by John Benteen
“Selling the mine would take care of that.”
She stared at him a moment, then came to him, took his hand. “Jim, there is another way. And it would make us both rich.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re man enough to hold the mine against all comers, man enough to see it developed right. Suppose we filed on it together, you and me? Suppose we went partners? Maybe we could even ... Jim, dressed up like I ought to be, I’m not so ugly. And ... I can cook, and Jeff Galax taught me a lot of things about what people do in bed. I could make you happy. And you could be rich, too. And your Indians, that man of yours in Washington ... Think of what you could do for them with all that silver.” She took his hand. “Jim, we could marry, and then we’d both have the mine.”
For a moment, almost, Sundance was tempted. Then he shook his head. “No. No, it sounds good, Billy, but it wouldn’t work. First place, it might be a year before the mine was producing enough to show a profit and the Indians can’t wait that long. Second ... I’m no rock rat. I can’t spend my life up here in the Skulls diggin’ in the ground like a mountain whistler, or a mole. I’d go sour, and in a hurry. Me, I’ve got to move around and have room to do it in. There’s too much Cheyenne in me to build my life around a tunnel and stay in one place.”
Billy looked at him wordlessly. At last she nodded. “All right. We’ll do it your way, then. But ... can I do this? If you sell the mine for me, will you take ten per cent?”
“Not for myself,” Sundance said. “But I will for the Indians. And be much obliged.”
“Well, then,” she said and drew in breath. Her eyes were misty, but she smiled. “In that case, it’s settled. What next?”
“Why,” Sundance said, “we get our gear together. And then you lead me to the mine. You stake a discovery claim and I’ll stake one adjoining. We both register ’em, and then I sell mine to you for one dollar. After that, we let the buyers come to us. Play ’em one against the other, run up the price, and when we hit the top, you sell out.”
“You make it sound so easy,” she said. Quickly, she turned away. “Well, let’s get started.”
~*~
With the sniper disposed of, there was no reason why they should not ride in daylight, and they did.
Billy led the way, because she knew the route, and Sundance trailed close behind, the Big Fifty cradled on his saddle, a round in its breech. The gun was too big, too cumbersome, and too limited by its one-round capacity to be made a permanent part of his outfit; at the same time, it was so fine a weapon that he could not bear to part with it. Besides, it was ideally suited for this terrain, and he would hang on to it at least until they got back to Bootstrap.
For four hours, they plunged deeper into the barren rugged wasteland of the Skulls. The going got worse instead of better, and Sundance could easily understand how the spring of water and the mine both could remain undiscovered unless you chanced on them. This was as close to being hell with the fires out as any scope of country he had seen north of the Rio Grande.
When darkness came, they built a fire in the shelter of a draw and had their first hot meal in these mountains. But their water was nearing its end, and the animals badly needed drinking to their fill; and when the moon came up, Sundance insisted they ride on and try to make the spring. It was, Billy said, only a couple of hours distant.
The full moon flooded the range with silver light. Shadows came and went eerily, but Sundance paid no attention to them. What he watched was the wind—and Eagle’s ears. As long as they rode into the wind, Eagle would scent trouble from a long way off. When it quartered on them, Sundance would swing the stallion briefly into it and let him test it. Once he snorted, surged against the bit, and the half-breed brought the Big Fifty up and ready. Then there was a chorus of whinnies, the rattle of unshod hooves, and a band of wild horses stampeded down a draw. Sundance grinned, relaxed.
It was midnight, the moon still high, every feature of the landscape vivid, when they entered a narrow canyon, its walls rising sheerly, its floor a jumble of rock over which the horses picked their way with difficulty. Billy kept to the right wall, following its every twist and turn, watching carefully. Then she reined in her mount. “There,” she said. She pointed at an odd rock formation protruding from the canyon wall; it resembled vaguely the head of some great animal.
“That’s the one landmark Dad never put on the map—the Bear’s Head, he called it. And it’s why the man who killed him and his party never found the mine. If he hadn’t been so treacherous, he’d have had a seventh of a fortune. Instead, he wound up with nothing.” She put her horse over the rocks, toward the jutting formation. Then Sundance saw the narrow cleft behind it in the canyon wall: a split barely large enough to admit a horse and rider. Into it, Billy disappeared, and he followed, acknowledging that unless you knew it was there, you’d never notice it.
For a mile, they rode single-file through a steep, narrow gorge. Then they emerged into another canyon, this one nearly a perfect circle, its cliffs towering, and, in its center, a sandy shore, a grove of willows, and a pool, its placid surface glinting in the moonlight.
“Here we are,” Billy said, as the eager horses ran to water. “The spring—and we have to climb out of the canyon to get to the mine. It’s about two miles further on, and the trail’s too rough for a horse to climb at night.”
“Then we’ll wait ’til morning,” Sundance said. With the salt-impregnated head of Jefferson Galax in the canvas bag behind his saddle, there was nothing to fear here in this remote place. Nevertheless, swinging down, he scanned the rimrock. Nothing moved up there, nor did he expect anything to. He held the animals until they’d drunk enough but not too much, then picketed the gelding on the good forage nearby. Eagle he did not tie; the big horse would not leave him. Then, crouched low, eyes circling the ground, he read sign around the spring.
There were boot-tracks, a day, maybe two days old, tracks, too, of at least one shod horse. That would be Galax. But the wild bunch, the broomtails, drank here, too, and their fresher tracks had obliterated most of the sign. Nothing to cause any alarm. Yet, Sundance had not lived nearly four decades in a hard country by being careless—and still, somewhere deep inside his consciousness, there was a loose end untied, something that did not fit, made no sense. Again he probed for it, could not find it, and knew the reason was exhaustion. He’d pushed himself to the limit these past few days; a night’s sleep and his mind would be clear again.
He straightened up; and then he froze. Across the spring, Billy Mercer stripped off her shirt, threw it aside. Her eyes met his and she smiled faintly. She had already pulled off guns and boots, and now the pants followed, and then she was naked before him, and lovely in the moonlight, with no hint of masculinity about her now, but wholly woman. He saw the hard, pointed tips of rounded breasts, the feminine curve of hip and buttock. She stood there poised for a moment, letting him look at her. Then she launched herself into a shallow dive, swam out across the wide pool fed by the spring.
Sundance grinned. In a pair of minutes his own clothes and gear were neatly stacked and he followed her into the water, swimming with easy strokes. It was cold, cold enough to take your breath, and it felt good after the desert heat, laying off the grit and dust and stink of death …
“Jim … ” Billy swam up to him, and they embraced. She looked up at him, locked her legs around his waist. As he kissed her, they both rolled over, under water. And then came up, and she kicked loose, swam a few strokes more, and then she scrambled out, running to where she had spread their bedrolls. Sundance followed.
Wet, she rolled up in a blanket to dry herself and then unrolled, lying naked there and waiting. He lay beside her, hand stroking the smooth curve of hip and buttock. Her arms went around his neck, her mouth sought his, her breasts flattened against the banded, scarred muscles of his chest. “Jim,” she whispered; and she had not lied. Galax—or someone—had taught her a great deal indeed about what happened in a bed …
; Later, exhausted, with the stallion standing guard, they slept.
~*~
Daylight awakened Sundance, and, like an animal, he knew instantly where he was and from the sun’s slant what time of day it was. Beside him in the bedroll, Billy Mercer was still sound asleep; it would, Sundance thought, take her a long time to recuperate from the hardships of the last few days. But, if everything went well, within another week she’d be a wealthy woman, and hardships of any kind would be things of the past.
He had dressed, put his weapons near him, last night, after they had made love, before he’d gone to sleep. Now he buckled on his gun belt, scraped up willow brush to make a fire. He himself had slept well, his mind was rested. Yet that something still nagged him and nagged him harder, stronger, than ever. Something was wrong, he had made some mistake.
And then he had it. “Hell,” he said, and he was back to his bedroll in a bound, reaching for the Big Fifty. If he were right, he might need it any second. But his hand never touched it: from up there on the canyon’s rim, a gun roared thunderously, and a tremendous shower of sand and gravel made the half-breed jump back, as a huge slug plowed into the ground between him and the gun.
“Sundance!” a voice bellowed from the heights above. “Damn you, stand fast or I’ll blow you into little pieces!”
Sundance froze, except, slowly, to raise his hands. Billy Mercer screamed, jumping from the bed, still naked. “What—?”
“Easy,” said Sundance bitterly. “We’ve got company. Wolf Hargitt’s up there on the rim —and he’s got a Sharps rifle.”
“And Wolf ain’t alone,” another voice called. “Because I’m here, too, Sundance— and I’ve got a buffalo gun with me, just like Wolf!”
Sundance raised his head, scanned the rim. “MacLaurin!” he rasped.
“The same.” MacLaurin’s ironic voice rang through the canyon.
“So you were in it with Galax, too—you and Wolf.”
Billy snatched up a blanket, covered herself. “I don’t understand. Jim, I— Wolf? MacLaurin?”
Sundance said quietly, “They were Jeff Galax’s partners. God damn it, I should have known. He as much as told me yesterday that he wasn’t alone, that somebody from Bootstrap was in with him and had told him I was comin’. Just before he died, he spoke my name. And he had only seen me once, and that at night, sixteen years before. He had no way of knowing who I was, no reason to recollect me. Let it ride for now. We’re in trouble. All right, MacLaurin!” he yelled. “Hold your fire. I’m not buckin’ a lock!”
“Smart man!” MacLaurin called. “Now, take off that gun. Then you and the girl walk around to the other side of the pool, hands up.”
Sundance unbuckled the gun belt, let it drop. Billy reached for her clothes, but Wolf Hargitt’s voice rang out: “Nemmind, sister. Me, I want to take a good look at what you got. You jest stay the way you are—buck nekkid. Watch ’em, Ron. I’m comin’ down.”
Sundance’s mind was working swiftly, recovered from the surprise. There was, he knew, no hope of any successful resistance right now. All he and Billy could do was obey, stay alive as long as possible, hope for a chance later. Meanwhile, things were clicking in his head; at least partially, he understood now what he should have guessed yesterday. “Do what they say, Billy,” he told her quietly.
“Don’t make any breaks. Come on.” And he and the girl, still holding the blanket, put the spring between themselves and their weapons.
“Sundance,” the girl said breathily, “I don’t understand ... Jess never told me about them.”
“Hush,” he said. “Just wait and don’t do anything to get ’em riled. Play along with everything they say. It’s our only chance. Above all, don’t fight Hargitt. No matter what he tries to do.”
Now there was the sound of a horse’s iron-shod hooves on stone. In a moment, Hargitt appeared, his mount emerging from the steep cleft in the canyon wall. Eagle nickered, swung around, ears laid back, head snaked low, ready to fight if Sundance gave the word. But the half-breed’s firm command made the stallion ease. Hargitt now held not a buffalo gun, but a Winchester carbine as his mount advanced, and Sundance had no wish to have the big Appaloosa shot.
“Well,” Wolf said, reining in across the pool. His face was still bruised and battered from the hammering Sundance had given him, his eyes glittering like polished agates, hatred a thick rasp in his voice. “Well, Siwash, you ain’t so high and mighty now.” He tilted the rifle forward, lined it on Sundance’s chest, cocked, finger on the trigger. “You got any heathen prayers to say, you’d better git ’em said. Quick.”
Sundance stared into the bore of the gun, knowing he was only seconds away from death. He sucked in breath. It wasn’t much of a chance with MacLaurin up there on the rim, but if he yelled a command to Eagle and the stallion charged …
Then Hargitt laughed shortly and lowered the gun a little. “Don’t scare easy, huh? Well, by damn, you’ll wish you’d died that quick before I git through with you. But first we got a use for you. And you, Billy—” His eyes flicked to her. “You know damn well I got a use for you. A lot of use …” He chuckled ropily, obscenely.
“Dammit, Wolf, don’t waste time!” MacLaurin called.
“Okay!” Hargitt snapped. He put his horse around the pool, up close to Sundance. He leaned out, the half-breed stepped back instinctively as the rifle barrel rose, chopped down. But he was too late. It smashed into his skull, and then there was only blackness. The last thing he heard as he fell was a charging stallion’s scream of rage.
~*~
Cold water thrown into his face awakened him. Pain lanced through his skull as he opened his eyes. Wolf Hargitt’s battered, beardy face and huge form bulked against the sky above him. Sundance tried to roll as Hargitt kicked him in the ribs. That was when he found that his hands were tied together behind his back.
Wolf’s boot toe landed with sickening impact. Sundance gasped in breath. Then Hargitt bent, seized him by the shirt slack, dragged him to his feet. “All right, Si wash. We’re gonna take a little ride.”
Groggily, Sundance looked around. Billy, also bound, was mounted, fully clad, on her gelding. There was no sign of the Appaloosa stallion. Sundance felt a pang of fear. “Eagle?”
“The big stud?” Hargitt’s triumphant grin vanished. “Well, the sonofagun charged me and I took a shot at him. He took some lead, but he hightailed it outa here and he won’t come back. If he lives, he’ll run with the wild bunch from now on. It don’t matter. We got an extra horse. Ron, everything loaded?”
“Everything,” MacLaurin said. No longer dressed in town clothes, he looked a different man. He wore the sombrero, flannel shirt, cord pants and laced boots of a prospector, a miner—and he was at home in them. Two guns were on belts crisscrossed around his waist, their holsters slung low, tied down. His eyes were hard as they raked over Sundance. “All right, you. On that horse over yonder.” He prodded the half-breed with the muzzle of a Sharps Big Fifty.
Sundance went unsteadily to the waiting mount. MacLaurin boosted him into the saddle, took the reins. Leading the horse, he mounted his own animal. Sundance noted that both MacLaurin’s and Wolf’s horse, as Wolf swung up, were draped with all his gear; they had packed even his saddle and bridle. Apparently they were determined that no trace of him should be left behind here by the spring. Even the extra weight of his Big Fifty was slung over Hargitt’s shoulder.
Billy’s horse was roped to Sundance’s. MacLaurin took the lead and Wolf followed, Winchester lined and ready. “The wild bunch’ll wipe out all sign around this spring tonight when they come to drink,” MacLaurin said. “Not even the Injuns will be able to tell whether or not you were here.” He swung the cavalcade into the cleft from which Hargitt had emerged.
They rode in silence. Billy had said the trail up to the mine was brutal, dangerous, and she had not exaggerated. The cleft that led them up out of the canyon was narrow, rock-strewn; the horses stumbled, and Sundance and the girl had all they could do,
with bound hands, to stay in the saddle.
Emerging on the canyon’s rim, they swung toward a hellish jumble of badlands, wind-eroded buttes and gulches, that formed the flank of a higher mountain. Entering this, they traversed a trail barely one horse wide, with a fifty foot sheer drop below. This dead-ended at a high rock wall; they turned right through another cleft, which wound in labyrinthine fashion up the mountain. At last it opened out onto a small bench screened by a thick growth of wind warped juniper, with the mountain rearing above them. Sundance saw a gaping hole in the raw rock of the mountain wall: a cold excitement touched him. That would be the entrance to the fabled Lost Pistol mine.
“Okay, down, both of you,” Hargitt said, as MacLaurin reined in before the mine entrance. He put his horse alongside Sundance’s, gave the half-breed a shove, and Sundance toppled from the saddle, landing heavily on his back. Hargitt laughed, swung down, lifted Billy from her mount.
“Damn you, Wolf!” she grated, struggling in his arms. He laughed again, ground his mouth down on hers, and his big hand pawed her breasts.
“All right, Wolf,” MacLaurin said. “Save it for later. You got plenty of time.” As Sundance scrambled to his feet, he planted himself before the half-breed, face sardonic.
“Well,” he said. “Looks like we did what Galax couldn’t do. Took the great Jim Sundance by surprise. And it don’t make sense to you, does it, Sundance? You can’t figure out what’s going on.”
“Some of it I can,” Sundance said. “You and Hargitt were in with Galax. You kept him supplied with ammo for his Big Fifty— and kept all the other Sharps and ammo anywhere around locked up, so nobody could come after him with one. And you tipped off Galax that I was coming. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have known who I was when I came up to him yesterday after I shot him.” He shook his head. “But you’re right, there’s a lot of other things I don’t understand.”
“Sure not,” MacLaurin said with pride. Wolf had let Billy go, now, and she was listening intently. “I’ve played a long, hard, tricky game since nigh twenty years ago, when I killed that bastard Clayton and those other five and took off with his map.”
