STRANGERS IN SUFFERING CREEK
Bill watched the men depart. The stolid Minky, too, followed them with
his eyes. But as they disappeared through the doorway he turned to the
gambler, and, in surprise, discovered that he was reclining in a
chair, stretched out in an attitude of repose, with his shrewd eyes
tightly closed. He was about to speak when the swing-doors opened, and
two strangers strolled in.
Minky greeted them, "Howdy?" and received an amiable response. The
newcomers were ordinary enough to satisfy even the suspicious
storekeeper. In fact, they looked like men from some city, who had
possibly come to Suffering Creek with the purpose of ascertaining the
possibilities of the camp as a place in which to try their fortunes.
Both were clad in store clothes of fair quality, wearing hats of the
black prairie type, and only the extreme tanning of their somewhat
genial faces belied the city theory.
Minky noted all these things while he served them the drinks they
called for, and, in the most approvedly casual manner, put the usual
question to them.
"Wher' you from?" he inquired, as though the matter were not of the
least consequence.
He was told Spawn City without hesitation, and in response to his
remark that they had "come quite a piece," they equally amiably
assured him that they had.
Then one of the men addressed his companion.
"Say, Joe," he said, "mebbe this guy ken put us wise to things."
And Joe nodded and turned to the storekeeper.
"Say, boss," he began, "we've heerd tell this lay-out is a dead gut
bonanza. There's folks in Spawn City says ther's gold enough here to
drown the United States Treasury department. Guess we come along to
gather some." He grinned in an ingratiating manner.
Minky thought before answering.
"Ther' sure is a heap o' gold around. But it ain't easy. I don't guess
you'd gather much in a shovel. You'll get pay dirt that aways, but--"
"Ah! Needs cap'tal," suggested Joe.
"That's jest how we figgered," put in the other quietly.
Minky nodded. Many things were traveling swiftly through his mind.
"Drove in?" he inquired.
"Sure," replied Joe. "Unhooked down the trail a piece."
Bill's eyes opened and closed again. Then he shifted noisily in his
chair. The men turned round and eyed him with interest. Then the man
called Joe called back to the storekeeper.
"My name's Joe Manton," he said, by way of introduction. "An' my
friend's called Sim Longley. Say," he went on, with a backward jerk of
the head, "mebbe your friend'll take something?"
Minky glanced over at Wild Bill. The gambler drowsily opened his eyes
and bestirred himself.
"I sure will," he said, rearing his great length up, and moving across
to the counter. "I'll take Rye, mister, an' thank you. This is Mr.
Minky, gents. My name's Bill."
The introduction acknowledged, talk flowed freely. Wild Bill, in
carefully toned down manner, engaged the strangers in polite talk,
answering their questions about the gold prospects of the place, which
were often pointed, in the most genial and even loquacious manner. He
told them a great deal of the history of the place, warned them that
Suffering Creek was not the sinecure the outside world had been told,
endorsed Minky's story that what Suffering Creek really needed was
capital to reach the true wealth of the place. And, in the course of
the talk, drink flowed freely.
Bill was always supplied with his drink from a different bottle to
that out of which the strangers were served. As a matter of fact, he
was probably the most temperate man on Suffering Creek, and, by an
arrangement with Minky, so as not to spoil trade, drank from a bottle
of colored water when the necessity for refreshment arose. But just
now his manner suggested that he had drunk quite as much whisky as the
strangers. His spirits rose with theirs, and his jocularity and levity
matched theirs, step by step, as they went on talking.
The man Longley had spoken of the settlement as being "one-horsed,"
and Billy promptly agreed.
"It sure is," he cried. "We ain't got nothing but this yer canteen,
with ol' Minky doin' his best to pizen us. Still, we get along in a
ways. Mebbe we could do wi' a dancin'-hall--if we had females around.
Then I'd say a bank would be an elegant addition to things. Y'see, we
hev to ship our gold outside. Leastways, that's wot we used to do,
I've heard. Y'see, I ain't in the minin' business," he added, by way
of accounting for his lack of personal knowledge.
"Ah!" said Joe. "Maybe you're 'commercial'?"
Bill laughed so genially that the others joined in it.
"In a ways, mebbe I am. You see, I mostly sit around, an' when
anything promisin' comes along, why, I ain't above plankin' a few
dollars by way of--speculation."
Joe grinned broadly.
"A few shares in a poker hand, eh?" he suggested shrewdly.
"You're kind o' quick, mister," Bill laughed. "I'm stuck on 'draw'
some."
Then the talk drifted suddenly. It was Longley who presently harked
back to the commercial side of Suffering Creek.
"You was sayin' ther' wasn't no bank on Suffering Creek," he said
interestedly. "What do folks do with their dust now, then?"
A quick but almost imperceptible glance passed between Bill and the
storekeeper. And Bill's answer came at once.
"Wal, as I sed, we used to pass it out by stage. But--"
Longley caught him up just a shade too quickly.
"Yes--but?"
"Wal," drawled Bill thoughtfully, "y'see, we ain't shipped dust out
for some time on account of a gang that's settin' around waitin'. You
comin' from Spawn City'll likely have heard of this feller James an'
his gang. A most ter'ble tough is James. I'll allow he's got us mighty
nigh wher' he wants us--scairt to death. No, we ain't sent out no gold
stage lately, but we're goin' to right soon. We'll hev to. We've ast
for an escort o' Gover'ment troops, but I guess Sufferin' Creek ain't
on the map. The Gover'ment don't guess they've any call to worry."
"Then what you goin' to do?" inquired Longley, profoundly interested.
"Can't say. The stage'll hev to take its chances."
"An' when--" began Longley. But his comrade cut him short.
"Say, I'll allow the gold racket's mighty int'restin', but it makes me
tired this weather. You was speakin' 'draw'--"
"Sure," responded Bill amiably. "We're four here, if you fancy a hand.
Minky?"
The storekeeper nodded, and promptly produced cards and 'chips.' And
in five minutes the game was in progress. Used as he was to the
vagaries of his gambling friend, Minky was puzzled at the way he was
discussing Suffering Creek with these strangers. His talk about James
and the gold-stage was too rankly absurd for anything, and yet he knew
that some subtle purpose must be underlying his talk. However, it was
no time to question or contradict now, so he accepted the situation
and his share in the game.
And here again astonishment awaited him. Bill lost steadily, if not
heavily. He watched the men closely, but could discover none of the
known tricks common to the game when sharps are at work. They not only
seemed to be playing straight, but badly. They were not good poker
players. Yet they got the hands and won. For himself, he kept fairly
level. It was only Bill who lost.
And all through the game the gambler allowed himself to be drawn into
talking of Suffering Creek by the interested Longley, until it would
have been obvious to the veriest greenhorn that the stranger was
pumping him.
The newcomers seemed to be enjoying themselves enormously, and the
greatest good-will prevailed. Nor was it until nearly supper-time that
Bill suddenly stood up and declared he had had enough. He was a loser
to the extent of nearly a hundred dollars.
So the party broke up. And at Minky's suggestion the men departed to
put their horses in the barn, while they partook of supper under his
roof. It was the moment they had gone that the storekeeper turned on
his friend.
"Say, I ain't got you, Bill. Wot's your game?" he demanded, with some
asperity.
But the gambler was quite undisturbed by his annoyance. He only
chuckled.
"Say," he countered, "ever heerd tell of Swanny Long, the biggest
tough in Idaho?"
"Sure. But--"
"That's him--that feller Sim Longley."
The storekeeper stared.
"You sure?"
"Sure? Gee! I was after him fer nigh three--Say," he broke off--it was
not his way to indulge in reminiscence--"I guess he's workin' with
James." Then he laughed. "Gee! I allow he was rigged elegant--most
like some Bible-smashin' sky-pilot."
Minky was still laboring hard to understand.
"But all that yarn of the gold-stage?" he said sharply.
"That?" Bill at once became serious. "Wal, that's pretty near right.
You ain't yearnin' fer that gang to come snoopin' around Suffering
Creek. So I'm guessin' we'll hev to pass a gold-stage out o' her some
time."
"You're mad," cried Minky in consternation.
"That's as may be," retorted Bill, quite unruffled. "Anyways, I guess
I spent a hundred dollars in a mighty good deal this day--if it was
rotten bad poker."
And he turned away to talk to Slade of Kentucky, who entered the store
at that moment with his friend O'Brien.