Part 28 (1/2)
CHAPTER XXIII
DRUMMOND WEAVES A DREAM
Shortly after Jerkline Jo left the beauty parlor of Lucy Dalles, mischievously bent on giving Ragtown a harmless little shock, Al Drummond sidled up to the old prospector at the bar in the Palace Dance Hall.
”h.e.l.lo, old-timer,” he said with a cheerful smile. ”How's prospecting these days?”
The old desert rat fixed a filmy eye on him. ”Have a shot,” he invited with the suggestion of a thickening tongue.
”Thanks, old hoss. Don't care if I do. That is, if you'll have one with me.”
They drank, and Drummond promptly ordered another. A lowering of his left eyelid gave the bartender his instructions, and a sprinkling of powder found its way into the gla.s.s that was thumped before Basil Filer.
Not long after this he became agreeable to anything that Al Drummond might suggest. Al took him from place to place, always standing his share of the exorbitant prices demanded in Ragtown, and finally suggested that they try their marksmans.h.i.+p as a diversion.
”Good!” agreed Filer gutturally. ”Little girl, eh? Pretty!” He winked knowingly at Drummond. ”I wanta have talk with her. I know who she is. B'en trailin' her fer years. Le's go, pardner. You're goo'
scout. So'm I--hey?”
”You bet your sweet life you're a good scout! Come on--we'll have a time to-night.”
Drummond had previously sent a boy to Lucy with a note informing her that the come-on was about ripe for plucking, and telling her to put some one else in charge of the gallery and be in readiness. Lucy had sent out and found the man who at times relieved her, and when Drummond and the old gold-seeker lurched up she was free to act as the circ.u.mstances might demand.
The two men fired at the targets for a little, Filer failing to display the same wonderful marksmans.h.i.+p which he had done earlier in the evening. Eventually Lucy invited the two to go back into the little cabin in the rear of the gallery where she carried on her trifling domestic activities. Filer readily agreed to this, and presently the three were seated around a table in Lucy's cabin, with a coal-oil lamp on it, a deck of cards suggestively in evidence, and a bottle of precious brandy and gla.s.ses. Lucy had brought from San Francisco her leopard-skin rug, the overstuffed chairs, and her other extravagances in house furnis.h.i.+ngs. Their contrast with the new pine walls of the cabin produced an effect quite startling and bizarre. Basil Filer saw none of it, however. He became very drowsy when he was seated. Al Drummond winked at Lucy.
The girl shook her head, and presently, seeing that the prospector was almost asleep, leaned toward her fellow conspirator and whispered:
”Don't hurry about getting his roll. Try to liven him up and get him to talking. I'm curious. He's got something on his mind that may make that buckskin bag look like thirty cents.”
”Get the jack,” ordered Al. ”To-morrow he won't even remember he ever saw us. You're letting your story-telling instinct warp your judgment, Lucy. You're looking for mysteries. I'll get that roll right now.”
”No, leave it, Al, please! You can get it later, if I'm wrong. But I just feel that this old fella's got something locked up in his breast.
Rouse him and leave him to me. I'll make him talk. I'm sorry you doped him. You may have spoiled everything.”
At this instant she looked up to see the bleary old eyes fixed on her intently.
”Feeling better, Uncle?” she asked lightly. ”I've got some bromo-seltzer. I'll give you a shot; it will liven you up. Don't want to go down and out so early in the evening, old sport!”
”Desert girl, huh?” thickly muttered Basil Filer. ”Huh--I know somethin' 'bout you. You was found on the desert, wasn't ye--when you's li'l' girl--baby girl? I know. Can't fool o' Filer. B'en huntin' you f'r years.” He closed his eyes again, and his head sank forward on his breast.
Lucy shook him awake and prepared a dose of bromo-seltzer, which he readily drank at her command.
”How did you know about me, Uncle?” she asked. ”What you said is the truth. I was found on the desert here when I was a baby girl. But how did you know? Tell me all about it. Do you know my father's name?”
”Sure! Sure! Name was Len-Len-Len-Leonard Prince. You're Jean Prince. Len Prince was m' ol' pardner. I'm lookin'--lookin' for the claim Len Prince and me and The c.h.i.n.k found--and lost ag'in. Rich!
Yellow with gol'. You're Jean Prince--I know. I c'n prove it by your head. Tha's what I wanta see--yer head--down under the hair. That'll tell me you're Baby Jean Prince. Then I c'n find the gold.”
Lucy clutched Al Drummond's arm. ”Listen to him! Listen to him!” she breathed.
Hiram Hooker stood aghast in the entrance of the Palace Dance Hall.