CHAPTER XVI
THE DROP
At sunset the reason for the guide's choice of route disclosed itself.The party came to a group of small springs.
Lennon's throat had been parched for the last two hours. He spurred hisjaded pony forward to the mesquite bushes where the Navahos wereunsaddling, and slipped off to dip his empty canteen in the largestspring.
The guide muttered gutturally to Slade who was staring up narrow-eyed atthe broken shoulder of Triple Butte. He wrenched himself about to scowlat Lennon. The engineer had straightened and was raising the half-filledcanteen to drink.
"Hey, you!" bellowed Slade. "Drop that!"
The bullying command was more than Lennon could endure. He waved thecanteen ironically at the trader, turned half away, and put the openingto his mouth. Slade whipped out his revolver and fired. The canteen flewout of Lennon's hand and thumped down upon the stone beside the spring.
For a moment Lennon was so astonished that he stood motionless, staringdown at the canteen. The water gushed and gurgled through the holespierced through the middle of the vessel by the heavy bullet.
The first coherent thought of the engineer was that Slade had intendedto murder him. He put his hand to the pocket that held Farley's revolverand turned to face Slade. The trader's weapon was already back in itsholster. His stained teeth showed in a wide grin.
"May I ask what you mean by shooting at me?" demanded Lennon.
Slade's mirth burst out in a roar of laughter.
"Shooting at you--shooting _now_?" he jibed when he could speak. "Youmust figger I'm plumb loco. Any fool ought to know anybody would holdoff till you located the mine. Even supposing I was going to plant you,I'd wait, wouldn't I, huh?"
Lennon saw the point even clearer than the trader intended. He wassupposed to take the piece of grim humour as a reassurance. The derisivebanter was an unintentional notification that he could expect to bemurdered immediately after the finding of the lost lode. But until thenhe must continue to play the dupe.
"I must confess I do not fancy your Western jokes," he said. "You havespoiled a perfectly good canteen."
"Happens you're worth more to me than it; and you was dead set onfilling up with that poison water," rejoined Slade.
"Poison?"
The old Navaho was drinking from the second spring, less than two pacesaway from the first. Lennon pointed at him.
"Sure," said Slade. "It's not the only case I know of finding good water'longside arsenic, in a copper district."
The actions of the Indians bore out the truth of their master'sassertion, or at least proved that they believed the first springpoisonous. The horses were picketed well away from it and from the jointrill of the two springs, which trickled down slope a few yards beforeseeping away among the stones.
The camp supper of bacon and flapjacks was soon followed by thespreading of blankets on the nearest stretches of sand. The Navahos wentoff to one side. Slade ordered Lennon to keep near him and carefullyencircled their bedding-down place with the coils of a horsehair lariat.
The purpose of the lariat became apparent to Lennon when he was rousedby the chill of dawn. He saw one of the Navahos rake out of the embersof the evening's fire a torpid tarantula as big as his hand.
Lennon thought of Elsie's daintiness and soft ways. The girl was utterlyout of keeping with this fierce land of desolation and thirst, of thornsand poison springs, of venomous reptiles and insects, of ferociousbeasts and men. She did not belong and never would. She was a gardenflower.
Carmena was different. Her rich bloom was more like the flowers of thedesert growths--the thorn-guarded yucca and needled cactus. There wasnothing soft and cuddly about _her_.
At the realization of where his thoughts were drifting, Lennon wrenchedhis mental focus back to Elsie. What concern could the fate of Carmenabe to him? She belonged with her drunken, criminal father in Dead Hole.All thought and effort must be centred on the rescue of Elsie.
After a hasty meal of flapjacks, bacon, and coffee, the party startedout to work north around Triple Butte. The country was now unknownground even to the old Navaho guide. But he showed great craft inpuzzling out the directions given to him.
An inner pocket hid the map that Lennon had brought from the East. Hetook care that Slade and the Navahos thought he was going by memory. Hadhe told of the map at any time after reaching Dead Hole he now feltcertain that he never would have lived to get this near the mine. Sladewould have taken the map and killed him out of hand. So at least Lennonbelieved.
Once the party rounded upon the northern slopes of Triple Butte, thepoints described on the map became easily recognizable. All thatremained to do was to ride around a spur ridge and slant into the valleythat headed up between the western and central towers of the greatbutte. Here the searchers came upon trees and grass and running water.Farther up stood a small cabin, near a spring that had been blasted outand rimmed with rock to form a convenient basin.
Lennon spurred forward beside Slade.
"Promising. What?" he remarked.
"Not what, but where?" growled the trader. "Hold on--that looks like anold burro trail."
"Yes. Up first ravine toward left edge of middle butte, half a mile tolode," Lennon quoted the last directions that he had read on the map.
Slade signed for the Navahos to wait at the spring. A brutal jab of thespurs sent his horse bounding off at top speed. Lennon's pony was leftbehind until the leader wheeled into the first ravine and came upagainst a steep slide of loose rock. To force even the nimblest ofmounts to attempt such an ascent would have meant risking a bad fall.
As Lennon loped his pony into the ravine the trader swore blasphemouslyand swung out of his saddle to scramble up the slide. Great as was hisstrength, it was offset by the fact that his weight tended to bring theloose stones sliding down at every step. Lennon was not only lighter andmore agile but had the advantage of better wind.
He was but a few steps below when Slade reached the head of the slide.Close above them the ascent was barred by high ledges that dropped offfrom the upper part of the ravine. Slade stared savagely at the dullreddish-brown face of the ledges. The metallic surface plainly showedthe use of pick and dynamite. He uttered a furious oath as he turnedupon Lennon.
"You lying skunk!" he bellowed. "This ain't no gold mine!"
All the way up the slide Lennon had perceived the copper in the floatrock. He was prepared for the trader's outburst. Farley's revolver layready in his grasp, behind the sling on his right arm.
"Have you--what do you call it?--gone loco?" he asked. "I told youdistinctly my search was for a copper mine. The gold lode was your ownfancy. You will now apologize for that term you used."
Had one of his Navahos made the demand, Slade could not have been moreamazed. He gaped, dumbfounded. Then his rage burst out again withredoubled fury. But the sight of Lennon's revolver muzzle put an abruptend to his violent curses.
"Good enough," said Lennon. "Now my apology, if you please."
The cool politeness of the request emphasized its deadly earnestness.Lennon was keen for an excuse to shoot the big scoundrel. The look inhis eye was unmistakable.
"All right," grunted Slade. "Have it your own way. I back up."
"You apologize?"
"Sure. Even a tenderfoot is entitled to that--when he gits the drop onyou."
"Quite true," agreed Lennon, and he thrust the revolver into his pocket."Now, with regard to the lode, our next step will be----"
"What'd you say you was to git from your copper company?" broke inSlade, suddenly straight-eyed and cordial.
"Twenty thousand bonus for relocating the lode, and----"
"You can draw on 'em for it?"
"For half, at least. You shall have your ten thousand as soon as yourid the Farleys of Cochise and his gang. That was the agreement."
The trader thwacked his beefy hand down on Lennon's shoulder.
"That's a go, pard. I own up honest I figgered your talk of copper wasall bunk. B
ut I aim to stand by my bargains. Only you're sure now thishere lode ain't no blind, are you? You ain't got that gold mine, too,hiding out hereabouts?"
"I give you my word, Slade, this is the only mine or lode of which Iknow."
Slade's look was more profane than a spoken curse.
"Huh--another El Dorado lie roped and branded. Only thing to do is to goafter that bonus of yours."
"I must take samples and measurements for my report," said Lennon. "Thecompany does not pay for the guesses of its engineers."
None too willingly Slade took the end of the small steel-ribbonengineer's tape that was held out to him. Lennon measured the width ofthe copper ledges, noted the trend and dip of the immense lode, andcalculated its thickness where exposed. Samples were then gathered.
Upon the return down the slide the trader suddenly paused to point atthe skull of a half-buried human skeleton.
"Huh," he grunted. "Cripple Sim didn't have no pard. But look at thepick--another prospector. Must 'a' stumbled on the mine. Lots of good itdone him. See that hole? His pard plugged him through the head, streakedout, got lost, died. That's how I figger it."
"Poor chap!" Lennon murmured his pity for the murdered man, and helingered to cover over the skeleton with a pile of loose stones.
At the spring he found the Indians cooking another round of flapjacks,bacon, and coffee. After the meal the party waited through the heat ofmid-day while the horses cropped the grass along the banks of the springrill.
At first there seemed nothing of interest about the old cabin. Thethatch had half blown off; the adobe-plastered stone fireplace andchimney had tumbled down, and sand had drifted in past the broken wattledoor. But when Lennon went in to take advantage of the patch of shadethat was offered, he was shocked to find the skeleton of a woman huddledin the far corner.
Summoned by his call, Slade eyed the skeleton with callous indifference.
"Well, what you kicking up such a fuss about?" he growled. "Mebbe it's asquaw--mebbe a white woman. What's the difference? Been dead eight orten years, by the look of things. Must 'a' got hers same time as theman. We're lucky they didn't git our mine."
The start back was made so late that the party did not reach the arsenicspring until dusk. Lennon had convinced himself that Slade planned toreturn to Dead Hole and at least make a pretense of earning the tenthousand dollars.
His own scheme was to seize Slade's horse and make a run for therailway. But first he must wait to be guided back through the devil'sdooryard of crags and clefts.
He fell asleep with his hand upon the butt of his revolver and therevolver under his body. He awoke at dawn to find his wrists lashedtogether. One of the Navahos stood on guard beside him. The revolver wasgone. Slade and the others were already eating.
No food was brought to Lennon. But after he had been roughly tossed intohis saddle by the Navahos, Slade brought a drink of water from thearsenic spring and offered it with mock hospitality.
"It's a dry ride," he urged. "Take a good swaller, son. It'll keep youfrom gitting thirsty."
Lennon looked at him steady-eyed.
"May I ask what you expect to gain by this, Slade?"
"Gain?--me?" The trader stared back no less unwaveringly. "I just doneit to save you gitting in trouble. You're too careless--way you handle agun. Might hurt somebody one of these here days. Anyhow, this'll helpyou think things over. Sabe?"
The poison water splashed down upon the dry rocks. Slade mounted, toride off after the guide. The other Navahos lashed Lennon to his saddleand drove his pony before them, along with the pack horse.
Though the old Navaho found a rather shorter way out through the jumblemaze of the bad lands, Lennon's mouth and throat were dust dry and histongue swollen before the party reached the trail.
The thirst torture continued until the arrival at the pueblo. ThereSlade at last gave drink to his prisoner and disclosed his purpose, witha pretense of indignation.
"You ought to be strung up for trying to shoot me, Lennon. But I'm aneasy-going man--easy and forgiving. You only got to make out your reportand send for that twenty thousand. When it comes on, I'll let you go."
"Very kind of you, I'm sure," replied Lennon, after he had drained thelast drop of water from the jar. "However, I am in no hurry to make myreport. I shall send it on and draw your half of the money--after youhave kept your bargain with regard to Cochise."
Slade deliberately drew his revolver and aimed it between Lennon's eyes.
"Just remember, your riding in the way you did was to set you tothinking," he reminded. "This ain't no joke. Guess you'll agree now togit started on that report, huh?"
Lennon smiled at the revolver and the still more menacing steel-whiteeyes that glared at him along the barrel.
"Is it not time you set to thinking yourself, Slade?" he suggested."Alive, I am worth ten thousand dollars to you, as soon as you keep yourbargain. Dead, I would not be worth a penny to you or any one else."
The brick red of the trader's big face purpled and the hand that grippedthe revolver shook with the excess of his rage as he jammed the weaponback into its holster.
"Wait," he said. "We'll see what Cochise can do to make you behave."
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