The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 6

But the pictures were too feeble and wholly inadequate to satisfy. So gentle was his nature, that, even stirred as he was, he could not conceive a fitting punishment for so great an offense. He felt his own inadequacy, his own feebleness to cope with the problem before him, and so he sat brooding impotently.

It was all useless. And as the minutes slipped by his anger began to die out, merging once more into the all-absorbing grief that underlay it. He was alone. Alone! He would never see her again. The thought chilled him to a sudden nervous dread. No, no, it was not possible.

She would come back. She must come back. Yes, yes. She was his Jessie. His beautiful Jessie. She belonged to him. And the children.

She loved them. How she loved them. They were theirs. Yes, she would come back. Maybe she would come back at supper-time. She would understand by then. Because she was good, and--and kind, and--No, no, Fate could never be so cruel as to take her from him.

He rose and paced the floor with nervous, uneven strides. He plunged his hand into his coat pocket and drew out the letter again. He re-read it, with hot eyes and straining thought. Every word seemed to sear itself upon his poor brain, and drive him to the verge of distraction. Why? Why? And he raised his bloodshot eyes to the roof of his hut, and crushed the paper in one desperate hand.

Then suddenly he started. His pale eyes took on a furtive frightened expression. He glanced fearfully round the room as though someone was in hiding to surprise his inspiration. Yes, that was it. Why not? He was not afraid. He was afraid of no one. Yes, yes, he had the means.

He must make the opportunity. She was his. No one else had a right to her. It was justifiable. It was no more than justice.

He moved towards the inner room. He was less furtive now. His purpose had startled him at first, but now he was convinced it was right. To a man of his character his resolve once taken there was only one thing to do--to carry it out.

He pa.s.sed into the bedroom, and, in a few moments, reappeared. Now he was bearing something in his hand. He held it carefully, and in his eyes was something like terror of what he held. The thing he carried was an old-fashioned revolver. It was rusty. But it had a merciless look about it. He turned it up gingerly. Then he opened the breach, and loaded all the six chambers. Then he carefully bestowed it in his coat pocket, where it bulged obtrusively.

Now he moved to the open doorway, and somehow his original furtiveness had returned to him. Here he paused as the voice of the twins reached and held him. They were still playing in the sun, banking up the sand and stones in their futile attempt at castle building. He breathed hard, as though summoning up all his decision. Then he spoke.

"Say, kiddies," he said firmly. "I'll be right back at supper."

And he moved out without another look in their direction, and walked off in the direction of Minky's store.

CHAPTER IV

SCIPIO BORROWS A HORSE

Scipio found an almost deserted camp after floundering his way over the intricate paths amongst the refuse-heaps.

The miners had departed to their claims with a punctuality that suggested Trades Union principles. Such was their existence. They ate to live; they lived to work, ever tracking the elusive metal to the earth's most secret places. The camp claimed them only when their day's work was done; for the rest, it supported only their most urgent needs.

Sunny Oak, lounging on a rough bench in the shadiest part of the veranda facing Minky's store, raised a pair of heavy eyelids, to behold a dejected figure emerge from amidst the "dumps." The figure was bearing towards the store in a dusty cloud which his trailing feet raised at every step. His eyes opened wider, and interested thought stirred in his somnolent brain. He recognized the figure and wondered.

Scipio should have been out on his claim by this time, like the rest.

The lean long figure of the lounger propped itself upon its elbow.

Curiously enough, lazy as he was, the smallest matter interested him.

Had he suddenly discovered a beetle moving on the veranda he would have found food for reflection in its doings. Such was his mind. A smile stole into his indolent eyes, a lazy smile which spoke of tolerant good-humor. He turned so that his voice might carry in through the window which was just behind him.

"Say, Bill," he cried, "here's Zip comin' down the trail."

As though his announcement were sufficient to rouse an equal interest in those inside the store, he returned again to his contemplation of the approaching figure.

"What's he doin' around camp this hour?" inquired a harsh voice from beyond the window.

"Guess I ain't a lightnin' calc'lator," observed Sunny, without withdrawing his gaze.

"Nope," came the prompt retort from the invisible speaker; "guess it 'ud keep you busy trackin' a fun'ral."

"Which don't need contradiction! I'm kind o' makin' holiday these times. Guess you ain't never heerd tell o' the 'rest cure'?"

A rough laugh broke on the drowsy atmosphere.

"Sunny's overworked just now," said another voice, amidst the rattle of poker chips.

"Wher' you bin workin', Sunny?" inquired the harsh voice of the man addressed as Bill.

"Workin'!" cried the loafer, with good-natured scorn. "Say, I don't never let a hobby interfere with the bizness of life."

A half-smothered laugh answered him. Even the exigencies of a poker hand could not quite crush out the natural humor of these men, who always followed on the golden trail of the pioneers.

"Say, what's your bizness?" demanded another voice presently.

"Restin'!" the man on the veranda answered easily.

The shuffle of cards and rattle of chips came with a sn.i.g.g.e.r. And the answering lazy smile of Sunny Oak was good to see. It lit his unshaven face from his unwashed brow to his chin. And to an onlooker it might well have appeared a pity that an intense bodily indolence should so dominate his personality. He looked vastly capable, both mentally and physically.

But his eyes never left the on-coming Scipio. The little man moved with bowed head and trailing footsteps. The utter dispiritedness of his gait stirred even the self-centered watcher. But Scipio saw nothing of Sunny Oak. He saw nothing of anything but the despairing picture in his own mind. The ramshackle shanties which lined one side of the trail were pa.s.sed unheeded. The yapping of the camp dogs at the unusual sight of so deplorable a figure at this hour of the day was quite unnoticed by him. The shelving rise of attenuated gra.s.sland which blocked the view of Suffering Creek on his left never for a moment came into his focus. His eyes were on the trail ahead of him, and never more than a few feet from where he trod. And those eyes were hot and staring, aching with their concentration upon the hideous picture which filled his brain.

As Scipio drew near Sunny Oak further bestirred himself, which was a concession not often yielded by that individual to anyone. He sat up, and his smile broadened. Then it faded out as he beheld the usually mild expression of the yellow-haired prospector now so set and troubled.

"Gee!" he murmured in an undertone. Then, with an evident effort, he offered a greeting.

"Ho, you, Zip! Drawn a blank way up ther' on your mudbank?"

Scipio looked up in a dazed fashion. Then he halted and seemed to pull himself together. Finally he spoke.

"Howdy?" he said in a mechanical sort of way.

"Guess I'm a heap better," responded Sunny, with twinkling eyes.

Scipio gazed up at the store in a bewildered way. He saw the great letters in which Minky's name and occupation were inscribed on its pretentious front, and it seemed to bring back his purpose to his distracted mind. Instantly the other's words became intelligible to him, and his native kindliness prompted him.

"You been sick?" he demanded.

"Wal, not rightly sick, but--ailin'." Sunny's smile broadened till a mouthful of fairly decent teeth showed through the fringe of his ragged mustache.

"Ailin'?"

"Yep. Guess I bin overdoin' it."

"It don't do, working too hard in the heat," said Scipio absently.

"Sure," replied Sunny. "It's been a hard job avoidin' it. Ther's allus folk ready to set me workin'. That's just the way o' things. What I need is rest. Say, you ain't workin'?"

Scipio started.

"No. I'm looking for Wild Bill."