Hard Money by Luke; Short Read Free Book Online

repeated firmly. “And I’ve got to have it before the night stage.”
    Seay’s eyebrows raised a little. “Someone leaving?”
    Sharon nodded imperceptibly, and Seay rose. “All right. I’m going over to Tronah. I’ll go with you to see this person,” he said, his eyes steady and watchful.
    Sharon made an involuntary movement of protest, and then she knew she was trapped. “I lied,” she said stubbornly. “Nobody is leaving. It’s for an order that has to go out on the night stage.”
    â€œAh,” Seay said quietly. “Now we’re down to it. An order for what?”
    Sharon raised her furious gaze to his. “You didn’t believe me?”
    â€œI don’t believe you know anyone in need,” Seay said frankly. “You’d avoid knowing them. An order for what?”
    â€œChampagne!” Sharon said sharply, stamping her foot. “There, you know it! Maizie Comber’s husband has refused to pay for the champagne Maizie must order for a party. He’s threatening to make her serve rye whisky. I offered to lend her the money!” Her eyes were blazing. “Is there anything criminal in that? Trying to help a friend?”
    Seay shook his head and said gently, “It’s no dice. No, you can’t have the money. And good night, Miss Bonal.”
    â€œBut I promised her!” Sharon said angrily, rising. A note of pleading now mingled with the exasperation in her voice.
    Seay looked long at her, his fist clenching unconsciously. Impulsively, he reached over and flipped open the top of the cashbox.
    â€œMaybe I’m a little unreasonable,” he drawled softly, pointing to the neat stacks of ragged bank notes in the box. “There’s a little over twenty-five hundred dollars in that box. We meet a pay roll of four thousand tomorrow. Your father’s in Mexico City. My job is to drive this tunnel through, and that’s all the money he left me to do it with.” His hand dropped to his side. “Maybe you can tell me how I’ll meet the pay roll this week, let alone next week. Maybe—” and his voice carried the overtones of savage scorn—“you’d like to lend me two thousand dollars from your allowance, so I can meet the pay roll.”
    Sharon felt her face go hot.
    â€œMaybe,” Seay went on brutally, “it won’t do any good. Maybe Bonal’s whole scheme will cave in on him.” He finished bluntly, “Times like this, I hope it does. You might find then how easy it is to pour a man’s blood and bones and soul down the throats of your friends, and still have them call it champagne.”
    Sharon brushed past him to the door and was almost through it when she stopped and turned. “It might be a good idea for you to leave, Mr. Seay. Father will be in San Francisco tomorrow, and I’m going to the telegraph station now.”
    â€œYes, it might be a good idea,” Seay conceded. He heard her go out, heard the murmur of voices, and then the trotting of a team of horses which was soon blotted out by the deep silence of the room.
    Seay looked down and found that his fists were clenched, and he unfisted them, his gaze on the box. Slowly, reason took over his brain again, and the anger died, leaving only a rooted contempt for this woman. Striding over to the desk, he looked down at the cash-box. He thought he understood Bonal now, and there was anger toward him. Bonal had succeeded thus far by hiring men and sucking them dry, by placing on their shoulders a burden whose enormity crushed them. Like this, here, now, before him. All that held Bonal’s tunnel scheme together now was himself, Phil Seay, a gambler, a stubborn man, a new man, and he had something less than twenty-four hours in which to effect a way. Bonal, with that shrewd and ruthless judgment that could gauge to a nicety that precise mixture of vanity and pride and ability that drove a