Loaded Dice Part 17

Gordon laughed. He found the girl distinctly amusing. "I wonder," he said idly, "how Jack will like taking a spending trip around the country. Not very much, I fancy. I imagine he's more for the happy fireside act, isn't he?"

The girl laughed, too. "I think you're awfully good," she said, "to take so much trouble over my affairs. I think you're right, too. I never thought of it before. I don't believe I'll take Jack, after all."

"I wonder, now," ventured Gordon, "if any of the others--"

The girl shook her head. "No, not a bit better," she answered. "I'll tell you, though, what you might do. You might break off your engagement with that girl back East you've been telling me about, and then ask me. I'm not sure but what you'd do pretty well. You've got money, they say, and that's a good deal. Of course, you're rather conceited, but then you're not bad-looking. On the whole--"

Gordon cut her short. "I beg off," he cried; "a joke's a joke, but you're rather rubbing it in. I tried to be funny with the wrong person; I'll admit it. Speaking of Rose, though; that reminds me again--I'm going to see if I can't persuade her to come out here soon; it's taking so much longer to get things in shape than I thought it would, and I was wondering--do you suppose you'd mind asking her to stay with you? The hotel, to be frank, is pretty near the limit, and then there'd be a chaperon, too, while if you invited her--"

The girl nodded. "Sure," she said; "glad to. I'd really like to see--"

She stopped abruptly. A pair of black ducks swung swiftly across the decoys, and like a flash the gun leaped to her cheek. The two quick reports sounded almost as one, and the two ducks struck the water, dead. The girl rose.

"Come on," she cried, "that makes our dozen. We've got to be getting back home."

By the time Gordon had launched the little skiff and brought the ducks ash.o.r.e, she had deftly harnessed the horse to the old buggy, and stood waiting for him. Tossing the ducks under the seat, he stood back for her to get in, and then, with a sudden impulse, stepped forward again, blocking her path. Very dainty, very charming, she stood there with a little smile of understanding on her lips.

"Ethel," he whispered.

She made no answer. A sudden gust of pa.s.sion shook him. He took one quick step forward, and clasped her in his arms. "Ethel," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, "suppose there wasn't any other girl."

With a glance enticing beyond words, she raised her eyes to his. "Oh, but there is," she answered, and yet she made no move to free herself, and in another moment their lips met.

CHAPTER VII

A DOUBLE BLOW

"Some one," said Ethel Mason, "has to go to town for me this afternoon. There are a dozen things I've got to have right away."

She looked at Gordon as she spoke, but he smilingly shook his head in answer.

"Some one," he said lightly, "doesn't mean me. I've got to drive over to the Iroquois to see Haskins about that smelting proposition, and you know what that means; I shan't be back till supper time at the earliest. Otherwise I'd do your marketing for you with all the pleasure in life."

The girl nodded, and turned to Rose Ashton. "Isn't he clever at excuses?" she said. "Preparing for married life, I suppose."

Rose laughed in answer. A week in the little cabin on Burnt Mountain had changed her a hundredfold for the better. The color in her cheeks and the animation of her whole expression bore witness that her surroundings were to her complete satisfaction.

"I'll go for you, Ethel," she said; "unless," she added, turning to Gordon, "you'll take me with you, d.i.c.k. I'd like to go."

Gordon doubtfully shook his head. "I'd like nothing better, of course," he said; "but I don't believe you should attempt it, Rose.

You have no idea what these mountain roads are like in places; it's about as rough as an ocean voyage. And as far as that goes, I don't believe you want to walk to town and back, either. It's altogether too far. You'll be sensible to stay at home and rest."

The girl's face showed her disappointment, and she was about to protest, when Harrison spoke.

"He's right, Miss Ashton," he said, "that ride's a tough one for anybody, and the trip to town ain't much better. It's all right goin', but comin' back ain't no joke. I'll go to town myself, an' be glad of the excuse--unless," he added, with a grin, "Jim here wants to go 'nstead of me. If he wants the job, it's his for the askin'."

Mason's look was sufficient answer. The idea of leaving his beloved fifth level for an entire afternoon savored almost of sacrilege. Even the brief trip home for lunch always somehow exasperated him with a sense of time wasted, and an afternoon--a whole long afternoon--

"I'm not a candidate for the nomination," he said drily. "You can go and welcome, Jack. I'll get Miss Ashton to come along with me and take your job down on the sixth level. I'll bet she'd make as good a miner as a lazy cuss like you."

There was a general laugh. Then Gordon turned to Rose. "That reminds me," he said. "Seriously, Rose, if you want to help us out this afternoon, you can. You needn't go to work with a pick, but I do need about a dozen specimens of rock to send East; and if you want to let Jim show you the place on the sixth level, and pick us out the best samples you can find, it would really save time and trouble for everybody. We'll pay regular union wages, too, so there's your chance."

The girl nodded eagerly. Than to help Gordon in any way, real or fancied, she desired nothing better. "Splendid," she a.s.sented, "if I won't be in the way."

Mason shook his head. To the surprise of all, he had taken what was for him a great fancy to their visitor from the East. "Not a bit," he said, readily enough; "I'll be proud to have you along," and thus the afternoon's program was settled for all.

Harrison was the first to take his departure, striding cheerfully away down the path on his long jaunt to town, ready and willing to start on a journey a hundred times as far as long as it was only Ethel who said the word. Next, Jim Mason finished his pipe and rose.

"Come on, Miss Ashton," he cried, "got to get to work. Life's short, and there's lots to do."

With a laughing word of farewell to Ethel and Gordon, she hastened to join him, and together they left for the mine.

Fifteen minutes later Gordon climbed into the buggy despatched from Seneca's only livery stable, duly received Bill Hinckley's well-filled lunch pail from Ethel Mason's hand, gathered up the reins, chirruped to his horses, and disappeared from sight around the bend in the road.

No sooner, however, had he reached a safe distance from the house than he deliberately brought the team to a standstill, and then, a dark gleam of excitement in his eyes, opened the lunch pail Ethel Mason had given him, drew a tiny bottle from his pocket, and quickly poured its contents into the coffee, still steaming hot in the bottom of the tin.

Having rearranged everything as before, he drew up a few moments later at the entrance to the mine, with a word of friendly greeting handed Hinckley the pail, and started in earnest on his long trip across the mountain.

Singular enough, however, seemed his actions, for a man bound on an errand that had for its object the completion of a contract for the smelting of the Ethel's ore. Scarcely five minutes after he had left Hinckley he pa.s.sed through a small, densely wooded plateau on the mountain's side, and here he drew rein, scanning the bushes on either hand with careful scrutiny, listened a moment, and then, tying the horses, walked straight toward what seemed to be a tangled network of overhanging boughs. Readily at his touch, however, they parted to right and left, for an instant disclosing a narrow path with a clearing at the end, and then closed noiselessly upon him.

Another five minutes pa.s.sed. Silence everywhere; the stern old mountain sleeping its majestic, ancient sleep in the sober calm of the peaceful, sunlit afternoon. Then from the bushes near the mouth of Abe Peters' abandoned claim a figure emerged, at first crouching, then, as the screen of bushes grew less and less, snakelike, hugging the ground itself, worming its cautious way steadily onward, at length to be swallowed up bodily in the overhanging shadow of the entrance to the mine.

Once secure in the gloom of the old shaft, the man, with a little sigh of relief, rose to his full height, drew from his coat a slender tube of steel, and from his pocket a delicate frame shaped like the stock of a gun, deftly fitted the two together, pulled back the spring, carefully inserted the bullet, and stood armed with a weapon, at close range absolutely to be relied upon, precise, noiseless, deadly.

Silently the man nodded his head, and then, slowly, cautiously, with every nerve in his body on the alert, began his dangerous descent.

Down on the fifth level old Jim Mason, his miner's lamp casting its glimmering light on the high walls of rock, plied his heavy pick, not with the fiery enthusiasm of eager, determined, hot-blooded youth, but with the slower, steadier poise of equally determined, and far more patient, age. Rhythmical, effective, machine-like, he bent to his work. Swing--crash; swing--crash; swing--crash; his vigorous old body sent the steel biting into the rock; never a glance to right or left, never a glance behind, on and on he pressed, well satisfied, with an honest content, every stroke bringing him an infinitesimal fraction nearer his heart's desire.

Never a glance to right or left, never a glance behind, or he might have noticed one shadow darker than the rest creeping steadily forward out of the gloom, stopping momentarily only to advance again, until at last it paused but a few yards away and stood rigid and motionless, blending again with the other shadows among the jagged walls, waiting--waiting--

And now the old man tired a trifle. The rock was hard. Rhythmically he had been counting the strokes to himself--eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven--when he should reach one hundred he would stop--stop and rest a while. On and on crashed the pick; ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six--the tired muscles cried out for a respite, however brief, but grimly the old man set his teeth and kept on; ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred--with a long sigh of relief he slowly straightened, and stood for an instant, motionless as a statue, in the sheer physical enjoyment of rest well-earned. The best that was in him he had given for so many long years, the best that was in him of muscle and brain, and now the end--the consummation of all his dreams--was near, so near--

From the darkness behind him came the faintest vibrant tw.a.n.g, as of a spring released. Swift, sinister, relentless as fate, the bullet sped to its mark. Just for an instant of time the old man still stood, motionless; then, the pick slipping from his nerveless fingers went cras.h.i.+ng to the floor, and old Jim Mason of Seneca, shot through the head, pitched forward headlong, and lay stone-dead amid the faintly gleaming ore of the mine he had loved so well.

Again silence, seemingly for minutes, in reality but for seconds, and then the dark shadow crept again forward, picked up the miner's lamp, and stole silently to the old man's side. Only for a moment it waited there, and then crept back until it paused at the opening of the shaft which led again downward to the sixth level. Very faintly a sound came up from the blackness below--the sound of a girl's voice singing. Amid the darkness no eye could see the expression on the shadow's face. For an instant it stood poised at the mouth of the shaft; then, quickly and yet with caution, began its descent.

CHAPTER VIII

THE CASE FOR THE PROSECUTION

As the judge rose from his desk he sighed. His face was troubled, his whole manner vaguely dissatisfied. It was the last day of the trial, and from the evidence, from the district attorney's all but completed argument, from the whole manner in which the case had been tried, he felt certain that the jury could come but to one conclusion, and that their verdict would condemn to death the sodden, miserable wretch who now for three days had sat in the prisoner's box, listening, seemingly without comprehension, to what was being said, acting throughout as if he scarcely realized that in all this dramatic spectacle he was the central figure, to watch whose chance for life or death all these people had come day after day to crowd the little court room, sitting enthralled with a terrible fascination as the lawyers for prosecution and defense fought their fight of thrust and parry--with a man's life for the prize. "Guilty" would be the verdict, and doubtless a verdict well justified by the evidence, and yet--and the judge, half unconsciously, sighed again.

The court officer, blue coated, gold b.u.t.toned, portly, imposing, threw open the door leading into the court room. "Court!" he cried in resounding tones, and the crowd, rising as the judge entered, with a little flutter of expectancy sank back again into their places as he took his seat on the bench, gazing down through his gold-bowed spectacles at the familiar scene.