The Furnace of Gold

  CHAPTER XLIV

  THE ENGINES OF CLIMAX

  McCoppet was in town. He had come to camp at midnight of the previousday, duly followed by his friend Larry Trimmer. The lumberman hadwaxed impatient. Fully two thousand dollars of the money he had"earned" was still unpaid--and hard to get. He had gone to the"Laughing Water" claim, in vain, and a surly heat was rising in hisveins.

  Bostwick was due, in his car, at nine o'clock, His visit to Goldite wasnot entirely one of business. He had grown alarmed at the lack of newsfrom Beth. His letters had been ignored. He not only feared for thefate of his affairs of the heart, but perhaps even more for what shemight have done with respect to the money she had asked him to return,a very small proportion of which he was now prepared to repay.

  Meantime, Beth, her brother, and Pratt had gratified their most cryingneeds on Algy's cooking, much to that worthy Celestial's delight.There were two things Beth intended to perform: report the results ofher labors to Van, and attack Mr. Lawrence in his den.

  Precisely what she meant to say or do to the Government representativeshe did not or could not determine. Some vague idea of making himconfess to an infamy practiced at Bostwick's instance was the most shehad in mind. If half the success already achieved could be expectedhere, she would have a report worth while to make when Van should bepresently encountered.

  Impetuous, eager to hasten with her work, she insisted upon animmediate advance. Glenmore readily supported her position. Prattdeveloped shyness. His forte was hiking over desert hills, lugging atransit, running lines or levels; he felt out of place as a fighter, oreven an accuser. Nevertheless, he went, for Beth insisted.

  Already the streets were crowded full of life, as the three proceededdown the thoroughfare. A mining-camp is a restless thing; its peopleslive in the streets. Freight teams, flowing currents of men, chains ofdusty mules, disordered cargoes on the sidewalks, and a couple ofautomobiles were glaringly cut out from their shadows, as the sunlightpoured upon them. Sunlight and motion, false-fronted buildings, tents,and mountains, and fever--that is the camp on the desert.

  With excitement increasing upon her at every step, Beth glanced at thecrowds in a rapid search for Van. He was not to be seen. In all thethrong, where old men and youths, pale and swarthy, lazy and alert werecirculating like the blood of Goldite's arteries, there was not a facethat she knew.

  They came to the office where Lawrence presided just as a stranger wasdeparting, Lawrence was alone. He occupied the inner apartment, asCulver had done, but the door was standing open.

  It was Beth who knocked and entered first as the man called out hisinvitation. She had never in her life appeared more beautiful. Colorwas flaming in her cheeks as on a rose. Her eyes were exceptionallybright and brown. The exquisite coral of her lips was delicatelytremulous with all her short, quick breathing.

  Lawrence arose, as she and the others appeared in the door, and removedhis hat. He was a short, florid person, with a beard of fiery red.His eyes were of the lightest gray; and they were shifting.

  "Good-morning," he said, in undisguised astonishment, beholding Beth."You--pardon me--you----"

  "Good-morning," Beth replied faintly. "We called--are you Mr.Lawrence?"

  "At your service." Lawrence bowed. "I rarely expect--in my line ofwork--my business. Miss--Miss----"

  "Miss Kent," said Glenmore, interrupting. "And my name is Kent. Isuppose you're wise to Mr. Pratt."

  Lawrence continued to bow.

  "I'm very happy to--how are you, Pratt? How are you? Won't you have achair, Miss Kent?"

  Pratt nodded and murmured a greeting. He was decidedly uneasy.

  Beth always moved by impulse. It hastened her now to the issue. Shesat down and faced their man.

  "Mr. Lawrence," she said, "I believe you ran the reservation line, notlong ago, and gave Mr. Bostwick and a friend of his the 'LaughingWater' claim."

  Lawrence looked alive.

  "I certainly ran the line," he said. "Instructions came from--fromheadquarters, to ascertain the precise limitations of the reservation.The _results_ gave the 'Laughing Water' claim to its present owners, byright of prior location, after the opening hour, as the claim wasincluded in the tract." He had uttered this speech before. It fellvery glibly from his tongue.

  "Yes, we know all that--so far as it's true," said Beth with startlingcandor, "but we know it isn't true at all, and you've got to confessthat you made some ridiculous blunder or else that you were bribed."

  She had not intended to plump it out so bluntly, so baldly, but acertain indignation in her breast had been rapidly increasing, and herimpulse was not to be stayed.

  "Gee!" murmured Glen, "that's going some!"

  Lawrence turned white, whether with anger or fright could not have beendetermined.

  "Miss Kent!" he said. "You--you're making a very serious----"

  "Oh, I know!" she interrupted. "I expect you to deny it. But a greatdeal of money--my money--has been used, and Mr. Pratt has run theline--with myself and my brother--yesterday--so we know that you'veeither been fooled or you've cheated."

  Lawrence had risen. His face was scarlet.

  "Upon my word!" he said. "Pratt, you and your friend I can order fromthe office! The lady----"

  "You can't order anything!--not a thing!" said Beth. "Glen! Mr.Pratt!--you've got to stay and help! I know the truth--and it's got tobe confessed! Mr. Van Buren----"

  "I can leave myself, since you insist upon remaining," interruptedLawrence, taking his hat and striding towards the door, in a panic toget to McCoppet for much-needed aid. "Such an utterly unheard ofaffront as this----"

  "Glen! run and find Mr. Van Buren!" Beth broke in excitedly. "Don'tlet him go, Mr. Pratt!"

  Lawrence had reached his outer office and was almost at the door. Bethwas hastening after, with Glen at her heels. All were abruptly halted.

  Van and the sheriff appeared in the door, before which idlers werepassing. Beth was wild with joy.

  "Van," she cried, "Oh, Mr. Van Buren, I'm sure this man has cheated youout of your claim! We ran the line ourselves--my brother, Mr. Pratt,and I--yesterday--we finished yesterday! We found the claim is notinside the reservation! My money was used--I'm sure for bribery! Butthey've got to give you back your claim, if it takes every penny I'vegot! I was sending Glen to let you know. I asked Mr. Lawrence toconfess! You won't let him go! You mustn't let him go! I am surethere's something dreadful going on!"

  It was a swift, impassioned speech, clear, ringing, honest in everyword. It thrilled Van wondrously, despite the things that hadbeen--her letter, and subsequent events. He all but lost track of thebusiness in hand, in the light of her sudden revelations. He did notanswer readily, and Lawrence broke out in protestation.

  "It's infamous!" he cried. "If anyone here except a woman hadcharged--had been guilty of all these outrageous lies----"

  Half a dozen loiterers had halted at the door, attracted by the shrillhigh tones of his voice.

  "That's enough of that, Lawrence," Van interrupted quietly. "Everyword of this is true. You accepted twenty thousand dollars to falsifythat line. Your chief was murdered to get him out of the way, becauseit was _known_ you could be bribed. I came here to get you, and I'llget all the crowd, if it kills half the town in the fight." With onequick movement he seized his man by the collar. "Here, Bill, hustlehim out," he said to Christler. "We've got no time to waste."

  Lawrence, the sheriff, and himself were projected out upon the sidewalkby one of his quick maneuvers. A crowd of men came running to theplace. Above the rising murmur of their voices, raised in excitement,came a shrill and strident cry.

  "Van! Van!" was the call from someone in the crowd.

  It was lean old Gettysburg. Dave and Napoleon were pantingly chasingwhere he ran.

  "Van!" yelled Gettysburg again. "It's Barger!--Barger!--dead in thetent--it's Barger--up there--dead!"

  Barger! The name acted as swiftly on the
crowd as oil upon a flame.It seemed as if the wave of news swept like a tide across the street,down the thoroughfare, and into every shop.

  Two automobiles were halted in the road, their engines purring as theystood. Their drivers dismounted to join the gathering throng. One ofthe men was Bostwick, down from the hills. He had searched for Beth atMrs. Dick's, and then had followed here.

  "Barger! Barger's dead in camp and the 'Laughing Water' claim wasstolen--and Culver killed!" One man bawled it to the crowd--and itsped to Bostwick's ears.

  One being only departed from the scene--Trimmer, the lumberman, swiftlyseeking McCoppet.

  Van, in his heat, had told too much, accusing the prisoner in hand. Hesilenced Gettysburg abruptly and started to force aside the crowd.

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen, move aside," he said. "I've got--by Jupe!there's Bostwick!"

  It was Bostwick fleeing to his car that Van had discovered. Searle hadseen enough in the briefest of glances. He had heard too much. Herealized that only in flight could the temper of the mob be avoided.He had seen this mob in action once before--and the walls of hisstomach caved.

  Like a youthful Hercules in strength and action, Van went plungingthrough the crowd to get his man. But he could not win. Bostwick hadspeeded up his motor in a panic for haste and his car leaped away likea dragon on wings, the muffler cut-out roaring like a gattling.

  Van might perhaps have shot and killed the escaping man who held thewheel, but he wanted Searle alive.

  A roar from the crowd replied to the car. A score of men ran madly inpursuit. None of them knew the details of the case, but they knew thatBostwick was wanted.

  They drifted rearward from the hurtling car like fragments of paper inits wake. The few down street who danced for a moment before themodern juggernaut, to stop it in its course, sprang nimbly away as itrocketed past--and Searle was headed for the desert.

  One wild, sweeping glance Van cast about, for a horse or something toride. Suvy was stabled, unsaddled, up the street. Bostwick and hiscloud of dust were dropping away in a swiftly narrowing perspective.And there stood a powerful, dusty-red car--empty--its motor in motion!

  There was no time to search for its owner. There were half a dozendifferent cars with which Van Buren was familiar. He ran to it,glanced at its levers, wheel, and clutch, recognized the one type hehad coveted, and hurled himself into the seat.

  "Here! You!" yelled the owner, fighting through the crowd, but threebig miners fell upon him and bore him to the earth. They hoped to seea race.

  They saw it begin with a promptness incredible.

  One--two changes of the snarling gears they heard before the deafeningcut-out belched its explosions. Then down the street, in pursuit ofthe first, the second machine was fired.

  The buildings, to Van, were blended in grayish streaks, on either side,as his gaze was fastened on the vanishing car ahead. He shoved up hisspark, gave her all the gas, froze to the wheel like a man ofsteel--and swooped like a ground-skimming comet out upon the world.

  The road for a distance of fully five miles was comparatively level.It was rutted by the wheels of heavy traffic, but with tires in thedusty ruts a car ran unimpeded.

  Both, for a time were in the road, flaying up a cloud of smoke like acyclone ripping out its path.

  Searle had not only gained a half-mile lead, but his car was apparentlyswifter. He knew its every trick and ounce of power. He drovesuperbly. He was reckless now, for he had not missed the knowledgethat behind him was a meteor burning up his trail.

  Like a leaping beast--a road-devouring minotaur--the car with Van shotroaringly through space. He could not tell that Searle, ahead, wasslipping yet further in the lead. He only knew that, come what might,till the mechanism burst, or the earth should split, he would chase hisman across the desert. The dust in the air from Bostwick's car droveblindingly upon him. Far, far away, a mere speck on the road, hebeheld a freight-team approaching--a team of twenty animals at least,that he and Bostwick must encounter.

  A sudden memory of road conditions decided him to move. The ruts wherehe was were bad enough--they were worse where the team must be passed.

  He did not reduce his speed to take to the brush. The car beneath himflung clean off the ground as he swung to climb out of the grooves. Itlanded with all four wheels a-spin, but only struck on two. A suddenswerve, far out of the course, and the monster righted abruptly.Another sharp turn, and away it went again, crushing the brush andflinging up the sand in a track of its own that paralleled the road,but rougher though free from the ruts.

  The brush was small, six inches high, but the wheels bounced over itmadly. The whole car hurtled and bounded in a riot of motion. Itdived, it plunged nose upward, it roared like a fiend--but it shot withcannon-ball velocity across the desert's floor.

  Five minutes later Bostwick's car was almost fronting the team in theroad, with its score of dusty mules. He dared not take the ruts atspeed, and groaned as he slowed to climb the bank. He lost but littletime, however, since once on the side he was going ahead again likemad; nevertheless, he cast a glance behind and saw that his gap hadnarrowed. Moreover, he would not attempt to return to the ruts asbefore, as a second of the teams was coming a mile or so away.

  Like two pitching porpoises, discharging fiery wrath and skimming thegray of the desert sea, the two devices raced upon the brush. Andnerve began to tell. Van was absolutely reckless; Searle was not. Theformer would have crowded on another notch of speed, but Bostwickfeared, and shut off a trifle of his power. Even then he was rocking,quivering, careening onward like a star escaped from its course; andthe gains Van made were slow.

  The man on the second team paused to see them pass. In smoke and dustand with war's own din they cleaved the startled air. And the man whosaw the look that had set on Van's hard-chiseled face was aware thatunless his car should fail there was nothing on earth he could notcatch.

  Bostwick had begun to weaken. The pace over sage-brush, rocks, andbasins of sand was racking both the car and the nerves that held thewheel. How long such a flight could be continued he dared not guess.Even steel has limitations. To what he was fleeing he could scarcelyhave told, since the telegraph would send its word throughout thedesert-land, and overhaul him finally.

  A sickening apprehension assailed him, however, within the minute. Oneof his cylinders was missing. His trained ear caught at the change ofthe "tune," and he felt his speed decreasing. He glanced back briefly,where the dusty lump of steel, like a red-hot projectile, thundered inhis wake.

  He beheld a sudden fan-like flare of dust in the cloud Van was making.He even faintly heard the far report, and a grim joy sprang in hisbeing.

  Van had blown out a tire. Striking the high places, crowding on thespeed, holding to a straight-away course like a merciless fate, thehorseman heard an air cushion go, felt the lurch and lameness of thecar, and steadied it back upon its road. He did not retreat by so muchas a hair the lever advancing his spark. He did not budge the gascontrol, but left it still wide open. If all of his tires should blowout together he would not halt his pace. He would drive that car todestruction, or to triumph in the race.

  Searle's rejoicing endured but the briefest span. His motor had begunagain to splutter, in mechanical death. Then, with a sudden memory,sweat broke out on Bostwick's face. His gasolene was gone! He hadthoroughly intended refilling his tank, having barely had a sufficientsupply to run him from the claim to camp; and this had been neglected.

  His car bumped slowly for a score of yards, then died by the side ofthe road. He leaped out madly, to assure himself the tank was reallydry. He cursed, he raved. It seemed absurd for this big, hot creatureto be dead. And meantime, like a whirlwind coming on, Van Buren wascrashing down upon him.

  "By God!" he cried, "I'll fix you for this!" and a wild thought flashedto his mind--a thought of taking Van Buren's car and fleeing as before.

  He leaped in the tonneau and caught up a heavy revolver, stored b
eneaththe seat. He glanced at the cylinder. Four of the cartridges onlywere unused. He remained inside the "fort" of the car, with the weaponcocked and lowered out of sight.

  Charging down like a meteor, melting its very course, Van and the redcar came by leaps and plunges. He was shutting off the powergradually, but still rushing up with frightening speed, when Bostwickraised his gun and fired.

  The bullet went wide, and Van came on. Bostwick steadied and firedagain. There was no such thing as halting the demon in the car. Butthe target's size was rapidly increasing! Nevertheless, the third shotmissed, like the others. Would the madman never halt?

  Bostwick dropped a knee to the floor, steadied the barrel on thecushion, lined up the sights, and pulled the trigger.

  With the roar of the weapon Van abruptly drooped. The bullet hadpierced his shoulder. And he still came on. His face had suddenlypaled; his lips had hardened in a manner new to his face. He haltedthe car, aware that his foe had exhausted his ammunition, since no moreshots were fired.

  His own big gun he drew deliberately. To sustain himself, through theshock of his wound, was draining the utmost of his nerve. He washardly ten feet away from the man who stood there, a captive in his car.

  "Well, Searle," he said, "you're a better shot than I thought--and abetter driver. In fact you drive so almighty well I am going to letyou drive me back to camp." He arose from his seat. He was bleeding.His left arm was all but useless. "Come down," he added. "Come downand take my seat. And don't make the slightest error in etiquette,Searle, or I'll see if a forty-some-odd ball will bounce when it landson your skull."

  Bostwick had expected to be shot on the spot. No cornered rat couldhave been more abjectly afraid. His nerve had oozed away the more forthe grimness of the man who stood before him--a man with such a woundas that who was still the master of his forces!

  He was terribly white. His teeth fairly chattered in his head. He hadplayed a desperate part--and lost. The race and this present_denouement_ had shattered the man completely. He came down to theground and stood there, silently staring at Van.

  Despite his show of strength Van stepped with difficulty to the back ofhis car and seated himself within.

  "Up in the seat there, Searle," he repeated, "and drive back atmoderate speed."

  Bostwick's surrender was complete. He climbed to the driver'sposition, still silently, and started the car in an automatic way thatknew no thought of resistance. At the rear of his head Van held thegun, and back towards Goldite they rolled.

  Two miles out the sheriff, in a borrowed car, grimly seated at thedriver's side, came bearing down upon them. The cars were halted longenough for the sheriff to take his place with Searle, and then theyhastened on.

  Christler had instantly seen that Van was wounded. He as quicklyrealized that to rush Van to town and medical attendance was the onlypossible plan.

  He merely said, "You're hurt."

  Van tried to smile. "Slightly punctured." He was rapidly losingstrength.

  Christler thought to divert him. He shouted above the purring of thecar.

  "Found Matt all right. I'm goin' to take him back to the Stateauthorities in that convict suit that's hangin' 'round the store."

  Van was instantly aroused. "No you don't Bill! No you don't! I'vegot use for those stripes myself. You'll buy Matt the best suit ofclothes in town, and charge the bill to me."

  If Bostwick heard, or understood, he did not make a sign. He wasdriving like a servant on the box, but he could not have stood on hisfeet.

  They were nearing the town. A cavalcade of horsemen, drivers ofbuggies, and men on foot came excitedly trooping down the road to meetthe short procession.

  Despite his utmost efforts, Van was gone. Weak from the loss of bloodand the shock, he could hold up his frame no longer.

  "Bill," he said, as the sheriff turned around, "I guess I'm--allin--for a little. Cold storage _him_, till I get back on my feet."

  He waved a loose gesture towards Bostwick, then sank unconscious on thefloor.