GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS
Mademoiselle was having a series of enlivening shocks. First came
Wilding, with Miss Pettis. He was received by Solange in the mezzanine
gallery of the hotel and she learned, for the first time, that De
Launay was sending her a lawyer to transact her business for her. This
made her angry, his assuming that she needed a lawyer, or, even if she
did, that he could provide her with one. However, as she needed a
divorce from her incubus, and Wilding practiced also in the Nevada
courts, she thought better of her first impulse to haughtily dismiss
him. As for Wilding, he began to conclude that he had gone crazy or
else had encountered a set of escaped lunatics when he beheld Solange,
slender and straightly tailored, but with hair hidden under a
close-fitting little turban and face masked by a fold of netting.
Marian Pettis was another shock. The extraordinary De Launay, whom she
had supposed lost in some gutter, and without whose aid she had been
puzzled how to proceed on her quest, was evidently very much on the
job. Here was a starting point, at least.
Although, behind her mask, her face registered disapproval of the
girl, she welcomed her as cordially as possible. In her sweet, bell
voice, she murmured an expression of concern for her grandfather and,
when Marian bluntly said, "He's dead," she endeavored to convey her
sorrow. To which Miss Pettis, staring at her with hard, bold eyes, as
at some puzzling freak, made no reply, being engaged in uneasily
wondering what "graft" the Frenchwoman was "on." Marian disliked being
reminded of her grandfather's demise, having been largely responsible
for it when she had run away with a plausible stranger who had assured
her that she had only to present herself at Hollywood to become
instantly famous as a moving-picture star, a promise that had sadly
miscarried.
"But it was not so much of your grandfather as of my father that I
wished to see you," mademoiselle explained, ignoring Marian's lack of
response. "As for Monsieur Wilding, it is later I will require his
services, though it may be that he can aid me not only in procuring a
divorce from this husband, but in another matter also, Miss Pettis,
and perhaps, Monsieur Wilding, you know how my father was murdered?"
Wilding shook his head but Marian nodded at once.
"Gee, yes!" she said. "I was a kid when he was croaked, but I remember
it all right. There was a guy they called Louisiana, and he was one
of those old-time gunmen, but at that he was some kid believe me! He
took a shot at a fellow here in Sulphur Falls--that was before there
was any town here at all--and they was givin' him the gate outa the
neighborhood. Going to lynch him if they caught him, I guess. I don't
remember much of it except how this guy looks, but I've heard the old
man tell about it.
"He come ridin' out to our place all dressed up like a movie
cow-puncher and you'd never have dreamed there was a mob about three
jumps behind him. He sets in with us and takes a great shine to me. I
was quite a doll in those days they tell me." She tossed her head as
much as to say that she was still able to qualify for the
description.
"Believe me, he was a regular swell, and you'd never in the world a
thought he was what he turned out to be. Delaney, his name was, or
something like that. Well, he plays with me and when he goes away I
cried and wanted him to stay. I remember it just as vivid! He had on
these chaps--leather pants, you know--and a Stetson slanting on his
head, and a fancy silk neckerchief which he made into comical dolls
and things. Oh! he sure made a hit with Marian!
"He swore he was comin' back, like young Lochinvar, and marry me some
day, and I was all tickled to think he would do it.
"Then, would you believe it, the murdering villain rides away about
half an hour before the mob comes and goes south toward the mountains.
Next day or so, we pick up your father, shot something terrible, and
this awful 'Louisiana' Delaney had done it, in cold blood and just to
be killing something."
"Ah!" Mademoiselle stiffened and quivered. Her voice was like brass.
"In cold blood, you say? Then he had no provocation? He was not an
enemy of my father?"
"Naw. Your father didn't have no enemies. So far as I know, this
Louisiana didn't even know him. He was a cattleman and they hated the
sheepmen, you know, and used to fight them. Then, he was one of these
gunmen, always shooting some one, and they used to be terrible. They'd
kill some one just for the fun of it--to sort of keep in practice."
Mademoiselle shuddered, envisioning some bloodthirsty, evil thing,
unspeakably depraved. But it was momentary. She spoke again in her
metallic voice.
"That is well to know. I will look for this Louisiana."
"You ain't likely to find him. He never was seen or heard of around
here no more. I've heard granddad call him 'the last of the gunmen,'
because the country was settling up and getting civilized then. One
thing sure, he never made good on that Lochinvar sketch, I can promise
you."
"It is no matter. He will come back--or I will follow him. It is of
another matter I would talk. There was something of a mine that my
father had found."
"I've heard of that," said Wilding. "It's quite a legend around here.
The Lunch Rock mine, they call it, and Jim Banker, the prospector,
looks for it every year."
"But he ain't found it----"
A bell boy passed, singing out: "Call for Mad'mo'selle Dalbray! Call
fer Mad'mo'selle Dalbray!" Mademoiselle rose and beckoned to him.
"Three men in the lobby wish to see yuh, miss!" the boy told her.
"Said Mr. Delonny sent 'em."
"Monsieur de Launay! What next? Well, show them up here."
A few moments later Sucatash and Dave Mackay stalked on their high
heels up the stairs and into the alcove of the mezzanine balcony,
holding their broad hats in their hands. Sucatash gulped as
mademoiselle's slender figure confronted him, and Dave's mouth fell
open.
Behind them lurched another man, slinking in the background.
"What is it, messieurs?" asked Solange, her voice once more clear and
sweet. The cow-punchers blushed in unison.
"This here Mr. Delonny done sent us here to see you, ma'am. He allows
you-all wants a couple of hands for this trip you're takin' into the
Esmeraldas. He likewise instigates us to corral this here horned toad,
Banker, who's a prospector, because he says you'll want to see him
about some mine or other, and, Banker, he don't know nothing about
nothing but lookin' for mines: which he ain't never found a whole lot,
I reckon, none whatever."
Solange smiled and her smile, even with veiled face, was something to
put these bashful range riders at their ease. Both of them felt warmed
to their hearts.
"I am very glad to see you," she said. "It is true that I require
help, and I shall be glad of yours. It is kind of you to enter my
employ."
Dave uttered a protest. "Don't you mention it, mad'moiselle. Sucatash
and me was both in France and, while we can't give that there country
any rank ahead of the U. S. A., we hands it to her frank, that any
time we can do anything fer a mad'moiselle, we does it pronto! We're
yours, ma'am, hide, hair an' hoofs!"
"Which we sure are," agreed Sucatash, not to be outdone. "That's
whatever!"
"And here is this minin' sharp," said Dave, turning about and reaching
for the shrinking Banker. "Come here, Jim, and say howdy, if you ain't
herded with burros so long you've forgotten human amenities that a
way. Mad'mo'selle wants to talk to you."
Banker emerged from behind them. He, too, held his hat in hand, an
incredibly stained and battered felt atrocity. His seamed face was nut
brown under constant exposure to the sun. His garments were faded
nondescripts, and on his feet were thick-soled, high-lacing boots. He
gave an impression of dry dinginess, like rawhide, and his eyes were
mean and shifty. He might have been fifty or he might have been older;
one could not tell.
Mademoiselle was uncertain. She hardly knew enough to question this
queer specimen, and so she turned to Marian Pettis.
"Miss Pettis, can you explain to him? I can hardly tell him what we
wish to know. And, if the mine is found, half of it will be yours, you
know."
"Mine! Lord sakes, I ain't counting on it. You gotta fat chance to
find it. This bird, here, has been searchin' for it ever since the
year one and he ain't found it. Say, Banker, this is Mad'mo'selle
Dalbray. She's the daughter of that French Pete that was killed----"
"Hey?" said Banker, sharply.
"Ah, you know the yarn. You been huntin' his mine since Lord knows
when. This lady is lookin' for it and she wants some dope on how to go
about findin' it."
"An she expects me to tell her?" cried Banker, in a falsetto whine.
"Yuh reckon if I knowed where it was I wouldn't have staked it long
ago? I don't know nothin' about it."
"Well, you know the Esmeraldas, old Stingin' Lizard," growled
Sucatash. "You can tell her what to do about gettin' there."
"I can't tell her nothin' no more than you can," said Banker. "She's
got Ike Brandon's letters, ain't she? He told her where it was, didn't
he? What's she comin' to me fer? I don't know nothin'."
"Were you here when my father was killed?" Solange asked, kindly. She
felt sorry for the old fellow.
"Hey! What's that? Was I here? No'm, I wasn't here! I was--I reckon I
was over south of the range, out on the desert. I don't know nothin'
about the killin'."
He was looking furtively at her veil, his eyes shifting away and back
to it, awed by the mystery of the hidden eyes. He was like a wild, shy
animal, uneasy in this place and among these people so foreign to his
natural environment.
Solange sighed. "I am sorry, monsieur," she said. "I had hoped you
could tell me more."
He broke in again with his whining voice. "It was this here Louisiana,
every one says."
"Louisiana! Yes----" Solange's tones became fierce and she leaned
closer to the dry desert rat, who shrank from her. "And when I find
him--when I find this man who shot my father like a dog----"
Her voice was tense and almost shrill, cutting like steel.
"I shall kill him!"
The dim, veiled face was close to Banker's. He raised his corded, lean
hand to the corded, lean throat as though he was choking. He stared at
her fixedly, his shifty eyes for once held steady. There was horror
and fear in the back of them. He put one foot back, shifted his weight
to it, put the other back, then the first again, slowly retreating
backward, with his stricken eyes still on her. Then he suddenly
whirled about and scuttled down the stairs as though the devil were
after him.
Solange remained standing, puzzled.
"That is queer," she said. "Why is he frightened? I did not mean to
startle him. I suppose he is shy."
"No. Just locoed, like all them prospectors," said Sucatash.
"Furthermore, he's ornery, ma'am. Probably don't like this talk of
killin'. They say he beefed Panamint Charlie, his partner, some years
ago and I reckon he's a mite sensitive that a way."
"He doesn't seem to know where the mine is," said Solange. "Nor do
you, mademoiselle?"
"Me?" said Marian, airily. "If I knew where that mine was, believe me,
you'd be late looking for it. I'd have been settled on it long ago."
"I wish," said Solange, "that I knew what to do. Perhaps, if this
unspeakable De Launay were here----"
"I can telephone the Greek's and see if he's there," suggested
MacKay. Solange assented and he hurried to a telephone.
"It ain't likely he knows much that will help, mad'mo'selle," said
Sucatash, also eager to aid, "but my old man was around here when
these hostilities was pulled off, and it's possible he might help you.
He could tell you as much as any one, I reckon."
"Your father?"
"Yes, ma'am. I recommend that you get your outfit together, except fer
hosses, hire a car to take it out and start from our ranch at Willow
Spring. It's right near the mountains and not far from Shoestring
Canyon, which it's likely you'll have to go that way to get into the
hills. And you'll be able to get all the hosses you want right
there."
"That sounds as though it might be the wise thing to do," said
Wilding.
Solange turned to him. "That is true. I thank Monsieur Sucatash. And,
Monsieur Wilding, there is one thing you can do for me, besides the
arrangements for that divorce. Can you not search the records to find
out what is known of my father's death and who killed him?"
"But it appears that the killer was Louisiana."
"Yes--but who is Louisiana? Where did he go? That is what I must find
out. Oh! If this depraved De Launay were of any benefit, instead of
being a sorrow and disgust to me----"
At this moment Dave MacKay reappeared. Solange turned to him eagerly.
"Did you find him, monsieur?"
"I sure did," said Dave, with disgust. "Leastways, I located him. That
animated vat of inebriation has done went and landed in jail."