Part 13 (1/2)

”What's your news?” Ray's voice harshened, possessing a certain quality of grim levity. ”I guess old Hiram's brother hasn't come to life again, has he?”

It was a significant thing that both Chan and Neilson looked oppressed and uneasy at the words. Like all men of low moral status they were secretly superst.i.tious, and these boasting words crept unpleasantly under their skins. It is never a good thing to taunt the dead! Ray had spoken sheerly to frighten and shock them, thus revealing his own fearlessness and strength; yet his voice rang louder than he had meant.

He had no desire for it to carry into the silver mystery of the night.

”The less you say about Hiram's brother the better,” Neilson answered sternly. ”We've thrashed it out once to-night.” He straightened as he read the insolence, the gathering insubordination in the other's contemptuous glance; and his voice lacked its old ring of power when he spoke again. ”Jumpin' claims is one thing and murder is another.”

Ray, spurred on by the false strength of wickedness, drunk with his new sense of power, was already feeling the first surge of deadly anger in his veins. ”I suppose if you had been doin' it, you'd let that old whelp take back this claim, worth a quarter million if it's worth a cent. Not if I know it. It was the only way--and the safe way too.”

”Safe! What if by a thousandth chance some one would blunder on to that body you left in the brush? What if some sergeant of mounted police would say to his man, 'Go get Ray Brent!' Where would you be then?

You've always been a murderer at heart, Brent--but some time you'll slip up--”

”Only a fool slips up. Don't think I didn't figure on everything. As you say, there's not one chance in a thousand any one will ever find him. If they do, there wouldn't be any kind of a case. Likely the old man hasn't got a friend or relation on earth. I've searched his pockets--there's nothing to tell who he is. We'll have our claim recorded soon, and it would be easy to make him out the claim-jumper rather than us--”

”Wait just a minute before you say he ain't got any friends, or at least acquaintances. That's what I came to see you about to-night.” Neilson paused, for the sake of suspense. ”Beatrice came up to-night, as agreed, and she had a prospector with her--and he knew old Hiram's brother.”

A short, tense silence followed his words, and Ray stared into his cup.

It might be that just for an instant the reckless light went out of his eyes and left them startled and glazing. Then he got to his feet. ”Then G.o.d Almighty!” he cried. ”What you waiting for? Why don't you croak him off before this night's over?”

”Wait, you fool, till you've heard everything,” Neilson replied.

”There's no hurry about killing. As I told you, the less work of that kind we do, the more chance we've got of dying in our beds. It may be reasonable for one prospector to disappear, but some one's going to be suspicious if two of 'em do. I think I've already handled the matter.”

”I'd handle it, and quick too,” Ray protested.

”You'd handle yourself up a gallows, too. He doesn't seem to be a close friend of this old man; he just seems to have met up with him at the river, and the old man steered him up here. He asked me where the old man's claim was, and said he wanted to go over and see him. He was taking Hiram's wolf and his gun up to him. I told him I hadn't heard of the claim, that it must be farther inside, and I think I put it over. He ain't got the least suspicion. What he'll do is hang around here a while, I suppose, prospecting--and likely enough soon forget all about the old devil. I just came down here to tell you he was here and to watch your step.”

”Then the first thing up,” Chan Heminway suggested, ”is to bury the stiff.”

”Spoke up like a fool!” Ray answered. ”Not till this man is dead or out of the country. It's well hidden, and don't go prowling anywheres near it. If he's the least bit suspicious, or even if he's on the lookout for gold, he'd likely enough follow you. But there's one thing we can do--and that quick.”

”And what's that?”

”Start Chan off to-morrow to the office in Bradleyburg and record this claim in our names. We've waited too long already.”

”Ray, you're talking like a man now,” Neilson agreed. ”You and I stay here and work away, innocent as can be, on the claim. Chan, put that bottle away and get to bed. Take the trail down first thing to-morrow.

Then we can laugh at all the prospectors that want to come.”

XVII

Soon after the break of dawn Ben put his pick and shovel on his shoulder, and leisurely walked up the creek past Ray's cabin. Since Chan Heminway had already departed down the long trail to Bradleyburg--a town situated nearly forty miles from Snowy Gulch--Ray alone saw him pa.s.s; and he eyed him with some apprehension. Daylight had brought a more vivid consciousness of his last night's crime; and a little of his bravado had departed from him. He moved closer to his rifle.

Yet in a moment his suspicions were allayed. Ben was evidently a prospector, just as he claimed to be, and was venturing forth to get his first ”lay of the land.” The latter continued up the draw, crossed a ridge, halted now and then in the manner of the wild creatures to see if he were being followed, and finally by a roundabout route returned to the lifeless form of his only friend. The wolf still trotted in silence behind him.

The vivid morning light only revealed the crime in more dreadful detail.

The withered form lay huddled in the stained leaves; and Ben stood a long time beside it, in deep and wondering silence, even now scarcely able to believe the truth. How strange it was that this old comrade could not waken and go on with him again! But in a moment he remembered his work.

Slowly, laboriously, with little outward sign of the emotion that rent his heart, he dug a shallow grave He knew perfectly that this was a serious risk to his cause. Should the murderer return for any purpose, to his dead, the grave would of course show that the body had been discovered and would put him on his guard against Ben. Nevertheless, the latter could not leave these early remains to the doubtful mercy of the wilderness: the agents of air and sun, and the wild beasts.

He threw the last clod and stood looking down at the upturned earth.