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Authors: Ralph Compton

Tags: #West (U.S.) - History, #Western stories, #Westerns, #Fiction, #Superstition Mountains (Ariz.), #Teamsters, #Historical fiction, #General

Skeleton Lode (5 page)

BOOK: Skeleton Lode
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As Gary Davis, Barry Rust, and R. J. Bollinger were about to leave the hotel, Davis turned to his wife, Paulette, and the Logan girls.

“We may be gone a while,” Davis said, “and I don’t want none of you leavin’ this room. Is that clear?”

 

Paulette nodded. Kelly and Kelsey Logan only looked at him, and he could plainly see the hate in their eyes. The trio stepped into the hall, and Davis had barely closed the door when Kelsey Logan exploded.

 

“God, how I hate him!” she hissed.

 

“No more than I,” cried Kelly. “He’s a brute, the snake that Uncle Henry always said he was.”

 

“That’s no way to speak of your father,” Paulette shouted angrily. “I won’t have it!”

 

“He’s not our father,” Kelly cried. “Our daddy’s dead, and I believe this … this scum, Gary Davis, had more than a little to do with it.”

 

Paulette Davis hit the girl with such force that she stumbled against the wall. Kelly said nothing. She stood there breathing hard, her face white with fury, her eyes a cold blue. Paulette was shocked, for the girl was looking at her in much the same way Jed Logan had the week before he had been killed, the week he had branded Paulette a whore for her relationship with Gary Davis. Jed Logan was gone, but his daughter looked at her with those same accusing eyes. Jed Logan’s eyes! In them was a mixture of disgust, pity, and hate that was too much for Paulette Davis.

 

“Kelly … I … I’m sorry,” she said, backing away.

 

“Don’t be,” said Kelly through clenched teeth. “I know what you are, and so did Uncle Henry. Thank God he trusted his gold to those two cowboys.”

 

“Henry Logan was a sentimental old fool,” Paulette snapped.

 

“You never knew or cared about Uncle Henry,” said Kelsey quietly, “and he knew it. He saw through you like Daddy never did, until it was too late. Maybe this gold somewhere in the Superstitions is Uncle Henry’s way of getting back at you from the grave. You ignored him when he told us of the lonely canyons in the Superstitions, of the crying of the wind among the peaks, of the ghostly shadows in the light of a full moon. Uncle Henry said all who are drawn to the mountains by greed find only death.”

 

Kelsey Logan spoke softly, but her words had a strange effect, as though something—or somebody—spoke through her. Eerie tremors crept up Paulette’s spine, and she shuddered.

 

Leaving the hotel, Gary Davis and his companions got a quick taste of what their foolish day in court had cost them. The men now following them made no attempt to conceal their presence.

“By God, Barry,” said Davis sarcastically, “that was smart, showin’ our hand to every bastard in town. Now we got to hunt the gold with one eye and watch our backs with the other.”

 

“All right,” Rust said curtly, “you’ve made your point. I’m not perfect like you. I’m new to Western ways, but I’m smart enough to know we’re in no danger of being shot in the back until we find the gold. Now that brings us to an important question you haven’t answered: What of these troublesome cowboys, who not only have the rest of the map but know what’s in our half?”

 

“There’s only one answer,” replied Davis. “Henry Logan has made a fool of me. He had no intention of me findin’ his claim. Otherwise, why did he trust two fiddle-footed cowboys with the whole map, while sending only half of it to Kelly and Kelsey?”

 

“That won’t make no difference,” Bollinger said. “Once we’re out of town, away from this hick sheriff, I’ll gun those hombres down and we’ll take their map.”

 

“Don’t be a damn fool,” scolded Davis. “We know nothing about the Superstitions. If we
had
the map, what chance would we have of ever finding the mine? Let’s allow these friends of Logan to find the gold and
then
gun them down.”

 

“So you have no intention of looking for the gold at all,” Rust said. “We’ll just be following Wells and Holt.”

 

“Exactly,” said Davis. “Can you come up with a better plan?”

 

“No,” Rust admitted, “but I’d be more impressed if we didn’t have to share it with the rest of the town, maybe even the territory.”

 

“Well, you know whose fault that is,” said Davis roughly.

 

“So I made a mistake,” Rust snapped. “Now get off it. We have to put up a convincing front. What’s our first move?”

 

“We’ll hire a guide,” answered Davis. “First, so we don’t get lost in the mountains, and second, so it will appear that we’re searching for the gold in our own right,
instead of just following Wells and Holt, like everybody else.”

 

Part of south Phoenix had become so Mexican-dominated, it was referred to as Mex Town. Here in a smoke-filled cantina called the Paisano, sat Yavapai and Sanchez, a pair of ne’er-do-well Mexicans who made a dishonest living by working both sides of the border. Presently down on their luck, they were seeking some means—however devious—of bettering their position.

“I have heard of this Henry Logan,” said Sanchez, “and I have long believed there is gold in the Superstitions.”

 

“Ah,” Yavapai said, “who but foolish
gringos
would reveal such a secret before seeking to discover the truth of it for themselves?”

 

“Por Dios,”
sighed Sanchez, “it is a wretched time for us to be without even a
peso
for food. If we had supplies, it would be so simple to follow these
gringos
until they have found the gold, and then take it from them.”

 

“The Apaches believe their Thunder God lives in the Superstitions,” Yavapai said, “and I think before these mountains give up their gold, men will die. Per’ap there’s yet a chance for us to share this gold—or take it all.”

 

Assayer Herk Peterson heartily regretted ever having told that bunch from Missouri anything, even if some of them
were
Hoss Logan’s blood kin. Gary Davis and Barry Rust talked down to Peterson as though he was beneath them, a
pelado
who hadn’t revealed all he knew. Their attitude had rankled Peterson, and he had thoroughly enjoyed seeing them take a beating in court. He now watched with misgivings as the detested pair, accompanied by R. J. Bollinger, approached the assayer’s office. Whatever they wanted, Peterson would be courteous, but that was all. When the three men entered, it was Davis who spoke.

“Peterson, I need to hire a guide, a man familiar with the Superstitions. Who can you recommend?”

 

“Try some of the cantinas in south Phoenix,” said Peterson. “Ask for Yavapai and Sanchez. They know most of the mountains in southern Arizona, from the Superstitions to the Maricopas.”

 

Feeling a little guilty, Peterson watched the trio depart. He had told them the truth—most of it, anyway. At present, Yavapai and Sanchez were clean, but in their time they’d hidden from the law in many a mountain stronghold. The infamous duo had been suspected of robbing Butterfield stages, but they’d never been caught. Butter-field had hired more shotgun riders and ordered them to shoot to kill, and that had slowed the stage robberies considerably. Mexico, following its devastating defeat by the United States, had begun cleaning up some of the hellholes on the Mexican side of the border, so there were fewer and fewer havens for misfits like Yavapai and Sanchez. The pair had become as unwelcome south of the border as they were in Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. They were perilously close to being forced into honest work, if they could find any.

 
Chapter 2
 

Davis and his companions had no trouble finding Yavapai and Sanchez. The Mexicans were well dressed in tight-legged black trousers, white ruffled shirts, and waist-length black jackets with fancy red embroidery. Their high-heeled boots were polished black, with big roweled silver spurs. Neither of them spoke, only nodded to confirm their identity after Gary Davis spoke to them.

“I need a guide,” said Davis. “One that knows his way around the Superstitions.”

 

“You seek the Logan mine, no?” Sanchez said with a grin.

 

“Yes,” said Davis uncomfortably.

 

“Fi’ dollaire each day,” said Yavapai. “For Sanchez and Yavapai, fi’ dollaire each.”

 

“Five dollars a day, and that’s all,” Davis said angrily. “I ain’t payin’ but one of you.”

 

“Both of us go,” said Sanchez, “or neither of us.”

 

The two of them leaned back in their chairs, rested their boots on the table, and tipped their high-crowned hats down over their faces. The
gringos
had been dismissed.

 

“All right, damn it,” Davis growled, “I’ll take both of you. I suppose you want some money in advance?”

 

“No, Señor,” said Sanchez. “We trust you.” He tilted his hat back on his head and grinned slyly at Davis.

 

“You will provide the pack mules and provisions,” Yavapai said, coming to life. “When and where are we to begin?”

 

“In the mornin’, at daylight,” said Davis. “Meet me at the Frontier Hotel.”

 

The Mexicans watched Davis and his companions stalk out the door.

 

“If there is gold,” Sanchez sneered, “so much the better. If there is none, good mules will fetch fifty
pesos
apiece in Tucson or Tombstone.”

 

Ado and Dallas left their newly acquired mule and packsaddle at the livery and their order for supplies at the general store. The same men who had followed them from the hotel continued to pursue them as they returned to it.

“It’s still early in the day,” Arlo said. “Maybe we’d better get some sleep. We may be up late tonight.”

 

Unaccustomed to sleeping in the daytime, they dozed fitfully. Early in the evening they went down to the hotel dining room for supper. The only other occupants were Davis, Rust, and Bollinger, who sat drinking coffee and fortifying it with whiskey from a bottle on the table before them. They seemed not to notice Arlo and Dallas as they took a table near the door. They were almost finished eating when Paulette Davis and the Logan twins entered the dining room. As they passed the table where the cowboys were eating, one of the girls dropped a tiny wad of paper at Arlo’s feet. He waited until the trio was seated at their table, then purposely let his napkin slip to the floor. As he gathered it up, he concealed the bit of paper in his hand. The two men paid for their meal and returned to their room.

 

“I was hoping they’d get to us,” Arlo said, “because it’s damn near impossible for us to get to them.”

 

Arlo smoothed out the wrinkled paper to disclose two printed words:
Late tonight.

 

The night wore on, and the cowboys took turns watching, one dozing on the bed while the other waited at the unlocked door. It was well past midnight and Arlo was on guard in the darkened room, when suddenly there was a min ribbon of light from the hall, and their door moved just a little.

 

“I’m Kelly,” she whispered. “Please let me come in.”

 

Arlo eased the door open enough for her to enter, then silently and swiftly closed it behind her and woke Dallas.

 

“Here,” Arlo said, “you take the chair. Dallas and me can sit on the bed.”

 

“You were Uncle Henry’s friends,” she said softly, “and the last time we saw him alive, he spoke kindly of you. He knew he could trust the two of you with the gold and that you’d look out for Kelsey and me. Kelsey wanted to come too, but we were afraid for both of us to leave at the same time.”

 

“How old are you and Kelsey?” Arlo asked. “How much longer until both of you are legally free?”

 

“Practically forever,” the girl sighed. “We won’t be eighteen until the twenty-third of this December. Seven more months.”

 

“Tell us what we can do to help you,” Dallas said.

 

“Find Uncle Henry’s gold,” she whispered, “and keep it for Kelsey and me until we’re eighteen. Gary Davis is a devil. He’ll steal our share and kill you for yours.”

 

“Your Uncle Henry warned us about him,” Arlo said. “You’d better tell us the rest of the story.”

 

“Gary Davis was once Uncle Henry’s partner,” said Kelly, “until he ruined the girl Uncle Henry was to marry. Jed Logan, our daddy and Uncle Henry’s only brother, had a freighting business going, and Gary Davis started a competing freight line. Davis cut rates, took Daddy’s contracts, and finally forced him to sell out. Daddy took a job with Davis, and …”

 

She paused, gathering her strength, then continued.

 

“It’s so … sickening,” she said, “there’s no decent way to tell it. Our mother had an affair with Gary Davis. He sent Daddy on long hauls, and while he was gone, Davis and our mother …”

 

“That’s enough,” Arlo said. “We can see how it was. You think Davis had something to do with Jed—your daddy—being killed?”

 

“Oh, God,” the girl cried, “we almost know he did. Kelsey and me heard Daddy confront Mother. He called
her a whore and she laughed at him. A week later, Daddy was shot off the wagon box, and two weeks after that, Mother married Gary Davis.”

 

“There was no proof that Davis was behind Jed’s killing?” Dallas asked.

 

“None,” said Kelly, “but me and Kelsey knew. Some of the Davis wagons had been attacked before by outlaws and the freight stolen, but when Daddy was killed, nothing was taken. There’s been talk, but still no proof, that Davis is the head of a gang, attacking and looting his own wagons and then claiming the insurance. The only way Daddy’s killing makes sense is that Gary Davis wanted him dead.”

 

“Has Davis mistreated you and Kelsey?” Arlo asked.

BOOK: Skeleton Lode
13.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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