Lost Banshee Mine

by Jackson Lowry

  Cooley never got out enough to find out where the real dangers lay in the mountains. Now he had lit a fuse that would burn down to months or even years of killing.

  “I didn’t know. He tried to kill me. It was self-defense.”

  England Dan wasn’t buying it, but calling his partner a liar would only make matters worse.

  “Look, Dan, we’ll tell the deputy and let him take care of this. That’s his job, isn’t it?”

  “Gonzales is too single-minded about catching Lars Jensen to bother parleying with Big Ear.”

  “If these Indians are so riled up and want to scalp any white man, maybe they’ll catch up with Jensen and kill him. That’ll satisfy their bloodlust and remove a dangerous outlaw.”

  “That’s something out of a penny dreadful. It’s never going to happen. And the deputy’s not in any condition to negotiate with Big Ear or anybody. Jensen shot him up pretty bad and left him for dead.”

  “He’s dead? You put a dead man in our cabin!”

  “He’s not dead, but he’s in a bad way. I want to get him into Oasis, where somebody can look after him. It’s not my job—our job—to nurse anybody back to health. He’ll want to send a telegram to his boss, too. This might bring the federal marshal himself in to arrest Jensen.”

  “More law coming in,” Cooley mused. He stroked his stubbled chin, then shook his head. “I don’t like that. Having the mine overrun with lawmen’s not a good idea, but what else can we do? Jensen. The Indians. Everybody out there’s got one thing on their mind.”

  “To kill you,” England Dan finished for him. “And Mandy is roaming around the hills, too. What about her?”

  “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself. I never told her she could take the mule. She up and stole Mabel, she did.”

  England Dan held down a rising disgust at such careless sentiments. Mandy’s sister had been murdered, and if she wasn’t lucky, she’d end up being shot by Jensen or, worse, taken as a slave by Big Ear. If that happened and the cavalry got wind of it, a new Indian war was guaranteed. Cooley had not only set the explosive; he had lit the fuse.

  “You still got the map?” Cooley asked. “I say we leave the deputy and go get rich. The Irish Lord is waitin’ for us out there.”

  “It’s a map to a mine, but it more likely shows something else. Since Jensen is so eager to get the map, he must know there are riches held there. With a criminal like him, it must be where loot from some robbery was hidden.”

  “If he stole it, why wouldn’t he know where it was without the map?”

  England Dan replied. “If he doesn’t know, then maybe somebody else from his gang of robbers hid the loot and made the map, for whatever reason. Now Jensen is after it.”

  “That makes sense,” Cooley said. “That means, if we get on the trail right now, Jensen won’t know where we’re goin’. We get the loot or find the mine or whatever the map leads us to. Then we’re rich!”

  “We should be so lucky. First, we get Gonzales to town. Then we figure out what to do. Go fetch his horse.”

  “The one in the shed? I saw it and wondered whose it was. I considered takin’ it, but then you jumped out from behind the rock and scared me something fierce.”

  “The horse. Get it saddled and ready for the trail. I’ll see to the deputy.”

  Cooley went off, talking to himself about following the map and getting rich. England Dan was glad he hadn’t told his partner that he knew where to start looking—and that No Shadow had been the one to put him on the right path. The landmarks from the west side of Coronado Pass were all wrong. Approaching from the east and using Mule Springs as a starting point made sense of the markers on the map.

  He was glad Gonzales was asleep. Or maybe he had passed out. He hardly roused when heaved out of the bed and half walked, half dragged to the door. By the time England Dan got outside, Cooley was leading Whirlwind to where they could hoist the deputy into the saddle.

  “We can’t all ride. Let’s leave the deputy and go find the mine.” Cooley stared hard at his partner. “You still have the map, don’t you?”

  “It’s safe. Once we get him to town, I’ll show you.”

  “I’ll ride behind him,” Cooley said. With a quick move, he climbed into the saddle behind Alberto Gonzales. “Watch out. I can’t hold him!”

  “Oh, my God!” England Dan reacted quickly when the deputy tumbled from the saddle. He caught the heavy load, but it drove him back. He collapsed under the weight and sat heavily, the man weighing him down.

  He twisted and protected Gonzales as the stallion reared. Cooley fought to keep control. The horse whirled about, pawing the air, then kicking out with its back legs.

  The next thing England Dan knew, Whirlwind bolted and ran back toward the shed, with Cooley clinging to it and trying not to be bucked off.

  England Dan rolled a moaning Gonzales onto his side, climbed to his feet and hurried down the path after his partner. Cooley was nowhere to be seen. The runaway horse was carrying him back toward Big Ear and, for all England Dan knew, Lars Jensen. Anybody Cooley ran into along that path was likely to be gunning for him.

  It was a dilemma without a good solution. England Dan heaved the lawman to his feet and got him back into the cabin. The bed creaked as Gonzales’ weight pressed down. At least it wasn’t deadweight. Not yet. England Dan stared at the unconscious man. There was little more he could do to help.

  But Cooley? His feckless partner needed all the help he could get. Reluctantly leaving Alberto Gonzales, he set off along the path to track down Cooley before he got into more trouble than he could handle.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE BLACK STALLION reared and began pawing at the air. John Cooley fought to stay in the saddle. As he reached out to grab the saddle horn, Alberto Gonzales melted in front of him and tumbled to the ground. All Cooley thought of was keeping the horse from trampling its owner. Explaining how the deputy died wasn’t anything he wanted to deal with. The federal marshal would never believe that his deputy had been shot up and then stomped to death by his own horse.

  Cooley had spent a fair amount of time in the saddle but never on such a spirited horse. He yelped as he was jerked around. Clinging to the reins and the saddle horn kept him astride Whirlwind, but it sunfished, landed hard enough to jolt him, then lit out like somebody had set fire to its tail.

  “No, not that way. No!” Cooley’s protests meant nothing to the frightened horse. It put its head down and ran full out along the narrow trail. From horseback he stared down the precipice on his right. That scared Cooley, but the horse insisted on running back in the direction of the distant meadow, the very spot where England Dan told him Alberto Gonzales had been gunned down. Worse, he knew he was riding toward Big Ear and his hunters.

  If they figured out he was responsible for killing the crazy Indian, he was a goner. Cooley bent low and clung to the horse for dear life. It was a powerful animal, but it had to tire sooner or later. Cooley hoped his wild ride didn’t end with Whirlwind stumbling and sending them both over the cliff.

  When Whirlwind began flagging, Cooley gently tugged on the reins. At first this spooked the horse again. It had a new rider who wasn’t able to control it. But the long run had tired it enough, so more tugging on the reins began to work. Lathered and flanks heaving, the horse came to a halt.

  Cooley started to jump down, then realized he might never get back on. The horse had a mind of its own. He patted Whirlwind’s neck and did what he could to soothe the animal. He preferred riding Mabel. It wasn’t as noble an animal, but the mule wasn’t inclined to run off at a breakneck speed.

  He tried to turn the stallion around, but the horse wasn’t having any of it. Cooley surrendered to the inevitable and gave the deputy’s horse its head. It began walking along the trail leading to the meadow. Worry made Cooley reach down and touch his six-shooter. Too many dangers
lay ahead. By the time they exited the forest and entered the meadow, both horse and rider had calmed down.

  Cooley tentatively turned the horse about, but again it took control and headed for a stream. He let it drink, still not dismounting. He ached all over from being pounded and bounced about, but if he wanted to return to the cabin, he dared not let the horse go. Walking on such sore legs would take him forever.

  “Come on, don’t bloat,” he said, pulling on the reins to draw the horse away from the stream. As he succeeded in steering the horse in a new direction, he spotted Mandy upstream. The woman drank her fill and started away without noticing him.

  The horse decided to go to the woman, so Cooley let it. He fought conflicting emotions. Mandy only made his life more complicated, but he was attracted to her. But not returning straightaway to the cabin posed a danger. The Indian hunters prowled around. So did Lars Jensen. But Mandy was out here, as well. She had moved from the spot along the stream to sit under a piñon pine, and there she softly cried. This was enough to make him forget his determination to stay in the saddle. He swung off the horse and clutched the reins to prevent the horse from rearing.

  “Mandy? Are you all right?”

  The blonde looked up, startled, and swiped at the tears welling in her eyes. She sniffed, wiped away the tears and glared at him. “What do you want?”

  “I . . . I came hunting for you.” The words came easily, even if they weren’t true. Not exactly. “Why’d you run off?”

  “The tall gunman came. I wasn’t going to sit there and let him kill me like he did Mindy.”

  “I’ll protect you,” Cooley said. He sat beside her. She jerked away when he tried to hold her hand.

  “Your mule ran off,” she said. “It stranded me when I tried to rest.”

  Cooley looked around as if Mabel would show up. The mule was nowhere to be seen. “What are you going to do? There’s more trouble than Jensen out here.”

  “I know. Indians. They stole the mule. It ran off, and I went after it, and they grabbed it. I hid so they wouldn’t find me, but they took the mule.”

  She cried more now. This time she buried her face in his shoulder. That made Cooley a tad uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to push her away, even if she had let the Indians steal the mule.

  “Let’s get away from here.” Cooley tried to disengage and get her to her feet. Both of them riding the stallion posed a problem. He wasn’t sure the horse would allow a solitary rider on its back, but he had to try. The entire area was a giant trap waiting to be sprung. He wanted to be far from the steel jaws, if that happened.

  She wasn’t getting to her feet. Cooley started to get mad, but then he saw the tail end of his mule vanish through the heavy woods.

  “Mabel!” he called, and then whistled. The mule had sometimes come when he called it like a dog. He laughed in delight when it began weaving through the trees, coming toward him.

  He felt as if he had stepped off a cliff when he saw the Mogollon hunter riding the mule. Alongside the brave came another, this one on horseback. Flitting like shadows, a half dozen more Indians appeared, all on foot. He rested his hand on his six-gun, but he had sense enough not to throw down on the hunters. They all carried rifles.

  And the grim, determined expressions on their faces showed they weren’t likely to think kindly of him if he drew the gun.

  “No!” Mandy saw the Indians and recognized her fate. She grabbed Cooley’s arm. “Don’t let them take me. You said you’d protect me, John. John!”

  He pulled free. He tried to think of a way out of this. Putting himself in England Dan’s boots failed to give him a clever plan. His partner thought fast on his feet, and if he were here, they’d be safe.

  Cooley wondered if they read the guilt on his face. He had killed one of their band.

  Rather than babble incoherently, he kept his mouth shut. The Indian on the horse rode up and stared at him. The hunter’s expression was unreadable. Cooley tried to figure out if this was the chief or just another of the band. The idea that the others were on foot—or riding his stolen mule—and one rode a horse told him what the pecking order had to be.

  “Hello.” Cooley hoped his voice didn’t crack with strain. Using every ounce of his willpower, he took his hand off the butt of his six-shooter.

  “Yours?” The one he thought was the chief pointed to the stallion with his rifle.

  “Yes.” Trying to explain how he had borrowed the horse from the deputy was too complicated. Letting the chief know Whirlwind had run off with him when he failed to control it was even worse.

  The Indians argued among themselves for a moment; then the chief made a chopping motion with his hand, cutting off further discussion. “You kill one of our warriors?”

  Cooley didn’t have to feign shock at the accusation. How could the Indian possibly have known?

  “I’d never do such a thing. I was riding around, looking for her.” He pointed to Mandy, who shied away from him. She hugged herself and looked at him, frightened. He knew what she felt.

  “You not on foot?”

  Cooley remembered seeing the Indians looking for his boot prints and how he had done everything possible to hide his trail. They sought a man on foot, without a horse. “That’s my horse. I’ve been riding it.”

  One brave spoke up and began pointing to his own moccasin-clad foot. Cooley knew the chief would ask to see his boot soles. The hole would be all it took to convict him since it proved he had been where No Shadow had been killed.

  “You’re a big, powerful chief. Here. Take my horse. My gift to you.” The stallion seemed to understand and wasn’t any happier with the new change of ownership than it had been about letting Cooley ride it.

  The chief hopped down and went to the black horse. It tried to shy away, but the chief handled it better than Cooley ever could have. In a few seconds, it was nuzzling him. The chief grunted and handed the reins over to one of his braves on foot. He turned and grinned. Cooley didn’t like the way that looked.

  “Her.”

  “What?” Mandy exploded. She tried to run. Another brave caught her in a steely grip. Struggle as she might, there wasn’t any way to get free.

  Cooley’s hand twitched just above his holstered pistol. He looked from Mandy to the other Indians. They all had their rifles resting in the crooks of their arms, but he saw how alert they looked. The smallest mistake on his part would bring those fearsome weapons around. They’d fill him with lead in a split second.

  “G-go on. Take her.”

  “You coward!” Mandy clawed her way free. Her captor let her get to Cooley. She tried to rake out his eyes.

  He stepped back. “It’s for the best. Don’t worry. I—”

  “You low-down, no-account, belly-crawling snake in the grass!”

  He stepped away as the Indian who had grabbed her bent, got his arm around her waist and hoisted her kicking and screaming off the ground. The best Cooley could muster was a weak smile to match the broad grin on the chief’s face.

  With a quick jump, the chief mounted the stallion. The brave imprisoning Mandy heaved her over the back of the chief’s other horse, then mounted and held the woman in place. The entire band left, even taking Mabel. All Cooley could do was watch them vanish.

  He dropped to his knees, shaking at his brush with death. If he’d put up any fight, they would have killed him. He knew it. Losing the deputy’s horse was bad, but they’d already stolen Mabel. Taking Mandy only added to his humiliation.

  He used a tree for support as he got to his feet. On rubbery legs, he began retracing his path through the woods. Getting back to the cabin became his only goal. England Dan would know what to do. He always did, damn him.

  It was past sundown when he reached the trail leading from the meadow. Taking the rocky path in the dark posed a problem. A misstep and he’d tumble down the steep cliffs. But i
f he didn’t risk his neck on the trail, he had to spend the night out in the open without any gear. All he had was his pistol, and there wasn’t enough ammunition to even go hunting. The gunfire might draw Jensen. And he was a poor marksman. He was more likely to miss and end up with an empty gun.

  “Where’s Gonzales’ horse? Did it throw you?”

  “What? Who’s there?” Panicked, Cooley drew his six-gun and waved it around.

  “Put that away before you hurt yourself.”

  Coming from the gloom of the forest, England Dan looked ten feet tall. Cooley dropped to his knees, relieved. The feeling was brief, however, when he realized what he had to tell Dan, and shame took over.

  “They took the horse. They have Mabel, too. And Mandy. They stole her away. What are we going to do, Dan? What can we do?”

  His partner dropped to the ground and sat cross-legged. Cooley could barely make out his face in the dark, but what he caught of his expression wasn’t pretty. Rutledge was furious with him.

  “There wasn’t anything I could do, Dan. Nothing! They outnumbered me. There must have been twenty of them.”

  “The Mogollon hunting party?”

  “The Indians! They got the drop on me. They ambushed me and—”

  “Shut up, Cooley. If that was Big Ear’s band, there were a half dozen. One less since you killed No Shadow.” A long pause. “You got lucky. If they suspected you’d killed him, they’d still be torturing you.”

  “They took Mandy.”

  “They kidnapped the girl and let you go? Even if they had no reason to suspect you of killing one of their tribe, why’d they spare you unless they thought you were dickering for your own life? You traded the horse and the girl for your own stinking hide.”