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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77862 ***
+
+                   THE CURSE OF THE PAINTED CLIFFS
+
+                           By W. C. Tuttle
+           Author of “Spawn of the Desert,” “The Plotters,” etc.
+
+
+                             Calico Town
+
+                  A sky of brass, the sun a flame,
+                  And the land no place to dwell;
+                  The only spot that God forgot,
+                  A hunk of earth, so doggone hot
+                  That it still belongs to Hell.
+
+                            Descriptive of Calico Town.
+
+
+An ore-wagon creaking over a desert road, going at a snail-like pace,
+heading for a jumble of bright-hued, rock-ribbed hills. The land a
+desolation of sand, harsh sage, cactus, which rattled like paper in the
+heat-laden breeze. The sky a brassy dome, almost green in its
+intensity, out of which flamed a sun.
+
+Far above the hills circled the buzzards, seemingly suspended on
+invisible wires, for they hung motionless in that thin air--watching,
+always watching. On all sides stretched the desert, broken here and
+there in the distance by black peaks, as though at some remote period
+this country had been a vast mountain range, which had sifted full of
+sand, until only the peaks remained.
+
+Only the creaking ore-wagon and the rutted road showed the hand of man
+in this place. A few hours would suffice the desert to reclaim the
+road; for the desert is jealous of the hand of man, and, like the
+jungle, it is ever striving to protect its own.
+
+But the ore-wagon creaked on and on toward the painted rocks, which
+flashed back the sunlight. The two men on the ore-wagon humped
+dejectedly in the heat, saying nothing. They were black from the wind
+and sun, colorless of garb, harsh of feature.
+
+Up a rutty, rocky road creaked the wagon, going into the painted hills.
+One of the men touched the other on the arm and pointed toward a spire
+of rocks. On a shelf of this spire stood a girl, looking out into the
+desert. Her black dress threw her into bold relief against the orange
+tint of the rocks.
+
+She was not beautiful, but there was a sweetness, a wistfulness about
+her face that made men look at her more than once. Her eyes were a
+misty-gray; almost black in the strong lights, and her brown hair, with
+its tint of copper, she wore in a long braid.
+
+“Luck Sleed,” said one of the men in a flat, colorless voice. “She’s
+always lookin’ out into the desert.”
+
+“What fer?” wondered the other.
+
+“Gawd knows what fer.”
+
+“Ain’t nothin’ to see, except the damn desert. What would anybody look
+at the desert fer?”
+
+“Whatcha ask me fer?” peevishly. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ out there
+to look at. Been here a year and I ain’t never seen nothin’ but heat
+and sand. Gawd, I wonder what green grass and runnin’ water look like.”
+
+“Ain’t none,” wearily. “Fairy tales, Jim; things yuh dream you’ve seen,
+like castles in Spain. Wonder what Luck Sleed is lookin’ at. Dreams,
+mebbe?”
+
+“Mebbe. Agin mebbe she’s lookin’ fer a sweetheart to come in out of the
+desert.” The man laughed bitterly and shook his head. “He’d be a hell
+of a looker, if he crossed the Mojave.”
+
+“Like me and you, eh? But looks don’t count up here, Jim. Nothin’ much
+counts, except water and whiskey and bein’ quick with a gun. If yuh got
+all them along with a heat-proof brain, mebbe you’ll git along. I
+dunno.”
+
+“Gotta have a sun-proof brain, that’s a cinch. Mine’s fried to a
+cinder. Cinder brain, that’s me. That’s what we all got. If we didn’t
+have cinder brains we’d all pull out of here, but a cinder brain won’t
+let yuh think long enough to git plumb out of the Mojave. Giddap!”
+
+The ore-wagon ground on up to a rock-ribbed flat, the tired horses
+panting heavily in the heat, leaving behind them the tall spire of
+rock, beside which stood the black-clad girl, looking out into the
+desert.
+
+Before them, on the slope, seemingly plastered against the cliffs, was
+the town of Calico--a one-street huddle of adobe houses, made from
+adobe clay and colored with muck from the silver mines. No two of the
+houses were the same color, and at a distance they appeared as colored
+drawings against the cliffs.
+
+The street was short--not over two hundred yards in length--paved
+unevenly with the solid rock of the hills. Back of the street the hill
+sloped sharply to ledges, where a few more adobe houses perched
+drunkenly, and behind them towered the painted cliffs, which were
+honeycombed with tunnels.
+
+On the north side of the town was a deep, rock-bound canyon, known as
+Sunshine Alley. It angled sharply back into the mountain, the sides
+breaking sheer, and the whole canyon so grotesque in formation that it
+did not appear to be a work of nature. And on all sides, beyond the
+slope on which stood the main street, the cliffs heightened in broken
+ledges, dotted thickly with more tunnels, with wooden chutes extending
+into the canyon, through which poured streams of silver-laden ore, to
+ore-wagons or cribs built in the bottom.
+
+And in this Sunshine Alley lived the greater part of the thirty-five
+hundred population; lived in caves, hollowed places in the cliffs and
+in homes built into the angle of the canyon. For the most part they
+were roofless, windowless. Rain did not come to the Calico mountains;
+so there was little need of a dwelling place, except for semi-privacy.
+With great frequency one or more of the population would move
+permanently to Hell’s Depot, the iron-hard graveyard which played a
+conspicuous part in the life of the town.
+
+In fact, Calico, in the middle of the eighties, was little better than
+a village of cliff dwellers, as far as habitation was concerned; and
+morals were as scarce as house-tops.
+
+“Silver” Sleed had been the boss of Calico for a number of years. His
+Silver Bar was the only saloon and gambling house in the town, a
+concession which he had jealously guarded, and his death had caused all
+of his holdings to be inherited by Luck. Her name was Nola, but Sleed,
+whose good fortune was proverbial, had nicknamed her Sleed’s Luck. To
+her belonged the Silver Bar, the California saloon and gambling house
+at Cactus City, and the Lady Slipper and Nola mines, which were two of
+the largest producers of Calico.
+
+“I don’t sabe Luck,” declared one of the mine owners, following the
+death of Silver Sleed. “Luck hankers f’r education and wants t’ be a
+grand lady; so why in hell don’t she sell out and go where she can be
+them three things? She’s plumb rich now.”
+
+“Don’t have t’ sell out,” declared another. “She can go away and let
+somebody run them places, can’t she?”
+
+Luck let others run her business places, but still she stayed on.
+Something seemed to hold her to Calico, although she hated it with all
+of her young soul. Men had tried to make love to her, but Luck would
+have none of them.
+
+Just now she came back from the tall spire, where she had stood looking
+out across the desolation of the Mojave desert. The long, purple
+shadows of evening were already softening the rough edges of the hills,
+and from the depths of Sunshine Alley long, thin ribbons of smoke were
+already reaching upward, as the evening meals were being prepared for
+the men, who would soon be coming out of the tunnels, ant-like figures,
+which would wind slowly down the perilous trails or swing carefully
+down rope ladders.
+
+Then would come the moonlight to make the world a fairyland of the
+softest of blue; a mystical land, covered by a velvet sky, studded with
+sky-diamonds, which seemed very close to the earth, and a moon, like a
+great ball, stereopticon in its contour and fairly transparent in its
+soft brilliancy.
+
+Luck loved the nights. From the doorway of her home, perched on a
+narrow slope above the town, she always sat in the moonlight; a
+solitary figure, drinking in the wonders, while below her gleamed the
+yellow lights of the town and to her ears came the screeching of a
+violin, the tin-panny jangle of a piano, the discordant jumble of human
+voices, or, perhaps, the dull thump of a pistol shot.
+
+Luck came slowly up the street, paying little attention to those who
+spoke to her, until she came opposite the Silver Bar. A tall,
+frock-coated man was standing in the doorway, evidently deep in
+thought. His dark eyes were squinted beneath the brim of his wide,
+black hat and his white teeth were clenched tightly around a very black
+cigar.
+
+A thin nose surmounted a sharply waxed mustache, below which jutted a
+belligerent chin. But the most noticeable thing about this man was his
+lavish display of jewels. The buttons of his ornate vest, the
+stick-pin, cufflinks were all made from finely cut sapphires of large
+size, but the solitaire which gleamed from the third finger of his left
+hand dwarfed and outshone all the rest.
+
+This man was “Fire” French, a virtuoso of the green cloth. He had been
+nicknamed “Sapphire,” which had been shortened to Fire.
+
+Contrary to his nickname, he was as cold as ice--a killer; a killer who
+weighed the odds carefully and spared when the balance was against him.
+He lifted his eyes and looked across at Luck. His hand swept to his
+sombrero and he bowed. Luck merely nodded and passed on. Fire French
+watched her pass on and a smile twisted the corners of his thin mouth.
+He shook his head, as though he did not understand her. For the first
+time in his life, Fire French had found a woman who was not at all
+dazzled by his personality or raiment, and he was piqued.
+
+At the instigation of several friends, she had engaged French to run
+the Silver Bar. They had argued that it would require a man of great
+ability, and Fire French was the man. There were only two dissenting
+voices--those of Mica Cates and Louie Yen.
+
+Mica Cates had stood squarely behind Luck in everything, except hiring
+Fire French. Mica was a born pessimist, a retailer of news, to which
+was added dire prophecy, and freely-given advice. He was short of
+stature, bowed of legs and bearded to the eyes.
+
+Louie Yen was the only Chinaman in Calico; the only oriental that had
+ever been allowed in the town. He owned the only laundry and minded his
+own business. He was very old--he did not know how old--with a wrinkled
+face, the skin of which was parchment-like and seemed to crackle--when
+he grinned his toothless grin. And Louie Yen was very wise. He had the
+inherited wisdom of his ancestors, to which he had added his own golden
+years of experience.
+
+Mica Cates did not like Fire French, and he did not care who knew it.
+Louie Yen did not like Fire French, but he told it to no man, except
+himself; because he knew only one man he could trust--himself.
+
+Louie Yen worshiped Luck Sleed. He had watched her bloom into womanhood,
+and he was forever shaking his head sadly over his ironing-board or
+washtub. To him she would always be “Li’l gi’l,” just as she was the day
+that she came to town with Silver Sleed.
+
+Louie was standing in the doorway of his laundry, smoking a long pipe,
+as Luck came up the street. He could see Fire French looking after her.
+He had seen Fire French’s courtly bow. Now he removed the pipe from his
+mouth and grinned pleasantly.
+
+“H’lo, li’l gi’l.”
+
+“Hello, Louie,” Luck stopped, and smiled at him.
+
+“Louie Yen jus’ smile,” he told her seriously. “Too ol’. No can bow,
+yo’ sabe?”
+
+“Oh!” Luck looked back toward the Silver Bar, but Fire French was not
+there now.
+
+“Wha’sa matta?” queried Louie. “Yo’ no look please.”
+
+“I want to ask you a question, Louie Yen. Do you remember the day
+before, or the day that my father was killed?”
+
+Louie nodded quickly.
+
+“There was a poker game, Louie Yen.”
+
+Louie nodded again, but his eyes were blank now. He was trying to
+forget.
+
+“In that poker game,” continued Luck, “my father lost some money to the
+man who was called Duke Steele. That money was never paid, Louie Yen.
+Do you know how much money it was?”
+
+Louie Yen knew, but Louie Yen did not want to tell her that Duke Steele
+had won forty-six thousand dollars from Silver Sleed, and that he had
+accepted Sleed’s I. O. U., for this great amount. Duke Steele had
+disappeared, following the death of Sleed, and no one knew where he had
+gone.
+
+“How much money, Louie Yen?” persisted Luck.
+
+“No can tell, li’l gi’l. Five men see fo’ sure; fo’ dead, one gone.”
+
+“Why didn’t he come back and collect his money?”
+
+“Ho!” chuckled Louie Yen. “No can tell. Yo’ want find him jus’ fo’ give
+him money, li’l gi’l?”
+
+Luck flushed slightly and Louie Yen puffed rapidly on his long pipe. He
+was very wise, was Louie Yen. Luck turned and started up the hill.
+
+“Goo’-by, li’l gi’l,” called Louie softly.
+
+“Good night, Louie Yen.”
+
+The misty moonlight had quickly followed the sunset, and the mountain
+was bathed in a soft blue haze, making everything indistinct. Men were
+already coming in over the rim of Sunshine Alley, and the yellow lights
+of the street threw their shadows in grotesque shapes on the adobe
+walls.
+
+From the doorway of her home, Luck Sleed looked down at the lighted
+street and lifted her eyes to the velvety, starlit sky.
+
+“God only made the nights,” she said softly. “Preacher Bill Bushnell
+told me that. He said that the devil bossed the day-shift until Calico
+was built and then he worked overtime.”
+
+Luck Sleed’s life had not been laid in pleasant paths; being, as far
+back as she could remember, one succession of killings. It was little
+wonder that she looked down upon the reveling Calico and repeated
+Preacher Bill’s decision that----
+
+“Calico don’t need religion, Luck. You could preach the gospel down
+there until hell froze over. They don’t sabe what yuh say. Tell it to
+’em in hot lead--that’s the language they understand. I ain’t sayin’ a
+word agin’ your father, but Calico needs a man with high ideals and the
+ability to shoot hell out of those who are too deaf to hear him curse
+’em.”
+
+Luck smiled over the words of Preacher Bill, who had not lived long
+afterward. Perhaps he was right, perhaps wrong; she did not know. At
+any rate, she was tired of bloodshed and the shamelessness of Calico
+Town. She gazed over the town, out into the misty stillness of the
+desert. Somewhere out there was a man; a young man, whose face was
+indelibly stamped upon her memory. He and his little burro had faded
+out into the desert, carrying an I. O. U. for forty-six thousand
+dollars, signed by Silver Sleed.
+
+Luck did not know the amount of this I. O. U., but she did know that it
+was an enormous amount. Did Duke Steele deliberately throw away this
+amount so that she might have it, or was he crazy, as some declared?
+Luck shook her head. She was considered wealthy, but this money would
+never belong to her until that gambling debt was paid. That was why she
+stayed in Calico--to pay a debt. So she told herself.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was the following morning that Mica Cates came past Luck’s house,
+bringing her word of a shooting scrape in the Silver Bar, in which a
+miner had been killed by Fire French.
+
+“He was a miner in the Lady Slipper, Luck,” explained Mica, “and he had
+a wife and one kid.”
+
+Luck shut her lips tightly.
+
+“I reckon the boys’ll have t’ take up a collection f’r her and the
+kid,” observed Mica sadly.
+
+“What started the trouble, Mica?”
+
+“Poker game. This Andy Bowers didn’t take kindly to the way Fire French
+dealt the draw in a big pot; so he throws down his hand and opines to
+remove his money, statin’ at the same time that he don’t care t’ play
+the game thataway.
+
+“French kinda watches him, like a cat watchin’ a mouse, and then he
+says, ‘You insinuatin’ that this here game ain’t on the square?’
+
+“Andy hauls his money out and gets to his feet, as he says, ‘Nobody
+ever seen me draw my money out of a pot before, French; so yuh can
+figure it out for yourself.’
+
+“French gits to his feet, kinda easy-like; not actin’ a bit sore, but
+before anybody has a chance to say a word, he shoots from his hip and
+kills Andy too dead t’ skin. Then Fire French explains that he don’t
+allow no man t’ question his honesty nor honor. I ain’t sayin’ that the
+game was crooked, Luck; but it don’t ’pear to me that it was sufficient
+cause t’ kill a man.”
+
+Luck shook her head. “A gambler’s honor! Most of the killings are over
+honor, Mica Cates. Does taking a life clear a gambler’s honor, I
+wonder?”
+
+“I s’pose. If a man ever declares ’em crooked, they’re done for, ’less
+they wipe out the insult with blood.”
+
+“It’s a queer world, Mica Cates.”
+
+“Yes’m, Luck, it sure is queer. What do yuh know about the new saloon
+and gamblin’ house, the Mojave?”
+
+“Nothing. I only know that the new place is going to open tonight.”
+
+“Silver Sleed wouldn’t ’a’ stood fer it,” declared Mica. “No tin-horn
+gamblers ever cut in on his town. It sure looks t’ me like they was
+a-goin’ t’ try and run you out of business, Luck. Them two new places in
+Cactus City has plumb ruined yore trade down there, and now this here
+new place will split up business. Killin’ of Andy Bowers ain’t goin’ t’
+make Fire French any too pop’lar, y’betcha.”
+
+Luck nodded slowly. It was true that the Sleed fortune was not growing.
+Both the Lady Slipper and the Nola were not paying expenses now. Luck
+had twenty thousand dollars in coin hidden away, which had been slowly
+dribbling away through alleged bad runs of luck in the gambling houses.
+
+“Pete Black still runnin’ the Lady Slipper?” queried Mica Cates.
+
+“Yes--both mines, Mica.”
+
+“Neither one payin’ a cent? I heard it talked about, Luck. Poor old Andy
+Bowers talked about it last night. He had a few drinks, I reckon. Some
+of the miners was worryin’ about them two veins peterin’ out and they
+was talkin’ about it. Andy said it wasn’t poor ore, but it was damn poor
+minin’. Said they cut right away from the rich ore in the Lady Slipper.
+Well, Andy’s gone now. Feller ain’t none too secure in this here life.
+Here t’day, gone t’morrow--and a gambler’s honor saved. S’long, Luck.”
+
+“So-long, Mica Cates.”
+
+She watched him go over the rim into Sunshine Alley; going down to start
+a collection for the wife and kid of Andy Bowers. Luck turned and went
+back into the house, where she stopped before a crude mirror and looked
+at herself closely. A misty-eyed girl stared back at her; a girl with
+tousled hair and compressed lips.
+
+For a long time she stared into the mirror at herself. Lying on the
+old-fashioned bureau in front of her was the six-shooter that had
+belonged to Silver Sleed; the gun he had taught her to shoot.
+
+Suddenly another reflection seemed to fade into the mirror, and she saw
+Fire French’s grinning lips, waxed mustache, sparkling sapphires.
+
+Swiftly she whirled, with the gun in her hand; but he had stopped midway
+between the open door and where she stood, and was still smiling at her.
+
+“What do you want?” she asked coldly.
+
+Fire French laughed softly and shook his head. “Did I frighten you,
+Luck?”
+
+“No!” She shook her head quickly. “But why do you come sneaking into my
+house, Fire French?”
+
+“I didn’t mean to. The door was open and I seen you admirin’ yourself in
+the mirror; so I thought I’d help you do a little admirin’, Luck.”
+
+“This house is mine and I don’t allow nobody to come here. I wasn’t
+admiring myself.”
+
+“You ought to,” smiled French. “You’re pretty. Never seen eyes like
+you’ve got, Luck. Some folks look at you and think you’re still a kid,
+but you’re a woman and you’ve got a woman’s charms. Why don’t yuh mix
+with folks?”
+
+“Like you?” queried Luck.
+
+“Well, why not? Is there anythin’ wrong with me?”
+
+“Yes,” said Luck slowly. “You’re too honest.”
+
+Fire French laughed loudly, thinking that she meant it as a compliment.
+
+“You have too much honor to protect,” added Luck.
+
+“What do you mean?” French came closer to her, but he still respected
+the unwavering revolver muzzle.
+
+“Killing a man to protect your honor,” said Luck slowly, “a man with a
+wife and a kid.”
+
+“Oh, hell!” French shrugged his shoulders impatiently, “Do you want it
+said that a crooked deal is pulled off in the Silver Bar?”
+
+“No, nor a killing.”
+
+French smiled sarcastically. “Silver Sleed wasn’t so particular. You
+hired me to run that place, and I’m going to run it, Luck--run it like
+Silver Sleed did.” French glanced around the room and shook his head.
+“It ain’t right for you to live alone like this. You’re too pretty to
+spend your time alone.”
+
+“I hired you to run the Silver Bar, but not to run my business,” said
+Luck coldly. “Get out of here!”
+
+“Why?” queried French, “what’s the idea? You wouldn’t shoot me for just
+coming in your house, would you?”
+
+“You shot a man to protect your honor,” Luck reminded him in a flat
+voice, “and I’m as good as any gambler, I hope.”
+
+“You’re hopeless, Luck.” French shrugged his shoulders and turned to the
+door.
+
+“Maybe I am, but not helpless,” retorted Luck. Fire French laughed
+shortly and went down the trail, while Luck still leaned against the
+bureau and stared at the doorway, with the heavy gun hanging limp in her
+hand.
+
+Came a soft knocking at the door and she turned to see Louie Yen,
+carrying a small bundle of laundry, which he placed on a chair. The
+bundle had been carelessly tied--not at all like Louie Yen’s neat
+work--and Louie Yen was not panting from the walk up the steep hill.
+
+“I bling jus’ li’l bit today,” apologized Louie. “Mo’ bling tomolla,
+li’l gi’l.”
+
+“Why did you only bring part of it, Louie Yen?”
+
+Louie shifted his feet and stared blankly at her.
+
+“Velly hot today,” he observed. “Mus’ go back now.”
+
+He turned and went out of the door, hurrying away before Luck had a
+chance to question him further. But Luck knew that Louie Yen had seen
+Fire French coming up to her house, and she knew that Louie Yen had
+grabbed part of her laundry and followed Fire French. The few pieces of
+laundry were only an alibi for Louie Yen to be there in case she needed
+help.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Cartier Le Moyne was the biggest man in the desert country; the biggest
+physically, and no weakling mentally. But he did not let the power of
+his physical being interfere with his dreams of conquest; his plans to
+make himself the king of the desert.
+
+His plan was to control the mines, the liquor trade and the gambling.
+The rest of the desert was merely incidental. Le Moyne’s keen mind
+studied the possibilities for a long time before he began active
+operations. One of his stumbling blocks had been Silver Sleed, but he
+was safely out of the way now.
+
+Le Moyne had come to Cactus City as an assayer. To his little shop had
+come the prospector, trusting in Le Moyne to give him a fair report on
+assays; but Le Moyne was not in business for any such purpose. If he
+found a particularly rich sample of ore, and was unable to find out
+where it was found from the prospector himself, he would have a trusted
+man to trail the prospector back to his claim.
+
+A rifle shot, another man who did not come back, a location notice filed
+in the name of the man who fired the shot--it was all so simple. No law
+to interfere. In a few days the coyotes and buzzards would remove the
+evidence, and what was left the desert would cover deeply. Then Le Moyne
+would acquire the prospect legally, and proceed to develop it.
+
+But these prospects required money to develop them, and Le Moyne was
+shooting at bigger game just now. He still operated the assay office,
+while from his private office he pulled the strings that were to
+eventually drag the desert kingdom into his big hands.
+
+Two days before he had sent one of his trusted men to follow a
+prospector, whose assay sample had run into hundreds of dollars a ton.
+He sat at his desk, humped in his chair, wondering how large this rich
+vein might be. His features were massive, seemingly out of proportion to
+the rest of the man. His skin was greasy, yellow; his hair black and of
+coarse texture.
+
+His desk was a litter of papers, ore samples, a box of very black
+cigars. Directly in front of him lay a heavy six-shooter. Le Moyne was
+not a gunman, but he kept a loaded gun handy. He preferred to let his
+hirelings do the shooting.
+
+Suddenly his door flew open and a man stepped inside. Le Moyne’s head
+jerked up quickly at the intrusion, but he did not speak. The intruder
+was kicking the door shut with his heel, but keeping his dark gray eyes
+steadily on Le Moyne. He was hardly past thirty years of age, bronzed as
+an Indian, with black hair, which grew low between his ear and cheek,
+and with the easy grace of a desert wolf.
+
+Neither of them spoke. Le Moyne scowled slightly, but there was no hint
+of recognition in his black eyes. The newcomer’s left hand searched
+inside his belt and with a flip of the wrist tossed a small buckskin
+sack onto the desk in front of Le Moyne, where it thudded softly.
+
+Le Moyne glanced at the sack and back at the man, taking in his personal
+appearance. This man wore a faded shirt, wide sombrero, woolen pants,
+which were tucked into the tops of his boots. His waist was circled by a
+wide, weather-beaten cartridge belt, heavily studded with cartridges,
+and the holster, which hung low on his thigh, contained a
+serviceable-looking six-shooter. Le Moyne also noted that the holster
+was tied down to the man’s leg.
+
+Le Moyne’s eyes flashed down to the buckskin sack and he shifted in his
+chair.
+
+“Whatcha want it assayed for?” he asked hoarsely.
+
+“The price of a man’s life,” said the younger man coldly. “Melt her up
+and see if it’s worth it, Le Moyne.”
+
+“What do yuh mean, stranger?” wonderingly.
+
+“I’m Duke Steele,” said the man softly. “Your hired killer told me a few
+things and sent that hundred dollars back to you. He said you always
+paid him in advance.”
+
+Le Moyne licked his lips. He had known who this man was, but had tried
+to bluff. Now, he knew the bluff was not going to work well at all.
+
+“A quitter, was he?” Le Moyne knew he might as well admit his guilt in
+the matter.
+
+“Not the way you mean, Le Moyne. When your assay only showed a trace of
+gold, I knew you lied for a purpose; so I watched my own trail. I had
+melted some gold and run it into the seams of that sample.”
+
+Le Moyne blinked rapidly. He had been a fool. Why did he not give this
+man an honest report? The fact of the matter was this: Le Moyne had been
+too lazy to assay the sample, but knew from outward appearances that it
+was worth acquiring.
+
+“Well, you can’t prove anything,” declared Le Moyne.
+
+Duke Steele smiled and walked over to the desk, where he picked up Le
+Moyne’s gun and tossed it aside. Then he sat down on the corner of the
+desk and smiled down at Le Moyne’s greasy face.
+
+“Goin’ to boss the desert, are yuh, Le Moyne? Yes, your man told me all
+about it before he cashed in. I reckon he told me a lot of things about
+you. Seems queer to you that this man should tell me things, but when a
+man’s dyin’ he has to talk to somebody. Kinda eases his conscience, I
+reckon. That man had quite a lot of sin on his mind.
+
+“He told me about killin’ off the original locator of the Dancing Jasper
+mine. He told me how you sent him on the trail of the old crippled Swede
+that located the Aztec, and how the old Swede squealed when the bullet
+hit him, and then he told me----”
+
+“Damn your soul, stop that!” Le Moyne’s face had gone ashen. “You can’t
+prove nothin’! What do you want, Steele?”
+
+“Me?” Steele grinned softly. “I want my part of this big steal you’re
+going to make, Le Moyne.”
+
+“Oh!” Le Moyne relaxed in his chair and wiped the perspiration off his
+face. He laughed, but it was without mirth.
+
+“No, I’m not a fool,” assured Duke Steele. “I know what kind of an
+organization you’ve got. Mebbe they could wipe me off the earth without
+no trouble. I want to throw in with you, Le Moyne. I sabe that nobody
+outside of your gang will be able to hold a thing here, and I want
+mine.”
+
+Le Moyne laughed, and this time with mirth. “I thought you was an honest
+man, Steele. Ha, ha, ha! You don’t need to be afraid of me and my gang,
+’cause you’re one of us. I need a few more men like you--men with cold
+nerve.”
+
+“I’m not afraid of you and your gang, Le Moyne. Who have yuh got that
+stacks up as a nervy man?”
+
+Le Moyne smiled and lighted a cigar. “Well, I’ve got Fire French and
+Pete Black at Calico--been there for quite a while. ‘Slim’ Curlew is
+there by this time. He’s goin’ to run the Mojave. With Pete Black in
+charge of the Nola and Lady Slipper, Fire French in charge of the Silver
+Bar at Calico, and Tex Supelveda runnin’ the California, here in Cactus
+City, I reckon we kinda stand to put these two towns where we want ’em.”
+
+Duke Steele smiled. “And you’ve got men on every good prospect around
+here. Where do I fit in? Got any place to put me at Calico?”
+
+Le Moyne licked the wrapper of his cigar thoughtfully before he said,
+“Why do yuh want to go to Calico, Steele?”
+
+“It was my pardner who killed Silver Sleed, and they ran me out of
+town.”
+
+Le Moyne straightened in his chair. “Thasso? Say, are you the feller
+that trimmed Sleed in a poker game?”
+
+Duke nodded. Le Moyne leaned across his desk.
+
+“I heard all about that, Steele. How much did yuh win from him that
+night?”
+
+“Forty-six thousand.”
+
+“Whew!” Le Moyne whistled softly. “Where is the I. O. U. he gave yuh?”
+
+“Lost it,” lied Duke softly, and his thoughts went back to that night,
+when he stopped in the desert moonlight and tore into bits that piece of
+paper. He wanted Luck to have all that money.
+
+“Gawd!” mumbled Le Moyne. “Yuh could collect that money if yuh still had
+the paper. Didja ever see Sleed’s girl?”
+
+Duke Steele’s eyes softened for a moment, but he did not want Le Moyne
+to know too much; so he shook his head.
+
+“She owns everythin’ that Sleed owned,” grinned Le Moyne, “but the mines
+have quit payin’ and the Silver Bar is havin’ a hard run of luck. Mebbe
+we can buy cheap in a short time. The California ain’t doin’ nothin’
+either.”
+
+“Freeze-out, eh?” queried Duke.
+
+“Damn right!” Le Moyne leaned across the table and held out his enormous
+right hand clenched. “Inside of six months I’ll have the Mojave desert
+where I can squeeze every dollar out through my fingers, Steele. I’m
+goin’ to be good to them that help me--to hell with the rest!”
+
+“Where do I go?” queried Duke.
+
+“To Calico. This time they won’t run yuh out, Steele. Fire French can
+use yuh, I reckon--him and Slim Curlew.”
+
+He tossed the buckskin sack to Duke.
+
+“Go and get some clothes, Steele. If that ain’t enough, send ’em to me
+for the balance.”
+
+Duke Steele accepted the money and left Le Moyne, who was very glad to
+realize that things had turned out much better for him than he had
+expected. It was true that he had lost a hired killer, failed to acquire
+a rich mine, but a man like Duke Steele was worth winning.
+
+But Le Moyne had no idea of playing fair with Duke. He was only a
+tool--and Le Moyne needed good tools just now. Later on, when his
+usefulness was over, Le Moyne knew of many ways to rid himself of those
+who expected to help him in squeezing the desert.
+
+And Duke Steele knew all this; knew that he would only be a cog in Le
+Moyne’s machinery--a machine that would be broken into bits after Le
+Moyne’s position was secured. Others might pride themselves that they
+would have rich holdings under Le Moyne, but Duke Steele knew that Le
+Moyne intended to be absolute monarch.
+
+But Duke lost no time in buying new clothes, and when he left the little
+trading store he was a sartorial triumph. A wide, white sombrero,
+trimmed in a band of Mexican silver; a many-hued silk shirt, a beaded
+vest, frock coat and a pair of checked trousers, narrow of knee and
+broad of bottom, which he tucked into a pair of fancy-stitched,
+soft-leather boots, with very high heels. He spent the hundred dollars
+and left a bill of another hundred against Cartier Le Moyne. As a
+parting present the storekeeper gave him a large scarlet silk
+handkerchief, which Duke Steele looped about his neck.
+
+The stage was preparing for the sixty-mile night trip to Calico, and
+Cartier Le Moyne was talking with the driver when Duke came up to them.
+Le Moyne grinned at Duke, but did not mention the gaudy outfit.
+
+“Ready to leave?” he asked, and Duke nodded.
+
+“Hop on,” grunted the driver. “We’re pullin’ out.”
+
+“The driver will take yuh to French,” said Le Moyne, and went on up the
+street. Duke watched after him until he went into the California saloon,
+and then climbed into the stage-coach.
+
+Sixty miles over a desert road was a long way--an almost impossible
+distance in daylight--so the stage left either terminal at sundown and
+made the entire distance in the cool of the nights. The natural desert
+road, untouched by scraper or grader, is as smooth as the best
+boulevard, and the stage-coach swayed gently to the rhythm of four
+speeding horses.
+
+Alone inside the coach, Duke Steele relaxed. He was wearing Le Moyne’s
+clothes, taking Le Moyne’s pay and was now one of an organization that
+would not hesitate for a moment to kill him if he played them false.
+Still he smiled softly and thought of a misty-eyed girl. No, Duke Steele
+was not in love with the girl he had barely known almost a year before.
+She was only a kid, he remembered, but she had probably saved him from
+death at the hands of a mob.
+
+It seemed but yesterday to Duke Steele. He had led his burro silently
+away from Calico, and out on the desert he had destroyed Silver Sleed’s
+I. O. U. for forty-six thousand dollars. That was a lot of money--more
+money than Silver Sleed could have paid. It would have taken everything
+away from Luck.
+
+Duke had expected that Luck would have sold out and gone away long
+before this. She wanted education; wanted to live in a civilized world.
+Why did she stay in Calico? Duke shook his head over the question and
+went to sleep, with his head pillowed in his white sombrero and the
+scarlet handkerchief across his face to keep out the sifting sand.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The stage drew up at the adobe stage-station and Duke Steele alighted.
+There had been little change in Calico in a year. Louie Yen was coming
+up the street and he glanced curiously at Duke. Somehow the face was
+familiar, but the Chinaman was unable to remember just where he had seen
+this man before. Duke went straight to the Silver Bar and found Fire
+French, who had just got out of bed. In a few short words he explained
+who he was and who had sent him to Calico. French looked him over
+coldly, until the stage-driver came in and corroborated Duke’s story.
+
+“I don’t know what in hell Le Moyne wanted to send yuh here for,”
+growled French. “There’s enough of us here to handle this end of it.”
+
+“Yuh might go to Cactus City and ask him,” replied Duke coldly.
+
+“Yeah?” sarcastically. “Did he tell you to take orders from me?”
+
+“He did not.”
+
+“Oh, I suppose you came up here to run things, eh?”
+
+“I’m here because I told Le Moyne I wanted to come here. There wasn’t
+any argument, French.”
+
+French flicked back his long hair with a jerk of his head and grinned
+patronizingly at Duke Steele.
+
+“Can that be possible? Pardner, knowin’ Le Moyne like I do, I don’t
+hesitate to tell you that you’re a----”
+
+Swift as the slash of a panther, Duke Steele’s right hand shot out and
+an iron fist collided with French’s jutting jaw. Back against the bar
+went French, rebounding into a left-handed swing that caught him on the
+opposite side of the jaw, knocking him cold.
+
+As Duke landed his knockout he sprang back across the room, and his
+heavy six-shooter covered the few people who had witnessed the affair.
+The two bartenders stared at Duke and seemed to want to look over the
+top of the bar at the huddled figure of Fire French, but did not want to
+take too many chances with this quick-moving, hard-eyed young man.
+
+“I reckon he was goin’ to call me a liar,” observed Duke slowly, “which
+I wasn’t.”
+
+Fire French came slowly back to life and got to his feet. The world was
+still semi-opaque and he clung to the bar for several moments before his
+head cleared sufficiently for him to remember what had happened. His
+teeth seemed to ache collectively and there was a numbness about his
+jaw-bone.
+
+He looked at Duke Steele dazedly and felt tenderly of his jaw. Fire
+French had never been knocked down before and he did not like the
+after-effect. It would cause him to lose caste, but there was nothing he
+could do--just now.
+
+“I didn’t let yuh finish your declaration,” said Duke seriously, “’cause
+I don’t like the word you was goin’ to use, French. If you don’t think
+yuh had an even break in the game, we’ll throw away our guns and settle
+it now.”
+
+Fire French took this under advisement. Here was a man who wanted to
+fight, a man who was prepared--and Fire French never fought unless the
+odds were in his favor.
+
+“Or,” continued Duke, “if you’d rather settle it with a gun, I’m
+willin’.”
+
+French shook his head slowly. “I reckon I made a mistake, Steele.” His
+voice was flat.
+
+Duke grinned. “Le Moyne told me he had nervy men up here. I suppose I
+ought to accept your apology, French, but it wasn’t sincere. You reckon
+you made a mistake, eh? Yes, you did, but you still think I’m a liar;
+the mistake you made was in saying such a thing.”
+
+“Well, let’s drop the argument,” said French painfully. His jaw was
+beginning to hurt badly, and his pride pained him even more than the
+sore jaw. He knew that argument was not going to get him anywhere with
+this gaudy young man.
+
+“All right, I’m willin’ to drop it,” agreed Duke. “Never did like
+arguments. I reckon I’ll go and find myself some breakfast.”
+
+Duke went out the door, but kept one eye on French and the others.
+French turned to the bar and helped himself to a stiff jolt of liquor.
+The stage-driver moved in beside him and accepted a free drink.
+
+Then the two men turned toward the door, where Luck Sleed was standing,
+looking at them. Her face was a trifle pale, for she had spent a
+sleepless night arriving at a grim resolution concerning Fire French. It
+was the first time she had ever been in the Silver Bar, and the men
+stared at her wonderingly, as her eyes traveled from face to face. Then
+she looked directly at Fire French and her words were very distinct and
+spaced widely apart:
+
+“French--you--are--fired.”
+
+She flung her hand in an imperious gesture toward the door.
+“Get--out--of--here. I’m--going--to--run--this--place--myself.”
+
+“You are?” French gasped, and glanced quickly at the others, as though
+not believing his own ears.
+
+“I am!”
+
+For a moment they were too stunned to do more than stare at her and at
+each other. Then French laughed loudly.
+
+“Girl, have you gone crazy?” he demanded harshly.
+
+“You can’t do that, Luck,” added Black, quickly.
+
+“Can’t I?” Luck half-smiled, but only with her lips.
+
+“Never heard of such a crazy idea in m’ life,” declared Slim Curlew.
+
+Luck pointed toward the rear of the room. “Take your stuff and get out,”
+she went on. “I don’t know how many people you have hired since you
+started working here, but they go with you.”
+
+French snorted sarcastically and spread his hands in a gesture of
+resignation, “What can yuh do in a case like that?”
+
+“Better think it over, Luck,” advised Black. “You can’t run a place like
+this. Silver Sleed never let yuh mix into this kind of business--with
+these kind of folks. You don’t know anythin’ about the business.”
+
+“Oh, let her run it if she wants to,” laughed French. “She won’t last
+long.”
+
+He turned and went to the rear, where he packed up his few belongings.
+The bartenders grinned widely and came around to the front of the bar.
+
+“We’re fired, too, are we?” one of them asked.
+
+“If French hired you, yes,” replied Luck firmly.
+
+“You’ll have a sweet time runnin’ this place,” stated Slim Curlew
+threateningly.
+
+“I expect to,” smiled Luck, “and I’m going to start by asking you to
+keep out of here.”
+
+“Zasso?” spluttered Curlew. “This is a public place and you’ll have a
+hell of a time if you try to pick and choose your customers.”
+
+Curlew swaggered out and after a moment Black and the two bartenders
+followed. French came from the rear room, carrying his belongings. He
+grinned sarcastically at Luck, but did not speak, as he went out of the
+door.
+
+The miners had stood apart during the argument, but now they gathered
+around her.
+
+“I tended bar for yore dad,” said one of them, a youngish sort of miner,
+“but French fired me and I went to work in the mines.”
+
+“Did you?” queried Luck. “I suppose I will need bartenders, won’t I? Do
+you want the job?”
+
+“I’ll take it,” he declared, and at that moment Mica Cates came in. He
+stared at Luck for a moment, and then a wide grin spread across his
+face.
+
+“Luck, I was in the Mojave a few minutes ago and I heard what you was
+goin’ to do. Fired the whole works, eh?”
+
+“Hired me already,” grinned the new bartender.
+
+“That’s good,” applauded Mica. “Bud Harvey’s a good bartender. But,
+Luck, yuh got to have at least three men to run games and one more
+bartender.”
+
+“Will you work for me, Mica Cates?”
+
+“Gosh, no!” gasped Mica. “I dunno a danged thing about this kinda work,
+but mebbe I can help yuh pick out some good men.”
+
+“All right,” smiled Luck, “you pick them out for me. I don’t know what
+to do myself.”
+
+Mica Cates considered her for a few moments and scratched his head, as
+he said, “I dunno either, Luck. If it was me, the first thing I’d do
+would be to hook m’ fingers around a gun.”
+
+Luck’s right hand came slowly into view, from where she had concealed it
+in the folds of her skirt, and it was holding a heavy six-shooter.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+A man came into the little restaurant, where Duke was eating, and
+exploded the news to everybody.
+
+“Luck Sleed is goin’ to run the Silver Bar! She’s done fired Fire French
+and his whole outfit.”
+
+For a few moments the restaurant buzzed with the news. Duke Steele made
+no comments, but smiled softly to himself, as he paid for his meal and
+went down the street to the Mojave gambling house.
+
+French was standing at the bar, laughing with the crowd, which was
+partaking of the Mojave hospitality, but he sobered quickly at the sight
+of Duke Steele. Slim Curlew sized up the newcomer carefully. He had
+heard of French’s downfall and was curious to see this young wildcat.
+
+But French, in spite of his previous trouble, was diplomatic enough to
+drop all reference to it and introduced Duke to Curlew and Pete Black.
+None of them shook hands, but Curlew drew Duke aside. “Did Le Moyne tell
+yuh what to do up here?” he asked hoarsely. Curlew had a whiskey voice,
+which was almost asthmatic in quality.
+
+Duke shook his head. “No, I’m not under orders from anybody.”
+
+“Tha’s funny,” observed Curlew. “Le Moyne ain’t in the habit of doin’
+things like that. He usually tells yuh what to do, and he sees that yuh
+do it, too.”
+
+“Yeah?” Duke seemed amused, and his smile did not set any too well with
+Curlew.
+
+“You fellers are afraid of Le Moyne, ain’t yuh?” asked Duke.
+
+“I don’t sabe you.” Curlew shook his head, ignoring Duke’s question. He
+was afraid to talk business to Duke, for fear that Duke might have been
+sent to Calico on a secret mission.
+
+“Don’t let that bother yuh,” grinned Duke. “Lotsa folks don’t sabe me,
+Curlew. Le Moyne don’t.”
+
+Curlew nodded and shoved his hands deeply into his pockets. “Heard about
+the Silver Bar, didn’t yuh, Steele?”
+
+Duke laughed. “I heard a girl was goin’ to run it, if that’s what yuh
+mean.”
+
+“Yeah. That can’t last, though; Le Moyne will see to that.”
+
+“I reckon so. Got a place where a feller can sleep? I didn’t get much
+sleep on that stage.”
+
+“Sure, I can fix yuh up, Steele.”
+
+Curlew led the way to a short stairway, which led to the rooms at the
+rear, and opened the door of his own private room. It was roughly
+furnished, but the bunk looked good to Duke Steele.
+
+“Won’t nobody bother yuh here,” stated Curlew. “Sleep as long as yuh
+want to.”
+
+He went back down the stairs and joined French and Black at the bar.
+
+“What do yuh think of him?” queried French.
+
+“Look out for him,” warned Curlew. “I’ve got a hunch that Le Moyne sent
+him in here to spy on us. He’s too damned independent to just be a
+helper.”
+
+“Do yuh reckon Le Moyne’s suspicious that we’re----” began Black
+nervously.
+
+“Shut up!” interrupted French. “If Le Moyne’s suspicious that we’re
+high-gradin’ his mines or holdin’ out on the gamblin’ money--let him. A
+big crook like Le Moyne is always suspicious. If this Steele is his spy,
+go easy. We’ve got to play soft with him, boys. Bumpin’ him off might be
+easy, but it would start Le Moyne on our trail in no time.”
+
+“He’ll have a hard time provin’ anythin’,” growled Curlew. “Whatcha
+goin’ to do about the Silver Bar?”
+
+“I’m sendin’ word to Le Moyne tonight,” said French, “and we’ll let
+things go as they are until we hear from him. He’ll know how to handle
+it.”
+
+“Then we keep our hands off this Steele, eh?” queried Black.
+
+“If you know what’s good for yuh,” replied French, absently caressing
+his sore jaw.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The news spread quickly in Calico, and when the stars peeped over the
+hills, Sunshine Alley spewed its polyglot horde into the main street.
+The Silver Bar was overcrowded. Never before had the play been as big,
+nor had liquor flowed in such quantities.
+
+Duke Steele awoke and looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock, and he
+wondered at the lack of noise from the gambling room. It took him only a
+moment to dress, and he walked slowly through the big room, paying no
+attention to the idle attendants. On the sidewalk he met Curlew and
+French, who were coming to the Mojave.
+
+“The girl is gettin’ a big play, is she?” he asked.
+
+Curlew swore softly and looked back toward the Silver Bar.
+
+“Just somethin’ new,” grunted French. “We’ll have ’em all back tomorrow
+night.”
+
+Duke walked on and crowded his way inside. The room was a roaring hive
+of sound; the rattle of poker chips, clinking of glasses, the screech of
+a fiddle, shuffling of many rough boots and the discord of many tongues.
+
+A solid cloud of tobacco smoke eddied about the low ceiling, fogging the
+yellow oil lights; swooping down and making faces and forms grotesque
+and indistinct. Duke elbowed his way to the center of the room. It was
+like being in the midst of a herd of animals.
+
+Suddenly he saw Luck Sleed. She was standing against the end of the bar,
+dressed in black. Her face was very white and the misty-yellow lights
+only seemed to add a copper sheen to her hair. She seemed oddly out of
+place in there.
+
+A man started to squirm past Duke, but looked into his face and stopped.
+The man was Mica Cates and he had recognized Duke Steele. Duke
+remembered him, too, and smiled.
+
+“Well, you came back, eh?” said Mica, and started to say something else,
+but was shoved away by several more men who were going toward the bar.
+
+Duke shoved past them and worked his way to a place beside Luck. For
+several moments she did not look his way, and when she did there was no
+sign of recognition. Her eyes strayed back to the crowd, and Duke smiled
+softly. It was all so new to her, in spite of the fact that she had
+lived in Calico for a long time.
+
+“It’s a big night, Miss Luck,” said Duke.
+
+She turned and looked at him, as she might have looked at any of the
+miners who had spoken to her that night, and nodded. Again she started
+to turn away, but her eyes came back to his face. For several moments
+she stared at him.
+
+“You?” she gasped wonderingly. “You?”
+
+“Yes’m, it’s me,” said Duke softly.
+
+She moved in closer, still staring at him, and grasped him by the arm.
+
+“I’ve looked--wondered, I mean,” she stammered, a flush coloring her
+white cheeks.
+
+“You’ve changed a lot in a year,” said Duke. “Why, you was only a little
+kid.”
+
+They looked at each other, oblivious of the noise of the room.
+
+“Why did you stay here, Luck?” asked Duke.
+
+“I wanted to see you. I heard about the money you won that night. Nobody
+would ever tell me how much it was.”
+
+“Shucks, I thought everybody had forgotten that.”
+
+“How much was it?” asked Luck.
+
+“I dunno,” smiled Duke. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
+
+“But I want to pay it to you--an honest debt,” insisted Luck. “How much
+was it?”
+
+Duke shook his head and smiled down at her, but suddenly the smile faded
+and he took her by the arm, roughly.
+
+“My God, was that why you stayed here? To pay that old gamblin’ debt,
+Luck?”
+
+Luck looked away from him, as she said, “I knew I’d never see you again
+if I went away, but I was sure you’d come back here some day.”
+
+Duke looked at her and around at the mass of men. He knew that Luck had
+stayed in a place she hated, just waiting for him to come back and get
+that money. And he had come back at last--not to collect a debt, but to
+help another man deprive her of everything.
+
+Right now she was starting in to buck the most powerful man in the
+desert country; a man who would show her about as much mercy as a
+wounded grizzly would show. It was a forlorn hope for the frail
+girl--bucking a power she did not know about as yet. Duke looked at her
+and wondered if she would defy Le Moyne, if she knew what he intended to
+do.
+
+A man had moved in close beside him and he turned to see the little
+Chinaman looking around, his face as inscrutable as a piece of yellow
+parchment. Louie Yen had never been in there before. It was no place for
+an Oriental. He caught Luck’s eye and smiled.
+
+“I come play li’l pokah, li’l gi’l,” he grinned, and then looked at
+Duke Steele closely.
+
+“I sabe yo’,” he said. “Yo’ come back, eh?”
+
+“I knew he’d come back, Louie Yen,” said Luck.
+
+“Tha’s ve’y nice,” replied Louie. “Long time wish, bimeby come. I go
+now.”
+
+Louie Yen shuffled away into the crowd, heading toward the door. Duke
+looked after him, a queer expression in his eyes. Then he turned to
+Luck.
+
+“He never came in here to gamble.”
+
+“No?” queried Luck.
+
+Duke shook his head and smiled. “That Chinaman had a knife two feet long
+up his sleeve.”
+
+Luck glanced toward the door and back at Duke.
+
+“Louie Yen is my friend. I haven’t many in Calico.”
+
+“You don’t need many of that kind,” smiled Duke, and then, seriously,
+“Luck, this is no place for you. You can’t stand this kind of a life.”
+
+“I’ve been told that before, Duke Steele.”
+
+“I wondered if you remembered my name, Luck,” and then softly, “these
+men have no respect for any girl, Luck. The spawn of the devil work in
+these mines.”
+
+An altercation had broken out in the center of the room and the crowd
+surged toward that point. Blows were being exchanged, curses hurled
+freely. The room became a shoving, shouting mass of men. A table crashed
+to the floor. Suddenly a bottle whizzed over their heads--a flash of
+glass in the whirling smoke--and Duke Steele flung up his right hand and
+knocked it spinning, just as it was about to hit Luck in the face.
+
+The heavy bottle numbed his hand and wrist, but he flung himself
+headlong into the mob, like a football player diving into the midst of a
+scrimmage. He had seen the man who threw the bottle; caught just a
+glimpse of his face in the hazy light.
+
+Three men were in a clinch, struggling, doing little to hurt each other.
+One of them was Pete Black and the other two were miners from the Nola
+mine. Duke’s rush carried him against them, and like a flash he caught
+Black by his big, red beard with both hands and fairly flung him off his
+feet into the close-packed mob.
+
+The other two fighting miners drew apart and considered this newcomer.
+Neither of them bore any marks of conflict. The crowd howled loudly at
+the interruption, but Black scrambled back to his feet, his face
+distorted with rage and suffering. Some of his beard still dangled from
+Duke Steele’s clenched fists.
+
+Black was the bigger of the two, powerful as a grizzly, but slow to
+start. Duke Steele did not wait a moment. As Black surged to his feet,
+Duke stepped into him, driving his left fist flush into Black’s face.
+The blow was well timed and it set Black back onto his heels. But Black
+was no coward. He dropped into a crouch and covered clumsily, as he
+advanced slowly. Twice Duke ripped overhand blows to the bridge of
+Black’s nose, but the big man only shook his head.
+
+“Look out for his feet!” yelled a voice. “Black’s a kicker!”
+
+The warning came just in time. Quick as a flash, Black kicked straight
+for Duke’s midriff, but Duke had sidestepped, set himself for the punch,
+and as Black’s kick met only the empty air, which caused him to
+momentarily lose his balance, Duke drove a terrific uppercut to his
+unprotected jaw.
+
+For several moments, Black pawed at the air, tottered on his legs and
+went down in a crumpled heap. The miners shouted with drunken glee and
+tried to pick Duke up on their shoulders, but he managed to escape them
+and went back to where he had left Luck. She was not there.
+
+Duke drew himself up on the bar and searched the crowd, but there was no
+sign of her. The mob still yelped and surged about the room, their
+appetite whetted for anything now. Duke dropped down and forced his way
+to the doorway.
+
+He gulped in a mouthful of fresh air and went out into the deserted
+street. His hands were cut and bleeding, and his right hand and wrist
+were swelling from the impact of the heavy bottle.
+
+He wanted to find Luck, and he wondered if she had been frightened and
+run home. He knew where she lived, and he mechanically traveled up the
+hill toward her home. A dark blotch in the shadow of a building
+attracted his attention and he stopped to investigate. It was the
+crumpled figure of a man, and when he lifted the face to the moonlight
+he looked down into the features of Louie Yen.
+
+There was a great blue welt above his left eye, but he was still
+breathing. Duke picked him up in his arms and from the rocky street came
+the clank of metal. It was Louie Yen’s knife, which had fallen from his
+nerveless hand.
+
+Duke picked up the long knife and glanced at it. The blade was
+discolored with blood.
+
+“Got a little action, anyway, Louie Yen,” he muttered, as he crossed the
+street, wondering where he could take the wounded Chinaman. Suddenly he
+saw Louie’s sign, which dangled before his little shack, and into this
+he carried its owner.
+
+There was a smell of wet clothes, strong soap and of many meals. He
+placed Louie on a hard bunk, drew down the shade on the only window,
+fastened the door and lighted the grimy oil lamp. Louie Yen mumbled to
+himself, while Duke bathed his head in lukewarm water from the barrel in
+the corner of the room. The blow on the head had knocked the Chinaman
+out, but Duke could find no other wounds on him. It appeared to have
+been a glancing blow, probably struck with the barrel of a six-shooter,
+and intended to smash Louie Yen’s skull.
+
+Then Louie’s eyes opened and he stared up at Duke. He turned his head
+and looked around the room and then tried to sit up. Duke had placed the
+knife on a rough table near the bunk, and now Louie looked keenly at it.
+
+“Better take it easy,” advised Duke, but Louie sat up and his slant eyes
+seemed to fairly blaze in his yellow face, as he pointed a claw-like
+hand toward the door. For a moment his tongue seemed paralyzed, but when
+the words did come they were like the crackle of pistol shots.
+
+“Yo’ go ’way from here!”
+
+“Loco,” thought Duke instantly.
+
+Louie spat something in the Chinese tongue, which might have been a
+terrible curse, so earnestly was it spoken.
+
+“How does your head feel?” asked Duke.
+
+Louie shook his head vehemently, still pointing at the door. “I sabe
+yo’! Yo’ go quick now!”
+
+There was no doubt that Louie was deadly serious and not at all insane.
+Duke grinned and nodded, “All right, old-timer. Don’t get all heated
+up.”
+
+But Duke backed toward the door. He was not taking any chances on Louie
+Yen, who was leaning forward off the bed, his slant eyes watching Duke
+with blazing hatred. Duke reached the door, unbarred it and started to
+go out; as Louie Yen flung himself forward to the table. His arm jerked
+up and backward; a silvery flash of light across the room, and the long
+knife tore a splinter of wood from the door casing and was caught tight
+as the door slammed shut behind Duke Steele.
+
+Duke whirled and looked at the knife blade. The throw had been almost
+perfect, but Louie had delayed too long. Duke shuddered, as he walked
+back down the street. Louie’s act had been so quick that it would have
+been almost impossible for Duke to have drawn a gun and stopped Louie
+ahead of the throw.
+
+“Now, what made him do that?” wondered Duke. “Why did he try to kill
+me? He wasn’t crazy, not a bit.”
+
+Duke stopped in the shadow of a building and tried to figure it out.
+Suddenly he realized that he was not wearing a hat. He had lost it in
+the Silver Bar, and he wondered grimly if there was anything left of his
+costly sombrero.
+
+He went back to the Silver Bar, but was unable to make any search on
+account of the mob. Again he looked for Luck, but she was nowhere in
+sight. Black was not there either, but in a few minutes he saw Slim
+Curlew at a roulette table.
+
+Someone spoke to him and he turned to see Fire French grinning at him.
+French invited him to have a drink, but Duke refused.
+
+“Seen anythin’ of our fair gamblin’-hall maiden?” asked French.
+
+Duke shook his head.
+
+“Where’s your hat?” asked French, grinning.
+
+“Lost it in a fight,” replied Duke coldly, “and I reckon it’s been
+tromped plumb to bed-rock by this time.”
+
+“Fight?” French was interested.
+
+“With your friend, Black.”
+
+“Oh!” French squinted closely at Duke. He knew that Black was a bad man
+in a fight, and he wondered how it could be that Duke Steele still had
+his being. Black usually put the boots to his victims, but Duke Steele
+did not seem to be suffering.
+
+“Just a conversational battle?”
+
+Duke lifted a swollen and cut pair of hands. “Look like it was, French?
+I reckon I made a soup-eater out of Black. The son-of-a-jackass tried to
+kick me, but I was lookin’ for it. I hate a kicker.”
+
+“Yeah?” marveled French. “And then what?”
+
+“Nothin’. He just stayed down, thassall.”
+
+“Thassall, eh?” French shook his head. “Steele, you can’t do things like
+that here. Black is one of Le Moyne’s best men. Didn’t yuh know that?”
+
+“Then Le Moyne is a damn poor judge of men,” retorted Duke. “The more I
+hear about Le Moyne the more I think he’s a big, greasy bluffer. If Pete
+Black is the type of men that Le Moyne is usin’ in his big game, Le
+Moyne is due to lose. They say that a chain is only as strong as its
+weakest link, French; Le Moyne’s chain has got a lot of weak links. He
+made a mistake in hirin’ tin-horn crooks to sit in a big game.”
+
+French’s jaw muscles tightened and his eyes twitched, but he managed to
+control himself. A burning hatred of this cold-eyed young man seared his
+soul, but he was afraid. Then, without a word, he turned and went out of
+the Silver Bar.
+
+Duke grinned softly. He knew that French was afraid of him. Calico was
+going to be an unhealthy place for him, he knew. Somewhere was Pete
+Black, minus several teeth and much prestige. Miners are quick to back a
+fighter, but, like the rest of humanity, are quick to lose confidence in
+a man after he has been whipped.
+
+Duke left the Silver Bar and went to the Mojave. A few miners were in
+there, but the Mojave was far from being a lively place. He went back to
+Curlew’s room, barred the door and went to bed, wondering what had
+become of Luck Sleed, wondering why the Chinaman had spat at him and
+threw the long knife at his back.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Cartier Le Moyne was an early riser. Long before the first tints of dawn
+painted the desert sky he could be found in his office, poring over
+smelter reports, planning further conquests. The smelter belonged to Le
+Moyne, but no one, except Le Moyne and the general manager, knew this.
+
+This morning Le Moyne’s face was drawn in a deep scowl, as he looked
+over the reports and read the name of “Telluride” Taylor. Opposite his
+name was a credit of five hundred dollars. Each monthly report showed a
+big net for Taylor. His ore was the richest in the desert.
+
+Time after time had Le Moyne’s men tried to trail Taylor to his mine,
+but he always managed to fade away into the desert, leaving them
+baffled. Then, silently herding his pack-train of burros, he would
+appear in Cactus City and unload at the smelter.
+
+Le Moyne had grown to hate Taylor, although he admired his skill in
+covering the trail. If one man, working alone, with only a few burros
+for transportation, could bring in such wealth, what could Le Moyne do
+with a force of men?
+
+Le Moyne tossed the reports into a drawer, got to his feet and went back
+to his stable, where he kept a horse. He was too unsettled to work; so
+he saddled the horse and rode away into the desert, going out the Calico
+road.
+
+Far away in the distance the sun was striking the black peaks, making
+them appear as golden cones on an ebony base. A few minutes later the
+light changed to a violet hue, shot with gold, changing suddenly to a
+deep amber, shot with cobalt streaks. It was like the fading out of one
+tint and the fading in of another on a motion picture screen.
+
+Then the world seemed to grow brighter as the harsh light of morning
+drove away the soft-hued tints, and the desert stood out in its true
+colors.
+
+Le Moyne rode slowly, looking out upon the desert, as a baron of old
+might have looked upon a land he intended to conquer. It was not a fair
+land in the light of day, but to Le Moyne it meant wealth and power.
+
+He left the road and rode slowly to a brushy hillock, where a group of
+Joshua-palms, the “Dancing Jaspers” of the desert, grew thickly. A
+jack-rabbit scooted from in front of him and bounced like a gray shadow
+up the slope, and a coyote, as gray as the desert brush, gave him one
+glance and limped away into the heavy cover.
+
+Near the top of the hillock Le Moyne drew rein. Far down the road came
+the stage from Calico, a thin cloud of dust blowing away from it in the
+slight breeze. To Le Moyne’s ears came the faint tinkle of a bell.
+
+He moved further into the cover of the palms and watched the stage
+coming swiftly. To his ears came the tinkle, tinkle of a bell again, and
+it seemed to be on the far side of the hill. He watched the stage until
+it was near enough to be hidden from his sight.
+
+Minute after minute passed, still the stage did not come into sight.
+There was no reason for the delay. Then he turned his horse and rode
+around the side of the hill, seeking to find why the stage had stopped,
+but before he reached the point of the hill the stage drove past him and
+went on toward Cactus City.
+
+Le Moyne lit a cigar and watched the stage fade out in a haze of dust.
+The sun was already growing hot, so he turned and rode down the hill.
+Again he heard the tiny tinkle of the bell, but this time the sound of
+it was continuous, as though the animal wearing it was traveling
+steadily.
+
+He turned and rode around the point of the hill, where he met a herd of
+five burros, heavily laden with sacks of ore, and behind them came a
+weather-beaten prospector carrying a rifle over his shoulder.
+
+It was Telluride Taylor, with his shipment of rich silver ore, heading
+toward the smelter. Le Moyne did not wait to meet him, but turned and
+rode back toward Cactus City.
+
+Suddenly he drew rein and his eyes narrowed in thought. Something had
+just occurred to him; something that burned into his soul like a
+white-hot brand. Had the stage stopped there to unload those sacks of
+high-grade silver ore? Was Telluride Taylor waiting there to receive the
+stolen ore?
+
+These thoughts caused Le Moyne to straighten up in his saddle and curse
+witheringly. If that was a fact, it was easy to see why his hired men
+had never been able to trail Telluride to his treasure mine. They were
+in partnership to beat him. Right now they were laughing at Le Moyne;
+stealing from him, while they took his pay.
+
+In a haze of anger he rode back and stabled his horse. He was too wise
+to shout his knowledge to the four winds, and there was no trace of
+anger in him when he met the stage-driver and received the report from
+Fire French. The written report read:
+
+    Let us know what you expect of Steele. Do not know where to use
+    him. Acts like he owned the town and seems to be looking for
+    trouble. Will not take orders from anyone. Luck Sleed fired
+    me and all the gang from the Silver Bar and is going to try
+    to run it herself. Tell us what you want done. Black says
+    everything is going good.
+                                                            French.
+
+Le Moyne read the message carefully. Things were not going at all well
+with him, but he smiled at the reference to Duke Steele looking for
+trouble.
+
+“I dunno what got into that danged girl,” said the driver. “She ain’t
+showin’ much sense.”
+
+Le Moyne looked coldly at him, as he folded up the message and said,
+“I’ll go to Calico with you tonight.”
+
+“All right,” said the driver slowly. “Mebbe that’ll help some.
+
+“I think it will,” meaningly, “in more ways than one.”
+
+Le Moyne turned and crossed the street just ahead of Telluride Taylor’s
+string of burros, but did not even look at Telluride. The driver watched
+him go into his office and squinted thoughtfully.
+
+“In more ways than one, eh?” he muttered. “Jist what in hell did he mean
+by that, do yuh suppose?”
+
+As there was no one there to answer the question, the driver shook his
+head and went seeking a bed.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mica Cates had also spent a bad night. Somehow he felt responsible for
+Luck, wanted to help her, but she was nowhere to be found. A miner had
+told him about the big fight between Black and the newcomer, and he had
+gone back to the Silver Bar, but could not find anybody who knew what
+had become of Luck.
+
+One of the bartenders remembered seeing her talking with Duke Steele,
+but had not seen her after the fight. Nearly all night Mica had sat on
+Luck’s doorstep, waiting for her, wondering what had happened to her. It
+was after daylight when he came down the street to Louie Yen’s laundry.
+The door was closed, but Mica opened it and peered inside.
+
+Louie Yen was humped up on a box beside his ironing board, his head
+swathed in bandages. He was smoking a long pipe, while he slowly whetted
+his long knife with a tiny hone.
+
+“Hyah, Louie,” greeted Mica, coming inside. “Seen anythin’ of Luck?”
+
+Louie stopped honing and stared at Mica. His old face seemed to have
+aged years in one night.
+
+“Yo’ no find?” he asked softly.
+
+“Dang it all--no!” Mica was very positive. “I’ve looked all over for
+her, Louie. What happened to you?”
+
+Louie’s hand went to his bandage and he shook his head.
+
+“You don’t know?” asked Mica.
+
+“I know,” nodded Louie. “Mebbe know too much; yo’ sabe?”
+
+“Thasso? Whatcha mean, Louie?”
+
+“Know too much, mebbe die,” ominously.
+
+“Aw, shucks! What’s got into yuh?” Louie picked up his hone and knife
+and began to put a razor edge on the long knife. The room was silent,
+but for the keen, wheen, wheen, of the hone against fine steel.
+
+“Yuh make me nervous,” complained Mica, “I asked yuh if yuh knew where
+Luck Sleed is, but yuh never said.”
+
+“No can do,” Louie shook his head, but did not look up. “I hear two men
+talk in dark las’ night. Louie Yen ki’p very quiet.”
+
+He tested the blade on the ball of his thumb and began honing again,
+while he continued in a sing-song tone, “One man say want li’l gi’l and
+other man say why wait fo’ big man say what to do? Yo’ takum now. One
+man say we fixum scheme. They go ’way. Louie Yen no can go to see. Louie
+Yen bimeby gonsee li’l gi’l and fin’ li’l gi’l talk to one man.
+
+“Louie Yen go outside, see what can fin’. Bimeby big fight. Louie Yen
+see two men in dark, carry li’l gi’l. She scream, but no can make hear.
+Louie Yen hear. Louie Yen try catch li’l gi’l. No can do.”
+
+Louie pointed to the bandage on his head and again he tested the edge of
+his knife.
+
+“Somebody steal her?” gasped Mica, getting to his feet.
+
+Louie nodded slowly and the lines deepened in his old yellow face.
+
+“Louie,” Mica’s voice quavered, “Louie, do yuh know who it was?”
+
+“No can do,” Louie shook his head. “One man wear big hat--w’ite hat; yo’
+sabe?”
+
+“With silver trimmin’?” asked Mica quickly.
+
+“Yes-s-s,” answered Louie. “Yo’ sabe now?”
+
+Mica nodded quickly. He knew that Duke Steele was the only man in Calico
+who wore that kind of headgear.
+
+“No sabe?” Louie shook his head. “W’y he steal li’l gi’l? Long time she
+look fo’ him. Plenty glad fo’ see him.”
+
+“I don’t sabe it either, Louie. Who do yuh reckon they meant when they
+spoke about the big man? Who is he?”
+
+“No can tell, Mica. He say not wait fo’ big man. Bimeby we fin’ out.
+Ah-h-h-h!” Louie’s gnarled thumb tested the edge of the knife and had
+found it perfect. He picked up his pipe and began smoking.
+
+“Well, ain’t we goin’ look for her?” demanded Mica impatiently.
+
+“No can do,” Louie shook his head. “Hunt now, never fin’; yo’ sabe? Li’l
+gi’l plenty safe now. Too much look, mebbe almos’ fin’--no safe.”
+
+“You reckon they can’t afford to let us find her?”
+
+“Um-m-m. Eyes no good fo’ hunt now. Somebody talk bimeby.”
+
+“All right, Louie, but I sure want to git m’ hands on the dirty coyotes
+that stole her.”
+
+“Plenty time; yo’ wait,” advised Louie softly.
+
+Mica nodded and went outside. It was blistering hot and not even a dog
+was in sight on the street. He went slowly down past the Silver Bar and
+into the Mojave. Duke Steele was sitting at a card table, playing
+solitaire.
+
+He smiled and nodded at Mica, who sat down at the table. Mica noticed
+that Duke was not wearing a hat and there was no sign of the hat on the
+table nor on any of the chairs. Neither of the men spoke. It was
+stifling hot in there and finally Duke threw the cards aside and leaned
+back in his chair.
+
+“This country ain’t cooled off none since I was here a year ago,”
+observed Duke. He had placed his hands on the table, and Mica could see
+that they were swollen and bruised. Duke noticed Mica’s glance and
+grinned.
+
+“Compliments of Pete Black,” he remarked, indicating his hands. “Have
+yuh seen him today?”
+
+Mica shook his head. He had heard of the fight.
+
+Duke studied Mica Cates for a while and then leaned across the table
+toward him, as he asked softly, “Do you know where Luck Sleed is,
+Cates?”
+
+Mica shook his head. “No, do you?”
+
+Duke smiled and shook his head, “No, but I’d sure like to, y’betcha.”
+
+Mica could not help feeling that Duke was in earnest. Either that, or he
+was a good actor and wanted to find out how much Mica Cates knew.
+
+“When did yuh see her last?” queried Mica.
+
+“Just before I fought with Pete Black. I was talkin’ with her when the
+fight started and I took a hand in it. When the fight was over she had
+disappeared.”
+
+Mica blinked over this information, but he was not going to let Duke
+Steele know his suspicions. Then, before he thought, he blurted the
+question, “Steele, who is the big man you’re workin’ for?”
+
+Duke stared closely at Mica and leaned slowly back in his chair. “Big
+man?” he asked. “What do yuh mean, Cates?”
+
+“You know what I mean, Steele.”
+
+“Do I?” Duke smiled at Mica’s anxious face.
+
+“Listen,” said Mica, “I ain’t sayin’ I ain’t afraid of you, Steele.
+You’ve licked two good men with your hands since you came here, and I
+sabe what you can do with a gun, but,” Mica stopped and leaned closer,
+“but jist the same I’m askin’ yuh what yuh done with Luck Sleed?”
+
+“What I done with her?” Duke’s smile was gone now and his voice was
+hard. “Would I be lookin’ for her, if I knew where she is, Cates?”
+
+Cates shook his head, but was unconvinced.
+
+“What do yuh mean by ‘big man’?” demanded Duke.
+
+Mica licked his lips slowly, but decided to try and bluff it through.
+
+“You and another man talked about a big man last night, Steele; and it
+sounds like you was workin’ for him. One of yuh wanted Luck Sleed and
+decided to steal her. That fight was jist a blind to steal her out of
+the crowd.”
+
+Duke squinted closely at Mica, whose face was beaded with perspiration,
+and a glimmer of understanding came to him.
+
+“Did you hear me talkin’ to another man?” demanded Duke. Mica shook his
+head.
+
+“Then how do yuh figure it was me?”
+
+“One of the men that stole Luck Sleed was wearin’ a big, white sombrero,
+with silver trimmin’s, Steele. Where is your hat?”
+
+Duke shook his head. “Pardner, I reckon the verdict is easy to read. I’m
+much obliged to yuh, just the same.”
+
+He leaned over and picked up the cards, paying no attention to Mica, who
+got to his feet and went back to the street. At the doorway he looked
+back at Duke, who was building another solitaire layout.
+
+Mica scratched his head and tried to review just what Duke Steele had
+said. He had not told who the big man was, nor had he admitted stealing
+Luck Sleed. Somehow, Mica felt that Duke Steele had had nothing to do
+with it. He had thanked Mica for some information, but Mica was not
+aware that he had explained anything to him.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+That night, French, Black and Curlew met in Curlew’s room at the rear of
+the Mojave. Black’s lips were puffed and discolored, one eye was as
+purple as a plum and all of his front teeth were missing. He had not
+been able to eat solid food that day and whiskey was a torture to his
+sore lips and mouth.
+
+French was in sympathy with Black, because his own jaw was still sore
+from Duke Steele’s fist, but Curlew was rather amused at both of them.
+
+“I’ll kill him, if it’s the last thing I ever do,” declared Black. “I
+don’t care a damn what Le Moyne says.”
+
+“If I was goin’ to kill him, I’d hire it done,” said Curlew. “After
+seein’ what he done to both of you fellers, I’m workin’ shy of that
+hombre. Is he such a hell of a fighter, or are you jaspers overrated?”
+
+French and Black made no reply. Curlew knew that both of them were well
+known as fighters, and he was only joking them about their recent
+defeats.
+
+“He’s a gunman, too,” said French, as though admitting that Steele was a
+good fighter with his fists. “A year ago he kinda cleaned up around
+here.”
+
+“Whatcha tryin’ to do, scare yourself or us?” demanded Black.
+
+“I’m tellin’ yuh some history, Black.”
+
+“History don’t repeat itself, French. I ain’t a danged bit scared of
+this hard-headed fool, even if you are.”
+
+“Still, yuh don’t know him and Le Moyne are hooked up,” said French.
+“I’d advise layin’ off him until we hear from Le Moyne and see where
+this feller stands.”
+
+Came a knock on the door, but before anyone could speak, a man came into
+the room. He was grimy from the desert and his face was brick-red from
+the intense heat.
+
+“Just got in,” he informed them huskily. “Damn horse went down on me
+about three miles down the road and I had to walk the rest of the way.”
+
+“What’s the idea, Pell?” asked French nervously.
+
+The newcomer picked up a bottle of liquor from the table and took a long
+drink.
+
+“Plumb dried out inside,” he explained, sitting down on the bunk and
+half-removing his boots before he continued.
+
+“Telluride sent me in. Said that he got the ore, but that he saw Le
+Moyne about a minute after he got loaded, and he’s plumb scared that Le
+Moyne saw them. He went over and woke up the stage-driver and he said
+that Le Moyne was comin’ to Calico with him t’night.”
+
+“Hell!” exploded French, getting nervously to his feet.
+
+“Hang onto yourself!” snapped Curlew.
+
+“You’re as nervous as an old lady, French. Mebbe he didn’t see nothin’.”
+
+“And if he did?” said Black ominously. “Are we goin’ to eat dirt for Le
+Moyne? You’d think he was the devil himself.”
+
+The man called Pell helped himself to more liquor, while the other three
+men pondered deeply.
+
+“If yuh want my advice,” said Black, “I’d say that we better get rid of
+this Steele right away. Yuh know damn well that he’s sweet on Luck
+Sleed, French.”
+
+“Lot of good it’s doin’ him,” grinned French.
+
+“If trouble started in the Silver Bar tonight, and Steele happened to be
+there,” suggested Curlew meaningly, “Le Moyne never hired us to take
+care of Steele.”
+
+French got to his feet again and paced the length of the room several
+times. He stopped at the table and looked at Black and Curlew, who had
+been watching him.
+
+“Black is right,” declared French. “Why should we eat dirt for Le Moyne?
+Is he any better than we are? Let’s take Calico for ourselves, and to
+hell with Le Moyne! I’m tired of taking orders from him. When he shows
+up here he’s as helpless as any other man, ain’t he? How about it?”
+
+“That’s the idea,” applauded Black. “We won’t only set into the big
+game, but we’ll run it, eh?”
+
+“And take the rakeoff for ourselves,” nodded Curlew.
+
+Pell finished the bottle and went back into the saloon, where he got a
+couple of more drinks and went out. Duke Steele was in the room. He had
+seen Pell enter the room, and knew that Black, Curlew and French were in
+there.
+
+Pell was just a trifle unsteady on his legs, as he went out into the
+street, and Duke had no difficulty in shadowing him. Several times Pell
+stopped and looked back, but Duke kept to the heavy shadows. Down near
+where the road sloped sharply off into the desert, Pell stopped and
+spoke a word. A moment later another man joined him and Duke heard the
+husky voice of Le Moyne, as he talked to Pell.
+
+Duke was unable to get close enough to find out what the conversation
+was about, but he heard Le Moyne tell Pell to stable the horses where no
+one would see them, and a few moments later Le Moyne passed Duke’s
+hiding-place, going slowly toward the lighted street.
+
+As soon as he was safely past, Duke circled back to the upper end of the
+street. He was curious to know just why Le Moyne had come secretly to
+Calico. Something had gone wrong with his plans, that much was sure, and
+Duke thought it might concern the disappearance of Luck Sleed.
+
+He felt sure, after what he had learned from Mica Cates, that French and
+Curlew were the ones that had kidnapped Luck. There was no question in
+his mind but what the fight had been started to attract the attention of
+the crowd, and that Black had thrown the bottle to draw him away from
+Luck. Of course, Black had not expected it to turn out so badly for him.
+
+Duke had lost his hat, which was not part of their plans, but one of
+them had worn it, possibly on the chance that they might shift the blame
+in case they were seen by anyone on the street. It was fairly clear to
+Duke now, the reasons for Louie Yen’s hatred. “No doubt,” thought Duke,
+“the Chinaman recognized me by the hat, because there was not another
+hat like it in Calico.”
+
+Duke had come in beside Louie Yen’s laundry and now he stopped near the
+corner. A man was coming toward him, and Duke thought that this might
+possibly be Le Moyne. As he drew back into the deeper shadows something
+descended upon his head, knocking him flat on his face.
+
+Dimly he heard voices and felt someone dragging him into the house. In a
+hazy way he felt them binding his hands, but was unable to prevent them.
+Gradually the roaring noise died out of his ears and he came back to
+almost full consciousness, but he did not open his eyes nor try to move.
+
+His nose informed him that he was inside of Louie Yen’s laundry and that
+Louie was talking to someone in his own peculiar pidgin-English.
+
+“Bimeby he talk now, yo’ sabe? Louie Yen fin’ out.”
+
+“That’s a damn heathen way of doin’ things,” replied Mica Cates’ voice.
+“I wouldn’t do it, Louie.”
+
+“I watch him,” stated Louie. “He walk after man, who meet one man. One
+man ve’y big, yo’ sabe?”
+
+“Thasso?” Mica was interested. “And then you trailed Steele up here and
+hit him on the head.”
+
+“Yes-s-s, like yo’ see. Bimeby this man tell where is li’l gi’l, yo’
+sabe?”
+
+“How hot do yuh have to git them irons?” asked Mica.
+
+“Plenty hot.”
+
+Louie got up and shuffled softly into the rear room. Duke’s eyes flashed
+open. He was lying in the middle of the floor, flat on his back, with
+both hands tied behind him. Mica Cates was standing near him, watching
+him closely.
+
+“Cates,” Duke whispered softly, “does that Chinaman think I know where
+Luck Sleed is hidden?”
+
+Mica glanced swiftly toward the rear, dropped on his hands and knees and
+with a swift motion of a knife, cut Duke’s hands loose.
+
+“Gun’s on the table,” he breathed.
+
+But Duke did not move. Louie Yen was coming in from the rear room,
+carrying a flat-iron, the handle of which was heavily wrapped in rags.
+There was a smell of burning cloth, as Louie Yen knelt at the feet of
+Duke Steele and placed the hot iron on the floor.
+
+Duke had drawn up his feet, and as Louie took hold of one of his boots
+Duke shoved him violently aside, sprang to his feet, grasped the
+six-shooter and whirled to look down at the little old Chinaman,
+sprawled on the floor.
+
+Louie Yen was not looking at Duke, but at the strands of rope on the
+floor; strands which had been cut with a very sharp knife. Then he got
+slowly to his feet, shook his head sadly and sat down on a box; a very
+sorrowful looking old Chinaman.
+
+“I had t’ do it, Louie Yen,” said Mica softly. “He’s a white man.”
+
+Duke studied the two of them, pitied them in their puny efforts to get
+information of Luck Sleed.
+
+“Yuh don’t need to feel bad about it, Louie,” said Duke consolingly.
+“Burnin’ my feet wouldn’t make me tell where that girl is, ’cause I
+don’t know. I lost my hat in the fight and somebody stole it. I found
+you out there in the street.”
+
+Louie Yen’s beady eyes studied Duke’s face for a while, unblinking.
+
+“Yo’ don’ know where is li’l gi’l?”
+
+“No,” Duke shook his head. “Not any more than you do.”
+
+“No can fin’,” Louie shook his head, while the hot iron sent up a vile
+odor of burning cloth. Duke kicked the iron aside and felt of the lump
+on his head. It was very sore, but there was little blood. Louie noticed
+Duke’s actions and shook his head sadly.
+
+“Ve’y solly,” he muttered. “Louie Yen plenty damn fool; yo’ sabe?”
+
+“Never mind me,” grinned Duke, “I’ve got a hard head, and, I’ve got an
+idea. Will you two jaspers help me work it out?”
+
+“Tell it,” grunted Mica Cates. “We’ve tried everythin’ else.”
+
+“Here’s what yuh got to do,” explained Duke. “One of yuh watch the rear
+door and the other the front door of the Silver Bar, while I go inside.
+Watch for Pete Black, French or Slim Curlew. If any of them come out,
+follow ’em and find out where they go. Do yuh understand?”
+
+“Mo’ bettah,” nodded Louie Yen, getting to his feet.
+
+“And look out,” warned Duke. “Hell is due to bust loose in Calico
+tonight, unless I can’t read signs, and we’re liable to get singed a
+little.”
+
+“Let her bust,” replied Mica.
+
+Duke turned to the door. “You fellers wait a minute, ’cause I don’t want
+to be seen with yuh.”
+
+Duke went down the street and into the Silver Bar. There was a fair
+sized crowd inside, but the place was orderly. Pete Black was at a
+poker-table, French was at a roulette layout, and Curlew was standing at
+the bar, talking to the man named Pell, who had brought the message to
+them from Telluride Taylor.
+
+Bud Harvey was one of the bartenders, and he nodded pleasantly to Duke,
+who stepped in beside Curlew and Pell.
+
+“Miss Luck ain’t got here yet, has she?” asked Duke.
+
+Bud Harvey shook his head. “No, I ain’t seen her today and I was
+wonderin’ if she wasn’t comin’ down tonight. None of the boys has seen
+her today.”
+
+“She’s been away,” said Duke casually, “but she ought to be here pretty
+quick.”
+
+Duke felt that Curlew had turned and was looking at him, but he calmly
+poured out his drink and paid for it. Then he sauntered toward the rear
+of the room and moved in beside a faro layout, where he could turn,
+facing the room.
+
+Curlew walked part way to the door with Pell, but left him and went
+straight to the poker game and spoke to Pete Black, who got out of his
+chair. Only a word was exchanged, and Black turned to cash in his chips.
+
+Duke glanced at French, who was watching Black and Curlew. Curlew
+signaled cautiously to French and walked slowly back to the bar,
+followed in a moment by Black. None of them looked toward Duke, but he
+knew that three pairs of eyes were watching him.
+
+To anyone else it would seem that these three men were having a friendly
+drink, but Duke felt that this conference might mean a lot to him. They
+finished their drink and all walked over to the roulette layout,
+laughing. Duke walked toward the rear of the room, where the two-piece
+orchestra was screeching out a discordant tune, and when he turned and
+looked toward the roulette game, Pete Black was not there. In fact he
+was not in the Silver Bar. Duke grinned and sauntered down the room
+until he stood near French and Curlew. A half-drunk miner came in the
+door and stumbled toward the bar.
+
+“Wha’s matter with the Mojave?” he asked loudly. “Has she gone out of
+business?”
+
+Several people looked at him curiously, and he seemed to realize that he
+was the center of interest, so he continued:
+
+“Locked up tight, zat’s what she is. Whazza matter, eh?”
+
+French strode over to the man and grasped him by the arm.
+
+“What do yuh mean?” he demanded.
+
+“Mojave’s closed,” insisted the drunk. “Lights all out and a padlock on
+the door.”
+
+“What the hell does that mean?” queried Curlew. “Who would do that?”
+
+French whirled toward the door and Curlew almost trod on his heels in
+his hurry to get out and see what had happened. Duke grinned, as he
+realized that this was Le Moyne’s first move, but he did not know just
+what it meant. Duke did not know that Black, French and Curlew had
+announced their intentions to double-cross Le Moyne, and that Le Moyne
+knew this.
+
+Duke turned and went out the back door, where he called softly, and was
+joined by Mica Cates.
+
+“Black went out the front door,” said Duke.
+
+“Then Louie Yen is on his trail,” grinned Mica, “and that danged Chink
+could trail a buzzard and never be seen.”
+
+“And that ain’t no lie,” replied Duke. “I know it.”
+
+As they started around the corner a bulky figure almost ran into them.
+Quick as a flash, Duke whipped out his gun and covered the man, who
+backed against the wall; the face of him showing clear in the
+moonlight.
+
+It was Le Moyne, dangerous as a cornered wolf, who snarled at Duke,
+“You, too, eh? Well, damn you--shoot!”
+
+Duke shook his head, but kept the muzzle of the big six-shooter leveled
+at Le Moyne’s waistline.
+
+“Not unless I have to, Le Moyne,” replied Duke.
+
+“Better take my advice,” said Le Moyne coldly. “You’ll never have a
+better chance.”
+
+“Never want a better one,” smiled Duke. “Meet my friend Mica Cates, Mr.
+Le Moyne.”
+
+“Aw, hell!” exploded Le Moyne. “What’s the use of all this, Steele?”
+
+“Courtesy,” replied Steele. “You fellers ain’t never met,’ and then to
+Mica, “this is the big man yuh heard about, Mica.”
+
+“You’re takin’ chances on not pullin’ that trigger,” reminded Le Moyne
+coldly.
+
+Duke laughed. “You don’t scare me, Le Moyne. You told me that you had
+some good men up here, but I whipped two of them and am willin’ to try
+the other one. I’ve lost all faith in you, big feller. You picked some
+fine scorpions to handle this end of the big game.
+
+“I’ve found that out,” agreed Le Moyne warmly, “and that is why I’m up
+here tonight. How much have they promised you, Steele?”
+
+“A spot in Hell’s Depot,” grinned Duke.
+
+“What do you mean, Steele?”
+
+“Just what I said. I didn’t like this gang and I had to whip French a
+few minutes after I landed here. Last night I fought Pete Black and
+moved most of his teeth. I ain’t had no chance to mix with Curlew yet.”
+
+Le Moyne laughed harshly. “I wish I had seen it. Now, the question is
+this--are you still with me, Steele?”
+
+“Nope,” Duke shook his head, but added, “I’m not against yuh, Le Moyne,
+except in one thing. You can take the Mojave desert and everythin’ in
+the danged spot, except Luck Sleed’s property.”
+
+“Yeah? Got stuck on the girl, did yuh, Steele?”
+
+“I’m squeezin’ the trigger,” said Duke softly, “and another remark like
+that finishes the deal for you. Your hired tin-horns stole her last
+night, Le Moyne.”
+
+“Not on my orders,” defended Le Moyne quickly. “Mine was a freeze-out
+game--not a kidnapping. I might beat her out of what she owns, but I’m
+damned if I’d injure her.”
+
+“You’ve got a lot of control over your men, ain’t yuh?”
+
+“I will have when I’m through with ’em,” retorted Le Moyne hotly.
+“That’s why I’m up here, They don’t look for me until mornin’, but I
+choked the truth out of the stage-driver. They’ve been stealin’ from me
+all the time, Steele. I sent a man I could trust to tell ’em that I was
+comin’ on the night stage, and they talked too much before him. They’re
+goin’ to try and shove me out of Calico.”
+
+“And you’ve only got that one man with yuh?” queried Duke. “A drunk! Do
+yuh realize what you’re up against? There’s Black, French, Curlew, a
+handful of gamblers and all of Black’s men from both mines. They’re all
+gettin’ their share of the loot. What can one man do against that
+crowd?”
+
+“By God, I’ll show ’em what Le Moyne can do!”
+
+“You’re a big-headed fool!” snapped Duke. “You’ve dreamed about ownin’
+the desert until it’s gone to your head, Le Moyne. Wake up for a minute
+and figure out just who you are. One man! Are yuh bullet-proof? Can yuh
+shoot so fast that yuh can buck an army? This job will take a lot of
+brains, which you ain’t got.”
+
+Le Moyne was silent for several moments, as this seemed to percolate
+through his mind. No man had ever talked like that to him before; no man
+had dared to talk like that to Le Moyne. He shrugged his big shoulders
+and leaned back against the building.
+
+“Well, Steele, I never thought about it--like--that. I
+guess--probably--I’ve got the--wrong--idea.”
+
+“You ain’t exactly brainless,” remarked Duke.
+
+“Almost,” Le Moyne smiled crookedly. “What would you do, if you was in
+my place, Steele?”
+
+“I wouldn’t try to fool myself into thinkin’ that I was all-powerful, Le
+Moyne.”
+
+“All right.” Le Moyne’s tone was almost meek.
+
+“Got a gun?”
+
+Le Moyne threw his coat open, disclosing a cartridge belt and two heavy
+guns.
+
+“Can yuh shoot straight?”
+
+“No.” Le Moyne was honest. “I never was a good shot.”
+
+“It’s a wonder yuh ever come this close to bein’ a king of the desert,”
+declared Duke.
+
+“I hired my shootin’ done,” said Le Moyne, half-humorously,
+half-bitterly.
+
+“Well, yuh ain’t got money enough to hire a trigger-finger tonight,”
+declared Duke, “so yuh better forget ownin’ the desert and concentrate
+on shootin’.”
+
+“You won’t lose nothin’ by stickin’ to me,” assured Le Moyne, “neither
+one of you.”
+
+“Aw, forget the pay,” grunted Duke. “Why did yuh close up the Mojave?”
+
+“I scared the devil out of that gang in there,” Le Moyne laughed
+nervously. “They all know me. I wanted to get that bunch all together in
+one place; so I cleaned out the Mojave and locked the door.”
+
+“And by now every one of your hired crooks know that you are in Calico.
+Le Moyne, you’ve got a fine chance to never leave Calico alive. There’s
+only one hope left, and that hinges on the fact that you hired a bunch
+of tin-horns to run your business. How much nerve have you got?”
+
+“Why do you ask me that?” queried Le Moyne.
+
+“Have you got nerve enough to walk into that gang and start shootin’?”
+
+“Do we have to do that, Steele?”
+
+“No-o-o, we can run away.”
+
+“Feller can’t die but once.” Thus Mica Cates, speaking for the first
+time since they met Le Moyne.
+
+“I’m a poor runner,” said Le Moyne, “and there’s plenty of time to run
+when we’re scared, Steele.”
+
+“And Luck Sleed won’t lose?” queried Duke.
+
+“Not even what Black’s gang stole,” said Le Moyne. “I’ve got the smelter
+lists to check back on it, Steele.”
+
+“You may never be a king,” observed Duke, “but you are a couple of
+notches above bein’ a knave. Come on.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+French and Curlew found the Mojave padlocked and the lights out. Several
+of the miners who were in the pay of Pete Black followed them. One of
+the bartenders and a man who had run a roulette outfit for Curlew were
+in front of the place.
+
+“What in hell is goin’ on here?” demanded Curlew.
+
+“Hell is right,” agreed the gambler. “Le Moyne closed the place a few
+minutes ago.”
+
+“Le Moyne!” gasped French. “Is he here?”
+
+“He sure is,” grunted the bartender. “He’s here like a wolf, French.”
+
+“But he wasn’t due here until mornin’,” said Curlew in a half-whisper.
+“Why did he----”
+
+“Pell,” French’s voice broke thinly. “Pell came with him, Slim! He heard
+what we said about takin’ Calico for ourselves. Le Moyne knows now where
+Telluride’s rich ore comes from, and he’s up here----”
+
+“With only Pell behind him!” snapped Curlew. “Two men, and one of them
+drunk! Get the gangs from both mines. Black will be back in a few
+minutes.”
+
+“Where’s Steele?” queried French nervously. “Damn him, he’s a spy of Le
+Moyne’s.”
+
+“I’ll get the gang,” said one of the miners, and ran heavily toward the
+rim of Sunshine Alley.
+
+“Get back in the shadows,” advised Curlew. “We’ll wait for the miners
+and Black.”
+
+Calico was strangely silent now. Only the yellow lights of the Silver
+Bar made a greenish glow in the blue haze of moonlighted street. It was
+a land of blocky, grotesque shadows, high-lighted by a moon, like a huge
+globe suspended but a short distance away from the earth.
+
+Then, from far down in Sunshine Alley came the thin, indistinct notes of
+a violin; from out in the desert came the eerie wail of a half-starved
+coyote. A man in the doorway of the Silver Bar laughed drunkenly and
+began singing in a hoarse voice.
+
+French cursed audibly. Men were coming up over the rim of Sunshine Alley
+now, and hurrying toward the Mojave. The notes of the violin had ceased.
+The man in the doorway of the Silver Bar stopped singing and went back
+inside. It was Pell, the Le Moyne spy; singing to keep up his courage.
+
+Duke Steele heard him singing, as he opened the rear door of the Silver
+Bar and led Le Moyne and Mica Cates inside. The games were still running
+and men were at the bar, drinking, but a silence had seemed to settle
+over the room. A man cursed at Pell, who turned and came back to the
+bar.
+
+Several men glanced curiously at Le Moyne. He was so big that he towered
+like a giant in the low-ceilinged room. Men were coming in both front
+and rear doors now; big, hulking miners, with the colored muck of the
+silver mines on their clothes.
+
+“Look out!” called Duke at Le Moyne. “These are all Black’s men. Hell’s
+due to take a recess in a minute!”
+
+A big miner lurched into Le Moyne, staggering him. It might have been
+unintentional, but Le Moyne smashed the man full in the face with a
+terrific blow and the big miner spun like a top into a roulette table,
+crashing it down like a mass of kindling.
+
+A woman screamed, breaking the momentary silence after the crash; just
+outside the door, from somewhere in that mass of men, came the smack of
+a pistol shot. Pell, who was backed against the bar, with arms
+outspread, flung his arms across his face, as though to protect himself,
+and plunged headlong into the crowd.
+
+The place was a bedlam now. Duke saw French and Curlew near the door,
+but was unable to use his gun in that crush of humanity. Le Moyne was
+fighting like a great grizzly, using his hands instead of his guns. Mica
+Cates was lost in the confusion, but Duke felt that the little
+bow-legged man was giving a good account of himself.
+
+Duke managed to get his gun loose and was using it as a club. He had no
+desire to kill the miners, but he did want to come to close quarters
+with either Curlew or French. He was dazed and shaken from blows, which
+seemed to rain on him from every direction. A flying bottle cut his
+cheek and the blood ran into his mouth, a salty stream.
+
+Blindly he reversed his gun and shot straight ahead, trying to clear a
+path to the door. It was a case of three against thirty, and Duke knew
+that it was only a question of time until the thirty would win.
+
+He went to his knees from a smashing blow on the back of his head, but
+managed to hang onto his gun. Men walked on him, fell over him, but he
+surged to his feet and found himself near the door.
+
+The bloody face of Fire French leered at him and he smashed at it with
+his gun barrel and French went backward. A bullet seared his neck and
+the powder burned his chin, but he whirled and tried to shoot Curlew,
+but a big miner fell into him, knocking him outside the door.
+
+The lamps went out and the fight continued in the dark. French and
+Curlew were screaming orders; trying to tell their men that part of the
+quarry had escaped. A blaze sprang up from a smashed lamp, as Duke
+staggered into the street, trying to fill his lungs with air and to
+shake the haze from his brain.
+
+He staggered over a huddled figure, which fired a gun, the bullet
+missing him by a yard. Duke saw the man’s face and yanked him to his
+feet. It was Mica Cates, sobbing, cursing.
+
+Men were coming out of the Silver Bar, and they seemed to be still
+fighting. An orange-colored flash pointed toward Duke and Mica, and a
+bullet screamed off the rocks at their feet.
+
+Duke grasped Mica by the arm and hurried him toward the rim of Sunshine
+Alley. Both of them staggered, and Duke smiled grimly to think that it
+was a case of the blind leading the blind.
+
+“Not into the Alley!” wailed Mica. “They’ll find us too easy. The
+tunnels, Steele! Climb the hill--past--Luck’s place.”
+
+“You know this place better than I do, Mica,” agreed Duke, “so you lead
+the way.”
+
+Both men were reeling, dizzy from their injuries, but they climbed the
+steep trails up the cliffs, while behind them came the howling of the
+mob, growing fainter all the time.
+
+“God help Le Moyne!” panted Duke.
+
+“They’ll kill him,” choked Mica, “but we couldn’t help him none. Thank
+God, they’re not on our trail yet.”
+
+Mica led the way into a tunnel, which was so dark that they were forced
+to travel slowly, feeling their way along. It seemed to Duke that they
+had gone miles, when Mica drew him at right angles and into another
+tunnel, which sloped sharply upward.
+
+“Goin’ into the Lady Slipper,” panted Mica. “They won’t look for us in
+there, and if they don’t guard the bottom we can go down on ropes to the
+trails below.”
+
+Then the tunnel floor leveled out, and Duke knew that they were on the
+Lady Slipper level. Suddenly he stumbled and sprawled against the side
+of the drift. Mica Cates was swearing and floundering around.
+
+“Got a match?” wheezed Mica. Duke found one and scratched it on the
+wall. Lying in the center of the tunnel was the crumpled body of Louie
+Yen, and the match-light flickered on the long-bladed knife beside him.
+
+“Black got him!” croaked Mica, steadying himself with both hands, while
+he peered down at Louie Yen. “Look out for Black.”
+
+They stumbled on, going more cautiously now. The tunnel grew lighter
+now, as though they were approaching daylight. Then it widened into a
+big stope. To the left was the mouth of a tunnel, like the bore of a
+giant cannon, and silhouetted against the moonlight, crawling toward the
+opening, was a huge, animal-like figure.
+
+As they stopped they could hear it whimpering, like an animal that had
+been whipped severely.
+
+“My God, it’s Black!” croaked Mica hoarsely.
+
+The figure had reached the edge, and now it seemed to grasp a rope,
+swing over the rim and disappear.
+
+Duke started for the opening, but Mica grasped him by the arm. “Luck
+must be here, Steele! To hell with Black!”
+
+They turned and staggered back through the stope, where they found Luck
+Sleed, bound with ropes and lying against a pile of broken rock. Her
+face was like a white mask in the dim light, and she did not speak while
+Duke cut the ropes from her.
+
+Lying beside her was a big, white sombrero, with Mexican silver
+trimmings. Duke picked it up and put it on his head. Luck was watching
+him closely and now she tried to get to her feet, but she had been bound
+for so long that her arms and legs were paralyzed. Duke started to pick
+her up, but she stopped him.
+
+“Don’t touch me,” she begged him. “Why did you do this to me? Why, I
+thought I could trust you.”
+
+“Hol’ on, Luck,” wailed Mica. “Me and Louie thought the same thing, but
+Steele never done it. Don’t yuh remember that he was fightin’ Black when
+they grabbed you?”
+
+“Someone hit my head,” said Luck painfully. “I don’t remember anything
+after that until I woke up here. That hat was there on the rocks. Black
+laughed at me.”
+
+“Well, Steele never harmed yuh, Luck. He had Louie Yen follow Black so
+as to find yuh.”
+
+“They fought,” said Luck in a flat voice. “It seemed like hours. I
+couldn’t see all of it. There was only one shot fired, and I think Black
+lost his gun. Did Louie get killed, Mica?”
+
+“Yeah, I guess so, Luck,” sadly. “There’s been hell raised in Calico
+tonight, but it’s too long to explain it to yuh now. Me and Steele got
+away from ’em. I dunno what we’re goin’ to do now.”
+
+“We’re goin’ to take Miss Luck back to her home,” said Duke, “and we’re
+goin’ to see what we’ll see, Mica. Anyway, we just wanted to find her,
+didn’t we? What matters after that, old pardner?”
+
+“Don’t say that,” begged Luck. “I’m sorry I thought that you----”
+
+“Thassall right, Luck. We’ll get yuh home.”
+
+“But I don’t want you to--oh, I don’t know what to say. I’ve tried to
+think that you would do this, but I couldn’t convince myself. Don’t you
+believe me, Duke Steele?”
+
+“Yes, I do, Luck. Mebbe you’ll have to trust me a lot for a while now.
+If Calico ain’t right, it’s the desert for all of us, little girl. So
+yuh see you’ve got to trust me a lot.”
+
+“All right, Duke Steele.”
+
+“Can yuh walk, Luck?” asked Mica.
+
+“Not very fast, but I--I guess I can walk a little.”
+
+Walking was a painful experience, after being bound tightly for so long,
+but Luck was game.
+
+Back into the sloping tunnel they went, feeling their way along,
+expecting momentarily to find the body of Louie Yen, but it was not
+there.
+
+“Where’d he go?” complained Mica. “I ask yuh, where did he go, Steele?”
+
+“Mebbe he wasn’t dead,” suggested Duke. “Chinamen have as many lives as
+a cat.”
+
+They came out on the ledge at the mouth of the tunnel. Below them lay
+the town; dark save for the lights at the front of the Silver Bar. They
+could hear muffled cheers, yells; exultation rather than anger. There
+was no sign of pursuit.
+
+Mica led the way down to Luck’s cabin, but she would not go in.
+
+“I’m going with you,” she declared firmly. “That Silver Bar belongs to
+me and I’m going down there.”
+
+And without a word of further protest, Duke led the way down the street.
+There was no one in sight, but the Silver Bar was a roar of voices, the
+cheering of drunken men.
+
+Straight in through the mass of humanity they went, until they reached
+the fringe of a huge circle, where a queer sight met their gaze. Le
+Moyne, only half-conscious, his face and head bruised and cut badly and
+his clothes mere strips of rags, was slouched in a chair in the center
+of the circle.
+
+Around his big shoulders was tied a dirty Mexican serape of flaming red,
+and in his bleeding hand had been thrust a broken whiskey bottle. Fire
+French, bruised and battered, was assisting Curlew in arranging this
+mockery, while the crowd cheered wildly.
+
+“The king of Mojave!” yelped the crowd. “Long live the king!”
+
+The place was a bedlam. Men were drinking toasts from broken-necked
+bottles; men who were bleeding, ragged and sweat-grimed from the battle.
+
+A man came shoving through the crowd from the rear, carrying something
+in a blanket, which he placed on a table.
+
+“For the king!” shrilled French. “A crown for the king of the desert!”
+
+Grasping the piece of blanket in both hands, he up-ended it on top of Le
+Moyne’s massive head and yanked the blanket away. It had contained a
+number of great cacti, which dug their spines into Le Moyne’s head. He
+swayed his head, like a wounded buffalo, but was too weak to shake them
+off.
+
+“The king is crowned!” yelled the crowd. “A crown for the king of Mojave
+desert! Long live the king!”
+
+French tore a bottle from the hands of a drunken miner and knocked the
+top off against his boot-heel. Lifting his hand above Le Moyne’s head,
+he started to pour out the liquor. Duke was watching him closely and saw
+that French was staring toward the door. He dropped the bottle, which
+caromed off Le Moyne’s head and fell to the floor.
+
+Pete Black was coming slowly through the room, and the crowd stood aside
+to let him to the center. He had met Louie Yen’s long knife in the
+battle in the tunnel and the effect was awful to behold. He kept his
+arms wrapped about his middle, as though fearful of what might happen if
+he released them.
+
+French and Curlew stared at him, as he stumbled up and almost fell into
+Le Moyne’s lap.
+
+“Look out!” croaked Black. “They--found--her. That--damn--Chink----”
+
+Black swayed and tried to straighten up, as he turned toward the door,
+and a whimper of fear came from his lips. Duke grasped Luck by the arm
+and tried to draw her back. Louie Yen was coming through the room, his
+old face set and almost white with suffering. In his right hand he
+carried the long-bladed knife.
+
+Black stared at him for a moment, whirled and tried to run, but fell
+over the feet of Le Moyne, and sprawled on his face, his arms
+wide-flung.
+
+“You yellow snake!” French fairly shrieked as he whipped out his gun.
+But Duke was looking for such a move and fired a fraction of a second
+ahead of French, whose bullet tore into the floor. French groped blindly
+for the table and fell on his knees.
+
+Curlew did not make a move. He seemed paralyzed for a moment, and only
+stared at Duke, as he walked up and took Curlew’s gun from his
+unresisting hand. The crowd seemed shocked to inaction, and Duke turned
+quickly on them.
+
+“You fools! Do you want to wreck the town to satisfy the greed of some
+tin-horn gamblers? Curlew is the last one of them left; the last of the
+crooks that tried to plunder Calico. You all know Luck Sleed. They
+kidnapped her and hid her in the Lady Slipper, where we found her
+tonight.
+
+“Black and his gang have been high-grading on her, while French and his
+gang have stolen everything from the Silver Bar. If you are men, if you
+have any decency about you at all, tomorrow will not see one of Black’s
+men, nor Slim Curlew, in Calico town.”
+
+Swiftly the temper of the crowd changed. Duke’s words were words that
+they understood. Men were dodging out of the door, as a group of drunken
+miners grasped the unlucky Curlew and hurled him out of the place.
+
+Duke stepped over and removed the cactus from the head of Le Moyne. He
+looked at Duke, but there was only a glimmer of intelligence in his
+eyes. He had been mortally wounded during the fight, and the mockery he
+had undergone meant nothing to him now.
+
+“Le Moyne, do yuh know me?” asked Duke.
+
+“Steele? Yes, I know--you. It was a--good--fight.”
+
+“I brought the girl, Le Moyne. You remember the girl I told you
+about--Luck Sleed.”
+
+“Yes--Steele. Why don’t somebody light the lamps?”
+
+“Listen, Le Moyne,” Duke was talking swiftly against time, “you said
+she’d get what belonged to her.” Le Moyne seemed to rouse up and his
+eyes were a little clearer. Several of the miners were standing close,
+listening, and Le Moyne spoke to them.
+
+“Come in--closer--and--listen. No--time--to--write.” Le Moyne licked
+his bloody lips and drew a deep breath. “Everything I’ve got
+belongs to--Duke--Steele. Do you hear--that? Everything. I will
+it--to--him--and--I--want--you--to--witness.”
+
+“But, Le Moyne, I don’t want it for myself,” explained Duke. “I want it
+for Luck Sleed.”
+
+“You’re a--man--can--hold--it,” mumbled Le Moyne thickly. “I--I think
+you’ll--share--things--together--now. Pay back what you can--Steele.
+No--lights here----”
+
+“The passing of a king,” said Duke softly. “I hope he won’t be
+misjudged.”
+
+“What did he mean?” whispered Luck. “He said that we would share things
+together, Duke.”
+
+Louie Yen had been hanging onto the back of a chair and now he grinned
+softly, as he said, “Yo’ takum, li’l gi’l. Yo’ need stlong man--Calico
+need stlong man, yo’ sabe?”
+
+Duke held out his hand to her, and together they went out into the
+desert night, while behind them huddled the dead figure of a man who
+aspired to a desert crown, and gazed with unseeing eyes as a crippled
+miner clasped hands with a crippled and very old Chinaman, and limped
+out of the door after them.
+
+
+[Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the January 25, 1923 issue
+of _Short Stories_ magazine.]
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77862 ***
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+<title>The Curse of the Painted Cliffs | Project Gutenberg</title>
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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77862 ***</div>
+<img src='images/img-002.png' style="width:80%; margin-left:10%"
+alt='girl looking out over the desert'>
+<div class='titlepage'>
+<h1>THE CURSE OF THE PAINTED CLIFFS</h1>
+
+<div style='margin-bottom:0.2em; font-size:1.2em; text-align:center;'>By W. C. Tuttle</div>
+<div style='text-align:center; margin-bottom:1.25em; font-size:0.9em;'>
+Author of “Spawn of the Desert,” “The Plotters,” etc.
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>An ore-wagon creaking over a desert road, going at a snail-like pace,
+heading for a jumble of bright-hued, rock-ribbed hills. The land a
+desolation of sand, harsh sage, cactus, which rattled like paper in the
+heat-laden breeze. The sky a brassy dome, almost green in its
+intensity, out of which flamed a sun.</p>
+<p>Far above the hills circled the buzzards, seemingly suspended on
+invisible wires, for they hung motionless in that thin air—watching,
+always watching. On all sides stretched the desert, broken here and
+there in the distance by black peaks, as though at some remote period
+this country had been a vast mountain range, which had sifted full of
+sand, until only the peaks remained.</p>
+<p>Only the creaking ore-wagon and the rutted road showed the hand of man
+in this place. A few hours would suffice the desert to reclaim the
+road; for the desert is jealous of the hand of man, and, like the
+jungle, it is ever striving to protect its own.</p>
+<p>But the ore-wagon creaked on and on toward the painted rocks, which
+flashed back the sunlight. The two men on the ore-wagon humped
+dejectedly in the heat, saying nothing. They were black from the wind
+and sun, colorless of garb, harsh of feature.</p>
+<p>Up a rutty, rocky road creaked the wagon, going into the painted hills.
+One of the men touched the other on the arm and pointed toward a spire
+of rocks. On a shelf of this spire stood a girl, looking out into the
+desert. Her black dress threw her into bold relief against the orange
+tint of the rocks.</p>
+<p>She was not beautiful, but there was a sweetness, a wistfulness about
+her face that made men look at her more than once. Her eyes were a
+misty-gray; almost black in the strong lights, and her brown hair, with
+its tint of copper, she wore in a long braid.</p>
+<p>“Luck Sleed,” said one of the men in a flat, colorless voice. “She’s
+always lookin’ out into the desert.”</p>
+<p>“What fer?” wondered the other.</p>
+<p>“Gawd knows what fer.”</p>
+<p>“Ain’t nothin’ to see, except the damn desert. What would anybody look
+at the desert fer?”</p>
+<p>“Whatcha ask me fer?” peevishly. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ out there
+to look at. Been here a year and I ain’t never seen nothin’ but heat
+and sand. Gawd, I wonder what green grass and runnin’ water look like.”</p>
+<p>“Ain’t none,” wearily. “Fairy tales, Jim; things yuh dream you’ve seen,
+like castles in Spain. Wonder what Luck Sleed is lookin’ at. Dreams,
+mebbe?”</p>
+<p>“Mebbe. Agin mebbe she’s lookin’ fer a sweetheart to come in out of the
+desert.” The man laughed bitterly and shook his head. “He’d be a hell
+of a looker, if he crossed the Mojave.”</p>
+<p>“Like me and you, eh? But looks don’t count up here, Jim. Nothin’ much
+counts, except water and whiskey and bein’ quick with a gun. If yuh got
+all them along with a heat-proof brain, mebbe you’ll git along. I
+dunno.”</p>
+<p>“Gotta have a sun-proof brain, that’s a cinch. Mine’s fried to a
+cinder. Cinder brain, that’s me. That’s what we all got. If we didn’t
+have cinder brains we’d all pull out of here, but a cinder brain won’t
+let yuh think long enough to git plumb out of the Mojave. Giddap!”</p>
+<p>The ore-wagon ground on up to a rock-ribbed flat, the tired horses
+panting heavily in the heat, leaving behind them the tall spire of
+rock, beside which stood the black-clad girl, looking out into the
+desert.</p>
+<p>Before them, on the slope, seemingly plastered against the cliffs, was
+the town of Calico—a one-street huddle of adobe houses, made from
+adobe clay and colored with muck from the silver mines. No two of the
+houses were the same color, and at a distance they appeared as colored
+drawings against the cliffs.</p>
+<p>The street was short—not over two hundred yards in length—paved
+unevenly with the solid rock of the hills. Back of the street the hill
+sloped sharply to ledges, where a few more adobe houses perched
+drunkenly, and behind them towered the painted cliffs, which were
+honeycombed with tunnels.</p>
+<img src="images/img-003.png" alt="map"
+style="float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;">
+<p>On the north side of the town was a deep, rock-bound canyon, known as
+Sunshine Alley. It angled sharply back into the mountain, the sides
+breaking sheer, and the whole canyon so grotesque in formation that it
+did not appear to be a work of nature. And on all sides, beyond the
+slope on which stood the main street, the cliffs heightened in broken
+ledges, dotted thickly with more tunnels, with wooden chutes extending
+into the canyon, through which poured streams of silver-laden ore, to
+ore-wagons or cribs built in the bottom.</p>
+<p>And in this Sunshine Alley lived the greater part of the thirty-five
+hundred population; lived in caves, hollowed places in the cliffs and
+in homes built into the angle of the canyon. For the most part they
+were roofless, windowless. Rain did not come to the Calico mountains;
+so there was little need of a dwelling place, except for semi-privacy.
+With great frequency one or more of the population would move
+permanently to Hell’s Depot, the iron-hard graveyard which played a
+conspicuous part in the life of the town.</p>
+<p>In fact, Calico, in the middle of the eighties, was little better than
+a village of cliff dwellers, as far as habitation was concerned; and
+morals were as scarce as house-tops.</p>
+<p>“Silver” Sleed had been the boss of Calico for a number of years. His
+Silver Bar was the only saloon and gambling house in the town, a
+concession which he had jealously guarded, and his death had caused all
+of his holdings to be inherited by Luck. Her name was Nola, but Sleed,
+whose good fortune was proverbial, had nicknamed her Sleed’s Luck. To
+her belonged the Silver Bar, the California saloon and gambling house
+at Cactus City, and the Lady Slipper and Nola mines, which were two of
+the largest producers of Calico.</p>
+<p>“I don’t sabe Luck,” declared one of the mine owners, following the
+death of Silver Sleed. “Luck hankers f’r education and wants t’ be a
+grand lady; so why in hell don’t she sell out and go where she can be
+them three things? She’s plumb rich now.”</p>
+<p>“Don’t have t’ sell out,” declared another. “She can go away and let
+somebody run them places, can’t she?”</p>
+<p>Luck let others run her business places, but still she stayed on.
+Something seemed to hold her to Calico, although she hated it with all
+of her young soul. Men had tried to make love to her, but Luck would
+have none of them.</p>
+<p>Just now she came back from the tall spire, where she had stood looking
+out across the desolation of the Mojave desert. The long, purple
+shadows of evening were already softening the rough edges of the hills,
+and from the depths of Sunshine Alley long, thin ribbons of smoke were
+already reaching upward, as the evening meals were being prepared for
+the men, who would soon be coming out of the tunnels, ant-like figures,
+which would wind slowly down the perilous trails or swing carefully
+down rope ladders.</p>
+<p>Then would come the moonlight to make the world a fairyland of the
+softest of blue; a mystical land, covered by a velvet sky, studded with
+sky-diamonds, which seemed very close to the earth, and a moon, like a
+great ball, stereopticon in its contour and fairly transparent in its
+soft brilliancy.</p>
+<p>Luck loved the nights. From the doorway of her home, perched on a
+narrow slope above the town, she always sat in the moonlight; a
+solitary figure, drinking in the wonders, while below her gleamed the
+yellow lights of the town and to her ears came the screeching of a
+violin, the tin-panny jangle of a piano, the discordant jumble of human
+voices, or, perhaps, the dull thump of a pistol shot.</p>
+<p>Luck came slowly up the street, paying little attention to those who
+spoke to her, until she came opposite the Silver Bar. A tall,
+frock-coated man was standing in the doorway, evidently deep in
+thought. His dark eyes were squinted beneath the brim of his wide,
+black hat and his white teeth were clenched tightly around a very black
+cigar.</p>
+<img src="images/img-004.png" alt="gambler"
+style="float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;">
+<p>A thin nose surmounted a sharply waxed mustache, below which jutted a
+belligerent chin. But the most noticeable thing about this man was his
+lavish display of jewels. The buttons of his ornate vest, the
+stick-pin, cufflinks were all made from finely cut sapphires of large
+size, but the solitaire which gleamed from the third finger of his left
+hand dwarfed and outshone all the rest.</p>
+<p>This man was “Fire” French, a virtuoso of the green cloth. He had been
+nicknamed “Sapphire,” which had been shortened to Fire.</p>
+<p>Contrary to his nickname, he was as cold as ice—a killer; a killer who
+weighed the odds carefully and spared when the balance was against him.
+He lifted his eyes and looked across at Luck. His hand swept to his
+sombrero and he bowed. Luck merely nodded and passed on. Fire French
+watched her pass on and a smile twisted the corners of his thin mouth.
+He shook his head, as though he did not understand her. For the first
+time in his life, Fire French had found a woman who was not at all
+dazzled by his personality or raiment, and he was piqued.</p>
+<p>At the instigation of several friends, she had engaged French to run
+the Silver Bar. They had argued that it would require a man of great
+ability, and Fire French was the man. There were only two dissenting
+voices—those of Mica Cates and Louie Yen.</p>
+<p>Mica Cates had stood squarely behind Luck in everything, except hiring
+Fire French. Mica was a born pessimist, a retailer of news, to which
+was added dire prophecy, and freely-given advice. He was short of
+stature, bowed of legs and bearded to the eyes.</p>
+<p>Louie Yen was the only Chinaman in Calico; the only oriental that had
+ever been allowed in the town. He owned the only laundry and minded his
+own business. He was very old—he did not know how old—with a wrinkled
+face, the skin of which was parchment-like and seemed to crackle—when
+he grinned his toothless grin. And Louie Yen was very wise. He had the
+inherited wisdom of his ancestors, to which he had added his own golden
+years of experience.</p>
+<p>Mica Cates did not like Fire French, and he did not care who knew it.
+Louie Yen did not like Fire French, but he told it to no man, except
+himself; because he knew only one man he could trust—himself.</p>
+<p>Louie Yen worshiped Luck Sleed. He had watched her bloom into womanhood,
+and he was forever shaking his head sadly over his ironing-board or
+washtub. To him she would always be “Li’l gi’l,” just as she was the day
+that she came to town with Silver Sleed.</p>
+<p>Louie was standing in the doorway of his laundry, smoking a long pipe,
+as Luck came up the street. He could see Fire French looking after her.
+He had seen Fire French’s courtly bow. Now he removed the pipe from his
+mouth and grinned pleasantly.</p>
+<p>“H’lo, li’l gi’l.”</p>
+<p>“Hello, Louie,” Luck stopped, and smiled at him.</p>
+<p>“Louie Yen jus’ smile,” he told her seriously. “Too ol’. No can bow,
+yo’ sabe?”</p>
+<p>“Oh!” Luck looked back toward the Silver Bar, but Fire French was not
+there now.</p>
+<p>“Wha’sa matta?” queried Louie. “Yo’ no look please.”</p>
+<p>“I want to ask you a question, Louie Yen. Do you remember the day
+before, or the day that my father was killed?”</p>
+<p>Louie nodded quickly.</p>
+<p>“There was a poker game, Louie Yen.”</p>
+<p>Louie nodded again, but his eyes were blank now. He was trying to
+forget.</p>
+<p>“In that poker game,” continued Luck, “my father lost some money to the
+man who was called Duke Steele. That money was never paid, Louie Yen.
+Do you know how much money it was?”</p>
+<p>Louie Yen knew, but Louie Yen did not want to tell her that Duke Steele
+had won forty-six thousand dollars from Silver Sleed, and that he had
+accepted Sleed’s I. O. U., for this great amount. Duke Steele had
+disappeared, following the death of Sleed, and no one knew where he had
+gone.</p>
+<p>“How much money, Louie Yen?” persisted Luck.</p>
+<p>“No can tell, li’l gi’l. Five men see fo’ sure; fo’ dead, one gone.”</p>
+<p>“Why didn’t he come back and collect his money?”</p>
+<p>“Ho!” chuckled Louie Yen. “No can tell. Yo’ want find him jus’ fo’ give
+him money, li’l gi’l?”</p>
+<p>Luck flushed slightly and Louie Yen puffed rapidly on his long pipe. He
+was very wise, was Louie Yen. Luck turned and started up the hill.</p>
+<p>“Goo’-by, li’l gi’l,” called Louie softly.</p>
+<p>“Good night, Louie Yen.”</p>
+<img src='images/img-005.png' alt='gitl looking at crescent moon'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>The misty moonlight had quickly followed the sunset, and the mountain
+was bathed in a soft blue haze, making everything indistinct. Men were
+already coming in over the rim of Sunshine Alley, and the yellow lights
+of the street threw their shadows in grotesque shapes on the adobe
+walls.</p>
+<p>From the doorway of her home, Luck Sleed looked down at the lighted
+street and lifted her eyes to the velvety, starlit sky.</p>
+<p>“God only made the nights,” she said softly. “Preacher Bill Bushnell
+told me that. He said that the devil bossed the day-shift until Calico
+was built and then he worked overtime.”</p>
+<p>Luck Sleed’s life had not been laid in pleasant paths; being, as far
+back as she could remember, one succession of killings. It was little
+wonder that she looked down upon the reveling Calico and repeated
+Preacher Bill’s decision that——</p>
+<p>“Calico don’t need religion, Luck. You could preach the gospel down
+there until hell froze over. They don’t sabe what yuh say. Tell it to
+’em in hot lead—that’s the language they understand. I ain’t sayin’ a
+word agin’ your father, but Calico needs a man with high ideals and the
+ability to shoot hell out of those who are too deaf to hear him curse
+’em.”</p>
+<p>Luck smiled over the words of Preacher Bill, who had not lived long
+afterward. Perhaps he was right, perhaps wrong; she did not know. At
+any rate, she was tired of bloodshed and the shamelessness of Calico
+Town. She gazed over the town, out into the misty stillness of the
+desert. Somewhere out there was a man; a young man, whose face was
+indelibly stamped upon her memory. He and his little burro had faded
+out into the desert, carrying an I. O. U. for forty-six thousand
+dollars, signed by Silver Sleed.</p>
+<p>Luck did not know the amount of this I. O. U., but she did know that it
+was an enormous amount. Did Duke Steele deliberately throw away this
+amount so that she might have it, or was he crazy, as some declared?
+Luck shook her head. She was considered wealthy, but this money would
+never belong to her until that gambling debt was paid. That was why she
+stayed in Calico—to pay a debt. So she told herself.</p>
+<hr class='tb'>
+<p>It was the following morning that Mica Cates came past Luck’s house,
+bringing her word of a shooting scrape in the Silver Bar, in which a
+miner had been killed by Fire French.</p>
+<p>“He was a miner in the Lady Slipper, Luck,” explained Mica, “and he had
+a wife and one kid.”</p>
+<p>Luck shut her lips tightly.</p>
+<p>“I reckon the boys’ll have t’ take up a collection f’r her and the
+kid,” observed Mica sadly.</p>
+<p>“What started the trouble, Mica?”</p>
+<p>“Poker game. This Andy Bowers didn’t take kindly to the way Fire French
+dealt the draw in a big pot; so he throws down his hand and opines to
+remove his money, statin’ at the same time that he don’t care t’ play
+the game thataway.</p>
+<p>“French kinda watches him, like a cat watchin’ a mouse, and then he
+says, ‘You insinuatin’ that this here game ain’t on the square?’</p>
+<p>“Andy hauls his money out and gets to his feet, as he says, ‘Nobody
+ever seen me draw my money out of a pot before, French; so yuh can
+figure it out for yourself.’</p>
+<p>“French gits to his feet, kinda easy-like; not actin’ a bit sore, but
+before anybody has a chance to say a word, he shoots from his hip and
+kills Andy too dead t’ skin. Then Fire French explains that he don’t
+allow no man t’ question his honesty nor honor. I ain’t sayin’ that the
+game was crooked, Luck; but it don’t ’pear to me that it was sufficient
+cause t’ kill a man.”</p>
+<p>Luck shook her head. “A gambler’s honor! Most of the killings are over
+honor, Mica Cates. Does taking a life clear a gambler’s honor, I
+wonder?”</p>
+<p>“I s’pose. If a man ever declares ’em crooked, they’re done for, ’less
+they wipe out the insult with blood.”</p>
+<p>“It’s a queer world, Mica Cates.”</p>
+<p>“Yes’m, Luck, it sure is queer. What do yuh know about the new saloon
+and gamblin’ house, the Mojave?”</p>
+<p>“Nothing. I only know that the new place is going to open tonight.”</p>
+<p>“Silver Sleed wouldn’t ’a’ stood fer it,” declared Mica. “No tin-horn
+gamblers ever cut in on his town. It sure looks t’ me like they was
+a-goin’ t’ try and run you out of business, Luck. Them two new places in
+Cactus City has plumb ruined yore trade down there, and now this here
+new place will split up business. Killin’ of Andy Bowers ain’t goin’ t’
+make Fire French any too pop’lar, y’betcha.”</p>
+<img src='images/img-006.png' alt='roulette wheel'
+style='float: left; width: 30%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>Luck nodded slowly. It was true that the Sleed fortune was not growing.
+Both the Lady Slipper and the Nola were not paying expenses now. Luck
+had twenty thousand dollars in coin hidden away, which had been slowly
+dribbling away through alleged bad runs of luck in the gambling houses.</p>
+<p>“Pete Black still runnin’ the Lady Slipper?” queried Mica Cates.</p>
+<p>“Yes—both mines, Mica.”</p>
+<p>“Neither one payin’ a cent? I heard it talked about, Luck. Poor old Andy
+Bowers talked about it last night. He had a few drinks, I reckon. Some
+of the miners was worryin’ about them two veins peterin’ out and they
+was talkin’ about it. Andy said it wasn’t poor ore, but it was damn poor
+minin’. Said they cut right away from the rich ore in the Lady Slipper.
+Well, Andy’s gone now. Feller ain’t none too secure in this here life.
+Here t’day, gone t’morrow—and a gambler’s honor saved. S’long, Luck.”</p>
+<p>“So-long, Mica Cates.”</p>
+<p>She watched him go over the rim into Sunshine Alley; going down to start
+a collection for the wife and kid of Andy Bowers. Luck turned and went
+back into the house, where she stopped before a crude mirror and looked
+at herself closely. A misty-eyed girl stared back at her; a girl with
+tousled hair and compressed lips.</p>
+<p>For a long time she stared into the mirror at herself. Lying on the
+old-fashioned bureau in front of her was the six-shooter that had
+belonged to Silver Sleed; the gun he had taught her to shoot.</p>
+<p>Suddenly another reflection seemed to fade into the mirror, and she saw
+Fire French’s grinning lips, waxed mustache, sparkling sapphires.</p>
+<p>Swiftly she whirled, with the gun in her hand; but he had stopped midway
+between the open door and where she stood, and was still smiling at her.</p>
+<p>“What do you want?” she asked coldly.</p>
+<p>Fire French laughed softly and shook his head. “Did I frighten you,
+Luck?”</p>
+<p>“No!” She shook her head quickly. “But why do you come sneaking into my
+house, Fire French?”</p>
+<p>“I didn’t mean to. The door was open and I seen you admirin’ yourself in
+the mirror; so I thought I’d help you do a little admirin’, Luck.”</p>
+<p>“This house is mine and I don’t allow nobody to come here. I wasn’t
+admiring myself.”</p>
+<p>“You ought to,” smiled French. “You’re pretty. Never seen eyes like
+you’ve got, Luck. Some folks look at you and think you’re still a kid,
+but you’re a woman and you’ve got a woman’s charms. Why don’t yuh mix
+with folks?”</p>
+<p>“Like you?” queried Luck.</p>
+<p>“Well, why not? Is there anythin’ wrong with me?”</p>
+<p>“Yes,” said Luck slowly. “You’re too honest.”</p>
+<p>Fire French laughed loudly, thinking that she meant it as a compliment.</p>
+<p>“You have too much honor to protect,” added Luck.</p>
+<p>“What do you mean?” French came closer to her, but he still respected
+the unwavering revolver muzzle.</p>
+<p>“Killing a man to protect your honor,” said Luck slowly, “a man with a
+wife and a kid.”</p>
+<p>“Oh, hell!” French shrugged his shoulders impatiently, “Do you want it
+said that a crooked deal is pulled off in the Silver Bar?”</p>
+<p>“No, nor a killing.”</p>
+<p>French smiled sarcastically. “Silver Sleed wasn’t so particular. You
+hired me to run that place, and I’m going to run it, Luck—run it like
+Silver Sleed did.” French glanced around the room and shook his head.
+“It ain’t right for you to live alone like this. You’re too pretty to
+spend your time alone.”</p>
+<p>“I hired you to run the Silver Bar, but not to run my business,” said
+Luck coldly. “Get out of here!”</p>
+<p>“Why?” queried French, “what’s the idea? You wouldn’t shoot me for just
+coming in your house, would you?”</p>
+<p>“You shot a man to protect your honor,” Luck reminded him in a flat
+voice, “and I’m as good as any gambler, I hope.”</p>
+<p>“You’re hopeless, Luck.” French shrugged his shoulders and turned to the
+door.</p>
+<p>“Maybe I am, but not helpless,” retorted Luck. Fire French laughed
+shortly and went down the trail, while Luck still leaned against the
+bureau and stared at the doorway, with the heavy gun hanging limp in her
+hand.</p>
+<img src='images/img-007.png' alt='parcel tied with string'
+style='float: left; width: 40%; margin-right: 15px;' >
+<p>Came a soft knocking at the door and she turned to see Louie Yen,
+carrying a small bundle of laundry, which he placed on a chair. The
+bundle had been carelessly tied—not at all like Louie Yen’s neat
+work—and Louie Yen was not panting from the walk up the steep hill.</p>
+<p>“I bling jus’ li’l bit today,” apologized Louie. “Mo’ bling tomolla,
+li’l gi’l.”</p>
+<p>“Why did you only bring part of it, Louie Yen?”</p>
+<p>Louie shifted his feet and stared blankly at her.</p>
+<p>“Velly hot today,” he observed. “Mus’ go back now.”</p>
+<p>He turned and went out of the door, hurrying away before Luck had a
+chance to question him further. But Luck knew that Louie Yen had seen
+Fire French coming up to her house, and she knew that Louie Yen had
+grabbed part of her laundry and followed Fire French. The few pieces of
+laundry were only an alibi for Louie Yen to be there in case she needed
+help.</p>
+<hr class='tb'>
+<p>Cartier Le Moyne was the biggest man in the desert country; the biggest
+physically, and no weakling mentally. But he did not let the power of
+his physical being interfere with his dreams of conquest; his plans to
+make himself the king of the desert.</p>
+<p>His plan was to control the mines, the liquor trade and the gambling.
+The rest of the desert was merely incidental. Le Moyne’s keen mind
+studied the possibilities for a long time before he began active
+operations. One of his stumbling blocks had been Silver Sleed, but he
+was safely out of the way now.</p>
+<p>Le Moyne had come to Cactus City as an assayer. To his little shop had
+come the prospector, trusting in Le Moyne to give him a fair report on
+assays; but Le Moyne was not in business for any such purpose. If he
+found a particularly rich sample of ore, and was unable to find out
+where it was found from the prospector himself, he would have a trusted
+man to trail the prospector back to his claim.</p>
+<p>A rifle shot, another man who did not come back, a location notice filed
+in the name of the man who fired the shot—it was all so simple. No law
+to interfere. In a few days the coyotes and buzzards would remove the
+evidence, and what was left the desert would cover deeply. Then Le Moyne
+would acquire the prospect legally, and proceed to develop it.</p>
+<img src='images/img-008.png' alt='vultures'
+style='float: right; width: 25%; margin-left: 15px;'>
+<p>But these prospects required money to develop them, and Le Moyne was
+shooting at bigger game just now. He still operated the assay office,
+while from his private office he pulled the strings that were to
+eventually drag the desert kingdom into his big hands.</p>
+<p>Two days before he had sent one of his trusted men to follow a
+prospector, whose assay sample had run into hundreds of dollars a ton.
+He sat at his desk, humped in his chair, wondering how large this rich
+vein might be. His features were massive, seemingly out of proportion to
+the rest of the man. His skin was greasy, yellow; his hair black and of
+coarse texture.</p>
+<p>His desk was a litter of papers, ore samples, a box of very black
+cigars. Directly in front of him lay a heavy six-shooter. Le Moyne was
+not a gunman, but he kept a loaded gun handy. He preferred to let his
+hirelings do the shooting.</p>
+<p>Suddenly his door flew open and a man stepped inside. Le Moyne’s head
+jerked up quickly at the intrusion, but he did not speak. The intruder
+was kicking the door shut with his heel, but keeping his dark gray eyes
+steadily on Le Moyne. He was hardly past thirty years of age, bronzed as
+an Indian, with black hair, which grew low between his ear and cheek,
+and with the easy grace of a desert wolf.</p>
+<p>Neither of them spoke. Le Moyne scowled slightly, but there was no hint
+of recognition in his black eyes. The newcomer’s left hand searched
+inside his belt and with a flip of the wrist tossed a small buckskin
+sack onto the desk in front of Le Moyne, where it thudded softly.</p>
+<p>Le Moyne glanced at the sack and back at the man, taking in his personal
+appearance. This man wore a faded shirt, wide sombrero, woolen pants,
+which were tucked into the tops of his boots. His waist was circled by a
+wide, weather-beaten cartridge belt, heavily studded with cartridges,
+and the holster, which hung low on his thigh, contained a
+serviceable-looking six-shooter. Le Moyne also noted that the holster
+was tied down to the man’s leg.</p>
+<p>Le Moyne’s eyes flashed down to the buckskin sack and he shifted in his
+chair.</p>
+<p>“Whatcha want it assayed for?” he asked hoarsely.</p>
+<p>“The price of a man’s life,” said the younger man coldly. “Melt her up
+and see if it’s worth it, Le Moyne.”</p>
+<p>“What do yuh mean, stranger?” wonderingly.</p>
+<p>“I’m Duke Steele,” said the man softly. “Your hired killer told me a few
+things and sent that hundred dollars back to you. He said you always
+paid him in advance.”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne licked his lips. He had known who this man was, but had tried
+to bluff. Now, he knew the bluff was not going to work well at all.</p>
+<p>“A quitter, was he?” Le Moyne knew he might as well admit his guilt in
+the matter.</p>
+<p>“Not the way you mean, Le Moyne. When your assay only showed a trace of
+gold, I knew you lied for a purpose; so I watched my own trail. I had
+melted some gold and run it into the seams of that sample.”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne blinked rapidly. He had been a fool. Why did he not give this
+man an honest report? The fact of the matter was this: Le Moyne had been
+too lazy to assay the sample, but knew from outward appearances that it
+was worth acquiring.</p>
+<p>“Well, you can’t prove anything,” declared Le Moyne.</p>
+<p>Duke Steele smiled and walked over to the desk, where he picked up Le
+Moyne’s gun and tossed it aside. Then he sat down on the corner of the
+desk and smiled down at Le Moyne’s greasy face.</p>
+<p>“Goin’ to boss the desert, are yuh, Le Moyne? Yes, your man told me all
+about it before he cashed in. I reckon he told me a lot of things about
+you. Seems queer to you that this man should tell me things, but when a
+man’s dyin’ he has to talk to somebody. Kinda eases his conscience, I
+reckon. That man had quite a lot of sin on his mind.</p>
+<img src='images/img-009.png' alt='two men talking'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>“He told me about killin’ off the original locator of the Dancing Jasper
+mine. He told me how you sent him on the trail of the old crippled Swede
+that located the Aztec, and how the old Swede squealed when the bullet
+hit him, and then he told me——”</p>
+<p>“Damn your soul, stop that!” Le Moyne’s face had gone ashen. “You can’t
+prove nothin’! What do you want, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“Me?” Steele grinned softly. “I want my part of this big steal you’re
+going to make, Le Moyne.”</p>
+<p>“Oh!” Le Moyne relaxed in his chair and wiped the perspiration off his
+face. He laughed, but it was without mirth.</p>
+<p>“No, I’m not a fool,” assured Duke Steele. “I know what kind of an
+organization you’ve got. Mebbe they could wipe me off the earth without
+no trouble. I want to throw in with you, Le Moyne. I sabe that nobody
+outside of your gang will be able to hold a thing here, and I want
+mine.”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne laughed, and this time with mirth. “I thought you was an honest
+man, Steele. Ha, ha, ha! You don’t need to be afraid of me and my gang,
+’cause you’re one of us. I need a few more men like you—men with cold
+nerve.”</p>
+<p>“I’m not afraid of you and your gang, Le Moyne. Who have yuh got that
+stacks up as a nervy man?”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne smiled and lighted a cigar. “Well, I’ve got Fire French and
+Pete Black at Calico—been there for quite a while. ‘Slim’ Curlew is
+there by this time. He’s goin’ to run the Mojave. With Pete Black in
+charge of the Nola and Lady Slipper, Fire French in charge of the Silver
+Bar at Calico, and Tex Supelveda runnin’ the California, here in Cactus
+City, I reckon we kinda stand to put these two towns where we want ’em.”</p>
+<p>Duke Steele smiled. “And you’ve got men on every good prospect around
+here. Where do I fit in? Got any place to put me at Calico?”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne licked the wrapper of his cigar thoughtfully before he said,
+“Why do yuh want to go to Calico, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“It was my pardner who killed Silver Sleed, and they ran me out of
+town.”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne straightened in his chair. “Thasso? Say, are you the feller
+that trimmed Sleed in a poker game?”</p>
+<p>Duke nodded. Le Moyne leaned across his desk.</p>
+<p>“I heard all about that, Steele. How much did yuh win from him that
+night?”</p>
+<p>“Forty-six thousand.”</p>
+<p>“Whew!” Le Moyne whistled softly. “Where is the I. O. U. he gave yuh?”</p>
+<p>“Lost it,” lied Duke softly, and his thoughts went back to that night,
+when he stopped in the desert moonlight and tore into bits that piece of
+paper. He wanted Luck to have all that money.</p>
+<p>“Gawd!” mumbled Le Moyne. “Yuh could collect that money if yuh still had
+the paper. Didja ever see Sleed’s girl?”</p>
+<p>Duke Steele’s eyes softened for a moment, but he did not want Le Moyne
+to know too much; so he shook his head.</p>
+<p>“She owns everythin’ that Sleed owned,” grinned Le Moyne, “but the mines
+have quit payin’ and the Silver Bar is havin’ a hard run of luck. Mebbe
+we can buy cheap in a short time. The California ain’t doin’ nothin’
+either.”</p>
+<p>“Freeze-out, eh?” queried Duke.</p>
+<p>“Damn right!” Le Moyne leaned across the table and held out his enormous
+right hand clenched. “Inside of six months I’ll have the Mojave desert
+where I can squeeze every dollar out through my fingers, Steele. I’m
+goin’ to be good to them that help me—to hell with the rest!”</p>
+<p>“Where do I go?” queried Duke.</p>
+<p>“To Calico. This time they won’t run yuh out, Steele. Fire French can
+use yuh, I reckon—him and Slim Curlew.”</p>
+<p>He tossed the buckskin sack to Duke.</p>
+<p>“Go and get some clothes, Steele. If that ain’t enough, send ’em to me
+for the balance.”</p>
+<p>Duke Steele accepted the money and left Le Moyne, who was very glad to
+realize that things had turned out much better for him than he had
+expected. It was true that he had lost a hired killer, failed to acquire
+a rich mine, but a man like Duke Steele was worth winning.</p>
+<p>But Le Moyne had no idea of playing fair with Duke. He was only a
+tool—and Le Moyne needed good tools just now. Later on, when his
+usefulness was over, Le Moyne knew of many ways to rid himself of those
+who expected to help him in squeezing the desert.</p>
+<p>And Duke Steele knew all this; knew that he would only be a cog in Le
+Moyne’s machinery—a machine that would be broken into bits after Le
+Moyne’s position was secured. Others might pride themselves that they
+would have rich holdings under Le Moyne, but Duke Steele knew that Le
+Moyne intended to be absolute monarch.</p>
+<p>But Duke lost no time in buying new clothes, and when he left the little
+trading store he was a sartorial triumph. A wide, white sombrero,
+trimmed in a band of Mexican silver; a many-hued silk shirt, a beaded
+vest, frock coat and a pair of checked trousers, narrow of knee and
+broad of bottom, which he tucked into a pair of fancy-stitched,
+soft-leather boots, with very high heels. He spent the hundred dollars
+and left a bill of another hundred against Cartier Le Moyne. As a
+parting present the storekeeper gave him a large scarlet silk
+handkerchief, which Duke Steele looped about his neck.</p>
+<p>The stage was preparing for the sixty-mile night trip to Calico, and
+Cartier Le Moyne was talking with the driver when Duke came up to them.
+Le Moyne grinned at Duke, but did not mention the gaudy outfit.</p>
+<p>“Ready to leave?” he asked, and Duke nodded.</p>
+<p>“Hop on,” grunted the driver. “We’re pullin’ out.”</p>
+<p>“The driver will take yuh to French,” said Le Moyne, and went on up the
+street. Duke watched after him until he went into the California saloon,
+and then climbed into the stage-coach.</p>
+<img src='images/img-010.png' alt='stagecoach driver'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>Sixty miles over a desert road was a long way—an almost impossible
+distance in daylight—so the stage left either terminal at sundown and
+made the entire distance in the cool of the nights. The natural desert
+road, untouched by scraper or grader, is as smooth as the best
+boulevard, and the stage-coach swayed gently to the rhythm of four
+speeding horses.</p>
+<p>Alone inside the coach, Duke Steele relaxed. He was wearing Le Moyne’s
+clothes, taking Le Moyne’s pay and was now one of an organization that
+would not hesitate for a moment to kill him if he played them false.
+Still he smiled softly and thought of a misty-eyed girl. No, Duke Steele
+was not in love with the girl he had barely known almost a year before.
+She was only a kid, he remembered, but she had probably saved him from
+death at the hands of a mob.</p>
+<p>It seemed but yesterday to Duke Steele. He had led his burro silently
+away from Calico, and out on the desert he had destroyed Silver Sleed’s
+I. O. U. for forty-six thousand dollars. That was a lot of money—more
+money than Silver Sleed could have paid. It would have taken everything
+away from Luck.</p>
+<p>Duke had expected that Luck would have sold out and gone away long
+before this. She wanted education; wanted to live in a civilized world.
+Why did she stay in Calico? Duke shook his head over the question and
+went to sleep, with his head pillowed in his white sombrero and the
+scarlet handkerchief across his face to keep out the sifting sand.</p>
+<hr class='tb'>
+<p>The stage drew up at the adobe stage-station and Duke Steele alighted.
+There had been little change in Calico in a year. Louie Yen was coming
+up the street and he glanced curiously at Duke. Somehow the face was
+familiar, but the Chinaman was unable to remember just where he had seen
+this man before. Duke went straight to the Silver Bar and found Fire
+French, who had just got out of bed. In a few short words he explained
+who he was and who had sent him to Calico. French looked him over
+coldly, until the stage-driver came in and corroborated Duke’s story.</p>
+<p>“I don’t know what in hell Le Moyne wanted to send yuh here for,”
+growled French. “There’s enough of us here to handle this end of it.”</p>
+<p>“Yuh might go to Cactus City and ask him,” replied Duke coldly.</p>
+<p>“Yeah?” sarcastically. “Did he tell you to take orders from me?”</p>
+<p>“He did not.”</p>
+<p>“Oh, I suppose you came up here to run things, eh?”</p>
+<p>“I’m here because I told Le Moyne I wanted to come here. There wasn’t
+any argument, French.”</p>
+<p>French flicked back his long hair with a jerk of his head and grinned
+patronizingly at Duke Steele.</p>
+<p>“Can that be possible? Pardner, knowin’ Le Moyne like I do, I don’t
+hesitate to tell you that you’re a——”</p>
+<p>Swift as the slash of a panther, Duke Steele’s right hand shot out and
+an iron fist collided with French’s jutting jaw. Back against the bar
+went French, rebounding into a left-handed swing that caught him on the
+opposite side of the jaw, knocking him cold.</p>
+<img src='images/img-011.png' style="width:60%; margin-left:20%"
+alt="gunfight">
+<p>As Duke landed his knockout he sprang back across the room, and his
+heavy six-shooter covered the few people who had witnessed the affair.
+The two bartenders stared at Duke and seemed to want to look over the
+top of the bar at the huddled figure of Fire French, but did not want to
+take too many chances with this quick-moving, hard-eyed young man.</p>
+<p>“I reckon he was goin’ to call me a liar,” observed Duke slowly, “which
+I wasn’t.”</p>
+<p>Fire French came slowly back to life and got to his feet. The world was
+still semi-opaque and he clung to the bar for several moments before his
+head cleared sufficiently for him to remember what had happened. His
+teeth seemed to ache collectively and there was a numbness about his
+jaw-bone.</p>
+<p>He looked at Duke Steele dazedly and felt tenderly of his jaw. Fire
+French had never been knocked down before and he did not like the
+after-effect. It would cause him to lose caste, but there was nothing he
+could do—just now.</p>
+<p>“I didn’t let yuh finish your declaration,” said Duke seriously, “’cause
+I don’t like the word you was goin’ to use, French. If you don’t think
+yuh had an even break in the game, we’ll throw away our guns and settle
+it now.”</p>
+<p>Fire French took this under advisement. Here was a man who wanted to
+fight, a man who was prepared—and Fire French never fought unless the
+odds were in his favor.</p>
+<p>“Or,” continued Duke, “if you’d rather settle it with a gun, I’m
+willin’.”</p>
+<p>French shook his head slowly. “I reckon I made a mistake, Steele.” His
+voice was flat.</p>
+<p>Duke grinned. “Le Moyne told me he had nervy men up here. I suppose I
+ought to accept your apology, French, but it wasn’t sincere. You reckon
+you made a mistake, eh? Yes, you did, but you still think I’m a liar;
+the mistake you made was in saying such a thing.”</p>
+<p>“Well, let’s drop the argument,” said French painfully. His jaw was
+beginning to hurt badly, and his pride pained him even more than the
+sore jaw. He knew that argument was not going to get him anywhere with
+this gaudy young man.</p>
+<p>“All right, I’m willin’ to drop it,” agreed Duke. “Never did like
+arguments. I reckon I’ll go and find myself some breakfast.”</p>
+<p>Duke went out the door, but kept one eye on French and the others.
+French turned to the bar and helped himself to a stiff jolt of liquor.
+The stage-driver moved in beside him and accepted a free drink.</p>
+<p>Then the two men turned toward the door, where Luck Sleed was standing,
+looking at them. Her face was a trifle pale, for she had spent a
+sleepless night arriving at a grim resolution concerning Fire French. It
+was the first time she had ever been in the Silver Bar, and the men
+stared at her wonderingly, as her eyes traveled from face to face. Then
+she looked directly at Fire French and her words were very distinct and
+spaced widely apart:</p>
+<p>“French—you—are—fired.”</p>
+<p>She flung her hand in an imperious gesture toward the door.
+“Get—out—of—here. I’m—going—to—run—this—place—myself.”</p>
+<p>“You are?” French gasped, and glanced quickly at the others, as though
+not believing his own ears.</p>
+<p>“I am!”</p>
+<p>For a moment they were too stunned to do more than stare at her and at
+each other. Then French laughed loudly.</p>
+<p>“Girl, have you gone crazy?” he demanded harshly.</p>
+<p>“You can’t do that, Luck,” added Black, quickly.</p>
+<p>“Can’t I?” Luck half-smiled, but only with her lips.</p>
+<p>“Never heard of such a crazy idea in m’ life,” declared Slim Curlew.</p>
+<p>Luck pointed toward the rear of the room. “Take your stuff and get out,”
+she went on. “I don’t know how many people you have hired since you
+started working here, but they go with you.”</p>
+<p>French snorted sarcastically and spread his hands in a gesture of
+resignation, “What can yuh do in a case like that?”</p>
+<p>“Better think it over, Luck,” advised Black. “You can’t run a place like
+this. Silver Sleed never let yuh mix into this kind of business—with
+these kind of folks. You don’t know anythin’ about the business.”</p>
+<p>“Oh, let her run it if she wants to,” laughed French. “She won’t last
+long.”</p>
+<p>He turned and went to the rear, where he packed up his few belongings.
+The bartenders grinned widely and came around to the front of the bar.</p>
+<p>“We’re fired, too, are we?” one of them asked.</p>
+<p>“If French hired you, yes,” replied Luck firmly.</p>
+<p>“You’ll have a sweet time runnin’ this place,” stated Slim Curlew
+threateningly.</p>
+<p>“I expect to,” smiled Luck, “and I’m going to start by asking you to
+keep out of here.”</p>
+<img src='images/img-012.png' alt='men leaving after being fired'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>“Zasso?” spluttered Curlew. “This is a public place and you’ll have a
+hell of a time if you try to pick and choose your customers.”</p>
+<p>Curlew swaggered out and after a moment Black and the two bartenders
+followed. French came from the rear room, carrying his belongings. He
+grinned sarcastically at Luck, but did not speak, as he went out of the
+door.</p>
+<p>The miners had stood apart during the argument, but now they gathered
+around her.</p>
+<p>“I tended bar for yore dad,” said one of them, a youngish sort of miner,
+“but French fired me and I went to work in the mines.”</p>
+<p>“Did you?” queried Luck. “I suppose I will need bartenders, won’t I? Do
+you want the job?”</p>
+<p>“I’ll take it,” he declared, and at that moment Mica Cates came in. He
+stared at Luck for a moment, and then a wide grin spread across his
+face.</p>
+<p>“Luck, I was in the Mojave a few minutes ago and I heard what you was
+goin’ to do. Fired the whole works, eh?”</p>
+<p>“Hired me already,” grinned the new bartender.</p>
+<p>“That’s good,” applauded Mica. “Bud Harvey’s a good bartender. But,
+Luck, yuh got to have at least three men to run games and one more
+bartender.”</p>
+<p>“Will you work for me, Mica Cates?”</p>
+<p>“Gosh, no!” gasped Mica. “I dunno a danged thing about this kinda work,
+but mebbe I can help yuh pick out some good men.”</p>
+<p>“All right,” smiled Luck, “you pick them out for me. I don’t know what
+to do myself.”</p>
+<p>Mica Cates considered her for a few moments and scratched his head, as
+he said, “I dunno either, Luck. If it was me, the first thing I’d do
+would be to hook m’ fingers around a gun.”</p>
+<p>Luck’s right hand came slowly into view, from where she had concealed it
+in the folds of her skirt, and it was holding a heavy six-shooter.</p>
+<hr class='tb'>
+<p>A man came into the little restaurant, where Duke was eating, and
+exploded the news to everybody.</p>
+<p>“Luck Sleed is goin’ to run the Silver Bar! She’s done fired Fire French
+and his whole outfit.”</p>
+<p>For a few moments the restaurant buzzed with the news. Duke Steele made
+no comments, but smiled softly to himself, as he paid for his meal and
+went down the street to the Mojave gambling house.</p>
+<p>French was standing at the bar, laughing with the crowd, which was
+partaking of the Mojave hospitality, but he sobered quickly at the sight
+of Duke Steele. Slim Curlew sized up the newcomer carefully. He had
+heard of French’s downfall and was curious to see this young wildcat.</p>
+<p>But French, in spite of his previous trouble, was diplomatic enough to
+drop all reference to it and introduced Duke to Curlew and Pete Black.
+None of them shook hands, but Curlew drew Duke aside. “Did Le Moyne tell
+yuh what to do up here?” he asked hoarsely. Curlew had a whiskey voice,
+which was almost asthmatic in quality.</p>
+<p>Duke shook his head. “No, I’m not under orders from anybody.”</p>
+<p>“Tha’s funny,” observed Curlew. “Le Moyne ain’t in the habit of doin’
+things like that. He usually tells yuh what to do, and he sees that yuh
+do it, too.”</p>
+<p>“Yeah?” Duke seemed amused, and his smile did not set any too well with
+Curlew.</p>
+<p>“You fellers are afraid of Le Moyne, ain’t yuh?” asked Duke.</p>
+<p>“I don’t sabe you.” Curlew shook his head, ignoring Duke’s question. He
+was afraid to talk business to Duke, for fear that Duke might have been
+sent to Calico on a secret mission.</p>
+<p>“Don’t let that bother yuh,” grinned Duke. “Lotsa folks don’t sabe me,
+Curlew. Le Moyne don’t.”</p>
+<p>Curlew nodded and shoved his hands deeply into his pockets. “Heard about
+the Silver Bar, didn’t yuh, Steele?”</p>
+<p>Duke laughed. “I heard a girl was goin’ to run it, if that’s what yuh
+mean.”</p>
+<p>“Yeah. That can’t last, though; Le Moyne will see to that.”</p>
+<p>“I reckon so. Got a place where a feller can sleep? I didn’t get much
+sleep on that stage.”</p>
+<p>“Sure, I can fix yuh up, Steele.”</p>
+<p>Curlew led the way to a short stairway, which led to the rooms at the
+rear, and opened the door of his own private room. It was roughly
+furnished, but the bunk looked good to Duke Steele.</p>
+<p>“Won’t nobody bother yuh here,” stated Curlew. “Sleep as long as yuh
+want to.”</p>
+<p>He went back down the stairs and joined French and Black at the bar.</p>
+<p>“What do yuh think of him?” queried French.</p>
+<p>“Look out for him,” warned Curlew. “I’ve got a hunch that Le Moyne sent
+him in here to spy on us. He’s too damned independent to just be a
+helper.”</p>
+<p>“Do yuh reckon Le Moyne’s suspicious that we’re——” began Black
+nervously.</p>
+<p>“Shut up!” interrupted French. “If Le Moyne’s suspicious that we’re
+high-gradin’ his mines or holdin’ out on the gamblin’ money—let him. A
+big crook like Le Moyne is always suspicious. If this Steele is his spy,
+go easy. We’ve got to play soft with him, boys. Bumpin’ him off might be
+easy, but it would start Le Moyne on our trail in no time.”</p>
+<p>“He’ll have a hard time provin’ anythin’,” growled Curlew. “Whatcha
+goin’ to do about the Silver Bar?”</p>
+<p>“I’m sendin’ word to Le Moyne tonight,” said French, “and we’ll let
+things go as they are until we hear from him. He’ll know how to handle
+it.”</p>
+<p>“Then we keep our hands off this Steele, eh?” queried Black.</p>
+<p>“If you know what’s good for yuh,” replied French, absently caressing
+his sore jaw.</p>
+<hr class='tb'>
+<p>The news spread quickly in Calico, and when the stars peeped over the
+hills, Sunshine Alley spewed its polyglot horde into the main street.
+The Silver Bar was overcrowded. Never before had the play been as big,
+nor had liquor flowed in such quantities.</p>
+<img src='images/img-013.png' style="width:70%; margin-left:15%"
+alt='patrons in saloon'>
+<p>Duke Steele awoke and looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock, and he
+wondered at the lack of noise from the gambling room. It took him only a
+moment to dress, and he walked slowly through the big room, paying no
+attention to the idle attendants. On the sidewalk he met Curlew and
+French, who were coming to the Mojave.</p>
+<p>“The girl is gettin’ a big play, is she?” he asked.</p>
+<p>Curlew swore softly and looked back toward the Silver Bar.</p>
+<p>“Just somethin’ new,” grunted French. “We’ll have ’em all back tomorrow
+night.”</p>
+<p>Duke walked on and crowded his way inside. The room was a roaring hive
+of sound; the rattle of poker chips, clinking of glasses, the screech of
+a fiddle, shuffling of many rough boots and the discord of many tongues.</p>
+<p>A solid cloud of tobacco smoke eddied about the low ceiling, fogging the
+yellow oil lights; swooping down and making faces and forms grotesque
+and indistinct. Duke elbowed his way to the center of the room. It was
+like being in the midst of a herd of animals.</p>
+<p>Suddenly he saw Luck Sleed. She was standing against the end of the bar,
+dressed in black. Her face was very white and the misty-yellow lights
+only seemed to add a copper sheen to her hair. She seemed oddly out of
+place in there.</p>
+<p>A man started to squirm past Duke, but looked into his face and stopped.
+The man was Mica Cates and he had recognized Duke Steele. Duke
+remembered him, too, and smiled.</p>
+<p>“Well, you came back, eh?” said Mica, and started to say something else,
+but was shoved away by several more men who were going toward the bar.</p>
+<p>Duke shoved past them and worked his way to a place beside Luck. For
+several moments she did not look his way, and when she did there was no
+sign of recognition. Her eyes strayed back to the crowd, and Duke smiled
+softly. It was all so new to her, in spite of the fact that she had
+lived in Calico for a long time.</p>
+<p>“It’s a big night, Miss Luck,” said Duke.</p>
+<p>She turned and looked at him, as she might have looked at any of the
+miners who had spoken to her that night, and nodded. Again she started
+to turn away, but her eyes came back to his face. For several moments
+she stared at him.</p>
+<p>“You?” she gasped wonderingly. “You?”</p>
+<p>“Yes’m, it’s me,” said Duke softly.</p>
+<p>She moved in closer, still staring at him, and grasped him by the arm.</p>
+<p>“I’ve looked—wondered, I mean,” she stammered, a flush coloring her
+white cheeks.</p>
+<p>“You’ve changed a lot in a year,” said Duke. “Why, you was only a little
+kid.”</p>
+<p>They looked at each other, oblivious of the noise of the room.</p>
+<p>“Why did you stay here, Luck?” asked Duke.</p>
+<p>“I wanted to see you. I heard about the money you won that night. Nobody
+would ever tell me how much it was.”</p>
+<p>“Shucks, I thought everybody had forgotten that.”</p>
+<p>“How much was it?” asked Luck.</p>
+<p>“I dunno,” smiled Duke. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”</p>
+<p>“But I want to pay it to you—an honest debt,” insisted Luck. “How much
+was it?”</p>
+<p>Duke shook his head and smiled down at her, but suddenly the smile faded
+and he took her by the arm, roughly.</p>
+<p>“My God, was that why you stayed here? To pay that old gamblin’ debt,
+Luck?”</p>
+<p>Luck looked away from him, as she said, “I knew I’d never see you again
+if I went away, but I was sure you’d come back here some day.”</p>
+<p>Duke looked at her and around at the mass of men. He knew that Luck had
+stayed in a place she hated, just waiting for him to come back and get
+that money. And he had come back at last—not to collect a debt, but to
+help another man deprive her of everything.</p>
+<p>Right now she was starting in to buck the most powerful man in the
+desert country; a man who would show her about as much mercy as a
+wounded grizzly would show. It was a forlorn hope for the frail
+girl—bucking a power she did not know about as yet. Duke looked at her
+and wondered if she would defy Le Moyne, if she knew what he intended to
+do.</p>
+<img src='images/img-014.png' alt='Fire talking to Luck'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>A man had moved in close beside him and he turned to see the little
+Chinaman looking around, his face as inscrutable as a piece of yellow
+parchment. Louie Yen had never been in there before. It was no place for
+an Oriental. He caught Luck’s eye and smiled.</p>
+<p>“I come play li’l pokah, li’l gi’l,” he grinned, and then looked at
+Duke Steele closely.</p>
+<p>“I sabe yo’,” he said. “Yo’ come back, eh?”</p>
+<p>“I knew he’d come back, Louie Yen,” said Luck.</p>
+<p>“Tha’s ve’y nice,” replied Louie. “Long time wish, bimeby come. I go
+now.”</p>
+<p>Louie Yen shuffled away into the crowd, heading toward the door. Duke
+looked after him, a queer expression in his eyes. Then he turned to
+Luck.</p>
+<p>“He never came in here to gamble.”</p>
+<p>“No?” queried Luck.</p>
+<p>Duke shook his head and smiled. “That Chinaman had a knife two feet long
+up his sleeve.”</p>
+<p>Luck glanced toward the door and back at Duke.</p>
+<p>“Louie Yen is my friend. I haven’t many in Calico.”</p>
+<p>“You don’t need many of that kind,” smiled Duke, and then, seriously,
+“Luck, this is no place for you. You can’t stand this kind of a life.”</p>
+<p>“I’ve been told that before, Duke Steele.”</p>
+<p>“I wondered if you remembered my name, Luck,” and then softly, “these
+men have no respect for any girl, Luck. The spawn of the devil work in
+these mines.”</p>
+<p>An altercation had broken out in the center of the room and the crowd
+surged toward that point. Blows were being exchanged, curses hurled
+freely. The room became a shoving, shouting mass of men. A table crashed
+to the floor. Suddenly a bottle whizzed over their heads—a flash of
+glass in the whirling smoke—and Duke Steele flung up his right hand and
+knocked it spinning, just as it was about to hit Luck in the face.</p>
+<p>The heavy bottle numbed his hand and wrist, but he flung himself
+headlong into the mob, like a football player diving into the midst of a
+scrimmage. He had seen the man who threw the bottle; caught just a
+glimpse of his face in the hazy light.</p>
+<p>Three men were in a clinch, struggling, doing little to hurt each other.
+One of them was Pete Black and the other two were miners from the Nola
+mine. Duke’s rush carried him against them, and like a flash he caught
+Black by his big, red beard with both hands and fairly flung him off his
+feet into the close-packed mob.</p>
+<p>The other two fighting miners drew apart and considered this newcomer.
+Neither of them bore any marks of conflict. The crowd howled loudly at
+the interruption, but Black scrambled back to his feet, his face
+distorted with rage and suffering. Some of his beard still dangled from
+Duke Steele’s clenched fists.</p>
+<p>Black was the bigger of the two, powerful as a grizzly, but slow to
+start. Duke Steele did not wait a moment. As Black surged to his feet,
+Duke stepped into him, driving his left fist flush into Black’s face.
+The blow was well timed and it set Black back onto his heels. But Black
+was no coward. He dropped into a crouch and covered clumsily, as he
+advanced slowly. Twice Duke ripped overhand blows to the bridge of
+Black’s nose, but the big man only shook his head.</p>
+<p>“Look out for his feet!” yelled a voice. “Black’s a kicker!”</p>
+<p>The warning came just in time. Quick as a flash, Black kicked straight
+for Duke’s midriff, but Duke had sidestepped, set himself for the punch,
+and as Black’s kick met only the empty air, which caused him to
+momentarily lose his balance, Duke drove a terrific uppercut to his
+unprotected jaw.</p>
+<p>For several moments, Black pawed at the air, tottered on his legs and
+went down in a crumpled heap. The miners shouted with drunken glee and
+tried to pick Duke up on their shoulders, but he managed to escape them
+and went back to where he had left Luck. She was not there.</p>
+<img src='images/img-015.png' alt='men fighting'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>Duke drew himself up on the bar and searched the crowd, but there was no
+sign of her. The mob still yelped and surged about the room, their
+appetite whetted for anything now. Duke dropped down and forced his way
+to the doorway.</p>
+<p>He gulped in a mouthful of fresh air and went out into the deserted
+street. His hands were cut and bleeding, and his right hand and wrist
+were swelling from the impact of the heavy bottle.</p>
+<p>He wanted to find Luck, and he wondered if she had been frightened and
+run home. He knew where she lived, and he mechanically traveled up the
+hill toward her home. A dark blotch in the shadow of a building
+attracted his attention and he stopped to investigate. It was the
+crumpled figure of a man, and when he lifted the face to the moonlight
+he looked down into the features of Louie Yen.</p>
+<p>There was a great blue welt above his left eye, but he was still
+breathing. Duke picked him up in his arms and from the rocky street came
+the clank of metal. It was Louie Yen’s knife, which had fallen from his
+nerveless hand.</p>
+<p>Duke picked up the long knife and glanced at it. The blade was
+discolored with blood.</p>
+<p>“Got a little action, anyway, Louie Yen,” he muttered, as he crossed the
+street, wondering where he could take the wounded Chinaman. Suddenly he
+saw Louie’s sign, which dangled before his little shack, and into this
+he carried its owner.</p>
+<p>There was a smell of wet clothes, strong soap and of many meals. He
+placed Louie on a hard bunk, drew down the shade on the only window,
+fastened the door and lighted the grimy oil lamp. Louie Yen mumbled to
+himself, while Duke bathed his head in lukewarm water from the barrel in
+the corner of the room. The blow on the head had knocked the Chinaman
+out, but Duke could find no other wounds on him. It appeared to have
+been a glancing blow, probably struck with the barrel of a six-shooter,
+and intended to smash Louie Yen’s skull.</p>
+<p>Then Louie’s eyes opened and he stared up at Duke. He turned his head
+and looked around the room and then tried to sit up. Duke had placed the
+knife on a rough table near the bunk, and now Louie looked keenly at it.</p>
+<p>“Better take it easy,” advised Duke, but Louie sat up and his slant eyes
+seemed to fairly blaze in his yellow face, as he pointed a claw-like
+hand toward the door. For a moment his tongue seemed paralyzed, but when
+the words did come they were like the crackle of pistol shots.</p>
+<p>“Yo’ go ’way from here!”</p>
+<p>“Loco,” thought Duke instantly.</p>
+<p>Louie spat something in the Chinese tongue, which might have been a
+terrible curse, so earnestly was it spoken.</p>
+<p>“How does your head feel?” asked Duke.</p>
+<p>Louie shook his head vehemently, still pointing at the door. “I sabe
+yo’! Yo’ go quick now!”</p>
+<p>There was no doubt that Louie was deadly serious and not at all insane.
+Duke grinned and nodded, “All right, old-timer. Don’t get all heated
+up.”</p>
+<p>But Duke backed toward the door. He was not taking any chances on Louie
+Yen, who was leaning forward off the bed, his slant eyes watching Duke
+with blazing hatred. Duke reached the door, unbarred it and started to
+go out; as Louie Yen flung himself forward to the table. His arm jerked
+up and backward; a silvery flash of light across the room, and the long
+knife tore a splinter of wood from the door casing and was caught tight
+as the door slammed shut behind Duke Steele.</p>
+<p>Duke whirled and looked at the knife blade. The throw had been almost
+perfect, but Louie had delayed too long. Duke shuddered, as he walked
+back down the street. Louie’s act had been so quick that it would have
+been almost impossible for Duke to have drawn a gun and stopped Louie
+ahead of the throw.</p>
+<p>“Now, what made him do that?” wondered Duke. “Why did he try to kill
+me? He wasn’t crazy, not a bit.”</p>
+<p>Duke stopped in the shadow of a building and tried to figure it out.
+Suddenly he realized that he was not wearing a hat. He had lost it in
+the Silver Bar, and he wondered grimly if there was anything left of his
+costly sombrero.</p>
+<p>He went back to the Silver Bar, but was unable to make any search on
+account of the mob. Again he looked for Luck, but she was nowhere in
+sight. Black was not there either, but in a few minutes he saw Slim
+Curlew at a roulette table.</p>
+<img src='images/img-016.png' alt='girl spinning roulette wheel'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>Someone spoke to him and he turned to see Fire French grinning at him.
+French invited him to have a drink, but Duke refused.</p>
+<p>“Seen anythin’ of our fair gamblin’-hall maiden?” asked French.</p>
+<p>Duke shook his head.</p>
+<p>“Where’s your hat?” asked French, grinning.</p>
+<p>“Lost it in a fight,” replied Duke coldly, “and I reckon it’s been
+tromped plumb to bed-rock by this time.”</p>
+<p>“Fight?” French was interested.</p>
+<p>“With your friend, Black.”</p>
+<p>“Oh!” French squinted closely at Duke. He knew that Black was a bad man
+in a fight, and he wondered how it could be that Duke Steele still had
+his being. Black usually put the boots to his victims, but Duke Steele
+did not seem to be suffering.</p>
+<p>“Just a conversational battle?”</p>
+<p>Duke lifted a swollen and cut pair of hands. “Look like it was, French?
+I reckon I made a soup-eater out of Black. The son-of-a-jackass tried to
+kick me, but I was lookin’ for it. I hate a kicker.”</p>
+<p>“Yeah?” marveled French. “And then what?”</p>
+<p>“Nothin’. He just stayed down, thassall.”</p>
+<p>“Thassall, eh?” French shook his head. “Steele, you can’t do things like
+that here. Black is one of Le Moyne’s best men. Didn’t yuh know that?”</p>
+<p>“Then Le Moyne is a damn poor judge of men,” retorted Duke. “The more I
+hear about Le Moyne the more I think he’s a big, greasy bluffer. If Pete
+Black is the type of men that Le Moyne is usin’ in his big game, Le
+Moyne is due to lose. They say that a chain is only as strong as its
+weakest link, French; Le Moyne’s chain has got a lot of weak links. He
+made a mistake in hirin’ tin-horn crooks to sit in a big game.”</p>
+<p>French’s jaw muscles tightened and his eyes twitched, but he managed to
+control himself. A burning hatred of this cold-eyed young man seared his
+soul, but he was afraid. Then, without a word, he turned and went out of
+the Silver Bar.</p>
+<p>Duke grinned softly. He knew that French was afraid of him. Calico was
+going to be an unhealthy place for him, he knew. Somewhere was Pete
+Black, minus several teeth and much prestige. Miners are quick to back a
+fighter, but, like the rest of humanity, are quick to lose confidence in
+a man after he has been whipped.</p>
+<p>Duke left the Silver Bar and went to the Mojave. A few miners were in
+there, but the Mojave was far from being a lively place. He went back to
+Curlew’s room, barred the door and went to bed, wondering what had
+become of Luck Sleed, wondering why the Chinaman had spat at him and
+threw the long knife at his back.</p>
+<hr class='tb'>
+<p>Cartier Le Moyne was an early riser. Long before the first tints of dawn
+painted the desert sky he could be found in his office, poring over
+smelter reports, planning further conquests. The smelter belonged to Le
+Moyne, but no one, except Le Moyne and the general manager, knew this.</p>
+<p>This morning Le Moyne’s face was drawn in a deep scowl, as he looked
+over the reports and read the name of “Telluride” Taylor. Opposite his
+name was a credit of five hundred dollars. Each monthly report showed a
+big net for Taylor. His ore was the richest in the desert.</p>
+<p>Time after time had Le Moyne’s men tried to trail Taylor to his mine,
+but he always managed to fade away into the desert, leaving them
+baffled. Then, silently herding his pack-train of burros, he would
+appear in Cactus City and unload at the smelter.</p>
+<p>Le Moyne had grown to hate Taylor, although he admired his skill in
+covering the trail. If one man, working alone, with only a few burros
+for transportation, could bring in such wealth, what could Le Moyne do
+with a force of men?</p>
+<p>Le Moyne tossed the reports into a drawer, got to his feet and went back
+to his stable, where he kept a horse. He was too unsettled to work; so
+he saddled the horse and rode away into the desert, going out the Calico
+road.</p>
+<p>Far away in the distance the sun was striking the black peaks, making
+them appear as golden cones on an ebony base. A few minutes later the
+light changed to a violet hue, shot with gold, changing suddenly to a
+deep amber, shot with cobalt streaks. It was like the fading out of one
+tint and the fading in of another on a motion picture screen.</p>
+<p>Then the world seemed to grow brighter as the harsh light of morning
+drove away the soft-hued tints, and the desert stood out in its true
+colors.</p>
+<img src='images/img-017.png' alt='outdoor scene'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>Le Moyne rode slowly, looking out upon the desert, as a baron of old
+might have looked upon a land he intended to conquer. It was not a fair
+land in the light of day, but to Le Moyne it meant wealth and power.</p>
+<p>He left the road and rode slowly to a brushy hillock, where a group of
+Joshua-palms, the “Dancing Jaspers” of the desert, grew thickly. A
+jack-rabbit scooted from in front of him and bounced like a gray shadow
+up the slope, and a coyote, as gray as the desert brush, gave him one
+glance and limped away into the heavy cover.</p>
+<p>Near the top of the hillock Le Moyne drew rein. Far down the road came
+the stage from Calico, a thin cloud of dust blowing away from it in the
+slight breeze. To Le Moyne’s ears came the faint tinkle of a bell.</p>
+<p>He moved further into the cover of the palms and watched the stage
+coming swiftly. To his ears came the tinkle, tinkle of a bell again, and
+it seemed to be on the far side of the hill. He watched the stage until
+it was near enough to be hidden from his sight.</p>
+<p>Minute after minute passed, still the stage did not come into sight.
+There was no reason for the delay. Then he turned his horse and rode
+around the side of the hill, seeking to find why the stage had stopped,
+but before he reached the point of the hill the stage drove past him and
+went on toward Cactus City.</p>
+<p>Le Moyne lit a cigar and watched the stage fade out in a haze of dust.
+The sun was already growing hot, so he turned and rode down the hill.
+Again he heard the tiny tinkle of the bell, but this time the sound of
+it was continuous, as though the animal wearing it was traveling
+steadily.</p>
+<p>He turned and rode around the point of the hill, where he met a herd of
+five burros, heavily laden with sacks of ore, and behind them came a
+weather-beaten prospector carrying a rifle over his shoulder.</p>
+<p>It was Telluride Taylor, with his shipment of rich silver ore, heading
+toward the smelter. Le Moyne did not wait to meet him, but turned and
+rode back toward Cactus City.</p>
+<p>Suddenly he drew rein and his eyes narrowed in thought. Something had
+just occurred to him; something that burned into his soul like a
+white-hot brand. Had the stage stopped there to unload those sacks of
+high-grade silver ore? Was Telluride Taylor waiting there to receive the
+stolen ore?</p>
+<p>These thoughts caused Le Moyne to straighten up in his saddle and curse
+witheringly. If that was a fact, it was easy to see why his hired men
+had never been able to trail Telluride to his treasure mine. They were
+in partnership to beat him. Right now they were laughing at Le Moyne;
+stealing from him, while they took his pay.</p>
+<p>In a haze of anger he rode back and stabled his horse. He was too wise
+to shout his knowledge to the four winds, and there was no trace of
+anger in him when he met the stage-driver and received the report from
+Fire French. The written report read:</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>Let us know what you expect of Steele. Do not know where to use him.
+Acts like he owned the town and seems to be looking for trouble. Will
+not take orders from anyone. Luck Sleed fired me and all the gang from
+the Silver Bar and is going to try to run it herself. Tell us what you
+want done. Black says everything is going good.</p>
+
+<div style='text-align:right'>French.</div>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Le Moyne read the message carefully. Things were not going at all well
+with him, but he smiled at the reference to Duke Steele looking for
+trouble.</p>
+<p>“I dunno what got into that danged girl,” said the driver. “She ain’t
+showin’ much sense.”</p>
+<img src='images/img-018.png' alt='empty stagecoach'
+style='float: right; width: 25%; margin-left: 15px;'>
+<p>Le Moyne looked coldly at him, as he folded up the message and said,
+“I’ll go to Calico with you tonight.”</p>
+<p>“All right,” said the driver slowly. “Mebbe that’ll help some.</p>
+<p>“I think it will,” meaningly, “in more ways than one.”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne turned and crossed the street just ahead of Telluride Taylor’s
+string of burros, but did not even look at Telluride. The driver watched
+him go into his office and squinted thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>“In more ways than one, eh?” he muttered. “Jist what in hell did he mean
+by that, do yuh suppose?”</p>
+<p>As there was no one there to answer the question, the driver shook his
+head and went seeking a bed.</p>
+<hr class='tb'>
+<p>Mica Cates had also spent a bad night. Somehow he felt responsible for
+Luck, wanted to help her, but she was nowhere to be found. A miner had
+told him about the big fight between Black and the newcomer, and he had
+gone back to the Silver Bar, but could not find anybody who knew what
+had become of Luck.</p>
+<p>One of the bartenders remembered seeing her talking with Duke Steele,
+but had not seen her after the fight. Nearly all night Mica had sat on
+Luck’s doorstep, waiting for her, wondering what had happened to her. It
+was after daylight when he came down the street to Louie Yen’s laundry.
+The door was closed, but Mica opened it and peered inside.</p>
+<p>Louie Yen was humped up on a box beside his ironing board, his head
+swathed in bandages. He was smoking a long pipe, while he slowly whetted
+his long knife with a tiny hone.</p>
+<p>“Hyah, Louie,” greeted Mica, coming inside. “Seen anythin’ of Luck?”</p>
+<p>Louie stopped honing and stared at Mica. His old face seemed to have
+aged years in one night.</p>
+<p>“Yo’ no find?” he asked softly.</p>
+<p>“Dang it all—no!” Mica was very positive. “I’ve looked all over for
+her, Louie. What happened to you?”</p>
+<p>Louie’s hand went to his bandage and he shook his head.</p>
+<p>“You don’t know?” asked Mica.</p>
+<p>“I know,” nodded Louie. “Mebbe know too much; yo’ sabe?”</p>
+<p>“Thasso? Whatcha mean, Louie?”</p>
+<p>“Know too much, mebbe die,” ominously.</p>
+<p>“Aw, shucks! What’s got into yuh?” Louie picked up his hone and knife
+and began to put a razor edge on the long knife. The room was silent,
+but for the keen, wheen, wheen, of the hone against fine steel.</p>
+<p>“Yuh make me nervous,” complained Mica, “I asked yuh if yuh knew where
+Luck Sleed is, but yuh never said.”</p>
+<p>“No can do,” Louie shook his head, but did not look up. “I hear two men
+talk in dark las’ night. Louie Yen ki’p very quiet.”</p>
+<p>He tested the blade on the ball of his thumb and began honing again,
+while he continued in a sing-song tone, “One man say want li’l gi’l and
+other man say why wait fo’ big man say what to do? Yo’ takum now. One
+man say we fixum scheme. They go ’way. Louie Yen no can go to see. Louie
+Yen bimeby gonsee li’l gi’l and fin’ li’l gi’l talk to one man.</p>
+<p>“Louie Yen go outside, see what can fin’. Bimeby big fight. Louie Yen
+see two men in dark, carry li’l gi’l. She scream, but no can make hear.
+Louie Yen hear. Louie Yen try catch li’l gi’l. No can do.”</p>
+<p>Louie pointed to the bandage on his head and again he tested the edge of
+his knife.</p>
+<p>“Somebody steal her?” gasped Mica, getting to his feet.</p>
+<p>Louie nodded slowly and the lines deepened in his old yellow face.</p>
+<p>“Louie,” Mica’s voice quavered, “Louie, do yuh know who it was?”</p>
+<p>“No can do,” Louie shook his head. “One man wear big hat—w’ite hat; yo’
+sabe?”</p>
+<p>“With silver trimmin’?” asked Mica quickly.</p>
+<p>“Yes-s-s,” answered Louie. “Yo’ sabe now?”</p>
+<p>Mica nodded quickly. He knew that Duke Steele was the only man in Calico
+who wore that kind of headgear.</p>
+<p>“No sabe?” Louie shook his head. “W’y he steal li’l gi’l? Long time she
+look fo’ him. Plenty glad fo’ see him.”</p>
+<p>“I don’t sabe it either, Louie. Who do yuh reckon they meant when they
+spoke about the big man? Who is he?”</p>
+<p>“No can tell, Mica. He say not wait fo’ big man. Bimeby we fin’ out.
+Ah-h-h-h!” Louie’s gnarled thumb tested the edge of the knife and had
+found it perfect. He picked up his pipe and began smoking.</p>
+<p>“Well, ain’t we goin’ look for her?” demanded Mica impatiently.</p>
+<p>“No can do,” Louie shook his head. “Hunt now, never fin’; yo’ sabe? Li’l
+gi’l plenty safe now. Too much look, mebbe almos’ fin’—no safe.”</p>
+<p>“You reckon they can’t afford to let us find her?”</p>
+<p>“Um-m-m. Eyes no good fo’ hunt now. Somebody talk bimeby.”</p>
+<p>“All right, Louie, but I sure want to git m’ hands on the dirty coyotes
+that stole her.”</p>
+<p>“Plenty time; yo’ wait,” advised Louie softly.</p>
+<p>Mica nodded and went outside. It was blistering hot and not even a dog
+was in sight on the street. He went slowly down past the Silver Bar and
+into the Mojave. Duke Steele was sitting at a card table, playing
+solitaire.</p>
+<p>He smiled and nodded at Mica, who sat down at the table. Mica noticed
+that Duke was not wearing a hat and there was no sign of the hat on the
+table nor on any of the chairs. Neither of the men spoke. It was
+stifling hot in there and finally Duke threw the cards aside and leaned
+back in his chair.</p>
+<p>“This country ain’t cooled off none since I was here a year ago,”
+observed Duke. He had placed his hands on the table, and Mica could see
+that they were swollen and bruised. Duke noticed Mica’s glance and
+grinned.</p>
+<p>“Compliments of Pete Black,” he remarked, indicating his hands. “Have
+yuh seen him today?”</p>
+<p>Mica shook his head. He had heard of the fight.</p>
+<p>Duke studied Mica Cates for a while and then leaned across the table
+toward him, as he asked softly, “Do you know where Luck Sleed is,
+Cates?”</p>
+<p>Mica shook his head. “No, do you?”</p>
+<p>Duke smiled and shook his head, “No, but I’d sure like to, y’betcha.”</p>
+<p>Mica could not help feeling that Duke was in earnest. Either that, or he
+was a good actor and wanted to find out how much Mica Cates knew.</p>
+<p>“When did yuh see her last?” queried Mica.</p>
+<p>“Just before I fought with Pete Black. I was talkin’ with her when the
+fight started and I took a hand in it. When the fight was over she had
+disappeared.”</p>
+<p>Mica blinked over this information, but he was not going to let Duke
+Steele know his suspicions. Then, before he thought, he blurted the
+question, “Steele, who is the big man you’re workin’ for?”</p>
+<p>Duke stared closely at Mica and leaned slowly back in his chair. “Big
+man?” he asked. “What do yuh mean, Cates?”</p>
+<p>“You know what I mean, Steele.”</p>
+<p>“Do I?” Duke smiled at Mica’s anxious face.</p>
+<p>“Listen,” said Mica, “I ain’t sayin’ I ain’t afraid of you, Steele.
+You’ve licked two good men with your hands since you came here, and I
+sabe what you can do with a gun, but,” Mica stopped and leaned closer,
+“but jist the same I’m askin’ yuh what yuh done with Luck Sleed?”</p>
+<p>“What I done with her?” Duke’s smile was gone now and his voice was
+hard. “Would I be lookin’ for her, if I knew where she is, Cates?”</p>
+<p>Cates shook his head, but was unconvinced.</p>
+<p>“What do yuh mean by ‘big man’?” demanded Duke.</p>
+<p>Mica licked his lips slowly, but decided to try and bluff it through.</p>
+<p>“You and another man talked about a big man last night, Steele; and it
+sounds like you was workin’ for him. One of yuh wanted Luck Sleed and
+decided to steal her. That fight was jist a blind to steal her out of
+the crowd.”</p>
+<p>Duke squinted closely at Mica, whose face was beaded with perspiration,
+and a glimmer of understanding came to him.</p>
+<p>“Did you hear me talkin’ to another man?” demanded Duke. Mica shook his
+head.</p>
+<p>“Then how do yuh figure it was me?”</p>
+<p>“One of the men that stole Luck Sleed was wearin’ a big, white sombrero,
+with silver trimmin’s, Steele. Where is your hat?”</p>
+<p>Duke shook his head. “Pardner, I reckon the verdict is easy to read. I’m
+much obliged to yuh, just the same.”</p>
+<img src='images/img-019.png' alt='setting up a solitaire hand'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>He leaned over and picked up the cards, paying no attention to Mica, who
+got to his feet and went back to the street. At the doorway he looked
+back at Duke, who was building another solitaire layout.</p>
+<p>Mica scratched his head and tried to review just what Duke Steele had
+said. He had not told who the big man was, nor had he admitted stealing
+Luck Sleed. Somehow, Mica felt that Duke Steele had had nothing to do
+with it. He had thanked Mica for some information, but Mica was not
+aware that he had explained anything to him.</p>
+<hr class='tb'>
+<p>That night, French, Black and Curlew met in Curlew’s room at the rear of
+the Mojave. Black’s lips were puffed and discolored, one eye was as
+purple as a plum and all of his front teeth were missing. He had not
+been able to eat solid food that day and whiskey was a torture to his
+sore lips and mouth.</p>
+<p>French was in sympathy with Black, because his own jaw was still sore
+from Duke Steele’s fist, but Curlew was rather amused at both of them.</p>
+<p>“I’ll kill him, if it’s the last thing I ever do,” declared Black. “I
+don’t care a damn what Le Moyne says.”</p>
+<p>“If I was goin’ to kill him, I’d hire it done,” said Curlew. “After
+seein’ what he done to both of you fellers, I’m workin’ shy of that
+hombre. Is he such a hell of a fighter, or are you jaspers overrated?”</p>
+<p>French and Black made no reply. Curlew knew that both of them were well
+known as fighters, and he was only joking them about their recent
+defeats.</p>
+<p>“He’s a gunman, too,” said French, as though admitting that Steele was a
+good fighter with his fists. “A year ago he kinda cleaned up around
+here.”</p>
+<p>“Whatcha tryin’ to do, scare yourself or us?” demanded Black.</p>
+<p>“I’m tellin’ yuh some history, Black.”</p>
+<p>“History don’t repeat itself, French. I ain’t a danged bit scared of
+this hard-headed fool, even if you are.”</p>
+<p>“Still, yuh don’t know him and Le Moyne are hooked up,” said French.
+“I’d advise layin’ off him until we hear from Le Moyne and see where
+this feller stands.”</p>
+<p>Came a knock on the door, but before anyone could speak, a man came into
+the room. He was grimy from the desert and his face was brick-red from
+the intense heat.</p>
+<p>“Just got in,” he informed them huskily. “Damn horse went down on me
+about three miles down the road and I had to walk the rest of the way.”</p>
+<p>“What’s the idea, Pell?” asked French nervously.</p>
+<p>The newcomer picked up a bottle of liquor from the table and took a long
+drink.</p>
+<p>“Plumb dried out inside,” he explained, sitting down on the bunk and
+half-removing his boots before he continued.</p>
+<p>“Telluride sent me in. Said that he got the ore, but that he saw Le
+Moyne about a minute after he got loaded, and he’s plumb scared that Le
+Moyne saw them. He went over and woke up the stage-driver and he said
+that Le Moyne was comin’ to Calico with him t’night.”</p>
+<p>“Hell!” exploded French, getting nervously to his feet.</p>
+<p>“Hang onto yourself!” snapped Curlew.</p>
+<img src='images/img-020.png' style="width:70%; margin-left:15%"
+alt='stagecoach'>
+<p>“You’re as nervous as an old lady, French. Mebbe he didn’t see nothin’.”</p>
+<p>“And if he did?” said Black ominously. “Are we goin’ to eat dirt for Le
+Moyne? You’d think he was the devil himself.”</p>
+<p>The man called Pell helped himself to more liquor, while the other three
+men pondered deeply.</p>
+<p>“If yuh want my advice,” said Black, “I’d say that we better get rid of
+this Steele right away. Yuh know damn well that he’s sweet on Luck
+Sleed, French.”</p>
+<p>“Lot of good it’s doin’ him,” grinned French.</p>
+<p>“If trouble started in the Silver Bar tonight, and Steele happened to be
+there,” suggested Curlew meaningly, “Le Moyne never hired us to take
+care of Steele.”</p>
+<p>French got to his feet again and paced the length of the room several
+times. He stopped at the table and looked at Black and Curlew, who had
+been watching him.</p>
+<p>“Black is right,” declared French. “Why should we eat dirt for Le Moyne?
+Is he any better than we are? Let’s take Calico for ourselves, and to
+hell with Le Moyne! I’m tired of taking orders from him. When he shows
+up here he’s as helpless as any other man, ain’t he? How about it?”</p>
+<p>“That’s the idea,” applauded Black. “We won’t only set into the big
+game, but we’ll run it, eh?”</p>
+<p>“And take the rakeoff for ourselves,” nodded Curlew.</p>
+<p>Pell finished the bottle and went back into the saloon, where he got a
+couple of more drinks and went out. Duke Steele was in the room. He had
+seen Pell enter the room, and knew that Black, Curlew and French were in
+there.</p>
+<p>Pell was just a trifle unsteady on his legs, as he went out into the
+street, and Duke had no difficulty in shadowing him. Several times Pell
+stopped and looked back, but Duke kept to the heavy shadows. Down near
+where the road sloped sharply off into the desert, Pell stopped and
+spoke a word. A moment later another man joined him and Duke heard the
+husky voice of Le Moyne, as he talked to Pell.</p>
+<p>Duke was unable to get close enough to find out what the conversation
+was about, but he heard Le Moyne tell Pell to stable the horses where no
+one would see them, and a few moments later Le Moyne passed Duke’s
+hiding-place, going slowly toward the lighted street.</p>
+<p>As soon as he was safely past, Duke circled back to the upper end of the
+street. He was curious to know just why Le Moyne had come secretly to
+Calico. Something had gone wrong with his plans, that much was sure, and
+Duke thought it might concern the disappearance of Luck Sleed.</p>
+<p>He felt sure, after what he had learned from Mica Cates, that French and
+Curlew were the ones that had kidnapped Luck. There was no question in
+his mind but what the fight had been started to attract the attention of
+the crowd, and that Black had thrown the bottle to draw him away from
+Luck. Of course, Black had not expected it to turn out so badly for him.</p>
+<p>Duke had lost his hat, which was not part of their plans, but one of
+them had worn it, possibly on the chance that they might shift the blame
+in case they were seen by anyone on the street. It was fairly clear to
+Duke now, the reasons for Louie Yen’s hatred. “No doubt,” thought Duke,
+“the Chinaman recognized me by the hat, because there was not another
+hat like it in Calico.”</p>
+<img src='images/img-021.png' alt='Duke on the street'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>Duke had come in beside Louie Yen’s laundry and now he stopped near the
+corner. A man was coming toward him, and Duke thought that this might
+possibly be Le Moyne. As he drew back into the deeper shadows something
+descended upon his head, knocking him flat on his face.</p>
+<p>Dimly he heard voices and felt someone dragging him into the house. In a
+hazy way he felt them binding his hands, but was unable to prevent them.
+Gradually the roaring noise died out of his ears and he came back to
+almost full consciousness, but he did not open his eyes nor try to move.</p>
+<p>His nose informed him that he was inside of Louie Yen’s laundry and that
+Louie was talking to someone in his own peculiar pidgin-English.</p>
+<p>“Bimeby he talk now, yo’ sabe? Louie Yen fin’ out.”</p>
+<p>“That’s a damn heathen way of doin’ things,” replied Mica Cates’ voice.
+“I wouldn’t do it, Louie.”</p>
+<p>“I watch him,” stated Louie. “He walk after man, who meet one man. One
+man ve’y big, yo’ sabe?”</p>
+<p>“Thasso?” Mica was interested. “And then you trailed Steele up here and
+hit him on the head.”</p>
+<p>“Yes-s-s, like yo’ see. Bimeby this man tell where is li’l gi’l, yo’
+sabe?”</p>
+<p>“How hot do yuh have to git them irons?” asked Mica.</p>
+<p>“Plenty hot.”</p>
+<p>Louie got up and shuffled softly into the rear room. Duke’s eyes flashed
+open. He was lying in the middle of the floor, flat on his back, with
+both hands tied behind him. Mica Cates was standing near him, watching
+him closely.</p>
+<p>“Cates,” Duke whispered softly, “does that Chinaman think I know where
+Luck Sleed is hidden?”</p>
+<p>Mica glanced swiftly toward the rear, dropped on his hands and knees and
+with a swift motion of a knife, cut Duke’s hands loose.</p>
+<p>“Gun’s on the table,” he breathed.</p>
+<p>But Duke did not move. Louie Yen was coming in from the rear room,
+carrying a flat-iron, the handle of which was heavily wrapped in rags.
+There was a smell of burning cloth, as Louie Yen knelt at the feet of
+Duke Steele and placed the hot iron on the floor.</p>
+<p>Duke had drawn up his feet, and as Louie took hold of one of his boots
+Duke shoved him violently aside, sprang to his feet, grasped the
+six-shooter and whirled to look down at the little old Chinaman,
+sprawled on the floor.</p>
+<p>Louie Yen was not looking at Duke, but at the strands of rope on the
+floor; strands which had been cut with a very sharp knife. Then he got
+slowly to his feet, shook his head sadly and sat down on a box; a very
+sorrowful looking old Chinaman.</p>
+<p>“I had t’ do it, Louie Yen,” said Mica softly. “He’s a white man.”</p>
+<p>Duke studied the two of them, pitied them in their puny efforts to get
+information of Luck Sleed.</p>
+<p>“Yuh don’t need to feel bad about it, Louie,” said Duke consolingly.
+“Burnin’ my feet wouldn’t make me tell where that girl is, ’cause I
+don’t know. I lost my hat in the fight and somebody stole it. I found
+you out there in the street.”</p>
+<p>Louie Yen’s beady eyes studied Duke’s face for a while, unblinking.</p>
+<p>“Yo’ don’ know where is li’l gi’l?”</p>
+<p>“No,” Duke shook his head. “Not any more than you do.”</p>
+<p>“No can fin’,” Louie shook his head, while the hot iron sent up a vile
+odor of burning cloth. Duke kicked the iron aside and felt of the lump
+on his head. It was very sore, but there was little blood. Louie noticed
+Duke’s actions and shook his head sadly.</p>
+<p>“Ve’y solly,” he muttered. “Louie Yen plenty damn fool; yo’ sabe?”</p>
+<p>“Never mind me,” grinned Duke, “I’ve got a hard head, and, I’ve got an
+idea. Will you two jaspers help me work it out?”</p>
+<p>“Tell it,” grunted Mica Cates. “We’ve tried everythin’ else.”</p>
+<p>“Here’s what yuh got to do,” explained Duke. “One of yuh watch the rear
+door and the other the front door of the Silver Bar, while I go inside.
+Watch for Pete Black, French or Slim Curlew. If any of them come out,
+follow ’em and find out where they go. Do yuh understand?”</p>
+<p>“Mo’ bettah,” nodded Louie Yen, getting to his feet.</p>
+<p>“And look out,” warned Duke. “Hell is due to bust loose in Calico
+tonight, unless I can’t read signs, and we’re liable to get singed a
+little.”</p>
+<p>“Let her bust,” replied Mica.</p>
+<p>Duke turned to the door. “You fellers wait a minute, ’cause I don’t want
+to be seen with yuh.”</p>
+<p>Duke went down the street and into the Silver Bar. There was a fair
+sized crowd inside, but the place was orderly. Pete Black was at a
+poker-table, French was at a roulette layout, and Curlew was standing at
+the bar, talking to the man named Pell, who had brought the message to
+them from Telluride Taylor.</p>
+<p>Bud Harvey was one of the bartenders, and he nodded pleasantly to Duke,
+who stepped in beside Curlew and Pell.</p>
+<p>“Miss Luck ain’t got here yet, has she?” asked Duke.</p>
+<p>Bud Harvey shook his head. “No, I ain’t seen her today and I was
+wonderin’ if she wasn’t comin’ down tonight. None of the boys has seen
+her today.”</p>
+<p>“She’s been away,” said Duke casually, “but she ought to be here pretty
+quick.”</p>
+<p>Duke felt that Curlew had turned and was looking at him, but he calmly
+poured out his drink and paid for it. Then he sauntered toward the rear
+of the room and moved in beside a faro layout, where he could turn,
+facing the room.</p>
+<p>Curlew walked part way to the door with Pell, but left him and went
+straight to the poker game and spoke to Pete Black, who got out of his
+chair. Only a word was exchanged, and Black turned to cash in his chips.</p>
+<p>Duke glanced at French, who was watching Black and Curlew. Curlew
+signaled cautiously to French and walked slowly back to the bar,
+followed in a moment by Black. None of them looked toward Duke, but he
+knew that three pairs of eyes were watching him.</p>
+<p>To anyone else it would seem that these three men were having a friendly
+drink, but Duke felt that this conference might mean a lot to him. They
+finished their drink and all walked over to the roulette layout,
+laughing. Duke walked toward the rear of the room, where the two-piece
+orchestra was screeching out a discordant tune, and when he turned and
+looked toward the roulette game, Pete Black was not there. In fact he
+was not in the Silver Bar. Duke grinned and sauntered down the room
+until he stood near French and Curlew. A half-drunk miner came in the
+door and stumbled toward the bar.</p>
+<p>“Wha’s matter with the Mojave?” he asked loudly. “Has she gone out of
+business?”</p>
+<p>Several people looked at him curiously, and he seemed to realize that he
+was the center of interest, so he continued:</p>
+<p>“Locked up tight, zat’s what she is. Whazza matter, eh?”</p>
+<p>French strode over to the man and grasped him by the arm.</p>
+<p>“What do yuh mean?” he demanded.</p>
+<p>“Mojave’s closed,” insisted the drunk. “Lights all out and a padlock on
+the door.”</p>
+<p>“What the hell does that mean?” queried Curlew. “Who would do that?”</p>
+<p>French whirled toward the door and Curlew almost trod on his heels in
+his hurry to get out and see what had happened. Duke grinned, as he
+realized that this was Le Moyne’s first move, but he did not know just
+what it meant. Duke did not know that Black, French and Curlew had
+announced their intentions to double-cross Le Moyne, and that Le Moyne
+knew this.</p>
+<p>Duke turned and went out the back door, where he called softly, and was
+joined by Mica Cates.</p>
+<p>“Black went out the front door,” said Duke.</p>
+<p>“Then Louie Yen is on his trail,” grinned Mica, “and that danged Chink
+could trail a buzzard and never be seen.”</p>
+<p>“And that ain’t no lie,” replied Duke. “I know it.”</p>
+<p>As they started around the corner a bulky figure almost ran into them.
+Quick as a flash, Duke whipped out his gun and covered the man, who
+backed against the wall; the face of him showing clear in the
+moonlight.</p>
+<p>It was Le Moyne, dangerous as a cornered wolf, who snarled at Duke,
+“You, too, eh? Well, damn you—shoot!”</p>
+<img src='images/img-022.png' alt='two men, one holding a gun'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>Duke shook his head, but kept the muzzle of the big six-shooter leveled
+at Le Moyne’s waistline.</p>
+<p>“Not unless I have to, Le Moyne,” replied Duke.</p>
+<p>“Better take my advice,” said Le Moyne coldly. “You’ll never have a
+better chance.”</p>
+<p>“Never want a better one,” smiled Duke. “Meet my friend Mica Cates, Mr.
+Le Moyne.”</p>
+<p>“Aw, hell!” exploded Le Moyne. “What’s the use of all this, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“Courtesy,” replied Steele. “You fellers ain’t never met,’ and then to
+Mica, “this is the big man yuh heard about, Mica.”</p>
+<p>“You’re takin’ chances on not pullin’ that trigger,” reminded Le Moyne
+coldly.</p>
+<p>Duke laughed. “You don’t scare me, Le Moyne. You told me that you had
+some good men up here, but I whipped two of them and am willin’ to try
+the other one. I’ve lost all faith in you, big feller. You picked some
+fine scorpions to handle this end of the big game.</p>
+<p>“I’ve found that out,” agreed Le Moyne warmly, “and that is why I’m up
+here tonight. How much have they promised you, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“A spot in Hell’s Depot,” grinned Duke.</p>
+<p>“What do you mean, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“Just what I said. I didn’t like this gang and I had to whip French a
+few minutes after I landed here. Last night I fought Pete Black and
+moved most of his teeth. I ain’t had no chance to mix with Curlew yet.”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne laughed harshly. “I wish I had seen it. Now, the question is
+this—are you still with me, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“Nope,” Duke shook his head, but added, “I’m not against yuh, Le Moyne,
+except in one thing. You can take the Mojave desert and everythin’ in
+the danged spot, except Luck Sleed’s property.”</p>
+<p>“Yeah? Got stuck on the girl, did yuh, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“I’m squeezin’ the trigger,” said Duke softly, “and another remark like
+that finishes the deal for you. Your hired tin-horns stole her last
+night, Le Moyne.”</p>
+<p>“Not on my orders,” defended Le Moyne quickly. “Mine was a freeze-out
+game—not a kidnapping. I might beat her out of what she owns, but I’m
+damned if I’d injure her.”</p>
+<p>“You’ve got a lot of control over your men, ain’t yuh?”</p>
+<p>“I will have when I’m through with ’em,” retorted Le Moyne hotly.
+“That’s why I’m up here, They don’t look for me until mornin’, but I
+choked the truth out of the stage-driver. They’ve been stealin’ from me
+all the time, Steele. I sent a man I could trust to tell ’em that I was
+comin’ on the night stage, and they talked too much before him. They’re
+goin’ to try and shove me out of Calico.”</p>
+<p>“And you’ve only got that one man with yuh?” queried Duke. “A drunk! Do
+yuh realize what you’re up against? There’s Black, French, Curlew, a
+handful of gamblers and all of Black’s men from both mines. They’re all
+gettin’ their share of the loot. What can one man do against that
+crowd?”</p>
+<p>“By God, I’ll show ’em what Le Moyne can do!”</p>
+<img src='images/img-023.png' style="width:70%; margin-left:15%"
+alt='two guns firing'>
+<p>“You’re a big-headed fool!” snapped Duke. “You’ve dreamed about ownin’
+the desert until it’s gone to your head, Le Moyne. Wake up for a minute
+and figure out just who you are. One man! Are yuh bullet-proof? Can yuh
+shoot so fast that yuh can buck an army? This job will take a lot of
+brains, which you ain’t got.”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne was silent for several moments, as this seemed to percolate
+through his mind. No man had ever talked like that to him before; no man
+had dared to talk like that to Le Moyne. He shrugged his big shoulders
+and leaned back against the building.</p>
+<p>“Well, Steele, I never thought about it—like—that. I
+guess—probably—I’ve got the—wrong—idea.”</p>
+<p>“You ain’t exactly brainless,” remarked Duke.</p>
+<p>“Almost,” Le Moyne smiled crookedly. “What would you do, if you was in
+my place, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“I wouldn’t try to fool myself into thinkin’ that I was all-powerful, Le
+Moyne.”</p>
+<p>“All right.” Le Moyne’s tone was almost meek.</p>
+<p>“Got a gun?”</p>
+<p>Le Moyne threw his coat open, disclosing a cartridge belt and two heavy
+guns.</p>
+<p>“Can yuh shoot straight?”</p>
+<p>“No.” Le Moyne was honest. “I never was a good shot.”</p>
+<p>“It’s a wonder yuh ever come this close to bein’ a king of the desert,”
+declared Duke.</p>
+<p>“I hired my shootin’ done,” said Le Moyne, half-humorously,
+half-bitterly.</p>
+<p>“Well, yuh ain’t got money enough to hire a trigger-finger tonight,”
+declared Duke, “so yuh better forget ownin’ the desert and concentrate
+on shootin’.”</p>
+<p>“You won’t lose nothin’ by stickin’ to me,” assured Le Moyne, “neither
+one of you.”</p>
+<p>“Aw, forget the pay,” grunted Duke. “Why did yuh close up the Mojave?”</p>
+<p>“I scared the devil out of that gang in there,” Le Moyne laughed
+nervously. “They all know me. I wanted to get that bunch all together in
+one place; so I cleaned out the Mojave and locked the door.”</p>
+<p>“And by now every one of your hired crooks know that you are in Calico.
+Le Moyne, you’ve got a fine chance to never leave Calico alive. There’s
+only one hope left, and that hinges on the fact that you hired a bunch
+of tin-horns to run your business. How much nerve have you got?”</p>
+<p>“Why do you ask me that?” queried Le Moyne.</p>
+<p>“Have you got nerve enough to walk into that gang and start shootin’?”</p>
+<p>“Do we have to do that, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“No-o-o, we can run away.”</p>
+<p>“Feller can’t die but once.” Thus Mica Cates, speaking for the first
+time since they met Le Moyne.</p>
+<p>“I’m a poor runner,” said Le Moyne, “and there’s plenty of time to run
+when we’re scared, Steele.”</p>
+<p>“And Luck Sleed won’t lose?” queried Duke.</p>
+<p>“Not even what Black’s gang stole,” said Le Moyne. “I’ve got the smelter
+lists to check back on it, Steele.”</p>
+<p>“You may never be a king,” observed Duke, “but you are a couple of
+notches above bein’ a knave. Come on.”</p>
+<hr class='tb'>
+<p>French and Curlew found the Mojave padlocked and the lights out. Several
+of the miners who were in the pay of Pete Black followed them. One of
+the bartenders and a man who had run a roulette outfit for Curlew were
+in front of the place.</p>
+<p>“What in hell is goin’ on here?” demanded Curlew.</p>
+<p>“Hell is right,” agreed the gambler. “Le Moyne closed the place a few
+minutes ago.”</p>
+<p>“Le Moyne!” gasped French. “Is he here?”</p>
+<p>“He sure is,” grunted the bartender. “He’s here like a wolf, French.”</p>
+<p>“But he wasn’t due here until mornin’,” said Curlew in a half-whisper.
+“Why did he——”</p>
+<p>“Pell,” French’s voice broke thinly. “Pell came with him, Slim! He heard
+what we said about takin’ Calico for ourselves. Le Moyne knows now where
+Telluride’s rich ore comes from, and he’s up here——”</p>
+<p>“With only Pell behind him!” snapped Curlew. “Two men, and one of them
+drunk! Get the gangs from both mines. Black will be back in a few
+minutes.”</p>
+<p>“Where’s Steele?” queried French nervously. “Damn him, he’s a spy of Le
+Moyne’s.”</p>
+<p>“I’ll get the gang,” said one of the miners, and ran heavily toward the
+rim of Sunshine Alley.</p>
+<p>“Get back in the shadows,” advised Curlew. “We’ll wait for the miners
+and Black.”</p>
+<img src='images/img-024.png' style="width:70%; margin-left:15%"
+alt='coyote howling at the moon'>
+<p>Calico was strangely silent now. Only the yellow lights of the Silver
+Bar made a greenish glow in the blue haze of moonlighted street. It was
+a land of blocky, grotesque shadows, high-lighted by a moon, like a huge
+globe suspended but a short distance away from the earth.</p>
+<p>Then, from far down in Sunshine Alley came the thin, indistinct notes of
+a violin; from out in the desert came the eerie wail of a half-starved
+coyote. A man in the doorway of the Silver Bar laughed drunkenly and
+began singing in a hoarse voice.</p>
+<p>French cursed audibly. Men were coming up over the rim of Sunshine Alley
+now, and hurrying toward the Mojave. The notes of the violin had ceased.
+The man in the doorway of the Silver Bar stopped singing and went back
+inside. It was Pell, the Le Moyne spy; singing to keep up his courage.</p>
+<p>Duke Steele heard him singing, as he opened the rear door of the Silver
+Bar and led Le Moyne and Mica Cates inside. The games were still running
+and men were at the bar, drinking, but a silence had seemed to settle
+over the room. A man cursed at Pell, who turned and came back to the
+bar.</p>
+<p>Several men glanced curiously at Le Moyne. He was so big that he towered
+like a giant in the low-ceilinged room. Men were coming in both front
+and rear doors now; big, hulking miners, with the colored muck of the
+silver mines on their clothes.</p>
+<p>“Look out!” called Duke at Le Moyne. “These are all Black’s men. Hell’s
+due to take a recess in a minute!”</p>
+<p>A big miner lurched into Le Moyne, staggering him. It might have been
+unintentional, but Le Moyne smashed the man full in the face with a
+terrific blow and the big miner spun like a top into a roulette table,
+crashing it down like a mass of kindling.</p>
+<p>A woman screamed, breaking the momentary silence after the crash; just
+outside the door, from somewhere in that mass of men, came the smack of
+a pistol shot. Pell, who was backed against the bar, with arms
+outspread, flung his arms across his face, as though to protect himself,
+and plunged headlong into the crowd.</p>
+<p>The place was a bedlam now. Duke saw French and Curlew near the door,
+but was unable to use his gun in that crush of humanity. Le Moyne was
+fighting like a great grizzly, using his hands instead of his guns. Mica
+Cates was lost in the confusion, but Duke felt that the little
+bow-legged man was giving a good account of himself.</p>
+<p>Duke managed to get his gun loose and was using it as a club. He had no
+desire to kill the miners, but he did want to come to close quarters
+with either Curlew or French. He was dazed and shaken from blows, which
+seemed to rain on him from every direction. A flying bottle cut his
+cheek and the blood ran into his mouth, a salty stream.</p>
+<p>Blindly he reversed his gun and shot straight ahead, trying to clear a
+path to the door. It was a case of three against thirty, and Duke knew
+that it was only a question of time until the thirty would win.</p>
+<p>He went to his knees from a smashing blow on the back of his head, but
+managed to hang onto his gun. Men walked on him, fell over him, but he
+surged to his feet and found himself near the door.</p>
+<img src='images/img-025.png' style="width:64%; margin-left:18%"
+alt='men fighting'>
+<p>The bloody face of Fire French leered at him and he smashed at it with
+his gun barrel and French went backward. A bullet seared his neck and
+the powder burned his chin, but he whirled and tried to shoot Curlew,
+but a big miner fell into him, knocking him outside the door.</p>
+<p>The lamps went out and the fight continued in the dark. French and
+Curlew were screaming orders; trying to tell their men that part of the
+quarry had escaped. A blaze sprang up from a smashed lamp, as Duke
+staggered into the street, trying to fill his lungs with air and to
+shake the haze from his brain.</p>
+<p>He staggered over a huddled figure, which fired a gun, the bullet
+missing him by a yard. Duke saw the man’s face and yanked him to his
+feet. It was Mica Cates, sobbing, cursing.</p>
+<p>Men were coming out of the Silver Bar, and they seemed to be still
+fighting. An orange-colored flash pointed toward Duke and Mica, and a
+bullet screamed off the rocks at their feet.</p>
+<p>Duke grasped Mica by the arm and hurried him toward the rim of Sunshine
+Alley. Both of them staggered, and Duke smiled grimly to think that it
+was a case of the blind leading the blind.</p>
+<p>“Not into the Alley!” wailed Mica. “They’ll find us too easy. The
+tunnels, Steele! Climb the hill—past—Luck’s place.”</p>
+<p>“You know this place better than I do, Mica,” agreed Duke, “so you lead
+the way.”</p>
+<p>Both men were reeling, dizzy from their injuries, but they climbed the
+steep trails up the cliffs, while behind them came the howling of the
+mob, growing fainter all the time.</p>
+<p>“God help Le Moyne!” panted Duke.</p>
+<p>“They’ll kill him,” choked Mica, “but we couldn’t help him none. Thank
+God, they’re not on our trail yet.”</p>
+<p>Mica led the way into a tunnel, which was so dark that they were forced
+to travel slowly, feeling their way along. It seemed to Duke that they
+had gone miles, when Mica drew him at right angles and into another
+tunnel, which sloped sharply upward.</p>
+<p>“Goin’ into the Lady Slipper,” panted Mica. “They won’t look for us in
+there, and if they don’t guard the bottom we can go down on ropes to the
+trails below.”</p>
+<p>Then the tunnel floor leveled out, and Duke knew that they were on the
+Lady Slipper level. Suddenly he stumbled and sprawled against the side
+of the drift. Mica Cates was swearing and floundering around.</p>
+<p>“Got a match?” wheezed Mica. Duke found one and scratched it on the
+wall. Lying in the center of the tunnel was the crumpled body of Louie
+Yen, and the match-light flickered on the long-bladed knife beside him.</p>
+<p>“Black got him!” croaked Mica, steadying himself with both hands, while
+he peered down at Louie Yen. “Look out for Black.”</p>
+<p>They stumbled on, going more cautiously now. The tunnel grew lighter
+now, as though they were approaching daylight. Then it widened into a
+big stope. To the left was the mouth of a tunnel, like the bore of a
+giant cannon, and silhouetted against the moonlight, crawling toward the
+opening, was a huge, animal-like figure.</p>
+<p>As they stopped they could hear it whimpering, like an animal that had
+been whipped severely.</p>
+<p>“My God, it’s Black!” croaked Mica hoarsely.</p>
+<p>The figure had reached the edge, and now it seemed to grasp a rope,
+swing over the rim and disappear.</p>
+<p>Duke started for the opening, but Mica grasped him by the arm. “Luck
+must be here, Steele! To hell with Black!”</p>
+<p>They turned and staggered back through the stope, where they found Luck
+Sleed, bound with ropes and lying against a pile of broken rock. Her
+face was like a white mask in the dim light, and she did not speak while
+Duke cut the ropes from her.</p>
+<p>Lying beside her was a big, white sombrero, with Mexican silver
+trimmings. Duke picked it up and put it on his head. Luck was watching
+him closely and now she tried to get to her feet, but she had been bound
+for so long that her arms and legs were paralyzed. Duke started to pick
+her up, but she stopped him.</p>
+<p>“Don’t touch me,” she begged him. “Why did you do this to me? Why, I
+thought I could trust you.”</p>
+<p>“Hol’ on, Luck,” wailed Mica. “Me and Louie thought the same thing, but
+Steele never done it. Don’t yuh remember that he was fightin’ Black when
+they grabbed you?”</p>
+<p>“Someone hit my head,” said Luck painfully. “I don’t remember anything
+after that until I woke up here. That hat was there on the rocks. Black
+laughed at me.”</p>
+<p>“Well, Steele never harmed yuh, Luck. He had Louie Yen follow Black so
+as to find yuh.”</p>
+<img src='images/img-026.png' alt='rescue in the tunnel'
+style='float: left; width: 25%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>“They fought,” said Luck in a flat voice. “It seemed like hours. I
+couldn’t see all of it. There was only one shot fired, and I think Black
+lost his gun. Did Louie get killed, Mica?”</p>
+<p>“Yeah, I guess so, Luck,” sadly. “There’s been hell raised in Calico
+tonight, but it’s too long to explain it to yuh now. Me and Steele got
+away from ’em. I dunno what we’re goin’ to do now.”</p>
+<p>“We’re goin’ to take Miss Luck back to her home,” said Duke, “and we’re
+goin’ to see what we’ll see, Mica. Anyway, we just wanted to find her,
+didn’t we? What matters after that, old pardner?”</p>
+<p>“Don’t say that,” begged Luck. “I’m sorry I thought that you——”</p>
+<p>“Thassall right, Luck. We’ll get yuh home.”</p>
+<p>“But I don’t want you to—oh, I don’t know what to say. I’ve tried to
+think that you would do this, but I couldn’t convince myself. Don’t you
+believe me, Duke Steele?”</p>
+<p>“Yes, I do, Luck. Mebbe you’ll have to trust me a lot for a while now.
+If Calico ain’t right, it’s the desert for all of us, little girl. So
+yuh see you’ve got to trust me a lot.”</p>
+<p>“All right, Duke Steele.”</p>
+<p>“Can yuh walk, Luck?” asked Mica.</p>
+<p>“Not very fast, but I—I guess I can walk a little.”</p>
+<p>Walking was a painful experience, after being bound tightly for so long,
+but Luck was game.</p>
+<p>Back into the sloping tunnel they went, feeling their way along,
+expecting momentarily to find the body of Louie Yen, but it was not
+there.</p>
+<p>“Where’d he go?” complained Mica. “I ask yuh, where did he go, Steele?”</p>
+<p>“Mebbe he wasn’t dead,” suggested Duke. “Chinamen have as many lives as
+a cat.”</p>
+<p>They came out on the ledge at the mouth of the tunnel. Below them lay
+the town; dark save for the lights at the front of the Silver Bar. They
+could hear muffled cheers, yells; exultation rather than anger. There
+was no sign of pursuit.</p>
+<p>Mica led the way down to Luck’s cabin, but she would not go in.</p>
+<p>“I’m going with you,” she declared firmly. “That Silver Bar belongs to
+me and I’m going down there.”</p>
+<p>And without a word of further protest, Duke led the way down the street.
+There was no one in sight, but the Silver Bar was a roar of voices, the
+cheering of drunken men.</p>
+<p>Straight in through the mass of humanity they went, until they reached
+the fringe of a huge circle, where a queer sight met their gaze. Le
+Moyne, only half-conscious, his face and head bruised and cut badly and
+his clothes mere strips of rags, was slouched in a chair in the center
+of the circle.</p>
+<p>Around his big shoulders was tied a dirty Mexican serape of flaming red,
+and in his bleeding hand had been thrust a broken whiskey bottle. Fire
+French, bruised and battered, was assisting Curlew in arranging this
+mockery, while the crowd cheered wildly.</p>
+<p>“The king of Mojave!” yelped the crowd. “Long live the king!”</p>
+<p>The place was a bedlam. Men were drinking toasts from broken-necked
+bottles; men who were bleeding, ragged and sweat-grimed from the battle.</p>
+<p>A man came shoving through the crowd from the rear, carrying something
+in a blanket, which he placed on a table.</p>
+<p>“For the king!” shrilled French. “A crown for the king of the desert!”</p>
+<img src='images/img-027.png' alt='cactus'
+style='float: left; width: 20%; margin-right: 15px;'>
+<p>Grasping the piece of blanket in both hands, he up-ended it on top of Le
+Moyne’s massive head and yanked the blanket away. It had contained a
+number of great cacti, which dug their spines into Le Moyne’s head. He
+swayed his head, like a wounded buffalo, but was too weak to shake them
+off.</p>
+<p>“The king is crowned!” yelled the crowd. “A crown for the king of Mojave
+desert! Long live the king!”</p>
+<p>French tore a bottle from the hands of a drunken miner and knocked the
+top off against his boot-heel. Lifting his hand above Le Moyne’s head,
+he started to pour out the liquor. Duke was watching him closely and saw
+that French was staring toward the door. He dropped the bottle, which
+caromed off Le Moyne’s head and fell to the floor.</p>
+<p>Pete Black was coming slowly through the room, and the crowd stood aside
+to let him to the center. He had met Louie Yen’s long knife in the
+battle in the tunnel and the effect was awful to behold. He kept his
+arms wrapped about his middle, as though fearful of what might happen if
+he released them.</p>
+<p>French and Curlew stared at him, as he stumbled up and almost fell into
+Le Moyne’s lap.</p>
+<p>“Look out!” croaked Black. “They—found—her. That—damn—Chink——”</p>
+<p>Black swayed and tried to straighten up, as he turned toward the door,
+and a whimper of fear came from his lips. Duke grasped Luck by the arm
+and tried to draw her back. Louie Yen was coming through the room, his
+old face set and almost white with suffering. In his right hand he
+carried the long-bladed knife.</p>
+<p>Black stared at him for a moment, whirled and tried to run, but fell
+over the feet of Le Moyne, and sprawled on his face, his arms
+wide-flung.</p>
+<p>“You yellow snake!” French fairly shrieked as he whipped out his gun.
+But Duke was looking for such a move and fired a fraction of a second
+ahead of French, whose bullet tore into the floor. French groped blindly
+for the table and fell on his knees.</p>
+<p>Curlew did not make a move. He seemed paralyzed for a moment, and only
+stared at Duke, as he walked up and took Curlew’s gun from his
+unresisting hand. The crowd seemed shocked to inaction, and Duke turned
+quickly on them.</p>
+<img src='images/img-028.png' style="width:70%; margin-left:15%"
+alt='tunnel opening'>
+<p>“You fools! Do you want to wreck the town to satisfy the greed of some
+tin-horn gamblers? Curlew is the last one of them left; the last of the
+crooks that tried to plunder Calico. You all know Luck Sleed. They
+kidnapped her and hid her in the Lady Slipper, where we found her
+tonight.</p>
+<p>“Black and his gang have been high-grading on her, while French and his
+gang have stolen everything from the Silver Bar. If you are men, if you
+have any decency about you at all, tomorrow will not see one of Black’s
+men, nor Slim Curlew, in Calico town.”</p>
+<p>Swiftly the temper of the crowd changed. Duke’s words were words that
+they understood. Men were dodging out of the door, as a group of drunken
+miners grasped the unlucky Curlew and hurled him out of the place.</p>
+<p>Duke stepped over and removed the cactus from the head of Le Moyne. He
+looked at Duke, but there was only a glimmer of intelligence in his
+eyes. He had been mortally wounded during the fight, and the mockery he
+had undergone meant nothing to him now.</p>
+<p>“Le Moyne, do yuh know me?” asked Duke.</p>
+<p>“Steele? Yes, I know—you. It was a—good—fight.”</p>
+<p>“I brought the girl, Le Moyne. You remember the girl I told you
+about—Luck Sleed.”</p>
+<p>“Yes—Steele. Why don’t somebody light the lamps?”</p>
+<p>“Listen, Le Moyne,” Duke was talking swiftly against time, “you said
+she’d get what belonged to her.” Le Moyne seemed to rouse up and his
+eyes were a little clearer. Several of the miners were standing close,
+listening, and Le Moyne spoke to them.</p>
+<p>“Come in—closer—and—listen. No—time—to—write.” Le Moyne licked
+his bloody lips and drew a deep breath. “Everything I’ve got
+belongs to—Duke—Steele. Do you hear—that? Everything. I will
+it—to—him—and—I—want—you—to—witness.”</p>
+<p>“But, Le Moyne, I don’t want it for myself,” explained Duke. “I want it
+for Luck Sleed.”</p>
+<p>“You’re a—man—can—hold—it,” mumbled Le Moyne thickly. “I—I think
+you’ll—share—things—together—now. Pay back what you can—Steele.
+No—lights here——”</p>
+<p>“The passing of a king,” said Duke softly. “I hope he won’t be
+misjudged.”</p>
+<p>“What did he mean?” whispered Luck. “He said that we would share things
+together, Duke.”</p>
+<p>Louie Yen had been hanging onto the back of a chair and now he grinned
+softly, as he said, “Yo’ takum, li’l gi’l. Yo’ need stlong man—Calico
+need stlong man, yo’ sabe?”</p>
+<p>Duke held out his hand to her, and together they went out into the
+desert night, while behind them huddled the dead figure of a man who
+aspired to a desert crown, and gazed with unseeing eyes as a crippled
+miner clasped hands with a crippled and very old Chinaman, and limped
+out of the door after them.</p>
+<div class="tn">Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the
+January 25, 1923 issue of <i>Short Stories</i> magazine.</div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77862 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
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+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #77862
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77862)