The Winged Ones by H

by Monte Herridge

  Action Stories, September, 1926

  Blood flows on the Treasure Trail—and Splint Moraine settles with fate!

  ROM the dim thread of an ancient trail

  His name was Splint Moraine, this

  that wound its way among grim lone rider on the old King’s Road. He was F skeletons of tortured desert growths, a small and thin and wiry. His visage was dark pallid cloud of dust rose and hovered and

  and his eyes were as bright and hard and cruel

  moved slowly on. Stirred by the plodding

  as any ferret’s. His hands, when they moved,

  hoofs of a pony, it lifted up in soft gray puffs were like two brown, restless snakes. He

  to mingle in a choking drift that kept even

  was—or had been until some thirty hours

  pace with horse and rider—and with the two

  ago—a jackal of the race tracks, a follower of

  dark specks high above in the burnished arch

  the crowds, a pickpocket. But these thirty

  of sky that were two patient buzzards hours since he had swung into saddle at Tia wheeling.

  Juana in stealthy pursuit of Roth and the

  The rider’s eyes were bloodshot from

  Mexican, less than two days of contact with

  the sting of dust and the fierce glare of the hot savagery of the desert, had been sunlight that set all that silent world aflame.

  sufficient to transform him from a slinking

  He kept his gaze grimly fixed upon another

  pickpocket, intent only upon watching his

  dust cloud weaving among distant low chance to steal, to a reptile as deadly as any pinnacles of jagged rock where Roth and the

  that crawled in all that arid vastness.

  Mexican, Vasquez, carrying with them a scrap

  Thirst had played its part in that

  of paper that was the key to a fabulous transformation. The only water hole treasure, rode south ahead of him along that

  encountered had been dry. Now his canteen

  forgotten Camino Real.

  was empty. He tried to kick his patient pony

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  into faster pace, and he cursed aloud the Legend has it that the good padres secreted all blasting heat, the dust, the fantastic leering

  the offerings of gold and silver and jewels that skeletons of gray-green vegetation. Soulfully

  came to the shrine in some nearby cavern.

  he consigned the whole of Baja California to

  And there the treasure lies, intact to this day.”

  perdition.

  “Do none know where the stuff is

  Yet he kept doggedly on, held hidden?”

  unchanging the distance between himself and

  “But few living, senor. I think perhaps

  that drifting dust cloud ahead that seemed ever my father knows. Some of our old——”

  on the point of vanishing from his ken. And as

  “Then why has it never been

  he rode he found a measure of solace in disturbed?” interrupted Roth.

  reviewing mentally that chance conversation

  “Because our people of the mountains

  he had overheard at the bar of the Ultima

  are simple people and most devout,” explained

  Chanza between the huge and evil-visaged

  the Mexican. “They have fear.”

  Roth and the slender Mexican, Vasquez.

  “And you?” inquired Roth. “Have you

  Unguarded words were they that had set no fear?”

  avarice flaming in Splint Moraine’s twisted

  “Of a certainty, my friend! Not for

  little soul.

  worlds would I commit such sacrilege. But I

  “Of a certainty there is treasure there,”

  have learned much since I came down from

  the Mexican was saying to Roth when Splint

  the mountains. Were I to guide a good friend

  came unnoticed to the bar beside them and

  to this ruined shrine and then my back should

  ordered his fiery brew. “Treasure enough to

  happen to be conveniently turned——” The

  make any two men rich beyond their wildest

  man Carlos shrugged expressively. “Could I

  hopes—and all to be had for the finding and

  be held responsible?”

  carrying away!”

  Roth

  laughed.

  The big man toyed with his glass for a

  “Carlos Vasquez, you are a damned

  moment, considering.

  hypocrite and a rascal. We shall start for that

  “If I did not know you for a man of

  treasure in the morning. Now show me the

  your word, Carlos,” he rumbled finally, “I

  route we must travel.”

  should call you a liar and the story a fairy tale.

  Upon the back of a manila envelope

  Exactly where is this forgotten shrine?”

  that Roth took from his pocket and tossed

  The men were conversing in Spanish.

  down upon the bar, Vasquez began to make

  Splint understood the tongue and he listened

  lines. Splint Moraine cursed softly then

  eagerly while the Mexican made answer to the

  because the great bulk of the man Roth

  other’s question.

  prevented him from watching the progress of

  “One does not reach it in a day, señor.

  the Mexican’s silver pencil.

  It lies deep in the wild and lonely Sierra San

  “We ride south along the old Camino

  Pedro Matir, far beyond the tumbled ruins of

  Real, senor,” Vasquez explained as he

  the ancient Mission San Borja. And that holy

  sketched the route. “Here, two days down, is

  edifice was once considered one of the most

  the deserted Mine of the Three Shafts. I make

  inaccessible places on the face of the earth.

  a cross for that. We should find water there—

  Although I have never been beyond San Borja

  but one must carry a pail and a long rope to

  I think I know well the trail and the location of reach it. Next we come to the mission hamlet

  the shrine, for often have I heard my father

  of San Gorgonio. There we may procure both

  describe both when speaking of boyhood food and lodging if we should wish. Several pilgrimages, carrying offerings of silver. miles beyond the mission and a little aside

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  3

  from the trail to Borja is the house of my

  something should befall you and I be left upon

  father. We will send an Indian runner ahead

  my own resources in that God-forsaken

  from the hamlet with word of our coming, so

  country. And now let’s have another drink on

  that my venerable sire may have mules in

  it.”

  readiness for our pilgrimage into the deep

  Splint fancied he detected in these last

  mountains, where horses would be useless.

  words of Roth’s an undercurrent of sinister

  This he will be glad to do, for it is now twelve meaning, a significance that boded ill for

  years since he has looked upon my face.”

  Carlos Vasquez. And as he slipped away and

  “Twelve years,” commented Roth. took up his station near the wide doorway

  “Think yo
u, Carlos, he will know his rascally

  where he could keep an eye upon the two men

  son?”

  lingering under the brilliant lights at the bar,

  “He will know.” The Mexican placed

  Splint chuckled grimly to himself.

  the tip of a slender forefinger upon a zig-zag

  Certainly the Mexican would never

  scar that lay across his swarthy cheek. “He did look upon that treasure. And neither would the

  that, my gentle father, with his mule whip

  evil Roth if he, Splint Moraine, could manage

  when I was a boy—and suffered contrition

  to get his fingers on the map and beat them to

  ever after.”

  it. And so, when the two men left the Ultima

  “Humph! Go on with your map!”

  Chanza together, Splint was upon their heels

  “From my father’s house, here,” like a shadow.

  continued the Mexican, “the trail leads to old

  Bad luck had been against him. He had

  San Borja. Another cross for those ancient

  found no opportunity that night to lift the map.

  ruins. From there a dim trail leads off into the

  . . . And so here was Splint Moraine, riding

  mountains in this direction. Follow my pencil

  saddle-galled upon the old King’s Road,

  carefully, señor. ...”

  cursing dust and buzzards and blasting heat,

  Again Splint Moraine, attention yet holding grimly to the trail. . . .

  strained to fiddle pitch that he might miss no

  The afternoon hours wore away and

  word of that explanation, cursed under his

  the sun swung low in a bank of purple and

  breath because he could not look upon the

  crimson haze. Twilight came, and the

  map at this tantalizing moment.

  darkness swiftly. Soon a pinpoint flicker of

  “A long day’s journey over the light far ahead on the trail told Splint that Roth roughest trail imaginable brings you to a and the Mexican had halted and built their mighty gorge among the mountains—like this,

  supper fire. Splint dismounted and stretched

  señor. It is here, midway of the gorge as I

  his stiffened legs. He was devilishly thirsty.

  remember my father’s words, that the shrine

  That would be the Mine of the Three Shafts

  was located. And somewhere within this circle

  where the two men were camped, he reflected.

  is the treasure we seek.”

  Water there. But there would be no

  “And how are we to find it, once we

  quenching thirst for him until Roth and

  get there?” demanded Roth.

  Vasquez should be soundly asleep, so that he

  “By searching carefully, señor. Unless

  might safely accomplish his purpose.

  my father knows its hiding place and may be

  In the beginning he had intended only

  persuaded to speak.”

  to steal the map and reach the treasure before

  Roth picked up the envelope with its

  them. But the drag of each weary mile he had

  penciled lines and dots and crosses and traveled this day had served to convince him restored it to his pocket.

  of the futility of that plan. It had been all he

  “I’ll keep the map, Carlos, in case could do to keep in view the dust cloud that

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  marked the going of the two riders. They were

  and was enjoying a midnight cigaret before

  accustomed to the saddle and traveled fast.

  drifting off to slumber again.

  Those two must be removed entirely from his

  Splint dared build no morning fire. He

  path. . . . So, while the great stars grew ate his unsavory breakfast cold. And after he overhead and the moon came up to soften the

  had waited until he was reasonably certain that harshness of the land with a green and ghostly

  the two men had broken camp and gone, he

  radiance, he chafed away the hours until swung out into the trail.

  midnight.

  Splint reached the mine shortly, and

  The distant campfire had long since

  the smoking embers of a breakfast fire. The

  died. Splint rode on a little way, then gray timbers of all three shaft houses were dismounted and tied his horse to a cactus and

  fallen into wreckage, leaving the black pits

  crept forward on stealthy feet. Taking full

  open to receive moisture in the season of

  advantage of every bit of shadow afforded by

  rains. He found the shaft where Roth and the

  rock or hummock or fluted giant columns of

  Mexican had drawn water. He blessed that

  cardones, he drew near the camp chance remark of Vasquez’s concerning the unchallenged. An automatic of small caliber

  need of a rope and pail. He had brought both.

  was in Splint’s pocket. But he was an Eagerly he sunk his pail into the dark depths indifferent shot and dared not chance its use

  and drew it brimming. The water was brackish

  until he should be close enough to be sure his

  and carried the odor of stagnation, but Splint

  work would be good. He knew full well that

  drank it in great gulps. After his thirst had

  one bungled shot would mean for him the end

  been appeased he filled his canteen, watered

  of the treasure trail.

  his horse and pressed on.

  The two men lay in shadow at the base

  Twice during that forenoon Splint

  of a low backbone of rock. Foot by slow foot,

  Moraine caught a view of the two mounted

  crawling belly down upon the sand now, men, tiny figures crawling far ahead. The Splint wormed his way toward them. In the

  character of the country changed as he

  tenuous shadow cast by a clump of ocatilla

  progressed, growing rough and broken. He

  whips he paused to reconnoiter—and at what

  entered at last a great gorge walled on either

  he saw a chill of fear struck him immobile.

  side with scoured cliffs. At mid-afternoon he

  Winking like a dull crimson firefly afloat in

  came suddenly out upon a wider space and

  the pool of darkness where the men lay, saw ahead the green of irrigated fields and glowed the burn of a cigaret.

  orchards and the great bulk of a bell-towered

  One of the two was awake! Splint mission.

  flattened like a lizard hiding. He had not

  For a while he debated whether to

  reckoned on the pair keeping a night watch.

  linger here where he had halted or to go boldly With infinite caution, daring scarcely to into the little hamlet as any honest traveler breathe, he retreated until distance made it

  along the King’s Road might go. He finally

  safe for him to get to his feet. He quickly

  decided to tarry a while before showing

  found his horse and rode back up the trail until himself. For he guessed that Roth and

  gaunt pinnacles of naked stone beside the way

  Vasquez having reached the mission so early

  gave him hiding. Here he rolled himself in his

  in the afternoon, would probably not stay

  blanket against the chill of the desert night. He there the night but would replenish supplies

  slept fitfully, nursing thirst until the dawn, for and go on. He retraced his way into the throat

  he had no means of knowing that Vasquez, a

  o
f the gorge, withdrew behind a litter of

  light sleeper, had merely chanced to awaken

  boulders at one side of the trail. There he

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  5

  made himself comfortable until the sun was

  flung his blankets aside and was half erect,

  close to setting.

  cursing, before Splint could swing the muzzle

  Splint rode into the one street of the

  of his pistol on the shadowy bulk of the man’s

  little town in time to see his quarry riding out big body. In a blind panic of fear Splint fired the other end. He bought tortillas and coffee, until the magazine of his weapon was empty.

  idled a while over the lunch, then followed

  Roth lunged forward, choking horribly under

  through the dusk.

  that deadly stream of bullets, striving to get

  Throughout that day Roth and the his great hands upon the thing that had struck Mexican had set a pace that taxed all Splint

  so viciously in the night. He fell with the life Moraine’s resources to maintain. He hoped

  twitching out of his ponderous frame at

  they would make camp early, for he was Splint’s very feet.

  saddle sore and weary. He was taunted, too,

  When Splint realized that both the men

  by the growing fear that he would not be able

  were dead, realized the ease with which the

  to carry out his evil designs, that he would be deed had been accomplished, his panic left

  cheated out of the treasure that lay at the end him and he smiled a grim, cold smile. With

  of the rapidly shortening trail. That disturbing swiftly moving hands he explored Roth’s

  thought roused him to desperation. Again pockets and found the map. Kicking the tonight he would attempt to get the map, embers of the dying fire into life, he fed the would try to finish those two who stood flame with handy sticks until it gave him light between him and uncounted riches. He shut

  enough to study the route laid out by the dead