"Your mind is so fully occupied, my dear Paul," she said.
If he detected the sarcasm he ignored it. "Your story to Green is that I'm determined to kill him but you cannot bear it. Cut his bonds and tell him you've got Fagan out of the way. I'll have three men ready to follow him, and I'll take damned good care he doesn't get his own horse." He hurried away to do his part and the woman retraced her steps to the shack. The savage resentment towards the condemned man had gone and she was now doing what she could to save him. Once clear of the camp, she argued, it should be simple for a trained woodsman who knew he was being pursued, to trick men unused to following a trail. Outside the shack the stocky form of Fagan confronted her.
"Back again huh?" he jeered. "Thought you'd wished him good-bye a'ready."
"Open the door, and shut your foul mouth," she said.
The man obeyed and started back with an oath. "Hell's flames, he's gone!"
"Impossible!" she cried.
Thrusting him aside, she looked in. The lantern was there, still alight, but no prisoner; the hole in the wall at the back explained why. Her first feeling was one of elation--he had escaped, and then came a black thought--help had come from another. And, knowing it would, he had rejected her advances, no doubt laughing to himself, despising her ... Paul's harsh voice, speaking to Fagan, recalled her to reason.
"Escaped? How, you dolt?"
"Ask her," the man replied, pointing to Lora. "She's the only one what's been near him. She must 'a' cut " The woman whirled on him. "What did I tell you to do when I came out?"
"Done forgot that," Fagan stammered. "You said to make shore he was tied tight, an' I did." He darted into the shack, picked up the rope, and stared at it. "Ain't cut a-tall," he cried "an' the knots is just how we fixed 'em."
"Then you fixed them damned carelessly," Lesurge told him. Hank came running up. "Husky's hoss an' the black is missin'," he announced. "Mebbe the miner--"
"Talk sense," Paul interjected. "Miller would have used a knife and that hole has been made from the inside." A desire to vent his anger possessed him. "He's beaten the lot of you," he said, with a scathing look at his followers. "If I had six such men instead of you weaklings I'd conquer the world." The taunt penetrated even their thick skins and produced a chorus of muttered curses, but no one ventured an excuse. Baleful looks followed Lesurge and his sister as they returned to their own camp.
"The girl must tell all she knows or the old man suffers," Paul said vindictively. "I'll win--whatever the price." * * * Early on the ensuing morning, Mary and Lesurge were seated on an outcrop of rock near the camp, watching the fiery crimson splendour of the sun as it emerged from behind a distant range of hills. All traces of the tempest which had torn the man's self-control to shreds had gone; only the veiled passion in his gaze as it rested on her slim young body betrayed the fire within.
"The escape of the cowboy is serious," he began. "Really?" she asked. "Of course, you did not mean to--hurt him."
"I should have kept my word," he replied. "My dear, you do not fully comprehend. That man is an outlaw with a price on his head; his life is already forfeit. He is a cold-blooded killer, capable of any crime to compass his end--the stealing of our--your gold." Jo, "He might have robbed the coach," she objected.
"Green was after bigger game," Paul lied. "He's what you Westerners call a 'hawg'." She smiled at that but soon her face was grave again. "I never wanted wealth--much," she said reflectively. "And now I have seen what dreadful deeds men will do to get it ..."
"One has to live."
"Even though others die?"
"The inevitable law of Nature, from the tiniest insect upwards," he told her. "Mary, I want you to have every happiness that gold can give, but apart from that, I cannot let these bandits rob you; it would be my fault, due to my well-meant but stupid blunder." She laid a hand impulsively on his. "I will not have you blame yourself," she said. "Everything you did was for me." She flushed and added softly, "I hope that one day I can repay you." Her words sent the hot blood of desire racing through his veins and he bent his head lest she should see the naked lust which leaped to life in his eyes. Triumph surged in him; he had won--so far.
"My dear, you mean all to me," he said tenderly, "but I shall never be content until I have checkmated those rogues and repaired the damage I have done. You must help me to find the mine, Mary." The girl was silent, consldering. Snowy was an impostor, the secret her own and she had a right to part with it. In a low voice she told him: "This spot was spoken of and the cabin. You must follow the stream back to a strip of pines. A great granite finger which sways, overshadows the mine; the letter called it the Rocking Stone." Paul's eyes glistened. "If you'd only told me sooner," he said reproachfully.
"I promised not to," she replied. "I was given what seemed to be a good reason." With all his adroitness, he had hard work to hide his feelings. To have been baulked and nearly outwitted by a tool he hadmeant to use and throw aside made him writhe with rage. He promised himself that Snowy should pay--presently.
"Well, never mind, we can win yet," he smiled. "Come, Berg should have breakfast ready, and I'll own to being hungry." His good humour persisted when they returned to camp, and Lora--remembering his black mood but a few hours before--was scornfully amused. Snowy came sidling up, uncertain of his reception. Mary discerned his discomfort and took her own way to end it.
"Morning, Uncle Phil," she said.
It was her usual greeting, but this time it made the old man blink. He hesitated for a bare instant, and then. "Mornin', my dear," he returned huskily. Paul's frown was hut momentary.
"Good news, girls," he announced. "We take the trail today."
"To Deadwood?" Lora inquired.
"No, to El Dorado--the Land of Gold. Oh, it isn't far. We just travel up this creek till we reach a belt of trees, find an overhanging point of rock which moves, and there we are. Do you remember it--Ducane?" Snowy received the gibe apathetically. "Can't say I do," he mumbled. "Feller in Californy told me of a swingin' stone. a big chunk, one man could start rockin' but twenty couldn't tip her over. I reckoned he was lyin'. Never heard o' the like in these parts."
"You're going to see one, and work under the shadow of it, digging dust--for me," Paul said harshly. "And if you try to steal any I'll have you whipped."
"Mister Lesurge does not mean that, Uncle Phil," Mary said quietly. "If we have good fortune, you will share." Paul was quick to retrieve his error. "Of course I was only joking," he protested, but his laugh did not ring true.
While the preparations for departure were being made, Mary contrived to get the prospector alone.
"What is your real name, Uncle Phil?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I disremember--I've been 'Snowy' so long. Yo're mighty good to me, Mary, seein' how I've deceived you. There didn't seem much harm the way Paul put it, an' I was meanin' to play straight with you." Her eyes were gentle. "I don't doubt that, and my real uncle could not have been more kind. But how did you know so much about my father?"
"Fagan wised up Paul, an' he told me," Snowy confessed, and then, "Where did Fagan git his facts?"
"I cannot say. He travelled nearly all the way with me when I came to Wayside, but I told him nothing."
"So he might 'a' oeen around when yore father ..." Snowy did not finish.
"It is possible," she admitted, and stared at him. "You don't think--"