Part 20 (2/2)

Van came down to meet him. He had other concerns in Goldite, some with Culver, the Government representative, and others a trifle more personal, and intended to combine them all in one excursion.

No sooner had he appeared on the street, after duly stabling ”Suvy” at the hay-yard, than a hundred acquaintances, suddenly transformed into intimate friends, by the change in his fortunes, pounced upon him in a spirit of generosity, hilarity, and comaraderie that cloyed not only his senses, but even his movements in the camp.

He was dragged and carried into four saloons like a helpless, good-natured bear cub, strong enough to resist by inflicting injuries, but somewhat amused by the game. Intelligence of his advent went the rounds. The local editor and the girl he had addressed as ”Queenie,”

on the day of the fight in the street, were rivals in another joyous attack as he escaped at last to proceed about his own affairs.

The editor stood no chance whatsoever. Van had nothing to say, and said so. Moreover, Queenie was a very persistent, as well as a very pretty, young person, distressingly careless of deportment. She clung to Van like a bur.

”Gee, Van!” she cried with genuine tears in her eyes, ”didn't I always say you was the candy? Didn't I always say I'd give you my head and breathe through my feet--day or night? Didn't I tell 'em all you was the only one? You're the only diamonds there is for me--and I didn't never wait for you to strike it first.”

”No, you didn't even wait for an invitation,” answered Van with a smile. ”Everybody's got to hike now. I'm busy, trying to breathe.”

She clung on. Unfortunately, down in an Arizona town, Van had trounced a ruffian once in Queenie's protection--simply because of her gender and entirely without reference to her character or her future att.i.tude towards himself. In her way she personified a sort of adoration and grat.i.tude, which could neither be slain nor escaped by anything that he or anyone else could do. Her devotion, however, had palled upon him early, perhaps more because of its habit of increasing. It had recently become a pest.

”Busy?” she echoed. ”You said that before. When ain't you going to be busy?”

”When I'm dead,” he answered, and wrenching loose he dived inside a hardware store, to purchase a hunting knife for Gettysburg, then went at once to a barber shop and shut out the torment of friends.

He escaped at the rear, when his face had been groomed, and made his way unseen to Mrs. d.i.c.k's.

Beth was not at home. She and Bostwick were together at the office of the telegraph company, where Searle was a.s.sisting her, as she thought to aid her brother, to such excellent purpose that her thirty thousand dollars bid fair to repose in the bank at his call before the business day should reach its end.

Mrs. d.i.c.k seemed to Van the one and only person in the camp unaffected by the news of his luck. She treated him precisely as she always had and doubtless always should. Therefore, he had no difficulty in getting away to Culver at his office.

The official surveyor was a fat-cheeked, handsome man, with a silky brown beard, an effeminate voice, and prodigious self-conceit. He was pacing up and down the inside office, at the rear of the rough board building, when Van came in and found him. The horseman's business was one of maps and land-office data made essential to his needs by the new recording of the ”Laughing Water” property as a placer instead of a quartz claim. He had drawn a crude outline of his holdings and in taking it forth from his pocket found the knife bought for Gettysburg in the way. He removed the weapon and placed it on the table near at hand.

”There's so much of this desert unsurveyed,” he said, ”that no man can tell whether he's just inside or just outside of Purgatory.”

”So you come to me to find out?” Culver demanded somewhat shortly. ”Do you tin-horn miners think that's all this office is for?”

”Well, in my instance, I had to come to some wiser spirit than myself to get my bearings,” answered Van drawlingly. ”You can see that.”

”There are the maps.” Culver waved his hand towards a drawer in the office table, and moved impatiently over to a window, the view from which commanded a section of the street, including the bank.

Van was presently engrossed in a search for quarter sections, ranges, and towns.h.i.+ps.

”Look here,” said Culver, turning upon him aggressively, ”what's this racket I hear about you taking the inside track with that stunning new petticoat in town?”

Van looked up without the least suspicion of the man's real meaning.

”If you are referring to that reckless young woman called Queenie----”

”Oh, Queenie--rats!” interrupted Culver irritably. ”You know who I mean. I guess you call her Beth.”

Van's face took on a look of hardness as if it were chiseled in stone.

He had squared around as if at a blow. For a moment he faced the surveyor in silence.

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