“I heard tell that’s the way a lot of bank robbers escape. They steal horses ahead of the robbery, then ride their horses into the ground, switch over and keep riding. No posse can keep up with them that way.” Cooley looked longingly along the trail to Mule Springs.
England Dan wondered if Cooley was losing his nerve again. He had survived the shootout and boasted about his part in it. Every telling made him more into the hero who killed Poke Jensen and chased off his outlaw brother. It didn’t bother England Dan too much. If anything, he wanted to be a fly on the wall to hear what Cooley claimed as his role when he explained it all to Mandy—if he ever did. The woman saw him clearer than he saw himself, but then her work as a Cyprian forced her to size up her customers or pay the penalty. Blowhards and braggarts were her customers.
“This way gets us to the Lost Banshee Mine faster. Jensen is riding to Mule Springs. Then he has to double back, going uphill. We can reach the same place faster because it’s shorter, and we only need to climb a little bit since we’re already in the mountains.”
“You said you had no idea where the mine was, even after you saw the map.” Cooley sounded like he was accusing his partner of a crime.
“I thought real hard on it. I never explored this part of the Superstitions, but more’n once I heard prospectors talking about it.”
“Why didn’t they claim the mine, then? Tell me that.”
“They might have found the Irish Lord, but the owner shooed them away. On that, maybe the owner’s in cahoots with Jensen. If he is, we’ll have both Lars Jensen and the owner to deal with. It’s a good thing we have some ammo.”
“Not that much. We should get on back to Oasis and stock up before tangling with Jensen again. After all, the mine’s not going anywhere.”
England Dan knew that, but something else had made the Jensen brothers so eager to get the map. They weren’t miners. Even if the Irish Lord—the Lost Banshee Mine—was the richest mine in all Arizona, he doubted they’d pick up rock hammers and go into the mine to chip away at the blue dirt. In his experience, men who held up stagecoaches and banks avoided real work. His big question was how much stolen money was hidden here.
“You think we can get to the mine before Jensen?” Cooley asked.
“The only way to find out is to try. If you want to go on back to town, now’s the time.” He saw Cooley wrestling with the decision. Then Cooley made his choice.
“Why’re we standing around jawing like this? Let’s ride.”
England Dan tried not to laugh. They were riding into more trouble, no matter what they found. Deep down in his gut, he worried they had bought a pig in a poke. The Lost Banshee Mine might not be abandoned at all. The Jensen brothers had some reason for searching for it, for not knowing where it was and having to rely on the map made by somebody else. Too many details were left to the imagination. In that, England Dan knew both he and Cooley had built up fairy tales all too easily.
As they rode, he almost wished that the banshee would screech again, just so he could see Cooley’s reaction. His partner still refused to believe he had scared off Big Ear and his hunting party mimicking Big Owl.
“It’s a steep climb, Dan. Are you sure we ought to go on?”
England Dan eyed the incline. They had ridden long enough to be near the mine. If Jensen needed a day to travel twice the distance and still faced a climb matching this, they would arrive ahead of the outlaw.
“The trail’s not been traveled in a spell,” he said. “I don’t know if that’s good or not, but let’s see what’s at the top of the hill.”
“It goes onto a mesa. I’ve seen the mountains do this before. And a mesa rises out of this one, like giant steps. That can expose gold. I’ve seen that, too.”
England Dan let his partner rattle on. He urged Whirlwind up the slope. The horse picked its way slowly but never stumbled. Cooley’s horse was less sure-footed. Mabel brought up the rear, never missing a step. The strange line of travelers struggled along and finally crested the track. Cooley had been right. This mesa was broad and flat, but the north side had another peak growing from it. A mine had been blasted in the rocky face.
“Why’d anybody dig all those pits?” Cooley took off his hat and scratched his bald head. “You don’t get gold out of the ground like that. You find a vein and follow it until it peters out.”
England Dan had no idea why the pits existed. He rode to the nearest one and looked into it. A little water pooled there, left over from the recent rains. Catch basins because the mesa was so flat? The miner wanted to keep the rainwater from flooding his mine? Whatever the reason, more than a half dozen had been dug in an otherwise featureless mesa.
“There it is,” Cooley said with a hushed reverence. “The Lost Banshee Mine.”
“There’s plenty of evidence it’s been worked for a while,” England Dan said. They went to the mine. He stopped just outside the mouth and stared. “There’s why nobody’s recently heard from the owner.”
A mummified body sprawled just inside the mouth. England Dan edged forward and nudged it with his boot. The arm fell off. The wind and weather had taken its toll on the body.
“How long?” Cooley’s voice cracked with strain. “How long’s he been dead?”
England Dan examined the body. “There’s a pair of bullet holes in his chest.” He reached across and picked up a rusty six-gun. He tried to open it to see if any rounds had been fired. The corrosion was too thick.
“Dan, here’s another one. Another body.” Cooley had walked a yard deeper into the mine. “He’s been shot, too. Just once. I don’t see his gun, though.”
The coat crumbled into dust as England Dan searched the pockets. He pulled out a leather wallet and opened it. The leather had protected the contents. The stub of a pencil had been shoved into a leather loop. He ignored the writing device because something more inside held his attention. Unfolding the page inside, he slowly read it, then looked up.
“This is a bill of sale. This fellow was the owner and signed away his right to the Irish Lord.”
“The Lost Banshee Mine,” Cooley corrected automatically. He started searching the other body.
“There isn’t a buyer’s name entered. Something went topsy-turvy before the deal closed. They shot it out, and both died. There is no owner of this mine.” A crazy thought came to him. If he signed the bill of sale, he’d be the mine’s owner.
“There might have been a third one who took care of both of them.” Cooley held up a wad of greenbacks. They were crumbling around the edges from the weathering, but what remained totaled a hundred dollars. He tried not to be obvious about it as he stuffed the roll into his pocket, but England Dan saw. Rather than demand his partner split the money, he tucked the wallet with the bill of sale into his coat pocket.
“Check a bit deeper in the mine. If there was a third one, he’d likely have crawled into the shaft.”
“I’ll not stray too far.” Cooley inched along, trying to use the light from the mine mouth as long as he could. He abruptly stopped a few feet from the second body. “We might want to clear out, Dan. There’s enough dynamite stacked here to blow us all to kingdom come.”
He heeded Cooley’s advice. His partner joined him, shaken.
“There’s at least ten cases of dynamite. If it’s been there since these two shot it out, it’s a year old. You know how old sticks leak nitroglycerin. Sneeze in there and it’d all go blooey!”
Walking a safe distance away from the mine, England Dan looked over the mesa and everything around. The mine had been blasted into the side of a cliff that rose to another mesa. The pits scattered around made dangerous traps if a soul was inclined to sleepwalk. He pointed some distance away to a shack.
“There’s where he lived. Let’s see what we can find there.”
He and Cooley led their mounts to the cabin. A tinge of jealousy hit him. The miner
had lived better than the pair of them ever had. The cabin was downright palatial compared to theirs back at the Trafalgar Mine. He tethered the animals behind the cabin and went in. Cooley was already rummaging about. A stack of rocks on the table drew both their attentions.
After examining the pile, they looked at each other and shook their heads in unison.
“The mine’s all played out if these were recently taken. There’s hardly a fleck of gold to be had.” Cooley dropped the rocks in disgust. “That might have caused the shootout. The owner tried to sell a worthless mine, and the two of them exchanged lead.”
“There’s no telling what went on, but these rocks—you’re right. Our dross at the Trafalgar has more gold in it than these.”
“Our luck’s played out, just like at the Lost Banshee Mine.” Cooley dropped to the bed. It had a decent mattress, but he didn’t notice it in his dejection. “After all the shooting and killing, we don’t get anything.”
England Dan noticed how Cooley touched the bulge in his pocket. He was keeping the greenbacks as his due.
“We can work the mine to see if we’re right about the quality of ore,” he said. But in his gut he worried that what had once been rumored as the richest mine in the Superstition Mountains had become the most worthless. “At least we can keep working the Trafalgar Mine a few months more until it looks like this.” He picked up a rock and dropped it on the table.
It landed with a thunk, but England Dan heard something more. Something outside.
He went to the door and peered out. A quick arm held Cooley back. “Lars Jensen’s finally showed up.”
“What are we going to do, Dan? Let’s shoot him from ambush. There’s no way we can have another showdown with him. He’s a killer.”
“So are we,” England Dan said. He closed his eyes and pictured the dead Poke Jensen. Then he opened his eyes and watched as Jensen moved from pit to pit. “What’s he looking for?”
“He’s not interested in the mine. It’s as if there’s something in a hole on the mesa that’s got him hunting so eagerly.”
“I was going to enjoy it when he saw there wasn’t anything in the Irish Lord, but look! He’s studying the map.”
“My map,” grumbled Cooley. “I paid good gold for that map.”
“He’s checking every pit against the map. Whatever he’s hunting for has nothing to do with the mine. Something else has been stashed here.” A dozen plans flashed through England Dan’s head. His speculation about the Jensens hiding something here had to be right. But what? He fingered his Webley, but it was out of ammo. He had Poke Jensen’s six-gun. It struck him as fitting to get the drop on the outlaw’s brother using the gun he had died with. “Let’s ask him what he’s hunting.”
“It’s not gold. Not in this worthless mine,” complained Cooley. Then he realized what his partner intended to do. He grabbed Rutledge’s arm, but England Dan jerked free.
England Dan stepped out, Poke Jensen’s six-shooter clutched in his hand. He never took his eyes off Lars Jensen as the owlhoot dropped to his knees and began digging about in the pit nearest the mine. Boots crunching, making more noise than anyone could miss, he kept a steady approach. When he got close enough that his shadow fell over Jensen and into the pit, the outlaw reacted.
Too late.
“You’re a dead man if you go for your gun.”
“Who are you?” Jensen rocked back, his hands resting on the edge of the pit.
“I killed your brother. Killing you’d be a real pleasure.”
“You tried to kill me before. We shot it out back on the trail here.”
“Too bad I only hit you in the leg,” England Dan said, edging around to look into the pit. He saw the canvas money bag with the Fort Bayard paymaster insignia on it. “Since you needed the map, I’d say it was your brother who stole that.”
“It’s been a chore getting the map. I didn’t mind shooting a few people along the way to get it, though. And I won’t mind shooting a few more to take the payroll.”
England Dan fired the instant he heard the threat, but he was a fraction of a second too late. Jensen threw a handful of dirt and rock into the air. At the same time, he jerked hard away from where the six-shooter was aimed. England Dan missed by a country mile. Then Cooley piped up, shouting and complaining and firing at random. One of the slugs barely missed Dan. He swiped dirt from his eyes and dodged to keep his partner from shooting him.
Trying to avoid every danger caused him to take a step forward into the pit. He lost his balance and tumbled down. He landed hard on his belly. The jolt rattled him enough to give him double vision. He tried to call out, “Stop!” to Jensen, but dirt choked him. The outlaw limped for the mine.
England Dan never considered the danger. He began firing. Jensen reached the mine, whirled about and unloaded his six-shooter. Cooley added his wild discharges to the firefight. And then someone’s bullet sailed past Jensen and hit the small mountain of unstable dynamite.
The explosion lifted Cooley off his feet and threw him twenty feet back. Rutledge fared better, being hidden in the pit. Lars Jensen simply evaporated in a bloody haze that was quickly replaced by what seemed an endless dust storm as more dynamite in the mine detonated.
When the last of the explosions died down, England Dan was deaf. He decided the blasts were over when the ground stopped shaking. Pulling himself out of the pit, he stood on wobbly legs and looked around. The Lost Banshee Mine no longer existed. Half the mountainside had collapsed into the shaft. He staggered back, wiping dust from his eyes, and went to his partner. Cooley kicked and writhed about, sputtering. He spat a mouthful of dirt out and sat up, taking his partner by both shoulders.
“That was some explosion. I wish I’d seen it!”
They stared at each other for a heartbeat, then laughed hysterically. Tears ran down their cheeks, leaving dirty tracks. They clutched each other until the shock passed. England Dan’s hearing returned, and shouting at Cooley wasn’t necessary.
“We showed him,” Cooley said. “What was it he was pawing out of the pit?”
“Let’s go see.”
They walked back to the pit. England Dan let Cooley dig the canvas bag out of the ground. Cooley let out a whoop and sat cross-legged. He emptied the bag and pawed through the money.
As his partner caressed the greenbacks and made stacks of gold coins, England Dan went to the collapsed mine. He tossed aside a few rocks and picked up a hunk of stone the size of his fist. Judging from the way the explosion had shattered the cliff face, this came from higher up toward the other mesa. Using his thumb, he scraped away the oxide.
“We’re rich, Dan, we’re rich! There’s more’n a thousand dollars here, and it’s ours!”
“That’s not ours, John.” He walked back with the rock in his right hand. His grip on it was so tight, he came close to crushing it. “There might be a reward.”
“What’s the army going to do with it? This must have been stolen months back. They already got more pay for their soldiers. They’re not going to miss this. It’s ours, Dan, ours! Think of everything we’ve been through.”
He saw how Cooley moved his six-shooter a little closer. Arguing with him over the stolen payroll might get messy. This was more money than either of them had seen since staking claim to the Trafalgar Mine.
“We return the money to the army and work this mine. The owner’s dead, after all, and not going to complain.”
“I’m not giving up this up.” Cooley picked up his six-shooter. The determined set to his jaw showed the direction any argument would go.
They both whipped around as an inhuman screech filled the air.
“Big Owl,” England Dan said softly. The screech came from the upper mesa.
“Banshee,” Cooley said. “That cinches it.” He began stuffing the money into the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We keep the money and v
amoose.”
“It’s not right keeping the US Army’s money,” England Dan insisted. “But”—he held up his hand to keep Cooley from using his six-shooter—“let’s dicker a mite over this. We’re partners, right?”
“What are you getting at?” The wild look on Cooley’s face put any partnership in doubt. Greed was drowning out friendship.
“We can return the gold for a reward and work this mine.” He glanced up, wondering if Big Owl would howl. Silence. “Partners. We split fifty-fifty as we did back at the Trafalgar.”
“No.”
“Or we go our separate ways. You keep the money. I keep the mine. We call it even.” He saw Cooley thinking on that. He added a little extra to the pot. “Mandy wouldn’t have gone back to Oasis, but she’d fit in just fine at a town like Bisbee. You can find her there.”
“This much gold’d win her over.” Cooley clutched the canvas bag to his chest.
“It’s been good being partners. Maybe we can team up again later,” England Dan said, knowing that’d never happen. “You take the pony, but leave me Whirlwind and Mabel.”
“The mine and Mabel?” Cooley laughed. “You deserve each other. Both of you are muleheaded.”
England Dan nodded, not trusting himself to say any more. Cooley backed off, just to be sure he didn’t get shot in the back. He strapped the money bag on the pony, mounted and trotted away, heading west toward Bisbee.
He disappeared over the mesa rim in a few minutes. England Dan ran his thumbnail over the gold in the rock. After walking to the rubble from the explosion, he began sorting through it until he found the underlying stockwork. He followed the veinlet back to a larger exposed section of the cliff face. If he saw this much promise on the newly blasted surface, there had to be thousands of ounces of gold waiting for him to dig out.
He pulled out the leather wallet and opened the signed deed. Using the stub of pencil in the wallet, he carefully wrote in his name as the purchaser.
“I’m the new owner of the Irish Lord Mine,” he said with some satisfaction.
Lost Banshee Mine Page 25