Skeleton Lode Page 4

  “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.

  “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.”r />
  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.