Skeleton Lode (15 page)

The Apache who had made the discovery leaned close,
as though listening to Kelsey’s heartbeat, but in reality listening to the ticking of the watch. When he backed away, another Indian took his place. Once they had withdrawn enough for her to do so, Kelsey pursued her small advantage. She snapped open the watch case, revealing the face of the instrument along with the old photograph of Kelly and herself. Again the Apaches crowded close. It was almost comical, the way they looked from the photograph to the girls and then back to the photograph. They talked among themselves, and while their captives understood not a word, they began to breathe easier. The Indians had clearly made a connection between the girls and Hoss Logan’s watch. Then, without a word or a backward glance, they were gone.

“Well,” said Dallas, finally, “now we know why Paiute left us the watch.”

“Yes,” Arlo said, “and we’ve learned something more about Hoss. He didn’t spend all those years in these mountains without some understanding with the Apaches. Whatever his medicine was, it’s strong enough to reach beyond the grave to protect Kelly and Kelsey.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or insulted,” said Kelsey, pulling the ruined shirt together. “When he ripped my shirt open, none of them had the slightest interest in anything except Uncle Henry’s watch.”

“Don’t feel too let down,” Kelly said. “This pair of cowboys did enough looking for every Indian in Arizona, and they weren’t looking at Uncle Henry’s watch. You’ve had your turn. Now let me wear it a while.”

“I’ll trade it to you for your shirt,” said Kelsey. “Mine has no buttons now.”

“These thorns are like needles,” Arlo said. “Take some of them and fasten your shirt together. They’ll hold until we get back to camp, and then I’ll let you have an extra shirt of mine. Now let’s move on to that mountain and find some water.”

Yavapai and Sanchez led the way, with Davis, Rust, and Bollinger following close behind. The going got so bad at times that the men were forced to dismount and lead their horses and the pack mule.

“Dammit,” Bollinger complained, “there oughta be some better way of gettin’ there.”

“Per’ap there be,” said Sanchez cheerfully, “and you be welcome to look for it, Señor Bollinger.”

“Is that the one?” Davis asked, pointing toward a peak ahead of them.

“No,” said Yavapai. “That be what is call Weaver’s Needle. We not go so far.”

The mountain they sought, when they reached it, looked far less imposing than the one they’d just left. At its foot were jumbles of rock, a result of avalanches from the rim, and no evidence of any passage that might suggest a mine. They rode on, and when they eventually found water, it was but a shallow seep at the head of a narrow canyon. There was no natural shelter and no protection from attack.

“Damn,” said Davis. “We’re in the wide open. Injuns can come at us from anywhere, includin’ the top of the mountain.”

“But there be water, Señor,” Sanchez said. “If you wish to hide in the mountain, per’ap you return to him that take the señora and the señoritas.”

“Hell, Gary,” said Bollinger in disgust, “are you
that
much of a damn greenhorn? The worst place a man can
settle for the night is right at some water hole. We can water here and spread our blankets somewhere else.”

“I’m fed up with you talkin’ down to me like you’re my daddy,” Davis growled.

“Was I your daddy,” said Bollinger with a nasty laugh, “I’d take a switch to you. Reckon it wouldn’t be near as hard on you as havin’ me gut-shoot you.”

“Before I leave these mountains,” Davis seethed, “I may do some gut-shootin’ of my own.”

“When you’re ready,” Bollinger replied steadily. “Just try to remember my guts is in the front, not the back.”

Disgusted at their bickering, Barry Rust wheeled his horse and rode back toward the mountain they’d been seeking. Davis galloped after him.

“Where are you going?” Davis demanded.

Rust reined in and kneed his horse around until he faced Davis.

“By God,” said Rust, “I’ve had enough. How can I trust either of you when you don’t trust one another? I’m going back to Missouri.”

He paused, expecting some objection, but there was none. Yavapai, Sanchez, and Bollinger had reined in a dozen yards behind Davis.

“Go on,” Davis invited. “I’m sick of your whining.”

Rust hesitated, uncertain. A bluff was only good until somebody called it. Now he had to fish or cut bait. He turned his horse and rode away. Gary Davis drew his Colt and fired twice. Rust slumped forward, his arms around the neck of the horse. One of the bullets had broken his spine. Spooked by the smell of blood and death, the horse galloped away, spilling the dying Rust from the saddle. Davis turned his horse, his Colt covering the men behind him. When he spoke, his hard eyes were on Bollinger.

“It wasn’t to my advantage, havin’ him return to Missouri, and I feel the same about you. Keep that in mind.”

“You double-crossing son of a bitch,” said Bollinger. “When I’m ready to ride, you won’t stop me. I aim to kill you before I go.”

“What’s wrong with right now?” Davis taunted, holstering his Colt. “Are you afraid, mister fast gun?”

But Bollinger made no move for his gun. Instead, he carefully took the makings from his shirt pocket and deftly rolled a quirly. Only then did he speak.

“My time, my place, Gary. I’m like a kid waitin’ for Christmas. Just the thinkin’ of it, the lookin’ forward to it, is as pleasurable as the thing itself. I’m the cat, Gary, and you’re the mouse. I’ll kill you a thousand times before you finally die.”

Yavapai and Sanchez looked at one another. These
gringos
were so
malo loco
, they had forgotten everything but their hatred for one another. Their eyes were alight with madness.

“Madre de Dios,”
said Sanchez softly, “when the time have come amigo, I think we have just one
gringo
to kill.”

When Sheriff Wheaton elbowed his way into the Wagonwheel Saloon, he had no trouble recognizing Cass Bowdre. The man had just ordered drinks for two of those who had left the Superstitions after surviving the Indian attack. When Bowdre’s companions saw Sheriff Wheaton enter the saloon, they edged quietly away. Cass Bowdre was a big man, and none of it was fat. He was maybe thirty, black hair curling down over the collar of his denim shirt. A day’s growth of whiskers left his face with a blue tint. His nose had once been squashed flat, and it had never recovered. His rough-out boots were worn and run-over, and his Levi’s were faded white in places. An old black Stetson, dusty and sweat-stained, was shoved back on his head. The polished walnut butt of his tied-down Colt flashed in the light from an overhead lamp. But the sheriff’s eyes dwelt the longest on Bowdre’s hands. His nails were manicured, the fingers without callus or rope burn. They were not the hands of a working cowboy but the soft hands of a gambler. Or a killer.

“I reckon you’re Bowdre,” said the sheriff. “I’m Wheaton, sheriff of Gila County.”

“I won’t say I’m pleased,” Bowdre replied, “because I just ain’t that big a liar. So you’ve heard of me.”

“Yes,” Wheaton said, “and I hope you’re just passing through, because you and your bunch ain’t welcome here. Tomorrow I’ll expect you to ride on and take your friends with you.”

“Well, now,” said Bowdre, with a nasty half smile, “you’re in luck. We always like to cooperate with the law. Matter of fact, we got business elsewhere, and we do aim to ride out in the morning. Buy you a drink, Sheriff?”

“No,” Wheaton said. The rest of Bowdre’s bunch eyed him from the corner of the saloon as he turned and left. Walking back to his office, he silently cursed Hoss Logan’s mysterious mine, the greed that drew men to gold like flies to honey, and the fact that the Superstition Mountains were within his jurisdiction.

Shaded by a chaparral thicket, the shallow stone basin still held water from the recent storm, but the surface was entirely covered by thick green scum. When Dallas took a stick and swept the muck aside, water bugs skittered away. Arlo laughed as Kelly and Kelsey eyed me water distastefully.

“My God,” said Kelly, “do you intend to drink
that
?”

“It’s wet,” Dallas replied. “Close your eyes. Forget how it looks.”

“In this country,” said Arlo, “the worse it looks, the safer it is to drink. Find a clear pool, and it may be so loaded with alkali that it’s unfit for man or beast. Or it may contain enough arsenic to kill you stone dead. Always look for tadpoles or water bugs, and be thankful when you find them. If they can live in the water, it’s safe for you.”

“Belly down,” Dallas instructed, “close your eyes, and drink. The water bugs will get out of your way.”

Thirst overcame their objections, and the girls drank.
Dallas and Arlo took their turns and then the four of them moved on.

“I can stand that once in a while,” said Kelsey with a shudder, “but let’s find some clean running water for next time. Without the bugs.”

“We’re lucky we have fresh running water in our camp,” Arlo said, “and we have Paiute to thank for leading us to it. When we’re away from that, we have to take our chances. As well as Hoss Logan knew these mountains, any sign directing us to the gold may also lead us to a source of fresh water.”

Somewhere to the north there were two shots.

“That’s got to be one of the Davis bunch. Can’t be another Apache attack, or there’d be more shooting,” said Dallas.

“They’re damn fools to be shooting at anything
less
than Apaches,” Arlo said. “Every Indian for miles will have heard those shots.”

When they reached the mountain whose western face briefly reflected the death’s head at sunset, they got a rude shock, for it appeared unscalable.

“Great God,” Dallas groaned, “it’s straight up.”

“How did Uncle Henry get to that death’s head up there?” Kelly wondered.

“He didn’t,” said Arlo. “He just discovered it. Strange as it seems, it has to be something the elements—wind and rain—have created over the centuries. A hundred years from now, it will likely be changed, becoming just meaningless shadows. I have a feeling that whatever message Hoss left for us won’t be on this side of the mountain. Let’s work our way around far enough for a look at the rest of it.”

The sun was noon-high by the time they were able to see the eastern side of the mountain. There was a scattered mass of rock along the foot of it and, higher up, jutting shelves and ragged holes where the fallen debris had been torn loose.

“Thank God it’s got
some
slope to it,” Dallas said. “It won’t be easy gettin’ up to that first ledge, but from there
on, we can just about reach the next one by followin’ the one below it. It’s odd how the rock’s been torn away like that, one jagged gash kind of anglin’ into the next.”

“Some of these rockslides were caused by lightning,” said Arlo. “See that white blaze up near the top? I’d bet that’s where lightning struck and broke away that big piece of rock.”

“The last time we saw Uncle Henry,” Kelsey said, “he was having trouble with his knees. Rheumatism, he thought. I don’t believe he could have gone up there.”

“Smart thinking,” said Arlo, “and that tells us there’s another way. Maybe a passage, but it’s of no help to us, since we don’t know where it originates. I’d gamble that somewhere on the face of this mountain, these rockslides have created access to that interior passage. While Hoss was unable to get to it from the outside, he knew we could.”

“When we reach the passage,” Kelly cried, “we can follow it to the mine!”

“Whoa, little lady,” said Arlo. “It may lead us to another of Hoss’s hidden camps, or maybe just to some more clues, but not directly to the mine. Remember, Davis has as much map as we do, and sooner or later, he’s going to at least try to figure it out. He
could
get this far, and for that reason, I look for things to get damned complicated from here on.”

“We have time enough to explore some of those cuts and crevices,” Dallas said. “If there is a passage and we can find it, our next trip won’t be as tough. By tomorrow, Davis and his bunch may have worked their way this far south. They won’t have to be too smart to discover us climbing up this mountain.”

“Lord,” said Kelly, “that means we have to find that passage today or risk having them follow us.”

“Then let’s climb that mountain,” Kelsey cried, “before they find us.”

Again the lariats came into play, for the first break in the side of the mountain was a dozen feet above their heads.

“Sure ain’t much up there to dab a loop on,” said Dallas doubtfully. “That little stone knob ain’t standin’ as high as the crown of my hat.”

“It’s tall enough,” Arlo said. “But the way this rock breaks up and falls, it could snap under your weight and drop you headfirst into a pile of jagged stone.”

“Kelsey or me can go up first,” said Kelly, “and there won’t be as much weight on the rope. Once one of us is up there, we can loop the rope around something more solid.”

“So one of you could end up with a broken neck, instead of one of us,” Dallas said. “It don’t seem right, us standin’ by, lettin’ you take such a risk.”