Thunder Mountain

by Zane Grey

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  11

  THE crisp cool weather gave place to a warm threatening spell that according to Jake would end sooner or later in the equinoctial storms. The wholesale killing of elk for meat storage was not advisable until frost came again.

  Discouraged and defeated gold-seekers took advantage of the mild days to leave the valley. The winding trail was now seldom vacant of pack-animals and plodding men, leaving without regret the El Dorado that had not glittered for them.

  Kalispel noted, however, that none of the parasites left the valley. They would stay on, intensifying their leechlike endeavors upon the diminishing throng of miners. The next phase of Thunder City, therefore, could be expected to increase the activity of those who preyed upon the diggers.

  Blair made it known to Kalispel that he had tried in vain to sell his claims back to Leavitt, for merely enough to hire some freighter to pack him and Sydney out of the valley.

  Kalispel made no comment.

  “How are you fixed for supplies?” asked Blair, as if forced.

  “Can let you have flour, bacon, coffee, salt, some tinned fruit, but no sugar,” replied Kalispel.

  “Help me pack it down to my cabin. There’ll be hell,” went on Blair, desperately. “I swore I’d starve before I’d eat any food that came through Leavitt. And Sydney swears she’ll leave me if I get any from you.”

  “Ah-huh. Where would she go?”

  “Once she said she’d go to Leavitt. And again that she’d become a dance-hall girl.”

  “Bluff. Let’s call her.”

  Wherewith they packed the supplies down to Blair’s cabin. Sydney stood silent upon the porch, watching them carry in the goods. She had grown thinner; her bloom had faded; and her large eyes were all the more wonderful for their tragic pride and scorn. Kalispel felt his heart soften, if she had only really loved him, only a little, he could have forgiven her incomprehensible affair with Leavitt.

  “Sydney, do you want to leave here?” he asked, abruptly, as always carried away by her presence.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get some money somewhere.”

  “Somewhere!” she echoed, scornfully.

  “By gamblin’ or borrowin’ from Nugget or even holdin’ up a miner,” replied Kalispel, with passion, driven to strengthen her miserable estimate of him.

  She gazed at him in horror and wonder. Her woman’s intuition detected some insincerity about him, something baffling that repelled as well as fascinated her.

  “My Gawd! lady, I wouldn’t have as much to beg forgiveness for as you have—not for a million,” he mocked.

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “I reckon. But once more, Sydney, an’ the last time, so help me Gawd! For your father’s sake, for yours—for your honor an’ more than life—give up this man Leavitt.”

  “Why?” she asked, as if leading him on.

  “He’s not what he seems.”

  “Are you?”

  “No. But that’s no matter. I’ve lost power to influence you.”

  “All men are liars.”

  “Ump-umm. Not me. Sydney Blair. I might lie to tease you or keep you from bein’ hurt, but I wouldn’t tell you a black lie to save my life.”

  “You lied about your little Nugget,” she returned, in a hot passion that would have betrayed jealousy but for his hopelessness. “You rescued her for your friend—from the vile dance-hall. How noble! How chivalrous! ... Yes. But to share her with——”

  “Shut up!... If you don’t close your catty lips I might—or you might say somethin’ no man could ever forgive.”

  “You prate that word forgive,” she went on, furiously. “Why, you conceited, stupid cowboy——”

  “Never mind more of that. One word about Leavitt. Yes or no.”

  “No,” she cried, violently. “And if you come here tonight a little before eight—and conceal yourself there—you shall see him kiss me.”

  “Sydney!—Don’t—Don’t say you ever let him——”

  “I have not yet. But tonight I shall. That will end this farce. Brutal as you are, you could hardly murder him in my arms.”

  “I’ll come—I’ll be here,” whispered Kalispel, spent and shaking. “An’ if you let that villain have you—Gawd help him—an’ Gawd help me!”

  Kalispel, long before the appointed hour, hid in the dark shadow of the large rock upon which one end of the Blair porch rested. He leaned there, sick, desperate, his faith in Sydney fighting against utter hopelessness. It seemed he had never believed in an irrevocable step on her part. But to go so far as she had threatened—that would be staggering. Leavitt was a thief, a bandit, one of the frontier’s greatest criminals. Nevertheless, it was manifest that he was fascinating to women. Kalispel had seen a little of the magnetic influence exercised by complex men of dual nature, combining virile and physical force with suave and attractive personality. He did not imagine that he belonged to such a class. Kalispel had been in love often, once or twice so seriously that he knew he would never recover.

  He had not only recovered, but lived to fall more deeply than ever—in this case, with Sydney Blair. The affair had turned out unhappily, and what hurt Kalispel so terribly was not Sydney’s failure in affection—for, after all, she really had cared—but her shallowness, her readiness to believe the worst said about him, or the slightest circumstantial evidence against him. Were she the loveliest and sweetest girl in the world—and she might be no longer conceded this point—he would not want her if she had no lasting ineradicable faith.

  Blair left the cabin early, grumbling as usual, and disappeared in the blackness. Clouds obscured the stars and the air was warm. Nighthawks swept overhead, uttering melancholy cries; a wolf mourned from the heights; and the stream murmured on as if weary of its endless task. Miners strolled by on the trail, going down to the town, to drink and dance and gamble. Kalispel wondered over the fact that he had no desire to go with them. He felt no more need of that kind of expression. He did not feel old, yet he had changed and seemed to be weighed upon by long experience. Something waited for him, and it was not like anything he remembered. But it did resemble that mysterious, looming mountain, waiting there for the great hour of its existence, and surely its dissolution. Kalispel had no illusions about the brevity of life. He had seen too many accidents. Death might be lurking downtown for him at this very moment. For himself, all he asked was what his kind called an even break. For those he chose to serve, however, he demanded more—time and opportunity and luck. This Thunder City was undermined by deceit and intrigue and evil that struck straight at the hearts of the few people Kalispel loved.

  His sensitive ear caught the beat of rapid footsteps coming along the trail. They sounded like the steps of a formidable man who would be hard to turn aside. And they came direct for Blair’s cabin.

  Kalispel leaned out to see a tall dark form leap up on the porch. Leavitt! Kalispel sank back into the shadow, it was coming. The hot passion that leaped through his veins did not wholly drown the sick revolt of his soul.

  “Hello, Sydney,” called Leavitt, in a low, eager voice as he knocked at the open door.

  “Rand!... There you are. Late again!” replied Sydney. “It is after eight.”

  Kalispel gaped in amaze. Sydney’s reply did not seem natural. But, he corrected, what did he know about the many sides of a woman?

  “I’m—sorry,” replied Leavitt, breathing fast. “I took time while my man was away at supper—to hide some more gold. You see, I’m growing stingy. I want a lot of gold for you to help me spend.”

  Sydney laughed—a curious little laugh without mirth. “Don’t come in. it’s cool outside.... Now, Rand! ... I get so tired resisting your advances.”

  “Stop then! You’ll never have any peace until you do,” he responded, with the ardor of a lover.

  Kalispel saw the upper part of their forms silhouetted black against the frame of yellow light of the doorway. Leavitt had his arm around her w
aist. They walked out of the flare, and presently appeared at the porch rail, side by side, their faces indistinct in the gloom.

  “You are always talking about gold,” she said. “If I were ever to—to care for you, I’d be jealous of your gold.”

  “Ever!—Don’t you care now?”

  “I’m afraid not—in the way you want—.Speaking of gold, father said you offered to lend him some today.”

  “Yes. He refused it. Your dad has changed toward me in some unaccountable way. I’ll have to buy back his claims to help him. And I’ll be glad to do it. I always regretted these claims failed to pan out. But they looked as good as any.”

  “Thank you, Rand,” she murmured, gratefully. “Where do you hide your gold? Aren’t you afraid it will be stolen?”

  “I hide mine under the floor of my cabin. A section of log slips out—if fits so perfectly that it could never be detected. Underneath there’s a space hollowed out in the base log....There! I have trusted you. The only person I would trust.”

  “Take care I don’t steal your riches, sir,” she retorted. Then in a grave voice: “Father thought he had a safe hiding-place for his money. But he would soon have gambled it away.”

  “Emerson stole that money,” declared Leavitt.

  “So you have said before. I should imagine it would be embarrassing to tell him....Why do you think he took it?”

  “Well, he has been seen with considerable gold lately. It is known he seldom pans for gold. And it is hinted that he is one of the bandits who are taking toll of us miners, more and more.”

  “Better safeguard your own, then.”

  “I seldom leave my cabin, except to come here. Then I have guards who patrol my claim.... I’m more afraid of a landslide than robbery.”

  “Rand, are you not afraid of Kalispel Emerson?” she asked.

  “No. But why should I risk gun-play with a notorious cowboy?” he replied, somewhat coldly. “I’m surprised that you ask.”

  “Father said you and Borden were deathly afraid of the fellow.”

  “That is not true, of me, at least. He has threatened me, I know. But there’s nothing for me to gain by fighting Emerson, and everything to lose....You!”

  “But how about your Western code of honor? As I understood it, when a man has an enemy and accuses him of something—and dares him to come out—if he fails to do so he is branded a coward.”

  “That is true. Still, it can scarcely apply in my case. I am a man of affairs, with a future. Kalispel Emerson is a wild cowpuncher, a drinking gamester, a bully, proud of his gun record—and if he doesn’t get shot he’ll hang.”

  “I understand. But still there it is—the man-to-man thing.”

  “Sydney, you could not possibly want me to meet this gunman in a street fight?” demanded Leavitt, in great or pretended concern.

  “No, I hate fighting. This blood-letting sickens me. A little more will send me back home....Still, I’m a woman—and curious.”

  “Indeed you are a woman—and glorious,” he replied, passionately, throwing his arms around her. “Sydney, Fm hungry for you.”

  “Then you are a cannibal, too,” she rejoined, laughing.

  “Darling, this is the first time you have let me embrace you!” he exclaimed, in a transport.

  “Why, so it is! You should not have told me.” And she drew away from him. Suddenly he grew bolder and snatched her to his breast.

  “Sydney, don’t you love me?” he implored.

  “I don’t think—I do,” she returned, faintly. “I’m afraid you fascinate me. But you should wait....Oh!”

  He had kissed her. Kalispel’s suffocating ears registered the soft contact of the man’s lips. Then for an instant Sydney’s pale face gleamed against his dark shoulder, and she drew away.

  Kalispel staggered like a drunken man from his covert, and made his way round the corner of the cabin to the other side, where he headed for the open bench.

  “Take your medicine, Kal,” he whispered, huskily. “It’s over—an’ not so tough!... Gawd! these women! They’re like snakes....Yet in her heart she despises him.”

  Suddenly into the hot hate and agony of the moment there flashed an idea that effected almost instant transformation of his feelings. He remembered Sydney’s strange luring from Leavitt the secret of the hiding-place of his gold. What had been Sydney’s motive—knowing Kalispel heard there in the shadow? Was it just woman’s deviltry? Whatever it was, Kalispel responded to it without doubt or hesitation.

  He ran across the bench to the slope. He glided along that to the fence which inclosed Leavitt’s claim. There he rested, regaining his breath, listening, peering for the guard. There was no sound, no moving object. He slipped among the boulders and stealthily made his way to the point almost opposite the cabin. A light shone from Leavitt’s window. The door was closed. Footfalls attracted his attention. They were coming. Soon a dark form appeared. It grew blacker, took the shape of a man. He passed by close to the fence. When he was out of sight, Kalispel crossed the open space and hid behind the corner of the fence. He drew his gun and knew his course of action. If he bungled, he would have to kill the guard; this he did not want to do unless compelled.

  Presently the guard returned. He passed the corner scarcely a yard away. Kalispel took one quick step and struck the man a hard blow on the head with the butt of his heavy gun. The fellow dropped like a log, his rifle clattering to the ground. Kalispel knelt and rolled him over on his back, intending to bind his mouth and hands. But he had no scarf, and Kalispel did not want to leave a clue by using his own. Rising, he ran to the porch, leaping up to try the door. Barred! Listening a moment more, he sheathed his gun and hurried round to the window. It took but a moment to force it and climb into the cabin.

  He turned up the lamp and cast swift, keen gaze round the room, scrutinizing the lowest log of the wall. In several places that log was hidden by bed, bench, chest, table. Kalispel dragged away the bed and felt with scrupulous care, searching for a joint. He did this all around that side and then the other. Each log ran the whole length of the wall. Behind Leavitt’s table and under a canvas curtain where he hung his clothes Kalispel found what he was seeking.

  His sharp fingernails halted at a smooth, scarcely perceptible joint. About four feet to the left of it he found another. With powerful hands he pressed the section of log, which slid out upon the floor, disclosing a dark hollow in the base log beneath.

  Then as Kalispel bent over, the first object with which his eager hand came in contact was a large, long, leather wallet. It felt full of money. Kalispel could have yelled his glee. Blair’s wallet!

  The wallet was too large for Kalispel’s pocket, it took but a moment for him to snatch a blanket from the bed. This he spread by the aperture in the log, and dropped the wallet upon it. Then he lifted out bag after bag of gold of various sizes—some canvas, but mostly buckskin. He did not desist until he had a pile of them that would have filled a bushel basket. Where, he thought with grim irony, had Leavitt got all the gold? Next he twisted the ends of the blanket and carried it to the window. He peered out. All quiet! It took all his strength to lower the heavy load down to the ground. Then he leaped out.

  When he swung that improvised pack over his shoulder he calculated there was in excess of a hundred pounds of gold in it. He wanted to make the welkin’ ring with his triumph. But never had he been more vigilant. He stepped on the grass and on stones, out to the hard trail. The guard lay where he had fallen. Kalispel passed him and gained the boulders. Sheering to the left, he soon reached the base of the slope.

  Only then did he relax, to exult and revel. He had done it. He had recovered Blair’s money and he had taken what rightfully belonged to Sam Emerson.

  “Gosh!” whispered Kalispel, halting to rest his burden on a convenient boulder. “Even if we’d never made this strike, I’d turned robber once, just to get even with this two-bit thief.”

  Of all the considerable feats Kalispel had ever achieved, this one ga
ve him the most exultation. He was safe. He could never be apprehended. And nothing was any surer than that he could hide and keep this gold, which, added to what he had hidden, would make a fortune. He reverted to the youth that had dreamed of romance, adventure, daring feats, to the day he ran away from home to seek the pot of gold at the foot of the rainbow. He had unearthed the pot, but the bright face of the rainbow had faded.

  He toiled on in short stages, careful each time to listen, to peer ahead, to make certain of his direction and safety. At last he reached his cabin, hot and wet, with bursting veins and throbbing heart, exhausted from over-excitement and exertion, but full of a satisfaction that made up for the irrevocable loss of Sydney Blair.

  When he got ready he would return her father’s money to him, with a few caustic words to Sydney anent where he had found it. And possibly some of the gold the miners had lost could be identified and returned to them. Then he had Jake to think of and plan for, to establish in life, and also Nugget and Sloan, and lastly himself. Somehow thought of the ranch, certain to be his if he lived, did not rouse the old joy.

  Kalispel, all the while with whirling thoughts, concealed his treasure, assured that his hiding-place could not be discovered without long and painstaking search.

  The hour was late and he took advantage of this to burn the blanket.

  “I reckon my high-minded Sydney would figure me out a thief,” he soliloquized. “My heaven! If she cared for that hombre, what a jar she’ll get!

  “But,” he puzzled again, “why did she persuade him to tell where the gold was hidden, when she knew I was there?”

  He went to bed without disturbing Jake, who slept like a log, and he lay there wide-eyed until the gray dawn.

  That day Kalispel remained in camp, restless and watchful, working at small tasks, expecting any moment a posse of miners with Leavitt at their head. His loaded Winchester leaned against the door of the cabin, and he had an extra gun in his belt. He felt capable of holding off even a determined band of men.