by Joe Millard
"If you're right about the coffin being empty," Shadrach said grimly, "and I have a sneaking suspicion that you are, Mr. Dandy Deever is going to be the sorriest rascal west of the Pecos."
"Amen," the hunter said with feeling.
They were sitting on the flat rock, waiting for the flood to recede sufficiently for them to resume the chase. Despite the logic of the hunter's guess, neither dared abandon the pursuit of the coffin until they knew for certain whether or not it contained the money chest.
The water level was falling at an accelerating pace. At the point where the coffin had been sucked into the vortex, the top of a cavern or tunnel was now visible above the water. The hunter scrambled down to test the depth of the flood with a length of driftwood.
"Not much over waist-deep," he reported. "In a few minutes I'll be able to wade over and see what kind of a hole it was sucked into."
"In a few minutes, smart guy," a harsh voice said, "the only place you'll be going is back to jail for a good, long stay."
Sheriff Ben Hipson stood on the bank, his cocked rifle resting on his arm, its muzzle pointing at the bounty hunter. Max, the big deputy, stood beside him with a shotgun. Two more hardcases sporting deputy's badges stood back a few yards, holding four horses.
"We were out lookin' for you, mister, when we got lucky," the sheriff said. "The feller who runs the circus said he seen somebody answerin' your description heading down this way. Now you clasp your hands behind your neck and come over here real easy. I wouldn't mind one bit puttin' a bullet in you, so don't make no sudden moves." The muzzle of the rifle shifted toward Shadrach. "And you do the same, fella."
"Me? What on earth for, Sheriff?"
"That's what I aim to find out. But if you're in cahoots with him, that's reason enough."
"I beg your pardon," Shadrach said with a fine show of injured dignity. "Do I look like the type of person who would be in cahoots, as you call it, with anyone as weirdly garbed as that? I never saw this character before in my life. I was sitting here, waiting for the water to go down so I could get back across to my horse, when he came along and forced his conversation on me."
"Maybe," the sheriff said coldly, "but you're comin' along anyhow until I find out. It seems to me I've heard or read somewhere about a fella with a scar like that on his face."
"The jig's up, Dirty Dan," the hunter said, sotto voce. "The sheriff's too smart to fool any longer. We might as well confess and show him where we hid the stuff."
The sheriff's eyes went wide and a crafty look stole over his face.
"Stuff? What stuff? You better talk up, both of you, and talk straight."
"Green stuff," the hunter said, rubbing thumb and fingers together in a gesture of feeling money. "Enough for him and me to live like kings in South America. We'd have been on our way there right now if this flash flood hadn't spoiled everything. Of course—" He threw a significant look toward the other two deputies in the background—"by the time you slice it four ways, the slices get a lot thinner."
The sheriff spun around and raised his voice. "Charlie! Sut! You two ride on back and hold down the office. Max and me'll bring these fellers in after we've persuaded 'em to answer a few questions. If there's any bounty on 'em, you'll get your shares."
"We damn better, Ben," one of the deputies said grimly.
They reluctantly climbed into their saddles and rode off, leaving the other two horses ground-haltered. Shadrach and the hunter exchanged meaningful looks. The sheriff swung back, scowling at the big deputy.
"Max, I was just thinking..."
"No," Max said flatly. He shifted slightly, and the twin barrels of the shotgun suddenly pointed in the general direction of the sheriff's middle. "I may look like a big, dumb deputy, Ben, but I wasn't borned yesterday."
The sheriff's complexion underwent a series of color changes, going from a deep crimson to a yellowish white. He turned on the captives, who had obediently moved in closer, hands clasped at the backs of their necks.
"All right," he snarled. "Where-at is it hid—all this green stuff you was talkin' about?"
"It's funny you should ask," the hunter said, "because we were just arguing about that very thing. You see, Sheriff, when I was just a little shaver, I got throwed off a horse and lit on my head. Every since then I get these spells when my mind goes plumb blank and I can't remember a single thing. The only thing that might clear it up would be if we was to be offered a real good deal. That almost always helps it."
The sheriff's face darkened and his small eyes glittered. He tilted the muzzle of the rifle up.
"You smart sonofabitch! I'll 'deal' you."
"Uh, uh, uh," the hunter said, wagging a chiding finger. "Killing me won't help you one bit. His memory's even worse than mine."
"Hold it Ben," Max said suddenly. "I got a pretty fair idea where it's hid." He pointed the shotgun toward the cliff. "Look over there, just above the water line. If that ain't the upper part of a cave of some kind, I'll eat it."
"Blabbermouth!" the hunter said bitterly.
"You hit 'er, Max," the sheriff crowed, "right on the nose. All right, smart boy. I heard you say the water wasn't more'n waist-deep, so you just lead us over there and start fishin' the green stuff out." A look of alarm came over his face. "You don't suppose the water's ruined it, do yuh?"
The hunter shook his head, muttering, "It's in a waterproof chest. The diamonds are only in a basket, but water can't hurt them, anyhow."
"Diamonds?" the sheriff bleated. "How many?"
"Not more'n half a bushel at the most. We only took the biggest ones."
He reached down to pick up the driftwood pole. The sheriff yelped and brought up the rifle.
"Keep your hands off that club."
'That's not a club, Sheriff. That's my poke-pole. I use it to feel the bottom before I step. The flood washed the dirt out from between the rocks in some places and a fellow could break a leg stepping into one of those holes."
"Wel-l-l, all right—but don't try none of your tricks."
"I wouldn't think of it. I know when we're licked."
They moved out cautiously in single file, with Max and his shotgun bringing up the rear. By then the water level had dropped until it was barely over knee-depth. Midway across, the hunter called a halt and bent forward, cautiously probing the bottom ahead, using the thin end of the pole.
"What is it?" the sheriff demanded. "What's the matter?"
"That's what has me stumped. Move up a little, Sheriff, and see if you can figure out what this thing is."
The sheriff eased up and peered over the hunter's shoulder.
"What what is? I don't see anything."
"You will," the hunter said. "Stars."
He snapped the pole back with all his force. The thick butt caught Sheriff Hipson full in the mouth with a meaty, cracking sound. The hunter caught the rifle as it dropped from hands gone suddenly limp and nerveless.
Simultaneously, Shadrach whirled and laid the barrel of the custom-made pistol along the side of Max's beefy jaw with earnest enthusiasm. He caught the shotgun and stepped back to avoid being splashed by the deputy's lumbering collapse.
"I suppose," he said, a note of regret in his voice, "it isn't sound policy to let a sheriff and his deputy drown, no matter if they are unlovable characters."
"I suppose not. But if one of them were Dandy Deever, it would be a different story."
They dragged the two limp figures to the bank and laid them out, side by side. Shadrach knelt, got the handcuffs off their belts and cuffed their wrists together behind them, running the chain of one set of cuffs through the other so they were shackled back-to-back. He found the handcuff keys and tucked one into each victim's shirt pocket.
"There," he said, getting to his feet "By the time they figure out how to reach the keys or climb on a horse, or even walk to town, they'll know more about cooperation than all the books in the world could teach them."
"You know," the hunter said, "you've got the kind o
f nasty, twisted mind I could learn to admire."
"Speaking of minds, I almost went out of mine trying to guess when and how you'd make your play, after all that build-up. You kept them so steamed up over plunder that they completely forgot to grab our guns." He shook his head in wonder. "I thought Dandy was a top con man, but you've got him backed clear off the map."
CHAPTER 16
They waded out to the opening in the cliff, now half exposed by the receding water. The bounty hunter peered in.
"It's a tunnel. I can see daylight at the other end and it looks to be open the whole length. I'll go first and test the bottom with my stick and you follow directly behind."
"Lead on," Shadrach said, his face grim. "The sooner we find out for sure that Dandy got the chest of money, the sooner we can get on his trail. But just don't get careless about your footing. You're worth a fortune to me alive, but not one plugged nickel if you should fall into a hole and drown."
"I'll be real careful," the hunter said. "But you have no idea what a warm and wonderful feeling it gives me to know that someone really worries about me."
"Once this deal is wound up," Shadrach said through clenched teeth, "it'll be time for you to start worrying about you. When the profit stops, my friend, so does any interest I might possibly have in your well-being."
"You're just saying that because you're so modest. You're afraid to have people guess that you're really all heart."
"Ahh, shut up!" Shadrach snarled.
They were inching their way cautiously through an almost impenetrable gloom where the driftwood probe was as vital to their survival as was the white cane to a blind man. The discs of sunlight at either end only served to intensify the blackness in between.
Fortunately, the floor of the tunnel was relatively smooth and uncluttered. Any rockfall and debris had probably been swept out by the rushing flood. The floor also had a slight downward slope so that about midway through they were able to stand erect and make a little faster progress.
They were almost to the end of the tunnel when The Man With No Name cried, "There it is! There's the coffin, grounded on the bank just beyond the mouth of the tunnel."
"Take it easy," Shadrach growled. "We could go barging out and get our damn fool heads blown off. Apachito and his cutthroats obviously knew where the coffin was headed when it was sucked into the tunnel and knew another way around to this end. They could still be out there, waiting to ambush us, knowing we'd discover the tunnel as soon as the flood water began to recede a little."
They crouched at the mouth of the tunnel, their guns drawn and cocked, while they studied the terrain outside. They were looking into what appeared to be a blind, or pocket canyon, gouged out of the heart of the mountain by some ancient cataclysm.
The diminishing flood waters meandered along what seemed to be an old riverbed that wound through masses of fallen rock. Growing out of and around these rock masses were great trees that must have been seedlings hundreds of years in the past. The whole canyon floor, as far as they could see without exposing themselves, was walled in by sheer towering cliffs of sandstone, its face tortured into weird folds and spires by centuries of wind, weather and erosion.
"I don't see a sign of the outlaws or their horses," the bounty hunter said, straightening up.
"Hold it," Shadrach said. "I want to try a little trick I've used successfully on numerous occasions."
He slid the long gun back in its holster, scrabbled under water and brought up a double handful of rock fragments. Standing up, he began to toss these, one at a time, out into the stream, throwing them underhand in a flat trajectory that kept them below the high banks and out of sight of anyone further back. Each rock fragment struck the water a little further on than its predecessor so that, to a listener only, it might sound like the footsteps of someone trying to splash quietly down the stream.
They waited, and nothing happened. Shadrach drew the long pistol.
"That didn't really prove anything, but this will. I'm going out. You cover me from here and stay out of sight until I give you the clear signal."
He stepped out into the open and stood for long moments, searching the ground on both sides of the stream. Finally he jerked his head toward the hunter and slid his gun away under the frock coat.
Together they scrambled up the bank to the coffin and the hunter threw back the lid. As he had predicted, it was empty.
"Then it was one of Dandy's tricks," the hunter said.
"Not necessarily. Apachito and his gang had plenty of time to grab the chest out and get away while we were waiting for the water to go down."
"But they didn't," the hunter said, emphatically shaking his head, "and I'd bet on that. Look, you know how heavy that chest was. If it had been jammed in the coffin for the last four hours, being slammed around and whirled by the flood, it would have left a definite impression on that silk lining. But you can see for yourself that there isn't a mark of any kind. Dandy had it rigged somehow so it must have dropped right on through when the lid was closed." He added disgustedly, "And I had to be the chump who closed it."
"But a very lucky chump," the guttural voice of Apachito said from somewhere just over their heads. "Through the years, hundreds of people have hunted for Apachito's secret hideaway, but you two were the first ones to find it."
He was leering down at them from his perch on a narrow rock ledge a few feet above the mouth of the tunnel. The hand holding his cocked pistol was resting on his knee for steadiness and the muzzle pointed unwaveringly at the bounty hunter's middle.
"Mee-eeoww!" the hunter said. "Look out behind you. There's a great, big, fierce pussycat all set to jump right on your back."
The outlaw chief reddened but his grin of triumph remained fixed.
"Go right ahead," he invited. "It's always interesting how doomed men react. Some fall on their knees and grovel. Others try hopeless tricks, the way you are, hoping to make Apachito so furious he will become careless. In the end, both wind up exactly the same—dead, but not swiftly. I am not ashamed to admit I ran away when a wild beast of a kind I never saw before came charging at me; roaring and slavering, particularly when my gun was snatched out of my hand. But I promise you, I will take care of both the beast and the woman with the whip in my own good time."
"Be careful, though," Shadrach said nastily. "The woman with the whip is a bit larger and more competent than the ones you boast about murdering. If she should fight back, you would have to call for plenty to help to save your worthless skin."
"I've got plenty of help," Apachito said, grinning. He crabbed his way along the ledge until he was over the solid bank, then dropped down. "Come on out, boys."
Every rock mass and heavy tree trunk in the immediate area suddenly disgorged one or more of Apachito's toughs, all with guns drawn and cocked, all leering triumphantly. Lupo, his second in command, tramped up behind the two and snatched their guns.
"So," Apachito said, "if we didn't get the money chest, and you didn't get it, then who did?"
"We wouldn't have any idea," the hunter said.
"Like hell we wouldn't," Shadrach broke in. "We know exactly who got it. Dandy Deever used that trick coffin of his to steal it right under our noses." From the corner of his mouth he muttered, "Stop looking so damned outraged. If we can't have the money, then I want to make sure that double-crossing rat doesn't get to enjoy it. As long as I can't get my hands on Dandy's throat personally, Apachito is the likeliest candidate for that honor."
"When you put it that way," the hunter murmured, "I'm on your side."
Apachito was scowling in thought, scratching his coarse thatch with the muzzle of his pistol. He took Lupo aside for a whispered conference, then turned to his captives.
"Where was the circus going to give its next show after Hangville?"
"Gun City was the plan, but that was before the flood," the hunter said, "and before he got suddenly rich enough to retire. Now it's anybody's guess. He can't put on his star act because his trick
coffin is here, and he doesn't have a replacement. Whether or not he can show anywhere will also depend on how much other equipment he could recover after the flood."
Apachito and his second held another, and longer, low-voiced discussion.
"Come, come, Shadrach," the hunter murmured under his breath. "Why don't you look happy? Your fondest dreams have come true. You've found Apachito, his gang and his secret headquarters, and unless I'm badly mistaken, the missing wagonload of gold bars will be around here somewhere. You even know what became of the bank's half-million dollars. So why aren't you dancing with delight instead of standing there looking like an undertaker with the pox?"
"You left out the best part," Shadrach said sourly. "It's that I don't have to play wet nurse to you any longer. You can get yourself killed in any stupid way you want to and I'll do my dancing on your grave. From here on, anything that happens to you is all right with me—just so long as it's bad."
