put a gun to the back of Hickok's head, and fired. The bullet went right through and wounded the player sitting opposite.' Fagan's question was practical. 'Who done it?'
'A man named McCall, I'm told,' Paul said carelessly. 'I don't remember to have seen him. He claims that Hickok killed his brother.'
'Does Berg know him?' Fagan asked, his squinting little eyes on the other's face.
It told him nothing. 'Now you mention it, I believe he does, but if I were you, I wouldn't speak of it.' Quietly spoken as the words were, they had an inflexion which made them bite, like drops of acid, into Fagan's brain. He knew what he wanted to know, but regretted his curiosity. Paul Lesurge had brought about the death of Wild Bill. Was that why Green had been got out of the way? It was more than possible. Who would be the next? He almost wished he had not returned to Deadwood, but after their failure there was nothing else to do. If only ... The cold voice was speaking again:
'It will be best to let the boys regard the gold as lost, you won't object to taking a bigger share, I presume? In the meantime, you must--help yourself.' The casual, supercilious tone became hard, incisive. 'Remember this, Fagan; the affair of the coach is known only to a few; keep your mouth shut or you'll--swing.'
'But .not alone,' the other snarled, driven beyond endurance.
In a flash Lesurge had him by the throat, his face pale with passion. 'Are you threatening me, you dog?' he hissed. 'Who would believe a word from you? By God! I've a mind to have you hanged in the morning....' Then the fury died out, his hand fell away, and he laughed. 'I'm sorry, Fagan; we've known each other too long to fall out. It was my fault--nerves all ragged. Have a drink, and forget it.' The liquor, and Paul's apparent contrition, smoothed the other's ruffled plumage for the moment, but outside the cabin his expression became ugly; Fagan was not one to forgive or forget.
* * * Reuben Stark, his eyes bulging, his bloated face purple, glared at the man who had just broken the bad news. Over a hundred thousand dollars, and the greater part had been his; it was a bitter blow.
'They got away with it?' he gasped. 'But--how?'
'Shot the driver and express-man and drove off,' Paul lied. 'But, damnation, what were the other two fellas doin'?' the saloon-keeper exploded.
'One of them was lying in the road, stunned by a bullet from Green which was within an inch of killing him; the other gave chase, but with Mason firing at him from the coach, he was helpless.'
'Green an' Mason,' muttered Stark dejectedly. 'The two
'You insisted on sending,' Lesurge cut in cruelly. 'You must let me have some money, Reuben. This robbery hits me hard, and my men did their best and must be paid. McCall too '
'I know nothin' o' that, Paul--I've never seen the fella,' Stark snapped, glancing fearfully round the room. 'Don't speak that name here.' Lesurge shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. 'Everybody is speaking the name everywhere, but I'll call it a debt to Berg, if you like,' he returned. 'Of course, he'll get off.'
'Shore, these damned gunmen have had their day,' Stark replied. He threw over a roll of greenbacks. 'I wish someone had served that swine Green the same way,' he added vindictively, Paul pocketed the money. 'Well, he won't trouble you any more, and with Hickok--removed--things are not going too badly,' he consoled. 'You can't hope for the luck to run your way all the time. Lora was asking about you.' The pig-like eyes lighted up. 'Was she now? Ain't seen her in weeks. Why don't you fetch her round to the Monte?'
'Well there's Miss Ducane, she isn't used to that sort of thing --yet. Maybe later ...'
'Glad to see Miss Lora any time,' Stark said. 'Mighty fine gal, yore sister, Paul; she'd make--'
'A good Queen of Deadwood, eh?' Lesurge finished. 'I agree.'
'Gawd, you said it--took the words right out'n my mouth,' the fat man cried. 'We must drink to that.' For a moment, he had forgotten his losses. He filled two glasses and raised his own. 'Here's hopin',' he said.
Lesurge honoured the toast, a satiric smile on his thin llps. 'Wise men don't hope--they act,' he remarked. 'By the way, best not talk of that coach robbery, except to those concerned; you don't want to advertise failures.' Stark assented, eagerly enough, and Paul left him almost good-tempered; he was seeing visions, and could she have shared them, Lora Lesurge would have been amused.
* * * On that same evening the disgruntled stage-robbers, reinforced by Berg, assembled in the shack where they usually met. Fagan had given them a mendacious account of his interview with their employer.
'Paul's powerful sick about it,' he said. 'He ain't blamin' us, but we'll have to wait for our pay--he's mighty near broke. He kind o' suggested that to-night'd be a good time to look around.'
'Somethin' in that,' Berg commented. 'Town'll be full an' so there'll be a lot o' empty shacks.'
'The one I have in mind'll be empty enough for us with them two cowboys out of it,' Fagan said.
'Yo're right,' Berg agreed. 'The of Jew has been buyin' a deal o' dust lately--more'n he can carry about.'
'Good. Slip out one by one an' wait for me outside his place,' Fagan directed.
'Four'll be a-plenty,' Berg excused. 'You can do without me.'
'Shorely,' Hank grinned unpleasantly. 'A quarter share suits me better.' The little man began to protest but the other would not listen. 'Yo're in, or out of it complete,' he said roughly. 'You dodged the last job.'
'I had another to do,' Berg snarled.
'Oh, yeah,' came the sneer. 'Tell us you downed Wild Bill.'
'Mebbe--' Berg started, and then caught Fagan's warning frown--'I didn't, but I was workin' for all of us,' he finished.
'An' now yo're going to do a spot for yoreself,' Hank retorted. He went out, followed by Lem, and Rodd limped after them.
'You damned idjut,' Fagan growled. 'Why not say straight out that Paul had Hickok bumped off?' Berg's furtive face was sullen. 'Did he now?' he asked. 'I'll have to tell him you said so.'
'Right an' order yore coffin at the same time,' was the savage rejoinder. 'Don't play with me, Berg; it ain't healthy. Git after the others.' Unconscious of approaching peril, Jacob was bending over his cherished chess-board, intent on a problem, when a knock disturbed him. He opened the door and at once iron hands closed on his throat, choking his cry of alarm. His assailant, a short, powerful man, carried him into the cabin, shaking the frail figure as a terrier might a rat. He was followed by four others; all were masked. Flinging his burden against a wall, the first intruder pulled a pistol.
'Where's yore dust?' he demanded. 'Speak or die.' The old man did not flinch before the levelled weapon. 'You are too late,' he said quietly. 'All I had went East in the coach last night.'
'That's a lie,' the ruffian roared, and Jacob felt the cold muzzle of the gun pressing against his forehead.'It is the truth,' he replied steadily.
'Then you can wish it good-bye,' jeered another. 'Yore cowboy friends has rustled the damned lot, coach an' all.' A glint of a smile showed on the prisoner's pale face. Then he made what he would have called a bad move. 'To know that, you must have been there,' he said softly.
Fagan's face became furious. 'Cut the cackle,' he grated. 'Where's yore gold?'
'Green and Mason are taking care of it,' came the calm reply.
With venomous speed the pistol-barrel swung up and down, the victim's knees gave and he toppled to the floor, his out-flung arms sending the chess-men flying; a trickle of blood stained the white hair. Fagan gazed down upon the sprawling, limp form.
'I guess he won't interfere no more,' he said. 'Git busy, boys; the stuff's here somewheres.' The scanty furniture was soon searched and hurled aside, the contents of a box scattered, and then Hank, who had tipped over the truckle-bed, uttered a grunt of satisfaction.
'Here's a short board,' he said.
With the point of his knife, he prised it up, and chuckled at the sight of the tin canister in the hole below. Snatching it out, he lifted the lid and cursed when he saw only one small bag.
'A measly two-three ounces,' he said disappointedly. 'We'd oughta bin after it yestiddy.'
'Which we was, an' missed it just the same,' Lem reminded.
Rodd had been searching the senseless figure on the floor; he found only a few greenbacks, and some small change. The cowboys' room produced nothing.
'No use hangin' about here,' Fagan decided. 'Our luck seems to be dead out.' One by one they disappeared into the darkness, leaving the cabin looking as though a tempest had passed through it, and in the midst of his broadcast belongings, the victim of their cupidity.
