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She shut her eyes and it slid forward on to the darkness, the strong body, the brave, straight up and down face, the steady, light brown eyes, shining; the firm, sweet mouth; the sparrow-brown hair with feathery golden tips. She could hear Mark's voice calling to her: "Minx! Minky!" And there was something that Mamma said. It was unkind to be afraid of the poor dead people.
"Say, boss," he began, "we've heerd tell this lay-out is a dead gut bonanza. There's folks in Spawn City says ther's gold enough here to drown the United States Treasury department. Guess we come along to gather some." He grinned in an ingratiating manner. Minky thought before answering. "Ther' sure is a heap o' gold around. But it ain't easy. I don't guess you'd gather much in a shovel.
"You're weakenin'," said Bill sharply, but his eyes were serious, and suggested a deep train of swift thought. Presently he reached a piece of bread and spread molasses on it. "Guess you're figgerin' it 'ud be safer to empty out." Minky nodded. "And these strangers?" Bill went on. "They've lit out," said Minky ruefully. "I ast a few questions of the boys. They rode out at sun-up."
All the years of their friendship had passed without him discovering that his gambling friend was anything but an illiterate ruffian of the West, with nothing but a great courage, a powerful personality and a moderately honest heart to recommend him. "My Dear Minky, "I'm dead dead as mutton. Whether I'm cooked mutton, or raw, I can't just say. Anyway, I'm dead or you wouldn't get this letter.
You could hear him breathing up the scent on it with big, sighing sobs. They slunk back into the drawing-room. Mark asked her to play something. "Make a noise, Minky. Perhaps they'll go." "The Hungarian March." She could play it better than Mamma. Mamma never could see that the bass might be even more important than the treble.
A swift exchange of glances passed between the gambler and the storekeeper. And then, in a quiet voice, Bill demanded "Anything else?" "Nothing o' consequence," replied Sandy, feeling he had acquitted himself well. "He jest asted if Minky here banked the stuff, an' I 'lowed he did." "Ah!" There was an ominous sparkle in Bill's eyes as he breathed his ejaculation.
Jim Wright, the oldest miner in the camp, blinked his red-rimmed eyes as they watered with the strain of watching, "It's trouble that's chasin' him," he added, with conviction. "Trouble o' some kind." "What sort o' trouble?" Minky spoke half to himself. Just now there was only one idea of trouble in his mind. Somebody laughed foolishly.
I did it and remembered Jesus." "I don't care. It was awful of you." "Much more awful to spoil Mamma's pleasure in God and Jesus. I did it to make her happy. Somebody had to go with her. You wouldn't, so I did ... It doesn't matter, Minky. Nothing matters except Mamma." "Truth matters. You'd die rather than lie or do anything dishonourable. Yet that was dishonourable."
But it takes time. Say, we ain't dead in Suffering Creek yet. I'll be around before " "Trouble gits busy." Minky laughed hollowly. "Sure. I'm most gener'ly around when trouble gits busy. I'm made like that." "I'm glad." Bill drank up the remains of his drink and began to move away. "Wher' you going now?" inquired Minky. "See my plugs fed an' watered, and then gittin' around my shack.
An' it's good to see him playin' hard, win or lose. But Zip'll git back, sure. An' he'll bring my mare with him. Go to sleep, Sunny; your thinkin'-pan's nigh hatched out." "I don't guess he'll ever get alongside James," observed Minky thoughtfully. "We've all looked for him a piece. We know he's got a shanty back in the foothills, but I don't seem to remember hearin' of anybody findin' it.
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