Читать книгу Shadow Mountain - Coolidge Dane - Страница 8

“Well?” inquired the Widow as her daughter came back from her ride with Wiley Holman; but Virginia was not giving out confidences. At last, and by a trick, she had surprised the truth from Wiley and he had told her to keep her stock. For weeks, for months, he had told her and everybody else that the Paymaster was not worth having; but when she had drooped her lashes and asked him for his opinion he had told her not to sell. Not hesitatingly nor doubtfully, or with any crafty intent; but honestly, as a friend, perhaps as a lover–and then he had looked away. He knew, of course, how his past actions must appear in the light of this later advice; but he had told her the truth and gone. The question was: What should she do?

Virginia returned to her room and locked the door while her mother stormed around outside and at last she came to a decision. What Wiley had told her had been said in strictest confidence and it would not be fair to pass it on; but if he advised her not to sell he had a reason for his advice, and that reason was not far to find. It was in that white stone that he had stolen from her collection, and in the white quartz he had gathered from the dump. He claimed, of course, that he had not had her specimen assayed; but why, then, had he come back for more? And why had he been so careful to tell her and everyone that he would not take the Paymaster as a gift? As a matter of fact, he owned it that minute by virtue of his delinquent tax-sale, and his goings and comings had been nicely timed to enable him to keep track of his property. He was shrewd, that was all, but now she could read him; for he had spoken, for once, from his heart.

The mail that night bore a sample of white quartz to a custom assayer in Vegas, but Virginia guarded her secret well. She had gained it by wiles that were not absolutely straight-forward, in that she had squeezed Wiley’s hand in return, and since by so doing she had compromised with her conscience she placated it by withholding the great news. If she told her mother she would create a scene with Blount and demand the return of her stock; and the secret would get out and everybody would be buying stock and Wiley would blame it on her. No, everything must be kept dark and she mailed her sample when even the postmistress was gone. Perhaps Wiley was right in his extreme subterfuges and in always covering up his hand, but she would show him that there were others just as smart. She would take a leaf from his book and play a lone hand, too; only now, of course, she could not leave town.

“Virginia!” scolded the Widow, when for the hundredth time she had discovered her dawdling at her packing. “If you don’t get up and come and help me this minute I’ll unpack and let you go alone.”

“Well, let’s both unpack,” said Virginia thoughtfully, and the Widow sat down with a crash.

“I knew it!” she cried. “Ever since that Wiley Holman─”

“Now, you hush up!” returned Virginia, flushing angrily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Well, if I don’t know I can guess; but I never thought a Huff─”

“Oh, you make me tired!” exclaimed Virginia, spitefully. “I’m staying here to watch that mine.”

“That–mine!” The Widow repeated it slowly and her eyes opened up big with triumph. “Virginia, do you mean to say you got the best of that whipper-snapper and─”

“No, nothing of the kind! No! Can’t you hear me? Oh, Mother, you’d drive a person crazy!”

“I–see!” observed the Widow and stood nodding her head as Virginia went on with her protests. “Oh, my Lord!” she burst out, “and I put up all my stock for a measly eight hundred dollars! That scoundrelly Blount–I saw it in his eye the minute I mentioned my stock! He’s tricked me, the rascal; but I’ll fool him yet–I’ll pay him back and get my stock!”

“You’ll pay him back? Why, you’ve spent half the money to redeem your jewels and the diamonds!”

“Well, I’ll pawn them again. Oh, it makes me wild to think how that rascal has tricked me!”

“But, Mother,” protested Virginia, “hehasn’t done any work yet. They haven’t made any strike at the mine. Why not let it go until they pump out the water and really find some ore? And besides, how could Wiley know anything about it? He’s never been down the shaft.”

“But–why you told me yourself─”

“I never told you anything!” burst out Virginia tearfully. “You just jump at everything like a flea. And now you’ll tell everybody, and Wiley’ll say I did it, and─”

“Virginia Huff!” cried her mother, dramatically, “are you in love with that–thief?”

“He is not! No, I am not! Oh, I wish you’d quit talking to me–I tell you he never told me anything!”

“Well, for goodness sake!” exclaimed the Widow pityingly, and stalked off to think it over.

“You, Charley!” she exclaimed as she found Death Valley on the gallery pretending to nail up a box, “you leave those things alone. Well, that’s all right; we’ve changed our minds and now we’re going to stay.”

“That’s good,” replied Charley, laying his hammer aside, “I’ve been telling ’em so for days. It’s coming everywhere; all the old camps are opening up, but Keno will beat them all.”

“Yes, that’s right,” assented the Widow absently, and as she bustled away to begin her unpacking, Death Valley looked at Heine and leered.

“Didn’t I tell you!” he crowed and, scuttling back to get his six-shooter, he went out and began re-locating claims. That was the beginning. The real rush came later when the pumps began to throb in the Paymaster. A stream of water like a sheet of silver flowed down the side of the dump and as if it’s touch had brought forth men from the desert sands, the old-timers came drifting in. Once more the vacant sidewalks resounded to the thud of sturdy hob-nailed boots; and along with the locaters came pumpmen and miners to sound the flooded depths of the Paymaster.

It was a great mine, a famous mine, the richest in all the West; within twenty months it had produced twelve million dollars and the lower levels had never been touched. But what was twelve million to what it would turn out when they located the hidden ore-body? On its record alone the Paymaster was a world-beater, but the ground had barely been scratched. Even Samuel Blount, who was cold as a stone and had sold out the entire town, even he had caught the contagion; and he was talking large on the bank corner when Holman came back through town.

Wiley drove in from the north, his face burned by sun and wind and his machine weighed down with sacks of samples, but when he saw the crowd, and Blount in the middle of it, he threw on his brakes with a jerk.

“Hello!” he hailed. “What’s all the excitement? Has the Paymaster made a strike?”

All eyes turned to Blount, who stepped down ponderously and waddled out to the auto. He was a very heavy man, with his mouth on one side and a mild, deceiving smile; and as he shook hands perfunctorily he glanced uneasily at Wiley, for he had heard about the tax-sale.

“Why, no,” he replied, “no strike as yet. How’s everything with you, Mr. Holman?”

“Fine and dandy, I guess,” returned Wiley civilly. “Where did all these men jump up from?”

“Oh, they just dropped in, or stopped over in passing. Do you still take an interest in mines?”

“Well, yes,” responded Wiley. “I’m a mining engineer, and so naturally I do take quite an interest. And by the way, Mr. Blount, did it ever occur to you that the Paymaster has been sold for taxes? Oh, that’s all right, that’s all right; I didn’t know whether you’d heard about it–do you recognize my title to the mine?”

“Well,” began Blount, and then he smiled appeasingly, “I didn’t just know where to reach you. Of course, according to law, you do hold the title; but I suppose you know that the stockholders of the company have five years in which to buy back the mine. Yes, that is the law; but I thought under the circumstances–the mine lying idle and all–you might be willing to waive your strict rights in the interests of, well, harmony.”

“I get you,” answered Wiley, glancing at the staring onlookers, “and of course these gentlemen are our witnesses. You acknowledge my title, and that every bit of your work is being done on another man’s ground; but, of course, if you make a strike I won’t put any obstacles in your way. I’m for harmony, Mr. Blount, as big as a wolf; but there’s one thing I want to ask you. Did you or did you not employ this Stiff Neck George to act as guard on the mine? Because two months ago, after I’d bought in the Paymaster for taxes, I went over to inspect the ground and Stiff Neck George─”

“Oh, no! Oh dear, no!” protested Blount vigorously. “He was acting for himself. I heard about his actions, but I had nothing to do with them–I never even knew about it till lately.”

“But was he in your employ at the time of the shooting, and did you tell him to drive off all comers? Because─”

“No! My dear boy, of course not! But come over to my office; I want to talk with you, Wiley.”

The banker beamed upon him affectionately and, shaking out a white handkerchief, wiped the sudden sweat from his brow; and then Wiley leapt to the ground.

“All right,” he said, “but let’s go and see the mine first.”

He strapped on his pistol and waited expectantly and at last Blount breathed heavily and assented. Nothing more was said as they went across the flat and toiled up the trail to the mine. Wiley walked behind and as they mounted to the shaft-house his eyes wandered restlessly about; until, at the tool-shed, they suddenly focussed and a half-crouching man stepped out. He was tall and gnarly and the point of his chin rested stiffly on the slope of his shoulder. It was Stiff Neck George and he kept a crook in his elbow as he glanced from Blount to Wiley.

“How’s this?” demanded Wiley, putting Blount between him and George, “what’s this man doing up here?”

“Why, that’s George,” faltered Blount, “George Norcross, you know. He works for me around the mine.”

“Oh, he does, eh?” observed Wiley, in the cold tones of an examining lawyer. “How long has he been in your employ?”

“Oh, since we opened up–that’s all–just temporarily. This gentleman is all right, George; you can go.”

Stiff Neck George stood silent, his sunken eyes on Wiley, his sunburned lips parted in a grin, and then he turned and spat.

“Eh, heh; hiding!” he chuckled and, stung by the taunt, Wiley stepped out into the open. His gun was pulled forward, his jaws set hard, and he looked the hired man-killer in the eye.

“Don’t you think it,” he said, “I know you too well. You’re afraid to fight in the day-time; you dirty, sneaking murderer!”

He waited, poised, but George only laughed silently, though his poisonous eyes began to gleam.

“What are you doing on my ground?” demanded Wiley, advancing threateningly with his pistol raised. “Don’t you know I own this mine?”

“No,” snarled Stiff Neck George, coming suddenly to a crouch, “and, furthermore, I don’t give a damn!”

“Now, now, George,” broke in Blount, “let’s not have any words. Mr. Holman holds the title to this claim.”

“Heh–Holman!” mocked George, “Honest John’s boy–eh?” He laughed insultingly and spat against the wind and Wiley’s lip curled up scornfully.

“Yes–Honest John,” he repeated evenly. “And it’s a wonder to me you don’t take a few lessons and learn to spit clear of your chin.”

“You shut up!” snapped George as venomous as a rattlesnake. “Your damned old father was a thief!”

“You’re a liar!” yelled Wiley and, swinging his pistol like a club, he made a rush at the startled gunman. His eyes were flashing with a wild, reckless fury and as Stiff Neck George dodged and broke to run he leapt in and placed a fierce kick. “Now you git, you old dastard!” he shouted hoarsely and as George went down he grabbed him by the trousers and sent him sprawling down the dump. Sand, rocks and waste went avalanching after him, and a loose boulder thundered in his wake, until, at the bottom George scrambled to his feet and stood motionless, looking back. His head sank lower as he saw Wiley watching him and he slunk down closer to the ground, then with the swiftness of a panther that has marked down its prey he turned and skulked away.

“That’s bad business, Wiley,” protested Blount half-heartedly and Wiley nodded assent.

“Yes,” he said, “he’s dangerous now. I should have killed the dastard.”