Paradise Bend Part 50

"An' lots of it, Ethel. Have another."

"Just for that yuh don't have to call me Clarice. Yuh can call me anythin' yuh like 'cept Maggie. A floozie named that stole ninety-five dollars an' four bits an' a gold watch offen me once. I ain't liked the name since. Well, drown sorrow."

"An' drown her deep. Say, I kind o' like this town. It suits me down to the ground. How's the cattle 'round here?"

"Nothin' to brag of. They's only a few little ranches. They's gold in the Dry Mountains over east a ways. Placers, the claims are. Bill Archer's got a claim some'ers west in the foot-hills o' the Fryin'

Pans. He works it quite a lot, but he ain't never had no luck with it yet. Leastwise, he says he ain't."

"Has he been out to it lately?" asked Loudon, carelessly.

The girl did not immediately reply. She stared fixedly into his eyes.

"Stranger," she said, her voice low and hard, "stranger, what do yuh want to know for?"

"Oh, I was just a-wonderin'. Not that I really want to know. I was just talkin'."

"Yuh seem to enjoy talkin' quite a lot."

"I do. Habit I got."

"Well, what do yuh want to know about Bill Archer for?"

"I don't. Say, can't I make a natural remark without yore jumpin'

sideways?"

"Remarks is all right. It's yore questions ain't. Stranger, for a feller who's just makin' talk yore eyes are a heap too interested. I been in this business too long a time not to be able to read a gent's eyes. Yo're a-huntin' for somethin', you are."

"I'm a-huntin' a job--that's all. What do yuh take me for, anyway?"

"I dunno how to take yuh. I----"

"Oh, have another drink an' forget it."

"Sh.o.r.e I'll have another drink, but I dunno as I---- Oh, well, yo're all right, o' course. I'm gettin' foolish, I guess."

Her words did not carry conviction, and certainly she did not cease to watch Loudon with furtive keenness. He strove by means of many drinks and a steady flow of conversation to dispel her suspicions. The girl played up to perfection, yet, when he bade her good-night, it was with the a.s.sured belief that she and Archer would have a little talk within five minutes.

The bar was nearly empty when Loudon and Laguerre entered the hotel.

Two drunken punchers were sleeping on the floor, a mongrel under a table was vigorously hunting for fleas, and the bartender was languidly arranging bottles on the shelves. Loudon ordered drinks and treated the bartender.

"Any chance o' pickin' up a stake in the Dry Mountains?" hazarded Loudon.

"How?" queried the bartender.

"Placer minin'."

"Well, gents, if yuh don't care how hard yuh work for five dollars a day, the Dry Mountains is the place. I never had no use for a long-tailed shovel myself."

"I heard how them stream-beds was rich."

"Don't yuh believe it, gents. If they was, there wouldn't be no Marysville 'round here. It'd be all over in the Dry Mountains. No, gents, it's like I says. Yuh can get the colour all right enough, but yuh won't make more'n five a day on an average. Who wants to rock a cradle for that?"

"Now ain't that a fright?" complained Loudon. "Chucked up our jobs with the Flyin' Diamond A 'cause we heard how there was gold in the Dry Mountains, an' come all the way up here for nothin'. It sh.o.r.e does beat the devil!"

"It does, stranger, it does. Have one on the house, gents."

"Say," said Loudon, when the liquor was poured, "say, how about east in the foothills o' the Fryin' Pans? Any gold there?"

"Stranger, them Fryin' Pans has been prospected from h.e.l.l to breakfast an' they ain't showed the colour yet. Take my word for it, gents, an'

leave the Fryin' Pans alone. Bill Archer's got a claim some'ers over that way an' he goes traipsin' out to it every so often. Stays quite a while, Bill does, sometimes. Don't know why. He don't never get nothin'."

"How do yuh know?"

"Stranger, I know them hills. I've prospected that country myself.

There's no gold in it."

"Maybe Bill Archer don't agree with yuh."

"Likely he don't. He's a hopeful cuss as ever was. Why, gents, only about ten days ago he got back from a two weeks' trip to his claim. A month ago he was gone maybe a week. An' it goes on like that. Why, I'll bet Bill Archer spends mighty nigh four months in every year out on his claim. There's perseverance for yuh, if nothin' else."

The two friends agreed that it was indeed perseverance and retired to their room.

"We've got Archer pretty nigh hog-tied," murmured Loudon as he pulled off his trousers.

"You bet," whispered Laguerre. "Archer she ees w'at you call de fence, huh? De odder feller dey run off de pony un de cow, un Archer she sell dem. Eet ees plain, yes."

"Plain! I guess so. It'll be a cinch."

It might appear cinch-like, but there were more dips and twists in the trail ahead than Loudon and Laguerre dreamed of.

In the morning Loudon strolled down the street and entered the dance hall. Mr. Archer was behind the bar, and he greeted Loudon with grave politeness.

There was nothing in Archer's manner to indicate that Clarice had talked. In perfect amity the two men drank together, and Loudon took his departure. His visit to the dance hall had one result. The depth of Mr. Archer's character had been indicated, if not revealed. Loudon had hoped that he was a hasty person, one given to exploding at half-c.o.c.k. Such an individual is less difficult to contend with than one that bides his time.

Loudon, not wholly easy in his mind, went in search of Judge Allison.

He found him in the Sweet Dreams Saloon telling a funny story to the bartender. The Judge was an approachable person. Loudon had no difficulty in sc.r.a.ping an acquaintance with him. Half-an-hour's conversation disclosed the fact that the Judge's hobby was the horse.

Loudon talked horse and its diseases till he felt that his brain was in danger of developing a spavin.

Judge Allison warmed to the young man. Here was a fellow that knew horses. By Jove, yes! Reluctantly the Judge admitted to himself that Loudon's knowledge of breeding secrets far exceeded his own. In a land where horses are usually bred haphazard such an individual is rare.

The Judge took Loudon home with him in order to pursue his favourite subject to its lair. Which lair was the Judge's office, where, cheek by jowl with "c.o.ke upon Littleton" and Blackstone's ponderous volumes, were books on the horse--war, work, and race.

"It's astonis.h.i.+ng, sir," p.r.o.nounced the Judge, when his negro had brought in a sweating jug of what the Judge called c.o.c.ktails, "truly astonis.h.i.+ng what vile poison is served across our bars. And I say 'vile' with feeling. Why, until I imported my own brands from the East my stomach was perpetually out of order. I very nearly died. Have another? No? Later, then. Well, sir, my name is Allison, Henry B.

Allison, Judge of this district. What may I call you, sir?"

"Franklin, Judge, Ben Franklin," replied Loudon, giving the name he had given the landlord of the hotel.

"Any relation of Poor Richard?" twinkled the Judge.