Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) Read Online Free PDF Page A

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—anymore. You understand?” The cold, cutting tone
and the plain threat brought Fagan to his senses. With a nod of comprehension,
he pushed his glass away and stumbled out of the bar. He could not afford to
quarrel with Paul Lesurge—yet, but deep in his mean little soul he hated this
man so superior to himself, who never neglected an opportunity to vent upon him
his vitriolic spleen.
                 With
a sneering smile of satisfaction, Lesurge moved along the bar to where the two
cowboys were standing.
                 “Oh,
Mason, I want to thank you for assisting Miss Ducane on the journey here,” he
began easily. “What actually happened?” The cowboy gazed at him with steady but
hostile eyes; he did not like this well-dressed, good-looking stranger who had
spirited his travelling companion away, and he resented the patronizing air.
                 “Yu’d
better ask the fella who’s just gone out,” he replied. “Claims
he’s a. friend o’ yores.”
                 “I
have employed him at times, but a friend, hardly,” Paul explained. “As regards
Miss Ducane, I do not think he will offend again. I—mentioned it.”
                 “I
had a word with him my own self,” Mason said grimly. “Yu don’t happen to be the
uncle Miss Ducane come in search of, do yu?” The
two-edged implication that he was either an old man or an interfering busybody
brought a flush of anger even to the adventurer’s impassive face, but he masked
his emotion and replied coolly:
                 “I
happen to know him, and I shall have the pleasure of bringing them together
to-morrow morning.” He reaped his revenge in full when he saw the crestfallen
look on the boy’s face; Lesurge had done what he had been hoping to do and the
girl would no longer have any need of his help or protection.
                 “That
let’s you out,” the other went on. “With her uncle and myself, the little lady
will be well looked after.” Having thus twisted the knife in the wound he
strolled away. Mason looked at his companion.
                 “Jim,”
he said. “Did yu ever wanta take a fella by the