Skeleton Lode

by Ralph Compton

  “Got any proof it was thieves, and not the storm?” Dallas asked.

  “Proof enough fer us,” said the stranger. “Storm wiped out all the tracks, so we took to ridin’ to ranches an’ towns, askin’ questions. Our brother Tad rode to Tortilla Flat this mornin’, an’ was at the store when a gent showed up with two of our mules. When Tad’s hoss come in riderless, we back-trailed him and found Tad shot dead. We don’t care a damn about the mules, but Tad was kin—blood kin—and them what kilt him is goin’ to pay. You folks has been follerin’ that trail. What’s your stake in this?”

  “None,” Arlo said, meeting their hard stares with one of his own.

  On the Western frontier, a man who asked too many questions found himself not liking the answers. Without another word the five wheeled their horses and rode off to the southwest, returning to the trail they’d been following.

  “Well,” said Dallas, “that explains where the mules came from.”

  “Six men afoot, six stolen mules,” Kelly said. “It fits.”

  “In spades,” Arlo said. “That hardcase bunch from the Superstitions saw a chance to swap stolen mules for horses, and took it.”

  “When them five hombres from St. Joe catches up, whoever is closest to them mules is in for one hell of a fight,” said Dallas. “I reckon Yavapai and Sanchez is about to get throwed and stomped. When they come out of this—if they do—their coyote hides won’t hold shucks.”

  Chapter 18

  Big Juarez splashed across the creek and paused on the farthest bank. The mule tracks and those of two horses continued, but that was all.

  “What you be waiting for?” Garcia Ruiz shouted.

  Juarez said nothing, waiting until Ruiz, Pepino Frio, and the Ortega brothers had all crossed the creek.

  “Something’s not right,” said Juarez. “All mulos come out of the water, but only two of the horses.”

  “Estupido,” said Ruiz. “The others follow the creek.”

  “Madre de Dios,” Juarez snarled, “you t’ink I not know that? There be two ways, tonto pelade Dos. Which one?”

  They might follow the stream for hours, only to discover the horsemen had gone the other way. Then, from somewhere ahead, came the braying of a mule. It offered a way out of the dilemma, and Juarez seized it.

  “Mulos!” Juarez shouted. “Let us take them.”

  He set out after the beasts, and for lack of an alternative the others followed. Yavapai and Sanchez, however, paused, looking uncertainly up and down the creek. Suppose they showed up in town mounted on mules, instead of the horses Señor Domingo Vasquez had provided? It was more of a risk than they cared to take, and with a sigh, the perplexed pair limped off up the creek seeking the place the horses had left the stream.

  “We find them!” Juarez shouted when he sighted the grazing mules.

  “Silencio,” snarled Ruiz. “You frighten them away and I kill you.”

  But weariness and desperation lent caution to their footsteps, and they were successful in catching the five mules. Only when they were mounted did it occur to Juarez that the bothersome Yavapai and Sanchez were nowhere in sight.

  “El Diablo’s hijos,” Juarez bawled, “where be Yavapai and Sanchez? The Señor Vasquez say we must watch them, and now they be gone. We must find them.”

  “Si,” Ruiz agreed. “The señor say we must watch them, but he do not say while we watch them, we cannot shoot them dead.” Drawing his pistol, Ruiz fell in behind Juarez and the five of them galloped their mules back toward the creek.

  Meanwhile, Yavapai and Sanchez had made a shocking discovery.

  “Sangre de Christo,” Yavapai gasped, pointing. “Hombres come, and they be tracking us.”

  The five Vonnegals were nearing the creek. Two hundred yards upstream, Yavapai and Sanchez went belly down in the tall grass. They dared not move until the Vonnegals had crossed the creek and were well out of sight. Two miles west of the creek, Juarez and his four companions topped a rise and came face-to-face with the five men coming up the other side. Recognizing their mules, the Vonnegals had an edge. Juarez, in the lead, bore the brunt of their fury. Four slugs ripped into him, flinging him to the ground, his pistol unfired. The remaining four men dropped into the knee-high grass, pulling their pistols as they went. A mule screamed as a slug grazed its flank, and all the animals lit out back the way they’d come. The Vonnegals had dismounted, and for the moment there was silence, as both factions considered their situation and sought some advantage. “Drop them guns an’ come out with your hands in the air,” one of the Vonnegals shouted, “or you git no mercy!”

  “We ask none and we give none, gringo bastardo,” Ruiz responded.

  It was a foolish taunt, and Ruiz soon discovered his folly. While the high grass was good cover, much of it had seeded, and was dry enough to burn. Soon enough, the Vonnegals set the ground on fire. As the flames swept up the rise, there was enough smoke to cover the Vonnegals advance. The youthful braggart Pepino Frio was the first to make a break for it. In a zigzag run, Pepino almost reached the crest of the ridge before lead cut him down. Though the Vonnegals had little to shoot at, they simply poured lead into the tall grass, and one of the slugs caught Garcia Ruiz in the face. Juan and Juno Ortega were on their knees, Colts blazing, and in the few seconds before they died, they downed two of the Vonnegals. Finally, but for the distant cawing of a crow and the sigh of the wind, there was silence. While flames swept over the dead bodies of their recent companions, Yavapai and Sanchez got to their knees and peered cautiously down the creek, unsure as to their next move.

  “There be some hell of a fight,” said Yavapai. “Why it be?”

  “Who know?” Sanchez replied. “Per’ap Juarez and his companeros be dead. Per’ap it be us who must explain to the Señor Vasquez.”

  “Si,” said Yavapai gloomily. “Then we be dead.”

  While the wait was long and their patience worn thin, Yavapai and Sanchez held their position until they knew who had won the fight and how many were yet alive. Finally they saw three riders—strangers—approach the creek from the west, riding back the way they had come. The trio of gringos led two riderless horses and drove the five mules.

  “The gringos kill for mulos,” said Yavapai.

  “Is not concern us,” Sanchez replied. “Bastardos who steal our horses take only five. There be two yet loose. Per’ap we catch them before they be reaching the town.”

  “For why?” Yavapai asked. “These horses belong to Señor Vasquez, an’ when he learn of this, I not wish to be where he get his hands on me.”

  “Nor I,” said Sanchez. “I think per’ap when we find these horses we ride south, where there be silver to steal and the stagecoach to rob. Per’ap the sheriff in Tucson have been shot dead. A new one cannot know of us so good.”

  Again Yavapai and Sanchez headed for town, carefully avoiding the rise where the grass still smoldered where lay the riddled, blackened bodies of all their former companions.

  The wind was out of the southwest. Arlo slowed his horse and the rest of them drew up beside him. Though the ominous popping came from miles away, Arlo and Dallas recognized it for what it was.

  “Hell’s busted loose,” said Dallas. “I reckon them Missouri hombres found their mules.”

  “I just hope we find some sign tomorrow,” Kelsey said. “I’m so tired.”

  “After dark, why don’t we all walk to Saguaro Lake and have us a bath and a swim? It’s plenty warm enough,” said Arlo.

  “Good idea,” Dallas agreed. “All of us together, huh?”

  “Why, hell no,” said Arlo. “You find a place for you and Kelly, and I’ll find one for Kelsey and me.”

  “I thought we was pards,” Dallas said mournfully. “We always shared.”

  “We share grub, money, and horses,” said Arlo, “and you’re welcome to my last clean shirt and my last pair of socks. But Kelsey and me have our own plans, and they don’t include you. I reckoned you and Kelly would have plans of your own by now. Wh
at’n hell’s come over you?”

  “We do have plans,” Kelly said in disgust. “It’s that damn cowboy humor again. Can’t you tell he’s ragging you?”

  “I’m not sure he is,” said Kelsey. “After I’d been shot, out of my head and stark naked, every time I’d kick off my blankets, the first person I’d see would be Dallas.”

  “I’m not that sure you were out of your head every time you kicked off the blankets,” Kelly suggested. “You hogged all the attention.”

  “Oh, I had a wonderful time,” said Kelsey, “and I had half a quart of whiskey all to myself. Don’t forget that.”

  Their laughter rang out in the twilight, and the first twinkling stars looked down from a purpling sky, as they rode on toward Hoss Logan’s cabin.

  Cass Bowdre and his companions watched the five riders take the trail toward town in pursuit of the horses, mules, and the men afoot.

  “They been follerin’ two mules all the way from Tortilla Flat,” Sandoval said, “and now there’s tracks of five. They ain’t thinkin’ straight.”

  “I’m countin’ on that,” said Bowdre. “Once they find them mules, whoever’s closest to ’em is in for one hell of a fight, and we win two pots with a single draw. We settle the score with Yavapai and Sanchez, and we get them mule drovers off our trail. By God, it ain’t often things work out like this.”

  “Tomorrow before first light,” Ellerton said, “you aim to have two of us watchin’ for this Wells and Holt. Who you got in mind?”

  “Myself, for one,” said Bowdre. “Are you volunteerin’ to side me?”

  “Yeah,” Ellerton said. “I’ve had a bellyful of stumblin’ around under these mountains. I think this Wells and Holt knows somethin’ we don’t, and if we’re there when they ride in, there ain’t no reason we can’t foller ’em to whatever they’ve found.”

  “Why you?” Zondo Carp demanded. “You reckon the rest of us can’t see good enough to trail ’em?”

  “Think what you want,” said Ellerton. “It don’t make a damn to me what you think. I’ve had more’n enough of these mountains, and I’m ready to move on. By my lonesome, if that’s what it takes.”

  “Nobody leaves till I say this is done,” Bowdre said.

  An hour before first light, Arlo, Dallas, Kelly, and Kelsey walked out.

  “I don’t feel comfortable, leaving our horses and mules,” said Kelly. “Why can’t we leave them farther away, so they’ll be more difficult to find?”

  “We can,” Arlo said, “but it’ll mean a longer walk.”

  “I don’t care,” said Kelly. “Even if those men don’t bother our mounts, they can still hear us coming if we ride in too close.”

  “We can’t be that quiet on foot,” Kelsey said, “in the dark, through all the cactus and underbrush.”

  “No,” said Dallas, “but I think Kelly’s right. In the quiet just before first light sound carries far. A hoof against a stone can sound like a smithy’s hammer. Since we know they’re likely up there in our old camp, why don’t we ride a mile or two south of that trail that leads up to the rim?”

  “You got no argument from me,” Arlo said. “Even if they suspect we’re coming, they won’t know where to watch for us. They’ll be depending on us to make some noise they can follow. It’ll be to our advantage to ride in somewhere south of the trail we took yesterday and to dismount as far from them as we can.”

  “We’ll have lots farther to travel,” said Kelly, “but at least when we pass that trail that leads up to the rim, we’ll be on foot.”

  “Yes,” Dallas said, “and the more I think about it, the more I believe it’ll be worth the walk. When we come out, it’ll be daylight. Even if they do find our mounts, we’ll be far enough to the north that they still won’t know where we’re going to come away from the mountain.”

  They circled toward the south, leaving their animals beyond the trail that led up to the western rim of the mountain.

  “Kelsey, you and Kelly bring the lanterns,” Arlo said, “and stay well behind us. Dallas and me may have to pull our guns in a hurry. If there’s a sound—or the slightest possibility that they’re waiting for us—go back the way we came and wait for us. We may have to circle wide, go farther north, and then work our way back to you.”

  They made their way carefully along the base of the mountain. Kelly and Kelsey, at Arlo’s insistence, kept back. The moon was down, and the stars seemed to draw away, cloaking the earth in blackness. A sudden sound, slight like the rolling of a stone under a man’s booted foot, broke the silence. More ominous was the sound that followed—the snick of a pistol being cocked! Shooting by sound was difficult, and a man who fired first in the dark risked targeting himself by his muzzle flash. The only advantage was that if he drew return fire, he then had the other man’s muzzle flash to work with. Dallas and Arlo fired so close together, it sounded like a single shot. Before the echo died, they had thrown themselves to the ground and rolled away from their original positions. The return fire came, two slugs whistling through the empty air where they had been standing. Arlo and Dallas fired again, this time at the muzzle flashes. There was a grunt of pain, and then only silence. Arlo and Dallas lay unmoving for at least a quarter of an hour. Dallas felt around until he found a stone at least the size of his fist, and flung it away, well off to one side. It drew no response.

  “They’ve shucked out,” Arlo said.

  “Kelly, Kelsey,” Dallas called softly, “are you all right?”

  “Yes,” said Kelly. “It’s so dark, why did you shoot?”

  “To get them off our tail,” Dallas said. “It ain’t easy for a man to resist shootin’ back when he’s got a muzzle flash to shoot at, so we gave him one. I think we nicked him. If he’s hit, they won’t be so quick to follow us again. Come on, let’s find our passage and disappear.”

  Cass Bowdre and Os Ellerton made their way up the trail to their camp below the west rim. They were silent, Ellerton pressing a bandanna to the bloody wound in bis left arm, just above the elbow. Neither man spoke until they had reached their camp. Their comrades sat around a small fire, drinking coffee.

  “We heard shootin’,” said Carp. “What’d you do, Ellerton, light a smoke?”

  “He might as well have,” Bowdre said in disgust. “He cocked his pistol and them two pistoleros cut down on us, shootin’ at the sound. They come damn close, and Ellerton, he shoots back, givin’ ’em the target they was askin’ for.”

  “Looks like you was right the first time, Bowdre,” said Sandoval. “Ain’t much use trailin’ that pair in the dark.”

  “No,” Bowdre said. “They shoot quick and straight. One of you put on some water to boil, so’s we can patch up Ellerton’s arm. Three-Fingered Joe, you’ll keep watch today from the east rim. Carp, you’ll take the west rim. Sandoval and me will search that next passage. Ellerton, you’ll stay here in camp, and stay out of trouble with Davis. One more fool move out of you, and I’ll shoot you myself, and it won’t be in the arm.”

  Ellerton’s face went white with anger, but he said nothing. He sat on his saddle, looking into the fire. He expected no sympathy and got none—his was a deserved reprimand. When the water was hot, Three-Fingered Joe cleansed Ellerton’s wound. It was clean, for the slug had missed the bone.

  The men had their bacon and coffee in silence, and when they had finished, Bowdre spoke. “Joe, I want you and Zondo on watch as soon as it’s light enough to see.”

  With Arlo and Dallas leading the way, Kelly and Kelsey following, they reached their concealed passage without further difficulty. The men lit the lanterns, and the four of them found a shallow stretch where they could cross the river. The far bank was wider, and they were able to get past the waterfall without being drenched with violent spray. But a hundred yards above the waterfall, they found a mass of volcanic rock blocking their way, extending into the water on the river side and almost to the wall of the cavern on the other. There was barely room for them to squeeze between the stone wall
and the mossy volcanic upthrust that towered over their heads.

  “These walls on this side of the river are awful smooth,” Kelly said. “We haven’t seen a hole or a split wide enough to get a hand into.”

  “No matter,” replied Arlo. “We’ll go back to the head of this cavern, to the start of the river, and work our way back.”

  “Remember the spotted ponies,” Dallas said. “The sign on the wall or floor may not have anything to do with that particular spot, but it may tell us where we must go from there.”

  Bowdre and Sandoval had taken the passage from their camp to the bottom of the mountain, to what seemed the most promising of the passages yet to be explored.

  “Injuns have been here,” said Sandoval when they reached the place where the crude horse figures had been cut into the wall.

  “Yeah,” Bowdre replied. “I reckon there’s some that ain’t all that scared of the Thunder God.”