THE MINERS' MEETING
Pop Howes' mine, the American Beauty, was about a mile from town on the
south side of the mining gulch where the walls became sheer and closed
in. At the foot of the slope he had built a small three-room shack
where he and his wife lived. Back of this were the barns, a donkey
engine, and a narrow building where his Mexican workers formerly ate
and slept. But the bunk house was now deserted, the engine silent. No
work was going on in the shaft.
For thirty years Pop Howes had worked and saved; now he had been robbed
and was broke. He had exhausted his credit at the bank. His eyes were
bitter as they stared at the empty buildings.
The gulch had been formed by a cataclysm that had split a mountain when
the world was young. On the north side of the gulch was the El Dorado
Mine that was making a fortune for its owners. Pop Howes believed that
the El Dorado lode extended through the whole mountain, on the south as
well as the north side of the gulch, and that if he could run his shaft
down another hundred feet, to the same level as the El Dorado shaft,
he, too, would strike a rich, ore-bearing vein.
Jim Allen, who had accompanied Pop from town, glanced with ready
sympathy at the old man's brooding face. "So the bank wouldn't give yuh
a nickel?" he asked.
"Not a nickel, darn 'em! They was only too glad to loan me five
thousand last year, but now they acts as if I was wantin' to steal
money from 'em!" Pop cried wrathfully.
"Maybe they figger if they don't lend yuh no money they'll get the mine
an' a fortune on the mortgage," the ragged one said thoughtfully.
"Of course that's it. That young fellow that they sent here knew his
onions; he spent a week measurin' an' clippin' rock from this side an'
then goin' over yonder an' doin' the same thing," Pop sputtered. "An'
if it hadn't been for them darned quartz thieves what cleaned me out
last week, I'd never have had to ask the bank for no money!"
The two reached the house and entered a long, low room where they found
Mrs. Howes waiting for them. She was a thin, frail woman of fifty. Her
face was lined and her hair snow-white, but her eyes still had the
cheerful courage of the woman who has been taught by life to take the
good with the bad. One look at her husband's face and she knew his trip
to the county seat had been unsuccessful.
Experience had taught her that disappointment is easier to bear on a
full stomach, so she bustled into the kitchen and returned a few
minutes later with a dish of venison stew. She placed this on the table
and added a plate of hot biscuits and a pot of coffee.
When the men returned from washing up she had already piled their
plates high with the steaming stew. Pop Howes slumped into his chair
and gloomily told himself he was to lose the chance of a fortune, after
thirty years' labor, for the lack of only a few dollars.
It was not that he minded so much for himself, but his wife, who had
stood by him through all sorts of hardships, loneliness, and the
bitterest poverty, deserved some reward. Not that she had ever
complained, though he had noticed at times a wistful look in her eyes
and even the traces of tears. He knew that she wanted to visit again
those relatives of hers in the East whom she had not seen since the
days of her marriage. And recently, when they had thought they would
soon strike the lode, soon have money, she had looked forward to it
with a new longing.
Hardly had the two men finished their dinner when a messenger arrived
with the news that a miners' meeting was to be held that evening at the
hotel.
"Bill Tucker sent up north an' asked one of them gun-slingin' sheriffs
to come an' help ketch the quartz thieves," the messenger explained.
"Never knew Bill Tucker had enough sense to do that. Always figgered
him as the dumbest town marshal I ever see," Pop Howes grunted.
He arose, buckled on his gun, took his coat and hat from the peg behind
the door, and filled his pipe. After he had lighted it he turned to the
messenger and asked thoughtfully:
"Who's this gun-slingin' hombre?"
"Jack-twin Allen, the Wyoming sheriff."
Pop Howes glanced at the small figure sitting by the fire, started to
speak, thought better of it, and clumped from the room. The messenger
followed.
The woman glanced curiously at Jim Allen, but her curiosity was tinged
by sympathy and understanding. After a moment she asked falteringly:
"He's your brother?"
"Yeh. Twin brother." The voice was toneless, flat.
"An'--have you spoken to him?" she asked. At the sight of his face she
instantly regretted her words.
"Naw, an' I don't reckon I will. 'Cause, yuh see, Jack's here on
business, an' he can't go cavortin' about with a disreputable gent like
me. Reckon I'll pull out pronto."
Jim Allen was grinning now and he spoke with assumed indifference, but
the woman saw behind the mask.
"Let me tell yuh somethin', ma'am. Jack Allen is the darnedest,
fightingest gent I ever see. Let me tell yuh what he done now."
Enthusiastically Allen poured out praises of his brother's courage, his
skill, and the wonderful things he had accomplished. But the more he
praised his brother, the more the woman understood his grief. Jim-twin
Allen was an outlaw, with a fortune on his head; his brother was an
officer of the law--the gulf between the two was insurmountable.
* * * * *
When Pop Howes arrived at the hotel he found "Hard-rock" Hogan and Bill
Tucker, the town marshal, waiting for him. Tucker was a powerfully
built man with a round, red face, a large mouth, and small gray eyes.
"Howdy, Pop!" he cried jovially. "We sent for Baldy Kane, Steven
Brandon, 'Two-finger' Smith, and some of the other boys. Bill Tucker
sent up North and asked Jack-twin Allen--yuh've heard of him,
yes?--well, Bill asked him to come on down here to help ketch these
here quartz robbers. Well, he's here now, feedin' his face, an' he'll
be in here pronto."
Bill Tucker cultivated a hearty, jovial manner, and, as the different
owners and managers of mines in the gulch arrived, he greeted each one
like a long-lost brother. Steve Brandon, the manager of the El Dorado,
was one of the last to arrive.
He was a short, heavy man with gray hair and a close-cropped mustache.
When he spoke he snapped out his words like pistol shots. Shortly after
Steve Brandon arrived, Baldy Kane slid into the room. He nodded to
those present, and then his face became an expressionless, claylike
mask. He silently drifted into a dark corner.
"I hears tell that this here Jack Allen is faster than his brother
Jim," Bill Tucker boomed.
"Not any," Pop declared shortly but emphatically.
"Wonder if the two speak? It's darn funny--Jack comes here to clean up
this town, an' here is Jim, his brother, the best of all the
jailbirds." The marshal chuckled as if he found the situation amusing.
Hard-rock Hogan was one of the men who had worked in and about mines
since early childhood; he had lived all his life among rough, violent
men, and his experience with human nature was vast. He had discovered
that many men used words to hide their thoughts, while others
cultivated a masklike face after the manner of Baldy Kane. He glanced
curiously at Bill Tucker.
Now he saw only the tragedy that lay beneath the meeting of two
brothers in such circumstances, and he wondered if the town marshal had
been aware the two would meet when he sent his invitation to Jack
Allen. He was curious as to that, but he was more curious as to the
reason behind the invitation; he was reasonably sure Tucker had some
hidden motive. Hogan was still pondering the matter when the door
opened and Jack Allen entered.
The famous Wyoming sheriff and United States marshal was cool and
collected. His eyes swept the room and rested on each man in turn. Most
of the miners met his searching gaze unflinchingly. But there were one
or two men there who hastily looked away, for they had a feeling that
Allen's rather hard brown eyes might read more than they cared to tell.
Bill Tucker stepped forward and introduced Allen to the assembly.
"Howdy, gents!" Jack greeted them.
They murmured a reply, then all grew silent.
"Suppose yuh give me a line on what's been goin' on here," the little
man suggested.
"It's this way," Bill Tucker explained. "The placers has been givin'
out an' there ain't nothin' but quartz mining hereabouts now. About
eight mines are workin' sinkin' shafts. The veins are darned thin but
mighty rich. About four months ago some gang started stealin' quartz,
an' since then every darn mine has been robbed."
"On the quiet or with guns?" Allen interrupted.
"Sometimes one, sometimes the other. The last time this here gang
worked they held up the American Beauty--about a week ago--shot one
guard, locked up the workers, and made off with about four thousand
dollars in quartz," the town marshal explained.
"When did you find out about it?" Jack Allen asked.
Pop Howes cut into the conversation. "I was stayin' in town that night
with my wife an' went out to the mine about daylight. I find a young
Mex kid I left in the house, gunned proper, an' the rest locked up, so
I come into town an' fetched Bill Tucker."
"Yuh track 'em? Where did they go?"
"Yeh, I follered them clear to the head of the canyon an' then come
back. Yuh see, I'm town marshal, an' we got a tough bunch of hombres
hangin' aroun' here, so I got to sorter stick close to town an' not go
trackin' across the mountains." Bill Tucker flushed beneath Allen's
direct appraisal and floundered in his explanation.
"Why for d'yuh let these here tough hombres hang aroun'?" Allen asked
quickly.
"Why for? 'Cause--why, there's a bunch of 'em, an' I sorta figgered to
let the past slide, so long as the boys behaved," Bill Tucker said
uneasily. His eyes refused to meet Jack Allen's direct gaze and glanced
furtively about the room.
"All right. The first thing to do, then, is to make a list of all the
gents what is not workin', an' all them who have a reward on 'em or are
known to be bad ones, an' tell 'em to get out of town," the Wyoming
sheriff said quietly.
"Would yuh put your brother, Jim Allen, on that list?" Steve Brandon
barked.
"Yes!" Jack Allen snapped.
The miners regarded Allen curiously. Instinctively they knew he spoke
the truth and would lock his own brother in jail if called upon to do
so in the line of duty. Here was a man who made a fetish of honesty.
Some of them had heard of him by reputation. Honest, hard, relentless
in his pursuit of outlaws, he was known to be just. He cared nothing
about the rewards for the outlaws he sought; having cleaned up a town
or county, he would silently fade away, none the richer for his work.
After a general discussion, it was agreed that Jack Allen was to be
given a free hand in the gulch. For a long while Bill Tucker insisted
he should have authority within the town limits, but at length he was
forced to give way and to agree to take orders from Allen.
Later, as Hard-rock Hogan and Pop Howes were walking up the starlit
gulch toward their homes, they both chuckled as they recalled Bill
Tucker's expression when Jack Allen questioned him.
"Bill sorta showed up as a windbag, didn't he?" the old prospector
remarked.
"Yeh, Jack Allen is sure enough a little hellion on wheels." Hard-rock
grinned his admiration.
"How come yuh persuaded Bill to write to him?" asked Pop.
"I ain't supposed to say, but it was Steve Brandon who got me to prod
Bill to get Jack Allen," Hard-rock answered, after a moment's
hesitation.
When Pop Howes entered the living room he found Jim-twin Allen waiting
for him. Pop laughed as he related what had happened at the miners'
meeting that night.
"An' yuh say it was Steve Brandon who started gettin' Jack down here?"
Allen asked curiously.
"Yeh. Steve sure has a head on him. Reckon he don't want it known for
fear these here quartz robbers will get after him."
"Listen, Pop. I've been thinkin'. That night they robbed yuh--yuh say
the kid they downed was dressed in his underclothes an' wasn't armed?"
"Yeh."
"Did yuh ever think that maybe some one downed that kid, figgerin' it
was you--an' done it for a purpose?" Allen asked.
Pop Howes frowned and stared thoughtfully into the fire.
"Jim, I reckon you're correct. An' that means that gang is workin' for
some one who knows I'm due to strike it rich an' wants to cash me in so
he can buy my claim off the old woman for almost nothin'!"
"Well, I figgers I'll bunk here, an', if they comes ag'in, I'll give
'em a surprise." Allen grinned cheerfully.
Pop Howes lay awake for a long time that night. He racked his brain
despairingly, trying to think of some way by which he could raise the
money to continue his operations and at the same time pay the bank its
interest on the mortgage. The more he puzzled, the more hopeless it
seemed. He was within a few feet of riches and, for the want of a few
dollars, would be forced to watch some one else profit by his work. He
thought of his wife, sleeping quietly beside him--how patient she had
been, how hard working! Time after time she had been forced to work
like a slave while he was in the mountains prospecting. And now what
good had it done?
Pop turned back to bed. His wife tossed restlessly and moaned in her
sleep.