Skeleton Lode (34 page)

Juarez had no trouble following the tracks from Hoss Logan’s cabin to where Arlo and Dallas had picketed the horses and mules, but beyond that he found no trail. Angrily, he turned on Yavapai and Sanchez.

“Where they go?” he demanded.

Sanchez shrugged, pointing to the western flank of the Superstitions. Yavapai looked at Sanchez, and the two
suppressed grins. Domingo Vasquez had appointed this
bastardo
Juarez the
comandante
, so let Juarez decide what had become of their quarry and what he should do next.

“We look,” said Juarez, dismounting.

The rest of them dismounted, left their horses, and followed Juarez as he approached the foot of the mountain. They fought their way through catclaw, chaparral, and greasewood, only to find the mountain devoid of any crevice. They stumbled through one thorny thicket after another, carefully avoiding the jumping cactus that seemed eager to snag them. Juarez led them south along the foot of the mountain all the way to the Gila River, yet they found nothing. While Yavapai and Sanchez were amused, their grim-faced companions were not. They were openly hostile, and big Garcia Ruiz turned angrily on Juarez.

“We follow you for hours,” said Ruiz. “Where in hell you be going?”

“He look for stair steps up the mountain,” Pepino Frio said with a giggle.

Pepino had a nauseating high-pitched voice. Juan and Juno Ortega laughed, and Juarez thought better of the nasty response that was on the tip of his tongue. Finally he spoke, and his voice was deceptively mild.

“We go back to the horses.”

Juarez had no idea what he was looking for, beyond some kind of entry into what he believed was an impenetrable mountain. He dared not admit defeat, however, for he must somehow continue to pursue the riders they had been trailing. When Juarez and his weary comrades neared the area where they had left their horses, the day was already two-thirds spent. To a man, they were in a vile mood, casting killing looks at Juarez for having led them on such a wild goose chase. But the worst was yet to come.

“Oil in the lanterns is gettin’ low,” Arlo said, “and we’d best begin makin’ our way back to the outside.”

“Yeah,” said Dallas. “I reckon that wall along the other side of the river will still be there tomorrow.”

“Lord,” Kelly said, “I just want all this to be over and done. I can’t help believing we’ll spend another day searching that other wall, only to find that we’re still no closer to finding the gold.”

“I think this is the last stage of the search,” said Arlo. “If we come up dry after we’ve searched both sides of this river, it means we’ve overlooked something. We’ll have to backtrack.”

They retraced their steps, finding the cavern walls less and less promising as they neared the point where they would leave the river. Dallas was first through the aperture, and seeing nobody, he bid the others follow. They crept through the chaparral, trying not to leave tracks as they made their way to where they had left their horses and mules.

“Let’s ride back toward Phoenix a ways,” said Arlo, “before we return to the cabin. I reckon we can’t avoid leavin’ a trail back to it, but we won’t make it easy for anybody to learn who and where we are.”

It was their caution that led them to cross the tracks of the seven horses and five mules as they galloped toward town. Overlying the horse and mule tracks were many boot prints.

“Folks in the Superstitions have one hell of a time keepin’ track of their horses and mules,” Dallas observed.

“Whoever they are,” said Kelly, “I’m surprised they didn’t take ours.”

“They would have,” Arlo said, “if they’d been aware of them. This makes no sense at all. Not unless they lost their horses before they got close enough to discover ours. Since they didn’t take ours, that tells us something. They wouldn’t have seen us enter the mountain because we got here ahead of them, and they couldn’t have seen us leave, since they were after their horses before we came out.”

“They’re afoot,” noted Dallas. “Why don’t we catch up and see who they are?”

“Good thinking,” Arlo replied, “but we don’t know how long they’ve been gone or how near they are to town. Still, we’ll trail them for a while.”

“Madre de Dios!”
Ruiz shouted. “The horses be gone!”

His words froze the rest of them in their tracks, but only for a moment. They turned on the hapless Juarez, cursing him and his ancestors back three generations. Rarely did Juarez fear anything or anybody, but he was afraid now. His cutthroat companions were the kind who would not only blame him for their being afoot but exact cruel revenge. They would fight among themselves for the privilege of shooting him dead. But desperation overcame his fear, and he thought fast.

“The horses do not wander!” Juarez shouted. “Some
bastardos
have drive them away. See? There be tracks of
mulos
!”

Overlying the tracks of their horses were five sets of mule tracks, every horse galloping hard toward town. Their horses had been deliberately stolen, and that threw a different light on the situation. It was the only advantage Juarez had, and he seized it.

“We have our guns,” he shouted. “Let us find the
bastardos
that take our horses! Let us kill them!”

It was just the kind of brutal, bloody logic that appealed to them, and when Juarez took the trail on foot, the others eagerly followed, cursing loudly as they went. Once they were well out of sight, a horseman rode out of the chaparral a few hundred yards to the north. He rode a mule, leading a second mule and two horses. He dismounted, picketing the animals where Arlo and Dallas had previously left them. This done, he looked toward the west, where the disgruntled men had gone, and while he didn’t quite smile, there was a mischievous twinkle in his old eyes. And then he was gone, vanishing into a chaparral thicket toward the western foot of the forbidding Superstitions.

Juarez trudged on, oblivious to the cursing and the threats of his trailing companions. They were insignificant
as buffalo gnats compared to the probable wrath of old Domingo Vasquez. If seven horses showed up in town, saddled and riderless, the sheriff would be forced to investigate, and since the men left afoot were under the protective wing of Domingo Vasquez, it would undoubtedly raise questions that Señor Vasquez might find very difficult to answer. Besides, the town would laugh at these foolish
Mejicanos
who obviously couldn’t prevent their own horses from running away. But Sheriff Wheaton and Domingo Vasquez, they would not laugh. Juarez could see himself shamed and sent back across the border, where, by rope or by gun, he would die before sundown. He swallowed hard and walked faster.

Arlo led out, with Dallas, Kelly, and Kelsey following. Rather than keeping to the trail, they rode half a mile north, then west.

“Not much cover from here to town,” said Dallas. “If they’re watching their back trail they’ll know we’re after them. They could fan out and pick us off with rifles before we could get a shot away.”

“They could, but I don’t think so,” Arlo said. “I’d gamble that every man left his long gun in his saddle boot. Besides, bein’ afoot, all they’ll have on their minds is catchin’ their horses. I reckon they’ll try to do that before they get close to town. I figure there’ll be a hell of a fight, and I doubt that either side will want the sheriff involved. I’d like to know who all these hombres are, those who grabbed the horses, and the bunch left afoot. I’d say somethin’ downright weird is goin’ on.”

“I’d have to agree,” Dallas said, leaning down from his saddle for a closer look at the mule tracks. “Look at the stride of them mules and how shallow the tracks are. Those horses are being ridden, but I’d say the mules are all on lead ropes. I’m almighty curious as to what took place, and why.”

“I’m curious, myself,” said Arlo. “I think we’ll stay on the trail of this bunch that’s afoot until we know who
they are. I have a feeling that will answer some of our questions.”

Reaching the creek, Bowdre and his men dropped back, allowing the two extra horses and the mules to surge ahead. The pair of horses and the five mules hit the creek at a fast gallop, took the farthest bank, and continued on toward town. Bowdre and his companions kept their horses in the creek, following it northeast. Once they were well beyond the eastern rim of the Superstitions, they found a place where thick buffalo grass would hide their tracks, and there they left the creek.

“We’ll approach the mountains from the northeast,” said Bowdre. “We’ll keep to the grass and thickets until we reach the head of that canyon where the trail leads up to the east rim.”

They reached the trail without incident, and leading the reluctant horses, made their way up the hazardous cleft to the rim.

“Carp,” said Bowdre, “you and Ellerton go back down that canyon a ways, take some brush and drag out our tracks leadin’ up to that split in the wall. The rest of us will take the hosses on to our camp and get ’em out of sight.”

Once the horses had been taken to the new camp, Bowdre waited for Carp and Ellerton to return before assigning the next duty.

“We’re keepin’ a man on watch out here on the rim,” Bowdre said, “and Ellerton, we might as well start with you.”

“We got rid of that Mex bunch and throwed the mule drovers off our trail,” protested Ellerton, “so why in tarnation we got to stand out yonder on that damn rim and look at all the greasewood and chaparral thickets between here an’ Phoenix?”

“By God,” Bowdre glowered, “because I said so!”

Sullenly, Os Ellerton started down the passage toward the lookout point below the west rim. Zondo Carp turned on Bowdre.

“You’re about as sociable as a grizzly that’s been woke up in the dead of winter,” said Carp. “I don’t see nothin’ wrong with Ellerton’s question.”

“You wouldn’t,” Bowdre said. “You’re follerin’ Ellerton’s lead like a blind mule, with neither of you lookin’ or thinkin’ beyond the obvious. You
think
Wells and Holt are still holed up somewhere in the Superstitions.”

“Oh,” said Carp sarcastically, “and I reckon you don’t?”

“No,” Bowdre said, “I don’t. Remember that cabin near Saguaro Lake where we was refused grub and you tried to kick in the door? And that woman with her sick sister who told us to vamoose? I’m figurin’ them Logan women—old Logan’s kin—have throwed in with Wells and Holt, and they’re the ones holed up in that cabin. That day we was at the cabin, I’m figurin’, Wells and Holt was right here in these mountains, lookin’ for the Logan mine.”

“Kelly and Kelsey,” Gary Davis mumbled. He got to his feet, seizing Bowdre by his shirt front. “Kelly and Kelsey Logan,” Davis bawled.

“I’m gettin’ a mite tired of this,” said Sandoval, as he slugged Davis in the back of the head with the muzzle of his Colt.

“I reckon I see what you got in mind,” Zondo said. “If Wells and Holt ain’t camped here in the mountains, they’ll be ridin’ back to the cabin before sundown, and back here to the mountains in the morning.”

“That’s the idea,” said Bowdre, “but
where
they’re holed up ain’t really important. What
is
important is that if they’ve left the mountains, they ain’t searchin’ the passages. That means they know somethin’ we don’t. It also means they got to ride in every day to continue their search, and if we keep our eyes on them, they’ll lead us right to the gold, I’d bet my last
peso
them ugly
Mejicanos
that Yavapai and Sanchez has throwed in with has got the same idea.”

Two hours later, Os Ellerton entered the cavern and confirmed Bowdre’s suspicions.

“Four riders just loped out of the chaparral near the
foot of the mountain,” he reported. “I watched ’em until they come across the trail of our horses and them mules. They reined up, study in’ them tracks, and then, by God, the four of ’em struck off, follerin’ that trail.”

“That’s
what Yavapai, Sanchez, and that Mex bunch was doin’ out here,” figured Sandoval. “They trailed Wells and Holt.”

“I reckon they’ve narrowed down the search,” Carp said, “so’s they don’t have to stumble through every hole under these mountains. So why don’t we watch for ’em to ride in, and then follow ’em?”

“Oh, hell, Zondo,” Bowdre sighed, “use your head. They’ll get here long before first light, picket their hosses out in the brush, and give us the slip like they done that bunch Yavapai and Sanchez is with.”

“So Yavapai and Sanchez was followin’ tracks,” said Sandoval, “and after Wells and Holt left their horses at the foot of the mountain, they just disappeared.”

“That’s what I reckon,” Bowdre said. “I think them hombres was searchin’ along the foot of the mountain, and I don’t think they found anything. But there’s some-thin’ that don’t fit. Once that bunch found their hosses gone, why didn’t they take the four mounts that Wells, Holt, and the Logan women must have picketed down there? For sure, the four hosses wasn’t enough, but better than none.”

“Maybe Wells and Holt found a passage that’s big enough to take their horses in with ’em,” Three-Fingered Joe suggested.

“No way,” said Bowdre. “A hole that big, in the side of a mountain, and you think seven men could waste half a day and not find it?”

“This Wells and Holt are always three jumps ahead of us,” Sandoval cursed. “What are you aimin’ to do?”