Action Stories, September, 1926
Blood flows on the Treasure Trail—and Splint Moraine settles with fate!
ROM the dim thread of an ancient trail
His name was Splint Moraine, this
that wound its way among grim lone rider on the old King’s Road. He was F skeletons of tortured desert growths, a small and thin and wiry. His visage was dark pallid cloud of dust rose and hovered and
and his eyes were as bright and hard and cruel
moved slowly on. Stirred by the plodding
as any ferret’s. His hands, when they moved,
hoofs of a pony, it lifted up in soft gray puffs were like two brown, restless snakes. He
to mingle in a choking drift that kept even
was—or had been until some thirty hours
pace with horse and rider—and with the two
ago—a jackal of the race tracks, a follower of
dark specks high above in the burnished arch
the crowds, a pickpocket. But these thirty
of sky that were two patient buzzards hours since he had swung into saddle at Tia wheeling.
Juana in stealthy pursuit of Roth and the
The rider’s eyes were bloodshot from
Mexican, less than two days of contact with
the sting of dust and the fierce glare of the hot savagery of the desert, had been sunlight that set all that silent world aflame.
sufficient to transform him from a slinking
He kept his gaze grimly fixed upon another
pickpocket, intent only upon watching his
dust cloud weaving among distant low chance to steal, to a reptile as deadly as any pinnacles of jagged rock where Roth and the
that crawled in all that arid vastness.
Mexican, Vasquez, carrying with them a scrap
Thirst had played its part in that
of paper that was the key to a fabulous transformation. The only water hole treasure, rode south ahead of him along that
encountered had been dry. Now his canteen
forgotten Camino Real.
was empty. He tried to kick his patient pony
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into faster pace, and he cursed aloud the Legend has it that the good padres secreted all blasting heat, the dust, the fantastic leering
the offerings of gold and silver and jewels that skeletons of gray-green vegetation. Soulfully
came to the shrine in some nearby cavern.
he consigned the whole of Baja California to
And there the treasure lies, intact to this day.”
perdition.
“Do none know where the stuff is
Yet he kept doggedly on, held hidden?”
unchanging the distance between himself and
“But few living, senor. I think perhaps
that drifting dust cloud ahead that seemed ever my father knows. Some of our old——”
on the point of vanishing from his ken. And as
“Then why has it never been
he rode he found a measure of solace in disturbed?” interrupted Roth.
reviewing mentally that chance conversation
“Because our people of the mountains
he had overheard at the bar of the Ultima
are simple people and most devout,” explained
Chanza between the huge and evil-visaged
the Mexican. “They have fear.”
Roth and the slender Mexican, Vasquez.
“And you?” inquired Roth. “Have you
Unguarded words were they that had set no fear?”
avarice flaming in Splint Moraine’s twisted
“Of a certainty, my friend! Not for
little soul.
worlds would I commit such sacrilege. But I
“Of a certainty there is treasure there,”
have learned much since I came down from
the Mexican was saying to Roth when Splint
the mountains. Were I to guide a good friend
came unnoticed to the bar beside them and
to this ruined shrine and then my back should
ordered his fiery brew. “Treasure enough to
happen to be conveniently turned——” The
make any two men rich beyond their wildest
man Carlos shrugged expressively. “Could I
hopes—and all to be had for the finding and
be held responsible?”
carrying away!”
Roth
laughed.
The big man toyed with his glass for a
“Carlos Vasquez, you are a damned
moment, considering.
hypocrite and a rascal. We shall start for that
“If I did not know you for a man of
treasure in the morning. Now show me the
your word, Carlos,” he rumbled finally, “I
route we must travel.”
should call you a liar and the story a fairy tale.
Upon the back of a manila envelope
Exactly where is this forgotten shrine?”
that Roth took from his pocket and tossed
The men were conversing in Spanish.
down upon the bar, Vasquez began to make
Splint understood the tongue and he listened
lines. Splint Moraine cursed softly then
eagerly while the Mexican made answer to the
because the great bulk of the man Roth
other’s question.
prevented him from watching the progress of
“One does not reach it in a day, señor.
the Mexican’s silver pencil.
It lies deep in the wild and lonely Sierra San
“We ride south along the old Camino
Pedro Matir, far beyond the tumbled ruins of
Real, senor,” Vasquez explained as he
the ancient Mission San Borja. And that holy
sketched the route. “Here, two days down, is
edifice was once considered one of the most
the deserted Mine of the Three Shafts. I make
inaccessible places on the face of the earth.
a cross for that. We should find water there—
Although I have never been beyond San Borja
but one must carry a pail and a long rope to
I think I know well the trail and the location of reach it. Next we come to the mission hamlet
the shrine, for often have I heard my father
of San Gorgonio. There we may procure both
describe both when speaking of boyhood food and lodging if we should wish. Several pilgrimages, carrying offerings of silver. miles beyond the mission and a little aside
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from the trail to Borja is the house of my
something should befall you and I be left upon
father. We will send an Indian runner ahead
my own resources in that God-forsaken
from the hamlet with word of our coming, so
country. And now let’s have another drink on
that my venerable sire may have mules in
it.”
readiness for our pilgrimage into the deep
Splint fancied he detected in these last
mountains, where horses would be useless.
words of Roth’s an undercurrent of sinister
This he will be glad to do, for it is now twelve meaning, a significance that boded ill for
years since he has looked upon my face.”
Carlos Vasquez. And as he slipped away and
“Twelve years,” commented Roth. took up his station near the wide doorway
“Think yo
u, Carlos, he will know his rascally
where he could keep an eye upon the two men
son?”
lingering under the brilliant lights at the bar,
“He will know.” The Mexican placed
Splint chuckled grimly to himself.
the tip of a slender forefinger upon a zig-zag
Certainly the Mexican would never
scar that lay across his swarthy cheek. “He did look upon that treasure. And neither would the
that, my gentle father, with his mule whip
evil Roth if he, Splint Moraine, could manage
when I was a boy—and suffered contrition
to get his fingers on the map and beat them to
ever after.”
it. And so, when the two men left the Ultima
“Humph! Go on with your map!”
Chanza together, Splint was upon their heels
“From my father’s house, here,” like a shadow.
continued the Mexican, “the trail leads to old
Bad luck had been against him. He had
San Borja. Another cross for those ancient
found no opportunity that night to lift the map.
ruins. From there a dim trail leads off into the
. . . And so here was Splint Moraine, riding
mountains in this direction. Follow my pencil
saddle-galled upon the old King’s Road,
carefully, señor. ...”
cursing dust and buzzards and blasting heat,
Again Splint Moraine, attention yet holding grimly to the trail. . . .
strained to fiddle pitch that he might miss no
The afternoon hours wore away and
word of that explanation, cursed under his
the sun swung low in a bank of purple and
breath because he could not look upon the
crimson haze. Twilight came, and the
map at this tantalizing moment.
darkness swiftly. Soon a pinpoint flicker of
“A long day’s journey over the light far ahead on the trail told Splint that Roth roughest trail imaginable brings you to a and the Mexican had halted and built their mighty gorge among the mountains—like this,
supper fire. Splint dismounted and stretched
señor. It is here, midway of the gorge as I
his stiffened legs. He was devilishly thirsty.
remember my father’s words, that the shrine
That would be the Mine of the Three Shafts
was located. And somewhere within this circle
where the two men were camped, he reflected.
is the treasure we seek.”
Water there. But there would be no
“And how are we to find it, once we
quenching thirst for him until Roth and
get there?” demanded Roth.
Vasquez should be soundly asleep, so that he
“By searching carefully, señor. Unless
might safely accomplish his purpose.
my father knows its hiding place and may be
In the beginning he had intended only
persuaded to speak.”
to steal the map and reach the treasure before
Roth picked up the envelope with its
them. But the drag of each weary mile he had
penciled lines and dots and crosses and traveled this day had served to convince him restored it to his pocket.
of the futility of that plan. It had been all he
“I’ll keep the map, Carlos, in case could do to keep in view the dust cloud that
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marked the going of the two riders. They were
and was enjoying a midnight cigaret before
accustomed to the saddle and traveled fast.
drifting off to slumber again.
Those two must be removed entirely from his
Splint dared build no morning fire. He
path. . . . So, while the great stars grew ate his unsavory breakfast cold. And after he overhead and the moon came up to soften the
had waited until he was reasonably certain that harshness of the land with a green and ghostly
the two men had broken camp and gone, he
radiance, he chafed away the hours until swung out into the trail.
midnight.
Splint reached the mine shortly, and
The distant campfire had long since
the smoking embers of a breakfast fire. The
died. Splint rode on a little way, then gray timbers of all three shaft houses were dismounted and tied his horse to a cactus and
fallen into wreckage, leaving the black pits
crept forward on stealthy feet. Taking full
open to receive moisture in the season of
advantage of every bit of shadow afforded by
rains. He found the shaft where Roth and the
rock or hummock or fluted giant columns of
Mexican had drawn water. He blessed that
cardones, he drew near the camp chance remark of Vasquez’s concerning the unchallenged. An automatic of small caliber
need of a rope and pail. He had brought both.
was in Splint’s pocket. But he was an Eagerly he sunk his pail into the dark depths indifferent shot and dared not chance its use
and drew it brimming. The water was brackish
until he should be close enough to be sure his
and carried the odor of stagnation, but Splint
work would be good. He knew full well that
drank it in great gulps. After his thirst had
one bungled shot would mean for him the end
been appeased he filled his canteen, watered
of the treasure trail.
his horse and pressed on.
The two men lay in shadow at the base
Twice during that forenoon Splint
of a low backbone of rock. Foot by slow foot,
Moraine caught a view of the two mounted
crawling belly down upon the sand now, men, tiny figures crawling far ahead. The Splint wormed his way toward them. In the
character of the country changed as he
tenuous shadow cast by a clump of ocatilla
progressed, growing rough and broken. He
whips he paused to reconnoiter—and at what
entered at last a great gorge walled on either
he saw a chill of fear struck him immobile.
side with scoured cliffs. At mid-afternoon he
Winking like a dull crimson firefly afloat in
came suddenly out upon a wider space and
the pool of darkness where the men lay, saw ahead the green of irrigated fields and glowed the burn of a cigaret.
orchards and the great bulk of a bell-towered
One of the two was awake! Splint mission.
flattened like a lizard hiding. He had not
For a while he debated whether to
reckoned on the pair keeping a night watch.
linger here where he had halted or to go boldly With infinite caution, daring scarcely to into the little hamlet as any honest traveler breathe, he retreated until distance made it
along the King’s Road might go. He finally
safe for him to get to his feet. He quickly
decided to tarry a while before showing
found his horse and rode back up the trail until himself. For he guessed that Roth and
gaunt pinnacles of naked stone beside the way
Vasquez having reached the mission so early
gave him hiding. Here he rolled himself in his
in the afternoon, would probably not stay
blanket against the chill of the desert night. He there the night but would replenish supplies
slept fitfully, nursing thirst until the dawn, for and go on. He retraced his way into the throat
he had no means of knowing that Vasquez, a
o
f the gorge, withdrew behind a litter of
light sleeper, had merely chanced to awaken
boulders at one side of the trail. There he
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made himself comfortable until the sun was
flung his blankets aside and was half erect,
close to setting.
cursing, before Splint could swing the muzzle
Splint rode into the one street of the
of his pistol on the shadowy bulk of the man’s
little town in time to see his quarry riding out big body. In a blind panic of fear Splint fired the other end. He bought tortillas and coffee, until the magazine of his weapon was empty.
idled a while over the lunch, then followed
Roth lunged forward, choking horribly under
through the dusk.
that deadly stream of bullets, striving to get
Throughout that day Roth and the his great hands upon the thing that had struck Mexican had set a pace that taxed all Splint
so viciously in the night. He fell with the life Moraine’s resources to maintain. He hoped
twitching out of his ponderous frame at
they would make camp early, for he was Splint’s very feet.
saddle sore and weary. He was taunted, too,
When Splint realized that both the men
by the growing fear that he would not be able
were dead, realized the ease with which the
to carry out his evil designs, that he would be deed had been accomplished, his panic left
cheated out of the treasure that lay at the end him and he smiled a grim, cold smile. With
of the rapidly shortening trail. That disturbing swiftly moving hands he explored Roth’s
thought roused him to desperation. Again pockets and found the map. Kicking the tonight he would attempt to get the map, embers of the dying fire into life, he fed the would try to finish those two who stood flame with handy sticks until it gave him light between him and uncounted riches. He shut
enough to study the route laid out by the dead
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