Ryan, Casey (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Western stories
"Casey Ryan, I have never had much reason for feeling gratitude toward a
man, but I am truly grateful to you. You are a man and a gentleman." The
little woman had driven close to the stone cabin and had turned and rested
her arm along the back of the front seat, half supporting the sleeping
child while she looked full at Casey. She had left the engine running,
probably for sake of the headlights, and her eyes shone dark and bright in
the crisp starlight.
"'Tain't worth mentionin'," Casey protested awkwardly, and got out.
"I've been wondering if I could get a couple of you men to do the work on
my claims," she went on. "I'm paying four dollars and board, and it would
be a great nuisance to make the long trip to town and find a couple of men
I would dare trust. In fact, it's going to be pretty hard for me to trust
any one, after this experience. If you men can take the time from your own
business--"
"I don't know about the rest," Casey hedged uncomfortably. "They was
figurin' on doing something else. But I guess I could finish up the work
for yuh, all right. How deep is your shaft?"
"It's a tunnel," she corrected. "My husband started four years ago to
drift in to the contact. He'd gone fifty feet when he died. I don't know
that I'll strike the body of ore when I do reach the contact, but it's the
only hope. I'm working the four claims as a group, and the tunnel is now
eighty feet. Those two brigands have wasted a month for me, or it would be
a hundred. One man can manage, though of course it's slower and harder. I
have powder enough, unless they stole it from me. They did about five feet
all told, and tore down part of my wall, I discovered to-day, chasing a
stringer of fairly rich ore, thinking, I suppose, that it would lead to a
pocket. The old man I had last year found a pocket of high grade that
netted me a thousand dollars."
Casey threw up his head. "Gold?" he asked.
"Mostly silver. I sent a truck out from town after the ore, shipped it by
express and still made a thousand dollars clear. There wasn't quite a ton
and a half of it, though. You'll come, then, and work for me? I wish you
could persuade one of your partners to help. It's getting well into
September already."
"I wouldn't depend on 'em," Casey demurred uncomfortably. "I can do it
alone. And I'll board m'self, if you'd ruther. I've got grub enough. I
guess I better be gittin' along back to camp--if you ain't afraid to stay
alone. Them two couldn't git back much b'fore daylight, if they run all
the way; and by that time I'll be up and on the lookout," and Casey swung
off without waiting for an answer.
CHAPTER XX
Casey was out of his blankets long before daylight the next morning and
sitting behind a bush on the ridge just back of the cabin, his rifle
across his knees. He hoped that his mention of three other men would
discourage those two from the attempt to revenge themselves, much as a
lone woman would tempt them. But he was not going to take any risk
whatever.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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