"Stop it," Berg snapped. "Where's the sense in heavin' rocks at each other? We're all out to double-cross Lesurge. What we gotta think of is how to put it over."
"What about gettin' the gal--Ducane's niece--an' puttin' the screw on her?" Lem suggested.
"Might come off if you wiped out Ducane an' that cussed cowboy first," Bandy said. "If not, they'd guess the game an' be waitin' at the mine for us." The plan aroused no enthusiasm; even to their desperate natures it seemed too big an order.
"If there's to be any bumpin' Mister Sudden off you can count me out," Lem contributed. "I've had some, an' I seen Logan get his."
"Lefty rated hisself too high," Fagan said. "I owe Sudden somethin' an' he'll get it, but I shan't worry if he don't know who's payin' him."
"Any hope o' makin' Ducane so tight he'll talk?" Bandy asked.
"He's allus talkin', but he don't say nothin'," was Fagan's answer. "An' it wouldn't be no good--he claims he's forgot where the mine is; Sudden's the on'y one what knows."
"An' we lost him," Berg said dismally. "A million dollars waitin' to be picked up an'--"
"Oh, can it," Hank burst in. "We gotta watch for another break, that's all. What about a game?" They fell to playing cards, which gave them a new excuse for wrangling. After a while, Fagan rose to depart. "Goin' to see Paul," he told them.
* * *
"You have been taking a holiday?" Paul inquired amiably. But the visitor understood, and moved uneasily in his seat.
"Things was gittin' hot," he muttered. "It was too dangerous."
"Another, apparently, did not think so," came the reply.
"You were not, by any chance, that other?"
"Hell, no, Paul. Why do you ask that?"
"I thought you might have had an inspiration; I should have known better. So you are not in need of money?" Fagan conceived what he regarded as an inspiration. "I shorely am," he said mournfully. "Got cleaned out at Pedro's las' night--playin' the wheel--you never see such luck."
"At Pedro's? Ah, yes," Paul said softly, and the liar wished he had not named the place; if inquiries were made ... But the next remark reassured him. "I can let you have fifty dollars, but you must earn them by finding for me a fellow named `Hank' who was concerned in the seizure of my sister."
"Shore I will; what's he like?" the ruffian replied, hoping that his start of surprise had escaped notice.
"I can't tell you, but he may be with another called `Lem,' who had a cheek laid open in the scrimmage with Green." Fagan nodded; it was going to be easy money. "Them gravel-grubbers come near to riddin' you o' Green," he grinned.
"I've no desire to be rid of him," Paul replied coldly. "Had that been so, Lora would have arrived too late to substantiate his story. Unfortunate, in that case, of course, but ..." The smooth voice faded and Fagan was conscious of chilliness creeping up his spine. Once, when a boy, a rattlesnake had brushed against his bare leg, Lesurge, at times, recalled that horrible moment--the cold sliminess of the contact, the breath-taking fear of impending death.
"What you aimin' to do with this Hank fella, Paul?" he ventured.
"Use him," was the reply.
Though he took care not to show it, Fagan was delighted. It suited him that Lesurge should surround himself with his, Fagan's, confederates; he was assisting in his own downfall.
"If he's in town, I'll get him," he promised. "Pity you've fell in love with Green; I had a plan "
"Then forget it," Paul ordered. "I hate him, but he must not be touched. He alone knows
"Where the mine is," Fagan finished.
"Who told you that?"
"Snowy let on that his memory had slipped up again an' he said the directions in the letter was misleadin' an' it was mainly luck that they struck the right trail." Mentally Lesurge anathematized the prospector for a chattering old idiot, but Fagan's next remark suggested another aspect.
"Mebbe he's stringin' you." This produced a thoughtful frown. The secret was a dangerous one, as the puncher had already discovered. Snowy would not be anxious for a similar experience and might be playing for safety. But why should he tell Fagan? With an impatient gesture, he flung a roll of greenbacks on the table and said:
"When you locate the man I want to see him, but not here." After the visitor had gone, Lesurge sat pondering over his position. So far, matters had gone well with him. Without unduly thrusting himself into the limelight he had become of importance in the settlement. But his ambition had grown. To merely deprive Snowy and Stark of wealth no longer contented him--he wanted power. The prospect he had dangled as a bait before the greedy eyes of the saloon-keeper now appealed to him as a possibility--for himself. Lavish hospitality was purchasing support for Reuben Stark, but when the moment came, he would be shelved and Lesurge would largely control the destinies of Deadwood.
To bring this about he must have gold--a great deal of gold. Snowy's mine would provide this eventually--he was getting together a gang to seize and work it--but his present need was urgent. Putting on his hat, he went to the Monte. The proprietor was in his private room, and his greeting was none too cordial.
"Damned if I savvy yore play, Paul," he said irritably. "A piece back you wanted Sudden put outa business, an' now you snatch his neck out'n the noose."
"He saved my sister," Paul pointed out. "And you can add to that he was an innocent man."
"Mebbe, but a hangin' wouldn't 'a' done any harm," was the brutal reply. "These murderin' thieves need a lesson; we'll be havin' a treasure coach stopped next." Paul's eyes gleamed, but his tone betrayed little interest when he said carelessly, "I suppose it would be worth while?"
"Worth while?" Stark echoed. "Well, I'd call a hundred to a hundred an' fifty thousand, that."
"The shipments are well guarded, of course." Stark shrugged. "What can we do? The express messenger is armed, but to send a big escort is tellin' everybody what the coach carries. An' where you goin' to get 'em? All the fellas you could trust is too busy searchin' out gold to risk their lives protectin' other folks's dust. Secrecy is the best caper--on'y a few knows when the stuff is sent."
"Good. Pass me word about the next time," Paul said. "I'd like to send a small consignment myself." The saloon-keeper nodded and went on with his grumbling:
"That Hickok is gettin' too Gawd Almighty. 'Pears to think that 'cause he run one or two tough towns he can have the say-so here. Some o' the boys ain't likin' the way he talked to 'em."
"You needn't worry about him--he'll be attended to, and so will Sudden, if my plans work out right. The man who is going to run Deadwood is in this room." Stark's ill-humour vanished. "You've got a brain, Paul," he complimented, "an' when I'm on top, you'll find I ain't ungrateful to my friends."
"I'm relying on you, of course, Reub," Lesurge told him, and the other did not detect the hidden sneer.
* * * Fagan, on leaving Lesurge, had hurried back to the shanty where he had left his fellow-rogues. They were still there, and the bottle of whisky he had purchased on his way, insured his welcome.
"Fagan, yore an angel in disguise," Hank grinned. "But I'm bound to say the disguise is perfect," he added, helping himself liberally. "What's the news?"
"I've just left Paul--he wants to see you."
"The hell he does. Why?"
"I expect he's achin' to thank you for lettin' his sister loose," Rodd suggested.
Hank ignored the sarcasm. "He can go to blazes," he decided.
"Don't be seven sorts of a fool," Fagan snapped. "Would I push you into trouble? He thinks he can use you--it'll make you one of us. Can't you see what that means?"
"Makes a difference, o' course, but why pick on me?" Hank was clearly suspicious.
"Paul wants a few fellas what ain't finicky," Fagan explained. "Mebbe you can pull Lem in too; that'll fill our hand. Now do you savvy?"