Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four)

by Robert E. Howard

  “He’s scairt of ghosts,” said Uncle Jacob. “All Mexes is awful superstitious. This ‘un’d ruther set and drink, anyhow. They’s millions in gold in that there mine. I’ll shoot you before I’ll go home. Now will you go on back peacable, or will you throw in with me? I might need you, in case the pack-mule plays out.”

  “I’ll come with you,” I said, impressed. “Maybe you have got somethin’, at that. Put up yore Winchester, I’m comin’.”

  He emerged from his rocks, a skinny, leathery old cuss, and he said: “What about Lavacky? If you don’t come back with me, she’ll foller us herself, she’s that strong-minded.”

  “You can write, cain’t you, Uncle Jacob?” I said, and he said, “Yeah, I always carries me a pencil-stub in my saddle-bags. Why?”

  “We’ll write her a note,” I said. “Joe Hopkins always comes down through the Gap onst a week on his way to Chawed Ear. He’s due through here today. We’ll stick the note on a tree, where he’ll see it and take it to her.”

  So I tore a piece of wrapping paper off’n a can of tomatoes Uncle Jacob had in his pack, and he got out his pencil stub, and writ as I told him, as follers:

  “Dere Ant Lavaca: I am takin uncle Jacob way up in the mountins don’t try to foler us it wont do no good gold is what Im after. Breckinridge.”

  We folded it and I told Uncle Jacob to write on the outside:

  “Dere Joe: pleeze take this here note to Miz Lavaca Grimes on the Chawed Ear rode.”

  It was lucky Joe knowed how to read. I made Uncle Jacob read me what he had writ to be sure he had got it right. Education is a good thing in its place, but it never taken the place of common hoss-sense.

  But he had got it right for a wonder, so I stuck the note on a spruce limb, and me and Uncle Jacob sot out for the higher ranges. He started telling me all about the Lost Haunted Mine again, like he’d already did about forty times before. Seems like they was onst a old prospector which stumbled onto a cave about sixty years before then, which the walls was solid gold and nuggets all over the floor till a body couldn’t walk, as big as mushmelons. But the Injuns jumped him and run him out and he got lost and nearly starved in the desert, and went crazy. When he come to a settlement and finally got his mind back, he tried to lead a party back to it, but never could find it. Uncle Jacob said the Injuns had took rocks and bresh and hid the mouth of the cave so nobody could tell it was there. I ast him how he knowed the Injuns done that, and he said it was common knowledge. He said any fool ought a know that’s jest what they done.

  “This here mine,” says Uncle Jacob, “is located in a hidden valley which lies away up amongst the high ranges. I ain’t never seen it, and I thought I’d explored these mountains plenty. Ain’t nobody more familiar with ’em than me, except old Joshua Braxton. But it stands to reason that the cave is awful hard to find, or somebody’d already found it. Accordin’ to this here map, that lost valley must lie jest beyond Wildcat Canyon. Ain’t many white men know whar that is, even. We’re headin’ there.”

  We had left the Gap far behind us, and was moving along the slanting side of a sharp-angled crag whilst he was talking. As we passed it we seen two figgers with hosses emerge from the other side, heading in the same direction we was, so our trails converged. Uncle Jacob glared and reched for his Winchester.

  “Who’s that?” he snarled.

  “The big ‘un’s Bill Glanton,” I said. “I never seen t’other’n.”

  “And nobody else, outside of a freak show,” growled Uncle Jacob.

  The other feller was a funny-looking little maverick, with laced boots and a cork sun-helmet and big spectacles. He sot his hoss like he thought it was a rocking-chair, and held his reins like he was trying to fish with ‘em. Glanton hailed us. He was from Texas, original, and was rough in his speech and free with his weppins, but me and him had always got along together very well.

  “Where you-all goin’?” demanded Uncle Jacob.

  “I am Professor Van Brock, of New York,” said the tenderfoot, whilst Bill was getting rid of his terbaccer wad. “I have employed Mr. Glanton, here, to guide me up into the mountains. I am on the track of a tribe of aborigines, which according to fairly well substantiated rumor, have inhabited the haunted Mountains since time immemorial.”

  “Lissen here, you four-eyed runt,” said Uncle Jacob in wrath, “air you givin’ me the hoss-laugh?”

  “I assure yon that equine levity is the furthest thing from my thoughts,” says Van Brock. “Whilst touring the country in the interests of science, I heard the rumors to which I have referred. In a village possessing the singular appellation of Chawed Ear, I met an aged prospector who told me that he had seen one of the aborigines, clad in the skin of a wild animal and armed with a bludgeon. The wild man, he said, emitted a most peculiar and piercing cry when sighted, and fled into the recesses of the hills. I am confident that it is some survivor of a pre-Indian race, and I am determined to investigate.”

  “They ain’t no sech critter in these hills,” snorted Uncle Jacob. “I’ve roamed all over ’em for fifty year, and I ain’t seen no wild man.”

  “Well,” says Glanton, “they’s somethin’ onnatural up there, because I been hearin’ some funny yarns myself. I never thought I’d be huntin’ wild men,” he says, “but since that hash-slinger in Perdition turned me down to elope with a travelin’ salesman, I welcomes the chance to lose myself in the mountains and forgit the perfidy of women-kind. What you-all doin’ up here? Prospectin’?” he said, glancing at the tools on the mule.

  “Not in earnest,” said Uncle Jacob hurriedly. “We’re jest whilin’ away our time. They ain’t no gold in these mountains.”

  “Folks says that Lost Haunted Mine is up here somewheres,” said Glanton.

  “A pack of lies,” snorted Uncle Jacob, busting into a sweat. “Ain’t no sech mine. Well, Breckinridge, le’s be shovin’. Got to make Antelope Peak before sundown.”

  “I thought we was goin’ to Wildcat Canyon,” I says, and he give me a awful glare, and said: “Yes, Breckinridge, that’s right, Antelope Peak, jest like you said. So long, gents.”

  “So long,” says Glanton.

  So we turned off the trail almost at right angles to our course, me follering Uncle Jacob bewilderedly. When we was out of sight of the others, he reined around again.

  “When Nature give you the body of a giant, Breckinridge,” he said, “she plumb forgot to give you any brains to go along with yore muscles. You want everybody to know what we’re lookin’ for, and whar?”

  “Aw,” I said, “them fellers is jest lookin’ for wild men.”

  “Wild men!” he snorted. “They don’t have to go no further’n Chawed Ear on payday night to find more wild men than they could handle. I ain’t swallerin’ no sech tripe. Gold is what they’re after, I tell you. I seen Glanton talkin’ to that Mex in Perdition the day I bought that map from him. I believe they either got wind of that mine, or know I got that map, or both.”

  “What you goin’ to do?” I ast him.

  “Head for Wildcat Canyon by another trail,” he said.

  So we done so and arriv there after night, him not willing to stop till we got there. It was deep, with big high cliffs cut with ravines and gulches here and there, and very wild in appearance. We didn’t descend into the canyon that night, but camped on a plateau above it. Uncle Jacob ‘lowed we’d begin exploring next morning. He said they was lots of caves in the canyon, and he’d been in all of ‘em. He said he hadn’t never found nothing except b’ars and painters and rattlesnakes, but he believed one of them caves went on through into another hidden canyon, and that was where the gold was at.

  Next morning I was awoke by Uncle Jacob shaking me, and his whiskers was curling with rage.

  “What’s the matter?” I demanded, setting up and pulling my guns.

  “They’re here!” he squalled. “Dawgone it, I suspected ’em all the time! Git up, you big lunk! Don’t set there gawpin’ with a gun in each hand like a idjit! They’re
here, I tell you!”

  “Who’s here?” I ast.

  “That dern tenderfoot and his cussed Texas gunfighter,” snarled Uncle Jacob. “I was up jest at daylight, and purty soon I seen a wisp of smoke curlin’ up from behind a big rock t’other side of the flat. I snuck over there, and there was Glanton fryin’ bacon, and Van Brock was pertendin’ to be lookin’ at some flowers with a magnifyin’ glass — the blame fake. He ain’t no perfessor. I bet he’s a derned crook. They’re follerin’ us. They aim to murder us and take my map.”

  “Aw, Glanton wouldn’t do that,” I said, and Uncle Jacob said: “You shet up! A man will do anything whar gold’s consarned. Dang it all, git up and do somethin’! Air you goin’ to set there, you big lummox, and let us git murdered in our sleep?”

  That’s the trouble of being the biggest man in yore clan; the rest of the family always dumps all the onpleasant jobs onto yore shoulders. I pulled on my boots and headed acrost the flat with Uncle Jacob’s war-songs ringing in my ears, and I didn’t notice whether he was bringing up the rear with his Winchester or not.

  They was a scattering of trees on the flat, and about halfway acrost a figger emerged from amongst it and headed my direction with fire in his eye. It was Glanton.

  “So, you big mountain grizzly,” he greeted me rambunctiously, “you was goin’ to Antelope Peak, hey? Kinda got off the road, didn’t you? Oh, we’re on to you, we air!”

  “What you mean?” I demanded. He was acting like he was the one which ought a feel righteously indignant instead of me.

  “You know what I mean!” he says, frothing slightly at the mouth. “I didn’t believe it when Van Brock first said he suspicioned you, even though you hombres did act funny yesterday when he met you on the trail. But this momin’ when I glimpsed yore fool Uncle Jacob spyin’ on our camp, and then seen him sneakin’ off through the bresh, I knowed Van Brock was right. Yo’re after what we’re after, and you-all resorts to dirty, onderhanded tactics. Does you deny yo’re after the same thing we air?”

  “Naw, I don’t,” I said. “Uncle Jacob’s got more right to it than you-all has. And when you says we uses onderhanded tricks, yo’re a liar.”

  “That settles it!” gnashed he. “Go for yore gun!”

  “I don’t want to perforate you,” I growled.

  “I ain’t hankerin’ to conclude yore mortal career,” he admitted. “But Haunted Mountain ain’t big enough, for both of us. Take off yore guns, and I’ll maul the livin’ daylights out you, big as you be.”

  I unbuckled my gun-belt, and hung it on a limb, and he laid off his’n, and hit me in the stummick and on the ear and in the nose, and then he busted me in the jaw and knocked out a tooth. This made me mad, so I taken him by the neck and throwed him agen the ground so hard it jolted all the wind outa him. I then sot on him and started banging his head agen a convenient boulder, and his cussing was terrible to hear.

  “If you-all had acted like white men,” I gritted, “we’d of giveyou a share in that there mine.”

  “What the hell air you talkin’ about?” he gurgled, trying to haul his bowie out of his boot which I had my knee on.

  “The Lost Haunted Mine, what you think?” I snarled, getting a fresh grip on his ears.

  “Hold on!” he protested. “You mean you-all air jest lookin’ for gold? Is that on the level?”

  I was so astonished I quit hammering his skull agen the rock.

  “Why, what else?” I demanded. “Ain’t you-all follerin’ us to steal Uncle jacob’s map which shows where at the mine is hid?”

  “Git offa me!” he snorted disgustfully, taking advantage of my surprise to push me off. “Hell!” says he, starting to knock the dust offa his britches. “I might of knowed that tenderfoot was wool-gatherin’. After we seen you-all yesterday, and he heard you mention Wildcat Canyon, he told me he believed you was follerin’ us. He said that yarn about prospectin’ was jest a blind. He said he believed you was workin’ for a rival scientific society to git ahead of us and capture that there wild man yoreselves.”

  “What?” I said. “You mean that wild man yarn is straight goods?”

  “Far as we’re consarned,” said Bill. “Prospectors is been tellin’ some onusual stories about Wildcat Canyon. Well, I laughed at him at first, but he kept on usin’ so many .45 calibre words that he got me to believin’ it might be so. ‘Cause, after all, here was me guidin’ a tenderfoot on the trail of a wild man, and they warn’t no reason to think that you and Jacob Grimes was any more sensible than me.

  “Then, this mornin’ when I seen Jacob peekin’ at me from the bresh, I decided Van Brock must be right. You-all hadn’t never went to Antelope Peak. The more I thought it over, the more sartain I was that you was follerin’ us to steal our wild man, so I started over to have a show-down.”

  “Well,” I said, “we’ve reched a understandin’. You don’t want our mine, and we sure don’t want yore wild man. They’s plenty of them amongst my relatives on Bear Creek. Le’s git Van Brock and lug him over to our camp and explain things to him and my weak-minded uncle.”

  “All right,” said Glanton, buckling on his guns. “Hey, what’s that?”

  From down in the canyon come a yell: “Help! Aid! Assistance!”

  “It’s Van Brock!” yelped Glanton. “He’s wandered down into the canyon by hisself! Come on!”

  Right nigh their camp they was a ravine leading down to the floor of the canyon. We pelted down that at full speed and emerged nigh the wall of the cliffs. They was the black mouth of a cave showing nearby, in a kind of cleft, and jest outside this cleft Van Brock was staggering around, yowling like a hound-dawg with his tail caught in the door.

  His cork helmet was laying on the ground all bashed outa shape, and his specs was lying nigh it. He had a knot on his head as big as a turnip and he was doing a kind of ghost-dance or something all over the place.

  He couldn’t see very good without his specs, ‘cause when he sighted us he give a shriek and started legging it up the canyon, seeming to think we was more enemies. Not wanting to indulge in no sprinting in that heat, Bill shot a heel offa his boot, and that brung him down squalling blue murder.

  “Help!” he shrieked. “Mr. Glanton! Help! I am being attacked! Help!”

  “Aw, shet up,” snorted Bill. “I’m Glanton. Yo’re all right. Give him his specs, Breck. Now, what’s the matter?”

  He put ’em on, gasping for breath, and staggered up, wild-eyed, and p’inted at the cave, and hollered: “The wild man! I saw him, as I descended into the canyon on a private exploring expedition! A giant with a panther’s skin about his waist, and a club in his hand. When I sought to apprehend him he dealt me a murderous blow with the bludgeon and fled into that cavern. He should be arrested!”

  I looked into the cave. It was too dark to see anything except for a hoot- owl.

  “He must of saw somethin’, Breck,” said Glanton, hitching his gun- harness. “Somethin’ shore cracked him on the conk. I’ve been hearin’ some queer tales about this canyon, myself. Maybe I better sling some lead in there—”

  “No, no, no!” broke in Van Brock. “We must capture him alive!”

  “What’s goin’ on here?” said a voice, and we turned to see Uncle Jacob approaching with his Winchester in his hands.

  “Everything’s all right, Uncle Jacob,” I said. “They don’t want yore mine. They’re after the wild man, like they said, and we got him cornered in that there cave.”

  “All right, huh?” he snorted. “I reckon you thinks it’s all right for you to waste yore time with sech dern foolishness when you oughta be helpin’ me look for my mine. A big help you be!”

  “Where was you whilst I was argyin’ with Bill here?” I demanded.

  “I knowed you could handle the situation, so I started explorin’ the canyon,” he said. “Come on, we got work to do.”

  “But the wild man!” cried Van Brock. “Your nephew would be invaluable in securing the specimen. Think of science! Think of progr
ess! Think of—”

  “Think of a striped skunk!” snorted Uncle Jacob. “Breckinridge, air you comin’?”

  “Aw, shet up,” I said disgustedly. “You both make me tired. I’m goin’ in there and run that wild man out, and Bill, you shoot him in the hind-laig as he comes out, so’s we can catch him and tie him up.”

  “But you left yore guns hangin’ onto that limb up on the plateau,” objected Glanton.

  “I don’t need ‘em,” I said. “Didn’t you hear Van Brock say we was to catch him alive? If I started shootin’ in the dark I might rooin him.”

  “All right,” says Bill, cocking his six-shooters. “Go ahead. I figger yo’re a match for any wild man that ever come down the pike.”

  So I went into the cleft and entered the cave and it was dark as all get- out. I groped my way along and discovered the main tunnel split in two, so I taken the biggest one. It seemed to get darker the further I went, and purty soon I bumped into something big and hairy and it went “Wump!” and grabbed me.

  Thinks I, it’s the wild man, and he’s on the war-path. So I waded into him and he waded into me, and we tumbled around on the rocky floor in the dark, biting and mauling and tearing. Bear Creek is famed far and wide for its ring- tailed scrappers, and I don’t have to repeat I’m the fightin’est of ’em all, but that cussed wild man sure give me my hands full. He was the biggest, hairiest critter I ever laid hands on, and he had more teeth and talons than I thought a human could possibly have. He chawed me with vigor and enthusiasm, and he walzed up and down my frame free and hearty, and swept the floor with me till I was groggy.

  For a while I thought I was going to give up the ghost, and I thought with despair of how humiliated my relatives on Bear Creek would be to hear their champeen battler had been clawed to death by a wild man in a cave.

  This thought maddened me so I redoubled my onslaughts, and the socks I give him ought to of laid out any man, wild or tame, to say nothing of the pile- driver kicks in his belly, and butting him with my head so he gasped. I got what felt like a ear in my mouth and commenced chawing on it, and presently, what with this and other mayhem I committed on him, he give a most inhuman squall and bust away and went lickety-split for the outside world.