Drenched with perspiration, aching in every limb, they stuck to their task until a red glow in the sky announced that night was near. By this time the leathern sack which contained their gleanings had grown appreciably in weight, and they decided to call it a day.
"My back's like it had been broken an' badly mended," Sudden groaned, as he hoisted himself into the saddle. "Go easy, yu black devil," he chided, for Nigger, having been idle all day, was disposed to be frolicsome.
"Yo're lucky," Gerry told him. "Mine feels as if the mendin' was still to do. How much d'yu figure we got?"
"Dunno, mebbe Jacob has some scales." He had, and the cowboys watched with interest as he adjusted them and weighed the result of their labour. Then he looked up with a little smile.
"You have done very well, my friends," he said. "Three ounces of dust, at eighteen dollars the ounce--which is the ruling rate--is not bad for a beginning."
"On'y three ounces?" Gerry said disappointedly. "I reckon it oughta be three pounds for the work we put in."
"You have been fortunate," the old man told him. "Hundreds of men here slave for weeks without making a grubstake. Big finds only come to the favoured few."
"Yo're a hawg, Gerry," Sudden reproved. "What yu got to-day would take yu darned near a month to earn punchin' cows."
"I'd get my grub thrown in," Mason grumbled.
"Yeah, with a shovel," his friend laughed. "It's about the on'y way they could fill yu. C'mon, let's go an' start a famine." They went out wrangling, oblivious to the curious expression in the eyes of their host.
"It doesn't seem possible," he muttered.
* * Snowy had said no more than the truth when he described the residence of Miss Lesurge as the best in the town. Standing back a little from the street, solidly built of squared logs, it comprised two storeys and was comfortably furnished. Even Paul Lesurge paid his sister a compliment upon it.
"The man who had it put up made a pile soon after it was completed and started for the East," she explained. "I got it cheaply." Paul's dark eyes held hers for a moment, and then he smiled.
"Good for you, Lora," he said. "I am pleased with it. I knew I could depend on you."
"Didn't know we was comin' to yore own house, Paul," Snowy said.
"Having business in Deadwood I must stay somewhere, so I sent my sister on to make arrangements. Naturally, since I have a home, my friends are welcome." He had already presented his guests and Miss Lesurge had welcomed them graciously. Tall, not yet thirty, her pale, oval face, full red lips, and eyes that matched the black hair deftly coiled on a haughty head gave her a compelling beauty. She moved with a sinuous ease which accentuated her fine figure and somehow reminded Mary Ducane of a tiger-cat. This impression was deepened by her low voice, which, at times, was almost a purr. Paul Lesurge was still interested in the house.
"It must have cost the original owner a fortune," he mused. "All this furniture could only be brought by ox-wagons across the plains. Why did he sacrifice it?" Miss Lesurge shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Rillick--that was his name--wanted to get away. Another successful miner offered to play him at poker for the property, he setting up a certain sum in gold against it. Rillick accepted and won almost alt the other possessed, nearly doubling his own wealth in one night. After that, he didn't care if he gave the house away." When the guests had retired to their rooms, Paul turned to his sister. "So Rillick gave you the house?" he said.
With a gesture of impatience she got up, opened a drawer and took out a paper. "I paid him a thousand dollars for it," she replied. "Here is the receipt." Lesurge hardly looked at it. "Only that?" The woman's dark eyes flashed. "Only that," she repeated. "What sort of a fellow was he?"
"Youngish, not bad-looking, and worth half a million."
"Why didn't you go?" She flinched as though he had struck her, and then said coldly: I argued that if a fool--and he was one--could clean up as much as that, we could treble it. The old man seems half mad; is he really her relative?"
"No, but she believes him to be, which is all that matters," Paul said. "He's only crazy about gold."
"Then he doesn't know where the mine is?" Lesurge explained the position and when he had finished, she said rather scornfully, "Fagan appears to have blundered. You seem to be fond of half-wits."
"A blunt instrument is useful at times," he told her. "Why did you warn the girl? Have you had trouble?"
"Two days after I arrived here a man grossly insulted me in the street; he was drunk, and a Mexican at that."
"What happened?"
"I stabbed him," she said coolly, and, noting the frown on his face, added, "Oh, there was no fuss. I paid the funeral expenses and was complimented by leading citizens on my pluck. These boors think I'm wonderful." The contempt in her tone was real enough.
Lesurge nodded his satisfaction. "Excellent," he said. "We'll have them eating out of our hands before we're through."
"So the cowboys followed you here?" she asked.
"Yes, but they'll be too busy scrambling for gold to bother us," Paul assured her. "And anyway, Mason is dumb; Green, the black-haired one, might be dangerous; if he gets into the game we'll have to deal with him."
"The girl is pretty--in a way," she said casually, her eyes upon him.
But Paul Lesurge could play poker. "I suppose she is," he replied carelessly. "The kind of 'wild blossom from the prairie' type that a man with brains would tire of in a month."
"For once, I think you are wrong, Paul," she returned. "What is to happen to her?"
"Haven't thought about it," was the nonchalant reply. There Paul Lesurge was guilty of an error, for the woman was well aware that he always planned ahead, and was therefore lying.
"Who is the man with the most influence here?" he asked.
"Reuben Stark, owner of the Monte, the largest of the gambling saloons. He has a number of miners working for him on grubstake terms and that gives him an obedient following."
"Is he a straight man?"
"Are there any?" she asked cynically. "No, I'd say he's as crooked as a dog's hind-leg, but he'll serve your purpose. He rather admires me," she added.
"Splendid!" Lesurge said. "Anyone else."
"Jean Bizet, who runs the Paris in opposition to Stark. A French-Canadian, reputed to be just--but only just," she smiled. "Has a squaw wife, and, curiously enough, worships her. Hickok too is among our distinguished citizens."
"Wild Bill?" Paul cried. "What the devil is he doing here?"
" `Where the carcase is ...' " the woman quoted.
"Hickok is no vulture; he has the name for being square."
"Possibly, but he's not immortal, is he?" Lesurge looked at her; callous as he was, there were times when her cold-bloodedness amazed him.
"No, but one might be excused for thinking so," he replied. "They say he never misses."
"Someone will get him--from behind--one of these days," she shrugged. "In any case, square folk are easier to fool, being straight themselves they are not so suspicious of others."
"Well, let's hope we don't have to try and fool Hickok," was Paul's sinister reply.
Chapter VII
Two weeks passed and the cowboys' store of gold slowly but steadily increased; it was by no means large, but, as Sudden had said, they were able to go on eating. A day or two had exhausted the natural barrier in the stream and then they worked upwards.
"The dust we found has been washed down," Sudden argued, "an' mebbe there's more to come; we'll save it the trouble." There was more, in no great quantity, but sufficient to be worth while. The task of getting it was arduous in the extreme.
"For real work thls job has a round-up beat to a frazzle," Mason complained. "What's the good o' cash yu got no chance to spend?" For since they usually arrived home too tired to do more than eat and tumble into their blankets, Deadwood had seen nothing of them. This was not the first hint Mason had offered and Sudden knew that a desire for relaxation was not the real reason.