Shadow Mountain

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER IV

  THE GHOST-MAN

  As the sun paled to nothing in the yellow murk of dust, a high cloud ofsand overleapt the northern peaks and came sifting down the slopes ofShadow Mountain. The gusts of wind began to wail in boding fury and thenthe storm struck the town. Dirt and papers flew before it; tin cansleapt forth from holes and alleys; and sticks and small stones, suckedup in the vortex, joined in on the devil's dance. Ancient signs creakedand groaned and threatened to leave their moorings, old houses gave upshingles and loose boards, and up the street on the deserted bankbuilding, the fire-doors banged like cannon. Then the night came on andthe streets of Keno were empty, except for the flying dirt.

  But it is nights such as this that move some men to greater daring andas Wiley Holman, far out on the desert, felt the rush and surge of windhe struck a swift circle and, turning back towards Keno, he bored hisway into the teeth of the storm. The gravel from the road slashed andslatted against his radiator and his machine trembled before the buffetsof the gale, but it was just such a night as he needed for his purposeand he ran with his lights switched off. If the Widow Huff, by anychance, should glance out across the plain she might notice their gleamand divine his purpose, which was to inspect the Paymaster mine. As astockholder and part owner it was, of course, his right to enter thepremises at will, but the Widow had placed her own personal mandateabove the laws of the land, and it was better, and safer, to avoid alldiscussion by visiting the property after dark.

  Up the long slope of the valley the white racer moved slowly, shudderingand thundering as it took the first hill, and as the outlying housesleaped up from the darkness, Wiley muffled his panting exhaust. In thesheltered valley, under the lee of Shadow Mountain, the violence of thewind was checked and some casual citizen, out looking at the stars,might hear him above the storm. He turned off the main road and,following up a side street, glided quietly into the shelter of a barn,and five minutes later, with his prospector's pick and ore-sacks, hetoiled up the trail to the mine.

  The Paymaster mine lay on the slope of Gold Hill, directly overlookingthe town--first the huge, dismantled mill; then the white slide of thewaste dump; and then, up the gulch, the looming gallows-frame of thehoist and the dim bulk of abandoned houses. The mine had made the town,and the town had clustered near it in the broad oval of the valleybelow; but in its day the Paymaster had been a community by itself, withoffices and bunk-houses and stores. Now all was deserted and in the palelight of the moon it seemed the mere ghost of a mine. A loose strip ofzinc on the corrugated-iron mill drummed and shuddered in a menacingundertone and at uncertain intervals some door inside smote its framewith a resounding bang. Straining timbers creaked and groaned, the windmourned like a disembodied spirit, and as Wiley Holman jumped at asudden sound he turned and glanced nervously behind him.

  It was not a shadow but the passing of a shadow that caught his rovingeye and as he stripped off his wind-goggles and looked again he felt byinstinct for his six-shooter. But it was not on his hip. He had takenhis pick instead, and for the first time he felt a thrill of fear--notfear for his life nor of anything tangible, but that old, primordialfear of the night that only a gun can banish. He picked up a rock andwalked back down the trail; but nothing leapt forth at him--even theshadow was gone, and he threw the rock petulantly away. It was the wind,and the noises, and the blinders on his goggles; but now that the greatfear was born he jumped at every sound. He had been out before on worsenights than this--what was it, then, that he feared? With his backagainst a rock he stared about and listened until at last his nervereturned; then he went boldly to the dump, where the white quartz laythe thickest, and began to dig a hole with his pick.

  Deep as he could dig there was nothing but the white waste and he pacedoff the width of the pile; then very systematically he moved across theslope, grabbing handfuls of fine dirt at measured intervals and throwingthem into an ore-sack. There was something about Virginia's piece of"barren quartz" that had appealed to his prospector's eye and even inthe excitement of meeting the Widow he had not forgotten to sequesterit. But a piece of rock from a girl's case of specimens is a far callfrom "ore in place" and he had come back that night to look the mineover and collect an average sample from the dump. There were hundreds oftons of that rock on the dump and it certainly was his right, as a partowner in the property, to sample it and have it assayed.

  Back and forth across the slide, now buffeted by the wind, now pelted byloosened stones, he continued his methodical test and then as he kneltto dig out a hole a great rock came bounding past. It came out of thedarkness and went smashing down the hillside like some terrific engineof destruction and before he had more than scrambled from its path asecond boulder was upon him. He dodged it by a hair's breadth and fellflat on his face, just as a stream of loose stone which the first flyingrock had dislodged sent him rolling and tumbling down the slope in anavalanche of flying debris. For a minute he lay breathless while thewaste rattled past him, and then he looked up the hill. No movement ofhis had started those great boulders. They had been launched by someonefrom above, and as he raised his head cautiously he beheld a gauntfigure standing outlined against the sky. It stood like a gibbet, itshead to one side, a pistol in its hand; but as Wiley moved the mancrouched and drew back as if he feared to be seen.

  Who he was Wiley did not know, nor could he divine his animus in thusattempting to take his life, but, being caught in the open without hisgun, he played safe and lay quiet where he had fallen. The wind howledalong the ridges and trailed off into silence and, looking around, Wileycaught the wink of a lantern as it came across the flat from town. Thecrash of the boulders as they bounded down the dump and then on throughthe brush below had undoubtedly aroused some inquisitive citizen, whowas coming over to investigate. Wiley rose up quickly, for he did notwish to be discovered, but as he started towards the trail he met theghost-man, creeping forward with his pistol ready to shoot.

  At times like this a man acts by instinct, and Wiley Holman dropped tothe ground; then with the swiftness of an Indian he bellied off down thehill, looking back after every lightning move. The man was a murderer, acold-blooded assassin; and, thinking him injured, he had been stealingup to his hiding-place to give him the _coup de grace_. Wileyrolled into a gulch and peered over the bank, his eyes starting out ofhis head with fear; and then, as the lantern began to bob below him, heturned and crept up the hill. Two trails led towards the mine, one oneither side of the dump, and as the wind swept down with a sudden gustof fury, he ran up the farther trail. Once over the hill he could avoidboth his pursuers and, cutting a wide circle, slip back to his machineand escape. The wind died to nothing as he neared the summit and heturned and looked back down the trail. Something moved--it was the man,his head twisted over his shoulder, his gun still held at a ready,creeping waspishly up the path.

  Wiley turned and fled, sick with rage at his own impotence, but as hewhipped over the dump the earth opened up before him and he slippedand stopped on the brink of a chasm. It was the caved-in stope, theold glory-hole of the Paymaster, and it cut off his last escape. Asudden sinking of the heart, a feeling of fate being against him, cameover him as he slunk along the bank; and then, as a path opened upbefore him, he took the steep slope at a bound. Further on in thedarkness he saw the roof of the mill and the broken hummocks of thedump; beyond lay the other trail and the open country and his car--andthe six-shooter--beyond! His feet seemed to fly as he dashed acrossthe level and breasted a sudden ascent and then on its summit as thewind snatched him back someone struck him in full flight. "God!" hecried, and fought himself free but the other clutched him again.

  "Run!" she begged, and he knew it was Virginia, but he was in a panicfor fear of what was behind.

  "No!" he cried, catching her roughly in his arms and starting the otherway, "there's a crazy man back there and----"

  "No--no--no!" she clamored, bringing him to a halt with her struggles."The other way--can't you hear what I'm saying to you----" And thenW
iley saw the Widow.

  She was standing on the dump with her shotgun raised and pointed, and hehurled Virginia to one side.

  "Don't shoot!" he yelled, but as he ducked and started to run, theWidow's gun spoke out. A blow like that of a club struck his leg fromunder him and he fell to the ground in a heap, but even in his pain heremembered the presence which had followed with its head on one side.

  "You danged fool!" he cursed as the Widow ran up to him. "Keep thatcartridge, whatever you do. There's a crazy man after me and----"

  "I see him!" shrieked the Widow, making a dash for the bank with her gunat her hip for the shot. "You git, you dastard!" she shrilled into thedarkness and once more the old shotgun roared forth.

  "Oh, mother!" wept Virginia, throwing her arms about Wiley, andattempting to raise him up. "Oh, look what you've done--it's WileyHolman--and now I hope you're satisfied!"

  "You bet I'm satisfied!" answered the Widow, exultingly. "That otherfellow was Stiff Neck George!"