The Claim Jumpers - Stewart Edward White
"I can not live West," said he again, as though he had been arguing
this point in his mind and had just reached the conclusion of it. "My
life is East; I never knew it until now." He hesitated. "Would
you--that is, could you--I mean, would your family have to live East
too?"
She caught his meaning and drew herself up, with a little pride in the
movement.
"Wherever I go, whatever I do, my people must be free to go or do. You
have your duty to your family. I have my duty to mine!"
He bowed his head quietly in assent. She looked at the struggle
depicted in the lines of his face with eyes in which, strangely enough,
was much pity, but no unhappiness or doubt. Could it be that she was so
sure of the result?
At last he raised his head slowly and turned to her with an air of
decision.
"Mary----" he began.
At that moment there became audible a sudden rattle of stones below the
Rock, and at the same instant a harsh voice broke in rudely upon their
conversation.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CLAIM JUMPERS
Bennington instinctively put his finger on his lips to enjoin silence,
and peered cautiously over the edge of the dike. Perhaps he was glad
that this diversion had occurred to postpone even for a short time the
announcement of a decision it had cost him so much to make. Perhaps he
recognised the voice.
Three men were clambering a trifle laboriously over the broken rocks at
the foot of the dike, swearing a little at their unstable footing, but
all apparently much in earnest in their conversation. Even as
Bennington looked they came to a halt, and then sank down each on a
convenient rock, talking interestedly. One was Old Mizzou, one was the
man Arthur, the third was a stranger whom Bennington had never seen.
The latter had hardly the air of the country.
He was a dapper little man dressed in a dark gray bob-tailed cutaway,
and a brown derby hat, which was pushed far back on his head. His face,
however, was keen and alert and brown, all of which characteristics
indicated an active Western life at no very remote day. The words which
had so powerfully arrested Bennington de Laney's attention were
delivered by Old Mizzou to this stranger.
"Thar!" the old man had said, "ain't that Crazy Hoss Lode 'bout as
good-lookin' a lead as they make 'em?"
"So, so; so, so;" replied the man in the derby in a high voice. "Your
vein is a fissure vein all right enough, and you've got a good wide
lead. If it holds up in quality, I don't know but what you're right."
"I shows you them assays of McPherson's, don't I?" argued Mizzou, "an'
any quartz in this kentry that assays twenty-four dollars ain't no ways
cheap."
This speech was so significantly in line with Bennington's surmise that
he caught his breath and drew back cautiously out of sight, but still
in such a position that he could hear plainly every word uttered by the
group below. The girl was watching him with bright, interested eyes.
"Listen carefully!" he whispered, bringing his mouth close to her ear.
"I think there's some sort of plot here."
She nodded ready comprehension, and they settled themselves to hear the
following conversation:
"I saw the assay," replied the stranger's voice to Mizzou's last
statement, "but who's this McPherson? How do I know the assays are all
right?"
"Why, he's that thar professer at th' School of Mines," expostulated
Mizzou.
"Oh, yes!" cried the stranger, as though suddenly enlightened. "If
those are his assays, they're all right. Let's see them again."
There followed a rustling of papers.
"Well, I've looked over your layout," went on the stranger after a
moment, "and pretty thoroughly in the last few days. I know what you've
got here. Now what's your proposition?"
There was a pause.
"I knows you a good while, Slayton----" began Mizzou, but was
interrupted almost immediately by a third voice, that of Arthur. "The
point is this," said the latter sharply, "Davidson here is in a
position to give you possession of this group o' claims, but he ain't
in a position to appear in th' transaction. How are you goin' to
purtect him an' me so we gets something out of it?"
"Wait a minute," put in the stranger, "I want to ask a few questions
myself. These claims belong to the Holy Smoke Company now, don't they?"
"Well, that's the idea."
"Are either of you the agent of that Company?"
"Not directly, perhaps."
"Are you indirectly?"
"Seems to me you haven't got any call t' look into that, if we
guarantee t' give you good title."
"How do I know you can give me good title?"
"Ain't I tellin' you so?"
"Yes, but why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't, unless you've got sense enough to see that we ain't
gettin' you 'way up here, an' we ain't living round these parts a
couple of years on a busted proposition."
The stranger evidently debated this.
"How would it be if you took equal shares with me on the claims, your
shares to be paid from the earnings? That would be fair all round. You
would get nothing unless the title was good. I would risk no more than
you did," he suggested.
"Isn't I tellin' yo' I don't appear a tall in this yere transaction?"
objected Mizzou.
The stranger laughed a little.
"I can see through a millstone," he said. "Why don't you old
turtlebacks come out of your shells and play square? You've got some
shady game on here that you're working underhand. Spin your yarn and
I'll tell you what I think of it."
"How do I know you don't leave us out a'ter we tells you," objected
Mizzou, returning to his original idea.
"You don't!" answered the stranger impatiently, "you don't! But it
seems to me if you expect to get anything out of a shady transaction,
you've got to risk something."
"That's right," put in Arthur, "that's right! 'Nuff said! Now, Slayton,
we'll agree to git you full legal control of these yere claims if
you'll develop them at your expense, an' gin Davidson and me a third
interest between us fer our influence. That's our proposition, an' that
goes. If you don't play squar', I knows how t' make ye."
"Spin your yarn," repeated the stranger quietly. "I'll agree to give
you and Davidson a third interest, _provided_ I take hold of the thing
at all."
"An' Jack Slayton," put in Mizzou threateningly, "if you don't play us
squar', I swar I'll shoot ye like a dog!"
"Oh, stow that, Davidson," rejoined the stranger in an irritated voice;
"that rot don't do any good. I know you, and you know me. I never went
back on a game yet, and you know it."
"I does know it, Jack!" came up Davidson's voice repentantly, "but this
is a big deal, an' y' can't be too careful!"
"All right, all right," the stranger responded "Now tell us your
scheme. How can you get hold of the property?"
"By jumping the claims," replied Arthur calmly. There ensued a short
pause. Then:
"Don't be a fool," exclaimed Slayton with contempt; "this is no hold-up
country. You can't drive a man off his property with a gun."
"I knows that. These claims can be 'jumped' quiet and legal."
"How?"
"They ain't be'n a stroke of assessment work done on 'em since we came.
Th' Company's title's gone long ago. They lost their job last January.
Them claims is open to any one who cares to have 'em."
The stranger uttered a long whistle. Old Mizzou chuckled cunningly. "I
has charge of them claims from th' time they quits work on 'em 'till
now. They ain't be'n a pick raised on 'em. Anybody could a-jumped 'em
any time since las' January."
"But how about the Company?" asked Slayton. "How did you fool them?"
"Oh, I sends 'em bills fer work reg'lar enough! And I didn't throw
away th' money neither!"
"Yes, that'd be easy enough. But how about the people around here? Why
haven't they jumped the claims long ago?"
"Wall, I argues about this a-way. These yere gents sees I has charge,
an' they says to themselves, 'Ole Davidson takes care of them
assessment works all right,' an' so they never thinks it's worth while
t' see whether it is done or not."
"You trusted to their thinking you were performing your duties?"
"Thet's it."
"Well, it was a pretty big risk!"
"Ev'rything t' gain an' nothin' t' lose," quoted Old Mizzou
comfortably.
"How about this new man the Company has out here--de Laney? Is he in
this deal too?"
"Oh, him!" said Davidson with vast contempt. "He don' know enough t'
dodge a brick! I tells him th' assessment work is all done. He believes
it, an' never looks t' see. I gets him fooled so easy it's shore
funny."
"Hold on!" put in Slayton sharply. "I'm not so sure you aren't liable
there somewhere. Of course your failure to do the assessment work while
you were alone here was negligence, but that is all. The Company could
fire you for failing to do your duty, but they couldn't prove any fraud
against you. But when this de Laney came along it changed things."
"How is that?"
"Well, you told him the assessment work had been done, in so many
words, didn't you? The Company can prove that you were using your
official information to deceive him for the purposes of fraud. In other
words, you were an officer of the Company, and you deceived another
officer in your official capacity. I don't know but you'd be liable to
a criminal action."
"Not on your tin-type," said Old Mizzou with confidence.
"Have you looked it up?"
"I does better than that. At that point I shore becomes subtle. _I
resigns from th' Company!_ A'ter that I talks assessment work. I tells
him advice, jest as a friend. If he believes th' same, an' it ain't so,
why thet's unfort'nit, but they can't do anythin' t' me. I'm jest an
outsider. He is responsible to th' Company, an' if he wants
information, he ought to go to th' books, and not to frien's who may
deceive him."
"Davidson, you're a genius!" exclaimed the stranger heartily.
"I tells you I becomes subtle," acknowledged the old man with just
pride. "But now you sees it ain't delikit that my name appears in th'
case a tall. Folks is so suspicious these yere days, that if I has a
share, and Arthur yere has a share, they says p'rhaps we has this yere
scheme in view right along. But if Slayton gets them lapsed claims by
hisself, Slayton bein' a stranger, they thinks how fortinit that
Slayton is t' git onto it, and they puts pore Ole Mizzou down as
becomin' fergitful in his old age."
The stranger laughed.
"It's easy," he remarked. "We get them for nothing, and you can bet
your sweet life I'll push 'em through for all there is in it. Why,
boys, you're rich! You won't have anything more to do the rest of your
mortal days, unless you want to."
"I ain't seekin' no manual employment," observed Mizzou.
"I'm willin' to quit work," agreed Arthur.
"Well, you'll have a chance. Now we better hustle this thing through
lively. We've got to make our discoveries on the quiet so no one will
get on to us."
"It ain't goin' t' take us long t' tack up them notices, now 't we've
agreed. We kin do th' most on it this evenin'. Jest lay low, that's
all."
"Ain't de Laney going to get onto us sasshaying off with a lot of
notices?"
"If he does," remarked Old Mizzou grimly, "I knows a dark hole whar we
retires that young man for th' day! If it comes t' that, though, you
got t' tend to it, Slayton. I ain't showin' in this deal y' know."
The stranger laughed unpleasantly.
"You show me the hole and I'll take care of Mr. man," he agreed. He
laughed again. "By the way, it strikes me that fellow's going to run up
against a good deal of tribulation before he gets through."
"Wall, thet thar Comp'ny ain't goin' to raise his pay when they finds
it out," agreed Mizzou. "Thet Bishop, he gets tolerable anxious 'bout
them assessment works now, and writes frequent. I got a whole bunch of
his letters up t' camp that I keeps for th' good of his health. Ain't
no wise healthy t' worry 'bout business, you know."
"Wonder th' little idiot didn't miss his mail," growled Arthur.
"Oh, I coaxes him on with th' letters from his mammy and pappy. They's
harmless enough."
The three men fell into a discussion of various specimens of quartz
which they took from their pockets, and, after what seemed to be an
interminable time, arose and moved slowly down the hill.
The girl looked at her companion with wide-open eyes. "Ben!" she
gasped, "what have you done?"
"Made a fool of myself," he responded curtly.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know."
He knit his brows deeply. She cast about for an expedient.
"I wish I knew more about mining!" she cried. "I know there is some way
to get legal possession of a claim by patenting it, but I don't know
how you do it."
He did not reply.
"There must be some way out of this," she went on, all alert. "They
haven't done anything yet. Why don't you go down to camp and inquire?"
"Every man would be in the hills in less than an hour. I couldn't trust
them," he replied brusquely.
"Oh, I know!" she cried with relief. "You must hunt up Jim. He knows
all about those things, and you could rely on him."
"Jim? What Jim?"
"Jim Fay. Oh, that's just it! Run, Ben; go at once; don't wait a
minute!"
"I want nothing whatever to do with that man," he said deliberately.
"He has insulted me at every opportunity. He has treated me in a manner
that was even more than insulting every time we have met. If I were
dying, and he had but to turn his head toward me to save me, I would
not ask him to do so!"
"Oh, don't be foolish, Ben!" cried she, wringing her hands in despair.
"Don't let your pride stand in your way! Do you not realize the
disgrace this will be to you--to lose all these rich claims just by
carelessness? Do you realize that it means something to me, for I have
been the reason of that carelessness. I know it! Just this once, forget
all he has done to you. You can trust him. Don't be afraid of that.
Tell him that I sent you, if you don't want to trust him on your own
account----" she broke off. "Where are you going?" she asked anxiously.
"To do something," he answered, shutting his teeth together with a
snap.
"Will you see Jim?" she begged, following him to the edge of the Rock
as he swung himself down the tree.
"No!" he said, without looking back.
After he disappeared--in the direction of the Holy Smoke camp, as she
noticed--she descended rapidly to the ground and hurried, sobbing
excitedly, away toward Spanish Gulch. She was all alive with distress.
She had never realized until the moment of his failure how much she had
loved this man. Near the village she paused, bathed her eyes in the
brook, and, assuming an air of deliberation and calmness, began making
inquiries as to the whereabouts of Jim Fay.
CHAPTER XIX
BENNINGTON PROVES GAME
Bennington de Laney sat on the pile of rocks at the entrance to the
Holy Smoke shaft. Across his knees lay the thirty-calibre rifle. His
face was very white and set. Perhaps he was thinking of his return to
New York in disgrace, of his interview with Bishop, of his inevitable
meeting with a multitude of friends, who would read in the daily papers
the accounts of his incompetence--criminal incompetence, they would
call it. The shadows were beginning to lengthen across the slope of the
hill. Up the gulch cow bells tinkled, up the hill birds sang, and
through the little hollows twilight flowed like a vapour. The wild
roses on the hillside were blooming--late in this high altitude. The
pines were singing their endless song. But Bennington de Laney was
looking upon none of these softer beauties of the Hills. Rather he
watched intently the lower gulch with its flood-wracked, water-twisted
skeleton laid bare. Could it be that in the destruction there figured
forth he caught the symbol of his own condition? That the dreary gloom
of that ruin typified the chaos of sombre thoughts that occupied his
own remorseful mind? If so, the fancy must have absorbed him. The
moments slipped by one by one, the shadows grew longer, the bird songs
louder, and still the figure with the rifle sat motionless, his face
white and still, watching the lower gulch.
Or could it be that Bennington de Laney waited for some one, and that
therefore his gaze was so fixed? It would seem so. For when the beat of
hoofs became audible, the white face quickened into alertness, and the
motionless figure stirred somewhat.
The rider came in sight, rising and falling in a steady, unhesitating
lope. He swung rapidly to the left, and ascended the knoll. Opposite
the shaft of the Holy Smoke lode he reined in his bronco and
dismounted. The rider was Jim Fay.
Bennington de Laney did not move. He looked up at the newcomer with
dull resignation. "He takes it hard, poor fellow!" thought Fay.
"Well, what's to be done?" asked the Easterner in a strained voice. "I
suppose you know all about it, or you wouldn't be here."
"Yes, I know all about it," said Fay gently. "You mustn't take it so
hard. Perhaps we can do something. We'll be able to save one or two
claims, any way, if we're quick about it."
"I've heard something about patenting claims," went on de Laney in the
same strange, dull tones; "could that be done?"
"No. You have to do five hundred dollars' worth of work, and advertise
for sixty days. There isn't time."
"That settles it. I don't know what we can do then."
"Well, that depends. I've come to help do something. We've got to get
an everlasting hustle on us, that's all; and I'm afraid we are
beginning a little behindhand in the race. You ought to have hunted me
up at once."
"I don't see what there is to do," repeated Bennington thickly.
"Don't you? The assessment work hasn't been done--that's the idea,
isn't it?--and so the claims have reverted to the Government. They are
therefore open to location, as in the beginning, and that is just what
Davidson and that crowd are going to do to them. Well, they're just as
much open to us. We'll just _jump our own claims!_"
"What!" cried the Easterner, excited.
"Well, relocate them ourselves, if that suits you better."
Bennington's dull eyes began to light up.
"So get a move on you," went on Fay; "hustle out some paper so we can
make location notices. Under the terms of a relocation, we can use the
old stakes and 'discovery,' so all we have to do is to tack up a new
notice all round. That's the trouble. That gang's got their notices all
written, and I'm afraid they've got ahead of us. Come on!"
Bennington, who had up to this time remained seated on the pile of
stones, seemed filled with a new and great excitement. He tottered to
his feet, throwing his hands aloft.
"Thank God! Thank God!" he cried, catching his breath convulsively.
Fay turned to look at him curiously. "We aren't that much out of the
woods," he remarked; "the other gang'll get in their work, don't you
fret."
"They never will, they never will!" cried the Easterner exultantly.
"They can't. We'll locate 'em all!" The tears welled over his eyes and
ran down his cheeks.
"What do you mean?" asked Fay, beginning to fear the excitement had
unsettled his companion's wits.
"Because they're there!" cried Bennington, pointing to the mouth of the
shaft near which he had been sitting. "Davidson, Slayton,
Arthur--they're all there, and they can't get away! I didn't know what
else to do. I had to do something!"
Fay cast an understanding glance at the young man's rifle, and sprang
to the entrance of the shaft. As though in direct corroboration of his
speech, Fay could perceive, just emerging from the shadow, the sinister
figure of the man Arthur creeping cautiously up the ladder, evidently
encouraged to an attempt to escape by the sound of the conversation
above. The Westerner snatched his pistol from his holster and
presented it down the shaft.
"Kindly return!" he commanded in a soft voice. The upward motion of the
dim figure ceased, and in a moment it had faded from view in the
descent. Fay waited a moment. "In five minutes," he announced in louder
tones, "I'm going to let loose this six-shooter down that shaft. I
should advise you gentlemen to retire to the tunnel." He peered down
again intently. A sudden clatter and thud behind him startled him. He
looked around. Bennington had fallen at full length across the stones,
and his rifle, falling, had clashed against the broken ore.
Fay, with a slight shrug of contempt at such womanish weakness, ran to
his assistance. He straightened the Easterner out and placed his folded
coat under his head. "He'll come around in a minute," he muttered. He
glanced toward the gulch and then back to the shaft. "Can't leave that
lay-out," he went on. He bent over the prostrate figure and began to
loosen the band of his shirt. Something about the boy's clothing
attracted his attention, so, drawing his knife, he deftly and gently
ripped away the coat and shirt. Then he arose softly to his feet and
bared his head.
"I apologize to you," said he, addressing the recumbent form; "you are
game."
In the fleshy part of the naked shoulder was a small round hole,
clotted and smeared with blood.
Jim Fay stooped and examined the wound closely. The bullet had entered
near the point of the shoulder, but a little below, so that it had
merely cut a secant through the curve of the muscle. If it had struck a
quarter of an inch to the left it would have gouged a furrow; a quarter
of an inch beyond that would have caused it to miss entirely. Fay saw
that the hurt itself was slight, and that the Easterner had fainted
more because of loss of blood than from the shock. This determined to
his satisfaction, he moved quickly to the mouth of the shaft. "Way
below!" he cried in a sharp voice, and discharged his revolver twice
down the opening. Then he stole noiselessly away, and ran at speed to
the kitchen of the shack, whence he immediately returned with a pail of
water and a number of towels. He set these down, and again peered down
the shaft. "Way below!" he repeated, and dropped down a sizable chunk
of ore. Apparently satisfied that the prisoners were well warned, he
gave his whole attention to his patient.
He washed the wound carefully. Then he made a compress of one of the
towels, and bound it with the other two. Looking up, he discovered
Bennington watching him intently.
"It's all right!" he assured the latter in answer to the question in
his eyes. "Nothing but a scratch. Lie still a minute till I get this
fastened, and you can sit up and watch the rat hole while I get you
some clothes."
In another moment or so the young man was propped up against an empty
ore "bucket," his shoulder bound, and his hand slung comfortably in a
sling from his neck.
"There you are," said Jim cheerily. "Now you take my six-shooter and
watch that aggregation till I get back. They won't come out any, but
you may as well be sure."
He handed Bennington his revolver, and moved off in the direction of
the cabin, whistling cheerfully. The young man looked after him
thoughtfully. Nothing could have been more considerate than the
Westerner's manner, nothing could have been kinder than his prompt
action--Bennington saw that his pony, now cropping the brush near at
hand, was black with sweat--nothing could have been more
straightforward than his assistance in the matter of the claims. And
yet Bennington de Laney was not satisfied. He felt he owed the sudden
change of front to a word spoken in his behalf by the girl. This was a
strange influence she possessed, thus to alter a man's attitude
entirely by the mere voicing of a wish.
The Westerner returned carrying a loose shirt and a coat, which he drew
entire over the injured shoulder, which left one sleeve empty.
"I guess that fixes you," said he with satisfaction.
"Look here," put in Bennington suddenly, "you've been mighty good to me
in all this. If you hadn't come along as you did, these fellows would
have nabbed me sooner or later, and probably I'd have lost the claims
any way. I feel I owe you a lot. But I want you to know before you go
any further that that don't square us. You've had it in for me ever
since I came out here, and you've made it mighty unpleasant for me. I
can't forget that all at once. I want to tell you plainly that,
although I am grateful enough, I know just why you have done all this.
It is because _she_ asked you to. And knowing that, I can't accept what
you do for me as from a friend, for I don't feel friendly toward you in
the least." His face flushed painfully. "I'm not trying to insult you
or be boorish," he said; "I just want you to understand how I feel
about it. And now that you know, I suppose you'd better let the matter
go, although I'm much obliged to you for fixing me up."
He glanced at his shoulder.
Fay listened to this speech quietly and with patience. "What do you
intend to do?" he asked, when the other had quite finished.
"I don't know yet. If you'll say nothing down below--and I'm sure you
will not--I'll contrive some way of keeping this procession down the
hole, and of feeding them, and then I'll relocate the claims myself."
"With one arm?"
"Yes, with one arm!" cried Bennington fiercely; "with no arms at all,
if need be!" he broke off suddenly, with the New Yorker's ingrained
instinct of repression. "I beg your pardon. I mean I'll do as well as I
can, of course."