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Updated: June 5, 2025
The memory of his perfidy on a previous occasion made her long to puncture his pride, and she passed the gold ore back to him. "I've seen that before," she said with a sniff, "so you can stop driving those burros so hard. It came from Wunpost's mine." "Wunpost!" yelled Dusty Rhodes, his eyes getting big; and then he spat out an oath.
And it was for this that he had seized Dusty Rhodes by the throat and kicked down the saloon-keeper's bar. But she wondered what would happen if, at some future time, she should venture to oppose his will. The vein of quartz which had caught Wunpost's eye was enclosed within another, not so rich, and a third mighty ledge of low-grade ore encased the two of them within its walls.
He was a Government scout, the pick of the Apaches, and he had matched his desert craft against Wunpost's; but that craft, while it was good, was not good enough, and he had walked right into a bear-trap. Not the trap in the trail he had gone around that but the one in the rocks, with the step-diverting bush pulled down.
It made pretty good reading for the Blackwater Blade, which had recently been established in their midst, and the committee of boosters ordered a thousand extra copies and sent them all over the country. That was real mining stuff, and every dollar of Wunpost's money had been dug from the Sockdolager Mine.
It is no more than right that the first kiss should be forgiven, especially if no one is to blame, and Wilhelmina forgave him very sweetly; but there was a wild, hunted look in Wunpost's bold eyes and he wondered what would happen next.
"Here, here!" broke in Cole Campbell, laying a hand on Wunpost's arm as the saloon-keeper began suddenly to beg, "let's not have any violence. What's the trouble?" "Why, this old spittoon-trammer," began Wunpost in a fury, "has got the nerve to claim half my ground. I've been beat out of one claim, but this time it's different I'll show him who owns this ground!"
From Blackwater to Wild Rose Wash the dust rose up in clouds, each streamer boring on towards the north; and already the first stampeders had passed out of sight in their rush for the Black Point strike. It lay beyond North Pass, cut off from view by the shoulder of a long, low ridge; but there it was, and her claim and Wunpost's was already swarming with men.
Talk as much as he would he could never escape the fact that he had gone off with Wunpost's big canteen, and the one subject he had avoided why he had not stopped to wait for him was now likely to be thoroughly discussed. He glanced about furtively, but there was no avenue of escape and he started off down to the gate.
It was not in the Canyon but high up on a point and he knew it was Manuel Apache. He was signaling across the Valley to his boss in the Panamints that he was in distress and needed help, but no answering smoke rose up from Tucki Mountain to show where Wunpost's enemies lay hid.
A man caught in such a trap would be doomed to certain death if no one came to his aid and Wunpost's lips curled ferociously as he rose up from his knees and regarded his cunning handiwork. His traps were set not far apart, in the two holes he had dug before, and covered with the greatest care; but one was in the trail, where a man would naturally step, and the other was out in the rocks.
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