Under Desert Sand

by R Lawson Gamble

  Eagle Feather nodded. "So they all had to die."

  Zack scanned the sand near them, glanced up at the slope, toward the windmill, the tree. "We can't count on any support until I make my call. I'm gonna have to get to high ground for that to happen. Before I do, let's make one more attempt to find whatever else is buried here at the springs before it gets too dark."

  "How do you plan to do that, White Man?"

  Zack studied the slope. "My hunch is the bad guys would not bury Juan's body near the treasure."

  "They figured if you find one, you find the other, you mean?"

  "That's what I think. They also want access to the treasure, but they can't leave fresh signs of digging near the body, or it would be discovered. So––" Zack studied the slope, pointed. "I think it's up there."

  Eagle Feather folded his arms. "How can it be up there when the map leads down here?"

  Zack turned, looked behind them. "I don't think it does. Let's go back to our missing buildings theory. If there was a cabin, or some sort of structure between us and that slope, the map maker would have to draw his map around it." Zack took out his phone, pulled up the photo of the stone slab. "We assume the map begins at the tree because the windmill structure is drawn there but what's this up at the other end of the dotted lines?"

  Eagle Feather glanced at it. "It looks like an X."

  "But it's not a complete X, is it? It's just two of the four parts of an X, and the angle isn't even right. Our brains fill in the rest of the X because we expect it. I think he etched exactly what he intended to indicate, an angle representing a corner, like a corner of a building."

  "A cabin, maybe," Eagle Feather said.

  "Exactly. If you approach this place from the Mojave Road, as most people would, and if a building is standing right here, where would you think the map's starting point is?"

  "White Man, now I remember why I hang around with you. The map begins here; the buried treasure must be up there near the tree. Everyone has looked at the map wrong way around."

  Zack's eyes glowed. "I think that's it. I don't think anyone has located it yet, or we'd have seen some sign of digging up there. It's still there."

  "That's real helpful information." The voice came from behind them. It was Bronc's voice.

  Zack and Eagle Feather swung to face him.

  Bronc stood near the well, rifle cradled in his arm. Zack saw Bronc's horse, tied back at the fence. In the heat of their discovery, Zack never heard the man ride up. He was angry at his own carelessness. Now he remembered he'd left his own rifle in the Jeep, yet again. Here they were, unarmed, facing the man who very likely killed Old Juan and would now have to kill them to hide his crime. They could not expect any help.

  "You boys got any weapons on you? If you do, I'd just as soon you drop them on the ground."

  Zack lifted palms upward. "No weapons."

  Eagle Feather opened his vest, nothing under it, nothing in his belt.

  Bronc indicated for both men to turn all the way around.

  They did, Eagle Feather lifting his vest at the same time.

  "Whatever you got in mind, you should know this is now an official FBI investigation and I am lead investigator. If you hinder our work, you'll be hunted down." Zack hoped he didn't sound too desperate.

  Bronc smiled. "Would that please you even if you're not here to see it?" While Zack mulled that one over, Bronc straightened up, raised the rifle slightly. "I'd like you boys to pick up those shovels and walk over to that pit you just dug."

  Zack and Eagle Feather turned, picked up their shovels, walked back to the edge of Juan's grave and stood over it.

  The next voice they heard wasn't Bronc; it was Tav.

  "Well, now, looks like we got us a social gathering. What's happening here, Bronc?"

  Zack turned around. Tav sat on horseback just inside the corral fence. His rifle rested on the pommel of his saddle, the business end toward them. Zack felt a swell of relief.

  "Howdy, Tav. These boys went and dug up Old Juan's body," Bronc said.

  "What was your plan, Bronc?"

  "Well, I thought they should cover him over again."

  "I see, let the old guy resume his peaceful sleep."

  Bronc gave a crooked grin.

  "What was your plan after that?"

  "Let them dig their own holes."

  "I see," Tav said. "Got it all figured out, I reckon. Nice and simple."

  Bronc gave a worried looking smile. "Tav, you and I––" He never finished the sentence.

  Tav's rifle came up, an almost indiscernible movement, and fired. Bronc dropped like a stone, a round hole in the middle of his forehead.

  Tav lowered the rifle. "I believe he was about to shoot you boys."

  Zack fought the shock and astonishment he felt, didn't speak.

  "It did not look that way to me," Eagle Feather said.

  Tav sat easy in the saddle, staring at them, the rifle still resting across the pommel. "Well now, he as much as said so, didn't he?"

  Eagle Feather stared.

  Zack found his voice. "Bronc didn't even raise his rifle."

  Tav looked unflustered. "He moves quick as a snake, that one. Got to kill a snake before it strikes." Tav climbed down from the saddle, rifle in his right hand. He walked his mount back to where Bronc's horse was tied.

  Zack and Eagle Feather remained where they were, uncertain.

  Eagle Feather spoke in a low voice. "Something doesn't add up here."

  Zack gave a slight nod.

  Tav tied his own horse to the rail, walked back toward them, his rifle resting in the crook of his right arm. He stopped ten feet away, face expressionless. "What do you figure to do now, Mr. FBI?"

  Zack stared at the man, tried to read his expression, failed. "Nothing we can do for Bronc, now. I've got a message out for sheriff's deputies and forensics. We'll figure out what we can from the crime scene; forensics will take Juan's body and see what they can learn. The man was shot twice; we'll find a bullet, likely, since he was shot in the chest. We'll match it to Bronc's rifle there, see what we get."

  Zack took a step toward Tav, reached out his hand. "You'll need to surrender that rifle. We have to take you in for questioning. Likely a court will find for self-defense, but we––"

  Tav's rifle barrel came up, pointed at Zack's chest. "I don't think I like that plan. Just sounds to me like a lot of fuss and bother over a couple of people not worth the space they took up."

  "It's procedure."

  Tav gave a humorless smile. "I got my own procedure in mind." He waved his rifle at Zack. "Step back where you were."

  Zack did as he was told.

  Keeping his eye on them, his rifle trained, Tav stepped back to Bronc's body. He reached down with his free hand, picked up Bronc's rifle. He glanced at the load, back at them. "Here's the sad story, gentlemen." Tav switched Bronc's rifle to his right hand. "Poor Bronc here, his back was against the wall. He knew it was all over when you boys dug up Old Juan. He knew you'd match the bullets in Juan to his own rifle. So he's got one choice––to shoot you two and bury you next to Juan, then get out of the country before they figure out what happened to you."

  Tav grimaced. "Pretty good plan, actually." He motioned toward the shovels. "Grab a shovel. We're gonna need to widen that grave a bit."

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Susan held the cell phone clamped against her ear––reference books, computer, personal notes––all forgotten. She listened for the fourth time to the laconic message from Zack's answering service. She had tried Eagle Feather three times––it was no use; they were both out of signal range.

  The name she discovered, the name of the man Aretha Skaggs, direct descendent of Arthur Skaggs, had married ricocheted in Susan's brain like a Ping Pong ball. His name, his antecedents, his relationship to people past and present thrust everything into focus, snapped everything into place. Her friends were in grave danger.

  Susan tossed her phone in her purse in panic, gathered
her things, rushed past the receptionist without a glance, pushed through the door into the bright sunlight. She tried yet again to call Zack as she walked to the Subaru. Failing again, she called Butch Short. She was already in the car, the engine started, when Butch answered.

  "Bureau of Land management, Butch Short speaking."

  "Butch, it's Susan; Susan Apgar. I'm on my way to see you. Zack and Eagle Feather are in great danger, we need to drive to Hidden Springs right now."

  "Right now? Whoa, Susan, what's going on?"

  "I was doing genealogical research and found the name of the man I believe is the killer. Zack and Eagle Feather have no idea, and they are out at the crime site right now doing the very thing that will get them killed. We must get out there."

  After a short silence, Butch said, "Okay, Susan, I'll be ready when you get here."

  Susan swung into the BLM parking lot where Butch was waiting, stopped next to him. He was barely in the car when she hit the accelerator, spun her tires, and lurched out of the lot.

  "Are you armed?" Susan's eyes stayed on the road.

  Butch patted his jacket pocket. "Yes".

  "Good."

  "We can pick up Tav Davidson along the way," Butch said, and pulled out his phone. "I'll give him a call."

  Susan reach out, grabbed his arm. "Don't."

  Butch gave her a long look, said nothing. They rode in silence.

  "Are you planning to tell me what's going on?" Butch said, finally, with a touch of annoyance.

  Susan gave him a sidelong look. "I apologize for acting in such a mysterious manner. It was imperative you come with me. If I mentioned the name earlier, you may well have doubted me. I would have had to try to convince you, with precious time lost."

  Butch gave her a sardonic grin. "Well, that crisis is past. Do you think you might tell me now?"

  Susan nodded, stared at the road ahead. They were on the freeway, the old car rocketing along at 80 mph, the best it could do. It sounded like a concrete mixer. She waited for her pulse to slow before speaking.

  "There were four men important to our story. Two died in the original 1905 gunfight––Jake Skowler and Curt Johnson. The third man was Bob Simmons, also a gunman who had ridden the Outlaw Trail. The fourth and final man was Andrew Skaggs, a rancher who managed to keep his head down during the range disputes. Simmons had left the Winslow Cattle Company to take up ranching, but it didn't hold his interest for long. Soon he turned to prospecting, scouring the local hills in search of mineral wealth."

  Pausing for a moment, Susan put on her blinker and slowed for the ramp to Essex Road. They flew down it, spun right without stopping. She glanced at Short. "It was really not such an oddball idea. There were mines in the area already. But Simmons lacked expertise. First he took Hatchett's grandpa out with him, but soon found the man's knowledge was limited. Another neighbor, Andrew Skaggs, had more experience, so Simmons enlisted his help instead. Skaggs didn't give up the farm, but he spent many days out with Simmons. According to a newspaper article, they found an old mine and brought home a sample of gold ore. After that, though, there were no more articles, no more references to their find. One might have assumed their discovery was a bust."

  The Subaru lurched in and out of a large pothole. "I don't believe it. I think they kept their silence because they had actually found a source of gold ore. I believe they mined it, transported the ore on horseback to Hidden Springs, sluiced it and prepared it for shipment by wagon."

  Short stared in wonder. "That's an amazing story, Susan, and might even be true. But it doesn't explain why we're hurtling at death defying speeds toward Hidden Springs."

  "Be patient and listen, it will all become clear. As you know, the Winslow Cattle Company hired gunfighter Curt Johnson as foreman to intimidate the sheepherders and small ranchers. Johnson occupied the cabin at Hidden Springs. That posed a dilemma for Simmons and Skaggs. They had no alternative but to take Johnson into their confidence, probably had to give him a share. On the positive side, enlisting Johnson gave them a 24-hour guard over the gold. All went well until another gunfighter turned rancher, Jake Skowler, became suspicious of the activity at the spring. He began asking pointed questions, stirring things up. Simmons and Johnson realized they had to eliminate Skowler."

  Susan glanced at Short. "Hence, the famous gunfight, you see. The idea was Johnson would call Skowler into the cabin next time he brought his cattle to the spring. Simmons would hide nearby with his rifle to make sure Skowler didn't get the upper hand. But Skowler knew how to handle a gun, and although Johnson had the element of surprise, and managed to kill Skowler, he received several wounds in return. Simmons watched all this from the bushes and saw his opportunity to increase his share. He assured Johnson's death with a rifle bullet to the chest, which lodged in his spine." Susan gave an abrupt laugh. "And then there were two."

  They flew past the turnoff to Hole-in-the-Wall. Short glanced at the sign, then at Susan. "You're sure we shouldn't bring Tav along?"

  She grimaced. "I'm sure." The car flew off the end of the pavement and bounced onto the packed dirt roadway leaving a sandy wake like a motorboat speeding across a lake.

  "Almost there," Susan said.

  "Hidden Springs, or the end of your story?"

  "Both. After the gunfight, Simmons dropped out of sight. Skaggs eventually married, moved off. You see the murder plan had backfired. The gunfight gained such notoriety tourists were constantly showing up at Hidden Springs. The men had buried their gold ore there prior to the gunfight, planning to retrieve it later, but now that was out of the question. So they moved off to wait their opportunity, secure in the knowledge no one else could possibly know it was there. And they were right, at least until Hatchett's map appeared, and Old Juan got a peek at it. But Simmons and Skaggs were dead and buried by then."

  "So the threat was gone."

  "As it happens, not so much. I set about my genealogy research with the assumption the murders of Juan and the two boys were not random acts, but were related somehow to rumors of hidden gold. It meant someone had to know about it. These things pass down within families, so my objective was to see if anyone in the valley today was a descendent of one of the original four. I could eliminate Skowler and Johnson, of course, dead before they could have any progeny. They might have had siblings or cousins, but it is most unlikely those two would have shared a secret like this with anybody else. So I was looking for a descendent of either Skaggs or Simmons, or both."

  They had arrived at the Mojave Road. Susan braked with one or two quick jabs, turned the wheel to the right, spun the rear end and resumed her speed. This road surface was rougher, with occasional washouts; Susan had to slow down. Frustrated, she pushed the speed as much as she dared, and continued the story.

  "I soon learned Bob Simmons never married. He had relocated to Yuma, Arizona, waiting there, no doubt, for things to die down around Hidden Springs. But it was not to be. I found his obituary. He died at age 45 from a self-inflicted gunshot wound." Susan glanced at Short. "If you buy that, I've got a bridge to sell you." She negotiated around a deep trough. "So that left Skaggs. Seems he too moved away within a decade or so, went to LA. He married, had a son. His son married, had three children, two girls and a boy. They all married. The oldest girl's husband had the surname Pfeiffer, unrelated to anyone here. The son, of course, had the surname Skaggs, another blank. But the youngest daughter, named Aretha, married a man whose surname was..." Susan paused for effect, looked at Short..

  "Okay, come on, what was his name?"

  "His name was Davidson."

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  "And if I refuse?" Zack stared down the barrel of Bronc's rifle, held in Tav's all too steady grip. An unnatural silence surrounded them; no insects sounded, no birds sang, there was no breeze. Dusk hovered at the threshold of darkness, its thickening cloak not yet sufficient to hinder visibility.

  "I will shoot you and let your friend do all the work." Tav waved the rifle barrel in the direct
ion of the shovels. "Now get going."

  Zack and Eagle Feather picked up the shovels. In unspoken agreement, they separated and began to dig at opposite ends of the pit, hoping to spread the target. They shoveled the dirt toward Tav's side to not rebury the sheepherder. Their two mounds of dirt grew, gradually began collapsing toward each other forming an embankment.

  Zack paused to wipe sweat from his brow.

  "No resting," Tav said, jabbed the rifle barrel toward him. "You'll get all the rest you want soon enough."

  Zack resumed shoveling with deliberate slowness.

  They dug, and the shadows increased. Zack knew their only hope was darkness deep enough to make aim uncertain. He decided he would stall as best he could, judge the right moment, throw a shovelful of dirt toward Tav and run. He knew Eagle Feather would react quickly and follow his lead.

  They never got the chance.

  "What the––!" Tav's sudden outcry was full of shock and fright. Both diggers looked at him in surprise. Even in this low light, Zack could see the man's face had turned white. His eyes were round white orbs fixed on the ridge near the windmill.

  Zack turned, followed his gaze. Something stood on the ridge ten feet from the tree. Human-like but not human, thick bodied, wide shouldered, huge; its penetrating red eyes glared down at them, its body looked impossibly large backlit against the sky. The creature's angry eyes conveyed a wave of almost tactile hostility; Zack smelled the mephitic aura emanating from it.

  Everything happened at once.

  Tav's rifle spoke repeatedly in fiery darts, with each report he shouted in a horrified voice: "Shit...shit..."

  Zack and Eagle Feather dove into the unfinished pit. Even before he landed, Eagle Feather's knife was in his hand, drawn from its hiding place.

  Tav appeared at the rim of the pit, not seeing them, eyes fixed on the ridge, muscles of his face taught, reflexively firing and cursing. Eagle Feather tensed to leap––before he could, there was a report from a different rifle. Zack saw Tav's head jerk, blood spurt, and the man fell away from their view.