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.”

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’ somewhere,” 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.

“Well, by God!” exclaimed Arlo. “I can’t believe it.”

“You?” Dallas whooped. “What about that bunch of pilgrims behind us?”

Their thirsty horses broke into a gallop, hot on the heels of Paiute’s mule. The weary gold seekers—far behind—reined in and stared in disbelief. Gary Davis galloped his horse ahead until he caught up with Yavapai and Sanchez.

“Damn it,” Davis shouted, “they’ve put us through hell all day, and we’re back where we started! Between the two of you, didn’t you have brains enough to realize we’ve been traveling in circles?”

“You pay us to follow these hombres, Señor,” said Yavapai, shrugging his shoulders, “and we follow them. Por Dios, night comes, and there is much water. One should not be ungrateful, Señor.”

Before Davis could respond, his horse joined the others in a mad dash toward the distant lake. To the dismay of the pursuers, Arlo and Dallas didn’t unsaddle their mounts or unload their pack mule. Once their horses and mule had watered, and Paiute had watered his mule, the trio rode out, headed for Hoss Logan’s cabin.

“Paiute’s got the right idea,” Arlo laughed. “Why should we sleep on the ground, when we’re this close to the cabin and its bunks?”

At the cabin, they unloaded the pack mule and unsaddled their horses.

Dallas laughed. “I reckon they all hate our guts. This was one hell of a wild goose chase, but it was worth it.”

“Damn right it was,” said Arlo, “and I’m sorry I ever called Paiute useless. He’s worth every bit of the fortune in grub it takes to feed him.”

“If I wasn’t so god-awful tired,” Dallas said, “I’d sneak back after dark and listen in on that bunch at the lake. I’d give a lot to know what they’re sayin’ about us.”

The hangers-on who had camped at Saguaro Lake, including the Davis outfit, were beyond exhaustion. But there was talk, and it was venomous.

“My God,” said Rust bitterly, “that was a brilliant plan, following those damn cowboys all day and ending up where we started.”

“Yeah,” Bollinger agreed, “and the best part of it is, the bastards may pull the same stunt again tomorrow, and the day after that.”

“Yes, Gary,” said Paulette in a poisonous tone, “tell us what you have planned for tomorrow. When are these damn Mexicans going to start earning their pay?”

“We earn our pay,” Sanchez said angrily. “He tell us to follow these hombres, and we follow. If you please, Señor,” he said, turning to Davis, “our earnings for this day.”

Davis paid them and then stalked off into the darkness to escape the bitter comments of his companions. But there was some laughter, for Kelly and Kelsey Logan were quite satisfied with the day’s events. Bollinger took note of their pleasure and turned on them.

“It’s time your daddy took a strap to you she-cats,” he said angrily. “It’s nigh time the pair of you was tamed and made to be civil.”

“Gary Davis is not our daddy,” said Kelsey coldly, “and anytime you’re of a mind to tame me, mister gun-slinger, just come on. I’ll claw your eyes out.”

Yavapai and Sanchez ignored all the hard words being flung about and set to work unloading the Davis pack mule. The pair started a fire, cooked their supper, and sat down to eat.

“What about the rest of us?” Rust asked indignantly. “Where’s our supper?”

“Señor Davis pay us to follow this Wells and Holt,” said Yavapai, “and this we do. We do not hire on as cooks. You are welcome to use our fire if you wish.”

Gary Davis had returned to camp in time to hear Yavapai’s response, and he glared at the Mexican guides. They continued eating as though Davis didn’t exist, and he turned to Paulette, who lay unmoving, her head on her saddle.

“Why don’t you get supper for the rest of us?” said Davis.

“Why don’t you go to hell?” Paulette snarled. “I can scarcely move, and I don’t care if all of you starve.”

Kelly and Kelsey Logan exchanged looks. They were hungry, and whatever were their feelings toward their surly companions, they also needed food.

“Kelsey and me will do the cooking,” said Kelly, “until somebody complains. If you don’t like our cooking, you can do your own.”

“Well, it’s about time the two of you contributed something,” Davis said ungraciously.

“We don’t expect any thanks from you,” said Kelly defiantly, “but we won’t take any abuse either. Remember that.”

Supper was a silent meal—nobody was speaking to anybody else. Yavapai and Sanchez got well away from the hostile camp before rolling up in their blankets. Davis sat looking into the fire, conscious that Bollinger and Rust were covertly watching him. If so much as a hint of gold were found, Davis thought, Bollinger would double-cross him. He found himself harboring the same doubts about Rust. While the two of them had been through many shady deals together, he couldn’t be sure Rust wouldn’t turn on him if there was enough gold and the opportunity presented itself. Reflecting on his circumstances, Davis decided he couldn’t return to Missouri. True, he had taken over Jed Logan’s freighting business, but he had bankrupted it along with his own, robbing his wagons and collecting the insurance. Not only had he lost all his clients, but the insurance people were investigating him with an eye toward prosecution. Hoss Logan’s mine had gotten him out of Missouri just one jump ahead of the law. He had brought Rust and Bollinger with him not so much because he needed them but because they knew too much. He dared not leave them behind. Sooner or later he would have to dispose of the pair, along with Paulette and those troublesome daughters. Finally, he turned his thoughts to Yavapai and Sanchez. Were they what they seemed—a pair of simple Mexicans who would be satisfied with the few dollars they earned as guides—or were they after the gold as well? A thief himself, Gary Davis trusted nobody.

“Tomorrow ought to be interesting,” Dallas said, “if Paiute takes us on another dry run through the Superstitions with that bunch of gold hunters following.”

“They have no choice,” said Arlo. “Once they back off from what looks like another hopeless chase, they don’t know that we won’t drift up a canyon and lose them.”

“We can’t go on forever, trying to discourage them,” Dallas said. “Sooner or later we’re goin’ to have to begin our search for the gold, and when we find it, we’ll have to settle with whoever’s still on our trail.”

“We’ll give Paiute a couple more days,” said Arlo. “I doubt he’ll lead us to the mine, but he might get us to some point where the map begins to make sense.”