by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER FOUR
The night was growing cold, and Casey had no coat. At least he couldgo down and tell Barney what he had discovered and had failed todiscover, and get something to eat. Barney would probably be worryingabout him, though there was a chance that a bullet had found Barneybefore dark. Casey was uneasy, and once he was down the fissure again,he hurried as much as possible.
He managed to reach the camp by the little spring without being shot atand without breaking a leg. But Barney was not there. Just at firstCasey believed he was dead; but a brief search told Casey that two ofthe largest canteens were gone, together with a side of bacon, someflour and all of the tobacco. White assassins would have made a morethorough job of robbing the camp. Barney, it was evident, had fled thefate of the burros.
Casey told the stars what he thought of a partner like Barney.Afterward he ate what was easiest to swallow without cooking,overhauled what was left of their outfit, cached the remainder in aclump of bushes, and wearily climbed the bluff again under a capacityload. He concealed himself in the bottom of the fissure to sleep,since he could search no farther.
If he thought wistfully of the palled comfort of his apartment in LosAngeles, and of the Little Woman there, he still did not think stronglyenough to send him back to them. For with a canteen or two of water,some food and his two capable legs to carry him, Casey Ryan could havemade it to Barstow easily enough. But because he was Casey Ryan, andIrish, and because he was always on the hunt for trouble withoutrecognizing it when he met it in the trail, it never occurred to him tofollow Barney down to safer country.
"That there Joshuay tree meant a lot more'n what it let on, pointin' upthis way!" Casey muttered, staring down upon a somnolent wildernessblanketed with hushed midnight. "If it thinks it's got Casey whipped,it better think agin and think quick. I'll give it somethin' to pointat, 'fore I leave this here butte.
"Funny, the way it kept pointin' up this way. I've saw Joshuaysbefore--miles of 'em. But I never seen one that looked so kinda humanand so kinda like it was tryin' to talk. Seems kinda funny; an' thatold lady rockin' an' lookin'--seems like her an' the Joshuay has kindathrowed in together, hopin' somebody might come along with savvy enoughto kinda--aw, hell!" So did Casey and his Irish belief in thesupernatural fall plump against the limitations of his vocabulary.
Against the limitations proscribed by his material predicament,however, Casey Ryan set his face with a grin. Somebody was going toget the big jolt of his life before long, he told himself over acareful breakfast fire built cunningly far back in the crevice where acurrent of air sucked into the rock capping of the butte. Something wasgoing on up here that shouldn't go on. He did not know what it was,but he meant to stop it. He did not know who was making Indian war onpeaceful prospectors, but Casey felt that they were already as good aslicked, since he was here with breakfast under his belt and hissix-shooter tucked handily inside his waistband.
He squinted up the crack in the ledge, made certain mental alterationsin its narrow, jagged walls, and reached for the tough-handled,efficient prospector's pick he had thoughtfully included in his meagreequipment. Slowly and methodically he worked up the crevice, knockingoff certain sharp points of rock, and knowing all the while what wouldprobably happen to him if he were overheard.
He was not discovered, however. When he laid elbows on the upper levelof the rim and pulled himself up, his coat was on his back where itbelonged, and even Barney could have followed him. Yet the top showedno evidence of a widening of the fissure. The bushy junipers hid himcompletely while he reconnoitred and considered what he should do.
Because the place was close and the invisible call was strong, Caseywent first to the rock hut, circled it carefully and found that it wasexactly what it had seemed at first sight; a hidden place with noevident opening save that high, small window under the eaves. Therewas no sign of pathway leading to it, no trace of life outside itswall. But when he crept close and peeked in again, there sat the oldwoman rocking back and forth. But to-day she stared at the wall beforeher.
Casey felt a distinct sensation of relief just in knowing that she was,after all, capable of moving. Now her head was not bent, but restedagainst the back of her chair. She was rocking steadily, quietly, withnever a halt.
Casey rapped on the window and waited, fighting a nameless dread of themystery of her. But she continued to rock and to stare at the wall; ifshe heard the tapping she gave no sign whatever. So presently he turnedaway and set himself to the work of finding the man with the rifle.
To that end he first of all climbed the tallest pinon tree in sight; atree that stood on a rise of ground apart from its brothers. From theconcealment of its branches, he surveyed his surroundings carefully,noting especially the notched unevenness of the butte's rim and howjust behind him it narrowed unexpectedly to a thin ridge not more thana couple of hundred yards in breadth. A jagged outcropping cutstraight across and Casey saw how yesterday he had mistaken that ledgefor the rim of the butte. His man must have been out on the pointbeyond him all the while. He was out there now, very likely; there, ordown in the camp he had watched yesterday like a vulture.
His search having narrowed to an area easily covered in an hour or two,Casey turned his head and examined as well as he could the deep canyonthat had bitten into the butte and caused that narrow peak. Treesblocked his view there, and he was feeling about for a lower footholdso that he could make the descent when a voice from the ground startledhim considerably.
"Come down outa there, before I shoot yuh down!"
Casey looked down and saw what he afterwards declared was the meanestlooking man on earth, pointing straight at him the widest muzzledshotgun he had ever seen in his life.
Casey came down. The last ten feet of the distance he made in a cleanjump, planting his feet full in the old man's stomach. The meanestlooking man on earth gave a grunt and crumpled, with Casey's fingersdigging into his throat.
Whether Casey would have killed him or not will never be known. Forjust as the man was falling limp in his hands, another heavy bodylanded upon Casey's back. Casey felt a hard, chill circle pressedagainst his perspiring temple. His hands relaxed and fall away fromthe throat, leaving finger marks there in the flesh.
"Git up off'n him!" a new voice commanded harshly, and Casey obeyed.His captor shifted the gun muzzle to the back of Casey's neck and pokedthe gasping, bearded old man with his toe.
"Git up, Paw, you old fool, you! What'd you let 'im light on yuh fer?Why couldn't you a stood back a piece, outa reach? You like to gotcroaked."
Casey found it prudent to hold his head rather still, as a man doeswhen he carries a boil on his neck. The muzzle of a six-shooter has aquieting effect, when applied to the person by an unfriendly hand.Casey did not at once see the intruder. But presently "Paw" recoveredhimself and his shotgun, and swung it menacingly toward Casey.Whereupon the cold circle left Casey's medulla oblongata and along-faced, long-legged youth stepped somewhat hastily to one side.
"Paw, you ol' fool, you, get your finger off'n that trigger whilstyou're aimin' at me!" he exclaimed pettishly.
"I wa'n't aimin' at you. I was aimin' at this 'ere--" Casey heardhimself called many names, any one of which was good for a fight whenCasey was free.
"Aw, you shut up, Paw. You ain't gittin' nobody nowhere," the soninterrupted. "You can't cuss 'im t' death--he looks like he could cutloose a few of them pet names hisself if he got a chancet. Yuh mighttell us what you was doin' up that there tree, mister. An' what you'redoin' on this here butte, anyhow."
Casey looked at him. Knowing Casey, I should say that his eyes werenot pleasant. "Talk to Paw," he advised contemptuously. "The two ofyuh may possibly be able to stand each other without gittin' sick; butme, I never did git used to skunks!"
That remark very nearly got him a through ticket to Land Beyond. But,being very nearly what Casey had called them, they contented themselveswith mouthing vile epithets.
"Better take 'im down t
o the mine an' keep 'im till Mart gets back,Paw," the long-jawed youth suggested, when he ran short ofobjurgations. "Mart'll fix 'im when he comes."
"I'd fix 'im, here an', now," threatened Paw, "but Mart, he's so damnedtechy lately--what we oughta do is bust 'is head with a rock an' pitch'im over the rim. That'd fix 'im."
They wrangled over the suggestion, and finally decided to take him downand turn him over to one whom they called Joe. Casey went alongpeaceably, hopeful that he would later have a chance to fight back. Hetold himself that they both had heads like peanuts, and whenever theymoved, he swore, he could hear their brains rattle in their skulls. Itdoesn't take brains to shoot straight, and he decided that the lankyyoung man was the one who had shot from the rim-rock. They drove himdown into the narrow, deep gulch, following a steep trail that Caseyhad not seen the day before. The trail led them to the mouth of atunnel; and by the size of the dump Casey judged that the workings wereof a considerable extent. They were getting out silver ore, heguessed, after a glance or two at stray pieces of rock.
Joe was a big, glum-looking individual with his left hand bandaged. Hechewed tobacco industriously and maintained a complete silence whileHank, frequently telling Paw to shut up, told how and where they hadfound Casey spying up on the butte.
"We don't fancy stray desert rats prowlin' around without no reason,"said Joe. "Our boss that we're workin' for ain't at home. We'relookin' for 'im back any day now, an' we'll just hold yuh till hecomes. He can do as he likes about yuh. You'll have to work fer yourboard--c'm on an' I'll show yuh how."
Hank followed Casey and Joe into the tunnel. Casey made no objectionswhatever to going. The tunnel was a fairly long one, he noticed, withdrifts opening out of it to left and right. At the end of the maintunnel, Joe turned, took Casey's candle from him and stuck it into aseam in the wall, as he had done with his own.
"Ever drill in rock?" he asked shortly.
"Mebbe I have an' mebbe I ain't," Casey returned defiantly.
"Here's a drill, an' here's your single-jack. Now git t' work. Thereain't any loafin' around this camp, and spies never meant good tonobody. Yuh needn't expect to be popular with us--but you'll git yourgrub if yuh earn it."
Casey looked at the drill, took the double-headed, four-pound hammerand hesitated. He has said that it was pretty hard to resist brainingthe two of them at once. But there would still be the old man with theshotgun, and he admitted that he was curious about the old woman whorocked and rocked. He decided to wait awhile and see, why these minersfound it necessary to shoot harmless prospectors who came near thebutte. So he spat into the dust of the tunnel floor, squinted at Joefor a minute and went to work.
That day Casey was kept underground except during the short interval of"shooting" and waiting for the dynamite smoke to clear out of thetunnel; which process Casey assisted by operating a hand blower muchagainst his will. Joe remained always on guard, eyeing Caseysuspiciously. When at last he was permitted to pick up his coat andleave the tunnel, night had fallen so that the gulch was dim andshadowy. Casey was conducted to a dugout cabin where bacon was fryingtoo fast and smoking suffocatingly. Paw was there, in a vile temperwhich seemed to be directed toward the three impartially and to havebeen caused chiefly by his temporary occupation as camp cook.
Casey watched the old man place food for one person in little disheswhich he set in a bake pan for want of a tray. He added a small tinteapot of tea and disappeared from the dugout.
"Two of us waitin' to see your boss, huh?" Casey inquired boldly ofJoe. "Can't we eat together?"
"You can call yourself lucky if you eat at all," Joe retorted glumly."The old man's pretty sore at the way you handled him. He's runnin'this camp; I ain't."
Casey let it go at that, chiefly because he was hungry and tired anddid not want to risk losing his supper altogether. Hounds like these,he told himself bitterly, were capable of any crime--from smashing aman's skull and throwing him off the rim-rock to starving him to death.He was Casey Ryan, ready always to fight whether his chance of winningwas even or merely microscopical; but even so, Casey was not inclinedtoward suicide.
When the old man presently returned and the three sat down to thetable, Casey obeyed a gesture and sat down with them. In spite ofJoe's six-shooter laid handily upon the table beside his plate, Caseyate heartily, though the food was neither well cooked nor overplentiful.
After supper he rose and filled his pipe which they had permitted himto keep. A stranger coming into the cabin might not have guessed thatCasey was a prisoner. When the table was cleared and Hank set aboutwashing the dishes, Casey picked up a grimy dish towel branded black inplaces where it had rubbed sooty kettles, and grinned cheerfully at Pawwhile he dried a tin plate. Paw eyed him dubiously over a stinkingpipe, spat reflectively into the woodbox and crossed his legs the otherway, loosely swinging an ill-shod foot.
"Y'ain't told us yet what brung yuh up on the butte," Paw observedsuddenly. "Yuh wa'n't lost--yuh ain't got the mark uh no tenderfoot.What was yuh doin' up in that tree?"
"Mebbe I mighta been huntin' mountain sheep," Casey retorted calmly.
"Huntin' mountain sheep up a tree is a new one," tittered Hank. "Wishyou'd give me a swaller uh that brand. Must have a kick like a brindlemule."
"More likely 'White Mule.'" Casey cocked a knowing eye at Hank. "You'retoo late, young feller. I chewed the cork day before yesterday," hedeclared.
While he fished another plate out of the pan, Casey observed that Pawlooked at Joe inquiringly, and that Joe moved his head sidewise acareful inch, and back again.
"Moonshine, huh?" Paw hazarded hopefully. "Yuh peddlin' it, er makin'it?"
Casey grinned secretively. "A man can't be pinched without the goods,"he observed shrewdly. "I was raised in a country where they took foolsout an' brained 'em with an axe. You fellers ain't been none toofriendly, recollect. When's your boss expected home, did yuh say? I'dkinda like to meet 'im."
"He'll kinda like to meet you," Joe returned darkly. "Your actions hasbeen plumb suspicious.
"Nothin' suspicious about MY actions," Casey stated truculently,throwing discretion behind him. "The suspiciousness lays up heresomewheres on this butte. If yuh want to know what brung me up here,Casey Ryan's the man that can tell yuh to your faces. I come up hereto find out who's been gittin' busy with a high-power on my camp downbelow. Ain't it natural a man'd want to know who'd shot his twoburros--an' 'is pardner?" Casey had impulsively decided to throw inBarney for good measure. "Casey Ryan ain't the man to set under a bushan' be shot at like a rabbit. You can ask anybody if Casey ever backedup fer man er beast. I come up here huntin'. Shore I did. It wasn'tsheep I was after--that there's my mistake. It was goats."
"Guess I got yourn," Hank leered "when stuck my gun in your back hair."
"If any one's 'been usin' a high-power it wasn't on this butte," Joegrowled. "None uh this bunch done any shootin'. Pap an' Hank, theywas up here huntin' burros an I caught yuh up a tree spyin'. We got alittle band uh antelope up here we're pertectin'. Our boss got himselfmade a deppity fer just such cases as yourn appears t' be--pervidin'your case ain't worse.
"Now you say your pardner was shot down below in your camp. That shorelooks bad fer you, old-timer. The boss'll shore have t' look into itwhen he gits here. Lucky we made up our minds t' hold yuh--a murderer,like as not." He filled his pipe with deliberation, while Casey, hisjaw sagging, stared from one to the other.
Casey had meant to accuse them to their faces of shooting Barney andthe burros from the rim-rock. It had occurred to him that if theybelieved Barney dead, they might reveal something of their purpose inthe attack. Concealment, he felt vaguely, would serve merely tosharpen their suspicion of him. It had seemed very important to Caseythat these three should not know that Barney was probably well on hisway to Barstow by now.
Barney in Barstow would mean Barney bearing news that Casey Ryan wasundoubtedly murdered by outlaws in the Panamints; which would mean afew officers on th
e trail, with Barney to guide them to the spot. Pawand Hank and Joe--outlaws all, he would have sworn would get what Caseycalled their needin's. His jaw muscles tightened when he thought ofthat, and the prospect held him quiet under Joe's injustice.
"I can prove anything I'm asked to prove when the time comes," he saidsourly, and began to roll himself a cigarette, since his pipe had goneout. "But I ain't in any courtroom yet, an' you fellers ain't anyjudge an' jury."
"We got to hold ye," Paw spoke up unctiously, as if the decision hadbeen his. "Ef a crime's been committed, like you say it has, we got todo our duty an' hold ye. The boss'll know what to do with ye--like Isaid all along; when I hauled ye down outa that tree, for instance.
"Aw, shut up, Paw, you ol' fool, you," Hank commanded again with filialgentleness. "He had yore tongue hangin' out a foot when I come alongan' captured 'im. Don't go takin' no credit to yourself--you ain't gotnone comin'. Mart'll know what to do with 'im, all right. But yuhneedn't go an' try to let on to Mart that you was the one that caught'im. He had you caught. An' he'd a killed yuh if I hadn't showed upan' pulled 'im off'n yuh."
"Well now, when it comes to KILLIN'," Casey interjected spitefully, "Iguess I coulda put the two of yuh away if I'd a wanted to right bad.Casey Ryan ain't no killer, because he don't have to be. G'wan an'hold me if yuh feel that way. Grub ain't none too good, but I canstand it till your boss comes. I want a man-to-man talk with him,anyway."
