Shadow Mountain. Coolidge Dane
going to makeyou take it! I declare, it seems like every single soul is against me–and me a poor helpless woman!”
She sank back in a chair and began to sob hysterically and Wiley looked about for the old shotgun. It was far too short, but it had served once as a crutch, and in a pinch it must serve him again. Keno was no place for him, he saw that very plainly, and it was better to risk the long drive across the desert than to stay with this weeping virago. If she didn’t kill him then she would kill him later, and he was powerless to strike back in defense. She would take advantage of every immunity of her sex to obtain her own way in the end. He located the gun–it was down behind his bed where he had dropped it when they helped him in–but as he was fishing it up the door burst open and Virginia stood looking at her mother. Behind her appeared Death Valley Charley, his eyes blinking fearfully; but at sight of the Widow he ducked around the corner while Virginia came resolutely in.
“Oh, mother!” she burst out in a pleading, reproachful voice, “can’t you see that Wiley is sick? Well, what’s the use of creating a scene when it’s likely to make him worse?”
“I don’t care!” wailed the Widow. “I hope he dies. I wish I’d killed him–I do!”
“You do not!” returned Virginia, and shook her reprovingly. “I declare, I wonder what poor father would think if he heard how we’d treated a guest. Now you go back to the house and don’t you come out again until Mr. Holman sends for you.”
“You shut up!” burst out the Widow, pushing her brusquely aside. “I guess I know what I’m about. But I’ll fool you,” she cried, whirling about on Wiley as she started towards the door. “I’ll sell my stock to Blount!”
She paused for the effect but Wiley did not answer and she returned to pursue her advantage.
“I know you!” she announced. “You and old Honest John–you’re trying to steal my mine. But I’m going to fool you, I’m going right down to Vegas and sell every share to Blount!”
“Well, go to it,” returned Wiley after a long, defiant silence, “and I hope you stick him a-plenty!”
“Why, what’s the matter?” inquired the Widow, brushing Virginia away again and swaggering up to his bed. “I thought you and Blount were good friends.”
“Yeh, guess again,” replied Wiley grimly. “I’ll tell him the mine shows up fine.”
“Well, it does!” she asserted. “The Colonel said it wasn’t scratched. And didn’t you steal that piece of quartz from Virginia? Oh, you gave it back, eh? Well, how did it assay? I know you found somethingpretty good!”
“How could I give it back, if I’d had it assayed?” asked Wiley with compelling calm.
“Well what didyou come back for?” demanded the Widow, triumphantly. “You must have figured to win somewhere.”
“Yes, I did,” sighed Wiley, “but I was badly mistaken. All I want now is to get out of town.”
“Well, how about your father? That offer he made me! Has he backed out on that, too?”
“No, he hasn’t,” answered Wiley, “my father keeps his word. You can get your money any time.”
“Well, of all the crazy crooked deals,” the Widow began to rave, and then Wiley grabbed for the shotgun.
“It may be crazy!” he shouted savagely, “but believe me, it isn’t crooked. My father never did a crooked thing in his life, and you know it as well as I do; and if it wasn’t that you’re such a crook yourself─”
“Wiley Holman!” raged the Widow, but he rose up on his crutch and shouldered his way out the door.
“You’re crazy!” he yelled, “the whole danged town’s crazy. All except old Charley and me.”
He jerked his head and winked at Charley as he hobbled towards the street and Death Valley nodded gravely. There was a long, hateful silence; then the great motor roared out and the white racer rushed away across the desert.
“Well, I don’t care!” declared the Widow as she gazed after his dust and when the stage went out that day it took a lady passenger to Vegas.
CHAPTER VII.
BETWEEN FRIENDS
The madness of the Widow and Old Charley and Stiff Neck George was no mystery to Wiley Holman–it was the same form of mania which he encountered everywhere when he went to see men who owned mines. If he offered them a million for a ten-foot hole they would refuse it and demand ten million more, and if he offered them nothing they immediately scented a conspiracy to starve them out and gain possession of their mine. It was the illusion of hidden wealth, of buried treasure, which keeps half the mines in the West closed down and half of the rest in litigation; except that in Keno it seemed to be associated with gun-plays and a marked tendency towards homicide. So, upon his return from a short stay in the hospital he came up the main street silently, then stepped on the throttle and went through town a-smoking. But the Widow was out waiting for him in the middle of the road and, rather than run her down, he threw on both brakes and stopped.
“Well, what now?” he inquired, frowning at the odor of heated rubber. “What’s your particular grievance this trip?” He regarded her coldly, then bowed to Virginia and waved a friendly hand at Charley. “Hello, there, Death Valley,” he called out jovially, as the Widow choked with a rush of words, “what’s the news from the Funeral Range?”
“Now, here!” exclaimed the Widow, advancing from the dust cloud, and glancing into the machine. “I want you to bring back that gun!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Huff,” he replied with finality, “but you’ll have to get along without it. I turned it over to the sheriff, along with three buckshot and an affidavit regarding the shooting─”
“What, you great, big coward!” stormed the Widow in a fury. “Did you run and complain to the sheriff?”
“No, I walked,” said Wiley, “and on one leg at that. But I might as well warn you that next time you make a gun-play you’re likely to break into jail.”
“You’re a coward!” she taunted. “You’re standing in with Blount to beat me out of my mine. First you sneak off with my gun, so I can’t protect my rights, and then Stiff Neck George comes up and jumps the Paymaster!”
“The hell!” burst out Wiley, rising up in his seat and looking across at the mine.
“Yes, the hell,” she returned, “and he’s warned off all comers and is holding the mine for Blount!”
“For Blount!” he echoed and, seeing him roused at last, the Widow became subtly provocative.
“For Samuel J. Blount,” she repeated impressively. “He–he’s got all my stock on a loan.”
“Oh!” observed Wiley, and as she raved on with her story he rubbed his chin in deep thought.
“Yes, I went down to see him and he wouldn’t buy it, so I left it as collateral on a loan. And then he came out here and looked over the mine again and told Stiff Neck George to stand guard. They’re fixing to pump out the water.”
“Oho!” exclaimed Wiley, and his eyes began to kindle as he realized what Blount had done. Then reaching for the pistol that lay handy beside his leg, he leapt out with waspish quickness, only to stop short as he hurt his lame foot.
“Go on!” hissed the Widow, advancing to his shoulder and pointing the way up the trail. “He stays right there by the dump. The mine is yours; go put him off–I would, if I had my gun.”
“Aw, pfooey!” he exclaimed, suddenly turning back and