Chapter XXXIX: James Macgregor's Story

The three men moved forward until they were within arm's reach of Reivers, and stood regarding him with open grins on their hairy faces. Reivers, reading the import of their grins, knew that they were bent upon enjoying themselves at his expense, and tried swiftly to guess what form their amusement might take. If it were only horse-play he would be able to continue in the helpless character he had assumed. If it were to be rougher than that, if they set out to break him in real earnest, he feared that his acting was at an end.

Even for the sake of the gold that he was after he would hardly be able to submit, humbly and helplessly as became a drunken squaw-man, to their efforts to make a wreck of him. He calculated his chances of coming through alive if the situation developed to this extreme, and decided that the odds were a trifle too heavy against him.

The element of surprise would be on his side, but his right shoulder still was weak from the old bullet-wound. With his terrible ability to use his feet he calculated that he could drop Moir and Tammy with broken bones as they rushed him. To do that he would have to drop to his back, and Joey, the third man, wore a long skinning-knife on his hip. No, if he began to fight he would never get what he had come after. He wiped his mouth furtively and swayed from the knees up.

"I want some hooch, mister, that's what I want," he whined shakily. "You promised you'd give me a drink when we got here, you know you did. Haven't had a drop since morning. I wouldn't 'a' come if I'd known you were going to treat me like this."

Then he did the best acting of his life. He jumped sideways and shuddered; he frantically plucked imaginary bugs off his coat sleeve; he stepped high as if stepping over something on the ground; his eyes and face muscles worked spasmodically.

"O-ooh! Gimme a drink," he begged. "Please gimme a drink. I gotta have it."

The grins faded from the faces before him. They knew full well the signs of incipient delirium tremens. Tammy laughed dryly.

"Hast brought home more than an old ox and a cow, Shanty," he said. "Hast brought a whole menagerie. Yon stick'll have tuh Wullies in a minute if he's not liquored."

Reivers dropped to his knees, shuddering, his arms shielding his eyes from imaginary beasts of the bottle.

"Take 'em away, boys," he pleaded. "Kill the big ones, let the little ones go."

With a snarl Moir leaped to his sledge and knocked the neck off a bottle of hooch.

"Drink, you scut!" he growled. "I'll have dealings with you when you're sobered up."

Reivers drank and began to doze. Moir kicked him upright.

"Get into the shed with t'other jackass," he commanded, propelling him toward the dugout into which MacGregor had crawled. "And in tuh morning you go to work, e'en though snakes be crawling all o'er 'ee."

A faintly muttered curse greeted Reivers as he crawled into the dugout.

"You poor curs! What do you want with me now?" came MacGregor's voice from a corner of the tiny room. "You skunk----"

"Easy, MacGregor Roy," whispered Reivers quietly. "It's not one of the 'skunks.'"

"MacGregor Roy!" By the light that entered by a slit in the skin-flap Reivers could see the Scotchman painfully lifting his head from his miserable bunk, as he hoarsely repeated his own name. "MacGregor Roy! Who are you, stranger, to call James MacGregor by his family name?"

"I'm the man that Shanty Moir brought in this afternoon," whispered Reivers.

"I know, I know," gasped MacGregor weakly. "But men do not call me MacGregor Roy. James MacGregor they call me, unless--unless----"

"Unless they have the 'Roy' straight from the lips of your daughter, Hattie."

For a full minute MacGregor sat stricken speechless.

"Man, man! Speak!" The unfortunate man came wriggling over and laid his hands pleadingly on Reivers. "Don't play with me. Is my daughter Hattie alive and well?"

"Very much alive," replied Reivers, "and as well as can be expected of a girl who is worrying her heart out over why her father doesn't return or send her word."

"Have they no' guessed--has no' my brother Duncan guessed by this time?" gasped MacGregor. "Can not they understand that I must be dead or held captive since I do not return? Speak, man, tell me how 'tis with them!"

Reivers waited until the poor man had become more quiet before replying to him.

"You'd better quiet down a little MacGregor," he whispered then. "You can't tell when your friends might be listening, and it wouldn't do either of us any good if they heard what we're saying."

"True," said the old man more quietly. "I'm acting like an old woman. But for three months I've been trapped like this, and my head fairly swims when I hear you speak of Hattie. How come you to know of her?"

Reivers related briefly that he had been ill and had been cared for at the MacGregor cabin.

"And my little Hattie is well? No harm came to her from the black devil they sent to steal her? You must know, man, they taunted me by sending----"

"I know," interrupted Reivers; and he told how he had disposed of the kidnapper.

"You--you did that?" MacGregor clutched Reivers's hand. "You saved my little Hattie?"

"None of that," snapped Reivers, snatching away his hand. "I did nothing for your little Hattie. Why should I? What is your Hattie to me? I simply put that black-beard out of business because I needed food and he had it on the sledge."

"Yet you're not one of the gang here--now? You are no' anything but a friend of me and mine?"

"A friend?" sneered Reivers. "I'll tell you, Mac: I'm here as my own friend, absolutely nothing else."

"But Hattie--and my brother Duncan--they understand about me now."

"They know you're either dead or worse," was the reply. "And they're at Dumont's Camp now, waiting for Moir to come there on a spree, when they expect to trail him back to this camp."

MacGregor nodded his head weakly.

"Aye. Taken the trail for revenge. No less could be expected. Please Heaven, they'll soon win here. And James MacGregor will not forget what he owes you, stranger, for the help you gave his daughter, when the time of reckoning comes with Moir and his poor curs."

Reivers laughed coldly under his breath.

"You speak pretty confidently, old-times, for a man who's trussed up the way you are."

"God willna let this dog of a Moir have his will with me much longer," said the Scot firmly. "It isna posseeble."

"'This dog of a Moir' must be a better man than you are," taunted Reivers. "He fooled you and trapped you as soon as you'd found this mine."

"Did he?" MacGregor flared up. "Shanty Moir a better man than me? Hoot, no! He fooled me, yes, for I didna know that he'd got word to these three hellions of his that the mine was here. I trusted him; he was my pardner. And when we returned with proveesions for the Winter the three devils were waiting for us, just inside the wall, where the creek comes through. Shanty Moir alone never could ha' done it. The three of them jumped on me from above. I had no chance. Then they strapped me.

"They've kept me strapped ever since. I'm draft beast for them. Twice a day they feed me. And between whiles Shanty Moir taunts me by playing before my eyes with the dust and nuggets that are half mine."

"Oh, well, it doesn't look to me as if there'd be enough gold here to bother about," said Reivers casually. "It's nothing but a little freak pocket by the looks of it."

"So it is. A freak pocket. It could be nothing else in this district. 'Twas only by chance we found it, exploring the creek in here out of curiosity. 'Twas in the bowels of the warm spring up yon, where the creek starts, that the pocket was originally. The spring boiled it out into the creek, and the creek washed it down here in its bed of sand. The sand lodged here, against these rock walls. There's about a hundred feet of the sand, running down under the cliffs, and it's all pocket. Not a rich pocket, as you say, but Shanty Moir is filthy with nuggets and dust now, and there'll be some more in the sand that's left to work over.

"Not a bonanza, man, but a good-sized fortune. 'Twould be enough to send my Hattie to school. 'Twould give her all the comforts of the world. 'Twould make folk look up to her. And Shanty Moir, the devil's spawn, has it in his keeping."

"And he'll probably see that it continues in his keeping, too," yawned Reivers.

"Never!" swore MacGregor, rising to the bait. "Shanty Moir did me dirt too foul to prosper by it, and I'm a better man than he is, besides. The stuff will come into my hands, where it belongs, some way. I dinna see just how for the present. But the stuff, and my revenge I will have. E'en shackled as I am I'll have my revenge, though it's only to bite the windpipe out of Shanty Moir's throat like a mad dog."

"Huh!" Reivers was lying face down on some blankets, apparently but little interested. "And suppose you do get Shanty Moir? What good will that do you? I'll bet Shanty's got the gold hid where nobody could find it without getting directions from him. Suppose you get him. Suppose you get all three of 'em. Shanty Moir being dead, the nuggets and dust probably'd be as completely lost as they were before you two boys found the pocket in the first place."

For a long time MacGregor sat in his corner of the dugout without replying. Reivers could see that at times he raised his head, even opened his mouth as if to speak, then sank back undecided. At last he hunched himself forward inch by inch to the front of the dugout and lifted the flap.

The light of day had gone from the cavern. On the sand before the larger dugout blazed a brisk cooking-fire. In the confined space the light from its flames was magnified, reflecting from rock-wall and running water, and illuminating brightly the miserable hole in which Reivers and MacGregor lay.

MacGregor held up the flap for several minutes, studying Reivers, and though Reivers looked back with the look in his eyes that made most men quail, the old man's sharp grey eyes studied him unruffled, even as the eyes of his daughter had done before.

"By the Big Nail, 'tis a man's man!" muttered MacGregor, dropping the flap at last. "How in the name of self-respect did the likes of you fall prey to the cur, Shanty Moir?"

"Self-respect?" sniggered Reivers. "Did you notice me out there when you were laying your curse on Moir?"

"Aye. You were far gone in liquor then--by the looks of you. You'll mind I say 'by the looks of you.' You are not in liquor now. That's what puzzled. A man does not throw off a load of hooch so quickly. You were playing at being drunk. Now, why might that be?"

"To enable me to get into his hole and leave Moir thinking I'm a drunken squaw-man without brains or nerve enough to do anything but sponge for hooch."

"Aye? And your reason for that?"

"My reason for that?" Reivers laughed under his breath. "Why, did you ever hear of a more popular reason for a man risking his throat than gold? I heard the story of this deal from your brother Duncan and your daughter. I need--or rather, I want money. Shanty Moir had won over you and had gold. I came to win over Moir and get the gold away from him. Isn't that simple?"

"Simple and spoken well," said MacGregor calmly. "Will you answer me one question: Did you serve notice on my brother Duncan that you were out on this hunt?"

"I did."

"Fair enough again. A man has a right to take trail and do what he can if he speaks out fair. I take it you hardly calculated to find me here alive?"

"No, I didn't think Moir was such an amateur as to take any chances."

"Ah, he needed a draft beast, lad; that's why I'm alive, and no other reason. And finding me here alive, does it alter your plans any?"

"Only a trifle. You see, I'd made up my mind to bring Moir and your daughter Hattie face to face to see if she could make good on her big talk of taking revenge for putting you out of business. Now that I see you're still alive--well, I won't let any little foolishness like that interfere with the business I've come on."

"I mean about the gold, man?"

Reivers looked at his questioner in surprise.

"About the gold?" he repeated.

"Yes. Finding me, the rightful owner of half of the gold, here, alive and hoping to win back with my share to my daughter Hattie--does it make any change in your plans?"

Reivers chuckled softly.

"Not in the slightest," he replied. "I came to get the stuff that's come out of this mine. Take a look at me. Do I look like a soft fool who'd let anything interfere with my plans?"

MacGregor looked and shook his head, puzzled.

"I dinna understand ye, mon," he said. "I canna make you out. By the look of you I'd be wishful to strike hands with you as one good man to another; but your talk, man, is all wrong, all wrong. Half of the stuff that's been taken out of this mine--Shanty Moir's half--I have made up my mind shall be yours for the strong blow you dealt to save my Hattie from black shame. Will you na' strike hands on a partnership like that between us?"

Reivers yawned.

"Why should I? You're 'all in.' You can't help me any. I'll have to do the job of getting the gold away from Moir. I came here to get it all. I don't want any help, and I certainly won't make any unnecessary split."

"Man," whispered MacGregor in horror, "is there naught but a piece of ice where your heart should be? Do you not understand it's for a poor, unprovided girl I'm talking? A man you might rob; but have you the coldness in your heart to rob my little, unfortunate Hattie?"

"'Little, unfortunate Hattie!'" mocked Reivers. "Consider her robbed already. What then?"

"A word to Shanty Moir and you're as good as dead," retorted MacGregor hotly.

Reivers' long right arm shot out and terrible fingers clutched MacGregor's throat. The old man wriggled and gasped and tried to cry out, but Reivers held him voiceless and helpless and smiled.

"One word to Shanty Moir, and--you see?" he said, releasing his hold. "Then your little, unfortunate Hattie would be robbed for sure."

"Man--man--what are you, man or devil?" gasped MacGregor.

"Devil, if it suits you," said Reivers. "But, remember, I'll manage to be within reach of you when Shanty Moir's about, and I rather fancy Moir would be glad to have me put you out of business. Now listen to me. I've no objection to your getting out of here alive--if you can. I've no objection to your getting your revenge on Moir, if you can, provided that none of this interferes with my getting what I came after. You know now what I can and will do if necessary. Your life lies right there." He opened and closed his right hand significantly. "Well, I'll trade you your life for a little information. Where does Shanty keep his gold?"

MacGregor ceased gasping. He began to laugh. He leaned over and laughed. He rocked from side to side.

"Man, man! Do you not know that? That proves you're only human!" he chuckled. "You came out here, like a lamb led to slaughter, to find where Shanty Moir keeps his gold. You were on the trail with Shanty. You had him where it was only one man to one. Well--well, the joke is too good to keep: Shanty Moir, day and night, wears a big buckskin belt about the middle of him, and the gold--the gold is in the belt!"