Skeleton Lode

by Ralph Compton

  “Still sore,” said Kelsey, “but I need to be doing something. I just wish Kelly and me were going with you.”

  “I’m still not sure we shouldn’t,” Kelly said. “If something happened, and you didn’t come back, we’d go crazy worrying.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” said Dallas, “and we’ll be back before dark. I can’t imagine anything going wrong, unless we’ve miscalculated somehow. But if there’s no way in or out except the way we’re goin’ in, we’ll have us a time of it, climbin’ them ropes back up that drop-off.”

  “I hate to mention this,” Kelsey said, “but once you’re at the bottom, your ropes will still be secured at the top. Won’t that be a dead giveaway once Davis and his bunch reach that drop-off overlooking the river?”

  “It would be if we left them there,” said Arlo, “but once we’ve found another way out, we’ll have to go back through the passage and get the ropes. We may need them again, anyway. This is another step in our search for the mine, but we don’t know that it’s the last one.”

  Dallas and Arlo picketed the mules in a thicket far enough from the cabin to prevent discovery. Finally they were ready. When they rode out with their ropes and coal oil lanterns, it was a sad parting. For the first time since Kelly and Kelsey had joined them in the search for Hoss Logan’s mine, they were leaving the girls behind. For some troublesome reason they didn’t understand, Kelly and Kelsey were afraid. After Arlo and Dallas had ridden away, it was Kelsey who spoke of it.

  “I know it’s foolish to think this way, but every time we have a chance to be happy, it seems like something always happens and takes it away from us. Daddy got into the freighting business and Gary Davis ruined him. Then Mother got involved with Davis and Daddy was killed. Because Uncle Henry hated Davis, we never saw Uncle Henry again, and now he’s gone. Am I being silly, worrying about Arlo and Dallas?”

  “No,” said Kelly. She sat down on the bunk next to her sister. “If you’re being silly, then so am I. We’ve known these cowboys for just a few days, but even in that short a time, I can’t imagine what our lives would be like without them. They’re strong men, good men, just like Uncle Henry told us. But I’m afraid of … of those mountains. I’m somehow drawn to them, but I’m scared to death of them.”

  “We’re drawn to them the way Uncle Henry must have been,” Kelsey said, “but I don’t think he feared them. Perhaps we won’t either … after today.”

  Arlo and Dallas rode west of Saguaro Lake and then south. That way, if they were observed from the mountain, it wouldn’t be so obvious they had come from the Logan cabin. Just as they were about to turn south, they crossed the northbound trail of the horses Yavapai and Sanchez had taken.

  “Ten horses,” said Dallas, reading sign. “That pair of Mex thieves must have taken every last one of them.”

  “Let’s follow that trail a ways,” Arlo said. “There’s plenty of boot tracks, and maybe we can get some idea as to how many men are in that bunch that’s trailin’ the horses.”

  Without difficulty they found the tracks of six men.

  “Ten horses,” Dallas said. “But includin’ Yavapai and Sanchez, there’s only eight riders. They’re missing two men.”

  “They might have left them behind,” said Arlo, “but with the Apache threat, that wouldn’t make any sense, and neither does this trail. Yavapai and Sanchez are headed straight for the Mazatzals, and that’s Apache stompin’ grounds.”

  “The whole bunch may lose more than their horses,” Dallas said. “These six hombres on foot may not be familiar with the Mazatzals, but Yavapai and Sanchez have been around these parts long enough that they should know the risk.”

  As Arlo and Dallas approached the Superstitions, they rode southwest. They would depend on the hidden trail getting them to their old camp.

  “We may have the mountain to ourselves for a while,” said Arlo, “but we can’t afford to take any chances with our horses. I reckon we’d better leave them where they used to graze when we camped below the west rim. We can enter the passage from our old camp, follow it to the foot of the mountain, and take the second passage to the drop-off overlooking the river.”

  Leaving the horses to the scant graze, they cautiously approached the hidden cavern that had so recently been their camp. Before they entered it, Dallas lit one of the lanterns.

  “They’ve been here,” Arlo said.

  There were many boot tracks in the dust, and they led out the way Arlo and Dallas had come in.

  “They got here through the passage from the foot of the mountain,” said Dallas, “but when they left, they followed that crevice that goes up to the mountaintop. Now why didn’t they go back the way they came, along the same passage we’re about to go into?”

  “Something more important must have come up,” Arlo said. “Look at the length of their strides. I’d say they left here on the run.”

  “Maybe this was as far as they got before they learned Yavapai and Sanchez had taken their horses and headed for the Mazatzals,” said Dallas. “It’s a definite edge for us. Now we can get down to that river without wonderin’ if they’re right behind us.”

  “They may have gone into the other passage before they did this one,” Arlo said, “but it won’t matter. Without the signs Hoss left, they’d have no reason to fight their way down to the river.”

  “On our way to Tortilla Rat,” said Dallas, “Kelly and me saw a pair of them goin’ into that passage that opens into the canyon on the east side of the mountain. I reckoned the lariats they had was for crossin’ that big hole in the passage that leads to the skull peak. That should have kept them busy for most of a day, since they’d have to come out the same way they went in. We still have an edge.”

  The two cowboys continued along the downward path leading to the cavern at the bottom of the mountain. From there, one passage opened into the canyon at the eastern foot, while a second angled away farther into the mountain. It was this passage that led to the precipitous drop-off and the underground canyon through which the river flowed. As they went, Dallas scanned the stone walls, seeking some evidence that Davis and his followers had been in the passage. He paused when they reached the drawings he and Kelly had discovered.

  “Brush off the flanks of those last two horse drawings,” Dallas said.

  Once again the spots Hoss had cut into the stone were revealed.

  “Hoss Logan was one shrewd old devil,” said Arlo. “Who else would have thought to add a pair of spotted ponies to an old Indian drawing in such a way that they’d be meaningless to anyone except Kelly and Kelsey? Hoss wanted to be damn sure we wouldn’t give up when we got to the drop-off and the river.”

  “That’s why I think we’ll have this river to ourselves for a while,” Dallas said. “These other hombres, unless they’re sharper than I think they are, won’t have the assurance that Hoss left to us. But just the thought of swingin’ off down that drop-off is enough to scare the hell out of a man.”

  “It may not be all that scary,” said Arlo. “It has to be forbidding when you’re at the brink with only a lighted splinter, but what seems like the pits of hell may change when you add some decent light. We’ll let one of these lanterns down the side on a rope, and maybe we can get some idea as to what we’re up against.”

  As they neared the precipice, Arlo lit the second lantern and knotted one end of a length of rope to the lantern’s bail.

  “It’s got to be more than two hundred feet down,” Dallas said. “Want more rope?”

  “Not for the lantern. Its light won’t be good for more than a few feet at a time. Rope your lantern and we’ll ease ’em both over the edge at the same time. Maybe then we can light the way down far enough to see if there’s any slope to this wall.”

  Slowly they played out the rope, taking care to avoid creating a pendulum motion that might smash a lantern globe against the stone wall. The dim glow from the lanterns proved effective for maybe a dozen feet.

  “At least it ain’
t straight down,” Dallas said. “It slopes some along the upper part.”

  “That’s good, but not good enough,” said Arlo. “We’ll have to go at this like the calf ate the grindstone—a little at a time. That means we’ll have to go down far enough to find a place to rest, lower the lantern some more, and then take a new start from there.

  Dallas raised the lantern back to the rim, and by its light Arlo tied the end of his rope to a boulder that seemed firmly anchored, holding the other lantern in place below the rim. Then he took another two hundred feet of rope and began tying knots in it spaced two feet apart. Next he tied one end of the rope to an abutment and the other end firmly under his arms. He grasped the rope and tested it. Pulled tight, it held, supporting his weight.

  “While I’m working my way down,” said Arlo, “take another length of rope and start tying knots for handholds.”

  Arlo bellied down near the edge of the precipice, his feet toward the drop-off, the rope taut in his hands. Once he was over and swinging free, the wall sloped outward to the extent that he was able to get his feet against the face of it. Handhold by handhold, keeping the rope taut, he inched down the wall.

  “All right?” Dallas inquired anxiously.

  “So far,” said Arlo. “Let the lantern down until I stop you.”

  Arlo clung to the rope, watching the lantern descend, its feeble light penetrating the blackness below.

  “Hold it,” Arlo shouted. “I’m goin’ on down as far as the lantern.”

  The hole in the face of the bluff hadn’t been visible until the lantern had been lowered past it. At some point in distant time, an enormous boulder had been torn loose, leaving an oval recess half a dozen feet deep. Once Arlo was even with the depression, he kicked away from the wall, and on an inward swing gained the ledge. He sank down on his knees, breathing hard, hands and arms numb with strain.

  “Arlo?” Dallas shouted.

  “Here,” said Arlo. “There’s a hole in the wall, maybe twenty-five feet down. I have the lantern. Turn the rope loose, then lower the other lantern. When I loosen this line, haul it up, loop it under your arms, and come on down like I did. You’ll be in the dark for the first few feet, but there’ll be light by the time you need it. Don’t forget that last piece of rope.”

  Dallas lowered the second lantern and Arlo hauled it in, rope and all. Arlo then freed himself from the rope he had used to descend, and Dallas pulled it back up. He then secured the line to himself and went over the edge, walking down the wall to the shelf where Arlo waited.

  “When I’ve rested some,” Dallas said, “I’ll take the next turn. Kind of bare in here—nothin’ to tie a rope to.”

  “I know,” said Arlo. “I’ve made allowance for that. We can always tie another two hundred feet of rope to that one, if we have to. All we need is a few more resting places like this to get us the rest of the way down.”

  Dallas took the next turn, following the lantern until he found another break in the wall where they could rest. When he found it—another twenty-five feet down—it was adequate—just barely. Arlo followed, and they stood with their backs to the wall, for that was all the space they had.

  “My God,” said Dallas, “what’s that awful smell? Somethin’ must be dead.”

  “Something or somebody,” Arlo replied. “From what Kelsey’s told me, before that first Apache attack two of those men from town disappeared in the mountain. They could easily have taken a turn toward the death’s head mountain and fallen into that hole we crossed in the passage floor.”

  “God,” said Dallas, shuddering, “what a way to die. We ought to call this river the Death’s Head. How many of those who never returned from the Superstitions do you reckon have left their bones here in this tomb?”

  “Some,” Arlo said, “but by no means all. There are some whose bones were found, except for the head. Remember, we found some of them ourselves when we first climbed the mountain with the death’s head at sundown. But who or what would kill a man and take only the head?”

  “I don’t know, and I ain’t sure I want to know,” said Dallas. “It gives me the whim-whams just thinkin’ about it. I just want to get to the bottom of this and find some better way in and out.”

  “So do I,” Arlo said, “and we’ll be a week gettin’ down this bluff, doin’ it this way. There has to be a faster way. I aim to run my belt through that lantern’s bail and take the light with me. With my feet against the wall and the lantern hanging behind me, I believe I can go down far enough to find another resting place before I give out.”

  “Suppose you don’t find one? No way I can haul you back up here. You’ll be dangling from the end of the rope, not able to go up or down.”

  “This wall’s sloping more and more,” Arlo said. “Before we reach the bottom, I think we may be able to work our way down without ropes.”

  The lantern hung behind Arlo as he began his descent. Suddenly the wall seemed to vanish and his feet dangled in the air, throwing all his weight on his arms and shoulders. Desperately he hand-walked down the rope until the light revealed his predicament. He had gone over a hump, like a huge stone chin, and the wall beneath it was recessed far beyond his groping feet. Dimly he could see sanctuary—a shelf beneath the overhang—but he couldn’t reach it. There was no feeling in his hands as they clung frantically to the rope, and his body broke out in a cold sweat. He began kicking, forcing himself to become a pendulum. Desperately he swung to and fro, toward the stone wall, which seemed farther and farther away. Sweat blinded his eyes until he couldn’t see. On his final forward swing, which might have taken him to safety, he was unable to clear the stone abutment that had been his undoing. His head smashed into the stone, his numb hands lost their grip, and the rope went slack.

  “Arlo!” Dallas cried. “Arlo, are you all right?”

  But there was no answer. Dallas heard only the pounding of his heart and the rushing of the underground river he himself had called the Death’s Head.

  Chapter 15

  Sunset was less than two hours away when Cass Bowdre and his angry companions reached the west bank of Saguaro Lake on their return journey. Their feet were blistered almost beyond endurance, and they hadn’t eaten since breakfast of the day before.

  “We got to have grub,” Bowdre said. “Must be a ranch or some miner’s shack where we can get a feed.”

  Nobody said anything. They stumbled on, following the southern perimeter of the lake until they came within sight of Hoss Logan’s cabin.

  “Place looks deserted,” said Three-Fingered Joe.

  “All the better,” Zondo Carp said. “Still might be grub there. We can break in and help ourselves.”

  Quietly they made their way to the cabin and Bowdre tried the door.

  “Damn,” he growled, “it’s barred from the inside. Zondo, see if there’s a back door, and if there is, try it.”

  “The back door’s barred too,” reported Zondo when he returned. “That means somebody’s in there.”

  “We’ll find out,” Bowdre said. “If nobody answers, we’ll bust in.” He pounded on the door with the butt of his Colt.

  Kelly Logan, looking out a slit in one of the shuttered windows did not like the looks of the six men at the door.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. “And what do you want?”

  “Who we are don’t concern you,” said Bowdre. “Injuns took our hosses. We’re afoot and hungry.”

  “Sorry,” Kelly said. “We don’t know you. My sister’s sick, and we don’t have more than enough food for ourselves.”

  Angrily Zondo Carp kicked the door as hard as he could. There was a roar from within the cabin and two slugs ripped through the door. One of them snatched off Bowdre’s hat and the other nicked Carp’s left ear. The men scattered to either side of the door, out of the line of fire.

  “Break that door in,” Kelly shouted angrily, “and I’ll kill the first man through it. Leave us alone!”

  Bowdre backed away and the others followe
d.

  “Damn them,” growled Zondo, nursing his bleeding ear. “I’ll gather some dead leaves and brush, and bum the place down on top of ’em.”

  “Just what we need,” Sandoval said sarcastically. “A big smoke to draw attention to us, when we ain’t got a horse to our name. Damn good thinkin’, Zondo.”

  “Come on,” said Bowdre. “Botherin’ a woman could get us all strung up quicker than hoss stealin’. We’ll find us one of them little minin’ settlements and get us some grub at their general store.”

  Kelsey Logan watched them leave, still gripping the Colt with both hands.

  “Who could they have been?” Kelsey asked.

  “I believe it’s that bunch from the Superstitions,” said Kelly. “They’re on foot, so that means they didn’t recover the horses Yavapai and Sanchez took. But there’s something I don’t understand. There were only six men, but Yavapai and Sanchez had eight extra horses. What’s become of Gary Davis?”