Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) (33 page)

 
          
“No, by God!”
Paul exploded. “These fellows are thieves and
I will not”—he paused and finished less violently—“allow you to be robbed.”

 
          
“I
would rather lose all than have bloodshed,” Mary replied earnestly.

 
          
“A
very proper sentiment—for a woman,” he told her, and the faint sneer brought
the colour to her cheeks. “I should regard myself as less than a man, however,
if I let you do so.

 
          
Leave
it to me my dear; I shall find a way to deal with these claim-jumpers.” He
looked hard at Snowy. “No one is to leave camp; it is not safe.”

 
          
“Do
you think Green and his friends would shoot women?” Lora asked superciliously.

 
          
“Never
mind what I think—I’m giving orders,” he said sharply.

 
          
Her
eyes followed him as he stalked away. “Charming person, my dear brother,” she
commented, “and so concerned about your interests.”

 
          
“You
don’t seem to have much sisterly affection,” Mary said.

 
          
“Sisterly affection?”
Lora echoed vehemently. “Why—I hate
him.
He’s ”
She stopped suddenly, lips shut like a
vice, got up, and walked to the tent, leaving her companion dumbfounded.

 
          
Paul
Lesurge was taking a walk. Heading straight through the sun-spangled strip of
firs, he came to a well nigh vertical barrier of cliff which only a monkey or a
cat could hope to climb.

 
          
Being
a different kind of beast, he did not attempt it, but made his way westwards
along the base of the obstacle. Soon, as he had expected, the ground rose, and
as the trees became smaller and fewer, he could see above and immediately
before him, the great boulder which Philip Ducane had called the Rocking Stone,
ponderous, menacing, seeming about to crash down upon him.

 
          
He
toiled on; climbing was hard work, for there was no break and debris from the
hill-top made care necessary. At length he reached the level of the cliff-wall,
passed it but a few paces, and turning, beheld—the mine.

 
          
The
first point which struck him was the aptness of Hank’s simile; a big, hollow
tooth it was, the jagged ends of the shell fringed with foliage, save where a
steep, boulder-strewn slant mounted to the threatening bulk of the Rolling
Stone. On the sand and rubble floor of the hollow, only a few hundred feet
below, he could see four men at work—the other two were doubtless guarding the
entrance. His thin lips curled in a wolfish snarl.

 
          
“Make
the most of your time,” he muttered. “Tomorrow, you’ll hear from me.”

 
          
He
studied the place where he stood; it was going to be easier than he had dared
to hope.

 
          
There
were stones behind which marksmen might shelter and the hollow was devoid of
cover; two or three men with rifles could deal death at their leisure. One only
of the
enemy
he feared—that damned cowpuncher, and
concerning him he had a plan.

 
          
He
had learned all he wished but did not go. The great stone had a fascination and
he determined to examine it. A detour enabled him to make the ascent unobserved
and presently he stood behind the monster monolith. It was larger than he had
supposed, a huge pear-shaped chunk of granite, the curved base resting upon a
smooth rock platform. Some fantastic freak of Nature had flung it there, so
poised a push seemed sufficient to dislodge it, a task the tempests of untold
centuries had failed to achieve. What had Snowy said of the one in California? “One
man could start her rockin’ but twenty couldn’t tip her over.” For a moment he
hesitated and then hurled his weight against the stone. Did it move? He could
not say, but made no further trial.

 
          
A
narrow ledge just below on the other and more precipitous side of the hill
caught his eye. It was no more than a track but it seemed to offer an easier
means of descent into the maze of savage but majestic country which stretched
to the horizon. He clambered down and stood gazing into the abyss. Far below
was a black floor of pine-trees moving in the breeze like the surface of a
restless sea. Somehow the place oppressed him, the big stone seemed to hover
above like a bird of ill omen, the glare of the descending sun was blood-red,
there
was an air of death.

 
          
With
an effort he shook the feeling off. He was still young, wealth almost unbounded
lay within his grasp, and with wealth, wisely used,
a
clever man could accomplish anything.

 
          
“Governor of Dakota.”
He murmured the words as he turned
again towards the camp.

 
          
By
the time he reached it, dusk was approaching. The men were squatting round
their fire, feeding and whispering together; they took no notice of him as he
passed. The prospector and Mary were conversing near the tent, while Lora paced
restlessly to and fro. He went to her.

 
          
“I
want your help,” he said shortly.

 
          
In
the half light her face showed wan. “I’m tired of the whole rotten business,”
she replied. “I’ll do no more.” She saw his jaw tighten. “Are you going to fail
me on the eve of success?” he asked. “Don’t you realize that it means wealth
and ease for the rest of our lives?”

 
          
Ever
since her conversation with Mary she had been weighing the project of desertion
to the other camp, and now the opportunity had been forced upon her. She knew
that the message she was bearing was false—a hidden motive in it—and she had no
intention of persuading Green to accede.

 
          
“He
must take me with him—I won’t go back,” she panted, as she stumbled on through
the gloom.

 
          
Save
for the furtive movements of four-footed denizens of the undergrowth the
silence was profound. Then came the weird screech of an owl and she shook with
fright. The black bulk of the cliff loomed up before her and she turned to the
left, leaving the trickle of water which had been her guide; the soft gurgle of
it over the stones had been some sort of company. She had gone but a few paces
when a gruff voice spoke:

 
          
“Who’s
there? Speak up sharp or I’ll shoot.” With a sigh of relief she gave her name
and business. She heard men speaking in tones too low for her to distinguish
what they said, and then the tall figure of the cowboy came striding out of the
darkness. There was light enough for him to see that she was alone, and he
slipped his drawn gun into the holster.

 
          
“What
brings you here?” he asked bluntly.

 
          
“I
must speak with you,” she said, “and—I don’t want your friends to hear.” She
moved away, and when he hesitated, added, “
you
need
not doubt; there is no one with me.” The puncher followed her. “I ain’t
naturally nervous,” he said ironically, “but one of us was knifed a few hours
back.”

 
          
“My
God!” she breathed. “Then it was—Hank. He was sent to spy, and Paul was angry
when he returned.”

 
          
“The
killin’ interfered with his plan, I s’pose,” Sudden said bitterly. “Does he know
yo’re here?”

 
          
“He
sent me,” Lora replied, and gave the reason.

 
          
She
could not see the man’s face but knew what it would have told her—mocking
contempt for one who could make such an offer after the butchery of Bowman. The
hard voice held out no hope.

 
          
“Did
he think I’d fall for that?”

 
          
“I
told him I could persuade you, but I’m not going to try— I know he’s lying. I
wanted to come—on my own account. Jim, I am going mad. I dare not go back. For
the love of God let me stay with you.” The passionate appeal rang true but left
him unmoved, doubting. Was it the outcome of real terror, or one of the many
moods she was mistress of? He could not decide but—

 
          
“I’ve
heard the tale so often,” she replied wearily.

 
          
“This
time you can believe it. Listen! I have been examining the enemy’s position; it
is impregnable. Much as I hate doing so, I shall have to adopt that girl’s
suggestion and make terms. Green is the leader of these bandits and I want you
to put my proposals to him.” The woman kept her head bowed less he should see
the sudden gleam of hope in her eyes. “Why should he listen to me?” she
muttered sullenly.

 
          
“I
fancy he has a fondness for you,” Paul said. “And there is no one else. To send
Snowy or the girl would be putting cards in their hands, and any man of us
might meet a bullet.” She feigned reluctance. “How can I get word with Green?”

 
          
“Follow
the stream as far as you can and bear to the left. You will be challenged. Say
that you wish to speak with Green —alone. If you are afraid, I will send Hank
with you.”

 
          
“Much
obliged, but then I should be afraid,” she replied cuttingly. “What am Ito tell
the cowboy?”

 
          
“That
to avoid trouble, Miss Ducane is prepared to join forces and work the mine on a
shares basis, she and her uncle, of course, to have the larger interests. The
details can be agreed upon.”

 
          
“Where
do we come in?” she asked curiously.

 
          
“Mary
will not be ungrateful,” Lesurge explained, “and the old man will take what is
given him; you need not discuss that.”

 
          
“You
mean to play fair?”

 
          
“Certainly,
and you must convince him of that; you should be able to.”

 
          
“Having
under your expert tuition, become such an accomplished liar,” she added
acrimoniously. “Well, I’ll go, but I wish to heaven we’d never heard of Ducane
and his damned mine.” A malevolent look followed her as she stepped through the
gathering shadows towards the creek. Could he trust her? He smiled wryly. Paul
Lesurge trusted no one. He spoke to the men and four of them stole after the
messenger.

 
          
Though
she walked listlessly so long as she was in sight, the moment she reached the
dusky vagueness of the trees her step quickened. Little did the man who had
sent her guess how eager she was to do his errand. Lora Lesurge was in deadly
fear. A creature of cities and crowded places, she could not bear the
threatening solitude. Moreover, she was defenceless; her woman’s weapon of
beauty became, in the company she was in, another danger. And, for the first
time in her life, she was afraid of Paul.

 
          
Paul
Lesurge had sent her. His silence told that he was about to refuse and she made
a last desperate bid. Clutching him wildly, she cried:

 
          
“Jim,
you must take me. I—” Out of the murky dimness, creeping forms closed silently
in on them, and Sudden, striving to rid himself of the woman, found his arms
gripped in a ruder grasp. With a violent gesture he tore his right hand free,
thrust Lora away, and rammed his fists into an indistinct patch which he took
to be a face. The thud of the blow was followed by a grunt as the man dropped.
Swiftly stooping, the cowboy caught the fellow by collar and belt, swung the
senseless form up, and with a mighty effort, hurled it at three charging
shadows. Without waiting to see the effect of this unusual missile, he ran for
the cliff opening. His story was received with varying expressions of anger and
disgust.

 
          
They
fell to discussing it, but Sudden was silent. A woman had fooled him, drawn him
into a trap, and held him while he was attacked. He told himself that she was
nothing to him, that he had always distrusted her, and yet the memory of her
cry as he had retreated remained: “Jim, I didn’t know—I swear—” The voice was
cut off as though a hand had been clapped over the speaker’s lips.