Dead Warrior Read Free

hidden by this printer’s blunder, I had a vision of hundreds of others, all being trapped by the same curiosity.
    “For a last service to the people of Three Deuces,” I was then informed, “the
Democrat
breaks the secret of a fabulous treasure west across the Sliding Stone range and up the Powder Keg. Prompt action now will enable our citizens to reach this new mother lode before the rest of the world is aware of its existence.”
    By turning the broadside around again, I learned that “Prominent Citizens Make Plans for Immediate Departure.” I read the statements of well-known prospectors with growing astonishment.
    “Are these fellows really leaving?”
    Jackson looked at me indulgently. “You’ve never seen a town break up, but you’re about to. Have you come to the part where it says The Mayor declares his intention of resigning, feeling that he will no longer have a community to serve’?”
    “It won’t be official until I write it down in the book.” City Clerk Wheeler pushed back his chair. “Take my deal, Jim, while I go out to get a bottle and have supper sent in from the Chinaman’s. By the time we’ve eaten, we can get a pretty good idea of how things are moving.”
    As we stepped out in the street for the suggested tour ofinspection an hour and a half later, I could hear voices indicative of excitement. Most of them were coming from saloons, but by no means all. A storekeeper two doors down from city hall was moving things from his shop to an already half loaded wagon. There were other packers in sight, and people were hurrying back and forth, calling to them as well as each other.
    “Are you all set to go?” I heard one demand.
    “Nope,” he was answered, “but I will be by sunup.”
    All this shook my confidence. Yet it was when we filed into the Rinkatink Palace that I became convinced that the plan to assassinate Three Deuces would be successful. Our entrance was a moment of political triumph; or at least Dick’s entrance was.
    “There’s the guy who found out about it,” one miner shouted his welcome. “Here’s to good old Jackson!”
    “I’m buying for the square shooter who didn’t keep it to himself,” another announced with the solemn hospitality of half-seas over. “Give the other boys what they want, too.”
    “Your turn don’t come till the house has bought,” the barkeep said. He lowered his voice as he put the whiskey before us. “I ain’t askin’ what you’re figgerin’ on doin’, Dick, but let me know if you want my vote when we get to Powder Keg.”
    What I couldn’t get over was how delighted everybody was at the idea of moving. This wasn’t a wake for a dead town, it was a celebration of the one to come. The lid of human burdens was removed from all spirits, leaving them in a joyous state wherein the cares of the present were dropped and only confidence in a wonderful future remained.
    I only saw one person who showed disgruntlement over the wreck of the status quo. At the Bucket of Nuggets we found our way blocked by the massive figure of the town’sleading madam. The false front of her hennaed hair had slipped a little, but she was in good voice.
    “Dick Jackson,” she boomed, waving the glass in her hand for emphasis, “the bitch ain’t been whelped that’s low enough for you to be the son of.”
    “What have I done now, Jennie?” Dick wanted to know. “Have a drink with us while you tell me about it.”
    “Sure, I’ll drink with you; I ain’t got nothin’ against snakes.” Hangtown Jennie switched around to show the ample bustle of which Wheeler had made mention, and we followed it to the bar. “But just remember,” she warned, as she hooked her foot over the rail, “that I hate your guts for puttin’ me out of business.”
    “You’ll be opening at Powder Keg, won’t you?” Tom Cary asked while Dick was calling to the bartender.
    “Not till you get it built up I won’t,” she told him. “I’m too old to get a boot out of