WHEN John Steele stepped down from the sleeping-car in the early
morning at Pickaxe Gulch, he found Alice Fuller the sole occupant of the
platform. She welcomed him with the cordiality of good comradeship.
Her costume differed rather strikingly from the apparel she wore in his
office. She reminded him of one of those reckless female riders he had
seen at Buffalo Bilks Wild West Show, and he was forced to confess that
the outfit suited her to perfection. She was even more attractive than
when he had first seen her, and he could hardly have believed that
possible. Before he ventured to compliment the young woman on her
appearance, she complimented him on his.
“You are already looking very much better than you did in the city.”
“Yes!” he cried jubilantly. “Your visit did me ever so much good; and,
besides that, I am now out from under Peter’s shadow.”
“‘Peter’s shadow?’” she repeated. “What is that? The shadow of a
mountain?”
“In a way, yes,” laughed Steele, “and a gold-producing mountain at that.
I have been a rather anxious person these many months past; but
now, whether it is the exhilaration of the air in the West, or the
prospect”--he hesitated a moment, then continued--“of this journey, I
am quite my own man once more.”
Without reply she led the way to the dusty road which ran between two
rows of roughly built shanties.
“Did you breakfast on the train?” she asked.
“No.”
“I thought you might not have an opportunity to get anything to eat on
the train, as it stops here so early, and I have ordered a meal for you
at the one tavern in this place, which is far from being first-class.
However, possibly, you can endure such a repast for once and then we
will get on our way as soon as possible.”
“Oh, the cuisine of the West is no surprise to me,” said Steele. “I’ve
had a good deal of experience with it in my time.”
They walked up the street together, the negro cook following and
carrying Steele’s valise. At the tavern the caravan was collected, and
more than ever the resemblance to the Wild West Show impressed itself
upon the young man. The boxes had been sent on some days ahead, and were
now securely fastened to the backs of the mules. Four saddle-horses
were tied to the rude pillars of the verandah. Steele went inside the
building and partook of the breakfast, such as it was, and ten minutes
later the procession started north.
Their route lay across the plain, and during the forenoon the party
traversed a road of sorts, reasonably well defined. In the horizon
loomed low mountains, which did not seem perceptibly nearer when a halt
was called by the side of a stream to prepare lunch. Steele was more
accustomed to a street-car than to the back of a horse; but the way was
level, and the horse developed none of those buck-jumping peculiarities
which John, in his Eastern ignorance, had always associated with the
steeds of the Far West. His business heretofore had never taken him away
from a line of railway, and where it had been necessary to make a road
journey, the jaunt was accomplished in some sort of vehicle. However,
he soon became accustomed to his new method of locomotion and succeeded
better than he had anticipated.
Alice Fuller proved a most expert horse-woman, and her superb attitude
in the saddle still further enslaved this ardent young man, who began to
think he had never really lived until now. He was rather disappointed,
but rendered none the less eager, to find that he was not getting as
much of her company as he had hoped. In the beginning they rode side
by side in front of the cavalcade, to be out of the dust which the mule
train raised. But every now and then she wheeled her horse round and
allowed the procession to pass her, scanning each animal and its burden
with the eye of an expert, seeing that everything was in order. When
Steele expressed admiration of her capability, Miss Fuller told him
she had many times been in full charge of a similar expedition going
or coming from the mine; and once when he complained of lack of
companionship, she informed him that success depended a great deal on
the first few hours of the march, and it was her duty to see that none
of the animals fell lame, and that no burden shifted, thus causing a
mule to lag behind its fellows.
“To-morrow,” she said, “we shall be among the foothills, and even this
afternoon we shall be free of the road and the dust. Then, if everything
is going well, I may find plenty of time to talk to you, for I see you
are anxious to learn more about the mine before you reach it.”
Steele threw a free-hearted laugh on the echoless air. Any little
incident seemed now a fit subject for mirth. The clear atmosphere seemed
as exhilarating as wine, and there was the further intoxicant of the
girl’s alluring presence.
Lunch by the side of the stream more than made amends for the
unattractive breakfast. The efficient Jackson had caused each of the
numerous boxes to be numbered, and he began with Number One, which his
master said was a very good thing to look after. He produced a portable
stove, and a handful of coke performed miracles in the desert. It was
soon evident that John Steele had no intention of starving while he
wandered in the wilderness. He drew from its straw envelope a bottle of
prime champagne, a drink which doubtless had never quenched thirst
on that particular route before. Miss Fuller partook of the wine but
sparingly, and lifted her glass when he proposed the toast of success to
the expedition, thrilling him as she did so with those enthralling
eyes of hers, and the young man began to wonder whether he actually saw
heaven in their depths, or was looking at a desert mirage through an
atmosphere of sparkling wine.
He persuaded her to linger after the cavalcade had moved on, saying
they would overtake it at a gallop, and the young woman, with scarcely
concealed reluctance, acquiesced. He threw himself full length at her
feet and gazed up at her, while she watched, with the suggestion of a
frown on her smooth brow, the procession lessening in the distance. He
lit a cigarette, with her permission; and began the sort of conversation
which a young man in the early stages of fascination is prone to indulge
in. At first it seemed to him her thoughts were elsewhere, which was
not in the least flattering to a person who was doing his best. On his
chiding her for this, she drew a sharp breath and cast a glance upon him
which he fancied was the reverse of friendly. It was veiled an instant
after, and then, with something like a sigh, she appeared to accept the
situation.
[Illustration: 0261]
At this presaging of victory, John Steele’s conscience began to trouble
him. He guessed why she appeared so changeable. Her father’s future
and her own depended on the good-will of the young man stretched at
her feet. She was anxious not to offend him, and yet her reluctance to
remain alone with him, her absent-minded look, and the slight frown
that now and then marred her brow, were hints that his attentions
proved unwelcome. Steele surmised that any undue compliments or any too
palpable indulgence in sentiment at this particular moment might
prove disastrous to ultimate success. The resigned air with which she
endeavoured to face a _tete-a-tete_ not to her liking touched his pride,
and also made him rather ashamed of himself for taking advantage of one
who in the circumstances was helpless. He wondered if he could put
this girl more at ease by telling her he had quite made up his mind to
finance the mine, whether it proved all she said or the reverse. Yet
she might regard this statement as merely an unblushing bid for her
preference, for she knew that until he had examined the mine any such
avowal would be made merely because he thought it would please her.
While these thoughts ran through his mind, a silence had fallen between
them, which, however, the girl appeared not to notice, for her eyes were
fixed on the distant mountains. She was quite startled by the suddenness
with which he sprang to his feet.
“Miss Fuller,” he cried, “I see you are anxious to be off towards the
hills, and it is selfish of me to detain you here.”
He held out his hand to her and helped her up. She smiled very sweetly
and said:
“I think it is time we were on our way again. We have further to go than
you suspect, before we reach the regular camping-ground.”
He had reason to congratulate himself on his intuition, for during
that journey she was kinder to him than she had ever been before, as if
anxious to make up for her former coldness.
The sun had gone down ere they reached the halting-station for the
night. They were now on an elevated plateau among the hills, and an
impetuous torrent near by gave forth the only sound that broke the
intense stillness. Tents were pitched, horses and mules tethered,
and Jackson set out a dinner which their keen appetites made doubly
memorable. Night came down, and the moon rose gloriously in the east.
Time and place were ideal for a lovers’ meeting, but the adage which
intimates that luck with gold does not run parallel with luck in
love proved true in this instance. Immediately after partaking of the
excellent coffee Jackson had brewed, the young woman rose and held out
her hand, pleading fatigue.
“I must bid you ‘Good night,’” she said shortly.
“Oh! won’t you stay a little while and enjoy this unexampled moonlight?
It seems as if I had never seen the moon before.”
The young woman smiled wanly, but shook her head.
“I’m really very tired,” she explained. “I have had a week of it at that
awful hotel in the Gulch. It is fearfully noisy at night with drinking
cowboys and miners, and so I have had scarcely any sleep for a long
while. If I have proved a dull companion to-day, that is the reason, and
I am sure you will excuse me now.”
“Miss Fuller, you could not be dull if you tried. I am sorry you should
have had so much trouble on my account at that terrible station. I
should have sent a man, but I could not guess the horrors of the place
before seeing it. Pray forgive my selfishness.”
“Oh, that was really nothing. I am quite accustomed to the life; but,
somehow, the first night in the mountains always leaves me stupid and
drowsy.”
“To-morrow night, then,” he said very quietly, “we may perhaps view the
moonlight together.”
“To-morrow night,” she murmured and was gone.
Steele threw himself into the canvas camp-chair, and, reclining, gazed
on the moonlit plain below and listened to the roar of the torrent.
Dreamily he fancied himself floating in the seventh heaven of bliss.
Next morning the camp was early astir, for a long day of mountaineering
lay ahead. The party numbered seven, all told, there being three men of
peaceable demeanour, but rough aspect, in charge of the pack-train. At
no time during that day did Steele secure an opportunity of speaking
with Alice Fuller alone. They could not ride together, as the mountain
path was too narrow. After dinner, at the final camping-place, a wild
spot in a profound valley, where John saw with dismay the moon would
not be visible, the girl seemed loth to keep him company as had been the
case the night before. She laughed somewhat harshly, he thought, when he
complained that she must have known they could not see the moon.
“You can study its rays on the northern peaks,” she said. “Who would
ever have expected a modern financier to yearn for the moon?”
“A modern financier is but a man, after all,” protested Steele.
“I have sometimes doubted it,” replied the girl cynically.
“Well, Miss Fuller, if you will sit down again, even in the absence of
moonlight, I think I can remove your doubts.”
She stood there hesitating for a few moments, but it was too dark to see
the expression on her face. Finally she sat down in the chair from which
she had risen.
“I am seated,” she said; “but not to talk of moonlight, merely to tell
you that I intend to go no farther. To-morrow morning we bid ‘Good-bye’
to each other. You go north, and I go south.”
“Oh, I say,” cried John reproachfully, “that’s contrary to contract. You
promised to lead me to the mine.”
“I know I did; but it is always a woman’s privilege to change her mind.
Perhaps you will understand I do not wish to influence you at all in the
decision you may come to about the mine.”
“Would it make you abjure your cruel resolve if I informed you that
I have quite determined to invest in the mine if it gives any show of
success, which I am sure it will do from what you have told me about
it?”
“The mine must plead its own cause,” she said, with an indifference that
amazed him. “You have no real need of me as a guide, for the three men
I engaged know the route as well as I do. They have been over it
often enough. I am really very anxious about my father. He promised to
telegraph me at Pickaxe Gulch, but has not done so. I sent a despatch
the day before you arrived, but no reply came, and it may be waiting for
me now at the office there.”
“Why not send back one of the men?”
“Because of my own anxiety. I fear the telegram may call me to his side.
I think you will understand now why I have been distraught while in your
company.”
“Miss Fuller, believe me, I am very sorry to hear that this worry
has been hanging over you. If I had known, I should have proposed our
remaining at Pickaxe Gulch until you had heard from your father. I fear
my own conduct and conversation may have added to your discomfort.”
“Oh, no, no,” said the girl, quickly rising again.
“Will you accept this trifle from me?”
He spoke hurriedly, and took from his waistcoat pocket something that
she knew to be a ring, for even in the dim light it sparkled as if fire
were playing from its facets.
“I’d rather not,” she replied, stepping back.
“It will bind you to nothing--nothing at all. It is simply to keep me in
your memory until we next meet.”
“Oh, I shall never forget you!” she cried, in a tone of bitterness that
startled him.
“It is a mere trinket,” he urged, “and I bought it for you before I
left civilisation. If you do not accept it, I shall throw it into the
darkness of the valley yonder.”
“That would be foolish, even for you.”
“Why, Miss Fuller, such a remark has a very dubious sound. What do you
mean by it? Do you think I am foolish?”
“Oh, I don’t think anything at all of either you or your folly. I tell
you I merely want to get away.”
“Won’t you take the ring with you?”
She stood for a long time with head bowed.
“I don’t suppose it makes any difference one way or the other,” she said
at last.
“Of course it doesn’t. I told you it wouldn’t.”
“Very well, I shall take the ring, if you will accept a much cheaper and
more significant present from me in the morning.”
“I shall accept gratefully anything you like to give me, Miss Fuller, in
the morning or at any future time.”
“I wonder,” was all her comment, as she took the ring and instantly
disappeared.
Somehow this night held none of the glamour that distinguished the
previous evening. The depth of the profound shadows surrounding him was
merely emphasised by the touch of cold moonlight on the hilltops far
away. John wondered if the exhilarating effect of the atmosphere had
departed, leaving him sober again. He felt strangely depressed, and
although he immediately entered his tent and flung himself, dressed
as he was, upon his canvas cot, he found it difficult to sleep. It was
after midnight before he dozed off, and then his slumber was troubled
and uneasy. Towards morning, however, a kind of stupor descended upon
him, leaving him dreamless and lost to the world. This was broken by
a sharp and angry voice, whose meaning did not at first reach his
consciousness; but the sentence lingered in his awakening mind and
at last became clear to him, as an image comes out during the gradual
development of a photographic plate.
“I tell you I will not leave until I bid ‘good-bye’ to Mr. Steele.”
It was Alice Fuller’s voice, and in an instant the young man was on
his feet and out of the tent. Day had just dawned, gray and chill, but
already the camp was astir and the young woman in her saddle.
“Did you call me?” he cried.
“No,” she answered; but he seemed to detect a tremor of fear in her
voice.
“I thought I heard you say you wished to bid ‘goodbye’ to me!”
“You must have been dreaming. But I do wish to bid you ‘good-bye.’”
Two of the muleteers stood near, and the old attendant, mounted, had
already started slowly on his way. John sprang to her side, and as he
came to a stand by the horse, she stooped and slipped a small box into
his coat pocket.
“Good-bye! good-bye!” she cried somewhat boisterously, with an
exclamation that seemed to be half sob and half laugh. “Go back to your
tent at once and brush your hair. It’s enough to frighten anyone,” and
now she laughed with unnecessary vehemence, the near mountains echoing
the peal with a strange mocking cadence that sent a chill up the spine
of one listener.
“What does this mean?” he asked himself.
The man at the bridle turned the horse’s head towards the distant
railway, and the other smote the steed on the flank.
“Let go my horse!” commanded Miss Fuller savagely. The man slouched
away. She touched the animal with her heel and galloped off, while
Steele stood in a daze watching her. Only once she looked back, then
made a quick motion to the pocket of her jacket and disappeared round
the ledge of rock. Jack remembered the packet she had dropped into his
pocket, and imagining her gesture might have reference to that, walked
to his tent to examine the present so surreptitiously given him,
remembering that she had said the night before it would prove more
significant than the ring she had so reluctantly accepted. It was a
little, square parcel, tied in a bit of newspaper with a red string. He
whisked this off, and held in his hand a box of white metal. Opening the
box he saw within it a simple cake of soap!
Steele held this on his open palm, gazing at it like one hypnotised.
“My God!” he groaned at last, “soap--Amalgamated Soap! Peter Berrington
and Nicholson! Trapped, as I am a fool and a sinner! These muleteers are
the real chiefs of this expedition. They saw Alice Fuller weakening;
but she weakened too late, and now they have sent her away. What’s
the object of all this? It is too fantastic to imagine that Nicholson
supposes he can exact all I possess as ransom. Even the Black Hills are
not the mountains of Greece. What is it, then? Murder? That’s equally
incredible, and yet possible. Here am I unarmed, rifles in the boxes,
no one with me but a cowardly nigger. Walked right into the trap with my
eyes open, like a gaping idiot! Well, John Steele, you deserve all you
will get! Let’s discover what it is.”
He strode out of the tent. The negro was preparing breakfast. The three
men stood in a group together, talking, but they looked round and became
silent as he approached.
“I have changed my mind,” said Steele; “we’re going back to the
railway.”
“Oh, no, we’re not,” said one of the men, stepping forward, and taking a
revolver from his hip pocket; “we’re going on to the mine.”
“Is there a mine?” asked Steele, with a sneering laugh.
“Oh, there’s a mine all right enough, and they’re waiting for you
there.”
“Who?”
“You’ll find out about twelve o’clock to-day.”
“See here, boys,” said Steele persuasively, “I’ll make you three the
richest men in this part of the country if you’ll accompany me safely
back to the railway.”
“We’ve heard that kind of talk before,” replied the man, “and have had
enough of it. You tell that to the boss of the gang at the mine; and
whatever he says, we’ll agree to.”
“Yes, but at the mine--How many are there, by the way?”
“You’ll see when you reach the spot.”
“Well, even if there’s one more, he divides the loot with you. You can
make better terms with me now than you can at the mine.”
“Chuck it, stranger. There ain’t no use giving us any more taffy. You’re
going on to the mine.”
“All right,” said Steele, turning on his heel. “I’ll have breakfast
first. Is the coffee ready, Jackson?”
“Yes, sir.”
The prisoner sat down at the collapsible table and enjoyed a hearty
meal.
At noon they reached the mine, and a dozen, gaunt, wild-eyed men, who
were sitting round, stood up when the riders came into sight. They gave
no cheer when they saw the captive, nor did their attitude of listless,
bored indifference change a particle as Steele stopped his horse and
dismounted.
“Here’s the goods,” said the leader of the muleteers, and the boss of
the mining gang nodded, but made no reply.
“Good day, gentlemen,” began Steele, a smile coming to his lips in spite
of the seriousness of the crisis, as he thought that this sombre, silent
gang in the midst of the mountains bore a comical resemblance to the
gnomes in Rip Van Winkle when that jovial inebriate appeared amongst
them. “I take it, sir, that you are leader here, and I think there has
been some mistake. During today’s journey I have been forced to travel
to this mine against my will. You seem to have been expecting me. Now,
what’s up?”
“You’ll be, in about ten minutes,” replied the boss. “Dakota Bill,
where’s your rope?”
“Here it is,” said Bill, stepping forward and exhibiting a slip-noose at
the end of about thirty feet of stout line.
“Now, stranger, if you’ve got any messages to leave your friends, we’ll
give you ten minutes to write or say them.”
“I’ve no messages, thank you, but I am disturbed by a lively curiosity
to know what all this means.”
“Oh, of course you’ve no suspicion about what it means, have you?”
“No, I have not.”
“You never saw your mine before, did you?”
“It isn’t my mine.”
“I knew you’d say that. Well, now, we’ve been left here for four months
without a markee of pay. For the last month we would have starved if it
hadn’t been for Dakota Bill’s good work with a rifle; but even the game
has fled from this accursed place and now we _are_ starving. You’re the
man responsible, and you know it. We’ve sworn to hang you, and we’re
_going_ to hang you.”
“My dear sir, your statement is definite and concise, without being as
illuminating as I should like. A mistake has been made, of which I am
the innocent victim. You are the victims, too, for that matter; because,
after all, it is not a mistake, but a conspiracy. I can see, however,
that nothing I may say will mitigate the situation in the slightest
degree. I shall, therefore, not indulge in useless declamation. Three
things are fixed. I am the owner of this mine. I have cheated you out of
your pay for four months, therefore I am to be hanged. There comes into
my mind at this moment something I have read somewhere about hangings
at Newgate prison in England. They drop a man, then all concerned go at
once to enjoy what is called the ‘hanging breakfast.’ The gruesomeness
of such a proceeding fastened the item in my mind. Let’s have a ‘hanging
lunch.’”
“Stranger, as I understand your remarks, the person turned off didn’t
attend that breakfast.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Very well, stranger, we’ll look after the lunch when you’re strung up.”
“But, excuse me, the victim had a hearty breakfast _before_ he was
hanged. Now, I beg to point out to you that I drank my coffee just about
daybreak this morning, and since then I’ve travelled over the worst set
of mountains it has ever been my privilege to encounter. I’m as hungry
as a bear. I therefore insist on your lunching with me, and I shall give
you a meal such as you wouldn’t better at the Millionaire’s Club.
Before I left home, six manufacturers of portable stoves insisted on my
accepting one each, in the hope of getting an unsolicited testimonial.
I shall leave the stoves with you, and trust you will recommend them to
your friends. I don’t need them where I’m going.”
“No,” said one of the party, “they’d melt there.”
“Now, Jackson,” cried Steele enthusiastically, “set up the whole six
stoves. You’ve got to cook dinner for the party. But, meanwhile, open
some of those boxes of new sardines with the trimmings on, which they’ve
just sent across to us from Brittany. A little caviare also may be a
novelty in this district. I think we’ve plates enough to go round. If
not, use saucers or the tins. Gentlemen, I take it you don’t need an
appetiser, but what will you drink before we begin?”
“I admit, stranger, you’re a mighty plausible cuss, and we expected
that; but you don’t palaver this crowd. There’s no drinking till after
the ceremony.”
For the first time there was a murmur of disapproval at this, but the
leader held up his hand.
“See here, you fellows,” he said, “we’ve got to deal with a pretty
slippery customer. You know what them city men are. Now, there’s no
drinking till after the performance; you hear me. I’d string him up this
moment, only we’d scare his cook white, and then we’d have to eat things
raw.”
Jackson handed round sardines and other tempting extras, while Steele
put the collapsible table on its legs and opened various boxes, from one
of which he took out a case of champagne, and another of Scotch
whisky. Then, getting a large pitcher which had been intended as the
water-holder of his tent, he poured two bottles of Scotch whisky into
it, followed by bottle after bottle of champagne until the jug was
full. Meanwhile the busy negro had got the six stoves ablaze, and the
appetising smell that came from the utensils over the fires made the
starving miners oblivious to everything else. The first course was
devoured in silence.
“Although you may not care to consume intoxicating liquors, and I
quite agree with you that it is best to keep sober, I hope you have no
objection to temperance drinks. Who’ll have some cider?”
“Cider?” said the leader. “Have you got any?”
“Here’s a pitcher full.”
“That’s all right. Pour it out. I wish you had brought beer instead.
We’d risk beer.”
“Oh, well, you can risk the cider. I’m sorry I haven’t any beer,” and,
hungry as he was, the young man himself poured out full glasses to each.
“By jiminy crickets!” cried the leader, “that’s the best cider I ever
tasted.”
“It’s the very best cider made in this country,” said Steele earnestly,
“and thank goodness, I’ve got plenty of it.”
As course after course was served, and bumper after bumper was drunk,
the geniality of the crowd rose and rose, until Steele at last saw he
could possibly make terms with them, but he resolved not to chance that.
He determined to leave them so drunk that none could move; then he would
depart at his leisure. Under the exhilarating effects of the mixture he
poured out, all objections to intoxicating liquor fled from the jovial
assemblage, and Jackson now opened whisky bottle after whisky bottle.
The miners were laughing, singing, weeping on one another’s necks,
utterly oblivious of mine owners, lack of pay, lynching, or anything
else, when Steele and Jackson mounted their horses, the coloured cook
leading one of the mules laden with provisions ample for a week’s
journey.
When Steele reached Pickaxe Gulch, he thought he never should be so glad
to see a pair of rails again. He felt like throwing his arms round the
neck of the station-master, but instead asked that rough diamond if
there were any news.
“No, not much,” replied the station-master, “except that Peter
Berrington, the billionaire, is dead.”
“Thank God!” fervently ejaculated Steele, to the astonishment of the
station-master.
“Yes,” said the official, “he’s gone where his money won’t do him no
good. Found dead in his chair in his office in New York, two days ago.
There’s the paper, if you want to read about it.”
Steele went in and possessed himself of the paper.
“By Jove!” he muttered, as he gazed at the big, black headlines. “He or
his system sent a man to death when he ought to have been preparing for
death himself. That’s as it should be. Thank goodness the shadow has
lifted!”
John Steele forgot the words of Shakespeare:
“The evil that men do lives after them.”