by Zane Grey
Longstreet demurred. He wasn’t certain that it could be done this way, nor did he like the idea of imposing upon her. But, she told him quickly, it could be done; she had acted for another gentleman in this capacity, Mr. Nate Kemble of the Quigley mines. She knew all about it. As for imposition, she broke into a timid little laugh.
‘I am a rather helpless and, I am afraid, stupid sort of a little woman,’ she confessed. ‘I have to make my own way in the world, and this is one of the ways I do it. If, when everything is properly concluded, you feel that I have really been of assistance and care to send me a small cheque, just for services rendered, you understand, why——’
He saw the matter immediately in the desired light.
‘Then,’ he told her heartily, ‘I shall be delighted to have you see Mr. Harkness for me. You are very kind, Mrs. Murray. And, as you say, I can give my attention exclusively to the other end of the business. As to the location of the spot so that the papers——’
‘Oh, that part is all right! I know just where the Dry Gulch is and so will George when he looks it up on his maps. You won’t have to worry about that in the least.’
Again Sanchia grew silent and thoughtful. Before them, side by side, went Helen and Howard. She watched them and held her horse back so that she and Longstreet would not come any closer to them. Finally she made her second suggestion, watching as before the play of Longstreet’s expression.
‘You have told Mr. Howard?’
‘Yes. No one else.’
‘He understands that you wish to keep your secret from Helen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then, suppose we do this: As we come into town I must leave you a moment to ride by the milliner’s and be sure that she holds that hat for me; she lives on a side street. You can ride with the others to the hotel, for you will have to stay all night there; it will be impossible for you to get everything done before dark. And, after all, maybe it would be better if you come with me to the court-house. I want you at least to meet Mr. Harkness. I will attend to everything for you; you can rejoin Helen and Mr. Howard. And I think he will understand if you suggest that he stay with Helen at the hotel while you ride down to the post office to mail a letter, let’s say. I wouldn’t mention court-house,’ she added, ‘as Helen might guess.’
During the remaining hour of jogging slowly through the sunshine, Sanchia Murray elaborated her plans, all directed toward the double end of hastening Longstreet’s venture and keeping his secret from Helen. She went into detail, secured his consent upon each point or swiftly withdrew it to make another suggestion, and in the end awoke in him a keen sense of her generosity. When they came to the first buildings of the straggling town she waved her hand gaily, swung off into a side street, and he rode on to overtake Alan and Helen. Once around a corner Sanchia put spurs to her mare, struck the sweating shoulders with her quirt and raced on her way through puffing clouds of dust and barking dogs as though all leisureliness were gone before a sudden vital need for haste. Before the party of three had come within sight of the hotel she had swung down from her saddle at the back door of the Montezuma House. And every one who knows San Ramon knows the Montezuma, and every one who knows the place knows a house of sinister reputation.
At the hotel Howard dismounted first to give his hand to Helen. This time she accepted it and even repaid him with a quick smile. Longstreet, while Helen was dismounting, tipped the cattleman a sly wink. It was meant to be full of meaning, but only succeeded in making Howard wonder.
‘If you two will wait for me a moment,’ said Longstreet, making a perfectly transparent pretence of having nothing of importance on his mind, ‘I am going to ride over to the post office. It’s just over yonder. You’ll be on the porch when I come back?’ and without waiting for a reply he clucked to his horse and trotted away. Helen looked after him in surprise.
‘Papa’s up to something he ought to leave alone,’ she decided wisely. She turned to remount.
‘We’d better follow him and——’
Suddenly her expression altered. Her eyes softened and she added.
‘I know,’ she added. ‘No, we mustn’t follow him. And he’ll be gone an hour.’
‘What is it?’ wondered Alan.
‘I am not quite old enough to stop having birthdays,’ she explained. ‘He’s just slipping off mysteriously as usual to buy something expensive and foolish for me. He’s just about the dearest old dad in the world.’
So they tied their horses and went into the cool of the shady porch. Because they had matters of their own to talk about, they did not concern themselves further with the eccentricities of a fond parent. Meantime Longstreet, chuckling as he went, rode by the post office to establish a sort of moral alibi and thence proceeded to the court-house. He found it readily, a square, paintless, dusty building upon a dying lawn. Sanchia looking flushed and hot, was waiting for him under a tree in front.
‘Mr. Harkness is out,’ she told him immediately. ‘And as it happens, there is no one in the office. But I have found where his assistant is. He is Mr. Bates, and he has had a hard day, it seems, and is now having a late lunch at the Montezuma House. We are to ride over there.’
This satisfied him, and together they rode through the back street and to the rear entrance of the gambling-house. Here they dismounted and left their horses, Sanchia going before him.
‘We’ll go in the back way,’ she told him, ‘as I do not care to come to such places, and if I must come, I’d rather it wasn’t known. Tongues are so eager to wag when one is a woman deprived of a protector. The men from the court-house sometimes come here for their meals.’
She showed him the way under a long grape-vine arbour and to a door which she opened. There was a dark, cool hall and another door opening upon a small room in which they could see a man sitting at a table with a cup of coffee and some sandwiches before him.
‘I don’t know Mr. Bates personally,’ whispered Sanchia. ‘But he knows who I am and will do quite as well as Mr. Harkness.’
‘You are Mr. Bates, aren’t you?’ she asked from the doorway. ‘Mr. Harkness’s assistant?’
The man at the table nodded.
‘Yes. Come in. You are Mrs. Murray? I have heard Harkness mention you. If there is anything I can do for you?’ His eye travelled slowly to Longstreet.
The man was not a pleasant type, thought Longstreet. He was swarthy and squat and had an eye that slunk away from his visitors’. But it appeared that he was kindly and eager to accommodate. He got up and closed the door, and once, after they had begun talking, went on tiptoe to open it again and peered out into the hall as though he suspected that some one was listening. He seemed a broad-minded chap, waving technicalities aside, assuring Longstreet that what he wanted done was quite the simplest thing in the world. No, it was not necessary for him to come in person to the office; Bates himself was authorized to make the necessary entries and draw up the papers. Oh, yes; he knew all about Dry Gulch. But he did not seem in the least excited about the discovery; in fact, at the end of the conversation, he said dryly that he feared that the mine would not pan out. Other men had thought before now that they had found gold in the Last Ridge country, and their findings had never amounted to anything.
‘I’ll mail the papers to you at Big Run,’ he said, rising at the end of the interview. ‘There will be a small fee which you may pay at your convenience.’
The three went out together. Bates waved a genial good-bye and strode off toward the court-house. Suddenly Sanchia appeared restless, almost feverish to be gone.
‘I must hurry back to the milliner’s,’ she said. ‘Good-bye.’
Longstreet, abruptly deserted by his two companions, mounted to return to the hotel. But Sanchia suddenly came back to him.
‘I’d rather you didn’t say anything about my helping you,’ she said hurriedly.
‘I don’t like the idea of coming to a place like the Montezuma, even upon a business matter of urgency like yours. Mr. Howard has such old-fashioned ideas, too, and he might misunderstand. And even Helen—— You won’t mention me at all, will you?’
Again her smile was pleading, child-like. Longstreet assured her that he would respect her wishes.
‘You can just say to Mr. Howard that you saw Bates and got everything in shape,’ she suggested. ‘Good-bye.’
She was gone, racing again, riding toward the milliner’s—and, when once out of Longstreet’s sight, turning into the road beyond which led to Big Run.
CHAPTER XVII
Howard Holds the Gulch
‘Look at the mysterious gentleman!’ said Helen, laughing, as her father returned to them upon the hotel porch. Longstreet observed that she appeared to be in the best of spirits. ‘Look at the light in his eye! Can’t you just tell that he thinks he has a secret? Papa,’ and she squeezed his arm, ‘won’t you ever learn that with that face of yours you couldn’t hide what you are thinking to save your life?’
For the second time that day Longstreet winked slyly at Howard. His laughter, as gay as Helen’s, bubbled up straight from his soul.
‘Helen,’ he said as soberly as he might, ‘I am afraid that we shall have to leave you to your own devices for an hour or so. Mr. Howard and I have a little business together.’
‘Oh,’ said Helen. She studied her father’s face gravely, then turned toward Alan. She knew all along that her father was planning some sort of birthday surprise for her, and now she could not but wonder what it was that had called the cattleman in to Longstreet’s aid. For the thought of the two men really having business together struck her as quite absurd.
‘I have been dying to be alone,’ she said quickly. ‘There is an ice-cream shop across the street, and it’s so much more comfortable on a day like this not to have a man along counting the dishes you order. Good-bye, business men,’ and rather than be the one deserted she left them and ran across the street, vanishing within the inviting door.
‘I have already arranged the matter of filing on my claim,’ said Longstreet, turning triumphantly to Howard. ‘I saw Bates, George Harkness’s assistant, and he has undertaken to do everything immediately.’
‘I know Bates. He’s a good man, better for your work than Harkness even.’ He spoke without a great amount of interest in the subject, and there was something of downright wistfulness in his look which had followed Helen across the street.
They walked a short block in silence. Longstreet, glancing at his companion and noting his abstraction, was glad that there were no questions to answer. After all, it was going to be very simple to keep Mrs. Murray’s name out of the whole matter. When they came to the corner and he asked ‘Which way?’ Howard actually started.
‘Guess I was wool-gathering,’ he grunted sheepishly. ‘We go back this way.’
They retraced their steps half the way, crossed the quiet street and turned in at a hardware store. Howard led the way to the tiny office at the front, whose open windows looked out on the street. A ruddy-faced man in shirt sleeves sat with his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes thoughtful. Seeing his callers, he jumped to his feet.
‘Put her there, Al, old boy,’ he called in a big, booming, good-natured voice like a young bull’s. ‘Watched you go by and wondered if you weren’t coming in. Haven’t seen you since old Buck was a calf. Where you been keeping yourself?’ His big smile widened. ‘Courtot hasn’t got you hiding out, has he?’
‘So you’ve heard that Courtot stuff, too? Pony, this is a friend of mine; Mr. Longstreet, Pony Lee.’ While they shook hands Howard added: ‘Lee here knows more about practical mining than any other foot-loose stranger this side the Alleghanies.’
‘Draw it mild, Al,’ laughed Lee. ‘Glad to know you, Longstreet. Think I’ve heard of you.’
He indicated chairs and the three sat down. Longstreet, looking curiously at the man, noted that whereas he was florid and jolly and gave the impression at first almost of joviality, upon closer scrutiny that which was most pronounced about him was the keen glint of his probing grey eyes. He came to learn later that Pony Lee had the reputation of being both a good fellow and a fighting man.
‘Longstreet wants to spin you a little yarn.’ said Howard. ‘And if you will see him through, I imagine he’s going to have a job open for you.’
‘Mine, of course?’ suggested Lee.
‘Yes.’
‘Have a cigar,’ invited Lee. He produced a box from a desk drawer. ‘See if I can guess where it is. Other side of Big Run?’
Howard nodded.
‘Who found it?’
‘I did,’ answered Longstreet. ‘Yesterday.’
‘Last Ridge country, then. H’m.’ He rolled his cigar in his mouth idly. Then he sat bolt upright and leaned forward. ‘How many people have you told about it already? A dozen?’
It was little less than accusation, and Longstreet flushed. He was opening his lips to answer stiffly when Howard spoke for him.
‘He is keeping it to himself. He has told no one but me.’
Lee sank back in his chair, and when he spoke again it was in a careless, off-hand manner.
‘Half an hour ago I saw Monte Devine. He came tearing down the street, hell-bent-for-election. Down at the saloon on the corner he picked up two men you know, Al. One of them was Jake Bettins and the other was Ed True. The three hit the pike at a regular two-forty clip for the Big Run road. Those birds don’t go chasing around on a day like this just to get sunburn, do they?’
Howard frowned. ‘Monte Devine?’ he muttered, staring at Lee. But Lee, instead of taking the trouble to give the necessary assurance again, turned his eyes upon Longstreet.
‘Filed on your claim yet?’ he demanded.
‘Yes,’ retorted Longstreet, feeling inexplicably ill at ease and shifting in his chair. ‘Immediately.’
‘That’s good,’ grunted Lee. ‘But I would be squatting on my diggings with a shot-gun under my arm. Al, here, can tell you a few things about Monte Devine and his crowd.’
‘Next to Lee,’ said Howard, ‘Devine knows the mining game from hackamore to hoof. And he’s a treacherous hound and a Jim Courtot man.’
‘You said it, boy,’ grunted Pony Lee. ‘He’s all of that. And he’s no nickel shooter, either. If the game ain’t big, he won’t chip in.’
‘But,’ continued Howard, ‘I guess you’ve doped it up wrong, Pony. Chances are they’ve got something else up their sleeves. They couldn’t possibly have dropped on to Longstreet’s find.’
For a full minute Lee’s eyes bored into Longstreet’s. Then he spoke dryly:
‘As long’s the desert wind blows, word of a strike will go with it. Maybe I have got the wrong end of it.’ He shrugged loosely. ‘I’ve done that sort of thing now and then. But I got one more thing to spill. Sanchia Murray’s in town. Or she was a little while ago.’
Again he fixed his shrewd eyes upon Longstreet’s tell-tale face, which slowly reddened. Pony Lee grunted and at last lighted his cigar. Howard, with a look of sheer amazement, stared at Helen’s father.
‘You didn’t tell Sanchia?’ he gasped.
They got their answer in a perfect silence. Lee laughed somewhere deep down in his throat. Howard simply sat and stared. Then suddenly he sprang to his feet and grasped Longstreet by both shoulders, jerking him up out of his chair.
‘Tell me about it,’ he commanded sternly. ‘What did you tell her?’
‘Everything,’ returned the bewildered college man. ‘Why shouldn’t I? She promised not to say anything.’
Howard groaned.
‘Oh, hell!’ he muttered and turned away. But he came back and explained quietly. ‘She’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg; she’s running neck and neck, fif
ty-fifty, with Jim Courtot and Monte Devine on all kinds of deals—Come on. We’ve got to burn the earth getting back to Big Run. We’ll beat ’em to it yet.’
‘Wait a minute, Al,’ called Lee softly. ‘Let’s get all the dope first. You say, Mr. Longstreet, that you filed on your claim all right?’
Longstreet began to flounder and half-way through his recital bogged down helplessly. He had met Sanchia Murray, had gone with her to the Montezuma House, had seen Mr. Bates there——
‘What sort of a looking gent is this Mr. Bates?’ quizzed Pony Lee sharply.
‘A short man, dark, black moustaches——’
Again Howard groaned. Lee merely smiled.
‘Recognize the picture, Al? She steered him right into Monte to fix his papers! Well, by God!’
His expression was one of pure admiration. In his mind Sanchia Murray had risen to undreamed of heights—heights of impudence, but none the less daring. He could see the coup in all of its brilliance. But not so Howard.
‘We saw her leave a letter at the hotel in Big Run!’ he cried out. He was half-way to the door. ‘She had the hunch then. By now Courtot and Devine and the rest are in the saddles, if they are not, some of them, already squatting on the job at Last Ridge! I’m on my way. Pony, come alive. Chase over to the court-house; take Longstreet with you and file on the claim if it isn’t too late.’
As his last words came back to them he was out on the street and running. He knew within himself that it was too late. They would find that Sanchia or one of her crowd had already visited Harkness’s office. Well, that was one thing; the other was to take possession. His boots clattered loudly upon the echoing board sidewalk and men came out to look after him.