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Updated: June 6, 2025
There was something in them, too, that lifted Minky out of his desperate mood. Somehow they suggested hope to him. Somehow the very presence of this man had a heartening effect. "Say," cried the gambler in a tone that thrilled with power, "this is Sunday. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday," he counted the days off on his lean, muscular fingers. "That's it, sure.
Then suddenly he became aware of a horseman racing down the slope towards the river, and in a moment mind and body were alert, and he stood waiting. Minky was still standing on his veranda. But he was no longer leaning against the post; he was holding a letter in his hand which he had just finished reading. It was a painful-looking document for all its neat, clear writing.
Sandy glanced viciously from one to the other. Then, assuming a superiority that scarcely hid his chagrin, he ignored the interruptions. "You best ast Minky fer some dandy canned truck," he said decisively, deliberately turning his back on Toby Jenks. "Mebbe a can o' lobster an' one o' them elegant tongues stewed in jelly stuff, an' set in a glass bowl.
Meanwhile there's one thing sure, we don't need strangers on Suffering Creek. There's enough o' the boys around to work the gold, an' when they get it they mostly know what to do with it. Guess I'll get on up to Zip's shack." The two men walked out into the store. Minky in a pessimistic mood passed in behind his counter. This question of gold had bothered him for some weeks.
But Joe felt he was being robbed of the fruits of his effort, and promptly insisted upon his riddle. "What's the diff'rence between Wild Bill an' Minky?" he asked again, this time with added emphasis. He waited impatiently until one of the men shook his head, when he snatched at the opportunity of firing his quip.
"And in conclusion you can tell Zip if he can do a good turn, which I don't suppose he'll be able to, to either Sunny Oak, or Sandy Joyce, or Toby Jenks, he'd best do it. Because he owes them something he'll probably never hear about. "This is the last will and testament, as the lawyers say, of "Your old friend, "Wild Bill. Minky looked up from the letter again, and his eyes were shadowed.
Curiosity and excitement ran riot, and questions flew from lip to lip. How had Minky provided for the safeguarding of his gold? Had he arranged for an adequate escort? To whom was the gold to be entrusted? The store was full of men. The veranda overflowed with them.
And there's one good thing about it. Papa'll be happier when I'm not here." "Mark!" "Minky!" "He had said good-night and gone to his room and come back again to hold her still tighter in his arms. "What?" "Nothing," he said. "Only good-night." To-morrow no lingering and no words. Mark's feet quick in the passage. A door shut to, a short, crushing embrace before he turned from her to her mother.
"That stuff won't cool you down any," observed Minky, passing behind his counter. "No," Toby admitted doubtfully. Then with a bright look of intelligence. "But it'll buck a feller so it don't seem so bad the heat, I mean." His afterthought set Sunny grinning. Minky set out two glasses and passed the bottle.
"How was he?" "Battered nigh to death, I said," cried Sunny, with startling violence. "His eyes are blackened, an' his pore mean face is cut about, an' bruised ter'ble. His clothes is torn nigh to rags, an' " "Was it the James outfit did it?" inquired Minky incredulously. "They did that surely," cried Sunny vehemently. "You ain't seen Bill, have you? He's that mad you can't git a word out o' him.
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