Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 06 - Sudden Gold-Seeker(1937) by Oliver Strange

slightly
tanned oval face, from which deep blue eyes regarded him witheringly, was all
he saw, and he was filled with wonder at his own temerity.
                 “I
must ‘a’ been loco,” he muttered, but there was no regret. “My, but she looked
awful pretty when she r’ared up. I reckon she’ll never forgive me—till I make
her.” His unrepentant grin would have made Miss Ducane “awful pretty” a second
time had she seen it.
                 “So
Berg fell down again?” Lesurge said. “He appears to be somewhat of a bungler.”
                 “Yes,
damn it,” Stark growled. “I’m through with him.” They were alone in the
saloonkeeper’s sanctum and it was the night after the passing of Lefty Logan.
Paul shook his head.
                 “You
can’t afford to be,” he said. “If he goes over to Bizet and talks …”
                 “That
rat? He’s no proof—” Stark began.
                 “Rats
can bite and you don’t need to stir up trouble in a community like this,” the
other broke in. “All he’s done is to make that cursed cowboy a popular figure.”
                 “What
you got against him, Paul?”
                 “Nothing—much,
but as I told you, I’ve a feeling he’s going to make things difficult for—us.”
                 “Can’t
he be bought?”
                 “He
turned down Berg’s offer,” came the reminder. “I don’t
think all your money would tempt him, but there may be another way.”
                 “What’s
that?”
                 “I’ll
explain later; leave it to me,” Lesurge evaded.
                 On
his way home he turned over the idea which had come to him during the
conversation. It would require the aid of Lora, but he could rely on that. He
was fortunate to find her alone in the sitting-room.
                 “You
were complaining of being dull and having nothing to do,” he began. “Well, I’ve
found a way in which you can amuse yourself and help at the same time.” He
explained his plan, and as she listened her eyes filled with mischievous mirth.
                 “What
is the great idea? You are not going to slay him at my feet, are you?” she
bantered.
                 “Don’t
be silly, Lora—there is no question of hurting the fellow,” Paul said sharply. “We
want him on our side and if you can get him interested in yourself … ”
                 “I
see,” she said. “But suppose I’m the one to get—interested?”
                 “You’re
not a fool.”
                 “No,
but I’m a woman. Well, as you say, it will be amusing. Have you any
suggestions?”
                 “I’ve
thought it out,” he replied, and went on to explain.
                 “Brilliant,
Paul,” she laughed. “Had you used your undoubted ability in some honest channel—isn’t
that how the judge generally phrases it?” She saw the gathering frown. “Oh,
well, if you’re ashamed of being crooked there’s still hope for you.”
                 “That
tongue of yours will one day make me consider taking a whip to you,” he grated.
                 “Consider
it well, Paul,” she counseled. “The man who did that to me wouldn’t live long
enough to be sorry.” She left him pacing up and down the room, his usually
immobile features contorted with fury. He got control of himself, however, and
by the time Snowy—for whom he was waiting—arrived, he was his own calm, urbane
self. The prospector was in a gay mood.
                 “‘Lo,
Paul, this of town is shorely whoopin’ along, ain’t she?” he greeted.
                 “Yes,
but it is no place for idle folk to live in.”
                 “Meanin’?”
                 “That
it is time you got busy and