Part 37 (1/2)

”Let me get to him----,” growled Coast, pus.h.i.+ng close to the transmitter. ”h.e.l.lo--Mike McGuire--h.e.l.lo----”

”He's gone,” said Peter.

”'Let him go,'” sneered Coast. ”You'd bet he'd let me go.” Then he looked at Peter and laughed. ”He's scared all right--beat it like a cottontail. Seems a shame to take the money, Pete--a real shame.”

He laughed uproariously, then sauntered easily over to the table, took another of Peter's cigarettes and sank into the easy chair again. Peter eyed him in silence. He was an unwelcome guest but he hadn't yet gratified Peter's curiosity.

”Well, what are you going to do?” asked Peter.

”Me?” Coast inhaled Peter's cigarette luxuriously, and smiled. ”I'm goin' West, _p.r.o.nto_--to get my facts straight--all at the expense of the party of the first part. I might stop off at the Grand Canon first for the view. I need a rest, Pete. I ain't as young as I was--or I mightn't of let you put me out so easy to-night. I'm glad of that, though. Wouldn't like to of done you hurt----”

”And then----?” asked Peter steadily.

”Then? Oh, I'll beat it down to Bisbee and ask a few questions. I just want to hook up a few things I _don't_ know with the things I _do_ know.

I'll travel light but comfortable. Five thousand dollars makes a heap of difference in your point of view--and other people's. I'll be an eastern millionaire lookin' for investments. And what I won't know about Jonathan K. McGuire, alias Mike McGuire--won't be worth knowin'.” He broke off and his glance caught the interested expression on the face of his host.

”H-m. Curious, ain't you, Pete?”

”Yes,” said Peter frankly. ”I am. Of course it's none of my business, but----”

”But you'd like to know, just the same. I get you.” He flicked off the ash of his cigarette and picked up his whisky gla.s.s. ”Well----,” he went on, ”I don't see why I shouldn't tell you--some of it--that is. It won't do any harm for you to know the kind of skunk you're workin' for.

There's some of it that n.o.body on G.o.d's earth will ever know but me and Mike McGuire--unless he slips up on one of his payments, and then everybody's goin' to know. _Everybody_--but his daughter first of all.”

Coast was silent a long moment while he drained the whisky and slowly set the gla.s.s down upon the table. The shadows upon his face were unpleasant, darkened perceptibly as they marked the years his thoughts followed, and the lines at his lips and nostrils became more deeply etched in bitterness and ugly resolve.

”It was down in the San Luis valley I first met up with Mike McGuire. He was born in Ireland, of poor but honest parents, as the books tell us.

He changed his name to 'Jonathan K.' when he made his first 'stake.'

That meant he was comin' up in the world--see? Me and Mike worked together up in Colorado, punchin' cattle, harvestin', ranchin'

generally. We were 'buddies,' _mon gars_, like you an' me, eatin', sleepin' together as thick as thieves. He had a family somewhere, same as me--the wife had a little money but her old man made him quit--some trouble. After awhile we got tired of workin' for wages, grub staked, and beat it for the mountains. That was back in nineteen one or two, I reckon. We found a vein up above Wagon Wheel Gap. It looked good and we staked out claims and worked it, hardly stoppin' to eat or sleep.” Coast stopped with a gasp and a shrug. ”Well, the long an' short of that, _mon vieux_, was a year of hard work with only a thousand or so apiece to show for it. It was only a pocket. h.e.l.l!” He broke off in disgust and spat into the fireplace. ”Don't talk to me about your gold mines. There ain't any such animal. Well, Mike saved his. I spent mine. Faro. You know--an' women. Then I got hurt. I was as good as dead--but I pulled through. I ain't easy to kill. When I came around, I 'ch.o.r.ed' for a while, doin' odd jobs where I could get 'em and got a little money together and went to Pueblo. When I struck town I got pretty drunk and busted a faro bank. I never _did_ have any luck when I was sober.”

”Yes, you've told me about that,” said Peter.

”So I did--on the _Bermudian_. Well, it was at Pueblo I met up with Mike McGuire, and we beat it down into Arizona where the copper was. Bisbee was only a row of wooden shacks, but we got some backin', bought an outfit and went out prospectin' along the Mexican border. And what with 'greasers' and thievin' redskins it was some job in those days. But we made friends all right enough and found out some of the things we wanted to know.

”Now, Pete, if I was to tell you all that went on in that long trail into the Gila Desert and what happened when we got what we went for, you'd know as much as I do. You'd know enough to hold up Mike McGuire yourself if you'd a mind to. This is where the real story stops. What happened in between is my secret and Mike McGuire's. We found the mine we were lookin' for.... That's sure----How we got it you'll never know.

But we got it. And here's where the real story begins again. We were miles out in the Gila Desert and if ever there's a h.e.l.l on earth, it's there. Sand, rocks, rocks and sand and the sun. It was h.e.l.l with the cover off and no mistake! No water within a hundred miles.

”Now, this is where the fine Eyetalian hand of Mike McGuire shows itself. We were rich. Any fool with half an eye could see that. The place was lousy--fairly lousy! It was ours----,” Coast's brow darkened and his eyes glittered strangely as a darting demon of the past got behind them. ”Yes--_ours_. _Sacre bleu!_ Any man who went through what we did deserved it, by G----! We were rich. There was plenty enough for two, but McGuire didn't think so. And here's what he does to me. In the middle of the night while I'm asleep he sneaks away as neat as you please, with the horses and the pack-mules and the water, leavin' me alone with all the money in the world, and a devourin' thirst, more than a hundred miles from nowhere.”

”Murder,” muttered Peter.

Coast nodded. ”You bet you. Murder. Nothin' less. Oh, he knew what _he_ was about all right. And I saw it quick. Death! That's what it meant.

Slow but sure. Hadn't I seen the bones bleaching all along the trail? He left me there to die. He thought I would die. _Dios!_ That thirst!”

Coast reached for the pitcher and splashed rather than poured a gla.s.s of water which he gulped down avidly. ”There was nothin' for it but to try afoot for Tucson, which was due east. Every hour I waited would of made me an hour nearer to bein' a mummy. So I set out through the hot sand, the sun burnin' through me, slowly parchin' my blood. My tongue swelled.

I must of gone in circles. Days pa.s.sed--nights when I lay gaspin' on my back, like a fish out of water, tryin' to suck moisture out of dry air.... Then the red sun again--up over the edge of that furnace, mockin' at me. I was as good as dead and I knew it. Only the mummy of me, parched black, stumbled on, fallin', strugglin' up again, fallin' at last, bitin' at the sand like a mad dog....”

”Horrible,” muttered Peter.

”It was. I reckon I died--the soul of me, or what was left of it. I came to life under the starlight, with a couple of 'greasers' droppin' water on my tongue. They brought me around, but I was out of my head for a week. I couldn't talk the lingo anyhow. I just went with 'em like a child. There wasn't anything else to do. Lucky they didn't kill me. I guess I wasn't worth killin'. We went South. They were makin' for Hermosillo. Revolutionists. They took all my money--about three hundred dollars. But it was worth it. They'd saved my life. But I couldn't go back now, even if I wanted to. I had no money, nor any way of gettin'