The Golden Woman Part 48

"Guess I ken let you have a team," Beasley said with alacrity. He smelt good business.

"How much?"

"Fifty dollars. In an' out--with teamster."

"Does he know the way?"

"Sure."

The woman eyed him steadily.

"I don't want any mistakes. This--is a case of murder."

Beasley's interest suddenly redoubled. The problem was growing in its attractiveness.

"Who's the feller?" he asked unguardedly.

"That's not your business." The woman's eyes were cold. "Send the team over to the farm down the river in two hours' time. The horses must be able to travel fast. Here's the money."

The saloon-keeper took the money promptly. But for once his astonishment held him silent. Mercy Lascelles had reached the door to go. Then she seemed to change her mind. She paused.

"There's fifty dollars more when I get back--if you keep your tongue quiet," she said warningly. "I don't want my business to get around. I should say gossip travels fast amongst the hills. That's what I don't want."

"I see."

It was all the astonished man could think of to say at the moment. But he managed an abundant wink in a markedly friendly way.

His wink missed fire, however, for the woman had departed; and by the time he reached the door to look after her he saw her mounting the wagon, which was drawn by the heavy team from Joan's farm, and driven by her hired man.

As the stranger drove off he leant against the doorway and emitted a low whistle. In his own phraseology he was "beat," completely and utterly "beat."

But this state of things could not last long. His fertile brain could not long remain under such a cloud of astonished confusion. He must sort out the facts and piece them together. This he set to work on at once.

Abandoning his work in the storeroom he went at once to the barn, and gave orders for the dispatch of the team. And herein, for once, he traded honestly with his visitor. He ordered his very best team to be sent. Perhaps it was in acknowledgment of the problem she had offered him.

Then he questioned his helpers. Here he was absolutely despotic. And in less than half an hour he had ascertained several important facts.

He learned that a team had come in from Crowsfoot the previous afternoon, bringing a pa.s.senger for the farm. The team had remained at the farm, likewise the teamster. Only the fact that daylight that morning had brought the man into camp for a supply of fodder and provisions had supplied them with the news of his presence in the district. This had happened before Beasley was up.

With this Beasley went back to the saloon, where his dinner was served him in the bar. His bartender was taking an afternoon off. It was a thoughtful meal. The man ate noisily with the aid of both knife and fork. He had acquired all the habits of the cla.s.s he had so long mixed with. Nor was it until his plate of meat and canned vegetables had nearly disappeared that light began to creep into his clouded brain.

He remembered that Joan had refurnished the farm. Why? Because some one from the East, no doubt, was coming to stay with her. Who? Mother?

Aunt? Cousin? Female anyway. Female arrives. Queer-looking female.

Goes to farm. Stays one night. Comes looking for sheriff next morning. A case of murder. No murder been done around here. Where?

East? Yes. Then there's some one here she's found--or she knows is here--and he's wanted for murder. Who?

At this point Beasley grinned. How many might there not be on Yellow Creek who could be so charged?

But his shrewd mind was very quick. This woman had not been into camp until she visited him. Where had she been? In the hills--coming from Crowsfoot. Still she might have been aware of the presence of her man before she came--through Joan.

For a moment he was disappointed.

But it was only for a moment. He quickly brightened up. A new idea had occurred to him which narrowed his field of possibilities. This woman was educated, she belonged to a cla.s.s he had once known himself. She would know nothing of the riffraff of this camp. It must be somebody of the same cla.s.s, or near it, somebody of education----He drew a sharp breath, and his wicked eyes lit.

The wildest, the most impossible thought had occurred to him. He pondered long upon the pa.s.sage of the trail from Crowsfoot to the farm. He remembered how she did not desire the "gossip" to travel--especially to the hills.

Suddenly he hailed his Chinese cook and flung his knife and fork down upon his plate. In his elation he forgot the heat, the sticky flies.

He forgot his usual custom of abstention during the day. He poured himself out a long drink of really good whisky, which he gulped down, smacking his lips with appreciation before flinging his customary curse at the head of his Mongolian servitor.

He had never had such a morning in his life.

Two of the boys came in for a drink. Such was his mood that he upset their whole focus of things by insisting that they have it at his expense. And when a third came along with a small parcel of gold dust he bought it at its full value.

These were significant signs. Beasley Melford was in a generous mood.

And such a mood in such a man required a lot of inspiration.

But it was not likely to continue for long. And surely enough it quickly reached its limit, and resolved itself into his every-day att.i.tude, plus a desire to make up, at the first opportunity, the losses incurred by his moments of weak generosity.

The heat of the day soon afforded him his desire, for the limp and sweating miners straggled back into camp long before their usual working day was ended. And what is more, they came to seek solace and refreshment under his willing roof.

By the middle of the afternoon the bar was fairly well filled. The place was little better than a furnace of humid heat. But under the influence of heartening spirits the temperature pa.s.sed almost unnoticed, or at least uncared. Here at least the weary creatures were called upon for no greater effort than to deal cards, or raise a gla.s.s to their lips and hold it there until drained. They could stand any heat in the pursuit of such pastimes.

Beasley watched his customers closely. Three tables of poker were going, and from each he drew a percentage for the "chips" sold at the bar. Each table was well supplied with drinks. A group of five men occupied one end of the counter, and two smaller groups were farther along. They were all drinking with sufficient regularity to suit his purposes. Amongst the crowd gathered he noticed many of the men of the original camp. There was Curly Saunders and Slaney at one poker table with Diamond Jack. Abe Allinson was in close talk with two financial "sharps" from Leeson, at the bar. The Kid was with a number of new hands who had only just come in to try their luck. He was endeavoring to sell a small share of his claim at a large price. Two others were with the larger group at the bar, discussing "outputs" and new methods of was.h.i.+ng gold. It was a mixed collection of humanity, but there were sufficient of the original members of the camp to suit him.

In a lull in the talk, when for a moment only the click of poker "chips" and the shuffle of cards broke the silence, Beasley propped himself against his counter and, for once, paused from his everlasting habit of gla.s.s wiping.

"Guess none o' you heard the news?" he inquired, with a grin of antic.i.p.ation.

His first effort failed to produce the effect he desired, so a repet.i.tion followed quickly. For a moment play was suspended at one of the tables, and the men looked up.

"Noos?" inquired Diamond Jack.

The Kid and his youthful companions looked round at the foxy face of their host.

"Oh! I don't guess it's nuthin'," said Beasley. "Only--it's so dogone queer."

His manner was well calculated. His final remark drew the entire barroom. All play and all talk was abruptly held up.

"Wot's queer?" demanded Diamond Jack, while all eyes searched the saloon-keeper's sharp face.

Beasley bit the end off a green cigar.

"That's just it," he said. "Ther's suthin' I can't jest make out.

Say----" he paused while he lit his cigar with a sulphur match. "Any you fellers heard of a murder around here lately? Can't say I have."

He puffed leisurely at his cigar. The scattered groups at the bar drew closer. There was no question but he now had the attention he desired.

The blank negative on the faces about him gave him his answer.

"Sure," he observed thoughtfully. "That's wher' I'm beat. But--ther's sure murder been done, an' ther's goin' to be a big doin' around--in consequence. Ther's word gone in to the sheriff at Leeson, an' the law fellers o' that city is raisin' a mighty business to get warrants signed. Say, I heerd they're sendin' a dozen dep'ties to hunt these hills. Seems to me the guy whoever it is is a pretty hot tough, an'

he's livin' in the hills. I heard more than that. I heard the murder was a low-down racket that if folks knew about it they'd be right out fer lynchin' this guy. That's why it's bin kep' quiet. I bin goin'