The Twins of Suffering Creek

The men of Suffering Creek thought they knew this man. But it is doubtful if anybody, even the man himself, knew Wild Bill. Probably the nearest approach to a fair estimate of him would have been to describe him as a sort of driving force to a keen brain and hot, passionate heart. Whether he possessed any of the gentler human feelings only his acts could show, for so hard and unyielding was his manner, so ruthless his purpose when his mind was made up, that it left little room for the ordinary observer to pack in a belief of the softer side to the man.

Ten minutes after performing his primitive ablutions Wild Bill was eating breakfast in the dining-room at the store, with Minky sitting opposite to him. The storekeeper was telling him of something that happened the night before, with a troubled expression in his honest eyes.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d get around,” he said, as soon as Birdie Mason had withdrawn to the kitchen. “I’d have given a deal for you to have been playin’ last night. I would sure. There was three fellers, strangers, lookin’ for a hand at poker. They’d got a fine wad o’ money, too, and were ready for a tall game. They got one with Irish O’Brien, an’ Slade o’ Kentucky, but they ain’t fliers, an’ the strangers hit ’em good an’ plenty. Guess they must ha’ took five hundred dollars out of ’em.”

Bill’s sharp eyes were suddenly lifted from his plate. He was eating noisily.

“Did you locate ’em–the strangers?” he grated.

“That’s sure the pinch,” said Minky, wiping his broad forehead with a colored handkerchief. The heat in the dining-room was oppressive. “I’ve never see ’em before, an’ they didn’t seem like talkin’ a heap. They were all three hard-lookin’ citizens, an’–might ha’ been anything from bum cowpunchers to–”

“Sharps,” put in Bill, between noisy sips at his coffee.

“Yes.”

Minky watched a number of flies settle on a greasy patch on the bare table.

“Y’see,” he went on, after a thoughtful pause, “I don’t like strangers who don’t seem ready tongued–none of us do, since the stage-robbin’ set in.”

“You mean–” Bill set his cup down.

Minky nodded.

“We ain’t sent out a parcel of gold for months, an’ I’m kind o’ full up with dust about now. Y’see, the boys has got to cash their stuff, and I’m here to make trade, so–wal, I jest got to fill myself with gold-dust, an’ take my chances. I’m mighty full just now–an’ strangers worry me some.”

“You’re weakenin’,” said Bill sharply, but his eyes were serious, and suggested a deep train of swift thought. Presently he reached a piece of bread and spread molasses on it.

“Guess you’re figgerin’ it ’ud be safer to empty out.”

Minky nodded.

“And these strangers?” Bill went on.

“They’ve lit out,” said Minky ruefully. “I ast a few questions of the boys. They rode out at sun-up.”

“Where did they sleep?”

“Don’t know. Nobody seems to know.”

Minky sighed audibly. And Bill went on eating.

“Ain’t heerd nothing o’ Zip?” the storekeeper inquired presently.

“No.”

“’Bout that mare o’ yours?”

Bill’s face suddenly flushed, and his fierce brows drew together in an ominous frown, but he made no answer. Minky saw the change and edged off.

“It’s time he was gettin’ around.”

Bill nodded.

“I was kind of wonderin’,” Minky went on thoughtfully, “if he don’t turn up–wot’s to happen with them kids?”

“I ain’t figgered.”

Bill’s interest was apparently wandering.

“He’ll need to be gettin’ around or–somethin’s got to be done,” Minky drifted on vaguely.

“Sure.”

“Y’see, Sunny’s jest a hoboe.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t guess Zip’s claim amounts to pea-shucks neither,” the storekeeper went on, his mind leaning towards the financial side of the matter.

“No.”

“Them kids’ll cost money, too.”

Bill nodded, but no one could have detected any interest in his movement.

“How’d it be to get that claim worked for him–while he’s away?”

Bill shrugged.

“Mebbe Zip’ll be gettin’ back,” he said.

“An’ if he don’t.”

“You mean?”

There was interest enough in Bill now. His interrogation was full of suppressed force.

“Yes. James.”

Bill sprang to his feet and kicked back his chair. The sudden rage in his eyes was startling, even to Minky, who was used to the man. However, he waited, and in a moment or two his friend was talking again in his usually cold tone.

“I’ll jest git around an’ see how Sunny’s doin’,” he said.

Then he drew out a pipe and began to cut flakes of tobacco from a black plug.

“See here, Minky,” he went on, after a moment’s pause. “You need to do some thinkin’. How much dust have you got in the store?”

“’Bout twenty thousand dollars.”

“Whew!” Bill whistled softly as he packed the tobacco in his pipe. “An elegant parcel for strangers to handle.”

The storekeeper’s face became further troubled.

“It sure is–if they handle it.”

“Jest so.”

Bill’s pipe was alight now, and he puffed at it vigorously, speaking between the puffs.

“Y’see, this feller James plays a big game. Cattle duffin’ and ord’n’ry stage-robbin’ ain’t good enough, nor big enough, to run his gang on. He needs gold stages, and we ain’t sendin’ gold stages out. Wal, wot’s the conclusion? I ast you?”

“He’ll hev to light out, or–”

“Jest so. Or he’ll get around here to–look into things. Those strangers last night were mebbe ‘lookin’ into things.’ You’ll need to stow that dust where the rats can’t gnaw it. Later we’ll think things out. Meanwhile there’s one thing sure, we don’t need strangers on Suffering Creek. There’s enough o’ the boys around to work the gold, an’ when they get it they mostly know what to do with it. Guess I’ll get on up to Zip’s shack.”

The two men walked out into the store. Minky in a pessimistic mood passed in behind his counter. This question of gold had bothered him for some weeks. Since the first stage-robbing, and James’ name had become a “terror” in the district, he had opened a sort of banking business for the prospectors. Commercially it appealed to him enormously. The profits under his primitive methods of dealing with the matter were dazzlingly large, and, in consequence, the business became a dominant portion of his trade. Nor was it until the quantity of gold he bought began to grow, and mount into thousands of dollars’ worth, that the difficulties of his traffic began to force themselves upon him. Then it was that he realized that if it was insecure to dispatch a gold stage laden with the property of the prospectors, how was he to be able to hold his stock at the store with any greater degree of security.

The more he thought of the matter the greater the difficulties appeared. Of course he saw possibilities, but none of them offered the security he needed. Then worry set in. History might easily repeat itself on Suffering Creek. James’ gang was reported to be a large one. Well, what if he chose to sweep down upon the camp, and clean the place out. Herein lay the trouble. And in consequence his days and nights were none too easy.

He had never spoken of the matter before. It was not a subject to be discussed with anybody. But Bill was different from the rest, and, for several days, Minky had sought an opportunity of unburdening himself to his friend. Now, at last, he had done so, and, in return, had received small enough comfort. Still he felt he had done the best thing.

CHAPTER IX

THE FORERUNNER OF THE TRUST

Bill passed straight through the store and set out across the town dumps. And it would have been impossible to guess how far he was affected by Minky’s plaint. His face might have been a stone wall for all expression it had of what was passing behind it. His cold eyes were fixed upon the hut ahead of him without apparent interest or meaning. His thoughts were his own at all times.

As he drew near he heard Sunny’s voice raised in song, and he listened intently, wondering the while if the loafer had any idea of its quality. It was harsh, nasal and possessed as much tune as a freshly sharpened “buzz-saw.” But his words were distinct. Far too distinct Bill thought with some irritation.

“A farmer ast the other day if we wanted work.Sez we, ‘Ol’ man, the labour?’ Sez he, ‘It’s binding wheat.’Sez we, ‘Ol’ man, the figger?’ ‘A dollar an’ a ha’f the sum.’Sez we, ‘Ol’ man, go an’ tickle yerself, we’d a durned sight sooner bum!’‘Anythin’ at all, marm, we’re nearly starvin’,Anything to hel-l-lp the bummers on their wa-ay,We are three bums an’ jolly good chums,An’ we live like Royal Turks,An’ with good luck we bum our chuck,An’ it’s a fool of a man wot works.’”

Just as Sunny was about to begin the next verse Bill appeared in the doorway, and the vocalist was reduced to a pained silence by his harsh criticism.

“You’d orter be rootin’ kebbeges on a hog ranch wi’ that voice,” he said icily. “You’re sure the worst singer in America.”

Then he glanced round for the children. They were nowhere to be seen. Sunny was at the cookstove boiling milk in a tin “billy.” His face was greasy with perspiration, and, even to Bill’s accustomed eyes, he looked dirtier than ever. He stood now with a spoon poised, just as he had lifted it out of the pot at the moment of the other’s entrance.

“Where’s the kids?” the latter demanded sharply.

Sunny shifted his feet a little uneasily and glanced round the dirty room. The place looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned for a month. There was a hideous accumulation of unwashed utensils scattered everywhere. The floor was unswept, let alone unwashed. And the smell of stale food and general mustiness helped to add to the keenness of the visitor’s nervous edge as he waited for the man’s reply.

“Guess they’re out on the dumps playin’ at findin’ gold,” Sunny said, with a slightly forced laugh. “Y’see, little Vada’s staked out a claim on a patch of elegant garbage, an’ is digging fer worms. Them’s the gold. An’ Jamie’s playin’ ‘bad man’ an’ swoopin’ down on her and sneakin’ her worms. It’s a new game. Y’see, I thought it out and taught ’em how to play it. They’re a heap struck on it, too. I–”

But words somehow failed him under the baleful stare of the other’s eyes. And turning back to the milk he fell into a stupid silence.

“You’ll get right out an’ huyk them kiddies off’n those dumps,” cried Bill sharply. “You got no more sense in your idjot head than to slep when your eyes shut. Diggin’ worms on the dumps! Gee! Say, if it ain’t enough to give ’em bile and measles, an’–an’ spots, then I don’t know a ‘deuce-spot’ from a hay-rake. Git right out, you loafin’ bum, an’ fetch ’em in, an’ then get the muck off’n your face, an’ clean this doggone shack up. I’d sure say you was a travelin’ hospital o’ disease by the look of you. I’m payin’ you a wage and a heap good one, so git out–an’ I’ll see to that darn milk.”

Argument was out of the question, so Sunny adopted the easier course of obedience to his employer’s orders. He dropped the spoon into the milk with a suddenness that suggested resentment, and shuffled out, muttering. But Bill followed him to the door.

“How?” he inquired threateningly.

“I didn’t say nothin’,” lied Sunny.

“I didn’t jest guess you did,” retorted Bill sarcastically. And he watched his man hurry out into the sunlight with eyes that had somehow become less severe.

He waited where he was for some moments. Then he turned back into the room and stared disgustedly about him.

“If a feller can’t fix two kiddies right an’ cook ’em pap without mussin’ things till you feel like dying o’ colic at the sight, he ain’t fit to rob hogs of rootin’ space,” he muttered. “I’d–Gee-whiz! Ther’s that doggone milk raising blue murder wi’–”

He rushed to the stove where the boiling milk was pouring over the sides of the pot in a hissing, bubbling stream. He clutched at the “billy,” scalding his fingers badly, jerked it off the stove, upset the contents on the floor and flung the pot itself across the room, where it fell with a clatter upon a pile of dirty tin plates and pannikins. He swore violently and sucked his injured fingers, while, in angry dismay, he contemplated the additional mess his carelessness had caused. And at that moment Sunny returned, leading two grubby-faced infants by the hand.

“I got ’em back,” he cried cheerfully. Then his shrewd eyes took in the situation at a glance, and they sparkled with malicious glee.

“Gee,” he cried, releasing the youngsters and pointing at the mess on the stove and floor. “Now ain’t that a real pity? Say, how d’you come to do that? It sure ain’t a heap of trouble heatin’ a drop o’ milk. Most any fule ken do that. I tho’t you savvied that, I sure did, or I’d ha’ put you wise. Y’see, you should jest let it ha’ come to the bile, an’ then whip it off quick. My, but it’s real foolish! Ten cents o’ milk wasted for want of a little sense.”

“Our dinner milk,” cried Vada in consternation. “All gone.”

“All dorn,” echoed Jamie, flinging himself on the floor and dipping his fingers into the mess and licking them with grave appreciation.

In a moment he was joined by the inevitable yellow pup, which burnt its tongue and set up a howl. Vada ran to the animal’s assistance, fell over Jamie’s sprawling legs and rolled heavily in the mess.

For some seconds confusion reigned. Sunny darted to Vada’s rescue, sent the pup flying with a well-directed kick, picked the weeping girl up, and tried to shake some of the milk from her dirty clothing. While Bill grabbed Jamie out of the way of any further mischief. The boy struggled furiously to free himself.

“Me want dinner milk,” he shouted, and beat the gambler’s chest with both his little fists.

“You kicked Dougal!” wailed Vada, from under Sunny’s arm.

And at that moment a mild voice reached them from the open doorway–

“Why, what’s happenin’?”

Bill and Sunny turned at once. And the next instant the children were shrieking in quite a different tone.

“Pop-pa,” they shouted, with all the power of their childish lungs. The men released them, and, with a rush, they hurled themselves upon the small person of their father.

Scipio set a bundle he was carrying upon the floor and scrambled Jamie into his arms and kissed him. Then he kissed Vada. After that he stood up, and, in a peculiarly dazed fashion gazed about him, out of a pair of blackened and bloodshot eyes, while the children continued to cling to him.

The two onlookers never took their eyes off him. Sunny Oak gazed with unfeigned astonishment and alarm, but Bill merely stared. The little man was a pitiable object. His clothes were tattered. His face was bruised and cut, and dry blood was smeared all round his mouth. Both eyes were black, and in one of them the white was changed to a bright scarlet.

James’ men had done their work all too well. They had handled their victim with the brutality of the savages they were.

Scipio let his eyes rest on Bill, and, after a moment’s hesitation, as though gathering together his still scattered wits, spoke his gratitude.

“It was real kind of you lendin’ me Gipsy. I set her back in the barn. She’s come to no harm. She ain’t got saddle-sore, nor–nor nothin’. Maybe she’s a bit tuckered, but she’s none the worse, sure.”

Bill clicked his tongue, but made no other response. At that moment it would have been impossible for him to have expressed the thoughts passing through his fierce mind. Sunny, however, was more superficial. Words were bursting from his lips. And when he spoke his first remark was a hopeless inanity.

“You got back?” he questioned.

Scipio’s poor face worked into the ghost of a smile.

“Yes,” he said. And the awkwardness of the meeting drove him to silently caressing his children.

Presently Sunny, who was not delicate-minded, pointed at his face.

“You–you had a fall?”

Scipio shook his head.

“You see, I found him and–his boys got rough,” he explained simply.

“Gee!”

There was no mistaking Sunny’s anger. He forgot his usual lazy indifference. For once he was stirred to a rage that was as active and volcanic as one of Wild Bill’s sudden passions.

But the gambler at last found his tongue, and Sunny was given no further opportunity.

“What you got there?” he asked, pointing at the parcel Scipio had deposited on the floor.

The little man glanced down at it.

“That?” he said hazily. “Oh, that’s bacon an’ things. I got ’em from Minky on my way up. He told me you’d sure got grub up here, an’ I didn’t need to get things. But I guessed I couldn’t let you do all this now I’m back. Say,” he added, becoming more alert. “I want to thank you both, you bin real good helping me out.”

Bill swallowed some tobacco juice, and coughed violently. Sunny was eaten up with a rage he could scarcely restrain. But Scipio turned to the children, who were now clinging silently to his moleskin trousers.

“Guess we’ll get busy an’ fix things up,” he said, laying caressing hands upon them. “You’ll need your dinners, sure. Poppa’s got nice bacon. How’s that?”

“Bully,” cried Vada promptly. Now that she had her father again everything was “bully.” But Jamie was silently staring up at the man’s distorted features. He didn’t understand.

Wild Bill recovered from his coughing, suddenly bestirred himself.

“Guess we’d best git goin’, Sunny,” he said quietly. “Zip’ll likely need to fix things up some. Y’see, Zip,” he went on, turning to the father, “Sunny’s done his best to kep things goin’ right. He’s fed the kiddies, which was the most ne’ssary thing. As for keppin’ the place clean,”–he pointed at the small sea of milk which still stood in pools on the floor–“I don’t guess he’s much when it comes to cleanin’ anything–not even hisself. I ’low he’s wrecked things some. Ther’s a heap of milk wasted. Howsum–”

“Say!” cried the outraged Sunny. But Bill would allow no interruption.

“We’ll git goin’,” he said, with biting coldness. “Come right along. So long, Zip,” he added, with an unusual touch of gentleness. “I’ll be along to see you later. We need to talk some.”

He moved over to Sunny’s side, and his hand closed upon his arm. And somehow his grip kept the loafer silent until they passed out of the hut. Once outside the gambler threw his shoulders back and breathed freely. But he offered no word. Only Sunny was inclined to talk.

“Say, he’s had a desprit bad time,” he said, with eyes ablaze.

But Bill still remained silent. Nor did another word pass between them until they reached Minky’s store.

The moment they had departed Scipio glanced forlornly round his home. It was a terrible home-coming. Three days ago in spite of all set-backs and shortcomings, hope had run high in his heart. Now–He left the twins standing and walked to the bedroom door. He looked in. But the curtains dropped from his nerveless fingers and he turned back to the living room, sick in mind and heart. For one moment his eyes stared unmeaningly at the children. Then he sat down on the chair nearest the table and beckoned them over to him. They came, thrilled with awe in their small wondering minds. Their father’s distorted features fascinated yet horrified them.

Jamie scrambled to one knee and Vada hugged one of the little man’s arms.

“We’ll have to have dinner, kiddies,” he said, with attempted lightness.

“Ess,” said Jamie absently. Then he reached up to the wound on his father’s right cheek, and touched it gently with one small finger. It was so sore that the man flinched, and the child’s hand was withdrawn instantly.

“Oose’s hurted,” he exclaimed.

“Pore poppa’s all hurt up,” added Vada tearfully.

“Not hurt proper,” said Scipio, with a wan smile. “Y’see, it was jest a game, an’–an’ the boys were rough. Now we’ll git dinner.”

But Vada’s mind was running on with swift childish curiosity, and she put a sudden question.

“When’s momma comin’ back?” she demanded.

The man’s eyes shifted to the open doorway. The golden sunlight beyond was shining with all the splendor of a summer noon. But for all his blackened eyes saw there might have been a gray fog of winter outside.

“Momma?” he echoed blankly.

“Ess, momma,” cried Jamie. “When she comin’?”

Scipio shook his head and sighed.

“When she comin’?” insisted Vada.

The man lowered his eyes till they focused themselves upon the yellow pup, now hungrily licking up the cold milk.

“She won’t come back,” he said at last, in a low voice. Then with a despairing gesture, he added: “Never! never!” And his head dropped upon Jamie’s little shoulder while he hugged Vada more closely to his side as though he feared to lose her too.

CHAPTER X

THE TRUST

It was a blazing afternoon of the “stewing” type. The flies in the store kept up a sickening hum, and tortured suffering humanity–in the form of the solitary Minky–with their persistent efforts to alight on his perspiring face and bare arms. The storekeeper, with excellent forethought, had showered sticky papers, spread with molasses and mucilage, broadcast about the shelves, to ensnare the unwary pests. But though hundreds were lured to their death by sirupy drowning, the attacking host remained undiminished, and the death-traps only succeeded in adding disgusting odors to the already laden atmosphere. Fortunately, noses on Suffering Creek were not over-sensitive, and the fly, with all his native unpleasantness, was a small matter in the scheme of the frontiersman’s life, and, like all other obstructions, was brushed aside physically as well as mentally.

The afternoon quiet had set in. The noon rush had passed, nor would the re-awakening of the camp occur until evening. Ordinarily the quiet of the long afternoon would have been pleasant enough to the hard-working storekeeper. For surely there is something approaching delight in the leisure moments of a day’s hard and prosperous work. But just now Minky had little ease of mind. And these long hours, when the camp was practically deserted, had become a sort of nightmare to him. The gold-dust stored in the dim recesses of his cellars haunted him. The outlaw, James, was a constant dread. For he felt that his store held a bait which might well be irresistible to that individual. Experienced as he was in the ways of frontier life, the advent of the strangers of the night before had started a train of alarm which threatened quickly to grow into panic.

He was pondering this matter when Sunny Oak, accompanied by the careless Toby Jenks, lounged into the store. With a quick, almost furtive eye the storekeeper glanced up to ascertain the identity of the newcomers. And, when he recognized them, such was the hold his alarm had upon him, that his first thought was as to their fitness to help in case of his own emergency. But his fleeting hope received a prompt negative. Sunny was useless, he decided. And Toby–well, Toby was so far an unknown quantity in all things except his power of spending on drink the money he had never earned.

“Ain’t out on your claim?” he greeted the remittance man casually.

“Too blamed hot,” Toby retorted, winking heavily.

Then he mopped his face and ordered two whiskies.

“That stuff won’t cool you down any,” observed Minky, passing behind his counter.

“No,” Toby admitted doubtfully. Then with a bright look of intelligence. “But it’ll buck a feller so it don’t seem so bad–the heat, I mean.” His afterthought set Sunny grinning.

Minky set out two glasses and passed the bottle. The men helped themselves, and with a simultaneous “How!” gulped their drinks down thirstily.

Minky re-corked the bottle and wiped a few drops of water from the counter.

“So Zip’s around,” he said, as the glasses were returned to the counter. And instantly Sunny’s face became unusually serious.

“Say,” he cried, with a hard look in his good-natured eyes. “D’you ever feel real mad about things? So mad, I mean, you want to get right out an’ hurt somebody or somethin’? So mad, folks is likely to git busy an’ string you up with a rawhide? I’m sure mostly dead easy as a man, but I feel that away jest about now. I’ve sed to myself I’d do best settin’ my head in your wash-trough. I’ve said it more’n oncet in the last half-hour. But I don’t guess it’s any sort o’ use. So–so, I’ll cut out the wash-trough.”

“You most generally do,” said Toby pleasantly.

“You ain’t comic–’cep’ when you’re feedin’,” retorted Sunny, nettled. Then he turned to Minky, just as the doorway of the store was darkened by the advent of Sandy Joyce. But he glanced back in the newcomer’s direction and nodded. Then he went on immediately with his talk.