Louisiana Lou. A Western Story

“No mine, no means of support, no friends within five thousand miles; nothing – but a husband she doesn’t want! Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Not meaning any offense, it was something like that,” said Sucatash, candidly.

“She’ll get rid of the incumbrance, without trouble,” said De Launay, shortly.

“Well, she ain’t quite shy of friends, neither. I ain’t got no gold mines – never took no stock in them. But I’ve got a bunch of cows and the old man’s got a right nice ranch. If it wasn’t for one thing, I’d just rack in and try my luck with her.”

“What’s the one thing?”

“You,” said Sucatash, briefly.

“I’ve already told you that I don’t count. Her marriage was merely a formality and she’ll be free within a short time.”

Sucatash grinned. “I hate to contradict you, old-timer. In fact, I sure wish you was right. But, even if she don’t know it herself, I know. It sure beats the deuce how much those eyes of hers can say even when they don’t know they’re sayin’ it.”

De Launay nodded. He was thinking of the lights in them when she had turned them on him of late.

“They told me something, not very long ago – and I’m gamblin’ there won’t be any divorce, pardner.”

“There probably won’t,” De Launay replied, shortly. “It won’t be necessary.”

He got up and went into the other room where Solange reclined on the bunk. He found her sitting up, dressed once more in leather breeches and flannel shirtwaist, and looking almost restored to full strength. Her cheeks were flushed again, but this time with the color of health. The firelight played on her hair, glowing in it prismatically. Her eyes, as she turned them on him, caught the lights and drew them into their depths. They were once more fathomless and hypnotic.

But De Launay did not face them. He sat down on a rude stool beside the fire and looked into the flame. His face was set and indifferent.

“Monsieur,” said Solange, “you are changed again, it seems. It is not pleasant to have you imitate the chameleon, in this manner. What has happened?”

“Your mine has been found,” said De Launay, shortly.

Solange started, half comprehending. Then, as his meaning caught hold, she cried out, hesitating, puzzled, not knowing whether his manner meant good news or bad.

“But – if it has been found, that is good news? Why do you look so grim, monsieur? Is it that you are grieved because it has been found?”

De Launay had half expected an outburst of joyous questions which would have made his task harder. In turn, he was puzzled. The girl did not seem either greatly excited or overjoyed. In fact, she appeared to be doubtful. Probably she could not realize the truth all at once.

“It has been found,” he went on, harshly, “by Banker, the prospector from whom I rescued you.”

Solange remained still, staring at him. He sat with elbows on his knees, his face outlined in profile by the fire. Clean and fine lined it was, strong with a thoroughbred strength, a face that a woman would trust and a man respect. As she looked at it, noting the somber suppression of emotion, she read the man’s reluctance and disappointment for her. She guessed that he buried his feelings under that mask and she wondered wistfully how deep those feelings were.

“Then,” she said, at last, “it is not likely that this Monsieur Banker would acknowledge my claim to the mine?”

“The mine is his under the law. I am afraid that you have no claim to it. Your father never located it nor worked it. As for Banker – ”

He paused until she spoke.

“Well? And what of this Banker?”

“He will not hold it long. But he has heirs, no doubt, who would not acknowledge your claim. Still, I will do my best. Sucatash will back us up when we jump the claim.”

“Jump the claim? What is that?”

He explained briefly the etiquette of this form of sport.

“But,” objected Solange, “this man will resist, most certainly. That would mean violence.”

A faint smile curled the man’s mouth under the mustache. “I am supposed to be a violent man,” he reminded her. “I’ll do the killing, and you and Sucatash will merely have to hold the claim. The sympathy of the miners will be with you, and there should be little difficulty unless it turns out that some one has a grubstake interest.”

He had to explain again the intricacies of this phase of mining. Solange listened intently, sitting now on the edge of the bunk. When he was done, she slid to her feet and took position beside him, laying her hand on his shoulder. Behind her, by the side of the bunk, was a short log, set on end as a little table, on which rested the holstered automatic which De Launay had left with her.

“It appears then,” she said, when he had finished, “that, in any event I have no right to this mine. In order to seize it, you would have to fight and perhaps kill some one. But, monsieur, I am not one who would wish you to be a common bravo – a desperado – for me. This mine, it is nothing. We shall think no more of it.”

Again De Launay was mildly surprised. He had supposed that the loss of the mine would affect her poignantly and yet she was dismissing it more lightly than he could have done had she not been concerned. And in her expression of consideration for him there was a sweetness that stirred him greatly. He lifted his hand to hers where it rested on his shoulder, and she did not withdraw from his touch.

“And yet,” he said, “there is no reason that you should concern yourself lest I act like a desperado. There are those who would say that I merely lived up to my character. The General de Launay you have heard of, I think?”

“I have heard of him as a brave and able man,” answered Solange.

“And as a driver of flesh and blood beyond endurance, a butcher of men. It was so of the colonel, the commandant, the capitaine. And, of the légionnaire, you have heard what has always been heard. We of the Légion are not lap dogs, mademoiselle.”

“I do not care,” said Solange.

“And before the Légion, what? There was the cow-puncher, the range bully, the gunman; the swashbuckling flourisher of six-shooters; the notorious Louisiana.”

He heard her breath drawn inward in a sharp hiss. Then, with startling suddenness, her hand was jerked from under his but not before he had sensed an instant chilling of the warm flesh. Wondering, he turned to see her stepping backward in slow, measured steps while her eyes, fixed immovably upon him, blazed with a fell light, mingled of grief, horror and rage. Her features were frozen and pale, like a death mask. The light of the fire struck her hair and seemed to turn it into a wheel of angry flame.

There was much of the roused fury in her and as much of a lost and despairing soul.

“Louisiana!” she gasped. “You! You are Louisiana?”

CHAPTER XXI

GOLD SEEKERS

Puzzled, but watchful and alert, De Launay saw her retreating, sensing the terrible change that had come over her.

“Yes, I am Louisiana,” he said. “What is the matter?”

In answer she laughed, while one hand went to the breast of her shirtwaist and the other reached behind her, groping for something as she paced backward. Like a cameo in chalk her features were set and the writhing flames in her hair called up an image of Medusa. There was no change in expression, but through her parted lips broke a low laugh, terrible in its utter lack of feeling.

“And I have for my husband – Louisiana! Quelle farce!”

The hand at her breast was withdrawn and in it fluttered the yellow paper that Wilding had brought from Maryville to Wallace’s ranch. She flung it toward him, and as he stooped to pick it up, her groping hand fell on the pistol resting on the upturned log at the side of the bunk. She drew it around in front of her, dropped the holster at her side and snapped the safety down. Her thumb rested on the hammer and she stood still, tensely waiting.

De Launay read the notice of reward swiftly and looked up. His face was stern, but otherwise expressionless.

“Well?” he demanded, his eyes barely resting on the pistol before they swept to meet her own blazing gaze. There was no depth to her eyes now. Instead they seemed to be fire surrounded by black rims.

“You have read – murderer!”