Shadow Mountain   By: Dane Coolidge (1873-1940)

SHADOW MOUNTAIN

BY

DANE COOLIDGE

AUTHOR OF THE DESERT TRAIL, ETC.

FRONTISPIECE BY

GEORGE W. GAGE

[Illustration]

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY

W. J. WATT & COMPANY

CONTENTS

Chapter Page I. The Last of Ten Thousand 1 II. The Shotgun Widow 10 III. The Shadow 22 IV. The Ghost Man 30 V. A Load of Buckshot 38 VI. All Crazy 48 VII. Between Friends 58 VIII. The Tip 68 IX. A Peace Talk 78 X. The Best Head in Town 89 XI. A Touch 98 XII. The Expert 106 XIII. A Sack of Cats 118 XIV. The Explosion 127 XV. The God of Ten Per Cent 135 XVI. A Showdown With the Widow 143 XVII. Peace and the Price 151 XVIII. On Christmas Day 160 XIX. The Enigma 170 XX. An Appeal To Charley 179 XXI. The Dragon's Teeth 187 XXII. Virginia Explains Nothing 196 XXIII. On Demand 204 XXIV. Double Trouble 214 XXV. Virginia Repents 223 XXVI. The Call 231 XXVII. The Thunder Clap 239 XXVIII. The Way Out 248 XXIX. Across Death Valley 259 XXX. An Evening With Socrates 269 XXXI. The Broken Trust 279 XXXII. A Huff 290 XXXIII. The Fiery Furnace 299 XXXIV. A Clean up 305

SHADOW MOUNTAIN

CHAPTER I

THE LAST OF TEN THOUSAND

Under the rim of Shadow Mountain, embraced like a pearl of great price by the curve of Bonanza Point and the mined out slope of Gold Hill, the deserted city of Keno lay brooding and silent in the sun. A dry, gusty wind, swooping down through the northern pass, slammed the great iron fire doors that hung creaking from the stone bank building, caught up a cloud of sand and dirt and, whirling it down past empty stores and assay offices, deposited it in the doorways of gambling houses and dance halls, long since abandoned to the rats. An old man, pottering about among the ruins, gathered up some broken boards and hobbled off; and once more Keno, the greatest gold camp the West has ever seen, sank back to silence and dreams.

A round of shots wakened the echoes of Shadow Mountain; a lonely miner came down the trail from Gold Hill, where in the old days the Paymaster had turned out its million a month; and then, far out across the floor of the desert on the road that led in from the railroad, there appeared an arrow point of dust. It grew to a racing streak of white, the distant purring of the motor gave way to a deep voiced thunder and as the powerful car glided swiftly up the street the doors of old houses opened unexpectedly and the last of ten thousand looked out.