BENNINGTON PROVES GAME
Bennington de Laney sat on the pile of rocks at the entrance to the
Holy Smoke shaft. Across his knees lay the thirty-calibre rifle. His
face was very white and set. Perhaps he was thinking of his return to
New York in disgrace, of his interview with Bishop, of his inevitable
meeting with a multitude of friends, who would read in the daily papers
the accounts of his incompetence--criminal incompetence, they would
call it. The shadows were beginning to lengthen across the slope of the
hill. Up the gulch cow bells tinkled, up the hill birds sang, and
through the little hollows twilight flowed like a vapour. The wild
roses on the hillside were blooming--late in this high altitude. The
pines were singing their endless song. But Bennington de Laney was
looking upon none of these softer beauties of the Hills. Rather he
watched intently the lower gulch with its flood-wracked, water-twisted
skeleton laid bare. Could it be that in the destruction there figured
forth he caught the symbol of his own condition? That the dreary gloom
of that ruin typified the chaos of sombre thoughts that occupied his
own remorseful mind? If so, the fancy must have absorbed him. The
moments slipped by one by one, the shadows grew longer, the bird songs
louder, and still the figure with the rifle sat motionless, his face
white and still, watching the lower gulch.
Or could it be that Bennington de Laney waited for some one, and that
therefore his gaze was so fixed? It would seem so. For when the beat of
hoofs became audible, the white face quickened into alertness, and the
motionless figure stirred somewhat.
The rider came in sight, rising and falling in a steady, unhesitating
lope. He swung rapidly to the left, and ascended the knoll. Opposite
the shaft of the Holy Smoke lode he reined in his bronco and
dismounted. The rider was Jim Fay.
Bennington de Laney did not move. He looked up at the newcomer with
dull resignation. "He takes it hard, poor fellow!" thought Fay.
"Well, what's to be done?" asked the Easterner in a strained voice. "I
suppose you know all about it, or you wouldn't be here."
"Yes, I know all about it," said Fay gently. "You mustn't take it so
hard. Perhaps we can do something. We'll be able to save one or two
claims, any way, if we're quick about it."
"I've heard something about patenting claims," went on de Laney in the
same strange, dull tones; "could that be done?"
"No. You have to do five hundred dollars' worth of work, and advertise
for sixty days. There isn't time."
"That settles it. I don't know what we can do then."
"Well, that depends. I've come to help do something. We've got to get
an everlasting hustle on us, that's all; and I'm afraid we are
beginning a little behindhand in the race. You ought to have hunted me
up at once."
"I don't see what there is to do," repeated Bennington thickly.
"Don't you? The assessment work hasn't been done--that's the idea,
isn't it?--and so the claims have reverted to the Government. They are
therefore open to location, as in the beginning, and that is just what
Davidson and that crowd are going to do to them. Well, they're just as
much open to us. We'll just _jump our own claims!_"
"What!" cried the Easterner, excited.
"Well, relocate them ourselves, if that suits you better."
Bennington's dull eyes began to light up.
"So get a move on you," went on Fay; "hustle out some paper so we can
make location notices. Under the terms of a relocation, we can use the
old stakes and 'discovery,' so all we have to do is to tack up a new
notice all round. That's the trouble. That gang's got their notices all
written, and I'm afraid they've got ahead of us. Come on!"
Bennington, who had up to this time remained seated on the pile of
stones, seemed filled with a new and great excitement. He tottered to
his feet, throwing his hands aloft.
"Thank God! Thank God!" he cried, catching his breath convulsively.
Fay turned to look at him curiously. "We aren't that much out of the
woods," he remarked; "the other gang'll get in their work, don't you
fret."
"They never will, they never will!" cried the Easterner exultantly.
"They can't. We'll locate 'em all!" The tears welled over his eyes and
ran down his cheeks.
"What do you mean?" asked Fay, beginning to fear the excitement had
unsettled his companion's wits.
"Because they're there!" cried Bennington, pointing to the mouth of the
shaft near which he had been sitting. "Davidson, Slayton,
Arthur--they're all there, and they can't get away! I didn't know what
else to do. I had to do something!"
Fay cast an understanding glance at the young man's rifle, and sprang
to the entrance of the shaft. As though in direct corroboration of his
speech, Fay could perceive, just emerging from the shadow, the sinister
figure of the man Arthur creeping cautiously up the ladder, evidently
encouraged to an attempt to escape by the sound of the conversation
above. The Westerner snatched his pistol from his holster and
presented it down the shaft.
"Kindly return!" he commanded in a soft voice. The upward motion of the
dim figure ceased, and in a moment it had faded from view in the
descent. Fay waited a moment. "In five minutes," he announced in louder
tones, "I'm going to let loose this six-shooter down that shaft. I
should advise you gentlemen to retire to the tunnel." He peered down
again intently. A sudden clatter and thud behind him startled him. He
looked around. Bennington had fallen at full length across the stones,
and his rifle, falling, had clashed against the broken ore.
Fay, with a slight shrug of contempt at such womanish weakness, ran to
his assistance. He straightened the Easterner out and placed his folded
coat under his head. "He'll come around in a minute," he muttered. He
glanced toward the gulch and then back to the shaft. "Can't leave that
lay-out," he went on. He bent over the prostrate figure and began to
loosen the band of his shirt. Something about the boy's clothing
attracted his attention, so, drawing his knife, he deftly and gently
ripped away the coat and shirt. Then he arose softly to his feet and
bared his head.
"I apologize to you," said he, addressing the recumbent form; "you are
game."
In the fleshy part of the naked shoulder was a small round hole,
clotted and smeared with blood.
Jim Fay stooped and examined the wound closely. The bullet had entered
near the point of the shoulder, but a little below, so that it had
merely cut a secant through the curve of the muscle. If it had struck a
quarter of an inch to the left it would have gouged a furrow; a quarter
of an inch beyond that would have caused it to miss entirely. Fay saw
that the hurt itself was slight, and that the Easterner had fainted
more because of loss of blood than from the shock. This determined to
his satisfaction, he moved quickly to the mouth of the shaft. "Way
below!" he cried in a sharp voice, and discharged his revolver twice
down the opening. Then he stole noiselessly away, and ran at speed to
the kitchen of the shack, whence he immediately returned with a pail of
water and a number of towels. He set these down, and again peered down
the shaft. "Way below!" he repeated, and dropped down a sizable chunk
of ore. Apparently satisfied that the prisoners were well warned, he
gave his whole attention to his patient.
He washed the wound carefully. Then he made a compress of one of the
towels, and bound it with the other two. Looking up, he discovered
Bennington watching him intently.
"It's all right!" he assured the latter in answer to the question in
his eyes. "Nothing but a scratch. Lie still a minute till I get this
fastened, and you can sit up and watch the rat hole while I get you
some clothes."
In another moment or so the young man was propped up against an empty
ore "bucket," his shoulder bound, and his hand slung comfortably in a
sling from his neck.
"There you are," said Jim cheerily. "Now you take my six-shooter and
watch that aggregation till I get back. They won't come out any, but
you may as well be sure."
He handed Bennington his revolver, and moved off in the direction of
the cabin, whistling cheerfully. The young man looked after him
thoughtfully. Nothing could have been more considerate than the
Westerner's manner, nothing could have been kinder than his prompt
action--Bennington saw that his pony, now cropping the brush near at
hand, was black with sweat--nothing could have been more
straightforward than his assistance in the matter of the claims. And
yet Bennington de Laney was not satisfied. He felt he owed the sudden
change of front to a word spoken in his behalf by the girl. This was a
strange influence she possessed, thus to alter a man's attitude
entirely by the mere voicing of a wish.
The Westerner returned carrying a loose shirt and a coat, which he drew
entire over the injured shoulder, which left one sleeve empty.
"I guess that fixes you," said he with satisfaction.
"Look here," put in Bennington suddenly, "you've been mighty good to me
in all this. If you hadn't come along as you did, these fellows would
have nabbed me sooner or later, and probably I'd have lost the claims
any way. I feel I owe you a lot. But I want you to know before you go
any further that that don't square us. You've had it in for me ever
since I came out here, and you've made it mighty unpleasant for me. I
can't forget that all at once. I want to tell you plainly that,
although I am grateful enough, I know just why you have done all this.
It is because _she_ asked you to. And knowing that, I can't accept what
you do for me as from a friend, for I don't feel friendly toward you in
the least." His face flushed painfully. "I'm not trying to insult you
or be boorish," he said; "I just want you to understand how I feel
about it. And now that you know, I suppose you'd better let the matter
go, although I'm much obliged to you for fixing me up."
He glanced at his shoulder.
Fay listened to this speech quietly and with patience. "What do you
intend to do?" he asked, when the other had quite finished.
"I don't know yet. If you'll say nothing down below--and I'm sure you
will not--I'll contrive some way of keeping this procession down the
hole, and of feeding them, and then I'll relocate the claims myself."
"With one arm?"
"Yes, with one arm!" cried Bennington fiercely; "with no arms at all,
if need be!" he broke off suddenly, with the New Yorker's ingrained
instinct of repression. "I beg your pardon. I mean I'll do as well as I
can, of course."
"How about the woman--Arthur's wife? She'll give you trouble."
"She has locked herself in her cabin already. I will assist her to
continue the imprisonment."
Fay laughed outright. "And you expect, with one arm and wounded, to
feed four people, keep them in confinement, and at the same time to
relocate eighteen claims lying scattered all over the hills! Well,
you're optimistic, to say the least."
"I'll do the best I can," repeated Bennington doggedly.
"And you won't ask help of a friend ready to give it?"
"Not as a friend."
"Well," Fay chuckled, apparently not displeased, "you're an obstinate
young man, or rather a pig-headed young man, but I don't know as that
counts against you. I'll help you out, anyway--if not as a friend, then
as an enemy. You see, I have my marching orders from someone else, and
you haven't anything to do with it."
Bennington bowed coldly, but his immense relief flickered into his face
in spite of himself. "What should we do first?" he asked formally.
"Sit here and wait for the kids," responded Jim.
"Who are the kids?"
"Friends of mine--trustworthy."
Jim rearranged Bennington's coverings and lit a pipe. "Tell us about
it," said he.
"There isn't much to tell. I knew I had to do something, so I just held
them up and made them get down the shaft. I didn't know what I was
going to do next, but I was glad to have them out of the way to get
time to think."
"Who plugged you?" inquired Fay, motioning with the mouthpiece of his
pipe toward the wounded shoulder.
"That was Arthur. He had a little gun in his coat pocket and he shot
from inside the pocket. I'd made them drop all the guns they had, I
thought."
"Did you take a crack at him then?" asked Fay, interested.
"Oh, no. I just covered him and made him shell out. As a matter of fact
I don't believe any one of them knew I was hit."
Fay smoked on in silence, glancing from time to time with satisfaction
at the youth opposite. During the passage of these events the day had
not far advanced. The shadow of Harney had not yet reached out to the
edge of the hills.
"Hullo! The kids!" said Fay suddenly.
Two pedestrians emerged from the lower gulch and bent their steps
toward the camp. As they came nearer, Bennington, with a gasp of
surprise, recognised the Leslies.
The sprightly youths were dressed just alike, in knickerbockers and
Norfolk jackets of dark brown plaid, and small college caps to
match--an outfit which Bennington had always believed would attract too
vivid attention in this country. As they came nearer he saw that the
jackets were fitted with pockets of great size. In the pockets were
sketch books and bulging articles. They caught sight of the two figures
on the ore heap simultaneously.
"Behold our attentive host!" cried Jeems. "He is now in the act of
receiving us with all honour!"
Bennington's face fairly shone with pleasure at the encounter. "Hullo
fellows! Hullo there!" he cried out delightedly again and again, and
rose slowly to his feet. This disclosed the fact of his injury, and the
brothers ran forward, with real sympathy and concern expressed on their
lively countenances. There ensued a rapid fire of questions and
answers. The Leslies proved to be already familiar with the details of
the attempt to jump the claims, and understood at once Fay's brief
account of the present situation, over which they rejoiced in the
well-known Leslie fashion. They exploded in genuine admiration of
Bennington's adventure, and praised that young man enthusiastically.
Bennington could feel, even before this, that he stood on a different
footing than formerly with these self-reliant young men. They treated
him as familiarly as ever, but with a new respect. The truth is, their
astuteness in reading character, which is as essentially an attribute
of the artistic temperament in black and white as in words and phrases,
had shown them already that their old acquaintance had grown from boy
to man since last they had met. They knew this even before they learned
of its manifestation. So astounding was the change that they gave it
credit, perhaps, for being more thorough than it was. After the
situation had been made plain, Bennington reverted to the
unexpectedness of their appearance.
"But you haven't told me yet how you happen to be here," he suggested.
"I'd as soon have expected to see Ethel Henry coming up the gulch!"
"Didn't you get our letters?" cried Bert in astonishment.
"No, I haven't received any letters. Did you write?"
"Did we write! Well, I should think so! We wrote three times, telling
you we were coming and when to expect us. Jeems and I wondered why you
didn't meet us. That explains it. Seems funny you didn't get any of
those letters!"
"No, I don't believe it is so funny after all," responded Bennington,
who had been thinking it over. "I remember now that Davidson told the
others he had been intercepting my letters from the Company, and I
suppose he got yours too."
"That's it, of course. I'll have to interview that Davidson later.
Well, we used to train around here off and on, as I told you once, and
this year Jeems and I thought we'd do our summer sketching here, and
sort of revive old times. So we packed up and came."
"I'm mighty glad you came, anyway," replied Bennington fervently.
"So'm I. We're just in time to help foil the villain. As foilers Jeems
and I are an artistic success. We have studied foiling under the best
masters in the Bowery and Sixth Avenue theatres."
"Where's Bill?" asked Jim suddenly.
"Will be around in the morning. You're to report progress at once.
Didn't dare to come up until after the row. Dreadful anxious though.
Would have come if Jeems and I hadn't forbidden it."
Bennington wondered vaguely who Bill might be, but he was beginning to
feel a little tired from the excitement and his wound, so he said
nothing.
"The next thing is grub," remarked Fay, rising and gathering his pony's
reins. "I'll mosey up to the shack and see about supper. You fellows
can sit around and talk until I get organized."
He turned to move away, leading his horse.
"Hold on a minute, Jim," called Bert. "You might lend me your bronc,
and I'll lope down and set Bill's mind easy. It won't take long."
"Good scheme!" approved Jim heartily. "That's thoughtful of you,
Bertie!"
He dropped the reins where he stood, and the pony, with the usual
well-trained Western docility, hung his head and halted. Bert arose and
looked down the shaft.
"Supper will be served shortly, gentlemen," he observed suavely. He
turned toward the pony.
"Bert," called Bennington in a different voice, "did you say you were
going down the gulch?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to do something for me?"
"Why, surely. What is it?"
"Would you just as soon stop at the Lawtons' and tell Miss Lawton for
me that it's all right! You'll find the Lawton house----"
"Yes, I know where the Lawton house is," interrupted Bert, "but Miss
Lawton, you said?"
"Don't you remember, Bert," put in James, "there is a kid there--Maude,
or something of that sort?"
"No, no, not Maude," persisted Bennington, still more bashfully. "I
mean Miss Lawton, the young lady."
He felt that both the youths were looking keenly at him with dawning
wonder and delight. "Hold on, Bert," interposed James, as the other was
about to exclaim, "do you mean, Ben, the one you've been giving such a
rush for the last two months?"
"Miss Lawton and I are very good friends," replied Bennington with
dignity, wondering whence James had his information.
Bert drew in his breath sharply, and opened his mouth to speak.
"Hold on, Bert," interposed James again. "There are possibilities in
this. Don't destroy artistic development by undue haste. What did you
call the young lady, Ben?"
"Miss Lawton, of course!"
"Daughter of Bill Lawton?"
"Why, yes."
"Oh, my eye!" ejaculated James.
"And you have eyes in your head!" he cried after a moment. "You have
ears in your head! Blamed if you haven't everything in your head but
brains! She's a good one! I didn't appreciate the subtlety of that
woman before. Ben, you everlasting idiot, do you mean to tell me that
you've seen that girl every day for the last two months, and don't know
yet that she's too good to belong to Bill Lawton?"
Bert began to laugh hysterically.
"What do you mean!" cried Bennington.
"What I say. _She_ isn't Bill Lawton's daughter. Her name isn't Lawton
at all. O glory! He don't even know her name!" James in his turn went
into a fit of laughing. In uncontrollable excitement Bennington seized
him with his sound hand.
"What is it? Tell me! What is her name, then?"
"O Lord! Don't squeeze so! I'll tell you! Letup!"
James dashed the back of his hand across his eyes.
"What is her name?" repeated Bennington fiercely.
"Wilhelmina Fay. We call her Bill for short."
"And Jim Fay?"
"Is her brother."
"And the Lawtons?"
"They board there."
Across Bennington's mind flashed vaguely a suspicion that turned him
faint with mortification.
"Who is this Jim Fay?" he asked.
"He's Jim Fay--James Leicester Fay, of Boston."
"Not----"
"Yes, exactly. The Boston Fays."
Bert swung himself into the saddle. "Better not say anything to Bill
about the young 'un's shoulder," called after him the ever-thoughtful
James.