Skeleton Lode

by Ralph Compton

  “I think this is it,” Arlo said. “Come on up, and don’t forget to bring my boots.”

  Kelsey came first, then Kelly, and finally Dallas. Arlo pulled on his boots, and they turned to the hole that had been torn into the side of the mountain. The aperture didn’t open straight out, but veered to the left, and there was barely room for them to move on hands and knees. Arlo went first, followed by Dallas, Kelsey, and Kelly. Strangely, as they progressed, the darkness became less intense. Suddenly Arlo paused, startled by the eerie, macabre item resting directly in their path. It was a human skeleton with the skull missing. Arlo attempted to shove the skeleton aside, but the ghastly thing was unable to survive the movement. It crumbled into an array of individual bones.

  “Bones ahead,” warned Arlo. “Human bones.”

  As poised and self-reliant as Kelly and Kelsey seemed, Arlo wasn’t willing to risk any shrieks of alarm. If the bloody Superstitions lived up to their reputation, these strange old mountains might prove the last resting place for many human bones. Including their own if something went wrong.

  “It’s not as dark in here as it oughta be,” Dallas said. “Where’s the light comin’ in?”

  “Higher up,” said Arlo. “This won’t be the only hole to the outside, I’m thinking. I suspect there may be several others.”

  While entry hadn’t been easy, they soon discovered they’d made the right choice. When they finally reached a cavern where they could get to their feet, they discovered the source of the light. The next entry was thirty or more feet above the stone surface on which they stood. Suddenly, far below them, there was a rumble, like distant thunder. The entire mountain trembled, with earth and stone rattling down from above.

  “The Thunder God!” Kelly cried.

  “Volcano,” corrected Arlo. “It’s still all growl and no bite, but that may change someday. Hoss always believed these old volcanoes had life left in them.”

  “I agree with him,” Dallas said. “It’s easy, blamin’ all these rockslides on lightning, and I don’t doubt that’s caused some of ’em. But a good shaking, like we just felt, could have the same effect. At some weak point, earth and stone could be torn loose by the vibration.”

  “The western face of the mountain, where the death’s head shows up, is unscarred,” said Kelly. “Why have all the slides been on the eastern face?”

  “This cavity within the mountain is nearer the eastern face,” Arlo said, “and being the weaker side, it’s taken most of the beating. I don’t think we should spend any more time here than we have to. I’m gambling that somewhere in here there’ll be a way out, the one Hoss depended on.”

  “Once we leave this place with its little bit of overhead light,” said Kelsey, “it’s going to be awful dark.”

  “I still have a few matches from our camp,” Dallas said, “but they won’t burn long enough to be of any help to us. Somewhere in here, maybe in the mouth of that tunnel, I’m bettin’ Hoss stashed some pine pitch splinters. Let’s look for them.”

  There was no evidence of fire, not a stick of wood, and their search for some of the pine pitch torches proved fruitless.

  “There’s just nothing here,” said Kelly in disappointment, “except that pile of rocks over there.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Arlo muttered in disgust, “we’re not using our heads. That pile of rocks is against the west wall of this hole, and that’s the side of the mountain that’s strongest. No rock or debris would have fallen there, and look—there’s no breaks in the wall.”

  He hunkered down and began digging into the pile of stone. He quickly uncovered a dozen foot-long slivers of pine, which hid a small hole at the bottom of the wall.

  “Lord, I hope it’s enough to get us out of here,” said Kelsey.

  “Hoss wouldn’t have shorted us,” Arlo said. “There’ll be enough to see us back to daylight, unless we take a wrong turn somewhere. Let’s go.”

  Arlo lit one of the pine splinters, and they moved into the darkness of a downward passage. Air sucked at the meager flame, and Arlo shielded it with his hat.

  “There’s a draft,” Dallas said, “and that means that somewhere ahead there’s a way out of here.”

  “Let’s just hope it won’t be thirty feet over our heads and the size of your hat,” said Arlo. “Or through the floor, a hundred feet straight down.”

  “Oh, Arlo,” Kelsey said, “you’re so encouraging.”

  They had covered no more than a hundred yards when Arlo stopped. A clammy moisture enveloped them like a fog. Sounding dim and far away, there was a roar, like a mighty wind moving ahead of a storm.

  “Underground river,” said Arlo. “We’d better take it slow from here on.”

  Careful as they were, they almost stumbled into the yawning abyss that had swallowed more than a dozen feet of the passage floor. In the flickering light of their torch, they were barely able to see the distant ragged edge of the hole.

  “Dear God,” said Kelsey, “this accounts for some of those who came to the Superstitions and were never seen again.”

  “I reckon it does,” Arlo said. “Once more, it justifies Hoss Logan cuttin’ Dallas and me in for a piece of the mine. We don’t know the mountains as well as he did, but we know enough to come in here and stay alive. I think Hoss knew that before we played out the string, you and Kelly would be with us. Now we have to figure some way to get around this death trap.”

  “It doesn’t cover all the floor,” Dallas observed. “There’s a narrow ledge along each side. Maybe with our backs against the wall, we can inch our way across.”

  Their torch had burned low, and Dallas lit a second one from the first. Arlo looped one end of the lariat around a boulder that looked solid and tied it securely.

  “Now,” he told Dallas, “tie this other end under your arms. Kelly, you take the light from him. He’ll need both hands free to keep his balance.”

  “Lord,” Kelly said nervously, “I wish there was some other way. I … I’m scared, but I’ll go with you if it’ll help.”

  “No,” said Dallas, touched by her concern. “One slip and we’d both end up dangling from the end of this rope. If anything goes wrong—if that ledge crumbles—I’ll need all of you to get me out of that hole.”

  Chapter 8

  His back to the wall, Dallas moved cautiously along the widest ledge, to the right of the gaping hole, while Kelly held the torch, which seemed pitifully inadequate in the blackness of the tunnel. The flame danced in the updraft from the pit. Dallas kept his back flat against the stone wall, his arms spread as though he were walking a tightrope. Cold sweat dripped off his chin, and he could feel it soaking the armpits of his shirt. His progress seemed maddeningly slow. He was halfway across when the worst happened. He had just taken a step, all his weight on his right foot, when the ledge crumbled.

  “God Almighty!” he shouted, and then he was gone.

  Kelly screamed and dropped the torch, leaving them in total, terrifying darkness. Arlo had hold of the rope as an added precaution, and he felt it snap taut as Dallas hit the end of it.

  “Dammit!” Arlo snapped. “Help me pull him up!”

  Slowly they hoisted Dallas to safety, and when he was near enough, Kelly seized his sweaty hands and helped him over the edge. When at last he lay gasping on the stone floor, she threw her arms around him, trembling and weeping.

  “You all right, pard?” Arlo asked.

  “I … reckon,” Dallas wheezed. “My heart … will start beatin’ again … any day … now. Thank God … for that rope, but it … near ’bout tore me … in half, when I … hit the end of it. Feel like I been … throwed and stomped.”

  “I have the rest of the pine torches,” said Arlo. “I hope you didn’t lose the matches.”

  “Oh, damn the matches and the torches and the mine!” Kelly cried. “Let’s go back the way we came!”

  “Can’t,” said Dallas. “We’d never know where this tunnel comes out. If Hoss Logan got through here, so can w
e. I just picked the wrong way.”

  “Dear God,” Kelsey cried, “you’re not going to try that again?”

  “Dallas,” said Arlo, “when you catch your wind, dig out those matches and let’s have some light. I’m going to try to cross on that other ledge.”

  “Please don’t do it,” Kelsey begged. “It’s not even as wide as the one that just gave way.”

  Arlo drew her close in the darkness and felt the tears on her cheeks. Dallas sat up, fumbling in his pocket until he found the matches, secured in a little leather pouch. He lit a match and shielded it with his hand so the updraft wouldn’t snuff it out. Arlo soon had another of their pine pitch sticks burning, and he passed the rest of them to Dallas.

  “Hang on to these,” he said, “in case I take a tumble like you did.”

  “Let me go across first,” pleaded Kelsey. “I don’t weigh as much as you do.”

  “Thanks,” Arlo said, grinning at her, “but that wouldn’t help. Sooner or later, Dallas and me will have to cross, and if that ledge isn’t strong enough now, it won’t ever be strong enough. Dallas, are you able to haul me up if need be?”

  “I reckon,” said Dallas. “I ain’t sure my back will ever be the same, but if we got it to do, let’s get on with it. I’m thirsty, and the sound of that water’s drivin’ me loco.”

  Dallas untied the rope that had saved him and passed it to Arlo.

  “Oh, please be careful,” Kelsey begged.

  “I aim to,” said Arlo. “This is for luck.” He kissed Kelsey long and hard.

  “That’s where I went wrong,” Dallas said. “Watch—he’ll walk right on across.”

  They all adopted a confidence they didn’t really feel, watching Arlo inch his way across, and everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief when he was safely beyond the chasm.

  “Kelsey,” said Arlo, “I want you and Kelly to cross next, one at a time. I’m going to tie one end of my lariat over here, and I’ll tie the loose end to the rope I used in crossing. Dallas, when you haul your line in, you’ll have a rope secured on each side of this hole. When you send Kelly and Kelsey across, use both ropes. Send Kelsey across first, and when she’s safe, we’ll bring Kelly over the same way. Kelly, when you cross, bring a couple of those matches and a splinter of pine with you. We’ll have a light over here in time for Dallas to cross.”

  With the help of the lariats secured on both sides, Kelsey crossed safely. Arlo freed her from the ropes, and Dallas hauled them in again. He sent Kelly across in the same manner, and then loosed his own lariat from its stone pillar. He would cross with a single line. He tied the end of Arlo’s lariat securely under his arms, put his back to the wall, and slowly made his way to the other side. Kelly welcomed him with a kiss and tears of relief.

  Nothing had been said, but even in the short time they had been together, an understanding had come about. Their relationship had begun simply because the twins had been genuinely afraid of Gary Davis. At the outset they had felt safe with Arlo and Dallas, because the cowboys had been friends of Hoss Logan. But now it had developed as Dallas and Kelly, Arlo and Kelsey. Each became aware of the mutual attraction that was stronger even than the promise of gold that had brought them together in the beginning.

  “Thank God that’s behind us,” Kelsey sighed.

  “We still can’t afford to get careless,” said Arlo. “That death trap’s behind us, but there may be others, as bad or worse.”

  “We’ve had a hell of a day,” Dallas said. “Why don’t we follow this passage to some point where we can find it again, without havin’ to climb that mountain with the death’s head? Since we don’t know where this tunnel will end, we could be stranded in the dark, and a long way from our camp. We’re needin’ food, water, and rest.”

  “I hear water,” said Kelly. “God, I hope it’s not another river, with twenty feet of tunnel floor gone.”

  “The water may be a runoff from the same source,” Arlo said, “but that’s not loud enough to be a river. It’s likely a spring similar to the one in our hidden camp.”

  The passage widened, and once they reached the cavern, they saw that its stone ceiling was far above their heads. The water flowed out of a split in the rock, a miniature waterfall producing the sound they’d heard. The stream crossed the cavern, taking for its bed the stone floor of the passage, which continued at a gentle slope.

  “Clear and cold,” Kelsey said, drinking from her cupped hands.

  “That place—the cave—where Mother died,” said Kelly. “There’s just such a stream as this flowing out of the passage where Paiute took us. The water comes right down the passage, runs through the cavern, and on out into the canyon. Could this be the same stream?”

  “Maybe,” Dallas said. “I don’t think there’s that many freshwater streams flowing out of the mountains into the open canyons. What do you think, pard?”

  “When Paiute took you and Kelsey away and into the tunnel,” Arlo asked, “how long were you in the water?”

  “Not more than a few minutes,” said Kelly. “Paiute pushed us into another passage that led off to our right, and even before that, we were out of the water. It poured into our tunnel from somewhere to the left of us, and when we continued straight ahead we left the water behind.”

  “The mountain with the death’s head image is southeast of the cavern where Paiute found you,” Arlo said, “and that’s about where we should be now. If this is the stream that flows out into the canyon, we can return here by just climbing down the east rim from our camp and following the stream back to where we are right now.”

  “Lord,” said Kelsey, “so much easier than fighting our way through thorns and cactus and then having to climb the death’s head mountain.”

  “It’s follow the stream or go back the way we came,” Dallas said. “Let’s see where this passage takes us. If it leads out of the mountain near our camp, we can come back tomorrow and look for whatever sign Hoss left us.”

  Cass Bowdre and his bunch had spent most of the day riding around the Superstitions and hadn’t seen a soul. Less than an hour before sundown, they rode wearily into the canyon where the Apaches had attacked two days before. Riding with Bowdre was Three-Fingered Joe Dimler, Zondo Carp, Pod Osteen, Os Ellerton, Eldon Sandoval, and a burly Negro—Mose Fowler—who wore a tied-down Colt on each hip.

  “Six graves,” Bowdre noted. “I reckon this is the canyon where the Injuns raised hell with that bunch from town.”

  “Ah just don’ lak spendin’ the night wher’ they’s dead men,” Fowler complained.

  “You’ve accounted for enough of them in your time,” said Bowdre, “so don’t go gettin’ squeamish on us now. Dead men can’t hurt you. It’s them damn Apaches you ought to be scairt of. We got water and shelter here. Tomorrow we’ll flush out them pilgrims that reckon they got an edge on this gold claim, and have a serious talk with ’em. Let’s unsaddle our hosses so’s they can graze. Then we’ll have us a look at that cave. I’ll take the first watch over the hosses. Rest of the night, it’s two men to a watch.”

  A little more than a mile east of the mountain that the Mexican guides thought the map had referred to, Yavapai and Sanchez found a secluded canyon that appealed to Gary Davis. There they made their camp and managed to avoid being seen by Cass Bowdre’s hardcase bunch.

  “Who the hell are they?” Davis fumed.

  “Scared, Gary?” R. J. Bollinger taunted. “Them coyotes look mean enough to wear out their britches from the inside.”

  “Señor Davis shoot his amigo beside the very mountain where per’ap we find the gold,” said Yavapai with a sour grin.

  “Si,” Sanchez replied, “and now these bunch find the dead hombre and they wonder why. Per’ap they think we have find the gold for w’ich he die. Señor Davis, the estupido gringo, have draw these coyotes to the very mountain where may’ap the gold be.”

  The snide bastards, Davis cursed silently. Ostensibly they spoke to one another, but their words were directed at him. Davis fi
xed his malevolent gaze on the two of them, shifting it occasionally to Bollinger. He trusted none of them and hated them all. His shaky alliance had crumbled, and it had all been the result of his back-shooting Barry Rust. It was a foolish act that Davis now regretted, not because Rust had once been his friend but because it left Davis virtually alone in the mountains. He doubted that Yavapai, Sanchez, or even Bollinger would side with him now, especially in a fight with the Apaches. He could see them abandoning him to save themselves. Davis was faced with a dilemma: Even if he did get rid of this bothersome trio, how was he to avoid the new hardcase bunch while he searched for the mine? But his troubles didn’t end there. He hadn’t seen Wells and Holt since they’d slipped away from the Salt River in the middle of the night, and he agonized over the possibility that the cowboys had found the mine while he was stumbling through the Superstitions with a murderous trio who waited only for the time and place to kill him.