The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 52

No, the gambler had not been seen. Someone jocularly suggested that he and Zip were out visiting Sandy Joyce upon their claim. None of the three had been seen that morning. But the levity was allowed to pa.s.s without a smile, and Minky disappeared again into the back regions of his store.

After that the time pa.s.sed even more slowly. The store emptied; the men moved out into the sunlight to await the first sight of the stage.

There was nothing else to do. Such was their saturation of the previous night that even drink had no attraction at this early hour.

So they sat or lounged about, gazing out at the distant upland across the river. There lay the vanishing-point of the Sp.a.w.n City trail, and beyond that they knew the danger-zone to lie. It was a danger-zone they all understood, and, hardy as they were, they could not understand anyone mad enough to risk a fortune of gold within its radius. Not one of them would have faced it singly with so little as twenty dollars in his pocket, much less laboring under the burden of sixty thousand dollars. And yet somebody was going to do so to-day.

A pounding of hoofs and crunching of wheels suddenly swept all apathy away. Every eye lit; every head turned. And in a moment Suffering Creek was on its feet, agog with the intensest interest. For one brief moment the rattle and clatter continued. Then, from round the corner, with bits champing and satin coats gleaming in the sun, their silver-mounted harness sparkling, Wild Bill's treasured team of six horses swept into view. Round they swung, hitched to his well-known spring-cart, and in a second had drawn up with a flourish in front of the veranda.

A gasp of astonishment greeted this unexpected vision. Men stood gaping at the beaming ch.o.r.eman sitting perched up on the driving-seat.

It was the first time in his life he had ever been allowed to handle the gambler's equine children, and his joy and pride were written in every furrow of his age-lined features.

The man sat waiting, while the thoroughbreds pawed the ground and reached restively at their bits. But they were like babes to handle, for their manners were perfect. They had been taught by a master-hand whose lessons had been well learned. And the picture they made was one that inspired admiration and envy in every eye and heart of those who now beheld them.

But these were not the only emotions the sight provoked. Blank astonishment and incredulous wonder stirred them, too. Bill's horses!

Bill's cart! Where--where was the gambler himself? Was this the stage?

Was Bill--?

The talk which had been so long suppressed now broke out afresh.

Everybody asked questions, but n.o.body answered any. They crowded about the cart. They inspected the horses with eyes of admiration and wonder. No man could have withstood the sight of the rope-like veins standing out through their velvet skin. They fondled them, and talked to them as men will talk to horses. And it was only when Minky suddenly appeared in their midst, bearing in his arms an iron-clamped case which he deposited in the body of the cart, that their attention was diverted, and they remembered the purpose in hand.

The gold-chest deposited and made secure, the storekeeper turned to the crowd about him.

"Well, boys," he said, with an amiable smile, "any more mail? Any you fellers got things you need to send to your sisters--or somebody else's sisters? You best get it ready sharp. We're startin' at eight o'clock. After that you'll sure be too late. Y'see," he added humorously, "we ain't figgered when the next stage goes." He pulled out his nickel silver timepiece. "It's needin' five minutes to schedule," he went on officially, glancing keenly down the trail.

Anyone sufficiently observant, and had they been quick enough, might have detected a shade of anxiety in his glance. He moved round to the side of the cart and spoke to the man in the driving-seat.

"It's nigh eight. He ain't here?" he said questioningly.

"Guess he'll be right along, boss," the little man returned in a low voice.

Again the storekeeper glanced anxiously down the trail. Then he turned away with a slight sigh.

"Well, boys," he said, with another attempt at jocularity, "if ther'

ain't nuthin' doin', guess this mail's sure closed."

Pa.s.sing again to the back of the cart, he gazed affectionately upon the gold-chest. Then he lifted his eyes just as Van voiced the question in everybody's mind.

"You sure ain't sendin' pore old Danny with that stage?" he cried incredulously. "You sure ain't sendin' him fer James to sift lead through? You ain't lettin' him drive Bill's horses?"

"He sure ain't. Him drive my plugs? Him? Gee! Ther' ain't no one but me drives them hosses--not if Congress pa.s.sed it a law."

The harsh, familiar voice of Wild Bill grated contemptuously. He had come up from his hut all unnoticed just in time to hear Van's protesting inquiry. Now he stood with eyes only for his horses.

Daylight at last shone through the mist of doubt and puzzlement which had kept the citizens of Suffering Creek in darkness so long. They looked at this lean, harsh figure and understood. Here was the driver of the stage, and, curiously, with this realization their doubts of its welfare lessened. All along they had been blaming Bill for his lack of interest in the affairs of the camp, and now--

They watched him with keen, narrowing eyes. What mad game was he contemplating? They noted his dress. It was different to that which he usually wore. His legs were encased in sheepskin chaps. He was wearing a belt about his waist from which hung a heavy pair of guns. And under his black, shiny, short coat he was wearing a simple buckskin shirt.

They watched him as he moved round his horses, examining the fit of the bridles and the fastenings of the harness. He looked to the buckles of the reins. He smoothed the satin coats of his children with affectionate hand. Then in a moment they saw him spring into the cart.

Taking the reins from the ch.o.r.eman, he settled himself into the driving-seat, while the deposed charioteer clambered stiffly to the ground.

Minky was at the wheel nearest to his friend. The horses, under the master-hand, had suddenly become restive. Bill bent over, and the storekeeper craned up towards him.

"Ther' was two fellers. .h.i.t the trail this morning," the gambler said, with a short laugh. "I see 'em when I was with Zip--'fore daylight."

"You--you best quit it," said Minky in serious, anxious tones. "We kin, maybe, hold the gold up against him here. It ain't too late. It ain't, sure."

Bill's face suddenly darkened. All the lightness which the prospect before him had inspired suddenly left it. His words came so full of bitter hatred that the other was startled.

"Not for a million-dollar halo!" he cried, reaching out for his long whip.

With a dexterous swing he set it cracking over his horses' backs. The high-strung beasts plunged at their bits, and the leaders started to rear. Again he swung out his whip, and this time it flicked the plunging leaders. Instantly there was a rush of feet and a scrunch of wheels. The "tugs" pulled taut, and the gush of eager nostrils hissed like steam upon the still air. There was a shout of farewell from the onlookers, and the gambler turned in his seat.

"So long, fellers," he cried. "I'm makin' Sp.a.w.n City by daylight to-morrer--sure."

The next moment he was lost in a cloud of dust, as the horses raced down the hill.

CHAPTER x.x.x

ON THE Sp.a.w.n CITY TRAIL

Wild Bill's lean hands clawed the reins with muscles of steel. For the moment his six horses occupied his every thought. They were pulling with the madness of high-bred racehorses. The trail lay before them, their master sat behind. What more could they want, but that liberty to stretch their willing bodies?

Down the hill and along the wood-lined trail that ran parallel to the sluggish creek they raced. The dust rose under their feet, and the wheels of the cart left a fog behind them. It rose in swirling clouds as though to shut off all retreat. Presently the road narrowed to a mere track, and the dark woods closed in. But there was no slackening under the hand of the gambler. Nor had the horses any desire to slacken their headlong rush. The woods broke and gave to a low bush, and in a moment the track opened upon Scipio's claim.

Now, for the first time since the start as they swept across it, Bill permitted his gaze to wander from his charges. He looked away at the mouth of the tunnel Sandy had spent so much labor and such bitter cursing in the process of constructing; and a half-smile flitted across his hard face as he beheld the oozy debris, the idle tools, the winch and buckets. The sight seemed to afford him amus.e.m.e.nt. There was a softening, too, in his hard face. Maybe it was the result of his amus.e.m.e.nt. Maybe it was due to some thought of the little man with whom he was partners. But he seemed to freeze up again as the claim pa.s.sed, and the horses floundered over the heavy trail beside the black, oily swamp beyond. It was bad driving here, and he steadied the racing creatures down with voice and hand.

"Easy, Gipsy. Easy you, Pete. Now Maisie. So! Steady, boys. Easy!"

The harsh voice was hushed and gentle. He was speaking to creatures that were not merely horses to him, but something nearer, perhaps even dearer.

And the well-trained creatures responded at once, slowing to an easy trot, a pace which they kept until the ford of the creek was reached.

Here they dropped to a walk as they splashed their way through the turgid stream. But the moment the wheels of the cart topped the opposite bank, they once more resumed their headlong gait.

At once the gambler sat up. He straightened his lean body as a man who opens his lungs to breathe in deep draughts of fresh, bracing air. His narrow eyes stared out aside of him and beyond. His nostrils expanded, and his thin lips were tightly shut.

The camp was behind him. The trail, a hard, wide sand trail, lay ahead. The wide, wild world was about him on every hand, reminding him of days long gone by, reminding him that to-day his instincts were still the same. The same fiery, militant spirit that had driven him from one end of his country to the other still left him yearning for the ruthless battle of wild places and wilder men. The long months of inactivity, the long days of peace, the longer nights of his gambler's craft, were for the moment gone. He was setting out, as in the old days, surrounded by all in life he cared for, offering a challenge to all the world, ready to grapple with whatsoever the G.o.ds of war might choose to thrust in his way.

The man's spirits rose. The swift-flashing eyes brightened. His body felt to be bursting with a ravishing joy of life. His purpose was his own. The joy was his alone. He had found excuse for satisfying his own greedy l.u.s.t, a l.u.s.t for battle which no overwhelming odds could diminish. He was a savage. He knew it; he gloried in it. Peace to him was a wearisome burden of which at all times he was ready to rid himself. So he was born. So he had always lived. So, he knew, he would die.

The trail rose with the upland. It rose with that gradation which so wears down the ardor of almost any horse. But the creatures Wild Bill was driving were made of unusual mettle. Their courage was the courage of the man behind them. And only when his courage failed him would their spirit falter. They swept up the long stretch as though the effort were a pastime. With ears p.r.i.c.ked forward, nostrils gushing, their veins standing out like whipcord through their satin coats, they moved as though every stride were an expression of the joy of living.

And the man's steel muscles were held at tension to keep their gait within the bounds of reason.

As they neared the hill-top he turned and glanced back over his shoulder. There lay the camp nestling on the far side of the creek.

There stood Minky's store, lording it over its lesser fellows with the arrogance of successful commerce. He could see a small patch of figures standing about its veranda, and he knew that many eyes were watching for a final sight of him at the moment when he should vanish over the hill.

They were friendly eyes, too, he knew. They were the eyes of men who wished him well. But he doubted if those good wishes were for his own sake. He knew he was not a man whom men loved. And he smiled grimly as he glanced down at the chest of gold in the body of the cart.