Skeleton Lode (22 page)

Bowdre’s men looked at one another. They were going to have to split their forces or again risk losing their horses to the Apaches.

“Cass will decide who stays with the horses,” Osteen said grudgingly. “The rest of us will go look for the gold, wherever the search takes us. But if I got any say, them that ain’t got the sand to take a turn in the tunnel, they don’t share the gold.”

Yavapai and Sanchez said nothing, but their easygoing grins vanished. New battle lines were being drawn.

All Gary Davis and Cass Bowdre had in common was mutual distrust, so they rode south to Florence in virtual silence. Davis had made up his mind he would share only the cost of grub. The horses—or lack of them—were Bowdre’s problem. They were nearing the town when Bowdre finally spoke.

“I can inquire about the hosses, if you want to see to the grub.”

“No,” said Davis, TU go with you to see about the horses, and then we’ll both go for the grub. What’s the use of buyin’ anything until we have a pack mule? I’ll split the cost with you, if we can find one.” He wanted to make it clear he wouldn’t share the cost of the horses Bowdre needed and that he had no intention of paying for supplies for Bowdre’s outfit.

The livery owner was a thin old man named Boggs. He had watery blue eyes and an outward meekness that belied his inner strength.

“Sorry,” he said, in response to Bowdre’s inquiry. “No mules. I reckon I can spare you three horses. They ain’t prime, but they’re all I got, an’ they’re forty dollars apiece.”

“God Almighty!” Bowdre exploded, “That’s robbery. I didn’t come here to buy the damn livery.”

“You need horses, and I got horses to sell,” said Boggs, unperturbed. “Take ’em or leave ’em.”

“I’ll take ’em,” Bowdre huffed and followed Boggs to the barn.

Davis grinned at the sour expression on Bowdre’s face when he led the three animals out. There was a roan, a black, and a bay, and they all had some years on them. Having been a freighter, Davis was familiar with horses and mules used as pack animals, and he guessed these horses had been used to pack ore. Now they had been retired to whatever use could be made of them.

“Let’s ride on to Globe,” said Bowdre, stuffing the bills of sale into his pocket. “We can get grub there and we won’t have to pack it as far.”

Arlo and Kelsey spent the day in pain, for they had nothing to lessen it.

“I could slip into town after dark,” said Dallas, “and get some laudanum.”

“If we can make it till after dark,” Arlo said, “we can down that other quart of whiskey. It should make us sleep
the night, rid us of fever, and by tomorrow, have us on the mend.”

“It’s only midday,” said Kelly, “and Kelsey’s already feverish.”

“So am I,” Arlo said, “but let’s hold off on the whiskey. Since we have nothing for pain, it’ll be easier on us if we can sleep the night through.”

“I reckon we’d better stay in hiding,” said Dallas, “until you and Kelsey are well enough to continue the hunt for the mine. This is a hardcase bunch that took after you two, and by now they know we have a hidden camp. They’ll be back.”

“When they do return,” Arlo said, “I just hope they don’t come in through the passage from the bottom of the mountain.”

“Oh, Lord,” said Kelly, “they
could
.”

“They could,” Arlo said, “and eventually they will. They saw Kelsey and me run for the cavern, and from there we had nowhere else to go but back into the passage. They’ll know we have some knowledge of these tunnels beneath the mountains, and while they’ll have to move slowly, they’ll be coming after us.”

“I’m going to slow us down,” said Kelsey, awake now. “The rest of you should go on and look for the mine. Leave me here. I’ll have my pistol.”

“Let’s do this,” Dallas suggested. “Once the both of you are free of fever, Kelly and me can travel back down this passage to the foot of the mountain. From there, we can look into that other passage that angles off to the left, the one Hoss marked as safe. Since there’s a chance they’ll find this camp, we ought to be finding ourselves another.”

“Easier said than done,” Arlo said. “Even if you find an ideal camp down some other tunnel, we’ll have a pair of problems. We can’t take our horses and mules, and if we could, there’d be no graze. We need the little bit of grass we’re able to reach from here, but this bunch that’s after us will soon get wise to how we’re grazing our stock. All they’ll have to do is stake out the top of the
mountain until they see us taking our stock to and from grass.”

“Now that they have some idea where we are,” said Kelly, “they’ll just forget the map and spend their time looking for us.”

“That’s what I expect,” Arlo said. “I figure Davis has thrown in with this new bunch of coyotes, since Bollinger rode in shooting. I doubt that Davis has even told them he has a map, or what he thinks is half a map. I look for the whole bunch to come after us, because we’re able to find our way around in these tunnels. Davis may have convinced them we’ve already found the mine, or at least know where it is.”

“We have to buy ourselves a little time,” Dallas said. “At least until it’s safe for Kelsey to be up and around.”

By early afternoon the blue of the far western horizon had changed to a dirty gray, and the west wind had freshened. The sun set crimson behind a cloud bank, sending heavenward an aura that began as fuchsia, faded to pink, and finally became dusky rose. Far to the west, lightning did a brief dance and was gone. A roiling mass of thunderheads soon swallowed the sun, sweeping eastward before a rising wind.

Cass Bowdre and Gary Davis didn’t fare much better in Globe than in Florence. The town was smaller, and Bowdre had to do some searching to find even three horses. Again, prices were outrageously high—it rubbed him the wrong way to
buy
horses, anyhow. Cass Bowdre was accustomed to taking what he needed, when he needed it, but that nosy county sheriff knew Bowdre and his men were in the area. Being hanged for horse stealing would be a disgrace, since they were wanted for far more heinous crimes. Bowdre had found no mules for sale at any price, nor had he located a packsaddle. Their provisions had been gunnysacked and the necks of two sacks tied together, then roped to the backs of two horses.

“Storm comin’,” Bowdre observed as they rode west.
“You know of a camp with any shelter where we can watch the hosses?”

“No,” said Davis truthfully. “Yavapai and Sanchez knew the place where you stayed last night, but if they know of anything better, they’ve kept it from me.”

“I’ll have some words with that pair of varmints,” Bowdre said.

Davis said nothing, but he’d had his fill of Cass Bowdre. The man’s arrogance exceeded even Davis’s own, and Davis decided their alliance would be brief and volatile. While he doubted his own influence with Yavapai and Sanchez, it irked him to have Bowdre step in and start giving orders. Davis clenched and unclenched his big fists as he rode.
Somebody
had to lead this gold-hunting expedition. Perhaps it was time he, Gary Davis, challenged Cass Bowdre. However, Davis admitted, one wrong move on his part could turn every man against him. He would hold his peace until the odds favored him.

“Hell’s fire,” Pod Osteen observed, when Bowdre and Davis rode in, “I never seen a more scrubby-lookin’ bunch of cayuse. They look like they pulled a stage from Saint Loo to San Diego without a rest.”

“Well, by God,” Bowdre snarled, “you don’t like ’em, leave ’em alone.”

“Let’s pitch camp and eat,” Zondo said. “After that, you jaybirds can cut each other’s throats with dull knives for all I care. I’m half starved, and I ain’t waitin’ no longer.”

“Hey,” said Davis, “I got a man missing. Where’s Bollinger?”

“He be dead,” said Sanchez.

“Onliest one of your bunch with any sand,” said Pod Osteen, his eyes on Davis.

“Damn it!” Davis shouted. “I didn’t ask for a character reference. Can’t somebody just tell me what the hell happened to Bollinger?”

“What difference does it make?” Bowdre asked sarcastically. “It won’t make him any less dead.”

Gary Davis saw red. He brought his big right fist
around all the way from his boot tops. Bowdre was totally unprepared, and the blow caught him on the point of his chin. He went down on his back in a cloud of dust. Slowly he struggled to hands and knees, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Davis had backed away so that he faced them all, his right hand only inches from the butt of his Colt.

“I ain’t fist-fightin’ all of you at once,” Davis said, “and I ain’t riskin’ bein’ back-shot while me and this coyote are settlin’ our differences. Anybody else wants to buy in, do it now or stay out of it.”

Nobody made a move. Their eyes were on Cass Bowdre. Unsteadily he got to his feet, spitting blood. “Stay out of this,” he told them when he finally could speak. “I stomp my own snakes, and it’ll go hard on any one of you gettin’ between me and this damn fool.”

A cool wind swept through the canyon, and thunder rumbled closer. Davis waited, more sure of himself now that the threat of gunplay was past. Now, but for the questionable loyalty of Yavapai and Sanchez, he was alone. He must win acceptance if not respect, at least until they found the mine. The blow to the chin had temporarily stunned Bowdre, but by the time Davis had flung down the challenge to the rest of the men, Bowdre was ready. He came after Davis, his bloody lips making his wolfish grin all the more hideous.

Davis back-stepped to avoid Bowdre’s vicious right, moving under it with one of his own. But Bowdre was expecting that, and he countered the blow by seizing the arm and dragging Davis toward him. Bowdre brought up a hard-driving left knee, and Davis twisted away just enough to avoid taking it in his groin. Instead, it smashed into his thigh, numbing the leg and leaving him off balance. Bowdre’s left came streaking in, smashing Davis full on his right ear, driving him to his knees. Davis recovered barely in time to seize the booted foot aimed at his head. He twisted the foot savagely, and Bowdre cried out. Davis flung Bowdre away from him, and at that point the storm broke. The first wind-blown sheet of rain drenched them all. The rest of the men moved back into what shelter the mountain’s overhang afforded, leaving Bowdre and Davis in the driving rain and the mud. Bowdre was on hands and knees, Davis aiming a murderous kick at his head, when lightning struck a few yards away. A pinnacle of stone exploded and fragments were flung
everywhere. Some of the horses were pelted, screaming in pain as the men fought to hold them. Davis took a blast of the stone shrapnel in the seat of his pants. With a howl, he ran for the meager protection of the mountain’s overhang, where the rest of the men had taken refuge.

“Help me!” Bowdre cried. “Somebody help me!” He stood precariously on his left foot, eerily outlined as tongues of blue and green lightning licked down into the canyon. Night had come right on the heels of the storm, causing the darkness to seem all the more intense. Only Zondo Carp responded to Bowdre’s frantic plea, allowing the injured man to lean on him as they made their way out of the rain.

Thunder boomed, and as usual the mountains seemed to vibrate violently. Cool air swept into the cavern where Kelsey Logan slept while her companions listened to the storm.

“With the storm,” said Kelly, “maybe they’ll leave us alone tonight. Kelsey’s feverish and it’s getting worse.”

“I doubt we’ll be bothered tonight,” Arlo said. “The meaner the storm gets, the better it is for us. With this lightning, nothing but a damn fool would be out there on the top of a mountain. Dallas, get that second bottle of whiskey. I reckon it’s time for Kelsey and me to take our medicine.”

“God,” said Kelly, “just the smell of whiskey makes me sick. How can anybody drink it?”

“Aw,” Dallas joked, “this is some of the better stuff. Come out of a run that was aged nearly fifteen minutes.”

Arlo downed a slug of the whiskey. When his coughing and choking had subsided, he swallowed as much cold water as he could take. He had passed the bottle to Kelly, who was pouring some of the potent brew into a tin cup when Kelsey awakened. “I’m thirsty,” she said, “and it’s so hot in here, I feel like I’m being burned alive.”

“You have fever,” said Arlo. “Kelly’s fixing you some
whiskey. After you drink that, you can have all the water you want.”

“Maybe I ought to weaken it with water,” Kelly said. “It’s awful strong.”

“No,” said Kelsey. “Mix it with water, and there’ll just be more of it. Let me swallow it quick as I can and be done with it.”

“I’ll raise you up some,” Dallas said, “and Kelly will hold the cup. Try to keep it down. This is our last bottle of whiskey.”

“My God,” Kelsey sputtered, after the first sip, “it tastes like poison. I can’t do it.”

“It
is
poison,” said Arlo, “and you have to do it. It takes poison to kill poison, and that’s what infection is. Before the night’s done, you’ll be out of your head with fever. If you don’t take enough now to sweat out the fever, you’ll just have to take more later. Kelly, mix it half and half with water. It’s hell takin’ it straight.”

“All right,” Kelsey said, “I’ll do it. Somehow.” Little by little she swallowed the vile stuff, and since she wasn’t used to it, it quickly had the desired effect. She slept soundly. Despite his concern for Kelsey, Arlo slept too. Awakening much later, he found his face was sweaty. Dallas dozed, but Kelly was awake.