“Gary,” she groaned, “I haven’t ridden in years, and this is killing me. I must stop for a while.”
“Go ahead,” said Davis brutally. “The Apaches will put you out of your misery.”
Davis ignored her unladylike response, and Kelly and Kelsey laughed at her plight. Paulette leaned forward, her arms around the horse’s neck, trying to take some of the pressure off her ample backside. Barry Rust wasn’t faring any better, but he had just observed Gary Davis’s less than understanding reaction to complaints from his own wife, so Rust gritted his teeth and rode on.
“Where you reckon this Indian’s takin’ us?” Dallas wondered.
“Likely along the trails Hoss always rode,” said Arlo. “Canyons and washes slope down from the Superstitions and fan out for miles, every one a wilderness of cactus, thorns, and brambles. I’m countin’ on Paiute knowin’ the trails and how to find water.”
“We should have paid more attention when Hoss rambled on,” Dallas said glumly. “But how could we know we’d end up backtrailing him through the Superstitions?”
The Superstitions range extended south to the Salt River, which flowed on to its confluence with the Gila and the San Pedro, just west of Phoenix. They were almost to the Salt before Paiute turned west, entering the Superstitions from the south. In his approach to the mountains, he had chosen the most impenetrable flank possible, but he managed to find a trail where there seemingly was none. He hunched over the neck of his mule, ducking under low-hanging limbs, and pursued a zigzag course westward. They crossed hummocks of solid rock, where nothing grew except cacti, only to plunge immediately into yet another thicket of grease-wood, catclaw, stunted cedar, and a devilish array of thorn-bearing underbrush whose barbs seemed to reach for any living thing that came close. Out of necessity they rode single file, and Arlo and Dallas had to push hard to keep up with the old Indian. So swiftly did they progress, twisting and turning, that it began to seem as though it was the mule who knew the trail and Paiute was just along for the ride. Suddenly from their back trail, there was a shriek, the frightened nicker of a horse, and the thud of hooves.
“Somebody just lost a horse,” said Arlo. “I hope it wasn’t one of the girls.”
“I’m bettin’ it was the she-buffalo,” Dallas said. “She straddles a horse like an off-balance sack of shelled corn on its way to the mill.”
Only Arlo and Dallas were close enough to observe Paiute’s devious twists and turns. All those in pursuit knew only the general direction the three lead riders were taking as they rode headlong into impenetrable thickets of thorns and brambles. Paulette Davis, fighting the barbs and brambles clawing at her, had been snatched out of the saddle by a low-hanging limb. Her shriek frightened the horse, and the animal almost trampled her as it lit out down the back trail. Gary Davis ignored the furious Paulette and galloped after her fleeing mount. Thankful for any respite from the brutal journey, Barry Rust reined his horse in, as did Kelly and Kelsey Logan. They all regarded Paulette with amusement, which only added to her fury.
“I declare,” said Kelsey in mock horror, “such language! Bull whackers could learn much from her.”
While Yavapai continued in pursuit of the rest of the gold seekers, Sanchez rode back to see what had caused the commotion. When he arrived at the small group, he tilted his hat back on his head and grinned at the furious Paulette. That was the scene that greeted Gary Davis when he returned with Paulette’s horse, and he vented all his fury on the still grinning Sanchez.
“What’n hell are you doin’ here?” he snarled. “I’m payin’ you and that pelado partner of yours to follow Wells and Holt. Why ain’t you doin’ it?”
“We think per’ap you need help until you catch up,” said Sanchez. “But you are right, Señor. You pay us to follow those hombres. A thousand pardons, Señor.” He rode away without a backward look and was soon lost in the thickets ahead.
Davis turned to Paulette, who still sat on the ground.
“Get up,” he said angrily, “and from now on, watch where the hell you’re going. Tumble out of that saddle one more time, and I’ll tie you belly down across it.”
He helped the unwilling Paulette on to her mount, and they continued, Davis in the lead. He immediately discovered his folly in berating Sanchez, for the Mexican had only sought to guide them through this wilderness, in which they were now lost. He urged his horse ahead, only to have the animal balk.
Bollinger had kept up with the rest of the gold seekers, but realizing that his own party had fallen behind, he now rode back to see why. Davis didn’t waste any time explaining to him.
“R. J., can you get us back on the trail?”
“Hell,” said Bollinger, “there ain’t no trail. We got to keep the others in sight and foller them. Come on!”
Bollinger managed to guide them until they were within sight of some stragglers who were following Arlo and Dallas. Not a breath of air stirred, and the Arizona sun bore down with a vengeance. Sweat darkened the flanks of the horses, dripped into the eyes and off the noses and chins of the riders, and soaked the backs of their shirts. Some of them, including Paulette Davis, made a startling discovery—they hadn’t brought any water!
“Gary,” Paulette whined, “I’m thirsty. I need water.”
“We’ll get some somewhere up ahead,” said Davis unsympathetically.
“No,” Paulette said, “I need it now. I’m going back to the river.”
“Go ahead,” said Davis, ignoring her.
She rode on, cursing him and hating Kelly and Kelsey for their amused grins. It was Bollinger who finally took pity on her.
“When the others stop to water, ma’am, we’ll stop too. Not before,” he said, though kindly.
The terrain grew rougher. Gary Davis looked back approvingly, for Bollinger now brought up the rear. Except for the gunman and the hired Mexican guides, Davis thought grimly, none of his outfit was suited to the ordeal that lay ahead. But there were Kelly and Kelsey Logan, damn them. The pair rode like they’d been born to the saddle and seemed to delight in every misfortune that befell him.
Up ahead, the two cowboys were growing restless. “This is the longest I ever rode without gettin’ somewhere,” said Dallas. “I’d swear this mountain ain’t changed a bit in two hours, and we don’t seem to be a foot higher than when we started.”
“I’m startin’ to suspect there’s some method to Paiute’s madness,” Arlo said. “I don’t know if he understood what I said about losin’ this bunch or if he come up with the idea on his own, but I’d bet my last pair of clean socks that’s what he’s set out to do. I know damn well there’s clear ground higher up these mountains. You can see it from Phoenix.”
“Well, if Paiute can ride this trail in the dark, he’ll lose everybody, includin’ us. It’s bad enough when you can see where you’re going. In the dark, a man could ride into a low-hangin’ limb and lose an eye. So could a horse.”
“We’ll need water,” said Arlo, “and before dark, Paiute will lead us to it. Right now, he’s makin’ it real hard on that bunch that’s trailin’ us. They’re already gettin’ dry, but they don’t dare look for water, or they risk losin’ our trail.”
Time after time in this wretched terrain they had crossed canyons where there might have been water, but Paiute did not stop. He paused only occasionally to rest the mule.
“You predicted water by sundown,” said Dallas, “but I can do better than that. I can tell you where that water’s goin’ to be. Friend Arlo, just as sure as God created the heavens and the earth, we’re on our way back to good old Saguaro Lake. That crazy Indian is leadin’ us in a fifty-mile circle.”
At first Arlo laughed, but as they rode on, the truth of it became more and more obvious. The going became easier and the thickets began to thin out, but only because they were nearing the more gentle slopes that marked the end of the Superstitions to the north. Less than an hour before sundown, a westering sun shone on the sparkling waters of Saguaro Lake, half a dozen
miles ahead. It was almost within walking distance of old Hoss Logan’s cabin, which they had left at daybreak.
“Well, by God!” exclaimed Arlo. “I can’t believe it.”
“You?” Dallas whooped. “What about that bunch of pilgrims behind us?”
Their thirsty horses broke into a gallop, hot on the heels of Paiute’s mule. The weary gold seekers—far behind—reined in and stared in disbelief. Gary Davis galloped his horse ahead until he caught up with Yavapai and Sanchez.
“Damn it,” Davis shouted, “they’ve put us through hell all day, and we’re back where we started! Between the two of you, didn’t you have brains enough to realize we’ve been traveling in circles?”
“You pay us to follow these hombres, Señor,” said Yavapai, shrugging his shoulders, “and we follow them. Por Dios, night comes, and there is much water. One should not be ungrateful, Señor.”
Before Davis could respond, his horse joined the others in a mad dash toward the distant lake. To the dismay of the pursuers, Arlo and Dallas didn’t unsaddle their mounts or unload their pack mule. Once their horses and mule had watered, and Paiute had watered his mule, the trio rode out, headed for Hoss Logan’s cabin.
“Paiute’s got the right idea,” Arlo laughed. “Why should we sleep on the ground, when we’re this close to the cabin and its bunks?”
At the cabin, they unloaded the pack mule and unsaddled their horses.
Dallas laughed. “I reckon they all hate our guts. This was one hell of a wild goose chase, but it was worth it.”
“Damn right it was,” said Arlo, “and I’m sorry I ever called Paiute useless. He’s worth every bit of the fortune in grub it takes to feed him.”
“If I wasn’t so god-awful tired,” Dallas said, “I’d sneak back after dark and listen in on that bunch at the lake. I’d give a lot to know what they’re sayin’ about us.”
The hangers-on who had camped at Saguaro Lake, including the Davis outfit, were beyond exhaustion. But there was talk, and it was venomous.
“My God,” said Rust bitterly, “that was a brilliant plan, following those damn cowboys all day and ending up where we started.”
“Yeah,” Bollinger agreed, “and the best part of it is, the bastards may pull the same stunt again tomorrow, and the day after that.”
“Yes, Gary,” said Paulette in a poisonous tone, “tell us what you have planned for tomorrow. When are these damn Mexicans going to start earning their pay?”
“We earn our pay,” Sanchez said angrily. “He tell us to follow these hombres, and we follow. If you please, Señor,” he said, turning to Davis, “our earnings for this day.”
Davis paid them and then stalked off into the darkness to escape the bitter comments of his companions. But there was some laughter, for Kelly and Kelsey Logan were quite satisfied with the day’s events. Bollinger took note of their pleasure and turned on them.
“It’s time your daddy took a strap to you she-cats,” he said angrily. “It’s nigh time the pair of you was tamed and made to be civil.”
“Gary Davis is not our daddy,” said Kelsey coldly, “and anytime you’re of a mind to tame me, mister gun-slinger, just come on. I’ll claw your eyes out.”
Yavapai and Sanchez ignored all the hard words being flung about and set to work unloading the Davis pack mule. The pair started a fire, cooked their supper, and sat down to eat.
“What about the rest of us?” Rust asked indignantly. “Where’s our supper?”
“Señor Davis pay us to follow this Wells and Holt,” said Yavapai, “and this we do. We do not hire on as cooks. You are welcome to use our fire if you wish.”
Gary Davis had returned to camp in time to hear Yavapai’s response, and he glared at the Mexican guides. They continued eating as though Davis didn’t exist, and he turned to Paulette, who lay unmoving, her head on her saddle.
“Why don’t you get supper for the rest of us?” said Davis.
“Why don’t you go to hell?” Paulette snarled. “I can scarcely move, and I don’t care if all of you starve.”
Kelly and Kelsey Logan exchanged looks. They were hungry, and whatever were their feelings toward their surly companions, they also needed food.
“Kelsey and me will do the cooking,” said Kelly, “until somebody complains. If you don’t like our cooking, you can do your own.”
“Well, it’s about time the two of you contributed something,” Davis said ungraciously.
“We don’t expect any thanks from you,” said Kelly defiantly, “but we won’t take any abuse either. Remember that.”
Supper was a silent meal—nobody was speaking to anybody else. Yavapai and Sanchez got well away from the hostile camp before rolling up in their blankets. Davis sat looking into the fire, conscious that Bollinger and Rust were covertly watching him. If so much as a hint of gold were found, Davis thought, Bollinger would double-cross him. He found himself harboring the same doubts about Rust. While the two of them had been through many shady deals together, he couldn’t be sure Rust wouldn’t turn on him if there was enough gold and the opportunity presented itself. Reflecting on his circumstances, Davis decided he couldn’t return to Missouri. True, he had taken over Jed Logan’s freighting business, but he had bankrupted it along with his own, robbing his wagons and collecting the insurance. Not only had he lost all his clients, but the insurance people were investigating him with an eye toward prosecution. Hoss Logan’s mine had gotten him out of Missouri just one jump ahead of the law. He had brought Rust and Bollinger with him not so much because he needed them but because they knew too much. He dared not leave them behind. Sooner or later he would have to dispose of the pair, along with Paulette and those troublesome daughters. Finally, he turned his thoughts to Yavapai and Sanchez. Were they what they seemed—a pair of simple Mexicans who would be satisfied with the few dollars they earned as guides—or were they after the gold as well? A thief himself, Gary Davis trusted nobody.
“Tomorrow ought to be interesting,” Dallas said, “if Paiute takes us on another dry run through the Superstitions with that bunch of gold hunters following.”
“They have no choice,” said Arlo. “Once they back off from what looks like another hopeless chase, they don’t know that we won’t drift up a canyon and lose them.”
“We can’t go on forever, trying to discourage them,” Dallas said. “Sooner or later we’re goin’ to have to begin our search for the gold, and when we find it, we’ll have to settle with whoever’s still on our trail.”
“We’ll give Paiute a couple more days,” said Arlo. “I doubt he’ll lead us to the mine, but he might get us to some point where the map begins to make sense.”
Chapter 3
Arlo and Dallas arose at first light. Paiute was already up and had a fire going—the coffee was ready. Arlo opened the door and looked out toward Saguaro Lake.
“They’re waitin’ for us, I reckon,” said Dallas.
“They sure are,” Arlo replied.
When they were ready to move out, they loaded the pack mule, saddled their horses, and pointed to Paiute. Mounting his mule, the Indian led out in the same direction he’d taken the day before.
“Here we go again,” said Dallas.
But it soon became apparent that Paiute didn’t plan a repeal of the day before. While they took the same torturous trail along the eastern flank of the Superstitions, their pace was almost leisurely. Those who pursued them were more mystified than ever. Again they turned west along the Salt River, reaching a point a little southwest of the Superstitions a good two hours before sundown. Paiute removed the blanket from his mule, turned the animal loose to graze, and stretched out beneath the willows that lined the river.
“Might as well unsaddle the horses and unload the pack mule,” Arlo said. “This is where we’ll spend the night, I reckon. It ought to further confuse our followers.”
“They’re not alone,” said Dallas. “It’s doin’ a fair job of confusing me. There’s still two hours of daylight.”
“Let’s get our supper fire going,” Arlo said. “It’s too early to eat, but I could use some coffee. Something about that map’s been bothering me. Come sundown, I aim to check it out.”
Paiute filled his tin cup with coffee, cut a slender willow pole, and headed downriver. There would be fish for supper. Arlo and Dallas settled down with their coffee and the map Hoss Logan had sent them.
“Read this map to me,” said Arlo. “Tell me what you think it means.”
“The jagged line is the horizon,” Dallas said. “The half circle is the sun, and the arrow points east or west, depending on whether the sun is rising or setting. The upside-down V is a mountain peak, and I reckon the death’s head means the mine with Spanish bones is somewhere in that mountain.”
“Pretty good interpretation,” said Arlo. “First thing we need to know is whether Hoss is referring to the rising sun or the setting sun. Let’s saddle up and ride down the river toward Phoenix far enough that we can see the western rim of the Superstitions.”
Skeleton Lode Page 5
