CHAPTER VII
Between Friends
The madness of the Widow and Old Charley and Stiff Neck George was no mystery to Wiley Holman–it was the same form of mania which he encountered everywhere when he went to see men who owned mines. If he offered them a million for a ten-foot hole they would refuse it and demand ten million more, and if he offered them nothing they immediately scented a conspiracy to starve them out and gain possession of their mine. It was the illusion of hidden wealth, of buried treasure, which keeps half the mines in the West closed down and half of the rest in litigation; except that in Keno it seemed to be associated with gun-plays and a marked tendency towards homicide. So, upon his return from a short stay in the hospital he came up the main street silently, then stepped on the throttle and went through town a-smoking. But the Widow was out waiting for him in the middle of the road and, rather than run her down, he threw on both brakes and stopped.
“Well, what now?” he inquired, frowning at the odor of heated rubber. “What’s your particular grievance this trip?” He regarded her coldly, then bowed to Virginia and waved a friendly hand at Charley. “Hello, there, Death Valley,” he called out jovially, as the Widow choked with a rush of words, “what’s the news from the Funeral Range?”
“Now, here!” exclaimed the Widow, advancing from the dust cloud, and glancing into the machine. “I want you to bring back that gun!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Huff,” he replied with finality, “but you’ll have to get along without it. I turned it over to the sheriff, along with three buckshot and an affidavit regarding the shooting─”
“What, you great, big coward!” stormed the Widow in a fury. “Did you run and complain to the sheriff?”
“No, I walked,” said Wiley, “and on one leg at that. But I might as well warn you that next time you make a gun-play you’re likely to break into jail.”
“You’re a coward!” she taunted. “You’re standing in with Blount to beat me out of my mine. First you sneak off with my gun, so I can’t protect my rights, and then Stiff Neck George comes up and jumps the Paymaster!”
“The hell!” burst out Wiley, rising up in his seat and looking across at the mine.
“Yes, the hell,” she returned, “and he’s warned off all comers and is holding the mine for Blount!”
“For Blount!” he echoed and, seeing him roused at last, the Widow became subtly provocative.
“For Samuel J. Blount,” she repeated impressively. “He–he’s got all my stock on a loan.”
“Oh!” observed Wiley, and as she raved on with her story he rubbed his chin in deep thought.
“Yes, I went down to see him and he wouldn’t buy it, so I left it as collateral on a loan. And then he came out here and looked over the mine again and told Stiff Neck George to stand guard. They’re fixing to pump out the water.”
“Oho!” exclaimed Wiley, and his eyes began to kindle as he realized what Blount had done. Then reaching for the pistol that lay handy beside his leg, he leapt out with waspish quickness, only to stop short as he hurt his lame foot.
“Go on!” hissed the Widow, advancing to his shoulder and pointing the way up the trail. “He stays right there by the dump. The mine is yours; go put him off–I would, if I had my gun.”
“Aw, pfooey!” he exclaimed, suddenly turning back and clamoring into his seat. “I’ve got one game leg already. Let ’im have the doggoned mine.”
“What? Are you going to back out? Well, you are a good one–and it stands in your name, this minute!”
“Yes, and it isn’t worth–that!” he said with conviction, and snapped his finger in the air. “He can have it. You can tell Blount, the next time you see him, he can buy in that tax title for the costs.”
He paused and muttered angrily, gazing off towards the dump where crooked-necked George stood guard, and then he hopped out to crank up.
“Want a ride?” he asked, as he saw Virginia watching him and she hesitated and shook her head. “Come on,” he smiled, casting aside his black mood, “let’s take a little spin–just down on the desert and back. What’s going on–getting ready to move?”
He gazed with alarm at a pile of packing boxes that the Widow had marshaled on the gallery and then he looked back at Virginia. She was attired in a gown that had been very chic in the fall of nineteen ten, but, though it was scant for these bouffant days, she was the old Virginia still–slim and strong and dainty, and highbred in every line, with dark eyes that mirrored passing thoughts. She was the Virginia he had played with when Keno was booming and his own sisters had been there for company; and now after ten years he remembered the time when he had asked her, in vain, for a kiss.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” he said at last and Virginia stepped into the racer.
“Virginia!” reminded the Widow, and then at a glance she turned round and flung into the house. There were times and occasions when she had found it safer not to press her maternal authority too far, and the look that she received was first notice from Virginia that such an occasion had arrived. The motor began to thunder, Wiley threw in the clutch, and with a speed that was startling, they whipped a sudden circle and went bubbling away down the road.
It stretched on endlessly, this road across the desert, as straight as a surveyor’s line, and as they cleared the rough gulches and glided down into its immensity Virginia glanced at the desert and sighed.
“Pretty big,” he suggested and as she nodded slowly he raised his eyes to the hills. “I don’t know,” he went on, “whether you’ll like Los Angeles. You’ll get lonely for this, sometimes.”
“Yes, but not for that”–she jerked a thumb back at Keno–“that place is pretty small. What’s left, of course; but it seems to me sometimes they’re all of them lame, halt and blind. Always quarreling and backbiting and jumping each other’s claims–but–what do you think of the Paymaster?”
She shot the question at him and it occurred suddenly to Wiley that perhaps she had a programme, too.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” he began, deftly changing his ground, “I’m in Dutch on that, all around. When I came home full of buckshot and the Old Man heard about it I got my orders to come back and apologize. Well, I’ll do that–to you–and you can tell your mother I’m sure sorry I went up on that dump.”
He grinned and motioned to his injured foot, but Virginia was in no mood for a joke.
“That’s all right,” she said, “and I accept your apology–though I don’t know exactly what it’s for. But I asked your opinion of the Paymaster.”
“Oh, yes,” he replied and then he began to temporize. “You’d better tell me what you want it for, first.”
“What? Do you have one opinion for one set of people and another for somebody else? I thought!”─ She paused and the hot blood leapt to her cheeks as she saw where her temper had led her. “Well,” she explained, “I’ve got a few shares of stock.”
She said it quietly and the suggestion of scolding gave way to a chastened appeal. She remembered–and he sensed it–that winged shaft which he had flung back when she had said he was honest, like his father. He had told her then she was becoming like her mother, and Virginia could never endure that.
“Ah, I see,” he answered and went on hurriedly with a new note of friendliness in his voice. “Well, I’ll tell you, Virginia, if it will be any accommodation to you I’ll take over that stock myself. But–well, I hate to advise you–because–how many shares have you got?”
“Oh, several thousand,” she responded casually. “They were given to me by father–and by different men that I’ve helped. Mr. Masters, you know, that I took care of for a while, he gave me all he had when he died. But I don’t want to sell them–I know there’s no market, because Blount wouldn’t give Mother anything–but if he should happen to strike something─”
She glanced across at him swiftly but Wiley’s face was grim.
“Yes, himfind anything!” he jeered. “That fat-headed old tub! He knows about as much about mining as a hog does about the precession of the equinox. No; miracles may happen but, short of that, he’ll never get back a cent!”
“No, but Wiley,” she protested, “you know as well as I do that the Paymaster isn’t worked out. Now what’s to prevent my stock becoming valuable sometime when they open it up?”
“What’s to prevent?” he repeated. “Well, I’ll tell you what. If Blount makes a strike he’ll close that mine down and send the company through bankruptcy. Then he’ll buy the mine back on a judgment and you’ll be left without a cent.”
“But what about you?” she suggested shrewdly. “Will you let him serve youlike that?”
“Don’t you think it!” he answered. “I know him too well–my money is somewhere else.”
“But if you should buy the mine?”
“Well─” he stirred uneasily and then shot his machine ahead–“I haven’t bought it yet.”
“No, but you offered to, and I don’t see why─”
“Do you want to sell your stock?” he asked abruptly and she flushed and shook her head. “Well!” he said and without further comment he slowed down and swung about.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed, as they started back and he turned upon her swiftly.
“Do you know why I wouldn’t have that mine,” he inquired, “if you’d hand it to me as a gift? It’s because of this everlasting fight. I own it, right now, if anybody does, and I’ve never been down the shaft. Now suppose I’d go over there and shoot it out with George and get possession of my mine. First Blount would come up with some other hired man-killer and I’d have a bout with him; and then your respected mother─”
“Now you hush up!” she chided and he closed down his jaw like a steel-trap. She watched him covertly, then her eyes began to blink and she turned her head away. The desert rushed by them, worlds of waxy green creosote bushes and white, gnarly clumps of salt bush; and straight ahead, frowning down on the forgotten city, rose the black cloud-shadow of Shadow Mountain.
“Oh, turn off here!” she cried, impulsively as they came to a fork in the road and, plowing up the sand, he skidded around a curve and struck off up the Death Valley road. They came together at the edge of the town–the long, straight road to the south, and the road-trail that led west into the silence. There were no tracks in it now but the flat hoof-prints of burros and the wire-twined wheel-marks of desert buckboards; even the road was half obliterated by the swoop of the winds which had torn up the hard-packed dirt, yet the going was good and as the racer purred on Virginia settled back in her seat.
“I can’t believe it,” she said at last, “that we’re going to leave here, forever. This is the road that Father took when he left home that last time–have you ever been over into Death Valley? It’s a great, big sink, all white with salt and borax; and at the upper end, where he went across, there are miles and miles of sand-hills. He’s buried out there somewhere, and the hills have covered him–but oh, it’s so awful lonesome!”
She turned away again and as her head went down Wiley stared straight ahead and blinked. He had known the Colonel and loved him well, and his father had loved him, too; but that rift had come between them and until it was healed he could never be a friend of Virginia’s. She distrusted him in everything–in his silence and in his speech, his laughter and his anger, in his evasions and when he talked straight–it was better to say nothing now. He had intended to help her, to offer her money or any assistance he could give; but her heart was turned against him and the most he could hope for was to get back to Keno without a quarrel. The divide was far ahead, where the road struck the pass and swung over and down into the Great Valley; and, glancing up at the sun, he turned around slowly and rumbled back into town. Shadow Mountain rose before them; it towered above the valley like a brooding image of hate but as he smiled farewell at the sad-eyed Virginia something moved him to take her hand.
“Good-by,” he said, “you’ll be gone when I come back. But if you get into trouble–let me know.”
He gave her hand a squeeze and Virginia looked at him sharply, then she let her dark lashes droop.
“I’m in trouble now,” she said at last. “What good did it do to tell you?”
He winced and shrugged his shoulders, then gazed at her again with a challenge in his eyes.
“If you’d trust memore,” he said very slowly, “perhaps I’d trust you more. What is it you want me to do?”
“I want you to answer me–yes or no. Shall I keep my stock, or sell it?”
“You keep it,” he answered, and avoided her eye until she climbed out and entered the house.
CHAPTER VIII
The Tip
“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.”