WUNPOST TAKES THEM ALL ON
The morning found Wunpost at Salt Creek Crossing, where the bones of a
hundred emigrants lie buried in the sand without even a cross to mark
their resting place. It was a place well calculated to bring up thoughts
of death, but Wunpost faced the coming day calmly. At the first flush of
dawn the sand was still hot from the sun of the evening before; the low
air seemed to suffocate him with its below-sea-level pressure, and the
salt marshes to give off stinking gases; it was a hell-hole, even then,
and the day was yet to come, when the Valley would make life a torment.
The white borax-flats would reflect a blinding light, the briny marshes
would seethe in the sun; and every rock, every sand-dune, would radiate
more heat to add to the flame in the sky. Wunpost knew it well, the
long-enduring agony which would be his lot that day; but he moved about
briskly, bailing the slime from the well and sinking it deeper into the
sand. He doused his body into the water and let his pores drink, and
threw buckets of it on his beseeching mules; but only after the
well-hole had been scraped and bailed twice would he permit them to
drink the brackish water. Then he tied them in the shade of the wilting
mesquite trees and strode to the top of the hill.
A man, perforce, takes on the color of his surroundings, and Wunpost was
coated white from the crystallized salt and baked black underneath by
the glare; but the look in his eyes was as savage and implacable as that
of a devil from hell. He sat down on the point and focussed his glasses
on Poison Spring, and then on the trail beyond; and at last, out on the
marshes, he saw an object that moved--it was Pisen-face Lynch and his
horse. The horse was in the lead, picking his way along a trail which
led across the Sink towards the Ranch; and Lynch was behind, following
feebly and sinking down, then springing up again and struggling on. His
way led over hummocks of solid salt, across mud-holes and
borax-encrusted flats; and far to the south another form moved towards
him--it was the Indian, riding out to bring him in.
The sun swung up high, striking through Wunpost's thin shirt like the
blast from a furnace door; sweat rolled down his face, to be sopped up
by the bath-towel which he wore draped about his neck; but he sat on his
hilltop, grim as a gargoyle on Notre Dame, gloating down on the
suffering man. This was Pisen-face Lynch, the bad man from Bodie, who
was going to trail him to his mine; this was Eells' hired man-killer and
professional claim-jumper who had robbed him of the Wunpost and Willie
Meena--and now he was a derelict, lost on the desert he claimed to know,
following along behind his half-dead horse; and but for the Indian who
was coming out to meet him he would go to his just reward. Wunpost put
up his glasses and turned back with a grin--it was hell, but he was
getting his revenge.
Wunpost spent the heat of the day in the bottom of the well, floating
about like a frog in the brine, but as evening came on he crawled out
dripping and saddled up and packed in haste. Every cinch-ring was
searing hot, even the wood and leather burned him, and as he threw on
the packs he lifted one foot after the other in a devil's dance over the
hot sands. It was hot even for Death Valley, the hottest place in North
America, but there was no use in waiting for it to cool. Wunpost soused
himself and mounted, and the next morning at dawn he looked down from
the rim of the Panamints.
The great sink-hole was beginning to seethe, to give off its poisonous
vapors and fill up like a bowl with its own heat; but he had escaped it
and fled to the heights while Pisen-face Lynch stayed below. He was
still at the ranch, gasping for breath before the water-fan which served
to keep the men there alive; and as he breathed that bone-dry air and
felt the day's heat coming on, he was cursing the name of Calhoun. Yes,
cursing long and loud, or deep and low, and vowing to wreak his revenge;
for before he had worked for hire, but now he had a grievance of his
own. He would take up Wunpost's trail like an Indian on the warpath,
like a warrior who had been robbed of his medicine-bag; he would come on
the run and with blood in his eye--that is, if the heat had not killed
him. For his pride was involved, and his name as a trailer and an
all-around desert-man; he had been led into a trap by a boy in his
twenties, and it was up to him to demonstrate or quit.
Wunpost went his way tranquilly, for there was no one to pursue him; and
ten days later he rode down Jail Canyon with his pack-mule loaded with
ore. It had been his boast that he would return in two weeks with a
mule-load of Sockdolager gold; but Billy, as usual, had taken his boast
lightly and came running with news of her own.
"Hello!" she called. "Say, you can't guess what I've done--I've taught
Red and Good Luck to be friends. They eat their supper together!"
"Good!" observed Wunpost, "and not to change the subject, what's the
chances for a white man to eat? I've been living on jerky for three
days."
"Why, they're good," returned Billy, suddenly quieted by his manner.
"What's the matter--have you had any trouble?"
"Oh, no!" blustered Wunpost, "nah, nothing like that--the other fellow
had all the trouble. Did Pisen-face Lynch and that Injun come back?
Well, I'll bet they were dragging their tracks out!"
"They didn't come through here, but I saw them on the trail--it must
have been a week ago. But what's all that that you've got in your
pack-sacks--have you been out and got some more ore?"
"Why, sure," answered Wunpost, deftly easing off his kyacks and lowering
the load to the ground. "Didn't I tell you I was going to get some?"
"Yes, but----"
"But what?" he demanded, looking down on her arrogantly, and Wilhelmina
became interested in the dog.
"You have such a funny way of talking," she said at last, "and
besides--would you mind letting me look at it?"
"I sure would!" replied Wunpost; "you leave them sacks alone. And any
time my word ain't as good as gold----"
"Oh, of course it's good!" she protested, and he took her at her word.
"All right, then--I've got the gold."
"Oh, have you really?" she cried, and as he rolled his eyes accusingly
she laughed and bit her lip. "That's just _my_ way of talking," she
explained, rather lamely. "I mean I'm glad--and surprised."
"Well, you'll be more surprised," he said, nodding grimly, "when I show
you a piece of the ore. I sold that last lot to a jeweler in Los Angeles
for twenty-four dollars an ounce, quartz and all--and pure gold is worth
a little over twenty. Talk about your jewelry ore! Wait till I show this
in Blackwater and watch them saloon-bums come through here. Too lazy to
go out and find anything for themselves--all they know is to follow some
poor guy like me and rob him of what he finds. What's the news from down
below?"
"Oh, nothing," answered Billy, and stood watching him doubtfully as he
unsaddled and turned out his gaunted mules. His new black hat was
sweated through already and his clothes were salt-stained and worn, but
it was the look in his eye even more than his clothes which convinced
her he had had a hard trip. He was close-mouthed and grim and the old
rollicking smile seemed to have been lost beneath a two weeks' growth of
beard. Perhaps she had done wrong to speak of the dog first, but she
knew there was something behind.
"Did you have a fight with Mr. Lynch?" she asked at last, and he darted
a quick glance and said nothing. "Because when he went through here,"
she went on finally, "he seemed to be awful quarrelsome."
"Yes, he's quarrelsome," admitted Wunpost, "but so am I. You wait till I
tangle with him, sometime."
"You're hungry!" she declared, still gazing at him fixedly, and he gave
way to a twisted grin.
"How'd you guess it?" he inquired; but she did not tell him, for of
course they were supposed to be friends. Yes, good friends, and
more--she had let him kiss her once, but now he seemed to have forgotten
it. He ate supper greedily and went back to the corral to sleep, and in
the morning he was gone.
The early-risers at Blackwater, out to look for their burros or to get a
little eye-opener at the saloon, were astonished to see his mules in the
adobe corral and Wunpost himself on the street. He was reputed to be in
hiding from Pisen-face Lynch, who had been inquiring for him for over a
week; and the news was soon passed to Lynch himself, for Blackwater had
a grudge against Wunpost. He had made the town, yes, in a manner of
speaking--for of course he had discovered the Willie Meena Mine and
brought in Eells and the boomers--but never to their knowledge had he
spoken a good word of them, or of anything else in town. He came
swaggering down their streets as if he owned the place, or had enough
money to buy it--and besides, he had led them on two disastrous
stampedes in which no one had even located a claim. And the Stinging
Lizard Mine was salted! Hence their haste to tell Lynch and the
malevolent zeal with which they maneuvered to bring them together.
Wunpost was standing before the Express office, waiting for the agent to
open up and receive his ore-sacks for shipment, when he espied his enemy
advancing, closely followed by an expectant crowd. Lynch was still
haggard and emaciated from his hard trip through Death Valley, and his
face had the pallor of indoors; but his small, hateful eyes seemed to
burn in their sockets and he walked with venomous quickness. But Wunpost
stood waiting, his head thrust out and his gun pulled well to the front,
and Lynch came to a sudden halt.
"So there you are!" he burst out accusingly, "you low-down, poisoning
whelp! You poisoned that water, you know you did, and I've a danged good
mind to kill ye!"
"Hop to it!" invited Wunpost, "just git them rubbernecks away. I ain't
scared of you or nobody!"
He paused, and the rubbernecks betook themselves away, but Pisen-face
Lynch did not shoot. He stood in the street, shifting his feet uneasily,
and Wunpost opened the vials of scorn.
"You're bad, ain't you?" he taunted. "You're so bad your face hurts you,
but you can't run no blazer on me. And just because you chased me clean
down into Death Valley you don't need to think I'm afraid. I was just
showing you up as a desert-man, et cetery, but if any man had told me
you'd drink that poisoned water I'd've said he was crazy with the heat.
You're a lovely looking specimen of humanity! What's the matter--didn't
you like them Epsom salts?"
"There was arsenic in that water!" charged Pisen-face fiercely. "I had
it analyzed--you were trying to kill me!"
"Why, sure there was arsenic," returned Wunpost mockingly, "don't you
know that rank, fishy smell? But don't blame me--it was God Almighty
that threw the mixture together. And didn't I leave you a drink in that
empty can? Well, where is your proper gratitude?"
He ogled him sarcastically and Lynch took a step forward, only to halt
as Wunpost stepped to meet him.
"That's all right!" threatened Lynch, his voice tremulous with rage and
weakness. "You wait till I git back my strength. I'll fix you for this,
you dirty, poisoning coward--you led me to that spring on purpose!"
"Yes, and you followed, you sucker!" returned Wunpost insultingly; "even
your Injun had better sense than that. What did you expect me to
do--leave you a canteen of good water so you could trail me up and pot
me? No, you can consider yourself lucky I didn't shoot you like a dog
for following me off the trail. I gave you the road--what did you want
to follow _me_ for? By grab, it looked danged bad!"
"I'll go where I please!" declared Lynch defiantly. "You're hiding a
mine that belongs to Mr. Eells and my instructions were to follow you
and find it."
"Well, if you'd followed your instructions," returned Wunpost easily,
"you sure would have found a mine. Do you see these two bags? Plum full
of ore that I dug since I gave you the shake. Go back and report that to
your boss."
"You're a liar!" snarled Lynch, but his eyes were on the ore-sacks and
now they were gleaming with envy. And other eyes also were suddenly
focussed on the gold, at which Wunpost surveyed the crowd intolerantly.
"You're a prize bunch of prospectors," he announced as from the
housetops. "Why don't you get out in the hills and rustle? That's the
way I got my start. But you Blackwater stiffs want to hang around town
and let somebody else do the work. All you want is a chance to stake an
extension on some big strike, so you can sell it to some promoter from
Los!"
He grunted contemptuously and picked up the two big sacks while the
citizens of Blackwater sneered back at him.
"Aw, bull!" scoffed one, "you ain't got no gold! And if you have, by
grab, you stole it. What about the Stinging Lizard?"
"Well, _what_ about it?" retorted Wunpost, giving his bags to the
Express agent, "----put down the value on that at seven thousand
dollars." This last was aside to the inquiring Express agent, but the
crowd heard it and burst out hooting.
"Seven thousands _cents_!" yelled a voice; "you never _saw_
seven thousand dollars! You're a bull-shover and your mine was salted!"
"Sure it was salted!" agreed Wunpost, laughing exultantly, "but you
Blackwater stiffs will bite at anything. Did _I_ ever claim it was
a mine? I'm a bull-shover, am I? Well, when did I ever come here and try
to sell somebody a mine? No; I came into town with some Sockdolager ore,
and you dastards all tried to get me drunk; and I finally made a deal
with the barkeep at The Mint to show him the place for a thousand dollar
bill. Well, didn't I show him the place--and didn't he come back more
than satisfied with his pockets bursting out with the gold? _He_
never had no kick--I met him in Los Angeles and he told me he had sold
the rock for thirteen hundred dollars to a jeweler. But say, my friends,
don't you think I knew where he would go to get that thousand dollar
bill? Do you think I was so drunk I expected a barkeeper to have
thousand dollar bills in his pocket? No; I knowed who he would go to,
and Eells gave him the bill and a pocket full of Boston beans; but he
lost them on the road, so I brought him down Jail Canyon and old-scout
Lynch here, he followed my tracks!
"Wasn't that wonderful, now? He followed our tracks back and he found
the Stinging Lizard Mine--and then, of course, he jumped it! That's his
job, when he ain't licking old Judson Eells' boots or framing up some
crooked deal with Flappum; and then he went back and told Eells. And
then Eells--you know him--being as he'd stole the mine from me, like all
crooks he thought it was valuable. Was it up to me then to go to Mr.
Eells and tell him that the mine was salted? Would _you_ have done
it--would _anybody_? Well, he thought he had me cinched, and I sold
out for twenty thousand dollars. And now, my friend, you said a moment
ago that I'd never _seen_ seven thousand dollars. All right, I say
_you_ never did! But just, by grab, to show you who's four-flushing
I'll put you out of your misery--I'll _show_ you seven thousand,
savvy?"
He stuck out his head and gazed insolently into the man's face and then
drew out his wad of bills. They were badly sweated, but the numbers were
there--he peeled off seven bills and waved them airily, then laughed and
shoved them into his overalls.
"Tuh hell with you!" he burst out defiantly, consigning all Blackwater
to perdition with one grand, oratorical flourish. "You think you're so
smart," he went on tauntingly, "now come and trail me to my mine. If you
find it you can have it--it ain't even staked--but they ain't one of you
dares to follow me. I ain't afraid of Eells and his hired yaller dog,
and I ain't afraid of _you_! I'll take you _all_ on--old Eells
and all the rest of you--and I ain't afraid to show you the ore!"
He strode into the Express office and grabbed up a sack, which he cut
open with a slash of his knife; and then he reached in and took out a
great chunk that bulged and gleamed with gold.
"Am I four-flushing?" he inquired, and when no one answered he grunted
and tied up the hole. There was a silence, and the crowd began to filter
away--all but Lynch, who stood staring like an Indian. Then he too
turned away, his haggard eyes blinking fast, like a woman on the verge
of bitter tears.