I don't suppose Casey Ryan ever started out to do something for himself--
something he considered important to his own personal welfare and
happiness--without running straight into some other fellow's business and
stopping to lend a hand. He says he can't remember being left alone at any
time in his life to follow the beckoning finger of his own particular
destiny.
Casey had made camp that night in one of several deep gulches that ridged
the butte with two peaks. We had been lucky in our burro buying, and he
had two of the fastest walking jacks in the country, so that he was able
to give them a good long nooning and still reach the foot of the butte and
make camp well before sundown. For the first time since he first heard of
the Injun Jim gold mine, Casey felt that he was really "squared away" to
the search. As he sat there blowing his unhurried breath upon a blue
granite cup of coffee to cool it, his memory slanted back along the years
when he had said that some day he would go and hunt for the Injun Jim mine
that was so rich a ten-pound lard bucket full of the ore had been known to
yield five hundred dollars' worth of gold. Well, it had been a long time
since he first said that to himself, but here he was, and to-morrow he
would begin his search with daylight, starting with this gulch he was in
and working methodically over every foot of Two Peak.
He took two long, satisfying swallows of coffee and poised the cup and
listened. After a minute had gone in that way, he finished the coffee in
gulps and stood up, dangling the empty cup with a finger crooked in the
handle. From somewhere not more than a long rifle-shot away, a Ford was
coughing under full pressure of gas and with at least one dirty spark plug
to give it a spasmodic stutter. While Casey stood there listening, the
stutter slowed and stopped with one wheezy cough. That was all.
"They'll have to clean up her hootin'-annies before they git outa here,"
Casey observed shrewdly, having intimate and sometimes unpleasant
knowledge of Fords and their peculiar ailments. "And I wonder what the
sufferin' Chris'mas they're doin' here, anyway. If it's huntin' the Injun
Jim they're after, the quicker they scrape the sut off them dingbats and
git outa here, the healthier they'll ride. You ask anybody if Casey Ryan's
liable to back up now he's on the ground and squared away!"
He stood there uneasily for a minute or two longer, caught a whiff of his
bacon scorching and stooped to its rescue. Then he fried a bannock hastily
in the bacon grease, folded two slices of bacon within it and ate in a
hurry, keeping an ear cocked for any further sounds from the concealed
car.
He finished eating without having heard more and piled his dishes without
washing them. I don't suppose he had used more than ten minutes at the
longest in eating his supper. That was about the limit of Casey's inaction
when he smelled a mystery or a scrap. This had the elements of both, and
he started out forthwith to trail down the Ford, wiping crumbs from his
mouth and getting out his plug of tobacco as he went.
In broken country sounds are deceptive as to direction, but Casey was
lucky enough to walk straight toward the spot, which was over a hump in
the gulch, a sort of backbone dividing it in two narrow branches there at
its mouth. He had noticed when he rode toward it that it was ridged in the
middle, and had chosen the left-hand branch for no reason at all except
that it happened to be a little smoother traveling for his animals.
He topped the ridge and came full upon a camp below, almost within calling
distance from where he first sighted it. There was a stone hut that could
not possibly contain more than two small rooms, and there was a tent
pitched not far away. There seemed to be a spring just beyond the cabin.
Casey saw the silver gleam of water there, and a strip of green grass, and
a juniper bush or two.
But these details were not important at the moment. What sent him down the
hill in an uneven trot was a group of three that stood beside a car. From
their voices, and the gestures that were being made, here was a quarrel
building rapidly into a fight. To prove it the smallest person in the
group suddenly whipped out a revolver and pointed it at the two. Casey saw
the reddening sunlight strike upon the barrel with a brief shine,
instantly quenched when the gun was thrust forward toward the other two
whom it threatened.
"You get out of my camp and out of my sight just as fast as your legs can
take you. This car belongs to me, and you're not going to touch it. You've
got your wages--more than your wages, you great hulking shirks! A fine
exhibition you're making of yourselves, I must say! You thought you could
bluff me--that I'd stand meekly by and let you two bullies have your own
way about it, did you? You even waited until you had gorged yourselves on
food you've never earned, before you started your highwaymen performance.
You made sure of one more good meal, you--you _hogs._ Now go, before I
empty this gun into the two of you!"
Casey stopped, puffing a little, I suppose. He is not so young as when
they called him the Fightin' Stagedriver, and he had done his long day of
travel. The three did not know that he was there, they were so busy with
their quarrel. The woman's voice was sharp with contempt, but it was not
loud and there was not a tremble in any tone of it. The gun she held was
steady in her hand, but one man snarled at her and one man laughed. It was
the kind of laugh a woman would hate to hear from a man she was defying.
"Aw, puddown the popgun! Nobody's scared of it--er you. It ain't loaded,
and if it was loaded you couldn't hit nothin'. No need to be scared
'long's a woman's pointing a gun at yuh. Crank 'er up, agin, Ole. Don't
worry none about _her._ She can't stop nothin', not even her jawin'. Go
awn, start the damn Lizzie an' let's go."
Ole bent to the cranking, then complained that the switch must be off. His
companion growled that it was nothing of the kind and kept his narrowed
gaze fixed upon the woman.
She spied Casey standing there, a few rods beyond the car. The gun dropped
in her hand so that its aim was no longer direct. The man who faced her
jumped and caught her wrist, and the gun went off, the bullet singing ten
feet above Casey's head.
A little girl with flaxen curls and patched overalls on screamed and
rushed up to the man, gripping him furiously around the legs just above
the knees and trying her little best to shake him. "You leave my mamma
alone!" she cried shrilly.
Casey took a hand then,--a hand with a rock in it, I must explain. He
managed to kick Ole harshly in the ribs, sending him doubled sidewise and
yelping, as he passed him. He laid the other man out senseless with the
rock which landed precisely on the back of the head just under his hat.
The woman--Casey had mistaken her for a man at first, because she wore bib
overalls and had her hair bobbed and a man's hat on--dropped the gun and
held her wrist that showed angry red finger prints. She smiled at Casey
exactly as if nothing much had happened.
"Thank you very much indeed. I was beginning to wonder how I was going to
manage the situation. It was growing rather awkward, because I should have
been compelled to shoot them both, I expect, before I was through. And I
dreaded a mess. Wounded, I should have had them on my hands to take care
of--their great hulks!--and dead I should have had to bury them, and I
detest digging in this rocky soil. You really did me a very great--"
Her eyes ranged to something behind Casey and widened at what they saw.
Casey whirled about, ducked a hurtling monkey wrench and rushed Ole, who
was getting up awkwardly, his eyes malevolent. He made a very thorough job
of thrashing Ole, and finished by knocking him belly down over the
un-hooded engine of the Ford.
"I hope Jawn doesn't suffer from that," the little woman commented
whimsically. "Babe, run and get that rope over there and take it to the
gentleman so he can tie Ole's hands together. Then he can't be naughty any
more. Hurry, Baby Girl."
Baby Girl hurried, her curls whipping around her face as she ran. She
brought a coil of cotton clothesline to Casey, looking up at him with
wide, measuring eyes of a tawny shade like sunlight shining through thin
brown silk. "I wish you'd give Joe a beating too," she said with grave
earnestness. "He's a badder man than Ole. He hurt my mamma. Will you give
Joe a beating and tie his naughty hands jus' like that when he wakes up?"
She lifted her plump little body on her scuffed toes, her brown, dimpled
fingers clutching the radiator to hold her steady while she watched Casey
tie Ole's naughty hands behind his back.
"Now will you tie Joe's naughty hands jus' like that? Don't use up all the
rope! My mamma hasn't got any more rope, and you have to tie--"
"Babe! Come over here and don't bother the gentleman. Stand away over
there so you can't hear the naughty words Ole is saying." The little woman
smiled, but not much. Casey, glancing up from the last efficient knot,
felt suddenly sorry that he had not first gagged Ole. Casey had not
thought of it before; mere cussing was natural to him as breathing, and he
had scarcely been aware of the fact that Ole was speaking. Now he cuffed
the Swede soundly and told him to shut up, and yanked him off the car.
"Joe is regaining consciousness. He'll be nasty to handle as a rabid
coyote if you wait much longer. Just cut the rope. It's my clothesline,
but we must not balk at trifles in a crisis like this." The little woman
had recovered her gun and was holding it ready for Joe in case the
predicted rabidness became manifest.
Casey tied Joe very thoroughly while consciousness was slowly returning.
The situation ceased to be menacing; it became safe and puzzling and even
a bit mysterious. Casey reached for his plug, remembered his manners and
took away his hand. Robbed of his customary inspiration he stood
undecided, scowling at the feebly blinking ruffian called Joe.
"It's very good of you not to ask what it's all about," said the little
woman, taking off the man's hat and shaking back her hair like a
schoolgirl. "I have some mining claims here--four of them. My husband left
them to me, and since that's all he did leave I have been keeping up the
assessment work every year. Last year I had enough money to buy Jawn." She
nodded toward the Ford. "I outfitted and came out here with an old fellow
I'd known for years, kept camp until he'd done the assessment work, and
paid him off and that was all there was to it.
"This summer the old man is prospecting the New Jerusalem, I expect. He
died in April. I hired these two scoundrels. I was foolish enough to pay
half their wages in advance, because they told me a tale of owing money to
a widow for board and wanting to pay her. I have," she observed, "a
weakness for widows. And they have just pretended to be working the
claims. I hurt my ankle so that I haven't been able to walk far for a
month, and they took advantage of it and have been prospecting around on
their own account, at my expense, while I religiously marked down their
time and fed them. They have located four claims adjoining mine, and put
up their monuments and done their location work in the past month, if you
please, while I supposed they were working for me."
"D'they locate you in on 'em?"
"Locate me--in? You mean, as a partner? They emphatically did not! I went
up to the claims to-day, saw that they had not done a thing since the last
time I was there; they had even taken away my tools. So we tracked them,
Baby and I, and found their location monuments just over the hill, and saw
where they had been working. So to-night I asked them about it, and they
were very defiant and very cool and decided that they were through out
here and would go to town. They were _borrowing_ Jawn--so they said. I was
objecting, naturally. I was quite against being left alone out here,
afoot, with Babe on my hands. It will soon be coming on cold," she said.
"I'd have been in a fine predicament, with supplies for only about a month
longer. And I must get the assessment work done, too, you know."
"D'you want 'em to stay and finish your work?" Casey reached out with his
foot and pushed Joe down upon his back again.
The little woman looked down at Joe and across at Ole by the car. "No,
thank you. I should undoubtedly put strychnine in their coffee if they
stayed, I should hate the sight of them so. I have some that I brought for
the pack rats. No, I don't want them--"
She had sounded very cool and calm, and she had impressed Casey as being
quite as fearless as himself. But now he caught a trembling in her voice,
and he distinctly saw her lip quiver. He was so disturbed that he went
over and slapped Ole again and told him to shut up, though Ole was not
saying a word.
"Where's their bed-rolls?" Casey asked, when he turned toward her again.
She pointed to the tent, and Casey went and dragged forth the packed
belongings of the two. It was perfectly plain that they had deliberately
planned their desertion, for everything was ready to load into the car.
Casey went staggering to the Ford, dumped the canvas rolls in and yanked
Ole up by the collar, propelling him into the tonneau. Then he came after
Joe.
"If you can drive, you'll mebby feel better if yuh go along," he said to
the woman. "I'm goin' to haul 'em far enough sos't they won't feel like
walkin' back to bother yuh, and seein' you don't know me, mebby you better
do the drivin'. Then you'll know I ain't figurin' on stealin' your car and
makin' a getaway."
"I can drive, of course," she acquiesced. "Not that I'd be afraid to trust
Jawn with you, but they're treacherous devils, those two, and they might
manage somehow to make you trouble if you go alone. Jawn is a
temperamental car, and he demands all of one's attention at times."
She walked over to the car, reached out in the gathering dusk and fingered
the carburetor adjustment. "When they first revealed their plan of making
away with Jawn," she drawled, "I came up like this and remonstrated. And
while I did so I reached over and turned the screw and shut off the gas
feed. Jawn balked with them, of course--but they never guessed why!"
The two in the tonneau muttered something in undertones while the little
woman smiled at them contemptuously. Casey thought that was pretty smart--
to stall the car so they couldn't get away with it--but he did not tell
her so. There was something about the little woman which restrained him
from talking freely and speaking his mind bluntly as was his habit.
He cranked the car, waited until she had the adjustment correct, and then
went back and stood on the running board, holding with his left hand to a
brace of the top and keeping his right free in case he should need it. The
little woman helped the little girl into the front seat, slid her own
small person behind the wheel and glanced round inquiringly, with a
flattering recognition of his masculine right to command.
"Just head towards town and keep a-going till I say when," he told her,
and she nodded and sent Jawn careening down over the rough tracks which
Casey had missed by a quarter of a mile or less.
She could drive, Casey admitted, almost as recklessly as he could. He had
all he wanted to do, hanging on without being snapped off at some of the
sharp turns she made. The road wandered down the valley for ten miles,
crept over a ridge, then dove headlong into another wide, shallow valley
seamed with washes and deep cuts. The little woman never eased her pace
except when there was imminent danger of turning Jawn bottomside up in a
wash. So in a comparatively short time they were over two summits and
facing the distant outline of Crazy Woman Hills. They had come, Casey
judged, about twenty miles, and they had been away from camp less than an
hour.
Casey leaned forward and spoke to the woman, and she stopped the car
obediently. Casey pulled open the door and motioned, and the Swede came
stumbling out, sullenly followed by Joe, who muttered thickly that he was
sick and that the back of his head was caved in. Casey did not reply, but
heaved their bedding out after them. With the little woman holding her gun
at full aim, he untied the two and frugally stowed the rope away in the
car.
"Now, you git," he ordered them sternly. "There's four of us camped just
acrost the ridge from this lady's place, and we'll sure keep plenty of
eyes out. If you got any ideas about taking the back trail, you better
think agin, both of yuh. You'd never git within shootin' distance of this
lady's camp. I'm Casey Ryan that's speakin' to yuh. You ask anybody about
me. Git!"
Sourly they shouldered their bed-rolls and went limping down the trail,
and when their forms were only blurs beyond the shine of the headlights,
the little woman churned Jawn around somehow in the sand and drove back
quite as recklessly as she had come. Casey, bouncing alone in the rear
seat, did a great deal of thinking, but I don't believe he spoke once.
"Casey Ryan, I have never had much reason for feeling gratitude toward a
man, but I am truly grateful to you. You are a man and a gentleman." The
little woman had driven close to the stone cabin and had turned and rested
her arm along the back of the front seat, half supporting the sleeping
child while she looked full at Casey. She had left the engine running,
probably for sake of the headlights, and her eyes shone dark and bright in
the crisp starlight.
"'Tain't worth mentionin'," Casey protested awkwardly, and got out.
"I've been wondering if I could get a couple of you men to do the work on
my claims," she went on. "I'm paying four dollars and board, and it would
be a great nuisance to make the long trip to town and find a couple of men
I would dare trust. In fact, it's going to be pretty hard for me to trust
any one, after this experience. If you men can take the time from your own
business--"
"I don't know about the rest," Casey hedged uncomfortably. "They was
figurin' on doing something else. But I guess I could finish up the work
for yuh, all right. How deep is your shaft?"
"It's a tunnel," she corrected. "My husband started four years ago to
drift in to the contact. He'd gone fifty feet when he died. I don't know
that I'll strike the body of ore when I do reach the contact, but it's the
only hope. I'm working the four claims as a group, and the tunnel is now
eighty feet. Those two brigands have wasted a month for me, or it would be
a hundred. One man can manage, though of course it's slower and harder. I
have powder enough, unless they stole it from me. They did about five feet
all told, and tore down part of my wall, I discovered to-day, chasing a
stringer of fairly rich ore, thinking, I suppose, that it would lead to a
pocket. The old man I had last year found a pocket of high grade that
netted me a thousand dollars."
Casey threw up his head. "Gold?" he asked.
"Mostly silver. I sent a truck out from town after the ore, shipped it by
express and still made a thousand dollars clear. There wasn't quite a ton
and a half of it, though. You'll come, then, and work for me? I wish you
could persuade one of your partners to help. It's getting well into
September already."
"I wouldn't depend on 'em," Casey demurred uncomfortably. "I can do it
alone. And I'll board m'self, if you'd ruther. I've got grub enough. I
guess I better be gittin' along back to camp--if you ain't afraid to stay
alone. Them two couldn't git back much b'fore daylight, if they run all
the way; and by that time I'll be up and on the lookout," and Casey swung
off without waiting for an answer.