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

by Oliver Strange

  They passed the puncher as though he had not been there, and the proud light on the boy’s face was something to see. Sudden’s own gaze rested on a point farther along the ledge, his harsh expression softened, and with something like a sigh, he holstered his weapon and went to meet his friends.

  **

  Later, the bodies of Lesurge and his victim were found and buried; the woman had been shot through the heart and the fall had not marred her beauty. Sudden wrapped her in his own blanket, laid her gently in the grave, and turned away. He had been drilled in a hard school, but he was young and Mary Ducane did not arrive till all was over, Gerry having—at Sudden’s suggestion—contrived that they should fall behind. On the way he asked the lover’s inevitable question and got the age-old answer.

  “From the first day, but I was—dazzled,” the girl confessed shyly. “I think I really knew that time you bullied me—in the street.” Gerry’s grin was graceless. “I shore declared myself,” he chuckled.

  “Did you—mean it?” she asked, almost inaudibly. His reply left her breathless.

  It was a quiet but contented company round the camp-fire when the shadows gathered.

  Rogers was the first to break the silence.

  “Place looks kind o’ lonesome without the of Rockin’ stone. I had a peek at the mine; I figure she’s a total loss.”

  “Not for us, thanks to Jim,” Snowy said. “There oughta be a grubstake for each of us, eh, Mary?” The girl looked up; she was sitting next to him, and very close to Gerry. It was evident that her mind had not been on such a mundane matter as money.

  “Whatever there is will be equally divided, of course,” she replied.

  Protest greeted her decision; she was not being fair to herself, and they would not hear of it. In vain she pleaded that they had done everything, and she nothing. Jacob alone took no part in the discussion, listening with a smiling interest. Presently he said quietly:

  “Might I suggest that this is a matter for the owner of the mine to settle?” They stared at him in amaze, all save the prospector, upon whom his eyes were fixed. “Come, Ducane, don’t you think you’ve played ‘possum long enough?” The old man bent forward, his bright little eyes scanning the other closely. “Never met up with anybody o’ yore name,” he muttered.

  “But you knew a Jake Holway at the Bluebird diggings in California.” Snowy straightened. “The Professor,” he said.

  Jacob nodded. “I was almost fresh from college and my manner of speech earned me the title. And you were Mad Phil’—willin’ to take any chance, even in those wild days. I recognized you in Deadwood, but a man usually has a reason for hiding his identity.” Mary slid an arm round the old man’s shoulders. “I’m so glad, Uncle Phil,” she whispered, “but it doesn’t make a bit of difference—really.”

  “I s’pose I gotta own up, though I was meanin’ to let the cards go as they lay,” Snowy told them. “You see, back at Wayside—where nobody knowed my real name—I was waitin’ for my brother. Lesurge shows up an’ goes nosin’ round for Philip Ducane. Me bein’ of a suspicious nature, he don’t find him. When, later, he puts his proposition to me, a fella don’t need more’n hoss-sense to savvy the game. Fagan had got wind o’ my letter, tried for it, an’ failed, George—who used to be a careless cuss ‘bout his own affairs—havin’ destroyed it.” He paused and looked at the girl.

  “Yes, it was my idea,” she admitted. “I was afraid of …”

  “So they had to plan different,” Snowy went on hurriedly. “Fagan tags along with Mary to Wayside, where Lesurge takes charge. Havin’ made shore—as he believes—that Philip Ducane ain’t around, he hits on the dodge o’ puttin’ up a dummy, an’ he certainly picked the right man.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Well, I agreed to pertend to be myself. It warn’t easy, ‘specially when I found what a sweet—” Gerry lost the hand he had been holding; it went to close the speaker’s mouth.

  “Yu done a good job,” Sudden grinned. “I dunno as I’ll ever believe yu any more. Took us all in, ‘cept Jacob, an’ he’s a clam.”

  “What a man calls himself, that’s his business,” the gold-dealer defended. “I too was sailing under false colours.”

  “I didn’t suspect, but—after the exposure—I wondered how you knew I resembled my mother,” Mary said softly.

  “I near slipped up there,” Snowy confessed. “Lesurge wondered too. I had to explain that it was a compliment any girl would ‘preciate. I got full marks from him for that. But it happened to be true.” I dunno as I’ll ever believe you any more either,” she told him, and her mimicry of the puncher made them all laugh.

  “I reckon you know the rest,” the old man continued. “I let Paul play his game while I collected a few friends to help me beat it. He smiled round on them. “I’m sayin’ no man ever got better, an’ it was a durn’ good day for us when Jim drifted into Wayside.” A chorus of approval greeted the statement, but the recipient of the praise might have been sitting on a cactus.

  “Shucks,” he said. “If yo’re all goin’ to talk foolish, I’m turn-in’ in.”

  “There’s one thing we have to decide,” Jacob reminded. “What are we to tell Deadwood?”

  No one spoke, but all eyes went to the man upon whom they instinctively relied for leadership.

  The cowboy did not fail them. -

  “Anybody honin’ to go back there?” he asked, and getting no response, went on,

  “Explanations would shorely be—difficult. Why not head for Laramie? There’s a risk o’ runnin’ into redskins but we’re well-armed an’ mounted; I guess we can get through.” So it was decided.

  The note was addressed to Gerry, and he knew instantly that he had lost a friend. The journey from the Rocking Stone had been safely accomplished, and by the time it ended, plans for the future made. Snowy, Mason and Mary were travelling East in search of a ranch, and the others were going with them, for a while, at least. Sudden only, would give no promise. The missive was brief: DEAR GERRY, This is to tell yu all good-bye. I couldn’t face it, so I’ve played coward an’ run away. I ain’t wishin’ yu happiness— yo’re takin’ it with yu. Good Luck. JIM

  “Ol’ son-of-a-gun,” the boy muttered. “I’m shore proud to ‘a’ knowed you.”

  Miles out of Laramie, as the climbing sun painted the sky red and gold, a rider on a big black horse loped steadily southward. The air was sharp and laden with the pungent breath of the pine-trees. The grass was gem-studded with dew. Birds chirped and whistled in the branches overhead, rabbits scudded away at his approach, and once, a grateful doe crashed into the undergrowth and turned to gaze, with startled, gentle eyes, at the strange intruder on her solitude.

  The rider noticed none of these things. He was visioning a different scene; a woman, young and lovely, curled up on a bed of dead leaves, a cheek pillowed on one palm, a half-smile on her rosy lips, asleep in the wilderness, while he watched.

  The End