CHAPTER I. A DOUBTFUL WELCOME.

There was a time in the West when hard men lived hard—and died hard! The mountains and ravines were pouring out their long-hoarded treasures with reckless prodigality, and the lure of gold, like a magnet, drew creatures of every description and nationality. So rapid was the invasion of eager fortune-hunters that law and order, unable to keep pace, were left far behind.

On the strength of a mere rumor, towns sprang up overnight, flourished feverishly and briefly, and expired. Fortunes were hourly lost and won on the turn of a card.

A hasty word produced a hasty funeral. Men came to accept strangers at their face value; nor did they inquire too closely into the past life and antecedents of even their best friends. Every one was a law unto himself. The long-barreled six-shooter was the accepted judge, jury, and executioner in all controversies, and the slowest of tongue, the quickest of arm, the surest of eye, were the longest of life.

It was an everyday affair for a man to be a beggar at morn, a millionaire at noon, and a corpse at night!

The Red Valley stage, rocking and swaying, bowled down the steep, rutty road and came to a jarring halt before the “Silver Star” amid a swirling, scurrying cloud of dust. For a second or two it paused, with horses panting. Then old Bailey, the driver, shouted and cracked his whip, the four horses strained forward, and the next minute the lumbering vehicle careened around a bend in the road and disappeared into the forest.

It left a stranger behind it, standing in the road beside his baggage.

He calmly looked over his surroundings. Then, with perfect ease, he lifted his heavy wooden box by its rope handle and advanced to the group of men who had been more or less disinterestedly watching him from the low porch of the town’s combined saloon, post-office, and general store.

A miner who was distinguished by his height, his unusual slenderness of waist, and a long scar which drew up the left corner of his lip into a repulsive grin, eyed him closely from the front of the group. The new arrival set down his baggage and addressed him.

“Is this Ramapo, friend?” he asked quietly.

The miner let his eyes rove superciliously over his questioner. He saw a young man almost as tall as himself, with curly black hair. His features were clean-cut, his figure straight, and his shoulders broad and powerful. He wore the comfortable, careless western costume of that period, now dusty and mud-splashed from traveling; but he carried no pistol at his hip. Except for an indefinable air of breeding about him, and a soft drawl in his speech that proclaimed him as a Southerner, there was little to distinguish him from any member of the group before which he stood.

“You gits a bull’s-eye, Curly,” the tall man answered, making no effort to conceal the sneer in his voice. “This is the great an’ in-famous metropolis o’ Ramapo, itself! An’, bein’ one of its leadin’ citizens an’ misfortunes, I hereby welcomes you, an’ invites you to plant your stakes in this fertile landscape an’ decorate the scenery with your charmin’ personality.”

There was a little snicker behind him.

“Thanks,” the stranger answered coolly, his gray eyes, under his broad-brimmed hat, looking steadily into the other’s. “Evidently Ramapo has some curious attractions.”

“The keenness o’ your observation is astonishin’” the other replied, his face pushing and his eyes narrowing. “Ramapo has special attractions to induce the weary traveler to locate here, the most convincin’ o’ which is a good supply o’ lead, forty-four caliber, which it hastens to offer to them as has command o’ language, but no control of it.”

“I suppose you’re a newcomer then,” the curly-haired man remarked evenly. Then, seeing the other’s scowl darken, he added quietly: “Perhaps you can direct me to Major Dudley’s house.”

The other’s face instantly became suspicious. “What do you want there?” he asked.

“I reckon you needn’t worry about that, friend,” the stranger answered pleasantly. “Now, if you will kindly point out the major’s house to me, I won’t take up any more of your undoubtedly valuable time.”

For a moment the other eyed him angrily. Then he smiled. “Why, yes. I’ll do that, Curly,” he said slowly. “I al’ys endeavors to prevent the wayfarer gittin’ lost in the mazes o’ this here metropolis. It’s that one yonder that you see stickin’ above the trees at the bend in the road.”

The stranger looked up the road in the direction indicated.

“There are three white ones there,” he said. “From your vivid description, it might be either.”

The ugly grin deepened on the miner’s face. “I never was no hand at disseminatin’ description,” he drawled. “The domicile to which I refers, Curly, is the one with the broken winder in front.”

With careless unconcern yet astonishing speed he drew his revolver and fired. From where they stood they could all see a pane in a front window of the farthest house collapse. The tinkle of breaking glass came to their ears.

A loud guffaw broke from the group. Passers-by stopped for an instant, saw what had happened, shrugged their shoulders and went on about their business. The miner with a mock bow thrust his revolver back into its holster.

“That ought to help you locate it, Curly. Think you’ll be able to find your way there now, or do I gotta send a guide along with you so’s you won’t git lost?”

The stranger gazed toward the house a moment, then turned to his informer. His face preserved its pleasant expression; but it was paler, and his eyes held a little gleam.

“I suppose there are people living there,” he said.

“Your supposition is in accord with the law an’ the evidence in the case,” the other replied. “That disinspirin’ mansion has the honor to contain the major an’ Ramapo’s pride an’ joy, his daughter.”

“Then, of course, there was a chance that your clever manner of pointing it out might have resulted in killing one of them.”

“Them little accidents has been known to happen here, Curly. But us inhabitants o’ this thrivin’ city don’t lose no sleep over no such uninteristin’ reflections. Y’see, we git whisky here for a dollar a throw, an’ life for nothin’; so we natcherly figgers as how the former ought to git considerable more respect an’ attention. Life ain’t at no high premium here, Curly.”

The stranger’s gray eyes had not left those of the man before him. “It mustn’t be,” he said pleasantly, “when they permit you to live here—you drunken dog!” He calmly reached for his baggage.

At the words a little murmur went up from the group. It shifted expectantly. The face of the miner went black with wrath, and his lip curled back from his discolored teeth in a vicious snarl. His revolver again flashed from its holster. Over on the side of the crowd some one laughed.

“’Fore y’kill it, Williams,” the voice said, “ask it where it wants the remains shipped to. Maybe its maw is pinin’ for it somewheres, an’ might git angry if it was put away without no nice flowers an’ oratory an’ sech like.”

The tall man turned quickly. “Shut up, Red! Reckon I can emanate all the elocution necessary for this here occasion.” He turned again to the stranger. “Just a minute with that baggage, sonny, while I gives you a hint or two regardin’ your future behavior in this here town. Them remarks you was uncautious enough to drop ain’t considered courchus an’ proper in polite s’ciety in Ramapo. We usually relieves our feelin’s by applyin’ gunpowder an’ lead to the offender an’ turnin’ him over to the undertakin’ Oscar for treatment. But o’ course ’tain’t reasonable to expect a newcomer to git to know us an’ all our little customs all to once. So we’ll overlook them little violations of etikett. Howsever, as spokesman an’ representative o’ this here unnoble metropolis, I begs to state as how we takes sort o’ natcherl to entertainment, an’ al’ays displays a brotherly interest in the accomplishments of our new citizens. We has a hankerin’, therefore, to see what you can do. Next to drinkin’, dancin’ is our fav’rite sport an’ recreation. S’pose you gives us some idear o’ your abilities along that line, Curly. Better begin now.”

As he finished speaking, he lowered the muzzle of his revolver, and one after another the bullets cracked around the newcomer’s toes, sending spurts of dust over his boots. But the young fellow did not move. He stood coolly eying the man before him. When the six chambers were empty, the miner angrily drew his other pistol.

Before he had time to fire a single cartridge, however, something happened. The stranger leaped forward like a spring suddenly released. His right hand shot out and struck the revolver from the miner’s fingers, and his left, knotted into a solid ball of bone and sinew, flashed straight from the shoulder, collided firmly, but quite ungently, with that individual’s unimposing physiognomy, and hurled him sprawling into the dust.

For an instant the miner lay where he had fallen; then, with a roar of rage, he started to scramble to his feet. He found himself, however, looking past the businesslike bore of his own weapon into two very cool but earnest gray eyes. Discretion hinted that it would be best to retain a sitting posture for the time being.

“Keep your hands away from your guns, boys,” the stranger was remarking. “It would be embarrassing to have to shoot such new acquaintances! As for you, you emaciated rum-hound, dancing is an excellent recreation, as you say, but unfortunately I enjoy it only when I do it to amuse myself. Now, listen—I’m not in the habit of repeating! My intentions in this place are perfectly peaceful; and I didn’t come here to start trouble. But if you feel any inclination to begin it. I’ll hold up my end. I’m pretty generous with it, when I get going. It would be best for your health, therefore, not to waste more of your valuable lead or time on me. Try to remember that, friend, and I have no doubt we’ll get along splendidly.”

For a moment he continued to gaze steadily into the furious, blood-shot eyes of the miner. Then he smiled, picked up his box with his free hand, and moved away in the direction of the house with the broken window. Fifty feet from the group, he tossed the pistol into the road. It lay there half-buried in the dust.

The crowd of miners milled around uneasily and murmured under their breaths. It was an unwritten law that no man interfere in the little misunderstandings and arguments of any other man. One of them walked out into the road, secured the discarded weapon, and silently handed it back to its owner. It was evident that the tall man was one of these creatures who frequently attained a doubtful leadership in the early days of the West through sheer brutality and terrorism, and the ability to kill too quickly to be killed themselves. As he scrambled to his feet, his small, darting eyes caught the question and doubt in the faces of the men around him. He burst into a volley of profanity, raised the weapon, and pointed it at the disappearing figure.

Before he could fire it, however, there was an interruption. A big roan horse had darted suddenly from nowhere, flashed before the group, and reared up on its haunches before him. Now a riding-crop swung through the air and descended on his wrist. For the second time that afternoon, the revolver was sent spinning from his fingers.

Mad with pain and fury, he reached for the weapon. But the rider forced the horse against him and jostled him back. He looked up into the snapping blue eyes of a remarkably handsome and remarkably pale girl. She was dressed in a riding costume almost mannish in its Western simplicity, and a very serviceable revolver was suspended at her side from a well-stocked cartridge-belt.

“You coward!” she blazed. “Would you kill a man with his back turned!”

He was silent a moment, trying to meet the fiery gaze.

“Don’t reckon I owe you no account o’ my doin’s,” he answered with a curious mixture of deference and sullenness. “You better be on your way. I don’t fight with women!”

“Oh, you don’t! But you’re perfectly willing to shoot a man when he’s not looking! Brave, aren’t you?”

His eyes dropped before her. For some reason, the man seemed to become a different creature in her presence. When he answered, it was almost respectfully.

“I don’t intend to have no quarrel with you, anyhow.”

“No?” Her eyes quickly ran over the smirking faces of the group behind him. “I’m glad to hear it. But I can’t help wondering why I’m so highly honored.”

“You know why just as well as I do!”

The girl flushed. “I’m not just sure that I understand what you mean,” she answered coldly. “But if you insinuate what I think you do, I advise you not to make a remark like that again, if you value your life! I don’t! Perhaps you understand me.”

His face darkened; but the ugly smile appeared again on his lips.

“I ain’t a man what gives up easy,” he leered. “An’ when I wants anythin’, I usually gets it sooner or later! Maybe you gits my meanin’!”

The blood slowly drained from her face. The clean line of her chin seemed to become more apparent. Her fingers tightened about the handle of the riding-crop until the knuckles showed white.

“I ought to shoot you like a dog for that,” she said quietly. “But, instead. I’ll tell you this: There isn’t a decent woman alive who would tolerate you near her! As for me, if you ever so much as repeat what you said, or show yourself inside our gate, I’ll kill you without a second’s hesitation! That’s all I have to say to you.”

With easy grace, she wheeled the big roan, touched him lightly with her spurs, and galloped up the road.

CHAPTER II. JEANNE DUDLEY.

“I’m glad you are here, of course, Rand—awfully glad! But I can’t understand how you ever came to leave God’s country for—this!”

Her voice, soft and reminiscent, came to him through the darkness as they moved slowly across the little garden toward the high bluff overlooking the river. The garden was Jeanne Dudley’s special care and pride; and the delicate odors of the vivid flowers were very sweet and refreshing to him after his long journey. Overhead, stars twinkled with the bigness and brilliance which they show only in the high, free lands of the mountains.

“‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Jeanne,” Rand Cameron, the curly-haired man, laughed. “Dad left nothing—but bills; and they swallowed the plantation! I had to do something. The gold-fields seemed to offer a chance; and, as I knew you and the major were in this neighborhood, I—well, here I am!”

“Yes, here you are,” his blue-eyed companion answered seriously, “in one of the wildest gold-fields of the country!”

“But—with you,” he replied softly.

She did not answer, and he took her hand. After a moment, she gently withdrew it.

“Don’t Rand, please.”

“You’re—you’re not holding that silly quarrel against me, are you?” he asked dejectedly. “Five years, Jeanne! I—I hoped you would forgive and forget that!”

“I did, Rand! I realized long ago that I was wrong, too! It’s not that. I’m afraid I can’t make you understand. It’s just that—that I’ve seen so much of the wickedness and greed and brutality of—men, since gold was found here, that—well, I don’t expect—oh, I can’t talk about it, Rand!”

“But we’re not all that way, Jeanne!”

“I know that, of course. But it—doesn’t seem to make up for some of the—things I’ve seen.”

“Then—is there no hope for me?”

“I’m afraid not.” Her answer was in a low voice, and she did not look up.

They had come to the edge of the cliff and now stood looking down at the chattering little river whose magic name had summoned the treasure-seekers from far and wide.

“Nevertheless,” he said quietly, “I will hope. I haven’t come across a whole continent to—to give up now! I love you, Jeanne. I always have loved you. I won’t lose you just because these creatures out here have been making—gold-beasts of themselves!”

She was silent a moment. “Then,” she questioned softly, “it wasn’t true that you came here for the gold-fields?”

“That was the truth,” he answered slowly, “but only a small part of it. I came here for you! And just as soon as I make my strike, I’ll try again—and keep on trying until I win or there’s not a chance left. But until then, Jeanne, you will not be bothered about it any more. I give you my word for that.”

There was a little awkward pause.

“The major is looking well,” he said, changing the subject with an effort. “The air and the climate out here must have helped him a great deal.”

“Papa was getting along wonderfully until gold was discovered.” Her voice was troubled. “But since then the excitement and the—the fever here have almost undone it all. It—it almost makes me cry to think of it! It was so beautiful and peaceful here, Rand. Now they’re flocking into the valley by thousands, all kinds of creatures, some of them almost savages! They’re fighting and robbing and killing each other every day. There is no control whatever. Crimes of every kind are committed as if they were nothing! I’m afraid we’ll have to move again, for papa’s sake!”

“But can’t something be done about it? Aren’t there any decent men here at all?”

“There are lots of them,” she answered hopelessly, “but they are all demoralized by the worse element. They have no leader, and they’re so eager to get rich themselves they haven’t time to think about anything like organizing. No one will accept the office of sheriff, or any other office that would require them to take risks! You must be careful, Rand! You did a dangerous thing in quarreling with Williams the very first day you were here!”

“Williams!” he echoed. “Oh, you refer to that thin, sneering brute that I had the pleasure of knocking down this afternoon. I’m not much worried about him.”

The girl glanced at his clean-cut profile. It was evident that he was not aware of what had happened that afternoon after he had taken his departure from the “Silver Star.”

“You don’t know him,” she answered anxiously, “or you would be! They call him ‘Wasp’ Williams, and it’s not merely because he looks like one, but because he is one. He is a coward at heart, I’m sure—like all bullies! But he is dangerous. He is the best and quickest shot around here. He has killed any number of others, and he won’t hesitate to kill you, too, Rand, if you give him an excuse—and you have already done that, according to their code! He has a queer smattering of education, and he has got to be one of the leaders of the men. Most of them hate him; but they fear him even more so. You needn’t expect any mercy or fair play from his creatures! There are quite a few who were probably glad of what you did, and would like to take your side! but they do not dare to. They know how any kind of a duel with him always ends! The worst of it is, Rand, he—he—”

“What?” He suddenly stopped in front of her and shot out the question.

“He—oh, Rand, it makes me shiver to—talk, about it!”

Very quietly he took her by the shoulders, and stared down into the shadowy oval that was her face. When he spoke his voice was calm; but it was the dangerous calmness of deep waters.

“Jeanne,” he asked, “did that beast dare to—make love to you?”

“He tried to,” she faltered, “but I—I drove him away!”

“Good God!” His arms dropped to his side. “If I had known that this afternoon, I would have smashed his leering face to pulp!”

She placed a small, strong hand on his arm.