“I never heard of any such water hole,” Badger said.
“It’s there…a good pool of permanent water, sweet water.”
“If that’s true,” Joe said, “our troubles are over. Okay, you can come along.”
Badger looked at the box and the scattered papers. “I don’t see any gold. You sure Rodelo didn’t get it and light out?”
“Was he the man who was just here? The tall, dark young man?”
“That’s our Danny.”
“He had nothing when he left here.” Then she added, “Clint shot Jake. He thought they’d found the gold when Jake located that box, so he just killed him.”
“Ain’t the first time…not for Clint.”
Nora was listening. Was Dan Rodelo outside? What was he planning?
“Get the gold,” Badger said. “Let’s get out of here!”
Harbin took a rusted poker from the fireplace and pulled a chair over to a place under the central beam that crossed the room from wall to wall. Standing on the chair, he inserted the end of the poker into what looked like a crack, then pried up. A crudely cut piece of beam lifted up, revealing a compartment within the heavy beam itself. As he lifted this a gold piece fell to the floor. Nora picked it up and handed it to Badger. “It’s gold, all right,” she said.
Harbin grinned his triumph. “You’re darned tootin’, it is! And there’s plenty of it, baby.”
Badger turned to Gopher. “Get the saddlebags. Quick, now!”
When he had gone out, Harbin said, “What about him?”
Badger shrugged. “We can use help on the trip. When we get to Mazatlan, give him fifty bucks and send him packin’.”
Gopher came back carrying two pairs of saddlebags, and swiftly they began loading the gold into them. “This is going to be heavy,” Tom commented thoughtfully. “I wish we had an extra horse or two.”
Dan Rodelo, moving quietly, had come in the front door. He held a gun in his right hand, and once inside he moved out of the doorway and stood a moment watching. Tom Badger saw him first, and slowly, carefully, he lifted his hands. He had never seen Dan Rodelo shoot, but he had an idea he would be good.
“That’s all of it,” Harbin said.
“Let me look,” Gopher pleaded.
“Go ahead.”
Gopher got up on the table and ran his hand back into the opening, feeling around. “Got it!” he yelled, and withdrew his hand, hitting it against the edge in his excitement. “Two of them.”
“Keep ’em,” Harbin said. “That will be your part of this.”
“You mean that’s all I get?”
“You’re out of prison, ain’t you?”
“Big-hearted Joe Harbin! You were always a generous man, Joe.” Dan Rodelo spoke softly, and Joe Harbin’s hand opened slightly as though for a draw.
“Don’t try it, Joe.”
Slowly, Harbin’s hands went up, as did Gopher’s. Joe turned carefully, grinning at Rodelo. “How are you, Danny? You don’t need that gun with me. We’re friends, remember?”
Rodelo smiled. Harbin had never liked him, and he knew it. “Then you will not object if I cut myself in for part of this?”
“You’re talkin’ crazy. I did this job all by myself, and you know it.”
“And I did time for it.”
“Let’s get out of here!” Badger interrupted. “We’ll have the law all around us if we don’t, and then there won’t be anything for anybody.”
Picking up one set of the saddlebags, he turned toward the door. “Come on. We’ll get their wagon and trail our horses behind.”
Dan Rodelo did not move. “How do you figure on going?”
“South…why?”
“It’ll be the wrong way. Go east from here first, then down the eastern side of the Gilas. By the time they’ve covered everything else you’ll be on board that boat down on the Gulf.”
They stared at him, their eyes hard with suspicion. “What are you talkin’ about? What boat?” Harbin said.
Dan Rodelo motioned with his gun barrel. “Get loaded up. You’re right, Badger, time’s running out. You made a mistake when you hit the warden. He’s a good man, but a hard man when you push him, and you pushed too hard.”
“What’s that mean?” Harbin demanded.
“He won’t quit, not even a little bit. You’ve got to run faster and farther than you ever did before. The warden, you know, used to be an army officer, and he has friends along the Mexican border that he helped during the Apache troubles. He’ll have them hunting you, too.”
Swiftly, they carried the loot out to the horse and, motioning Nora ahead of him, Dan Rodelo followed. Gopher carried the lantern.
Mounting up, they rode back to the store and went to the wagon Jake and Clint had driven to Gold City.
“What about him?” Harbin gestured toward the store.
“Forget about him,” Rodelo said. “He knows every man on the dodge from here to El Paso, and he’s never opened his mouth yet. Sam Burrows is a good man to have on your side, but if he got hurt you’d be ducking the outlaws as well as the law.”
“There’s water in the wagon,” Nora said. “We filled up some cans and water sacks before we started.”
“We’ll want more,” Rodelo said. He turned to Gopher, reaching into the sack for a gold piece as he did so. “Take this and buy every water sack or canteen in the store. Then we’ll fill ’em. That’s a long trek without water.”
The desert’s heat had not yet gone from the air, and there was no breeze now. Only the stars hanging low in the sky above them seemed cool. It was still, very still. Dan Rodelo stood at one side and watched them prepare. He watched the sacks and canteens filled; every one of them would be needed for the hell that lay to the south. There were water holes and tanks between them and the border, and perhaps beyond the border, too, but he knew only too well, and better than anyone here, how uncertain such desert tanks can be.
He tried to remember when it had rained last, but it does not rain often in Yuma, and many rains in these parts were local. That desert to the south was pure hell, but more than that, nobody had taken a wagon the way he intended to take them. Well, they would find that out in due time.
At the end he went inside. “Thanks, Sam,” he said. “It’s good to have my horse again.”
“That grulla is quite a horse,” Sam said. “I almost wished you didn’t come back.”
“He came from this country, Sam. South of here. He was a bronco two-year-old when I put a rope on him. When the going gets rough down south, I’m going to need that horse. He knows all the water holes in Sonora, I think.”
Sam put his palms flat on the bar and leaned toward him. “You’re runnin’ a long chance, boy. You sure you don’t want help? There’s some I could send—”
“It’s my job, and I’ll do it.”
“Joe Harbin,” Sam said, “has killed eleven men I know of…in stand-up gun battles.”
“Yeah.” Rodelo was serious for a moment. “But the one who really worries me is Badger. He’s cunning as a prairie wolf.”
“Comes by it natural. His pa was a half-breed, and he raised his youngsters mean.” Sam paused. “That girl, now. She doesn’t seem like their sort. I can’t make her out.”
“No.” Rodelo hesitated. “If I can, I’ll get them to leave her with you.”
“I could put her on the stage. Buy her a ticket either way she wants to go.”
Dan Rodelo started toward the door, then paused. “Put out the light, Sam.”
Only when the room was dark did he walk to the door and step out.
“You sure don’t trust a feller,” Harbin said.
Dan went toward them. “I trust you, Joe. I just don’t want you to have too much trouble with your conscience, that’s all.”
He stopped near them. “What about this g
irl? That’s a rough trip ahead. Why don’t we leave her here?”
“You’re crazy! She’s seen the gold, heard us talk. We can’t leave her now.”
“It’s up to you, Joe.”
Harbin turned his head. His eyes were black holes in the darkness under his hat brim. “Why me?”
“You’re the killer in this outfit.”
“Me? Shoot a woman?”
“We’re wasting time,” Nora said quietly. “Joe wouldn’t shoot me, and neither would the rest of you. Let’s go…and save your ammunition for those Yaquis or Yumas or whatever they are.”
Dan Rodelo took the reins and turned the wagon into the road, their horses following behind on lead ropes. He drove slowly at first, then at a swinging trot until they reached the road east. He slowed down then, letting the horses take their time, and after a bit he brought them to a trot once more. In the back of the wagon Badger stretched out beside Harbin to sleep. Gopher curled up against the tailgate.
“I don’t understand you,” Nora whispered. “What are you doing?”
Rodelo smiled at her. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”
“You might have gotten me killed!”
“Joe Harbin wouldn’t kill a woman…not without a good reason—unless he needed your horse, or something.”
“And then?”
“He’d kill you, all right. He’d kill you and never give it another thought.”
CHAPTER 5
NOW THEY MOVED steadily southward, with the fantastic peaks and ridges of the Gila Mountains on their right. The air was cool and pleasant, and they held to a good pace, stopping at intervals, or after climbing a grade, to rest the horses. Nobody was in any mood for talk. After a while Rodelo gave over the reins to Harbin and turned in, lying stretched out in the back of the wagon.
Presently Badger sat up and lit a cigarette. He glanced over at Rodelo. “You awake?”
Rodelo awakened instantly. “Yeah.”
“How far south do these mountains run?”
“To the border.”
“Is there a way through them?”
“Uh-huh…a couple of ways that I know of. The Indians probably know of others.”
Badger considered the matter. “You know this country pretty well?”
“As well as any white man, I expect, but I wouldn’t count too much on anything. It’s a country with little water, and that hard to find. Folks have died within a few feet of water at Tinajas Altas…the water is in rock tanks, high above the trail.”
“I’ve heard of that.” Badger was thoughtful. “Do you know of any water down in the Pinacate? She says”—he indicated the sleeping girl—“there’s a water hole south and a mite west of Papago Wells.”
Dan Rodelo eased the position of his gun to stall for time. Now how in the devil did she know that? It was an unlikely place, and he would have gambled that even the Yaquis did not know of it. The Yumas might…after all, this was their country, but how did Nora Paxton know of the place?
“Yes,” he said reluctantly, “there is such a place. It isn’t what I’d call easy to find, but it’s there.” Then he added, “But you can’t depend on any desert water hole to be full all the time. Most of them dry up once in a while, or get down to a mere trickle.”
An hour before daybreak they stopped the wagon, poured water in a hat, and let each of the horses drink. “We’d best take time to eat,” Rodelo said. “It’ll be some time before we get the chance again.”
“You sure they’ll find us?”
“The Yaquis? You can bet on it.”
They built a small fire and made coffee and fried bacon and eggs, eating with it some of the bread they had picked up at Sam’s.
Rodelo was wary. Neither Harbin nor Badger was to be trusted; as for Gopher, it was unlikely he would start anything without some nudging from one of the others; but it paid to be careful. He avoided looking into the fire so his eyes would not be affected for night vision, and he made a point of hanging back from the others, keeping all of them always within sight.
Finally they put out the fire and moved on, the trail now taking them farther from the mountains and out into the bottom of the valley. Before them and around them was the Lechuguilla Desert.
Rodelo had no doubt as to what was happening on the other side of the mountains. The Yaquis, led by Hat, the shrewd old tracker who had taken the lead in the trailing of escaped convicts, would be searching for their trail. At first Hat would have swung south to cut the trails into the desert, then east and north. Finding no tracks, they might check beyond the river, but he doubted it because of the wagon. Not finding the wagon, the Indians would believe the outlaws still used it.
Hat would immediately grasp what had happened, and would cut for sign around the edges of the dunes. It might take a bit longer, but there would be a dozen or more Yaquis to make the search for tracks. By now Hat would have found their sign and be on the trail.
How much time did that leave? Hat would trail the horses to Gold City. Sam Burrows would tell them nothing, but it would not have taken long for Hat to decide they were again in a wagon—a wagon that must be abandoned within the next few hours. The team drawing the wagon could be released to save water and they would find their way back to Gold City. From that time on it would be a race to the south. They had saved a few hours, and every minute was important.
Joe Harbin stood in his stirrups and looked back the way they had come. There was no dust showing against the sky.
Badger was not looking back. They would know soon enough when the Yaquis started to close in. “We’d better spell the horses,” he said, and all of them got down from the wagon and walked on.
Ahead of them were the famous Tinajas Altas, the “High Tanks” famous for saving many lives on the Devil’s Road, a road where many had also died. And to the south the country became rough.
Dan Rodelo dropped back beside Badger. “We’re going to take another chance,” he said. “I’m trying to lose those Yaquis.”
Badger gave him an amused look. “You haven’t a chance.”
“We can play for time.” He pointed to a long finger of rock that pushed into the desert not far ahead of them. “See that? Right beyond it there’s a narrow pass through the mountains and we’re going to take it, and hope they’ll miss the turn-off and ride on south.”
Badger looked doubtfully at the mountains. “There’s a pass through there? I never heard of it.”
“We’ll leave the wagon,” Rodelo said. “From here on we’ll ride.”
“I’ll feel safer,” Badger acknowledged.
The sun was well up in the sky when Rodelo guided the wagon into the lee of a sand dune, pulling in as close to the side of the dune as possible. Then, with Harbin and Gopher to help, he went up on the ridge of the dune and caved sand over on the wagon. In a few minutes it was covered; then, picking up handfuls of sand, they let it dribble out, sifting over what few tracks were visible.
After they had mounted up, Rodelo led them in an abrupt turn into the mountains, and in no more than fifteen minutes they were in a rapidly narrowing canyon that led them up a thousand feet in altitude in less than a mile. They crossed the Gilas on a narrow trail that showed no signs of recent use other than the tracks of bighorn sheep, a trail that wove in and around among peaks and ridges that lifted several hundred feet higher.
The route over the Gilas was not more than five or six miles. They had watered the horses well before abandoning the wagon, emptying many of the cans and sacks and leaving them with the wagon. This lightened their load considerably, but Dan Rodelo knew what lay ahead perhaps better than any of them, and he knew it was not going to be easy.
“Are we going to make it?” Gopher asked him once.
“Some of us will,” Rodelo replied.
He led them south, taking up the old Journey of Death, the Devil
’s Road. This led straight away south now for the Tinajas Altas, which were on a ridge that trailed off the end of the Gilas.
The day was hot. He slowed the pace of the horses, paused frequently for rest, and kept an eye on the trail behind. He noticed that Nora was taking the hard going surprisingly well.
She wore a skirt split for riding and a Mexican blouse, and like the others, she carried a gun. Joe Harbin seemed to have marked her for his own, but nothing was said, and she accepted the situation without comment, agreeing to nothing, rejecting no one. She was a shrewd girl, Rodelo decided, and one to watch.
It was Gopher who kept looking again and again to the rear. Harbin looked back rarely. He rode with the confidence of a man who has been through the mill, a hard-shouldered man, sure he needed no one.
The sun was now high overhead, the heat intense. In the brassy sky there was no cloud, only the sun whose rays seemed to blend into one great searing blast. The floor of the desert was hot beyond belief, and their horses plodded wearily, hopelessly, into the dead stillness. Far off to the south a dust devil sprang up, racing wildly across the flat desert floor.
Now Gopher no longer looked back. He sat his saddle, head hanging, simply enduring the heat.
“We had better hunt some shade,” Rodelo commented, “or we’ll kill our horses.”
“Shade?” Harbin swore. “Where would you find shade?”
“Up in one of the canyons.”
“Not me,” Harbin said. “I’m headed for Mexico, and then the Gulf.”
“You won’t make it unless you give the horses a rest,” Rodelo replied. “We’ve pushed them hard.”
Harbin’s face was streaked with sweat trails through the dust. His eyes were cruel when he turned to look at Rodelo. “I don’t figure you,” he said, “and I don’t trust you. Just where do you come into this, anyway?”
“I’m in,” Dan replied shortly. “I’m in up to my neck.”
“We can change that,” Harbin said, drawing up. He swung his horse a trifle to face Rodelo. “We can change that right here.”
“Don’t talk foolish,” Rodelo replied. “You wouldn’t have a chance without me. There’s damn little water in this desert, and you’ve got to know where it is to find it.”
Kid Rodelo (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 4
