:

"I'm sorry young Mason decided not to come with us. There must be a strong attraction in town to separate him from Green." Mary's face clouded--she had not forgotten Lora's reference to the girls at the Paris. Then her head went proudly up, and she smiled.

"Mister Green doesn't seem to be heartbroken," she replied. "I suppose one man less won't matter, will it?"

"Not a bit," he said. "There are enough of us to take good care of you--Mary; if there were not, I'd go back and get more." His voice betrayed a tenderness he had never shown to her before and it thrilled. She tried to answer lightly:

"You might lose the mine."

"My dear, you are more to me than all the gold in Dakota," he said earnestly. "I only want wealth for your sake. Do you care for me, Mary?" The low, passionate tone, the dark, pleading eyes, carried conviction; she could not but believe. "You have been so kind to us," she murmured. "I like you very much, Mister Lesurge "

"Paul," he smiled.

"Well--Paul," she amended, "but--I had not thought " She broke off, blushing and confused.

"1 understand," he said gently. "I did not dare to give even a hint, but I could hold back no longer. I shall not ask for an answer now. Think it over--and be kind." His courtesy and consideration touched her, as he meant they should, and she thanked him with a look which fanned the flame of his desire.

"By the way, say nothing of this as yet to Lora," he counselled. "She is an odd girl, and has all a sister's jealousy for an only brother." Mile after mile they plodded on, picking a way through the varied welter of the wilderness. When their guide called a halt on the bank of a rippling stream shaded by cottonwoods, all were glad of the rest.

"Berg, you once ran a hash-house, didn't you?" Lesurge said. "I'm appointing you cook. Get a fire going and make coffee." The little man's expression was as near a smile as his sour face could contrive; he preferred pots and pans to picks and shovels. The men began to gather dry wood, and Paul rejoined the women. He appeared to be in a gay humour.

"You'll eat with us, Green," he said. "How much longer before we reach our destination?"

"Three-four hours, I'd say," the puncher replied, "unless we meet with difficulties."

"Say no more," Lora begged. "Mary, we have not been brave--only lucky. And all for a handful of yellow dirt."

"A handful?" Paul cried. "I expect to take those pack animals to Deadwood piled with it, and to come back for more, eh, Phil?"

"We'll load every hoss we got an' walk ourselves," the prospector wrinkled.

"No walking for me, thank you," Lora said, and with a sly glance at the cowboy, "My legs are simply--ornamental."