CHAPTER XX

BUNCOED

Nick and the stranger, who said his name was Jimmie Allen, walked toward Allen’s tent. It proved to be quite a distance from Nick’s shelter, and not directly on the street, but set back slightly from the others.

“Here she is,” Allen said. “Not as nifty as some I’ve seen, but she serves the purpose.” He looked at Nick. “You been to a minin’ camp before?”

“Once--a long time ago. Don’t remember much about it. Why?”

“Thought you looked familiar, that’s all. Now here’s the plan. I figger on cartin’ this stuff to the flivver now, fixin’ the wheel an’ tires, an’ headin’ out. I’ll leave the rest of this stuff right here--” he waved his hand at the tent--“because I’ll be comin’ back.”

“Where’s the gold?” Nick inquired.

Again the man looked at him sharply. Then he laughed.

“You interested in that, hey? Well, there she lays.” He pointed to a heavy box in the corner of the tent. It had a padlock thrust through two heavy staples.

“In there,” Allen went on. He walked to the box, knelt, and unlocked it. “Have a look!”

Nick bent over eagerly. Within the box were many bags, bulging with rock. Certain it was that they would be too many for one man to carry, at least without every one’s noticing it.

“We’ll divide ’em up an’ get goin’,” Allen stated. “I’ll take the wheel.” There was an auto wheel lying against the side of the tent, and he thrust his arm through the spokes. “Put the bags in your pockets--we don’t want the whole camp to know what we’re doin’.”

“Right.”

Nick lifted the bags gingerly, realizing that he held considerable wealth in his hands. When his pockets were filled, Allen took the rest.

“Suppose you get your bronc, now--I should of thought of that before,” Allen declared. “You get your bronc an’ meet me here. Then we’ll ride out to the flivver together. You got a gun? Yea, I see it. O. K!”

“Well, shall I take these things now?” Nick motioned to his pockets. “Wouldn’t it be better to leave ’em here till I get back?”

“Naw, take ’em along. You look honest enough.” Allen laughed, a trifle loudly. “I’ll wait here.”

Nick nodded, and left the tent. He felt uneasy with so much gold on him. But who knew he had it? Besides, there wasn’t any danger of a hold-up in broad daylight on the main street of the mining camp.

He reached the place where he had left his pony, and saw that the other broncos were already gone.

“Back to the shaft,” Nick thought. “The flivver is near there, so maybe I’ll meet ’em on the way.”

Allen was walking impatiently up and down before his tent when Nick returned. The puncher thought he detected relief on the big man’s face as he came into sight.

“Was he afraid I’d run away with the stuff?” Nick wondered. “Well, I can’t blame him for bein’ a bit nervous. I have about six thousand dollars’ worth of nuggets with me, I should say at a rough estimate.”

Allen mounted his own horse, and the two set out, side by side. They did not pass the miners, taking another route, with Allen leading. Nick wanted to ask him how he happened on the flivver, but he refrained. After all, it was none of his business.

The “Lizzie” was in a cleared space, just off the trail. As Nick looked down the road it had come, he easily understood how the wheel had become broken and the tires punctured.

“What did that fellow do--bring himself an’ nothin’ else?” Allen asked, as he dismounted.

“Well, we had planned to meet him here. We brought all the stuff on mules,” Nick explained. “That’s why there’s nothing in the flivver. Goin’ to get at that wheel now?”

“Soon as I get rid of this stuff. Here, put the bags in the back seat. Or wait, hand ’em to me.”

He reached out, and Nick deposited two of the bags in his large hand. Allen hefted them.

“There’s steak an’ lamb chops an’ clothes an’ plenty of shows right in this here bag,” he said musingly. “The old pay dirt!”

“You sure hit it,” Nick responded absently, bringing out another bag. “If I have half that luck I’ll be satisfied.”

“Well, we can’t all--” Allen stopped, and his fingers caressed the bag. A queer look came over his face.

“Hey, wait--” he began, and suddenly opened the bag. His eyes widened and an exclamation burst from his lips.

“Well, you double-crosser!” he roared. “Stick ’em up! Stick ’em up, quick!”

His gun was out and pointing at Nick’s forehead.

“You blamed double-crosser!” Allen shouted again.

“What the mischief--” Nick stuttered, his hands over his head. “What’s the idea? What’s the big idea?”

“I’ll show you what’s the idea!” Allen, his face contorted with rage, thrust the bag under Nick’s nose. “Look at that! Take a good look! Nothin’ but ordinary rock! Thought you’d get away with it, did you? Thought I’d find it out when I was on my way? You knew I was plannin’ to start now. You dirty double-crosser! An’ I thought you was honest! I trusted you!”

“Well, you’re barkin’ up a wrong tree now, mister!” Nick responded hotly. “Whatever’s in that bag you put in! I ain’t had it out of my pocket since you saw me put it in! An’ that’s straight!”

“Yea, a hot story that is! Know any more good jokes?” Allen paused and narrowed his eyes. “I reckon,” he said meaningly, “you know what happens to a thief in a mining camp?”

Nick did not reply. Suddenly the whole thing was plain to him. Allen had been waiting for this chance until a new man came into camp and he could work his little game. There was never any gold in the bags. But Allen had declared, before witnesses, that he had twelve thousand dollars’ worth. That would be good evidence before a jury of miners. Everything was in his favor and against Nick.

“Well, what you got to say?” Allen taunted. “What a fool you are to think you could get away with a thing like that! I sure gave you enough chance--you had the gold with you when you went to get your bronc. Plenty of chance to change it for rock. Maybe you thought I’d just toss these here bags in the car without lookin’, hey?”

Nick stared at him calmly.

“Allen,” he said, “it won’t go.”

“Huh?” Allen’s face grew red. “Won’t go? You’re blamed well right it won’t go! Where’s my gold?”

Nick, his hands still in the air, shrugged his shoulders.

“Do whatever you’re goin’ to do, an’ get it over with,” he answered briefly. “You know I ain’t got your gold--that there never was any gold in them bags.”

“Oh, I do, hey?” Allen sneered. “Well, I had two of the bags myself. You took most of ’em, because I had to carry the wheel. How come there’s gold in the ones I got?”

“Listen, Allen,” Nick said coldly. “I don’t know what you’re gettin’ at, but whatever it is let’s have it without wastin’ all this time. You figgered this thing out pretty good. When I went to get my bronc, you probably emptied the rock out of the bags you had an’ put some gold in, just enough to make it look real. Then, with me carryin’ these bags around, you figgered you had a good case against me--that I had time to take the gold an’ put rock in. That’s what you want other people to believe. Well, all right. Now what?”

Allen gazed at him for a moment. Then he smiled sarcastically.

“Great talker, ain’t you? We’ll see how much talkin’ you’ll do later on. Come on, now, get goin’!” His voice sharpened. “Get on your bronc an’ head back for camp!”

“To camp?”

“You heard me! An’ one break an’ I plugs you. Wait a second.” Allen leaned forward, pulled Nick’s gun from its holster and tossed it into the bushes. “All right! Get goin’!”

“Can’t figger this,” Nick muttered, getting on his pony. “Oh, you know blame well I won’t make no break. If you want to go back to camp, that’s up to you--only I don’t see what it’ll get you.”

“You don’t, hey?” Allen laughed shortly. “I know what it’ll get you--a rope around your neck!”

“Yea?”

The ponies moved off. Suddenly Allen, who was riding behind Nick, his gun still out, exclaimed:

“Listen, you! Hold up a minute.” He urged his pony forward and went close to Nick. “Now I ain’t a vindictive cuss,” he said softly. “All I want is my gold. It won’t do me no good to have you strung up. So--” he hesitated. Then: “I’ll give you a chance. I shouldn’t, but I will. By rights I ought to ride you in an’ let the boys at camp fit a necktie on to you. That’s what I ought to do. But I’ll give you a chance. You get my gold back from wherever you put it an’ we’ll call it off. You had about ten thousand dollars’ worth. You give me ten thousand in cash or in gold, an’ I’ll forget all about it. See?”

Like a flash Nick saw the game. Fool, fool that he was not to have caught on before! Framed! Framed as pretty as any one ever was!

As he thought of how he had fallen for the ruse, he laughed bitterly.

“You’re a clever guy, Allen,” he said. “Blamed clever. There’s one thing you overlooked. I haven’t got ten thousand dollars or ten thousand nickels, either. You crazy, or somethin’? Where’d I get ten thousand dollars?”

Allen shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s up to you. If you don’t want to give me my gold back, maybe your friends will lend you the money--to save you from hangin’. Those Manley boys can get the cash--an’ they will, too. It ain’t pleasant to see a pal doin’ a Black Bottom on a hunk of air.”

The blood rushed to Nick’s face.

“You dirty hound!” he gasped. “Blackmail! So that’s it! You did know your stuff after all, didn’t you? Had it all planned out! Well, by golly, you take me to camp an’ see how much good it’ll do you! Think you can convict me on your word alone? How can you prove there was gold in them bags?”

“Go easy on them names!” The eyes behind the gun narrowed. “You see, stranger, we don’t need much proof in this here camp. Four or five witnesses heard you offer to help me cart the gold. A friend of mine was standin’ outside my tent when you walked off with the bags. You didn’t see him, but he was there, sure enough. The boys around here are sort of hair-triggered. Man, I got enough proof to hang you ten times over!”

“Hey, what’s this talk about hangin’?”

Nick and Allen turned quickly at the sound of the voice. It was Bug Eye, and he had his pistol leveled straight at Allen’s heart.

“You drop that gun, bozo!” he said sharply. “Drop it quick!”