Part 35 (1/2)
”Oh.” She could think of nothing else to say.
”In fact Van was all that got me out onct--Napoleon, too. We wasn't worth it, prob'ly. That's the joke on Van. Since then us three cusses has starved, and froze, and clean roasted, chasin' gold.”
”Oh.”
”We was lost in the snow, one winter, with nuthin' to eat but a plug of tobacker, a can of vasolene, and a porous plaster. We lived on that menu fer a week--that and snow-soup. But Van got us out all right--packed Napoleon about five miles on his back. Nap was so thin there wasn't enough of him to die.” His one good eye became dreamily focused on the past. He smiled. ”But someways the desert is worse than the snow. We got ketched three times without no water. Never did know, Nap or me, how Van got our two old dried-up carca.s.ses out the last time, down to Death Valley. He's a funny cuss, old Van.”
Once more Beth merely answered: ”Oh.”
”You bet!” resumed Gettysburg. ”He never quits. It ain't in him. He works his hands off and his soul out of its socket, every time.” He laughed heartily. ”Lord! we have done an awful lot of fool work fer nuthin'! We've tackled tunnels and shafts, and several games like this, and pretty near died a dozen different styles--all uneasy kinds of dyin'--and we've lived when it was a darn sight uneasier than croakin', and kept on tryin' out new diggin's, and kept on bein' busted all the time. 'Nuff to make a lemon laugh, the fun we've had. But now, by Jupe! we've struck it at last--and it ain't a-goin' to git away!”
”Oh, I'm glad--I'm glad!” said Beth, winking back a bit of suspicious moisture that came unbidden in her eyes as she looked on this weather-beaten, hards.h.i.+p-beaten old figure, still st.u.r.dily ready for the fates. ”I'm sure you all deserve it! I'm sure of that!”
”Wal, that's a question fer G.o.d Almighty,” Gettysburg replied. ”But there's the gold, the good yellow gold! And I'm awful glad fer Van!”
Into the water he dipped his crooked old fingers, and scratching down behind a riffle he fetched up a small amount of gold, doubly bright with the water and the sunlight upon it.
”Gold--and we git it easy,” he added, repeating: ”I'm awful glad fer Van. You ought to see him shovel!” He dropped the gold back into the water carelessly. ”It ain't a-goin' to do us old jack-legged cusses much good, at our age, but I would like to go to San Francisco this summer once, and shoot the chutes!”
CHAPTER XXIX
SUSPICIOUS ANSWERS
Beth and Van rode away from the claim just after lunch; she on a borrowed horse. The girl had not slept, but she had rested well and was far more fit for the journey back to town than either she or Van had expected.
He went with her part way only--far enough to put her safely on a trail from which she could not wander. They talked but little as they rode--perhaps because they had so much to say that could not be approached. Never for a moment did Van relax his vigilance upon himself, or treat her otherwise than as a man for whom he had conceived a natural liking.
When they came to the place of parting he pulled up his broncho and faced about in the trail.
”Well, Kent,” he said, ”so long. You'll have no trouble now.” He held forth his hand.
Beth gave him hers--and all her heart. Nevertheless, his clasp was as brief as he would give to one of his s.e.x.
”So long,” she answered. ”Good luck. I am under many obligations.”
”They won't make you very round shouldered,” he said. ”See you again.”
That was their parting. He rode back at once--and Beth continued on her way. She turned three times in her saddle to watch him as he went, but she did not catch him glancing back.
About sundown she rode into Goldite, went at once to Mrs. d.i.c.k's, and tied her horse to a post. Mrs. d.i.c.k she met in the hall.
”Snakes alive!” exclaimed that lively little person. ”If you ain't back as natural as life!” The garb had not deceived her for a moment.
”Where in the world have you been, in such a rig?”
Beth's answer was ready.
”I went to see my brother, and had to spend the night on the desert.”