Moyne? You’d think he was the devil himself.”
The man called Pell helped himself to more liquor, while the other three
men pondered deeply.
“If yuh want my advice,” said Black, “I’d say that we better get rid of
this Steele right away. Yuh know damn well that he’s sweet on Luck
Sleed, French.”
“Lot of good it’s doin’ him,” grinned French.
“If trouble started in the Silver Bar tonight, and Steele happened to be
there,” suggested Curlew meaningly, “Le Moyne never hired us to take
care of Steele.”
French got to his feet again and paced the length of the room several
times. He stopped at the table and looked at Black and Curlew, who had
been watching him.
“Black is right,” declared French. “Why should we eat dirt for Le Moyne?
Is he any better than we are? Let’s take Calico for ourselves, and to
hell with Le Moyne! I’m tired of taking orders from him. When he shows
up here he’s as helpless as any other man, ain’t he? How about it?”
“That’s the idea,” applauded Black. “We won’t only set into the big
game, but we’ll run it, eh?”
“And take the rakeoff for ourselves,” nodded Curlew.
Pell finished the bottle and went back into the saloon, where he got a
couple of more drinks and went out. Duke Steele was in the room. He had
seen Pell enter the room, and knew that Black, Curlew and French were in
there.
Pell was just a trifle unsteady on his legs, as he went out into the
street, and Duke had no difficulty in shadowing him. Several times Pell
stopped and looked back, but Duke kept to the heavy shadows. Down near
where the road sloped sharply off into the desert, Pell stopped and
spoke a word. A moment later another man joined him and Duke heard the
husky voice of Le Moyne, as he talked to Pell.
Duke was unable to get close enough to find out what the conversation
was about, but he heard Le Moyne tell Pell to stable the horses where no
one would see them, and a few moments later Le Moyne passed Duke’s
hiding-place, going slowly toward the lighted street.
As soon as he was safely past, Duke circled back to the upper end of the
street. He was curious to know just why Le Moyne had come secretly to
Calico. Something had gone wrong with his plans, that much was sure, and
Duke thought it might concern the disappearance of Luck Sleed.
He felt sure, after what he had learned from Mica Cates, that French and
Curlew were the ones that had kidnapped Luck. There was no question in
his mind but what the fight had been started to attract the attention of
the crowd, and that Black had thrown the bottle to draw him away from
Luck. Of course, Black had not expected it to turn out so badly for him.
Duke had lost his hat, which was not part of their plans, but one of
them had worn it, possibly on the chance that they might shift the blame
in case they were seen by anyone on the street. It was fairly clear to
Duke now, the reasons for Louie Yen’s hatred. “No doubt,” thought Duke,
“the Chinaman recognized me by the hat, because there was not another
hat like it in Calico.”
Duke had come in beside Louie Yen’s laundry and now he stopped near the
corner. A man was coming toward him, and Duke thought that this might
possibly be Le Moyne. As he drew back into the deeper shadows something
descended upon his head, knocking him flat on his face.
Dimly he heard voices and felt someone dragging him into the house. In a
hazy way he felt them binding his hands, but was unable to prevent them.
Gradually the roaring noise died out of his ears and he came back to
almost full consciousness, but he did not open his eyes nor try to move.
His nose informed him that he was inside of Louie Yen’s laundry and that
Louie was talking to someone in his own peculiar pidgin-English.
“Bimeby he talk now, yo’ sabe? Louie Yen fin’ out.”
“That’s a damn heathen way of doin’ things,” replied Mica Cates’ voice.
“I wouldn’t do it, Louie.”
“I watch him,” stated Louie. “He walk after man, who meet one man. One
man ve’y big, yo’ sabe?”
“Thasso?” Mica was interested. “And then you trailed Steele up here and
hit him on the head.”
“Yes-s-s, like yo’ see. Bimeby this man tell where is li’l gi’l, yo’
sabe?”
“How hot do yuh have to git them irons?” asked Mica.
“Plenty hot.”
Louie got up and shuffled softly into the rear room. Duke’s eyes flashed
open. He was lying in the middle of the floor, flat on his back, with
both hands tied behind him. Mica Cates was standing near him, watching
him closely.
“Cates,” Duke whispered softly, “does that Chinaman think I know where
Luck Sleed is hidden?”
Mica glanced swiftly toward the rear, dropped on his hands and knees and
with a swift motion of a knife, cut Duke’s hands loose.
“Gun’s on the table,” he breathed.
But Duke did not move. Louie Yen was coming in from the rear room,
carrying a flat-iron, the handle of which was heavily wrapped in rags.
There was a smell of burning cloth, as Louie Yen knelt at the feet of
Duke Steele and placed the hot iron on the floor.
Duke had drawn up his feet, and as Louie took hold of one of his boots
Duke shoved him violently aside, sprang to his feet, grasped the
six-shooter and whirled to look down at the little old Chinaman,
sprawled on the floor.
Louie Yen was not looking at Duke, but at the strands of rope on the
floor; strands which had been cut with a very sharp knife. Then he got
slowly to his feet, shook his head sadly and sat down on a box; a very
sorrowful looking old Chinaman.
“I had t’ do it, Louie Yen,” said Mica softly. “He’s a white man.”
Duke studied the two of them, pitied them in their puny efforts to get
information of Luck Sleed.
“Yuh don’t need to feel bad about it, Louie,” said Duke consolingly.
“Burnin’ my feet wouldn’t make me tell where that girl is, ’cause I
don’t know. I lost my hat in the fight and somebody stole it. I found
you out there in the street.”
Louie Yen’s beady eyes studied Duke’s face for a while, unblinking.
“Yo’ don’ know where is li’l gi’l?”
“No,” Duke shook his head. “Not any more than you do.”
“No can fin’,” Louie shook his head, while the hot iron sent up a vile
odor of burning cloth. Duke kicked the iron aside and felt of the lump
on his head. It was very sore, but there was little blood. Louie noticed
Duke’s actions and shook his head sadly.
“Ve’y solly,” he muttered. “Louie Yen plenty damn fool; yo’ sabe?”
“Never mind me,” grinned Duke, “I’ve got a hard head, and, I’ve got an
idea. Will you two jaspers help me work it out?”
“Tell it,” grunted Mica Cates. “We’ve tried everythin’ else.”
“Here’s what yuh got to do,” explained Duke. “One of yuh watch the rear
door and the other the front door of the Silver Bar, while I go inside.
Watch for Pete Black, French or Slim Curlew. If any of them come out,
follow ’em and find out where they go. Do yuh understand?”
“Mo’ bettah,” nodded Louie Yen, getting to his feet.
“And look out,” warned Duke. “Hell is due to bust loose in Calico
tonight, unless I can’t read signs, and we’re liable to get singed a
little.”
“Let her bust,” replied Mica.
Duke turned to the door. “You fellers wait a minute, ’cause I don’t want
to be seen with yuh.”
Duke went down the street and into the Silver Bar. There was a fair
sized crowd inside, but the place was orderly. Pete Black was at a
poker-table, French was at a roulette layout, and Curlew was standing at
the bar, talking to the man named Pell, who had brought the message to
them from Telluride Taylor.
Bud Harvey was one of the bartenders, and he nodded pleasantly to Duke,
who stepped in beside Curlew and Pell.
“Miss Luck ain’t got here yet, has she?” asked Duke.
Bud Harvey shook his head. “No, I ain’t seen her today and I was
wonderin’ if she wasn’t comin’ down tonight. None of the boys has seen
her today.”
“She’s been away,” said Duke casually, “but she ought to be here pretty
quick.”
Duke felt that Curlew had turned and was looking at him, but he calmly
poured out his drink and paid for it. Then he sauntered toward the rear
of the room and moved in beside a faro layout, where he could turn,
facing the room.
Curlew walked part way to the door with Pell, but left him and went
straight to the poker game and spoke to Pete Black, who got out of his
chair. Only a word was exchanged, and Black turned to cash in his chips.
Duke glanced at French, who was watching Black and Curlew. Curlew
signaled cautiously to French and walked slowly back to the bar,
followed in a moment by Black. None of them looked toward Duke, but he
knew that three pairs of eyes were watching him.
To anyone else it would seem that these three men were having a friendly
drink, but Duke felt that this conference might mean a lot to him. They
finished their drink and all walked over to the roulette layout,
laughing. Duke walked toward the rear of the room, where the two-piece
orchestra was screeching out a discordant tune, and when he turned and
looked toward the roulette game, Pete Black was not there. In fact he
was not in the Silver Bar. Duke grinned and sauntered down the room
until he stood near French and Curlew. A half-drunk miner came in the
door and stumbled toward the bar.
“Wha’s matter with the Mojave?” he asked loudly. “Has she gone out of
business?”
Several people looked at him curiously, and he seemed to realize that he
was the center of interest, so he continued:
“Locked up tight, zat’s what she is. Whazza matter, eh?”
French strode over to the man and grasped him by the arm.
“What do yuh mean?” he demanded.
“Mojave’s closed,” insisted the drunk. “Lights all out and a padlock on
the door.”
“What the hell does that mean?” queried Curlew. “Who would do that?”
French whirled toward the door and Curlew almost trod on his heels in
his hurry to get out and see what had happened. Duke grinned, as he
realized that this was Le Moyne’s first move, but he did not know just
what it meant. Duke did not know that Black, French and Curlew had
announced their intentions to double-cross Le Moyne, and that Le Moyne
knew this.
Duke turned and went out the back door, where he called softly, and was
joined by Mica Cates.
“Black went out the front door,” said Duke.
“Then Louie Yen is on his trail,” grinned Mica, “and that danged Chink
could trail a buzzard and never be seen.”
“And that ain’t no lie,” replied Duke. “I know it.”
As they started around the corner a bulky figure almost ran into them.
Quick as a flash, Duke whipped out his gun and covered the man, who
backed against the wall; the face of him showing clear in the
moonlight.
It was Le Moyne, dangerous as a cornered wolf, who snarled at Duke,
“You, too, eh? Well, damn you--shoot!”
Duke shook his head, but kept the muzzle of the big six-shooter leveled
at Le Moyne’s waistline.
“Not unless I have to, Le Moyne,” replied Duke.
“Better take my advice,” said Le Moyne coldly. “You’ll never have a
better chance.”
“Never want a better one,” smiled Duke. “Meet my friend Mica Cates, Mr.
Le Moyne.”
“Aw, hell!” exploded Le Moyne. “What’s the use of all this, Steele?”
“Courtesy,” replied Steele. “You fellers ain’t never met,’ and then to
Mica, “this is the big man yuh heard about, Mica.”
“You’re takin’ chances on not pullin’ that trigger,” reminded Le Moyne
coldly.
Duke laughed. “You don’t scare me, Le Moyne. You told me that you had
some good men up here, but I whipped two of them and am willin’ to try
the other one. I’ve lost all faith in you, big feller. You picked some
fine scorpions to handle this end of the big game.
“I’ve found that out,” agreed Le Moyne warmly, “and that is why I’m up
here tonight. How much have they promised you, Steele?”
“A spot in Hell’s Depot,” grinned Duke.
“What do you mean, Steele?”
“Just what I said. I didn’t like this gang and I had to whip French a
few minutes after I landed here. Last night I fought Pete Black and
moved most of his teeth. I ain’t had no chance to mix with Curlew yet.”
Le Moyne laughed harshly. “I wish I had seen it. Now, the question is
this--are you still with me, Steele?”
“Nope,” Duke shook his head, but added, “I’m not against yuh, Le Moyne,
except in one thing. You can take the Mojave desert and everythin’ in
the danged spot, except Luck Sleed’s property.”
“Yeah? Got stuck on the girl, did yuh, Steele?”
“I’m squeezin’ the trigger,” said Duke softly, “and another remark like
that finishes the deal for you. Your hired tin-horns stole her last
night, Le Moyne.”
“Not on my orders,” defended Le Moyne quickly. “Mine was a freeze-out
game--not a kidnapping. I might beat her out of what she owns, but I’m
damned if I’d injure her.”
“You’ve got a lot of control over your men, ain’t yuh?”
“I will have when I’m through with ’em,” retorted Le Moyne hotly.
“That’s why I’m up here, They don’t look for me until mornin’, but I
choked the truth out of the stage-driver. They’ve been stealin’ from me
all the time, Steele. I sent a man I could trust to tell ’em that I was
comin’ on the night stage, and they talked too much before him. They’re
goin’ to try and shove me out of Calico.”
“And you’ve only got that one man with yuh?” queried Duke. “A drunk! Do
yuh realize what you’re up against? There’s Black, French, Curlew, a
handful of gamblers and all of Black’s men from both mines. They’re all
gettin’ their share of the loot. What can one man do against that
crowd?”
“By God, I’ll show ’em what Le Moyne can do!”
“You’re a big-headed fool!” snapped Duke. “You’ve dreamed about ownin’
the desert until it’s gone to your head, Le Moyne. Wake up for a minute
and figure out just who you are. One man! Are yuh bullet-proof? Can yuh
shoot so fast that yuh can buck an army? This job will take a lot of
brains, which you ain’t got.”
Le Moyne was silent for several moments, as this seemed to percolate
through his mind. No man had ever talked like that to him before; no man
had dared to talk like that to Le Moyne. He shrugged his big shoulders
and leaned back against the building.
“Well, Steele, I never thought about it--like--that. I
guess--probably--I’ve got the--wrong--idea.”
“You ain’t exactly brainless,” remarked Duke.
“Almost,” Le Moyne smiled crookedly. “What would you do, if you was in
my place, Steele?”
“I wouldn’t try to fool myself into thinkin’ that I was all-powerful, Le
Moyne.”
“All right.” Le Moyne’s tone was almost meek.
“Got a gun?”
Le Moyne threw his coat open, disclosing a cartridge belt and two heavy
guns.
“Can yuh shoot straight?”
“No.” Le Moyne was honest. “I never was a good shot.”
“It’s a wonder yuh ever come this close to bein’ a king of the desert,”
declared Duke.
“I hired my shootin’ done,” said Le Moyne, half-humorously,
half-bitterly.
“Well, yuh ain’t got money enough to hire a trigger-finger tonight,”
declared Duke, “so yuh better forget ownin’ the desert and concentrate
on shootin’.”
“You won’t lose nothin’ by stickin’ to me,” assured Le Moyne, “neither
one of you.”
“Aw, forget the pay,” grunted Duke. “Why did yuh close up the Mojave?”
“I scared the devil out of that gang in there,” Le Moyne laughed
nervously. “They all know me. I wanted to get that bunch all together in
one place; so I cleaned out the Mojave and locked the door.”
“And by now every one of your hired crooks know that you are in Calico.
Le Moyne, you’ve got a fine chance to never leave Calico alive. There’s
only one hope left, and that hinges on the fact that you hired a bunch
of tin-horns to run your business. How much nerve have you got?”
“Why do you ask me that?” queried Le Moyne.
“Have you got nerve enough to walk into that gang and start shootin’?”
“Do we have to do that, Steele?”
“No-o-o, we can run away.”
“Feller can’t die but once.” Thus Mica Cates, speaking for the first
time since they met Le Moyne.
“I’m a poor runner,” said Le Moyne, “and there’s plenty of time to run
when we’re scared, Steele.”
“And Luck Sleed won’t lose?” queried Duke.
“Not even what Black’s gang stole,” said Le Moyne. “I’ve got the smelter
lists to check back on it, Steele.”
“You may never be a king,” observed Duke, “but you are a couple of
notches above bein’ a knave. Come on.”
* * * * *
French and Curlew found the Mojave padlocked and the lights out. Several
of the miners who were in the pay of Pete Black followed them. One of
the bartenders and a man who had run a roulette outfit for Curlew were
in front of the place.
“What in hell is goin’ on here?” demanded Curlew.
“Hell is right,” agreed the gambler. “Le Moyne closed the place a few
minutes ago.”
“Le Moyne!” gasped French. “Is he here?”
“He sure is,” grunted the bartender. “He’s here like a wolf, French.”
“But he wasn’t due here until mornin’,” said Curlew in a half-whisper.
“Why did he----”
“Pell,” French’s voice broke thinly. “Pell came with him, Slim! He heard
what we said about takin’ Calico for ourselves. Le Moyne knows now where
Telluride’s rich ore comes from, and he’s up here----”
“With only Pell behind him!” snapped Curlew. “Two men, and one of them
drunk! Get the gangs from both mines. Black will be back in a few
minutes.”
“Where’s Steele?” queried French nervously. “Damn him, he’s a spy of Le
Moyne’s.”
“I’ll get the gang,” said one of the miners, and ran heavily toward the
rim of Sunshine Alley.
“Get back in the shadows,” advised Curlew. “We’ll wait for the miners
and Black.”
Calico was strangely silent now. Only the yellow lights of the Silver
Bar made a greenish glow in the blue haze of moonlighted street. It was
a land of blocky, grotesque shadows, high-lighted by a moon, like a huge
globe suspended but a short distance away from the earth.
Then, from far down in Sunshine Alley came the thin, indistinct notes of
a violin; from out in the desert came the eerie wail of a half-starved
coyote. A man in the doorway of the Silver Bar laughed drunkenly and
began singing in a hoarse voice.
French cursed audibly. Men were coming up over the rim of Sunshine Alley
now, and hurrying toward the Mojave. The notes of the violin had ceased.
The man in the doorway of the Silver Bar stopped singing and went back
inside. It was Pell, the Le Moyne spy; singing to keep up his courage.
Duke Steele heard him singing, as he opened the rear door of the Silver
Bar and led Le Moyne and Mica Cates inside. The games were still running
and men were at the bar, drinking, but a silence had seemed to settle
over the room. A man cursed at Pell, who turned and came back to the
bar.
Several men glanced curiously at Le Moyne. He was so big that he towered
like a giant in the low-ceilinged room. Men were coming in both front
and rear doors now; big, hulking miners, with the colored muck of the
silver mines on their clothes.
“Look out!” called Duke at Le Moyne. “These are all Black’s men. Hell’s
due to take a recess in a minute!”
A big miner lurched into Le Moyne, staggering him. It might have been
unintentional, but Le Moyne smashed the man full in the face with a
terrific blow and the big miner spun like a top into a roulette table,
crashing it down like a mass of kindling.
A woman screamed, breaking the momentary silence after the crash; just
outside the door, from somewhere in that mass of men, came the smack of
a pistol shot. Pell, who was backed against the bar, with arms
outspread, flung his arms across his face, as though to protect himself,
and plunged headlong into the crowd.
The place was a bedlam now. Duke saw French and Curlew near the door,
but was unable to use his gun in that crush of humanity. Le Moyne was
fighting like a great grizzly, using his hands instead of his guns. Mica
Cates was lost in the confusion, but Duke felt that the little
bow-legged man was giving a good account of himself.
Duke managed to get his gun loose and was using it as a club. He had no
desire to kill the miners, but he did want to come to close quarters
with either Curlew or French. He was dazed and shaken from blows, which
seemed to rain on him from every direction. A flying bottle cut his
cheek and the blood ran into his mouth, a salty stream.
Blindly he reversed his gun and shot straight ahead, trying to clear a
path to the door. It was a case of three against thirty, and Duke knew
that it was only a question of time until the thirty would win.
He went to his knees from a smashing blow on the back of his head, but
managed to hang onto his gun. Men walked on him, fell over him, but he
surged to his feet and found himself near the door.
The bloody face of Fire French leered at him and he smashed at it with
his gun barrel and French went backward. A bullet seared his neck and
the powder burned his chin, but he whirled and tried to shoot Curlew,
but a big miner fell into him, knocking him outside the door.
The lamps went out and the fight continued in the dark. French and
Curlew were screaming orders; trying to tell their men that part of the
quarry had escaped. A blaze sprang up from a smashed lamp, as Duke
staggered into the street, trying to fill his lungs with air and to
shake the haze from his brain.
He staggered over a huddled figure, which fired a gun, the bullet
missing him by a yard. Duke saw the man’s face and yanked him to his
feet. It was Mica Cates, sobbing, cursing.
Men were coming out of the Silver Bar, and they seemed to be still
fighting. An orange-colored flash pointed toward Duke and Mica, and a
bullet screamed off the rocks at their feet.
Duke grasped Mica by the arm and hurried him toward the rim of Sunshine
Alley. Both of them staggered, and Duke smiled grimly to think that it
was a case of the blind leading the blind.
“Not into the Alley!” wailed Mica. “They’ll find us too easy. The
tunnels, Steele! Climb the hill--past--Luck’s place.”
“You know this place better than I do, Mica,” agreed Duke, “so you lead
the way.”
Both men were reeling, dizzy from their injuries, but they climbed the
steep trails up the cliffs, while behind them came the howling of the
mob, growing fainter all the time.
“God help Le Moyne!” panted Duke.
“They’ll kill him,” choked Mica, “but we couldn’t help him none. Thank
God, they’re not on our trail yet.”
Mica led the way into a tunnel, which was so dark that they were forced
to travel slowly, feeling their way along. It seemed to Duke that they
had gone miles, when Mica drew him at right angles and into another
tunnel, which sloped sharply upward.
“Goin’ into the Lady Slipper,” panted Mica. “They won’t look for us in
there, and if they don’t guard the bottom we can go down on ropes to the
trails below.”
Then the tunnel floor leveled out, and Duke knew that they were on the
Lady Slipper level. Suddenly he stumbled and sprawled against the side
of the drift. Mica Cates was swearing and floundering around.
“Got a match?” wheezed Mica. Duke found one and scratched it on the
wall. Lying in the center of the tunnel was the crumpled body of Louie
Yen, and the match-light flickered on the long-bladed knife beside him.
“Black got him!” croaked Mica, steadying himself with both hands, while
he peered down at Louie Yen. “Look out for Black.”
They stumbled on, going more cautiously now. The tunnel grew lighter
now, as though they were approaching daylight. Then it widened into a
big stope. To the left was the mouth of a tunnel, like the bore of a
giant cannon, and silhouetted against the moonlight, crawling toward the
opening, was a huge, animal-like figure.
As they stopped they could hear it whimpering, like an animal that had
been whipped severely.
“My God, it’s Black!” croaked Mica hoarsely.
The figure had reached the edge, and now it seemed to grasp a rope,
swing over the rim and disappear.
Duke started for the opening, but Mica grasped him by the arm. “Luck
must be here, Steele! To hell with Black!”
They turned and staggered back through the stope, where they found Luck
Sleed, bound with ropes and lying against a pile of broken rock. Her
face was like a white mask in the dim light, and she did not speak while
Duke cut the ropes from her.
Lying beside her was a big, white sombrero, with Mexican silver
trimmings. Duke picked it up and put it on his head. Luck was watching
him closely and now she tried to get to her feet, but she had been bound
for so long that her arms and legs were paralyzed. Duke started to pick
her up, but she stopped him.
“Don’t touch me,” she begged him. “Why did you do this to me? Why, I
thought I could trust you.”
“Hol’ on, Luck,” wailed Mica. “Me and Louie thought the same thing, but
Steele never done it. Don’t yuh remember that he was fightin’ Black when
they grabbed you?”
“Someone hit my head,” said Luck painfully. “I don’t remember anything
after that until I woke up here. That hat was there on the rocks. Black
laughed at me.”
“Well, Steele never harmed yuh, Luck. He had Louie Yen follow Black so
as to find yuh.”