_ CHAPTER XX. HOW THE TRUST BOUGHT MEDICINE
Wild Bill ate his supper that evening because it was his custom to do so. He had no inclination for it, and it gave him no enjoyment. He treated the matter much as he would have treated the stoking of a stove on a winter's night. So long as he was filled up he cared little for the class of the fuel.
Birdie waited on him with an attention and care such as she never bestowed upon any other boarder at the store, and the look in her bright eyes as she forestalled his wishes, compared with the air with which she executed the harshly delivered orders of the rest of the men, was quite sufficient to enlighten the casual onlooker as to the state of her romantic heart. But her blandishments were quite lost upon our hero. He treated her with much the same sort of indifference he might have displayed towards one of the camp dogs.
To-night, particularly, nothing she could do or say seemed to give him the least satisfaction. He ignored her as he ignored all the rest of the boarders, and devoured his meal in absolute silence--in so far as any speech went--wrapt in an impenetrable moroseness which had a damping effect upon the entire company.
Truth to tell, he was obsessed with his thoughts and feelings against the man James. With every passing day his resentment against him piled up, till now he could think of nothing much else but a possible way to dislodge him from the pinnacle of his local notoriety, and so rid the district of the threat of his presence.
How much of this feeling was purely personal, inspired by the natural antagonism of a strong, even violent, nature against a man whose very existence was an everlasting challenge to him, and how far it was the result of an unadmitted sympathy for Scipio, it would have been impossible to tell in a man like Wild Bill. Reason was not in such things with him. He never sought reasons where his feelings were concerned. James must go. And so his whole mind and force was given up to a search for adequate means to accomplish his purpose.
The problem was not easy. And when things were not easy to him, Bill's temper invariably suffered. Besides, scheming was never pleasant to him. He was so essentially a man of action. An open battle appealed to him as nothing else in the world appealed to him. Force of arms--that was his conception of the settlement of human differences.
He admitted to himself that the events of the day had stirred his "bile." He felt that he must hit out to ease himself, and the one direction to hit out in which would have given him any satisfaction was not yet available. So he brooded on, a smoldering volcano which his acquaintances avoided with a care inspired by past experience.
But his mood was bound to find an outlet somehow. It is always so. If the opportunity does not come naturally, ill-temper will make one. It was this way with the gambler. A devilish impulse caught him just as supper was nearing its finish.
The thought occurred with the entrance of Sandy Joyce, who took the empty place at the table on Bill's right. Birdie was hovering near, and, as Sandy took his seat, she suddenly dumped a fresh cup of coffee before the gambler. She giggled coyly as the cup clattered on the bare table.
"I ain't set sugar in it, Bill," she said sweetly, and reached towards the sugar-bowl.
But the man pushed her arm roughly aside.
"Oh, skip!" he cried. "You make me sick."
His bearishness in no way disconcerted the girl. She persisted, and dropped two spoonfuls of granulated sugar into his cup.
"Some folks need sugar," she remarked, with another giggle, as she moved away. And somehow it was Bill who had suffered loss of dignity.
This only helped to aggravate his mood, and he turned his small eyes sharply on Sandy.
"I'm needin' someone to work a claim fer me," he said in a voice intended to reach every ear, and as he spoke a curious look came into his eyes. It was half a grin, half a challenge, and wholly meant mischief.
The effect was exactly as he had calculated. The entire attention of the room was on him at once, and he warmed as he waited for Sandy's reply.
"You--you got a claim?" the widower inquired blankly.
Bill licked his lips after devouring a mouthful of pie.
"An' why in hell not?" he retorted.
Before Sandy could gather an adequate reply, the matter was taken up by a young miner further down the table.
"Wher' you got it, Bill?" he inquired, with genuine interest.
The gambler swallowed another mouthful of pie, and rammed the rim of crust into his cheek with his thumb, and leisurely devoured it before replying.
"I don't see that my claim has anything to do wi' the company present," he said at last, with a dangerous look in his half-grinning eyes. "But, seein' Mr. Joe Brand is kind o' curious, guess he may as well know first as last."
"I didn't mean no offense, Bill," apologized the miner, flushing and speaking hurriedly.
Bill promptly became sarcastic.
"Course you didn't. Folks buttin' in never don't mean no offense. Howsum, guess my claim's on the banks o' Sufferin' Creek. Maybe you feel better now?" He glared down the table, but finally turned again to Sandy. "You ain't pertickler busy 'bout now, so--ther's thirty dollars a week says you ken hev the job. An' I'll give you a percentage o' the gold you wash up," he added dryly. "You on?"
Sandy nodded. He didn't quite understand his friend's game. This was the first he had heard of Bill having acquired a claim--and on the river, too. There was only one other man on the river, and--well, Zip's claim was the joke of the camp.
He had just formulated a question in his mind, when the words were taken out of his mouth by a heavy-faced prospector further down the table.
"Wher' 'bouts on the Creek, Bill?" he inquired.
The gambler eyed him intently.
"Quite a piece up," he said shortly.
A half-smile spread over the prospector's face.
"Not nigh--Zip's?" he suggested.
The half-grin in Bill's eyes was becoming more savage.
"Yep--an' I bought it."
His information increased the interest with a bound. Every man there knew, or believed, that Zip's claim was the only one on the Creek.
"I didn't know there was any other but Zip's," said Joe Brand, his interest outrunning his discretion.
"Ah, you buttin' in again," sneered Bill. "Guess you know right, too. Ther' ain't."
It was curious to glance down at the double row of faces lining the table and note the perplexity which suddenly gathered on them. Bill saw it and enjoyed it. It suited his mood. Finally the heavy-faced prospector blurted out the question that was in everybody's mind, yet which the others dared not ask.
"You--you bought Zip's claim?" he asked incredulously.
"Ha'f of it. Me an' Zip's partners. You got anything to say?"
Bill's words rapped out with biting force, and Sandy, knowing the man, waited, solemn-eyed. Just for one moment astonishment held his audience breathless. Then some one sniggered, and it became the cue for an instantaneous and general guffaw of derision. Every face was wreathed in a broad grin. The humor of this thing was too much. Zip's claim! Bill, the keen, unscrupulous gambler, had fallen for Zip's mud-hole on the banks of Suffering Creek!
Bill waited. The laugh was what he needed, so he waited till it died out. As it did so he kicked back his chair and stood up, his tall figure and hard face a picture of cold challenge.
"You're that merry, folks," he said, his teeth clipping each word, "that maybe some o' you got something to say. I'd like to hear it. No?" as he waited. But no one seemed anxious to comment. "Joe Brand kind o' seems fond o' buttin' in--mebbe he'll oblige."
But the young miner was not to be drawn. Bill shrugged his lean shoulders, his fierce eyes alight with a dangerous fire.
"Wal," he went on, "I don't guess I ken make folks talk if they don't notion it. But I want to say right here I bought ha'f o' Zip's claim fer good dollars, an' I'm goin' to pay Sandy Joyce a tiptop wage fer workin' my share. An'"--he paused and glanced swiftly and defiantly at the faces which were no longer smiling--"an' I want to say I bought the richest lay-out in this bum camp. Any feller who ain't o' the same opinion ken git right up on to his hind legs an' call me a 'liar'--an' I'm jest yearnin' fer some feller to git around an' call me that. Jest turn it over in your fool heads. You don't need to hurry any. Ther's days an' days to come, an' at any time I'll be glad fer all o' you to come along an' tell me I'm--a liar."
He paused, his fierce eyes gleaming. He felt good. His outburst had relieved his pent feelings. It was a safety-valve which had worked satisfactorily at the right moment. But as he received no answer to his challenge he turned to Sandy.
"Ther' don't seem to be nuthin' doin'," he said, with a grim smile. "So ef you'll come right along we'll fix things out in the store. Guess you ken finish your hash after."
Sandy rose. For a moment Bill did not attempt to move. It was as though he were giving the rest of the boarders one last chance of accepting his challenge. But as no one offered any comment or made any attempt to stay him, he turned away at last with a sigh which was probably of disappointment, and led the way out into the store.
But if the men had made no comment in his presence, it was a different matter after his departure. Loud indignation broke out, and fierce, if impotent, protest passed from lip to lip. It was only for a few moments, however, and presently anger gave place to a realization of the absurdity of the whole thing.
The humor of these men was tickled. The whole thing was too ludicrous for words. To think that Wild Bill, the renowned sharp, the shrewdest, the wisest man on Suffering Creek, had fallen for such a proposition! It was certainly the funniest, the best joke that had ever come their way. How had it happened? they asked each other. Had Zip been clever enough to "salt" his claim? It was hardly likely. Only they knew he was hard up, and it was just possible, with his responsibilities weighing heavily on him, he had resorted to an illicit practice to realize on his property. They thought of and discussed every possible means they could think of by which Bill could have been lured to the hook--and caught--and landed. That was the joke. It was astounding. It was too good. To-morrow the whole camp would be ringing with laughter at the news, but--but the laughter was not likely to reach the gambler's ears.
In the meantime it was quite a different man who was lounging over Minky's counter talking to Sandy and the storekeeper. Bill had relieved the pressure of his mood for the moment, and now, like a momentarily exhausted volcano, he was enjoying the calm of reaction.
"I'll need you to start work right away," he was saying, "an' you ken draw on me fer all the supplies you need. It's a dandy claim," he went on grimly, "but I don't know fer sure what you'll likely find on it. Maybe you'll find suthin'--if you work long enough. Anyways, you'll start by sinkin' a shaft; an' you'll kep on sinkin' it till--till I tell you to quit."
"But that ain't the regular way gold--"
"Say, whose claim is it? Am I payin' you or not?" demanded the gambler sharply.
"Sure you are, but you said it was the richest--"
"That was back ther' at supper," said Bill coldly. "Guess supper's over."
Sandy had no quickness of understanding. He did not appreciate the fineness of the distinction. He shook his head solemnly.
"Maybe I ain't jest bright enuff to foller--"
"You ain't," agreed Bill shortly.
He winked at Minky, who was listening interestedly. Then he turned abruptly and pointed at the array of patent medicines adorning one of the shelves.
"Say," he cried, "'bout them physics."
Minky turned and gazed affectionately at the shelf. It was the pride of his store. He always kept it well dusted and dressed. The delicate wrappings and fancy labels always had a strong fascination for him. Then there were the curative possibilities of the contents of the inviting packages as set forth by the insistent "drummer" who sold them to him.
"An elegant stock," he murmured. "Sort of concentrated health." Then he glanced round anxiously. "Your hosses ain't ailin'?" he inquired. "I got most everything fer hosses. Ther's embrocation, hoss iles, every sort of lin'ments. Hoss balls? Linseed?"
The gambler shook his head.
"You ain't got physic fer men-folk?" he inquired.
"I sure have. But--but you ain't sick?" Minky eyed his friend narrowly.
Bill's mouth twisted wryly.
"I ain't jest sick," he replied. "But," he added hopefully, "you can't never be sure."
Minky nodded.
"That's so. I'd say you don't look a heap sick, though."
"You sure don't," agreed Sandy. "But, as you sez, you can't never tell. Now, you buyin' ha'f Zip's claim makes--" His words died down to a thoughtful murmur. Bill's look was somehow discouraging as he pointed at the medicine.
"What you got?" he demanded abruptly.
"Why, most everything," said Minky. "Ther', you see that longish bottle? That's a dandy cough cure. Guess you ain't needin' that? No? Ah!" as Bill shook his head, "I didn't guess you'd a cough. Corns? Now, this yer packet is an elegant fixin' fer corns, soft an' hard. It jest kills 'em stone dead, sure. It's bully stuff, but 'tain't good fer eatin'. You ain't got corns?" he inquired, as Bill again shook his head. "Ah, seems a pity." He turned again to the shelf, determined, if possible, to suit his customer, and lifted down a number of packets and sealed bottles. "Now, here," he cried, holding up a dainty box tied up with a delicate-colored ribbon. For a moment his audience believed it to be candy, but he quickly undeceived them. "Now this yer is dandy truck, though I don't guess ther's a heap o' use fer it on Suffering Creek. It's fer softening alkali water. When the drummer told me that, I guessed to him ther wa'an't a heap o' water drunk in this camp. But he said it wa'an't fer drinkin' water; it was fer baths. I kind o' told him that wouldn't help the sale any, so he said it could be used fer washin'. Seein' he couldn't sell me any that way neither, he got riled an' give me a present of it, an' said he guessed Sufferin' Creek
did use water fer washing gold. Y'see, its price is a dollar an' a ha'f, but, seein' it's kind o' dead stock, you ken have it a present."
Bill took it.
"It's mine," he said. And Sandy watched him with some concern.
"You--you ain't takin' a bath?" he inquired nervously.
"Don't talk foolish," cried Bill, and turned again to his scrutiny of the shelf. "What else you got? Any stummick physic?"
"Sure." Minky held up a small bottle of tabloids. "Camel-hell," he said, with the assurance of a man who knows the worth of the article he is offering for sale. "Now this yer is Camel-hell--C-a-l-o-m-e-l. And I'd sure say the name is appropriate. That doggone 'drummer' feller said ther' was enough in one o' them bottles to kep the stummicks of a whole blamed menagerie right fer six months. It's real dandy--"
He broke off suddenly, and his look of enthusiasm was abruptly replaced by one of anxious interest that bordered closely on apprehension. His audience realized the change, and both men glanced swiftly in the direction whence the storekeeper's gaze had become so suddenly concentrated. Instantly they became aware that two strangers had quietly entered the store, and had taken their places at one of the tables under the open window.
Bill thought he recognized one of the men, but was not sure where he had seen him. Sandy saw nothing remarkable in their presence, and at once turned back to the counter.
"More of 'em," said Minky in a low tone, when finally Bill turned back to him.
"Yes. Many while I bin away?"
"Four or five. All--come along fer a game--it seems." Minky's eyes were brooding.
Suddenly a light of intelligence sprang into Bill's thoughtful face.
"Ah, I remember one o' them. I see him in Spawn City--in a bum gamblin' dive."
Sandy suddenly roused to a keen interest.
"Them strangers," he said--"that 'minds me I was talkin' to one last night. He was askin' me when a stage was running from here."
"What d'you tell him?" demanded Bill quickly, and Minky's eyes asked the question too.
Sandy laughed conceitedly.
"I sure said ther' wa'an't no stages runnin', with James' gang around. I wa'an't goin' to give nuthin' away to strangers. Y'see, if I'd pretended we was sendin' out stages, we'd have that gang hangin' around waitin'. 'Tain't no use in gatherin' wasps around a m'lasses-pot."
"No. You didn't tell him nuthin' else?" Bill inquired, eyeing him shrewdly.
"I did that," said Sandy triumphantly. "I filled him up good. I jest told him we was wise to James an' his gang, an' was takin' no chances, seein' Sufferin' Creek was such a rich lay-out. I told him we was bankin' up the gold right here, an' holdin' it till the pile was so big we could claim a Gover'ment escort that could snap their fingers at James an' his lay-out."
A swift exchange of glances passed between the gambler and the storekeeper. And then, in a quiet voice, Bill demanded--
"Anything else?"
"Nothing o' consequence," replied Sandy, feeling he had acquitted himself well. "He jest asted if Minky here banked the stuff, an' I 'lowed he did."
"Ah!" There was an ominous sparkle in Bill's eyes as he breathed his ejaculation. Then, with a quiet sarcasm quite lost on the obtuse widower, "You'd make an elegant sheriff's officer. You'd raise hell with the crooks."
Sandy appeared pleased with what he took for praise.
"I'd show 'em some--"
But Bill had turned to the storekeeper.
"We've got to git doin'. I've heerd a heap in Spawn City. Anyway, it was bound to git around. What he's said don't matter a heap. What I've heerd tells me we've got to git busy quick. We've got to clean you out of--stuff, or ther's goin' to be a most outrageous unhealthy time on Sufferin' Creek. We'll fix things to-morrer. Bein' Sunday," he added grimly, "it'll be an elegant day fer settin' things right. Meanwhiles, I'll ast you to fix me a parcel o' them physics, jest some of each, an' you ken git Sunny Oak to pass 'em right on to Zip fer his kids. Guess they'll worry out how best to dose 'em right."
Minky nodded, but his eyes were gloomily watching the two strangers sitting under the window. Sandy, however, suddenly brightened into a wide smile.
"Sure," he cried delightedly, slapping his thigh in his exuberance. "That's it. Course. It's all writ in the reg'lations fer raisin' them kids. Gee! you had me beat clear to death. Physic ev'ry Saturday night. Blamed if this ain't Saturday--an' t'-morrer's Sunday. An' I tho't you was sufferin' and needed physic. Say--"
But Bill, too, was watching the strangers with interested eyes. He was paying no sort of attention to this wonderful discovery of his bright friend. _