The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 46

Suffering Creek awoke on the Monday morning laboring under a hideous depression of nightmare. There was no buoyancy in the contemplation of the day's "prospect." It was as though that wholesome joy of life which belongs to the "outdoor" man had suddenly been s.n.a.t.c.hed away, and only the contemplation of a dull round of unprofitable labor had been left for the burdened mind to dwell upon.

It was in this spirit that Joe Brand rubbed his eyes and pulled on his moleskin trousers. It was in this spirit that the miner, White, slouching along to the store for breakfast, saw and greeted him.

"Nuthin' doin' in the night," he said, in something like the tone of a disappointed pessimist.

"No." Joe Brand did not feel a great deal like talking. Besides the nightmare depression that held him he had drunk a good deal of rye whisky overnight.

White stared out across the creek, whither his thoughts were still wandering.

"Maybe we--was scairt some," he observed, with a hollow laugh.

"Maybe."

Joe's manner was discouraging.

"Gettin' breakfast?" the other inquired presently.

"Guess so."

And the rest of the journey to the store was made in morose silence.

Others were already astir when they reached their destination. And at some distance they beheld a small group of men cl.u.s.tering at one point on the veranda. But such was their mood that the matter had no interest whatever for them until they came within hailing distance.

Then it was that they were both startled into new life. Then it was that all depression was swept away and active interest leapt. Then it was that sore heads and troubled thoughts gave way before an excitement almost equal to the previous day's, only that it carried with it a hope which the latter had almost killed.

"Say, don't it beat h.e.l.l?" demanded a burly prospector as they came up, pointing back at the wall of the store where the group was cl.u.s.tering like a swarm of bees.

"Don't what?" inquired Brand, with only partial interest.

"Why, that," cried the man, still pointing. "Ther' it is, all writ up ther'. It's in Minky's writin', too. They're sendin' out a stage, Wednesday. Git a peek at it."

But Brand and his companion did not wait for his final suggestion.

They, too, had already joined the cl.u.s.ter, and stood craning on the outskirts of it. Yes, there it was, well chalked out in Minky's bold capitals--an invitation to all his customers to trade all the gold they chose to part with to him at the usual rates, or to s.h.i.+p direct to the bank at Sp.a.w.n City by a stage that was to leave Suffering Creek at eight o'clock on Wednesday morning, its safe delivery insured, at special rates, by the storekeeper himself.

It was the most astounding notice, under the circ.u.mstances, ever seen on Suffering Creek, and as the citizens read it excitement surged to a tremendous pitch.

The man called Van expressed something of the thought in every mind as he turned to Brand, who happened to be at his side.

"Gee!" he cried, with ironical levity. "Old Minky's plum 'bug.' He's waited to 'unload' till James' gang has got the camp held up three miles out. Wal, I ain't s.h.i.+ppin'. Guess I'll trade my dust at a discount. It's a sight easier carryin' United States currency."

"But he's guaranteein' delivery at the bank," protested Brand.

"That's what it sez, sure," observed White doubtfully.

"It beats me," said the burly miner perplexedly, again drawn to the notice by the apparent recklessness of its purport. "It beats me sure," he reiterated. Then, after a thoughtful pause, he went back to his original statement as something that expressed the limit of his understanding. "It sure do beat h.e.l.l."

So it was throughout the morning. And by noon every soul in the camp had seen or heard of Minky's contemplated recklessness. The place was wild with excitement, and, instead of setting out for their various claims for the usual day's work, every man went out to sc.r.a.pe together any "dust" he possessed, and brought it in to trade.

And Minky bought with perfect good-humor, discounting at the recognized tariff, but always with solemn eyes, and a mind still wondering at his overnight interview with Wild Bill. He had obeyed him implicitly, knowing that he was making a liberal profit for himself, whatever the gambler might be risking. All his transactions were guaranteed for him by the small fortune which Bill possessed safely deposited in the Sp.a.w.n City bank. Well, it was not for him to hesitate.

But his trading was not carried on without comment and questioning.

Besides which, there was a heap of rough sarcasm and satire to put up with from his customers. But he put up with it. He could afford to.

And to the closest questioning he had always one answer, and no enlightenment could they drag out of him.

"The stage goes, boys," he told them. "An' personal, I ain't scairt a cent's-worth of James an' his gang. Though, to see the way you'se fellers are fallin' over yourselves to make trade with me, I guess I know some folks as is."

The marvel of the whole thing confounded the public mind. But the selfishness of human nature demanded that advantage should be taken of the situation. If Minky, who recently had jibbed at trading gold, had suddenly eased the market, well, it was "up to him." It was his "funeral." The public jumped at the chance of realizing, and so relieving themselves of the cloud of trouble threatening them. James could come along with a whole army of desperadoes, once they had rid themselves of their "dust." They then would no longer have anything to lose except their lives, and those they were always prepared to risk in anything so enterprising as a little honest gun-play.

It was noon when Wild Bill was stirring. And he listened to the news which greeted him on every hand with a calmly non-committal air. Nor, when he found it necessary to comment, did he hesitate to do so in his usual sharp, decided fas.h.i.+on.

"Minky's good grit," he declared on one occasion to a puzzled miner.

"I don't guess ther's many folks around as 'ud take his chances. I allow Sufferin' Creek needs to be proud of sech a feller."

And his att.i.tude promptly set up a new feeling in the camp. Minky's heroic pose had not struck the people before. But now the full force of it struck home in a manner which suddenly raised him to a great pinnacle of popularity. The storekeeper of Suffering Creek was standing between the camp and possible financial disaster. It was n.o.ble. It was splendid. Yes, they had reason to be very thankful to him.

Bill contemplated the notice long and earnestly when his attention was first called to it. And his narrow eyes lit and twinkled as he read down the carefully chalked capitals. Minky had certainly done it well.

But then Minky did most things well. He read it down a second time, and then pushed his way into the store. It was some time before he could reach his friend, but finally he got him to himself as he was poring over a big cash-book. The storekeeper looked up. Nor had he any greeting for his visitor. He was still dazed at the gambler's purpose.

And somehow it was the latter who had to speak first.

"You done it good, Minky," he said amiably.

"Ther'll be sixty thousand dollars," the storekeeper mumbled doubtfully.

"Good."

"Good?"

"Sure." Bill turned and gazed out of the window. "It needs to be a big pile. Makes things surer."

"Surer? I don't get you."

"No; that's so." The gambler turned back to the other abruptly. "Say, you get busy an' gas. Gas till you got the camp yappin' like coyotes.

Tell 'em the stage is sure carryin' sixty thousand dollars' worth o'

good red gold." Then his manner suddenly changed and he laughed. "Say, I'm jest goin' out to get a peek at my claim. I sure guess I bought a dandy rich claim o' Zip."

"You orter know," said Minky, with a shake of the head. "I sure don't seem to understand--"

"Course you don't," cried Bill, with strange good-nature. Then his eyes became curiously reflective. "Wher's Zip?"

"Zip? Guess he's around with the kids. Y'see, the Bird's helpin' him fix things. Maybe they're back in the dinin'-room."

Bill stood for a moment in deep thought. Then he turned suddenly, and his fierce little eyes fixed themselves on his friend's face.

"Them kids," he said sharply. "Maybe I'll get you to kep 'em safe right here fer three days an' more. After that we'll see." Then in a moment his expression lightened and he laughed. "Guess I'll get Zip to come along an' show me the claim."

Half-an-hour later the gambler was striding down the river bank, with Scipio hurrying along at his side. Several times the little man had endeavored to engage his companion in amiable conversation. He wanted to talk about the episode at the river, but Bill would have none of it. Nor was it until he was nearly half-way to their destination, where Sandy Joyce was already at work, that he broke the silence in which he had wrapped himself.