CHAPTER XXI
GOLD SEEKERS
Puzzled, but watchful and alert, De Launay saw her retreating, sensingthe terrible change that had come over her.
"Yes, I am Louisiana," he said. "What is the matter?"
In answer she laughed, while one hand went to the breast of hershirtwaist and the other reached behind her, groping for something asshe paced backward. Like a cameo in chalk her features were set andthe writhing flames in her hair called up an image of Medusa. Therewas no change in expression, but through her parted lips broke a lowlaugh, terrible in its utter lack of feeling.
"And I have for my husband--Louisiana! _Quelle farce!_"
The hand at her breast was withdrawn and in it fluttered the yellowpaper that Wilding had brought from Maryville to Wallace's ranch. Sheflung it toward him, and as he stooped to pick it up, her groping handfell on the pistol resting on the upturned log at the side of thebunk. She drew it around in front of her, dropped the holster at herside and snapped the safety down. Her thumb rested on the hammer andshe stood still, tensely waiting.
De Launay read the notice of reward swiftly and looked up. His facewas stern, but otherwise expressionless.
"Well?" he demanded, his eyes barely resting on the pistol before theyswept to meet her own blazing gaze. There was no depth to her eyesnow. Instead they seemed to be fire surrounded by black rims.
"You have read--murderer!"
"I have read it." De Launay's voice was like his face, and in bothappeared a trace of contempt.
"What have you to say before I kill you?"
"That you would have shot before now had you been able to do it,"answered De Launay, and now the note of contempt was deeper. He turnedhis back to her and leaned forward over the fire, one outstretchedhand upon the stone slab that formed the rude mantel.
The girl stood there immobile. The hand that held the pistol was notraised nor lowered. The thumb did not draw back the hammer. But overher face came, gradually, a change; a desperate sorrow, an abandonmentof hope. Even the light in her hair that had made it a flaming wheelseemed in some mysterious way to die down. The terrible fire in hereyes went out as though drowned in rising tears.
A sob burst from her lips and her breast heaved. De Launay gazed downupon the fire, and his face was bitter as though he tasted death.
Solange slowly reached behind her again and dropped the heavy weaponupon the log. Then, in a choked voice she struggled to call out:
"Monsieur Wallace! Will you come?"
In the next room there was a stirring of hasty movements. Sucatashraised a cheery and incongruous voice.
"Just a minute, mad'mo'selle! I'm comin' a-runnin'."
He stamped into his boots and flung the door open, disheveled, shirtopen at the neck. Astonished, he took in the strange attitudes of theothers.
"What's the answer?" he asked. "What was it you wanted, ma'am?"
Solange turned to him, her grief-ridden face stony in itshopelessness.
"Monsieur, you are my friend?"
"For mayhem, manslaughter or murder," he answered at once. "What'swanted?"
"Then--will you take this pistol, and kill that man for me?"
Sucatash's eyes narrowed and his mottled hair seemed to bristle. Heturned on De Launay.
"What's he done?" he asked, with cold fury.
De Launay did not move. Solange answered dully.
"He is the man who--married me--when he was the man who had murderedmy father!"
But Sucatash made no move toward the pistol. He merely gaped at herand at De Launay. His expression had changed from anger to stupidityand dazed incomprehension.
"What's that? He murdered your father?"
"He is Louisiana!"
"He? Louisiana! I allowed he was an old-timer. Well, all I can sayis--heaven's delights!"
Solange put out her hand to the edge of the bunk as though she couldnot support herself longer unaided. Her eyes were half closed now.
"Will you kill him, monsieur? If you do, you may have--ofme--anything--that you ask!"
The words were faltered out in utter weariness. For one instant DeLaunay's eyes flickered toward her, but Sucatash had already sprung toher side and was easing her to a seat on the edge of the bunk. Herhead drooped forward.
"Ma'am," said Sucatash, earnestly, "you got me wrong. I can't killhim--not for that."
"Not for that?" she repeated, wonderingly.
"Never in the world! I thought he'd insulted you, and if he had I'd ataken a fall out of him if he was twenty Louisianas. But this herenotion you got that he beefed your father--that's all wrong! You can'tgo to downin' a man on no such notions as that!"
"Why not?" asked Solange, in a stifled voice.
"Because he never done it--that's whatever. You'd never get over it,mad'mo'selle, if you done that and then found you was wrong! And youare wrong."
Slowly, Solange dragged herself upright. She was listless, thelightness had gone out of her step. Without a word, she reached outand lifted her leather coat from the nail on which it hung. Then shedragged her leaden feet to the door. Sucatash silently followed her.
In the other room she spoke once.
"Will you saddle my horse for me, monsieur?"
"There ain't no place for you to go, ma'am."
"Nevertheless, I shall go. If you please----"
"Then I'll go with you."
She followed him to the door, putting on her coat. Outside, she satdown on a log and remained stonily oblivious as Sucatash hastilycaught up several horses and dragged saddles and _alforjas_ intoposition. The westering sun was getting low along the rim of thecrater and he worked fast with the knowledge that night would soon beupon them. Inside the cabin he heard De Launay moving about. A momentlater as he entered to gather Solange's equipment, he saw the soldierseated at the rough table busy with paper and fountain pen.
As Sucatash went past him, carrying an armload of blankets and atarpaulin, De Launay held out a yellow paper.
"She will want this," he said, and then bent over his writing.
Again, when Sucatash came in for more stuff, De Launay stopped him. Heheld out the pen, indicating the sheet of paper spread upon thetable.
"This needs two witnesses, I think, but one will have to serve. She ismy wife, after all--but it will make it more certain. Will you signit?"
Sucatash glanced hastily at the document, reading the opening words:"I, Louis Bienville de Launay, colonel and late general of division ofthe army of France, being of sound and disposing mind, do make,declare, and publish this my Last Will and Testament----"
His eye caught only one other phrase: "I give, bequeath, and devise tomy dearly beloved wife, Solange----"
With an oath, Sucatash savagely dashed his signature where De Launayindicated, and then rushed out of the room. The soldier took anotherpiece of paper and resumed his writing. When he had finished he foldedthe two sheets into an envelope and sealed it. Outside, Sucatash washeaving the lashings taut on the last packs.
De Launay came to the door and stood watching the final preparations.Solange still sat desolately on the log.
Finally Sucatash came to her and assisted her to rise. He led her toher horse and held the stirrup for her as she swung to the saddle. Hewas about to mount himself when De Launay caught his eye. Instead, hestepped to the soldier's side.
"Take this," said De Launay, holding out the envelope. "Give it to herto-morrow. And--she needn't worry about the mine--or Banker."
"She's not even thinkin' about them!" growled Sucatash.
He turned and strode to his horse. In another moment they were ridingrapidly toward the rim of the crater.
De Launay watched them for some time and then went into the cabin. Hecame out a moment later carrying saddle and bridle. On his thighs werenow hanging holsters on both sides, and both were strapped down at thebottoms.
He caught and saddled his horse, taking his time to the operation.Then, searching the darkening surface of the crater wall, he found notrace of the
two who had ridden away. But he busied himself in gettingfood and eating it. It was fully an hour after they had gone before hemounted and rode after them.
By this time Solange and Sucatash had reached the rim and were well ontheir way through the down timber. More by luck than any knowledge ofthe way, they managed to strike the game trail, and wound through theimpeding snags, the cow-puncher taking the lead and the girl followinglistlessly in his wake. Before dark had come upon them they hadgained the level bench and were riding toward the gulch which led intothe canyon.
After a while Sucatash spoke. "Where you aimin' to camp, ma'am?"
"I am going down to these miners," she said flatly.
"But, mad'mo'selle, that camp ain't no place for you. There ain't nowomen there, most likely, and the men are sure to be a tough bunch. Iwouldn't like to let you go there."
"I am going," she answered. To his further remonstrances sheinterposed a stony silence.
He gave it up after a while. As though that were a signal, she becamemore loquacious.
"In a mining camp, one would suppose that the men, as you have said,are violent and fierce?"
"They're sure likely to be some wolfish, ma'am," he agreed. In hopethat she would be deterred by exaggeration, he dwelt on the subject."The gunmen and hoss thieves and tinhorn gamblers all come in on therush. There's a lot of them hobos and wobblies--reds and anarchistsand such--floatin' round the country, and they're sure to be in on it,too. I reckon any of them would cut a throat or down a man for twobits in lead money. Then there's the kind of women that follows arush--the kind you wouldn't want to be seen with even--and the menmight allow you was the same kind if you come rackin' in among 'em."
Solange listened thoughtfully and even smiled bleakly.
"These men would kill, you say, for money?"
"For money, marbles or chalk," said Sucatash. He was about toembellish this when she nodded with satisfaction.
"That is good," she said. "And, if not for money, for a woman--one ofthat kind of woman--they would shoot a man?"
Sucatash blanched. "What are you drivin' at, ma'am?"
"They will kill for me, for money--or if that is not enough--for awoman; such a woman as I am. Will they not, Monsieur Sucatash?"
"Kill who?"
He knew the answer, though, before she spoke: "Louisiana!"
Shocked, he ventured a feeble remonstrance.
"He's your husband, ma'am!"
But this drove her to a wild outburst in startling contrast to herformer quiescence.
"My husband! Yes, my husband who has defiled me as no other on earthcould have soiled and degraded me! My husband! Oh, he shall be killedif I must sell myself body and soul to the man who shoots him down!"
Then she whirled on him.
"Monsieur Sucatash! You have said to me that you liked me. Maybeindeed, you have loved me a little! Well, if you will kill that manfor me--you may have me!"
Sucatash groaned, staring at her as though fascinated. She threw backher head, turning to him, her face upraised. The sweetly curved lipswere half parted, showing little white teeth. On the satin cheeks aspot of pink showed. The lids were drooping over the deep eyes,veiling them, hiding all but a hint of the mystery and beauty behindthem.
"Am I not worth a man's life?" she murmured.
"You're worth a dozen murders and any number of other crimes," saidSucatash gruffly. He turned his head away. "But you got me wrong. Ifhe was what you think, I'd smoke him up in a minute and you'd not oweme a thing. But, ma'am, I know better'n you do how you really feel.You think you want him killed--but you don't."
Solange abruptly straightened round and rode ahead without anotherword. Morosely, Sucatash followed.
They came into the canyon at last and turned downward toward the spotwhere camp had been pitched that day, which seemed so long ago, andyet was not yet a week in the past. Snow was falling, clouding the airwith a baffling mist, but they could see, dotted everywhere along thesides of the canyon, the flickering fires where the miners had campedon their claims. Around them came the muffled voices of men, free withprofanity. Here and there the shadow of a tent loomed up, or a moresolid bulk spoke of roughly built shacks of logs and canvas. Faintlaughter and, once or twice, the sound of loud quarreling was heard.It all seemed weirdly unreal and remote as though they rode through analien, fourth dimensional world with which they had no connection. Thesnow crunched softly under the feet of the horses.
But as they progressed, the houses or shacks grew thicker until itappeared that they were traversing the rough semblance of a street.Mud sloshed under the hoofs of the horses instead of snow, and a blackribbon of it stretched ahead of them. Mistily on the sides loomeddimly lighted canvas walls or dark hulks of logs. The sound of voiceswas more frequent and insistent down here, though most of it seemed tocome from some place ahead.
In the hope that she would push on through the camp Sucatash followedthe girl. They came at last to a long, dim bulk, glowing with lightfrom a height of about six feet and black below that level. From thisplace surged a raucous din of voices, cursing, singing and quarreling.A squeaky fiddle and a mandolin uttered dimly heard notes which weretossed about in the greater turmoil. Stamping feet made a continuoussound, curiously muffled.
"What is this?" said Solange, drawing rein before the place.
"Ma'am, you better come along," replied Sucatash. "I reckon thebootleggers and gamblers have run in a load of poison and started ahonkatonk. If that's it, this here dive is sure no place for peaceablefolks like us at this time o' night."
"But it is here that these desperate men who will kill may be found,is it not?" Solange asked.
"You can sure find 'em as bad as you want 'em, in there. But you can'tgo in there, ma'am! My God! That place is _hell_!"
"Then it is the place for me," said Solange. She swung down from herhorse and walked calmly to the dimly outlined canvas door, swung itback and stepped inside.