Lost Banshee Mine

by Jackson Lowry

  He rolled over and sat up. Sulfurous curses escaped his lips when he saw the faint outline of the mine opening—on the other side of the pit. If he wanted to leave the mine the way he’d come in, he’d have to make one prodigious leap. In the dark, missing the other side was a distinct possibility. A second plunge back into the pit might cripple him. Or worse. It would be his grave.

  “I’m not dying like that,” he said. Working the Trafalgar Mine had taught him the dangers of hard-rock mining. The more chances a miner took, the shorter his life was destined to be. England Dan judged the risk of jumping to the other side to be as close to suicide as he’d ever likely come.

  Putting the mine entrance to his back, he began edging along. He dragged one hand along the wall and stepped gently to be sure he didn’t fall into a second invisible pit. Why the first one had been dug was a mystery he would never solve. Miners worked lonely shifts. If they didn’t have a partner, many turned downright loco. The solitude and the constant danger slid dark fingers into their sanity, and the hard physical exertion and the occasional blasting with dynamite shook up the brains.

  Then again, England Dan had seen sinkholes open up and swallow half a town. There seemed no good reason for it to happen. It just did.

  He stopped and caught his breath when he heard a whispery sound.

  “Who’s there? Tell me!” He made no effort to keep the fright from his voice. Then he screamed.

  The banshee’s howl filled the narrow mine shaft. It started low and built until he clapped his hands over his ears to shut it out. After a few seconds, the screeching withered to a hiss. Then even that vanished. He dropped to his knees and shook.

  “I’m not Cooley,” he said to himself. “I don’t believe in banshees. There’s no Big Owl like No Shadow claimed. There’s nothing supernatural in this mine. There’s not.” England Dan tried to convince himself and did a halfway-good job. Whatever he had heard had nothing to do with supernatural spirits foretelling his death.

  Getting back to his feet, he continued deeper into the Stygian gloom. No new cries sounded, but he heard a shrill whistling from ahead. Continuing his cautious advance, he came to a glowing spot on the floor. Curious, he tried to nudge it with his boot. The spot appeared on top of his boot. His head snapped upward, and he let out a joyful cry. An air vent opened above him. A tiny patch of blue sky appeared, then went away.

  “Clouds. Rain clouds. But that’s the sky!” He shoved his face up and inhaled deeply. Fresh, cool, damp air smacked him in the face.

  He had found a way out—if he could fit into the shaft leading upward. The rock chimney was narrow. If he got stuck in it, he was a goner. At least he saw his destination. Unlike in the pit, he’d have fresh air as he shinnied out.

  Reaching up, he felt around for handholds. The ragged interior a foot above his head gave him a way to get into the chimney, but as he went up, the rock turned treacherously slick. The shear planes were like glass, and the width began to decrease. Within a few feet after a twenty-foot climb, he felt as if his body had been pressed into a vice. Every inch he went up caused the sides to crush down twice as much. Tamping down panic, he sucked in a small breath rather than try to get a lungful of air. Sweat ran down his body and got into his eyes when his eyebrows failed to dam the flow off his forehead. Straining to reach, he got his fingers over the exterior edge. The rock had a sharp edge that cut into his flesh.

  He cried out and used the pain and rising fear to surge upward. He grabbed a handhold on a chamisa growing at the edge of the rock chimney. Muscles screaming in pain, he jerked as hard as he could. If he failed to get free now, he’d never escape the vertical stone coffin.

  His shoulders pulled above the ground level, letting him look around. One elbow slammed down hard enough to raise his body another couple inches. A second elbow gave even more leverage. England Dan sucked in his breath and finally got half his body out of the rocky trap.

  Gasping for breath and knowing he was almost safe added to his strength. The next time he scooted up so he sat on the edge of the vent. Twisting this way and that got his feet out. He flopped onto his back and stared up into the sky. The storm had blown out, but clouds still veiled the nighttime stars. Eyes closed, he rested from his exertion; then he woke with a start when the banshee cry sounded once more.

  He sat up and grabbed his bowler to keep it from being blown off his head by the gusty winds. The darkness hid the mesa beyond a few yards, but the sound emanated from the rock chimney he’d just climbed.

  On impulse, he fell over the vent, blocking it with his body. The howling immediately stopped. Rolling onto his side let the wind find the vent again. The banshee cry returned, but pitched differently. England Dan played with the vent, blocking parts and letting the wind surge down in different patterns. The whistle had come from the wind in the vent this whole time, not from Big Owl. Not from the banshee.

  To be sure, he began a careful study of the mesa top. He found faint traces of animal tracks not entirely washed away by the rain. Everywhere he looked showed only signs expected on an Arizona mesa. No ogre. No banshee. No Big Owl.

  Muscles protesting from the exertions in the mine and getting to the mesa, he stretched and walked around until he felt halfway normal. He went to the edge of the mesa above the mine and looked down. The mine mouth was about ten yards below him. Getting down to where he’d tethered his horse required him to explore for a descent giving him adequate handholds.

  Caution told him waiting until morning was the smart thing to do. He pushed his bowler back, wiped his dusty forehead and looked out over the valley. A flash of light caught his eye. At the canyon mouth someone carried a torch. Two. Three.

  Whoever hunted down there using torches worked their way into the canyon. If they came far enough, his horse would make a fuss. England Dan wasn’t going to be left on foot after all he’d been through. He paced along the drop-off until he found a slope that, while dangerous-looking, wasn’t treacherous. He took a deep breath and began the descent. Rocks kicked loose under his boots. Handholds betrayed him. He skidded and slid halfway down before stopping himself.

  Face pressed against the hillside, he cautiously looked down. The next possible step lay five feet lower. As he worked up the courage to make the drop, his boots lost purchase. He fell that last five feet. He caught himself in the nick of time. Panting from exertion, he skidded lower until he dropped to the ground.

  The mouth of the mine gaped only a few yards away, looking as if a giant yawned. Darker rocks above on either side turned the mine into a face with open eyes. He shuddered at the sight. The light of day made the mine look . . . ordinary. At night it turned into a monster waiting to swallow whole any fool entering.

  England Dan ignored his misgivings about the mine and took the trail down to where his horse was tethered. A few minutes calming Whirlwind worked wonders. England Dan swung into the saddle and rode to the canyon floor. His choices were limited. If he rode to the mouth of the canyon, he had to pass several men carrying torches. Other than Big Ear and his hunters, he had no idea who roamed the hills.

  Not having any desire to cross the Indians, especially with his six-shooter almost empty, he considered going to ground and hoping they passed him. That the Indians ventured out in the night with torches told him they trailed something—someone—important. The Mogollons, like most of the Apache tribes, stayed close to camp and their protecting fires through the night.

  Riding at a steady pace into the canyon kept him away from them since they were all afoot. Or they had been when Mandy stole Big Ear’s horse and Cooley recovered their mule. He ran the risk of getting trapped in a cul-de-sac. That gave the best chance he saw for avoiding Big Ear.

  As he crossed a rocky patch, he slowed to keep his horse’s hooves from clacking. Sound carried along the canyon, trapped by the walls. He couldn’t help but look up, trying to see the mine where the air vent had caused the banshee
whines. The darkness hid the mine. But something else caught his attention.

  He whirled about.

  “Cooley!” His partner’s voice carried from behind him. Cooley was sandwiched between him and the Indians. Adding to the danger, Mandy answered Cooley’s outcry. The two of them were in peril from the hunters. He tried to make out what they said. Their voices were too muffled, but the tone convinced him they knew they were being pursued.

  His hand drifted to his six-shooter, then moved away. Adding his gun to whatever Cooley and Mandy carried wasn’t too useful. He knew Cooley. His partner would never have thought to bring extra ammo. He wasn’t big on planning.

  The trees dotting the canyon floor made it difficult to determine their exact position behind him. If he rode past them, he’d find himself facing Big Ear and his band. And what if he did find Cooley and Mandy? They knew they were being pursued.

  Again he touched his six-gun. His weapon was useless. Then he settled down and knew violence wasn’t the answer to saving his partner and Mandy—and himself. He cupped his mouth and let out a bloodcurdling shriek. He tried to duplicate the shrieks he had heard earlier, the one coming from the mine and fed by the wind down the air vent.

  His throat tensed as he let loose an even louder screech. England Dan had no idea what it sounded like as it rattled throughout the canyon, but it chilled him.

  It might have been his imagination, but he thought he heard the stomping of feet getting farther and farther. Then he quit before he lost his voice entirely.

  And heard Big Owl’s answer to his screech.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  WE’RE CURSED!” JOHN Cooley sank to the ground and brought his knees up to hug them. He shook his head. “Nobody escapes their fate when the banshee cries out.”

  Mandy had blanched at the sound, but now color returned to her cheeks. She walked around and pointed toward the mouth of the canyon.

  “They’re leaving. It scared off the Indians. We can get out of here if we hurry.” With a tug on her horse’s reins, she brought it around to jump up. When she saw Cooley hadn’t budged, she went to him and shook his shoulder. “Snap out of it. We’ve got to go. There’s no telling how long the Indians will run. If they get their courage back, they might come for us again.”

  “It doesn’t matter, I tell you. We’re cursed. We heard the banshee. Big Owl has chosen us to die!”

  “You are loco, John. I don’t know what made the noise, but it’s not a banshee.”

  “It could be his partner that howled like the very devil,” came a voice Cooley recognized. He perked up and looked around. Peering into the dark, he called, “Dan? Is that you?”

  “None other than.” England Dan rode slowly to a spot between Cooley and Mandy. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

  “We were hunting for you,” Cooley said. “I had to go fetch Mandy in town. Then I came back, and those Indians got on our trail.”

  “Mandy,” England Dan said carefully, as if trying to believe such a wild claim. “You had to get her to join the search? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I know what you think about her being a whore and all. This way there’s no way you can tell her to leave.”

  “You don’t like me?” Mandy went over to England Dan and stared up at him. “He never said anything about that. Neither did you.”

  “I’ve got nothing against you,” England Dan said peevishly. “Cooley lit out before because the banshee scared him.”

  “I don’t reckon you claim to have made those sounds, too.” Cooley clambered to his feet and crossed his arms. He thrust out his chin. “You were as scared as I was.”

  “Don’t bet good money on that,” England Dan said. “What happened in town that changed your mind about bearding the banshee in its den?”

  “The deputy’s storming all around Oasis, hunting for Lars Jensen. He’s not sure but thinks the outlaw stole his black stallion.” Mandy looked at England Dan’s horse. “He won’t find him,” she said proudly. “I shot him dead.” A smile crept to her lips. “Finding the horse thief is another matter.”

  “She did that very thing, gunning down Jensen, and there’s no reason not to take another look at the map since he’s dead.” Cooley’s head spun trying to keep everything straight. England Dan wasn’t convinced there’d been a word of truth in anything he said. Mandy’s explanation carried more weight, but the way he glared made Cooley sure his partner was going to chase him away.

  Cooley looked around, trying not to look too fearful. England Dan hadn’t cried out like a banshee before. He wasn’t sure he believed him now, even if it was too much of a coincidence that his partner happened to be prowling around the canyon in the direction of the banshee’s cry.

  “My horse is fresh. I spent the day trapped in a mine,” England Dan said. “How’re your mounts? They looked all lathered.”

  “If it means getting away from the hunting party, we can ride them into the ground,” Cooley said. He patted Mabel. “It’ll take more’n a few hours riding to do this one in.”

  “And the chief’s pony is strong enough,” Mandy said. She laughed. “Aren’t we a fine bunch of thieves? You’ve stolen a lawman’s horse, and I swiped an Indian chief’s horse. John is the only one of us who hasn’t stolen anything.”

  “He never said where he got Mabel,” England Dan said, turning his stare on his partner. “I never asked. You steal the mule, Cooley?”

  “Let’s get out of here. And not toward the banshee,” Cooley said. He peered into the night. His fright had passed, but he was still jumpy about being trapped in the canyon.

  “Which direction is the mine?” Mandy stood stock-still and fixed England Dan with her emerald eyes. “You came into the valley because the map sent you here.”

  “Truth is, I got lost. The rain turned me around. I need to get someplace where I can get my bearings. If I do, there’s a chance I can find my way to the spot on the map without traipsing all over the Superstition Mountains.”

  “Town?” Mandy sounded hopeful. “There’s nothing to keep me there, not with Madam Morgan likely out for my scalp, but I know folks who can help.”

  “The madam? Are you sure she wouldn’t lend us some aid?” Cooley felt left out. Dan and Mandy were making decisions and expected him to go along with whatever they said.

  “No,” Mandy said. “Madam Morgan would beat me within an inch of my life for trying. Going to that well again isn’t in the cards. She acts like all the girls are her daughters when anyone can overhear. When we’re alone, she makes sure we know she owns us. Besides, she thinks I’m a deadbeat.”

  “You owe her?”

  “A ton of money, John. She takes a cut of our earnings and then charges us outrageous amounts for room and board. There’s no way we can ever buy our freedom. It’s as bad as working a mine and having to buy everything from the company store.”

  “Stick with us, and we’ll be rich from the Lost Banshee Mine.”

  “You’d cut me in? For how much?”

  “Me and Dan’d have to do the actual mining, so we’d take the lion’s share.” His partner glared at him. “We can dicker over the amount later.” That failed to satisfy either Mandy or England Dan, but he felt good enough making the deal. It kept the girl happy, and arguing with his partner always ended up with some sort of compromise, as if Dan wore himself out and agreed to about anything. The Brit had an aversion to such confrontations, and that benefitted Cooley more often than not.

  “I see no reason to get on back to town,” England Dan said. “If we can find our bearings, going back to the Trafalgar makes sense. We’d have a roof over our head while we try to figure out the map.”

  “A roof’s a good thing right about now,” Mandy said. She held out her hand. “It’s starting to rain again.”

  “Time to hit the trail. The rain will wash away any chance Big Ear has of fi
nding us.” Cooley settled down on Mabel and waited for his partner to take the lead. This way Dan would ride into an ambush first, but he also had a better sense of direction.

  They rode until after midnight. Cooley had no idea what direction they went, but both Dan and Mandy discussed the matter, pointing to stars and taking crazy turns through the dark valleys. As the moon poked through the thin, high clouds, Cooley let out a yelp. He recognized the terrain.

  “That there’s the road into Oasis. If we go upslope along it, there’s the fork. One trail goes to Arizona Johnston’s American Prize Mine, and the other leads to ours.”

  “He’s right,” England Dan said. “And not a minute too soon. I’m so tired, I’m about ready to fall off the horse.”

  “And the horses are stumbling,” Mandy said. “We’ve pushed them as far as we can. It’s a good thing we walked them the whole way and didn’t gallop any at all.”

  Cooley saw her look down trail in the direction of town. The pull to return there was still strong for her. An unworthy thought crept into his head. She saw a lot of men at the brothel. Maybe she was sweet on somebody in town. All Cooley offered her was a pig in a poke. Finding the mine was a problem, and no gold would come out until he and Dan worked it. From his days in the Trafalgar Mine, he knew that they might pull nuggets out the size of his fist or toil for a month and get only a few flakes. Gold mining wasn’t a dependable way to make money.

  Not enough to satisfy a fancy lady like Mandy. He wondered why she hadn’t married before now. There had to be ranchers all around willing to take her away from the sporting life. The only reason that made sense was her sister. If she married, that would have left Mindy in Madam Morgan’s clutches. Cooley doubted many men would marry Mandy and buy her sister’s freedom, too. And if one offered, what he had in mind for the pair of them wasn’t anything a respectable wife would tolerate, no matter what they did up north.