Under Desert Sand

by R Lawson Gamble

  "That would be Table Top Mountain. We cannot see the flat summit from this angle. Those cliffs could be where they found the shaft." He glanced back at the windmill and the nearby terrain. "They may have used a rocker to sift the gold. If they found a vein and needed to separate ore from other materials, this would be a good place." He glanced behind them. "They could have shipped the gold from here by wagon; it's isolated, yet not far from the Fairfield Road junction. From there, the road went directly north to Vegas."

  Susan nodded, feeling her excitement return. "If we accept that possibility, we can't ignore the connection between the men involved in the gunfight and the discovery of gold on Table Top Mountain. Remember, the man Simmons, who found the gold with his partner Skaggs, had once been a foreman of the Winslow Cattle Company. He would have known Curt Johnson, the current foreman, and the de facto guardian of this well. If the gold came here, Johnson had to be in on it."

  Eagle Feather gave Susan a searching look. "Your theory is the 1905 gunfight had nothing to do with water rights, and a lot to do with gold."

  "It's one theory," Susan said. "But if it's true, we have to wonder what happened to the man Bob Simmons and his partner Andy Skaggs. We know Johnson died in the gunfight. But what happened to Simmons and Skaggs after that? And to the gold?" She turned to face Eagle Feather, hands on hips. "What if the gold is still here? What if some friend or relative of Simmons or Skaggs is trying to locate it and is ready to make sure no one else finds it first?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  They decided to make their first visit to Hidden Springs at dusk, when fewer people were about, and before full darkness made the search too difficult. When three hours of full daylight remained, they packed water, energy bars, headlamps, a folding shovel, and the map copy, then dressed in the darkest clothing they owned and strapped on their gun belts.

  Col argued against the guns. "Why do we even need them?"

  Julio waved a hand in frustration. "You saw Bronc coming out of our tent, the look on his face. Was there any doubt in your mind he would have shot us if we challenged him?"

  Col, remembering, had no reply.

  "Besides, it'll be night, we should have some protection. Rifles won't help us, we can't see far enough in the dark."

  Col shrugged. He couldn't argue that point either. Despite the discomfort of the weight of the handgun and ammo belt, he strapped it on.

  They mounted up, checked on the sheep, instructed the dogs, and rode down from Hackberry Mountain toward Hidden Springs. Their route took them along the outflow of Watson Wash and through the blackbrush scrub along the Woods Mountains. The final leg was parallel to the imposing rise of Table Top Mountain, the last two miles along a dry creek bed and across the cactus and yucca valley to the spring. Shadows were long now; they hoped to meld into their surroundings despite more open terrain.

  They came upon the dirt track from Kellogg Ranch to Hidden Springs. From this point forward they faced their greatest risk of discovery. Although they were on what was technically free range, some might regard their presence with suspicion. But here at this time of day they were unlikely to meet anyone––and they didn't.

  At Hidden Springs they dismounted on the rise above the well and tied their horses to the fence. The ghostly outline of the broken down windmill dangled its perforated blades into the upper branches of the cottonwood. West of them, the slope was mottled with blackbrush, dark patches over the sand. Below them, the ground sloped to a level area, beyond it the shadowy smudge of the concrete holding tank. Whatever they sought must be somewhere under that level sand.

  Now was the blue-grey liminal moment of twilight; no birds sounded, no insects buzzed, no breeze stirred. With careful movements submissive to the silence, the young sheepherders found their headlamps and unloaded the shovels and probes.

  Julio held the map; Col stood next to him and illuminated it with his headlamp. Julio lay the compass on the map, oriented due west. His eyes moved from map to slope and traced a route.

  "That's it. We step off sixty paces," Julio whispered. "Ready?" He led off.

  The direction took them straight through the tough dense scrub. Julio ploughed through oblivious to spines, trying to keep constancy to his step and not forget his count. Col followed.

  At sixty paces Julio stopped, stood, rotated his body and faced north. After a breath and a swipe with his sleeve across his forehead, he plunged on. The downslope leg went faster. When Julio's count reached thirty paces, they stood on level sand. It was easier to keep their strides even once out of the clingy scrub. At forty paces Julio stopped, turned, and faced east.

  He reached out a hand. "Let me have the compass."

  Col gave it to him.

  Julio oriented the compass due east, looked up and picked out a focal point. He glanced at Col. "I'll take two steps and then probe. You probe the alternate step. That way we save time."

  "Okay." Before handing Julio the probe, Col held both sticks out like a divining rod and made them vibrate.

  "Very funny." Julio grabbed his probe, paced two steps, and sunk the stick deep into the ground. The sand was soft; it penetrated easily. He took two more steps, repeated his action. Col followed and probed the alternate steps, as instructed.

  There were several false alarms, including an old tin can, so rusted the original contents could not be discerned, a chunk of hard wood, and three stones––but no treasure.

  Julio looked back at their tracks in the sand. "Maybe we should go back and probe where we didn't probe before."

  "How small do you think the treasure is?" Col said, and chuckled. "Let's go back to the windmill and try again. I'll lead this time. My steps are longer than yours."

  His laugh and his voice came louder than intended. As the echo of it died away, he thought he heard another sound. He glanced quickly at Julio who was staring up the slope, his mouth agape.

  Col followed his gaze, saw a flash of movement, something indefinable had disappeared into the shadows.

  "What––the fuck––was that?" Julio said, his voice hushed.

  "What was what? What did you see?"

  "I don't know. I don't know what it was."

  "Is somebody up there?"

  "Something is up there." Julio's eyes were huge. "I don't know what the fuck it was."

  "What did you see?"

  "It was something walking up there, walking like a human but it wasn't human, it couldn't have been human."

  "Hold on, let's not panic. I saw something move near windmill, but it disappeared before I could see what it was."

  Julio held up a hand, hushed Col. "Listen to the horses."

  Col became aware for the first time of frightened neighs, stomping hooves. "It must be a bear." He was concerned for the horses. "We'd better get up there."

  Julio grabbed his arm. "Wait. It wasn't a bear. Believe me, it wasn't a bear. You don't want to go up there now."

  Col turned, studied Julio. "I think we better get out of here."

  "How can we? We have to go right past where it was to get to the horses."

  Col couldn't believe his ears. His friend had always maintained control of himself in the past, no matter the circumstance. Now he was a mess.

  Col took Julio by the arm and spoke calmly. "We'll walk a wide circuit around the slope, way over there, and loop around to the horses."

  Julio hesitated, nodded. He took out his pistol, cocked it.

  "Whoa," Col said. "You lead. I don't want to get shot." He urged Julio forward.

  They walked back along their steps, made a wide arc around the patch of blackbrush, their eyes on the shadows around the windmill the entire time. When they reached the horses, they found them calm now, ears perked, nosing the boys for treats. There had been no movement, no sign of any creature near the windmill, as far as Col could tell. But now it was true dark, mystery cloaked everything.

  The boys mounted quickly and rode away at a fast trot. Not long into their journey the moon rose and their way grew e
asier. Now their surroundings seemed friendlier. Neither boy uttered a word the entire way home.

  It was well after nine when they began the climb up Hackberry Mountain. They greeted the dogs, checked the sheep and rode up to camp. In the tent, Julio placed his pistol in the holster near the doorway within easy reach. Not until both were snuggled in their sleeping bags did Col repeat his question.

  "What did you see?"

  His friend did not reply at first. Col waited.

  At last Julio said, "I really don't know what I saw. But whatever it was, it was huge, it walked upright like a human and it had red glowing eyes that glared right into mine."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Eagle Feather stared across the creosote and cholla landscape to distant Flat Top Mountain and pondered Susan's theory. As always, her logic was unassailable. If gold was involved, few white men could just walk away. If the gunslinger Simmons and his partner had stayed around, and they knew gold was buried nearby, they would have tried to retrieve it by now.

  He did the mental math. The gunfight took place in 1905. The men were probably not much older than forty at the time, but even if they were shy of twenty it was unlikely they were still alive. But a younger relative, a grandchild, even, might have learned about the gold and the failed attempts to retrieve it over the years. It was less likely to be an outsider, Eagle Feather thought, because secrets involving great wealth tended to stay within families.

  He turned to Susan. "I like your thinking. I think we should do more research, check the genealogical records of the families who settled here, find out which of our new friends is a branch on a local family tree."

  Susan grimaced. "My first suspect is Bronc."

  "His actions are suggestive."

  Susan looked at Big Blue, relaxing in the shade of the windmill cottonwood. "Have you learned anything new here?"

  Eagle Feather shook his head. "Blue and I retraced the steps of the boys one more time. There is no doubt in my mind they were searching for something when they were killed. I found these." He walked to the fence and picked up two sticks from the ground. He held them up for Susan to see.

  "Sticks?"

  Eagle Feather nodded. "I found these near the location of each body."

  He handed them to Susan. "What do you see?"

  Susan took them, studied them. "Someone cut off the extra growth, like they were making an arrow or something."

  Eagle Feather nodded. "They are not straight enough for arrows. These were cut from juniper, which occurs at a higher elevation than here. Someone stripped them with a knife after they were cut, as you noticed. The maker wanted them to move easily through a substance."

  "Through the air?"

  Eagle Feather shook his head. "No, not the air, through sand. Look where the sap resides at the cut nodules. See how the fine particles of sand have stuck to it, and not just on one side where they landed when tossed or dropped; on all sides. These were inserted into the sand as probes." He held Susan's eye. "The boys were searching for something deep under the sand."

  Susan inspected the wands. "They could have been used for markers."

  "Sure. But why then go to the trouble of stripping every little branch and knot?"

  "Then haven't we proved my...our theory? Someone buried valuable ore of some kind here, ore they found nearby, probably Table Top Mountain. The 1905 gunfight was all about possession of the gold. Someone still alive today knows about it, or at least recently learned about it and is looking for his opportunity to remove it. Somehow these boys also learned about it, and when they went looking they were murdered." Susan pivoted, searched the horizon. "Take it a step further, someone is going to be just as worried we might stumble onto this hoard; meaning, someone is likely to shoot us, like they shot up Zack's Jeep."

  "I think that is possible."

  "I think we need to go warn Zack, tell him of our suspicions."

  Eagle Feather agreed. "We can take these wands to the Sheriff's office in Needles, see if they can get prints or DNA."

  "And I can do some genealogical research back at the library."

  Eagle Feather whistled to Big Blue, who rose up and lumbered after them. At the Subaru, the dog stretched out on the rear seat across Susan's maps and notes.

  Eagle Feather looked at the little car doubtfully. "This won't leave us stranded somewhere, will it?"

  Susan laughed. "It's four wheel drive. It can get us through all but the deepest stuff."

  "If you say so."

  Susan took the wheel and Eagle Feather slid into the passenger seat. It took them 25 minutes to reach the mouth of the Watson Wash. The Subaru tackled drifted sand and potholes with ease. They found Zack's Jeep up the slope where they had parked last visit.

  Susan pulled just off the road, turned off the ignition. "I don't think we need test our luck that far," she said, nodding toward the Jeep and the deep sand and brush surrounding it. She started to step out the door, hesitated. "What's that popping sound?"

  Eagle Feather listened. It came again.

  "That's gunfire." He looked at Susan. "Do you have a weapon?"

  Susan's eyes were large and round. "No," she whispered.

  "Neither do I. This may be tricky." Eagle Feather slid out of the car and closed the door quietly. Another pop sounded. "That's rifle fire, off toward the sheep camp. It might be someone hunting, it might be someone shooting sheep, or––"

  "It could be someone shooting Zack," Susan finished for him, in a rush.

  Eagle Feather nodded. "Unfortunately, that is the most likely scenario." He began to remove his shoes. He placed them carefully on the floor of the Subaru. Reaching into his daypack, he removed a pair of moccasins bound together with leather lace. He put them on.

  "We don't know how many shooters there are. We have to assume there could be a second one watching for people like us to interfere. If they scouted us, they know Zack left me behind at Hidden Springs. They would also know I did not have a vehicle. We might surprise them." Eagle Feather drew a breath. He wasn't used to talking this much, to explaining himself, but it was important Susan understood. "Zack may be hunkered down, which explains why they are still shooting. I know he has his handgun, so they won't try to get too close. The question is, does he have his rifle with him?"

  Eagle Feather stood. He was ready. A brown bandana held his long hair tight to his head under his hat. "We'll leave Blue in the vehicle, no point risking him." He motioned Susan to follow, moved immediately up to the edge of the wash where there was cover. When they came opposite the Jeep, Eagle Feather told Susan to stay put and eased across the wash to the vehicle. When he returned, Susan saw he held a rifle.

  Eagle Feather looked at Susan, shook his head. "I don't know whether to be happy or pissed he didn't take his rifle with him. Bad for him, good for us."

  They continued up the narrowing wash, then moved east toward the sheep camp, keeping low in the sagebrush. The sporadic popping sounds came louder, the sharp reports better defined as they drew nearer. Then came a shot with a different sound.

  Eagle Feather paused. "That is Zack's pistol," he whispered. "He is keeping them honest."

  Susan breathed out. He was alive, at least.

  They came to the end of the thickest of the sage and creosote; here tundra-like sparse grasses and occasional boulders offered them little cover. The arroyo where the shepherd boys had established their camp was before them, several hundred yards away. As Eagle Feather studied the terrain, another rifle shot sounded.

  "I think the sniper is upslope over there." Eagle Feather pointed. "Zack must be in that jumble of rocks just beyond the arroyo." He touched Susan's arm. "Stay close."

  Eagle Feather wormed along on the ground. Susan followed, tried to stay as low. They came to a halt behind a large boulder, just sufficient to hide them. It was no more than three feet at its highest point, about the same in width.

  "We are now in line of sight for the shooter," Eagle Feather whispered. "You will stay here and stay dow
n. I will try to work around behind him."

  Susan stared at him, waited.

  Eagle Feather touched her arm again. "I will need you to draw their fire. Stay flat on the ground. Wait five minutes after I am gone, then shake this bush right here. Do it once, wait one minute, do it again. Continue until you know you have drawn his fire."

  Eagle Feather took his hat from his head, placed it on top of the boulder. "He will shoot at the hat. He will not come closer; if he tries, Zack or I can shoot him. Just stay down." Eagle Feather emphasized each of the last words. Then he was gone.

  Susan did as she was told. When her watch told her five minutes had elapsed, she shook the bush several times and waited. Nothing happened.

  She looked at her watch, watched the minute hand crawl its way around, reached out and shook the bush again. This time she heard the mosquito-like whine of a bullet, heard the crack of a rifle, something hit her on her back. Panicked, she rolled tight into the base of the boulder, felt something under her. She reached for it, came back with Eagle Feather's hat. It now had a tidy round hole through each side of the crown.

  Susan decided she did not like the feeling of bullets passing close to her. She also decided not to move any more bushes. She was quite confident her presence had been noticed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  An entire week passed before either boy mentioned the map or Hidden Springs, Col out of consideration for Julio, and Julio from reluctance to revisit the image in his mind.

  One night, without preamble, Julio spoke about it. "I wonder if that thing had anything to do with Old Juan leaving so abruptly––the monster, I mean."

  Startled, Col stared at his friend, then into the fire. "I didn't see what you saw, but if it was so terrifying, you could be right."

  "I wonder about Bronc."