LOUISIANA!
On the following morning, De Launay, finding his patients doing well,
once more left the camp after seeing that everything was in order and
food for the invalids prepared and set to their hands. Among Solange's
effects he had found a pair of prism binoculars, which he slung over
his shoulder. Then he made his way on foot to the lower end of the
valley, up the encircling cliffs and out on the ridge which surrounded
the crater.
Here he hunted until he came upon a narrow, out-jutting ledge which
overlooked the country below and the main backbone of the range to the
southward and eastward. From here he could see over the bench at the
base of the cliff, with its maze of tangled, down timber, and on to
the edge of Shoestring Canyon, though he could not see down into that
gulch. Above Shoestring, however, he could see the rough trail which
wound out of the canyon on the opposite side and up toward the crest of
the range, where it was lost among the timber-clad gorges and peaks of
the divide. Over this trail came such folk as crossed the range from
the direction of Maryville. All who came from the Idaho side would
head in by way of Shoestring and come up the canyon.
That day, although he swept the hills assiduously with his glasses, he
saw nothing. The dark smears and timber, startlingly black against the
snow, remained silent, brooding and inviolate, as though the presence
of man had never stirred their depths.
He did not remain long. Fearing that he would be needed at the cabin,
he returned before noon. Solange was progressing bravely, though she
was still weak. Sucatash, however, was in worse shape and evidently
would not be fit to move for several days.
The next day he did not go to his post, but on the third morning,
finding Sucatash improving, he again took up his vigil. On that day
banked clouds hovered over the high peaks and nearly hid them from
view. A chill and biting wind almost drove him from his post.
Seeing nothing, he was about to return, but, just as a heavy flurry of
snow descended upon him, he turned to give one last look toward the
divide and found it lost in mist which hung down into the timber.
Under this fleecy blanket, the canyon and the lower part of the trail
stood forth clearly.
Just as De Launay was about to lower his glasses, a man rode out of
the timber, driving before him a half dozen pack horses. The soldier
watched him as he dropped below the rim of the canyon and, although
distant, thought he detected signs of haste in his going.
This man had been gone hardly more than ten minutes when a second
horseman rode down the trail. There might have been doubt in the case
of the first rider, but it was certain that the second was in a hurry.
He urged his horse recklessly, apparently in pursuit of the first man,
whom he followed below the canyon's rim.
De Launay was earlier than usual at his post the next day. Yet he was
not too early to meet the evidence of activity which was even more
alert than his. But before he could settle himself he saw the trail
across the canyon alive with moving men and beasts. In ones, twos, and
threes they came. Some rode singly and without outfit, while others
urged on pack animals. But one and all were in a hurry.
He counted more than twoscore travelers who dropped into Shoestring
within an hour and a half. Then there was a pause in the rush. For an
hour no more came.
After that flowed in another caravan. His glasses showed these were
better equipped than the first comers though he was too far away to
get any accurate idea of what they carried. Still a dim suspicion was
filling his mind, and as each of the newcomers rushed down the trail
and over the canyon rim his suspicion took more vivid form until it
became conviction and knowledge.
"By heavens! It's a mining rush!"
His mind worked swiftly. He jumped at the evidence he had seen where
Banker had staked a claim. The prospector had ridden to Maryville to
record the claims. He had been followed, and in an incredibly short
time here were veritable hordes rushing into Shoestring Canyon. If this
was the vanguard what would be the main body? It must have been a
strike of fabulous proportions that had caused this excitement. And
that strike must be----
"French Pete's Bonanza!" he almost yelled.
The thing was astounding and it was true. In naming a rendezvous he,
himself, had directed these men to the very spot--because there was no
other spot. The obvious, as usual, had been passed by for years while
the seekers had sought in the out-of-the-way places. But where would
Pete find a mine when he was returning to the ranch with his flock?
Surely not in the out-of-the-way places, for he would not be leading
his sheep by such ways. He would be coming through the range by the
shortest and most direct route, the very route that was the most
frequented--and that was the trail over the range and down Shoestring
Canyon.
De Launay wanted to shout with laughter as he thought of the search of
years ending in this fashion: the discovery of the Bonanza, under the
very nose of the dead man's daughter, by the very man who had murdered
him!
But his impulse was stifled as his keen mind cast back over the past
days. He recalled the rescue of Solange and the ambush from the top of
the great, flat outcrop. Vague descriptions of Pete's location, heard
in casual talks with Solange, came to him. The old sheep-herder had
been able to describe his find as having been made where he had eaten
his noonday meal "on a rock." That rock--the Lunch Rock, as it had
been called, had even given the mine a name in future legend, as the
Peg Leg had been named.
But there had been no rock that could answer the description near the
camp. At least there had been only one, and that one had been the flat
outcrop on which Banker had lain at length and from which he had
attempted to shoot De Launay.
Then swiftly he recalled Solange's cry of warning and his own swift
reaction. He had fired at the eyes and forehead appearing above the
edge of the rock and he had hit the edge of the rock itself. He had
laughed to see the mad prospector clawing at his eyes, filled with the
powdered rock, and had laughed again to see his later antics as he
stood upright, while De Launay rode away, waving his arms in the air
and yelling.
He saw now what had caused those frantic gestures and shouts. It had
been he, De Launay, who had uncovered to the prospector's gaze the
gold which should have been mademoiselle's.
No wonder he had no desire to laugh as he turned back into the valley.
He was weighted down with the task that was his. He had to tell
Solange that the quest on which she had come was futile. That her mine
was found--but by another, and through his own act. He visualized
those wonderful eyes which had, of late, looked upon him with such
soft fire, dulling under the chilling shock of disappointment, mutely
reproaching him for her misfortune and failure.
The wild Vale of Avalon, which had seemed such a lovely haven for
Morgan _la fée_, had lost its charm. He plodded downward and across
the rank grass, going slowly and reluctantly to the cabin. Entering
it, he went first to Sucatash, asking him how he felt.
The cow-puncher raised himself with rapidly returning strength, noting
the serious expression on De Launay's face.
"I'm getting right hearty," he answered. "I'll drag myself out and sit
up to-night, I reckon. But you don't look any too salubrious yourself,
old-timer. Aimin' to answer sick call?"
"No," said De Launay. "Thinking about mademoiselle. You remember those
stakes we saw?"
"Banker's claim? Sure."
"Well, he's struck something. There is a small army pouring into
Shoestring from Maryville. It's a regular, old-time gold rush."
"Damn!" said Sucatash, decisively.
He pondered the news a moment.
"In these days," he finally said, "with gold mines bein' shut down
because it don't pay to work 'em, there wouldn't be no rush unless
he'd sure struck something remarkable."
"You've guessed it!" said De Launay.
"It's French Pete's mine?"
"I don't see any other explanation."
Again Sucatash was silent for a time. Then:
"That little girl is sure out o' luck!" he said. There was a deep note
of sympathy in the casual comment. And the cow-puncher looked at De
Launay in a manner which the soldier readily interpreted.
"No mine, no means of support, no friends within five thousand miles;
nothing--but a husband she doesn't want! Is that what you're
thinking?"
"Not meaning any offense, it was something like that," said Sucatash,
candidly.
"She'll get rid of the incumbrance, without trouble," said De Launay,
shortly.
"Well, she ain't quite shy of friends, neither. I ain't got no gold
mines--never took no stock in them. But I've got a bunch of cows and
the old man's got a right nice ranch. If it wasn't for one thing, I'd
just rack in and try my luck with her."
"What's the one thing?"
"You," said Sucatash, briefly.
"I've already told you that I don't count. Her marriage was merely a
formality and she'll be free within a short time."
Sucatash grinned. "I hate to contradict you, old-timer. In fact, I
sure wish you was right. But, even if she don't know it herself, I
know. It sure beats the deuce how much those eyes of hers can say even
when they don't know they're sayin' it."
De Launay nodded. He was thinking of the lights in them when she had
turned them on him of late.
"They told _me_ something, not very long ago--and I'm gamblin' there
won't be any divorce, pardner."
"There probably won't," De Launay replied, shortly. "It won't be
necessary."
He got up and went into the other room where Solange reclined on the
bunk. He found her sitting up, dressed once more in leather breeches
and flannel shirtwaist, and looking almost restored to full strength.
Her cheeks were flushed again, but this time with the color of health.
The firelight played on her hair, glowing in it prismatically. Her
eyes, as she turned them on him, caught the lights and drew them into
their depths. They were once more fathomless and hypnotic.
But De Launay did not face them. He sat down on a rude stool beside
the fire and looked into the flame. His face was set and indifferent.
"Monsieur," said Solange, "you are changed again, it seems. It is not
pleasant to have you imitate the chameleon, in this manner. What has
happened?"
"Your mine has been found," said De Launay, shortly.
Solange started, half comprehending. Then, as his meaning caught hold,
she cried out, hesitating, puzzled, not knowing whether his manner
meant good news or bad.
"But--if it has been found, that is good news? Why do you look so
grim, monsieur? Is it that you are grieved because it has been
found?"
De Launay had half expected an outburst of joyous questions which
would have made his task harder. In turn, he was puzzled. The girl did
not seem either greatly excited or overjoyed. In fact, she appeared to
be doubtful. Probably she could not realize the truth all at once.
"It has been found," he went on, harshly, "by Banker, the prospector
from whom I rescued you."
Solange remained still, staring at him. He sat with elbows on his
knees, his face outlined in profile by the fire. Clean and fine lined
it was, strong with a thoroughbred strength, a face that a woman would
trust and a man respect. As she looked at it, noting the somber
suppression of emotion, she read the man's reluctance and
disappointment for her. She guessed that he buried his feelings under
that mask and she wondered wistfully how deep those feelings were.
"Then," she said, at last, "it is not likely that this Monsieur
Banker would acknowledge my claim to the mine?"
"The mine is his under the law. I am afraid that you have no claim to
it. Your father never located it nor worked it. As for Banker----"
He paused until she spoke.
"Well? And what of this Banker?"
"He will not hold it long. But he has heirs, no doubt, who would not
acknowledge your claim. Still, I will do my best. Sucatash will back
us up when we jump the claim."
"Jump the claim? What is that?"
He explained briefly the etiquette of this form of sport.
"But," objected Solange, "this man will resist, most certainly. That
would mean violence."
A faint smile curled the man's mouth under the mustache. "I am
supposed to be a violent man," he reminded her. "I'll do the killing,
and you and Sucatash will merely have to hold the claim. The sympathy
of the miners will be with you, and there should be little difficulty
unless it turns out that some one has a grubstake interest."
He had to explain again the intricacies of this phase of mining.
Solange listened intently, sitting now on the edge of the bunk. When
he was done, she slid to her feet and took position beside him, laying
her hand on his shoulder. Behind her, by the side of the bunk, was a
short log, set on end as a little table, on which rested the
holstered automatic which De Launay had left with her.
"It appears then," she said, when he had finished, "that, in any event
I have no right to this mine. In order to seize it, you would have to
fight and perhaps kill some one. But, monsieur, I am not one who would
wish you to be a common bravo--a desperado--for me. This mine, it is
nothing. We shall think no more of it."
Again De Launay was mildly surprised. He had supposed that the loss of
the mine would affect her poignantly and yet she was dismissing it
more lightly than he could have done had she not been concerned. And
in her expression of consideration for him there was a sweetness that
stirred him greatly. He lifted his hand to hers where it rested on his
shoulder, and she did not withdraw from his touch.
"And yet," he said, "there is no reason that you should concern
yourself lest I act like a desperado. There are those who would say
that I merely lived up to my character. The General de Launay you have
heard of, I think?"
"I have heard of him as a brave and able man," answered Solange.
"And as a driver of flesh and blood beyond endurance, a butcher of
men. It was so of the colonel, the _commandant_, the _capitaine_. And,
of the _légionnaire_, you have heard what has always been heard. We of
the _Légion_ are not lap dogs, mademoiselle."
"I do not care," said Solange.
"And before the _Légion_, what? There was the cow-puncher, the range
bully, the gunman; the swashbuckling flourisher of six-shooters; the
notorious Louisiana."
He heard her breath drawn inward in a sharp hiss. Then, with startling
suddenness, her hand was jerked from under his but not before he had
sensed an instant chilling of the warm flesh. Wondering, he turned to
see her stepping backward in slow, measured steps while her eyes,
fixed immovably upon him, blazed with a fell light, mingled of grief,
horror and rage. Her features were frozen and pale, like a death mask.
The light of the fire struck her hair and seemed to turn it into a
wheel of angry flame.
There was much of the roused fury in her and as much of a lost and
despairing soul.
"Louisiana!" she gasped. "You! You are Louisiana?"