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ago, even before he had thought of her as a possible wife. He would, he told
himself, have killed her anyway, eventually. The thing was what to do now, for
just killing her would do him nothing but harm, unless
Unless the mine were left in his hands while her estate was settled. Seated,
his hands folded in his lap, he considered that possibility. It could be done
if there was no suggestion that he was responsible for her death, and of
course, he would take precautions to see that nothing of the kind occurred.
The chances were that she had told nobody of her action here today, unless it
was Trevallion. She might have told him, although he doubted that. One thing
he had noticed about Margrita Redaway was that she was closemouthed. She did
not tell her business to every comer.
Killing her was something he wanted done, yet it would do no good unless he
were left in control of the mine. Even if he eventually lost control, there
might be a year or more in the meantime, and during such a time he could
siphon off much of its wealth. The machinery for that was already in operation
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while Crockett was still around.
He would not go near the mine, and therefore there would be no one to say he
could not go there. He did not wish to be publicly turned away, for that would
arouse talk and would be generally knpwn. If not generally known he could, if
anything happened to Margrita Redaway, brush it off as mere nonsense.
The problem was how, when, and where. There was also the problem of obtaining
what papers she had and discovering just who had witnessed Will Crockett's
last testament. Yet, even that did not matter. Accept the fact that the mine
was willed to Margrita, but that she had transferred it to him.
Trevallion would know better, but Trevallion would be dead.
He took out his watch and checked the time. It would soon be time for dinner,
and he must be there, in his usual place.
A mine, perhaps the Solomon? Margrita Redaway had mentioned wanting to
descend into a mine, and women were said to be bad luck in a mine. Suppose she
was the one who had bad luck? Once in a mine there was so much that could be
done.
Possibly she and Trevallion together? He smiled. That would be a fortunate
coincidence. He could just hear the old miners commenting that he, of all
people, should have known better.
That new Forty-Miner tunnel. They were having trouble with oozing mud there,
anyway. It waa a dangerous spot, but there was rich ore back where it ran
close to the old workings. Crockett had always wanted to open up the old
workings as he had seen samples that looked good. Albert Hesketh had
deliberately talked him into delaying that project.
He smiled again, thinking of it. Albert Hesketh had done pretty well, up to
now. Yet the fat was in the fire and he had to act.
Santley. He had never trusted Santley, although the man had worked
faithfully. Santley was an apple-polisher, and once he realized, as he was
sure to, that a new hand might be in control he would seek to curry favor.
Santley had seen the samples from the new workings, and only last week Hesketh
had found him examining old samples from the old workings.
None of them trusted him, so he would simply let it work for him. If this
plan did not work, he had another. He sat down at his desk and wrote swiftly.
Mr. Santley:
If Miss Redaway suggests going into the mine, please advise her not to enter
Forty-Nine. At all costs, keep her out of that area. Say nothing to arouse her
curiosity.
Albert Hesketh
He smiled as he looked at the note. If that would not do it, nothing would.
And there was no better place. If anything was said, had he not tried to keep
them out?
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LI
WAGGONER STOOD UP and stretched. "You boys take it easy. I got me a little
job to do."
The man with the scarred hand looked up from the cards. "Never figured to see
you working in a mine, Wag. What's come over you?"
Waggoner smiled. "Pays well. At least my kind of work does."
"What about Trevallion? We can take him any time we want, Wag. Sure, he's
supposed to be good, but against three of us?"
"You jus' set back an' let me handle it. Maybe none of us will have to.
There's more than one way to chop wood but the thing most needful is a sharp
Ax."
"Ax?"
"Why not? Who's any better? Peel? Not on your life! Nobody's any better and
nobody has more reason. He's in it as deep as any of us."
"I ain't seen him in years. How'd you know where to find him?"
"I got ways." Waggoner suddenly sat down. He pushed his hat back on his head
and poured whiskey into a waterglass. "Or somebody does. Les, who knew about
that? Back there in Missouri, I mean?"
"Hell! Nobody knew! How could anybody?"
"Somebody does know, Les, somebody knows ever' damn one of us."
Les placed his cards carefully on the table. "You mean Trevallion?"
"Him, maybe. That's why we're here. But somebody else, too."
"Who could, Wag? You ain't thinkin'. Who was there? Baldy an' Pete were
killed by the feller at the blue wagon."
"That was Trevallion's pa."
"All right. That's Baldy an' Pete. Trevallion's killed Rory and Obie Skinner.
That's four gone. There's us, that makes seven, and the Clean-Cutter, which is
eight. That's all there was."
Waggoner tossed off his whiskey, made a face, and refilled his glass.
"Where'd the booze come from, Les? We were broke, remember?"
The other man looked up from the gun he was cleaning. "We got the booze from
that busted wagon, don't you recall? The one with the busted wheel. I was
wantin' a drink real bad and somebody says there was a jug in that busted-down
wagon. Sure enough, there was. That was how we all got liquored up."
"Who tol' you about that jug?" Waggoner asked.
"Hell! How should I remember? There was a lot of us around. Somebody said it
was there, that's all I know. I wanted whiskey an' I wasn't about to ask no
questions."
"Same with me," Les said. "What difference does it make, anyway?"
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"Maybe none atall. Maybe a lot. What I'm askin' myself is how that whiskey
happened to be there in an empty wagon? Does somebody leave a jug o' whiskey
just asettin'?"
"How should we know? What the hell, whiskey is whiskey. I take it where I can
get it."
"That's what he figured."
"Who?"
"Boys, we been euchered. We been set up an' taken. We done what we done but
somebody else got the money. Did you get any money, Les?"
"Hell, no."
"Well, neither did I. Neither did anybody unless it was him who left the
whiskey there. Who was it yelled that somebody was comin'? That a whole gang
was comin'?"
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