Chapter 10
Arlo and Kelsey made it as far as the south rim, taking advantage of the little cover there was, before the trio caught sight of them again. There was a rattle of gunfire, and lead sang over their heads like angry bees. Swiftly they made their way to the west rim, finding sanctuary behind an occasional stone abutment. One of the pursuing men tried to cut across the wide-open plateau, but Arlo shot off his hat and burned a second slug along his thigh. He fell, rolling behind a little rise, and his companions paused. Arlo and Kelsey ran on, Arlo reloading his gun as they went.
“Gunfire!” Dallas said. “Somebody’s discovered Arlo and Kelsey!”
“Oh, Lord!” said Kelly. “Let’s go help them!”
“We can’t,” Dallas said, “without givin’ away our camp. Whoever started this ruckus is tryin’ to drive Arlo and Kelsey into a hole, figurin’ to find our camp by forcin’ them back into it. We go runnin’ out there, and we’ll only end up with our own tails in a crack, without helpin’ them. As well as I know Arlo, he won’t lead ’em here. He’ll try to work his way down the mountain and come in through the passage, but he won’t have a light. Come on—we’ll take some pine torches and meet them in the passage.”
“How can we know they’ll come in that way?”
“They have no choice,” Dallas said. “There’s not enough cover on the top of this mountain to shelter a toad. They can dodge from stone to stone for temporary cover, but if there’s more than one man after them, they’ll have to keep moving. Their only chance is to make it down the mountain and then return through the passages.”
Kelsey, in the lead, drew her Colt.
“No,” said Arlo, “save it. This is no place to make a stand. Let me keep them away from us, if I can. Keep moving.”
They paused behind the cover of boulders, breathing hard. The only real cover their pursuers had was what Arlo and Kelsey had already used.
“Sooner or later,” Arlo said, “they’ll try to rush us as we move out from cover. Once we’ve gotten far enough along the west rim, we’re going to cut across the plateau to that steep trail down the east rim. When I tell you to go, run for it. I’ll try to hold them off until you’re over the edge. Then I want you to pull that Colt and give ’em hell. Space your shots, and try to lay down enough fire to cover me, so I can join you.”
Kelsey moved ahead, and soon they were near enough to cut over the west rim to their hidden camp. But they dared not. Almost straight across the mountaintop was the steep pass that led into the canyon and the safety of the passage within the mountain.
“Now!” Arlo yelled. “Run!”
Kelsey ran, lead kicking up dust all around her. Arlo fired, spacing his six shots, buying Kelsey all the time he could. Then she was over the rim. With any luck, he thought, the murderous coyotes will have to reload. He wouldn’t have a better chance, and without sacrificing the time it would take to reload, he lit out toward the east rim after Kelsey. One of the gunmen cut down on him immediately, and the other two joined in. But Kelsey Logan made her presence felt. She spaced her shots as Arlo had done, and he quickly tumbled over the rim to join her. Kelsey was deftly reloading her Colt.
“Come on,” Arlo cried. “They’ll be cuttin’ down on us again before we reach bottom.”
Arlo reloaded as he slid down the steep trail. All too soon, their pursuers were blasting away from the rim. Arlo turned and fired three quick shots over their heads, driving them back for a moment. Then they rushed to the ledge and began the descent, throwing lead as they came. Arlo returned their fire until his Colt clicked on empty. He heard Kelsey shout and turned to face a new danger—three horsemen were galloping up the canyon—Bollinger, Yavapai, and Sanchez. Bollinger was firing not at Kelsey but at Arlo. Kelsey paused, firing twice, and the second shot ripped off Bollinger’s hat. The vengeful gunman then turned his fire on the girl.
“No, Kelsey,” Arlo shouted. “Run!”
Kelsey turned toward the mouth of the cavern through which the stream ran, Arlo right behind her. Suddenly she seemed to stumble, the force of the lead driving her backward into Arlo. His own Colt empty, Arlo snatched Kelsey’s from her limp fingers. His left arm supporting Kelsey Logan’s dead weight, Arlo shot Bollinger out of the saddle in his fury. The trio of gunmen coming down the mountain were closer, and Arlo almost fell as a slug tore through the inside of his right thigh. Praying for a miracle, he gathered the unconscious Kelsey in his arms and ran. For a frightening second, he saw that the entire left side of her shirt was soaked with blood.
He slipped in the mud outside the cavern’s mouth, and that misstep was what saved him. A slug tore across his scalp just above his left ear, and others slammed into the side of the passage inches from his head. Dizzy, his head pounding, he stumbled into the welcome dark of the mountain. He paused only a moment to catch his breath before pressing on into the blackness of the passage that would take them back to the safety of their camp. He made it past the point in the tunnel where the water cascaded down, then paused, exhausted. Kelsey hadn’t made a sound.
“Kelsey,” he cried. “Kelsey!”
But in the blackness of the passage there were only the lonely sounds of dripping water and Kelsey’s ragged breathing. His right arm was under her arms, and he could feel her blood soaking the sleeve of his shirt.
“You bastards,” he sobbed. “You murdering bastards!”
Arlo stumbled on, dizzy from the lead that had creased his skull, feeling the blood from the wound in his thigh squishing in his boot. He could hear shouting somewhere behind him. If they took the time to get a light and had the nerve to follow, all was lost.
Dallas and Kelly hurried down the passage that would eventually take them to the foot of the mountain and to the route they expected Arlo and Kelsey to use. Kelly had brought a couple of blankets, not knowing what difficulty they might encounter. With Dallas in the lead, they reached the point where they had to drop to hands and knees. They were near the end of the cramped passage when Dallas paused.
“Hold it,” he whispered. “Somebody’s comin’. Here, take the light.”
But the light had been seen.
Arlo called, breathing hard. “Dallas? Kelly?”
“Arlo,” Dallas cried, “we’re here. What’s happened?”
“Kelsey’s hurt,” said Arlo, his voice trembling. “Hit hard, bleedin’ bad.”
As Kelly spread the blankets on the stone floor, Arlo eased Kelsey down. Kelly cried at the sight of her sister’s blood-soaked shirt. Before their eyes, new blood began soaking the blankets. Every minute counted now.
“Kelly,” Dallas said, “you take the torch and lead the way. Arlo and me will have to work her through that narrow passage a little at a time.”
On hands and knees, Dallas backed into the passage, gripping the foot of Kelsey’s blanket bed. Arlo took her head, and they lifted her just enough to clear the stone floor. It was impossible to crawl without using their hands for support, and they were forced to move Kelsey only as far as Arlo could reach. While it took them only a few minutes, it seemed like hours before they were able to stand. Arlo hunkered down to gather up Kelsey, but he was unable to. He went to his knees.
“You’ll … have to take her, Dallas,” he said. “I took a slug … in the thigh, and it’s … givin’ me hell.”
Kelly took the lead, carrying the torch, while Dallas followed with Kelsey and Arlo limped along behind. When they reached the cavern that was their camp, Kelly stirred up the fire so they had light. She then set the iron spider in place and hung a pot of water to boil. Turning to the wounded Kelsey, she flung the blankets aside and began unbuttoning the girl’s shirt.
“We’ll go … back into the passage,” panted Dallas, “while you … see to her.”
“You’ll stay right where you are,” Kelly said. “I’ve never seen a gunshot wound in my life, and I don’t know what to do. I’ll need you, and I don’t intend to swap my sister’s modesty for her life. Arlo’s been hit too. Get those britches off, cowboy, and try to stop the bleeding. It won’t help Kelsey, you standing there bleeding to death.”
Arlo stood there in his shirttail, feeling foolish, thankful there were no holes in his drawers. Dallas cut a strip from a blanket and tied the cloth tight around Arlo’s thigh, above the wound.
“Didn’t hurt the bone,” said Dallas, “but you’ve been bleedin’ like a stuck hog. Kelsey is the one we have to worry about.”
“My God, yes,” Kelly said. “Come look at this wound.”
She had stripped away the bloody shirt and pulled Kelsey’s Levi’s down to her knees. Kelly had washed away the blood, revealing the wound in the girl’s left side. It was angry purple, and blood still oozed from it. Arlo limped over to Kelsey and got down beside her.
“One of you take her shoulders and raise her up,” he said. “It looks bad, but sometimes where the lead comes out is more important than where it went in. It can hit a rib and be driven away from the vitals, or worse, it can be driven right into them.”
Kelly lifted Kelsey enough for Arlo to look for an exit wound. With a sigh of relief, he found it.
“The slug went on through,” said Arlo, “but it tore a mean hole on its way out. We’ll have to wrap her in all the blankets to keep her warm, but the biggest danger will be infection. I think we can handle that, with the two quarts of whiskey we have. We’ll know by this time tomorrow. If she worsens, we’ll either get her to a doc, or bring one to her. Dallas, bring me a quart of that red-eye.”
At that point, Kelsey opened her eyes. “R. J. Bollinger,” she gasped. “He … shot me.”
“And I shot him,” said Arlo. “With your pistol. Mine was empty.”
“How bad … am I?”
“You’re hurt some,” Arlo said, “and you’ll be sore as hell for a while, but the slug went on through. I reckon you have a loose rib or two, because of the way the lead angled out. We’re going to pour some whiskey into the wound and then bind it well. Sometime tonight, you’ll have a fever, and you may have to drink half a quart of the whiskey. It’ll sweat the fever and infection out of you. If that fails—and I don’t expect it to—we’ll take you to a doc.”
“I’m not much good… in a gunfight,” she said. “I … I’m sorry.”
“The hell you aren’t!” said Arlo. “By the time I saw Bollinger comin’, my Colt was empty. If you hadn’t drawn his fire, he’d have shot me dead before I could have reloaded. He did get one slug in my thigh, though. That’s why my britches are off. I don’t usually hunker down next to a female in my drawers.”
She tried to laugh, but it trailed off into a groan of pain. Dallas handed Arlo the whiskey bottle while Kelly busily ripped what was once a petticoat into bandages.
“Was that mine or yours?” Kelsey asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Kelly, “but in Arizona I reckon bandages are more useful than fancy female underwear.”
“By God,” Dallas said, delighted, “she’s got the hang of it!”
“Kelly,” said Arlo, “make me a thick pad of … whatever it was. I’ll soak it with whiskey and place it over the wound where the slug came out. And then I’ll need a second bandage to cover the original wound.”
He poured the potent brew into the wound, and Kelsey gasped.
“Now,” Arlo said, “raise her up, so I can cover the exit wound.”
Arlo soaked the makeshift pad with whiskey, and when Kelly lifted Kelsey high enough, he placed the pad over the wound where the lead had torn its way out.
“Bring me the second pad,” said Arlo.
He placed the second pad over the entry wound and soaked the cloth with whiskey. He then returned the two-thirds empty bottle to Dallas.
“Now, Kelly,” he said, “bring me some long strips that’ll reach all the way around here, so I can bind these pads in place.”
Kelly brought the strips, then lifted Kelsey again, allowing Arlo to pass the strips around her middle, securing the pads. Kelly then brought all the blankets they had, tugged off Kelsey’s boots, removed her Levi’s, and rolled her naked into the mass of heavy wool blankets. Arlo leaned forward and kissed Kelsey on her pale cheek. Already her skin felt dry and feverish.
“Thank you,” said Kelsey, “but you’ve been shot too. You should have let Dallas and Kelly do for me.”
“Couldn’t do that,” Arlo said. “I have a personal interest in you, and I want you around to live up to that promise.”
“Kelly,” said Dallas, “there’s things we ain’t bein’ told.”
“There’s things you never will be told,” Arlo said. “Now bring me that bottle of whiskey, else I’ll have some infection of my own. I could live with the pain, but not without the leg.”
“I’ll see to your wound,” said Kelly, “unless you’d rather do it yourself or have Dallas do it.”
“You do it,” Arlo said. “Dallas is likely to get nervous, me and him havin’ been pards for so long. I just ain’t comfortable, standin’ around nine-tenths naked.”
“Be thankful you weren’t hit higher up,” said Kelly. “You might have lost more than blood, and you wouldn’t even be wearing your drawers. Hand me the rest of that whiskey, put your head on your saddle, and stretch out that leg. Dallas, make yourself useful. Bring me the pot with the rest of the hot water.”
Dallas and Arlo watched admiringly as Kelly cleaned Arlo’s wound, applied the whiskey, and tied the pads in place. She had cleaned and bandaged Arlo’s wound as efficiently as he had seen to Kelsey’s.
“Kelly,” Dallas said, “you’ve just learned half of everything a Western woman needs to know.”
“Oh?” said Kelly, suspiciously, “what’s the other half?”
“Removin’ Injun arrows,” Dallas said.
“Save the rest of the lesson for the next Indian attack,” said Kelly. “I’ve learned enough for today.”
Pod Osteen, Joe Dimler, and Zondo Carp stood looking at the lifeless body of R. J. Bollinger. Yavapai and Sanchez had reined in their horses a few yards away. Yavapai had caught Bollinger’s horse before it could run. Osteen spoke to the Mexican riders.
“I reckon you Mejicanos know that pair we chased off the mountain. Who are they?”
“Señor Wells,” said Sanchez, “and one of the señoritas that be lost in the mountain after the fight with the Indios.”
“There ain’t nobody been swallowed by that damn mountain,” Osteen said. “Can’t you see that? This Wells and Holt grabbed the Logan women while the rest of you were being attacked by the Apaches.”
“This pair we was shootin’ at sure wasn’t afraid of that mountain and its tunnels,” insisted Zondo. “They got Logan’s old Injun with ’em, and they’re holed up in the belly of one of these mountains.”
“That makes more sense than anything I’ve heard since we rode into this place,” said Three-Fingered Joe, “but I still ain’t wantin’ to go wanderin’ through the guts of these mountains in the dark. I say we wait for Cass and tell him what we stumbled onto.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Zondo answered. “Whatever we do, let’s do it together. If we got to search these tunnels, then let it be all of us, with loaded guns and plenty of light.”
“By God,” said Osteen, “it’s about time you gents seen what’s got to be done. We ain’t goin’ to find rich claims layin’ out in some open canyon. So what if this Wells and Holt are guided by some old Injun? Ain’t we got a pair of Mex guides that knows these mountains?”
“We know the outside of these mountains, Señor,” said Sanchez, “but not their bellies, where the Thunder God lives.”
“So you ain’t goin’ in the tunnels with us,” Osteen mocked. “Why’n hell do we need you pelados? That’s a question I aim to put to Bowdre when he gets back.”
“Señor Bowdre be gone for horses,” said Sanchez, with his infuriating grin. “When each of you are in the belly of the mountain, per’ap you take your horse with you. Indios have take them before, no?”
Bowdre’s men looked at one another. They were going to have to split their forces or again risk losing their horses to the Apaches.
“Cass will decide who stays with the horses,” Osteen said grudgingly. “The rest of us will go look for the gold, wherever the search takes us. But if I got any say, them that ain’t got the sand to take a turn in the tunnel, they don’t share the gold.”
Yavapai and Sanchez said nothing, but their easygoing grins vanished. New battle lines were being drawn.
All Gary Davis and Cass Bowdre had in common was mutual distrust, so they rode south to Florence in virtual silence. Davis had made up his mind he would share only the cost of grub. The horses—or lack of them—were Bowdre’s problem. They were nearing the town when Bowdre finally spoke.
“I can inquire about the hosses, if you want to see to the grub.”
“No,” said Davis, TU go with you to see about the horses, and then we’ll both go for the grub. What’s the use of buyin’ anything until we have a pack mule? I’ll split the cost with you, if we can find one.” He wanted to make it clear he wouldn’t share the cost of the horses Bowdre needed and that he had no intention of paying for supplies for Bowdre’s outfit.
The livery owner was a thin old man named Boggs. He had watery blue eyes and an outward meekness that belied his inner strength.
“Sorry,” he said, in response to Bowdre’s inquiry. “No mules. I reckon I can spare you three horses. They ain’t prime, but they’re all I got, an’ they’re forty dollars apiece.”
“God Almighty!” Bowdre exploded, “That’s robbery. I didn’t come here to buy the damn livery.”
“You need horses, and I got horses to sell,” said Boggs, unperturbed. “Take ’em or leave ’em.”
“I’ll take ’em,” Bowdre huffed and followed Boggs to the barn.
Davis grinned at the sour expression on Bowdre’s face when he led the three animals out. There was a roan, a black, and a bay, and they all had some years on them. Having been a freighter, Davis was familiar with horses and mules used as pack animals, and he guessed these horses had been used to pack ore. Now they had been retired to whatever use could be made of them.
“Let’s ride on to Globe,” said Bowdre, stuffing the bills of sale into his pocket. “We can get grub there and we won’t have to pack it as far.”
Arlo and Kelsey spent the day in pain, for they had nothing to lessen it.
“I could slip into town after dark,” said Dallas, “and get some laudanum.”
“If we can make it till after dark,” Arlo said, “we can down that other quart of whiskey. It should make us sleep the night, rid us of fever, and by tomorrow, have us on the mend.”
“It’s only midday,” said Kelly, “and Kelsey’s already feverish.”
“So am I,” Arlo said, “but let’s hold off on the whiskey. Since we have nothing for pain, it’ll be easier on us if we can sleep the night through.”
“I reckon we’d better stay in hiding,” said Dallas, “until you and Kelsey are well enough to continue the hunt for the mine. This is a hardcase bunch that took after you two, and by now they know we have a hidden camp. They’ll be back.”
“When they do return,” Arlo said, “I just hope they don’t come in through the passage from the bottom of the mountain.”
“Oh, Lord,” said Kelly, “they could.”
“They could,” Arlo said, “and eventually they will. They saw Kelsey and me run for the cavern, and from there we had nowhere else to go but back into the passage. They’ll know we have some knowledge of these tunnels beneath the mountains, and while they’ll have to move slowly, they’ll be coming after us.”
“I’m going to slow us down,” said Kelsey, awake now. “The rest of you should go on and look for the mine. Leave me here. I’ll have my pistol.”
“Let’s do this,” Dallas suggested. “Once the both of you are free of fever, Kelly and me can travel back down this passage to the foot of the mountain. From there, we can look into that other passage that angles off to the left, the one Hoss marked as safe. Since there’s a chance they’ll find this camp, we ought to be finding ourselves another.”
“Easier said than done,” Arlo said. “Even if you find an ideal camp down some other tunnel, we’ll have a pair of problems. We can’t take our horses and mules, and if we could, there’d be no graze. We need the little bit of grass we’re able to reach from here, but this bunch that’s after us will soon get wise to how we’re grazing our stock. All they’ll have to do is stake out the top of the mountain until they see us taking our stock to and from grass.”
“Now that they have some idea where we are,” said Kelly, “they’ll just forget the map and spend their time looking for us.”
“That’s what I expect,” Arlo said. “I figure Davis has thrown in with this new bunch of coyotes, since Bollinger rode in shooting. I doubt that Davis has even told them he has a map, or what he thinks is half a map. I look for the whole bunch to come after us, because we’re able to find our way around in these tunnels. Davis may have convinced them we’ve already found the mine, or at least know where it is.”
“We have to buy ourselves a little time,” Dallas said. “At least until it’s safe for Kelsey to be up and around.”
By early afternoon the blue of the far western horizon had changed to a dirty gray, and the west wind had freshened. The sun set crimson behind a cloud bank, sending heavenward an aura that began as fuchsia, faded to pink, and finally became dusky rose. Far to the west, lightning did a brief dance and was gone. A roiling mass of thunderheads soon swallowed the sun, sweeping eastward before a rising wind.
Cass Bowdre and Gary Davis didn’t fare much better in Globe than in Florence. The town was smaller, and Bowdre had to do some searching to find even three horses. Again, prices were outrageously high—it rubbed him the wrong way to buy horses, anyhow. Cass Bowdre was accustomed to taking what he needed, when he needed it, but that nosy county sheriff knew Bowdre and his men were in the area. Being hanged for horse stealing would be a disgrace, since they were wanted for far more heinous crimes. Bowdre had found no mules for sale at any price, nor had he located a packsaddle. Their provisions had been gunnysacked and the necks of two sacks tied together, then roped to the backs of two horses.
“Storm comin’,” Bowdre observed as they rode west. “You know of a camp with any shelter where we can watch the hosses?”
“No,” said Davis truthfully. “Yavapai and Sanchez knew the place where you stayed last night, but if they know of anything better, they’ve kept it from me.”
“I’ll have some words with that pair of varmints,” Bowdre said.
Davis said nothing, but he’d had his fill of Cass Bowdre. The man’s arrogance exceeded even Davis’s own, and Davis decided their alliance would be brief and volatile. While he doubted his own influence with Yavapai and Sanchez, it irked him to have Bowdre step in and start giving orders. Davis clenched and unclenched his big fists as he rode. Somebody had to lead this gold-hunting expedition. Perhaps it was time he, Gary Davis, challenged Cass Bowdre. However, Davis admitted, one wrong move on his part could turn every man against him. He would hold his peace until the odds favored him.
“Hell’s fire,” Pod Osteen observed, when Bowdre and Davis rode in, “I never seen a more scrubby-lookin’ bunch of cayuse. They look like they pulled a stage from Saint Loo to San Diego without a rest.”
“Well, by God,” Bowdre snarled, “you don’t like ’em, leave ’em alone.”
“Let’s pitch camp and eat,” Zondo said. “After that, you jaybirds can cut each other’s throats with dull knives for all I care. I’m half starved, and I ain’t waitin’ no longer.”
“Hey,” said Davis, “I got a man missing. Where’s Bollinger?”
“He be dead,” said Sanchez.
“Onliest one of your bunch with any sand,” said Pod Osteen, his eyes on Davis.
“Damn it!” Davis shouted. “I didn’t ask for a character reference. Can’t somebody just tell me what the hell happened to Bollinger?”
“What difference does it make?” Bowdre asked sarcastically. “It won’t make him any less dead.”
Gary Davis saw red. He brought his big right fist around all the way from his boot tops. Bowdre was totally unprepared, and the blow caught him on the point of his chin. He went down on his back in a cloud of dust. Slowly he struggled to hands and knees, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Davis had backed away so that he faced them all, his right hand only inches from the butt of his Colt.
“I ain’t fist-fightin’ all of you at once,” Davis said, “and I ain’t riskin’ bein’ back-shot while me and this coyote are settlin’ our differences. Anybody else wants to buy in, do it now or stay out of it.”
Nobody made a move. Their eyes were on Cass Bowdre. Unsteadily he got to his feet, spitting blood. “Stay out of this,” he told them when he finally could speak. “I stomp my own snakes, and it’ll go hard on any one of you gettin’ between me and this damn fool.”