King Colt

by Short, Luke;

  “That’s all we need. Fitz will do the rest.” Johnny regarded Tip with serious, sober eyes. “We came to you, Tip, because you’re the only man who can get us that gold. You can get it from Sammons. We can’t go to Kinder, because this has got to be secret Sammons will believe you. It’ll be a risk, of course, but as long as I can stand on two feet and give my promise, I promise that you’ll get that gold back. Can you do it?”

  Tip nodded his head slightly. “I can. I’ll do it, too. It’s a plain business gamble. If it works, the Esmerella will open. If it doesn’t—”

  “It will,” Johnny said grimly. “It will if I have to ride the owlhoot the rest of my life for the murder of Major Fitz.”

  Tip rose, and the meeting broke up. Johnny followed Tip over to his horse. Tip was just ready to mount when Johnny said, “I heard about you and Nora, Tip. I wish you both luck.”

  Tip turned, to see Johnny holding out his hand. He gripped it and said, “Thanks, Johnny, I’ll tell her.”

  “If anyone can make her happy, I reckon you can,” Johnny said gently. “But if you can’t, Tip, promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “That you’ll clear out when you see it doesn’t work.”

  “It will work.”

  “I think so, too.”

  “I’ll clear out if it doesn’t,” Tip said. “She’s too fine to have her life cluttered up by a man she doesn’t love, Johnny—either you or me. Do you understand?”

  Johnny nodded. Tip mounted. Hugo and Westfall were waiting. They rode out of the camp, and with them rode the success of the scheme. And somehow, remembering Tip, Johnny felt it was in good hands. The waiting on the results would be the hardest thing to bear.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: RAT TRAP

  With the forged report in his pocket and the two-pound bar of gold in a sack resting on his saddle horn, Westfall rode up on the ridge above town and turned to the left again. There was a cool wind tonight riding off the bench, and it felt healing to the scars and bruises on his face. He whistled softly between his teeth, relishing what was about to happen.

  The moon was brighter tonight, and from quite a way off he could pick out the horses of Major Fitz and Carmody. As he approached, two figures moved out of the shadow to meet him.

  Westfall reined up and dismounted stiffly, and again Major Fitz, like a brash little terrier, stood in front of him.

  “Well, Westfall, you decided to reconsider, did you?”

  “Not reconsider, Fitz,” Westfall said, chuckling a little. “I just made a bad guess. I was lookin’ on the gloomy side of it.”

  “What’s the report this time?”

  For answer, Westfall handed him the gold bar and then the paper.

  “How much?” Fitz asked quickly.

  “A little over eleven hundred dollars from a short ton of ore,” Westfall said calmly.

  Fitz’s hand tightened on the bar, and Westfall could hear his breath coming quickly.

  “Eleven hundred dollars!” Fitz exclaimed softly, and he opened the paper with trembling fingers. The moon was so strong that he did not need a match to read the figures and the signature at the bottom.

  “Well, how’d you do it?” Fitz demanded brusquely.

  “Like you told me to, I got another ton down,” Westfall said quietly. “It assayed only forty dollars a ton. But I knew I was on the track of somethin’. I didn’t want to come back and tell you. I figured you was just about redheaded enough to gun me if I gave out that report. So I worked the men both shifts through the night. I changed the course of the shaft, workin’ in more toward the dike and even into it. Come mornin’, I knew I had it. I could tell by the look of the ore. I hurried it down to the mill, and Kinder put a rush job through for me, and there it is.”

  Fitz laughed with pleasure. He could afford to be magnanimous now. “You mustn’t take me too literally, Westfall. I was upset. I’d lost my place the night before and I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “No offense,” Westfall said easily. “I knew it was up to me to either produce or get out. The gold was there, and you knew it.”

  “I did.”

  Carmody took the bar now and hefted it and whistled in exclamation.

  “You reckon you’re in a pretty good humor now?” Westfall asked.

  “Best ever.” Fitz laughed. “Come over and sit down and let’s smoke. You want to ask me something, don’t you?”

  “That’s it.” They walked over to the base of the pinnacle rock and rolled smokes. Westfall took his time in starting, for this was the part that would need skill.

  He began thus: “You’re a kind of hard man, Fitz, but I like to work for a driver. And you’ve done well by me in the way of wages. With the men, too.”

  “I’ve tried to,” Fitz said with some satisfaction.

  “I just had an idea when I got that report from Kinder,” Westfall continued, after a moment’s pause. “It come to me so quick I acted on the spur of the moment.”

  Fitz said nothing.

  “It come to me,” Westfall said slowly, “that if I didn’t do somethin’ to keep his mouth shut, Kinder would spread this news about our strike to the four winds.”

  “Yes?”

  “So I give him three hundred dollars—all I had in my pocket—to keep this a secret for three days.” He paused, and glanced obliquely at Fitz, who was listening carefully.

  “What for?” Carmody put in.

  “Well, I figured it this way,” Westfall drawled. “Tip Rogers got his report last night. It was nothin’—worse than mine. That news is out in camp.’ Also, the news of our first report is out in camp. The whole camp is discouraged. This mornin’ when I left, there wasn’t but five or six men workin’ their claims. Already some of the saddle tramps have started to pick up and leave. See what I mean? They’re licked up there already!”

  “Yes, yes,” Fitz said impatiently.

  “Here’s my scheme, then. What if I was to go up there with a report signed by Kinder—that report that says the ore only showed forty dollars a ton? I’d show it around. Well, that would discourage the rest of ’em. No man, unless he’s got a company behind him and a whole ore field to work on, is goin’ to make money out of forty-dollar-a-ton ore, is he?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Then what if I was to go up there and call the camp together and say, ‘Look here. This ore is worth forty dollars a ton. It’s no good to you jaspers unless you can sell out to a big outfit. All right, I’m the big outfit. I represent a million dollars lookin’ for a place to mine low-grade ore. Sell me your claims. I’ll pay you a reasonable figure for them. And once I’ve got them, all of them, enough to assure me that I’ll have lots of ore to work, why I’ll put in a big mine and mill here and start operations.’” He looked at Fitz. “How do you think they’d take that? Don’t you reckon they’d jump at the chance to sell? And once I had all the claims, I could scrape away that top rubble and we’d open a vein of gold that would be worth millions, yes, millions!”

  For a moment, Fitz did not answer, and Westfall could almost see the greed in him at work.

  “Good Lord!” Fitz said softly, almost to himself. “What a fortune!”

  “You see, Kinder will keep his mouth shut about my strike just as long as I pay him a hundred dollars a day. We’d have to act fast, before Rogers or any of the others strike the vein, too. But inside of three days, I judge, I can buy out every claim in that canyon, and for a song.” He paused and regarded Fitz openly. “Only I ain’t got the money to buy the claims. Have you?”

  In his excitement, Fitz jumped to his feet and walked out to the horses. He wheeled and came back toward Westfall, and he was talking so loud he was almost shouting.

  “Money! Of course I’ve got the money! How much will it take?”

  “A hundred and fifty thousand, anyway,” Westfall said. “Have you got that much?”

  “Nearly. But the rest won’t matter!” He paused, and said more slowly, “How long have I got to get it?�
��

  “Three days, I’d judge. By that time Rogers or some of the others will be about down to the vein. The time we wait after that would be risky.”

  “My money is over in Warms,” Fitz said swiftly. “I could make it back with the cash in two nights and a day.”

  “Well, I reckon you’ve got a gold mine, then,” Westfall said calmly. “I don’t see how it will fail.”

  “What’s your cut on this, Westfall?” Fitz demanded, his excitement making his voice quaver. “Ask for anything reasonable, and it’s yours.”

  “Five per cent,” Westfall drawled. “That and a job as superintendent at the wages you’re givin’ me. It ain’t much, but then I ain’t puttin’ up any of the money. All I want is a nice stake out of it.”

  “Done!” Fitz said. They spent another ten minutes talking over the details and arranging a meeting-place, and then Fitz fairly ran for his horse, Carmody behind him.

  As he was ready to ride off, Westfall called, “Fitz, you’re leavin’ this brick!”

  “Keep it,” Fitz yelled. “I’ll pick it up when I get back!” And he and Carmody thundered off into the night.

  Westfall watched them, chuckling through his cracked lips. And then he spat loudly to take the taste of it from his mouth.

  When Tip came down to breakfast the next morning, he laid a burlap-wrapped object on the window sill, and when Nora came to take his order, she saw it.

  “What’s that, Tip?”

  “Bait,” Tip said wisely.

  “For what?”

  Tip grinned up at her and touched the brick which Westfall had returned to him early that morning. “You’ll know in a couple of days, honey.”

  Nora made a face at him and took his order. When she returned with it, she sat down opposite him and watched him eat.

  “You’ve been awful quiet lately, Tip. Aren’t things going well at the camp?”

  For a moment, Tip did not answer, and Nora saw him scowling at his plate. He had not told her about the report he had got from Kinder, thinking to spare her a share in his own disillusionment. But now he looked up at her and watched her closely as he said, “That mine is a fake, honey. There isn’t a hundred dollars in the whole acre of it.”

  “When did you find that out?”

  “Day before yesterday.”

  “And you haven’t told me?” Nora exclaimed. “Why, Tip? Don’t you think I can accept disappointment, too?”

  “I had my heart set on it,” Tip murmured. “I was a fool, Nora. In my own mind I had a home built for us. You were traveling—China, South America, Europe, anywhere. I was with you. We took the finest boats, bought the most expensive things.” He grinned shyly. “I’m pretty much of a fool.”

  “Then it’s no good? No good at all?”

  “Not worth a hoot. Does it matter to you?”

  “You know it doesn’t, Tip.” She smiled warmly at him and patted his hand. With a sigh, he picked up his fork and started eating again.

  Nora hesitated a long time before she asked the question that was uppermost in her mind, but she determined to get it over with.

  “Are you sorry you didn’t go to Mexico, Tip?” she asked gently.

  Honest bewilderment showed on Tip’s face. “Nora! What made you ask that?”

  Nora shrugged. “It’s kind of tough to have big, wide dreams and then come down to earth. It’s bad enough when you’re single. It’s worse, I imagine, when you think you haven’t done right by someone you love. And you do feel that way, Tip?”

  Tip nodded. “Sort of.”

  “Don’t do it. I don’t mind no money, Tip. Our luck will change.”

  “What would you think if I told you it had changed already?” Tip murmured.

  Nora only stared at him, her blue eyes wide and inquisitive.

  “Keep this under that lovely blond hair of yours,” Tip said, “but I think the Esmerella will open soon.”

  “Tip! You don’t mean it!”

  “I do.”

  “How soon?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody else does. But things are going to break here in this county. They won’t break, they’ll explode. And when they do, we’ll see things the way we want them.”

  “That’s strange,” Nora murmured, her steady gaze on Tip. “That sounded like Johnny Hendry for a minute. You aren’t having his delusions, are you, Tip?”

  Tip laughed uneasily, and Nora could see the color creep up into his face from his neck.

  “You’ve seen him, Tip!” Nora accused.

  Tip avoided her gaze, and Nora knew instantly that what she had said was true. For a moment she hated to believe it. “Tip, you’ve talked to him, and he’s got those wild schemes in your head! Oh, Tip, and I thought you were so steady and sensible!”

  “Maybe I am,” Tip murmured.

  “Not if you can let Johnny Hendry sway you!” She leaned over nearer to him. “What is it, Tip? What has he done to you?”

  “It’s not to me, Nora, it’s for me.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I can’t tell you now. You’ll just have to wait and see.” Tip raised pleading eyes to her. “Believe me, Nora, I was wrong about Johnny. If you only understood. You were wrong, too.”

  “Not about the important part,” Nora said firmly. “He’s generous, Johnny is, but he’s undependable. He’s prejudiced, as suspicious as an old woman.” Her eyes darkened. “I’d hate to take anything from him, Tip—I’d hate for us to!”

  “Wait until you see what happens.”

  “I don’t want to!” She spoke vehemently now, passionately. “Tip, if you love me, don’t be with him! He’s everything that’s wrong in my world! He’s everything that breaks a woman’s heart, and makes her hate him!”

  Tip said soothingly, “All right, honey. All right. But wait and see. Don’t judge him until you know.” He looked down at the tablecloth. “I did once, and I was pretty much of a fool.” He rose now, and went over to her and kissed her, and then went out.

  Nora watched him go, and for a while she sat there, ashamed of herself. What had made her speak so violently against Johnny, as if he had done something to hurt her? Really, he had never been anything but kind to her. And the thought crossed Nora’s mind that perhaps she did not understand her own feelings, that she spoke out of resentment—much as Johnny had been known to do, himself. But she would not think this thought. She rose and hurried about her business, but if anyone had looked at her, they would have noticed that she was blushing deeply and beautifully.

  Chapter Twenty-Four: A MAJOR KILLING

  Over the apathetic boom camp of Bonanza canyon, the clashing of a dishpan hammered with a wooden spoon went out in loud waves. Lanterns hung from the ridgepoles of tents and in the doorways of open shacks. There was very little sound of merriment in the place tonight, for this was a gloom camp now. The two streets were hourly losing their crowds.

  Men who clustered in silent groups of two and three pricked up their ears at the sound of the homely gong. This was the call to a meeting, where all the news, good and bad, was announced to the camp—and lately it had been mostly bad.

  Big Westfall stood on the high front porch of Tim Prince’s saloon, two old-fashioned kerosene flares on either side of the saloon door behind him. He clanged the dishpan with a hearty gusto and shouted out into the night for the crowd to assemble. They did, slowly, and among them were the figures of Major Fitz and Bledsoe. Baily Blue was with them. These three had ridden up today ostensibly to see how their claims were being worked. And in that crowd also, which moiled and flowed around the foot of Prince’s porch was Tip Rogers. Behind the saloon, up on the cliff side, hidden in a sparse thicket of scrub oak, Johnny Hendry and Hank and Turk were waiting.

  When most of the camp was around him, in front of and behind him, Big Westfall raised his hands for silence.

  “I dunno whether you’ll think this was worth callin’ you for or not,” Westfall began in his slow and homely drawl. “I just rode back from the mill and go
t my report on the second and third shipment of ore I freighted down. It was a bare forty dollars a ton.”

  A murmur of disgust ran through the crowd.

  Somebody up in the front ranks said quietly, “Lemme see it, Westfall,” and Westfall handed the report to the man without a word. It was passed around, talked about, until, from the very discouragement it bred, was handed back to Westfall, who pocketed it.

  Westfall saw now that the crowd was turning to gossip again, and he kicked the pan with his foot to draw attention to himself.

  Leaning against a porch post, he began again in a conversational tone which sounded as if he, too, was disheartened.

  “This really ain’t what I called you together for,” Westfall said. “That was to kind of prepare you for the proposition I’m makin’. First of all, let me ask, has anyone in the camp got a better report than forty dollars to a ton of their ore?”

  In various ways, the crowd of rough miners and punchers and townsmen told him no. They even ridiculed such a high figure.

  “Well, then, I might’s well make my proposition,” Westfall continued. “It don’t look to me like any of us is goin’ to make any money in this camp except us that can afford to put in a big outfit here and a stamp mill and mine forty-dollar-a-ton ore. Does it to you?”

  Again they said no.

  “Well, I was talkin’ to my bosses from Warms this afternoon. They come halfway over the Calicoes to see me. They read my report. They got the capital to put up the buildings and machinery and take out low-grade ore and reduce it and still make a profit on it. But they can’t do it on the six claims I staked out for ’em. They told me to make you folks a proposition.”

  Here the general attention picked up, and when Westfall had waited long enough for their curiosity to be aroused, he went on.

  “Me, I don’t think much of it from their standpoint, but orders is orders. They said if you folks would sell out for a reasonable low figure, they’d buy out your claims. They aim to pay two thousand dollars a claim for all them that butts the dike, a thousand for them within five hundred yards of it either way, and seven hundred and fifty for all them rimrock claims within a half mile east of the canyon end. That’s the proposition.” He paused and spat and said negligently, “If you ain’t a bunch of suckers, you’ll take it. Not that I care whether you do or don’t, though. I’m followin’ orders.”