Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937)

by Oliver Strange

  I’ve seen your cowboy, Green. He’s not as handsome as Hickok, but he has a face most women would like to see more than once, and he appears—capable.”

  “Don’t fall in love with him—yet,” Lesurge warned. “It might be a waste of time.”

  “No danger of that,” she retorted. “When I make a fool of myself it will be for something more than youth and good looks; I’m tired of living on expectations.”

  CHAPTER IX

  For a week after the interview with Hickok the two friends had kept away from the town.

  Their little stream and its banks provided them with a moderate but steady addition to their store of gold, and despite Gerry’s frequent suggestions that they should search for richer ground, Sudden declined to budge.

  “‘Let well alone’ is one damn good motto,” he said. “We ain’t doin’ so bad an’ we’re handy to home—an’ Snowy.” This closed the argument, for Gerry still cherished the hope that the old prospector would come or send for them if Miss Ducane were in danger. So they toiled at their task, hating the work but, being cowboys, doing it as well as they could. On this particular evening they felt that some relaxation was due. When they mentioned this to Jacoo, he remarked casually:

  “There are some new faces in town. Ever heard of a man named Lefty Logan?” They had not, and said as much. “He’s a gunman from California,” the old man went on. “Has a trick of starting to go for his right-hand gun and then using the other.”

  “A fool play to watch hands,” Sudden commented. “Fella’s eyes are the pointers.”

  “He’s acquainted with Berg,” Jacob added. “I saw them a week ago in the Monte, but Logan has spent the last few evenings at the Paris. Possibly he didn’t find what he wanted at Stark’s.”

  “Mebbe he’ll have better luck tonight,” Sudden told him. “C’mon, cowboy, let’s go an’ hit the high spots.”

  “What about passin’ up Bizet’s this evenin’?” Gerry suggested when they reached that establishment. “Plenty other joints.”

  “Mebbe, but I’m curious to see this Lefty person,” Sudden said, and pushed through the door.

  At their entry the clamour almost died away; eyes followed them as they stepped to the bar; Logan had been talking. There was menace in the atmosphere and that instinctive intuition which comes to those who tread perilous paths warned the puncher of impending danger.

  “My fren’s, I am glad to see you,” Bizet greeted, but his expression belied the words.

  “Damned if yu look it,” Sudden smiled. “I’d say a coupla rattlers would be more welcome.” The Frenchman shrugged. “It is true—I lie,” he admitted.

  “What’s bitin’ yu?” Mason asked. “What we done?”

  “Ah, it is not you, my fren’s,” the little man cried. “I keep de saloon. I must serve anyone.

  For three, four nights I have a customer I no like. He have de beeg mouth, he brag, he have keel ten men, he make de threat.” The door swung back and Bizet spat out an oath. “Sacre, I hope he not come.” He slipped away.

  With a swaggering air which was in itself offensive, the newcomer sauntered to the bar, called for liquor, and turning, surveyed the company insolently. He was not yet forty, of medium build, and his shabby attire was that of the range. Two heavy guns hung low on his hips, the holsters tied. The pushed-back, battered Stetson revealed a pale, dissipated face, washed-out greenish eyes, and a sneering slit of a mouth.

  Standing a few yards from the cowboys, he appeared to take no notice of them, but Sudden knew he was being watched and weighed, that this was the killer from California, and that presently … Outwardly calm, he was filled with a cold rage against this man who had come to take his life for no reason save the sordid one of gain. He went on talking to Gerry.

  “When he makes his play, duck out,” he said. “No sense in takin’ a pill that ain’t meant for yu.” The boy nodded miserably; his nerve would have been steadier had the peril been personal.

  He could not keep his eyes from that sinister figure lounging against the bar. Tense moments ticked by, and then, having apparently come to a decision, Logan straightened up and raised his glass.

  “Here’s to yaller,” he barked. “Yaller liquor, yaller metal, yaller-haired gals, an’ to hell with green.” The words struck the room to silence; the mutter of voices, chink of coins, click of poker chips and flipping of cards ceased, and the only sound was the scrape of a foot as someone behind the speaker hurriedly changed his position. Breathlessly the onlookers waited for the cowboy’s answer to the challenge; it proved a surprise.

  “My name is Green,” Sudden said quietly. “Yu wouldn’t know that, o’ course.” He was offering a way out and a few of those present smiled contemptuously. But some, studying the set jaw and ice-cold eyes, divined the truth; this man would not slay until he was sure there was no other way. Logan, certain that his opponent was weakening, had no intention of withdrawing; he had a job to do and his evil face lit up as he rasped:

  “Shore I knew it, an’ I’m sayin’ again, to hell with green.” His right hand, fingers outspread like talons, dropped down, but at the same time, the left hand flashed the gun on the other side from the holster only to let it clatter on the board floor as, with wide eyes and sagging knees, he pitched forward to sprawl beside it. Through the cloud of acrid smoke Sudden stared at the body for a moment and then replaced his pistol.

  The excitement was soon over. Fatal affrays were frequent enough and Deadwood did not allow them to interfere with the more important business or getting, and getting rid or, gold. The corpse was carried away, the company resumed its various amusements, and the incident became no more than a topic for conversation.

  The cowboys left almost at once but it was not until they were nearing their dwelling that either spoke. Then Gerry said:

  “Yu ain’t much older’n me, Jim; how in hell did yu get to handle a six-gun like that?”

  “Shootin’ was allus easy to me,” Sudden replied, and after a silence, “If he hadn’t gambled on that trick … ” He paused again. “I gave him a chance.”

  “Which was more than he deserved,” the boy said. “He got what he asked for.” Jacob met them at the door and his face rightened when he saw two figures step out of the gloom.

  “I am glad to see you both,” he said, and there was the slightest stress of the last word.

  His mild gaze rested on them. “The danger is past?”

  “This particular one won’t rise again till Gabriel toots his horn,” Sudden replied grimly, and went to their room. The old man looked inquiringly at Mason.

  “Logan baited him and pulled his gun; Jim got him before he could fire. I never see anythin’ like it. Jim was as unconcerned as the corpse at a buryin’. One shot, plumb through the heart.” There was awe in his tone. “No wonder they call him `Sudden’.”

  “Jim is takin’ it pretty hard, dunno why, a skunk like that.”

  “Save to the utterly depraved, the letting of a human life, however necessary, is not a subject for pride,” came the mild reproof. “You boys will need to be on the alert; the people who set this slayer on will try again.”

  “Yu know who they are?” Gerry asked.

  “Not yet, but I shall,” was the reply.

  And with that Mason had to be content.

  It was on the following morning that something for which Gerry had long been hoping, happened—he met Mary Ducane. One swift glance and she looked away. Hat in hand, he stepped directly in her path.

  “Yu don’t seem pleased to see me, Miss Ducane,” he said, and there was determination in his tone.

  “It is your own fault if I am not,” she replied coldly, for she was conscious that the sight of him stirred her and that she had missed this pleasant-faced boy who had done so much to make the long passage across the plains endurable.

  “Mebbe yu’ll tell me what crime I’ve committed?”

  “I don’t like your friends, Mister Mason.”

  “I ain’t exactly in l
ove with yores, but I’m not holdin’ that against yu,” he retorted.

  “My friends are not cold-blooded killers,” she said hotly.

  “Is that so? Well, the man yo’re miscallin’ saved me from bein’ shot in the back by one of ‘em—fella named Fagan,” Gerry said grimly. “Mebbe yu didn’t know that?”

  “He is not a friend, as you should be aware,” she cried. “I heard you had beaten him up. I detest brawlers and—drunkards.” Her attitude of contempt roused a devil of despair in him. For weeks he had hungered for the sight of her, and now…

  “Pore of Snowy,” he said, and if he meant to anger her he certainly succeeded.

  “I refuse to discuss my uncle with you,” she said, and her eyes were stormy.

  Mason was reckless. ” Saint’ Paul hisself don’t hate the sight of a bottle, unless mebbe an empty one.”

  “You are insulting,” she retorted scathingly. “Either you have been drinking or your association with men who slay for money has debased you. I wish never to speak to you again.”

  “Yu think it’s so but it ain’t,” Gerry told her hardily. “One day yo’re goin’ to like me a whole lot. As for the fella yu’ve been abusin’, he’s the straightest man I ever met.”

  “With a gun?” she asked scornfully.

  “In every way,” he replied. “He’s my partner an’ I wouldn’t give him up even for yu, an’ yo’re goin’ to be my wife.”

  “Never,” she flamed.

  “Forever’ rhymes with that an’ shore sounds nicer,” he smiled. “I ain’t sayin’ good-bye—Mary; I’ll be seein’ yu.” Utterly bereft of speech the astounded girl watched him go, and then, with a curious little sound, half laugh, half sob, she turned away. Gerry Mason strode along, oblivious of the busy scene around him. A slightly tanned oval face, from which deep blue eyes regarded him witheringly, was all he saw, and he was filled with wonder at his own temerity.

  “I must ‘a’ been loco,” he muttered, but there was no regret. “My, but she looked awful pretty when she r’ared up. I reckon she’ll never forgive me—till I make her.” His unrepentant grin would have made Miss Ducane “awful pretty” a second time had she seen it.

  “So Berg fell down again?” Lesurge said. “He appears to be somewhat of a bungler.”

  “Yes, damn it,” Stark growled. “I’m through with him.” They were alone in the saloonkeeper’s sanctum and it was the night after the passing of Lefty Logan. Paul shook his head.

  “You can’t afford to be,” he said. “If he goes over to Bizet and talks …”

  “That rat? He’s no proof—” Stark began.

  “Rats can bite and you don’t need to stir up trouble in a community like this,” the other broke in. “All he’s done is to make that cursed cowboy a popular figure.”

  “What you got against him, Paul?”

  “Nothing—much, but as I told you, I’ve a feeling he’s going to make things difficult for—us.”

  “Can’t he be bought?”

  “He turned down Berg’s offer,” came the reminder. “I don’t think all your money would tempt him, but there may be another way.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll explain later; leave it to me,” Lesurge evaded.

  On his way home he turned over the idea which had come to him during the conversation. It would require the aid of Lora, but he could rely on that. He was fortunate to find her alone in the sitting-room.

  “You were complaining of being dull and having nothing to do,” he began. “Well, I’ve found a way in which you can amuse yourself and help at the same time.” He explained his plan, and as she listened her eyes filled with mischievous mirth.

  “What is the great idea? You are not going to slay him at my feet, are you?” she bantered.

  “Don’t be silly, Lora—there is no question of hurting the fellow,” Paul said sharply. “We want him on our side and if you can get him interested in yourself … ”

  “I see,” she said. “But suppose I’m the one to get—interested?”

  “You’re not a fool.”

  “No, but I’m a woman. Well, as you say, it will be amusing. Have you any suggestions?”

  “I’ve thought it out,” he replied, and went on to explain.

  “Brilliant, Paul,” she laughed. “Had you used your undoubted ability in some honest channel—isn’t that how the judge generally phrases it?” She saw the gathering frown. “Oh, well, if you’re ashamed of being crooked there’s still hope for you.”

  “That tongue of yours will one day make me consider taking a whip to you,” he grated.

  “Consider it well, Paul,” she counseled. “The man who did that to me wouldn’t live long enough to be sorry.” She left him pacing up and down the room, his usually immobile features contorted with fury. He got control of himself, however, and by the time Snowy—for whom he was waiting—arrived, he was his own calm, urbane self. The prospector was in a gay mood.

  “‘Lo, Paul, this of town is shorely whoopin’ along, ain’t she?” he greeted.

  “Yes, but it is no place for idle folk to live in.”

  “Meanin’?”

  “That it is time you got busy and found that mine. Has Mary refreshed that shocking memory of yours?” Snowy looked embarrassed. “Damned if I warn’t near forgettin’ why we come here,” he confessed. “She told me enough —I’ll reckernize the place when I see it. Want me to start in the mornin’?”

  “Hell, no. How far is it?”

  “Mebbe twenty mile an’ rough travellin’.”

  “You’ll need company, at least one man who’s good with his gun. Got any ideas.” Snowy was without the confidence of Lesurge and Stark; he had not been informed of Berg’s activities.

  “What about that cowboy fella, Green?” he asked. “You won’t find a better gun-swinger barrin’ Wild Bill, an’ some has their doubts about that.” To his surprise the suggestion met with approval. “The very man I had in mind, Phil,” Lesurge smiled. “I’ll arrange it. Once the mine is located, we can take out a strong party to work it. And, by the way, Reuben Stark is our friend, so I want you to boost him whenever you can. Sabe?” He went without waiting for a reply, and the old man grimaced at his back. “Shore I sabe, Paul, an’ I’ll boost him—into hell,” he muttered.

  The malevolent expression cleared from his face. “Glad about Green; if he’d sent Fagan I’m afeared there’d have been an accident—to Fagan.” The cowboys were at work on their claim when Sudden heard the slither of shod hoofs on gravel and slipped into the undergrowth to find out who was intruding. He arrived just in time to see the visitor, a woman, descend from her saddle and slap the pony smartly on the rump. As the animal clattered away, she dropped to the ground and uttered a cry of “Help!” Somewhat mystified by these proceedings, Sudden waited a few moments and then hurried from his hiding-place. The face which looked appealingly up to his was beautiful, and to his surprise, was that of Lora Lesurge.

  “Oh, I’m so glad someone heard me,” she cried. “My pony slipped and threw me. I ride quite well, but I suppose I wasn’t noticing. I’ve damaged an ankle.”

  “Can yu stand up?” the puncher asked.

  From beneath the short, divided riding-skirt, she thrust out a slim, silk-clad leg and wriggled the dainty foot.

  “Ouch!” she gasped. Then the red lips parted, showing the perfect white teeth as she tried to smile. “It hurts like—the devil. I hope nothing is broken.” It was an invitation, but Sudden did not accept. “I guess yu couldn’t ‘a’ moved it,” he said. “I’ll go chase yore broncs’ “And leave me alone?” she queried in dismay.

  “I’ll call my partner to keep cases on yu,” he smiled.

  A tiny frown indicated that the suggestion did not please her. “The animal is half-way to Deadwood by now, and while you are catching it, I am in pain,” she pouted.

  Sudden looked contrite. “Which I’m shorely a bonehead not to remember that,” he said.

  “Yu can have my hoss.”
<
br />   “That great black?” she cried. “I never could stay on him with a crippled foot.”

  “He’ll be all right with me along,” Sudden assured her.

  The smile of thanks he received was sweet, but there was a tinge of contempt in it; how easily a pretty woman could lead a man! But her strategy was not so successful as she had assumed. When the puncher returned he was leading two horses, his own, and the piebald mustang which Gerry called “Joseph” because its coat was of many colours. Sudden solved the problem of mounting by lifting her without effort into the saddle. For a brief instant one soft arm encircled his neck, her face temptingly close to his, and then she was looking down at him from the back of the big horse.

  “You must be frightfully strong,” she said, a little breathlessly.

  “Shucks,” he smiled. “I s’pose ropin’ long-horns mebbe toughens a fella’s muscles some.”

  He spoke one sharp word to Nigger. whose ears had gone back at the strange burden.

  “It looks a long way to fall,” she said, her eyes on the smaller animal.

  Sudden swung into the piebald’s saddle and for a while they paced slowly along in silence, the woman covertly studying a companion about whom she was getting new ideas.

  Somehow the task Paul had set her did not seem quite so “amusing.” He had not told her why he wanted this man, but she divined it was for no good. Also, it was not going to be so easy as she had anticipated; this product of the plains appeared to possess a severely practical mind; so far, she had not received even one glance of approbation.

  Sudden was similiarly occupied. It seemed incredible that such a woman could have slain a man because he insulted her, and yet it was true—or all the town lied. He felt the allure of her despite the fact that he knew she was playing a part. Why had she come to seek him, and why the pretended injury?—for he was fully aware that both her shapely ankles were well able fo support her equally shapely body. Why did she desire his company to the settlement? What had her brother to do with it? His fruitless search for answers to these questions was interrupted by the lady;

  “So you got tired of punching cows?”