The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 47

They had just emerged from a narrow cattle-track where they had been forced to walk in single file on account of the bush which grew in such abundance on either side of it. Bill was leading, and as the path widened into a clearing, in which lay several fallen trees rooted out of the ground by some long-pa.s.sed flood of the creek, he suddenly turned about and faced his diminutive friend.

"Here," he said, "we'll set here a piece. Guess we need to talk some."

He glanced quickly about, and finally flung himself upon the nearest tree-trunk. "Set," he cried, pointing at another trunk lying opposite to him.

Scipio wonderingly complied. He stood in considerable awe of the gambler, and now he was ransacking his brain to discover the object of this desire for a talk. He could find no adequate reason, except it might be that Bill was repenting of his bargain in purchasing a half-share in his claim. Yes, it might be that. It probably was that.

He had no doubt bought on inaccurate information. Scipio knew how misleading and how wild many of the reports which flew about Suffering Creek were. Besides, he was certain that Bill's information about his claim, wherever he had got it from, was inaccurate. Yes, no doubt this was what he wanted to talk about, and the honest-minded man promptly decided that the gambler should have no cause to blame him. He need have no doubts. He would by no means hold him to the bargain. He would return the money--

Suddenly he remembered. He had already spent five dollars of it, and he went hot and cold at the thought. He had nothing with which to replace it.

However, he took no further thought, and, as Bill still remained silent, he plunged into the matter at once.

"I got most all the money with me," he began, in his vague way expecting the other to understand his meaning. "That is, all but fi'

dollars. Y'see, the kids needed--"

Bill's sharp eyes reached his face with a jump.

"Wot in the name o' blazes--" he cried.

But Scipio did not let him continue.

"I knew ther' wa'n't no gold showin' on my claim," he hurriedly explained. "So I'll jest hand you back your dollars."

"Square-toed mackinaw!" the gambler cried, his face scarlet. Then he broke out into one of his harsh laughs. "Say," he went on, with pretended severity, "you can't squeal that way. I'm in ha'f your claim, an' I ain't lettin' up my holt on it fer--fer n.o.body an'

nuthin'. Get that right here. You can't bluff me."

Scipio flushed. He somehow felt very small. The last thing he wanted Bill to think was that he was trying to do him an injury.

"I'm sorry," he said helplessly. "Y'see, I thought, you needing to talk to me so bad, you wanted, maybe, to quit my claim."

He turned away, gazing down the wood-lined river. Somehow he could not face the gambler's stern eyes. Had he seen the sudden softening in them the moment the other was sure he was un.o.bserved, he might have been less troubled. But the gambler had no soft side when men's eyes were upon him.

"'Tain't about your claim I need to talk," Bill said, after a brief pause. His voice was less harsh, and there was an unusual thoughtfulness in its tone. "It's--it's--Say, Zip, I ain't fergot our talk out there on the trail." He nodded his head out in the direction of Sp.a.w.n City. "You mind that talk when you was puttin' up that fool proposition o' handin' James that kid?"

Scipio's eyes had come back to his companion, and their expression had suddenly dropped to one of hopeless regret. His heart was stirred to its depths by the reference to the past trouble which lay like a cankerous sore so deep down in it.

He nodded. But otherwise he had no words.

"You're needin' your wife?" Bill went on brusquely.

Again Scipio nodded. But this time words came, too.

"But you was right," he said. "I saw it all after. I was plumb wrong.

An'--an' I ain't holding you to--what you said. You jest wanted to put me right. I understood that--after."

Bill stirred uneasily, and kicked a protruding limb of the tree on which he sat.

"You're a heap ready to let me out," he cried, with a return to his harshest manner. "Who in blazes are you to say I don't need to do the--things I said I'd do? Jest wait till you're ast to." He turned away, and Scipio was left troubled and wondering.

But suddenly the lean body swung round again, and the little prospector felt the burning intensity of the man's eyes as they concentrated on his flushing face.

"You're needin' your wife?" he jerked out.

"More'n all the world," the little man cried, with emotion.

"Would you put up a--a sc.r.a.p fer her?"

"With anybody."

The corners of Bill's mouth wrinkled, but his eyes remained hard and commanding. Whatever feelings of an appreciative nature lay behind his lean face they were well hidden.

"You'd face James an' all his gang--again? You'd face him if it sure meant--death?"

"The chance o' death wouldn't stop me if I could get her back."

The quiet of the little man's tone carried a conviction far greater than any outburst could have done.

"An' she's been--his?"

Scipio took a deep breath. His hands clenched. Just for a moment the whites of his eyes became bloodshot with some rush of tremendous feeling. It seemed as though he were about to break out into verbal expression of his agony of heart. But when he finally did speak it was in the same even tone, though his breath came hard and deep.

"I want her--whatever she is," he said quietly.

Bill rose to his feet, and a pa.s.sionate light shone in his sparkling eyes.

"Then take Minky's mule an' buckboard. Start right out fer James'

ranch before sun-up Wednesday mornin', an'--you'll sure get her. Come on."

Scipio sprang to his feet, and a dozen hot questions leapt to his mind. An ocean of grat.i.tude was struggling to pour from his inadequate tongue, but Bill would have none of it. He waved him aside and set off for their destination, and the other could only follow. But at the farther edge of the clearing again the gambler paused. This time a sudden thought had changed his plans. He turned abruptly, and without one particle of softening in his manner he ordered him back.

"Say," he cried, "ther' ain't no use fer you to get around further.

You ken jest light back to the store, an' see to them kids. Don't you never let 'em out o' your sight till Wednesday come. Then hit out fer James' ranch."

When Wild Bill eventually reached the claim, he found Sandy sitting on an upturned bucket amidst the most deplorable surroundings in which a gold prospector in quest of the precious metal could ever hope to find himself.

The creek bank was some two hundred yards away, with a p.r.o.nounced rising ground between him and it. Behind him was a great cut-faced rock of ironstone that certainly looked auriferous. The base of it lay in a definite hollow, reed-grown and oozy. Beyond him, to the right, following the river bank, the ground declined gradually towards a black-looking, turgid and overgrown swamp. While, from the direction in which the gambler approached, a low, dense, th.o.r.n.y bush grew, made up of branches almost skeleton in their lack of leaves. It was a forlorn and uninviting spot, calculated to dishearten anybody with a heart less big and an enthusiasm less vital than Scipio's.

Bill stood for a moment surveying the scene before Sandy realized his presence. And that first glance set him snorting contemptuously.

"Well, say--" he began. But words failed him, and he hurried across to his "hired" man.

Sandy jumped up as he came near, and before the other could stop him had poured out his opinion of things in general, and that claim in particular, in a few well-chosen and effective words.

"Say, Zip orter sure be shot or hanged," he cried angrily, "an' this doggone claim o' mud needs to be boosted through a dogasted volcany an' blowed out the other side o' no sort o' place at all. Ther' sure ain't nuthin' worse in the world than the foolishness of a tow-headed fool."

But Bill ignored the outburst.

"How much gold you found?" he inquired coldly.

Sandy's indignant eyes blazed.