The U. P. Trail by Zane Grey (historical books to read TXT) 📗

“Sure. But no small stake like thet’d be my choice ag’in’ you,” he leered, jerking a thumb back at his companions.

“You remember Horn?” went on Allie.

“Horn! The miner who made thet big strike out near Sacramento?”

“Yes, that’s who I mean,” replied Allie, hurriedly. “We—we left California in his caravan. He brought all his gold with him.”

Fresno showed a growing interest.

“We were attacked by Sioux.... Horn buried all that gold—on the spot. All—all the others were killed—except me.... And I know where—” Allie shuddered with what the words brought up. But no memory could weaken her.

Fresno opened his large mouth to bawl this unexpected news to his comrades.

“Don’t call them—don’t tell them,” Allie whispered. “There’s only one condition. I’ll take you where that gold’s hidden.”

“Girl, I can make you tell,” he replied, menacingly.

“No, you can’t.”

“You ain’t so smart you think I’ll let you go—jest for some gold?” he queried. “Gold’ll be cheap along this trail soon. An’ girls like you are scarce.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.... Get rid of the others—and I’ll take you where Horn buried his gold.”

Fresno stared at her. He grinned. The idea evidently surprised and flattered him; yet it was perplexing.

“But Frank—he’s my pard—thet one with the black hat,” he protested. “I couldn’t do no dirt to Frank.... What’s your game, girl? I’ll beat you into tellin’ me where thet gold is.”

“Beating won’t make me tell,” replied Allie, with intensity. “Nothing will—if I don’t want to. My game is for my life. You know I’ve no chance among four men like you.”

“Aw, I don’t know about thet,” he blustered. “I can take care of you.... But, say, if you’d stand fer Frank, mebbe I’ll take you up.... Girl, are you lyin’ about thet gold?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t the trapper dig it up? You must hev told him.”

“Because he was afraid to keep it in or near his cabin. We meant to leave it until we were ready to get out of the country.”

That appeared plausible to Fresno and he grew more thoughtful.

Meanwhile the altercation among the other three ruffians assumed proportions that augured a fight.

“I’ll divide this sack when I git good an’ ready,” declared Sandy.

“But, pard, thet’s no square deal,” protested Old Miles. “I’m a-gittin’ mad. I seen you meant to keep it all.”

The dark-faced ruffian shoved a menacing fist under Sandy’s nose. “When do I git mine?” he demanded.

Fresno wheeled and called, “Frank, you come here!”

The other approached sullenly. “Fresno, thet Sandy is whole hog or none!” he exclaimed.

“Let ‘em fight it out,” replied Fresno. “We’ve got a bigger game.... Besides, they’ll shoot each other up. Then we’ll hev it all. Come, give ‘em elbow room.”

He led Allie and his horse away a little distance.

“Fetch them packs, Frank,” he called. The mustang followed, and presently Frank came with one of the packs. Fresno slipped the saddle from his horse, and, laying it under a tree, he pulled gun and rifle from their sheaths. The gun he stuck in his belt; the rifle he leaned against a branch.

“Sandy’ll plug Old Miles in jest another minnit,” remarked Fresno.

“What’s this other game?” queried Frank, curiously.

“It’s gold, Frank—gold,” replied Fresno; and in few words he told his comrade about Horn’s buried treasure. But he did not mention the condition under which the girl would reveal its hiding-place. Evidently he had no doubt that he could force her to tell.

“Let’s rustle,” cried Frank, his dark face gleaming. “We want to git out of this country quick.”

“You bet! An’ I wonder when we’ll be fetchin’ up with them railroad camps we heerd about... Camps full of gold an’ whisky an’ wimmen!”

“We’ve enough on our hands now,” replied Frank. “Let’s rustle fer thet—”

A gun-shot interrupted him. Then a hoarse curse rang out—and then two more reports from a different gun.

“Them last was Sandy’s,” observed Fresno, coolly. “An’ of course they landed... Go see if Old Miles hit Sandy.”

Frank strode off under the trees.

Allie had steeled herself to anything, and those shots warned her that now she had two less enemies to contend with, and that she must be quick to seize the first opportunity to act. She could leap upon the mustang, and if she was lucky she could get away. She could jump for the Winchester and surely shoot one of these villains, perhaps both of them. But the spirit that gave her the nerve to attempt either plan bade her wait, not too long, but longer, in the hope of a more favorable moment.

Frank returned to Fresno, and he carried the sack of gold that had caused dissension. Fresno laughed.

“Sandy’s plugged hard—low down,” said Frank. “He can’t live. An’ Old Miles is croaked.”

“A-huh! Frank, I’ll go git the other packs. An’ you see what’s in this sack,” said Fresno.

When he got out of sight, Allie slipped the lasso from her waist.

“I don’t need that hanging to me,” she said.

“Sure you don’t, sweetheart,” replied the ruffian Frank. “Thet man Fresno is rough with ladies. Now I’m gentle.... Come an’ let me spill this sack in your lap.”

“I guess not,” replied Allie.

“Wal, you’re sure a cat... Look at her eyes!... All right, don’t git mad at me.”

He spilled the contents of the sack out on the sand, and bent over it.

What had made Allie’s eyes flash was the recognition of her opportunity. She did not hesitate an instant. First she looked to see just where the mustang stood. He was near, with the rope dragging, half coiled. Allie suddenly noticed the head and ears of the mustang. He heard something. She looked up the valley slope and saw a file of Indians riding down, silhouetted against the sky. They were coming fast. For an instant Allie’s senses reeled. Then she rallied. Her situation was desperate—almost hopeless. But here was the issue of life or death, and she met it.

In one bound she had the rifle. Long before, she had ascertained that it was loaded. The man Frank heard the click of the raising hammer.

“What’re you