THE GOLD-STAGE
Two days of excitement were quite sufficient to upset the nerves of
Suffering Creek. The only excitement it was used to was the sudden
discovery of an extra good find of gold. The camp understood that. It
was like an inspiration to the creative worker. It stimulated the
energies, it uplifted. Any other sort of excitement had a paralyzing
effect. And thus the excitement of the present Sunday and Monday
entirely upset the rest of the week's work.
Everybody felt that the happenings of those days were merely the
forerunners of something yet to come, of something even more
startling. And the restlessness of uncertainty as to its nature kept
the population hanging about the camp, fearful that, in their absence,
things might occur, and they would miss participation in them.
The inhabitants of Suffering Creek were a virile race, strongly human,
full of interest in passing events, and men of appetite for any slices
of life that might come their way. So, having "cashed in" to the
"limit" all the gold-dust they possessed, they felt they were entitled
to spend a few days in watching events, and a few dollars in passing
the time until such events, if any, should come within their range of
vision.
What events were expected it is doubtful if the most inventive could
have put into words. The general opinion expressed--out of Minky's
hearing, of course, but to the accompaniment of deep libations of
his most execrable whisky--was that, personally, that astute trader
was, for some unaccountable reason, rapidly qualifying for the
"bug-house," and that the only thing due from them was to display
their loyalty to him by humoring him to the extent of discounting
all the "dust" they could lay hands on, and wishing him well out of
the trouble he seemed bent on laying up for himself. Meanwhile they
would take a holiday on the proceeds of their traffic, and, out of
sheer good-fellowship, stand by to help, or at least applaud, when
the _denouement_ came.
Many of the shrewder men looked to Wild Bill to give a key to the
situation. They knew him to be Minky's closest friend. Besides that,
he was a man intensely "wide" and far-seeing in matters pertaining to
such a situation as at present existed.
But Wild Bill, in this case, was the blankest of blanks in the lottery
of their draw for information. Whether this blankness was real or
affected men could not make up their minds. The gambler was so unlike
his usual self. The hard, rough, autocratic manner of the man seemed
to have undergone a subtle change. He went about full of geniality and
a lightness his fellow-citizens had never before observed in him. And,
besides, he had suddenly become the only man in the place who seemed
to lack interest in the doings of the James gang. Even beyond the bare
facts of the outrage down by the river on Sunday morning, he could not
be cajoled into discussing that individual or his doings.
No, his immediate interest apparently lay in his newly purchased
half-claim. He spent the Monday afternoon there watching the unwilling
Sandy sweating at his labors. And on the Tuesday he even passed him a
helping hand. It did not occur to these men that Bill kept away to
avoid their cross-questionings. It only seemed to them that his new
toy had a greater fascination for him than those things which made for
the welfare of the community; that his inexperienced eyes were blinded
to the facts which were patent enough to them: namely, that he had
bought the most worthless property in the district.
So they laughed, behind his back, and shrugged their great shoulders
pityingly, and their pity was also touched with resentment that his
interest in Suffering Creek could be so easily diverted. It was Joe
Brand who handed them a most excellent laugh on the subject, though
the laugh was rather _at_ than _with_ him.
He was talking to Van and White and several other men at one of the
tables in the store. Whisky had brightened his eyes, which had been
quietly smiling for some time as the talk of Bill went round. Then he
suddenly bent forward and arrested the general attention.
"Say, boys," he cried, "here's a good one for you. What's the
diff'rence between Wild Bill and Minky?"
Van promptly guffawed.
"Gee!" he cried, "ther' ain't none. They're sure both 'bug.'"
A great laugh greeted the retort, but Joe shook his head.
"That sure ain't the answer, but it's real bright," he admitted
reluctantly, while Van preened himself.
"Guess they're both that wise they don't know if they're comin' down
or goin' up," he went on, seeking to add to the score he felt he had
made.
But Joe felt he was being robbed of the fruits of his effort, and
promptly insisted upon his riddle.
"What's the diff'rence between Wild Bill an' Minky?" he asked again,
this time with added emphasis.
He waited impatiently until one of the men shook his head, when he
snatched at the opportunity of firing his quip.
"Why," he cried, with a shout of delight, "Bill's put his gold into a
mudbank, an' Minky's jest yearnin' to set his gold into any old bank,"
and fell back laughing furiously.
But he had his merriment to himself. Van, feeling he had the company
with him, sneered.
"Gee! that's the worst ever," he cried witheringly.
White spat out a chew of tobacco.
"I'd say you're that bright you'd orter write comic Bible trac's," he
declared.
But even in his failure as a humorist Joe Brand gave expression to the
general opinion of the two men who, up till that time, had been
accounted, to use a local expression, the "wisest guys west o' Spawn
City."
Certainly, for the time being, the mighty had fallen, and their
associates, in the persons of Sunny Oak, Toby Jenks and Sandy Joyce,
had to stand by listening to remarks against their fellow Trust
members which, though distinctly offensive, they yet, in justice, had
to admit were perfectly warranted on the face of things. Even Scipio,
mild little man as he was, had to endure considerable chaff, which
worried and annoyed him, as to the way in which he had succeeded in
bluffing so shrewd a "guy" as Wild Bill into purchasing half his
claim.
But these things were only sidelights on the feelings of the moment.
Expectancy was at fever-heat, and each and every man was wondering
what was about to happen. For though their belief in Bill and Minky
had received a jolt, long months of experience had sown in them an
appreciation that took a power of uprooting.
The Monday and Tuesday passed without development of any sort. There
were several conferences between the members of the Trust, but these
were really only meetings at which the lesser members received more
minute instructions for the carrying out of their duties on the
Wednesday. No information otherwise was forthcoming for them from
either Minky or the president, and all attempt to extort any was
promptly nipped in the bud by the latter without the least compunction
or courtesy.
Sandy resented this attitude. Sunny complained of the lack of
confidence. But Toby sat back immensely enjoying the chagrin of his
two friends, and cordially swore that both Minky and Bill knew a
large-meshed sieve when they saw one.
Tuesday night was a memorable one on Suffering Creek. Never had there
been such a gathering in Minky's store; and his heart must have been
rejoiced to see the manner in which so many of the dollars he had
expended in the purchase of gold-dust came fluttering back to their
nest in his till. The camp appeared to have made up its mind to an
orgy of the finest brand. Drink flowed and overflowed. The store that
night fairly swam in whisky. The flood set in the moment supper was
finished, and from that time until two o'clock in the morning the
lusty storekeeper never had a moment's rest.
Men drank themselves drunk, and drank themselves sober again. There
was no poker or faro. No one wanted to gamble. There was sufficient
gamble in their minds on the subject of to-morrow's stage to satisfy
them for the moment. Would it get through? That was the question. And
the general opinion was an emphatic denial.
How could it? Had not scouts been sent out inquiring of outlying
settlers as to the prospect of a clear road? Had not information come
in that James was abroad, had been seen in a dozen different places in
the district? Had not the belief become general that the Spawn City
trail was being carefully watched, and even patrolled, by this common
enemy? Everybody knew that these things were so. The whole of this
stage business was simply flying in the face of Providence.
And amidst all the comment and talk Minky served the requirements of
his customers, wrapped in sphinx-like reserve. His geniality never
failed him. He had a pleasant word for everybody. And at every gibe,
at every warning, he beamed and nodded, but otherwise could not be
drawn into controversy. One remark, and one only, had he for all and
sundry who chose him as a butt for their pleasantries.
"Wal," he declared easily, "if I ladled out good United States
currency, to feed that bum tough James an' his crew o' hawks, seems to
me its findin' its way home right smart."
It was quite true. He stood to win in every direction. Sooner or later
every cent of money he had paid out in the purchase of gold would find
its way back to him, and go to help swell the fortune which was the
effort of his life. These men had not the commercial instinct of
Minky. And, furthermore, his meeting at night with the gambler, and
its resulting compact, was still a secret.
The popular laugh was for the moment against him, but he continued to
smile. And he knew that his smile would last the longer. He would
still be smiling when even the ghost of their laugh had been laid to
rest.
* * * * *
Sore heads were no deterrent next morning. Pillows were deserted at an
early hour. And those who had found it convenient to pass the brief
remainder of the night in their heavy, clay-soiled boots had the
advantage of breakfasting at the first hot rush of Birdie's
ministrations. And Birdie, with the understanding of her kind, had
bestowed special attention upon the quantity and quality of the
coffee, leaving the solid side of the meal almost unconsidered. It was
her duty to sooth parching throats, and she knew her duty.
It was a glorious morning. The sun rose radiant in a cloudless sky.
The air was still, so still. But the mountain chill began to give way
from the first moment that the great arc of daylight lifted its
dazzling crown above the horizon. The quiet of the morning was
perfect. It almost seemed as if Nature itself had hushed to an
expectant silence. The woe of the night-prowling coyote at the sight
of the dawn found no voice. The frogs upon the creek had not yet begun
their morning song. Even the camp dogs, whose ceaseless "yap" made
hideous all their waking hours, for some subtle reason moved about in
quest of their morning meal as though their success depended upon the
stealth of their movements.
Blear-eyed men appeared in their doorways half awake, and only just
recovering from their overnight orgy. They stood for some moments
voiceless and thoughtful. Then the concentration upon the store began.
It was strange to look upon. It was an almost simultaneous movement.
These half-dazed, wholly sick creatures moved with the precision of a
universally impelling force. The store might have been one huge
magnet--perhaps it was--and these dejected early risers mere atoms of
steel.
But the store reached, that wonderfully revivifying hair of the tail,
etc., partaken of, and a rapid change supervened. Quarts of coffee and
some trifling solid further stimulated jaded energies, and in less
than an hour the memory that the day was Wednesday, and that the
gold-stage was to set out upon its eventful journey, became the chief
thought in every mind. Curiosity and excitement ran riot, and
questions flew from lip to lip. How had Minky provided for the
safeguarding of his gold? Had he arranged for an adequate escort? To
whom was the gold to be entrusted?
The store was full of men. The veranda overflowed with them. There
were men of almost every nationality--from half-breed Mexicans,
popularly dubbed "gorl-durned Dagos," to the stolid Briton, the virile
New Yorker, the square-headed Teuton, the lithe, graceful prairie man
from the Southern States. But the usual noisy discussion of the
world's affairs, as viewed from the hidden valley in which lay
Suffering Creek, had no vital interest just now. And, after the first
rush of burning questions, a hush fell upon the assembly, and it
quickly composed itself, in various attitudes and positions of
advantage, to await, in what patience it could, the satisfying of its
curiosity.
Soon the hush became oppressive. It almost became a burden. Men
stirred uneasily under it; they chafed. And at last Joe Brand found
himself voicing something of the feelings of everybody. He spoke in a
whisper which, for the life of him, he could not have raised to full
voice. He was standing next to White, and he took him confidentially
by the shoulder and spoke, leaning over till his lips were on a level
with his ear.
"I allow funerals is joyous things an' nigger lynchin's is real
comic," he declared hoarsely. "But fer real rollickin' merriment I
never see the equal o' this yer gatherin'. I sure don't think it 'ud
damp things any ef I was to give 'em a Doxology."
The miner responded with a pensive smile.
"Mebbe you're right 'bout funerals an' nigger lynchin's," he whispered
back, "but they's jest a matter o' livin' an' dyin'. Y'see, Minky's
gamblin' sixty thousand dollars o' good red gold."
Brand nodded. And somehow he appreciated the point and became easier.
Later on Minky appeared in the store, and almost automatically every
eye was turned expectantly upon him. But he had only come to ascertain
if Wild Bill was about.
No, the gambler had not been seen. Someone jocularly suggested that he
and Zip were out visiting Sandy Joyce upon their claim. None of the
three had been seen that morning. But the levity was allowed to pass
without a smile, and Minky disappeared again into the back regions of
his store.
After that the time passed even more slowly. The store emptied; the
men moved out into the sunlight to await the first sight of the stage.
There was nothing else to do. Such was their saturation of the
previous night that even drink had no attraction at this early hour.
So they sat or lounged about, gazing out at the distant upland across
the river. There lay the vanishing-point of the Spawn City trail, and
beyond that they knew the danger-zone to lie. It was a danger-zone
they all understood, and, hardy as they were, they could not
understand anyone mad enough to risk a fortune of gold within its
radius. Not one of them would have faced it singly with so little as
twenty dollars in his pocket, much less laboring under the burden of
sixty thousand dollars. And yet somebody was going to do so to-day.
A pounding of hoofs and crunching of wheels suddenly swept all apathy
away. Every eye lit; every head turned. And in a moment Suffering
Creek was on its feet, agog with the intensest interest. For one brief
moment the rattle and clatter continued. Then, from round the corner,
with bits champing and satin coats gleaming in the sun, their
silver-mounted harness sparkling, Wild Bill's treasured team of six
horses swept into view. Round they swung, hitched to his well-known
spring-cart, and in a second had drawn up with a flourish in front of
the veranda.
A gasp of astonishment greeted this unexpected vision. Men stood
gaping at the beaming choreman sitting perched up on the driving-seat.
It was the first time in his life he had ever been allowed to handle
the gambler's equine children, and his joy and pride were written in
every furrow of his age-lined features.
The man sat waiting, while the thoroughbreds pawed the ground and
reached restively at their bits. But they were like babes to handle,
for their manners were perfect. They had been taught by a master-hand
whose lessons had been well learned. And the picture they made was one
that inspired admiration and envy in every eye and heart of those who
now beheld them.
But these were not the only emotions the sight provoked. Blank
astonishment and incredulous wonder stirred them, too. Bill's horses!
Bill's cart! Where--where was the gambler himself? Was this the stage?
Was Bill--?
The talk which had been so long suppressed now broke out afresh.
Everybody asked questions, but nobody answered any. They crowded
about the cart. They inspected the horses with eyes of admiration and
wonder. No man could have withstood the sight of the rope-like veins
standing out through their velvet skin. They fondled them, and talked
to them as men will talk to horses. And it was only when Minky
suddenly appeared in their midst, bearing in his arms an iron-clamped
case which he deposited in the body of the cart, that their attention
was diverted, and they remembered the purpose in hand.
The gold-chest deposited and made secure, the storekeeper turned to
the crowd about him.
"Well, boys," he said, with an amiable smile, "any more mail? Any you
fellers got things you need to send to your sisters--or somebody
else's sisters? You best get it ready sharp. We're startin' at eight
o'clock. After that you'll sure be too late. Y'see," he added
humorously, "we ain't figgered when the next stage goes." He pulled
out his nickel silver timepiece. "It's needin' five minutes to
schedule," he went on officially, glancing keenly down the trail.
Anyone sufficiently observant, and had they been quick enough, might
have detected a shade of anxiety in his glance. He moved round to the
side of the cart and spoke to the man in the driving-seat.
"It's nigh eight. He ain't here?" he said questioningly.
"Guess he'll be right along, boss," the little man returned in a low
voice.
Again the storekeeper glanced anxiously down the trail. Then he turned
away with a slight sigh.
"Well, boys," he said, with another attempt at jocularity, "if ther'
ain't nuthin' doin', guess this mail's sure closed."
Passing again to the back of the cart, he gazed affectionately upon
the gold-chest. Then he lifted his eyes just as Van voiced the
question in everybody's mind.
"You sure ain't sendin' pore old Danny with that stage?" he cried
incredulously. "You sure ain't sendin' him fer James to sift lead
through? You ain't lettin' him drive Bill's horses?"
"He sure ain't. Him drive my plugs? Him? Gee! Ther' ain't no one but
me drives them hosses--not if Congress passed it a law."
The harsh, familiar voice of Wild Bill grated contemptuously. He had
come up from his hut all unnoticed just in time to hear Van's
protesting inquiry. Now he stood with eyes only for his horses.
Daylight at last shone through the mist of doubt and puzzlement which
had kept the citizens of Suffering Creek in darkness so long. They
looked at this lean, harsh figure and understood. Here was the driver
of the stage, and, curiously, with this realization their doubts of
its welfare lessened. All along they had been blaming Bill for his
lack of interest in the affairs of the camp, and now--
They watched him with keen, narrowing eyes. What mad game was he
contemplating? They noted his dress. It was different to that which he
usually wore. His legs were encased in sheepskin chaps. He was wearing
a belt about his waist from which hung a heavy pair of guns. And under
his black, shiny, short coat he was wearing a simple buckskin shirt.
They watched him as he moved round his horses, examining the fit of
the bridles and the fastenings of the harness. He looked to the
buckles of the reins. He smoothed the satin coats of his children with
affectionate hand. Then in a moment they saw him spring into the
cart.
Taking the reins from the choreman, he settled himself into the
driving-seat, while the deposed charioteer clambered stiffly to the
ground.
Minky was at the wheel nearest to his friend. The horses, under the
master-hand, had suddenly become restive. Bill bent over, and the
storekeeper craned up towards him.
"Ther' was two fellers hit the trail this morning," the gambler said,
with a short laugh. "I see 'em when I was with Zip--'fore daylight."
"You--you best quit it," said Minky in serious, anxious tones. "We
kin, maybe, hold the gold up against him here. It ain't too late. It
ain't, sure."
Bill's face suddenly darkened. All the lightness which the prospect
before him had inspired suddenly left it. His words came so full of
bitter hatred that the other was startled.
"Not for a million-dollar halo!" he cried, reaching out for his long
whip.
With a dexterous swing he set it cracking over his horses' backs. The
high-strung beasts plunged at their bits, and the leaders started to
rear. Again he swung out his whip, and this time it flicked the
plunging leaders. Instantly there was a rush of feet and a scrunch of
wheels. The "tugs" pulled taut, and the gush of eager nostrils hissed
like steam upon the still air. There was a shout of farewell from the
onlookers, and the gambler turned in his seat.
"So long, fellers," he cried. "I'm makin' Spawn City by daylight
to-morrer--sure."
The next moment he was lost in a cloud of dust, as the horses raced
down the hill.