“I believe our coming to these mountains brought us closer to Uncle Henry,” said Kelsey, “and even if we never find the gold, I’m glad we came. With or without the gold, I’d like to spend the rest of my life in the shadow of the Superstitions. I want to see them at sunset, ever changing, and then by starlight, or beneath a full moon. I just feel like I’ve been away for a long time, and now I … I’ve come home.”
“I reckon Hoss would be pleased,” Dallas said, “but not surprised.”
Not daring to leave their horses to the mercy of the elements and the Apaches, Cass Bowdre and his men had again made their camp against the east wall of the mountain where they’d weathered the previous night’s storm. Everybody—even Pod Osteen—was silent. They couldn’t afford the luxury of bickering now, for the impending storm was spooking the horses, and holding them had become increasingly difficult. The thunder rumbled closer, and while the lightning hadn’t yet become a danger, its eerie dance across the horizon was a harbinger of the fury to come. Bowdre and his companions, the violence of the last storm strong in their minds, eyed the darkening sky with growing apprehension.
“We’re in for a hell of a blow,” said Sandoval. “This would be a good time for the Apaches to come after us.”
Nobody bothered with a response, but it was a sobering thought. Once the lightning became continuous—and there was every evidence it would—they would all be outlined against the side of the mountain—perfect targets. It could become a perilous situation, where a man might lose his horse, his hair, or both. The lightning, Bowdre noticed, was building up to truly terrifying proportions. That, he hoped, might be the thing that would intimidate the Apaches.
“She’s gonna throw some mean lightning at us,” he voiced, “and that might work, for us. If the Injuns do come after us, forget the hosses and fight like hell. There’s worse things than losin’ a hoss. Like gainin’ an arrow in your belly.”
Soon the entire canyon before them was bathed in an almost continuous eerie light. Without warning, the macabre skeleton appeared, shambling across the canyon, as it had before.
“Madre de Dios,” Yavapai shouted. “Again the bones walk!”
Pod Osteen foolishly drew his Colt and began firing at the apparition, sending the already skittish horses into a new frenzy of rearing and nickering.
“Damnit,” Bowdre roared, “hold your fire!”
By the time they had calmed the horses, the lightning had begun to subside, and the bony apparition had again crossed the rain-swept canyon and disappeared. Ignoring his still painful foot, Bowdre snatched a fistful of Os-teen’s shirt as his right hand drew and cocked his Colt. Brutally he rammed the cold muzzle of the weapon into Osteen’s nose, and a shower of blood mingled with the driving rain streaming down Pod’s face.
“By God,” Bowdre snarled, “I ought to kill you.”
Osteen’s life hung in the balance, and nobody was more aware of it than he, for the fear in his eyes was genuine. Disgusted, Bowdre flung the man away, and he fell on his back in the mud. The wind was dying now, and the rain was settling into a steady downpour. The mountain’s rim had enough overhang so that their packs and bedrolls had been protected, and there was enough room for them to sleep dry.
“Two watches,” Bowdre ordered. “I’ll take the first, along with Os and Eldon. You’re part of it too, Osteen.”
The insult was obvious. Bowdre distrusted Osteen to the extent that he refused to sleep with the man on watch. The rest of them—those who would take the second watch—turned to their bedrolls to get what sleep they could.
The cabin Hoss Logan had built was sturdy and dry. An occasional gust down the chimney blew smoke into the room, as the storm-bred wind rattled sheets of rain against the log walls and the shake roof.
Dallas laughed. “I’d bet my saddle that bunch up yonder in the Superstitions is havin’ one hell of a night.”
“Plenty of shelter,” Arlo said, “and they don’t dare take advantage of it, lest Apaches grab their horses.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” said Kelly, “but when will you and Dallas go into the chasm to the underground river?”
“I’d like to go tomorrow,” Arlo said, “but I reckon I’d better give this wound another day. This would be a poor time to have a leg give out on me. I feel a mite uneasy, both of us goin’ and leaving you and Kelsey here alone. But a man’s got no business going into the Superstitions by himself. I’m counting on us finding our way into and out of that river before Davis and that bunch in the mountains figure out what’s goin’ on. They eventually will, when they find nothing in the tunnels beneath the mountains.”
“We’ll feel better taking our chances here alone,” said Kelsey, “than in having just one of you go back into those mountains. With Gary Davis in the mountains, what could happen to us here?”
“I don’t know,” Arlo said. “Nothing, I hope. Anyway, we won’t be leaving you alone at night. I just don’t believe Hoss would send us down that bluff unless there’s some better way in and out. If we start early, we may find it in a day. Then we can be done with this.”
“Oh, and I do want us to be done with this!” Kelly cried. “But what happens if … when … we find the gold?”
“We’ll file a claim,” said Arlo, “and leave that greedy bunch of coyotes up there in the mountains wondering what happened.”
“I’m afraid that won’t stop them from coming after us,” Kelsey said.
“Maybe not,” said Dallas, “but we’ll have a legal claim, and that has us within the law. We can hire us some pistoleros and gun the varmints down if they won’t have it any other way.”
“Dear God,” Kelly said, “that would be barbaric, us killing people just to hold on to a gold claim.”
“We don’t know it will come to that,” Arlo said, “but would it be any less terrible if we allowed them to kill us and take a claim that in no way belongs to them? Hell, these varmints will steal us blind if they can. What kind of justice is that?”
“You’re right,” Kelly sighed. “This is the West, the frontier. I suppose it will never become civilized in our lifetimes.”
“Too damn much civilization will be the ruination of the world,” said Dallas. “I hope the frontier, just the way it is, outlives me. It’s the last even break a man will ever get. I reckon the time will come when some slicked-up varmint tells us we can’t carry our guns, when crooked politicians, judges, and lawyers can rob us all legal and proper, in the courts. Like they done old Jed Logan, back in Missouri.”
“That’s exactly what was done to him,” Kelsey said bitterly. “So let’s hold on to the frontier as long as we can. Even with its faults, I love it. We’re going to find that mine of Uncle Henry’s, and if we have to fight to hold it, I’m ready.”
Cass Bowdre’s men kept an uneasy vigil for the rest of the night. The second watch—Three-Fingered Joe, Zondo Carp, Yavapai, Sanchez, and Mose Fowler—had little to say among themselves. The ghastly skeleton had further unnerved them, as had Pod Osteen’s foolish stunt. Not one of the men faulted Cass Bowdre for his brutal treatment of Osteen. The two were obviously headed for a showdown that might destroy the gang’s already shaky alliance, dooming their chances of ever finding the gold. But that was the way of the frontier, and they all understood that.
“Come on,” Bowdre growled, “roll out.”
Having been part of the second watch, Mose Fowler already had a breakfast fire going and the coffee boiling.
“I’m goin’ out there where that rack of bones drifted across the canyon,” said Zondo Carp, “and see if there’s any sign.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sandoval said, grinning derisively at Osteen. “Maybe the varmint’s layin’ out yonder shot dead, and we just can’t see him from here.”
While it was an obvious dig at Pod Osteen, it struck the rest of the gang as hilariously funny. Mose Fowler slapped his hat against his thigh, and even the superstitious Yavapai and Sanchez joined in the laughter. Bowdre grinned, and
the furious Pod Osteen turned away, his face flaming with embarrassment. He distanced himself from the rest of the men, sat down on a stone pillar, and ignored them. Carp and Sandoval soon returned, having found nothing.
“I never seen a man empty a Colt,” said Os Ellerton, “and not make at least one hit. If the Apaches attack, he might as well throw rocks.”
There was more laughter, and they finished breakfast without Osteen. But the laughter soon ceased, for the power struggle between Osteen and Bowdre was yet to be resolved. As long as the two men were at odds, the search for the mine would suffer. Would Osteen continue to take orders from Bowdre? They would soon know. Bowdre still limped, but he could walk, and he began the day by addressing the sulking Osteen.
“Are you goin’ to join us. Pod, or do you just aim to perch on that rock for the rest of the day?”
His back to them, Osteen said nothing, and Bowdre began walking slowly toward him. Halting a few steps away, Bowdre spoke, his voice cold.
“Pod, I ain’t one to leave loose ends danglin’ that might trip me up somewhere down the trail, when I ain’t expectin’ it. There’s more’n one way we can settle this, but I reckon the best way is for you to saddle up and ride. And keep ridin’.”
Slowly Osteen got to his feet, and when he faced Bowdre, the hate in his eyes said he had an alternative in mind. He hooked his thumb over his pistol belt, just inches above the butt of his Colt. Slowly he backed away until he and Bowdre were a dozen yards apart. Sidewinder quick, Osteen had his Colt out and spitting lead before Bowdre drew, but Osteen’s first shot went wide. Bowdre fired once, and Osteen’s Colt began to sag. His second shot drove a slug into the ground at his feet, and he stared at Bowdre with venom in his eyes, as his own blood soaked the front of his denim shirt. He stumbled backward, his knees buckling, and fell on his back. Bowdre waited a moment before reloading his Colt, but Osteen didn’t move. Bowdre holstered the Colt and turned to face the rest of the men.
“That leaves us a man short,” said Bowdre, “but he wouldn’t have it any other way. The bone orchard’s full of damn fools with more pride than horse sense. I’ll be taking Osteen’s place in the tunnels. Mose, I want you, Yavapai, and Sanchez to watch the hosses. We’ll be back here before dark. Any questions?”
There were none. Bowdre and his companions set out for the mountain and its tunnels while Mose, Yavapai, and Sanchez watched them until they were out of sight. Sanchez stood slightly behind Mose, so the Negro couldn’t see the look Sanchez passed to Yavapai. It was time.
There was no talk until Bowdre and his men entered the mountain and reached the point where the passage divided.
“So you follered the stream to the end,” said Bowdre, “and took the only other passage until it ran out.”
“We did,” Carp said. “When we got back to here, we took just a few steps on into the mountain, and that’s where we found the hat.”
“We’ll foller the other leg of this passage, then,” said Bowdre, “and go as far as it’ll take us.”
They passed other tunnels, but Bowdre kept straight ahead. He paused only when the passage narrowed down until they could no longer stand.
“Git on yer hands and knees,” Bowdre said. “We’ll foller it a ways. Maybe it’ll widen some, and if it don’t, we’ll turn back.”
“Waste of time,” answered Sandoval. “It’ll likely pinch down to nothin’. We might as well backtrack and try another tunnel.”
“Only if this one plays out,” Bowdre said. “Let’s go.”
Bowdre took the lead, laughing exultantly as the passage expanded. They soon found themselves in a huge cavern, and although their original passage had ended, there were two others leading out in different directions.
“Let’s try the one on the right,” said Carp. “I’m bettin’ it’ll take us to Wells and Holt. Or at least to the camp they’ve been usin’.”
The rest of the men enthusiastically agreed, and Bowdre went along with it. The way grew steeper, and there were other passages leading off, but they kept to their original course. From somewhere ahead, they could hear falling water.
“Hold it,” Bowdre said. “They would have needed fresh water. This could be Wells and Holt’s hideout.”
They moved cautiously ahead until Bowdre could see into the cavern that had so recently been occupied by Arlo, Dallas, and the Logan girls.
“Nobody here,” he said.
His companions followed, and immediately they took the second passage that opened beneath the mountain’s west rim, where the horses and mules had been taken in and out.
“By God,” Os Ellerton said, “this is some dandy camp. We been rained on, dodged Apaches and lightnin’ bolts, an’ hunted water, while these hombres and their horses was kept safe an’ dry, with fresh water a-plenty.”
“Yeah,” said Three-Fingered Joe, “and it’s damn strange. Don’t make sense, runnin’ out on a camp like this.”
“The hell it don’t,” Zondo Carp responded. “We run a pair of ’em into the tunnel, didn’t we? They was smart enough to know we’d foller ’em into the tunnels and end up here. So they skedaddled.”
“That’s it,” Bowdre agreed.
“Since they knew of this passage,” said Sandoval, “maybe they have another one, down another tunnel.”
“I doubt it,” Bowdre said. “They’d expect us to find any other such camp the same way we found this one.”
“This is one damn fine camp,” said Ellerton. “Since they pulled out, why don’t we take this place for ourselves?”
“Because we got eight hosses that have to eat,” Bowdre said, “and even if they could live on nothin’ but grain, we can’t afford it.”
“Could get damn unhealthy in here, anyhow,” said Sandoval. “If this Wells and Holt took to throwin’ lead in here agin these stone walls an’ ceilin’, the ricochets would be hell. I reckon we’d all end up as coyote bait.”
“There must be some kind of trail down this side of the mountain,” Three-Fingered Joe offered. “Why don’t we take this other passage to the outside and find out?”
“Because we don’t need it,” replied Bowdre. “Not unless we decided to make this our camp. We’re goin’ back the way we come, and when we get to the bottom of this mountain, we’ll try that other passage.”
They hadn’t traveled far on their return journey when they reached a side passage that angled off to their right. They paused when their torch flickered, a draft sucking at the flame.
“That’s bound to lead to the outside,” said Three-Fingered Joe. “Let’s see where it comes out.”
It was the passage Paiute had once shown Dallas and Arlo. It led to a point well below the western rim, without access to the top or to the foot of the mountain. But it afforded a view for miles, and after dark the lights of the distant town would be visible. Once Cass Bowdre and his companions discovered it was a dead end with only hundreds of feet of empty space below, they lost interest. All but Sandoval, for he had seen something the others had missed.
“Horses and men,” Sandoval called out. “Over yonder to the northwest.”
The midmorning sun bore down with a vengeance, and heat waves danced across the distant plain, making visibility difficult. The tiny figures appeared, vanished, and appeared again.
“Two riders,” said Bowdre, “and eight riderless horses, trailin’ northwest. Who are they, and where…”
“By God,” Sandoval roared, “them’s got to be our horses, and I’d bet a pair of Texas boots the coyotes drivin’ ’em ain’t Apaches.”
The terrible truth hit them with the force of a buffalo stampede. Bowdre, cursing under his breath, lit out down the passage, the others following. They ran through the cavern and fought their way up the crevice to the mountaintop. They paused, breathing hard, and then set out for the east rim. They slipped and slid down the precipitous trail, crossing the canyon where the Apache attack had taken place, then entering the adjoining, canyon where they had made their camp. They saw and heard
nothing. Not a horse was in sight. Mose Fowler lay facedown, his hands bound behind his back, his feet raw-hided together. There was a nasty gash across the back of his head, still oozing blood. Bowdre cut the man loose and he sat up, blinking in confusion.
“What the hell happened?” Bowdre demanded.
“Them no-account Mexes,” said Mose bitterly. “The rest of you not be more’n out of sight, when the varmints wallops me on the head and takes the hosses. I be ’shamed, bein’ took so easy. I git the hosses back.”
“Wasn’t your fault, Mose,” Bowdre said in a rare moment of compassion. “Them two played us all for suckers, and I oughta be hung upside down over a slow fire for believin’ they was anything more than thievin’ pelados. They ain’t been interested in lookin’ for gold. The coyotes just hung around until the time was right to steal our hosses.”
“They ain’t got that much of a start on us,” said Sandoval. “They jumped Mose early, figurin’ to have a whole day before we come out of the passages and found they’d robbed us. They wasn’t expectin’ us to see ’em from the mountaintop.”
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