Spanish Gold (16 page)

They kept shooting as fast as they could. The Apaches wheeled and fled. The one man on the ground kept moving away from them until he was hit again. He dropped and didn't move.

The horsemen reached the rocks and as they did, they leaped from the saddle. One of them jerked his rifle from the scabbard, whirled and aimed, but then didn't fire. The Apaches were already out of range.

The second man slipped to the ground and stood watching the fleeing Indians. He held the reins in his left hand. When they disappeared and the firing ended, he turned and looked up into the rocks.

Davis came down and held out a hand. “Name's Davis,” he said, and then stopped. “You were in the bar.”

“Name's Freeman. Yeah, I was in the bar.” He studied Davis for a moment and then asked, “You the bartender?”

“Was.”

“So you're out here for the same reason. Looking for the gold that old man talked about.”

“Yeah,” said Davis. “Somebody killed that old man. Knifed him.”

“I'd heard,” said Freeman.

“Yeah,” said Davis again. “Better get your horses back out of the way. The Apaches will be back.”

“Guess we're not going to find the gold now,” said Freeman. He shot a glance at his partner.

“Not for a while anyway,” said Davis.

They reached the top of a ridge and Travis stopped. The Apaches who had been chasing them were still out of sight. They were probably still at the wagon.

He turned and looked down into the next valley. There was a shallow river through it and mountains off to the right. There had been firing from that direction, but it had stopped. He could see nothing of interest below him.

“We head back to El Paso now?” asked Crockett.

“No,” said Travis. “We keep heading to the west for a while longer. The Apaches were to the south of us. This should take us away from them.”

“Down there,” she said.

“Down toward the river. We'll let the horses drink and maybe take a break.”

He took another quick look, but the landscape was still bare. He started down the slope, moving slowly, letting the horse rest. He wanted to be ready if they had to make a run for it again.

“You think we can get back to El Paso today?” she asked.

That was a question that he didn't want to answer. He thought that they'd be two or three days getting back to El Paso. They'd have to avoid the direct route because that's where the Apaches would be. Two or three days, but probably no more than that.

He ignored the question. He kept his eyes moving, searching the horizon and the desert around them for the enemy. He didn't want to be surprised again.

And he kept looking at the shallow river with the mountains to the north of it. Just as had been described by Crockett's father.

He noticed that Crockett had spotted it, too. She kept looking back at him and then at the river. Finally she asked, “You think that's it?”

“It's close,” he said. “But remember what the diary said. Wagons burned on the bank. And your father mentioned that and bones of the dead.”

“We're close,” she said. “I know it. I can feel it.”

“But we don't have the time to look around,” said Travis. “Not with the hostiles running loose.”

She turned toward the river. “We're this close. We've got to take a look.” That was an idea that didn't appeal to Travis. Not with Apaches running around shooting at everyone. The smart thing was to get out now. Remember where they had been and come back when the Indian problem had been settled.

They reached the valley floor and moved along the bank of the river. There were trees, small trees, along the bank, just as described in the diary, but the trees that the Spaniard had written about would be huge unless they had been swept away in floods. Which would have also carried away the debris of the burned wagons.

“Can't be here,” said Travis. “Can't be.”

“Why not?” asked Crockett.

Travis stopped and climbed from the saddle. He stuck a hand into the sand and let it run through his fingers. Nothing. He stood and surveyed the ground. Still nothing.

But the river was shallow, as had been reported in the diary. And there were bluffs opposite, maybe a mile away, and beyond them the mountains.

Travis began walking along the bank, his eyes on the sand. To have found it so quickly, so close to El Paso would mean that others must have found it. And then he realized that no one believed the story. They listened to the prospector spinning his tails of Spanish gold, bought him drinks for the entertainment, and then forgot about it as quickly as possible. They didn't ride out in search of it.

And he had more information than most. He'd seen the diary and the map and knew what to look for. He knew all the clues. Others only knew some of them.

Crockett stayed mounted, following him slowly. She didn't say a word now. She, too, was looking for the remains of the wagons, because it would tell them where to cross the river. It would help pinpoint the cave where the gold had been stored by the Apaches.

After fifteen minutes he spotted something partially buried in the sand. He stopped, pulled at it, and came up with a chaired piece of wood.

“Wagon?” asked Crockett.

“Could be anything,” said Travis tossing it away. “Could be anything at all.”

They'd suddenly forgotten about the Apaches that were roaming the desert. They forgot about the firing they'd heard or the danger they were in. Gold fever had driven everything from their minds.

Travis was no longer walking in a straight line. He was weaving over the bank of the river, kicking at the sand. He turned up other chunks of burnt wood and then he stopped and stared. In front of him was a line of wood, and laying near it was the charred remains of a wagon wheel. Sticking up so that one end was two or three inches off the ground, was a bone.

“My God!” said Crockett. ‘This is it.”

Travis looked up at her, his head spinning. He stared at the remains of the wagon, at the shallow river, and the bluffs opposite them and knew that she was right. The gold was hidden in a cave no more than a mile from them. They had found it.

He took a step toward the river and then something made him look back the way they'd come. They might have found the path to the gold, but the Apaches had found them. It was time to get the hell out or die.

Travis swung up into the saddle and turned toward the river. The only avenue for escape was the hills to the north. On the open ground in the other directions, the Apaches would eventually run them down and kill them. The only hope was to get lost in the hills or among the rocks to the north.

“Come on,” he said, keeping his voice quiet.

Crockett took a quick look and forced her horse into the river. She splashed across it while Travis hung back, watching the approaching Apaches. When she was halfway to the other side, Travis followed.

They scrambled up on the far bank. The Indians had changed their direction and were coming straight for them. Travis looked for a haven but saw nothing.

“That way,” he said and dug his heels into the flanks of the horse.

Together, Travis and Crockett rode along the foot of the bluff, searching for a hiding place or a canyon or an arroyo to get them out of the sight of the Apaches. The only thing they saw were small box canyons that lead back into the bluffs and ended in steep cliffs or narrow passages that didn't lead anywhere or provide any protection.

“They're gaining on us,” yelled Crockett.

But they were still on the opposite side of the river. The Apaches were riding along the southern bank, chasing them, but were making no move to cross.

“Hurry it up,” said Travis. He hung back, trying to protect the rear. He kept his eyes on the Indians.

Crockett stopped suddenly. “Someone in front of us.”

Travis turned his attention. There was a second group of riders, still south of the river, but angling for them. A dozen men. Maybe more. They didn't seem concerned about the Indians now chasing Travis and Crockett, and that could only mean they were Apaches, too.

“That tears it,” said Travis.

And then, as he was searching for a place to make the last stand, he saw a man stand up on a rock about fifty yards from them.

“Hey,” he yelled. “Over here.”

“Go!” shouted Travis. “Go!”

Crockett wheeled her horse and took off toward the rocks. Travis was right behind her now, riding for the safety ahead. The Apaches plunged into the river, heading toward them. They began to whoop and shoot. First into the air and then at the fleeing riders.

A volley burst from the rocks in front of them. Three of the Apaches fell, two into the river and one on the bank. A horse went down, spilling its rider into the water. That was enough to turn the attack for the moment.

Travis caught Crockett as she disappeared behind a rock. As he came around it, she was off the horse and laying on the ground. For an instant he thought that she had been hit. As he leaped from the saddle, forgetting about his horse, he saw her turn and then grin awkwardly.

“Fell off,” she said.

Travis knelt beside her. “You okay?”

“I'm fine. Just slipped off as I tried to stop.” She looked at the men standing around her.

Travis helped her to her feet, and looked at one of the men. He stared for a moment and said, “I know you, don't I?”

“Name's Davis and I used to tend bar in Sweetwater.”

“Right,” said Travis.

“You're the closed-mouth man,” said Davis.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Davis shrugged and said, “I could ask you the same thing, but I think that's obvious. We're searching for the gold.”

“You believed that story?” asked Travis.

“As you did,” said Davis, “otherwise you wouldn't be here now.”

“I think they're gathering for another attack,” yelled one of the men.

“How many you got here?” asked Travis.

“With you two we're back to fifteen. Lost a couple to the Apaches.”

“How long you been here?” asked Tteivis.

“Most of the morning. Chased in here just as you were.” Davis glanced at him and then his animal. “You have much ammo?”

“Fifty, sixty rounds for the rifle and that much for the pistol.”

“That's going to be the problem now,” said Davis. “We run out of ammo and they're going to climb all over us.”

“Here they come,” yelled one of the men.

“Come on,” said Davis. “We'll need your gun.”

Travis looked at Crockett. “You stay here and stay down. I don't want you getting hurt now.”

She reached up and grabbed his hand. “Don't let them take me alive.”

“Nobody's going to take anyone,” said Travis. He started to head up into the rocks and then stopped. He pulled his pistol from the holster. “You'd better hang onto this.”

“Thanks,” she said. She held his eyes for a moment and nodded to the rear.

Travis knew what she was saying. They were probably closer to that cave now. The entrance to it had to be around there somewhere. She didn't want to say anything in case the men around them didn't know how close it was.

“I know,” said Travis. He then followed Davis up into the rocks.

The Apaches were about halfway across the river. There were more of them. All the groups had joined so that there were fifty or sixty braves now.

From the right came a rippling fire. Two or three of the men shooting into the crowd. One brave fell from his horse but then leaped to his feet, standing in the knee-deep water. He ran forward, grabbed the neck of the animal, and climbed back on.

“Open fire!” yelled Davis suddenly. He fired his own weapon once, cocked it, but didn't shoot again.

Travis raised his rifle but didn't fire. He waited until the Apaches had reached the near side of the river and slowed as they tried to gain the bank. Then, with the targets sitting still, he opened fire. His first round missed, but the second shoved a brave from his horse. He fell into the soft sand and rolled down into the water.

There was firing all around him then. The men were up and shooting as fast as they could. One was screaming as he shot. A constant wail of anger as he pumped rounds into the Apaches.

They began to shoot back. Bullets snapped overhead and whined off the rocks. One of the men dropped his rifle and slipped from his position. Blood stained the side of his head. A second tumbled from behind a rock and didn't move.

The Apaches were closer, riding straight at them. Travis fired as fast as he could, working the lever and pulling the trigger in a single, smooth motion. The Indians were howling, waving their weapons, and firing into the air.