Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (22 page)

 
          
“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.

 
          
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 tonight.
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—tonight,” 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 anythin’. 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 shotgun 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.