Читать книгу Raw Gold - James B. Hendryx - Страница 7
ОглавлениеSHANGHAIED
Back in the saloon the members of the Gold Ledge Mining Company ranged themselves before the bar. “Gen’lemen,” said Considine Montgomery Potts, his plug hat rakishly canted, “I move you that a round of drinks be ordered for the shtockholders, and that the treasurer be inshtructed to pay for zhem out of the funds on hand.”
“Not by a damn sight!” exclaimed Modoc Billings. “Not a dollar of treasury money goes fer licker, barrin’ a couple of kags we’ll take along fer colds an’ snakebites, as long as I’m handlin’ it. You-all paid in yer money fer to be used fer buyin’ transportation an’ supplies, neither one of which licker under a man’s belt ain’t.”
“I beg to differ, gen’lemen,” replied Potts, as he drew to his full height and teetered from heels to toes in an endeavor to assume a dignity belied by his rakishly tilted hat. “I beg to differ wish our worthy treasurer.”
“Shut up, Pottsy, I’m buyin’ a drink!” Sam Sprowl, the president, tossed a bill upon the bar. “Drink up, gents,” he invited, holding his glass aloft. “Here’s to the luck of the Gold Ledge Minin’ Company! An’ that ain’t all. Tonight at nine o’clock we’ll all go down to my shack, which it’s the last one on the shore above the docks, an’ have us a big feed fer to celebrate our last night in town fer a many a day. There’ll be licker an’ fixin’s. The Chinks is to work on it now.”
The announcement was greeted with approval by all except Modoc Billings, who regretfully declined. “You-all go down an’ have yer fun. But I’ve got responsibilities onto me—an’ I’m leavin’ to buy up some mules. Business comes first with Modoc Billings. Have yer frolic, men. I’ll be thinkin’ about ye whilst I’m foggin’ them mules through the night.”
“I’ll go along an’ help with the mules,” suggested Jake Valentine eagerly. “I’m a good hand with horses, an’ I don’t care much fer drinkin’ an’—an’ I ain’t fergot them nuggets you loaned me.”
Modoc regarded him benignly. “Yer a good lad, Jake, my boy. An’ I’m thankin’ ye fer yer offer. Jest you fergit about them nuggets till yer ready to pay me—an’ any time ye need more, jest hunt up Modoc Billings! But the trail to the ranch I’m goin’ to is so rough that no one that didn’t know it could ride it in the dark, no matter how good they was. Go down with the boys tonight an’ have you a good time. From tomorrow on it’ll be hard work—an’ don’t you fergit it!”
During the remainder of the afternoon the members of the Gold Ledge Mining Company hung about the saloon. Matthew Blunt, Jake Valentine, Sprowl, and another played old sledge for cigars. Potts devoted himself assiduously to his glass, and the others played poker.
When it was time to depart for the celebration, Matthew and Jake called Sprowl aside. Blunt acted as spokesman. “When the party’s over tonight, why not let me an’ Jake sleep down to your place? We’d pay you two dollars apiece jest to sleep on the floor. We don’t like it upstairs here. We can’t get use’ to them bullets comin’ up through the floor.”
“Sure, you kin sleep down there!” agreed the man heartily. “An’ now we’re what you might say pardners, it won’t cost you nothin’. Sorry I ain’t got an extry bunk. But there won’t be no bullets. Fetch yer blankets right along.”
Stepping behind the bar, Sprowl secured the blankets, which he crowded into a grain sack together with several quart bottles of whiskey, and threw it over his shoulder. At a nod the stockholders who had been playing poker cashed in their chips and rose from the table. Indicating Potts with a jerk of the thumb, Sprowl turned to Matthew and Jake. “Fetch him along. He’s goin’ to need a lot of steerin’ to keep from gittin’ mired in the mud.”
“Why not leave him here?” suggested Blunt. “He’s happy.”
“Yeah, an’ have him makin’ speeches about the Gold Ledge Company, an’ the gold we got in sight! Hell—we’d have half Californy follerin’ us into the hills!”
It was with no little difficulty that Matthew and Jake, one on either side of the drunken lawyer, succeeded in piloting him in the wake of the others over the slippery footboards. After what seemed an interminable stumbling through the darkness, Sprowl pushed open the door of a two-room board shanty built close to the water’s edge. “Come right on in, gents, an’ make yerselves to home. Them that can’t find chairs kin set on the bunk. The Chinks’ll have supper ready in a little bit, an’ in the meantime, we’ll h’ist a few drinks.”
Producing a couple of bottles from the sack, he proceeded to the kitchen, whence wafted sounds of cookery and the odor of food.
Water glasses half filled with whiskey were passed around, Sprowl himself handing Matthew and Jake their glasses, which contained a smaller amount than had been apportioned to the others. “I know’d you lads don’t go heavy on the licker, an’ there’s no use wastin’ it, nor yet forcin’ a man to drink more’n he wants, so I shortened yourn up a little. Not that you ain’t welcome to all you can hold. This here’s my treat, an’ you can drink ’em as big an’ as often as you want. Everyone gits in on this first drink, which it’s to the good luck of the Gold Ledge Minin’ Company, an’ it would bring bad luck if any of it was left in the glass or throw’d out. After that you can take ’em as fast or as slow as you want ’em.” The man turned to the others. “Come on now, boys—all together. Here’s to the best damn proposition in all Californy—the Gold Ledge Minin’ Company!” The men drank noisily, and noisily they returned the thick-bottomed glasses to the rude table and rasped the bite of the liquor from their throats.
Seated beside Jake Valentine on the bunk, Matthew Blunt’s head began to reel dizzily. The room seemed insufferably hot. He loosened his shirt at the throat. And for what seemed to be a long, long time he fought an overpowering sense of drowsiness. He turned to speak to Jake, but Jake had sunk back on the blankets of the bunk and was breathing heavily and regularly. The conversation of the men was becoming blurred and confused. Sprowl stepped close beside him, and Matthew looked up into the man’s face which seemed to be moving grotesquely in a thick fog of tobacco smoke. “I’m—feelin’—sleepy,” he muttered thickly. “Didn’t—sleep—good—them bullets——”
“Sure, that’s all right,” answered, Sprowl, stooping low. “Jest you lay back there on the bunk, side of yer pardner, an’ we’ll wake you fer the big feed.”
Ten minutes passed, and, going to the door, Sprowl emitted a peculiar whistle, repeated three times. There was an answering whistle from the darkness, and a few moments later a man stepped into the room. He was a large man, bearded to the eyes. Sprowl grinned. “Well, Modoc, did you fetch them mules?”
The sally was greeted by a burst of guffaws, as the man known as Modoc Billings drew a roll of bills from his pocket. To each of the five conspirators he counted out one hundred dollars, splitting the remaining twelve hundred he had received from Blunt and Valentine between himself and Sprowl.
“Fork over thet paper with their names signed to it, Pottsy,” he commanded, “an’ you others git them two into the boat. This job fills Cap Bascomb’s crew. The wind’s right, an’ he’ll be wantin’ to sail tonight. An’ you be on hand tomorrow, Pottsy—an’ sober enough to work. I seen Cap Svendrup; he’s got to fill in a crew fer the Sandwich Islands—eight of his Kanakas skipped out fer the mines.”
As the other four carried the two unconscious men from the room, Modoc turned to Sprowl. “You better git back on the job an’ spot some more likely ones. There was plenty come in on that boat. I’ll collect from Bascomb, an’ see you in a little while.”
A moment later Modoc Billings was seated in the stern of a clumsy boat, in the bottom of which lay two unconscious forms, while the four ruffians who had placed them there rowed through the darkness toward a tiny light that showed from the masthead of a sailing ship riding at anchor far out in the bay.
The hail of the deck watch was answered by Modoc, as the dark hulk of the ship towered above him. A line was thrown over the side and the small boat made fast. Other forms appeared at the rail, limned dimly against the sky. Another line was lowered, and one at a time the two unconscious men were hoisted aboard. Modoc followed, scrambling up a rope ladder that had been lowered. He was greeted on deck by a small, sharp-featured man, whose cold, cat-like green eyes stared at him through the lenses of square, steel-rimmed spectacles. “Two?” he snarled, with a glance at the forms on the deck, from one of which a sailor was removing the sling. “Able-bodied?”
“Yes—able-bodied. One of ’em laid Brock Thogmorton on his back, an’ showed him how to drive his own horses. An’ the other’s about as big.”
“Damn horses! I handle ships! Green hands, I s’pose.”
“Yeah—but yer lucky to git any, what with everyone hittin’ fer the mines. Come on—pay off!”
“Got their signatures?”
“Here they be. The two bottom ones.” Modoc handed over the articles of the Gold Ledge Mining Company, which the captain thrust into his pocket. “More bother’n they’re worth—green hands,” he grumbled, as he grudgingly handed over some bills which Modoc meticulously counted, holding them close to his eyes to catch the meager starlight. As he pocketed the money and turned toward the rail, the captain spoke to the mate, a hulking figure that stood scowling down at the two who lay on the deck.
“What with six green hands, you’ll be a busy man, Mr. Swile. Take ’em below an’ we’ll get under way.”
“By God, I’ll make sailors of ’em in a week—or ghosts!” growled the mate as he bellowed an order.
Modoc Billings grinned as he clambered down the rope ladder and took his place in the stern of the small boat. Before the boat beached he looked backward. Far out in the bay a tiny point of light was moving slowly through the blackness toward the Pacific.
