Legend

by D. V. Berkom

  While Harry and the remaining outlaw exchanged gunfire, Claire shot at the log where Peters was hiding. Wood chips exploded from the stump where she’d seen him last.

  “Come on out, Peters,” she yelled. “Toss your gun over here. You know Harry won’t stop til he brings you in.”

  There was a pause, then, “Maybe you and me can cut a deal, Whitcomb.”

  Claire smirked as she reloaded. Might as well play with him, at least until Harry finished off the other gunman. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “I got money. Lots of it. I’ll give you half if you let me go.”

  “That so? Well, let me think on that.”

  “I’m dead serious. There’s a load of gold bullion not ten miles from here, buried in the ground near some hot springs.”

  “And just where’d you get the bullion?” This was getting interesting. There might be a reward for the gold’s return.

  “I won a map in a card game. The other feller swore on his mother’s grave there was more gold than you’d ever care to spend in a lifetime.”

  “And why would I believe you?”

  “Why wouldn’t you? You and me, we know each other. I think we’d make a great team. And hell, we’d both be rich. No need for robbin’ or killin’ anymore.”

  Sure, Peters. “Where is this treasure map? I mean, if I have to go with you somewhere to get it, well, you can see how that might present some problems.”

  “No, no. I got it right here.”

  Claire peered around the trunk. Peters’ arm shot up from behind the log, and he waved something in his hand.

  “Say you’re telling the truth,” Claire mused. “What’s to stop you from killing me on the way there?”

  “Well now, that’s a good and fair point. I guess you’ll have to take me on my merit.”

  “How about this? How about you show some good faith by throwin’ your gun my way and then come out from behind that log with your hands up?” Harry and the other gunman were still going at it, by the sound of the sporadic gunfire. She needed to hurry Peters up so she could help Harry.

  “You interested in my proposition?” he asked.

  “I give you my word.”

  “Okay then. I’m coming out.”

  Claire glanced around the tree as a revolver sailed over the trunk toward her. “Now the other one.” She was bluffing, but she doubted he’d give up one gun so easily if he didn’t have a backup.

  There was a pause, then a second pistol flew over the log and landed near her with a thud.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “That’s all I got.”

  “Come on out, then,” she said, picking up both weapons. “But keep your hands in the air where I can see them.”

  Peters climbed to his feet with his hands held high. “Sounds like your partner’s otherwise engaged. We should probably skedaddle.” He made a show of looking around. “Where’re the horses? We’ll need that mule of Harry’s to transport all the gold.”

  Claire sighed and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Peters. But thanks anyway.” She aimed the Winchester at his chest. “On your knees.”

  Peters remained as he was. “I shoulda known you weren’t bein’ truthful.”

  Claire pulled a length of rope from her coat pocket. “Aren’t you a clever boy?” she said, the sarcasm thick. “On your knees. Now.” Peters did as she said.

  The gunfire had stopped. A moment later Harry called out. “Whitcomb?”

  “Over here. I got Peters.”

  Peters groaned. “Now you gone and done it.”

  He started to lower his arms, but Claire engaged the modification and aimed at his heart to make her point. “Don’t move.”

  Peters froze.

  Harry joined them and took the rope from Claire.

  “The other guy?” Claire asked as he corralled Peters’ wrists and tied them together.

  “In hell where he belongs.” He finished tying Peters and hauled the fugitive to his feet. The look on Peters’ face was not a happy one. Harry patted him down, looking for weapons. When he got to his boots he paused, then reached in and pulled out a derringer.

  “I knew he had another gun,” Claire said.

  Harry checked the other boot. “Nothing. You got more rope?”

  Claire fished another length of rope from her coat pocket and tossed it to him. Harry proceeded to hobble Peters by tying his ankles together.

  “How in blue blazes do you expect me to walk?” Peters asked.

  Harry stepped back. “Who says you’re gonna walk?” He nodded at the log. “Sit down and stay there.” He turned to Claire. “I’ll get the horses while you keep an eye on him, all right?”

  Claire nodded. “I need to talk to you a minute.”

  Keeping the rifle trained on Peters, Claire and Harry stepped out of hearing range.

  “Peters offered me half a shipment of gold bullion if I let him go,” Claire said in a low voice. “Says it’s ten miles from here near some hot springs.”

  Harry looked at her with interest. “Think there might be a reward?”

  Claire shrugged. “Can’t hurt to check, right?”

  “You trust him to lead us to it?”

  “Not hardly. He’s got a map he won in a card game, although it could’ve been a feint so I’d let him go. I haven’t laid eyes on it yet.” She shrugged. “Up to you. This is your operation. It’d delay you gettin’ him to Yuma by a day or two.”

  Harry nodded slowly, thinking. “There’s some hot springs ten miles west of here but he knows the area so it could be him making up a story to buy time.”

  “True enough. But why buy time now? It’s not like anyone else is coming for him.”

  “You have a point.” He walked back to Peters, stood him up, and started to dig through his pockets.

  “What the hell are you doin’?” Peters asked, trying to see what Harry was up to.

  Harry reached inside the outlaw’s coat pocket and pulled a piece of paper free. “What have we here?” He unfolded the paper and held it up to the moonlight. Squinting, he held it closer, then at arm’s length, but gave up and handed it to Claire. “It’s too damn dark. I can’t make it out.”

  “Dammit, Whitcomb. You was supposed to keep quiet.” Peters glared at her, his expression fierce.

  Claire ignored him and handed Harry her rifle. While he covered Peters she studied the paper. She could make out some markings but not much more. She folded the map and handed it back to Harry. “It’s definitely a map. We’ll have to wait until we get to camp before I can say for sure where it leads to.”

  Harry nodded and handed her the rifle. “Probably ain’t anything. I’ll go get the horses.”

  After Harry left Peters continued his glare-down.

  “What’d you think I was going to do?” Claire asked. “Throw in with a murderer?”

  Peters drew his brows even closer together and spat, “You just lost out on a whole lotta gold, Whitcomb.”

  “You don’t say? But wait a minute—” She cupped her hand to her ear, acting like she heard something. “Why yes, I do believe it’s the call of the ‘I have the map’ bird.” She lowered her hand and smiled as sweetly as she could at him. “Your offer might’ve worked on someone who was hurting for money or just plain greedy. I know it may be news to you but not everyone is as corrupt as you are.”

  Peters shook his head and huffed out a disgusted breath. He sat on the log and turned away from Claire.

  She smiled at his childish actions as visions of what she might do with the extra reward money danced in her head. If he was telling the truth.

  That was a big if.

  Chapter 19

  The next morning Claire and Harry both studied the map while savoring their coffee near the fire. Peters was tied to the base of a tree a few yards away, looking out of sorts.

  Harry pointed at a series of upside-down Vs on the paper.

  “These markings might represent the foothills to the west of us. And this
here,” he tapped the wavy lines that indicated a water source, “is where the hot springs are, give or take.”

  Claire raised an eyebrow. “You mean he might be telling the truth?”

  Harry nodded. “But there ain’t any indication of where the gold’s supposed to be.” He shrugged. “You see anything pointing to a location?”

  “Nope.” She turned to Peters. “Where’s the rest?”

  “What do you mean?” Peters replied. “It’s all right there.”

  Claire walked over to him and showed him the map. “Then you tell me where the gold’s supposed to be?”

  Harry added, “If there ain’t anything more to this, then I say we deliver Peters to prison first before we head to the springs to dig around.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Claire said as she folded the map and rejoined Harry.

  “Wait a minute.”

  Claire and Harry turned to look at Peters.

  The fugitive grimaced. “There is one last piece that ain’t on there.”

  “And that would be?” Claire asked.

  “The guy from the poker game told me where it’s buried. It ain’t on the map in case someone got hold of the darned thing that weren’t supposed to.”

  “Which means we need you.” Harry gave Claire a look that said he wasn’t surprised.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “Should we give it a try?”

  Harry nodded. “I believe we should. Like you said, it’ll only delay us a day or two.”

  Peters said something under his breath. Claire walked back to where he was sitting.

  “I’m sorry, Peters, but I couldn’t make out what you just said.”

  The outlaw scowled and looked away. “I said, that gold ain’t yours.”

  “Well, I can pretty much bet it isn’t yours either.” She crossed her arms and contemplated the outlaw. “It’s not like you’re going to be able to use it anytime soon.”

  “Or at all.” Harry dropped to his haunches in front of Peters and gave him a drink from his canteen. “You’re going to hang, Sam Peters,” he said, screwing the cap back on. “Justice for that family of seven you murdered, and all those trains and stages you robbed.”

  Peters spat at Harry but missed. “Ain’t like you’re lily white.”

  Claire gave Harry a sidelong look. “Do tell.”

  Harry shook his head. “He don’t know what he’s talkin’ about.”

  “Oh, don’t I? What about them women and children at the Centralia Massacre? I suppose you didn’t have nothin’ to do with that?”

  Harry rounded on him with a raised fist, a red flush spreading from his neck to his ears. “Keep your trap shut ’bout things you don’t know.”

  Peters grinned. “Looks like I hit a sore spot.”

  Harry took a deep breath, exhaled, and unclenched his fists. “Leave it be, Peters.”

  “Touchy, touchy.”

  “He’s just trying to goad you into doing something you’ll regret, Harry.” Claire returned her attention to the map. “If we leave now, we’ll have plenty of daylight to look for the gold. Then if he’s lying, we can cut our losses, make camp, and leave early in the morning. We’ll be in Tucson by tomorrow night.”

  Harry nodded. “The marshal gave me three days’ grace either side to get him to the train. That’ll be cutting it short but I believe it’ll work.”

  “Great. Let’s move out.”

  They loaded up their bedrolls and supplies, and Harry tied Peters to the mule, making sure to run a line between his ankles underneath the animal’s chest.

  A brilliant blue sky stretched before them as they set off. Claire inhaled the fresh morning air, glad for the chance to be on the road again. A few hours later they reached the foothills that Harry thought might be depicted on the map. The horses picked their way through a narrow canyon as they headed for the springs. The temperature had spiked, taking the ride from pleasant to hot, but a slight breeze whispered through the trees, helping to cool them.

  They stopped near a burbling stream set into the rocks next to a stand of desert willow. Claire removed the horses’ saddles and let them graze while Harry saw to Peters and the mule.

  Harry joined her and pulled out the map, flattening it on top of a large rock. “The way he tells it, the cache is buried at the top of a rise near a rock that looks like an animal.” He nodded downstream. “As I recall, the springs come out over there by that rock shaped like a cat.”

  Claire followed his gaze and realized that he was right—the boulder had the look of a reclining feline. She glanced back at the map, her excitement growing. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.” Harry stopped to remove a shovel from his supplies, then followed Claire over the gray stones lining the stream.

  A short distance from camp they came upon a quiet pool. Claire dipped her hand in the water and found it deliciously warm. Thoughts of a long soak filled her mind. Maybe she’d be able to slip off later in the day.

  Harry glanced at the map and pointed to the top of a conical-shaped feature to their right. “Looks like we climb.”

  “How did you get Peters to tell you where to look?” Claire asked.

  “Pain. A lot of pain.”

  The two of them headed toward the top of the rise, stopping every so often to catch their breath. Three-quarters of the way up they came to a flat area surrounded by dark stone. Claire and Harry exchanged looks.

  “It’s as good a place as any,” Harry said. “Time to start diggin’.” They had a good view of Peters from where they were and he appeared docile, so they set to work.

  Claire began moving the larger stones clear while Harry used the shovel to break through the hard-packed dirt and caliche. Forty minutes later they’d barely made a dent.

  Claire sat on a nearby rock and wiped the perspiration from her face with her forearm. “Might I suggest a stick of dynamite?”

  Harry snorted and leaned on the shovel. “Could be we’re chasin’ our tails.”

  “Maybe.” Claire took a sip from her canteen and offered it to Harry. He took a drink and handed it back. “I’m not ready to give up just yet, though. Are you?”

  Harry grinned and shook his head. “Not hardly.”

  They worked a while longer and made some headway with Claire pushing aside the dirt and rocks Harry shoveled out.

  An hour later, Harry hit something hard.

  Chapter 20

  Claire and Harry exchanged looks. Claire’s heart raced. Could it be that Peters was telling the truth? The joy of discovery ricocheted through her. She nodded at Harry.

  “Well? What are you waiting for?”

  Harry leaned on the shovel and fixed her with his gaze. “I just want to make clear—if what we’ve hit is gold and we can figure out who it belongs to, then we return it to its rightful owner, reward or no.”

  “Agreed. And if we can’t determine ownership? What then?”

  Harry shrugged. “Then we split it fifty-fifty.”

  “All right, then.” She nodded at him. “Dig away.”

  Harry bent to the task, picking at the edges of what turned out to be a large wooden box.

  Claire glanced at Harry. “That looks like it’s the same size as a Wells Fargo treasure box.” She’d seen many of the strongboxes during her time riding shotgun on the stage. The size was right, but she’d have to see more to know for certain.

  Harry grunted as he shoved the blade beneath the chest and bore down on the handle. The box shifted, breaking through the hard-packed dirt. Claire grasped the edge and heaved, throwing her weight into dislodging their find. Harry joined her, and they managed to drag it out of the hole they’d created.

  Claire studied the case, searching for the familiar Wells Fargo name but the surface bore no markings. They tipped it over and found the same. The leather handles had rotted through, leaving only the wooden pegs used to affix them to the sides. The oak slats that made up the box had shrunk, due to the dry desert conditions, leaving gaps. The box had a metal clasp o
n the front, which was the only metal evident other than the padlock.

  Harry raised the shovel and brought it down on the lock, which broke immediately. Claire removed the padlock and unlatched the clasp before opening the lid.

  Inside was a stack of gold bars unlike any Claire had ever seen. “What kind of bullion is this?” she asked Harry. She lifted one of the rectangular bars from the box. The rough surface and lighter weight didn’t match the heavier, smoother bars Claire had seen and handled. She turned it over. There was no identifying mark on the bar itself.

  Harry picked one up and studied it. “Mining companies always mark their bars. So do banks.” He placed it back into the box. “This don’t look like any gold bars I ever seen.”

  “Maybe they’re Mexican?”

  Harry shook his head. “If they are, they’re older than the conquistadores. A long time back I seen a bar of Spanish gold in a traveling curiosity show—accordin’ to the hawker they pretty much always stamped their bars.”

  “What if they had to move quickly?”

  “Could be. Either way, it’s like findin’ a gold nugget lyin’ on the ground.”

  He was right. “So that means…”

  Harry nodded. “No marks means there ain’t no way to find the owner. Anybody can claim it’s theirs. Might as well be us.”

  That shed a new light on things. “So, are you saying we’re rich?”

  “Appears to be the case.” Harry grinned, his brown eyes sparkling in his sun-darkened face.

  Claire’s mind raced at the prospect. All they had to do now was transport the gold to Tucson and have it assayed. Claire weighed the bar in her hand. “I’d venture this weighs about the same as two pistols—somewhere around four, maybe five pounds.” She moved aside the top layer of bars and counted each one beneath them. “There’s forty-eight bars here. Let’s say they’re four and a half—no, make that four and two-thirds pounds. That makes the total weight a little over two hundred and twenty-three pounds. Peters is round about one-fifty, give or take. The mule could probably carry at least half the bars and I could make room for some of them in my saddlebags. But it could pull the whole darn thing if we made a travois.”