One Man's Fire

by Ralph Compton

  “No,” said the sheriff. “I’m takin’ your word that you had nothin’ to do with the gambler’s death. He started it, and far as I’m concerned, he got what was comin’ to him. While I’m here, though, there’s somethin’ else I need to know. When did you last see Hoss Logan?”

  “Last fall,” Arlo said. “October, I think. Why?”

  “He left some ore at the assayer’s office,” said the sheriff. “Almighty rich ore, too. The California gold rush started over less. The assayer claims this ore sample didn’t come from any of the known mines in Arizona Territory.”

  “Damn considerate of him to get the word out,” Dallas said. “Every owl-hoot from New Orleans to San Diego will be lookin’ for Hoss, wantin’ his claim.”

  “Don’t be so quick to blame the assayer,” replied Wheaton. “Peterson only mentioned it to me because Hoss has been gone more’n six months. Why would he leave evidence of a big strike like that and make no move to register the claim? Peterson thinks something may have happened to Hoss, and I think he may be right. You gents are closer to him than anybody else, and that’s why I’m tellin’ you this. Has he ever said anything to you about a strike, or about leavin’ some rich ore with the assayer?”

  “No to both questions,” Dallas said. “We staked him as usual, and we haven’t seen him since.”

  “You’re leadin’ up to something, Sheriff,” said Arlo. “What?”

  “This,” Wheaton said. “Sure as hell, something’s happened to Henry Logan, and but for you gents, I can’t think of a soul who’d ride off into the Superstitions to look for him.”

  Arlo and Dallas looked at one another. With the saloon gone, and without the necessary money for wagons and teams, what else did they have to do? Even if old age or Apaches had caught up with Hoss Logan, they could at least find the old man’s bones and bury him proper. As friends, they owed him that.

  “All right,” Arlo said. “We’ll have to round up some grub, but come mornin’, we’ll ride out and look around some.”

  With the dawn, however, circumstances changed. Arlo and Dallas were awakened by the braying of a mule—Hoss Logan’s mule. Astride the gaunt little beast sat Paiute, the mute Indian. Without so much as looking at Arlo and Dallas, Paiute slid off the poor mule. He wore moccasins, out-at-the-knees Levi’s, a dirty red flannel shirt, and a black, uncreased high-crowned hat over his gray braids. When Paiute finally did look at them, it was without expression. From the front pocket of his Levi’s, he took a soft pouch of leather, closed with a drawstring and presented it to Arlo. The bag was small but heavy, and Arlo removed a chunk of ore the size of his hand.

  “My God!” said Dallas. “I’ve seen gold ore before, but nothin’ like that.”

  “There’s something else in here,” Arlo said, extracting a paper that had been folded many times to fit into the pouch. It proved to be two sheets of rough tablet paper. The first page was a letter, printed in pencil. Dallas crowded close, and they both began to read.

  Arlo and Dallas:

  The doc says there’s somethin’ eatin’ away at my insides, an’ I got maybe six months. I ain’t wantin’ to be a bother to nobody. When Paiute brings this to you, the six months will be gone, an’ so will I. There’s gold in the Superstitions, an’ I’m sendin’ you this ore as proof. You gents always treated me fair, stakin’ me an’ standin’ by me, and I ain’t forgot. Half of the strike is yours, an’ all I’m askin’ is that you be sure my only blood kin gets the other half. Kelly and Kelsey Logan is my brother Jed’s girls, back in Cape Girardeau. Jed was killed a year ago, an’ the girls ain’t of age, so I’m trustin’ you to see they ain’t cheated. That fool woman Jed left behind went an’ married a no-account skunk I’ve knowed all my life, name of Gary Davis. Me an’ him was pards once, until he took a girl I aimed to marry an’ ruint her. I don’t like the way he was so quick to move in after Jed was killed. He’ll try to steal the gold I aim for Jed’s girls to have, and he’ll kill you for your share if he can. He’ll have the piece of map I’m sendin’ the girls, but he’ll never find the gold without your part of the map an’ your help. Look for the skeletons of the Spaniards who died for the gold, and when the full moon looks down on the dark slopes of the Superstitions, remember your old pard,

  Hoss

  “Damn!” said Arlo. “He expects us to go lookin’ for a mine littered with bones, takin’ with us a pair of underage females and their sidewinder of a stepdaddy.”

  “Hoss didn’t say how his brother died,” Dallas said, “but I get the feelin’ this Gary Davis might have had something to do with it. You reckon Paiute knows where Hoss is?”

  “Hell,” said Arlo, “I ain’t sure Paiute knows where he is himself.”

  The object of their conversation sat with his back against a pine tree, staring vacantly ahead.

  “Well,” Dallas finally said, “we’re old Hoss’s last hope where those poor girls are concerned. Let’s look at our half of the map.”

  The map seemed pitifully inadequate. There was a jagged line with a half circle above it, with an arrow pointing away from the half circle. At the barb of the arrow there was an inverted V, and above that a crude death’s head. There was nothing more.

  “Does that tell you anything?” Arlo asked.

  “Yeah,” said Dallas. “Hoss is givin’ us credit for bein’ a hell of a lot smarter than we are. What do you make of it?”

  “I think this is the map. All of it. As Hoss figured, this scheming Gary Davis will have to work with us.”

  “Or kill us,” Dallas said. “Hoss mentioned that, too. What he didn’t say is whether or not he sent an ore sample to Missouri.”

  “You can be sure he didn’t,” said Arlo. “That accounts for the ore sample he left with the assayer. Hoss wanted to be dead sure this Gary Davis rides into the Superstitions. By the time he gets to us, he’ll have a bur under his tail as big as Texas.”

  “I reckon we’ll end up shootin’ the varmint,” Dallas said. “Maybe that’s the price we’re payin’ for half a gold mine. Where do we go from here?”

  “As much as I hate to,” said Arlo, “we’ll have to ride to Phoenix and tell the sheriff about this. Otherwise, he’ll be expecting us to begin a search for Hoss. If we take this letter from Hoss as gospel—and there’s no reason not to—then we’ve eliminated the need for a search. Instead of lookin’ for Hoss, we’ll be lookin’ for the gold.”

  “Damn the luck,” Dallas spat. “We let the sheriff read this letter, and we’re lettin’ him in on the gold.”

  “Forget about the sheriff,” replied Arlo. “Even if we could keep him in the dark, there’s no way we can keep a lid on this. Next thing you know, them underage Logan females and their coyote of a stepdaddy will be here, and God knows what kind of stink they’ll stir up.”

  “Well,” Dallas sighed, “long as we got to, let’s ride in and talk to the sheriff. We can stock up on grub while we’re there.”

  After ensuring that Paiute had enough sustenance, the pair saddled their horses and rode out, leaving the mute Indian seated with his back to the pine. Reaching Phoenix, Arlo and Dallas went straight to the sheriff’s office and found Wheaton alone. Without a word, Arlo handed the sheriff the hand-printed letter from Hoss Logan.

  “He mentions gold ore and half a map,” said Wheaton, after reading the letter.

  “All right,” Arlo sighed, producing the leather poke with the ore and the strange map. “I reckon you might as well know as much as we do, because I got a gut feeling this thing may blow up into one hell of a mess.”

  “I expect you’re right,” said the sheriff, “and before it’s done, you may be almighty glad you leveled with me. From what Hoss has written, this Gary Davis is a lifelong enemy. Why did Hoss send half the map to these Logan girls, knowin’ their stepdaddy would get his hands on it? That part don’t make sense.”

  “Neither does leavin’ gold-rich ore with the assayer for six months and not registering the claim,” Arlo said.

  “Old Hos
s planned all this,” said Dallas. “He must have had some reason.”

  “There’s a wild card somewhere in the deck,” agreed the sheriff, “and Hoss is countin’ on you boys findin’ it. Once this Gary Davis shows up, you’d best not let him shuffle the cards. Stick around the Logan cabin, and I’ll send word when your new partner from Missouri arrives. What are you goin’ to do with the old Indian?”

  “I don’t know,” Arlo said. “He’s no help to us.”

  “Let’s bring him to town,” Dallas said with a grin. “He can bunk in the juzgado.”

  “Like hell,” said Sheriff Wheaton. “I ain’t runnin’ a mission.”

  Arlo and Dallas went to a general store and bought supplies for two weeks.

  “We’ll have to do some serious buying before we ride into the Superstitions,” said Arlo, “but we might as well wait till these folks from Missouri show up with the rest of the map. They may not even want to ride with us.”

  “I hope they don’t show up broke, expectin’ us to supply horses and grub,” said Dallas.

  “I hope they do,” Arlo replied. “That will be reason enough to leave them in town and search for the gold on our own.”

  “You know better than that,” said Dallas. “This bunch will already have a good case of gold fever, and if they have to, they’ll crawl to the Superstitions on their knees.”