The Frontier, May 1926 — page 97: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ACH man _ under Joe’s quick orders went to work with a will, Mubsley even cast aside his long coat and great hat. Aletes, inward- ly chafing at his enforced inactivity, seated himself near the squatting Buckskin, a little red-headed frontiersman who seemed to have had some experience in pan- ning, “I’ve prospected a little,” he told the youth, “but trappin’ comes more nat’ral to me.” He held up the pan that Aletes might see the string of light colors following the black sand. “Not much in that fer this bunch.” Mubsley and Missouri had no better luck. Each one secured fine “colors,” but no flakes of coarse gold or nuggets were uncovered by the swishing water. As the day wore on, and only fine colors rewarded their strenuous efforts, Mubsley became grumpy and crest- fallen. There was no money in this sort of work. The frontiersmen now openly scoffed at Aletes. “I thought you said we would find gold here,” whined Squeaky Bill. “All the gold we’ve got we could put on a skeeter’s hind leg. That uncle of yourn musta been drunk when he was in here.” “My uncle never drank,” repiied the youth calmly. “And I will ask you not to refer to him in that way again.” “Who'll stop me?” flared tiie fat frontiersman. “T will,” Squeaky clambered up and out of the “discovery” hole. For a moment he stared at the tall, thick-chested youth, and then strode up to him and gripped his right wrist. Joe threw down his shovel, and se- cured Never-fail. “Take your hand off me,” said Aletes softly. But Squeaky only grinned insolently, and tightened his grip. Don was suffering from his wound, and had been weakened by the strain of the constant pain, but the rage ris- ing within him, cold and terrible, more than offset what strength he had lost. He had been a worker in iron, and the natural strength of his hands was far above the ordinary. It had been no great feat for him to straighten a horseshoe with his hands. He jerked free of Squeaky’s grip anid seized the frontiersman’s hand, Squeaky welcomed the trial of strength, He would force the young YELLOW IRON rooster to his knees, Then into his lit- tle black eyes came a look of pained as- tonishment, The fingers that held his were fingers of iron, They closed re- morselessly grinding the bones togeth- er. But that was only the start. The iron fingers closed tighter and tighter, Squeaky’s knees began to sag, and the sweat popped out beneath his eyes. Still the iron fingers crushed his. Suddenly a thin whine broke from his lips, and he went down on his knees. “By the staggerin’ tracks of my great grandpaw,” exclaimed Joe, “he made Squeaky squeal, and that, too, with a hurt shoulder! I give him a new name, so I do. Stronghand, I name him, right smack here and now.” Squeaky, on his knees, was striving weakly to break the terrible grip, but Aletes was thorough in all that he did. “My uncle was an honest man,” he informed the helpless frontiersman. “He said they found gold here—nug- gets—and we will find that he told the truth.” He threw aside the pulpy hand. “I want no trouble with you, but you must not say that my uncle is a liar.” “Right as a fox!” barked Joe. “Any time you can’t handle ‘em, old Never- fail will speak on your side. Now, Squeaky, take your mashed paw down to the crick, and after this don’t let the wind blow in your mouth. And don’t try no more tricks with my pard, either, or I'll take you in hand.” Muttering imprecations, Squeaky picked up his rifle and sought the creek to lave his “mashed paw” in the cold water. Aletes ignored Squeaky. So far as he was concerned the incident was closed, But to Squeaky’s saurian mind the incident was not closed. As soon as he recovered the use of his hand, he flung up his rifle. But Joe was ready. Even as Squeaky pressed trigger, Never-fail spoke. Joe had intended to kill. Killing a man had never disturbed the conscience of the little frontiersman, who, while he was ever loyal to the man he selected as his partner, was as bloodthirsty as a wea- sel. For some time he had wanted to kill Squeaky. He could offer no rea- son, Squeaky had always roused in him the desire to kill. Thus, when he had what seemed to him a good ex- cuse, he let Never-fail speak his senti- ments. But the lead struck Squeaky’s gun, and incidentally smashed his trig- ger finger close to the knuckle. He gripped the wrist of his wounded hand, and hopped about wildly. “Now you’ve done it,” he wailed 87 thinly, as Joe sauntered down to him. “My finger’s gone—my finger’s gone!” “Sure she’s gone,” said Joe calm- ly taking full marksmanship credit, though it was an accidental hit, “I allers git what I shoot at. I aimed to git a finger, and I got it. After this when I tell you to leave my young pard be, you'll think twict before cuttin’ loose at him. Next time I'll put lead through your heart. Git back and let Prayerful fix you up. He'll tie up your paw and put goose grease on it.” There was little comment. To the frontiersmen the incident seemed triv- ial. They left Squeaky to his whining and the nursing of his maimed hand, and resumed their labors. Squeaky’s bullet had passed through a corner of the fringed collar of Aletes’ buckskin shirt. He dismissed the incident from his mind. The fat man was now help- less; he had lost his trigger-finger, There was no call for further thought of him. Joe gave no thought to Squeaky, be- yond regretting that his bullet had not found the big fellow’s heart. But he did think of the two echoing rifle shots. The cangon was like a funnel to carry sound, “Injuns,” he muttered. “Injuns have ears, and mighty sharp ones.” Then to Aletes, “what was you sayin’ about bedrock, partner?” “When we get down to bedrock, we will find the heavy gold,” the youth pa- tiently explained. “I do not know a great deal about placer mining, but my uncle said that they found the coarse gold and nuggets in the crevices in the bedrock, We can’t expect to pick it up from the top of the ground.” “Yes, I guess that’s right. But min- in’ ain’t what I’m cut out fer. Same there with Prayerful and the rest, trap- pers mostly. Mubsley wouldn’t know a mine from a badger hole. I’m think- in’ we'd better let go of this and break fer the open country. Them two shots could be heard fer a long ways, and I been smellin’ Injuns all day. What say we gather up and go?” “No, I think we should work a little longer,” demurred Aletes. ‘We will soon be down to bedrock. Surely no man can expect to gather up a load of nuggets in a half day’s work. Still, it is not for me to say. What the party wants suits me.” “All right, then,” agreed Joe dubi- ously; “we'll do as you say—keep on diggin’.” “We've found mighty little for our work,” complained Mubsley, “There’s nothing in this fine stuff. But I sup- Gomicbooksscom