Skeleton Lode (35 page)

“Startin’ tomorrow,” said Bowdre, “we leave one man in camp, and two of us will explore another passage. The other two of us will be at the foot of the mountain before first light. We goin’ to do our damnedest to foller this Wells and Holt wherever they go.”

“You just raked me over for suggestin’ that very thing,” grumbled Carp. “I reckon you think it makes more sense, comin’ from you?”

“All right, Zondo,” Bowdre said, “back off. It was your idea, and while I still don’t think it’ll work, we ain’t losin’ nothin’ but time, givin’ it a try. There, now, does that satisfy you?”

“It makes more sense than anything you’ve said so far,” said Sandoval. “I never been one to lay all my
pesos
down on a single hand. You just hit on somethin’ that’ll keep all of us busy. What are you aimin’ to do with Davis, besides crackin’ his skull every time he throws a fit?”

“On our own, or by follerin’ Wells and Holt, I aim to narrow down this search for gold,” said Bowdre. “When we finally settle on a certain area, I’m hopin’ something will break loose in his memory, and Davis will lead us straight to the gold. Damn it, there has to be
something
that stuck in his mind. What kind of man could get his hands into ore as rich as that and not remember a blasted thing about where or how he found it?”

“Ah, hell,” Carp said, “he’s got just enough brains left to know he found the gold but not enough to remember where. You’d better hope the loco varmint don’t get crazy and jump me when it’s my day in camp. I’ll drill some holes in his gizzard and put him out of his misery.”

“Carp,” said Bowdre with a glare, “I ain’t wantin’ trouble, but I’m always willin’ to make exceptions for them that won’t have it any other way. Remember that. Osteen didn’t.”

Arlo reined in his horse behind a patch of greasewood and the others stopped next to him.

“We’re catchin’ up to them,” said Arlo. “If all of us ride in, it would raise a dust and give away our hands. Wait for me here. I’ll circle around and get ahead of them.”

Arlo rode ahead, far enough northeast that he wouldn’t be seen. Once he was sure the plodding men were well behind him, he rode south until they would pass close
enough for him to see their faces. Hiding himself and his horse in the chaparral, he waited. He could see the patches of sweat that darkened their shirts. He recognized none of the men except the two that limped along well behind the others. He waited until they had all passed from his view and then rode back to his companions.

“Five of them I’ve never seen before,” he reported, “but six and seven are none other than our old friends Yavapai and Sanchez. Whoever they’ve throwed in with, they’re an ugly-lookin’ bunch.”

“They must have followed our tracks from the cabin,” said Dallas, “and the seven of them have been beatin’ the bushes around the foot of the Superstitions, tryin’ to discover where we went.”

“I reckon that’s a good guess,” Arlo said, “but we still don’t know how those mules figure into all this.”

“No,” said Kelly, “but with with Yavapai and Sanchez involved, don’t you suppose there’s something crooked going on?”

“I’d bet a pile on it, myself.” Dallas said. “They’ve followed us once, and they’ll do it again. By leavin’ for the Superstitions before first light, we can lose ’em, but we’ll be leavin’ our horses and mules at their mercy. They could leave us on foot any time, just for the hell of it.”

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take,” said Arlo. “Hard as it is to spot that break in the wall, it’s not impossible. Somebody’s goin’ to find it if they look long enough and hard enough. I reckon we’ll have two or three days to find Hoss Logan’s mine before somebody learns the way into that river cavern.”

“I just have the awful feeling we won’t find any sign tomorrow when we spend the day on that canyon wall across the river. Where do we go from there?” Kelsey said.

“I don’t have the faintest idea,” said Arlo. “Hoss must have known we’d go over those walls an inch at a time, and it would be a hell of a lot of effort for nothing. I just can’t believe we won’t find a message of some kind.”

“Riders comin’,” Dallas warned, “and they’ve seen us.”

“I’d bet they’re followin’ the same trail we did,” Arlo said. “I expect we’re about to learn a little more about these strange goings-on. Keep your pistols handy until we know their intentions.”

The five strangers stopped thirty yards away. Each man was armed with a Colt and carried a rifle in his saddle boot. They were a hard lot, one and all, with raven-black hair, cold blue eyes, and thin, unsmiling lips. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, the leader spoke.

“We’re the Vonnegals. We brung a herd of mules down the Santa Fe from St. Joe. Last night they scattered all to hell an’ gone.”

“That’s not surprising,” Arlo said. “Bad storm.”

“We been through worse, an’ they didn’t run,” the man said sourly. “Truth is, some thievin’ varmints took advantage of the storm, stampeded the herd, an’ helped theirselves to six of our Missouri jacks.”

“Got any proof it was thieves, and not the storm?” Dallas asked.

“Proof enough fer us,” said the stranger. “Storm wiped out all the tracks, so we took to ridin’ to ranches an’ towns, askin’ questions. Our brother Tad rode to Tortilla Flat this mornin’, an’ was at the store when a gent showed up with two of our mules. When Tad’s hoss come in riderless, we back-trailed him and found Tad shot dead. We don’t care a damn about the mules, but Tad was kin—blood kin—and them what kilt him is goin’ to pay. You folks has been follerin’ that trail. What’s your stake in this?”

“None,” Arlo said, meeting their hard stares with one of his own.

On the Western frontier, a man who asked too many questions found himself not liking the answers. Without another word the five wheeled their horses and rode off to the southwest, returning to the trail they’d been following.

“Well,” said Dallas, “that explains where the mules came from.”

“Six men afoot, six stolen mules,” Kelly said. “It fits.”

“In spades,” Arlo said. “That hardcase bunch from the Superstitions saw a chance to swap stolen mules for horses, and took it.”

“When them five hombres from St. Joe catches up, whoever is closest to them mules is in for one hell of a fight,” said Dallas. “I reckon Yavapai and Sanchez is about to get throwed and stomped. When they come out of this—if they do—their coyote hides won’t hold shucks.”

Big Juarez splashed across the creek and paused on the farthest bank. The mule tracks and those of two horses continued, but that was all.

“What you be waiting for?” Garcia Ruiz shouted.

Juarez said nothing, waiting until Ruiz, Pepino Frio, and the Ortega brothers had all crossed the creek.

“Something’s not right,” said Juarez. “All
mulos
come out of the water, but only two of the horses.”

“Estupido,”
said Ruiz. “The others follow the creek.”

“Madre de Dios,”
Juarez snarled, “you t’ink I not know that? There be two ways,
tonto pelade Dos.
Which one?”

They might follow the stream for hours, only to discover the horsemen had gone the other way. Then, from somewhere ahead, came the braying of a mule. It offered a way out of the dilemma, and Juarez seized it.

“Mulos!”
Juarez shouted. “Let us take them.”

He set out after the beasts, and for lack of an alternative the others followed. Yavapai and Sanchez, however, paused, looking uncertainly up and down the creek. Suppose they showed up in town mounted on mules, instead of the horses Señor Domingo Vasquez had provided? It was more of a risk than they cared to take, and with a sigh, the perplexed pair limped off up the creek seeking the place the horses had left the stream.

“We find them!” Juarez shouted when he sighted the grazing mules.

“Silencio,”
snarled Ruiz. “You frighten them away and I kill you.”

But weariness and desperation lent caution to their footsteps, and they were successful in catching the five mules. Only when they were mounted did it occur to Juarez that the bothersome Yavapai and Sanchez were nowhere in sight.

“El Diablo’s hijos,”
Juarez bawled, “where be Yavapai and Sanchez? The
Señor
Vasquez say we must watch them, and now they be gone. We must find them.”

“
Si
,” Ruiz agreed. “The
señor
say we must watch them, but he do not say while we watch them, we cannot shoot them dead.” Drawing his pistol, Ruiz fell in behind Juarez and the five of them galloped their mules back toward the creek.

Meanwhile, Yavapai and Sanchez had made a shocking discovery.

“Sangre de Christo,”
Yavapai gasped, pointing. “Hombres come, and they be tracking us.”

The five Vonnegals were nearing the creek. Two hundred yards upstream, Yavapai and Sanchez went belly down in the tall grass. They dared not move until the Vonnegals had crossed the creek and were well out of sight. Two miles west of the creek, Juarez and his four companions topped a rise and came face-to-face with the five men coming up the other side. Recognizing their mules, the Vonnegals had an edge. Juarez, in the lead, bore the brunt of their fury. Four slugs ripped into him, flinging him to the ground, his pistol unfired. The remaining four men dropped into the knee-high grass, pulling their pistols as they went. A mule screamed as a slug grazed its flank, and all the animals lit out back the way they’d come. The Vonnegals had dismounted, and for the moment there was silence, as both factions considered their situation and sought some advantage. “Drop them guns an’ come out with your hands in the air,” one of the Vonnegals shouted, “or you git no mercy!”

“We ask none and we give none,
gringo bastardo,”
Ruiz responded.

It was a foolish taunt, and Ruiz soon discovered his folly. While the high grass was good cover, much of it
had seeded, and was dry enough to burn. Soon enough, the Vonnegals set the ground on fire. As the flames swept up the rise, there was enough smoke to cover the Vonnegals advance. The youthful braggart Pepino Frio was the first to make a break for it. In a zigzag run, Pepino almost reached the crest of the ridge before lead cut him down. Though the Vonnegals had little to shoot at, they simply poured lead into the tall grass, and one of the slugs caught Garcia Ruiz in the face. Juan and Juno Ortega were on their knees, Colts blazing, and in the few seconds before they died, they downed two of the Vonnegals. Finally, but for the distant cawing of a crow and the sigh of the wind, there was silence. While flames swept over the dead bodies of their recent companions, Yavapai and Sanchez got to their knees and peered cautiously down the creek, unsure as to their next move.

“There be some hell of a fight,” said Yavapai. “Why it be?”

“Who know?” Sanchez replied. “Per’ap Juarez and his
companeros
be dead. Per’ap it be us who must explain to the Señor Vasquez.”

“Si,”
said Yavapai gloomily. “Then
we
be dead.”

While the wait was long and their patience worn thin, Yavapai and Sanchez held their position until they knew who had won the fight and how many were yet alive. Finally they saw three riders—strangers—approach the creek from the west, riding back the way they had come. The trio of
gringos
led two riderless horses and drove the five mules.

“The
gringos
kill for
mulos
,” said Yavapai.

“Is not concern us,” Sanchez replied. “
Bastardos
who steal our horses take only five. There be two yet loose. Per’ap we catch them before they be reaching the town.”

“For why?” Yavapai asked. “These horses belong to Señor Vasquez, an’ when he learn of this, I not wish to be where he get his hands on me.”

“Nor I,” said Sanchez. “I think per’ap when we find these horses we ride south, where there be silver to steal and the stagecoach to rob. Per’ap the sheriff in Tucson
have been shot dead. A new one cannot know of us so good.”

Again Yavapai and Sanchez headed for town, carefully avoiding the rise where the grass still smoldered where lay the riddled, blackened bodies of all their former companions.

The wind was out of the southwest. Arlo slowed his horse and the rest of them drew up beside him. Though the ominous popping came from miles away, Arlo and Dallas recognized it for what it was.

“Hell’s busted loose,” said Dallas. “I reckon them Missouri hombres found their mules.”

“I just hope we find some sign tomorrow,” Kelsey said. “I’m so tired.”

“After dark, why don’t we all walk to Saguaro Lake and have us a bath and a swim? It’s plenty warm enough,” said Arlo.

“Good idea,” Dallas agreed. “All of us together, huh?”

“Why, hell no,” said Arlo. “You find a place for you and Kelly, and I’ll find one for Kelsey and me.”

“I thought we was pards,” Dallas said mournfully. “We always shared.”

“We share grub, money, and horses,” said Arlo, “and you’re welcome to my last clean shirt and my last pair of socks. But Kelsey and me have our own plans, and they don’t include you. I reckoned you and Kelly would have plans of your own by now. What’n hell’s come over you?”