Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
WUNPOST
WUNPOST
BY
DANE COOLIDGE
AUTHOR OF
LORENZO THE MAGNIFICENT, THE DESERT TRAIL, RIMROCK JONES, ETC.
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Published by Arrangement with E. P. Dutton & Company
Copyright, 1920,
By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
All Rights Reserved
First printing ... April, 1920
Second printing ... May, 1920
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Death Valley Trail 1
II. The Gateway of Dreams 9
III. Dusty Rhodes Eats Dirt 20
IV. The Tree of Life 30
V. The Willie Meena 42
VI. Cinched 51
VII. More Dreams 63
VIII. The Babes in the Woods 73
IX. A New Deal 85
X. Short Sports 91
XI. The Stinging Lizard 102
XII. Back Home 114
XIII. With Hay-hooks 128
XIV. Poisoned Bait 135
XV. Wunpost Takes Them All On 144
XVI. Divine Providence 156
XVII. The Answer 168
XVIII. A Lesson 175
XIX. Tainted Money 183
XX. The War Eagle 190
XXI. A Lock of Hair 200
XXII. The Fear of the Hills 209
XXIII. The Return of the Blow-hard 217
XXIV. Something New 226
XXV. The Challenge 233
XXVI. The Fine Print 242
XXVII. A Come-Back 251
XXVIII. Wunpost Has a Bad Dream 259
XXIX. In Trust 268
WUNPOST
CHAPTER I
THE DEATH VALLEY TRAIL
The heat hung like smoke above Panamint Sink, it surged up against the
hills like the waves of a great sea that boiled and seethed in the sun;
and the mountains that walled it in gleamed and glistened like polished
jet where the light was struck back from their sides. They rose up in
solid ramparts, unbelievably steep and combed clean by the sluicings of
cloudbursts; and where the black canyons had belched forth their floods
a broad wash spread out, writhing and twisting like a snake-track, until
at last it was lost in the Sink. For the Sink was the swallower-up of
all that came from the hills and whatever it sucked in it buried beneath
its sands or poisoned on its alkali flats. Yet the Death Valley trail
led across its level floor--thirty miles from Wild Rose Springs to
Blackwater and its saloons--and while the heat danced and quivered there
was a dust in the north pass and a pack-train swung round the point.
It came on furiously, four burros with flat packs and an old man who ran
cursing behind; and as he passed down into the Sink there was another
dust in the north and a lone man followed as furiously after him. He was
young and tall, a mountain of rude strength, and as he strode off down
the trail he brandished a piece of quartz and swung his hat in the air.
But the pack-train kept on, a column of swirling dust, a blotch of
burro-gray in the heat; and as he emptied his canteen he hurled it to
the ground and took after his partner on the run. He could see the
twinkling feet, the heave of the white packs, the vindictive form
dodging behind; and then his knees weakened, his throbbing brain seemed
to burst and he fell down cursing in the trail. But the pack-train went
on like a tireless automaton that no human power could stay and when he
raised his head it was a streamer of dust, a speck on the far horizon.
He rose up slowly and looked around--at the empty trail, the waterless
flats, the barren hills all about--and then he raised his fist, which
still clutched the chunk of quartz, and shook it at the pillar of dust.
His throat was dry and no words came, to carry the burden of his hate,
but as he stumbled along his eyes were on the dust-cloud and he choked
out gusty oaths. A demoniac strength took possession of his limbs and
once more he broke into a run, the muttered oaths grew louder and gave
way to savage shouts and then to delirious babblings; and when he awoke
he was groveling in a sand-wash and the sun had sunk in the west.
Once more he rose up and looked down the empty trail and across the
waterless flats; and then he raised his eyes to the eastern hills,
burning red in the last rays of the sun. They were high, very high, with
pines on their summits, and from the wash of a near canyon there lapped
out a tongue of green, the promise of water beyond. But his strength had
left him now and given place to a feverish weakness--the hills were far
away, and he could only sit and wait, and if help did not come he would
perish. The solemn twilight turned to night, a star glowed in the east;
and then, on the high point above the mouth of the canyon, there leapt
up a brighter glow. It was a fire, and as he gazed he saw a form passing
before it and feeding the ruddy blaze. He rose up all a-tremble, crushed
down a brittle salt-bush and touched it off with a match; and as the
resinous wood flared up he snatched out a torch and carried the flame to
another bush. It was the signal of the lost, two fires side by side, and
he gave a hoarse cry when, from the point of the canyon, a second fire
promised help. Then he sank down in the sand, feebly feeding his signal
fire, until he was roused by galloping feet.
A half moon was in the sky, lighting the desert with ghostly radiance,
and as he scrambled up to look he saw a boy on a white mule, riding in
with a canteen held out. Not a word was spoken but as he gurgled down
the water he rolled his eyes and gazed at his rescuer. The boy was slim
and vigorous, stripped down to sandals and bib overalls; and
conspicuously on his hip he carried a heavy pistol which he suddenly
hitched to the front.
"That's enough, now," he said, "you give me back that canteen." And when
the man refused he snatched it from his lips and whipped out his ready
gun. "Don't you grab me," he warned, "or I'll fill you full of lead.
You've had enough, I tell you!"
For a moment the man faced him as if crouching for a spring; and then
his legs failed him and he sank to the ground, at which the boy dropped
down and stooped over him.
"Lie still," he said, "and I'll bathe your face--I was afraid you were
crazy with the heat."
"That's all right, kid," muttered the man, "you're right on the job.
Say, gimme another drink."
"In a minute--well, just a little one! Now, lie down here in the sand
and try to go to sleep." He moistened a big handkerchief and sopped
water on his head and over his heaving chest, and after a few drinks the
big frame relaxed and the man lay sleeping like a child. But in his
dreams he was still lost and running across the desert, he started and
twitched his arms; and then he began to mutter and fumble in the sand
until at last he sat up with a jerk.
"Where's that rock?" he demanded, "by grab, she's half gold--I'm going
to take it and bash out his brains!" He rose to his knees and scrambled
about and the boy dropped his hand to his gun. "I'm going to _kill_
him!" raved the man, "the danged old lizard-herder--he went off and left
me to die!"
He felt about in the dirt and grabbed up the chunk of quartz, which he
had lost in his last delirium.
"Look at _that_!" he exclaimed thrusting it out to the boy, "the
richest danged quartz in the world! I've got a ledge of it, kid, enough
to make us both rich--and John Calhoun never forgets a friend! No, and
he never forgets an enemy--the son of a goat don't live that can put one
over on _me_! You just wait, Mister Dusty Rhodes!"
"Oh, was that Dusty Rhodes?" the boy piped up eagerly. "I was watching
from the point and I _thought_ it was his outfit--but I don't think
I've ever seen you. Were you glad when you saw my fire?"
"You bet I was, kid," the man answered gravely, "I reckon you saved my
life. My name is John C. Calhoun."
He held out his hand and after a moment's hesitation the boy reached out
and took it.
"My name is Billy Campbell and we live in Jail Canyon. My mother will be
coming down soon--that is, if she can catch our other mule."
"Glad to meet her," replied Calhoun still shaking his hand, "you're a
good kid, Billy; I like you. And when your mother comes, if it's
agreeable to her, I'd like to take you along for my pardner. How would
that suit you, now--I've just made a big strike and I'll put you right
next to the discovery."
"I--I'd like it," stammered the boy hastily drawing his hand away,
"only--only I'm afraid my mother won't let me. You see the boys are all
gone, and there's lots of work to do, and--but I do get awful lonely."
"I'll fix it!" announced Calhoun, pausing to take another drink, "and
anything I've got, it's yours. You've saved my life, Billy, and I never
forget a kindness--any more than I forget an injury. Do you see that
rock?" he demanded fiercely. "I'm going to follow Dusty Rhodes to the
end of the world and bash out his rabbit brains with it! I stopped up at
Black Point to look at that big dyke and what do you think he done? He
went off and _left_ me and never looked back until he struck them
Blackwater saloons! And the first chunk of rock that I knocked off of
that ledge would assay a thousand dollars--gold! I ran after that danged
fool until I fell down like I was dead, and then I ran after him again,
but he never so much as looked back--and all the time I was trying to
make him rich and put him next to my strike!"
He stopped and mopped his brow, then took another drink and laughed,
deep down in his chest.
"We were supposed to be prospecting," he said at last. "I threw in with
him over at Furnace Creek and we never stopped hiking until we struck
the upper water at Wild Rose. How's that for prospecting--never looked
at a rock, except them he threw at his burros--and this morning, when I
stopped, he got all bowed up and went off and left me flat. All I had
was one canteen and the makings for a smoke, everything else was on the
jacks, and the first rock I knocked off was rotten with gold--he'd been
going past it for years! Well, I _stopped_! Nothing to it, when you
find a ledge like that you want to put up a notice. All my blanks were
in the pack but I located it, all the same--with some rocks and a
cigarette paper. It'll hold, all right, according to law--it's got my
name, and the date, and the name of the claim and how far I claim, both
ways--but not a doggoned corner nor a pick-mark on it; and there it is,
right by the trail! The first jasper that comes by is going to jump it,
sure--don't you know, boy, I've got to get _back_. What's the
chances for borrowing your mule?"
"What--Tellurium?" faltered the boy going over to the mule and rubbing
his nose regretfully, "he's--he's a pet; I'd rather not."
"Aw come on now, I'll pay you well--I'll stake you the claim next to
mine. That ought to be worth lots of money."
"Nope," returned Billy, "here's a lunch I brought along. I guess I'll be
going home."
He untied a sack of food from the back of his saddle and mounted as if
to go, but the stranger took the mule by the bit.
"Now listen, kid," he said. "Do you know who I am? Well, I'm John C.
Calhoun, the man that discovered the Wunpost Mine and put Southern
Nevada on the map. I'm no crazy man; I'm a prospector, as good as the
best, if I am playing to a little hard luck. Yes sir, I located the
Wunpost and started that first big rush--they came pouring into Keno by
the thousands; but when I show 'em this rock there won't be anybody
left--they'll come across Death Valley like a sandstorm. They'll come
pouring down that wash like a cloudburst in July and the whole doggoned
country will be located. Don't you want to be in on the strike? I'm
giving you a chance, and you'll never have another one like it. All I
ask is this mule, and your canteen and the grub, and I'll tell you what
I'll do--I'll give you half my claim, and I'll bet it's worth millions,
and I'll bring back your mule to boot!"
"Oh, will you?" exclaimed the boy and was scrambling swiftly down when
he stopped with one hand on the horn. "Does--does it make any difference
if I'm a girl?" he asked with a break in his voice, and John C. Calhoun
started back. He looked again and in the desert moonlight the boyish
face seemed to soften and change. Tears sprang into the dark eyes and as
she hung her head a curl fell across her breast.
"Hell--no!" he burst out hardly knowing what he said, "not as long as I
get the mule."
"Then write out that notice for Wilhelmina Campbell--I guess that's my
legal name."
"It's a right pretty name," conceded Calhoun as he mounted, "but somehow
I kinder liked Billy."