Her real name was June--well, the rest doesn't matter; for no one ever
got beyond that point. It was the Scrap Iron Kid who first bore news of
her coming to the Wag-boys. Knowing him for a poet, they put down his
perfervid description as the logical outpouring of a romantic spirit.
Reddy summed it up neatly by saying, "The Kid has fell for another
quilt, that's all."
"I 'ain't fell for no frill," the Kid stoutly declared. "I've saw too
many to lose me out. This gal's a thoroughbred."
"Another recruit for Simons, I suppose," Llewellyn yawned. "I'll drop in
at the theater and look her over."
"An' she ain't no actor, neither," Scrap Iron declared. "She's goin' to
start a hotel."
"Bah! If she's as good-looking as you claim, some Swede will marry her
before she can buy her dishes."
"Sure! They must all pull something like that to start with," said the
Dummy, who was a woman-hater; "then when you've played 'em straight they
h'ist the pirate's flag and go to palmin' percentage checks in some
dance-hall."
But again the idealistic Scrap Iron Kid came stubbornly to the defense
of the new-comer; and the argument was growing warm when Thomasville and
the Swede entered with two caddies of tobacco which they had managed to
acquire during the confusion at the water-front, thus ending the
discussion.
There were six of the Wag-boys, six as bold and unscrupulous gentlemen
as the ebb and swirl of the Northern gold rush had left stranded beneath
the rim of the Arctic, and they had joined forces, drawn as much,
perhaps, by their common calling as by the facilities thus afforded for
perfecting any alibis that a long and lonesome winter might render
necessary. Nor is it quite correct to state that they were stranded; for
it takes more than the buffets of a stormy fate to strand such men as
the Dummy and George Llewellyn and the Scrap Iron Kid and their three
companions.
Llewellyn was the gentleman of the outfit, owing to the fact that the
polish of an early training had not been utterly dulled by a four years'
trick at Deer Lodge Penitentiary. The Dummy had gained his name from an
admirable self-restraint which no "third-degree" methods had ever served
to break; Thomasville was so called because of a boyish pride in his
Georgia birthplace; while Reddy and the Swede--But this is the story of
the Wag-lady, and we digress.
To begin with, June was young, with a springtime flush in her cheeks,
and eyes as clear as glacier pools. Yet with all her youth and beauty,
she possessed a poise that held men at a distance. She also had a
certain fearlessness that came, perhaps, from worldly innocence and was
far more effective than the customary brazenness of frontier women. She
went ahead with her business, asking neither advice nor assistance, and,
almost before the Wag-boys knew what she was up to, she had leased the
P. C. Warehouse near their cabin and had carpenters changing it into a
bunk-house.
In a week it was open for business; on the second night after it was
full. Then she built a tiny cabin near her "hotel," and proceeded to
keep house for herself, sleeping daytimes and working nights.
"Say, she's coinin' money!" the Scrap Iron Kid advised his companions
some time later. "She's got fifty bunks at a dollar apiece, and each one
is full of Swede. You'd ought 'o drift by in business hours--it sounds
like a sawmill."
"If she's getting the money so fast, why don't you grab her, Kid?"
inquired Llewellyn.
"You cut that out!" snapped the former speaker. "There ain't nobody
going to grab that dame. I'd croak any guy that made a crack at her, and
that goes!"
Seeing a familiar light smoldering in the Kid's eyes, Llewellyn desisted
from further comment, but he made up his mind to become acquainted with
June at once.
Now, while he succeeded, it was in quite an unexpected manner; for
before he had formulated any plan Thomasville came to him with a
proposition that drove all thoughts of women from his mind and sent them
both out to the mines shortly after dark, each provided with a
six-shooter and a bandana handkerchief with eyeholes cut in it.
Jane had returned to her cabin the following morning, and was preparing
for bed, when she heard a faltering footstep outside. She glanced down
at her money-sack filled with the night's receipts of her hotel, then at
the fastenings of her door. She knew that law was but a pretense and
order a mockery in the camp, but the next instant she slid back the bolt
and let in a flood of morning sunlight.
There, leaning against her wall, was a tall, dark young man whose head
was hanging loosely and rolling from side to side. His hair beneath the
gray Stetson was wet, his boots were sodden and muddy, one arm was
thrust limply into the front of his coat as if paralyzed. She saw that
the sleeve was caked with blood. Even as she spoke he sagged forward and
slid down at her feet.
She was not the sort to run for help, and so, taking him under the
armpits, she had him on her bed and his sleeve cut away before he opened
his eyes. It was but an instant's work to heat a basin of water; then
she fell to bathing the wound. When she drew forth the shreds of cloth
that had been taken into the flesh by the bullet, the man's face grew
ghastly and she heard his teeth grind, but he made no other sound.
"That hurt, didn't it?" she smiled at him, and he tried to smile back.
"How did it happen?" she queried.
"Accident."
"You have come a long way?"
He nodded.
"Why didn't you ask for help?"
"It--wasn't worth while."
She looked at him wonderingly, admiring his gameness; then was surprised
to hear him say:
"So you're June!"
"Yes."
He closed his eyes and lay still while she poured some brandy for him;
then he said:
"Please don't bother. I must be going."
"Not till you've eaten something." She laid a soft, cool palm upon his
forehead when he endeavored to rise, and he dropped back again, watching
her curiously.
He had barely finished eating when another footstep sounded outside and
a heavy knock followed.
"Hey, June!" called a voice. "Are you up?"
It was Jim Devlin, the marshal, and the girl rose, only to stop at the
look she saw in the wounded man's face. His dark eyes had widened;
desperation haunted them.
"What is it, Mr. Devlin?" she answered.
"Have you seen anything of a wounded man within the last half-hour?"
She flashed another glance at her guest, to find him staring at her
defiantly, but there was no appeal in his face. "What in the world do
you mean?"
"There was a hold-up at Anvil Creek, and some shooting. We're pretty
sure one of the gang was hit, but he got away. Pete, the waterman, says
he saw a sick-looking fellow crossing the tundra in this direction. I
thought you might have noticed him."
Again June's eyes flew back to the pale face of the stranger. He had
risen now and, seeing the frank inquiry in her gaze, he shrugged his
shoulders and turned his good hand palm upward as if in surrender,
whereupon she answered the marshal:
"I'm sorry you can't come in, Mr. Devlin; but I'm just going to bed."
"Oh, that's all right. I'll take a look through your bunk-house. Sorry
to disturb you."
When the footsteps had died away the stranger moistened his lips and
asked, "Why did you do that?"
"I don't know. You are brave, and brave men aren't bad. Besides, I
couldn't bear to send any person out of God's sunshine into the dark.
You see, I don't believe in prisons."
When Llewellyn told the other Wag-boys of June's part in his escape his
story was met with exclamations that would have pleased her to hear, but
the Scrap Iron Kid broke in to say, menacingly:
"Look here, George, don't aim to take no advantage of what she done for
you when you was hurt, or I'll tip her off!"
"Aw, rats!" cried Llewellyn, furiously. "What do you take me for?" Then,
staring coldly at the Kid, he said, "And it won't do her any good to
have you hanging around, either."
June's action toward Llewellyn, and her mode of life, gained the
admiration and respect of the Wag-boys, and although they avoided her
carefully, they watched over her from a distance. Nor was it long before
they found a means of serving her, although she did not hear of it for
many months.
The Dummy came home one night to inform his partners that Sammy
Sternberg, who owned the Miners' Rest, was boasting of his conquest of
June, whereupon Sammy was notified by Llewellyn, acting as a committee
of one, that his lies must cease. Sammy got a little drunk a few nights
later and boasted again, with the result that the Scrap Iron Kid, who
was playing black-jack, promptly floored him with a clout of his .45,
and the Swede who was standing near by kicked the prostrate Sternberg in
the most conspicuous part of his green-and-purple waistcoat, thereby
loosening a rib.
It was not long before the sporting element of the camp learned to treat
June with the highest courtesy, and, since she had been adopted in a
measure by the Wag-boys, she became known as the Wag-lady.
Meanwhile June was prospering. The homeless men who patronized her place
began to intrust their gold-sacks to her care; so she went to Harry
Hope, the P. C. agent, and bought a safe in which to deposit her
lodgers' valuables. Frequently thereafter she sat guard all night over
considerable sums of money while the owners snored peacefully in the big
back room.
When winter closed down June began to see more and more of Harry Hope.
And she began to like him, too; for he was the sort to win women's
hearts, being big and boyish and full of merriment. He had spent several
years in the Northland, and its winds had blown from him many of the
city-born traits, leaving him unaffected, impulsive, and hearty. While
the frontier takes away some evil qualities it also takes some good
ones, and Harry Hope was not by any means a saint. As the nights grew
longer he gained the habit of dropping in to talk with June on his way
up-town. One evening he paused before leaving and asked:
"Can you take care of something for me, June?"
"Of course," she answered.
He flung a leather wallet into her lap, laughing. "You're the banker for
the community; so lock that up overnight, if you please."
"Oh-h!" she gasped. "There are thousands of dollars! I'd rather not."
"Come! you must! I didn't get it in time to put it in the company's
safe, and if I carry it around somebody will frisk me."
"Where are you going?"
"Down to Sternberg's. I'm going to outguess his faro-dealer. This is my
lucky night, you know."
Realizing full well the lawlessness of the camp, June felt a bit nervous
as she laid the money away. In the course of the evening, however, she
gradually lost her fears.
Some time after midnight, when the big front room of the bunk-house was
empty, the outside door opened, admitting a billow of frost out of which
emerged two men. They were strangers to June, and when she asked them if
they wished beds they said "No." They backed up to the stove and began
staring at their surroundings curiously.
It had never been June's practice to forbid any man the comfort of her
coal-burner, even though he lacked the price for a bed, but, remembering
the money in her safe, she sharply ordered these two out.
Neither man stirred. They blinked at her in a manner that sent little
spasms of nervousness up her spine.
"I tell you it's too late--you can't stay!"
"That's too bad," said one of them. He crossed toward the desk behind
which she sat, at which she softly closed the heavy safe door. It gave
out a metallic click, however, which caused the fellow's eyes to gleam.
"That safe ain't locked, eh?" he inquired.
"Yes, it is," she lied.
He smiled as if to put her at her ease, but it was an evil leer and set
her heart to pounding violently. She was tempted to cry out and arouse
her lodgers, but merely flung back the fellow's glance defiantly.
The stranger ran his eye over the place and then said, "I guess we'll
set awhile." Drawing a chair up beside the door, he motioned to his
partner to do the same. They tilted back at their ease, and June fancied
they were listening intently. For a half-hour, an hour, they sat there,
following her every movement, now and then exchanging a word in a tone
too low for her to hear.
She was well-nigh hysterical with the strain of waiting, when she saw
both men lower the front legs of their chairs and rise together. The
next instant the door swung violently yet noiselessly inward and a
masked man with a gun in his hand leaped out of the night. Another man
was at his heels, and they covered her simultaneously. Then a most
amazing thing occurred.
June's mysterious visitors pounced upon them from behind, there was a
brief, breathless struggle, and the next instant all four swept out into
the snow amid a tangle of arms and legs. Followed the sounds of a
furious scuffle, of heavy blows, curses and groans, then a voice:
"Beat it now or we'll croak the two of you! And peddle the word that no
rough stuff goes here. Do you get that?" There was the impact of a boot
planted against flesh, and the next instant June's deliverers had
re-entered and closed the door.
One of them was sucking a wound in the fleshy part of his hand where a
falling revolver hammer had punched him, but he inquired in a thoroughly
business-like tone, "Got a little hot water, June?"