Skeleton Lode (31 page)

“Por Dios,”
Yavapai replied. “We do not know they have find this gold, or if they do, where it be.”

“Por El Diablo’s cuernos.”
Sanchez chuckled. “You know this and I know this, but the Señor Domingo Vasquez, he not know.”

“Madre de Dios,”
said Yavapai in awe. “We double-cross the Señor Vasquez, we meet
El Diablo muy pronto.”

“Only if he find us,
amigo
,” Sanchez said.

* * *

Cass Bowdre and his men rode through the night, and having been afoot already for two days, nobody complained about the lack of saddles. Or even about the mules, to which none of them were accustomed. Lightning flared in the west and there was a distant rumbling of thunder.

“Storm on the way,” said Bowdre. “I never seen this much rain in this part of the country, but it’ll save our hides. Come mornin’ there won’t be a mule track nowhere.”

“I reckon you’ve noticed that all these big brutes is trail-branded,” Sandoval said, “and we got no bills of sale.”

“No help for that,” said Bowdre, “unless you’re satisfied to stay afoot.”

“Hell,” Carp said, “the drovers will round up the mules they can find, and just move on. Who’s goin’ to accuse us? So what if these big varmints is branded? We found ’em all runnin’ loose. Besides, soon as I can get me an honest-to-God horse, they can have this Missouri jack. He beats walkin’, but not by much.”

“It be better when we gits our saddles,” said Mose Fowler.

“If they’re still there,” Os Ellerton said.

“They’ll be there,” said Bowdre sourly. “What use would Injuns have for saddles?”

“But we’re still needin’ grub,” said Three-Fingered Joe. “Why don’t we hole up close to Tortilla Flat, and load up with grub in the mornin’?”

“Because the last damn thing we need is to have somebody remember us and the brands on these mules,” Bowdre said. “We’ll ride back to the Superstitions, let the rain hide our trail, and later on, one of us can ride out for grub. One man and one mule won’t be as obvious as six of each.”

Darkness was only minutes away when Arlo and Dallas arrived at Hoss Logan’s cabin.

“My God, are we glad to see you!” Kelly cried, swinging wide the door.

“No gladder than we are to be here,” said Dallas, his eyes fixing on the bullet holes in the door. “What happened?”

Quickly Kelly told him of the arrival of Cass Bowdre and his men.

“They didn’t catch up to Yavapai and Sanchez, then,” said Arlo.

“Come mornin’,” Dallas added, “it means somebody’s likely to be missin’ some horses. That bunch has had a hell of a hike.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Kelly. “Yavapai and Sanchez had eight horses, but only six men showed up here, and Gary Davis wasn’t one of them. What happened to the other man and to Davis?”

“That’s something we may never know,” answered Arlo. “Dallas and me didn’t accomplish a thing today except to find a way in and out. Now that we can reach that underground river without going through the mountain and down the bluff, I want to spend every day looking for the gold.”

“The two of you have accomplished more today than any day since we started out,” said Kelsey. “I don’t see that as a day wasted.”

“Neitiier do I,” Kelly added, “and I’m just so glad we may be reaching the end of this ordeal.”

It was dark in the cabin, and not until Kelsey lit a lamp did she see the livid bruise on Arlo’s temple.

“I was afraid without knowing why,” said Kelsey, “and I still have a bad feeling about all this.”

“Whatever final message Hoss left us,” Arlo said, “I believe we’ll find it somewhere along this wild river. Tomorrow I want us to go in there and begin looking for that sign.”

Far in the night they were awakened by the crash of thunder and the sound of hard rain slashing the cabin.

* * *

“Lawd,” said Mose, “I hopes them bones don’t be walkin’ again.”

Lightning sliced through the darkness and the driving rain, and suddenly they saw an apparition stumbling down the canyon toward them that was far more unnerving than the skeletons had been. Gary Davis shambled along as though his feet had a mind of their own, while his mind knew nothing of the ultimate destination. Mose Fowler buried his face in his hat, refusing to look.

“Davis!” Bowdre shouted.

It had no effect. Davis kept coming, seeming not to even notice the six mounted men. Bowdre dismounted and caught him by the arm, and then the man just seemed to explode. With a single wild punch, he felled Bowdre, then threw himself at the still-mounted Zondo Carp. Zondo came off the mule and the two of them went down in a tangle, Davis screeching like a madman. Bowdre recovered and joined the fray, along with Three-Fingered Joe and Os Ellerton, but it was Sandoval who ended it. Drawing his Colt and taking advantage of the next flare of lightning, he slugged Davis unconscious.

“My God,” Carp gasped, “he’s plumb crazy and stronger than a bull.”

“A couple of you tote him up under the overhang,” said Bowdre. “If this madness ain’t permanent, I’d like to know where he’s been.”

“We gonna risk a fire?” Three-Fingered Joe asked.

“No,” said Bowdre. “With no coffee and no grub, why should we?”

Carp and Sandoval carried the unconscious Davis to the protection of the mountain’s overhang.

“Our saddles still be here,” Mose Fowler observed.

But nobody seemed to hear him, for they had gathered around Gary Davis, prepared to resume the battle if they had to.

“Hey,” said Sandoval, “he’s got somethin’ in his hand.”

Bowdre took Davis’s big right fist and forced the clenched fingers apart. Zondo Carp turned his back to the wind, lit a match, and cupped it in his hands. The
crumbled object in Bowdre’s hand gleamed dull yellow in the feeble light of the match. As small a sample as it was, every man knew what he was seeing, yet not one of them could believe his eyes. It was gold ore. Fabulously rich gold ore!

“By God,” Sandoval breathed, “he’s found the gold!”

“Looks like it,” said Bowdre. “Let’s hope he don’t go loon crazy again when he comes out of it.”

But the blow to his head seemed to have brought Davis to his senses. He groaned and tried to sit up.

“Stay where you are, Davis,” Bowdre said. “Can you tell us what happened to you?”

“No,” Davis mumbled, and they waited impatiently for him to speak again. “Somethin’ hit me,” he finally said.

“You didn’t see anything? Anybody?” Bowdre asked.

“No,” said Davis. “I woke up … in the dark. There was a … a canteen, and I … drank. Water tasted … funny …”

“Hell’s fire,” Sandoval shouted, “you been gone three damn days. You must of seen somethin’ or somebody!”

“No,” said Davis weakly. “Nothing … nobody …”

“We come up on you in the canyon,” Bowdre said, “and you was wild as a cougar. Like to of busted my jaw. And this is what we found clenched in your fist. Now where did you get it?”

Bowdre held out his hand with the gold ore, and again Davis went crazy. It took four of them to subdue him, and even when they finally had him flat on his back and helpless, he snarled at them like a cornered lobo wolf.

“It’s mine,” he howled. “Mine!”

“It’s just a handful of ore,” said Bowdre, “worthless unless you know where it came from. Where? Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know,” Davis bawled, his mood changing. “I swear I don’t know!”

“Lawd God,” breathed Mose Fowler in awe. “He find the gold, but lose his soul to the spirits in the mountain.”

Nobody disagreed, or even laughed. They were seeing
frightful evidence of a thing they didn’t understand; and it had a sobering effect. Had Gary Davis swapped his very sanity for a fistful of gold ore?

“I ain’t a superstitious man,” said Zondo Carp, “but there’s somethin’ purely unnatural about this. Where’n hell do we go from here?”

“We wait for mornin’,” Bowdre said. “Two things we’re sure of. We know there’s gold, and we know Davis has been near enough to grab a handful of ore. In the daylight maybe he’ll come to his senses and remember where he got it.”

“If he comes to his senses and remembers anything,” said Os Ellerton, “he ain’t gonna cut us in. Not the way he fought over that handful of ore he brung out. You’re all fools if you expect him to share with us.”

“Oh, he’ll share with us,” Bowdre said, “alive or dead. The choice will be his.”

Domingo Vasquez was a fat cigar-smoking little man who dressed like a beggar. For all practical purposes, his only interest was his little cantina in the Mexican quarter. But things were not always as they seemed, for Vasquez was the silent partner in every successful saloon and whorehouse in the quarter. All these questionable enterprises lived or died by his favor. When there was a crime serious enough to involve the law. Sheriff Wheaton never bothered to search for the culprit. Instead, the sheriff went to Domingo Vasquez, and the problem was resolved quietly. The troublemaker was never seen or heard from again, having disappeared voluntarily or otherwise. While some of the “citizens” of the quarter were of questionable reputation, they were all in the employ of Domingo Vasquez and so enjoyed a measure of protection. It was just such a status that Yavapai and Sanchez sought. But in his dingy office behind the cantina, Vasquez eyed the pair skeptically.

“So the hombres who seek the gold drive you away,” said Domingo, “and while you are running for your lives,
Indios
take your horses and your clothes.”

“Si,”
said Yavapai and Sanchez in a single voice.

“So the pair of you sneak into town like coyotes and rob a poor
señora’s
clothesline. You have vexed my friend the sheriff, made
asnos
of yourselves, and now you are expecting me to take you in.”

“Si.”
said the humble duo, “but we do much in return.”

“Let us see if what you do includes the telling of the truth!” Domingo roared. Leaning across the desk, he reached one big hand for Yavapai and the other for Sanchez. Taking a fistful of each man’s shirt, he dragged them halfway across the desk. “Coyotes,” he growled. “
Desnudo bastardos!
I believe the
Indios
take your clothes and your horses, but I also believe there is more. Why do these hombres chase you away from the mountains? The truth,
cucaraches
, the truth!”

“Si,”
said Sanchez unhappily, “the truth.” He wiped sweat from his face on the sleeve of his borrowed shirt.

“We steal all the horses,” Yavapai said fearfully, “and these hombres follow. We do not run to the south, for there the sheriffs misunderstand us. We must ride to the north, and there be
Indios.
”

Domingo Vasquez flung the cowering pair back into their chairs with a crash. He then flattened his big hands on the desk and roared with laughter. Yavapai and Sanchez had finally begun to breathe again when he spoke.

“You will take the room at the head of the stairs.” On a sheet of paper he wrote rapidly in Spanish, signed his name, and passed the message to Sanchez. “Take that to the general store and buy for yourselves clothing, boots, guns, and ammunition. When you have done these things, we will talk again.”

“Horses,” Yavapai began. “We be without …”

“Por Dios,”
Domingo roared. “They will be at the livery when you have need of them.”

“The
señor
sheriff,” said Sanchez. “Per’ap he wonder …”

“I talk to the sheriff,” Domingo said impatiently.
“Now vamoose, and from this very
momento
, the pair of you will do nothing until I have ordered it.
Comprender
?” He passed the flat of his hand across his throat like the blade of a knife.

Yavapai and Sanchez swallowed hard.
“Si,”
they said in a single voice.
“Comprender.”

Arlo, Dallas, Kelly, and Kelsey rode out at first light, bound for the newly discovered entrance to the Superstitions.

“Because of last night’s rain, we’re leavin’ tracks,” said Arlo, “but there shouldn’t be anybody to follow us.”

“Let’s not count on that,” Dallas warned. “Since we’re not going in through the mountain, why don’t we leave our horses a good distance away? It’ll mean some walkin’, just gettin’ to the mountain, but it’s better than givin’ away all that we’ve worked so hard to find.”

“I’m glad we have the lanterns,” said Kelly. “We’ll need the extra light.”

“That could become a problem,” Arlo observed, “if those other hombres follow the passage to that drop-off overlooking the river. It’s so dark in there, even the flames from these lanterns can be seen from a long way off.”

“As of yesterday morning,” said Kelsey, “six of them were on foot. It’s hard to believe they’d go back to the Superstitions without horses, even to look for gold.”

“They’ll need grub, too,” Dallas said. “I can’t see Yavapai and Sanchez taking all the horses and leaving the provisions behind.”