Skeleton Lode

by Ralph Compton

  * * *

  With torch in hand, Dallas led the way, following the stream down the winding passage.

  “If this is the stream we think it is,” Kelly said, “the water will take a turn to the right, following the other passage to the outside.”

  “I hope it does take us back to that other cavern,” said Kelsey. “Gary Davis would have no use for our belongings. Maybe he left our packs.”

  Eventually the stream did flow into another tunnel.

  “See?” Kelly cried excitedly. “To follow the stream, we must turn back to our right. We’re going to come out in the cave where the Indians attacked us.”

  “No talking from here on,” whispered Arlo. “We don’t know who might be out there. This is one of the few places with shelter and water.”

  They could soon see a gray area that was the mouth of the passage. Dallas dropped the torch he carried, and they waded carefully on, trying to avoid splashing the water as they went. Once they were near the mouth of their tunnel, Dallas held up his hand, halting them. He then crept ahead cautiously until he could see into the cavern.

  “Nobody out here,” he said. “Come on.”

  “Our packs are here!” Kelly cried when they emerged from the tunnel.

  “I’ll take a look outside,” said Dallas. “If the way’s clear, we’re only a few minutes from our camp.”

  But the way was far from clear. A few yards away, Cass Bowdre and his bunch were unsaddling their horses. Dallas quickly ducked back into the safety of the cave.

  “Seven riders out there,” he said. “They’re watering their horses, likely planning to bed down for the night. Real hardcase bunch.”

  “They’ll soon be in here,” said Arlo, “so let’s go back into the tunnel.”

  “This means we’ll be trapped in here until they leave,” Kelsey said. “With shelter and water, suppose they don’t? We have no food.”

  “We’ll have water,” said Arlo, “and we can survive until morning without food. There will be some shooting, eventually, but this isn’t the time or the place. You’ve seen what a ricochet can do in here.”

  So they retreated into the blackness of the passage, Dallas and Arlo carrying the girls’ packs. Dallas lit a match, and Arlo brought out another of the pine splinters.

  “We could just follow this tunnel beyond the point where the water enters it and stay dry,” Dallas said, “but let’s go back to that big cavern where the stream begins.”

  “Why so far?” Kelly asked. “My feet are already cold and blistered.”

  “Because some of that bunch might decide to explore this tunnel,” said Arlo, “but it’s not likely they’ll take any other passage, for fear of getting lost.”

  “Besides that,” Dallas said, “if we’re goin’ to be trapped in this damn mountain all night, why not use the time to look around? Maybe we’ll find whatever message Hoss left for us.”

  “Good idea,” said Arlo, “but only to a point. We only have three of those pine splinters left. We’ll have to do some almighty fast looking.”

  “You underestimate our pard Hoss Logan,” Dallas said. “Somewhere in that cavern where the water comes down, Hoss will have stashed more pine sticks. We can use what we have left to look for the others.”

  Their return journey back along the streambed didn’t seem quite as long.

  “My God,” Kelly groaned, “all I want is to find a dry place, sit down, and take off these wet boots.”

  “No,” said Arlo, “let them dry on your feet.”

  “That’s right,” Dallas said. “Take ’em off wet, and once they’re dry you’ll never get them on again. There’s worse things than having wet feet—like bein’ barefoot in cactus country.”

  Both girls stretched out on the stone floor, their heads on their packs while Dallas and Arlo explored the huge cavern. It was circular and at first glance seemed devoid of anything except scattered stone that had fallen from above. It was Arlo who discovered what might have been a clue left by Hoss Logan.

  “Look at this,” he called to Dallas.

  Dallas hunkered down beside him near the wall to see three flat stones arranged in a neat stack, with the largest one on the bottom. Curiosity got the best of Kelly and Kelsey, and they crawled over next to Dallas and Arlo to see what they’d found.

  “How do you know they haven’t been sitting like that for three hundred years?” Kelsey said.

  “We don’t know they haven’t,” answered Arlo, “but common sense tells us it just isn’t possible, with these old volcanoes acting up like they do.”

  “You believe it’s a message from Uncle Henry, then,” Kelly said.

  “Yes,” said Arlo. “I don’t believe he’d have had us climb that mountain with the image of the death’s head and then risk our necks at the underground river for nothing.”

  “Uncle Henry used to say that three was his lucky number,” Kelsey remembered. “But what do these stones tell us, except that maybe he left them like this? What do they mean? Three paces, three miles, three mountains?”

  “They’re to call our attention to something else,” said Dallas. “I believe it’s right here within our reach, but we can’t find it in the dark. We need more of those pine pitch torches, but where in tarnation could they be?”

  The stone ceiling was far above their heads, the walls seemed smooth, and there wasn’t enough fallen debris to conceal anything on the stone floor.

  “There’s not a hole anywhere,” Kelsey said, “except where the water flows out of that split in the wall.”

  “That’s it!” exclaimed Arlo.

  He took the torch from Dallas and went for a closer look. The stream splashed out of a horizontal split in the rock. It was a yard wide, and there was a gap between the rushing water and the upper lip of the crevice.

  “Here, Dallas,” Arlo said, “hold the light.”

  Dallas took the torch, and Arlo reached into the split, feeling above the fast-flowing water. The bundle of pine pitch slivers was tied with a single strip of rawhide.

  “You found something!” Kelly cried excitedly. “Is that all there is?”

  “That’s all,” said Arlo. “There’s just a narrow shelf. Centuries ago, the flow of water must have been heavier, but it’s slacked off some, leaving that little ledge dry. Hoss never would have left anything of importance in so obvious a place. He kept this kindling here for his own use, concealing it only to avoid leaving sign of his coming and going.”

  “Well,” Dallas said, “we have enough of those splinters for light now, so we can look around. Let’s fire up a second one and go over these walls, from head-high to the floor.”

  “Kelsey and me can look too,” said Kelly, “but what are we looking for?”

  “Anything that might relate to the number three,” Arlo said. “You’ll have to use your own judgment.”

  The four of them, armed with two torches, began a careful examination of the cavern’s stone walls. Dallas worked his way to the beginning of the passage down which the stream flowed, and it was he who made the discovery.

  “I’ve found something,” he cried excitedly. “This has to be it!”

  His three companions were beside him in an instant, their eyes on the almost imperceptible crevice in the rock. It was to the right of the tunnel, and just at eye level. There were three tiny oak pins, their heads flat, driven flush with the stone. They might have been there for centuries, but the four pairs of eyes beholding them knew better. The number matched the strange trio of stones.

  “I think,” said Arlo, “when we find the passage where the gold is, we’ll know it by three of these pegs concealed somewhere in the rock.”

  “Damn it, Hoss,” Dallas groaned, “why didn’t you tell us which mountain?”

  The Logan girls were tired and hungry, and their elation at Dallas’s discovery turned swiftly to disappointment. Dallas soon regretted his complaint that Hoss Logan had not directed them to a specific mountain, and he tried to undo the damage.


  “I reckon I was a mite hasty, growlin’ at Hoss,” he said. “It ain’t fair to down a man for what he’s done, until you know his reasons for it.”

  “It’s kind of you to say that,” said Kelly, “but you were right the first time. We’ve already been through that mountain with the death’s head, and we’re under a different one now. Stand on one of these mountains, and there are more of them all around, like pigs gathered around a sow. I swear, if I could get to Uncle Henry right now, I’d give him a piece of my mind. How long are we going to keep doing this?”

  “Until we find Hoss’s mine,” Arlo said. “What else is there to do? You aim to go back to St. Louis and marry some rich doctor or lawyer?”

  Those were the first cross words they’d had, and Dallas was about to say something when Kelsey laughed.

  “Before I’d go back to the way things were,” she said, “I’d spend the rest of my life looking for Uncle Henry’s mine, and so would Kelly.”

  “All right,” Kelly sighed, “you’ve got me. What are we going to do for the rest of the night?”

  “Move over some,” said Dallas, “and we’ll put our heads together on that pack of yours. I’m almost bearable, once you get to know me.”

  “Come on,” Kelly said. “If I can endure these wet boots, I reckon I can stand anything.”

  “Damn,” said Dallas, “the way you snatched me out of that hole a while ago, I reckoned I’d be more welcome. If the both of us can’t share your pack for a pillow, still wearin’ our britches and boots, that don’t leave much hope for later on, does it?”

  “The way you ramble,” Kelly said, “it won’t matter. You can’t get anything done for the talking about it.”

  “By God,” said Arlo, “if you two are goin’ to kick and bite at one another all night like a pair of old mules with burs under your tails, I reckon Kelsey and me will have to find us another mountain.”

  Kelly laughed. “Stay. If he ever gets over here, I think I can shut him up.”

  Suddenly there was a rumble like faraway thunder, and the stone floor beneath them trembled.

  “We’ve disturbed the Thunder God,” Kelsey lamented, moving closer to Arlo. “I can’t get over the feeling that before we leave the Superstitions, one of these strange old mountains is going to fall on us.”

  “Sounds like a storm buildin’,” said Cass Bowdre. The mountain seemed to vibrate around them as they ate supper.

  “Ain’t been but a few minutes since I was outside,” said Three-Fingered Joe Dimler, “and they wasn’t a cloud nowhere. That ain’t thunder.”

  “We be too close to them what’s buried in the canyon,” Mose Fowler said. “I just knows we is.”

  “Oh, hell,” said Bowdre in disgust, “why you reckon they call this bunch of mountains the Superstitions? We’re armed, and there ain’t a thing that walks, crawls, or flies that can’t be stopped with enough lead. I’m goin’ out with the hosses. Mose, I’ll wake you and Eldon. After that, it’ll be Pod and Os, then Zondo and Joe—and see there that don’t none of you nod off.”

  The men in the cavern slept undisturbed, unaware that they were observed from the dark passage from which flowed the stream. It was the last watch, Three-Fingered Joe and Zondo Carp, who sounded the alarm, an hour before dawn.

  “The hosses are gone!” Zondo shouted.

  “Gone?” Bowdre echoed. “I told you jugheads to stay awake!”

  “We been awake,” Three-Fingered Joe howled. “When the moon set, they … they just disappeart, an’ we didn’t see ’em go!”

  “I tol’ you this be a bad place,” said Mose. “De spirits is robbed us!”

  “We’ve been robbed, all right,” Bowdre growled, “but not by spirits. I aim to find the thieves, and I promise you, they’ll bleed just like anybody else. But we can’t move until first light. Get a fire going so we can eat.”

  By the light of the fire, they made a more alarming discovery: Their packs were also missing! Gone were their food, their spare clothing, and all their extra ammunition.

  “Whoever come in here amongst us ain’t no ordinary hombre,” said Pod Osteen. “Hell, I fought the Mescalero Apaches, and nothin’ gits by me, even if I’m asleep. I tell you, there ain’t a man alive that could of come in here without wakin’ some of us. This place is quiet as a tomb.”

  “Lawd God,” Mose Fowler groaned, “this place be a tomb! De night won’t find me in here a’gin, not for all the gold in Arizony.”

  “Whoever he is,” said Bowdre, “he’s some slick coyote. Pod, you and Zondo walk back to town for extra shells and grub. While you’re gone, the rest of us will find another camp and trail the hosses.”

  “Whoa,” Zondo said. “I ain’t walkin’ to town on nobody’s orders.”

  “Me neither,” said Pod, and the rest of them quickly agreed with him.

  “Damn it,” Bowdre said, “we got to have grub.”

  “We’s got to have hosses first,” said Mose. “Why don’ I walks in to the livery an’ buys some?”

  “Because the livery in that little one-saloon town ain’t goin’ to have that many hosses to sell,” Bowdre explained. “And if they did, they wouldn’t sell to us. Their hard-nosed sheriff would see to that. Hosses leave tracks. We’ll trail ’em and then worry about the grub.”

  “Likely the Apaches got our hosses,” said Os Ellerton. “An’ if they did, you can trail ’em till hell freezes. They’ll split up an’ go seven different ways.”

  “I ain’t near as ethical as the rest of you jaybirds,” Sandoval said. “I aim to find one of them slicks what’s lookin’ for the gold, shoot the varmint, and take his horse.”

  “Whatever we do, we’ll do it together,” Bowdre shouted. “I say we look for our hosses first. When I’m satisfied we can’t find ’em, then we’ll likely take Sandoval’s advice, takin’ ’em wherever and however we can find ’em.”

  They set out down the canyon, seven men accustomed to the saddle, now on foot.

  “We could of lit us a pine knot,” said Sandoval, “an’ searched the tunnel. I can make do without a hoss for a while, but damned if I’m goin’ without grub.”

  “Yeah,” Bowdre growled, “and besides our other problems, we’d be lost somewhere in that mountain. For damn sure, our hosses didn’t go that way, and if that’s the way our packs went, you can be sure the coyote that took ’em knows his way around. We don’t, and even if we didn’t lose ourselves in the passages, we’d likely walk blind into an ambush or fall down a hole we couldn’t climb out of. Anybody hankerin’ to explore that tunnel, have at it, but don’t look for me to go with you.”

  “Spirits in de mountain done laid de evil eye on us,” said Mose gloomily.

  Nobody responded to that, but his companions looked sideways at Mose, wondering if he possessed some spiritual insight they lacked. The sun peeked over the horizon, promising another blistering day. There was nothing more to be said, and for the lack of an alternative, the seven disgruntled men trudged down the canyon, following a doubtful trail.

  Chapter 9

  Gary Davis had spent a restless, sleepless night, and with the dawn he had reached a decision. It was a solution to the problem he’d wrestled with all night. Not that he was happy with it—under the circumstances it was the best he could do. If his surly companions chose not to go along with him, it could be a painless means of ridding himself of them. If they did accept his proposal—and they would have little choice—they would become less of a danger to him. Davis wasted no time in telling them what he had in mind.

  “We’re goin’ to track down this bunch that rode in yesterday,” he said, “and use them to our advantage. They’re tougher than those grannies that just got scared off by the Apaches, and I aim to join forces with them.”

  “Smart move, Gary,” Bollinger said. “You goin’ to make ’em promise not to gun us down the minute we find the gold?”

  “Once we find the gold,” said Davis, “I fully expect them to try and take it all. I got about as much con
fidence in them as I do in you and this pair of Mex coyotes, but if we spent all our time fightin’ over who looks for the mine, then none of us is goin’ to find it. Me, I’d rather join forces with these pelicans, find the gold, and fight them for it than not find it at all. If we’re gunnin’ for them, and they’re gunnin’ for us, with the Apaches out to scalp us all, there’ll be no gold for any of us.”