“We’d better get back inside.”
They moved into the lobby and made to resume their seats. Then, just as she began lowering herself, Sarah Ann started convulsively, jerked upright and pointed to the reception desk.
“Look!”
Her mother and sisters followed her trembling forefinger and gave vent to shocked gasps. They were looking at a wooden box some twenty-four inches square. The lettering on the near side was faded, but readable. Just the one word. “Dynamite”.
Elmira screamed and clasped her hands to her breast. Harriet loudly asserted, “We’ll all be killed!”
And their cries brought Theodore hustling from the passage, hefting the borrowed Winchester and looking as perplexed as ever.
“What is it?” he nervously inquired.
“Dynamite!” wailed Harriet. “We’re going to be blown up!”
“Nonsense!” frowned Sarah Ann. “I smell no smoke. I see no fuse.” Resolutely, she advanced to the desk to examine the contents of the box. At her glad cry, the others eyed her expectantly. “It’s food! Canned food! Come see for yourself!”
They hurried across to delve into the box, forgetting the mysterious circumstances of its arrival, and only half-conscious of the urgent footsteps outside. Larry came barging in, brandishing his cocked Colt. Close behind him came Stretch, Bart and Tom, in that order.
“What in tarnation ...?” began Stretch.
“Food!” breathed Sarah Ann. “There’s beans, peaches and beef, and a sack of flour, and ...”
“Where’d that chow come from?” demanded Larry.
“It’s all so mysterious,” frowned Elmira.
“We were just sitting here,” Sarah Ann explained, “waiting—just like you told us. And then ...”
“We went out to the porch, because we heard a noise,” said Elmira. “It was a donkey.”
“A burro,” insisted Sarah Ann. “Out there on the porch. Don’t ask me how it got there, Larry. It’s beyond me.”
“I heard Elmira scream,” offered Theodore.
“She started screaming,” said Sarah Ann, “when we came back inside and found the box.”
“Hold on now—let me get this straight.” Larry propped an elbow on the desk, frowned at the box of provisions, then at the entrance to the rear passage, then to the front door. “You were out there. Your father was out back.” He stared hard at Theodore. “Nobody came past you?”
“I haven’t seen a soul,” said Theodore.
“How long,” Larry prodded, “were you ladies peekin’ out the front entrance?”
“Only a few minutes,” Sarah Ann assured him.
“And that was just long enough,” mused Larry, “for our spook to sneak in here and stash the box. But how in glory did he do it? Where’d he come from?”
“Runt,” grunted Stretch, “are we gonna waste time askin’ questions that’s got no answers?” He licked his lips, eagerly studied the box. “Or are we gonna do somethin’ about that chow?”
“We’ll eat,” said Larry, “after we get a couple things straight in our minds.” He finished his examination of the mysteriously-delivered provisions, lowered the box to the floor and placed a boot on it, then fished out his makings and began building a smoke. “Heed what I’m tellin’ you now, because it’s important. We’ve just learned somethin’ about our spooky friend that ain’t partial to strangers. We’ve learned he can sneak in and out of here without usin’ the front door or the back. That’s one thing. Now—another thing ...”
“Holy cow!” frowned Tom.
“Another thing,” Larry continued. “He had a darn good reason for deliverin’ this grub. He must’ve been spyin’ on us—earlier—when I talked of findin’ a stable for our horses, and searchin’ for his cache. You get what I’m drivin’ at? He didn’t want us to look for him—or his cache—so he figured it’d be easier on himself if we stopped feelin’ hungry, which is why he brought us this food.”
“That seems reasonable,” frowned Theodore.
“But, Larry,” said Sarah Ann. “Surely he doesn’t mean to harm us. The ghost, I mean. Not that I believe he’s a ghost, And it’s plain he doesn’t want us to starve.” She gestured triumphantly to the box. “This proves it.”
“Maybe so,” drawled Larry. “But look at it thisaway. It could be he figures we’ll move out, as soon as we’ve eaten.”
“Uh-huh,” grunted Bart. “That’s likely what he’s thinking.”
“So, between now and mornin’,” warned Larry, “he might pull a few more tricks on us, tryin’ to scare us out.”
“I hope you’re wrong, Mr. Valentine,” sighed Theodore. “We’re all in need of sleep.”
“Most of us will get our sleep,” Larry assured him. “The women for sure. As for the men, well all take our turn.”
“At guard?” prodded Bart.
“At guard,” nodded Larry. “I want two guntoters on guard all night long. We’ll sleep four-hour shifts. One man sittin’ by the street-door, another out back.”
“But not just because of our mysterious host,” guessed Theodore.
“Theodore,” challenged Lavinia, “what do you mean by that?”
“Go ahead, Mr. Valentine,” the old man soberly invited. “The thought had already occurred to me, and I see nothing to be gained by hiding it from my family.”
“All right,” said Larry. “If that’s the way you want it.”
“Will somebody kindly explain ...?” began Lavinia.
“I’ll give it to you plain and simple,” muttered Larry. “We’re here because we got caught up in a sandstorm and forced off our route—and we weren’t the only ones travelin’ the desert when that storm hit.”
Bart’s eyes gleamed.
“You’re thinking of those six jailbirds?”
“My gosh, he’s right!” scowled Tom. “They didn’t have time to ride outa the desert. I betcha they got lost, too!”
“And, for all we know,” said Larry, “they could be wanderin’ somewheres close by, lookin’ for shelter.” He shrugged helplessly, frowned an apology at the women. “Sorry I have to faze you, ladies, but it’s like Mr. Newbold says. Better you should know what we’re up against—or what we might be up against.”
Momentarily at least, the women had lost their appetites. They ignored the box of provisions and eyed Larry askance. Elmira said, with her voice shaky with fear:
“If they find us again—they’ll murder us all!”
Stretch grinned mirthlessly, and retorted, “That’ll be the day.”
“They’re well-armed,” mused Theodore. “If my memory serves me correctly, they had two rifles—before they stole Mr. Darrance’s shotgun and pistol, and Mr. Shackley’s pistol.”
“But we,” countered Larry, “ain’t exactly helpless.”
“Two Winchesters and three Colts,” observed Bart.
“So,” said Larry, “if Elrigg and his pards come sneakin’ into Fortuna, we’ll make ’em wish they were still crackin’ rocks at Pima Valley.”
“I couldn’t bear it,” murmured Elmira. “Not—not again!”
“Don’t worry,” said Larry. “Any owlhooters that reach you, it’ll be over our dead bodies.”
There was a long silence. Theodore Newbold broke it with a quiet declaration.
“I apologize for my family, Mr. Valentine. My wife and daughters are too shocked to appreciate the significance of what you have just said. You’ve promised to protect them with your life. The least I can do is thank you—in advance.”
“Forget it,” shrugged Larry.
“And now?” prodded Stretch.
“And now you tote that box out to the kitchen,” ordered Larry, “and check the stove. It likely needs fixin’.”
“We’re gonna eat!” Tom Shackley smacked his lips and rubbed his belly. “By golly, I could eat a horse—head, tail and all.”
“You can leave the cooking to me,” offered Sarah Ann, as she rolled up her sleeves. “Give me just a quarter-hour at that stove, and I’ll fix you a s
upper to melt in your mouth.”
Surprisingly, the kitchen of this long-abandoned hotel was in reasonable condition. Stretch found that the stove needed cleaning, but was otherwise ready for use. While Tom gathered wood, the taller Texan scoured the inside of the stove and rubbed its surface clean, all the time trading light-hearted comments with the industrious Sarah Ann. Already, she had emptied the box and was opening cans, preparing a substantial supper for all hands.
With her mother and sisters out of earshot, she was inclined to confide in any friendly male, especially a male as guileless as Stretch Emerson.
“I guess I’m just as scared as Mama and Elmira and Harriet,” she admitted. “But, just between you and me, I wasn’t looking forward to our journey’s end.”
“You mean the weddin’ at Vine City?” he prodded. “Sister Elmira gettin’ hitched to this Orin hombre?”
“It’ll be the grimmest wedding ever,” she sourly predicted. “Just as grim as any funeral, what with Mama and Harriet weeping all over the place. They always weep at weddings. I know, because I always have to go along, whether I like it or not.”
“Sounds rough,” Stretch sympathized.
“Poor Orin Jaekle,” she sighed. “Well, in time he’ll get used to Elmira—I suppose. And one thing he can be thankful for. The Newbold family will be heading home to Los Angeles after the wedding. At least Orin won’t have Mama haunting him, when he settles down to married life with my sister.”
“And how about you?” he demanded. “You ain’t too young to be thinkin’ of gettin’ yourself a man.”
“I already have my eye on a man—a good man,” she confided. “And I’ll do my best to win him.”
“Miss Sarah Ann ...” He darted a cautious glance towards the kitchen entrance, “you couldn’t win a hairless boy or a white-haired old widower—not while ever your ma is bossin’ things. No offence, but any man that catches sight of her is gonna fill his saddle and run for the yonder.”
“It’s all right,” she sadly assured him. “You don’t have to apologize. All this trouble, the hold-up and being lost in the desert and all, you’d think it would change her, wouldn’t you? You’d think she’d stop being such a tyrant? But not mama. There’s nothing could change her.”
“You said,” he prodded, “you got your eye on a good man.”
“Bart!” she whispered.
“Well, doggone!” he protested. “You scarce know him!”
“I’ve known him long enough,” she countered, “and he’s the kind of man I’ve always dreamed about. Strong, but gentle. And brave. And—when he smiles—oh my ...!” She sighed heavily. He grinned a knowing grin and nodded to the pot.
“Keep stirrin’, Miss Sarah Ann, else that stew is gonna burn.”
The hotel boasted a sizeable but useless dining room; the floorboards were rotted, the furniture was in bad repair. At Larry’s suggestion, supper was served in the lobby. The others made themselves as comfortable as possible, while he squatted by the front entrance, slowly working his way through his share of Sarah Ann’s stew and never taking his eyes off the gloom-enshrouded main street.
After that meal, Sarah Ann incurred her mother’s displeasure by tearing a strip from her petticoat and improvising a fresh bandage for Bart Darrance’s arm. He muttered his thanks and turned a deaf ear to the stern admonitions of her mother, as she seated herself beside him. His right sleeve was cut away from the shoulder. Stretch came over to inspect the angry gash, and Larry drawled a query.
“How does it look, big feller?”
“Yeah,” grinned Bart. “How does it look? I can’t see it unless I sprain my neck.”
“Clean,” frowned Stretch.
“All right,” said Larry. “Cover it up again.”
Stretch drifted away from the young couple and positioned himself beside his partner in the doorway. And then Bart, after ascertaining that he couldn’t be overheard, told Sarah Ann:
“Your ma will fracture your ear for a week. Is it worth all that hollering, just to play nursemaid to a stranger?”
“Well ...” She spoke very softly, “I don’t think of you as a stranger.”
“That’s friendly,” he remarked. “A mite too friendly to please your ma, I’ll bet.”
“I choose my own friends,” she murmured. “At least, I try to.”
“There’ll come a time,” he warned, “when you’ll want to choose more than just a friend. You’ll hanker for marriage and a regular husband—and then what?”
“It’ll be my decision,” she asserted.
“No,” he frowned. “You’re under age. You couldn’t be more than seventeen.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” she smiled. “It happens I’m an old maid of nineteen summers.”
“Until you’re twenty-one,” he mused, “she’ll walk in your shadow.”
“Meaning mama?”
“Meaning her,” he nodded.
“Barton Darrance,” she murmured, “you sound like a man who’s interested in my future.”
“Don’t I though?” he grinned.
“But do you really mean it?” she prodded. “We know so little about one another ...”
“You’ll learn how much I mean it,” he muttered, “the next time you’re in danger. You remember what Larry Valentine said? If Elrigg and his bunch came to Fortuna and tried to harm you, it’d have to be over our dead bodies. And that goes double for me, Sarah Ann.”
She finished securing the bandage, clasped her hands in her lap and searched his face with her bright blue eyes. “I believe you,” she declared.
“Tom,” called Larry, “check that timepiece of yours.”
Tom fished out his watch, squinted at it.
“Ten after eight, Larry.”
“All right,” said Larry. “I’ll hold this position till midnight. Tom, you through eatin’?”
“Sure enough,” grinned Tom, “and I never felt so healthy.”
“Bueno,” nodded Larry. “Take my rifle and stake out by the rear door. The ladies can go catch up on their sleep. Stretch, you and Bart and Mr. Newbold can bunk right here in the lobby. That’s it folks. Get movin’ now.”
He rolled and lit his after supper cigarette and watched his weary companions, as they slowly responded to his orders. For the stage-crew and their passengers, it had been quite a day.
After Lavinia had hustled her brood upstairs, old Theodore made himself moderately comfortable on the sagging couch over by the kitchen entrance. Tom toted his borrowed rifle out back to begin his stint of guard duty. Bart relaxed in an upholstered chair, using the two saddles as a footrest. Stretch, before settling himself on the floor, extinguished every lamp, so that the only illumination was the pallid moonlight that filtered through the front door and windows.
“All set?” asked Larry.
“All set,” grunted Stretch, from his position beside the reception desk.
And the travelers settled down for the night, hoping for deep sleep, but fearing the worst. Could anything worse happen—anything worse than what had already befallen them this fateful day? It could, and probably would, reflected Larry, as he began his vigil.
Fortuna was tomb-quiet, but destined to come alive before dawn, because, just as Larry had surmised, Elrigg and his cronies had lost their way in the storm. At this very moment, they were moving in the general direction of the ghost town.
Chapter Seven
The Laughing Phantom
“No use tryin’ to cross this desert in the night,” complained Morrow.
“The hell with it, Elrigg!” called Vincent. “We likely been ridin’ around in a circle!”
“Are you jaspers gonna whine all night?” challenged Duke Trenton. “No fault of Cleave’s we ran into a sandstorm.”
“We don’t ride in circles,” Bush assured them. “For the last hour, we go straight.”
Elrigg jerked back on his improvised rein and called a halt. His temper was worn as thin as the taut nerves of his cronies, but he was maintaini
ng control of himself. The storm, so sudden, so unexpected, had forced them to hunt cover. They had scattered in disorder and Elrigg had lost valuable time re-mustering them. In the bed of an arroyo they had quenched their thirsts and eaten their fill of the provisions hijacked from the eastbound stage. Now, they were on the move again, and Elrigg had no illusions as to the seriousness of their predicament.
“Before the storm,” frowned Trenton, “we had some idea of where we were headed, but not anymore. No use fooling ourselves, Cleave. We’re lost.”
“Jud?” prodded Elrigg.
“Better in daylight,” muttered Bush. “We’ll take bearings from the sun, start moving north-east again.”
“But,” Elrigg grimly reminded him, “we don’t know how far off-course we’ve travelled—or whether our food and water will last.”
“This damn desert,” scowled Trenton, “could still beat us.”
“Speak for yourself,” growled Vincent. “Me and Wes are pushin’ on, no matter what.”
“On tight rations,” reflected Elrigg, “we could probably survive on what little food we have left. I say probably. I wouldn’t stake my life on it. But water—we can’t make it without water, and these canteens are damn near empty.”
“I’ll tell you what we gotta do,” offered Morrow. “We gotta find that stage-trail. There must be waterholes all along the route. Stage-line wouldn’t use this desert for a short-cut unless there was plenty water to be had.”
“I’m thirsty,” frowned Wayne Fields.
“Talking about it doesn’t help,” muttered Trenton. “We’re all thirsty.”
“Why don’t we rest up till sunrise?” suggested Vincent. “Then we can start lookin’ for the stage-trail, just like Wes says.”
“There’s bright moonlight,” Elrigg pointed out. “Just as much chance we’d find the route tonight as in daylight. We’ll keep moving in this direction a couple more hours. Every man has to keep his eyes peeled.”
“Two more hours,” warned Vincent, “and these team-horses are gonna need rest—and water.”
Elrigg showed him a cold smile and dropped a hand to the butt of his stolen .45.
“Arnie,” he drawled, “I’ve appointed myself boss of this outfit. That means I give the orders, and you’ll do as I say. You want to argue about that?”
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