Chapter III: Part 3

They stumbled on, going more cautiously now. The tunnel grew lighter now, as though they were approaching daylight. Then it widened into a big stope. To the left was the mouth of a tunnel, like the bore of a giant cannon, and silhouetted against the moonlight, crawling toward the opening, was a huge, animal-like figure.

As they stopped they could hear it whimpering, like an animal that had been whipped severely.

“My God, it’s Black!” croaked Mica hoarsely.

The figure had reached the edge, and now it seemed to grasp a rope, swing over the rim and disappear.

Duke started for the opening, but Mica grasped him by the arm. “Luck must be here, Steele! To hell with Black!”

They turned and staggered back through the stope, where they found Luck Sleed, bound with ropes and lying against a pile of broken rock. Her face was like a white mask in the dim light, and she did not speak while Duke cut the ropes from her.

Lying beside her was a big, white sombrero, with Mexican silver trimmings. Duke picked it up and put it on his head. Luck was watching him closely and now she tried to get to her feet, but she had been bound for so long that her arms and legs were paralyzed. Duke started to pick her up, but she stopped him.

“Don’t touch me,” she begged him. “Why did you do this to me? Why, I thought I could trust you.”

“Hol’ on, Luck,” wailed Mica. “Me and Louie thought the same thing, but Steele never done it. Don’t yuh remember that he was fightin’ Black when they grabbed you?”

“Someone hit my head,” said Luck painfully. “I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up here. That hat was there on the rocks. Black laughed at me.”

“Well, Steele never harmed yuh, Luck. He had Louie Yen follow Black so as to find yuh.”

“They fought,” said Luck in a flat voice. “It seemed like hours. I couldn’t see all of it. There was only one shot fired, and I think Black lost his gun. Did Louie get killed, Mica?”

“Yeah, I guess so, Luck,” sadly. “There’s been hell raised in Calico tonight, but it’s too long to explain it to yuh now. Me and Steele got away from ’em. I dunno what we’re goin’ to do now.”

“We’re goin’ to take Miss Luck back to her home,” said Duke, “and we’re goin’ to see what we’ll see, Mica. Anyway, we just wanted to find her, didn’t we? What matters after that, old pardner?”

“Don’t say that,” begged Luck. “I’m sorry I thought that you----”

“Thassall right, Luck. We’ll get yuh home.”

“But I don’t want you to--oh, I don’t know what to say. I’ve tried to think that you would do this, but I couldn’t convince myself. Don’t you believe me, Duke Steele?”

“Yes, I do, Luck. Mebbe you’ll have to trust me a lot for a while now. If Calico ain’t right, it’s the desert for all of us, little girl. So yuh see you’ve got to trust me a lot.”

“All right, Duke Steele.”

“Can yuh walk, Luck?” asked Mica.

“Not very fast, but I--I guess I can walk a little.”

Walking was a painful experience, after being bound tightly for so long, but Luck was game.

Back into the sloping tunnel they went, feeling their way along, expecting momentarily to find the body of Louie Yen, but it was not there.

“Where’d he go?” complained Mica. “I ask yuh, where did he go, Steele?”

“Mebbe he wasn’t dead,” suggested Duke. “Chinamen have as many lives as a cat.”

They came out on the ledge at the mouth of the tunnel. Below them lay the town; dark save for the lights at the front of the Silver Bar. They could hear muffled cheers, yells; exultation rather than anger. There was no sign of pursuit.

Mica led the way down to Luck’s cabin, but she would not go in.

“I’m going with you,” she declared firmly. “That Silver Bar belongs to me and I’m going down there.”

And without a word of further protest, Duke led the way down the street. There was no one in sight, but the Silver Bar was a roar of voices, the cheering of drunken men.

Straight in through the mass of humanity they went, until they reached the fringe of a huge circle, where a queer sight met their gaze. Le Moyne, only half-conscious, his face and head bruised and cut badly and his clothes mere strips of rags, was slouched in a chair in the center of the circle.

Around his big shoulders was tied a dirty Mexican serape of flaming red, and in his bleeding hand had been thrust a broken whiskey bottle. Fire French, bruised and battered, was assisting Curlew in arranging this mockery, while the crowd cheered wildly.

“The king of Mojave!” yelped the crowd. “Long live the king!”

The place was a bedlam. Men were drinking toasts from broken-necked bottles; men who were bleeding, ragged and sweat-grimed from the battle.

A man came shoving through the crowd from the rear, carrying something in a blanket, which he placed on a table.

“For the king!” shrilled French. “A crown for the king of the desert!”

Grasping the piece of blanket in both hands, he up-ended it on top of Le Moyne’s massive head and yanked the blanket away. It had contained a number of great cacti, which dug their spines into Le Moyne’s head. He swayed his head, like a wounded buffalo, but was too weak to shake them off.

“The king is crowned!” yelled the crowd. “A crown for the king of Mojave desert! Long live the king!”

French tore a bottle from the hands of a drunken miner and knocked the top off against his boot-heel. Lifting his hand above Le Moyne’s head, he started to pour out the liquor. Duke was watching him closely and saw that French was staring toward the door. He dropped the bottle, which caromed off Le Moyne’s head and fell to the floor.

Pete Black was coming slowly through the room, and the crowd stood aside to let him to the center. He had met Louie Yen’s long knife in the battle in the tunnel and the effect was awful to behold. He kept his arms wrapped about his middle, as though fearful of what might happen if he released them.

French and Curlew stared at him, as he stumbled up and almost fell into Le Moyne’s lap.

“Look out!” croaked Black. “They--found--her. That--damn--Chink----”

Black swayed and tried to straighten up, as he turned toward the door, and a whimper of fear came from his lips. Duke grasped Luck by the arm and tried to draw her back. Louie Yen was coming through the room, his old face set and almost white with suffering. In his right hand he carried the long-bladed knife.

Black stared at him for a moment, whirled and tried to run, but fell over the feet of Le Moyne, and sprawled on his face, his arms wide-flung.

“You yellow snake!” French fairly shrieked as he whipped out his gun. But Duke was looking for such a move and fired a fraction of a second ahead of French, whose bullet tore into the floor. French groped blindly for the table and fell on his knees.

Curlew did not make a move. He seemed paralyzed for a moment, and only stared at Duke, as he walked up and took Curlew’s gun from his unresisting hand. The crowd seemed shocked to inaction, and Duke turned quickly on them.

“You fools! Do you want to wreck the town to satisfy the greed of some tin-horn gamblers? Curlew is the last one of them left; the last of the crooks that tried to plunder Calico. You all know Luck Sleed. They kidnapped her and hid her in the Lady Slipper, where we found her tonight.

“Black and his gang have been high-grading on her, while French and his gang have stolen everything from the Silver Bar. If you are men, if you have any decency about you at all, tomorrow will not see one of Black’s men, nor Slim Curlew, in Calico town.”

Swiftly the temper of the crowd changed. Duke’s words were words that they understood. Men were dodging out of the door, as a group of drunken miners grasped the unlucky Curlew and hurled him out of the place.

Duke stepped over and removed the cactus from the head of Le Moyne. He looked at Duke, but there was only a glimmer of intelligence in his eyes. He had been mortally wounded during the fight, and the mockery he had undergone meant nothing to him now.

“Le Moyne, do yuh know me?” asked Duke.

“Steele? Yes, I know--you. It was a--good--fight.”

“I brought the girl, Le Moyne. You remember the girl I told you about--Luck Sleed.”

“Yes--Steele. Why don’t somebody light the lamps?”

“Listen, Le Moyne,” Duke was talking swiftly against time, “you said she’d get what belonged to her.” Le Moyne seemed to rouse up and his eyes were a little clearer. Several of the miners were standing close, listening, and Le Moyne spoke to them.

“Come in--closer--and--listen. No--time--to--write.” Le Moyne licked his bloody lips and drew a deep breath. “Everything I’ve got belongs to--Duke--Steele. Do you hear--that? Everything. I will it--to--him--and--I--want--you--to--witness.”

“But, Le Moyne, I don’t want it for myself,” explained Duke. “I want it for Luck Sleed.”

“You’re a--man--can--hold--it,” mumbled Le Moyne thickly. “I--I think you’ll--share--things--together--now. Pay back what you can--Steele. No--lights here----”

“The passing of a king,” said Duke softly. “I hope he won’t be misjudged.”

“What did he mean?” whispered Luck. “He said that we would share things together, Duke.”

Louie Yen had been hanging onto the back of a chair and now he grinned softly, as he said, “Yo’ takum, li’l gi’l. Yo’ need stlong man--Calico need stlong man, yo’ sabe?”

Duke held out his hand to her, and together they went out into the desert night, while behind them huddled the dead figure of a man who aspired to a desert crown, and gazed with unseeing eyes as a crippled miner clasped hands with a crippled and very old Chinaman, and limped out of the door after them.

[Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the January 25, 1923 issue of _Short Stories_ magazine.]