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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 (6 page)

BOOK: Skeleton Lode
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“I have scars all over me,” said Kelly, “and so does Kelsey. We ran away right after Mother married him, and when they caught us, Davis beat us half to death.”

 

“Your mother …” Dallas began.

 

“Our mother did nothing,” said Kelly bitterly, “except threaten to send us to a house for wayward girls in St. Louis. Please,
please
find the gold, and don’t let Gary Davis get his hands on any of it.”

 

“Kelly,” Arlo said, “if there’s a claim, we’ll find it, and we’ll live up to your Uncle Henry’s trust in us. And we’ll go farther than that. We’ll help you and Kelsey escape your prison.”

 

“Oh, if you only could!” she sighed. “But what can you do, with us still legally under his and Mother’s control?”

 

“Maybe more than you think,” said Arlo. “Does he plan to take you and Kelsey into the Superstitions while he looks for the mine?”

 

“Yes,” Kelly said. “Kelsey and me are his only legal means of going after Uncle Henry’s claim. He’s afraid we’ll run away again if we have the chance.”

 

“Keep him thinking that way,” said Arlo. “You won’t be too far away from us during the search for the gold. If you need us, we’ll help you. He may have a legal hold on
you and Kelsey back in Missouri, but in the mountains of Arizona Territory, the only law is the gun.”

 

“When this search for the gold is done,” Dallas said, “things may have changed some. I’m givin’ you my word—we’ll free you from this Gary Davis, if I have to shoot him myself.”

 

“God bless you both,” she whispered, “for being Uncle Henry’s friends and for being friends to Kelsey and me.”

 

She opened the door just enough to slip through and closed it softly behind her. It was a while before Dallas broke the silence.

 

“If just half of what she says is true, this Gary Davis ought to be gut-shot and fed to the coyotes.”

 

“I don’t doubt a word of it,” Arlo said, “and even if we never find the gold, we’re going to free Kelly and Kelsey. I think Hoss would approve.”

 

Come first light, Arlo and Dallas loaded their provisions on the pack mule and rode out to the northeast, bound for Hoss Logan’s cabin. As expected, they were pursued by more than thirty riders, all would-be gold seekers. Davis and his bunch brought up the rear, led by the newly acquired guides Yavapai and Sanchez. Gary Davis, Bollinger, and the Logan girls seemed comfortable in the saddle, though Paulette Davis and Rust were suffering mightily.

“What a bunch of damn fools,” said Dallas in disgust. “They ain’t even smart enough to know we’re just ridin’ out to Hoss Logan’s cabin. If we rode into the Superstitions from the north, we could lose these pilgrims so bad they’d never find their way out.”

 

“That’s how we’re goin’ to rid ourselves of most of them,” Arlo said. “We’ll have Paiute to guide us, and we’re going to waste a few days wandering through the roughest damn country we can find. We’ll lose some of this bunch so completely that when they get out of the Superstitions, they’ll be glad to just ride on home.”

 

They found Paiute with his back to the same pine,
seeming not to have moved. There was ample evidence to the contrary, however. Not a scrap of food remained in the cabin, and there was an enormous pile of fish bones outside the back door.

 

“Our very own Indian,” Dallas sighed. “He smells like a grizzly that just crawled out of hibernation, he eats like a starving lobo, and he can’t talk.”

 

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Arlo grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I would suspect that Paiute devoured all the grub and Hoss starved to death.” He took from his pocket the leather poke in which Hoss Logan had sent the letter, the map, and the gold ore. He held up the poke, getting the Indian’s attention. He then pointed to Paiute, to the mule, and finally to the Superstition Mountains. Paiute nodded his understanding. The gold seekers who had followed Arlo and Dallas from town had halted within sight of the cabin.

 

“Now,” said Arlo, “let’s lead this bunch into the Superstitions and burn some of the gold fever out of ’em.”

 

Paiute had rounded up Hoss Logan’s mule, and he mounted with an agility that surprised both cowboys.

 

“Either he ain’t as old as he looks,” observed Dallas, “or he’s in mighty good shape.”

 

Paiute rode out, heading south, paralleling the Superstitions. Arlo and Dallas followed, Dallas leading the pack mule. The horde of gold seekers from town rode in pursuit. Gary Davis galloped ahead, catching up to Yavapai and Sanchez.

 

“What’s Wells and Holt doing?” Davis demanded.

 

“They have returned for the Indian who once rode with Señor Logan,” said Sanchez.

 

“We’re already in the foothills to the north of the Superstitions,” Davis growled, “so why are they ridin’ south?”

 

“Who knows?” said Yavapai, shrugging his shoulders. “It is you who said we are to follow these hombres. You do not say we must know what they are about to do and why they do it.”

 

Davis choked back an angry reply. He was paying this
insolent pair twice what they were worth, and
they
were talking down to
him.
He slowed his horse, allowing the rest of the party to catch up, only to encounter more of Paulette’s whining.

 

“Gary,” she groaned, “I haven’t ridden in years, and this is killing me. I must stop for a while.”

 

“Go ahead,” said Davis brutally. “The Apaches will put you out of your misery.”

 

Davis ignored her unladylike response, and Kelly and Kelsey laughed at her plight. Paulette leaned forward, her arms around the horse’s neck, trying to take some of the pressure off her ample backside. Barry Rust wasn’t faring any better, but he had just observed Gary Davis’s less than understanding reaction to complaints from his own wife, so Rust gritted his teeth and rode on.

 

“Where you reckon this Indian’s takin’ us?” Dallas wondered.

 

“Likely along the trails Hoss always rode,” said Arlo. “Canyons and washes slope down from the Superstitions and fan out for miles, every one a wilderness of cactus, thorns, and brambles. I’m countin’ on Paiute knowin’ the trails and how to find water.”

 

“We should have paid more attention when Hoss rambled on,” Dallas said glumly. “But how could we know we’d end up backtrailing him through the Superstitions?”

 

The Superstitions range extended south to the Salt River, which flowed on to its confluence with the Gila and the San Pedro, just west of Phoenix. They were almost to the Salt before Paiute turned west, entering the Superstitions from the south. In his approach to the mountains, he had chosen the most impenetrable flank possible, but he managed to find a trail where there seemingly was none. He hunched over the neck of his mule, ducking under low-hanging limbs, and pursued a zigzag course westward. They crossed hummocks of solid rock, where nothing grew except cacti, only to plunge immediately into yet another thicket of grease-wood, catclaw, stunted cedar, and a devilish array of
thorn-bearing underbrush whose barbs seemed to reach for any living thing that came close. Out of necessity they rode single file, and Arlo and Dallas had to push hard to keep up with the old Indian. So swiftly did they progress, twisting and turning, that it began to seem as though it was the mule who knew the trail and Paiute was just along for the ride. Suddenly from their back trail, there was a shriek, the frightened nicker of a horse, and the thud of hooves.

 

“Somebody just lost a horse,” said Arlo. “I hope it wasn’t one of the girls.”

 

“I’m bettin’ it was the she-buffalo,” Dallas said. “She straddles a horse like an off-balance sack of shelled corn on its way to the mill.”

 

Only Arlo and Dallas were close enough to observe Paiute’s devious twists and turns. All those in pursuit knew only the general direction the three lead riders were taking as they rode headlong into impenetrable thickets of thorns and brambles. Paulette Davis, fighting the barbs and brambles clawing at her, had been snatched out of the saddle by a low-hanging limb. Her shriek frightened the horse, and the animal almost trampled her as it lit out down the back trail. Gary Davis ignored the furious Paulette and galloped after her fleeing mount. Thankful for any respite from the brutal journey, Barry Rust reined his horse in, as did Kelly and Kelsey Logan. They all regarded Paulette with amusement, which only added to her fury.

 

“I declare,” said Kelsey in mock horror, “such language! Bull whackers could learn much from her.”

 

While Yavapai continued in pursuit of the rest of the gold seekers, Sanchez rode back to see what had caused the commotion. When he arrived at the small group, he tilted his hat back on his head and grinned at the furious Paulette. That was the scene that greeted Gary Davis when he returned with Paulette’s horse, and he vented all his fury on the still grinning Sanchez.

 

“What’n hell are
you
doin’ here?” he snarled. “I’m
payin’ you and that
pelado
partner of yours to follow Wells and Holt. Why ain’t you doin’ it?”

 

“We think per’ap you need help until you catch up,” said Sanchez. “But you are right, Señor. You pay us to follow those hombres. A thousand pardons, Señor.” He rode away without a backward look and was soon lost in the thickets ahead.

 

Davis turned to Paulette, who still sat on the ground.

 

“Get up,” he said angrily, “and from now on, watch where the hell you’re going. Tumble out of that saddle one more time, and I’ll tie you belly down across it.”

 

He helped the unwilling Paulette on to her mount, and they continued, Davis in the lead. He immediately discovered his folly in berating Sanchez, for the Mexican had only sought to guide them through this wilderness, in which they were now lost. He urged his horse ahead, only to have the animal balk.

 

Bollinger had kept up with the rest of the gold seekers, but realizing that his own party had fallen behind, he now rode back to see why. Davis didn’t waste any time explaining to him.

 

“R. J., can you get us back on the trail?”

 

“Hell,” said Bollinger, “there ain’t no trail. We got to keep the others in sight and foller them. Come on!”

 

Bollinger managed to guide them until they were within sight of some stragglers who were following Arlo and Dallas. Not a breath of air stirred, and the Arizona sun bore down with a vengeance. Sweat darkened the flanks of the horses, dripped into the eyes and off the noses and chins of the riders, and soaked the backs of their shirts. Some of them, including Paulette Davis, made a startling discovery—they hadn’t brought any water!

 

“Gary,” Paulette whined, “I’m thirsty. I need water.”

 

“We’ll get some somewhere up ahead,” said Davis unsympathetically.

 

“No,” Paulette said, “I need it now. I’m going back to the river.”

 

“Go ahead,” said Davis, ignoring her.

 

She rode on, cursing him and hating Kelly and Kelsey for their amused grins. It was Bollinger who finally took pity on her.

 

“When the others stop to water, ma’am, we’ll stop too. Not before,” he said, though kindly.

 

The terrain grew rougher. Gary Davis looked back approvingly, for Bollinger now brought up the rear. Except for the gunman and the hired Mexican guides, Davis thought grimly, none of his outfit was suited to the ordeal that lay ahead. But there were Kelly and Kelsey Logan, damn them. The pair rode like they’d been born to the saddle and seemed to delight in every misfortune that befell him.

 

Up ahead, the two cowboys were growing restless. “This is the longest I ever rode without gettin’
some
where,” said Dallas. “I’d swear this mountain ain’t changed a bit in two hours, and we don’t seem to be a foot higher than when we started.”

 

“I’m startin’ to suspect there’s some method to Paiute’s madness,” Arlo said. “I don’t know if he understood what I said about losin’ this bunch or if he come up with the idea on his own, but I’d bet my last pair of clean socks that’s what he’s set out to do. I know damn well there’s clear ground higher up these mountains. You can see it from Phoenix.”

 

“Well, if Paiute can ride this trail in the dark, he’ll lose everybody, includin’ us. It’s bad enough when you can see where you’re going. In the dark, a man could ride into a low-hangin’ limb and lose an eye. So could a horse.”

 

“We’ll need water,” said Arlo, “and before dark, Paiute will lead us to it. Right now, he’s makin’ it real hard on that bunch that’s trailin’ us. They’re already gettin’ dry, but they don’t dare look for water, or they risk losin’ our trail.”

 

Time after time in this wretched terrain they had crossed canyons where there might have been water, but Paiute did not stop. He paused only occasionally to rest the mule.

 

“You predicted water by sundown,” said Dallas, “but I can do better than that. I can tell you where that water’s goin’ to be. Friend Arlo, just as sure as God created the heavens and the earth, we’re on our way back to good old Saguaro Lake. That crazy Indian is leadin’ us in a fifty-mile circle.”

 

At first Arlo laughed, but as they rode on, the truth of it became more and more obvious. The going became easier and the thickets began to thin out, but only because they were nearing the more gentle slopes that marked the end of the Superstitions to the north. Less than an hour before sundown, a westering sun shone on the sparkling waters of Saguaro Lake, half a dozen miles ahead. It was almost within walking distance of old Hoss Logan’s cabin, which they had left at daybreak.

BOOK: Skeleton Lode
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