Skeleton Lode (21 page)

“Now!” Arlo yelled. “Run!”

Kelsey ran, lead kicking up dust all around her. Arlo fired, spacing his six shots, buying Kelsey all the time he could. Then she was over the rim.
With any luck
, he thought,
the murderous coyotes will have to reload.
He wouldn’t have a better chance, and without sacrificing the time it would take to reload, he lit out toward the east rim after Kelsey. One of the gunmen cut down on him immediately, and the other two joined in. But Kelsey Logan made her presence felt. She spaced her shots as Arlo had done, and he quickly tumbled over the rim to join her. Kelsey was deftly reloading her Colt.

“Come on,” Arlo cried. “They’ll be cuttin’ down on us again before we reach bottom.”

Arlo reloaded as he slid down the steep trail. All too soon, their pursuers were blasting away from the rim. Arlo turned and fired three quick shots over their heads, driving them back for a moment. Then they rushed to the ledge and began the descent, throwing lead as they came. Arlo returned their fire until his Colt clicked on empty. He heard Kelsey shout and turned to face a new danger—three horsemen were galloping up the canyon—Bollinger, Yavapai, and Sanchez. Bollinger was firing not at Kelsey but at Arlo. Kelsey paused, firing twice, and the second shot ripped off Bollinger’s hat. The vengeful gunman then turned his fire on the girl.

“No, Kelsey,” Arlo shouted. “Run!”

Kelsey turned toward the mouth of the cavern through which the stream ran, Arlo right behind her. Suddenly she seemed to stumble, the force of the lead driving her backward into Arlo. His own Colt empty, Arlo snatched Kelsey’s from her limp fingers. His left arm supporting Kelsey Logan’s dead weight, Arlo shot Bollinger out of the saddle in his fury. The trio of gunmen coming down the mountain were closer, and Arlo almost fell as a slug tore through the inside of his right thigh. Praying for a miracle, he gathered the unconscious Kelsey in his arms and ran. For a frightening second, he saw that the entire left side of her shirt was soaked with blood.

He slipped in the mud outside the cavern’s mouth, and that misstep was what saved him. A slug tore across his scalp just above his left ear, and others slammed into the side of the passage inches from his head. Dizzy, his head pounding, he stumbled into the welcome dark of the mountain. He paused only a moment to catch his breath before pressing on into the blackness of the passage that would take them back to the safety of their camp. He made it past the point in the tunnel where the water cascaded down, then paused, exhausted. Kelsey hadn’t made a sound.

“Kelsey,” he cried. “Kelsey!”

But in the blackness of the passage there were only the lonely sounds of dripping water and Kelsey’s ragged
breathing. His right arm was under her arms, and he could feel her blood soaking the sleeve of his shirt.

“You bastards,” he sobbed. “You murdering bastards!”

Arlo stumbled on, dizzy from the lead that had creased his skull, feeling the blood from the wound in his thigh squishing in his boot. He could hear shouting somewhere behind him. If they took the time to get a light and had the nerve to follow, all was lost.

Dallas and Kelly hurried down the passage that would eventually take them to the foot of the mountain and to the route they expected Arlo and Kelsey to use. Kelly had brought a couple of blankets, not knowing what difficulty they might encounter. With Dallas in the lead, they reached the point where they had to drop to hands and knees. They were near the end of the cramped passage when Dallas paused.

“Hold it,” he whispered. “Somebody’s comin’. Here, take the light.”

But the light had been seen.

Arlo called, breathing hard. “Dallas? Kelly?”

“Arlo,” Dallas cried, “we’re here. What’s happened?”

“Kelsey’s hurt,” said Arlo, his voice trembling. “Hit hard, bleedin’ bad.”

As Kelly spread the blankets on the stone floor, Arlo eased Kelsey down. Kelly cried at the sight of her sister’s blood-soaked shirt. Before their eyes, new blood began soaking the blankets. Every minute counted now.

“Kelly,” Dallas said, “you take the torch and lead the way. Arlo and me will have to work her through that narrow passage a little at a time.”

On hands and knees, Dallas backed into the passage, gripping the foot of Kelsey’s blanket bed. Arlo took her head, and they lifted her just enough to clear the stone floor. It was impossible to crawl without using their hands for support, and they were forced to move Kelsey only as far as Arlo could reach. While it took them only a few minutes, it seemed like hours before they were able to stand. Arlo hunkered down to gather up Kelsey, but he was unable to. He went to his knees.

“You’ll … have to take her, Dallas,” he said. “I took a slug … in the thigh, and it’s … givin’ me hell.”

Kelly took the lead, carrying the torch, while Dallas followed with Kelsey and Arlo limped along behind. When they reached the cavern that was their camp, Kelly stirred up the fire so they had light. She then set the iron spider in place and hung a pot of water to boil. Turning to the wounded Kelsey, she flung the blankets aside and began unbuttoning the girl’s shirt.

“We’ll go … back into the passage,” panted Dallas, “while you … see to her.”

“You’ll stay right where you are,” Kelly said. “I’ve never seen a gunshot wound in my life, and I don’t know what to do. I’ll need you, and I don’t intend to swap my sister’s modesty for her life. Arlo’s been hit too. Get those britches off, cowboy, and try to stop the bleeding. It won’t help Kelsey, you standing there bleeding to death.”

Arlo stood there in his shirttail, feeling foolish, thankful there were no holes in his drawers. Dallas cut a strip from a blanket and tied the cloth tight around Arlo’s thigh, above the wound.

“Didn’t hurt the bone,” said Dallas, “but you’ve been bleedin’ like a stuck hog. Kelsey is the one we have to worry about.”

“My God, yes,” Kelly said. “Come look at this wound.”

She had stripped away the bloody shirt and pulled Kelsey’s Levi’s down to her knees. Kelly had washed away the blood, revealing the wound in the girl’s left side. It was angry purple, and blood still oozed from it. Arlo limped over to Kelsey and got down beside her.

“One of you take her shoulders and raise her up,” he said. “It looks bad, but sometimes where the lead comes out is more important than where it went in. It can hit a rib and be driven away from the vitals, or worse, it can be driven right into them.”

Kelly lifted Kelsey enough for Arlo to look for an exit wound. With a sigh of relief, he found it.

“The slug went on through,” said Arlo, “but it tore a
mean hole on its way out. We’ll have to wrap her in all the blankets to keep her warm, but the biggest danger will be infection. I think we can handle that, with the two quarts of whiskey we have. We’ll know by this time tomorrow. If she worsens, we’ll either get her to a doc, or bring one to her. Dallas, bring me a quart of that red-eye.”

At that point, Kelsey opened her eyes. “R. J. Bollinger,” she gasped. “He … shot me.”

“And I shot him,” said Arlo. “With your pistol. Mine was empty.”

“How bad … am I?”

“You’re hurt some,” Arlo said, “and you’ll be sore as hell for a while, but the slug went on through. I reckon you have a loose rib or two, because of the way the lead angled out. We’re going to pour some whiskey into the wound and then bind it well. Sometime tonight, you’ll have a fever, and you may have to drink half a quart of the whiskey. It’ll sweat the fever and infection out of you. If that fails—and I don’t expect it to—we’ll take you to a doc.”

“I’m not much good… in a gunfight,” she said. “I … I’m sorry.”

“The hell you aren’t!” said Arlo. “By the time I saw Bollinger comin’, my Colt was empty. If you hadn’t drawn his fire, he’d have shot me dead before I could have reloaded. He did get one slug in my thigh, though. That’s why my britches are off. I don’t usually hunker down next to a female in my drawers.”

She tried to laugh, but it trailed off into a groan of pain. Dallas handed Arlo the whiskey bottle while Kelly busily ripped what was once a petticoat into bandages.

“Was that mine or yours?” Kelsey asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Kelly, “but in Arizona I reckon bandages are more useful than fancy female underwear.”

“By God,” Dallas said, delighted, “she’s got the hang of it!”

“Kelly,” said Arlo, “make me a thick pad of … whatever it was. I’ll soak it with whiskey and place it over the
wound where the slug came out. And then I’ll need a second bandage to cover the original wound.”

He poured the potent brew into the wound, and Kelsey gasped.

“Now,” Arlo said, “raise her up, so I can cover the exit wound.”

Arlo soaked the makeshift pad with whiskey, and when Kelly lifted Kelsey high enough, he placed the pad over the wound where the lead had torn its way out.

“Bring me the second pad,” said Arlo.

He placed the second pad over the entry wound and soaked the cloth with whiskey. He then returned the two-thirds empty bottle to Dallas.

“Now, Kelly,” he said, “bring me some long strips that’ll reach all the way around here, so I can bind these pads in place.”

Kelly brought the strips, then lifted Kelsey again, allowing Arlo to pass the strips around her middle, securing the pads. Kelly then brought all the blankets they had, tugged off Kelsey’s boots, removed her Levi’s, and rolled her naked into the mass of heavy wool blankets. Arlo leaned forward and kissed Kelsey on her pale cheek. Already her skin felt dry and feverish.

“Thank you,” said Kelsey, “but you’ve been shot too. You should have let Dallas and Kelly do for me.”

“Couldn’t do that,” Arlo said. “I have a personal interest in you, and I want you around to live up to that promise.”

“Kelly,” said Dallas, “there’s things we ain’t bein’ told.”

“There’s things you never
will
be told,” Arlo said. “Now bring me that bottle of whiskey, else I’ll have some infection of my own. I could live with the pain, but not without the leg.”

“I’ll see to your wound,” said Kelly, “unless you’d rather do it yourself or have Dallas do it.”

“You do it,” Arlo said. “Dallas is likely to get nervous, me and him havin’ been pards for so long. I just ain’t comfortable, standin’ around nine-tenths naked.”

“Be thankful you weren’t hit higher up,” said Kelly. “You might have lost more than blood, and you wouldn’t even be wearing your drawers. Hand me the rest of that whiskey, put your head on your saddle, and stretch out that leg. Dallas, make yourself useful. Bring me the pot with the rest of the hot water.”

Dallas and Arlo watched admiringly as Kelly cleaned Arlo’s wound, applied the whiskey, and tied the pads in place. She had cleaned and bandaged Arlo’s wound as efficiently as he had seen to Kelsey’s.

“Kelly,” Dallas said, “you’ve just learned half of everything a Western woman needs to know.”

“Oh?” said Kelly, suspiciously, “what’s the other half?”

“Removin’ Injun arrows,” Dallas said.

“Save the rest of the lesson for the next Indian attack,” said Kelly. “I’ve learned enough for today.”

Pod Osteen, Joe Dimler, and Zondo Carp stood looking at the lifeless body of R. J. Bollinger. Yavapai and Sanchez had reined in their horses a few yards away. Yavapai had caught Bollinger’s horse before it could run. Osteen spoke to the Mexican riders.

“I reckon you
Mejicanos
know that pair we chased off the mountain. Who are they?”

“Señor Wells,” said Sanchez, “and one of the
señoritas
that be lost in the mountain after the fight with the
Indios
.”

“There ain’t nobody been swallowed by that damn mountain,” Osteen said. “Can’t you see that? This Wells and Holt grabbed the Logan women while the rest of you were being attacked by the Apaches.”

“This pair we was shootin’ at sure wasn’t afraid of that mountain and its tunnels,” insisted Zondo. “They got Logan’s old Injun with ’em, and they’re holed up in the belly of one of these mountains.”

“That makes more sense than anything I’ve heard since we rode into this place,” said Three-Fingered Joe, “but I still ain’t wantin’ to go wanderin’ through the guts
of these mountains in the dark. I say we wait for Cass and tell him what we stumbled onto.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Zondo answered. “Whatever we do, let’s do it together. If we got to search these tunnels, then let it be all of us, with loaded guns and plenty of light.”

“By God,” said Osteen, “it’s about
time
you gents seen what’s got to be done. We ain’t goin’ to find rich claims layin’ out in some open canyon. So what if this Wells and Holt are guided by some old Injun? Ain’t we got a pair of Mex guides that knows these mountains?”

“We know the outside of these mountains, Señor,” said Sanchez, “but not their bellies, where the Thunder God lives.”

“So you ain’t goin’ in the tunnels with us,” Osteen mocked. “Why’n hell do we need you
pelados
? That’s a question I aim to put to Bowdre when he gets back.”

“Señor Bowdre be gone for horses,” said Sanchez, with his infuriating grin. “When each of you are in the belly of the mountain, per’ap you take your horse with you.
Indios
have take them before, no?”