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But De Launay still had something on his mind. "You say Ike Brandon's dead?" he asked. "What became of his granddaughter?" "Went to work," said Sucatash. "Dave, where's Marian Pettis?" "Beatin' a typewriter fer 'Cap' Wilding, last I heard," said Dave. "She was a little girl when I knew her," said De Launay, his voice softening a little with a queer change of accent into a Southern slur.
All about that end of the shack, the seated or standing men, mostly of the silent and aloof groups, drifted casually aside, leaving the table free. Solange sat down and Sucatash put out a hand to restrain her. "Mad'mo'selle!" he remonstrated. "This ain't no place fer yuh! Yuh don't want to hang around here with this old natural! He's plum poisonous, I'm tellin' yuh!"
"Walked out," said the other, dryly. "Huh? Well, them blue bellies are right bright, now. You'll find pack hosses and an outfit at the spring west of the Lazy Y. Know where it is?" De Launay nodded as he felt the cinch of the horse's saddle. "But how the deuce will you get them there? It's nearly ninety miles." "We got a telephone at pa's ranch," said Sucatash, complacently.
You're dead, there; French Pete's dead, Sucatash Wallace's dead, Panamint's dead. But old Jim's alive! Old Jim'll find it. You bet you he will!" He bent his head and appeared to listen again. Then: "What's that? Who's singin'?" He fell to muttering again, quoting doggerel, whined out in an approach to a tune: "Louisiana Louisiana Lou!" "Louisiana's dead!" he chuckled.
De Launay helped the cow-puncher up in front of him and turned back to the crater. He rode past Banker's camp without stopping, but keeping along the slope to avoid the deeper snow he came upon a stake set in a pile of small rocks. This was evidently newly placed. He showed it to Sucatash. "The fellow's staked ground here. What could he have found?"
"In these days," he finally said, "with gold mines bein' shut down because it don't pay to work 'em, there wouldn't be no rush unless he'd sure struck something remarkable." "You've guessed it!" said De Launay. "It's French Pete's mine?" "I don't see any other explanation." Again Sucatash was silent for a time. Then: "That little girl is sure out o' luck!" he said.
Yet half of the crew carried weapons hung in plain sight, and others no doubt were armed, although the tools were not visible, while Sucatash apparently had no weapon. Behind the fervid comradeship and affection, the men were strangers each to the other. None knew whom he could trust; none dared to strike lest the others turn upon him.
The prospector hurriedly unslung a field glass and focused it on Sucatash. When he was sure of the man and of his route he grinned evilly. "One of 'em right into my hands," he chuckled. He then dismounted and ran to one of the burros.
Snow ain't so bad but " "But what?" "She drifts into this here cañon pretty bad. There ain't no road and down hereaways where these rocks make the goin' hard at the best of times, the drifts sure stack up bad." "What is it that you mean, Monsieur Sucatash?" "I mean that we ain't goin' to have no trouble gettin' in, mad'mo'selle, but we may have a fierce time gettin' out.
But it took him some time to find it, as Sucatash had rolled far after striking the slope. He came upon it at last wedged against a clump of greasewood. There was blood on the head and the sightless eyes stared up to the gray sky. Snowflakes fell steadily and melted against the white cheeks. The body lay awkwardly twisted. "Dead!" chuckled Banker. "All of 'em die! Old Jim don't die, though!
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