The Savage Curse (11 page)

“Your belly always hears the call,” John said.

In the distance, some few hundred yards from the house, they saw an open fire, and behind it, a chuck wagon. The sheep bells tinkled beyond their vision and the land seemed to slowly slide into motion as herders tramped toward the chuck wagon to the tune of yapping dogs.

A door opened in the house. Gale stuck her head out.

“Grub's on the table,” she said and disappeared.

Moments later, Ben and John were sitting at the breakfast table, buttering biscuits, slabbing on honey, drinking coffee, and cutting up boiled mutton and green beans.

“That red stuff in the jar there is hot sauce,” Gale said. “What the Mexicans call
salsa casera
or
salsa picante.
We grow our own food here, including the chili peppers.”

“I'll have some of that,” Ben said and poured the sauce on his mutton.

Moments later, his eyes watered and went wide from the sting of the sauce on his tongue, the burn in his throat.

John and Gale laughed.

“It'll sure clean out your system,” Gale remarked.

Gale's horse was a stocky steeldust gray she called Moonbeam, and she led the way on an old trail that circled the grazing sheep.

“All this was Navajo country,” she said, “until Kit Carson drove 'em all to reservations. Some said he wished, later, that he hadn't done it, but if he hadn't done it, none of this country would have ever been settled. They were a murderin' bunch.”

“Any problems now?” John asked.

“No, the tribes are pretty well cut down and scattered. Biggest fear in them days was their habit of stealin' sheep. My husband and I came here, prospectin', but we found this place and started in raisin' sheep. It's been good to me, and to him while he was alive.”

“You must miss him,” John said.

“I do. But I keep him close by. In my heart.”

They rode through the long shadows of morning, into rugged, mountainous country, filled with the green sentinels of saguaro, iron-laden rocks, and various kinds of cactus plants. Jackrabbits jumped and bounced on each side of them and quail piped from ocotillo outposts.

A little past noon, they rounded a small mountain nudged by several smaller hills and a mesa that jutted out like the prow of a ship.

Gale pointed to an object atop the mesa.

“There's the laboratory,” she said. “Just beyond that, in the face of the mountain, is the mine. Good road up there, if it hasn't been washed out.”

“Where's Tucson?” John asked.

“Ten miles north of here. See that wagon road yonder?”

John and Ben looked. The road was still partially in shadow, but plainly visible. It stretched across a wide plain bordered by hills and jumbles of mountains and rocky spires. John felt his breath catch in his chest.

“Pretty close,” Ben said.

“It's tempting,” John said, “to just keep riding and put the barrel of my pistol right in the center of Hobart's forehead.”

“And pull the trigger,” Ben said.

“You're both savages,” Gale said without mirth.

“Naw, John's the savage,” Ben said. “I'm a Russell.”

They started up the wagon path to the mesa, butting between that outcropping and a small rocky hill.

John wondered at the truth of Ben's words. He did want to kill Hobart. The thought was like an iron fist in his brain. His hatred for the man threatened to consume him, blot out all else. Yet he knew he must wait, must bide his time. He had changed, he knew. Before his parents and sister had been murdered, before the slaughter at the mine, he had never thought about killing a man.

Now he thought of little else.

And that thought bothered him. Had he turned savage? Heartless?

Maybe the name Savage fit more than he would like it to.

Maybe, he thought, his name was his destiny.

And the hunt for Hobart, his fate.

14

THE LABORATORY GLISTENED IN THE SUN WITH ITS BLEACHED dry lumber grayed by wind and rain and scorching sun, a clapboard relic from another time. Its old frame seemed solid enough when John rode around it, tapping on the odd-sized boards with his fist. The boards were all cut to different widths, from four inches to a dozen or so, and the tin roof was rusted to a nut-brown hue, held to the frame with sturdy bolts.

“He built it fine,” John said as he dismounted. “You got a key for that lock on the door?”

“Yes,” Gale said, climbing down from Moonbeam. She wore a leather bag slung over her shoulder and took out a large key. The lock was rusted, too, but the tumblers clicked into place and she was able to pull it open. She and John walked inside while Ben held the horses.

Gale stepped inside, held the door wide for John. Light spears lanced through the large room from the grimy windows, cracks that had opened between the wall boards, from nail holes that had widened in the roof. The floor was packed earth. There were tables all about, sturdy work tables, and scales, cruets, bottles, cans. A large stove stood at the back wall, its chimney going straight out instead of straight up. The chimney was reinforced with tin and there was tin on the back wall behind the stove.

“That's a little smelter, I guess,” Gale said. There were rockers and sledges, hammers, chisels, a host of tools that could be used to break rock or pry raw gold loose from ore.

John saw at least three anvils, ore buckets, some full of rock, others turned over on their sides, empty. There was a wheelbarrow, shovels, picks, a stack of firewood, at least four cords, stacked inches from one wall, candles, miners' hats with candles, boxes of candles, matches, oil lamps, oil. There were boxes of dynamite and boxes of caps, fuses, gloves lying on tables and shelves, some short-handled mauls, a small cookstove, pots and pans, and plates complete with knives, forks, and spoons.

“Looks like he had everything he needed,” John said, watching the golden dust motes dance in the spears of light.

“Clarence was very thorough. There's more stuff up in the mine. Probably just as he left it. Want to walk up?”

“Yes. Should I bring a lantern or take a tin hat?”

“Might be a good idea. I don't know how far back the mine goes.”

“I'll take a couple of lanterns,” he said.

Gale and John went back outside, carrying lanterns filled with coal oil and matches to light them.

“Found a place for the horses,” Ben said. “Over yonder's a hitchrail.” He pointed to some posts and rails near the cave entrance.

“Meet you there,” John said.

Ben rode Blaster to the railing, leading Moonbeam and Gent by their reins. Small puffy clouds floated beyond the mountain in a dazzling blue sky. Quail piped from the next hill and a hawk floated on an air current down to a small rocky canyon. The quiet was broken only by the crunch of John's boots on gravel and the soft pad of Gale's small boots on a sandy path.

“How long has it been since you've been up here?” John asked her.

“I came up here about a year ago, just to check on things. I don't know why. Who would bother with an old abandoned mine?”

“I guess mining's pretty well over with in this country.”

“No, there are a few mines here and there. Just not anywhere near here. I don't know. Clarence may have been wrong about that mother lode. And he never did have that chunk of ore assayed. And I lost heart after he died.”

“How did he die?”

“Oddly enough, he was killed by a Navajo, some throw-back who came through with a small band and tried to steal our sheep. He came up to the house, him and six or seven others, and offered to buy some sheep. But he had no money. He said his name was Mano Rojo, Red Hand, and he said he'd pay Clarence in a moon or two.”

“He wanted credit.”

She laughed.

“He didn't use that word. He said we were on sacred ground and owed him the sheep. When Clarence asked him how he was going to pay for the sheep, Mano said he would kill a white man and rob him.”

“Pretty bold of him,” John said.

“Clarence told him to go away. He would not sell him any sheep on those terms. Mano left, but he took thirty head of sheep with him. Clarence gave chase and Mano shot him dead. The Mexicans who were with Clarence said that Mano boasted to them that he had paid for the sheep just as he said he would.”

“Did anyone ever catch Mano?” John asked.

She shook her head.

“No. He got clean away, the bastard.”

“Ever see him again?”

“No. The authorities in Tucson put native trackers out, but they came back empty-handed. Mano and the sheep disappeared into thin air, I guess.”

“I'm sorry.”

“He'll turn up someday. The Navajos claimed a lot of territory in their day. They're nomads. He'll be back one day and I'll be ready for him. He's got blood on his hands and he'll pay for what he did to my Clarence.”

“Kind of the way I feel about Hobart,” John said.

They spoke no more until they reached the mine adit. By then, Ben had tied up the three horses and was standing just outside the entrance, looking at something just inside the cave wall.

“Ben, here's a lantern. Light it up.”

John handed one of the lanterns to Ben, but he didn't even look at it. Instead, he pointed to something on the wall.

“Looky here, John. Somebody's done drawn some pictures on this here wall.”

John and Gale stepped up and peered at the spot where Ben was pointing.

Gale's face blanched when she saw the drawings. She looked as if she was going to faint, and he put an arm around her waist to hold her up.

“Mighty curious,” Ben said, still staring at the etchings.

John looked up. There were crude drawings there, cut into the rock with a knife or a flint blade. They looked to be fairly new, with none of the weathering one would expect from an ancient site.

“Those are Navajo petroglyphs,” Gale said, almost gasping. “Rock carvings done by them savages.”

“What does it mean?” Ben asked, turning around.

“You can figure it out if you look real hard,” Gale said. Color came back into her face.

“Were these here from olden times?” John asked.

She shook her head.

“No, these are less than a year old. See the sheep? See that hand dripping? See the rifle and the bullets shooting from the barrel? And that's Clarence, I'm sure, that stick figure falling off his horse.”

“Well, I'll be damned,” Ben said. “Who's Clarence?”

“Her husband,” John said. “This was cut into the rock by a Navajo, maybe a brave named Mano Rojo, Red Hand. He stole her sheep and shot her husband.”

“Damn,” Ben said.

“He's been here,” Gale said. “And he put that there to brag. He knew I'd probably see it someday. It might have been here a year ago, but I doubt it. Those cuts look pretty fresh.”

“Did he know this was your husband's mine?” John asked.

“I don't know,” she said. “Maybe.” She looked around at the hills, the lab, the horses standing hipshot at the hitchrail. “He could be watching us this very minute.”

Ben looked around, too.

“I don't see nobody,” he said.

“Let's light these lanterns and have a look inside the mine,” John said. “Gale, you can stay here if you like, keep an eye on things. I'll get your rifle.”

“No, I'm going in with you. Maybe Mano stayed here. If so, there'll be sign.”

John set his lantern down on the ground and knelt to light the wick. Ben did the same, while Gale walked to her horse and pulled her rifle from its scabbard. She returned as the lanterns began to glow.

“Let's take a look,” she said.

“Maybe we better get our rifles, too, John,” Ben said.

John looked at Gale. She nodded. “Might be a good idea,” she said.

“All right, Ben. Bring them. Just to be on the safe side.”

Ben pulled their rifles from their sheaths and the three walked into the mine. John and Ben held their lanterns high to throw light ahead of them. The shoring began about thirty feet inside, and the mine narrowed. There was only room for one person at a time, and John took the lead, handing his rifle to Gale.

“I can draw faster than I can set the lantern down and cock that Winchester,” he said.

“You think somebody's in here, John?” Ben asked, a slight quaver in his voice.

“No, Ben, I don't. But I'm just as spooked as you are. Reminds me of the mine we had over in Colorado.”

“This one's been worked a lot more,” Ben said.

Gale brought up the rear, John's rifle over one shoulder, hers at her side.

“It splits off into two shafts,” she said, “just ahead.”

“Then what?” John asked.

“Take the one that goes to the left. That's the one where Clarence found the gold.”

The end of the shaft appeared some thirty yards past the fork. The corridor was wider there, and had been shored up with heavy timbers. John held the lantern with both hands and moved it over the rock face. At one point, he held the lantern in one spot and moved in closer to see. There were little gold flecks surrounding a place where a chunk of rock had been removed. The flecks flickered like frozen fireflies in the stone.

“Is that what I think it is?” Ben said.

“Hard to tell,” John said. “It sure looks like gold.”

“I'm sure it is,” Gale said, standing on tiptoe to look.

Ben moved his lantern in closer and the three of them examined the area surrounding the hole. Some of the specks in the rock reflected silver, or mica, perhaps quartz, and the flickers were like small stars embedded in rock.