Part 18 (1/2)

”Two days ago I had a fight with two men, and I've been lying here ever since. They did me up, so that I knew I'd got to die if no help came. And I knew that was just about as likely as a snowstorm, but I couldn't help bankin' on the possibility. So I laid here two days and threw rocks at the coyote that came and sat on that heap of stones and waited for me to die. This morning I drank the last of the water and I said to myself that if n.o.body came by the time the sun was straight above that peak yonder I'd put a bullet into my heart. I had two left, and I used one on the coyote that had been a-settin' on that rock watchin' me the whole morning. I was bound he shouldn't pick my bones, he'd been so sa.s.sy and so sure about it. You'll find his carca.s.s down the canyon a ways. That tired my arm and I waited and rested a spell before I tried it on myself. But I was weaker than I thought and I couldn't hold the gun steady, and the bullet didn't go where I meant it to. But I'm bleedin' to death.”

”The two men--what became of them? I reckon they're the ones we're lookin' for!” exclaimed Nick.

”Are you? Well, I guess you'll find 'em scattered down the canyon, or else up there,” and he pointed to the mountain side above. ”They couldn't get very far.”

”Did you kill 'em?” asked Tom anxiously. ”You've spoiled a job we've come here for if you did.”

The man scanned Tom's face again and a light of recognition broke into his eyes. ”I reckon I did,” he replied complacently. ”Anyway, I hope so.”

”What was the matter? Did they do you up?”

”Well, I'll tell you about the whole business. My name's Bill Frank, and I've been here in the mountains since--well, a long time, huntin'

for the lost d.i.c.k Winter's mine. I found it, too. It was right in here behind me, but he'd worked it clean out. I reckon it was nothin' but a pocket, but a mighty big, rich one, and then the vein had pinched. So then I went to work and hunted for the gold he'd taken out. I found it all, or all he told me about. You see, I knew d.i.c.k. I was with him when he died, and he told me what he'd got. There was a Dutch oven and a pail and a coffee pot, all full of lumps, and two tomato cans full of little ones, and a whisky flask full of dust, and a gunny sack full of ore that was just lousy with gold. Much good it will do me now, or them other fellows, either, d.a.m.n their souls! Well, I'd hid the coffee pot and the pail and the Dutch oven and the whisky flask and one tomato can down by the spring, where I had my camp. I knew pretty well where the rest of it was, after I'd found that much, and I came up here two days ago, in the morning, and looked around till I found the gunny sack. I brought it here and threw it inside this place, which poor d.i.c.k Winters had blasted out, never dreamin' of such a thing as that anybody would show up. Then I went away again to find the other tomato can, and when I came back two men were here packin' out my sack of ore.”

”What did they look like?” Nick exclaimed.

”One was tall and thin and youngish like, with a bad look, and the other was short and stout and a good deal older, and he had a red, round face.”

”The d.a.m.ned, ornery scrubs! They're the ones we're after,” Tom exclaimed, jumping up. ”You didn't kill 'em, stranger?” he added pleadingly.

”I guess I did. I sure reckon you'll find 'em scattered promiscuous down the canyon. I drew my gun and told 'em to drop it, that it was mine. They began to shoot, and so did I, and I backed 'em out, and made 'em drop the sack, and started 'em on the run. They couldn't shoot as well as I could, and I know I hit one of 'em in the head and the other one mighty near the heart. I poked my head out for a last blaze at 'em, to make sure of my work, and the short one, he let drive at me and took me in the lung, and that's the one that did me up. But they'd broken one leg before.”

”Can't you-all pull through if we tote you out of here?” asked Nick.

Bill Frank shook his head. His breath was beginning to fail and his voice sank to a whisper with each sentence.

”No; I'm done for. You can't do nothin' for me.” Then he turned to Tom. ”Pardner, I did you a bad trick when I saw you before, though I had to do it. And when I told you good-bye I said I hoped that if I ever saw you again I could treat you whiter than I did that time.

Well, I've got the chance now. That tomato can and that gunny sack are over there behind your pardner, and you and him can have 'em. The other tomato can and the whisky flask and the coffee pot and the pail and the Dutch oven are under some big rocks behind a boulder south from the spring, if them two thieves didn't carry 'em away, and you and your pardner can have it all. The trail takes you to the spring.”

Tom was staring at him in wide-eyed amazement, trying to recall his face. Nick exclaimed hurriedly:

”Hold on, pard! Ain't you-all got some folks somewhere who ought to have this? Tell us where they are and we'll see that they get it.”

The man shook his head. His breath was labored, and he spoke with difficulty as he whispered: ”There ain't anybody who'd care whether I'm dead or alive, except to get that gold, and I'd rather you'd have it. You're white, anyway, and you've treated me white, both of you, and I've always been sorry I had to play Thomson Tuttle here that mean trick, because he was a gentleman about it, and sand clean through.”

Tom was still staring at him. ”Stranger,” he said, ”you've got the advantage of me. I can't remember that I've ever set eyes on you before.”

The death glaze was coming in the man's eyes and his failing whisper struggled to get past his stiffening lips.

”I held you up, and held a gun on you-all one night, last spring, up near the White Sands.”

”Oh, that time!” Tom exclaimed. ”That was all right. I reckoned you-all had good reason for it.”

Bill Frank nodded. ”Yes,” he whispered, ”we had to--in the wagon--”

Some of his words were unintelligible, but a sudden flash of inspiration leaped through Nick's mind.

”Did you have Will Whittaker's body? Who killed him? Tom, the whisky, quick! We must keep him alive till he can tell!”

The man's lips were moving and Nick put his ear close to them and thought he caught the word ”not,” but he was not sure. Bill Frank's head moved from side to side, but whether he meant to shake it, or whether it was the death agony, they could not tell. Tom put the flask to his lips, but he could not swallow, and in another moment the death rattle sounded in his throat.