'What was his name? The girl only referred to him as `Dad..' '
'George, but he was generally knowed as `Squint'--him bein' a bit cross-eyed.'
'Excellent. Well, I've been busy here trying to get on the track of Philip Ducane. I think I've talked with every man within ten miles of this place but no one appears to have heard of anyone who might be the fellow, which is fortunate for us.' Fagan's face expressed astonishment. 'You got me guessin',' he admitted.
'That surprises me, of course,' was the sarcastic rejoinder. 'Obviously, since the real uncle is missing, we must supply one--can't let a lady travel all this way to be disappointed, can we? She has never seen this relative, and with the facts you found out and what she let slip to me, we can prime our man so that he'll pass muster. The only difficulty is to find a person to play the part.'
'Seems a lot o' trouble,' Fagan objected. 'If she's got the letter tellin' how to find the mine, that's all we want.'
'Unfortunately, the matter is not nearly so simple, owing to the fact that the letter no longer exists. Ducane apparently considered there was risk and destroyed it, he and the girl first committing the important part to memory. That's why you didn't find it on the body.'
'I tell you I
'Don't trouble; for a rogue you're the poorest liar I ever met,' Lesurge interrupted. 'Anyway, the past is done with; we have to deal with the future. Where can we find our man? He must be about the right age, devoid of scruples, and know a great deal about gold-mining--by heaven! I've got it--Snowy.'
'That lyin' of soak I see in the saloon?' Fagan gibed. 'Why, he's on'y a half-wit.'
'And at that he'll have more sense than you.' The brutal retort pierced even the calloused consciousness of the man to whom it was directed.
'See here, Paul,' he protested. 'You've been handlin' me pretty rough with that tongue o' yores; I expect to be treated like a 'uman bein', not the mat you wipe your boots on. Don't forget I put you up to this racket.'
'Because you couldn't handle it yourself.'
'Mebbe, but if I choose to chatter ... ' For an instant the other lost control and his usually placid features were distorted by a venomous fury before which Fagan, hard-boiled as he was, quailed.
'I'm boss, and I'll treat you as I please,' Lesurge gritted. 'Double-cross me and I'll make this world so hot for you that you'll shiver when you land in hell. It's been tried, and by cleverer men, and you know what happened to them.' The spate of passion went as quickly as it had come and the mask was back. 'Don't be a fool, Fagan. If Ducane told the truth, this is the biggest thing I have ever attempted; success should put us on Easy Street for life. Think of it, you'll be able to live--I should say--spend, like a gentleman.' The ruffian did not resent the bitter gibe; the prospect of gain was alluring, and moreover, he knew the fiendish nature of this man and feared him. Paul Lesurge had an evil reputation among his 'friends.'
'What d'you want me to do?' he asked, submissively enough.
'Get hold of that cowboy, Mason, and find out how much the girl has told him.' Fagan looked uncomfortable. 'Him an' me ain't on the best o' terms--he got uppity on the journey, over the gal--an' we had a ruckus.' Knowing that the other man must hear of it, he told the story, his own way. 'Took me unawares, blast his soul, an' if the other guy hadn't sat in, we wouldn't have had to trouble about Mister Mason,' he concluded vindictively.
Lesurge took the news calmly. 'It's a pity,' he said.
'Shore is,' Fagan agreed. 'I'd 'a' blowed him to bits.'
'I wasn't meaning that, but you may be right,' was the reply. 'Well, it can't be helped; I'll tackle Mason myself. That other cowboy may prove troublesome too; an awkward customer, I fancy.'
'Huh! there's allus one way.'
'Yes. Did you notice the butts of his guns?'
'Keeps his tally on 'em, eh?'
'If he did I wouldn't think twice about him,' Lesurge said. 'He's a stranger and doesn't seem to have any business here.'
'Them cow-wrastlers drifts around considerable.'
'True, and we shall be on the move ourselves soon and quit of them both.' In which Paul Lesurge, for once in his life, was wrong.
* * * Snowy possessed the doubtful distinction of owning the most dilapidated dug-out in Wayside. Here, seated on rude stools, with the remains of a bottle of whisky--brought by the visitor--between them, Paul Lesurge and the tenant of the dug-out were conversing.
'Well, that's the position,' Paul said. 'What do you think of it?' Snowy considered for a while, sucking at a very excellent cigar with which he had been provided. His dull eyes and hesitant articulation showed that he had not neglected the liquid part of the entertainment. He shook his head.
'Seems kind o' tough to ring in a stranger on the gal,' he offered. 'A nice-appearin' lass, too.'
'It will be doing her a service,' Lesurge pointed out. 'I've searched all over and this Ducane fellow hasn't been heard of. What is she to do out here all alone, and with no money? But with us to help her . ..' His alert mind forestalled the next question. 'You see, she wouldn't trust strangers with what she regards as her uncle's secret.'
'That's so,' the other agreed. 'But she'll expect me to know where thisyer mine is.'
'You have had an illness and it has left lapses in your memory,' Lesurge explained. 'You'll remember just enough about your father to gain her confidence--I can put you wise to that.' The old man nodded approvingly. 'I call that cute,' he said. 'You got this all figured out, mister. How d'you hear 'bout her daddy bein' bumped off?'
'Miss Ducane told me.'
'I reckon he opened his mouth too wide,' Snowy reflected, and his eyes grew cunning. 'Hadn't thought o' that; them as got him might wanta get his brother too. I ain't honin' to pass out.' Lesurge smiled; the old devil was playing for better terms, therefore he meant to come in. 'We'll take care of you,' he assured. 'We have to--you'll be our big card. Think of it, man; you'll have more gold than you could spend in another lifetime, gold to play with, gold to throw away.' The wizard word brought a fanatic gleam in the prospector's half-shut eyes. 'Gold--beautiful red gold,' he mumbled, and then, 'If we make good, what about the gal?'
'She'll get her fair share, one-fourth, of course,' was the reply. 'That's fair, I think, eh?' The old man's assent was reluctant. 'Shore, but it'll be a lot o' coin for a gal,' he muttered.
'Well, perhaps we can come to some arrangement,' Lesurge said. 'I take it you're willing to join us?' Snowy snatched up the bottle. 'Here's life an' luck to Philip Ducane, seein' I'm to be him,' he cried, and tipped the raw spirit down his throat.
The reckless act evidently spurred the younger man's memory. 'That's one of the things you'll have to lay off a bit,' he warned. 'I won't stand for drunken babblers.'
'See here, mister,' Snowy said thickly. 'I run away from home as a boy because I wouldn't take orders, I never have took 'em, an' I ain't goin' to start now. You come to me, I didn't come to you. Pin that in yore hat an' take a peek at it times you feel too brash.' Lesurge bit his lip, inwardly promising himself that he would get even with the cantankerous old crook. But for the moment he must temporize.
'I'm not giving orders, merely a piece of advice,' he said quietly. 'And here's another: clean yourself up a bit--the girl won't want to be ashamed of her relative. All I'm asking you to remember is that a pile of money is at stake.'
'When d'you aim to break the glad tidin's?' Snowy asked, a suspicion of a jeer in his tone.
'In the morning, but I'll see you first and prime you in readiness. Good-night.' Holding on to his rickety door, the old man watched him go, a grin of derision upon his unwashed features. Then he grabbed the bottle, ruefully regarded the small quantity remaining, drained, and flung it after the disappearing form of his visitor.
'To hell with you an' yore advice, Mister Lesurge,' he said shrilly. 'I'll do as I damn please, but--I'm agoin' to get that gold, an' I ain't trustin' you--no, sir, you got a mean eye an' yore neck looks like it oughta have a rope round it.' He dived again into his abode and the Pioneer Saloon missed his custom that night. But it had that of Fagan, who made up for it so completely that Lesurge was moved to caustic comment:
'With two drunkards to help me I have a fine chance of putting over a big deal.' Drink affects men in different ways; some it makes merry and genial; others, ill-tempered and pugnacious; Fagan was of the latter type.
'How long you been a blue-ribboner?' he growled. 'I've seen you lit up off'n enough.' Paul Lesurge shrugged his shoulders. 'I shall want you in the morning. If you are not sober I shall not want you--any more. You
